#|Yes I did purposely place her close to Vi|

[jynxd]

Jinx thought it had went perfectly. Planting bombs on some big research building, that had to be super important. Six enforcers were dead, which thrilled Jinx. If it weren't for Silco's partnership with Marcus, she would gladly kill more. Would make special bombs for them...

Unfortunately Jinx had been spotted on her way back down to underground. Marcus... That pathetic backstabbing piece of shit. Jinx always knew he would betray them. Knew he couldn't be trusted. And now she was here in Stillwater.

"Move along, prisoner 518, to the gathering quarters with the rest of the lot." Jinx hands were already bound and they weren't being gentle. No, they were shoving her, like she wasn't the daughter of someone very important crime lord in the undercity. Oh they would get what was coming to them when she was out...

She felt her hands uncuff as she was shoved forward. Again. "You're lucky I don't have my bombs on me, you'd be dead. And my name is Jinx." Jinx spat at the ground. However, her mood quickly shifted at the sight of a familiar pink hair. At the familiar face.

No, It couldn't be. Jinx had killed her that night, right? The bomb...

"Vi...?" Jinx purposely kept her distance... "No, you aren't Vi, are you? Couldn't be. I know what I saw, there's no way you survived. I would known it. He would have told me if you did." @realmyths

[igotanidea]

Not enough: Anthony Bridgerton x reader

(Part 2 to too much)

„I am so terribly sorry for the inconvenience I might have brought on you with my sudden appearance-” she started while walking inside the place of her destination or, to put it more bluntly, after fleeting from her own house upon not-so-subtle fight with her still-husband.

„Y/n! Nonsense my dear, your presence is always welcomed here.” she heard in response and for the first time since the argument she managed to look into the eyes of another person as well as take in the scene in front of her.

Oh dear lord!

Her timing couldn’t be more wrong.

Apparently the only person who was missing from the widow viscountess Bridgerton household was the queen herself, since not only the lady of the house alongside with all her unmarried daughters were enjoying the afternoon tea, but - to Y/N’s very well hidden terror - the duchess and lady Danburry were present as well.

„duchess.” Y/N bowed in the most polite manner she could even though her knees were shaking „lady Danburry.”

Act like nothing happened.

Behave like a lady and not like a little kid, who came her to pour all her worries and tell on her husband who happened to be mean. The last thing she needed was for everyone to talk about her nervousness and giddiness. None of those ladies would be easily fooled and most definitely not lady Danburry with her nosy nature and piercing gaze.

The point was to visit her favourite sister-in-law Eloise who- luckily - were free of any marriage troubles and gain some perspective but that scenario flew away with the gentle summer breeze faster than Y/N could think.

And now she would be kindly invited to join the tea and the respect for widower viscountess alongside with the obligation to the higher positioned duchess (even if family) would forbid her from declining.

„Y/N.” Daphne sent her that tiny, quite shy smile that didn’t calm the nerves even in the slightest. Yes, the duchess was one of the most polite and subtle person in the society, but she was also happily married with another baby on the way.

„Viscountess Bridgerton.” the oldest, lady Danburry on the opposite was known from her sharp tongue and straightforward attitude. That one did not pull her punches.

„My dearest Y/N.” Violet Bridgerton, the mother in law stood up from her place and hugged the girl close. Obviously she was the most open one with her emotions. And the simple warm welcome made Y/n feel a bit strengthened to the point when she even gave a little smile. Tiniest, but honest and still visible.

„Is Anthony with you my dear?’

„Unfortunately my husband is absorbed with the matter of the household today.” Y/N explained, taking a seat next to Violet. „I was rather confused with all the men’s affairs, which brought me here.”

„confused?” Eloise, of whose presence everyone seemed to forget scoffed from her book „You are way smarter that Anthony is, Y/n!”

„Eloise!” her mother friendly scolded her second daughter

„It’s true mama!”

„Even though-’

„Did you come baring notices by any chance, viscountess?" lady Agatha cut into the family exchange innocently taking a sip of her tea, those sharp eyes of a predator glistening

„Notices?”

„Yes viscountess, notices. It;s been a fair amount of time since the marriage, surely something should happen soon between two people who are lucky enough to be in love as much as yo and the viscount?”

Oh...

Oh, she meant that kind of notices.

„May this be so, Y/n?” Daphne asked seeming uncharacteristically brisk. „shall we expect?”

„I certainly hope she won’t be burdened with the heir to the title any time soon--”

‘Eloise!”

„Is it the only purpose of a woman to be obedient to a man and give him children?!”

All the four older woman in the room went quiet and Eloise realised she might have had said a little bit too much. Not only for the lady but in general.

„I suppose our dearest Y/N would love to become a mother and bless us with the little boy or girl, am I correct?”

Of course I would love to, Violet.

I would love to.

Unfortunately so it happens your oldest son refuses to even speak or look at me, let alone performing his so-called marital duty. Which is even more tragic, since I became one to him. Here is the essence of my existence - forever being reminded of the burden I put on his shoulder with storming into his life.

Obviously those thoughts were something the newest viscountess Bridgerton could not form out loud.

„I shall send the regards to my husband ladies. Certainly will not omit to inform him of the expectation placed upon us both.” was the only thing she managed to say with confidence before her voice broke and she covered the sudden wavering by reaching for the sweet placed on the nearby platter.

„Oh my dearest Y/N, it’s no obligation!” Violet seemed quite hurt by the words spoken by her daughter-in-law „Regardless - a child is always a miracle that-”

„Maybe Y/N wouldn’t have to worry about it, if Anthony were taking more interest in her rather than spending time with Benny and Colin.”

„Eloise!”

„It’s just a simple observation! Benedict and Colin are still bachelors, even though the ladies of kind are sharpening their claws for them both, considering the fact the viscountess title is not longer available. Nonetheless, neither of them seem to be interested in taking in marriage-”

‘Eloise!” Violet called upon her daughter once more

„Perhaps if they weren’t spending their times in the club, effectively convincing Anthony to go with them--”

‘Enough, young lady!”

„But-”

„Enough Eloise.”

Y/N went pale at all the words spoken. Not because of their truthfulness, but due to the fact that the word already got out. This was a calamity she was trying her best to cover up and now her favourite member of the family announced them to the world, not thinking about the possible consequences of aforementioned action.

„Y/N, are you quite all right?” Daphne was the first one to take some action „that sudden pallor cannot be good for you. Shall we take a walk?”

Naturally the little stroll around the room will be something to make her feel better. Luckily the most perceptive Eloise noticed the torpid expression on the viscountess face and, not giving her sister any chance to press the matter further, vigorously explained that Daphne certainty meant an actual promenade outside on the manor grounds and that was something y/n was more than delighted to engage in.

Presenting a perfect opportunity to actually indulge in a meaningful conversation not regarding children and submission due to a woman.

***

On the other side of the city Anthony didn’t even notice his wife’s actual absence.

How could he, when she was always present and vivid in his mind, leaving him with her image in front of his eyes even when she was away from him.

Y/N’s face and silhouette, her smile and her resonant, joyful laughter were forever carved in his mind, ever since the day she laughed at him at the lake upon their first meeting, through the first moment of stolen forbidden intimacy, up to the moment looked into her eyes while vowing to love and to cherish her.

His beautiful bride.

His beautiful wife.

Strong willed, hot headed, always having an opinion of her own and doing things her own way, capable to charm everyone with the cheerful character and most natural humor and intelligence.

All the traits that could not be bought by any of the obedient, quiet and shy ladies from high society.

All the traits that put him under her spell and made him want to spend the rest of his life with Y/n.

Only with her.

And he didn’t want to fight, he wanted the same kind of marriage his own parents were joyful to share.

It was all so perfect, until the moment those bright memories got covered with storm clouds of how he behave towards her.  

Not that the viscount gave them much thoughts, too lost in his own meaningless settlements that were not due till the fore-coming month.

It was easier this way.

Forgetting about all the words he said int he moment of anger and of fear (if not mere terror) of his own emotions.

Emotions that, unfortunately, refused to be closed in a hard shell of harsh, obsessive behaviour and being ignored.

Once let out, they wanted to run free.

And oh, so they did, causing the viscount to feel dizzy and giving him palpitations.

All the marriages had their bad moments.

It was impossible to continue for years keeping the same flame that started years ago.

The wife was supposed to be obedient and comply with her husband wishes, especially not bothering him with her presence and whimsical needs or fairy-tell beliefs.

A lady was a diamond in the crown but a wife became a part of the estate, of the livestock. Forever in her husband’s hand to rule.

He was the the man.

He was the viscount and before he met her she was just another long-forgotten by admirers d��butante desperate to--

No.

No this was not true and as much as it would be comfortable for Anthony to dwell in all those thoughts, his heart was still in the right place giving him a very clear signal it was time to stop justifying his previous action. Those were the foundation for a very unstable and fragile house that could be blown away easily.

Maybe it wasn’t that his emotions were too much. Maybe it was that his heart capacity was not enough to contain the amount of affection he held for his one and only.

His Y/N.

And he couldn’t have that.

He had to find her wherever she might have been.

He had to fight for her and make it all right.

Even if that meant getting back on his knees, making a scene straight out of those unrealistic romance novels ladies loved and putting it into practice.

„Where on earth is my wife?!” he yelled to the servants, opening the door to his office, his voice loud enough to make the walls shake.

I’m coming for you, my viscountess.

My love.

***

It's not over yet!

Edit: part 3 : almost there

@pietrawebster @chrissisheadisinclouds @fuzzym4m4

@gloomysel @urfavnoirette @dd122004dd @milkbummm

@bevstofu @taniasethi @syraxnyra @cat-lockwood @pr3ttyfac3jaelyn

[httplilyyy]

𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐄 || 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: everything must come to an end

warnings: descriptions of violence, murder, gore, blood (lots of it), multiple character deaths, knives, guns, swearing, scream vi spoilers, bad writing

word count: 4.5k

a/n: the final part for ‘new york, new rules’! I hope you’ve liked this little series as much as I have enjoyed writing it :)

scream masterlist | prev. part | epilogue

007. XIII - crazy lixx 

‘time to die!’

Standing with your feet rooted to the floor, you watched as Sidney made herself known to everyone in the room. 

“I had a feeling you could use my help.” Sidney said, walking over to you, ignoring everyone else. 

“You can’t be here-”

“You just won’t die, will you!?” Jill yelled, cutting you off.

“I could say the same about you.” Sidney rebutted, turning to the younger woman. 

“Well, shit.” Bailey chuckled looking between you and Sidney. “Look who decided to show up.”

“Look,” Sidney sighed, clearly tired after doing this multiple times before, “I don’t know who the fuck you are and nor do I care, so why dont you just leave us be.”

“Oh, you know I can't do that.” Bailey tutted, shaking his head.

“You’ll slip.” Sidney shrugged, looking back at Jill. “They always do.”

“You just got lucky.” Jill snapped and at the same time Ethan lurched forward, his knife stabbing Sam just above her collar bone.

Tara took a hold on Sam's hand, pulling her sister away from Ethan. The boy held a large smile on his face as he followed after the two.

“Now, it wasn’t until I saw the photograph of what you’d done to him that I knew you had to fucking die!” Bailey shouted out from the top of his lungs, watching as Ethan and Quinn surrounded Tara and Sam.

Ethan felt his blood pump faster as Sam and Tara swung their bricks over at him whenever he got too close. Intense thrill coursed through his veins as he playfully swung the knife over at them, purposely missing every single time.

"You had to be punished, along with anyone else who stands in our way." Bailey's loud voice continued to echo throughout the theatre, a scowl on his face as he glared at the two.

Sam's eyes darkened as she glanced up to meet Quinn's eyes, the thoughts running behind them being anything but pure. Quinn noticed the change almost immediately, and she tucked her knife under her chin, lightly placing it against her skin as she tilted her head up. 

"There she is." Quinn whispered, closing some of the distance between them. "There's the fucking killer.”

"Real great parenting job by the way." Tara interjected, realising that their entire family had gone insane.

"Shut your whore fucking mouth!" Quinn screamed, shoving the shorter girl with a hard push, along with Sam who was standing right beside her.

"Have I been the perfect dad? No. Have I maybe over indulged Richie's love of these little movies? Yeah, maybe." Bailey told them, tears on the brink of releasing as his voice cracked slightly. "For me they're just a little dark, but Richie really loved them. He even made a few of his own." 

Everyone’s gaze turned to face the large curtain that was showcasing one of Richie's films. Unknowingly, you felt a scowl form its way onto your face, scoffing at how someone would want to recreate this nightmare.

"Did you- did you know?" Bailey began, walking over to the stage and climbing up the few stairs to get on top of the stage so he could see the screen more clearly. "There's a very special bond between a father and his first son."

Ethan's mouth twitched, the muscle in his jaw tightened as he glanced away from his father. Bailey brought out his hands to showcase the entire room as he told them, "Which is why I helped him build this collection."

"This was all his?" Sam questioned, looking around her.

“What a fucking creep.” You muttered, glancing at Bailey before turning to look at Jill, the older woman watching Bailey with excitement. 

"Yes, he's a very passionate collector, and he inspired others." Bailey gloated, glancing around the room at all the multiple different objects that he had given his son, remembering faintly the way his face lit up whenever he brought him something new. "Oh, we had to kill those two wannabe film students because, well, we had to kill you first, Sam."

"I put the theatre in their name, and then good old Detective Bailey would have just stumbled on it, but I didn't have to because my golly, that Gale Weathers is one hell of a journalist."

At the mention of Gale’s name you felt your body stiffen, a dark gaze swimming beneath your eyes, and it wouldn't take long for any of them to realise it if they simply turned around to look at you. 

"I built a tribute to my son, which is why this is where you have to die, Sam." Bailey's voice thickened, his facial expression blank. "Surrounded by all the things he loved the most."

"What happens next?" Sam asked frantically, glancing around at each of them to get a little more insight on their thought process. "When after you're done with us, what? You just disappear?"

"No, I gotta hurry over to the hospital and make sure Mindy and Gale don't pull through." Bailey scoffed as he walked down the small steps to get off the stage and pulled his gun right at the older girl. "Because everybody dies, Sam! Everyone who had anything to do with the death of my son, suffers and dies!"

"Fuck yeah, they do!" Quinn agreed.

"Yeah!" Ethan shouted, nodding his head along to his fathers words.

"Now put on the mask." Bailey ordered, his words seething through his teeth as Sam glanced down to the floor where the ghostface mask was lying.

"He was," Sam whispered, breathing heavily as she shook her head lightly, "so pathetic."

"Huh?" Bailey's mouth hung open as he tilted his head in disbelief. "Th- that's not true."

"Yeah, your son," Sam continued, eyes holding no regret for the words she was throwing out breathlessly. "He was a man baby who made his girlfriend do all the killing."

“He was a strong feral young man.” Bailey proclaimed, glaring at Sam.

“He was a limp dick, little fuck, who cried before I slit his throat.” Sam said, her eyes hardening as she narrowed them down on Bailey. 

"Shut the fuck up!" Quinn screamed, finally losing control of her anger and running over to Sam with her knife, but Tara was already prepared for her little outburst, and she swung her brick right towards Quinn's jaw, throwing it into her face with full force and watching as a couple of her teeth were knocked out of her mouth as she fell down to the floor.

At that exact moment, Kirby appeared with her gun and shot a couple of bullets over towards Bailey. You ducked down and covered Sidney as you watched Ethan stab Kirby before Sam smacked a brick over his head. 

The older Carpenter took the knife from Kirby and stabbed Ethan repeatedly, the boy groaning in pain as he fell back.

"Sam." Tara called out, glancing back at her sister. “Come on.”

You got up and faced Jill, the woman looking at you menacingly. Sidney stood at your side, her gaze hardening on her cousin. 

Jill flipped the knife in her hand, a grin on her face told you that she had been waiting for this moment for a long time. 

“You really want to do this?” You questioned, getting into a fighting stance.

“You know I do.” Jill replied, her grip tightening on the knife.

“Then let's dance” You said, tilting your head and creating a ‘come here’ motion with your hand.

Jill ran towards you and Sidney, swinging her arm haphazardly, hoping to cut you with the knife in her hand. 

You coordinated your punches with Sidney and you eventually landed a heavy punch to Jill’s ribs, sending the woman back, reeling in pain. 

It didn’t take long for Jill to recover and she was soon running back towards you. Sidney went to punch Jill in the face but she dodged the attack and sent the older woman to the floor with a harsh shove.

Having the wind knocked out of her, Sidney stayed on the floor watching as Jill charged towards you, stabbing her knife towards your face. You blocked it and held her wrists back but got distracted when you heard a gunshot ring out followed by a scream.

You looked to your right and saw Tara grasping onto Sam’s hand as she hung over the edge of the balcony. The older Carpenter held Tara’s hand with all her might but due to the cut on her arm, blood dripped down making Tara slip from her hold. 

“Tara!” You shouted, momentarily distracted and Jill added more pressure to her knife causing it to slip through your hold and into your shoulder. “Fuck!”

Jill then used all her weight to push you down and the pin you to the floor. She straddled your waist and pulled the knife from your shoulder, trying to stab you in the face once again. 

Using all your force, you kept the knife away from your head. Sweat and blood ran down your face, some of it made its way into your eyes, making it hard for you to see. 

“Jill, stop.” You grunted, feeling the tip of the knife make its way closer to your face. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t have to do this?” Jill repeated sarcastically. “I can finally get my revenge and become the famous final girl.”

“Stop with this final girl bullshit! It’s never going to happen!” 

“And what does it matter to you anyway, y/n? You won’t even be here to see it come true.”

“You forgot one thing, Jill.” You said, breathlessly, your arms getting tired. 

“And what’s that?” Jill hissed, grinning down at you widely.

“Never turn you back on Sidney Prescott!”

Sidney came up from behind Jill, stabbing a knife of her own in the younger woman's back. Jill let out a scream, her back arching in pain and she let go of the knife in her hand.

“C’mon, sis,” you sighed, wiping the sweat from your forehead as your hand reached for Jill’s knife, your fingers grasped around it and you plunged it into her side, just under her ribs. “you should know by now, never fuck with the original.”

“How sentimental.” Jill laughed through gritted teeth, groaning in pain as you pushed the knife in deeper with a hardened glare.

“It’s only a taste of your own medicine.” You said, your gaze hardening.

Sidney took the knife out of Jill’s back and you pushed her off you. Getting back on your own two feet, you looked down at Jill, your knife still in her stomach.

You took a step forward, kneeling over Jill as you tilted your head to the side, your eyes boring into hers. You took the knife out of her side and trailed it down from her throat and towards to her chest.

Twirling the knife against Jill’s chest, anticipation coursed through her, your hands itching to dig the sharp weapon into her body.

"Fuck you." Jill launched her fist upwards to try and punch you in the face, but you were the one with the knife, so you pushed the knife in just above her clavicle.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance.” Jill muttered, her words barely above a whisper, blood loss taking a toll on her.

“Probably, but you’re too late now.” You shrugged before you leaned down to whisper in her ear, “hold still.” You raised the knife, digging the sharp metal into her chest. She cried in anguish as you sliced her skin, watching the blood drip down her body. 

