#(or anything else) & the article indeed immediately pointing out ''so maybe he's just always been perfectly on his marks'' lol

[unproduciblesmackdown]

linked to this article in another post not long after it was published, but revisited it just now and we can all do so. amazing headline obviously, great pictures, charming and fun all around

[foreverindreamlandd]

To Be Yours: Part 2

Part 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Size!Reader (from my To Be Wanted series)

Summary: Reader has been kidnapped by someone from Bucky's past, and he'll stop at nothing to find you and bring you home safe.

WC: 5.6k

Warnings/Notes: Violence, torture, references to grooming (I think? Just want to be careful with warnings for readers), angst, villain is an OC of mine! (Also this is my first time writing combat so sorry if it's trash LOL).

-----

Three days.

You have been gone for three days.

Bucky has not slept.

He has not eaten.

He cannot think straight.

All he can think about is finding you.

“Do you have anything?” he asks Sam as he storms into his apartment, now a headquarters for his mini team searching for you.

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I’ve checked every piece of camera footage two miles outside her apartment. There’s no sign of her.”

Peter walks into the living room from the kitchen, laptop in hand. “I scanned the handwriting on the note to see if it was picked up anywhere else. Airports, shops, banks. There’s nothing.”

Bucky growls. “There can’t be nothing. She has to be somewhere.”

Sam stands, hands extended to Bucky as if warding off a rabid animal (which wasn’t that far off from the real thing).

“We’re gonna find her, Bucky. I promise. But man, you gotta rest. You’re about to fall over.”

Bucky shakes his head. “We’ve lost too much time. Emilia could be anywhere.”

Emilia Weber.

Turns out he hadn’t been seeing things at the gala. That face that flashed by was indeed the same woman that had now haunted his dreams once more.

You are mine.

Emilia had been the handler of the Winter Soldier since the ‘80s. She was the first face he would see when he woke up, the one to coax him from the ice and into the machine to bring his back into mindless assassin mode. She was the last face he would see when he was put down under.

It was a weird relationship he had with her. She was just as sadistic as the rest of Hydra, more than willing to torture Bucky for decades and decades. But there was something more. She had trained him to find some sort of comfort in her presence. Her touch was never one that brought him pain. No, he would feel the pain immediately after she let go of him, as if training him that her touch would save him from that pain.

My pup.

She grew...obsessive over time. Touches lingered too long. There were moments where just the two of them were in the room, and Bucky was desperate for the pain to go away. The only way he knew to do that was to seek her touch.

She took advantage of that as much as she could.

When Hydra was exposed by Steve, he still felt an uncontrollable tie to Emilia. He wanted to return to her, to find her and know she was okay, but she had disappeared with the rest of the high-level members of Hydra. As time passed, as his head grew more clear, he realized that she was the source of his pain. More than just the physical, but also the emotional. The years and years of abuse. He felt sick whenever he thought of it.

She had always said he was hers. But eventually he escaped that fate. He was free. She was gone.

At least, that’s what he had thought.

No, apparently she was back.

And she had you.

“You said she was at the gala last week? What was she wearing?” Raina and Abby were on Bucky’s couch staring at their own computers, scanning news articles and different social media accounts of people who had attended the gala where Bucky had seen Emilia.

Bucky clenches his eyes shut. “I don’t know. I barely saw her. Maybe red? That was always her favorite color.” He can feel bile rising in his throat.

“Wait! Scroll back,” Raina frantically points to the laptop in Abby’s hand. “Can you zoom in?” Abby presses a few keys and Raina stares for a second before turning the laptop to Bucky. “This her?”

His body goes cold.

The photo is of Bucky and you, posed next to Timothy Dugan. He fights back a sob at the sight of you, the smile on your face, the light in your eyes.

Then he looks behind you.

Hidden in the corner behind a group of people stand a tall, sleek woman with short white hair and ice blue eyes in a blood red dress.

She’s scowling at you.

Bucky nods. “That’s her.”

Raina purses her lips, turning the laptop back to her. “It looks like she’s heading to the bathroom in this photo. The door is right in front of her.”

Abby jumps in her seat. “Oh my god. Y/n. I found her in the bathroom before we left that night. She was by herself, but she was fucking panicked. She jumped as if she was afraid someone was about to attack her when I walked in.”

Bucky’s jaw tightens and he storms over to grab his jacket, gun, and his knives.

“I’ll be back,” he mutters, opening the door of his apartment.

------

Cold.

All you feel is cold.

How is that possible? It’s July.

Your eyes slowly blink open, only to be met with the same darkness you found behind your lids.

Your nose itches and you try to move to scratch it.

Oh. Right.

You couldn’t. Your arms were tied behind your back to the metal chair you had been sitting in for days.

You breathe out what feels like the hundredth sob. It’s one of the only sounds you’ve heard these past few days. That and your screams for help. Your cries as an overwhelming sense of helplessness filled you.

How long has it actually been?

Time has no meaning here.

No. There is just silence and darkness.

Your stomach growls. Another one of the short list of sounds that you had heard since waking up here for the first time. You haven’t eaten since. You were dehydrated. Your head spun from the lack of….everything.

After another hour or so of quietly weeping, you drift off to sleep.

At least, you try to.

As soon as your heartbeat slows down to a certain rate, a jolt of electricity zaps through your body and you scream.

Pain.

All there is is pain.

You gasp when the shock dissipates, pain pulsing through your body.

“I think you’re ready for us to have a chat now.”

You jump at the sudden sound too aggressively that the chair you're tied to loses balance and you slam against the concrete floor, crying out in pain.

A chuckle echoes through the room. “That wasn’t very smart, was it?”

That voice. You know that voice.

It’s the one made of silk from the gala. When you were in the bathroom.

“You.”

“Oh, you remember me? How lovely. It’s nice for you to finally know I exist. I’ve been watching you for some time now. Waiting for this moment. Dreaming of it, actually. To make you pay for all you’ve done.”

“W-what did I do to you?” Your voice comes out in a whimper. You try to move yourself to somehow sit up, but you’re pinned to the ground, trapped in this chair.

The woman speaks in Russian, and you suddenly hear a different set of footsteps coming from behind. Panicking, you frantically move your body to try to get away from the person coming toward you, when suddenly rough hands grab the back of your chair and toss you back upright.

A sudden beam of white light blares into your face and you cry out, shutting your eyes. You feel as if you’re about to pass out.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to see how stupid you’ve been. How could you think that you could have him? He is mine. He always has been.”

Bucky.

She’s with Hydra.

Your eyes flash open and you glare into the dark abyss, rage coursing through your body.

“Whoever you are, whoever you think you are to Bucky, you stay the fuck away from him. He’s not yours. He’s-”

Your words are cut off from your own screams as the electric current runs through your body.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t done speaking,” Emilia said, voice still smooth and calm. “Like I said, the Winter Soldier is mine. I’ve been with him for years, been his savior, his lover, and his protector. He may have lost his way, but he will find his way back to me soon enough. I just need to dispose of any….baggage before then.”

You feel a small, cold hand grab hold of your face, moving it from side to side. You can now see a shadowy outline of the woman holding you captive, but she’s outside of the light just enough so that you still can’t get a good look at her.

“Shouldn’t be that hard. I’m still shocked that he went for someone like you.” The hands release you and you whimper. “Must have been looking for someone more desperate and broken than he was after leaving me. Still...I imagined someone...smaller.”

“Fuck you,” you spit out. “Bucky’s not broken, not anymore. Once he left you and the shit you and Hydra did to him, he finally realized how much better his life could be without you. He’s happier than he’s ever been, because he finally has the love he’s always wanted, always deserved. Not whatever horrible life he had with you.”

She speaks in Russian once again and the large hands from before suddenly grab the back of your chair and you tilt back. You can feel their hot, sticky breath hit your cheeks.

The woman laughs, but now when she speaks, you can hear a crack in her composure. “I will say, you have some bite to you. I can respect that. I can also break that.” She leans forward and kisses your cheek, and you choke out a cry. “When I’m done with you, you’ll never want to look at Bucky Barnes again.”

More shocks through the body.

More cries.

More pain.

-------

Bucky picks the lock and sneaks inside the gala hall, one hand resting on the gun tucked in the back of his jeans.

The hall is dark, save for a few dim lights that are kept on at all times. He does a quick sweep of the entryway, listening for any signs of life. All he can hear are the squeaks of rats in the walls.

“You know, street rats! And not like Aladdin. The giant rodents that lurk in the alley waiting for their next prey. They could get her!”

Bucky blinks back tears as the sudden memory of his first time meeting you flashes through his head. When he saved you from getting hit by a car while you were trying to retrieve Willa.

I’ll save you again, love. I promise.

He cautiously makes his way to the bathroom. It’s pitch plack in there, and he keeps it that way at first as he turns on the flashlight on his phone, scanning every surface for any suspicious obstructions.

He opens each of the stalls, and nothing catches his eye.

Until he gets to the final stall. Over the toilet there’s a sign that reads ‘OUT OF ORDER.’

In the bottom right hand corner is something else though. Written so small it would be easy to miss for most.

Щенок

Pup

He rushes over, lifting the top of the tank. Inside he finds a ziploc bag with a burner phone. He rips the bag open to look at the phone. There’s one number in the contacts.

He calls it.

“Well, I was beginning to think you had lost your touch, pup,” the voice that had haunted his dreams has now returned to his reality, and Bucky wishes he could stick his hand through the phone and rip out the throat of its owner.

“Where is she, Emilia?” Bucky’s voice is venom.

“Who? The girl you tried to replace me with?” She clicks her tongue. “Honestly, James, I know you could never do better than me but I thought you would at least try a little harder-”

“Don’t you dare fucking talk about her like that,” Bucky snaps. “Tell me where she is and I promise your death will be swift.”

Ish. After he let the Winter Soldier side of him come out to play for a bit to make up for all that she had done to him.

“I’ll tell you what, pup. Why don’t you take the next 24 hours to remember your manners, and I’ll let you know where we are. Y/n has a few...parting words for you.”

“Emilia if you kill her-”

“Oh relax. She’s not going to die. As long as you cooperate. But honestly, Bucky, do you really think she’s going to want to stay with you after this? To live in such a dangerous world where the so-called love of her life can’t keep her safe?”

“Bucky don’t listen to her! It’s not true I-”

Bucky almost drops the phone at the sudden sound of your voice screaming in the background. Now, he has no will to fight the tears from falling down his face. All that he can focus on is the screams.

He knew those screams. They were so similar to the ones he cried out for 70 years.

Finally, there is silence.

“Please,” Bucky croaks out, “Don’t hurt her. Just tell me what you want.”

“Oh, pup, you know what I want. I want you, my love. Always you.”

Bucky gives a small nod, knowing that no one can see it.

He had finally been freed, and was now going to willingly go back to his captors.

He would do it for you.

Emilia correctly takes his silence as acceptance.

“24 hours, pup. Hold onto the phone. I’ll tell you where we are.

“Oh, and if you bring the spider and bird boy, she’ll be dead before you even get inside the building.”

The phone goes dead.

Bucky uses his metal arm to punch a hole into the wall, letting out an anguished cry he had been holding the last three days.

Then, he buries his face in his hands and sobs in the dark empty bathroom.

-------

The next 24 hours are spent in and out of consciousness.

The sharp pain from the electric shocks becomes a consistent dull sting.

A voice on repeat in your head.

“He’s mine.”

“He’s not coming for you. He’s coming for me.”

Sometimes, another voice breaks through. Not in the room with you, but a memory.

Being with you feels like breathing for the first time when all my life I’ve been suffocating.

I love you. Forever.

You cling to that voice with every last ounce of strength you had, allowing it to swallow you whole as you drift back into oblivion.

----

Bucky follows Emilia’s demand to not tell the rest of the gang about his contact with her.

Kind of.

Once he returns from the hall, eyes red and jaw clenched so tightly he feels like his teeth are going to shatter from the pressure, he tells them that there was nothing unusual about the place. They all let out a sigh of disappointment, then get back to work to look for more clues.

Seeing them all work so hard to find you makes him want to break down all over again, and he vows that if he survives all of this, he will do whatever he can to protect them all moving forward.

Sam, however, can see right through Bucky’s bullshit. They’ve worked together for too many years for him not to be able to pick up on even the smallest cue from his friend.

Like, when 24 hours have passed and Bucky pulls a phone out of his pocket, Sam sees Bucky’s metal arm clench ever so slightly before he puts the phone back. To everyone else, he looks calm and collected (well, he’s still radiating stress about the whole situation, but no more than usual in a way that would alarm anyone else).

So when Bucky heads over to the door, grabbing his jacket, gun, and knives (his normal carry-ons since you went missing), Sam quietly follows him while Raina, Abby, and Peter are looking at video footage from the gala for the millionth time.

“Going somewhere, Buck?” Sam says softly enough that only Bucky can hear.

Bucky gives a single nod as he pulls on his leather gloves. “Thought I’d grab food for the group. Not sure when the last time we all ate was.” His eyes flash up to Sam’s. “How about barbeque?”

Sam nods, skeptically. “Sounds good.”

“Keep me updated if you find anything.”

“Will do.” Sam pats Bucky on the shoulder. “You do the same, okay?”

Bucky nods, then heads out the door.

------

She was holding you right outside the city, apparently. The GPS on his phone said it would take him an hour to get there on his bike.

He pulls up in 30 minutes to an abandoned industrial park. Concrete buildings as far as the eye can see.

Which fucking building are you in, though?

He starts walking through the park, scanning each building for markers, gun in hand by his side.

He stops short at the fourth building when he sees a red star painted next to the entrance. The symbol that donned his first metal arm.

“Subtle,” he mutters to himself as he slowly walks inside.

The first level is a completely empty room of concrete. All he sees is a door in the back corner 50 feet away.

He heads towards it and opens the door to find a dark stairway heading down.

He descends, lifting his pistol up in front of him, held tightly in both hands.

When he finally makes it to the bottom, he is met with a dark hallway.

There’s the faint sound of a heartbeat, one that was etched inside his brain a year ago.

His pace quickens until he’s in the middle of a room lit up by a single spotlight that is hovering over the person he has been searching for for days. You’re tied to a metal chair, dressed in nothing but the sports bra and shorts you had worn last time he saw you, skin covered in aggravated red marks, head hanging down.

A sob escapes him as he runs to you, relief and dread mixing together throughout his body.

“Y/n,” he whispers, lowering his gun to reach a hand out to you.

Before he can even touch you, a gut-wrenching scream escapes your body as you jolt awake, a shock more powerful than any other one you had felt ripping through your body.

Bucky jerks back as if he’s the cause of it, and the pain stops. You gasp at the sudden sense of relief. He notices a gash on your right brow, and more notably, six small metal squares placed around your forehead down to your temple. You squint your eyes up to see a wide-eyed, ridiculously handsome man who very much resembles your boyfriend.

“Oh, great,” you groan out, “Now I’m hallucinating.” A sarcastic smile spreads across your lips. “At least I get a nice view for the rest of my time here-”

“Y/n, it’s me,” Bucky chokes out, and your brows knit together as you slowly come to.

“Bucky?” Tears well in your eyes and you sit up straight, fighting against the bonds (as you had been the past four days) to reach out to him with no luck.

Bucky’s hands hover over your body, afraid to set off another shock. “It’s me, love, it’s me,” he coaxes. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.” He decides to tempt fate and reaches for one of the wires attached to your head.

Lights to the room flash on suddenly and Bucky jumps.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Bucky whips his head around, gun pointed at the one and only Emilia Weber.

She looks exactly the same since he last saw her in D.C., short white hair and an angular face. She’s wearing an all-red pantsuit, standing tall as if royalty, arrogance radiating off of her. A million memories flood through Bucky’s brain in an instant and a shiver travels down his spine.

He shakes it off, eyes burning into Emilia’s as he positions his body to shield you from her.

“Emilia,” he bites out.

She smiles. “It’s good to see you, pup.”

“Gotta say, the feeling is not mutual. I was kind of hoping you were dead or locked away in prison so that I’d never have to see you again.”

“What, and leave you in this world all by yourself? I’d never do that to you, James. You’re mine. I can never let you out of my sight.”

“Stop saying I’m yours,” Bucky screams.

Emilia frowns. “I see we’ve been separated a little too long this time. They said that the trigger words had been wiped from your brain, but I didn’t know you were this bad. I won’t make that mistake again, pup. But don’t worry, we’ll get this...personality issue figured out in no time.” She points to your head. “I’ve got a set of electro-chips with your name on them.”

“He’s not going anywhere with you, bitch,” you shout, and Bucky turns to see you enraged, pulling at your bonds.

Emilia’s gaze flickers to you for a second before returning to Bucky, and she lets out a dramatic sigh. “Ah, so I guess that’s where you got it from. You know what they say, right? Aim for the source.” Her hand reaches up to a red star-shaped pendant on her neck and the room is filled with your screams. Bucky takes a step toward you before Emilia shouts, “Take one step closer and she dies.” A growl escapes from him and he turns, storming over to Emilia, gun aimed at her head. He’s five feet away when he feels a sting on the back of his neck. A dart.

Then, all he feels is a white hot pain searing through his body, and he staggers to a stop. A hand grabs hold of the back of his neck and tosses him 20 feet in the air and he slams into the concrete wall. He groans, looking up from the ground and sees a 6’5 man with long red hair and muscles that would put Thor’s to shame.

“You’re new,” Bucky mumbles out, slowly trying to get up to standing. That effort is waylaid when the big guy storms over and kicks him in the stomach.

Ouch.

Your screams are no longer from the pain of the shocks which have since stopped, but are ones of fear and anger at seeing Bucky being hurt like this.

“Pup, I’d like to introduce you to my new pet,” Emilia walks up beside the redhead and places a hand on his shoulder. “Meet Viktor.”

Bucky gives a sarcastic nod at the big guy. “Viktor. Definitely not a pleasure to meet you.” Viktor stands over Bucky, statuesque. “Not chatty? Gotcha.” Bucky stands up now. “I’m usually the quiet type myself, so I can respect this. I’ll make my words simple.” He points a finger in your direction. “Let her go. Now. Before I rip your vocal cords from your neck and you’ll never have to worry about speaking again.”

Emilia chuckles, stepping back from Viktor. “That’s a nice sentiment, James, but I wouldn’t if I were you. Viktor is….very enhanced and much stronger.”

Bucky grins. “Sure, he may be strong, but can handle a weapon like I can?”

In an instant, Bucky reaches to his waist and pulls a dagger out, throwing it right at Viktor’s chest. It’s so fast that you can’t even see the blade moving.

Not until Viktor catches it by the hilt without blinking, tossing it to the side and Bucky deflates just a bit.

“Damn. Well, okay then.”

He runs towards the redhead before sliding to the ground to avoid the right hook headed straight for his temple, using his left arm to wrap around Viktor’s ankles and forcing him to the ground.

Viktor grunts, moving to stand up right when Bucky jumps to grab him with his vibranium arm once again to fling him towards Emilia. She screams at the sudden impact of her new supersoldier pet and is pushed to the ground, head colliding with concrete.

Bucky uses these precious moments to run over to you, his second blade in hand as he cuts the ropes binding your hands. He moves to the front of the chair to meet you face to face, his eyes pleading as he cuts the ropes around your ankles.

“Are you okay?”

You give him a weak nod, using your now free hands to grab his cheeks and pull his forehead to yours. “Better now that you’re here. Are you okay?”

“Better now that I’m here with you.”

Bucky is ripped away from you immediately after and you scream as Viktor picks him up by the throat, and Bucky is dangling in the air, hands gripping against Viktors to try to break free.

You hear a groan and move your gaze to Emilia, now shuffling to a standing position. Her nose is bleeding and she has a crazed look in her eye.

You run over to her, winding your right arm back and swinging it forward, making contact with her cheekbone. Emilia’s head whips to the side from the blow and she falls back to the ground. Even under the current circumstances, a small smile forms on your mouth after finally punching someone that wasn’t a super soldier and actually had a reaction when your fist met their face.

Emilia is no stranger to combat though, so as soon as she’s down, she quickly slides her leg around and into your ankles, catching you off guard and causing you to fall on your back by her side.

The wind is momentarily knocked out of you and Emilia uses the time to climb on top of you, hands wrapping around your neck. You scratch at her hands, gasping for air but her hold is so tight you can’t break free.

“Your weight is your strength, Y/n.”

The memory of Bucky’s words brings you back to training. You’ve done this before. You can do it again.

Though Emilia is on top of you, she is still smaller than you. Lighter than you. You move your hands from Emilia’s and arch your back up, legs moving closer to you as you lift her up in the air, throwing her balance off just enough so that when you thrust your left hip over, she slides just a bit towards the ground. Her hold around your neck loosens just a bit.

It’s all you need.

Your left arm grabs hold of her shoulder as you push yourself forward and up as Emilia goes down, and suddenly your positions are switched. You’re on top of her now.

From the corner of your eyes, you see the knife that Viktor tossed aside only two feet away from you. You quickly lean forward and grab it, then press the blade against Emilia’s neck. She’s gasping for air, your body crushing her ribs and her lungs as you focus to push all of your weight against her.

“You’ve said a lot of shit about my weight these past few days, lady,” you pant out, “And now I realize it’s because you can’t handle it like Bucky can.” You smirk, pushing the blade closer to her neck and Emilia winces. “So why don’t you let us both go, and we won’t have to have a problem anymore. Unless you decide to try to do anything to Bucky. In which case, I’ll make sure you never have the opportunity to get anywhere near him again-”

Before you can finish, Emilia’s hand has rushed to her pendant and that familiar unforgiving pain rushes to your brain and your hands move to your head. In your weakened state, she’s able to shove you off of her and she moves to stand over your body, now curled into a ball from the pain.

“Y/n!” Bucky croaks out, still trying to break free from Viktor’s grasp. His vision is growing blurry at the lack of oxygen.

Emilia clicks her tongue, hand resting on the red star. “You can try to break free all you want, my dear, but I’ll always have a hold on you as long as I have this-”

White string shoots out and latches onto the pendant, and Emilia gasps as it is ripped off of her neck.

You turn to see a familiar red and blue suit running toward you and you let out a sigh of relief that sounds more like a sob.

Bucky is too distracted by Parker’s entrance to notice a circular shield slam into Viktor’s side, knocking him back to the ground and freeing Bucky from suffocation.

“Took you long enough,” Bucky coughs out, gasping for air as Sam runs to retrieve the shield.

“You’re welcome, Bucko. Now are you going to let me have all the fun or do you want to maybe be helpful for a change?” Sam uses the shield to uppercut Viktor as he tries to stand, causing him to fall towards Bucky who then socks him with his vibranium arm.

Emilia, eyes wide and face red with rage, pulls out a 9mm from inside her blazer and shoots at Peter. He deflects it with no issues, and jumps around Emilia while shooting out webbing from his wrist as he constrains her.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Peter says as he walks up to her, “but this is for hurting my friend.” His pointer finger slightly pushes Emilia and she stumbles, falling to the ground. He then runs over to you, gingerly pulling off each of the metal chips attached to your head.

“Pe-,” you pause, realizing you probably shouldn’t say his name, “How did you find us?”

“Funny story about that, Y/n,” Peter says as he pulls the chips off. “Sam and Bucky have this weird secret code they use if someone is in danger. So I guess Bucky wasn’t allowed to say that he found you and instead he told Sam that he was going to ‘get barbeque’ which is their code for-”

You whip your head to Bucky and Sam. “Barbeque? That’s your top secret code for danger?”

Sam has his wings out now, and he’s suspended in the air with Viktor in a chokehold as Bucky jumps up, slamming his fist into the redhead’s face. “Hey!” Bucky yells back at you, jumping off Viktor’s shoulders to grab the shield from Sam’s back, doing a ridiculously cool front flip before landing on his feet. “It’s been an inside joke for years! We would never dream of getting barbecue anywhere other than Louisiana!” He runs over and slams the shield into Viktor’s face, blood spewing out of his mouth.

“It was A.J.’s idea!” Sam calls out. “He was all excited about it, we couldn’t say no!”

“Hey, web boy,” Bucky yells, “Can you help us with this guy?”

Peter jumps over, covering Viktor in webbing. It takes three times the amount than Emilia’s, but soon enough he’s on the ground, jerking his body around but unable to move any of his limbs.

Bucky turns and runs to you, hands gently resting to your arms, eyes piercing yours.

“Are you okay?” he asks frantically.

You nod, smiling through tears. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

Bucky lets out a cry of relief, forehead resting to yours, breathing heavily as if he’s never known the taste of fresh air before this moment. “I didn’t know if we were too late. I didn’t know if you were okay. I’m so sorry-”

“Hey.” You take his face in both your hands, pulling him away so that you can look into his tear-filled eyes. “Do not apologize. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

He nods, then pulls you in to press his lips to yours and you let out a whimper at the feeling of it.

“No,” Emilia yells, still on the ground. “I will not let this happen, pup. You are mine. This ugly nobody will never deserve you.”

Bucky’s lips pull away from yours and you are met with a raging storm of blue. His head pivots to face Emilia, and he lets go of you to walk over to her.

He only speaks once he’s hovering over the white-haired woman, crouching down to her.

“I’m going to say one more thing, Emilia, and then you will never hear my voice again.” His voice is soft, yet there is anger coating each word. “I never was yours. Whatever you thought we had was something I was forced into. Had I ever been given a choice, I would have stayed far away from you. I choose to do that now, for the rest of my life. Instead, I choose her,” he points a metal finger at you, eyes glancing your way before locking back into Emilia’s. “She is the fucking light of my life, the ray of sunshine that pulled me out of the darkness you and the rest of Hydra dragged me into. For the rest of my life, I choose her. I am hers.”

Emilia’s scream echoes throughout the whole building.

“Fine,” she barks out, spit flying from her mouth. “If I can’t have you willingly, I guess I’ll have to make you suffer for it.”

She looks to you with a sly grin.

“воздушная волна.”

You gasp, hands wrapping around your throat as all the air leaves your lungs in an instant.

Bucky runs back and grabs hold of you, eyes wide. “Love?” He shakes you. “What’s wrong?”

You cough, eyes bulging as they look into Bucky’s.

Can’t breathe you try to say, but no words come out of your mouth.

The world spins.

“Y/n. Stay with me. Stay with me!”

Darkness pulls you under as you feel yourself being lifted from the ground and into the arms of your beloved.

-----

Next part

Thanks for reading! To check out how these two knuckleheads got together, check out my original series, To Be Wanted! :)

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[libsterslobsters]

The Wanton Song

Summary: How do you broach the topic of sex with the 90-something super soldier you've found yourself dating? That's the reader's question. Luckily, she and Bucky are no strangers to awkward conversations...

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem!enhanced! Reader

(Reader can see bits and pieces of the future in visions and understands all languages)

Warnings: SMUT, tiny bit of angst, lotsa fluff, maybe some past dub!con if you squint

Author's note: Wow... here I am posting smut on the internet. Never thought that would happen. Tmi, but I'm married, so I have a good amount of sex 🙀 and I actually had a great first time, but some people don't, and that's what I tried to represent. That, and CONSENT!!!! Consent is sexy, y'all. Safe, sane and consensual all day every day.

As always, the reader's name isn't stated so that you can read as a self insert, but I've written so much at this point that I refer to the Reader as Violet in my own mind.

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

 Life has been going swimmingly these past few months. Better than ever before in fact, or at the very least, better than in a long time. She’s still a fugitive, living life looking over her shoulder, but now she has a steady job, a steady paycheck, and oh yeah, a steady boyfriend. Those three things have never aligned for her before (especially the last one). Overall, she’s pretty happy. But, because she’s her, there’s still a question niggling at the back of her mind.

 The transition from “you’re my only friend” to “we’re together now” went smoothly, helped in part by the fact that Barnes had been at that particular juncture the whole time. From the outside looking in, the only major changes have been the addition of those three simple but very key words and an upping the anti in the cuddles department.

 Speaking of cuddles, that’s a very mild term for what’s going on these days. It starts out innocent enough. The usual location is on the couch at one or the other’s apartment. There hadn’t been much distance between them since that first time where they ended up talking more than watching the movie playing from her laptop, but now, the space is nonexistent. As a general rule, within the first ten minutes, her legs somehow end up over his lap or in some way intertwined with is. The intention is always to pay attention to what’s on the screen but, well, when you’re that close, it would be rude not to snuggle up. And, when the other person looks that damn kissable, it would truly be insulting not to take the plunge.

 Now, considering the angle, one of them has to lean in. Otherwise, it would be awkward. That generally determines who, somewhere from two to ten minutes later, is on top of who. Of course hands wander, and even though it’s understood that the word “no” can be employed at any time and immediately obeyed (not to mention the copious amounts of “Is this okay”’s being asked), she can’t remember a time either of them have said it.

 If she had to attach a term to what comes next, it would be ‘dry humping.’ And then… nothing. It always ends far too soon, leaving her flustered and with her heart racing. At first she thought it was because he simply didn’t want her, but, well, there’s certain physical signs that point to that not being the problem. Her next guess was that he’s simply being respectful. Well, as sweet as that is, she’s ready to get on with it. She’s only human after all, and as such, has needs. Sure, she could take care of them herself, but if she had to guess, he’s experiencing those needs too, and from what she’s heard, it’s more fun to take care of it together.

