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scrubbinn · 2 months ago

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Mimic HRT: month 24 “Bottled”

cw: depression

��Good morning Jasmine, How are you doing today? You said you had something you felt like you needed to say in person? Are you still experiencing a build-up of stones in your throat again?”

“Y-yeah. I mean no. I mean. It's n-not about t-that. I already told Erian, but y-you’ve been so nice… I'm, really sorry… I'm switching my provider. To Dr. Therkin.”

“Oh. Well, it's sad to see you go, but you don't have to feel sorry about it. I've met with Dr. Therkin a few times recently, and she's been a delight. You'll be in good hands, and I'll make sure Erian sends your file over to her so there's no complications.”

“You're not, m-mad?”

“Of course not. Even if you're not using this clinic, I still care about your journey to become what you've always needed to be. If you ever need help with anything, you can always reach out as a friend… Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“Um, have you sent my file to a-anyone else? I mean like… anyone d-dangerous?”

“Of course we haven't? I wouldn't allow anything like that. Look, I know Erian has a sketchy past, but he is working to be better. Trust me on that. But, I won't try to stop you if you still feel worried about your safety here. I hope the best for your transition moving forward.”

“Oh, t-thank you. H-have a n-nice day. Thank you for everything y-you’ve done for me. Bye.”

“See you later, Jasmine. Oh! If you do spot Erian, could you tell him to see me?”

“Oh. S-sure!”

* * *

“Is this important, Mayday? You do realize how little time I have right now, correct? So what is so important that you have to waste it?!”

“...Doctor?”

“Sigh… Sorry. I've been rather stressed lately. It feels like I mostly end up dealing with conspiracies than patients, and with the collapse of, certain, benefactors. Money has been tight. I can't remember the last time I had a client who just wanted to be a cat, and no complications occurred. Maybe I could use a break. What do you need?”

“Jasmine switched to a different care provider. This makes four clients this month. What's going on, Erian? Should I be worried?”

“...I was hoping you wouldn't notice. I know you don't keep up with the news, but with everything that's been happening, well, I never had the best reputation, but it's become much worse as of late. I haven't had time to do anything about it as the clients that we still have tend to be the biggest headaches. You're not in danger of losing your job if that's what has you worried, and even if you did, I could still pull some strings to have you find work elsewhere. So I'd rather you didn't trouble yourself with this situation.”

“It's really that bad, huh? Feels like it's just been one thing after the other… Are you going to be safe?”

“Don't worry about me. I'm still useful to Iris, and no one here would dare try crossing her. Now please. Let's stop worrying about this.”

“I did have something else I needed to talk about. Please don't hate me for this, but I went back to the void this morn-

“YOU WHAT?!”

“JUST LISTEN!!... I've been feeling this empty sensation since I left. Like I forgot something. I did find something there when I got back home. I was holding a recorder. I think you should listen.”

* * *

“I see. Does anyone else know?”

“You're the first one I've shown this to. I didn't really know what to do. Well, I still don't. I wanted to hear your thoughts on it.”

“Well. I can't exactly keep you under observation. But this is a delicate situation. You should do your best to avoid any stressors. Ideally, I'd like you to stay here for a while until we know what you're capable of.”

“That's fair. I had plans to meet up with some friends, but I heard Alexis and Aria are already going through a lot. They probably don't need me popping in.”

“Mayday? Are you feeling well?”

“Oh, don't worry, I'm fine. It's just another thing on the pile for us. But hey, we're a team now! We'll get through it.”

“If you say so… What about that other Mimic that you found, Fang, was it? Will she be a problem as well?”

“It took me a while to track down her provider, but from what I can tell, she isn't like me. We're safe in the knowledge that I'm one of a kind.”

“Good, good. That's one less headache. I mean, it's tragic she's still missing, but. Well, you understand.”

“Yeah… yeah, I think I do. I'm going to make some calls, cancel plans, and all that. Once I grab my stuff from THEMS, I'll head back here. I'll be gone a few hours.”

“Be safe, Mayday.”

* * *

“Mayday? Where are you? Mayday, it's been two days… Where are you? Ms. Abigail has no idea where you are, THEMS never saw you come back. We're worried. Please… call someone. Please let me know if you're in danger… I just hope wherever you are, you get this message.”

* * *

“Mayday. What are we doing back here?”

“You said it yourself. The void is where I belong. Here I can't hurt anyone, I won't be a headache or a burden, or a bad friend… It's true and you know it. I'm not brave, I don't actually know how to help others, I'm just pretending. I'm not nice. It's just fake. I feel awful when people hate me, and I feel nothing when I'm praised. I'm just fake nice trying to avoid getting hurt.”

“You know that's not true. You're just stuck in this feeling of isolation. You're just digging the hole deeper because you don't know what else to do. Come on, work with me. I've been where you are.”

“The last person I should be taking advice from is a voice in my head. You should hate me. You've been trying to poke through, to get me to notice you were with me. And I ignored you. I said I'd try reaching out, going to therapy, and I didn't. Because I didn't want to deal with it.”

“Didn't want to and couldn't handle it, are two very different things. You've been going through a lot these past few months. Please, let's leave while we can. Before too long has passed.”

“Who would care? Look, to someone from outside, everything looks hunky dory. But you don't understand what it's like. My friends have more important things than some weirdo who inserted herself into their lives, Abi always tries to be nice, but that blinding tone she has sometimes. She doesn't like what I've always been. She stops me from talking about it in our off time. She doesn't want to think about it. She doesn't know me anymore. Now I might lose my job. Fang, the only possible thing that could understand what I'm going through is unable to ever be found. She found happiness by running away. What's so awful about me doing the same?!?!”

“Are you happy right now?”

“Go away. I want to be alone. I was meant to be alone.”

“...”

Mimic HRT: month 25 “...”

Mimic HRT: month 26 “...”

Mimic HRT: month 29 “...”

Mimic HRT: month 41 “...”

“What are you doing?”

Mimic HRT: month 62 “...”

“Keeping track of how much time is passing.”

Mimic HRT: month 128 “...”

“Stop it.”

. / /

. \ \

Mimic HRT: mo| |nth 426

. \ \

. / /

“I said stop it! Time doesn't matter here! If I wanted to go back the second I arrived, I could, but I'm staying.”

“...And how many people have you hurt waiting this long?”

“If they cared, then they'd have been here by now. I'm an awful person. Just admit it. I only think about myself, I did this to them. I cut myself from their lives for selfish reasons. I'm a monster. A dangerous, self-destructive monster… Go away already.”

“I'm sorry for what I said in that recording. I was wrong, and I'm sorry I can't help you right now. I won't say anything else for now. I'll wait until you're ready to talk.”

“I might take a while to open up.”

“Take your time. I'm here for you…”

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#animal hrt #therian hrt #otherkin hrt #transgender #trans #otherkin #therian #mimic girl #mimic hrt #creative writing #original writing #fiction writing #cw: depression

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mochegato · 5 years ago

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Pixie Spy

Written for the Jasonette July Wayne Gala prompt.

Why?!? Why was she doing this again? Oh right, because John Constantine promised to give her some help with a particularly difficult part of the Grimoire if she did. And he needed the information he was currently obtaining in order to give said help. That is how she ended up with an invitation, still not sure how Constantine pulled that off, to the most exclusive event of the year, the Wayne Gala.

Plus, Adrien was kind of right, ordinarily it would be a great opportunity to showcase her designs. The problem was on its surface, her dress wasn't one of her best works. The black dress had a high, cowl neckline in front and in back, adding a bit of drama and a small homage to the local heroes, vigilantes she silently corrected herself. The high neckline also offset the incredibly short bubble skirt, making her legs look longer than the Nile. Despite being a bit uncomfortable showing that much leg, it was necessary for this particular design and if she could actually feel like she had long legs for once, she was willing to deal with the discomfort. She also added a glittery belt to show her shape and add some bling, which seemed like something the people at this particular event would value. It was functional, not fashionable. Not that it was ugly, just that it was designed to be passable, enough to fit in but not enough to get noticed.

She fidgeted slightly as she stood in the entryway trying to get past the people piling up trying to not so discretely pay homage to the king. That king being Bruce Wayne. From her research, he actually did seem like he was a good guy. The list of charities he started or contributed to was longer than she was tall. She scowled at the voice in the back of her head that sounded suspiciously like Adrien's saying that wasn't much. Adrien, who got out of coming tonight because the mission was to observe the Waynes unnoticed and Adrien Agreste would get a bit too much attention, that cat bastard.

Despite the laundry list of charity work, Marinette was still suspicious of Wayne. First of all, he was rich, filthy rich. Anyone that rich had to have some dark and twisted secrets they were hiding. He wouldn’t be the first rich person to hide their illicit activities behind a veil of charity work. Second, he chose to live in Gotham, the most crime-riddled city in the world. And that is just the reported crime. A great deal of the crime never got reported to or investigated by the police, whether through corruption or exhaustion. The kind of place a rich person could be confident they would get away with literal murder.

But mostly, it was Constantine that made her suspicious of Bruce Wayne. Not that Constantine had ever said anything negative about him, well nothing more than calling him a pain in the ass, but that was really not so much an insult as a compliment coming from Constantine. But, Wayne had information Constantine needed to help them with the Grimoire and Constantine refused to say how Wayne had gotten that information. How and why would a playboy billionaire have that information? There is absolutely no reason someone outside of the hero/villain/magic community would have that information. And, if he was such a good guy, why would Constantine need to go to these lengths to get it without Wayne’s knowledge? Unless it was related to one of his illicit secrets.

Her eyes darted around the room taking in its grandeur, muttering to herself about how ostentatious it all was. Normally, she would be completely mesmerized by the grandeur and pomp of the scene. The room was decorated to perfection. Everything was absolutely exquisite. However, she was too anxious and wary to enjoy it. So instead of being inspired, each gorgeous detail grated on her. She reached up to tug on her hair before remembering her hair had been pulled up into an elegant twist held in place with a single silver pin. With her normal anxiety relief method unavailable, she instead shifted nervously from foot to foot while she scanned the room trying to catch sight of the rest of the Waynes, gently tightening and loosening her grip on her purse, trying not to crush Tikki.

She was so lost in her anxiety she didn't notice the dark haired man walking behind her take notice of her and stop. He stood behind her with a nonchalance that didn’t seem to fit a man his size. He watched her fidget and muttering to herself about “damn rich people” with a smile on his face.

“You don't seem excited to be here” he said quietly.

She turned around with wide eyes, shocked that someone had heard her. Whatever she was expecting to see it was not what she saw in front of her. The man towered over her. Even in her ridiculously, dangerously high heels, Chloe insisted, her head didn’t even come up to his chin. He was also extremely handsome, with chiseled features and the most gorgeous blue eyes she had ever seen. Those eyes were going to be a problem. They were clear and kind and roguish and hypnotizing. His black hair with a shock of white was slightly tousled giving the impression of a rouge trying to look sophisticated. Was it inappropriate to imagine running her hand through his hair and along his sharp jawline? Yeah, probably not appropriate and likely not welcome. Clean up your thoughts, girl! Great, now Alya was in her head scolding her. No, that’s not right, because that would definitely not be Alya’s advice.

He was grinning at her with an impish look in his eyes. “What? Not impressed with the ‘we care about whatever the point of this gala is, but we’re not hobos so let’s not skimp on the luxury for us’ décor? Or maybe it is the illustrious, soul sucking, benefactors of Gotham that have set you on edge.” The smile he shot her was guarded and critical. She chuckled lightly and looked away. “You have good judgement and a good reason to be suspicious. But you made it to The event of the season, so you must have done something right… or wrong.”

She hummed and looked away. “Have you ever had one of those days where everything went wrong and now you don't know how you got where you are or why you are there?”

“I’m familiar with the feeling,” he nodded.

“That's my life. All of it. Every single fucking day. This one included."

He barked out a laugh and looked at her again appraising her. “Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine. I think I like you. You might just make this torture session more bearable. See you around,” he chuckled as he walked away.

Marinette watched the man’s retreating back. The night was already going better than she thought it would. But the plan for the night wasn’t to find a date it was to act as a scout and keep tabs on the… enemy? For all intents and purposes, that is what the Waynes were tonight, right? They had information that she needed, that Paris needed, and they apparently weren’t going to part with it willingly, so they were the enemy. No, enemy sounded too harsh she chided herself. Opposition? Yes, they were the opposition. That sounded much less hostile, more like a game… a game where people’s lives were on the line. You know, just for fun, no pressure.

She found a spot against a wall she could use. It was slightly raised but not well lit so it wouldn’t draw attention to her. From her spot she could finally see the family. It was very thoughtful of them to group together like that. She could see the little one, stiff and military-like posture, glowering at the people around him. He was standing as far away from the rest of the people there as he could without actually leaving the room. Much closer to the dancefloor, she could see the middle boy talking to a few business men. They all had fake smiles plastered on their faces as they made seemingly insignificant small talk. She did not envy him that experience. Between the two and to the side was the oldest son. He was chatting up some business person’s daughter, leaning in a lot closer than etiquette would dictate. Just the father then… there he was still not too far from the door talking to a dark haired woman. He had his arm around her waist as she leaned into him. She must be the girlfriend then. Mari made a note that she should probably pay attention to where she was as well. Fortunately, the spot she had chosen gave her a great vantage point. Unfortunately, her observation spot wasn’t as unnoticed as she had hoped.

___________________________________________________________

Jason made his way over to the bar and ordered a beer. He still hadn’t spoken to his family to let them know he was there and he definitely needed a drink before he approached them. Why the fuck was he here again? Fucking Batman.

Fresh glass of beer in hand, he made his way over to his brothers, refusing to acknowledge any of the partygoers along the way. He watched as his brothers took note of his approach and excused themselves from their conversation partners. Dick didn’t look too happy to turn away from the latest interest, smiling at her and giving her reassurances before sending her away. Tim looked less happy to have to turn away from the men he was talking with. He should be thanking Jason really. He was giving him an out from having to deal with them and their god awful personalities and fashion. Seriously, who told that guy that tie was okay. Even the Riddler would think that tie was obnoxious.

“Okay, I’m here,” Jason said taking a large swig of his drink. “How long before I can ditch this bottomless pit of misery?”

“Woah, slow down there. You’re going to get drunk before the announcement.” Dick cautioned him.

“Do you want me here or do you want me sober? You’re going to have to choose one. They’re mutually exclusive, Dickweed.”

“Come on Jaybird, we all have to be here. None of the rest of us are getting drunk.”

“That’s just because I’m smarter than you guys are,” he said tipping his glass to Tim who had scoffed at the suggestion and took another drink. “There is no reason we all have to be here. We shouldn’t all have to suffer. And officially, I’m not even a member of this hellscape of a family anymore so I really shouldn’t have to be here.”

“If The Disappointment gets to leave, so do I. Someone should be patrolling tonight instead of all of us wasting our time entertaining these harpies. And if one more person tries to touch me on my head I’m going to break a hand.”

“Stop it! Nobody is leaving, Damian. We’re in this together. And Jason, if anyone got to go home it wouldn’t be you. You are the reason we all have to be here in the first place; so we can ALL show our support when we officially announce that you are part of this ‘hellscape of a family’ again. So enjoy it,” he said with a cutting smile.

“Not everyone enjoys getting groped by the gold-digging, trust fund whores. I’ve found a way to cope. It’s called alcohol. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he downed the drink in his hand, “my drink is empty. I’m going to go find another.”

“At least try not to interact with anyone. We don’t want to piss anyone off tonight. And I don’t want to have to fix your messes.”

“Way ahead of you, Replacement.” Jason turned and walked away before Dick could reprimand him again. He needed to get away. He could only handle his family in small does, very small doses, miniscule amounts, and he had already surpassed that limit.

He grabbed two more drinks off of a passing waiter’s tray and looked for the Sunshine Girl. He scanned the room sipping the champagne, trying not to make eye contact with anyone in the room. His size and demeanor was usually enough to keep people away but making eye contact made people think he was open to talking. He was not. He had no interest in making nice with Gotham’s elite. He wanted to get this night over with, with as little pain as possible.

He finally spotted her off to the side of the room speaking with the obnoxious tie guy. Jason watched as the man slid his hand up the side of her leg starting to move under her skirt. Jason started to make his way over to them until he saw her move closer to the man. She was close enough to whisper seductively into his ear now. Ah, not uninvited then. Maybe he had misread her. Well there goes his hope of this party not sucking balls. He started to turn away but noticed a pained expression on the man’s face. He turned back to reexamine the scene. She was holding the man’s hand at an unnatural angle. It was a hold he’d used a few times himself, it was discrete but extremely effective, causing intense pain with a small movement. He knew if she moved her hand just a few more centimeters, she could easily break his wrist.

She let go with a viscous look pushing him away from her as she did. The man shook his hand and scowled at her. He started back toward her and Jason took off running, not pausing to apologize to the people he bumped into along the way. Before he could get to her, she had already taken care of it. She squared her shoulders and glared at the man, making it clear that she could and would continue with her actions if he persisted. When she moved her hand ever so slightly, just enough so he could see it and remember what she had done, the man turned away and smiled at the people who had been standing behind him as though nothing had happened. Jason chuckled to himself watching her move away from the man. She was definitely going to make this night more bearable.

“Looks like you don’t need me around for protection. Although I did bring a drink so maybe I can earn my keep that way,” he said handing her one of the glasses in his hand. “That was extremely impressive. How did you lean to handle yourself like that?”

She accepted the glass and shrugged. “You live in Paris long enough you pick up a few things.”

“That isn’t something you just ‘pick up’. That’s experience.”

“And that is exactly what you get when you have a supervillain terrorizing your streets and thoughts for 5 years; experience. And how do you know about that move? Rich boy secretly a vigilante?” She raised an eyebrow at him giving him a daring smile and pretending to take a drink from the glass. She was on a mission and she didn’t know him. She wasn’t about to actually drink anything a stranger gave her, let alone get drunk.

“You don’t grow up in Gotham without learning how to take down someone trying to cop a feel. And what do you mean about a supervillain in Paris?” he asked taking a step closer to her, concern edging into his stare.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not relevant for tonight.” She said taking a step away and scanning the room again to locate the Waynes.

He looked at her for a few moments taking her in, not just her appearance but how she held herself. She stood with confidence and nonchalance. She wasn’t acting coy, she wasn’t baiting him to ask her more questions, she was serious. There was some kind of supervillain running around Paris that they had no idea about. Well that piqued his interest. He wanted to find out more about that and just his luck, the only person around who knew about it was the gorgeous and badass Sunshine Child in front of him. Guess he’ll just have to suffer and spend more time talking to her. The things he does for Gotham, he smirked to himself. “I’m Jason,” he said putting his hand out for her to shake.

She looked at his hand before hesitantly taking it. His hand absolutely engulfed hers. “Nice to meet you Jason,” she said looking toward the dancefloor. She had last seen the Waynes near the dancefloor and they couldn’t have gotten far, right? They were likely to be near it.

Misinterpreting her focus he asked, “Wanna dance?” placing down his now empty glass.

She needed a better vantage point to locate the Waynes and even if they weren’t on the dancefloor anymore, the dancefloor would be the ideal place get an unobstructed, overall view of the room. She could see the entire room from the dancefloor. She just had to scope it out discretely so Jason didn’t get suspicious. “Sure,” she said smiling at him and accepting the hand he had offered her.

He guided her out onto the dancefloor. Jason noticed a little girl standing nervously next to the dancefloor looking at a group of kids nearby. “Hold on just a second,” he said dropping her hand to kneel down next to the little girl. “Hey, I just wanted to say what a beautiful dress you have. I wish you had a smile to match. Anything wrong, kid?” he asked gently. The little girl gave him a nervous smile.

“Thanks. My Mom said I could pick out a dress and I chose this one. But Mom says it looks silly. It’s too fluffy and gets in everyone’s way.”

At that Marinette kneeled down next to her as well. “Oh. Well, let me fill you in on a little secret. I’m a fashion designer and I can tell you there is nothing wrong with fluffy. You did a great job picking it out. It is perfect for you. I couldn’t design anything better. I wish I looked as confident and effortlessly beautiful as you do. ”

The smile the little girl gave her was genuine this time. “You really like it?”

“I do,” Marinette responded.

“I do, too. I’m not a fashion designer, but I still think you look good, kid. And if anyone tells you they don’t like it, scr… I mean, forget them. Who cares what they think. A fashion designer and a delinquent think it looks amazing. Don’t let someone else tell you what you like.” Jason added. The little girl beamed at both of them and bounded off to join the kids with much more confidence.

Marinette watched him as he watched the kid play with her friends making raucous noise as they played, a grin on his face until he saw some parents come to reprimand their kids for being so noisy. So, rich boy has a heart and is really protective of kids. Well that wasn’t going to help Marinette focus solely on the mission. “That was incredibly nice of you. That’s not advice I would have expected from someone attending a party like this.” Marinette said taking Jason’s outstretched hand again.

“Just because we’re miserable here doesn’t mean she should be, too. Kids should be happy. It’s ridiculous to bring a kid to a party if you aren’t going to let them be a kid. Adults in Gotham expect too much of their kids. They treat them like props instead of kids, tools to help them achieve a goal.” He said voice getting gruff as he spoke. He looked back at her and shook his head as if to clear his head of his thoughts. He smiled at her instead and took her waist with his free hand to start dancing with her.

“You know, I noticed you never did give me your name.”

She looked into his eyes for a just a moment before she looked back to the dancefloor, “You know, I noticed that too.”

“Hmmm. Secretive. No name but a fashion designer from Paris,” he said. Marinette paled slightly refusing to look back at him. He was paying attention to her and noticing details. She hadn’t expected that from this crowd. She was going to have to be more careful about what she said. ‘Not get noticed’ played over and over in her head. She was supposed to slip in and out with nobody remembering her. She might have blown the mission already. But, was she ready to walk away from those blue eyes? Surely, talking with him couldn’t do any harm, right? “So, did you design the dress you’re wearing?”

She was brought back to reality with a jolt. “Yes. Not… not my best work, but it fit the uh, occasion,” she stuttered out.

“Was the occasion to look stunning? Because you do.” He grinned smugly as she blushed heavily under his praise. This was fun. This was his new mission for the night; to see how many times he could make her blush. “Still not going to tell me your name, huh?”

She looked back at him before dropping her eyes again. Stupid mission. If it were just her here for herself, she could stay here dancing with Jason and gazing into his eyes for the rest of the night, and tomorrow, and the day after for that matter. But she wasn’t here for herself. She was here for a reason and that reason demanded she be anonymous and keep track of the Waynes.

She scanned the floor again and finally spotted the Waynes, confirming they were all there. Nobody had snuck off. They really liked sticking around each other didn’t they?

“No, it takes more than a pretty line from a pretty boy to get my name” she said looking back to Jason and plastering on a fake smile. “I don’t need any rich boys remembering me after this is over. Tomorrow I’ll go back to my real life and it will be like none of this ever happened. I can report that I came, I danced, and I even smiled a few times, then never speak of it again.”

“Friends or family forced you to come because they thought you needed some excitement in your life, Pixie Pop?”

“Something like that… Pixie Pop?”

