#and she would NOT wear the same outfit to go visit a funeral at the redanian court as she is wearing on the run

[patroclusdefencesquad]

"it doesn't make sense for yennefer to be dressed fancy, they're on the run!!" um this is what she wore to go grocery shopping

and this is what she wore to go to literal war

this woman makes sure she slays and serves every time she leaves the house she would NOT be caught dead with a h&m multipack even when on the run

[tothosewholisten]

Forever Healed | TUA insert

Chapter: 01

<<previous chapter | next chapter>>

Masterlist

…

The next morning I woke up in disbelief of what I saw the previous night. I always thought Reginald’s grip on me was too tight for him to let go. I believed that he would live forever, that he would lecture me in his overpriced mansion when I failed at becoming my own person.

I didn’t know if I should feel sad or not, after all, it’s not like he would feel the same if it was me who died that man had the emotional intelligence of a zoo animal. At least that's what I tried to tell myself. But I did want to go back to my old home, just to see if this was a huge prank played on me and he would be there to finally give me what I wanted for years now.

No, this was reality and I knew that because at my front door was a letter, it was addressed from Pogo. The “man” who practically raised me instead of the parent I was supposed to have. How he knows where I live, I had no idea, but it felt good to hear from him after all this time. He told me to come back to the house for the service and I couldn’t just ignore him.

Since this was a funeral I should wear black or maybe some bright neon-colored outfit for the last F you to the big man. But after looking in my closet I realize I only own sad mundane clothes.

“Black it is..” I whisper to myself.

..

The taxi ride was silent, after telling the driver where I wanted to go I think she knew exactly who I was. I fixed my hair several times and thought about the other adopted children who also experienced hell living there. From time to time I do like to check up on how they're doing, never face to face though.

Like Allison and her latest celeb drama, or Diego still acting like a superhero only now he’s almost 30 and lives in someone else’s storage closet. I'm not sure that adult life has been kind to any of my siblings but I wish the ones who weren't here could’ve still experienced it.

We had come to a stop and I could see the house in all its glory, it gave me shivers that crawled down my spine. I stepped out of the taxi and just stared up at the tall building, If I was about to go in I needed to majorly hype myself up.

After standing there shaking, my shaky hand had finally started to open the intricate umbrella engraved glass doors. This reminded me of the first time I showed up to this place just as terrified of the unknown, but this time instead of crying on the doorstep the unknown opened the door for me. If the unknown was a small monkey man with glasses and a wooden walking stick named Pogo.

“Miss Y/n, please do come in.” Pogo expressed with a warm smile on his monkey face. “I believe you are one of the first to arrive, just right after Master Luther and Klaus. Luther is in your father's room and Klaus is in his study if you’d like to visit them.”

I wasn't paying attention to Pogo’s words, instead I was taking a look around. It took me a while to come up with the right words, it’s like I forgot how to speak. The inside of this place looked like it hadn't changed since I moved out, not one piece out of place.

“Maybe later.” I croaked out, “I'd like to take a look around for a bit.” We walked into the main lounge of the home. I forgot how much there was to see, the space was decorated very well in my opinion.

“As you wish Miss Y/n, let me know if you need anything else.” He called out as he started to walk in the opposite direction. I called back out to him in a small panic.

“Pogo wait,” I said and he turned back around to look at me.

“Yes-“ It only took me a few steps to reach him as I opened up my arms for a hug and he caught on. I embraced the smaller “man”, it felt so familiar, so comforting it almost made me feel good to be back. We stood like that for what could’ve been all my life and I wouldn't care before I pulled back thinking it was too much. “It’s so good to see you, my girl. Welcome home.” I immediately felt back at ease when he spoke those words.

Pogo was a prominent figure in my adolescence to the point where I didn't even question how a monkey could talk. I'd like to think of him as one of my saving graces for getting past the years that I could never forget.

“It feels strange to be back,” I said walking back over to the lounge area. On the wall, I could see a bunch of familiar items like our Umbrella Academy comics, some of our news articles and-

“How long has it been since Five disappeared?” A voice cut in, my eyes searched the room looking for that voice. I set my sights on a small scrawny woman with brown hair pulled into a bun.

It was Vanya, she’s changed since I last saw her but that comes with age I guess, she still shares the same mannerisms as her younger self.

“Miss Vanya! I'm glad to see you as well.” Pogo exclaimed, turning to her but then went back to the portrait of Five on the wall. Made just before he ran away but hung up after as a sign to remember him by our father. I don't think it was out of love for his son but more of a warning for us to not end up like him. “But to answer your question, it's been sixteen years, four months, and fourteen days. Your father insisted I keep track.”

I gave Vanya a little smile and she spoke again. “You wanna know something stupid? I always used to leave the lights on for him.” Pogo and I looked at her sympathetically. “I was scared that he would come back, it would be late, and the house would be dark and he wouldn't be able to find us, so he’d leave again.”

I don’t know if it was childish or hopeful for her to think he would just one day return to us and all would be forgiven but it was true that she never lost hope.

“So, every night I'd make a little snack and make sure all the lights were on.” She finished.

Pogo sighed at her words. “Oh, I remember your snacks. I'm pretty sure I stepped in half those peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches.” Yes, it was a sad memory but I think all three of us took comfort in the fact that they had these little things they did. To cope with the fact that a part of us was lost the day he left.”Your father always believed that Number Fiver was still out there somewhere. He never lost hope.” He continued.

Vanya frowned, “And look where that got him.”

..

Alison and Luther made their way to us in the lounge room along with Diego and Klaus following soon behind them, but I had already sat on a couch next to Vanya.

This was an odd event since everyone was so quiet and sticking to themselves or their drinks. And Pogo had left a few minutes ago so any conversations that he sparked no longer existed and it was back to complete silence.

I twiddled with a loose string on my cardigan, trying to shake at least some of the anxiety that brewed from the room. You’d think because we were together almost for half of our lives we would know how to ask each other how life’s been but I guess not. I'd have to talk to Alison sometime soon and also Klaus, out of everyone I've been the most excited to talk to him.

Luther stood up from one of the large couches and cleared his throat. “Uhm, I guess we should get this started. So, I figured we could have some sort of memorial service. In the courtyard at sundown.” He paused. “Say a few words, just at Dad’s favorite spot.”

“Dad had a favorite spot?” Alison questioned.

Luther replied, “You know, under the oak tree.” And I honestly doubt anyone knew or cared but him. He was always more attached to Dad anyway.

“We used to sit out there all the time. None of you ever did that?” Of course not...

Klaus chimed in walking over to the group, a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. “Will there be refreshments? Tea? Scones? Cucumber sandwiches are always a winner.”

“What? No. And put that out. You know Dad didn't allow smoking in here.” Luther argued.

“Well he is dead so does it matter” I said while rubbing my forehead. I'm already getting a headache from Luther and it's been five seconds. He throws me a look and I just shut up. Arguing with him also reminds me of a zoo animal and it's not just his new physique..

Alison points to Klaus’s interesting new outfit and says. “Is that my skirt?” And I'm reminded of our teenage years all over again.

“What? Oh! Yeah, this. I found it in your room.” Klaus says. “It’s a little dated, I know, but it's very breathy on the bits-“

Luther cuts in with a stern voice. “Listen up. Still, some important things that we need to discuss, all right?”

“Like what?” Diego asks and finally looks up at us.

“Like the way he died.”

“And here we go..” Diego remarks.

Vanya stares at Luther confused. “I don’t understand. I thought they said it was a heart attack?”

“Yeah, according to the coroner..”

“Well, wouldn't they know” I say?

“Theoretically”

“Theoretically?” Alison raises a brow at Luther's strange words.

“I'm just saying, at the very least, something happened. The last time I talked to Dad, he sounded strange.” He adds on.

Klaus starts gurgling his alcohol and with a strange noise, he says. “Oh, quelle surprise!” Whatever that means..

“Strange how?” I try to continue.

“He sounded on edge. Told me I should be careful who to trust.”

“I don’t think that’s anything out of the ordinary, like at all.” I shrug.

Diego stands from his chair. “Luther, he was a paranoid, bitter old man who was starting to lose what was left of his marbles.”

“No. He must have known something was gonna happen.” I roll my eyes at Luther's statement. “Look, I know you don’t like to do it, but I need you to talk to Dad.” He finishes by looking at Klaus. The only one of us with those capabilities, Klaus looked panicked by his words.

“I can’t just call Dad in the afterlife and be like, Dad could you just.. stop playing tennis with Hitler for a moment and take this quick call” Klaus states exaggerating the words with hand movements.

“Since when? That’s your thing.”

“I'm not in the right.. frame of mind.”

“You’re high?” Alison turns to look at Klaus.

“Yeah!” he chuckles, still holding his drink and cigarette while sitting “Yeah! I mean how are you not listening to this nonsense?”

“Well sober up, this is important,” says Luther and Klaus groans.”Then there’s the issue of the missing monocle.”

“Who gives a shit about a stupid monocle?” Diego cuts in, which I would have to agree with.

“Exactly, it's worthless. So whoever took it, I think it was personal.” Everyone stares at Luther like he is delusional and at this point, me included. “Someone close to him. Someone with a grudge.”

“Where are you going with this? You lost me at Dad's favorite spot” I ask Luther directly.

Diego stares up at Luther and gets out of his chair to get closer to him. “Oh, isn’t it obvious, Y/n? He thinks one of us killed Dad.” I know everyone knew that was what he was saying but hearing it come from Diego’s mouth hit everyone.

“You do?” Says Klaus. “How could you think that?” Vanya added.

“Great job, Luther. Way to lead.” Diego walks out of the lounge room.

“That’s not what I'm saying,” Luther grunts.

Klaus gets up too not before saying this on his way out. “You’re crazy, man. You’re crazy. Crazy”

“I've not finished” Luther tries to tell us to sit back down.

“Sorry, I'm just gonna go murder, Mom. Be right back” I say with a smile.

“That’s not what I was saying. I didn't-“ Luther sighs as Vanya walks out too. Leaving Allison the last one in the room with a pleading Luther. “Alison. Jeez..” He says trying to call out to her. But unfortunately for him, she also walks away leaving him to mutter to himself alone. “That went well.”

..

“Hey,” I whispered to Vanya as she was sitting on the stairs deep in thought. “That was.. intense right?” Out of everyone she was the easiest to talk to, she always was there for me.

But I do have to admit I could’ve been there for her more and I'm not sure what she thinks about me after all these years. By her silence she confirmed what I thought, she hates me. After sitting for a second in the silence I wanted to run away and retreat to my room. But she raised her head and looked me in the eyes.

“Yeah it was, Luther was way off.” She says.

I could hug her right now, I'm so happy hearing her voice. I hummed in response but I couldn’t think of anything to say, we just ended up looking at each other waiting for the other to bring up our next topic. “Uhm you're still playing the violin, right? How’s that going.” I ask.

Vanya gives me an awkward smile “It's going pretty okay, I play for an orchestra near my apartment. I also give lessons to kids when I have the time.”

“That’s amazing Vanya.” I smile back. “What chair are you?” That is the extent of my orchestra knowledge, I always liked hearing her play but didn't have any knacks for instruments myself. And it's not like Dad would’ve given me any time to learn, always on to the next mission or session with him.

“Third” she frowns, “for the last couple of years now I guess.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I didn't want her to think that was bad because I'm sure she is trying her best so we were back to silence again. As I stare off into the distance.

But then I look up to hear a loud muffled noise, like a song? It was coming from upstairs. I wasn't going crazy because Vanya heard it too. I remember listening to this song as a teenager and my only conclusion is that this was playing from Luther's record player. The song still played as I told her who I thought was playing this, and we both started laughing before Vanya stood up and held her hand out to me and pulled me up too.

I kept laughing as she started to sway back and forth to the music, she looked so carefree so I joined her. I'm no star dancer myself but being with her made me feel like I could do anything and that's what I did. We bounced around as the chorus started, grabbing each other's hands and mouthing the lyrics.

“I think we’re alone now,” I started.

“Doesn’t seem to be anyone around” Vanya continues.

“I think we're alone now”

“The beating of our hearts is the only sound” This was an out-of-character moment for both of us but we didn't care, we were simply enjoying ourselves and I wondered if anyone else was dancing too.

The music skips as thunder cuts the song off and we stop. The whole house starts to rumble and Vanya grabs on to me as we look around at all the flying items that are coming off shelves and tables.

I was confused, nowhere did the forecast mention thunder and lighting at all and looking outside I didn't see anything, only a blue glowing ball forming in the sky near the back of the house.

Luther and Alison run from upstairs towards us and they tell us we need to go outside, where we run into Diego. He must have seen the glowing too.

..

“Oh shit“ I plug my ears, the lighting whips and thunder got louder as we reached the door. Diego was the first of us out there, and then we all followed. We were horrified at the sight ahead of us. No longer was this a blue ball but more like a large translucent blue ripple in the sky.

“What is it?” Vanya yells out.

Alison pushes Luther slightly back with her hand “Don’t get too close” she says.

“Yeah, no shit” Diego interjects.

Luther points it out. “Looks like some sort of temporal anomaly. Either that or a miniature black hole. One of the two.” For a moment I forgot that he spent all that time and space, he was more knowledgeable than us.

“Pretty big difference there, Paul Bunyan!” Diego exclaims. Hearing all of their voices I slowly realized who was missing..

“Out of the way!” Klaus yells from inside.

He starts to run up to us with something in his hand “What are you doing?!” I called out. He then runs up to the “black hole” and throws a fire extinguisher into it? I'm worried for Klaus if his response to strange situations is to throw something at it.

Alison gave him a puzzled look “What is that going to do?” She said,

“I don’t know, do you have a better idea?” He replies with exasperation. His frustration seemed to somewhat affect the glowing thing because it suddenly got bigger, and flashed strong blue light at him. Klaus lets out a shriek and runs behind me.

“Woah woah get behind me,” Luther says addressing us. Diego decides to chime in, of course, to upstage him and says that we should get behind him instead.

“I vote for running c’mon!” Klaus tries to grab my arm but I stay still, if I was scared of anything anymore I would've run but I was dying to see how this played out.

All of us just kind of stood there, some probably accepted their fate that this blob of color was gonna swallow them whole. I look down to see Alison and Luther hand and hand.

But that's not the only thing I see, because something was coming out of the light. A man? A boy? I was so confused. He lets out a terrible screech, like coming through that “portal” was ripping him apart.

All of us take a closer look at the now clearer image because whatever was in the portal dropped down onto the mud-covered floor. And the blue light disappears above him.

“Oh my god,” I said, I finally recognized what was standing right in front of me. All of us took a couple of steps closer to him.

“Does anyone else see little Number Five, or is that just me?” Klaus asked.

Five looks down at himself and for the first time in close to 17 years I hear him speak.

“Shit.”

…

Aug 14 update:

If you'd like to be added to the tag list for rest of the series (starts at chapter 10) say taglist in the comments!

[froagie]

I 100% support u in everything u say abt zl and everyone else. Ur comics give me life fr

Thanks so much here are some more zhongli facts. (Source: Me)

his house is actually huge but only like 1.5 rooms are navigable because everywhere else is filled with random rocks and trinkets he "bought", hes like Oh the pattern on this cor lapis looks like a bird in flight it would be a shame not to buy it

he is Teyvat's Most Divorced Milf

he owns 7 copies of the same outfit and 1 of hu tao's outfit in his size that she kept trying to make him wear because it would be "cute if the funeral parlor was matching" (He doesnt wear it)

he used to just have his Tits Out all the time but realized when hed be giving orders to the adepti literally nobody would pay attention so he started wearing a shirt

knew shenhe when she was a kid and she would tug on his ponytail all the time and also bite his spear and the spear still has teethmarks in it to this day

every few centuries or so venti and zhongli get divorced again (for fun), the most recent time they tried to get a divorce (lantern rite) they couldn't afford it because Yanfei started hiking up her prices exponentially because she was sick of dealing with their bull shit

he has mastered the art of manipulation which is how he manages to almost always buy everything for the price of free and the manipulation in question is smiling at them shoujo manga love interest style, OR using childes fatui bank funds that he never bothered to change the PIN on, btw childe is in huge trouble with the harbingers for using exponentially more than his allotted share of fatui funds, thats why the last time he was in an event (the one with yoimiya) he was talking about how he has to keep an eye on his spending

xingqiu writes in-universe RPF about Rex Lapis under an alias, and gets into multi-page heated arguments in the comments with keqing (also commenting anonymously) about the characterization in the middle of which is user TartagliaLapis asking if he takes character x reader commissions. xiao went to the AO3 message board or whatever in the dead of night when no one can see him to read the rex lapis fanfiction then he adds another comment like "Rex Lapis would not fucking say that"

zhongli and baizhu play mahjong together with old grandmas at 5 in the morning #enrichment

the first time that zhongli painstakingly made almond tofu for xiao he didnt even eat it because he was like Rex Lapis Made This For Me. I Must Treasure This Forever And Preserve His Culinary Creation For All Of Eternity. and he put it in like one of those glass cases you put anime figures in. next time zhongli visited him he was like Oh dear... was the almond tofu not to your liking? Im sorry :( and xiao almost kills himself right then and there but hes like No my lord it was delicious and perfect like everything you do and he smashes the case open and shoves the entire plate in his mouth and swallows it in one go and starts gagging and choking because he didnt even chew and probably swallowed some glass too and then he faints and wakes up in baizhus office and hes like wtf happened then he sees zhongli waiting by his bedside looking worried and he remembers what he just did and passes out again from the sheer embarrassment

[kelyon]

Courtship 13: Invitations

After a fight at home, Miss French takes refuge at Mr. Gold's house

Read on AO3

When Miss French got back to the store after her visit with Mr. Gold, Moe was behind the counter with the phone pressed against his ear and a stack of orders in his hand. 

“It’s gonna be how much?” he said into the phone. “God, what was it last year?” 

As he listened to the answer, she lurked in the back room to eavesdrop. 

“Listen, Larsen, I’m kind of in a bad spot right now. Is there any way you can help me out? For old time’s sake?”

Lacey bit the inside of her mouth. Dad was on the phone with their flower supplier. Did they not have enough money to buy the flowers they would need to sell on Valentine’s day?

“Yeah, it’s not the same without Linda. She was such a wiz with accounting and…” He trailed off, listened to what Larsen was saying. “I appreciate it, I really do. Yeah, of course I’ll pay you back. Alright, you’ve got all the numbers? If you have to short me on roses, try to add in more baby’s breath and filler, okay? I can make do with that.  Alright. See you next week.”

Dad hung up the phone and sighed. His shoulders slumped. Lacey moved toward him, but he didn’t turn around.

“Larsen able to get you a discount?”

“Deferred payment,” he said hollowly. “A week or two, until I can get it all together. Larsen’s a good man. He won’t take money until we have money.” Moe’s eyes shifted to her. “Unlike some people.”

Miss French clenched her jaw and headed for the stairs. “I need to go change, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“You dress up for him?” Moe asked before she could leave. “You put on a little song and dance? Be a trained monkey for his amusement?”

Spinning on her heel, Miss French glared at the florist. “If you want to know what I do to amuse Mr. Gold, I’d be happy to tell you.” She put the bite in her words. He had to know she wasn’t fucking around.

Moe stared at her. His eyes were placid, but his lip curled. “Your aunt called,” he said. “While you were out amusing him. She wants to know if you can drive her and Chloe to some doctor’s appointment on Friday.”

Lacey frowned. “Dr. Hopper?”

“She didn’t say. Does Chloe need a shrink?”

“Janine said she was acting out at school or something. Apparently having her brother and father die on the same day has been kind of a problem.”

 Moe shook his head. 

“I’ll call Aunt Terri back,” she said. “Did you… tell her anything?”

“Don’t you think she’s suffered enough?” Moe asked. “No, I didn’t mention what you’ve been up to. You should, though. You should look that grieving widow in the eye and tell her you’re selling your body for fancy clothes.”

“And jewelry!” The spiteful enthusiasm came instantly. The future Mrs. Gold smiled brightly and raised her left hand, showing off her engagement ring. “It’s official now. We’ve already set a date.”

Moe swallowed. His face went pale. His eyes went sad. “It’s not too late,” he mumbled. “You can stop this madness, Lacey. You don’t have to be like this.”

“I want to be like this,” she told him as she sauntered up the stairs. “It’s better than anything else I could be.” 

****

She didn’t really talk to her father again until the next night. There was finally enough work to keep them both busy in their separate areas of the store. After closing time on Monday, she headed to Modern Fashions and got some more clothes to wear for Mr. Gold. Dresses and skirts, blouses and shoes, earrings and necklaces and bracelets. Then she spent the rest of the night in her room putting outfits together. There was no conversation, so there were no arguments.

On Tuesday, after she closed up the store, she found Moe cleaning off the kitchen table. He had a pile of mail stacked up, and enough junk mail to fill up the trash can. Two months’ worth. They hadn’t eaten at the table since the funeral. 

“We expecting company?”

“Your uncle.” Moe didn’t look up. “He’s gonna come over and make pizza.”

Lacey frowned. When she was a kid, Uncle Manny’s pizza nights were a special occasion, a celebration for birthdays or when her report card had all A’s. Now it seemed suspiciously wholesome. She hadn’t talked to Manny since last week when she had confessed to dating Mr. Gold. Until recently, he had been the only person who knew. Probably he was coming over for the express purpose of talking her out of being with him. 

This was gonna suck.

She went to her room to change out of her work clothes. She put on dress slacks and one of her old blouses. That used to be the most formal outfit she had, what she wore for awards banquets and scholarship interviews. It wasn’t good enough to wear for Mr. Gold, but it reminded Miss French of the person she could hope to be. Better than jeans, at least.

“Bonjour, Frenches!” Uncle Manny’s voice boomed out from the kitchen.

In spite of herself, Lacey smiled. If she was ten or even fifteen, that greeting would have had her bounding down the hallway to leap into her uncle’s arms. Now, she walked. She found him hanging up his coat and stomping the snow off his boots. Plastic bags of pizza supplies were already on the table, including a ball of risen dough in a Tupperware container. 

“Hey there, Ace!” He opened his arms to hug her. 

She accepted the embrace, albeit a little stiffly. As much as she loved Uncle Manny, she was still bracing herself. 

“I’m making your favorite tonight,” he smiled. “Pepper-pepperoni. And if you're good, I might add some pepper to it too. Pepper-pepper-pepperoni!”

She tried to smile back. She really tried. 

To distract herself from her own dread, she took the drinks her uncle had brought and put them in the fridge. It was a six-pack of beer from him and Moe, and a can of Moxie soda for her. Because she was a child and always would be.

Miss French sighed. She sat down at the table. At the very least, they could have this conversation while Moe was sulking in the living room. 

Manny didn’t notice her mood. He spread out the pizza dough on a baking sheet while the oven preheated. 

“So, how are the flowers?”

“Fine,” she said. “How are the cars?”

“Broken but fixable. That’s how I like ‘em.”

She didn’t respond. The silence between them seemed to fill the entire room. Even the noise of the TV was muffled and distant. 

Uncle Manny looked at her hand, at her ring. He swallowed.

“Wow,” he said, obviously trying to keep his cheer up. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Dad didn’t already tell you?” she said archly. “I imagine you two talk about me a lot.”

He gave her a look, which she returned with determination. Yes, they were doing this. She wouldn’t pretend anymore. 

He started spreading spaghetti sauce on the pizza dough. “Come on, Lace” He kept his eyes on his work. “Be reasonable. My brother calls me up at three in the morning in a blind panic because he doesn’t know where you are. He thinks you’re dead in a ditch somewhere and you think I’m not gonna tell him where you might be?”

“I asked you not to tell him.”

“And I asked you to take care of yourself.” Cheese next, sprinkled gently over the sauce. Then he started layering pepperoni and sliced green peppers. “Do you think you were being careful, spending the night at that man’s house?”

“I was taking care of myself. I was getting what I needed.”

“What you wanted, maybe.” He sighed. “But you don’t need him. You’re better than that. You deserve better than that.”

“Yeah, but can I get better than that? Now? In Storybrooke?” She held up her hands in helpless defeat. “Mr. Gold is the richest man in town. That makes him the best. And don’t I ‘deserve’ the best?”

“Of course you do, Lacey,” Uncle Manny said. He slid the raw pizza into the oven and twisted the knob on an egg timer. Then he turned around. “But he’s not it. All the money in the world won’t make up for being with someone who doesn’t respect you, doesn’t love you. And married? Lacey, that’s a huge step.”

“What else do I have? What else can I do with my life that isn’t working at the freaking flower shop?”

“Anything! Lace, you’re so smart. You always have been. Big hair and big brains, you know that’s the French family way.”

“Yeah, that’s why you’re a mechanic and Moe’s a failing business owner.”

“Hey,” he warned. “That’s out of line. There’s nothing shameful in working with your hands.”

“Is there shame in marrying a man rich enough that you don’t have to work?”

“There is when that man is Gold. Jesus, Ace. I shouldn’t have to explain this to you.”

“Guess I’m not as smart as you think I am.”

“Lacey.”

She slammed her palms on the table. “I have been engaged for two days and I am already sick of defending myself to people who should be happy for me!”

“If this was something to be happy about, we would be, Lacey. I promise.”

“Like you promised not to tell Dad I was dating him?”   

“Like I promised to love you, no matter how much you drive me crazy! Are you gonna get that promise from Gold? Do you honestly think he’ll be a good husband to you?”

“He’s what I want,” she snarled. “I know who he is. I know what I’m getting. I know him better than you do! So will you fucking trust me to make a decision?”

He looked at her, his dark eyebrows furrowed. He looked at her like she was a stranger or some kind of alien. His favorite niece had mutated into a bizarre creature he could never understand.

“I love you,” Uncle Manny said quietly. “All of us love you. All we want is for you to be safe and happy.”

“I’m safer with him than I am in the house of freezing showers and spoiled milk.”

“I thought your dad said he got the hot water fixed.”

Miss French rolled her eyes. “He didn’t fix it. Mr. Gold bought a new one and hired men to replace it.” 

“And now we know why.” Moe stood in the doorway. “He did it to look good in front of you.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “He did it because he takes care of his property, which this building is.” 

“Uh-huh,” Moe sneered. “Yeah, I’m sure the building was the property that bastard was taking care of.” 

“Moe, come on--”

“Did she tell you?” He cut Manny off. “Did she tell you that he gives her money? Bastard fines me fifty dollars a day for late rent, then gives it to her for clothes and jewelry.”

Manny looked at her. “Tell me that’s not true, Ace.”

Miss French bit down on the inside of her mouth so hard she began to taste blood. “He’s gonna be my husband,” she said softly. “If I’m gonna be Mrs. Gold, I’ve gotta dress the part.”

Uncle Manny swore softly through his teeth. “It’s not worth it, honey,” he said. “Whatever he’s giving you, it won’t be worth what he takes from you.”

She pressed her lips together. Her eyes burned. Over the pounding of blood in her ears, she heard the pizza timer go ding!

Miss French stood up.

“I can’t do this,” she declared to the florist and the mechanic. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you two insult me and the man I’m going to marry. You don’t have to be happy for me. You don’t have to approve. In fact, you don’t have to do anything for me ever again!” 

Before either man could respond, Miss French threw open the kitchen door and ran down the stairs. With tears in her eyes, she ran from the place that used to be her home.

****

Her intention had been to run the entire way to Mr. Gold’s house. Mentally, she had enough pent-up anguish to run from Maine to Florida and back again. Physically, the cold air pummeled her lungs and she was gasping before she reached the end of the street. 

She had left without a coat, hat, or gloves. It was only by lucky chance that she was wearing shoes at the time she started running. Even then, these were her old  slip-on loafers, the soles thin with wear. Her toes were already numb. Snow bit sharply at her face and ears. There was an inch on the sidewalk and more coming down. Well, at least there would be tracks if those jerks wanted to chase after her.

