#and thank you especially for your manners i really deeply appreciated it <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[moodmoodthecrabking]

rainbow adorable romantic narlie moodboard requested by anon

[esmerulia-chantelle]

Deeply and Hopelessly In Love Part 1

Azul Ashengrotto x GN!Reader

Summary: You wonder about a lot of things, especially regarding Azul.

Notes: Happens at the end of Book 3 so there will be some spoilers! Also, Azul calls you sweetheart. Reader is not Yuu.

A repost from my old blog @escha-evenstar. Edited.

The sounds of abundant chatter from customers and the shuffle of footsteps from workers could be heard. It was a busy day at the Mostro Lounge. The point-card system you proposed was now being implemented and based on the large crowd inside the campus cafe, it certainly attracted a lot of students.

By reaching a certain number of points via orders, customers may redeem a free consultation with the manager — namely the one and only Azul Ashengrotto, Housewarden of Octavinelle known for his ability to make any wish or desire come true.

Who wouldn't be drawn to that kind of opportunity?

After hearing about the new promotional offer, your friends immediately placed in their orders to start collecting points which delighted Azul as he thanked them for their prompt orders. Your friends cheerily walked away to take a seat while Jade and Floyd went to where they were assigned and started to work. But you? You stayed right where you were. Azul then turned to you.

"What about you? Are you not going to order something?" He asked confusedly.

"Nope. I'm happy the place is packed but that means you'll have your work cut out for you, right? So let me help! The more hands to help, the better!" You said enthusiastically.

Azul protested, wanting for you to just relax and dine with your friends yet you insisted on helping around, showing him that bright smile of yours. You started to walk away to start taking someone's order when he suddenly held your hand and pulled you back to him, surprising you.

"Wait," Azul said, his cerulean eyes boring into your (e/c) ones. As you stared back, you took the chance to appreciate the beautiful shade of blue orbs looking at you.

"Yes?" You asked. "I still have some energy so I really don't mind helping out if that's what you're worried about. Oh! Or if it's money, you don't have to pay me back either."

"Nonsense! I can't have you work and not reimburse you," Azul retorted. He opened his mouth to continue speaking but a staff member was calling for his attention. Most probably matters related to the lounge.

"Just go. I'll be okay," you reassured him with a smile. "I've already worked here a few times before so it'll be fine. Let me help you."

Azul sighed. "You're not going to give up, are you? ...fine. But we'll talk later," he said, still speaking in a businessman-like manner, though you couldn't help but think that there was a hint of.. softness to it?

You nodded and hummed in agreement. You were about to start working but you couldn't leave yet.

You're still holding my hand. I wonder why. I wonder about a lot of things.

"Azul?" You called him softly.

Azul had a dazed look in his eyes and so you squeezed his hand once more. He then noticed he was still holding onto your hand. "Ah! Right, of course," he said before reluctantly letting go and clearing his throat. "Ehem. My apologies." You could see tinge of pink on his cheeks.

"It's alright. Don't worry," you giggled.

The two of you then set off to do some work. Fast forward the time and now Mostro Lounge is finally closed. After the last customers have left, you felt the tiredness seeping in. You sat down on the nearest couch and let out a sigh of relief, closing your eyes to rest. Your friends have already left together with your dorm mates, Yuu and Grim, who were called in by Headmage Crowley for whatever reason, unfortunately. You were thinking about today's events when a smooth, calm voice rang in your ears.

"I see the day has worn you out," someone said. Your eyes sprang open in surprise.

It was Azul. Still looking as handsome as always with that crisp dorm uniform. His confident aura that commands such power. Those lips that curve into a teasing smile. And the eyes. Oh, those ocean-hued eyes! You could stare at them all day long.

You're so charming. I find a lot of things about you attractive. I wonder.. what do you think of me? Am I attractive too?

It's only been a few hours but you honestly missed him already. Although you saw him while serving customers with their orders, stolen glances and subtle smiles were sadly not enough for you who craved his presence.

I wonder.. Did you miss me? I missed you. I'm sorry if I'm clingy. I just like being with you.

You couldn't muster a reply, too busy and lost in your thoughts as you stared at him.

Azul spoke again. "Too tired to even answer me, sweetheart?" He teased.

You blushed at his words. Particularly, that one word. Azul only addresses you by that nickname when the two of you are alone, or out of earshot from others. Even though he's been calling you that for some time now, you still blush every time he calls you by that term. He seemed to take delight in making your face flush pink. If only it meant more than just a teasing from a friend.

You let out a chuckle, trying to hide that feeling in your chest and ignoring the heat on your face. "Ehehe~ I guess I am feeling a bit tired. I've never seen the lounge have that many customers before."

"This is good news, of course," Azul exclaimed. "We made three times our usual profit. All in but a day's work! Your suggestion has definitely made Mostro Lounge even more successful. Now, shall we continue our conversation from earlier?"

You and Azul were now seated side by side on a comfortable leather couch inside a different room. Lots of books were propped on bookshelves and his desk was neatly piled with contracts and other paperworks. Behind his desk stood the entrance to his private vault. Soft, wavering lights from the aquarium gleamed across the room. This was Azul's office, also known as the VIP Room. You've been here a number of times before so it provided a sense of familiarity and tranquility to you. This place was also witness to some small but special moments you had with the cecaelia.

I wonder.. Did you think those moments were special too?

As you were reliving some memories, Azul's voice pulled you out of your trance as he offered you some tea. You thanked him and sipped on the warm beverage, he discussed what he was offering in exchange for the work you did for the lounge. You reasoned out that he didn't have to but Azul insisted that he give something back to you in return. In the end, you just accepted his "payment". Seeing as he's still in the give-and-take mindset.

You then enjoyed a scrumptious meal together with Azul and the Leech brothers. It was a delightful dinner, to be honest. Although most people probably thought the trio to be.. Suspicious? Shady? Terrifying, even? They could also be very nice and fun to be with. You enjoyed their company.

After finishing, you decided it was time to leave since it was starting to get late. You bid them your thanks and farewell. "I'll see you guys tomorrow! Goodnight!"

You were now heading back to Ramshackle Dorm. The peace of the night made you recall today's memories. The trip to the museum. Your heart-to-heart talk with Azul. Helping out at the lounge. Dinner with friends. It was really a nice day, and as you strolled along the path, your mind couldn't help but think. You did wonder a lot, after all.

I wonder.. do you feel the same way as I do?

Part 2 here! Masterlist here!

If you enjoyed this: likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. Thank you for reading!

[omniblades-and-stars]

✨Let's talk about OCs!✨How would you describe your OC's personality/aesthetic? What's your favourite thing about them? Tell us a fun fact(s) about your OC or their creation!

❤️Send this to at least 3 people to spread some OC appreciation!❤️

Oh wow, you can't just ask the girl with a thousand OCs to describe their OCs. I will go on forever and ever and ever. So in the spirit of trying to force myself to get back to work on PtK, I am going to answer for the girls who have shown up in the story so far!

How would you describe your OC's personality/aesthetic?

Lou: Lou is vivacious, she's bubbly but a lot of the bubbly comes out when she's burying the sadness she has even deeper. She's very confident, and doesn't know a whole lot of shame.

She loves tight clothes with rich colors. Though she frequently slinks around in her blue and gray flex armor suit, especially when she's on Omega because a person like her gets into too much trouble not to have at least the suggestion of armor on her body.

Nilea: Nilea can be stiff mannered and sometimes brash. She has a hard time connecting to people, feeling always a bit like she's just on the outside. But once she does feel like she's friends with you, she's ride or die even if she's quite certain your plans are going to get her killed. She's very neat. She's also prone to bouts of depression where she doesn't take care of herself despite how generally regimented she lives her life.

Nilea cares more about utility than style. Her most recent armor (heavy) was red, but she's not married to the color by any means. And for casual wear she's just wearing an easy and comfortable shirt and whatever the turian equivalent of cargo pants is. It's never a bad idea to have lots of pockets.

Yaeno: Yaeno is the type who can command a room without trying and without coming off as arrogant. She's charismatic and very good at people. She cares deeply about what she does for a living (rescuing people from pirates, slavers and mercenaries when authorities won't get involved). She makes fast friends when she deems those people worth her time of course.

Yaeno, being a quarian, wears an envirosuit. She wears good deep purples and oranges with white embroidered highlights and patterns. Sometimes she even ventures to wear a clear faceplate, but not always. She thinks it's nice occasionally to leave people guessing about what's really going on with her facial expressions.

What's your favorite thing about them?

Lou: She's clever and very adaptable. She makes a very unlikely sort of bounty hunter and that's because instead of brute force she plays to her own strengths.

Nilea: Her principles. She has a set of principles that she feels so strongly about that she even blew up her entire life about. Also.... tall alien woman with a gun...

Yaeno: Her determination. I don't necessarily want to call it unshakable confidence, though confidence plays a role. She's sure enough of herself and her goals to look at the impossible and terrifying odds and chuckle at them.

Fun facts about their creation!

Firstly, this story all started because I had an idea for a homebrew tabletop game I'm still trying to figure out how to make rules for.

(If you've got ideas about that please let me know.)

Lou: Lou started because I was tired of people with southern accents being the stupid one in a group and also not being represented like hardly at all in sci-fi media. Also, I dumped all of my bipolar manic episode impulses into her.

Nilea: Her name was originally going to be Ione.

Yaeno: Was originally just going to be in the game as an art for character creation pages and possibly as a named NPC but then this whole venture turned into a real story in my brain that I needed to write very badly.

Thanks for this fun little chain ask! Reminds me of the days of yore.

[xxpeppermintxx109]

Pep!! Here (again) to tell you how incredible chap 20 was!! :') My absolute favourite part was Aemond's initial response to Shaera's collapse. Not flying into a rage or going numb or being sad but wondering how she'd act in the situation as if she wasn't the one who was injured. Trying to play make-believe as if she was gonna walk right in as a spectator. The part where he wanted to clean the blood hit me so hard I literally cried bc that resonated so much with my own experience of grieving. I think a lot of stories tend to gloss over/neglect the fact that denial is one of the first and most instinctive ways humans respond and process traumatic/sorrowful events. When I first knew that someone close to me was terminally ill, I didn't react by crying or being upset. My initial thought was about when I'd get a chance to cook with them again- which is ludicrous bc I knew deep down that would never happen anymore- but that was how I found myself dealing with the heaviness of everything. The way you wrote that part in the story truly makes me think that you know what it means to live as the characters you write- that they're real, complex individuals that live and experience things the way we do too. Love you for that!! On a separate note, Baela and Qoren really stuck out to me so much this chapter!! Baela- I LOVE HER. The way she's both the family's voice of reason and so loving of her family is amazing. Baela really shone in this chapter- what with cleaning Shaera's blood and supporting Rhaenyra and comforting Joff, this queen had A LOT on her plate. Second mother of the blacks honestly. I especially appreciate how grounded Baela is in the reality of everything that's happening, while Shaemond are fools in love and all. But obviously the backdrop of their relationship is immensely tense and political, and I think Baela provides that timely reminder. Also Qoren omfg, I've always been neutral towards him but I loved him in this chapter??!!?? The way he managed the whole poisoning fiasco and the realisation of what it was that Shaera drank AND how he still cares so deeply about her in spite of what he knows. Honestly if Shaera's not gonna husband him up, I AM. Qoren x ayalou truther now!!! Also I think the manner in which you've laid out the relationships between the blacks and the greens in this fic is so intricate. And it really came to the forefront this chapter. A regret I've always had after reading f&b is that there wasn't much room given to exploring the complexity of the relationships between both parties. It was pretty clear they hated each other, yes, but there wasn't the same kind of tension and layeredness to it as GLBH imo. Anyway I can't believe I've written a whole essay in your asks AGAIN (when I struggle with writing 1-paragraph long discussion posts for school lol)- sorry if I was rambling!! TLDR: I love you + your work so much and cried multiple times reading this chapter. Sending you warm hugs!! <3

AHHH HI AYA! THANK U FOR THIS DEVASTATINGLY KIND ASK!! I’ve been wanting to post a little something but I like to give people like 5 ish days before I post anything about the chapter, so I hope that’s okay!!

THE DENIAL!! While Aemond is certainly the most rash out of all of them (in my opinion cause of his actions in f&b and even a little in hotd), I think there’s a certain hesitance. And denial! Because why would anyone think that Shaera of all people has been poisoned? Shaera mf Velaryon?? The girl who literally could not even hurt a fly?? There’s also a realization that the girl he very much is infatuated with is doing something she should not be (bleeding) and that’s fucking horrifying. He knows blood bothers her and he knows that he would do anything to keep her from bleeding if it meant she was comfortable, but he can’t do that, and I think that makes him go error 404 for a moment, and even then that denial carries over to when he finds out about the betrothals. Now he’s agitated and clearly ready to snap (and he does a little), but when he hears about the marriages, he has to shut down again before he does something bad and there’s something dangerous about him rn. He’s not acting poised—save for when he goes to Shaera’s bedside, but even then, he’s brought to tears even if he doesn’t realize it—and that’s not the Aemond that Alicent (and Criston) raised, and only his siblings are realizing that.

I’m so glad you loved Baela and Qoren this chapter!! They’re some of my favorite characters to write! Baela truly is the voice of reason and she cares so much about keeping everyone safe and happy, even if that means risking the short-term happiness here and there. She truly thinks like the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and she’s certainly the best of Daemon and Laena, and that’s why I love her so fucking much (even if people are upset she’s not team shaemond LMAO—Guys it’s for a good reason!!). And Qoren!! My dilf. My king. My baby girl. Qoren certainly has his jealous moments prior to this chapter but there’s a certain smugness about him. A security. He knows that he has Shaera’s hand secured and at this moment in time, he could care less who she’s fucking (though he certainly has his suspicions and it’s not a happy thought) because that’s not what matters. This isn’t the right time for him to get jealous (or at all) and he understands that because he’s older, more mature, and has many more life experiences than some people sksksksk. His goal isn’t even to save Shaera cause he wants to marry her but because she deserves to be saved. She deserves to live, and Qoren will not see another woman die unnecessarily if he can help it (and he can certainly help it this time, whereas with his wife, he couldn’t.)

I’m so glad the relationships are landing. That means so much to mean cause I spend so much time on making sure I build them as organically as possible. They take a lot of time, but I always feel so pleased with how they turn out with each chapter and I’m so happy that people love them all just as much as I do.

Thank u so very much for this lovely comment aya. I loved it and I hope this response ,does it justice <3

-p

[littleoddwriter]

Hello!! Could I please have an angst to fluff prompt for Billy Lenz with a GN! S/O? the scenario I had in mind is the S/O is coming home from work after dealing with a coworker who’s making their life difficult, and they’re drained and irritable and maybe snap at Billy before realizing they screwed up and seek him out to explain and reconcile. Thank you so much! Your writing is so fun to read, especially your slasher stuff!

Snapping | Billy Lenz x GenderNeutral!Reader

Hey there! I'm terribly sorry that it took me so long to write it, but I really hope you enjoy what I've done with your prompt. And thank you so much for not only the request, but also your kind words, they're very much appreciated!!! <3 :) <3

summary; See above.

notes; Gender Neutral!Reader; Light Angst with a Happy Ending; Hurt/Comfort; Mental Instability; Snapping at someone; Making up; Fluff.

Reblogs > Likes. Thank you!

After the day at work that you've had, you were in a bad mood and so utterly exhausted. You were craving for your bed, a movie you loved and Billy's arms around you. And you had really hoped that once you saw Billy, your mood would already lift a little; but you had to find that that didn't happen.

When you came through the door and undressed, you saw that the kitchen was just as dirty as you had left it and there were things strewn all across the floor in the hallway and living room.

Sighing deeply, you squeezed your eyes shut for a moment to help you suppress some of the frustration and anger you were feeling. You knew that Billy had a hard time doing chores and cleaning up after himself, but you absolutely couldn't handle even the sight of it at that very moment.

Once you felt like you were calm enough, you looked for Billy and found him lying on your shared bed with his eyes closed, apparently napping. Gingerly, you sat down on the bed next to him and gently shook his shoulder to wake him.

"Billy, my love?" you tried softly.

Despite your gentleness and best efforts not to startle him, he woke up with a jolt, looking at you with wide, wild eyes.

"It's just me, Billy. It's okay," you said, holding your hands up in a placating manner, "I'm sorry for scaring you."

"You're back!" he exclaimed then and wrapped his arms tightly around you, pulling you close against him.

Chuckling softly, you hugged him back for a few short moments. Then you gently pushed against him so he would let go of you, because the position was hell on your back and you couldn't handle that on top of everything else. Unfortunately, he didn't let go of you at all and instead started swaying from side to side with you in his arms. And while you had really longed to be held by him, you started to get more upset again.

Why couldn't he listen to you just once? You had already tried to overlook the mess he's left downstairs, so why couldn't he at least work with you sometimes?

It reminded you all too much of the co-worker that has been continuously making your life a living hell lately. They never listened to you either. They didn't respect you. They made your work much harder and more stressful than it needed to be.

Angrily, you pushed against Billy with more force than you had intended, but at least that successfully got him to let go of you. "Billy! Why can't you just fucking listen to me? Just once!" you shouted, glaring at him.

For a split second, there was complete silence, during which Billy stared at your with shock written all over his face. In the next moment, he got up and quickly stalked out of the room as he was muttering something you couldn't quite understand.

"Wait, Billy-," you tried to stop him by reaching out to him with your hands, but he walked right out of the room and slammed the door shut behind himself, making you flinch.

Burying your face in your hands, you groaned and let yourself fall back onto the mattress, feeling the warmth Billy has left there. You stayed just like that for a couple of minutes, already feeling the guilt weigh down your entire body. Not for the first time, you wished you could turn back time and make things right, or better yet, that you could just shut your mouth and stop hurting the people you love. Unfortunately, neither of those things ever seemed to happen.

To cool down, you decided to go downstairs and clean up the place. That would at least give you some time to gather yourself and think about your apology.

Once you were done, you sighed deeply and started looking for Billy. You already had a good idea of his whereabouts, and so you immediately walked upstairs and over to the attic. The ladder was pulled up and you stretched to get it back down. Luckily, Billy apparently wasn't too upset; because otherwise he would have made sure you couldn't get up to him so easily.

Poking your head inside the attic, you looked around and felt a jolt of panic rattle you when you didn't immediately spot him anywhere.

Nonetheless, you got inside entirely and walked around the room then, patiently looking for your partner. In the end, you found him cowering in-between some boxes behind an old arm chair you had stored up there. He was muttering what sounded like confused nonsense to you.

"Billy...," you sighed softly, sitting down across from him.

A whine tore itself from his throat. It sounded so painful, stabbing you right through the heart.

"I'm terribly sorry for shouting at you, my love. I shouldn't have done that and I really didn't mean to, either. Listen, um, it's not much of an excuse, but lately this co-worker of mine has been really bothering me and I've already been in such a bad mood when I came home and then it just kept piling up. So when you wouldn't let go of me, I just snapped. And I'm so sorry I did, Billy, I really am. I shouldn't have let my bad mood get the better of me. It wasn't your fault," you gently explained yourself to Billy.

"It's always your fault, Billy!" he yelled in his father's voice, startling you for a short moment.

"No, it's not," you assured him calmly, "It's not your fault, Billy, all right? Not at all."

A few more tense moments passed between you two. But then, whimpering, he got on his knees and spread his arms open, letting you in. Immediately, you closed the last few inches that kept you from him and embraced him in a tight, comforting hug. Your lips touched his temple and you quietly shushed him as you whispered little assurances to him.

Once he had calmed down, you tilted his head back and looked him in the eyes. "I love you so much, Billy. I'm really sorry for lashing out and I promise to work on myself so it won't happen again, okay? Are we good?"

Sniffling, Billy nodded and pecked your lips almost shyly. "I love you, too, Y/N."

[buckys-forgotten-plum]

Hold Me Tighter ||3||

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Peter and reader have a talk and Bucky overhears. 

Warnings: Swearing I think? A big of angst, fluff, Buck jumping to conclusions bc he’s a soft dummie...

A/N: Hej hej friends, it’s been a bit since i’ve posted something. My life has been wild and though i’ve been working on various things I have yet to complete said various things. Hopefully posting this gets me back into the groove. Please enjoy and give me feedback as its very much appreciated!! <3