“You won’t tell me your name and I need to call you something. You’re little and mischievous and can handle yourself… Pixie Pop. Honestly, you’re lucky I didn’t go with Odysseus. Also, you think I’m pretty?” He grinned down at her.

She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, cheeks flushing slightly. “I think that would have made you Polyphemus, which you certainly have the size for,” she grinned up at him. “Anyway, that’s why I’m here. How about you?”

“Oh, my family thinks I have enough fun already. I’m here because if they have to suffer, so do I. And all to bolster the name of the illustrious Bruce Wayne.”

Marinette examined his face as he stared toward where she last seen Bruce Wayne. He looked annoyed and frustrated. This was a side of Mr. Wayne she had not heard about in her research, a side that frustrated native Gothamites. A bit more information could be helpful for her to figure out what role he played in the Grimoire information Constantine was gathering, figure out whether or not he was a threat. “Not a fan?” she asked delicately.

He looked back at her examining her face for any malice. “Depends on the day.”

She hummed in response. “What can you tell me about Bruce Wayne?” she finally asked.

“Why do you want to know?” he responded suspiciously. Most people looking for more information wanted it as a weapon. Bruce might not be his favorite person, he might actually hate him right now, but he wasn’t going to help someone take him down unless it was him.

She shrugged, “everything I’ve seen shows an exemplary record for him. You don’t seem to be a fan though and you’ve grown up in Gotham so you would have some good insights. So, I’m wondering what your take on him is. What he’s done to draw your ire.”

Jason nodded slightly seeming to mull over what she said. “He does good things. He helps a lot of charities. He honestly does care about the city and the people and about making their lives better. His parenting skills could use some work though. He could show his sons that he actually cares about them as more than tools, you know, whether they live or died…” he furrowed his brows and looked away for a few seconds before he schooled his expression. His eyes got a wicked gleam to them and he leaned towards her to whisper conspiratorially “… and I hear he’s sleeping with Batman.”

Mari looks at him surprised. “Huh, I guess he has a type then, supermodels, superheroes…”

“Supervillains…” Jason says under her breath looking back at Bruce and his date.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he covered quickly, but the damage had already been done. She had started thinking about Bruce’s involvement with the super community. If he was sleeping with superheroes and super villains, that meant he was part of the same circles as Constantine… and Constantine liked dating in the super community. Could Bruce Wayne be in the super community? That would explain why he had information pertaining to the Grimoire. And she might need to revisit exactly how Constantine knew Bruce Wayne.

“Are you okay? I didn’t break you, did I?” he asked cautiously.

“Yeah, fine I could just maybe use some uh, water?” she gave an awkward smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, please?” She just needed a bit of space to think.

Jason left to grab a glass of water and turned back to her. She watched Bruce with her head crooked to the side. He saw her finger discretely swiping to the right a few times as she stared intently at Bruce. After a few times her finger swiped left instead and head straightened. She looked around to the other members of the family as if she was counting, confirming something in her head.

Marinette’s eyes widened as she suddenly realized why Bruce Wayne could have information they needed and why Constantine needed her to keep an eye on the Waynes. Shit. Shit shit shit shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshit. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. She turned away quickly. This could not be happening. This. Could. Not. Be. Happening. She did NOT help him break into the BATCAVE while she kept tabs on BATMAN.

And if Constantine was trying desperately to avoid him, like he did all his exes…That little…

Jason had no idea what happened but as he got closer to his Pixie he could hear her muttering under her breath in French. His French was a bit rusty so even the pieces he could pick up were scarce and nonsensical. Something about maybe “lying” and “Roast Beef” and “bat” and “shark” and “fucking”. He couldn’t be positive about any of the words except two; “fucking” and “bat” those he was pretty familiar with. Not to brag but he could swear like a sailor in at least 7 languages. And “bat”, he knew that word in a few more languages for obvious reasons.

She was abruptly moving and ran right into him before she could take notice of her surroundings. She looked at Jason with wide eyes, reexamining the man she had spent the evening speaking and dancing with. Suddenly, everything clicking into place. There was one more hero she hadn’t accounted for, Red Hood, who while he hid his face behind a mask, just so happened to have the same towering build as Jason. But Bruce Wayne didn’t have any more kids, right? And if the other vigilantes were his sons, Red Hood should be too, right? He just had the three boys and the two girls who were out of town. That was it. He had another son, but that son had died. What was his name… She gasped loudly, “Oh God! You’re Jason,” she exclaimed out loud.

“Yeah?” He said confused. They’d been over this before.

“You’re Jason Todd,” she said looking down and taking slow breaths. “You’re Bruce Wayne’s son.”

He looked at her startled. She put that together quicker than he was expecting especially since she didn’t seem to know much about the family. “For what it’s worth, I don’t feel like his son most of the time,” he tried to joke. “Sorry for not telling you before. I don’t like talking about being in the family, or being in the family at all, actually.” He winced looking at her wide eyes.

“I wasn’t supposed to get noticed by the Waynes. Shit!”

“Then you shouldn’t have worn that dress… or that face… or that smile, Pixie.” He said grinning suavely.

She examined him for a few seconds, emotions flittering across her face almost too quickly to identify them. Confusion, bashful, flattered, hopeful, guilt, pain, melancholy.

“I have to go.” She finally spoke up.

“Wait. What?”

“I… I have to go”

“Wait, is it… you have to go because I’m Wayne’s son?”

“No, I… shit. Putain de bâtard.” Yep, that one he understood too. Wait... “Me?” He asked pointing to himself.

“No, not you… Not because you’re a Wayne, well kind of because you’re a Wayne. It’s…” she faltered for a few seconds then muttered under her breath again “Je vais tuer cette putain de mère.”

“Wait, who is the mother fucker you’re talking about? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m just going to kill a bitch when I get home.”

“Okay… Okay, first, that is a lot more swearing than I thought you were capable of and I’m extremely impressed… and turned on,” he chuckled as she rolled her eyes at him and mumbled under her breath “you should have heard what was going on in my head”. He raised his eyebrows at her suggestion. “Okay, you’re making it really hard not to make out with you right now.” He watched proudly as her cheeks suddenly blazed red at his comment. Another point for him tonight.

“Second, if you’re just worried about Bruce finding out you were here, it never happened. I never saw you. You were never here,” he assured her. Instead of calming her she seemed more panicked, eyes darting from the door to him. This seemed like more than just not wanting to get noticed. She was into something and didn’t want to be. “Or, if you’re in trouble, I can help. You just need to tell me what is going on. You don’t seem like you would willingly work with someone out to hurt others, so whatever it is, I’m sure you aren’t willingly doing it. If it is something bad. I just really have no idea what is going on right now and I would like you to tell me.” He continued earnestly, looking her in her eyes to make sure she understood how deathly serious he was about it. If she needed help, he WOULD help her. Even if he didn’t like her, which he really did, he was going to help put that smile back on her face.

She looked at him for another few moments opening her mouth slightly to say something then seemed to think better of it and closed it again. She narrowed her eyes and looked away scanning the room as she thought about what to say and do next. She seemed to come to a conclusion as she turned back to him and set her feet firmly on the ground.

“I never told you why I was here, did I?” Even before he shook his head she continued. “I’m here to keep an eye on the Waynes. On you, apparently. Didn’t know you were back from the dead though, so I wasn’t looking out for you. Congratulations on that, by the way, you know, on the whole not being dead thing. That’s really amazing. I’m glad you can be around to enjoy life and laugh and be sarcastic and look at me with those eyes and look like that in a suit… probably even better out of it.” She muttered the last part under her breath.

“I’d love to see you out of that dress, too.” He smiled smugly at her.

She huffed out a breath, cheeks reddening again, “Yeah, not happening. I’m burning this dress as soon as I get out of here.”

“I can help you with that, too. I like setting fires. Two birds, one pyrotechnic.” He preened for a moment enjoying the flirting. Wait, less flirting, more focusing back on the more important part of her earlier speech.

“Wait, why are you keeping an eye on us?” he asked apprehensively.

“So I could warn my… associate if any of you left. So he could have plenty of time to… what is the best way to say this…” she looked up to the ceiling and took a deep steadying breath thinking about the words she wanted to use. None of this was part of the plan. “…so he could have plenty of time to evacuate your… lair? No, lair makes you sound like villains… your illicit… cavern of, actually I don’t know if it is a cavern… and it isn’t really illicit, is it? Well, actually I guess it kind of is, but that still makes it sound like you’re a villain…your underground… no, I don’t even know if it is underground… to evacuate your… uh… secret… base of… um, operations?”

“My what?” Jason demanded now more than a little concerned. “Who are you?”

“Nobody. Absolutely nobody of consequence. And nobody who should be here right now.” She turned to walk away before Jason stopped her.

“No. You don’t get to say something like that then try to slink away like nothing happened. Come on, we’re going to go talk to some people,” he said grabbing her arm a bit harder than strictly necessary and dragging her towards his brothers and Bruce. She definitely figured out who they all were or at least who Bruce was and that they knew too, which put her in danger, and she was working with someone to break into the Batcave, which put them all in danger. Everything about this situation was dangerous and bad and they needed to talk to the family to figure out the best next steps.

Marinette dug her heels into the ground pulling against him, a really bad idea considering how high her heels were. Instead of stopping him she stumbled into his chest allowing him the opportunity to wrap his arms around her, “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said squirming to get out of his embrace. “This is between you guys. I have neither the desire nor the interest to get involved in this little lover’s spat. I have more important things to be doing right now. Things that asshole was supposed to be doing instead of pulling practical jokes.”

“Jokes? What do you mean jokes? What the fuck is going on?” He looked at her again. She wasn’t afraid, she wasn’t gloating, she wasn’t even nervous. She was annoyed verging on enraged.

“Nothing you need to worry about, Red.” She threw in the moniker at him to get him to back down. She knew how important secret identities were, and how finding out someone knew yours could throw you off your game. She felt a bit of guilt as she used that knowledge against him but this was no longer fun. Now this was infuriating. John was playing games with his former lover, or current lover, whatever Bruce was to him, instead of just helping. He was taking time she didn’t want to spend, time the people of Paris should not have to wait. They had spent weeks planning this when he could have just walked in and asked for the information. They had wasted so much time.

“I. Do. Not. Have. Time. For. This. This is not a joke. This is not some gag for you overgrown children to play at,” she said hitting her finger into his chest with each word. “I have people in need relying on me. I have children counting on me. Parents counting on me. Single people, who also deserve to live just as much as everyone else, counting on me and all suffering while they wait. I. Am. Done. And I am leaving”

Jason listened to her shocked. Something was happening and he had absolutely no idea what, but somehow they were involved. He hated not knowing what was going on. Apparently children were suffering because of all of this and he didn’t know why. But, he was going to figure it out. She was right. They did not have time for this. Whatever was going on, they were going to help. He turned away loosening his grip on her waist to just laying his arm on her instead of encircling her. He touched his hand to his ear to activate the com hidden inside, “Tim, can you check the security video for the uh… our base of operations?”

It appeared that Tim was giving Jason some resistance because Jason turned away even further and started yell whispering threats into the air. He was trying to be as discrete as possible in the crowded room, which normally wouldn’t be such a concern but there was a group of dancers headed their way, just leaving the dance floor after the song ended. Marinette took advantage of his distraction and the sudden cover to twist away from him and slip into the crowd.

Jason called after her and tried to grasp her arm but missed her. He searched for her but the crowd was too thick, having had to bottleneck to get past the tables surrounding the dance floor. He scanned the crowd for her twisted hair or the black dress, but couldn’t see her in the group. She had effectively disappeared, but if she went into the crowd, she would have to come out and cross the dancefloor in order to leave. He could just wait for her on the other side of the group and keep an eye on the dancefloor. He moved to go around the table, but that side was just as crowded so he did the only rational, discrete thing he could in the situation, he slid across the top of the table landing on the dancefloor and waited to grab her there, but she never came out.

_____________________________________________________________

Marinette had a habit of catastrophizing. She knew this. Everyone who knew her knew this. She thought of all of the worst case scenarios and tried to plan for them. Generally, it was a wasted effort that did little more than stress her out and annoy her teammates. Today, however, today it paid off. She had anticipated having to make a quick escape and once she decided it was time to go, she put her escape plan into action. Freeing herself from Jason, she pulled off her belt before even getting to the crowd. As she entered the crowd of people, she pulled out her hair pin, letting her hair fall down. She didn’t even have to hunch down much at all to disappear into the crowd as she weaved her way through them. One advantage to being short. She ran her left hand through her hair tousling it so her long raven hair cascaded around her shoulders. With her right hand, she yanked at the cowl neckline of her dress, allowing the fabric overlay to drop forming a floor length skirt, revealing the bodice of her now red Harlow inspired dress that had been hidden underneath. Her new dress hugged her body until it reached her hips then fell freely.

Finally, she reached into her red purse, removed her phone, the cookie for Tikki, and Kaalki’s glasses, nodded to Tikki, turned her purse inside out revealing a now black purse with red detailing, and returned her phone, glasses, cookie, hairpin, and belt into it, leaving plenty of room for Tikki. The entire change took all of 10 seconds. By the time she would walk out of the crowd, she would be completely unrecognizable, at least by anyone who didn’t already know her. Unless that is, if they were looking for someone moving against the tide of people. That would be a dead giveaway. So instead, she pivoted and moved with the crowd instead of against it, parting with them after a few tables and moving laterally toward the exit.

Marinette made her way to the exit quickly, but not quickly enough to draw attention to herself. She needed to get to Constantine before the “bat family”, as her research had called them, got to him. They had reasons for keeping other superheroes out of Paris and she had no interest in having that particular awkward and slightly guilt laden (stupid gorgeous blue eyes she wanted to get lost in) conversation with them. Especially when she was this utterly livid with Constantine, which was another reason she was rushing. She needed to get to him so she could beat the asshole out of him. Oh, she was going to make him pay for this, and not in a way he would enjoy.

She was angry and frustrated and guilty and grieved. She knew Jason didn’t deserve for her to snap at him like she had but she had been too frustrated to hold back and he was part of the problem. She had been having fun with Jason. She had been enjoying bantering with him and looking into his eyes. She had really, really been enjoying having him look at her like she was the most interesting thing in Gotham and having him hold her closer than he had to while they danced. And now it was gone. She was a hero and he was a vigilante so he had to be kept at a distance. A 3,670 mile distance to be precise, well approximate.

She was just about to cross through the exit when a voice stopped her.

“Hey,” a woman with short black hair and green eyes called out to her. Marinette slowed down weighing the risk of just blowing her off vs the risk of stopping. She decided ignoring her might lead to the woman calling after her, which would bring unwanted attention, which she wanted to avoid. Stopping seemed the safer answer. As long as she didn’t look back at the gala or do anything else that might incriminate herself, she would be able to get away without any awkward conversations or fights.

“Yes” she answered with a strained smile.

“I saw that little quick change back there,” the woman responded. Marinette’s eyes widened in panic. Before anxiety could start going over all the worst case scenarios her mind could come up with, she was already in the midst of one of them in real life she really didn’t need to start thinking of worse things to add to it, the woman continued, nonchalantly scanning the people at the gala, “don’t worry, I’m not going to out you. I just might have occasion to use a quick change myself from time to time, so I was hoping you might share where you got your dress.” She shot Marinette a wicked smile. ”Just because you’re hustling doesn’t mean you can’t look killer doing it.”

Marinette relaxed minutely and gave her a small smile, “it’s called MDC Designs. She’s online. What’s your name so she’ll know who to look out for?”

“Thanks kitten. I appreciate it.” She said never looking back at Marinette. “Selina. Selina Kyle. I’d say nice to meet you, but we never met, did we?”

Marinette smiled to herself as she walked out the door. Maybe the night wasn’t a total loss. Hopefully, Constantine got the information they needed, she’ll get to punch his smug face as soon as she sees him, and she’ll get a new client. Guess Adrien was right about showcasing her design after all. He must never know. Not such a bad night at all.

Chapter 2

Tag:

@fsketchart @jasonette-july-2k20

#maribat #jasonette #jasonette july 2k20 #Pixie Spy

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infinitegalahad · 4 years ago

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SO IST ES IMMER

Request: “Hi😊 can I request "come lay down with me" or "can I count your freckles?" with Malarkey? Thank you❤️ love your writing” @tvserie-s-world

Prompts: “come lady down with me” & “can i count your freckles?”

Summary: Malarkey and you drink and sing when the fighting is done, and it's always so.

Word-count: 1.1k

A/N: FRANNY! first of all, thank you for this request. i love my boy malarkey, and i wish to see him happy. your ask got lost in another draft, i’m so sorry about the wait! “so ist es immer” means “it is always like that” in german. this is once again, a shameful song fic. i wanted to write some fluffly malarkey, with a tint of sadness. oh, and a scenic lake view ft skinny dipping and malarkey’s arms, because who doesn’t love that?

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @liebgotttme @50svibes @ricksmorty @pennyllanne @capsparkyspeirs

Masterlist | Send In A Prompt!

“What’s the matter Malark, are you scared of a little water?” You peaked your head from the water with only your eyes showing. The rest of your nude body was covered by the dark water, illuminated by the crescent moon.

Malarkey was slunched against a rock with a few empty bottles. It was the first time in a while we’re you had seen his smile that could light up a whole room. His sheer prescene would boost someone’s mood with his goofy smile and kind words.

He let out a chuckle that lingered with a snort, “I ain’t scared. It just looks...cold. Aren’t you freezing?”

Your body floated to the top of the water as you looked up at the sky with it’s thousands of crushed stats and moon, “ You get use to it. It’s a little lonely, I would like some company...someone who’s irish with nice, big arms would sound nice...”

You turned your head and made eye contact with Malarkey as the two of you burst into laughter like careless children without a worry in the world. He was the first person who noticed your laugh, and the snorts that would trickle along. It was a quirk that you grew to hate, but Malarkey made you learn to love it.

When you were around him, the weight of the world would disappear and the dreary clouds of war would depart, letting in a warmth and light that you had craved.

Malarkey patted an empty spot right next to him. His face looked soft, his finger hair a shade lighter in the light of the moon.

“Come lay down with me,” Malarkey professed, patting the grassy spot next to him.

You turned over in the water and pushed yourself out. You wore a simple slip that stuck to your body. If you were around the others, you’d be as red as a tomato. But around Malarkey, you never had to worry.

Malarkey wasn’t wrong about Austria being beautiful, but deathly cold at night. Once you had crawled next to him, he had taken off his jacket and threw it over your shoulders. For extra protection, he made sure you were snug and warm.

You put a hand on your chest and acted overdramatic, “Why Malarkey! I never took you for a gentlemen, good sir! Thank you for this act, good sir.”

Malarkey titled his head as if he had a real hat, like a gentleman would do, in which he was. “Anytime, milady.”

Malarkey and you, wrapped in his jacket that was too big for you, leaned against a rock and looked up at the starry sky. It was silent, but it was just what the two of you needed. Peace and quiet. Your shoulders would occasionally brush, and it felt like hours had been going by. Your eyes had taken a break from the flashing stars to look down. Yours hand casually laid on the ground, and Malarkey’s hand was trickling forward.

Shit. Shit. Mega Shit.

Unable to react, you blurted out a sentence that would hopefully have you from the awkwardness.

“Can I Count your freckles?”

Malarkey looked over, and his hand stopped moving towards yours. He shrugged his shoulder and nodded,

“Yeah, why not. Should I…” Malarkey looked down, “Um...lay…?”

“In my lap?” You looked down, “It’s wet, I hope you like the feeling of a wet slip.”

Malarkey let out a goosey laugh, laying his head down on your lap and clasping his hands on his chest.

“Honestly Miss Y/n, I would feel honored to lay in your lap.”

Your finger started at the top of Malarkey’s forehead, counting every brown dot you saw. The tip of your finger slided from his eyes to the bridge of his nose to the tip. His cheeks were the hardest, and you muttered under your breath. Once you got your counting in control, Malarkey spoke.

“Do you have any plans after all this?”

Focused on the counting, you could easily multitask and you responded, “I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. You?”

“Yeah, I don’t know eithier,” Malarkey casually stated. Your finger reached his lip, and counted the freckles around it. It was accidental, but your finger brushed against the smooth skin of his lips, and it made your cheeks burn. Atleast your’s wasn’t as obvious as Malarkey’s, who looked like a damn tomato.

“Malark?” You cooed, looking down with raised eyebrows, “You okay?”

“Comebackhomewithandiloveyouandyourtheonlypersonihavelefthaticantrust-“

“Wow there cowboy,” You let out a laugh not to make fun of Malarkey, but to calm him. Putting a hand on his chest, you gave it a reassuring pat, “A little slower, please.”

“Curse of the Irish,” Malarkey took a deep breath and exhaled. He put his hand over yours and gave it a tight squeeze, resting it on top of yours. “Do you like hiking?”

“What do you think, silly goose? We’ve hiked ever trail that they have here. Of course I love hiking!”

“What about being surrounded by large bodies of water? What do you think of those?”

“I love water, and I don’t mind it one bit. So yeah, guess I do.”

“Can I ask you one last question?”

You gave Malarkey your full attention and nodded, “Of course you can.”

“Do you like me?” Malarkey confessed, his cheeks going red again as he muttered under his breath.

You looked up at the stars and laughed to yourself. The question he was asking already gave it away, and you found it too adorable. Finally, he had made a move. It was about time.

“Well, that’s a good question,” You pondered. Malarkey looked worried, but you gave him a reassuring smile, “Like is a strong word, but I like love is more suitable. So yeah, I love you, Donald Malarkey.”

“I love you too, (y/n) (l/n),” Malarkey confessed back. He moved his head up, which was a few inches away from yours.

“Um, how do I say this…” Malarkey stuttered, “May I kiss you, please?”

Without responding, you pecked your lips onto Malakrey’s, leaving a faint tint of your lipstick on his lips. His eyes were widened as his mouth hung open, his cheeks getting even darker.

“Thank you so much,” He thanked, and gave you another kiss and a few others around your cheeks. “I love you, I love you, I love you-“

Malarkey repeated those words, and you let him cover your body with thousands of little kisses, just like you had counted the freckles, or you considered stars, all over his face and body.

Malakrey stopped to take a breather and looked at your face with total awe. You turned to him and put a hand on his cheek, simply looking at him. He was finally happy again, and you wanted to see him like this more.

“So, how does Astoria sound to you, Mrs. Malarkey?”

Malarkey was himself around you, and you were yourself around him. The two of you benefactores from each other's kindness and love.

“Astoria sounds great, Mister Malarkey.”

#band of brothers #donald malarkey #donald malarkey x reader #donald malarkey imagine #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers masterlist #carrie writes

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years ago

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the arrangement

summary: it is all clear and simple—until it isn’t.

word count: 6.6k+

warnings: sugar daddy relationship, age gap (john is ~35, reader is ~23), angst, language, innuendo, suggestive themes & moments (not 18+ but be mindful—probably more so than with anything i’ve written!)

a/n: for the sake of this fic, veronica et al. don’t exist. i refuse to write infidelity. okay i hope you enjoy because i am very upset about the cottagecore!brian fic that i wrote which was eaten unceremoniously by the monster living in this website. xoxo!