 The only issue: how the hell do you bring something like this up, especially when the person you’re bringing it up with grew up in a much more repressed era than you did? She’s been debating it for the past week, and despite having multiple visions, none of them have given her that key insight into what to do.

 Finally, she decides to just say it. They’ve made a point to be honest with each other, and it’s probably best to get it out of the way. They’re adults, after all. They can have this discussion. She’s going to come straight out with it.

 “Hey, can I ask you something? It’s kind of personal, and maybe a little uncomfortable.”

 “Sure, Doll.” The response is immediate. “Fire away.”

 Glancing up to make sure they’re not at a pivotal scene in tonight’s movie (they have a system; at his place, watch something he grew up with, at hers, something made literally anytime after 1945), she spits out the whole sentence in one breathless go. “Are we ever going to have sex?”

 It feels like a branding iron where his arm is still wrapped around her shoulder. Still, it’s comforting. At least he’s not moving away.

 “I gotta admit, that’s not the question I was expecting. What brought this on?”

 She shrugs, carefully keeping her eyes trained on the wall behind his head instead of on him.

 “Nothing in particular. Just…” is there a delicate way to put this? “...I think things are going well between us, and sometimes when we’re together… I’ve noticed that there’s a physical response.” She’s really hoping that’ll suffice, because she can’t think of a good way to say “I can feel that you’re hard when you’re on top of me”.

 “Oh.”

 Apparently, her meaning is indeed clear enough, because he removes his arm from her shoulders. She’s about to apologize (all the while mentally berating herself) when his hand closes over hers.

 “I’m sorry about that, Doll. I’ll try to stay calmer.” Wait, that’s not- “It’s just an issue guys have. Don’t think it means you have to do anything that you don’t want to, because I would never-”

 “I know you wouldn’t.” Without thinking, she cuts him off. “And I want to.” It feels like she’s sitting in a sauna, she’s so flustered from this conversation. “But only if you do, and I understand if you didn’t-”

 “No.” It’s abrupt, cutting her off. A definite answer that leaves no room for questioning. “No, I do. I just-” He clears his throat. “-I didn’t want to bring it up, in case we weren’t on the same page. “ This seems to be a recurring theme, so far. “And it’s not a must. If you change your mind-”

 It’s pure instinct. There’s no thought involved as she closes the gap between them, this time with her on top, and presses  her lips against his. The response is immediate and enthusiastic. She considers just going on, not putting a stop to things, but realization hits that, although overall she’s ready for this to happen, she’s not ready for it to happen tonight. There’s still things she needs to take care of. Most importantly, protection.

 So, gasping for breath, she pulls away. “I’m calling for a rain check, but if after that, you still think I’ll change my mind-” she pushes back her hair and forces herself to take a deep breath. “-then you may just be beyond help, Barnes.” If the chuckle is anything to judge from, she’s made her point.

_________________________________________________________________________________

 Wow. Bucky thinks to himself as he exits out of the browser tab on his phone. That’s enough internet for one day. Too much, actually. He knows that it’s the information superhighway, but good god, no one needs THAT much information. He really needs to be more specific with what he googles… or less… or just not at all.

 He’d never admit it (and really, who the hell is gonna ask him anyway), but he spent the last hour looking up how to have sex. He’s engaged in the act before, yeah, but it was seventy years ago. Plus, it used to be this huge taboo thing that you suspected was going on behind closed doors, but no one (not even the married couples) owned up to it. If you were ever found out, there were severe consequences. As a man, he didn’t have to worry as much, but if whoever the woman was had her dirty laundry aired… oh boy. She’d be a pariah, a “scarlet woman”, unfit for marriage or to even give the time of day. That led to limited encounters, and, well, it just seemed smart to brush up on what information is out there. As it turns out, people have written a lot about the fine art of love making. Unfortunately for him, most of it is absolute garbage. Some of the positions he just read about (because at that point, the article was like a train wreck; he badly wanted to look away, but he couldn’t) don’t even sound possible, much less pleasurable. He’s all for society being freer, but good grief!

 He’s halfway through a bottle of straight vodka (it won’t have any effect, but he’s hoping maybe the alcohol will travel to his brain and sanitize his eyeballs from most of the shit he just read) when his phone rings. Great. He’s always happy to talk to her, but right now… wow. It’s gonna take him some time to recover, so he hopes she doesn’t need him to say much.

 “Hey, Doll.”

 “I am so fucking pissed off right now.” That sounds promising.

 “At what?”

 “The city of Bucharest, my apartment, the landlord, whoever the fuck did the plumbing in this building! God!” She’s clearly out of breath, so it takes a minute before she can speak again. “I’m sorry, Buck. It’s just that I came home from work, and one of my neighbors told me the entire sixth floor is under a good inch, inch and a half of water.” Wait-

 “How-”

 “I don’t know. Busted pipe. It’s leaked down onto the fifth floor, so I’ve got about fifty other pissed off people for company.”

 “Jesus.” 

 She chuckles harshly. “Yeah, we could use him right about now to perform a miracle. This is a shit show, and I haven’t even told you the best part.”

 “So the spontaneous flood wasn’t the highlight of your day?”

 “I fucking wish! So, naturally, I tried to call the landlord, along with basically everyone else. Get this: since it’s after five o’clock on a Friday, he’s not gonna do anything. Told us collectively to suck it up! And of course, when there’s a leak, they have to cut the power…” He’s starting to see a pattern here.

 She sighs. “I really needed to get that off my chest. How are you?” Still slightly weirded out by the information overload, but feeling a little more steady now that he’s got a good catastrophe to concentrate on. However, that’s probably not the best answer to go with.

 “Better than you are.”

 “What, the sky isn’t falling where you are?” He chuckles.

 “No, it’s right where it’s supposed to be.”  Which reminds him… “But since it seems like you’re short a functional home, why don’t you just stay here until they sort things out?” He’s got a couch that, while it doesn’t have anything on an actual bed, he can manage to sleep on for the next few nights. Or maybe they can share his bed. He shakes his head. That thought needs to be put to the side, even if it’s meant in the most innocent way possible. Of course, in case she decides to cash in that rain check…

 “Yes. I mean, that would be great, if you’re sure.”

 “I’m sure.” Actually, he can’t think of a better way to spend the weekend. The plan was to meet up either Saturday or Sunday, possibly both, so this isn’t that far out of the ordinary.

 “Okay, but just a warning: They’re not letting us go up to our floor in case there’s been electrical damage as well-” That’s smart. If the pipes are in that bad of condition, who knows what the wiring looks like. “-so all I have is my purse, backpack, and what I wore to work. No toothbrush or pajamas, or anything like that.”

 “That’s alright. All you have to bring is yourself.” He’ll have to look, but he’s pretty sure he has something in his closet that’ll work okay for her until she gets the all clear to go into her apartment. Plus, there’s a laundry mat just around the corner, not to mention a pharmacy.

 “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” 

 “Not a problem.” He glances at his bedside clock. Five thirty-four. It takes roughly half an hour to get across the city by bus, so… “I’ll see you around six fifteen?”

 “See you then.”

 As soon as the line goes dead, he springs into action. First thing’s first: make sure there’s no dirty clothes, old dishes, or trash laying around. That takes all of five minutes. He should probably check that he does indeed have something she can wear so they won’t have to fumble around later. Tshirts are pretty universal and… yes, he has a few pajama bottoms that have a drawstring waist. How much time does he have left? The phone screen lights up, giving him his answer. Twenty-seven minutes. More than enough time to run around the corner and pick up a few things.

 His intention is to buy the basics: spare toothbrush, deodorant, hairbrush, maybe a different shampoo than his three-in-one body wash (it’s convenient for him, but she might prefer something designated for hair specifically). But, well, there’s quite a few aisles, and he gets sucked in. Does he need to buy razors, or is that rude, like he thinks she’s hairy? What about aspirin? How often do most people get headaches? He honestly can’t remember. 

 By the time he realizes that he really needs to get a move on, his basket is full and he has no idea what aisle he’s on. Desperately, he looks around, and his eyes land on… huh. So they just have them out in the open these days. Last time he was in the market for that, he had to beg a married friend to make the purchase for him. He briefly wonders if he’ll need to produce proof of marriage or something similar, but pushes the thought to the side. It’s the 2000s. He can probably just go up to the register and pay, and no one will give him a second look. But there’s just one problem: which brand? He should google… suddenly remembering his adventure from earlier today, he decides to just go with his gut and pick one. There. Now, he needs to pay and get the fuck out of here because there’s only ten minutes left, and he’d rather not have these out in the open, in case she thinks that’s the reason he’s asked her to stay over. If it happens, great. If not… well, he’s made it for the past seventy years. What’s a few more?

___________________________________________________________________________________

 She was still pretty shaken up when she arrived at his apartment, carrying her backpack and purse, slightly damp from the drizzle of rain now covering the city. But immediately receiving a long hug, being instructed to make herself at home, and hearing the offer to take a shower so she could warm up did a lot to restore her good mood.

 It was one of the sweetest thing she’s ever experienced in a lifetime where most people have showed her their worst, going into that bathroom and finding a new toothbrush, stick of deodorant, nail clippers, hairbrush, and even shampoo. That and Barnes bashfully informing her that, “I’ll stay in the living room until you’re done. Take your time.” She almost suggested that he just join her in an attempt to broach the subject they left off on two nights ago, but thought better of it. She’s just started to strip when a knock comes from the other side of the wall.

 “Sorry. I just remembered that I forgot to give you a change of clothes. Can I leave them outside the door?” A smile forms on her face.  

 “Sure. Go ahead.” No one’s given this much thought to her comfort or boundaries before. Yet another reason she knows this is the right decision.

 She doesn’t stay in the shower for long, just enough time to wash and stop shivering. After toweling off and brushing out her hair, she cracks open the door. Sure enough, a worn but clean tshirt and pair of pajama bottoms are waiting for her. The familiar scent of the laundry detergent he uses envelopes her as she dresses and, at long last, leaves the safety of the bathroom.

 True to his word, he’s still sitting on the couch, thumbing through a book she gave him some months back (he’s missed so many feats of literature that have made their way into pop culture; today’s choice is The Hobbit because, while it was out before everything happened to him, he’s never read it) when she emerges. Just in case he’s so absorbed that he hasn’t heard her, she repeats his gesture from earlier and knocks softly on the wall.

 “Hey. I’m out. You can have your apartment back.”

 “Hey.” That smile always makes her feel slightly unsteady on her feet. “Find everything okay?”

 “I did.” She settles into the place next to him. “Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to go out and get supplies.”

 “I know.” He nods, hand closing around hers. “But I wanted to make sure you had whatever you needed.”

 They chat for a while about their days, discuss what they should do with the weekend ahead, even throw out ideas for dinner. The entire time, she’s trying to figure out the best way to bring up that she’d really like to finish what they started the other night. However, by the time he’s left to grab some sort of takeout, she’s still no closer to an answer.

 Fortunately, their dates usually follow a pattern. Food, a movie, and then the not-so-innocent cuddles. This time, he’s on top of her when she feels the tell-tale sign that he’s as fired up as she is, so she suggests,

 “Do want to maybe move to somewhere more comfortable?” His already dilated pupils grow even larger, and he nods.

 “Yeah. That sounds like a plan.” She waits for him to roll off of her and head towards the bedroom before she grabs her purse and, digging around inside, grabs one of the foil packages she bought after their last date.

 It’s only once she closes the door behind her, shutting them into an enclosed space with a bed (not to mention it’s pretty damn clear what both of their intentions are), that nerves get the better of her.  He takes a step towards her, and she leans up to kiss him, but he ducks his head out of the way.

 “You’re shaking.” His hand ghosts over her arm, making it obvious that, by comparison, she’s practically vibrating on the spot.

 “Sorry.” She chuckles nervously. “It’ll pass.”

 “It’s alright.” As he says it, he meets her eyes. “We can stop. Nothing has to happen.”

 “I know.” She nods, swallowing hard. “But I want it to.” Their lips briefly meet before he pulls away again.

 “Let me ask you, just before we get started, is this-” He stops short, eyes darting from her face to the wall and back again. “...have you… before?” Oh. “Not that it matters, not to me, I just wanted to know so that-”

 “I have.” She nods, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “Once. I was eighteen, and-” It was awful. She’d been seeing the guy for a few months and he kept whining about her not putting out, so she decided to get it over with. He went in dry without any warning, and when she asked him to stop, give her a second to adjust, he told her he couldn’t. She was bleeding and in pain for days afterwards, and to top it off, when her period was late, she thought that, even though he’d pulled out, she was pregnant. That turned out not to be the case, but it, along with the fact that she usually doesn’t stay in one place for very long, has put a damper on her ever wanting to do that again. Except for now. “-it wasn’t a great experience.”

 “I’m sorry.” On instinct, she searches for the judgment in his face, the disgust. It’s nowhere to be found, only genuine sympathy. “I’ll do my best to make sure this time is better. That is, if you’re still up to it.”

 “I am.” Not waiting for a reply, she wraps her arms around him and starts trailing kisses up his neck towards his ear. “I am. I trust you.” She hears his breath catch, but before she can comment, he’s hoisted her up and is carrying her in the direction of the bed.

 As he sets her down, she pulls him on top of her, letting her hands wander over his sides, up his back. After a few moments, she feels his fingers move from her hips to toy with the hem of her… his.. shirt.

 “Is this okay? Can I take this off?” She starts to nod, but remembers just in time that he’s so close, they’d butt heads.

 “Please.” She expected to feel exposed once she was at least partially undressed, but instead she feels… adored. His eyes are roaming over her newly exposed skin, though his hands have respectfully returned to her waist. In a moment of confidence, she reaches behind her and unhooks her bra. There. Now she’s completely shirtless.

 “You’re so beautiful.” The flush from her cheeks is spreading down her neck, but she still smiles.

 “Care to make things even?” It’s brief, but she catches the look of hesitation.

 “Sure.” Before she can offer to do it, he shrugs his shirt over his head, revealing to her, for the first time, the entirity of his metal arm. She must look for a moment too long, because with a shrug, he informs her, “I can put my shirt back on. No big deal. I know there’s some scarring…” That’s not going to fly. She needs to reassure him, make him feel as desired as he’s made her feel.

 “Or if you want to stop-” She stands and, after briefly making eye contact, places a kiss on the most prominent scar.

 “Don’t you dare think that way for a second.” They’re flush against each other, chest to bare chest. “Not for one.” Slowly, she slides her hands from his shoulders down to his waist, hesitating just over the button. “Is this okay?” Another shakey breath.

 “Yes.”

 Going forward, it’s much less awkward. The rest of their clothing is shed, and soon they’re back to their previous position; on the bed, with him on top of her. She feels his fingertips brush the inside of her thigh and gasps.

 “May I touch you?” She nods.

 “You’d better.”

 It’s gentle, more of him feeling her out than anything else. Still, she can’t help but think this is infinitely better already than last time around. Suddenly, he pulls his hand away, and it takes all her effort not to whine at the loss of contact. Before she can ask if something’s wrong, does he want to stop, he’s flat on his stomach, head between her legs.

 “Tell me if you need me to stop.”

 “What-” Her breath catches as it becomes infinitely clear what he’s doing.

 Again, she’s expecting pain when, after several minutes he eases a finger into her, but at this point, she’s so wet that there’s absolutely no difficulty.

 “Are you okay?” She nods.

 “Don’t stop.”

 The process is agonizingly slow, he’s so intent on his task. When, finally, he pulls away, she’s so close that she can almost taste it.

 “Do you still want to-”

 “If you don’t stop asking me that, I’m gonna slap you.” It’s a joke, and she thinks he knows it, but just to be sure, she siezes his hand (the metal one, which is usually cold but has now warmed from being held close against her body. “I’m ready, so long as you want this too.”

 “I do. You wouldn’t believe how much.” Yeah, she thinks she would. “Just give me a second.” Perfect timing. He rolls off of her, which gives her the opening she needs to grab the packet she managed to hide under the pillow while he was… otherwise distracted. When he returns from digging inside the wardrobe, she holds it up, only to realize-

 “Oh.” He’s got one as well. “Seems like we both came prepared.”

 He chuckles. “Just in case, although that wasn’t why I asked you to stay.”

 “I know.” She nods and pats the space next to her. “Not why I said yes either, although I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

 He returns to the bed and drops his packet onto the nightstand. “Save this one for later?”

 “Definitely.”

 There is a bit of discomfort once he starts to push inside her, but it’s not painful. Just… overwhelming. Slightly embarassed she asks,

 “Can you wait a second? Please?”

 “Of course. Are you alright?” She shifts her hips slightly, making them both groan.

 “Fine. You can move now.”

 She may have only done this once before, and she has no idea what his experience consists of, but as she hits her peak mere seconds before he does, gently coaxed over the edge, she can’t help but think some things are better the second time around.

 “I love you.” It’s whispered against her neck as, once she cleans up and returns to bed, she settles herself against him.

 “I love you too.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

 The first thing he thinks when he realizes that he’s not alone in bed is that HYDRA’s found him. He’s being activated. His eyes shoot open although apart from that he doesn’t move a muscle, and that’s when he recognizes the person next to him. It’s her. She’s here.

 The events of last night come back to him all at once, and he feels a smile forming on his face. It’s been a while, and in any case, it would be wrong to run a comparison, but what they shared, the pure intimacy of it both physically and mentally was incredible. Maybe he should feel a sense of shame. That’s what he was taught growing up. But instead he feels… peaceful.

 That is, until her eyelids flutter and she rolls over, shifting the covers so that he gets a good view of her still naked body, and with it, the bruises on her thighs and hips. Bruises unmistakably left by his fingers. Dammit. He’s done the last thing he ever wanted to do: he’s hurt her.

 “Good morning, sleepy head.” She yawns, the teasing words muffled. “It seems like we overslept.”

 His mouth goes dry, and all he can manage to choke out is a simple, “Yeah.”

 She frowns, sitting up slightly, and lets out a small groan. “You alright there, Bucky? You look a little off.” The late morning light only serves to highlight more marks he’s left, this time on her shoulders, neck, and breasts. Stubble burn. Hickeys. Why the hell was he so rough? At the time, he thought he was being gentle, but obviously he’s just as much of a monster as Bucky Barnes as he is once the Winter Soldier takes over.

 She’s still staring at him, brow furrowing in concern.

 “Fine.” He clears his throat and begins to sit up. “Stay here. I’ll make you a cup of tea, maybe some oatmeal.”

 “Alright. Don’t be gone too long.”

 Her words follow him out of the room, and into the kitchen. Fuck. He should’ve known better. 

Maybe once upon a time, he was a decent man, one who could be with a woman like  her and not do her a disservice. But now, it’s clear that he falls short in every way. In an act that was supposed to be pure pleasure, a way of communicating how much they mean to each other, he’s hurt her.

 “I trust you.” The words from last night ring in his ears. He shouldn’t have let her. It’s pretty damn obvious that, even at the best of times, he can’t be trusted.

 “Tell me what’s going on.” Even with his enhanced senses, he still jumps in surprise as the unexpected words come from behind him. He turns around slowly, not wanting to startle her. She’s standing there, clad in only one of his shirts, arms crossed over her chest (now bearing his marks), staring him down.

 “Nothing.” He shakes his head.

 “Bullshit. I had a vision of you staring off into space, and here you are, jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” At another time, her choice in phrases would make him chuckle, but right now, he can’t muster it.

 “Last night-” Her eyes widen, but she stays silent. “I hurt you.”

 “No, you didn’t. Not at all.”

 “I did.”

 She frowns. “Bucky, I think I’d know if you’d hurt me, and I’m telling you, I’m fine.”

 “Doll, look at yourself!” He reaches out to take her arm, but immediately freezes. “Go in the bathroom and take off your shirt. Take a good look in the mirror and then tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

 “Alright.” Her jaw clenches, and she marches off in the direction of the bathroom. A deep sickness gnaws at the pit of his stomach and, completely worn out, he sinks into a kitchen chair.

 Not thirty seconds pass before she walks back into the room, this time completely undressed.

 “Tell me you’re not talking about a few love bites.”

 “And bruises! You may not have noticed, but they’re in the exact shape of my fingertips.”

 “Oh my god!” She shakes her head. “It’s a sex injury. A minor one at that! If you didn’t heal so damn fast, you’d probably have nail marks all over your back!”

 “That’s not the same thing.”

 “How is it not the same thing?”

 “I’m a monster! And you’re not.”

 She takes a determined step towards him, and he leans as far back as the chair will allow.

 “Bucky, you are not a monster, and I am not afraid of you.”

 “Then you’re stupid.” He hates himself for his sharp words, but she needs to take this seriously. Underestimating how dark, how evil he can be, is a mistake. A deadly one.

 “Hey!”

 “Don’t you get it?” Without any input from his brain, he stands. “They could find me, and with a few words, I could stare you dead in the eyes as I murdered you! If you were my mission, I wouldn’t even hesitate, and you’d be dead before your body hit the floor!” Her mouth falls open, but she immediately closes it again. “This isn’t something that can be worked through with some patience and a positive attitude! I could kill you!”

 “So could a million other things!” Her voice rises in volume, and before he can contain it-

 “But they’re not in the bed sleeping next to you!” He’s shouting at her. God. Everyone is right. He’s beyond saving.

 A few tense seconds pass before she looks up at him, a steely look in her eyes.

 “Look, I get it. I know what you could do to me.” As she speaks, she pulls out a chair and sits. “But I could also get run over when I cross the road, or the room could fill with carbon monoxide while I sleep. I could have an aneurysm and drop before anyone knows what’s happening.”

 He opens his mouth to tell her the likelihood of any of those things happening is far lower than the chance that he’ll hurt her, this time in a major way, but she holds up a hand, silencing him.

 “I’m gonna be cautious, but I’m also not going to live my life in fear that the ceiling is going to collapse or nuclear war is going to strike, or that someone is gonna turn up and say the magic words that make you go cuckoo for cocoa puffs-” What? “-and I just realized you’re too old for that reference.”

 “That’s another thing-” He’s about to remind her exactly how big their age gap is, that although he’s physically close to her age, chronologically, he’s closer to the age of her great grandfather, but she lets out a sudden groan of frustration, and that makes him bite his tongue.

 “Oh, fuck off, Barnes! If you’re about to start in on how you’re too old for me, then I’m not gonna wait for you to go full Winter Soldier before I kick your ass!” Out of all things, that’s what snaps him out of it, makes him feel like maybe, just maybe, there’s still a chance they can make the best of things.

 Smirking, he asks her,

 “You think you could kick my ass? Really?” It must be the breaking point for her too, because she snickers.

 “Of course. It’s the little bitches you have to watch out for.”  That’s it, he’s laughing, nearly doubled over, and from the looks of things, she’s in much the same state.

 “You’re something else, you know that?” He asks between stilted breaths.

 “I think we both fit in that category, Pal.” Her smile fades, but only slightly. “Bucky, if you really want me to go, if that’s what’ll give you peace, then I’ll do it, but I meant what I said. I trust you.” Never. He’ll never want her to go, he’s sure of it. Well then, that only leaves one option.

 “I know what we’re doing today.” It’s an abrupt segue, but it’s the only thing he could come up with on short notice.

 “And what’s that?”  The microwave dings, reminding him that he needs to stir the oatmeal, and he pushes past her.

 “Sit down and have your tea. You’re going to need all your energy if I’m gonna show you how to use a gun.” If she’s staying, then at least he can teach her how to defend herself beyond the basics she already knows.

 “So I guess this means you’re keeping me around for a little while longer?” It’s spoken like a joke, but he turns to her, meeting her eyes to drive the point home.

 “Yeah, Doll. As long as you want me."

[bangtan-sonyeonddaeng]

BTS Reaction: You are a successful CEO

Namjoon

Namjoon finds it amazing how you remain so humble. So he asks you about it. When you tell him it’s because you came from nothing and worked your way up the ranks he is even more amazed. He knows how hard you work and helps in any way he can. He might not know too much about business but he will try to learn so he can help you more and take some of the load off your plate. Whether it’s organizing your schedule (because he knows all too well how to do this) or just being there to comfort you and be a pillar of support when things get stressful, he’s always willing to do whatever he can to make things a little easier.

Jin

You might be humble about your achievements, but he sure isn’t. He’s your #1 hype man. At first he tries to encourage you to brag about yourself just a little bit but you just aren’t having it. You were raised to be humble and never take what you’ve been given for granted. When you tell him this he just has even more respect and admiration for you.

“You’re amazing you know? I just want you to know that and I hope you believe it yourself.”

Whenever you have a particularly hard day or busy day he always makes you food and brings it to your office, wanting to make sure you don’t forget to eat and are taking care of yourself.

Yoongi

He understands that you don’t really like attention drawn to your achievements, you don’t brag about it. Every time you are asked about them in interviews you just brush it off like it’s nothing. And honestly your humbleness is part of the reason he adores you so much.

So whenever he sees an article about you, he doesn’t say anything. He just shows you he’s proud of you in the way that he gives you a hug that lingers a little longer when you get home and ruffles your hair when he lets go, that he has a nice home cooked meal waiting for you and tells you that you work hard and deserve to be spoiled too.

Hoseok

Hoseok brags about you every change he gets. You are humble and he loves that about you, but he wants the world to know how amazing and great and successful you are! Whenever he has an interview he always finds a way to turn it around and talk about you.

“So you guys have recently won at the billboard awards.”

“Yeah we did! But you know who else did an amazing job? My beautiful girlfriend. Did you see that recent deal she closed with that company?” And he will continue to praise you until he’s blue in the face.

Jimin

Jimin is constantly texting the group chat with the members whenever you achieve something amazing. They are just invested in your life as Jimin, he makes sure of that. You always know when he tells them something because your phone blows up with messages from the members congratulating you.

“Ah, Jimin! Why do you always have to brag about me to the members?”

“Because you deserve to be praised! You are so successful and smart and doing such wonderful things for your company and I am proud of you. I just want everyone to know that.” You can’t help but be endeared by the way he is looking at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes.

“Okay just… maybe tone it down a little?”

“Do you even know me at all?” Your laughter bubbles up escapes and he smiles back at you.

“Okay. I guess I better just get used to the attention then huh?”

“Yes. Yes indeed you should.”

Taehyung

Every time a new article comes out about your achievements, Taehyung cuts it out of the newspaper and hangs in on the refrigerator. When you come home and see the last space has been filled you can’t help but let out a huff.  

“Taehyung there isn’t another inch of space left on the fridge. And besides it’s not that big of a deal!”

“Then I will buy us another one. Or you can Miss Rich and Successful CEO.” He playfully winks at you and you can’t help but laugh.  “If it bothers you I will stop. I know you like to be humble and not really bring attention to your achievements but, I’m just really proud of you, you know?” He kisses your forehead and ruffles your hair.

“If it’s you I don’t mind. Thank you, Taehyung.”

Jungkook

Jungkook was a little intimidated by you at first. You had already accomplished and achieved so much and he worried if you would be a bit arrogant. But he couldn’t have been more wrong. You were so incredibly kind and humble, just like he was and he found himself immediately smitten with you. As often as he pointed out all of the amazing things you had done, you had done the same for him. And even in interviews where you were asked about your accomplishments for the year, you never dwelled on them for long and always found a way to mention how much more amazing you thought what he was doing through his music was instead. You two are each other’s biggest fans, and often get in playful arguments over who has helped people the most through their careers.

[commanderserwin]

Hi, I absolutely love your work, I've binged your masterlist over the last few days and they're fab!

I was wondering if I could request an imagine where the reader is a tattoo artist and Erwin or Levi (or both) come in to get a tattoo and during the session they talk forever and bond loads. And then afterwards they come in more often to ask about tattoo aftercare or to book another appointment. Whether they end up platonic or romantic is up to you. Thank you so much ❤❤

✧ notes. hello there !! u love my works ??? i will now cry forever and a half as my thanks— but really thank u!! it means a lot ily already !!! but hello,,, here we go with this au!! i changed it a lil so i hope that’s still okay!! hope u like this one !! enjoy ♡

✧ more. italicized paragraphs = flashbacks (when erwin was getting his tat done!)

— with your name on it? with erwin smith.

“don’t you have someplace else to go?” you asked, pushing yourself on the swivel stool as it squeaked, “work to do— or something else?”

erwin looked up from his phone, coffee on his other hand as he smiled, “i do, actually.”

“then, why are you here?”

well, what was he supposed to say, he thought. would it be better for him to say it outright that perhaps the reason why he has been in your shop ever since he got his tattoo done months ago is simply because he likes your company?

that because he spent eight hours with you, all alone in a room with nothing but soft music and the mechanical hum of the tattoo machine as well as the needles and something called attraction gave him enough confidence and courage to visit you always?

that because those eight hours were filled with his incessant questions of aftercare that he has probably already memorized from numerous online articles mingled with your gentle voice as you explained it behind the mask and the light hands that literally painted his skin?

that even despite those questions, conversation flowed smoothly like the rivers, each question topping each other, as it builds up to a continuous childhood stories up to university ones and the now?

intimate and not— stories shared confidently and comfortably between strangers that he found himself wanting to build a relationship that goes beyond being a customer and employee?

you?

erwin smiled, placing his phone down as he handed his cup of coffee to you— bottling it all up.

with a shrug, you accepted it, moving back to your front desk as you waited for you appointments to come. you tried to avoid his stares whenever he would stay, but it has become his habit that it was a little troubling at first since panic clouded your minds that perhaps the reason why he is here is because you messed up his tattoo?

the big tattoo that you have worked on for two days— the one that covered his left shoulder and back, down to his triceps and biceps as it finishes off just below his elbow. from the corner of your eyes, you suspected nothing and something at the same time as the dark ink became a contrast to his white button down, and it didn’t help that whenever he would even turn a little, the hint of the feathered wing would greet you.