Jill placed her hands against your chest, trying to pry you off her body as she struggled to move from underneath you. You brought the knife upwards once more, impaling it into her body, digging it as far into her as the knife could reach.

“S-stop!” Jill stuttered, blood filling in her mouth as she tried to get you to stop in any way possible. “Please. Y/n, please.”

Your chest heaved up and down, you halted your ministrations and looked down at her below you.

“I’m sorry.” Jill coughed, blood splattering on your clothes. “I- I didn’t mean to do any of this.”

You stood up, looking to your side, you saw Sidney look at you with an unreadable expression. She reached behind her and pulled a gun from the back of her belt.

Wordlessly, she handed it to you. You took it from her hesitantly before looking back at Jill, her eyes going back and forth from you to the gun.

“No, no, please. Y/n, don’t do this. Please.” Jill begged, holding up her hands in front of her with all the strength she had left.

You gave Jill one last look before raising the gun up to her head before pulling the trigger. Everything felt numb as you watched your sister's body slump to the floor, blood still pouring from her wounds.

You were soon snapped out of your haze once you heard Tara let out a scream. From behind you, you watched as Tara got stabbed in the stomach by Ethan.

"Gotcha!" Ethan laughed, grinning from ear to ear as he ran his eyes over the girl's wound.

Tara recovered from the stab pretty quickly and shoved her knife deep inside Ethan's mouth, breathing heavily as she watched the pain in his eyes glimmer. 

She let him swallow up his agony for a few seconds before twisting the knife inside, enjoying the painful noises he was making as blood dripped down his mouth. 

"Now die a fucking virgin." Tara sneered, watching as his eyes widened before she pulled the knife out of his mouth. 

His blood splattered on her face and clothing, but she didn't care as she let out a low laugh, lowering down the knife and glancing up to meet your eyes with a smile.

Your eyebrows rose in surprise, a low whistle falling from your mouth as you looked at the younger Carpenter impressed. 

Another gunshot rang throughout the theatre and you looked up at Sam, the girl pointing her gun at Quinn’s body which fell with a loud thud, a bullet wound in the middle of her forehead. 

“I thought she’d put up more of a fight.” You mumbled as your chest heaved up and down.

“It seems that you three didn’t need my help after all.” Sidney said, resting a hand on your shoulder. 

“How did you even get in, anyway?” You asked, looking at the older woman.

“I have my ways.” Sidney smiled. “Being the final girl has some perks.”

You were going to reply but your words got caught in your throat as you watched Sam fall from the balcony and down to the floor below her with Bailey.

You rushed over to Sam, Sidney hot on your tail as the two of you had worried expressions pasted on your faces.

Sam coughed, holding her stomach as she sat up. You placed a gentle hand on her shoulder causing her to turn around and shove you to the floor, immediately regretting it once she saw it was you.

“You okay, there Carpenter?” You asked, looking up at Sam, your hands raised in surrender.

“Sorry.” Sam apologised, holding a hand out for you to grab.

Sam pulled you up from the floor and the two of you stood facing Tara and Sidney, finally being able to take a breath from all the fighting.

“I have a plan to kill Bailey.” Sam spoke up, a hand holding her ribs, still slightly sore from the fall.

“What do you want us to do?” Sidney questioned, looking at Sam intently.

“I need one of you to take these.” Sam said, holding her phone up as well as a voice changer. “And make a phone call for me.”

“I’ll do it.” Tara said, taking the phone from her sister’s hand.

“And what should we do?” You wondered, gesturing between yourself and Sidney.

“You go with Tara and stay somewhere safe until it's okay to come back out.”

“Roger that.” You smiled, sending a salute towards Sam before walking off with Tara and Sidney. 

You turned around and saw Sam putting on her father’s ghostface robe and mask before getting in her position.

Bailey groaned, rubbing his head as he got up from the floor. He looked around and saw that it was only him left in the theatre. 

Pulling his gun from his holster, Bailey jumped at the sound of his phone ringing. 

“Hello detective Bailey,” Tara said over the phone, the Ghostface voice coming through on Bailey’s phone. “I have one question for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Bailey replied, walking up to the stage where the ghostface mannequins were. “What’s that?”

“What’s your favourite scary movie?”

“Favourite scary movie?” Bailey repeated with a chuckle. 

“I’m asking because you’re in one now. You’re in my movie.”

“Oh, and I see you’ve put on your true face, huh? Your birthright.” Bailey said as he shot two mannequins in the head before looking at Billy’s mannequin which didn’t have a robe on it. “Poetic you’re gonna die in it.”

“This is what you wanted, isn't it?” 

“Now you know the truth, huh?” Bailey said after shooting another mannequin. “Murder’s in your blood. Stop fucking around and show yourself!”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

“Alright, I am a fucking police officer, how do you think this is going to go, Sam?” Bailey shouted down the phone. “Who d’you think they’re gonna believe, huh?”

“Probably the one who’s still alive.”

Bailey screamed, smashing his phone to the ground, panting as he shook his head. Sam walked on the stage behind him, tilting her head as he turned around. Bailey stammered back, screaming loudly as Sam stabbed every inch of his body that she could. 

When she finally stopped, Sam let Bailey fall to the ground as she took off her mask. The man looked up at her, choking on his own blood. As Sam was about to finish him off for good, Tara came up beside her, you and Sidney opting to stay back.

“My father was a murderer.” Sam said breathlessly. “No matter what you think, I'm better than that.”

Sam looked down at her sister, the latter tilting her head as she relaxed her face. Sam let a small smirk take over her features before turning back to Bailey.

“But you did fuck with our family, so...” Sam said, gripping her knife harder as she shoved it into Bailey’s eye, the man screaming in pain. 

“Nice.” Tara nodded, watching as life drained from Bailey.

“Thanks.” Sam replied. “You okay?”

“No.” Tara chuckled with a shake of her head. 

Sam gave a nod of acknowledgement as she took off her robe. You watched as the sisters walked to the stairs where they sat down, you and Sidney sitting beside them.

Tara rested her head against your shoulder and you gently took a hold of her hand, rubbing comforting circles on the back.

“Thank you for letting me go.” Tara said, looking at her sister as she kept her head on your shoulder.

“I knew you could take care of yourself.” Sam replied and the two sisters shared a smile between them. “I want to be in your life, but only as much as you want me to be.”

“I want you to be.” Tara said quickly. “I promise you I am going to get so much therapy after this. I’m serious. We're going to get through this. Together.” 

All of a sudden, the peaceful moment was interrupted when Ethan ran towards you four, blood dripping out of his mouth and down his chin. Before Ethan could get near, a broken TV was pushed off a table and onto his head, the boy falling to the ground, finally being killed.

“Saw that in a scary movie once.” Kirby smiled, looking over at Sidney as the woman held a look of surprise.

The doors to the theatre were opened, multiple cops running in as Danny followed quickly behind. Sam quickly got up and made her way towards him, being followed closely behind by you, Tara, Sidney and Kirby.

“Are you okay?” Danny questioned, looking Sam over as he cupped her cheeks with a worried look on his face before pulling her into a quick hug.

“Yeah.” Sam nodded with a small smile.

“I thought you might need some reinforcements. And I called the hospital, Mindy and Gale are going to be okay. Mindy’s on her way here now, they couldn’t stop her.”

“Not bad cute boy.” Tara nodded.

“Thanks.” 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Sidney said, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You gave a weak nod, walking out of the theatre with everyone. Once you got wind of fresh air you were rushed into the back of an ambulance. A medic tending to the cuts on your face along with the stab wound in your shoulder.

Sidney sat beside you, the woman holding your hand every time you winced from the pain. After the medic was finished they gave you one more check up before moving onto something else.

Finally feeling fatigue catch up with you, you rested your head against Sidney’s arm. The older woman let a smile form on her face as she wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into her embrace.

“You’re a brave kid.” Sidney said softly, rubbing a hand up and down your arm. “You should never have had to shoot your sister.”

“She lost the right to be my sister when she started killing people.” You said, moving out of Sidney’s embrace.

“Still, no one should ever have to go through what you’ve been through.” 

“I could say the same about you.” You chuckled, bumping your shoulder into hers.

“At least I didn't get stabbed this time, just a little winded.”

“You’re getting old for this, Prescott.” 

“Watch it, y/l/n.”

“Alright, alright, I'm sorry.” You said, a laugh bubbling up from your throat as you held your hands up in surrender.

“I think someone is looking for you.” Sidney said, nodding her head in the direction of a frantic looking Tara, standing beside her sister.

“I’ll be right back.” You said, quickly getting up and making your way over to the girl.

“Y/n!” Tara said, finally spotting you. She ran towards you, the two of you meeting in the middle. “Shit, are you okay? I- I was so caught up I forgot to ask and-”

“Shut up and kiss me.” You cut Tara off, gently placing a hand underneath her chin, using your forefinger and thumb to tilt her head up.

Tara’s breathing was erratic, her heart practically beating out of her chest but she complied. Tara wrapped her hands around your shoulders and pulled you down for a kiss. 

You both sighed contently into the kiss. Easily getting lost in each other’s presence. Butterflies fluttered all around in your stomach as you finally got to kiss your girl with no matter in the world.

“Sorry, that was a bit forward.” You mumbled pulling away, scratching the back of your neck as you rocked backwards and forwards on your feet.

Tara didn’t care and she placed her hands on the side of your face, pulling you into a kiss that took all of the air out of your lungs. Your eyes went wide with shock but you quickly fell back into reality and placed your hands on Tara’s waist, pulling her closer and letting yourself fall into the kiss.

Tara let out a small gasp once your lips separated and you smiled once you saw her chest rapidly falling up and down with a small blush coating her cheeks and you couldn't help the smile that threatened to break out on your face.

Due to the closeness of the two of you, both your faces barely an inch away from each other, you could see every intricate detail on her face. You admired her for a little while but you couldn’t contain yourself so you crashed your lips back against hers. 

The kiss broke naturally, leaving pecks as you moved your face away from Tara. You rested your forehead against Tara’s, small chuckles falling from your lips.

“Your sister is going to kill me.” You whispered, wrapping your arms around Tara’s shoulders to pull her into a hug.

“One-hundred percent.” Tara replied, wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her head against your chest.

“You’re worth it.” You mumbled, placing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Okay, you two.” Sidney said, walking over to you and Tara. “That's enough sappy shit for now.”

“Sid!” You exclaimed, looking at the woman in shock. “What the hell!”

“Oh come on, let’s go see Kirby.” Sidney said, walking over to where Kirby and Sam were.

You followed behind, hand in hand with Tara, taking your time together. 

“You ever need me, call.” Kirby said, talking to Sam, but turning to you and Tara as she saw you both walk over. “We’re all apart of the same fucked up family now. And also, legacy doesn’t always have to be a bad thing, okay?”

You smiled at Kirby but it quickly vanished once you heard Tara sniffle beside you, the younger Carpenter looking to the ground as her bottom lip started to quiver, tears falling from her eyes.

“Hey.” Kirby said, looking over at Tara, seeing as you pulled her into your arms.

“It’s just Chad-”

“Hey we got another one here!” A medic shouted, wheeling the boy out on a stretcher.

“Chad!” Tara shouted, running over to the boy with you and Sam not far behind her.

“How the fuck are you still alive?” You muttered, looking at him in disbelief.

Chad smiled, holding his hand up and showing five fingers. 

“Core fucking five.” Tara smiled, pulling the boy into a hug.

“Oh my god, you guys okay?” Mindy shouted, running over to you. “I know who the killer is, it's Ethan and Bailey.”

“And Quinn.” Sam said.

“And Quinn, fuck!” Mindy huffed.

“And Jill.” You added.

“Jill? But she was dead? Wait, I missed the monologue again!” Mindy shook her head, not believing it all, holding on to her brother's side as he was wheeled into the back of an ambulance. “Wait, are you okay? You don’t look okay. Oh my god we all survived.” 

As Chad and Mindy were taken away in an ambulance, Sam looked down in her coat that was hiding her fathers mask, seemingly in a trance she was snapped out of it by Tara’s voice.

“Sam.” Tara said, her hand grasping yours. “You coming?”

Sam nodded her head with a smile, dropping the mask to the floor. She walked up to you two and the three of you walked back over to Sidney, the woman standing by herself as Kirby was taken to a hospital too.

“You guys going to be okay?” Sidney asked, her gaze focusing on you for a moment longer.

“We will be.” Sam said, looking over at you and Tara.

“Yeah, we’ve got each other.” You smiled, tightening your grip on Tara’s hand. 

“Just like Kirby said, if you need anything, you call me. Okay?” Sidney said, reciprocating your smile. 

“We will.” You nodded. Sidney gave you one last look before walking off and down the road. 

“So…” Sam trailed off, looking at you and Tara then glancing down to your conjoined hands. “You two a thing now?”

“Oh my god, Sam!”

tag list: @andsoigotabutterfly @dksjskx @dreifhraniquo29 @karsonromanoff @btay3115 @bananasplits-world @youralphawolf72 @beaniiekidd

[horizon-verizon]

I’ll be honest here it baffles me that people actually take Rhaenyra’s “sharply questioned” line as her literally wanting Aemond to be tortured because it was always SO OBVIOUS that’s she’s just making smart choice of words to provoke Alicent and get her out of control. Rhaenyra is very clearly and cleverly trying to bait Alicent into admitting that it’s her that’s been spreading the rumours. But Alicent is a selfish coward so she let her sons take the fall for it.

In what world people actually think that Show!Rhaenyra would wish for a child to be tortured ? Like, y’all can’t be serious this doesn’t fit her character at all, soft girl did nothing when Aemond openly mocked and beat her sons in front of her during the dinner scene in ep8, she’s so obviously just manipulating the situation to her side by making Alicent physically & mentally lose her composture.

And Alicent fell in Rhaenyra’s trap like an idiot, Viserys gave her a chance to say a suitable punishment but she was already so blinded with hatred, resentment and rage that she choose something he would NEVER grant, Viserys is weak-willed but he’s not insane nor cruel, same way he wouldn’t torture his son he also wouldn’t take his grandson’s eye.

That was literally Alicent’s chance, she was given the chance to speak, imagine if she hadn’t fallen for Rhaenyra’s bait and had given in front of the whole court a speech similar to her “to have three is a insult” on ep6, even Viserys wouldn’t be able to mend things. Alicent turned a huge win for her “these bastard children are bullies, savages and animals” agenda into an humiliating political loss because people will only remember she was a psycho charging at a 6-year-old child with a dagger trying to gouge his eye out/murder him.

You:

because it was always SO OBVIOUS that’s she’s just making smart choice of words to provoke Alicent and get her out of control. Rhaenyra is very clearly and cleverly trying to bait Alicent into admitting that it’s her that’s been spreading the rumours.

I never really thought of her specifically using these words to provoke Alicent's mother-protectiveness...hmm. I always thought of it as her trying to place emphasis or provoke Viserys into being more "strict" ore relentless in his verbal interrogation of Aemond, bc she's placing emphasis on how serious the act of bastard-calling she labels as a crime to necessitate that relentless searching. I suppose it could be both.

You:

soft girl did nothing when Aemond openly mocked and beat her sons in front of her during the dinner scene in ep8,

I mean, there wasn't much she herself--pregnant--could do besides keep him in her eyeline and have others separate the two. I would have preferred at least an angrier expression from Rhaenyra or some sort of slip up where she forgets she's pregnant and then Daemon stepping in. But perhaps that's my inner drama babe popping out and my desire for what I think the canon!Rhaenyra would have likely done if that scene happened in canon Westerosi history (in the book, it said that they came close but the tension never broke into an actual fight and no punches were thrown). Plus I'd have liked more shouting from both sides, but we got what we got 🙄.; the purposeful rewriting and dilution of a woman who more often than not would cause just a little bit more "noise" and was more expressive as she asserted herself.

Key words...."never forgot a slight". Yes, women absolutely could be this way and still be a "good" or "ethically ambiguous" instead of a "amoral" or "bad" actor.

We could say "not all women", or "most women wouldn't have put themselves at risk" like that. These are true. It's just that with bk!Rhaenyra, the likelihood that, as I said, she'd "forget" in her suppressed rage...it's likelier she would have.

You:

Viserys gave her a chance to say a suitable punishment but she was already so blinded with hatred, resentment and rage that she choose something he would NEVER grant

This is Viserys' dialogue with Alicent:

Viserys: This interminable infighting must cease! All of you! We are family! Now make your apologies and show good will to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it! Alicent: That is insufficient. Aemond has been damaged, permanently, my king. “Good will” cannot make him whole. Viserys: I know, Alicent, but I cannot restore his eye. Alicent: No, because it’s been taken. Viserys: What would you have me do? Alicent: There is a debt to be paid. I shall have one of her son’s eyes in return. Viserys: My dear wife. Alicent: He is your son, Viserys. Your blood. Viserys: Do not... allow your temper to guide your judgment. Alicent: If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston... bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon. Lucerys: Mother! Viserys: Alicent. Alicent: He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son. Viserys: You will do no such thing. (to Criston) Stay your hand. Alicent: No, you are sworn to me! Criston: As your protector, my queen. Viserys: Alicent, this matter... is finished. Do you understand? And let it be known, anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra's sons should have it removed. Rhaenyra: Thank you, Father. [Alicent attacks Rhaenyra]

This is the fuller script.

Actually Viserys never gave her a chance to "choose" a punishment. A huge part of Alicent's frustration boiling to her taking the knife is how little (really no) choice Viserys allows her to get any sort of payback. Throughout this scene, they are arguing about how he's not inflicting any punishment for her sons' sake AND she's trying to get one to be implemented in the first place. You can't choose a punishment that wasn't a granted as an option in the first place. Her decision to try to take out one of Lucerys' eyes comes from her own refusal to accept Viserys' action-less/not giving her option of retaliation.

Ironically, the scene does indicate how little power she--even as the Queen Consort and mother to 4 of his living children--has under Viserys' authority when she cannot do much to protect her kids without facing some sort of censure herself. again, she's obviously wrong and Viserys was right to not punish those kids bc Aemond simply was the aggressor. Especially when he had already won, the boys and the girls were backing off, and he still re-raised the rock to bash in his nephew's head while calling them worthless bastards--triggering all their fight or flight responses. that and taking out an eye for Aemond's would have done nothing--esp under this context--for Aemond but to affirm the idea that he was not morally responsible for his own actions. Not that Viserys knew, but we know and we know the possible other consequences for if this didn't turn out the way it should have. And it would have left another child without an eye, further traumatized. Again, the only worth in that sort of "justice" is to satisfy the actual bad actors.

Still, it showed a shared experience for Consorts and noblewomen. Indicated something wrong in the system that they are in similar to how it was unfair for Rhaenyra to be expected to have heirs from a gay man, her probable choice in a husband denied, losing another to constant births for the high-valued male heir, this woman, her former best friend (in the show), harrassing her and nearly maiming her own son in jealous retaliation, etc.