1986.

he doesn’t kiss you; you won’t let him.

it’s all a part of the minutiae of your arrangement. he has his rules: a shower before and after—sometimes together, but mostly alone; meetings out of the public eye, normally his london flat; no contact with his colleagues. you have your rules: no outside arrangements with other women (or men, for all you care); no spur-of-the-moment visits; and above all, no kissing.

he can—and does—have a field day with the curves and contours of your body whenever he gets the chance. his mouth knows your skin well, and you’d like to think you know his in a similar fashion. you know what it feels like to be touched and held and loved by him, but his lips have never so much as brushed yours, and you intend to keep it that way. it’s just a quirk, a bothersome little thing you carry with you to all of your arrangements. kissing is too intimate and, though you’ve been more than intimate with john, there’s a line in the concrete you are unwilling to cross. he respects that, so the arrangement works.

you like him. he’s charming and intelligent, thoughtful when it matters. he never forgets a date despite his busy schedule, and he seems to anticipate your moods, knowing just when to spoil you a little extra to ease the pain of a ruined portrait or sour customer. he supports your art endeavors, though you are firm about him staying away from your studio apartment. like kissing, it’s too intimate, too personal. he pays the rent, though, and is admittedly happy when you confess he has inspired a piece or two.

still, he’s confounding. there’s a pervading sadness about his person, even when he’s laughing. it runs deep—that sadness—and you can’t pinpoint the origin. you suspect he must be lonely even though he’s one of the world’s foremost musicians. why else would he dote on you endlessly? why else would he throw his hard-earned money at the feet of a girl too young to be his proper lover and too guarded to ever give him the chance at something real?

not that he’s tried to move the arrangement to something deeper. he hasn’t. for that alone, you’re more than content to stay with him. you’ve had strings of other arrangements before, but never one that’s lasted this long. it always falls apart eventually—unmet expectations, dangerous feelings, the unfortunate death. a year and a half with john is a long time, and you’re surprised he’s not bored with you yet. you’re surprised you aren’t bored with him.

but truly, he is kind and well-off—physically and monetarily—and so long as he’s keen to have you around, you’ll stick around. you aren’t complaining.

of all your arrangements, you like john richard deacon the most.

he’s been gone for some time, consumed by the magic tour and promoting the latest queen album. he’s tired, ready for a break, and when he calls you a week before his return, you can hear the shoulder-crushing weariness in his tone.

“i’m getting too old for this, [y/n],” he says.

his sigh is heavy, and it gives you pause. you hold still, the paintbrush between your fingers suspended in midair. you twist on your stool in discomfort. though you know your role—and you play it splendidly—there’s always a flare of uncertainty in the back of your mind when john muses personal.

you shift, cradling the telephone between your shoulder and your ear. “you’re only thirty-five, john,” you say after a moment. “hardly an old fart.”

“well, i feel one.” something crinkles over the line. “i think we’ll be on break for a good while after this. freddie is—” he sighs again. “when can i see you?”

you can’t help but smile. you dip your head to the side as you study the foot of the angel in your painting. there’s something not quite right, so you lift the corner of your smock and wipe away the top of her big toe.

you like it when your men are eager; it means they still intend on supplementing your income and leaving you fine gifts. as soon as the eagerness begins to fade, as soon as the meetings are less and less frequent, you know it’s time to look elsewhere. nearly two years later and john is more eager for an evening with you now than he was at the start. you have nothing to worry about.

“when do you get back?”

“thursday.”

“then you can see me thursday.”

he exhales in something that sounds a lot like relief. you bite your lip to keep from smiling wider. he’s wrapped so tight around your pinky; neither of you seem to care.

“good, good. i’ll bring you something from barcelona. what do you want?”

"hmm. surprise me.”

“you don’t like surprises.”

“you’re right. how about some of those fun little tiles? the colorful ones, y’know?” he hums in agreement. “i can put those in my kitchen.”

“tiles? my baby wants tiles?” he laughs, and you’re thankful for the thousands of miles between you. the affectionate term, spoken normally in jest, sends your thoughts straight to the gutter every time, loathe as you are to admit such a thing. “fine. tiles it is. see you thursday.”

“it’s a date, mr. deacon.” you pause then add, “get some rest, john. you sound knackered.”

“i am.”

“i’ll see you thursday, handsome.”

he says goodnight, wishes you sweet dreams, and hangs up. you drop the phone to its base and sit back, stretching your arms over your head.

the canvas before you is taller than it is wide—twenty-four by thirty-six. the customer, a repeater, requested something angelic and bright, a new addition to their marble villa in the south of greece. you’re happy to oblige, but you’re stuck on the bottom portion. should the angel be in flight? poised on a cliffside? in a garden? you know it doesn’t matter, that the buyer will be happy regardless, but it matters to you. each painting needs to tell a coherent story, and you like for that story to fit well with the piece’s ultimate home.

your mother says you are blessed with a gift by god. john says you have natural talent. you think you’re just good at copying. it’s not forgery; all of your paintings are as unique as they are original. still, you’re excellent at replicating dead-and-gone styles: renaissance, rococo, romantic, hell even the odd modern piece. whatever the customer wants, you can reproduce it for a fraction of the cost. your work pays handsomely, but averaging only one painting a year doesn’t pay all the bills that pile up on your kitchen island over the months. that’s where john comes in. it evens out in the end, with more than enough on the side to play with.

rising from your stool for a much needed break, you cross the concrete floor, the stone cool beneath your bare feet. the evening has gone drafty, so you shut one of the tall windows looking onto the side garden. you pick up your mail from beneath the flap on the front door and rifle through. nothing urgent, though there’s a letter from your mother. you tuck it to the side.

john would detest your studio if he ever saw it. it’s unfeeling, bare bones and vaulted ceilings and exposed beams. most of the open floor plan is used for your painting endeavors. there’s discarded portraits along the wall, a few untarnished canvases tucked in a corner. there’s a worktable that doubles as a kitchen table, and a cramped kitchen shoved beneath the loft which houses your bed and wardrobe. you don’t mind the gray walls and gray floors and metal and lack of personal touches. if anything, the simplicity allows your creativity to explode.

after a piece of jam and toast for supper, you return to your painting. the angel should be on a cliffside overlooking the sea, you decide; after all, her home will soon be greece. dipping your brush to the mixture of tan and dark brown you’ve been using for her skintone, you curl a leg beneath you and set to work. only this time, you struggle to keep the excited smile from your face.

john’s coming home. you missed the bastard—him and his money.

thursday evening you find yourself on john’s front stoop, fist poised to knock on the door. the dress beneath your coat is silky, like water against your skin. you feel underdressed for the turn of the season but you’re likely to be without clothing entirely within the hour so you grit your teeth against the chill on your legs. you clear your throat, adjust the curled ends of your hair, and knock on the door. the bottle of champagne in your hand grows heavy as you wait, and you finger the small string of diamonds around your neck.

john inhales through his nose sharply when he opens the door. “[y/n],” he breathes before sweeping you into a tight embrace.

you laugh, crushed against his chest, your arms snug around his shoulder. he smells clean, like soap and fresh tea. you lift your legs, giggling further as he spins you about the rowhouse foyer.

“okay, okay!” you squeal. “put me down!”

he drops you to the floor, your heels clicking against the hardwood. “let me take your coat,” he says, sliding behind you to remove your outer layer. you shimmy out of the garment and bite you lip on a smirk when he sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“like it?” you ask, twirling on the ball of your foot in a slow circle. your dress—pale pink, short and open in the back—leaves little to the imagination.

“you’re a sight for sore eyes, angel.”

he steps away from the coatrack to circle his arms around your waist. he settles his hands in the curve of your spine and drinks you in, his pupils expanding with appreciation. you preen under his gaze and rest your palms on his brightly patterned shirt. you never tire of this—no matter who your benefactor is. the glazed look in their eye when they see you wearing a necklace newly bought or sporting a handbag of your choice or simply pushed against their strength is intoxicating. you feel powerful and desirable and unstoppable all at once.

“missed you.” john lifts a hand to brush a lock of hair away from your face, and the gesture is decidedly intimate. it sends a chill down your spine, your mouth tightening. you know if this were any other relationship he would bend forward and capture your lips, marking you as his and erasing the weeks apart with a single touch. you know he’s fighting the urge to do so now; you can see it in the way his eyes flick to your mouth and hold there.

to ease his yearning, you wind your arms around his neck and squeeze him tight, curling your fingers in the base of his recently trimmed perm. you like the fluff; it’s quirky—like him. “missed you, john.” you kiss the corner of his jaw and pull away, trailing to the kitchen.

he’s hot on your heels.

lifting your rump onto the kitchen island, you cross your ankles and grin as he enters the room. “did you bring me my tiles?”

john blinks, as if he’s not sure what you’re talking about, but then recognition lights his eyes, and he snaps in remembrance. “ah yes, the tiles! hold on.” he slips into an adjoining room before returning with a brown box tied with a white ribbon. “here.”

you take the box, smile at him where he leans against the counter opposite you, and tear off the string. within the box there’s a small index card covered in john’s neat script. you lift it and meet his eyes again; there’s a faint blush on his cheeks as you read aloud.

“[y/n], i thought you deserved something better than a few titles. love, john.” lowering the card to your side, you push back the tissue paper to see a framed pencil sketch of a woman mid-gown fitting. the seamstress is crouched against the floor, her back to the viewer. the woman being fitted is twisted, glancing over her shoulder as the seamstress works, her reflection visible in an invisible mirror. you squint and push your nose to the corner then nearly drop the frame to the floor.

your head snaps up so fast it cracks. “john, you didn’t.”

he just beams, nodding.

tucked in the right hand corner of the sketch is the artist’s signature, a signature you know well. mary cassatt.

“got it in paris,” he explains. “thought you could use an original from your favorite.”

you brush your fingertip along the signature and feel the sting of tears beneath your eyelids. of all the gifts you been handed—holidays in rome, designer bags and jewelry, luxury rides to and from the city—this, this, is the best. part of you hates the sudden rush of emotion that spreads through your chest, but you allow the feeling to take hold, opening your arms to him. he steps between your legs, and you curl yourself around his body.

“thank you, john,” you whisper. your voice is muffled by the fabric of his shirt, but the way he presses his hand against your shoulder blade tells you he heard you loud and clear.

he hums against the crook of your neck. the vibrations tickle your throat, and you flush. you draw back, far enough to meet his gaze, but close enough to feel his breath against your face.

god, you could kiss him.

the thought strikes you like a bolt of lightning, and you resist the urge to gasp. you’ve never thought it before; the rule of no kissing is ingrained in you so deep the mere idea of breaking it sends you for a loop. but there he is—generous and gorgeous and yours. he knows you well, spoils you well, and all he asks is you entertain him in return.

how did you get to be so lucky?

clearing your throat, you brush past him to hop off the counter. you tug the hem of your dress down a smidgen and touch his shoulder. “want me to go shower?” you ask, cocking your head toward the bathroom.

he turns to face you and shakes his head. “no.” his arms are around you again, as if it pains him to keep his distance for a moment too long. you can feel it in the thrum of his heart against your ribcage. you swallow hard.

your brow pinches in a frown. “but you—”

his mouth is already tracing the lines of your neck, warm and wet and dizzying. he grips your hip, his fingertips pressing through the satin of your dress. “forget it, [y/n]. i’ve missed you,” he whispers, a tattoo on your skin. “come to bed.”

“but the sho—”

he pulls back and lifts a hand to grasp your chin. the touch is not angry, not possessive; it’s just firm. the words in your mouth dry up, and you meet his gaze with wide eyes. “i said forget it.”

you nod, mute.

his eyes lower to your mouth. his tongue darts out to swipe his lower lip.

he steps away, his fingers trailing down your arm until they circle your wrist. he leads you through the house, silent, until you reach the foot of his bed. moonlight washes through the open terrace doors. a misty rain drifts into the room, bringing with it a chill and a whisper of autumn.

you toe off your heels, run your finger down his grecian nose, over his straight jaw. there’s this feeling in your stomach, one you can’t quite place. it’s a mixture of contentment and nerves, joy and apprehension, all at once. it’s a foreign feeling, and there’s no time to dissect it as john leans close.

his nose nudges yours. “i missed you.”

you sigh, wistful, and pull him onto the bed.

come morning you are sated and sore. you groan through a stretch, curling your back like a cat as you adjust to the morning light. you slept well, better than you have in several weeks. you can’t be sure if the dreamless slumber was due to exertion from your evening activities or pure tranquility. you missed sleeping beside john; he has a comforting way about him, even in the throes of pleasure or sleep.

you turn your face to see john already wake, propped up against a pile of pillows. you grin and reach for him.

“morning,” you mumble on a yawn.

he blinks contentedly at you, a half-smile on his mouth, a lit cigarette between his fingers. “morning.”

“sleep well?”

he nods. “that was the most sleep i’ve gotten in weeks.”

with a chuckle, you pinch his bicep. “funny—i thought the same for myself.”

he pats the space beside him, and you shuffle to lie perpendicular to his body, your head on his bare chest. he drapes an arm across your torso, and you lift his hand to fiddle with his long fingers.

the terrace door is still open, allowing mid-morning warmth and the gentle hum of the street below to fill the room. you sigh and smile when john takes a drag of his cigarette and tilts his head to exhale in the opposite direction. he knows you hate the smoke, thoughtful boy.

when he turns back, he catches your eye, furrowing his brow as he studies the look on your face. “what?”

you shake your head. “nothing.”

he grunts, shifts a little lower along the pillows. “tell me about the paintings you’ve got going in that pretty head of yours.”

“just one for the moment—an angel near the sea. it’s for the olsons and their villa in greece.”

“olson? wasn’t he the one who bought that nudie fashioned after his wife?”

“precisely the one!”

john smirks. “how’d you feel if i had you paint something like that for me?”

you guffaw, flipping over onto your stomach to slap his breastbone. “john!”

he holds up his hands in surrender, though there’s a mischievous twinkle in his gray eyes. “oy! it’s just a thought!”

you huff. “continue like that and i won’t finish the painting i’ve started for you.”

he leans back against the pillows in surprise. his neck is contorted in the effort it takes to properly meet your eyes as he sits, and you poke the double-chin that’s popped up beneath his jaw. he swats your hand away, though his fingers wrap tight around your wrist. he presses his pointer finger against your pulse point.

“you’ve started a painting for me?”

“course i have. don’t sound so surprised.”

“what’s it of?”

you narrow your gaze. “don’t know if i should tell you. it’s supposed to be a birthday gift.”

“my birthday’s not for a while, [y/n].”

“my paintings take a while, john.”

he sighs, squeezes your wrist, lifts it to kiss the bone on the side of your hand. “tell me,” he mumbles, his mouth against your skin, eyes locked on yours.

on an inhale, you give in. “it’s victoria park. well, victoria park seventy-five years ago.”

his eyebrows rise, and his fingers tighten around your hand. “victoria park? my victoria park? from leicester?”

“where else, silly?”

he goes quiet.

the air in your lungs stills, and that funny feeling you had the night before flares in your stomach. you feel your jaw slacken as he rakes his gaze over you in such unabashed adoration it makes your gut twist. there’s an overwhelming desire to be near him, to feel him as you’ve never felt him before, rising like the tide, and you are pulled to it like a baby sea turtle searching for the safety of the ocean. it’s a natural pull, but you are determined to ignore it.

you sit up, brush a lock of hair behind your ear, and turn your back to him.

he runs his finger along the curve of your shoulderblades. you shiver.

sensing your discomfort, john sits straight in bed, the covers around his lap rustling with the movement. “you know,” he says, pulling on his cigarette again. “freddie would like one of your paintings.”

“what?” you look over your shoulder with a frown. “you told him about me?”

he shakes his head. “no, i just mean what you do is his style. he’d be thrilled to have something so… romantic.” he pauses and lifts a brow in question. “i could mention it to him, ask if he’d be interested?”

your frown deepens. this is not the john you know. john rarely speaks about his bandmates, preferring to keep his exploits with queen separate from your arrangement. when he does talk about his job, it’s normally a complaint here, a silly little story there. though you’ve been with him more than a year, you know more about his life before queen than his life during. he’s private, like you, and you respect that. it’s why your arrangement works: mutual respect for the other’s boundaries.

but there’s something different about him. you noted it the night before. first no shower. now suggesting he introduce you to freddie. it doesn’t make sense.

or maybe it does. maybe this is his way of shifting the relationship, subtly, under your nose, done before you realize what’s happened.

a thread of panic weaves itself around your spine.

“what’s this about? you’ve never wanted me to meet freddie before.”

he shrugs, playing innocent. “just an idea. we’re on break now, will be for some time. i figured meeting you would give freddie something to fuss over.”

“you know how i feel about my studio, john.”

“i know, i know. you like your privacy.”

john stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray on the bedside table then scoots closer, drawing you close with an arm around your waist. his mouth works idle patterns along your shoulder, the spot where your neck meets your back, the ticklish spot behind your ear.

you tighten your hold on his arm, your nails biting his skin. when you speak, your voice is but a whisper.

“i don’t want things to change.”

he stills, lifting his head from your skin. “sorry?”

“i said i don’t want things to change.” turning, you meet his eyes, nearly losing your breath in the process. he’s close; you can practically taste him on your lips. “what we have works. don’t you think?”

“’s just an idea, [y/n].”

ducking your head, you play with the hair on his arm. your heart squeezes tight. “i know. but i say yes now and tomorrow you’ll be…” you lift your face.

he seems to understand without needing you to finish the thought.

he untangles himself and swings his legs over the side of the bed. you watch his movements, stiff and irritated. he pulls on a pair of ratty joggers, rising from the bed to shut the terrace doors. you startle at the sound of glass rattling in the windowpanes.

“john, i—”

he cuts you off. there’s another cigarette between his fingers now. “better take a shower,” he quips. his eyes remain planted on the cigarette packet in his hands. he taps the thin stick against the cardboard several times before jamming it between his teeth. “you didn’t take one last night, and we wouldn’t want things to change, now would we?”

the door slams shut, the blast echoing in your empty stomach.

you don’t hear from john for a week and a half. it’s not uncommon, the length between visits. he’s busy, you’re busy. sometimes you can barely find time for yourself, let alone him. still, there’s no box of chocolates delivered to your doorstep, no flowers dropped off at an inopportune time.

there’s just silence.

it worries you at first, and you wonder if he’s dropped you like a hot potato. it wouldn’t be unheard of. one arrangement ended in a similar fashion, and you nearly lost your studio in the process. but john is better than that. he wouldn’t leave you on the verge of homelessness, would he? he cares about you too much to do such a thing.

your fears are assuaged when a bouquet of flowers does arrive one afternoon. you have paint smeared along your forehead, and your neck cracks as you stand to answer the doorbell, but the sight of sunflowers in a pretty blue vase erases all your uncertainties. the note tucked in the ramble of flowers makes you smile—sorry for being a dick. give me a call if you forgive me – j—and you tape it to your refrigerator.

john is still yours; you are still his.

you call him that night, and after reaffirming your boundaries, the phone call devolves into a mess of heavy breathing and whispered encouragements and sinful sorts of pleasure.

as you fall asleep, you’re struck by something he said in the hazy cloud of post-bliss: even if this is all you give me, i’m happy.

even if this is all you give me…

he wants more. how much you aren’t sure, but enough that you can’t fall asleep as readily as you normally do. frustrated, you slip from bed and finagle your way down the stairs to the kitchen. you warm a glass of milk and lean against the counter, sipping slowly. your eyes fall along the mary cassatt print, now housed on the kitchen wall above the vase of sunflowers. the milk in your stomach curdles.

john deacon loves you; and if you tarry any longer, you’ll be close to loving him, too.

the decision to call the arrangement off does not come lightly. you mull over it for days on end, even as a sliver of your heart warms to the idea of allowing john to love you as he pleases, of letting yourself love him back.

it’s all you can think about the next time you see him face-to-face. as he pours you a glass of wine and lays you out on the living room floor, your thoughts are elsewhere. when he takes you shopping for canvas frames, you let him hold your hand, but you can’t focus on what he’s saying about the best fit. even when he mentions your studio and you find yourself willing to invite him inside, you cannot shake the feeling that you are losing a part of yourself you will never regain.

but would it be so bad? giving in?

you’re interested in john, that much you will concede. he’s good and kind and generous and a hell of a good romp and you enjoy your time with him. but the stubborn part of you refuses to let go of your own autonomy. you will not become his plaything, his arm candy at all the queen functions he so dreads. you value your independence too much—the safety of your well-crafted walls—to be anything other than his dirty little secret.

you’re prepared to shove your concerns aside and continue on until john makes the decision for you. he gives freddie your studio address, and freddie shows up one morning unannounced. you invite him in, sketch out a painting over the worktable, smile when necessary, and ignore his wonderings about your connection to john but on the inside you’re reeling. you’re livid and you’re hurt.

you’ve never been hurt by one of your arrangements before.

after freddie leaves, john answers the telephone on the third ring. “hello?”

“we can’t see each other anymore,” you say, your voice firm.

he’s quiet for a moment. “i’m sorry—what?”

“you heard me, john. i’m calling it all off.”

“why on earth would you do that?”

unbidden, an answer rises to your mouth: because i think i like you as much as you like me and i’m scared.

with a harsh clearing of your throat, you instead say, “you sent freddie here. i told you not to do that.”

“he did what? no, [y/n], i didn’t send freddie to you.”

“then how else would he know who i am? my clients don’t run in his circles.”

panic laces the edge of john’s voice as he rushes to explain, but you grit your teeth against the sound. “i swear, angel, i didn’t tell him where you live. i might have told him about you, yeah, but he’s my best friend, and i needed some advice.” he hesitates, sucks in shaky breath. “don’t do this. don’t call it off.”

you swallow hard. for the first time in a long time, you feel a wash of tears over your eyes. “you want too much from me, john. i can’t give you what you want. i’m not the girl for that sort of life.”

“oh, baby, i—i’m sorry. i know i’ve been pushy lately but i—” he sighs. “god, i love you so dearly. i’d give you the world if you let me.”

at this you choke on a sob. surprised by the sound, you press a hand to your mouth.

oh god, you love him too. the feeling crashes over you like a wave, and you’re the sea turtle who has found the safety of the sea. john is your sea. he envelops you, carries you to safety and uncertainty all at once. but you know him—he will protect you, guide you, with everything he is and all that he has.

you love him, you love him, you love him.

but it’s not enough. it’s not supposed to go like this, and you both know it.

