ANDREW GARFIELD

ANDREW GARFIELD

Brown and earthy looks very good on him.

(inspiration)

You're welcome for the mention; I always love seeing what you're "cooking" up with your characters! My first love will always be tasm!peter, but I don't consider it cheating to have Matt Murdock as my um sidepiece. (I do feel kinda guilty saying that) Shhh. I'm blaming all the great writers out there. Which is why I reblog, so others can discover them too!

Wednesday Reblog Reminder

Anyone else orbit around their favorite fanfic author's blogs waiting for a new story, an update notification to a series, a blurb, a headcannon, etc?

I sure do! I love to see what the talented writers and artists across Tumblr are creating and reblogs are a great way to spread that love! Reblogs also introduce material, new and old, to users that may have missed it the first time or not be aware of its existence. This month alone, I have been reading fics in a fandom I'd never really been engaged with until a favorite author released a story in that different fandom, a mutual reblogged it with a few comments, and I gave it a try. It was awesome! Reblogging also gives others multiple fics from which to choose while they wait for chapter updates from their ongoing favorite authors because Tumblr writers are busy people! So please: REBLOG! It creates additional favorite authors!

Below is a shoutout/acknowledgement/encouragement no pressure tag for just some of the many authors I regularly enjoy/follow in several fandoms (*many of these write for the 18+ crowd so please read their bio to make sure you are not violating their consent if you are not 18).

Give them a try! Reblog if you read and enjoy one of their fics. Hopefully the authors will also reblog and spread the love across Tumblr. Reblogging is the fuel for the Tumblr engine!

@ficthotshots @withahappyrefrain @blooming-violets @liz-allyn @periprose @p3mybeloved @rancidpancakebatter @luvablehand @webslingingslasher @she-likesorchids @thursdaygxrls @reidslovely @helloheyhihowdyheya @loveroftoomanyfandoms @delicate-dorothea @jamespottersdaisy @backtothefanfiction @spider-stark

Here's my own blog for a few random works: @backupanddoitagain

You're welcome; I like your stories! I hope you continue to write them!

Wednesday Reblog Reminder

Anyone else orbit around their favorite fanfic author's blogs waiting for a new story, an update notification to a series, a blurb, a headcannon, etc?

I sure do! I love to see what the talented writers and artists across Tumblr are creating and reblogs are a great way to spread that love! Reblogs also introduce material, new and old, to users that may have missed it the first time or not be aware of its existence. This month alone, I have been reading fics in a fandom I'd never really been engaged with until a favorite author released a story in that different fandom, a mutual reblogged it with a few comments, and I gave it a try. It was awesome! Reblogging also gives others multiple fics from which to choose while they wait for chapter updates from their ongoing favorite authors because Tumblr writers are busy people! So please: REBLOG! It creates additional favorite authors!

Below is a shoutout/acknowledgement/encouragement no pressure tag for just some of the many authors I regularly enjoy/follow in several fandoms (*many of these write for the 18+ crowd so please read their bio to make sure you are not violating their consent if you are not 18).

Give them a try! Reblog if you read and enjoy one of their fics. Hopefully the authors will also reblog and spread the love across Tumblr. Reblogging is the fuel for the Tumblr engine!

@ficthotshots @withahappyrefrain @blooming-violets @liz-allyn @periprose @p3mybeloved @rancidpancakebatter @luvablehand @webslingingslasher @she-likesorchids @thursdaygxrls @reidslovely @helloheyhihowdyheya @loveroftoomanyfandoms @delicate-dorothea @jamespottersdaisy @backtothefanfiction @spider-stark

Here's my own blog for a few random works: @backupanddoitagain

Well now. That comment from the Chapter 8 reblog regarding a writer tossed plot hand grenade is looking a little prescient now that I've read Chapter 9. You've got quite a few of those in your arsenal I suspect! I really liked this chapter and I'm really sorry for the length of the following. I managed to use the KR insert (at least it worked for me on the reblog) because I have thoughts...

Peter Parker vs. Angel is an interesting dynamic you're laying out. I read your A/N with each chapter, and I like how Angel vacillates between vulnerable and steely-eyed practical because Peter does likewise. I much prefer writers who recognize that most individuals emotions are on a spectrum unique to them (with universal similarities) and Peter and Angel are great examples of that. He's barely holding it together, anger at what he wants to say simmering at the tip of his tongue but recognizing that to lose control in front of others is a perceived weakness--in his world, and in our world as well. However, Felicia made a rather handy target for blowing off a little steam. (That really mirrors the real world--often it is women and under-represented groups that receive the shrapnel when those in power are raging). Although, I am aware that Felicia's comment made her an easy target. I'll get back to Felicia in a mo, but for now, Peter. His fear(s) are a powerful motive, and Angel is showing him that she has agency. She's changed while away, and Peter isn't quite sure if he likes that. (hello real world again and what patriarchal societies view as shifting sands under their feet when those groups push back).