Alicent's feelings are somewhat valid (bc, again, she is wrong about Rhaenyra possibly killing her kids if she becomes Queen or that lords will endanger her kids AND that Rhaenyra should strictly follow patriarchal principles of "duty" and "sacrifice") valid, but neither were her behavior nor her response.

You:

imagine if she hadn’t fallen for Rhaenyra’s bait and had given in front of the whole court a speech similar to her “to have three is a insult” on ep6, even Viserys wouldn’t be able to mend things

I mean, bk!Alicent didn't do this either, bc she'd risk her own reputation taking a hit for being a "rowdy", too-vocal woman by so flagrantly bad mouthing the house she is married into and has "given" children to. Her loyalties to her husband's house is not considered a light, casual thing. I mentioned at least 2 Rhaenys-posts ago that Rhaenys could never expect House Velaryon to accept her as their head even if the greens ruled it bc there's too much that would go against her: Vaemond Velaryon; the fact that show!Corlys already named Luke his heir and Luke is male to her femaledom; she's not even part of the house's direct lineage by blood like Laena.

Remember that Alicent is trying to get Aegon "legitimately" named as Viserys' heir. For the King's wife to be criticizing the King's actions in front of the entire court would throw some reputation-degrade marks onto her kids, bc that's how the medieval-to early Tudor patriarchal world thought. Virginity, chastity, no sex outside for marriage exclusively for women...the idea was that if a women did "unwomanly", disobedient thing, she'd be hurting her children's prospects and those sex-related things I mentioned? It's all a way to restrict a woman's sexual activity by ruling that if she has affairs while already married, she'd be throwing doubt as to her children's paternity.

So she'd be risking of acting "treasonously". And Alicent simply isn't that type of woman nor can she reasonably expect to gain more than what she'd lose. She truly is that conservative/has bought into the patriarchy.

[f1shbonez]

"Like you couldn't have lost Tall Dark And Clumsy in five minutes down here, if you'd wanted to," 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Vi was quick to retort. If Ekko was smart enough to figure out the obvious, couldn’t he follow that train of thought? That meant she was keeping the enforcer close on purpose. Vi felt her jaw lock with another swell of irritation. Caitlyn was the obstacle in finding out about Powder, now. Curbing the urge to let her agitation bleed into her words, Vi held her place.

It didn’t take much at the topic of shimmer for Ekko to bite. As he flew forwards, it was hard to hide the faintest twitch of a smile. 

There’s the guy I remember. 

"Well, you're both very late to the party. Because Silco blew sky high months ago. And while your new piltie pal has been preoccupied chasing dead ends, some of us have actually been busy working to fix all the damage he did."

Word on the street had been quick to confirm Silco’s death. Vi wished she’d been out of Stillwater soon enough to see Silco’s own people turn on him like a pack of dogs. He’d deserved it. But word of what had taken place in the aftermath was…confusing at best. There were too many different versions floating around the streets to keep track. 

“Oh yeah, by doing what? Are you killing people now too?” 

"You don't know shit about what's happened down here since you left - you don't get to tell me what I should be doing. Why the hell should I even trust you?"

“Yeah, ten years is a lot to catch up on.” It was hard to hide the bitterness- how much emotion was attached to everything- and it sounded in the waver of her voice. 

“I’m not going anywhere until I find my sister.” Vi reiterated. “Like it or not, Caitlyn is here. If you don’t like what she has to say, she doesn’t stay.” Steady, blue eyes lingered on Ekko’s face. So, they were bargaining like distrustful strangers? Fine. 

“I know you’re hiding something, Ekko.” Her fingers itched, toying with the idea of dropping the shackles. “‘Is. Powder. Alive?’ It’s a simple question. Yes or no.” Saying it out loud made Vi feel sick, but she pushed forward, holding onto the shreds of evidence that pointed to the least tragic outcome. 

“Because I’m starting to think it’s a ‘yes’.”

"You better start talking. Fast." ((@just--a--jinx Vi to Ekko))

Ekko's carefully flat expression didn't falter, but his eyes hardened as he looked down at the girl he'd believed had died long ago. The big sister figure he'd grieved, and painted on The Wall.

"Funny, that was my line." He retorted in a tone utterly bleached of humour.

Don't try to call the shots here. This is my interrogation.

"You disappear for years - and now you turn up out of the blue, all buddy-buddy with an enforcer." He nearly spat out the word, making no effort to conceal his vitriol for their secondary 'guest'. His arms folded across his chest as he appraised Vi, bitter and distrustful.

You left her. You left us both. We thought you were dead - why did you leave? Where did you go?

And why have you only come back now?

Focus. Practical questions first.

"Are you working for the pilties now?"

[aminiatureworld]

A Sea of Fragment VI

Word Count: 3.964

Warnings: Slight violence

Author’s Note: I’m back! This chapter was so enjoyable to write, I missed this series so much! Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Also yes I did see the 2.1 trailer. Scaramouche’s JP laugh my evil beloved.

After your little interlude of conversation with Scaramouche you had succumbed once more to the blinding heat that was enveloping you. Having little sense of the world around you, waking up to bits and pieces of movement only to be stolen away by the darkness again, you found yourself completely disoriented by the sight that greeted you when you finally woke up.

You were in a tent, that much was sure, though beyond that you weren’t really aware of much else. The bed that you were lying on, though slightly damp, was clean, and the top cover, which remained underneath you, was folded over neatly. There was a large table next to you, filled with what could only be medical equipment, as well as a dresser, a chair, and a bench, presumably there for medical purposes. However the high quality material of everything, the tent, the sheets, the pillow, made the whole room seem much too fancy to be a simple hospital tent.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there, too afraid to move in case the world started swimming again, when what could only be a medic walked in. The Fatui emblem was embroidered neatly above his breast pocket, but otherwise he seemed completely, almost unnervingly, normal. The only other thing of note was the Anemo vision strapped to his arm.

“Ah I see you’re awake. Good, I didn’t want to have to call the head medic in again, since she made it perfectly clear already that your case didn’t need her specific supervision. Still, when my lord Scaramouche came in shouting, she couldn’t very well say that, ignoring how banged up you were at the time.”

“Scaramouche was here?” You asked, head still slightly fuzzy.

It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise to hear that, after all you weren’t the one walking to the medical tent by yourself considering the state you were in. Still the image felt like an odd one. You figured he would’ve found someone else to do it for him. Letting this information rattle around in your mind you mutely listened as the medic asked you to hold out your arm for pulse checking, barely listening to his halfhearted small talk.

“Your pulse seems to be evening out a bit,” he finally said. “Good, you were going berserk for a little bit there. We even had to call in a healer, didn’t want you to die. Thankfully the healing seemed to help, my lord was saying something about your state being magic induced, and we were worried that there would be no effect.”

“Thank you for your concern,” you replied, knowing full well that this level of treatment was likely the result of being dragged in by a Harbinger. Still, you couldn’t help but feel somewhat grateful.

“It’s nothing. Better have you alive then a dead body on our hands after all.”

“Fair enough.”

“Still, you’ll have to take care. Your iron levels were also somewhat wonky, so we’re going to give you a week’s worth of pills for that. Come back in a week and if everything seems alright you’ll be good to go. Okay?”

“Alright.”

The medic nodded before walking out. Feeling still exhausted you flopped down on the bed. A breeze seemed to be blowing outside and a part of it came in through the slits in the tent. Letting the wind fan over you, you closed your eyes. Soon enough your thoughts swam into incoherence and you were dragged down into the realm of sleep.

 “My lord.”

Scaramouche jerked his head up from the papers he’d been half heartedly studying. Seeing the medic in front of him he immediately stretched himself up a little taller. At least this wasn’t something completely worthless.

“I assume you’re here to tell me about the condition of the person I left with you.”

“Yes, they have just woken up. Their vitals are no longer in critical condition, and they appear to be alert.”

“Good. That will be all.”

“Yes my lord.”

Scaramouche waited until the medic had left before letting his thoughts roam. You were awake, you were finally awake. Though he wanted to deny it, the relief that flooded through him made it all too apparent how worried the Harbinger had been. When you’d first woken up in his tent he had felt worried, yes, perhaps even slightly frantic. Still, he had assumed that that would be the end of it. You collapsing again had made his blood run cold in a way that rarely, if ever happened. He was Scaramouche after all. The Balladeer, the Harbinger who had no room for mercy in his heart, no time to worry about the lives of other people. After all, does the winter blizzard care about whose house it destroys? Certainly not, it only has to fulfill its goal. Yet he had cared about what was happening with you, even more than that, he’d been worried, perhaps even terrified.

Acknowledging these things left a bitter taste in Scaramouche’s mouth, but he wasn’t idiotic enough to try and deny it. Somehow you had managed to become noteworthy to him, important enough to draw such a reaction out of him. Was this some despicable side effect of your ability? No, it was unlikely. There was no use in looking for excuses or denials. What the Harbinger had to do now was figure out what to do with his predicament. He ought to crush it, to treat you as he would any other low-level lackey, he ought not to have brought you over to his personal section of the medical tents, should have had someone else carry you to the general wing. Those sorts of regrets were too late now however. He had acted out of pure panic, hadn’t even thought of the strict hierarchy that ruled all the lives of those who lived under the Tsaritsa.

Not did your aberrant status help, you who weren’t from Snezhnaya, who had no sense of authority, who had no true place amidst the Harbingers. You were merely there, a shadow that Scaramouche had hoped to command who had instead appeared to have manipulated him in some way.

Yet he couldn’t get rid of you, not now. You were still needed in some capacity, needed to tell him of the layout of the village, the location of the artifact, you had said it was a mirror. Besides, Scaramouche still wasn’t entirely sure whether or not Signora would want to inspect you, having brought you to Scaramouche’s attention in the first place. It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility; Signora had a habit of going where she pleased, deriving satisfaction from the ability to draw irritation out of her fellow Harbingers. The mere idea of her sauntering in to inspect you brought a sour sort of taste to Scaramouche’s mouth. Now more than ever he loathed his coworker’s antics.

Still something had to be done, though what was still up in the air. Pondering this Scaramouche stood up. At the very least he ought to look after you, though whether this was tied into the emotions that roiled in him or simple logic he wasn’t yet sure of. At the very least there would certainly be more talking if he didn’t look on you than if he did. If there was anything that the Fatui loved it was erratic behavior. After all those who could be swayed into doing illogical things were certainly much easier to manipulate. No, better for him to make an appearance, to say that he was concerned you were on the verge of death which would have ruined his plans. This excuse in mind he stood up, urging his inner thoughts to silence as he walked out of the tent and into the afternoon sun.

The image he was greeted with upon entering your, or rather his, tent was all too reminiscent of how you had first looked in that forest where he had first met you. Face pale, a slight sheen of sweat visible on your brow, slicking your hair against your neck. Though your eyes had almost immediately snapped open upon hearing the voice of the medic they were unfocused, and for a moment it seemed as if you were squinting to make the Harbinger out.

It was a pathetic image of a person, and a mix of disgust, pity, and worry swept over Scaramouche. Silently hoping that he himself would never look so weak he sat on the only chair in the room, dismissing the medic with a wave of his hand, keeping his focus on you the whole time.

“So,” he began when you two were finally alone, “you have been saved from the teeth of death. If I had known the spectacle you were going to cause I would have never asked you to do such a thing.”

“Most visions don’t go that way,” you replied, voice husky and cracked from lack of use. “It was, it was because of the mirror.”

“You mentioned that before. This mirror, I presume it’s what we’re looking for.”

“I won’t look for it anymore,” your voice seemed to tremble slightly. “Even if my vision it was terrible. It warped the space around it, even from the future. If you were to get into the same room as it, were to try and touch it, I, I don’t know.”

“We must get a hold of it. If it is the Tsaritsa’s wish we would sacrifice a whole reserve for it.”

“How can you say such a thing?” you replied, voice quiet. The dispassionate tone sent a lance through Scaramouche, and for a moment he found himself unable to reply, knowing full well the answers he ought to be giving you, the total loyalty demanded by the archon he served.

“Still,” he finally continued, “you have showed me that you’re certainly not strong enough for this. From now on I will no longer provide you information about this mission, nor will I ask you to do anything to bring it about. All I need is a report about what you saw, if you wish you can write it yourself. There are other things that you would be better suited for.”

“What things? I don’t think you understand. I’m the only one who has seen what could happen, what seems very likely to happen based on the fragments that were lined up in front of me. The best outcome I saw was that you were unable to find it. The worst,” you took a deep breath in, “the worst outcome is that the village goes up in flames.”

“Ridiculous,” scoffed Scaramouche, feeling irritation rise up inside of him. “I thought you would be grateful to hear that you wouldn’t be required to look into the future again, instead you insult me, insult the Fatui.”

“I am glad that you aren’t going to try and force me into the future. I don’t think you could truly convince me to anyways, but I’d rather not fight about it. Still, I want to be there, to make sure that this doesn’t happen. I have to know what’s going on.”

“You don’t have to know anything. I don’t owe you information or position, you’re only here at my pleasure.”

“Yes! I am only here because you forced me to be here, only here because you asked me to do something I didn’t wish to do. And now you take the advice I give you and trample all over it! Why, why are you acting so irrational?”

“You’re the one acting irrational!” Scaramouche shot back, feeling a wave of panic shoot through him. The idea that you had managed to somehow divine the odd emotions that he was currently experiencing seemed unlikely, but that you could sense something was out of place was alarming. “I just need the report,” he pressed, feeling his voice raise in irritation, wanting this to be over.

As you stared at him, silence being your reply, the thoughts that whirled inside the Harbinger’s head seemed to get louder. Why was this suddenly so complicated? All Scaramouche’s career he had easily ordered his way around and over people. Deals were only made with other Harbingers, who quickly stepped aside to let the Balladeer do his duty. Never had someone simply refused his orders. The idea that you would do so, would turn down something so easy and to your benefit, was absolutely infuriating.

“I would like to rest a little more,” your voice finally broke through the thick silence. “I’m tired.”

“I would have gone a long time ago had you just listened to me,” Scaramouche pointed out.

“Please,” you shot him a look, “I’m not in the mood. I don’t want to fight either. I really don’t. It’s the last thing I want to do. I wanted to thank you in fact, for bringing me here rather than letting me lie on the ground or trying to slap me awake or something. But, but you just, you never listen. That’s what makes it so hard, what makes all of it so hard. You never listen so how, how are you ever supposed to hear me?”

The plaintive tone of your voice struck another blow, as Scaramouche found himself suddenly, suddenly what? He found himself leaning out of his chair, the urge to walk over to you so intense it seemed to steal the breath from his lungs. He wanted to do something, though what he wasn’t entirely sure of. To apologize? To demand? To scold? To, to console? What a stupid thing to do. Yet all these things he suddenly wanted to do. Of course he couldn’t do nay of these things, couldn’t push you any farther, couldn’t pull himself back. All he could do was lean forward, as if that might in some way convey what he was feeling.

“Is there something you want?” You asked.

“No,” Scaramouche stood up. “There is nothing more I wish to say to you.” What a lie that was.

Making his way over to the tent flap Scaramouche stopped. Quickly, almost in rebellion with his mind, he turned and walked over to you. Taking your wrist he pressed his fingers to it.

“Your pulse is still irregular,” he noted.

Spinning around and walking out of the tent the Harbinger fought the urge to scream at himself, scream for such an irrational act. Yet part of him wasn’t thinking about that at all, was instead marveling at how warm, how comfortable your hand had been in his own.

 It seemed like an hour had passed by the time your pulse managed to right itself, though surely only a few minutes must’ve passed. You held your wrist in your other hand, staring down at it, as if willing the scene that had just passed to reappear before you. What was that, what in Teyvat was that? You couldn’t make heads or tails of it, could barely acknowledge that it had indeed happened at all. Scaramouche, the Harbinger, the man who had only moments before been berating you, that Scaramouche had walked over to you and checked your pulse, held your hand in his, if only for a moment. It seemed laughable, seemed so surreal as to have been a dream, yet it had surely happened.

Of course maybe to him that had been a completely normal thing to do. After all, the medic had told you that your pulse had been irregular. Surely Scaramouche would have noticed that too. Perhaps his self-righteousness had caused him to want to make his own judgement on the state of your health. Still that didn’t stop your heart from leaping into your throat the moment it had happened, hadn’t stopped you from feeling like you were, for very different reasons than before.

You cradled your wrist, still able to feel the slight pressure his fingers had exerted on it, as if he had somehow branded you. His fingers had been surprisingly soft, not at all rough as you had expected it. Perhaps that was only natural, you knew that he sported no sword hilt, and there were no sharpening stones in his tent, meaning in all likelihood he was a catalyst user. Still, it was unexpected. His fingers had been surprisingly gentle, his palm with which he held your hand was soft and warm. You wondered for a moment what it would be like if he were to hold your hand properly. A small part of you wondered if you might yet do so in the future.

Almost immediately you shook yourself violently, willing those thoughts out of your head. Even now the idea of doing something so domestic, so intimate, with Scaramouche seemed odd, almost heretical. He was a Harbinger, a bloodthirsty man, one who evidently had no problem with a village going up in flames. And yet, and yet…

You sighed, lying back down on the bed. You should sleep, you were exhausted. Everything was going fast, oh so fast. You couldn’t keep up, couldn’t keep up with your feelings, with Scaramouche’s logic. All you wanted to do was block it out, to sleep. As you closed your eyes one final coherent thought floated through your head. He had, despite it all, not asked you to do it again.

 You never realized you were dreaming until about halfway through your dreams. Even then you had no power to stop them, they pulled you along, like a riptide, waiting to drag you down into their depths.

You weren’t exactly sure how you got into the village, the all too familiar landscape. It was hot, and your thoughts seemed to melting along with your legs, as you tried to run towards the now blazing rooftops, yet found yourself hardly moving. Yet you kept moving forward, intent on something, though on what you weren’t sure of. Something very important to be sure. If only you could reach it.

Reaching some sort of back you shinnied your way between the burning. The flames licked at your clothes and at you, but you couldn’t feel them, they certainly weren’t any hotter than the rest of you. In fact the only side effect that seemed to be happening was how close the walls were becoming, so much so that you were barely getting through. Still you kept going, and eventually you found yourself out of the seemingly endless tunnel.

There were a few men in the distance, men who seemed to be barreling towards. Unease spiked through you, somehow you knew that whatever happened they shouldn’t catch you. Yet another part of you dismissed them as no important enough. No, this wasn’t how you wanted it to go, there was something else. As you thought that they seemed to suddenly fade away, or perhaps it was that you had suddenly found yourself somewhere else.

Walking down this road that seemed so busy and so desolate you found yourself in field. Not questioning the black sky above you, the fact that there was a field in the middle of a tiny village, you approached a figure in the middle of the field. Somehow you already knew who it would be.

You had never really thought about the space that Scaramouche took up before. He was simply there, a man, a Harbinger, a person. Just there. Now however he seemed all too small, almost puny. His head was turned to the side, so much as to be unnatural. A slight dribble of blood pooled from his mouth, and his eyes stared with the glassy intensity of the dead, the kind of stare that would forever haunt. You seemed to float above him, high, high above. Yet you wanted to lower yourself, to shake him, to see if he was just pretending. Everything felt glassy and distant, like a play that you were part of but not actively participating in. Soon enough he’d pick himself off the ground and start yelling at you. Soon. Yet someone was wailing in the distance, and for once the voice seemed eerily familiar.