“i’m sorry, john,” you whisper. you didn’t remember that tears taste salty. “please don’t call me, okay?”

you hang up before you can hear his protests any further then you crawl into bed and weep.

several months pass. autumn fades into winter, and you grow colder by the day.

you’re stressed. you cut john off entirely, opening a separate bank account and shuffling your monies and generally working to disentangle him from your life. but no john means no stable income. you’re fine for the time being, your painting for the olsons paid for and gone; but you’ve taken to rushing your artwork now, allowing customers to sit for hastily and poorly arranged portraits with their dogs and children. the paintings are lovely, yes, but they’re not you. it pays the bills, though, so you can’t complain.

you continue on freddie’s painting. he paid you upfront, so you owe him that much. in the evenings, after shooing the last snot-nosed kid and yippy dog out of your home, you turn on the lamp above the canvas and return to the sort of art you yearn for day and night. the painting screams freddie mercury all over.

there’s a man, mustached and tan, draped against a purple chaise in the center of the canvas. he’s flanked by a tall gentleman with wiry hair who is focused on a globe in the corner. to the far right, two other men—one blond, one brunette—whisper amongst themselves. you realize, belatedly, that you are painting queen in some sort of ridiculous nineteenth century daydream. it makes you snort every time you sit down to work.

you struggle to capture john in the painting. you know his face better than you know your own. you dream of it every night and wake to an image of it every morning.

you love him. you miss him.

you’re not certain when you started loving him. maybe six months in when he took you to new york and the moma and the empire state building. maybe nine months in—your first christmas together—when he gifted you a song. maybe a year in when he confessed his deepest fears—fears of loneliness and isolation and an empty old age—and made you promise to stay by his side. maybe when he came back this last tour and you wanted to kiss him so badly it hurt to hold back.

you’ve never been in love. you don’t quite understand the way it works, but you know enough to know that you love him. perhaps you always will, your disco deaky, the thoughtful boy.

you finish freddie’s painting come the first of the year. it’s been four months without john, four months entirely on your own. you have no compunction to find another arrangement. no one could fill the shoes of john deacon even if they tried, and the idea doesn’t appeal to you like it once did. you’ll go it alone for a while and revel in the autonomy you so desire.

freddie invites you to dinner when you call and say the painting is ready, and you reluctantly go. you’re half afraid he’ll pull some trick and invite john as well, but he swears he’ll be on his best behavior. the night of the dinner, you dress warm and gently arrange the framed canvas in the boot of your car. after losing your way twice, you eventually find his house and park outside. jim helps you carry the painting through the tight gate and into the front parlor where freddie waits, hands clasped in excitement.

“oh, i could just piss myself i’m so thrilled!” freddie squeezes your shoulders when you unveil the completed work. “i look so divine, like bloody oscar wilde!”

the edges of a smile lift your mouth. “yes, divine indeed.”

“you are more talented than you know, [y/n],” freddie says. he boops the end of your nose. “you shouldn’t hide your talent.”

“i don’t! i sell my work.”

“yes, but you could be a star, darling. i could make you a star.”

“i don’t want to be a star, freddie.”

“then what do you want?”

you sigh, shrug, and curl your lips in a wry grin. “not sure anymore.”

“perhaps dinner will help you figure it out. come on, it’s ready and we don’t want it getting cold.”

you follow freddie to the dining room. what awaits you sends your blood running cold as the frost outside. john richard deacon, handsome as ever, sits at the table, a smoke in hand. he looks up when you enter, surprise painting his face at the sight of you bundled in a winter coat in his friend’s dining room.

you twist in the doorway. your fists tremble with rage. “fuck you, freddie!”

he cringes. “okay, i can explain. you just have to hear me out before you slit my throat.”

john rises to his feet. “[y/n]…”

you ignore him and keep your gaze on freddie. “you promised!”

freddie nods. “yes, i know, but you see it was my fault that this whole thing fell apart.”

at this, john turns his head. “what are you on about, fred?”

“well, when you told me about your relationship with [y/n]”–-he lowers his voice to a stage whisper, looking at you from the corner of his eye—“when you told me you loved her”—he returns to his normal voice—“i got very distracted by the idea of a painting of the four of us. so i ignored your issue and looked her up and then it all fell apart.”

john sucks in a deep breath, shaking his head. he runs a hand down his face, and you note the weariness etched along his eyes. “fuck, fred.”

“so, you see, it’s my fault. if i had just left well enough alone, you two might still be shagging like rabbits and spending all that hard-earned money instead of moping like a pair of silly-pants!” he sobers, his nose twitching. “i really am sorry. it was selfish of me.”

“freddie—” you start.

he shakes his head. “no! i won’t hear any excuses—not until you’ve made up.” a timer somewhere in the kitchen dings, and he snaps. “now… if you’ll excuse me…” he slips from the dining room, shutting the door behind him with a tell-tale click.

you look to the floor. you should get your winter boots polished. they’re horribly scuffed.

john speaks first. “you look good, [y/n].”

lifting your head, you scoff. “you always were a flatterer.”

“no, i mean it.”

you run your eyes over him and feel your heart trip. god, you missed him. “you look good, too.”

“what have you been doing?”

“oh, this and that. mostly painting portraits.”

“you hate portraits.”

“i know.”

outside, the cricks chirp loudly, but you wonder if john can heart the beating of your heart over the chorus of insects.

“[y/n], i—”

“john—”

he smirks. you look to your toes again.

“you go first,” he says.

lifting your head, you dare to step further into the room. you steel yourself, biting the inside of your tongue to keep from spilling your guts at his feet. “i was wrong, too.”

he cocks his head to the side in confusion. “what do you mean?”

it’s time, isn’t it? seeing him now... how could you ever live without him?

“i was foolish and stubborn and willful. i knew what i wanted, but ignored it for the sake of my own stupid ideals.” you step closer and catch a whiff of his cologne. it sends a thrill straight to your belly. “turns out i need people just as much as you do.”

“what are you saying?”

“i’m saying i was wrong to turn you away. i was scared. i’ve only ever known love with a price tag on it, never real love. not until you anyway. as complicated as it is, you have loved me better than anyone else, and i was blind to it for so long. and even when i wasn’t blind to it, i pushed you away. i’m sorry.”

he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing. “what—what are you saying?” he asks again.

“i’m saying i miss you and i’m a right git and i love you and i’m sorry.”

he reaches for you, his touch like fire on your wrist. “i shouldn’t have pushed you.”

you shake your head in disagreement. “i needed a good pushing. i didn’t realize how much i needed you until you were gone. and fuck all about the money. i don’t care about that. i needed you. i need you.”

john moves his hands to cup your face, his palms warm on your cool cheeks. he leans downs and presses his forehead to yours. you exhale, sure that if you open your eyes, if you move an inch, you will wake from whatever dream you inhabit. you don’t want this moment to end—him and you and no one else, all the possibility in the world stretching out before you.

“you don’t know what it means to hear you say that,” he whispers. “i would be content to love you silently, but, god, i love you.”

you laugh and open your eyes, blinking back tears. you pull away to meet his gaze. “even though i’m a stubborn fool?”

“i’m more stubborn and more foolish than you ever could be.” his thumbs work over the apple of your cheeks. “i love you,” he breathes.

“i love you.”

you grin. he matches your smile.

“kiss me,” you whisper.

his eyes widen, his mouth parting. “but—”

“it’s part of our new arrangement. you can kiss me whenever you like so long as you promise not to smoke in bed.”

“fuck. i—” he shakes his head, eyes fluttering shut. you lift a hand to his cheek, and his eyes open.

“i know. me too.”

he captures your mouth, the touch soft and everything you have waited to find, everything you have searched for in all the wrong places. he kisses you, holds you against his body, weaves his hand in your hair. he moves his lips in tandem with yours, and you feel like you’re floating.

he kisses you, and you are home.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #queen #queen fic #j writes #the arrangement

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thewatermelloncat · 4 years ago

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The Show Can’t Go On

Summary: With strict parents Rosé is subject to going to theatre rehearsal while sick. Denali thinks it’s a stupid idea and takes matters into her own hands.

Author’s Note: I originally didn’t plan on posting this because I sometimes feel like I write too many sickfics but some lovely people on AO3 encouraged me to write more.

Warnings: None

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

Being in the room feels uncomfortable. But Denali knows that no one there is as uncomfortable as Rosé. Which makes sense because it’s uncomfortable because of her.

Not that it’s her fault. The poor girl had taken the day off of school, struck down with a bad cold, only for her parents to bring her in after hours for theatre rehearsal.

There is no doubt that she should still be in bed, where she had texted Denali that she had wanted to stay as she was driven over. But her parents being very influential in the theatre community would have their daughter show up to every rehearsal, regardless of it only being a final read-through of the script – especially seeing that their daughter holds the lead role.

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

School rules state that any student on campus should wear their uniform but their teacher hadn’t disciplined her when she’d come in a little late bundled up in hoodie with a jacket thrown over.

Rosé had mumbled a hoarse apology as she made a beeline for a desk at the back of the room. Denali had been a little hurt by her not wanting to sit in the desk she’d saved next to her, but she understood why she’d want to sit alone.

“How are you feeling, Rosé?” Ms Visage had asked her. Rosé’s parents having called to let her know the situation.

“I’ll make it through” she had tried to smile convincingly but it hadn’t worked.

Ms Visage nodded but looked even less convinced than Rosé. Though she said no more on the subject. Rosé’s parents being promenient benefactors of the school’s theatre program, she didn’t find it in her best interest to speak out against their wishes.

From across the room Denali had flicked her what she had hoped to have been a welcoming smile since she hadn’t seen her all day, but it ended up being a tight-lipped smile of sympathy.

Rosé had tried to smile back at her as she pulled out a chair, it was no more convincing than her first. Her eyes sad and tired.

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

After Ms Visage had outlined the plan for the afternoon and answered questions, they got straight into it, flipping open the pages of their script.

The majority of the cast had memorised most of their script by now and just had them as a backstop in case they forgot. It was light hearted with people laughing when someone messed up their lines before they were encouraged to try again.

Though no one struggles as much with their lines as Rosé.

The girl who could recite a paragraph back to you after only reading it once wasn’t in the room that day. Denali could tell how out of sorts she was, reading most lines from the script despite having recited them to Denali flawlessly without prompt a couple of lunchtimes prior.

Her voice wasn’t so great either. Cracking and at times barely above a whisper before she cleared it behind a fist before continuing through her lines. Though the cast could understand her well enough if they read along the script as a guide while she said them.

“… that’s nothing to sneeze at” –

“Hmpt’chh!”

A cast member’s line is interrupted as Rosé stifles a sneeze between her thumb and forefinger.

“I’m so sorry” she smiles sheepishly as she sniffles against the back of her hand and the room laughs at the irony.

As the laughing continues, Rosé is passed a box of tissues handed over through the cast from Ms Visage’s desk. She nods appreciatively to the last person who handed them to her before taking a few and blowing her nose softly.

“We all right to continue?” Ms Visage calls out when the room is settled. Mostly directed at Rosé who nods.

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

Really, she wasn’t all right to continue.

From there it only got harder for her to deliver her lines effectively. Sneezing and congested breaths beginning to interrupt her almost constantly. Denali could tell she was getting frustrated as she was forced to stop her lines midsentence to regain her composure.

“Now that’s a deal that seems worth taking” – Rosé pauses to sniff into the back of her hand. “But I guess… but I guess” she repeats the line before her breath hitches and she turns into her elbow, “hih’chh!”

She sniffs as she turns back to the page, immediately starting to read again. “I’ll leave that up to you” she barely gets the line out before she turns away to sneeze again. “Heh’mph,…” she stays shielded behind an elbow, waiting, before she convulses forward again, “hih’tchh!”

“Do you need a minute, Rosé?” Ms Visage interrupts the read-through, concern in both voice and expression.

Rosé nods quickly before pushing herself out of her chair, muttering out a quiet “thank you” as she swiftly exits the room.

Denali’s stomach twists uncomfortably as the door closes behind her and it’s a few seconds before Ms Visage gets the cast back on track.

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

Three minutes and Denali’s final line for a while goes by and Rosé still hasn’t come back. Worry starts to sink deeper into Denali’s stomach as she fidgets her fingers while staring at the clock. After watching the second hand tick past another minute her eyes move over to meet Ms Visage’s and she is fixed with a particular look.

Denali nods as she knows it’s her go-ahead to follow after Rosé. Without a word she gets up from her desk and makes her way out the door to the bathroom down the hall where she knows Rosé will be.

“Rosé?” she calls out when she steps into the tiled room.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be out this long. I’ll be back in a minute” Rosé explains quickly, looking away from where she had been staring at her reflection in the mirror.

“Rosie” Denali’s sympathetic tone invalidates Rosé’s sentence as she shakes her head at her.

“Denali” Rosé reflects, turning toward her friend with a helpless expression.

“You’re so sick, Rosie” Denali points out although it’s obvious.

Part of Denali had expected Rosé to shake her head and deny it like her parents had taught her to do. So, it shocks her a little as Rosé shakes her head for an entirely different reason.

“I don’t want to do this” Rosé bites at her lip.

“You shouldn’t have to do this” Denali steps forward as tears well in Rosé’s eyes. She’d seldom seen her friend cry and knows that it’s the illness and exhaustion getting to her.

Rosé sniffles as she steps into Denali’s embrace. “I feel really horrible” she admits quietly next to Denali’s ear.

“I know” Denali runs a hand up and down her back to comfort her. “I know.”

Rosé sniffles again as a tear splashes onto Denali’s shoulder.

“Do you think your parents would pick you up if you called them?” Denali asks then pulls away when she feels Rosé shake her head.

“They have some networking thing over drinks that they’re going to” Rosé explains to Denali’s expression of confusion. “They’re going to pick me up on the way back.”

“Do you have a key?” Denali asks.

Rosé nods, brushing the remaining tears from her eyes.

“I’m going to take you home.”

“Denali, we need to stay and” – Rosé is quickly cut off.

“Rosé, you” Denali makes a point of announcing, “need to be in bed.”

Rosé opens her mouth to argue but instead of her introductory breath turning into words, she turns to sneeze heavily into an elbow. “Hih’ishchew!” it bends her double and sets her immediately coughing into her sleeve.

Denali fails to bite back a quiet moan of sympathy. “That just proves my point.”

Rosé says nothing but sniffles as she walks over to the paper towel dispenser and pulls one out to blow her nose. With it thrown in the bin, she leans both her hands on the counter top, closing her eyes and breathing exhaustedly.

“Come on, we’ll go tell Ms Visage” Denali steps up beside her, taking her by the arms.

Rosé sniffles again, not raising her eyes from the floor, and this time listens to Denali and lets her lead her along.

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

They step back into a near empty classroom, the rest of the cast let out for a brief intermission. When the door shuts behind them Ms Visage looks up from her desk and Rosé opens her mouth to speak but coughs behind her wrist instead.

“I’m going to take her home” Denali says before Rosé can try to speak again.

Ms Visage nods acceptingly and eyes Rosé worriedly.

“I’m sorry” Rosé rasps before sniffling, pushing both her hands into her pockets.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. You did well for even trying to come here today” Ms Visage dismisses. “I’ll call your parents and let them know that I sent you home.”

“Thank you” Rosé says appreciatively, knowing that her parents wouldn’t accept her going home for any other reason.

“Go get your things” Ms Visage sends her off.

Rosé nods with a thick swallow before she makes her way to pick up her script and clear the tissues off her desk. Meanwhile Ms Visage talks with Denali about what she needs to go over in the second half of the script, while Denali grabs her own things.

“I’ll see you tomorrow” Denali nods a goodbye, shouldering her bag.

“I’ll see you then” Ms Visage agrees as the two students make their way to the door. “Oh, and Rosé?” she calls out, making them both stop in their tracks. “I’ll give you an extension for the drama assessment next week. Make sure you get some rest.”

Rosé can’t think of any words to say but she smiles appreciatively with a nod before she and Denali step out the door.

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

“All set?” Denali turns toward Rosé in the passenger seat as she sticks the key in the ignition.

Rosé nods as she clicks her seatbelt in.

“Hold on, look at me” Denali instructs, noticing a growing flush on Rosé’s cheeks.

She does and Denali reaches out to place the backs of her fingers against her forehead. Making a sound of pity at the heat of her skin, “you have a fever.”

Rosé purses her lips in tight smile as she looks away again.

“Are you cold?”

“Little bit, yeah” Rosé says faintly as if she is just realising the fact.

Denali nods and adjusts the heating at the control panel. “I’ll have you home soon.”

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

“Here we are” Denali announces as she pulls up against the curb beside Rosé’s driveway.

Rosé inhales deeply, taking her head away from leaning against the window as Denali slows to a stop and activates the handbrake with finality.

“Home sweet home, yeah?” Denali tries to get a smile out of Rosé and it only just manages to work.

Rosé nods tiredly as she unbuckles her seatbelt and slides out of the car, pulling her keys out of her pocket. With a shaky grip it takes a few goes to insert them into the keyhole and by the time she’s done it, Denali has caught up with her from locking the car.

“How long until your parents get back?” Denali asks.

Rosé stops in the doorway, pulling out her phone to check the time. “Maybe an hour?” her last word is choked out in a cough before she covers some more into an elbow.

“Inside” Denali prompts, whether or not Rosé hears her or not. Taking her by the shoulders and guiding her through the entryway into the kitchen.

By the time they reach the bench, Rosé has regained her breath and moves off to fill a glass of water at the sink.

“Are you crashing in your room or on the couch?” Denali asks as Rosé tentatively sips the contents of the glass.

Mid-swallow, Rosé doesn’t verbalise an answer but she nods her head in the direction of the stairs, signalling to her room. As Rosé puts her glass down, her phone buzzes from the bench and she picks it up.

Habitually Denali’s eyes travel towards the sound but she only gets to read Mum before the good angle of the screen is gone. Then her eyes move to study Rosé, her expression dropping further, before she clicks the lock screen and it goes black as she puts the phone down.

“Denali?” Rosé asks hesitantly and Denali already thinks she knows where this is going. “Can you stay with me… just until they get back?”

“They not happy?” Denali doesn’t even have to guess.

Rosé shakes her head in confirmation, averting her eyes away from her.

Denali purses her lips sadly. Rosé’s parents were a strange kind of strict, lovely people but a bit hard on their daughter when they shouldn’t be. Over time they’d found that they were less so when Rosé had friends over, so Denali’s answer is a no brainer.

“Of course,” she accepts and Rosé smiles appreciatively. “Let’s get you to bed.”

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

She didn’t think they’d be angry, just disappointed, and she isn’t in the mood for a lecture. That is what Rosé had told Denali as she got her settled into bed and tucked beneath the covers. After that it hadn’t been long until she had drifted off to a fitful sleep, waking herself up coughing every now and again. While Denali had settled next to her atop the covers, reading a book that she had found lying at the end of the bed.

True to Rosé’s estimate it was around an hour before the sound of a car pulls into the driveway. At the covers moving beneath her, Denali looks down at Rosé beside her, eyes now open as she shifts nervously.

“It’ll be alright, Rosie” Denali assures her softly. “I’m right here.”

The words of reassurance seem to work as Rosé hums quietly and her eyelids slowly fall closed again. Though they don’t stay closed for long.

A minute later after the sound of footsteps stop climbing the stairs, the door pushes open and more light floods into the dimly lit room.

“Rosé?”

At the sound of her mother’s voice, Rosé opens her eyes and shifts her head to look at her standing in the doorway.

“I know you were worried about your voice not holding out, but you could have stayed to observe” and there is the tone of disappointment Rosé had been expecting.

Before Rosé can even think of a reply, coughs bubble up in her chest and she raises a fist out from her blankets to shield them behind. At her friend sounding so miserable, Denali places a hand comfortingly on her shoulder, tracing small circles with her thumb.

“Oh Denali, didn’t know you were coming over” Denali’s sudden movement is met with a tone of surprise.

“Hi, I’m not staying. Just until you got home” she says brightly before speeling off a partial truth, not taking her hand away from Rosé. “She really isn’t doing well so I wanted to make sure someone stayed with her. I’m surprised it took Ms Visage so long before she sent her home.”

At Denali’s words Rosé’s mother seems to reassess. “Why didn’t you tell us how bad you were feeling?”

“I did” the amount of bite in Rosé’s tone just breaches over subtle.

Her mother cocks a brow at the tone but moves onto address Denali quickly. “Did you want to stay for dinner? It’s a bit late but we’ve brought some back.”

“No, it’s okay” Denali dismisses, shuffling off the bed. “My mums got some waiting for me at home.”

“If you’re sure?”

“I am, but thank you” Denali smiles as she picks up her keys from Rosé’s draws.

“Nali, stay” Rosé begs weakly.

“I don’t want to be a hassle” Denali says hesitantly, but still places her keys back on the draws.

“We wouldn’t offer if we didn’t mean it” Rosé’s mother says and Denali smiles but bites back a laugh, knowing that Rosé would have been about to say the exact same thing.

“Text your mum and I’ll bring something up” the decision is finalised before Denali can speak and Rosé’s mother leaves back down the stairs.

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

Before Denali knows it, she’s holding a bowl of noodles, sitting cross-legged on the bed, making small talk with Rosé’s mum as she sits at the edge of the mattress. Waiting for the thermometer to beep so Rosé can finally get her dinner which she hadn’t been allowed until her temperature had been taken.

At the shrill tune the thermometer is taken from Rosé’s mouth before she can move and her mother announces “38.2°C.”

“It’s not bad” Rosé notes quietly.

“It’s still a fever, Rosé” her mother warns seriously. Raising a hand to her forehead before Rosé bats it away. “Alright, I’ll leave you alone” she relents before she stands and leaves the room.

“You wanna watch a movie?” Rosé asks Denali, not really in the mood for making conversation.

“Yeah” Denali says, reaching down to pick Rosé’s laptop off the floor beside the bed. “What one?”

“I don’t know, you choose.”

Denali nods as she types in Rosé’s password which she had told her awhile ago and she somehow still remembers. “This one?” she asks, hovering the mouse over a movie that she thinks they’ll both like.

Next to her Rosé nods and Denali presses play.

While the movie plays on the screen Denali has no problem quickly polishing off the rest of her dinner while Rosé slowly chips away at hers. When she’s done, she places her bowl on top of Denali’s on the bedside cabinet before leaning tiredly against Denali’s shoulder. Feeling her friend’s arm wrap around her.

“Sometimes I wonder if people in movies have brains?” Denali mentions after a character makes an obviously bad decision.

“Hmm” Rosé hums as she shifts to pull away from Denali, who won’t let her. “Denali, I’m gonna sneeze” Rosé warns and Denali finally lets her go.

“Hih’akshew, ik’shew... ik’sheww” Rosé directs into a handful of tissues she just had time to pull out from the box beside her. She sniffles congestedly before blowing her nose. “I’m sorry, this is so disgusting.”

“You’re sick, Rosie” Denali says, wrapping her arm back around her. “You can cough and sneeze as many times as you like.”

“Except I don’t like any of it” Rosé sniffles before they settle back into silence.

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

“Should we switch it off, Rosie?” Denali suggests, noticing Rose’s eyes fighting to stay open.

Rosé would have protested because the movie is nearly over but she knows she isn’t going to hold out much longer, so she nods instead.

Wordlessly, Denali stops the film and closes the laptop lid. Then helps Rosé pull the blankets over her shoulder as she settles down before hoping off the bed and grabbing her keys from the draws.

“Thanks for dropping me home, Nali” Rosé mumbles half into her pillow as Denali makes for the door.

“You know it’s not a problem” Denali stops walking for a second. A sympathetic smile appearing on her face as Rosé’s eyes slip closed. “Sleep well my Rosie.”