“hello, what can i do for you?”

a second ago he leaned on the desk with confidence seeping at his clean suit as his eyes twinkled with courage as his smile never wavered.

then a second after, he opened his mouth, shaking his head as he pointed back to the door— backing away from you until he got a hold of the knob, hesitation plastered on his face.

“you can come back if you’re ready,” you smiled, watching the tall man exit quickly, his bag hitting the door twice as he darted to the night with nothing but scared look on his face.

then a minute after— the bell chimed again.

this time, he stood before the desk with his clasped hands on it, clearing his throat as he looked around the small tattoo shop. it was decent, neon lights just around to make it pop, minimalistic in a way, as necessary instruments were kept in sterilized storages.

“you’re back,” you commented, standing up to meet his eyes, “what can i do for you?”

“i’m planning to get a tattoo.” he announced more to himself as he unfolded the paper from his pocket. he straightened it out on the surface, as you inspected it. “will this be okay?”

the art was beautiful. a dark feathered wing, all darkly shaded that would immediately be a huge contrast to his pale skin and light eyes. you looked back at him— your mind already working as to where he would probably want this, and with a big tattoo like this, it would simply and most likely cover his whole back or shoulder.

that scared erwin smith who once came in to get his first tattoo, his voiced laced with hesitation and nervousness— now sits smug and comfortably in the place where he showed deep reluctance in getting his body art.

“stop daydreaming, your customers might come,” erwin commented, his eyes busy on his phone as a teasing smile graces on his face.

“i wasn’t,” you muttered, flipping through the stencils as you sighed— snapping yourself out, or him out of your thoughts.

but he stayed, very much there, firmly planted and deep into your mind.

“will this be your first tattoo?”

when he stayed silent for a few seconds, you took notice how his chest rise up and down quicker than expected and it was all the answer you needed.

“with a tattoo this big— i have no problems of doing this,” you explained, pushing the paper to him as he folded it once more, still leaving it on the surface, “but you have to be sure, because once we start on it, there is n—.”

“no going back,” he completed, absentmindedly touching his shoulder blades.

he thought about this a million times always never having the time to do it or truthfully having enough courage— but as times he has walked by your small shop increased, it inticed him that probably it was time. so, he took a few days off of his work— making sure that he won’t back down.

erwin stayed there for a couple of minutes, sometimes coming over to your spot as he showed you random pictures of the most random things.

and he’s been doing it for the past months.

at the beginning it was him coming over and unbuttoning his work shirt for you to check up on his wing tattoo— always, always, even with every check there has been no problem.

at the middle, he suddenly went by to your shop numerous times while you cleaned each area, with a coffee cup as a ‘thank you.’

and now, it was just erwin and his company— him staying even for a few minutes or hours as he talked to you, asked about your day— mixing tattoo aftercare questions, possibly to give him and you enough reason and answer for his frequent visits.

but eventually all good things come to an end.

“i have to go,” erwin brushed his trousers, rolling the sleeves of his white button-down shirt, making you look up with a slight pout and furrowed brows.

“already?” you caught yourself saying, standing up as you followed himself towards the door.

“weren’t you just making me leave a couple of minutes ago?” he smiled, stopping by the door as he blocked it.

something inside you thumped— heat rushing into your skin as you shifted your weight on your other foot, placing a hand on your hip as you tilted your chin towards his tall stature.

it took approximately eight hours to do erwin’s tattoo, and now his left upper back adorned a dark feathered wing that expands down to his arm. it took him a few minutes to process that it was finished, that now he has finally gotten his first tattoo, and that it hurt so much which means that it was indeed— real.

“what do you think?” you sighed, placing the tattoo machine back on the metal table, slouching on the stool as erwin glanced up and down his back with the mirror, the blank ink and the redness fighting.

“holy hell.”

erwin sat back on the stool, it hurt to use his shoulder but it was well worth it— the feathered wing was so intricate and delicately inked down, even seeing the smallest detail that made it everything he really wanted.

“right!” you breathed, taking your gloves off as you pushed your stool towards him, plastic wrapping his shoulder as you sternly looked at him, “keep this wrap on for a few hours, wash your hands before touching your tattoo—please. and remember to only wash this with unscented soap, and apply petroleum ointment on it after. understood?”

“understood,” erwin answered, wincing slightly as you wrapped his shoulder— and once you were done, he was back with admiring it more as you cleaned the area.

“and you come back if you have any questions, all right?”

“of course,” erwin breathed, finding his shirt as he unfolded it from the table.

“here, let me,” you stood before him, hands ready to stretch out his shirt as he bent his neck down.

maybe it was the universe that stopped as your eyes met with his blue ones, maybe it was the hitched breaths from the close proximity— or maybe it was just the lighting that showed apparent pinking of cheeks, the blush coming up from his neck.

maybe time really did slow down when the cliched sparks would happen.

erwin looked back, a questioning look on his face as he matched the scowl that slightly formed on your face— before gently flicking your forehead which only made you fight down a smile that was trying to escape.

you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms as your mind ran for something, anything, to keep him here— or not, as it left you a bit conflicted on what you possibly want.

an idea is what you needed, a reason is what you needed, and when you merged those two together— you looked up with a single tap on his shoulder, “don’t you need to get that cleaned or... checked on? how long has it been?”

“five months,” erwin answered, leaning his back on the door— closing everybody off who would even try to intervene. “i do think it’s healed already.”

“...right,” you breathed, pulling away a step further with a tight-lipped smile on your face as your glorious idea and reason gloriously failed. come back again— tonight or tomorrow, you thought. “then, bye.”

erwin watched you walk away from him, slouched shoulders and all as you flopped down on your favorite swivel chair, a pencil already in hand as your busy scribbles echoed together with the beat of his heart and the perfectly fitted romantic song that played.

it took him a minute.

then a minute after, erwin called your name, making you rest your chin on your balled fist as you waited for his words.

“say,” he began, his palm covering his heart— either him feeling it rush or just because this is where he’s gathering his courage from, “i’m planning to get another tattoo.”

“oh?”

“above my heart?” erwin announced, smiled— watching you nod seriously as you took on his another project, “and i want a heart on top of it.”

“i guess we could do that,” you absentmindedly said, striding towards him as you tapped his heart with the end of your pencil. “just a heart?”

time stopped again as erwin watched your eyes twinkle against the light. the edges of your lips turned into a small smile, and erwin thought that he could burst right there and then.

“with your name on it?”

[suekre]

So ive followed you a VERY long time (like from the deviantart days lmao) and i only just realised that you were talking about ocd in that post. Just wanted to let you know that i have ocd as well and god it is exhausting and i know exactly how you feel! I finally start therapy for it in 2 weeks. Pls know that i love your art and you very much and appreciate everything you create and share with us. All the best!! X

Hey you, I know you! Thank you for coming to my inbox and sharing this with me, I appreciate that so much. :) I am SUPER happy for you that you are about to get the help you need, that is awesome. I wish I could have had it at the time!

(And oh boy, the good old deviantart days, haha! Always happy to have my longtime followers around! :D)

OCD is exhausting indeed. People who aren’t affected can’t imagine what a nightmare it is. I, personally, am more prone to intrusive thoughts than actual obsessive-compulsive behavior. When people hear „OCD“, they usually think of obsessive hand washing or „leaving out every black tile while walking through a kitchen“ or so, while it can manifest in other ways. I didn’t know back then. I just thought I was going completely crazy at the time. I think I mentioned my disorder at times but I never actually openly talked about my own experiences (where I come from, mental disorders are a big NO NO, because it’s all in your head, just pull yourself together, other people are ACTUALLY suffering, it’s just dumb thoughts, you just need to think positive, y’know).

I kinda feel like doing it now. Just to get it out, and also to occupy my brain and hands and hey, maybe someone else can pick this up and find themselves in my own experiences. I sure know how relieved I was when I found out I wasn’t alone with my what I thought was a ‚Very Weird, Unique and Niche Problem‘.  

I gotta admit first - I’m doing much better nowadays. Even my worst days, as horrible as they may feel at the time, do in no way compare to the hell I went through in the second half of 2015. I have come a long way since my last (and so far worst... omg, oof, I hope there won’t be another) episode of intrusive thoughts. But, oh boy, was it intense.  It was the absolute worst time of my life, ever. I’m not writing this to scare anyone. Anyone who is familiar with this, will know how bad it is and anyone who can’t relate at all won’t feel affected anyway and will maybe even think something along the lines of „What the fuck?!“. I get it. It DOES sound crazy.

I have always been an overthinker. I always needed more validation and reassurance than other people around me and for the longest time I had no idea why that was. It was usually subtle - always kinda there but never strong enough to actually affect my life in a negative way. I just felt off at times, and not always super good. But I was generally ok, I could always manage.

Until that one episode that changed my life forever. I know that sounds dramatic but, even though I am in a good place nowadays, it sure DID change my life. I was 31, I lived together with my then-boyfriend and I still remember the exact date. Friday, July 24th, 2015. I remember the exact moment when my entire mind collapsed. It’s so weird, it literally happened from one second to the other. I am not making this up to sound more dramatic, it was a matter of seconds.

I was on my way home after work and I felt… restless and stressed. It felt good to get off work (it was my first full time job and... it didn’t go well, to put it nicely) but I was no longer really looking forward to my week off, and our trip to our favorite Open Air the following week. I picked up some dinner on my way, I came home, and I saw my boyfriend in the middle of the living room, he was making some preparations for our upcoming trip. When I saw him, tall and handsome and smiling at me, I smiled back but inside I felt like crying. My smile was fake. Kissing him felt weird, and also fake. And all of a sudden, there it was. The life changing thought:

„I don’t love him anymore.“

A simple thought. I had weird thoughts before, like anyone does, but they never had any greater impact on me. This time, though, that one thought knocked me off my feet. Not literally, I had turned into a pillar of salt somehow. This was the Perfect Man Of My Dreams (at least that was what I thought back then). The man I wanted to spend my life with, the man who made me happy every day! How could that even be, how could I even think something like that?

I felt even more restless. I didn’t tell him, of course. When he asked how my day was, I put on my fake smile again and said it was okay. We ate our dinner (although I had instantly lost any appetite), and I kept looking at him and the thoughts... just kept coming back.

You don’t love him anymore. What if you don’t love him anymore?

On repeat. It was awful. I just couldn’t shake them off.

It’s the stress, I tried to tell myself. You’re overworked. It’ll be good, you just need some rest.

But I couldn’t relax. My heart was racing, my blood was pumping. I didn’t know what was going on. I begged him to leave his work undone and take me out for an after work drink and he agreed. All the time, the thoughts wouldn’t leave my mind. I didn’t want to think them, but they were merciless, they just kept coming back. I felt so helpless.

A few drinks later, I had calmed down a bit, at least so much that I could stand to look at my BFs face again without feeling guilty. There you go, I said to myself, not quite convinced, you’ll be good. It’s already wearing off. When we crawled into bed later, I was tired and relaxed (and tipsy) enough to sleep and convinced that this was just a little glitch, that things would be just fine in the morning.

When I woke up, I felt exhausted. My heart was racing... and the thoughts came back IMMEDIATELY.

You don’t love him anymore. You gotta leave him.

What. The. HELL!? Why are these thoughts still a thing? Why are they still there? Why do they keep coming back?

I kept trying to push them away but the more I tried, the more intense they became. As if they tried to spite me. I started losing focus on everything else around me, the world slowly started to blur. It was just Me And My Thoughts from here. I tried my best to hide my state, and I think I managed for a while, but I felt like a robot any time I talked to someone. When people would pick up on my confusion, I usually brushed their concerns off. It’s nothing, I’m good.

I mean... how do you even tell someone that you just. can’t. stop. thinking. about whether you still love your boyfriend or not? According to the world, that is something you “just feel and know” after all. Except that I didn’t. I had no clue. I couldn’t feel anything. But, according to the world, that was perfectly normal, too. “Honeymoon phase is over at some point, babe. That’s everyday life, you grow comfy, it’s no longer a flash of feelings every day, you know that. You guys have been together for a while after all, what did you expect?!” ... what I felt didn’t feel like comfy everyday life either, though. Comfy everday life shouldn’t come with high key anxiety, sleepless nights and a loss of appetite at any lived second. If that was comfy everyday life, I sure didn’t want it.

So, what do you do when you have no clue about something? Right! Google! Go and ask the world! “How do you know that you still love your partner?”, “Is the love gone?” ... I spent hours, DAYS doing that, but no answer I found was remotely statisfying (or maybe it was for a minute, but the reassurance never lasted long) and I felt that those articles didn’t actually understand what I was asking in first place. I would spend every day like that. Permanently asking myself the same questions, analyzing myself, testing if the Big Feels for the man had decided to come back... nah, not really. Maybe NOW? If I just look at him close enough?! ... maybe if I squint a little?! Fuck, still nothing! Niente! Nada! I am a horrible person, aaah!

(Our open air trip was an emotional disaster by the way, I felt horrible all the time, and the permanent rain didn’t help. -3/10, do not recommend).

If I had known at the time that I wouldn’t spend just a few days but (more or less) six months with this shit... oof. I was already exhausted after those few days.

Over the course of the next weeks I stopped eating almost entirely. I just couldn’t. This permanent tight anxiety knot in my stomach made me want to throw up at the mere thought of food. At my worst point I weighed 138 lbs (63 kg), at 6 ft 1 (1,85 m). I often joked about how I had almost reached runway model standard. I was sick, I was weak, I was scared, but I just couldn’t eat and the bits I DID force myself to eat were burned almost right away by my crippling anxiety. (I still have clothes from that time, and I sometimes beat myself up for no longer fitting into them before I remember that I should NEVER fit into them EVER again.)

Instead I smoked a pack a day. I hardly got any sleep and when I did, it wasn’t relaxing. Always in Fight and Flight mode. My body was at alert level any minute, any day. I’m still asking myself how it could be that I never actually... collapsed. I was always tired, exhausted and malnourished... I dunno, you tell me.

The thoughts never really disappeared. They kept coming back in all variations. You don’t love him anymore. You have to leave him. You may not want to, but you have to. You don’t love him. I had very few “good moments” in between but in those good moments, my mind was usually frantically looking for explanations and reasons behind all this. For ways to improve my relationship, to feel better about my boyfriend. I came up with the WEIRDEST shit. Almost every day I found something new that bothered me. One day he was a little boring. That’s it! We gotta go out more, do more stuff, that’ll change everything. ... aaah, no. Guess not. The next day, it was something else. The day after THAT, it was something entirely different again.

I was suddenly prone to making some HELLA weird impulsive decisions, too. „I gotta break off contact to that one person RIGHT now, THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER!“, “I gotta talk to my mom about THAT particular incident in my childhood right now, THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER!”, “I gotta make a trip to the mall JUST NOW, THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER!”… the decisions made total sense to me the second I made them, for about ten minutes at most, but the initial rush of relief started to fade again quickly and I frantically started looking for new solutions. Google was my best friend. I couldn’t go a day without googling exessively. Overthinking, pacing, googling. Any day, any hour awake. Over weeks. A few months even. My mind was constantly reeling. It was a bottomless pit.  

I cannot put into words how exhausting that was. Sometimes the idea of throwing myself out of the next window seemed SO tempting, not because I wanted to die, but because I wanted the thoughts to stop tormenting me.

(I was out of regular therapy at the time, btw. I thought about calling my therapist about it but never did it. I felt isolated, I literally thought I had to do this all by myself.)

At some point, a few months into it, I somehow transferred to zombie mode. The thoughts became a little less intense over time. They were never gone but not quite as nagging anymore. But any time I wasn’t in alert mode, I felt just hollow instead. Sucked dry of any joy, of any emotion, of any sign of life. I just... functioned. Still tried to hide it. I dunno how well I did with that. Probably not at all well. I kept it all to myself, just because it felt that ridiculous. Tried to find excuses. “I’m just tired.”, “You know, there’s a lot going on in my head right now, but I’ll be good.” ... truth is that I don’t remember a whole lot of that time, it’s all blurry. There are just a few significant moments.

Such as that one evening, after work, when I left the building, made a few steps and stood five (or ten? fifteen??? who knows?! not me.) minutes on the spot, motionless, because I could no longer remember my way home.

I got fired from that job, by the way. I’m sure it was mostly due to low performance, I get it, but I can’t blame my poor state alone - they were also assholes.

Anyway.

I had, of course, never stopped the googling and one day, after hours of browsing any niche I hoped I hadn’t browsed yet, I somehow found a blog written by a young woman like me. The description tackled almost all of my thought patterns and I was blown. away. She asked herself the very same questions, with the very same twists, and... she even had a name for it.

ROCD. Relationship Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

I cried for what felt like hours. Out of relief. There was a person in this world who knew exactly what I was going through. And she even had tips how to overcome it. It wasn’t the first time I had heard about OCD, but as it had never affected me in any way before (I, too, associated it with compulsive hand washing and tile jumping), I wouldn’t have thought of it. After doing my own intense research on the subject, a huge part of me and my life finally started making sense to me. Not much was known about ROCD at the time, but it kinda didn’t matter anyway. What mattered was the OCD part. The subject of the thoughts is entirely interchangable. It’s the chain of thoughts itself that has to be broken. Don’t focus on the relationship. Break the chain instead.

The internet also recommended exposure therapy but as therapy wasn’t an option at the time (weird German laws... regular health insurance covers only a limited amount of therapy lessons within a certain span of time and I had used mine up and there was no way I could pay myself), I decided to try it myself, the key points being:

* No more googling, no more reassurance. Learn to live with the uncertainty, learn to live with Not Knowing.

* Let the thoughts happen. Watch them pass by. They’re just thoughts, they can’t harm you. Don’t fight them, just recognize them and let them stay, they’ll get less scary over time.

* Focus on other things, as hard as it is. Try to occupy your mind and your body. Any minute you spend doing something else but brooding is a win.

It all sounded so very abstract at the time, but I was determined to give it a try. Oh gosh, was it hard. After months of emotional torment and getting used to unhealthy ways of coping, it was SO DAMN FUCKING HARD to NOT google. To NOT think. It felt like torment all over again. How was I supposed to just let the thought sit with me!? It was scary, I didn’t want it! Just ONE little peek, only a second, come ON! I won’t do it again after that?!

Oh god, it was the worst, it really was. Trying to break the chain while I was so desperate to save my relationship was terrible. I honestly don’t remember HOW I made it... but I made it. I somehow... clawed and bit my way out of it. I went right through the pain and made it. It’s not actually a linear process but there comes this point (and I know a few people I met on online platforms who would back me up on this) when you know the worst is over. You just know it. Things weren’t exactly good by the time the thoughts were history but I had reign over my own head again, I could actually SEE the world again, and that was worth everything plus my body weight in gold.

I’ll stop right here because the following months weren’t about my OCD anymore, but about figuring out needs, figuring out myself and what I wanted from life and this particular relationship and it’s not quite relevant and another story. (I DID love my ex-BF but it turned out he wasn’t at all good for me, I had ignored all the red flags for too long, and it didn’t take long after this for us to go separate ways)

I hated this particular time in my life while it lasted but I have learned and taken so much from it. It has changed my life in so many ways. I learned that things are never set in stone, not for anyone. That there will always be uncertain times on our ways. That change is always scary. That it’s okay to be scared. That staying in crappy situations for the sake of it isn’t always the right thing to do. Sometimes, doing the right thing (aka leaving a relationship that isn’t good for you) can make you sad. Love does not equal compatibility.

Looking back, I am - in a very bizarre and twisted way - grateful for the experience. It was an incredibly important lesson for me that taught me to be kinder to myself, to look out for myself and to listen to my own needs. That I should put myself first at times. For the first time of my life, I really got in touch with myself and my own emotions. I learned to understand them, I learned where they come from. I learned to cut myself slack at times.

The list goes on and on, but you get my drift. I know myself inside and out at this point. That wasn’t always the case. Not until 2016.

It still comes back at times. Not with such full force, but it keeps creeping back in, pretty much any time I have to deal with uncertainty in my life. Bad news at work, not hearing from a friend for a while that I’m dying to hear from (inevitably thinking that they MUST be mad at me) or when I spot a few symptoms of sickness that I’m not familiar with (I practically never get sick). Not Knowing What Will Happen drives me CRAZY. I hate uncertainty, I need my life to be stable and calm to fully function.

Now, in COVID times, it’s mostly the fear of suffering from an incurable disease. AGAIN. I’m familiar with that, too. I’m not even scared of catching the virus, I just fell right back into overthinking any symptom I have, even if it’s just a short pain in the neck or whatever (you know, things that one usually brushes off). When my life was busier, I was MUCH better at handling those thoughts. Most of the time, they didn’t even come up in first place. Sitting inside and avoiding contact 99,9% of all times, and having little to no actual distraction („reading/watching movies“ doesn’t help me personally, it does’t occupy my mind enough, I usually just stare right through the pages/screen), however, leaves FAR too much time for the thoughts to unfold, once they come up.

This subtle but lingering concern for my health puts my body into a permanent state of anxiety once more. Fight and Flight mode. The pace of my heartbeat is always slightly, but perpetually, increased. It isn’t always outright panic attacks, it’s this constant state of having to be… alert. Something MIGHT happen, y’know. Be prepared. Relaxing and doing nice things becomes almost impossible. Instead, I get tired and exhausted. Depressed, even. It sucks the joy right out of me. I feel like living under a glass dome. I see what’s happening around me but I am unable to connect, emotionally. People keep living their lives and I can watch them, but I can’t be a part of it. It’s a deeply crushing feeling. I manage to somehow function but I don’t really feel alive. My abandonment issues and fear of „getting left behind“ kicked in again, too. I want to catch up and take part but can’t so I stress myself over THAT, too. This only adds to the exhaustion and makes me feel even more isolated.  

Hello, vicious circle, my old friend.

I didn’t even realize that I had such huge potential to fall right back into it. It all started… I dunno, by mid/end of January?? It’s a bit blurry this time. It is directly connected to Germany’s recent lockdown, though. A massive case of Not Knowing How Things Will Turn Out. I failed to take better care of myself in the past few weeks. And now I’m here. AGAIN. Ugh.

But well, as I said, it’s not as bad and, as I said, I have at least learned some important things over the years. In this particular case of intrusive thoughts, the first rule is: NEVER GOOGLE SYMPTOMS. And never google shit like „chances to survive (whatever illness think you have at the time)“, either. The mind longs for reassurance but googling symptoms is BAD, as we all know by now. It’s not even reassuring when you do it. Because you’ll inevitably end up diving through the vast internet for HOURS, picking up an entry that some person named Kevin made on a cancer forum way back in 2004, saying that his uncle died the next day after finding out he has cancer and that is, OF COURSE, what will happen to YOU, too. There is no other way. YOU WILL DIE.

Excuse the text walls. I took an opportunity to ramble about my own experience, for the first time ever since it happened (not including the few short talks I had with the few people I met on internet forums).

To anyone who made it this far: Thank you so much for reading. It sure felt good to write this down for once, even if it’s just a short summary (yes, really, I mean, we’re talking six-ish months here), and the descriptions fall woefully short. If anyone affected by the same happens to read this -  I am so, SO sorry you are suffering so much. You are NOT alone and you are NOT weird. Talk to someone. Open up. To your doctor, or you therapist, if you have one. To a person you trust. It is the worst but there are ways, there is help. I wish I had known at the time it started for me.

You know now. :)

P.S.: DON’T FUCKING GOOGLE:

[thetriggeredhappy]

I love your idea of scout bein born early. Would it be too much trouble for you to write abt him bein in the hospital? And maybe possibly spy findin out?

this feels like a slightly different angle than the prompt, anon, but in my defense that’s what always happens

(warnings for alcohol mention, non-graphic injury and briefly being in a hospital)

-

The phone rang three times before it was picked up, and Scout used all three of those rings to try and get his story straight in his head. Then it was picked up and a familiar and very pleasant voice said “Hey, this is Pauling,” and he wasted exactly zero seconds to start talking.

“Alright so I kinda need some help, Miss P,” he opened with, because frankly those were some cards he knew were gonna end up on the table no matter how he played this.

“What did you do?” she asked immediately, and fuck, she was on to him.

“I—listen, I didn’t even do anything.”

“What did you do?” she asked again.

“...So, okay, promise you won’t be mad.”

“I’m already mad, Scout. What did you do?”

Scout worked hard for about three seconds to figure out a good way to phrase the next few sentences. “...So I was just at this bar, right, and I was minding my own goddamn business—“

“Scout.”

“I was!” he said, a little defensive. “Seriously! And this guy sees me across the bar, and, y’know, figures out I’m one of those guys from the newspaper who keeps causing trouble—“

“Were you in uniform?” she asked dryly.

“Nah, but, uh, Soldier and Cyclops were there, and some of the other guys were there earlier, and Soldier had his stupid helmet on, so, y’know. Bunch of foreigners and some G.I. Joe lookin’ guy, wouldn’t be hard to piece it together. And most of the guys left, and Soldier and Demo walk off, and I’m left alone just finishing my drink before I head out, like ya do.”

“Like you do,” Miss Pauling hesitantly agreed.

“And this guy goes, hey, three dudes is a lot, but I could take this one guy. And he comes up to me, right, all like ‘Hey what’s up I’m a drunk dude who wants to get in a fight like an asshole’ and I’m like ‘Hey nah I’m good actually’ because like, I’m busy and that’s stupid, right?”

“Right,” Miss Pauling agreed. “Really stupid.”

“Right! So I’m like, ‘Hey, fuck off pal’ and he just takes a fuckin’ swing at me, and I’m like ‘Hey actually fuck this I already paid I’m just gonna get outta here’ and I try to leave, but the dude just like—just grabs me by the arm and breaks my fuckin’ wrist, and I knock my whole glass over because holy shit, and a whole fuckin’ brawl kicks off, right—?”

“So long story short you need me to pick you up from jail again,” Miss Pauling cut in, voice laced with heavy exasperation.

“Nah, bartender saw everything and I didn’t get in any trouble. I, uh. I need you to pick me up from the hospital, actually,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as a nurse wheeled a cart by.

“Scout.”

“Look, I would’a just headed back to base, but it was like two in the morning and Medic was probably asleep and the bartender guy was bein’ all nice about it and how am I supposed to tell him I’ve got this crazy German guy who fixes all my bones and shit and don’t gotta go to a real hospital?” he asked, a little defensive. “Then they wouldn’t let me leave unless someone drove me because I’ve got a cast on and can’t drive, and I figured I shouldn’t wake you up or whatever at like four in the morning, so, I ended up taking a nap on a bench, and now it’s like ten so I figured you wouldn’t be mad.”

“Well, I can’t drive you back to base—“

“Aww, what?” he whined.

“—because I’m currently in Japan on business.”

“Oh. Okay, that’s fair,” he admitted.

“But I’ll send someone to pick you up,” she said. “Be ready to go in two hours.”

“Sure thing. Who are you sending?” Scout asked.

“I’ll send Spy,” she replied, and kept talking before Scout could start to complain. “Look, maybe now you’ll learn not to get in bar fights.”

“Miss P, c’mon!” he whined.

“I’m sending him. Two hours,” Miss Pauling said, and hung up on him, at which point he sighed so hard he got looks from two nurses down the hall.

Spy pulled up in his nice shiny car an hour and forty-five minutes later, and gave him a look that immediately made him feel guilty even though it totally wasn’t his fault that he was in this situation. He shifted on his feet for a second before heading over to the car. Silence.

“Wanna sign my cast?” Scout joked.

“Just get in the car.”

He did, deciding that maybe further hilarious commentary wasn’t going to help him out this time. Silence for a second. 

He reached for the radio. Spy smacked his hand away. “Put on your seatbelt,” Spy said flatly, and Scout did, although it was a bit of a struggle one-handed, and they pulled out of the hospital parking lot.

About thirty seconds of quiet again before Spy broke it. “So you’re a hired mercenary, but one drunk man in a bar can break your arm?” Spy asked.

“Go to hell, Spy,” Scout mumbled.

“I just find it interesting is all,” Spy said, tone light. “That we apparently need to babysit you or else you’ll end up in the morning paper.”

“What?”

Spy reached down between his door and the seat and pulled forth a newspaper, which he promptly tossed into Scout’s lap. “Third page.”

Scout flipped the newspaper open and found that there was indeed an article there. A brawl at the bar, minor property damage, five people arrested and several more fined, two sent to the hospital. He wasn’t mentioned by name, but he did see himself in the background of the picture beside the title.

“You’d think you would have the awareness not to get caught in a... brawl, I believe they called it?” Spy asked.

“Hey, I keep my head on a swivel,” Scout defended, closing the newspaper and tossing it into the backseat. “Everything was fine until Cyclops and Helmet-Head ditched me.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was,” Spy hummed.

Scout frowned. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“No, I’m just certain that you’re giving the full unbiased truth, even though I theoretically have no way of verifying anything you say to me about what happened,” Spy shrugged, eyes on the road.

Scout frowned further. “You callin’ me a liar?”

“No, I’m calling you a bad liar,” Spy said dryly.

“Well it’s true, that’s really what happened,” Scout said, a little offended.

