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george-mackay-macfine · 3 years

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Lets Play A Game - CH.2

Chapter 2 of let's play a game. Imagine who you wish as Jude.

“Okay, well, if we’re going to do this, we need rules.”

“Rules?”

“Rules.” I pushed the heavy-bodied oaf off me and stood up, “You know, like the Geneva contract….”

“This isn’t a world war, Edwards.”

“Oh really?” I spun on my heel, “Because I’m treating it as war.” I motioned between the two of us, “If I’m going to be playing dirty with the enemy, then I need to make sure there are no casualties, apart from you, of course.” I dipped my head to the side, sending him a cheeky smirk.

“Fine,” He rolled his eyes. “We’ll make some rules then.”

“Okay, first rule.”

“No one but us get’s to know about the game,” He pointed at me. “No mothers, no friends, no one.”

“Like I’d want anyone to know I was doing anything with you.” I agreed. “PDA?”

“Obviously,” He rolled his eyes. “No one will believe we’re dating if we don’t show some PDA.”

“Right, sorry, I forgot I was dealing with a man whore.” I threw at him. “Handholding.”

“Scared you’ll get cooties.” I shot him a glare. “Kissing.”

“Ugh,” I shrivelled my nose in disgust. “If we must,”

“You liked it.”

“No, not really.” He sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The feeling of his eyes on me began to make my chest feel warm.

“Then why are you still here, in my shirt, this close to falling back into my bed.”

“I’m not close to ‘falling back into your bed’, Hastings.”

“Oh really?” His hand grabbed at the bottom of his shirt, pulling me greedily towards him.

“I don’t have time for this again. I have to go.” The skin of his knuckles brushed the skin of my thighs as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt.

“C’mon Edwards. Admit it, you like this.” His fingers pushed up the shirt again, causing a sharp intake of breath from me. “And that.” He looked up at me through his eyelashes. “Shows me just how much you want me.”

“For God’s sake, Hastings. You’re insane.” My hands gripped onto his wrists fruitlessly, trying to stop him. “I have to leave.” In an instant, his hands had reached around my thighs and pulled me down onto his lap. His right hand rested on the curve of my ass—his left hand wandering up underneath his shirt, running along the skin of my stomach.

And when he looked at me with his stupid lips twisting into that cunning smirk. Dear God. If only his personality matched how attractive he was.

“You really want to leave?” I looked up to the ceiling, averting my eyes, so I didn’t make any more mistakes. “Stop me touching you, in the same way I was touching you last night” His hands went to the button on my pants, fiddling with it. “Admit it, I already know exactly what you like, Darcy.” His hand returned to my shirt, pushing the material upwards. I felt his lips on my skin next. Kissing along the exposed flesh. “There’s still one rule we need to decide on.”

“Mhhm.” Oh god, his hands touching me felt like it left a trail of fire in its wake, and maybe if I just pretend it was someone else, maybe Chris Evans, I could let this happen again.

“Sex,”

“What.”

“Sex, Will we have it through this little game?”

“God no,”

“Oh, come on. Tell me you don’t want it,” He whispered against my skin. I shook my head, biting my lip, hands going to his shoulders, holding on for dear life. “I need you to tell me.”

“I have to go,” I pulled my head down from the clouds and pushed him away. He fell back onto the bed with an exasperated huff. “I have brunch with my parents, and thanks to some cocky asshole, I’m going to have to sit through it without underwear.”

“Well, I’m going to have to get through today without my favourite shirt, So we’ll call it even.”

“You poor baby,” I straightened the jacket. “I hope you don’t die without it.” I walked towards the door, stopping just shy of it turning back to look at him. “Or, ya know… you can… do whatever suits you best, really.” I stepped through the threshold out into the unfamiliar hallway. “Shit,”

“Lost?” His ever so irritating voice whispered in my ear after I stood a moment, deciding what way to go.

“Of course not,”

“Then lead the way to the door, Honey.” I turned to face him at the nickname. He was still shirtless, now a pair of tracksuit bottoms covering his lower half.

“Honey?” He grinned, both top and bottom teeth on display, leaning back casually on the doorframe as he watched me. “That’s the nickname your going with? Really?”

“What?” He laughed, and God, he’d always had the kind of laugh that made you want to laugh with him. “I’m trying it out.”

“Try another one.” I looked left then to the right, trying to recollect what way Hastings had pulled me from last night.

“Need help?”

“No.” I stepped forward, then spun to the left, taking a tentative step forward, stopping when he cleared his throat. I turned to face him. His head shook no. “Mother ducker.” I muttered, spinning on my heel and walking back past him.

“You could have just asked for directions,”

“Shut up.” I growled as I stormed down the hallway and out into the living room. Surprisingly it was cleaner than I’d ever expected from Jude Hastings. “Have you seen my purse?”

“Hanging on the doorknob.”

“Great,” I walked to the door, grabbing the black shoulder bag I’d spent my morning looking for all over his bedroom. “Well,” I turned to look at my own personal demon. “This has been a ride…” A dirty smile broke out on his face. “Stop it.” I rolled my eyes.

“I’ll call you,”

“You don’t have my number,”

“Are you sure about that?”

“If you do have it,” I took a deep breath, pulling the door open. “Lose it.”

“Backing out already?”

“Never!” I shut the door behind me, ending the conversation. “What is wrong with me.” I muttered to myself as I began the walk to the cafe.

I had just agreed to potentially - doubtfully - fall in love with Jude Hastings, my mortal enemy. It may be dramatic, but he was the absolute worst, at least whenever he opens his mouth. Maybe I can just put a bag over his personality and gag him… then I would happily reinstigate what happened last night. Can you bag someone’s personality?

Not important right now, Darcy.

I had to formulate a plan, a way to make Hastings fall in love with me so I could crush his heart in my hands. A quick google as I walked told me most of what I already knew.

THE EASY FAULT FREE SIX STEPS TO MAKE YOUR WORST

NIGHTMARE FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU!!

A dissertation by Darcy Alice Edwards

1. Maintain eye contact.

This was already a problem for me. Looking into Jude Hastings eyes for too long was known to induce nausea.

2. Be interested in who they are as a person and listen to everything they have to say.

Another problem for me, as I wasn’t interested in anything he had to say or anything he was interested in. Not only that, but the sound of his voice was often like the sound of nails on a chalkboard for me.

3. Make them feel appreciated and special.

Make Jude Hastings feel appreciated. How can I even manage to do this with a straight face?

4. Smile a lot.

This one maybe I could do. If I think of happy thoughts and pretend it was anyone but Hastings.

5. Embrace what the other person is most passionate about.

For Jude, this was beer pong and margaritas. I could embrace them.

6. Touch them more often.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

“Darcy, sweetheart, there you are.” The high pitched tone of my moms’ voice broke me from my research. She and my father sat at a table by the front door. The pair of them had a half-drunk coffee in front of them. Crap, they’ve been waiting, and by the frown lines on my mom’s face, it was longer than five minutes. “We’re been waiting for you.” There it was, three seconds into brunch, and she was already chastising me.

“Sorry,” I pushed my phone into my back pocket and took a seat across from her and my father. “Hi Dad,”

“Hi kitten,” Out of my two parents, my dad had always been my favourite. When my mom was harsh, my dad was kind. When mom drilled into me about my life, my dad made sure I felt loved. He was always the one to parent me, not just order me around.

“You couldn’t have dressed nicer for Sunday brunch?” Mom looked over Hastings crinkled shirt with an upturned nose. “What will people think?”

“Can I please order a mimosa.” I grabbed the nearby waitress with a pleading smile. “I’m sure they’ll think there’s Darcy Edwards.”

“Drinking already?”

“Extra champagne.” I called after the waitress.

“Darcy…”

“So what are we thinking of getting.” I ignored my mothers’ warning tone, picking up the menu. “Egg’s sound good.”

“I had the eggs last time. They were good.” Dad added. “I think I’ll have sausage and eggs, maybe some bacon.”

“Bacon sounds good.”

“You need to watch your cholesterol.” I was vaguely paying attention as my parents began to argue about my father can and can’t eat, but mostly I was dying for the mimosa to hurry up and arrive,

“There you are.”

“I don’t know if I want eggs anymore, maybe pancakes.” I muttered, poking the page with my finger. Syrup soaked pancakes did sound amazing right now, or maybe waffles.

“Baby,”

“Jude?” My head snapped up at the mention of his name. Standing beside me was Hastings dressed in his police uniform. “What are you doing here, sweetheart?” It was totally the man in uniform kink making my heart rate spike, not just Jude Hastings in a uniform.

“I just came to drop this off to Darcy.” He waved my wallet in the air. “She left it in my apartment when she rushed off this morning.”

“Oh, is that right?” Jude Hastings, you dirty dog. “Why don’t you join us for breakfast, Jude?” Mom smiled happily at him, she’d always loved him.

“He can’t-“

“I’d love to.” The seat was pulled out roughly, and his body flopped into the chair, his arm coming to rest on my shoulders. I turned to look at him. He was smirking. Of course, he was. “Hi.” He leaned in and kissed my lips.

“So.” I could hear the smile in my mom’s voice. “When did this all happen?”

“Two months ago.” I blurted, looking at Hastings’s eyes. “Right, Jude.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, turning to my parents. “We ran into each other one night at a bar, and we began talking, like civilised adults, finally, and it just started from there.” He shrugged as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“And you didn’t tell me, Darcy?” I heard the edge on my mothers’ voice, oh boy. I was in big trouble.

“Well, we wanted to see exactly where things were going before we announced it to the whole town.”

I honestly believed that half the town would roll over and die when they find out Jude Hastings and Darcy Edwards were ‘dating’. Considering we’d nearly pulled the town apart with our pranks.

“Given our history,” Hastings added.

“Well, I think it’s wonderful.” My dad smiled at us. “You know I’ve always liked you, Jude.”

“Thank you, sir,”

“Kiss arse,” I let out under my breath.

“What was that sweetheart,” Hastings looked down at me with that fucking shit-eating grin.

“I said how sweet.”

“Mimosa,” The waitress reappeared.

“Please.” I held up my hand partly, mouth practically salivating at the idea of my alcohol in my bloodstream helping me get through this brunch. “Thank you.” I smiled as she placed the champagne flute in front of me.

“Mimosa, huh.” Hastings’s voice sounded teasing, but I knew him well enough to know this was no innocent observation. “You’d think she’d had enough to drink last night.”

“You went out last night?” My mother’s eyebrows shot up before a look of displeasure replaced the shock. “Is that why you’re dressed so…” We reached this part of breakfast quicker than I thought we would. Sit back, ladies and gents, the shows about the start. Act one; My mother judging my life choices as if I hadn’t been of legal age for the last six years.

“So what? Mother?” I picked up the flute and sat back in my chair, waiting for my mother to go off about my appearance.

“Messily.”

“No.” I deadpanned. “I’m dressed so messily because I was up early grading papers for my fourth-grade class.”

“Darcy, you surely don’t believe that I would believe-“

“It’s true. Darcy was up around dawn and began working.” As soon as my mother heard Hastings testimony for my ragged appearance, she sat back in her seat, a sweet smile replacing the devil horns.

Classic mom, always willing to believe the perfect Jude Hastings.

Speaking of the demon man himself. I don’t know if Hastings saved me because he felt terrible for the verbal ass-whooping my mother was about to give me or because he wanted to hold it over my head at a later date.

Probably the second one.

“See,” I took a long swig of the mimosa and looked at dad. “What are you getting, dad?”

“Waffles,” He smiled widely. God, he was a good man to put up with both my mother and I’s fighting. “With a side of fruit salad.”

“Sounds delicious.” I felt Hastings fingers fiddle and tap on the back of the chair, occasionally brushing my skin as they moved. “Mrs. Edwards, what are you going to get?”

I ignored the polite conversation trying to fight the feeling of nausea in my stomach as I watched my parents interact with Hastings and him with them. He was good at this, a borderline professional, but then again, what could you expect from a man who’d had more girlfriends than Keeping up with the Kardashians had seasons. I swear, in high school, it was like he had a new girl every week. I thought it was going to end up a category in our yearbook.

Most Girlfriends in a single year: Jude Hastings.

“Babe, your mother asked you a question.” His shoulder nudged mine, breaking me from my daze.

“I’m sorry, I was reading.” I looked between the demon and my mother. “What were you saying?”

“I was saying, sweetheart, that perhaps we should go out to dinner with the Hastings soon, all of us together to celebrate you and Jude finally getting over that childhood tiff of yours.”

“Yeah, sounds great.” I mumbled, picking up the champagne flute.

“Wonderful,” My mother clapped her hands excitedly. “I’ll call Francine.”

“She’ll be excited to hear from you.”

“How’s work, Jude?” My dad distracted Hastings, pulling him into a conversation, only this allowed Hastings to work his dark magic in seducing them into thinking he was a good person.

He wasn’t. No way.

As I listened to my parents both fawn over him, I had one goal in mind. Make him fall in love with me so hard I can watch him crash and burn in a flaming pit of fire, and I will go down in history as the one girl who broke Jude Hastings heart.

#george mackay #George Mackay imagine #Ben Hardy #ben hardy imagine #Dylan O'brien #dylan o'brian imagine #Dylan O'brien imagine #calahan skogman #Calahan Skogman Imagine #Harry Styles #Harry Styles imagine

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poptod · 4 years

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Brought To Your Knees (Kenny x Reader)

Description: 7-Elevens are a lot more versatile than one might originally think. AKA, sometimes you can get locked in them with your long-time crush and, following that, things can happen.

Notes: Freshman means you’re around 14-15 years old, Sophomore is 15-16 I think, Junior is 16-17, Senior is 17-18. Idk the American schooling system too well. Completely male reader.

Warning: Smut :) not sure why its there but hey everyone needs a gratuitous blow job every now and then

Word Count: 6.1k

You were expecting rain. You even brought an umbrella along, tucked away in the side pocket of your backpack, but an umbrella clearly wouldn’t work very well. Snow fell harsh upon the earth, cold and freezing near instantly, making a very thick layer of snow trap you inside the 7-Eleven, the doors frozen shut despite the fact that the heating was still on.

How exactly one gets trapped inside a 7-Eleven with the only person they’ve ever really loved probably needs some explaining, so let’s go back to the beginning; seven years ago. Seven years ago you transferred schools due to an unfortunate accident with a classmate, at least that’s what’s on your record. Half of you is grateful no one knows what really happened, but the other half wishes people knew you punched someone in the face hard enough to dislocate their nose. Though, looking at you, most people probably wouldn’t believe you, considering you haven’t got the strongest body structure. Your (at the time) new school was better than the last one in several ways, but the most important to you was the fact that it was a public school. There were horror stories about public schools, of unruly students and horrible teachers, and by god did you want to experience that - private school was far too clean, far too organized for your mind, and you were going slowly insane.

If there’s a term to describe you, it’d probably be ‘thrill seeker,’ if asshole can’t be said out loud. For the first couple of years you were a nuisance to classrooms, the well known class clown and always up for distracting the teacher (the history teachers were the easiest to distract, math teachers the hardest), and always ready to fight back for what you believed was right. Then came your first year of high school and you found the greatest thrill of all - boys.

Previously you hadn’t taken much of a romantic interest in either gender, and most people said it’d kickstart sometime in high school, which was about right - freshman year you had a crush on a boy named Everett. It wasn’t a particularly strong crush, not compared to your more recent crushes, but it was your first, and you knew exactly what you wanted to do. You wanted him to fall in love with you, hopelessly and endlessly, you wanted him to hang on your every word and dream of your affections... but you didn’t want to be in a relationship with him. No, you just wanted his adoration, and nothing more - only to lead him on and drop his heart to break it. When this didn’t happen and he didn’t fall in love with you, you realized that most boys are not attracted to other boys, and you became deathly silent when it came to crushes.

Several other boys (and maybe a girl) caught your fancy in the remainder of freshman year, but there was one boy you hadn’t yet met that would become the greatest thrill of all. Junior year you had a class with him, and on the first day of school when you walked into English class your bag fell from your hands, clattering to the floor with a loud thump.

He is perfect, in every conceivable way he’s everything you’ve ever imagined, shy and kind, sincere and genuinely interesting - just the sight of him from that day on and your heart speeds up tenfold. You’re a horror story that teachers talk about, so Mr. Davis is clearly flabbergasted at your silence, and for the most part he leaves you alone even though you’re barely paying attention to the blackboard at the front of the classroom. Instead your attention is focused on the boy sitting two seats in front of you and a row to the right. It’s almost surprising he hasn’t noticed your staring, but clearly Mr. Davis notices because about two months into the school year he pulls you aside to talk about it.