 You opened your eyes, at first seeing nothing before the cloth ceiling of the tent finally revealed itself to you. Lying there, not daring to sit up or roll over or do anything, you replayed your dream. Before it had seemed so distant, so disconnected from you. Now however it close, all too close. Your back was sticky with sweat, and the sudden heaving of your chest, cause panic to flood through your mind, revealed how truly shaken you were. You had seen Scaramouche dead before, had seen his fallen frame in your visions. It had been so different then however. Then he had just been a Harbinger, just been a demanding man. Now however he was, something. Something else.

All this time you had worried about your feelings for Scaramouche, worried that they were just some figment of imagination that stemmed from your visions of the future. Perhaps that was partly the truth, perhaps those visions had indeed provided the fuse for your emotions. Yet somehow you had lit them, or more aptly somehow Scaramouche had. The image of him lying there, dead on the ground, filled you with such distress that it seemed liable to drown you. Even if these feelings were somehow made up, the result of some imagined Scaramouche in the future, some need to line yourself up with some possible path, they were still real. Painfully so, if this was a sign of anything.

Finally sick of lying in one position you sat up. Though the tent was opaque enough you could see little bits of light through the slits of the tent, and the slightly warm air had the distinct feeling of it being at least midday. Standing up you made your way, somewhat hesitantly, over to the flap of the tent. You needed to see Scaramouche, if only to try and convince him again not to go through with such a ridiculous plan. You needed to make sure that your dream didn’t become a reality.

Walking through the tented hallway you quickly ran into the same medic as before, this time pushing a tray with food on it.

“Oh good you’re up,” he said, voice slightly bored. “Maybe you’ll be able to leave tomorrow then.”

“I need to talk to Scaramouche,” you said, words tumbling out and running into one another. “It’s something of the greatest urgency.”

“I’m sorry but my lord isn’t here.”

“Isn’t here? Then, he…”

“He went off on a mission, he said if you were ready to leave before he came back to move you back into your tent tomorrow and to wait until he returned for further instructions.”

“He’s gone?”

“Yes.” The medic replied, seemingly slightly impatient.

Turning around you fell right back onto the bed. Ruining the hospital corners you ripped the blanket over your head, willing it to block out all the light. You needed to get out, you needed to go find him. Somehow you knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Even if you wanted to you doubted the medics would cross Scaramouche’s orders to keep you here until tomorrow. Even more so you had no information on what exactly he had done, though you were almost positive that he had gone to the village. Even if he hadn’t though you had to go check, go make sure. What he was doing was madness, running into a situation without fully comprehending it, what in Teyvat was he thinking?

Anxiety welled up inside you, consuming any and all thoughts you might’ve had. In their place was fear, pure distilled fear. Fear for the Harbinger that you didn’t want to die, and fear for the future that might not come to pass after all.

[takerfoxx]

Arcane, Season 1, Episode 3, "The Base Violence Necessary for Change," First Impressions!

Yes, I know I wasn't going to do any more of these this week, shut up.

Glad I did though, because Mother of God...

VThere's always that one episode from a show that lets you know that you are watching something special, that one transcendent episode that hits all the right points, that is almost perfect in a way, and is absolutely emotionally devastating. Passion from Buffy. The season 3 finale for She-Ra. And now, this.

This ultimately is an episode about trying to do the right thing but failing. Vi tried to do the right thing by turning herself in. Vander tried to do the right thing by offering himself in her place. And Powder tried to do the right thing by ignoring the order to stay put and going out to help her family. In this, they all failed, and everything was left so much worse for it.

I admit, I was taken back by the fake-out in the beginning, when Vander showed up instead of the enforcers, but as before, I shouldn't have been surprised. This was his adopted daughter, after all, and he would do anything to protect her, up to giving himself up in her stead. After all, someone had to hang. Piltover had to have its pound of flesh.

But there is one thing he didn't count on. He didn't account for Silco.

Here we learn even more about these two characters' histories. Like Vi and Powder, they were exceptionally close growing up, like brothers even, and apparently worked together in creating the rebellion that cost Vi and Powder their parents. However, something happened during that battle that caused Vander to snap and try to kill Silco. Did Silco go too far. Unleash something that he wasn't supposed to. I suppose we'll find out in time, and regardless, it's clear that the even left a deep wound on both men, and changed them in different ways.

Through violence.

But Silco still has plans and ambitions, and while we're as of yet not quite clear on what those plans are, they do involve Vander and his kids. Poor Bezo and most of the enforcers are killed by the now horribly mutated Deckard, and Vander is taken. Vi is rescued by a distraught Ekko, and she resolves to go save the only father she ever really knew.

Naturally, she, Mylo, and Cragglor all gear up for the rescue, each one bringing along a special set of skills. However, realizing what Mylo had brashly said earlier was true, Vi tells Powder to stay behind. While a smart move, this proves to be their tragic undoing, as she doesn't account for just how much Powder is unraveling.

Powder's freak-out was honestly really hard to watch. Yes, yes, look at that wacky Jinx, with her big explosions and funny antics. But when you take a character that deranged and really work out how they got that way, you will often find a truly heartbreaking story. Powder was a traumatized child who just wanted to prove herself and not lose anyone else. Combined with entirely too much talent for destruction and a few truly destructive hextech crystals, you're left with a recipe for disaster.

And that is exactly what happens. As one might expect, the whole situation is a trap, and now the kids have to content with Silco and his goons, who wants them for...a yet unspecified purpose. Yeah, if I have one complaint about this episode, it would be that I would like to know exactly why Silco wanted Vi so badly.

Anyway, ever the go-getter, Vi finally dons the gauntlets that would become her trademark (or at least, an early version of them) and proceeds to kick ass. But that's not enough to overpower Deckard, and she is forced to retreat.

But then tragedy strikes. See, they were close to winning. The door was still sealed, Cragglor had almost opened a way, Mylo had freed Vander from his bonds, the three of them had combined their talents and had almost gotten away with Vander!

But Powder.

Poor, poor Powder.

She just wanted to help. She just wanted to save her family. She just wanted to prove herself.

And it only cost her everything.

I don't often gasp out loud or whisper, "No, no, no," when watching a show, but I did here. Cragglor and Mylo, killed in the explosion. Vander, forced to take the Venom-juice just to stop Deckard (whom I actually do feel kind of sorry for) before succumbing to his own wounds. The entire family, wiped out.

By Powder.

I don't blame Vi for lashing out. Yes, it was a terrible thing to do and absolutely made things worse, and you can see how much she regretted it, but as we all know, these are some deeply flawed characters enduring some horrible things.

But even so, the damage was done. Devastated by her sister's rejection and her own actions, Powder has snapped.

Just in time to fall into the hands of Silco.

You know, as ruthless and twisted as he is, I kind of feel like Silco genuinely did feel some empathy for Powder. I do think he saw himself in her, as someone rejected by someone that they looked up to and trusted, just like he had with Vander. But regardless of his motivations, he is furthering Powder down her dark path into madness.

But the worst thing of it all is that it was all for nothing. Vander's attempt at self-sacrifice did nothing, because Vi still fell into the hands of the last remaining enforcer, the same one that had struck a deal with Silco. Vander still died, and Mylo and Cragglor are gone too. Everyone tried to help. Everyone tried to do the right thing.

And it cost them everything they were trying to protect.

But if there is one person that actually got what he wanted in this episode, it's Jayce, who actually managed to prove his theory correct, find himself an ally on the council, and accomplish his lifelong dream of combining technology with magic. I expect a time-skip to follow as we catch up on where the paths of Vi, Powder (now Jinx), and Jayce will lead them. I wonder if Viktor's eventual ambitions will cross path with Silco machinations. I'm also curious to see how Vi meets Caitlyn and how that all develops. I fully expect that flare that Vi gave Powder to be used in an ironic way in the future. And whatever happens, I am so hooked right now and totally here for it!

[luxmaeastra]

Tharizdun. Leshy shuddered at the name but hummed.

"You ask such strange questions young one but I'll indulge you."

He held up the Heartstone, evershifting like sand, like a perpetual storm.

"Long ago before Witches tore us asunder and fae crawled from their dens we ruled. We vied for power but clan had such power. Many came close. Tharizdun was one. A mighty Vaettir who weilded his Heartstone like a mighty conduit. He created things of darkness and hunger. It was before my time, a legend when I was a child. But the story goes he ruled for 40 winters and the other tribes called a Hunt. He was slain his children mated with or killed. His Heartstone lost to the oceans on which he'd stood his ground. Somewhere off the coast of modern Hybern I believe."

Leshy shrugged and dissapeared the stone looking back at him with a grim smile.

"You fae know him as Nightbringer I believe his blood flowed in the Soul sisters of Lethe and Morwel. The Heartstones can only be used once and cease their use after the wielder dies. Of course they can still be used but the risk of the new weilder being subsumed again. Or so the theory goes."

His wouldn't do such a thing, Zorya had been cleansed from it - on Moryana's orders of course.

//For anyone??//

Violet eyes looked up at him as he finally answered her question, answered her who Tharizdun was. It was a name that she had never heard of, even in the lessons she had between everything else she experienced.

Leshy had been one of the few who she had left who she trusted, one of the few who did not treat her as others did - though it didn't mean she fully trusted him. Especially not away from that place, especially not if they found it was wrong for her to be taken out.

They said she was special though, they said she needed to learn and be ready for the day when she had to fulfill her purpose. That was why she was so eager to learn, if she did good maybe that would mean they would leave her alone for a little while.

The barely sixteen-year-old Sarai wrapped her arms around her legs, listening to him as she looked up at him. "That is a sad story," she finally spoke. "Are all the stories from the past to do with the Vaettir sad?" Not that she expected yes to be an answer, she had seen enough Vaettir caged and enslaved in her life to know better than to think there would be a happy ending for her.

[azuremallone]

Azure’s Corner

Welcome to another episode of Azure’s Corner, so you just sit there and think about what you did.

In today’s episode, we talk about “Everyone is Hitler.” I’ll keep this simple and utilize pictures with words on them that actually mean something.

The reason for this is being brough to you by a thot from Florida running against DeSanto. Read the article here: https://www.foxnews.com/politics/florida-desantis-democrat-challenger-compares-hitler

Therein, she says very clearly that DeSanto is doing things just like Hitler, but then dismisses her own argument by stating that DeSanto is unable to become Hitler. This, my friends, is where she fucks up.

The reason is clear: She’s a fucking moron. The use of Hitler to evoke a visceral response has diminished the real horrors and pure evil that Hitler was guilty of perpetrating. This is a person in history that actively sought genocide and convinced millions to this day that he was right in doing so. In various cultures where true racism lives, they’ve taken notes from him and subtly are seeking to implement it in various ways. I won’t go down the list, but let’s just say that the Jewish people are far from the only ones who have experienced atrocities that shouldn’t be happening in this day of age since Hitler.

The overall utilization and evocation of Nazism and the related figurehead are commonplace amongst the idiotic troves of mindless sheeple. They use it as a false flag to assail anything and anyone whom they disagree with because they cannot, through many reasons, clearly and honestly argue their position. When this fails, they result to violence like any true simpleton would. “Ugh, DeSanto, Trump, bad. Hitlers. No believe? I KILL YOU!” Which, sadly enough, is quite Hitleresque.

You’re wondering, “But Azure, you’ve raised the Nazi and Hitler references too!” And yes, I have. However, these are based on actual points of conversational argument that I can aptly support using logic. It’s not simply that a thing shares some traits with another thing and that’s why it’s bad; I point out why Nazism is surreptitiously encaging to liberal parties. I’m not calling them Nazis, with the sole exclusion of Antifa -- whom are actual Nazis for real.

I’ve also signed onto the bandwagon that George Soros is a Nazi collaborator who should be thoroughly investigated and tried for war crimes. Aside from the facts that this man is a wanted criminal in many countries (see: Malaysia, Turkey, Hungary, and Macedonia) and that he’s clearly managed to establish himself as a true to form Ian Fleming 007 villain, his clouded history stems from the fuzzy documentation from the end of WWII and his own comments about his adolescent years during the end of the war. Ever hear of “Hitler’s Youth”?

These comments I may make about these two groups are not rhetoric. They’re not Godwin’s Law logical fallacies. They’re based on pure facts and questions about actual behaviors or sentiments espoused by them. Whereas, vis a vis, simply calling DeSantos a “would be Hitler” because he wants to re-establish Florida’s National Guard, a function that 22 other states have, as a purely state-operated agency for defensive and emergency purposes, is ludicrous. She recognized this and back peddled because her “study of Hitler” is apparently fraught with idiocy and a failure to comprehend what she was reading.

Hitler himself was more than simply a person who did things. He was a man who believed, deep down in the soulless pit of his blackened heart and demonic mind, that his destiny was to purify the planet, establish a slave labor caste, place Supermen in positions of power to rule with impunity beneath him, and dominate the Earth in a warm fuzzy blanket of ideological Socialism. He used the Jewish people as a throwaway target to rally the people against a common enemy. As the Jewish people had long been targeted by Socialists, it was an easy step to take and closely held to the beliefs of Karl Marx.

For Hitler, it was a means to an ends and a rise to glory as the one who achieved what Marx spoke of. For those not paying attention, Karl Marx was German. Many who think of Socialists picture Marx as Russian. He was not. It was only the Lenin who took it to the next level from a diatribe of insanity and codification of Satanic immorality to an actual form of governance and implemented it.

The actions Hitler took are completely within the lines of any government: Forming a military, managing military conflict, establishing laws, and operating an ideological agenda. None of these things are exclusively evil or ascribed to Hitler. However, calling for the extermination of a group of people, creating laws that support it, and then getting an entire country to murder people based on what they are -- That’s evil.

Evoking Hitlerism and Nazism to frame an argument against a person for the sake of instilling a sense of recoil as a basis to uplift oneself, is a great way to diminish the atrocities that Hitler committed. It’s not a warning, but it is conflating via ignorance. Frankly, I don’t think she has two braincells to rub together. Anyone who has truly studied History as I or others honestly have, understands that Hitler was probably a demon-possessed person, born of the darkness, and sought to reign over Hell on Earth.

He only sold people on the “We’re gonna rule the Earth” part to get them on board.

So the next time you hear someone reference Hitler or Nazism, be sure to ask them exactly what they mean by that. Ask them to defend their statement. Then, formulate a rational conversation around it. If they’re unable to defend their position, fuck’em. Take the gloves off, crush their skull and remove their brain with the spoon of knowledge.

[nettlestonenell]

Gotta agree, smells like a wide swath of female representation to me, too, Yeong

The King: Eternal Monarch Catches Plenty of Hate Online Why That Is, And Why You Should Feel Free to Ignore It

(presented in parts for @dumbassdictionarysds)

Part VII: Ladies Just Bein’ Ladies…Hating on Ladies?

[because this begins with another “controversy”, sort of piggybacks on Part VI]

Subjects of the Kingdom, Citizens of the Republic, and (as always) Gentle Readers, Wikipedia cites some outrage regarding two lines in the first episode given to women. [Outrage in the sense that viewers in Korea complained to an official agency there about them: “the Korea Communications Standards Commission issued an advisory warning against the series for scenes that challenged gender equality after viewers complained that those scenes promote fixed gender stereotypes.”-wikipedia quoted]

The lines in contention were PM Koo’s remark above about her bra, and an unnamed female character with Seung-Ah (Na-Ri’s counterpart) calling for the men at the rowing competition to wear less [clothing]. 

No argument, here, Gentle Readers, both of these lines are exceptionally clunky from a “good dialogue writing” standpoint alone, and as such I honestly count them among total outliers within the series as a whole, as nothing like them ever gets said again (though, for the record, their content—as opposed to their delivery—did not affect or offend me at all. [I fail to see how Koo’s body positivity flex ‘promotes fixed gender stereotypes‘] Koo’s is specifically meant as a character-building interaction, and probably a flex. It’s even clumsier b/c it’s rendered so formally, especially since she’s talking to another woman who is frisking her for security purposes. It would have been less clunky as, “sorry I tripped the sensor, but my boobs are too big not to wear an underwire”).

[As for the woman’s aside at the rowing competition, I frankly fail to see how a female character employing the Female Gaze and being vocal about liking to see men sweat and wear less clothing “promotes fixed gender stereotypes”.]

Yes, fandom had it out for PM Koo, which I admit puzzles me—especially in a show with so MUCH female representation. We can’t have greedy women bad guys who flex about their bra size? I loved that she was [spoiler] an evil PM. But I loved even more that she was constantly shown being REALLY GOOD AT HER JOB despite her (in-show) haters.

Even Lee Gon, her close frenemy, found her an effective diplomat, and textually a politician he could work with. Yes, she was ultimately an antagonist, but well-written and performed female characters aren’t all condemned to be purely “good”, are they?

ARE they? [I have never seen this film. It is possible Nurse Ratched is a poor gif to place here wrt the point I am making]

[A little research will show how aspirational many kdramas are when it comes to portraying women in powerful roles, as this practice (bravo to it!) does not give a true reflection of actual Korean society where, for example, the gender wage gap is among the worst in developed countries. Viewing PM Koo and her quick-route to power (queen for life!) in light of such facts does give a Westerner pause, and adds an additional pause when I start to mull over the SKorean anti-feminist movement and those complaints about Koo’s comment “promoting fixed gender stereotypes”, and how those complaints could actually have come from people threatened and displeased by a woman being represented as the country’s PM. 

It seems fair to at least suspect the real world hate Koo caught was not so different from the in-show disdain her male counterparts seemingly had for her. I’ve seen what I’ll label as ‘disappointment’ among viewers that Koo did not end up being a bright light of all that is good as a lady and the most powerful politician in the Kingdom, which smacks to me of a cloaked type of misogyny, masquerading as concern about women’s representation.]

As for female representation, I don’t know how anyone can deny that it’s a delicious smorgasbord, here. Jeong Tae-Eul as the nuanced, multi-faceted female lead, Na Ri as an entrepreneur and holder of power in both universe iterations; there are two important women shown as officers at the Republic’s police station, the court of Corea has Lady Noh as its indisputable head who can even tell the King how to behave, the servants of the Royal Court in Lee Gon’s reign are overwhelmingly female (barely a ‘eunuch’ to be seen after the night of the treason), Royal Court Press Secretary Mo is female (and in the final ep she’s used to make an explicit point about women on the job).  There is only a single female in the Royal Guards that we meet (which I admit saddens me) and until he attempts to bring PM Koo on-board, the traitor R/Lee R/Lim has only a single woman willingly in his employ. 

And yet we have PM Koo’s male secretary loyally choosing to leave with her as she’s removed from office, we have JTE’s Chief Park’s wife holding positions of civic power in both universes, we have JTE’s parents TOGETHER running the Tae Kwon Do Center, mom a black belt, and we have King Lee Ho and Gon’s mom meeting as intellectual equals (she’s a scientist noted enough to be giving lectures, and must have had some degree of notoriety)! I mean, this list goes ON and ON and ON and I love it. Shout-out to PM Koo’s mom running her own fish shop, as well as to the lady (probably evil) running the care center for Lee Lim. Lady characters don’t seems to be getting shortchanged, here.