#rpdr #rpdr fanfiction #rpdr 13 #rosé #denali #fluff #sickfic #rosénali #rosenali

18 notes · View notes

cooliogirl101 · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! TLM is my favourite Bleach fic of ALL TIME and I wanted to say thank you so much for writing it!!! I’ve obsessively gone through the TLM tags and AUs and I’m still impressed and amazed by how awesome (and terrifying) Sayuri is. I love your writing style and how you really flesh out all of your OCs :D anyway, after going through all the tags I realized I still don’t know how Sayuri and Tousen’s first meeting went and why it makes Sayuri so terrifying?? If you don’t plan to write it (1/2)

(2/2) Can you still tell us how it goes? Also, what was the original direction you planned to take TLM? It seems Sayuri goes along with Aizen’s plans but what end did you have in mind before you abandoned it, and how were you going to get there? No pressure to answer but it’d be awesome to know :) Again thank you for sharing your awesome writing!! I love all your AUs

Thank you so much for sending me this message anon-- it really means a lot to me that even after all this time, people still remember and care about the characters I’ve created.

To be honest, I didn’t have a firm direction in mind when I started writing TLM. I just saw all these stories with positive character development, where the person in question becomes a better person throughout the course of the story, and thought to myself, hmm, what if I wrote an SIOC story where the MC just...heads in the opposite direction. An SIOC that starts off, all things considered, as a reasonably kind, decent, empathetic person and evolves into someone who commits atrocities without blinking an eye, all in the name of love, loyalty, and keeping her little brother safe (that being said, I did imagine a few scenarios where Sayuri ends up on the side of the ‘good guys’-- see my black king au).

Regarding her obtaining Tousen’s loyalty...well the story there doesn’t start with Sayuri and Tousen, per se. It actually starts with Tousen’s unnamed friend (who I’m going to call Yui).

Warnings: Psychological torture, suicide mention, manipulation

Yui, who saw Sayuri sitting by herself at lunch at the Academy (Sousuke was on a mission) and broke away from her group of friends just to keep her company. Yui, who loves drawing in a way Sayuri both misses and envies (for her, the act of drawing is forever tainted by the portraits of hundreds dead-- and no matter what people think of her, Sayuri has never delighted in death). Yui, who always keeps a bag of seeds on her to feed the crows that are a nuisance to everyone else. Yui, who seeks her out even after they both graduate and join different divisions. Yui, with her quiet kindness and soothing aura, like cool water on a feverish face.

Yui, who spoke passionately about creating a better world, who believed so fiercely in the inherent goodness of people. Yui, who was murdered by the man she loved.

Sayuri stares out the window, face as expressionless as always. Normally, the death of a high-ranking noble’s wife would have been news for weeks, if not months. The fact that Yui’s death has been hushed up, kept quiet to the point that only a select few outside the nobility even know about it, is as good as a confession.

She glances down at her newest portrait, lips tightening for the briefest second. Then she leaves to find her brother.

Tousen Kaname learns of his only friend’s death nearly a month after it happens. He makes it as far as the gates to Central 46 (demanding answers, justice, revenge) before he finds himself wrestled to the ground, arms wrenched behind him to the point of dislocation, face shoved into the dirt. He can’t breathe, can’t smell anything except dirt and dust and his own blood, but he struggles anyway, screams his rage and grief into the air, cries murderer! for all to hear.

“What are you doing? Stop,” a voice orders sharply, cold as frost. Kaname feels the guards around him freeze, even as the guard kneeling on his back shoves his face further into the dirt warningly.

“Aizen-sama,” one of the other guards says respectfully, almost reverently. “Don’t worry, we have the situation well under control. We were just about to escort the miscreant into a cell--”

“No need. I’ll take it from here,” the first voice says coolly. “Head back to your posts, you’re making a scene.”

“Aizen-sama, please, there’s no need to trouble yourself--”

“I’ll decide for myself what troubles me, thank you,” she says shortly. The next thing Kaname knows, a gentle hand is helping him up and he lurches forward, clinging to it.

“Please,” he says desperately. He doesn’t know who his savior is but judging by the respect-borderline-fear the guards had addressed her with, she had to be someone important. “Please, you have to-- my friend, she-- she’s dead, they killed her, and--please, you have to make them pay, you have to get justice for her, you hear me? She didn’t do anything, she was good and now she’s dead and-- and--”

“Calm down. Focus on me,” the voice-- Aizen-sama--orders, quiet but firm, as Kaname breaks off into a series of increasingly panicked breaths. He obeys, clinging to her voice and her hand like a lifeline, focusing on her aura-- like starlight, he can’t help but think. Cold and distant, but no less bright for it.

“Good,” Aizen-sama says quietly and Kaname feels his shoulders relax slightly. “Come with me. We’ll talk in private.”

It isn’t until Kaname finds himself sitting on an absurdly comfortable chair with a cup of tea in his hands, his wounds cleaned and bandaged, that his mysterious benefactor speaks up again.

“You’re Kaname, aren’t you?” She asks, causing him to stiffen. “Yui talked about you.”

Kaname swallows, gripping his cup tightly.

“You knew her?” He asks hoarsely.

“I did,” she replies. Her tone is unchanged from before, still as emotionless as ever, and yet--

Yui had once told Kaname that he was the most perceptive person she knew. He reaches out with his own spiritual energy-- feels the tiniest ripple in a sea of composure that speaks of a grief that mirrors his own-- and he knows, without a doubt, that no matter how much she might pretend otherwise, Aizen-sama had cared for Yui.

Which means that Kaname is no longer alone in his quest to find justice for his friend. He can’t deny the sheer, bone-crushing relief he feels at that.

“Then please. Don’t let them get away with this,” he begs. “She deserved-- deserves better. She deserves justice.”

There’s a long pause.

“A month,” Aizen-sama says finally. Kaname blinks.

“What?” He asks, confused.

“Give me a month,” she repeats. “Trust me, it won’t take longer than that.”

This is what the rest of the world sees:

A week after his wife’s death, Fukushima Akito stops going to the social events and parties he’s known for. Those who are close to him say he hasn’t been sleeping well, that he’s lost his appetite, that he’s been drinking more.

“It’s understandable. His wife just passed,” people say. “He’s just grieving.”

Two weeks in, the heir to the Fukushima Clan starts talking to himself, shouting at things that aren’t there, crying for his deceased wife to leave him alone. He refuses to see anyone, even his closest friends.

“He’ll come around. Give him time,” people say, a bit more worriedly this time.

Behind closed doors, the servants whisper as well.

“Gone mad with guilt, I imagine,” one murmurs.

“Serves him right,” another says. “Lady Yui deserved better.”

Eighteen days after Fukushima Yui’s death, he starts complaining about bruises appearing on his skin that no one else can see. Twenty-one days after, Akito shatters a mirror with his bare hands, continuing to pummel the shards until his father and three cousins pull him away. Twenty-five days after, his screams wake the entire household-- his servants come running only to find him clawing at his neck.

“It-- it won’t come off,” he gasps. “The noose. It won’t come off!”

At twenty-nine days, he breaks down and begs for Yui’s forgiveness.

Exactly thirty days after Lady Yui dies, his two best friends-- the heir of the Goto Clan and the heir of the Miyake Clan-- finally have enough and drag him out of the house.

“It’s not good for you, being cooped up in that house like that. No wonder you’ve been going crazy,” Miyake Kaede complains.

“Look, we’re taking you out to have a good time and there’s nothing you can do to convince us otherwise,” Goto Dai adds.

And at first, it seems to work. Once he leaves his house, it’s like a weight has been lifted off Fukushima Akito’s shoulders-- he begins to relax, he laughs for the first time in weeks. Then at 4 p.m., he pulls out his zanpakuto and slaughters both of his closest friends without warning.

At 4:13 p.m., Fukushima Akito takes his own life.

(“That was unusually brutal of you,” Sousuke comments, looking down at the carnage from a nearby rooftop. Sayuri was many things-- ruthless, efficient, merciless-- but rarely cruel.

“I suppose I was curious what it would take to destroy a person,” Sayuri says after a pause.

“And? Did you receive your answer?”

Sayuri hums.

“The thing is, Sousuke, if you want to hurt a man, you go after him. If you want to break him, you go after those he loves. But to shatter a man beyond repair...he has to tear down everything he loves himself,” she says slowly. “You saw Fukushima Akito’s face once he’d seen what he’d done, when the illusion fell away and he saw the bodies of his best friends in front of him-- there’s no coming back from that.”

“Did you predict that would happen? That he would end up killing himself?” Sousuke asks curiously.

“Does it matter?” Sayuri asks indifferently. “He was finished either way.”

Sousuke looks at her for a moment. There’s no joy on her face, no satisfaction or pride, simply the steadfast resoluteness of completing a job that wasn’t particularly enjoyable, but which had to be done.

“Sometimes,” he says slowly, “I think it was a good thing I ended up being the one with Kyouka Suigetsu as a zanpakuto, not you.”

He may have provided her the ability, but every single torment, every single nightmare Fukushima Akito suffered during the last month of his life? That had been all Sayuri.

Sayuri smiles wryly.

“No, instead I ended up with Shiroi Seiun. Is that better or worse?” She asks.)

One day later, Sayuri opens her front door to find Tousen Kaname standing outside her home. She’s mildly impressed, although not surprised, that he’s managed to track her down.

“How did you do it? He demands in lieu of a greeting.

Sayuri pauses for a moment, then steps aside to let him in.

“I won’t insult you by pretending I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says. “Fukushima Akito is dead. Is that not what you wanted?”

Kaname swallows.

“You killed him,” he says, voice shaking. Sayuri doesn’t bother to deny it-- she may not have been the one to strike the final blow, but she walked Fukushima Akito to his grave. “I...I should report you.”

“Then do it,” she says calmly. “If you truly believe I did something wrong, turn me in. I certainly won’t stop you.”

Kaname hesitates, looking torn.

“You...you won’t?” He asks uncertainly.

Sayuri takes a step closer to him-- watches him stiffen, sees him fight with himself not to retreat-- and brings his hand up to her heart, where her spiritual energy pulses the brightest.

“You’re a sensor, aren’t you?” She murmurs, leaning in so that her lips are by his ear. “You tell me. Am I lying to you right now?”

Kaname’s brow furrows as he focuses. Her spiritual energy is as calm as ever, no fluctuations or dips that might hint at a lie.

“Why?” He asks after a moment. “You say you won’t stop me if I choose to report you. Why?”

Sayuri studies him for a moment, the way he broadcasts his every emotion on his face for the world to see-- the naked vulnerability of someone who’d never learned to hide his expressions.

“Yui spoke of you, you know,” she says quietly. “The blind boy with the gentle heart, who shared her dream of creating a peaceful world. She trusted your judgement but more than that, she trusted that you would always do the right thing. I believed in Yui’s goodness and so I’ll believe in yours.” She lets his arm drop. “If you truly believe that what I did was wrong, that I shed unnecessary blood-- that what I did was unjust-- then by all means, turn me in to Central 46. Make me accept punishment. But if not...”

Kaname turns his head away.

“Was it really necessary to target his friends too?” He whispers.

Sayuri exhales.

“There were three main factors protecting Fukushima Akito. There was his own family, of course. However, although the Fukushima Clan is fairly powerful on its own, its true strength lies in its allies,” she states. “The Miyake Clan has two seats on Central 46. The Goto Clan has four. With those alliances in place, Fukushima Akito was untouchable. Now, however...” She tilts her head to the side. “By tomorrow, the entire Fukushima Clan will cease to exist. The Miyake and Goto Clans will make sure of that.”

She pauses.

“As for Miyake Kaede and Goto Dai...they chose to protect Fukushima Akito knowing full well what he was, what he’d done. They were not innocent.”

Kaname’s jaw clenches.

“Still, you...you could have gone through the courts, you could have--”

“And I would have gotten exactly as far as you did,” Sayuri interrupts sharply. “Spiritual power and political power are not the same, Kaname. I may have plenty of the former but in this world, the justice a person receives is decided by the latter. Yui died for no reason and the courts let her killer get away with it because his family was powerful, and he knew the right people. Me? I made sure those involved were punished for what they’d done,” she says, voice hardening. “For the crime of killing his wife, Fukushima Akito paid with his life. For the crime of betraying Fukushima Yui, a member of their family, the Fukushima Clan will be destroyed by their former allies. And for the crime of shielding a murderer, the Miyake and Goto Clans lost their heirs. Now tell me, is that not justice?”

Kaname swallows. He has no response to that.

“One thing you’ll learn, Kaname, is that the system fails,” Sayuri says after a moment’s pause, the anger in her voice replaced by something softer, tired. A deep sadness that makes something in Kaname’s chest ache. “Things slip through the cracks and all too often, it’s the innocents, the Yui’s of this world that pay for it, while their abusers, aided by the courts, go free. And when that happens, you have a question to ask yourself-- whose side are you going to take?”

“And you say I’m the manipulative one,” Sousuke’s voice comes from behind her, amused. “What do you call that then?”

“I didn’t lie to him,” Sayuri protests.

“Never said you did.” He pauses. “That boy...he’s blind.”

“Yes, he is,” Sayuri agrees. “Observant of you to notice.”

Sousuke laughs quietly.

“Always thinking ahead, aren’t you?” He asks, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “You think he’s worth the effort?”

Sayuri pauses.

“I think he has potential. Might even become captain, someday,” she says.

Sousuke’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh, really? Care to bet on it?” He asks slyly.

The corner of Sayuri’s mouth quirks up.

“Sure, I’ll take that bet.”

(Ironically, she caused herself to lose that bet.

“Oh sure, when Kaname achieves bankai but doesn’t want to be captain, everyone’s understanding about it. Me on the other hand, I’ve never released my bankai in my life, and yet when I ask to stay a lieutenant, I get Kyouraku shoving a captain’s haori in my direction and telling me to be at the captain’s meeting in 10 minutes. How is that fair?”

“No one believes that you haven’t attained bankai yet, Sayuri.”

“But it’s true.”

“It’s true that you’ve never released it, not that you haven’t attained it.”

“I would have thought you of all people would be on my side in this matter, Sousuke.”

“I prefer you as my equal, Sayuri, not my subordinate. I would have thought you, of all people, would know that by now.”)

#Anonymous #sorry this took so long #let me know what you guys think! man it's been a while since I've written anything for this #to love a monster #tlm

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fantranslatorbychoice · 5 years ago

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Oh glob, what have I gotten myself into? Just some long updates lol XD

Well, the year’s almost over, and it’s already the second half. The first half was too much and to be honest, I had to swim with the circumstances I am in right now so I had to put this passion non-profit project on hold, like seriously. But I did started translating the first few pages as early as December last year, as my very nice benefactor actually sent me the rest of the entire set of the Kakuriyo no Yadomeshi series after sending off the first 4 volumes. Probably read the entire thing first. But hey, free stuff is free so why complain. Plus my benefactor actually got the entire set for a steal, won’t say how much but in Amazon Japan, the last time I checked the whole set is roughly around $150 or a bit around that. and that’s just the first 7 volumes. Probably there’s an entire set now that’s about $200, as the final volume was released around August 2019.

Spoiler alert: the entire light novel series is made up of 10 volumes, so if you read it, the afterword by Yuuma-sensei specifically says that volume 10 is the final one, and Yuuma-sensei feels sad about it.

Yeah I highlighted that part in red, just in case many Kakuriyo fans still have some extreme hunger pangs or are unsure whether the novel series has ended. Here you go, straight from the horse’s mouth. Yuuma-sensei also has another Ayakashi light novel series, 浅草鬼嫁日記, roughly-translated to “Asakusa Wife from Hell Diaries”. Seems fun, they’re literally ogres - Oni living in the real world, like a reverse Kakuriyo thing. Who knows, maybe someday I can score that series too lol. The writer really likes Ayakashi, if it’s not that obvious yet 草草草草 yeah I write kusa lol oml I should stop... But returning to the Kakuriyo series.. I won’t spoil what happened lol but I will probably make a commentary on that once I get the translations up and running.

Which leads me to my next announcement:

I PLAN TO UPLOAD THE DIRECT TRANSLATIONS OF JUST THE INTERMISSIONS/INTERLUDES ( 幕間 ) AND THE AFTERWORDS (あとがき) OF EACH VOLUME.

Chapter 5 is the only complete and full English Translation that I will be uploading here, and the rest will be summarized versions of the chapters plus my translation notes and commentaries.

Bummer, right?

Well, to be honest, after starting my initial translations I ran into several issues which made me feel sucker-punched and added to the stuff I’m worried about:

Issues regarding plagiarism (either my stuff getting plagiarized or potentially being accused of it)

Translating everything actually takes too long, even for me (I’ll explain that later)

More serious issues like possible DMCA-ish complaints (won’t want my hardwork just getting flagged and killed)

Personal stuff piling up and affecting my momentum

To be honest, when I received the books, I was so excited to work with them and upload as much as I can. But lots of things happened one after another, plus the worldwide issue that we have right now, so doing fun stuff wasn’t at the front of my priorities. So at the moment, I am mostly offline, by necessity, like connection is slower and with data cap, so I mostly do my translations with whatever hardcopies of dictionaries that I have on hand, offline. It’s good and all since I can put my skills to the test, but it can be expected that not all of the words are available in the books so I still have to hook on Jisho just to find the missing words I need. So my stuff pretty much looks like this:

I could just take pictures of these and upload them here but the maximum number of pics that tumblr allows is 15, and good glob I have more than 15 pages of translated material. Plus, as you can see above, some parts are untranslated and I had to find them in Jisho once I get online, so right now I have about 50% word-processed with the raw parts cooked, and I only have 12 raw pages remaining to be cooked and hashed lol

Which leads me to my next issues: my slowness (yeah I have to surrender on my slowness) and my fears regarding plagiarism.

I actually only started doing these translations in full blast around 2 months ago, and eventually I had to slow down so I won’t get bogged down since I also do other stuff. But I found out that ploughing through it can get quite draining. I started thinking that fan-subbing and scanlating were easier because aside from working digitally, these were also mostly done in teams so work time gets cut. Well, those were the days lol But for this one, aside from flying solo, I had to use all of my offline resources a lot, like doing everything by hand. It finally broke me about half-way and I had to step away from it, like reaaaaally step away from it. I thought I could finish 50+ pages in a span of a week. Well, I wasn’t exactly wrong there, but I also had other stuff to do, and if I just read it like I would any book without having to do anything, it’s a done deal. But having to translate stuff was draining, I felt frustrated so it broke me. I have to write each page by hand, leave out the words I can’t find or don’t know, and move on to the next page until my body stops working. Rinse and repeat until I could finish about 10 pages and get on with the typesetting and completing the missing parts. That takes a while so I just do my best to be patient.

Then the thoughts of plagiarism popped in and out, like I started thinking how to ensure that my stuff doesn’t get stolen and reposted elsewhere, or worse, getting my site shut down because fan translations are ambiguously illegal, like fansubs and scanlations, and I think those were what got me the most, so I just gave up midway. I’d say ambiguously illegal because if a series or title wasn’t licensed elsewhere then translating it is a fair game. But if it’s already released as a translated version by publishers, then releasing a translated version is like labelled as stealing, even if it’s non-profit. Of course profiteering is the worst, some steal what others work hard for, that they did for free, and sell them off. Scumbags to the bone smh I do my best to be within the fair use thing since I understand how much effort is made in creating content, so at present I have just decided to just put up the intermissions and the afterwords because aside from these being only a few pages long, it’s less likely to get whacked. Plus it’s easier for my psyche to just sum up each chapter and add some comments on it so it won’t be taken down, plus I wont’ be too-attached so even if some nutjobs repost it elsewhere because some people are just unempathetic like that, at least I won’t be as resentful. Plus the afterwords are just so cute, Yuuma-sensei gives off an adorable and relatable vibe, so I feel like aside from just showing off her stories, I think she needs to get signal-boosted too, so people would have an idea on who wrote this hunger-inducing light novel series lol. I only started to pick up the whole thing again about a week ago, and I still wasn’t fast but at least I got to add at least 20 more pages translated, plus I started to type the first pages and add the missing words so at the very least, I felt some sort of achievement. It gave me some hope, and to be honest I have been doing this to maintain my sanity even for just a bit, so I guess I will do my best to bring Yuuma-sensei’s work out into the world. It’s a really good series, and it got animated into 2 seasons, plus the manga’s out, so that says a lot on how the series caught on. It can’t be denied that it’s a really engrossing series, so I don’t see any reason why this really good series should remain hidden. It probably has a lot of fans but aren’t being too attached into it because of language barriers, and even in my own way, I would like to bridge that gap. I mean, I may have slow internet that can only open mails in basic html but hey, this is the least I could do for the fandom. It’s not like I spew out doujin stuff or anything lol

OK, so summing up this long-ass update:

Chapter 5 - The Mysterious Capital Youto** - coming soon

Will just translate the intermissions and afterwords into English

English summaries of the chapters plus commentaries will be uploaded

Please don’t expect any fast uploads lol it’s not like I do ctrl+A into Google translate and slap it in here. Nothing against doing that but.. uhm, sometimes AI don’t get the nuances translated, and a lot gets lost in translation, so at best, anything done by some trash enthusiast, even noobs can still have some oomph in it that soulless beings can’t even top off. But hey, that’s just my opinion lol

So yeah, there you have it, a long update. Oh, and I changed the name of this blog because I have other raw stuff that I may be able to put here without any fear of being taken down because they’re in the public domain, so they’re all fair game since I don’t get any profit from them anyway and others may also appreciate them too. Hint: One is a series of Japanese classic fantasy short stories, the other one is a set of instructional manuals on how to write kana and kanji in ballpen and brushpens. They’re a bit lighter so once I get Chapter 5 up I’ll do them as soon as I get rested.

See you all later and thank you for stumbling in this blog. xoxoxo

#personal stuff #blog update #kakuriyo no yadomeshi #kakuriyo no yadomeshi spoilers #yuuma midori

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breanime · 6 years ago

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Judge of Character (Part Two)

Requested by @agentlingerie: Prequel, sequel, billy's pov, any one or all of the above for "Judge of Character". Although you could write anything for any one of your fics and I'd read it

*gif not mine*

Billy didn’t like this. He was sitting across from an accountant with his arms crossed with you at his side. You were nodding along at what the accountant was saying eagerly, and even in his annoyance Billy had to admit you were too cute. You were trying to open a bakery—an idea that he loved—but you were adamant about doing it on your own. Billy, of course, as your boyfriend, was completely against you taking out a loan and wanted to finance your business himself, but you wouldn’t allow it. So now he found himself sitting beside you at a bank, listening to some scumbag try to woo you with low interest rates.

“I think we can definitely make your dream a reality, Ms. Y/L/N,” the account said with a smile, “Your credit is impeccable, you have experience and success in the field, and you have a good head on your shoulders. Let me just check something with my boss, and I’ll be right back,” he said, getting up and excusing himself.

You turned to Billy, eyes bright and excited, and he felt himself melt a little at the uncontained excitement in your eyes. “Oh my god,” you whispered, even though the two of you were now alone in the office, “It’s happening!”

Billy licked his lips, grabbing one of the papers off of the desk and checking the figures. He wanted to be happy for you—and in a way, he was—but this whole process just seemed so unnecessary to him. He was your boyfriend; it was his job and privilege to support and provide for you, but you just wouldn’t let him. Billy had no doubt in his mind that you would be successful, but the way these loans were set up, you’d be paying them off for years to come—and Billy had plans for your upcoming years, plans that involved commitment and vows and a ring… “I don’t know about this, babe,” he started.