Part ||1||   Part ||2||

~~~~~~

“Do you have an ace?” 

“Nope, go fish,” 

“Do you have a crush on Bucky?” 

You almost drop your hand full of cards on the ground as the words leave the man's mouth. 

“Wha-Peter!” 

“What? It kinda looks obvious, on both sides, but it’s like you guys or holding back or something,” Peter shrugs nonchalantly as he plucks a card from the deck before laying down another set of matches. 

You pout, “Why are you so good at this game?” 

“Answer my question first,” He laughs lightly while playfully nudging your shoulder with his fist. 

You and Peter had been the ones left at the tower while the team was on their latest mission. You felt grateful for the company, or at least you did before he started asking questions while he taught you how to play various card games. The pair of you sat facing each other, legs crossed and knees almost touching as the deck of cards sat in the middle. 

“I dunno… Maybe?” You could feel the fire in your cheeks and ears as you answered, forgetting to ask if Pete had a card and taking straight from the deck instead. 

Peter smiled widely and set down the few cards he still had, putting his full attention on you, “That’s great, Y/n! I think he likes you too! Why haven’t you guys gotten together yet? You spend like every day with each other when Bucky isn’t on a mission. He even cooks for you all the time and I’ve never seen him do that with anyone-” 

“Peter, it's not like that. I’m pretty sure he just thinks of me as like… A charity case or something. He’s helped me a lot since I’ve gotten here but it was solely because he felt obligated too. Kind of like when you find a puppy on the street,” You set your cards down to the side as well, using your free hands to nervously tangle your fingers together. 

“That's ridiculous! Y/n he calls you pet names all the time, he carries you around, I even saw him kiss your cheek before he left!” Peter points an accusatory finger at you. 

Your eyes widen in shock and you stutter before responding, “Why are you paying so much attention to us? It’s weird how much you notice...And besides, lately he hasn’t really been the same. He tells me that he’s always busy with training or meetings or something, and I get that it happens, especially with what you guys do! But it just feels like he’s been avoiding me lately,” 

“The whole team has noticed! You guys have done almost everything but make it official,” The man sighs exasperatedly before leaning forward and pressing his forehead against yours, a silly habit the two of you developed for serious conversations, making you giggle a bit before pushing back, “You should talk with him about it dude,”

You keep your forehead pressed against Pete's, sighing quietly before responding, “I just think… If he doesn’t feel the same way, then everything is going to change. He won’t want to spend time with me anymore, or talk to me, he won’t wanna watch movies with me… He just- he won’t be able to think of me as more than just the silly mutant that’s been obsessed with him for as long as she’s known him,” Your face had scrunched up into a scowl as you thought about what life would be like without Bucky by your side. 

“Hey, hey, hey! He won’t do that, I promise. Bucky isn’t like that, he’d never just start to ignore you or think of you as some obsessed girl. It’s obvious he cares about you a lot, and I think it would be good for both of you to talk about it,” 

“I wouldn’t even know where to start-”

“Start with how you feel, put it all out in the open,” Pete says confidently.

“That’s crazy!”

“How is it crazy?” 

“I can’t just go up to him and say, ‘Hey I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve been deeply enthralled and have wanted to be with you since the first time we met!’” 

Peter was about to respond, but a deep voice interrupted, “Y/n?”

You and Pete pull your heads apart and gape at the tall brunette standing in the doorway, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown and his eyes full of confusion. “Bucky I-” 

He puts a hand up before you can continue, “I um-I gotta go shower. Sorry I interrupted you guys,” 

You sat frozen on the floor as Bucky quickly made his exit, Peter switching his gaze between you and the now empty doorway. “Oh my god-” he muttered in absolute bewilderment.

“Wh-what just happened? What should I do? Oh my god he hates me! He’ll never speak to me again-” 

“No! No, no, no it’s fine! Just a misunderstanding! You need to go after him and clear it up,” Peter tells you, hurriedly standing up before grabbing your hands and helping you stand. “You need to tell him everything Y/n. *Everything.*” 

You nod your head in agreement, starting for the doorway, “Thanks pete, I’ll see you later,” 

Peter’s response doesn’t quite register as you quickly walk down the maze of hallways, trying to find the fastest possible route to Bucky’s room. Your heart felt like it was pounding hard enough to escape your chest. 

You let out a yelp as you suddenly hit a wall, “Oh hey kid, you seen Barnes yet? He was lookin for ya,” Tony’s hands are on each of your arms to steady you as he begins to ask how your week with Peter went. 

You can’t focus on any of his questions, solely focused on fixing the mess you had made. 

“Kid? You okay?” Tony steps closer to you, his overbearing father coming out as he reaches up to check your temperature, “hmm maybe we should get you to med, you feel a little hot,” 

“Tony I’m fine-” You try and back out of his grasp but he holds onto you firmly. 

“Hey if you’re gettin’ a fever we want to catch it quick-” 

“I don’t have a fever, please-” 

“C’mon, it’ll only take a minute,”

“Oh my god, goodbye!” You huff out before pushing Tony away from you and using your power to disappear from the hallway. 

Tony lets out an annoyed sigh, “If you get anyone else sick you’re the one who’s taking care of them!” he shouts into the empty space. 

You however, had already popped up outside of Bucky’s door, your hands clenched into fists of stress and nerves. Your right hand went to open the door but when you tried to twist the handle it didn’t budge. 

“Friday can you let me in?”

“Mr. Barnes has specified to not be bothered for the time being,” The AI responded simply. 

You let out a huff of frustration, “Okay well it’s either you unlock the door and let me in or I just pop up in there, so…”

There was a moment of silence before you heard the quiet click of the door unlocking, making you smile victoriously, “Thank you, Friday,” 

Bucky was still in the bathroom with the door closed when you had entered his room. You took a quick look around before deciding to sit on the bed and wait for him to be done. Your fingers began to tangle and pull at themselves in a stressful manner and you couldn’t help the tight feeling in your chest. It only got worse when you heard the running water turn off and the sound of Bucky drying and dressing himself. 

When Bucky opens the door, the both of you freeze in place, eyes locked on to each other for what felt like ages. 

Bucky is the first to break eye contact and move, “I thought I told Friday I didn’t want any visitors,” he mumbles quietly, going over to toss the damp towel in his hands into a laundry hamper.

“I uh- I told her I would just pop in anyways…” 

“Shouldn’t invade people's privacy like that, kid,” his cold tone made you cringe, “can’t start abusing your power like that,”

“Listen Bucky, I came here to explain-” 

“You don’t gotta explain anything to me. I saw what I saw, it’s not a big deal,” he interrupts you and avoids your eyes as he begins to unpack from his mission. 

“Except I think you might not understand entirely-” you begin only to be interrupted again. 

“No! No, I get it. Pete is a good kid, good morals, good background. I can see why you’d like him, it makes sense,” Bucky’s voice was clearly stressed as he spoke and it just made your chest tighten even more. 

“Bucky no-” 

“He’s closer to your age, you have a lot in common, spend a lot of time together…”

“Why is everyone interrupting me today?” you groan out in frustration before getting up off of the bed and walking over to the disgruntled man. 

You move to sit on the other side of the duffle bag he continues to empty, still avoiding your eyes. You let out a huff of annoyance and quickly grab hold of Bucky's hands, bringing them to a pause. 

“Kid, I gotta unpack-”

“No. Not until you let me say what I need to say. Without interrupting me,” You state firmly.

Bucky visibly clenches his jaw, giving you a small nod to continue, “You didn’t hear me say those words to Peter-” 

“Yes I di-” “What did I just say? No interruptions!” 

Bucky sighs, “Sorry,” 

You take another breath before restarting, “You didn’t hear me say those words to Peter. You heard me telling him about what I’d say to someone else,” 

Bucky’s face scrunches up in confusion as he replays your words in his head, trying to put the pieces together, but failing. “Who were you going to say-” 

“You! Ya big dummy. I was telling Peter what I would say to you,” You blurt out with a breath of exasperation. 

Bucky shook his head, as if to try and wake himself up from a daydream, “Are you serious?”

“Yes! Of course I am, Buck. I- Peter said that it would be good for the both of us if I admitted my true feelings for you, and I didn’t know what I would say, so he suggested that I just flat out tell you, and…” You trail off, hoping the older can figure out the rest on his own. 

“And that’s when I walked in? When you had figured out what exactly you’d say?” 

“More or less, yeah,” you answer quietly, giving Bucky’s hands a gentle squeeze to try and bring even more reassurance. 

“Why were you so close to each other?” You looked back up to Bucky, a smile gracing your features as his gaze finally met yours. 

“Because we were having a serious discussion. Isn’t that what everyone does?” You ask, brows slightly knit in confusion.

Bucky chuckles and shakes his head, “No I think that’s only you two,” 

“Oh…” 

The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes, mulling over what you’d like to say next and trying to organize your thoughts. When Bucky didn’t say anything for a while you decided to continue on, “So um...Do you maybe uh-maybe do you feel the same way? About me?”

Bucky doesn’t even wait a beat to answer, “Oh my god yes! Yes I’ve felt the same way for ages, doll!” 

Your eyes widen in disbelief as you take in the new information, “You have?”

Bucky nods his head, a smile on his face as he looks into your eyes, “Sweetheart I’ve been head over heels for you since I first caught you in midair,” he chuckles. 

You grin at Bucky and feel the familiar flickering of your powers take place, knowing your emotions were much too strong to stop it. Within the blink of an eye you had popped out of existence and popped right back up into Bucky’s lap, making him fall over in a huff of laughter. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into the softness of his hair, “What gives then you goof? Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Bucky wraps his arms around your waist and gives you a tight squeeze, “Once you started gettin’ the hang of your powers and began training with the rest of the team, I dunno… It felt like you didn’t need me there for you anymore, I didn’t want to risk holding you back from making new friends and connections,” Your heart split in two hearing Bucky’s explanation.

You pull your face out of his lovely smelling hair and stare into the soldier's pretty blue eyes, “That’s silly Bubba. You would never hold me back! You’re the reason why I’m so comfortable around everyone now. You gave me the strength to get out of my comfort zone,” Bucky grinned at your words and shook his head, mentally chiding himself for being so foolish. 

“M’sorry lovie, I guess I got in my own head about everything. Almost messed it all up too because I got so upset when I saw you and Peter,” Your chest swelled with happiness when he calls you one of your favorite nicknames, knowing the two of you were back to normal. 

“It’s okay! I can understand why you thought what you did. But I promise I’ve only ever been deeply enthralled with you,” You laugh and push your forehead up against Bucky’s, making him let out a deep melody of chuckles. 

“Does this mean I don’t have to hold back anymore? I can love on you as much as I want?” Bucky pairs his question with an affectionate nuzzle in the crook of your neck before looking back up into your gleeful eyes. 

You giggle and brush your nose up against his as you nod your head, “You coulda done that before,” 

Bucky’s hands move from around your waist to your thighs, easily lifting the both of you up from the plush carpet, “M’never lettin’ you go ever again. Gonna hold on real tight, sweet girl.” 

You keep your arms wrapped around his neck and try to pull Bucky closer, burying your face back into the crook of his neck and breathing him in. He moves the two of you over to his bed and flops down onto it, pulling the both of you under the covers and tangling his legs with yours. The two of you stay like that for what feels like ages.

A perfectly content tangle of happiness and relief. 

[tennessoui]

obikin 28,11 :3

kit to kit: oh, 28, knocking on the wrong door, that can be a cute modern quirky au

kit to kit: yeah totally sure !!! you know what it could also be? 4.2k of dark canon AU that is dub con due to identity issues that definitely ends with anakin tied to a bed with future plans of stockholm syndroming him!!!

(so read at your own risk here this is definitely on the darker side of these prompt fills)

28. Knocking On The Wrong Right Wrong Door AU (4.2k)

The storm’s picked up to dangerous levels by the time Anakin and his padawan have picked their way out of the smoking rubble of their ship and made it into the nearby town.

“Think of it this way!” Anakin yells over the howl of the wind. “The rain’ll put out the rest of the fire!”

The look Ahsoka gives him is cold enough to freeze the rain that’s pelting down on them.

“I hope Master Windu grounds you for destroying another one of the Temple’s ships,” she snips at him, looking deeply unimpressed with his dramatic expression of hurt and betrayal.

“No one keeps count of that stuff, Snips,” Anakin grins. “And anyway, if I get grounded, you’d definitely be grounded with me. As my Padawan.”

“I’d be promoted, actually. They’d knight me on the spot the first time I come back with all my ships intact.”

Anakin rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to say something, but there’s a crack of thunder loud enough to shake him to his bones and a seriously bright flash of lightning that connects with a wind-swept tree next to them.

“Shelter!” Anakin yells over the renewed rain. “Come on, Ahsoka!”

The town is small, but there has to be some sort of hotel or lodge or--

“We don’t have any credits, Master!” Ahsoka cries, running after him.

She’s right. All their funds were in their ship, and neither of them had thought to grab them.

Kriff it all.

He changes course as soon as they get to the outskirts of the village.

He pounds on the door of the first cottage they come across. Either no one’s in or they’re particularly unfriendly, because the door stays firmly shut.

He hits the wood harder, setting up a constant rhythm. In a second, they’ll run to the next house, but there’s something about this place that feels right. Surely if only Anakin could knock loud enough to be heard over the storm--

The door cracks open and warm yellow light spills out over the doorstep.

“What?” The man asks stiffly. Anakin can only see a sliver of his face--one blue eye, dark red hair, and a beard.

“Good evening,” Anakin says, putting on his best Jedi voice. “I am seeking shelter from the storm for myself and my companion. We--”

“There’s an inn next to the school in town. Goodnight.”

Anakin wedges his foot in just before the man can close the door. “Please sir, we don’t have any credits--”

“Unfortunate. Goodnight.”

“Please, sir. My name is Anakin Skywalker. I am a General in the War. Shelter us tonight and the Jedi Order will see you repaid in full!”

The man pauses and looks him up and down slowly. The door opens a little wider. “Skywalker?” He asks, sounding suspicious.

Anakin nods eagerly. He doesn’t particularly like dropping his name like that, especially not on strange planets, but he needs to get his Padawan out of the storm. “Anakin, yes. We won’t hurt you or anything, sir. I swear.”

“Come on, Anakin,” Ahsoka says from behind him. “Let’s just go somewhere else. Someone else will let us in.”

The man tears his gaze away from Anakin, the first time he’s done so this entire time, and looks over Ahsoka as well. He opens the door even farther. “I’ll let you in,” he decides and Anakin has to fight the loud sigh of relief. “But I would like you to give me your weapons for the night, please.”

The man looks back to Anakin with a smile. It changes the lines of his face, softens them until the man looks pleasant instead of harsh. He has a nice smile. He has a really, really nice smile.

“No--” Ahsoka starts to say, sounding offended, but Anakin, still dazed by the flash of the man’s teeth, is already saying, “Yeah, of course. Here you go,” and giving his lightsaber to the man as soon as he opens the door all the way.

“Thank you, Anakin,” the man replies with another one of those smiles. Anakin can feel his face heat up at the way his name sounds rolling off this man’s tongue. “And thank you, young one,” he says when Ahsoka reluctantly thrusts her own lightsabers towards him.

“I’m not young,” Ahsoka takes great offense and the man looks apologetic.

“‘Soka,” Anakin reprimands immediately. “Don’t be rude.”

She stares at him in astonishment. He doesn’t tend to correct her that harshly, even when she’s been snippier to foreign dignitaries. But the man doesn’t deserve an attitude from either of them. He’s letting them stay in his house! He’s gorgeous! He’s going to house them out of his own generosity for the night! He’s very, very fit!

“The sitting room is just down the hall and to the right,” the man says, with a tilt of his head. Anakin obediently pulls Ahsoka along. “I’ll just go grab you some dry clothes to change into.”

Behind him he hears the man lock the door. That’s good. Safety is important and he obviously seems a little paranoid. It’s now Anakin’s full time mission to make sure the man knows he can trust him. Them.

Them.

“I have a really bad feeling about this, Anakin,” Ahsoka hisses as he practically shoves her down the hallway and into the sitting room, which looks nice and cozy. There’s a couch and everything, with a Holo projector balanced on an old looking low table.

“I’m feeling much better about this than about our odds in that storm,” Anakin argues back in an undertone. There are footsteps above them, so the man’s bedroom must be on the second floor. Anakin wonders what it looks like, and Ahsoka seems to catch on with where his thoughts are because she hits him on the shoulder.

“You’d know what I’m talking about if you were thinking with your brain instead of your lightsaber, Master.”

He opens his mouth to tell her how rude that is and also how very wrong, as Anakin can think with both, thank you very much, but the man appears in the room with them before he has a chance to.

“They won’t fit, obviously,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as if he’s embarrassed to have surprise guests in his house and not have their correct sizes in his closet. “But anything’s better than what you’re wearing now, I thought.”

“Yeah!” Anakin says eagerly. Ahsoka gives him an unimpressed look, crossing her arms. “I mean,” he coughs. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

The redhead gifts Anakin another one of his smiles. This one makes his blue eyes crinkle, which just might end up being his cause of death. Enshrine him in the Jedi Temple and at the plaque on his fee put “Here Lies Anakin Skywalker: Dead Because An Attractive Stranger Treated Him With Human Decency”.

His padawan rolls her eyes and takes her proffered stack of clothes. The man shows her where the fresher is and she stalks into it.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin apologizes immediately when the man turns to look at him with a lost look. “She’s just mad at me for crashing our ship. We were flying fine one minute and the next we have to make this emergency landing that turns out to be a bit--hard on the landing. And….you didn’t ask, did you? Kark. Sorry.”

The man smiles again with an amused shake of his head. “It’s alright, Anakin, I was wondering anyway.” He holds out the clothes for Anakin to change into and Anakin grabs them because it’s something to do that isn’t keel over from embarrassment.

Or, of course, kneel down to show this stranger how much he appreciates his kindness.

Anakin wills that thought--and it’s gorgeous mental image--away. He just hasn’t had sex in a while, not since he and Padme had gotten divorced. Usually, he needs that intimate connection with someone before he even thinks about sex, but maybe when he’s too horny it doesn’t matter anymore? Because he doesn’t even know this man’s name, but when their hands brush as he receives the stack of clothes, he feels as though the lightning from outside is shooting down his spine.

“Um.” He says, like the intelligent war general he is.

Has the man moved closer? Are his eyes dark or is it just the lighting? Is he interested in men? Is he interested in Anakin? Also, what is his kriffing name?

Anakin glances down at the clothes, preparing to ask at least one of those questions, before he realizes something. “There’s no shirt here?” He asks instead of anything much more pressing.

The man’s eyes widen and a blush spreads across his cheeks. “Oh, blast,” he mumbles, already turning to leave. “I’ll go grab you one, I’m sorry, I knew I forgot something.”

Anakin finds himself feeling hopelessly endeared by the man’s awkward flailing. He wonders if he’s managed to fluster the man. The idea feels amazing in his mind.

Grinning to himself, he starts shucking off his wet clothes. He can at least change into the pants while he waits for the man to come back, and if his timing is right---

He’s tying the loose pants tight around his waist when he hears footsteps in the hall.

Yes.

He turns around, shirtless, to glance at the man in the doorway, who’s stopped to stare at Anakin.

Anakin tries not to preen too obviously. Jedi training has done ridiculous things to the muscles of his back and chest, and he wants the man to look. To appreciate. To want.

And the man looks like he does. The man looks like he wants a lot.

There’s something dark and dangerous and wild and unrestrained in those eyes. Anakin wants closer.

He drops his shoulder and turns to face the man completely, letting him look his full. His gaze feels like a brand on every part of Anakin it touches. His hands tighten on the fabric of the shirt he’s holding when Anakin stretches his arms above his head as he yawns in a pathetically fake manner.

The man takes a couple of steps forward and Anakin stills in anticipation. He had thought he’d looked beautiful smiling, but this--this naked, dangerous want for Anakin that clouds his face--is so much more attractive. It would take one word from the man and he’d be on his knees. His back. His front. He’s not picky, he’s too busy feeling like his whole body is a live wire.

The door opens and Ahsoka’s deeply unimpressed tone effectively snaps the tension in the room. “What are you doing.”

“Getting dressed!” Anakin yelps, taking the shirt the man extends to him and putting it on immediately.

The man sends Ahsoka an unreadable but dark look before blinking a few times and smiling at her. Whatever had been on his face is gone and Anakin can’t help but think that he must have imagined it.

“Please, sit. Are you hungry?” He asks, rubbing his hands together. “Fixing you two a meal would be the least I can do for the galaxy’s heroes.”

Anakin flushes and preens as he follows the direction, the man’s praise wrapping like a warm blanket around his mind.

Ahsoka is less taken in, even as she settles in on the couch next to Anakin. “You could tell us your name,” she says, arms crossed. The look is ruined by the way the gray tunic the man has given to her is big enough to fall off one of her shoulders.

The man freezes for a second, barely noticeable if Anakin was not watching him as intently as he is. Then the stranger’s shoulders droop for a second and he looks so sad that actually Anakin doesn’t care if he never learns the man’s name. He’ll call him Dear for the rest of his life.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the man eventually murmurs, sitting delicately on the arm of the comfortable looking chair and giving them a half-sort of smile. “At your service.”

Anakin’s eyes narrow at the name that feels like it should be familiar. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan. It’s pretty. He likes it.

Ahsoka jumps to her feet. “Obi-Wan Kenobi!” she says and turns to Anakin as if that’s supposed to mean something to him. He blinks up at her in confusion. “You’re the Jedi that Fell after Qui-Gon Jinn died!”

Anakin rises immediately, brain trying to process this new information. Yes. Yeah. Obi-Wan Kenobi. They’d met. They’d met on Tatooine. Kenobi had been Qui-Gon’s padawan. He’d killed Maul after Maul killed Qui-Gon. And then...he’d left the Order. Anakin had been assigned another Master. He’d forgotten all about Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“I didn’t Fall,” Obi-Wan Kenobi corrects from his place on the chair. “Please, sit down.”

“You left the Order with Dooku!” Ahsoka accuses. “And you’re trying to tell me you didn’t Fall?”

Anakin’s hand goes to his belt automatically, but he doesn’t have his lightsaber. He’d given it to Obi-Wan.

“Look at my eyes, young one,” Obi-Wan demands in a cold tone. “Are they Sith-gold?”

Anakin hesitates. Obi-Wan has a point. His eyes are blue. And surely they’d know if there was another Sith afoot in the galaxy. Sith don’t like keeping quiet about themselves, from everything Anakin’s learned about them.

“You’re old enough to know how to hide that,” Ahsoka challenges immediately, which makes Obi-Wan wince.

“You don’t pull your punches, do you?” He asks with a forced laugh. Then he looks at Anakin, and his face turns pleading. “Anakin,” he says gently, slowly, Ah-na-kin, “I’m not lying. Please believe me. I--I didn’t leave the Order to join the Sith. I left because they wouldn’t allow me to train you, Anakin.”

Anakin feels like the shipwreck from an hour ago caused less whiplash than these few sentences. “Me?”

“Qui-Gon begged me to train you as he lay dying in my arms,” Obi-Wan’s jaw clenches and his face looks sad again. He closes his eyes as if to ward off the memory and when he opens them again they look wet. “When they wouldn’t allow me to, I realized there was nothing in the Order left for me. Dooku, my master’s master, came to me and asked me to leave with him. I had no idea that he would Fall. As soon as I realized what he had become, I ran. That’s why I’m here, Anakin. Please believe me. I have no involvement in the war, on either side.”

Force help him, but he does. He does believe him. He looks so honest, so heartbroken. This is Obi-Wan Kenobi? He can’t really say he remembers enough about what Kenobi had looked like all those years ago to know if the man in front of him could be an older version of the Padawan he’d met. He doesn’t actually remember anything about Kenobi, except--

“Hey, wait a second, you called me a pathetic lifeform!” Anakin says indignantly, a nine-year-old’s rage welling up in him at the memory.

Obi-Wan blinks at him and then bursts into laughter. It sounds like rocks, sliding into the ocean. Sith don’t laugh like that. He can’t imagine Ventress laughing like that. Or laughing at all, aside from a sinister chuckle.

Obi-Wan wipes the wetness from his eyes and grins at Anakin. “I’d forgotten about that,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

Anakin pouts. “I was standing right there.”

“Making moon-eyes at Queen Amidala, yes,” Obi-Wan raises a sardonic eyebrow. “I thought you were sufficiently distracted. She was quite prettier.”

Anakin’s first instinct is to say, I’m prettier, but that’s not actually appropriate, and maybe Obi-Wan wouldn’t agree with him anyway.

“Do you believe me, Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan asks, turning to her while Anakin is working on controlling his flushed face.

Anakin’s padawan is still standing, but looks unsure. “I...I don’t know.”

“Then we can talk more about it over a cup of tea,” Obi-Wan decides, standing up. “I’ll be back in a second.”

As he walks past the couch to get through a door that must lead to his kitchen, he brushes his hand along Anakin’s shoulder and neck.

Anakin would like to say he handles this touch with grace and aplomb as befitting a Jedi Knight, but the look Ahsoka gives him makes him feel much more like a pathetic lifeform than a Jedi Knight.

“We can trust him,” Anakin mutters to her. “I remember him.”

“It’s been years, Anakin,” Ahsoka mutters back. “Even if you remember everything he’s ever said to you, he could be a completely different person. He probably is.”

“It’s just a night, Snips,” he reasons. “And there’s no alternatives. And I think we can trust him.”

She hesitates for a second and then exhales. “Fine,” she agrees. “But I’m not happy about it.”

Anakin grins in response.

----

Halfway through tea, Ahsoka starts nodding off.

“Crash landing takes a lot out of anyone,” Obi-Wan says sympathetically with a wink at Anakin, who puffs up in indignation. Before he can say anything in defense of his very necessary landing, Obi-Wan has taken Ahsoka’s tea and put it gently on the table. “Come on, girl, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping. I have a spare room.”

Ahsoka goes easily enough, in a way that makes Anakin feel bad for how short-tempered he’s been with her in the past few hours. He’s been stressed, she’s been stressed, but she’s just a youngling still. She’s probably been exhausted for so long now.

“Could you put our cups in the sink, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asks as he leads the Togruta out of the sitting area.

Anakin complies immediately, carrying each mug like they’re something special and precious before dumping out the contents into the sink and filling each with water.

He thinks about washing them and putting them into cupboards, but he doesn’t want Obi-Wan to think that’s he’s rifling through his cupboards or anything, so he goes back to the living room to wait for him.

Obi-Wan returns just a few seconds later, smiling slightly to himself.

“What?” Anakin asks immediately. If there’s a joke that Obi-Wan finds funny, Anakin wants to hear it too.

“Just something Ahsoka said,” he replies, looking fondly down at Anakin.

Anakin’s feeling too persistent to be sidetracked by that though, so he raises both his eyebrows.

“That she’d skewer me on her lightsabers if I besmirched her master’s honor, no matter how much he asks for it,” Obi-Wan recalls with a perfectly straight face.

Anakin buries his blushing face in his hands instantly. “Force,” he mumbles.

Obi-Wan laughs again. It’s just as pretty as last time and it makes Anakin peek through his fingers.

“It’s alright, Anakin,” Obi-Wan soothes. “I told her I thought I would be quite good at resisting any sort of begging from you.”

Anakin’s first thought is, of course, Want to bet?, but that’s hardly a thing to say to a near stranger. Even if he is very handsome and he has looked at you like you’re a feast and he’s a starving man just a few hours ago.

No, Anakin. Bad Anakin.

“So that’s me for the couch then, yeah?” He says in a totally normal and not at all high-pitched voice, standing so he can go fetch a blanket.

The look in Obi-Wan’s eyes freezes him where he is. They’re filled with that same dark want from before paired with a promise. “If you’d like,” Obi-Wan murmurs and then just to make sure there’s no confusion, he holds out his hand. “Or….”

Anakin doesn’t even have to think about it before he’s interlacing their fingers.

-----

When Anakin comes to, there’s light streaming in through the windows in Obi-Wan’s bedroom. He grumbles and tries to roll over.

He can’t.

Both of his arms have been securely tied over his head, and there’s a gag in his mouth.

Really, his first instinct should be panic and not a sort of sleepy arousal at what Obi-Wan plans to do with him like this.

But no. The panic doesn’t set in until he sees Obi-Wan by the window, deathstick held between his lips as he listens to a holocall.

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan murmurs, exhaling a line of smoke out the window before turning to look at Anakin. He nods his head in greeting, as if this is a normal scenario. “Yes, he’s just woken up.”

When he turns his head back to the window, the yellow of his eyes catch on the sunlight and gleam bright gold.

“The padawan has been dealt with,” Obi-Wan continues, which makes Anakin lose any sense of calm he still felt. He’s cut off from the Force so he can’t feel his bond with Ahsoka. Fear and fury wash through him equally at the thought of Obi-Wan, this Sith lord traitor and dirty liar, dealing with Ahsoka.

Oh Force, she’d been right. She’d been so right. Had she paid the cost for Anakin’s blindness?

“Yes, Master. Tell Sidious he can expect his Chosen One kneeling before him in chains as soon as he deposits the credits into my account. I’ve sent multiple pictures already as proof that Anakin Skywalker is alive and bound.”

Anakin tries to yell through the gag, but it’s ineffective and only causes Obi-Wan to look at him with an amused eyebrow raise. “And awake,” the Sith traitor purrs into the comm. “Must go now. Remember, Dooku. My credits.”

With that, he ends the comm and stubs out his deathstick with a flourish, walking around to stand at the foot of the bed with all the grace of a predator who knows its prey is well and truly cornered.

“Good morning, darling,” Obi-Wan croons. “Sorry you had to hear that.”

Anakin glowers at him. He’s never hated anyone more than he hates Obi-Wan Kenobi at this moment.

“Your padawan is safe,” Obi-Wan starts, sitting on the bed by Anakin’s midsection and tracing a hand down his bare chest. Anakin twitches away from him. “No, really,” the Sith promises in a soothing voice. “I drugged her last night of course, but you have to admit she looked like she needed a full night’s sleep.”

The tea. Force, the tea. If Anakin had thought to check the tea, or to follow Obi-Wan into the kitchen and watch him make it, they wouldn’t be here in this position. He wouldn’t be here in this specific position. Force.

“And this morning while you slept, I carried her out to my ship--or Dooku’s ship, I suppose--and put her on route to the Jedi Temple. She’ll arrive in a day or so, probably. I even gave her food and drink to survive comfortably until then. There’s no need to worry.”

Anakin tries to convey the level of disbelief he has for that statement in a single glare. Obi-Wan shrugs languidly, hand still touching his skin in a way he’d enjoyed last night. His body hasn’t gotten the notice that it shouldn’t enjoy Obi-Wan’s touch anymore, which is making this whole bound and gagged thing really awkward.