...and then we felt bad for the antagonist

And a bevy of women are shown as single parents (as, of course, are JTE’s dad and King Lee Ho), or de facto single parents (where’s Koo’s dad?) (how long has Kang Shin Jae’s dad been incarcerated?)

Again, a smorgasbord of female representation. The top three most powerful people in the working and private life of Lee Gon are, in fact, all female. [PM Koo, Court Lady Noh, and arguably Secretary Mo]

I hate to say it, but if you only want to see perfect, heroic, old-fashioned and sweet female princess characters who ‘stay in their lanes’ and don’t challenge the men [and women] in their lives, you might hate this show.

[fulokis]

Fulokis WandaVision Rewrite- Chapter 2

Wanda furrowed her brow at her brother, "This is Vision, my husband. I swear you two have met before."

Peter processed what to say, "It's all a blur, honestly probably a side effect of being dead. Hey is that a Nintendo Entertainment system?"

"You and your games." Wanda said letting the subject of her brothers death go for the moment.

"You and your sitcoms." Peter shot back from inside the fridge. Grabbing a Capri Sun he speed over to the pantry and grabbed a chocodile, before heading back to the entry way to examine Vision.

"You never told me your brother had powers too." Vision said uncomfortably stepping to the side after Peter poked his face. "Or that he had died."

"Yes well..." Wanda said trying to figure out what to say.

"It runs in the family." Peter offered up still examining Vision.

"What no it doesn't." Wanda said furrowing her brow "Since when has it run in the family?"

"I believe what your brother is trying to say Wanda, is that it has something to do with genetics, rather than chance."

"Bingo!" Peter said.

"Shhhh." Wanda scolded, "If you wake up the kids I swear I will kill you."

"Kids?" Peter asked "First I'm an Uncle?! And second you had kids with the toaster over here?"

Vision frowned and Wanda shook her head, "Just try to be quiet okay?"

Peter chuckled, "You say that as if I'm not capable of being quiet."

"Vis can I talk to you for a minute?" Wanda asked half dragging the sinth into the kitchen.

"Are you okay Wanda?"

"Yeah yeah I'm fine why wouldn't I be?"

"Wanda you said I had met your brother, and that your brother had died. Neither of which I was aware of until now."

"Ohh I see. Yeah you two have met, it was quick. Literally he just ran past you. And about the whole death thing don't listen to him he's being dramatic."

"Wanda I find generally that people aren't dramatic about death." Vision said with visible confusion.

"He..." Wanda started, "We were six, and at school and well he choked on a potato because he was eating too fast. He was quiet at school I'm not sure why, but um the teacher wouldn't listen to me until he passed out. And the teacher went over to check on him... and his heart had stoped. The teacher started to try and revive him, and I don't know why but I went over to him and held his hand through it. He's fine but it left both of us shaken up."

"Oh I see." Vision said "Wanda do humans often claim premature death when they have no pulse?"

"Sometimes yes." Wanda said. "Look Pietro is probably going to need to sleep on the couch, he lives pretty far from here."

"Don't worry darling your family is my family." Vision said embracing Wanda and giving her a kiss on the forehead.

"You know this house reminds me of home!" Peter shouted from the living room.

Wanda sighed looking up at Vision. "I suppose I should go talk to him."

Vision smiled "Ill leave you two to catch up." He said before moving out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Wanda walked over to the living room and sat down in the chair next to the couch. "So..."

Peter smiled "Do you still have that little thing mom gave you? The one with the other half that she game to me?"

Wanda smiled and laughed slightly, "Yeah I do. I'm assuming you lost yours?"

"Nah, it's in a safe place." Peter said. "At least I think, honestly don't remember exactly where I put it."

"Of course you don't. Although I'm sure you remember where you put moms special rock."

"In the cookie jar." Peter said smiling at the idea "No robber was ever going to look in that ugly old thing."

"Ugly? Dad would kill you if he ever heard you say that." Peter froze for a second, he knew he had something important to tell someone or say or something. Something about his father. "Pietro?"

"Sorry I guess I just haven't thought about them in a while." Peter said watching as Wanda  got up.

"I'll make some hot chocolate." She said humming to herself a familiar tune.

"Thanks." Peter said standing up and walking into the kitchen to throw away his trash. "It's nice here. This town, your home, your family."

"Yeah I lucked out." Wanda said staring into the microwave.

"Yeah you did. I'm actually a little surprised."

"How so?"

"Well you settled down, you have a family. You don't have to worry about the world. You always wanted it, but I knew that you were terrified you wouldn't get it."

"Is it a bad thing?"

"No." Peter shook his head "No not at all. I think mom and dad would both be proud of you. They would've loved to meet your kids."

"Pietro you haven't even met my kids."

"Aw come on sis, you worried I won't like them?"

"No I'm worried they won't like you.  There's a difference."

"Eh they'll like their old uncle P." Peter said and Wanda laughed. "But I'm being serious mom and dad would've loved them."

"Here." Wanda said handing Peter the hot chocolate mug to him.

Peter took a sip "You added a bit of cinnamon."

"Yeah just the way mom liked it." Wanda said, "Of course I'm not good with a stove in the way she was."

"It still tastes good." Peter said taking another sip, "So Uh how did you and toaster meet?"

"You really don't remember?" Wanda asked.

"Like I said it's a blur, although it's probably for the best."

"Yeah... for the best." Wanda said.

"I know that look." Peter said. "You're going to go watch a sitcom aren't you?"

"Maybe." Wanda replied setting the mug of hot chocolate she had made for herself on a coaster in the living room.

Peter followed her out to the living room walking over to the bookshelf in the corner. On the bookshelf sat a lonely chess piece. Peter picked up the black queen, running a finger along the piece. He stopped, he could remember something about the piece in his hand.

"She's lucky you know." Wanda said.

"What?" Peter asked sure for a second he heard a mans voice saying the words.

"She's lucky." Wanda said walking over, "Dad tried to teach you but you never had the patience."

"How is she lucky?" Peter asked.

"She's like us, unusual. We have powers like she does, and yet she's still not the most powerful piece on the board. She's always treated like she's second best, so she's lucky for anyone who is like her." Wanda explained.

Peter took a sharp breath, a memory came back to him almost as if he was reliving it. Through the fog in his mind he could remember. Him lounging on a couch Ororo sitting curled up in the sun on the other side of the couch reading a book. On an adjacent couch Jean was leaning on Scott having a hushed conversation with him. Jubilee and Kurt were sitting on the floor looking at a game of Life spread at their feet.

Peter had headphones in, but he didn't have any music playing. He knew that everyone else just figured he did and they let him be to take his 'nap'.

"Check." Charles said.

"Check mate." Erik replied placing a piece down.

"No it's not." Charles replied.

"Yes it is."

Charles sat and examined the board for a second "Fine you win this one my friend."

"You seem distracted today Charles."

"Distracted me? Never."

"Gah!" Kurt yelled in surprise accidentally teleporting into the table the two older mutants were using for their chess game. Peter startled at the loud noise and looked down to see a chess piece roll towards the couch. "Sorry Professor."

"Not to worry Kurt, we were done anyway." Charles said, "What startled you?"

Kurt started to explain to the professor what had happened. Peter tuned out the conversation sitting up and stretching. He bent down and picked up the piece that had rolled near the couch.

"She's lucky you know." Erik said watching the young mutant as he got up from the couch.

Peter nearly froze, he couldn't believe that Erik was talking to him. "What do you mean?"

"She's like us, powerful but always treated beneath those who have not evolved to a higher purpose. Always serving in the shadows of the less evolved."

Peter looked at the man slightly confused, "Has she brought you any luck?"

"A couple times yes." Erik replied, "She brought me family when I needed it."

"Oh." Peter replied, "Uh here." He said reaching out to give it to the man.

"Keep it." Erik said, nodding to Peters leg "You look like you could use a little luck."

"Heh luck, I don't need it." Peter said, "After all I did break you out of the pentagon without it. The legs just a little fluke that's all."

"Peter that's not something you need to boast about." Charles said handing Erik a a couple of renegade chess pieces.

Erik took the pieces from Charles and put them back with his set. Peter attempted to give the queen back to Erik. "Keep it, Ill get it back from you the next time I visit."

"Next Tuesday then?" Charles asked.

"Next Tuesday." Erik confirmed walking out of the room.

Peter waited until the man was out of earshot, "Why wouldn't he take it?" Peter asked Charles.

"Erik is a mystery that few can solve Peter."

"Haven't you professor?" Peter asked.

"Oh believe me I've tried." Charles said. "Best not to worry about it."

Peter looked down at the chess piece in his hand, he knew he was going to keep it close for the weekend. He had to keep it safe, if not for him but his father.

"Pietro?" Peter heard through his thoughts.

"What?" He asked still holding the chess piece.

"Are you okay?" Wanda asked touching his shoulder.

"Yeah, I just miss them ya know." Peter said mulling over the memory that he just seemingly formed.

Wanda nodded and gave him a hug. Peter went to place the queen back on the shelf but Wanda stopped him closing his hand around it. "Keep it, you could use some luck."

Peter wanted to protest but Wanda had already wandered off heading up the stairs. Peter walked over and sat down on the couch turning the piece over in his hands. Something wasn't right, or at least something didn't feel right. Peter sighed knowing he would have to mull over his thoughts later. Setting both his mug and the queen on the table he lie down on the couch and closed his eyes attempting to get some sleep.

The dreams he had were unsettling. He'd dreamt many times of death and dying, and yet these felt too real. Peter felt the pain, pain that shouldn't have been there. He'd been shot, he knew that in fact he was sure of that. And yet in his dream he nearly had his skull crushed while  something pulled him towards the ground. What was even more unsettling was the man from his memory seemed to be the one trying to kill him.

Peter startled awake the last image of a man with a helmet, staring directly at him. He looked around the room to get his bearings. Wanda's husband sat in the chair next to the couch, reading the mornings newspaper. Peter turned his head slightly to read the headline on the paper.

"Restless night?" Vision asked.

"What?" Peter asked, "Oh yeah. Nightmares. Come to think of it do you get them?"

"Nightmares?" Vision pondered, "No I don't think so. Although I do get some unsavory images occasionally during my rest period."

Peter sat up, "Must be simple to be a machine. No reason to have fake memories."

"My memory has fallacies, although much less so than a human." Vision said paying much more attention to his newspaper than Peter.

"Mutant." Peter mumbled under his breath out of habit.

"What was that?" Vision asked.

"What? Nothing. I didn't say anything. It's you. You must be hearing things."

"I process audio input." Vision corrected looking up from his paper at the ten year old coming down the stairs. "Billy! Come say hello to your uncle Pietro."

Peter looked at the kid, "Uncle P is fine."

Billy walked down the stairs slowly and came to sit on the opposite side of the couch closer to his father, clutching closer to the blanket he'd wrapped around himself. "He takes after Wanda."

Peter smiled and nodded at Vision, "Hey."

"Mom said you were very far away." Billy said.

"Peter smiled mischievously, "She wasn't wrong about me being far away, I mean I do live pretty far away..."

"Woah your hair is cool!" A kid shouted running down the stairs.

"Hey, Tommy what have we told you about running in the house?" Vision reprimanded.

The boy ignored his father and jumped on the couch right next to Peter "Can I touch it?"

Peter made a weird face, "I guess." He replied.

"Aww I thought it would feel cool too." Tommy said, "Who are you? Why are you here? Are you a secret agent?"

"That's Uncle P Tommy." Billy said.

"Woah!" Tommy yelled.

"Tommy what have we told you about yelling!" Wanda said coming down the stairs.

"But mom..."

"Listen to your mother kid." Peter said.

"See your Uncle knows what he's talking about."

"Do you listen to her Uncle P?" Billy asked.

Peter smiled and got up and sped towards Wanda, letting her stop him with her magic much to her resignation. "Nope." Peter said with a grin watching as the kids faces lit up with surprise. Wanda gave him a playful slap on the shoulder at his response, "But you should listen to her, she gives some good advice."

"That's better." Wanda said as the phone rang. Wanda sighed and picked it up, "Hello?... oh no...hold on... vis can you handle it?" Wanda asked nodding at the fact that Tommy had stolen his brothers blanket and started using it as a cape. "... what were you saying?... is there anything I can do?... are you sure?... okay feel better."

"What is it?" Peter asked.

"Vis Hon, Agnes can't babysit for us, she's come down with the flu."

"Rats, if only there were someone we could get to watch the kids." Vision said winking towards Peter.

"No, I am not letting..." Wanda started.

"Awwww." Billy said, "But mom I want to hang out with Uncle P."

"Please!?" Tommy asked.

Wanda frowned, "Oh I don't know. Vision what do you think?"

"I think that's an excellent idea. The kids get to hang out with their Uncle, you and I get to spend some time to ourselves. And Agnes doesn't have to worry too much about the kids. It's a Win-Win-Win situation dear."

"I'm still not sure." Wanda said.

"Don't sweat it Sis, nothing I can't handle." Peter said showing off his muddles for the twins.

"Please mom please??" Both boys pleaded.

Wanda sighed "Alright fine, but only because I'm outvoted."

"Yay!" Both twins shouted.

"But and this is a big but, you have to behave yourselves." Wanda said, "No T.V. After 9 and no desert after dinner you hear me?"

"Yes of course we hear you mom." Billy said, "Can we watch T.V. Until you go?"

"Yes you may." Wanda said, "Pietro can I talk to you?"

"Yeah." Peter said following his sister into the kitchen. "What's up?"

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Wanda asked watching as Vision helped the boys with the T.V.

Peter snorted, "Oh come on sis, how bad can they really be? Cause I've died and come back, not much can be worse."

"Pietro that's what I'm worried about. You sure you don't want to rest, or take it easy?"

Peter placed a hand on Wanda's shoulder "My dear sister I've never once in my life taken it easy, and there's no way in my afterlife life I'm going to take it easy either."

Wanda smiled and shook her head, "You're still awful at jokes."

"Aw come on you know I'm better at practical jokes." Peter said pulling his sister into a hug. "But my point is I'll be fine and your kids will be fine, I won't let anything happen to them I promise."

"Thank you." Wanda said, "I'll do the same for you if you ever have kids."

"I know Wanda, I know." Peter said, his mind slipping back to the memory of the chess piece and the dream he had experienced the previous night. Something was wrong here he could feel it, something about the town, about Wanda's husband, about Agnes. They felt fake in a way, almost as if they weren't meant to be there. He felt uneasy most of the time, especially as he tried to parse out what was actually real and what was fake. One thing he knew for sure, Wanda and her kids were real. And he'd be damned if he let anything happen to them.

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[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part III

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 2k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

The investigation was still underway a week or so later, still without even a semblance of a lead to go on, or at least not a favourable one. Auntie Purah still had yet to take the Slate into the lab as she’d promised, which was understandable. She was still in deep mourning, after all. I, however, still got up at six o’clock each and every day to make my way to the site, as if the murderer would one day just walk out into the open if I waited long enough.

Truth be told, despite my conscious efforts to suppress it, a part of me deep down was growing weary of one fruitless search after another. Most of the cases I’d led up to this one had been closed within a maximum three days. Admittedly I’d even begun to consider ways to dispose of the fatal evidence I’d been carrying with me since the start of all this. No one but Paya and I knew of its existence, and no one but us would ever have to. Besides, if these egregious felonies truly were the designs of the organization—which they had to be—there was no way I’d ever find any clues leading toward the perpetrator’s true identity, let alone that of their ever elusive boss.

And yet, every morning when I returned to the scene of the crime, with officers bustling about and those who remained of my family sitting quietly in another room, I was reminded of my ultimate purpose. It wasn’t a matter of being able or unable to catch my godmother’s killer. It was one of necessity. Letting them roam the streets as they pleased was not even a part of the equation. I hadn’t spent the better part of the last decade toiling away to reach my current level of authority as a detective investigator simply to throw it all away as soon as my will was tested. That wasn’t what Auntie Impa, nor what Mother, would’ve wanted. I had to uncover the truth, no matter the cost.

What happened next, however, would make my distress up until then seem almost laughable.

I was made aware of it via wire on one muggy afternoon at my office, when I’d decided to work on typewriting up some reports. I picked up the phone only to hear the wails of one distraught Auntie Purah on the other end.

“Zelda, it’s terrible!” she cried. “The Slate—Impa’s Slate—I’ve looked everywhere, and so have Paya and Symin and all the men here on duty, but I—it’s...we can’t—we haven’t...” The poor, old woman was hyperventilating, creating awful static noises through the speaker’s papery membrane.

“Auntie, it’s okay. Calm down,” I urged gently. “Take a few deep breaths.”

“Alright...” A few moments of silence went by before I heard her voice again. “Thank you, dear.”

“Not at all. Now, what were you saying about the Slate?”

“It’s been stolen.”

I froze, breath stagnant and eyes glued to the edge of my desk. “It’s—what?”

“Stolen,” she repeated, only deepening the pit forming in my stomach, from where my heart was now pounding. “Right out from under our noses. We’ve searched high and low for it, but there’s been no sign of it, or the thief.”

I had to reign in my voice before I’d start shouting at her. “H-How can you be sure it was stolen?” The vigilant Link’s eyes now bore into me with intensity from his place by the file cabinets.

“The lock on the safe,” blubbered my auntie, “the one in the study that it’s always kept in. You know the one?”

“Yes?”

“It was broken, and the safe was empty.”

“But...that’s impossible.”

“Precisely!” she cried, giving me a start. “I still haven’t the foggiest how they did it.”

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

With that, I hung up and prepared for immediate departure, my assistant just a few paces behind me. I had to see this for myself.

Surely enough, when we arrived, the safe’s lock was destroyed beyond repair, and there was nothing but dust to be found inside. Unsurprisingly, the thief had been careful to leave no fingerprints behind, just as the killer had been. For now, though, it was too soon to say for certain that the same individual was behind both crimes.

Upon closer inspection, it seemed the lock mechanism had been melted. My eyes widened. “That’s not something you see every day.” Constable Fyori crouched down beside me, then gave a similar reaction when he noticed the cause of my astonishment.

The thief had to have been someone with access to a welding torch or something along those lines. There certainly weren’t many who fit that description, save for the police. In fact, the whole reason they were issued out to a select few officers was for this very purpose, but situations requiring said officers to break locks such as this one using such extreme methods were few and far between. Nevertheless, the possibility stood.

It was for this reason that I finally gave in and decided to take up the case with the chief detective once we’d finished here. As always, Constable Fyori accompanied me thereto.

Chief Bosphoramus’ office was neither too grand nor too modest, not unlike my own, though it still clearly belonged to someone of high rank. It resided on the third floor of the three-storey building where my dear colleague and I made our livelihoods, boasting a broad view of the deceivingly peaceful streets below.