“Hey,” you interrupted, frowning at him, “You said you’d be supportive.”

“I’m trying to be,” he said—ready and willing to have this argument again, “But I’m telling you, you don’t need to do this—”

“—Billy…”

“—if you would just let me help you—”

“—I’m not—”

“—we could do this on our own.”

“Billy,” you said slowly, “We’ve talked about this. I don’t want to take your money. You’re just here to make sure I’m not being swindled—and I’m not. This guy is being really helpful.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, definitely not sulking, “He’s helping you into 30 years of debt…”

You sighed. “That just comes with the business,” you reasoned.

“Not if you have a benefactor providing the start-up money,” he said back.

“You’re my boyfriend,” you reminded him, “not my benefactor…Though I am so good, you should pay me,” you grinned.

Billy couldn’t help but smile back. You really were. Fuck, he was so head-over-heels in love with you, it would be scary if it wasn’t so incredible. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you, and more importantly, he knew there wasn’t anything you couldn’t do. Still, he couldn’t accept the fact that your dream of owning your own bakery would be mulled down with debt and loans and banks when he could make it so much easier for you if only you would let him.

“Come on,” you said, nudging his shoulder with your own, “Use that slightly scary judgement of yours—do you get a bad feeling from this guy?” You asked, referring to the accountant.

Billy put the paper back on the desk. The numbers were—technically—accurate, and the accountant was on the up and up, but… He still didn’t like it. “I’m not sure yet,” he answered honestly.

You rolled your eyes, and Billy was sure he was about to get yet another one of your speeches about why you had to do this on your own, when the door opened, and the accountant walked in followed by his boss…

…your ex-boyfriend Aaron.

Your eyes widened, and Aaron sneered at the sight of you. Billy, however, just laughed—he fucking knew there was something off about this place.

“Take a break,” Aaron said to the accountant, not looking away from you, “I’ll take it from here.” The accountant looked unsure, but exited his own office, leaving the three of you.

“I thought I was reading this wrong,” Aaron said, sitting at the desk and gesturing towards you with a copy of your application paper, “But nope; here you are. Here you both are.”

“If you can’t be professional about this—” you started.

“No, no, I can,” he assured you, glancing over at Billy—who was still smirking. “I just…I knew I’d get this opportunity; I just didn’t know it’d be so soon.” He licked his lips. “I’ve always regretted how things ended between us, Y/N…”

“Oh, you mean when you tried to get in a pissing contest with me and she punched you in the face?” Billy supplied.

Aaron took a breath, his lips twitching downward before turning back to you. “I know you and I were meant to be together,” he said, ignoring Billy, “I know this…distraction that you have going on here with Russo is temporary, and that we’ll end up together.”

Billy wasn’t smiling anymore.

“I looked this over,” Aaron went on, “Your business plan. It’s great. You know, I think we could even get the deposit down 12%, and between you and me, we could trim these interest rates, too…”

Billy felt himself grow tense. Who the fuck was he to talk like this? Like he was your partner, the one who would help you achieve your dreams?

“… And you know what? I bet we could even add in another loan for some extra conditioning,” Aaron went on.

“Actually,” you said, standing up, “That won’t be necessary. This—like us dating—was a huge waste of my time, your time, and Billy’s time.” You gathered your papers, and Billy watched you in awe. “Billy and I are going to do this on our own, and in the sense of being professional, let me just say, your accountant is very nice and was really helpful, and you can go to hell.” Billy grinned, standing up beside you. “And also, just so you know, no matter how many loans you try to offer me or how low you can get the interest rates, you will never be enough for me. You’ll never be Billy Russo.” You grabbed Billy’s hand, ready to leave, but stopped before you got to the door. You turned back, and Billy did with you, smirking at the look on Aaron’s face—shocked and embarrassed. “I love him, and he loves me, and he fucks me so good that I forget anything else except how to say his name.” Your smile was sugary sweet. “Have a nice day and don’t ever come to my shop!”

And with that, you led Billy out.

“So,” he said, laughing, “We’re doing this?”

Your answering smile rivaled the sun. You leaned up and kissed him. “We’re doing this,” you said back, “Me and you.”

“Me and you,” he repeated, liking the sound of it.

Later, after your bakery’s 6-month anniversary where you were interviewed by the Times for their front-page success story, Billy walked into the kitchen to see you cutting out the picture from the paper. He stood behind you, arms around your hips, and grinned at the picture: you standing proud in front of the shop, holding a plate of your famous beignet’s with an arm wrapped around Billy, dressed in a suit and smiling down at you like you hung the sun.

“You know we already have three copies of this, right?” He asked, kissing you on the cheek. There was one at your house, one framed and lamented in his office, and a third one blown up to near poster size proudly displayed behind the counter of the bakery. You’d also sent one to your parents, and Billy knew for a fact that Frank, the sentimental fool, had a crumpled copy of the story in his apartment, and Curtis had one in his office as well. “What’re you doing with this one?”

“Being petty,” you hummed, folding it up and sliding it in an envelope, “I’m sending it to Aaron—personal delivery.”

“Babe…” He started.

“Not by me,” you clarified, turning and pecking him on the lips, “By my new froster.” The doorbell rang, and you and Billy turned at the same time towards the door. “Ah, there he is.”

Billy followed you, curious, to the door, watching as you opened it to reveal the accountant from before, the one who worked for Aaron. Billy smirked as you greeted him. Only you, only his girl, would poach Aaron’s best man and take him for herself. He watched you hand him the letter.

“I thought you could deliver this with your resignation letter,” you said cheerfully.

“Yeah, no problem,” he said, nodding eagerly, “And—thank you again for this opportunity. You have no idea how hard it was to work for that prick.”

Billy laughed, and you turned to him with a grin. “See,” you said, “you’re not the only one who’s a good judge of character.”

*******************************************************************************************

Thanks for reading! Fun fact--the accountant may or may not have hidden a pile of human shit somewhere in Aaron’s office. I got this idea from an experience @banditthewriter had with a delusional ex, so thank you Bandit! Haha!

Taglist: @lexxierave @loveintheroyalfamily @suchatinyinfinity@fanfictionrecommendations-com @maxslime-blog @elanor-of-imladris@songforhema @lucielandss @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @themadhatter92@realduckvader @the-blind-assassin-12 @christinawxxx @anabella-baby @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @luminex3 @littlemermaidprobz @ashkuuuu@luckysstrikes @carlaangel86 @floralpeaceofmind @dylanobrusso@teacuplotus @iaintnofurry @thesumofmychoices @ymariejp @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @mrsjaxtellerfan @whovianayesha @holamor @drinix @rhabakoli @stories-you-wont-hear @king4thesirens @starkrobb @marauderskeeper @charlylama @thesandbeneathmytoes @miss-nerd95 @something-tofightfor @banditthewriter @binbons-is-theloml @thebabblingbookworm @khuangpu13

#Billy Russo x reader #billy russo imagine #the punisher imagine

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nobodyfamousposts · 6 years ago

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Send Me An Angel - Butterfly Marinette

Added a read more tag because I failed to realize just how long it would be.

At first, he hadn’t known what to think, much less how to respond.

It had been him on his own for so long. Fighting alone. Trying to mitigate the damage as much as possible. His supposed “other half” with the Ladybug Miraculous facing him from the other side of the battlefield, causing the destruction and harm that ironically he as the wielder of destruction was trying to stop. The city as a whole was against him, either under the belief HE was the villain or simply too fed up with the constant fighting to really want anything but for him to give up and make it stop.

Chat Noir was alone. He hadn’t thought being a hero would be like this. He had only been at it a short while and he had already been so…so tired.

Adrien hadn’t had hope of any help coming at that point. Which is what made it so surprising when it finally did, and not in the way he expected.

The first time it happened, he was falling towards the Seine from a particularly heavy blow that left his head reeling when help came in the form of a large hand.

His first thought was to wonder if someone got the number of that truck that hit him.

His second thought was “Okay, this is new.”

He was certainly wary of the giant golem-like creature that came out of nowhere, though had at least some appreciation that it had grabbed him before he could make contact with the cold and debilitating water.

He didn’t know what to expect. Was this a new enemy? Bad enough he had an overly lucky ladybug thief to hunt down, now he had to deal with monsters, too?

Except that this monster was surprisingly friendly. To him, at least. Harmonia, who had been slapped into a wall when she tried to charge at them, seemed to find him much less kind.

Had Chat been less out of it, he would have gone after her while she was recovering and gotten the earrings. Instead, the stone…thing set him down and tried to chase after her itself. Sadly, by the time he had made it to their battle, Harmonia was gone and Chat was left with the stone monster and—wait…was he bigger?

Chat managed to hold off a whimper, worrying about how he was going to deal with this now on top of everything.

It turned out he didn’t have to, as the monster actually vanished in a sudden flash of light and a flapping of wings, revealing a surprised and somewhat dazed human beneath.

To find out that monster was Ivan was a surprise. Not unwelcome, certainly. But like he’d said before: he really hadn’t known what to think. Not about this evil Ladybug wielder or the fact that one of his classmates turned into a monster to help him fight her.

Just…what happened? HOW had it happened? WHY?

He never was able to get an answer before his timer—and the approaching police—forced him to flee.

The whole thing was on the news that night. He watched, looking over every channel and any possible news source for any clue.

Plagg was surprisingly quiet. Contemplating. A far cry from the usual noisy and mischievous kwami he had come to know.

There was only one thing that stood out. An interview with Ivan after the fact to try to figure out what happened.

“An angel spoke to me.” Ivan told the reporter, nervously. “She…she said the city was in danger and asked for my help.”

And Adrien was still so confused. What did this mean? What was that monster? How was it Ivan? Why?

He had so many questions!

Was this another Miraculous wielder? Who was it? Were they on his side? Well yeah, it seemed that way since Ivan—as Stoneheart, apparently—had specifically come to his defense. But he couldn’t be sure if this was a good thing. It…seemed almost too good to be true.

Especially when there started being more of them. More people like Ivan dressed in interesting and unique outfits with all sorts of strange powers coming out of nowhere to flock to his side. No matter where he was or what situation he was in, someone would appear to help him at the call of an unknown person.

“The Lady”, they called her. They had become Champions on her behalf.

Alya Cesaire, the would-be reporter. He had avoided her previously since she had seemed like an avid Harmonia supporter. But she had come to his aid in the form of Lady Wifi. It might very well have been the closest they had gotten to retrieving the Ladybug earrings. And afterwards, her support and her entire website seemed to shift loyalties.

Nathaniel Kurtzberg was a shy, quiet boy often lost to his own art. But as the Illustrator, he brought his art to life in a way that even Harmonia couldn’t match. When it was over, he started making a comic about Illustrator as a hero, aiding the antihero Chat Noir on behalf of a mysterious “Lady” to protect the city.

Rose Lavillant once appeared as Princess Fragrance to defend him from a squadron of police at Harmonia’s command. Her goal had been the visiting Prince Ali, though for what purpose he didn’t really know. Luckily, he never had to find out, as Princess Fragrance helped turn the tables—and the officers as well as a few innocent bystanders—against Harmonia in what was…to be honest, the weirdest and most awkward way. But she protected Ali and helped him, so he couldn’t really help but feel grateful.

Even Chloe had helped out at one point, and that was saying something. Even if it was more in defense of her wardrobe than any real concern for him, but he was hardly about to refuse the help, even from an Anti-bug. Plus it was funny seeing Harmonia’s powers used against her for once.

Each time, they came to help him. Despite not knowing him. Despite the belief remaining in the city that he was the bad guy. Still they came to fight by his side (the way he’d long been wishing someone would).

He remained wary. Waiting for the moment they would turn on him. Watching and wondering when this mysterious benefactor would reveal her true colors.

But after each battle when Harmonia was forced away, the Lady took back her power and released her latest Champion. He’s kept an eye on them and for the most part has seen no foul play. Each Champion has gone back to his or her life as normal.

He couldn’t get a straight answer out of any of them afterwards. But each time, the story seemed to be the same.

“An angel spoke to me.”

“I could hear it! Her voice!”

“There was someone there…the Lady.”

“The Lady” or “angel”, they called her. Coming to the citizens in a time of need when the conflict over the Miraculous dragged them into danger he couldn’t protect them from, not for lack of trying.

Wow, he was just failing in every way, wasn’t he?

Still, there was a lingering aftereffect of their transformation. A strange devotion to this unknown Lady. He’d been worried it was almost cult-like for a while—because a cult was certainly the LAST thing he needed after all this thank you very much. Even if it was a helpful one focused on protecting him.

Except that the more he observed, the more he noticed things.

The way former Champions would nod to each other in passing, in silent acknowledgment of their shared status.

How they didn’t seem to need words to understand each other, now that there was a common link between them all.

How his classmates who had been chosen tended to interact more with one another than they had before, branching out of their original social circles and whispering together over a shared secret. How they took up for each other more. Even Chloe had shown this same attitude—while still having an attitude off-putting to many, the worst barbs were towards those who attempted to bother any of the other former Champions.

He couldn’t help but watch in confusion and amazement how they each seemed to both come together and spread apart—literally, with various former Champions making a point to be in different parts of the city at any time, ensuring that at least one of them would be in the area if and when Chat Noir needed aid.

And above all, it was in how HAPPY they were to do so.

In their expressions, he saw the joy they held in their self appointed duty and the hope that if needed, they can step forth again.

Mind control couldn’t really do that, as far as he could tell. And cults were more in the habit of tearing people down and isolating them, making any potential followers dependent on the group to function. But here, they were still going about their daily lives. Same routine. Same attitudes and personalities. Same level of concern for their loved ones and nothing different in their original relationships. There was just…more to it now.

That’s when he realized it. It wasn’t mind control or a cult—thank god, because that was quite frankly the last thing he needed right now.

It was pride.

As Champions, each and every one of those people had been given a chance and the ability to act. To help him. To protect their city. To do more for themselves and others—a type of self efficacy that for all his effort, he could not give them. He could protect them, defend them, and fight for them, but he couldn’t give them this level of involvement—not without risking great harm to them.

This other Miraculous user, however, could. And did. She—if the former Champions were to be believed—was acting in a way Chat Noir hadn’t even considered—involving other people not as simply bystanders but as an active part of the battles. Though he was uncertain of this plan at first, he could see that she was giving the populous the chance to fight back and do more in this ongoing conflict that they were unwittingly dragged into. Her powers let her give them strength and protect them. They, in turn, used that to help him and others.

And in doing so, they gained confidence and willingness to step up.

Because of this, not only did he have much appreciated extra helpers in battle, but the entire city was starting to support him. Trust him. Look out for him. Certainly more than they had when he first appeared, that was for sure.

He had noticed it more as time passed. There was less fear, less uncertainty from the people who saw him. Instead, there was a much more positive interaction than he’d gotten in the past. More awareness of his presence and acknowledgement of his good intentions. And as time went on, what awe there had been changed to almost friendly attachment and concern. He still found himself blushing and awkward in some of his encounters with civilians. Some store owners offering him wares in appreciation for his efforts. Teens and children who cheered when they saw him. Adults who smiled at him and nodded thanks. Even a few older ladies as well as a nice couple running a bakery who seemed convinced he needed to eat more and constantly tried to feed him whenever they had the chance.

He was…really rather touched. It was more affection than he’d gotten in quite a long time. He wasn’t even sure how to react half the time, and could merely smile and thank them quietly while trying not to get choked up as a warmth settled in his heart that had long since been missing. These were strangers, but they were all part of the same community—a community that wanted to help him and see him safe just as much as he wanted to protect them.

An entire city that had his back.

It was…kind of a lot to take in.

This certainly wasn’t something he’d had before when he was just starting out. And it wasn’t anything he could have possibly achieved on his own.

That made it all that much worse now that he’d failed in the one job he’d been given—the only job he should have been worried about: to protect the Black Cat Miraculous. He’d failed. It was gone, now in the hands of the user of the Ladybug Miraculous.

He was a disappointment. Not only had he failed his one duty, but also everyone in the city who had tried to support him all this time. All those people who had tried so hard to help him. This mysterious Lady who watched over him. So many people counting on him and he’d let them all down.

“How pathetic…” He muttered. Because he was. He had one job and couldn’t even manage it. And now, because of his weakness, he’d lost.

The ring was gone.

Plagg was gone.

And it was probably only a matter of time before who knows what happened and he couldn’t do a thing to stop it because he was completely helpless. So helpless and pathetic that he was sitting there on a rooftop he was now stuck on, moping to himself.

Some hero he turned out to be.

This was it. It was over. He had nothing left.

Nothing except…

“Angels, huh?”

His mother told him stories once about angels. That they were beings that came in moments of crisis. They could be benevolent guides or fierce warriors. But they were always there, especially in the worst of times.

Of course, those were just stories.

But…

“An angel talked to me!”

“The Lady asked me to help.”

“She believed in me when no one else did and gave me a chance.”

No. It was stupid.

…

Still…if it was true? And she was real?

“Well, whoever you are, Miss Angel, I sure could use your help right about now.”

He wasn’t expecting a response.

“I would hardly call myself an angel.”

Much less the one he got.

There was…someone there. He heard the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. He felt something brush against his wrist where a special charm gifted to him still rested. He saw an image of a girl in purples and violets—though whether it was real or only in his mind, he couldn’t be sure.

He was surprised, but hardly about to not take advantage of a perfect opportunity. Which is why instead of immediately falling to questioning this stranger, he grinned and winked at her instead.

“You could have fooled me. That voice of yours is certainly heavenly.”

Aww, she had the cutest little laugh!

He winced, remembering that oh yeah, still had injuries.

“You’re hurt!”

Adrien forced himself to smile as he pushed himself to his feet. “Not the worst I’ve felt, I assure you.”

He couldn’t see her expression, but he could tell she was frowning. “You should rest.”

She was really concerned for him, huh? A shame—maybe in less dire circumstances he could appreciate it more. He winced and couldn’t hide it this time.

“I can’t. Harmonia has the ring. She has Plagg.” He couldn’t just sit by and leave either in her hands. There was no telling what she’d do to them.

“You’re going after her? In this state?”

“I have to.”

Because there was no other choice. Not for him.

He smiled at her. “You know what it’s like, don’t you? You’ve been helping all this time. All those people.”

A breath.

“And me.”

He finally understood it now, or at least he thought he did. This feeling of helplessness. Powerless. Useless. Knowing something is wrong and being so completely incapable of doing anything about it.

“You never had to, but you did. You…gave them the chance to do something themselves.”

That was why they loved her. That was why they were proud.

“You…and they have done a lot for my sake already.”

“It’s the least of what we could do.” She replied, moving closer to him. “You had been doing so much. Trying so hard. There have been many people who wanted to try to help you in return.”

Oh wow. Was this what love felt like?

“You are worth it, Chat Noir. You do deserve it.” Don’t ever think otherwise.”

That…hurt and yet didn’t.

God, don’t start crying now, Agreste!

He wiped the tears anyway. “I don’t want to let any of you down.”

“You haven’t.” She assure him. “Even now, you’re still fighting, aren’t you?”

He was.

He couldn’t just do nothing.

“Will you go after her?”

He paused.

Would he?

The obvious answer was a loud resounding “YES”. Of course he wasn’t just going to let Harmonia get away with what she’d done! Of course he wouldn’t just let her accomplish whatever goal she had in mind.

But…what could he do without the Ring? Without Plagg?

“You shouldn’t go alone.”

There was a hand before him and he started in surprise. Looking up, he saw a flash of bluebell eyes and there was a sense that something was formed between them.

Contact.

A connection.

“Will you be my Champion?”

He hesitated, but only briefly.

If it was mind control…

Well, not like it mattered at this point. HE really had nothing left to lose.

“If you’re by my side, I think I can manage, M’lady.” He replied with a bow, giving a grin.

Yep. Gotta keep that suave hero persona. Because even after everything, he was still a hero.

To his surprise and not-so-secret amusement, he could tell she was blushing—he could almost feel it through the newly established link. He couldn’t fight the grin in response, or the desire to get more reactions like that out of her.

“Shall we dance?” He asked as he raised his hand out to her.

She smiled and though he knew she wasn’t really there, she still took his hand in hers. He felt the warmth and gentleness emanating from her touch almost as if she really were in front of him. From that feeling, he knew. He could trust her.

He DID trust her.

“Then until you can regain your Miraculous, Chat Blanc.”

A warmth settled in his heart—pleasant and heavy like a blanket as the butterfly’s power enveloped him. He was surrounded by a brilliant light and the feeling of hundreds of light wings kissing his skin. The light and feeling faded though the warmth of this new connection remained (and part of him hoped it would never leave). As he regained his bearings, he found himself where he had been and—with some relief—what he had been.

Well…maybe not exactly. The white version of his Chat Noir suit was new. But he could get used to it.

The newly christened Chat Blanc grinned as he still felt his Lady’s touch linger in his hand.

Yeah…he could definitely get used to this.

#ml au #butterfly marinette #chat noir #adrien agreste #kwami swap

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thunder-the-ranger-wolf · 5 years ago

Text

Flowers Flowers Everywhere (except for when it counts)

Well this is a long time coming! Originally planned as a thank you for the cards sent out by @scifigrl47, this is now a birthday present. You asked for Tony getting flowers and I really hope you like how that played out. Happy birthday!

One (Lady's Slipper, among others)

There were enough flowers to fill a shop scattered throughout the lobby. They’d been checked repeatedly for nefarious objects that might have accompanied them, and since there were none, they reached their intended destination without trouble. They started going home with employees, since they always showed up at Stark Industries.

It’d make a nice centerpiece, an HR representative mused as he snagged a pot on the way home after a long shift.

My wife absolutely adores these, a janitor recalled easily when she came in one day to find a particular bouquet she’d only seen in magazine cut-outs.

Some of them went to Tony himself, and Pepper had taken to wearing a different flower in her hair specifically to hear him groan whenever he saw her. It was their newest form of teasing and he loved it as much as she did.

Point being, they had no idea who was giving these flowers. Nobody did. Not the truck drivers who handled deliveries for the building, not the janitors or security guards who had to check each bouquet and clean up after them each nice. They just knew that the building smelled delectable and the flowers came fresh every day.

This first set were numerous bouquets in all colors and shapes. Some were rare and left alone, some were common and more than happy to leave with a coworker. But they were all thoroughly investigated to no end, and everyone was curious as to who could possibly send such a surprise.

Two (Coriander)

"This… whoever's doing this. It's possible they could be a rival.They might see you as an opponent." Steve wondered.

The super soldier left the tower for his early morning run and came back to a lobby full of white. It could have been mistaken for snow, the way petals floated through the air and coated every surface, but a storm had passed through a few days ago and snow wasn't quite on the menu. Rain, on the other hand…

Steve wondered if these flowers would survive a trip outside the building as he joined the security guards inspecting each bouquet. They had the process down, especially since JARVIS was on the case, but they were more than happy to have Captain America's help. Steve was glad to put his nose to good use, and while the flowers reeked, he couldn't detect any of the usual poisons he'd know of and the guards tested each petal they could get their hands on.

"Why a rival?" Pepper wondered.

"Coriander means hidden strength. Everyone knows that Tony is a genius. But what if whoever's doing this thinks the company as a whole is something to stand of its own accord?"

"SI has been standing of its own accord long before Tony or I were born." Pepper deadpanned.

