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fleckcmscott · 2 years

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The Move

Summary: Arthur and Y/N ready themselves - and their belongings - for what comes next.

Words: 2,648

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: This is a story that came to me on the drive home from a recent trip with my husband. I hope you all enjoy it! Special thanks to @jokerownsmysoul for beta-reading! 💜

In his dreams, Arthur was the ideal suitor.

Flirting came naturally. He reserved private tables at romantic restaurants, the ones with candlelight and strolling violinists. He picked up the tab with confidence, slipped an impressive tip in the check presenter. After wining and dining, he escorted his date back to her building, extoled how beautiful she was without retches of laughter. Words smooth and kisses smoother, he stole promises he'd see her again the next night.

Now that'd he'd see Y/N on the daily, he could inch towards that aspiration. Move a little closer to the man he was supposed to be. Learn to infer what she wanted with a glance rather than ask what she meant (or guess and hope he was right).

The last pair of stretched-out white briefs flew in the 18" x 18" box. Letting out a long breath, he slumped on the sofa, put his arm along the back and finished his instant iced tea. He surveyed 8J, the checked wallpaper, the paintings, Penny's silk flowers with wire stems - poverty's notion of class. It was only after his mother had gone to Endsbury Place that he'd sampled respite, that this apartment had become his. In his soul, he was a provider. He would have liked providing Y/N with this home. But without Penny here, he could no longer afford the rent, the catchiest of Catch-22s.

All plush carpets and light and windows that didn't stick, he had to admit Y/N's apartment was better. No long-forgotten ghosts of neglect haunted its corners, the electricity never went out. There was too much here that didn't belong to him, anyway. Like a boy in school forced to wear a dunce cap, he'd been restricted to the back corner, with the air conditioner and vent stack. Out of the way, never a disturbance. A life to go sight unseen.

And now his life was changing irrevocably, a giant leap for Arthur-kind, when up until then what he'd managed was a shuffle to the left.

He'd have to update his address at the bank and BMV, give Gary and Dr. Ludlow his new phone number, switch his prescriptions from Helms to Groves. Monitor his nail biting, adjust to pants no longer being optional, stop talking to himself at all hours in funny voices. A trickle of fear knotted his ribs. What if he slipped and she saw the worst of him?

What if he didn't like living with her?

A good dose of jitters pricked his fingers, an unexpected stage fright. They trembled when he grabbed his journal from the coffee table. The happiness slanted all over the pages felt as if it'd been written by someone else. "Moving boxes were $2.00 each. Bags at the store are free." "I move in with MY GIRLFRIEND next week!!!" "I was brushing my teeth when Y/N came in the bathroom. She didnt knock. She kissed me and said she looked forward to watching me do that more offten. She was so sweet. I made her late for work."

A couples counselor had been a guest on Gotham Today last weekend, promoting his book and dolling out advice. According to him, relationships got into trouble because men and women were from two different galaxies. They spoke different languages, expressed affection in ways the opposite sex couldn't comprehend, had barely matched desires and goals. None of it had made any sense to Arthur. Often it felt as if he and Y/N were the only ones on the same planet.

He traced the scraggly happy face in the margin. Maybe it'd be as easy as the movies promised. Sure, there was no way she'd allow him to smoke inside, but he'd mastered sticking his arm through the fire escape door to savor nicotine on cold winter nights. (And not having yellow film cling to every surface was nice.) They knew each other well. Loved one another. It had to work.

On that thought, he stuck his notebook in the nearest bag and hastened to the kitchen to make a much-needed phone call.

~~~~~

Y/N set Arthur's bags on the floor and shrugged out of her coat. She hung it on the usual peg, then kicked off her kitten heels and put her hand on her hip. She tipped her head down and towards him, an expectant smile on her face. "Come in, Arthur."

Arthur parked the moving dolly diagonally across from the kitchen entrance, steadied the cookbooks and LPs on top with a hovering hand. With a slowness she wasn't sure was deliberate, he peeled off his tan jacket. A muttered oh yeah and he dug out his keys. They clanked in the ceramic dish on the counter.

The light on the Phonesitter answering machine blinked a bright red. She pressed the playback button, paying no mind that he was right behind her. After all, they'd hear each other's messages now.

His baritone rasped from the tape, stating he was almost done and to come over whenever. She made a soft sound. If only she'd checked her messages at lunch instead of working through it, she might have seen him before 5:47 PM.

Then Mabel's voice came on the recording, her sister's slight Missouri accent thickened by astonishment. "Y/N." Whenever her name was a complete sentence, her sister was about to enter Serious Business territory. "If you're going to put this guy's name in your greeting, I need to talk to him. Call me!"

"She'll keep until Friday," Y/N said, resting on the counter. "I ordered Chinese before I left work. It should be here any minute." Front teeth pressed into her lower lip, she slid on her nylons to stand beside him and opened the drawer to the right of the sink. "Matt said I've been grinning all day. Patricia tried to pester me with the latest motions from the Wayne case. But nothing - nothing - could stop how happy you make me." She held the wine opener out to him.

Firm but chaste, Arthur's mouth collided with hers, passion and something severe she couldn't quite identify teasing at the edges. His swiftness startled her into dropping the corker. It clattered to the floor. A fuzzy delight filled her every pore. She squeezed his middle, licked the corners of his lips, pressed herself into the lean musculature of his slender physique. "I love you," she said, closing her eyes.

A low hiccup as he cradled the back of her head. He pecked her forehead, the apples of both cheeks. "Good. I love you, too."

~~~~~

"Where should we put these?" Y/N asked from where she knelt on the bedroom floor, makeup brushes in one hand, pots of greasepaint in another.

Standing at the bureau on her side of the bed, Arthur eyed the bag at her side. His spoon scraped his cardboard oyster pail. He shoveled another heap of pork fried rice into his mouth. "Just leave them with my wig. They can go in there." His elbow indicated the closet.

Before complying, she couldn't stop herself from nosing around his prop bag. There were modelling balloons, a classic magic wand, an extra pair of shoelaces. The record of children's songs made her giggle, its track list a reminder of when she'd mooed and baaed and ee-i-ee-i-ohed. Then she pulled out his flower flecked shirt, yellow vest, and patched brown trousers. "These deserve to be hung up," she said, holding them against herself for size.

His response was to rub the nape of his neck.

They'd gotten through a third of his belongings in the last couple hours. Though she asked for his input on where he wanted them all, he'd demurred to her again and again. Fear of having an opinion was a side of him she hadn't seen. The sixth time it'd irked her. The ninth it'd softened her heart.

When she'd moved in with her ex-husband, she'd adapted to his routine of work, law school, and more work. Adapting had been easy because she hadn't yet become herself. At seventeen and only having lived with her parents, she'd known three things: college started in the fall, she could use further tips from her mother on keeping house. And she wanted her marriage and settling down to work, as it seemed to for everyone else.

Yet, her mind had carved pathways of worry. What if the raven whiskers Jeff left in the sink stopped being sweet traces and started to annoy? What would he think about seeing her floss, hunched over the sink and drooling? Though they'd regularly had sex by that point, they'd never spent the night together. Doing so would've started gossip - he'd wanted to spare her that. What if she couldn't get used to sleeping beside someone?

The ensuing months of wedded bliss and years of matrimonial misfortune had provided enough practice to waylay current ruminations. Arthur had borne witness to dried saliva on her pillow and still hugged her at the hip. Sleeping next to him was a pleasure more comforting than she'd remembered it could be. Any nerves were paired with the excitement of promise, a promise both new and right. Butterflies tickled her insides, like when she'd wake to his scent tangled in her sheets. Doubt and insecurity were bad testimony, to be expunged and forgotten.

But her elation at living together had blinded her to how challenging this might be for him. A man who'd never left home.

Using the corner chair as leverage, she stood and hung Carnival's splashy hues on the closet rod. Next to her ruffled blouses and neutral blazers, they looked out of place. She moved her burgundy skirt four spaces to the right, until the crimplene brushed his plaid jacket.

"We don't have to unpack everything tonight. When I got here, it took me about a week to find my umbrella." She shook pins and needles out of her right foot. "Where do you want to work on your act?"

"The dining table. That's what I did at home. I mean- back on Anderson." A forceful sigh as he dropped to the foot of the bed. "Why did you change your message? Before I was here?"

"Because I knew you wouldn't change your mind."

Unspoken hesitations gaped his thin lips. One question settled in the deep lines of his crow's feet: but what if you had?

She perched on his knee, slung an arm about his neck. "When I made coffee this morning, I almost forgot the milk. All I could think about was how much better it tastes when you're with me."

"What if I screw up and annoy you?"

"We'll screw up and annoy each other. You're a wonderful boyfriend. You'll be wonderful at this, too. You know, it's funny. I didn't want to live anyone again. I was afraid to lose the life I'd built for myself here." Before Gotham, she'd tried to build two and failed at both. Pecking his hairline, she swept a curl from his forehead. "But you cured me of that. I want to build together. Pass me a brick?"

He pressed a kiss just below her thumb, turned to lay his cheek in her palm. After a few moments, understanding lit his eyes. A half-smile quirked. "There are just a couple small things."

She unbuttoned his collar, ran the back of her fingers along the cords of his neck. His pulse thudded beneath her knuckles. "Tell me."

Leaning back on his hands, he said, "I want to put our mugs by the coffee machine. And I keep my cigarettes next to the phone."

~~~~~

It took seventeen seconds for hot water to reach Y/N's kitchen faucet. The bedroom door squeaked if vegetable oil wasn't rubbed on the hinges once a month. She preferred the heat set to seventy-two degrees. He knew all of this.

Now that he lived here? The lines of her apartment were at once a familiar sidewalk and a foreign desert, its dunes the rabbit ears he had to adjust to get NCB, the sofa where his mouth had first made love to her.

The pendulum of his heart needed to stay at twelve. The switches from gladness to concern to what the fuck do I think I'm doing were getting harder to endure. He longed for his soul to quiet and come home here, as they'd planned, as he'd journaled and dreamed of and expected.

His prescriptions sat next to her cosmetics in the bathroom, as normal as Aspirin. His humble VHS collection of public domain movies was piled on the middle shelf of the TV stand. She'd emptied two drawers of her dresser for his underwear, socks, and cardigans. Her alluring nighties resided beneath.

She'd whipped his green blanket, chintzy and cheap but unwashed and smelling of 8J, on top of her floral comforter. He'd helped her make the bed - the bed they currently lay in - tucked dark green sheets under the corners, the same sheets he'd chosen at Donahue's last weekend. The shopping trip had been one anticipatory blur that'd ended with cocoa at a diner and no sleep.

The shadows that usually cast themselves across his psyche should have stayed at bay. But his sternum ached at all the changes. Tossing and turning, he forced himself to his back and tried not to carry on. Being blissfully alive would never feel natural, he figured. Might as well be quiet about it and not disturb her.

Y/N shifted towards him and put her head on his shoulder. "How are we doing?"

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to keep you up." He scoffed. A sniffle and a prayer he'd be able to stymie the water in his eyes, stop his nose from running. "I'm not used to this."

"I should've invited you to my bed more often."

"No," he said, more stricken than intended. Teasing wasn't what he needed, not now.

Fingertips caressed his belly, an easy back and forth on tautened sinews. Her pinky dipped into his navel. "Help me understand?"

The desire to get this right bottled his breath in his chest. "I've never had my own shampoo. My mother and I always shared it. Our towels were from wherever she worked. We used the same sheets. My clothes didn't go in her closet - I never thought to ask. I had my hangers in the living room. That's how it always was. And here you- you're making me chose everything and giving up space for me. It feels strange." He put his arm over his eyes in a last-ditch attempt at hiding his absurdity. "I dunno. I'm just glad you're letting me stay."

Her nightgown brushed his bicep, the sheet fell away as she sat. "I'm not letting you stay. We made this decision together. This is as much your place as it is mine." The shake of her head was audible in her stubborn delivery. From anyone else, he would have felt scolded. Before he could tell her to forget it and go to sleep, she lay across him, her weight a reminder, a preview of the future they were stepping into. She pulled his forearm from his face. "And I'm not giving anything up. I'm gaining you."

A trickle of orange light snuck between the window shades behind the bed. She looked determined, the way she did whenever she believed he was wrong about himself and set out to correct him. He smiled. He had a sudden urge to kiss her, but a queer sort of shyness overcame him. Instead, he pulled her to lie beside him, guided her to turn around, an arm about her waist. Her lips brushed the back of his hand, her bottom nestled against him. His grip on her tightened.

That he could be something to gain was a drop of water in swirling sands.

~~~~~

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#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck x female reader #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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calif0rnia-lovers · 3 years

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Lover of Mine #5.5 | Angel Reyes.

Series Masterlist | join my gc for updates since tags are acting weird

title: For Better, or For Worse.

rating: 💙 💔

As long as you're feeling the same, I'll follow you into the flames

sum: angel fears once it's out, his secret will be the final push you need to leave. instead of confessing, he sticks out the couple's retreat to give himself a few more days with you. he makes himself a promise: he'll tell you once you two return to santo padre. but a ghost from his past pushes angel's agenda forward a few days.

words: the standard for this series....long af (that's why I break it into sections so you know where to come back to when you take a break...but seriously, please take breaks on these long ass chapters)

Ez Reyes is a smart man. There is no denying it. However, Ez never thought he would struggle to tie a tie.

He is currently outside of his father’s truck. Kneeling before his nephew, Ez concentrates as he works through the instructions he Youtube’d earlier. A usually chatty Jeyson has been silent. He slept the entire hour's drive to school. When his Uncle woke him, Jeyson shot Ez a glare that reminded him of you.

Jeyson was fine the entire weekend that you were gone, but the moment he woke up this Monday to find you had not returned his entire mood changed. He has fought Ez tooth and nail the entire morning.

Ez glances up from the tie to Jeyson. “Hey, you sure you wanna go to school today?”

“I have to go to school” Jeyson mumbles.

“Yeah, but sometimes it doesn’t hurt to take a break.” Ez offers Jeyson a smile. “If you’re not having a good day, it’s okay to stay home.”

“I don’t want to stay home with you.”

“That’s okay,” Ez chuckles. “What about Izzy?”

“I don’t want to stay home with her either.” Jeyson releases a huff before glancing down at his now fixed tie. He bends down to pick up his backpack. Slipping it onto his shoulder, Jeyson steps around his Uncle. “I want my mom to come home.”

Tommy’s gaze remains on the sleeve of his blue Stockton uniform. His fingers tug at the loose string resting against his wrist. He ignores the smirk on his older brother’s face. The passing of time has muddled the bruises on Tommy’s skin. The mixture of black and yellow stood out on the parts of him he's allowed to remain visible. No matter how he sits, the pain in his ribs is inescapable. Sleep has fallen to the way-side, the inability to get comfortable meaning he only gets it once he’s passed out from exhaustion.

“You didn’t tell me she was hot. Now I know why you were sticking up for her the other day--”

“I didn’t notice. I’m more worried about her getting me out of here.”

“Uh-huh.” Leo’s eyes roll as he watches his brother’s eyes pass over the crowded visiting center. “I’m just saying—”

“What’d you find?” Tommy’s fingers massage his temple, the irritation in his voice amplified by his brother’s antics. Lack of sleep and around-the-clock oversight and antics from Rogers has cut his fuse short. “If you didn’t find anything, you could've saved yourself a trip up here—and I could be asleep.”

“She’s not married—unless she has a habit of leaving her rings at home.”

“What? On the table?”

Leo shakes his head. “No. A jewelry box in the bedroom.”

“What about the kid?” “He has to be about eight, or nine? Name’s Jeyson. You were right, he’s definitely Angel’s. Wish I could show you the picture. He couldn’t deny that kid if he tried.”

“Yeah.” Tommy nods impatiently, motioning for him to continue. “What else?”

“Kid goes to some boujee ass prep school up north. Gilman something? Embroidered blazers, ties, the whole nine. His mom’s paying a pretty penny too, apparently, it's the best in the state. He’s into the typical shit kids are into. Star Wars, Spider-Man. Plays the piano, apparently, he’s actually really fucking good. Awards and all. His mom’s got him pretty busy. A lot of after-school activities. Looks like she and Angel rotate transportation...She must not be around right now tho.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Apart from the fact you’re still not transported to a new unit?” Leo scoffs. “The kid was with someone else when I was scouting. A girl and a kid with a prospect patch.”

“Mayans?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe his little brother...last I heard he was hemmed up here. Haven’t seen him around tho.”

“Maybe he got out?”

Tommy dismisses Leo’s suggestion. “Most cop killers don’t walk free. What else?”

“He’s not doing a good job of keeping his nephew safe. I talked to the kid.”

Tommy’s eyes open. “You did what?”

“He walked right off with me.” Leo quietly explains. He mistakes his brother’s silence as a cue to move forward with his story. “His uncle was so into his date he didn’t even notice the kid walk off with me--”

The sight of Tommy’s hand running down his face tapers the rest of Leo’s statement.

His voice comes out low, through his clenched teeth. “I didn’t tell you to touch the kid.”

“I didn’t touch the kid,” Leo’s eyes rolled. “I got him a funnel cake—” “I don’t give a fuck—” the slamming of Tommy’s fist against the table brings the room to a brief silence. The eyes that he has attracted linger on Tommy as his glare nearly burns a hole through his brother. Rogers shrugs off the wall nearby. He takes a step of warning in Tommy’s direction. “—what you did, Leo—it was stupid.”

“How else was I supposed to get him to talk to me?”

Tommy’s response comes out slowly. Each passing word increases his irritation.

“You didn’t need him to talk to you because I didn’t ask you to talk to him. Buying him a funnel cake, or whatever the fuck your grand plan was allowed the kid to see your face. He can open up his mouth and ID you—”

“ID me,” Leo snorts, dismissing Tommy’s claim. “Relax, Tommy. He’s not a state witness, he’s a kid—“

“Yeah, and according to you and his 'boujee ass prep school,' he’s a smart ass fucking kid, Leo.” Tommy lets out a long sigh. “The last thing I need is the kid opening his mouth to his mom about some random guy approaching him.”

“Don’t worry, I played it cool. Told him I was a friend of his dad. Maybe, if you had told me exactly why I went there I wouldn’t—”

It was something Tommy had explained to his brother during their last visit. The less you know, the better.

“I already told you,” Tommy rubs at his temple, the sudden throbbing causing his jaw to clench. “I needed to double-check something.”

“And that’s what I did.” Leo sighs. “What I want to know is, why the fuck you called me all the way down here to check pictures in some house.”

Tommy studies his brother for a moment. He shifts forward, his elbows settling against the table.

“You wanna know why I didn’t tell you? You don’t think, Leo. I ask you to do one thing—one fucking thing—and you almost fuck it up. If I wanted you to think I wouldn’t have told you exactly what to do.” Leo’s jaw tightens as his brother continues. “You trying to think leads to you doing dumb shit like kidnapping her fucking son—”

“I didn’t kidnap him,” Leo mumbles.

Tommy’s fingers massage his clenched fist. “You’re lucky I can’t reach across this fucking table right now.”

Leo’s gaze drops from his brothers. The look that lies in Tommy’s eyes is one he’s seen before—at least not directed at him. It’s the look that accompanied the acts that earned Tommy his nickname. Leo’s gaze nervously shifts towards Rogers who is still watching Tommy from his post.

“What do you want with her? Thinking she’s gonna give you a shot? Criminal is her type, and she’s definitely yours.”

“It’s not her I need. It’s Angel.” Tommy starts, his jaw tightening as his gaze remains on Leo. “And if you want Angel, you need her.”

“If she’s as good as you say, what do you need Angel for? You’ve been talking about her like she might actually get you off.”

Leo steals a brave glance at his brother. He watches as Tommy looks up from his tattooed knuckles.

“No matter how hard you pray, people like me and you don't come out on the right side of the law. No matter how fucking good she is, she can't get me out of this. This shit is stacked too high against me." Tommy’s gaze shifts to the clock overhead. “Did you find the necklace?”

Leo nods as Tommy stands.

“Good, go ahead and do what I asked.” Tommy pauses, his voice lowering as his gaze meets his brothers. “Nothing else, Leonardo. The time I'm looking at right now, I’ll fucking kill you right here if you pull some shit like that again.”

At some point Monday night, Angel abandoned his spot on the sofa to crawl into bed with you. His intention may have been to take one side of the bed, but to no surprise, he has failed.

You came to this revelation at two o’clock in the morning when you tried to roll over but found it to be impossible. You have been stuck on your back ever since. You attempted to fall back asleep but have not been able to.

Cheek pressed against your chest, arm wrapped around your waist, Angel hasn’t moved. He doesn’t move when your alarm goes off at 7:30 or when the knock comes on the door at 8:00.

The sleep Angel lost, the past two days over Tommy seems to have piled onto him. He only wakes when your fingers brush through his hair, the warmth of your touch lingering against his cheek.

“You have to get up and eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.” Angel mumbles. The sunlight peeking through the curtains prompts him to burrow his face against your neck. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you smile softly. “But, I’m hungry, and I can’t get our food with you laying on top of me.”

Your words are met with a huff before Angel rolls over. Resting on his back, he watches the fan spin as you get out of bed.

His first instinct is to check his phone. He pushes himself up, his body protesting with the sudden movement, once he realizes his cellphone is not where he left it.

“Where’s my phone?”

His palms pressed against his eyes as he pushes away the enticing thought of laying back down for a few more hours of sleep.

“It kept going off,” you look up from the plate in your hand. “Ezekiel kept texting you.”

“What did he want?”

Angel watches you shrug. “I don’t know. I put it in the drawer. I tried to wake you up, but you were literally dead.”

Angel releases a sigh of relief before reaching over to open the bedside drawer. Facedown, his phone has several notifications. He ignores the rest, focusing on those from his younger brother.

2:30 a.m. 📲 : You still up?

2:35 a.m. 📲 : Talked to Bishop. Found out what the shipment was

3:00 a.m. 📲 : Pretty sure I found something else

3:02 a.m. 📲 : Don’t know if this is the guy. If it is we might have a problem

3:03 a.m. 📲: Found this in the paper

3:04 a.m. 📲 : Check it out and call me back.

The last incoming message was a photo, the front page of the Daily Imperial Gazette. Angel scans the article as you climb back into bed. A few phrases stick as he reads, “Man charged in Santo Padre murder…” “Thomas Flores, 30, has been charged…” “...obtained representation from Lorente & Rothman…” “...Friday, Flores was denied bond…”

“I have to tell you something.”

Angel instinctively hits the power button on his phone. Glancing up, he realizes you haven’t even bothered to look up at him. Your focus is on the half-eaten croissant in your hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you explain as you take another bite of your croissant. “The case Samuel gave me—the one Aiden is helping me with—it’s for this guy. His name’s Tommy Flores. He has some pretty...intense charges, so you’re probably going to hear people talking about it soon. We had court Friday, and the judge...he’s pretty tough. He denied any form of a bond, he didn’t even bother trying to set a ridiculously high one.”

You glance up to find Angel’s eyes on you. His unreadable expression causes your brow to furrow. You mistake the look in his eyes as uncertainty.

“I honestly don’t think it’s anything you have to worry about.” Offering him a smile, you lightly roll your eyes. “But I’m going to have to start working late when we get back, so I need to know that what happened Friday won’t happen again.”

You wait for Angel’s response, but it doesn’t come.

“If I take over morning drop-offs, can I count on you to pick Jeyson up after school?” You continue. “Or, do I have to ask Isabela to do it...Angel?”

Angel blinks as your fingers snap.

“Are you listening to me?” The irritation he finds as his focus shifts to you causes him to nod.

Angel nods a second time as he takes in the look of skepticism on your face.

“Yeah, I’m listening.”

“So, you’re good with picking Jeyson up from school?” You clarify. “Every day of the week?”

Angel unlocks his phone, nodding for the third time. “Yeah. I’ll pick him up.”

“And if you can’t,” you reach forward. You catch Angel's chin forcing him to look at you. “You call and let me know the moment you find out?”

Nodding, Angel drops his eyes the second your gaze meets his. “I gotta call Ez.”

Despite his admission, your hand doesn’t drop preventing him from getting up. For a moment, Angel thinks you’ll let it go. For once, you will ignore the feeling you get each time you notice a change in him. It is something no one else in his life can seem to do. It is something you’ve been able to do your entire life. It is something Angel wishes you couldn’t do.

“What’s wrong?”

Angel shakes his head as you release him. He keeps his eyes trained on the plate in your lap avoiding your gaze as your touch brushes through his hair. It's a habit. Angel knows the moment he meets your gaze he’ll tell you whatever is on his mind. It’s impossible not to do when he knows you can read him best that way. He picks up what’s left of your croissant and takes a bite.

You sit your plate aside before closing the distance between the two of you. Angel’s eyes lift to meet yours as you settle on his lap. The warmth of your palms finds his cheeks as you take his face in your hands.

“I’ve known you nearly my entire life, Angel. I know you don’t believe it, but I can tell when you’re lying to me. Just like I can tell when you’re upset and anxious. And when you’re going to annoy me.” The soft smile on your lips brings a weak one to his. “There’s no point in trying to act like I don’t. What’s wrong?”

“You were right about Friday night. I wasn’t with Samuel. I wasn’t even in Santo Padre.” Angel lets out a deep breath. His voice low as your fingers toys with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Ez and I were in Mexico. I left when you were in court. I knew we weren’t going to make it back in time, but I didn’t want to have to tell you because I knew you’d be pissed.”

“What happened to your hand?”

He watches you lift it. Your finger traces the bandage.

“Cut it on a shovel.”

Your gaze lifts to find his focus on the path your finger traces.

“...okay.”

Angel shook his head. “It’s not okay—I fucked up. Forreal this time—“

"What? On Friday?” You let out a deep breath. “Angel, I know I freaked out. Missing the recital—yeah, it was fucked up—but it is not the worse thing you’ve done.”

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve that.” Your eyes watch him release a tired laugh, his gaze down. "You defend me, even when you shouldn’t.”

It is true. Defending Angel has been second nature your entire life. Often you do it in response to others. But also in response to him. When you were teenagers, you learned a valuable lesson about him. Angel is his worst critic. He’ll talk himself down harsher than anyone, even those who hate him.

“It’s because I love you.” Your arms wrap around his neck pulling him into a hug. “Just because we fight and say stupid things to each other doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, Angel. If I haven’t been able to stop doing that our entire time together, I don’t know why you think a fight in a therapy session is going to be the final straw. Me not talking to you is just the easiest way for me not to say something I’ll regret later.”

Angel’s grip tightens around you as your lips press against his skin.

“At this point, there isn’t anything you can do or say that’s going to make me stop loving you.” The reassurance in your voice lifts his gaze to yours. “Okay?”

Your lips press against his in a soft kiss. You leave a second against his forehead before getting up.

“I have to take a shower,” you announce as Angel’s arm wraps around your waist guiding your body back towards his. Your fingers drift into his hair as his head rests against you. “There’s more food you should eat before we go out.”

The two of you stay that way for nearly a minute. Angel releases you as the sound of your ringing phone fills the air.

Silence from Angel Reyes is a bad sign. Such a rarity, it wrings your stomach into knots. It has been hours since you woke to find him sleeping against you. Angel has said just as little as he did in the morning. When you stepped out of the shower, you found him fully dressed and brushing his teeth.

You glance over your shoulder to find he’s standing where you last left him. Arms crossed over his chest Angel rests against the wall as far from the line as possible. With his sunglasses on, you can’t tell where he’s looking. The corner of his lips turns up into a small smile as you come to a stop before him.

“Who knew smoothies took forever to make,” he sighs as your arms wrap around his waist.

Resting your cheek against Angel's chest, you tighten your grip. You listen to the steady rhythm of his heart as his lips press against your hair.

“I want you to come somewhere with me tonight.”

“No,” Angel chuckles. You tip your head back, pouting as his gaze drops to yours.

He shakes his head as your weight shifts to your toes.

“Please,” you ask, your lips pressing a kiss against his.

“Last time I did that, you ripped me to shreds,” he laughs. “I haven’t even had time to recover from that.”

“It’ll be fun,” you promise. The second kiss you leave morphs Angel's smile into a grin. You leave a third, this one against his cheek. “I promise.”

Angel releases a long breath as you take a step back, a grin on your face.

“It better be,” he shakes his head as you quickly press a final kiss against his lips before turning to retrieve your order.

As you reach the corner, your cell phone vibrates in your back pocket. You don’t bother checking who it is. Aiden has called you three times. You had sent him a text message in response to his first three calls. Telling him to ask Isabela for help on whatever he needed.

The moment the call goes to voicemail, the vibration picks back up.

You force yourself to take a breath as Angel leads you outside.

“Hi, Aiden--”

“I know this week is supposed to be for you and Angel,” Aiden's voice comes out in a rushed whisper. “But, I need your help.”

“Where are you?” You ask as you take a sip of your smoothie. “And, why are you whispering?”

“I’m at the courthouse,” Aiden sighs. “I’ve been here all morning, and they’re giving me the run-around.”

“About what?”

“The Warden called the office this morning. You weren’t there, so I answered your desk phone. He didn’t give me many details, just that Flores was detained last night. They couldn't get him to say anything—to no surprise—but one of the guards said he was involved in an altercation with another inmate. Apparently, Tommy messed him up pretty bad—like...transported to the local hospital bad.”

Angel glances over at you as you slip out of his grip. You take a seat at the table he stops alongside.

In the short time, you’ve worked with Aiden, you’ve learned one thing. The moment he thinks there is something to panic about, Aiden will panic. So, if you sound stressed it kicks off his panicking.

Resting your face in your hand, you speak quietly. “So, he wasn't transferred on Friday as I'd requested? If he was he couldn't have gotten in a fight.”

“I know. Apparently this isn't the first one he's been in. The Warden said he looks like he’s been roughed up in the past few days. I’ve been here since first thing this morning—”

“Let me guess.” You rest back against your seat. “They told you there’s nothing they can do, with the prison being at full capacity they don’t have a cell for him?”

A brief silence falls over the receiver. Aiden’s brow furrows.

“Yeah—how'd you know?”

“That’s because it’s bullshit,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “Judge Miller was hoping you’d leave and not press the issue.”

“Shit,” Aiden mumbles. “Shit, should I call Samuel—”

“God no. Aiden, I’ll tell you what to do, and say, just relax.”

“I lied to you.”

Angel glances down at you as your lips press against his knuckles. “About what?”

“About wanting to wait to get married.”

Your admission leaves Angel quiet. He opens his mouth to speak, but it closes as you place a second kiss against his skin.

You tilt your head back to find his eyes focused on the water.

“I was talking to Izzy the other day—not about getting married—but about you and...I mean...we’re trying to have another kid.” You backtrack as his gaze drifts to you. “That’s not the only reason, but I don’t want to spend another seven years playing house with you, Angel. I have tried so hard to find reasons why we should just leave each other in the past, but it’s impossible. I can’t help thinking that we’ve wasted so much time trying to fight it we should just get married.”

If he is excited by your words, Angel doesn’t show it. If he’s anxious by your words Angel doesn’t show it. The only response he gives is the furrowing of his brow as his pace slows before coming to a complete stop.

“I thought you’d be...a little happier,” you admit. The butterflies in your stomach seem to double in size as Angel's gaze focuses on your interlaced fingers.

“Right now?” Angel gently squeezes your hand, the smile slowly spreading across his lips causing you to shake your head. “A fancy place like this I’m pretty sure we could find someone to do it tonight.”

“Preferably with your son there,” you giggle as his lips press against your forehead.

“Just so you know,” Angel mumbles as he leaves a kiss against your lips. “You can’t take it back.”

“It’d be pointless,” you admit, your eyes focused on the incoming tide. “Regardless of what I say, you’re impossible to escape.”

“Like you said, it must be fate,” he teases as you step back towards the security of the shore.

“I didn’t say fate. I said I was tired of trying to outrun you.”

Angel’s eyes roll. “Okay.”

Pushing against his chest, you cause him to stumble backward making it impossible for him to avoid the incoming tide.

“Fuck—”

Angel’s scream is drowned out by the sound of your laughter. He tries to escape the chilled water but realizes it’s pointless as a second wave rolls through.

“Is it cold?” You ask the grin on your face prompting him to take a step in your direction. “Because it looked like it was cold.” The look on his face causes your laughter to return.

“You’re about to find out how cold it is.” The promise in his voice causes you to take a step back.

You catch sight of Angel’s smile before you take off running.

Between the giggles that leave you breathless and the sand between your feet, you don’t get very far before Angel’s arms wrap around you.

“I’m sorry, okay. Let me go, please?” Angel’s grip loosens as you turn to face him. “I really am sorry.”

A gasp escapes your lips as your feet leave the ground. Blood rushes to your head as Angel tosses you over your shoulder. It only takes a second for you to realize he’s turned and is carrying you back towards the water.

“Angel Ignacio Reyes put me down now!”

“Be careful what you wish for, baby girl,” Angel chuckles as he carries you into the water.