“I wanted to talk to you about your attention,” he says quietly, sitting behind his desk as you stand at the other side. You’re playing absentmindedly with your fingers, barely listening to him, only staying where you are to avoid another hour of detention today. “I know you’re usually very loud in class, word gets around easily here, but you’re staring at your classmate a lot.”

“And?” You ask, not really seeing the point. In your mind, he should be thankful you’re not a disruption.

“Is… is there anything you want to tell me? About Kenny?”

“Who’s Kenny?”

“… that’s the boy you keep staring at,” he says slowly, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Ah, you think to yourself. That’s his name.

“Listen, (Y/N), I want you to know you’re always welcome in my classroom. This is a safe space for you, okay?” His voice goes to a whisper as he says, “I have a boyfriend, so we aren’t so different after all.”

“I’m not gay,” you spit out quickly, the venomous tone of your voice not deterring him.

“I know it can be hard to admit at first, and at your age I understand the confusion within yourself. Just know you can talk to me, okay? And try to pay more attention in class? I know you’ve got it in you.”

Without word you pick your backpack up from the floor, slinging it onto your shoulders and leaving. Just as you exit the main doors, noting the dark clouds low in the sky, you’re called back by one of the vice principals, ordering you to your detention.

“C’mon, it’s Friday,” you groan, walking backwards to stare at the teacher as you walk away.

“I’ll call your parents!” She threatens, whipping her flip phone out of her pocket.

“Oh yeah? What are they gonna do? Fuck off,” you laugh, throwing double middle-fingers at her, which lands you in three hours of detention.

At five thirty you’re released, an absolutely sour look on your face as you walk down the pavement. There’s a seedy part of the city that has a 7-Eleven you’ve been to so often you know the workers’ shifts. All of them are pretty nice, though all very tired of life and if you had to hazard a guess, mildly suicidal. At least that’s the look in their eyes, and you don’t blame them - customer service is one of the most horrid jobs in history. Friday evenings Alan has shift, and he’s rather nice, but upon opening the freezing door to the inside, you don’t see him. The door shuts behind you and you wander the aisles for a little while - you don’t have much change, you note as your fingers fiddle with the coins and bills in your coat pocket.

Several minutes later your attention is brought to the weather - it’s snowing, bad, and you groan internally at the wind force practically blowing down the stop sign out front. The few trees that survive in the city are barely hanging on now, flimsy limbs and branches ripping away from the main trunk. Again you groan, a grimace on your face when you think about having to go home in that. With a calming sigh you turn back to the hotdogs, spinning slow and peaceful in the warm light.

Heaven is one big 7-Eleven, you think to yourself. One of the very few things that calms you down is rotating hot dogs that probably aren’t real meat.

From the corner of your eye you can see someone else enter, but the wind blasting through the doors is enough for you to turn your head.

It’s Kenny.

Of course it’s him.

Gulping you turn back to the hot dogs, hoping beyond belief that Alan will get back soon. Kenny is the only person that’s ever rendered you speechless, the only one that’s ever made your cheeks blush without a word. Even in fluorescent light he seems to glow, peaceful and careful as his fingers drag a feather touch across a row of snacks. He hasn’t noticed you, not yet, so you have time to plan out how to hide from him. Instantly you turn to the cash register, wondering if you’d get kicked out of Alan found you hiding behind the counter.

Too late - you can feel his eyes turn to you, burning into the back of your neck as you hold a viselike grip on the edge of the plastic red counter.

“Um, do you, uh, work here?” He asks, now standing directly behind you. Trying to smile, you turn to face him, feeling your heart burn with the speed it beats at.

“No, I - I just know the guys who work here, I don’t know where they are now, though,” you say, oversharing a little bit and praying he doesn’t notice. He’s right in front of you, half confused as his lips part just barely, brows furrowing above grey eyes. You can practically feel your legs giving out beneath you, but he turns to the door before you fall in front of him. Practically gasping for air as he leaves your personal space, you watch as he goes to open the door.

“Is... is this supposed to be locked?” He asks.

“No, it shouldn’t be,” you breathe out, making your way over to the door to try and open it. It’s stuck, hard - you even back up to kick it and it doesn’t budge.

“Wait, you’re… you’re (Y/N), aren’t you?”

“You know me?” You ask incredulously, even though it’s not that farfetched that he would know your name.

“Of course I do, you’re like a legend at school,” he says, getting quieter as his sentence ends. As he fiddles with his fingers, awkwardly trying to look somewhere else, you can’t help but stare as you nearly always do.

“I’m flattered,” is what you manage to say, just as choked and embarrassed as him.

“I’ll stay out of your way, just - just don’t beat me up?” He requests, holding his hands up defensively as he backs away towards the corner of the small store.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I don’t do that,” you say, taken aback by his words. You know your reputation isn’t great, but you didn’t think it was that awful - you’d never beat up an innocent person and you didn’t plan on starting. “What are you doing here anyway? I haven’t seen you here before.”

“Um, my friend… he told me to meet him at the library, but the weather got bad and I needed to get inside,” he explains, still not meeting your eye.

God you’re perfect, you think to yourself in reaction to nothing in particular - he’s just so beautiful, so supple you can’t help but wonder what he’d feel like with his bare skin against yours. More than anything you want to belong to him, which you realize is strange for you; generally you enjoy others belonging to you, but… Kenny is different for no reason, but he’s so incredibly special you can’t understand your infatuation beyond the fact that it’s insurmountable and achingly enduring.

“I might be able to make a flamethrower,” you say, trying to think of ways to not be suffocated by nearness to the object of your unending affections.

“Wait, a flamethrower? What -“ he follows you frantically as you begin to search for flammable sprays - “what for!?”

“The door is frozen shut, we might be able to get out if I melt the ice away,” you say quickly, but he’s pulling at your arms to stop you from digging through the shelves. At the force you whirl around, face to face with him as your chest practically touches his, and in an instant you can’t breathe for fear of losing the moment. You both pause, frozen into shock before he steps back like you’re poison.

“I don’t think that’s, uh, necessary,” he says slowly, and just as slow you agree, nodding as you put the lighter away.

“Sure. You have a phone?”

“No, you?”

“I keep mine at home,” you mumble, untensing as the adrenaline of the moment fades away.

“Well this sucks,” he huffs, crossing his arms and turning awkwardly to the shelves as though he didn’t want you to see his face. “At least it could be worse.”

“No, don’t say that, the power’s gonna go -“

Darkness falls over the store and the heating system goes quiet, the dull background hum going out. A loud sigh comes out of you, letting your eyes accustom to the dark before thinking of what to do next.

“I think we might be stuck here till morning,” you grumble, the dim light of streetlamps casting a gold glow over the various rows and, of course, putting Kenny in a perfectly beautiful light. You can practically feel the blood rushing into your cheeks, and you quickly look away with crossed arms.

“I’m… sorry,” he says rather suddenly, just barely making his way closer to you.

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. “A beautiful coincidence.”

“… beautiful?” He asks, confused by your wording - it can’t possibly be a good thing to him.

“Yeah, I -“ you look over at him, fiddling anxiously with his fingers as he looks up at you - “Never mind. You tired?”

“No, don’t think i will be for a while,” he says, sitting with his back against the refrigerated drinks, the back of his head clunking against the cold glass.

“I’ll get a flashlight and a boardgame,” you tell him, the only idea in your head that didn’t sound stupid; the entire time you’re looking through the back for games, you’re kicking the thought of cuddling him out of your mind. The situation is perfect, far too perfect for it to work out well. Besides, these types of things generally don’t work out for you - as previously said, you’re a bit of an asshole, and that trait has a tendency to screw you over.

He just sits and waits, and when you come back a good five or ten minutes later, he’s still sitting in the same position. It strikes you as odd how he hasn’t even fidgeted considering how much he was doing it earlier, but you just shine the light in his face and cackle when he winces away from the brightness.

“All they had is chess. I guess Marie took back her game, which is fair,” you add as you sit yourself down across from him, putting the box in the middle of you two. “She got fired a while back and didn’t get her game when she left. I helped get her a key for the backroom,” you recall, chuckling, but Kenny looks partially terrified, so you stop.

“You know how to play?” He asks, rubbing his hands together as he starts setting it up.

“A bit. My brother tried to teach me when we were little, I never caught on much though,” you say, thinking distantly of how your brother was doing in university. “He’s a big math guy, loves strategy games like this.”

“So you don’t like strategy…?” He asks slowly, as though worried he’d offend you - you just shrug.

“It’s not that. I’m… just more of a romantic guy.”

For a good three seconds he doesn’t breathe, but when you raise your eyebrows questioningly, he picks up again with an absent nod. Once the last pieces are set into place, he does a quick run-through of the rules, and by the end of it you’re fully aware you’re going to lose at least the first few rounds. Neither of you have a grasp on time as you go through the first round, then the second, and onto the third - you lose very fast, that’s all you’re aware of. He’s sweet about it, for which you’re confused if not thankful. If you were to play chess with some of the people you hang with, they’d be mean about winning and they’d cheat on you, which is fair; you’d do the same to them. Now you’re being nice, trying to actually understand the game, and he’s being a complete sweetheart about teaching you the rules.

It isn’t something you’re used to, but it’s something you could be used to, and something you want to be used to - this sort of kindness. Despite all the thoughts running rampant in your head you manage to stay concentrated on the game - well, him more so than the game - and it almost feels like he might like you. That’s an improvement, you think to yourself, recalling his initial fear of you.

“Could I ask you something? If you don’t mind,” he requests after you both come down from a laughing high, and you agree easily. It’s only far too easy to be open with him. “There’s lots of stories that go around about you - there’s this one, this one’s my favorite, mostly because I don’t think it really happened, but it is really funny.”

“Really? Well, rumors are half right sometimes. What horrid thing did I do this time?” You ask, using the bottle opener on your swiss knife to pop open a beer bottle.

“It’s mostly just… inappropriate, not that it was a particularly ‘bad’ thing. I heard you… slept with Isla and Gianna like, at the same time, like every high school boys’ dream. The guy I heard tell it said you snuck into a sleepover or something?” He says slept like it’s disgusting, so that paired with absolutely everything else about him you assume he’s very unexperienced.

“That’s an interesting story, which I - I don’t usually tell the truth about,” you confess, waiting for him to make his next move in the game, but the moment never comes. He’s far too engrossed in your conversation, and as wonderful as it feels to be having a real conversation with your crush, you can’t help but hate the subject.

“Will you tell the truth this time?” He asks, quiet and sincere in a way that you don’t fully expect. It pushes you to trust him just a little bit more, and it’s all you need for the truth to come out for the first time about that story.

“I went to sell them some weed because they called me up n’ said they’d pay the price for bothering me so late at night, so y’know, I said ‘fuck it,’ you only live once right? I climbed into Gianna’s window for this too, and then they offered for me to share it with them. To be fair to myself I wasn’t feeling… too great about myself,” you grow quiet, “so I said yes. And then they started bringing up sex, and they kept trying to get me to make a move on them, but I wasn’t really feeling it. I didn’t want to do it, but it.. sort of happened anyway?”

He’s quiet, sort of nodding his head but he’s too far in thought to commit to the motion fully.

“Why haven’t you told anyone the truth before?” Is what he asks at first, and you breathe out a sigh of relief when you realize it’s one of the easier questions.

“Didn’t want to seem like a pussy, that’s why,” you scoff, taking a smooth swig from your bottle. “It’s not a big deal anyway.”

“Kind of sounds like it,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a virgin,” you say, that asshole part of yourself that you were so worried about earlier rearing it’s ugly head. Right on time too, right when you could’ve opened your heart.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin. You know what they say,” he says defensively, leaning back against he glass.

“Oh? What’s that?”

“The safest sex is no sex at all.”

“Yeah, and abstinence won’t get you pregnant 99.99% of the time,” you laugh. When he just looks confused, you explain, “Virgin Mary, dude.”

He opens his mouth to let out a tiny ‘oh,’ and at last the game is resumed. Throughout the next several rounds he asks more questions, but those times he doesn’t ever lose track of the game turns. By the end of the night, when you’re both finally yawning with dewey eyes, you’ve only won one round, which you’re very proud of.

“At least I beat you once,” you remark as you help him look for blankets to stay warm with. “I won a round against Mr. Chess Master.”

“And I won fourteen rounds against Mr. Sex,” he says, his eyes bulging out of his head as his hand slaps over his mouth once he realizes exactly what he’s said. You turn to him, shocked yet pleasantly surprised to find him so flustered. Dreadful is how you’d describe him, dreading your full reaction.

“Those aren’t the rounds that matter if I’m Mr. Sex,” you respond, trying to remain as smooth and deep as possible when you wink to punctuate your sentence. His mouth falls open when his hand drops back to his side, and you walk out of the storage room with a small smile.

You heave a massive sigh, gathering yourself back together once the door shuts behind you. It only takes a few seconds before he’s following you, but it’s all that’s necessary for you to gain your chill again.

“It’ll probably be easier to sleep back here,” you say, gesturing vaguely to the entirety of the backroom - it’s a tad warmer and carpeted, which is a plus for comfort. The one office chair is cheap and heavily scratched by god knows what, so you roll it into the corner and lay out a blanket on the floor. It’s not an especially nice blanket, which is what you expected. The only real source of warmth you have access to is the leftover coats from employees who didn’t care to take theirs home.

As you lay down on the blanket, covering yourself in a too-large trench coat, you wonder of the different ways the evening could progress. In fact it’s all you can think about, all your brain can stress about when Kenny lies down right beside you. He has his coat as a pillow, and without word you offer your coat to help cover him - he declines, mumbling something about how he’s already warm.

I could kiss him right now, you think, the thought sending shivers of anxious excitement and fear through your veins. He’s staring at the ceiling, and though your body is facing the same direction you’re looking at him, watching the slow movement of his chest and the tired blinking of his eyes. Or we could leave and never talk again.

You don’t know what you’re doing, hardly aware of your own movements as the back of your fingers caress the side of his face, pushing unruly hair away from his eyes. His breath catches in his chest for a moment before he turns to you, eyes wide but curious despite the obvious fear.

“You’re really handsome,” he barely gets out, a whisper that he stumbles over. Judging by his uncertainty in himself you’re confident in saying he’s being sincere - that and the fact that nothing about him insinuates he’d lead you on like that. There’s so many silent words shared between you, a bond that one hold tights while the other wonders how it’s possible.

One wrong move, you think, one wrong move and I fuck this up, just like everything else. The urge to hold him close, to grab his hands and keep them intertwined in your own runs strong through your cold fingertips, but you wait. You wait for him to make the first move, but he doesn’t even blink; he’s far too enraptured in the way your lips part just slightly, the way your eyelashes flutter when you glance nervously up and down.

“I really like you,” you say, though the words don’t fully come from your conscious self. Something grabs you, ties away your thoughts and says what you mean - exactly what you mean, something you hardly ever do. He reaches up towards your hand lying dormant beside his cheek, trailing over your skin till he tangles his fingers in yours, holding your hand tight in his as he presses a kiss to your knuckles. The entire time you stare, watching his eyes flit downwards as a blush you can barely see in the dark crawls up into his face.

In a swift movement the old coat is off of you, crumpled in some corner as you rest your forearms on either side of his head, supporting your body held above him. His breathing picks up and at last he finally looks into your eyes again, careful to watch for any sign of what comes next, but even you aren’t sure as to what you’re doing. Still you move down, inching closer till your lips press against his.

He’s clearly startled, even though he immediately moves against you, kissing up into you even if his hands don’t know where to go. In your position you can do very little, but you manage to thread your hand into his hair, tugging on it lightly as you move deeper, pulling a tiny, broken hum from him. When his hands wrap around your wrists it’s painfully obvious he’s never done this before, so you break away, letting the both of you breathe and smile when it’s finally, fully, consciously realized what just happened. It’s so starkly different than any other romantic encounter you’ve had, so openly loving and yielding you wonder if you’ll ever be able to kiss anyone but him again.

“I’ve waited so long to do that,” you murmur, letting your head fall into the crook of his neck. He almost laughs, breathy and unsure as he runs his fingers down your spine.

“You could’ve done it sooner,” he tells you, whispering the words into your ear, his lips tickling the edge of it as he speaks. “I’ve had a crush on you for months.”

“Really?” You ask, pulling away to look at him fully. He stammers when you rest your weight on his hips, the heat of your thrill burning through the layers of clothes to intoxicate him. “I haven’t ever seen you look at me once in class.”