This is going to get really interesting (for me) as your plot and dialogue progress. Angel seems to understand that while she experienced events during her time away and also growth from those events, her underlying bond with Peter is still based on her feelings for him and those feelings are (to this reader) overwhelmingly positive. She shouldn't have to subsume her personality just because things changed, the adjustment must come from both partners, recognizing (as she does) that he changed as well. Perhaps I'm reading too much into this, but that is where I see her mentally right now. She is a strong woman, (with her father I expect there would be limited avenues for options--you either fold, break, or develop the strength to stand) and she shouldn't have to apologize for it but she sees Peter struggling with his own demons (related to her and everything else) and her own fears (his rejection of her due to those changes, etc) are also simmering right there. But to sum it up, I liked how she handled herself in the room, in front of Peter (and the rest of the group).

Back to Felicia. I love her. She may have slept with a married man, (hey takes two there Peter) but she has her own code and damn if she didn't have a great line: "She bakes and she’s a good shot. Anyone would think it wasn’t everything you looked for in a wife." The TASM fandom is where I tend to reside, and we only got a glimpse of Felicia with Felicity Jones in the second movie, but that is who I picture in your character. The kind of character you should never ever underestimate. Lot going on there. (side note: if you ever decide to write her as lead in a story, I am here for that).

And Miles, I love him too. Preternaturally mature, empathetic, smart, what is not to love? He has so much potential you half want to protect him and half want to let him go because he is meant to soar to the stars.

Finally, (again apologies for the length but this chapter had a LOT going on) back to the plot machinations. Someone is watching their movements pretty closely. I mean it makes sense to hit the hub as that is the heart of the community and Peter is involved with it, but the timing (thank heavens for a spot of tea and a bun and I could write another paragraph on that) has me guessing there is perhaps a mole? Only you know, ha! But the tragic circumstances (loss of life isn't explicitly stated other than bodies on the floor but severe injuries regardless) is going to be a powerful driver of a lot of things. Speculating that Peter is going to freak OUT a little and want to take control because he fears a lot of things are out of control. That alone (fear as a motivating factor for character's actions) could take up chapters (if that is your plan) and lord knows I love that kind of in-depth development and layering of people's thoughts, personalities, and actions. We're complicated and I adore it when writers just go for it and take up that adventure. It's a wild ride but it's not my first roller coaster ride, so hand me a ticket and open the gate cause I'm onboard.

Well done and cheers!

*This was a great reward for getting a project out of my hair, thanks for writing!

The Angel In The Garden of Evil | Chapter Nine: An Explosion In Chinatown

Summary: It's just one thing after another for our couple and the Vulture isn't making things any easier.

Warnings: 18+ Only!, mob/mafia/gang violence typical of the genre, guns, blood, bomb, explosion, death, angst, grief, arguing

Word Count: 2.2k+

A/N: Okay so the drama is ramping up here, you thought chapter 8 had a twist well chapter 9's is even bigger. We are about to touch on a possibly more sensitive topic for the next couple of chapters but I will be very clear to note when and where the details of our plot are so you can pick and choose which bits you read if any of this is gonna trigger you but you want to carry on. It will mostly be in the next chapter which will come with its own authors note but seeing as this is a mafia/mob/gang story it's not an out of character plot twist for the narrative. Anyway, if you struggle with the end of this chapter I advise skipping chapter 9 and just picking up with our story in chapter 10, I promise things will still make sense.

NINE

Peter stormed back into the apartment thirty minutes later followed slowly by Angel, Eddie, Harry and Felicia, Miguel being left downstairs to clear up the mess that was now Jackson Brice. Whether his resolve was stronger than they realised or he really wasn’t the fountain of knowledge they’d expected, was still yet to be determined, but they had learnt one thing before his body gave out, The Vulture was planning on something big.

“What the fuck was that?” Peter suddenly blurted out as he doubled back to his wife. She simply stared at him, her eyebrows raised, egging him on to do his worst. He quickly checked himself, taking deep breaths as he stared her down, unwilling to play her games.

When he seemed to calm a little she finally spoke. “Were you or were you not gonna tell me to go back upstairs after you dragged me all the way down there to make a show of IDing your little plaything for your own game?” she calmly threw the ball back into his court. 

She watched him closely as his nostrils flared, his pupils dilating as he began to feel his rage course through his body. He was acutely aware of their fight the day before, not wanting to prove her or her Father right, he could keep control of his anger, he could. She was just making it really hard for him right now. 

“Well?” she pressed. He growled under his breath as he turned away from her, confirming what she already knew to be true. “Look, I was the one who was hurt, it should have been me who exacted justice.”

“So you just shot him.” He turned to face her again, his hands sitting firmly on his hips in an attempt to feign a stance of control.

“I shot him in the leg Pete, I didn’t kill the guy.”

“It was a pretty good shot.” Felicia chimed in with a smirk of admiration that got her a harsh look from Peter. “Jeez bug boy,” she chided, “She bakes and she’s a good shot. Anyone would think it wasn’t everything you looked for in a wife.” she continued to jest as she slinked across the floor to the living room and took a seat on the sofa, leaning back into the cushions ready to watch the drama unfold. It was short lived though.