"Oh yeah, definitely." Steve acknowledged, recalling several inventions he'd used during the war bearing the Stark name. "Never did get that flying car, but I guess that means whoever this is, they're new to the game. Scoping out their competition. I mean, SI isn't the only company in the news for this."

"Fair enough…" Pepper admitted. "Whatever they're doing, they best wrap this up. As soon as we figure out who they are, we'll be gunning for them."

"Thought you didn't do that anymore." Steve quipped cheerfully.

"Exceptions, Steve, exceptions. As it turns out, leaving the game doesn't mean burning all your bridges."

Pepper stalked towards the elevators and Steve waited a few minutes before he followed her. Crossing the CEO of anything wasn't a bright idea, but she'd been there long before Stark Industries made the switch to green energy. Clearly, that fire hadn't gone anywhere.

Three (Goldenrod)

Eventually, Tony found the flower shop they were coming from. It was maybe three and a half blocks from SI and it didn’t look all that fancy at all. If not for the logo, no one would know what they sold. A lot of the city was like that, and for good reason: There wasn’t enough space for big fancy signs everywhere and if you sold a good product, everyone would flock to you anyway.

The casier did not expect a billionaire to walk in.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark. She blurted out nervously.

“Good morning, Ms. Delian.” He offered smoothly, having barely glanced at her nametag. Sheila Delian had blonde hair and hazel eyes that went wider than a disco ball when she saw him.

“You must be coming in about the flower order, then. My boss expected someone from SI to send a cease-and-desist order, but we never thought it’d be you.”

“There won’t be a cease-and-desist order.” Tony determined. “Not yet, anyways. People like the flowers and there’s plenty of employees at the Tower. We could easily wait this buyer out.”

“But you want to find him.” Sheila confirmed. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? I don’t know how much help the shop can be.”

“Why’s that?”

“The order was sent in through our website through a series of prepaid cards. A different one for each order. And each order insisted on as many arrangements as we could allow per sendout."

"Do you know when the orders were placed?" Tony prompted calmly.

"Oh! That… that's definitely something I can look up. I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, it's just that this is the worst time for such a huge order, I-. Not your problem. Okay, first order came in on a Saturday, I remember that much. It can't have been long after the Spring festival. Everyone gets flowers around that time but this was all to one place-. Okay. February 13th is when the first order for Stark Industries came in."

"How much were they?"

"I can't tell you that. I'm sorry, sir. I'm close enough to losing my job as it is. All you have to do is say the word, I can get someone on the delivery team to spread the message that these flowers are unwanted."

"No need, and I'd rather not stir up anything with whoever's sending these. Thank you for all your help, Ms. Delian. I hope your day gets better."

Shelia nodded and offered the standard thanks as the bell that signaled his exit jangled overhead. He left behind three-hundred dollars in twenties and a goldenrod that she knew for a fact hadn't come from the store. He hadn't even browsed the aisles…

Sheila winced, wondering how this situation got so out of hand, and weaved the flower through her braids. Hopefully its message of encouragement and good fortune would rub off on her.

Four (blue and white Hydrangeas)

It got to be more than a bit ridiculous a few days later, when Security had to go through dozens of notes attached to as many bouquets. All of them were addressed to Tony and each of them were different in some way shape or form. One group of notes was sweet, describing how the flowers smelled and a picnic they'd be good for. Another involved promises of Tony's favorite foods not long after. What made the employees of SI suspicious is that these were foods he actually liked as opposed to something snagged from an interview or a passing remark. Tony has eaten countless meals in front of countless people, so someone was bound to get some of his favorite foods right. But the fact was that many articles in the genius behind SI involved false information or caricatures of who the man actually was. He allowed it in the name of privacy, and it would definitely help narrow down the pool of suspects.

The thing is, it wasn't unusual to find a flower shop bogged down with orders around Valentine's day. The person who'd done this was arrogant enough to wait until the day before and wealthy enough to ensure their orders got through. But considering the date it encompassed, these mystery bouquets weren't very appreciated.

This particular set wasn't exactly his favorite flower. Some of his employees took them home but at the end of the day, he was left with an array of blue and white hydrangeas. A quick search revealed that they supposedly meant frigidity, apology, boasting, and bragging. Tony didn't really know what to make of that. Boasting sounded less like someone's well-wishes and more like he was being played. If this fucked wanted to apologize, the best way to do so would be to quit with the godforsaken flowers and perhaps explain all this. Bit of a stretch, considering this had been going on for a few weeks, but it would have been nice.

Five (Golden Tulips)

They stopped the day after Tony visited the shop and everyone let out a breath they didn't know they were holding.

Nothing was poisonous, nothing was hidden in the notes, nothing about these flowers were dangerous save for the mysterious benefactor.

Plenty of names had been struck from the list. Fans had been contacted, employees vetted, colleagues grilled, to little avail. The answer came one dreary afternoon during a briefing on the Avengers' latest foe.

"You mean to tell me that you still haven't said anything?" Natasha Romanoff was positively whining as she draped herself over a stoic and rather annoyed Steve Rogers. "I thought that big flower show was yours!"

"What? God, no! I heard that was all over the news, but c'mon, Romanoff, where would I get that kind of money? Besides, how could you go wrong with some chocolate and maybe a sketch or two."

"Gonna draw him like one of your French girls, Rogers?" Clint crooned.

"I hate you. I am actually going to take those arrows and snap them all over my knee like a bundle of sticks. I'll strangle you with your own bow for good measure!" Steve snapped.

"Ooooo, someone's touchy!" Natasha snickered. "If you would just tell him-!"

"Whatever it is, it better not involve flowers." Tony deadpanned as he stalked into the room.

"How do you even know what he's talking about?" Clint whined. "You're a genius, not omniscient!"

"I don't. Never said it was me you were talking about, just that I don't want to hear about flowers."

"Unfortunately, you're going to have to." Fury announced with his usual grim look and annoyed drawl. "It's safe to say that Stark Industries has been the victim of an elaborate scheme made by our next villain, but they're not the only ones taking a fall. And I'm pretty sure they got the nicer end of the spectrum."

The wall behind Fury's head parted to reveal a screen full of pictures. Several boxes of chocolates, hundreds of teddy bears, and about as many flowers that Tony could stand were shown in various places.

"Some people got by the chocolates, others had their roses grow far beyond their measure. This was done to a number of major American companies with no true connection to each other. Some employers got away scot-free, like SI and Van Dyne's fashion empire, but others weren't so lucky. This villain calls himself Cupid-."

"Cupid?!" Tony spluttered. "Like the little baby angel guy that shoots arrows at the people they think should fall in love?!"

"That's what this particular pest is calling himself. Only instead of arrows, he's been sending flowers and chocolates and teddy bears to those who prove their worth or earn his ire. SI seems to have proven their worth somehow."

"That doesn't explain everything." Tony noted. "There were notes attached to each bouquet. They had many of my personal favorites, things that few people would know about me. Some things about my employees and those I'd consider respectable colleagues. If any of them are in the line of fire, whatever arbitrary standards he's using to judge us might not apply to them."

"Which is why this unmasking this villain is so crucial. The only reason this isn't considered a form of biological warfare is because no one's died from it yet."

"Who else is in on this? And what can the Avengers' do?"

"As a team? Nothing. We'll need your various individual skillsets. As for who's on this, all the usual suspects, Stark. The CDC Shou be contacting you for a sample of the flowers at some point."

"Alright. And what's this Cupid guy's aim?"

"We're not sure yet. We're hoping you can weigh in on a few comparisons we have so far."

"Alright," Tony exhaled roughly. "Fucking Cupid. Like I need another reason to hate February."

"That's what we've got so far. You all will be contacted by the members of this task force who can best use your services."

Fury left the room without saying anything further, which didn't give the Avengers much incentive to stick around.

"Hey, Tony," Steve caught his partner's arm when the genius passed him heading for the front door.

"Hey, Steve," Tony parrotted. "Got any ideas for all this?"

"I've told what I can. But this isn't the weirdest villain we've come up against, I don't think."

"Just the most annoying. It's a good thing I'm not allergic to flowers, because this past week has already been hell." Tony scoffed, stalking out the door and down the hall.

"I can only imagine." Steve snorted, keeping up easily. "But, uh since flowers, chocolates, and all that stuff is probably way out of bounds for now, what do you say we just go out for dinner?"

"Dinner sounds like the best idea I've heard all day. You gonna cook or should I break out my best disguise?"

"Don't raid the costume department just yet, we could just order in." Steve drawled.

"Depends. Like I said, it's been a long week. I get to be picky."

"I'll make it up to you at some point. Technically there's a bouquet of golden tulips that have been sitting in the fridge since the 2nd, but if you're sick of flowers…"

"I figured you'd have something planned out. And I'll have you know that I love receiving flowers. When I know who they're from."

"Well, at least these weren't… tampered with."

"Yeah, at least the fucker deemed my company worthy." Tony grumbled darkly. "Say, what'd the spies get onto you about?"

"This is so dumb. I absolutely hate them and they ruin everything."

"Okay, now I've got to know. You're keeping something from me and clearly it's on purpose!" Tony crowed, eyes bright with the eagerness of solving at least one mystery.

"I was going to ask you later. I wanted to do this properly."

"C'mon, Steve, we can still do it properly. I'd just know what it is."

"Yeah," Steve grumbled. "And the surprise is gone."

"Well, lemme at it. I'm sure I'll like it no matter what."

Steve rolled his eyes and dug around in his pocket to reveal a small black square nestled in his palm.

Steve stopped when Tony did, and the shorter man gaped at the box that had been shuffled into his hands.

"Open it." Steve groused after a few moments.

Tony did so without question and when he saw what was inside, he buried his face in Steve's shoulder.

"You know what my answer is." He mumbled.

"Yep. Would have been nice to do it elsewhere. Quieter, perhaps. And in private." Steve drawled as the pair entered the mess hall full of employees.

"Them's the breaks." Tony snickered, giving his now-fiance the box. "I'm sorry your surprise got ruined, though I must say I'm looking forward to that dinner a lot more."

Steve slipped the black square back into his pocket and rubbed one of Tony's hands between his own.

"There's that." Steve grumbled. "And there will be more flowers after all this. Proper ones."

"Maybe hold off on those for, like, a year or two." Tony scoffed. "If I never see another petal it'll be too soon."

"This guy didn't ruin the golden ones." Steve offered. "You love golden flowers."

"The ones that mean well, sure. I guess we've still got that."

The ride to the Tower was about as long as it always was, but Steve might as well have given him all the golden tulips he could carry with how pleased Tony was. Steve's goal was to keep that look on his face from as long as they lived.

#tony stark #steve rogers #pepper potts #clint barton #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #thunder attempts to write

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lubdubsworld · 7 years ago

Text

Give me some Sugar ( Daddy)

Warnings ; Adult Content.

Jimin xOC / 19+

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

The club that jimin asked me to come to was somewhere in the deeper streets of Hongdae, tucked in between a tattoo parlor and a fine dining restaurant , with the entrance small and unassuming, leading down a flight of stairs to a bigger , glamorous doorway. The inside of the hallway, leading deeper into the club was lit with strobe lights and a bunch of people stood around , girls in tiny skirts and fitting blouses, men in black leather and with piercings glinting .

I wasn’t particularly intimidated , but the scent of sweaty bodies and cheap smoke made me retch a little bit , as i followed the tall bouncer who had offered to take me to Jimin. We walked a few more minutes, past a couple of dance floors and then into another hallway, this one more deserted and lit more demurely, tones of red and gold lighting up bits of the passageway and throwing other parts into sharp darkness.

The stairs opened into a lounge, which was worlds away from the messy confusion downstairs , done up in gold and yellow with mild , soothing jazz music and dozens of well-dressed beautiful patrons. I felt suddenly relieved that I’d picked a relatively nice dress, turquoise blue with an uneven hem and a wrap around bodice . I’d borrowed it from Seulgi ages ago and she had refused to take it back, saying something along the lines of ‘ ugh...i hate that color just keep it will you?’ .

It was probably her way of being generous without acting like a good person.

I caught sight of Jimin even before the man next to me pointed him out. Jimin sat in an enclosed booth, tucked away in a corner of the loungue and he stood up the moment he saw me, hand reaching up to run through his hair as he offered me a bright smile.

He was so attractive it made my lips wobble.

“How did you get here?” He said with a bright smile, after pulling the chair out for me and i stared at him for a second, suddenly aware that he was a lot taller than i remembered.

“Uh.. I.. uh.. walked? i mean from the bus stop. I took the bus and then i got down at the bus stop and ..yeah.. i walked here.” i laughed nervously , mentally kicking myself for forgetting how to formulate words.

Jimin didn’t comment on my word -vomit and instead he just. very casually brushed the hair away from the nape of my neck and kissed the edge of my cheek.

“ I’m sorry if it was a long commute. i wanted to send someone to pick you up but i wasn’t sure if it would make you uncomfortable” . He smiled again, drawing back, seemingly un-bothered by the fact that his kiss had wiped my brain clean of all thoughts.

“Oh..uh. Thanks.” I said , sitting down with my heart thudding around in my ribcage.

“And before i forget.. here you go... “ He slid my phone across the table and i grabbed it quickly, slipping it into my purse.

“Thank you so much..i’m so sorry for being a bother...honestly.. and Jimin ssi... about what you said.. i don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Let’s have dinner first, Y/N and then we can talk about...other things. this place serves really good continental stuff and I’m actually friends with the chef... Would you like me to order for you?” He smiled, reaching out and touching the back of my palm.

“Yes, please.”

“Excellent.”

I stared around the dining area some more while Jimin called the waiter over and ordered food and wine. Once he was done, he laughed a little and gave me an abashed look, ducking his head down.

“You probably think i’m being a bit too pretentious...bringing you out here ...” He said softly. “ i actually prefer less fancy places in general but i thought this would give us some privacy...”

i didn’t say anything feeling jittery and nervous.

“So, uh.. tell me about yourself, Y/N...”

“Me? uh... I’m actually a creative English major and I have a minor in interior designing as well.... I have a sister and mother and i work quite a lot of odd jobs. “i laughed awkwardly.

He nodded thoughtfully.

“I’m assuming you’re running low on cash then...” He said sounding vaguely sympathetic.

“Uh..yeah..that’s kind of a problem because , there’s this academy that my sister is trying to get into. a Ballet school. And well, i need to pay them a lot of money upfront...”

I stopped, not sure why it was so easy to just blurt this information out to him. It was stup;id but for some reason, Jimin didn’t feel like a stranger, at all.

“I understand. Have you done this thing before? With other men?”

I briefly considered lying.

“No.” I admitted after a few seconds. “ No, i haven’t.”

He hummed a bit thoughtfully.

“I figured as much. Have you changed your mind about doing it ? Or are you still looking to find a... benefactor?”

I flinched.

“jimin ssi...”

“I’m only asking because i don’t want to force you into anything you’re not interested in. If you tell me that you’ve given up on getting yourself a rich guy, I’ll back off. For real.” He held both his palms up, multiple rings glinting in the dusky glow of the restaurant.

I stared at him.

“And what if I want a guy but not you.” i said bluntly.

Jimin raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sure I can find myself another girl.”

Chastised, i looked down at my knees.

“it’s just...” i stopped, before taking a deep breath. “ You’re really famous. i don’t want to get into any trouble.”

Jimin gave me an even look.

“i’ll protect you. I can promise you that.”

I felt my heart turn over at the phrase.

“Jimin ssi...”

“i mean it. Honestly, what i’m looking for isn’t just something...physical. i wouldn’t be pursuing you if it were. I need someone i can be friends with. Someone i can have dinners with, someone i can talk to and generally have a relationship with.... And i felt that connection with you.... You and i... we could be good together... i can feel it in my bones, Y/N. that’s why i want you to give this a chance.”

“A realtionship?” i said confused.

He hesitated before staring down at his glass.

“Well, certain aspects of a relationship. Without the emotional baggage. Sex, companionship, laughter and good times. Without any drama or unnecessary feelings involved.”

I stared at him, feeling like i was getting in way over my head. i couldn’t quite understand what he meant.

“I’ll be your boyfriend. We’ll be lovers. I’ll introduce you to my friends. We’ll all hang out together. i want all of it.” He said softly.

i want all of it.

there was something off about that phrase. But before i could ponder on his words, he was reaching out and lightly gripping my palm. his fingers felt smooth and warm around my own, the blunt tips tracing heated circles on my skin , the gesture arousing in a way that was unfair.

“I like you. A lot. I know a lot of really good Dance companies. I’ll get your sister into the best one, i promise. in fact, I’m going to do that, even if you refuse me. I looked her up , you know. She really is good. She deserves a spot in any of those Academies.” He said warmly.

i looked her up...

He had looked her up?! Why....

“I... I’m still not sure how...”

“I have a proper contract for us to sign. I have it with me right now and if you like, we can go over it at my apartment. Well, technically our apartment , if you agree to the terms .”

I squeaked in disbelief.

“our apartment?”

he shrugged.

“It wouldn’t be practical for us to live miles away from each other. I’d rather we co habit. It would be easier for me especially, seeing as i have a jam packed schedule. i’d like to be able to see you anytime i’m home.” He smiled widely and I blushed harder. Why one earth was he so charming? and why was it working so well on me?

why did this whole thing sound appealing , rather than outrageous. What on earth was wrong with me?!

“So, you want me to move in with you?” I said, throat dry.

“Yes. I have a personal chauffeur who can drop you off at college and then pick you back up. So you don’t have to worry about that.”

College had been the last of my worries.

“Okay... i mean... I’d like to hear more about this contract.” i said softly.

He hummed.

“Of course. Hang on, i’ll pay the bill and then we can drive down home.”

Home.

oh, God, what was i getting myself into.

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

“it’s not much but i think it should be fine for just the two of us...” Jimin said casually holding the door open and i stepped into a wide , open-plan apartment with beautiful blue and white inetriors. The place was rather impersonal but it looked cozy as well.

“it’s beautiful.” I said honestly and jimin smiled in obvious relief.

“i wanted to come pick a nice place out with you, you know after you agreed but then i saw this place and i really didn’t want to risk losing it...” He said apologetically and I smiled weakly.

“That’s alright... it’s really nice.” I said awkwardly.

“We can still go pick out some paintings and other stuff, together. if you like. I don’t know a lot about interior decoration and stuff but you mentioned you were majoring in it...so you can try and decorate this place. If you like...” He offered and I nodded absently, trailing my fingers over the back of the couch. everything looked so beautiful.

“This here’s the bedroom.” he held a door open. I didn’t think too much, walking over to peer into the room, taking note of the plain pale blue walls and the satin sheets on the huge bed.

He moved to pull the curtains open and i felt my eyes go wide as i noticed that it overlooked the river.

“We can watch the sunrise every morning from our bed.” Jimin laughed.

I froze .

our bed.

“What about the kitchen?” i blurted out quickly and jimin hesitated before smiling a little.

“You don’t have to be so terrified around me. I wont throw you on the bed and ravish you. We can wait and get to know each other a bit before we become intimate.” He smiled.

I cringed.

“i’m sorry..it’s just... all so new to me..”

“i understand. You can back out anytime you like.” He held the door open again.” The kitchen is over there.”

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

Two weeks later after my midterms and after I had pretty much spent all my nights losing sleep, I signed the contract.

Most of the terms were simple .

i had to always be reachable over phone. i had to respond to texts and calls. i had to keep him informed of my whereabouts. i had to go on a minimum of three dinner dates every week. i also had to make an active effort to be ‘ cordial’ with his friends. He would provide me with outfits, pay for my expenses and also generally ‘ support’ me in an ‘ appropriate ‘ way.

Jimin gave me a phone , a new one that i would be able to use to talk to him. it was one of those new fancy phones, the kind that required your fingerprint to open and stuff and he also gave me two credit cards.

“There’s no limit. You can spend as much as you like.” He had said brightly.

I hadn’t plucked up the courage to use them yet, of course.

The day after i signed the contract, I was walking to the bus stop, ready to drive home when my phone buzzed.

It was jimin.

“Hey sweetheart. Are you packed?” He said cheerfully.

I blinked in confusion.

“packed?”

“Well, you’re supposed to be moving in with me, remember?”

I hadn’t remembered , at all.

“oh, God...i’m so sorry... Jimin ssi...”

He was silent for a second .

“Are you having second thoughts, baby?” He said softly.

I blushed a bright red, immensely grateful that he wasn’t in front of me.

“Uh..no. Of course not.”

“okay. Good girl. Can you do something for me?” He asked gently, tone low and mellow.

“Uh huh...”

“Take a taxi to our apartment. The password is your birthday . Let yourself in. i’ve left an outfit out on the bed. Wear it and make yourself look pretty for me. Can you do that?”

I stopped walking because my heart was starting to pound.

“Oh..uh...sure.”

“Especially the stuff in the small red box, okay. I’ll check later if you’re really wearing them... “ He said teasingly.

“okay.” i breathed out.

After he hung up, i had to count to twenty, just to get my head on straight.

It took me a few minutes to hail a cab and another twenty minutes before i reached the apartment and let myself in.

i kicked my shoes off and rushed to the bedroom, not even bothering to drop my bag off.

i stopped short as i stared at the bed.

There was a tiny black dress , with beautiful midnight black pumps and a small velvet box with jewelry. I stared at the outfit in awe, heart lurching when I saw the familiar name.

Chanel.

Then i saw the box he had mentioned and opened it with trembling fingers.

My entire body felt like it had been set on fire.

I stared in mortification at the tiny thong style panties and the transparent lacy bra.

i’ll check later if you’re really wearing them.

Apparently, Park Jimin wasn’t as vanilla as he looked.

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

“You look beautiful.” Jimin said casually, pouring me some wine as we sat in an expensive restaurant , overlooking the Seoul skyline.

“Thank you. How was your day?” i said with a smile and he sighed. He had picked me up at eight and for all his heavy, suggestive words about my outfit he hadn’t acted on them. He’d been the perfect gentleman, leading me to the table with minimal physical contact and if it weren’t for the foreign sensation of silky lace against my inner thighs, I’d almost forget that he had bought me something like that.

“a bit tiring, honestly. there’s a particular dance move that i’m trying to work on and it’s giving me a bit of trouble. it’s for our next tour. What about you... ? How’s college.”

i told him a bit about my day and then as we ate dinner with playful banter and a lot of laughs, i found myself relaxing and genuinely enjoying myself.

it wasn’t till we started dessert that it started to take a turn.

“So..” Jimin said causally and i looked up curious, expecting another remark about his work or my study, “ Are you wearing it?”

I fought to keep my expression neutral.

“Uh...yes.” i said glancing down at my food as a wave of hot blood rushed up into my face.

“Good girl. Did you like it?” He was smiling now, eyes heavy with fondness and lips quirking a little.

I bit my lips in embarrassment.

“Yes. i mean... yeah. they’re nice. Thank you.”

Jimin hummed.

“Bet the lace feels real good against you, right?”

I couldn’t bring myself to respond.

“Won’t beat the feel of my tongue but... guess you’ll have to make do. at least till we get back home.”

i choked on nothing, coughing.

“Cute. “ He laughed and then he reached out and stroked my cheek with the back of his palm. “ Will you do something for me?”

