#they needed to receive heavy losses so they’d actually come to the table listen to union demands

[villainscomplex]

this, at least.

hey so anyway yall know how there was that big boom of angsty ship fics right

,,,,,i wanted to write one too and I have no other excuse

!!! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH !!!

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Quotev

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In his dreams, Asahi dies slowly.

His body is a mass of static and there is nothing but pain and pain and more pain. He’s vaguely aware of someone, somewhere, calling his name. Asahi, they’re saying, Asahi, please wake up.

And he does.

Asahi jerks awake violently, legs tangled in his blankets and hair plastered to the back of his neck, cold with sweat. He still feels like there’s — what? He doesn’t know the source of the pain, only that it is sheer pain, radiating through the core of his very being. It’d be easy to think it’s something simple, a bullet wound or head trauma, but the way it nestles into his chest and takes root there begs to differ.

In his dreams — nightmares, they prefer — Asahi is made of fear and desperation, of please, no, and the unnerving feeling that he’s forgetting something. There’s always someone with him, always whispering his name, fingers cold on his face.

It’s always the same scene.

He steps into a doorway and panic swells in his chest, but he’s never sure what triggers it. There’s nothing in the room but darkness, and then his feet come out from under him, and he is falling. The ground is far, and he falls forever and ever, until time stops short. He crashes into it in one graceless dive, shatters apart, and reforms at the seams with the sweet familiarity of agony.

He’s sure, with every fiber of his being, that something is missing. He doesn’t know what, or who, only that it is missing and the absence feels like a hole in his chest, a hollow place where the pain doesn’t reach.

Asahi leans forward in his bed, struggling to catch his breath. His hair falls like a curtain around his face. He can’t remember why he keeps it long, only that the idea of cutting it feels wrong, and so he lets it grow.

Suddenly, his bed feels unappealing and cold, and he staggers out of it into the quiet of his apartment.

If his life was a story, the narrator would say something like this — Azumane Asahi is a twenty-six year old man with severe amnesia and a wedding ring on a necklace, to which he doesn’t know the location of the missing pair. And that’s it, they’d say, just a detective with no memory and a lot of anxiety. He doesn’t think he’s important enough of a character to warrant any sort of life story.

His phone is where he left it when he’d arrived home the night prior, tossed onto his side table in a fit of weariness. The screen blinks dimly back at him, still miraculously alive, but only with about six percent to spare and at least three new messages to speak of. They’re all from one of the few people he actually texts, and even without looking at the contact name, Suga’s typing style is distinctive from Daichi or Shimizu’s.

He checks the time in the corner of his screen. It’s nearly five-thirty in the morning, which isn’t a bad time, but it’s still earlier than he normally gets up. Going back to sleep is about the most unappealing thing he can think of right now, so even if he isn’t a morning person, he plugs his phone up, clicks on the shabby TV, and goes to make a pot of coffee, listening to the steady drone of the early weather report.

The ring around his neck is a cold weight against his bare skin, small and heavy against the hollow where his throat meets his clavicle. It rolls and clinks softly against its chain as he moves, a quiet, ever-present reminder of a past he doesn’t remember.

It’s easy to make assumptions. He doesn’t know who has the pair to this ring, only that it feels too important to get rid of, so he keeps it around his neck. For all he knows, he was married once. Someone else had — maybe still has — the pair to this ring. He doesn’t remember being married or who his partner is, but he’s sure they must exist.

Maybe they’d left because he’d forgotten.

Asahi tucks the assumption away before his anxiety can take it and run. He’s got a life now and he can’t go ruining what he has by overthinking whatever he used to have. Lacking the vast majority of his memories hadn’t stopped him from rebuilding his life these past few months, bit by bit.

It’s only been a few months since the accident and even though he doesn’t remember it personally, that’s all everyone keeps referring to it as. The accident, like he’d gone and suffered a massive memory loss by total coincidence.

Asahi kind of hates it. He tries not to think too hard about it.

In hindsight, it hadn’t been an easy recovery. He supposes nobody ever really thinks about what would happen if they lost a chunk of their adult memories and nobody would tell them why. He’d had friends to support him through it, even if he had taken a while to remember the three of them, and because of their support he’d been able to get back on his feet.

He’s still a rookie at this detective work, but sitting down and poring over the facts and figures of the cases he’s investigating is oddly comforting.

Light peeks out from over the horizon as the morning settles in, blanketing the world outside and the living room within in a sheet of pale light. Asahi’s eyes ache from his lack of sleep. The bags beneath them have gotten worse, and he’s sure he’ll inevitably get scolded about them when he sees his friends again.

By the time Asahi arrives at his workplace, the city around him has come to life. It’s never quiet here by any means, but once the sun is up, it seems everyone takes to the streets at once. He leaves early to avoid the rush, but always inevitably catches the start of it and makes it just in time, stumbling into the doorway of the detective agency’s office.

“Hey, Azumane,” the receptionist greets with an easy smile, leaning over the desk to be seen, “just in time. Still relearning the trains?” Asahi isn’t too familiar with Narita, but the man is calm and rarely bothered by high stress situations, and he appreciates the cool head and easy attitude first thing in the morning. He’d been one of the first to make sure Asahi had felt welcomed here, and Asahi is eternally grateful for it.

“Yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck, averting his eyes, “it’s a lot to get used to all over again. I keep hoping I’ll just jog my memory somehow and miraculously remember.”

Narita laughs. “I’m sure it’s somewhere in that head of yours.”

Asahi doesn’t stick around to chat much longer, heading up to the main office. There’s only two others inside, both at their desks doing very different things. Akaashi, ever studious, is hunched over a case file from a recent completion of his, scribbling away. Kozume, on the other hand, their resident cyber specialist, reclines back in his chair, tapping away at his phone and looking like he’s half asleep. “Azumane,” Kozume yawns, “there’s some files on your desk.” There are in fact — Asahi turns to confirm — files on his desk.

There’s also a boy there.

His back is to Asahi, but he can see the slicked black hair, wild and dark, sharp against the evident paleness of the boy’s skin. The boy visibly straightens when Asahi turns to look, whipping around in his chair.

Okay, no, a man. A grown man.

Asahi feels a little like deer in headlights, caught in the sharp stare of the man’s golden eyes, interrupted only by the equal shock of bleached blond hair in the forefront of his bangs. Asahi feels pinned in place by that unblinking stare, and it takes him a moment to remember to move.

He circles to his desk a little hesitantly, starkly aware of the other man’s stare following him the entire way around. It’s still on him when Asahi seats himself on the opposite side of the desk, and Asahi steels himself to meet it, smiling nervously.

“Hello,” he greets, “I’m Azumane. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting any clients today.” “I’m Noya!” The man declares, gives no further context, and slaps a file down in front of Asahi. “I need you to look into this.”

The words CASE CLOSED stands out in stark red lettering on the front. Asahi resists the urge to frown. It isn’t uncommon for them to receive requests to look into closed cases, but generally speaking, they’re a waste of money and time.

“Listen,” he starts hesitantly, “honestly, I’m still very new at this. Could I recommend you to one of our more experienced investigators?”

Noya shakes his head adamantly, looking appalled at the mere suggestion. “No!” He says, loud enough that Asahi flinches. “This is important to me! You have to do it!”

“I-”

Noya stares at him, lips turned down, eyes wide in a silent plea. Asahi takes the file.

There’s no photo inside, but it's very clearly labeled as involuntary manslaughter. The victim had only been twenty-five, but the details are absolutely minimal. There really won’t be a lot he can do with this, even if he does accept it. He’s sure the case is closed for a reason.

“Look,” he starts, raising his eyes.

Noya is gone.

Asahi leaps out of his seat, file in hand. Noya had just been there. He’s not surprised the man is fast, but Asahi hadn’t even accepted the case yet, and Noya hadn’t even stuck around to answer questions. Asahi races out of the office and into the entry lobby, head swinging from side to side in search of the shorter man.

“Narita,” he asks, leaning over the side of the receptionist’s counter, “did you see where that man went?”

Narita frowns at him. “What man? I haven’t seen anyone pass by.”

“I-” Asahi sighs, dragging his fingers through his hair hard enough to yank it out of his half bun and just resigns himself, tucking the file under his arm. “Nevermind. Thanks anyway.” Narita gives him another odd look as he turns away, returning to the main office. When he enters, Akaashi and Kozume both glance up strangely, matching the look Narita had previously given him, but Kozume loses interest much quicker than he’s gained it, as if this is a perfectly normal, everyday incident. Akaashi’s gaze tracks him all the way back to his desk, and only then does it fall away, leaving Asahi to his own devices. For a long time, Asahi just stares at the file. Case closed stares back at him, bold and red and final.

It isn’t to say that it’s quite uncommon for them to get a closed case to investigate. Generally speaking, it’s recommended to avoid closed cases. More often than not, they lead to dead ends and more broken hearts than when they began. The police may not investigate as much as private detectives, but they weren’t always wrong by any means. But Noya hadn’t given him too much of a choice in the matter, so against his better judgment, Asahi opens the file.

It’s almost pathetically small, three pages at most. There’s no photos, but from what Asahi can gather, it’s a twenty-five year old man who fell victim to an armed robbery incident, whose death was ultimately ruled involuntary manslaughter as a result. The culprit had never been caught, but the man’s partner had suffered some sort of collateral damage. There’s no further information on any of the three; the partner is unnamed and there are no photos of the man or the partner.

There’s nothing here that points to the case being anything other than what the file says, much less any sort of connection. He considers, briefly, that maybe Noya is the partner and wants the man brought to justice, but he doesn’t have any confirmation to this theory. It just seems like a home robbery turned homicide.

It’s essentially a dead end. There’s no address to begin the investigation and no family on the file to contact in regards. If Noya is the partner, Asahi could start there, but if he’d suffered some sort of trauma related to the incident, then Asahi has to take his testimony with a grain of salt. And this is all based on assumption — he doesn’t even know the extent of Noya’s personal involvement with this entire situation.

Noya hadn’t left him any contact details.

The thought strikes him abruptly, and Asahi sighs. This isn��t going to go anywhere without Noya’s cooperation. Asahi hadn’t agreed to investigate it in the first place. Resigned, he closes the file again and slides it underneath a few others on his desk, where it’s quickly forgotten in the wake of the rest of his work.

When he leaves that evening, files tucked away in his bag, the sun hangs low over the horizon, lethargic orange rays reclined across the darkening sky. It’s as beautiful as it is ominous, and Asahi ducks his head to avoid wandering eyes as he hurries to the train station, long coat swishing behind him.

The temperature sinks as it grows late, and despite his scarf, Asahi’s face burns with chill by the time he gets to the stairs leading down into the train station. People swarm around him, talking and huddling, faces as red as his own and stark with the relief of getting somewhere decently warmer.

Close enough to the rails to actually get on the train, but not close enough to get trampled by those trying to get good seating, Asahi tucks his chin into his scarf and takes a steadying breath.

He wonders if he was always an anxious person like this; had too much noise always been overwhelming to him? Had he ever walked with his head up, unconcerned about the opinions of those around him? Was this ever present bundle of nerves set deep in the square of his chest just a side effect of a tragic accident that nobody will tell him about?

He slides his thumb over the crest of the wedding ring on his necklace, a motion that feels like nothing but pure instinct, and then nearly yanks it clean off his neck when a hand grips his elbow, hard, and he flinches.

Asahi looks down.

Staring back up at him indignantly, lips fixed into a frown and golden eyes wide, looking as if he’s entirely unbothered by the cold despite being in nothing but a t-shirt and basketball shorts, is Noya.

“Azumane-san!”

Asahi is unbelievably shaken right now. After all, the odds that Noya would show up at the same train station as him were slim, even for this side of the city, but here he is, grip hard on Asahi’s elbow. If Asahi had gears in his head, they’d be stalling right now, and the little embodiment of his consciousness would be trying to restart it to no avail.

When the wires finally reconnect, Asahi gasps. “Why don’t you have a jacket?”

The words come out more demanding than he intended, but it’s too late to apologize, so instead, Asahi strips off his overcoat, and then the coat beneath it. Goosebumps prickle over the nape of his neck where it’s exposed to the cold, and he hurriedly yanks the long coat back on, handing the other off to Noya. Noya, who has since let go, looks a little surprised as he accepts it.

“I’m fine!” Noya huffs, but he pulls the jacket on regardless.

The sleeves slip past his fingertips, effectively dwarfing him. Asahi thinks it would be rather comical if he wasn’t so upset at this precise moment, but even swallowed up by Asahi’s undercoat, Noya feels like a force to be reckoned with, a storm lying in wait.

Asahi can’t put his finger on it, but Noya’s brash personality seems familiar, somehow. Mentally, he goes through his limited list of friends. Sugawara fits the bill closest, but even his chaos is of a different sort.

The train whistle breaks him out of his thoughts. He spots the lights as it barrels down the tunnel.

“Have you solved the case yet?” Noya asks, gaze still fixed on Asahi, unwavering.

Asahi frowns at him. “Listen,” he begins, turning his gaze back to Noya.

His words die in his throat. Noya stares back at him, eyes glittering in the faint light of the underground station, wild hair stirred around his face by the gust of cold air the train brings with it. The doors hiss open, but Asahi doesn’t move to get on yet. People stream by them on their way on or off the platform.

He can’t say no. He doesn’t know what it is, but Asahi is suddenly resigned to seeing this through. Noya’s eyes are intense and focused, hard with determination and a type of fire that Asahi can’t remember ever seeing before. He can’t say no.

“I haven’t,” he says, “but I’m going to investigate it as best I can.”

Noya’s grin makes him think that perhaps this is the right decision after all.

The train whistles again. Asahi starts, whirling back around to the platform. Oh no, the train’s going to leave.

“Are you-” He begins, glancing back to Noya, intending to ask if he’s getting on the same train.

Noya is gone. Asahi stares incredulously at the spot where the man had been, dwarfed in Asahi’s coat. He turns, glancing a full circle around himself, trying to spot that shock of blond in the crowd, but no, Noya is gone.

Maybe he got on the train.

Asahi follows suit, tucking his overcoat a little tighter around him as the doors slide shut. The people on the platform all blur together in a mass of color as the train pulls away, but Asahi swears he catches the piercing stare of golden eyes. It’s gone before he can think too hard about it, and Asahi spends the train ride and subsequent walk home staring into space. He hadn’t gotten Noya’s contact info.

“I’m home,” he says to no one as he opens his door and steps in, taking his shoes off.

Maybe he should get a dog.

Sighing heavily, Asahi drops his bag onto the floor by the door, where it tips to the side and lets a few papers and files slide halfway out. He pays it little mind, figuring he can think about it later, and makes his way down the narrow corridor into the bedroom at the back.

It’s sheer muscle memory that gets him through his nightly routine, and by the time he lets his hair down and flops into bed, he’s too exhausted to think. The somber tendrils of heavy sleep drag him deep into the sheets.

He dreams. (He has nightmares.)

Wake up, wake up, wake up, the voice is saying. Asahi, please wake up. Please don’t leave me. Please, no. Please, no.

This time, when Asahi jerks awake, the sun is still low below the horizon and his phone reads 4:36 A.M, but there’s no chance of him going back to sleep so he dons a hoodie and decides to do something with himself. In the end, Asahi goes for a run. It’s been a while since he’s just gone out like this, so he takes the short route that loops through the backside of a local park. Asahi jogs what he can, but it quickly becomes clear that he isn’t nearly as in shape as he clearly had been once. He can tell he used to be muscular and healthy prior to the accident, but he’s hardly been focused on maintaining that post memory loss. Still, running feels natural, so he tries to keep it up.

He runs into Noya again. Asahi rounds the bend, huffs of breath forming white clouds in the chilly morning air. There’s only a handful of other souls up and about this early, and from what Asahi can tell, they’re all out running too. It’s a nice change of pace to get his mind off of everything, but it’s clear the universe has other plans. As he nears the park’s massive lake, he spots a figure sitting right at the bank of it, leaning precariously over the water.

Even from this distance and without his glasses, he recognizes Noya’s wild hair paired with the white t-shirt and black shorts combo. Noya’s back is to him, but he visibly straightens as the sound of Asahi’s footsteps approach, head twisting around to fix those ever startling eyes on the taller man. “Azumane,” his eyebrows pinch, “what are you doing here?” There’s this nagging feeling in his chest. It strikes him as odd again; something about Noya is so unnervingly familiar to him, but he can’t put his finger on it. He’s sure if they had known each other prior to his memory loss then someone as headstrong as Noya seems to be would have said something about it by now, but Noya doesn’t seem bothered like Asahi is. He shakes it off.

Something seems off. Noya is quieter, more pensive. His gaze has returned to the surface of the lake immediately after confirming that he knows the person approaching him. It’s a strange change from the loud, fierce boy Asahi has started to know him as. “Noya,” he greets softly, joining him carefully by the water. “I was out for a run. Are you okay? Aren’t you cold?” “Oh,” Noya seems to remember something, “I forgot your jacket. Sorry.” Asahi shakes his head. “It’s okay. You couldn’t have known I was going to come running. It isn’t like I’ve done this in a while.” Noya is staring at him again, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He’s frowning — it’s only a faint, downward quirk of the lips, but it seems so out of place on Noya’s features that it catches Asahi off guard. A matching frown slips onto his face.

“Have you made any progress?” Noya asks suddenly, peering up at Asahi intently. “With the case, I mean.” “Noya, it’s only been a night,” Asahi reminds him gently. “I’ll look into it more later, but nothing’s changed from when you asked me yesterday.” “Yesterday?” Noya echoes, as if confused. “Oh… Right. When you gave me the jacket. Okay.” “Are you sure you’re okay?” Asahi persists. “I’m fine! Listen, I’ve gotta go, ‘kay? I’ll catch you again sometime soon.” Noya takes off before Asahi can so much as consider asking about contact information. At this rate, he’s going to be stuck only contacting Noya whenever they happen to run into each other in town. Belatedly, near the tail end of his run, he realizes that Noya must live nearby, to have been at the park.

So why had he been all the way across town yesterday? Asahi glances back, as if the answer will appear behind him. The cold wind replies, whispering through the bare branches of the trees. He just can’t shake the feeling that something is too familiar about Noya to forget. Maybe it’s just the man’s strange tendencies or the way he seems so desperate for the case to be solved as soon as possible, but Asahi just can’t get rid of this feeling. He doesn’t know what it is yet, only that it feels too important to completely dismiss a third time.

So this time, he tucks it away in the back of his mind for safekeeping.

⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤

“Oi, Azumane,” Kozume leans around his laptop, “what was that new file you got? An investigation?”

Asahi starts at the sound of his voice. After the two loudest members of their agency had gone off on lunch, the room had finally become quiet enough for Asahi to focus on his research. His desk is in clutters, public records scattered across the surface, laptop balanced precariously on the corner and held in place only by half of a large, opened book. Asahi is in the middle of rereading the case file when Kozume speaks up. He's so focused that, in his surprise, he nearly takes out his laptop himself. Kozume just lifts one disinterested brow, strands of dark hair slipping back into their usual place over his face. “Uh,” Asahi begins, eloquently, “something like that. Client wants me to look into a closed case. I think he’s probably got some pretty personal roots in it, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him it isn’t a good idea to reopen old wounds.” “You’re too nice, Azumane-san.” Akaashi remarks from his desk without looking up. “Sometimes, it’s best to put a stop to it before it can start.” “Then again,” Kozume muses, “I guess we are getting paid for this, huh?”

They lapse into a mutual silence again.

Asahi feels like there are still eyes on him, but Akaashi is still looking at the paperwork on his desk and Kozume has returned to his laptop screen. The rest of the employees aren’t here, and Narita is presumably still at the front desk. With a faint frown, Asahi shakes the feeling away and returns his attention to the files.

His information is severely limited. That’s the biggest issue. If there had been an address on the file he could have started his investigation there, but Noya would be the easier source. The only issue with that is that Asahi still hasn’t gotten Noya’s contact information to ask him about it. That being said, he’s not even sure if Noya actually knows anything or if this just happens to be a personal investment of his. Asahi isn’t in the habit of prying about people’s personal connections to a case. As long as he can get their information and go on about his business, he’s content, but Noya is so forthright and intense that Asahi can’t help but be curious.

It bothers him, but he doesn’t know why.

“Oh,” says Kozume, voice breaking into Asahi’s thought process abruptly again, “another robbery. I wonder if it’s a chain?”

When Asahi looks back up, Kozume is still looking at his laptop, but now he’s leaning closer to the screen, visibly reading something. He turns away and wheels his swivel chair over to the side table by the door to retrieve the remote.

“Last I heard, there wasn’t any correlation between the places that were being hit.” Akaashi replies, gaze lifting from his papers. “They’re thinking it’s separate cases, but who knows. The police don’t read too into situations if the evidence is obvious.” “Lazy asses,” Kozume scoffs, clicking through channels on the overhead TV.

“Robberies?” Asahi speaks up, confused.

He hasn’t been actively keeping up with the news outside of early weather reports recently, a little more concerned with his own issues and his work. It’s more than enough to balance work and the whole memory loss thing, and while he definitely should be better about keeping up with the rest of the world, it hasn’t been his main concern as of late.

Kozume settles on a news channel. The news anchor is in the middle of reporting on the subject at hand — another local robbery. It’s the third in the past two weeks, but there’s no evidence to connect it to the other two. This one had targeted a tiny, one bedroom home on the city outskirts. Asahi frowns at the news coverage. He doesn’t understand why anyone would target a place where there was unlikely to be anything to be gained, but he feels bad for the homeowner. The newscast says they came out undamaged since they weren’t home at the time, but nonetheless, he understands the feeling of having your life uprooted suddenly.

Asahi shakes his head and returns his attention to the files before him, scribbling notes down on things to look into further and potential leads. He’ll have to remember to find Noya again and get his contact information this time. Noya is the best lead he has at this point, and hopefully he can get something out of the other man to get him somewhere in this seemingly dead end case.

In the background, the television drones on.

When evening gives way to the end of his work day, Asahi finds himself searching the rush hour crowd for the tuft of electric blond that he’s becoming so familiar with. He can’t figure out why he’s trying to find Noya here; after all, he’d come to the conclusion that he lives on the other side of town, so he doubts he’ll see him here. On the other hand, it’s possible Noya works over here too. It’d be a strange coincidence for him to be in the same working and living situation as Asahi himself, but it’d make sense as to why Noya had come to their agency in particular. It's possible that it's also the opposite way around, with Noya living here and working on the other side of town. All of the facts Asahi knows check out with one of those theories; it’d explain why Noya was at the train station, too.

But by the time he gets to the station, he hasn’t spotted Noya anywhere. Even amongst the people waiting on the platform, he can’t see the wild, dark hair, and there’s a pang of disappointment in his chest. He tries to ignore it, but it’s a persistent feeling, and more surprisingly, one that doesn’t feel new. He can’t imagine forgetting someone like Noya, but he’d forgotten someone like Suga already, so his memory loss isn’t discriminating.

The train whistles a warning. Asahi startles, hurrying on instinctively. He hadn’t even realized the train had pulled up. He looks for Noya one more time, but upon confirming that the other man is nowhere to be seen, averts his gaze to his feet. The train doors hiss shut around him, before it lurches into motion, pulling away from the platform.

It’s strange, he thinks, how lonely the platform looks disappearing behind them.

When the train comes to a hissing stop at his destination platform, Asahi’s phone begins to vibrate aggressively against his thigh. He waits until he’s clear of all the people to check it, unlocking the screen to several tests and a missed call from Suga. Just as he’s going to check the texts, Suga’s name lights up his screen again. Asahi nearly drops his phone in his haste to answer the call.

“Asahi!” Sugawara practically yells. “Have you been keeping up with the news?”

Asahi slowly brings the phone back to his ear as he walks, having held it away in his haste to avoid having his eardrums blown out.

“The news?” He echoes. “Like the robberies?”

“Yeah! Apparently, there was another one! I guess the person tried to fight back and get this - they ended up in the hospital with multiple gunshot wounds.”

Asahi grimaces. If all of these robberies are connected, then it could be a problem. Generally speaking, most robbers would flee if they were caught or met with resistance, but if this one had no qualms with hurting people, it could get dirty. Asahi is hoping they aren’t connected, but it’s starting to look doubtful. He’ll have to catch up on the situation when he gets home.

“That’s-”

Asahi cut off, turning his head to follow the abrupt streak of color that had caught his eye. He’s a few blocks from his apartment, at best, but now he turns around entirely, gaze searching. He spots it again just in time to watch it vanish through the door of a tiny coffee shop. Asahi hesitates.

“Asahi?” Sugawara calls from his phone. “Hellooo? Earth to Asahi! What happened?” “S-Sorry, Suga,” Asahi says quickly, feet already guiding him towards the building, “I have to go. I’ll call you back later, okay?”

“Huh? Hold on, wh-”

The line goes dead as Asahi jabs the end call button, shoving his phone unceremoniously back into his pocket as he enters the cafe. The bell chimes gently overhead as he pushes the door open, and someone at the front calls out a greeting that he only half hears. He’s busy thinking about how Suga will be upset with him later for hanging up so abruptly; he’s thinking that maybe he should feel a little worse about that than he does, and it has him wondering if he’s less of a friend for it. He’s busy thinking about how he’s sure to get an earful later, but his body is moving across the cafe, toward a booth in the corner where he can see the backside of dark, wild hair, and the small flick of a tag sticking up from the inside of a white t-shirt.

The man in the booth lifts his head when Asahi rounds the table, piercing gaze fixing onto the detective. It’s as if he comes back to earth all at once, awareness lighting his eyes and his expression picking up in something vaguely resembling surprise. “Asahi!” He half yells, slamming his palms into the table and standing in one motion.

Asahi flinches at the abrupt shout and one of the employees glances their way. Ducking his head bashfully, Asahi makes himself as small as possible as he slides into the booth across from Noya, reaching out to gesture Noya back into his own seat. Preferably, he thinks, as quietly as possible.

Luckily, Noya drops unceremoniously back into his seat, staring intensely at Asahi.

“What are you doing here?” He demands.

“I…” Asahi grimaces, knowing how strange this is going to sound, “I saw you coming in. You never gave me any sort of contact, so I haven’t been able to reach you for anything regarding the case.”

Noya visibly straightens. “Have you figured out something new?”