“GET OUT!” Peter shouted, finally blowing his top. “You know what you need to be doing today, so go do it.” he commanded her. 

“Come on now, Pete.” Eddie said, stepping forward to mediate again.

“No!” Peter said firmly to him. “All of you out. NOW!”

They all slowly filed back out the door, Harry placing a tender hand to Peter’s shoulder, urging him to try and be lenient. “I’ll meet you downstairs in a minute.” Peter muttered under his breath. Harry nodded in acknowledgment before leaving, closing the front door behind him.

The door closing acted like the fall of the curtain at the end of a performance. Peter turning his back to her and finally getting a hold on himself, able to finally let down his guard without prying eyes. Just him and his wife and their…issues.

He rested his head in his hands as he sat himself down in a boxy leather armchair. She watched as his breathing gradually slowed and began to step forward towards him, attempting to bridge the gap between them that kept getting wider, every time they tried to meet in the middle.

“Just when I think I understand you,” he huffed, still unable to look at her. “What happened to you?” He finally lifted his head to meet her eyes and she could see the pain clear on his face. His inner conflict that she was causing him.

“I had to adapt without you.” she said quietly. Peter watched as her own pain and realisation began to fall over her like a dark cloud. “I guess when you are in it, you don’t notice it as much. Until…” her voice trailed off as she tried to find a way to rationalise things. 

“Do you know how dangerous that is?” Peter finally said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them once more. “How am I supposed to deal with the threat out there if I’m always watching over my shoulder for you because I have no idea what you’re going to do or say next. What other secrets you’re hiding from me?”

“Peter I-”

“No. I can’t do this right now.” He said, getting up from the armchair, his hand running through his hair as his thoughts raced around in the small space.

“Peter, please.” Her hand reached out for his as he passed her. There was so much pain in his eyes when he looked at her.

“I’ll get Miles to come pick you up and take you down to the hub.” he said quietly as he slipped his hand from her grasp. She couldn’t help but stare at his back as he made his way to the front door, the latch closing behind him syncing up with the first tear that rolled down her cheek.

******

Miles picked her up an hour later. After Peter had left she made her way upstairs to finish getting dressed. She had kept on the trousers and the vest, choosing to layer over the top a light blue pinstriped button up shirt that sat oversized on her frame.

“Hey, you ready to go?” Miles said as he knocked on the door of the bedroom. He had let himself in. He had expected to find her sat waiting in the living room for him or even in the kitchen, he hadn’t expected to find her upstairs on the bed staring blankly at the wall.

“Umm, yeah, let’s go.” she said as she stood and started gathering the last of her things into her handbag.

“Hey, you okay?” Miles asked as he stopped her at the door. She looked like a ghost, not at all like the woman he had met the day before who was so sure of herself both when they had first been introduced and she was a fireball of rage or later, when they went down to the shelter and she was all kindness and smiles, showing him around. Now she was just a shell. He watched closely, the flash of change in her eyes as she suddenly put on a smile and a show to him but it wasn’t going to work.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” she chirped as she breezed past him and headed for the stairs down to the main floor of the penthouse apartment.

Miles didn’t want to accept that answer. His Mom had raised him well enough to know when someone was hurting and needed help. Taught him how to talk, to be compassionate, but in the 24 hours he’d come to know Angel, he knew if he pushed her too hard she might just snap at him and it might make things worse. He hoped once he got her down to F.E.A.S.T and she started to soften how she had yesterday, she may be more willing to talk about what’s happened.

They both sat in silence in the car as they made their way to the hub. “Did you want to pick anything up on the way?” Miles asked, attempting to make conversation and see if she wanted to get anything to bring to the shelter as an offering.

“No, it’s okay.” she said quietly before turning her head to look out the window. “Wait!” she exclaimed as they turned down a particular street.

“What? What is it?” Miles responded, suddenly on alert. But when he looked over to her in the passenger seat, there was a sudden softness to her, a feeling that wasn’t there before.

“Can you stop up here? There’s a little cafe I want to pop into.”

Angel told Miles to wait in the car for her as she made her way into the Lucky Cat Cafe, the little bell above the door jingling as she entered. As her eyes scanned the walls with their many quirky and colourful pieces of cat art, a feeling of nostalgia and peace washed over her.

“Good Morning?” a little old Chinese lady greeted her from behind the counter.

“Good Morning.” Angel smiled back. 

She took a seat at one of the empty tables and let out a sigh of relief as she sat back into one of the old wooden chairs. 

“Can I get you anything?” the old lady asked in her heavily accented english.

“Umm, yes, can I get a green tea and one of the coconut buns please?” she asked, the familiar order returning to her and falling from her lips as easily as riding a bike.

“One green tea, one coconut bun coming up.” the old lady repeated with a smile as she went back towards the counter.

It had been so long since she had last been here. It used to be a place her and her mother came to regularly before she passed. They loved nothing more than stopping in on a saturday morning and talking for what felt like hours about school and boys and family history, the ludicrous tales and adventures of her Grandmother being recounted to her over a cup of tea and a coconut bun.