“It seems UC3680G662LL was the only officer on the scene who was equipped with a cutting torch,” relayed the old man, hunched over the records lain across his desk. “Unfortunately, however, he resigned just yesterday.”

I waited a number of seconds for him to follow up with something useful, but to no avail. “So...what? You’re saying we can’t go question him now? Because he ran away?”

He clasped his fingers together in front of him, looking at me like an elementary school principal. “That is what I am saying, yes.”

I wanted to growl like a bear as imitated by a child, but I held it in. “You do realize what this means, don’t you?” I scoffed. “No doubt he was a member of the organization sent to steal the Slate after killing its owner.”

“Now you listen here, Inspector.” The chief’s tone turned serious. I closed my mouth. “You of all people should know that not a single square inch of this town is safe. Not even this precinct.”

“Yes, but Sir, surely you agree that this entire case has ‘Yiga’ written all over—”

“Are you mad?!”

His thundering voice made Link and I jump. The room fell silent, the chief’s eyes flickering between the door and the open window behind him.

Then he rose from his seat to close the shutters. “Have you some sort of death wish?” he continued at an infinitesimal volume in comparison.

I bit my tongue, restraining the urge to retort with, “Whose fault is that?” for I knew I would only be spinning my wheels. There’d once been a saying in this city: “When one sheep leads the way, all the rest follow.” And Chief Detective Bosphoramus was a perfect reflection of this. Every last member of the force was the same. Weak-willed curs. Shirking from their sworn duties and hiding away behind their shields of specious ignorance.

But despite the virus of cowardice festering throughout the bureau, my partner’s lasting air of calm resignation reminded me that no one could truly blame those affected by it.

The power that the Yiga organization possessed over the town was beyond compare. Those on City Council were nothing more than their puppets, and likewise were the police. Fear and massacre were the whips they raised to drive us all into submission and to punish any and all who had the will remaining to fight. But the one group who’d dared to challenge their might, who’d stood tall ever in the face of their tyranny, had been my godmother’s company. Thanks to her intelligent mind and righteous heart, the people had been given access to technology that would keep them safe, to a degree, from crime, and little by little, the company had developed into a beacon of hope for the town and its inhabitants. Until now.

Now, that hope had been snuffed out, like it had never been anything more than a week and vulnerable candle flame, flickering faint against the darkness of obscurity, in the first place.

Later that evening, when my gaze happened upon the knife block sitting on my kitchen counter at home, my steps halted. The scars on my arms left over from my last couple of years in secondary school—the period in my life following the yet unexplained events that had taken away the one I’d cherished most—had only just begun to fade. Even so...

I shook my head, turning my back to the kitchen. But then, I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder once more. I recalled the rush of adrenaline that took hold each time my skin was breached by icy steel. It was true that letting my emotions control me would get me nowhere, but maybe...maybe just this once, I could at least do something to assuage them.

Then the image of the gaping, dark red hole running straight through Auntie Impa’s neck flashed before my eyes. I covered my mouth, quickly swallowing the bile rising up from the bottom of my throat. The idea slipped my mind that very instant.

It wasn’t until the following day’s investigation that a substantial piece of the puzzle finally revealed itself to me.

For it to have taken a whole two days to find wasn’t all that unbelievable. Even I had to admit, although my stepsister was a spineless, tattling suck-up who’d always received far more credit and affection than she was worth, no one could have imagined her ever turning criminal.

Even so, I was certain that what I discovered there in her bedroom went against the expectations of all. Upon my entering, a faint glow of teal and tangerine peaking through the floorboards caught my eye. I went to lift the plank doing such poor work of hiding the thing from sight. There it was, unscratched and in perfect working condition, its screen lighting up and displaying that dastardly riddle I’d been confronted with several days prior and still didn’t know the answer to.

Although the mystery of where it had disappeared to had been solved, its reason for being here of all places was still unclear. Why would Paya have gone to such lengths just to get her hands on the Slate? It was difficult to imagine there being any information contained therein that she would want so direly to be kept secret from the world. She and her grandmother had been close since before I’d become a part of their family as a six-year-old.

Then something hard and marble-sized went flying across the floor when struck by the pointed toe of my shoe. I gave chase, soon realizing what it was when it slowed to a halt just before the south-facing wall of the room:

A bullet.

I didn’t even need to perform a striation comparison; anyone could clearly see that it matched the one I’d pried out of my mother’s memorial shrine. Whatever blood might’ve been here at one point must have simply been wiped up, and she must have stolen Link’s revolver with whatever methods she’d used to steal the Slate. Without a doubt, this room was the true crime scene I’d sought after since day one of the investigation.

But even in the face of this victory, I could hear the voices of those who would oppose me ringing in my ears. “Paya’s the mastermind?” they jeered. “Isn’t that a bit far-fetched?” But at this point, this case had already pushed me far beyond the boundaries of my patience. I didn’t have a single damn left to give about how flawed my logic might or might not have been. All that mattered now was that I had a suspect, and so help me, if I was correct in my line of thinking as suggested by the evidence, this criminal would receive no mercy.

[f1ct1onalplaces]

New to You

a/n: Hello everyone! This fic is a reader insert and takes place in Caption America: Civil War. It follows you and your significant other, Wanda. She has no romantic interest in Vision in this fic, but I leave hints that Vis likes her. I did this because I may or may not make this a series. We’ll see. Anyway, this is gender neutral so if you see anything that assumes a specific gender please let me know. Enjoy!

Summary: You try to cheer Wanda up but end up burning something in the process and when you try again you're interrupted by an unexpected guest.

TW: little bit of violence, mention of death, language, angst, self-doubt, kissing

"Oh m'god, oh m'god, oh m'god," I say as smoke seeps out from the oven. Quickly, I grab the oven mitts, open the oven, and grab the pan of burnt brownies while my eyes water from the intoxicating fumes. I drop them on the counter before using the mitts as a fan to try and disperse the smokey air before the smoke detector picks it up.

"What the hell is going on here," I hear a thick Sokovian accent say from down the hall. I pay little attention to her chuckles as I continue to fight the smoke. My peripheral vision makes out her outline leaning against the door frame. From just that I know she's dressed in a black long sleeve, a black jacket, a skirt that stops mid-thigh, knee-high socks, chunky black heel boots, and her layered jewelry. Wanda's usual style. I give a sheepish grin and shrug as she pushes off the wall to make her way towards me.

"Babe, you know cooking isn't your best skill." I laugh.

"You don't have to tell me twice," I respond continuing to fan the gray air around us. "I just thought I could do something nice. Guess not." Wanda rolls her eyes at my obvious attempt for pity. She grabs the makeshift fans from my hands, ignoring my grumbling protests, and proceeds to do her own thing. Her hands raise as red power flows throughout the room, gathering the smoke together. Once it's all encased within her power she releases it through an open window.

"Now that wasn't so hard." She croons to me. I huff and stare at my charred brownies.

"Say's the enhanced superhuman." Footsteps thud against the concrete and stop directly behind me. Hands slip around my waist, loosely grabbing my hips as a kiss is planted to the back of my neck.

"Your also an enhanced superhuman," She says with chin resting atop my shoulder. I shrug.

"Yeah, but all I can manage to do is turn invisible and conjure healing abilities." I place all my body weight on Wanda as I lean into her. She presses another kiss to my neck.

"Yes, that may be true but that doesn't mean your useless. Y/n your a valuable member of this team, plus you train with Nat and Cap, making you pretty skilled in combat." Her attempt to cheer me up does the exact opposite when she uses the word team. Since the UN meeting in Vienna, the "team" has divided, resulting in Cap, Sam, and Bucky being made fugitives. I decide to change the subject.

"How are you?" I ask my girlfriend. I feel the movement of her shoulders slump as she lets out a sigh.

"Guilty, horrified, ashamed." She doesn't need to say why. My body turns until our eyes meet.

"It wasn't your fault." Her head shoves into the crook of my neck.

"Yes, it was. Y/n, people are dead because of me" I shake my head and run my fingers through her hair, doing my best to comfort her.

"No, it was Cap's fault. I'm not saying it was on purpose, but he froze and didn't act quick enough. You were just cleaning up his mess." Wanda groans in my shoulder before looking back at me.

"What would I do without you." I glance over at my brownies.

"Well, you definitely wouldn't have to deal with burnt food all the time." At this, she giggles, a sound that makes me weak in the knees, before resting her forehead against mine.

"But actually, what would I do." Her green eyes peer into mine and my answer is simple.

"I could ask the same thing." Wanda smiles and leans in as close as possible without our lips touching.

"Is it okay if I kiss you?" Warm air caresses my face, mixing our breaths. A smile spreads

across my face and then I'm rewarded with a smile of her own.

"Of course." Her lips press to mine. I tilt my head back, gasping at the feather-light contact. Our bodies press together, desperate to fill our minds with each other, riding the presence of our ghosts. My fingers weave into her soft locks and give a light tug, pulling a sigh from her lips. Wanda leans closer to my body, hands firmly grasping my back, causing the both of us to stumble back. We both come up for air before diving back in, rougher and heavier. My skin is searing with each touch, every graze of a fingertip against my neck or her nails following the shape of my spine are coals being thrown into a furnace. Hot and smokey. Soon her lips aren't on mine but on my neck. Her teeth skim the smooth skin below my ear, followed by kisses to soothe the sensitive area. I grip the hem of her shirt to ground my buckling knees and it isn't until my back hits the wall that I realize we never stopped moving. My hands finally loosen and slip beneath her shirt, digging into her waist. I'm not sure how far we would have gone if it weren't for the explosion. Jumping back from each other we peer out the window to see fire. Instantly, Vision appears behind us.

"What is it?" I ask, still breathless from a moment ago.

"Stay here please." Vision then goes right through the glass with his strange ghost abilities.

"Cool." I mummer under my breath as we watch him shrink with distance. Wanda tilts her head with a troubled expression.

"It's probably nothing," I say, "And if it is there's nothing Vision can't handle." Her expression stays the same. Browse furrowed, her swollen lips in a line, and blank eyes that show she isn't listening to me.

"Babe," I start but it's interrupted when Wanda spins on her heels, hands in motion with a knife. The knife is ripped from its original position by magic and shoots at a man. It stops mere inches from their face once we both recognize him. Barton flicks the knife to the ground, not a flinch insight.

“Guess I should have knocked” Wanda walks up to him with me right behind.

“Oh my god, what are you doing here?” His elbow bends behind him grabbing an arrow.

“Disappointing my kids,” he says as he shoots one arrow to the right, spinning around and then one to the left. “I’m supposed to go water skiing.” Quickly, Barton grabs both our hands leading us out. “Cap needs our help.” He gives a tug to my arm, properly sensing my hesitation. “Come on.” I glance over at Wanda, raising my eyebrows in question. Suddenly a voice behind us speaks.

“Clint.” We all freeze. “You should not be here.” Slowly, we all turn around to see Vision, who looks as intimidating as I’ve ever seen him. My mind races to find a way to convince Vis on letting us leave and a way to do it without anything getting physical. Barton though goes a completely different route.

“Really? I retire what, for like five minutes and it all goes to shit.” My mouth makes an O shape as I watch carefully. Though Vision would never severely hurt us I can’t help but think of what he’s capable of. To be fair, I’m dating maybe the one person that can overpower Vision.

“Please consider the consequences of your actions.” Barton doesn’t even think about his response.

“Okay, there considered.” Then from the two arrows, he shot electricity comes out, holding Vision in his grasp, for the time being. “Okay, we gotta go.” Barton and I start jogging away, but it only takes seconds for us to realize Wanda isn’t following. “It’s this way.” She stands there looking down at her feet and tugging at the sleeve of her jacket.

“I’ve caused enough problems.” My heart breaks, remembering our previous conversation. We both turn back and I’m prepared to beg her to come with us. Even if she decides not to fight, just to get out of here. But, once Barton decides to speak I leave it to him to do all the talking and instead decide to grab her hand, letting her decide.

“You gotta help me, Wanda. You wanna mope you can go to high school. You wanna make amend you get off your ass.” Then it goes to hell. His face goes blank as we both look back to see Vision our of the electricity. I pull Wanda and me out of the way as Vis goes for Clint. I grab her shoulders, making her look me in the eyes.

“Wand, you have to make a decision. I don’t want you to feel pressured, but I’m going. You need to know that whatever you decide I’ll support you, but I can’t stay here and do nothing.” Her eyes are on me though I don’t think she sees me. The look that occupies her face has changed from doubtful to perfectly poised and I don’t think it was me who got to her. I finally turn my attention back to the other two and am not surprised to see Barton in a headlock.

“Clint, you can’t overpower me,” says Vision, and that’s when I realize the plan.

"I know," he pronounces, pausing to look at Wanda. "But she can." Wanda circles in front of Vision.

“Vision that’s enough, let him go, I’m leaving” Her magic is a sphere in between her hands, fingers constantly moving to keep it alive.

“I can’t let you,” he responds. Then, vision lets go of Barton As he loses control of his ghost abilities and is forced to his knees by red magic. Vision struggles to get up and the eye contact they hold leaves an ugly feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“I’m sorry.” He sinks closer and closer to the floor.

"If you do this they will never stop being afraid of you." The words come out in between breaths that betray how close he is to losing. His words cause my fists to ball up, angry at the way Vision chooses to say this to Wanda. Trying to insert fear within her bones in order to keep her locked up. The only reason my fist doesn't find a place in his face is partially due to his impenetrable skin, but mostly because of the way Wanda responds.

"I can't control their fear, only my own." She pushes her hands down and with that motion goes Vision. Vision’s shoved down multiple floors, creating giant holes throughout the compound. Once she stops the house is silent with the eagerness to escape before Vision recovers.

“Oh.” Barton looks down. “Come on, we got one more stop.” I grab Wanda's hand, tugging her away from what she just did, and peck her on the lips.

"You did the right thing, no one is going to blame you." I decide to leave out the part about how skeptical I am about everything, but I know Cap would never start something he knew was wrong. So, if he needs help that's what I'll do. She nods in understanding and kisses me again to show she's with me. Our little bubble is popped when we both catch Barton staring.

"So, you two are, umm." I let out a snicker at his helpless confusion. Wanda smiles before answering his incomplete sentence.

"Dating. Yes." This time he laughs.

"Good for you guys. I presume it's pretty new?" We start to jog our way out of the building and to a van pulled just outside the gates.

"New to you," I say elongating the last word.

"Shit," I hear as we get into the van and buckle ourselves in. "I owe Nat twenty bucks."

[mementomori-demimonde]

Hidden Scars

I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI.1 / XI.2 XII - XIII - XIV - XV - XVI - XVII - XVIII

Chapter 19

Draped over her knees with your arms bent under your head as a pillow, you genuinely wish the reason for that position would be another entirely.

Not that you’d thought you were the type of person to like impact play before meeting Miranda, but a lot changed since she decided to kidnap you and turn your life upside down: you didn’t think you had so much strength in you, you didn’t think you were too smart with electronics and computer softwares, you didn’t think you weren’t made to fight, you didn’t think you would fall in love with a psychotic killer who liked to push your limits, teach you things, even how to fight, who fucked you and let you fuck her… and there you were, enjoying all those things because Miranda was there.

You’re trying to imagine that this is one of her weird scenarios back in her bedroom, roleplaying god-knows-what, putting a little fun in the punishments she oughta give you for not doing something right. Yet, this is not a game. You won’t enjoy any of this and you know it already.

The pain is excruciating already as it is and it’s only about to get worse.

She tried to be incredibly gentle when she removed the tatters of the shirt you were wearing from your back, but that too sent your skin burning aflame, the welts screaming and making you tear up.

The cool air did little good on your bare skin, the gentle scrape at the base of your neck as Miranda helped you lay across her thighs, close to her lap only a sad consolation. She praised you, but you just hiccupped through a sob and stood silent.

You wish you could reassure her, tell her to not feel guilty because what else could she do there, if not obeying? It was that or bullets in your brains.

At least wounds could heal, and you’re not new to wounds either. You can do it. You can bear anything, she’s made you strong, but you can’t bring yourself to speak to her: there are too many thoughts in your mind.

Victor’s words, for instance.

You know it’s only a bunch of lies, but there’s something telling you that it’s not just a bunch of lies.

Victor is an asshole and he likes to tease and to provoke and you bet he’s only said those things to get a rise from Miranda and awaken something within you that could possibly turn you against her, in the end.

Improbable, but not impossible. There’s still too much to uncover.

You swallow down, fidgeting as you try to find the most comfortable position, but already aware that nothing will lessen your discomfort.

Hidden from your eyes, Miranda unfolds the foil that she’s stuck in the wall a few days ago. She opens up a new bottle and drinks from it - you can hear her swallow in long, rhythmical gulps - the foil rustles in her hand for a moment, then she caps the bottle again and shakes it vigorously.

Your first reaction is to grow tense, you can’t even help it.

“It’s going to sting.” Miranda warns with a low, apologetic voice.

You’d tell her that it’s not her fault, except that it is, in a certain sense. Besides, you can’t bring yourself to actually talk, already so invested with bracing yourself for pain.

Water and salt: she’s going to clean the welts on your back to the best of her possibilities. It won’t be pleasant at all. “Try not to fight it, it’ll only be worse.” She suggests. You don’t really know if you’ll be able to do it.

When she starts to pour, it hurts like hell. She tuts at you, shushes you when the clatter of your teeth becomes louder, but it doesn’t help the searing pain that radiates in your body.

“I’ll kill him,” Miranda mumbles behind clenched teeth, “I’ll fucking run him over with a car and kill him.” She says.

It’s nice to know that she’s unhinged toward Victor because of you, that she would kill him for you, but somehow, it’s not enough to distract you from the pain. It’s the only disinfectant you have access to, it’s supposed to burn, but there’s something terribly wrong in the way it steals your breath away.

You feel like dying, and, at some point, you know you’re unconsciously wiggling, thrashing your limbs in the grasp of a maddening pain, caused by something that it’s supposed to help but that seems only to make things worse. You feel your skin tearing, the salty water seeping inside, overwhelming your body - it’s too much.

You’ve been through a lot in the past few months, and yet, somehow, nothing was as bad as this. Maybe it’s the situation, maybe it’s the fear, maybe it’s the realization that something terrible has happened that involves the person you’ve grown to love, but you can’t bear it.

You let go. You allow yourself to cry. For the pain, and also for something else.

Maybe you’ve passed out. You clearly don’t remember falling asleep, honestly, how could you have fallen asleep?

You’re still draped over her legs, you feel one of her hands carding mindlessly through your hair and on the nape of your hair.

Miranda seems to notice the change in your breathing, or maybe you’ve just moved unconsciously, but your body falls limp over hers, every muscle turned to liquid under her hand and soothing murmurs.

To her eyes, you even might look relaxed. In reality, you don’t have enough strength to push yourself up and put some distance between the two of you.

“It’s done.” She says, pressing her fingertips between your shoulder blades, the other on your tailbone as if to keep you still. “Don’t move yet, the rash is fading, but the welts look rather sore.”

You’re barely listening to her.

You don’t feel exactly fine, but better, besides, it’s not your back that hurts most, but your head. The thoughts swirling in there are screaming louder than anything else.