“Well, not exactly, but-”

“Oh,” Noya continues, cutting him off, “I don’t have a phone.”

Well, that certainly threw a wrench in things, didn’t it? It’s just Asahi’s luck, he supposes. Still, he’s got to figure out some way to keep up contact with Noya, since he’s Asahi’s only sure link to the case.

His phone buzzes incessantly in his pocket.

“Okay, then take mine,” Asahi grabs a napkin from the table, fishing a pen from the front breast pocket of his jacket. “And if you can, just let me know if you come across anything new. Can we meet again sometime here to sit down and talk? Like Friday?” Noya takes the napkin and with surprising tenderness, folds it, and tucks it into the pocket of his black basketball shorts. He’s staring at Asahi still, but Asahi can’t tell what he’s thinking about.

“Okay,” Noya says, “Friday.”

And there it is again; Asahi meets his gaze and he feels like he’s missing something, like there’s a piece here that he should be aware of. He can’t shake it, that feeling that he just knows Noya from somewhere, from before all this.

“Noya,” he breathes, “have we met before? Before you came in with the case?”

Noya scrutinizes him for a long moment, almost unresponsive, as if the question hadn’t even registered to him. There’s something off about the entire moment, the motionless state of someone who feels like he should always be moving. Slowly, his lips pinch into a frown, just a little downward tilt that looks so off on his features. His expression darkens, hooded over like a shadow fell across him.

He looks unsure. He looks scared.

It’s only for a moment, so quick that Asahi is sure it must have been his imagination because then Noya is laughing, loud and rambunctious and more like the one that seems familiar to Asahi.

“No way!” He decides. “You must be imagining things, Azumane-san! There’s no way you’d forget someone as cool as me!”

Asahi feels like his veins have frozen over. He’s cold down to the bone.

“Of course,” he agrees, smiling shakily, “that’s true.”

There’s a seed of doubt rooting itself in his chest, and Asahi is too scared to try to figure out the root of it.

He stands again, bidding Noya a good night, and hurries out the door before the other man gets another word in edgewise, but he feels Noya’s gaze follow him out the door. His phone vibrates in his pocket again, and he takes it out, preparing himself for the earful he’s going to get.

Something is reassuring about Suga’s ranting on the other end. It gets him home.

When he looks over the case again that night, he writes details about the recent robberies down on a notebook next to it. He gathers what he can from the news and more from the internet. Tomorrow, he’ll get more info on it from Kozume, and Friday, he’ll get what he can from Noya. He doesn’t know yet if he’s making progress here, but he’s hoping for the best.

At this point, it’s all he can do.

It isn’t until he’s getting ready for bed, braiding his hair back out of his face, that the thought strikes him. He’s thinking about the tiny coffee shop, about the bell over the door, about the way Noya had called him Asahi. He has the distinctive memory of introducing himself only as Azumane.

So where had Noya gotten his given name?

⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤

“You look different,” Noya remarks.

Asahi feels like he’s having deja vu. He hardly knows where the week has gone, and now he’s back at the tiny coffee shop with Noya. They’re seated in the same booth as before. Noya’s shirt tag is sticking out. Asahi has his hair loose.

“It’s the hair,” they say, in sync, and Noya grins when Asahi cracks a smile.

“Finally!” He laughs. “I was starting to think you couldn’t smile properly! You’re so nervous all the time that I was starting to wonder how you’d ended up in this line of work.”

Asahi tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “Well, I’m sure it probably wasn’t my dream career, but I don’t remember enough about my old life to know how true that is. I guess it seems like a pretty unpredictable career, but it’s routine enough to be comforting.”

Noya frowns at him. “Whaddya mean you don’t remember?” Asahi winces. Outside of the fact that nobody else wants to discuss the accident, Asahi tries not to talk about it too much. Trying to remember gives him an intense migraine, and he hates the pitying looks he gets from it. He hates feeling helpless, and there’s this part of him that wouldn’t be able to handle it if Noya looked at him like that.

“I had an accident a while back,” Asahi replies vaguely, waving one hand dismissively, “nothing important.”

Noya’s watching him like he doesn’t believe him. Asahi avoids his gaze; he has the distinct feeling that Noya will see right through him otherwise.

“Okay,” Noya finally says, “then what about that necklace you’re always playing with? The ring. Are you married or something?”

Asahi doesn’t even realize he’s messing with it until Noya points it out. He’s busted, caught like a deer in headlights under Noya’s drilling questions. His words die in his throat, lips parted but nothing coming out.

I don’t know, he thinks, clenching his fist around the ring. He shoves it back into his shirt and grips the edge of the table, focusing on keeping his hands there. “No,” he manages, smile tight again, “but it doesn’t matter. We’re here to talk about the case, remember?”

Noya’s gaze flicks down, but he doesn’t push it.

“Right.”

Noya talks. It’s not all connected, more stream of thought and dropping details as they come to him, but Asahi listens. He takes notes, putting things that he knows already on one page and things he’s hearing for the first time on another. Some of Noya’s tales have nothing to do with the case, but Asahi lets them slide, and then he realizes that Noya hasn’t been talking about the case for a while.

But here’s Asahi, pen down and still listening. There’s something about Noya’s energy that’s so easy to get wrapped up in, and Asahi hadn’t even realized he was in it until it was too late. Maybe it’s the way Noya feels familiar to him, like second nature, or the way he’s sure he must know Noya from before, but the sensation is contagious, quick like electricity and quiet like a thief.

“Azumane-san?”

Noya’s voice breaks into his thoughts again. Asahi starts, focusing back on the task at hand. He doesn’t know when he’d stopped writing, or when the case discussion had ended and the casual talk had begun, but he does realize, belatedly, that they never got their coffee. The baristas bring them out here, he’d noticed, so it strikes him as a little strange.

“Sorry,” Asahi tells him, “I just realized we don’t have our drinks.”

As if on cue, Noya’s gaze moves from Asahi to the woman approaching their table. Asahi tears his gaze away from the man in front of him to focus on her as well, putting on his most polite smile as she sets the coffee down in front of him.

“Here you go,” she says, “sorry about the wait.”

She turns to leave, and Asahi realizes that she’s only brought his drink.

“Sorry, ma’am?” He calls quickly. “What about my fri-”

He turns to gesture at Noya and falters. The seat across from him is empty; Noya is gone. The employee gives him a strange look, glancing between him and the empty booth across from him. Asahi swallows his sentence back down, where it feels like a thick lump in his throat.

“Nevermind,” he says instead, “thank you.”

She glances at the booth opposite of him again and then seems to simply accept it as strange, for she turns and heads back to the front, leaving Asahi alone with the ghost of Noya’s electric presence.

He ends up getting a to-go cup for his coffee.

Asahi doesn’t know how he got back to his apartment, only that he gets there and he comes back to awareness when he’s unlocking his front door. He falters, hand on his doorknob, gaze fixed on the crook between his thumb and his forefinger. Everything comes back all at once. Is this the right thing to do? Should he have just followed the advice and refused the case upfront? He doesn’t even know when Noya had slipped out. Had it been the brief moment he’d turned his attention to the girl at the shop? Asahi hadn't even heard the bell.

Why hadn’t Noya said anything?

Asahi is starting to think he’s getting too ahead of himself, thinking one normal conversation and a borrowed jacket makes them friends or something. But there’s the thought he’s been hesitant to admit to himself; he wants to be friends with Noya. Something about the other man makes him feel comfortable, regardless of his eccentric nature, and he’s starting to think that maybe Noya was right about his career choice being the wrong one for him.

He can’t afford to get attached to every other person he meets in this line of work. Noya is the first, but Asahi can’t say for sure if he’ll be the last, and Asahi doesn’t even know when the line in the sand got washed away. He doesn’t know if it happened halfway through their conversation or the first time he’d realized something about Noya was too familiar to ignore. Still, Noya had been right about one thing: there’s no way Asahi could have forgotten someone like him.

It’s the only reason Asahi is hesitant to let the feeling of familiarity go.

He realizes with a start that he’s still standing outside, so he pushes the door open and ducks into his apartment. Whatever he ends up deciding to do here, he’s got all the information he thinks he’s going to get from Noya. For now, he needs to crack down on the case. The longer he drags this on, the worse it will get for the both of them. He wants to give Noya the best chance he has of moving on from this, and the only way to do that is to solve it as soon as possible.

Asahi takes his shoes off at the entryway and heads into the living room, setting his bag down next to the low table in front of his couch. He yanks his hair up into a half-hearted bun and collects his notes and files, adding them to the growing pile on the table. Clicking the television on for background noise, he gets to work sorting. The details are still minimal, and the progress looks minimal, but it’s better than nothing. Besides, there’s still that robber at large, and while Asahi has no surefire proof to connect the two outside of a gut feeling, he’s learned very quickly to trust his gut.

He glances up at the TV just in time to catch a glimpse of a reporter standing in front of a house, door caved in and front yard taped off by obnoxious yellow crime scene signs. It catches his attention immediately, so he glances down at the caption.

Armed robbery. Voluntary manslaughter.

Asahi’s heart jumps to his throat. His eyes dart down to the file. What were the odds?

What if it hadn’t been involuntary? The file states that the person had been found dead at the scene, a victim of multiple gunshot wounds from a robbery gone wrong. Robbery. Check. Armed suspect. Check. Had they considered a lack of qualms against hurting people? Asahi flips his notebook to a fresh page and begins charting all the locations the robber had hit thus far. Maybe there’s some sort of pattern they’re overlooking, a rhyme or reason to the places the robber is targeting.

His facts are minimal but sure.

The robber only targets houses, never businesses. The types of houses vary. No known pattern thus far.

The robber is armed and dangerous. Generally, there’s minimal damage to any people they happen to rob, but when those people get in the way or fight back, it’s a different story. There have been people both hospitalized and killed.

The robber has no qualms about killing people who got in the way.

Asahi stares at the page. Finally, at the bottom, he writes Noya? beneath his list of facts. He doesn’t know what the precise connection is with Noya’s case in all of this, but if he can predict where the robber is going to strike next, maybe there’s something to be found there. That’s only if the police themselves don’t beat him there first. Either way, hopefully, some sort of confession would come out and Asahi could call this closed properly. If this is unrelated, then he’s going to have to think of something else fast.

It’s nearly four in the morning when he finally talks himself into going to sleep, but it’s restless at best, and he rises early. He’s off on weekends, so they’re his only opportunity to go get things done if he doesn’t want to go right after work. The case weighs heavily on his thoughts for the entirety of his morning run. When he passes the lake he’d run into Noya at that time, he pauses, only for a moment, to glance around, but Noya isn’t there.

Asahi keeps running, but he’s starting to feel less like he’s keeping active and more like he’s trying to get away from something. He feels like he’s running away from a lot of things, as of late. It can’t be helped.

Azumane Asahi is a coward, he tells himself, and this time he doesn’t think it’s a lie at all.

The next time he sees Noya, it’s on the same route and nearly a week later. Asahi finds himself searching the route consistently without even knowing if Noya even lives in the area, hoping to catch some sort of glimpse of the other man. He hasn’t heard anything from Noya since the day at the coffee shop, and he’s starting to grow a little concerned.

His traitorous heart says something else, but Asahi tries not to listen too hard to things made of glass.

There’s rustling overhead when Asahi passes beneath a tree. It’s followed by a loud yowl, and it’s this that makes Asahi falter in his steps. He pauses, turning his head up to squint into the branches. The early morning sun is bright, near blinding, but the shadow that covers Asahi blocks it out.

He sees the little tag sticking out of the collar of the white shirt first, and then the outstretched arm, pale and skinny, reaching out to a higher branch. Asahi can mostly only see the person’s silhouette, but he knows that figure anywhere.

“Noya?” He calls up hesitantly.

Golden eyes fix on him immediately. Noya looks vaguely surprised, arm still outstretched, lips parted into a perfect little circle. There’s a cat a few branches up from his perch, a skinny little tabby with all of its fur puffed out. Its teeth are bared at the other man, a low growl rising in his throat.

Asahi hasn’t ever seen a cat react like that to someone. Usually, the strays around this area are calm, used to the joggers and families who come through the park trails all the time. He frowns a little at the sight, putting one hand on his hip and using the other to shield his eyes as he peers up.

“Oh,” says Noya, “Hey, Azumane. Fancy seeing you here.”

“I run here every morning now,” Asahi frowns, “you already knew that. What are you doing up there?”

Noya gestures to the cat, who swings at his moving hand. “I came up to save him, but he won’t let me anywhere near him. I think I’m just gonna grab him and deal with the consequences later.”

“What.” Asahi intones.

Noya reaches for the cat.

“What?” Asahi repeats. “Wait, no-”

Noya stretches out of his crouch and snatches the cat in one quick motion. The tabby immediately begins yelling, claws sinking wherever they can reach. Noya yelps, and then takes a surprised step back into mid-air. Asahi shouts. All at once, Noya and the cat come crashing down through the branches, and Asahi slides down on his knees beneath them, breath leaving his body as they collide.

Asahi groans softly from his place on the ground. Noya scrambles off of him, eyes wide. He’s still holding the cat, who looks shaken, but overall unharmed.

“Asahi!” Noya gasps. “Are you okay? Shit, I’m sorry!”

Asahi waves him off with one hand, sitting up slowly. His torso aches where he’d ungracefully caught them, but at least they seem unharmed. His hair falls loose around his shoulders, and he looks around for the tie, only to find it snapped on the ground. It’d been fraying, so he isn’t surprised, but it’s still a little inconvenient.

“It’s okay,” he manages, when he finally catches his breath, “are you two okay?”

Noya beams, holding the cat up victoriously. “We’re totally fine!”

The cat bites Noya’s hand. Noya drops the tabby, and he bolts without so much as a glance back. The short man sulks as he stares after the vanishing animal, crossing his arms over his chest. There are claw marks down the length of his forearms and branches still stuck in his black basketball shorts.

“Rude,” Noya says, getting up.

He offers a hand to Asahi, but Asahi, a little doubtful that Noya can lift him, stands on his own.

“You should be more careful,” he says, frowning.

“I had it handled!”

“You fell out of a tree.”

Noya purses his lips. “You know. Fair.” He sticks his index finger out as if to agree that Asahi has a point. “You got me there.”

“How did you even get up there?” Asahi asks, gazing up at the tree.

There aren’t any visible branches that Noya could have used to climb, and Asahi has to admit that even with his height, he would have been hard-pressed to reach the lowest ones. There’s no way to get a handhold on the trunk, either, so he’s not sure how Noya got up there to begin with.

Noya shrugs. “I climbed? The cat couldn’t get down so I went up to help him.”

Asahi sighs. “Okay, Noya. My apartment isn’t far from here, so let me at least treat the scratches. It’d be bad if you got something.”

Noya hesitates, but then he looks down, inspects his arms, and grimaces a little.

“Okay, lead the way.”

Asahi tucks his hair behind his ears and turns, starting at a steady pace back up the pathway. Noya keeps at his heels, carefree and cheerful as he turns his arms over, inspecting his new battle scars. It’s almost endearing, Asahi dares to think, but he’s still not over how the cat had acted with Noya. Asahi is sure Noya isn’t a bad person, but he’s never seen a reaction like that in the months he’s been running here.

He frowns back as if the tree itself will give him answers, but it stands tall and silent, shadowed against the pale blue sky.

When they climb the steps to Asahi’s apartment, the realization hits him like a bullet. He’s bringing Noya into his apartment. How had they gotten here? Is his apartment even clean? It’s so plain that he doesn’t know what Noya is going to think about it. Had he done the dishes already or were they still sitting in the sink?

Anxiety settles in like a second skin, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. They’re already at the door and Noya is looking up at him expectantly, waiting for him to unlock it. Asahi tries to hide the way his hands shake as he puts the key in the lock and opens it, letting Noya into the dark entryway.

Noya kicks off his shoes at the entrance, and Asahi follows suit, stepping in ahead of the other man. The sink is clean. The living room has a few books on the table and stray papers from his brainstorming session the other night, but otherwise it isn’t unacceptable. He flicks the light on and crosses to the table, shoving the papers messily together.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company,” he says, “make yourself at home and I’ll grab my first aid kit.”

Noya plops onto the couch, looking around like a curious child. Asahi feels strange having someone over like this. He seldom has company, especially new company, and he feels like he’s being assessed for some sort of test. Clutching the papers to his chest, Asahi hurries into his room for the first aid kit in his bathroom.

Noya is still sitting on the couch when Asahi returns. His gaze is fixed on a photo hanging on the wall. It’s of Asahi, fresh out of the hospital, Suga and Daichi standing just behind him in the frame. Shimizu had been the one to take it, and it’s one of the earliest things he still remembers. Noya frowns at it a little, like he’s struggling to think about something, and Asahi just figures he must have zoned out.

“Noya?” He says as he nears.

Noya straightens, almost imperceptibly, turning his gaze to Asahi as the other man crouches in front of him, opening the first aid kit and setting it aside on the table. Noya gets the hint and offers out his arms while Asahi prepares a cotton pad for cleaning the scratches.

“Ouch,” Noya hisses once Asahi starts dabbing over them.

Asahi shakes his head, holding Noya by the wrist to keep his arm steady.

“Are those your friends?” Noya asks suddenly.

Asahi glances up at him, and then back at the photo. “Yeah,” he says, turning his gaze back onto his task. “The one with the silver hair is Suga. The dark-haired one is Daichi. Our other friend, Shimizu, took the photo, but she’s not very fond of being in them. They were there with me when I was in the hospital for a while.”

“What were you there for?”

Asahi grimaces, remembering why he’d avoided the subject the last time he’d talked to Noya. “Uh,” he starts hesitantly.

He can feel Noya’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t meet his eyes. Asahi gets the feeling that he’ll spill everything if he does, so he stubbornly keeps his focus on treating Noya’s scratches.

“It’s okay, Azumane-san,” Noya laughs, “you don’t have to tell me. I was just being nosy.”

Asahi exhales, a little relieved. He wraps up Noya’s first arm, having finished treating the scratches there. Moving onto the second one, Asahi grabs a fresh cotton pad. He frowns as he sets back to work.

“Noya,” he starts, “where did you go, the other day? At the cafe, I mean?”

Noya stiffens a little under his grip.

“Sorry about that,” the other man mumbles, “I had an emergency I had to handle, so…”

“Oh,” says Asahi, unconvinced, “okay. I was just worried… You just up and vanished without saying anything.”

Noya doesn’t go into any more detail, and Asahi doesn’t push it. He gets the feeling Noya isn’t telling the whole truth, but he’s not going to try to force it out. He has his own secrets, and he’s sure Noya has plenty himself. Despite seeming like a very open person, he’s come to notice that Noya is strange, like he’s never quite there most of the time, and the times that he is, he seems so full of life that he’s ready to burst with it.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Noya’s voice is painfully soft.

Asahi’s heart aches. He doesn’t know why that gentle voice hurts, only that it does something strange to him. He catches himself holding his breath, as if even that will break this moment. He knows better. He knows better. He doesn’t know Noya, and Noya doesn’t know him. They’re client and employee, nothing more.

Asahi doesn’t even know himself. How could he even hope to let someone else know him?

“It’s okay,” Asahi gets out, but his voice sounds foreign to himself like it’s coming from someone else speaking in his place instead of him.

Something about the intimacy of the moment makes Asahi feel like he’s an outsider, watching his own hands and fingers tenderly take care of Noya’s newly acquired scratches. He knows there’s more on the man’s face, but he’s scared to raise his gaze. He’s scared that whatever is happening is going to shatter the moment they make eye contact. Asahi is going to realize it’s all in his head, or Noya is going to realize it’s strange for him to be in what is essentially a stranger’s house.

He feels like he knows Noya. The feeling won’t go away, but Noya has told him that he’s sure they’ve never met. Asahi couldn’t forget someone like him, and Asahi is inclined to agree. He’s stalling now, and he knows it, and he’s sure Noya knows it, but neither of them say anything about it as Asahi cleans over the scars a second, and then a third time.

Finally, he bandages the second arm. Noya’s skin is cold beneath his grip, freezing like the other man has been standing in negative temperatures for hours. Asahi knows this isn’t the case, so he assumes Noya must just run cold in comparison to Asahi himself. Noya seems unbothered, either way.

“Thanks,” Noya finally breaks the silence.

Asahi dares to raise his gaze. Noya’s eyes are trained on him, sharp and focused with such intense clarity that Asahi is momentarily taken aback. Noya looks as if he’s a page ahead of Asahi, waiting for him to catch up. Asahi isn’t sure if he should, much less if he wants to.

“Well,” he replies, averting his gaze to get another cotton pad, “I wasn’t just going to leave you after I watched it happen. I don’t mean to be rude, but you seem like you’d neglect taking care of them.”

Noya grins crookedly in the corner of his vision. “You’re right,” he says, “I would. But that’s not all I was thanking you for.”

Asahi pauses, mid-turn, pad raised to start in on the scratches on Noya’s face. He blinks, confused. “Huh?”

“That was for everything,” Noya continues. “I know this case isn’t easy on you. I’m sorry I dumped it on you, but something told me you’re the only one who can handle it, and I always listen to my instinct. It hasn’t steered me wrong yet. So I was saying thank you for putting up with all of this.”

Oh, Asahi thinks, and then says, “Oh.”

Noya laughs. “Oh?”

“Sorry. No, wait. I mean… You don’t need to thank me.” Asahi reaches out, carefully starting to clean the scratches across Noya’s cheek.

“Ow,” Noya says, again.

“Sorry,” Asahi frowns, knowing there isn’t much he can do about the pain.

“It’s okay. I got myself into this, so I’ll tough it out!” The golden-eyed boy declares.

Asahi smiles to himself. Noya’s energy is near contagious, and he’s just about forgotten about his previous anxiety of having the other man in his house. Noya seems nonchalant and uncaring, like he doesn’t care to judge how Asahi lives either way.

“There,” Asahi says, putting bandages over the last few scratches. “Done.”

Noya gives him a double thumbs-up, grinning so widely it looks painful. “Cool! Thanks, Asahi! You’re the best!”

Asahi holds both hands up placatingly. “I wouldn’t go that far…”

“No!” A fire lights in Noya’s eyes, and he reaches out, grabbing both of Asahi’s hands so abruptly that the brunet squeaks. “It’s true! Don’t go selling yourself short, okay?”

Asahi’s voice catches in his throat. He wants to protest again, but Noya’s gaze is so intense that he physically can’t bring himself to do anything more than nod in agreement. It seems to satisfy Noya, so he releases Asahi’s hands and hops up from the couch.

“Alright! I’m gonna head out now, but I’ll see you soon, yeah? We’ll get this done!”

Noya reaches out, bumping Asahi’s shoulder with his fist. The little tap startles Asahi back into reality, and he scrambles to his feet, following Noya to the door and watching him put his shoes on. At the door, they both hesitate. Asahi looks down at his feet, but he can feel Noya’s gaze on him.

“Be safe,” Asahi says, finally.

Noya stares at him for a long moment. Finally, he reaches out, squeezes Asahi’s arm, and then turns away and bolts down the stairs. Asahi watches him jog down the road, and then vanish over the crest of the hill, out of sight, but never out of mind.

Maybe, he considers, he should have tried to make him stay.

Asahi stares at the hill Noya had vanished over for a long moment longer. He stares as if he’s waiting for the other man to turn around and come back, citing that it’s too late to head home, and the trains aren’t running anyway, so it’d take a while on foot. Asahi still doesn’t know if Noya lives nearby or closer to the agency, but either way, he could have thought of something.

He stares on, but Noya doesn’t come back. Finally, Asahi closes the door behind him and flicks the lock.

“You’ve been busy lately,” Kozume remarks, the following Monday, without looking up from his Switch screen.

Asahi doesn’t know how he gets away with playing video games at work so often, but he supposes as long as Kozume is efficient at his job, their boss doesn’t really care. He’s starting to give Asahi some eyes about the case he’s on, so he knows it’s time to hurry up and wrap it up.

Narita comes in, bearing coffee. He hands them out to each of the others in the room, setting Kozume’s next to him and handing Akaashi’s off. Crossing to Asahi, he offers out the coffee.

“Same as usual? How’s it going?” He asks.

Asahi accepts the warm drink from the receptionist. “It’s going,” he sighs, “I haven’t made too much progress outside of some guessed predictions. My sole witness has this habit of up and vanishing and apparently doesn’t have a phone to contact.”

Narita nods sympathetically. “Client isn’t making it easy, huh? This is probably your first one of those, but I see them come through all the time. It’ll work out, so don’t stress too much.”

“He can do with a little stress,” Akaashi comments, taking a sip of his coffee.

Narita turns to give him a withering look and then turns back to Asahi. “Anyway, drink up while it’s warm and then go back into this thing with a fresh mind, yeah? Good luck, Azumane.”

Asahi watches the receptionist go, and takes a long drink of his coffee. It burns his tongue, but he doesn’t flinch away. The moment of pain, however brief, does its part to make everything come into sharper focus. Three days from now, he’ll have been slugging through this case for a month. That’s the time limit he’s going to give himself; if he hasn’t figured this out or made any significant progress in the next few days, he’s going to tell Noya he can’t do it.

Resolution set in his mind, Asahi dives back into his work with renewed vigor.

“Don’t stay too late,” Akaashi says, later that night.

Kozume is already long gone, and Akaashi had finished his work, so he’s getting ready to leave too. It’s just Asahi now, with everyone else out. The black-haired man puts his jacket over his arm and strolls out. Only a moment later, Narita peers in.

“Azumane? Someone is waiting outside for you.”

Asahi glances up, confused. He hadn’t been expecting anybody, but it’s as good a reason as any to change location. He nods in acknowledgment to Narita and hurries to pack his things, pulling his bag over his shoulder and heading out.

Outside, he glances around in search of the person. It takes him a minute to spot them, but when his gaze shifts down, it catches on the streak of blond in Noya’s hair. The other man looks up when Asahi emerges from the building, and then stands immediately when he realizes who it is.

“Noya?” Asahi questions, surprised.

“Hey,” Noya smiles crookedly, “sorry for showing up out of nowhere. I was out and I just ended up here. Are you getting ready to head home?”

Asahi readjusts his bag. “Yeah, I just finished for the night. How did you end up way out here again?”

Noya opens his mouth to answer, and then closes it again, frowning in confusion. Finally, he just shrugs a little, as if he isn’t sure himself.

“I just did,” he says. “Can I walk with you?”