“Thank you.” Angel said with a smile as the little old lady sat an ornately decorated cup, saucer and teapot in front of her along with the coconut bun on a small octagonal pink plate.

“Enjoy.” The lady smiled before returning back towards the tiny kitchen bakery in the back.

Angel poured herself a cup of tea and as she did so a small ray of sunlight suddenly shifted, shining through the little tea shop window to illuminate the chair beside her. The warmth of the light comforted her, a familiar presence at her side. 

As she sipped on her tea and nibbled on her bun, the little flakes of desiccated coconut on top dropping back down to the table and into her lap, she was reminded of a scene in a movie she loved to watch when she was younger. Her Dad had bought her the Charlie’s Angels movies on dvd as part of her Christmas present one year. She had watched them religiously, wanting to grow up to be just like the strong, courageous women in the movie. As she sat there now, the stream of light beside her, it reminded her of the scene in the second movie, when Dylan goes into a bar in Mexico and talks to a seemingly passed-on Angel of the past, Kelly Garrett, one of the angels from the original series. 

She looked to the stream of light beside her, felt the comfort in it and knew her Mom was sitting with her. ‘I miss you.’ she thought.

‘I know.” a little voice in the back of her head said.

When she returned to Miles 40 minutes later she could tell he was anxious about having left her in the little Chinese cafe alone; but the moment he saw her more present and relaxed, she saw him breath out a sigh of relief.

“You feeling better?” he asked.

“Yeah.” she smiled at him with a small nod of her head.

“Ready to go help some people?” he asked as she reached for her seatbelt and buckled herself in.

“Let’s do it.”

They pulled up on the other side of the road to the hub a few minutes later, Angel letting out another sigh of contentedness as she stepped out of the car and looked at the building. “You good?” Miles checked in with her as he looked at her over the roof of the car, the driver's side door clicking closed.

“Yup.” she turned and smiled at him.

They checked for cars before they started to cross the road, but as they got closer to the other side, Angel saw a flash of light through the glass doors of the hub before-

She was knocked off her feet as a blast of energy burst from the building, a large boom echoing out onto the street in its wake. Her back collided with the side of the car behind her and everything went black.

“Angel? ANGEL?” Mile’s voice sounded muffled, almost like he was talking to her underwater and there was this ringing in her ears. She opened her eyes, trying to see him, trying to understand what was happening. Her vision slowly cleared enough for her to make out his face as he hobbled towards her, leaning over her body.

She tried to move but her body was so heavy, everything felt numb. She managed to prop herself up on one arm slightly, though her ribs protested. 

“Angel?” Miles continued to say her name, trying to ground her, to focus on him but she couldn’t stop herself from looking past him at the clouds of black smoke that billowed out of the blown out windows and doors of the shelter. Small flecks of white ash came down like snow as people ran and screamed around them. There were bodies on the floor. Bystanders quickly got covered in dust as they ran in to help.

She tried to move again but it was difficult, like trying to pull her body out of quicksand. “Hey, hey, hey, don’t move.” Miles’ muffled voice said through the ringing still in her ears.

She thought she felt her chest groan as she finally gave up, her body relaxing back onto the concrete, her eyes closing, darkness dragging her under.

-----------------------------------------

New chapters go live on Wednesdays and Fridays! If you want to be added to the tag list make sure you put it in writing for me. Also if you are enjoying the story don’t forget to tip me like you would your waiter by reblogging and leaving feedback and letting me know what you think!

@scmdsblog @angiexsv @thef1nalgirl @did-someone-change-my-name @sincericida @tarzinnia @liz-allyn @blacksoul09 @humxncrxvings @sunnycolors @suicide-sweetheart636 @ahryi @ms-wild-card-56

As I write, I am slowly discovering that one character's tragic sorrowful angst is another character's not so hidden pleasure. With one eye-wrinkling smile they have mentally handed their partner a spun glass thought that looks like candy floss on a stick and are silently but gleefully telling them to eat the shards and cry.

Who is this person I created and how? The dark side of my heart is a little scary....

It's a great story and I love twizzlers, although I admit, if I need a sweet pick-me-up I've resorted to 'nibs' because I can't really walk down the hall at work with a twizzler in my hand, hehe.

Seriously, though, while I enjoy the short one shots that many writers have on their Masterlists, it is the slower developing stories that truly draw me in. I appreciate the amount of effort that takes behind the scenes. It is much more reminiscent of what it was like long ago with print authors in the weeklies or monthlies and I can't quite describe this concept quite as I would like, but whatever it is it serves both writer and reader well. You, the author, must take the time to square up your plot (make it make sense IOW without it dragging on too long), consider everything with the characters/dialogue/motivations, and so on while we, the readers, must wait and while we wait, there is time-- and that time is important because now we are thinking, truly thinking about your work: the story, the characters, the world that is presented to us. It's one of the best parts of fiction in general--getting lost in a story and then finding meaning in what we've read. That's the thinking part--sure sometimes it's just to laugh a little and be entertained; but other times, it is to explore emotions, situations, states of mind, and it is something artists and people who appreciate the arts have been doing for a long long time.