It doesn’t matter that you’re both fully clothed Angel carries you out until the water is waist-deep. He comes to a stop. Shifting you in his arms, he grins as your arms instantly wrap around his neck.

“You think this is far enough?” He asks as you take in your surroundings.

“I hate you,” you giggle as you meet his playful gaze.

“I could go further out,” he takes a step forward.

“Just do it.”

Judging by the mischievous grin on his lips, you expect him to drop you in. For whatever reason, Angel spares you a dunking. Instead, he carefully lowers you to your feet.

The chill of the water causes your grip to tighten around him. He waits until you’re standing to let go of you.

You can’t suppress the smile that finds your lips as he kisses you.

“You’re lucky you buttered me up beforehand,” he chuckles as you step around him.

He follows you back to shore watching as you glance down the beach, back towards the lights of the hotel. Your pace slows as you start in the direction of the hotel.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Despite the nod of reassurance, you force yourself to take another breath. You shake your head slightly, a tiny smile finding your lips. It takes a third breath for the feeling to pass. “I just—got lightheaded for a second.”

“Uh-huh. Funny how you get ‘lightheaded’ the second I take my shirt off. I don’t know why you still try and play this game at this point.”

Your eyes open in time to allow you the moment you need to react. Catching the shirt tossed your way, you watch Angel unzip his jeans.

"Angel put your shirt back on–I’m serious.” The warning in your voice stretches the smile on Angel’s lips. Your eyes leave him, long enough to drift back to the glow of the hotel’s lanterns still visible. The laughter and music cause you to step in his direction. “You are not getting naked on the beach! Are you trying to get us kicked out of here—”

“I wasn’t planning on going in naked,” Angel laughs. It is an admission of truth, but the sight of your panicked gaze causes a mischievous grin to take over his features. “But, I’m down to if you are—“

“No—"

“You know what?” Angel nods as he tugs his foot out of his jeans. “Your plan is better.”

“Angel—“

There’s no point throwing in a protest. Angel has fully stripped down to his briefs.

You step forward as he moves to push them down.

“I am serious, Angel. Do not do it.”

He rolls his neck before letting out a loud, and exaggerated, “fine.”

“But the only way that’s coming back on,” he nods towards the shirt in your hands before taking a step back. “You gotta join me.”

“I’m not doing this.”

Angel shoots you a look of skepticism as he takes another step towards the water.

“You’re already wet,” he chuckles. “Might as well get in.”

You remain where you are as Angel turns and makes his way into the water.

He waits until he’s waist-deep to start swimming out. He disappears out of sight as you drop his shirt to the ground. Stepping out of your flip-flops, you roll your eyes as you watch him resurface under the moonlight.

“Hurry up!” Even with the distance between the two of you, you can see Angel’s grin in your mind perfectly.

Despite your initial protest, you stay in the water for nearly an hour. Angel stands alongside you. His right-hand rests against your spine, his left interlaced with yours as your float. He watches you, his eyes admiring the moonlight against your skin as you focus on the stars above.

“I can’t remember the last time I looked at these,” you admit.

He smiles as your eyes drift shut. “Mom used to freak every time she caught us sneaking onto the roof to look at them.”

“That’s because you fell off one time. Nearly gave her a heart attack.”

“Wouldn’t have been the first time.”

You bite back a smile as Angel’s lips lightly brush against yours. They drift to the bridge of your nose as you release a soft giggle.

“Speaking of mom’s, yours came by last week.” Angel watches as the smile on your face slowly fades. “You were at work. I was taking Jeyson to school. She said she’s been calling you.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you admit. “She’s blocked.”

“I was thinking...since we’re heading back a day early, we should stop by your mom’s on the way back–”

“No.”

Angel releases a deep breath. He wasn’t naive to think you would jump at the idea. But, since seeing her, Angel couldn’t get the thought out of his mind.

“I know ya’ll don’t get along, but my mom’s not here to see Jeyson grow up. I think he should be able to know the grandparents he has left.”

“I get that, but I’m not doing it.”

Your eyes remain closed as you concentrate on the waves gently pushing against your skin.

Angel doesn’t say anything else on the subject. He knows your response will stay the same. It has for the past nine years. He also doesn’t say anything else because he knows he’s the reason you won’t budge.

The hatred your mother has for Angel may be misplaced, but she is too stubborn to admit it. She has always blamed Angel for many of your actions, starting when you were kids. Anytime you didn’t go through with what she had planned for you, Angel was to blame. You missed curfew in high school Angel was to blame. You skipped school on your birthday Angel was to blame. You didn’t attend the college she spent her entire life preparing you for Angel was to blame. You got pregnant out of wedlock Angel was to blame.

It had all came to a head at your baby shower. Angel wasn’t there, but it was the first time he’d ever seen his mother truly angry. Sure, Marisol had gotten mad at Angel countless times. But seeing how mad Marisol was as she recounted the fight she had witnessed between you and your mother, Angel was shocked.

He never asked what words were exchanged, and he didn’t have to. All he knew was that from that moment forward, everyone avoided the subject of your mother.

“I get what you’re saying, Angel,” you sigh. “But, if my mom truly wanted to get to know Jeyson she would apologize. I can’t bring our son around someone that has said the things she’s said about you. If she can say them about you, she can say them about him because Jeyson is your son.”

“Shit, I really look as bad as I feel?”

The smile on Tommy’s face grows as you look up. The heat covering your skin seems to rise as you start to speak.

“No—” You wince. “I’m sorry for staring—it’s rude.”

“It’s all good,” Tommy chuckles as he watches your eyes leave his.

He watches as you bite your lip. Whatever is on your mind, you don’t share it. Instead, your eyes linger on the bruise beneath his right eye. You’ve seen enough damage on Angel to know how bad it must have looked a few days prior.

“Hey, relax.” Tommy shifts forward in his seat, the sound of his shackles dragging across the table causing your attention to refocus. He meets your gaze. “The Doc cleared me—gave me my two Advil and sent me back to my cell. I think it’s safe to say I’m not gonna die.”

Despite the smile on his face, your head still shakes.

“Yeah, but I still feel bad that it happened. I was supposed to double-check the clearance of your paperwork.”

“Trust me, it’s not your fault,” Tommy chuckles. He watches your eyes drop to his freshly bruised knuckles. “It’s mine. The funny thing about this place is, you always run into people from your past. My mom used to said I never knew when to stop talking. I might have said the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

You watch as Tommy’s eyes briefly drift over your shoulder to where Rogers sits in the corner. His smile returns as his gaze drifts back to you.

“So, I take it you had fun.” He notes your raised brow before backtracking. “The Warden said he called your office and your boyfriend answered, said you were out of town.”

Your eyes roll. “Hey, go easy on my boyfriend. He’s the one who went to the courthouse. From what I hear, he slammed Judge Miller hard because your paperwork has been approved.”

You take in Tommy’s skepticism. You slide the signed form across the table, allowing him a better view.

“Signed by the Warden as well,” you point out. “Thanks to Aiden as soon as we’re done here, you’re being moved out of the unit.”

“No shit?” Tommy chuckles. He nods in approval as he scans the form. “I’ll be sure to thank Aiden when I see him. Guess you were right. He’s got some balls after all...Look, I know I’m not the easiest client….so um….Thanks for pushing for this. Making sure everything was straight. Most people would’ve just left me where I was.”

“Yeah, well I can’t have you die before I get fully paid.”

The laugh Tommy releases brings a smile to your lips. He settles back against his chair as you pick up your pen.

"I need you to understand that this new assignment may not be your favorite," you explain. "You're being moved to a new unit, but I can't get you moved again. That means, you can't do anything else, Tommy. Do you understand me?"

Tommy nods. He looks up as your hand finds his.

"This," your lift his hand forcing him to take in his swollen knuckles. "The shit you pulled. You're lucky they didn't throw you in AdSeg. That's 23 hours in your cell. No phone calls, no visits. Nothing. The only reason they didn't throw you in there is because they messed up, and didn't want Aiden to draw a motion against the judge. I don't care what you have to do, but you better learn to walk away from a fight. Now."

"I know." Tommy sighs as you let him go.

“Then do it. My job is already hard enough as it is. I can't have you trying to kill someone while you're already here for murder. Plus, the judge is pissed because of the paperwork Aiden had to file. That's not good for either of us. So, that means I need your help.”

His brow raises, the corners of his lips turning up into a smirk. “I thought I was supposed to be the one asking for help.”

“True, but help is a two-way street.”

Tommy hesitates for a moment. His eyes drop to his knuckles as he lets off a light shrug.

“What do you need?”

“For you to tell me why you were meeting with Alexander Maddox the night you were arrested.”

Tommy’s smile fades quicker than it came. His jaw tightens as he shakes his head.

You sit forward resting your elbows on the table.

“Tommy, if it’s about the MC.” Tommy’s eyes lift for a brief second. Long enough for you to catch a glimpse of the shock in his eyes. You lower your voice. “I know you’re with the Horsemen—”

Tommy shakes his head. “Look—I get you got a job to do, but—there’s just shit with the MC I can’t talk about—”

“I know how this stuff works—”

“Got a lot of personal experience with an MC?” Tommy asks.

His question causes you to release a deep breath.

“If you don’t want to tell me anything, fine. But when it comes down to it, Tommy. People will cut you off to save themselves.” The irritation in your voice lifts his gaze. “That shipment you were carrying, was not a dime bag. Your brothers will let you go down for this. Hard. They will let you rot in here for the rest of your fucking life if it means avoiding a R.I.C.O. case.”

Tommy’s brow furrows. “What’s a R.I.C.O.?”

His question throws you off. The pure confusion on his face causes you to backtrack.

“You seriously don’t know what that is?”

“I mean—I’ve heard of it...how do you know what it is?”

“It’s what you pay me for,” you remind him.

“Then I guess I’m paying you to explain it to me.”

The moment you step outside of the elevator, you come face to face with a wide-eyed Isabela.

“Is your phone dead?” She asks the irritation in her voice causing your brow to arch.

“Off—I had a client meeting with Tommy. I thought I told you—”

Isabela ignores your response, her eyes focused in the direction of your office. “Yeah, whatever. I’ve been calling you for the last freaking hour—”

“Sorry—ow.” You wince as Isabela catches your arm. She pulls you to a stop. “What?”

She releases her grip, but she sidesteps. Blocking your path, Isabela places both hands on your shoulders. She ignores the look of confusion on your face, her gaze studying yours.

“How are you?”

Her question causes you to hesitate. “...Fine...why?”

Isabela takes another moment to study your eyes as if she doesn’t fully believe you before nodding.

“Just so you know,” she sighs as she takes a step back. “I did not let her in. Aiden did. He didn’t know any better—bless his heart—”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your mother.” Isabela winces at the look on your face. “She’s in your office. Promise me you won’t make a scene.”

“It’s never me you have to worry about,” you mumble.

When you enter your office, you find your mother is not where Aiden asked her to sit and wait for you.

She is standing behind your desk studying a photo that she holds in her hands.

“Put it back.”

She jumps at the sound of your voice, her body turning so that she faces you.

“Put it back, please.”

Her eyes return to the photo of Angel seated on his bike. A grinning Jeyson is seated in front of him, clinging to the handlebars.

“He looks so much like his father.”

You cross the room. Taking the photo, you place it back in its original resting place before dropping your purse onto your desk.

“What do you want?” You ask as you watch step around your desk.

“Is that a way to greet your mother?”

“According to the last time we spoke, I don’t have one.” You recollect as you take a seat. “It’s been...nearly nine years, so my memory might be a little hazy, but I’m pretty sure that’s what you told me.” Your brow furrows as she moves to take the seat across from you. “There’s no need for you to sit. This conversation won’t last long. I have a meeting in a few minutes. What do you want?”

Your mother’s jaw tightens as she remains standing. Her eyes roll as she speaks. “I take it he didn’t pass along my message.”

“He did pass along your message, actually,” you admit. “Believe it or not, Angel said I should call you and listen to what you had to say. I just chose to do what I’ve done for the past nine years—ignore it. If you’re not going to answer my question, mom, then you can leave.”

“Your father and I want to see our grandson—”

“No.”

She expects more, but your attention has already moved on to the papers you’ve dropped onto your desk.

“See, I told you the conversation wouldn’t last long.”

“Y/N,” your mother objects. “It’s been nearly nine years.”

Your fingers interlaced as you force yourself to take a deep breath. You surprise even yourself as your voice comes out quiet and calm.

“I told you before. I do not want you near my son, and I meant it. I don’t care what excuse you’ve come here to give today. I’m not changing my mind. Your only hope is to speak with his father, and hope he’s more forgiving than I am.”

Aiden stops in the doorway, his eyes widening as he reads the room. He takes a step back but pauses as you give him a warm smile.

“Hi, Aiden! Please tell me you haven’t eaten lunch yet.”

“No,” Aiden clears his throat. His eyes briefly pass to your mother whose gaze remains on you. “I haven’t.”

“Good. Can you order two of whatever you’re having? I’ll pay. We have to go ahead and look over this case.”

Aiden nods as you add, “great. Can you also escort my mother downstairs? She’s ready to leave.”

“I’m sorry for ruining your retreat.”

Aiden’s apology breaks your concentration.

Seated on the floor of your office, Aiden has his back pressed against your desk. His usually polished appearance is disheveled. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His tie and jacket are discarded on the back of your chair.

His apology is one he has been working himself up to share for the last three hours. Each time he thought of sharing it, he’s backed out. At this point, he’s run out of pointless conversation and has reached the bottom of your takeout container that he took over.

“What are you talking about?”

Aiden’s eyes remain on the chopsticks in his hand.

“Isabela told me not to call you about Tommy,” he clears his throat. He steals a glance in your direction. “She said it should wait until you got back—but as usual—I panicked and called you. Now you’re back early--”

“Aiden, you didn’t ruin my retreat,” you sigh. Your palms rub against your tired eyes. “It was rocky was to begin with.”

The admission silences the office. Aiden nods before opening his mouth.

“So,” you smile as you lightly bump his shoulder with yours. “Please, don’t worry about it. Angel was probably happy you called so he could leave.”

Your gaze returns to the slow-paced printer. Upon learning you were coming home early, Aiden had sent you a text message.

📲: I have some stuff to show you about Tommy.

And by “some stuff” Aiden meant a board. He had stolen one of Samuel’s whiteboards from the conference room. The entire surface is covered in your notes and information from Tommy’s files.

“I can’t believe you did all this while I was gone,” you stare at the board. “Your girlfriend might think you’re spending too much time on me.”

Aiden’s smile is sheepish. “If I had one, I wouldn’t have had time to do this.”

“Well, remind me to find you one because this is amazing.” The tease causes Aiden’s smile to grow. “I’m serious, Aiden. I can’t believe you thought you couldn’t be any help.”

“I didn’t really do anything,” he shrugs, his gaze focused on the paper in his hand. “They’re all your notes, I just organized them.”

His eyes widen, a grin finding his lips as your arms wrap around his neck.

“Call it whatever you want,” you smile. “But I still get to say thank you.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he rubs the back of his neck before glancing over at you. “We’re a team….speaking of...I found this.”

The picture he lifts is not new. It is one you’ve seen before. Your brow furrows as you take in the pregnant woman on display.

“I already know who that is,” you admit. “It’s the girlfriend of—”

“Alexander Maddox.” Aiden nods. “Right. I kept going back to your notes. You had one question. Why was Tommy meeting with Maddox in the first place?”

Your head shakes the confusion on your face prompting the rolling of Aiden’s eyes.

“How is this the answer?”

“You were asking the wrong question.” A mischievous grin slides onto his face as Aiden realizes you’re still not following his train of thought. “I can’t believe I figured something out before you—”

“Oh my goodness, Aiden—”

“When he was arrested, Tommy was carrying a shipment--”

“Yeah, something he shouldn’t have been doing by himself.”

Aiden’s brow arches. “You got a history of drug trafficking I don’t know about?”

“You’d be surprised what you pick up on this job.”

Aiden shakes his head as you motion for him to continue.

“While I was working, I kept thinking back to our conversation at the courthouse,” Aiden continues. “You said Tommy’s smart—"

“He uses people to get what he wants.”

“Exactly,” Aiden grins. He lifts the picture in his hand. “Why would Maddox meet up with someone from a rival club, in the middle of the night, with his pregnant girlfriend in tow if he was threatened by them?”

Aiden doesn’t bother answering the question. Instead, he waits for you to make the connection. The smile on his face remains as your eyes widen.

“Because he was there to make a deal.”

“Exactly!” Despite the smile on your face, Aiden’s face dampens. “...but that’s as far as I got. I don’t really know what made Tommy kill him—”

“Of course you do, Aiden.” Despite your reassurance and the confidence in your voice, Aiden’s expression hasn’t changed. “Your brain just needs a second to catch up. Maddox didn’t keep up his end of the deal. He probably tried to screw Tommy over. Not realizing that Tommy would kill him, girlfriend in tow.”

"Well, now we know why Tommy's been tight-lipped about that night. Probably doesn't want it to get out that he was skimming from the club's business."

The hug you give him brings the same response as before.

“I should help you out more often.” Aiden chuckles as you give him a squeeze.

“Careful,” you tease. “Angel’s not too fond of sharing.”

“Speaking of Angel…” Aiden’s gaze meets yours. “I know you asked me not to say anything to him about Samuel—”

“It’s okay.”

Aiden nods, but he continues. His rambling brings a soft smile to your lips.

“Yeah, but I just...I didn’t want you to think I was okay with what Samuel did.” His words come out quietly as he shakes his head. “The way he talked to you...it wasn’t right. You work harder than anyone here—including him—and for Samuel to do that was fucked up. I didn’t say anything in the meeting, and I should have. So, I just...I told Angel when he asked about it.”

“He would have found out eventually,” you laugh softly. “Besides, now Angel likes you.”

“For real?” The smile on Aiden’s face stretches into a grin as you nod.

A silence falls over the office as Aiden’s head rests against the desk. His brow furrows as your eyes fall to your hands. There is a final question on his mind. One he’s tried to find a way to raise since he started flipping through your notes on Saturday morning.

“Are you pregnant?”

The question lifts your gaze.

Aiden reaches into the pocket of his shirt. Your eyes widen as you take in the white card he produces. It is a card you spent the entire morning trying to find. The scheduled appointment one you have yet to share with Angel.

“It was in the notebook you turned over for me and Samuel to review,” Aiden explains as he passes the card over. “Don’t worry. I saw it before he did...I figured he was the last person you wanted to know.”

Your eyes focus on the date. A week and a half away. The initial scheduling may have been premature, but you couldn’t shake the feeling Angel was right.

“Uh...no—I mean, it’s too early to tell.” You turn the card over before looking up. “I should know by this date, so can you not tell anyone about this? I haven’t even told Izzy...or Angel for that matter. I don’t want to say anything until I’m a hundred percent sure.”

Aiden nods, a soft smile on his lips. “Of course.”

“Thanks.” You allow your head to rest back against the desk. “I don’t want to get Angel’s hopes up too early.”

It was the only thought you’ve had from the moment you woke up alongside Angel that moment. But as you glance back at the card in your hand, you know the truth has nothing to do with Angel. It’s not his hopes that you’re afraid of letting down.

You place the card aside, pulling your knees to your chest. Your gaze drifts to the board before you. The two of you sit in silence, eyes focused on your work. Silently willing your brains to come up with one more revelation before packing it up for the night.

"Alright," Aiden huffs. "I think we've gotten as far as we can get tonight."

HIs brow furrows, a chuckle filling the air as he fingers brush against your arm.

"Didn't take you for a tattoo person."

You glance over at him, following his gaze to the ink on your arm.

"Yeah, well, you've never been dragged to a tattoo parlor with Angel," you laugh. "Now, I try to avoid them at all cost."

"It's pretty cool," he grins, his eyes lingering on the design. "He has one too? Matching?"

"Yep," your eyes roll lightly. "Please don't tease me about teenage decisions."

"I won't," he chuckles. Aiden sits forward, lightly patting your leg before moving to collect the trash.

“Aiden?”

“Huh?” He glances up from the takeout containers in his hands.

“How long was he in Chino?”

“Tommy...uh, hold on.” Balancing the containers in his left, Aiden quickly rifles through the stacks of papers spread across the floor before him. “Says here...he was in Chino for....30 months.”

“Any way we can figure out where he was housed?”

“I don’t know,” Aiden admits as his eyes scan the wrap sheet. “His charges were nothing compared to now. Petty crime, so he wasn’t housed at maximum. Why?”

Once his question is met with silence, Aiden glances over his shoulder at you.

“What’s wrong?” The concern in his eyes slowly morphs to fear as he takes in your expression. “Did I miss something?”

“No, I did.”

“What do you mean?”

Before he can pose the question, you’re already pushing yourself to your feet.

“Go home, okay? It’s getting late—don’t worry about the mess. I’ll clean it up in the morning.”

Although you’ve managed to mask your expression, the trembling of your hands causes Aiden’s brow to furrow.

“You sure?” He objects. He quickly stands, stopping you from grabbing your keys from your desk. “I can send an email about his placement in Chino—”

“No.” Your response comes out more panicked than you want. You quickly backtrack. The reassuring smile you give Aiden not holding the weight it’s meant to. “I’ll do it in the morning. I have to go see Angel.”

“Okay.” Aiden nods. He passes over the sheet watching as you excuse yourself.

Jeyson Reyes sits at the table in the center of the clubhouse, his math homework abandoned. His attention is devoted to the bowl of skittles in front of him. He has spent that past minute carefully picking out his least favorite skittles—the yellow.

“Word on the street is you got a birthday coming up,” Angel accepts another yellow skittle before popping it in his mouth. Jeyson’s eyes widen as he briefly pauses the task at hand. Angel’s brow furrows as his eyes study his son’s face. “How old are you turning again? Five—”

“Nine!”

“Nine? Nah--that can’t be right.” Angel shakes his head as he takes in Jeyson’s broad grin. “I don’t believe you—”

“Uh-huh,” Jeyson nods, dropping another skittle into his father’s palm. “I turn nine in seventeen days.”

“Shit—”

“That’s another dollar in the swear jar,” Jeyson reminds him as he passes Angel another skittle.

“I know,” Angel chuckles. He rests back against his seat, his eyes lingering on your son as he quietly admits. “I can’t believe you’re that old.”

Jeyson’s nose scrunches. “I’m not old.”

“Yeah, you are,” Angel laughs, his hand brushing against Jeyson’s hair. “You’re almost an adult.”

“I’m still a kid,” Jeyson giggles as his eyes lift to meet his father’s. “You’re old—”

“Hey—I am not old,” Angel retorts, the feigned look of offense causing your son’s giggles to increase.

Jeyson reaches over pointing towards the beard Angel’s hand passes over. “You have gray hair—lots of it.”

His father’s gaze narrows as Jeyson’s grin stretches as far as his cheeks will allow. As if to soften the blow, Jeyson drops two more skittles into Angel’s palm before eating one of his own.

Angel’s smile remains as he watches Jeyson redirect his attention back to the bowl of skittles on the table.

“Have you thought about what you want for your birthday?"

Jeyson shrugs. “Not really.”

“Not really?” Angel’s brow raises. “You’re counting down to your birthday, but you don’t know what you want?”

Jeyson lets off a second shrug, his concentration on the skittles causing Angel’s brow to furrow.

“You know we’re gonna end up getting whatever it is you want,” Angel smiles as he ruffles Jeyson’s hair. “You’ve been doing everything you’re supposed to in school.”

Despite Angel’s words, Jeyson’s gaze remains down. He chews on the inside of his cheek. The action causes his father to slide the bowl of skittles aside.

“What’s up? You don't think you can get what you want?”

Nearly a minute passes before Jeyson answers Angel’s question. His voice comes out quietly.

“I want you to stay at home.”

Angel’s brow furrows. The response is not what he’s anticipating. “I am staying at home.”

“My home, not yours.” Jeyson clarifies. “Where mom and I live.”

“That is where I’m staying.”

“You didn’t Friday. Is it because you don’t like living with us?” He asks quietly

Angel’s eyes drift shut, the tightening of his throat causing him to shake his head.

“Your mom and I—” Angel’s voice trails off as Jeyson looks up from the table to meet his gaze.

It is a conversation neither of them has breached before. One Jeyson has found himself thinking about more and more. One Angel knew he would eventually have with his son, but he hadn’t anticipated it to be now. He had also hoped you would be around to help him.

“You having two homes has nothing to do with me not wanting to live with you—or your mom. You don’t remember it, you were too little, but your mom and I...we used to fight a lot.” Angel continues. “I wasn’t nice to her, and I made her cry a lot. So I had to leave. I didn’t want to leave you or her, but I also didn’t want to hurt you or your mom. It took me a while to learn how not to do that. Friday...I couldn’t come home because I didn’t want to fight with your mom.”

“You still made her cry.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Leaning over, Angel brushes his hand against Jeyson’s hair. His touch forces Jeyson’s eyes to meet his. “You know how you and your friends get mad at each other? Sometimes we get mad at the people we love because we don’t see things the same way. But your mom being mad at me has nothing to do with you. Okay? Just because your mom and I might fight, it doesn’t mean I’m leaving.”

The soft smile Angel offers him prompts Jeyson to give him one in return.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m staying with you and your mom or at my house. I love you. That’s not ever gonna change. Never has, never will. Got it?”

Jeyson nods, his smile growing as Angel places a kiss against his skin.

As Jeyson's attention returns to the bowl of skittles, Angel reaches into his kutte. He pulls out the white envelope that he found in the mailbox upon your return home.

He studies the unfamiliar handwriting. Printed in block letters are his name and your address. His gaze passes over the generic American Flag stamp and date pressed into the right corner. The lack of a return address causes him to flip the envelope over.

Angel waits until he comes to a stop outside of the clubhouse to give the envelope a second glance. Tearing the side, he reaches inside pulling out a single index card. The handwriting matches that printed on the envelope.

An anniversary gift for the Old Lady.

Angel tips the envelope. His stomach tightens as the chill of a silver chain hits his palm. The buzzing of his phone in his kutte pocket goes ignored. He doesn’t need to unravel the chain to know who the necklace belongs to. He has looked at the necklace nearly every day since he was eighteen.

The continued vibration of his phone forces an irritated “fuck” from Angel’s lip before he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“What?”

“This is a prepaid call from Thomas Flores, an inmate at the state correctional facility. All phone calls are subject to recording and monitoring. To decline the call, please press nine. To accept the call and all charges that will be incurred, please press one.”

Angel doesn’t remember committing the act of acceptance. A moment later, Tommy’s voice echoes through his receiver. For a man locked inside the walls of Stockton, his voice is calm and lighthearted.

“Damn, it’s been a minute since I’ve heard your voice, Reyes. Can you believe I missed it?”

“The feeling isn’t mutual,” Angel growls, his grip tightening around his phone. “How’d you get this number?”

“Come on, Reyes--give me some credit. I got it the same way I got your address,” Tommy chuckles. “I had to make sure to wish you a happy anniversary. It just passed, right? What is it six—no—seven years? Hopefully, the two of you are doing better these days—”

“Why are you calling?”

“That’s the funny thing,” Tommy sighs, the smile on his face stretches into a grin. “See, I was in my cell a few weeks back, thinking to myself—got a lot of time for that nowadays—and naturally, that led to me thinking of you. And how I missed my old cellmate. Then I remembered...you owe me a favor.”

“A favor? I don’t owe you shit--”

“That’s not how this shit works. I think the person who’s owed a debt gets to decide when it’s paid in full.” Tommy pauses, the silence from Angel’s end allowing him to continue. “Funny thing, I wouldn’t have even thought to call on you for this, but you made a simple mistake all those years ago, Angel. You talked too much...If you don’t want someone to use your Achilles, you don’t share it.” Angel’s brow furrows as Tommy’s words slowly begin to sink in. “Now, you know I’m not a religious man, but I bet you can imagine how good I felt when I realized that God, himself, dropped Y/N into my lap. What are the odds that she and I got brought together? Huh? It’d be a shame to let this God-given opportunity go to waste, don’t you think?”

“What the fuck do you want, Tommy?”

“A lot of things,” Tommy admits. “A turn with your pretty wife for starters. The way you put it, she’d do just about anything for you--”

“She’s not doing anything for you--”

“That’s okay,” Tommy chuckles. “You’ve always had my back when it came down to the wire.”

Angel’s head shakes. “No—Fuck this—I’m hanging up. I told you that night. One and done—”

“I take it you got my gift,” Tommy ignores Angel’s declaration. “And...judging by the unnecessary hostility I’m sensing in your voice, you took a trip down South recently.”

“I want what you took—”

“And you can get it back—scout’s honor.” The sincerity in Tommy’s voice would fool a stranger, but not Angel. “After you help me out one last time. For old times sake.”

“I’m not helping you do shit.”

“Damn,” Tommy sighs. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

“And you’re gonna leave her alone. Come up with an excuse, I don’t care. You’re finding a new attorney—”

“No can do, Reyes. See, I don’t benefit by losing her.” Tommy explains. “Unless you wanna consider my proposal. Last time I’m offering. I think you’ll find my way is the easiest—for everybody involved.”

A silence falls over the line. The trembling of his hands tightening Angel’s grip on his cellphone.

“Alright, well, my time is almost up,” Tommy yawns. His eyes pass to the clock overhead. “Plus, I know it was a lot to dump on you, so I'll give you the night to mull it over. Tell your lady I said thanks for visiting me today.”

Angel’s continued silence brings a grin to Tommy’s face. His chuckle fills this receiver.

“You haven’t told her yet….Tell me, what do you think she’s gonna say when your secret gets out? Do you think she’s gonna stick around this time? If that shit gets out, you’ll be facing more than some 18-month stint in Chino, Reyes. You’ll be facing some real-time. Ask your baby brother how that shit sits with you. All it’ll take is some rumors about the location of a missing state’s witness to start swirling...evidence anonymously getting dropped into the hands of the right people...then you and I just might be sharing a cell again.”

“Trust me, you don’t want that shit to happen.”

“Maybe...maybe not...only time will tell.” Tommy sighs. The calmness of his voice is the opposite of the feeling causing Angel to force out an unsteady breath. “Do me a favor, check with your old lady on how to get on my visitation list. I think you owe me a visit, make the shit quick, Reyes. Maybe she can get them to expedite the paperwork. You got a job to do, and your clock is ticking, homie.”

There is no need for additional words to be exchanged. Tommy hangs up, leaving Angel standing at the end of the driveway. No matter how hard Angel tried to resist—or tried to appear that he was—Tommy knew the hook was set the moment the call began.

When you pull into the clubhouse lot, you find Angel standing at the base of the clubhouse steps.

His eyes meet yours as you park, but he makes no move to meet you. The question is out before you can step around the front of your car.

“Do you know Tommy Flores?”

Angel’s eyes may be on you, but his mind is somewhere else.

“What?”

“Thomas Flores. He was serving time in Chino. Longer than you—thirty months—but you were there the exact same time. Did you hear about him while you were there?” Your question is met with silence. Angel blinks. His brow furrows as he watches you cross the lot. “I know it’s a random question, but Angel it’s really important. Okay?”

It’s common for people to cross paths. Chino is not a prison. It’s smaller than Stockton. Inmates flood in and out like clockwork. That's what your mind can produce in the time it takes you to come to a stop before him.

But it’s the look in Angel’s eyes that tightens your stomach.

It’s a look you’ve only seen once in your life.

Nearly two years ago. A night you hadn't revisited in quite some time.

When Angel had shown up unannounced at your house. This was nothing new.

Only this time, the pounding on your front door had woken you, Jeyson, and nearly half the neighborhood.

Your initial assumption was that he was drunk—it wouldn’t have been the first time Angel had shown up after a few beers and a shitty hookup only to find his way back to you. Begging you to let him stay the night, swearing to plead his drunken case, only to pass out against you the moment you were seated on the sofa.

Only this time—the moment you’d gotten the door open you were crushed by his weight. Angel's grip had been tight. The pressure caused you to wince as his face burrowed against your skin.

For once, you couldn't detect alcohol--just sweat and dirt. His grip had tightened as you tried to move back and take a better look at him.

You didn't get much out of him that night. The most you could get him to do was shower. Which was for the best because, by the time you'd helped him dry off, Angel's adrenaline crashed. He’d passed out in your bed a minute later.

In the morning, he didn’t produce much of an explanation.

"Sorry if I scared you last night," he'd mumbled as he headed to the door. "I know you asked me not to show up—unannounced like that but—I just wanted to see you."

“Yeah,” Angel nods. “I knew him.”

You wait for elaboration, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Angel takes a step back. He finds a seat on the steps, his left hand reaching up to rub his eyes.

“Yeah, I knew him? What the hell does that mean? You knew of him, or you kn—”

“No, I knew—I know him.” Angel releases a sigh, his fist crumpling the envelope he holds. “He was my cellmate.”