“It doesn’t matter to me either way, I just wanted you to know that you need better cover stories if you want to continue getting away with your usual shenanigans.”

“Whatever, Spy,” Scout scoffed, glaring out the window.

About a minute and a half of complete silence. Scout got bored glancing around his side of the car and spent a good minute just picking at his cast before he realized he probably shouldn’t do that. He ended up reaching for the radio.

“No,” Spy droned.

“Aw, c’mon! Can’t we listen to something?” Scout complained. “It’s like forty minutes until we get back to base.”

“If you didn’t get in a bar fight and break your arm, it would be zero minutes. But you did, and I’m not listening to your terrible taste in music for forty minutes just because you can’t keep yourself out of trouble.”

Scout pouted over that for a minute or two before he thought of a good retort. “...Y’know, technically the guy probably only even jumped me because I was alone,” he said.

“Correct.”

“And I was only alone because you and all the other guys ditched me.”

“Succinct.”

“So this is kinda sorta basically your fault.”

Spy’s expression didn’t change. “...My fault?” he repeated.

“Yeah. If you didn’t ditch me, I wouldn’t have gotten jumped.”

Spy’s expression didn’t change.

“So you should let me turn on the radio.”

“Mon dieu, perhaps you should have been a lawyer,” he deadpanned.

Silence. “...So can I turn on the radio?”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Spy said, and Scout leaned over to fiddle with the dial, grinning.

He really didn’t think Spy would put up with the sort of stuff he usually listened to in the car, so he ended up putting on a station with something old enough that Spy probably didn’t hate it. And Spy didn’t turn it off or pull over to dump him on the side of the road, so apparently he picked something alright.

Ten minutes without talking. Scout looked out his window and tried to remember not to pick at his cast. Because he was looking out the window, he pretty easily caught sight of a sign advertising a diner.

He looked over at a Spy. Spy didn’t look back.

“Can we get diner food?” Scout asked.

“No,” Spy said.

“Please?” Scout asked.

“No,” Spy said.

“Please?” Scout asked.

“Tell me you aren’t seriously going to try this game,” Spy said, already looking annoyed. “You’re a grown man.”

“I’m hungry!”

“Then get something to eat at the base,” Spy said.

“I’m hungry and I have a broken arm and I’m gonna have to deal with Medic fixing my broken arm and also all the guys making fun of me. Can we please get diner food?” Scout asked,

Spy paused for a long moment. Scout’s eyes kept flicking between Spy and the upcoming exit. Spy sighed heavily and moved to take the exit. Scout cheered. “I can still change my mind,” Spy threatened. Scout shut up.

Scout double-checked his pockets for his wallet twice before they even pulled into the parking lot. It didn’t look particularly busy, but Spy didn’t pull up near the door anyways. He put the car into park and gave Scout the single most unimpressed look of his life.

“I’m giving you five minutes to order and get back in this car or I’m leaving without you,” he declared.

“Did you want anything?” Scout asked, fumbling with his seatbelt.

“Do I want terrible greasy American diner food?” Spy scoffed.

“Look, just thought I’d fuckin’ ask, alright? Jesus,” Scout mumbled, managing to get his seatbelt off. “And that doesn’t answer my question. Do you want anything?”

“Four minutes and fifty seconds,” Spy drawled, and Scout quickly got out of the car.

There wasn’t anyone in line, and luckily the diner was staffed by the kind of people who didn’t ask questions beyond giving a pointed glance towards his cast. He kept his order simple and kept an eye on the clock on the wall, and bolted back into the parking lot with the paper bag of food in hand wondering if Spy would seriously actually ditch him.

Surprisingly, Spy had left on the radio, and raised an eyebrow at him as he tried his best to bundle himself into the car one-handed. He managed to get his seatbelt on with only a minor scare about almost spilling the food, and promptly started digging through it as Spy pulled them back out of the parking lot.

“Here,” Scout chirped, holding something out to him. Spy frowned, glancing at his mirrors and taking what was being handed to him distractedly. They were out of the parking lot and back on the road by the time Spy actually looked at it.

“What is this?” he asked dryly, looking at the paper-wrapped something.

“Chicken sandwich,” Scout replied, pulling his own food out. “I uh, I think I got ketchup in here too—“

“Why did you get me a sandwich?”

“Why not?” Scout shrugged, unwrapping his burger and glancing it over before taking a bite and frowning. “Aw, man, I wanted cheese on this. Damn.”

“I didn’t ask for anything.”

“I mean, if you don’t want it, I’ll probably eat it.”

“No,” Spy said, and hesitated. He waited until they were at a stoplight before moving to unwrap the sandwich, glancing it over with a critical eye. Scout noticed that he didn’t take it completely out of the paper even when he did move to start eating it, instead using the paper to hold it. Probably worried about grease or something on his dumb gloves. Usually Scout would make fun of him about it, but he was pretty sure he was very close to getting kicked out of the car.

He wolfed down his hamburger (even without cheese) and started getting to work on his french fries, being extra careful due to the fact that he was pretty sure Spy would kill him if he dropped a fry in his nice, fancy, very very clean car.

He could only play it cool for so long once a joke occurred to him, though. He grinned, taking a fry and holding it between two fingers up near his face. “Hey, look, I’m you,” Scout joked, pretending to take a drag.

Spy spared him a glance and promptly rolled his eyes, returning to glaring at the road. “Not even close.”

“Aww, what?” Scout complained.

“First of all, I’m better dressed,” Spy quipped. “Second of all, I’m taller, and third of all, I didn’t get my arm put in a case because of a bar fight. Shall I continue? The list goes on.”

“Well why are you gettin’ personal about it?” Scout asked, bristling. “I was just makin’ a joke, sheesh.”

“How was I meant to know? Usually jokes are funny,” Spy said, raising an eyebrow at him.

Scout didn’t have a good comeback for that, just sinking in his seat and moving to look back out the window.

A good ten minutes of silence again, broken only by the radio and the hum of the car. Scout finished his fries and put his trash back in the bag the way that Spy seemed to be doing, then crossed his arms over himself and just looked out the window at all the nothing. Silence. Road.

Surprisingly, Spy spoke first. “You’ve missed two Volkswagen Beetles,” he noted.

Scout didn’t say anything.

“Usually when we pass one of those you punch me very hard on the arm and I almost crash the car because you’re an idiot.”

Scout sunk further in his seat, but didn’t say anything.

“Am I meant to gather from this that the way to get you to stop doing that is by making you angry with me? Because if so, clearly I’ll need to be much worse to you from now on if I want to keep this vehicle in one piece.”

“Like that’s even possible for you,” Scout said under his breath.

“I didn’t need to come pick you up from the hospital, nor did I need to let you turn on the radio, nor did I need to pull over to allow you to get food from the diner,” Spy pointed out. “All things considered, I’ve been very nice to you so far.”

“What a saint,” Scout mumbled sarcastically.

Silence. “Do you have something to say?”

“I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk about this, alright Spy?” Scout finally huffed.

“And why not?”

“Look, I’ve had a shitty night, okay?” Scout snapped, glaring hard at the desert outside the window. “I got my arm broken in a stupid bar because the guys got annoyed and ditched me and I was up until like four in the morning getting my arm set and put in a cast and then I had to sleep on a shitty bench in a hospital waiting room and then Miss P sent the one person on the planet who hates me more than anyone else to pick me up. I’m not fuckin’ doin’ this right now, okay? Just lay off.”

Silence. Thank god for the radio, or he would’ve suffocated in it.

“Surely I’m not the person who hates you the most in the world,” Spy said after a few moments. “There are nine men being paid to kill you on a daily basis. I’m sure they hate you much more than I do.”

Scout didn’t reply to that.

“And I’m sure none of them would have pulled over to let you get something to eat,” he added.

“Yeah, holy shit, your Peace Prize is in the mail,” Scout huffed.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Scout snapped, finally looking over at him. Spy couldn’t hold eye contact for long, needing to watch the road. “What was that supposed to mean?”

Spy sighed hard, looking extremely irritated. “It means that have you ever considered that perhaps the team worries when someone goes missing? And that occasionally your teammates might worry about you?”

“How was I supposed to know? Usually teammates are supposed to be nice,” Scout sassed, echoing Spy’s earlier joke.

He watched Spy take a measured inhale, a controlled exhale. When he spoke a long few seconds later, his voice was level. “Fine,” he said. “Alright. You’ve made your point.”

Scout just turned to look back out the window.

“...And I’m sorry we left you alone at the bar.”

His head whipped back around, eyebrows furrowed. Spy wasn’t looking at him.

“And I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier, and thank you for also getting me a sandwich when you didn’t need to,” Spy continued.

Scout waited a good few seconds for the catch, for the ‘gotcha’, for the punchline. For the part where Spy would twist the words around and hit him with something really biting once his guard was down. But nothing came. Just silence.

He needed a long moment to figure out how to reply. “...Thanks,” was all he could manage, and he knew it was lame, but Spy just shrugged and made no further comment.

Minutes of silence. Scout looked out the windshield, picked at his cast. “Punch buggy,” he quipped a few minutes later, slugging Spy on the shoulder with his good hand, and Spy made an appropriate sound of disgust and annoyance and offhandedly threatened to make him walk the rest of the way, but Scout just laughed.

[shadowedoracle]

Fractured Lullabies - Chapter 1

Summary: Season 7 Woven Beauty AU. The Gold family has been separated by Drizella's dark curse. Now Detective Weaver, a widowed father to baby triplets, hires single mother Clarabelle French as his children's nanny.

Rating: E (For eventual smut)

A/N: So @moonlight91 left a comment on my Fluffapalooza fic last year about Rumbelle ending up with triplets. That sparked a vague idea that somehow morphed and finally grew into this whole Season 7 Woven Beauty AU.

Many thanks to the lovely @jackabelle73 for beta reading this.

If you spot any typos/ errors do let me know. Any other comments are always appreciated.

[AO3]

***

Weaver stared down at the pale yellow business card he’d been holding for over half an hour, wishing he had already gotten the energy together to call the number on it. But he couldn’t even seem to remember how to enter a phone number into a cell phone -- let alone remember how to hold a phone conversation. He ran his thumb along the navy lettering in a fancy old fashioned font on the business card reading: “Clarabelle French: Nanny”.

He felt moisture prick his eyes as he recognized it as the font Lacey used to use on her business cards. He groaned and tossed the card down onto the countertop, pacing the apartment’s small kitchenette trying to keep it together. He was not about to fall apart over a font, for fuck’s sake.

He knew he had been procrastinating, that he should have called the number immediately after Roni had handed him the business card. He knew too that this was not just a case of delaying the inevitable, but rather by waiting, he was sabotaging his chances of success and digging himself into a deeper hole. But despite that knowledge he hadn’t been able to persuade himself to make the call. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Roni’s judgment -- he did (her taste in partners aside). Indeed, she could read people better than many cops he could name. No, it wasn’t her recommendation that had him hesitating, had had him stuck in this loop for days now. No, he just didn’t want to have to accept that his wife was gone. Or that now his children only had him, a royal fuckup of a man without Lacey. He wanted to be able to stay here and look after them himself, but he’d used up all his leave and couldn’t afford to quit his job. Therefore he needed a nanny. But he didn’t want to need one, didn’t want to have a stranger in his home seeing what a terrible job he was doing of raising his children by himself. All week he’d been using variations of that fear and the accompanying paralysis to avoid calling. On the first day he’d been annoyed at himself, but had told himself it had been a long busy day and that if he rung first thing the next morning it’d all work out fine. Except he hadn’t called the next day either. He’d given himself a stern talking to that night and had resolved to call the following day. But again he’d failed to call. While it was true yesterday had been busy and exhausting, and that he hadn’t had a single quiet moment to himself until nearly midnight, that still didn’t excuse his delay. The situation was getting more urgent by the day, and it wasn’t as if he couldn’t have taken a few seconds to type out a quick text message. But he just hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it -- because to do that would be to admit he needed this woman’s help. He knew that thought was ridiculous. He and Lacey had been talking about hiring a nanny for a while. They just hadn’t gotten around to making a final decision about whether to go down that path before she died. But now, instead of being able to talk all this through with her --  to discuss what they both wanted, to interview the candidates and agree on who to hire, together -- he had to navigate this all. Alone. What did he know about nannies? Even after reading countless articles online, he still felt like the answer was “fuck all”. He still had no idea what he needed, beyond someone reliable and trustworthy to look after his children while he worked. But how the hell could he be sure he’d make the right choice? He trusted his judgment when it came to suspects and witnesses -- he was excellent at spotting bullshit and dealing with scumbags. But unless this woman was totally unsuitable, how could he be certain she was not just alright, but that mystical “right fit” that he’d read so much about online? He wished he could have the reassurance of Lacey’s opinions to make sure he made the right decision. No, he couldn’t to do this -- not by himself.

He paced the kitchen restlessly without seeing where he was going and stubbed his toe against a cabinet and swore. Maybe he should just not call this woman, or not today anyway. He’d just continue using the daycare centre, that’d be simpler at least. But even as he thought it, he knew that was only a temporary measure, at best. The triplets hadn’t been doing well in daycare even before Lacey’s death. Plus even with the daycare discount the Seattle PD gave him, a nanny would probably work out cheaper in the long term. So he ought to just knuckle down and get started.

Yes, it’d so be easy for him to put off this decision for another day, until he was “ready” (a word that suddenly seemed to be used around him all the time since Lacey had died). But this wasn’t about him, he reminded himself, limping back to sit on a stool at the kitchen island once more. It wasn’t about what was easiest for him; it was about what was best for his children. He was their father and just because this phone call seemed hard wasn’t a good enough reason for him not to do it.

Sure, they’d probably be all right in the daycare for a little while longer, it wouldn’t do them untold damage or anything. But eventually the same issues would come up again and he’d decide they needed a nanny. But then he’d have to try to hire one and do all the calls and interviews -- and whatever the hell else you had to do when hiring a nanny -- while juggling a full caseload and dealing with whatever was ailing the triplets that week. Anyway even if he didn’t hire a nanny, he’d need to find a babysitter for after daycare because his schedule was too variable. Even with the flexibility the force was offering him now, he couldn’t guarantee a case wouldn’t require him to work unsociable hours. Lacey’s schedule had been much more predictable and so she’d done the bulk of the picking the children up, as well putting them to bed when he was back late. He’d need someone who’d be able to do that on nights when his cases ran into the evening anyway. So he might as well hire someone who could be there all day and offer more consistency for the triplets. Plus it’d be a relief not to have to get all three of them ready for daycare and into the car each morning. . But even reminding himself why hiring a nanny was a good idea, didn’t help him pick up the phone because it didn’t change the truth: he didn’t want his wife to be dead and to have to make this big decision without her input. It wasn’t that he didn’t know some of what her thoughts would have been on the matter. She’d mentioned some things when she proposed the idea a few weeks -- or was it months? -- back. But they’d never discussed concrete specifics. Sure, some would say he was lucky to be free to make this decision independently: he wouldn’t have to compromise with her over something she valued more than he did or vice versa.  But he wanted to do just that, to discuss the details and argue over different candidates’ strengths and weaknesses. There was no way he could do this right without her. He was just an old cop who apparently still knew next to nothing about childcare, and even less about nannies. He trusted Lacey’s judgment and knew that, even though she didn’t know much about nannies either, together they’d have been able to work it all out and make the correct decision. Although... perhaps it wouldn’t matter anyway. Perhaps this whole call would be a dead end. It wasn’t likely that this woman would be free and able to take on his children at such short notice. So he was likely working himself up over nothing. Yesterday, the idea that this was likely a lost cause had made it easy for him not to pick up the phone. It had been so easy to convince himself that there was no point wasting either of their time -- even just inquiring -- given how improbable it was that she’d be available. But it had taken even more whiskey than usual for him fall asleep last night, and this morning he’d had to admit to himself that his cowardice yesterday was partially responsible. He couldn’t let that happen again. He didn’t want to be an alcoholic fuckup of a father. He knew what it was like to have one of those and he would never put his children through that. He took some deep calming breaths, and tried to focus on the fact that needing help with his children didn’t make him a failure as a father. Instead hiring a good nanny for them was actually him fulfilling his duty to do his best for them. He picked up his phone and found his favourite picture on it: Lacey, fresh out of the hospital, sitting in their bed cradling the triplets on her lap.  He stared down at the image of her smiling tiredly up at him and felt tears prick his eyes once more. The fact that Lacey, so full of life (even at her most exhausted), was gone was still unbearable. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the hole in his heart, or the feeling that he was missing a limb without her. A nanny was no substitute for a mother and, at the thought of everything his children and Lacey would miss out on, he felt a now familiar stabbing pain in his chest. She had believed and trusted in his ability to be a good father though, and he didn’t want to prove her wrong. He focused on the image of his children’s tiny scrunched up faces. They needed him to do this for them, Lacey needed him to do this for them. He couldn’t let any of them down.

Keeping those last thoughts in the front of his mind, he tapped open the phone call app. If she said ‘no’ that would be that. What did he have to lose? Maybe she’d even have some ideas who else he could try. He swiftly typed in her number and hit call before he could reconsider.

“Hello, Clara speaking.” A bright Australian voice answered.

Weaver swallowed hard, his practiced opening script slipping from his mind at the sound of a voice so like Lacey’s and sat in silence for a few moments, not even remembering to breathe.

“Hello?” The Australian voice said again.

For a moment an absurd hope that his wife wasn’t dead, but instead just had amnesia and had forgotten her family, bloomed in his mind and took root in his heart. He was just about to say her name, when the voice spoke again.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” It sounded so much like her and yet, the memory of Lacey on that cold slab in the morgue flashed before his eyes and pierced the bubble of his fantasy. His wife was dead, hoping otherwise didn’t change that. But if he didn’t reply now, he’d lose this nanny merely because she had the same accent as Lacey.

He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Yes, sorry. Hi...” He cleared his throat again, “Is this Clarabelle French, the nanny, speaking?” he managed, this time sounding a bit more like his usual self.

“Yes, speaking. Are you a parent looking to hire a nanny?”

With those extra words, he began to hear the differences between the voices. The nanny’s accent was almost identical to Lacey’s, that was true -- but it wasn’t Lacey’s voice. It was off somehow. The cadence was wrong, for a start, and there was some other dissonance that he couldn’t quite place. The train of thought sobered him, bringing him down from his fantasy. He remembered how to speak, how to call upon that air of confidence he used when dealing with suspects and witnesses. “Yes, I was given your business card by a mutual friend... Roni. I need to hire a nanny for my young kids quite urgently, and she mentioned you might be available.”

“How urgently are we talking?” She replied, crisp and businesslike.

“Ideally next week, Monday, if possible. But I understand if that’s too short notice for you.”

“I see...” She paused, thinking, “Well, I am available in theory, but it seems quite a short timescale to get through the whole hiring process.” He felt a thread of hope, perhaps this wasn’t a dead end after all and sat up straighter (even though she couldn’t see him). “I know it’s probably unusual. But I need to be back at work then and I don’t have anyone else to look after my children while I’m there.”

“Ah, so it sounds like you are looking for a live-out nanny, if you only want me there when you’re working. Is that correct? I’d need to give you the names of some colleagues if you’re looking for a live-in nanny, I’m afraid. And is your job full or part-time, may I ask?”

“Yeah, it’s a live-out position. It’d be full-time too but my own hours can be somewhat variable. Is that a problem?”

“No. Well... at least not in theory,” she said. “Also is this just a temporary arrangement you’re looking for, or a longer-term one? Because I only work longer term contracts.” “Well, ideally, it’d be a long-term arrangement, but that’d obviously depend on your availability as well as how well the children adjust to the new arrangements.” “That’s reasonable. Luckily for you, the client I had lined up recently moved away from the Seattle area so I could take on a longer-term contract right away -- assuming you decide I’m the right fit for your family. We can then assess how it’s going after 30 days, which is the standard trial period.” He nodded, remembering a second later she couldn’t see him and calling himself an idiot, said, “Yeah, that sounds fine.” “And can I ask what ages the children are?” “Right, of course. They’re triplets actually, 10 months old next week. Is that something you think you can handle?” She laughed. “Wow, baby triplets! Definitely must keep you on your toes.” “Yeah.” He smiled. “And triplets aren’t a problem for me -- I’ve worked with multiples before.” He could feel relief beginning to churn through him. This might just work out. “So would you be able to meet me later today to discuss the role in-person?” “I can’t do later today, at such short notice, I’m afraid.” She did sound genuinely apologetic. “But I could do any time tomorrow morning or early afternoon?” He nodded. “Sure, say tomorrow at noon?”

“That sounds perfect.” He could hear the vague sounds of her making a note of the time.

He tapped his fingers against the countertop, what was he supposed to say next? Right, meeting time and place.

“How about we meet at Roni’s? It’ll be quiet at midday. Then if we think things’ll work out, take it from there?”

He supposed it was probably an odd look to interview a potential nanny at a bar. But he didn’t have a sitter he could call on, and at that time of day the bar would be quiet enough he could probably persuade Roni to watch the children for a while, if necessary. “That sounds great!” She said brightly, not giving any indication she thought a bar was a strange place for an interview. Was that a good sign of her professionalism or a bad one? “But I, er, didn’t catch your name?” “Right!” He forced a laugh, even as he called himself a fucking idiot for forgetting to introduce himself. “I’m Detective Weaver…” He paused as he tried to think of what he’d read online about hiring a nanny. Was he forgetting anything major? He didn’t think so. “And now you have my number, in case you need to contact me about anything.” “Great! I’ll see you noon tomorrow at Roni’s. I look forward to meeting you,” she said.

They finished off the conversation and he hung up, dropping his phone onto the counter with a thud. He gripped the counter edge tightly as he tried to steady his breathing. After he’d gotten over the initial shock of her accent, that hadn’t been so bad. She might actually be available, so this might all work out despite how long he’d put off calling.

He looked around the kitchen to the sink full of dirty dishes, he ought to do those now he supposed. But just then a cry came from down the hall, so he pushed away from the counter and hurried to the nursery.

Brandon, the youngest of the three and furthest from the door, seemed to be working his way up to a big screaming cry. His face was red and crumpled and if Weaver didn’t quieten him quickly, the other two would wake up too. He picked up his youngest son, rocking him and crooning softly, “There, there now. Daddy’s here. What seems to be the trouble, lad?

But Brandon’s cries just continued and grew even louder and Weaver’s hopes of this being quick were dashed when heard a grumbling cry from Melissa, the oldest. It was going to be another one of those afternoons, he already could tell.

[adenei]

Auror 99 - Chapter 10

You can find the whole story on AO3 or FFN

Curveball

Hermione’s plan had come to fruition quite easily with Amy helping. Harry and Ron had spent the past couple of days in the records office trying to gather information and possible evidence. They’d contacted Kingsley to get clearance without having to sign in and risk blowing both their real and fake covers. 

Meanwhile, Jake and Charles had been placed on stakeout duty outside the Woolworth building. This time, though, they weren’t looking for a specific person, but some other type of consistency. Perhaps someone entering or exiting the building at the same time every day, or whether there were similarities in people’s gaits with their walk. Hermione and Amy had researched possible ways to imitate a person, and, with the trio’s past use of Polyjuice, they had more ideas of what to look for. Rosa was still stationed on surveillance duty, so she was monitoring the surrounding blocks for any sudden appearances. Sometimes she, Charles and Jake would switch around their duties to not get caught up in the monotony.

What Ron and Harry had found the next day was a similarity in times on the main sign in sheet for the Wand Records Office, but it was always a different name. The names were always male, so if it was Gerteso posing as other people, it narrowed the search for who the 99 was looking for. Once in the Wand Records Office, the second sign-in indicated that Gerteso was searching wand records between 1993 and 1998, but the rows varied. It looked as if Gerteso had been tackling about five rows a day, and was a week in. 

He typically only spent about forty five minutes searching each day to not arouse suspicion, and he didn’t go in order when searching the rows. Gerteso clearly planned everything out to minimize suspicions. The first day Harry and Ron were investigating, they split up the rows between them. 

It was a small records office, the rows weren’t very long, and the shelves were only four rows high. The years were labeled at the ends of the rows and indicated the record holder’s school age entrance year.  Records were kept in manilla folders that had stickers on the end with letters. The first two appeared to be the first and last initial, and most folders only had two stickers, but some had three or four. So Harry and Ron decided to decipher the labeling system first to see if they could save time.

“How in the world does he get through five rows each day? There must be at least a hundred records to sift through on each shelf!” Harry said as he was looking down the row.

“Maybe there’s a classification system with the letters that makes it easier for him to look.” Ron suggested. He scanned the row he was currently scanning. “Americans certainly go through a lot of wands, don’t they? This one person has had at least five, and their Ilvermorny start was in ‘93!” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Guess they’re more careless than we are, or more interested in power and status. Who knows.” Harry was silent for a bit before he said, “Hey Ron, I think the third letter is the married name for those witches.”

“I think you’re right, Harry,” Ron said as he handled a folder himself. “Black and white lettering for first and last name, blue and white lettering for married name, yeah?”

“Yeah, now let’s look for-” Harry cut himself off as they heard a door open.

Ron checked his watch and knew it was close to that time. He pointed at his watch, and then the end of the row. Harry grabbed the invisibility cloak from inside his pocket and put it on while Ron made his way to an area in the shelves where the newcomer wouldn’t find him. He double checked that his phone was on silent, and opened it to send a text message to Jake and Charles. He’s here.

Jake responded fairly quickly. Harry texted Charles. He’s going to give us a description to work off of so when he comes back out we can trail him to see where he goes.

Brilliant, Ron sent back before switching his contacts to Hermione. 

Her response was a bit less stealth. Omg. He’s there? Are you going to apprehend him? 

Not yet.

Well, why not? Isn’t that the whole reason you’re there???

Ron rolled his eyes. He was once again reminded why Hermione wasn’t an Auror. Hermione, we don’t know for certain that it’s him. Plus, we need to be sure we know what he’s after to have enough evidence. It’d look pretty bad if we arrested the wrong guy and then spooked Gerteso.

Ugh, fine. 

While we’re waiting, have you found any more on The Cryptic yet?

OH! Yes, actually. Amy is going to send you a couple files now. It may actually help us narrow it down.

As Ron was reading Hermione’s text, he saw the drop down notification from Amy and clicked on it. There were three links to articles. He clicked on the first one. Apparently one of the street names The Cryptic goes by is Francesco Martini. At least that was his good samaritan name. 

He was the youngest philanthropist New York has seen in decades, only 28. It was an article about how he donates thousands of dollars to help orphaned children, both magical and non-magical. He even takes some of the kids into his home, almost like that Daddy Warbucks in that muggle movie Hermione had made him watch once.

Hmm, I wonder if that’s a cover to better assess kids for the squib trafficking. Ron texted Amy.

I was thinking the same thing. Everything we’ve found on Francesco Martini is pretty solid and checks out, though. He’s careful with his aliases. Plus, he’s only ever seen in pictures by this name, so whoever his true identity is, he keeps that locked up tight.

Merlin, how does she text so fast? Ron thought. He moved onto the other articles she sent to pass the time. The first thing he’d do once Gerteso left would be to double check the name Martini, happy to have a solid plan for once.

The last article was still open on his phone when he noticed something about Martini’s picture. Why didn’t it look the same as the other article. Ron quickly toggled back and forth. Bloody hell, he thought as he opened the text thread for Hermione. 

Check those images on the articles of Martini, and tell me if you notice anything. He sent the text and waited a few moments. Sure, the years were two apart, but he was vastly different. Almost as if a beauty charm was used on the more recent article. In the older one he looked like-. His thought was cut off as Hermione’s text came through.

It doesn’t look like the same person, even though he’s labeled as Francesco Martini. That’s odd. I’m having Amy cross reference to see if we get any more image hits.

Notice anything else? Ron sent back.

The older image looks like someone I’ve seen before.

Like Gerteso.

Oh, my... YES, RON THAT’S RIGHT! Ron nodded as he read Hermione’s message. 

There are some differences, though. 

You don’t think they could be brothers, do you? That could fit the whole taking what’s rightfully his.

Maybe even closer than that.

TWINS? But how…

I don’t know. I’ll search both names, Ron sent the last text to her as he heard a door shut. Harry texted. 

He’s leaving, but don’t come out yet. I want to be sure. I’m texting Jake and Charles to make sure he doesn’t see them following him, and not to engage. They’ll meet us back at headquarters.

They waited a good five minutes before they received word from Charles that Gerteso had left the Woolworth building. When Harry told him it was safe, Ron quickly showed him what Hermione and Amy had found and where he wanted to look.

“But that wouldn’t make sense, I trailed him the entire time he was here. He didn’t search the rows he wrote down in the log book, either, Ron. He stayed in the G section of 1998.” 

“I think they’re brothers Harry, and if Martini is an alias, then of course Gerteso would be looking in G. Let’s just check the M1998 section.” Harry nodded reluctantly as they quickly found it.

“There’s no Martini here, Ron,” Harry said impatiently, but Ron didn’t move.

He stood there, thinking hard. “What did Kingsley say about the Sanguinity connection with The Cryptic?”

“Just that the Sanguinity named him head of the New York Division,” Harry said, scratching his head.

“He’s 28, Harry. Very young. There’s got to be something special about him.”

“Or maybe they couldn’t find a suitable leader in New York and sent him here,” Harry said half jokingly.