I leaned helplessly into his touch.

“uh huh...”

“Take your panties off.”

i lurched in shock, nearly knocking over the glass of wine.

“I...what.”

He was still smiling, looking like a perfect angel, hair ruffled , gaze warm and bright.

“You heard me baby. Come on... “ He smiled.

i shook my head instinctively.

“Jimin...please... “

“No one’s going to know baby.... i promise. it’s why i bought you that tiny dress. it’s easy. just slip your hand up your skirt, hook your finger on the string and yank your panties down.... it’s not hard.... come on.... do it...”

I shut my eyes tightly, making a mental note to spend a shit-ton of money tomorrow with his credit card.

I bent a little, hunching over the table as I slipped my fingers underneath following his instructions and nearly having a heart attack by the time I crumpled the tiny fabric and shoved it into my purse.

“I’m done.” i whispered.

“You’re amazing. Let’s go home then. ” He smiled. “ Waiter, check please.”

#Jimin smut #park jimin #bts smut #bts fics #jimin fics #angst #smut

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the-christian-walk · 3 years ago

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COMMENDATIONS AND A HOLY KISS

Can I pray for you in any way?

Send any prayer requests to [email protected] In Christ, Mark

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

** Follow The Christian Walk on Twitter @ThChristianWalk

** Like posts and send friend requests to the author of The Christian Walk, Mark Cummings on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/mark.cummings.733?ref=tn_tnmn

** Become a Follower of The Christian Walk at http://the-christian-walk.blogspot.com

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

The scriptures. May God bless the reading of His holy word.

I commend to you our sister Phoebe, a deacon of the church in Cenchreae. I ask you to receive her in the Lord in a way worthy of His people and to give her any help she may need from you, for she has been the benefactor of many people, including me.

Greet Priscilla and Aquila, my co-workers in Christ Jesus. They risked their lives for me. Not only I but all the churches of the Gentiles are grateful to them. Greet also the church that meets at their house.

Greet my dear friend Epenetus, who was the first convert to Christ in the province of Asia.

Greet Mary, who worked very hard for you.

Greet Andronicus and Junia, my fellow Jews who have been in prison with me. They are outstanding among the apostles, and they were in Christ before I was.

Greet Ampliatus, my dear friend in the Lord.

Greet Urbanus, our co-worker in Christ, and my dear friend Stachys.

Greet Apelles, whose fidelity to Christ has stood the test.

Greet those who belong to the household of Aristobulus.

Greet Herodion, my fellow Jew.

Greet those in the household of Narcissus who are in the Lord.

Greet Tryphena and Tryphosa, those women who work hard in the Lord.

Greet my dear friend Persis, another woman who has worked very hard in the Lord.

Greet Rufus, chosen in the Lord, and his mother, who has been a mother to me, too.

Greet Asyncritus, Phlegon, Hermes, Patrobas, Hermas and the other brothers and sisters with them.

Greet Philologus, Julia, Nereus and his sister, and Olympas and all the Lord’s people who are with them.

Greet one another with a holy kiss.

Romans 16:1-16

This ends today’s reading from God's holy word. Thanks be to God.

Personal recognition is important.

Whether at work, at home, or even at church, people like to feel valued for what they do and so when someone takes the time to single out individuals for praise, it always seems to favorably received.

As we look at the first sixteen verses of the final chapter of Romans, we find the Apostle Paul intentionally calling out people who had worked particularly hard for the cause of Christ in Rome.

You’ll remember that Paul is in Corinth, a stop he made during his third missionary journey, when he pens this letter to Rome around 56AD. In Chapter 15, we read where Paul had future travel plans which included dropping off donations from Christians in Macedonia and Achaia to the poor in Jerusalem before then heading to Spain where the Gospel had not yet been spread. On the way to Spain, Paul planned to stop and visit Rome but he wanted to share his thoughts with the Romans before that happened thus why he was writing this letter.

How would Paul get it to Rome?

We find out in verses 1 and 2 of chapter 16:

Cenchreae was a harbor controlled by the city of Corinth in Greece. There was obviously a Christian church there and Phoebe was a deacon in the church. Her mention and the prominent role she is given to deliver Paul’s correspondence highlights that women played an important role in the early Christian church, not given minor roles but ones of significant leadership.

Paul exhorts the Romans to welcome Phoebe and offer her great hospitality, receiving her “in the Lord in a way worthy of His people”. They were to “give her any help she may need” for indeed, Paul’s letter deliverer has been the benefactor of others, graciously giving of herself to attend to any person’s needs. Paul validated his words by letting the Romans know that even he had been on the receiving end of Phoebe’s goodness as she obviously did something to aid Paul during his ministry work.

As we look at the remainder of Paul’s list of Roman believers worthy of commendation, we once again see a significant number of women involved. In fact, the number of women leaders in the church outnumbered the males, 7 to 6, and although this doesn’t seem all that noteworthy, we need to remember just how patriarchal society was in first century AD. It definitely wasn’t like it is today in the 21st century in regard to a woman’s role in society or the church where it’s equitable for the most part and not even questioned.

The bottom line is that the Lord can and will install leaders for His work and for His glory, no matter the gender. It was true in New Testament times and it’s still true today.

As for the commended group as a whole, here is a summary of their specific achievements that got them on Paul’s list:

1. Priscilla and Aquila risked their lives to save Paul.

2. Epenetus was “the first convert to Christ in the province of Asia”.

3. Mary worked hard in the church for her brothers and sisters in Christ.

4. Andronicus and Junia were Jews who converted to Christianity as Paul did but did so before him. They also ended up jailed with Paul for their commitment to the Gospel.

5. Ampliatus was Paul’s “dear friend in the Lord” as was Stachys.

6. Urbanus was a co-worker in Christ.

7. Apelles had his faith in Jesus tested and showed great fidelity to His Savior.

8. We’re not sure what they had done to deserve recognition but Paul also mentions “those who belong to the household of Aristobulus”.

9. Herodion who was a fellow Jew.

10. The household of Narcissus “who were in the Lord”.

11. Tryphena, Tryphosa, and Persis, three women applauded for their hard work for the Lord.

12. Rufus who was “chosen in the Lord” and his mother who had been like a mother to Paul as well.

13. Finally, a list of people who Paul must have knew and loved. They included Asyncritus, Phlegon, Hermes, Patrobas, Hermas, Philologus, Julia, Nereus and his sister, and Olympas as well as “all the Lord’s people” who were with them.

All and all, it was quite a collection of people who had done great things in the name of Jesus, a collection of people who Paul felt should be singled out for special recognition. But note that Paul really didn’t want anyone to feel left out. He desired for all Christian believers to feel cared for and appreciated.

And so we see him close these first sixteen verses centered on loving greetings by saying this:

Greet one another with a holy kiss.

It was commonplace for people to greet one another with a kiss whether meeting or departing company. The kiss was intended to be grounded in caring and affection for the person being greeted with it but Paul ups the ante on the kiss, commanding that it be holy. In other words, the kiss was to be set apart and special in that it conveyed the very love of the Lord Himself.

And perhaps there could be no greater feeling of being cared for than knowing the Lord valued and loved you, a truth set free by a holy kiss from another. That makes anyone who extends a kiss of this kind, a holy kiss, an accessory of the Lord’s expressed loving kindness and goodness extended to His people.

Friends, today we can still laud people for the great work they do for Jesus and we should. If the Apostle Paul could, we can too.

We should also look to greet one another with a holy kiss whenever possible, knowing that it’s an extension of the Lord’s love to the person receiving the kiss and a reminder of how deeply He cares for all His people.

Amen.

In Christ,

Mark

PS: Feel free to leave a comment and please share this with anyone you feel might be blessed by it. Send any prayer requests to [email protected]

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penniesforthestorm · 7 years ago

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On Jane, Part 2

Actually I Mostly Talk About Rochester in This One

Greetings, pals! Today's chunk lends itself a bit more naturally to analysis, because it's primarily concerned with the development of the relationship between Jane and Rochester, concurrent with the deepening of the mystery surrounding Thornfield Hall (those 'bumps in the night' I mentioned in yesterday's post). Again, if you haven't read the book, you will probably be confused by a lot of what follows here—if you have read the book and you're still confused, I apologize. With that in mind, let's get to it.

First of all, let's talk about this Rochester fellow. By the time he actually physically enters the picture, we know very little about him. He's not a titled peer, but he's evidently wealthy enough to spend most of his time traveling around Europe. He's apparently well-liked by his tenants and employees, though Mrs. Fairfax (so far, the chief source of information for both Jane and the audience) makes a reference to his eccentric personality. Beyond that, he's an unknown quantity.

When Jane first sees him charging down the icy lane on his black horse, she thinks of a mystical creature, the Gytrash, known to haunt solitary lanes at nightfall. During their first real conversations, Rochester teasingly accuses Jane of bewitching his horse, asking if he had broken through a fairy-circle. These particular scenes are some of my favorites, because they give such a clear idea of both characters. For his part, Rochester addresses Jane as a person, with thoughts and opinions worth hearing. And Jane rises to the occasion, frankly and innocently answering his questions. In the second conversation, when Rochester asks if Jane finds him handsome, she answers ‘no’, not out of any intent to insult, but out of simple honesty. Rochester pretends to be piqued, but given the way the rest of the conversation proceeds, it’s clear that he finds her candor admirable, even as he pokes fun at her naïveté.

For a while, not much happens. Winter thaws into spring, and Rochester and Jane’s conversations deepen. He tells her the rather Romantic story of Adele’s parentage—himself, the young wastrel, seduced by the feckless showgirl Celine Varens. But the anecdote is revealing. Despite his professed lack of enthusiasm for the company of children and his rather dismissive attitude toward Adele herself, he nevertheless rescued her from a probable grim fate. In Paris, Adele was the illegitimate daughter of a woman who was about one rung up the ladder from a prostitute. In England, she is being raised in a comfortable home, and educated as a member of the upper classes, no doubt with an eye toward a future advantageous marriage, as long as nobody asks too many questions. One could argue that Rochester’s actions in this case constitute the most basic level of human decency, but within the context of the story, wherein children are either spoiled rotten or cast off and starved, Rochester comes off looking like quite the benefactor.

(I could derail this into a Whole Thing about the trend of novels in the 19th Century still functioning largely as allegory and not precisely meant to represent the Real World—Dickens, Thackeray, Hardy to an extent, and of course Wuthering Heights, but I feel like that deserves further and better research than what I’m going for here. Still, I think it’s another thing that often gets missed in discussions of this novel, and thus, the more melodramatic elements of the work seem incongruous with its overall ‘realistic’ tone.)

Now, a bit more on those bumps in the night. Ever since Jane’s earliest days at Thornfield, she’s been aware of an eerie laugh issuing from some rooms on the third story of the house. There is a servant who stays there, rarely venturing down to the rest of the house, and her name is given as Grace Poole. Everybody seems rather vague on the subject of what Grace actually does, and Jane, being observant, begins to suspect that there is something going on with Grace, despite her thoroughly ordinary appearance and taciturn manner.

These suspicions come quite literally roaring to life one night, when Jane hears that laugh in the hall outside her bedroom, and ventures outside to discover that Rochester’s room has been set on fire. Jane runs in and douses him with water, and once he is aware of the situation, he dashes off, telling her to stay there and wait until he returns. The bit that follows his return is an interesting one—Rochester urges Jane’s silence, and confirms Grace Poole as the owner of the laugh, terming her a ‘singular’ (here meaning odd) person. Jane begins to leave, but Rochester detains her for a second, sincerely thanking her for saving his life, and speaking to her in his fondest tone yet. This instant marks another significant step in Jane’s ascension—she is not just Rochester’s ‘paid subordinate’, she is his confidante and quite literally his savior. The incident has bound them together in a way neither of them understands just yet.

And this closeness is seemingly dashed the next morning, when Jane is informed that Rochester has gone off to visit some friends, and will likely not return for several weeks. When he does come back, he is accompanied by a full complement of guests, including the imposing, imperious Miss Blanche Ingram, who Rochester is rumored to be courting as a future bride. At first, Jane is crushed—Blanche has money, beauty, accomplishments, and power. Again, this could be a jumping-off point for a discussion about how marriage among the upper classes at that period of time still hewed fairly close to its feudal roots, more as a way of securing finances than as an expression of emotional attachment. But you can read Jane Austen for that. In this case, Blanche wanting to marry Rochester for his money isn’t quite as much of a stain on her character as it might seem to a modern reader. Her vanity and coldness, however, serve as kindling for Jane’s feisty side—at one point, she dismisses Blanche as ‘a mark beneath jealousy’.

Another strange incident occurs after the guests have been staying at Thornfield for quite some time. Mr. Rochester leaves on some errand, and in his absence, a stranger shows up at the house, claiming to be a friend of Rochester’s. He is described as around thirty-five, dark-haired and handsome, but somehow deficient. Jane gives particular attention to his ‘wandering eye’ and his peculiar accent. We soon learn that his name is Richard Mason, and he has come all the way from Jamaica to pay a visit to his ‘old friend’.

In the interest of keeping things moving, I’m not going to discuss the business with Rochester in disguise as the fortune-teller. Once he unmasks himself before Jane, and she informs him of Mason’s arrival, we see a reaction in him we haven’t seen before: fear. He begs Jane for comfort, asking her what she would do if the assembled company suddenly turned against him. Assured of her fidelity, he rejoins his friends and apparently greets Mason calmly enough.

Once again, however, Jane is awakened by noises in the dark—screams, this time, from the regions where Grace Poole keeps her dark vigils. In due course, Rochester summons her. The newly-arrived Mr. Mason is lying injured in an upstairs room, and Rochester enlists Jane to keep watch while he fetches the doctor. He orders Mason not to speak to Jane, which, considering that the guy’s barely conscious, doesn’t seem like a difficult request to fulfill.

Rochester and the doctor return, and it’s revealed that Mason was bitten, as well as being stabbed with a knife. Once Mason is fixed up enough to leave, Rochester sends him on his way, but not before a brief, fraught conversation, in which Mason begs him to take care of Her—that mysterious inhabitant of the upstairs room. Rochester tersely replies that he has done his best, and will continue to do it.

Rochester then summons Jane into a garden, and attempts to unburden himself to her. He alludes to his past misdeeds, without giving much in the way of satisfactory detail, and testifies to his sincere wish for his own redemption. He tells her, finally, that he thinks he has found it… in Miss Ingram. He calls her his ‘lovely one’, and suddenly becomes cheerful and jocular. Neither Jane, nor the reader, is satisfied by this.

This brings us nearly to the end of the book’s actual first volume, and (more to the point) near the end of this installment of my…whatever this is. I also think I’m going to need to do two more of these, rather than just one, like I’d originally planned. I’m assuming that if you’ve gotten this far, you’re just as invested as I am.

There is one more major occurrence: the illness and death of Jane’s Aunt Reed. Bessie, Jane’s old nurse, comes to inform her that Mrs. Reed has suffered a stroke, but has been asking for Jane. Jane pays one last visit to her former childhood home, to find it greatly changed: her cousin John has committed suicide, Eliza has become a religious obsessive, and Georgiana is a hapless social climber (though it’s worth noting that she treats the adult Jane with a certain friendliness). And what of Aunt Reed? Before she slips off her mortal coil, she passes Jane a vital piece of information—Jane has a rich uncle from her father’s side, a wine-merchant in Madeira, who has asked for information on Jane’s whereabouts, with a view toward making her his heir. Jane, for her part, offers her aunt her forgiveness, and in this way, seals off that portion of her past.

In tomorrow’s recap, we’ll get to the really juicy stuff. For anyone who’s reading along, thanks a bunch, and feel free to come tell me your thoughts. For anyone who missed yesterday’s, Part 1 is here: http://penniesforthestorm.tumblr.com/post/176721452934

#prose #Jane Eyre #Part 2 of ?#views my own

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luciola-reviews-anime · 7 years ago

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Let’s Talk About Conspiracy Theories

So with this post I want to talk about conspiracy theories, or at least, what one needs to have for it to be viable. There are a lot of them out there, and I'm sure there will be more to come in the future. We have the earth being flat, 9/11 was an inside job, the moon landing was fake, and vaccines cause autism. Just to name a few. No matter what side you're on, usually your views are very strong, but no matter what you bring to the table. It's in my opinion that if the conspiracy cannot meet these three targets, it simply can't even be taken seriously.

The first is very simple. Who benefits? Remember, what we're looking at is a fact that has either been falsified, or a truth that has been hidden from the world for a specific purpose. Let's look at flat earth theory. Whenever I check out something about this one. They claim that NASA is the group to benefit from a round earth. They're given billions of dollars in funds to run experiments and studies, and even to send people into space. From what I've studied, most people that believe in the flat earth say that space itself is a lie, gravity is a lie, and the mathematics to support them is fake. Any images of space is just CGI.

Here's the problem. NASA did not come up with the idea of gravity, nor did they originate the claim that the earth was round. The discovery of gravity was made in 1687, and since that point the scientific community has used the math and theories of gravity in a number of different ways. For over three hundred years, gravity has been subjected to the scientific method. Many a flat earther will remind people common believes have been disproved before, but they forget that they were disproved thanks to the scientific method and community.

Then we have the discovery of the earth being round. Again, this was not a NASA development, but proven when Magellan circumvented the globe. He did this in 1519 with a fleet of five ships to discover a western sea route to the spice islands. Though he did not survive, the trip was a success. We're close to five hundred years of knowing for a fact that the earth is round. The only counter acting of this argument is that what we know of history, is a complete falsification, for five hundred years, for no plausible benefit to anyone.

But this brings us to the second target of a conspiracy theory. How many people are in on it? Remember it just takes one person in the know to mess things up. You can argue that it's easy to silence one person, but why don't you tell that to the NSA and Edward Snowden? Or even the number of leaks that are in the current Trump administration? The fact is that the more people you need to have to be in on the theory, the less plausible it becomes. I picked on the flat earthers before, and I can just mention that it would take… Literally millions of people to be in on the conspiracy though history, science, sailing, flight, construction, and astronomy to name a few to have to be in on this.

So let's take the anti vaccinations. They say that Big Pharma benefits from hiding the truth that vaccines are dangerous. Because obviously when a product doesn't work properly, instead of fixing it, it's easier to just lie to the population of the world. Look, in the end it's still a business. If there's a hint that something is wrong with a product there will be studies and tests to determine if that's the case or not. These are independent studies done by people who want to make money off the failure of said product. Have you ever seen an advert about filing a mass law suit because a certain drug or procedure was found to be unsafe? In other words, you need the medical community of the entire world in agreement to hide this one little detail. Because if it got out? Let's face it, we still need vaccines to live. I don't want polio. I don't my kids to get polio.

And this takes us to the third target. Can you prove it one way or another? Let's face it. The reason that something is placed in the category of a conspiracy, is because we're being fed a false truth to cover up the real one. The problem is that you shouldn't be able to prove a false truth. You shouldn't be able to circumvent the globe if the earth is flat, and there should be no way to see or prove the curvature of the earth. Doing either of these things instantly busts the argument. (sorry flat earthers) Studies by independent parties shouldn't be able to say things like "There is no evidence that vaccines cause autism."

Now you might say. But Lucio, those are the false facts being fed to you! The problem you're running into in these goes in three fold, first we have the second point, how many people are in on it? And we can add in, how credible are the people we're trying to discredit? Remember in the anti vaccine argument, we're not trying to discredit one group of people making one specific product that cannot be recreated. We're trying to discredit the entire medical community, and people who make and study diseases and medicine. If there was a problem with vaccines, there would be another group that would be working night and day to make a safe working version of them instead of just giving out a faulty product. Finally we would have to ask. Where does the truth end, and the lies begin?

Let's look at it this way. Say I offer the theory that the anti smoking campaign is actually a false organization. They've spread out fake medical reports about cigarettes to get people to quit. They actually make nicotine patches, they're behind vapping, and they also collect funds from organizations like Truth. I can support this much like a flat earther. I mean, I've seen people in their eighties that claim to smoke every day and they're fine. I can support this like an anti vaccine supporter and say that the medical facts and studies that we have been given are just lies, or even state that these are the same people who are telling me that vaccines are safe. So when should I believe them, and when shouldn't I?

This is why you must look into how credible the other source is, and how able the world is to be able to prove something. With a flat earth, we have so much mathematical and scientific evidence that you must say is simply a lie in order for you to have any ground to stand on. There have been countless studies on vaccines and if they cause autism, but far too often there simply isn't any proof. Most commonly what I hear from these theorists is that they just have a feeling. They have a feeling that they're right, despite the evidence. Another excuse is something along the lines of "You shouldn't just take everything people tell you as a fact." Yes it is good to ask questions, this is how we learn. But there's asking questions, and there's ignoring the facts. Most people within the conspiracy theory are not actually open to the truth, kinda ironic, right?

I can give a quick glance at the other two theories I mentioned, so they don't feel left out. The moon landing was staged. We have a clear benefiter. The USA and Russia were in the cold war, and anything one could do better than the other would be a clear win. The space race was, in a way, a proxy war. The people that needed to keep the conspiracy secret would not be too unreasonable either. It would have to be all of NASA at the time, a select number of US governmental and militaristic figures, and the people who staged the show. The great thing about this as well is that the people in the know, can grow smaller and smaller in numbers as the years pass. And finally. I mean, how can you prove it one way or another? Go to the moon? And why haven't we been there since then?

Sounds like something we can, oh wait a minute… So question? What about Russia? I mean. There's no way they would just give us the win if they knew it was false. And you have to believe they wanted that win. So we'll have to add in an enemy nation into the people that need to keep it secret, at no benefit to themselves. This can also actually answer why we haven't been back to the moon. Do you know what's on the moon? Nothing. I've read some articles on how the next great business idea is to send a rocket out to mine a comet for minerals. This could be a trillion dollar idea. And there's the moon. Right there. Where we can see it, we've been on it. And that's how we know there's nothing good on it. We beat the Russians there, mission accomplished. Going back is just a dangerous waste of time and resources until we can colonize the bastard. Or attach lasers…

Well at least 9/11 was an inside job right? I mean again we have a clear benefactor in the US. Stage a terrorist attack, get the perfect excuse to go to war, get that delicious delicious oil. You don't really need a lot of people to be in on it either. Just the military personnel who planned it. Hell, let's even go with this. The US knew it was going to happen, and they let it happen. They didn't think it would be such a disaster, but when planes crash into buildings, things happen. And it's not like we can prove one way or another that the US didn't know about it and just let it happen. I mean, look at Pearl Harbor. Shit, I might have to look into this one more sometime!

In the end though, the thing that makes it a conspiracy theory, is that you can't prove it. It might be brought into light later. But you shouldn’t chose to distrust or hate the government or an organization because of a plausibility. There's already too many reasons for that as it is.

I hope this helps you in your future! Remember those three proofs when you hear about any crazy theories out there, and have fun. Please try not to take any of them too seriously though, because in the end a belief is a tricky thing to change, and often enough that's what they turn into. I'd rather take the advise from the Thirteenth apostle, Rufus, and instead just have a good idea.

#flat earth #anti vaxxers #flat earthers #moon landing #9/11 #bush did 9/11 #conspiracy #conspiracy theories #science #dogma #vaccination

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