“No, he wasn't.” The response is automatic. The laugh you release echoes across the parking lot. The meaning behind Angel’s silence doesn’t fully register. Your brain is still reeling, trying to find a rational explanation to deny his statement and what it means. You shake your head. “No, he wasn’t. That is not fucking possible—“

“Cellblock D. That’s where they house all gang-affiliated inmates. They don’t give a shit if you’re an MC or not. It’s all the same.” Angel quietly explains, his eyes watching the realization begin to sink into your features. “They put you together with guys from other places, knowing you might not have a brother to watch your back if you need protection. Tommy’s cellmate had recently been discharged. So, after intake, I took the open space—“

“Angel, stop. I can’t have you telling me this,” you cut him off. The sight of your widened eyes not deferring Angel’s train of thought. “Do you know what this means for my case? Why couldn’t you just lie to me—”

“Because what I need to tell you is worse.”

series taglist: @angelreyesgirl89 @holl2712 @relaxing-najee @thedeviltohisangel @awkwardtayler @siempremamita @amorestevens @witching-hour @seize-the-droid @rosieposie0624 @sesamepancakes @est1887 @queenbeered @ticosas @blessedboo @helli4nthus @katjusja @melanicia @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @moneteguiza

mayans taglist: @lilacyennefer @pedropcl @holl2712 @rae-gar-targaryen @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @henrycavill19 @silverstarsandsuns @chellybear98 @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @noz4a2 @wiccanmetallicrose @crxssourbones @kimljn @starrynite7114 @richonne4life @themarkblues @mariaxliliana @thelovelyleo23 @hail-horror-queen @gemini0410 @binooo98 @the-jer-bear @abbiesthings @losolvidad0s @helli4nthus @babaohhhriley @futureleo1678 @whatupitshuff @trhett21 @trulysuccubus @minnicelli @sillygoose6969 @capnsaveahoe @leahnicole1219 @crashbarbie @cyka1312 @zoovent @lakamaa12 @keithseabrook27 @vir-tually @awkwardtayler @rawrlittlepanda-95 @irenne-stans @pearlkitten33 @ezs-baby-angels-whore @sesamepancakes @toni9 @vannabanana1995 @queenbeered @shawty-fenty @kaystacks17 @thesandbeneathmytoes @anactualcaseofthetruth @star017 @cant-decide-at-this-moment @cocotheclown @watsonwise @ilovebey2018 @oscars-wifeyyy @rosieposie0624 @jennisdirtyimagines @ughdontbeboring @jjwriter23 @briskywalker @peoniarose @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @partypoison00 @making-starsdance @claytoncardenasbabymama @myakai13

#lost one of tommy's scenes and retyped it off memory #so hopefully it's good lol #but let me know what you think?#angel reyes imagine #angel reyes x black!reader #angel reyes x reader #lover of mine

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fandom-blackhole · 3 years

Note

Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP

Din Djarin

53. Mutual pining, 41. First kiss, 6. Bookshop AU 👀

Hope this is enough of a distraction! ❤

First of all, how dare you make me think of how cute this little AU is, because now I'm yearning for modern Din and Grogu! Second, yes darling, this is going to distract me all night lmao

53. Mutual pining

41. First kiss

6. Bookshop AU

Din Djarin x Reader

Owning your own little bookshop had its pros and cons. Some of the cons, to name a few, was worrying about making enough to keep the store open, dealing with angry people when you shop didn't carry the book they wanted, the building you were in was old and leaked every time it rained, and just the entire business side of the bookstore bored you and made your anxiety raise just thinking about it. But the pros, those more then made up for the stress of counting each penny in order to order stock. And those pros came in the form of your two favorite customers, a young boy, always dressed in the cutest green frog sweater and his father who took your breath the first time he walked into you small store. Din Djarin was handsome in a way that was devastating. Not only was he physically handsome, with brown eyes that screamed of kindness, broad shoulders and a narrow waist, hands big enough to dwarf any book in your store, and scruff that was so patchy you couldn't help but find it cute, but Din was also handsome in the way that he acted, the way he would gently talk to his son as they picked out books or as he sat in the reading nook and read to Grogu, the way he would always ask about your day, how when he saw you struggling with boxes on more than one occasion he had stepped in and moved them for you not letting you lift another box. Din was sweet and kind to you, and with every small smile he gave you, you thought your heart would burst from your chest. And his son, Grogu, was obviously in the best hands. The boy was just as polite as his father, and just as devastatingly cute. The young boy, who you always joked about being your best customer, always ran into the store with an excites wave and a smile, and almost always ran and gave you the biggest hug he could. On occasion, the little cutie would bring you a present to add to a shelf you had cleared just for him. The presents were what you'd expect a kid to give, a dandelion, a colorful leaf, a shiny rock, and once a piece of candy that Din explained he had cried over for days after seeing it before Din went and bought it for him. You cared deeply for the two, and they brightened your weeks with each visit they made.

One week, it had been raining and storming every single day with no reprieve. You had all but written off seeing the two, knowing they always walked to your shop, but there you were shocked when a tiny frog rainbooted blur came dashing towards you and wrapped your legs in a hug, quickly followed by a hushed stern voice saying, "Stop it kid, you're gonna get them all wet!"

You could only giggle and lean down to give him a proper hug, looking over towards Din, saying, "If getting wet is the price I pay for my favorite and best customer's hug, then I'll gladly take it."

Din only shook his head and gave you his small smile, making you bite the inside of your lip feeling the rush of warmth in your chest and face. The two then disappeared into the children's section, you occasionally hearing Grogu's giggle, or Din's quiet rumbling voice, making you grin as you walked around organizing shelves. Eventually, you got lost in thought, humming quietly to yourself as you worked. You hadn't noticed the set of eyes watching you, and you barely caught the throat being cleared before you bumped into what you could have almost mistaken for a bookshelf with how solid it was. When you turned to look up, eyes wide and already apologizing, you found Din's soft eyes looking at you. Din took no time brushing your apology to the side, before furrowed his brows and saying, "There is a bucket full of water in the middle of the children's section."

You sighed painfully and nodded, before turning back to your work to both somewhat distract yourself from the way his eyes were boring into you, and to keep you hands busy from nervous fidgeting, as you said, "Yeah...it leaks back there whenever it rains super hard. I just... I havent been able to get it fixed yet."

Then Din shocked you completely, he grabbed your hand, stilling it and making you look into those soulful eyes before whispering, "I can fix that."

You had tried to argue with him, telling him you'd get to it eventually and making up reason why he shouldn't, but each time he shot you down, until he was paying for the stack of books Grogu had grabbed and he had set up a weekend day he could come over to do the job.

When the weekend finally came around, it was hot and muggy from all of the rain, and Din had shown up with everything he needed, and Grogu, who you agreed to watch while he worked, the least you could do considering he was trying to work without payment. But Din had also shown up in a white t-shirt that hugged his chest and showed off his softer middle, and jeans that fit right in all of the right places, and you couldn't help but feel your mouth go dry. You had closed the store for the day, and had made a lunch for the three of you the night before, so while Din made quick work with the roof, you and Grogu played games and read books in the little reading nook. Eventually, he got hungry so you let him eat, and shortly after he dozed off looking through a hidden images book. With a smile, you tucked him gently into a more comfortable position and draped a soft quilt around his shoulder. When you turned around though your heart stopped and you felt heat rush to your face. While you had been distraction, Din had snuck into the store and watched with an aching heart as you took care of his son, falling for the soft and loving smile that graced your features as you did. When you turned around completely, you took in his form, and felt a pang of guilt with how red his face was from working in the sun, but also a pang of something else entirely as your eyes soaked in the way Din's sweat shirt clung to his chest, leaving nothing to your imagination and how his hair curled so perfectly from the dampness of sweat and the humidity.

"I finished," his soft rumble broke you from you ogling, and the heat in your face spread to your chest as you cleared your throat. "Come sit down then, I made food last night and I imagine you're hungry so eat, and I will go get you some ice water to cool off."

You rushed away, as Din checked on Grogu before settling on the floor, and reaching for the plate that was on the coffee table. You appeared seconds later, setting a glass in front of him, before sitting beside him, grabbing your own plate.

"Sorry it isn't anything fancy, but I thought that the ravioli would be something Grogu and you both may like."

"It is perfect, thank you."

The two of you ate in silence after that, both of you stealing glances at the other while they weren't looking. When you finished, you took the plates and set them aside before shyly saying, "Thank you again, Din. You have helped me so much with this favor, and if I can repay you in anyway just tell me."

"It was nothing, and you owe me nothing, I promise."

You looked over at him, a soft and kind smile showing on your face, "I feel bad not doing anything for you or paying you. There has to be something?"

Din was quiet for a few minutes, his eyes taking in your earnest and open body language, taking in how your own eyes danced around his form, and before he could think twice about it, he said, "There is one thing..."

"Anything, you only have to ask."

Din took in how perked up you were, leaning towards him in the small space that separated the two of you. Taking a deep breath for courage, Din leaned in himself, and whispered, hot breath ghosting over your face, "A kiss?"

You swallowed thickly in shock, and met his gaze, finding no teasing look, only want so soft you thought you'd melt, so you replied by softly nodding and slowly drifting your eyes shut. Then you felt it, a soft brush of plush lips against your own, before they connected fully. The kiss was quick, and loving, and you followed his lips as he pulled away. Slowly, you both looked at eachother, taking in the other's reaction, before reaching out again. You buried one of your hands in Din's sinfully soft curls, as one of his broad palms cupped your cheek. This kiss was more passionate, but not pushing. The two of you finally just enjoying the feel of the other. The kiss expressed so much love and passion that it had you addicted and never wanting to pull away. But eventually the two of you needed to leave the other for air, and as your chests both heaved slightly, Din whispered while his forehead pressed against yours, "I also wouldn't say no to a date."

Send Me Tropes

#fanfic tropes ask game #din djarin x reader #din x reader #whoever points out the reference i made gets a big kiss and all of my love

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i-write-newsies · 3 years

Text

A/N:

(Y/N) - Your Name

(L/N) - Last Name

(N/N) - Nickname

(H/C) - Hair Color

(D/N) - DEEZ NUTS!! /j Deadname

(E/C) - Eye Color

(H/L) - Hair Length

(Y/A) - Your Age

Ships Included:

- Jack x Davey

- Spot x Race

- Finch x Smalls (Platonic)

- Albert x Elmer

-Katherine x Sarah

- Spot x Reader (Brotherly Platonic)

- Race x Reader (Brotherly Platonic)

Summary:

You have always dreamed of living in the world of your favorite characters, to escape from whatever rotten life you have and make friends with the people you love. One day, fate decides to give you a chance. But when you're not prepared to be rushed into that universe, it becomes a roller coaster of balancing good and bad emotions and events.

Good luck, Reader!

!!TW!!

~ SELF HARM

~ TRANSPHOBIA

~ MAJOR INJURY

~ ABUSE

~ ARGUING

(Y/N) POV:

I'm (Y/N) (L/N). I'm (Y/A) with (E/C) eyes and (H/L) (H/C) hair. At least it used to be (H/L). I cut it all off today. I can tell my mom just found out because of the loud cursing and stomping. "GODDAMMIT, (D/N)!!" she yells. What scares me the most about this situation is the fact that I'm kinda used to this. I hear her coming up the stairs to my room and rush to the door and lock it. As expected, the door handle starts rattling violently, "(D/N) YOU LET ME IN RIGHT NOW, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE SH!T!" She starts banging on the door, stressing the lock.

I sigh. Today was one of the worse days. I slip on my noise-canceling headphones and press play on my musicals playlist, consisting of:

- Waving Through A Window

- On My Own

- A Little Fall Of Rain

- Angel of Music

and of course...

The entire Newsies soundtrack.

By the time I get to 'Seize the Day', it's twilight outside. I lift one of my headphones to check if my mom is gone. I hear nothing. I look out the window and don't see her car. Perfect.

Unplugging my headphones and letting the music play, I walk over to my dresser, open it up, and reach deep in the back. Aha!

I pull out some bandages (A/N: DO NOT ACTUALLY BIND LIKE THIS OK BYE). I take off my shirt and try not to look in my mirror, fearing what sort of feminine body I may see. I start wrapping my chest to the point that it gets a little hard to breathe. This kinda hurts, but my dysphoria is stronger than my need for comfort and, let's be honest, safety.

Slipping my shirt back on, I look into the mirror and smile, satisfied with my flat chest and somewhat choppy short, (H/C) hair. I jump onto my bed and plug my headphones back into my phone which is now playing Santa Fe. Santa Fe honestly makes me think. I'm only, what, (Y/A)? And I still go through all this BS. I need out. Somewhere my mom can't tell me I'm female. Somewhere like...Newsies. I mean, Race is canonically trans, right? Not to mention all of them are definitely fruity. They'd accept me. The fresh, bandaged cuts on my arms are the only things keeping me in reality right now

As the song ends, I realize that I've been crying. God, why am I stuck in this wretched place? The question as well as thoughts of Newsies reverberates in my skull, a sort of white noise until I fall into a much-needed sleep.

"Aye, kid! Watcha doin sleepin on the street?"

"Especially in a place this..."

Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω

Jack POV:

I yawn, rubbing sleep from my eyes as the circulation bell drones on an' on. I let my eyes adjust to the view of the sunrise from my penthouse in the sky.

As I try to get up to get ready, a pair of arms drag me back down. "Jackieeee" a half-awake Davey groans, "come back down, it's freezing up here." "Dave, we gotta get to work. The boys can always count on me being at the gates early, so if you don't get up, I'm leaving you behind." This seems to wake him up a little more, "Alright, alright fine." he shivers as he gets up. I throw him his top shirt and vest and he desperately claws them on to gain warmth. Carefully, we climb down the ladder.

"What'd I tell ya, Dave? Even in the middle of summer, the night's always freezing." Davey rolls his eyes and does a little shiver "I know, Jackie, now c'mere and warm me up" I grin and move in closer, holding his hand, as we start walking to the gates. "Still not warm enough!" Davey said in a singsong-ish voice. I sigh and feign annoyance, leaning in to give a short but sweet peck on the lips. I think he's satisfied now. We're not usually this lovey-dovey, but I think we're both touch starved and subtly begging for a hug.

Davey, being the amazing boyfriend he is, stops by Jacobis to get us some breakfast. "Dave, you really don't hafta-" "I insist, Jack. After all, breakfast is the most important meal of the day," he says in an almost snobbish voice. I give him a small smile. That's my smartass Dave.

As we get to the gates, I notice a small figure leaned up against it. By now, the sun has come up some more over Manhattan 'n Dave 'n I don't have to walk as close to warm ourselves up. The figure seems to be sleeping, a newsies cap over their eyes. I think it's a kid. Maybe a new newsie looking for work?

I crouch down in front of him lift his hat, and start tapping his shoulder, "Aye, kid! Watcha doin sleepin on the street?" "Especially in a place this..." Davey notes. The kid seems to wake with a start. He rubs his eyes, and I chuckle a little "Whatsa matter? Ya look like youse seen a ghost." He doesn't seem to find this funny and repeatedly switches from looking at me then Davey with some confusion and shock in his eyes.

"I um-" he stutters over his words, "Aye, aye, kid, calm down, you ain't in trouble or nuttin." He takes a few deep breaths. "Okay... I'm (Y/N). I'm just freaking out because This isn't where I fell asleep, and- and I just- feel like I know you..." "Well, (Y/N) it sounds like you're one of da Newsies now," I say with a grin, "Now, we gots ta give you a nickname, we rarely eva call someone by their real name, 'cept Dave 'n Albert of course," The kid stays silent, clearly still shocked from waking up in a foreign place. "I feel like I know you.." he says, barely discernible. "Maybe ya do, maybe ya don't, Dave here's the only one good with faces." The kid looks up at Davey, who seems deep in thought, "(N/N)" he exclaims, "Ah, sorry, what I meant was your nickname should be (N/N)!" "I like it! But why (N/N) exactly?" I question, "Well, *insert reason why here*" "Well ain't you a clever boy, Dave!" I say, ruffling his hair. Davey shies away, "Jack! Now I have to fix my hair!" he complains, "Sorry, sorry." Davey then leaves to fix his hair in front of a shop window nearby, leaving me and (N/N) alone.

(N/N) seems to want to say something, but as soon as he opens his mouth, he shuts it just as quickly. I try to fill the awkward silence, "So, what's wit' da bandages, kiddo?" He freezes, "Nothing, just a ploy to get people to buy more papes..." he trails off. I have a feelin' he's not tellin' the truth, but I go along with it anyway, "Ha! What an idea, I wonder how I neva thought a' that before." he smiles, seeming satisfied with the praise. Davey returns from the shop window, "Alright! Ready to start the day?" (N/N) nods, and so do I.

Newsies start gathering, some glancing at (N/N) and some anxiously peering through the gates. I look at the headline for today: New Newsie Price! "Aye, Dave, you seein' this shit?" "Language- and yeah... what in the world was runnin' through Pulitzer's head when he thought of this??" I look at (N/N), whose mouth is a thin, pale line but whose (E/C) eyes are glinting with determination. "Heh, kid, what's that look for?" He looks at me, a little startled, but quickly regains that same tough expression, "I have a feeling that this ain't some silly little joke. And I'm worried 'bout the kids that may get hurt in the crossfire." I laugh, "Youse just bein dramatic! Surely, they wouldn't be as dumb as to underpay their own employees." I walk over to Weasel and slap down a penny "100 papes please!" "That's gonna be dime, Kelly."

My heart almost stops, and it takes all my strength not to break down in front of the boys. I fake a laugh, "Surely you're joking." "100 papes costs a dime, take a look at the headline." I hit the money box out of anger, "Then we'll just take our business to Brooklyn." Someone pipes up, "The same thing's happenin' there." "Then we'll go to Rushing!" Specs jogs over, seemingly out of breath, "I'll save ya the walk; it's the same everywhere."

Fuck.

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Y/N POV:

A sharp pain in my chest temporarily distracts me from the situation at hand. Ah. I almost forgot. I still have to bind. This sucks. I feel a pair of eyes on me and turn just in time to see Racetrack Higgins avert his eyes. I give him a confused look and turn back to Jack singing "The World Will Know" I forget all about his weird staring and get back into the determined beat from before.

Soon, the newsies and I make our way to Jacobis for some...water I guess? I do happen to have some extra money in my pocket so I think I can treat all the boys to some seltzer. I sit down on a hard wooden chair in a slouch. The room is buzzing with excited talk of the strike. I give a small, sad smile. These boys have no idea what they're getting themselves into. Crutchie sits next to me serving a wide smile just as Jacobi enters with a tray full of waters, "And here's one for you, and for you, and for you- who's the big spender that ordered everyone seltzer?" shyly, I raise my hand, "That's me, sir." "You know these cost a quarter each, right?" I pull out a handful of quarters with a cheeky smile "and I got more where that came from." The boys go wild, "Where did ya get all that money, kid??" Davey, being the concerned mom, asks "Please tell me you didn't steal that." I shake my head, "I used to live comfortably, but my mom kicked me out for...reasons." my grin falters for a second, but no one seems to notice.

"Well!" Jack stands on a table, "Here's to the strike! And, of course, (N/N)" He gestures towards me with a wink as everyone cheers. As Katherine enters, I start to zone out and stare at a speck of dust on the ground. After all, I know the plot all too well. I perk up, though, as soon as Jack asks who's goin' to Brooklyn. My hand shoots up, "I nominate me and Race!" I exclaim. I look over at Race, who's staring at me, blushing and jaw dropped a little. I grin at him and look back at Jack, who's a little shocked. "A-alright! Me and Dave'll take the Bronx, I guess."

*Timeskip to after the restaurant scene*

I walk down the Manhatten alleys blindly, no clue where I'm going, when I hear someone come up behind me. "Hey, (N/N)! It's me, Race." I smile weakly, "Oh, hey." "I always sell my papes at Sheepshead in Brooklyn, so I know where to go."

It's almost completely silent except for the clicking of our shoes on the paved roads. "So... how'd ya get here as a Newsie, (N/N)?" "Well, Jack 'n Davey found me sleepin' on the street just this mornin'" He laughs, "Wow! So you got used to the Newsie life real quick!" "Yeah, I did.." I let out a small chuckle as well. Race pulls out a cigar and clamps it between his lips and goes to light it but hesitates. "Uh- Wanna cigar?" "Wow, Racetrack Higgins giving me one of his own cigars? I'm flattered!" I joke, "But, yeah, I need smoke." He digs into his pocket and hands me another cigar, "You eva' smoked before?" he stares at me as I put the cigar in between my lips. I grin sheepishly, "No." "Okay, maybe we should stop for a second. Coughing while walking ain't the most fun thing in the woild."

We lean up against a wall as Race lights first his, then my cigar. I inhale and immediately spiral into a coughing fit. Race smacks my back, "You good, (N/N)? I ain't neva' seen a fella cough that hard on the first puff." I roll my tear-filled eyes and continue coughing.

Once my coughing fit subsides, I feel a wave of relaxation. "God I should do this more often." I groan, Race grins, "Yeah, once you get past the whole blowin'-your-brains-out part of smokin', it's real nice. Anyway, shall we continue?" he gestures to the streets ahead. I nod my head and take another puff, "Yeah, it's gettin' kinda late and we do NOT wanna wake up the Spot Conlon." Race nods in agreement and we hurry along. Even though I know Spot is kind of a softie, that doesn't stop me from being intimidated by his prowess.

We reach the Brooklyn lodging just as Race's cigar burned out. Race takes a deep breath and gives three solid knocks on the door. A kid younger than me answers the door, "State ya business" "I'm here to let Conlon know about some very important news." The kid squints his eyes but responds "I'll ask him if he's willing to meet with anyone right now. Who should I tell him is askin'?" "Race. Higgins." He says somewhat awkwardly.

The kid closes the door. Race and I stand quietly waiting for the OK to see Spot. Suddenly the door swings open to reveal Spot. "Ra-" he notices me and coughs, "I mean- Higgins, would you like to step in to discuss the important news?" I almost laugh at the way he went from totally in love to distinguished gentleman. I shoo them away, holding in laughter, "don't worry, I'll wait out here and give you lovebirds some space." (A/N: or should I say sprace) I see them both go tomato red.

I sigh as they head inside. I take a drag from the cigar and start thinking. How did I end up in the newsies universe and act this calm about it? This feels so surreal. But I want to stay here forever. Far away from my sh!tty mom and all my responsibilities.

Lost in my own head, I barely notice as Racetrack storms out of the lodging, clearly pissed. "C'mon (N/N), we're leaving." he grabs my hand and angrily powerwalks to the next street over. Once we're there, he lets go of my hand and sighs harshly, walking slow. "I assume it didn't go well?" I ask, already knowing the answer. "Not. Well." "Wanna talk about it?" he shakes his head and starts walking "No, thanks. I think we's better get to bed before Jack gets worried." he stops. "Do you have a place to sleep?" I look down, "Not really..." "Well!" he grabs my hand again with a big grin, "Looks like youse bunkin' wit' me." I start to protest, but realize it'd get me nowhere with this stubborn SOB, so I let myself get dragged along. Oh, well. I might as well get rest for the strike tomorrow, goodness knows I need it.

As I settle down into the rough sheets, the gentle snoring rocks me to sleep with thoughts of the strike. One thought flashes through my mind before I fall asleep; God help us all.

I wake up to someone poking my face. My eyes flutter open and I almost fall off the bunk at the sight of Race's face right in front of mine. "JESUS CHRIST, RACE, YOU SCARED THE SH!T OUTTA ME!" He backs off, putting his hands up in surrender, "Sorry, sorry, it's just that Jack said you had to be up and out in 10 minutes so we can have an organized strike or whateva'" Race rolls his eyes, "I'm startin' ta think that Davey's rubbin' off on 'im a lil' too much."

I groan, tempted to slide back under the covers, but get up anyway. I slept with my clothes on so I don't have to do anything about that. As I look into an old, rusted mirror and comb my fingers through my now tangled hair, I feel another sharp pain in my chest, accompanied by a dull throbbing. I really should have taken off the bandages while I slept, but now it's too late. I take one last look in the mirror and, ignoring my eyebags, quickly head out the door to join the others. As I get to the gate, everyone's waiting with anticipation, faces grim but hopeful.

Everything happens in a blur. One moment we're striking, and the next we're beaten into a pulp. I manage to soak a Delancey in the eye when suddenly a familiar sharp pain fills my chest and wince, faltering. Morris takes this as an opportunity to knee me in the stomach, forcing me to the ground, where their take turns kicking my chest and body with those damn steel-toed boots of theirs until my clothes are torn and the cuts on my arms reopen. Suddenly, there's a small crack as my body swells up with pain and the taste of metal enters my mouth. I let out a blood-curdling scream as the pain registers in my brain. In my blurred vision, I see the Delancey's walk away, ready to torture their next victim; Crutchie.

I try to get up and reach out, try to scream at them not to hurt him, but all I can do is weakly move my hand in their direction and spit out blood. Suddenly, a small but rough hand reaches out and drags me into an alley. "Dammit, (N/N) what were you thinking?! Fighting in a gawddamn binder, and a makeshift one, no less!" "R-..Race..?" "Not now, (N/N) I have ta get youse to safety foist." I watch as he chews on his nails in thought, "Dammit! The only way back to tha lodge is through the Delancey's again!" He sighs. "Brooklyn it is..." He gingerly picks me up and carries me as fast as possible to Spot's turf.

Setting my feet on the ground and propping me up against him, he bangs on the door. "Spot!" Please! This is serious, I need your help!" I can hear the tears in his voice. Spot flings open the door, obviously very concerned. He's confused for a second, then looks at me and his eyes go wide. "GET THE MED KIT AND A COT OPEN, WESE GOT SOMETHING HORRIBLE THAT'S HAPPENED" he yells behind him. Race, now more calmed down, takes me in his arms again, but seems to refuse to look at Spot, who looks away as well, but more in shame.

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Race POV:

I watch as some of the Brooklyn newsies take (N/N) and lay him on a cot, anger surging through my veins. I take a deep breath "I'll take care of him. You guys don't have to worry about it." As they leave the room, I look down at (N/N) and can't help but feel guilty. Like this is my fault. I only got away with a black eye, but he got all this?

I regain my composure and start by taking (N/N) shirt off. I can already see the bruises starting to form and cringe. I take off his binding bandages and see his chest expand immediately. Poor kid. He must have been hurting in more way that just one. I take the gauze from the wooden box and gently wrap his torso with it. Maneuvering around his arms, I notice something. The bandages on him arms. When he was wearing them before, Jack said it was a marketing ploy, but now I see red bleeding through the white gauze.

I unwrap (N/N)'s arms and gasp. Hundreds of tiny, but deep cuts litter his forearms and wrists. F#ck. He was hurting so much more than I could have ever known. I wrap them with fresh gauze and treat the rest of his wounds, stepping back to admire my handiwork. That's when I start to cry. Full-on tears falling, face in hands crocodile tears. I turn my head with a start to see Spot, standing over me with a hand on my shoulder, looking apologetic "I'm so sorry..." Suddenly this sadness turns to rage. I grab him by the shirt collar and drag him outside to an empty alleyway. "SORRY?? SORRY, MY 4SS! (N/N) AND SO MANY OTHER 'HATTEN NEWSIES ALMOST DIED OUT THERE BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T WANT TO JOIN UNTIL YOU KNEW WE WOULDN'T "CAVE" WELL, WE DIDN'T CAVE, AND LOOK WHAT F#CKING HAPPENED! AND DONT YOU SAY SORRY TO ME AND EXPECT ME TO FORGIVE YOU JUST BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, THAT'S FOR CROW TO DECIDE." Spot seemed silent at first, but now I could see his anger building up; "WADDAYA THINK WOULD O' HAPPENED TO MY BOYS, HUH?? I WANTED TO WAIT TO SEE IF WE WOULD BE THE ONLY ONES FIGHTIN IN THIS BATTLE AGAINST PULITZER."

I open my mouth then close it. He has a fair point, but doesn't he trust me and the udda newsies not to bail in their hour of need? I sigh, pinching my nose. "I'm sorry Spot, I just-... I just wish you trusted me a bit more..." I look up at him to see tears in his eyes. "OH, SPOT HONEY, ITS OKAY, I'M NOT MAD, DON'T CRY, DON'T CRY" I shush him, pulling his head into my chest, which isn't tough considering his height.

As he lets go, the adrenaline rush from today dies down. God, I'm so tired. My knees nearly buckle and Spot notices, "Aye, aye! Tony, you doin' okay?" I nod at him, but the bags under my eyes are making them droop, "Race, honey, you need to get some sleep, okay?" I shake my head but soon fall into Spot's arms as my legs give way. "Fine..." I mumble. I can feel him grinning, "Good, we gots an extra bed for youse to sleep in." I sigh, grateful. I can feel Spot picking me up, the rhythm of his boots tapping along the ground, a pause and shift as he opens the lodging door and kicks it closed behind him as I fall asleep.

I wake up in a cold sweat. (N/N). I need to see (N/N). I need to check if he's okay. I climb out of the bed Spot laid me in and let my eyes adjust to the dark before maneuvering around all the other sleeping kids. I make my way as quietly as possible to where (N/N) is resting. I crouch down and take his hand in mine. How could I let this happen? And how did I not notice his suffering? I press the back of his hand to my forehead, closing my eyes. My body is so tired right now, but my mind is too tortured with guilt to let me sleep.

By the time my thoughts finally leave me alone, the sun is rising in the sky. I'm finally drifting when- "Race?" I turn my head to the voice, "Oh, jesus, you look horrible!" Spot exclaims, "did you even get any sleep last night?" I shrug, to be fair, I lost count of the hours. Spot sighs, "Race...go sleep. At least for a few more hours. I can watch (N/N) if that makes you happy," I nod, rubbing my eyes. I stumble back to my bed amongst all the Brooklyn newsies and fall asleep the moment my head hits the pillow.

My mind dreams of talkin' cigars and bloody bandages. I see Crow propped up against the wall, smokin' a cigar. "(N/N)! (N/N)! Oh my god, I'm so happy that you're okay!" (N/N) doesn't answer, I slowly starts walking towards him, "(N/N)...?" he starts laughing. Softly at first then roaring, and the laughing turns into a heavy coughing fit. As (N/N) coughs, red smoke pours out of his lungs and clouds my vision. I swipe at the air, trying to brush away the fog, "(N/N)?? (N/N), where did you go?!" suddenly, the smoke clears and I see (N/N) bruised, damaged, bleeding body at my feet, I gasp and step back. (N/N) slowly turns to face me, and in a painful, teary, almost sickly whisper asks, "Why did you let this happen?" Tears start spilling down my face, "I- I didn't me-" "You did this to me Race. Race. Race. Race! Race! RACE! RACE!--

Spot POV:

--RACE WAKE UP!" He wakes up with a gasp. He looks around wildly, tears dripping from his chin. I've never seen him like this. He must care for him like a brudda. To be honest, I'm worried as well, not only about (N/N) but now that we know 'Hatten isn't gonna back down and we join the fight, what's gonna happen to the newsies in general? Kids could get hoit. Bad.

"Spot?" Race starts sobbing, clinging to my shirt fabric, "Please...tell me it'll be okay..." I can't. Race, I don't know if it will. I almost start sobbing on the Spot ( A/N: heh...), but I hold my composure and smile at him, "It'll be okay, Tony...we're all gonna be fine" He seems to believe this, at least a little bit. "Now, don't you gotta meet up wit' da udda newsies?" He retracts his head from my chest, eyes wide. In a nasal voice, he goes "AW SHOOT, I 'MOST FORGOT" I watch him with a small smile as he rushes to get dressed like the goof he is. God, I love 'im.

Race POV:

Silence. I got there too early. Fuck. I can't just be alone with my thoughts, but at least I have some extra money to... I don't know? I walk up to the bar, where the owner of Jacobi's is cleaning out glasses. I sigh and sit down, "Got anything to help forget? At least for a little while...?"

"Ain't you a little too young for that, kid?" I give him a look and push my money over the counter to him. He quietly collects it, "So what can I get ya?" I'm silent for a bit "Fireball." I say with some demand in my voice. He disappears behind the counter and comes back with some shot glasses and a Fireball bottle, pouring it out into the glasses as I watch. I notice as he sighs, "Feel betta, kid." Can't promise that.

I pick up a shot glass, watching as the orange liquid spins around in it. I take in a breath of spicy cinnamon before letting the liquid slip down my throat, leaving a trail of a burning sensation. Soon, one turns into another, and another, and another and before I could comprehend it, the room starts to spin and blur. Eventually, the room fills with newsies, mumblin' 'bout how crappy the strike went. I do my very best to fit in and not act drunk, but the time zooms by and I find myself singin' 'bout bein' the king o' new york. At some point in the blurry memory, Katherine suggests getting drunk and I throw my hands up and cheer. More free Fireball! But then she clarifies that it was a metaphor, to which I am very disappointed.