Ron looked up at him. “That’s it! Harry, you’re brilliant!” He immediately began moving to the end of the aisle. 

“What? I was only-”

“But what if he was sent here? From Italy? Do they have immigrant records?”

“Er, yeah on the other side of the floor.”

“What are we waiting for?” Ron hurried to the immigration record area and searched for Martini. It didn’t take long to find one singular match in 1998. “Bloody hell,” Ron muttered as they grabbed the file.

He opened it as Harry looked over his shoulder, and sure enough, there was a picture of a boy who closely resembled a younger version of the man who Ron had seen in the article. It turned out Martini was indeed an alias.

“So The Cryptic’s real name is Lorenzo Guarnieri?” Harry asked quietly. 

“Looks like it. Let’s take pictures of all this so we can take it back to the team.” Ron handed Harry the folder as he reached for his phone. 

As Ron was taking the pictures, Harry continued studying the document. When it came across familial relations, Harry drew a sharp breath in. “Whoa.”

“What?” asked Ron.

“I think you might be right about the brother hunch, mate.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Ron asked curiously.

“Because it says so right here. A twin brother, who was older, but presumed dead. Leonardo Guarnieri.”

Ron looked up at Harry and both men had the same thought at the same time. “Gerteso.”

[satyr-syd]

 “The stitching on that hemline is impeccable!”

 When Kai was kicked off the acting team, he never thought he’d be so...okay with it.

 “The silk was an excellent choice. It really shimmers under the spotlight!”

 Turns out that being a stagehand is kind of fun. Kai likes how hands-on it is, and how he always has something to show for himself at the end. Acting is ephemeral, but costumes can last a long, long time.

 “I love this dresser, I’m so glad you were able to find it under all those other props!”

 Of course, it helps that he likes the stage crew members. Legosi’s a weird guy, but he’s pretty chill when he’s not doing something completely insane. Fudge always knows the latest gossip. Riz is quiet and polite. Kibi is a bit of a wimp, but he’s funny.

 And then there’s Dom.

read on ao3

 “You’re such a fast learner, Kai, I’m so glad you’re on our team.”

 From the very beginning, Dom has made Kai feel welcome. He showers him in compliments, goes out of his way to include him, and spends extra time teaching him the ins and outs of stage management.

 It’s...nice. In fact it’s almost too nice. Why is this bird being so nice to a mongoose? Kai knows that the Drama Club is renowned for their close interspecies relationships, but he always thought those were just casual friendships. That’s how it was on the acting team. At least, that’s how it was for him.

 Well, that’s how it’s supposed to be, but apparently Dom didn’t get the memo, because everything Dom does makes Kai want to be closer to him. Kai can’t help it when Dom’s the one to lean over him and guide his hands along the sewing machine, to stay late to help him finish painting a set, to retrieve the box of light bulbs from the shelf that’s too high for Kai to reach. Doesn’t Dom know that his scent drives Kai crazy? Doesn’t he know better to be left alone in a room with a carnivore? Maybe that’s why Kai’s so attracted to - uh,      fond     of the peacock. Because he trusts Kai not to eat him.

 Kai doesn’t know if it’s the smell of bird meat or the smell of Dom that’s driving him crazy, but whatever it is, Kai needs to sort it out.

 The best way to sort it out is just asking. Probably.

 The stage crew is reorganizing the Drama Club’s storage house in order to make room for the new dinosaur statue from this year’s Meteor Festival. It turns out the room is messy as hell, and if they want to be able to find anything for future productions, they need to clean it out.

 Kai tosses a dozen threadbare, dusty costumes to the ground. “The actors couldn’t be bothered to help, huh?” He kicks them into the steadily growing pile of unusable costumes that were still taking up space here for some reason. “Not like it’s all their shit we’re cleaning up after.”

 “If the actors were here, they wouldn’t know how to handle the equipment and they’d break all our stuff,” Fudge says.

 Kai cocks his head. “Good point, actually.”

 The crew continues organizing for an hour until the setting sun’s orange rays permeate through the windows. Dom dismisses everyone and thanks them for their hard work (Except Legosi, because he didn’t even show up in the first place. Punk.)

 “Kai.” Kai’s ears perk up at the sound of that voice saying his name. Dom smiles at him as he asks, “Could you help me with one more thing?”

 Kai nods. “Of course!”

 “Thank you. The rest of you, have a good night.”

 His heart starts to thump louder as the crew files out. Shit. Should he ask now? Now’s the perfect time, isn’t it? When it’s just the two of them?

 Dom has him untangle a fake barbwire fence that got caught in some cords. By untangle he means use his teeth and claws to tear through it, because they don’t need the cord anyway and it takes a lot less time than trying to actually untangle it.

 “Why did you ask me?” Kai tugs at another knot. It snaps in half. “Riz and Fudge have claws too.” Not to mention Riz’s claws and teeth are much more powerful than his.

 Dom sits on top of a wooden table next to him, working his way through a big plastic box of every hat in every size you could ever imagine. He places a bowler hat twice the size of Kai’s head beside him in the ‘keep’ pile. He isn’t wearing his blazer - his white collared shirt is pulled tight across his chest, like he’s wearing a size too small. Kai feels the strange urge to buy him a shirt that fits him better. He’d be more comfortable that way. Or his buttons would be, at least.  

 “You’re a hard worker,” Dom says. “I like that about you.”

 “Is that the only thing you like about me?”

 “Of course not,” Dom says. Kai waits for him to elaborate, but the peacock doesn’t look up from his hats.

 Kai snaps another cord in half. “Then why…?”

 Dom shrugs. “I like to spend time with you.”

 Kai gulps. He must know how that sounds, right? Like a deathwish. “Even when it’s just us?” Kai asks. “Even though...you and I...and I’m a - and you’re a - you know…”

 Dom hops off the table and walks over to him in large strides. Kai resists the urge to step backwards as Dom stops right in front of him.

 Kai’s painfully aware of how      tall     Dom is. The top of Kai’s head barely reaches Dom’s shoulders. His neck seems a mile high. Maybe because he’s always dwarfed by Legosi and Riz and the other larger carnivores in width, but Kai never thought of him as big. Yet, right now, when it’s just them, Dom standing mere inches away, looking down on him with sharp, glossy eyes, Kai feels like prey.

 It’s absolutely thrilling.

 “Kai,” Dom says in that gentle, not-quite-but-almost condescending tone. “I don’t know if you know this, but peacocks aren’t herbivores.”

 “Uh...what?”

 Dom drops his head down to Kai’s level. They’re nearly nose-to-beak. “If I wanted to... ” sunlight glares off the tip of his beak. His sharp, sharp beak. Kai never noticed how sharp it was before, “...I could eat meat.”

 Kai gulps.

 Dom straightens and takes a step back, smiling innocently like he hadn’t just      completely flipped the narrative of their species    . “Not that I’d ever choose to, of course~!”

 “Oh of - of course,” Kai says, mirroring that innocent smile as well as he can, pretending he wasn’t just staring at his friend’s mouth. A mouth that, apparently, was made to tear through flesh just like his.

 He waits until Dom returns to sorting the hats before he allows himself to breath. Keeping an eye on Dom, he reaches behind him and runs his hand over the wall. Fingertips fall into deep divots, punctures formed by his own claws. He’d dug them into the wall to keep himself from lashing out.

 This wasn’t like that time with Louis. After hearing Tem’s position wouldn’t be his, Kai had lost himself to anger, a blind rage that had stripped him down to only his base instincts. This time, he’s lost himself to something else. Oh, it was definitely hunger - just not the kind he expected.

     What the hell is wrong with me?  

 He’s embarrassed for not realizing sooner that peafowls aren’t strictly herbivores. Not that Kai would have any reason to know a peafowl’s diet...Dom’s the only peafowl Kai’s ever known.

 Honestly, though, he’s relieved. It’s crazy enough to be attracted to another species, let alone another whole      class     of animals - Dom’s not even a mammal! If, on top of all that, Kai was attracted to a herbivore...he’d probably think he’d gone crazy. Or that he was just hungry.

 That night Kai scrolls through his phone, reading as many articles about peafowls as he has the patience to.

Kingdom: Animalia Phylum: Chordata Class: Aves Order: Galliformes Family: Phasianidae Genus: Pavo Species: Pavo cristatus

 The females of that species look much different than Dom. Kai doesn’t think he’s seen a single female peafowl at their school - not that Dom would be interested in them. Thank the dinosaurs for that.

 Peafowls’ original diets consist of plants, insects, snakes, and small mammals. Small mammals. Was Kai a small mammal in Dom’s eyes? He’s much larger than mice and other rodents, but not nearly as big as Dom...Kai shivers thinking about it.

 Honestly though, their diets aren’t too different. Mongeese can eat insects, snakes and small mammals, too. And birds. In another lifetime, a millennia ago, maybe, they might have tried to eat each other.

 There’s one thing that stands out to him, though, more than anything else. It’s the first thing he runs into when searching for characteristics of peacocks: big, colorful, beautiful feathers.

 Of course Kai has seen peacock feathers before. Everyone knows what they look like: they’re so distinctive, a marker of the species. Beginning at the small of their backs, the feathers form a long, tail-like covering called a train. It looks like one half of a woman’s poofy skirt, cascading from their waists down to their toes.  

 It’s only then that he realizes he’s never seen Dom’s train before.

 Today, Dom doesn’t have to ask Kai to stay behind. All the other stagehands have excuses to leave early - Kibi is studying for a math test, Fudge has a date, and Riz has to refill his prescription. Legosi, once again, left early to do whatever it is he does when he ditches them.  

 Most of the older costumes and broken props have been moved and reorganized, so today they’re dusting. They use faux feather dusters with a long reach, Kai sweeping underneath cabinets and tables, Dom reaching the nooks and crannies at the top. They make a good team, Kai thinks.

 Kai’s never been one to be afraid of confrontation - nor could the adjective “patient” be used to describe him. He can’t help himself from bringing up what’s on his mind the minute after everyone leaves. “Hey, Dom.”

 “Yes?” Dom pauses his dusting to look down at him.

 “Do you...uh…” Kai touches his lip, figuring out the nicest way to word it. “Do you have, like, a train?”

 Dom’s eyebrows shoot up, and he immediately swivels his neck around and continues dusting along the shoe shelf. “Yes, I do.”

 Kai looks at Dom’s backside, as if confirmation that he indeed had a train would suddenly make feathers appear out of nowhere. All he sees is Dom’s familiar backside - shirt and pants, nothing out of the ordinary. “So where is it?”

 Dom’s neck straightens as stiff as a pencil. “Well, that’s a rather personal question.”

     Crap.    “Sorry, I didn’t -

 “But if you must know, I keep it tucked away, under my shirt.”

 Kai slides a little closer, just a little, and scrutinizes the back of Dom’s shirt. Sure enough, he can see faint bumps and lines pulling the fabric taut, and spots, nearly invisible, spread under the white cotton threads. His hand wants to leap out and touch it, run his fingers down Dom’s back, but he forces his hands to stay at his sides. They curl into fists in frustration.

 He remembers from his Zoozling that peacock trains are long - nearly twice the height of their heads, usually. “How does it all fit under there?”

 “I clip it short.”

 “Why?”

 Dom glares at him a moment before he returns to dusting. “Someone’s full of questions.”

 “Sorry.”

 Dom sighs. “If I don’t clip them, they get in the way, and I - well, I don’t want to appear too ostentatious.”

 “Why not?” Kai says. “Your feathers are beautiful.”

 Dom stiffens for a moment. His shoulders drop. “It’d be like a carnivore baring their fangs. It’s uncouth.”

 Again, Kai wants to ask why. Why hide such beautiful feathers? But he thinks he understands why. There are creatures in this world that want animals they deem threatening to hide what they are. His hyena parents made sure to teach him that; they knew firsthand how important it was to their well-being to hold make their cackles. Society views the display of abnormal traits as a creature’s act of pride, when really, they’re just existing. A lion with a well-groomed mane isn’t boasting his feral instincts; he’s just caring for the body he was born in.

 “Can I see them?”

 Dom glares at him. The glare says      Didn’t you hear what I just said, moron?  

 Kai jumps in to make his case. “Carnivores show each other their fangs all the time. And you said showing your feathers is like carnivores baring their fangs, so it’s basically the same thing, right?”

 Dom raises an eyebrow. The eyebrow asks      Are you serious?    

 Kai folds his arms and stands his ground.

 Dom sighs. “If you really want to see them that bad.”

 Dom sets down the duster and starts unbuttoning his shirt. Immediately Kai feels warmth spreading below his gut.      No, no no no, it’s not like that!    he tells himself. But his body doesn’t listen. He just gets warmer and warmer; with each button Dom undoes, Kai swears the temperature of the room increases another degree.

 Dom shrugs his suspenders off his shoulders, and then the rest of his shirt with it. The peacock’s bright blue plumage flows all the way down his torso, right to the waistline, where it begins to darken.

 Then he turns around.

 Long feathers fall straight down, no longer bound to his torso by the confines of his shirt.  They’re everything and nothing like Kai imagined. Extraordinary blues and greens and purples and golds and teals, whose radiant iridescence couldn’t be captured in the images he saw on his phone, flow from the base of Dom’s waist in a river. A river cut short - the train stops just below the back of his knees, cut off in a razor straight line. Just looking at it makes Kai wince. He imagines what it might feel like if his hands were declawed, or his canines ripped out.

 He can’t stop himself from reaching out. “They’re beautiful…” he says, stroking his hand along a single feather the size of his palm.

     Whoosh.    The feathers fly out of his hand, nearly smacking him in the face.

 They spread around Dom in an arc, shielding him behind the most beautiful fan in the world.

 “Oh my goodness,” Dom whips back around, backside toward the wall, trying to push his feathers down. Outlined in the colors of his species, cobalt blue spots like eyes stare holes into Kai. Even with his train clipped short, Dom looks like a god.

 “Wow.”

 Dom tries to press his feathers down, to no avail. “I’m so sorry - this, this doesn’t normally happen - ”

 Kai steps toward him. He takes Dom’s hands and holds them behind their chests, stilling his frantic motions.

 Dom shivers, causing his feathers to quiver. Or shimmer, more like it, in a rainbow of bright colors. Fairy-like. Magical.

 And Kai is 100% under their spell.

 “You’re beautiful.”

 Dom said he didn’t want to appear too ostentatious. Kai has a feeling he means it as more than a species thing. Everyone already knows Dom is gay, even though Dom himself never talks about it, or does anything that might draw attention to that fact. Maybe he feels that his feathers, with their large display of unavoidably bright colors, would draw that unwanted attention. It makes Kai angry that Dom feels this way, and it makes him feel that much more special that Dom has shown him this part of himself.

 “Before, I thought I wanted to be around you more so I could eat you, but now I think I just wanted to see this,” Kai says. He licks his lips. “I wanted to see you.”

 “Oh.” Dom smirks. “Are you sure you don’t still want to eat me?”

 “Can’t say I have an appetite for bird,” Kai says. “Plus I think you’d kill me with that beak of yours before I had the chance.”

 Dom chuckles. “You’re right about that~”

 Their hands are still clasped. Kai’s hands are starting to sweat, but he doesn’t want to let go. He wants to make this moment last - just him, and Dom, in this moment, where they can be themselves, without any reservations or niceties or bullshit. “Thank you,” Kai says. “For showing me your feathers.”

 Dom smiles. “I’m glad I could show this part of myself to you.” Then he lowers his head next to Kai’s ear and whispers, “I’d love to show you more parts of myself...if you would have me.”

 Kai nods. He nods so quickly he thinks he sprains his neck. “That would - yes - I would like that very much.”

 “Then you better make sure the door is locked, Kai-chan.”

[clairecrive]

Let’s stay home| Quarantine AU

A/N: I know it’s been ages since I’ve updated this story, sorry guys. I don’t even know what this is but someone asked for Bronson so here it is. I’ve decided that I’m going to finish up and edit what I already have for this story, 4 or 5 chapters, and then end it. So, yeah. Anyways, hope you enjoy this!

Tag list: @evelynshelby​, @mollybegger-blog​, @br0ck-eddie​, @of-love-and-of-the-sea​, @deaflikehawkeye​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @fandom--0verdose​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @sopxhiea​, @fuseburner​

Chapter 6 - “Bronson”

Emma was laying in her precious bathtub for some very much needed me time. Since lockdown started, she had found herself needed some kind of relief from dealing with this whole situation. Living together with the guys wasn’t proving to be too bad. She was actually happy that he had invited them over, if she had had to face this whole quarantine on her own she would have probably gone insane. Not that living with four men didn’t put her on edge but it was bearable. As long as she could carve out some time for herself, she would be fine. Sighing contently, she basked in being in the water while the comforting smell of lavender filled her nostrils. but of course, her peaceful moment was short-lived.

“Oi, have you drown in there or something?” Alfie’s voice and vigorous knock startled her and disrupted the moment.

 “This is my self-care bath, Alfie. What do you want?” But she won’t give it up easily if she could help it. 

“Yer what?”

“Stop shouting and get in Alfie. You’ll annoy the neighbours.” Keeping her eyes closed she tried her best to not get the vibe lost.

“Aren’t you naked?”

“I’m covered in bubbles, don’t worry. Not that you haven’t seen it already.” And as a matter of fact, she was covered in bubbles, her long hair covered her breasts and she gathered her knees close to her chest to prevent an embarrassing situation; but the truth was that Emma had always been comfortable with Alfie. Yes, even being half-naked in front of him when nothing sexual was happening didn't bother her. And since they had done this before, when Alfie sat on the toilet next to the tub, she didn’t feel embarrassed at all. He plopped down, groaning for his bad back and looked at her face.

“So what’s all this then?” His gruff tone made her smile lightly and even if she had her eyes closed she could imagine him gesturing at her questioningly.

“I told you, this is my self-care bath.” She repeated finally opening her eyes, finding him exactly as she foresaw.

“Didn’t know there were different kinds of baths.” He mumbled scratching his chin.

“This includes shaving and scrubs and other stuff that of course you wouldn’t know about.”

“Seems like you’re dolling up,” he pointed out looking at his feet but Emma could sense that there was something else he wanted to say so she waited, “is it ‘cause that guy is coming over?” and here it was. By now, Emma knew Alfie too well to not know when something was up. And yeah, the man was naturally grumpy but his behaviour these last few days was too much even for him. And knowing him, she should have known that he was going to eavesdrop her conversation with Bane.

“Did nobody tell you that it’s impolite to listen on to other people’s conversation?” She avoided his question and decided that it was better to make fun of him. His unruly beard could only cover so much of his face and luckily for her, it didn’t cover the redness of his cheeks.

“You were talking in the middle of the fucking sitting room, everyone heard you.” he scoffed.

“Well, that doesn’t explain why you’re so bothered by it though.” She promptly pointed out putting him on the spot.

“Who said I’m bothered?” He scoffed again but Emma could see right through him.

“You’ve been acting like a jealous boyfriend Alfie.” she pointed out even though she knew he’d never admit it.

“I ain’t.” He childishly muttered while crossing his arms on his chest.

“Sure you are. Now be a good boy and tell me why, will you?” She asked him patronizingly while adjusting her position in the tub so that she could better look at him.

“C’mon Alfie, you know that you can talk to me.” she insisted when he didn’t say anything.

“It’s just- I didn’t understand I was going to be stuck in a house with a bunch of your exes.” He complained

“None of you is my ex,” since Alfie gave her a look that called her on her bullshit so she continued, “Eddie is my best friend. He has an on-and-off relationship at the moment but there’s never been anything between us.”

“What about Tommy?”

“We’ve had sex but we were never together. Just like you and me.” Alfie flinched but Emma didn’t notice.

“So, yer supposed to spend a weekend of sex with him too?” He spat and Emma knew that he hadn’t liked her answer but couldn’t really understand why.

“We have never labelled our relationship as exclusive or official, Alfie.” Emma reckoned as a matter of factly.

“That’s not what I said, innit?”

“Well, then why I get the feeling that knowing about my sex life sets you off?”

“And Bane?”

“He’s one of my best buds too. Never seen him naked, unfortunately,” she mumbled the last part but Alfie did hear anyway and threw an ugly glare at her.

“Why are you so interested in my sex life anyway?” she asked raising an eyebrow

“I’m not. You can do whatever you want,” he said not taking into consideration how she could read him so easily. Dismissing her and their conversation, Alfie got up and went to get out of the bathroom.

“Wait, Alfie, what time is it?” her voice stopped him

“Almost 4, why?” He said checking the time on his watch.

“Shit, shit, shit, I’m late,” momentarily forgetting about the man’s presence, Emma pulled the drain of the bath and started to get up.

“What? Have somewhere to be?” Was Alfie’s attempt at being funny.

“I have an interview in half an hour. Guess who I’m interviewing?” Ignoring his cheeky tone, Emma kept drying herself. She didn’t have time to spare.

“Some beauty blogger?” Again, another jab.

“Charlie Bronson, Alfie. I’m so excited,” but Emma was too hyped about this opportunity she had been given.

“Why are you excited to speak with England’s most violent prisoner?”

“Exactly for that very reason. I mean, I know nothing of psychology but he ought to make an interesting subject, don’t you think?” Now wrapped in a warm towel, she was ready to leave the bathroom.

“Be careful, Em,” Alfie called out behind her.

“You can assist if you want to,” She offered, knowing that he could sit in the interview and she could get away with it.

“Oh, I also have an appointment but thanks.” Not thinking anything about it, she simply waved at him and rushed to her room to get ready. The interview was in ten minutes.

So far, it was going good. Sure there had been some problem with her wifi, then with his but it was all part of the job, wasn’t it? Despite his menacing look and intimidating physique, Charlie Bronson was very talkative and friendly. Or maybe he just liked talking about himself and being under the spotlight.

“So, with this current situation, everyday life has changed for everyone. Has life in prison changed too?” Was your final question, the one you were most excited to ask.

“Well, visitors can’t come anymore and also police officers can’t touch us, the cunts.” Flying over his colourful language, Emma reflected on his answer. It was a side effect that she hadn’t thought about but it made sense.

“It sounds like this virus has made life in prison easier, or am I going too far in saying that?” 

“Yeah well, for me, it has and also for those people who have nowhere to go. It also helps us with police brutality.”

“Does it?”

“Of course. They’re the only ones that go out, aren’t they? So if one of us results positive to Covid then it means that it’s their fault, isn’t it?” Bronson points out with a raise of his eyebrow.

“That makes sense. I hadn’t thought about that.”

“No one really thinks about us.” The statement could have been filled with resentment but from his tone, it came out nothing more than a fact. However, Emma still felt a little guilty about it.

“Well, actually, there has been an uproar in Italy for this very reason. Families of inmates asked for their relatives to be released because they were not safe in prison. Do you agree?” Remembering an article she saw a couple of days ago, she thought it worth mentioning.

“Sounds like a desperate tentative to get them out. We’re as safe here as anywhere, if not safer.”

“So if you could, you wouldn’t want to leave prison?” Disbelief evident in her voice. Wouldn’t any inmate go back home given the chance?

“Why would I? Where would I even go?” But Bronson presented a fair point. Most of the lives of those who ended up in prison had always difficult stories behind them and in most cases, they don’t have a safety net to fall into.

“Well, I don’t know. Isn’t any place better than a cell?” Still, Emma thought, however difficult it may be to start again, wouldn’t it be ten times better than being in a cell?

“I’ve never understood people's disregard for prison. There’s nothing out there for me anyway.” Apparently, Bronson wasn’t of the same idea.

“If you’re fine and safe I guess it doesn’t matter where you are.” Not really convinced, Emma trying to meet him halfway.

“As lovely as it is to talk to you, my time is up. Gotta go.” Time had flown apparently because the hour the interview was supposed to last had already come to an end. It had been a conversation far more interesting than Emma had anticipated. Who would have thought. One should never judge a book by its cover, indeed.

“Thank you for speaking with me, Charlie. Stay safe,” saying her goodbyes she closed the zoom call. Staring at her desktop, she processed the whole conversation in her mind, the piece she had to write about it already forming in her mind. In order to avoid forgetting the words or losing inspiration, she immediately got to it. Typing away on her keyboard, words had never come to her as easily, she bashed in this sensation remembering why she loved her job so much.

[hopesilverheart]

Title: I loved your colours (before I loved you) Artist: @calliartss​ Rating: Explicit (Chapter 10 only) Pairings: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Alec Lightwood & Clary Fray, Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood Word Count: ~95k Summary: Magnus Bane is a journalist who's always dreamed of modelling for Lightwood Fashions. When the CEO Alec Lightwood starts looking for new models for their spring collection, he jumps on the occasion.

In the meantime, Alec Lightwood is struggling with the idea of finally announcing his role as co-designer. When Magnus Bane strolls into his life, Alec is torn between keeping his secret or throwing all caution to the wind.

This fic was created for the Malec Discord Mini Bang 2020.

Chapter 3: You lie a million little times

Magnus still couldn’t quite believe he was about to do this.

A week and a half had passed since his audition at Lightwood Fashions. A week and a half of having an official contract as a model. A week and a half of planning and phone calls with his new managers and running around trying to handle both his job at Fade Media and his increasingly busy schedule with Fray.

He had never been happier. And now he was going to make his life even better by quitting the job he had hated all along. This way, his new team would never have to find out about his past with their competing Media company. Not that he thought anyone would judge him for it, but he would rather not have to speak about it again. Ever, if he had anything to say about it.

He knocked on Lorenzo Rey’s office door, a smile on his face. His boss called him in less than a second later, and Magnus let himself in, dropping a pile of files and loose paperwork on the man’s desk.

“What is this?” Lorenzo asked, pushing the pile aside with a frown. “Have you finally decided to catch up on all the work you’ve been missing this past week? You’ve always been one of my best employees, Magnus, but you’ve been letting yourself go lately.”

“I have indeed,” Magnus nodded, smirking smugly at his boss. “I’m quitting, Lorenzo. I signed all the necessary papers with Fade this morning, but I thought I would stop by and say goodbye to you, too. Those papers are all the articles I started over the past month but won’t be able to finish, as well as advice for the colleagues I actually like. I wish I could say it was a pleasure working with you, but I’d be lying. Good luck trying to find someone as good as me to fill the spot I’m leaving behind.”

“You’re quitting?” Lorenzo exclaimed, eyes wide and fists clenched over the edge of his desk. Magnus’ smile widened at the man’s obvious distress. He had always known he was a vital part of the company, but it was nice to get confirmation from his boss himself. “What on earth possessed you to do such a thing? You can’t have possibly found a better job than the one you currently have. The only company that surpasses us is… No.”

“Oh yes,” Magnus grinned. “I was offered a contract by the Lightwoods and I would be a fool to refuse it. Your competition is about to crush you now that they have me on their side.”

“You’re their new Head Editor?” Lorenzo asked. Magnus almost opened his mouth to correct him, but then he saw the fearful look in his former boss’ eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time his pride got him in trouble. Instead of denying it, Magnus shrugged nonchalantly, staring down at his nails. “I can’t believe it. I thought Maryse was still looking for someone, but I guess she wanted to keep this particular coup de maître under wraps. Damn it, Bane, do you have no loyalty?”

Magnus tensed and narrowed his eyes at Lorenzo, anger simmering underneath his skin.

“Not to you, no,” he seethed. “You have treated me like an errand boy for the past few years, acting as though you’re so much better than me for getting the position I rightfully deserved. I have worked harder than anyone in this office, you included, but was still pushed to the side because of my ex’s pettiness. So no, Rey, I don’t have loyalty when it comes to the people in this company. The Lightwoods were eager to give me the promotion I’ve been denied here, and I would have been a fool to refuse it.”

It wasn’t all a lie. He would have been a fool to refuse the contract Lightwood Fashions had offered him. However, that wasn’t what Lorenzo thought he was talking about and Magnus knew it. He just didn’t want to be mocked for his life choices. He may not be leaving to become Head Editor, but he would still be happier with Fray and her team than he had ever been here. He didn’t need Lorenzo throwing that happiness in his face by telling him modelling wasn’t a proper career.

“Well then, I look forward to seeing your pieces in their rag,” Lorenzo snarled, dismissing him with a single wave of his hand.

The man’s last words echoed inside Magnus’ mind as he walked out of the office, out of the floor, out of the building. Lorenzo was expecting to see Magnus’ name in future Lightwood publications. If he didn’t, he would undoubtedly figure out that Magnus had been lying about his position and new job.

That was something Magnus was desperate to avoid.

It took him a while to figure out what to do about it. He walked around aimlessly for what felt like hours, barely aware of what was going on around him. He knew what the easiest and most logical solution was. He could easily avoid Lorenzo forever and pretend like he had disappeared off the face of the earth. Sure, his former boss would probably figure out what Magnus had been up to eventually, but hopefully he would have forgotten about his claims of being Head Editor by then.

However, Magnus wasn’t always the most logical person out there. He was fiercely competitive and more than a little resentful about the years he had spent locked in an office that didn’t reflect all the work he put in. So, instead of putting together a rational plan that would keep him out of Lorenzo’s way, he came up with another idea.

An idea which, in hindsight, was absolutely terrible. He knew, even as he pulled out his phone to call Raphael, that he would regret it later. The truth had a way of coming out, and this plan was tempting fate to do just that.

Once again, Magnus wasn’t claiming to be completely logical.

“Magnus, what is it?” Raphael asked him, sounding harried. “I’m a bit busy, so please make this fast.”