They wouldn’t bother. Moe would say it serves her right and Manny would go along with whatever his big brother told him. She wiped dampness from her cheeks, hot tears mixed with freezing snow.   

****

Holding her arms over her chest, she trudged into the good part of Old Town, to the biggest mansion on the block. When she pushed the button for the doorbell, she couldn’t feel her fingers.

It took a moment for Mr. Gold to answer. He stayed on the other side of his stained glass, until he saw that it was her. Then he opened the door.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I don’t mean to intrude, I just--I don’t want to be there anymore. Can I come in?”

He didn’t speak. His warm hand gripped around her arm as he pulled her inside. 

“Stay on the tile,” he instructed. “Can’t have you dripping all over the hardwood.”

Sniffling, Miss French nodded. She stayed where she was, a little rectangle of a landing in front of the door. The snow melted quickly in the warmth of Mr. Gold’s house. Icy water soaked through fabric and flesh and down into her bones.

“You need to get out of those things,” he said. “You can put your shoes over a heating vent to dry them out. I’ll take everything else.”

“I--” Miss French looked over her shoulder at the door. Wide panes of clear glass exposed her to the street outside. There was no one around, but you never knew. She couldn’t undress here. Anyone might see her.

“Do it,” Mr. Gold ordered. “Or go back outside.”

She nodded and began to kick off her shoes. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

Leaning on his cane in the middle of his hall, he watched her strip down. There was nothing sexy about it, at least not to Lacey. She was shivering and numb. Her skin had gone bright red from the cold. Her hair was wet and bedraggled. Mr. Gold wanted her pretty, but now she looked like a frozen, drowned rat.

“Good girl,” he said when she was done. He held out his hand. “Now give me those rags.”

She wadded up the sopping mess that used to be her best outfit and gave it to him. He held the bundle out, well away from his suit, then headed back into the dark interior of his house. Lacey stayed on the tile, alone and exposed and still very cold. She got as far away from the door as she could, standing to the side in an awkward half-crouch. Her arms wrapped over her chest, half to keep warm and half to keep covered.

Mr. Gold was gone for a long time. Where had he gone in this massive house? What was he doing with her clothes? The most likely possibility was that he was throwing her wet things in the dryer and maybe finding her something else to wear. Did Mr. Gold even have a dryer in his house? Or did he get everything dry cleaned and professionally laundered? Was it crazy that she was going to marry this man and she didn’t know how he did his laundry? That she hadn’t been in most of the rooms of his house?

Were Dad and Uncle Manny right? Was Lacey making a mistake?

“Here we are.” Mr. Gold was back. Under his arm, he held a towel and a folded blanket. He wrapped the towel around her shoulders and handed her the blanket to carry. Then he took her hand and led her into his study.

It looked like he had just got up from working. There was a lamp lit on the desk--one of those things with a green lamp shade like in movies--and a leather-bound book with lines of numbers written in it. Mr. Gold sat down in the rolling chair and picked up his pen.

“Get me a whisky, then warm yourself up by the fire.”

Mutely, Miss French nodded. Dressed in nothing but a towel, she went over to Mr. Gold’s bar and poured out a tumbler of Johnnie Walker Blue. The ritual of it calmed her, but there wasn’t the same joy in serving him as when she’d done this before. She felt hollow inside, as numb from emotions as she was from the cold. Even when Mr. Gold patted her ass approvingly, she only felt tired.

Mr. Gold seemed to notice. He turned his chair to look at her.

“Spread the blanket out on the ground in front of the fireplace,” he ordered. “You’re going to start on your knees.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold,” she whispered. She did as he said. His order was the only clear thought in her mind.

“You interrupted my work,” he said gently. “I have to finish this before I can play with you.”

Lacey shook her head. “I didn’t come here for--”

“I know,” he said. “But the point stands. If you’re going to be here, you’re going to do as I say.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.” 

“Look at the fire. Use the towel to dry your hair. Wrap yourself in the blanket if you need to, but don’t move from that spot until I tell you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.”

****

Feeling came back to her slowly. Kneeling on the blanket, she rubbed her arms roughly with the towel, to get her blood moving. She thought she had read to do that in a book once. It felt good, so she kept it up. She covered her face with the dark blue towel, breathed hot air into it, let the heat wash over her. She squeezed out her hair and tried to rub it down so it would dry right. Horrible to think of Mr. Gold seeing what she looked like without conditioner. 

He didn’t talk to her. He was absorbed in whatever bookkeeping was in that ledger. Was it accounts for the shop or his rental properties or the personal loans he gave out? Or was he working on those other deals? People talked about them sometimes. The deals that weren’t about money, but about favors. 

Miss French didn’t know anyone who had one of those deals. According to rumor, you had to be closer to power and influence to get one of them. It made sense. If all you had was a little money every month, that was all he could take. But if you could make decisions--if you were on City Council or in the county courthouse or even at the hospital--then Mr. Gold could ask you to do things for him. Big things. And that power enabled him to do big things for other people. That was how the universe of Storybrooke spun, with everything revolving around him.

And she was going to be his wife!

Flames danced in the fireplace. Shadow and light played over her naked skin. She was warmer now, though she kept the blanket over her shoulders. It was made of wool, rough and itchy in the best way. Squares of brown and green and orange criss-crossed over each other in that Scottish plaid pattern. What was it called? 

Tartan.  

Miss French wrapped Mr. Gold’s tartan tightly around her naked body. He had given this to her. It was thick and warm and probably pretty expensive. She hadn’t thought about what kind of comfort she expected to get when she ran away to Mr. Gold’s house. Sure wasn’t just a blanket and a fire and a man who ignored her in favor of his paperwork. But it was better to have this than nothing. Better to be here in this peaceful silence than to endure the stilted conversation and barbed comments she’d get if she’d stayed at Game of Thorns. 

In time, the scratch of Mr. Gold’s pen faded into silence. His chair didn’t squeak, but she could hear him turning around. She stayed where she was, looking at the fire like he had ordered her to.

“Can you take the blanket off?”

She didn’t answer, except to let the tartan wool fall from her shoulders onto the ground. She straightened up a little, getting properly on her knees, showing off her breasts, but she kept her eyes focused on the fire. 

“That’s very nice,” Mr. Gold said softly. “You really are a pretty thing, you know that?”

She licked her lips. “Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

He stood up, walked behind her. He put his hand on her shoulder, then pressed his thumb into her back, where he had flogged her. It hurt, but she didn’t look away from the fire.

“You still have a bruise here,” he said. “You bruise like a fresh peach, don’t you my dear?”

“If you say so, Mr. Gold.”

“But you don’t need me to bruise you tonight, do you? No, you’ve already been through quite the little ordeal.”

Miss French nodded.

Mr. Gold moved to his plush leather armchair. “The last time we spoke,” he said. “I instructed you not to touch yourself. Have you been following my orders?”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.”

“Have you wanted to disobey me? Have you been tempted?”

She shook her head. “No, I really haven’t, Mr. Gold.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been--well--satisfied, Mr. Gold. You’ve taken excellent care of me in that area.”

She wasn’t allowed to look at him. She couldn’t see if he enjoyed the compliment. 

“Very well then,” he said. “If you don’t need relief, I won’t force you to take it tonight. But the order still stands, and if you do disobey me, I will be quite displeased.” He made a low sound of arousal. “I’m waiting for the day when I’ll need to really punish you, my slut. I want to see if there are limits to the things you can take pleasure in.”

“Well, I don’t like walking through a snowstorm,” she half-joked.

“Yes,” Mr. Gold said. “What happened?”

Lacey tried to find the words. “It was-- My dad-- My uncle--” She shook her head, started again. “What if they’re right? What if we shouldn’t get married?”

Mr. Gold was silent for a moment. Then he ordered, “Come here, silly thing. Come sit at my feet.”

Crawling on her hands and knees, Miss French left the blanket behind and took refuge by Mr. Gold’s knees. He leaned forward and held her by the shoulders. He lifted her chin up to look him in the eye.

“I chose you,” he said. “I want you. I am not in the habit of letting the opinions of lesser people get in the way of what I want.”

“What if they’re right?” she repeated. “What if this is a disaster?”

“Don’t be absurd.” He stroked her hair. “Do you think I would willingly engage in a disaster waiting to happen? Do you think I don’t know what I’m doing, Miss French?” 

There was an edge of warning in his voice, just an edge. She understood the implication, that she was insulting him by questioning his judgment. He had asked her to marry him, so of course he thought it was the best choice for both of them. The opinions of lesser people didn’t matter.

Was she a lesser person, in his eyes? Would her opinion be enough to dissuade him, if she had to press the issue? Could Lacey French actually say no to Mr. Gold? Did she want to?

“I know this is stupid,” she said. “I do want to marry you, really, I do--”

“Good.” Mr. Gold cut her off before she could say more. “That’s all you need to think about. You want this, I want this. It’s going to happen. Nothing else matters.”

Miss French opened her mouth, then shut it. It was all so simple when Mr. Gold said things. He had no questions, no doubts. She had to remember that. Nothing else mattered. 

He held her chin in his hand, rubbed his thumb over her lips. She parted them, in case he wanted to gag her. He just grinned. 

“Go to the desk,” he ordered. “I have something for you.”

“May I walk?”

“Yes, you may.”

Miss French stood up. Her legs were less wobbly than they had been other times she’d knelt for him. Maybe she was getting the hang of this.

In the top right-hand drawer of Mr. Gold’s desk, she found a long, white, paper box. It wasn’t heavy when she picked it up, but it was definitely full of something. There was also a notepad of yellow paper with a line drawn up and down the center. On one side of the line, the paper was filled with names written in ink. The other side was blank.

She brought both things to Mr. Gold.

“What are these?”

“Open the box.”

She knelt on the ground and lifted the lid off the box. It was full of paper--no, envelopes. A long row of envelopes, all lined up standing on their ends. There was one on top of all the others, lying down. It was blank on the outside, but inside there was a card. A single sheet of heavy white paper. In neat letters and swirling script, it read:

Mr. Gold 

Requests the honor of your presence

At a reception celebrating his marriage to 

Miss French

At Dodici’s Dance Hall

February the twelfth at seven o’clock in the evening

Black tie optional

 “Oh,” Miss French said softly. She looked down at the box, at the hundred or so other envelopes inside. “You got invitations printed.”

Mr. Gold nodded. 

“Isn’t this really close to the wedding day? Will people have time to prepare? I mean, it’s Valentine’s Day weekend, every couple will have plans.”

“They’ll come,” he said. “Every one of them. I give a hint that I want something and people come running to offer it. They think it will make things easier for them next time they want something from me.”

“Oh,” she said again.

“The printer will address the invitations once we give them a guest list.” He gestured to the notepad. “I’ve filled out my side.”

She began to read the list of names on yellow paper. “These are the most important people in Storybrooke.” It shouldn’t surprise her, but it did. “You--you’ve got Mayor Mills on here!” Miss French looked up at Mr. Gold. “Do you really think she’ll come?”

Mr. Gold gave her an indulgent smile. “The Mayor and I have worked together for many years on various occasions. Lord knows she’s dragged me to enough fundraisers and social functions. She owes it to me to come to my wedding.”

“Even she owes you something?” Miss French shook her head in disbelief. “Wow.”

As she read down the list, she recognized names of doctors and lawyers, even the District Attorney. All of these people would come running to make Mr. Gold happy.

“You’ve got Sean Herman’s parents on here.” At Mr. Gold’s inquiring look, she explained. “I went to high school with him. And--oh. You’ve got my ex-boyfriend’s family too.”

“Which one is that?”

She pointed at the line. “Richard ‘Big Dick’ Duke, and his lovely wife Karen.” 

“Ah,” Mr. Gold said. “Yes, Mr. Duke is an important man in the local bar association. It would be a snub if I didn’t invite him, but--”

“Oh I don’t mind,” Miss French said. “In fact, I want the Dukes to be there. All those rich New Town people thought girls like me weren’t good enough to hang out with their sons.” The image flashed in her mind of Ashley Boyd, pregnant and crying, in love with a boy who cared more about his parents’ approval than her desperation. “I want them to see me married to a man who’s ten times better than any of them.”

Mr. Gold grinned. “Are you talking about the boys or the families?”

“Both,” she said firmly. “Put together. You’re better than all of them.”

He reached down and held her chin. “I don’t normally care for flattery, my dear, but in this case, that is a clear-eyed assessment of facts.” 

“And you want me?” she asked. “A girl like me? An Old Town charity case? You want to marry me?”

“I do. That’s why I suggested it.”

“Because you see potential in me.”

“Yes.”

Other questions ran through her head. Questions like Why? and Does that mean you like me? She let them go unasked. Mr. Gold was a man for whom words were obfuscation and only actions were real. His deeds bore out his desires. He had set a date. He had rented a hall and printed invitations. He was going to marry her. That was what mattered. Intent was meaningless.

He stood up from his chair. “I imagine your clothes are done drying,” he said. He took a pencil from one of the desk drawers and handed it to her. “Write down who you want to invite. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.”

****

It was a shockingly short list. Partially, that was the lack of extended family. If the Frenches and the Woolvertons were more prolific in having children, she could have filled out the notepad with more aunts and uncles and cousins. It was also hard to think of anyone who had been her friend in high school who was still relevant to her now. And it wasn’t like she had coworkers.

In the end, Miss French’s contributions to the invite list amounted to four lines: Her father, Uncle Manny, Aunt Terri with Janine and Chloe, and Mara with her mother Irma. Those were all the people she had in this world. Three less than there were this time last year. 

When Mr. Gold came back, she offered him the notepad and took the stack of her clothes. He read over her additions and nodded to himself. He sat down at his desk and put the notepad back in the drawer.

“Very good,” he said. “They should all be able to fit at one table.”

Miss French sat on the floor, the blanket draped around her legs. Her hands were folded neatly over the warm stack of equally neatly folded laundry. “Um,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Are you going to have a best man?”

He shook his head. “It won’t be necessary. City Hall isn’t well-equipped for a large ceremony.”

“Oh.” Miss French bit her lip.

Mr. Gold’s mouth twisted into a grin. “We’re not going to get very far if you’re too afraid to ask me for something when you want it.”

Her face went hot. “Sorry. I--I was just wondering… if I could have bridesmaids?”

His grin deepened, became indulgent and fond. “Of course you may,” he said. “You want your friends to be with you on your wedding day, how could I refuse you that?”

She smiled shakily. Of course, Janine and Mara didn’t know she was getting married in two Saturdays. But their weekly lunch was tomorrow, she could tell them then.

“In fact,” Mr. Gold reached for his wallet, pulled out a wad of fifties. “I want you to make sure your companions are dressed appropriately and otherwise taken care of.”

Miss French looked at the money. “Really?”

“Yes,” he said. “Your family is important to you. Why shouldn’t they benefit from your excellent taste in husbands?” 

It sat on her tongue to talk about her father and his rent problems. Would he be less of an asshole if he didn’t have the threat of eviction hanging over his head? Though it did seem unlikely that Mr. Gold would kick out his future father-in-law, if only just as a favor to her. Would Dad take money from Mr. Gold? Would he accept any kind of reprieve on the rent or waived fees? Or would he refuse? Was Moe French stubborn enough to lose his home and his business rather than take generosity that only existed because his daughter was a whore?

Miss French sighed.

Mr. Gold cocked his head at her. “You’re not any better than when you came in here.”

She shrugged. “I’m warmer at least. And my clothes are dry. Thank you for that, Mr. Gold.”

He raised his hand in dismissal. “A fair price to pay for getting to look at you all evening.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t in the mood for more.”

He shook his head. “If I wanted anything, I would have gotten you in the mood for it. Which reminds me…” Turning in his desk chair, he picked up the phone and dialed some numbers. Then he turned back to her, grinning.

It had to be almost ten by now. Who was Mr. Gold calling? 

His first words answered her question.

“Whale? This is Gold. I need you to call in a prescription for birth control. … Of course not for me. It’s for Miss French. Yes, that Miss French. … Why do you think? … No, that won’t be necessary. I want her to be able to pick it up tomorrow afternoon.” After a moment of listening, Mr. Gold lowered the receiver and asked her, “You don’t have any medical conditions, do you? Are you already on any medications?”

She shook her head. 

“And not a smoker?”

“No, Mr. Gold.”

He turned his attention back to Dr. Whale. “No, nothing like that. Anything else?” He listened. “Fine, fine. I’ll make an appointment with your office in the morning. Just make sure she can start taking something as soon as possible.”

The tinny sound of the doctor’s voice was still blathering as Mr. Gold hung up.

“I’ll give you money so you can go to the pharmacy tomorrow afternoon.”

Lacey gaped at him. “You just… decided I need to be on birth control?”

“Well, you’re not going to get pregnant, and condoms are as much of a nuisance as any impatient boy will say they are. And while I enjoy using your other holes, I want every part of you to be open to me, at all times.”

Arousal seeped into her shock and confusion. All she could do was stare at him.

“You didn’t want children, did you?”

She blinked. “I… I never thought about it before. I mean, I always assumed I’d have a family, at some point.”

“If that is your goal, you’ll have to meet it with the help of someone else.”

“Yeah, I--I mean… It doesn’t matter more to me than you do, Mr. Gold. I guess I just didn’t think I’d have to make the decision so soon.”

“It’s not your decision,” he said gently. “I’m not letting you get pregnant with my child. And if you conceive with someone else, I would call that immediate grounds for divorce. Is that unreasonable?”

“I guess not.”

It really wasn’t. That was how things were with Mr. Gold. His life was already established. His house, his habits, his work--these things were set in stone. If Miss French was going to be a part of it all, she would have to fit in with what already existed. A baby would upend everything and Mr. Gold didn’t want that. Not getting pregnant was just another rule she would have to follow if she was going to be good enough for him.

“Yes, you’re right,” Miss French said confidently. “Thank you for making it clear to me, Mr. Gold.”  

He gave her a nod and an inscrutable expression. “Stand up,” he ordered.

She obeyed, leaving her clothes and the blanket on the floor. She stood with her hands out to the side a little, a halfhearted display of her wares to the man who was buying her fifty dollars at a time. 

“You should dress.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.”

She put on her bra and had just finished pulling up her underwear when Mr. Gold told her to stop.

“Come here,” he said. 

She stood in front of him and he put his hands on her hips. The heat of him steadied her. If he had started this evening by touching her, maybe she wouldn’t have been so unsure. She was sure now. Sure of her purpose, sure of his desire, sure that somehow everything would work out.

Mr. Gold poked his finger against a patch of skin revealed by a hole near the waist of her underwear. “What is this?”

Miss French looked down. “Oh, sometimes they rip when you pull up too hard.” She shrugged. “I would have worn something better if I had known I was coming over.”

“Do you think this is acceptable for my fiancee to wear at any time?”

“I…” Of course she had never thought about it. “No, Mr. Gold. It’s not acceptable.”

He shook his head and tutted. With one hand still gripping the hole, he pulled open a desk drawer and brought out a long, sharp pair of scissors.

Lacey blinked. Her heartbeat sped up, just a little. “What are you going to do with those?” 

“Correct the situation,” he said. 

Then the hand on her underwear began to pull. The fabric--thin with wear and a thousand washings--came apart easily in his hands. The sound of ripping all but echoed in the quiet study. Miss French just stood there, as her fiance tore apart an article of her clothing. He turned her around to get to her other side. Faded white fabric hung in tatters from the elastic waistband, clinging together only at the seams. 

He used the scissors on the seams. Cold, slick metal slid against her skin. She felt the movement of the blades coming together to cut these rags off her body. Her breath shook. Heat flooded her. Mr. Gold picked the scraps up off the floor and dropped them in a trash can. 

He patted her somewhere between her thighs and her ass. Her flank, maybe, though that was usually a word only used for horses.

“Go finish dressing,” he instructed her.

Miss French obeyed on wobbly feet. She pulled her slacks up over her naked cunt and tried to pretend that was normal. But it wasn’t normal and that was the whole point. That was why she loved it.

“I think it might be harder not to masturbate after that,” she said as she pulled her blouse over her head.

“Good,” Mr. Gold stood up. “That was the idea. There’s no discipline in not doing something you don’t want to do.”

He came close to her. For the first time since she came into the study, they were both standing, facing each other. His arm wrapped around her waist. His hand squeezed her ass through the thin fabric of her dress slacks. He kissed her--softly, gently, and for a long time.

“You’ve been through a lot today,” he informed her. “I want you to be good to yourself. Buy yourself a little something tomorrow.”

“I’ve been buying myself a lot of things lately.” 

“And don’t you like it?” He kissed her neck, just behind her ear. “Don’t you want more?”  

“The only thing I want more of is you, Mr. Gold.”

“Ah, you should have told me that an hour ago.” He kissed her a few more times, but kept his hands on her upper arms. “As it is now, you need to get to bed.”

She looked at the ground. Part of her hoped for another night in his bed, but that didn’t seem to be in the cards. “You’re going to send me back out there?”

“Not at all, dearie, I am a gentleman. I’ll drive you.”

[bitchysouljellyfish]

My mom says I look like my grandma, her mom.

I didn't really know her, she died when I was six, but I remember the tears in Mom's eyes when she told me Gram died in her sleep the night we went to stay at my uncle's house when we visited her home town.

I remember how hard she cried in the days following, and I remember how hard she cried at the funeral, even as she picked me up to give Gram one last kiss before we said goodbye forever.

But as I got older, I learned more about Gram.

She wasn't a very good mom to my mom.

In fact, that's putting it nicely.

Mom was practically fully independent by the time she was 10 because Gram worked the night shift, and Grandpa worked all day. Mom told me that when Gram realized she didn't really need to teach her stuff about growing up, Gram gave up.

She sat on her armchair and drank. She would yell at my Mom and my aunt and uncles for some inane reason, and that she always had a frown on her face. We don't even have pictures of her smiling because she hated smiling and hated having her picture taken.

She would tell Mom to 'tone it down Tara!' When she got excited about something. When she tried to do something with Gram that would get them closer. She'd call Mom stupid when she asked for help with homework, insult her appearance when Mom started getting piercings and tattoos.

They even got into fist fights a good amount of times. I remember one of them. It was because Gram drove me and my siblings somewhere when she had just taken her medication and almost wrecked the car.

Few years back, I got my hair cut in a mullet, 80s style and I was so excited to show Mom because I thought it looked so cute.

Mom said, "I dont like it. You look like your grandmother."

When I'm upset or angry, my mouth turns down and Mom tries to fix it. She says, "don't do that, you'll get frown lines like your grandma."

When I shy away from pictures, Mom sighs and tries to pull me back in. She says, "Just one today, I need some more pictures of you smiling. Your grandma hardly ever smiled."

Sometimes, I wonder if Mom looks at me and is upset at the traits and characteristics I picked up from a woman I barely knew.

But then I think about the things she tells me.

"Thats my girl! I'm so proud of you!"

"I knew you could do it! I didn't have any doubts!"

"Wear that outfit! You'd look cute in a paper bag, go have fun!"

"You'll get through it, baby girl, you're tougher than any one I've ever known."

"Hell yeah! Sing louder, let's jam!"

And I realize that she is telling me all of the things she never got to hear as a kid. She's making sure she doesn't repeat the same mistakes her mom did. She's making sure there will never be a day that I doubt her love and care for me. Even with the traits I picked up from Gram.

I call Mom every day.

[scarlettriot]

Along for the Ride PT 1

Pairing: KirishimaxF!Reader

Summary: A drunken mistake had you marking the little Plus One box to your snobby cousin's wedding. Kirishima told you not to worry, if you couldn't find a date, he'd go with you. When the wedding gets moved up, there's absolutely no time to find a date and you're now about to be traveling to America with Kirishima on a private jet no less, dreading having him meet your rude and impossibly arrogant family.

Contains: Kirishima and Reader both come from very well-off families. Plus-Sized Reader. Fluff. Hurt/Comfort.

Warnings: Kinda smutty for a minute. Minors DNI. Drunken Sex. TW: Manipulative Family Relationships. TW: Body Image Issues

A/N: This story has been rolling around in my head for a while now. I might rewrite this and repost. Or I might just post the whole thing soon. I dunno yet. It does get smuttier.

Word Count: 4,974

"What's up with Y/N?"

Eijiro stepped out of the locker room with a towel slung over his shoulder and made his way into the kitchenette where Mina was chugging a bottle of water before getting back to her patrol. His eyes were trained on their mutual friend out on the patio, pacing.

You had your phone pressed to your ear, the high neck of your hero costume unzipped to your collarbone and he noticed your gloves discarded on a chair.

"No clue." Mina shrugged. "She got back from patrol and she noticed a bunch of missed calls from her mom. She's been out there, flailing on the phone for the last fifteen minutes now."

The three of you had met in your second year at UA when you transferred into their class and were quickly accepted by their little squad of friends. You were a bit quiet at first but quickly found comfort in the group. Eijiro had grown especially close to you when you both interned with Fat Gum.

Late nights traveling on the train back to school, a few close calls while helping patrol, and days spent playing cards while you both healed up in the hospital left plenty of time for Eijiro to get to know you better than most. It was how he knew you had a pretty bad relationship with your family, why you hated returning home for the holidays almost as much as you hated any and all forms of tomatoes.

He considered going out there just to see if there was anything he could do but before he had the chance, you were sliding the glass door open. "Oh, good, you're back." He offered you a bottle of water for your throat that he assumed was sore after that argument. "I- um- can I borrow you for a second? Alone?"

Mina snorted a laugh. "If you guys wanna bang it out on the counter you can just say so. I gotta go to work anyways."

Eijiro threw the towel at her as she left the room leaving you two alone. "What's goin' on?"

You hoisted yourself up on the countertop while he leaned against the fridge. "You remember my cousin's wedding that's happening this winter?"

He nodded. He vividly remembered the both of you getting waste a few weeks ago when you were filling out the RSVP and accidentally marking 'plus one'. Then you ran around trying to find White Out but he'd told you if you didn't find a date or have a significant other by the time of the wedding, he'd just go with you.

You argued that your family was bat shit crazy, had more money than they could spend in their lifetime and because of that, they were among some of the rudest people you knew, and you didn't want Eijiro or anyone else around that.

The thing was, Eijiro already knew that and was still okay with going. He came from money too. A lot of it. His family was just more welcoming than yours, the wealth never really going to their heads. But, he reminded you that he'd ran into enough people like those in your family that he knew how to handle them. You finally agreed to let him accompany you, leaving the plus one box checked but the name line blank.

"Well, my cousin just found out that surprise, she's pregnant! And, obviously, she can't have a wedding while seven months along so they've decided to move the wedding up to this weekend."

He nearly choked on his own spit. "This weekend? As in four days from now?"

"Yup! Saturday at 4 in the evening. Oh! No one's supposed to know she's pregnant either. So, I'm just supposed to compliment her on how flattering her dress looks, how thin she is," Your hands strangled the water bottle between them, "And I have to find something flattering to my figure because my mother has seen me in my hero outfit and she's so glad I wear a mask because if anyone knew her daughter ran around looking like I do, well, it'd ruin her!"

You massaged your temples circling back to the actual point, "Anyways, I just wanted to bitch for a sec and let you know you're off the hook since four days is just a little short notice and I told her my plus one wouldn't be able to get the time off that fast."

He pushed off the fridge. "Well, wait, hang on! I'm not letting you go in alone to deal with them! Hell no! You need backup!" You looked almost taken aback by his abruptness, "Yeah. I can work this out. Is the wedding at the same place it was supposed to be or has it moved?"

"No, it's still that fancy lodge in California. I was planning on leaving Friday morning and then coming back either Sunday night or Monday morning since my mother insists I go to their brunch the following day. But, Eijiro, I already have this weekend off..."

"Denki owes me a favor or twelve. He's supposed to be off this weekend too, I'll just see if he can cover me."

"And if he can't?"