The rest whizzes past me and soon I'm stumblin' my way to Brooklyn. I knock heavily on the lodging door, then lean on it. Unexpectedly, the door opens and I'm left to fall flat on my face at the feet of my boyfriend, Spot Conlon. "Race! Darlin', you okay? Youse fell flat on ya face!" He extends a hand that I receive and pulls me up. I giggle, "Ahhhh, my Spotty! Always carin' 'bout uddas. Pshht! Yeah, I'm fiiiine." I flop my hand down to wave off his concern. He wrinkles his nose, "You reek of cinnamon....and alcohol." He widens his eyes and I let out anudda giggle, "Race! Tell me you didn't jus' get drunk!" he whines, I grin, "Okey, 'you didn't jus' get drunk'" I imitate him in a deep voice and he sighs, "Jesus Christ, Racer.." he grabs my hand pulls me inside, eventually laying me on a bed, face red with a giggling fit. "Goodnight, my liege," I giggle some more, "and you my Prince," he gives a small smile before covering me with a blanket. I fall asleep before it's up over my shoulders.

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I wake up with my head feeling like it's going to explode.

Fuck Life.

I groan and sit up. "Mornin' Sleepin' Beauty" Spot smirks and hands me a cup of water, "Shut the fuck up" I whine and grab the glass, "Ooh feelin' feisty today, huh?" I shoot him a look that could rot a squash with one gaze. He holds up his hands in defense, "Alright, alright, my bad," He shrugs. I sigh and take a sip of water, which turns into me chugging the whole thing. "You betta get ova this hangover fast, hon" I groan, not ready to do anything at all today, "We gots the meetin' wit' Jack."

End my life.

"No, I don't think I will," "fuuuuck did I say that out loud?" I let out a small wail, and Spot chuckles a little, though you can tell there's somethin' on his mind still, "Yeah, ya did sweetheart." I grumble something incomprehensible and look down, red. He smiles, "Get dressed and drink as much water as possible, okay? We can't have you hungover for the big meeting, right?" I nod...which causes my head to hurt. Ow.

I sigh and decide to take my sweet time getting dressed. This sucks. "Spotty!" I call, then cringe after a new wave of pain hits, he pokes his head through the door "Yeah?". "I don't have the energy to deal wit' all dese gawddamn bandages. Help me?" He blushes a bit but agrees to help me bind. All I focus on is not hurting my head again. Spot ties the bandages and stands back to admire his handiwork but quickly notices my cringin'. "Do you want somethin' cold?" he asks gently, I nod as gingerly as possible.

*Timeskip to after the newsies meet n greet bcuz I'm power-finishing this at 12am and my mental health is steadily declining*

My hand shakes as I bring a fresh, unlit cigar to my lips.

Jack. That sellout, that traitor.

A sharp pain knocks me out of my angry thoughts. Ah. I burned myself.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, "Racer.." says a gentle voice, "You okay? that's your 3rd cigar in the past 2 hours or so." I look up to see Finch leaning over me as I sit on the ground, a concerned look on his face, "You're gonna run out all too soon" I give a bitter laugh, "Yeah, I guess I will." Finch can see that there's not much he can do to help me. He gives a weak smile and turns to walk away.

I see Davey run off somewhere. I wonder where they're going? I sigh and turn my head back down to the ground. Who cares? Without a leader, the strike'll just fall apart and Pulitzer'll win. Who was I kidding when I bragged abt being da "King o' New York"? I'm just some nobody kid without a nickel to my name. The bigger guys always win, so what's with me tryin'?

Jack POV:

I can't let any more kids get in this much danger. I visited (N/N) today. I found out about all his... injuries, as well as whatever he was born as. He's been through so much before all this, he doesn't deserve it.

It's my fault for being so ignorant. For not noticing anything was goin' on. My fault for inciting this stupid strike. For getting all these kids hoit. and Crutchie...poor Crutchie, locked up in that godawful place. I know he ain't helpless, 'e's a cheeky little bastard, I'll give him that, but the Refuge breaks down even the biggest of smiles and smothers the brightest of people. I will never forget that hell I went through. I went in a cheeky fightin' kid with a deep, strong flame, and came out with the embers barely glowing. It took years just to spark it up again. I'm terrified as to what'll happen to him.

I lean over the railing of my penthouse, not even noticing as it shakes and squeaks, making way for a young boy a little younger den me. "-Jack! JACK!" "Jesus Christ, yeah??? Oh, it's you, Dave..." I look away shamefully, he's probably here to chew me out and tell me we're done and gone. "What the hell was that?" I wince, I knew it. "Waddya mean 'what the hell was that?'?" "You know what I mean, JACK KELLY." I'm fucked. "YOU BETRAYED US FOR MONEY?!" "I WOULDN'T HAVE FELT PRESSURED TO IF I WADN'T DEALIN' WIT' A FLAKER!" Davey gives a bitter laugh and balls up the front of my shirt in his fist, tugging me towards him. "Ohoho! And if I wasn't your 'best friend' you'd be lookin' at me through one swollen eye!" "Oh, yeah? Well, don't let that stop ya, huh? Gimme your best shot!" something soft roughly pressing against my lips. The only thought at the moment is; 'Well, this is new... and passionate, 'specially from Dave' there's a heavy, awkward silence.

I back away from him, knocking over my drawings in the process. One specific drawing rolls out seemingly by fate. It taps on Davey's shoe and he looks down. His eyes widen a little as he reaches down to get it. "Is this.. the Refuge?" he puts a hand over his mouth, "weren't you stuck here once? Rats, cockroaches everywhere, 6 kids to a bunk? Holy fuc- I mean fudge." If the moment weren't this tense, I might've laughed. "Jack..." I feel a hand on my shoulder. "You don't have to tell me if you're not ready." I shake my head and he drops his arm understandingly. "Either way, we could use this. Heck..." Davey seems deep in thought before his face lights up, "We could make our own newspaper!" I look at him in disbelief, he notices, and speaks again "think about it, Jackie! Kath's a real talented writer! This art could change the perspective of hundreds! We could write to tell all the workin' boys to go on Strike tomorra'! And we could expose Snyder in the process!" Hey, that's not too bad..."But, Dave, how're we gonna print it?" His face falls, "I didn't think about it...we're banned from every printin' press in New York.."

Oh no. Ohhh no. "No. Noooo." I whine, Davey chuckles, amused "what?" "I know a printin' press that no one would ever think of!" Davey grins, "Then what are we waitin' for?" He puts my drawing back into the case, and slings it over his shoulder, getting ready to climb down. Suddenly, a thought strikes me, "Wait-" "Yeah?" "Dave- what are we exactly? Like I know how we act to each other n' everything, but we've never really said out loud what we are..." Davey giggles, "Jackie-" "No! Tell me right now, are we... in love? Boyfriends, I guess?? Or am I just something for your own experimentation?"

He cups my face in his hands, "Jackie..." he kisses my nose, "Of course I love you! And yes! We are in love! Dating! Boyfriends! Whichever way you want to define us!" Soon we're both grinning ear-to-ear and blushing. "Now!" he exclaims, hopping up, clearly on a high from the whole kiss and convo, "Let's get to it!" I laugh and stand up as well, following my over-enthusiastic boyfriend down the ladder. As Davey said; Let's get to it!

(Y/N) POV:

'My head hurts...' I think groggily. I try to open my eyes, but my vision is blurred and wonky. I sit up. Nevermind. Everything hurts. As my vision starts to clear, I see a very tired Spot Conlon sitting in a chair in the corner of whatever room I'm in rubbing sleep from his eyes. He fixates his eyes on me for a second, and I can see the sleepiness and confusion in his eyes turn into shock and joy. "(N/N)! Ohmygod! I'm so glad you'se awake!" I can see him go to wrap me in a bear hug before holdin' himself back after he remembers all my injuries. Wait. My injuries. "Does this mean you know about...?" I vaguely gesture to my arms and Spot nods sadly, "And..." I cringe and gesture to my chest, now only lightly bound with medical tape, but tighter than needed for a typical injury. I smile to myself. That must've been Race. He's like a perfect older brother, not only thinkin' about my physical health, but also my mental well-being.

Spot notices the look on my face and sees me lookin' down at my chest, he chuckles, "Yeah, Race decided on that. He wanted you to feel as comfortable as possible while you heal." I start grinning even harder. Spot spoke up again "Don't forget that even boys born seen as boys don't have perfectly flat chests, so binding as tight as you did wasn't necessary or safe, for that matter." I give him a look, is Spot really trying to be the cis savior right now? He gives me a look right back, "What? I know what I'm talking about." He lifts his shirt up to reveal two scars on his chest. I gasp, "But you're only *insert years/months* younger/older than me! How did you even know that this was an option, as well, how did you do it?" He smirks, pulling his shirt back down, "Thought so. Anyway, I don't really know. I needed them off desperately and randomly thought of it. As for the how, Buttons is AMAZING with scissors and blades. Like, scary amazing." He shivers. I blink. Damn.

He gives a shy grin "Do I really pass that well?" I look at him enviously "Of course! But... how do you look so...masculine?" "Well, I tried my best to copy the behavior of other boys I saw. And the whole working out didn't hurt." I nod, taking a mental note. Behavior, got it. Can't promise sticking to a workout, though. Spot scoots closer, taking my hand in his, "But the most important thing to understand is- behavior, body type, and a powerful reputation doesn't define being a true boy. What does is what's in here-" he taps my head, "-and here." he points to my heart. Spot looks me in my eyes, "You could wear dresses, skirts, use a 'girly' name, hell, even go by she! and you'd still be a boy in my eyes." I feel my eyes water, and Spot opens his arms to me with a sincere look. I fall into his arms and cry tears of joy. Spot and Race are the older brothers I never had, helping me at every fork in the road of my transition.

(A/N: I noticed that a big issue in trans fanfics was that the cis person was always the one to condescendingly teaching the helpless trans kid how to bind properly. I decided to make both of your mentors trans, had them both know what they're talking about, and made sure that you weren't completely useless or clueless, only that you needed guidance seeing as (Y/N) is a trans kid with no former knowledge about his transition. As well, I kinda wanted this fic to be of help to any newcomer trans men. Anyway, on to the last of the story!)

"So how are your ribs feeling?" Spot asks after we both calm down, "A little sore, but pretty much moveable. Is it really this painful to bind? I mean, the past few weeks I had the binding stuff on was my first time." "It shouldn't, I mean, lookit Race. He seems energetic and flexible even when he's binding." I think he sees my insecure face because he speaks again, "What I mean to say is- if you have more experience binding, you'll know how to mix mental and physical comfort. Either way, what fucked up your ribs wasn't the binding, it was the Delancey's. Not saying the way you were binding wasn't bad and wouldn't have caused lasting damage, of course."

I see Spot have a flicker of thought behind his eyes, he pulls out an obviously stolen silver pocket watch with the initials H.A. engraved on it to check the time. "Almost time..." he mutters. I give him a suspicious look, "Almost time for what...?" he looks sheepishly at the ground, "Nnnnnothing." I let out a noise halfway between a snort and a scoff, "Uh huh." "Fine." he sighs, "All the newsies and workin' boys is comin' together today. We'se hopin' ta finish up this strike Once And For All."

"Let me guess, I shouldn't go because I'm still healing." He nods, "Spot!! I need to do my part in this strike! I can't miss the most important day of my life." he gives me a weird look, "You don't even know what the outcome'll be, plus I promised Race that you wouldn't get hurt." "Please, I've been bedridden for WEEKS. And I won't get hurt" I protest stubbornly, he sighs exasperatedly "FINE, but I'm gettin' you right outta there at the foist sign o' danger, okay?" "Okay!" I say, content with the compromise. "We should prolly get you up and used to legs again before the strike--" my stomach rumbles harder than Les when he sees the chocolate croissants in the Pastry Shop window, and that's seriously saying somethin', "--and something to eat, too."

Spot holds my hands as I get out of bed and basically learn to walk again with wobbly legs. You could just paint my back with spots and call me a baby deer. Once I get my legs to work with me, Spot leads me to a tin tub. I give him a 'seriously?' look, "What am I doin', goin' ta church?" he laughs sarcastically, "Ha, ha. (N/N), you haven't cleaned yourself since the last time you were conscious. I also need to refresh your bandages since those haven't been touched since Race changed them in the foist place." "Fiiiine" I growl.

Spot unwraps my arm and chest bandages, but when it comes to me taking off the rest of my clothes, he looks away (not even for my privacy, but just because he is highly repulsed to the idea of naked bodies) I add enough soap suds on top of the water to cover my body so he's comfortable.

He grabs some soap and lathers up my hair with it, soon rinsing it. He also lathers and rinses my face, removing the built-up dirt, grease, and sweat, which accumulated surprisingly quickly for only spending a month, or was it two, here. Spot brings out a small piece of scrap fabric and a bottle of some liquid, then gently grabs my arms. "This might burn a little," he said empathetically. He dampened the cloth with what I am assuming is disinfectant and started pressing it against my healing cuts. I tried to hold in my pain but let out a small hiss when the cloth reached the deeper cuts on the backs of my arms. Spot stopped temporarily, letting my arms adjust to the sting a little, before continuing. Once he's finished, he hands me the soap and leaves the room to let me bathe myself in peace and picks up my dirty clothes and old bandages. "Holler if you need anything!" he yells on his way out.

I create a lather in my hands and stand up so I can actually wash my body. The air is chilly compared to the bathwater, so I do my best to be quick as I let my soap hands travel gingerly over my body. I look down, and for the first time in a long time, I don't feel ashamed. Spot words echo in my mind as I smile softly; 'You could wear dresses, skirts, use a 'girly' name, hell, even go by she! and you'd still be a boy in my eyes.' I guess, for now, I'm confident in my masculinity.

I sit back down, enjoying the warmth, and rinse myself off. I step out of the bath and look at the grey-ish brown-ish water. Ew, was I really that dirty? As the cold air envelops me once more, I realize I don't have a towel. Or clothes. "Spot!" I call out, "Yeah?" I hear a faint voice, "I need a towel and some clothes!" I answer. There's quiet, then a series of rustling sounds that slowly get closer. The door opens a crack and I see a tan, muscular hand slide a pile of clothes and a towel in my direction. I smile gratefully, "Thanks, Spotty!" "Aye! Only Race can call me dat..." "Okay, fine."

I dry my hair as much as possible, before continuing to my body. There's not much actual rubbing rather than patting because of my injuries, so when I get my pants on and slip my button-down onto my shoulders, they get a little damp. "Spot?" I call out again, "Do you think you could help me with my bandages?" "'Course!" He casually picks up the chest bandages and binds it pretty much perfectly- Tight enough to make a difference in my chest size, but loose enough to let my ribs heal. Spot then starts re-bandaging my arms, "Can I ask you a question, Spot?" "Sure, (N/N)" he says nonchalantly, "Why is it you are repulsed by fully naked bodies, but you're perfectly casual and fine about helping me bind my chest when I'm half-naked?" he clears his throat as if he was ready to spin a whole story, "Well, Race used to live with me and we started trusting each other a lot more than when we first met. He trusted me enough to teach him the best way to bind, and he trusted me enough to feel comfy without a top on when around the house, so I'm kinda desensitized. But when it comes to people being naked or bein' overly suggestive, I just..don't like it. At all."

'Asexual,' I think, 'Knew it."

"Anyway, you ready to fight off the bulls and get our rights back, (N/N)?" He stands up and offers a hand to help me up, which I receive. I catch my reflection in the dirty bathwater. I can see crystal clear, that I am dapper, strong, and ready to kick some Delancey ass.

But first, Lunch.

Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω

I arrive at the strike on Spot's shoulders, hyped for the happy ending they all worked so hard for. Spot sets me down gently and scans the crowd for someone. It seems he found them because his face lights up. I see Race run over to us. "(N/N)! Oh my god, I'm so fuckin' glad that you're awake! Especially today of all days!" however, his enthusiasm is soon replaced with concern, "But is ya sure yer okay? You must've woken up just today, so are you feeling good? Yer injuries don't hurt too bad, you're not dizzy, hungry, thirsty?" "Calm down, Tony, I gave him a bath, changed his bandages, gave him food n' water, even a pep talk, so you don't need to worry!" Race takes a few deep breaths, "Okay, okay, yeah I'm fine. But that's great!" He engulfs me in a firm, but gentle hug. I look around the crowd and see some familiar faces, Katherine seems to have brought another girl with her, who I'm assuming is Sarah, Davey's sister. I see Albert and Elmer tightly holding each other's hands. I see Finch and Smalls exchanging jokes as a form of distraction. I look back at Race and Spot, who are being so romantic, it's almost gross. Almost.

The adrenaline still hasn't left me so when people start getting as excited as me, it just hypes me up even more. We look up at the window of Pulitzer's office and see Jack and a few others standing there, waving. I wave back vigorously. Not too long after, Jack, Davey, Pulitzer, and The Governer appear on a balcony, Jack at the front. "Newsies of New York City..." cue the pause for dramatic effect, "WE WON!!" The crowd of newsies roars with joy. I watch as Crutchie limps out and beats Snyder's ass as the abuser is dragged away, I don't understand why so many people see him as an angel, it's obvious that he's a cheeky lil' rat bastard.

Suddenly, it's like everything is in slow motion. I look around once more and see Katherine and Sarah kissing, same with Albert and Elmer, Finch and Smalls are hugging each other tightly. I look back up at the balcony and see Davey and Jack gettin' it ON. I look once again to Spot and Race, who just finished kissing. Spot reaches down and hoists me onto his shoulders to cheer. And as I take in this momentous victory one sense at a time, I realize in a moment of pure bliss-

I finally found my true family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Word Count: 8190

(A/N):

This took VERY LONG (approx. one month, I just finished after working from 9 pm to 5 am) I know it was supposed to be a simple one-shot, but since there was no one to help narrow down and shorten the plot for me, I got carried away. I am, however, pleased with the length of it. This may be the longest fic I've ever written. As well, I hope any underlying advice or tips mentioned in the story helped you to understand/realize something.

I would love it if you were to vote, give me some constructive criticism, and/or request something for me to write! Don't forget- I live to write that one fanfic you can never find.

Love y'all!

~ Race

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bookandcranny · 3 years

Text

Entertainer in a Minor Key

Pale light filters in through tears in the canvas. Rows of bleachers and folding chairs stand sentinel over a ring of sawdust, where in the center sits a wooden box with a star painted on the side. A prop chest or maybe a crate of old costumes, forgotten like the rest of it. Whoever left this place in such a state must have been in some hurry, Tanis muses.

Curious, she steps into the ring to investigate. The look of that box brushes against another of those deep-down memories and brings to mind a child’s toy chest. The big padlock is a bit atypical though. Mindlessly she reaches for the multitool in her back pocket and kneels to fiddle with it. As she fits it into the lock, the lid props open an inch and a round, blue eye peers out at her from the shaded darkness.

summary: When you’re traveling across the country on foot in a world overrun with every kind of horror movie monster the mind can imagine on an ill-fated quest to go beat up your former boss, it’s important to maintain a sense of humor, as well as an open mind.

content warnings: descriptions of violence and gore

length: about 9k words

The fairgrounds have been long since abandoned by the time Tanis stumbles upon them. A big top tent sways gently in the wind, its candy-colored stripes looking faded and grim under the shadow of the oncoming storm. A loose bit of canvas flaps against the dark mouth of the entryway in a two-four rhythm. Pap-pap, pap-pap.

Tanis’ inclination is to duck inside before the lazy drizzle of rain has the chance to start falling in earnest, but first, the test. Rolling up the sleeve of her flannel reveals a list written on her forearm in black marker.

NO:

Abandoned houses

Dark caves

Graveyards

Wax museums

The last bullet point is underlined. Never again.

“Well it doesn’t say anything about old circuses,” she says to herself. “But that’s probably because I’ve never been to one.”

It’s not what she’d call an inviting looking place, but neither does it seem especially dangerous, and the longer she spends deliberating outside the entrance the colder and wetter she’s getting. With no sign of any other half-decent shelter to be found, she steps inside.

There’s something oddly nostalgic about this place, she thinks. Odd because she doesn’t remember ever going to the circus as a kid. Maybe it’s the smell: wood chips and an unidentifiable sugary sweetness that reminds her of playing on the playground behind the school, the ice cream truck that parked there during the summers, popsicles melting onto careless sticky fingers.

“Oh, um. Hello in there.”

“Please let me out,” a voice whispers from inside.

“Aw, ‘course I will. It can’t be too comfortable in there.” After a tense minute of probing with the head of a screwdriver, the lock springs open. “There we go! How’d you even manage to…”

A bone-white hand crams itself through the gap, fingers skittering spider-like over the clasp. The lid creaks open and from within rises a doll, a slender circus clown with long ball-jointed limbs tucked into its chest, unfolding like the petals of a flower. It’s taller than Tanis by a head at least and its painted face looms over her with an open-hinged smile.

“Ah. I see now.”

“Ooh, thank you thank you!” the doll trills in the voice of a bubbly young woman. She raises her legs out of the box with the wobbly grace of a drunken ballerina, head bobbing above a moth-eaten ruffle collar, causing her eyes to roll from side to side in their sockets like pale marbles.

“No need to thank me. I just popped in to catch a show but it looks like I missed my window so I’ll just be on my way.”

She makes to leave the way she came but the doll leaps in front of her with surprising speed.

“Don’t go yet. Play with me,” she says. “Oh won’t you please play with me?”

Tanis thinks about it, weighing her options. She reaches for the guitar case slung over her back. “Yeah, alright.”

“Really?”

“Sure, it’s been a while since I had a good jam sesh. What do you play?”

The doll freezes, then with the crackling creak of stiff wooden joints it bends its body backwards and begins rifling through the crate. She fishes through frilly costumes, loose kernels of stale popcorn, packing peanuts, and emerges with a bright red toy piano. It makes a bouncy, tinny sound as she strikes the keys.

“Avant-garde. I like it.”

“If you could do me the kindness of turning my key.” She turns around and points at a brass windup key jutting out of a whole in her leotard.

In for a penny, in for a pound I guess. Tanis gives it a few twists. It clicks, spins, and the doll jerks forward, striking a shrill note.

“Oh that feels so much better!”

She lays her rosewood fingers across the piano keys and this time a full, rich sound echoes from the little toy. Suddenly a spotlight shines down from somewhere above them, piercing through the shadows. Tanis’ blinks against the glare. She squints up at the rafters but can’t for her life figure out where the light is coming from.

“Nice trick. You’re a performer of many talents, Ms Clown.”

“Silly! My name is Caroline!”

She nods, strumming a few experimental chords. “Tanis. What’re you doing in a gloomy place like this?”

In lieu of a response, Caroline begins to play faster, and as she plays the circus seems to be transported back in time. The ubiquitous signs of wear and age fade before Tanis’ eyes and the empty tent begins to fill up with cheers and laughter and the awed murmurs of a captivated audience. When she tries to look at them, however, like a half-remembered dream the faces of both the patrons and the other entertainers alike are replaced by churning mass of blurry gray features.

“I was the secret show-stopper, the dancing doll! The ringmaster had me made special. But one day, the show was stopped for good, and I was left alone.”

No intonation betrays her thoughts, yet as she speaks the ghosts of the past begin to fade, returning the tent to its dour state.

Not sure what to say, Tanis replies, “That’s a shame. Is that why you were all shut up in that box?”

She takes her hands off the keys, but the music keeps playing. A new vision appears; the hazy forms of strangers, travelers like Tanis whose curiosity or search for shelter drove them to this place before her. They murmur amongst themselves as they peer and point at the oddity in the ring. Caroline reaches for them and they recoil in horror before vanishing like smoke.

“No one wanted to play.”

Tanis shifts uneasily on her feet. This is awkward. “Aw jeez, I’m sorry about all that. But things’ll look up soon, I’m sure.”

No reply. Tanis’ hands still. She doesn’t really feel like playing anymore.

“Anyway, thanks for the song but it sounds like the rain’s letting up so I better be on my way.”

The music cuts out. Suddenly all is silent but for the quiet clicking of the spinning key.

“You don’t want to play anymore?” Caroline asks softly.

She put up her hands. “No offense. I just gotta keep moving. I’ve still got a long way to travel, you see.”

Once again she tries to leave and once again the doll bars her way. Standing up from the piano she twists her dexterous fingers into Tanis’ shirt collar and lifts her off the ground.

“You can’t go,” she implores. “You mustn’t go. It’s so very dangerous out there.”

Tanis struggles in her grip. “Seems pretty bad in here too.”

“Oh but I don’t want to harm you! I only wish to entertain!”

The spectral spotlights return twice as bright, causing the woman to wince. She kicks at her captor’s wooden limbs. The thing doesn’t so much as flinch.

“Come on now, let’s be reasonable and put-” Thunk. “Me-” Thunk. “Down.”

“You’re quite spirited, Ms Tanis! I’ve so missed having a lively audience.”

She spins her around and pins her up against the bleachers. Sneaking a hand into her back pocket, Tanis pulls out the multitool and jams the knife edge into her side. This at last gets a reaction from her. She makes a small startled noise, closer to offense than pain, and throws the woman to the ground.

The fall itself isn’t bad, but she doesn’t relish the feeling of her guitar slamming into her torso. Tanis groans and pushes herself up while Caroline continues to fret over the pocket knife lodged in her. She pulls and pulls but it's gotten all twisted up in her frilly costume and every seam she tears with her tugging makes her whimper like a distressed child.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Tanis picks up her guitar, the closest thing to a weapon she has on hand, and swings it at her head. There’s a satisfying pop as one of her marble eyes shoots out of its socket and rolls under the stands. The doll bends double with a piercing wail.

“Sorry about this, Caroline. You seemed alright.”

With that, she reaches over and rips the brass key out of her back. The clown-creature slouches, then falls to her knees. The hole in her back oozes with a trickle of something-- not blood, thankfully. Something darker and more viscous, almost like molasses.

Tanis sighs and plops down on the sawdust floor. She’s relieved to find her guitar not much worse for wear in spite of her rough handling, although she’ll need to replace a snapped string. She lays it gently back into its case and fishes out a marker from her sparse bundle of belongings.

NO:

Abandoned houses

Dark caves

Graveyards

Wax museums

Circuses

She rolls the dancing doll’s key around in her hand. After a moment’s deliberation, she lifts the oversized toy up over her shoulder and drops her back into her box. She plugs the smooth chunk of brass back into the weeping wound; Caroline shudders but otherwise remains dormant.

“There we go, no harm no foul,” she tells her limp form. “You rest up now.”

Tanis has come across her fair share of monsters already but rarely has one shown so much emotion. Most of the beasties she encounters don’t seem to know more than the bottomless hunger that drives them. She hasn’t had much reason up until now to consider what they might’ve been before, but now that the seed is sewn, she can’t help but feel a bit bad for the poor thing.

Loneliness is a bitch and to be a performer without any audience is a plight she’s all too familiar with. She remembers the desperation, the despair, the things it could drive a person to do.

With the weight of the case back on her shoulders and the firm earth back beneath her feet, the traveler sets off again.

It feels like she’s been trudging through the mud for an age and a half before she reaches the next human township. Her burdens feel twice as heavy today and she’s eager to find someplace to lay them down if only for the night.

The quaint settlement is surrounded on all sides by a high wooden wall and there’s an exposed duct trailing around the perimeter, the stagnant water turned pink from where the red soil flooded in with the rain. A tired looking soldier waves to her from his perch above the gate.

“Hello down there. What’s your business?”

“I’m just looking for a place to stay the night. If you can point me in the direction of a boarding house or a shelter I’ll be right out of your hair, sir.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I can’t let you in until I know you’re not a monster.”

She scoffs. “You guys get many monsters that look like me?”

“You never know these days. Last month we had some… troubles.” His expression turns dark. “We’re still recouping from our losses, you understand. Can’t take the risk.”

Tanis shrugs. Fair enough. “My name’s Tanis Lahey and I’m a traveling musician.” She gestures to her guitar. “I ain’t got much in the way of money and even less to barter, but I’m not expecting luxury, just a place to rest my head and maybe a hot meal to keep me going.”

“Where do you come from, Ms Lahey? And where are you going?”

“I come from over west; Ohm Town, Oklahoma. Destination: Bigge City.”

The guard scratches his stubbly chin. “That’s a hell of a trip, especially to make on foot.”

“I had a car but it broke down as I was crossing the state line. A pack of ghouls spiked the highway. I dipped out before things could get messy.”

He nods, only half listening, she suspects. She isn’t expecting sympathy for her tale; it’s hardly one of a kind.

“Any weapons?”

“Nothing but my razor sharp wit, sir.”

He levels her an unimpressed look. “What’s your business in Bigge? Family?”

She shakes her head. “Work, sort of. I’m meeting with my manager to renegotiate a contract.”

“Good on you. Good work’s hard to come by these days.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“You said you’re a musician, right? We haven’t got much for music here. There’s an inn in the center of town that’d probably put you up in exchange for a good show.”

He turns and makes a motion behind him for whoever’s working the crank on the other side and the gate begins to rise. The wooden creaking stirs a feeling of discontent in Tanis, too reminiscent of recent events.

“Thanks for the tip, I’ll be sure to do that.”

Finding the inn isn’t hard, considering it’s one of maybe four buildings that’s more than a pop-up shanty. Settlements like this aren’t so unusual: a group of refugees from an infested district cobbles together some cheap homes, a couple municipal buildings, maybe even a business or two, and most importantly, a hefty monster-proof security system. In a few decades if the place is still standing it becomes a destination for those unlucky few like herself who are caught out traveling the wilds and secures a tidy profit in trade and touristry, if you can call it that.

It’s clear however that this particular patch of civilization has hit some hard times, even by the usual standards. It’s almost startlingly easy for Tanis to strike up a deal with the innkeeper: room and board in exchange for a few hours of music in the pub downstairs, or until the night’s patronage dries up, and she even gets to keep the tips.

“It’s been a hard winter,” says the manager. “Folks walk around as if in a fog or else mad as hell at every little thing, just looking for a reason to start a fight. Some music might lift their spirits.”

“That’s what I’m here for, ma’am,” says Tanis. “Just give me a few minutes to tune up and get my things in order.”

She guides her to her room and then leaves her be, telling her she’ll try to get the local rumor mill turning, get the word out about her before she takes the floor. Alone now, Tanis sets her things down on the bed and opens the case, falling on her ass for the second time today when out climbs none other than Caroline the dancing doll.

“You-!” She sputters and looks around for something to put between the two of them.

“Surprise!” The one-eyed puppet throws her arms wide, wiggling her hands for emphasis. “Oh wait don’t-”

Tanis lobs her shoe at her. It hits her in the face, but she doesn’t seem bothered, or else it’s simply that she’s not capable of expressing a very wide range of emotion with her painted on expression and nutcracker-like jaw.

“No no no, don’t be afraid,” Caroline insists.

Tanis reaches down to untie her other shoe. “I’m not afraid, I’m pissed. Serves me right for taking pity on you.”

“It was fairly foolish from a strictly objective standpoint, but also very kind.”

Her narrow shoulders tuck in close, creating an almost sheepish effect.

“Nobody’s ever done a thing like that before. Nobody’s ever taken the time to play a song with me and listen to my story.”

Slowly, Tanis lowers the shoe.

“I don’t mean to harm you or cause you any trouble,” Caroline continues. “It’s only, you’re a terribly strange human, and I wanted oh so much to keep playing with you. I thought to myself, ‘if I can’t keep Ms Tanis from leaving, I’ll simply have to go with her’. So when you weren’t looking I curled myself up all teensy tiny and climbed in with your lovely instrument and away we went! In addition to my myriad musical abilities I also happen to be a fabulous contortionist, you know.”

She demonstrates this by tipping forward and pulling her legs behind her head in a position that would’ve been truly disturbing on a flesh and blood body.

“No wonder my case felt so heavy,” Tanis grumbles, standing up. “Look, sweetheart, you can’t be here. This is a strictly no-monster zone. We could both get in a huge amount of trouble. Not to mention I’m still not positive you won’t kill me in my sleep.”

“Please don’t leave me! We can play more music together! Or, turn my key and I’ll show you another magic trick! We can play cards or do each other’s makeup. I’ll make you look like a tiger.” She shuffles forward on ball-jointed knees, pleading. “You’re the only one who’s not afraid of me.”

Tanis can’t help but smirk at that. “Yeah, well, there’s a reason for that.”

“Oh I know, it’s because we’re best friends.”

She frowns. “No, no it’s… it’s a long story, hon.”

“I love stories!”

“Not a fun story, Caroline.” She shakes her head, rakes a hand through her short curls, growing longer and messier by the day it seems. “I’m not scared of you because I physically can’t fear any fear. Someone took it from me.”

She cocks her head. “Took… your fear?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that I guess. Sort of hard to explain.”

“Perhaps you should start with ‘once upon a time’. All the best stories start like that.”

Tanis sighs through her nose. “Agree to disagree but I’ll give it a shot. Once upon a time, in the far away land of Oklahoma…”

Once upon a time there was a young musician named Tanis. She worked in her parents’ bakery in a town where nothing ever changed, not in summer or winter, not in rain or blizzard or tornado. Even when the monsters came and the natural order of the world was turned on its head, for the most people still went on about their business as usual, just with an added tinge of constant dread, and even that wasn’t off-beat enough to endanger the status quo.