“Well, for her, I suppose.” Obi-Wan chuckles and pulls his hand away so he can light another deathstick. He takes a drag and then exhales. “I’ll even let you comm her. It’s actually quite important that you do. You see, I told her that I would kill you if she tried to come back here without first going to the Temple. She seemed to believe me.”

He rolls his eyes fondly, as if they’re sharing a joke at Ahsoka’s expense.

“Like I’d kill you,” Obi-Wan huffs a laugh, shaking his head and bringing the deathstick back to his mouth. “I told her I’d let you comm her the second she lands. Of course, she will be surrounded by Jedi masters, who will be very interested in hearing my proposed trade deal, even if she isn’t. I will give them the name of Darth Sidious, my master’s master. I will give them proof enough to end the war and have him arrested and tried for his crimes. And they will give me you.”

Anakin feels his eyes widen at the words. It’s so unexpected that even if he weren’t gagged, he wouldn’t be able to think of a single thing to say.

“It’s perfect, really,” Obi-Wan murmurs, a hand coming up to stroke through Anakin’s hair. “Sidious thinks he is about to get his hands on you, as that has been the plan for weeks now. He has paid good money for you, you know. I almost feel bad for deciding to break our agreement. But you just fell apart so beautifully under my hands last night, darling. How can I give you up?”

Anakin shivers as the memory of last night washes over his mind. He’s never felt more ashamed and yet still guiltily pleased with his performance. The praise he's getting. Force it feels good to be praised.

“So Sidious thinks he will get you, the Jedi will get Sidious, Ahsoka will probably get knighted, and you will be where you belong,” Obi-Wan blows out smoke and then leans down to grin into Anakin’s face. Anakin has to tell himself not to look away. Those yellow eyes are filled with a recognizable lust. It had been so attractive last night. It’s still attractive now, if he’s being completely honest. Force, what is wrong with him?

Obi-Wan’s hand leaves his hair to press delicately on a new bruise on his throat. “You will be with me.”

[dramaticviolincrescendo]

Rewatching Shameless and i just watched 6x1 jail scene. Can I request a meta if its not too much trouble? I feel like reading a really good meta about that scene and you're one of the best we've got so.....

It’s never any trouble at all! That’s so sweet to say—thank you so much! <3 Kind of coming to terms with the idea that anyone cares about my opinion over here. You guys are too much!

This scene is actually extremely important to me because it and the response to it were what made me start writing Shameless fanfiction, specifically when I saw that my views regarding Ian’s behavior and how Mickey received it were so vastly different from what I initially read. (Insert shameless plug for “That Milkovich Reputation” here.) Now, I know you’ve told me not to do this before, but based on the controversial position in which this scene resides, I feel the need to present a couple of disclaimers for our audience at large.

I first fell in love with Shameless last March, a couple weeks before quarantine began. I didn’t know what it was prior to that and therefore was not present when Noel left the show, so I didn’t experience the disappointment of a beloved character leaving in a potentially permanent way and didn’t engage in the fandom or see how deeply upset people were by that until after I finished the series. I also don’t subscribe to the theory that there was something going on behind the scenes or any animosity between Noel and the creators, as I have not seen any relevant evidence from reliable sources to support that what happened was anything other than decisions made in pursuit of career goals on both sides. As such, my analysis of this scene has only ever taken the content and context of the story and characters into account. I have no interest in speculating on the motives of people I do not know in writing it or portraying it this way, and even if I did, this scene made perfect sense to me as it was written and performed.

I understand and appreciate that this is not a popular position to take and urge everyone to pass this post by if my position on that matter is offensive or upsetting to you. I do not mean to tell anyone what to think or believe, only to explain how I view this scene and the context in which I do so.

That said, let’s begin.

When Last Seen: Mickey

As in all things, context is important. Prior to the prison scene, the last time we saw Mickey was when Ian broke up with him and Sammi interrupted their heartfelt moment, which basically sums up her character in a nutshell. That was a rough couple of days for Mickey. He saw how devastated Ian was to hear his family talk about him as though he were just like Monica; was distressed in his own right to return for him and discover that he’d left the base with Monica; buried his frustration and sadness by sleeping around with other people, which seemed to exacerbate those emotions because those people weren’t Ian, nor had he and Ian broken up when he did it; and came running when Ian called him, only for Ian to end their relationship.

Mickey is a very sharp man—we know this. He can read people like books and manipulate or intimidate them accordingly. He knew Ian had feelings for him in s1 when he showed up on his doorstep seeking comfort rather than going to any number of other people he trusted. He was well aware that Ian loved him in s3, and that made what he felt he had no choice in doing that much more painful. He heard what Ian said and knew what he was doing in 5x12. Of that, I have never had any doubt. It wasn’t like Ian tried to hide that he didn’t want to break up but thought that that was what would be best. In fact, the way he initially framed it always made me think that one of his highest priorities was not dragging Mickey down with him, especially in the aftermath of being called “destructive” and similar to someone who “put them through hell.” That’s why Mickey’s response wasn’t to call him an asshole or get angry or beg. It was to reassure Ian that he was there for the long haul, that he loved him and wanted to take care of him no matter what that meant—and that they could make that work. All the sentiments Ian had tried to communicate before he got married, Mickey was reciprocating in his own way. Had they not needed to temporarily write Mickey out of the story and Sammi hadn’t shown up right that second, I believe that he wouldn’t have given up so easily. We do have confirmation of that being the case in the prison scene, but we’ll get to that shortly.

When Last Seen: Ian

Ian isn’t a selfish character. We know this, too. However, Ian needed to be selfish by the end of s5. What he had to come to terms with wasn’t something that anyone could fully help him with, much as Mickey desperately wanted to. To Ian, the enemy was within. It was inside him, in his brain, telling him what to do even if that destroyed himself and everything he loved. It’s terrifying. I’m not bipolar, nor do I suffer from any other diagnosed mental illnesses, but I admire and respect everyone who wakes up every morning and tackles these things. They’re heroes every single day. But by the end of s5, Ian doesn’t feel much like a hero. Instead, he feels like the villain, and he’s lost touch with who he even is anymore.

That’s not a healthy mindset to have in a relationship. Relationships require a level of give and take, and that used to be something that Ian and Mickey already struggled with. Ian gave more in s1-3 because he was able to, while Mickey had a limit on what he could openly give because of the environment in which he lived and the manner in which he was raised. In s4-5, those roles were reversed: Mickey was able to give so much more, but Ian was gradually falling apart. Neither of them are at fault for any of those situations. It is what it is, and they have a stronger relationship for it. Ian is a giver, though. He’s always been a giver. To be in a position where he doesn’t feel like he can give anything to Mickey because he doesn’t even know who he is was truly heartbreaking for him, and objectively, he needed to take a step back so that he could focus on himself. He knew it. Based on Mickey’s understanding of Ian’s reasons after watching him deny that he had a problem for so long, I think Mickey knew it too. This hurt both of them—Ian to say it and Mickey to hear it—but they’re not fools and they’re not naïve. In some ways, they know each other better than anyone.

Jimmy said that when you’re on a plane, they tell you to put on your mask before you help anyone else with theirs. Ian needed to put on his mask. His heart can’t keep beating if his lungs don’t work.

Starting Season 6: Mickey

Unsurprisingly, Mickey has settled into prison life just fine. We’ll focus on his interactions with Ian in a bit as that’s the meat of the scene, but there are major implications inherent in his discussion with Svetlana beforehand.

1.      Mickey has accepted that this will be his reality for the foreseeable future. What else is he supposed to do? Besides, he’s known for a long time that the likelihood of ending up in prison was pretty high for him, as he alluded to in s2. He was a street thug. He stole from local stores, sold drugs, ran guns, operated a rub ‘n’ tug, created scam companies, and was a generally violent presence in the neighborhood for years. He was in juvie twice during the show, perhaps more beforehand. The unfortunate fact of the matter is that it would have been more surprising if Mickey didn’t get locked up at some point than that he did.

2.      Ian has visited Mickey before. We won’t get too deeply into this yet, but he thanks Ian for “coming back.” The other times, he wasn’t even paid to do it. So, as far as Mickey can tell, nothing has changed. Ian is focusing on himself right now, but his love for Mickey hasn’t dulled at all. That’s an encouraging thought, and it certainly puts a smile on Mickey’s face.

3.      Ever the opportunist and entrepreneur, Mickey really is doing just fine in prison. He runs a business, if you will, that appears to be quite lucrative already. This isn’t surprising either. Sadly, it’s a bad move. He’s already going to be in prison for somewhere around a decade, give or take a couple of years depending on his behavior. But his behavior isn’t good. He’s hurting people for money, and if he gets caught and brought up on more charges, not only will he serve the full fifteen years, but he could get more time added onto that.

4.      Ian is aware of this arrangement. He has to be if he’s been going there with Svetlana, and they weren’t exactly hiding what they were talking about. Ian has been very consistent throughout the series: he’s not as concerned with the moral implications of Mickey���s behavior, just how it could potentially impact their ability to be together. He still cares about Mickey at the start of s6, and Mickey can see it on his face when he won’t say it out loud. (More on that shortly.) Once he’s in a better spot mentally, maybe they would have gotten back together had Mickey been on the outside. I’m of the opinion that they would have based on the context of the situation. It isn’t an option, however. This is Mickey’s reality, and he’s not doing everything he can to get out earlier. If anything, he’s tempting fate on not being released at all. (This, in hindsight, sounds rather similar to the issues they’re dealing with right now in s11.)

So, this is where Mickey stands at the start of the season: a prison hitman who is quite pleased that the man he loves has come to see him again, even if the latter is visibly not in a very healthy mental state.

Starting Season 6: Ian

Ian isn’t in most of 6x01. What we do see of him is typically sad or colored by his frustration, outside Carl’s welcome home party at the end of the episode. Even then, there’s an aura of discomfort that accompanies the family’s knowledge that things have changed. Carl came out of juvie a different person—they’re all different people after s5, and they’re not sure how to handle walking on eggshells around each other.

From the very start of the episode, we see that Ian is still struggling even though he’s had enough time to at least partially adjust to his medication, especially if he’s been on and off of it. It’s so sweet how Fiona gently wakes him up—it’s also a bit different. What happened to banging on the bunk bed and yelling for them to come down for breakfast? After behaving pretty normally with Debbie at the bathroom door, she’s almost handling him with kid gloves, and the punches keep coming when she reminds him that he (1) has to get up for work at a place he despises and (2) needs to remember to take his meds.

The kitchen scene is extremely telling of where Ian is at this point, and it partially shows why he’s somewhat standoffish by the time we reach the prison scene. Most of the family is gone or different. Fiona is repeatedly on him about meds and getting to work on time—Ian, Mister Responsible himself who was out of the house before anybody woke up to get to work on time as a kid. Lip is at college. Debbie is absorbed in her unconfirmed but likely pregnancy. Carl is in juvie, and Liam is playing with the switchblade he found under Carl’s pillow before they take him to pre-K. His entire support system is either gone or treating him like he’s broken. All he has is Fiona “going Fiona” on everyone. It’s clear that this is impacting him because he actually derails the conversation to say that they should go visit Carl the following weekend, which was the position Debbie used to be in when Fiona was in jail. Just like Lip shut her down, Debbie shuts Ian down, and he doesn’t say another word as he drinks his coffee—which he can’t finish because Fiona is once again on him about work, so he trudges out the door to another day of being a busboy with no dreams instead of a soldier who has a future.

Work isn’t much better. Svetlana wants him to go see Mickey when he’s determined to stay away. (We don’t have confirmation, but I don’t think it’s unreasonable to assume that he wants to distance himself if Mickey is doing something that will potentially get him into even more trouble, especially given some of his reactions at the prison.) Sean is sending Fiona to nag him about not moving fast enough when the diner isn’t even busy. When Otis is chased down by the cops and slammed against the front window, Sean rather condescendingly tells him to, “take your rag and wipe the blood and snot off the window.” Ian—West Point-aspiring, ambitious, courageous, caring, intelligent, hardworking Ian has been reduced to wiping up someone’s snot by a boss who’s living in his house with a sister that’s treating him like he’s shattered glass and a family that is growing further and further apart these days.

That is the day Ian has had before he even arrives at the prison. Odds are that that is how most of his days have gone for quite some time, minus the blood and snot. …Maybe.

The Prison Scene

Now we come to it: what you actually asked about! It’s taken this long to get here because we can’t possibly interpret this scene effectively without incorporating all of what came before it. Mickey’s position is regrettable, but he knows that Ian still loves him and is at least handling his situation with all the grace and competence that we can expect from him. Ian is a bit of a mess who’s had a bad day and is now faced with the man he loves, who he is telling himself he can’t be with, sitting behind glass—where he’ll be for a good long while.

I’m going to divide this analysis into two sections. For a scene that many prefer to forget, to me, it’s a masterpiece of storytelling.

Physicality

The body language in this scene is remarkable—phenomenally blocked, phenomenally directed, and phenomenally portrayed.

When Mickey first appears, he’s visibly chomping at the bit to get to the visitation area. He’s peering out there while he’s still behind a locked door, and he only diverts his gaze to the guard because he’s waiting for him to unlock it. He’s cool about the whole thing—he’s very cool—but he’s obviously also here for one reason and one reason only. That reason is where his eyes go the moment he sits down at his stall and spots Ian’s coat where the latter is pacing behind Svetlana. Throughout their entire conversation, we see his eyes darting to Ian as he attempts to get the business out of the way so that he can indulge purely in the pleasure. It doesn’t matter to him that Ian is visibly tired and reluctant to be there or that he plays with Yevgeny instead of actively joining their conversation. It’s Ian, and all Mickey has to look at in here is a bunch of fellow thugs he hasn’t loved since he was too young to know what that meant. Damn right, he’s going to shamelessly watch him.

In Ian’s pacing, where we can’t see his face, I find it interesting that he keeps himself angled away from the glass. We see more of his back even though he’s moving side to side rather than away. He doesn’t want to see this. He doesn’t want to be there. In s7, he told Mickey how hard it was to see him behind glass—that wasn’t an excuse. He wasn’t falsely trying to make it sound like he was suffering at their separation just as much as Mickey was. We can see that that’s the case right here in 6x01. Ian has never had a problem sitting still through difficult moments, not even when a potential court martial that would further ruin his life was on the table. But this? He can’t sit down. He can’t face that.

The first time he turns directly towards Mickey’s location is so that Svetlana can hand Yevgeny off to him, and Mickey is visibly loving the view. His expression gets a bit softer, and he ducks his head a little so that he can catch a glimpse of Ian’s face. He follows Ian with his eyes even though Svetlana tries to get his attention. What a blast from the past, right? Ian there with his son, taking care of him while he and Svetlana figure out their business? And just like before, he offers Svetlana all of the attention and input that he deems her worth—next to nothing. Ian’s over there. Ian’s keeping the kid entertained, playing with him and rocking a bit in their seat and leaning over his little shoulder to make sure he’s doing okay—but forget that, Mickey’s eyes are examining him from red hair to beat-up shoes. He only glances back to Svetlana because he has to in order to get the information for their next paycheck. Even then, he’s still back and forth, up and down.

And Ian? He can’t keep pacing. He can’t stay turned away, but he won’t look. He occupies himself more than Yevgeny because now he’s low enough that he won’t just see an orange jumpsuit—he’ll see Mickey, and he’s had a bad enough day with his family making him feel more alone than ever without adding that pain on top of it. (This is the third time Mickey’s been locked up for something directly or indirectly related to Ian. I’m sure it’s not unreasonable to suspect that he also feels somewhat guilty about that, especially when it happened right after he broke it off.)

When Mickey asks if Ian is going to sit back there the whole time and not interact with him, Svetlana turns around and presumably says something to get his attention. Their eyes meet, and Mickey gives him a look that clearly says, “What the fuck, man?” This isn’t the behavior of a man who is heartbroken at their relationship ending or questioning Ian’s love for him. This is the behavior of a man who wants the love of his life to get his shit together enough to come say hi to him—or at least look at him—because he can’t pretend that he doesn’t want to see Mickey as much as Mickey wants to see him. It’s impossible to hide that when Ian has let Mickey see so much of his heart over the years.

Ian’s response is so fascinating because he does meet Mickey’s eyes, and he holds that connection for a moment. Then, reading what Mickey is trying to tell him, he actually turns further away again so that Mickey gets his shoulder. This sets the stage for the rest of Ian’s development from now through s9. He’s doing what Ian does: he’s compartmentalizing. He’s taking the emotions he can’t deal with right now, wrapping them in tissue paper, and neatly stacking them in a box that he’ll put up in the attic where he can pretend they don’t exist. But they do. They really do.

If they didn’t, he wouldn’t have spent their entire conversation trying so hard to focus on literally anything but Mickey, because as we saw in the Hall of Shame flashbacks and as has been obvious since their first fight-turned-fuck, once they look, the battle is lost.

Dialogue

I’m going to be real with you guys: I adore this scene. I’ve watched it more times than I can count even though I haven’t rewatched much of the season in its entirety. There was so much said with so few words, and while I was sad at the end, I was also hopeful. This was an impossible position to be put in on both sides, and I truly believe that this was the best resolution they could get at the time. And yes, it hurt. It was painful. But why was it painful?

Because they’re so visibly, obviously, irrevocably in love.

Mickey’s tone when he tells Svetlana to leave because he wants to talk to Ian isn’t as harsh as it’s been for the rest of their visit. There’s such a disconnect between his words and tone: roughly telling her to scram while actually sounding a bit younger at the idea of speaking directly with Ian. Svetlana could tell. It’s so clear, and her smirk is super knowing. In that moment, we’re seeing the woman who stood in the doorway of what was supposed to be her bedroom and watched him make eyes at this unconscious boy she didn’t really even remember. Not in the tears and realizing she was in big, big trouble if he left her, but in the understanding that his heart isn’t in the body on the other side of the glass—it’s sitting behind her. There are a lot of things I don’t like about Svetlana as a person (as a character, she’s amazing), but since they reached their agreement in s4, she’s never had a derogatory thing to say about the love those two share, and I respect that. It’s actually a bit cute how she takes her time and is almost teasing in giving him what he wants. A bit.

As I have this scene running on repeat so that I don’t miss anything in writing this, I paused to type and ended up on such a meaningful glance at Ian’s face. Svetlana just took Yevgeny from him, and he hasn’t gotten up yet. He’s staring straight at Mickey, and he looks hesitant. Scared, almost. Then he looks up at Svetlana, nods a bit, and reluctantly moves into her spot.

Is it overkill to take this one exchange at a time? Probably. Am I going to do it anyway? Hell to the yes.

1.      “Thanks for coming back.”/”Yeah… Svetlana paid me.” – I know that people hate this line and think this is painful. I know that it objectively is painful. I still laugh every time. Not because Ian agreed to come if he was paid. (He’s got medication to afford and no insurance. I can’t begrudge him wanting to make a few extra bucks any way he can.) Not because of the words, but because of what accompanies them. Ian will not look at Mickey—he’s lost so many battles lately, and he can’t lose this one too. Not when he started this one himself. He’s hemming and hawing, not looking up from the countertop and then twisting around to see if Svetlana is still there or anyone else is listening. It’s so stupid, because literally no one cares, but it gives you this sensation that Ian sees himself as being under a microscope the whole time. That’s his life anymore, at home and at work and now here. And Mickey? He doesn’t look terribly broken up about Ian accepting payment in exchange for coming. He gets this expression that I interpreted as, “Seriously? You’re playing it like that?” Then it settles into disappointment that Ian won’t open up or look at him like he normally would—that the glass interferes with the magnetic pull between them. But don’t worry, children. Uncle Mickey has just the thing to fix that: himself.

2.      “You look good.”/*awkward silence* – I mean…what do you say to that? I actually felt so bad for Ian there because what must he have looked like these last visits if Mickey is telling him that he looks good now? What kind of mess was he then when he’s still sort of a mess today? And he can’t even return the sentiment because how can he? Mickey is in prison. He’s in a jumpsuit looking at being here so long that he’ll probably have a few grey hairs starting to grow in when he gets out. I don’t know how to respond when people tell me I look good on an average day, so I can only imagine how that must have felt in his position. And still, he won’t do more than glance in Mickey’s direction. Well, if that didn’t work…

3.      Mickey chuckles and says he got a new tattoo. Ian’s eyes immediately shoot upwards, and Mickey slouches a little so that he’s in their direct line of sight—to hold them there, because once they look, the battle is lost. And Ian does lose. For a while there, he can’t look away again. First, because Mickey is courting some pretty nasty illnesses with his improper use of needles. Seriously, Mickey, a beautiful gesture but holy crap. Second, Mickey has his name (or a very close approximation to it) tattooed forever right over his heart. Ian had asked if Mickey was going to marry him, and Mickey told him to fuck off, but everything he’s doing points in the opposite direction. He promised sickness and health; now he’s made a permanent mark on his body for everyone to see. Mickey, who wouldn’t be seen in public with him once upon a time, has plastered Ian’s name onto his body. Ian tries so hard not to let that impact him, but it’s over. He’s lost the battle already, and he falls further and further. He’s smiling when he tells Mickey it looks infected, he teases him about the misspelling (which I think says more about how much that tattoo must have hurt than any inability to spell on Mickey’s part—I’d have a typo too), and he laughs at Mickey’s irritation that he messed it up. And it’s this sweet little laugh, not cruel or hurtful or mean. The wonderful thing about humor is that it can be used to cope with difficult emotions. We’ve seen a lot of people on the show start laughing when they’re in a bad place. Ian has been trying so hard to accept his life as it is even during the shitty day he was having. He tried so hard not to let himself fall into the trap of letting his love for Mickey rule his actions in the scene so far. That’s a lot. That’s denying himself to the point where I’m sure it hurts. And so he laughs, because Mickey did this crazy, absurd thing for him and yeah, it came out wrong, but he did it. This was all Ian wanted once upon a time (minus the felony), and now he has it—but he can’t have it. So he laughs. He immediately moves to hide it, but he laughs. He smiles more and has to bend away to pretend that he’s not—and Mickey lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree. This is the moment that keeps me from seeing this scene or Ian’s actions as being cruel. They’re both hurting, and this is an awful position to be in. But Ian loves him so much, and Mickey was doing everything he could to make him show it. Not exactly how he saw that going, I’m sure, but he’ll take it.

4.      “Been thinking about you.” – Knowing that he lost that one, Ian looks away again. While the end of this scene will hurt for both of them, especially Mickey, think about the pain he must be feeling in that moment simply because he’s not. He’s not hurting. For the first time that day, he feels good. This can’t last. Mickey isn’t coming home with him when time is up. This wonderful emotion that filled him up enough for him to laugh and smile after such a bad day will be gone the second he hangs up that phone. Then he’s going to go home and have Fiona breathing down his neck with nobody else for support. And Mickey will be here—behind glass. He can’t handle that, and he pulls that box out again and starts tearing off the tissue paper. He has to get rid of this feeling. He has to be the one to put it away before it kicks him to the curb. He’s stubborn, and Mickey can see him shutting down but also knows that he’s knocked enough bricks out of Ian’s walls to say something softer, something emotional and closer to the heart. Something he is willing to say where the other inmates can hear, which I don’t think is lost on Ian since he immediately looks up again. He doesn’t look away either, not even when Mickey asks if Ian thinks about him. He glances to the side and opens his mouth a bit, but nothing comes out. Mickey knows the answer.

5.      “Gonna wait for me?”/”You’re here for fifteen years.” – There’s this thing Mickey does after he first says that. He chuckles, because he knows that that’s pretty unreasonable to ask and has already predicted Ian’s response. His comment about being out in eight is lighthearted, a serious matter spoken as a joke because…this isn’t juvie anymore. They’re not going to see each other in a few months. This is Mickey’s version of what Ian was just doing, only where Ian tried to withdraw and escape within himself, Mickey is making it more humorous. He’s always done that, make light of pretty serious things to avoid looking at just how messed up it is. But I didn’t get the feeling he was really asking for Ian to wait that long. Instead, I got the feeling that he was testing the waters, seeing if Ian would shut him down—which he didn’t. He offered the bullshit excuse that Mickey tried to kill a member of his family, and Mickey saw through that immediately. I think he knows that he can’t ask Ian to seriously wait and never be with anyone else for fifteen years, or even for eight. I think he knows what he’s saying is a touch absurd. He also knows that Ian’s excuse is extremely absurd, and he doesn’t buy it for a second. It gives him a little courage to do something…well, a bit absurd.

6.      “Will you? Wait? Fucking lie if you have to, man. Eight years is a long time.” – I think the important part of this isn’t that Ian says he’ll wait when he doesn’t mean it, which is the popular take. For one thing, I don’t think we can ascribe that level of calculated behavior to Ian in this instance. There are a few things about this part of the scene that mean a lot to me: (1) Ian doesn’t get up and go. He doesn’t even move in that direction. He sits there with the phone after the buzzer sounds and before Mickey tells him to lie. His mouth opens and closes like he’s not sure what to say. Because what can he say? If Mickey serves the maximum, Ian will be in his mid-thirties by the time they can be together. At that point, he was either nearing eighteen or just turned. I still can’t fathom what I’ll be doing in my mid-thirties, and I’m a whole lot older than that. Ian looks just a little terrified here, and that’s because he knows he loves Mickey but has no clue what he’s supposed to do with that in the impossible circumstances they’re operating under. (2) Ian can’t even see himself moving on yet. He’s still trying to figure himself out, not think about a relationship. He has a job he hates, and his family is a different brand of chaos these days. He feels alone, yes, but not in a way that has him openly desperate for a relationship. Based on what he says to Mandy about Caleb, I think it’s pretty safe to assume that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be in a serious relationship at this point or even in a position for more than casual sex anytime in the near future. How can he say that he’ll wait when he doesn’t know where he’ll be whenever Mickey does get out? Maybe he’ll feel better. Maybe he’ll be out of his mind, roaming all over the place like Monica. Maybe he won’t just be standing on that bridge. It’s a huge question, one that has a lot of ramifications no matter what his answer is, and Ian clearly has none. He’s blindsided by that, which Mickey sees. That’s when he gets serious about those eight years, about how absurd their situation really is. That’s perhaps the first and only time in this scene where we can see that, for as successful as he is at navigating prison, his freedom means something to him. His freedom means he wouldn’t have to coax a glance out of Ian—he could kiss his dumb ass and make him stop being stubborn about how much he loves Mickey. But he can’t. He won’t be able to for a long time. And I think that is what really breaks his heart in this scene, not…

7.      “Yeah. Yeah, Mick, I’ll wait.” – Did anyone else notice how Ian swallowed hard before he answered? How his voice gets hoarse when he first speaks? I paused again to type, and the video is sitting on his face staring at the counter before the second part of what he says. He looks like he might cry. He looks like his heart is breaking just as much as Mickey’s is, because he can do what he’s asking this time—reassure him with a lie. Not because he doesn’t intend to wait, but because he is buried so far under what life has piled on top of him that he can’t see the light these days, and he doesn’t see waiting or moving on. He just sees the daily struggle of being this shell of a person. Of being without Mickey even if they’re not technically together. (Admittedly, I think he knew they would be if Mickey weren’t in prison at that moment. Ian has no real self-control where he’s concerned. Lip told him as much, and he’s self-aware enough to realize it, hence his behavior in this whole scene.)

When Ian hangs up the phone, he doesn’t get up immediately. He looks at Mickey—really looks at him—and each of them watches the other’s heart shatter. I don’t see it the way a lot of people do, though. On Mickey’s side, I don’t see it as being because Ian lied. I think it’s so much bigger than that.

Ian looks at him when they can’t hear each other anymore, and if he didn’t seem ready to cry before, he looks it now. Why? Because there’s nothing he can do for Mickey besides that. Ian, ever the giver, can’t give him anything. At that point, he couldn’t even help himself. He can’t be what Mickey needs in that moment, just like he couldn’t be what Mickey needed while he was sick, and it kills him. It kills him to know that by the time Mickey does get out, he’ll be older than he can fathom being and has no idea if he’ll even be around that long. It kills him to feel like even if he is, he’ll still have nothing to offer because, in his own words, this is where he lands. And it kills him to have to walk away and leave what he loves most behind glass.

Mickey is watching this. He knows Ian, and as painful as it was to get exactly what he asked for, it’s even more painful for him to see what him being here does to Ian. Where Ian is a giver, Mickey is a fixer. He makes things better. When stuff is broken, he puts it back together. When there’s a problem, he resolves it. Ian was going to leave because he couldn’t be an unacknowledged number three in Mickey’s life anymore? He jumped to solve the problem by coming out. Ian was acting strangely and wouldn’t get out of bed for so long that Mickey realized something was wrong? He immediately went to hunt down Lip, who he knows is closer to Ian than anyone else in his family. Fiona tells him that Ian is sick and needs to be cared for? He jumps in to do it, even to the point where it did more harm than good. Sammi caused a problem that Mickey couldn’t solve? He fixed the problem of her being there at all. But here he sits, behind glass, watching Ian that whole time and knowing that he was trying to maintain some emotional distance—and, because it’s Mickey, knowing why. There’s nothing he can do about this. He can’t fix it. For the first time since s3, Mickey is absolutely helpless to fix a problem. He takes a breath as Ian walks away as though he’s about to say something, but what can he say? What can he do? Nothing. He can do nothing but hang up the phone and weather the storm.

