#baron just before he dramatics his way into a situation

[the-other-art-blog]

Why Benophie season is the perfect way to finish the first half of the Bton stories?

Now that Benophie season is unofficially confirmed, I've come to the conclusion that this was the greatest way to end the first half of Bton. It needed to be s4.

In the ton, marriage is about status. And while all Bton marriages are love matches, they are also incredibly beneficial for their position in society. The ENTIRE family's position in society.

Anthony is a viscount, an influential one, but in the nobility hierarchy, he's second to last.

Daphne climbed up 3 steps when she married Simon and became a Duchess.

Francesca will climb one step when she marries John.

Kate didn't have a title or wealth, but a married Viscount is an improvement over a rake Viscount.

Colin is only a Mr., but I will be surprised if the Featherington baby race doesn't end with Pen having a boy who will become Baron. He's going to be the father of a Lord thanks to Penelope.

So you can see how these marriages are extremely beneficial to them and elevate the entire family. Daphne understood this when she said that her marriage would set the prospects for her sisters. Anthony also knew that his choice of viscountess would affect the family.

So, by the time Benedict meets Sophie, the family will have a viscounty + relations with a duchy, an earldom, and a barony. They just need a march to have the full set.

Enter Benedict who will fall in love with a servant AND an illegitimate daughter.

If he marries her, he risks undoing all the work his siblings have done to maintain the family in good standing.

The book doesn't address this, but I wish the show would. It would add another dimension to Benedict's reasons to not marry Sophie. He would be thinking of the family. What would happen to Eloise, Hyacinth, and Gregory? They will no longer be siblings to nobles, they will be related to an illegitimate child and servant. Who will want to marry them? Is it fair to affect their prospects when they haven't even had a chance at society? (Read The Secrets of Sir Richard Kenworthy) Perhaps it hurts the already-married siblings too.

I'm thinking about Ben and Violet's scene. Sophie refuses to be a mistress and Ben has already decided to marry her. But there's still this issue lingering. Is it right to drag the whole family to get what he wants? Wouldn't that be the most selfish thing anyone could do? In the book, Violet says this,

Imagine if she adds, "and your siblings will support you too."

EDIT: The thing about this scene is that Benedict was ready to leave if the family didn't support him and Sophie.

This is also a great way to bring back the Sharmas' background. Mary was cast out for marrying a clerk, leaving Edwina in an unfavorable position. If the Queen hadn't named her the diamond, it would have been very difficult for her to get a good match. Not to mention that Mary's parents considered hated Kate and insulted her parents for being common people.

You can see why Benedict is afraid of the family's reaction. The Sheffields said that after Mary left, they couldn't show their faces in London for years. He wouldn't want to do that to his family. Sophie wouldn't want that either.

This is why it is so great to have Benophie come in s4. Not that a duchy and a viscount wouldn't have been enough, but this way is much more dramatic and LEGENDARY.

Despite the risks, the family will support Benedict AND Sophie. They'll support her too cause they know her and they love her even before they knew about Ben's feelings.

It's a test, not only for Benedict but for the family.

MORE EDITS:

I also think that Queen Charlotte will hate the Bridgertons after s3. She has been trying to arrange their marriages for 3 seasons, and they have all ignored her and made their matches independently. So, maybe Benedict will be worried because his marriage to Sophie will only worsen the situation.

[babybatss-blog]

Could I please get a Sirius x f!reader where they move in together after graduating? Thank youuu

BELLA DONNA

Sirius x f!reader, 740 words 

Authors note: so honoured to have my first request, I hope I did it justice! If you’re not familiar with the song, I’d recommend giving “Bella Donna” by Stevie Nicks a listen as it is a pertinent part of the story :)

cw: none ~

Highschool sweethearts. That’s what Sirius Black and you were known as at school. When you were 14 the two of you got together, in an unlikely pairing of a playboy and an average girl. No one thought that you would last, but now four years later it’s clear that you two were there to stay. The “pocket change” that Sirius’ family left him was more than enough to buy yourselves a small flat, with only three rooms and a tiny outdoor space only fit for a table and chair. Your parents were generous enough to gift a couple of appliances to you like a microwave and a tv, but apart from that the boxes packed into your new home were few and far between, not even constituting any help from your friends.  