Tanis had big dreams of making it as a rock star and leaving her small world behind, but the people around her didn’t quite see things her way. Eventually she struck out on her own, intent on proving wrong all the naysayers wrong. Unfortunately, talent and raw gusto aren’t enough to make a star, and passion doesn’t pay the bills, as she soon discovered.

After only just scraping by for more than a year, fameless and friendless, she was about to call it quits and head back home in shame when she was approached by a strange gentleman.

He called himself Mr Slyme, which maybe should have been a red flag on its own. But Tanis didn’t care. She was willing to do anything for success and he was promising her not only a paying gig but, if the show went well, an entire sponsored tour.

The very first time she stepped onto that stage she knew she’d gotten in over her head. In their dealings Mr Slyme had failed to mention that she’d be playing for an audience entirely of monsters. Still, if she shut her eyes while she sang the screeches and howling cries didn’t sound so different from the cheers of an adoring crowd. Skin warm from the limelight and stars in her eyes, she knew she couldn’t go back to the way things were, whatever the risk.

Mr Slyme was very pleased with her performance and had her sign a contract with his company right away. After that it was tours and autographs and show after show after show. Time seemed to blur together in a single crashing wave of euphoric adrenalin. She felt like she could go on like this forever.

Then, that last concert. The one where it all went wrong. A darkened auditorium and the metallic tang of blood in the air. She hadn’t thought to ask questions before stepping on stage, and by then it was too late. The ritual was already underway.

It felt as though her hands were not her own. A chant bubbled up from her throat in a voice she could barely recognize. The lights were fiery hot yet her blood ran cold when she heard, above the hysterical clamour of the crowd, the word “sacrifice”.

Tanis was never entirely certain how she made it out alive. Maybe someone up there was still looking out for her, despite it all. All she knew was by the time she escaped she was in a bad state, her clothes in shreds, her hair coming out in chunks, her whole body shaking as the blood cooled on her skin, much of it her own. She got in her car and drove, no destination in mind except home. Facing her family might be the worst part of all, but there was nowhere else to go.

She prayed that it was all over now.

The morning after her final concert Tanis woke up in a motel with a strange feeling of absence, like the tugging in your brain when you can’t remember what you’ve forgotten. She was jolted into awareness by the sound of her phone ringing, and when she answered she was greeted by the sneering, insidious voice of Mr Slyme dripping into her ear.

By refusing to see the performance through, he told her, she’d breached the terms of her contract. As recompense, he had taken something of hers. Something precious.

Tanis wasn’t one to put her faith in the intangible, the mystical. Or, she hadn’t been back then. Even if she had paid proper attention to what she was signing she probably wouldn’t have given the clause very much thought, perhaps written it off as a joke. As it was, the sudden loss of her mortal soul wasn’t quite what she might’ve expected. No demons appeared in her motel room to drag her down into a fiery pit. To tell the truth, she didn’t feel very different at all. Still, something had changed.

As days went by Tanis began to notice herself becoming more careless. She burned herself cooking simply because it didn’t occur to her to not touch the hot pan with her bare fingers. Where pain used to be a teacher now it only made her indignant. The daily dangers of reckless drivers and unfriendly dogs and strangers coming too close to her as she walked down a darkened street no longer gave her any sense of unease. Several times she had to consciously stop herself from walking into a busy crosswalk simply because she couldn’t remember why the outcome might be undesirable.

It may have been more tolerable, she thought, if she simply wanted to die. That’s what people tended to assume of her anyway in the wake of this new affliction. But there was no sadness or suffering in her, not even when she remembered the events of the ritual that she’d thought would scar her forever, only a slow creeping apathy which grew stronger every passing moment.

Against the odds, she did come to relearn fear, the basic mechanics of it if not the actual feeling, and stopped regularly endangering herself in such ridiculous ways. Fearlessness, she realized, didn’t have to equal reckless stupidity as long as she remained mindful of it.

Still, this couldn’t go on forever. Mr Slyme wasn’t taking her calls, naturally, and so she set off for the one place she knew she could find him: the main offices of Slyme House Incorporated.

“So, that’s me,” Tanis finished with a lackluster shrug. “I’ve managed to keep myself in one piece so far but it’s kind of difficult when you have zero sense of self preservation and there are monsters literally everywhere. I’m not sure what’ll happen to me if I die or if I even really care, only I figure if I do kick it I won’t be able to play music anymore.”

She gives her guitar an idle strum as she finishes tuning.

“Music is pretty much the only thing that ever made me really happy. If I couldn’t do that, I don’t know. I can’t feel fear but I can still feel happiness and sadness and all the rest.” She clenches her fist. “Anger too, definitely. I’m angry that I was duped like that, the kind of angry that I don’t think’s gonna let up until I put my fist all the way through Slyme’s ugly face.”

“I’m sure you’ll be quite good at it! You’re very strong.”

Tanis snaps out of her stewing, sparing a guilty glance towards Caroline’s empty left socket and the cracks still faintly visible through the tear in her leotard.

“Listen, I’m sorry about what happened back there. I’m not really used to meeting monsters that don’t wanna, you know, kill and eat me, and my fight or flight response is pretty much just fight at the moment.”

Caroline laughs, or rather, she vocalizes a robotic sounding “ahaha!” that must be her version of laughter. “I would never eat you. I don’t even have a digestive system!”

Tanis presses her lips together. “Right.”

There’s a knock on the door.

“Oh shit, right, I’m supposed to play.”

Caroline jumps up. “I want to come too! Please please pretty please!”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” She pauses, considers. ��Unless… do you think you can pretend to be, you know, a normal doll for a while?”

“Pretend? I love to play pretend!” She claps her wooden hands together. “Lead the way, Ms Tanis!”

There’s an itching at the back of her brain that tells her this may be a mistake, the ghost of her good sense hanging on by a thread. But without concern for her own wellbeing her sympathy for the dopey doll takes the reins, and together they take the stage.

It’s a sad crowd, both in terms of size and demeanor. Hopefully, she thinks, they’re deep enough in their cups to not question the windup automaton that stands before them.

“Good evening, folks, my name’s Tanis and this is Caroline the fantastic dancing doll.”

Caroline gives a robotic jerk and bows at the waist. It’s a surprisingly convincing performance, but then, it probably comes naturally to her. A few patrons give an amused chuckle at Caroline’s antics. Tanis takes it as a good sign and begins the first song.

Despite not having the time to rehearse, Caroline manages to play her part well, improvising along to the music the other provides with sweeping, exaggerated movements that hold the crowd’s attention. It’s actually sort of nice, the guitarist thinks, to share the stage with someone else for a change. Even if the “stage” is just the corner of a dingy inn stinking of bathtub booze.

The atmosphere is infectious and after a few songs the crowd has doubled in number, everyone bobbing their heads or tapping their feet along with the music. It feels good. It feels better than most things have felt in a long time.

Halfway through the night Tanis breathlessly declares that they’ll be taking a break. In her excitement, she’d put some more pepper on those last few numbers than usual. The place is packed now, the staff happily passing around refills and lining their pockets.

Caroline pretends to wind down to stop while Tanis takes a seat at one of the tables to recover. A server brings her a glass of water and she downs it in seconds. She makes a point of staying in practice while on the road but she’d forgotten how intoxicating it could be to play for a crowd, and one where no one wanted your head on a platter to boot.

While she flexes her fingers and rolls her neck in preparation for the next set, Tanis happens to overhear a conversation taking place amongst a group at the next table over.

“All I’m saying is, we know what it's after. Why are we sitting around when we could set a trap and finish the thing off once in for all?”

“If you’re looking for someone to be the bait, I call not it.”

“I don’t think something like that can be killed. My grandpa always says--”

“Nobody cares what the old man says, Jonah. I’m telling you, if it bleeds, you can kill it. That’s just common sense.”

“Excuse me,” Tanis pipes up. “Am I hearing you right? You folks are monster hunters?”

If she were looking, she would see Caroline’s head roll to the side, her good eye following her warily.

“Something like that,” says the woman at the table with a rumbling laugh in her throat. “I’m Luanne and this is Phil, and the kid is Jonah.”

Jonah, a young man with rusty red hair, grumbles under his breath. Phil gives her the barest nod of acknowledgment before launching back into his argument.

“I can’t get to sleep at night knowing those things are still out there, lurking around, feeding off our scraps all fat and happy.”

“If it keeps them from breaking down the wall and carrying us off instead…”

“What’s the point of the wall if monsters are just gonna get in anyway!”

“Ignore the boys. What’s your interest in monster hunting?” asks Luanne. “You thinking about quitting the music business? Trust me, this job doesn’t have as many perks as you’d think.”

“Nah, that’s not for me,” she says. “I’ve run into monsters aplenty on the road, but never on purpose. I just have a knack for getting into trouble, and I was hoping you could point me in the direction of someplace I could get myself a weapon. After tonight I might actually be able to afford it.”

“Don’t waste your money,” Jonah insists sharply. “Monsters can’t be killed, I’m telling you. You can hurt ‘em, sometimes real bad, but they just come back in a new shape.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means what it means. I’m just saying.”

“What are you saying? You think it’s pointless?”

“No, man, you know I’m not. Just that we need to be looking for long-term solutions instead of just shooting or building walls that’ll fall down in another few years. We’re not cavemen. We ought to be studying monsters, finding out what makes ‘em tick.”

“And where are you gonna find a monster to study?”

The younger stammers at that, coming up empty. Tanis smirks against the lip of her glass. Have you ever tried playing music for them until they follow you home?

Soon her time is up and she takes the stage again. By the end of the night she’s collected a hefty bit of coin and she’s more than ready to retire. A couple of the lingering townsfolk meander over to try and make conversation as she finishes collecting her dues, the trio of ameteur hunters among them.

“Don’t quit this music thing,” Luanne tells her. “If you get yourself killed tracking some beasty the world’s gonna be down a damn good singer. You write those songs yourself?”

“Some of them. Most of them are covers. People don’t usually seem to care one way or the other, and writing’s not really my forte.”

“Don’t say that, kid. You put on a hell of a show. Especially with that whole dancing doll shtick.” She gestures at Caroline who’s playing dead on the floor. “Where’d you find this crazy looking thing?”

“Oh, well, she- it used to be a circus prop. I just kind of found her.” Sticking with half-truths feels like the safest bet. She has no idea how she’d explain her away otherwise.

Phil nudges Caroline with the heel of his boot. “Kind of creepy if you ask me.”

“No one asked you, Phil.”

He grunts and turns away. Caroline pops her head up and makes a face behind his back.

Biting back a laugh, Tanis says, “Sorry to cut this short but I am beat.”

She hefts the doll up over her shoulder-- she’s not exactly lightweight, but no heavier than the big bags of flour she would drag out of the storeroom for her mom in the mornings.

“Can we count on catching another show tomorrow night?”

“Sorry, I’ve got to be on my way first thing in the morning. I’ve still got a long road ahead of me.”

“That early? You’re sure in a hurry to get out of dodge.”

There’s something strange about the way he says it. Tanis frowns.

“I just like to get an early start. With that said, goodnight folks.”

She hustles Caroline upstairs and shuts the door tight behind them. The moment she does, the doll springs up, fully animated once more.

“That was great fun!”

Tanis huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I guess it was.”

Under the golden lamplight Tanis sorts her bounty of bronze and silver coins into neat piles. Tonight was a better night than most; the folks here aren’t exactly wealthy but with so little trade coming and going what coin they have hasn’t been going anywhere except perhaps into the hands of the bartender, who’s probably faring even better than she.

After a moment’s deliberation she pushes a stack towards Caroline. It’s not quite an equal share but then, she reasons, what’s the doll going to spend it on anyway? Even so, the thought of keeping all the spoils to herself doesn’t sit well when Caroline’s certainly put in as much work.

“For me?” she asks.

“Yup. You did good tonight and no one suspected a thing. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Caroline, if possible, looks even more joyed than is her default state. “I won’t!”

She then tips back her head and pours her earnings down her throat. Tanis can’t claim to understand the creature, but whatever makes her happy.

“I’m ready to turn in. What do you wanna do about this… whole arrangement here?” she asks, yawning as she nods towards the bed.

“Not to worry! I don’t require sleep, nor desire it. If you need me I shall be in your instrument case.”

Her brow wrinkles with a frown. “You sure? It looks like kind of a squeeze.”

“I’m used to resting in boxes. Frankly I prefer it. I suppose you could say it’s in my nature.”

“Whatever floats your boat.” She sheds her outerwear, stripping down to tank top and boxers. The weather’s due to turn before she makes it to Bigge, she thinks; might be worth it to invest in a real coat, maybe some nice thick socks. “‘Night, Caroline.”

“Goodnight, Ms Tanis!”

She puts out the light and closes her eyes. Sleep comes easy, tired as she is, and as dreamlessly as it has been ever since that fateful final show. Nothing short of a new apocalyptic event could get her up once she begins to drift, which is why she’s unpleasantly surprised to find herself awake not a few hours later. That, and the gun barrel tucked underneath her chin.

“God, this better be good,” she groans as the bliss of well-earned rest leaves her.

In the dark she can’t make out the figures standing around her bed. She reaches for the lamp and the shotgun at her throat cocks a warning.

“If you’re here to rob me, couldn’t it at least wait until morning.”

“We don’t want your money, hellspawn,” a voice rasps.

“Well,” says a second. “I wouldn’t say no to--”

“Shut it!”

Tanis recognizes the voices now. The monster hunters, Phil and Jonah, and she’d bargain that’s Luanne hanging back blocking the door.

“What’d I do to you guys? You didn’t like the music or something?”

“Quiet!” Phil shouts. “I knew there was something off about you the moment I saw you, so I decided to do a little investigating. Why don’t you say it again, how ‘no one suspected a thing’.” He gives her another jab with the cold metal of the barrel. “Who were you talking to, all alone in your room? Ain’t nobody here. What devils do you answer to, you traitoring rat?”

Tanis puts up her hands. “Whoa whoa whoa, I think you’ve got the wrong impression of me.”

“I said quiet!”

“You asked me a question.”

Phil continues, “You’re not a monster, not all the way through anyhow, I can tell. But you’re not all the way human neither. I can see it in your eyes. Empty eyes. And that doll of yours, that’s your familiar, isn’t it?”

“Are you gonna let me answer this time or--”

He smacks her hard across the face. She hisses in pain-- that sensation certainly hasn’t run empty.

“You’re a traitor to your own kind, bringing that darkness in past our walls. But now at least we got that live bait we’ve been missing.”

There’s a sudden sound of movement, a scraping against the bare floor from across the room that makes Tanis’ aggressors freeze. It’s Luanne who breaks the tense silence.

“Uh, fellas? What was that?”

On cue, Caroline rises from her makeshift bed with the gravitas of a movie vampire awakening from its crypt. Tanis should’ve expected she’d be the type to relish in dramatics. She cocks her head, surveying the scene around her, and then without further preamble grabs the closest person-- poor unlucky Jonah-- and thrusts him out of her way as casually as if she were rearranging the furniture, crashing him into Luanne and sending them both into the wall.

“No more songs tonight,” she says cheerfully. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Luanne staggers and pushes the young man off of her, thrusting a large hunting knife in the monster’s direction. “Get back, creep!”

“Silly billy, knives are dangerous. Not to me, of course, but to you.”

She knocks the blade out of her hand. Jonah drops his own weapon before she has the chance, his hands trembling too hard to keep his grip.

“Hey!” Phil barks. Caroline’s head swivels towards him. “Maybe I can’t hurt you, but I can sure hurt your master here.”

He grabs her chin and presses his thumb to her swollen lip, swiping up a drop of blood.

“If it bleeds, you can kill it,” he murmurs under his breath like a mantra.

“Silly,” Caroline repeats, taking a step closer. “That’s not my master, that’s Ms Tanis!”

The hunter’s eyes move frantically back and forth, from the doll to the woman. He affects a false bravado and demands, “Then who- who do you answer to, monster?”

“Oh he’s quite dead,” she replies. “I killed him!”

Before he can react, a hand shoots out and grips the man’s neck. His companions, recovering some nerve, shout and grab at her from either side. Their combined weight unbalances the dainty doll but, with her grip unrelenting, she takes their leader with her. His finger locks on the trigger but the panicked shot goes wide. A chorus of frightened screams sounds from outside-- the manager and another couple guests that had gone to fetch her when they heard the sounds of a fight.

Tanis leaps from her bed to wrestle the larger man off of Caroline. The other two have her arms pinned down and for a moment she goes very still, but as Jonah leans in to investigate, a bizarre whining noise sounds from deep in the doll’s throat and a stream of coins begin to shoot out of her mouth. Jonah screams and falls backward clutching his face, Luanne soon to follow.

“What demon do you serve!” Phil howls.

Tanis grimaces as spittle flies into her face. “You are really stuck on that, huh?”

She grunts and puts all her strength into shoving the man over, cracking his head against the nightstand.

“I don’t fucking serve anybody.” She spits. “Asshole.”

When the manager finally gets the door open, the scene is not a charitable one. There’s a man unconscious on the floor with a probable broken nose, his friends scrambling for the door in terror, a bullethole in the ceiling, while the traveler and her seven foot living wind-up toy stand amidst the chaos.

“Okay, I can explain.”

“Is that blood,” the manager deadpans, going pale.

Indeed a sizable puddle has formed around Phil’s head where he lies. Tanis sucks in a breath through her teeth.

“I didn’t mean to hit him that hard,” she mutters under her breath. “I mean, he deserved it, but still.”

She nudges him with her foot and hears a faint, gurgling groan.

“No worries, he’s still alive.”

“I don’t care about that!” hisses the manager. “Shut the window, fool! Monsters can smell fresh blood from miles away!”

Tanis looks to Caroline as if to say, Did you know about this? Caroline shrugs.

“I think that’s just a myth.”

There’s a loud, guttural shriek from somewhere outside the inn, followed by the shuck shuck shuck of claws piercing the walls, coming rapidly closer. A toothsome muzzle crams its way through the window and starts snapping blindly at the air. The onlookers scatter, and even Tanis has the wherewithal to leap back and out of the way of those grasping jaws. It sniffs wolfishly and a long barbed tongue protracts from its maw, flopping onto the floor.

“Geez louise,” Tanis remarks. “Just can’t catch a break tonight. Caroline, can you, I dunno, talk that thing down?”

“I shall try!”

She walks over to where the creature’s head remains stuck in the window.

“Pardon me, but you are being very disruptive and I--”

The monster’s tongue lashes out and smacks her in the face. It probes into her exposed socket and, apparently deciding that whatever the doll has in place of blood is good enough, begins straining to pull her into its mouth. Tanis yanks her away just in time.

“Oh dear, that was not very polite.”

“Why’s it wanna hurt you? You’re a monster too!”

“You’re a human, and those other humans were hurting you.”

“Huh. Fair enough.”

The wooden panels around the window begin to strain dangerously as the bloodsucker starts to push through.

“Okay, we gotta go.” She rushes to collect her things and then, with a sigh, grabs onto Phil’s unconscious body to drag him out of the room. “Help me pull.”

Caroline does so, but not before asking, “Are we rescuing this man? Even though he wanted to hurt you and called you nasty names?”

“Yeah,” she huffs. “It kind of sucks, but that’s just what people do.”

Together they drag Phil into the hallway and slam the door behind them, though it’s anyone’s guess how long it’ll hold. Hopefully the pool of blood will keep the creature occupied for a short time while the other guests evacuate. Luckily there are few of them, so a short time is just enough.

Drawn out by the commotion, townspeople begin to pour out of their homes and into the street. In the chaos and confusion, nobody seems to notice the traveler and her doll fleeing the scene.

Tanis makes a beeline for the gate. “I don’t know about you, sweetheart, but I’m ready to get the hell out of dodge.”

“Will they be safe?” asks Caroline.

Tanis stops and stares at her. “What?”

“With that large bitey fellow on the loose? Will the audience be alright?”

It’s hard to divine much emotion from Caroline’s wooden features, but in this moment Tanis can tell she’s being sincere.

“Why do you care about something like that?”

“It’s a good entertainer’s responsibility to make sure the audience is happy.”

She points at the crowd that’s forming in the town square: a handful of soldiers-- if they can even be called as much-- with their meager armory of shotguns and spears and some assorted farm tools, and the huddled mass of paralyzed civilians trying to think of where to run to. Many are still recovering from the last attack of this kind. They don’t have the means to defend themselves the way they need, nor to flee the way they should, and the resident monster hunters are either unconscious or god-knows-where.

“They don’t look very happy.”

“What am I supposed to do about that? No, really, Caroline. If you’ve got an idea, I’m all ears. Just because I’m fearless doesn’t mean I’m suicidal.”

The doll seems to think on this for a moment before she simply says, “Turn my key.”

Tanis gives her a dubious look. “The key that makes you act like even more of an evil Looney Toon? The last time I did that you kinda tried to kill me.”

“I did not! I wanted to keep you from the danger.” She actually sounds offended at the accusation. “I wanted to keep you safe in my circus forever. I couldn’t understand why you would want to go out into the big scary world, where people are unkind and ever so unhappy.”

She doesn’t frown necessarily, but she hangs her head, one lonesome blue eye staring into her own.

“But when you sing, you make people happy. When you make them happy, you are happy too. I do not think you want to run away.”

Tanis watches Caroline. She listens to her speak. She groans, frustrated to realize that, against all odds, the big goofy clown doll is right. “Turn around.”

Caroline claps her hands with glee as Tanis grips her key, still faintly tacky to the touch. She turns it once, twice, thrice, until she can’t turn it anymore. The doll spins around with a revitalized sort of glow and begins bounding towards the beast as it bursts through the wall of the building.

What else is there for Tanis to do? She follows after her.

“Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests, this is the greatest show on what’s left of earth!”

A spotlight shines from nowhere, brilliantly illuminating the daring dancer. As the soldiers’ weapons glance ineffectually off the bloodsucker’s hide, Caroline overtakes them and kicks it square across the face, causing the beast to stagger a few steps backwards.

At her command, a swarm of chattering windup dolls appear out of the night. Spectral and red-eyed, they pile their porcelain bodies on top of the ravenous creature. When crushing one knee-high nuisance doesn’t yield any blood or ichor, it hisses its displeasure and tosses the rest off. It stomps and snaps them until they return to nothingness, but the attack disorients it, enough for Caroline to gain the definitive upperhand.

She seizes it by the scruff, wrenches its mouth open, and rips out its long propping tongue. The beast howls in ear-splitting pain, more of that syrupy dark substance dripping from its fanged mouth. Caroline pulls the tongue taught in her hands and cracks it against the creature’s forepaw like a whip. She faces the townsfolk.

“And now, a spectacle unlike you’ve ever seen! The dancing doll tames the ferocious beast!”

She evades another snap of its jaws and climbs atop its back, straddling it and wrapping its own tongue around its meaty neck. The monster begins to rear back, swiping at the doll with its claws. Those grasping paws, clever enough to scale walls, find purchase on her leg.

“Uh oh!” the doll remarks.

It flings her to the ground.

“Caroline!” Tanis yells. “Just kill it already!”

“Oh but where’s the fun in that?”

Nevertheless, she pulls back her free leg and jabs her heel into one beady black eye with a gruesome squelching noise.

“Now, for my final trick, I’ll make this rude fellow disappear!”

The mystical spotlight goes out, in fact every light in town goes out, and from somewhere Tanis can hear the sound of a drumroll. When the lights return, the monster has indeed vanished, replaced by a pile of ichorous innards which have been strewn about the town square. A few members of the “audience” begin to retch.

“Ta-da!”

It’s probably not the reception she was hoping for, but there’s one person in the crowd clapping. The fantastic dancing doll takes a sweeping bow, more gore sloughing off and onto the cobblestone below.

“So that’s a town we can never go back to.”

Caroline pouts, as much as she can. “I thought it was a lovely show.”

Tanis shrugs. “You can’t please everybody.”

She’s back on the road, strumming a few notes on her guitar as she walks along. She’d offered to hold onto it so Caroline could have some more wiggle room as she rode along on her back. The extra baggage wasn’t exactly ideal, but despite single-handedly taking down a monster twice her size, traversing wide open spaces still made the doll nervous after so long spent confined to one place. It was the least she could do for her, she figured.

Besides being a real powerhouse when it comes to fighting humans and other monsters alike, Caroline had become an invaluable addition to Tanis’ little traveling act. She made more than twice the tips as she usually did when Caroline was dancing along to her songs. Everyone was always so perplexed: how did she make that doll move like that? It was almost like she was alive!

Yeah, almost. She snickers to herself.

“Are you thinking of a joke? May I hear it?”

“Nah, just getting lost in my own head again,” she says.

Privately, there’s another reason she’s glad to have kept Caroline by her side. It’s strange, she thinks, to have found a companion in a creature like her. A friend, even.

“Where will we be touring next, Ms Tanis?”

“For now we just keep heading east.” She glances back at the doll. Her head is poking out of the case, watching her again. It’s probably a good thing she’s physically incapable of finding that as creepy as it undoubtedly is. Instead, she just shoots her a sideways grin and says, “You know, you don’t have to keep calling me ‘miss’. Just Tanis is fine.”

“Okay, Ms Just Tanis!”

“Oh so she’s got jokes.”

“I know lots of jokes. What’s big and grey with lots of great big horns?”

“I don’t know but I hope it’s not following us.”

“An elephant marching band!”

God, that was terrible. “Ha. Good one, Caroline.”

“I know more!”

“Why don’t you hold onto those for now. Wouldn’t want to waste ‘em all on me before you’ve got a proper audience.”

“I will, but not because it would be a waste. Even if I was to never have another show, I should enjoy telling them to you very much.”

It’s quiet for a while after that, and Tanis, more than used to the solitude, has almost forgotten about her passenger until she pipes up once more.

“Ms- Pardon me, Tanis. What’s that tune you’re playing?”

Without hardly noticing Tanis’ hands have been feeling out the shape of a familiar melody, a slow and sentimental thing.

“Ah, it’s just this old country song I used to practice with a lot when I was still just learning. It’s funny, I can’t actually remember the last time I played it. I wanted to be a rockstar for so long, you know. But then once I was on my own again, after everything, it’s these sort of songs I ended up coming back to.”

She expects Caroline to request something more cheery, but she merely settles her head against her shoulder and lapses back into silence. For the first time since that night Tanis finds herself thinking of what the peculiar doll had told her. She had said that her singing made people happy. What did that mean for someone like her who was always happy anyway? Or seemed to be, that is.

Does my singing make you happy, Caroline? Is that the real reason you started following me?

Softly, uncertain as the kid at her first audition she could barely remember being, Tanis lets her voice rise.

“This world is not my home

I'm just passing through

My treasures are laid up

Somewhere beyond the blue…”

#my writing #horror #comedy #original fiction #writeblr #monsters #clowns

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achildlikeprincess · 3 years

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♡ The Halloween Dollhouse ♡

Above in the Halloween evening air, raindrops gathered and waited to fall upon the trick-or-treaters below. The old trees lining the neighborhood sang darkly of autumn richness. Glazed, golden leaves fluttered down with the chilly wind, lining the damp sidewalk like magic stepping stones. Minnie and her friends, dressed as a gaggle of witches in unearthly frayed and glittering black rags, were dashing between the houses as fast as they could before the first raindrop fell.

"Hurry! We've got to get all the candy we can!" Penny shouted. She rang the next doorbell seven times, hopping up and down in her pointy black slippers. "Penny! Don't be rude! Oh, I can't believe it's going to rain on Halloween," sighed Daisy. "Oh my! What a scary group of witches! I hope you won't melt when the rain falls," the old man who answered the door chuckled, giving them each a chocolate bar just as the sky above shattered and began to pour. "Better hurry back!" "Thank you sir! We'll be okay!" Minnie called, and the girls took off running. They were headed to Minnie's, looking for her Jack-O-Lantern carved with a glowing bow through the downpour. Thunder boomed in their ears and the darkness seemed ever blacker as the wind made the ribbons of their hats shudder. Five little witches suddenly saw the sky flash with lovely yet dangerous silver lightning. Rain whispered across their faces and smeared the eerie green makeup into dripping tears. But the warmth of Minnie's house was waiting, and soon they were crowded into the bathroom giggling, washing away the green paint and changing into pajamas, popcorn heating in the microwave and a scary movie playing on television. "We didn't even get enough candy!" Penny grumbled, emptying her plastic purple pumpkin and counting only a few chocolate bars and boxes of fruit snacks. "Did...did worms just come out of their masks?!" Lilly squeaked, hiding her face in a pillow. "I'm going to be sick!" Daisy reached for the remote, but before she could turn the channel the sky erupted with thunder, making the little house tremble. It was the loudest thunder crack they had ever heard, and the lightning strike that followed left them in complete darkness. "Oh, the power's out!" Minnie hugged her dog Fifi, who was glad to have her home early from trick-or-treating, and had been cuddling beside her on the couch. "Don't worry, though, I've got flashlights and plenty of candles!" "But the popcorn didn't finish popping!" Clarabelle wailed. "Silly, I've got a box of cookies!" Minnie found her way into the kitchen, Fifi at her heels. She brought back hot pink flashlights, matches, candles, and a pretty gold box of pumpkin sugar cookies. "What are we going to do all night? Just pig out in the dark?" Daisy scowled. "Let's think of something fun, how about having a séance?" Clarabelle offered. "Nooo!" Lilly whimpered, wanting to hide under the couch if any ghosts showed up. "We're going to my room, and from there we're going to a Halloween party at a glamorous hotel," Minnie smiled, leading the way. Daisy, Penny, Clarabelle, and Lilly curiously followed. The rain fell steadily against the windowpanes as Minnie carefully placed candles around her room and lit them. Soft orange light shone upon where the party was to take place: Minnie's dollhouse. "We all left our dolls here yesterday, remember? So, we'll dress them up and pretend the dollhouse is a big, grand hotel with a ballroom!" The girls were enchanted by the idea. They crowded around Minnie's treasure trunk painted with flowers where she kept all of her doll clothes. There were even things inside like tiny paper roses, faded floral handkerchiefs, plastic tiaras, and scraps of delicate fabric. Clarabelle wound the handkerchiefs around her doll until she was shrouded in mystery. Daisy and Penny fought over the roses but found there were enough to share. Lilly chose the frothiest, glittering pink cloud of a dress she could find, while Minnie picked a beautiful white satin gown. Outside the storm drew on. Moonlight streamed through a curtain of rain into the candlelit room, making it all very cozy. Thunder rumbled quietly now, and Fifi nestled next to Minnie whenever the lightning flashed. "You're coming too, Fifi! Look!" Minnie said sweetly to her baby, and placed a porcelain dog figurine inside the dollhouse. She was painted the same rich brown as Fifi, and the little dog barked happily. The party was ready to begin. With the power out, the music floated from a trusty cassette player. Minnie chose a tape with old romantic songs like 'In the Still of the Night', 'Twilight Time', 'Stardust', and 'Midnight, the Stars and You'. Each girl gave her doll a piece of candy as they sat down at a perfect little pink table. Clarabelle wanted everyone to meet her doll first, Dahlia Dairymaid. "She's hosting the séance!" Clarabelle grinned, placing a jeweled keychain of Minnie's at the center of the table, making a real crystal ball. The girls joined her around the table, linking hands and closing their eyes. Lilly peeked as Dahlia began to speak quietly into the candlelit shadows, asking the spirits to appear. A crack of thunder made everyone jump out of their chairs. Suddenly they heard the click of high heels on the polished floors. "Instead of summoning a ghost, you've invited a beauty queen to the doll realm," Daisy's doll, Mary Lou Moonstone, placed her bouquet of roses on the table, the satin red petals shining in the dark. "And me! I'm here to tap-dance!" Lilly's doll, the child star Helen Shimmers, danced out of the darkness and whirled around the table. "Please! I need quiet to contact the other side," Dahlia shooed them away. "Flowers! Flowers to buy!" a sweet voice echoed. It was Penny's doll, Wendy Gardenwalk, entering the hotel with a basket of flowers she hoped to sell. "Let's buy some for the ghosts," Minnie giggled. "I have all the flowers I need!" Mary Lou turned up her nose. "Oh dear, I suppose we aren't communicating with any spirits tonight," Dahlia covered her crystal with a shroud of lace. "Minnie, where is your doll?" Lilly wondered. "Oh, she'll be singing later tonight. But first, we need to finish these cookies so she will have a stage!" The girls laughed and shared the pumpkin cookies, the orange sugar sparkling in the glow of the candles. The dolls finished their candy and tried to start the séance again, but Helen took Wendy's basket of flowers and danced into the labyrinth of hallways. "Give those back!" Wendy chased after her, and everyone followed them. Helen's high-pitched giggles echoed down the grand halls of the hotel. Wendy snatched the basket back, and began to laugh too. The dolls twirled down the hallway throwing pink petals into the air. They sprinkled down upon the shining floor like pumpkin seeds. "How lovely, a path of petals for the queen," Mary Lou's glossy shoes followed the plush petals to the ballroom, as Dahlia walked in a dreamlike haze, silently willing any spirits who might be walking with them to communicate with her. The storm was growing quiet, a silence waiting to be filled by a doll's haunting song. As everyone played make-believe about the hotel, Minnie couldn't help but to feel perturbed. They all were still in her room, weren't they? She looked at the furniture she was sure she had made for her dolls, but it seemed too real, and just her size. The glittery orange garland she had hung from the ceiling for her dolls weeks ago was too high for her to touch. A final crash of thunder made the candles tremble, the shivering light dazzled her. Minnie thought how strange it was the candles seemed so far away. Had they left her room? Shadows floated across the painted walls, playing with her mind. But she didn't have too much time to wonder about it. The cookies were finished and now the empty box would become the stage for her doll's singing debut. The golden doors of the ballroom waited to be opened, but would there be ghosts inside? Of course not! Only a party for sweet little girls and their beloved dolls. The ballroom was the brightest place in the hotel, a crystal chandelier pouring warm light that no storm could touch. "And now, the lovely Miss Claire Poupée will sing 'Mouse of My Dreams'," Minnie announced, smiling proudly as her doll took to the stage in her starlit white silk gown. She sang her sweet and wistful melody as the girls and their dolls swayed across the candlelit floor, giggling and cloaked in Halloween magic. "I'm so glad you girls joined us for the night," Claire smiled when her song was finished. "It would be so lovely if this Halloween night went on forever," "We wish it could too," Daisy said dreamily; Penny, Lilly, and Clarabelle nodded along, but Minnie crept to the edge of the dollhouse, knowing they had been inside it for the entire night. She peeked out into the darkened room where the candles burned quietly, and asleep on the floor of her bedroom, she and her friends were laying and holding tightly to their dolls. The hushed rain and autumn leaves fell so softly outside the window, filling a night that would be spent in the golden world of her dollhouse ballroom.