In the end, the heartbreak in this scene isn’t about them hurting each other, from my perspective. It’s not about Ian being callous and cruel or purposely trying to hurt Mickey. They know each other too well for that. They’ve been through too much. To me, this is about two people who love each other more than anything not being able to be what the other needed when they needed them—and that’s a whole lot more painful.

[krreader]

approval.

pairing: kim seokjin x reader fandom: bts warnings: / genre: fluff word count: 820+ 

summary: he went out of his way for your parents when he didn’t have to and they really appreciated that.

a/n: heeey my love, thank you so much for your kind words, I hope you like your request <3

He really didn’t have to do any of this, your parents had been fine just going to any restaurant for their first time meeting your boyfriend. It’s not like Seoul had a shortage of those. But Jin had been determined. He wanted to make a good impression and the one thing he was good at - other than singing and looking devilishly handsome, of course - was cooking.

And so instead of going out to eat, Jin had invited your parents over to his apartment to cook them a traditional meal. Or… five.

“All of this?” you asked with raised eyebrows when you entered the dining area, “Isn’t that a little… much?”

“You think?” his eyes immediately widened with worry, “I actually thought I made too little.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just..- you put in a lot of effort and I know they’re going to love it, but I feel bad that you did so much. They really don’t expect you to, you know?”

His entire body instantly relaxed and he let out a small chuckle, “This isn’t effort, (Y/N), this is what I’d do for the members too. Just with a few extra dishes that they don’t get,” he kissed your cheek, “Because those are only reserved for special occasions.”

You smiled after him as he walked back into the kitchen to get the rest of the dishes.

As much as you appreciated this, you had meant what you said. They didn’t expect him to do so much for them. You told them what he did for a living, so they knew he was often busy and you’ve said nothing but good things about him to them. They liked him already, so trying to impress them wasn’t necessary. They were already impressed.

Nevertheless, Jin was proud of himself when he looked at the finished result and you were just genuinely happy to be with someone so thoughtful.

It wasn’t long after, that the doorbell finally rang, marking the arrival of your parents.

You opened the door for them, but Jin was right behind you, bowing deeply for them.

“Ah, no need, no need,” your father quickly said and shook his head.

“I’m so happy to finally meet you, Seokjin. Or.. may I call you Jin?” your mother asked.

“Jin is fine,” your boyfriend said with his handsome grin, “Please come in, make yourselves at home.”

“Oh, such a well-mannered young man,” your mother giggled, then followed him inside, straight into the dining area, “And so handsome, too.”

“Yeah, lay it all out mom, I know you want to,” you sighed heavily.

“I’m just teasing,” she laughed, gently clapping you on your back.

And to say your parents were surprised to see what was in front of them was an understatement.

The last time you had invited them over for dinner, you had made them pasta. This was definitely a change they weren’t used to.

“I hope you like it. (Y/N) gave me a list of things that you like to eat, so I tried to make a little bit of everything.”

Your father just smiled and sat down, but your mother looked so touched. She put her hand on his shoulder, “You really are a wonderful man. Our daughter didn’t exaggerate one bit.”

They - or mostly your mother - were showering him with compliments throughout the entire night. You rarely got to speak, except for when begging them to please stop talking about your embarrassing childhood stories, to which she would only reply with: “Oh, I just love you so much,” but you knew she was doing it on purpose. But you were fine with that, you could handle it. You were glad that they were so interested in getting to know him and when not, truthfully enjoying the food.

Especially your father.

But you know what they say.

The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.

And well, that was certainly true in his case. He was convinced that Jin was the right man for you after all that.

“I’m honestly so happy that it finally worked out,” your mother said after the dinner, “(Y/N) had obviously talked a lot about you, but seeing you and getting to know you.. I really have a good feeling about you two.”

“Thank you. I think I speak for the both of us when I say we’re glad to hear that,” Jin looked at you for a moment who nodded, then he looked back at your mother.

“Alright then. I think that settles it,” your mother first looked at your father, who was lost at what she was hinting at, then she looked at you, “We’re looking forward to the wedding already.”

You spit out your water, Jin just chuckled and your father raised his eyebrows.

Obviously you were glad to hear that, but you and Jin weren’t in any rush to tie the knot yet. For now, you just wanted to enjoy your relationship and see where it would lead over the next couple of years. But if it did end in marriage, you’d naturally be glad to know that both of your parents were not just okay, but happy with it.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO “The Verdict.”

Put a lot of work into this, and now its approaching a close. I hope you all enjoy.

Again thank discord member Eddi for writing the experimental logs and coming up with the scientists names. I hope you especially enjoy what I have done with your work. I really appreciate it, and was super excited to collaborate on a work.

WARNING: Not really any violence in this one, but it does mention drugs, and suicide, so viewer discretion is advised. 

“Are you alright?”

Adam barely heard the question eyes wide and watching as the lights glowed down from overhead inside the sterile, white marbled courtroom.

“Adam?’

He blinked and looked up, turning his head to stare at Admiral Kelly who sat at his side, a hand resting on his shoulder, “Did you hear me?”

“Sorry,, I’m fine.’

She went quiet, eyes narrowed in concern clearly not entirely believing him when he said he was alright, but having no proof otherwise. He had to take a moment to think about it himself, and determined that….. He did feel fine. In fact, he felt better than he had earlier. His palms were no longer sweating and his breathing was coming in a normal, even rhythm. 

He was alright, he was going to be ok.

“The prosecution calls Dr. Wilkenson to the stand.”

Adam lifted his head in surprise, eyes narrowing as the slim man took to his feet, nervously adjusting his tie and his glasses in turn before making his way to the witness stand. This was one of the men who had helped to design the steel eye project.

“Dr Wilkenson, do you mind reading for us, the words that you wrote regarding the Steel Eye project.”

The man was handed a piece of paper, and he nodded it, taking it into his hands before clearing his throat. 

Experimental log #1

I am shocked at the extent to which my ‘colleagues’ are willing to go for greater heights of recognition and achieving their goals. I am attempting to either reduce the pain subjects feel or in some way reduce the reliance on addictive painkillers. I fear however this will all avail naught. The pain induced by the interface itself means that one would have to redesign the entire system. To keep my superiors happy I will also be conducting movement tests. 

-Recording break-

The tests went as well as expected, The soldiers who have volunteered are unresponsive and lethargic when they are wearing the full suit, this is likely to the immense amount of suppressive painkillers they are on. A mixture of fentanyl and Carfentanil, A mixture I would expect to find in painkillers for a horse or even small elephant. I am advising the introduction of a stimulant. However I am also voicing concerns over such a thing as the level of stimulants needed would be far higher than is safe. 

“You seem to have had some doubts about the Steel eye project, Doctor.”

The man nodded, fidgeting with his glasses again, “I did…. Due to ethical concerns. I felt that the testnng was moving to quickly, and I also felt that the introduction of such potent medications would also be an ethical violation. As I worded in my original log, I felt that the dosages required to keep someone functional while wearing the Steel eye suit were well beyond reasonable.”

The lawyer shifted slightly on their feet, “Tell me doctor, why -- after you quite-- did you not bring these ethical violations forward to the proper authorities?”

The doctor shifted nervously, “I would have liked to, counselor, but -- before entering the project-- i signed a top secret nondisclosure agreement that stated: were I to introduct this information to any outside source, that I would be jailed for the rest of my life….” he looked down at his feet, “Obviously, now I regret deeply not having the courage to come forward and say something sooner. 

Audio visual log transcript.

The researcher, confirmed to be Dr.Wilkinson approaches the test subject, attempting to wake them in various gentle manners before finally slapping them with an open palm. Once awoken and adjustments to the drug intake are made by Dr. Wilkinson which resulted in protests from the subject. The subject is encouraged to run laps on a large track which is timed by Dr. Wilkinson. After Which the doctor assists the subject out of the suit and hands him over to a medical worker who seems to have been held on standby. 

The lawyer cleared her throat, reading.

Observers note: 

It is to be mentioned to the Commission that Dr Wilkinson was sworn to secrecy and required to sign the statute of secrets until such a time the information was brought to light in any manner other than his own actions. Additionally Dr Wilkinson took part in the development of the Iron Eye project and was a vocal proponent of non-human test subjects and ensuring the users were as safe and stable as possible. 

“We are not on trial here today for the actions of Dr. Wilkenson who has agreed to testify for the prosecution in exchange for immunity against legal action. We are, however, here to discuss the actions of those scientists who continued on with the steel eye project long after it became clear that there were ethical concerns, and that those ethical concerns were being routinely and blatantly violated.”

The prosecution shifted again, hands gripping the lectern, “The prosecution would like to present experimental log 3 for evidence.” 

Experimental log #3

After reviewing James’s experimental logs and the currently used painkillers and suppressants the current stimulants suggested caffeine and amphetamine. It has been decided that the stimulants lack a level of strength to provide combat effective units. Thus the upcoming experiment will be focused on achieving the right cocktail of drugs to provide optimum combat functionality. The tested stimulants will be mixtures I have personally developed and calculated. As well as commercially available and recommended mixtures that James developed.

-Recording break- 

As expected the mixtures that James developed did not aid in any manner and testing with those ceased after the first failure. The recommended mixtures are only marginally better. I have discovered however, to no shock, that my own mixtures are highly functional. Proceeding forwards, We will be making use of mixture 22c. 

Audiovisual log transcript:

Several volunteers stood in a line in prototype Steel-eye suits, each seeming to be asleep. The researcher stops by each of them to place a second vial of chemicals in the drug port. The first subject seems not to react beyond several flickerings of the eyes and a pained moan. In response to this the researcher dumps several un-tested vials in to a large plastic bucket with ‘Failed’ on it in sharpie. The next few subjects react somewhat more, becoming semi verbal and looking round, however they are still lethargic an slow. Only responding in half words or gestures. The researcher dumps several more untested vials in to the ‘Failed’ bucket. The final few volunteers however become far more alert and aggressive, moving round, pushing each other and joking. The researcher struggles to persuade them out of the suits and is eventually forced to deactivate the suits by removing the power supply cables. 

Observers note:

Mixture 22c appears to be a mixture of methamphetamines and cocaine. There also appears to be an addition of Dimethyl sulfoxide which increases the absorption rate of the drugs but also removes the requirement for precision with the needle insertion allowing for a larger needle to be used to increase drug delivery dosage. 

The court room was silent, silent as the lawyer turned to look at the assembled audience and then back at the judges, “Methamphetamine…. And cocaine, two drugs known to be ‘highly’ addictive and grossly unethical. Drug experimentation on humans is strictly controlled by the EDA and that is ONLY involving the clinical use of newly discovered drugs. At this point it should be more than clear that the use of illicit drugs on unknowing test subjects in a developmental environment goes beyond gross negligence and into malicious tampering. Dr. Ayishat Abara has demonstrated great contempt for Dr. Wilkinsons moderate methods and gone on to produce a cocktail of drugs that is rarely found outside of crackhouses and meth labs. 

With a solemn expression, the lawyer turned to look at the rest of the crowd, “This is not even considering the long term effects and the psychological damage caused to the victims of Steel eye…. Which led many men and women to take their own lives. Experimental log 18 being the prosecution's next piece of evidence.” 

Experiment log #18

After extensive physical testing and further refining of the stimulant delivery system and mixtures of the stimulant and painkillers I have decided that it is suitable to move on to combat testing. The upcoming test will be a simple firearms test, I have requisitioned a modified 30mm rapid fire weapon that I feel will be suitable for use with the Steel Eye suit. This will be a live fire test. I have no intent on taking baby steps when such a project is due to draw such renown. 

-Recording break-

The subject was more than capable of using the weapon. Though seemed to lack the force of will to maintain its use for long. To combat this I will be including small amounts of ritalin as well as increasing the stimulant dosage. This should counteract the negative reactions exhibited by the test subject.

Audiovisual log transcript:

The subject is active and moving around the test area. Different to all the prior times, however the subject also seems to be on edge or hyper aware of something. The researcher wheels in a large caliber short barreled  automatic cannon Attaching it to the Steel eye suits arm and instructing the soldier on how to use it. After a few moments of instruction the subject seems comfortable and begins firing down rage at several targets, Displaying uncanny reaction speed and almost superhuman reflexes. This continued for several minutes, The subject however seems to grow more and more despondent and unresponsive as the tests go on. The researcher leaves the area for a short while seemingly to get more stimulants or ammunition. During the break the soldier places the short barreled against their own temple and discharges the weapon. This subject is registered as the test subject for the past 11 experiments. 

The entire room flinched and gasped. Adam felt his stomach churn again, but less to do with fear this time and more to do with pure disgust and horror. He looked away again as the recording shut off and the lawyer stood before the room for a long moment allowing the footage to sink into the minds of those in the courtroom, “This test subject, this man, Dakota McCallister was on his 11th time as a test subject when this footage was taken. After reviewing all of the testing logs with Dr. Gladstone, we have found no evidence that the subjects were monitored for mental health concerns. Additionally none of them were even screened before testing began. None of the men and women involved in the Steel eye project were ever referred for mental health testing before, during or after the experimentation was complete.”

Experimental log #23

I have discovered the most efficient way to motivate the subjects is to offer further testing time within the suit and increased dosages of the drugs used to suppress the side effects of wearing the suit. This has prevented further unwarranted self removal from the project as occurred in experiment eighteen. The upcoming test is the first live combat test. I have taken one of the subjects and isolated them for a few days, preventing use of the suit. They will be permitted to use the suit and instructed that if they wish to continue using it they will attack a target of my choosing.

-Recording Break- 

The experiment went far better than expected. The subject did not question the instructions given nor did they seem to show any lack of remorse for their actions. Short of a few further tests to ensure subjects can work together. Further testing is unwarranted. 

Audiovisual log transcript:

Within the test arena there is a single individual they appear to be a military volunteer. Missing a limb. Quite possibly a earlier subject from the Steel Eye testing. The subject is nervous and clearly unstable. The researcher enters, alongside the Steel eye testing unit. The subject of the steel eye seems to be hyper alert and jittery. The individual spots the Steel eye suit and panics, attempting to move away from it. The researcher indicates the individual to the subject and the subject charges the individual, striking them with the backhand of the suit. The individual is thrown across the testing area to impact against the far wall. The landing angle indicates not only a broken neck but several other lethal injuries, including a crushed skull. The researcher, seemingly satisfied provides the subject with a vial of some kind, And leaves the testing area. 

“Researchers and test subjects alike died during the experimentation, and yet the scientists did not stop.” She looks down at her notes, “The experiment went far better than expected? What is that even supposed to mean, you expected more people to die? YOu expected the test subject to be more unstable. Furthermore, the use of the suit and the drugs as a reward for the already unstable test subjects is a simple demonstration of how poorly this experiment was run and overseen. These ethical violations should never have begun much less allowed to continue.”

Discussion synopsis regarding further system problems.

The researchers confirm that all systems are working to their optimum capabilities given the research time and that they have done everything in their power to keep the subjects safe and healthy throughout the testing process and that no undue risk were taken. Dr Abara indicates disdain for Dr Wilkinson’s methods and suggests he be court marshalled for his attempted ‘sabotage’ of the project. This is dismissed by Admiral Ableman. Problems are mentioned regarding power sources and suggestions are raised including back pack mounted power units. This is eventually solved with Dr Nkosi suggests making use of injured soldiers and using the space where their limb would be to mount power packs. The next issue raised is the fact that the Steel Eye suit puts too much stress on soldiers in active combat scenarios as mentioned by Dr Abara stating that ‘subjects fell apart too fast.’  Again Dr Nkosi provides a solution by suggesting the use of augmetics. Dr Stein at this point provides a interface solution using the prosthetics. With all problems solved All relevant papers are handed over to the Admiral and Colonel for the production and shipping out of the combat capable Steel Eye suits.

The lawyer stood quietly before them, hands clasped at her front,  “Experimental testing lasted less than a decade. The pain of the interface was never fixed, and yet they sold it off to desperate UNSC officials in order to win the Drev war. Fifty men and women were subjected to implantation. Thirty of those are dead ten of those are permanently psychologically damaged. Five are still in treatment while five more are the only ones who manage to be functional and hold jobs. However,” She motioned towards Adam, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “We also see that -- even then, they are not exempt from psychological dysfunction, though they were never compensated.” She shuffled her papers, “The prosecution has no further comments at this time.” She turned and went back to her seat, pausing to sit and speak quietly with her partner for a moment as the judges deliberated.

Amidral Kelly learned over, “If that was no reasonable doubt, then I don’t know what is.”

Adam nodded, he was feeling pretty good about this all things told.”

Off on the other side of the room, the defence took to their feet. It seemed mostly as if their strategy was not getting their clients out of trouble but simply mitigating the punishments related to the crimes they HAD committed. He heard a lot of tripe and waffling about supposed loopholes in the system and about how they had WON the Drev war after all. There was even a couple arguments about how everyone there had signed an agreement to participate so it actually wasn’t all that bad.

The entire thing seemed as if it was going to be tied up in a neat little bag for them .

That was until.

“The defence would like to call Admiral Vir to the witness stand.”

He froze in palace eyes wide and looked around in confusion. Of course this was perfectly legal and in their  rights for them to do this, but he had no idea what they are going to ask. He stood slowly and made his way towards the witness stand staring at the defence as he took an uncomfortable seat on the wooden witness chair.

“ Admiral Vir, How old are you/”

He had to admit that he didn’t expect that question and paused for an unbelievable amount of time before answering, “Twenty six.”

“So young for an admiral.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

The prosecution stood, “Objection your honor, this information is irrelevant.”

“We will allow it.” The prosecution sat.

“And you are not currently taking any medications for your PTSD.”

“No, but I do have a service dog.”

“And do you receive metal evaluations often, as an admiral.”

He shifted in his seat not sure where this was going, and not liking it one bit, “Yes.”

“So you might say that it is safe to assume that the UNSC considers you mentally sound enough to command an entire armada of ships at the age of 26.”

“I…. yes.”

“Admiral, do you have any phobias.”

He swallowed hard unable to tell at all where this was going on, “No, councilor, I don’t.”

“Do you know anyone who does?”

“Yes, I have a friend who has claustrophobia.”

“And how does that person react in enclosed spaces.”

“They panic.”

“Do they actively seek out enclosed spaces, or do they avoid them?”

Adam shrugged, “They avoid them of course. They don’t even like elevators”

“Right, so it would be safe to say that if someone has trauma or panic related to a certain event or object, they would be likely to avoid that object or thing or association with that object at all costs.”

His hands had begun sweating again. A line of it trickled down the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades, “I would assume so.”

“Admiral Vir, would you please show the court your prosthetic leg.”

His hearing completely cut out and all there was was a loud ringing. He saw one of the defence object but then watched as the judges deny that defence.

He was ordered to stand out in front of the court.

His hearing came back slowly as, shaking hands pulled up his right pant leg.

“Admiral Vir, would you mind removing the prosthetic for us.”

He felt heat rising to the back of his neck and up onto his face. The defence argued for him, but it was no use. The Bailiff brought him a chair, and he nervously, and self consciously unstrapped the prosthetic with a soft snick, quickly moving to cover the injury. He felt about ten times smaller as he handed the prosthetic over to the Bailiff, paraded in front of the courtroom like some kind of freak show.

He tried not to think about it, keeping his chin high eyes staring straight forward.

“Please show the judges the serial number on the thigh.”

The Bailiff did as requested.

“Can you ready that out for us your honor, please.”

“SE490000.”

“Dr. Gladstone can you please examine this prosthetic and tell me what you see.”

Adam was held on standby as the doctor moved forward uncomfortably to examine the leg which the bailiff was holding, “It…. is a modified bioprosthetic with Drev Chitin, I don’t…”

“And who would you say was the manufacturer?”

The man paused before his eyes widened slowly, “This…. This is-” he looked up, “This is a steel eye prosthetic.”

There was silence in the courtroom.

“Thank you Dr. Gladstone.” The defence motioned the Bailiff to return the leg to Adam, who strapped it on with still-shaking hands.

“ Admiral Vir,  the defence requests that you remove your uniform jacket. If you would be more comfortable that can be done in privacy of course.”

Adam stared at them in confusion. The prosecution stood to argue again, but again were denied.

“Would you like to step into the back room admiral?”

Running on autopilot he shook his head probably having preferred some privacy but being far too confused to actually request it.

He stood and slowly unbuttoned the front of his uniform jacket, staring with the high neck collar and then down either side.

He handed the jacket the the Bailiff, who held it form him.

He stood now in only a white undershirt.

“Admiral please turn around and hold your arms out to the side.”

He did as told.

The room muttered softly.

“Dr. Wilkenson, do you recognize those.”

From behind him, adam heard the weak response, “Those are iron eye interface ports.”

“Thank you admiral, you may put your jacket back on.”

He did as ordered feeling his neck and face turn hot red as he took his seat back on the stand.”

“Admiral, if steel eye had such a negative effect on you, then why would you be wearing a steel eye prosthetic and iron eye interface ports. Wouldn’t those exacerbate your condition.”

He opened and closed his mouth.

The prosecution stood, “Objection your honor, Admiral Vir is not the one on trial here, and this is humiliation.”

“Sit down, council.” The defence was looking rather smug, “presenting to the court footage from the Burg war on the Gromm homeworld.”

Adam’s head was filled with the sound of screaming and gunshots. The camera he was watching through was shaky and jostled this wa and that as the figure ran. Up ahead a massive bubble of force dominates the skyline and hundreds of borg ships swarmed around its top like an eruption of bees.

Drev and other marines ran up and beside, and just ahead of that.

He saw a familiar figure.

He saw himself.

Running at the front of the group. Even over the sound of the screaming and the gunfire he could hear the repetitive hydraulic hiss and whirring of the servo motors as the steel eye suit spurred him to impossible speeds. The Steel eye prosthetic hissed the loudest as he was propelled over the ground.

His heart began to beat faster and faster inside his chest, lines of sweat poured down his back and the halo of lights overhead was growing as if to encompass his vision. He felt sick and dizzy all at once, feeling as if he was tiling sideways and going to fall over. He watched as the image of him ran headfirst into a burg, grabbed it by its slimy centipede limbs…. And ripped it apart. His vision blurred and his ears were ringing.

Muffled gasps filled the court.

He gripped the sides of his chair willing himself to stay in reality, to not pass out or be sucked into some horrific sort of flashback.

He wanted to throw up.

The ringing in his ears only stopped a few minutes later with the Bailiff gently shaking his shoulder.

“Admiral.”

He sat up straighter, his hearing still muffled, but at least he could see.

“Admiral, why did you put on the suit again if it had such damaging effects on you the first time.” “I…. It… i... “ He continued to stammer for a moment before stopping and taking a deep breath, “I thought it was the only way. I put on the suit because I thought if I didn’t than I was forfeiting earth to the Burg, and I couldn’t allow that to happen.” “And how would you describe wearing the suit.”

His heart was thundering in his ears. He felt like he was going to fall over, to be sick. Phantom shots of pain ran up and down his spine. He was shaking so badly he wondered if the entire courtroom could see it, “Indescribable pain….”

“But you didn’t tear it off.”

Soft, “No.”

“So, despite the alleged trauma that the Steel eye project caused you, you wear a steel eye prosthetic, iron eye interfaces, and you have even put on the steeleye suit a second time…. Based on those actions, it hardly seems like the behavior of someone who has received laying trauma from the Steel eye project. Could it be, that your PTSD stems from the war itself and not from the Steel eye project.”

His mouth opened and then closed. His ears were still ringing, and it was hard to think around.

No matter how hard he tried he couldn't seem to put two thoughts together. Even his internal monologue had gone silent. 

“Admiral, please answer the question.”

That was when another side of him reared its head. Where the soft squishy 26 year old manchild could not answer the question, there was someone else there t pick up his pieces.”

The admiral, and the Veterin, and the Drev Sentinel,and the warrior stepped into his palace.

His hearing cleared very suddenly and he sat up turning his gaze on the defence.

The targeting system in his prosthetic eye snapped into focus placing the radicals just over the lawyers face.’

“Council, I can see that you are attempting to undermine my claim of PTSD related to the steel eye project to mitigate the lasting effects of the trauma on my person. Based on your argument, I would never have put on the prosthetic or the suit had it caused as much harm to me as I claim. I will have you know, however, that the leg was a gift from a Drev soldier following the war as a gesture of peace taken, discarded from the battlefield and modified. That leg later went on to save my life as it adopted me into the Drev clan. It is an everyday reminder of the war, and the things I lost. It took me months to be able to wear it for what it was -- as a gift-- rather than a reminder of the war. As for the Burg war, I have made mistakes in my time and that was one of them. THe Steel eye suit is a drug, and no matter how much one hates it you always want to come back. That feeling of power, being ten times stronger than you should be, it's like being a god, It is everything you hate and love all in one, and yes I was in ‘debilitating pain’ but i kept going because I  thought at that time it was the only way to save the universe.’ He leaned forward in his seat, “So the next time I am lying in the dark prone in the fetal position because one of the pipes on my ship accidentally made a hissing noise, I will take a moment to think about whether it was te steeleye project or the war.” 

His voice did not quiver or break, and instead of feeling small, he could imagine the defence shrinking slightly at his words, whose volume had never raised. 

“You may take your seat admiral.”

He did as told again straight backed and unmoved by the eyes that stared at him.

Admiral Kelly was staring at him as he took his seat, but he didn’t acknowledge her.

Thedefence  brought forward a few more points crosse examining Dr. Wilkenson before the prosecution stepped forward again.

 “The prosecution would now like to call expert witness Dr. Lemar Dedtric to the stand.”

There was some shuffling for a few moments as another man stood from he crowd and walked forward taking his seat and sworn to truth  before the eyes of the court.

“Dr. Dedric, tell us a little of your credentials here today.”

The man nodded, “For the past twenty years, I have headed the  leading psychiatric foundation at the University of Northern Mericanda. I have practiced psychiatry for those same twenty years, published over 100 papers and founded more than twenty psychological foundations for veterans. At the university level I focus primarily on Post Traumatic Stress as related to combat with a secondary focus on the psychological effects of biotechnology implantation.” “And you also reviewed this case like Dr. Gladstone?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And do you believe that there were any psychological effects related to the use of the Steel eye suits on these men and women?”

He nodded, “Most certainly. I think the admiral explained it most clearly when he described the steel eye suit as a drug. As we know, Upgrade addiction was recently added to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental illness last march. Studies that led to the institution of this particular illness found that subjects who were exposed to extreme bio interfacing where more likely to continue adding interfaces as time went on. When asked the subjects reported that their desire to augment came from the feeling of power the interface gave them. The steel eye subjects, based on the notes presented in court indicate a proclivity to going back to the project or something similar despite degrading mental health.”

“The prosecution would like to present video testimony from a few of the remaining steel eye operatives.”

With these testimonies, the case lasted well into the day, and far into the night before court was adjourned and reschedule fo the following day. He slept as if in a haze nad returned early to listen to the rest of the cross examination He was called up multiple times for both sides, but never cracked once during that time. It was as if he was watching himself from the outside.

The defence never called up their own people to the stand, and were likely not going to call them up at all.

That was fine by him.

And then finally, mercifully the judges stepped off into the deliberation chambers staying there for a good half of the day before everyone was called back.

“After much deliberation the Geneva court has come to a verdict….. A verdict. A verdict of guilt on all charges which includes the maximum sentence of life in the Turma maximum security prison facility on multiple counts of Torture, mltiple counts of manslaughter, and multiple counts of gross ethical violation, Court Dismissed.”

Adam sighed sinking back in his seat to stare up at the ceiling.

What a long day this had been.

But at least now it was over

[nanasparadise]

"Happiness” Yan! Narancia x female reader