So here you stand, hands clasped in his and staring at the empty floor surrounding you, unsure of your next move. You could unpack, but you didn’t have cupboards to place anything. You couldn’t buy any cupboards either, as you had no money left to spare. Instead, Sirius walks over to a box with his name written on it in bold letters, and pulls out a perfectly sealed package, about the size of a pizza box, but much heavier and thicker and hands it to you.

“For you, my love.” He says, looking down at you with the same adoration you’ve seen time and time again before sitting down on the cool floor. You smile, sinking into a cross-legged position and carefully peeling back the wrapping. Its purple, with black and white cartoon dogs spotted upon it. After a minute of slowly unravelling the pieces as to keep the wrapping safe, a cd player and a single cd that has “Stevie Nicks: Bella Donna” on it are unveiled. “Ever since you broke my record player, I know you’ve felt horrible. So, I thought I could buy something we could both use, with an album we both love.” Silence lingers, Sirius waits for your response, and you wait for the words to come to you. Eventually, you place the player to the side and open the cd, putting it in and pressing a couple of buttons.

“You can ride high atop your pony I know you won’t fall, cause the whole thing’s phoney”

Stevie Nicks’ soft voice calls from the crackling speakers, accompanied by the uplifting hum of instruments. You smile at Sirius, and he smiles at you, pulling you to your feet with him as he wraps his arms around your waste and yours around his neck, swaying to the soft beat.

“You can fly swinging from the trapeze scaring all the people, but you’ll never scare me”

Singing along, huge smiles are plastered on both of your faces. You felt horrible when you accidentally knocked his record player off the shelf, but Sirius could never be mad at you. Instead, he finds joy in any situation, just like he has done before in any challenging situation. Whispering in your ear, Sirius serenades you with the following lyrics. You’re his Bella Donna, a north star he will always fight for. Although the lyrics may seem outrageous, as the centre of Sirius’ universe he forever ensures that you know he feels this way about you. When the beat kicks in, Sirius jumps back from you into a dramatic flair, singing the words at the top of his lungs.

“No speed limit, this is the fast lane! It’s just the way that it is here.” You laugh loudly, joining in for the following lines. “And you can say… I never thought it could!” The two of you wrap your arms around each other once again, this time faces mere centimetres away from each other. Here in this baron house, their old school mates would have never imagined the two would be so happy. But until the sun goes down, you dance and sing to your tiny collection of previously acquired cd’s as if there is nothing else in the world but the two of you.

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Consorts [Part 2]