“We have class together?”

“I sit behind you, Kenny. English class,” you chuckle, watching his lips purse together in embarrassment.

“I mostly watch you during lunch. I - I never said anything because… well, you know why,” he mumbles, once more unsure of where his hands are supposed to go, so he crosses them on his chest.

“I know,” you say, quiet as you think over your words. “You still could’ve come up to me, but… this works too.”

He breaks into a grin, giggling when you join him till you’re both coming down from a high - as the wide grins dissolve into contented smiles, you kiss again, moving slow and soft, softer than the girls you’d been with, sweeter and more innocent than any love you’ve known.

“It’s strange you know,” you mumble against his lips, interrupting yourself by kissing him again. “I usually go for degenerates, you know, people like me?” You kiss him again, deep and needy - “but God, I’ve never adored someone as much as I adore you.”

“Really?” He manages to get out amidst your attack, trying to get ahold of a rhythm you could kiss him to but you’re chaotic, switching from his lips to his jawline and pressing kisses up his neck.

“Yeah,” you rasp out, the beginnings of a hickey blooming red on his neck.

“Oh, I - oh, don’t leave a mark,” he says, but by the way he tugs at your hair and pulls you closer, you’re sure he really wants you to.

“Let me guess, strict parents?” You ask, pulling away to look at your work. He nods as though it’s something to be ashamed of, but you just sigh and smile, tracing his jawline with your fingers. “This is probably the only time we’ll be able to make lots of noise, though.”

“You mean this’ll happen more times?”

“If you want it to. I want it to,” you say, watching as he nods furiously.

“Yes, please,” he practically whimpers, pulling you in for another searing kiss, his new ferocity biting at your lips and making you moan. You’re grinding on him, hardly realizing your actions before you’re both far too worked up from the friction.

“Fuck, I need you,” you say, your hands going up his shirt to scratch at the soft skin there.

“I haven’t ever done this before,” he tells you, almost glaring at you when you mumble, ‘I knew it,’ but the glare is quickly cut short when you palm at him through his jeans.

“Do you want this? We don’t have to, you deserve better,” you stop for a moment, letting your hand grip at his hip while the other strokes soothingly through his hair.

“Better than a quick fuck in the back room of a 7-Eleven? Probably,” he says, a smile breaking across your face at his humorous tone. There’s a delight that runs through you when you hear him swear, but you try not to think about it. “But I don’t think either of us are gonna be able to sleep well with… this.”

“Fair enough,” you say with a shrug, pulling him back into a kiss.

With fumbling hands he works at your pants, managing to unbutton the ragged material and push them partially down your hips. You do the same for him before pulling his shirt off, kissing down what you find to be a surprisingly toned chest. For as much as he’s bullied he’s incredibly attractive and rather fit, and for a second you wonder why he’s bullied so much, before remembering a lot of people are pretty racist, and the whole ‘being gay’ thing was pretty obvious to everyone.

A long, saccharine moan is pulled from his lips, forcing you to think only of him. At the sound you practically gape, a sudden virility going straight to your cock, which is now straining painfully against your boxers. You can’t remember what it was you did that made him moan like that, so you do everything you think could work - it proves a lot for him to handle. Tiny gasps leave him as you trace your fingernails over his chest, biting tiny love marks into his ribs as your own chest occasionally rubs against his crotch.

“(Y/N), please, just friggin’ touch me,” he whines, his head thrown back and staring blankly at the ceiling, too focused on the sensations to care. You almost laugh at his desperation, but when he grabs your hair and practically grinds his dick into your face, you don’t. As demanding as it is you can’t help but acquiesce. You mouth at him through the fabric, and by the time he’s begging you again there’s a prominent wet spot on his underwear from where you sucked. When at last you begin to pull them down he looks at you, watching intently with flushed cheeks as he’s fully exposed to you.

Standing, you undress yourself, making a little show of it when you notice him staring. The moment you finish you’re back on him, just as needy as he is when your bare cock brushes up against his; his shoulders shake at the contact, and he falls back onto the floor, his eyes shut tight. To soothe the ache you kiss him, as tender as it was when you first kissed, and he finally lets out an anxious breath when you part.

“Tell me what you want,” you murmur, running your hand slowly down his chest till you reach his waist, your fingers just barely curling around him and pumping slower than what he deems should be possible.

“I just need you, anything, please,” he replies, breathy and still as wanting as ever.

“God, you really like begging for me, don’t you?” You tease, smirking when he just whines as you speed up your pace. With a kiss to his neck you whisper in his ear, “I love hearing you moan, though.”

“Then make me moan,” he says thoughtlessly, regretting his words when you smirk and move down his body. Regret is the last thing on his mind however, once you wrap your lips around the tip of his dick, sucking and practically drooling as you pump him.

“You taste wonderful,” you hum, attempting to take him deeper.

As experienced as you are it’s chiefly with girls (even if you aren’t as attracted to them, it’s just easier to pretend like you are), and this would technically be the first time you’ve sucked dick. It’s a lot harder than girls make it seem, you note to yourself, but try to take him deeper anyway. A long whine tumbles from his lips when you both realize you don’t have a very strong gag reflex and take him to the hilt, sucking and still roaming the expanse of his thin waist with your hands. He’s close, you can feel him twitch in your mouth, paired with the precum dripping off him and into you, but he yanks you away by your hair and pulls you up for another passionate kiss.

“What about you?” He asks, panting, and you almost laugh again - it’s so odd for someone to ask about you first.

“The sight of you like this is enough for me,” you assure him, laying wet kisses that have his eyes fluttering into the back of his head down his neck and onto his shoulder.

As you continue pumping him, focusing the majority of your energy on sucking a hickey into his skin, you hardly notice yourself grinding against him. In fact you only realize you’re doing it when his legs wrap around your hips, pulling you in till your cocks are slotted next to each other, both achingly hard. The intensity of it has both of you coming soon after, the imprint of your nails a semi-permanent fixture on Kenny’s hips, paired well with the blossoming hickey on his clavicle. He’s not the only one marked up by the end, though - angry red streaks line your back from his scratching, and you only notice when you collapse on your back beside him.

“Would you happen to have a rag?” He asks, both of you breaking into giggles soon after.

“I’ll go get paper towels,” you offer, reaching for your underwear before realizing you need to clean up before putting on clothes. Instead you peck his forehead, leaving him smiling as you leave the room.

Eventually you’re both cleaned up, clothes on, and the trench coat is covering the both of you, cuddled tight in the back room of 7-Eleven. When the story gets out, as all stories do at some point, there’s a lot of varying accounts on what happened in the night. The most popular, and probably your least favorite, was that you terrorized him the entire night, and though most people don’t believe it considering how close you and Kenny act, it’s still the most popular. Another theory was that you introduced him to drinking and you stayed up with him all night, drunk out of your minds; you don’t mind that story as much, but he does, so you try to tell people that isn’t what happened.

He does ask at one point if he’s allowed to talk about your relationship, and your answer is an ardent yes, which surprises him. You adore every part of him, and you find no shame in that, even if he thinks you should. Sure, you do get bullied a lot more, but it’s nothing brass knuckles don’t sort out quickly.

It’s an odd pairing, you acknowledge that. Punk doesn’t usually go well with sweetheart nerd, but it works surprisingly well, and for that you’re endlessly grateful. In-between classes you run by his locker even though you’re on separate sides of the school, always kissing him before each class. Your little expeditions leave you late to every class but English, and by the end of the year all your teachers hate you as usual with the exception of Mr. Davis.

“You concentrate a lot better these days. Did my talk help you out any?” He asks after class one summer day. Kenny is waiting outside the class, so you try to find a quick answer.

“Well… a little. I talked to Kenny at least,” you answer with a smile, bidding him a kinder good-bye than you usually give your teachers, saluting him as you close the door.

“Everything alright?” Kenny asks, walking shoulder to shoulder with you down the empty halls of the school.

“Everything’s perfect, sugar,” you answer, your arm hanging around his shoulders.

#kenny al bahir x reader #kenny al bahir #war at home #rami malek x reader #rami malek #male reader

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

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Roguish Women Part 18

Summary: Kate Rosseau is an American who fled to Paris to escape her past life. Now she's dancing and playing the part of a courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. There she meets Tommy Shelby who thinks she can be useful in expanding his empire. But has he been blinded?

Part 18: John cuts Angel Changretta and Kate realizes the danger they’re all in.

It was strange returning to Small Heath knowing things would be different. Grace and Tommy were married. Tommy knew how Kate truly felt about him. Churchill was dishing out orders. But Kate continued to work, waking up every morning at the same time and getting to the office at the same time without fail. It was as if she was watching herself go about her routine. Sitting on the sidelines, just watching herself work like a machine. She needed no thanks or acceptance. She just needed reassurance. That reassurance was waking up every morning in a safe place.

But there was trouble bubbling below the surface. In a strange way, Kate was grateful for it. It was reminiscent of her past. Always keeping on her toes because something bad was always just around the corner. It gave her something else to think of instead of being hung up on Tommy. If she accepted the chaos, there was nothing else to fret about.

For such a long time, the chaos was a game to her. The dangers were very real, but she tried her best to remove herself emotionally. She couldn’t be scared if she laughed at the danger. But when she played with fire, she got burned.

~~~~~~

“Kate, you ought to just get a pair of boots to muck up if you’re gonna come down here so often,” Charlie commented from his seat in the yard. He was reading the newspaper, his feet propped up as if he were in a parlor.

“Lucky for me Tommy pays me to get my shoes dirty.” Kate smiled and picked her way through the muck. It was almost becoming second nature. “I have things that need to be sent to London. Sensitive things, can’t go through the mail.” She explained.

“To Alfie?”

“The very same.” She handed Charlie the documents. “I don’t have the time or the patience to go right now.”

“You have been busy.” He noted. Although Charlie wasn’t one to frequent the office where Kate did most of her work, he had seen her flitting about Birmingham like a bee.

“Takes my mind off of things.” She explained. That’s when she heard talking around the corner. “You have company?”

“John ‘n Arthur are meeting with some Italians.” He shrugged.

Kate immediately froze. The trouble started to seep through the surface. And she didn’t have enough time to run before on older gentleman rounded the corner with two associates. He looked frustrated but that expression faded to recognition when he saw her standing there.

“Kathleen?”

She swallowed and felt every muscle in her body lock up. “Um…Charlie, could I have a moment alone?”

Tommy’s uncle frowned but got up with a grunt. “Fine, s’not like it’s me own fucking yard.” He grumbled under his breath as he made himself scarce.

“Alone, Vincente.” She reiterated; her eyes flicked to the two burly men flanking him.

The man nodded and waved the two off. “Go to the car.” He spoke to them in Italian.

Once they were completely alone, Kate allowed herself to note any escape routes she could take. “Why are you here? I didn’t know you did business with the Shelbys.”

“Why am I here?” He chuckled. “Cara, I think you have a bit more explaining to do.”

Defensive, Kate fiddled with the lapel of her coat, knowing her pistol was holstered at her side. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“You’ve been gone for years. We all thought you were dead.” Vincente continued.

“That doesn’t surprise me, seeing as your son sold me out to Santo.” She retorted.

After an aggravating meeting with two of the Shelby brothers, Vincente wasn’t looking for more strife. He had never seen the young woman as a threat. “Luca’s busy with things in America. He doesn’t wish you ill.”

“Good, then he’ll leave me alone. You should all leave me the fuck alone.”

He tutted and shook his head. “You’ve been running for so long. Perhaps you stop running now.”

“I have stopped running.” She insisted.

“Santo is in London.” He informed her.

The walls were closing in on Kate. She wanted to urgently run. Run somewhere else. Somewhere much farther than she’d been before. Suddenly, Tommy’s protection seemed flimsy. “He should leave London. I have allies there who are much stronger than he is.”

“Kathleen, you should sit down and talk to him. You never run from your debts.”

If Tommy’s protection wasn’t enough. If Alfie’s wasn’t enough either, then she only had herself. And although she wanted to disappear again, she was tired. She didn’t want to keep running the rest of her life. So, she stood her ground. “If that man comes near me, the only thing he should expect is a bullet in his head. I don’t care if I start a war. I don’t care if I have to fight off everyone. I will. No one will ever force me into something, not him, not you, no one. I would die before I marry that man.”

Vincente didn’t seem too uneasy about her threats. “If you won’t listen to me about Santo, then listen to me about these fucking gypsies. They’ll get you killed. Or you’ll get them killed. You won’t have Santo to blame for that, you’ll have yourself to blame for that. That’s why you don’t create ties, cara, you risk their lives.” He nodded, adjusted the collar of his coat and walked past her.

Kate felt like her heart was in her throat. She wanted to scream, wanted to tear her hair out, she wanted Santo Leoni dead.

~~~~~~~~~

The news about Santo swirled around Kate’s head but she couldn’t get a hold of Tommy. He seemed all over the place and Polly wasn’t much help getting her in contact with him. She was oblivious to all the other trouble kicking off around the Shelby empire. It was hard to keep track when she had her own issues. She just wasn’t sure how her issues overlapped with the brothers.

Not until Tommy came into the office, walking like he was storming into war. He stopped by Kate’s desk first.

“What do you know about jewelry?”

“That’s the first thing you say to me after I haven’t seen you in days?” She didn’t look up from her paperwork. She had cultivated a rather unhealthy routine of overworking herself in order to become exhausted. That way she didn’t stay up all night, jumping at every little noise thinking it was an intruder.

“You were never one for pleasantries.” He remarked, pacing back and forth between the small space of her doorway.

“But I did ask that you speak to me respectfully.” She reminded him of their conversation outside of the wedding reception.

Tommy stifled a noise of frustration. “Good to see you, Kate, how’ve you been?” He asked sarcastically.

She looked up. “Absolutely terrible, how about you?”

“Likewise.”

“Sit.” She allowed him further into the office. “I need to tell you something.”

“I’m on a tight schedule.” Even still, he sat down and pulled out a cigarette.

She took a deep breath and weighed her options. She could further burden Tommy or she could wait for his mess to settle. If it ever did. “Okay, fine.”

“What do you know about jewelry?” He asked the question he had entered with again.

“Some bits, not as much as Alfie. He noticed that one of my necklaces only had two real diamonds from across the room.” She recalled.

“Alfie…” Tommy stared at the clock on the wall for a moment, suddenly realizing something. “That’s a good idea, Kate.”

“What is? Why do you need to know about jewelry?” She asked.

“Tommy!” Michael called from the other end of the hallway.

He stood up and nodded for Kate to follow. “Walk with me, I’ll tell you more.”

They headed down the hall to Michael’s office.

“Polly called.” Tommy’s cousin informed them. “Something happened.”

~~~~~~~~

Despite not knowing what happened, Tommy brought Kate along to the betting shop. There, Polly and Arthur were already sat at the table by the fire. Tommy made a beeline for the bar, pouring himself a drink. He figured he would need one, no matter what the issue at hand was.

“What happened?” Kate sat down.

“John didn’t listen to us,” Arthur said, loud enough so Tommy would hear him on the other side of the shop. “Didn’t apologize or compromise. He went and cut Angel Changretta this morning.”

“What?” Kate’s eyes widened.

A moment later, John entered the betting shop with Finn. Kate didn’t waste time in tearing into him.

“Are you insane?” She shouted.

None of the Shelbys knew what to do. The anger was expected from anyone but Kate who they assumed didn’t have a horse in the race.

John blinked a few times and looked to his brothers and aunt for any help. But none of them had any.

Tommy cleared his throat and looked to Kate. “You know the Changrettas?” He asked.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek, weighing her options. She could confess to a whole lot, or just skirt her way around the full truth. “Vincente’s son, Luca, runs a big organization in America. New York, specifically but he still made it a point to…be a pain in my ass. And now John’s gone and poked a sleeping bear. Are you fucking crazy?”

“He deserved what was coming to ‘im.” John retorted. “I ain’t gonna compromise or apologize to any wops.”

Kate was fuming but it was all sourced from fear. “You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself and the rest of your family into. These men are dangerous, they have armies. If you mess with one of them, you mess with all of them and they won’t stop until you and everyone in your life pays.” She insisted in a harsh tone. “So, you better go to Vincente and get down on your knees for forgiveness. Trust me, groveling a little will be less painful than being killed.

Polly looked alarmed at the knee-jerk reaction Kate had to just the name of the family. “I agree with Kate. There’s no need to make this into anything bigger. This is the last thing we need.”

“Kate isn’t in charge. I think you did well, John, you did the right thing.” Tommy said with a cool demeanor.

“Well?” Kate’s jaw nearly dropped. “Tommy, this is serious!”

“Then we go on the offensive. We’ll take more of their pubs, we'll take two tonight.” He didn’t fully address her concerns and turned to walk away.

“You’re going to get your whole fucking family killed!” Kate yelled after him. “How dare you gamble with their lives!”

Tommy snapped. “Aye? How dare I? How fucking dare I?” He whipped around and stormed towards her. “Because I fucking can and I fucking will. If you’re so scared, then you jog on but you don’t yell at me brother about what he’s done.”

She didn’t cower away from him. She stood her ground and glared back at him. “You’re so blind. Blind to everything around you. Blind to danger. Blind to threats. Blind to your liar of a wife!” She shouted right in his face before leaving the shop with a huff.

Polly, John, and Arthur couldn’t do anything but watch in utter shock. The dynamic between Kate and Tommy had changed drastically, and since they weren’t privy to the reason why, it was absolutely dumbfounding. They’d gone from bantering back and forth to acting like they’d torn each other’s hearts out.

When the door slammed, Tommy flipped over the nearest chair. “Fuck!” He shouted and against his better judgment, he stalked after Kate. The door slammed again and Polly looked over at her nephew’s. She stood up and went to retrieve her book from the other room. As she walked past John, she gave him a well-earned smack upside the head.