You don’t care about the welts, you don’t care about the rash nor the soreness. You don’t even care about Victor for putting you in this situation. You don’t care about Victor for putting Miranda in that situation. You care about him because he put those thoughts in your head and now you don’t care about anything else: what is it that you don’t know? What important secret has Miranda kept from you?

“I wasn’t the only one?” You ask without small talks, eager to get it out of you and sorted out before it drives you insane.

Her breath falters. She doesn’t move, but you feel something shifting in the air, in the way she rests her fingertips across your skin.

There’s silence for a long time.

You don’t know if she’s finally given up, or maybe it’s because she feels trapped, with nowhere to go, yet she heaves a sigh, hopefully readying herself to face you, your questions, and possibly the future that lies ahead.

“Nobody ever made it that far.” She says in the smallest voice you’ve ever heard coming from her.

There were others. There have been others before you. The information doesn’t shock you, what does it’s the complete lack of emotion on her part.

“You killed them?” You inquire. The words haven’t even left your mouth yet and you already fear the answer. She doesn’t speak, which already is enough, or very close to the reply you were anticipating and, still, you need to hear it; you need to hear it from her. “You killed other girls? Miranda!”

She flinches at the way you shout her name: demanding, enraged, not allowing room for lies or more silence. It’s new, it would’ve earned you a punishment. Now, it doesn’t.

You feel her muscles tense under you, above, all over.

“It’s my job.” She says, again, emotionless. “You don’t have to be shocked. You know how it started, you listened to my tales, you’ve seen this place and known Victor.” She swallows. “It was my job.” She corrects.

“So, you would’ve killed me.”

“No-”

“Yes. You would.”

Miranda doesn’t reply to that. She can’t reply to that with anything that could make you feel slightly better. You both know that, and you’re grateful she’s not telling lies, nor shying away with some witty comment, or distracting you with anything else.

“I didn’t.” She says at one point. “The point is that I didn’t.”

“Yes.” You agree, slightly confused.

You know there have been others in the same cell, maybe others had managed to get out and endure some of her training, but nobody has made it, in the end.

What makes you different? You’d want to know the answer so badly, but it’s probably too cheesy and close to the nonsense that it’s impossible. It had to do something with a peculiar feature in you, or how fast you learn, or something that you can’t think of right now. But what? “Why? Why didn’t you?”

“Listen,” She lets out a frustrated sigh. You know what she’s about to do: you’ve reached the breaking point, she has no escape and now she’s shying away, “this is not the place, nor the time to-”

“We could die.” You cut her off, virtually grabbing her before she can go and hide somewhere you can’t reach. “Am I right? We could die.”

“Aye.”

“Then talk to me!” Your breath hitches. “Please.”

Hidden from your inquiring glare, Miranda heaves a long sigh. One of her hand hovers on the small of your back, the other trails through the fine hair on your nape, but it’s hardly for your pleasure: she’s using you as a sort of stress relief and you’d gladly let her without complaints. You’d do that in normal circumstances, now you’re more than happy to indulge her to know the truth, finally.

“You know why I chose you.” Miranda says. You nod: she’s told the story already: no bonds, no real purpose in your life; simply the preferable candidate to kidnap and train. “But I never told you why I needed someone like you.” She pauses, clears her throat, her voice is getting hoarse. “You’ve seen this place, you must’ve realized, by now, that I work for Victor. Worked that is. We- we are criminals. Ruthless, cold-hearted, murderous criminals who obey orders for money, no matter what.”

“I know.” You croak out, even just to give her courage. Of course you know she’s not a saint, you’ve known it since the beginning. You have to admit that hearing it from her, the plain truth, is strange and upsetting, but you’ve been preparing for the revelation for weeks.

“I was supposed to collect some information about a very important family. Drug dealers, weapon treaders- the worst kind. I was supposed to get close to them and inside their corporation and get out when the work was done, but to do that, I needed bait. I needed somebody to blame so I could get out clean and alive.” She says in a thin voice. Her fingers get caught in your hair, she doesn’t pull. “I was supposed to train someone and feed them to the lions, but- I couldn’t do it. In the end, I couldn’t do it.”

“Because of me?” You ask hesitantly, fearing that your voice might break the spell. Luckily, it doesn’t. If anything, it seems to comfort her, in some way.

“Because it was you.” She corrects with a small huff. You can feel all the frustration trapped in her words. “I thought I was simply having fun while doing my job, I thought there was nothing wrong with taking the best out of the situation... but things got out of hand. I- I didn’t know what I was doing, at some point, I knew you were getting attached, but I tried to ignore the signals, I tried to dismiss the issue until it was too late. Until there was no space left to back up, and the only way was going forward.” She inhales deeply, resumes the slow caress on the small of your back. Inadvertently, she catches a welt and you do your best not to flinch away at the pain. “I convinced myself it was just fun, just sex, just casual cohabitation with benefits, and then you talked about love... and the bubble burst.”

“I’m sorry-” You murmur, she doesn’t hear you.

“I got- I got scared and I fucked it all up.”

She moves up your back without warning, and your abused skin sets on fire. Your mind was racing already, now, spurred by the blazing pain, is in literal delirium. You push yourself up, ignoring the tightness in your muscles, the ache of your welts, and sit back on your haunches, wincing at the position that has you dizzy, eyes boring into her.

Miranda stares, her gaze a mixture of concern and shyness, and guilt that flashes oh-so-clear in the blue of her eyes, like nothing ever before. Miranda has always been tough to read, but right now, she’s so vulnerable, so exposed that your heart almost aches.

“So?” You blurt out. “I’m scared all the time! I fuck things up all the time, what’s the big deal?”

Miranda chuffs out a chuckle. Her smile is bittersweet when she shakes her head.

“You don’t understand.” She whispers. “There’s no room for being scared in this world, nor to fuck things up. You do that, you’re dead!” She growls, jaw clenched and voice vibrating with the effort. “I can only be cold-hearted and confident and ruthless and strong-”

“No, you don’t understand!” You cut her off, heart in your throat. “You can be all of that at the same time and also allow yourself to be scared. Being scared it’s what makes you different from them, can’t you see it?” You lean forward, panting hard through the soreness in your back, and rest a palm on the floor.

“It’s what got us caught.” She insists. Miranda tries to reach for you, but you flinch back.

“You’re more than just black and white.” You whisper softly, voice so low you even wonder if she can actually hear you. Eyes fixed on the sticky linoleum, you don’t feel brave enough to bear her gaze. You’ve been willing to tell her something similar for ages, and now that it’s time, now that you’ve finally decided to seize the opportunity - because, frankly, there might not be a lot of chances in the future - you feel extremely agitated. It’s now or never. Literally. Besides, what is she going to do about it? Run off? Choke you to death? You’ll be dead anyway. “You’re more than that, Miranda, in fact...  you have a whole spectrum of colors within you and you don’t even know it because you’ve been too busy suffocating it for years.”

You find the courage to lift your head, and look at her. She looks beautiful as always, her puzzled face all angles and sharp edges, blue eyes boring into your very soul. You feel exposed, and yet, for some reason, you’ve never felt braver.

“I can see through you.” You sigh, your hands shake. “You let me in, Miranda. It’s too late to push me out.”

There’s a long pause. Or is it a quick one, you don’t really know. The whole room is spinning, your tired brain struggling between processing the pain and the situation at the same time.

“I did, didn’t I?” Miranda snorts, chuffing out a disbelieving giggle as she probably laughs at herself. She breathes hard behind her palms, covering her face, and when she peels her hands away, she cocks her head to the side, her face a mixture of concern and condescending curiosity as she studies you. “I got your point, no lay back down. I don’t have salts if you faint on me.”

You gape at her, but you’re too tired to protest further, so you simply give in and settle on your stomach by her side.

“Do you really think this is the best time to pull out a joke about salt?”

“Why not?” She shrugs.

She’s right. Neither of you knows how much it’s left, and the timing, you have to admit it, was quite perfect.

“I think it’s the first time I’ve heard you joking.” You confess. Surprisingly, even and especially to yourself, you’ve managed to keep your voice even and emotionless. You were simply stating the fact, but you’ve managed to conceal everything that was behind it: even in those horrible times and even more disgusting place, Miranda is still uncovering new little bits of her.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles, out of the blue. “You didn’t deserve this.”

“Nobody does.” You reply, a little shrug of your shoulders.

Even if you might have a distorted vision of reality, you know she doesn’t deserve it. Despite what Miranda thinks of herself, no matter how guilty she feels, she does not deserve this.

The woman scoffs, you see her carding her hand through her hair angrily with the corner of your eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here in the first place.” She growls. “You shouldn’t love-”

“Miranda, stop it.” You exhale sharply and her precarious rambling stops immediately. “It’s not like I can help it.”

“Pity.” She mutters, almost automatically.

You can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt, but you manage to mask the rejection quite well. You turn your head to the other side, so you’re now facing the wall.

You know you’ve been a fool, you know you’ve just self-deceived for months about the nature of your relationship, you know you’ve hoped and waited for something to finally shift, and it did, but only on your side. Hope… was just a weapon as dangerous as a gun, maybe even worse.

It’s so perfectly clear, right now, so close to actually dying, that things will not change. Miranda will never love you when she barely cares.

After all, why would she? Why would somebody like her love a dull girl kidnapped in a dark alley, drunk, that was supposed to serve as bait?

Of course, it changed a bit. Maybe she’s taking a liking of you, but that’s it. That’s as far as it’ll ever go.

You stiffen when you feel her fingertips crawling up your back, dragging her pads along your spine, minding not to touch any welt or sore point.

You don’t know if she knows what you’re thinking, yet you’re sure she’s sensed your melancholy. She always does.

“It’ll take a while, but it’ll heal eventually.” She whispers soothingly.

“Those are not the scars I’m worried about.” You murmur back.

You’d wear those scars proudly just as you wear hers, if only to remind yourself of those times, of those things you’ve endured and survived together. You know those will heal, one day, leaving simple marks behind, but you’re not sure the hidden ones will too. Anyway, what’s the point, now? Everything seems so meaningless so close to possibly dying while being stuck: impossible to go back to feel nothing, impossible to claim more.

“Everything heals, eventually.” Miranda says, she seems lost in her thoughts and you don’t even know if she’s talking to you or to herself. You’re in no mood to mind looking, right now. “With time.”

“We might not have that, though.” You exhale, let your eyes close. “We might die before anything can actually heal, right?”

Miranda pauses for a moment. She stops her movements, settles her hand on your bruised hip, making you shiver under that hesitant touch. She sighs.

“Right.”

[qvid-pro-qvo]

iii. the dinner date.

ocean’s eleven au, aaron hotchner x female!reader. the dinner date.

inspiration from this prompt. some of the dialogue is taken directly from the film. 

i. // ii. // iii. // iv. // v. // vi. // vii.

-

it’s morning. that’s what hotch sees when he blinks awake.

there’s an upside to infiltrating a five-star hotel and casino you mean to rob, and that’s that the beds are often perfect, and sunlight comes through the windows at the ideal time of day. early enough that the visitor doesn’t feel like the day is wasted, but late enough to encourage going down to the floor, hitting a couple of rounds after a much-too-expensive brunch. 

aaron hotchner is not the target demographic. he knows too much about the behind-the-scenes of this particular place to linger in it, but he is... fond of the bed all the same. there’s something about a hotel bed, the way the sheets feel against his skin, that makes everything feel, at the very least, okay. after all, there’s no personal history in a hotel. there’s only what you wake up to do and fall asleep doing. mistakes left behind for the housekeeping to wash away.

and god knows he has a lot of mistakes to wash away. 

he sits up. moves to the bathroom, to the shower. dresses in a decent suit, because anything less would make him stand out the same way anything more would, and his job isn’t to stand out. his job is to relax, and observe, and remain behind the scenes until he needs to step in. by the time he looks in the mirror, his armor is on, and the sun is a bit too high in the sky for his liking, but he quickly makes his way to the adjoining room, where dave and some of the others are lingering. 

“what’s the problem?” he immediately asks. because alvez and simmons are here, and they shouldn’t be here. they should be on the floor, causing a distraction, because that’s what they do. that’s the plan. 

“i don’t know, boss. garcia said to wait, so i waited,” alvez tells him, shrugging, which earns him a hit from simmons. 

“oh, so garcia said?” simmons rolls his eyes. “i told you we should’ve gone. you know jareau and lewis are waiting for us.” 

“and get caught? come on, man, that’s stupid -” 

“you’re stupid -” 

“hey,” rossi says, firm, and the two of them stop shoving and just glare. hotch just looks between them, finally meeting rossi’s eyes for a casual, silent conversation. 

rossi just smirks. 

you hired them. 

yeah. he did. 

he turns to the other person in the room, gives her a steady gaze. “garcia. what’s the problem?” 

she’s fidgety. hands playing with a flamboyant pen that matches her extravagant necklace. she forces herself to stand out, and it’s why her best work is behind the scenes. “foyet doesn’t want anyone touching what he’s got,” she says. “obviously. so the only way for someone to get in is to get me a hardline wired. that way we have control of visual and audio. it gets us a secure and steady in, rather than me having to fight foyet’s firewalls every time i want to change camera angles, or replace a video - “

hotch lifts his hand to stop her. he doesn’t need the details. he just needs to know if it’s feasible. “so. a hardline would get you what you want?” 

“if we want to finish this recon, yes. it’s the only way for me to get all of the sightlines we need.” she looks frustrated, but lifts her chin to look at him anyway, dips it in a nod. “sir.” 

so hotch thinks. he thinks, because he’s the idea man, and when he nods, it makes garcia raise her brow.

“sir?” 

“get changed. you’ll go in yourself. dave will get you a uniform, and you’ll install the hardline. alvez and simmons will provide the distraction, which was their... original goal, and you will go in and get what you need.” 

her eyes widen, and had been progressively growing to the size of dinner plates during his plan. “sir, i’m not... i’m not meant to be out there. in the field. in the casino. i’m supposed to be here, behind my screen, looking from a distance -” 

he offers her some vague reassurance, with a smile and a hand on her shoulder. “and you will be. as soon as you finish, you’ll be back here, but for right now, what we need is that direct wiring into the system, and i don’t trust these two to get what you need.” 

that gets the attention of the men, who both lift their gaze to glare at their boss. but it’s not a real glare, just like hotch’s slight is not a real slight, and eventually it gets sorted. aaron steps back and watches the inevitable happen, watches alvez and simmons shove each other again on their way out the door. he rolls his eyes, looks at dave again, before taking his own leave. 

“where are you going?” rossi asks, moving towards the bar as garcia sits silent. new for her, with the new role, as hotch starts to move out of the room with a purpose. because hotch is through with watching, after a moment, when another plan springs to mind, another moment formulating in hs brain. 

“going to check on lewis, prentiss, and morgan,” he calls back. “and then i have some... business.” 

hotch and rossi work because they have trust. so there’s no questions, just a brow raise, a nod. 

“leave them be, aaron,” rossi calls out after him, which gets no reply. after all, no one else needs to know that it’s not morgan and prentiss and lewis he’s keeping an eye on, and it’s not alvez and simmons he’s tailing. 

leaving hotch to take care of... business. 

-

it’s evening. two days until their plan kicks into action. but hotch’s mind isn’t on the upcoming heist. no. his mind and his eyes are on you. 

after all, prentiss, playing the big spender, has foyet’s attention. alvez and simmons are working the security, the ins and outs of the place, especially after getting garcia settled in.. reid is on foyet, marking his every move, and jareau and garcia are getting the looped footage for the big day. lewis is at one of the tables, dealing good hands, learning that system.

it works. the team works. 

because while foyet is preoccupied with satisfying a vital customer, it means that he’s late to dinner. and at 7:16, hotch can see the way your head tilts to the side, just a little, the way your eyes start to scan the restaurant with a purpose. his eyes trace the line of your dress, your back dotted with beauty marks that he once had the privilege to put his lips on. 

a privilege he lost. threw away. tossed aside. 

he comes up from behind. walks with slow, deliberate steps, an unconscious attempt to mirror foyet’s gait, and as he moves close the burden of tension in you shoulders releases. you’re smiling, because your ears lift, ever so slightly, and when you turn to face him he pretends for a moment that it’s all for him. 

“one minute late. for a moment there i thought i’d have to start a search...” 

but the smile’s gone. you see him, and your vision goes a shade of red, surely, because your beautiful smile turns into a mouth agape. brows furrowing, eyes wide. your hand clutches your clutch, nails digging into the bejeweled bag, and hotch tries not to think about how in love with you he is but finds himself falling all over again. 

“...party.” 

he says your name. gently, like it’s the word of god. “i got out,” is what he follows it up with. not exactly the smoothest opening line. 

“you got out?” you’re still shocked to see him, so your voice is weak.

“of prison.” 

realization settles over you like a veil, closing you off. “aaron.” 

his given name. the only person who says it much anymore is dave. but in your mouth, it’s the only one that fits. 

shock turned into realization, which is now morphing into indignation. it plays out like a symphony on your face, and he moves to take a seat on your table, looking towards the waiter. he waves him down. “whiskey, and a whiskey.” he pinches his fingers, showing the sizes he wants, turning back to you with an elbow on the table.

there’s no more vulnerability on you. his eyes trace the line of your dress, meeting your eyes with a smile playing on your lips. 

“it’s good to see you,” he offers, but you don’t take the bait. 

“you shouldn’t be here.” 

“i got parole. as long as i call...” 

“i mean here, aaron. at this table. sitting down.” 

there’s faux and real hurt in his gaze as he sits back, your glasses set in front of the two of you gently. “so. no time for old friends?” 

“believe it or not, the less time spent with you the better.”

you lean back. lounging almost, in your chair, like you belong. your chin is raised, meeting his eyes, defiant, and he just sighs. leaning forward to take a drink of the amber liquid.

he didn’t think it’d be easy. bringing you back to him. but damn, if he didn’t think it would be easier. looking you in the eye and realizing he lost so much more than he realized. the room feels like it’s disappearing, and the only thing is the two of you sitting and this table. 

but he pretends. he’s good at that. offers a small smile, a signature of his, and he watches as you tense at the sight that used to bring you so much... comfort. “so you think that foyet is the person who deserves your time? you don’t know who he is. if you think you’re free from a liar and a thief -”

the look you shoot him is nothing short of furious. “i think i’m free from you. and george... george cares about me. which is more than you ever did.” 

he leans back in his seat, too, and looks you over. looks over your dress, the way it shines, the pretty blue, and tries not to reason that you chose blue because he told you once that it was his favorite color on you. because you were more than that now. separate from him. no matter how much he wished it different. 

“the museum upstairs looks great.” his mouth feels dry, but he manages to put something hard in his tone. “tell me, what’s the differnce, between monet and manet?” 

“one that you never bothered to learn,” you quip back, and your hand squeezes your bag just a little bit more. “aaron, you need to leave.” 

“and you need to listen. he doesn’t... care about you.” 