"Then..." He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, "Y/N, am I feeling warm to you? I think I might be starting a fever!"

You folded your arms, shaking your head, "Thought you said lying isn't manly."

"Technically, correct. But, what would be real unmanly is for me to let you deal with your family's bullshit all alone." You watched him closely, "To be honest, I'm sure we could just explain you had a family thing come up and asked me to come along for moral support. I don't really think anyone would think twice about it. Hell, you took a few days off to console me when my turtle died suddenly!"

"Eiji, you refused to eat."

"And you brought me my favorite dumplings! Same thing!"

You might have shaken your head at him but your arms opened wide. The telltale sign you wanted affection. He walked forward, consuming you in a tight hug. Your arms latched around his neck, face buried in the hollow of his throat. "You're the best."

"I just do what I can."

>>><<<

You should have canceled. Instead of Eijiro faking sick to get out of work, you should have faked it with your mother so you didn't have to go in the first place. You crumpled to the floor of your bedroom in pure frustration amidst the twenty or so outfits and dozen pairs of shoes you'd thrown out of your closet trying to find something that your mother would deem appropriate.

It wasn't your fault you had a fuller figure. You worked out, ate right, not to mention your job kept you very active, and yet your, hips, ass, and breasts were by no means subtle.

Your mother had also insisted on the dress being floor-length and modern, "Do try not wearing all black. It's a wedding, not a funeral. And, get your hair looking natural, please." And, just like that, 70% of your wardrobe was out the window!

"It's open!" You called from the floor when the doorbell rang.

"You really should lock this." Mina tutted, walking through the door with a bag full of takeout.

"I do. At night."

"Honey, it's 9 PM."

"Night like bedtime."

Mina just rolled her eyes and walked into your tiny kitchen. "I see the dress hunt is going well."

"I actually figured it out!" You got off the floor, careful not to step on a heel as you made your way to the pink haired woman, "I'm just gonna go in my birthday suit. I figured, my mother made my body technically therefore she can't disapprove of it. Because, you know, she's never done anything wrong in her life!"

Your best friend snorted out a laugh and passed you the take-out container stuffed full of stir fry. "you're a wonderful person, you know that?" You loved the fact Mina didn't even have to ask what you wanted.

"If you'd just move closer to work then you could pick it up yourself and I wouldn't have to bring it to you."

"Too expensive." You declared after a mouthful. "You pay almost twice as much as I do per month and I just don't see the point. I have damn near the same amount of space you do for half the cost!"

You adored your small one-bedroom apartment. It was perfect. Right above a bakery that you visited each morning after your run and a little balcony that provided you with the most stunning view of the sunset.

"You and Kiri, I swear." Mina just shook her head and curled up with her food on the loveseat. "I thought he'd end up with the biggest house out of us all the moment we started making that real Pro money. You've seen his parent's house. It's massive! You could get lost in that place!"

Eijiro's place was barely bigger than your own. He lived in the same condo he had since you'd graduated UA, claiming it was perfect for him in each and every way. But, you knew that he donated a sizable amount of his paycheck every month to charities, the same as you. With savings to spare, neither of you saw the point in hoarding it and therefore the small condo was all he could afford with what he actually kept.

"Just don't understand how a guy that big can live in such a tiny little space. At least with you, it's you know, physically feasible."

Eijiro's bedroom was barely large enough to fit the king-sized bed the man needed to sleep comfortably and even then, his feet were dangerously close to dangling off the bed. And, as if the man's ears were burning, your cell phone went off under a pile of discarded shoes.

Shark-E: Figured out your dress situation? If not, I'm just gonna pack like ten different ties and hope for the best.

You: Yeah! I totally did! I'm just gonna wear this birthday suit I got and call it a night.

You chuckled at your own joke all over again. Watching the grey ellipses appear and then vanish, appear and vanish again. After a third time, you took pity on the man.

You: Joking, Ei. I still don't have it figured out but Mina's over so, hopefully, she can help.

Shark-E: Gonna give me a damn heart attack! Seriously, I wouldn't put it past you just to see the look on your mom's face. Tell Mina hi and good luck to you. I vote the dress from the Hero Gala two years ago.

You: Hi from Mina. Can't. Too much boobs.

Shark-E: You take that back right now! There is NEVER such a thing as too much boobs!

You chuckled to yourself, putting your phone down, and then finished off the last of your delicious dinner, thinking about the dress Eijiro mentioned.

You wondered if maybe there was a way you could make the thing work but it was so very low cut. So much tape had been used to make sure no slips happened but damn was it worth it! The beaded bodice with the sparkling long sleeves, gods, how you loved that dress.

"I'm inclined to agree with our shark boy. You're busty, who gives a damn. You looked hot as hell in that dress."

"My mother, that's who. As much as I'd like to not give a flying fuck what she thinks, for some dumb reason, I do. On top of her telling me that the amount of cleavage I would show would be vastly inappropriate for a wedding, she'd also say the way it hugs my hips makes them look too fat."

Mina rolled her eyes. "She's such a piece of work." Pushing herself up, she held her arms out to you, wiggling little pink fingers for you to take. "Come on then. Let's get you sorted."

"What about that one you wore to the charity art thingy with Kyoka last winter? The one with the silver top."

"Silver is too close to white." You called out from within your closet.

"What! Not true!"

"You know that. I know that. Every person with two brain cells knows that, which is why most of my family does not know that."

"Fine..." She whined and started sifting through the opposite end of your closet. "Oh, what about this?" Mina waved about the blue and green plaid skirt that made up your uniform from your middle school days when you lived in America. "Please try this on. I'm begging!"

You were pretty sure it wouldn't even go over your thighs anymore.

"It's got a better chance of fitting you!"

Mina threw it at you anyway. Slipping off the sweats you wore, somehow, someway, you were able to tug it on AND get it zipped, barely. It no longer covered your ass but you still enjoyed the way it swished around when you wiggled your hips.

"You could be fulfilling so many people's fantasies right now." Mina mused.

You pulled the skirt off and sweats back on, throwing the former back at her. "Yeah, you can take it and go fulfill Hanta's fantasies if you like. Not like I've got anyone to impress." You pulled down a dress you bought on sale a year ago but Mina was quick to dismiss it.

Too puffy, she said and then held up one that was from Momo. "I needed to get it shortened and I don't have time for that now."

"Wait..." She hummed and dropped the Momo dress. "I know what it should be!"

Mina hurried through the closet, grumbling about not finding it. "Just tell me which dress and I can tell you where it's at."

"It's that one you got for grad night and then you got sick and couldn't go!"

"Mina, Mina I can't wear that! That's actual vintage, not like, made-to-look-vintage!"

"But it's so elegant and has that off-the-shoulder sleeve thing. The wedding is at a damn sky lodge! It'll look so pretty in the snow! Ah! Found it!"

She yanked up the long, elegant gown from the garment bag you'd never removed it from. There wasn't a single wrinkle in the burgundy fabric. It looked just as beautiful as the day you found it in that second-hand store, on a mannequin with gaudy stage jewels that you just had to buy so the look was complete.

You ran the back of your hand over the velvety fabric, soft to the touch. "It'll be too tight now. If I was the same size I was at graduation-"

"Bullshit!" Mina cut you off with a dismissive hand, "You've got hips now. We aren't 18 anymore! It's not like it's some clubbing dress. And I bet no one would say a damn thing about your figure if they knew how easily you could crush them with those thighs!"

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. Without quirks, you gave every single one of your classmates a run for their money in hand to hand. Most were fairly easy to beat. You could usually take down Eijiro in about five or six minutes and Katsuki in half the time. Funny enough, it was Ochaco that gave you the hardest time.

"I'll consider it. But help me find something else just in case."

>>><<<

It was another two hours before you finally agreed on an a-line, empire waist green and gold number that had been the bridesmaid's dresses for Tetsutetsu's wedding. Mina thought they were a crime the first time they had to wear them, she had no idea what you were thinking.

That's why the moment you were preoccupied with trying to find yet another dress for the Sunday brunch, Mina pulled out her phone.

You: DO NOT, under any circumstances, allow Y/N to wear the green dress. She's bringing two because she can't decide. Red is the winner!

Jaws: Aw, come on. If she likes it, let her wear whatever she's comfortable in. She'll be under enough stress already.

You: Kirishima, it's the dress from Tetsu's wedding. The one that looks sparkly baby food.

It took him a second to respond.

Jaws: Alright. Understood. I thought you guys looked good but damn, she hated that dress.

You: We all did.

Mina looked at the message chain again and couldn't help but asked, "Are we just gonna ignore the fact that you and Eiji are flying all the way to America, last minute, to attend a wedding together, even though you're not together?"

"We've flown to the states before."

"For work!" She sat up eagerly. "This is different, Y/N! This is a date and not just a, like, casual date but a wedding date!"

You poked your head out of the closet. "No, it isn't. This is a friend helping another friend who stupidly mismarked an RSVP." You corrected very plainly but Mina wasn't one to give up so easily.

She whined, dragging out your name, "You guys have been doing this thing for ages. Why do you have to be so stubborn about it all!"

"What's that supposed to mean!"

Mina started ticking off points on her fingers. "He was the first person you opened up to at UA. You saved his life when he was busy saving Katsuki's life second year. You spent all that time interning together, became sidekicks together. Went to America together for three whole months, ALONE, and you honestly expect me to think there's nothing between the two of you!"

The truth of it all was simple really; 17 year old you had a massive crush on Eijiro Kirishima. He was sweet, always listening to you, providing comfort when you needed it, and always encouraging you to push your limits. He was bright and honest, a little slow in the head from time to time but that made him all the more endearing.

He was also head over heels in love with Katsuki Bakugo.

It was why you never made a move. Never spoke a word of the feelings you harbored. You didn't dare to cross that line with him because you couldn't ever hold a candle to the explosive man.

In the three years Eijiro and Katsuki spent together, your brain finally started registering Eijiro as just a friend, nothing more, and certainly nothing less. You thought your heart had followed suit but it was becoming more and more apparent that wasn't the case. Because the night he showed up at your door, tears in his ruby eyes, every lock you put on your heart broke open.

The same way you couldn't hold a candle to Katsuki, Eijiro couldn't hold one to Izuku. You knew exactly what he was feeling even if you never intended to tell him. Too overcome with fear. If Katsuki came back... that'd be it. Eijiro would go back and you wouldn't even blame him!

Still, the redhead consumed a decent chunk of your heart though, you couldn't deny that after the three months you spent together in America, gathering intel on a smuggling ring, living in the same apartment. The groggy, 'good mornings' when his voice was still scratchy with sleep, hair falling in his eyes. The late nights bandaging wounds and killing cheap bottles of wine while watching terrible American reality shows.

It was those bottles of wine that did you in on your second to last night in America. Supplying you with courage and draining your sense of reason, allowing you to crawl onto his lap, into his arms. You could still remember the pressure of his lips on yours, those sharp teeth gently dragging along your lower lip.

Scared hands tracing the curve of your ass before taking handfuls to squeeze. The laugh that came from you was unlike anything you heard before, something so genuine that you couldn't reproduce.

How it felt when he lifted you up and took you to his bed, laying you down taking his time removing your clothes, and watching with awe as you pulled away his own. The way he looked over top of you, his hair a curtain of red around you just before you closed your eyes, gasping while he filled you.

You also remembered the guilt that crept into your head during the wee hours of the morning, the doubt that was louder than the snores coming from behind you.

It made you slip from under his massive arm, gather up your clothes from his floor, you tucked the blanket around him, and pressed a kiss to his temple before padding out of the room.

You told yourself you'd talk to him about it if he brought it up, but he never did. Not the next morning, or night, not on the plane ride back home, nor anytime since. It was a memory you'd hold close to your heart, one you wouldn't let slip away or share.

"There's nothing there, Mina. We're just good friends is all." You lied with a smile on your face, something that had become surprisingly easy to do.

If only you knew that Mina saw right through it. That Mina already knew the truth of it all.

>>><<<

It was nearly one in the morning when your phone rang. The goofy picture of Eijiro with face half painted at a festival a few years back never failed to make you grin.

"It's a little late." You answered by way of greeting.

"Don't pretend like you were anywhere close to sleeping, you little night owl."

Chuckling at the nickname that had followed you since high school, "What's up, Eiji?"

"I was going over flights. You said in the office that you wanted to leave on Friday?"

"Yeah. I have patrol tomorrow and I didn't find any flights after 6 PM so, Friday is the earliest."

He was quiet on the other line for a moment. "Yeah, you don't have patrol tomorrow, or work at all for that matter."

You sat up a bit straighter in bed. "Um, yes I do."

"No, you don't. I called Mina, asked her if you'd mind taking that shift for you and, since she knows what's happening, she agreed the extra day for travel would do you some good. So, she's covering you tomorrow then you're off work until next Wednesday. As for me, thanks to all that overtime I put in when Denki, Kyoka, and Hitoshi got married, the three of them are splitting up my days so I have until Wednesday too."

Eijiro sounded impossibly proud on the other line, you could almost see the smirk on his face. "You've got this all planned out, don't you?"

"And a bag nearly packed. Just need you to tell me what ties to bring."

"Gold, burgundy, and black."

"Thought your mom said no black for you?"

"She said no black for the wedding. She said nothing about black at the brunch!"

You couldn't wait to put on the tea-length dress that had been a favorite for years. Satin with a lacy top and, best of all, pockets.

He let out a rumbling laugh that fell off into comfortable silence as you laid back in your bed, lights still on, the room still a mess. You tapped the speaker icon and laid the phone on the pillow right beside your head, listing to the various sounds of Eijiro moving around.

A door creaking open, a hanger clattering against another, and a zipper. "And just like that, I'm all set."

"Don't forget your passport or hero license."

"I have one in my wallet and the other in my backpack."

You swiped up on your iPad, off Netflix, and going to google, lazily searching through flights. "So, did you find any good flights since you've clearly been looking?"

Another chuckle, "Eijiro, why are you laughing?" More stifled giggles had you sitting up in bed again. "Just tell me a site you were on. They're just flights, what's so funny?"

"There isn't a site."

"You said you were checking flights."

"And I was... on my family's jet."

"Eiji! No! No, no, no! That is supposed to be for their business or hero things! My stupid cousin's wedding is neither of those things!"

"Relax, Y/N. My family has multiple and they don't have any business trips planned right now anyways. I already cleared it with my mom. Seriously, I just mention your name and she's likely to let me have it for a whole year at least. Plus Todoroki's is back up in working order so the agency is covered too."

Damn, why'd he have to be so good at planning from time to time! You'd completely forgotten about the second jet his family had. Always opting for the larger one since the few missions they needed it for required them to bring fifty or so heroes along.

"Besides, if we fly private, we can land at an airstrip closer to the venue and won't need to drive four hours on top of a ten-hour flight."

"Alright, okay, thank you but, let me take care of the rental car, please. It's the least you can let me do."

"Deal. I just have one more question for ya."

"What's that?"

"Wanna leave tonight?"

You nearly dropped your damn iPad in shock. "Eijiro! What the fuck has gotten into you! It's the middle of the night!"

"I'm excited!" He boomed, "I haven't had a vacation in months!"

"I hate to break this to you, buddy, but this isn't going to be a vacation. You really shouldn't get your hopes up. This isn't going to be a good time with laughs and fun memories... my family, they just, they aren't those kinds of people."

"But we are." He stated matter-of-factly. "If they want to have sticks up their asses then let them! We'll have a good time on our own, laugh and make fun memories! So, what do you say, Y/N? I can be at your place in fifteen. I just gotta put shoes on and grab my keys..."

"Wait, hang on. Are you forgetting that we need someone to, oh, I dunno, FLY THE PLANE! Actually, we need two someone's, can't forget about a co-pilot!"

He hummed happily and you rubbed your temples. "You, you have a pilot and a co, don't you, Eiji?"

"Mhm! There is a company we use. Two can be at the hanger in an hour and every hour after that. I just have to make the call and get the flight plan approved which will be done before I even get to your house."

There was literally no reason to say no. You had mostly everything packed, nothing you needed to get from the store, all you had to do was put on pants and pack up your hygiene bag and you were ready too. Maybe getting there quicker and getting the whole thing over with would be better than staying home dwelling on everything.

"Better put your shoes on."

The glee in his voice, that was enough to make this whole thing worth it, "I'll see you soon."

>>><<<

Eijiro reached into the backseat and plopped a bag down on your lap the very moment you were buckled in. "Had to make a pit stop." He explained.

"It's after two in the morning, where'd you have to..."

"Just open the bag and don't complain."

You found it filled to the brim with all your favorite snacks.

"I'm sure the plane will have a bunch of snacks we can raid but I know for a fact they don't have these." He held up a pack of cookies and creme flavored pocky that had been his favorite for as long as you'd known him, quickly followed by your favorite flavor too. You also found a massive bag of gummy worms and jolly ranchers.

"So, what you're telling me is our teeth are going to rot by the time we land? Not that I'm complaining."

You ripped open the bag of ranchers knowing that was what he'd go for first and sure enough his hand dove inside just as he pulled away from the curb. You could hear his dangerously sharp teeth biting through the rock candy like it was nothing while you still rolled one around your mouth.

Eijiro asked you about the resort you'd be going to, wondering if you'd been there before or what other stuff you guys could do when you weren't dealing with your family. "I figured we could fly back Monday night or Tuesday morning, you know, just play it by ear in case there was anything else we wanted to do."

More than anything, you wished you could just leech a little bit of that excitement from him. The glimpses of his smile you caught as you drove under the street lights made your heart ache.

"What?" He asked with that wide smile of his. You'd been caught staring, red-handed.

"I, uh, I just don't know what to tell you."

You could see the subtle change of his grin, watch as it softened and his hand came to rest on your thigh. "Hey, it's gonna be fine! And if we run into them while out doing stuff, you can just avoid them or hide behind me!" At least hiding behind Eijiro is an easy thing to do, damn mountain of a man.

His thumb slowly brushed back and forth. "'S gonna be okay. I'll beat 'em up if they're assholes!"

You snickered at his Katsuki impression and let the drone of the radio fill the air around you both. Enjoying the silence the rest of the way to the hanger with Eijiro's hand atop your leg.

[p-artsypants]

The Ghost of Smokey Joe (6)

St. James Infirmary

Adrien Agreste was acting bizarre. Before she can get the truth out of him, Marinette finds herself as the sole heir to the Gabriel brand and the mansion, following the murder-suicide of both Adrien and Gabriel Agreste. The mystery continues as Tikki explains that Adrien was Chat Noir...but if Adrien is six feet under, why is Chat Noir still running around?

Relationships:

Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe

Characters:

Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Alya Césaire, Nino Lahiffe, Nathalie Sancoeur, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth

Additional Tags:

Temporary Character Death, Murder Mystery, off screen murder, Ghosts, Supernatural - Freeform, Haunting, Horror, Psychological Thriller, Eventual Happy Ending, I promise, Song fic, Halloween Flavored, Identity Reveal, Aged Up, Canon Universe, Mabel Voice: He's Resting, SPOOOKKKYYYYYY

Ao3 | FF.net

--

The night of the visitation, it rained. Like a kick to the gut, a painful reminder of what it was like to fall in love…now was only a soothing presence to losing love. 

The old umbrella in her hand didn’t help either. It was his. Adrien’s. The very same he gave her that day over ten years ago. 

Marinette had agonized over what to wear for too long. It was a wake, so black, right? She had this outfit picked out and everything. A sharp blazer over her little black cocktail dress, with black pumps. Even though it was a wake, it was a wake for her boss, one of the most influential fashion moguls in the world, and she would be taking his place. She had to look her best. 

But then, she changed her mind. It was a social event, yes, and she would be in the public eye and representing the brand, true! 

But it felt gross. 

The cocktail dress was too sexy for a wake, and wearing that much black made her look goth. 

It just wasn’t right. 

Then she saw the dress. A rose pink, knee length dress that flared out as it went down. It had little black polka dots on it. 

And it was Adrien’s favorite. He said so every time she wore it. 

Too peppy for a wake. Too casual, too fun and flirty. But a black cardigan over it, and she felt perfect. 

She could almost hear his voice as she posed in the mirror. 

“I love that dress on you. You look so cute, Marinette.” 

It made tears spring to her eyes. 

So no makeup then. Because she knew she would be crying a lot more tonight. 

“Don’t forget to pack tissues,” Tikki reminded, helpfully.

“Right, thank you, Tikki.” She tucked the little package in her purse. 

With one last pass of the brush through her hair, she was ready. 

So now she stood outside of the manor, the gate open. 

Well folks, I'm goin' down to St. James Infirmary

See my little baby there

She's stretched out on a long, white table

Well she looks so good, so cold, so fair

The paparazzi stood nearby with their cameras, ready to swoop in like vultures. 

She must have paused for too long, because they descended on her quickly, shoving mics in her face and asking questions. 

Didn’t they know why she was here? Didn’t they know what she was going through?

An arm reached around her shoulders and started leading her forward. “Alright everyone, that’s enough! Can’t you see she’s not in the mood?” Her rescuer shouted. 

The reporters didn’t pass through the gate, as that would have been trespassing. So thankfully, the crowd was left behind as they moved forward. 

“Thank you,” she said to the unfamiliar man. 

“Of course, Miss Dupain-Cheng.” He nodded. 

“You know me?”

“I know of you. Head intern to Gabriel Agreste himself, if I’m not mistaken. I’m from Harper’s Bazaar.” 

“Oh...a reporter.”

“Yes, but I really was just here as a guest to pay my respects. I’ve interviewed both Gabriel and Adrien a few times.”

“I see.”

He led her into the house.

Let her go, let her go, God bless her,

Wherever she may be,

She will search this wide world over,

But she'll never find another sweet man like me.

She was early, as Nathalie had instructed. No other guests were here. Just funeral staff, some family, and two steel caskets.

Two steel closed caskets.

Might make retrieving Adrien’s ring a bit of a problem, but not seeing his face…cold, motionless, and waxy would keep her somewhat sane. 

The man walked with her right up to the casket, the one with Adrien’s picture next to it.

“It’s a shame. That much skill, the absolute genius spread between the two of them. The world as a whole will never be the same.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Any idea what’s going to happen next? Not that this is an interview, I’m just curious.” 

She shrugged, “well, I’ve been offered the position, and everyone wants me to take it...but it’s so…”

“Overwhelming?”

“Yes.” She rested her hand on the casket. “I wish I could have a moment alone with him.” 

“Let me see what I can do.” He smiled, then he called louder, to the room. “The lady would like a few minutes alone, if possible.” 

“Is she family?” A staff member asked. 

“This is Madam Dupain-Cheng, she’s the successor to Gabriel’s empire. She’s practically family!” 

There was no arguing with that, and the group of staff members filed out into the adjacent dining room. 

“Thank you,” Marinette called to the man, still not getting his name.

“Don’t worry about it darling.” And he followed them out.

Marinette glanced around the room, just to make sure she was alone. “Tikki?”

“I’m here!” 

“I need you to keep watch.” The casket had two doors, one on top that would have been open if this was a regular visitation, and one over the legs. She slid the flower arrangement on top over to the bottom section and ran her hand over the edge. She pulled up slightly, and as she feared, it was sealed. 

“It’s locked,” she lamented. 

“Let me try!” Tikki zipped around the casket, and a moment later, it clicked and the cap opened ever so slightly. 

Marinette took a deep breath as her fingers curled under the lip.

“What are you waiting for?” 

“Just…I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to see what he looks like. I don’t want to…” but she put her reservations on hold, and pushed the lid up. 

She choked out a startled gasp. “Oh no…” 

Now, when I die, bury me in my straight-leg britches,

Put on a box-back coat and a stetson hat,

Put a twenty-dollar gold piece on my watch chain,

So you can let all the boys know I died standing pat.

Instead of the mangled body of her true love, there was only a pile of sandbags. 

Tikki, also horrified, went over to Gabriel’s casket and phased inside. Then she popped out, “this one is the same!” 

Marinette closed the lid and moved the flowers back into place, her mind moving at a mile a minute. Vaguely, she heard the click of the casket as Tikki put it to rights. 

Marinette was panicking, but quickly calmed herself down. This didn’t mean anything malicious, not yet. Maybe they were cremated and the family wanted to keep it a secret. Or because there’s no graveside service, their bodies had already been buried.

Who was she kidding, something was definitely going on. 

A mystery that was just aching to be solved, but her first priority was to retrieve Adrien’s ring. 

“--A moment alone!” A voice shouted from the dining room.

Marinette whirled around in time to see Felix storming towards her. Did he know? Was she caught?

He brushed past her, “move.” And went directly to the casket, grabbing the lip like she had. 

“Please sir! You’ll damage the casket!” One of the funeral home staff rushed and grasped Felix by the shoulder. “It’s shut and locked, it can’t be opened again.”

“I didn’t get to say goodbye!” Felix snarled. “Look at him!” He pointed at the photo on display next to the casket. “He has my face! I deserve to see him one last time!” 

“Sir...he doesn’t look like that anymore. It would be very disturbing to see his remains.” 

Disturbing indeed, considering Adrien wasn’t in there at all.

Amelie was quick to join the group and she consoled her son. “We talked about this. You knew it was going to be a closed casket.” 

“They said the family had time alone. I just...wanted to say goodbye, face to face.” He shook his head and scowled. “He deserved that, at least.” 

Marinette made herself small, feeling like an intruder in this family crisis. But Amelie still saw her and brought her in for a hug.

“How are you holding up, dear?” She asked, pulling away slightly. 

“I’m…I’ve been better.” 

“Of course, I’m so sorry for your loss.” 

Marinette had met Amelie and Felix more than a few times working at Gabriel. As the years went on, they came to visit more and more often. Amelie was always insistent that she call her ‘Aunt Amelie’ like Adrien. It felt weird to break the habit now. 

“Isn’t pink a little too festive for the occasion?” Felix bit. The red from anger in his cheeks had faded. Now he just sounded bitter. 

It was Adrien’s voice…but not. It was a shame Felix sounded so much like him. 

He looked just like him too, minus the slicked back hair and glasses. 

“Adrien really loved this dress,” Marinette whispered. “I know it’s not—I just—“ 

His face softened slightly, relieved that she had Adrien in mind, and not fashion. “Sounds fine to me.”

Even after the disastrous first encounter they had, Felix and Marinette never became friends. He and Adrien certainly got along, or at least appeared to, but Felix and Marinette were only ever cordial. 

It was a wake, after all. He should be nice. He gave her a small smile, one that looked eerily similar to Adrien’s.

Before she could stop herself, she was hugging him. 

He didn’t smell like Adrien at all. He smelled like clean cat litter and laundry detergent, not spicy cologne and the smallest hint of cheese. Belatedly, she realized the cheese smell was probably Plagg’s doing. 

“Uh…” He said awkwardly, before sighing and patting her on the back. 

“I’m sorry,” she pulled away. “Even though…” she trailed off with a blush, embarrassed with what she had done. “You just look like him.” 

“I know,” he shrugged. “I worried about coming. I’m prepared for people to see me and burst into tears. Or hug me, like you did. I get it. As much as I would like otherwise, I’m willing to tolerate it for today.” 

“That’s kind of you.” 

His face softened further. “You loved him, didn’t you?” 

Amelie gasped. “Felix! You can’t just ask things like that!” 

“It’s okay,” Marinette assured, hugging herself. “You’re right. I was—am. I still love him, even though he’s gone.” 

“And…you know what happened?” 

She nodded. “It sucks. And I really wish I could allow one terrible action to wipe everything away…but I knew him. These last two weeks he wasn’t himself. He was cruel to me in a way I had never seen. It just…it wasn’t Adrien.” 

Felix gave her a critical look. “I always assumed my cousin couldn’t hurt a fly. It’s…bizarre, what happened.” 

“It’s not public knowledge,” Amelie reminded. “And it should stay that way.” 

“Who are we protecting by lying about it? The ‘Brand’? The family? Adrien himself?” 