~~~~~~~~

“Kate!”

She heard Tommy calling after her but continued on down the street, going back home to take get a smoke.

“Kate!” He shouted after her but when she didn’t turn around, he jogged a few steps to catch up to her.

She reacted violently when he grabbed her arm to stop her. “Stop touching me!” She snarled and whacked his hand off of her.

“If you have something to say about Grace, you better fucking say it. I’ve had enough of your attitude.” He spoke in a low voice as if she were a child he was scolding.

It made her even more upset. “She’s lied to you before and she’ll lie to you again. That’s not my issue but if you think I’m going to just sit there and let you walk further into trouble then you’re wrong. You’re walking into something dangerous with the Changrettas and you’re in a relationship that’s based on lies.”

“I make my own decisions. I make decisions for the company. That’s how this works. My relationship is my business.” He tried to keep a steady voice but he was too angry to be cordial.

“Then stop making it everyone else’s business.” She retorted. “If I say anything, don’t immediately correlate it to how I feel about your wife. Don’t push your insecurities on me.”

Tommy let out a sarcastic laugh. “Insecurities. Fucking insecurities.” He rolled his eyes.

Their argument was starting to attract attention. But when people saw it was Tommy Shelby, they were quick to avoid eye contact and keep walking along. “I know what this is about.” He pointed at her. “You’re scared that your protection is going to be compromised. That’s all you’re worried about.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed and she was so close to slapping him for speaking to her in such a manner. “I’ve been here for years. I was at John and Esme’s wedding. I was there when Karl was born. I was there on Black Star Day. I was there on Derby Day. I’ve been there for you, for everyone! Now you’re acting like I’m just using you?” She spat and made sure she didn’t budge an inch to show him she wasn’t backing down. “I’ve tried leaving so many times because I was afraid of what I would bring to your family. But you never let me leave. You always had me stay. Don’t kid yourself, Tommy. I’m not just some woman who works for you.” She turned to walk away again.

He decided not to follow but shouted after her. “You’ll be at Grace’s dinner.”

“Fuck her dinner!” Kate yelled over her shoulder. "I'm not playing nice with her anymore!"

“Kate, you better fucking be there!”

“Well, you better be ready for disappointment because I’m not going!” And with that, she disappeared around the corner.

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snippydippy · 4 years

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Whoops cringe culture is dead and I wrote a Hazbin fan-fic excerpt.

I mean, technically I wrote it back in November, but whatever. Am I embarrassing myself? Probably. Do I care? Marginally. Will I get over it if I just drink? Absolutely. Like what you like, cringe culture is dumb.

Description of hotel layout might be inaccurate, I hadn’t actually looked at the correct layouts for the place until after (thanks VRchat). Oh well. Also a little long for an excerpt but oh well!

———-

Leanne had died recently. Just about a year ago on the day if her tracking of time could be trusted. It was nearly impossible to tell how many hours, days, or weeks had gone by down in Hell. There was no day or night. Just the perpetual, sinister red glow of the pentagram symbol carved into the rock sky that encased every sinner inside this final destination.

Her tracking of time was rough, but she did suspect a year. A year of unending misery, anger, and confusion.

Leanne didn’t understand why she was dammed here. She died young, barely 21, due to circumstances she herself wasn’t ready to face quite yet. Thinking about it made things worse. Her death was an accident, and that’s all she felt comfortable telling others and herself.

She had truly believed herself a good person in life. Sure, she swore like a sailor, and perhaps told a few small lies in her years, but who hadn’t? She had never done anything with the intention of hurting anyone. Never done anything heinous enough to deserve...This. Sharing an afterlife with ruthless thieves, pedophiles, and murderers.

She often tried to cope by telling herself that the criteria for heaven was just impossibly strict. No one got in up there. One must have had to be a perfect cherub who never left their home from birth to make it on that list. Surely. Obviously. There was no other explanation.

Leanne heard about the Happy Hotel on the news like everyone else. She had been sitting at a bar with a mysterious substance in her glass for two hours, not taking a single sip. She would never choose to drink whatever liquid it was they poured into these mugs. She simply didn’t have anywhere else to go that felt any safer. A bar was neutral ground for demons and sinners. No turf wars happened here. You couldn’t die in hell, but you sure could feel everything, so she had been careful to avoid fights.

The idea of the hotel seemed ridiculous, an idea reaffirmed by the laughter that filled the building after the Princess of Hell, Charlie, had given her foolishly passionate speech. A place sinners could go to better themselves? A second chance at redemption? Yeah, right. No one got second chances down here. Your one and only chance was the life you lived. How ridiculous. How absolutely insane. Impossible! Leanne thought all of these things as she hurriedly paid for her drink with the pocket change she had, gathered her tattered coat, and headed for the door.

It could never work. You didn’t leave hell once you got here. There was no way. But...maybe. Just maybe. Leanne didn’t belong here anyway, right? So going through this “program” at the Happy Hotel could actually (but probably not) make things right. She could explain to her majesty that there had simply been a mistake anyway, so staying at the hotel would just be a formality until it was all resolved. That’s exactly what would happen once she arrived. It would have to.

———

Leanne’s doubt only grew the closer she got to the hotel itself. On her way, she had passed by a group of Demons huddled by a radio, listening as closely as they could to the static ridden channel. It seemed the Princess had more to deal with than folks around here laughing at her ideals. She had gotten into a fight with Katie Killjoy, the news anchor on the station. It had started with what sounded like more laughter at her idea, then yelling, then what could only be the sounds of a smack-down.

Leanne drew in a deep breath, let it out with a grimace, and kept walking. It would probably take her a while still to reach the building. Two days, maybe more, but it’s not like she had anywhere else to be.

———————-

When she arrived at the towering building, she was both surprised at its sheer size and confused with the sign alight on top. The bright bulbs held up by wooden frames read “Hazbin Hotel”. Leanne could’ve sworn Princess Charlie had said it was called the Happy Hotel.

She glanced in all directions to see if she had missed anything. Though, based on the fact that this was the only building standing for miles of this size, and the only hotel she knew of that existed in Hell in general, she had to assume she had the right place.

Once she walked up to the front doors, Leanne’s hesitations nearly took over her. Behind those doors, decorated with stained-glass images of apples, was either the solution to all her woes, or the confirmation that she had, in fact, been sent to the right place. And that there was nothing anyone could do about it. Proof that she belonged in Hell.

She touched the golden handle with a hand that had once been human. She closed her eyes, hating being reminded of what her body was now. Her once delicate hands with smooth, human skin had turned into a dark blue, scaled and clawed nightmare. Spreading across her temples now were the same colored scales, and right above her ears now sat a pair of wicked, black spiraled horns. Her nose that she had hated so much in life now looked more akin to a bear’s. Her skin that had once been a healthy tan, now a dull grey, lifeless in hue. A long and thick lizard like tail nervously swished behind her. Even though Leanne was a beast, she supposed she had been more fortunate than others. Most of the dead down here you’d hardly recognize as anything that had ever been human. At least Leanne got to keep her basic human shape.

Enough thinking. Leanne pushed open the door and was met by the smell of an old floral perfume and the sound of a charming tune playing on a piano somewhere deep within. She had stepped inside and waited to hear the door click behind her before opening her eyes once more.

Once she did, Leanne was amazed, frozen in shock for a moment. The place was impossibly clean, practically immaculate. Not a single spec of dust, cobweb, or splatter of blood in sight. The long hallway in front of her seemed to stretch on for half a mile, painted comforting shades of deep red with gold trimming. It was far too nice to be a place in Hell. Leanne even noticed how the temperature was the most comfortable she had felt since she died. Warm enough that she could take her coat off, but cool enough that she wouldn’t sweat with it on.

Dozens of portraits of Princess Charlie, her family, and their associates covered the halls. Leanne stepped over to a painting of who she assumed was Charlie’s father. The name etched into the wood frame at the bottom read “Lucifer~1789”. He looked friendly enough for the ruler of hell. Very pale skin, deceptively rosey cheeks complimenting a charming smile, well coiffed blonde hair, and deep black eyes. He looked so much like the images Leanne had seen of Charlie.

She moved on from the picture, searching for any kind of check-in desk, not quite brave enough to call out for assistance. The first opening to her left thankfully read “Concierge” above the open door frame.

Inside the room were a few old, but comfortable looking chairs that sat empty strewn about, a fire place to the left radiating a calming glow, and at the far end of the room was the concierge desk. Three deer skulls hung on the wall above the desk’s canopy, and below them three signs that struck Leanne as very odd. The middle read “Welcome!” while the two on either side read “Gambling!” and “Booze!”. Wasn’t this place supposed to be about avoiding sin? Maybe they were just a gag.

Leanne couldn’t see anyone at the desk. She saw a silver call bell and instinctively went to ring it, her hand stopping to hover over it. She suddenly thought about bailing right then. There was no guarantee that this place could help her. No knowing for sure if the Princess was even really looking to help anyone. She could just be looking for souls to collect. This whole thing could be a trap-

Her thoughts were cut off by the sound of the bell she had tapped without realizing. She heard an annoyed groan from underneath the counter.

“Fuck, what? I already wiped down the god damn counter.” A demon with a husky voice pulled himself to a standing position to face Leanne. He looked like some sort of cat and owl hybrid. Mostly grey fur with a white face and chest. He had large eyes with dark red scleras and yellow irises, long red eyebrows that extended off his face on either side, an amusing heart shaped nose, and lovely red wings protruding from his back that had what appeared to be card suit markings along some of the feathers. Between his two tall and slender feline ears sat a top-hat of equal height, and a black bow tie rested in the fluff of his chest. He looked at Leanne for a moment in confusion. She couldn’t find the nerve to say anything. He croaked out, “Well, you’re not my boss. You here to check in?”

Leanne felt her tail nervously wrap around her waist as she fiddled with her hands at her chest. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead only quietly cleared her throat and nodded.

The cat-owl demon raised an eyebrow at her before producing a clipboard and pen from the drawer in front of him, “I’m gonna need your name first, lady.”

“Uh..I-It’s, um..Lee. Leanne.” As the man started writing her name down on the paper, Leanne’s head suddenly exploded with questions.

Wait! How does this all work? Was she going to need to tell him how she died? Confess her sins? Would there be some kind of test to see if she could stay? She remembered she had no money. How was she going to pay for this? Had she thought anything through at all!?

Just as Leanne sucked in a panicked breath to tell the other demon to wait, both of them jerked their head towards the sound of a squeal in the doorway. A young girl stood there wearing a white button up shirt with black suspenders, and a smile Leanne thought didn’t belong down here. She was very pale, with beautiful rosey cheeks complimenting a radiant smile, long and well kept blonde hair, and deep black eyes.

Princess Charlie rushed over to Leanne in the blink of an eye. She practically bounced as she spoke, taking Leanne’s hands in her own, “Are you checking in?? Please say yes!”

“Y-yes! Uh, I mean..I-I think so? I would like to?” Leanne bit the inside of her cheek. She’d ramble on forever if she didn’t get a grip, “I-Um. I just have a few questions.”

“Of course! Whatever you need we are here to help with!” Charlie let go of Leanne’s hands and snatched the clip board and pen from the other demon. He grumbled, but didn’t seem too bothered to have his job done by someone else. “What was your name?”

Charlie’s infectious positivity made it impossible for Leanne not to give the faintest of grins, “It’s Leanne, your..majesty? Highness? Princess?” Leanne had no idea how to address royalty of such a place as Hell. It didn’t help that Charlie seemed so different than what she reasonably should be.

The demon princess laughed without a hint of malice, “Just Charlie is fine, Leanne.”

Charlie was madly writing unknown information down on the clip board, and Leanne couldn’t help but notice the other demon eyeing her suspiciously. She tried not to make eye contact, just wishing for Charlie to talk again.

“Okay! Since you are one of our first patrons,” her voice shifted into a sing-song tone, the friendliness a sound Leanne didn’t know she had been craving until this moment, “I put you in one of our sweets!~ Room 331.”

“U-Uh, sorry, but I don’t have any money.” Leanne pulled her hands back to her chest, her tail tightening ever so slightly. She laughed joylessly, “I didn’t really come prepared for this, I guess.”

Charlie tucked the clipboard underneath one arm and took Leanne’s arm in the other, “Well then it’s a good thing you don’t have to pay for this! Husk, hand me her keys please?”

The husky voiced demon who now had a name went to the wall of keys behind him to find 331, tossing them to Charlie when he did.

Leanne was about to speak when Charlie tugged her along to the doorway and out into the hallway. The princess was pulling her toward the sound of the piano, “You’re going to LOVE it here! I’m so happy that my little, ahem, argument issue on the news didn’t keep you away!”

“Right.” Leanne didn’t have the heart to tell her it almost did. “S-So, uh, the questions that I had?..mainly about how I pay for this-“

Charlie held up a hand to silence Leanne, letting go of her arm to lead rather than pull, “You don’t! As long as you are showing progress towards your goal of redemption, you don’t owe anything! Just keep showing us your best behavior! Sound fair to you?”

“Sure,” Leanne tried to sound trusting, smiling the best she could remember how to, “Sounds fair.”

They had finally reached the source of the piano music. It was coming from behind two heavy doors with ‘Ballroom’ written on a sign above them. Along with the instrument, a voice could now be heard. It sounded as though someone was listening to an old 1930s radio host singing a song while playing along to it.

“I’m going to introduce you to my co-manager. He’ll be excited to see we have a second patron!” Charlie sang and pushed the doors open while Leanne thought about how there were only two guests in this ginormous place.

“Alastor, we have a new guest!”

The music stopped abruptly as Charlie spoke, and the one playing the piano stood from the bench and turned towards the two she-demons.

Leanne was terrified of him. Instantly and morbidly. Something about him sent a sub-zero chill down her spin that then went cascading out through her limbs. Her hands felt numb, her mouth felt dry, her head swimming. It was not unlike the feeling right before you wake from a terrible, horrific nightmare. Her tail coiled back around her waist as she tried to calm herself

Alastor was very tall, handsome, and incredibly thin. He wore a deep red pinstriped suit with a black tie in the shape of an upside down cross. His hair was shaggy, red on the top with a line of black around the bottom. Atop the Demon’s head were two small deer antlers, along with two tall tufts of hair that looked like they could be deer ears, matching red with the rest of his hair and tipped black on top.

His eyes were huge, dark red sclera with light red irises. His smile was even bigger, sharp yellow teeth stretching sinister from ear to ear. His skin was a grey similar in dullness to her own. He adjusted the monocle in front of his right eye as he looked over Leanne. His eyes glowed dimly.

Alastor suddenly threw his arms up in an exaggerated show of glee, “That’s wonderful news, my dear!”

His voice was the host Leanne thought she’d heard before. The demon spoke with a transatlantic accent, and it sounded as if there were an old radio transmitter in his throat. “The more the merrier as they say!”

He stepped forward, the sound of tap dance shoes clacking against the floor accompanying his footfalls. Leanne wanted to run away from him. Her mind was screaming at her to leave, forget this whole idea, and never come back. However, her body wouldn’t cooperate and Alastor had an arm around her and Charlie’s shoulders before she could do anything anyway, “We’re so delighted to have you, sweetheart! This place has been so very dull lately with just the few of us mucking about!”