*Yeah, sorry for the potential delay but the update will make a nice reward for getting this project out of my hair.

The Angel In The Garden of Evil | Chapter Eight: There's No Remedy for Memory

Summary: No matter how much we try, we can't live in the past or ignore who we've become.

Warnings: 18+ Only!, typical genre violence, mentions of blood, guns, torture, brief mention of bombing/explosion, angst, tension, complicated marriage, implied death

Word Count: 4.4K

A/N: After last chapters fun, our couple are crashing right back down to reality. Things are about to get very dramatic and tense over the next couple of chapters. No matter how much our lovers wish everything to be okay, you can't just live in a bubble of bliss and sweep everything under the rug. We are also gonna get a little look at their first meeting. Title comes curtesy of yet another Lana Del Rey lyric, this time from the song Dark Paradise. As always if you enjoy, reblog and give me feedback, it keeps me going.

EIGHT

The fluorescent lights were bright as she made her way down the long corridor. Although the doors that lined the corridor were shut, she didn’t feel like they were locked or closed off to her. As she continued to walk down the hall she realised it felt familiar. She didn’t know how, all she knew was that she was supposed to go through the door at the end.

Her fingers reached absentmindedly for the handle with one hand, the other hand seemed to be rooting around for something in her pocket. There was the faint sound of music, but she couldn’t work out where it was coming from.

Suddenly she was in one of her Dad’s old warehouses. She was walking into the office, her feet kicking up onto a faded wooden coffee table as she took a seat on a sofa. 

She turned her head to see her Mom sitting working away at a desk. She was surrounded by mountains of paperwork and looked somewhat stressed, but whenever she looked at her she always had a smile on her face.

“I’ll be right back,” she suddenly said as she rose from her seat and began to make her way to the office door. “Just wait in here, okay?” She said, “I’m just gonna go talk to your Dad. Do you wanna go and get something to eat soon?” She asked as she hesitated at the door.

“Yeah.” Angel said as she looked up from the textbook on her lap. “Can we get Tai?” She asked.

“You know what?” Her mother responded. “I think Tai sounds great. I’ll ask your Dad, okay?”

“Okay.” Angel beamed as she looked back down at the textbook.

She couldn’t make out the writing on the page and she suddenly had this sense of foreboding, like she knew something bad was about to happen. She tried to get the version of herself to look around or stand up or do something, but she didn’t have any control.

‘Come on.’ She thought to herself in her head as she willed the younger version of herself to move. ‘Move. MOVE!’ She said louder in her head, but it was no use.

There was a sudden explosion that knocked her sideways. The frosted glass window to her right shattered and she fell off the sofa, her head hitting the coffee table as she went down. 

She was groggy and groaned as she tried to move, her body was suddenly so heavy. She was acutely aware of the adrenaline beginning to flood through her as her ears rang and took a moment to adjust. 

“Uhhhgg. Mom?” She whined as she rolled herself over. “MOM!” She cried out, but there was no one there.

Her lungs protested as she began to breathe in smoke and she could feel the heat from the now raging fire spreading through the adjacent room as she tried to stand.

Her legs felt like jelly, fingers fumbling for purchase on the closest item of furniture to pull herself up. She coughed loudly before she cried out again, her eyes trying to clear and see through the smoke but her head was throbbing, her ears still faintly ringing, everything sounded muffled. “Mom?! Dad?!” She screamed.

Suddenly a figure came barrelling through the half broken door. She saw a flash of red and blue.

“Hey it’s okay, I got you, I got you.” A boy's voice said.

‘A boy? That couldn’t be right. I thought it was Man, Spider-Man.’

“Hey can you walk?” He asked. She was so confused and dizzy. “Hey, hey! Look at me! Look at me, okay? I’m gonna get you out of here.”

Peter’s neck began to prickle, his body growing tight, adrenaline coursing through him as he slowly became alert, his body dragging him from his slumber, just before-

“Agghhggg.” She cried out as she sat bolt upright in bed. One of her hands clutched to her chest while the other grasped frantically over the bed covers.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He said softly as he sat up, his arm wrapping around her, immediately trying to comfort and ground her. “Hey it’s okay, baby I’m here, I’ve got you.”

She let out a large sigh as she finally began to process the reality around her, her body finding safety in his presence as she folded her body into his embrace. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” He continued to coo as he brushed his hand over the back of her head and rocked her slowly against his body.

Her chest continued to heave, her breaths were shallow and short. “Breathe, baby, just breathe.” He said slowly, elongating the words, coaching her as he continued to do all he could to soothe her. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” He kept saying as tears began to roll down her cheeks, her sleep-addled brain slowly processing the dream and the memory.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He continued to whisper to her in the dark.

“Peter?” She finally said, her voice a broken question as if to check it was really him.

“Yeah, it’s me, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you baby, I promise.” He said as he kissed the top of her head.

They stayed there tangled up in the sheets and each other's arms for a moment as her breathing settled.

“I’m sorry.” She finally croaked into the dark.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” He repeated as she slowly began to separate herself from him. “You still have the same dream?” He asked, but he already knew the answer.