Asahi hesitates, but finally nods in concession. Noya falls into step beside him as he heads out towards the train station. It’s later than Asahi usually leaves, and the streets are nearly empty now. The sun is starting to set beneath the taller buildings in the distance, and Asahi gets the feeling it will be well past dark by the time he gets home.

“Do you live around here, Noya?” Asahi asks, glancing down at the other man.

He recalls seeing Noya back near where he lives, as well, but maybe the shorter man just gets around a lot. This is his chance to finally figure it out, so Asahi seizes it.

Noya hesitates a little, lips parting like he’s going to speak, then closing again. “Uh,” he starts, glancing around, “well-”

Noya cuts off, gaze catching on movement nearby. There’s a girl, no older than seven or eight, stumbling down the sidewalk. Even from this distance, Asahi can see the scrapes on her knees. She’s bawling, rubbing her face with the back of her hands, but steadily making her way down the sidewalk nonetheless, like she’s on a mission.

Asahi exchanges a look with Noya, and they both hurry toward her. Noya reaches her first, crouching in front of her and starting to talk. Asahi is a short pace behind him, catching up just in time to hear the child speak through her tears and sniffling.

“A bad man came into our house,” she sniffles, stuttering around her hiccups, “and Mama told me to run away and get help, but she’s stuck there with him!”

Asahi’s blood goes cold. This is it. The one time he hadn’t been trying to find the man and it practically fell into his lap. Noya is clearly thinking the same thing, expression hard and eyebrows downturned. He meets Asahi’s eyes and nods.

“Hi,” Asahi says, crouching down, “I’m a detective. I can go help your mama, but I need you to tell me which house is yours. Can you do that for me?”

The girl sniffs, looking up at him. “T-The one with the flower mailbox Mama and I painted…”

Noya is already running. Asahi squeezes the girl’s shoulders, getting back to his feet.

“Listen carefully. We’re going to go help your mama, so I need you to be brave for me, okay? Find someone and ask them to call the police for you. We’ll make sure your mom is safe.”

The little girl’s gaze follows him as he runs after Noya. He has no chance of catching up with the spitfire of a man, but Noya waits at the door for him, clearly trying to find a good way in. Asahi glances into the shattered window. The coast seems clear. He gestures to Noya and creeps around to the front door, opening it slowly.

It doesn’t creak, and Asahi thanks any god that exists as he and Noya sneak into the quiet house. Asahi puts a finger to his lips, signaling for Noya to follow him. Together, they quietly round the corner and immediately come face to face with the robber.

They catch the man by surprise. Asahi sees it in the glance he gets of the man’s expression before he’s forced to leap out of the way, bullets riddling the wall where he’d just been standing. To his right, Noya hisses from his spot on the ground, and Asahi has to suppress the nausea that rises in his chest at the sight of red blossoming across Noya’s shoulder.

“Noya,” he gasps, scrambling over, “I’m so sorry. I should have reacted faster. You’re going to need medical attention-” “Asahi,” Noya’s grin edges on pained, but he’s pushing through, nudging Asahi away. “I’m fine. I'm tough, remember? So don’t worry about me. I’ll live, so worry about that kid’s mom first. You bust that guy for the both of us, okay?”

His fingers brush Asahi’s cheek, cold against the skin there, and Asahi’s everything zeroes in on just that sensation. He focuses on the way that Noya’s hand feels against his cheek, electricity at his fingertips. He focuses on the way that regardless of whether he’d known Noya before or not, he knows him now, and he wouldn’t ask for it any other way.

Kissing Noya feels like second nature. He’s careful of the other man’s shoulder, even if it’s nothing more than a brief press of lips, but when he pulls away, Noya exhales like it’s the first breath he’s taken in years.

“Stay safe,” he tells Asahi, “‘cause if you die on me, I’ll summon you back and annoy you as a ghost.”

Asahi laughs. “I won’t. Get somewhere safe, Noya.”

He squeezes Noya’s hand and then hurries into the hallway, keeping low and staying alert. He doesn’t know where the robber is, but the robber doesn’t know his location either. But only one of them has a gun, and it isn’t Asahi, so he’s at a disadvantage here. His priority is getting the woman out safely, but he hasn’t seen her yet, so he’s hoping she’s already hiding somewhere safe. His and Noya’s arrival had distracted the robber for a moment, and he just has to hope the moment is enough if he can’t find her first.

Asahi ducks behind the couch just in time to avoid being seen by the man who creeps in through the next hall. He drops to his hands and knees, sneaking around the side to watch the man’s slow progression towards the kitchen, where he assumes there’s a side door. The man’s gaze sweeps the room once, twice. Asahi creeps forward when his back is turned, and the moment he takes a step to move away, Asahi lunges.

He’s scared. God, he’s terrified. He shouldn’t have made any promises to Noya. He isn’t immortal. If this man gets the upper hand, Asahi knows he has no chance.

But he can’t think about that. Right now, he can only focus on survival, on grappling with the man before him for control over the single gun. The robber’s eyes are wide, wild with disbelief. Asahi can’t figure out what he’s so surprised about; surely, he’d expected someone to come after him eventually for all of this? Asahi pulls and the man resists, They shove and turn and twist, brute strength against brute strength, fighting for control of the situation. A stray shot shatters a vase, and there’s a muffled whimper from the closet next to it.

The woman.

Asahi has the upper hand. It’s only for a moment, but the sound distracts him, and the moment is more than enough. The robber twists around and slams his elbow into Asahi’s face hard enough to send him pinwheeling back into the coffee table, head slamming into the wood hard enough to make his vision go black, and then blurry. The aftermath leaves Asahi feeling like there’s an army in his skull waging war against the bones, pounding relentlessly against his forehead.

It hurts. It hurts. He can’t think. He can barely see straight.

He’s been in this situation before.

When he manages to get his vision to focus, only a little, he is staring down the barrel of the gun. The man’s chest heaves, expression twisted in fury, all bared teeth and vicious stance. And this is it — Asahi has no chance here. This is the end, and his promise to Noya will go unfulfilled after all. He thinks about Noya, laughing loud and free, holding his hand to the sunlight so the golden band on his finger glitters. Except Asahi doesn’t know where he picked up that memory. His head is pounding, a steady thump, thump, thump against his skull. His head is pounding and he is thinking and Azumane Asahi is going to die here and now, just like the man in the case he’d been trying so hard to solve. He can’t even close his eyes, watching the man’s finger on the trigger as if in slow motion.

But it never comes.

Instead, there is Noya, howling bloody murder, all feral motions and vengeful anger, streaking out of the hallway and barreling into the man. They both hit the ground and the gun skids away from them. Asahi’s shaken, but he still notices the lack of red staining Noya’s white t-shirt. Asahi trembles, but he realizes right away that Noya’s wound looks as if it had never existed to begin with. Noya looms over the man like a wraith, teeth bared, golden eyes glittering with a promise, a threat, and Asahi thinks to grab the gun before the man recovers from Noya’s winding attack. The would-be thief writhes beneath the other man, but Noya is unyielding and less hesitant than Asahi.

He takes the flower pot off the table and breaks it over the man’s head, knocking him out cold. Asahi is left in stunned silence, clutching the gun, staring at Noya as he hunches over the unconscious man, shoulders heaving with every breath. Asahi is still concerned; he can’t see Noya’s wound, or any sign of it, but for all he knows, Noya had just managed to find an extra shirt. It’s doubtful and farfetched, but it’s the only possible explanation, isn’t it?

“Asahi,” Noya gasps, “Asahi, are you okay? Did he hurt you? You’re bleeding.” He hadn’t noticed, but now that the adrenaline is wearing off, Asahi touches his head and his hand comes away red. He stares at his fingertips, dizzy, and finally sinks to his knees. Noya scrambles off of the man and barrels right into Asahi, straddling his waist to lean over and inspect Asahi’s head. Outside, sirens wail as their backup arrives, and Asahi sighs, relieved that the little girl had found somewhere safe. The officers come flooding in. Asahi feels like hell, but he’s more worried about making sure everything gets taken care of, so he directs them to the woman hiding, and then to the unconscious robber on the ground. It’s over.

Reaching out to touch Noya’s face, Asahi feels like sobbing. “I’m okay,” he rasps out, “I’m okay. You got shot, though, didn’t you? You shouldn’t do reckless things with a wound like that.”

Noya scrambles back off of him and out of Asahi’s reach before the detective can inspect his previously injured shoulder. He takes a little step aside, gaze averted, frown fixed on his features. Asahi’s eyes follow him as he moves away a little.

“Noya?” He frowns, moving to stand.

One of the officers shouts. Asahi’s attention catches on the shout and his gaze follows, catching sight of the previously unconscious man thrashing on the ground. He’s on his stomach facing Asahi, and one of the officers is straddling his back to cuff him. It’s his expression that catches Asahi’s notice, the sheer rage, face twisted up in hatred. His eyes glitter furiously, lips pulled back to bare his teeth in a snarl.

“You’re supposed to be dead!” He shouts. “You both died! I know I killed you, so why the fuck are you still alive?!”

Asahi’s heart falters in his chest. His head hurts. God, it hurts.

“I robbed you months ago! I shot that boy to death! You were dead! You’re supposed to be dead!”

He keeps shouting it. Asahi is cold to the bone, dropped into an endlessly deep pile of fresh snow with no way out. All he sees is the man’s face, and all he hears is dead and his head hurts so much. He’s supposed to be dead? He’s alive, though. He’s alive, but he doesn’t have memories, and he’s supposed to be dead. What boy had he meant? Noya? Did that mean Asahi had known him before after all? Had they both lost their memories?

Something is screaming in the back of his mind to come out. Asahi clutches his head in his hands, feeling panic swell heavily in his throat, suffocating him. His vision is dark at the edges and the gun is on the floor beside him, just within his gaze.

“Asahi,” Noya croaks behind him, voice soft and pained.

Asahi, it echoes and echoes and echoes, and all at once, everything slams back down. He remembers, and he doesn’t know how he could ever forget. The wedding band burns against the hollow of his throat like a brand. He watches, dumbstruck and breathless, as the robber is hauled out. He remembers who he is. He remembers who Noya is.

“Yuu,” he gasps, whirling around.

But the other man is gone.

⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤

Asahi hates the smell of hospitals.

The nurse tells him he’s fine to leave, but he needs to come back for another check-up in a week to make sure there isn’t further head or brain damage. The doctors know his memory has returned, so they’re hopeful, but Asahi can’t share their joy. He goes home, empty-handed and desolate. He’s thinking about everything, about Yuu, about the wedding band around his throat. He doesn’t know where the other man had vanished to this time, but he hopes he’d at least had the sense to get medical attention.

And a week goes by.

In the seven days that Nishinoya Yuu is gone, Asahi dreams.

In his dreams, Asahi dies slowly.

His body is a mass of static and there is nothing but pain and pain and more pain. He’s vaguely aware of someone, somewhere, calling his name. Asahi, they’re saying, Asahi, please wake up.

Except this time, he doesn’t. This time, the pieces reconnect themselves. He is not the one in pain, nor is he the one being called out to. In his dreams, Asahi comes home to their shared home and finds Yuu on the floor, riddled with gunshot wounds and already bleeding out. In his dreams, Yuu is unconscious, and Asahi is sobbing, his voice cracking as he tries desperately to call the police.

“Yuu,” he’s begging, “Yuu, please wake up.”

In his dreams, Azumane Asahi does not make it home in time to stop his husband from fighting a robber. Azumane Yuu had fought alone and lost, and by the time Asahi had gotten back, he’d already been half-dead. Asahi hunches over him, pleading with any god that might listen.

He doesn’t know when he got up, only that he’s standing. He doesn’t know when the man appeared around the corner, only that he’s surprised by his appearance, and when they fight, Asahi does not win. He sees the table come into his line of vision.

There’s pain, and then there’s nothing.

Asahi wakes slowly from the darkness as the pieces slide together in his mind. Suddenly, everything makes sense. He hadn’t given the theory any thought before; it’d simply been the most unbelievable thing, but now he’s sure. It all makes too much sense. The name, the vanishing acts, the same outfit all the time, the strange looks Asahi would get when he would bring Yuu up with others, the missing bullet wound in his shoulder.

Yuu is already dead.

Asahi thinks the cold chill of resignation is the hardest part.

When he sits up, Yuu is sitting on the end of his bed. Asahi can see the door through his blood-stained shirt. The sight makes his heart ache anew. How cruel, he thinks, to make him fall in love with this man all over again, only to lose him once more. Had he really ever had Yuu to begin with?

Yuu looks like he had the last night Asahi had seen him as Azumane Yuu, and not Noya. His face is pale and hollow, golden eyes set into his features, a shade duller than Asahi is used to seeing them. His shirt, previously white, is riddled with bullet holes and stained with blood. Asahi is scared to even breathe for the fear of Yuu leaving once and for all.

Yuu doesn’t look at him when he speaks.

“I’m dead.” It’s not a question. Yuu knows this is a fact. “Right?”

“I’m sorry,” Asahi chokes out.

It isn’t enough. This isn’t enough. He has so much more he wants to say to Yuu. He wants to tell him how sorry he is. He wants to tell him that it should have been Asahi who’d died that day. Yuu had so much to live for, and Asahi barely knows how to live for himself. He wants to tell him how much he loves him, how they were supposed to have a whole life ahead of them. Their adventure had only just begun and it had been torn out from beneath them before they could take the first step.

Asahi chokes on his breath. It isn’t fair. It still isn’t fair.

He wants to say, please, don’t leave me again.

Yuu’s form flickers. Asahi covers his mouth to stifle the sob there. Yuu is in front of him now, gaze soft with acceptance. Even in death, he is the stronger of the two of them. Even now, his unwavering dependability makes Asahi feel safe.

“Asahi,” he says, ghostly fingers brushing past the strands of hair by Asahi’s ears, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Asahi manages. “Why are you sorry? Yuu, I’m the one who should be apologizing. If I hadn’t gotten held up that day-”

“Then you would have died too.” Noya cuts him off.

Yuu stares him down, golden eyes piercing, and Asahi falters beneath that gaze.

“Asahi, I’m saying sorry because I promised you forever, but I have to go now. I love you so much, you stupid crybaby. I love you more than anything, and even if we were reborn, I’d find you again in ten thousand lifetimes. It’s always going to be you. You’re the kindest, bravest person I’ve ever known, and I’d do everything the same if it meant I had the chance to love you.” Asahi feels like he’s suffocating in his own words. He wants to grab Yuu and hold him close, but his hands pass right through the other man’s shoulders.

“I don’t know what to do without you,” he sobs, “Yuu, I don’t want to go without you. I don’t know how to socialize properly, and nobody else reminds me to take my meds. I can’t ground myself alone when I have an anxiety attack, and you always know what to say when I have a nightmare. I’m not brave. I let people walk over me when you aren’t there to tell them to lay off. You can’t leave because I don’t know what to do without you. I’m brave when you’re around because you make me feel like I can be.”

Yuu laughs. It’s a strangled half sob.

“Someone as cool as you shouldn’t be such a crybaby. You’re your own person, Asahi. You don’t need me or anyone else, even if you think you do. I’m not the one who makes you brave. You do that. And I need you to be extra brave for me now, okay?” His smile wobbles as he reaches out, hand hovering over Asahi’s cheek. “I need you to be brave enough to live the rest of your life, even if I’m not there to live it with you. I wish I could stay and make you as happy as you made me. I wish we could travel the world and have kids and grow old together. But I’ll always be with you.” And this time, when he reaches to touch Asahi, his palm settles over the ring strung around Asahi’s neck and stays there. The point of contact is warm, pulsing out into Asahi’s chest. He feels like he can breathe again. Asahi is so tired of being scared.

He manages a shaky laugh. “You still have my jacket.” Yuu smiles, something soft that touches the edges of his eyes. “Yeah,” he huffs, “sorry about that.” Asahi covers the hand Yuu has over his chest with his own. “Yuu,” he says, “I love you. I love you so much and I always have, and I’m sorry I never said that enough. I’m sorry that we couldn’t have the life we deserved. But I’ll keep living for you, as long as you promise to wait for me. Find me again in the next life, and the one after that, and the one after that. Please let me fall in love with you again.” A single tear slides down Yuu’s face.

“Always,” he says.

Asahi does not get his coat back, but he feels it like a pit of warmth in his chest when Yuu is gone. He sinks slowly forward, gathering the blanket up in his arms and pressing it to his face in a futile attempt to gather the last bits of Yuu’s presence from the fabric. But he’s gone, and Asahi is alone again, with nothing but the ghost of his memory and a promise. His room is empty and the pit of warmth in his chest is a sorry excuse for Yuu’s presence. He’s alone for now, but he’s going to be brave, and he’s going to find Yuu again in the next life. He may not have him now, but he’s never going to let him go again. He has that.

His fingers close slowly over the ring dangling from his neck, pressing the memories there deep into his chest where they’ll make a home.

(And this, at least.)

#asanoya #azumane asahi #nishinoya yuu #haikyuu #major character death #unreliable narrator #marimo writes #haikyuu!! #marimo give asahi a break challenge

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

Not Joyce or Monet

PART THIRTY-NINE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: major discussions of parent death/death in general, smoking, drinking, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: Jess publishes his second book and Ella receives a troubling call from Stars Hollow.

Flopping face-first down onto the bed, Ella breathed a sigh of relief. It would have felt strange not to have a little champagne at Jess’s book launch party. But, she was a lightweight. She was floating somewhere between tipsy, buzzed, and drunk. At least she was still capable of slipping off her shoes before making her way to the bedroom. She’d even managed to change into pajamas, brush her teeth, and wash her face. A far cry from the screwdriver incident at Liz’s baby shower. A heavy winter snow fell outside the windows and a touch of cold air seeped into the draughty apartment. Goosebumps rose lightly on her skin. In her state, they felt nice instead of uncomfortable. She was already dozing when Jess came in, having taken a quick shower. His hair was still damp as he climbed into bed next to her, the movement shaking her from her haze.

“Did you like your party?” she murmured, watching as he shut off the lamp and rolled over to face her.

His face was aglow with the bluish light of the snowy Saturday evening. “Mhm.”

She snickered a bit at his nonchalance. “I know you hate parties, but Chris insisted it was the best way to drum up business. And you do like surprises, Mr. Spontaneity. Matthew and I made it as lowkey as we could.”

“It wasn’t so bad, Eleanor. Really,” he said, shrugging. “You’re remembering that you whispered lines from Catch-22 in my ear all night, right?”

“I figured you’d need some Joseph Heller to make it through,” she explained, slightly sheepish.

Jess smiled. “Of course. And watching Chris and Leo get so drunk they do their acapella version of ‘Under Pressure’ could never be bad.”

“Leo does do a damn good Freddie Mercury,” Ella agreed, chuckling. “I didn’t realize the publishing agents would all go blackout level, too.”

“Oh, yeah. You should’ve seen what Chris did for the Subsect launch. It was like that scene where E.T. gets drunk. But if there were fifty aliens in the movie instead of just one,” Jess said flatly, begrudgingly.

“You must be a little drunk if you’re letting a cheesy eighties movie slip. Or have I finally converted you?” she teased, snuggling deeper into the pillow.

Jess smirked. “Not yet. Chris made me try his Manhattans to see if they ‘tasted too much like gasoline.’”

“I have a sneaking suspicion that they did,” Ella said.

“Someone give the lady a prize,” Jess shot back tiredly. “Good thing we walked there.”

“Yeah. And good thing I got to watch you catch a snowflake with your tongue on the way back.”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed, cutie,” she said, forcing her laughter down. “I’ll be eating my words when you watch me fall on my ass while we’re ice-skating with April.”

She knew if he’d been entirely sober, he wouldn’t have gotten so caught up in his wonderment at the storm. But Ella had also seen him sticking out his tongue awaiting a snowflake in an old, yellowing photo album Liz had shown off during her baby shower. In it, Jess had been no more than three. Dressed in a raggedy winter jacket on some grimy corner of New York City. He and Liz were sticking their tongues out together. Seeing the photo had given Ella’s mouth a bittersweet taste. It was hard to imagine Jess ever feeling so relaxed around his mother. She saw the same rare awe from him on the walk home. Most of the time, he was so weighed down by the world he could barely come up for air. She thought she had never seen him look so young at heart before.

“Can’t wait,” Jess hummed, mocking. It was nearly time for April’s winter break, and Anna had somehow agreed to let her spend it with Luke, Lorelai, and Rory. Ella and Jess had opted to return to Stars Hollow for Christmas, after the bumps in the road on Thanksgiving. Two more days, and they’d be braving the icy roads on their way up to Connecticut. April had already called them to schedule a time for ice-skating. The proper, analytical way the little girl spoke never failed to amuse Ella.

“Me neither,” Ella quipped as her eyelids began to droop again. She could smell the minty scent of Jess’s shampoo.

As he watched her begin to drift off, he leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. From what Matthew had said, Ella had essentially been put in charge of the party when Chris’s trademark irresponsibility made an appearance. Matthew had jury duty and couldn’t assume his usual role of organizer in the wake of Chris’s chaotic decision-making. What she’d managed to throw together, though, was one of the better parties Jess had ever been to. The publishers they knew usually sent younger employees to the underground press launches, and Chris had ended up making friends with most of the usual suspects at the launch for Jess’s first book. Ella had made sure the guest list only included familiar faces. If they just had to throw him a surprise party, which Chris demanded (normally, she wouldn’t have listened, but if it was a matter of getting his book better exposure, she was willing to risk it), she’d try to make it as comfortable for him as possible. Or, at the very least, bearable.

And she’d just gotten done with finals two days earlier. He could see how tired she was. Her nerves over the possibility of seeing her father during the winter holidays hadn’t helped her sleeping recently either. Though Jess wasn’t sure how it would actually pan out, she claimed she wanted an attempt at apologizing for what she’d said at Adam’s graduation. She was sick of family nonsense, she said. Maybe if she levelled the playing field, they could begin to understand each other again. Ella herself wasn’t sure exactly what had sparked her desire to try again with her family, but suspected it might have been Thanksgiving. Jess, simply put, was someone she admired. Seeing him trying to mend his relationships (even though he didn’t have to, even though it was difficult), made her feel just a little more confident. Maybe not everything turned out bad, after all.

Shutting his own eyes, Jess slipped his hand beneath Ella’s shirt, his fingertips ghosting over her back. She smiled softly at his touch, feather-light. A pleasant shiver rolled through her.

“Thank you for the party,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Well, thanks for writing my new favorite book,” she answered instantly, sleepy and sincere. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

.   .   .

There were still a couple hours left until lunchtime when Ella slipped through the door at Truncheon, but it wasn’t entirely uncommon for her to show up and work a little. Especially when she was on break from school and got antsy. Jess had debated giving her the easel he’d bought her for Christmas early, so she would have something new to focus on while he tied up the odds and ends at the book press. But, ultimately, he wanted to wait until the morning after they returned to Philadelphia. It would be far more surprising to wake up and find a Christmas present wrapped up in the living room on the morning of New Year’s Day than on the actual gift-giving holiday.

When he’d left for his last day of work prior to their trip to Connecticut, she’d still been half asleep. Her sketchbook was open on her bedside table, a pencil drawing of a child with hollow eyes having yet to be shaded. She’d been up late working on it the night before, on a roll. He hadn’t even shut the door to the apartment before she was out cold again. He’d been anxious to get back home, to pack and prepare for the trip. In his opinion, there was no use in only opening for a Monday and then closing for the holidays the rest of the week, but Matthew’s stickler spirit won out. Jess wasn’t going to be skipping around the store in merriment as the rest of the world took a vacation, but he also wasn’t moping around like Chris. He was in the midst of diffusing an argument between his two coworkers when Ella arrived.

He wanted to smile when he saw her, and almost did. But then he got a good look at her hazel eyes, and immediately he could tell something was wrong. It wasn’t that she was sleepy, though she looked a bit haggard in with her peacoat tied around her haphazardly and her hair wild, dotted with the snowflakes falling steadily outside. Instead, she looked almost unreachable. His Eleanor who was always so present and vivid and alive, even in the midst of drudgery. And she wasn’t daydreaming, either. She wasn’t off in her own thoughts, thinking of Emily Dickinson or James Joyce or Claude Monet. No; she was simply not there. Not really.

“Hey, honey. You’re early,” he began as she approached him, where he stood in between Matthew and Chris. The two of them didn’t even notice she’d come in until Jess addressed her, still too caught up in their argument over where to place the new books of free-form poetry.

Swallowing harshly, Ella gave a weak smile and raked her fingers through her hair. She walked up to them, wringing her hands together. Jess didn’t need to see her hands to know she had already bitten her nails down to the quick. At the interruption, Chris gave a frustrated huff and turned to Ella.

“Ella, please tell Matthew it makes zero sense to put the free-form poetry anywhere near the sonnets! They should be on opposite ends of the store, as far as I’m concerned,” he exclaimed in exasperation.

Matthew rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as his jaw clenched. “I’m glad you’re here, Ella. Please tell Chris that we don’t only sell poetry, and free-form or not, it has no business anywhere near science fiction!”

Furrowing her brows, distracted, Ella shook her head. “Um...I don’t know...but I….”

“What?” Jess asked as she gestured slightly with her hands. Her face was pale, and she almost seemed confused, at a loss for words. It didn’t happen to her often, to say the least.

Blowing out a breath, she tried again, jerking her thumb back over her shoulder. “Back at the apartment...I just got a call from my brother. My dad’s dead.”

Jess’s heart dropped into his stomach. “What?”

“Yeah,” Ella said, nodding. As she continued, she took a hair elastic from her wrist and began pulling her locks into a ponytail. “Adam said he was in a car accident this morning. Driving home from some bar in Maryland. If I had to guess, he was still a little drunk from last night. No one else got hurt, which is good. He hit a patch of black ice, and he was going too fast, and I guess he just went right off the road. Into a tree. And he wasn’t wearing his seatbelt.”

Her speech became more urgent with every word, as they heard it sink in for her in real time. But she was never frantic, only determined and stern. The spacey fog was fading from her demeanor, though it remained in her eyes. Only in her eyes. She didn’t give them time to respond, just kept thinking out loud.

“Noah’s already on a plane from Oregon, but I don’t think he’s gonna be any help. And Adam said Fiona’s freaking out, so I’m almost definitely going to have to make the arrangements. I know you guys have work and stuff, but we need to pack up and get there before the rest of the family does, or everything will probably just explode on principle. Fuck! This is just like him. To die a week before Christmas!”