He seemed friendly enough, so what was it about him that made Leanne’s heart feel like it was going to pound out of her chest? She hated him. His energy felt...bad. Wrong. Dangerous. She’d never felt worse about anyone, and that included the other demons she’d met down here. Her hands had gone from numb to sweaty, and yet she felt terribly cold now. This fear was all consuming, and it was touching her shoulders.

“So, what’s your name, mystery doll?” He tilted his head in the most uncanny way, staring down at her with sharp teeth and eyes unblinking.

Leanne’s tongue felt like a lead brick in her mouth, “I..uh...I-It’s-I’m, uh-“

Charlie gave a concerned chuckle, “Her name is Leanne.” She slipped out from under Alastor’s arm and gently touched the other girl’s shoulder, “Are you okay?”

Leanne was thankful to look at Charlie instead of him, and even more so to feel Alastor’s arm drop away from her as he took a step away.

“Y-Yes. Sorry. I’m just..” She glanced at Alastor, and instantly regretted it. His eyes were focused hard on her, his grin wide and full of teeth. Leanne could tell he knew she was feeling this way, “I just, um, g-get nervous around new people. That’s..that’s all.”

Charlie opened her mouth, but Alastor boomed over her, “Well that’s perfectly fine, sweetheart! I was being rude anyway. My name is Alastor, and I’m the co-manager of this fine establishment! I’m sure being here long enough will help you burst right out of that pretty shell of yours!”

“Yes it will!” Charlie clapped her hands together with a little hop, “We have so many activities planned for everyone who comes to stay here! Ice breakers, games, classes, you’ll never be bored and you’ll never not have people to talk to!”

“Assuming more folks do come by, of course!” Alastor added smugly, causing Charlie to shoot him a look.

“More will come, Al. Have a little bit of faith.” She walked passed Leanne to the door way, “If you follow me now, Leanne, I can show you to your room!”

“O-Okay.” She didn’t need to be told twice, grateful to get away from that radio-voiced Demon. She went to follow the princess out the door.

“I can already tell by looking at you, dear.” Alastor started, causing Leanne to stop for a moment. She wouldn’t look back at him. The static in his voice cleared as he spoke, “You’re going to be a very entertaining guest.”

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specialagentsnark · 4 years

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Marriage of Choice - Chapter 3

Happy Kili Tuesday everyone! I hope you’re all doing well and not going too crazy, whether you are stuck at home, work, or elsewhere. Here is Chapter 3 of Marriage of Choice. I will post it on AO3 on Friday or late Thursday night. Please leave comments either here on AO3 if you have a moment. They sustain my fragile writer’s ego.

Happy reading!

Chapter Summary: Nori’s dangerous. Tauriel just wants to relax. Kili’s grateful.

Chapter 3

Tauriel ran her finger along the rotation list, searching for her name. Every other name was listed in cirth, as were the times they were assigned watch and their location. When she found her name written in Westron, she wondered briefly why she even bothered to check any more. It was always the same. Second night watch outside the storage rooms where the mountain’s food was being kept and down by the currently little-used smithies. Just like every other night they bothered to add her to the list. Still, it was better than no work at all. She turned and went to get her breakfast before going in search of something else to work on for the day. Perhaps Bofur would have some use for her, or maybe Bombur. The two were some of the most welcoming dwarrow in the mountain and even they weren’t the most friendly people she’d ever met.

“Where are you off too?”

Tauriel looked to the side. It took her a moment, but she finally found the dwarf that had spoken. Nori stood in an alcove, leaning against the wall and fiddling with one of his knives.

“To find someone that will allow me to help,” she said honestly. After all, lying wasn’t going to get her any work.

Nori straightened and slipped the knife… somewhere. Very skilled, she decided, to be able to keep her from seeing exactly where he hid it.

“Funny you should say you’re looking for work,” he said.

Alarm horns started sounding in the back of Tauriel’s mind at the mischievous smirk dancing on his lips. She’d only seen that look once before, back when a delegation from Rivendell had come to Greenwood some hundred years prior. She’d just been a lowly soldier in Thranduil’s guard. Two of the elves that had been part of it, twins, had sported such a look before they’d created absolute havoc within the noble court. “And why would that be?” she asked and wondered if he would notice if she reached for her knives.

He tipped his head to the side, just slightly as he looked her over. “Face it lass,” he said, “there aren’t many that will live in this mountain that like you, Prince Kili not included. Me, I’m not sure if I like you either, but that doesn’t necessarily matter. I need helpers, ones that I can trust not to doublecross the royal family.”

Tauriel’s eyes narrowed. She had a feeling where this was going. “What are you asking me to do?” she asked.

He brought his hands together, palms flat and let his index fingers rest against his lower lip, the smirk curling into a grin. “Cautious. I like that,” he said and his hands dropped to his sides again. Another knife appeared in his fingers. She kept its motions in her periphery but focused the rest of her attention on his face. “Someone’s out to kill the consort. I need someone that can help me keep that from happening. I know your kind are light on their feet. Think you can sneak around a hobbit?”

Tauriel shifted her weight onto one leg and propped her fist on her hip, her fingers close to the hilt of one of her knives. “Now why do you think I’d be a good choice to follow the consort around?” she asked. “You don’t trust me.”

He snorted. “I don’t trust anyone but my One and even that can be a stretch on some days,” he told her. “You can’t be too trusting in my line of work. Well, either of the ones I’ve ever had. But that’s not the point. What is, is that I’m pretty sure you won’t do anything to break Kili’s heart. You’re his One, after all.”

One. Kili had tried to explain it, the dwarfish belief that their Maker often split their souls in their forging and that when a dwarf found their other half, they became One. She still didn’t quite understand it, but she did understand herself and the way she felt.

She could never intentionally hurt Kili.

“And if you hurt the consort, or allow him to be hurt, Kili will never forgive himself or anyone else that was in a position to help.”

Tauriel huffed a small laugh. “You’re good at manipulation,” she remarked. “What would you have me do?”

“Dwarrow don’t like you, not because of who you are, but because of what you are. They ignore you, pretend you’re not there. I’ve watched and I’ve listened.”

Had he? She didn’t remember that distinctive hairstyle anywhere near her until now.

“They say things around you they won’t say around me. They say things they think you’re too far away to hear, but I see the expression on your face when they say something disparaging about Kili. You hear them just fine. Start paying more attention. Help me find who’s behind the attempts on the consort’s life. Help me stop any attacks that may be coming.”

“You need a spy,” she said bluntly, her eyebrows lifting minutely.

He grinned at her. “You’ll be the first of many,” he promised. “No one will suspect the court’s spymaster’s top agent to be the resident banished elf.”

The reminder of her status in Thranduil’s court left a bitter taste in her mouth. But he had a point. Who would willingly trust an elf near the royal family of what was once the greatest kingdom in all Arda and had the potential to be the greatest kingdom once again? “You’re insane,” she told him, even as a small smile pulled at the corners of her lips. “I’ll listen. How should I report to you?”

“Currently, I can usually be found lurking near the royal family. If I see you there without being on Kili’s arm, I’ll know to come talk to you. I’ll also check in with you on your nightly watches outside the store rooms.”

She opened her mouth to say something and then paused. “You had a hand in that, didn’t you?”

He flashed a smile at her. “Now what makes you think I would have any influence with the Captain?” he asked and secreted his knife away before stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Good luck with finding other work,” he said and walked away, the picture of nonchalance and ease. The way he walked, the way he moved. Nori was dangerous. She was sure of it. How had they ever captured him in Mirkwood?

~*~*~

Only dwarrow were allowed in the throne room for the coronation. Knowing how much dwarrow liked their secrets, it didn’t really bother Tauriel, except for one thing. She’d done as Nori asked and listened. She needed to get to the throne room as quickly as possible and warn him of what she’d heard. The only problem was-

“Where do you think you’re going, Tree-shagger?”

Every single dwarf in the mountain wanted to waylay her.

She dodged the latest dwarf to grab at her. She needed to find Nori immediately.

“Here lass. What’s the rush?”

Tauriel paused in her near dash toward the throne room. She knew that voice. Glancing to the side, she saw a familiar hat topping an equally familiar dwarf beneath it.

“Master Bofur,” she said and relief pushed the breath she’d been preparing to use to shout at someone out in a sigh. “Do you happen to know where Master Nori is?”

“Nori?” Bofur asked, tipping his head to the side. “Last I saw of him, he was-”

“Did I just hear someone taking my name in vain?”

“Lurking right behind me.” Bofur turned. “Nori! Tauriel’s been looking for you.”

Nori’s eyebrows rose a bit. “So I hear,” he said, his smirk making his beard twitch a bit. “Thanks Bofur.”

Bofur glanced between Nori and Tauriel, shrugged, and went on his way. The moment he was out of sight, Tauriel caught Nori’s sleeve and pulled him to the side.

“What do you have for me?” Nori asked.

“Bilbo’s crown is a fake. Gilded with gold leaf. Iron beneath. You’ll have a hard time telling the difference.”

Nori’s eyes narrowed as he looked up at the ceiling. His knife reappeared and he flipped it across his knuckles absently. “Treason, huh? I’d heard whispers. Just didn’t think anyone was fool enough to actually do it. Have any names?”

Tauriel shook her head. “No, but the dwarf you’re looking for has red hair, part of his left ear missing at the top, and speaks like a noble.”

“That narrows it down a bit. Got anything else?”

Tauriel thought back to the dwarf she’d stumbled on while patrolling the halls around the little-used private smithies. He’d had his back to her while he covered the false crown in gold leaf. She didn’t want to alert him to her presence after all but he had turned toward the doorway just as she prepared to leave. “Brown eyes,” she said. “Heavy brows. Looked like his beard might have been cut a bit during the battle. The right side seemed a bit shorter than the left.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Nori asked. “Well done. Keep your ears open for more little tidbits.” With that, he turned and…

Disappeared. Confused, Tauriel went over to where she’d last been able to see Nori. Her hands met solid wall without any imperfections that she could see. Did dwarrow know magic?

With nothing more to do, Tauriel headed back towards the royal wing. She was still trying to decide if Thorin had gifted her rooms there out of gratitude for the healing she’d done for him and his nephews, because Kili had asked him to (she’d never asked Kili if he’d gone to his uncle or not), or because Thorin wanted her in his sight as often as possible.

Whatever the reason, she couldn’t help but feel grateful. Enough dwarrow glared balefully at her on a regular basis. She didn’t want that when she first stepped out of her apartment. Home? Did she consider those rooms within Erebor her home now? She thought of the rooms she had in the barracks back in Mirkwood. Her belongings would still be in there, possibly. Or maybe someone had destroyed them after news of her banishment had gotten out. She’d have to ask next time someone from Mirkwood came to the mountain. Perhaps Legolas-

If she hadn’t been musing on what had happened to her few personal belongings, she would have had a lot more warning than she did. She almost ran straight into the dwarf trying to pick the lock on the currently unoccupied king’s rooms.

He hadn’t heard her though. Sloppy and unobservant.

Bemoaning her new lack of free time, Tauriel stepped up behind the dwarf, drew one of her knives and settled the tip of it against the dwarf’s back. No armor. No lookout. So very sloppy.

Who trained these dwarrow anyway?

It didn’t matter. Only made her life easier.

“What business have you in the king’s quarters?” she asked. No reason to announce that Thorin hadn’t moved into them with Bilbo.

The dwarf snarled something in khuzdul.

“I was under the impression that you weren’t supposed to use the dwarfen language in the presence of outsiders,” she remarked idly and applied a little more pressure with her knife.

“Go shag a tree,” the dwarf snapped.

“You’ll need new material if you think insults are going to make me leave you be,” Tauriel told him.

The dwarf lunged forward, trying to get out of her reach. She stepped with him, grabbed a fistful of his doublet, and slammed him into the door he’d just been trying to unlock. With him pinned, she started going through his pockets. She found a small assortment of weapons.

“You should take lessons from the crown prince,” she told him. “He’s far more adept at hiding blades on his person.” She continued searching and found other sharp, pointy objects as well as a garot. “Going by your assassin’s toolkit, I’ll just assume you’re here to kill the king or his consort.”

The dwarf growled something unintelligible.

“What was that?” Tauriel asked. “I couldn’t understand you with your face smashed against the woodwork.” She hauled him away from the door and started frogmarching him toward the guardhouse.

“You’re robbing me of my free time,” she told the dwarf. “I’d planned to relax during the coronation but you’ve just ruined that.”

The dwarf shouted wordlessly and twisted in her grip. She let him go. If he was going to take away her time to have a long, proper soak in the lovely heated bath in her rooms (Eru bless dwarrow engineering), he might as well provide her with the entertainment of a good fight.

He charged her, the slim, short blade she’d purposely let him keep held in a reverse grip. He slashed at her and she stepped back, out of his reach. With the same motion, she swung and hit him on the side of the head with an open palm. More a challenge than an attack really. Pent up energy not released in the training grounds roiled beneath her skin almost constantly and she finally, finally, had a chance to do something with it.

He cursed at her in khuzdul.

Tauriel tsked at him. “Keep that up and I’ll have to report you to the king.”

“The king will thank me for gutting you like the bi-”

She lunged and jabbed her fist into his stomach, just below his ribcage. He wheezed and coughed, the wind knocked clean from his lungs. He bent double but tried to keep his head up and his knife out to warn her away from him.

She kicked at his hand and the blade spun across the marble floor.

Unarmed, the dwarf panicked. He lunged into her, trying to take her down by hitting her low. She sidestepped at the last second and brought her knee up into his midsection again. Bones cracked against her leg. She swung both fists down, hitting him between his shoulder blades even as he fell to the floor. He didn’t get back up again.

She bent and checked him over. He breathed and his heart still beat, but she had a feeling she’d hit him too hard. His pulse raced harder than the fight called for it too, short as it had been, and he breathed too hard as well.

She cursed under her breath. After tying his hands together behind his back, she hoisted him over her shoulder and left for the guardhouse.

Nori beat her there, dragging in the dwarf she’d seen creating the false crown. She waited for Nori to settle his captive before drawing attention to herself and her burden.

Nori shut the door that separated the guardhouse from the cells. “What do we have here?” he asked and pulled on her captive’s hair until he could see his face. “Oh good. You found him. Where?”

“Trying to enter King Thror’s old rooms,” she said. “I found these on him.” She pulled the weapons she’d confiscated off the dwarf out of her belt and dumped them on a table.

Picking through the pile, Nori nodded. “I knew he wasn’t the soldier he claimed to be,” he said. “Couldn’t decide if he was a common thief or something more though. Good work. Leave him with me. I’ll make sure the right people know he’s here.”

Relief coursed through her. “Thank you,” she said. “I’d really rather not draw attention to myself.”

He smirked at her. “No worries on that one lass. Everyone wants you to not be here so you’ll have the freedom to move. I’ll not be jeopardizing that any time soon. You’ll be useful until you marry your prince.” He reached up to take her burden from her. “Off you go now. Enjoy some free time assuming you don’t find any more would-be assassins lurking somewhere in the royal wing.”

Tauriel inclined her head in acknowledgement of his unspoken request before doing as he said. Perhaps she’d still have time for her bath after all.

~*~*~

Kili greeted Tauriel with a short kiss a few weeks later.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as he took her hand and they started walking toward the training grounds.

“Why would anything be wrong, Amrâlimê?”

Tauriel stopped and waited for him to look at her. When he did, she just raised an eyebrow at him. His shoulders slumped.

“It’s nothing,” he said even as he looked down and to the side. “I just feel like Fili’s avoiding me is all. He’s been busy lately with his new duties now that being crown prince actually matters.”

Tauriel touched Kili’s shoulder gently and he looked up at her eyes again. “I do not have any family,” she said. “I don’t understand your pain or frustration in this. Can I help in any way?”

Kili relaxed a little under her touch. He looked up at her with a small, sweet smile and with his eyebrows drawn together and lifted slightly. His expression coupled with his perpetually disheveled hair lent him the air of a puppy and a feeling of ease settled into Tauriel.

“I thank Mahal every day at least once for bringing you to me,” Kili told her and took her hands. “Having you with me is all I could ever ask or I would be too greedy.”

Tauriel huffed a laugh. “You silly dwarf,” she said and bent to tap her forehead to his. She still didn’t quite understand why the gesture meant something to dwarrow, but it made Kili happy, so she did it.

“Amrâlimê,” he murmured and smiled that sweet, puppy grin again. Together, they went to breakfast and ate with those members of the Company that weren’t already up and about their own duties that day. Fili came in late, sat at the far end of the table, wolfed down a small breakfast while going over some document or other, and then limped his way out of the hall as fast as his crutches could carry him.