He felt her head bob in the dark, a silent nod of confirmation. “It’s been a while though.” She sniffed as her hand raised to wipe away the tears from her cheeks. Her skin felt tight and dry as the salty tears began to dry.

He reached out for her, tucking her into his side as he lay back down into the pillows. His fingers traced across her bare skin as he held her close and she settled against his shoulder. His thumb traced the edges of the surgical patch covering her stitches as he listened to her heartbeat begin to slow, her breathing growing deeper and deeper until he knew she had fallen back asleep. 

Peter shifted his free hand behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling, sleep eluding him now he was awake. It wasn’t uncommon for her nightmares to trigger his senses, but it had been so long he’d forgotten what it felt like.

He grew restless, his fingers reaching for his phone only to realise it was still downstairs. He checked to make sure she was still fast asleep before he gently eased his arm out from under her. He rubbed the lingering sleep from his eyes as he got up, padding across the soft carpet to the bathroom to relieve himself before grabbing himself a pair of black linen pyjama pants from the wardrobe. 

He paused for a moment in the doorway as he watched her sleep, his ears listening and counting her heartbeats as his eyes followed the steady rise and fall of her chest.

He reluctantly pulled himself away, making his way downstairs to the kitchen. He rubbed at his eyes again as he searched for his phone, finding it on the kitchen counter next to her shoes. When he opened it up and finally took the phone off aeroplane mode there was a flurry of dings and messages.

Angel woke a couple of hours later to find herself alone in bed. Her fingers brushed across the soft cotton sheets to find them cold, his body long gone. She groaned slightly as her fingers clawed at her pillow, willing sleep to return but it wouldn’t, the sun creeping through the cracks around the blinds. She sighed as she rolled herself over before sitting up, her hands scratching through her hair as she yawned. Her body felt so tired yet so sated, the memory of the night before playing back in her mind.

She reluctantly pulled herself from the soft covers as she went to explore the bathroom. The shelves and draws were stocked with all her old favourites. She’d missed a lot of them, many of them unavailable to her in Italy and then forgotten about once she moved back in with her Dad. She pulled a pomegranate and orange scented shampoo and conditioner set off of one of the shelves, placing it on a ledge built into the wall of the black subway tiled shower. She then grabbed a rose and eucalyptus shower gel, placing it next to the other items in the shower, before switching it on. She turned to the large mirror and double vanity as the water warmed. Her eyes fell to the patch on her shoulder, her fingers picking at the corners to peel it off. 

She hadn’t looked at it since Peter had stitched it up. Darker clumps of blood had scabbed under the stitches and there were patchy bruises surrounding the tender skin. She was careful with it as she got into the water, trying not to get it too wet so the stitches would continue to hold and the skin wouldn’t become pliant and split.

She relished in the fruity and floral smells of the products. Although she had enjoyed her showers and even long soaks in the bath at her Dad’s since she had been back, none of them felt as luxurious as this. She stood in the flow of the rainfall shower head, her head tipped back allowing the water to flow down her body as she allowed herself to close her eyes, to relish in the steam, the dim lights of the shower and that feeling of comfort and home.

When she got out the shower she wrapped herself in a brand new towel, the fluffy white texture soft and warm against her skin. She began to search through the cupboards in the bathroom for a first aid kit, finally finding one tucked way in the back under the sink. Her damp fingers fumbled with a new patch to cover her stitches, her hands cautiously dabbing at the wound until it was dry enough she could get the patch to stick. It was a little bit wonky from where she had struggled to get the angle of it by herself, but she could feel the whole wound was covered so she didn’t mind. She roughly towel dried her hair before she went out into the dressing room. She carefully slipped her arms into a plain black vest top before slipping her legs into a fresh pair of cotton pyjama bottoms covered in red, blue and yellow stripes. 

When she went downstairs to the kitchen she didn’t expect anyone to be home, her old routine kicking in as she hunted in the cupboards for her old favourite, English letter box red, Le Creuset mug, placing it under the coffee machine as she reached for one of the pods in a jar beside it, her fingers hitting the button making the machine roar to life.

“Good Morning!” His voice greeted her from the living room area. He couldn’t help the smile that toyed with the corners of his lips as she did a little jump before she turned, her fingers clutching gently to her chest.

“Oh! Morning.” She sighed a smile forming on her face as she looked at him, dressed in a pair of slacks and a black button up shirt, the first three buttons of which were left open, his sleeves rolled up messily revealing his forearms. “I didn’t expect you to still be here. What time is it?”

“Nine.” He replied as the coffee machine stopped and she turned to pick up her cup. She took a sip as she shuffled across the floor towards him, leaning against the arm of the sofa as she took him in. “I’m waiting on a delivery.” He said as he looked down at his phone in his fingers, reading over a message before tapping out a quick reply.

“What kind of delivery?” She queried but her answers were delayed by the sound of the elevator reaching their floor, two male voices echoing around the small foyer outside before they let themselves in.