“What are they saying, anyway?” Asked Marinette. 

“They’re saying both Adrien and Gabriel died from an in-home accident.”

“Vague,” said Felix. “Suspicious.” 

“But better than ‘unknown causes’ at least,” said Marinette.  “Maybe it’s selfish, but I want Adrien to be remembered for all the good he did…” As Chat Noir, her brain added, “and not the demons he faced in the end.” 

“Still, I can’t help but wonder what made him snap,” he mused, looking at Marinette. “Do you have any idea what may have caused it?” 

Her mind went back to two weeks, when he had asked her to dinner. He was nervous, and told her he had something to tell her. 

And then that phone call a few nights ago. What had he said? Something about the basement?

“I’m…not sure. I’d have to think about it.” 

“Perhaps you two could consider this mystery another day? Not during the visitation?” Amelie urged. 

“Sorry mom, you’re right.” He glanced back at Marinette. “If you have anything on this, I’d love to hear it. I care deeply for Adrien, and honestly, I’m highly suspicious of these circumstances.” 

Amelie huffed. “Darling, you heard Nathalie, what she saw, what the police found, it’s pretty cut and dry…” 

“People don’t just murder their father’s for no reason! Especially with supposedly flawless mental health!” 

The room grew quiet, as Felix’s outburst was louder than intended. Thankfully, guests had yet to arrive. 

“Sorry. This whole thing…I’ve had enough of death in this lifetime.” He cleared his throat. “I need some water.” 

When he left, Amelie squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t let Felix get to you. It’s just hard for him. He has so much in common with Adrien, it’s a little scary for him.” 

Oh. That made sense. Fear he’d snap too? 

“It was sudden for everyone. We’re all going through it.” 

“They said you were having a moment alone with Adrien. I'll let you get back to it.” She squeezed her shoulder and left her in peace.

So now Marinette was left to wonder what she could possibly do. Where to even start? She didn’t need anymore time with an empty casket. 

An' give me six crap shooting pall bearers,

Let a chorus girl sing me a song.

Put a red hot jazz band at the top of my head

So we can raise Hallelujah as we go along.

There were a few more guests now, but it was still a little early. She saw a man in a suit arranging flowers. He had a name tag on his lapel. 

As casual as she could, she snuck over to him. “Excuse me, are you the funeral director by chance?”

“Oh? Yes I am. Bill Hunkerson, at your service. How can I help?” 

She had to phrase this very carefully, to not be suspicious. “I’m a very close friend of Adrien’s. He was wearing a silver ring when he died. It doesn’t actually belong to him, and I was wondering if I could have it back.” 

The man turned pale, but plastered on a smile. “Well, he’s probably wearing it now. Unfortunately, after we close the casket, we can’t open it again.” 

She knew that was a big fat lie. And Marinette hated liars. 

She lowered her voice. “Well, since his body isn’t actually in the casket, it shouldn’t be that hard, should it?” 

The man stared at her, wide eyed, no longer smiling. “How did you—“ He frowned. “Look miss, I’m just doing what I’m paid for. I don’t know anything. That ring is probably gone forever, and I’d stop this search now.” He straightened his tie and bowed his head slightly. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

Marinette opened her purse when she was alone. “I don’t know about you, Tikki, but I’ve got a bunch of red flags and alarm bells going off inside my head.” 

“This isn’t good! We need to get that ring!” 

“We need to find out what happened to Adrien’s body!” 

“Yes, of course, that too!”

Marinette gnawed at the inside of her cheek. “Hey, no offense to Plagg, but wouldn’t he know to bring the ring back to me? If he can’t remove it, then wouldn’t he come tell me about it?”

Tikki’s eyes widened. “You’re right! If he died under normal circumstances, yes…but if he was transformed when he died…”

“Then what?”

“Plagg probably would be forced back into the ring. That’s probably why he didn’t come!” 

“Now I’m even more worried and confused.” Marinette crossed her arms. “What if Adrien isn’t actually dead?” 

“What do you mean?”

“What if…he ran away? And Gabriel made it out like he died? What if Gabriel’s still alive too?” 

“It’s a theory, but I don’t know how well it will hold water.” 

She studied the room again, trying not to draw attention to herself. She was supposed to be grieving after all. 

Felix sat in the chairs over by the stairs, his back to the growing crowd. 

Even if they didn’t really get along, two skeptics working together would be better than each on their own. 

“Do you mind if I join you?” She asked. 

“I suppose not.” He sighed. 

Marinette sat in the chair next to him, and sat quietly for a moment, trying to decide how to proceed. She didn’t want to reveal her whole hand, but maybe playing a few cards would be to her advantage. 

Felix beat her to it. He let out a weak chuckle. “I hate this family.” 

What an awful thing to say at wake. “Why’s that?” She asked calmly. 

“They die too quickly. It sounds so awful, I know. But it’s just my mother and I now. Grandparents are long gone, then my Aunt Emilie, then my father, and now them. It sucks and I’m sick of stupid funerals.” 

“It must be hard. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well...I’m a pro at it now.” He was resting his cheek on his hand, and was staring at the corner of a wall, just pointedly avoiding eye contact. Still, she could see he had red in his eyes. Though she chose to ignore it. Felix seemed to be the type to hide his tears. 

“You know...the last time I talked to Adrien, he told me to check the basement.” 

This piqued Felix’s curiosity enough for him to look at her. “Basement? What basement?”

“I suppose here, but I haven’t had the chance to, since you know…all this going on.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense. I used to come to this house all the time. It doesn’t have a basement.” 

“So…maybe at the company?”

“Could be. I wouldn’t know.” 

“Okay, I just wondered...since you were family…” 

He growled. “Yeah, some family.” 

“Do you...want to talk about it?” She offered, really hoping he would take the bait. 

He chuckled again, no humor in his tone. “Might as well, no one around left to hide things from.” He leaned back in the chair. “Gabriel is...was a very private person. I tried to love him, since he was my uncle, but he did a very good job at keeping us at a distance. Adrien was the opposite. We talked often, even when his mom and my dad died and things got rough. Sometimes, it didn’t feel like we were welcomed here. But Adrien so wanted a connection. I could feel it in his hugs when we visited. He was starving, Marinette.” 

Marinette willed herself not to start crying.  

“Mom and I were told by Nathalie that Adrien and Gabriel were caught in a murder-suicide, as enacted by Adrien, early in the morning on the 23rd.”

“Did she tell you where the murder-suicide happened?”   

“Nope, just that it happened in this house. As the only living relatives, she asked if we could come and help with the funeral arrangements.”

“Were you involved in all of it?”

“I thought mom and I did all of it together, but there was one thing that Nathalie insisted on and wouldn’t budge.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Gabriel is going to be interred in the Agreste family mausoleum, but Adrien…” he sighed with disgust. “As punishment, he’s getting an unmarked grave.” 

“What!?”  

“That was the compromise. The truth about the murder-suicide, which I am believing less and less, would be withheld from the public as long as Adrien was…effectively erased from the family line.” 

She couldn’t help the tears that burst forth. “But that’s not fair! He didn’t do anything wrong! He couldn’t’ve!”

“Yeah kid, I know. I agree.” He scowled. “It makes me sick. I hate it. Adrien was suffering in life, and now he’s going to suffer in death.” 

“You don’t think he did it?”

“Do you?”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I know what’s been said, and what people saw...but it just can’t be true.” And she had evidence to prove it, in the form of that empty casket.

“You won’t mention I said any of this to my mom, right? She’s also having a hard time, but she tells me I’m in denial.” 

“I won’t say a word.”  

Folks, now that you have heard my story,

Say, boy, hand me another shot of that booze;

If anyone should ask you,

Tell 'em I've got those St. James Infirmary blues.

--

I’m not sure about next week’s update. I’m going camping and I don't know what the wifi will be like. Fingers crossed!

[sayonarasanity]

Chance With You

Summary: It is hard to see beauty in everything. Especially after a life as a soldier who had witnessed so many of his fellow comrades’ and thousands of people’s death. But Hanji wears that word as an outfit every day. It is drawn aesthetically in the way her eye lights up despite everything, in the way she examines each living being she finds in the garden, in the way her curiosity never leaving her mind. She is neither a tree nor a bird. She is a forest; she has a universe and a variety of colours in her land. Beauty is a butterfly that has perched upon her shoulder and it never leaves her side. 

Link to AO3

notes: for the first part of this story I was kind of inspired by this ask. I highly recommend you to check that out as well also for Hanji's short hair see this post

A house, surrounded by some young, some old trees and green grass, with a little garden outside colourful with flowers, herbs and vegetables of different species. In the morning, the birds chirp just beyond his window, they welcome the new coming day with a melody in their tongue. The sun illuminates the sky brighter as if it had a mind of its own and it thought that a world after a gruesome war, painful sacrifices and unreasonable hatred deserves to shine more. 

The familiar touch of warm fingers traces the line of scars on his face while he is still half-asleep, lying one side of his face buried on the pillow. The fingers move upwards to comb his hair back, then they slide downwards to his bare shoulders, to the space between his shoulder blades where old, pale wounds are inked permanently. Then a pair of lips are pressed on his temple, they are warm, and the touch is undeniably real. If it wasn’t, he would pray for it to go away, to disappear. Because if it wasn’t, ripping his heart out of its place would be less painful to open his eyes to the empty side of a twin bed.

“Morning, handsome.” 

“Hmm,” he murmurs. Insomnia post-war still has its fair share of control over him. It is like a friend that he never intended to be close to, yet he is stuck with it inside the same cell in the same prison. 

But Levi post-war had something else against it. Someone else, a third one in the cell to be accurate. 

She presses her lips on his shoulder, and he half opens his right eye then shifts his head a little so that he can see her properly with his only functional, left one. Her dispersed, brown hair is the first thing that comes into his view. Then her eyes, one wounded like him and the other glittering with the daylight and her smile when she rests her head on her pillow. 

“Hey,” he says with a rusty, morning voice. 

Hanji reaches out with her hand to cup his cheek, her thumb caresses the scars again, goes over his blind eye then fixes his brow. “How romantic,” she sighs. “We match like broken glass.” Then her hand moves down to his undercut, her fingers warm on his rough, shaved skin. “Maybe I should get an undercut too.”

He touches the old scar on her left eye, and then her hair with his three remaining fingers. It is shorter than before, now it ends a little below her ear, curling on her nape. “It would suit you.”

“You think so?” she asks a mischievous smile shapes on the corner of her lips. 

“Yeah,” he tries to suppress the smile, but his lips move slightly, nonetheless.

“Armin and Onyankopon will come for a visit today,” Hanji says.

“For what?”

“They said they had something to show us,” she shrugs one shoulder. “And that it was a surprise.”

Levi cannot think of anything. Nor his or Hanji’s birthday are close, or any holiday is on sight. Levi wonders if it is Gabi and Falco’s doing. Though as far as he knew they were away, travelling. 

He raises himself on one elbow and gets his face closer to her neck to press his lips on her skin. “How much time do we have?” he murmurs as he puts his right arm next to her head to balance himself and intertwines their fingers with his other hand while leaving another kiss to her jaw.

“I don’t know,” she sighs as he kisses the sensitive skin under her ear. “An hour or so, I guess.”

“Good enough,” he whispers and finally catches her lips with his own. 

-

“Good morning, Captain,” Armin greets him when he steps inside the kitchen. He wears a black suit; his hair is combed neatly, and he carries himself with a maturity the war he had to face so early in his life and his age has brought about. There are no traces of the insecure, irresolute boy upon him any more. But his smile and the shiny blue eyes are still the same. 

“Morning,” he responds as Onyankopon and Hanji follows Armin into the kitchen. They all gather around the kitchen table. He is not a captain or anything anymore, but he lets it slide whenever Armin or one of the other kids call him that. It feels nostalgic and works well as a reminder that everything that had happened wasn’t a daydream or a shitty nightmare but an unfortunate reality. 

“How do you feel, Levi-san?” Onyankopon asks, sitting across from him. He too wears a suit, a light grey one and has a matching bowler hat on his head. 

“Not bad,” he says sipping from his tea. 

Hanji serves their visitors two cups of tea then sits down next to him. “He actually means, I feel very good and I’m glad to be fucking alive, Onyankopon. Thanks for asking, what about you?”

Armin hides a silent chuckle behind his fist, pretending to be coughing while Onyankopon smiles and even laughs quietly. “I’m great, thank you.”

“Good,” Hanji beams.

“Stop translating me,” Levi says, glaring at her. “We speak the same fucking language.”

“Yes, we do,” she approves then adds, raising her brows with a knowing look. “But they don’t.”

“Tch,” he grunts and then sees the two younger men watching them with a weird expression on their faces. Half smiling, half questioning. His body tenses without control, and he grips the arm of the wheelchair. “Armin,” he decides to ask, just to be sure. “Do you see Hanji here?”

The blond boy blinks in confusion and stares at Hanji for a few seconds. “Yes, of course, Captain. She sits next to you.” 

“Right,” he sighs. 

A hand slides slowly on his back, drawing circles on top of his shirt. It immediately does its magic. His strained body relaxes under her touch. “No need to be confused,” Hanji explains, and Levi doesn’t look at her, but he just knows that she is smiling. “He is just making sure that I’m not a ghost and he hasn’t gone batshit crazy.”

Levi nor approves or rejects this accusation as he quietly proceeds to drink his tea. No one plans a murder out loud. 

“Well,” Onyankopon starts, he sounds a little nervous and when Levi looks at him, he sees that his expression is also the same. “Don’t worry, Levi-san. She is as real as the greys in your hair.”

The hand on his back stops its movements, Armin freezes with the teacup half lifted to his mouth, his eyes are wide and terrified and for several seconds nobody even dares to fucking breathe.

Levi feels Hanji’s body shaking. He knows she is trying to suppress her laughter. Onkankopon opens his mouth, ready to explain himself. “I didn’t—” 

“It’s okay,” Levi cuts in. “They both mean that I’m still fucking alive.”

-

They go outside after breakfast to see what Armin and Onyankopon came here today for. Levi had only been getting used to the midday sun dazzling his vision when he heard Hanji shrieking with joy and excitement.

“Is it what I think it is?” She exclaims bending over a black thing that he had likened to a wheelchair. He doesn’t understand the reason why she is so thrilled over it. 

Onyankopon joins Hanji to explain the gadget while Armin stays next to him. “The hell is that?”

“It is a special wheelchair, Captain,” Armin explains. “Hanji-san had told us that you were sick of being pushed everywhere and we had been thinking about a solution. It took a while though,” he says sheepishly. “We’ve been kind of busy. But it’s finally completed and ready to be used.”

“This was her idea?” Levi asks, watching the excitement radiating through her body. Especially her eyes are shining even brighter than the sun hanging on top of their heads. 

“Well, kind of.” Hanji sits on the wheelchair, curious idiot, and presses upon some things on the arm of the chair then screams when the thing suddenly moves forward on its own. Levi blinks his eyes, surprised. “I think she didn’t want you to feel like you were being a burden to her, so she didn’t directly ask for this, and to be honest I already had an idea in my mind when she had talked to me. So, yeah, this happened.”

Levi continues to watch Hanji who is moving forwards, backwards and to the left and right. Laughing and smirking like a child in an amusement park. “It’s amazing!” she yells. “Armin, you are a genius!”

The boy laughs and clears his throat seemingly embarrassed. “I’m glad you liked it, Hanji-san.”

“Levi!” she jumps up, and walking to where he is, she catches his hands. “Come on, you have to try it!”

She helps him get up from his wheelchair. “You know I can still walk on my own, right, four-eyes?” It takes quite an effort though, but he can. 

“Don’t ruin my only excuse to touch you in public, shorty,” Hanji replies as they take slow steps towards the other, more technological wheelchair.

“You don’t need an excuse to touch me,” he says.

“Oww,” she coos. “How sweet of you—”

“Because I don’t want to be touched,” he goes on as he sits down. “In public.”

“Cruel, old man,” Hanji mutters, shaking her head. 

“I’m not old, I’m only in my forties,” he objects, glaring at her. “Stop acting as if I’m a walking funeral.”

“Yes, of course, grandpa,” Hanji pats his head and Levi slaps it away. 

Hanji and Armin quickly show him how the thing works and apparently it doesn’t require much of a genius to understand. He pushes upon the buttons hesitantly at first, moving only inches here and there as the three of them watch him expectantly and with an annoying curiosity. It is actually quite useful, at least he won’t need Hanji to push him whenever he wants to go out for some fresh air or he won’t need to overuse his arms. It is also more comfortable, and there is even a place on the arm to put his teacup. 

“Did you like it?”

Levi looks up to see them expecting his answer. Hanji was the one to ask the question, yet it is obvious that the other two are also waiting to hear what he has to say. “Yeah,” he says causing them to take a huge sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

“I’m so happy to hear that you liked it.” Onyankopon smiles and Armin nods.

“Come on now, take a stroll.” Hanji claps her hands excitedly. “Let’s see what this baby is capable of.”

Levi had been planning to just do that. There is enough space in the yard to test the machine properly. However, before he sets on to do what Hanji has offered, he looks into her eye, intensely enough for her to frown and her expression to change into confusion. Armin and Onyankopon had already started to talk with each other and are too much preoccupied to realise what is going on. So, with that bringing him more courage, he brings one hand down and pats his knee.

She is quite surprised and a little embarrassed as a cute flush colour her cheeks and she laughs nervously, combing her hair behind her ear with one hand. “Okay.”

“Have you put on weight?” Levi questions when Hanji sits down between his knees and curls her knees to her stomach. She secures herself by putting her feet next to his leg.

“Shut up,” she chides him and wraps an arm around his neck.

He holds her by the waist with his left arm, just in case. “Ready?”

She nods and sends him a toothy grin. “Always.”

Levi presses upon the button and they move forward. There is no hesitation in his control as the machine goes faster this time, stumbling when the wheels go over some rocks or little bumps on the lawn. Hanji is ecstatic. The wind ruffles her short hair, eyes wide and lips parted slightly. It is hard to see beauty in everything. Especially after a life as a soldier who had witnessed so many of his fellow comrades’ and thousands of people’s death. But Hanji wears that word as an outfit every day. It is drawn aesthetically in the way her eye lights up despite everything, in the way she examines each living being she finds in the garden, in the way her curiosity never leaving her mind. She is neither a tree nor a bird. She is a forest; she has a universe and a variety of colours in her land. Beauty is a butterfly that has perched upon her shoulder and it never leaves her side. 

“Why have you stopped?” Hanji asks, and only then does he realize that they aren’t moving anymore and that he had been staring at her thinking how fucking lucky he is to have this, this thing which is called love.

Rather than answering, he holds her nape and brings her face closer, resting her forehead against his. Then closes his eyes and inhales the smell of the soap they share together, and the odour of the tea leaves still fresh on her breath. 

He feels the moment her body melts, as her fingers touch his neck, and her thumb caresses his cheek. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Just checking.”

She laughs quietly, then leans in for a brief, soft kiss on his lips ignoring the fact that they are being watched by two of their former subordinates. Levi uses that moment to press on one of the buttons which quickly swirls the wheelchair to the right with a sudden movement. The kiss is over in a second as Hanji yelps then laughs heartily tilting her head backwards. The sun shines on her skin, and a butterfly flies around her head, fluttering its wings.  

And despite all those years that had passed, and despite the places, they had seen during the last few years Levi is still positive that it is the best fucking sound this crocked world has to offer. 

   That was just a dream.

Levi stirs and blinks his eyes open, then almost immediately winces at his stiff neck. Curses at himself as he lifts up a hand to massage the skin. He had fallen asleep on the couch again with the TV open. His mother would’ve killed him if she were here. Good thing he had moved away for his job. He is still too young for this shit.

Accepting the fact that he has to deal with a stiff neck for the rest of the day he sits up reaching for the remote control. 

That was just a dream, says Michael Stipe on the TV. The clip is almost over and the song fades. Just a dream.

He turns it off.

It is almost five in the morning and there is not even a drop of sleep left in his system. He walks to the bathroom yawning and stretching his body. His neck and shoulders crackle and he wrinkles his face. “Goddamn.”

He washes his hands on the sink and then his face, getting rid of the crust around his eyes. After that, he uses a towel to dry his face, and when the towel covers the right side of his face and his right eye, and he stares before him to the mirror he stops.

Bits and pieces of strange images slide inside of his head, a man around his forties who is sitting on a wheelchair, a blind eye, a scar running up and down one side of his face, a woman with short hair and bright eyes, a house with a garden, the sound of genuine laughter, the feeling of—

He drops the towel to the side of the sink and breathes heavily. His fingers touch the smooth skin on his face absentmindedly and he stares at his reflection. And his, thankfully still functioning blue eyes stare at him back, like they have no idea what the hell is going on. He checks his right hand to see all of his fingers are in place. Then he bends a little and slaps his leg, taps his foot on the ground for good measure. 

“Huh,” he murmurs then. “Weird.”

Shaking his head, he settles on the idea that whatever he had seen was just a bizarre albeit a little too much realistic dream and sends it away to the back of his mind. Although he realizes that after remembering it, he feels somehow lighter. It is similar to the feeling one gets when the winter quietly recedes, and the trees start to give life to little flowers. That feeling of being lightweight and carefree even if it is just for a little while.

He takes a shower.

When he sits back down on the couch after the shower with a cup of tea in his hand, he opens his laptop to deal with some unread emails piled up in his inbox. He leaves the tea on the coffee table, next to his phone and puts away the towel he had been using to dry his hair. 

Minutes later, when he reaches for the cup, he catches the moment his phone lighting up with a new notification.

 Are you awake? The text says.

Taking the phone in his hands he taps, what do you think?  

It takes only a second for his phone to start ringing. “Hey,” he opens the call. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I’ve only just woken up,” she says but her voice sounds clear, dispersed of the sleepy roughness like she had been awake for a while. “Had a dream.”

“Bad one?” he asks as he takes a sip from his tea, his eyes scanning his laptop screen.

“Well, not really but kind of.” A pause, like she is lost in thought, then she adds. “I saw you.”

Levi hums, approvingly. “Naked?”

She lets out a loud, heartfelt laugh. “Oh my God, Levi. No,” she giggles breathlessly. “It wouldn’t be a bad dream if you were naked, you know.”

“Right,” he chuckles. “What was it then?”

“It was weird.” She stops again for a few seconds. “Like really weird.”

“You should tell me first if you want me to believe you, Hanji,” he says, not quite seriously. 

She sighs. Then there is another pause which is relatively longer. Levi knits his brows and sits a little more upright. Something is wrong.

“What is it—”

“You were sitting on a wheelchair,” Hanji spills eventually, and the words die on his tongue. “And there were scars on your face. They were like war scars like you were once a soldier, a veteran. And—and you looked peaceful but also a little sad too. I don’t know. You were also older. Then there were two young people with you and a tall man. I don’t really remember their faces. I think you were travelling, you looked like tourists though I am not so sure but I-" she breaths fast, she hasn’t stopped talking for a while. “I wasn’t there.”

“Hanji,” he manages to say, despite the fact that he feels like he is choking in his own breath.

“It felt so wrong,” she goes on with a thin, frail voice. “I remember how I felt in the dream. I wanted to reach you, but I couldn’t, I tried to call out to you, but you didn’t hear. It was almost like… like I was a ghost. I was invisible. I was so desperate to just be with you and it felt so damn wrong that I wasn’t.”

“It was just a dream,” he whispers when he finds his voice. His body is frozen like he was paralyzed by something he had no control over. 

“It felt so real.” He hears the tremble in her breath, and he notices how tight he had been holding the teacup. It is almost a miracle that it hadn’t been shattered to pieces yet. 

“I had a dream too,” he decides to tell her.

“Oh?” She sounds interested and he is relieved to hear that her voice is back to its natural tone. “What did you see?”

So, he tells her the dream, not leaving much out except for the things he remembers himself feeling. She listens without almost a sound. He only occasionally hears her gasps and thoughtful hums and the quiet rhythm of her breaths. Only when he tells her that one of the men's in his dream was looking suspiciously similar to Armin, she adds thoughtfully that now that she thinks about it, the man in her dream was very much like Onyankopon. He flicks his fingers, of course, the other man was Onyanokpon. Though the identities of the two younger people remains a mystery.

When he finishes she is silent for a while. Possibly thinking. 

“Hey, Levi,” she says, at last, drawing him out of his own deep thoughts. “Do you think we might’ve lived another life together?”

He examines the keyboard of the laptop for a handful of thoughtful seconds. “I don’t know,” he replies, honestly. Frankly, it is not that much of a long shot. “Maybe.”

“I don’t remember anything, though,” she continues. Levi imagines her lying on her back, watching the ceiling, her dark hair scattered on the pillow. “Do you?”

He almost says no, but then he recalls the dream again, and the way her skin reflected the morning sun, how her laughter touched the forgotten, drought lands in his heart and how lucky he felt to have her right beside. “I remember loving you,” he blurts, surprised even himself.

For an uncomfortably, and terrifyingly long second, she doesn’t respond. He chuckles, somewhat nervously. “Too much?”

“No,” she breathes. “No, it’s not. I just didn't expect you to say something like that.”

“Yeah,” he says dryly. “Tell me about it.”

“So, what do you think?” She asks, shifting the matter masterfully. “Which one was real?”

“How would I know?” 

“Might be both,” she reasons. “Alternate realities and all that.”

“Yeah,” he mutters and shrugs although she can’t see it. “Why not?”

“Weird.” Levi holds the handle of the teacup and taps the table absently. “I wonder what happened. In my version, you know. Did I die before you? Maybe I was a soldier as well.”

Levi doesn’t like that possibility. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth but considering the two obscure dreams, it is likely. “You had a scar on your eye,” he says remembering his dream. “You most probably were.” 

“Oh,” she sighs woefully. “Sorry for leaving you alone, then.”

“Yeah. Sorry for letting you die.”

She laughs. “Well, you probably had no other choice.”

He runs a hand over his face. What the actual fuck they are talking about in the goddamn wee hours? “Hanji, this doesn’t make any sense. Seriously, go back to sleep.”

“I don’t want to go back to sleep. I keep remembering the dream. I wish I had seen your version.”

He wishes the same too, to be honest. “Forget about it. Just sleep.”

“I can’t forget about it,” her voice comes muffled, like a part of her mouth is pressed upon her pillow. “You looked so fine with that scar.”

He pinches his nose but cannot stop himself from grinning like a lovesick fool for the life of him. “Idiot.”

“Would you like to hear something disgustingly cheesy and cliché?” She asks, drowsily.

“No.”

She goes on as if he had never talked. “I’m your idiot.”

“Dear, fucking Lord,” Levi struggles very hard to keep his laughter inside. “Just sleep already.”

“Hmm,” she murmurs, she is most probably about to fall asleep. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“No, you will see me today.”

“Right, good, good,” she sighs, sleepily. “Later, then my handsome, my shorty, my one and only.”

“Dumbass,” he says affectionately but she is already snorting on the other side of the line. 

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 1: Logince

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 1: Your soulmate’s name is on your wrist.

Content: Flower/Tattoo Shop AU, background character death (unspecified cause, none of the sides), that’s pretty much it, it’s just soft Logince.

Word count: 2.7k

A small ding from the store entrance pulled Roman out of his thoughts, and he groaned softly. It was nearing the end of his shift, almost closing time, and another customer at this time would probably mean he was staying after hours again. All he wanted to do was go home and watch cheap reality TV in his sweatpants while shoveling handfuls of hot cheetos into his mouth. So sue him, it had been a long day. But nooo. Someone else had just walked in, probably someone with a very specific style that was out of season and they would argue for half an hour, no matter how many times he explained that tulips aren’t blooming right now, Vanessa! 