The Ghoul|Cooper Howard x F!Bounty Hunter!Reader

Part 1 // <--> // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 //

Summary: Reader and Cooper are still at each other's throats. At night, they reminisce on their first and only other mission together. Bonds are forming between them.

~~~

You followed closely behind him. An endless desert before you. You watched as he took a swig from his cantine. Your lips were dry.

"Pass that," you mumbled. He looked at you over his shoulder. Ignoring you completely, taking another drink himself. You silently rolled your eyes, not giving him the satisfaction of being frustrated. You had a long road ahead of you, barely on speaking terms with the man you had just made a deal with. Both of you obviously still bitter from the last time you had been together.

You coughed as the dry air finally hit the back of your throat. The Ghoul stopped, spinning around to you. Throwing his cantine at you, "No need to be so dramatic, sweetheart." You fumbled as it caught you off guard. You drank the few sips he had left in it, tossing it back at him.

"'Bout time we found a place to set up for the night," he looked around the baron land, trash and remnants of a past life decorating the sand.

You pointed at an open area with some fallen over wood in the distance, "We can make a fire there."

"Atta girl," he praised you. Both of you walked in that direction.

You moved some debris around, making makeshift seats as the Ghoul started a fire. Even while barely on speaking terms, you both could not help but make the most of your situation. The sun was setting, you stared at the sky admiring the pinks and oranges that decorated it. You were a few meters away from him, wanting to keep your distance.

The Ghoul walked up behind you, his body close to yours. "Fire's ready." You shot a glance over your shoulder at him. No other acknowledgement leaving you. His hooded eyes met yours, staring slightly. He walked back to the fire in silence. Once the sun was completely down, you walked over to the seat you had made yourself.

You sat completely across the other side of the fire from him. Crackling of fire was the only sound breaking the silence between you.

"You remember the last time we were in front of a fire together?" He broke the silence.

You blushed, memories of that night flooding back...

You had felt comfort in him. People making you feel safe was a rare occurrence. It was the night before everything would go wrong. You had been traveling together for a few weeks. Just long enough for your guards to begin falling down. Enough that you sat directly next to each other in front of the fire. He cleaned his gun as you attempted to get warm from the fire. It was a rather cold night then.

You were unintentionally shivering. He noticed, placing his gun beside him his attention on you now.

"You alright?"

"Just a little cold," you flashed a smile at him. He stood up, taking his coat off and wrapping it around you. "Thank you," you mumbled as he sat back next to you, a little closer than before. "If you need more tell me," he went back to cleaning his gun.

Your head fell on his shoulder, you found contentment in him. He glanced at you. He hesitated. Wanting to place a hand in your hair, but unsure if he should. You shifted your head, looking up at him now.

"Feelin' better?" He asked casually. You nodded at him. He had not felt this way in centuries. He wanted to fight himself, he wanted to push you away, but his body begged him to stay and take care of you. He hated feeling tender, coarse life was all he'd know for a long, long time now. But this moment made him hopeful. Maybe everyone wasn't so bad.

His hand went to your cheek, your face falling into it with closed eyes. His thumb rubbed your cheek, staring and admiring you for the first time intentionally. He knew he should not let his guard down, but how could he not. You were there begging him to care for you. No one looked at him the way you had been.

He placed his lips on yours. You leaned in, deepening the kiss with him. You continued kissing until it grew sloppy. You placed a hand on his chest, pushing him onto his back. One of his arms snaked around your waist. He looked up at you with hooded eyes, your legs mounting his waist. His hands ghosted up your body, coming down to be firm on your hips...

... You stared at him through the flames. He looked down, eyes not meeting yours at all.

"What do you want me to say to that?"

His shoulders shrugged, "Just trying to lighten the mood between us. If we're going to be doing this together, we're going to need to be a little cordial."

"Probably be easier if I knew who you were," you snapped back quickly. His eyes shot up at you. His back straightened, his gaze fixated on you now, "What is it that's so important you need to know?"

"Your name."

His lip twitched, lips pierced together. "What difference will it make? You've seen more of me than most people," his eyes were flat.

You scoffed at him. You stood up, taking off your coat and placing it on the ground, "I'm going to sleep."

"Whatever you say, princess. S'long as you're ready in the morning." His attention was on something else. You were angry. Frustrated.

You laid with your back to the fire, not really wanting to sleep. Nearly an hour passed and you still could not sleep. Staring into the dark sand. His shadow was painted behind you by the flame. He sat next to you, a huff leaving him as he sat.

He cleared his throat. "If I had known what was going to happen after that night..." He stopped, his tongue glossing over his yellowed teeth. "When you've been around as long as me... you don't exactly give out your trust to anyone. It always comes back to bite you in the ass." There were more things he wanted to say to you, but he could not.

Silence washed over you both again. You watched as his shoulder rose and fell with every deep breath he took. His head fell forward slightly.

"Cooper." He muttered.

Your eyes widened slightly. You looked over your shoulder slowly, his back was to you. You were unsure how to respond, perhaps pretending to be asleep was the best choice.

He looked up into the empty sky. "There's a lot you don't know. But now we're on a first name basis, can't keep holding it over my head." He looked over his shoulder, his eyes meeting yours.

"Go to sleep, Y/N," he stood back up.

"Goodnight... Cooper," you spoke softly. He rolled his shoulders, going a small ways away from you, but not as far as before.

You hesitantly drifted off to sleep, knowing you needed the energy.

~~~

END//Part 2

[Thank you for reading!  If you are interested in being tagging in any of my writings don’t be afraid to message me!  All tag lists are open!  I have a master taglist and one for each character!]

Tags:

@mortuus-poet | @giggle-shade | @pixelatedprofilepic

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

The Bird And The Man

Chapter Ten

Rated: Explicit | Warnings: None

Ao3

Chapter Nine | Chapter Eleven (coming soon)

The Baron of the Oletus Manor is an anonymous individual, an enigma, it only seems like Hastur has a connection to the Baron but cannot speak to how deep that connection is. He controls the games, rarely showing his hand when he deems fit, like the time Joseph had sent a letter requesting the game to permit permanent deaths. The Baron only allowed this because he knew the Photographer was not going to fulfill his own request.

Human hearts are fascinating, often capricious, and often selfish. Yet, there are moments like those and many other heartfelt bonding moments within the Oletus Manor, a story with no end, but with plenty of plot twists and on the edge of one’s seat scenarios.