“Whoa, hey, Eleanor, just slow down for a second, okay?” Jess began, taking a hesitant step towards her and grabbing her hand. He squeezed once, hard, hoping to calm her down at least a little.

“Jesus, Ella-” Chris began.

“I’m so sorry,” Matthew said.

Ella shook her head, her face stoic. “Don’t, okay? Don’t be sorry. No one needs to be sorry. He was a fucking drunk, and it finally caught up with him. I just need to get back to Stars Hollow to take care of this, and then maybe Christmas won’t be completely ruined. Sound good?”

“Elle, just hold on. You should sit down and-” Jess said, but she cut him off.

“No, Jess. Seriously, I’m fine. Let’s just go and get it over with, and then it’ll be done,” she said, her hand never leaving his though she didn’t squeeze back. Her tone was tight, clipped, but she didn’t sound angry. He recognized it from the night on the bridge when she’d told him about the days following her mother’s death. The way she held it all together, and blocked it all out. Numb and headstrong.

“Do you want us to come with?” Matthew asked, watching with uncertainty as Ella began to tug Jess towards the door, grabbing his bag for him and handing him his coat.

“What? Of course not,” Ella said, insistent, as though it were obvious. “All I need to do is steal Jess for a few days. You need to do whatever it is you’re gonna do with Mabel. And Chris needs to do whatever it is he’s gonna do with Leo, and you need to tell me about it when we get back. I can pretty much guarantee your stories will be more fun than mine.”

“Are you sure?” Chris chimed in, brow heavy with worry. Her iciness surprised him. He had never heard someone react to a parent’s death quite so flippantly before.

“Yes. Jesus, Chris, keep up,” she replied, in a way which would have spurred a playful argument on a normal day. Again, her nonchalance unnerved all three of them.

Jess interlocked their fingers again instantly once he had his bag and his coat, almost heading out the door already. She was moving too fast for him to process much of anything, only reacting. He hadn’t seen her in such a frenzy in a very long time. “Eleanor, wait. Stop.”

“I can’t stop, Jess. I told you, we’ve gotta get there before my uncle has time to hit on Fiona and before Noah has time to piss off Adam. It’s fine. I promise. I’m fine.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she pulled him out the front door instead. As they went, she shouted over her shoulder to Matthew and Chris: “Happy holidays! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

And then, she and Jess were gone. Chris and Matthew exchanged concerned, flabbergasted glances.

.   .   .

Flashback was the word that came to the forefront of her mind, as she stared up at the ceiling in the Gilmore living room. Luke and Lorelai were trying, and she appreciated it. They could both tell she didn’t want to talk about it, only wanted a bit of normalcy after the long day. And they’d obliged. After all, they’d had practice. Lorelai knew exactly what to do. She’d had Luke bring dinner home from the diner: turkey sandwiches and sodas. She’d suggested they watch a movie after dinner, something campy horror. Finally, they had settled on The Lost Boys. Ella knew how much Jess hated the movie, especially Kiefer Sutherland’s mullet, but he never complained once. A large part of her wished he would. She wanted it to be the way it was supposed to be. She wanted to have Christmas in Stars Hollow with the people who felt more like her family than her father did. Adam celebrating with one of his school friends in Boston, Fiona with her sister, Noah with his finacée in Oregon. But, of course, things never went as planned. Not in Ella’s experience at least.

At some point during the movie, she’d fallen asleep on the couch. No matter how much she wanted to stay awake until the end, she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Dealing with Fiona’s blubbering and Adam’s silence and Noah’s anger had pretty well exhausted her. Not to mention the business setting up the funeral at the church. She’d spent nearly two hours with the pastor, but the service was only halfway planned. She wished Aunt Julie could arrive sooner, but the girls were in school until Tuesday. Erin had some big recital she was pitching a fit about missing. Ella couldn’t blame her. She wouldn’t want to be there if she didn’t have to be. No, they would arrive on Wednesday morning. Two hours before the funeral, set for noon. At some point before then, Ella would have to sort out the flower arrangements and the music and the programs. At least Luke was providing the food. She assumed he would before he even offered. And she would have to write the eulogy. But she wasn’t even thinking about it yet. Every time the idea of writing it entered her mind, she would start humming a Stevie Nicks song and pointedly ignore it.

It was all too familiar. The planning, the writing, the consoling. Since they’d arrived in Stars Hollow that afternoon, it had been a non stop barrage of tasks and tears. None of it was surprising. And it almost made her want to laugh. The minute she heard that her mother was dead, she had burst out laughing, a nervous reaction she couldn’t control. Granted, the laughter came from deep inside her, and probably resembled a pained shriek more than an actual giggle. But it was laughter nonetheless, and her father had recognized it as such. He’d yelled at her until his voice became hoarse. She knew it wouldn’t happen again. He was the dead one now, after all. But still, she didn’t let the anxious laughter escape. She didn’t let anything escape. After the punishment she’d received for letting go last time, she knew not to do it again. No one was there to smack her, to scream, but she just couldn’t bring herself to forget how it had felt. Like she couldn’t even grieve right. And the best way to grieve became to not grieve at all.

She laid with one hand on her stomach and the other behind her head, analyzing the popcorn ceiling. She’d awoken with the room dim and the TV shut off. A quilt which she hadn’t fallen asleep under was draped over her, and there were hushed whispers in the direction of the kitchen. She hadn’t planned to wake up until morning, but she hadn’t planned to fall asleep there either. They were supposed to be sleeping in the apartment above the diner for the vacation, while Rory and April took the spare beds in the Gilmore house. But neither girl had yet to arrive, and Lorelai insisted Ella and Jess stay over after dinner. It was no use driving over in the snow, even if Luke’s was only about a minute away. Ella couldn’t believe how similar it all was to before. Sleeping alone on the Gilmore couch as others worried over her a few feet away.

She listened, in spite of herself. It was too tempting not to eavesdrop when she’d already heard her name so many times. Luke was concerned about her forgetting to eat. Lorelai was concerned about her shutting everyone out and being overwhelmed by the funeral preparations. And both of them were concerned about her coming to blows with Fiona at some point in the next few days.

Sighing, Ella ran her tongue over her teeth and remembered she hadn’t brushed them. She debated not doing so, but decided to just bite the bullet. With everything else on her mind, she thought it best to eliminate all the outward elements which might impede her from getting back to sleep. She rolled over on her side, preparing to sit up, when she saw Jess. She thought he’d be in the kitchen, talking with Luke and Lorelai. Instead, he sat on the floor with his back against the sofa. His head was near hers, leaned back. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t snoring. She doubted he was fully asleep, but nonetheless attempted to get past him and rummage through the bag on the armchair to find her toothbrush. Her stealth proved lacking, however, when he began to stir as soon as she reached the bag.

“Hey,” he said quietly, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands and doing his best to seem lively. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied, fishing her toothbrush out from the sea of clothes she’d thrown into the duffel before they sped away from the apartment in Philadelphia. “I just forgot to brush my teeth.”

“Oh,” he said, nodding and hoisting himself up. His neck was already sore from the position he’d dozed off in, unwilling to follow Luke and Lorelai into the kitchen with Ella asleep on the couch. “Me too. I’ll come with.”

She nodded back, grabbing his toothbrush as well. The whispers didn’t cease until they made their way into the kitchen, Luke and Lorelai looking up at their entrance. Ella debated using the upstairs bathroom, not disturbing the two of them. But she didn’t have the energy to climb the stairs, and it would be the first time she could get a good look at the new half-bathroom they added next to Rory’s room. The smell of the diner food lingered, and it made Ella’s chest feel just a touch less tight. Lorelai broke out into a small smile at the sight of the two of them.

“You need anything, sweetie?” she asked, speaking only to Ella.

Though she felt a bit uncomfortable under everyone’s gaze, Ella smiled back. There was a warmth in her stomach at Lorelai’s voice. She focused on that feeling, and only that feeling. “No, we’re fine. Just brushing our teeth. The dentist would be pissed at me if I broke the pattern after over twenty years.”

“That’s true. Always best to avoid the Sweeney Todd dentistry possibility,” Lorelai agreed, nodding. Then, she yawned theatrically and looked at Luke, who only rolled his eyes at the dramatics. “I think we’re gonna head upstairs. It’s past our bedtime.”

“Still got those four o’clock deliveries, huh?” Jess asked sullenly, eyeing Luke. Many a morning when he was a teenager, he’d been awoken at half past three by the sound of Luke’s alarm.

Luke sighed. “For the business that housed and fed you for two years? Yeah, I do.”

Ella snorted a laugh, and nudged Jess playfully in the ribs. “Like you’re not always up before the sun, even on Saturday.”

“Where do you think that started?” Jess shot back, pointing an accusatory finger at Luke. “He screwed with my internal clock for life!”

“I think that’s enough fuel for future therapy sessions for tonight,” Lorelai announced, rising from the table, Luke following.

“Agreed,” Luke grumbled.

As they exchanged goodnights, Lorelai gave Ella a kiss on the cheek. Immediately after, she scrunched up her nose and smudged the lipstick from Ella’s freckled skin with her thumb. To Ella’s shock, Lorelai also gave Jess a short hug before making for the stairs. Luke hugged Jess,  too. The two of them still had trouble showing physical affection for each other, as they probably always would. Ella had to stifle a laugh at the awkwardness between them.

When Luke hugged Ella, though, she felt tears prick at her eyes for the first time all day. She recognized his familiar smell, the soft feeling of his flannel, his strong arms around her. Somewhere in her mind, it occurred to her that the way it felt for Luke to hug her was what she had always wanted it to feel like when her own father hugged her. And she knew for sure she would never get it from him. She could finally be certain there was nothing left to do to repair her relationship with him. There was no time left for Jake to make her feel as safe as Luke made her feel. As he never had, even in her childhood. But by the time she and Luke broke apart, she had gathered herself enough. She cleared her throat and blinked away the glassy sheen in her eyes.

Luke ruffled her hair as he stepped back from her. If he saw that she was upset, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Don’t worry, kid. We’ll get everything figured out tomorrow.”

“I know, boss,” she replied.

.   .   .

The cigarette smoke made her a bit nauseous, but it was also comforting in a way she was slightly ashamed of. The winter air was crisp and biting, and her cheeks were frosted roses. Embers glowed orange in the darkness as she took a long drag, burning her lungs. She was already regretting it, but she simply felt too tired to think out the actual consequences of what she was doing. She had tried. She really had. But falling asleep, with Jess snoring softly beneath her as they lay on the couch, was absolutely impossible. Fatigue was weighing down her bones, and there was a perpetual ache throbbing behind her eyes. But each time she got close to sleep, the thought of her father would flash across her mind, and she would be wide awake once more.

Once she gave up, she had managed to sneak outside unnoticed. The wind whispered past her, hollow and haunting. But maybe everything was feeling spookier because death was at the forefront of her mind. Then again, when wasn’t it? Though the shock had certainly hit her with full force when she heard the news, she couldn’t bring herself to be surprised. The other shoe had dropped. She knew it would, just when she let her guard down. The moment she forgot to worry, the universe had knocked her down again. She flicked her cigarette and watched the excess ash melt a small spot in the snow below the steps.

At the sound of the front door creaking open, she startled only a little. For a wild moment, she wanted to put her cigarette out and hide it behind her back, pretending to be innocent. Especially if it was Luke. But she had to remember she was a grown up. And the feeling disappeared entirely when she saw only a disheveled Jess wrapping himself up in his jacket as he came out onto the porch and sat down next to her.

“You’re gonna catch a cold out here,” he remarked, holding her peacoat out to her.

She took it with a trembling hand.

“Thank you,” she said solemnly, breathing out a long stream of smoke as she spoke. The coat was old and cheap, and did little to help a Connecticut winter, but she shrugged it on anyway.

He nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. “Don’t mention it.”

They sat in silence, an owl hooting somewhere in the trees beyond the house. Ella didn’t put the cigarette out until it got so small it began to burn her fingers. After she’d discarded it, her breath still puffed out, along with Jess’s, in frigid white clouds. Flurries of snow fell in scattered sprays, but the night was mostly quiet and overcast. Jess crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.

She spoke, as he knew she eventually would, after a few more minutes. Gesturing down to the crushed cigarette, her tired eyes met his. “Do you want one?”

“No, thanks,” he said, shaking his head. “Where’d you get those in the middle of the night in Stars Hollow, anyway?”

A thin smirk ghosted over her lips. “Snatched ‘em off Bootsy’s newsstand.”

“Really?” he asked, laughing slightly, with eyebrows raised.

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Don’t act so surprised, Mariano. I was sneaking out of my bedroom window long before you got here.”

“Touché.” His eyes lingered on her, hair glistening golden in the soft light and eyes still far off somewhere miles away. He hesitated before he continued. “Did you walk all the way to Bootsy’s without a coat?”

She shrugged, glancing down at the Doc Martens on her feet. “I’m fine. I had my good shoes on. Besides, it’s only like a minute away.”

“Alright.”

“Seriously, Jess. I’m fine,” she snapped after a moment.

“Okay. I get it,” he said instantly. “You’re fine. You’re not cold.”

Ella ran her hands through her hair. Her body shook as she yawned.

“You wanna go back to bed?” he asked.

“No,” she said with a heavy sigh.

“Are you sure?”

“Jesus, Jess! Stop trying to take care of me! Stop asking me questions! Just let me fucking sit here!” Ella exclaimed, huffing in frustration.

Jess recoiled slightly, and he nodded at her again. He ran a hand over his mouth and swallowed down the million other questions which were rising in his throat. The ones she’d refused to ask on the drive up, and the ones she apparently still wanted to avoid. “Sorry.”

She rolled her eyes, mostly at herself. “No, I’m...I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I couldn’t fall asleep.”

“We don’t have to sleep if you don’t want to. We could watch one of Lorelai’s cassettes in there,” Jess suggested, fighting hard to keep his tone light, bracing for whatever reaction she was going to have.

“I love that she still has cassettes,” Ella said wistfully, though not smiling. Her voice was low and raspy as she stared out ahead of her into the darkness and the lightly falling snow.

He nodded a little. “I know you do.”

Ella’s hands were itching to hold another cigarette, but she fought the urge. The pack which sat on the porch steps next to her would almost certainly be crumpled up and thrown in the trash the moment she reentered the house. Along with the lighter. But it was nice to have them there. If she wanted. They sat wordlessly, listening to the rustle of the wind in the evergreen trees. Jess didn’t make a sound. He was just far away enough not to touch her, almost in silent askance of whether she wanted space. She did. And she didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to talk almost as much as she didn’t want to write the eulogy. She wanted to be able to push down the sorrow and the rage until they just dissolved and she was as happy as she had been just a day earlier. Yesterday, she may have even been hopeful. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt hopeful about her family. But, now, she had to stop herself from reaching for a cigarette yet again. And she felt herself wanting a drink. A drink stronger than champagne at a book launch. And then the words started flowing before she could overthink them, before she could lock them away in her heart forever.

She swallowed thickly, looking down into her lap at her nail-bitten hands. “This is just like it was the last time.”

“Oh yeah?” he whispered, shifting a bit closer to her.

“Yeah,” she echoed, so quiet he almost couldn’t hear. She sniffed. “I mean, last time my dad was the devastated one instead of Fiona. But Adam still got pissed at Noah, and Noah only got more pissed because Adam was mad at him.”

Noah had only made it to town an hour before Ella left to go back to the Gilmore residence for the night, but he and Adam were at each other’s throats pretty much as soon as they saw each other. Upset that his Christmas vacation was being disrupted, Noah had insisted on staying at a motel instead of at the little blue house in which they had grown up. Adam wasn’t happy about it, accusing Noah of acting as though he was too good for them. In turn, Noah asked Adam why he wasn’t mad at Ella for staying with Lorelai. Adam had shot back immediately, saying Noah had abandoned the entire family the minute he could, while Ella stayed behind. At that point, Ella knew there was no way to diffuse the situation. She’d only offered to walk back with Noah to the motel, leaving Adam to sleep in his old room. Luckily, Fiona’s sister was already in town for the holiday. So, it didn’t wholly fall to any of the three of them to console her.

Jess and Luke had both offered to go over to the house with her after helping with the arrangements, but she’d insisted on meeting her brothers there alone. The surreality of the moment didn’t dawn on her until she saw Adam’s teary eyes and Noah’s flushed face. It was like she had stepped into the past. She’d come back to the Gilmore house to find Jess sitting in the living room, halfway through the Russian novel he’d brought with. In the face of his questions, she’d only given him the liner notes and then fallen mostly silent for the rest of the evening.

“And Lorelai and Luke won’t let me brush my teeth without asking me if I need anything,” Ella continued, with a scoff in her words. “And, I love them. I do. And I’m so fucking grateful that it hurts. But, I’m fine. I’m totally fucking fine.”

“So I’ve heard,” he quipped.

“You’re hilarious.”

“I’ve heard that, too,” he said.

She laughed breathily, lifting her head to look up at the sky. “Shut up.”

“Will do.”

Then, after a moment: “I just wish...I wish it wasn’t like this. I mean, he was a shitty dad. But he was still my dad.”

He watched as she chose her words, carefully. Her voice had more emotion than he’d heard all day. Bringing his arm around her shoulders, he hoped to lessen the trembling of her hands just a little. She leaned into him, letting herself feel his warmth but fighting the wateriness in her voice. Of all the things she didn’t want to do, crying was at the top of the list.

“And now...I don’t have parents. I don’t even have a dad who hates me and never calls,” she continued.

“He didn’t hate you,” Jess interjected.

She shook her head. “Yeah, he did, Jess. He fucking hated me. Because I looked like my mom and I didn’t like Fiona and I wouldn’t quit talking back at the dinner table. But it doesn’t bother me. I hated him most of the time, too.”

He hummed in response, listening.

Her face crumpled for only a moment. But, again, she regained her composure. A couple silent tears threatened to slip over. “But at least I had someone to hate, y’know? Now, it’s just...no one.”

She took in a shaky breath, and Jess began to rub circles over her back. He recognized that her shivering was no longer due to the cold but from the sobs she wouldn’t let loose. Ella’s stomach did a flip, as she clenched her hands into fists. But she just couldn’t hold it in any longer. She let a single wimper pass her lips. And then, the levee broke. She put her head in her hands and finally began to weep, cries from deep within her escaping at last.

“I just...I don’t have p-parents anymore,” she spoke through sobs, trying to get her voice under control but failing miserably. “I’m not anyone’s daughter anymore. I don’t belong to anyone anymore.”

Jess shut his eyes for a moment, feeling a crack in his heart as he heard her anguish. But a part of him was relieved she was finally letting it out. He knew not all of her tears were for her father, but for her mother as well. He’d never seen her cry so hard before, so hard she couldn’t catch her breath and she was beginning to feel sick to her stomach. She stopped being able to talk after a while, only crying, folding in on herself.

“I...I don’t...belong to anyone anymore,” she repeated.

Gnawing on his bottom lip again, Jess smoothed an affectionate hand over her hair. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Though he couldn’t see her face, Ella felt her cheeks heat up at his seeing her sob so openly. Jess spoke in a clear, strong tone.

“Listen, Eleanor, I know it feels like you’re alone without them, but that’s not true, okay?” he said.

She let out a tearful scoff.

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m serious,” Jess continued, placing a hand on her damp cheek and turning her face gently so she would look at him.

She wanted to avoid his eyes, embarrassed, but simply couldn’t bring herself to look anywhere else. The sight of him almost made her physically relax.

An earnest crease stood out between his eyebrows when he spoke again. “You belong to me, and I belong to you. That’s how it’s always been, hasn’t it?”

She stared at him for a moment, stunned at his words, as tears kept rolling steadily down her cheeks. But then, her lip began to quiver and she closed her eyes. Jess was worried she was about to get angry again. But instead, she slumped weakly against him. He could feel her tears begin to wet the neckline of his t-shirt as she rested her head on his chest. Breathing out long and slow, Jess wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t know whether his words had helped, but he was doubtful. No amount of talking was going to make her feel any better. He couldn’t crack a joke or start a playful argument or do a magic trick. He could only be there. He simply sat and held her against the wind.

#gilmore girls #gilmore girls au #gilmore girls fanfiction #gilmore girls oc #jess mariano #jess mariano x oc #jess mariano oc fanfiction #jess mariano au #jess mariano x original character #oc fanfiction #luke danes #lorelai gilmore

[howling-harpy]

Shiftytab from the pov of smokey? Idk if this is specific enough so maybe after the war but while theyre still in austria? If that makes sense? Thanks so much :)

Word count: 1764 A/N: Whoops? This got long. I have feelings about this pairing and I haven’t yet exactly figured out what, but it’s a lot. Thank you for the prompt, it turned out to be a really inspiring one!

*

Even though Walter had a lot of work to do, lying in a hospital bed was still a bore. He hadn’t even counted the hours spent staring at the ceiling while squeezing a rubber ball in his hand and passing it from one hand to the other, and between those boring hours were the long, painful ones he spent shuffling his feet and lifting himself from the chair and hopping to sit on a table and then back to the chair. Still, he couldn’t say he was happy when a familiar face took the bed next to him.

Shifty looked almost exactly like Walter remembered him from Bastogne, albeit tan instead of pale, and he was certain that wasn’t a good thing. The poor boy looked downright miserable, didn’t say a word and stared into the ceiling in much the same way Walter remembered from his own early recovering days. Nurse Crane gave Shifty’s head a motherly pat that he didn’t react to before turning to Walter. “He was in quite the automobile accident, poor lad. I talked the doctor into puttin him here since you were in the same unit, weren’t you?” “Yeah, we know each other,” Walter said. He hadn’t yet figured if he was happy to see Shifty, but knew that she had done the right thing bringing him to him. “How bad is it?” “A broken arm and a concussion, but the worst is the broken pelvis. He’s going to have to stay very still for a long time, and he’s most likely to receive more surgery. I thought you’d keep him focused on the recovery and maybe cheer him up a bit,” nurse Crane explained while filling Shifty’s chart. “He’s on a quite big dose of morphine for now, but do try chatting a bit.” “Sure,” Walter agreed, and the nurse left them with a bright smile. Walter turned his attention back to Shifty. On the second look he indeed looked more than simply depressed, he looked drugged. He had a tube attached in the back of his hand and it was steadily feeding him fluid from a bag, a hefty amount of morphine no doubt with it. “Hey, Shifty,” Walter called, trying to get his attention, “hey, remember me? It’s Smokey. How did a pretty thing like you end up in a dump like this, huh?” There was no response. Not even an eye twitched to signal that any of Walter’s words had registered to Shifty, his gaze dull and his blinking slow like he was nearly asleep. Walter kept talking anyway. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, buddy. The worst thing here is the boredom, but that guys like you and I can handle, right? You just got to be a bit patient and your body’s going to take care of itself. Mine sure does. See, I can move my arms, even lift my legs a bit. I’m going to walk out of here sometime soon, and you’re coming with me, you hear me?” Shifty might have, might have not. He gave no indication to either direction, but Walter talked anyway. For the first four days there Shifty drifted in and out of consciousness, and nurses kept a close eye on his vitals. With his concussion they were worried about his constant sleepiness and the first twenty-four hours Shifty wasn’t allowed to sleep more than three hours in a row, but after that they wrote his sleepiness off as a by-product of his heavy pain medication. Nurses kept a close eye on his blood pressure and breathing, but otherwise let him be. Sure, they fed him, cleaned him and asked him about the pain whenever he was awake, but Shifty didn’t react much to anything. Walter kept talking to him, and even though it was never certain if he heard him or not, talking to a familiar person eased his own loneliness and boredom too. After a week Walter got a letter. He had heard from the guys regularly of late, Lipton writing him the most, but this time he got a letter from Talbert. It wasn’t that surprising, they were good buddies and Walter was certain they’d see each other back home, but this time the letter was short and, there was no better word to it, odd. “Dear Smokey,

I hope you’re well or at least better than last time, keeping up with the recovery, flirting with that old nurse of your ward and so on and so on. You’re in our thoughts, I’m rooting for you, the usual. I’m actually writing to you to ask a huge favor. No, you can’t ask, no, I won’t explain, at least not now and not in a letter, but please, if you’re a real friend of mine, do this. Alright? Shifty got in a pretty bad accident, I heard. I don’t know anything else except that it was bad, like really bad, and I also know that he’s been taken to the same hospital as you. Now, the favor that I’m asking of you is this: The next paragraph is for Shifty, and you gotta tell him, but don’t ask anything. Not me and not Shifty, okay? Here we go: Shifty, I’m glad you’re alive. You’ll be okay, and I need you to know that whatever it is, no matter how bad or permanent, I don’t care. You’re still the same person, and the most important person too. It can’t be so bad that it would scare me, as long as you’re still you inside. Just take care of yourself, you’re in my thoughts. And also, I swear and cross my heart, there are no girls. I’m gonna write more soon. Okay, that’s it. Just get that to Shifty and make sure he understands, and I’ll be in your debt. Regards, Floyd Talbert” It was a curious letter, even for Talbert who had a habit of scribbling down whatever and sending it off without much of a thought. Walter sensed there was a lot under the surface there, something he didn’t know but what tickled his appetite for gossip, and the only thing that kept him from asking was that the only person he could ask was Shifty, and Shifty was… Well. Shifty was Shifty. Of course Walter did as he was asked to and read the letter out loud when Shifty seemed more awake than unconscious, but other than opening his eyes and flicking his gaze around a bit Shifty didn’t react to Walter’s words. Not until in the middle of the night, when Walter was brought out of his slumber by an unusual noise. It was a soft, irregular noise, very quiet but out of place enough to disturb him, and when he woke up enough he realized that Shifty was crying. “Hey…” Walter started carefully, “hey, Shift, what’s wrong?” It was almost a full minute of little sniffles and thick gulping sounds and shivering breaths before Shifty got himself together enough to answer: “I want Floyd,” he whimpered. Walter shrugged with sympathy. “Yeah, you’re not alone with that.” But Shifty shook his head and brought his healthy hand to wipe his face. Even though the room was dark, the streetlamps gave enough light inside through the blinds that Walter could see the tears still running. “I should’ve stayed with him. It’s my fault… All my fault, I was so stupid, so selfish…” Shifty rambled on in a bitter tone. “Woah, woah, nothing’s your fault, kid. You’re alright, it was an accident, a whole lot of simple bad luck, that’s all!” Walter hurried to interrupt him before he cursed himself deeper into the swamp of despair. Again Shifty shook his head, more firmly this time. “No… I was… selfish. I should’ve stayed, but I… I miss home so much… So I left.” Walter gave a deep sigh. “Shifty, everyone misses home. Anyone would have taken an opportunity to go home, and no one blames you for it.” “I think God’s punishing me,” Shifty whispered grimly. Even Walter was speechless for a second. “For missing home?” “No, for leaving,” Shifty continued in an anxious mutter, “I used to… I used to think it was wrong. That I would be punished for… For other things, with Floyd. I ran away because I was weak, and scared, and selfish, and I wanted to see my mama. And now God’s punishing me for being a selfish coward.” Walter knew he had heard something very profound just then and he couldn’t just fall back on his usual humorous way of dealing with it. He felt like a priest at a confession and the role was so unfitting for his personality that he was at complete loss of what to do. Desperately Walter thought what Lipton would say to something like that and not for the first time wished he was there to help him. But he wasn’t, so he had to make do by himself. “Shifty, I’m sure everyone has regrets. I don’t think a single one of us leaves here without wishing that he’d done something differently. I certainly wish I hadn’t made that cup of coffee and that I had stayed lower in my foxhole. There’s no one so good and perfect that he’ll make it through without regrets. And if anyone came up to me and said that he’s totally fine and did everything right, I’d call him a lunatic.” Shifty was still sniffling, but Walter hoped that the lack of words meant that he was listening. “No one hates you or blames you,” Walter went on, “and if you’re worried about Tab, don’t be. He wrote to me so that I could tell you that. You hear me? He wrote to me for no other reason than to tell you that he thinks you’re alright no matter what. Now I don’t know about God, but I know Floyd Talbert well enough that I can tell you he won’t take shit from anyone, not even the man upstairs.” That got a small hiccup from Shifty that Walter hoped was a sound of amusement. “I’m not gonna ask what you think you ought to be punished for, but I can honestly say that I don’t think you deserve it. You’re a right on guy, Shifty,” Walter said and meant it. In the dark room, Walter could see Shifty wiping away his tears and heard his breathing slowly evening out. He was clearly calming down, thank heaven, as the pits of despair during the small hours were deep ones and Floyd Talbert wasn’t there to smile and pull him up.