Sure, usually his customers were great. Nervous first anniversaries, eccentric brides, all that romance stuff. He loved it. And they were usually all too willing to give him a budget and a color scheme and let him go wild, which was the best part about his job. He was good at it, too. His boss had seen his eye for style and almost immediately gave him solo shifts, which meant decently good pay and hours alone to belt out songs amongst the flowers and daydream to his heart’s content. It was a small enough business that the only mandatory part of his outfit was a green apron, so he could wear whatever he wanted, and he didn’t need a pesky nametag. Those had always weirded him out just a bit. So yeah, he loved his job, but right now, he knew himself too well. He had awful luck. 

With a forced customer service grin, he poked out of the backroom and began his usual spiel of, “Thanks for coming to The Rainbow Bouquet, what can I get started…” 

His words died in his throat at the mere sight of the man before him. Never had he been so equally attracted and frightened at the same time.

He was tall, probably just taller than him, but he held himself in a way that made Roman feel miniscule. Both arms were covered in tattoo sleeves, the left one a flurried mix of black and white and color, beautiful strips of pink and blue galaxies blending with grayscale skulls and clocks. The other had more order; shadows of a forest growing from around his wrist, shimmering mist curling up over his bicep and ending with a full moon stamped on his shoulder like a crest. A corner of something peaked up around the collar of his torn vest, and if Roman had to guess, there were most likely plenty more tattoos that were covered by his ripped black jeans and blue Nasa shirt. Not that his mind was going there at all, no siree. 

Once Roman’s brain had screeched to a halt back in his body, he spoke again.

“What can I get started for you today?”

The man swallowed with difficulty, taking in the rows and rows of flowers surrounding him. He definitely didn’t look in his element.

“I need an arrangement for my mother. She’s in the hospital.”

Ah, the part of the job that Roman didn’t enjoy. Probably half the orders that came in were for sick people or funerals, and those were always a lot harder to arrange. It was always hard to find joy in creating for something so dismal.

“I’m sorry to hear. Did you have anything specific in mind? Does she have a favorite flower?”

“Daisies. She likes Daisies,” He murmured, still admiring the space around him. Roman couldn’t help but smile at the man’s expression. It was just a little awe inspired, a little bit of childish wonder, under that rough exterior. It was a gorgeous shop, that’s one of the reasons Roman had started working there.

“That’s good, it makes it a little easier for me to design something when I have that to go off of. Do you have a budget, or…”

He shook his head weakly, finally turning to look at Roman. “Price isn’t an issue. This is one of the last things I’m going to be able to give her.”

“Oh,” Roman whispered, slowly putting down the pen he’d been writing with, “I’m so sorry.”

“It can’t be changed. There’s no point in losing sleep over it.”

“Just because it’s going to happen doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. You’re allowed to be sad about it.”

The man narrowed his eyes, giving Roman a once over before lifting his chin slightly. “I don’t need advice from a stranger.”

“Of course you don’t,” Roman quickly corrected, remembering he was still at work, “My apologies. When did you want to pick it up?”

“I’m visiting her tomorrow at noon. Could it be ready by then?”

“You bet. Can I have a name for the pick up?”

“Logan.” Roman’s pen skittered over his notepad, almost falling through his fingers. 

Having a common name on your wrist was a curse in and of itself. And poor him, the hopeless romantic that he was, had met countless “Logan’s” in his day, and consequently fallen for most of them at first introduction, only to figure out quickly that they weren’t destined for a “Roman”. As inconspicuously as possible, he tried to glance down at Logan’s wrist, only finding a mass of swirling tattoos covering his skin. Dammit. There were some people born without soulmates, or had their soulmark fade to nothingness when their person passed away, and he tried not to think too terribly hard on which one Logan was. He tampered his rush of excitement as quickly as it had arisen and turned back to his notes, ignoring Logan’s raised eyebrow at his sudden stop.

Roman scribbled down the name and phone number as it was given, setting down the notepad with a customer service smile. The man spent no time dawdling, immediately starting towards the door, only to hesitate before walking out.

“Her favorite color is yellow.”

Roman nodded, the fake smile slowly morphing into an authentic one. “I can work with that.”

It was now a week after Logan had picked up the bouquet, a somewhat awkward interaction filled with small compliments towards the arrangement and Roman nearly dropping the flowers as their fingers touched while passing it over. As he was ringing up the total, he’d been able to uphold a brief conversation where Logan revealed he was a tattoo artist (no shock, considering he showed more inked skin than plain), and Roman showed off his rose tattoo on his upper arm. It would have been fine if the conversation ended there, but no, Logan had to reach up tentatively to brush his finger along the edge of the piece, commenting off handedly about how the color had started to fade.

“How long ago did you get this done?”

“Probably ten years, give or take.”

“You’re what, mid twenties? There’s no way you were legal ten years ago.”

“Who said I was?” It was said with a small wink that made Logan pull his hand away, an action that immediately dampened Roman’s mood.

“If you ever want it touched up, come by the shop. It’s just down the road.”

Roman had promised to consider, pulling the collar of his long sleeve shirt back up over the rose and bidding the man a good visit to his mother. Even now, a full week later, he couldn’t help his thoughts that were so centered around the tattoo artist. So maybe that was why Logan walked back into the shop the following Wednesday. I simped so hard I summoned him, Roman thought weakly as the gorgeous man strode straight up to the counter, leaning on it like he owned it. 

“I have a question.”

“What’s your question?  

“A client asked me yesterday to design a tattoo for her. A bouquet, seen from the top, and all she specified was it should feature hydrangeas, and she asked me to, quote, ‘go nuts’.”

“This isn’t sounding like a question so far.”

Logan sighed apprehensively, adjusting his glasses, “I was hoping you could give me some ideas on how to start. All the tips I found online contradicted each other in some way or another, and the arrangement you created for my mother was so well done…”

He trailed off, giving Roman a look that clearly said I need your help but don’t make me ask for it. Chuckling slightly, he leaned onto the counter as well, his face inches away from Logan’s. For the first time, he could see the small piercing on the man’s tongue as he sighed again. God, that’s hot.

“I’ll help you. On one condition.” 

“Being?” 

“Help me design my next tattoo.” In full honesty, he hadn’t even considered a second tattoo until that second. 

“Deal.” There was no hesitation in his answer, and he took Roman’s offered hand, barely shaking it in the small space between them. 

“Alright!” Roman pulled back, satisfied but disappointed as their hands separated, “Let’s talk flowers!”

And talk they did. For hours, in fact. It started with Logan’s tattoo dilemma, and Roman’s skillful eye and creative mind solved that problem in a flash, crudely drawing out a bouquet idea that fit all the criteria. The tattoo artist took it from there, using the notepad paper and Roman’s sketch, along with a quick round of the shop to see what the recommended flowers, fillers, and greens would all look like, and drew out a detailed piece that put Roman’s own art talent to shame. After explaining that his shift was done at the parlor and he had the rest of the afternoon free, Roman invited Logan to stay for a while longer, seeing as his day had dragged on customer-less so far, and he was bored. Plus, now was as good a time as any to pay back the favor. Two mugs of breakroom coffee later, the two were huddled around the counter, Roman describing his ideas and Logan sketching them like there was no tomorrow. Maybe half way through the brainstorm, the conversation switched to Logan’s mother (which he talked about hesitantly), then to Roman’s family, slowly changing to the absurdity of satin couch cushions, then to their favorite foods, and finally ending with a loud debate on whether pineapple deserved to be on pizza.

“It’s a fruit, Logan! Why the hell would you put fruit on a pizza?!”

“All I’m saying is that the sweet flavor of the pineapple balances out the tanginess of the marinara sauce, and adds more to the plain crust!”

“That doesn’t make it right!”

Logan had to go soon after that, wanting to visit his mom before visiting hours ended. He left with a begrudging smile on his face and a promise to come back another day, drawing an ear to ear grin from Roman. He’s just a friend, he reprimanded himself sternly, all the while sliding the drawing of his next possible tattoo into his phone case with startling reverence. No use getting attached to some who wasn’t his soulmate. 

Yet, he still couldn’t help but feel saddened as a week passed again, then two, then a month. His job had returned to it’s boring normalcy, with only the flowers and no cute boy to keep him company. Even when he sat at his little desk next to the counter, hands working effortlessly to string together order after order, he couldn’t help the occasional glance at the door. The hope that his prince charming would waltz back in, piercings and ripped clothing galore, never faded. 

A month and a half later, the little chime above the door dinged, and Roman glanced up from his handful of Baby’s Breath (seriously people, there are other fillers). Immediately a huge smile pulled at his lips and he dropped the half finished bouquet onto his table.

“Logan! What took you so… long…” His expression morphed into one of worry as he took in the other’s appearance. Gone was the usual grunge attire he was so prone to wearing, replaced with a black hoodie and beaten up Vans. His eyes no longer held that dangerous glimmer that had intimidated Roman so much when they first met. He just looked… small. Logan had never looked small before.

“My mom died last month,” He whispered.

Roman was over the desk in a second, pulling the man into his arms before he could protest. It took Logan a second, a long, awkward, stiff second, before he let his arms wrap around his waist, allowing his forehead to rest on the florist’s shoulder. 

“I thought I’d be okay when she died… it was inevitable. It was her time… so why does it still hurt so bad?” The desperate whisper shattered Roman’s heart. 

“You’re allowed to feel sad, Logan.” He felt him merely shake his head in response, but he said nothing to push the topic further. 

Logan didn’t cry as they stood there, though he clung to Roman almost desperately. If he had to guess, the poor man was probably already cried out. He looked exhausted, and his unusually slumped posture only weakened more when Roman tightened his arms ever so slightly. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. You were probably waiting.”

“Hey, no apologizing.”

“I just… didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“So what changed your mind?”

Logan shrugged, still not pulling away, “I couldn’t seem to snap myself out of it. And I needed someone who wouldn’t laugh at me. If our few interactions were anything to go by, you were that person.”

Roman decided to ignore the blatant implication that Logan didn’t have anyone except a practical stranger to go to. They could talk about that later, if he decided to stay for a while. Roman really hoped he did. 

When the tattoo artist finally pulled out of the hug, many minutes later, he pushed his sweater paws under his glasses to scrub at his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t cried, but he sure was close to it. 

“I’m sorry-”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I don’t even know your name, and I-”

“It’s okay, stop-” Roman reeled back slightly, eyebrows shooting into his hairline, “Oh… sweet Zac Efron. I never told you my name! Why didn’t you say anything?!” 

“It felt too late to ask,” Logan smirked subtly despite himself, letting his hands fall back to his side.

“Oh, my sweet summer child.”

“I am none of those things.”

Roman sighed in soft exasperation, smiling at the barely perceivable glimmer in the other’s eyes. Ah, there it is. “My name’s Roman. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

He was instantly concerned with the way Logan’s face fell into one of total shock. Shit, what did he do wrong? The fear was quickly replaced with understanding, however, as the artist’s hand drifted to his right wrist. 

“What are the chances that your wrist says my name on it?” Logan said it like he was scared to be hopeful, like a happy ending was just not imaginable for him. Roman couldn’t comprehend all the emotions he felt at one time; elation, shock, fear. He answered in a choked voice, smiling all the while. 

“One hundred percent.”

The both upturned their arms in near harmony, Roman pulling his gardening glove down to reveal the name. He squinted at Logan’s wrist, finally noticing the small writing that just barely stood out underneath a grayscale (anatomically correct) heart. No wonder he missed it before, it almost blended in with the outline. 

And then Logan did cry, but so did Roman, so it was a little more okay. He seemed more confused than anything as Roman pulled him back in, holding him even tighter than before.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I’m so unused to… well, feeling. I’m not usually like this, I believe I’m just sleep deprived and worn out from-”

“You never, ever need to be guilty for feeling, you absolute punk stereotype.” Roman pressed a long kiss to the other’s temple, letting him unwind in his arms. “We’ll work on that together. I promise.”

A muffled affirmative hum was all he got in response. He pressed another kiss to the top of Logan’s head as his crying slowed, breathing out heavily into the man’s hair. Together. That’s all that mattered.  

Peep this gorgeous art piece for this fic

[fullmarvelheart]

Crossing Lines (1/?)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x fbi!mob!Reader

Word Count: 3,322

Series summary: A sudden and unsettling event rocks the underworld, and Y/N is immediately called in to prepare for what’s to come. What she isn’t prepared for is James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, also known as the new head of the Brooklyn mafia clan. When these two get shoved into a world of danger and deceit, will they ever learn to trust each other? Or will they be doomed from the start?

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, little bit of angst, slight swearing, slow burn (more to be added as the series progresses)

A/N: I’m finally able to post this today! I’ve been counting down until I could get this out😂 This is the first story that I have written and posted on my Tumblr account. I’m a bit nervous but very excited. I have not entirely proofread this story. Though, I would like to thank my beta reader, Lauren, for all the help and motivation she gave me. The GIF is not mine, credit to the original creator! And a big thank you to the @the-ss-horniest-book-club​ for hosting Mob!Bucky Appreciation Day and inspiring me to post this story.

Series Masterlist

The sharp clicking noise of my heels, followed by the dull thud of several boots, echo on the wooden stairs leading to the basement of my childhood home. I follow the along the long stretch of the twisting hallways until we reach a door that's muffling the slaps and punches behind it. 

One of the men that had met me in the foyer, and had followed me down, knocks twice on the door as I tuck my hand into the back pocket of the curve-hugging black jeans I wore for the day. Moments later, the steel door swings open with a low whine from the give of the rusted hinges. The scent of blood and sweat is the first thing I notice followed by the image of the room. 

Five men stand beyond the doorway. The man who opened the door stands near the edge of steel, gun hanging loosely at his side. Two bodyguards stand in adjacent corners of the room, making sure it’s possible to guard the others with in. Two others, the two most trusted of the household, including the right hand to the leader of the Manhattan Mafia Empire, stand imposingly in front of a man bound to a chair in the center. By the amount of fresh blood dripping onto the floor, this wasn't just some petty offense against the leader. Which draws my attention to the final man, leaning carelessly on a table filled with painful weapons. Nicholas J. Fury, the leader of this mafia clan, and my adopted father. 

"You summoned me from my apartment, Boss?" I say with a smirk while jutting out my hip. 

Phil Coulson, father's righthand, gives me a smirk in return while Maria Hill, his enforcer, just sends a half-hearted glare my way. However, father's face remains neutral.

"I did." He spares me a one-eyed glance. "Tell me what you see?"

I hum in thought to myself as I stalk my way around to see the captive's face. The top half of his once light-colored shirt is now hanging open from being cut by a knife or something similarly sharp. But it's cut open enough to view a tattoo resting on his right breast. 

A red skull surrounded by a halo of octopus tentacles. 

I grunt in distaste. "HYDRA scum."

The man lifts up his bloodied and beaten head to snarl at me. He twists his mouth before lobbing a spit ball at my feet. The glob of mixed spit and blood lands inches from my black, closed-toe heels. 

I scoff at the action and brush my hand into the waistline of my jeans. When I feel the slim metal hilt, I maneuver the object into my palm. With the push of a small button the knife of the switchblade extends before I quickly drive it into his thigh. He screams out in pain as I keep the blade firmly in place. When his screams turn into tired wails of agony, I turn towards my father. 

"Who is he?" I ask, motioning my head towards the man.

"We believe he's behind the hit on George Barnes. Or at least, is attempting to put the blame on us." He explains in his no-nonsense tone. 

My eyes widen in shock, my lips parting slightly. 

"George Barnes was shot at? Is this why I've been called in?" The prisoner painfully chuckles, quietly enough for only me to hear him. 

"He's dead, sweet cheeks." He whispers with a smirk of victory.

I growl at him before twisting my knife and yanking it out while I stand.

"So, why am I here? I assume it's not to attend the funeral because you know I can't. It was just a risk just to even come here." My father gives me a pointed look.  

"I need you to go with them to the warehouse with the prisoner while your siblings and I attend the funeral that's being held in a couple of hours. After the funeral, George's son and I will discuss some business about our alliance with the Brooklyn clan. I'll call you with the details." I nod at his instructions. 

"You know the FBI is going to have me all over this case once they receive word of Barnes’ death, right?" He nods. 

"I'm counting on it." 

"I'll be waiting by the van." I tell him before wiping my knife on the man’s already dirty shirt and tucking the now closed switchblade into the band of my jeans.  

I'm escorted back up the stairs towards the side of the house where the cars sit waiting in father's massive garage. Though the reason for the escort is now clear. My safety. My personal bodyguards, some of my father's most trusted men, meet back up with me to continue through the house. The sounds of nearing footsteps draw my attention to another hallway. My siblings, the twins, round the corner with their own group of bodyguards. 

Wanda, the youngest, according to her brother, is dressed in all black. Appropriate for a funeral. Her brown hair is in casual waves while her makeup is mostly minimally visible. Her natural eyeshadow pairs well with the red lip tint she chose. Her normal red leather jacket is replaced by a similar black one that's draped over a black dress which is cinched at the waist. Her normal array of colorful and seemingly mismatched jewelry has been changed into a long silver chain necklace and a simple dark color bracelet. And to top off the outfit, she put on a pair of high heeled ankle boots. A surprised gasp leaves her lips when she spots me and soon, she's running to me as fast as she can in those heels. Her brother, Pietro, follows not too far behind her. 

Pietro is dressed in a similar fashion. His silver dyed hair is brushed into gentle waves. A black leather jackets lays over a black dress shirt while matching pants and shoes. He also wears a small silver chain with a blue pendant on it. A gift from his twin.

Wanda pulls me into a tight hug with an excited squeal and I laugh, returning her hug with equal excitement.

"Y/N/N what are you doing here?!" She giggles as she pulls back. I laugh while Pietro pulls me into a similar hug. 

"What? Can't an older sister stop by and see her two favorite siblings?" I gasp in mock offense once I'm released from the hug.

"We're your only siblings." Pietro reminds with a roll of his eyes. 

"Besides, being undercover doesn't really allow time for social visits." Wanda points out. I only sigh. Sometimes she's too perceptive. 

"It has to do with Brooklyn doesn't it?" Pietro asks while crossing his arms. As the only male heir of our father, Pietro is often included or informed of current affairs. Again, I sigh in defeat, though I shouldn’t be surprised he knows.  

"Yeah, father called me in. This is a real shit show and I have a feeling this is just the beginning of it." I mutter distastefully.

They both nod in understanding, but Wanda looks equal parts sad and disappointed. But this is our life, we're used to it by now. Even though it's not always what we wish to have.

I gently smile before pulling them both into a big hug. 

"Promise me you two will be careful out there?" Wanda tightens her grip on me. 

"It's not us," She begins slowly. "Who you should be worried about." I chuckle dryly, knowing she's right, as I squeeze her back before pulling away from both of them.

"I suppose not. Still, I do. Now, I need to be going soon. I will see you both later." Pietro nods in acceptance, but Wanda let's her head droop slightly. I give her hand a tight squeeze before me and my bodyguards resume our way to where the cars are. 

I climb back into the car that I came here in, and wait patiently for the driver and everyone to clamber in. The car is started but we remain idling sitting. As a way to occupy myself, I reach into the side door and feel for what I hid in there before I went in. When my fingers brush over the leather holster, I grab it and attach it, and the gun it holds, to a pocket on the inside of my leather jacket. When it's secure, I fold the jacket back over my chest, concealing the firearm in the process. 

A muffled struggle echoes through the once silent garage.

"You want me to take care of that?" I ask the men who sit with me in the car, my fingers brushing over the spot in my jacket where my gun rests. 

"Nah, I'll go check it out." One of my bodyguards, Mackenzie, or Mack as he's called, replies from the passenger seat. 

"Of bloody course you'd be the first one of us lot to check it out." The driver, a Brit, by the name of Hunter scoffs.  

Mack just shakes his head before he opens the door and leaves. When there's a few moments of silence after the car door is shut, that’s when Hunter speaks again. 

"What are the odds of him bringing up something about needing that shotgun-axe again once he gets back in here?"

I chuckle and I see the shoulders of the person next to me move slightly. 

"High." May, the bodyguard next to me and the one that I trust with mostly everything, responds with a slight edge of humor in her voice. Then she turns to me. "Boss, I was going to wait until we cleared the property,-"

"A good idea, May. I don't know much as of now, I can tell you that, but I'll tell the rest once we’re on the move."

She nods and the front passenger door opens at the same time. 

"You'd think the men would know how to handle prisoners, like that one, by now." He grumbles as he settles into his seat. "I swear, one look at a shotgun-axe would scare the life out of those boys. Maybe they'd actually listen to simple instructions at that point."

We all the chuckle as the caravan of cars begins its trip out of the garage and to the warehouse. As we pull down the driveway, I reach into the pocket behind the passenger seat and pull out the object I stashed there and clip it inside my jacket, not too far from my gun. The gold of the badge reflects the light onto the side door while I begin to put on the mask that's essential for my survival out there in this scary world. The letters of F, B, and I revolve in my mind as I stare out the window at my former home. My life is a dangerous one and every aspect has a devastating risk with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The warehouse is a dark place. Even if there is daylight present, streaming through the dirty frosted windows, a dark and dangerous feeling surrounds the place. It clings to it like the smell of a cigarette on clothes. For newcomers, like the prisoner that followed us in another van just a few behind our own, it's daunting. It's certain death. To me and my bodyguards, only our hairs stand on end in anticipation of what is to come.

I informed my guards of what I knew about the situation on the way here. A reverent silence filled the air at the mention of the late George Barnes' death. He treated his men well, was honest and loyal to his allies, and was a good man. Brooklyn and all of New York will miss him.

I stand in the empty warehouse floor, several paces in front of the unconscious prisoner, who's slumped against his restraints. Turns out the men are really in an impatient mood today. I cross my arms while I zone out observing him. Why did HYDRA do this? What did they gain? What's the bigger picture that I'm missing?  

The faint sound of gravel crunching under tires drags me from my head and has me turning towards the opened garage-looking doors. Three black vans drive in and come to a stop not too far from the entrance. Father and Coulson are the first to step out from the center van. My siblings then file out from the one on the right. The rest of the men who were in the cars climb out and seem to form a barrier between the front entrance and the four people headed straight for me.

"I thought I would be receiving a phone call first." I give father a weary glance, noticing his seriousness about something.

"Change of plans." He answers swiftly, and rather seriously. I begin to grow uncomfortable.

The sound of more approaching vehicles has my eyes widening as I turn my curious and nervous expression on my father who gives me a reassuring nod. 

"Fury." I hiss under my breath, not liking the idea of going into a situation blindly. He simply ignores me.

My focus is drawn back to the entrance as car doors closing harshly sound in my ears, though my gaze never wavers from my father's profile. A cadence of footsteps march across the unpaved driveway and into the warehouse, only pausing in front of the line of father's men. It's only when the footsteps draw nearer that I finally look at the party joining us.

My eyes widen, ever so slightly, at the sight of three imposing men nearing closer to where I stand. The man on my left is tall and broad-chested. His shiny blond hair reflects the dim light of the warehouse. His jawline is clean and sharp like a knife, adding to the dangerous air around him. The man in the center is just slightly shorter than the one on his left. A few strands of his long brown hair frame his face while, I assume, the rest is pulled back. However, the stubble on his face and those piercing blue eyes that I can see, even in the dim warehouse lighting, gives me an idea of who I’m dealing with. James “Bucky” Barnes. A man whose reputation for being a cold-blooded killer and a ladies’ man is very well known. However, any idea of seriousness is completely forgotten when I notice the man on my right, James’ left, who’s giving me a hard scowl. The familiar sight of the deep chocolate brown skin, hard eyes, and black hair puts me at ease. I could almost laugh at the situation.

“Samuel T. Wilson.” I chuckle when I see his eye twitch at the sound of his full name.

The trio stops not too far away from my father’s group and me. The sight of those two chocolate brown eyes, that look like they want to murder me, have me smirking.

“Special Agent Y/L/N of the FBI.” He growls, and I feel the tension in the room immediately spike. “I thought I saw the last of ya when I was let go.”

“You’re welcome for that, by the way.” Wilson scoffs and folds his arms across his chest. I also notice Barnes shifting in my periphery and sigh to myself as I think of how to reword things. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have been let go so easily. There wasn’t any substantial evidence against you, but the other agents were going to keep you locked up to send a message. I let it slip to our boss, and he had a big problem with what they were doing. You were let free not too long after. So quit looking like you want to kill me, and maybe offer a ‘thank you’ instead.”

He goes to speak, but that’s when father decides to step in.

“Gentlemen, we came here to discuss a business transaction, not hash out the past. If you three would, follow me. Agent, you too. Son, keep the rest of our guests some company.” There are a series of soft grumbles and complaints, but ultimately, everyone listens.

When the three Brooklyn boys pass the now awake prisoner, his face turns a scary shade of white. And that’s considering the fact that he was already pale due to blood loss. I feel a shiver begin to creep down my spine, but I suppress it. I tell myself it’s because of the type of fear these men can instill, but deep down, I know that it was a low growl I heard somewhere over my shoulder.

Father takes us to one of the few offices in the warehouse and has me shut the door. Barnes sits in the chair across from Fury with both his men flanking either side of him. The only person at my father’s side is Coulson on the right, until I walk up to the vacant spot on my father’s left.

“I think proper introductions should be made before we begin talks.”

“I agree.” Barnes cuts in. “I didn’t realize this meeting would include a dirty Fed.”

I scoff but am interrupted before I can make any smart remark.

“This, gentlemen, is my eldest child. Y/N was the first I adopted and raised in this life. The only reason she is in the FBI is to help us deal with HYDRA.”

“HYDRA is everywhere.” I start explaining. “Like cockroaches in an old building. The only way to make sure every loose end has been tied up is to have all the information. There’s no better way to do it.”

“Hold up. I thought your last name was ‘Y/L/N’.” This time, Wilson interrupts.

“A cover, obviously. If the FBI learned of my ties to the Underworld or to my father, it would be worse than if they thought I was just corrupt.”

“The point is that Y/N will be passing on any information she learns about HYDRA and their plot.”

“I’ll also be keeping a very close eye on anything that may have to do with what happened to your father.” At the mention of him, I see James’ lips twitch slightly while the furrow of his brow deepens. “I am sorry for what happened to him. Your father was a great and very well-respected man.”

The only sign of acknowledgement I get from the new leader of the Brooklyn clan is a slight nod of his head, and I begin to grow uncomfortable in the silence that follows. Luckily, a phone ringing stops the awkwardness from becoming worse. However, it’s not just any phone. It’s my phone. I quickly snatch it from one of the pockets of my leather jacket and glance at the screen.

“It’s my boss.” I inform before answering. “This is Y/L/N. Yes, sir. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.” He hangs up. “I’m being called in. Send me the rest of the details later.” My father nods as he motions for me to leave. Before I do, I look over the three new faces and say in the most professional tone I can gather, “It was nice to properly meet you, gentlemen. I look forward to working with you.”

Without waiting for a reply from one of my father’s, hopefully, new allies to say anything, I hurry around the desk and out of the office. Once Hunter receives the word to get the car ready, I tuck my phone away again.

As I leave the warehouse, goosebumps prickle my skin. Not because it’s cold, or because I’m scared, but because of the pressure that’s suddenly fallen around my shoulders. This attack, this changes everything. HYDRA has always threatened the clans, carried out small or petty attacks, but they have never directly attacked the families. The death of George Barnes is only the catalyst. 

A war is coming, and blood will be spilled. But how prepared am I for what I expect to come?

Part 2

[emelywrites]

Diego Hargreeves imagine where his siblings discover that he has a girlfriend/wife and a kid(s)?

Hi! Thank you for the request! I think I got a bit carried away, but I hope you like it.

Warnings: Language, mentions of drugs, rehab, relapse (Klaus), mention of death (Reginald), I don’t know how rehab works

You were sitting on the couch in your pajamas having just gotten your son to go to sleep while your husband was out being a vigilante. You were reading a book while the tv was on, showing the news. You weren’t really paying too much attention to it but the name of your father-in-law caught your attention. You had never really met him because your husband wasn’t close to his father, just like the rest of the Hargreeves-kids. Reginald Hargreeves was dead and you didn’t really know what to think. What would Diego think?