#minnie n me stories

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joezworld · 3 years

Text

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Next from the mind of Joe - a Sudrian tale about The Most Wonderful Time of The Year, Past and Present.

Ghosts of the Past

Wendell the works diesel was a very happy engine most of the time, but around Christmas, he always seemed... well, quite unhappy, for lack of a better term.

Because he lived in the Crovan’s Gate Works, which shut down for the last two weeks of December except in emergencies, most engines never saw this side of the otherwise cheerful blue diesel, and those that did assumed that it was due to him being shut up in the works over the holidays, away from his friends.

December 24, 2019

Gordon sighed as the workmen rolled the door shut behind them. Of all the days to fail! He thought to himself with irritation. Christmas Eve! Damn that replacement fireman and his improper training! I shall miss Christmas and New Year’s!

A quiet snore behind him brought him out of his ruminations. Wendell was fast asleep behind him, lifted into the air on jackstands in one of the maintenance bays, with one of his traction motors in pieces around him.

Gordon was surprised. Wendell had the same excitable temperament as Thomas and James, and Gordon would have assumed that the works diesel would be up until the crack of dawn, waiting for Father Christmas. To see him asleep before eight at night was out of character, to say the least.

Although, the express engine thought as he settled in for the night, he might be onto something.

The works were warm - almost toasty when compared to the biting December winds outside, and the excess holiday traffic had meant that all the engines on the Island were feeling exhausted by the 25th.

Furthermore, with no other engines to keep him awake by asking inane questions about ‘what Father Christmas might bring’, Gordon might actually wake up decently rested on Christmas morning, and wouldn’t that be a miracle?

Electing to follow Wendell’s lead, Gordon shut his eyes, and quickly fell asleep.

Have yourself, a merry little Christmas, let your heart be light. From now on, all our troubles will be out of sight...

Gordon stumbled back to wakefulness to the sounds of singing. As he blinked the sleep from his eyes, he looked around the works in confusion.

It was still dark outside, and a digital time clock by the break room showed 23:38 on its face. He hadn’t been asleep for more than a few hours.

Searching for the source of the singing, his eyes eventually landed on Wendell, who was slowly singing an old carol to himself.

“It’s a bit early for singing, isn’t it?” He called across the room jovially - there was no need to be rude so close to Christmas. “We’ve still got half an hour!”

Wendell started, clearly unaware that Gordon was awake. “What?”

“It’s a bit early to be singing, Christmas isn’t for a half hour!”

“Oh.” The diesel said morosely. “I suppose it is.”

That was not the reaction Gordon expected. “You suppose it is? Wendell, it’s Christmas Eve - a time for good cheer and goodwill among us all! How can you be so glum?”

“I don’t like Christmas.” The class 47 said simply.

“What?” Gordon said with faux outrage. "What did the holiday ever do to you? Did you get coal in your stocking?”

“I have bad memories of Christmases past, okay?” Wendell snapped, sucking the levity out of the room.

Gordon’s face fell. “My apologies.” He’d thought that the diesel was being difficult, not having an actual emotional event. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“No,” Wendell looked pained. “But staying silent hasn’t helped either.”

Without waiting for Gordon to respond, he began his story:

December 24, 1981.

They retired the Deltics at the end of ‘81. All through December and November, they’d run them ‘til they failed, then sent them off to Doncaster to be cut up. I think the ones that survived were retired in January or something - I wasn’t around to find out.

I was waiting, at York, I think it was? - No, it was actually Doncaster, I remember now.

Anyways, I was waiting - I’d brought in a fast goods up to this yard from London, and I was going to take a rake of old coaches that were being transferred to a new Depot to the west.

The coaches were coming in on the night express, and it was getting later and later and still the train didn’t come. The men were readying me to go out and rescue the train when it finally limped into sight. It was a Deltic, being towed along by a Class 37. The poor thing had failed halfway out of London, and they’d just hauled it along with the train, because they sent the 55s to Doncaster anyway when the end came.

And they just dumped the train there on a bay platform - backed the consist in so the 37 could be taken off, and then just left it there.

“That’s terrible,” Gordon said. “To be left like that. Especially on Christmas Eve.”

Oh yes. And it managed to get worse: it was so late by the time that they got in that my crew had gone home! So I was just left there on a siding until boxing day, right across from the Deltic - who had blocked in my coaches too!

And,

and,

And she doesn’t say a word for almost the entire day after her crew left her. She said goodbye to them, wished them a Merry Christmas - which I am still shocked by to this day - that she was able to do that without crying, and then said nothing all night or the next day - Christmas day.

Wendell paused to collect himself. Gordon noticed, but didn’t say anything about the tears beading up in the diesel engine’s eyes.

She was totally silent, until maybe a bit after eleven that night? Probably right about what time it is now, actually. And, there was a family, who was walking home from some party - and they had a radio on as they were walking by the station, and all you could hear in the bleak, snow-covered station was the Sinatra version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.

And then, the Deltic - who hasn’t said a word to me all day, just slowly opens her eyes and says “I love that song”, and then just closes her eyes again.

*sniff*

The next day, my driver had me pull the Deltic to the out of use line before we took the coaches.

I pushed her in between three rows of her sisters and brothers, all covered with snow and ready to be cut up, and then backed away. Just before I’m out of sight, she opens her eyes, and starts singing that damn song to me.

*sniff*

It echoed through the yard, and I could hear it until we left. I think a few of the other Deltics started too.

They had beautiful singing voices.

2019

“It wasn’t your fault, Wendell.” Gordon wished that he could offer more comfort than that.

“I know.” Wendell said after a moment. “That’s not why I hate this time of year.”

Gordon raised an eyebrow. “Then what is?”

“It’s that I could have done more.” Wendell said, tears streaming silently down his face. “We - we were running late as it is - my engine was cold and wouldn’t turn over. My second man and the signalman just wanted me to take the Deltic with me so I wouldn’t miss my path - and then stick her on the back of the next goods train to Doncaster when I got to wherever I was going.”

He paused, his voice thick with guilt. “But, I had just spent two days next to this - this- this living corpse, and I didn’t want to be that close to her for that long. And I didn’t know any better - I was fourteen years old at that point - BR could do no wrong in my eyes, and if they wanted me to shunt that engine to the out of use lines, then shunt her I would. So when my driver said that my second man was daft, and the signalman was dafter - I - i - I didn’t argue.”

“Wendell -” Gordon began.

“I’m not finished.” The diesel cut him off. “Don’t offer me sympathy just yet.”

He continued. “And I didn’t want her with me, because I didn’t know where I was going! It was some obscure coach depot that I’d never heard of before - what kind of a name is Tidmouth, anyways?.”

The penny dropped in Gordon’s mind. “You didn’t come to Sodor in January of ‘82, did you?”

“December 31, 1981.” Wendell said sadly. “I came here on an empty stock move and got asked to stay forever, because The Fat Controller thought I looked like a useful engine. Imagine what he would have done if I’d dragged a wounded Deltic along with me?”

He would have kept the both of you and told BR to go hang. Gordon didn’t need to vocalize that thought - he could see in Wendell’s eyes that he was thinking the same thing.

There was a small *chime* from the digital clock on the wall - it’s red numerals now read 00:00.

“Would you look at that,” Said Wendell bitterly. “Happy Christmas, Gordon. Did you ask Father Christmas for anything?”

“Not this year, no.”

“Maybe it’s for the best - he never gives me anything either.”

“What do you ask for?”

“The chance to do it all over again. To agree with my second man and the signalman.”

“Wendell, as crass as this may sound, but perhaps you need to move-”

“Don’t. Just don’t.” Wendell looked pained. “For most of the year, my troubles are miles away, and my heart is light.

But for right now Gordon, please don’t ask me to have myself a merry little Christmas night.” With that, the Works Diesel closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Gordon - more than a little stunned by the night’s developments, took quite a bit longer to fall asleep - the digits on the clock reading 02:10 before he began to nod off.

His last thoughts before he finally went to sleep were directed at Father Christmas:

I don’t know if you’re real, and I don’t know if you can do what the children claim that you can - but please help Wendell.

-------

December 26, 1981

55 010 was barely conscious. There didn’t seem much point to it now - she’d meet her end whether she was awake or asleep, wouldn’t she?

The 47 had shoved her into the sidings between Ballymoss and Highlander, but they were long gone mentally. A few of her family had been able to join in the singing, but most were nothing more than cold, dead metal.

She supposed that she might have had a name once, but she'd forgotten it - BR had taken away everything else, so it was only fair that she got to take something as well.

The yard was silent for a few hours, until an engine approached from the end of the line. It looked like the same 47.

Wendell was having the dream again. He was back in the dead lines at Doncaster, rolling among the silent locomotives like a spectre. He knew where he would eventually end up, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it - right in front of 55 010.

If he was lucky, she wouldn’t start singing again.

If he wasn’t, well, Gordon had already seen him cry once tonight.

He rolled over the points at the end of the siding, his wheels screeching against the old rails as he trundled down the long line of dead Deltics - somehow there had been two long rows with an empty line in the middle - perfect for a long and heart-wrenching approach to a diesel that he’d condemned to death.

The engine’s eyes opened slightly as he drew near.

“Weren’t you just here?” She said dreamily.

“Probably.” He whispered - she’d never spoken to him before.

“Why have you come back?” Her voice drove into him like a cutter’s torch. That she didn’t even seem accusatory made it all the worse.

“Because I’m sorry.” He said, voice barely audible.

“Whatever for?”

“For putting you here.” He didn’t stop rolling until his buffers were fractions of an inch away from hers.

“You didn’t do that. I failed. I know why I’m here.”

“But I did. I could have taken you - taken you away from here. To Sodor. They would have saved you.” He was openly sobbing now.

The Deltic had opened her eyes fully, and was looking at him not with anger, hatred, or even pity, but instead downright bafflement. “What do you mean ‘would have’? I’m not going anywhere.”

Wendell tried to explain - to tell her that she was a figment of his imagination, that she should hate him, or be angry, or something...Anything...

But instead he broke down crying, his sobs echoing across the works yard.

010 stared at the 47 in total confusion. Nothing about the last few minutes made any sense, least of all the grief(?)-stricken engine in front of her.

At a total loss for what to do, she remembered something that Alycidon would do when someone in the shed needed to be calmed down.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Alycidon might have used Vera Lynn, but had always stressed that the emotion of the song was more important than the lyrics. 010 sang the song low and slow like a lullaby - cribbed from seeing hundreds of mothers calming their babies on station platforms. Each verse took much longer than normal, but it was very soothing.

Let your heart be light

The 47 began mumbling the lyrics of the songs through his tears

From now on, all our troubles will be out of sight

Neither engine noticed the sparkling white mist pooling around their wheels

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

The 47 stopped openly weeping, but kept singing with his eyes shut.

Make the yule-tide gay

The sparkling mist was now encircling both engines completely.

From now on, our troubles will be miles away...

The mist covered both engines entirely. As the word ‘away’ faded in the wind, the mist dissipated. Neither engine remained.

Silence fell over Doncaster once more.

-----

December 25, 2019

Here were are as in olden days

Gordon awoke to more singing. He mentally groaned and cracked an eye open, assuming that Wendell would once again need a friendly ear in the middle of the night.

Happy golden days of yore

Sunlight was streaming in through the windows. Perhaps Wendell had managed to sleep through the night.

Faithful friends who are dear to us

Gordon’s other eye slammed open as he realized that the singer was female.

“Gather near to us onc-What on earth?!” The singer abruptly stopped singing.

Gordon looked around wildly for the source of the voice, his eyes practically spinning around in their sockets before landing on -

on-

on- a Deltic.

A Deltic who had been singing Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.

“Excuse me,” he said in what he hoped was a calm tone. “But who are you?”

The Deltic opened her mouth to speak, and was cut off by Wendell, who had opened both of his eyes, realized that he was back in the works, discovered who was in the works with him, and began screaming so loudly that he fell off of the jack stands and crashed to the floor.

The resulting clamour brought the Works’ security officer, who saw the engine that hadn’t been there last night, and called The Fat Controller.

Stephen Hatt was experiencing many different emotions, most of them at the same time.

The baffling appearance of previously-scrapped Deltic in his works - in factory fresh condition no less! - with no sign of how she got there, was not how he wanted to spend Christmas morning.

Even more baffling was the story that Wendell, Gordon and the Deltic told him - none of which made any sense whatsoever.

“Maybe it’s a Christmas Miracle?” His wife suggested over the phone.

“Yes, and maybe I’m secretly the Easter Bunny.” He said back to her. “I’m not looking forward to finding out who this engine belongs to.”

“You can do that after Christmas dinner, dear.” Helen said in a tone that meant there would be repercussions if he wasn’t home ASAP.

Hanging up the phone, he took another look towards the Deltic. Something was wrapped around its buffer...

Upon closer inspection, it was revealed to be an elegant piece of red silk, tied into a bow, and a note.

The note was done on heavy, cream coloured paper, and the text seemed to have been done with an old fashioned dip pen.

Dear Wendell,

I apologize for the late delivery of your present, but I hope you understand that some presents require more work than others. Hopefully this will ease your slumber.

Santa Claus.

Stephen goggled at the note for a moment, before reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone so he could take a picture. His fingers didn’t close around his phone, instead grasping a small round object.

Pulling it out of his pocket, he was shocked to see that he was holding a small, but beautifully decorated Easter Egg.

#long #sodor #story #fic #fanfic #ttte #ttte headcanon #this is totally headcanon #sodor headcanon #ttte gordon #ttte wendell #ttte fat controller #merry christmas #christmas special #deltic #oc: daphne

37 notes · View notes

thefandomlesbian · 4 years

Note

Can I have a hotchreid proposal?

You got it!

Read it here on AO3!

...

"All them holy ghosts were laughing when I got down on my knees, and I gave you my confession: You mean the world to me." -"The World to Me," Freddy and Francine

…

Spencer sat across from Aaron. Aaron had lit the table in his apartment with candlesticks, illuminating the small room with firelight over the panseared steak he'd cooked. "You went over the top on this one," Spencer reminded him gently, his cheeks flushing. "This isn't even an anniversary." As he said it, it made Spencer what it was , if not an anniversary—surely there was a reason Aaron had slaved over this meal. Not a birthday, not an anniversary, not a reunion. Spencer ran through the dates. They'd celebrated their two year anniversary two months ago, and they were still months out from his birthday or Aaron's or Jack's (and besides, Jack wasn't here, so it couldn't have anything to do with him).

"No," Aaron replied patiently, "it's not an anniversary." He fidgeted with his fingers, thumb and forefinger tracing one another. Spencer watched carefully. Aaron self-soothed that way. "Maybe I just want to spoil you." I don't believe that for a second. Spencer licked his lips, analyzing Aaron's behavior, the way his brows twitched and eyelashes fluttered as he thought. Something's bothering him. "Dig in."

Spencer obediently picked up his fork and his knife, cutting into the steak, which Aaron had cooked perfectly to his taste. "You don't expect me to believe that, do you?" he asked as he picked up a bite of steak. Aaron gazed across the table at him. "That nothing's up. I know better than that." Aaron took a manila envelope from the pocket of his suit and placed it on the table beside him. "What is that?" Spencer pressed.

"It's nothing," Aaron soothed.

Spencer's mind reeled. "Are you sick?"

"What? No, I'm not sick—" Aaron gave a breathy, nervous laugh. "I'm not sick, Spencer. Just eat, please?" A flush had risen to Aaron's cheeks in the candlelight.

"Will you tell me what's going on?" Spencer countered.

" Nothing's going on," Aaron reassured. Spencer shot him an anxious, baleful look. "Look—" Aaron cleared his throat. "I was—I was planning on doing this after dinner, but if it's going to worry you, I can do it now, okay?" Spencer's jaw shifted, watching as Aaron reached for the manila envelope and lifted up the silver tab, sliding out a stack of papers. "Everything is fine," Aaron promised him. Sliding a hand into the pocket of his suit, Aaron withdrew a small, velvet box.

Spencer's heart plummeted into the soles of his feet. No, no, no . Aaron couldn't hear the distressed cries in his head echoing through his veins like caves and tunnels, tunnels plunging all the way to his solar plexus and exhaling to the tips of his fingers and his toes. He descended into the abyss, free-falling, and no one could hear his shrieks of terror, not even Aaron, whose hickory eyes shone with anxious adoration as he got down one knee. "Spencer, will you be my husband?"

His throat closed up in panic. A terrified squeak emerged, not a word, just a sound, like a mouse caught in a trap desperately begging for release. Aaron's face fell, concern replacing everything else on his expression. Spencer took in the scene, something he would never erase from his memory—Aaron, on one knee, looking up at him with pure love and worry, worry because Spencer wasn't saying anything and that had to mean something bad because Spencer always had something to say, the candlelight flickering in the reflections of Aaron's dark eyes and the smile slowly vanishing from his face. "Spencer?" Aaron prompted, softer now.

He placed the open ring box on the table. The ring was beautiful, a hand engraved band with a single diamond imbedded in the silver. Aaron touched Spencer's kneecap.

The touch jerked Spencer back to reality as he realized Aaron wanted an answer, an answer that wasn't a squeak of terror but actually contained words. "No." Spencer's stomach flipped. He thought he would vomit on the spot. "No, I—I can't, I can't marry you, I—" He covered his mouth with his hand to keep from vomiting either words or chyme all over Aaron. His eyes glossed over with tears. He sucked in a desperate breath through his nose, but air seemed harder to come by than before, his chest filling but no oxygen circulating to the rest of his body. His fingers and toes were so cold, so cold—

Aaron covered his hand with his own, warming it, and something inside of Spencer shattered. "Okay," he said slowly, carefully, drawing up his seat behind him and sitting beside Spencer, not letting go of his cold hand. Aaron always knew what he needed. Aaron was always there. Aaron was perfect, and Spencer sat in front of him, tearing their lives to pieces. Aaron squeezed his hand, grounding him from the racing thoughts in his mind—Aaron could always see when his mind galloped to places it wasn't meant to see. "Can I ask why?"

It was such a simple question, one that Aaron arguably deserved the answer to—after two years, it seemed it was inevitable, this progression, that they would get engaged and then get married, because that was what people did. But Spencer didn't know how to answer it. He looked at Aaron with pleading eyes. Don't cry, don't cry, he begged himself, because Aaron wasn't crying, and Spencer had just destroyed their relationship in a single, monosyllabic word. Spencer chewed the inside of his cheek. "I—" His voice cracked, and he tried to clear his throat around it. "I love you, I just—" I love you, isn't that enough? Do we have to be more than that? Why? Why? Why? "My mom always said marrying my dad was the worst mistake she ever made in her entire life, he left, and she was so sick, and he still—he still came for every penny in her bank account and everything she owned and he took everything except responsibility for what he'd done—"

Aaron's brow furrowed. "If you want a prenup, I can make us one. I don't think that's unreasonable." He turned Spencer's hand in his own, lacing their fingers together.

"No, no, I don't want a prenup, I don't want to get married—" Aaron had been married and divorced once, and Spencer had seen that—Aaron had given Haley everything. She got the house, the better car, full custody of Jack, plus more than one hundred percent of the alimony and child support they decided on. Aaron wouldn't rake Spencer over the coals to extort money out of him in the event their relationship crashed and burned. Spencer knew that. He knew Aaron wouldn't hurt him. "I—Anything could happen—I don't want you to be saddled with me, that's not fair—"

" Saddled with you?" Aaron repeated, arching an eyebrow. "Spencer, I love you. I want to marry you because I love you. Do you understand that?"

"You love me right now—"

"Nothing could ever change that for me, you know that—"

"Will you let me finish?" Spencer snapped. "Please?" A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he closed his eyes to try to keep from shedding more. Aaron fell silent, his mouth hanging open as he seemed to try to find an argument before he acquiesced Spencer's request with a nod. After all, he had asked. He owed it to Spencer to let him finish speaking. "You have no idea what it's like caring for a psychotic. Much less while you also have a child—I was three the first time my mom slapped me, Aaron, because she thought I was a robotic spy."

"That's not going to happen to you," Aaron said firmly. "You're past the age—"

"I know the statistics! I do, I know them, and it might be safe, but it's not worth it. It's not worth it for what it would take from you, or for what I could do to Jack—"

"You would never hurt Jack."

"No, I wouldn't, but I would if I looked at him and saw Chester Hardwick, or if—if the voices told me he was an imposter hiding the real Jack. We don't know what could happen, and it's not worth it, it's not worth the risk."

"I think it is."

"I don't care what you think!" Spencer's voice went shrill. "It's my future. I gave you my answer." His heart floundered helplessly in his throat.

Aaron tilted his head. "What do you think would happen, with the way things are now?" he asked softly, his voice not rising at all, though Spencer had nearly shouted at him. "Do you think I would let you suffer alone? Or wash my hands of you just because there isn't some arbitrary piece of paper in the way?"

Spencer set his jaw. He'd had this plan in place for a long time—longer than he'd been with Aaron, since he was in college. "You don't get a say if you're not my relative. I—I'd institutionalize myself, and everyone would be safe." If that didn't work, Spencer had another plan, too, one he wouldn't share with Aaron.

Aaron's tongue started out across his lips. The look of hurt upon his face stung Spencer's soul. "Okay," he agreed quietly. "I'm sorry." He withdrew his hand from Spencer's. Without his touch, everything seemed colder. He tucked the ring box back into his pocket, and then he slid the papers back into the envelope. He pushed back from the table. "I… I'll give you some space. I'll see you tomorrow."

He sounded so small. Spencer hated himself for it. "Wait." His voice shook. He turned around to look at Aaron's silhouette in the candlelight. "What… What are the papers for? In the envelope?"

Aaron glanced down at the floor. "They're adoption papers. I thought we'd start the process tonight, so if anything happens to me in the field, custody of Jack would go to you, instead of the state. But—we can't pursue it if we're not married." Aaron had grabbed Spencer's stomach and ripped it out through his mouth and left him bleeding inside. "Goodnight, Spencer." Aaron opened the door and let himself out into the hallway. Wait, Spencer wanted to call after him, wait, we can talk about this, we can talk about it—

His lips and tongue were frozen, and he stared at the front door of his apartment long after it clicked shut, echoing with finality. What have I done? Spencer had promised himself for years, ever since his father left, he would never marry. He owed it to his mother to heed her advice, given in one of her rare moments of clarity as he helped her sort through the divorce proceedings wherein his father had refused to appear in person. He owed it to Aaron; Aaron didn't know what he was asking for. Spencer did know. Spencer knew how much it hurt to care for a psychotic patient full-time. It was dangerous. It was scary. It was hard work. He couldn't do that to the man he loved, or to his son, either. Our son. Spencer's belly flipped and turned, all sick on the inside.

Aaron had expressed concern before that, if something would happen to him, the state would take custody of Jack before Jessica got to intercede—or worse, on some off-chance that Jessica decided to wash her hands of him completely and stepped back. But Spencer had never dreamed Aaron would take a step like this, would ask this of him. How could he have anticipated this? Most people didn't trust Spencer to keep a plant alive. Aaron was prepared to trust him with the life of his child, trusted him so much, loved him so much to place that upon them.

Aaron had given Spencer an invitation into his family. And Spencer had stomped on it.

Spencer never presumed his role in this relationship. Aaron and Jack were a family; he was the new boyfriend. He wouldn't say he liked it that way, but he was comfortable there, comfortable being the new boyfriend, not the step-dad or anything else, and yet—knowing Aaron had thought of it, had planned on it, had an ideal future in which Spencer was one of them… It burned and smoldered inside of him, that he had thrown that away.

I made the right decision . It didn't feel like the right decision. He needed someone to tell him it was.

He picked up his phone and called out to Bennington. "Hi," he said, "can I… can I be connected to Diana Reid, please? Room 302." The operator pushed his call through, and after a few rings, his mother's voice greeted him from the other end of the line. "Hi, Mom, it's me."

"What's wrong, honey?"

Spencer sat at the kitchen table over a mostly untouched meal his boyfriend had cooked for him out of the goodness out of his heart, and he hung his head, tears rolling down his cheeks. He couldn't push the tremble out of his voice when he looked at the mashed potatoes and the steaks and the green beans and everything Aaron had slaved over to make this night special. Oh, it was so special, it was so fucking special, it would go down in history as the night Spencer broke the only person who cared about him and threw away his only opportunity for a family, for a future. "I… I think I made a mistake, Mom," he whispered. "And I think I might not be able to fix it."

"Tell me what's going on."

Spencer cleared his throat, and then, carefully, slowly, he recounted the night. "He looked," he whispered, "he looked the way a balloon looks when you let all the air out of it. All shriveled up." Aaron would never forgive him—their relationship wouldn't be the same. Spencer couldn't come back from this. How would they recover? Aaron would spend his days feeling he wasn't good enough to marry Spencer, or that Spencer didn't trust him with his future. And maybe it was true. Maybe he didn't trust anyone with his future. Maybe he knew he'd made so many mistakes with his mother, consenting to her care when he didn't know enough, when he didn't have the skills, when he didn't know what was best for her, and he couldn't stand the thought of Aaron living with that same guilt. "Did I do the right thing?"

"Spencer, you're a moron."

The blunt affect didn't catch him off-guard, but he still gave a breathless, teary laugh; hearing her speak to him in her no-nonsense way broke him from his spell of dwelling. "Defend your position?" he asked. She wouldn't make an assertion without evidence, even if the assertion was that he was an idiot.

"You've got a man who already lost everything. He loves and trusts you enough to welcome you into his family and to care for his child. You can't just throw that away based on principle, or some crackheaded advice I gave you twenty-five years ago."

"You think so?" Spencer's voice shook. "What if… what if he changes his mind?"

"I've seen the way the man looks at you, honey. He's not going to change his mind." Spencer paused, licking his lips. "You know what you need to do."

"Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, I do." Butterflies erupted in his tummy, not the good kind, but the kind which tore through him and stirred his anxiety into a hive of bees. "Thanks, Mom. I love you."

"I love you, too, honey."

Spencer didn’t think any longer for fear he would talk himself out of it. He ended the call, pulled on his shoes, and headed for the door. Thunder pealed in the distance, and as he ducked out of the apartment building, rain cascaded upon him. He had no umbrella. Using his hands to protect his face, he jogged to his car and climbed inside. He jutted his key into the ignition and turned it. The engine sputtered and died. He turned it again, and this time, it didn’t even turn over. Spencer breathed a string of foreign curses under his breath as he withdrew the key.

It came with driving classic cars, of course, that sometimes they encountered issues he couldn’t anticipate, and he was sure he could fix it tomorrow when it wasn’t raining and he had time and he wasn’t trying to save the only relationship in the whole world that mattered to him—but for right now, he didn’t have time for any of that.

Sliding out of his car, Spencer tucked his keys into his back pocket and trotted to the sidewalk, heading up the hill. The bus stop was only two blocks away. The rain surged in torrential sheets. Lightning illuminated the sky on occasion, and each crack of thunder pierced his ears from within. He had nothing to protect himself from the elements, and quickly, his clothing soaked all the way to the skin. Jaw chattering, Spencer ducked beneath the narrow shelter at the bus stop. The rain still pelted and sprayed from outside. The bench held a puddle that Spencer didn’t see until he sat in it.

He sat there, shivering and jittering, for a few minutes, until a homeless man pushed his buggy up behind him. “Young man,” breathed the man, and Spencer turned, expecting him to ask for money. “The bus ain’t running tonight. Crash up on Lakeview and Sycamore Streets. Big pile up. Traffic’s stopped. You’re gonna have to call a cab.”

“Oh.” Spencer reached for his pocket—but he’d left his phone at his apartment. He didn’t have any way to call a cab. Hell, he didn’t have any way to pay for a cab; he didn’t have his wallet, only a twenty dollar bill shoved in his back pocket.

The homeless man squinted at him. “Do you want a coat or something, buddy? You look kinda cold.”

“Er—no.” Spencer stood. His ass was soaked from the puddle on the bench. “Thank you—Thank you.” And, head down, he trudged up the street.

Spencer had done the math because he had traveled these roads many times. There were four point two miles from his apartment to Aaron’s following the quickest route—he could do it in about an hour, if he kept his pace up. Wheezing and puffing and shivering and wondering if the universe was punishing him for his poor decision-making, he trudged onward, the wind battering him backward and the lightning providing illumination as he proceeded.

Twenty blocks later, he ducked into a flower shop, where a somewhat harried old woman regarded him behind her bifocals. “Er—” He was dripping all over her floor. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Um—” He didn’t take a step off of the front rug. “How do I say ‘I’m a moron, I was wrong, I messed up, I do want to be part of your family, and I love you’ in flower?”

She tilted her head. “Columbine for folly, heliotrope for eternal love and devotion, speedwell for fidelity, ivy for enduring family ties… given the context of what you’ve just said to me.”

“Great, great, could I…”

She raised her eyebrows. “Don’t move, Aquaman. I’ll come to you.”

He left twenty dollars poorer with a very bizarre cluster of flowers all wrapped up in plastic, and as he checked his watch, he picked up into a run. Jack was at a friend’s tonight for a sleepover, but Spencer wanted to catch Aaron before he went to bed--he wanted to catch him at home, awake, eating a dinner that would certainly be considered subpar compared to what currently sat on Spencer’s table getting cold surrounded by lit candles he hadn’t bothered to blow out before he ran out the door in his haste.

By the time Spencer reached Aaron’s apartment, he had more than one stitch in his side. The gales had tarnished his sodden hair and clothing and cast his flowers askew even under the plastic. He shivered from head to toe. His whole body refused to work together as a coherent whole, nothing but a series of jagged movements and jerks. When he stopped in front of Aaron’s apartment door, large black spots danced in his vision. His stomach flipped, and he didn’t know if it stemmed from exertion or from anxiety, but regardless, he wondered if he would vomit.

He knocked. One one thousand two one thousand three one thousand four one thousand five one— The door swung open. “Spencer—what the hell happened to you?” This greeting didn’t surprise Spencer as he took stock of himself, quivering and soaked to the bone, dripping water everywhere, white with rosy patches on his cheeks, his hair slicked to his skin.

“I’m an idiot.” Spencer’s gasping, trembling voice caught him by surprise. “I—I—I— choo. ” He sneezed into the mangled flowers, and then he dropped to his knees, Aaron reaching to steady him or catch him, his face uncertain. “I was wrong—” He gasped for breath between short snippets of words. “I am so sorry, I’m—was stupid, I panicked, I—can’t--don’t--have a future without you, I want—a family—want our family—” Aaron looked all woozy around the edges of his figure. Spencer blinked to try to clear things up. It didn’t help. “I want to marry you, Aaron—will you marry me?”

Aaron grabbed him by the shoulders. “Of course I will.” He dragged Spencer back to his feet. Spencer stumbled into his arms and kissed him hungrily, like a man in a desert stumbling upon an oasis. Aaron was gentle and tender with him, his hands sliding under Spencer’s shirt.