#band of brothers #shiftytab #band of brothers fanfic #Shifty #Gordon #Talbert #mun ficci

[fix-it-feesh]

I received a fic request from @burningmusicfunnygiant where Ralph defends Felix from a bully, which I could TOTALLY see happening. No one messes with Ralph’s friends. Capiche? >:(

For the record, this is set sometime between the first film and the sequel, though probably closer to the first. Enjoy! :D

---

Oh hey, look! More rambling! Really quick: the game I used is the 1986 classic, Rampage. I know the characters are huge enough to destroy buildings, but for the sake of being realistically proportioned let’s say they’re only huge in their game. When they’re chilling elsewhere they’re just...big. Alright, enjoy for real now!!

---

One root beer at Tapper’s had easily turned into two for Ralph and Felix that evening. The both of them had some time to kill since they were missing the other two members of their group. Tammy was working overtime in Hero’s Duty to run some drills, and Vanellope had stayed behind in Sugar Rush to test out a new course. It wasn’t until Zangief (who had already knocked back a few before Ralph and Felix arrived) pulled up a seat that things got a little out of control.

A generous splash of root beer doused Felix when Zangief gestured a bit too wildly with his storytelling (and stein-holding) hand. All eyes turned to the small handyman, who had removed his dripping cap from his head.

“Apologies, Felix,” Zangief told him, realizing belatedly what he had done. “I did not mean to get so much on you.”

“No harm done, friend,” Felix was quick to reassure, knowing it had been a harmless accident and not anything intentional. “It’s nothin’ a little water won’t take care of. ‘Scuse me, fellas. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

And with that, Felix hopped down from the barstool he’d been occupying and headed towards the washroom. It wasn’t the first time he’d had root beer spilled on him, and it more than likely wouldn’t be the last. However, he did plan on meeting his sugarplum once she was free later, so it was probably for the best to rinse off the stickiness before it had a chance to settle into the fabric of his clothes.

As Felix went to push open the washroom door, he found it already swinging out towards him. With a quick sidestep, he managed to avoid a collision that would have no doubt squashed his nose. He was ready to apologize for being in the way, but that was before a gruff, unfriendly voice boomed down at him.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going, shortie?!”

It wasn’t so much the harsh statement itself that had Felix’s eyes widening into saucers as it was the individual he had slowly looked up at. Now, Felix was used to others towering over him, but what he wasn’t used to was the big, silvery-blue wolf leering down at him with sharp teeth and glowing red eyes.

When he managed to unfreeze, it occurred to Felix that he’d never seen the wolf before (which said something since Felix had been around the arcade for over three decades). Had a new game been plugged in? There‘d been talk of another retro cabinet being donated the previous week, or so they’d overheard Mr. Litwack offhandedly comment. Maybe that was where this, um, newcomer was from.

Considering they’d already started off on the wrong foot, Felix felt that it was important to try and make amends. It was why he held out a gloved hand towards the wolf in a goodhearted show of camaraderie.

“I’m awfully sorry about before, but it’s nice to meet’cha, neighbor! The name’s Fix-It Felix Jr., from the game Fix-It Felix Jr.”

The wolf stared down at the outstretched hand for all of three seconds before he threw his head back and laughed like he’d heard the funniest, rib-tickling joke of his life. It was a tad confusing to say the least, and if Felix wasn’t already feeling unsettled he might have asked what was so funny. Had he missed something, maybe?

When the wolf finished laughing, he took a step towards Felix and grinned in full, showing way more pointy teeth than Felix had originally seen.

“Listen, neighbor,” he started, though it sounded more like an angry snarl. “I’ve eaten things bigger than you. As a matter of fact, I’m feeling pretty hungry right now...”

And here the wolf drew closer to Felix, who instinctively held up both hands and backpedalled. “I-I don’t want any trouble! I just thought since you’re new an’ all, it’d be nice to introduce myself.”

“Oh yeah, really nice,” the wolf agreed, though he sounded no less menacing than he had before. “Especially since I get a free meal out of it.”

Felix turned as white as a sheet. Meal?!

“N-n-now, hold on just a minute!” he stammered, taking another step back. “If you’re feelin’ hungry, there’s a great burger game just across the station. I could show you exactly where it—”

“Hey!”

Relief flooded through Felix upon hearing the familiar voice; it gave the fixer’s jelly legs a little more stability as he turned towards Ralph, who was walking in his direction.

“I don’t know how long a ‘jiffy’ is, but you were taking a while so I wanted to make sure you didn’t fall in or anything,” Ralph explained, prior to staring down the wolf. “Who’s this?”

“Oh! This is, uh...a-actually, I don’t think I caught your name, sir,” Felix squeaked, glancing back at the figure positioned in front of him.

Turning away from his previous person of focus, the wolf faced Ralph directly. They were of similar heights and hulking builds, though Ralph seemed a smidgeon taller.

“What’s it to you, chump? Mind your business and take a hike,” the wolf growled, clearly not put off by the size of Ralph’s fists.

Felix audibly gulped as Ralph’s expression hardened into something that foreshadowed an impending loss of his temper. “That’s MY friend, so this is MY business.” Then, turning to Felix, Ralph asked: “Is this guy giving you a hard time, Felix?”

It was in his code to try and diffuse any dangerous moments, which was why Felix shook his head a bit too quickly. “Nope! Not at all! We were just talking. I-in fact, he’s part of the new game that was plugged in.”

“No kidding?” Ralph asked, glancing back at the wolf through narrowed eyes. “Well, newbie. How about picking on someone your own size?”

“I know just the ‘someone’,” the wolf challenged, stepping closer to his competitor.

“Hey, Ralph!”

Both wolf and wrecker turned to look at the saloon doors, where an equally large gorilla and lizard now stood. Although they shared the same level of intimidation that the wolf radiated, they didn’t seem as aggressive or intent on starting a fight.

“We found a table,” the gorilla said.

“Yeah, quit being a punk and hurry up,” the lizard added.

The wolf grumbled something incoherent before he looked back at Ralph; his gaze jumped from his almost-opponent to his almost-snack before he heaved a heavy sigh and sifted a set of long claws through the fur on his head.

“Sorry,” he muttered, shocking Ralph and Felix both with the abrupt (and very unexpected) change in demeanor. “It’s hard adjusting to after hours when you spend the whole day destroying everything.”

“I can relate,” Ralph remarked, though he still kept his guard up in case the wolf was only pretending to cool down.

With another beckoning from his party, the wolf started to leave. Before he was completely out of earshot, he said: “By the way, I wouldn’t actually eat your friend. He’s barely got any meat on him. And the name’s Ralph.”

“Ralph,” the other Ralph repeated, watching the wolf, gorilla, and lizard head off. “Hunh. At least I won’t forget his name.”

THUNK.

The solid sound had Ralph looking at Felix, only to see that the hero had slid down along the wall; he was breathing heavier than normal and squeezing his cap against his chest as though it were a lifeline.

Concerned, Ralph bent a knee and got down to Felix’s level. “You ok, buddy?”

“P-peachy keen!” Felix wheezed, even when his terrified mannerisms suggested that he was more panicky than peachy. “Just...just need a sec to catch my breath.”

Ralph gave him a few, and when the color had returned to Felix’s face, he asked again: “You good?”

“Loads better,” Felix confirmed, smiling. Thanks for stepping in like that. You’re a real pal.”

“No one pushes my friends around like that. He’s just lucky Cal wasn’t here,” Ralph replied, huffing. “Then there’d really be an issue.”

“Don’t I know it, brother,” Felix agreed with a chuckle. Tammy was a sweetheart, but something told Felix there would have been even more chaos had his wife been involved in the hallway kerfuffle.

Ralph extended a square finger at Felix, who used it to pull himself back up. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get back to the...oh. You’re still covered in root beer.”

Felix blinked down owlishly at his cap before sharing a similar look over his work shirt. “Jiminy-jaminy, you’re right! I completely forgot about that.” It was a little too late to rinse out the stains since they had had time to soak in, which meant Felix was better off going back to Niceland and changing his clothes altogether.

“I’ll take care of your tab,” Ralph offered, once he and Felix had returned to the main bar area.

“Golly, you don’t have to do that. I don’t mind closin’ out before I head on home,” Felix replied.

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll get me next time,” Ralph brushed him off. “Now go take a shower. You smell like soda.”

With an amicable, yet gentle slap to Felix’s back, Ralph went to retake his former place at their table. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the table had gained three familiar members.

“Come meet new friends!” Zangief exclaimed, having remained behind to hold down the fort. “This is George, and Lizzie, and—“

“Ralph,” Ralph deadpanned, staring at the wolf who smirked at him wickedly. “Great.”

#wreck-it ralph #fix-it felix jr. #wir #wir fic #wreck-it ralph fic #feesh fics #feesh writes requests #arcade universe

[themagicalreads]

Lost and Found (Mature/Prompt)

A note before you start: Tumblr took off all my italics and I didn’t want to re-read this to put them all back in lol. So, I’m sorry. But if you want to read this with, it’s up on wattpad and AO3 @/magicalreads in my book Rising Untangled!

~

Fridays at the joint always pulled the biggest of crowds, and tonight wasn't an exception. 

"Go get em', Goldy," Tarot slipped his hand off of Rapunzel's bare shoulder so she could pull her shawl on and fix the pins holding the two rolls on top of her head. His teeth shone bright against dark skin as he smiled proudly. "Little Moonlight’s shining star!"

Rapunzel felt a rush of red flush her cheeks at the compliment. So desperate to get off the streets, Rapunzel hadn't even expected a glance from Tarot when she walked into his joint all but two years ago. She knew she was a sight for sore eyes, but time had been wearing her down to the bone, despite her young adulthood. She'd wasted too long in a blurry blast after high school was over and done with that she'd drunken herself dry—quite literally right to the pavement. Thinking about which hole she'd be in right about now hadn't it been for the Little Moonlight made her scared to bits.

"The socs are in tonight," Tarot added just before she could push the curtain aside. "Show em' a good time."

Rapunzel smiled right back. "I always do, Daddy-O," she promised. She only vaguely remembered feeling jittery her first time dancing in front of the socs, which was a tickle in itself considering she used to be a part of their crowd. She’d learned fairly quickly that their presence was something to be revelled in; They were quieter than the Moonlight’s usual customers, and their stacks of loose dough made her want to perform at the absolute tip top of her abilities.

The crowd cheered as she slowly curled against the curtain, taking her rightful place onstage as the music roared to life. Rapunzel moved seamlessly with the trumpets flaring against soft piano. Though she'd always preferred dancing the doo-wop, there was something about jazz that ignited a spark deep inside Rapunzel. It was nostalgic, a sound to get lost in, and it was perfect for a sleazy club like this one.

Rapunzel looked up to give a rewarding look to the table of socs sitting in the corner, impossible to miss, only to lock eyes with another man standing still in the crowd. The room erupted as Mer and Poppy strolled out behind Rapunzel, but his crystal blue eyes stayed firmly on her. The nerve of him! Showing up around her all week only to ignore her—or, worse yet, disappear—each time she’d craved from him approach her. The least he could have done was introduce himself like a proper gentleman. Then again, no proper gentleman would come here, if they weren’t hangin’ with the socs. Everyone worth a dime knew that being seen in a place like the Little Moonlight as a lone social was simply asking to be treated like a lowly greaser. Thing was, this man didn’t look like he was a part of either crowd. His attire screamed social, but his attitude yelled greaser. So which in the devil was he? Rapunzel had figured out how to woo the dough out of every kind of man who walked in here, but she couldn’t figure out how to wrap her finger around this odd ball. Hell, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to wrap her finger around him. She wasn’t even sure if…

Rapunzel practically shook her head mid-dance in realization. Enough not knowing. This was her territory, and she was in control here.

Easy as cutting a smooth slice of pie, Rapunzel tuned out the prying hey, dolly's from overly cranked men and shifted all her efforts into wooing the silver-haired one from her place on stage. She moved gracefully, long hair swishing to and fro, all the while never taking her eyes away from him for more than a second. No matter how much she hated to admit it to herself, Rapunzel didn’t want him to disappear again. There was a strange curiosity to him that she needed to figure out. He was a spark in the darkness she couldn’t help to be drawn to.

“A dreamboat that one, isn’t he?” Poppy commented over the sound, catching on to Rapunzel’s motives. Over the heads of bobbing men, she caught Merida smirking at her too. Rapunzel knew they’d be asking questions at the apartment later—no sense turning back now. And besides…

Their focus was on something else now. When Rapunzel turned to look, she was surprised to see Silver Hair moving through the crowd.

Toward the stage. 

Her stomach flipped and flopped, an army of butterflies erupting through her. Cool it, Raps, she told herself. You’re being ridiculous. But her heart made no attempt to listen. She strutted toward the stranger, then crouched slightly on her heels until she found herself slightly higher than eye-level.

Something glimmered in the man’s eyes, a mixture of lust Rapunzel recognized all too well, but another she found herself completely at loss about. “Crescent Moon?” He asked, referencing to her show name. Tarot had been the one to suggest the change from her previous one once he’d deemed her the star of his joint.

“The one and only,” Rapunzel purred. 

He lifted a hand, revealing a fan of dough between his fingertips. “Mind if I take you to the back?”

Rapunzel eyed him up and down. He was pretty. Scrawnier than her usual customers, wearing an unbuttoned light blue and white chemise tucked into sandy-coloured pants. His hair was lightly gelled into a trunk do, an alluring white she’d only ever seen on old folks. He was mesmerizing to watch, but that didn’t stop Rapunzel from standing right back up to her full height. She felt taller than she naturally was, and not only because of the stilettos on her feet. The socs loved getting what they wanted, and the greasers preferred a cat-and-mouse chase, so what would happen if she gave someone that was neither both?

“After the show.” She told him as she walk away. Only sparing him a single glance over her shoulder proved difficult. She’d expected him to disappear by the time the girls and she were done with their dance, and he did—or so she thought. She spotted a silver head quickly after, lurking by the back hall. “Split the tips with Mer, Popsikins." Rapunzel gave her friend a wink, thinking of the doll of a shop they lived over. She didn’t need more money than what she’d earned in between her skin and underclothes. "Get yourself those rockin' shoes you were eyeing."

Poppy squealed as Rapunzel walked away, right past Silver Hair and into the hall. She could feel his eyes on her as she walked. Neither of them said a word until she pushed through a door. The man shut it behind them, taking one, two steps toward her. He stopped just before where she sat on the arm of the sofa. “Nineteen.” Was all he said. Rapunzel expected more to come, but he simply stared at her as if she was supposed to understand what he’d meant. “Dollars or minutes?”

The man shook his head. “Your age. You can be more than nineteen.” Rapunzel shifted. “Twenty-two, actually.” It felt strange, saying that; She didn’t usually reveal her age to customers. Not that they ever asked, anywho. All they ever came for was a dance to make them forget their lousy lives outside of the club. More than a dance, if they were trusted to keep it under the table. The fuzz hadn’t caught em’ yet, and Tarot had no intention of getting a shut down. “Just a year younger than me,” the man noted. “How’d a sweet girl like you end up in a place like this?”

“A sweet girl like—?” Rapunzel bit her tongue. Tarot’s rules included no talk backs, unless our fella’s were pushin’. And this man wasn’t even coming close to pushin’. "It's a gig,” she said instead. “And I enjoy it, in all truthfulness."

“But why?”

A laugh escaped Rapunzel’s lips. “Are you writing a book?”

Silver Hair shrugged. “I guess you can say that.”

Rapunzel shook her head slightly, mesmerized by his straight tone; No added lah-dee-dah lilted his voice. “You’ve such an odd way with words,” she said. “I didn’t mean it literally, though, if you are, congratulations. You’re just askin’ too many questions, is all.” Rapunzel cleared her throat when no reply was given. She motioned to the sofa, giving the man her best heavy-lidded, green-eyed look. “So, whatcha’ waitin’ for, then? Come on, have a seat.”

But the man closed his eyes briefly and breathed a soft sort of laugh. Then, he took a step back, offering a hand out to her. “Dance with me.”

Rapunzel lifted her brows in surprise. “You’re asking for a doo-wop?”

“Something a little slower,” a playful smirk grew on the man’s lips. “With a kiss, if you’re willing.”

A flush rushed to her cheeks, thankfully hidden by the dimmed yellow lights in the room. “The Little Moonlight doesn’t do no kissin’.”

“Even with special cases?”

Rapunzel breathed a short laugh and took the hand still being offered. She found herself being pulled tight against Silver Hair’s chest. “Alright,” she decided. “Razz my berries. What makes you a special case, mister…?”

“Jackson Overland,” he was quick to answer. “But call me Jack.” Hands slipped over her waist as Rapunzel lay her arms loosely around Jack’s neck. “And let’s see… I’m handsome, you like me, and I’m leaving tonight. I’ve already been here too long.”

“Leavin’ where?”

“Are you writing a book?” 

Rapunzel couldn’t help but laugh. “I see. Peggin’ my own words against me. That’s not very gentlemanly of you.” 

“Who says I’m a gentleman?” Jack spun her around, dropping her into a smooth dip. He brought his head down to her until his lips were but an inch from her own. The heat curling against her mouth warmed other parts of her. He dipped down slightly more, coming closer and closer, until he suddenly pulled her right back up to their earlier swing.

Rapunzel felt breathless. “Actor,” she mumbled playfully. But all she received from Jack was a frown.

“Slang?” He guessed after a moment.

“For a show off, yeah.” Rapunzel pushed Jack down, suddenly, right onto the sofa she knew they’d moved in front of. She fell swiftly with him, landing right on his lap. “Don’t cha leave the house?” 

Jack grinned, hands tightening over her hips ever so slightly. “Haven’t been home in a while, actually.”

Rapunzel shifted on his lap, earning a pleasured groan in return. “Maybe this is a good time to go back.”

Jack grinned lazily, chuckling like she’d just told a panic-and-a-half. “I don’t think so.” 

“Why not?” Rapunzel questioned. “Everyone should enjoy being home.”

Jack was quiet for a while as she rubbed her hands soothingly over his neck and shoulders. She couldn’t understand why he felt as intoxicating as he did. “I… Got in trouble,” he said finally, glancing her down and up again. “For stealing something and using it to travel.”

Rapunzel slipped a hand up to his cheek, petting her thumb over his skin. Her voice came out soft. “Why don’t cha bring it back?”

Jack leaned into her touch, whether out of consciousness or not, Rapunzel didn’t know. “I’ll be in a lot more trouble if do.” 

She brushed the curl away from Jack’s forehead as he spoke, watching as it fell back into place. “Maybe it’s not as bad as you think it is.”

“I stole the only copy they successfully made, Rapunzel. It took them a year before they could make a replica. Trust me, it’s as bad as I think.”

Rapunzel stiffened at the mention of her name. No one knew her as someone outside of Crescent Moon here, save from the crew. “How did you—?”

A flash of hurt suddenly passed in Jack’s eyes. He looked away as soon as he caught her looking. “It doesn’t matter.” He said. Except, it did. He’d known her name all along! Was it a slip up? Did he even mean to let her know he knew?

“Of course it matters!” Rapunzel exclaimed. This had never happened before. She didn’t know what to do anymore, now that she’d lost her invisibility. Rapunzel tried to step off of Jack, but his hands kept her still. “Wait!” He said. “Stay. Please. Let me… Let me explain.”

Reluctantly, she obliged. “Alrighty, then. Go on.”

Jack closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the sofa for a few seconds. He looked her right back in the eyes when he was done his thinking. “It took me years to find you again. You really don’t remember me, Punz?”

Punz. Something about the new nickname jogged at her memory, but nothing came forward. 

“We met in 1951. You were seventeen; I was twenty. You were working at this diner, just about to graduate, and—When I stole the porter, it was an accident. I got myself in with the wrong gang, and I didn’t wanna go to jail. I didn’t know where to go so I… I pressed every button on the porter ended up jumping—right into that damn diner.”

Rapunzel was  shaking her head now, refusing to remember. It felt the same as if a word she couldn’t pinpoint—but knew she knew—was hangin’ at the tip of her tongue. Rhona’s Diner. She never thought much about why she always took the long walk to the Little Moonlight.

“They caught us in ’64,” Jack continued. “You’d never seen the ocean, and you were finally ready to jump into the future, even if it was just by over a decade. They appeared right when we were about to—” He cut his gaze down, suddenly, red tinting his pale skin. But, despite the zorros, Rapunzel was surprised to hear how choked up his next words were getting. “We got separated, running. You didn’t know how to use the porter, so I had it.” She felt his finger play affectionately with the curls falling over her hips. He couldn’t look her in the eyes, but Rapunzel saw the pain written over him nonetheless. “I watched them take you, Punz. I watched them take you away from me.”

Rapunzel straightened in his lap as she took in a gulp of air. “If any of this is true, then what in the heaven’s am I doin’ here  sittin’ in this joint?”

“They must’ve taken you in for questioning, probably about me,” Jack answered. “And then they obviously dropped you right back in your timeline like I’d hoped. Didn’t know why I was surprised to find out your memories about me were wiped. Those assholes.” He added, lost in thought.

“That’s why you weren’t approaching me all week,” Rapunzel realized. “You were waitin’ to see me run up to you all over the moon to have you back.”

Jack nodded. “I couldn’t stand talking to you like none of it ever happened.” Rapunzel realized that her heart was quickening as she looked into his crystal blue eyes. She’d felt drawn to him from the moment she’d seen him walk by, something that had never happened to her before. And then when he appeared at the club…

It dawned on her, suddenly. Those two years she’d thought she’d lost to parties and shenanigans—they weren’t a blurred mess of alcohol-induced amnesia. She’d spent them with him. Workin’ at the diner. Travelling to the past.

Falling in love. 

It dawned on her just as the fuzz appeared out of thin air behind them. She only had time to twist and catch Tarot’s apologetic eye before they lifted guns flashing bright blue sparks, and forced her and Jack into bad night’s sleep.

~

#jackunzelfs20 #jackunzel #jackunzel fanfic #jackunzel prompt #1950s au #time travel #jackunzel au #rise of the brave tangled dragons #wattpad #jackunzel month

[hansgruberimagines]

What about Aberama Gold x reader where the reader is hurt and she doesn’t trust him and tries to fight him on it but he takes care of her anyway? So cool that you’re writing for him!!!

Hey! So this is an imagine set in S4, premise is that reader is the lost Gray daughter so cousin to the Shelbys. Like the rest, she's received a black hand from the Changrettas. Mistakenly thinking they wouldn't actually bother with a woman who's hardly been involved with the family since reader only unearthed her family records recently, she doesn't listen to Tommy's warnings and winds up getting shot in the arm by the Changrettas, more as a warning to Polly to play her part. (But Tommy doesn't want Pol to find out for fear it will mess up the plan.) (And reader doesn't want to cause stress for the mother she hardly knows.) (And Aberama comes to help - this is very much based on him fixing Finn's arm in S5. Anyway here we go x) (tw: violence, implied sexual assault)

x

"Tommy," she sobbed, hardly able to breathe as he picked her up. At her scream, handcuff tugging, he looked over his shoulder. The man with him had found the keys, passing them over, keeping an eye out.

"He - he - said -" She couldn't speak, drowning a scream of pain in his coat, still reeling from the shock.

"Later, Y/N. Any idea if they're still here?"

"No, it hurts - it hurts - please, Tommy."

She knew she was hardly making any sense, but her options were babble or scream. Tommy, ever the gentleman, passed her to the other man without so much as a word. He supported her weight, a hand around her waist, his other ready to fire at the sight of an Italian.

"Shelby, if they'd set this up as an ambush they would have killed her."

"I'm goin' to fuckin' kill them."

"Tommy, the hospital," she cried, "please."

"'Please', how much of a family relation is she?"

"Enough. Y/N, this is Aberama Gold. He's acquainted with Polly too. Now, if you could be quiet while I check -"

He looked out the door, checked it was clear, and motioned for them to follow. The building was quiet, tense with fear. She could hardly manage the stairs, swaying unsteadily, caught by Aberama. Tommy looked up, his dead eyes at last glinting with concern.