Yandere Narancia was suggested to me by @wedypopcytragedy. Thank you so much for the request, I hope you enjoy it! <3

Summary: Darling tells Narancia that she’s going to move in with her boyfriend. Let’s just say he doesn’t take this too kindly…

TW: kidnapping, drugging, noncon touching, unhealthy relationship, slight guilt tripping, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI

I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

Narancia has been aged up, expect him to be in his early twenties (no minor content on my blog)

Word count: 2401

“Please Y/N, don’t leave now!”, the raven-haired young man cried out. He looked at you with purple pleading eyes that always reminded you of a lost puppy. Usually his orbs contained nothing but appreciation for you, but now they overflood with desperation. An uncommon darkness coated them, yet you couldn’t really pinpoint the emotion. Was it sadness? Anger? You didn’t care for now what it was, the only thing that mattered was that his eyes utterly terrified you. 

“What had happened?, you thought with astonishment. Narancia was typically very sweet and funny. Of course you were aware of his short temper, which caused his rage to flare up sometimes, but you had never felt scared of him before. 

You were currently in Narancia’s home and you had told him about your boyfriend with whom you decided to move in. This had made the young Italian so mad that he suddenly had started screaming at you. 

“How could you do this to me?”, he had cried out, “Since when do you even have a boyfriend? Why didn’t you even tell me about him?”

 In fact, you hadn’t revealed your relationship status to him because of this kind of behaviour. You knew that Narancia was very clingy and that he didn’t understand boundaries. Even though his lack of personal space had always bothered you, you never had said anything. You hadn’t wanted to hurt your friend’s feelings, especially since you were aware of his tragic past. Narancia had always been abandoned by the ones he had loved. But today, you decided to finally reveal your new flat and your boyfriend to him, hoping that he actually might not cause a scene and that he even might feel happy for you. This hadn’t of course occurred… Instead, after his fit of rage, he had become desperate. He still was glued to you, his arms entrapping you fully. 

“Y/N,” Narancia murmured softly, yet with a sad tone swinging in his voice, in your hair, “you know I’ve always loved you, right? Since I first saw you I knew that there couldn’t be anyone else in my life to fill in the void inside of me. You just make me so unbelievably happy.” 

“Narancia”, you said remorsefully, guilt nibbling on your heart for not having been truthful to him since the beginning. To your defence, you weren’t aware of his romantic feelings towards you, you just had assumed that his clinginess was the way how he expressed his platonic affection to everyone important in his life. The black-haired man quickly interrupted you.

“And I know you feel just the same to me. No one can make you laugh like I do, no one can listen to you like I do and no one will ever love you like I do.” What did he just say? Suddenly, you felt his arms tightening around your form. Your breath shortened as fear started flowing through your veins. 

“What is going on?”, you thought horrified, “Why does he sound completely delusional?” You tried to wiggle yourself out of the embrace, but his grasp was hard as steel. You couldn’t even move a tiny speck. “Maybe if I reason with him, he’ll let go.” 

“Narancia,” you repeated again, trying to hide the tremble in your voice as much as possible, “I’m really sorry for having hurt you. I wasn’t aware that you feel like that. Still, that doesn’t excuse the fact that I should have told you about my boyfriend earlier.” His already vice grip tightened even more at the mention of your significant other. You continued talking nevertheless. “I am flattered by your affection, really, but I see you as my friend, Narancia. As I said before, I just moved in with my partner and I’m currently having a fulfilling and happy relationship with him. Which means I can only offer you my friendship, nothing more…” You could feel, due the proximity, how his whole body stiffened. His purple eyes bored into yours, a  strange variety of emotions swirling in them: anger, disappointment, sadness and… love? To your surprise though, he finally let go of you. Narancia sighed deeply and just stood there for a few moments. “This silence is so untypical for him,” you noticed. Normally, the young man was full with energy, always moving and talking. After this quiet, Narancia finally spoke up. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted that way. I just thought you might leave me like the others did. But if staying by your side means only being friends with you, then I gladly accept that.” He flashed an apologetic grin at you. You were surprised by his sudden change in attitude, to say the least. 

“Wow, that didn’t take a lot of convincing,” you thought, happy about the positive outcome. 

“Should I grab you something to drink? I would actually like to hear more about your… boyfriend while we’re drinking something”, Narancia suggested with a smile on his face, though you didn’t fail to notice how he hesitated at the mention of your significant other. Wanting to believe in his change of heart you decided to simply ignore it. The Italian came back with two glasses of soda, giving you one eagerly. You took it gratefully, as you were indeed thirsty, and immediately drank most of it already. For some reason, Narancia looked at you with expectation. You assumed it was because he wanted to hear some details about your relationship as he had said earlier, so you started talking. But for some reason, your voice came out slurred and it was difficult for you to speak properly. 

“What is happening?”, you managed to phrase with effort. 

“It’s alright,” Narancia cooed at you, gently guiding you towards the couch, “just rest a bit for now, hm? I’m staying by your side.”

When you woke up, you noticed your throbbing head at first. You felt hazy, as if you were caught in an ever spinning carousel. 

“How did I end up like that?”, you thought, being totally confused. You massaged your temples, trying to diminish the dizziness. Next, you checked out your surroundings. You lay on a cosy double bed, sheets draped over your body. The rest of the bedroom was kept very minimalistic: a dresser, a TV with a game console, some shelves filled with video games, CD and books and a soft pastel orange rug decorated the space. A big window was on the wall on your left. Due to that window, you figured out that you were stuck in a flat that was at least on the third floor. The furniture appeared to be simple, yet quite expensive. How did you, a college student who worked as a waitress additionally,  wake up in such a luxurious flat? And most importantly, what were you doing here in the first place? When you felt your headache calm down a bit, you dared stand up and explore the room. You couldn’t remember what happened prior to being here. 

Nervously, you stumbled out of the comfortable bed. You looked at the content of the shelves, being surprised that, in fact, all the games, CDs and books were the ones you enjoyed.

 “Does that mean something?”, you asked yourself quietly. A strange feeling of fear began to rise in your stomach. You quickly went over to the dresser and opened it. As you dreaded. It was filled with clothes that matched perfectly your size and style, some of them even being the ones you missed in your own apartment. “How?”, you whispered terrified, your eyes being as big as saucers now. As panic flooded your senses, you rushed over to the door. You grabbed the door handle, about to push it down… but to your disappointment, the door remained stubbornly closed. The terror, already settled in your body, only amplified. “Why am I locked in here?”, you shouted, on the brink of a panic attack. 

“Calm down, Y/N,” a tiny voice in your head said to you, helping you to regain some reason, “if you continue making noises, your captor might show up and harm you.” So you slowly but steadily composed yourself. You looked around the bedroom, hoping to find something to break the door open or to climb out the window. After what felt to you like hours of searching for something useful – unsuccessfully, to your dismay – the door finally opened. A young man with raven hair and purple eyes entered. You immediately recognised the person in front of you. 

“Narancia?”, you blurted out, perplexed. Was it really… no, he could impossibly be your kidnapper, not your sweet Narancia, right?

“Oh, you’re awake Y/N! I knew I heard some noise coming from here,” the young man replied innocently while rubbing his neck in a sheepish manner, “Are you feeling alright? I hope you like the room, I wasn’t sure about the colour scheme so I kept it simple, but I bought all the stuff you like!” He flashed one of his signature grins to you. You couldn’t believe what he just had said. Your closest friend did this to you? 

“Narancia, where did you bring me? And what am I doing here in the first place?”, you asked as calmly as possible. Even though you were scared to death right now, you didn’t want to initiate a reason for him to be angry as you were completely aware of your disadvantageous position. The Italian man stared at you with a look you could only describe as infatuation. 

“Y/N,” he replied with an unusual tenderness in his voice, “I know you’re confused now, but you’re safe here with me. I brought you to a flat that’s property of Passione. No one will find you here.” His last sentence sent chills down your spine. 

“But why?”, you whimpered desperately. Your composure fell altogether. How could you stay calm when you were stuck with this maniac? 

“Because I love you. I adore you so much, every little detail about you: how you bite your bottom lip when you ponder on a topic for college, how your eyes twinkle when you talk about your favourite book, how you get all flustered when I give you a compliment. It’s all so innocent, so authentic. You make my heart flutter like no one else ever could. How could you expect me to not act when you’ve told me you moved in with that pest? I can’t let you throw this,” he gestured with his hands between the two of you, “away. You are the person that will never abandon me.” Narancia’s voice suddenly became much darker, sinister intentions hiding behind it. Your fear made it hard to respond. You slowly swallowed the lump that built inside your throat. 

“D-did you plan this out?”, you finally managed to say, though you couldn’t mask the stuttering, “I saw some of my clothes…” 

“Cara, you are being smart as always”, Narancia laughed. It’s true that the man held your education and intelligence high, as he never had the privilege to work on his own mental capacities, at least not without being threatened by Fugo. “But you’re right. I couldn’t stand the thought of being separated by you any longer… and your little show with your boyfriend,” he spitted that word out with hatred and disgust, “just was the perfect moment to act. Now we’re never going to be apart, not as long as I breath.” Upon hearing the last sentence, you fainted. Your mind just couldn’t deal with this delusional and insane man. So you were greeted by darkness again…

When you woke up for the second time today, you found yourself on the bed again. But this time, Narancia was next to you, his arms resting around your waist. His warm, steady breath tickled your ear, indicating that he was sleeping. Immediately, a wave of panic washed over you. Should you run away now? No, he probably did lock the door again… 

“But that means the key must be in the room!” This sudden realisation made hope blossom in your chest. Gaining some confidence from this sensation, you dared move around. You halted your movement for a  moment, observing if Narancia would wake up. But, lucky for you, the Italian continued his slumber. You slowly climbed out of the bed, concentrating on making as less noise as possible. Once your feet touched the floor, you scanned the room around it. It was dark outside now, the pale moon being the only light source. You tried your best to see in this obscurity. 

“Where would he hide the key?”, you thought intensely. You decided to search through the dresser first. You shook every single piece of clothing and threw it back in the dresser, leaving a mess behind. “Nothing here….”, you realised with disappointment. But it was still too soon to give up. Next, you checked out the rug. You were about to look under it as a voice made you freeze.

“Y/N?”, Narancia asked with a confused lilt in his voice, still being tired. Upon seeing that you tried to escape, the male quickly shook off his sleep. In a matter of seconds he was standing next to you, grabbing your wrists. You screamed from the top of your lungs, fear manifesting itself again. “Y/N, please, calm down!”, Narancia shouted back, tears pricking in his purple eyes, “I’m not going to hurt you! I’d never hurt you, so please, stop screaming. But you’ve got to see that I can’t just let you go like that… not when I know that I can make you so happy, just as happy as you make me. And I can protect you, too! This is all for you, every tiny thing I do is for you.”

 Narancia proceeded then to take you in his arms, stroking your hair and kissing the top of your head. Meanwhile, you were sobbing uncontrollably. His seemingly reassuring touch just made you quiver even more. The young man seemed to be oblivious to this though, only hugging your shivering form even harder. “Shh, babe, everything is alright. Let’s get to bed again and tomorrow we’ll play your favourite video game to cheer you up. That’ll help you”, Narancia  cooed into your ear. You just continued crying. Did anyone notice your disappearance yet? Would your friends, your family, your boyfriend, ever find you? Or was this now your destiny, being caged in by your obsessive former best friend?

[selfships-in-spanish]

The Queen of Demons 3/?

Pairing: Erwin Smith x OC, Levi Ackerman x OC

Rating: Mature (the rating will go up as the story advances! But it will totally be explicit ;D But right now just in case)

Warnings: None for now, but sexist and misogynist upbringing (Eva's father is a huge asshole).

Word Count: 7103

ALSO POSTED ON AO3

A/N: Third chapter LET'S GOOOOOO– We are getting more into the plot of the story, Erwin being Erwin and Flora being the absolute best girl in the whole universe.

Gotta love Flora.

CHAPTER 3: DANCING WITH THE DEVIL

Both the Crown Prince and the Chief ordered their remaining men to step outside too, asking for absolute privacy. Everyone but Moblit left.

Friederich let out a loud sigh, taking a long gulp from his goblet to drown the image of their beloved little sister pleading them to not leave her alone. They sadly had to, it was safer for her this way. The Chief refilled it, the Prince thanking him with a nod.

“Now you understand what we meant, right?” Hans laced his fingers together, resting his arms on his knees.

“Father has had his claws on her for far too long.” Friederich stared at the wine in his goblet, frowning displeased. “Too long.”

He forgot when it was the last time his little sister genuinely smiled.

“I do, your Highnesses. And I swear to you both, and to the Goddesses, that she will be safe here.”

“This wouldn’t have been possible without your help, Erwin. You really don’t know how grateful we are to you, and for accepting our only request.” Hans looked directly at the Chief’s eyes.

“This is the safest place for her to be while the other stages of the plan happen.” Erwin took a sip of his goblet, eyeing both brothers as he awaited for Moblit to finish translating. “Your father won’t dare urge us Eldians to fulfill our end of the deal until the marriage happens. For now he waits, and that is when we must act. Sadly time is of the essence, and we cannot waste any of it.”

“Truly a race against time, huh?” Friederich crossed his arms, not wanting to let any negative thoughts cloud his mind and sully his purpose.

“Yes, a race we must win.” Both brothers understood now why the Eldian Chief was both feared by his enemies and deeply respected by his allies. His determination was contagious, and even if they had all the odds against them, they felt that they could truly win. This is how his warriors must feel on the battlefield, ready to give their lives following his orders as they fought side by side.

“Our sister–” Friederich insisted, his fingers twitching.

“My warriors will protect her. The chances of having an entire army mobilised here are very slim, especially considering their General is here, and that the troops are loyal to their General, before their King.” Erwin motioned with his hand towards Friederich. “And I suppose if it was inevitable, I would have a word of warning to prepare a scheme to avoid our armies confronting each other, wouldn’t I?”

“Still, it’s a big gamble. Even for you.” Hans replied, taking a sip from his goblet. “We should consider all chances.”

“He knows his chances.” Friederich leaned back on his chair. “Don’t you?”

“I’ve always been a man of big gambles.” The Chief’s chuckle made Friederich snort. “But rest assured–”

“This is our sister we are speaking of, not only Gottesreich.” From the two brothers, Friederich had always been the hot-headed one, and wouldn’t hesitate to say a piece of his mind when his little Birdie was concerned. “Harmony has been broken, Father has gone too far in his madness, and this is our only chance to do something, yes.” Friederich leveled the Chief with a hard stare. “But for me, my sister comes first. She’s an innocent in this, screw the Kingdom if any harm comes to her, screw Fa–”

“Friederich.” Hans fixed his eyes on his brother. A warning.

“I understand your feelings and concerns, Friederich. I do, and I share the same sentiment as you.”

“She is not a pawn to be sacrificed in any stage of the plan. This is why she is here.”

“I know. Trust my warriors.” Erwin’s determined glint in his eyes settled any doubts the younger Prince may have had.

Some said he was a master strategist, others a mad genius leading an army of demons. Friederich believed he was both, because you had to be brilliantly crazy to pull stunts as they had pulled before and be victorious each time. His warriors would follow him to the ends of the known world and Friederich deeply respected that.

“We will right the wrongdoings done to this world by the hand of our father. We only wished we realised sooner what his plans were.”

“You realised it in time, enough to do something.”

“We hope so, Erwin.” Hans had a somber expression on his face, really wanting to believe what the Chief said. “We hope so.”

That seemed to conclude their private meeting, seeing both brothers to their respective rooms in the guest houses. The Chief retired to his own too, soon to be shared with his fiancé, before finishing some matters concerning the evening banquet.

As he stepped into the wooden tub filled with warm water, releasing a pleased groan as he lowered himself further into it and felt the tight knots in his back loosen, he couldn’t help but to still think about their little talk with the Princes and the Princess herself.

There was so much work to be done. They were only in the early stages of their plan and so many things could go wrong. Erwin was not stupid, he knew every plan had its risks, but they made the hard work worth it. It was worth it. The three siblings were the key to change the course of the three nations.

Hans was going to be a good King. Down to earth, just, always willing to protect his people and their happiness. He had a great responsibility on his shoulders as the Crown Prince, but Erwin felt more at ease knowing one day he will be the one sitting on the throne of Gottesreich. The Crown Prince despised greed.

Erwin deeply respected Friederich, both as a General who had the trust of his men and as a fierce soldier with a big heart. Those were qualities appreciated in Eldia, since you had to understand life in order to take one in battle. Friederich always honoured his enemies, and Erwin knew that if they ever had to cross swords in a battlefield, it would be a good, honourable fight.

But that wasn’t the plan, no. If it all came together in the end, they would be side by side.

As he let his head rest on the edge of the tub, Erwin’s mind wandered towards the third of the Gottesreichan siblings.

Erwin would be an absolute blind fool if he didn’t agree with what the whispers and rumours said; the Princess was a beauty. Elegance, gracefulness, perfect manners, a lovely face… everything needed to survive in a court and its poisoned, claustrophobic walls. But he would never forget the way she looked absolutely terrified at the prospect of being alone, and Erwin couldn’t blame her at all. It would shake anyone to their cores to be ripped off their homes to be then thrown into an unknown territory. But there was also something else hidden deep under those layers of fear, another reason than a change of culture.

With her doe eyes and delicate features, the Princess reminded him of a scared little fawn.

Erwin only hoped she would lose her fear and be happy here, to be her true self without her father’s strings manipulating her every movement and word. It will be tedious and Erwin will have to use his entire patience, but he was positive he would succeed.

The door of the private bathroom opened without a warning, Levi stepping in with a confident stride and uncaring of Erwin’s nakedness. He closed it with his foot, not even turning back to properly do so, and took a stool to sit down on it. Erwin knew it would be futile to stop Levi from saying what he had on his mind, years of friendship proved him that, and that displeased frown sometimes said more than words.

“This is a terrible idea.” Levi crossed his arms, glaring at the man in front of him. “Are you sure about this, Erwin?”

The Chief chuckled. Levi’s frown deepened.

“Ah, straight to the point as always.” Erwin closed his eyes, feeling Levi’s agitated ones on him. “I am sure.”

“What made you think marrying that Princess will help Eldia?” Levi wasn’t happy about this decision he took, but he knew that deep down Erwin must have a good, important reason to do it. Or maybe not. This was Erwin, you never knew what he had in mind. “Or maybe you want kids now? Don’t tell me it’s that, you bastard. You could have chosen any Eldian woman, they’d be more than happy to do so.”

Erwin couldn’t contain the burst of laughter that escaped from deep in his throat.

“Rest assured, Levi, it’s not kids I want.”

“Then what? It’s Gottesreich we are talking about. Gottesreich and the mad, greedy King. Do you really want to be associated with that?”

“She will help our cause.” Erwin heard Levi sigh. “Thankfully the brothers think so too, the people of her Kingdom have a special spot for her, and that plays to our advantage. Let’s better leave the Mad King thinking he got a stupidly, unbelievable good deal and that he won us, uncultured barbarians, over. You know what they say,” Ah, there it was. That dangerous, cunning glint in his eyes. “keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”

The Chief and his insane gambles. Levi scoffed.

“You already have planned multiple ways to use her and her ties to the Mad King, haven’t you?”

“You make me sound like an uncaring monster, Levi. But I wouldn’t endanger her at all, that’s not part of the plan.”

“Sometimes you are, dipshit. When you have a plan and are adamant to carry it on, nothing will stop you.” Erwin placed his hand on his chest, chuckling and lowering his head as if he was hurt.

“You wound me.”

“Asshole.” Levi kicked the tub.

“But she isn’t here to be used as a pawn.” That caught Levi’s attention. “She is here for her safety. If she stayed any longer in her Kingdom, she would have her pretty head chopped off or worse. Here she has a second chance.”

“So that’s the deal with her brothers, then? Their sister?”

“That was their only selfish request, that only one life was to be secured at any costs, even over their citizens.”

“Huh. I see. So we are babysitters now.”

“You could put it like that, or also you could think of it as an opportunity to see a beautiful flower bloom, besides the enrichment and merging of our cultures. Don’t you want to expand your knowledge?”

Levi’s brow twitched.

“You are twisted.”

“And you are twisting my words. I meant this,” Erwin tapped his temple. “Our little Princess there is not just a pretty face. I want to see what she is capable of.”

“Huh.”

“I know that behind those scared eyes lies intelligence and knowledge. One time Prince Hans told me she would go with them on diplomatic visits, and how she would take over one day when he was King. She has the skills. She’s observant, or haven’t you noticed?”

“I guess, although today she looked mostly like a frightened mouse, or haven’t you noticed?”

“Ah, indeed I noticed. Do you blame her, though?”

Levi looked at his feet, sighing.

“Not at all.”

Both men remained in silence, going through today’s events. Their lives would drastically change from now on, and Levi wanted to believe it was for the good. Erwin’s voice grabbed his attention again.

“Let’s try our best to make her feel welcome. Everyone would be scared to be in a foreign land with no known faces, no knowledge of the language, only knowing your fate is sealed and you cannot do a thing about it.”

“I think your eyebrows are what scares her the most.” Levi snorted, rising up from the stool. “Although I know other things will scare her more when she sees them.”

“Oi, there’s nothing wrong with my eyebrows.” He splashed a bit of water towards Levi’s direction, knowing how his childish behaviour often set his right hand’s man nerves on edge. He also didn’t want parts of his anatomy discussed while he was, well, naked. Levi deserved a bit of water.

“I hope your kids don't have them.” It was Erwin’s turn to snort.

“Rude.”

“Get out before you look like a raisin. I bet the Princess won’t kiss you then.” Levi grabbed a towel and threw it at the Chief’s face. “Go take a shit and make yourself presentable. You should take her around the town.”

“We better let her rest, it has been a long journey for them.” Erwin left the towel on a nearby stool. “I will take her and her brothers tomorrow to see the town.”

Levi shrugged his shoulders, walking to the door.

“Be on your best behaviour.” Levi rolled his eyes, not sparing a glance towards the Chief. Levi knew he would have that infuriating smirk on his lips.

“I’m always on my best behaviour.”

“Absolutely.”

Erwin watched Levi shake his head and sigh, exiting the bathroom and leaving the Chief snickering and alone with his thoughts.

There were so many things to prepare for his change in his daily life in the upcoming months. For once, he would have to share his house and make room for whatever needs and space the Princess may have.

And tidy.

Erwin scratched his chin, knowing he really should pick up his clothes and take them to get cleaned before Levi lost his patience and set fire to them. Also pick up the maps and books invading every flat surface available. Change the candles, store the seal wax in its rightful place…

Yes, many things indeed.

Erwin let himself submerge slightly into the water, sighing.

///

“This is a nightmare.”

“Oh c’mon, you big dramatic oaf. Look at the bright side of it, he is handsome! And strong! I want one of them myself!”

“Flora!”

“What? I got eyes and I’m not made of stone! Did you see the size of him? I bet he can lift a cow without breaking a sweat.” Flora brushed her Princess’ hair, perfectly detangling and separating the strands to prepare it for the hair style she had in mind, and greatly enjoying her friend’s flustered cheeks. “And he will say to you: “Oh, my Princess! Look at these arms!”, and then will rip his tunic off–” Flora dropped her voice trying to imitate the same pitch as the Chief’s one, and also flexing her own arms as if she was displaying her own inexistent muscles. “And say: “Princess, tonight I will—“

Eva’s scandalised gasp made it worth it.

“Where did you learn all this?!”

“My dear, sweet, virtuous, pure, innocent, Princess.” Flora’s grin made Eva’s mouth twitch.

“No, save it. I don’t want to know.”

“You know the captain’s son, handsome young man—“

“Flora!”

“Those unused rooms where—“

Another gasp.

“No!” Eva covered her mouth. Those rooms?!

“That table— sturdy, let me tell you. But ah! He has good fingers!”

“FLORA.”

The handmaiden snorted, followed by a good-hearted laugh. She resumed brushing the Princess’ hair, already thinking what pins to use this time for the braid and bun.

“I know you had to be the beacon of virtue and holiness for the Kingdom, an example to be followed, but us women are curious and have our needs also. What’s wrong in having a little bit of fun? Haven’t you been curious yourself?” Flora’s smile reassured Eva. Sometimes Eva felt like her handmaiden was a caring big sister, and felt comfortable enough to discuss thoughts she had that never would dare to say aloud.

“I… well.”

“...I know about those forbidden books under your mattress.”

“Then you know the answer.”

Flora’s loud laugh echoed around the room, needing to leave the brush on the vanity and having to clutch her belly. Eva’s cheeks increased their red glow, pointedly ignoring Flora’s outburst. Certainly those who came from the countryside weren’t as lawful to the Holy Scriptures as the ones nearer the Capital or the Palace itself.

Once Flora managed to calm down enough and wiped away tears, she resumed her work, expertly braiding the Princess’s long hair. It always soothed Eva, the way her handmaiden gently manoeuvred her hands and fingers without a harsh and painful pull. Flora said having two whiny younger sisters made you learn fast.

“Hmmm,” Flora tied the braid with a ribbon for now, tapping her finger on her chin while deep in thought. “I was thinking that for tonight’s banquet you should look… exquisite. But distinguished. But making sure our darling Chief cannot take your eyes away from you.”

“You are enjoying this, aren’t you.” Eva rose a delicate brow, looking straight at Flora’s honey eyes through the mirror. Flora snickered, turning around to the multiple open trunks and luggage.

“Of course I am!” Flora rummaged through one of the Princess’ trunks, pulling out a dress. “What about this one?”

“Which one?” Eva turned around to see which piece was Flora holding in her hands. “The red one? Maybe it’s too much… The cleavage and open shoulders—“

“It makes a statement. Our Chief won’t be able to concentrate on anything else but you.”

“I really don’t want to draw too much attention to myself, Flora. You know how much I despise it.”

“You will draw it regardless of what you are wearing, my darling Princess. Sadly you are new, and everyone wants to see the novelty.”

“I know…”

“So let's make them look and drop their jaws when they do.” Flora’s eyes brightened at her own words, a fire burning in them.

“I wish I had your confidence.” Eva sighed looking down at her hands.

“Oh no no no—” Flora left the dress on top of the bed, walking next to her Princess and holding her face in her hands and squeezing her cheeks. “Do not give me that speech!”

“Whut Fwlora—“

“Not buts! Show them what the proud, brilliant and beautiful Princess of Gottesreich is capable of!”

///

“This was Flora’s doing, right?”

“You know there’s nothing one can do to stop her once she’s set on something.” Eva sighed, hearing Hans chuckle.

“Fierce woman.” Friederich replied, smirking.

“Indeed.”

“You will thank me later, your Highness.” Flora’s smug smirk made Friederich snicker.

Hans knew her sister’s handmaiden was a hurricane. Stubborn as a mule, also. But had the biggest heart and best intentions. He still remembers when Flora came to the palace to start as a maid, a twig of a girl but with a big smile and endless energy. Chatty, too.

She was perfect for quiet, reserved and shy Eva. He also remembers how Eva would hide behind curtains or a tree because she was not prepared for her new extroverted maid. Now, as they grew, they both turned to be exceptional women with an unbreakable bond. But Flora still pushed Eva to get out of her comfort zone quite often, much to the Princess’ dismay.

The dress did cause a statement.

Once she removed her cloak upon entering the Great Hall, rearranged now to be filled with long tables and so much food it made the royal siblings’ eyes widen, Eva’s shoulders were openly displayed, as well as her long neck and collarbones, the dress neck line following a V ending in the perfect spot to either not be a vulgar display of cleavage and being cheeky enough to intuit what was underneath. It fit perfectly to her body, Flora made sure of that when the royal tailor came to take her measurements. It really was a beautiful and warm dress, velvety to the touch and thick enough to compensate for the open area. It also had embroidered motifs of leaves and flowers decorating the neckline and long sleeves, and a beautifully crafted belt made by the best Gottesreichan artisans that accentuated her waistline. Flora named it the “Jaw Dropper”. Eva scoffed at the name, thinking of how silly it was, until she wore it one day at court and had to admit the nickname suited it just fine.

Like now.

Needless to say the Chief was shocked to see skin revealed, considering how covered and bound the Princess was earlier. A quick look to the Princess’ handmaiden, who stood behind her and not even making an effort to contain her pleased smirk, made the Chief know who was behind the sudden wardrobe change.

The Gottesreichan entourage were led to the main table, as etiquette dictated for being their guests of honour. Flora was being led to another table as they approached their seats, and the thought of having Flora alone and away filled Eva with dread. She wanted Flora with them, secure with her own people, and also to have someone to help make this moment more bearable; Flora always made everything better, especially boring banquets, and the handmaiden thoroughly enjoyed them, and well, sometimes making fun of some lords. That was refreshing, even more when she had to fake smiles and politeness when all Eva wanted to do is lie down on her bed with a book.

Disregarding everything she had been taught, surprising herself even for her own selfish actions, Eva sought Moblit. Father wasn’t there to punish her now, and hoped Hans and Friederich understood her.

“I’m terribly sorry to be a burden, Moblit, but I have a request to make if it is not much trouble.” the warrior in question raised his brows. Seeing how the Princess was fidgeting with her fingers and was trying to hide it, Moblit encouraged her with a smile.

“What can we do for you, Your Highness?”

“I’d like to have my handmaiden, Flora, seated with me. I know protocol dictates otherwise, but–” Eva really hoped it would be possible. She felt her brother’s stares on her and was making her even more nervous. “I’d really appreciate it, if possible.”

Moblit looked surprised, but nodded, still maintaining his smile.

“Do not worry, Your Highness, it’s not trouble at all.”

The way the Princess’ face illuminated itself with a smile shocked the man, and hurriedly went to fetch the handmaiden in question. Flora looked at Eva and then at her supposed spot on a table near the main one, but followed Moblit nonetheless. Eva was glad she decided to ask for her, because they seated Eva next to the Chief and wasn’t sure she would have survived if Flora had not been by her side.