The Baron is quiet, his posture different from others as he wears a blue suit, the color is warm instead of the dark colors the villain would wear in dramatic stories. He brushes off the bit of dust that landed on him as walked out of the Golden Cave exit gate to meet the raven monster lurking in Lakeside Village. The one called ‘Nightmare’ is standing there looking up at the clear starry sky when the Baron approaches in quick strides, he does not like the mud getting on his brown dress shoes.

The only hint of acknowledgment is the way Nightmare crosses his arms and stands up straight to his full height.

“Thinking of the ghostwriter while stargazing. Romantic.” The Baron breaks the silence while lighting his pipe to take a smoke, “You dreamt of them again.” Spoken as a matter of fact.

No response to that, Nightmare uncrosses his arms noting the way the tone is not harsh, cold but not a blizzard.

“You are aware we share dreams, correct?”

There is no response at first but then a slow nod, he is now waiting for the lecture one gets from a father for eating too many sweets or in this case: playing in the honey jar.

“You should know better than to have relations, creature.” Annoyed, a puff of smoke in the air was blown away by a little breeze.

“No. Rules. Broken.”

The Baron glares, a frown on his lips that is holding up the pipe, he takes the pipe out of his mouth as he replies once more, “The unspoken rule of Hunters and Huntees not having personal relations should not have to be explicitly said, Nightmare.” Shaking his head. “I have been too kind in allowing these connections to form.” Not just Nightmare. Miss Nightingale had fought the Baron for these events, the dressing up, and the different match settings. This is to allow the human mind to handle more than it can handle. The survivors were picked for a reason, a mix of various types of people put into a dangerous situation that seems impossible to escape一 Well, it is so long as the Baron wants them to be here.

“The. Heart. Wants. What. It. Wants.” Nightmare says as his head turns to the Baron, the purple eyes behind the plague doctor mask narrow, “I love them.” The Baron looks away when he hears those words, how easily those words come from the creature. The pain of speaking is something he can endure to state his case, “As. You. Will.”

“Orpheus has written enough doomed relationships with his novels for you to know better than assume that.” He refuses to believe he will fall for a Huntee, a person he is using for these games, “This will end tragically.”

The Baron looks up at the starry night sky, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I detest you.” Those words bitter and resentful, venom that could kill a snake. The nights of late have been infested with dreams of you rather than dreamless nights, no longer is it cold and empty. He can vividly see you, a smile that does not match the situation of the manor. Groaning as he shakes his head before smoking his pipe again.

“Detest. Yourself. As. You. Need.” A deep breath is taken in slowly and let out slowly, “We are fools.” A chill in the air is enough to get him moving towards the exit gate and leave back to the manor.

The Baron remains there until he finishes smoking his pipe.

The Baron allows for celebrations, New Year's and the Lunar New Year among them, but none of them specify a year. That is to keep the mystery of the manor, the timelessness, and endlessness going.

The celebration goes on, and the Baron is far away from the events but close enough to see all the participants from survivors to hunters partaking of the drinks and being civil. Miss Nightingale often complains about how well-behaved Jack is during events much to her annoyance.

The Baron allows Miss Nightingale to place judgment on who comes or does not come to join in these events.

A list drawn up and approved by the Baron upon review.

The banned ones due to how unstable they are: Smiley, Undead, Sculptor, Breaking Wheel, and a few others.

As watches close by but hidden, the gathering of the survivors and hunters, the main event soon to start.

As to be expected, no Nightmare.

The creature hates loud noises and this celebration is full of flashing with loud noises, plus a lot of people given no one misses events (Lady Nightingale can be demanding at times).

But there is no you, your first New Year here and you are nowhere to be found.

Orpheus may not be looking for you but the enigma that is the Baron is. Looking for the aspiring author who foolishly fell into his trap like many others here.

The countdown is starting, Orpheus is speaking with Jack while the others mingle with one another. The Lady Nightingale is there watching from the sidelines, her mask pointed toward the dark clear winter sky.

Another year, five years since the Oletus Manor opened its gate to the Nightingale’s song that fateful night.

The Baron looks with Orpheus towards the sky as the fireworks go off.

[doctorstrangereview]

Strange Tales #161

Cover Date: October 1967 On-Sale Date: June 29, 1967

It turns out that last issues was Ms. Severin's last and Dan Adkins takes over here. While he's not Ditko, Mr. Adkins manages to give some of his bizarreness with more of a creepy, horror movie vibe. I kinda like it. And I gotta say his Baron Mordo is really hot in that mature bear way! Raymond Marais continues his writing duties for what turns out is his final issue. He and Adkins make a good time conjuring some truly creepy images.