Aberama's grip tightened on her collar, again at her waist as they ran outside and ducked into the car.

"I don't want Polly to know about this, Tommy," she sobbed from the backseat. He ignored her, listening to Aberama as he leant forward to talk logistics. Murder this way and that, and something about a match, and something about the hospital...

Y/N's eyes fell on the gun Aberama had left at her side. She picked it up, thinking it would be easy, so easy, to end it all. She wouldn't have to bear Pol's judgement, or the knowledge she carried within her, that maybe, if only she had done something, anything differently maybe Luca wouldn't have done what he did -

In a moment of impulsivity she brought the gun to her temple, and before it even grazed her skin it was snapped away from her. Wordlessly, Aberhama sat beside her, gun out of sight. She was shaking uncontrollably. Tommy was still talking. He hadn't seen.

"Y/N. Y/N."

"What?" she demanded.

"What was the message?"

"He said you've been delivered half the pain caused to his mother and won't stop til it's tenfold."

"Yeah. He shot you in the fucking arm, yeah."

"No shit."

"That all? It's not all is it?"

"Don't tell Polly. Don't tell her I'm here. I'll leave, I will, she won't have to know about it."

"Answer the fuckin' question, Y/N."

She shut her mouth, refusing to say the words, gazing out the window. The silence between the two men was heavy. How had they known? Was it written all over her face, like a brand?

"I'm going to kill him, Y/N."

"This isn't the way to the hospital," she mumbled, frowning. She scrambled for the front seat, unsure of how she would stop Tommy, only knowing that she had to.

Suddenly Aberama pulled her back down, holding her still though she struggled, crying out when her wound flared up.

"Can't take you to the hospital, Y/N. Michael was there and now he's on the run. We can fix you up ourselves in half the time."

She made a sound between a laugh and a sob as the car drew to a stop outside Polly's house, Aberama and Tommy leaping out. She kicked at Tommy as he opened the door, but he caught her ankle and pulled her to him, carrying her to the door.

"I said don't tell Pol -"

"Shut your mouth. What are you going to do, run away with a bullet in your arm? At least the Changrettas can't say they knocked the fight out of you, eh?"

He pushed the door opened, calling over his shoulder to Aberama. "Where d'you want her?"

"Couch. Get me some booze. I need your knife."

"Take her a second, then."

Tommy dropped Y/N to her feet, only to push her into the arms of Aberama Gold yet again. She could hardly struggle with him and Tommy knew it. Plus, her strength was fading, torn between weeping and screaming, her coat sleeve sodden with blood. He sat her on the couch and before she could comprehend what he was doing he tore open her sleeve and she howled with pain at the sudden surge through her arm, made worse when he gripped it and squeezed. She howled, struggling in vain to be free of him.

"Get off, get off, don't fucking touch me!"

Tommy was back, sitting beside her as she cowered away from Aberama, but he was reaching for something at the coffee table and Tommy grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"Pol isn't here tonight, chicken. You can yell all you like. Sit here, beside me. Ignore him. You can apologise to Mister Gold for the insult later."

"What is - he doing? Why - why - haven't we gone to the hospital?"

"Because I want to keep you safe - ignore Mister Gold, look at me."

"Why would I trust you? It's - all - your - fault -"

Y/N's eyes widened, stuck on Aberama, shrinking against Tommy as he approached, shaken by a panic attack. He changed tactic, waiting for her to breathe calmly, speaking in a soft tone, since he'd lost the element of surprise. Her panic mounting by the second, she was about to kick him again to keep him and that knife away from her. He crouched down before her instead.

"You needn't worry now, my girl. I've done this many a time before. You'll catch less infection from me than a hospital. It will hardly scar."

She was calm for a moment, then shook her head as he moved towards her.

"Shh, shh my dear, my dear, you hold onto Tommy."

"I don't know - if I'll be able to keep still - I don't want to look - "

Aberama's eyes held hers, a hand on her knee. "Tommy'll hold onto you, I'll hold onto your arm. You look at me or him, and shout whatever you like - just don't bite down on your tongue. Hear me?"

"Hear him, Y/N? You don't want stitches all over. Now get some drink into you."

The whiskey burned down her throat, force fed gulps by Tommy until she coughed. He let it spill onto her arm and she whimpered into his chest, feeling Aberama grip her arm before she could pull away.

"Bullet could have hit a worse spot, eh?" said Tommy and she glowered up at him.

"Tommy, go fuck your -" She was cut off by her own cry of pain, burying it in Tommy's shirt, wanting to tear her arm away from Aberama but knowing it would make it so much worse. Her arm jerked a little on reflex, but Aberama's grip was a vice, cool against her burning skin.

The pain was worse than the shot itself. If she had anything in her stomach she would have thrown up. In seconds there was an ease in pressure but the world was still on fire with it.

"Y/N."

She shifted against Tommy, raising her eyes to Aberama who held a bloodied bullet before her, throwing it into the ashtray. "Small one."

"Mmm," she mumbled, eyes fluttering, trying to move. Tommy held her where she was. "Let go," she mumbled, eyes still on Aberama. She could feel Tommy's grip relaxing, but only because her own strength was fading, sinking against him. For a moment she blacked out, still hearing but totally underwater in the dark.

"Quieter than I thought she'd be, considering."

"She's a quiet one, when she's in the mood," Tommy murmured, shifting her weight to prop her up better, her eyes fluttering again. He noticed, smoothing her hair back from her face. "Fit to tear out a man's throat otherwise. En't that right, Y/N? Quiet little soldier now."

"It's - over?" she mumbled, dredging the words up with effort, hardly able to keep her eyes open.

"The worst of it. Mister Gold just needs to find out if you need stitches."

His words hardly reached her, head reeling. "Tommy?" she mumbled, letting her eyes close.

"What is it?"

"I remember, you know, think it was you, or maybe John, I was always climbing trees and you got in trouble because you were always daring me to go higher and higher. And then one day I fell."

She frowned, feeling Tommy's sudden absence. Again, with effort she opened her eyes, flinching as Aberama sat beside her, no energy left to resist him as he applied pressure to the wound, her chest rising frantically up and down. He was talking to her, knowing she was too far gone to reply, but his words calmed her down, the pain easing a little as she went slack.

"There we go, good girl. No need to struggle, hmm. No need. Breathe easy now. There we go."

Again she opened her eyes, her breath steadying, counting them in and out in her head. The alcohol was dimming the pain somewhat, making her dizzy in the process.

"Well, Mister Gold?"

"I'll need those. You stand behind her, just in case she starts again."

Her eyes snapped open. Tommy had deposited a sewing needle in front of Aberama. She shut her eyes again, grown numb after so much blood loss, overloaded by the alcohol and so much pain. Her eyes fluttered again and it went dark, slipping in and out of consciousness

When she next came to she was curled up, the trembling slowly easing off as the two spoke in low tones growing more natural, thinking she was either passed out with the pain or rendered past her senses because of it. She was hurtling towards the latter, but the sound of their voices took her attention from it.

"'I would wonder at the threat of tenfold, Tommy."

"He comes anywhere near her again, I won't wait for him to speak before I put a bulllet in his head. She'll be safer here than at the hospital. But she doesn't want Polly to see her like this and for both of their sakes I want to keep this quiet. She trusts you - Pol."

Y/N could almost feel Tommy's nod in her direction.

"What are you asking, Mister Shelby?"

"I want you to stay here overnight. This was vengeance for treatment of his mother, and I don't want to take the chance of his escalating it. Just - you stay here the night. I'll make it worth your while. Goes without saying, you lay a hand on her head and you're as - "

"Dead as Luca Changretta."

"So we understand each other. You'll be letting her sleep, and leave with her before the maid gets in. Take her on the road. I'll leave the car with you, and meet you tomorrow in Charlie's yard. At six, just before dark."

"And what will you do, in the meantime?"

"Make progress. Kill the bastards. Girl was hardly aware she was a Gray. Practically a civilian."

She roused at this, calling "Tommy," weakly only for him to snap as he left,

"You know I broke your fall, when you fell out of that tree?"

She nodded, remembering the collision of body against body, sore but softer than the unforgiving ground. He stopped her crying but her mother - Polly Gray, towering over them, saw the bruises. She couldn't remember beyond that.

"So you stay right there, Y/N, and don't slip away from Mister Gold or the Changrettas will be the least of your worries. Next time when I tell you to wait, you wait. Welcome to the family."

The front door slammed. Another shockwave of pain hummed through Y/N's arm and she whimpered, hardly registering Mister Gold, then suddenly all too aware of his presence, though he hardly moved, sitting in the armchair opposing her. He saw her flinch, raising a hand in a gesture that read 'calm down'.

"You're safe."

The world spun for a moment with the alcohol in her system, but she cleared her throat, achored her eyes on him.

"Thank you, Mister Gold. For... you know, what for. Everything."

Thoughts of the car ride flashed before her eyes, of how close she had been to ending it, closer than ever, since the means had been right there in her hand.

"Sorry for giving you trouble."

He smiled thinly. "I've gotten worse kicks from horses, believe you me. Now sleep, won't you?"

She hardly needed the suggestion, her head already against the cushion. She welcomed dreamless sleep until she felt the barrel of a gun at her back, Luca's voice in her ear - and then the pull of a trigger, an explosion of pain that followed her as she awoke with a yelp, the world on fire. She gazed around her, safe in Polly's house, and yet her body screamed with pain, heart racing.

Aberama Gold turned up the oil lamp on the table between them. He looked like he had been half-asleep in the armchair. She had screamed, she was certain of that, but he made no mention of it, motioning outside.

"Close enough to dawn, Miss Gray. Let's go."

She looked at him uncertainly, unsure if she could trust him further than she could throw him. But he had helped her. She took the hand he offered her.

#aberama gold #tw violence #tw implied torture #tw implied noncon

[aworldoffandoms]

Runaway - Chapter 8

Chapter 8 – Ultimatum

Author’s Note: Hi guys! I’m back with a new chapter! I am so so so sorry for the wait but uni got in the way (and a loss of inspiration to write) but now I can say that I have time to write (yay!)  or when I get around to it lol ...because I’ve finished uni (officially) and all is left for me now is to graduate! Time to figure out what to do with my life now lol. It’s been a long time coming but I hope you like this chapter. I appreciate all the feedback! Thanks for sticking with me!  

Pairing: Liam x MC [Ariel]

Word Count: 4, 600 + (approx - give or take)

Rating: MA15+  

Warnings: Swearing, violence

Summary: Bad news. An ultimatum. Ariel and Liam in two different places trying to fight for what matters to them and for Europe itself. 

Disclaimer: All rights reserved to Pixelberry and all characters belong to them. The plot is all mine.

If you would like to read the other chapters of this story the link is in my bio :) 

Tags: @hopefulmoonobject @annekebbphotography @am-i-invisible777 @blznbaby @khakie4 @lauradowning29 @blackcoffee85 @captain-kingliamsqueen​ @moneyfordiamonds​ @super-secret-fandom-blog​ @jovialyouthmusic​ @zaffrenotes​ @ao719​ @umccall71​ @carabeth​ @furiousherringoperatortoad​ @pixieferry​ @pixelpenny​ @rainbowsinthestorm​ @dcbbw​ @thecordoniandiaries​

If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! Thanks for reading!

“We now cross over to our leading royal expert, Thomas Marin…what can you tell us about this upcoming European Crown Summit?” 

“Hi, Liza. I'm here in Switzerland where the Crown Summit will be held. This marks the thirty-fifth anniversary where the reigning monarchies of Europe come together to discuss and cinch deals ranging from trade levies, funding and offering infrastructure and tax incentives.” 

Ariel listens, her ears perking up the sounds of the faint, tinny television voices while her hands busied themselves with the menial task of cleaning up. The low hum of the heater which she’d finally gotten the landlord to fix after a month of cajoling sputtered to a halt, then groaned to a stop. 

“Personally, I'm surprised it's going ahead-considering most royals who have gone missing are from some of the most powerful European royal families. Don't you think they'd be some tension?” 

“I'm a bit dubious about that too, but event organizers confirm it will be going ahead…” 

Ariel washes up the remaining dishes accumulated after her lunch with Leo and his wife Katie before both headed back to their home on the west coast of America, her thoughts sifting through the week ahead of work meetings and insufferable sleazy men, getting ready for the Thanksgiving rush.  

During this lunch, Ariel told Leo absolutely everything.  All those months, she'd yearned for someone to listen to her, someone to sit down on the ratty diner booths and listen without a flinch. Now that she had curled around a cup of watery coffee across from the abdicated prince, she had no idea where that yearning had come from.

Intel was a valuable thing, but it didn’t pay the rent or get a plane ticket back home. What else could she do but sit at the screen, desperately grabbing at loose ends? It was a much better use of her time when she actually tried to convince herself of it. His tyranny had to end and using the information she had to be used in a clear and concise way. It would mean nothing if she didn’t use each of this in its littlest form against him. The information she has gathered from all corners of the globe should help her in that attempt. She knew that he had somehow escaped a high-security dungeon in the palace while awaiting trial for treason. How Anton managed to get out under their noses was a mystery to her. Granted, Anton had always had his own connections considering the power he’d once held in his hands. Ariel shivered as roils of nausea shook her again - a more visible aftereffect of the ordeal. 

She was flipping through files about a few off-shore transactions that Anton had made to St. Lucia in the Caribbean when the unmistakable jingle of breaking news splits through her working bubble of concentration. That bubble wasn’t coming back anytime soon.

“We have just received word from the Cordonian Press Office that His Majesty, King Liam has been reported missing. That goes for three of his Royal advisors, Sir Drake Walker, Lord Maxwell Beaumont of Ramsford, Duchess Olivia Nevrakis of Lythikos and Head of Guard, Bastien Lykel. No further information has been shared.” 

The deathly air sets in as she stares at the television with abject horror as icy dread trails down her back. A sob rises in her throat and she doesn’t hold back as she allows it to rip out of her throat like a slingshot. The sound is almost like a wail to her ears but she doesn’t care. 

The world around Ariel slow becomes a dull void, nothing registering to her, nothing makes sense other than the short, staccato notes of her breathing. The journalists on the TV a low hum, the clock ticking in the corner, its hands moving like the passage of time. No way to stop it. No way to stop the inevitable.

Ariel stares ahead of her blankly, her brain shutting down, disassociating in shock. Her catatonic state the only way to separate herself from the chaos of her mind. Her tears have long since dried and yet she cannot gather the strength to move from her position on the couch, her limbs heavy with the burden of the present news ringing inside her head like a foghorn. She wraps arms around her legs as she hugs them to her chest and she welcomes the heavy cloak of emptiness that envelops her in its embrace. 

***

Liam should be in Cordonia…

The words pounded in her ears in the dull aches of what felt like a migraine, but wouldn’t be helped by copious amounts of Advil and a nap on the couch. No, this wasn’t going away anytime soon. 

Yet, she already knew he’d be in Moscow considering the package Marguerite had sent him two weeks prior.  It would be impossible for Liam to go missing outside of Cordonia. Any enemy forces wouldn’t even have been able to show their face at the border checkpoints. How helpful that had been, she thought ruefully. It wasn’t like Anton had been kept out again.

Ariel wallows in her self pity for a few moments more and contemplates if she should just close her eyes and forget about this whole mess and drown in her hopelessness. That was better than thinking about all the possible scenarios that could befall Liam and their friends. The phone chimes. 

The phone's chiming. The untraceable phone is chiming.  

Her eyes widen immediately and she leaps up from the couch and sprints to her bedroom. When she enters, she heads over to the bedside table and she yanks with such force that the lamp on top of it topples over and crashes on the ground. Ariel doesn’t have time to wonder about it before she lifts the phone to her ear. 

In her rush, she doesn’t see the I.D. but in the next moment, she wishes she had because the next words she hears makes her blood run cold.

“Hello, Your Majesty.” 

Ariel gasps, her jaw dropping in alarm. 

“Anton…” 

“Hello, my dear. I have a surprise for you.” 

The way in which Anton says those words makes her blood boil, the rage seeping into her weathered bones and sending a jolt of energy through her. Her voice is sharp and succinct with the next words. 

“Save it, Anton. I don’t need any surprises from you. You’re just a pathetic, disgusting, evil motherfu--” 

“You know as well as anyone that a queen must comport herself to the highest of standards. I doubt they taught you the ethics of foul language alongside teaspoons and whatnot.” 

Her lips were pulled tight as she gritted her teeth, the unmasked anger making her voice almost shake. 

“What could I possibly want from you, Anton? You’ve already ripped me away from everything I care about. What could you possibly do to make me listen to you?” 

There was a small sound on the other end of the line, just a small puff of air, yet Ariel had a sneaking suspicion that Anton was quietly laughing.

“What are you laughing at, Anton? How could any of this be funny?” 

The short snort of laughter’s unmistakable now and an undistinguished shout sounds off in the distance before Anton talks again. 

“Oh, I’m just laughing at how incredibly easy it will be for me to make you do as I say.” 

Ariel scoffs, her fingers tightening their hold around the phone. 

“There is nothing in this world that will make me do your bidding.” 

“Are you sure about that, Ariel? I managed to do so before.” 

Ariel frowns at the tone of his voice. There was almost unveiled glee behind it like there was something he knew that she didn’t and he was basking in this knowledge. 

“What?”

She hears a low laugh in her ear and then a fuzzy shuffling noise masking the rest of it.

“Anton?” 

The following sound seemed to echo as if he had put her on loudspeaker. 

“Ariel...there is someone here that would like to say something to you. I advise you to listen. Otherwise…” 

Ariel’s stomach pinched in fear.  “Otherwise, what?” 

“Well...I guess you’ll have the death of Cordonia’s monarch on your hands.” 

Ariel has to collect herself for a few short moments, trying in vain to keep the tremors out of her voice. The tremors fade. The rage doesn’t.

“I swear Anton...if you touch a hair on Liam’s head--”

Anton laughs, the low sound echoing in her ear. “I won’t hurt him,” A pause. “Well . . . yet.” 

Ariel fiddles with the wedding band around her neck, the feel of the small diamonds lining the circumference of the platinum ring grounding her. 

“I’ve done everything you have asked. I left my husband, my friends, my family. All for what? Revenge? Glory? Power?” 

There is silence on the other end, another unmistakable silence. “I’m doing this because change needs to be made. I deserve to be king and if being king means I kill to get it. Then...that’s what I’ll do.” 

Ariel shudders in disgust. The absolute nerve of this man. How delusional was he?

“It will be a cold day in hell before you succeed in that, Anton.” 

There’s a short bark of a snicker in her ear and Ariel’s nails dig into the soft skin of her palm. She winces at the pain, the only reminder that this was real and she wasn’t dreaming or in hell itself.

“Oh, Ariel...I’ve already succeeded.” 

“Oh?”  

There’s a scuffle on the other end, a pained grunt and then a voice. Ariel’s knees buckle as the sound reaches her ears. 

“Ariel? Ariel? Where are you?” 

 Ariel’s breath hitches she collapses against her bed frame, a broken sob wrenches out of her throat.

“Liam…” she gasps,  hand flying up to her mouth, willing down the sob wanting to spring out of her again.   

His voice is weak when he responds. “You have no idea what a relief it is to hear your voice again.” 

Ariel can’t help but smile through her pain, the tears slipping down her face as she responds. “I could say the same. I missed you.” 

There’s a choking sound as if hearing her voice a second time has stolen his breath. “I’ve missed you too. I can’t believe--”

Anton cuts him off. “Ah. Ah. I believe you are meant to tell her something?” 

There is silence on the other end before a throat is cleared and Liam speaks his tone grave.  

“Ariel. You have four days to surrender otherwise Anton will...will take out most of Europe’s monarchy at the Summit. It’s imperative that you do. Don’t worry about getting to me. I’ll be fine.”

She opens her mouth, then hesitates. No, this isn’t him, or at least the husband she knows. It’s almost like there's a veil over his words, a thin shroud of anger and reluctance lacing through each word almost as if he’s been forced to say it. 

Ariel grinds her teeth in frustration. Oh, Anton was good. Too good.

“Four days. Four days, and I’ll be there.” 

There is a satisfied hum at Anton’s end and she smiles at the sound. She didn’t know that she could be that convincing but after years of hiding and covering her tracks, she was more than an expert at hiding true emotion from her voice.

Liam begins to speak again. “Ariel, please be careful--”

“I think Liam has had enough of a reunion today. We’ll save the big one till later. Take him back to his cell.” 

Despite the plan already concocting in her head about the next few days, Ariel couldn’t help the spike of fear to thunder through her at the thought of Liam getting hurt inadvertently by her hand. She was the catalyst for all of this, after all.  

“How did you find him?” 

The words spill out without forethought, just an attempt, a desperate and frantic one at that, trying to keep Anton on the phone. 

There's dark amusement behind his words as he speaks to her, the smug tenor of his voice making her skin crawl.  “Oh. In Moscow, with Marguerite and his sorry excuse for advisors. You really should consider a better delivery system than the one you had. Packages get tampered with all the time. Among other things.” 

Ariel didn’t have time to say anything else as the line went dead. She glanced at the phone, a burst of anger swelling into her chest until finally a guttural scream left her mouth, the sound reverberating around the room and in her burst of rage throws the phone against the wall and it shatters against it with a resounding crash.  

Shit. 

Ariel begins to pace, her feet wearing a whole into the carpet. What will she do now? She was well and truly stuck now. Despite an earlier plan in her head forming, so many were bouncing around in her head like a ping-pong match that she couldn’t make sense of them. Anton theoretically had her by the throat and any wrong move would mean certain death. For her and ultimately her friends and…

Liam. 

A series of flashing images pass by her eyes in quick succession. Some good. Some bad. But the worst of all is seeing Liam at the mercy of Anton’s contempt, on his knees, his face battered and bruised with dark, tired eyes, those wondrous blue eyes almost dark and hopeless like the ocean during one of Cordonia’s winter storms, his frame defeated like he was broken too many times to really fight anymore.

She had fought hard to keep Liam safe and she’d be damned if she’d let Liam fall and surrender their kingdom into the hands of that maniac. Liam would break if he lost Cordonia. Liam was Cordonia. If a king couldn’t be saved, at least the realm could be.

So she set her plans in motion, using the resources she had at her disposal and contacting most of the royals through an encrypted server. If she was going to beat Anton, she was going to need the strength of all of them combined. They were royals but they knew how to kick ass when needed. The prince of Belgium might have come off as a soft-hearted man, but years of royal pedigree had made him calculating to a fault. Marguerite might be a little naive, Ariel admitted, but her ability to cause a distraction were second to none. The other royals had at least one thing in common - the fleeting chance for redemption and their yearning desperation for it. Perhaps that would finally do the trick.

The date was set.

He wanted power. And Anton was particularly smart enough to find it. At this time and in this particular year there was only one event which would give Anton the leverage he needed against Europe. Leo was right. The Crown Summit is the perfect setting and Anton will find this as the perfect opportunity to implement his plans to the highest of degrees.

Ariel shivers as cold dread washes over her. She knew it was coming. Anton never let her forget it and her contacts kept tabs on the European royal families. Liam’s warning rings inside her head. This was it. 

As the last of the agreed confirmations roll into her inbox, she nods, coldly booking a ticket. If Anton was going to be a crazy, power-hungry psychotic asshole then she was more than ready to smack that smug look off his face while she pulled the rug out from underneath him in a spectacular fashion that even Olivia Nevrakis herself will applaud. 

Ariel snaps her laptop shut and gathers a travel bag, haphazardly chucking in whatever her hands decided to find. Time was of the essence. 

If Anton wanted her in four days, she was going to be there in one. God knows the other missing royals at the rendezvous would need that extra time. Marguerite most of all.

Ariel zips up her bag, a smirk pulls up her lips and despite herself, a triumphant laugh escapes her. 

Anton thought he was above everything and two steps ahead. 

Well...this time? Anton will be the one in the firing line. He just didn’t know it yet.

Anton wasn’t the only one with the power. 

***

“You have four days. Well, she does anyways.” 

Liam glared at Anton as he hung up from Ariel, a smirk lifting his lips. “What are you doing, Anton? You can’t possibly think the Crown Summit will cower to your whims. You have no idea who you’re messing with here.” 

Anton glares as he lowers his head to look into Liam’s eyes with contempt, his lips pull up into a sneer. “I am taking what is mine. And this time I will. Not. Lose.” The last words shooting out of his mouth like knives through clenched teeth, the rage seeping through his tone.

If he was any other person who had not been witness to the atrocities that Anton had done he would shrink in fear but no. Liam was stronger than that and Anton’s wrath did not waver him at all. He survived four assassination attempts for heaven’s sake! 

Liam refuses to flinch, even though his face throbbed and his wrists ache against the chains binding his hands together. He might be king but he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. Leo taught him that.

Liam stares up at Anton defiantly, his lip pulling up in a mirrored show of Anton’s sneer.

 “I wish you luck on that endeavour, Anton, but it will be a fruitless one.” 

Anton leans back against the concrete wall, arms folded over his chest, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I find that hard to believe when I have you here, in chains, battered and bruised. I believe I have the upper hand.” 

Liam shakes his head, his lips smoothing into a thin line. “You can lock me up and beat me all you want but you will never get my crown.” Or Europe’s either. 

Anton rolls his eyes as he steps away from the wall and leans down, roughly grabbing Liam’s chin. His eyes are like frigid ice as he stares Liam down, his mouth curled in a snarl. 

“Listen, here, Your Majesty,” Anton spits out the words like hot venom, “I will get the crown. Even if I have to wrench it from your cold, dead hands. This time, you won’t be able to stop me.” 

Liam grins against Anton’s grip on his jaw. “I’d like to see you try…again. ” 

Anton growls deep in his throat, pinning Liam down with his black eyes before Anton rears back and headbutts Liam with such force that burning fire explodes against his face and he can’t help the yelp of pain that escapes his mouth. He falls to the ground with an ungraceful thud, his eyes seeing stars as the world around him blurs, he hears a shout but it’s lost to him as he blacks out completely. 