The handmaiden was giddy, usually having to sit on the other tables and entertain herself with the other guests while the Princess dealt with Princes and Lords; Flora recalled those times the Princess would roll her eyes whenever they crossed their gazes and both women had to hide their smirks behind their drinks. Flora knew she wouldn't have had any trouble in making friends as usual, despite the lack of language between her and the Eldians. Eva often called her a social hurricane, besides a menace when Flora had ideas.

“This looks delicious, doesn’t it?” Flora looked at the table once they were seated and people started chatting, stopping herself just in time from whistling in amazement. “So much food! They certainly didn’t fall short on it.”

“It does.” Eva sat more rigidly than usual, the closeness with the Chief getting on her nerves. She tried not to raise her voice too much, but had to agree with Flora. “The vegetables look very fresh.”

Eldian servants poured wine to the goblets and left the decanter on the table, busy with the work they had ahead.

“Careful with it, it’s… strong.” Eva looked at her own goblet with dread. She did not want to repeat her performance from before.

“That’s because you cannot hold alcohol, Princess.”

“That’s not true.” Eva knew she sounded like a petulant child.

Flora was about to retort, but was stopped by the Chief getting everyone’s attention by standing up and grabbing his own goblet. The room became silent, everyone focusing their eyes on him. Moblit silently moved to stand behind the Gottesreichan guests, ready for when their Chief spoke up.

The Chief’s strong voice boomed, speaking so everyone in the room could clearly hear him. Eva was still impressed at how his voice reminded her of rumbling thunder on a summer’s storm, and how easily he filled any room with his presence. Eva knew many nobles and princes who wished they had such a commanding presence.

Moblit’s voice made her tear her eyes away from the man.

“People of Eldia, rejoice! For tonight we celebrate and welcome a new member of our tribe. Tonight marks the start of a new stage in our lives and history, the union of two cultures. Please, welcome Princess Eva into your hearts, as she is to become my wife in the upcoming months.”

The Eldians intently listened to their Chief, some nodding, some gasping with excited smiles, some crossing their arms in a display of concentration, some with skeptical frowns. The Princess dreaded the last ones, especially when the attention of the Eldians was shifted to her, their gazes and murmurs not helping the wreck of nerves inside her guts. She will have to be careful with those who weren’t compliant with such news. Eva was not stupid, she knew not everybody was going to be happy and excited to see her here, even less marrying their leader, to become his wife. Surely they all expected someone else, but certainly not her. It was not a secret that Gottesreich had enemies across the continent, and Eldia wasn’t exactly on good, perfect friendly terms with the Holy Kingdom. Eva only hoped her presence here would smooth sore bumps and begin more friendly exchanges between nations.

The Chief turned to her, gesturing to his left with his hand. His eyes didn’t leave hers as she took her cue to gracefully stand up and bow to those who were to become her new people, raising up more murmurs. Flora always told her how her stoic and impassive face amazed her, even though she knew the Princess was a mess inside every time she had to face public speeches and banquets, but remained calm on the outside, not giving away one single thought of hers.

Tonight she really hoped it was the case.

“I propose a toast.” The Chief raised his goblet as he kept talking, while Moblit kept translating. Everyone went to do the same, grabbing and raising their goblets up high. The Chief turned his palm up, offering it for the Princess to delicately pose her own on it, her heart beating wildly inside her chest as the Chief closed it in his grip. His hand was massive. “For this union, for my future wife, for the good of Eldia! May the Goddesses Maria, Rose and Sina bless our guests! Praise the Goddesses!”

“Praise the Goddesses!” The roar of the Eldians was deafening, and everyone cheered in unison as they heartily drank as was customary.

Eva swallowed down her grimace as the wine touched her tongue and went down her throat, scorching as it did earlier. The Chief squeezed her hand, and Eva realised it was slightly trembling. Her husband-to-be was looking at her, unreadable as before, as he let go of her hand and Eva tried to not yank it back to her side in a panic; for him to witness such weakness was embarrassing. Eva left the goblet on the table and sat down as the Chief did, careful of the dress skirt. This was going to be a long night. Moblit went back to his seat on the Eldian side of the table, but not without pausing to whisper “you did well, Princess” to Eva. That was comforting.

“See? Cannot hold it at all.” Eva’s earrings slapped her jaw from the force of her head turning to fix a stare at Flora. Eva ignored the sting.

“Oh, stop it! I told you it’s strong!”

“Do you want me to remind you of that time, at Prince Zeke’s birthday party, where you–”

“No! Shush! Don’t remind me!” Eva turned her head towards the front, raising it with as much dignity as she could and a slight blush dusting on her cheeks. Not that night, Eva swore she let out even her first meal as a mere babe. It had been horrible. Flora had to hold her hair while telling another maid to get her water and a calming tea to settle her stomach. She did not dare step out of her rooms for the entire morning.

“Hmm?”

“...Okay, you are right. I cannot hold it. Satisfied?”

“For now.”

“Don’t make me regret this.” Eva sighed as she took her napkin. It was a nice fabric, Eva was surprised.

“As if! You already have to thank me, the Chief hasn’t taken his eyes from you.”

Eva froze, venturing a quick look to her right to see how indeed the Chief was glancing her way while sipping on his drink. He seemed amused but also as if he had his mind thinking on something. Eva hastily returned her gaze to her plate.

“Told you it would work!” Flora’s smug shake of her head made Eva sigh.

She was right. It did work.

“Don’t worry Birdie, I’ve seen princesses and nobles shoving their bosoms to everyone’s faces with their dresses.” Friederich leaned in, catching his sister’s attention with a cheeky smile. “You are safe.”

“See? Even Friederich here agrees with me! You have to show off that beautiful neck of yours!”

“Take some mercy on my poor sister, Flo.”

“Hm,” Flora drank from her goblet, leaning back on her seat. “Only because you asked nicely.”

“You both,” Hans’ voice rose. The three of them looked over at the Crown Prince calmly cutting some meat from his plate. “Behave. And Eva,” Hans looked at Eva with gentle eyes. “You did good today, I’m proud of you.”

Hans' smile and praise warmed Eva, happy of today’s efforts being noticed. She achieved to keep making her brothers proud, and hoped her father would be too. A timid smile rose to her lips.

The banquet passed without much more trouble, but Flora kept talking and made the Princess be out of her silent shell. Eva didn’t know if to feel relieved or saddened for not being able to communicate with the Chief, as one would do in any banquet with your dinning partner, but Eva pointedly tried to avoid looking at him, although she once or twice looked to his side for guidance when some Eldian dishes were presented and she had no idea how one was supposed to eat that. The Chief was patient enough to show her when she looked lost, and Eva kind of wanted to groan in embarrassment and thump her head on the table at the thought of what must the Chief think of her, even unable to eat without guidance as if she was a child.

The desserts were delicious, though.

As the night continued, some Eldians began dancing in the center of the Great Hall to the lively tunes the band played on a corner. They cheered and laughed loudly, inviting others to join and spin around the improvised dance floor. Those who weren’t dancing yet, followed the rhythm of the music with the clapping of their hands and thumping of feet on the floor, singing along.

The air was cheery and happy, contagious even. Some warriors went to the center of the floor, like Mike with that female warrior from before. Even Moblit was dragged to it by an excited warrior with a wide smile and sparkling brown eyes. The Chief remained on his seat, enjoying the jolly atmosphere of his people having a good time. Levi kept refusing people coming to ask him for a dance.

Eva watched fascinated at the Eldian dances, so different from those back home. They were not afraid of bodies touching bodies, hands clasping and hugging, spinning, jumping… it was as if a joyful spell had been casted on them. Even Flora joined, and Eva was really not surprised at that, when an Eldian approached her. Flora was torn for a split second, not wanting to leave the Princess alone, but Eva nudged her, begging her handmaiden to have a good time on her behalf. So there she was, dancing and spinning and laughing as the Eldian man tried to follow her pace. Eva couldn’t help her smile, enjoying her friend having a good time.

As the night progressed, more people joined and changed partners as others took a break. Knowing how Friederich loved to dance when he was at foreign banquets, Eva did not try to feign surprise or shock when he took Flora to join him in a dance as she had come back to take a break too, this time shoving her to her brother’s arms, whispering “go go go!” for only her to hear. Eva considered this payback for the dress, raising a brow with an almost imperceptible smirk as Flora sent her a dirty, flustered look her way when Friederich twirled her around. Her smugness fell when the Chief’s voice rumbled beside her, Moblit translating for him as the poor warrior managed to take a seat again after his dance partner let him.

“You don’t dance, Your Highness?”

Oh dear. Oh no. He was asking for a dance?

"My deepest apologies, I wouldn't want to expose my lack of gracefulness in front of my Lord. I am not acquaintanced with the dance moves or songs, and I’m afraid also I only know Gottesreichan court dances.”

Hans watched intently at their interaction, curious as to what her sister was going to do to get out of that one. Normally he would come to her rescue, or Friederich or Flora, but from now on she had to be on her own. The Chief answered and Moblit translated.

“I can teach you.”

Hans saw Eva swallow. There was no way she was getting out of that one, poor thing.

“I–I really don’t want to cause any embarrassment on you–”

“I was told you were a good dancer, though. I’m sure you are a fast learner too, Your Highness.”

The Chief stood up, his form towering over her as he offered his hand. Eva quickly looked at Hans, as if he would try to save her at the last minute, but he pointedly looked another way. Traitor! Eva didn’t have any other option but to accept the invitation and spend the most distressing moment of her life, for now. She heard Levi scoff and shake his head, saying something loud enough for the Chief and Moblit to hear, making the big man huff amusedly and Moblit to sigh.

People were staring, and Eva saw Flora encourage her with excited nods and smiles, mouthing “Go!”, and then “Like the summer solstice dances!”, at her. Friederich fixed a stare at the Chief as he saw his hand settle on the Princess’ waist after guiding Eva’s hand on his shoulder, holding her free hand in his own. The Chief smiled at her, trying to reassure the Princess as he squeezed her hand, and Eva had two swallow down a noise as she noticed how his hand engulfed her own. Even her waist felt small in his grasp.

The Chief gently guided her through the first steps of the dance, swaying and hopping to get used to it, and Eva felt clumsy like a newborn colt trying to follow him. Her nerves were not helping at all, too focused on the feel of his hand on her waist and back, its warmth scorching even through the thick layers of the dress, or the way his chest pressed against her back when the Chief tested the waters when he made her twirl through a step of the dance. Eva maintained her eyes locked on the Chief’s, as one should do when dancing with a partner, and Eva was sure the Chief could clearly see her anguish in them at the thought of either stepping on his foot, or being a poor dance partner, but he only saw genuine amusement in them. Maybe she was not doing that bad.

The music picked up a faster rhythm again, the banquet attendants getting back to their conversations and dancing partners, although curiously keeping an eye on the spectacle of having the Chief dance with the Princess. Eva could feel her uneasiness slip away, her confidence swelling at the thought that her trembling hands hadn't given her anxiety away, and allowed herself to move more freely. It was as Flora said, a dance like the summer solstice dances from Gottesreich where you let joy and music guide you and your partner. Still, the Eldian way of dancing was more wild, less bound and constrained, and more light on the feet, loose.

Feeling how the Princess was less strained and rigid, the Chief increased the speed of his movements too, following the band’s rhythm. He was enticed by the way the skirt of the dress flowed, reminding him of a flower in full bloom moved by a slight breeze, and the way her cheeks were reddened by both the efforts and her own nervousness.

The Chief felt bold, wanting to see how much he could push and test the Princess’ limits for tonight, and encouraged by the clapping of the people and the increased tempo of the song pushing the dancers into a more frenzied section, nearing the end of the song, the Chief made the Princess spin before picking her up in the air. He could see how both his hands practically swallowed her waist, fingers almost brushing against each other, and heard both the excited cheers and whistles from his people and the Princess’ startled gasp, frantically searching a place to find purchase for her hands, finally settling on his shoulders and tightening her grip for dear life, feeling his thick muscles underneath. She was light as a feather, and the thought greatly amused him. The Chief spun them around once, setting her back on her feet and continued to dance, Eva needing to ground herself to the fact that The Chief picked her up as if she weighed nothing, besides the boldness of the act itself. This was unthinkable back at court!

The Chief did it again and Eva wanted the earth to swallow her whole at the tiny, undignified squeak she let out as if she was a scared little mouse. Eva swore she saw him chuckle and the Princess pulled her lips in a tight line, fighting for her cheeks to not redden further.

The song was reaching its climax, the musicians wildly playing their instruments in an intense performance, and in a final spin and hop of the dance the Chief pulled the Princess close, ending the dance with their bodies pressed against each other and not taking their gazes away, staring intently into the other.

The Great Hall erupted with applauses and cheers, everyone taking a moment to step away from their partners, conversations and food to congratulate everyone in the room. Eva was panting, acutely aware of how her chest was squished and pressed against his own as he too tried to regain his breath, hands still clasped together and his other one on her small of the back. Her fabric felt flimsy and thin to her now, as if she was too exposed to his gaze, and Eva wanted to curse Flora for it; she did not need to look down to see how they were pressed upwards, Eva felt it.

Thankfully he stepped back, probably by the murderous glower of Friederich thrown his way, and released her as he respectfully bowed. Eva did the same, lifting her skirts and returning his courtesy. He then gestured to their seats, and Eva was never more grateful or in agreement with the Chief as she was now. She urgently needed to take a seat and process everything. Flora and Friederich did the same, the handmaiden excitedly sitting down and intently looking at the Princess, ready to open her mouth. The Chief speaking stopped her.

“I knew you were a fast learner, Your Highness. It was a beautifully performed dance.” Moblit translated, and both women saw the Chief nod at them both with a pleased smile before drinking from his goblet.

“Thank you for the dance, my Lord, I’m honoured.”

“Although, I never thought a mouse could make such adorable noises.”

Eva wanted to scream.

///

Eva still had the memory of the Chief’s hand on her body, like a scorching imprint deep in her mind. Eva swore her skin still tingled from the contact, even if she was in her nightgown and staring at the unfamiliar ceiling. Her fingers were nervously braiding and unbraiding her hair, going over today’s events and banquet.

Flora was already out like a light, her deep breaths signaling how deep into her slumber she was, and Eva could not blame her. Flora truly tired herself dancing, and Eva did not have the heart to tell her to behave, that was Eva’s job. A perfect pretty puppet. Flora did not represent the virtuousness and regalness of the Holy Kingdom, and Eva preferred it that way; Flora was a free spirit, and Eva would rather have her fly like a free bird than have her caged as herself in her duties.

This was to become Eva’s new life here, living amongst demons. Different place, same cage.

The Princess was not looking forward to the walk around the village that the Chief proposed for tomorrow morning, much preferring to stay in her rooms and scream into her pillow until her vocal chords were sore. She also wasn’t eager to go on the customary hunt the Eldians performed for their brides and grooms in the forest. Whenever Eva had to tag along the hunting trips back at any court, rolling her eyes internally at the nobles and princes showing themselves like peacocks, she was bored out of her mind. The Princess usually sat down at the picnic blanket spread out on the grass and under a tree’s shadow, drinking her cup of coffee with the other ladies and Flora. Eva always zoned out, answering with monosyllables and enough words for the other conversing partner to not feel ignored, as she gazed at the flowers or birds.

Sighing deeply, Eva let go of her hair and shifted to her side, facing the window.

At least the moon was the same.

[bubblyani]

Bail Out : 09

(Bruce Wayne x Reader)

A Bruce Wayne Multi Chapter Series

Chapter 09: Loyalty 

Summary: One fateful, drunken night gets you arrested for assault.  However, once you get bailed out by Billionaire Socialite Bruce Wayne,  surprising obstacles get in the way, forcing you to question all your  choices in life, career, and in love.

Word Count: 7300+

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Violence

Author’s Note: Heeyyyy!! Sorry for the 3 week absence. Needed to get some personal stuff on track and finally writing once again. Perhaps I am also sad to end this series also. But, I am determined to end this perfectly. One more chapter to go so it’s not the end yet. Enjoy lovelies!

CHAPTER LIST

(10 am)

Concern came over John Blake, thus translating into physical pain when his fingernails dug into his palms. All the while the young woman sitting before held his attention for a few seconds that seemed like pure torture.

Her graceful, manicured fingers danced across the computer keyboard, pressing in a rhythmic manner as she searched for specific piece of information. Looking up finally, she displayed a choreographed smile: “I’m sorry, but there’s no record of an appointment with…Officer Blake” She said. Bowing his head down, John chuckled with disbelief: “No...” He replied, shaking his hand before putting it on her table, “There has to be a mistake...” His voice rife with seriousness, “You see, I called you…you’re Simone right?” “Yes?” “Yeah, I called you yesterday and I was told…10 am” John stressed on it, eventually growing irritated. Finally, with approval granted by Commissioner Gordon himself, Officer John Blake finally was in the clear to approach Erik Henderson for further questioning. There was a game to be a played, and he played it well. He followed the rules, he made the appointment with his secretary, all in the hopes that today will not proved to be a hassle.

At least, that was his intention. Until now.

“So sorry, Officer…” the cold smile continued to linger in young woman’s face,“...but no appointment. But…” she paused, grabbing John’s attention, “…if you can wait a bit I can fit you in on a free time slot, how about that?”

Though her smile grew wider, it was evident her intentions were far from sincere. With a huge sigh, John smiled back tightly.

“That would be great, thanks”  He said politely, for the game was still on, and he had to keep playing. Joining Officer Nina Langdon, they made their way to the hallway together.

Henderson Incorporated Building proved to be lavish. And it certainly exuded a different energy from Wayne Enterprises. The decor had over-compensating written all over it, as if gold had a massive explosion, while the scent of strong lavender invaded their nostrils without permission. Nina sighed:

“Bet we’re gonna get ditched, I’m 100% sure” she muttered, with her arms folded. “Yeah...” John agreed, as they collectively gazed upon the secretary from a distance, “…especially now that it’s pretty obvious Henderson doesn’t wanna see us” He said. Turning back to the redhead, he sighed, “You didn’t have to come with me, you know”

“You kidding me?” Nina asked, shaking her head slowly, “I assigned myself to this case…” she stated, “…like it or not, I’m with you all the way”

John’s lips curved upward, for the subtle affection she delivered was not to be ignored, “Okay…” he accepted. For truthfully, he was always relieved to have her around.

“Although I’m definitely not happy with the waiting part” Nina pointed out casually. “Wait…What?” Laughing, Nina put her hand on his shoulder, “I’m kidding…” she added, “Cause…” suddenly her laughter disappeared, leaving nothing but a serious facade, “We’re NOT leaving until we talk to Henderson”.

Surprised, yet convinced, John nodded before dialing a number on his phone.

“Ma’am?” He began, with the phone pressed against his ear, “It’s Blake…”

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

A call from John Blake was not expected by you that morning. Truthfully, you didn’t expect any call from anyone for you had no intention to answer any. But given the situation you did answer his. Sitting by the edge of the neatly made bed, you listened to Blake on speakerphone whilst dressed in nothing but the white towel.

“But…couldn’t you just go back another day?” You inquired with concern.

“We could…” the policeman replied, “But I won’t be surprised if they suddenly find it inconvenient to see us then” “Fair point…” you agreed with a nod. Looking up, you involuntarily smiled by the sight of Bruce walking towards you in a bathrobe,  “I really appreciate the help, Officer” You added. “Well, this definitely is a case unlike anything I’ve ever seen…” he said, “So we’ll keep you posted”

The moment you hung up, the mere device that was the mobile phone suddenly seemed insignificant as you stood up to face your lover. It was not long before you and Bruce Wayne possibly had the time of your lives making love without any sense of restriction nor interruptions, while the morning was the sole witness. It was not long before this neatly made bed had been full of crumpled sheets, and one destined wet towel. For others, it may have appeared to be a complete state of mess. However, for you it was a sweet reminder of total satisfaction, for that mess was a memory worth treasuring for eternity.

A gentle breath exited your lips the moment he pulled the towel off your nude frame. Gingerly placing a bathrobe around your shoulders, Bruce dressed you up with care. He even took his time proceeding to the smallest detail by tying up the robe tightly, all the while he maintained an unbreakable gaze at your direction. You felt attended, you felt cared for. Truthfully it had been sometime since you had this felt from a man. And it simply proved more than satisfactory.

“Thank you…” You murmured, closing one’s eyes in pleasure when he placed a loving kiss on your forehead. With a gentle tug on the sleeve, he guided you towards the chairs that faced the large windows. The moment your eyes graced over the outside world, you could not help but chuckle all the sudden.

“What?” Bruce inquired, and his confusion was valid. “Just…” You shrugged as you took a seat across from him,  “...never knew I had to literally worry about someone trying to have me killed” you added, feigning laughter. It was no laughing matter. For this was not an average matter of concern. It was much bigger. Given the manner your fingers nervously held the others, it was simply clear as day how you worried for your life.   “Well, I’m here…” Bruce’s gentle voice anchored you back to the light. For all the sudden, you remembered who exactly you sat across from. The guardian, the knight. Your knight. “I know….” You replied, smiling softly, “And I’m glad” you said, taking in a deep refreshing breath in what you were blessed with before you.

As much as the Dark Knight was glorious in black, Bruce appeared  ethereal in white. He always did, ever since you laid eyes on him. For you, he was the poster boy for crisp white shirts, pulling them off well it seemed criminal. And even this bathrobe he donned, came to a close second. The manner his hair gently had fallen over his face, the manner his side profile was proudly flaunted by mother nature, you could be nothing but grateful to witness them. You indulged then sight as he turned his head, gazing across the Gotham skyline with interest. Rays of sunshine illuminated the high rise buildings and other structures nearby, and the sight clearly had brought a huge smile to his face.

“Wow…” He finally breathed, “it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He said softly, his eyes still on the skyline.Your own eyes widened with disbelief.

“Please don’t tell me this is your first time realizing that!” You exclaimed, raising your eyebrows. “It is…”   “What?” Leaning forward, your jaw dropped involuntarily,“But...” you scoffed, “...how is that possible?” “Guess I’m not blind anymore...” Bruce replied, except his eyes were not glued to the skyline any longer. Where they were glued, you need not proof, especially when your cheeks began to flare up. His gaze, that gaze, it was what you always longed for. All these years. A gaze full of content. A gaze full of genuine affection. So wholesome it seemed unfathomable. “Why me?” Those words escaped you before you could take control. Bruce raised his eyebrows. “I don’t follow...” “I mean…” you paused, shyly bringing your legs up to sit cross legged, “I was too busy falling for you...that I didn’t even bother to ask you…” you chuckled, “…out of all the people, why pick me?” Truthfully, this was riffed with genuine curiosity. Thus, you did not blame yourself. Surprised by your inquiry, Bruce did not rush to answer. However, that in turn made your pulse race: “Cause, granted Bruce…” you interrupted, “.. I’m not this beautiful foreign ballerina, model or even an actress-” “You are very beautiful…” he protested gently. “Oh! I know I am…” You were surprised by your own  confidence, “It’s  just that…” taking a deep breath, you continued, “Wow! I actually can’t believe you think so…” you found yourself say, suddenly lost in the hazel orbs, “What? that’s not the real question…” you said, scoffing whilst shaking this spell away.

“You seem distracted” Bruce purred, his gaze affixed on you.

“All thanks to you…” you chuckled, blushes making an appearance once again. Inhaling deeply, you looked at him with genuine earnest: “Why...did you risk everything just to come bail me out that morning?”

You inquired, sitting up straight, “You’re Bruce Wayne...you’re someone who could definitely hold up your own…” you added, pointing at him with a sense of grandiose, “…and what I did was colossally embarrassing, not just to you but for the whole company...so…why?” “Loyalty…” Bruce’s reply, it made you blink. “Sorry?” He smiled, “Your loyalty…it…struck me…” he said, “And honestly...” he added, “... bailing you out was simply my way of thanking you…” “And I will always be grateful for that…But why-” “-did I fall for you?” He finished the sentence for you, but in a different way. One that made your heart skip. “I was gonna say...care for me but, I’ll take that instead” you said, smiling shyly. He chuckled: “I wish I could give you a clear answer on that…but I can’t…” he replied, in all honesty, “I mean, can you?” That was when you came to the simple realization. Not everything was a checklist, some phenomena in life are simply many a reasons infused into one entity. “No…” you breathed, “I guess I can’t…” you chuckled, “I mean, it’s not like it’s a Math Test where everything is technical, right?” You said, to which he nodded in sheer agreement. “The moment we started to talk...” Bruce began, “It just felt…so familiar…” he said, in a dire attempt to grasp the words, “…It felt like we were two-” “-friends?” This time, it was you who finished it for him. And he agreed here as well.

“Exactly…” he said,  “And then I just…I just couldn’t stop…”   “I get it…” you said, “I get it a lot” you agreed with a chuckle. It was no difficult task to do so, for your heart was brave witness to all the suffering undergone within you, the suppression of emotions brought up by him, “And, I know what I’m gonna say is very, very cheesy-” “Cheesier than the dinner last night?”

You could not help but guffaw, “No…” as he laughed alongside you, “Oh! come on! I trying to be serious here…” “Sorry…” Exhaling deeply, the laughter died down. Composing yourself from the humor, you were a surprise to your own self as you rose up from the chair.

“As I was saying…” you began, walking towards him while running your fingers through your hair, “…clearly there were the obvious signs of…wealth…and luxury surrounding you…” stating the obvious, you had an air of professionalism that seemed to amuse him, “…but from the moment I spoke to you in the car…” you said, certainly full of surprises as you sat across his lap, “I realized that…I really just wanted to spend time with…you”. A deep breath was indeed necessary, drinking in the man that was Bruce, “I really wanted to win the heart of Bruce...not the billionaire. Just…Bruce-”

His blessed name exited your lips in the best possible manner, especially when his own greedy lips captured you in a kiss. A kiss that traveled deeper to the trenches unknown in your soul. Your hands found haven in his hair, fingers tangled in his luscious locks, allowing your affections to transmit to him through the mere follicles of his existence. Bringing you closer to him, his hand rested gently on your back, stroking with a sense of care and even more. His lips, they seemed essential to you day by day, kiss after kiss. And that realization seeped in to you the moment he pulled away.

“Don’t go today...” His words, they brimmed of a plea. Yet, in truth, you did not seem to require much convincing. “I won’t…” you said softly, against his lips, “Cause… luckily for you…” your face lit up with cheer, “…. this employee rarely takes leave…”

Chuckles filled the room between the two. This, this simple form of comfort, happiness, it was all you ever longed for in life. And when it kissed you and held you tenderly, you found it quite difficult to believe.

“But seriously, I honestly think we both deserve a good break” you added with conviction, “Maybe we can watch something nice. Maybe I can cook for you, feed you, …” your affectionate tone had him throw you a hopeful gaze, “….Maybe watch you do pushups , and act like a lovestruck teenager” you chuckled by the mere thought of it.

“Anything you want…” Bruce certainly did not seem to mind, holding on to you with a sense of high value.

And in truth, those plans were simply perfect.

Even in the comfort of home, it certainly was a vacation. Just you and him together, the world was suddenly your oyster. Excitement bubbled within you both, when it finally was possible to experience the life of a normal couple. And you certainly was surprised when Bruce found it equally enthusiastic. Be it cooking, and cleaning which seemed to have some familiarity already. Be it an unexpected nap, curled up in each other’s arms, occasionally indulging kisses by the sofa whilst engaging with the television. Or be it gazing into each other’s eyes whilst slow dancing together in your sweats and t-shirts. Dusk was welcoming, bringing in nothing but softness while soothing music played in the background. Seeing him this content, you only wished Alfred had returned to witness.

“Do you like this?” You inquired gently, brushing one’s nose against his. And against the changing colors of dusk, you saw him nod. “So much so, I wish I could show you off to the whole world” he breathed.

That heart stirring phrase, surprisingly left you with a needful reminder. With your pulse growing fast, you were overcome with an urge.

“Bruce…” you began, “There’s something I want to tell you…”  you said, which suddenly captured his attention. You took a deep breath “I-”

“Master Wayne!”

Alfred Pennyworth’s booming voice never failed to gain attention. Both of you released each other from seeing the older man walk fast. Bruce grinned at him.

“Missed us already, Alfred?” He inquired. However, pleasure or amusement was the least of his concerns. In fact, his face was filled with concern.

“It’s about Arkham, Sir”

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

“A security breakdown? at Arkham Asylum?”

Shooting up from his seat, Blake cried out into his phone, “But… how is that even possible?”. Shocked from what she just heard, Nina could do nothing but watch him.

“Yeah, man. That’s what they told us” Officer Dave Ramirez replied from the other side, “We’re on our way to hold down the place. It’s all good, John, don’t worry. I’ll look into it…”

“Thanks, Dave”

Hanging up, John sighed heavily, sitting next to Nina, “Something doesn’t feel right…” he said. He was not mistaken. For must that happen now? Out of all the times? Or had he just become the victim of a delusional nightmare?

It would seem fair, considering the fact waiting was all John and Nina had to do from morning, the one giant hurdle to overcome in order to reach their goal. At times, it seemed like a punishment, yet they kept waiting. Hours passed, and still they waited. They may had to go run down to satisfy their need for sustenance with some sandwiches, but they did not hesitate to return with more motivation and wait once again. Only upon looking through the glass windows were they informed of the arrival of dusk. And now with the news of Arkham, everything seemed out of reach and uncontrollable.

The young secretary suddenly stood up from her desk with a huge smile on her face. “Mr.Henderson is waiting for you…”

She said brightly. John and Nina looked each other, wondering if it finally was their chance as they got up. But to their disappointment, it seemed she was addressing the 4 men in suits carrying suitcases that just arrived behind them. Given their appearances and features, Blake quickly identified them to be the Henderson Legal Team. Shooting cold glances, the men swiftly entered Henderson’s office one by one. And this time, Nina Langdon scoffed out loud:

“Unbelievable…” she muttered under her breath. “Nina…” filled with hopelessness, John muttered with concern, “…we can go bac-” “No!” She interrupted, looking at him, “We waited this long…” she said, “Not now…”

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

It was not shameful to acknowledge  the simple fact you were nervous. For it was not the time to be in denial.

“Would you like to return to the Penthouse miss?”

You halted. Pacing back and forth in constant motion, you certain had forced Alfred Pennyworth to take notice. And you were embarrassed by it.

“No, I’m good…” you shook your head, “Thank you” smiling softly. Suddenly, you were overcome with a sense of unprofessionalism. You took a deep breath, “Did Bruce always use this place?” You inquired, looking around the underground concrete chamber.  

“Not when he was in the Wayne Manor” Alfred replied, sitting in front of the CCTV monitors. With the fire burning most of the Wayne Manor down a few years back, it seemed to make quite the sense to find solace in the Wayne Penthouse and here. Though the news blamed the man’s intoxication for the fire, you wondered if there was reason deeper at play. His enemies? Could tonight be a trap set out for him as well? Involuntarily you found yourself rubbing your forearms as a result. “It’s Master Wayne, Miss” Alfred said, “He will be alright” Smiling at him gratefully, you stood next to him to watch the screens. He was right. You hoped to believe him above all others. It was not too long since Bruce left. Thus, the memory remained fresh in your mind.

“But, but...wasn’t the Asylum supposed to have firm security?”

Your naive and loud  inquiry also was fresh in your memory, as the three of you descended to the concrete chamber. Your eyes were filled with quite a sight of the lair, the moment the white lights began to illuminate.

“It was supposed to…”

Bruce replied, hurried walking towards the monitors. Truthfully, when Alfred came in with the news, you assumed you would have been ask to head home. Therefore, being asked to accompany was unexpected. However, you worried of your possible lack of helpfulness.

“And we just have audio?”

“That’s what Gotham PD got…”

He said, as he kept replaying the phone call. The caller presumably from Arkham, was filled with fear. The more times the clip was played, the more you sensed the atmosphere in the room tense with every second. And by the 5th replay, you saw Bruce get up.

“I gotta get over there…” he said.

“What?”

Your involuntary response leaped out as your eyes traced his movements. As much as you were filled with wonder by the sight of the Bat suit, hung on a transparent rack that emerged from the concrete floor. “The police is going to need all the help it can get, if a breakout happens…” He added standing with arms crossed,  “Especially with the patients in there…”

“You mean like the J-” “Yeah…” “Of course…”

You said quietly. This certainly was not the time to protest for his safety or panic. A sense of responsibility came over you, the responsibility for your own emotions here. You were obligated to offer him your trust in this moment. Turning towards you, Bruce flashed a soft smile:

“Sorry I couldn’t give you the full tour…”

You shook your head without hesitation, “There’s time for that later…” you said, walking over to him, “Just-”you paused, “Be careful, okay?” For that all you could utter. That was what you should utter.

“I will…” Bruce replied, with you a reassuring look, “You stay put”

The sudden vibration in your sweatpants pocket, ushered you back to reality. Taking the phone out, Your eyes widened by the sight of the caller.

“Clara! Hey!” You answered with a smile, “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you last night I-”

“Listen, I need your help” you heard her mutter, “I think…” she inhaled a shakily, “I think I’m in trouble…”

With a cascade of words streaming out of her lips and into your ears through the communication line, certainly made you freeze in a stance. The manner in which your hand clenched, you were certain her distress was no simple matter. She needed your help.

Your initial instinct longed to dash out to the rescue. Yet you made a promise. Never did you preferred to be the naive one and break Bruce’s trust. However, you would never forgive yourself if you could not help either.

“Alfred..”

You breathed, as soon as you hung up, “I’m sorry but… I think I gotta go…Now before you say anything, there’s just a place I really need to be…A friend is in trouble” your lips rambled with concern, “Alfred, you gotta trust me. I wouldn’t go unless its necessary” you brought your hands together, “Please-”

“I believe you…”

Alfred answered with confidence. And you were truly surprised. Perhaps you expected protests and refusal.

“You do?”

“Yes” He said, “Which is why… I know you will do exactly as I say…”

Then again, given the years this man had lived through, it could be possible for him to easily trace of sincerity in your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you felt your fist loosen:

“I’m all ears…”

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

The Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane, or Arkham Asylum for short, a psychiatric hospital-prison was home to the most criminally insane in the city of Gotham. Thus, the mere mention of a breach of it’s security certainly caused panic far and wide.

However, the moment Officer Dave Ramirez arrived at the scene, doubts and confusion was all he could come up with.

Standing in the midst of the chatter and the several police cars parked, his arms remained crossed as he slowly shook his head in disappointment. His gaze affixed on his partner, Officer Vance exiting the Asylum building with a skinny man handcuffed.

“A False alarm? Really?”

Ramirez inquired his partner with a scoff, “Do they think we’re a joke?” He questioned further as the man was  seated in the car. He certainly had a fair point. Never did they expect to come down all this way just to realize security breach existed, and it all was nothing but a fake call made by one convincing staff member in administration. With Arkham managing to apprehend the staff, several Gotham PD cars with armed officers had arrived just for a simply handover. It was an embarrassment to the riches. Closing the car door behind him, Vance sighed: “Well, the call was pretty convincing” he replied, looking at Ramirez, “Why he did it, he wont say..” “What?” “Yep, quiet as a mouse-” “HELP!” The loud cry from the seemingly quiet man forced every officer to turn in alarm, including Vance and Ramirez. “Oh…my…god” Ramirez muttered in shock as he lowered his guard. By the sight of none other than the Batman himself.

In a matter of swift movements, he had seemed to grabbed the man out of the car, only to press him fiercely against it with a loud thud! “Why did you do it?” Batman growled at the man, as Ramirez and Vance approached him, “Why did you make the call?” “Please! Don’t hurt me” the man  whimpered whilst hyperventilating, “I had my reasons” “Trust me, Buddy” Ramirez began, “Better save yourself now with the truth, before the Court rips you out with prison time” Truthfully, no officer was as shocked to see the Batman than Dave Ramirez. Known to the whole station as the shameless fan of the Dark Knight, this moment was rewarded for his patience. Yet regardless, it was key that he maintain his level of professionalism and suppress his inner fanatic. With his breath slowing down, the skinny man raised his hands in defense as he took a deep breath: “I was on my way to the store on my day off...” he continued, “...and all the sudden a car pulled up, and it got dark cause I had a bag over my head” he gulped, “....the next thing I knew, I was drowned in a bathtub full of ice” he said in pain, “...threatening me to fake a security fail and call the police…” “You could have told us that, you know?” Vance said. The man’s eyes widened. “How could I, man?” He said, “I was being fucking watched” he added through gritted teeth, “He was threatening to kill my family” “Who was it?” Batman inquired. “Some guy” he said, “...he was dressed in all black” “With a skull shaped mask?” Batman managed to add to his query before the cops could even interfere. The man nodded frantically: “Yes! AH-” Dropping the man down from his grip, Batman surprised all as he began to walk away out of the scene, “Keep this man safe” he growled pointing at the man. Vance and Ramirez looked at each other with confusion: “Wait! What’s going on?” Ramirez inquired. “This is a ruse” Batman replied hoarsely, as he climbed on his Bat-pod, the red and blue blinking lights reflected in his direction in the night. “For what?” Dave seemed more confused, until he gasped, “WAIT!” He cried as the Bat-Pod exited their location with a roaring sound, disappearing into the darkness faster than anyone expected. “Damn it!” Dave cried out, throwing his hat on the ground. Vance seemed concerned. “You okay?” Dave sighed into his palms, “Couldn’t even take a photo of the guy”he mumbled, to which Vance did nothing but roll his eyes.   “Pretty sure he wouldn’t give you the satisfaction, Dave. The guy’s too smooth”

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

Parting greetings were heard and exchanged between the secretary and other employees as most of them prepared to go home after a long day. Half and hour passed, and the Lawyers still appeared to be in Henderson’s Office. Crossing his legs, Blake looked at the young woman:

“Long night tonight, huh?” Blake said, motioning towards the office door. She however, did not look surprised.

“Oh, it’s nothing new” she replied nonchalantly, turning her attention back to the computer.

Finally, the suits managed to exit Henderson’s office, but to John’s surprise, Simone still did not offer the green light he so required, as she merely shook her head in feigned apology. Exiting the washroom, Nina returned, only to identify the dejected look on John’s face.

“Still no?” She asked, to which Blake nodded upsettingly. Never was he the one to give up. Except this time, he was compelled to. A part of him wondered if it was his sheer naiveté blinding him. Sighing, it seemed that Nina Langdon was not going to take this anymore.

“Well, here goes nothing”

She muttered, taking a deep breath, “Ma’am?”

Changing her voice to a more polite tone, Nina approached the secretary, “Uh… it’s Simone right? I’m sorry but I think there’s a problem with the lock in the washroom. Could you check it out for me?”

Confused, the young woman seemingly was encouraged to listen. “Yeah sure...” She said, standing up to follow Nina towards the washroom. Getting up , John leaned towards that direction to listen:

“The door seems fine” he heard the young woman’s voice echo, “…Where exactly is the proble-HEY!!!”

“Oh gosh! I’m so sorry! See? I told you there’s something wrong with the lock. Let me-Let me get some help, okay?”

Smirking to himself, John could detect Nina’s feigned innocence with his eyes closed. And within seconds, she appeared before him, for time was of the essence:

“I locked her in. GO GO GO!” She hissed.

Suddenly tension was high, and while Nina kept watch by the washroom, John made his way to Henderson’s office. One way or another, he was certain to charge his way in and obtain answers.

“I hope we can put an end to this soon, Mr. Henderson…”

John paused. He had to, upon hearing a polite male voice through the door, which conveniently was never completely closed. And that was when he realized, out of the 4 men that entered half and hour earlier, only 3 had left. Holding his breath, John remained frozen as he could possibly be.

“….the Police is starting to get suspicious. Did you see the two waiting outside?”

“What? They’re still there?? I figured making them wait will make them leave”

Erik Henderson’s irritated voice boomed loud enough to end up in John’s ears with clarity. Given the tone of this conversation, he was more than certain this was of great importance. And when he took out his phone and pressed record, he was grateful of his decision.

For the answers he desired for, were finally handed to him on a silver platter. For the waiting finally seemed worthwhile. For Henderson’s attempts were merely futile.

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

Your legs shook with nervousness in the taxi, when you made your way to Wayne Tower.

The fact you were merely dressed in Bruce’s black T-shirt and your sweatpants did not seem relevant at all at this point, for it was vital that you be there. For Clara. Especially since her phone call kept replaying in your mind on a constant loop:

“You might think I’m nuts but, I think I may have a stalker situation. Told you! It’s nuts, but had a feeling ever since I came to Wayne Enterprises. Uh…weeks later, it started to get worse…that’s why…that’s why I even had to leave sooner than my contract. When I left, I thought it would get better, but now I’m getting these weird silent calls and-Oh god! I didn’t know who else to call. Can we meet at Wayne Tower, please?  Its the safest place I could think of…”

The moment you felt the vehicle slow down, you were not hesitant to quickly stuff extra change you had into the pleased driver’s hand, jumping out of the car soon after. “You alright, sport?” Bill the Doorman inquired, as he saw you dash towards his direction. “Yeah!” You panted, “...by the way, did you see Clara come in?” “The consultant lady?” The man inquired, “Sure, I-” he paused when you made your way inside in a flash. Already past closing time, the building was almost unoccupied. Thus, the elevators were kinder. Tapping your foot impatiently as you made your way up, you truly wished for Clara’s safety. In your life, You were proudly capable of getting your Best Friend Allison our of debt. But tonight, you wondered if you were truly able to help out Clara? Would you possess the necessary sources? “CLARA!?!?” Yelling out, you jumped into the HR Floor. Only to find no one there. “Boss! What you doing here?” Except for Greg, the Assistant Manager, who walked towards you with his bag slung across his chest. Panting, you were certain you were a mess. Truthfully you did not care.   “Looking...” you panted, “...for Clara…” you said, holding him by his forearms, “Did you see her?” You inquired in seriousness. “Yeah I did...” he appeared confused, “ ...said she was heading to the roof....” Greg added,  “I mean, it was kinda weird to see her back after the goodbye and-” “Okay great, Thanks Greg!” You would normally feel remorseful for cutting him off this way, yet this was not the time. For it seemed you simply were not blessed with enough time. With the technology of Wayne Enterprises, getting to the top floor was not task at all, yet even the mere few seconds seemed terribly slow. “Please, Please! Don’t be in trouble” You muttered to yourself, “Please...” Jumping out once again, your heartbeat reached a new level of speed, whilst you prayed to find her outside on the rooftop.

“CLARA? I-”

Halting in your tracks, you froze. With immense shock. A shock you had never faced before in your life. Clara Bennett stood by the edge of the rooftop. Except she was not alone.

“No!” you breathed, “ Alpha... ” The pain of the strangulation haunted you once more, upon seeing the dark figure. Grabbing her tightly by the back of her neck, Alpha stood beside Clara, with a gun pointed directly into her lowered head. Given the distance, you had difficulty tracing Clara’s emotions at this point. Regardless, you knew she was a mess.Your heart pounded even further with desperation. Were you really capable of assisting now? “YOU!” You cried, taking a step forward, “W-What are you doing here??” Desperation forced you with an inquiry. For you were genuinely impatient for answers.However, Alpha did not reply. A passenger plane headed towards the direction of Wayne Tower. You would not have paid it much attention if it were not for Alpha looking up. What plan did it have? You were helpless. “What do you want with her? She’s got nothing to do with this!” You yelled with desperation as the plane flew overhead with enough proximity, forcing you to yell out even further as Alpha grabbed Clara tighter. The sound emitting from the flying machine was thunderous, and so was your fear:
 “Please! Just leave her out of th-”
 An air shattering bang struck you hard on the ears, leaving you frozen. It was a gunshot, and it seemed quite evident. Especially when Alpha finally lowered its gun, leaving Clara Bennett to fall on the ground, like a piece of meat. Suddenly, all your worst fears had come to light.

“NOOOOOOOOO!!!”

You bellowed, your feet urging you to dash over to her body. Alpha had disappeared somehow, and truthfully you did not care. “Clara? Clara?” You cried out, as tears flowed down your cheeks like a raging stream, “Oh my god! Oh my god!” you whimpered, seeing her slumped on her stomach facing down, body unmoving, “ Please don’t be dead, Please…” you said, as you turned her over. 
 Except your tears did not make sense, when you realized why she was a mess. For it was not Clara. As much as you were certain it was her clothes and the hairstyle, it was not her. Though it was someone seemingly familiar.

“E-Emilio??”

You muttered softly, eyes widened by the sight of the man dead on the ground. However, you were filled with another confusion. If this was Emilio in disguise, then what of the real Clara? Where was she all along?

Bang!

A thundering clap rang in your ears as your body jerked with surprise. Before you knew it, you found your own self  falling to the ground in an instant.

You landed on your back with a loud thud! Your breathing was loud, but your heartbeat was louder. Even your sight did not fail to grow blurry. Thus, numbness had taken over you whilst you were knee deep in confusion. Only within a few seconds did a raging pain arose from your stomach.
 You were shot. Were you to meet Emilio’s fate as well?

“Don’t worry...Clara is okay” 


Screams exited your lips the moment Alpha’s voice haunted you, all the while pressing it’s foot on your stomach, right on the gunshot. Raging pain enraged itself even further. Suddenly your vision was far from blurry as you watched the dark figure stand before you.

“In fact, she’s more than..okay”

Alpha said, with its free hand reach for  its mask. You drew in deep breaths, “H-How?” You coughed weakly, “How do you know?”

Your inquiry seemed remorseful when you saw the figure slowly unmask oneself. And the moment it freed itself from the constraints, the moment your eyes caught the sight of the one behind it, every trace of oxygen suddenly expired.

For it was Clara.

Eyes widening even further, your heart plummeted straight deep, and hope was nonexistent anymore. Clara Bennett, the consultant was Alpha, the Assassin this entire time? Worst of all, the one who had been trying to eliminate your existence?

“No no no no…”

You kept repeating through the pain,  “I mean, Henderson being an ass, I can understand, but this?” You muttered weakly. With a scoff brimming with sadness, you looked at her directly, “You’re not even a consultant , are you?”

You inquired, which was followed by a cough.

“Why else wouldn’t I be working at Hudsons, the best HR consultancy company?” She chucked coldly, with her eyebrow raised, “They’re too legit to fake your way in…it’s definitely a grueling process”

You screamed further, as she continued to press on to the wound tighter with her foot. Standing tall and looking down at you,  Clara’s eyes had no life whilst her lips adjusted her expression close to smugness. A smugness that seemed much colder than what you saw in her on the very first day. Dressed in her black suit and armor vest, she was the epitome of power. And before her, you were certainly powerless beyond all measure.

Being smothered with pain, it was evident you were about to meet your maker. Worst of all, to face the end with treachery. Inevitability cannot be amended, thus you had no choice but to remain calm.

If only you spoke to Bruce one last time before all this. If only. Your heart may have not suffered from the bullet, yet it already was shattered into a million pieces. How could Clara do this?

“That’s quite the risk you took…” you breathed with snark, “...revealing yourself with all the CCTV’s around.” “Wouldn’t exactly be a risk if the cameras are rewired now, would it?” Clara replied with thicker snark, “Besides, I had help” You gasped the moment your eyes caught the sight of Emilio standing beside her, his head donned with red stains and no wig. You chuckled sadly. Indeed, he was never dead after all. Easily fitting the profile of the Bodega shootout, you never felt this idiotic to not notice. “Loyalty has its perks, you know that” Clara smiled, her actions familiar yet different at the same time. Your eyes grew watery. Indeed, you knew. However, little did she know she took advantage of yours. “So all that…” you began, voice choking with emotion, “…the initial dispute, driving me up the wall…” you sniffed, “…frustrating me, questioning my abilities, then..” “-Making up with you and being friends shit blah blah...yeah! It was all an act” she said, shrugging it off with casualty, “…how else could I get you to trust me?” It was a nightmare come to life. It was that unfathomable. Beyond your comprehension . Losing trust was never a shock. But to the degree of murder, definitely a first. “And here I thought I made a new friend…” you muttered, holding back your tears. “For a second I thought the same…” Clara added, to your genuine surprise, “…truthfully anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend, I won’t lie….”  she said, her tone growing sombre whilst you caught a sense of warmth in her eyes,  “…but…” blinking the warmth away, her orbs were chilled once more, “…you know what they say: ‘Never mix business with Personal’ ” A part of you longed for the goodness in her to overpower her taste for blood. “Still…” you said, through gritted teeth, “ I think there REALLY was no need for theatrics like this ”  you said, looking at the emotionless Emilio. He had trained well, you had a feeling. And so was Clara. Was her name really that ? You wondered.

“True…” Clara acknowledged with a nod. Fearful whimpers left you the moment she stepped away from your stomach, cocked the gun and pointed right at you. “…but you were not so easy to kill now, were you?” She said,  “…especially with your special friend watching over you the whole time”

Panting, your eyes squinted with confusion, “W-Who?“

“She meant me!”

A familiar growl, it awakened your senses in a flash, alarming the others as another black figure jumped in to shield you.

Batman. Bruce.

The sight of the majestic, flowing cape and the pointed ears brought a sense of security to you once again. Even if you were dying.

“Well…” Clara pointed her gun at him with a smile,  “…this was an eventuality” “YOU AGAIN!”

Fuming with anger, Emilio yelled out upon mere sight of him. Fascinating how anger and rage blasts through his cold exterior similar to a bomb.

“You won’t get to her…” Batman growled, “…without going through me”

“Don’t worry!” Clara responded, “We won’t disappoint”

All before she began to fire shots at him, to your horror.

But Batman was indeed Batman. And with the shots being deflected with no hesitation, he seemingly managed to approach  her close enough for an offense attack, until Emilio dove in, lunging at Batman with enough ferocity, he fell backwards. Getting up, you watched him finding himself being surrounded by two assassins circling him like a pack of wolves. Impatient Emilio attacked first, with a diagonal kick right on his stomach, providing Clara enough  opportunity to kick from the back. Though attacked from multiple sides, Batman did not falter. With his sturdy frame safeguarding him, defense was his only option for the time being. However, that did not stop him from making life difficult for the two.

Panting hurriedly, you watched the Dark Knight, the man you truly cared for, being attacked by merciless assassins. This sight, it certainly was not the what you hoped for him. Not another death. Not when your own life was almost slipping away.

Except, you came to a realization. Was it not that you had been “slipping away”  for longer than expected? Placing a hand over the gun shot wound with suspicion, you felt through it. Looking at the hand, you gasped.

For there was no blood. Not even one drop.

With fingers tracing over your stomach further, you sighed with relief, when you were reminded why exactly.

Pure adrenaline and sheer motivation energized your heart to pump fast and for you to jump up to your feet. You were adamant in helping him. But you were well aware of your own limited capabilities. Watching the violent encounter, you suddenly heard an object drop. It was your phone, vibrating with a call. From John Blake.

“Officer Blake!” You answered with haste, “Thank God…” you wailed with desperation.

“Ma-am! Wait! Whats going on?” He inquired with concern, “ You okay?”

“It’s Alpha!” You cried, as you crouched on to the ground, “We’re being attacked at Wayne Tower-DUCK!”  You cried, looking at struggling Bruce, “Batman’s here but-”

“Okay! Okay! Stay Calm! We’ll be on our way…”

The moment you hung up, a text suddenly appeared on the screen. Also from Blake, which read:

Henderson on tape. This may be useful with Alpha. Hurry!

Seeing a voice file attached right below, your eyes squinted with confusion. What could that possibly mean? However, patience was beyond your reach at the moment.  Placing your trust on John Blake, you remained crouched and listened to the file. The moment the recording finally finished, your eyes widened with shock.

Amidst the chaos in the background, you stared at the phone screen. For the only question lingering in your conscious was: Could this actually solve everything?

——————————————————

FINAL Chapter HERE

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[musical-shit-show]

Two Sides: Chapter 4

Previous Chapters: (1) (2) (3)

Characters: Musical!Beetlejuice, Female!OC, Lydia Deetz, Barbara Maitland, Adam Maitland

Warnings: anxiety, supernatural elements, cursing, kissing, sexual references, strange dreams (?), mentions of death

Word Count: 1,878

Author’s Note: So it has been a while since I posted this fic...I’ve honestly been distracted by other writing ventures but I forgot how fun this story was to write, so I will be updating more frequently (if anyone is reading, that is). As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome! Enjoy :)

Chapter 4

“Oh, fuck oh fuck oh fuck what did I do—” Cassandra started to panic, all blood draining from her naturally rosy face. She checked the business card again, frantically scanning it for any more information on the frightening being that had suddenly appeared in her room. Beetlejuice looked absolutely elated. He straightened his tie as he eagerly crossed towards her, his hair still glowing a vibrant green that illuminated the entire room.

“Shh, hey, hey, hey, new girl, listen,” the demon cooed, fostering a false sense of security to quell her anxiety, “I just wanted to show my appreciation, what with you saying my name and all.” He extended his hand. Chipped black nail polish accented his fingertips. “Put her there.” 

Cassandra had barely extended her hand towards his when, like lightning, Beetlejuice yanked her forward, causing her to stumble. In one fell swoop the demon caught the living woman, dipped her clumsily, and placed an entirely non-consensual kiss on her lips. 

The ever-present smell of decay was increased exponentially now that Cassandra had come in direct contact with its source. She held her breath, paralyzed by the sudden and rather forceful kiss. When he finally released her, Beetlejuice sported a smug smile, licking his lips in what he thought was a seductive manner. Cassandra wiped off her mouth with the back of her hand, using every bit of strength in her to keep from vomiting at the taste of filth on her tongue. 

“I can’t thank ya enough for setting me free, doll,” Beetlejuice said, running his hand through his sickly green hair. His frantic energy made Cassandra even more anxious, “Being dead is fun and all but sometimes a guy’s gotta stretch his legs back into the world of the living, ya know?”

Cassandra’s head was spinning. ‘So, this guy is dead?’ she thought at lightning speed, ‘And I somehow set him free—whatever that means—by reciting some word from a fucking business card?!’ Beetlejuice noticed her slack jawed expression and grinned coyly.

“I take it you don’t know who I am, do ya?” he said, knowing the answer. If she had known who he was, she would’ve never been naive enough to read the card out loud. 

“No,” she said quietly, feeling a slight quiver in her voice as she spoke to the specter, “I mean, I’ve already met two dead people today, but they didn’t look anything like you. Who exactly are you, again?”

“I’m the ghost with the most, babes,” he replied, adjusting his coat, as if smoothing down the ratty suit jacket would make him look even the slightest bit presentable, “That word you so generously repeated three times is my name. Don’t wear it out.” The man grinned, and Cassandra scanned him again, noticing he had what appeared to be light green moss growing on his face. 

The striped suit, the green hair and moss…it triggered a strange sense of déjà vu. Suddenly, her mind flashed back to her eerie dream from the car ride. A look of dawning realization crossed her face, causing the demon to smile as if he were reading her mind.

“Yeah, that little vision you had earlier?” he said, smiling proudly, “That was all me. Breathers make it so easy to get into their heads, especially when they already have an affinity for the strange and unusual.” He quirked an eyebrow, studying her confused expression, “Though, not strange and unusual enough to see me when you arrived.”

“So, you’re invisible to everyone unless someone says your name three times?” Cassandra questioned. The specter nodded his head, “And I ‘set you free’? What exactly does that mean?” 

“It means I can affect the human world again,” he said with casually, whipping out a cigarette and beat-up purple lighter, “Lyds banished me a couple of months ago because I might’ve accidentally set fire to some shit around the house. Major bummer. But thanks to you, BJ is back, baby—” 

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Cassandra said, cutting him off, “You know Lydia too?” She felt her blood begin to boil as another secret her roommate kept from her was revealed. 

“Oh yeah, ‘course I do,” the demon said as he silently held out his pack of Marlboros, totally oblivious to the woman’s anger. Cassandra waved them away and he shrugged, taking a long drag of the cigarette wedged between his wide fingers, “She and I go way, way back. Adam and Babs too. In fact, they—” Suddenly, the door swung open, causing the demon’s mouth to clamp shut. Lydia stood in the doorway, her thin frame heaving with fury.

“Hey, asshole,” she said, her voice quiet and controlled, “How the fuck did you get back here.” Lydia marched up to the ghoul through a cloud of cigarette smoke, grabbing his tie and pulling him downward a few inches to meet her eyeline. 

Though Beetlejuice presented himself as a terrifying demon, Lydia’s rage had him shaking in his striped suit, the cigarette that hung loosely in his mouth moments before falling lightly thumping onto the hardwood floor. He silently pointed at Cassandra, who had her arms folded across her chest, her fingers gripping her arms tightly as she stared at her roommate. Lydia’s expression softened, and she let go of her ghostly companion and crossed to her roommate, who was growing redder by the second.

“Cassie, how—” 

“Oh, I don’t know, Lydia,” Cassandra snapped before the question could even be completed, “maybe if you didn’t leave weird summoning cards around, I wouldn’t have accidentally met another one of your friends. I take it that he’s a ghost, too?”

“Well, technically I’m a demon, but—” Beetlejuice started, thoroughly loving the drama. Lydia held up a hand to silence him once more. She pointed to the door.

“You,” she said, her blood still boiling from his shenanigans, “Out. Now.” Beetlejuice narrowed his eyes, and with a snap of his fingers, he vanished. 

“Look, Cass,” Lydia said, pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly overwhelmed, “I had nothing to do with the card. Beej did. I didn’t think I’d have to tell you about him because I assumed he was still good and banished. I’m really, really sorry.”

“Just, please tell me what’s going on?” Cassandra said, a clear strain in her voice, “I honestly don’t think my heart can take any more surprises today. Full truth, no secrets.” Lydia exhaled deeply and sat on the edge of the bed, motioning for her roommate to follow.

She recapped as much as she possibly could in a short amount of time. Lydia told Cassandra all of the important points: meeting Barbara and Adam after moving in, running into Beetlejuice on the roof, wreaking havoc, travelling to the Netherworld.

“He tried to do what—?” Cassandra blurted when Lydia mentioned Beetlejuice’s scheme to become human, “Were you not, like, 15?” Lydia shrugged.

“It was a green card thing,” she deadpanned. Cassandra cracked an incredulous smile, and Lydia broke into a giggle, “Seriously though, I weirdly understand why he did it. He wanted to be alive again so badly, and I had a plan to get rid of him. Turns out ‘marrying’ him gave him a dose of reality and me a chance to send his ass back to the Netherworld.” Cassandra raised her eyebrows in agreement, still trying wrap her mind around how marrying a ghost (demon? spirit? eldritch horror?) would bring them back to life.

“So why did you let him back, after all the shit he pulled, I mean?” Cassandra asked. Lydia picked at her black nail polish, which began flaking onto the bedspread. 

“I, well…I saw how lonely he was,” she confessed, “That’s what made us such good friends in the beginning; we both felt invisible.” Casandra smiled sadly, thinking to her own feelings of isolation; Lydia had partially saved her from those feelings. Although her loneliness had manifested in other ways, she understood how comforting it must’ve been to find someone who shared that feeling, even if they happened to be a dead guy with green hair dressed in an obnoxious striped suit.

“So, even after I killed him,” Lydia added casually, “it only took him a few months to show up again. Came topside again for some bio-exorcism a few towns over, and jumped at the chance to bury the hatchet.” She smiled fondly. “I didn’t mind, either. He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s my pain in the ass.” 

“Did someone say ‘pain in the ass’?” Beetlejuice materialized once more, this time with a bag of popcorn and a ‘Go Lydia’ pennant. “So, did I miss the catfight?” he asked gleefully, waving the small flag eagerly. Lydia pinched the bridge of her nose and Cassandra stifled a laugh. Her life had truly taken a turn to the ridiculously absurd over the course of one afternoon.

“Get off her bed, weirdo,” Lydia scolded, “I was just catching up Cassie on everything, since someone decided to be a dick about me banishing them for scaring the daylights out of some very important clients—” 