“I need a tiny favour,” Magnus answered immediately. He had planned on explaining everything to his friend and maybe have him talk him out of his terrible plan, but… “Do you have Isabelle Lightwood’s number?”

A pause, then a shuffle. Magnus hadn’t even realised Raphael was in a loud room until the background noises disappeared.

“Why on earth do you need Isabelle’s phone number?” Raphael sounded suspicious, not that Magnus could blame him. Whilst his question was seemingly innocent, his friend knew him well enough to understand something else was going on. “I swear Magnus, if you’re trying to get into Alec’s pants already, I’ll make sure the entire office knows about it.”

Magnus scoffed indignantly. Yes, he found Lightwood ridiculously attractive, but he wasn’t about to ask him out so soon after meeting him. He wasn’t even sure the man was interested, for heaven’s sake.

“It’s not about her brother,” Magnus rolled his eyes, hoping his friend couldn’t sense it through the phone. “I swear, I just need her number for friendship purposes. She’s a nice woman, we got along well the few times we talked, we’re going to be working together a lot, and I just want to talk to her. Is that so hard to believe?”

The answering yes was silent, but Magnus heard it anyway. Once again, he understood why his friend was so suspicious, but he didn’t want to argue with Raphael about a stupid phone number all day. He had other things to take care of, and he couldn’t do that if he didn’t have a way to contact Isabelle.

“Fine,” Raphael sighed after a few seconds of silence. “But I don’t want to be blamed for anything if this is another one of your hare-brained schemes. I like my job, Magnus, and I don’t want you to screw things up for me because of some weird seduction you have planned.”

“Once again, not a seduction!” Magnus exclaimed, stepping into his apartment building – he wasn’t even sure when he had gotten there – and taking out a pen to scribble Isabelle’s number onto the back of his hand. “But thank you for this, Raphael! I’ll buy you dinner or something later, I promise!”

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Raphael sighed, hanging up without waiting for Magnus to answer.

A good thing, too, since Magnus would have had to lie to satisfy his friend. Whilst he had done stupider things in his life, this definitely ranked in the top ten. Part of him wished Raphael hadn’t been busy so he could talk Magnus out of his plan, but another – bigger – part of him felt like fate was telling him to go through with it.

So he threw himself onto his sofa and pulled up a new contact, typing out a message before he could talk himself out of it.

It was foolish and would not end well, but Magnus didn’t let himself think about it too hard. He didn’t let himself think about all the ways in which this could go wrong, all the ways in which it was wrong. Instead, he told himself it was his way of making a point, of proving he could achieve what everyone had denied him over the years.

Pride, he told himself again, would be his downfall.

He sent the message to Isabelle and didn’t let himself second doubt his words.

***

The coffee shop Isabelle had asked him to meet her at was on the same street as the Lightwood building. It was bigger than what Magnus was used to at his usual coffee shops, but it was light and airy and the man at the counter had been nothing but kind to him, so he let himself enjoy the few minutes of calm left before the storm. A storm he was bringing upon himself, but a storm nevertheless.

“Magnus!”

He looked up from his phone and sent his most convincing smile Isabelle’s way. He couldn’t let her know something was up from the very start. What he was about to ask her was more than a simple favour, and he needed to make sure she wasn’t about to spill his secrets before he told her anything.

“Isabelle, thank you for meeting up with me on such short notice,” he greeted her, watching her wave the barista over. The blond man rolled his eyes at her but came up to them anyways.

“Izzy.”

“Jace, my favourite brother in the world, would you please bring me my usual drink,” the brunette batted her eyelashes at Jace – her brother, apparently, not that Magnus could see the resemblance. “I promise I’ll pay you later.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure of it,” the blond barista grinned, going back to the counter and – presumably – getting Isabelle’s drink ready.

Once that was done, the brunette turned back towards Magnus and grinned at him widely. To her, this was probably nothing more than a meet-up between two people who wanted to get to know each other and become friends. Magnus felt bad for having to lie to her and use her for his own gain, but she was his only shot at making sure Lorenzo didn’t find out about his tiny, white lie.

“I wasn’t aware you had another brother,” he started, glancing at the barista again. The two of them looked nothing alike, though he knew better than most that family wasn’t always a question of blood.

“He’s adopted,” Isabelle chuckled. “Our parents took him in when we were younger, and he’s been a part of our little family ever since. He’s the only one who didn’t want to work in the family business, hence the coffee shop.”

“It’s very nice,” Magnus said stiltedly. He wasn’t usually this bad at small talk, but his nerves were getting to him.

“It is,” Isabelle hummed. “Now, how about you tell me why you’re really here? I’m never one to turn down coffee with an acquaintance, but I have a feeling there’s more to this than a casual encounter.”

“You’re not wrong,” Magnus winced.

He hadn’t wanted to jump straight into the thick of things, but Isabelle clearly wanted to get to the point of their meeting. Once again, Magnus took it as a sign of fate that this was the right thing to do.

“Tell me, Isabelle, do you know where I work?” he asked, wanting to see how much Isabelle and the rest of the Lightwood team knew about him. Out of everyone, Isabelle was the one most likely to have heard of him before, and therefore the biggest liability. “Besides Lightwood Fashions, of course.”

“I assumed you worked for another media company,” the brunette shrugged. “Although my brother and the fashion team are under the impression that you work for Lightwood Media, for some reason. Did you purposely mislead them, or did they come to that conclusion themselves?”

“I never mentioned the company for which I worked, but I didn’t tell them I worked for your mother,” Magnus shrugged. He truly hadn’t wanted to lie about his job, although he hadn’t wanted to talk about his position at Fade Media either. “I didn’t know they would assume I worked for Lightwood Company already. However, that might- It might work in our favour if you agree to help me with this slightly insane plan I have in mind.”

“Insane plans?” Isabelle asked, her lips twitching into a mischievous smile. “Those are my favourite kind. Good thing you came to me and not anyone else on the team, because I’m pretty sure they would all have stopped listening as soon as you mentioned a plan.”

“Lucky me,” Magnus grimaced. “I would really appreciate your help, but I’ll also understand if you can’t help me with this. It’s a little bit… I wouldn’t say illegal, because I don’t think it is, but it would definitely involve a lot of lying and covering things up and a few manipulations here and there.”

Isabelle cocked her head to the side as though she was looking for something on Magnus’ face. He didn’t know what it was but, when she shrugged and nodded after a few seconds of examination, he figured that he had passed her test. It wasn’t acceptance, since saying yes to something before knowing the details would have been a stupid thing to do, but it wasn’t a rebuttal either.

“I told my former boss that I was quitting my company in order to come work for the Lightwoods,” Magnus explained slowly, glancing down at his coffee, and fiddling with the cup in an attempt to settle his nerves. “I didn’t tell him I was joining as a model, so he assumed your mother had hired me as her Head Editor for the Media side of things. I’ve been vying for that spot within my former company for years, so I understand why he assumed that. The thing is, I sort of hate this guy, so I didn’t…”

“You didn’t deny it,” Isabelle finished for him, looking torn between exasperation and amusement. “Oh god, Magnus, you are so screwed. Head Editors are mentioned all over our magazines, so there’s no way he won’t notice you’re not on there. You should have just told him the truth, it would have been a lot less humiliating than what you’re going to go through when he realises you lied.”

“About that…” Magnus grimaced, hoping Isabelle would catch his train of thought. He really didn’t want to talk about his half-assed plan out loud, especially since he knew it would probably sound a lot worse in words than it did in his head. “That’s when you would come in, if I were to put my plan into effect.”

“Where I- no,” Isabelle gasped, her eyes widening comically. “Magnus, please tell me you’re not implying what I think you are. Are you asking me to put your name into our magazine even though you don’t work for us? Because if you are, I’m not sure that’s something I can do. My position is pretty good, yes, and I have access to a lot of things thanks to my mother, but if someone found out…”

“No one would have to find out!” Magnus exclaimed, desperate to get her on his side. “Look, your brother and the fashion team already think I work for you, so it’s not like they won’t believe it if we tell them I was recently promoted. From what I understand, your mother is really only involved with the administrative side of things, so I’m sure you could come up with a cover story, and… And I could still do the job, alright? I know I can’t get paid unless your mother actually hires me, but you could tell her this is a test run of sorts.”

“You want me to tell my mother I’ve found us the perfect Head Editor and convince her to put you on a trial period?” Isabelle repeated, her eyebrows raised and her lips pressed together. “All the while telling the rest of the team, both Media and Fashion, that you were officially hired a few weeks or months ago? Do I have this right?”

Magnus winced again. He had known it would sound terrible once someone laid it out in front of him. Instead of calling the whole thing off, however, he only nodded affirmatively. It was a crazy plan, but it was his crazy plan, and the only way to make sure no one let the wrong thing slip out at the wrong moment.

The only person who would know the full truth was Isabelle, and probably Magnus’ friends since he couldn’t keep anything from him. The rest of the Lightwood employees would just assume he had been there for a while but had only recently climbed up the hierarchical ladder and, by the time someone looked into it, Maryse would have hopefully hired him. It wasn’t perfect, but he had done worse in the past.

At least he had been sober when he had come up with this particular plan.

“Look, I know this sounds insane,” Magnus sighed, chuckling mirthlessly at Isabelle’s dubious gaze. “Fine, it sounds downright impossible to pull off, but I promise it isn’t. The hardest part of this whole thing is getting your mother to agree to have me on a trial run. However, I’m quite sure I could convince her if you really can’t.”

“This is absolutely crazy,” Isabelle groaned, resting her head in her hands and shaking it for a few seconds before looking back up at him. “You do realise people won’t take it well if they find out you’ve been lying to them, right? Being a model means maintaining a good relationship with your team, and if anyone figures out you’ve been lying about something as important as your job…”

“They won’t,” Magnus said decisively. “The only people who will know about the deception are you, your mother, and myself. My friends will probably figure it out too, but they won’t tattle.”

“I want to help you, Magnus, I really do,” Isabelle said after a few seconds of silence. “I think you’re a good guy, and I believe you’ll be an amazing model for this collection. On top of that, my brother already likes you, which is a miracle in and of itself. I’m also sure you’d make a wonderful Head Editor, but this… You realise if this comes out, people will paint you as someone no one can trust, right?”

“I know,” Magnus told her seriously. “But look, the place where I used to work… Lightwood Media is my only chance at getting a better position than the one I wanted over there. It’s my one shot at proving I’m as good as they knew I was, my one shot at proving they should have promoted me from the get-go. If this works out, I’ll have everything I ever dreamed of having, and Lightwood Media will have the best goddamned editor in New York City. Your brother will still have his model, and it’ll be even easier to work around my schedule if I’m part of your Media team. I know the fallout could be horrible, but this is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“If my mother agrees,” Isabelle added.

“If your mother agrees,” Magnus nodded. “Although she can’t know I’m doing this as a way to get back at my boss. As far as she’s concerned, I’ll have to be nothing more than an amazing editor who quit his job just to join her team.”

“That’ll definitely appeal to her ego,” Isabelle hummed thoughtfully.

As soon as he saw the calculation and determination in the brunette’s eyes, Magnus knew he had won her over.

“So you’ll help me?” Magnus bit his lip, glancing at Isabelle hopefully. “Even though this is insane and probably a terrible idea and will more likely than not end disastrously?”

“I will, even though everything you just said is absolutely true. The things I do for people, I swear. You’re going to owe me a lot, Magnus. I want free coffees on my desk every morning and shopping days with you as well as your unconditional friendship. Also, you have to promise me you won’t drag me into anything crazier than this, because I’m not sure I could handle it.”

Magnus nodded, knowing very well she deserved all of that and more for what she was going to do for him. He thanked whichever god had created Isabelle Lightwood and thrown her Magnus’ way, because he wasn’t sure he could have made it through this impossible situation without her.

He also thanked whichever deity had given him a friend who was just as insane and reckless as he was. In between Raphael, Catarina, and Ragnor, Magnus usually got more speeches bringing down-to-earth than offers to help. Not that he could blame his friends, given how crazy he got sometimes.

“Thank you, Isabelle,” he murmured, squeezing one of the woman’s hands with both his own. “Seriously, this means the world to me.”

“Don’t mention it,” the brunette grimaced. “Seriously, let’s not talk about this ever again. I’ll get you your trial period, and you’ll start working on Monday. Feel free to tell everyone else you just recently got promoted, but don’t mention that god-awful plan ever again.”

“Works for me,” Magnus shrugged, eager to change the subject. He racked his brain for a topic and grinned widely when his thoughts strayed back to a particular redhead. “So, want to talk about your crush on Clary Fray instead?”

Isabelle’s face turned bright red, and Magnus burst out laughing. Perhaps the beginning of their friendship was a bit strange, but he didn’t doubt Isabelle and he would get along perfectly.

***

He got a text from his new friend and colleague less than a day later, confirming his new job as Head Editor. Apparently, Maryse Lightwood and Isabelle didn’t always get along, and the elder saw this as a way to get back on her daughter’s good side. Magnus wasn’t about to complain about the subtle bribing, not when it meant he was officially an employee of Lightwood Media. Or at least, as much as he could be for now.

“What’s got you looking so relieved?” Catarina asked him, raising a curious eyebrow at him and gesturing towards his phone. “Got a date with that hot boss of yours?”

“A date with Lightwood?” Magnus asked, frowning. He had barely even seen his new boss. Fray and the man spent their days locked in their offices, probably getting ready for the collection and the photoshoots and everything else that needed to be organised. “No, although I did just receive amazing news from his little sister.”

“Ah yes, your fellow model. What good news would this be, then?”

Magnus froze, suddenly realising he hadn’t told Catarina about his plan. He hadn’t wanted to alarm his friends too soon, especially not since his position within the Lightwood Company hadn’t been confirmed yet.

And perhaps he also hadn’t wanted to deal with their judgement and disappointment whilst he was still trying to sort out his own warring feelings. He could already imagine the exasperation on Catarina’s face, the frustration on Raphael’s, and even the amusement on Ragnor’s. He could also perfectly imagine what they would tell him once they found out what he had done.

“The delightful Isabelle may or may not have gotten me a job at Lightwood Media,” Magnus started, not wanting to reveal too much too soon.

Catarina’s face lit up, a congratulations undoubtedly at the tip of her tongue, but Magnus saw the moment when she realised something was off. She snapped her mouth shut and narrowed her eyes in his direction, clearly not believing this was just some innocent job at the bottom of the chain. She knew him too well for that.

“Magnus, what did you do?”

“Always so suspicious,” Magnus sighed dramatically, though he dropped the act when Catarina failed to laugh. “Alright, I may or may not have concocted a bit of a plan with the lovely Isabelle. It’s not my fault, though, I swear! It’s just that Lorenzo was being so smug about me quitting and then I mentioned the Lightwoods and he assumed I had been hired as their Head Editor, and I…”

“And you let your pride get the better of you again,” Catarina completed for him, groaning and burying her face in her hands. The gesture reminded him of Isabelle’s reaction and Magnus had to hold back the completely inappropriate giggles that almost spilled past his lips.

“It’s not that bad, alright? The fashion team already thought I was a part of their media company, so they won’t suspect anything. The media team will be fed some white lie about me wanting to keep my importance a secret for a while. And Maryse Lightwood herself accepted to put me on a trial run. Isabelle may or may not have misled her about a few things, but it’s all clean and real. I actually do have somewhat of a job there.”

“One that you got because you convinced your new friend to help you out of a sticky situation,” Catarina pointed out. “I know you wanted that position badly, Magnus, and I understand why you didn’t want Lorenzo to think any less of you, but you do realise this could go horribly wrong, right?”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Magnus sighed. “Look, I’ll admit I could have come up with something a little smarter and a little less impulsive, but Lorenzo threw me off guard and I reacted before I could sit down and think.”

Catarina shook her head exasperatedly, but at least she didn’t comment on his stupidity and lack of forethought any further. She clearly didn’t agree with his choices, but she wasn’t about to repeat herself a hundred times, especially since the deed had already been done.

“Raphael is going to be so mad,” she said a few minutes later, once she had downed the rest of her wine. “He gets along well with the Lightwoods, and if they find out and think he was involved in this whole mess…”

“I’ll make it clear he wasn’t if it comes to that,” Magnus waved her concerns away. “Raphael means too much to me for me to throw him under the bus like that. If possible, I’ll even try to keep Isabelle out of it. I’m the one who came up with this entire plan, and I don’t want anyone else to pay for my poor decision making.”

If anything, that only seemed to annoy Catarina further. Her brows furrowed deeply and she pursed her lips as she always did when Magnus said something she didn’t appreciate.

“I hate that even when you do these dumb things, you’re still one of the best people I know,” she breathed out. “But just so you know, this is one of the most idiotic plans you have ever come up with.”

“Yes, yes, I’m aware of that,” Magnus smiled at his best friend sheepishly. “What can I say? I love a good challenge once in a while. But this isn’t all bad; I’m getting a new friend out of it, for one, and I’ll get to show Lorenzo up, even if things come out eventually. On top of that, I get a job at a place I actually love, which is exactly what you’ve been telling me I need all along.”

“And I stand by that,” Catarina sighed. “I just wish you didn’t have to lie and manipulate your potential future boss to achieve your goals.”

“Oh please, what’s one small lie in the grand scheme of things?” Magnus chuckled. “The probability of people finding out is a lot lower than the probability of this remaining a deep, dark secret for the rest of my life.”

“For your sake, I certainly hope so.”

[ambistep]

We Can Make It Work

~4.2k words, stupid long, gratuitous gang plans, a real somft ending, i promise

Tags: retribution spoilers. cw - killing, guns, Argentstep, the gang!! not sure

Mina has session with Dr. Finch - it goes well this time. In fact, many things are going well lately! Also I wanted to write about the gang, and i always want to have argent stuff

---------

“You seem well - more confident. Happier?” Finch is smiling. Mina is smiling. This is good. “I wish I could take some credit but it’s been awhile since our last session. I thought you might not be coming back.”

Mina sinks back into the comfortable chair, “Sorry, I just have been really busy lately.”

~

“...I started a new project at work.”

A small sodium work lamp illuminates the workbench and the corkboard on the wall before it. Neat files of illicit records and stacks of purloined documents, a laptop aglow with… research, photos, stock news, articles. Mina’s nimble fingers spear a set of blueprints to the board.

It was a trickle at first - but with time, the board had grown very crowded indeed, a tangled rat’s nest of ties, connections and data points. The squeaking chorus nearby liked it when she thought of it as such. 

Vanderpoel had talked to Ochoa about the congressional aide who handled the senator’s dirty laundry - Mina had been monitoring Mia. The aide was careful, but simply didn’t have the security of his boss. His mind had been an oily, porous sick sort of place, riddled with compromise and low cunning - it yielded readily before Clarity. A swift crack, and all kinds of goodies spilled out, enough that sifting through it had become difficult. Now, though, now she had the names necessary to get started.

~

“I’ve been trying to be better about working as part of the team.”

 The warehouse was dusty, filled with forgotten pieces of abandoned start-ups or rarely used equipment, the space leased by a firm with little memory of it - Mina had made certain it was forgotten. A flash young gun in a slick suit is chattering about gear specs with a slightly older Modded muscle who is dutifully ignoring him while trying to unpack and assemble gear with their clawed prosthetic. Another modded fellow lounges on the sofa, pouring over a flight manual.

Across the way, an odd pair, a rough, heavily-modded soldier and a grinning young girl who seems like she might have walked off campus at UCLD are listening intently, studying floor plans. All authority in the room flows from the scarred, severe woman laying out her plan point by point.

   “...ZaZa sits tight on overwatch, Boris stays put at the helipad. Rest of us sweep the executive level, and split into pairs. Pelayo, you’re with Nehal, while Ward and -” She pauses, hearing the question form in Pelayo’s mind, “while Ward and I secure the target.”

“The kid can back you with the target, no? How much back-up you need in that suit, boss?” Pelayo brushes his knuckles over his stubble, a nervous tic.

Smoothly, softly, Mina shuts down Pelayo’s concern, “You need to cover Nehal while she makes sure we only set off the alarms we want to go off, and then you need to be there to place our parting gift. Ward will be fine with me, I’ve got their back. Are we clear?” 

Pelayo hesitates, measuring his unwillingness to separate from Ward versus testing the boss. It was a good job - Clarity pays well and on time, gives them plenty of prep time. And most importantly in this city, she seems mostly sane. Looked a little young, but she didn’t get those scars playing tennis, and the plans were solid, smart. So if she said Ward went up and he went down... “Ay, we clear.”

Clarity looks him dead on. That ‘this isn’t going to be a problem?’ look. He knows it.

Pelayo nods, “Don’t worry about it.”

Nehal, surreptitiously studying the utility plans, in utter enchantment, “I think, on some level, I always wanted to be an arsonist.” 

~

“...I’ve been going out a bit more.”

Ward didn’t quite understand how Clarity’s trick worked, but watching the grey cloud slowly eat through the vaulted security door to the executive suite was a treat. Nehal had made sure to cut off communications from the CEO’s office - and the target had predictably locked down his suite.

What they hadn’t expected was a Modded security officer waiting for them.

Clarity steps through the hole that was a steel-reinforced door, imperious dark armor and gleaming face mask emerging wreathed in the nanovores’ smoky cloud. The vocal distorters don’t conceal her amusement, “Could it be? The Grey Guardsman? No longer cutting taxes, I see.” Shielded. So that’s why she hadn’t sussed out his presence in advance.

The corporate hero draws his signature carbon-steel longsword, squaring off - making a good show of confidence, pointing his blade, “And I recognize you, villain - I may no longer serve TaxTech, but we still do a swift trade in justice here at Promethean.” 

Clarity coolly wraps an armored gauntlet around the blade. The Rat-King gleefully guides them as they chew apart the weapon, and Mina sighs behind her mask. She always really liked that sword. “Stand aside, Guardsman. This scum isn’t worth fighting for.” 

Sure, he’s a company stooge, but Charge had introduced him to Sidestep, and it hurts to admit, but… maybe some part of Mina would regret crushing him too badly. A reminder of a more innocent time. 

Enough to distract her from the fact that he’s still coming - his ambitious, ridiculous plan of punching her thwarted by Ward’s iron grip around his wrist. Clarity’s lapse in conviction is rectified - a solid blow to the head from her armored gauntlet and Ward drops him to the floor. 

She sighs, and nods her head in gratitude to Ward. That should leave only the target in the office proper. A heavy book is enough kick through the ordinary door. A portly older fellow sits still in his chair, trying to appear unafraid, trying to hold his composure. “Wh-what is it that you want? I am prepared to c-cooperate.”

A VIP, a defense contractor, someone with his security clearance would have some training to resist telepathic interrogation - enough to maybe stop Sidestep. Not so for Clarity, but still maybe enough to slow down the process, complicate things. “Ward, sedative.” The man yelps as she reaches across the desk to grab him.

“Got it, Boss.” Ward’s surprisingly deft with the needle. The suit makes pinning him to the desk a trivial thing, and the injection goes in just as easily.

“Now, then. I’m not to be disturbed.” Ward takes the order and leaves Clarity to her prey. The quivering executive yields easily, meager protections cracking like safety glass under the first real pressure. 

Clarity is rewarded - almost immediately. He knew why they were here. He knew immediately exactly which part of Promethean’s many contracts had brought Clarity here. A dry Nevada desert. Security clearances and classified paperwork. Contracts with no questions asked. A service for his country. It made him feel good to be a patriot - that is what she discovers. It makes her feel… something else entirely. Seething, black, bloody --

“Oh, shit, is he dead, boss?” Ward sneaks a look into the office. Mina recoils immediately from the man - blood runs from his nose and… not dead yet, a stroke, maybe. She can feel the trickle of his mind, faint, pooling out. Fine - better than what he deserved. She’d planned to wipe his memory and cover her intrusion but a stroke worked just as well.

“We’re leaving.” Clarity stalks out of the office, opening a channel for the rest of the team, “I have what we came for. Exit team?”

The office fills with sirens and red lights, Nehal’s voice in her helmet, “Oh, we’re good.” 

“Then we’re done.”

A whining voice cuts over the radio, “I didn’t even get to shoot anything.”

“Next time.”

~

“I feel like the job really gives me a chance to express myself.”

“And you’re getting along with your co-workers? I know you were worried about your social anxiety.”

“I think we understand each other.”

“Shh, guys!” Nehal fumbles for the remote to turning up the volume on the television. Pelayo and Ward are still stripping down and checking the gear. Boris, ZaZa, they share beers, but Clarity - unarmored - settles down to sit on the floor next to the girl.

“...Veronica Sandoval, live from downtown, where responders are still battling a two alarm fire at an office building. Now, authorities aren’t saying what caused the fire but I can tell you two that two patients were taken to city hospitals with non-life threatening injuries. The building is the headquarters of Promethean, which is described on it’s website as a medical device and biotech company, and a defense contractor. A spokesman with the fire depart…”

“Show it, show it, yes!” Nehal laughs triumphantly as the camera cuts to footage from a news helicopter, showing the fully-engulfed front face of the building lighting up the nightline of downtown Los Diablos. “Fucking fascists. Clar, look.” She grabs the boss’s shoulder then suddenly recoils.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I jus-” The boss didn’t like to be touched.

Clarity keeps her face tight, and just nods, “It’s good, don’t worry about it.” She leans back, trying not to brush off the spot where Nehal’s hand had landed, “Glad you had fun - next job is going to be harder - but a bigger score.”

That gets everyone’s attention. Pelayo and Ward, consummate professionals, gather up. “You got the next job lined up already?”

“Almost. Preparation will take some time - I’ll be in touch. Payment will find you like usual.” 

That’s good enough for Ward and Pelayo, they’re veterans, professionals, used to this stuff. ZaZa always liked the money but hated authority almost as much, and relished any chance to shoot his guns off. Nehal liked Clarity’s politics and… had some sort of admiration for the boss. Mina makes a note to curtail that - nobody should be looking up to her, for God’s sake. Boris just liked the steady pay - everyone seemed much nicer than the Wolfpack, anyway.

~

“We talked about wearing masks last time. How they can be useful for letting us function in social or workplace environments, but they can also be used to keep people away, to isolate. How are you doing with masks, Mina?”

“Still using masks, I’ll admit. But I did take your advice about getting out of the city for a little bit.”

“Shit, it’s hot. Fucking Mojave.” He wipes his brow, wicking away the sweat.

“Focus, ZaZa.” The boss’s voice reassures him in his earpiece. For some reason, her voice always seemed to calm his nerves. Lady was creepy like that. 

ZaZa tapped at the relay device, shielding the small monitor from the sun’s glare and flicking between cameras,  “Visual on target. Right on schedule.”

A massive, heavily armored tractor trailer, unlabeled, barrels down Interstate 40. On either side, two black SUVs bearing out-of-state license plates. Clarity tried to zoom in the image on her helmet’s HUD. At the bottom of the plate, curly black text reminds her ‘HOME MEANS NEVADA.’ The thought makes her queasy. And violent. Maybe that’s good. Maybe she needs that push.

“Remember. Stick to the plan, watch out for each other. They’ll be contractors, ex-military but the kind who take it seriously. Maybe with mods. They will kill on sight. And we have to be fast.” If she is right, and she knows she must be at this point, then there would be a response - even out here in the Mojave. “Masks up. Time starts at contact.”

In the back of the van with the boss, Pelayo and Ward slip down the sleek silvery facemasks Mortum had prepared for the team - not as robust or tricked out as Clarity’s, but more on par with… well, with Sidestep’s. Up front, Nehal’s already had hers on - she’d hardly taken it off. 

The masks are important - Mina knows. It puts distance between the person and the world in front of them, lets you detach from violence, from danger, emboldens you. It lets you invent someone who can do the things you need to do, to become someone who can survive. She’d put on a mask to become Clarity. A mask to become Sidestep. ...a mask to become Mina. 

Boris’s voice crackles over the comms, “Boss… Boss. I got visual. ZaZa, don’t god damn miss.”

He sounds nervous - this is a bit more than he signed up for. Clarity eases back into her seat, reaching out, fingers in five minds, familiar minds. Nothing aggressive, no pushing - you touch too much and they might stiffen up or stop trusting their instincts. Only the lightest, caressing touches, gentle nudges. 

She has to admit, she loves this part, feels born to it. She’d learned that with the Wolfpack - nothing felt so pleasant as coaxing her crew along towards victory, allaying their fears and… coordinating. Boris’s anxiety is sweltering, Nehal has uncomfortably little anxiety - the girl is… special. Ward, too, isn’t so certain. Clarity turns to look at Ward, looking past the facemask, and then speaks to Boris, “Easy, we trained for this. Your truck is reinforced. Take cover below the dash when you make contact. We’re professionals.”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Relax, man, I don’t miss.” He’s almost as good as he thinks he is. 

Nehal guns it, pedal to the floor, gaining on the convoy in front of her, empty desert tracking past.

Boris’s tractor trailer heads down the highway westbound, staring down the convoy. He accelerates and… swerves into the oncoming lane. The lead driver reacts but not fast enough. 

The eighteen-wheeler plows into the black SUV with a tortured symphony of wailing metal, crunching glass and scraping on pavement. 

It would almost be hard for anyone to even notice the thunderous boom of the anti-material rifle punching into the engine block of the convoy’s transport. Even as it plows into the back of the SUV in front of it, the shots keep coming, again, and again, and again. 