***

The sound of soft discussion arouses Liam from unconsciousness, his face throbbing painfully, his head pounding as he brings a hand to his face, and finds the once straight and narrow bridge of his nose slightly askew. Broken bones were a common occurrence through his childhood and teenage years. His incorrigible brother was the main reason why. Having seen Leo break his nose on two occasions, setting it back into place was easy, although in Leo’s case he had the royal physicians to do it. Liam had no such thing. Tensing his muscles at the pain that was to come, he places both hands on his nose, tilts his head back to open his nostrils and with a sharp pull, his nose realigns. Liam gingerly touches his face and finds the spot tender, blood starts to trickle down his button-down shirt. He’d have to get it looked at once he returned to Cordonia but he thought a broken nose was a small price to pay for getting rid of Anton once and for all. A battle scar some might say. 

Shuffling can be heard before a whisper pierces Liam’s painful bleary haze, “Liam? You awake?” 

Liam’s eyes open slowly, the pain behind his eyelids almost making him want to immediately close them again as if that would stem how much he was aching right now. Another groan leaves him as he sits up against the metal cot. 

As Liam opens his eyes, he comes into contact with the stark white walls of his cell, the titanium bars which were two inches thick kept him caged. He stands up with shaky legs and pads over to the bars and meets his best friend. 

“Drake? What happened?” 

Liam knew that something must have happened for his nose to be broken the way it had been but as of now his brain was a messy, thick fog. 

Drake gives him a sympathetic look. 

“Ah...well…” 

Drake trails off as he averts his gaze, his feet shuffling against the floor. Liam rolls his eyes and then winces. Even that small action prompted a throbbing pain to explode inside his head. 

“Drake. No need to dance around the subject.” 

Drake clears his throat, his hands gripping the bars tightly. 

“Well...you kinda got knocked out cold but that was before you taunted him. Mind you...I would have said other colourful words to him but I believe you held yourself pretty well.” 

Liam squints, his foggy mind trickling away, the images in his head seeming to be moving in slow motion, yet they were slowly clicking together like a puzzle piece. Once his mind came up for air and the last of the puzzle fit together, Liam’s eyes widened.

“Ariel was on the phone! I talked to Ariel!” 

Drake’s lips twitched in a smile hearing the relief in his voice and the childlike happiness on Liam’s face. One measly phone call to his wife and Liam was already happy beyond words. 

“Yeah, Liam. You talked to her…” 

Drake’s face darkened after his words trailed off and Liam noticed the change and gave him a quizzical look. “What is it, Drake?” 

Drake gave him a small, pained smile, his grip on the bars tightening. Drake wanted Liam to guess but considering he just woke up from a massive head-butt from the raging asshole upstairs, Drake figured he’d need a little prompting. Liam might still be a bit disorientated. 

Drake took a deep breath and met his best friends eyes, his face a stoic mask yet was whole-heartedly trying not to break it. “You were on the phone to her but she...she’s on her way here. Anton gave her an ultimatum. Either she comes here or you die.” 

Liam’s heart sank at that thought. No, it couldn’t be. Not when they were so close.

He knew Ariel enough that he believed she would find a loophole. She always did. Now, it was only a matter if he could as well.

Drake sighs in relief when he finally finds the glint that had been missing the last few weeks in the once strong king’s eyes. Resolve. Determination. Strength. 

Liam gave Drake a smirk, so reminiscent of when they were boys and they would play maze-tag, his young childhood laughter echoing around the palace gardens when he’d do rather un-princely behaviour.

They only had four days to get out of this godforsaken place and somehow stop Anton's tyranny. If he knew Anton as well as Liam thought he did, Anton would stop at nothing to overthrow Europe. Cordonia was just a small country, but Europe? Anton would be unstoppable. Nazario's email echoes in Liam's cloudy mind and Liam's eyes widen. 

Shit.

Nazario's intel becoming startlingly clear. 

Anton will surely succeed but Liam knew that he could not let that happen and Liam suppressed a smirk knowing he wasn’t going to let that happen. He had some tricks up his sleeve. Thank god for all those lessons on strategy and occasional poker games with Drake to hone the skill of deception.

The sound of a loud clang interrupts the silence and a sharp clinking sound and then the soft thudding of footsteps the only sound to fill the air before Liam and Drake come face to face with a harsh looking man. His black hair long and greasy, tied at the nape of his neck, a jagged scar dotting the place around his pitch-black eyes. 

The man standing in front of them lifts his pale lips in a scowl, his expression sour. "So...this is the famous Liam I've heard so much about."

”The favour is not returned.” Liam says as his eyes narrow at the man standing in front of him. Nazario’s email comes to his mind and the images that he had sent and the man beside Anton. It becomes glaringly obvious that the man standing in front of them was Gregory. 

Gregory gives Liam a smirk, crossing his arms across his chest. “You are in for some trouble. Anton is going to make some real good changes to Europe and your small excuse for a country is just the start.”

Drake scoffs. “Yeah, right. I’m sure Anton has a big enough ego already which means he doesn’t need to be stroked by you any more than it has.”

Gregory spears Drake with a dark, menacing glare yet it did nothing to deter the simmering urge to hit this guy. Drake's hands twisted against the metal in response to Gregory's sneer. 

Liam turns to the ragged man and pins him with a cold stare, the blue of his eyes solid like sapphires. 

Liam's jaw clenches so hard, a muscle ticks and his hands holding the bars with a white-knuckled grip. Liam spoke with a calm note to his voice, it was so level that Drake shivered. It had been a long while since he'd heard that tone and the last time he heard it was when Constantine had thrown Ariel out of the ballroom at his Coronation. 

"I will advise that you do not speak another word otherwise you will have the wrath of me and an entire country behind it. You will leave us. Now. I have no patience for a sympathizer like you who blindly follows a man who uses callous ways to gain power. Go." 

There’s a dangerous bite to the last word yet Liam stood with the stoic and commanding air of a king who would do well on his promise to bring that fire to anyone who dares defy him and Gregory must have realised that because he swallows, sending a glare to them both and stomping away, grumbling under his breath. 

Gregory's footsteps fade and there’s an unmistakable sound of a door clicking shut before Liam's demeanor relaxes and his eyes turn warm, focusing on Drake's form across from him.

Liam's voice dropped to a whisper. "I have a plan…” 

Drake raises his eyebrows. “And what does this plan entail, Liam?” 

Liam gives him an appraising look. “Have you been practicing your bluffing skills, Drake?”

Drake looks at Liam confused, his eyebrows pinching inwards before he catches on quickly, seeing the gleam in Liam's now bright eyes. 

 "I can kick your ass in poker. I'm sure I can bluff my way out of anything at this point." 

Liam smiles wide. "Excellent. Now...what would you say to a little subterfuge? Are you ready?"

Drake grins, his brown eyes matching the rising adrenaline rush of revenge sparking in Liam's ocean blue ones. "More than ready, my friend."

#liam x mc #the royal romance #royal romance fanfiction #king liam x mc #trr #trr choices #choices trr #trr fanfic #the royal romance fanfiction #mc x liam #trr fanfiction #aworldoffandoms

[netraptor]

Fanfic: Gunshy

This is a short fanfic I wrote of @newbabyfly ‘s characters, but mostly about Gideon. When a warlock girl meets Gideon and runs away from him in panic, he’s drawn into a web of blackmail and cruelty centered around Gambit and a Shadow of Yor it’s been attracting. But can Gideon save this girl, or will they both become prey?

Chapter 1

Gideon didn't expect to find trouble among the books in the Archive that day. The big warlock studied the bookshelves in the Vanguard Archives, absently running his fingers through his silver hair. After deliberating for several minutes, he selected a stack of books on the Roman Empire. His broad shoulders brushed the bookcases on either side as he edged out into a study area. Here were several tables with chairs, a few other warlocks scattered among them.

The Tower archives were a combination library and computer lab. Gideon went there often to study and soak in the peace and quiet. After intense missions in the field, or a lot of Gambit, it was nice to sit with a few books and a tablet, reading about Earth's long-vanished past.

He set his books on the nearest table. A human girl with improbable bubblegum-pink hair looked up with a frown.

"Excuse me," he said. "Mind if I sit down?"

The girl nodded and slid her own books to the side.

Gideon pulled out a chair and sat down, then flipped open one of his books. As he did, he happened to notice the Roman coliseum on the front of one of the girl's books. "You're studying Rome, too?"

She nodded and inched her chair backward. Her eyes flicked over him, then down to the book. "Yes, I'm ... researching Roman architectural design. I've actually visited Rome, and many of their buildings stand to this day. Including the coliseum."

"Really!" Gideon leaned an elbow on the table. "Did you go inside?"

The girl gave him another quick, up-down look, as if he was a hostile alien and she was scanning him for weapons. "No, I ... there was a Fallen encampment inside. I couldn't get close."

"I've visited Venice," Gideon offered. "Or what's left. It's mostly underwater, now. But the books say it was once a city with waterways instead of streets."

The girl winced and suddenly rose to her feet. "Excuse me, I ... need to go." She left her books and almost dashed for the door.

Gideon's ghost, Emery, phased into sight above Gideon's left shoulder. He wore a sparkling disco ball shell, and his blue eye blinked curiously after the girl. "That was odd."

"Her sudden departure?" Gideon said. "Yes, quite strange. She even left her books."

"No ... I mean, she was afraid of you. The moment you sat down, her heart rate elevated. I took it for attraction at first, but her stress level began rising, too. She departed in the midst of an anxiety attack."

Gideon blinked at his ghost. "Why should she be afraid of me? We're fellow Guardians."

"I don't understand," Emery muttered. "Well, her ghost tag says that her name is Sienna. I suppose we'll recognize her if we ever see her again."

"For a person named Sienna," Gideon agreed, "her hair was far too pink."

Gideon would have forgotten Sienna, except that she was in the Archives the following day, too. He'd returned his books and selected more, only to notice the tell-tale bubblegum hair across the room. Sienna was bent over a book with her back to him, and hadn't seen him come in. Her ghost floated at her shoulder, watching the room.

"I'm going to introduce myself," Gideon thought to Emery through their bond.

"All right," Emery replied. "Maybe she won't be so frightened if she knows who you are."

Gideon crossed the room and stood beside Sienna's table. Her ghost whispered to its guardian. Sienna looked up and started, hands flattening against the table. A little lightning flickered over her fingers.

"Hello," Gideon said with his most engaging smile. "I believe I frightened you yesterday. That was not my intent. I'm Gideon."

The woman sat perfectly still, staring up at him. He was reminded of a cornered deer he had once watched the Fallen spear to death. Sienna had the same wide-eyed, desperate look.

Her ghost whispered to her, then looked up at him, too. It wore a blue and orange Vanguard shell.

Sienna tried to smile. She only succeeded in baring her teeth. "Hello. Gideon. I'm Sienna. Do you mind?" She flicked a hand, asking for space.

Gideon stepped back, and Sienna rose to her feet. The top of her head only reached to his collarbone. Gideon was taller than most people, at 6'8, but he dwarfed this girl.

She tried to face him, but as she looked at him, she gasped as if suddenly unable to breathe. She darted sideways and fled out the door, leaving her books behind once more.

Gideon gazed after her. "Should I be insulted, Emery?"

"Uh ... I don't know." Emery usually guided Gideon through sticky social situations, but the ghost was at a loss this time. "She's genuinely afraid of you. Have you ever interacted with her before? Crucible? Gambit?"

"Not that I know of," Gideon replied. "And I'd remember that hair. This is ... passing strange."

He glanced at her books. Instead of Rome, this time, all her books were about the Hive.

No sooner had Gideon left the Archives than he received a call from his teammate, Echo-3.

"Hey Giddy!" she said through the ghost link. "Killy's off training baby hunters, and Stoomdorm's busy. I just took an assignment to thin the Vex on Venus, but I need a fireteam. You and Nika game?"

Gideon groaned. "Nika's in the Dreaming City for the next month. I'm up for a mission, for what it's worth."

"Just you, huh?" Echo said, sounding disappointed. "We need one more. Who do you know who's free?"

A random thought crossed Gideon's mind. "I just met this warlock named Sienna. Maybe she'd be available."

"Right," Echo said. "I'll give her a call. Hold please."

"Her ghost is playing hold music," Emery said. "Do you want to listen?"

"What music?"

"Metallica."

"No thanks. I prefer the Beatles."

Gideon headed down the Tower walk toward the living quarters at the far end. After the loss of the old Tower during the Red War, the Vanguard had relocated headquarters further down the wall, where there was another hanger and lots of unused space. Guardian quarters were inside the wall itself, several floors down.

As Gideon clanked down the metal stairs, Echo's voice returned. "Talked to Sienna, nice girl. She agreed to come along. How do you know her? Should I be jealous?"

"I met her in the Archives," Gideon replied. "We share the same tastes in books." He didn't mention the panic thing, since he didn't really understand it. "No need for jealousy, Echo."

"Uh-huh," she said. "Well, suit up. We're shipping out in an hour. I need some of that sweet glimmer to buy a new sparrow that just came in."

"Echo, you already have three sparrows."

"And they're slow! This one has a nitro booster. I've got to buy it before some other hotshot does."

Gideon and Emery rolled their eyes at each other.

"Oh," Echo added, "bring your sword. You want to impress a girl, swords do the job."

Gideon thought about this as he unlocked his apartment door. "Is that a euphemism?"

"No," Echo said with exaggerated sincerity. "I never make lewd jokes. How dare you suggest it, Giddy."

"Don't call me Giddy," he said, and motioned for Emery to cut the connection.

"She'll be mad," Emery said.

"No, she won't," Gideon said, locating his favorite armored combat robe with the belt made of chains. He'd known Echo practically since he'd resurrected. Killy had more or less trained them both, and their team was more like a loose dysfunctional family.

He outfitted himself in an enviro suit, then the armored robe, then selected his weapons. Definitely the compound bow. He'd been practicing with it for months and could put an arrow through the eye of a Hive Knight at three hundred yards. A hand cannon for close range. He lingered in front of his weapon rack, dithering between the replica Ace of Spades and a far shadier weapon called Malfeasance. In the end, since they'd be fighting Vex, he took the Ace.

He topped off his selection with a sniper rifle, and he was ready. He nodded at Emery, who transmatted him to his ship in the hanger--a quick flash of light and a sensation of flying through the void.

Echo waited nearby, tapping one booted foot. She was an Exo, a human intelligence in a robot body. She wore heavy Titan armor that concealed her hourglass figure and tossed an auto rifle from hand to hand.

"There you are!" she said, waving at Gideon with her rifle. "We just need our third and off we go."

Gideon thoughtfully pulled his helmet on and fastened the straps.

When Sienna transmatted in, she didn't seem to recognize Gideon. She nodded politely to both of them, then approached Echo and shook her hand. "Pleased to meet you. You're the fireteam lead?"

"Hell yes," Echo exclaimed. "Time to murder some robots."

"Is it murder, then?" Sienna mused.

Echo laughed. "We can debate it in transit. Let's get out of here."

As Gideon climbed the ladder to the cockpit of his jumpship, he caught a glimpse of Sienna staring at him, gripping her own helmet until her knuckles turned white.

This mission might not be as straightforward as he'd hoped.

#destiny 2 #fanfiction

[bussanbaby]

At first, everything seems normal. Just past eight p.m., Alec trudges through the loft door with tired steps, trying not to drip sticky demon ichor on the carpets as he calls out a hello to Magnus. The answer he receives is muffled by the doors leading to Magnus’ apothecary, a little stilted and late, but Alec makes nothing of it, chalks it up to his boyfriend being too focused on his work to pay much attention to anything or anyone else, as it has been known to happen.

He showers, letting the scaldingly hot water take away all the aches and stresses of the day, then pulls on a pair of cozy sweatpants and one of Magnus’ t-shirts to sleep in. The strip of light beneath the closed doors of Magnus’ study doesn’t waver, so Alec sets about making himself a snack before bed to prevent a growling stomach from being the thing that wakes him at the crack of dawn. He tells himself to check on Magnus after he’s eaten, to make sure the warlock actually gets some sleep instead of slaving over a potion or a spell.

A plate of cheese toast later, Alec finds himself in front of the door, hesitating. He can’t hear any sounds coming from inside, no shoes shuffling, no glass containers clinking against wood, no humming, no anything; it’s almost like Magnus isn’t even there. Alec swallows, his curled fingers hovering over the wood, frozen mid-knock.

He opens the door slowly, then steps inside.

The ingredients table stands untouched and nothing is brewing in the iron cast cauldron off to the side; everything in the same place it was when Alec stopped by on his way out to the Institute to wish Magnus a good day and get a kiss goodbye.

Magnus himself is sat at his desk, unmoving, like one of the marble statues lining the Institute roof; the tabletop lamp to his right is casting dark shadows onto his face and reflecting fractured light in the glass of whiskey nearby, barely a sip missing from it. The second hand of the clock ticks twice before Magnus realizes Alec is in the room and it takes him another moment to pull the mask of contentedness over the heavy sadness that was there before.

Alec knows that look, knows what it means - it’s not the kind of nostalgic melancholy that comes with reliving old memories or even the tiredness seeping into bones after a hard day, but the vulnerable, hurting sorrow Magnus had felt after Valentine and all the torture he had to endure in his body. Alec can still recall it picture-perfectly, burned into his memory - a hollow gaze, eyebrows pulled together and lips tight, Magnus’ entire body slumped down where he always sits tall.

With a feeling of deja vu, Alec watches Magnus stand up too quickly, overeager in his want to hide all evidence of weakness; there’s a tight smile in the corners of his mouth as he beelines for Alec to greet him with a kiss. It’s short and sweet and Alec gives into it because he’s only so strong, but it doesn’t sit right with him.

“Alexander, is something wrong? You look worried, darling,” Magnus says, his voice smooth and palms warm against Alec’s chest; worry roots itself inside Alec as he runs through the list of things that could’ve caused Magnus to feel like this. As far as he knows, Magnus only had one minor client meeting set up, then a warlock party he was invited to, a congregation in the wake of recent events.

It must’ve been that, if Alec’s gut-feeling is anything to go by. He smiles reassuringly at Magnus, putting his hands over the ringed fingers tapping out a subtle pattern against the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m fine, but what about you?”

“What do you mean?” Magnus feigns ignorance, but Alec knows better than that, has watched Magnus for so long that he can easily spot all the cues - the shift from foot to foot, the nervous bob of his throat.

With a gentle hand cupped over Magnus’ elbow, Alec leads him back to the swivel chair he got up from, then perches on the edge of the desk, careful of all the things already on it, especially the framed picture of them from one of their dates in Europe.

“You seem off. Did anything happen while you were at that meeting?”

Magnus glances down at his lap, where his hands are folded together, fingers worrying a ring, turning it restlessly. The edges of his jaw harden and anger flows over, acidic in all the words he throws next.

“Lorenzo Rey happened. You’ll meet him at the next council, since I won’t be there.”

Alec doesn’t understand. He shifts, brows drawn down and head tilted.

“It wasn’t a party, but an almost business meeting. The community voted for a new High Warlock due to what Lorenzo called ‘crucial lapses of judgment’,” Magnus sighs heavily, bitterness joining all the emotions already trapped beneath his ribs. “And while some wanted to have me stay in the position, the majority voted for Rey, who’s been always against me and my ways of living. So, he’s the new High Warlock of Brooklyn now.”  

Silence falls across them as Alec mulls over the information, shocked by what he’s just heard. At first, his brain can’t catch up, associating the title with Magnus since he can remember, but then, it all clicks and righteous anger lights up Alec’s veins. He wants to stand up and go find this newcomer, shake him by the lapels and take what’s Magnus’, yet it’s not as simple as that.

Politics are never an easy ground to walk and both sides are somewhat right - while Alec would love nothing more to fight for Magnus’ honor (even though Magnus can do that himself, the thought is nice), he can see why warlocks have taken the steps they have, with how their relationship is viewed and Alec’s connections to the Clave, how Magnus’ decisions could be seen as influenced, skewed by a Shadowhunter. Still, he can’t help but feel cheated alongside Magnus.

It all depends on the point of view, because when people make a decision, they judge by their intentions and not by actions, whereas others see it the opposite way. Magnus had chosen his own kind, had wanted another Downworlder to protect his people from frankly inevitable trouble in the form of the Soul Sword, over a militarist organization that had abused and betrayed him many times before. He couldn’t have predicted that the Queen would turn on them and side with Valentine; he had done his best in the very difficult situation he’d found himself in, trapped between two important fractions of his life.

“That’s… Magnus, I’m sorry,” Alec murmurs, at a loss for words.

Magnus barks out a bitter laugh, eyes trained on something in the middle distance.

“No, don’t. Maybe it was the right thing to do.” He licks his lips, presses them together into a thin line against his teeth. “Luke and Raphael warned me, told me there was a different way to go about this, but I didn’t listen, lost in my pain and fear. You lying to me about the sword, the threat of my children ending up hurt or dead, the entire Shadow World in danger… I couldn’t think straight. Especially after what happened with Azazel and Valentine.”

Guilt flares up like a red-hot brand in Alec’s heart, but he tamps it down - he’s been forgiven, this is not about him. Him betraying Magnus’ trust was the last drop that broke the dam, released all of that pent-up hurt and anger, everything he’s been holding onto for a long while. They both thought they’d done the honorable thing, picked the proper path to walk on.

The discussion about all of this could last for hours on end, different factors changing outcomes like butterflies in effect, and the conclusions would be still as grey as the fog that hangs over New York on cold and wet mornings.

“You did what felt right.”

“I did. Still, it was ultimately their choice. It’s just…” When Magnus falters, Alec reaches for his palm, cradles it between his own in reassurance; he’s listening, he cares. “I’ve had this title for so long, it’s become a part of my identity, something I relied on to remind me of my strength in moments of doubt. I’ve always been Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn.”

Magnus smiles a hollow smile, eyes flickering up to meet Alec’s. “Now, it’s just Magnus Bane, a warlock. Maybe not even a good one.”

As soon as the resigned words leave Magnus’ mouth, there’s that anger again; it flows through Alec, tasting like refusal on his tongue. He knows Magnus doesn’t truly think that, instead lets himself feel the harshness residing deep, left behind from all the times he’s been beaten down and made to think he’s less than the powerful being Alec and the world see him as.

“Magnus, don’t -” Alec pauses, shuffles from the desk down to the floor, resting on a bent knee. Other hand still tangled with Magnus’, Alec sets his free palm on Magnus’ thigh, finds his wandering gaze and holds it steady. “You know that’s as far from the truth as you can get.”

Alec squeezes Magnus’ fingers gently between his, the only sounds around them the creak of the leather chair underneath Magnus’ weight and the rhythm of their breathing.

“You’re kind and thoughtful, always offering your home and your heart to people in need, always risking everything to protect your people. Without your input, we’d probably never solve half the cases we have, I hope you’re aware.”

Magnus allows a small chuckle at Alec’s words, nodding his head in smug agreement despite his gloomy mood. Relishing in that sliver of warmth on his boyfriend’s face, Alec continues, “Your knowledge keeps surprising me each time I get to hear your stories, each of them showing how wise you are, how much you understand. You survived wars and ends of the world as we know it, lived for centuries, yet you still have that gentleness in you that so many other people are missing.”

“But you’re not all brains and heart and no brawn, no. You wield your strength and your magic with pride - I’ve never met anyone else more powerful than you, because all it takes is one swipe of your arm to annihilate Circle members and you perform impressive spells like nobody’s business, not even breaking a sweat. You’re stronger than a title, still as capable as you are without it.”

When Magnus wants to interrupt, Alec doesn’t let him oppose the truth.

“You’re an extraordinary person, a great leader, the most wonderful lover and friend - anybody who says otherwise is either blind or in denial.”

Magnus’ palm fits itself around Alec’s cheek, soft fingertips against the edge of his jaw. Alec smiles, leaning into the touch.

“I’m not saying any of this just because I think you need to hear it. I mean all of it, every single word.”

He’s seen it all with his very own eyes, witnessed all he just described - he was there after all, when Magnus saved Luke’s life, putting his own in danger; when he saved Alec, more than once already. Magnus has helped Clary on multiple occasions when there were other things on his mind, assisted the Institute, even though he didn’t have to. He fought valiantly against people who looked down upon him and all those that did wrong, like Iris. There’s so much more to tell, not enough hours in a day to sing all of Magnus’ praises.

Thumb swiping a metronome rhythm across Alec’s cheek, Magnus stays quiet, his expression neutral except the upward quirk of his lips, like a peek of sun from behind stormy clouds. He seems to be reflecting on what he just heard, until that smile blooms and he stands slowly, pulling Alec up with him until they’re face to face.

Magnus’ careful hands slither up Alec’s arms, waking shivers in their path until they come to rest on broad shoulders. “Thank you,” he says, earnest and quiet, before he presses his forehead against Alec’s who tugs him even closer, until there’s no space between them. Their eyes dip shut, eyelashes fluttering against cheeks as they breathe each other in, surrounded by calmness of the loft, the quiet familiarity of their touch.

“I’m here for you and I love you. Remember, you’re not alone in this,” Alec murmurs, lips brushing against Magnus’ with each syllable.

“I love you, too,” Magnus hums, slipping his hands around to grab at the back of Alec’s shirt, then rests his cheek against Alec’s shoulder; he’s not holding on for dear life, but for comfort, like he understands this isn’t temporary. “I do know that, but sometimes it’s difficult to take my own advice.” Magnus chuckles to himself, but Alec feels it more than he hears it, Magnus’ breath sweeping over his skin.

“I feel like I will go crazy, just standing on the sidelines,” Magnus confesses and Alec tightens his hold, rubbing soothing circles against Magnus’ back; he’s not going to let that happen.

Their daily lives keep getting more steeper and more demanding, but that means nothing against Alec’s love for Magnus - their short separation was more than enough to show Alec that leaving Magnus’ side is impossible; he’s here for good, and he’s here to do better, to make up to Magnus for all his past mistakes. Relationships may be still new to him, but he knows how much support means when troubles are ahead, how loyalty and honesty and affection are the base for a love that can withstand any storm.

“Take this break to focus on yourself, then. You’ve gone through a lot recently, so find your balance, then take the council by storm.” Alec presses a soft kiss to the side of Magnus’ neck, searching for that ticklish spot that never fails to make Magnus laugh. Bones warming at the sound, Alec adds lightheartedly, “I can already hear Lorenzo shaking in his fancy boots.”

Magnus taps him on the shoulder in mock chastisement with another giggle escaping his chest, but then sobers, leaning back to look Alec in the face.

“What would I do without you, huh?”

Alec smiles innocently, eyes flickering up and away.