Just five minutes after the news had been on your screen the door to your apartment opened and Diego came in, going straight to the bathroom to clean himself up. You followed him.

„Did you hear it yet?“, you asked.

„That dad died? Yeah, it was on the news“, he replied, not seeming fazed at all.

„Do you wanna talk about it?“

„Not really. I don’t really care. It’s not like we were close.“

„You wouldn’t want someone talking shit about you after your death, babe. I know you didn’t like him much but shouldn’t you treat this with a little more respect?“

He leaned against the shower wall, where he was about to get in and glanced at you.

„You think someone hates me like we hated dad?“, his voice was small, like he was genuinely scared about your answer.

„No, Diego, it’s just- he’s your dad. You probably wouldn’t be the man you are today if he wasn’t. Who knows where you would be. We may have never met.“

„Don’t say that. Don’t try to protect him. He was a bitch but I guess I’ll go back to the Academy. There will be some funeral. We’ll pretend he was a good man and then we’ll go our separate ways again.“

„Maybe Vanya’s book wasn’t so wrong after all.“

„Shut up, that book was shit. Now get in here with me“, he held his hand out to you.

„No, you’re dirty and I already showered. Finish up and then come to bed with me“, you smiled and took off to your bedroom.

„Now that sounds like a deal to me“, he smirked.

A couple days later he was tying up his shoes to leave for the funeral of his father. You walked past him in the hallway, going to wake up your son before you had to head to work. He wore his typical black outfit, including all of his knives.

„Are you sure that’s an appropriate outfit for a funeral?“

„Not for any funeral but for the old man’s it should be good enough. He’s lucky I’m even coming.“

You sighed but didn’t say anything else. When he was stepping out you called after him again.

„Diego, if Klaus needs it, offer him the couch and some dinner, okay? He just got out again, but don’t make it a big deal.“

You had met Diego when he had dragged Klaus into rehab about six years ago. You had just started working there after having gotten your psychology degree and were the first person they encountered there.

„This crackhead needs some fucking help“, the man dressed in all black said, dragging another man with him who was wearing a fur coat and a long skirt.

„Okay, well, first off, it rarely helps the patients when we call them crackheads“, you started.

„You see, Diego, you need to stop insulting me, she said it, it’s your fault I’m always high.“

„We also don’t like to play the blame game. But if you would go over there to the reception desk and sign him in, we’ll take care of him here.“

Diego slumped his brother into one of the chairs and went to the reception to pick up the papers. You stuck around to help him out and when a nurse came to bring Klaus to his room you accompanied Diego on his way out.

„You did the right thing. Your brother will thank you for it when he’s clean“, you told him.

„If he gets clean“, Diego corrected.

„That’s really not the way of thinking around here“, you smiled.

„Hey, maybe“, he hesitated, „Maybe we could get a coffee sometime“, he looked at you, „You know, s-so you- you can tell me h-how he’s doing.“

You laid a hand onto his arm and smiled. „I’d like that.“

Klaus came back to rehab many times but Diego and you stuck with each other. Two years after that meeting you had gotten married and another year later you had a son together who idolized his father. Klaus was also the only one of Diego’s siblings who was at your wedding and knew about his brother’s life. Klaus and his nephew got along amazingly, mostly due to the fact that (Y/S/N) saw a boy his age in his uncle.

„I will. But if he relapses-,“

„You’ll love him just the same and we’ll help him out because you’re just as much a softie for Klaus as you are for me and (Y/S/N)“, you smiled and came to the door to press a kiss to his lips before he left.

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face. That night, when you were on your way to bed Klaus and Diego came through the door and Klaus immediately came to hug you, complimenting the amazing waffles you always made, thereby telling you he wanted waffles in the middle of the night. You, being his friend and sister-in-law, complied and then tucked him in on the couch with the help of your husband. When you woke up the next morning both of them were gone. You didn’t worry about Diego, you know he could take care of himself. You were worried about your recently-rehabilitated junkie of a brother-in-law. 

So after you had taken (Y/S/N) to kindergarten you left to go looking for Klaus. After searching through the city and not finding him you resorted to the last place on your list that you had never been to in your life. The Umbrella Academy. You were surprised to find out you could just enter without keys. The first ‚person‘ you encountered was Grace, Diego’s robot mom, who you were sure knew everything about you that Diego knew, simply because that man loved his mother more than anything in this world.

„Oh, hello, (Y/N). It is such a pleasure to finally meet you“, she smiled.

„Hello“, you were a bit taken aback, „I am looking for Klaus actually. Is he here?“

She paused for a moment and stared into the distance. „He should be in his room.“

Then she went about her business again. You hadn’t learned much about Klaus’ whereabouts because it could probably take hours to find his room in this mansion. When you were about to ascend the stairs you got lucky though and met yet another person.

„Oh, hi, you’re Vanya, right? Loved your book. Could you tell me where Klaus is?“, you asked.

„Uhm-, I don’t know, who are you?“, she looked you up and down.

„I’m (Y/N), I’m- I’m his doctor. From rehab. Just worried“, you smiled, knowing that Diego probably didn’t want all of his siblings knowing about his private life but everyone knew about Klaus’ problems.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. „Since when do you do house visits?“

„Since his third stay probably. Listen, I’m just worried about him. I care about him and-,“

„Oh my god, why, are you, like, dating him or something?“, she widened her eyes in shock.

You paused and then started laughing. „Oh god, no.“

She left you to it, still not telling you where Klaus’ room was and you realized that looking for him had no point but you did need to get to work so you needed to leave, hoping you wouldn’t have to treat Klaus again anytime soon.

Two days later you received a text from your husband. „They wanna turn mom off, help“. You stared at the text in confusion and went to pick up your son before you went to the Umbrella Academy again. It seemed very unlike Diego to invite you to his childhood home like that. When you arrived your son wiggled out of your arms and ran after Grace.

„Oh, hello, (Y/S/N), I was just about to make some cookies. Would you like to help me?“, she smiled and took his hand.

Your son nodded eagerly and skipped alongside his grandmother. You in turn saw Vanya and Diego standing in the doorway to the living room or whatever kind of room that was supposed to be.

„Are you okay, love?“, you asked, putting a hand on his arm.

He pulled you close. „She’s our mom. How can they even argue about that?“, he mumbled into your hair.

„Wait, hold on. You’re Diego’s girlfriend?“, Vanya asked.

„Wife, actually. And it’s none of your business“, Diego lifted his head to look at her.

„Diego, seriously? Shouldn’t you guys stick together right now? This is your mom. You shouldn’t argue with your siblings when you’re trying to avoid your mom’s death“, you jumped in.

„You can’t just throw that word around like that. But you’re right. At least she doesn’t want to kill mom.“

„Diego? Married? To you? Seems fake, but okay“, a tall, beautiful woman you identified as Alison came up to your group.

„Diego is married? What? Are you a robot like mom? Then again, he probably couldn’t build that, could he?“, a man who was probably two meters tall, Luther, came up beside Alison.

„(Y/N), my dearest, these two are evil“, Klaus said throwing himself onto you and pulling you out of Diego’s grasp in the process.

„Granny Grace and I made cookies, daddy, look“, (Y/S/N) came back from the direction he had taken off into earlier, Grace following him.

As your son proudly held a plate of cookies out to his dad and Klaus started nibbling on one the rest of the siblings stared at the scene in shock.

Grace smiled. „Is there a problem?“

[princesscatherinemiddleton]

Ten Years Ago...

I have really fragmented memories leading up to the royal wedding - I remember hating Catherine’s engagement dress, I remember a craft shop near my house doing a “cushion making” workshop during the wedding (which two of my friends went to), I remember being in school and talking about what the dress would look like in English (we were doing Romeo and Juliet). I also have fragmented memories of the months afterwards; debating whether Kate was pregnant during her tour of Canada in 2011 sticks in my mind.

But I remember every moment of April 29th 2011. My excitement was threefold. One - I’d never seen a royal wedding before and I was fascinating (ngl, I felt the same about Philip’s funeral). Two - my family were coming around for the day. And three - I had spent the last few years reading about Prince William’s girlfriend in the papers and I had decided I loved her.

Nearly every house on my road put bunting up, and it stayed up until the end of the Olympics a year later, although we didn’t have a street party (someone tried to organise one for the 2012 Jubilee but no one wanted to go!). My family decided to have a tea party, making cucumber sandwiches and fairy cakes and scones.

My family started turning up at 8am and I remember my dad and uncles in the kitchen, making bacon sandwiches for those who wanted them. I remember sitting with my cousin’s son, playing Pokemon on my sister’s pink DS Lite. I remember watching the guests arrive and listening to my family’s commentary on people I knew (“Doesn’t David Beckham look lovely? What is Victoria wearing?”) and on people I didn’t (“Of course Tara Palmer-Tompkinson is there!” “Is that Elton John?”). I remember the reporters filling the gaps with visits to Bucklebury, speaking to old ladies in a gazeebo, and to Kate’s old primary schools.

I remember the royals arriving. My family’s disgust at Andrew (early adopters of the Andrew is trash campaign), their amusement at Eugbea’s hats, and their regular-as-clockwork hatred for poor Camilla stick in my mind. Carole Middleton completely won them over and they spoke a lot about how sorry they felt for the backseat she’d had to take at her daughter’s wedding. I remember we tried to guess the colour the Queen would be in - I guessed yellow, with a blue blanket - and I remember never guessing the Queen’s wedding outfit colour right ever again.

I remember Kate appearing and me almost crawling into the TV to get a better look. I particularly remember repeating things like “Alexander McQueen! Lace! Sarah Burton!” despite not knowing what the commentators were on about. My family spoke about how Kate waved “like a commoner” and by this point there were 15 of us in my tiny front room.

The wedding ceremony is a bit of blur. My family stood up for the national anthem and I’ve never forgotten that because I’m 100% sure they’ve never done it before or since. One of my aunt’s cried at Jerusalem because it played at her wedding. One of my uncle’s decided to be creepy about Pippa. There was a lot of talk about the Queen and how proud she was and “how dare Camilla sit so close to her” and “doesn’t William look handsome” and “when are we having cake?” - I was sat cross-legged on the floor at the foot of the TV, partially because there were no seats, and partially because I was lured in.

I adored the colour scheme - I still do. The red, white, and gold was so perfect (and so me!). Catherine’s walk down the aisle to “I Was Glad” moved me to tears (but I’ve also cried watching every bride go down every aisle at every wedding I’ve ever been to). The bells pealing as they left the cathedral touched my cold little ex-Catholic heart.

Almost as soon as they left the church, my family abandoned me and the TV for the cakes. Some of them returned not long afterwards - also with cake for me - but the rest started playing some game in the dining room. I watched the carriage ride and peppered my grandparents with questions and they spoke about the Queen and the war and their own wedding (which I paid no attention to until I decided to write about it at uni six years later). The noise from the crowds stands out to me. Hearing the cheers and watching this couple - and their fancy family - travelling in London in carriages was amazing. My aunts spoke about how Kate now had a “royal wave” and how they would have to call her “Catherine” now (reader, they never mentioned her again).

Even when the carriage ride had finished, I didn’t want to move. I was scared of missing something, especially since we didn’t have a TV which could pause or record or rewind, and I was not the most technical teenager. But I did leave to get more cake and to join the game, leaving my family with strict instructions to call me back in if anything happened.

The balcony. The waving. The crowds. The flyover. The first kiss, which made everyone laugh because “it was so quick! How could they have got photos?”. The second kiss.

We played on the Wii for a while after that. The BBC reliably informed us nothing would happen for a while, so we ate and had fun, and heard people partying in the streets of not-London. When we did switch back over, it was not long before the newlyweds appeared in Charles’ car. The pure joy of that moment was clear. My uncle started talking car and everyone else ignored him and were like “Harry must have done that!” We stayed until we saw Will, Catherine, Charles and Camilla returned to Buckingham Palace (unpopular opinion but Kate’s fluffy little jacket is the only thing that makes her boring second dress remotely interesting).

My memory of that day is family. It’s love and fashion and cake and games and fun. It’s spending time together and returning to normal the next day. I have never felt anything like the atmosphere in the run up to that wedding - the closest was the London Olympics but that suffered from being over 2 weeks, not one day. That’s why I bought a copy of the wedding on DVD (I also bought the London Olympics DVD) and that’s why I’m still here. No matter what happens, April 29th will always be a special day in my heart

[myhauntedsalem]

Funeral Home Workers Describe The Creepiest Thing They’ve Witnessed On The Job

1. Corpse sits up all by itself

“My neighbor awhile back before I moved was a mortician. One night he had a body he was preparing for a very early morning wake or service (whatever was going on, it was unusual, and it required him to work into the wee hours of the morning on this particular corpse).

So as he’s working on it, he turned his back to grab some tools or supplies, and the angle he was standing at with regard to the corpse left the body visible just out of the corner of his eye.

As he was looking down at whatever tools he was getting, in the corner of his eye he saw the body slowly start to sit up.

His fight/flight instinct immediately kicked in, and he ran to the stairs as fast as he possibly could, but he was so clumsy trying to get up the stairs he tripped and was pretty much crawling and clawing his way to the top.

He was just near the top before his senses finally came back, and he knew it was rigor mortis. He collected himself and started to laugh at how absurd it all was.

He had been doing this for 15 to 20 years at that point, and he had never had a freak out like that before where instinct overtook knowledge and experience.

He actually sheepishly admitted he had to go clean himself because he had soiled his pants in the panic.”

2. Dead man holds on to medical technician

“I used to work in tissue recovery. My least favorite part was prepping a donor for recovery, as it included shaving the arms/legs. Once, we had a donor who was very freshly deceased. I held his hand to shave his arm, and his fingers curled around my hand as rigor mortis set in.

That was exceptionally creepy.”

3. They groan as they are moved

“If the deceased have a lungful of air, then moving them causes it to release. When the air travels through their throat, you get some minor vocalization, but it’s usually just a liquidy gurgle. It still gets me sometimes, though, if I’m working alone.”

4. Lights flicker every time a new body is brought in

“I’m a nurse, and the only place I’ve ever seen the lights flicker is just outside the morgue. They are fine almost all of the time but when we bring a body down the lights always flicker. Really creeps me out.”

5. A body shivers in the presence of a living one

“I was filling out paperwork over one of the bodies while working late when it shuddered. Never saw that before or after, no explanation.”

6. Funeral home lights go on and off by themselves

“I’ve only experienced something one time and that was around 10PM, after two years with no activity at the location. I had turned all the lights off in the chapel, and when I went to check the casket door, the lights turned back on. I was nowhere near the switch.”

7. Ceremonial doves are devoured by hawks

“I’m a funeral director/embalmer and I have seen… just so many bad funerals. One that really stood out was the time that a family released doves in a rural cemetery, after being told not to, and a hawk ripped one to pieces.”

8. A woman with a glass eye requested it be left open for her service

“I was a part-time funeral director’s assistant. We once had an elderly woman with a glass eye who requested it be kept wide open for the service. Gave me a hell of a fright when I saw her in her casket.”

9. Man has his dead dog waiting for him at funeral home

“My mother worked in a funeral home. One day, she was asked to go up in the attic to look for some old records, and came across a baby coffin. She went to move it with her foot, and could tell it wasn’t empty. Immediately went back downstairs and asked the director about it.

Apparently it’s a client’s embalmed dog that’s being stored until he dies, so that they can be buried together upon his death.”

10. Identical twin shows up to funeral in the same outfit as his deceased brother

“My mom works in the funeral business. Sometimes I would come to work with her and help her set up the chapel for a service.

One service in particular was of a little boy who drowned. His parents dressed his identical twin brother in the same outfit as him for the funeral.”

11. Funeral workers dress as clowns for a funeral

“We had a clown one time. This person was buried in full clown costume with makeup and all.

At the family’s request, the funeral directors were clowns too. They supplied costume and did our makeup. Family and friends had one teardrop painted on near the eye.”

12. Funeral tech is asked to clean eyes that aren’t there

“One of the creepiest for me was having to clean a gentleman up…I was supposed to clean his eyes, as well.

Opened those up only to see two empty sockets. No eyes. Apparently, it was a post-autopsy embalming.”

13. A man punches a corpse while paying his last respects

“I worked at a funeral home for a while when I was a teenager. After an open casket viewing a man came in saying he wanted to pay his respects privately. No big deal, that is fairly common.

We led him into the viewing room, opened up the casket and told him to take his time.

A couple of minutes later we’re sitting in the office and hear a really loud popping sound, followed by running and the door slamming.

We ran into the viewing room and the deceased’s mouth was hanging open and the skin was odd looking. The best we can figure is that he punched the guy and took off”

14. Woman tries to steal her child’s body during the funeral

“I have a sad one from a funeral director’s perspective. Separated parents were mourning the loss of their toddler at the visitation before the funeral. The mom was grieving unlike any mother I’ve seen grieve over the loss of a child – almost fake.

She proceeded to pick up the deceased child, “hide” him in her coat, and walked out the door when no one was looking.

The other funeral director I work with found the mom running to her car where he stopped her and grabbed the kid. We found out two months later that the mother and her new boyfriend had physically abused the kid.”

15. Decomposition so bad, that cremation was only viable option

“A man was brought into us after lying dead in his garage for 3 weeks in the summertime. He was covered in bugs, his skin was black and green, and the skin sloshed right off the bone. I couldn’t do anything for that case, he was cremated.”

16. Woman’s hair and nails keep falling out

“We were prepping and washing the body of a 90 year old woman. One of her toenails fell off, and the hair on her head kept falling out. It took a good 3 hours to get her hair put back in one strand of hair at a time to make it look acceptable.”

17. A man brings his new girlfriend to his wife’s funeral

“Both my parents are funeral directors. At one service, the wife of an older gentleman had passed away. The widower showed up to the funeral with his new girlfriend who was much younger and was wearing a very revealing outfit.

Whenever the husband would begin to cry, the girlfriend would bring his head to her bosom to comfort him while stroking his hair.

Shortly after the ceremony ended, the husband asked one of the funeral directors about the flowers from the funeral.

He wanted to know if he could take them with him for the wedding he was having that weekend with his new fiancé.”

[bat-besties]

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Remus is the most eccentric customer who visits Janus and Virgil's café. When he goes missing after talking to a mysterious stranger, Janus resolves to investigate further- and Virgil isn't letting him go alone.

AO3 10k 

Huge thanks to @mariniacipher, I could not have written this without her. She let me talk about the idea for hours, it has somehow developed into a series, and the story itself took a real twist because of talking to her! Another massive thank you to @5-crofters-jams, who did a marathon edit of the entire piece for me, and has made the story so much smoother and more effective (and much less British because my original dialogue did upset her American sensibilities XD) Also thanks to @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors, who knew everything I needed about pigeon corpses!

CW: dead bird, touching the bird corpse, bird funeral, Remus levels of comments about gore and innuendo, drug mention, mention of vomiting, kidnapping and captivity, feeling nauseous from anxiety, light dehumanization, brief allusion to racist violence

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Remus was...

(There was usually a little gesture there: Virgil’s rolled eyes, or Janus’ helplessly fond smile, or a disapproving look from Remy-)

....Remus.

Their anarchist cafe saw its fair share of unusual customers but only one of them was, well, Remus.

Morning sunlight threw beams which striped the posters covering the walls- old propaganda posters mixed with ads for tutors, food banks, and drag shows. There was a quiet chatter of customers, occasionally broken up by bursts of laughter or a called greeting to another patron as they came in. Kids from the skatepark sat on a pile of beanbags charging their phones, having given up the comfortable chairs for a small group of elderly butches with stretched tattoos who were now speaking with slang from fifty years ago. A mother whose baby was trying to grab onto her braids was trying to feed him with one hand and hold her husband’s with the other. A college student frowning at their laptop screen and consuming coffee at an alarming rate was seemingly oblivious to the punk trying to discreetly read their laptop stickers. One of a Pan-African flag matched the full-sized one on the wall, swaying with wafts of coffee and baked goods along with spider plants and assorted pride flags. Old photos of a Black Panther group in the town, reprinted and signed by some of their patrons, were framed proudly on the walls.

Since everyone had been served, Virgil was taking a few breaths to check over the register and prepare for the next rush. The rhythm of checking, preparing, and letting the background chatter fade into the background blended into a pleasant, thoughtless routine. Cups out. Setting out more sandwiches. Look over the register. Maybe get something from the back-

“Morning, shitwad!”

Virgil ducked under the counter as something thumped into the coffee machine behind him, and a few of the regulars laughed in good nature.

“Oh, good morning, darling,” Janus replied smoothly, appearing from the kitchen. He was wearing a yellow shirt which contrasted with his deep brown skin perfectly, as well as a bowler hat and dapper bow-tie. He pulled plastic gloves over his hands with all the elegance of a debutante preparing for a ball.

There was a shrill wolf whistle. “Those are some sexy wrists!” was the next comment, followed by a squawking laugh, and Virgil rolled his eyes as his friend brought a flustered hand up to adjust his collar. Every day, he faced the deep attraction between the most sophisticated person he knew and the most outlandish, and he didn’t know which was more obnoxious. As Virgil popped back up, Janus reached over to the projectile on the back counter. It was the small, feathery body of a dead pigeon, carefully wrapped in cling wrap.

Virgil gave Janus a long-suffering look and got out a bottle of disinfectant. “Morning, Remus,” he grumbled, despite his irritation. “What can I get for you today?”

“My friend died at 3am last night,” he replied instead. “I need to store her in your fridge until you both get off work, and then we’ll hold her funeral!”

When they were alive, Remus treated the pigeons as gently as they did each other-

That is to say, he was ruthlessly protective of chicks, ready to grab and move anyone encroaching on territory, and, if pecked, was fully ready to bite back. Still, at his two-tone whistle a whole flock of assorted birds would fly down to meet him. His eyes would shine bright as they flew around him like a feathered whirlwind, and settled on the surfaces all around him like a hopeful congregation as he fed them with whatever he had. Despite their number, almost all had names and ascribed personalities.

Exactly how he could tell the difference between two seemingly identical pigeons Virgil had no idea, and he wasn’t entirely sure that Remus wasn’t fucking with him about it.

“Why did you throw her if you’re trying to preserve her?” Virgil said, but he tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. In fairness, it didn’t look too damaged by the blow. It would take a lot to change the kindness Remus showed the doves, as roughly as he showed it.

“I thought you’d catch her, emo! It would have been a beautiful moment!” he protested, throwing his grey eyes open wide.

Virgil took a deep breath and nodded. “You know what? Yeah, maybe it would have been. But you forget-”

“Fight or flight,” Remus filled in. He shrugged. “I guess that makes sense.”

As usual, he was dressed in as many layers as he could be, with only a hint of pale skin showing on his face and through a pair of fingerless gloves he had cut himself. Everything else was an amalgamation of black and brown leather, denim, flannel, a puffy coat, a long flowing skirt in leopard-print, and fishnet tops over cotton T-shirts, leaving barely any Remus-outline at all. It didn’t matter what the weather was; his outfit might change components, but it never revealed so much as his neck.

Everyone had their reasons, Janus would quietly say at almost anything their customers said or did. It wouldn’t have crossed their minds to ask why he covered himself so much, but it was something Virgil couldn’t help but wonder about sometimes.

Maybe Janus was right and Remus was handsome, but his face was so obscured by his moustache, stubble, and makeup in purple and green- or whichever colours he felt like- that he seemed to be aiming for ‘gives you a headache after you look at him too long’ more than anything else.

His hair was almost literally a bird’s nest. He had completely rejected offers of a hairbrush or a comb, insisting he preferred it the way it was. The third co-owner of the cafe, Remy, with whom he was staying at the moment, had made many attempts to detangle his hair, all of which had been met with screaming and gnashing of teeth. After each clash, Remy would send Virgil a barrage of complaints by text. But while Janus had offered for Remus to stay at his own apartment, Virgil and Remy had made a mutual decision to save them from 24/7 pining by volunteering instead. Janus had refused even considering dating him the very first day he had barged his way into the cafe- and into its founder’s affection. As long as Remus came to them for food and shelter, it would be an unfair balance of power.

Remus reached into an inner pocket of his coat and slid a purple pin with a spider silhouette on it over to Virgil. “You could stab this into those big brown eyes of yours,” he said, widening his own at the barista.

“Sweet, thanks,” Virgil said, pinning it onto his apron string. It did match with his spider-web hair design. “Then I won’t have to look at Janus getting flustered any more.”

Remus grinned at Janus, who was trying to act as if he’d been so invested in carefully holding the pigeon that he hadn’t heard. He leaned on the counter and dropped his voice into a stage-whisper. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “I think he’s sexy.”

“That’s disgusting,” Virgil whispered back. “I’m going to throw up in your coffee.”

He shrugged. “I’d still drink it. Then I’d just be able to judge you based on your stomach bile.”

“You’d be so fucking impressed by my stomach bile,” Virgil retorted. “It’s so acidic from anxiety it would kill you immediately.” He turned to start wiping down anywhere the pigeon had even possibly touched.

“Bartender!” Remus yelled in an exaggerated English accent, banging on the counter. “Bartender! I would like a coffee and a sandwich, please!”

“One moment, my dear,” Janus said in a more passable impression, opening up the freezer door and placing the tiny corpse into an empty ice-cream container well away from the rest of the food. “I’m just cryopreserving- what’s her name?”

"Her name is Loki,” Remus supplied, his voice dropping to a matter-of-fact tone which was surprisingly tender coming from him. “She's good at stealing chips from tourists. And flying and shitting at the same time.”

Janus threw away his gloves, thoroughly washed his hands, then made a small note: "Loki: not for consumption." He glanced up at Remus so he could see the note, who repaid him by throwing his head back so he could laugh. Janus' mouth quirked into a snicker too, and the rest of the coffee shop seemed to fall away from the two looking at each other.

"We're going to get a violation," Virgil interrupted, because that was the expression of a Janus who would complain and pretend not to pine for hours after Remus left. He turned on the coffee machine to hopefully distract from the moment. "It's a dead fucking animal."

"So is the rest of the meat," Janus dismissed without looking at him. "And it is wrapped up and away from the rest of the food."

Ever since Virgil had joined the team and the cafe had begun to establish itself as a firm success, the city council had done everything in its power to shut it down. Each time, the cafe had won, even if their most recent fight was one of the most nerve-racking experiences of his life, and their personal lives had been dragged through the dusty carpet of every courtroom in the city. Each step of the way, Janus insisted that the risk was worth it.

After all that, Virgil was not letting the cafe close on account of a dead bird, as skilled a thief as she might have been.

"It’s a pest animal you let in here," he insisted.

Janus dismissed him with a shrug. "Come now, so is Remus."

The customer grinned. "You flatter me, rattlesnake." His eyes traced Janus' face as they scrunched up with joy. "Can you tell me about Dodgy Knees again?"

He closed his eyes as if pained. "Diogenes! Diogenes! I'll break your knees if you mispronounce-"

"Kinky!"

He rolled his eyes fondly. “Oh, is that so?”

So Virgil tried to ignore the disaster scenario of the cafe being shut for good, fixed a cup of coffee and a sandwich for Remus, and somehow got caught into a conversation about the pros and cons of leaving society to go feral in the woods.

“No, I do agree, but wolves-”

The door rattled, and an older white man with salt-and-pepper hair and a pinstripe suit walked in. He wasn’t entirely out of place amongst the clientele, but he honestly looked more like the businessmen in some of the cartoons Janus had papered one wall with. Remus ignored the bell as he leant his elbows on the counter, gesturing with his sandwich as he talked to Virgil while the barista came up to the register.

“How can I help you today?” Virgil asked the man, who was glancing around the decor. That type of customer was almost certainly drawn by the coffee, all blends hand-picked by Remy.