The back of the escort pulls up alongside the convoy and brakes, scrambling, deploying, trying to find cover. And Nehal comes in ready, swinging the van sideways. Pelayo, Ward, they toss the smoke grenades and take positions behind the van. Nehal ducks down for cover in the driver’s seat, clutching her machine pistol.

And then it is the boss’s show. The van raises up as the bulk of Clarity’s armor sets foot on the highway. There is a burst and clatter of small arms fire - striking the van, some even striking her - but she simply walks into it, embracing the attention. Their thoughts are frantic, aggressive - more of them are holed up in the transport with the cargo. Someone is calling for backup, notifying command - she stops in place and squeezes this mind, even through the ratatatat plinking. Stop. Now. Squeezing. Breaking this mind.

No need for too much delicacy - this is the enemy.

The one she had been waiting to strike at for so long. Not these men and women, but… everything they serve. That should be enough - it’s still harder than she’d thought, using her powers this way. Not entirely true - it is easy, really. Frighteningly easy. But it feels hard for Mina. 

That’s why she has on Clarity’s mask.

The gunfire stops - someone… Oh someone has a plan. One of the soldiers is retrieving heavy ordinance, she can feel the thoughts, the plans. “Pelayo.” Some mental guidance, and he turns out of cover and brings down the would-be hero with deft fire from his rifle.

The Rat-Kings continue to help Clarity guide all focus towards her, all aim toward her, soaking up all this attention, though they care none too much for the noise, chittering in a right good panic. 

“Advance.” Ward comes out from cover, then Pelayo, picking off aggressors. Now and again, another boom from ZaZa in the distance when he finds a shot - sometimes even when he doesn’t. 

“Breach.” There’s still two holed up in the transport, their thoughts easy to sniff - patient, trained. Weirdly confident, that’s unnerv-

“Boss! Ward’s hit!” Clarity turns her head. How had she not noticed? Ah, Ward had barely noticed themselves. 

“I’m good, we’re good.” Ward is always good - undersells everything. Pelayo’s still worried, but a quick check and Clarity is sure Ward is telling the truth. 

“No heroics - cover our backs. Focus.” A quick nudge to keep everyone on mission. On mission - that notion… again makes Mina queasy. Her handler’s voice, she talked about… staying on mission. Clarity helps her push past the discomfort. “Breaching.” 

As Clarity prepares to ready the nanovores to crack open the transport, the tailgate volunteers itself, swinging wide. There’s no time to react to the small explosive that impacts - only strong enough to cause her to stumble, thank you once again, Mortum. 

Two gleaming, power-suited soldiers climb out of the truck, and Clarity almost has to laugh. Two hundred miles from Los Diablos, and she still finds two tin discount imitations of Marshal Steel. 

“ZaZa.” 

Another blast of thunder and one suit drops. The other starts to react, but the distraction is more than enough to open a wide hole in their thoughts - Clarity psychically punctures what light mental preparation he had and buries a shiv in his mind.

And like that, the highway is quiet. 

Pelayo checks the first escort, giving a clear. Boris chimes in with the next. Nobody else is getting up. Ward and Nehal follow Clarity to the truck and begin to unload the cargo.

Another mental nudge for the team - keep everything quick, everything snappy. Clarity runs through the plan - they don’t need the reminders, but she has to say something, keep the adrenaline up so she doesn’t think about… consequences. “Pack it up, ZaZa. Boris will pick you up. The rest of you, we’re taking it all, strip it down and clean it enroute.”

Every moment they aren’t talking, all she can hear is her heart. This is them, these are… This really is them. It is terrifying, crushingly horrifying, every part of her wants to scream, run. They will be coming, this was a mistake, how could she have been so ridiculous? Hitting them like some jewel heist, with a gang of robbers? All her thoughts are that they will find her and kill her. That there’s a team from the Special Directive in the air right now, ready to deploy. 

It could even be true.

“Clar? Clarity?”

Nehal waves a hand in front of her mask, her own silver mask tilted in concern, “Boss, time to go.” 

And so it is. 

It isn’t until they’re on the road, off the interstate, and all the cargo is clean that panic finishes bleeding through her system, that Clarity clicks and removes her helmet. Had they really done it? Had she… Could she have really drawn blood from the people who made her and lived?

“Can’t believe it, right? Imperialists, highway robbery with government spooks.” Nehal glances over to the passenger seat and holds out a candy bar, a smirk glued on her face - at least she’s taken off her mask.

Clarity peers at the young girl, graciously accepting the candy. She takes a small bite, “You’re a really weird kid, Nehal.” Looking over her shoulder to the back of the van, “How’s Ward?”

Pelayo still looks a little nervous - she’s always surprised by how worried that man can look, “They’re good.”

Ward gives a nod, “One got through on the leg, just grazed. Be healed by morning.” Clarity frowns, but seems satisfied with this.

Two hours, and well on their way to the detour in Old Fresno - when ZaZa and Boris sent their all clear… That’s when Mina can finally, fully feel satisfied that there’s no team of branded monsters - monsters like herself - stalking them, no ghostly assassins. Maybe this really was a victory - maybe they really pulled it off. Had she overestimated them? No, she had cautiously estimated them, she chides herself. She didn’t make it this far without being careful.

“How did that go, travelling?”

“Better than I expected - I was still really nervous, the whole time.”

~

“When we last met, you were telling me you had been seeing someone?”

“Did I say that?”

“You did. Getting sloppy?”

“...Must have slipped out.”

“Did you want to talk about it?”

“...Well. It’s been going well. I got her a gift the other day. While I was out of town. The perfect thing.”

“Did she like it?”

“I haven’t shown her yet. But I know she will.”

“Why’d I have to come all the way out here? Is this where you keep your smelly little lair?” Ximena wrinkles her nose, standing out in the open lot, kicking at dirt idly.

“Oh please. Like I’d take my girlfriend to my secret lair.” Mina smirks - being with her always brings out the best. Crouching down, she brushes away some dirt and pops a key into a padlock and yanks open a rusty metal cellar door.

She scoffs, “Padlock, huh.” Mina grins smugly, leading the silvery heroine further down below. 

“For the record, my lair smells like flowers.”

“Ooo. Is that a clue?” She pokes Mina in her smug little nose

“Maybe. Come on, this way.” She grabs Ximena’s hand, tugging her along, getting far too excited.

The whole place looks like nobody’s been there in years, but that’s part of the charm - Mina’d been here just this morning. A false wood panel in a support beam yields a keypad. Playfully shielding the pad from Ximena’s eyes, Mina punches in the code, allowing a false wall to slide open.

“Just for the record, I knew that was there.” Ah, right. All those neat little extra senses she had.

“Well, thank you for humoring me. I wanted to put on a little show.” Mina leans, taking both of her hands, and squeezes them, leading her slowly into the small storage vault.

“What is this?” Ximena’s voice lowers a little, eyeing the gunmetal grey case resting on a table in the middle of the room. The name ‘PROMETHEAN’ stamped on front. There’d been more boxes, with different bits of technology or equipment, rare, valuable. Some she’d given to the good doctor Mortum to play with. The rest she’d sold to Hollow Ground at a considerable discount - a show of good faith. Clarity had been all too happy to let Mr. Manalo take it all off her hands - and the payment was still more than enough to keep the crew happy. 

Now there was just this one case.

“The lock was a little tricky…” Mina is radiant, glowing with pride as she places her thumb on the fingerprint scanner. A soft ding and a green light unlocks the case. “...really, anyone can open it now that I broke the lock... My fingers don’t actually have any prints anyway.” She holds up her hands and wiggles her fingers for emphasis.

Ximena smirks, locking her left hand with Mina’s. “I like them.” She leans in and kisses a digit lightly, “Just.” A kiss. “The way.” A kiss. “They are.” And a kiss. Mina’s smile fixes in place, cheeks flushed red, her thoughts going all kinds of places then crashing, brain shutting down - until Ximena’s snorting laugh helps her recover. “So, what’s in the box?”

“A present.” 

Popping the case open slowly, there is a hiss of frosty, chilled air spilling out into the heat of the dry basement. The interior of the lid is labeled with serial numbers and barcodes - uncomfortably familiar barcodes, if Mina allowed herself to think about it. She most notably does not allow herself to think about it. Not now. She watches Ximena’s gleaming face, waiting for that moment of recognition. 

Chilled and lit by a sinister - to Mina’s reckoning - orange light, clasped in the middle of the case, three processing chips, a solid state storage device, a handful of cellulose wetware chips and the jewel, the real prize.

“How did you..?”

“Don’t ask. I told you I’d find one.” 

An innocent enough looking device. Inscrutable to almost anyone else - but not to Mina. Not to Ximena. A particular, specific protein printer, and all the pieces needed to make it work. The kind of thing that would look nestled right at home in the heart of a certain regenerator prototype. 

“I promised I would,” Mina’s voice shakes, unsteady. A lump welling in her throat as she sees the recognition, the relief on Ximena’s face. All that this means. For either of them. For both of them. All that it could mean. Infinite things. Anything. Everything.

She pulls Mina in too hard, arms around tight, squeezing, “You think we can make it work?” It’s her turn, even her voice gets weak. 

Mina sniffs, feeling her control slipping, her mask pulled down, and a tear runs down her cheek as she buries her head into Ximena’s shoulder, leaning into the hug. She tries to speak but it is hard to put any strength in her voice, “...yeah, we can make it work.”

They hold tight, hungry for two whole lives of affection, and touch, and tenderness. Starving for intimacy that had been out of reach, once for all time. Now… Now within reach. Ximena asks it again, “We can make it work?”

Mina had told her. Told her weeks ago. About the machine. About their relationship. About their whole lives. 

The answer was the same. 

“We can make it work.” 

This time, she even believes it herself.

[their-destinys-writer]

Caged - Chapter 16

Rated: Teen

Chapters: 16/?

Word count: 6,919

Ao3 / FFnet / Wattpad / Patreon

For additional content and behind the scenes, support me on Patreon. I also take Ko-fi.

Caged Chapter 16 - Bad Reputation

“Just when you think you know everything, Annabelle Billard manages to surprise us once again,” Margot said, flipping her hair away from her face.

“Honestly, Margot, I am still shook with what she has for this crowd,” Dorian responded. “Should we have her show the latest on the exploits of Chat Noir and the girl who saved him?”

The crowd cheered loudly. Taking it as an affirmative response, Margot welcomed the red-headed journalist to the stage. Annabelle carefully sat on one of the purple couches, making a point to adjust her glasses.

“I must admit, I did not expect to be talking about this again so soon,” she said, with an almost airy tone. “I thought they would at least last a week before their next screw up.”

“Oh, they really are in a pickle now, aren’t they, Annabelle?” Margot said.

“Indeed.”

“Why don’t you show us what you have?”

“Certainly,” Annabelle said, her lip twitching. “Before I do, I must express my deep gratitude to our photojournalist Adam Garçon, who was able to get these astonishing images. You may put up the pictures now.”

The image of the large screen behind them changed from the logo to side by side pictures of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, one of them kissing Adrien Agreste and the other kissing Chat Noir. There was a collective gasp and several ‘oooh’s.

“Oh my,” Margot feigned shock.

“Always knew that girl was bad news,” Dorian tutted.

“As did I,” Annabelle agreed. “As you remember, last Saturday Dupain-Cheng and Chat Noir were here to deny their relationship. However, I couldn’t help but notice the way Dupain-Cheng looked at Chat Noir when he claimed that he would never be with her. You would have thought someone slapped her across the face.

“So, Adam and I decided to do some digging yesterday. We… studied their behavior and realized they were lying to our faces. You, of course, know I really don’t like it when people lie to me. And after studying further, Adam was able to capture proof that Dupain-Cheng is, in fact, cheating on both Adrien Agreste and Chat Noir.

“Wait,” Margot raised a hand, “are you saying these two pictures were taken on the same day?”

“Yes,” Annabelle nodded. “Merely two hours apart. Adam sacrificed so much to get these images. For the second one, Chat Noir caught on to our coworker and dared to destroy a camera worth over a thousand euros. Clearly, he’s possibly aware of Dupain-Cheng’s infidelities.”

“Poor Adam,” Margot lamented.

“Adam is one damn good camera man,” Dorian praised.

“And so, it begs the question.” Annabelle adjusted her red trimmed glasses, a sadistic smile barely curling her lips. “What else are Chat Noir and Dupain-Cheng hiding from the public? How do we even know if we can trust one of our own superheroes, when he approves of such an unethical practice? How will Ladybug respond for her partner’s actions? And, how will Adrien Agreste and his mogul father respond to Dupain-Cheng’s transgressions?”

“All very important questions, Annabelle,” Dorian said. “One thing is for sure, though: Marinette sure has it in for the famous and the rich.”

“Clearly someone wants a little attention for herself,” Margot huffed.

“Perhaps,” Annabelle said quietly.

“We sure hope to see a continuation of this story,” Dorian said, clasping his hands together. “Thank you for being with us today, Annabelle.”

The video stopped. There was silence in the locker room. Even though Marinette’s mouth was fully open, she couldn’t breathe. The phone slid through her fingers and clattered on the floor. She could feel her eyes water.

This was… humiliating.

Her knees gave out and she landed on them. There were about three pairs of hands immediately on her, and several people calling her name. Some said that it was going to be okay. Others kept asking how it had happened. But the voice of the person whose hand was on her cheek seemed less worried about any of that.

“Don’t let him win,” he said, low enough for no one else to hear him, but loud enough for her to do so. “You’re strong, Marinette. The last thing you need right now is to get akumatized. Don’t let him in.”

Marinette raised her gaze, her eyes meeting Adrien’s determined ones. A look she had mostly seen in his alter ego. The second he noticed she heard him, he smiled at her and said: “I am so sorry.”

“You’re sorry?!” Chloé screeched, silencing most of their classmates. “She kisses another guy the same day as you and you’re apologizing?!”

“Why do I have to repeat myself!” Adrien snapped. “I kissed her without her consent. Nobody gets to judge her when I was the one who messed up! And it’s not her fault her privacy got invaded.”

“You mean it’s not her fault she got caught red-handed!”

“Oh, shut up,” Félix cut in. Everyone turned to him. “In case you haven’t noticed, Marinette didn’t want this so-called fame. If you wanted people to pay more attention to you, maybe you should help resolve this instead of complaining that she has more attention than you.”

Chloé crossed her arms and huffed, pointing her nose away.

“I’m just amazed that Marinette managed to woo the two most desired boys in all of Paris,” Lila commented.

“Not helping!” Alya shouted. “Marinette, I need to know that you’re at least conscious.”

There was a pause. The whole room quieted down, waiting for Marinette to say something. Most with genuine concern for her well-being. Many dying to know her side of the story. Some, wondering how she had been capable of doing something so out of character, as far as they knew.

Marinette swallowed. She could barely look at anyone, especially when she didn’t have answers she could voice to her friends. Because the truth was not meant for them. Or anyone, for that matter. Because it was a secret between her and Adrien.

“When was this?” she resolved to ask instead.

There was a collective sigh of relief.

“About twenty minutes ago,” Alya responded. “Right about the time Adrien got to school.”

“Your father?”

Adrien cringed. “I have about seven missed calls and thirteen messages from Nathalie.”

“Even I got a few calls,” Nino added. “You know it’s bad when they call the ‘bad influence’.” He made air quotes as he said the last two words.

Marinette covered her mouth with both her hands, trying to steady her breaths.

“I’m not exaggerating anymore,” she whispered. “This is a disaster. I made this disaster.”

“No, it’s my fault.”

“Hey, no, don’t say that.”

Adrien and Alya spoke at the same time. They exchanged looks and then turned to the rest of the room, looking for support. Unfortunately, it seemed that that would be harder to get this time around.

“I mean,” Kim started, unsure, “she did kiss two boys…”

“Guys! I told you—”

“It’s Adrien’s fault,” Nathaniel interrupted said boy.

“I second that.” Alix raised her hand. “Let Adrien take the fall.”

“But didn’t we just get proof that Marinette lied about being involved with Chat Noir?” Sabrina pointed out.

“That is conjecture at this moment,” Max stepped in. “We don’t have all the facts to make a fair, unbiased opinion on the matter. We would need to know all sides of this incident.”

“If there’s one thing I know,” Chloé spoke again, staring at her nails, “it’s that we’ve been here for ten minutes already, and not once has Dupain-Cheng even tried to defend herself. That’s pretty damning evidence to me.”

The classmates looked at each other, as if reading each other’s minds. Even Marinette could tell what they were thinking: Chloé had a point. And worse, she was right, and Marinette knew it. But how was she supposed to defend herself from this without outing Adrien’s secret identity?

“Marinette,” Juleka said, “what did happen?”

“I-I…” the girl in question stammered. She could feel tears threatening to escape her eyelids. Marinette had endured many embarrassing moments in her life. Some even traumatizing. But this… she couldn’t even chalk it up to her clumsiness. No matter what she said, there was no saving her from this one.

“You don’t have to protect me,” Adrien said, as if knowing what she was thinking. “I can handle the backlash.”

“We want to hear it from her!” Rose cut in. Marinette swallowed again.

“I’m sorry about yesterday, Rose,” she blurted out. “It’s my fault you had one of your worst days of your life. I gave you the worst advice possible. I was selfish, and—”

“We’re not talking about that,” the blonde said. Marinette’s brows furrowed. “Tell us how Adrien and Chat Noir kissed you without your consent.”

Marinette looked closely at Rose. Her eyes were almost encouraging. Was this her way of saying that she forgave her?

“You don’t have to answer that,” Alya intervened. “In fact, you don’t have to answer anything from anyone. Your privacy got invaded, and that is unacceptable. This isn’t your fault.”

“No…”

“You didn’t ask to be followed everywhere by paparazzi.”

“I didn’t…”

“And it’s not your fault that Chat Noir told your biggest secrets in an interview.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Exactly. It’s not your fault that you became famous.”

“No, it’s yours.” Marinette finalized.

Alya opened her mouth as if to agree, but instantly frowned.

“Wait, what?”

“This is your fault,” Marinette repeated, at last finding the strength to get on her feet. “If you hadn’t posted my rescues of Chat Noir and written that article on the Ladyblog, none of this would have happened.”

There was a murmur in the room.

“Marinette—” Nino tried.

“NO!” she yelled. “I did not ask to have pictures taken in my own home. I did not ask to be recorded after an interview was over. I did not ask to be put on the spot for rescuing a superhero. I did not ask to be recorded saving Chat Noir. I did not want to be interviewed by the Ladyblog. And I certainly did not ask to be a freaking celebrity.

“You did this!” Marinette pointed at Alya.

“You’re blaming me?!” said girl gasped.

“Tsk, typical,” Chloé huffed. “Why don’t you take responsibility, instead of blaming—”

“I didn’t push you to save Chat Noir!” Alya continued, ignoring the mayor’s daughter.

“And I didn’t ask you to record it!” Marinette retorted.

“Well excuse me for running back to look for my friend, who disappeared in the middle of a freaking akuma attack. Like you always do!”

“I don’t see the reason to keep recording to look for a friend.”

“It’s called multitasking. How was I supposed to know you would end up rescuing a superhero for the second time?”

The door suddenly burst open, interrupting the unexpected row between the two friends. In came Ms. Bustier and Principal Damocles. The man gave them a stern look, while the teacher gave them one of disappointment.

“Why aren’t any of you in Ms. Bustier’s class?” he confronted.

The students exchanged gazes. It seemed that in their heated debate, they missed the ring of the bell. By then, they were already twelve minutes late to class.

“Unless all of you want to be doing chores in the school for a week, I suggest you all follow your teacher to her classroom.”

Several students looked at the ground as they walked out, while others gave Marinette worried looks. Before they had all left, Principal Damocles spoke again.

“Félix! Take this note to Mrs. Mendeleiev. You will come to my office after lunch time.” Félix bowed his head in understanding, as he took the note. “And you two!” He pointed at Marinette and Adrien, who instantly halted. “Your parents are in my office. Come along with me.”

The teens gulped simultaneously, exchanging worried glances. Resigned to their fate, they quietly made their way towards the principal’s office. Softly, a hand wrapped around Marinette’s, squeezing it in an attempt to comfort her. Her heartbeat quickened, thinking of what might happen now. Of how much trouble they were in. Of how Mr. Agreste was capable of destroying every one of her dreams.

Principal Damocles opened the door to his office and inside Sabine and Mr. Agreste stood from their chairs. Both had hands placed on their shoulders, by Tom and Nathalie, respectively. Marinette gulped again: This was the first time she had ever seen Gabriel Agreste in their school.

“Because there are reporters surrounding the school as we speak,” Principal Damocles started, “I have created what I hope is a safe space for all of you to resolve this situation and decide on what your next steps will be. Marinette, Adrien, please take a seat.”

The two teenagers obliged, taking the chairs in the middle, while Sabine and Gabriel sat back down next to their children. Meanwhile, the principal sat behind his desk, chin resting on the tip of his fingers.

“I encourage all of you to say your piece,” Principal Damocles insisted.

“I told you not to see her again,” Gabriel started, without hesitation. “Look at the mess she has placed you in.”

“Who’s to say your son is not to blame here?!” Tom immediately defended his daughter.

“It wasn’t my son caught making out with two different people in one day.”

“Father—”

“It wasn’t my daughter who kissed someone without their consent,” Sabine intervened.

“Maman—”

“How dare you insinuate my son would do such a thing?”

“Well, actually—”

“Did you not look at that picture?” Sabine interrupted Adrien again. “Marinette clearly looked taken by surprise.”

“I mean, maybe—”

“My son is far more educated than that,” Gabriel spat.

“Parents, please—”

“Do we get a say in this?!” Marinette said loudly, standing from her chair, letting go of Adrien’s hand. The outburst made the adults shut up. “None of you were there, yet you’re assuming you know everything.”

“All right then,” Gabriel said coldly, piercing his eyes through her. “What did happen, Ms. Marinette?”

She opened her mouth to respond but was immediately taken over by fear. Fear that he would think she’s simply badmouthing his son. Fear that he may dislike her even more if she told him what happened. Fear that he wouldn’t let her be with Adrien.

“This is my fault,” said boy intervened, even though he looked nauseous. “I-I made this mess.”

“Adrien, there’s no need to protect a girl who’s clearly a bad influence,” Gabriel spoke.

“How dare you—” Tom had to make sure Sabine didn’t stand from her chair.

“I’m not protecting her!” Adrien said with new determination, despite the color of his face rapidly turning a light shade of green. “I’m trying to tell you what happened.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Marinette found herself insisting. “You could be taken out of school.”

The blond’s eyes focused on hers, as he gave her a reassuring smile.

“You know that I can’t sit by when I see an injustice happening,” he said to her. “Let me be brave. As brave as you.”

Marinette could feel her heart drum faster. She couldn’t help but be reminded of all the times Chat Noir had sacrificed himself for Ladybug. And now, he was doing the same for her civilian identity. Was this his way of showing love?

“Okay,” she whispered, sitting back down.

Adrien took a deep breath. “I…disobeyed you, Father.” His voice came out shakier than expected. “You told me that I couldn’t be seen with her, but I kept looking for her because I…I developed feelings for her. And so, I asked her to meet me yesterday for lunch, because I was planning to confess, but before I did, I…kissed her.

“She didn’t ask me to do it, she didn’t know what I was gonna talk about with her, nor did she express any romantic interest in me. I-I just…” Adrien shrunk down in his seat. “I just went for it.”

“Is that true?” Tom immediately asked his daughter.

“Yes,” Marinette sighed. “I had no idea he had feelings for me, and much less that he was gonna confess yesterday. I was so surprised, I froze. Then the akuma came and trapped us. That’s when he finished confessing.”

“You kissed a girl without her consent?” Gabriel said quietly. Marinette didn’t think Adrien could make himself look any smaller, yet, somehow, he managed to do it.

“I got caught up in the moment,” he muttered.

“Caught up in the moment,” Gabriel parroted. “I thought I taught you better than this. Nevertheless, that is better than being cheated on. I’m assuming Chat Noir is your real boyfriend, Ms. Marinette?”

Marinette squeaked, as her face started burning. Several ‘uh’s and ‘um’s escaped her. She sought Adrien’s face for some form of answer, but instead, the boy had covered his mouth and was looking at her wide eyed. As if wanting to hear the answer, too. She internally groaned.

“I-I don’t have an answer to that.” The adults in the room watched her questioningly. She flailed her arms. “I mean, because I-I don’t know! I mean, we didn’t really confirm anything? We don’t know what we are right now.” She paused. “But we did decide that it was best we don’t hang out anymore, after he confronted the paparazzi.”

“I see.” Gabriel turned away from her, stroking his chin. “He must really care about you, if he’s willing to make such a sacrifice.”

“He does,” Marinette responded absentmindedly. But was quickly reminded of who she was talking to. “But that doesn’t matter, because a relationship with a superhero isn’t viable, and… other stuff. Mr. Agreste, I am so sorry Adrien has been mixed up in all this. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Adrien intervened. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have kissed you without your permission. I should’ve been more mindful of paparazzies. I should’ve—”

“You should’ve nothing,” Sabine interrupted. The group turned to her. “You’re kids! You shouldn’t have to deal with any of this. Marinette didn’t even want to be a public figure. All of this is—” Her eyes widened as an idea occurred to her. “I want to sue!”

Gabriel blinked, while Tom gave his wife a concerned look.

“Dear—”

“No, I have had it,” she continued. “These people, these grown, adult people have dragged my daughter’s name through the mud for the sake of ratings and their own benefit. They invaded not just her privacy, but that of my home when they took pictures where we’re supposed to be safe. We have rights. This is in complete violation of the law and I want to see them suffer the consequences for messing with my family. And you, Gabriel Agreste, are going to help me.”

Gabriel squared his shoulders when Sabine pointed at him. Yet his eyes immediately relaxed.

“And why should I do that?”

“Because it is also your responsibility.”

“I don’t see how that’s—”

“Father,” Adrien warned. “This last one would’ve never happened if it hadn’t been for me. We—I owe it to Marinette.”

The man stared at his son, as if mulling over his words. He lifted his chin, adjusting his tie.

“Nathalie, set up a meeting with my lawyer today, and give Mr. and Mrs. Dupain-Cheng my office phone number.”

“Yes, sir,” Nathalie nodded, immediately giving Marinette’s parents business cards.

“Give Nathalie a way to contact you, and we will let you know what my lawyer says.”

“What’s your phone number?” Nathalie asked Marinette’s parents. Without hesitation, they both gave their cellphone numbers and bakery landline, in case they didn’t have their phones with them.

“Good, good, I’m glad you’ve come to an agreement,” Principal Damocles said. “Now, would you like to take your children home? I’ve noticed the paparazzi leave when they’re in class, but come back around lunch and after the day is over. If Marinette and Adrien leave now, there’s a higher chance they’ll get by unnoticed.”

“That’s an excellent idea.” Gabriel rose to his feet. “Come, Adrien. We’re leaving.”

“Wait, Father—”

“The longer we wait, the more likely those obnoxious reporters will be out there. Now move along.”

Without even checking that his son was following, Gabriel walked out the door. Nathalie followed, but stopped outside, waiting for Adrien. The boy sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, looking back at Marinette.

“Stop.” She took one of his hands. “We’ll get through this. We can get through anything.”

“How are you so positive about that?”

“I—”

“Adrien,” Nathalie called. Marinette pressed her lips together.

“I’ll tell you later,” she resolved to say. “I’ll send you my new number, so we can talk.”

“Okay,” Adrien grinned.

With a last forlorn look, he let go. Shortly after, Marinette and her parents followed. From what the girl could sense, she was about to have an unpleasant day with her parents.

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

“I can’t believe her!” Alya ranted, as she and Nino sat down in a café during lunch. “I really thought Marinette was the kind of person to take responsibility for her own actions. And yet, here we are, with her blaming me! Ugh, she’s such a… Bah!”

There was a pause.

“Is that how you really feel?” Nino asked with a deadpan stare.

“NO!” Alya exclaimed, right as she slammed her face against the table. When she spoke again, her voice came out muffled. “This is so stupid. And it’s all my stupid fault.”

“Alya—”

“She’s right,” the redhead lamented, raising her face, chin resting on the table. “I was so caught up in having an exclusive, I didn’t think about how Marinette felt about the whole thing. I can’t believe I actually thought I was doing her a favor.”

“You couldn’t have known Marinette was gonna save Chat Noir a second time,” Nino tried to reason.

“No, but I could’ve deleted the video. Especially when reporters started harassing her.”

“They would’ve harassed her anyway,” Nino pointed out. “There was already a copy of your video up on several websites about twenty minutes after you finished recording. And only five minutes after you finished recording, there was already a cut-up version online of the video, from when Marinette rescued him. You know how fast fans can be. And your blog has many.”

“That makes me even angrier!” Alya screeched, rising from her chair, hands tensed in the shape of claws. “The amount of people stealing my videos is insane! I can take gifs or stills, but whole videos?! Grr! People have no respect for my work!”

“Honey,” Nino muttered, giving her a sympathetic look. With a sigh, Alya sat back down.

“I feel awful,” she admitted. “I want to fix it, but I haven’t got the slightest clue on how.”

“Hey.” He placed a hand over hers. “You’ll figure it out. You’re the smartest girl I know, and I know you’ll find something that can help Marinette in this mess.”

“You’re sweet,” Alya complimented, giving him a fond smile. “But, no matter how smart I am, I honestly don’t see how I can—”

There was a clatter in a nearby table.