“You’d probably mope around all night, drink some expensive alcohol and maybe magically egg Lorenzo’s house, but since I’m here, we can go to our bed and then figure things out tomorrow. How about that?” Alec asks, already taking a step back towards the doors, one hand extended between them as an invitation.

As Magnus’ fingers slide against Alec’s, he answers, “Sounds like a plan.”

#malec #shadowhunters #posibane #blushyalec #willjtudor #hwob #belovedbane #userrahul #magnusragnor #daddariossmile #magnusbaene #hufflebee #gayndsoft #magnusbanne #magnuslights #my fics #i've had a lot of feelings about support and healthy communication and this is the result #also this is kind of my take on the whole 'magnus loses his title'

[ritebeforeyoureyes]

The Jewel

This is one of the longest, smutty-ish pieces I’ve written in a while, I hope you guys like it x

Masterlist – Plot: A stripper and her boss.

The Jewel (One-Shot)

Zendaya parked her car and glanced sideward at the purposefully run down looking building. She thought back at how she’d ended up here, because, of course, a lifestyle of stripping had never been her first choice. But, as life had shown her, fate tended to throw a curve ball at you from time to time.

And, in terms of curve balls, Zendaya’s wasn’t that bad. Her life was actually a pretty good one. She had been the star dancer and athlete in high school and the world was her oyster, no storms in the horizon. She was a shoe in for the best scholarships and grants to the top institutions in the country. But despite her brains and her dancer’s talent, Zendaya’s real selling point was her body. She had that classic hourglass shape that men seemed to fawn over, but her ass seemed completely proportion to her other assets. She was curvaceous and slim and oh boy, did the men notice. They had been noticing her since her early teens, when she’d peeked through the beauties of woman hood, and since then, the attention hadn’t stopped.

But, Zendaya was always quite awkward and nervous with men. At the tender age of twenty, she’d been only been with two. The first having been her long-term boyfriend from high school, Trevor Jackson. Admittedly, their first time had been pretty terrible. But to his credit, he got better over time and so did she. She began to spread her wings a little and venture into sexual experiences that eventually became more fun. The second guy had been completely different to Trevor. He was well travelled and cultured, comfortable and established in his own sexuality. He was also always aware of his masculinity and spent more time tending to Zendaya’s orgasm’s rather than his own. Their affair was short-lived, however, as he grew tired of her after a semester and half or so.

Then, the accident happened. It wasn’t at dance or at training like anybody expected; she was running to a lecture and she’d tripped. Honestly, everybody thought it was a little stumble that should have meant nothing. But doctor’s confirmed Zendaya’s worst nightmare, she’d torn up her ankle on the way down. Her parents moved closer to campus to help with her recovery but after a year passed, Zendaya knew her chances of keeping her dance scholarship were little to nothing. So, her parents scrounged for the money to keep her in college. They maxed out student loans and their credit – it wasn’t enough. With two more years of college left, Zendaya knew she would have to pay her own way through school.

Her first resort had been a retail job. They didn’t require much experience and she fell into the easily accessible death trap of minimum wage. Her extensive shifts paired with her creepily perverted manager wasn’t enough to make her stay; she was barely making room and board, let alone tuition. She later moved onto waitressing at some local bars. It was easily more money, Zendaya hiked up her skirt and popped the buttons on her blouse and soon the tips were rolling in. She was pretty, obviously, and the frat boys and older men, alike, were smitten by her. She called them ‘honey’ and ‘tiger’ and they were stuffing the dollar bills into her waistband without a second to blink. On the surface, it was the perfect job for Zendaya’s unfortunate situation following the accident but there were moments in the dark where she felt degraded. She got a lot of slaps on the ass and cat calls, and sometimes she’d go home ashamed.

She felt low, the lowest she had ever felt in her life, until she saw him. She always served him his drink (or drinks, should she say) He came in every Friday and Saturday night and ordered the same thing, a beer and a tequila shot. He’d sit by himself, lose himself in his thoughts, and then he’d leave. It was a little odd but Zendaya couldn’t find herself looking away from him. He was shorter than some of the usual jock-type guys that populated the bar, but it didn’t matter. He made up for the height in his mysterious stature. He was always dressed in black, his eyes deep and broody. She’d serve him his drink and he’d recognise her every time; they’d even exchanged pleasantries one time.

It was a routine that Zendaya surprisingly grew used to. She grew excited by the possibility of him grumbling a ‘thank you’ in his thick British accent. And as she walked into work that one time, she found him already sitting there, at the table in the back. Her heart raced in her chest and she smiled as she knowingly prepared his order. After flashing him a wink and him handing her a wade of cash that accounted to way more than his order, Zendaya made her way to a new group that had entered the establishment. They threw their orders at her and as she readily bounced around the back of the bar, she noticed that her tips from the brooding British boy were missing. The sudden loss of the money that she so desperately needed made tears spring to Zendaya’s eyes. Once her shift was over, she was speeding out of the back door, her eyes and her chest heavy with responsibility. It was then that she spotted him again. He immediately saw a woman in distress and offered her a shoulder to cry on. They talked for a while, him listening to her troubles about rent and tuition fees due and before either of them knew it, she found herself in his bed.

She’d thought it had just been a one-night stand but no, this was the curve ball. It was how she had ended up where she was now, the Jewel, as they called her. She was the star of the ‘Brother’s Gentleman Club.’ A business founded by Thomas, as she had later found out his name, and his brothers. On the outside it looked like a scrappy building but on the inside, it was an establishment worth millions of dollars; the establishment that had saved her from the claws of bad fate. Tom had been adamant to hire Zendaya, claiming he’d been scoping her out for months. She was the perfect kind of woman for his business; classy yet still able to wrack in the customers.

She’d been scared at first, scared of a world of drugs and sex trafficking. She’d seen too many documentaries to know how this was going to end. Nobody would come looking for her, her body just lying in a ditch somewhere after a sleazy rich guy was done with her as his play thing.

But Tom had been successful in convincing her otherwise. He let his fingers wonder down her sinful body until they were deeply buried in her, his raspy voice seducing her into the belief that she wouldn’t have to do anything that she didn’t want to. He kissed up her body before nestling against her lips, the accent that she adored so much, reassuring her of her beauty and her social skills. And as he pumped into her with a fury like no other, suddenly, Zendaya wasn’t at her lowest of lows anymore.

She was the independent girl that was just making a buck.

And tonight, was like any other, her eyes took their time to adjust to the dim lighting in the room as she made her way inside. The club space was slowly being prepared for, yet another wild night and the place was bustling with bar tenders and dancers alike. Past the front desk was a set of double doors and with a grin on her face, Zendaya stuck her head around it. Tom was sat behind his desk, with his partner, Harrison, sat directly in front of him. His head snapped upwards and there was a frown imprinted against his lips. Tom was ready to throw ‘fuck off’ at the intruder until he saw that it was Zendaya. There was just something about her that softened his hard exterior. His face lit up and Harrison just winced knowingly. It was a slippery slope, falling for a girl like Zendaya. She was their employee and their field of work wasn’t exactly the most orthodox.

“Reportin’ for duty, Captain.” Zendaya mock-saluted and Tom chuckled before instructing her of her role for the night. Usually she was just like a waitress, just in more revealing clothes. Her uniform consisted of some daisy dukes and a crop top, nothing too crazy. She’d dance around the club floor as she handed out drinks and took orders. If she was feeling oddly confident, she’d toy with her cleavage a little; pucker her lips and kiss customer’s cheeks. It was never more than that.  She wasn’t the type that did private shows or strip-teased – Tom wouldn’t allow it. She was the jewel that people came to see, not to touch. And like every other night at work, Tom told her about how she needed to tend to some particularly important guests and she willingly obliged before heading to the back.  

‘The back’ was just another term for the dancers’ dressing rooms in the Holland establishment. It was a large room adorned with mirrors and an endless clothing rack. Girls of all shapes and sizes stood around, checking their hair and makeup in preparation for yet another night at work. Zendaya spotted one of her closest friends, Laura, on the other side of the room and made her way over. Many of the others were wary of the two pals. They received the most attention and seemingly were favourites of the boss. Jealousy and envy were common tricks of the trade and Zendaya had learnt to ignore it, she was just lucky she had Laura by her side. The two dusted each other’s faces with powder and checked for lipstick on their teeth before heading out onto the floor.

The room was thumping already, suddenly transformed by fluorescent lights and endless chart music. Zendaya could feel the floor move underneath her heels and she made her way to the bar to start passing out drinks. But on her way there, she was stopped by Harrison, the junior partner in the business. She knew he wasn’t the man who called the shots – that was Tom – but she was aware of the power that he still possessed.

“Those are the guys you need to make sure have drinks on them always.” Harrison slyly ushered towards a group of men that sat in the corner. “We’re meant to be doing serious business with them and it seems Mr Chmerkovskiy over there has his eyes on you.” Zendaya glanced over and noticed the older man eyeing her up and down hungrily. She gulped audibly, a jittery sensation filling her, before Harrison grumbled lowly in her ear. “Do not disappoint tonight, Zendaya. Do whatever it takes to make him happy-“

“But Tom-“ Harrison’s strange emphasis on do made Zendaya’s skin crawl. Tom had told her she shouldn’t do anything she wasn’t comfortable with and frankly, even from a distance, this guy was giving her the wrong vibe.

“I don’t care what Tom thinks, it’s finally time for you to do start doing your job.” Zendaya couldn’t stop herself from nodding helplessly; not wanting to anger one of the men who paid for her survival. With a small (and scared) smile in his direction, Zendaya grabbed at a tray of drinks and made her way over to the older men.

They were laughing when she was in their proximity, but it died down quickly once they spotted the leggy beauty. Val’s eyes trailed her body leisurely, pausing momentarily on the jut of her hips and the hint of cleavage that her shirt exposed.

“Hey, darlin’” He got up slowly, meeting her as she stood, his hands instinctively gravitating towards her body. “Aren’t you a looker.” Val smirked and the men around him laughed. Uneasily, Zendaya joined them too – this was her job, she had to play along as best as she could.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” Zendaya tried her hand at acting, her voice dripping with a sweetness that was so far from what she truly felt. But, regardless of how she felt, she knew this guy was putty in her hands. Complimenting him had made him happy and she inwardly smiled at herself for helping further Tom’s business.

“Why don’t you give us a little dance, huh, hun?” Val motioned towards the pole that stood loud and proud in the middle of their table. Zendaya looked up at it cautiously, her eyes widening. Sure, she worked at a strip joint, but she’d never actually done anything. Before she could think twice about fighting Val, she felt his hand dip into her shorts, his fingers now pressed against her bare backside. Zendaya tried to playfully take a step back but Val’s free hand pulled at her shirt, tearing it through the middle. The men around them encouraged his behaviour, their eyes boring into Zendaya’s lacily adorned chest.

Harrison watched the encounter from a distance. He noticed the rigidness of Zendaya’s body and his eyes stayed trained upon her as she tried to relax under a façade. Good girl, she was doing as he asked; getting them the business they needed. A fake smile was plastered across her face as she let Val trail his hands across her, his touch on dangerously intimate places. There was a triumphant grin on his face as he watched Zendaya - this is what she had been hired for.

But, as soon as Harrison’s grin appeared, it was snatched away as he noticed Tom storm to the table. Harrison flinched, scared that his dipshit of a best friend was going to screw up the business deal of a century. Val Chmerkovskiy was a big man with a big wallet and a reputation to match and it seemed, right now, Tom couldn’t care less.

Tom took one glance at a scantily clad Zendaya, threw his smart jacket at her before pummelling Val in the face. She willingly wrapped the jacket around her now cold body and before she could register anything, Tom was throwing punches in all directions. Val’s men tried to jump in, but they were outnumbered; they were in a Holland establishment after all. Within seconds, Tom had an extensive amount of security at his defence.

“Get out.” Tom’s lip was being gnawed at by his teeth and his body was heaving aggressively. His security was holding him back from causing Chmerkovskiy anymore damage. His lips were profoundly bleeding, and his knuckles were ripped; if Tom touched him again he’d be in the hospital for weeks.

“You fighting me cus’ of some whore?” Val dared to look over at Zendaya again and Tom began to shake, his fists yearning to feel the crack of his bones under them.  

“Get the fuck out.” This time, it wasn’t a request. After ensuring that he had his temper in check, Chmerkovskiy and his men were being pushed out of the club by security. And, Tom didn’t even have to watch them do it successfully, he trusted his men and as soon as they were out of his sight of vision, all he could focus on was Zendaya.

She wasn’t much of a panicked person, never had been, but there was a fear in her eyes that Tom had only witnessed a handful of times. With no utterance between them, he swiftly pulled her body into his own, clinging to her for dear life. He was aware that she hadn’t been this close to naked in front of him since their first (and last) night together but he didn’t mind. He could feel every curve of her body against his own and strangely, it made him feel better. “Why’d you let him do that?” Tom muttered into her ear, his lips peppering kisses against the side of her face and her neck.

Tom had only really hired Zendaya because he knew she wasn’t the type of girl to be a trophy girlfriend. When he’d seen her that first night in the bar, she was captivating, and he’d wanted to know her immediately. He was a rich man, who always got what he wanted, and instantaneously, he knew Zendaya wouldn’t fall for that. She was a hard worker who took a certain pride in earning for herself. So, he went back every weekend until he’d convinced himself that hiring her was the perfect solution. He would be able to watch her and look out for her and simulatenously pay her the money that she deserved without working her to the bone. It was why he never got her dealing with private clients or stripper poles; anything that made her step out of her comfort zone.

“Harrison said-“

“Harrison said what?” Tom pulled away from Zendaya suddenly, his hands resting upon her shoulders. She looked scared by his outburst and he leaned forward to kiss her gently before speaking again. “Come ‘ere.” He wrapped his jacket round her slim frame before directing her back towards the bar where his best friend and partner sat.

“You know you just cost us thousands-“ Before Haz could continue, Tom was a ramming a fist into his face. Tom and his brothers, Sam, Harry and Paddy, were the majority share holders in the business. It had only been a few years since Harrison had joined the team and regardless, his authority acquainted to virtually nothing in comparison to the Holland brothers’. Haz was a part of the family, yes, and they’d decided that he needed some responsibility in the business but Tom had made one thing absolutely clear, Zendaya was off limits.

“I told you, you don’t give me or, her, orders.” Tom jabbed a finger at his friend and then at Zendaya.

“What the fuck, bro, are you seriously doing this right now?”

Tom just ignored Harrison as he continued to yell after him. With his hand tightly secured around Zendaya’s wrist, he was tugging her towards his office. She wordlessly followed, her heels tapping rhythmically to the beat that was still emanating throughout the club floor.

“Tom, what are you-“ As soon as he had her in his office, he was pushing her up against the door. His jacket fell to the floor, exposing her body to him openly. He leant in to kiss her and their mouths clashed in a pent-up aggression. As Tom’s tongue entered her awaiting mouth, his hands trailed up her leg. Zendaya forgot the touch of Val and relished in that of Tom’s, her legs parting slightly as his hands ventured further up. He felt around at the material of her shorts before plunging his hands down to grip at her panty clad crotch. “Tom.” His name left her lips in a sigh that was both a warning and a plea.

“You can’t work here anymore.” Once the words left his lips, her hand shot down to Tom’s and pulled it away from her.

“What?”

“I don’t want you to be my employee anymore.” Tom rested his forehead against hers, his nose brushing hers in such a tenderly intimate gesture. This was what he wanted from day one. He wanted her to be the girl who helped control his business, who helped keep him grounded. “Be my girl, Z. Let me take care of you.”

“Wh .. what?” It seemed Zendaya couldn’t form anything of coherence.

“Be mine.” Tom didn’t wait for her to mutter another ‘what’. His lips descended back on hers and for moments there was just a blur of kissing and biting each other’s lips and necks. It was frantic and messy as Zendaya tried to get herself through the war that was raging in her mind.

She had always presumed that sex with Tom was meaningless, something he’d done with half of the women he hired. Nevertheless, she wasn’t oblivious, she knew her encounters with Tom were more than just employee-employer but this, she didn’t expect.

He was staring at her, desire in his eyes and that was it.

She traced the collar of his shirt with her index finger lightly before glancing at him through her long eyelashes. He just watched her curiously, intrigued and waiting patiently. She was taking her time, just contemplating the thoughts in her head before she made her decision.

There was definitely some reluctance, but the lust overpowered it - this time, it was her capturing his lips. As soon as he felt the supple plumpness of her mouth on his own, he fingered the strap of her bra, sliding it down her shoulder. He gently pulled the bra off her before letting his lips travel a little south. Her breasts were firm and perky and as his lips latched onto her, her head fell back in pleasure. She smacked the back of her head against the door and Tom’s hands drifted to her ass, hiking her body up against his own. Her legs wound around his waist and he directed them towards his desk.

He’d dreamt of taking her on this table many a time and it was finally becoming a reality. She hopped onto the table readily, her legs stretching so that he could nestle himself between them. “Does that mean you’ll say yes?”

“Yes.” She moaned softly as his body rocked against her own. His evident erection was pressed up against her stomach and she felt herself dampen quickly. But, Zendaya wasn’t the only one, the sound of her breathlessness was making Tom’s cock bulge aggressively in his trousers.

Unlike the first time that they had had sex, this time wasn’t gentle. Zendaya hadn’t been crying about her financial situations and Tom wasn’t trying to be the caring, good guy. Within seconds, Zendaya was laying flat on her back, her ass on the edge of the table and Tom was out of his clothes. She was spread open wide and ready for him and he was ready to take. His thickness pushed into her slowly, letting her grow accustomed to him before he was thrusting back into her. He took out the rage from earlier on her body in the most sinfully, blissful manner and Zendaya had given it her all, orgasming hard with him.  

“God, I’ve missed being in you.”

If you enjoyed this piece and would like to help further me and my work, please support me whilst I get through university. The money you donate will go towards assisting me in my student fees. It is one hundred per cent a voluntary pursuit and greatly appreciated, however, your lovely comments and votes are always welcomed too. Thank you for being the greatest: https://ko-fi.com/D1D072V0

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$36,000 in a week: How local news partnered to fight hunger and poverty in Philly

The belief that Philadelphia is the greatest city in the world stems from a civic pride rooted in innovation. Our reputation as a “city of firsts” spans disciplines and transcends industry.

But Philly’s position at the front of the pack isn’t always something to celebrate. Right now, a bigger percentage of our residents live in economic hardship than in any other large U.S. city, and the number of people experiencing hunger here is rising, even as it declines nationwide.

Can we harness the city’s innovative spirit and use it come up with solutions that attack these pervasive problems?

That’s what we asked with the Full City Challenge, an initiative launched this year by the Economy League of Greater Philadelphia in partnership with Billy Penn. And after seven months of planning, six weeks of applications, a daylong workshop and an exhilarating two-hour pitch party at the end of February, it’s clear the answer is a resounding “Yes!”

It took an impressive collection of Philadelphians to reach that conclusion:

Self-starters willing to envision new pathways, and put in the work to feel them out

A diverse cohort of leaders willing to volunteer time and expertise

Sponsors and individuals willing to donate actual cash and services to the cause.

Thanks to all these groups working together, the first-ever edition of the Full City Challenge mobilized $36,000 in philanthropic funds — and we’re not done yet.

$5,000 grand prize $2,650 raised on GoFundMe

When Oscar Wang began speaking, a hush came over the room. Gathered at Green Soul restaurant for the Full City Challenge main event, 120 party-goers stopped chattering and turned their heads to listen.

A recent college graduate himself, Wang stood on stage and invited the audience to consider the tale of a local student struggling with an unfortunately common choice: keep up with his studies, or maintain the fast-food job he’d taken to help his mother pay for insulin.

“Instead of having to choose between being a learner or an earner,” Wang told the crowd, “we want to create a new paradigm: the learning earner.”

HospitalityTogether can make that happen, Wang declared.

His five-minute pitch had been honed during a rapid incubator held at the University City Science Center. In a meeting room at the Quorum gathering space, Wang and his partners — restaurateur Judy Ni and admissions expert Dustin Rodgers — had examined and re-examined every inch of their proposal.

Danya Henninger / Billy Penn

The set of advisors assigned to the group included representatives from the Philadelphia Foundation, USALA radio and Wharton Social Impact. As the experts provided guidance and suggestions, the HospitalityTogether team refined their presentation on the spot.

“We gave Oscar some feedback,” marveled Phil Fitzgerald, director of grantmaking at Philadelphia Foundation, “and five minutes later he’d incorporated it into a brand new pitch.”

One week later, the refinements to the spiel — in which Wang was tasked with explaining the problem, the solution, the methodology and the outline of a pilot test program within the span of just 300 seconds — proved out their worth.

“Who is that guy?” whispered United Way chapter head and Broad Street Ministry founder Bill Golderer, taking in the scene as one of the six local food celebs on the Full City Challenge judging panel. During the post-presentation Q&A session, Golderer piled on the compliments.

“Forget about Tony Robbins,” he told Wang, comparing the young man to one of the country’s most successful marketing speakers. “You’ve got this.”

$2;500 matching prize $12,900 raised on GoFundMe

Poised speechmaking goes a long way toward convincing people that your social impact project is worth putting money into, but it isn’t everything.

That became apparent when the judges convened to pick their winner. Ensconced in Green Soul’s mezzanine private dining room while everyone else mingled downstairs, the half-dozen local food luminaries debated the qualities of the five inspirational projects they’d just been presented.

Each project had already proven itself by being designated a Full City Challenge finalist, besting dozens of other praiseworthy projects in the process.

Although the purse we dangled wasn’t all that big, we also offered the winner advice, exposure and strategic assistance in implementing a pilot.

Danya Henninger / Billy Penn

“Be sure to make that clear,” advisor Megha Kulshreshtha of Philly Food Connect had suggested in an early steering committee meeting. “List out the nontangible benefits. This is a lot more than just the $5,000.”

Good advice. Thanks to help in spreading the word — by the Broke in Philly reporting collaborative, by Economy League board members, and by others across the city — the combo of funds and assistance was enough to garner more than 30 submissions to our call for new ways to use the city’s rich food economy to lift up Philadelphia.

It wasn’t easy to narrow the field. Reviewing the contenders, we returned often to one of our original charges: that the project should rely on collaboration.

Why’d we deem that critical? There’s already a lot of good work going on in the city, so creating new cross-discipline or cross-community or cross-generational connections might be just the thing to spark fresh ideas.

Danya Henninger / Billy Penn

Perhaps none of the Full City finalists exemplified that concept better than the Rebel Market, a team comprising three organizations that had never before worked together.

“We’d heard of Siddiq [Moore, of Siddiq’s Water Ice] before,” said Rebel’s Jarrett Stein, “but this is what caused us to finally reach out.” They also tapped Tom McCusker of Honest Tom’s Taco Shop, and the trio joined forces to come up with a plan for a healthy, affordable corner store run by Philly students, for Philly students.

At Green Soul, the collaborative spirit proved infectious. Rebel’s proposal received serious consideration from the judges — and scored thousands more in GoFundMe donations over the course of the night.

Victory V Farms

$8,225 raised on GoFundMe

Philly Food Rescue

$2,750 raised on GoFundMe

Care About Restaurant Employees (CARE)

$2,875 raised on GoFundMe

Kait Moore Photography

Crowdfunding plays a growing role in modern philanthropy, and GoFundMe was an integral part of the Full City Challenge.

During the rapid incubator a week before the main event, a GoFundMe coach flew in from California and worked with each of the finalist teams to set up a campaign page. Along the way, she imparted lessons applicable to many kinds of individual fundraising. (Use lots of photos! Start by telling people you know! Set a small, attainable goal and grow it as you go!)

The resulting campaign pages, which went live the day after the workshop, provided a way for party-goers to vote in real-time: whichever team had raised the most by the end of the night would be awarded the People’s Choice prize.

But it’s not easy to convince a room full of strangers you’ve got an idea worth funding — even if you know they’ve come specifically to hear your pitch.

On stage at Green Soul, Frank Sherman of Victory V Farms struggled somewhat to give voice to the salient points he’d used multiple times before (the project already has some big money investors behind it). His loss for words notwithstanding, the idea to turn abandoned buildings into vertical farms that produce food for and employ neighborhood residents still raked in thousands of dollars on the crowdfund platform.

When it was her turn to present, Philly Food Rescue’s Victoria Della Rocca started with a wry twist on a classic Philadelphia phrase: “We the people…are hungry!”

Kait Moore Photography

As her spiked heels deftly navigated a tangle of microphone wires, Della Rocca spoke clearly and forcefully about building out a tech platform that connects volunteers with restaurants and supermarkets to solve the last-mile problem of getting fresh food to hungry Philadelphians.

“Is this about not wasting food, or about feeding those in need?” one of the judges wanted to know. “It’s about creating more dignity and access for those in need,” she replied.

Maria Campbell, the one-woman force behind CARE, got so wrapped up in explaining the issues facing the people who work in hospitality — the 130,000-plus workforce in the Philly region faces much higher rates of depression and disease than other industries — that she only made it halfway through her prepared pitch.

“Ask about her pilot program,” the judges were charged as they started their Q&A.

Philadelphia International Airport MarketPlace PHL PIDC

Green Soul University City Science Center CIC Philadelphia GoFundMe

Saxbys  Woodrow’s Sandwiches Di Bruno Bros. Pure Fare Evil Genius Beer Quaker City Shrubs

As the judges tallied scores and debated contenders’ merits, serious queries traded time with jokes ping-ponging around the table.

“I want this one because it’s gonna save me money,” said Han Dynasty proprietor Han Chiang. “But does this program replicate what’s already out there?” another judge wanted to know.

Danya Henninger / Billy Penn

On the official scoresheets, having a clearly defined pilot was given extra heavy weight for a couple of reasons.

One, it could jumpstart a test-and-learn culture, the modern business model where fast-failing ideas are viewed as useful tools. Second, the Economy League and Billy Penn only had $5,000 to offer — not enough to fund any of these projects fully, but surely enough for a small trial.

How will that trial play out for Full City Challenge grand prize winner?

Stay tuned to our coverage. You’ll get a front-row seat as we help HospitalityTogether help Philadelphia live up to its potential as the greatest city in the world.

Source: https://billypenn.com/2019/03/10/36000-in-a-week-how-local-news-partnered-to-fight-hunger-and-poverty-in-philly/