“I’ll be in and out in just a moment,” he replied with a small smile, and Remus stopped talking. “An espresso to go, please.”

Virgil nodded. “Sure, a moment-”

A blush crept up Remus’ cheeks, and he ducked his head with uncharacteristic shyness. As the man caught his eyes his entire expression softened, the hard lines of his face seeming to melt as his lips parted slightly, like he would say something. But, for once, he was speechless.

Janus looked as though he had been slapped in the face. “Are you acquainted?” he asked, in such a casual tone that Virgil knew he was deeply hurt. He arched an eyebrow as he waited for an answer.

“I- yes, I believe we are,” the customer gave a genial smile in return, his eyes fixed on Remus’. “Some time ago.”

Janus’ eyes narrowed. “Where do you know him from, Remus?”

There was a crinkle of plastic and leather as Remus shrugged. “Long story,” he said distantly.

Virgil slid a cup of coffee over to the man, who tapped a black card to the card reader and gave him a quick smile. “Keep the change,” he quipped. It was a tip some ten times greater than their recommended 20%.

“Thanks,” Virgil mumbled, but his focus was on his friend, who was drifting out of the door, as he tended to do at the end of a conversation. “Hey, Remus, we’ll see you later?” he called after him.

“Sure, Virgey!” he replied, giving him a quick grin before he held the door for the businessman, and the two of them walked out together. The older man ducked his head to whisper something into his ear, and Remus laughed and linked their arms as they headed into the street.

As soon as the door swung shut, a cloud settled over Janus’ expression. “Well,” he said, adjusting a sandwich which was just slightly out of line with the rest. “They say a stranger is a friend you haven’t met yet. It takes all sorts. To each, indeed, their-”

Before he could utter another saying, Virgil interrupted with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s not what it looks like.”

“And what does it look like?” Janus asked caustically. “Remus was acting unusually, yes?”

“Sometimes people get nervous,” he ventured. “If they like someone-” There wasn’t a single trait Remus said wasn’t his type; a silver fox with money was as good as any.

“Don’t say ‘like’, it’s so middle school,” he snapped, and Virgil flinched at the tone in his voice. He grabbed a cloth and headed over to a table which some regulars he knew were just vacating to wipe it down. Poor Loki’s funeral was going to be a tense event.

Except, as night fell and the cafe began to glow with the golden lights and the warmth of the ovens, and as Remy arrived to help them with the evening rush, Remus didn’t show up for the body in their freezer.

The brief liveliness Janus had shown bustling between the kitchen and the front faded as the final family trickled out. He waved away most of their offered money, seeing as it was a birthday party and he knew them, and Remy and Virgil made meaningful eye contact but didn’t protest.

As they closed, Remy filled the awkward silence with chatter about the men he was dating, the new hair product he had tried, the fact Remus never washed up when he was told to, and he was, like, so sick of it-

But no Remus appeared to defend himself, even after they left half-an-hour late and each one tried to call him.

He didn’t appear at Remy’s to sleep overnight, and he didn’t come into the cafe at all the next day.

That next night, Janus disappeared into the back, leaving Virgil to clean up by himself.

His stomach was upset, and he couldn’t help but think about that man over and over.

Long story- what exactly did “long story” mean?

Remy used the phrase when it really was a complicated story full of exes and rumours and friends of friends-

Virgil used it when he was asked why he didn’t speak to his family any more.

But he’d never seen Remus look like that before, and the guy had seemed nice- and there was an obvious suggestion for why his friend was busy overnight.

He realised he’d been wiping down the same table for the past five minutes.

“Virgil,” Janus said quietly behind him.

“Yeah?” he turned, and his brow immediately furrowed at his friend’s sombre expression.

He had his phone in one hand, and his hat in his other. “I’m going to ask you for a favour,” he said slowly. “You are quite free to decline it.” He paused. “I want to go to the house of the man who Remus went out with, and check that he’s alright.”

“I...don’t know that’s a good idea,” he said, twisting the spider badge on his apron so he could avoid the weight of his friend’s expression. “I mean...it could be an invasion of Remus’ privacy, if that was an old friend or-” Scared of causing further upset, he tilted his head to fill in ‘something else’.

“Yes, I know.” He sighed, looking out into the night through their plate-glass windows. “You know I’m not one for hunches-”

“Eh, you turned out a guy for being an undercover cop in like two seconds because he asked about ‘The Antifa’-”

Janus gave him a look with almost the level of exasperated fondness Remus engendered, and Virgil fell silent.

“I’m not one for hunches, but I’m usually right when I have them, then,” he finished lightly. “I have a very bad feeling, and a Google Search for anyone in the town who could possibly have a black card doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Anxiety coagulated in his stomach, but he tried for his final hope. “Are you sure it’s not...jealousy?”

He gave him a long, tired look. “The thought has never even been a worry of mine,” he said drily. “Still, I can go by myself, and make my own self a bother, worse, a fool.”

And it wasn’t really a question at all whether Virgil would let that happen. “Two of us is just a bother,” he replied with a confidence he didn’t feel, unclipping his badge from his apron and slipping it into his hoodie pocket.

Janus hung up his hat and put on a neat suit jacket over his outfit. “Thank you, really-”

He shook his head, opening the door so that a rush of petrichor and tarmac washed out the pervasive smell of coffee and food from the cafe. “Let’s go.”

They walked out into the night, still damp from the earlier rains. The lights of the shops around them reflected against the wet tarmac, and music pumped out of passing cars giddy with the promise of the coming weekend. They headed to the bus stop, Janus politely greeting every person they passed, and Virgil ducking his head so he didn’t have to. He didn’t know if the people who replied were familiar to his friend from the neighbourhood, or just trying to be polite in turn.

As soon as the bus stopped with a hiss of steam, Janus led him down to the back, and sat by the window, checking the map on his phone again. “It will be some time,” he said. “But, I ask you to be patient.”

“Course.” Virgil rested his head on Janus’ shoulder and closed his eyes. “Just tell me the stop before and I’ll be...right with you.” Moving vehicles lulled him to sleep anyway, and he would just worry the whole way otherwise.

“Of course.” Janus wrapped an arm around him, so he wasn’t jolted as the bus started again.

As Virgil dozed in fits and starts, the window changed from views of convenience stores and fast food shops to blocks of apartments, to anonymous offices and retail outlets, to high-walled parks, and then houses set back from the road by sweeping drive-ways or pavements almost as wide as the road was. Finally, his head was jostled off Janus’ shoulders, and he blinked as the stop dinged, too loud after the fog of sleep. Outside, it was pitch black but for the pools of light beneath the streetlights, and the golden glow which the mansions kept far behind barred gates.

They stumbled off the bus, and Janus checked his phone just once more before they headed off down one of the identical sides of the road.

Virgil pulled his hoodie close around him against the night chill. He considered putting his hood on to protect his ears from the nipping wind, but they were already two black men alone in a very white neighbourhood. It wasn’t worth it when his stomach was already rolling with anxiety. He rubbed his thumb over the badge in his pocket and tried to breathe the cold air in 4-7-8. They walked over empty roads, past rows and rows of similar houses, until they turned a corner and cars lined the road, piling into a single driveway which was illuminated like a Christmas lights display. A few fancily-dressed guests stood by the cars, but most of the noise came from inside. The house towered even its neighbours, and was built in the faux-Classical style which he hated.

Janus checked the address against his phone, then nodded. “That’s it. What did you call those, again? False temples?”

“Temples to dumb rich Americans and bad architecture,” Virgil supplied with a quirk of his lips.

“Quite right,” he replied, assessing the entrance. “And in all likelihood, Remus is stuck inside with his…”

“Yup.” He looked between his own patchwork hoodie and Janus’ dapper suit. “Maybe you could sneak in, but I definitely wouldn’t fit in.”

He straightened, and adjusted his bowtie. “Then we’ll go around the back,” he replied.

Virgil shook his head. “Nope, nope, nope, that’s- Jesus Christ, no, that’s a great way to get arrested or even shot. No.”

“Virgil,” Janus said quietly. “These past two months, Remus has visited us every day except that brief time after the fight over the milk cartons, or whatever it was-”

“I asked him to clean up a drop of milk and he poured the rest of the carton over my kitchen,” he said sourly, which he felt he was entitled to despite the situation.

“Yes, yes,” Janus dismissed. “Anyway- he always comes, doesn’t he? So now-”

“I have a really, really bad feeling- and bad thought, and bad everything-” he protested, backing away from the gate.

An orange sports car swerved past them, and parked horizontally across the driveway, and a young white man in a tracksuit the same colour as his car leapt out and gave them a wide grin. “Hey! Hey! Hello!” he yelled, and flashed them peace signs, to which Janus replied with a pained smile and Virgil a small wave. “Everything’s started- have they done the fireworks yet? Or the, shit, thing with the melted chocolate and it flows-”

“Chocolate fountain,” Janus supplied with the smile he reserved for his more aggravating customers. He slipped his arm into Virgil’s and pulled them forwards. “We were hoping to arrive for that too, ah-?” He waited for the man to supply his name, but instead-

“I like your hair!” he said to Virgil, admiring the spider web design. “Rad!”

“Yeah, thanks,” he replied, subtly trying to pull them backwards as Janus marched him to the door after the guest. “Your car is...yeah, that sure is a car.”

“Sure is!” he replied with a blindingly white smile. He flashed something at a bodyguard at the door- who had sunglasses, earpiece, everything- Virgil noted with a sickening thrill of fear.

“And your friends, sir?” the bodyguard asked.

“Yeah, yeah!” The guest tossed his car keys at his chest and headed through to a foyer filled with well-cut suits and low-cut dresses, champagne glasses and trays of canapes. Marble floors reflected the lighting, which glinted out from chandeliers above. A wide staircase glided up to the hidden upper floors.

“Oh, hey! Hey, you!” the young man yelled as soon as he got in, bounding over towards a woman who greeted him with a grin, raising her glass like a toast.

Janus and Virgil just blinked at each other. “Are you...sure?” Virgil asked quietly. “Remus is here?”

“I’m honestly not so sure any more,” Janus muttered to him. “But let’s not rely on whatever chemicals are keeping our dear friend happy, and start looking around.”

They moved through a throng of people and out into a wide ballroom, filled with yet more guests and a live string quartet playing in one corner. Along with the music was the trilling of occasional birdsong from tropical birds fluttering inside several oversized golden cages dotted around the room. A few others held white marble statues, but they couldn’t compare to the shifting flurries of reds, blues, and greens. Without agreeing on it aloud, the friends first went over to a small party congregated by one of them, in case the birds had attracted Remus.

“No, but then I said-” A balding man was proclaiming. “I said, Rudy, that’s not the Dow Jones Industrial Average at all.”

The group burst into laughter, Virgil gave Janus a bemused look, and they moved on.

Everyone was well-dressed, in sparkling necklaces or ties in jewel colours or even in more casual clothes, like the man from the sports car, which still seemed to drip wealth. Wearing sneakers with a suit wasn’t that fancy a look, but when even Virgil recognised that pair from an ad campaign for a luxury fashion line which would come out next month, he guessed it didn’t matter. Nobody looked at them twice. Still, there was nobody dressed in the contents of an entire rummage-sale bin with purple eyeshadow used as contour.

“There-” Janus whispered- “Is that?”

They both froze as they watched a man with a moustache waltz past in the arms of a lady dressed in black. It wasn’t Remus.

Virgil scanned the room again, eyes passing over the gilded cages, and the tropical birds and statues inside them- nobody in the crowd admiring them was any business of his-

As they parted, the figure inside the tallest gold cage became clear. It shifted position- an animatronic? He looked more closely as it moved after everyone had turned away, fiddling with golden chains around its-

“Oh God-” he whispered. “Look.”

Virgil was an avowed atheist, but if the person inside the cage wasn’t a statue, he must have been an angel. His shining hair was cut short to show of the clean marble lines of his face. His chest was sculpted too, covered in scars which looked like they must have come from a golden sword like the one he was gripping. He looked as if he would swing it into position if not for the gold chains wrapped around his arms, tethering him to the delicate bars of the cage. He was gazing out into the distance.

Most striking of all, dove-grey wings crested over his shoulders and trailed all the way down to his ankles. His white tunic contrasted the hints of pale purple, pink and blue shimmering in his wings.

It was one of the most beautiful sights Virgil had ever seen.

He glanced at Janus for his reaction.

He found only an expression of absolute horror. Janus was completely silent for a moment, struggling for words, before he gasped. "Oh, Remus- what did they do to you?”

A cold feeling washed over him.

No- those were their friend's grey eyes, and that was the shape of his face, stripped of his facial hair and usual tacky makeup. No wonder Virgil hadn't recognised him.

Compared to the usual chaotic spark in his expression, he looked blank. As if his mind was somewhere else entirely- or like he'd been drugged.

Still, Virgil couldn’t help but be drawn back to his wings; they were hyper-realistic, even twitching as he tried to tense his shoulders to alleviate the pressure of the chains on his arms. And the amount of feathers it would have taken to make that shifting, downy gradient...not even all of Remus’ flock had that many. It was compelling, but sickening.

It felt wrong to look over his arms and legs when he was usually so adamant about covering them, so he dropped his eyes and tried to erase the knowledge of how muscled Remus was beneath his usual shapeless outfit.

It wasn’t that Virgil found his friend attractive exactly, but with wings like that, dressed like that- he was a centerpiece, clearly, and even as his stomach churned with the wrongness of the display, it was a palpable effort to keep his gaze from snapping back to him. “I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered to Janus.

“He’d never, ever choose to dress himself like that in front of everyone," Janus whispered, anger crackling red at the edges of his quiet voice. "And even if he did, he’d never shave off his moustache.”

He shook his head. “So...what do we do?”

In response, Janus sauntered over to the left, took a champagne flute from a waiter, and then gestured for his friend to follow. They zigzagged through the crowd until they got closer to Remus, whose eyes remained glazed and distant.

They stopped just by him. Up close, it was clear the tunic was some kind of cotton material, and the sword had blunted edges. He was wearing makeup too, and a lump in his mascara made Virgil feel another sharp pang of pity. As ridiculous as painting them on would have been, how real the scars looked in comparison to the rest of the outfit was jarring. He was built and scarred like a fighter, and all the little touches to make him look delicate only emphasised how roughened he was. Both were at odds with everything he knew of his friend.

“Remus,” Janus whispered. The name fell like a plea. “Remus, it’s us.”

All of a sudden, the man’s eyes snapped to them, his expression melting into disbelief. “Remus?” he echoed. It was as quiet as a whisper from a crypt. “You know him?”

“You’re-” Janus’ face fell. “Remus, that’s you-”

The man almost imperceptibly shook his head. “Twins, we’re twins- you know him? Please, is he okay?” He looked almost identical, though up close the differences began to stand out. He was probably more muscular, but who could tell under all of Remus’ clothes? The main differences were a gap between this twin’s front teeth and, more than that, his eyes. Even as he looked at them desperately, there was something missing from them, some jolt of hope or excitement which just wasn’t there. Their heaviness was an uncomfortable weight on Virgil’s face.

He wrapped an arm around himself. “Sorry, he went missing-”

“But we tracked the man he left with back here,” Janus filled in. “Isn’t he here too?”

The man shook his head again. “No, I- I’ll earn more information, after this. I don’t know anything,” he whispered. “I just know he found him, and he wants him to come back without a fight.”

Virgil never should have just watched as that man walked Remus out of the coffee shop. Long story his ass- “What the fuck is happening?”

Remus’ twin tried to shrug and then winced as the movement tugged on the chains. His wings fluttered with the movement. “They just tranqued us the first time. I don’t know why he’s delaying recapture-” He took a deep breath. “Just tell him to run away as soon as he can.” His grey eyes hardened to steel. “He might as well keep doing it.”

“I will if I can find him, thank you.” Janus took a small sip of his champagne. “What exactly was the capture for, if I can ask?”

The captive glanced around the room, and at the movement Virgil cut his eyes to the side. Nobody watched that he could see. “The wings, of course,” he said with a bitter smile. “Yes, yes, they’re real, go ahead and look at them.”

Janus’ eyes widened, subtly taking in the wings.

“My name’s Roman,” he continued in a low, urgent voice. “Tell him that Roman said to run, okay? Don’t listen to any of their offers or threats. I’m not a gladiator anymore; I’m here instead. It’s...not too bad.”

As Janus opened his mouth, Roman shook his head. “Don’t talk to me too long.”

“We can get you out,” Virgil said before he knew what he was thinking. “Whatever this is-”

“Go,” Roman insisted. “It’s not worth trying to do anything for me. And don’t call the police-”

Janus rolled his eyes. “You really don’t need to worry about that.”

“Fine.” he lifted his eyes to the middle distance again. “You should go now. Please.”

Virgil gave a little nod, taking Janus’ arm. “Okay. We’re gonna go.”

“Thank you,” Janus added. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but then let Virgil lead him away.

He steered them back through the ballroom with their backs to Roman, trying not to glare into the eyes of each of the guests they passed. It would almost have been easier if there was a big fuss and show about the captive man, rather than the chatting and dancing and gossiping with, oh, a living being as a conversational curiosity-

As they came back into the entrance, Janus began to turn towards the sweeping staircase.

“No,” Virgil said under his breath, trying to tug him back to the doorway. “No fucking way. I know you’re angry but-”

“I’m not angry,” he replied coolly. “I am, rather, curious. Because I don't think they tell everything to Roman, and we’re not going to get luck like this again. Any information will help.”

He glanced up at where the staircase twisted out of sight. If Remus was up there, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. And, despite his words, Janus was throw-ignorant-customers-out-of-the-cafe mad. Except, he wasn’t quoting memoirs of increasingly obscure activists or putting neat yellow gloves on in warning, so Virgil didn’t know what he would do.

On cue, Janus reached into his breast pocket and drew out the gloves. He slipped one on, tugging it into place. “Better for fingerprints, and more neat.” He glanced at Virgil. “You don’t have to come with me, in fact it may be better if you didn’t.”

It wasn’t fair for Janus to pull on his ridiculous gloves like a boxer about to face a much bigger opponent, and ask him not to fight by his side. Even if Virgil had decided to leave the party, it wouldn’t have been fair.

“I will,” he said, tucking his hands into hoodie paws. His heart was thumping against his ribcage as if it would break out- that was a thought to tell Remus when they saw him. “I’m gonna complain about it afterwards.”

Despite his apparent composure, it took Janus a moment too long to answer as his eyes traced Virgil’s face. “Of course.” He took his arm. “Shall we?”

He was half-expecting an alarm to blare as soon as they set foot on the first stair- but nobody noticed. They took another few steps, feet sinking into the thick red runner. The back of his neck prickled with stares, but he knew from long experience that those were imagined. Or were they? No, that was anxiety. Janus’ hand tightened on his forearm and he stopped. Above, someone paced past on a wooden floor in the measured rhythm of a guard. He gagged.

“Deep breaths,” Janus murmured.

“I hate this,” he replied. Then he forced a breath in his nose and out of his mouth.

After the footsteps faded, they kept walking until Virgil moved his heavy boot onto the polished wood floor as gently as possible. Identical two-panel white doors stretched along the hallway without any noticeable distinction, until the corridor took a right turn at the end of the row.

“You take the left, I’ll take the right,” Virgil whispered, and Janus nodded.

With their footsteps echoing almost too loud on the floor, they each crept to the far ends of the hallway. There was nothing beyond the corner except another staircase, and thankfully no more doors.

He tried the door handle on the far right with his sleeve over his hand, and it turned. He nudged it open and peeked in to see a huge bedroom strewn with suitcases and clothes, and a sparkling necklace of diamonds carelessly draped over a black dress. But no Remus. He shut it and moved onto the next.

Locked. The next was too. His hands were shaking like there was a motor in them.

He closed his eyes and leant his head against the wall, trying to ground himself in the sensation. Okay. Next one- unlocked.

It was a bathroom, all white marble and gold like downstairs. He closed the door and glanced over to Janus, who shook his head.

He glanced at the staircase before crossing the corridor and turning the handle of the middle door slightly.

A voice rose behind the door, deeper and smoother than Remus’. “Hello?”

Virgil reached in desperation for the next door handle as footsteps sounded from inside, and tugged it open in time for Janus to walk in quickly and efficiently in the rhythm of the security guard. He followed with a few strides, shutting the door behind him in with a fumbled click. The room was an empty guest bedroom. Janus was hiding himself under the bed before Virgil caught his arm and pulled him out. He headed to the big sliding window.

“Please, please-” he whispered to himself, trying to lift it. Locked, locked, oh God-

Janus searched the mantelpiece for a moment before pressing a cold key into Virgil’s hand. He tried to put it in but his hands were shaking too badly and he couldn’t-

Janus took it off him. It fit with a click.

Virgil pushed up the window in a rush of cool air. He climbed out onto the little ornamental balcony running between a few windows and stood flat to the wall, chest heaving, before Janus followed with a tumble. He reached over and shut the window while Janus crouched down below the sill. The room was still empty.

Virgil slid down the wall, trembling hands over his mouth. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and he was sure he would be sick-

Janus had curled into a ball, forehead to the stone of the balcony.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that.

After a while, they ended up both sitting side by side in the space between the two windows, hands twisted together. It was silent.

Virgil glanced back into the room. “It’s empty,” he whispered. “We should leave.”

Janus nodded. “One moment-” He crept towards the other window and peeked in the bottom before he dropped to the ground, hand over his mouth.

Virgil widened his eyes. On cue, his heart finished its brief rest.

Janus pointed to his suit jacket, then made a rectangle shape with his fingers. Virgil frowned. His friend repeated the gesture, and it clicked. Black card.

He so, so badly wanted to run now, but instead he crawled over to poke Janus in the side so he would move over to give him space by the window. Their eyes met, and Virgil pulled his hood over his cold ears to settle in for a wait. He kept his head down, pillowed on his forearms, while Janus risked peeking up every few minutes.

Suddenly, Janus grabbed his arm. Virgil lifted his head. He could just about see Roman standing in the doorway, rubbing at the deep red marks around his forearms, and the captor leaning back in a leather armchair holding a glass.

Janus put his hands up to the window-

“Janus,” Virgil hissed, but then the window slid a crack upwards and voices travelled through.

“Quite the party, wasn’t it?” the captor said, pouring himself a drink.

Roman nodded too quickly. “Yeah,” he said in a hoarse voice, attempting a smile which didn’t reach his eyes, which were fixed on a closed silver laptop on a side table. “Yes, it was...very grand!”

He rolled his eyes. “What did you think of the decor?”

“Quite magnificent! Like a- an aviary in a palace.” His wings were trembling as though there were a breeze running through them.

Tilting his head and looking Roman up and down, the captor spoke just as genially as he had in the cafe. “You really aren’t as interesting as your brother was. Too many blows to the head, no doubt.”

Roman’s mouth tightened. His fists had too.

Against the deep, comfortable, red-brown tones of leather and what must have been genuine mahogany, and the backs of books all bound neatly and sticking out of the shelf as though frequently read, Roman’s outfit stood out as even more fake. Gold accents in the sandals he was wearing matched the subtle gold trimmings of the room, but if the study were a convincing stage, Roman looked like a badly cast understudy.

The captor laughed. “Predictable. This isn’t the fighting pits.”

Virgil and Janus shared a look before watching again.

“Your brother’s been living like a tramp and he’s still more beautiful than you are, under all the mess,” he commented, as casually as if he was observing the weather. Roman’s eyebrows drew together, watching for the end of the statement. He brought up a hand to cover a scar along the edge of his neck. “He’s not as scraped up as you, of course. And he really-” He swirled his whiskey for a moment before taking a sip of it. “He really is genuine. You can imagine worse things than this, can’t you?”

He paused, then nodded.

He shrugged. “He can’t. That’s the difference.”

Janus grabbed Virgil’s hand. He curled over and pressed it to his own forehead. Virgil rested his hand on his back and bent to whisper in his ear. “Hey, only I need to listen, so-”

He shook his head and Virgil cut off, peeking back over the windowsill.

For just a moment Roman glanced at the window before he asked, “So, where is Remus anyways?” He seemed to freeze as he waited for the answer, a statue once again.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” He held his hand out and Roman looked at him blankly. “The laptop,” he snapped.

“Oh!” He grabbed it from the side table and tried to hand it over from a distance.

He took it and flipped it open. Roman stepped back immediately, hopping from one foot to the other like a boxer. Virgil felt himself tapping on Janus’ back in sympathy.

The captor flipped the screen open and typed for a moment before he began to read something. Virgil felt Janus’ chest go still.

The captor laughed. “Oh, would you look at that- “Queer Eye’s Karamo Brown urged to cut ties with Salvation Army”.” He shook his head. “There’s nothing worse than a hypocrite- did you know about this?”

Remus’ brother’s jaw tensed and he shook his head.

He carried on reading for a little while, tutting, and then switching to another tab. “Okay, fine- come and look.”

He crossed the room to stand behind the man, hands gripping onto the back of the sofa as if he would fall over without its support.

“Don’t touch the furniture.” With a roll of his eyes, he reached his hand behind him, twisted his hand into his captive’s wing- then tugged. As he pulled a handful of feathers away Virgil winced, but Roman only reacted with a tightening of his hands. Then he took a measured step back from the couch.

“You know,” the captor said so softly that Virgil had to strain to hear him. “You know, Remus would have cried and cried at that.” He scattered the feathers, spotted with blood, over the floor. “That, or started swearing- and the crying would come after that.”

“You’ve told me before,” Roman snapped. As soon as he spoke, he froze again. “Oh, uh- I’m sorry-”

The laptop clicked shut. “I asked you to behave this evening,” the captor said, getting up and tucking it under his arm. Virgil and Janus crouched down further. For some reason, a tiny chip in the stone paving caught Virgil’s eyes. A tiny fissure ran from it into the rest of the solid slab. “That meant all of this evening.”

“Please-” His voice broke, and pitched high it sounded like Remus’. Janus’ hand tightened on Virgil’s until it hurt.

“Out.”

Virgil tugged on Janus’ hand and bent his head to his ear. “C’mon, we need to go.”

Janus looked up. His eyes were shining, and at the same time Virgil felt like a monster for not crying and a sharp annoyance that his friend had given into his emotions. He took a deep breath, and both feelings passed. He tugged on his hand again. “Okay, time to go,” he whispered.

He decided not to risk closing the window while the man was still in the room, just nudging Janus to the side. They crept across the balcony, slid up the far window, and climbed through one after the other, painfully slow.

They padded through the empty room, then opened the door and slipped out together. Downstairs, the last of the party guests were trailing out, either upright with exhaustion shining in their eyes to match the sparkle of their jewels, or with the help of a few discreet employees supporting champagne-soggy legs. Wordlessly, Janus slung his arm over Virgil’s shoulder, and he let his friend lean on him as they passed security and walked down the long drive to the dark street. He was heavy, but Virgil was careful not to stumble.

They carried on walking that way until the corner, when Janus straightened up and adjusted his jacket. Still, they crossed the road side-by-side and didn’t speak.

As they walked, the bottom of the sky was being washed out into greyness. The houses were unlit now, and they looked smaller in the dark. It just barely smelt of metallic dew. Virgil thought he might start screaming if he opened his mouth.

They reached the bus station sooner than expected. There was half-an-hour before the first early-morning bus. With a huff of air, he sat down on the pavement and leaned his back against the pole.

“Well that was just what we expected, wasn’t it?” Janus said lightly. He stayed standing, facing the mansion they had come from. Virgil looked up at him in silence. “I’m going to murder that man,” he continued in the same tone. “The security for that house is shocking. I’m sure it isn’t that hard. Perhaps I should let the twins do it, though.”

He nodded. “I’ll help bury the body.”

“You know, Virgil,” Janus met his eyes. “You really are the best friend anyone could ask for.”