“Watch where you’re walking, old man!” a woman yelled at a short man on his knees and hands, next to their table.

“I am terribly sorry—”

“You should be sorry!” the woman interrupted the man. “You’ve spilled my tea all over the table!”

Alya stood up on instinct.

“Hey, he said he’s sorry,” she intervened, crouching to help the victim. “I’m sure one of the waiters can replace your tea.”

“Ugh. Why are you people always so gross,” the woman sneered, flipping away her greying blonde hair.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Alya said in a low voice, narrowing her eyes at the woman. Meanwhile, behind Alya there was a sound of a moving chair.

“This isn’t even worth it. Come along, Jean.”

Without another look at Alya and the short man, the woman stood from her chair and left, her date immediately following. Alya took a deep breath to calm her rage, before turning back to the old man.

“I’m so sorry you had to deal with that. Are you okay?” she asked.

“I could ask the same thing, young lady. That woman was quite rude to you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Yes. Thank you for your kindness.”

“Is there anything you need?”

“Hmm.” The old man stroked his goatee. “That is a generous offer, but I must get going. Have a good afternoon, young lady.”

Without another word, he turned and left the café. Alya sighed turning back to her table, to find Nino standing, as if ready to jump on someone.

“It’s over,” she said, when she returned to her chair.

“Are you okay?” Nino asked, finally sitting back down.

“Barely,” Alya muttered. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Me neither.”

They sat silently for a minute.

“I’m going home,” she sighed. “I’m gonna try to figure something out about the mess I made.”

“Okay. I’ll see if I can get a hold of Adrien then. See if he’s okay.”

“Sounds good…”

“I’ll see you later.”

With a quick peck on the lips, Alya bid goodbye to her boyfriend before making her way home. She used the time it took from the café to her apartment to think of possible solutions. Yet nothing sounded likely to work. It was either pointless, or impossible.

As she finally reached her room, Alya threw herself on the desk chair, bookbag in her lap. She groaned. There just had to be a way to fix this mess. Something, anything. She opened her bag to take out her tablet, except…

“Huh?” Alya said, as she took out something that wasn’t hers.

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

“Marinette, please talk to us,” Tom begged for the seventh time since the family had gotten home.

Yet the girl remained quiet on the living room couch. Now that she was away from people’s prying eyes, she was starting to realize how embarrassed she was. Mortified. Not to mention, her reputation was forever ruined. She had always known dating a superhero would mean endangering her family. It never occurred to her the impact it would have on her own personal life.

Sabine sat next to her. Lightly, she placed a hand over her daughter’s.

“It’s okay to not be okay,” she said quietly. “You have every right to not be okay.”

Marinette pressed her lips together. There was so much she wanted to say but couldn’t. Yet, at the same time, she needed to vent.

“I hate this,” she admitted. “I feel like I can’t do anything without being watched or judged. And worse, I feel like I keep endangering my loved ones. Only for doing what I thought was right. I am so tired of having to look over my shoulder whenever I wanna do… anything.”

“Hopefully, soon you won’t have to,” Sabine comforted. “I will do everything in my power to make all this better. Even if I have to make a deal with the devil.”

Marinette snorted. “Mr. Agreste isn’t so bad. He’s just scary.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Tom muttered. “Anyone who calls a kid a bad influence is twisted in my book.”

“Papa…”

“Marinette?” Sabine caught the girl’s attention. “Is there something else you need to talk about?”

There it is, Marinette thought. Her gaze turned down to her knees, wondering if her parents were partly judging her, even if they wouldn’t say it out loud. Maybe not about kissing two boys. But definitely about feeling like they had been lied to.

“I didn’t realize I had feelings for Chat Noir until last Saturday,” she said, hoping to answer some of their questions. “When he said that thing about never being with me on TV, it hurt me. And then… He visited that night and told me he didn’t mean it. One thing led to another, and…”

Marinette looked up to see both her parents exchanging wide-eyed looks.

“What did you do?” Sabine asked, looking almost scared.

“Well,” Marinette frowned, “we kissed.”

“Oh, thank goodness.”

“Praise be.”

Both parents responded in unison, Tom going as far as placing a hand on Sabine in relief. When they noticed Marinette’s confused stare they cleared up.

“We thought you were gonna say something else,” Tom admitted.

“Something else?”

“Yes,” Sabine said. “That you did something more.”

“Oh? OH!” Marinette yelped the second she realized what they meant. “Papa, Maman, no! We just kissed, nothing more! Oh my gosh!”

She proceeded to cover her face with a different kind of embarrassment from the one she had been experiencing during the day.

“Sorry, just needed to make sure,” Sabine chuckled. “But you do know that with all this happening, he can’t visit anymore, right?”

“And if he does, he has to use the front door,” Tom added.

“I know, I know,” Marinette assured them. “Trust me, after yesterday, I don’t think he’ll dare come near here anyway. We agreed it’s not safe anymore.”

“Okay, good,” Tom nodded.

“If you guys don’t mind, I need some time for myself.”

“Oh yeah, of course,” Sabine said. “Just do me one favor—”

“I won’t go out into the balcony,” Marinette assured them.

With several more reassuring remarks, she climbed up the stairs to her room. She opened the trapdoor that led to her room, hoping to finally get some guidance from her wisest friend. Only to shriek and quickly close the door.

“Marinette, everything okay?” Sabine called from the living room.

“Yeap!” Marinette squeaked. “Everything’s great! Fine! Just, pinched my finger on the door. Yeap, that’s what happened!”

She let out a nervous laugh, until receiving an ‘okay’ in response. When she was sure her parents wouldn’t be coming, she peeked inside her room, to confirm that she did not, in fact, imagine Chat Noir nervously sitting on her chaise. He then proceeded to bashfully wave.

Marinette climbed to her room as fast as she could and locked the door underneath her.

“What are you doing here?!” she whispered-yelled. “I told you I’d call you later. Won’t your father notice you’re gone?”

“He’s too busy talking to lawyers,” he reasoned. “Also, I may have been freaking out home alone.”

Marinette’s eyes softened. Chat Noir scooted on the chaise and patted the space next to him. The girl did as suggested and sat next to him.

“I don’t understand,” he said quietly. “I destroyed the camera. That picture should not exist.”

“He probably removed the memory card when you were chasing him,” Marinette reasoned. “We couldn’t have known we were being taken pictures of. Twice.”

“This is all my fault,” Chat Noir covered his face.

“Hey, no, don’t. If Alya had never recorded me, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Marinette, she didn’t know.”

“She knew I was uncomfortable being interviewed,” she growled. “And yet, she still wrote about me after Entangler.”

“May I remind you that you made the conscious choice to go to Nadja’s interview?”

Marinette bit her lip, right before covering her face. “Ugh, what have I done?”

“I’m sure you and Alya will make up,” he reassured her. “I know reporting is important to her, but she would never purposefully try to ruin your life.”

“I know. And I know I can’t blame her for everything, I’ve also made bad decisions—”

“And me,” he added.

“I’m just so tired of all this.”

“Me too.”

They sat in sad silence for several seconds.

“In case you were wondering, no one saw me,” Chat Noir suddenly said. “I was very careful about how I got here. But I did notice that there’s a bunch of reporters and paparazzies standing outside our school. I don’t think they know we’re not there.”

“So, no chance any of them are looking through my window right now?”

“Not that I could see.”

Marinette sighed.

“This is so unfair. I shouldn’t be feeling like this in my own room.”

“Hmm.”

Chat Noir stood up and offered a hand towards Marinette. She looked at it questioningly.

“They have no idea we’re not in school. No one is looking this way. And I know a great rooftop Ladybug and I use where no one can see us.”

“What if someone sees you carrying me?”

The boy placed the hand on his chin, looking around the room. He ran towards her dresser to pull out a pink beanie and a scarf. From her desk, he took a prototype of Jagged Stone’s Eiffel Tower glasses. All items were offered to her.

“So no one knows it’s you,” he said with a grin.

Marinette couldn’t help but chuckle at how quickly he found a solution.

“I guess it would be nice to get away from it all. But I can’t be gone for long.”

“Deal,” Chat Noir chirped.

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

Soon enough, they were sitting on Ladybug and Chat Noir’s usual spot for meetings. A tall rooftop that oversaw most of Paris. And high enough for no other buildings to see what was on top.

“I like to come here a lot, even when Ladybug’s not around,” Chat Noir said, overlooking the city. “It’s a nice spot to relax and not be bothered.”

“It really is.” Marinette smiled, freeing herself from the disguise the boy had given her.

“So,” he turned to look at her, “since we’re alone, now you can tell me the thing you needed to tell me?”

Marinette almost choked on her own saliva.

“Oh!” she squeaked. “The thing! Right.”

“Sooo,” Chat Noir said in a sing-song tone, leaning towards her. “What is this secret of yours that’s keeping us apart?”

“A very important secret, that only you can know,” she said slightly more relaxed. She then turned to him. “Before I do, I want you to know that it’s okay if you freak out or have a mental breakdown. I mean, I did.”

“Are you a secret murderer or something?”

“Ha! I promise it’s not bad. In fact, you might laugh, instead. I mean, I think it’s hilarious.”

“I know there’s a chance you genuinely think that, but I’m starting to get nervous—”

CRASH

Marinette and Chat Noir stood up on instinct at the sound of exploding windows, followed by screams.

“You’re kidding me,” Marinette breathed.

“Another one?” Chat Noir said, standing on his feet and taking his baton. “Talk about a busy week.”

“Wait!” she called, rising to her feet. “Let me finish first.”

“You know you can just say it, right?”

“I know I can say it, I’m worried about how you’re gonna react.”

“You said it’s not something bad!”

“It’s not, but—”

“THERE YOU ARE!” A voice bellowed behind Chat Noir. The two teens turned to see a large man, looking like an inflated birthday party clown, floating from a balloon. As he got high enough, the balloons popped, and he landed with a loud thud on the rooftop. “Hawkmoth was right. You two lovebirds are so predictable.”

“Wait, I thought this place was secret!” Marinette said out loud. Chat Noir looked back at her, with fear.

“MARINETTE, RUN!” he yelled.

Marinette didn’t need to be told twice. Her feet had started to take steps back before she turned to run in the other direction of the akuma, towards the fire escape. She even did her best to not look back when she heard the sound of Chat Noir grunting. Like he had just gotten hit.

He can take it, she thought, forcing herself to continue. He can take anything. He’s Chat Noir, he can take it.

It wasn’t enough. She stopped to look back. Her head had barely turned when she had to duck from an incoming giant pie. Marinette glanced at the where the dessert landed, melting the rooftop concrete, before she had to dodge again from another.

“Hold still!” the akuma yelled, with two more pies on his hands. The second one of those was flying, an arm crashed into her. Next thing she knew, she was being swept away from that rooftop, carried by her partner.

“I need to get you somewhere safe!”

“I just need somewhere to hide!” Marinette insisted. “We don’t have to go too far.”

“I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

“Chat Noir, I’m serious! Just go to any nearby alley. You’ll see why!”

“I’m not letting you stay in an—”

Both teens yelped as one of the pies hit a chimney Chat Noir was about to land on. They were sent rolling down a slopped rooftop, and would’ve fallen on the street below, if the superhero hadn’t encrusted his baton into a wall.

“That was close,” Chat Noir panted. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Marinette assured him from his other arm. “How are we gonna get out of this one?”

“Uuuh…” The boy was staring away into the distance. Marinette was about to look, when she heard a ‘boo,’ and something hit the side of her head.

“Ow! Was that a Styrofoam cup?” she said, looking at the crowd that was forming beneath them, the one Chat Noir had been staring at.

“I don’t think this public is very fond of you.”

“And neither am I!” the akuma shouted.

Another pie hit the building right above where Chat Noir’s baton was holding for dear life. The crowd on the sidewalk screamed and ran away, as the wall melted enough to loosen the superhero’s weapon. The couple landed hard on the concrete, with Chat Noir taking most of the hit, while he protected Marinette’s head.

“Right where I want you!” the villain yelled. “Now tell me where Ladybug is, or your girlfriend here will be at front row seat of my next trick.”

“Nobody hurts Marinette on my watch!” Chat Noir yelled, stepping in front of her, making a battle pose.

“Could you please stop saying things like that in public!” Marinette scolded, still seeing some civilians hiding behind cars.

“Come on, I know you secretly like it when I act as your knight in catsuit armor.”

Chat Noir grinned at her, wiggling his eyebrows. Marinette could feel her whole face burning when she smacked a hand to her face.

“Oh gosh, you’re such a dork,” she said under her breath.

“Enough flirting!” the villain shouted, right as a yellow light shot towards Marinette from a wand he pointed at her.

Chat Noir was too late. The light hit her. Though, she seemed… fine.

“Marinette, are you okay?!”

“I…I feel fine…”

As if on cue, a small red balloon they hadn’t noticed hanging off her started rapidly filling up. When it was floating above her, it started pulling her up from her abdomen, where a thick string was newly wrapped around.

“Chat Noir!” she called as her feet left the ground. The boy immediately jumped just in time to grab her hand.

“Gotcha!” Chat Noir said triumphantly. However, his victory was short-lived, for he was immediately lifted off his feet. As if he weighed less than a feather.

“Let go!”

“I can’t!” He started to look around him.

“We can’t both be in trouble!”

The balloon sped up, rising by three stories in three seconds.

“No!” Chat Noir’s baton extended towards a drain pipe from a nearby rooftop, but it was too late. “Crap! I can’t drop now!”

Marinette watched her surroundings, hoping to find something Chat Noir could use. Instead, all she could see were perfect places to wrap her yoyo around. Something she didn’t have in the moment.

But she desperately needed.

“Chat Noir, I need to tell you the thing right now!” she yelled over the wind far above the city.

“We can talk about whatever it is when we’re back on the ground. Right now, I need to think!”

“But it’s really important!” she desperately said, seeing how people were starting to look like ants. “I promise we’ll get out of this as soon as I say it!”

“Marinette, I really need to think. Could you please let me think!”

The girl took a deep breath.

“Chat, I really, really, really need to tell you the thing,” she insisted.

“What could possibly be so important that it can’t wait ‘til after we’re out of this?” he retorted, irritated.

“Too important!” she yelled. Chat’s brows furrowed, debating whether to keep arguing or not. But before he could decide, Marinette was speaking again. “Chat, I’m—”

POP

The two teens were suddenly screaming, falling. Chat Noir pressed Marinette to his chest, making sure his back was facing down.

“What are you doing?!” Marinette yelled, a sliver of panic bubbling up inside her.

“I can take the hit,” Chat Noir said.

“Not from this height you can’t!”

He smiled. “You’re worth every sacrifice.”

Marinette could have sworn the world had gotten silent. She could tell he knew full well what would happen to him if they weren’t suddenly rescued. He hoped for one of two things: that Ladybug would save them, or that he would take the full force of the fall and she would at least survive.

You stupid self-sacrificing cat.

“No,” she affirmed. With the agility of Ladybug, Marinette pushed herself away from him enough to position them face down to slow their fall. She then pulled him as close to her as possible.

“Marinette, what are you doing?!”

“I’ve been trying to do this right, but there’s no right way to do this,” she yelled against the wind. “So screw doing it right. It didn’t work for you anyway.”

“What are you—”

“Tikki, transform me!” Marinette said at last.

[notalwaysthevillian]

Brewing Love

Warnings: Kissing, allusions to nsfw, swearing, mention of a controlling boyfriend

Pairings: Remile; background Logicality & eventual Prinxiety

Word Count: ~1.2k

Read from the beginning!

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 6

A gentle kiss had Remy’s eyes fluttering open the next morning. The gorgeous face of his partner filled his vision, making him smile. “Good morning.”

“A good morning indeed.” Emile slid onto his lap. The pink shirt they’d borrowed from Remy hung a bit loose, showing off their collarbone. “Thanks for letting me sleep over. Even if we didn’t...you know.”

The second Remy unlocked the door, their lips were back together. They stumbled over a few cat toys, making their way to the bedroom.

Emile backed through the doorway, moving until they hit the bed.

And then they froze.

Remy stopped immediately, pulling back. “Em?”

“I’m sorry.” Tears filled their eyes. “I - I can’t, I don’t want to -”

“Em, we don’t have to do anything.”

“But -”

“If you’re not comfortable, we’ll wait.”

“Hey, it’s okay. We don’t have to do anything until you’re ready, alright?” Remy eyed the bracelet, noticing there weren’t any charms. “Babe? What kind of day is it for you?”

There was a flicker of desire in Emile’s eyes, which was quickly accompanied by a blush. “He/him today.”

Time to test a theory. “Good to know, babe.”

The blush deepened, letting Remy know that he was absolutely correct.

Emile had a thing for pet names.

“You’re adorable when you blush.” Remy said as he sat up, hands moving to Emile’s hips. He was ready to let go at a moment’s notice. When there was no protesting, he leaned forward. “May I kiss you?”

Emile nodded, closing the gap.

While their first kiss had been short and sweet, this one held a touch of passion. It had Remy whining as Emile pulled away.

“We’re together now, there’s plenty of time for kissing.” Emile mumbled, pressing their lips together one more time. Before Remy could deepen it, Emile climbed off his lap and pointed at the clock. “Besides, don’t you have to work today?”

“SHIT!”

Scrambling out of bed, Remy grabbed some clothes. He hovered in the doorway of the bathroom. “I’ll be quick.”

“Rem, it’s okay.” Emile slid out of bed. “I was going to find your cat! She’s so cute.”

Without another word, Emile left the bedroom. A second later, Remy could hear him making cooing noises. He trusted Chai to keep Emile busy and hopped in the shower.

After halfway styling his hair, he opened the door. Emile was sitting on his bed, gently petting Chai.

“Babe?” He held back a smirk as Emile flushed.

“Yeah?”

“If you wanna borrow some clothes, my closet is at your disposal.” Remy moved around the bed, leaning over to whisper in Emile’s ear. “And you look hot as hell wearing my stuff, if this shirt is any indication.”

He pressed a few kisses down Emile’s jaw before pulling away. His partner looked adorably flustered.

The haze cleared from Emile’s eyes rather quickly. “Did you have an outfit in mind?”

A few...choice images flashed through Remy’s mind. He could feel his cheeks burning. “Um...why don’t you pick?”

“Okay!”

Emile slid off the bed. He opened the closet door, running a hand along the shirts. He pulled out a gold and black striped button up and paired it with some ripped skinny jeans. Remy saw him hesitate.

“What are you thinking?”

Emile’s eyes darted to the jackets. “Nothing.”

An image of Emile in his leather jacket flickered in Remy’s mind. He reached over and grabbed the article of clothing, holding it out. “Try it on at least?”

“If I change here are you just going to stare at me?” Emile questioned, a teasing grin on his face.

Remy looked him up and down. “Maybe.”

Shaking his head, Emile headed into the bathroom. Chai curled up on the bed, laying on Emile’s clothes from the previous day.

“You like him too, huh?” Sitting on the bed, Remy bopped her nose. She responded by biting his fingers. “He’s definitely a keeper.”

“I’m not a seeker anymore, that’s for sure.”

As he looked up, Remy’s breath caught in his throat. “Wow.”

“I kinda like it.” Emile spun in a circle. “I look edgy.”

Once his brain had rebooted, Remy glanced at the clock. “I gotta head to work, but Logan won’t care if you come with me.”

“Are you sure?” Emile bit his lip. “I don’t want to impose.”

“He’s made out with Patton there more times than I’d like to know. I promise, it’ll be fine.” Sliding to his feet, Remy headed to the kitchen. He heard two sets of footsteps following him.

He let Emile think about it as he fed Chai.

“You’re sure Logan’s okay with it?”

“He will be.” Remy offered his hand. Once Emile took it, he laced their fingers together. Lifting their joined hands, he pressed a kiss against Emile’s knuckles.

“You - you’re gonna be late.”

“A queen is never late. Everyone else is simply early.” Remy quoted as he opened the door. Emile’s laughter echoed in the hall as they headed out of the building.

They walked in just on time. Logan came out of the kitchen, his eyes landing on Emile before sliding to Remy. He grinned at his cousin. “Congratulations.”

“I’d say the same, if there was something to congratulate.”

Logan’s face turned red. “There might be something...soon.”

“Atta boy.”

The two worked through their usual morning routine. Emile asked a few questions, sitting in his usual spot. Remy answered them with ease, proving that he actually did know what he was doing behind the counter.

Once they opened, the morning disappeared in a snap. Emile was content to sip on his hot chocolate and watch Remy work. Every once in a while Patton would bring out ‘samples’ and let Emile try them out.

As they neared the slow hour, Remy heard a customer gasp.

“Dr. Picani?”

Emile turned, seeing one of his patients. He flashed them a smile. “Hello, Elliot. Do you how do?”

“I’m good. It’s weird seeing you outside of the office. And not in your usual clothes.”

“Oh, these are my boyfriend’s. He’s letting me try them out.” Emile waved in Remy’s direction.

Remy’s eyes landed on Elliot’s necklace, seeing ‘they/them’ engraved in the dog tag. “Have you been here before?”

“Once, when you opened.” Their shoulders began to droop. “But, um, my boyfriend at the time didn’t really like this place. And he didn’t like me coming here, so I stopped.”

“Sounds like a shitty boyfriend.”

Emile didn’t say anything, but it was clear that he agreed.

“Yeah, he was. We broke up a month ago.”

The poor kid looked devastated. Remy cleared his throat. “The best cure for a breakup is always chocolate. And according to the good doctor here, we serve the best hot chocolate in the world.”

“One hot chocolate then. Let me grab a mug.”

As soon as Elliot was out of earshot, Emile whispered, “Thank you. They’ve seemed down ever since they broke up.”

“I know how bad heartbreak can be.” Remy started on the drink, nearly missing Emile’s next words.

“Good thing you won’t have to deal with that ever again.”

Emotions buzzed under Remy’s skin. He finished the drink, cashed out Elliot, and then leaned over the counter to plant a kiss on his partner.

“Remy!”

“Oh, so you get to kiss Patton on the clock?”

There was a beat of silence.

“Just...keep it to a minimum please.”

After Logan vanished back into the kitchen, Emile tapped Remy’s hand. “What was that for?”

“I -” It’s too early for that, Remy. “I’m glad we’re together.”

A sunny smile crossed Emile’s face.

“So am I.”

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[ashleylikeshorror]

Stephen King’s “1922″: A Comparison Between the Novel & Netflix’s Adaptation

“In the end we are all caught in devices of our own making.” 

It was that time again to find another book to read during those evenings where everyone in the home was off doing their own thing. Not wanting anything too long, I picked up Stephen King’s “Full Dark, No Stars.” The book features four short stories, but today I’ll be discussing only the first out of the four, as well as how I feel about the 2017 Netflix adaptation of it. 

As always: SPOILERS AHEAD  (Just to be clear, these spoilers will only be about 1922, and not any of the other three short stories from Full Dark, No Stars.)

The Novel 

I’ll be as blunt as I can possibly be. 1922 was one of the better things I’ve read in too long of a fucking time. When starting this portion of my post, I erased my first couple sentences because they were cheesy (albeit true), generic bullshit along the lines of “wow”, “simply brilliant”, or “Stephen King has done it again.” 

Our story starts out in the year of 1922 (surprising, eh?) and follows a certain sort of unfortunate fellow (of his own creation) named Wilfred James. If this story were told in any other format outside of being in the first person, I’m not sure how it would have turned out. It was because of that first person style of narration that 1922 carried along with it a certain sense of dread that had you both wanting Wilf to do better, all while resenting him for the bullshit he’d brought upon nearly everyone around him.

What I particularly loved about this book that kept me looking for any excuse to leave the comfort of my husband’s arms to let him do his own thing was the grit of it, and the eerily depicted depth of what guilt can do to a person. As his wife haunted him from the grave it was thoroughly appreciated that no one else could see just how miserable Wilf was. That even though his son was undoubtedly dragged along for the ride, no one was more tormented, dejected, nor beside himself than our narrator. And it was rightfully so as he had no one to blame other than himself. 

As the chain of events began to happen, I began to question myself if the punishment fit the crime. Even though it went unsaid, in his reality I imagine Mr. James was asking himself the same thing as well, eventually dismissing the thought because what would it matter? “What’s done is done.” Indeed. What had been done was done; the grave had been dug. The same grave appearing too small for a family plus whoever else, yet somehow managing to encompass all as though it were a clown car.  

Irony in any other case would have been welcomed with open arms for assholes like Wilfred James. In this case, it stung deep. Not for him, but for what was lost in effort to escape such fate. This irony stuck with me days after finishing the story. Hell - even now it’s bringing up a dull, warm, sad pit in my chest. Following the irony, the ending itself was a genuinely twisted phantasmagoria. Picturing it in my head while reading it next to my husband left my mouth agape to the point my husband chucked and had asked me what was going on since I’d been his TL;DR of the story for every section of it I’d read.  

The Film

*This is where the spoilers come in. Head’s up.  

Standalone, this might have a decent enough movie had it not been taking directly from any novel. However, that’s not the case, now is it? What I felt Netflix decided to give us was something I’m not sure was made with any plausible sort of good intention along the lines of “Stephen King fans are going to love this!”  It seemed more like “Eh, people eat Stephen King shit up like Thanksgiving dinner, so put the basics of the book on screen and wham-Done!” 

The film begins, and for about the first 45 mins of the film, stays true to the book down to the last detail (the ones they chose to show, at least). It was just as painful seeing Elphis fall down the well and groan for help as it was to read it. Details are fantastic and all, but not if the dread you loved in the novel is depicted absolutely nowhere. Where was that same atmosphere that had me hooked for all those many pages? 

Now don’t get me wrong, every single actor n’ actress did their part quite well. Thomas Jane made an excellent Wilfred James despite what I’d thought he’d might be. What was missing was a connection. I felt like I was just watching events happen. I wasn’t invested. I sat down every bit excited to see something that depressed me in all the ways it should depress anyone come to light on screen, only to feel unattached to anyone. Even if were someone else who saw 1922 and felt the same as me, unattached, at the very least they should’ve felt attached to their narrator, the protagonist, no matter if that attachment is wanting to see that Wilf get his just desserts, or wanting him to be the victor despite the tragedy he’s caused everyone. 

Again, standalone, this might have been a “just alright” sorta film, but because I knew what to expect, I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t happy for three main reasons which you better believe I’m going to go into here, as I immediately and beyond audibly bitched my television out after the credits began to roll. 

Reason One: The misrepresentation of Wilfred’s guilt; specifically the lack of Arlette’s taunting. The entire novel we’re graced with biting sarcasm from what Wilf was picturing his undead Arlette saying to him from beyond the grave. There was none of that torment anywhere - ANYWHERE - in the film. It were those comments in Wilf’s mind that accrued that anguish, that helped expedite his descent into madness, as well as what added to the grotesque depictions of rats, providing the gravitas of why they were there. Instead, what we’re given in the film was the one moment Arlette spoke to Wilf, which seemed more of a parental discussion than “Was it worth it, WIlf?” 

Reason Two: Progression. The hour and forty two minutes this movie plays goes by quite fast. Faster than it should resulting in it not doing any real favors for the sourced material. Stephen King’s plethora of fiction is not shy of resulting in two and a half hour, or even three plus hour long renditions on screen. I don’t give a fickedy-fackled-fuck how many pages 1922 was. It needed more than an hour and forty two minutes to secure any possible chance of maintaining the same dread as the story it was made after. It’s a whole-hearted belief of mine that it is this reason I wasn’t able to feel close with any of the characters as I once had before. Due to the length of the film, we hadn’t been given the appropriate time to know our characters, nor truly see the hard work that went into the development of the things being planned and executed as they were. 

Reason Three: How Netflix had chosen to change the ending. Don’t even start giving me that same horseshit I’ve already read up on about how it’s an open ending wherein Wilf could have taken his own life. “We don’t know for sure the spirits of those scorned took him.”  One of the reasons I was so ecstatic to see this movie was to see how the original written ending translated on screen. The film had been teasing us with the rats, his guilt, closing in on him through a hole in the wall of his hotel room. That built up tension made your intuition fly off the charts with that assured notion some shit was going to go down, and knowing what to expect, I was more than one hundred percent let the fuck down. 

The rats were supposed to eat him. The rats were supposed to eat him amidst him writing the last of his confession. The rats were supposed to be finally shown to us as Wilfred biting himself. Why, oh why, Netflix, did you not show us Thomas Jane chowing down on himself? Surely, undoubtedly, CERTAINLY this would have been far more disturbing than three spirits, three corpses coming to claim him. I mean, fuckin’ aye, my dudes. The news article that followed afterwards was what sealed the deal on the ending of the novel  making it that much more disturbing. What Netflix did here seemed like a cheap, half-assed way of ending the movie. I would say they did it to truly push that horror towards the viewer, to leave them an ending that would “stick with em”, but good lord almighty, what a miss. What a frustratingly bad miss. 

Maybe one day I’ll go back and give the movie another shot. Maybe I’ll judge it for what it is, instead of what I wanted it to be. Right now though, I’m just disappointed in the ways the viewer shouldn’t be disappointed. It is for that reasoning alone, that I won’t put a rating today. I’ll rate the book separately just as I will go back and rate the movie (eventually) on its own as what it is later on down the line. 

It just sucks having your hype shat on like that. 

¯\_(ツ)_/¯