Tauriel wouldn’t have even noted him if Kili hadn’t mentioned something already. As it was, she was fairly certain she was the only one that noted the golden prince’s pained glance he directed at Kili.

If asking for help with his brother made Kili feel too greedy in the eyes of his Maker, then she would just take matters into her own hands.

First, though, she had guard duty. Down by the little used public workshops and storerooms. Again.

When she finally resurfaced from her duties hours later (not a soul in sight the entire time), she managed to track Fili down in the newly cleaned and repaired kitchens. He sat at a small table set to the side with a small plate in front of him, nothing but pastry crumbs left on it. She sat across from him without preamble.

“Captain Tauriel,” Fili said, startling slightly when she first entered his line of vision. He glanced around. “Is, ah, Kili with you?”

“As long as I am banished from the Greenwood, I cannot be a captain of their guard.” She settled her hands on the table, clasping them together as she leveled Fili with the most level look she could muster. “Would it be a problem if he were with me?” she asked mildly.

She must not have kept her tone even enough. Fili’s eyes widened a little and one of his hands shifted, his fingers touching the cuff of his coat, reaching for a hidden knife. She resisted the urge to frown. She’d thought she could trust Fili. Maybe she’d been a bit misguided in that. She kept his hands in her periphery, just in case she needed to avoid a thrown dagger at any moment.

“No,” Fili hedged. “Why would there be?”

She ignored him. “Then perhaps you’ve truly been too busy to see him and are now trying to find him.”

He visibly flinched, turning his gaze away from her as he ducked his chin guiltily toward his right shoulder. His fingers continued to toy with the cuff of his sleeve. She could see his finger rubbing against the hilt of the knife there. Easily reached, but he still didn’t draw it. A nervous tick perhaps?

She took pity on him when he didn’t look up after a few moments. “He misses you.”

Fili’s shoulders rose closer to his ears and his frown deepened.

“Why do you avoid him?” She asked curiously. “He wants nothing more than to help you and be at your side as he always has been.”

“But he wouldn’t be at my side, would he?” Fili asked quietly once one of the few kitchen workers bustled by with a tray of fresh apple turnovers. The smell wafted over them and Fili paled and went a bit green beneath his moustache and beard. He swallowed visibly. “He’d be in front of me. I can’t keep up with him anymore.”

“Your Highness?”

Fili scrubbed at his face and muttered something into his palms she couldn’t understand. When he finally pulled his hands away he looked up at her with eyes so different from Kili’s but with a familiarity to them it almost hurt at the anguish lining them, pulling at the corners of his mouth, drawing his skin tight and leaving him slightly pale. “I’ve always been there. His big brother. Always immovable and invincible. Now look at me.” He tapped the crutches that lay on the table next to him, close to the wall. “I can’t even walk.”

Tauriel took a moment to weigh her words carefully. She knew his recent relapse in his recovery ate at him. It would eat at her too if she’d been in his situation, finally walking with a cane only to aggravate the injury and be put on bed rest for days again. He’d only climbed out of his bed a week before.“I was told what you said when you refused to join your uncle when he first traveled from Esgaroth to the mountain. ‘I belong with my brother.’ Perhaps, just as you stayed by his side when he needed help, he only desires to be beside you in your recovery.”

His hand dropped to his leg and he rubbed at it absently, a grimace pulling the lines around his eyes deeper. Something about his expression nudged at something in the back of her mind. She knew that look, but from where?

“I’ll talk to him,” Fili said and his fingers came away from the hilt of the knife up his sleeve. “I’m sorry, Lady Tauriel. I’m sure he hasn’t been the easiest to deal with the last little bit. I know he can be a bit manic when he’s agitated or upset.”

“Don’t apologize to me, unless it’s for calling me ‘Lady’,” she admonished with a half smile. “I love Kili and enjoy every side of him.”

Fili propped his chin in his hand and smirked. “Is that what it’s like to find your One?” he asked. “To understand every little nuannce and bit of insanity your other half deals out to you?”

Movement behind Fili caught her attention. “You tell me,” Tauriel said with a smile and climbed to her feet. “Kili will be early to the council meeting this afternoon.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fili demanded as he reached for his crutches.

“Your Highness?”

Tauriel just smirked when Fili almost fell over when he twisted in surprise. Bard’s eldest daughter stood behind him with one eyebrow raised and an amused smile playing at her lips. Perhaps Kili was right after all. She would need to find Nori and add her own coin to the betting.

~*~*~

Kili found her that evening as she stood on top of the wall and stared at the latest snowfall. He came and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face into her back. She placed her hand over his and continued to scan for lurking orcs.

“Thank you,” Kili murmured after a time.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re referring to,” she said and leaned back a bit, letting him take some of her weight. He shifted and came to stand beside her, one of his arms still wrapped around her back. He leaned his head on her shoulder and stared out at the snow. She draped her arm across his shoulders and he reached up to lace their fingers together.

“Will you help?” he asked. “I know you’re trying to stay busy when I’m not able to be around. Do you think you could help in the infirmary? Maybe see if Oin has anything you can do to help Fili along with his healing?”

Apprehension flared in her stomach, making it twist a little. “I’m not sure the good healer will allow me to assist in anything within his domain.”

Kili snorted. “After what you did to save me, twice now, I’m pretty sure he’ll listen to just about any suggestions you may have.”

She hummed absently. “I’d like to learn more about dwarfish medicine. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind an exchange of techniques.”

“Playing on his intellectual side. I love it when you’re crafty.”

She shook slightly with suppressed laughter. “I’m hardly crafty. I honestly wish to learn.”

“Of course you do,” Kili said and pulled her hand to his lips.

Chapter 3

“Where are you off too?”

Tauriel looked to the side. It took her a moment, but she finally found the dwarf that had spoken. Nori stood in an alcove, leaning against the wall and fiddling with one of his knives.

“To find someone that will allow me to help,” she said honestly. After all, lying wasn’t going to get her any work.

Nori straightened and slipped the knife… somewhere. Very skilled, she decided, to be able to keep her from seeing exactly where he hid it.

“Funny you should say you’re looking for work,” he said.

Tauriel’s eyes narrowed. She had a feeling where this was going. “What are you asking me to do?” she asked.

She could never intentionally hurt Kili.

“And if you hurt the consort, or allow him to be hurt, Kili will never forgive himself or anyone else that was in a position to help.”

Tauriel huffed a small laugh. “You’re good at manipulation,” she remarked. “What would you have me do?”

“Dwarrow don’t like you, not because of who you are, but because of what you are. They ignore you, pretend you’re not there. I’ve watched and I’ve listened.”

Had he? She didn’t remember that distinctive hairstyle anywhere near her until now.

“You need a spy,” she said bluntly, her eyebrows lifting minutely.

He grinned at her. “You’ll be the first of many,” he promised. “No one will suspect the court’s spymaster’s top agent to be the resident banished elf.”

She opened her mouth to say something and then paused. “You had a hand in that, didn’t you?”

~*~*~

“Where do you think you’re going, Tree-shagger?”

Every single dwarf in the mountain wanted to waylay her.

She dodged the latest dwarf to grab at her. She needed to find Nori immediately.

“Here lass. What’s the rush?”

Tauriel paused in her near dash toward the throne room. She knew that voice. Glancing to the side, she saw a familiar hat topping an equally familiar dwarf beneath it.

“Master Bofur,” she said and relief pushed the breath she’d been preparing to use to shout at someone out in a sigh. “Do you happen to know where Master Nori is?”

“Nori?” Bofur asked, tipping his head to the side. “Last I saw of him, he was-”

“Did I just hear someone taking my name in vain?”

“Lurking right behind me.” Bofur turned. “Nori! Tauriel’s been looking for you.”

Nori’s eyebrows rose a bit. “So I hear,” he said, his smirk making his beard twitch a bit. “Thanks Bofur.”

Bofur glanced between Nori and Tauriel, shrugged, and went on his way. The moment he was out of sight, Tauriel caught Nori’s sleeve and pulled him to the side.

“What do you have for me?” Nori asked.

“Bilbo’s crown is a fake. Gilded with gold leaf. Iron beneath. You’ll have a hard time telling the difference.”

Tauriel shook her head. “No, but the dwarf you’re looking for has red hair, part of his left ear missing at the top, and speaks like a noble.”

“That narrows it down a bit. Got anything else?”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Nori asked. “Well done. Keep your ears open for more little tidbits.” With that, he turned and…

Disappeared. Confused, Tauriel went over to where she’d last been able to see Nori. Her hands met solid wall without any imperfections that she could see. Did dwarrow know magic?

He hadn’t heard her though. Sloppy and unobservant.

Bemoaning her new lack of free time, Tauriel stepped up behind the dwarf, drew one of her knives and settled the tip of it against the dwarf’s back. No armor. No lookout. So very sloppy.

Who trained these dwarrow anyway?

It didn’t matter. Only made her life easier.

“What business have you in the king’s quarters?” she asked. No reason to announce that Thorin hadn’t moved into them with Bilbo.

The dwarf snarled something in khuzdul.

“I was under the impression that you weren’t supposed to use the dwarfen language in the presence of outsiders,” she remarked idly and applied a little more pressure with her knife.

“Go shag a tree,” the dwarf snapped.

“You’ll need new material if you think insults are going to make me leave you be,” Tauriel told him.

The dwarf growled something unintelligible.

“You’re robbing me of my free time,” she told the dwarf. “I’d planned to relax during the coronation but you’ve just ruined that.”

He cursed at her in khuzdul.

Tauriel tsked at him. “Keep that up and I’ll have to report you to the king.”

“The king will thank me for gutting you like the bi-”

She kicked at his hand and the blade spun across the marble floor.

She cursed under her breath. After tying his hands together behind his back, she hoisted him over her shoulder and left for the guardhouse.

Nori beat her there, dragging in the dwarf she’d seen creating the false crown. She waited for Nori to settle his captive before drawing attention to herself and her burden.

“Trying to enter King Thror’s old rooms,” she said. “I found these on him.” She pulled the weapons she’d confiscated off the dwarf out of her belt and dumped them on a table.

Relief coursed through her. “Thank you,” she said. “I’d really rather not draw attention to myself.”

Tauriel inclined her head in acknowledgement of his unspoken request before doing as he said. Perhaps she’d still have time for her bath after all.

~*~*~

Kili greeted Tauriel with a short kiss a few weeks later.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as he took her hand and they started walking toward the training grounds.

“Why would anything be wrong, Amrâlimê?”

Tauriel stopped and waited for him to look at her. When he did, she just raised an eyebrow at him. His shoulders slumped.

“I thank Mahal every day at least once for bringing you to me,” Kili told her and took her hands. “Having you with me is all I could ever ask or I would be too greedy.”

If asking for help with his brother made Kili feel too greedy in the eyes of his Maker, then she would just take matters into her own hands.

First, though, she had guard duty. Down by the little used public workshops and storerooms. Again.

“Captain Tauriel,” Fili said, startling slightly when she first entered his line of vision. He glanced around. “Is, ah, Kili with you?”

“No,” Fili hedged. “Why would there be?”

She ignored him. “Then perhaps you’ve truly been too busy to see him and are now trying to find him.”

She took pity on him when he didn’t look up after a few moments. “He misses you.”

Fili’s shoulders rose closer to his ears and his frown deepened.

“Why do you avoid him?” She asked curiously. “He wants nothing more than to help you and be at your side as he always has been.”

“Your Highness?”

“Don’t apologize to me, unless it’s for calling me ‘Lady’,” she admonished with a half smile. “I love Kili and enjoy every side of him.”

Movement behind Fili caught her attention. “You tell me,” Tauriel said with a smile and climbed to her feet. “Kili will be early to the council meeting this afternoon.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fili demanded as he reached for his crutches.

“Your Highness?”

~*~*~

“Thank you,” Kili murmured after a time.

Apprehension flared in her stomach, making it twist a little. “I’m not sure the good healer will allow me to assist in anything within his domain.”

Kili snorted. “After what you did to save me, twice now, I’m pretty sure he’ll listen to just about any suggestions you may have.”

She hummed absently. “I’d like to learn more about dwarfish medicine. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind an exchange of techniques.”

“Playing on his intellectual side. I love it when you’re crafty.”

She shook slightly with suppressed laughter. “I’m hardly crafty. I honestly wish to learn.”

“Of course you do,” Kili said and pulled her hand to his lips.

#my writing #the hobbit #kiliel #Crafty Nori #kili #kili ktuesday #tauriel #also on ao3 #Cross-posted #please leave comments #Nori #Fili #hobbit #happy reading

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mithranqueersmusings · 4 years

Text

Baby, You’re A Rich Man VI

Chapter: 6/28

Rating: T (Violence warning)

Summary: Ringo could never understand why that group of three boys made him feel so uncomfortable, or why the way George looked at him sent him into a panic. After a chance encounter Ringo discovers the truth and has no clue what to do with the information.

Tags: AU - Gangsters, Slow Burn, Smut, Eventual Romance, Violence, Angst

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

The heavy sound of thumping against the front door echoed through the flat loudly and George immediately shot up, being a light sleeper was one of the many things he had to adapt to in his profession. He leaped over Ringo cautiously, careful not to wake the smaller man, and rushed over to the door to swing it open, finding John looking frenzied. He was fully dressed and George could see the light outline of a gun under his jacket, yet another thing he quickly had to learn to notice, but he still looked somewhat dishevelled with his tie askew and his hair ruffled.

"Get dressed, now. It's Paul." John ordered and George simply nodded, spinning around to collect his discarded coat from the floor, his knife from the table and rushing into his bedroom to pick up his gun. There was no time to panic, as soon as he allowed himself a moment to think about the severity of the situation he wouldn't be able to function. He hurried back to the door where John was struggling to keep his composure, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. George simply nodded to him and they made their way to the stairwell as they couldn't afford to wait for the lift. George slammed the door behind him without bothering to lock it, causing Ringo to stir.

At times like this George cursed how they lived so high up in the tower, but it had been insisted that they were as close to the top as possible as though it made them somehow better than everyone else. It was all about status, his superiors used to say, to know that you were above others. John was clearly finding it difficult to keep it together as he rushed down the stairs rapidly, almost slipping on the steps at times and George began to worry; if something had already happened to Paul, how was John going to handle it? It was best not to think about it, not when they didn't have all the information. They managed to get to the lobby fairly quickly and they dashed out of the front door where they found an array of cars waiting for them, they rushed into the closest one and tried to catch their breath. In the front seat was their superior, George had never liked him much, who looked at them disapprovingly as if they kept him waiting. The cars sped off quickly before John and George could even begin to relax, this was bad... There had always been tensions with the other families and every so often someone would overstep the boundaries, but it had never been anyone George truly cared about before, and he dreaded to think the situation Paul might be in right now. When George had spoken to John last night he seemed extremely worried that Paul hadn't come home that evening which wasn't particularly rare, but it wasn't often that John didn't know where he was and it was putting John on edge with all the threats they'd been getting from this family. There had been a few isolated fights in bars between groups but nothing major and George didn't expect it to bubble up like this.

"What's the plan?" John spoke rapidly, he was gripping onto the edge of the seat desperately.

"All we know is that they've got Paul hostage. They said they have terms they want to hash out, but haven't said what." Their superior spoke facing forwards, he sounded completely calm "We wouldn't even be asking you two along, but they insisted that they spoke to you alone. I'm completely against it, but they didn't want to run the risk of Paul getting hurt. He already sounded pretty beaten up."

George took a sharp inhale when he heard the plan, they'd never done anything this high profile alone before and he had no idea if they'd be able to get Paul back safely. He looked over to John in an attempt to show a knowing look but he was just gazing out of the window, his hand still gripping tightly on the car seat. If he felt confident enough on his own he'd insist that John stayed behind, but he doubt he'd even allow it. As close as George was to Paul, John knew him better by far and the two shared an insanely close bond. They drove the remainder of the way in near silence, George fiddled with his gun in preparation and tried to compose himself. When the cars came to a halt John finally returned to reality and he took a deep breath, then passed George a sombre look to let him know that he was ready.

"We'll be here on the corner if you need us. I can't stress how important it is that you get this right, if you fuck up and leave here without Paul then I wouldn't bother coming back at all. Negotiate with them, I don't think there's a limit to how much he's willing to pay to get Paul back safe, and don't do anything stupid." Their superior spoke bluntly and it didn't help George's nerves at all.