Eddie and Harry barrelled into the living space. “Took us all night but we’ve finally got him.” Harry said confidently as he swaggered into the room, moving around the sofa opposite them and flopping back onto the cushions. 

“Yo, Pete, you got anything to eat? I’m starving.” Eddie exclaimed as he made his way towards the fridge.

Angel watched as Eddie began to pull out a large bottle of orange juice, twisting the cap off and raising it to his mouth. 

“You know there’s glasses in the cupboard.” Angel said loudly in his direction making him freeze as she took a sip of her coffee, her eyebrows raising at him encouraging him to make the right choice.

“Heh, you got told.” Harry said as he watched Eddie shuffle towards the cupboards above the counters, opening them up and looking for the glasses. As he pulled one down he shot Harry a look as if to say ‘don’t push your luck’.

“So where is he then?” Peter asked to the room, waiting for either one of them to respond.

“We left him downstairs with Cat.” Harry replied as he began to fiddle with his sunglasses.

“You what?” Peter asked.

“Cat’s a big girl Pete, she can handle herself.” Harry replied nonchalantly.

“Felicia’s not who I’m worried about.” Peter said as he began to stand, he had that scary calm look to his eyes again as he began to collect some things; his phone, a lighter, his gun, placing the smaller items in his pockets, the gun getting slotted into his waistband at his back. He then made his way over to his wife, one of his hands resting on her thigh as he leaned into her, placing a kiss against her cheek before he said, “I don’t know if you want to quickly change your trousers but can you quickly go and grab yourself some shoes, I need you to come downstairs with me for a minute.”

She changed into a pair of black wide legged trousers before slipping into a pair of Louis Vuittons and heading back down to meet them. She took the rest of her coffee with her as she followed them to the elevator.

“I see the elevator works now.” She commented as they all filed inside and Eddie hit a button for the basement. 

“Yeah, I had a guy come out and do it this morning whilst you were still in bed.” Peter replied but he didn’t pull his eyes from his phone. They continued to ride the rest of the way down in silence, the only noise, the small bell of the elevator to say it had arrived.

They followed a dark corridor to the end where it veered left, the space opening up slightly, a desk with computer screens showing a range of surveillance camera footage sat to the right side of the square floor space. There were three adjacent doors that surrounded them, one built into each wall except the back wall, the direction they just came. Harry stepped forward leading them to the door set  into the right side of the wall directly in front of them. He opened the door and each one of them filed in. Harry went through the door first, propping it open as Peter entered, followed by Eddie, then Angel, hesitantly bringing up the rear as she tried to work out what was going on.

The room was like a concrete box. There were a couple of steel topped tables that lined either side of the room along with a large red multi drawered tool box, almost like what you’d get in a car garage. In the middle of the room sat a chair and on that chair was a man, face slightly bloodied, hands bound, mouth gagged. Silent tears streaked from the corners of his eyes mixing with the blood; and a mixture of blood and snot dribbled from his nose to his chin.

Felicia stood at a slight distance before him in her token skin tight faux leather leggings and a leather jacket, as she paced back and forth around him.

“Jackson Brice!” Peter’s voice echoed around the room as he got the attention of the man in the chair. His head lifted slowly to look up at Peter. “Oh Jackie, Jackie, Jackie.” Peter teased him as he crouched before the man to make it easier for Jackson to look at him.

Angel hesitated closer to the doorway as she watched her husband work, still unsure of why she was there.

“You fucked up Jack.” Peter said as he slapped the man’s thighs before standing. “Baby, come here.” Peter said, holding his hand out to her, encouraging her to step across the room to him. When she stood at his side he turned her to take a better look at the man in front of her.

“Now this Jack, this is my wife.” Peter said with a smile like the devil. “Isn’t she a beauty?” Peter paused as he waited for the man to lift his head up again to look at Angel. 

Angel could see the small flicker of recognition in his eyes as he hardened his resolve, realising who she was, why he was there, what would inevitably happen.

“Princess, can I ask you a question?” Peter said, turning to her, almost whispering in her ear. She could feel his thumb reaching for the healed burn mark on the back of her arm she had shown him yesterday. “Is this the man who did this to you?” His voice asked softly as his thumb brushed tenderly over the silvery scar. 

Angel looked at the man in front of her. She knew Peter was asking a rhetorical question. They both knew Jackson was the guy to place his burning gun to the back of her arm whilst her Father and Adrian negotiated terms, while she played piggy in the middle. In her hesitancy to respond she could feel that scary calm energy radiating off her husband's body. Once upon a time she would have found it protective, even sexy, the way he would go to the ends of the earth to defend her honour, but she was a big girl now and she could fight her own battles. In her head she could see exactly how this played out. She would confirm it to be him, then Peter would dismiss her so he could do whatever it was he wanted to do to the man to get him to talk until ultimately killing him and having someone, probably Miguel as he was the darkest and most ruthless of them all, to dump him in the Hudson. Peter would act like God dishing out punishments and justice even though it wasn’t him who was even wronged. It was her.