"What?" he mumbled as he looked down. "He was a dick."

"Come now, you also broke into the house of someone connected to illegal fighting rings whose interior decoration tended to the alive and miserable.”

Heat flooded into his face. “Least I can do.”

“Quite a bit more than the least.” His lips quirked into a smile. “Especially for someone who was terrified of talking to customers a year ago.”

"Oh, shut up." He poked Janus' neat brogue with his boot. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes here figured out the whole thing anyway." His chest felt funny, and he hugged his arms around it.

"Well, Watson," He took a deep breath and decided to stop tormenting Virgil with his tenderness. "I have our final deduction- the man had no clue where Remus is."

"Really?"

Janus shook his head. “He was just looking for an excuse for Roman to slip up the whole time. Taunting him, the furniture, physically hurting him- it was all trying to push him to some tiny ‘infraction’ so he could bluff about the information.”

“Huh.” He replayed the events and nodded slowly. “Sure, I can see that. Still, we don’t know if he’s always like that. He didn’t deny the information when Roman touched the furniture- which is a fucked up rule, Jan- I don’t know if him not saying where Remus is was an excuse at all. He said Remus was better than his brother, and he gets pissed when you suggest cutting those clumps out of his hair. He must have been-” He regretted saying it to Janus, but it was deduction time. “He must have been really- cruel to him for Remus to act anything like Roman. He enjoys being cruel, clearly.”

“You’re right.” He twisted the finger of his glove. “Still, surely telling Roman about how scared Remus was would upset him. And he didn’t, so something doesn’t add up.”

Well, his intuition hadn’t lied before. “So what do we do?”

“We find Remus first.” He straightened his shoulders. “Remy would have texted if he went back to the apartment, we can assume he’s not at the cafe since he was found there, and he could have gone to his usual parks and streets but if he’s being watched he wouldn’t. So, where would he go?”

“It wouldn’t be anywhere with a lot of people,” Virgil added. “Or maybe even with a lot of birds, since they all come to him. Somewhere abandoned?”

Janus nodded. “I think we could check out some of the old warehouse districts.”

He nodded. “Sounds like a start. That one’s only ten minutes after the home one.”

They waited quietly, each caught up in their own thoughts. The bus to their district began trundling past until it slowed down for them and the door opened.

Janus shook his head at the driver. “Sorry, we’re not coming.”

She began to close the doors again without comment.

“Wait!” Virgil waved at her. “Wait a moment! Wait-”

She stopped with a huff almost as loud as the bus’ exhaust. Janus let Virgil pull him through the door by his hand, tapping his card dutifully.

He raised an eyebrow as they stumbled into some seats.

“Where’s the place we were talking about running to just before, uh, bird-friend left?” Virgil whispered, even though he doubted the tired commuters would be listening in for names and details. “And where can you bury the kind of bird friend in our freezer? And where wouldn’t be a place you’d search?”

“The forest?” he replied. There was only a scrubby patch of it outside the city.

“Yup. Look, we should go back to the cafe to get Loki, anyone asks and we’re just, you know, getting rid of the health violation in the fridge in a way which isn’t a health risk to a park or anything.”

Janus stifled a yawn. “That’s very smart.”

“Thanks, it was kinda impulsive, but-” Virgil shrugged as he looked out the window at the unrelenting row of houses. “I’m happy to be out of there.” He tucked his arm around his friend. “And you can nap until we get there.”

“I’m just fine, Virgil,” Janus replied, affronted. “Besides, I don’t want to rumple my outfit.”

Virgil gave an exaggerated yawn himself, and Janus immediately followed. He glared at him, which only made Virgil give him a small grin. “Bedtime.”

He was met with a head thunking onto his shoulder. “You had better wake me up in time,” he threatened.

“I will.” He readjusted so he was more comfortable. “We’ll be fine.”

*

By time they reached the cafe the sky was white and grey. Virgil waited by the bus stop, leaning his head against it as a half-asleep Janus unlocked the front. After enough time for Virgil to consider if he could sleep upright (five minutes), he reappeared with a canvas bag with a rainbow flag hand-printed on it, and a stack of three sandwiches, which he handed to Virgil.

The bus came soon after, and they collapsed into one of the back seats.

They had barely finished the sandwiches by the time they reached their next stop. They got out onto a cracked bit of sidewalk and looked at the trees rising above them. Silent, they walked forward until the concrete suddenly ended.

Virgil breathed in the stench of wild garlic and dug his toe into the slimy layer of dead leaves. Damp air curled in his mouth as though it would die peacefully there. Something chittered in the distance, and then cut off suddenly. He tried to tilt his head up to look at the trees and suddenly the vertigo of only sleeping for a few hours on the bus journeys hit him.

It was a world away from the gilded cage and the dizzying party.

He took a deep breath. “This feels right.”

Janus nodded. He tucked the bag under his arm carefully. “I hope…” he trailed off softly. “Well, Virgil, let us venture onwards.”

He touched his friend’s elbow for just a moment before he walked into the dark trees. After a moment, Janus followed, and they walked on together.

There was occasional litter, plastic bags and water bottles, but as they got deeper into the thick trees and tangled brambles along the forest floor it disappeared. Janus winced as he tried to lift his perfectly shone shoes over a muddy patch Virgil’s leather boots trudged through with ease. The trees were stout and gnarled, fungus protruding out of them like infections.

They wandered without any real direction, just trying to make their way further into the labyrinth of trees.

Virgil suddenly caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye and he grabbed his friend’s arm.

It could have been a pile of abandoned clothes and torn out feathers-

But there was a glimpse of leopard print, and the vague outline of wings, and a low crooning coming from the figure curled there.

Janus crouched down six feet away from him, laying Loki’s bag by his side. “Remus,” he said so softly that Virgil barely heard it. “Remus, it’s Janus.”

Remus froze. Then his wings curved up around him. They were a lot taller than Janus was crouching. A pair of grey eyes came up to meet Janus’. His lips parted as he looked over the two of them. His purple and green makeup was smeared together until it looked like a black eye, and even his moustache seemed to have its own case of bed-head.

“We-” Virgil cleared his throat against a sudden lump. “Well, Janus, mostly, he found the guy’s house? And we went there, and, uh, we were worried about you so we looked.”

His eyes widened.

“We found your brother,” Janus said in a quiet voice. “Roman. He told us to tell you that he wasn’t a gladiator any more; he was there instead. That it, uh, wasn’t too bad.”

For a moment, Remus stopped breathing. Then he brought his hands up to his head, slumping his shoulders and letting his wings wrap around himself. “Bullshit,” he said hoarsely. “What else did he say?”

Janus bit his lip. “He told you to run away as soon as you could, and not to listen to anything they offered or threatened.”

Remus made a strangled yelping laugh which set Virgil’s teeth on edge. His wings were trembling so much that there was a slight breeze on his face. “Roman’s saviour goddamn hero bullshit-” He twined his fingers into his hair and started tugging. “He’s not- fuck,” he winced as he caught a matted section. “Not pathetic enough for that job.”

Janus tried to reach a hand out to untangle his hands from his hair, but Remus only stilled and leaned his head into his glove. Janus gently tugged at his wrist, but Remus wrapped his fingers around his hand and held it to his hair.

“Dude, you’re not pathetic. You broke out of that place all by yourself?” Virgil found his voice off-putting in the silence, but he kept speaking. “That’s hard. And you hid in the same town, in plain sight, for ages. And-”

“I ran away,” Remus said into his knees. “And I knew he’d get punished or die. He had to fight people. All goring out eyeballs and pulling out guts by the handful. Or the clawful. Depended on what kind of people were captured.”

“There are more people like you?”

He shrugged and, just like his brother, the movement made his wings move. “With the weird animal thing? Oh, sure. I would rather have a tentacle dick but you get what you get.” He spoke without humour.

Janus pressed a tiny kiss to the back of his hand, not seeming to care about the smear of dirt on it. “Darling, I’m sure you’re well enough endow-”

“No!” Virgil yelled, holding his hands up. “I have risked myself too many times today for you two to have to listen to that from you.”

Remus shrunk back further into a ball. “Sorry.”

For a moment Virgil was struck genuinely speechless. Then his brow furrowed. “Hey, no, I was just teasing.”

Janus turned to glare at him. He widened his eyes in response. Maybe he should have guessed Remus would be more delicate, but, well, it was Remus.

“Anyway, it’s okay, alright?” he attempted.

“Yeah, sure.” He lifted his head and smudged his makeup even more with the heel of his hand. “Fine.”

Virgil pulled the third sandwich out of his pocket and handed it over. “Figured you’d want that.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Remus took it and began to carefully undo the wrapping. He took a small bite of the corner. “Mom and Dad are normal but Roman and I just were just born this way- oh there ain’t no other way,” he sang as he shimmied his wings. “But we lived in the middle of nowhere, and we stayed at home our whole lives, even though we talked a lot about hiding ourselves so that we could move. We kept ourselves to ourselves and we had a farm.” He threw his crust to the forest floor, seemingly by habit of having his flock around him. “Hope they didn’t search there for me; that would suck. Our parents saw us get captured, so at least they know what happened.”

Janus nodded as he listened. “How long ago was that?”

“Two years.” He stuffed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth.

“Goodness,” he said softly. “I can’t imagine.”

The corners of Remus’ moustache twitched up into a smile. “Nah, you couldn’t. Thanks,” he said through the remains of his sandwich.

Virgil waited for him to finish eating.

“We brought Loki with us, in the bag,” he said. “We figured it would be a good cover, and we can hold the funeral here.” He reached into the bag to pull out a trowel. They definitely hadn’t had one in the cafe, so Janus must have stored it there after Remus disappeared.

Janus reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and drew out a bag of classic Lays. He handed them over to Remus. “I do hope the flavour’s alright. I think it’s a classic.”

“Perfect,” he muttered. He stumbled up to his feet with a wince, holding his wings out for balance. Even without them fully spread out, the wingspan blocked the entire section of tree behind him. He rolled his shoulders back and flapped his wings.

Both of them stared.

Remus grinned and widened his eyes. “I can fly, you know. I could shit on you midair like-” All at once, his face crumpled and he held a hand up to his mouth. “Sorry, it all hit me again,” he said with a voice like sandpaper.

Virgil put his hoodie sleeve over his mouth as he swallowed back a guilty laugh. He started digging into the soft forest soil to distract himself.

He heard a flutter of feathers- had he been missing that under the whisper of all Remus’ shifting clothes before? - and then sobbing into a suit jacket. It was kind of scratchy on your face, Virgil knew, but it hid tears pretty well. He moved his whole shoulder into his digging, watching a depression form as the other two murmured words of upset and comfort to each other.

“I thought it was you,” whispered Janus against the shell of Remus’ ear. “And- my heart just stopped.”

“I wish it was.” Remus leant his forehead against Janus’ chest.

“But then how would I hold you, hm?” he replied, and there was the brush of fabric on fabric. “We’ll get him out.”

“You promise?” Remus said, and Virgil’s hand clenched around the handle. It wasn’t a good idea to-

“Promise. Split my chest open with a pickaxe and hope to pickle my heart.”

There was a wet laugh. “Kinky.”

“Come now, that was romance as well as kink.” His best friend’s voice was unbearably soft.

A warm feeling settled in Virgil’s chest despite the chill of the weather. Dammit. He stabbed the trowel into the ground again, ignoring the wetness in his own eyes.

He kept digging, until a set of feathers nudged into his face. “Did you poke me from all the way over there?” Virgil asked incredulously. Remus’ wing was as wide as he was tall, and he used it to poke him in the cheek again. It was a little disconcerting to see how much it moved like, well, a limb of his.

A feather brushed over the tears on his cheek. The wing retracted, and Remus came over to kneel by him and take the trowel. He sunk it into the ground, gouging out a huge section of earth with a small battle-cry. He flung it over his shoulder rather than adding to Virgil’s careful pile and then grinned at him.

A smile tugged at his mouth as he reached for the bag. “I think you finished the grave.”

He carefully wrapped the pigeon in the canvas bag Janus had chosen for her and handed it to Remus.

He looked at the little bundle in his hands for a long moment. Then he took her out of the bag. He began to unwind the plastic wrap.

Janus winced.

“That’s not clean-” Virgil whispered.

“It’s going to pollute the forest otherwise,” he replied without looking away from the corpse in his hands. “This is more natural. Besides, they’re pretty clean birds.”

So they watched in silence as he carefully took it all off and placed her in the grave. She was still intact, though her body had stiffened. “Thanks for being here, even if you were technically using her to stalk me,” he said. “Um, this was Loki. She was mischievous, and bold, and really smart. I’m going to miss her.” He cleared his throat and nodded, eyes wet. “Okay. Ready.”

Virgil scooped a handful of dirt with his trowel and scattered it over her. It pattered softly against the earth. Remus was staring hard into the distance. A few rays of sun poked through the trees as he pushed the rest of the dirt back into place. “Should we leave some rocks or something?”

Janus nodded. “I can collect-”

“I thought Roman was dead until a few days ago,” Remus interrupted. It sounded like a statement from a scratchy vinyl recording. “Ghosties are easier to carry around than big living brothers who got jacked from murder. Whatever you need me to do to get him out, I’ll do it. Killing, going back- whatever.”

“I don’t need you to do those things,” Janus said firmly. “All I need you to do now is come to my apartment,” he turned to his friend. “I’m not putting you in any further danger, Virgil-”

“Bullshit.”

He paused, brow furrowing. “Beg pardon?”

“That’s bullshit,” he repeated. “This is the part where you’re you’re going to think you’re being really smart about everything,” he held his hands up, “but you stick to your principles too much and you risk yourself and maybe those two-”

“Thank you for your confidence, Virgil,” he said acidicly.

“Anyway.” This was a spectacularly bad idea. “I’m helping.”

Defensive, his voice grew more formal. “If this is about the court cases, or the job, I promise you that you owe me nothing-”

“I like you, and I like Remus, and I don’t like what’s happening.” He shrugged. “It’s not a big thing; it’s just as simple as that. Okay?”

After a moment, Janus gave a nod.

“Aw, you like me?” Remus cooed. He wiggled his shoulders and grinned, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Course.”

Janus gave Remus a helplessly fond smile. “Then it’s decided. I think we could all use some sleep, then we start this evening.”

[megan-is-mia]

Hiya! may I please ask for 16 in manipulative for Yandere Cater please he's underrated

(I know this was requested before the Halloween outfits came out and I had this filled with a short drabble but I got bit by a plot bunny about Halloween Cater not respecting boundaries and it turned into something four times the length of the original fill. Please forgive me!) 16. “If you’re not going to talk, I’ll make it so that you can’t.” (Yandere! Cater Diamond x Fem! S/o)

As a young girl (Y/n) had heard the stories about the ghoulish gravewalker who roamed the church graveyard on stormy nights. How he was supposedly not entirely human, able to create duplicates of himself as easily as one might snap their fingers. The stories said that if you saw him that you better run and pray he didn't catch you else he bury you alive and screaming for mercy in his unholy domain. (Y/n) knew this yet she still ventured out to pay her respects to her dearly departed husband. They’d been childhood sweethearts, married for less than two years before a tragic accident stole her love from this world. Like clock-work, (Y/n) would visit his grave each week with a bouquet of flowers and tell him of her life without him. This visit would mark the one year anniversary of his passing and the stormy weather fit her mood perfectly. “Oh, Matthew the pain of losing you still plagues me every night. Some of your friends have offered to wed me so I will not live in disgrace as a young widow anymore but I cannot yet bear to become a happy bride again. Not when I still weep at the sight of the ring you gave me for our engagement after you finished your apprenticeship” (Y/n) spoke sadly as she set the lilies on her beloved tombstone and knelt to sit before the grave. “A beauty such as you should not be left to mourn so” A voice said from behind (Y/n), her head whipped around as she tried to blink away the raindrops that were blurring her vision. The speaker was obviously male by his voice but she couldn't make out any detail on his attire other than it being black as the night sky above them. “Pardon my interruption Ms (L/n) but I couldn't help but notice how down you looked. Even more so than usual” the man added. “Who are you sir? How do you know my last name?” (Y/n) said in a puzzled tone as she held a hand over her eyes to block some of the rain so she could see the man better and perhaps identify him. She was better able to see him without all the rain in her eyes but she could still not put a finger on who he was. He was wearing a hat with a veil attached to it making it difficult to see his face but a pair of green eyes stared down at her through the fabric. “My name is Cater Diamonds, my fair lady, I’m the gravekeeper of this cemetery among other things. And I assumed that (L/n) was your last name because it is Matthew (L/n)’s grave I see you visiting each week. You look too young to be his mother and you do not resemble the man enough to be his sister. So I must assume you are his late wife, correct?” Cater said with a wide grin that was visible through his veil. “Yes you would be correct in that assumption, I am his wife. And Matthew was the love of my life- is the love of my life even though he has passed. I know I must accept that he is gone forever and find myself a new husband but I cannot bear to do it. He is the only man I have ever loved, how can any new relationship compare to the bond we formed since childhood?” (Y/n) wasn't sure why she was rambling to Cater but it made her feel better. “Then I suppose the only thing you can do is find a husband who is more than a simple man. And in that pursuit I can assist you Ms (L/n)” Cater said, bending down and then sitting on the ground beside (Y/n). He stared at the young woman who only stared back at him with an owlish look and an agape mouth. “Forgive my forwardness but I have fallen madly in love with you over these past twelve months since your husband’s funeral” Cater added with a soft sigh. “But, we have only just met, I do not know you well enough for that” (Y/n) protested her face turning red with embarrassment at how abrupt this strange man’s declaration of love was especially when he’d also admitted to essentially stalking her when she was in her most vulnerable state of grief. She shivered at the thought that he might have heard her ramblings about how much she missed her husband and her desire to be reunited with him in death.

“Ah, but I know you (Y/n) I know you better than anyone else in this little town does” Cater said, leaning in close to the young woman’s face, making it easy for her to see the glow in his eye and the almost unnatural angle of his smile. “I know you even better than that foolish husband of yours. He did not deserve such a treasure as you, I will not be as foolhardy as him” he added grabbing (y/n)’s hand and holding it gently. “You go too far sir, I do not wish to speak to you any longer” (Y/n) said angrily, her face turning even redder now from fury as she yanked her hand away from the man and got to her feet with a huff. She would just have to come back to the graveyard another night when this rude man was not present and she could speak to her deceased love in peace. She began to walk towards the cemetery exit when she heard Cater let out a chuckle. “I wouldn't be so hasty (Y/n)” Cater said, making the young woman stop dead in her tracks before she forced herself back into motion to leave the graveyard with her dignity intact. “Don't ignore me, sweetheart. If you’re not going to talk, I’ll make it so that you can’t” this threat made (Y/n)’s stomach churl and she began walking a bit faster until eventually, she had broken into a sprint towards the cemetery gates. 

Cater was right on her heels, easily keeping up with her as she tried to flee from him. She was so focused on keeping distance from him that she didn't see an obstacle suddenly pop up in the archway of the gate and she crashed into it with a painful thud. Whatever the thing was it was grappy and she was held in place by… Cater? When she looked back she could see him walking up behind her, but when she looked down there he was with his arms around her.

“Nobody can escape the grim reaper you know, and no one can escape my shovel once I’ve seen them transpassing in this graveyard” both Caters said in unison. “I cannot let anyone escape, not even a pretty soul like you (Y/n) it is my duty to collect the souls of those who break the rules” he added the sound jumping between the two versions of him and terrifying (Y/n) to such a degree she couldn't do anything but quiver. “Don't be so frightened love, every rule has a loophole after all” the Cater who’d been chasing her said as he reached his clone and (Y/n). “If I make you my wife, then you’ll be under the same obligations as I but also be granted the same protections from the grim reaper” the Cater who was holding her continued for his copy. “All the dead below are ready to witness our union and make it legally binding” the original Cater finished as he grabbed (Y/n) from himself. “All you got to do is say ‘I do’ and give me a kiss. But I warn you if you turn down this offer, I swear that I will spend the rest of eternity keeping that pathetic human whelp of a husband you had away from you in the underworld. So think carefully about what you want to have happen love” Cater said, hugging (Y/n) close as his duplicate faded into the ground below them as if he'd never existed at all. “I…” (Y/n) trailed off, did she really want to go through with this? Agreeing to be wed to a madman who wasn't even human? Was it better to deny him in this moment and try to escape his clutches again? No, deep down she knew the answer was no. She was outmatched and all she could do is try and accept that. “...I do” she finally said, feeling her insides clench as she did so. “Wonderful, now for a kiss to seal the deal~”  Cater said gleefully moving one hand to his head to remove his hat and veil, giving (Y/n) her first real view of his ghostly white complexion and his heavily ringed eyes before he closed the distance between them by pressing his lips against hers. His kiss, was truly the kiss of death. (Y/n) could feel him draining the life from her and her eyes fell shut. She’d awake soon after deep in a coffin under the earth with Cater smiling down at her as he welcomed her to her new reality as an gravewalker's wife… THE END

[druddigoon]

Bederia Scraps

[au where darkest day never happens and bede becomes champion]

“Next up, two-time challenger Gloria Bauer has climbed through the finals to arrive at the top! For veteran’s of--”

The trainer at the other side of the stadium is a tiny silhouette amid a field of artificial green, rendered small and insignificant against the swell of the crowd. 

“--last year’s gym circuit, she had been a prime candidate for the championship, before being ousted by our current holder in the finals. Will--”

There’s something in her eyes. Looks familiar, somehow, but her face doesn’t spark a memory. A year’s worth of handshakes and the faces all blur together. The trainer might’ve been something, once. 

“--she have what it takes to avenge her loss? Or will--”

It doesn’t matter anymore. 

“--history repeat itself? Here he comes! Give--”

Chin up, back ramrod straight. Deep breaths, clothes tucked tight, makeup to cover the late night fatigue, not a thread or hair out of place. Appearance is everything here; the cameras are watching, the sponsors are watching, Rose is watching. 

“--it up for our current defending champion, Bede Cadieu!” 

Can’t fall now. 

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

[a fic detailing bede’s soul-search after his disqualification, where he hitchhikes for several weeks alone]

1.

Good things never last. 

He’s known this long enough, frequently enough; should’ve learned by now too, but he was drawn towards promise like a moth to a flame, invincible with the sky in his wings until they were burning, burning, limestone shattered like graveyards at his feet. Too late, and he never learned. 

The first to leave was Rose. Oleana was the one that approached to take his possessions: league card, badge case, pockets full of wishing stones he’d been meaning to turn over to her, challenger’s outfit too if he hadn’t been wearing them under his coat. She stripped him of association, patting him down like she was searching for contraband. Would've taken his pokemon too, had he not bared his teeth in a desperate defiance when she reached for them, don’t she dare take his pokemon he will fight, they are all that I have left and I don’t care if there are witnesses they will not stop me, they are my everything I will fight. (Oleana’s hand retracts like whiplash, and she hurries after Rose’s departing figure.)

The second to leave was the scientist. She’d been poring over the monument, talking to anyone who cared to listen about the breakthrough in some sort of Galarian history. Important enough to send ripples through the scientific community, maybe, a paper published by a woman who’d been at the right place at the right time with no mention of the scapegoat. Collected her samples and left, eager to stake her claim.

The third to leave was Gloria. 

He didn't mean to remember her name, but it's stuck sometime between Hulbury and Galar Mine No 2, stuck hard and fast and never let go. Fitting, when she has been nothing but a burr to his side. Goliath, downed by a pebble of a no-name bug-catcher; he had everything to lose and she took this from him, took everything and still had the audacity to stand and look at him, something close to an apology in her eyes. Something almost like--

Sympathy. He hates the reprieve it makes him feel.

When she reaches out a tentative hand, he shoved roughly past her, into the throng of a curious crowd.

He was done watching his own funeral. 

(Later that day, his league-issue card was declined by the hotel services. Inane folly, he thinks, to hope that bureaucratic sluggishness would allow him to cash a couple more nights in--Rose never responded to anything of his this quickly before.)

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

[next two are an attempt at slice of life where bede meets people/pokemon in gloria’s life]

There's a saying among pokemon professions that in order to properly court a pokemon trainer, a suitor would have to appeal to two families: their parents, and their pokemon team. 

For Bede, Gloria's mum was easy. She had snuck into her daughter's loft for a "surprise visit" at six in the morning, only to stumble upon Bede passed out on her couch. Technically, they had come back from official league duties, too late for the corvitaxis to still be operating. Technically, said official league duties involved dealing with dangerous dynamax dens that are still cropping up in the Wild Area, all done under wraps to avoid inciting public panic. 

However, technicalities faltered against her skeptical look when the phrase "midnight excursions" slipped out of Bede's mouth. Whatever embarrassment he felt was eclipsed when Gloria left her room, still in pyjamas, only to choke on her yawn when she saw her visitor.

He prepared for the mythical shovel-talk he'd heard were a staple of pursuing a romantic relationship. He prepared for a shouting match, intruder, stranger, you don't belong anywhere near my daughter. Instead, he felt a gentle pat on his head (strange--Gloria liked to touch his hair too) as she told her barely coherent daughter that it's rude to make guests sleep on the couch.

She has a sense of humour, he'll give her that. He wouldn't mind calling her Mum too. 

"No, go away," Bede says to the monster hovering near his heels. "Bad, nasty bug. Go away."

Durant gives no indication that it hears him except for the little tilt of its head. It gingerly noses his pant leg, then, with mandibles that can snap his entire calf, nibbles at his ankles. Bede blanches. 

"Gloria, get your metal death machine away from me."

"Hmm?" Gloria's head peeks out from behind a steaming curry pot. "Awww, he likes you! Durant always wants to be everybody's friend. He wouldn't harm anyone outside of battles."

"I've seen him--" Bede bites back a wince as Durant digs its claws into its leg, trying to haul itself up. "--bring back huge sticks, only to snap them clean in half, accidentally, and sit down to whine over them. He's a hazard."

"Face it, you're only bitter because he one-shots your entire team. Relax, I've been training him to better control his strength, so you shouldn't have any unfortunate accidents." She leaves her curry to simmer as she makes her way towards him, disentangling the ant pokemon from his pants to carry like a doll. Durant nibbles at her chin, and Bede has a split-second panic attack at how his partner's face is held between its shearing jaws.

"Gloria, I love you, but..."

"Here." She grasps his hand and guides it to Durant, holding it still as antennae feel around. With a trill, Durant lifts its head to expose its neck. "Scratch him here, on the junction between the head and thorax. It's his favorite spot."

He does.

 The "chin area" is sleek and strangely warm. Durant's abdomen shakes almost like a wagging tail as it leans into his palm. 

Hard to believe something that can so mercilessly tear down battles with iron head and rock slide would be coming back for scritches. Gloria's watching the two of them with a small smile on her face, and suddenly he understands. Like pokemon, like trainer.

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

[misc. drabble]

“We’re both challengers, and I’ve just given you my card.” Bede holds out his hand in open expectation. “It’s polite to extend the same courtesy.” 

“Hmm? Oh!” The challenger in the green beret--he couldn’t remember her name for the life of him--looked up from his card and delicately stowed it away in the side pockets of her bag. “I don’t even think I have any copies of mine. Didn’t think I’d be trading them. Here.” 

She drops a chunk of cardstock in his hands. It looks like it's been tossed into a Roar of Time: edges fraying, ink chipped off, and a suspicious dark blot on the lower left corner. No signature, no name. Bede carefully maneuvers his fingers so he isn't touching the stain. 

"Do you have anything...newer than this."

"No. Um. That's my first card, actually. You keep it--I've heard originals sell for loads, enough to cover your losses for this battle." 

Of all things...cheeky bastard. She seems to know this too; a couple seconds into his shocked silence she bursts out laughing, walking off.

He flips the card in his hands. Challenger 227. Haphazardly dressed. Looks like she walked out of bed and into the photo booth. 

He still doesn't know her name.