They stepped out of the car in silence and started walking down the empty street, it was horribly cold without their coats but neither of them noticed the chill. George took another look at John who walked with clenched fists and a tight jaw, looking determinedly ahead.

"John..." George somehow managed to mask the nerves in his voice "I know how you must be feeling right now, but we really need to do this calmly... For Paul's sake."

John sighed and slowed his pace, looking at the ground "I can't stand the thought of it George. Paul all tied up and beaten, absolutely terrified and all alone. It should've been me instead."

George wasn't sure how to respond, Paul was always the one to calm him down if he got like this, he just gave John's arm a reassuring squeeze "You can't think like that. We're gonna get him back, we've just gotta be smart about it. Paul wouldn't want anyone to get hurt, even if it's for his own good."

John smiled at the thought of Paul's good nature, but the tension in his body still remained. Eventually they made their way to an abandoned warehouse where two threatening-looking men stood at the door, one was leaning on the wall and smoking a cigarette, the other looking focused with his arms across his chest. They nodded knowingly when George and John stood in front of them, giving them a surveying with their eyes, and opened the heavy door. George went first, he was feeling really nervous about the entire situation but most of all he worried that John might do something stupid. They found themselves in a dimly lit, mostly empty space which had a man positioned in every corner. In the centre was the one of the higher-ups of the Chapman family; they had been rising up the ranks at an alarming rate the past couple of years and seemed to have no issue about muscling their way to the top. Neither George nor John recognised their face but it was clear that he was the man they were here to see. He smiled at them devilishly as they entered the room and had the door shut tightly behind them.

"Such an honour to finally meet you both." His grin widened as he placed one of his hands in his pocket, no doubt fiddling with a knife "Now I'm sure you're worried sick about your good friend Paul, but rest assured he's very much alive with just a little wear and tear. You know how it is."

George began scoping the room, eyeing up each man individually and trying to gauge how many of them had guns and concluded it was the one in the furthest corner, and no doubt their gracious host was carrying too. The four men looked tough enough but George learned quickly that muscle and intimidation only went so far in this business, and his family had always valued skill and wit above all else, so he wasn't too alarmed. The central man worried George most of all, anyone who like to blab was dangerous and often unpredictable. John only stared straight ahead at the man and George wasn't even sure if he was listening, his mind seemed far more preoccupied with his bubbling anger.

"Now of course, you have no reason to believe me. You don't know me from Adam, so it's probably best if I show you." He clicked his fingers and one of the goons went into the next room, no doubt to fetch Paul.

There was nobody in the room with the hostage? These guys were amateurs, George thought, but that didn't make them any less of a threat; even if they weren't smart, they could have many tricks up their sleeve. The man returned from the room dragging Paul by the neck of his jacket, he tossed him onto the ground beside the negotiator. Paul fell down on his knees hard, he had tape over his mouth and his hands were bound together tightly with rope - George could see even from his position the red marks from where the rope had aggravated the skin, these guys were far from hospitable, and he had dark bruises on his face. The sight made George want to cry, he'd seen Paul beaten up before of course but never had he looked so defeated. John let out a grunt and his hand was twitching, eager to draw his gun, and Paul's weak gaze on him only seemed to infuriate him further.

"This should be simple. You give us the money, and we give you Paul. Mind, he doesn't come cheap and he's caused an awful amount of damage with the fuss he kicked up when he took him. We thought he'd be the calmest out of you lot, but I guess we were wrong." He took a step towards Paul who seemed to sink in his presence.

The thought of Paul fighting back against his kidnappers made George proud, they were wrong to underestimate him "How much?" He'd heard these situations go down once or twice, but he had never been the initiator of it all and be tried his best to replicate what he'd seen.

"50,000 ought to do it. After all, no price is too high for your precious Macca, right?" His tone was sinister and it made John scowl to hear Paul's nickname coming out of such a vile mouth.

"Are you mad!? 50 grand for beating the living shit out of him? He can barely fucking stand! If you don't think the consequences of this are gonna be dire, then you're wrong mate. Hand him over to us now, and we won't have to hurt you." John growled, this wasn't a good sign at all, and the man only laughed in response.

"Hurt me? Please, spare me the theatrics. You lads are full of fire, I'll give you that much. But let's not get carried away here, you wouldn't want to do something you'd regret." With this final word he pulled out his knife, it glistened in the low light of the room, and placed it slowly under Paul's chin and his eyes lit up in panic. "Would we?"

George didn't even have time to think before he heard the gunshot, he barely had time to breathe before the man's body hit the floor lifelessly. John had never killed before, but he had acted without a second thought and no sign of regret. One shot went square in the man's head and another to the man in the corner closest to them, the bullet firing into his chest and killing him where he stood. George never liked using his gun and his first instinct was to always go for his knife, so he pulled it from his pocket and extended the blade before the chaos truly began. Luckily John had shot the only other guy with a gun, whether that was intentional or pure chance George didn't know, and the three other men pounced with their knives out.

John took out his knife now, it would've been ridiculous to carry on shooting when things got hectic, luckily he remembered that even in his haze of rage. John rushed at one of the men and made quick work of getting him on his knees with a well-placed kick and a hard punch to the head. John was far stronger than he looked and the Chapman's plan of demanding some of the youngest of the family in hopes that they'd be weak and inexperienced had truly failed. John disarmed the man but took a hard punch in the stomach which winded him for a few seconds.

Meanwhile George was tackling two assailants and it wasn't easy, he ducked and dodged their knives as best he could as he had to focus hard on not being overpowered. He really hadn't anticipated this situation, and while he understood John's reaction completely he cursed him for being so impulsive.

John pushed the larger man further onto the ground, kicking him hard in the ribs a couple of times to ensure he stayed down. His head was entirely empty of thoughts, he was running on pure adrenaline and instinct. He rushed over to George's aid and managed to grab one of the men from behind, kneeing them in the back and forcing them to the ground. George had already been punched around a fair bit but he didn't look shaken, barely taking his eyes off the other man for even a second. The worst part about situations like this was not knowing how far your opponent was willing to go, most people would submit and beg for mercy eventually but there were a few groups who were truly willing to fight to the death, and George worried that these men would fall into the latter category. The man swung at George's face and knocked him backwards, he managed to avoid the next one and landed a hard punch in his stomach.

At the point George was gaining confidence that they might be able to handle it, the door was thrown open and the two guards from outside rushed in with their knives out. Distracted, George got punched in the side and stumbled backwards, he had to make peace with the fact he'd have to use his knife. The smell of blood and sweat was spreading throughout the room, the sounds of grunts and heavy breathing. George flashed John a look, he looked almost crazed. The man charged at George again, this time with his knife, but George acted faster and sunk his blade deep into the man's stomach and he pulled away with a scream. He moved his hands quickly down to his stomach, pulling them away to see them covered in warm blood.

It was three against two now, if only Paul was in a state fit for fighting the odds would be equal, but he remained tied up in the corner helplessly watching his friends. John had been pummelling the other man, pinning him down to the floor as his mercilessly punched his face again and again; he looked completely lifeless. George had to pull John away, he was getting lost in the haze of the violence. The man rolled over onto his side, his eyes puffed up, and spat a long trail of blood onto the floor. The guards helped him up to his feet and somehow he was able to stand, his shaking hand clinging to his knife. They were far larger than the two of them and George was already feeling exhausted, his chest badly bruised and his head swimming in pain. Then the other men were on them, one brandishing his blade and stabbing it sloppily into George's side, it pierced the skin but luckily wasn't too deep.

"Fuck!" George screamed out, feeling the blood quickly dampening his shirt, but he had no time to even think about the pain as he speared his knife upward into his attacker, just below his ribs and holding it there for a few seconds, then pulling it out swiftly and pushing the limp body to the ground.

The wounded man had managed to land several hard punches on John, he must've been running high on adrenaline and George winced thinking about how much pain he'd be in when it wore off. The second man was keeping John in place, grabbing his arms from behind while he got battered. George stumbled forward, his mind was getting hazy with the blood loss, and stabbed the man from behind in a last act of exertion. His grip on John slacked who was then able to pounce on the final man, knocking him to the floor once more and resuming his pummelling. The room was almost silent now, bodies littering the floor, excluding the rhythmic punches John threw on the man's bloodied face. Blood was spilling out all over the floor in pools and George struggled to avoid it as he shuffled over to John and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"John-" George huffed, but John shoved him away with his shoulder and continued his assault. "John! We need to get the fuck out of here! Grab Paul and let's go!" He wanted to sound more commanding but he just sounded weak, he needed medical attention and quickly.

John seemed deaf to George's words until he mentioned Paul, then his head lifted quickly to look at his friend who sat frightened in the corner. John rushed over and cut the restraints as carefully as he could but he was still shaking from the whole ordeal, he removed the tape from his mouth and Paul gasped for breath.

"Can you walk?" John asked, he sounded close to tears.

Paul tried to stand up, holding onto John's forearm tightly for support but when he tried to rise to his full height his knees buckled and he fell forward. John held him steadily then lifted him into his arms with ease. George finally had a moment of relief, seeing the two of them reunited, but it was short-lived with the repetitive pangs of pain shooting through his body. John looked over at George who simply nodded, he knew he was able to walk back to the car but anything further felt beyond his capabilities. And so they left the warehouse as quickly as they could, leaving behind the battered bodies.

When they were in sight of the cars multiple men piled out to help them, one taking Paul quickly and lying him in the backseat of a car to see to his injuries. The rest crowded around John and George, one helping George walk as his pace weakened, and assessing the damage. It was at this point George learned John had also been stabbed, after his jacket was thrown off there was that too-familiar red mark on the back of his shirt. He had no idea when it happened but he was stunned at how easily he powered through the pain and George wondered if John even noticed it at all in his frenzy of emotion. John seemed far more interested in watching over Paul than getting any help himself, and he refused to lie down in the back of a car so he could be seen to, and instead was treated standing up beside the car Paul was in.

George felt relieved as soon as he sat down and the exhaustion fell on him like a weight, he could barely feel the stitches going into his skin as he looked up at the night sky. It was rare that anyone was ever sent to the hospital, it was far too risky to send someone there if they'd been in a gang fight because the police were never too far behind. But there were limits to what their doctors could do, and there weren't always enough if any at all, so every so often they'd have to brave the repercussions. Luckily George had never been so unfortunate as to end up in hospital, and he prayed that his luck would continue. At some point their superior walked over to George with a face painted with disappointment, but he was far too checked out to pay him any attention and eventually he gave in and sent George home. Paul had to report to the higher-ups and John refused to let him go alone, so they went off in a separate car. George lay in the backseat of another, watching the streetlights as they drove back to his flat in silence.

It wasn't long before he began to return to the present and he began to think about the man he'd left on his sofa. He felt like shit, but the thought of being able to return home to Ringo's soft, blue eyes and wide smile made him feel just that little bit better. He only hoped that the sight of him in such a state wouldn't scare him away, he realised in that moment that he cared very much what Ringo thought about him. A weak smile spread on his face, he'd never had someone to return home to before and he hoped it would become a common occurrence.

#the beatles #beatles #beatles fanfic #the beatles fanfic #beatles fanfiction #george harrison/ringo starr #ringo starr/george harrison #ringo starrxgeorge harrison #george harrisonxringo starr #starrison

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Forsyth Georgia Cheap car insurance quotes zip 31029

"Forsyth Georgia Cheap car insurance quotes zip 31029

Forsyth Georgia Cheap car insurance quotes zip 31029

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https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/new-driver-cheap-car-insurance-quotes-simon-flatcher/"

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fictionwriter26-blog · 6 years

Text

The English Project

Kat’s English teacher was going to kill her. She had a short story assignment due in two days and she didn’t even have an outline started. It was supposed to be fifteen pages of anything she could think of and all she had was a crappy title. “Coffee shops” she scoffed, what kind of title was that? Usually she was pretty good at this sort of thing. Today however, was not one of those days.

She had been holed up in her favourite coffee shop on Granville Street for at least three hours, her laptop mocking her. Her legs tingled from being bent up under her for so long. The chair she sat in was comfortable and familiar. It was her chair these days-she spent so much time here they might as well make a sign. The smell of espresso and baked goods wafted from behind the counter. Her mouth watered as a fresh tray of muffins appeared from the kitchens. An employee she did not recognize slipped them into the display case and posted the prices. Her eyes drooped again.

Four cups of bitter drip coffee had done absolutely nothing to wake her up and her laptop was almost dead. Glancing out the window at the constant, unmoving flow of Vancouver traffic, she heard the endless shriek of car horns, pedestrian chatter and whining cyclists. She pictured hailing a cab to take her away. Anywhere would be fine, as long as it wasn’t home.

After illness took her father last year, the house had become a dead zone. Her mom was intent on living life to the fullest and not wasting time, so she was always out doing something. Her brother was always working or out with friends so there was never anyone home. Not that it really mattered. It was just so quiet. Kat hated quiet these days.

She was snapped out of her musings by an incredibly green pair of eyes and a smile. Her favourite barista, Chase.

“Long day?” he asked quietly, sliding a steaming mug of hot chocolate across the table toward her.

“The longest” she replied with a grateful smile, curling her hands around the warm, brightly coloured ceramic.

He grinned at her over his wide framed glasses. “What are you writing about this week?”

Wordlessly she turned her laptop toward him and raised her eyebrows.

“Ahh, it’s one of those days then” he chuckled. Kat just groaned and dropped her head to the table.

She heard Regan, the owner and manager, shouting obscure coffee orders and barking at employees over the white noise of the shop. Chase sighed, “I better get back to work before she goes completely insane.”

Kat laughed at that. “That’s probably a good idea.”

“See you tomorrow?” he asked, seeming hopeful.

“Most likely.” she said with a smirk. “Who else is going to polish off your entire caramel mocha stock?” All she heard was a sharp laugh as he walked away. Chase had been dubbed by the regulars as the “caretaker” and Kat had always understood why. He had an impulsive need in him to make sure that every single customer was well looked after and smiling.

Turning back to her laptop with a sigh, Kat realized that her battery had finally decided that she wasn’t going to be writing anything worth while and died. Contemplating how to tell her teacher that her fish, had eaten her homework. Kat admitted defeat.

Stepping heavily into her bedroom, she dropped face first onto her bed, exhausted. Her mom was out doing yoga and James was at the movies with some friends. She was alone. It was quiet again. She figured that some music would fix that problem at least. She fumbled with her phone, her body like lead, eventually she managed to find the play button and soft melodies filled the silence. She could have fallen asleep then and there but she knew she had to plug in her computer and try to get some work done. Even if it was just a rough draft. Problem was, she had no motivation to move. Eventually, hunger won over and she got up. Fiddling with the charger, she managed to plug in her laptop and left it to scavenge for food. She returned twenty minutes later with three slightly stale pop tarts and some milk. Attempting to dislodge pop tart from the roof of her mouth, she dropped unceremoniously into her desk chair. Once again in front of her crappy titled blank canvas. Only…it wasn’t blank. Gaping like her fish, Kat stared at the computer screen, unmoving.

There on the screen was fifteen pages of short story. She read through the pages, trying to remember writing any of this. She couldn’t. The entire document had a consistent flow and it read smoothly. A well-crafted plot, clear, definitive details, characters that seemed relatable and a decent conclusion. It seemed to be about a girl having trouble writing an assignment for English class, who ended up whisked away to another universe similar but different than the one she had left behind. All through the back room of her favorite coffee shop. It even included Kat’s signature reference to pears, which she always included into her stories because Billy Coleman had dared her once in eighth grade that she couldn’t reference a fruit during her persuasive argument essay assignment.

Kat couldn’t believe it. Her story was finished, except she hadn’t finished it… Hell she hadn’t even started it. She had been worried about this project for weeks because it was the replacement project to her final exam. Every other assignment she’d had all year had been handed in on time and fully completed. This one had terrified her due to the sheer size and depth of it. She had never done anything of this size before. Usually with her writing, she got in, wrote a few pages and got out again. It worked best for her that way. It was part of the reason she had been having such a tough time with the project, she didn’t know how to keep going. Yet here it was, fully completed with her name in the top corner. Still utterly bewildered and slightly scared she would get caught for magical plagiarism, she printed two copies of the story and emailed one to her teacher just in case.

Kat frowned suddenly, the title had been altered only slightly.

“Coffee shops, and Their Caretakers.”

She thought immediately of Chase but she couldn’t figure out how he had done it. She knew she had to speak to him before she made any assumptions, of course that didn’t mean that she wasn’t completely freaked out by the whole thing. Sighing slightly, Kat lifted her phone to check the time. White numbers glared at her from the overly bright screen, 10:30. “Late enough for bed I guess.” she murmured, closing the laptop with a resounding click.