Spencer flinched at the sensation. Aaron’s hands were hot on his pale, frigid skin. “I know—we’re probably supposed to—do that right now—but I just ran—like, four miles—in the pouring rain—”

Aaron gave a tiny, lopsided smile. “I’m not trying to have sex with you. I’m taking these wet clothes off of you, you hypothermic doof.”

“Oh—Okay, cool— a-choo. ” Spencer sneezed into Aaron’s mouth, and Aaron didn’t mind, and Spencer wondered if anyone else would ever have a love as good as this one.

If anyone ever asked, the pneumonia was absolutely worth it.

#hotchreid #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer's writing

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elefics · 4 years

Text

torment / chapter 4

word count: 3.4k

The week after the ball, I heard nothing from Michael. Not seeing him tied my stomach in knots.

It took me a while to realise this was what missing him felt like. It was more intense than anything else I’d felt for a boy before.

I’d had boyfriends, if you could call them that. In high school, I’d had two brief flings with two boys who didn’t know how to be boyfriends (not that I was very good at any of it either, but I knew they weren’t doing it right). It felt funny to put Michael in the same train of thought as high school boyfriends. We’d spoken a handful of times, but the connection I felt to him was different. It was a pull in my core, like my soul was reaching out of my body. I knew there was more to him. I knew I’d barely scratched the surface.

One morning, Cordelia stopped me by the stairs. There was an urgency in her eyes.

“Lyla,” she grabbed my arm tight in her grip. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer truthfully.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, nodding slowly.

“That boy you were with, the warlock, at breakfast. What do you think of him?” She asked.

The wind was knocked out of me. I focused on breathing evenly and keeping myself upright as my hands shook against the banister. I brought all my energy to my core, envisioning blue, calm light there. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, I was totally serene. Cordelia blinked, waiting for me to answer.

“He seems nice. A little quiet, reserved. Why? What’s wrong?” I asked measuredly.

She twisted her lips. “I can’t place it. That morning, I had a vision. Something bad – something evil, overwhelmingly so, is coming. I felt it when I looked at him.” Her voice shook. I saw a flicker of fear in our matriarch, and it was only then that I felt something might be…off about Michael.

“What did you see?” I asked.

“Death. Decay. So much terror and heartache and darkness. I can’t explain it. I didn’t know where else to turn…” Cordelia trailed off.

“What do you mean by that? Cordelia, what happened?” I urged.

“You must be Lyla. I’ve heard a lot about you, and this boy Michael.” An old voice rang out from the top of the stairs.

I recognised the flaming red hair first. Myrtle Snow.

She was meant to be dead. I’d only ever seen her in paintings and pictures. According to Cordelia, she was one of the best women the Academy had ever seen. She was kind, strong, intelligent. Cordelia often teared up by the fireplace when she recounted stories about Myrtle. Seeing her here, in the flesh, with Cordelia trembling beside me, I knew something was wrong. Cordelia would never have brought her back if she wasn’t at her wit’s end. How had I not known? How had we all missed this?

“Myrtle Snow.” Her red glove extended towards me. I shook her hand and smiled weakly.

“Cordelia, dear, I believe we have an appointment.” Myrtle said, looping her arm through our Supreme’s.

Today, Cordelia was off to visit the warlocks, along with Zoe and Myrtle. She had been busier in the last two weeks than she had all year – diplomacy was her priority right now. I could tell she still had her reservations; over dinner, she’d stare into her wine glass for minutes without blinking, churning over the events of the day. She often went off to meetings and wouldn’t be back until after dark. She was up to something, or maybe she suspected someone else was.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Michael, and Cordelia’s questions about him. He was a boy. A warlock, and apparently a powerful one, but as far as I’d seen, he was just…a boy. What could they want with him?

“Girls! Come down here, immediately!” Cordelia yelled. I jumped from my chair, taking the steps two at a time to see what was wrong.

Two new faces stood beside Cordelia. I recognised them immediately, just like I had Myrtle. I’d seen them in photo albums around the house, but had never met them myself – Madison and Queenie.

“My girls. My beautiful, beautiful girls. Your sisters are home.” Cordelia cried. Myrtle squeezed her hand reassuringly.

A few other girls had congregated at the bottom of the stairs. It was like seeing a ghost. One thought ricocheted around the room like a bullet: How?

“Someone make some tea. We have much to discuss.” Myrtle commanded.

That day, over half empty cups, Cordelia told us everything.

That beautiful boy, the one I’d danced with all night at the ball and who’d adorned my neck with diamonds, was more powerful than he let on. My very first thought was, I should have taken what Jerome said on board. Was it a warning? A message?

“Michael brought our girls back. While grateful, I simply can’t see how he could be the next Supreme. Warlocks have never, ever claimed this title. As far as anybody knows, it’s impossible.” Cordelia mused. Several witches nodded enthusiastically.

“He gives me the creeps. Something about him isn’t right.” Olivia, a witch a few years younger than me, said. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. I clenched my jaw defensively.

“I just can’t see it. I went to the ball with him. He seems so…normal.” I spoke up, surprising even myself.

Every pair of eyes in the room swivelled to face me.

“What’s he like, then?” Olivia sneered.

“Quiet. That’s all.” I said, looking into the bottom of my cup.

“He doesn’t seem so bad. He was at our table, seemed like a decent guy…and he saved our sisters.” Penny spoke up.

I was flooded with gratitude, which I’m sure she felt, as she shot a smile my way. At least I didn’t look crazy on my own.

“That may be so. Regardless, I want you all to be more alert. Because tonight, we’re going to the Hawthorne school. Michael is to perform the seven wonders.”

A gasp ripped through the girls.

“I haven’t even had a chance yet! That’s not fair!” Olivia whined.

Cordelia smiled tightly, “This title is a burden, Olivia. You should be glad you’re not in the spotlight tonight,” She sighed. “I am not happy about it. But if this boy is as powerful as the warlocks say he is, I cannot stand in the way of the coven.” She squeezed both the returned witches’ knees affectionately.

“Be ready by dark. Look presentable.” Myrtle ordered finally.

---

The day, and all its confusing revelations, exhausted me. I fell asleep in my clothes at three in the afternoon. I dreamt of Michael, as usual. This time, he was grabbing my hand, pulling me further and further into the rolling green fields beside the Academy, running – I couldn’t tell if it was away from or towards something.

“Lyla. Lyla, wake up. Lyla-”

Sweat slicked my forehead when I jolted awake. My room was empty and drenched in golden light. I sighed heavily, squeezing my eyes shut and open again.

Like a mirage, Michael stood in the yard outside my window. I blinked to make sure I wasn’t still dreaming. He smiled, and without a word exchanged between us I was hurrying down the stairs. Most girls were too busy with study to notice. I slipped out the back door like a ghost.

“Hi.” He greeted me, reaching out for my hand. My skin buzzed at his touch. He immediately led me away from the house, into the field like in my dream. He smiled, but kept his gaze fixed on the horizon.

I wasn’t used to this kind of contact with Michael – his thumb drawing soft, unconscious lines across the back of my hand. He seemed completely at ease.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Somewhere quiet. Away from them.” He cast his eyes back towards the looming shadows of the Academy.

I kept quiet the rest of the way. Instead of talking, I drank him in. I felt like an addict, clinging to any scrap of Michael available to me. His black combat boots crunched against the dry grass. He donned faded black jeans and a black tee shirt, a departure from the more formal attire I’d seen him in. I admired the smooth golden skin of his upper arms, and the freckle near his elbow. The chain I loved so much was hanging across his chest. I bit my lip and tried to keep my thoughts quiet, locking them tightly in a box inside me. I hoped it was enough to stop him overhearing.

Eventually, we came to a tall tree with just enough shade for the two of us. Michael sat down cross-legged and waited for me to do the same. Our knees touched, and neither of us moved away.

“What’s with all the secrecy?” I whispered.

“First of all, I heard you earlier. You called me normal.” He fake pouted.

“Well, they certainly don’t seem to think so,” I sighed. “Why?”

“It’s complicated.” He picked at the grass, scattering blades in the breeze.

“Everything’s complicated with you, huh.” I looked at up him. Every time I thought I was starting to get to know him, another wall went up between us.

He smiled, taking my hand into his. He played with my fingertips gently, traced the lines across my knuckles. “You have no idea.”

“So, the seven wonders test. Everyone’s losing their minds in there.” I laughed. Personally, I didn’t give a shit if the Supreme was a witch or a warlock. But I hated the idea of losing Cordelia…and I didn’t want to fathom that that might be the cost of Michael’s success.

“Will you be there?” He asked softly, looking up at me. His baby blue eyes looked so vulnerable, so innocent. He needed me, whether he’d admit it or not.

My heart swelled in my chest as I nodded. “Of course.”

He leaned closer, our noses half an inch away from each other. “Can I kiss you?” He breathed.

“You’ve never asked before.” I whispered. My heart was in my throat.

“This is different. For good luck. Can I kiss you?” He repeated.

I kissed him before he could ask again. This was different to his kisses at the ball – before it was lust, now it was…something else. He kissed me like I was air, like he needed me to survive. His lips fought mine hungrily, moving closer until my back was against the solid tree. His hand cradled the side of my face, tangling into the base of my ponytail. Pinned there, tight against his body, Michael made me forget anything existed at all.

---

The sun was setting by the time I slipped back into the house. Leaning against the front door, my head spun like a coin. I was dizzy with bliss – kissing Michael was how it was supposed to feel, I was certain.

He’d had gone a different route, avoiding the house all together. While the witches were on high alert, we had to keep things quiet. He peppered my face with kisses on that last corner, before he turned right and I continued. I still felt their warmth.

“Where have you been?” Zoe asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“For a walk.” I’d never been good at lying, but I shocked myself at how easily it rolled off my tongue. I had a feeling spending time with Michael was going to make me a very, very good liar.

“Car’s ready.” She shrugged, leaving the front door open for the remaining girls.

The Hawthorne School didn’t look as nice as Robichaux’s from the outside, but the inside was dark and lush. Wine-red lounges sat on cool cement floors, and every wall was lined with old books. Cordelia and Myrtle sniffed with disdain, claiming the air reeked of unwashed teenage boys. I tried to hide my eye rolls. The witches filtered in, and the cement doors slid shut. We milled around the common area, chatting idly with the warlocks, but the air crackled with anticipation. I hadn’t seen Michael yet.

Ariel and his men stood by the hallway, muttering under their breath to one another. John Henry lit up another cigarette, tapping his foot impatiently.

I made my way to the edges of the room, wanting to melt into the walls. If Michael wasn’t here, I had no desire to be here either. As I inched around the outskirts of the room, I felt a warm pair of hands around my waist. He pulled me backwards into the pitch-black hallway and I didn’t flinch.

“I missed you.” He whispered against my lips. The jeans and tee shirt I’d seen earlier were discarded – tonight, Michael was in a full black suit, with a small silver pendant close to this collar. I laughed softly. It had been a few hours, tops. I had this kid in the palm of my hand. Michael didn’t seem happy to overhear this; he bit down on my lip, then wedged his knee between my thighs. Rocking it there, the friction was unbearable. A moan rose in my throat, but Michael clapped his hand over my mouth before it surfaced. I ran my tongue against his thumb and his eyes darkened, even in the low light. He kissed me again, deeply.

“Tonight, doing all this, know that all I want is to be here with you.” His eyes smouldered with intensity. I believed him.

He pushed me into the room softly, smirking in the darkness. He didn’t come out until he was called.

Ariel’s hand rested on Michael’s shoulder like a proud father.

“Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, is a momentous occasion. The first warlock to ever attempt the seven wonders. Michael Langdon.” Ariel said his name like a prayer.

“No need for theatrics. The first task is telekinesis.” Cordelia said shortly.

Michael summoned the fire poker from the fireplace across the room, landing in his hand with ease. My heart soared with pride, then guilt. How could I be happy for him, and be a witch? Weren’t the two at odds with each other?

“Vitalum vitalis.” Cordelia declared.

A small, brown mouse lay dead on the tabletop. Michael gathered its tiny body into his hands, closed his eyes, and in seconds the animal was alive, sprightly.

“Concilium.”

Zoe and Madison’s bodies were pushed together by invisible forces, and they danced an awkward waltz. This all seemed to come so easily to Michael – he was the real deal.

“Divination,” Cordelia said, scattering a handful of stones across the table. “The locket hidden somewhere in this building-”

Michael immediately rose to his feet and strode to a small cabinet. I hadn’t even noticed it when we’d arrived. But somehow, he knew. The golden locket hung between his fingers delicately. The smugness emanating off Ariel was palpable.

“Transmutation.” Cordelia spoke. There was a smile in her tone – clearly, she thought this would be Michael’s downfall. She was searching for a chink in his armour.

Michael stood in the centre of the room. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. When I blinked, he’d moved twenty feet, to stand beside the warlocks. The boys’ cheers filled the room. Again, with a small puff of smoke, he appeared beside me, across the room. I longed to touch him, but quickly remembered where we were. He smiled softly. I ignored the witches’ sounds of disgust.

“Pyrokinesis.” Cordelia’s voice shook a little now.

Ariel handed Michael the short blade. Without a second guess, Michael sliced his palm open, letting the blood drip into the flame of a candle. The light was brighter than anything I’d ever seen – nuclear, incredible.

“The final task, descensum. Today, I am not asking you to perform this wonder. I am asking you to conquer it. You must retrieve Misty Day.” Cordelia said. My gut twisted – I was torn in half. One part of me knew Cordelia was grasping at straws, desperate for a rule change this late in the game to dethrone any potential Michael had at being our leader. The other part of me knew something about this boy wasn’t magic at all, it was something more.

Ariel asked for a word alone with Cordelia. The room burst into chatter the second they left.

Michael stood beside me, hands behind his back. His confidence radiated like flames.

“Are you nervous?” I whispered, keeping my gaze ahead of me.

“No. I have you.” He whispered back.

After some heated debate, and Cordelia appearing especially flustered, Michael laid on the floor, reciting incantations. Six minutes. That’s all it took. Six minutes for him to descend into Hell, Misty’s own personal suffering, and bring her back to life. He barely broke a sweat.

After standing up and straightening his jacket, Michael glowed with pride. He avoided looking at me, knowing better than to draw attention to us, but glanced my way a few times. I tried to make my thought as loud as possible – I am so proud of you. You’ve done so well. Thank you for bringing our friend back.

“Cordelia.” Myrtle spoke, eyes wide with worry. Our Supreme’s nose had begun dripping with blood, and she quickly stumbled.

“What’s happening?” I asked, rushing to Cordelia’s side. I felt her arms quivering weakly.

“What always happens when a new Supreme rises: the old one fades away. We demand what’s ours.” Ariel spoke, his face hard with determination. The other warlocks nodded in agreement.

“You are a pathetic pompous ass!” Myrtle yelled. It seemed to be directed at all the warlocks, not any one in particular.

“I did everything you asked. I descended into Hell, and I did what you couldn’t. I brought her back. I passed the seven wonders. Unless you want to add another one.” Michael’s said calmy, with a pinch of sass. His expression scorched under the surface.

“No. There can be no doubt. You are the next Supreme.” Cordelia managed, before falling to the floor.

“Cordelia!” I yelled, reaching out for her. Among the chaos, Michael smiled.

---

Later, in a room off the main corridor, Cordelia sat wrapped in a blanket. I hid just outside the door, listening. I had to know what was going on, what they were planning.

Misty brought in a cup of tea, and I ducked into the shadows.

“I knew you for such a short time, but I missed you forever.” Cordelia said softly, looking at Misty in awe.

“You should have left me where I was. That man you sent to fetch me – he gives me the heebie-jeebies. There is something wrong with him.” Misty whispered.

No. I can’t accept that.

“When he came to get me, he was…talking to somebody. Something. I could hear their gibberish, all around the classroom. Evil was speaking to him.” Misty recounted.

“Delia, what have we done? We’ve anointed that boy the next Supreme.” Myrtle lamented.

“He will never be the Supreme. I needed to know how strong he was. I knew there was something…dangerous about him, something dark. I had to keep him close, so we’d be ready. Something is coming. I can feel it. Michael Langdon has already given us an advantage – I have all my girls back with me.” Cordelia smiled.

My heart was by my feet and my arms were covered in goosebumps. There was no way Michael was as bad as everyone said he was. I knew in his core, there was good. I just had to bring it to light.

The women stood to leave.

I quickly snuck away, watching where I stepped so as to not let them know I’d been eavesdropping. Taking a few steps down the corridor, I hid I the shadows like a creep until they’d moved back into the common area.

“How long have you been hiding, angel?” A familiar deep voice asked behind me. I yelped, and Michael grabbed my hand to let me know it was him.

“You scared me!” I whispered, smacking his chest lightly.

He smirked, chuckling to himself. “Listening in on gossip?” He teased.

My stomach churned. “Something like that. They’re worried about Cordelia.” I lied. I focused on that blue light inside me, hoping Michael wouldn’t sense my heart racing. I knew in my heart I couldn’t tell him what I’d overheard, not yet. I had to understand it for myself first.

“How are you feeling, boy wonder?” I asked lightly, tracing the outline of his tie.

“Tired, and seen – I’m sick of everyone staring at me.” He growled, flicking his eyes at the warm light of the common room. He brought my hand up to him mouth, brushing his lips against my knuckles. I shuddered.

“I need coffee. I know a place.” He smiled, taking my hand.

taglist: @theneverendinghunger @outpostmichael @angelicmichael @leatherduncan

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vidkid20ssimblrlair · 3 years

Text

Episode 30: The Tale of Eddy's (Part 2)

Earlier that day at the bar...

"Ah. Looks like we got company. Hello stranger," Jade cooed. She slammed the door shut behind her as the bony hands of corpses try to claw their way in. I sat there frozen. The glass glued to my hand as I stared at her. My mouth hanging slightly ajar. Just her presence sent shivers down my spine.

She smiled. "Oh. You look like you've seen a ghost. Do we know each other?"

"Um...no. Not at all. I..I just was surprised to see someone. Someone breathing. It's rare nowadays," I blurted out lying through my teeth.

"You got that right!" she exclaimed. She then sauntered over to me. "You sure we don't know each other? Something about you..."

"Nope. Never seen you before."

"Ok, but it's interesting."

"Huh?"

She squinted. "You seem nervous."

"Why wouldn't I be nervous? You can't trust too many people nowadays."

She smirked. "Well, you can trust me, stranger. In fact, I would like a drink with you."

She sat down beside me on the barstool and spent it around to me. She stretched her lanky arms and placed her hands on the bar. She tapped her fingers on its surface and leaned in. "So... what's your name stranger?"

"What's my name have to do with anything?"

"I want to know who I'm drinking with."

"Fine. It's Vince."

"Vince? Hmm...nice name."

"Thanks."

"You didn't ask me mine. I'm offended," she pouted. "It's Jade."

"..."

"So what you're drinking?" she asked eyeing the drink in my hand. She grabbed the bottle of whiskey, sniffed it, and took a big gulp. Her face squinched up. "Ugh. That would put hairs on your chest. How about a beer instead?"

"Um...no thanks," I mumbled staring down at what was left of my drink. I stood up and grabbed my bag. "I think I'll get going."

She stood up and slid in front of me. Her eyes locked on me. She shook her head. "You can't just leave. It's still early and you owe me a beer."

I chuckled. "I'll take a raincheck."

"No. You'll sit down," she said coldly. She pulled out a small handgun with a silencer. "Sit down and finish your drink."

I slowly backed away and sat back down on the barstool. She then eyed my hand on my hip and held out her hand. "I know you're packing. Give it here."

I placed only the gun on the bar, but she seemed unsatisfied. She pointed at my pocket and patted the bar. "You got more than a gun. I'm not stupid."

I placed the large knife on the bar and she seemed pleased now. She slid them towards her and smirked. I took another sip of my drink. Part of me wished I had just skipped it and ran all the way home, but there was no escaping for me now. She sat there with her gun still trained on me. She watched me as I drunk slowly from my glass. She then looked down at my feet at the bag and back up at me. I didn't think it could get anymore dicey from there or surprising, but I was wrong.

I paused hearing music suddenly from outside. "What the fuck?" I thought as I listened. "Is that Bohemian Rhapsody?"

I then heard the window on the left of me suddenly slide open and I looked over to see someone climbing in from the window. They climbed in and fell on the floor with a thump. A small audible "ow" escaped their lips. I nearly spit out my drink as I caught a glimpse at the face. It was Billy.

"Dammit, Runt! What took you so long?" Jade groaned cutting her eye at him.

"I was setting up our distraction. Geez. Give me a break," he whined as he brushed himself off. "What are you even...?"

He paused as he looked up at us, then at me, and he gasped. He looked stunned. The color immediately drained from his face. I looked back at him probably mirroring his shock. Jade’s eyes darted back from me to him. She looked suspicious. She cocked her head and smile. "You two know each other?"

"No! I don't know him at all! Who is he?!" Billy blurted out nervously. "Never seen him in my life!"

It took everything in me not to groan and roll my eyes. He was definitely not playing this cool. I cleared my throat and shrugged. "I don't know the guy."

"You sure? From the way you both looked at each other, I would assume you do."

I snorted. "I’ve never seen that skinny punk before. I thought he was someone else but I was mistaken. That's all."

"Billy?"

"I told you I never saw him. I was just surprised is all. I thought we would be alone."

"Fine then," she shrugged. "Well, now that you're here Runt, get me a beer pronto."

"We don't have time for that."

"You set the boom box up, right? Then we have time," she murmured. She turned to me and whispered. "We use noise to control them. They go for the loud noises and we go the opposite way."

"Nice strategy," I replied. She then turned back to Billy looking impatient as he fumbled around with glasses. She seemed to be paying less attention to me now. I stood up again and attempted to head for the door as Billy handed her a beer from behind the bar. She took a sip of it and slammed it down.

"Where are you going?!"

"I finished my drink. I think it's time I go now," I said mustering up a fake smile. "Thanks for the distraction outside though. Really helpful."

"You're not going anywhere! I haven't finished my beer yet."

"Look, I just want to go. That's-"

"I told you I haven't finished my beer. Then my friend here deserves one. Right, Billy?"

"Uh...yeah. I guess."

"So sit down if you know what's good for you and stay seated till I say so!"

I hesitantly sat down again. She took another drink from her beer while keeping her eyes and gun on me. I wasn't going anywhere if I wanted to. Not without another bullet in me.

"Do you know the name of this bar? Its name after the owner. It’s called Eddy's. I use to live around here. He was a decent guy. A weaselly little penny pincher, but decent. I heard the night he died he barricade himself in here away from the rotters, got drunk, and hung himself. Most assume he got bit. I think he just gave up. Either way, he still came back. When you don't destroy the brain you come back as a rotter, so it's pretty fruitless to commit suicide if you're not blowing your brains out. You can go look in his office right now and see him still hanging there. Want to see him?"

"No thanks. You seem familiar with this place."

"I am. Me and my friends come here all the time to meet up," she said. She wiped her mouth and stood up again. She gestured for me to get up and I did reluctantly. She then smiled and put her arm around me with the gun still aimed at my abdomen.

"Let's go meet Eddy. I want you to meet him."

Part 1 >> Part 3

Previous Episode -Part 1, Part 2

P.S. I deserve a cookie for making all these poses except two.

#sims 3 Dead on Arrival #ts3 dead on arrival #sims 3 doa #ts3 doa #sims 3 story #ts3 story #sims 3 simblr #ts3 simblr #simblr #sims 3 #ts3 #dead on arrival season 2 #doa season 2 #tw: suicide

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slusheeduck · 4 years

Text

Binding Resolution

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

Chapter 4

The walk to the village is a decent one, but much easier than the last time you went to the manor. After all, there’s no ice blocks, no spirit boxes, no broken bridge to vault over; you and the Prince just walk down a pretty path, carefully tying off the Dwellers’ letters as you go. (You do take a moment to look for Snatcher’s future house, but all you see is a giant tree. You wonder how he manages to hollow it if he’s a ghost, then wonder if it’ll ever actually need to be hollowed if you manage to save him. Not…that you’re 100% sure you will, but it pays to be positive.)

“Penny for your thoughts, kiddo?” the Prince asks abruptly, managing to tie off his last letter and tuck it under his arm. “Do you even have pennies where you’re from?”

You stare at him. You’ve never heard of a “penny” in your entire life.

“I didn’t think so. Besides, you’ve got an awfully expressive face anyway, so I bet I can guess.” He holds out his hand, offering to take the letter you’ve been struggling with for the past few minutes. “You’re wondering why I’m with Vanessa when she gets…like that.”

You stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. You’re sure he will; he’s not Snatcher, but he’s still Snatcher (if that makes sense? You’re not sure it does, and you’re glad you don’t have to explain it.) And, of course, he does.

“Well, clearly I’m staying for the inevitable glut of power I’ll have when I’m crowned king.” You roll your eyes, and he smiles. “Good, you’re catching on. But yeah, that’s a joke. I don’t even want to be king over the whole land or anything; I’m more than happy with my forest. Here, let’s switch. You hold the finished letters, I tie the rest.” You swap loads; you can barely see over all the letters stacked in your arms.

As you struggle to keep a hold of the letters, you freeze as you feel your hat plucked from your head. The last time this happened in Subcon, you had exploding potions and minions chucked at you. Just as your heart starts to race, though, you feel something else plopped down on your head—much smaller and a little heavier. Carefully, you reach up one hand to touch it—metal. Did the Prince put his crown on you? You look up, and judging by the way he’s adjusting your hat on his head, you think he did.

“What? I’m a sucker for a good hat. And I thought every little girl dreams of being a princess, which you are so long as you wear that.”

You roll your eyes again.

“Not into princesses, huh? Well, too bad. As long as you’re on my turf, what I say goes. And I say I get to wear your hat until we finish delivering the mail.”

You smirk and tap the crown on your head. The Prince stops, then sighs.

“I did say you were a princess with that on, didn’t I? And I could concede that and give you your hat back. Or I could remind you that you have stubby little arms that are currently full of an entire village’s worth of letters, and you wouldn’t be able to get it back if you tried.”

Unfortunately, he has a point. You can’t reach your umbrella with all these letters in your arms, and dropping them might get them squished. And that’d just be mean. You sigh, adjusting the crown. Yeah, he’s definitely still Snatcher without being Snatcher.

Except this one, weirdly, feels like an actual friend, not just a contractually obliged one.

“Annnyway,” he says, tying off the last letter and tossing it at the first house you pass, “you want to know about me and Vanessa, and there’s no more hats to steal, so I guess I gotta quit stalling. Just chuck the letters at the houses you see, by the way, they’ll get them.”

You nod and start tossing the letters; you’ve done this before, so your aim is amazing.

“The truth is…I wasn’t her first pick. I wasn’t even a pick, as far as I know. She had some…childhood sweetheart or something. They were engaged, and then he just up and disappeared. Left her completely devastated. But the future queen has to get married, right? So her mom arranges a back-up with the next highest ranking unmarried man in the land, and that’s me.” He chuckles as he tosses a letter at a nearby Dweller, waving as they thank him profusely. “Let me tell ya, kiddo, nothing’s weirder than coming home from school for the summer and finding out you have a fiancée. Anyway, I expected for us to be one of those usual arranged marriage situations—you don’t actually care that much about each other, but you get along well enough to run a country. But then we met and…” He looks up at the sky, letting out a long breath. “I can’t explain it. Meeting her eyes was like…like someone had just plugged a socket into me. The whole world lit up. And then we got to talking and…look, you just…you caught her at a really bad time. Because she is so loving and headstrong and passionate. And…part of the problem is that her passion gets a little…intense.”

You frown. Again, you’re no relationship expert, but freaking out over having someone love bacon seems a little more than “intense.” The Prince quickly shakes his head.

“Look, when things are good between us, they are so, so good. She’s absolutely who I want to spend the rest of my life with. I just…wish she was a little less jealous.” He tosses another letter to a Dweller, smiling as they hop up and down in excitement. “And thinking about what’ll happen to the forest when it’s in her control…” He shakes his head. “Jeez, what am I doing? You don’t want to hear about all this relationship junk, you’re just a kid.”

You’re about to tell him that actually you are very interested in this particular relationship junk, because it might give you an idea of how to keep things from going sour. But instead, the Prince crouches down beside you and points up to a tree with a little door at the very top.

“Instead, let’s talk about that last letter you got. I bet you your hat that you can’t get it all the way up there.”

You should turn the conversation back around. But…that’d mean turning down a challenge, and you’re very competitive. You’ll bring it up after you get your hat back.

You scramble up the tree easy as anything—in fact, it’s a little shorter than it is in the present, so you don’t even need a grappling hook. You get right on up to the door and gently slip the letter through the mail slot. You turn around to give the Prince the smuggest face you can.

You really, really need to start paying more attention in Subcon. Because that turn shifts your footing just a tad, and the branch your standing on isn’t quite as thick as you think it is. And down you go.

“Kid!”

Lucky for you, you still have your backpack, and falling from high places is something you’re very used to now. Whipping out your umbrella and opening it is second nature by this point, and the last fourth of your fall is spent floating down gently before lightly landing on your feet in front of the Prince, who looks like he’s the one who had a thirty-foot fall. He lets out a nervous laugh and shakes his head.

“Real…real efficient way of getting down, kid. Also real efficient way of giving the people around you heart attacks.”

As he regains his composure, you hold out your hand in a silent demand for your hat.

“What? Oh, the bet.” He shakes his head, then takes off the hat. He pauses, looking it over before smirking. “You know, private bets aren’t legally binding. So technically, I don’t have to give you anything.” As you open your mouth to argue, he chuckles and holds out your hat. “Lucky for you, I’m a man of my word. And besides, if you can look death right in the eyes like that, you deserve it.”

You take the hat with a relieved sigh, popping it back on your head as the Prince picks his crown up from the ground. He dusts it off, then nods back up toward the path.

“Well, our work’s done here, so it’s time to head back, I’d say.” He grins, tapping your hat before leading the way back to the path. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we, kiddo?”

You smile as you follow him. Before your time jump, you would have never said that. Ever! But now…well, now, you kinda do make a good team, huh?

All the more reason to keep him from becoming Snatcher in the future.

The walk back to the Manor is a leisurely one, and the Prince chatters the whole way about where you could spend the night now that Vanessa’s back in her room.

“We have a parlor with a pool table…maybe we could pop a mattress on it? You’re tiny enough that it should be pretty comfortable. Or maybe a little cot in the piano room? Oh, don’t worry, no one in the house plays, so it’s not like you’ll get woken up by it or anything. Ugh, I wanted to renovate the dungeon into a guest room—oh, yeah, we have a dungeon. Of course I don’t use it, that’s barbaric.—but the budget this year just was not having it. I guess if you don’t mind sleeping in a cell it’d be doable…”

You’re not really listening. Instead, you’re considering your options. You still have that Time Piece in your bag, so you really can go forward at any time. And you have to, eventually—and you have to clean up the Time Rifts, and putting it off will just mean you have to do it later. But…at your core, you’re a fixer. You fixed up Rumbi. You fixed up your ship. Some birds even yelled at you about fixing the Bird Awards! So something in you just won’t let you leave until you fix whatever goes wrong here.

But who knows how long it could be before then? Staying an extra couple days is doable, but what if they don’t break up for years? No one told you what could happen if someone chooses to stay in the past.

You look up at the Prince, still chattering. Still alive and happy and genuinely nice, even with his weird, Snatcher-y sense of humor.

Could you really live with yourself if you let him become what he does in the future? He’ll lose everything, and now you’ll lose a friend.

You can’t do that. You have to stay.

“Oh! The attic! I’m sure we have some old bed things up there, and it’s actually pretty cozy once you dust a little. When we get inside, I’ll…” The Prince suddenly trails off and slows his pace. You look up at him curiously, then up ahead.

The manor’s in view, and standing on the porch is Queen Vanessa. Her arms are crossed, her entire body is rigid, and the air seems to have a chill in it as she stares hard at the two of you, obviously furious. The Prince holds out his hand, stopping you as he watches her. His face is composed, but his dark eyes are darting around at nothing in particular; it looks like he’s strategizing.

The air is horribly tense. You think both of them are waiting for the other to move first, so for several minutes, they simply stand and stare at each other across the courtyard. Finally, the Prince inhales deeply, then lets out a long, slow breath. He takes a smooth step in front of you, and you can hear the put-on smile in his voice as he says, “Darling!”

“You were supposed to be here when I woke up.”

You shiver. This isn’t like her explosion at brunch. Her voice is quiet, full of rage but so quiet. It nearly sounds the way she did as she chased you through the manor.

“I’m sorry, my love, I honestly thought you’d sleep longer. We had a little bit of a snafu ourselves, but we…”

“You BROKE your PROMISE.”

The Prince’s show of cheeriness drops, and he starts to step back before glancing back to see you. He swallows, then lifts his head.

“I know. And I am so sorry, Vanessa. I’ll do what I can to make it up to you.”

You peek around the Prince’s legs to look at Vanessa. For one moment, her eyes lock onto you. They’re still blue, but there’s so much rage and hatred in them that you’re just as frightened as you were when you met the blood red ones in the manor. It takes every bit of bravery you have not to immediately hide behind him again, but you don’t want her to think you’re afraid of her. Even if you really, really are.