“Yes.” She confirmed as she turned her head towards her husband. She watched as his eyes softened for her as he looked at her. She leaned further into him, her coffee still in one hand whilst her other hand snaked around Peter’s hip. She gave him a look that said ‘you’re so charming and sexy when you’re protective of me’ a small smile playing at the corner of her lip as his arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer into his side so he could kiss her. She pulled her lips away from him with a tight lipped smile as her fingers wrapped around the handle of the gun, wedged into the back of his waistband. She quickly removed it, taking off the safety as she turned and fired a single shot. There was a shout of pain that echoed off the walls as the bullet landed in Jackson’s thigh, just above his knee. She smirked, satisfied with herself as Peter’s face looked horrified. He didn’t like not being in control. She merely walked away from him, her lower back resting against one of the tables as she crossed her legs in front of her and waited, taking a small sip of her coffee as everyone just stared at her. She simply just raised her eyebrows at her husband with a slight nod, encouraging him to start his interrogation.

Felicia couldn’t help but let out a small giggle from her corner of the room. She had never seen Peter so flustered before. ‘Maybe she was gonna like his wife after all’ she thought.

They were all interrupted from their thoughts by another body entering the room. Like clockwork, Miguel made his way silently into the small concrete box of a room. Miguel and Angel had always been amicable but there was something about Miguel that was hard to penetrate. The others had all done their time to get to the heart of him but he had always kept a wall up with Angel. She thought it was because he thought her both too soft but also she was born from the loins of the enemy and Miguel always lived by the notion that blood was thicker than water, always expecting her to run back to Daddy the moment things went sideways. But Angel knew something Miguel didn’t, he lived by a motto that was mistranslated and he had her all wrong.

She watched Miguel closely as he observed the scene in front of him. Jackson sat on a chair grunting and groaning in pain, blood staining his skin and his clothes, Harry stood staring at the body in the chair in shock, Felicia smiling at Angel like the Cheshire cat and Angel and Peter in a death stare with each other. His eyes searched the room for the final piece of the puzzle, Eddie. Eddie stood in a dark corner smiling to himself as he looked from Angel to Jackson in the chair, a look of satisfaction that said he had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

He watched as Angel’s gaze broke away from Peter’s to land on him before going back to the staring match she seemed to be having with her husband. That’s when he noticed the gun in her other hand leaning back against the table behind her. “Sorry, tall, dark and broody, looks like I got to him first.” Her voice was playful but sent a chill throughout the room as she continued to poke the bear that was her husband.

Everyone watched as she finished off her coffee, placing the empty mug to one side before lifting herself up to sit on the metal table top. She crossed her legs, her hand with the gun in it hanging loosely over her knee. She motioned with the other hand to her husband once again, encouraging him to start his interrogation. His eyes however didn’t leave hers. His pupil blew wide, consuming the previously warm honeyed brown of his irises. She had never seen him look at her like that before but she wasn’t intimidated, not in the way he expected her to be anyway.

“Come on Pete, we’re wasting time.” Eddie spoke up, attempting to get things back on track and diffuse the tension. 

Peter’s gaze snapped towards Eddie, but Eddie simply moved his gaze back and forth between Peter and Jackson trying to bring Peter back into the room and reminding him of the job and the task at hand. When Jackson started to snicker, enjoying watching the drama and infighting unfold, Harry was quick to get in and punch him in the face to shut him up. Although impulsive, the punch seemed just the thing to break the tension and re-establish the balance of things.

Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath to compose himself, opening them to take a glance back over his shoulder at his unpredictable wife, trying to get a read on her for his own sense of self control before he felt comfortable doing anything else. She continued to sit nonchalantly, her legs crossed, one arm leaning back on the table, the other (her bad arm that would have been unable to take the weight) resting the gun over her knee, the safety now firmly on.

He breathed deeply again as he finally turned his attention back to the man bound to a chair in the room. “Jack, Jack, Jack.” he sighed as he bent down before him, his hand leaning on the man’s knees making him cry out in pain as Peter applied light pressure to the gunshot wound. “Now, I think we can all agree, my wife,” he snarled the words, his anger with her bubbling under the surface again, “has made things- even- regarding the little indiscretion that happened a few weeks back.” Peter’s face pulled into a grimace as he let Jackson know that he still thought it was a light punishment given all things and he should be grateful he hadn’t had to suffer worse for leaving a mark on his wife. Peter left a small pause as he waited for Jackson to give any sign he was following and understanding him. When Jackson met his eyes and gave the minutest nod of his head, Peter continued. “But we still have to deal with the issue of our house being attacked, a scene that once again saw my wife getting injured- do you see where I’m going with this?” Peter said standing. He began to circle Jackson like a shark, eyeing up its prey. “Now, we don’t want you. You aren’t the reason our home was violated or my wife hurt… but if you want to walk out of here, or should I say hobble out of here,” he shot a quick look to his wife before once again giving Jackson his attention, “then I think it’s in your best interest to start singing like a canary in a coalmine.” Peter took a step back to allow him to think about the offer. He chanced a quick look back to his wife again before adding, “You should probably make your mind up quick though, it seems you sent my wife back to me a bit unpredictable and who knows what she’s gonna do next.”

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