“and you’re one to talk about what it means to care about me, right? the expert?” 

aaron doesn’t know how to respond to that. he was hoping there would be some tact, but you’re doing what you’ve always done. getting to the heart of him, pulling down defenses. but he can play that game, too, looks down at your left ring finger. “what happened to your ring?” 

and because he knows you, he sees the look. the glance towards your own hand, the catch of your bottom lip between your teeth. you’re fighting something, and you must win so you can look him in the eyes once again when you say it.

“i sold it. or did you not get the papers?”

the papers. divorce papers. ones he turned over his hands a few times before walking out of the place. “i did. my last day inside.” he smirks with it, and your eyes drop, not looking at him, looking at almost anything else. 

“i told you i’d write,” you finally whisper. with a sigh, you release your clutch, and glance behind you. waiting for a rescue. 

“i’m sorry,” he tries, earnest. he means it. he doesn’t lie anymore, like he told you, but your eyes just roll. 

“i’m sure you are, aaron. but i’m not.” 

he knows he deserves that. and yet he still pushes. leans close. this is a game, the two of you are playing, and he’s good at those. always has been. “i’m here. for you.” 

it’s the truth. bald-faced, almost as much as his lies before this whole mess, and that irony seems to settle with you, your open mouth closing tightly, jaw clenching. 

“you’re a liar, and a thief. i don’t think i should find it a habit to believe what you say.”

“i don’t do that anymore,” aaron sighs out.

“what, steal? get hunted down by the FBI?”

“no. lie to you.”

you scoff. shake your head. “so you just lie to other people to get what you want?”

“i lied to you because you were all i wanted.” he leans forward, and his hand reaches for yours. by some miracle, you don’t pull away immediately, so he can savor it. your hand in his, like old times. “i’ve changed. i’m not putting up a front anymore. this. this is who i am.”

your jaw clenches. you almost seem to think about pulling away - there’s an aborted twitch of your hand, and his hold on you is loose enough, but then... then it stops. your touch lingers.

“y/n. look at me.”

and you do. turn your eyes on him, and he feels bare. he is bare. there’s no walls up, anymore. no more armor. 

“you’re not the person i thought you were,” he says, brow furrowing as you scoff out a laugh. his thumb catches on your knuckle, and your shiver... disgust? “you’re... more. you’re you. please. come with me.”

“no, i’m just not the person you wanted me to be anymore. the girl who knew nothing because she wanted to know nothing.” your hand pulls from his with a sharp twist of your wrist, and he tries not to think too much about the ring he still has on, the one that you sold. “i didn’t ask questions, and that ended up with the FBI on my doorstep. so. i think i’ll pass.”

his eyes close. “i told you, i’m not lying to you. so i would ask you do the same for me.” 

“i’m not lying, aaron. that was your job.” 

he thinks. thinks about you, and foyet, and how it makes his stomach churn. “does he make you laugh?” 

you push forward now, making sure he hears every sound you make. “he doesn’t make me cry.” 

there’s a silence in the heartbreak. so quiet that neither of you notice the new set of footsteps apporaching the table. 

“mr. hotchner. what a... surprise.” 

the voice makes aaron tense, makes you lift your head with a smile that begs him to set you free. 

“george,” you say, and it’s warm. he reaches for your shoulder and you don’t tense, you move into the touch. 

“foyet,” hotch adds, and it’s polite. civil. cold. 

“sorry i’m late. i was settling things with an influential guest,” he returns, and when he looks at aaron hotchner, there’s something there that sends hotch a chill down his spine. “i guess i didn’t know we’d be having a guest.” 

hotch lifts from his chair, so that he’s eye to eye with the man. george foyet, in the flesh. he’s shorter, up close and personal, but his presence seems to fill the spot by your side. his grip on your shoulder is firm, and one of your hands has lifted to cover his. 

“george, this is aaron,” you tell him, through your teeth. 

when foyet laughs it’s grating. “i see. the criminal.” and even with, he extends a hand, a hand that aaron takes, shakes with a small smile. “the elusive aaron hotchner. it’s a pleasure.” 

hotch’s mind is racing, thinking of how many millions he is going to pull out from under foyet’s feet. but for now, politeness. charm. “of course. lovely hotel you have.” 

“made all the more beautiful by her,” the man brags, and when he leans down to kiss your cheek you smile, ducking your head. when foyet moves to sit aaron doens’t impede him. doesn’t dare disrupt the dinner. “are you enjoying your stay so far?” 

he is, in a way. but not right now. not as he watches foyet take your hand, stretch your arm across the table, kiss your knuckles. “i am. i was just leaving my own meal when i saw my ex-wife and wanted to... just say hello.” 

“exactly. he was just saying hello,” you agree, and when the two of you meet eyes he doesn’t miss your pleading. 

leave, aaron. you need to leave.

“exactly. we were simply catching up. thinking about... better days.” 

a dig that earns him a glare from you, but foyet seems unbothered. 

“well, i hope you have a wonderful night, mr. hotchner,” foyet tells him, and it would almost be sincere if not for the fact that his eyes don’t leave you. “i don’t want our appetites to spoil.” 

aaron’s fingers twist around his ring. 

“of course. goodnight, y/n.” 

“goodnight, aaron.” 

hotch leaves the two of you behind. doesn’t look back, even at the sound of your voice lilting in the dining room, the sound of foyet’s arrogance not too far off either. walks quickly towards the stairs, moves up them with purpose, single-minded and not bothering to think about the lanky rookie trailing a distance behind. 

after all, aaron is good at games. he knows how to play. and in the end, isn’t that what a heist is? a game that aaron knows how to win? 

-

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

tapestry 👑 VI

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: Tension comes to a head.

Note: Chapter 6. Gotta go to work again so enjoy this while I suffer retail torment. It’s getting intense in here and the more I write the more I realize we’re just traversing deeper into messiness over her. But this is what you get.

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

Your father appeared shortly after. You were thankful to be kept from the presence of the queen so soon, though you would have to trade it for that of the king. Your father informed you of the royal request of your presence. His demeanour gave you worry. He was as close to joyful as you had ever seen him. His happiness rarely meant yours.

“Now, I remind you daughter, to remember your manners. I paid far too much gold on your training to have it wasted.” He said as he walked with you down the corridor. “The king has pursued his fancy you, see that it does not end so suddenly as it began.”

“Yes, father.” You replied meekly.

“I mean it.” He stopped short and seized your arm. He turned you to face him. “You did not mind my first order, I know it. But you will not disobey me again and you certainly won’t defy the king.” He smiled and let go. “You will be mindful during this meeting. Do not slight me before him.”

“Yes, father.” You repeated.

He turned and carried on. It took a moment for you to catch your step. He strode along proudly and beamed as he came upon the king’s door. How long had your father dreamed of royal favour? So long he would trade anything for it.

The guards greeted him with a nod and the one at your left knocked with his elbow. Hugh opened the door as he had the last time you were there. He looked between you and your father. His eyes lingered on you. You lowered your head and kept quiet.

“The king has requested an audience. Lord Willis of Malford.” Your father announced.

The footman nodded and the door stayed open as he retreated. He appeared again and waved you within. You lifted your head and followed your father. Inside, the king sat a large oaken desk decorated with gold gilt. He stood as he saw you.

“Lord Willis,” The king greeted your father with a nod as he rounded the desk. “My lady.”

He took your hand and kissed it. Your father raised his brow sharply and you curtsied. The king stood and his eyes clung to you as his hand did. He turned and guided you toward his desk.

“You may sit, my lord,” He said as he led you to one of the cushioned chairs. “My lady, please.”

You sat and he released you wistfully. He did not resume his seat but instead leaned against the front of his desk. Your father sat in another chair with a grin.

“Your highness.” Your father relished the words on his tongue.

“My lord,” The king began. “I have called this audience with you to discuss a grievous plight.” He paused, a forlorn shadow upon him. “You see, I am taken by your daughter, so wholly and so deeply, and yet I understand you would protect her virtue, as she does so piously.”

He spoke with a feeling so overt it could only be farce. You shifted in the chair.

“And I would not tarnish her. Could not for I admire her too much, but it pains me. I cannot be without her, I cannot.”

Your father blinked and pretended at surprise. Your mouth was dry.

“Any lord brings his daughter to court in hopes of seeing her wed well. Seeing her off to a life of comfort and I would not take that from her. And again, I find esteem in her as she is so diligent, so loyal a daughter to you. So I would spare her reputation and your own and would propose a compromise.”

The king touched his chest as if he was in pain.

“And I realize this is unprecedented and not entirely proper but I have thought on it endlessly. I would offer you a fine betrothal for your daughter, to see her married, to see her protected. An arrangement so that we may keep our feelings secret; so that none would decry your name.”

“A betrothal?” You father sat up. “To who?”

“A duke.” The king looked to you. “Lord Barnes. He is a fair match for any lady in the kingdom and without.”

Your father feigned thought as he held his chin. “You believe this would serve my daughter as well as it would you?”

“If I could, I would find another way,” The king mourned. “If I were not already constrained, I would see to her a proper union. But alas…”

“Whosoever I shall marry will know me to be a loyal wife.” You declared evenly. “I would adhere to any vow I give, be it to Lord Barnes or another.”

The king turned to you slowly. “None would know. My lady, that is the purpose of the union. You will have title, land, and name. And while I cannot make you my queen, I will make you most happy. None will be given to any other; not Eleanor, not Rose, not any other but you. And you would be bound to Lord Barnes in law only.”

“It is wrong. Deceitful.” You protested. “A mistress all the same.”

The king’s nostrils flared and he sighed. He turned his broad shoulders to you and paced before your father. He spun and slammed his fist on the desk. “Enough, woman.” You flinched at his tone. He paused and gritted his teeth. “Lord Willis, Hugh, if you would… leave us for a moment.”

“Your highness, I must have a chaperone--”

“You must obey your king.” He growled and looked to the other men.

Your father rose with a mumble abeyance and Hugh followed him to the door. You peeked over your shoulder as they left. You gripped the arms of the chair as the door closed and left you alone.

“I...am sorry--” You began breathlessly.

“No, I am,” The king’s voice was softer. “I am sorry for my temper. I did not mean to frighten you. It is only, I am so enraptured by you that I cannot think of not having you. And yet you spurn me. You would spurn my offer of absolution. Can you not see how you have affected me and yet you sit here stoic and unfeeling?”

“I am not unfeeling, I only know that circumstance does not always allow the fulfillment of our desires. There can be no way around it, your highness. Fate would have it otherwise.”

“Desires?” He stood before you. “You...desire me?”

You stared up at him. You gulped. Your lip trembled but you could not speak.

“I understand you are afraid to admit it, I understand your caution, which is why I propose the union. So that you need not be afraid, my lady.”

“I…I could never betray the queen. You must understand, she will know.”

“The queen? Is that what she is? She shows her king no love and bears me no heirs. I wonder if she is truly that.” He bemoaned and slowly backed away. He sat heavily in the chair your father had formerly occupied. “She’s never loved me.”

“But she is your wife.” You insisted. “By law and by heaven’s grace.”

He was silent a moment. He looked to you and his blue eyes searched yours. He dropped his shoulders and his head.

“And yet I wonder if that is the truth. If our union was ever truly sanctified.” He pushed his hair back as he lifted his head. “She was bound to another before me. A betrothal to a prince in the east. He did protest our marriage but it was overruled.”

“An expired betrothal, your highness.” You assured. “Consecrated by the lord.”

“I don’t know if it is. I think on it often. Of how she neglects me. Of how she must think of her former eastern fiance. They were children together. They knew each other for years. I suspect...oh, but these are things I’ve never dared to say aloud.”

“But it was overruled. The former betrothal nullified and the new one blessed by the see.”

“It is a cursed union and now you would have it that I suffer more. That I am tortured by your denial.” He exhaled and slowly he sat up. He pushed himself to his feet and neared you again. “I swore to you I would find a way. I will have you.” He reached down and took your hand. He tugged until your were forced to stand. “If you will not marry Barnes, you will marry me. By my will, it shall be done.”

“You cannot--”

“Cannot!” He drew you close until his arm was around you. “I am a king, I can do as I choose.” He leaned in and spoke quietly. “If I wanted to tear that bodice off and bend you over this desk, I could, with your father at the door.” His lips grazed your ear as he held you to him. “But we will do it as you wish, my lady.”

👑

You were bent over the tapestry among the other women. Each focused on their rosettes as they added to the field of blooms. It was peculiarly silent. Even the queen was deeply enthralled by her work. It was as if everyone had tired of courtly intrigue. To sit and not think for a while was a true respite.

Since the harvest celebration, rumours flew anew, many with your name attached. You did your best to ignore them, along with the king’s gaze and his incessant letters. You hoped that you could deter him with distance. Keep aloof and he may just forget his ideas of annulment.

Every time you thought of your audience with him, your chest tightened. You looked at the queen, a scarlet hood over her pale hair. He was as trustworthy as she was. These royals were entirely conceited. They’d never known any different; had never been deprived of any want.

You lowered your head and wove your needle carefully around your finger. You mourned your former regard for her. The sense that she was a secret companion amid the chaos. She always watched over her ladies so closely, never begrudged them without reason. Or so you’d believed.

As you were about to secure your rosette, there was tug on the tapestry. You looked in the direction of the pull and met with a pair of vicious blue eyes. Rose sneered as she sat on the other side of Joan. There was no place among the ladies you could sit without an enemy upon your flank.

“My apologies,” She said with a smirk. “My needle was caught.”

“Not at all,” You said stiffly and pointed your needle once more at the middle of your rosette. Another yank. This one nearly had half the cloth upon the floor. You looked to her again along with several other women.

“Of course it wouldn’t bother you to take from another, would it? Hmm? To wrestle it away without a single thought?” She leaned in and hissed. “Then to act the innocent in all of it.”

You shook your head and freed your needle from the where it had poked into the fabric.

“A simple diversion, that’s all you are,” She kept her voice low. “He’ll come back to me, I know. A homely mouse like you cannot keep him.”

“I have no desire of him,” You spat under your breath. “So save yourself the shame and let me be.”

“I know your trick. You think you can snare him by acting coy. By acting as if you don’t want him. Every lady wants him.” She was almost upon Joan’s lap as she snarled. “Your father no doubt wants him as much, hmm? A daughter with royal preference; a blessing for any earl.”

“Lady Rose, would you kindly be quiet?” You snapped. “Perhaps you should focus on your work so that your hands may be as sharp as your tongue.”

“Ladies,” The queen’s voice cut through the rising tension. You glanced over at her guiltily though Rose showed little remorse. “Let us remind ourselves of decorum. This is a sewing circle, not a common tavern.”

You bowed your head repentantly and concentrated on your needle. Rose huffed and dropped her edge of the tapestry. She sat with her hands folded. “My fingers begin to cramp from this tedious work, your highness.”

“Then you may sit in silence or excuse yourself. You’ve disturbed this court enough.” The queen retorted. 

Rose scoffed and looked around the circle of women. “No wonder the king cannot stand you.”

“Pardon me, girl,” The queen growled.

“How could he ever lay with you long enough to beget a child? Or perhaps you are too frigid to for any life to grow.” Rose said as she stood. “For it surely is not the king who lacks.”

“Lady Rose, I will not warn you again. You gird your tongue.” Eleanor released the tapestry and got to her feet. “If you insist on causing a disturbance, you can leave this room and this court. I think we’re all quite done with you.”

“Are we?” Rose narrowed her eyes. Her hand slipped across her middle as she pressed her palm to her stomach. “I doubt the king would see his bastard out in the cold.”

Eleanor paled and the chamber grew stifling. It was as if the collective breath was stolen from each lady. You watched with the rest as the woman faced each other like wild felines.

“You really are pathetic. To lie of such a thing.” The queen accused.

Rose laughed. It was poisonous. It assured all of her honesty. “We shall see who is lying soon enough. When I begin to grow and you remain unchanged. Barren as the witch you are.”

“Go,” The queen’s tone was acidic. “Now.”

Rose lowered her lashes and slowly turned away. She neared the door and as she reached for the handle, a knock sounded. The sound broke through the silence and the women whispered in confusion. The timing of a visitor couldn’t have been worse.

Rose opened the door slowly. The man at the door seemed not to notice the mood. He greeted Lady Rose and then bowed to the queen. His blue eyes sparkled as he awaited an invitation.

“Lord Barnes,” Eleanor greeted. “It is a most unexpected visit.”

“It is, your highness,” He stepped inside as Rose held the door. She watched him in confusion as he barely seemed to notice her. “A brief one. I come,” He grinned as he looked around the room, “Simply bearing a message.”

“I shall receive it, my lord, but as you can see, I am occupied with my ladies.” The queen smiled graciously.

“I do not bear a message for you,” Barnes returned. His tone was even, unemotional. “But I promise, it will be brief.”

He caught your eye as he found you amid the circle. You frowned and clung to the tapestry, tempted to pull it over your head and hide. He crossed to you and got to one knee. For a moment, you recalled the king in a similar pose. You shook your head at him as he pulled forth a small box.

“For you, lady,” He held it out as you turned on the bench. “From King Steven.”

Gasps, whispers, hisses. All rose in a flurry of disgust. Rose let out a growl and her slippers stomped from the room. The door fell closed behind her, a frightful clatter in her stead.

“No. I--” You looked to the queen. She looked concerned. The king had never been so overt. So outright in his attentions as to intrude upon her ladies thus. “I cannot accept.”

“I have orders not to leave until you do.” Barnes insisted. “And I have ever been a faithful servant to my king.”

“Don’t do this,” You whispered. “Please.”

“Do not be ungrateful, lady,” Eleanor’s voice was brittle. “You are the most obedient subject.”

You looked between the queen and the lord knelt before you. A dozen pairs of eyes glared at you; judged you; assumed the worst in you. They had all heard Rose’s words and they believed them. For a woman who had committed the same sin must be the most adept to see it in another. 

You stared at Lord Barnes and your eyes felt as if they would water. You reached out shakily and he nodded. He did not smile, only waited patiently. He understood what his task was; not just to deliver a gift, but to send the queen a message too. The king would not hide anymore. Her ploy had failed for now she faced worse humiliation than before. And it did not matter that it was Rose or you, only that it was.

“You…” You swallowed and found your voice. “You may tell the king that I thank him. That I am most grateful for the kind gesture, my lord.”

“You must open it,” Barnes urged. “I am to...return to him your thoughts upon it.”

“Oh Lord, just be done with it,” Eleanor seethed and turned her back. “And the rest of you ladies can go. Follow that harlot back to your chambers.”

You lowered your head. You opened the box to reveal a polished opal on a golden chain. Your lips parted and you forced a smile as you stood. Lord Barnes returned to his feet as you cradled the box in your hands. The ladies tarried as they folded up the tapestry and began to shuffle to the door.

You looked into his eyes. He blinked. He knew you would say what was expected. 

“You may tell him it is very beautiful.” You closed the box. “That I like it very much.”

“I shall let him know,” Barnes bowed his head and made his retreat.

You didn’t dare look back as you followed the other ladies to the door. You passed through into the corridor and walked numbly along as the other kept as far from you as they could. The box felt heavy though it weighed almost nothing. You could have tossed it against the wall but you held your composure and squeezed it until it felt as if it would crumple.

👑

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