Finally, her gaze shifts back to the Prince’s. Then, through her teeth, she hisses, “Talk to me in the parlor. Alone.”

He nods. “Of course, my princess.” He stays put as she turns and sweeps back inside, then lets out a sigh as he hits his forehead with the heel of his hand.

“Stupid. I should know she never sleeps well after a trip,” he whispers to himself, then sighs before crouching down beside you. “Listen, kid, when we get inside, why don’t you go look for a room you like? The parlor…isn’t the best anyway.” He stands up and taps on your hat. “And put this in a safe place. Never know when someone’s gonna snatch it off ya.”

The two of you walk into the manor. You can’t help but notice the Prince looks a little sick, but he quickly shakes it off and puts on a composed face. You wonder if that’s a royal thing or a grown-up thing, and you kind of hope it’s the first one, because you can’t ever imagine pretending like nothing’s wrong when clearly there’s a lot wrong. He glances down, noticing you’re still there.

“Go on, kid, shoo. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

You nod, starting to slowly walk toward the stairs. When you reach the bottom one, he finally goes into the parlor and shuts the door. You, of course, run back to the door as quickly as possible. The keyhole’s too small to see out of, but if you press your ear to it, you can hear everything crystal clear.

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie, my love, it was a mistake.”

“And how many more mistakes am I going to have to endure, hm? Am I going to have to listen to excuses like this when we’re married? Am I going to…going to have to constantly worry about where you are?”

“Vanessa, I told you where I was. If you were really worried, you could have come out to the village with the two of us.”

Vanessa muttered something you couldn’t quite make out, but given the noise the Prince makes, it can’t be all that good.

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am.”

“For God’s sake, Vanessa, she’s a child.”

“She has ruined this entire surprise I had for you! WE were supposed to spend the day together! WE are the ones getting married, but you’ve spent every waking moment with HER instead of ME!”

“She’s lost!” the Prince snaps. “You should have seen her when she showed up, the poor thing could barely walk. She still hasn’t said a word this whole time she’s been here.” He huffs. “I’m just trying to get her back home.”

“Oh, so playing mailman with her today was getting her home? Setting up brunch for her was getting her home?”

“My god, am I not allowed to distract a little girl from getting scared?”

“Not like this!” Vanessa shrieks. She takes a few deep breaths, then adds in a very low voice, “I want her gone. Immediately.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Vanessa.”

“I am very serious. I want her out of here as quickly as possible, and I don’t want you seeing her ever again.”

You feel your heart start to race. This is bad. This is really, horribly bad. If the Prince kicks you out, then it’s all over—he’s going to end up as Snatcher. Maybe he’ll say no. Maybe he’ll break up with her! Anything to buy you a little more time to fix things.

You hear him let out an irritated sigh. “No. This is stupid. I love you, Vanessa, and I’m sorry that your surprise hasn’t worked out the way you planned. I’m sorry I broke my promise, and I will do anything to make it up to you. But getting this worked up over a lost little girl…it’s a new low for you.”

You let out a sigh of relief. He did it, he stood up to her. You have some extra time.

But then you hear a giggle. A not very nice sounding one.

“Ohhh, my prince, my prince. You remember what happened with my last fiancé?”

“I’m not like him. I’ll stay.”

“He said the same thing. And then he disappeared.”

“I’m not like him, Vanessa.”

“You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you? About how he might have disappeared. About how it might not have been his choice to be hardly more than a memory now?”

This time, the Prince’s voice falters as he repeats, “I-I’ll stay.”

“Oh, yes you will. I know you will, my princey-wincy.” Her voice lowers to a whisper, so quiet you have to mash your entire face against the door to hear. “But don’t test me like this. Rumors are just rumors, but I’d hate for you to find out if any of it was true.”

There’s a very, very long silence that follows. You hear a small “smack,” like a kiss on the cheek, and Vanessa sweetly asks, “Well?”

Another silence. Then, the Prince takes a long, shaking breath. “I’ll get her out of here. Right away.”

“There we go. That’s all I ask for, my love. And now we’ll have the whole night to ourselves, just the two of us!”

You lean against the door, feeling your heart sink in your chest. This is so much worse than you thought. Is fixing it even possible at this point?

No. You can still do this. Anything is fixable.

It has to be. [Chapter 5]

#a hat in time #ahit #ahit fanfic #hat kid #snatcher #queen vanessa #bad relationship #It shouldn't be a spoiler for anyone but surprise Vanessa is the worst #On the bright side #Is there self-indulgent bonding even though I told myself I wouldn't put any in? Yes!#So much of it #But it's my fanfic and I do what I want #Bonus points if you get the allusions to Vanessa's past fiance #I'm too much of a lore nerd not to reference him

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 4 years

Text

The catch (E.D. AU)

Summary: Being a CIA agent and getting tasked with taking down a notorious assassin, Ethan’s life gets a lot more complicated when a web of lies reveals just how clueless he’s been.

Warnings: swearing, sexual innuendos

Ethan has a complicated life. One would say he chose his life as it is, to keep his job hidden from everyone he loves while being a part of one of the most secretive, successful CIA teams in history. That’s right! He’s an agent with a hundred percent success rate and he’s not shy about flaunting it either. It’s his pride, the ultimate proof of his superiority.

Though he loves his job, it comes with a lot of bad as well. For instance, his success rate means nothing to the world because to the world, Ethan is a businessman with a growing company that requires him to travel a lot. His family believes the lie too, let alone the world. The agency made sure of it.

Agent Doomsday is what the criminals call him. A ghost in the system, an anomaly they can’t trace, almost as if he doesn’t exist outside his job. It’s also the only name they have - to them, Ethan Dolan doesn’t exactly put the fear of death in the bones. Oh, if they only knew.

However, Ethan Dolan certainly had a nice little life outside his duties. Lucky enough to charm the dress of a very ravenous woman, Ethan was happily in love and eager to come home to her unscathed. He could always count on her lips to seal every ache, every wound and while she did ask questions before kissing it better, Ethan wasn’t a top agent for nothing, giving her a believable excuse each time.

On his way to his last briefing meeting, prepared to receive his next target, Ethan picked up his vibrating phone with a gleeful smile.

“Hey there pretty lady.” Playful and romantic as ever, his lips pursed as he awaited the sound of her voice on the other end of the call, missing her after almost a week of not seeing her. Had he not decided to speed things up, he’d still be in the field with his mind in the gutter. He had big plans for their reunion, that much he could promise.

“Handsome! Was that message real or are you teasing me senselessly without a cause?” She bit her lower lip, trying to restrain a wide smile dangerously spreading across her face, hoping her boyfriend truly intended to come home that night and she wouldn’t have to hug his pillow until his lingering scent calmed her enough to fall into a deep slumber.

“I’ll be home in time for dinner. And I plan on being a sinner.” He whispered the last bit, looking around to make sure no one heard his flirtation though he wouldn’t really mind it. His girl is gorgeous and he didn’t care what people thought about them or how he chose to talk to her after yet another successful mission that really made him horny as hell. The adrenaline rush still didn’t stop raging through his body and he was itching to release it all in bed, to have her quake under his touch and scream with every thrust. But he didn’t want her involved with the agency, so he hid his happiness as much as he could. For her safety. It was always for her. If it were up to him, he’d flaunt her just as much as his supremacy in the agency.

“I’m counting on that.” She chuckled. “I’ll make your favorite.” And that’s when he chuckled.

“Well, I’m counting on that! I just gotta get through this meeting and I’ll be home before you know it.” And while it was hard, both parties put their phones down and got to work - Y/N with cooking among other things and Ethan with the meeting where he got a chance to flaunt like a peacock.

“Agent, we have a new target prepared for you.”

“Already?” Ethan raised an eyebrow, wondering why he can’t get a damn week to spoil his girl rotten. She definitely deserves it.

“I’m afraid it’s of utmost importance. A group of assassins we’ve been investigating finally slipped up. We caught one out of 3 and we have some information.” Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, Ethan tapped his chin with the tip of his index finger as he imagined this scum. An ugly, middle aged man with buck teeth and beady eyes. That’s what he saw in his mind.

“The deadliest of all, Blackbird, is stationed in our city and we need you to take this assassin down. We know an alias, but it’s up to you to track them down and get the job done before we have more dead on our hands.” Slipping the folder in front of Ethan, his boss adds:“Good luck agent.”

As the doorbell rings, Y/N was quick to run to the door, opening it with elation and she didn’t wait for Ethan to enter before throwing herself at him, her arms firmly around him as he tries to steady himself. His suit would wrinkle, but she didn’t care.

“Whoa! You really missed me, didn’t you?” A nervous chuckle escapes him as he hold her waist and picks her up gently, keeping her close, closer than he could in his dreams and imagination.

“I’d say you feel the same.” She smirked, pulling back to press her forehead against his, not rebelling when he puts her feet back on the ground but his hands remain at her sides.

A heavy sigh escapes him, his eyes closed as she opens her own, looking up at him with worry etched onto her face. “Tired?” She questions, her voice small and sweet, enveloping him in a comforting haze he could never have enough of.

“Very.” Ethan mumbles, leaning down to peck her lips lightly before walking toward the dining room, the smell of his favorite food making him hypersalivate. Glancing back at her over his shoulder, Ethan feels his heart pick up pace.

“You look beautiful and this smells…amazing.” Pulling out her chair, Ethan seats his wonderful girlfriend before sitting himself, but not before sending her a quick smile.

Clearing his throat, he dug into his food, wondering how his next mission will go for he never had more to lose than in this particular moment where everything was so perfect, his life peaceful and in harmony.

“Did something happen?” Y/N speaks up, breaking the veil of silence that befell them, unsure what to say or do ti make the weight on his shoulders just a little lighter.

“No. It’s fine. Just had a long week of missing you.” Smooth. Charming. That’s what she loves about him. He’s always been a perfect gentleman but very vague about his job. And it didn’t bother her before, but unless he had unexplained bruises or wounds he usually blamed boxing or gym training with hiw twin brother. She liked giving him the benefit of doubt, but his excuses weren’t as believable as he wanted them to be.

She wanted to try and talk to him, to get the truth for once in their relationship, but her cellphone rang and she decided to try after she has him unraveled in her bed.

“It could be work. I’ll be just a second.” Excusing herself, Y/N left Ethan alone with his thoughts - possibly the worst thing she could do to a man who is facing a dilemma of a lifetime. Questioning what’s right and what’s not, looking for meaning and clues on what he should do and to what extent had left him sick to his stomach even next to the very tasty meal Y/N prepared for him.

“You were quick.” Ethan speaks up as Y/N comes back to the table, her eyes set on her food as she remained motionless. Staring silently, her lips parted ever so slightly, Y/N wasn’t sure how to proceed.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Ethan’s attempt to spark up conversation had caused her to look up at him, her gaze fixed on him like he’s the only thing that matters in the world.

“I was thinking about how you’ll die.” She stated plainly, her voice light and sweet as ever but her yes are cold and unforgiving.

“Oh? That’s an odd thing to think about.” Ethan swallowed thickly, praying not to choke on his own spit as he stared back at the woman he loved dearly.

“Is it? You never think about death? How it will stop your heart when you least expect it? Or how that happens to other people with or without your interference? Or do you think about my death?” She all but snarled the last but, her left hand resting on the table as the right one remained under, hidden from sight.

“You know.” Ethan breaths out, his eyes widening as he took notice of her death glare and even more so of the loss of innocence she had about her.

“That you’re an agent tasked to kill me? Yeah, no shit!” She raised her voice slightly, her heart beating out her chest, trying to break the bony confines.

“And you’re an assassin tasked with killing me.” Ethan leans back, raising his left eyebrow as he smirks. “Guess we both lied.”

“Were you about to slit my throat during sex? In the bed we bought together?” She narrows her eyes at him, her lips set in a scowl as Ethan snickers.

“Seriously? I literally just found out you’re a fucking murderer and you’re accusing me of being the one that’s plotting your demise? How were you going to do it?” Y/N’s lips twitch as she glances down at the dinner Ethan half finished, smirking once he realizes what she’s insinuating.

“You wouldn’t.” He says quietly in disbelief, voice just above a whisper and her smirk grows into a smile.

“Are you sure about that? Agent Doomsday?” Quirking an eyebrow, she stood up, revealing her hidden left hand and the gun she held so tightly, as tightly as she held on for her life. One she wasn’t ready to quit just yet.

“I will allow you to go to the hospital and get your stomach pumped and I expect you not to come looking for me. That’s a one time offer. The next time I see you, you might find out why I’m the deadliest assassin of the decade.”

Slipping out the back, Y/N ran for her life, very much aware the story isn’t finished yet and Ethan wouldn’t give up until she’s two feet under. And despite her better judgement, she sent him a letter the same night before skipping town and laying low until she forms a proper plan. A letter she knew would make him want to play.

When Ethan came home with his stomach pumped for no reason because after the food went through extensive toxicology testing, it came back clean, he was pissed and heartbroken, angry and hurt. But when he found the letter, the paper scented with her perfume, he found himself in the game of a lifetime.

“Catch me if you can.”

PART 2

Tags: @beinscorpio @godlydolans @dolanstwintuesday @ethanhes @peacedolantwins @heyits-claire @dolandolll

#dolan twins #ethan dolan #ethan dolan x reader #ethan dolan fic #ethan dolan fanfiction #ethan dolan fluff #ethan dolan au #ethan dolan x you #ethan dolan fanfic #ethan dolan angst

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boogiewrites · 5 years

Text

A Shelby in Margate

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Shelby Sister (OFC), Tommy Shelby

Summary: Penny Shelby has only wanted one thing, to not be a Shelby. Perhaps the man she’s loved from afar can help her with that.

Warnings/Tags: Angst and Fluff. CONTAINS SEASON 5 SPOILERS.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

A Shelby sister is something no one asks to be, and certainly something no one really wants. Especially when the relationship to a very bold and brash man named Tommy Shelby causes such grief in your life that you give up on finding a happiness that most women expect out of life and you move forward with the form of Scarlet Letter on your face that being Shelby lends.

Penelope or Penny Shelby was as crude and difficult as the rest of her siblings. Born after Tommy and before Ada, her darling sass of a little sister that she took great pride in helping raise. With the Romani blood running fiercely in her veins just like her Aunt Polly, before Tommy was a household name in Birmingham she could’ve gotten away with saying she wasn’t a Shelby at all due to the dark complexion she held. Olive skin set her apart and caused her enough trouble from the prejudice of the travelers and Irish alike she came from. She held that same icy blue eyes of her older brother, and hair as black as the coal from the fires they grew up with. A smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks like her mother and a glare that could cause a grown man to tremble like her closest Aunt Polly.

Despite her strong exterior, the pain and turmoil of her life, mostly derived from her older brothers had left her soft and weary on the inside. She drank to cope, as did they all. She didn’t turn to the drugs, as if Tommy would’ve ever let her hear the end of it. She had been stronger, both inside and out only a few years prior. The final blow leaving her gaunt and haunted was the loss of a man she had thought of as her own, even if he never had been in any formal sense. Oh, how she’d loved him. His ability to outsmart her seemingly unstoppable brother, his smart mouth and intimidating physique. He was unlike anything she’d ever experienced and found herself enamored with the only slightly older man who she saw as her escape from forever being known as a Shelby.

There were few names as infamous as Solomons, and she knew that name would be her ticket out of the shadow of her brother. Unfortunately, Alfie was a bit more hesitant than she. Not that she wasn’t a lovely little bird, reminding him of some forest nymph from a fairy tale his mother would’ve told him as child with her haunting eyes and a smile so out of place with its genuine affection for him among a clan of troublesome Shelby’s it made his chest stir in a way he feared. She had proven herself loyal to him, little hints she knew he was clever enough to catch in the fleeting moments alone they shared. He knew she fancied him, lingering touches of her hand to his as she spoke softly and quietly. Eye contact that never wavered and that bloody smile she only had for him. It wasn’t until an encounter that her brother didn’t know about to this day, that he finally knew her intention.

“Penny, love? What are you doing here?”

“Saving your stubborn arse.” she chokes out, hands shaking with the heavy pistol between them, still smoking from the bullet just gone through the Italians head that was about the draw on him.

“Does your brother know you-”

“Fuck Tommy!” the tears finally break in her eyes and begin their descent down her cheeks. She lowers the gun and lays it on a crate beside her, slumping onto a hip height box with the exhaustion shown on her face. “He’s the reason John’s dead. The reason why these fucking wops are after us. And now YOU. I can’t lose anyone else.”

“There there, pet.” he says pushing the gun away and not knowing what to do except take her hand.

“I came to tell you they were coming for you. I overheard it. I couldn’t let them kill you, Alfie, I can’t lose you too.” she begins to sob, something he never thought a Shebly was capable of at that point. Grabbing his shirt she pushes herself into his arms.

“Lose me?”

“Alfie you’re too clever to not know how I feel about you.” she shakes her head and doesn’t meet his eyes.

“I had…suspected.” he pauses, his gut hurting for the poor lass. “But your brother.”

“I said FUCK TOMMY SHELBY! I never asked for this! I don’t want to BE a Shelby! I’m done. Finished. I can’t take life in his shadow.”

“Penny…love…” he says softly, “I”m leavin’ ya know. Retirin’. I’m finished with this life, I know they’re comin’ for us all. And I’m takin’ my gains and I’m gone.”

“Where?”

“That’s no concern for you. The less you know the better.”

“Take me with you.”

“That would be the end of me.” he lets out an amusing sound, almost a laugh.

“Alfie. I’ve admired you from afar for so long. It feels almost childish to think of you as my own when we’ve never even discussed it. We’ve barely been allowed time alone. But I feel something so strongly for you. It must be love.”

“You are not a child at all. And I’ve known by the way that bloody smile takes me out at my knees like a steel pipe that there was somethin’ there.” He sees the hope flicker in her eyes and his heartbreaks. “But we can’t. I’m not the man for you. As much as I’d like to be. It ain’t me love.”

She leaves with gunpowder on her hands and tears staining her dress that night. The news he was dead found her not too long after that. And now she stood mere yards away, unknowingly, from the man she’d loved from afar that she had mourned and still thought was dead.

—–

“What fuckin’ else can I do for ya Tom? From the way that hats being wrung I know that ain’t all ya want of me.” Alfie gruffs, reclined in his velvet chair that faces that balcony of his mansion in MArgate where he hides.

“There is one more person… that I want to know you’re alive.” his voice is as flat and dead as his face lends you to believe he is.

“Not asking for much, eh?” Alfie raises a brow. “Who?”

“Someone that deserves to know.” the way his shoulders slouched told Alfie everything he needed to know. Guilt that sat heavy on Tommy’s shoulders for what he’d almost done. And not for Alfie’s sake, but for Penny’s.

“Mmmph.” he nods. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Best she thinks I”m dead. What use as I to her now?”

“I knew she loved you.” he states plainly.

A fact that Alfie actually hadn’t known. “Did you?”

“You think I don’t know me own baby sister?” he asks with a slight twist of anger.

“Said no such thing.”

“You’ll want to thank her for Cyril being taken such good care of. She’s treated that dog as if it were her own son.” a ghost of a smile crosses his lips. “That is after she cried for a month after she heard you were dead.” he pauses. “You know she cried more over you than her own husband?”

Alfie only nods. Knowing like most women her age her first husband died in the war. He realizes she had truly meant what she said. “We never…” Alfie clears his throat. “Y’know.” his attempts at being respectful amuse Tommy deeply.

“I knew that too.” he nods.

“Why do you want to hurt the poor girl again?”

“She visits your grave, Alfie. Just the other day she was telling Cyril stories of his papa.”

Alfie’s stomach turns. Had he made a mistake? Had he been too selfish.

“I take it by you being here she doesn’t know you’re the one what done it.”

“She does not.”

“Mmm. And how are you going to work around that?”

“Once she knows you are not dead I won’t have to.”

“I know you’re gambling man Tommy but those are steep odds. Against you, I might add.”

“I know her. She’ll forgive me.”

“That's’ what you bank on every time innit?”

Tommy glares at him. A silence falls between them as Alfie looks out to the sea from the open set of doors on the balcony.

“Alright.” Alfie grunts and sits up, taking a deep breath. “Since she’s taken care of my dog. ‘Spose she deserves to know.” he nods, taking a heavy sigh. “But I might frighten her now. She won’t be seein’ who I was.”

“I’ve heard her prayers, Alfie. When she thinks no one, not even God is listenin’ to her anymore. She won’t be frightened.”

A grunt is all he can say to such a thing.

“I’ll go fetch her.” Tommy says as he groans and stands.

“Ya fuckin’ what? Now?”

“She’s just outside.”

“What the fuckin’ hell Tom?” he gruffs out angrily. “Ya can’t just appear to a man in such a way and demand things of him in a state like I am!”

“She deserves to know,” he states plainly again. “I brought her because I didn’t want you going back on your word after you had time to think about it.”

Alfie gives his signature frown. A bottom lip jutted over his mustache in frustration. “Fuckin’ ‘ell. Not even had time to think ‘bout it!”

“That’s the purpose this serves. She deserves to have a real reaction. Not your carefully crafted answers.”

“What do you want of me Tom?” he asks plainly. “You surely don’t want her to be with me? Especially not NOW.” he juts the scarred side of his face forward.

“It’s no issue to me how you look. That’d be up to her, wouldn’t it? But have you known Penny to be shallow?”

Alfie sits back in his chair, elbows on his knees and looks at the dusty rug beneath his boots. “Lass is as deep as the ocean.” he mutters. She’d told him everything he as to her, a body was nothing but a vessel for his soul she said. Something he’d thought a bit naive back then, but upon reflection he found it taking a new meaning to him. Maybe a Shelby was right about something stranger things had happened.

“Then I’ll fetch her. I suggest you figure out which side of yourself you’re going to be honest with.”

—–

Penny in her summer dress wanders the garden as she was instructed, feeling the kiss of a sea salt breeze against her face. She loved the sea, and so rarely had seen it, felt it against her skin. The open expanse of it, the infinite mystery and possibility it held fascinated her. Tommy’s voice breaks her from her reflection, leaning against a stone wall and looking out at the waves crashing into the daunting cliffs.

“Come now Penny, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

She nods and fusses with her windblown hair. “This house is lovely.” she almost coos as she crosses the threshold.

Alfie hears her voice. What sort of man had he been to hurt her how he did. To prolong it in such a way. She was a rose among the thorns of her family, the women the only ones worth a damn out of them. She’d saved his life, took in a painful reminder of him and cared for Cyril after he was gone, kept his memory alive and he’d abandoned her. If she shot him where he stood he’d deserve it.

“Look at all this.” he can feel the genuine lilt like a songbird to her voice. “Who lives here? This place is fantastic. Look at all these interesting and eclectic things. You could spend hours and never see the end of it.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Tommy says standing in the archway into the room where Alfie stood. “Here’s the owner. You can discuss it all with him.” What a loaded statement and delivered so cooly.

Penny walks slowly, taking in her surroundings with great interest before her head turned and saw the man silhouetted in the light of the sun, framed by two open patio doors with that same sea breeze fluttering the long curtains that hung. She freezes, eyes fluttering in confusion. That posture, that build. The vest and the white billowy sleeves. A glint of light of the rings that adorned his overworked hands. It was him.

“Wh-I- H-how?” she whispers out, not even loud enough for Alfie to hear, but Tommy heard every beat of her heart as he watched the realization come over her face.

“‘Ello, love.” that warm, liquor voice that burned and soothed hit her like a hammer, taking her knees out from under her as Tommy caught her.

She squeaks and tears appear hot and plentiful in her eyes. “You can’t…you…” her breathing wheezes and she holds onto Tommy for support, her body failing her out of shock.

He turns his good side first, seeing her just as lovely as she ever had been. Sun-kissed skin from the season spent in the north in the caravans, that long wavy hair that framed her shocked face, touseled perfectly by the winds of MArgate. Despite the posh sort of dress Tommy was now known for, she was still in simple cotton. Her boots tight around her ankles and shiny, dirt under her nails from the garden. A salt of the earth woman that was wrongfully placed in the shit hole of Birmingham away from nature where she belonged.

“Alfie.” she finally forces out.

“Yeah, love. I’m afraid it’s me.” he says with a pain in his voice, one of fear of rejection as he lets the light show his true side as he called it. The side of him that showed what a monster he had been, the monster he was.

Her face remains unchanged. “Alfie you…” she wheezes and gasps, he takes a step towards her and she pushes out of her brother’s arms. Stumbling with the numbness in her limbs as she finds herself once again sobbing into the shirt of the man she still loved. No matter how hard she’d tried not to over these last years.

“There, there, pet.” he says just as he had the last time she’d heard it, but this time it is accompanied by the wrapping of warm and affectionate arms around her. He shushes her as she cries, soaking his shirt and hiccuping, a hand stroking her hair, the other rubbing her back. All things she’d dreamed of so often she’d lost track of if they’d ever happened or not.

“Is this real? Or did I jump off the cliffs outside and now I’ve somehow found myself not in hell?” she manages to get out with her forehead pressed to his chest.

“You’d most certainly go to heaven. And since I am here with you, I’m afraid that means we’re both very much still alive.”

“HOW? I heard you were shot!” her voice break as she looks up from his chest to meet his face. Seeing nothing but the man she’d longed for. She’d told God she didn’t care what state he was in, just give him back to her. Her last chance at happiness, her last shot to have someone who truly could understand her and her life.

“I was. As you can tell.” he shrugs his shoulder on the marked side of his face. Just as Tommy as said, and Alfie is fully frustrated he was correct, she reaches up to touch his face without even an inkling of regret or fear o disgust.

“Are you still hurt?” is her concern and he takes a long, deep breath to compose himself. He didn’t deserve her. Maybe he’d known all along and that was why he’d told her now. Because deep down, who gave a fuck what Tommy Shelby thought.

“It does sometimes, yeah.” he nods, speaking softly as her fingertips move over the raised scar on his cheek, looking over the milky eye that was blinded by the same bullet that made the disfigurement she was touching as if was perfect skin. “Certainly doesn’t right now though.” his voice is quiet, looking into her bright eyes full of tears for him.

One dark eye under the same heavy brow and a fuller beard now that hid those full lips, unphased by the shot, beaming down at her with what she could’ve sworn was affection. “How?”

“Man that shot me can’t shoot worth a damn is how.”

He sees storm clouds darken her eyes in a more clear moment of recognition. “Who?”

“That’s a question for your brother.” he leans in close, almost touching his forehead to hers.

She spins out of his arms, suddenly full of vengeance and steady. “Who?” she demands.

Tommy takes his stand. “I did.”

“YOU BASTARD!” she lunges at him and is whisked off her feet by Alfie.

“Can’t argue with that.” Tommy mumbles.

“YOU KNEW! YOU FUCKING KNEW HOW I FELT ABOUT HIM AND YOU TRIED TO KILL HIM? YOU FUCKING WANK STAIN! YOU ABSOLUTE MAD BASTARD!” she screams and fights against Alfie’s arms to maim her brother. He would’ve laughed if he hadn’t been so focused on keeping her from hurting herself.

“I asked him to!” Alfie shouts and he feels her little legs stop kicking.

Her head shakes in confusion. It was a lot on the poor lass to take in all at once. “Wha-What?” she squeaks and keeps her eyes on Tommy as Alfie sits her feet back to the floor.

Tommy stands with a confident nod. Not sure if he was proud that Alfie took credit for what had happened, because he had all but pulled the trigger.

“I asked him to, Penny.”

“Why?!” she screeches with a hand to her chest as she faces him, back humped over and heart feeling as if it might give out.

“The doctor. Wrongfully so told me I had cancer love.”

Once again her knees fail her as he scoops her up into his arms, seeing her head wobble and eyes lose focus.

“Poor things gonna faint.” he mutters, sitting in his chair and pulling her into his lap.

“She’ll be fine. Give her a moment.” Tommy says with complete faith. He was asking a lot of her, but he knew she could take it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have gone through with it. As hard as he was, as much as he’d agree he was a mad bastard, he didn’t want to purposely hurt his sisters. It just so happened they got in the way of his plans at times and Penny found herself right in the middle of them currently.

“C-cancer?” she asks with a gasp of air, fighting to stabilize herself. She felt light-headed, but the arms around her helped, the beat of the heart under her palm helped the most.

“Yeah. Told me I was gonna die. I didn’t wanna waste away y’know? Not any sort of death for a man to face.” she shook his head. “Your brother and I. Had a…sort of agreement. To kill one another if it came down to it, yeah?”

“What in the fuck are you talking about?”

Her brash tone makes him chuckle. “The correct response, yes love. “ he nods. “I was told I was dyin’. Had Tommy meet me on that beach out there to kill me. And he thought he did. But add it to the long list of things your brother innit good at.”

His brows shift and rise and fall across her face, eyes wide and questioning. “You thought you were going to die. So you wanted ti over with.”

“I told you she’d understand.” Tommy adds from across the room, staying silent and still.

“Of course my friend’s mum… it would’ve been a kindness to end it for her.” she reflects. “So… you knew?” she asks with hands no longer shaking. “When I… told you about…how I…:

“I did.” he nods. “I wasn’t gonna put you through that. That’s not…that ain’t me, love.”

“I would have.” she states with conviction and his shoulders falter at the hurt in her eyes. “I mourned you. I cried until nothing came out any longer. I drank, I took pills, tonics, hoping to wake up wherever you were. I would’ve still…It wouldn’t have stopped me.”

“You don’t mean that…”

“Don’t tell me what I fucking mean Alfie!”

Tommy smiles from across the room.

“Right, right, sorry mate.” he sputters out with true surprise in his raised brow. Something about this little lady cut him down from newly adorned god status to a man stuttering in apology. Tommy knew at that moment he’d made the right decision.

Her breathing heavy and fast, she glares at him. “My head is spinning, my heart is on fire and my stomach feels like it’s gonna fall out my arse and I don’t know if want to kill you myself or .or,..” her bottom lip gives her away, a hand to his cheek as she shakes her head and groans.

“…love me?” he asks with a raise of the brow he could. It was a gamble to ask. But with her heart racing like a hummingbird, he could feel against his own chest where she sat.

“How dare you,” she whispers back. But her face isn’t offended, a thumb drifting softly over his blind eye and to his temple. “I can kill you and still love you.” she offers with a smile finally gracing her lips. “I have…I mean, I do. Still. Even now.”

“With me lookin’ like this.”

“Like what? Like a strong man who defied death? Don’t be daft Alfie. I wanted you back no matter what. And I meant it. I meant despite you hiding, letting me think you were dead. Oh, letting poor Cyril think you were dead.” her brows furrow and his heart warms like it hadn’t in decades.

He gives her a smile she finds most peculiar. She’d never seen it before on his face.

“What?” she whispers.

“You, love.”

“What about me?”

The smile remains, followed by a sigh as he looks over her face. Hurt, but holding no hate for him. He puts his hand to her cheek to mirror her own delicate actions. “Why me Penny, eh? Surely other men deserve a woman like you more than me.”

“No other man can handle me. And you know this.”

Another, wider grin from him.

“If I could choose who I love, and I can’t, I’d choose someone else because I know you would be nothing but a pain in the arse but….goddammit Alfie I do.” she gives his face a little shake and presses her forehead to his.

“I don’t deserve a woman like you. You know that right?”

“No one deserves anything, Alfie. You know this. Things just happen.”

“Fuck me, I really don’t deserve ya.” he groans and kisses her forehead.

“But do you want me? Did you ever?”

“You should know I did. I only wanted to protect you.”

“What about now?” she asks with brave eyes that pierce into his, not allow him to look away. “There’s nothing to hide behind now. No protecting me. Just… end it now or let this be the beginning.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell…” he sighs. “How are you a Shelby with a mind that says things like that?” A slow sweep of his thumb over her lips makes her eyes shut and held her breath for an answer. A man like him couldn’t touch a woman like this without something in his heart for her, could he? “I… did and I…do. A man like me… he’s not so good at matters of the heart. The mind is where my talents lie.”

“Then let this be your first lesson.” she kisses the tip of his thumb. “Tell me you love me.”

“Penny I-”

“Thomas, leave.” she interrupts, both hands on Alfie’s face, that smile he’d missed and dreamed of from time to time back and in full force, assaulting his sensibility.

“Already got my hat on. You know my number.” he says and saunters away, content by the way things had played out.

“Now tell me Alfie, love. Let me hear it.” she whispers, nuzzling her nose against his.

“I love you Penny.” he manages with closed eyes. “You’re strong and brilliant. Not suited for the name of Shelby at all.”

She smiles against his lips, feeling the words warm over her skin like honey tea. “Perhaps you could come up with a way to change that?” she grins and he’s blessed with her soft laugh once again.

“I do believe I could.” he coos and finally gives her the soft kiss that she’d been dreaming of. A promise she’d get what she always wanted, to not be called Shelby.

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