It was the slamming of the front door that woke her. James must’ve just left. Groaning, Kat reached blindly in the general direction of her phone. 9:02 glared back at her from the too bright screen. “Shit!” She practically flew out of bed and across the room. She had to talk to Chase before opening at 10 so he wouldn’t get distracted. Though she knew Chase often unlocked the door before officially opening in case some of the local homeless population wanted somewhere warm to sit for awhile. She also knew about the hot chocolate he offered

them, payed for out of his own pocket so Regan wouldn’t know. Throwing on clothes, grabbing her phone and laptop bag, Kat ran for the SkyTrain platform.

She burst into the blessedly still closed shop with a gasp. “Chase, I need to-” she stopped cold at the sight before her. Two large men in suits stood in front of the counter. Something was off about them though. She studied them blankly. Suddenly she saw it, they were shimmering! It wasn’t Edward Cullen in twilight (thank god). It was more like the one of the holograms from Star Wars. Chase was facing the shiny suit guys from behind the counter, a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder. The men turned upon hearing her entrance. “Hey, your business is with me not her” Chase stated in a cold, sharp tone she had never imagined he possessed. “Chase what-”

“You need to go Kat.” He cut her off.

“No, I’m not just going to leave you here with these goons.” Her spine straightened in defiance as she glared at him, though terror spread through her veins.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He replied, finally meeting her gaze. There was fear in those green eyes she knew so well and that scared her more than any thugs could.

“Whatever this is about.” She stepped forward hands raised slightly. “Let me help you fix it.”

“These matters are none of your concern little girl.” One of the suits finally spoke, his tone empty.

“He’s my friend, that makes this my concern.” she shot back, hoping she sounded braver than she felt. Both suits turned their full attention her and neither one saw Chase reach for the coffee can tip jar. Without warning he swiped it off the counter toward the floor. As it fell he vaulted the counter and dove to the left. The tip jar shattered at feet of the suits. Shards of glass flew in all directions and Kat stepped back, shielding her face with her arms. Chase didn’t hesitate as he ducked between the distracted men, and ran right at her. “Run!” he grabbed her hand as he bolted for the door. He pulled her out the door and into the crowd on the street.

He finally slowed a few minutes later in a needle-littered alley that smelled heavily of marijuana and garbage, which were probably not the only things in the large city dumpster beside her. She turned to him once she could breathe without choking. “What the hell was that?! Who were those guys and why were they glowing?” She demanded, glaring hard at him.

He studied her for a moment, stepping back slightly to lean against the gray brick of the wall across from her. Eventually he spoke, his tone even. “Those men aren’t from here, the rest you wouldn’t believe if I told you. Or you would and I’m pretty sure that would be worse.”

“Try me.” She jumped up to perch on the closed dumpster lid and raised an eyebrow. Finally calm enough to want answers.

He regarded her carefully. “Why did you come to see me this morning?”

He was avoiding the question and she knew it, but she would let him have this one. “The story.”

His eyebrows pinched together. “What story?”

“Oh, come on don’t play dumb. The story that you somehow wrote on my laptop.”

He stared at her, a genuinely bewildered look across his features. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. I never wrote any story.”

She paused, listening to the white noise of traffic and waiting for him to admit he was kidding. Realizing that he was being truthful, she continued. “Then how and why is my assignment finished when I didn’t finish it?” Shaking her head, she met his eyes, looking for any sign of answers. Scratching at the back of his neck, he stepped towards her and gestured to her bag. “You have it with you?” wordlessly she slipped the strap from her shoulder and held it out to him. He sat back in a crouch, balancing on his toes and pulled her laptop from its messy pockets. He held the device against his knee, ensuring that her computer stayed off the sticky, trash covered pavement. She stayed silent as he opened the document and read through it. He swore softly to himself as he finished. “We need to go.” He said suddenly, springing to his feet.

“What?” her eyes widened as he shoved everything back into her bag and started fiddling with his watch. “They know about you. That I care about you at least, and they probably think you know more. We need to get out of here before the bureau finds us.”

“Know more about what?” she shouted, getting angry now. “What bureau? Chase seriously, what the hell is going on?”

“There’s no time. Do you trust me or not?”

“what do you mean do I-”

“Do you trust me” he cut her off again.

She gawked at him, trying to gauge how serious he was. How serious could he possibly be in an alley in Vancouver where nothing ever existed except rats and homeless addicts. She searched his face for the hint of a laugh trying to escape. She found nothing but a sort of pleading worry on his face, that was the reason she agreed then and there. “Ok.”

“Ok?” he seemed stunned.

“yes, now before I change my mind, what do you need me to do?”

“Just stand back and don’t scream.” He threw a smirk over his shoulder as he spun to face the wall he had leaned on.

“why would I scream?” She hopped from the dumpster to stand at beside him.

He grinned at her familiar and easy, then raised his wrist toward the gray brick of the wall in front of them. A whiteish beam of light came from his watch as Kat stared in shocked silence. It looked like something from a bad eighties sci-fi movie and it was even stranger when it began to widen into an archway. she stepped back and nearly tripped over her own feet. Chase lowered his arm, but the strange white arch remained. “what the hell is that and what are you not telling me?”

“you said you trusted me.” She could hear the smirk in his voice.

“with getting us away from the suit guys! Not with some freaky portal thing.”

“This is how we get away. Now let’s go.”

“you want me to go through there?” she said in utter disbelief.

“Yes. Now let’s go” he grinned again.

“fine. But this better not end with me losing a hand. Or a head for that matter.”

“Don’t worry I’ve got you.”

She stepped toward the arch tentatively. “So, I just walk through?”

“Yeah. Just relax.”

She inhaled slowly, trying to ease the terror clawing its way up her throat, and reached out to grab Chase’s hand. “If I’m going we’re going together.”

“Ok. Together.”

“Together.” She said again.

He clutched her hand tightly as they stepped through the arch, into what she wasn’t sure.

Kat still wasn’t entirely sure how much she actually understood about what was happening. She was even less sure how Chase was going to explain it. She wondered the most about what this all had to do with the short story from her computer. Kat realized two things at once. Her eyes were still squeezed shut and she still had a death grip on Chase’s hand. “you know you can let go now right?” she heard a soft chuckle pull itself from his chest. Slowly her eyes crept open. Confusion was the only thing she could feel. She turned slowly on the spot, and she felt her shoulders tense. She turned to look at Chase, noting the amused expression on his face. “Is this some weird prank?” They were standing in an alley that was nearly identical to the one they had just left. The needles on the pavement, the dumpster to her left, even the gray brick was the same. To Kat, it looked as though they hadn’t moved at all, though she vividly remembered stepping into the freaky, glowing white portal thing.

“This is no prank trust me”

“Then where are we?” She snarked at him “because by the looks of things this, is some sort joke.”

“It’s not a joke I promise. we aren’t in Vancouver anymore.”

Yeah, alright Dorothy, whatever you say” She scoffed at him as his grin widened.

“This place doesn’t have a name. I usually just call it the other.”

“The other what exactly?”

“the other plain, the other dimension, the other universe, you get the point I’m sure.” Chase watched her carefully, possibly waiting for her to laugh or maybe experience a mental breakdown, but she did nothing, just held his eyes. Finally, she dropped his gaze and sighed heavily.

“you don’t believe me huh?” he said before she could tell him as much.

“you really expect me to believe that we’re in some sort of alternate reality?” Her eyebrows raised as she contemplated how to get the hell out of there.

“Not right away no.”

She watched his cheeks flush as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Let me prove it to you. Then I’ll explain what I can.”

“Explain things how?” she was still skeptical. His lips pulled into a smile again and he held out his hand again. “Walk with me.

She had only followed Chase to get away from the shiny suit guys. Now she was apparently trapped in an alternate universe, (not that she believed that) and Chase was giving her no clear answers whatsoever. She knew that she should have second guessed following him, but for some unexpected reason she trusted him. she just hoped she was right and this wasn’t some elaborate kidnapping scheme. She hesitated a moment longer then took his hand and slipped out of the alley onto the street.

“Ok so I need you to keep an open mind about this.”

“what do you call not screaming and running?” she tried to sound casual, but her voice shook slightly, and she knew he caught it. “shock.” He replied with a wide smirk.

“Ok, ok but seriously start talking.” Just as she said this, a loud shriek pierced the white noise of the city. She stared at sight coming right at her, but no one else seemed to notice. Barrelling down the sidewalk towards her was a man dressed in mud coated chainmail armor wielding a sword and clutching a badly dented medieval style shield. He raised the blade toward her as he approached, pulling his arm back to swing. She opened her mouth to scream. Rough hands tugged her sideways sharply. Chase. The knight in not so shining armor, bolted straight into a familiar looking white arch placed right there in the middle of the sidewalk. She tensed as she looked around, waiting for somebody to point out the anomaly. No one did. They all remained glued to their phone screens or in deep conversation, not a single one even glanced at it. Stepping out from behind her, Chase closed it as quickly as he’d opened the one in the alley. Kat turned to him expectantly once again. She was starting to think that confused and slightly scared were going to become her default emotions soon. “Ok now you really need to start talking.”

He pulled her up the rusted, creaky metal staircase without pause. They had ducked into what appeared to be an old warehouse because Chase had told her that the mysterious bureau had surveillance everywhere. She had only believed him after seeing large robot-like droids flying overhead, weaving through the crowd every few minutes. Sliding to the floor, Chase busied himself by picking at a piece of chipped concrete next to him. “What do you want to know first?” He still wasn’t looking at her.

“First off, why were those guys glowing this morning?”

“They work for the bureau and the glowing was because they weren’t disguised by bureau tech, as they usually are in your world. they wanted to be sure I knew exactly who they were. The glowing just happens when agent’s cross through the Keygates. Nobody knows exactly why.”

Who or what, is this bureau you keep mentioning?”

“They’re government organization from this universe, tasked with fixing things like what you saw in the street today.” His answer was honest, that much she could see.

“You mean the really dedicated cosplayer?”

“He wasn’t a cosplayer.” Chase chuckled nudging her leg with the tip of his shoe.

“Ok, but the only other explanation I can come up with is crazy.”

“After all you’ve seen today you still think something is crazy?”

“Ok fair but it is pretty crazy. Just tell me before I embarrass myself.” She reached out to smack his arm, cheeks pink.

“Fine.” He smirked. “The bureau deals with historical inaccuracies due to a broken timeline. People and other things from different periods of history have been accidentally scattered through time and the bureau was formed to fix things.” Chase shrugged “That’s not to say they actually do their job well, but no one can see the inaccuracies anyway, so it really doesn’t matter.”

“Hold up, if no one else can see them then why can I?”

“You’re not this world. You were never put under the veil.”

“The veil is what exactly?”

“A type of technology used to disguise any abnormalities a person might notice. They are enacted when children turn nine. So that no one notices the time paradoxes around them. Kids don’t realize that what they are seeing is real when they’re still so young, and if they do, they get put under the veil early.”

“How are people put under the veil then?”

“Parents take their kids to the doctors for a check-up and doctors inject a microchip with the tech under the guise of mandatory vaccinations. The parents are non-the wiser and the kids each get a dinosaur sticker.”

“That my friend, is some comic book type shit right there. But I have to ask, dinosaur stickers? Seriously?” A disbelieving laugh pulled itself from her throat.

Chase looked affronted. “Hey dinosaurs are cool!”

He grinned at her, oddly pleased. “I suppose you’re right though. It is like something out of a comic book.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Haven’t you been doing that all day?” His eyebrows lifted, lips pulling upwards.

“Don’t be a smartass, I’m serious!” She laughed, swatting at his leg.

“Alright what’s on you mind?”

“The two bureau guys from the shop this morning, what did they want with you?”

Chase froze. His eyes darkened, his hands clenched, and his shoulders curled inward as he hung his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean-” she started.

“It’s fine.” His tone was flat and emotionless as he let a sigh pass his lips. “I’m not from you’re world.

“I think I got that.” She smiled softly, “you weren’t exactly subtle.” His answering smile held a bitter edge.

“No, I suppose not. Anyway, I was an intern in the Charting Department of the bureau five years ago. The guys in Charting map out history so that the field agents know where and when to return each paradox.”

“What does that have to do with you making espresso in downtown Vancouver in another universe?”

“I was getting there, be patient.”

“That’s not a strong suit of mine.”

Chase gave a real smile at that. “No, it really isn’t. anyhow most of history is hard to pinpoint here. Our universes are very much the same save for a few things. One of those being our incredibly poor record keeping throughout time. My father ended up stumbling onto something. I was never told what it was but everyone knew it was big.

“Again, what does that have to do with-” She started to ask, but was cut off again as Chase was lost to the tale he was spinning.

“My father was taken into the higher offices of the bureau a few weeks after he found whatever it was and I never saw him again. I tried looking into his disappearance but never found anything except dead ends and agitated bureau snobs.

“What do you mean?”

I mean that they didn’t need to threaten me for me to understand that asking any more questions would have gotten me killed. There’s something the bureau wants to keep hidden. That’s why they offered me a chance to learn about history in its entirety. By sending me through a gateway to your world, they got me out of the way. They didn’t say it but I knew that if I went through, I wouldn’t be allowed to return to this world, and if I did I would be treated as a hostile and executed.”

“Why hell would you leave everything behind if you knew you couldn’t come back?” Kat asked arms waving madly as she tried to comprehend why he would leave everything he had known.

“There wasn’t anything left here for me.” He snapped, eyes ablaze as he jerked forward and wrapped a hand around her wrist. His grip was tight but not painful and she realized that he was simply desperate for her to understand his actions. She wondered if this was because he didn’t understand them himself. Chase continued. “Gateway travel was new and exciting, as was more of a chance to study history.”

“Gateways are the white arch things, right?”

“Yes, they are also referred to as Keygates. At the time they offered me the trip there was only one open. We didn’t have the tech for the portable ones yet.” He gestured to his watch.

“If you left before the tech was out, how do you have one?” A wide infectious grin lit up his face. “I got tired of being a rule following sheep destined to do the bureau’s bidding. I intercepted a field agent’s gate and slipped back over. Snagged one while outrunning a few agents after they realized I had returned. Problem is that no one has worked out all the kinks yet so each watch can only open three gates before they need to be replaced.” Chase stopped suddenly a panicked look crossing his features.

“What is it?” Kat whispered, the look on his face making terror once again claw it’s way up her throat.

He met her eyes, white as a sheet. “I’ve already opened three gates with this one. I can’t get us home.”

Kat sat stunned until an idea came to her. “you’ve only opened two with that one! One to get us here and one to save my life!” Chase shook his head sadly, “I had to open one to get to your world right after I grabbed this model. So saving your life earlier makes three. I can’t get us home.” His shoulders slumped again and he rubbed his hand over his face. He looked much older in that moment, weary and tired as if all the hope had left him. “If the bureau finds us we’re dead. We can’t run forever.”

“We have to find a way to get home.” Her voice shot from between her lips in a choked sob. The harsh reality of his words settled over her like a blanket of tar. Thick and heavy, suffocating her.

“There isn’t one Kat. Even if we manage to avoid detection, somebody will realize that you’re not from here and report us. So what else do you want me to say?”

“I want you to say that there’s another option. that we’re not just trapped here until the bureau finds us.”

“I don’t think there is.” He shrugged his shoulders as she stared hopelessly back at him.

“What do you suggest then, running from the bureau forever. Never able to relax because they might be just behind us?” She looked up at him expectantly. He paused and she saw an idea cross his face.

“What? What are you thinking?” Brilliant green eyes met hers, and just by that look she knew there was hope for them yet.

“I think our only option is to break back into HQ.”

She stared at him, waiting for the punchline to what had to be the worlds worst joke. Chase just held her gaze. “Your joking.” She scoffed, “Please tell me your joking.”

“I’m serious! They leave the base Gate up all the time. All we need to do is get to it and we’re home free. We wouldn’t need one of the watches!” She could see he wasn’t going to let this go. She knew he was right. She certainly couldn’t come up with a plan to navigate a world she didn’t know. There was no other way. She nodded stiffly. “Alright fine, but if we die in there I’m going to kill you.” She warned him. He laughed lightly, almost seeming to bounce. “I’ll be sure to hold you to that.” Sighing, she stood and stretched, holding out a hand to pull him up. “So, what’s the plan?” He smiled again, that same comforting smile, and together they got to work.

#original work #first story posted #comments are appreciated #i'm new at this

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