 “Now, now, Lyds, let’s not point any fingers here,” the demon retorted, brushing the dust off of his ancient suit, “You wouldn’t want to embarrass me in front of our guest, would you?” Lydia stuck her tongue out at him, and Beetlejuice sneered, the two of them acting like annoyed siblings. Cassandra suppressed another giggle, not wanting to encourage any more bickering. 

“Cass, this is Beej,” Lydia said, turning to her, “Or BJ. Don’t call him by his full name unless you want to banish or summon him. If you wanna get rid of his stupid ass, just say it three times in a row again. Really works when he’s being a prick.” She smirked while Beetlejuice still pouted. Cassandra was still studying him intently, fascinated with his entire being even after Lydia had explained his presence. As ghosts, Barbara and Adam were interesting to say the least, but Beetlejuice was something completely different.

Lydia gave an exasperated sigh, also feeling quite overwhelmed by the day’s events “Also, we were gonna maybe play a board game or watch a movie or something soon. You in?” Cassandra nodded, still trying to absorb all of the information that had just been thrown at her. She decided it was in her best interest to act as normal as possible now so she could bombard her roommate with even more questions after the weekend was over. Lydia then turned to Beetlejuice, who was oddly quiet, “You’re more than welcome to stick around too, Beej. If you behave yourself, that is.” He rolled his eyes, muttering something indistinct to himself. 

“What was that?” she asked, her tone far more threatening. The faintest streak of white appeared in the ghoul’s hair, indicating that he was actually afraid of her.

“Nothing, oh best friend of mine,” he said dully.

Lydia smirked again, and glided towards the door, turning her attention to Cassandra, “Seeing as you’re the one who summoned him, it might be in your best interest to get to know our little demon friend a little better while I set up tonight’s activities, eh Cass?”

“Lyds, I don’t—”

“Hey, what do you mean by little—?”

--------

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[onelastbreath-writes]

I’ll Meet You There (Part 3)

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/ Wife!Reader (AFAB, no y/n) 

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Talks about loss of spouse, loss of child, medical conditions/inaccuracies, grief/mourning, manipulation/brainwashing (subtext/implied, but we’ll get into it later *winkwink*)

Tags: Hurt/No comfort (for now), ANGST, eventual happy ending, one really sad man for whom I just keep making things worse, #sorrynotsorry, and now I’m just making stuff up as I go along

Summary(lite): You are Marcus’s wife, and you’re definitely not dead. No one is having a great time right now, but like hell if there's a force on this earth that’ll keep you apart forever. This is not a goodbye, its just a see you later. And the interim is going to be everyone else’s problem, you’ll make sure of it.

A/N: Hello dears, welcome back to my twisted mind story,,, guess who showed up like 2 weeks late with a smoothie! So things about this new chapter: I am a criminal with italics and someone needs to stop me, hello switching scenes and perspectives because I just want to fast forward to the good stuff but y’all don’t live in my head and don’t know all the stuff that happens to get us there so here we are taking the slow lane, and I keep brainstorming new and horrible things for my characters because I am A Lot, All The Time, and will not be stopped. Also hey, Marcus the Simp is here for you, so much. I hope this is acceptable to be a reader fic still, because I am giving you some serious personality traits... ehh, it is what it is. Tell me if you spot any of my various references, there’s a lot of ‘em. Thanks to everyone who has liked/reblogged/commented, y’all are gorgeous and I’m so grateful for the love <3 Drop me a message/ask if you want a secret about one of the characters (specify which one), I need an outlet for my endless b.t.s. plotting >;) Please enjoy p3!

AO3|Masterlist

[Previous Part]

---

There were more casseroles in his fridge that Marcus knew what to do with, and more sympathy and “thinking of you” cards stacked in piles around the house than he could count. He appreciated everyone’s gestures, but he could recognize the difference between people who were kind in the interest of helping others, and those who were kind only to help themselves. It was quite obvious which type were flooding his mailbox.

Hell, most of the people sending him cards, his fans, didn’t even know his wife, never spoke to her, didn’t feel the empty Her-shaped-space in their very souls. They just wanted the clout, the prestige, of being ‘involved’ and sympathetic to a grieving superhero. It was exhausting, but no one seemed to empathize with him on that.

The Heroics upper management, and the director specifically after his press conference and the publicity the attack had brought the organization, had insisted on Marcus taking an undetermined amount of leave from the team so he could “process and mourn his loss in the comfort of his own home.” Like he didn’t look around and see every piece of himself and his wife over the years; the Home they built for their family, filled with all the hopes and dreams of two starry eyed lovers ready to take on the world together. Like her absence wasn’t slowly killing him. 

And it wasn’t like she was gone gone.  

Dead.  

She wasn’t dead.

No way in Hell.  

Whether it was because she worked with superpowered people, her experience as a medical professional, or if she was just more paranoid than most, his wife was a planner, and she was prepared for this. “In the event of my death...," like she just knew it would be necessary.

Truthfully, she had schemes and contingencies and all manner of reactionary plans prepared for if (and when) the worst happened; terrified to be blindsided or caught unaware, unable to help those she would have been able to, if only if she had the time to think. Unpreparedness costs lives in both of their careers, and she refused to leave anything up to chance if possible. And so, she’d plan, and he’d listen.  

All throughout their relationship, from before they’d even gotten serious enough to discuss marriage, to when they heard their unborn child’s heartbeat for the first time, and just on random weekday afternoons when they would take Missy for walks around the neighbourhood to show her the beauty in their lives, his wife would paint her theories and ideas like artwork. She’d tell him a story, full of action and mystery, humour and theatrics, tragic romance and harrowing adventure; she could spin a tale like she had a silver tongue, but she never lost herself in her own narratives. In the end, they were messages, lessons, for him to remember when everything was going wrong.    

“It’s all about momentum, babe. Bleeding off energy and taking a bad hit instead of a fatal hit. You can’t just full stop; you’d absorb all the kinetic energy, and the resulting trauma will turn all your squishy internals into, like, body soup, which is just super unpleasant. And of course, head is always number one priority. Bracing for impact works better at giving you fewer serious injuries, especially for your neck and head. Muscles should absorb as much of the energy as possible, instead of letting it fall to your ligaments, discs, and nerves to take the force. So, tense up and roll in the case of a low air evacuation.”

Low air evac... she was concerned he was going to have to jump from an aircraft without a parachute at some point in his life. Which was probably accurate he’d admit, but still, he wasn’t hoping to actually need that plan.

Thankfully, it wasn’t always fire and brimstone with her, and she had many strange and terrible schemes to keep the common, everyday superhero family on their toes. Always carry at least two lip balms... never tell someone you don’t have plans for the evening... don’t smile in your mugshot... no clowns. Ever.

She was so weird, a total nerd, and so completely the girl of his dreams.  

He loved teasing her about her unending train of thought, the brain that never sleeps, how she’d go on tangents while on tangents but always circle back around; even nicknamed her (quite cheekily, and because it made them both laugh) Doctor Batman, which was usually saved for when she was being particularly dramatic and gloomy. Turn the supercomputer off for a second, Bats, come see what Missy’s doing!  

He was her anchor, always ready to pull her back to earth when she started drifting off too far from them, but he never asked and never wanted her to change. He adored her, silly or serious, or when she woke him up in the middle of the night to make him promise that he’d never get their kid(s) a pet owl (because they’re “scary”, and “our kids would be too powerful, Marcus. Promise me!”), or that in the event of them inviting a third to their bed, it would “absolutely never, ever, ever be Miracle. No way!”  

He thought it was quite entertaining most of the time, listening to her plan for zombies and old gods and what to do if everyone just started hating cheese one day, but if it was all so important to her: having him remember this or agree to that, he’d accede to her requests in a heartbeat. Most of it was cute, harmless stuff he didn’t think would even happen, but sometimes she would hit him with serious stuff. Entirely out of left field, she’d go for his heart, and ask him for things that would hurt him, destroy him inside, if he ever had to follow through with it.

“Marcus, if it’s a choice between my safety- my life, and Missy’s? I’m always going to choose her. Kids come first, okay?”  

She wasn’t superpowered, didn’t have a shred of anything other than pure, normal human in her, but she was easily the strongest person he knew. Fearless and brave, kinder than this world deserved, she’d do anything for the people she cared about. And she’d promised him, maybe as a way to repay him for all the things he’d agreed to over the years, that she’d move heavens and the earth to return to their family. That nothing in this world, or beyond, could keep her away. “Eventually,” she’d stared into his eyes, glossy with tears from how forcefully she believed, “I will find my way back to you. I swear it, so keep a weather eye on the horizon.” See? A whole-ass nerd, and he couldn’t have loved her more.

So, she wasn’t dead. Pure and simple. She was somewhere, somehow, and he was going to find her again.  

---

“Marcus, the grieving process is different for everyone, but it is always unpredictable and painful. You will have days where you will feel like you haven’t made any progress, or even lost the progress you’ve previously made, but please know that this is natural; it's something everyone experiences, and that it doesn’t mean you’ve failed in your objective. Healing takes time, and a major part of recovery is learning to forgive yourself when you slip up. No one expects you to be back to normal tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Healing from grief is not a race, so we will go at your own pace, and we will work together to accomplish your recovery goals. You aren’t alone in this journey, and you don’t need to handle everything by yourself.”

The grief specialist he was seeing was someone he would describe as an “old soul”. She exuded the patience and peace of someone who had watched empires rise and fall, seen the turning of the wheel of time and drifted along with the current. Her voice was deep, rich in emotion and empathy for those who needed guidance, calming and intriguing with a soft lilt on her vowels. Timeless and ancient all in one, and even if he wasn’t actually mourning the death of his wife, he did find himself deeply grieving being without her. They were two halves of a whole, and though his soul was at a loss without its partner here, he still had their greatest creation, their pride and joy, their baby girl to raise.  

He would do whatever he had to do to be the best parent he could for Missy. And so, if meeting with a physiatrist every week was something that would help, then he would be here, every week. He'd learn to live with his grief, his sadness and loneliness, with just the memory of his Everything, and he’d help their kid with all hers too.  

It’s what he promised to do, after all.

“If anything ever happens to me, you’ll just have to love her enough for the both of us.”  

---

There was nothing they could recover of the people closest to centre of the explosion. No remains, no blood, nothing. Like they hadn’t been there at all.  

Suspicious.

Upper Management had brought in a team of private investigators to handle the case, people who would keep the details quiet and the public appeased with what little information they’d choose to release.  

Marcus was a superhero, and sure, his job was to hit things until they weren’t a problem anymore, but he couldn’t understand why all the highly trained professionals didn’t question the sheer amount of evidence that just wasn’t adding up.  

He tried to bring up the inconsistencies once with the lead investigator, but they had just given the distraught, widowed husband, so lost in his own denial and grasping at straws, a sad smile and told him they would do everything they could to find the truth for him and the rest of the victims’ families.

Typical.

After being brushed off without a second thought, he decided to keep his ideas quiet, and since they’d proven their unwillingness to listen, he’d just have to solve the mass disappearance himself.  

“Have you ever thought about how to commit the perfect murder, mi amor? I have. First: If there’s no body, they can’t prove the person is dead. No evidence of death? No murder. Simple. But of course, completely vanishing a full human would be a challenge. Short of having the superpowers necessary to, like, erase someone from reality in their entirety, there would be a lot of chances to leave evidence. Ordering suspicious chemicals leaves a trail, driving out to a pig farm in the middle of the night is shady as hell and all neighbors are professional narcs, and fires? Hah! Do you have any idea how hot the fire needs to be to cremate human remains, and how long they would need to grill for? Huh, maybe the perfect murder isn’t a murder at all...  

Hey babe...  

Always doubt a body, but always doubt no body, more.”

---

You tended to lose time when there was no one else in your room. It was hard to tell when your eyes were open because you started dreaming about the only things you could see since you first woke up: drop-ceiling tiles, white walls, and pale blue curtain dividers. And it was easier that way, in the end. Your heart didn’t hurt when you only dreamt of the room. You couldn’t mourn the things and people only your soul could remember if you thought of the room. Drifting in and out of consciousness was how you were coping.  

---

You had been here, left in this room alone, for ages. You had agreed to help the man who had saved you from the explosion that killed your family, but apparently you couldn’t help him until you had recovered enough. You’d read your charts, grilled your nurses and doctors more and more the longer you were kept here. What were they all waiting for? There was nothing wrong with you except the mild post traumatic amnesia, and the whole not-remembering-much-(or anything, really)-about-your-personal-life-and-family-of-the-recent-few-years thing you had going on. It was nothing compared to when you first awoke and could remember nothing. It killed you to be without the memories of your husband and child, to know only of them instead of actually knowing them, but there was nothing you or the doctors here could do. The brain was a tricky thing, and you had to accept that your memory loss might be permanent.  

That just meant that you had to put all that you could remember to good use. You could help people here, and work towards getting justice for your family. Years and years of school, practical experience and training, you had gained it all back; re-read textbooks and studies, wrote papers on your re-emerging knowledge and jogged your memory about long nights and early mornings, surgeries and follow ups... it was all still in your head. It had returned to you easily, like diving into a cool pool on a hot summer day. It was like coming home and taking off your shoes; it felt good, freeing, as-it-should-be.  

But still they weren’t letting you leave. So: what were they waiting for?  

“Ah, Doctor, it’s lovely to see you, as always. How are we feeling today?” Okay, so the guy who “saved” you (read: paid the people who actually saved your life)  gave you the heebie-jeebies. He looked like a classic pompous asshole bigwig, like, oil tycoon or something. And he definitely had some sort of thing for you. Gross.

“I’m doing as well as can be expected, trapped in a room with nothing to do, you know, brain rotting, et cetera. Thanks for asking.” The sass was a choice, probably not a great choice, but your choice none-the-less. You really hadn’t had many opportunities to choose anything for yourself in a while.  

Well...

You were bored, and that was going to be everyone else’s problem.  

“Ah, well, good news then! You have been cleared from observation and you’ll be able to be discharged soon. Isn’t that just delightful!” Mister Craig (“Please, just Greg is fine”), was some sort of horrible group hallucination, you were convinced. No one was that cheery, that animated, unless they were on something, or you were on something. “I’ll have someone bring you your personal effects shortly, and then I can show you to your new apartment. The complex isn’t in the best neighbourhood unfortunately, but it's got some real charm, very vintage! You’ll love it!”

“I’ll look forward to seeing it then; sounds like it’ll be a real interesting place to stay. You can also explain what it is I’m going to be doing with your organization. Because you haven’t specified yet. And I expect a proper contract and wage agreement. Legally binding preferably, for your sake, of course, Mr. Craig.” Even if you weren’t the most physically intimidating person around, you knew how, and more so, when, to assert your dominance in a conversation. Especially with men like him. He was the type of guy who would pinch a nurse’s ass and then accuse them of not being able to take a joke.  

“You wound me, Doctor, I am a man of integrity! I promised you an opportunity to make a difference! To get justice for the loved ones so cruelly torn from you! You have nothing to worry about!”  

Sounds legit. Totally above board. Can’t wait.

---

Taglist (omg!! thanks love): @killtherandomness​

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[chatsanova]

Pierce My Soul: Chapter 1

I have had this idea under my belt for the past 3 years and finally decided to write and post it. I’m still doing Have Another Go At It, too. So these two will run at the same time. 

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Relationship: Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Tags: Royal AU, Robin Hood, Fantasy Kingdom Setting, Rogues, Castles, Princes

AO3

Marinette Dupain-Cheng scurried through the village, dropping bread on everyone’s doorstep. This normally took her a while, at least an hour. She would quite often be invited into people’s homes for tea, or long winded conversation. And normally Marinette would happily oblige, but today, she didn’t really have time. She needed to get ready. 

Unfortunately her plans of getting ready quickly halted abruptly, as she flew into her home to find a tall blond man speaking to her parents. He was wearing an ill-fitting and worn white shirt, tucked pristinely into his newly tailored trousers, and a mask covering the upper part of his face, showing nothing but green eyes and his mouth which quirked mischievously as she entered. 

“Cat Noir!” 

“Good morning, Mademoiselle” 

“Marinette! You got home very quickly!” Her mother smiled at her.

“What is Cat Noir doing here, mother?” Marinette spat. Cat Noir cocked his head, perplexed. 

“He was just stopping in to say good morning.” Her mother turned to put on a hand on his arm affectionately. 

“And to say thank you for fixing these pants, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, they fit marvelously.”

“Of course,” a turn of her head and Marinette looked to Cat Noir once more. “We owed you a debt, but I don’t support your methods, Cat Noir, and my family will not be needing your service much longer. If you will excuse me.” With that, she turned to enter her room. 

“Marinette, don’t be rude, he’s single-handedly saved the bakery more than once!” her father called after her. She ignored him. 

“It is no worry, your daughter has made her point clear to me a number of times. May I…?” he addressed Sabine carefully and gestured to Marinette’s room. Sabine made a face, but nodded. He bowed gratefully, “Merci, Madame.”

~~

“Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng? May I come in?” There was no door to her room, so he stood dutifully outside the doorway. There was however, a small curtain that hung in the frame, allowing a bit of privacy. He had brought her the fabric from the castle, and she’d only accepted it begrudgingly, and only because he’d insisted that it was being thrown out anyway. 

“I hardly think that’s proper. A masked male entering a girl’s dressing chamber.”

Cat Noir had to laugh. She spoke like those in the castle, as if manners and customs mattered. It was like starting from square one with her every time they talked, but the longer they did the more comfortable she’d become. Cat Noir wanted to talk to her forever. 

“Of course, but I need to speak with you,” He played with the edges of the fabric that separated them. He hesitated before saying, “Your mother gave me permission.” It was a weird point, but Marinette cared far more about image than he did. She’d talk to him, but only if the situation would allow an observer to leave the moment thinking how well mannered they were. 

“Fine. You may enter.” she mumbled. 

“Merci, princess.” As he entered, he was hit with a heavy piece of cloth. 

“Don’t call me that. I’m no princess.” 

“You look more beautiful than any princess I have ever met.” He was teetering on the edge of well-mannered. 

“You’ve never met any princesses.” 

“You are so certain. Who is to say I haven’t been courted in kingdoms across the land?” 

“Me. That’s who.” She too was teetering. 

He held up the piece of cloth thrown at him. Her dress was a deep red and soft. It smelled faintly of flour but mostly of lavender. 

“Listen, Cat Noir, I appreciate what you’ve done here, I do. You’ve gotten my family out of nasty situation, but that’s not necessary anymore.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m getting a job. Applying for one anyway. I need to support my family for myself. Not have a feline criminal do it for me.”

Cat Noir couldn’t help but feel a little hurt. He thought whatever Marinette and he had going was good, but he couldn’t very well stop her. What was the harm in her having a job anyway?

“Hm, that is very noble of you, Mademoiselle, however who’s to say it cannot be both of us supporting the best bakery in this or any kingdom?”

“Being charming won’t get you out of the gallows, Cat Noir, maybe you should think of yourself sometimes,” Marinette began folding a stack of already folded clothes in front of her, a nervous tick, perhaps. 

“You think I’m charming?”

“My parents do, especially when you go around singing the praises of our bread,” She smirked a little, and turned away from him, suddenly very interested in her selection of dresses, though there were only two. There seemed to be an additional one sitting on a table in the corner by the window. Maybe one she was working on. 

“Mademoiselle, do you know why I favor this place? Your family?” It was a moment of sincerity that Marinette had not learned to expect from Cat Noir. She slowed slightly, divulging attention to his voice, but did not confirm she wanted to hear him answer. Though he did so anyway, she knew he would. It was not a question as it was a hook.

 “I’m concerned for our village, Marinette,” he said softly. He only used her name in moments like this, and those were few and far between. Sometimes they even dared to stand closer than this and sometimes it happened at night out in a field near her house and sometimes it involved a gift for her that she refused to accept until she did. “The people grow poorer, the castle grows richer, and the people of this village can do no more work than they already do. Your parents, and you, are truly the backbone of this village’s hope.”

“My parents make bread,” Marinette sighed. 

“Countries have gone to war for less.”

He said it in such a way that surprised her, like he had seen the aftermath himself. He was only her age, and she was only 17. He was a trickster, a thief, an alley cat, nothing more. Why did he sound so tired? She turned around to study his face, and for a moment saw sorrow. It was new for him, at least not that she had seen before. But he quickly shook his head to snap himself out of it, leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. 

“Making sure you and your family can continue supplying bread, at a price cheap enough for villagers to buy. That is the goal. If you are getting a job, that means more income for your family and even cheaper bread,” He shrugged like the statement made obvious sense. 

“And you will continue stealing from the castle to make sure it happens?”

“You know, Mademoiselle, I thought you liked things fair.”

“I do.”

“It is fair that the castle should have such luxurious silk while you make a dress out of aged wool? You work much harder than they do. It is fair that they should have extravagant meals when villagers struggle for one loaf of bread? The villagers are much hungrier than they are.” He unfolded his arms, and crossed the threshold of the bed in the middle of the small room. He was on the same side as her now, and she had to turn to face him. 

“Chat Noir, I appreciate the sentiment, I do. Your motivations are noble.”

“Then what is the conflict, I ponder?” 

“It’s illegal.”

“Speaking ill of the king is illegal, his law has lost sight of reality.” he dragged a hand through his hair and faced the window above her chair. 

“Speaking ill of the king won’t get you hanged.” Marinette spoke softly, as Chat Noir did before. It was the same worried voice. He turned his head to her. 

“Your motivations are noble, Mademoiselle, but I have long ago accepted my fate.”

They were quiet. The sentence meant something different to each of them. Marinette, of course, assumed that Chat Noir had always intended to be caught at some point. He was risking his life and he knew it, and would be prepared to face the consequences. Though, Chat Noir had no intention of being hanged. He rubbed his hands on the base of his neck, ruffling the back of his hair. He didn’t like it when they fought. 

“You should let me fix your shirt.” She broke the silence, looking down his torso, and brushed a frayed seam with her fingertips. There were plenty of holes and chaffed edges. She could guess from what, but she’d probably be wrong. 

“Maybe next time, princess.” He looked at her deeply, a little lazily, “You’ve got your…thing.” He gestured toward her selected dress, laid out on the bed. 

“Right. My thing.” Her eyes drifted from his face, maybe catching a bit of that sorrow from before, to the dress. Cat Noir walked to the curtain on the other side of the room, and gently pushed it aside. “Cat Noir… please be careful.” 

He didn’t turn to look at her, or nod, or acknowledge she’d said anything aside from standing there for a second longer than he should have, and he left the bakery. 

~~

Her mother had instructed her to only go by her French name. Dupain. It was a painful request, but her mother insisted that getting hired in such a place would require some sacrifice. She didn’t know how she felt about sacrificing a piece of her identity, her relation to her mother. At first she refused, but her parents admonished her. It would be okay, she was still a Cheng. She made her way to Castle Agreste. 

It wasn’t a long journey, she had hitched a ride with her friend Kim and his buggy. They chatted a bit and he accepted payment in form of a pastry. She hopped off and was greeted by a man who looked like he was prepared to help her off. 

“Intended business, Mademoiselle?”

“I’m here for the job posting? I do hope you are still inquiring.” 

“Yes yes follow me.” He escorted her into the building which was far more extravagant than she imagined. Art hung on every open surface, a staircase swirled upwards in two directions. It was crowded with things to gaze upon. An east wing blurted yellow, the west wing shouted red. There was a statue in every corner and the ceilings kept going and going and going and going…

She was taken into the main hall and then down a small staircase, much smaller than the one above her. This is where she belonged, certainly. They were an afterthought, creaking below her best shoes, as her shoulders bumped into the walls. There she met a woman sitting at the table in a long room. It was a crowded room but not the same type of crowded the main hall was. The main hall was a large space filled with useless pretty things. Down here was small but filled with purposeful things. There was no art, or statues, just dishes, a table, and many chairs lining it. Beyond this room, there was a kitchen. It was currently bustling, and Marinette ached to feel it. This room was empty save for the woman and the two that just entered. The man who brought her said, “I’ll take your leave” 

“Thank you, kindly, sir.” He bowed slightly and she returned with a curtsy. 

The woman stood, she was wearing nicer clothes than she would have expected from someone in the servants quarters, but maybe that was a perk of working in the castle. 

“Good morning, Mademoiselle.”

“Madame,” she curtsied again, smally, politely. 

“You are interested in working in the castle?” 

“Oui, Madame…”

“Natalie”

“Madame Natalie. Je suis Marinette Dupain.” She allowed Natalie to sit first, and followed soon after. 

“We have kitchen work available, what are your qualifications?”

“Well, my parents run the finest bakery in town, and I often help them. I have been trained in noble customs and serving, and I often cooked for the children I governed.” Master Fu in town had governed Marinette as a young girl, and he was terribly picky about manners, and passed on that same governing to other children in town. 

“You were a governess?”

“And a seamstress, Madame.” 

“Why do you search for work here?”

“Those positions were unstable, the kids grew up, seamstressing only happens when direly necessary, and never for very much.”

“What you are wearing, did you put it together?”

“Oh only the dress.”

“Hmm.” Natalie tapped the table curiously, considering her options. It seemed as though she liked Marinette, a smile playing on her lips, “Please wait here a moment, Mademoiselle.”

“Of course.” 

Natalie stepped from the table and walked into the kitchens, speaking indistinctly with a girl with dark skin and red hair. The girl walked back out with Natalie to Marinette. 

“Mademoiselle Dupain, this is Alya Cesaire.” They acknowledged each other. “Alya works in the kitchens under her mother, but for right now I want her to show you around the castle. I have to speak to someone, but I have a feeling you will do nicely here.” She smiled lightly and moved away and up the stairs. Managing to do so with incredible grace. She turned to the new face. 

“Hello, I’m Marinette.”

“Alya, like she said. Follow me, I know all the fun spots.” Alya had to be around her age as well, a hopeful thought, as she previously considered that she might be too young for the position. Marinette smiled, and let Alya lead the way. Even though she saw it on the way in, the main hall still took her by surprise. Her eyes were forced to take in so much information at once, that she almost didn’t realize that Alya was talking. 

“It’s crazy, right? I’m from the next kingdom over, and though I didn’t see their castle as much, it was maybe half the size.” 

Just then, the thought crossed her mind that no would notice it if something were gone. They had so much that one small bauble, even a whole painting wouldn’t be missed. Cat Noir was smarter than she had first thought. And maybe a whole lot dumber. 

“And this is just the start.”

It turned out she liked Alya. She was kind and casual, and instantly made Marinette feel comfortable in possibly the most foreign situation of her life. It was easier when they were both fish out of water, just one happened to learn to breathe a long time ago. Alya spoke about her experiences in the kitchen. It was often loud and full of women, the best sort of places in Marinette’s opinion, and the food was magical. Her mom had worked here for years and once Alya came of age she followed her here. She had a father and three sisters at home. Her home was also loud and full of women and magical food. It explained Alya’s ease. They woke up incredibly early, and also had to supply food for large gatherings. 

“Even a ball once. We were cooking through the night, that time.”

The rest of the castle was quiet in comparison to these stories, Marinette thought. She wondered what mysteries took place above. They passed dozens of servants while walking around, all greeting Alya and introducing themselves to Marinette. They found themselves in the courtyard, a large green clearing surrounded by hedges and flowers. In the distance, the stables fell behind a walking path. 

“Nino, the stable boy, works over there. He and Prince Adrien are best friends.”

“Hmm, Prince Adrien, I don’t hear much about him.”

“That’s because he mostly keeps to himself. He’s polite to us, quiet. Sometimes a bit sassy, to tell you the truth. But I mostly know this from Nino. I don’t really see the prince much.”

From behind them, Natalie called, “Mademoiselle Dupain, Cesaire?” 

The girls turned, of course, and Madame Natalie gestured for them to follow. They did so. Natalie spoke over her shoulder, “Mademoiselle, I know you are here for a kitchen job, but there is actually another job opening that I have been preparing for, and I think you may be a good fit.”

Beside her, Alya gasped, “Madame Natalie, you don’t mean…”

“Alya!” Natalie’s tone warned her of overstepping. Marinette flushed.

“She’s just begun! That position is cursed!”

Marinette’s eyes widened at the termed cursed. 

“Don’t be silly, Alya,”

“Not a single person has lasted a month.”

“Now, Alya...go back to the kitchens at once.” Natalie turned stern for a moment, and Alya dared not push further. She gave Marinette a sympathetic glance and she was gone. 

“Mademoiselle, please follow me. You have an audience with the King.”

“The King?!” she dropped her composure for a small moment, “Forgive me, I just didn’t expect to meet His Royal Highness so soon.”

“I don’t blame your surprise. This is an unusual circumstance. But I have a good feeling about you.”

“Well, I’m honored, bu--”

They arrived at a grand doorway. A doorway appeared to be the only thing between her and the king. She took a deep breath, and Natalie opened the doors. Marinette followed closely behind into the throne room.