A souped-up Baron Mordo, apparently now stronger than Doc, banishes him to "the world of a million perils." He then turns to his new minions, still in their dull grey cult robes, to restore some of their power so he can use them to "ravage the cosmos!" Baron, you really need to get rid of the onesie before you do this ravaging, or everyone is just gonna die laughing.

This is the last we see of the minor noble with a major chip on his shoulder. The rest of the story we follow Doc as he traverses "the world of a million perils." Seriously, did someone actually count and catalog all these perils? Adkins does give us some interesting imagery. Not quite Ditko weirdness, but more imaginative than Everett or Severin.

Marais and Adkins give Doc some surprises as well. One is breaking out of the 9-panel format more often than previous artists.

Doc continues on and then meets the first of the creatures of this world. Who wouldn't be scared of, or at least grossed out by, a bat flying through snot.

Something prevents Doc from using his cloak of levitation and he continues to fall through "the world of a million perils." Seem like he's got at least 999,990 of them to go. Doc splats on what looks like an alien ocean and is washed up on an alien beach.

Doc takes a moment to contemplate his situation and Adkins takes a moment to give us this rather dramatic image. The size of his panels makes them a bit difficult to slap into those posts, but it's worth the squint.

While we don't return to Mordo, we do return to Earth for a moment to view Victoria Bentley's plight. Victoria is back in her flat and decides to "probe her own mind" as she waits for Mordo to get off his duff and tell her what to do. She remembers the gruff, cloaked stranger who was rude to a cabbie and then saved her life.

Suddenly Victoria is transported... somewhere else. Now we go back to Doc. Doc is realizing the extent of the power bequeathed him by The Ancient One and this also manages to let him control his cloak again. Woo Hoo! After he "feigns" weakness by running away from a giant centipede, he hears a scream from none other than Victoria Bentley. What a coincidence that the mysterious force that banished her (which is never identified) manages to send her to the same place to which Doc was banished.

Doc sees Victoria menaced by a giant ant. Mr. Adkins may know creepy, but it's Earth creepy.

Doc fries the giant ant and asks Vicky how she got there. She, of course doesn't know, but speculates it was Baron Mordo. This provides the cue for a booming voice to correct her. The intelligence that Doc has been searching for has revealed himself. Welcome Nebulos, Lord of the Planets Perilous. As this is "the world of a million perils" that checks. Nebulos looks like a sculpture that someone abandoned then dropped. Despite this Nebulos is rather full of himself calling himself "the wonder of wonders." I guess we'll need to wait until the next month to find out how wonderful he is.

The battle with Mordo is paused as Doc is sent on a quest. He's gotta overcome a bunch of obstacles (apparently 1,000,000 of them) to find his goal (Nebulos). It's good, but a but thin. I think it's aided by Adkins large panels taking up a lot of space making a seven or eight page story last ten. The art is an improvement over the last two artists. No offence to Mr. Everett or Ms. Severin. He's a bit more realistic than Bill and a bit more polished than Marie and a but more weird than either. It's make you look forward to the next installment. What does this gooey looking rhino have in store?

[tcrmommabear]

TCR B-Day Bash Day #2: Masquerade

Hello hello, yes I know I’m late, but to be fair- this thing is roughly 2,700 words long, so I think I earned a little tardiness.

This is my Role Reversal AU, where Haru is the one who had to rescue Baron from the Cat King, and I just love writing pining Baron who thinks Haru is completely not interested. (As I’ve messaged @catsafarithewriter in the middle of writing to scream “SHE’S PLAYING IT TOO COOL”)

Enjoy my friends!!

***

Baron wasn’t having the greatest night one could imagine.

Though always grateful to do a bit of good and indulge some dramatic tendencies, it was significantly harder to focus on the former when he couldn’t tend to the latter. And he had so hoped to impress a certain someone, if she hadn’t so quickly gone missing.

To be absolutely fair, it was hard to find anyone in the mass of bodies and swirls of dancing. Baron had held sight of Toto and Muta for most of the evening, but then he was pulled into introductions by the Prince’s cousin, and even their well known shapes and masks had flitted out of view. He kept an eye out for the silver flash of their masks, or even the rustle of Toto’s wings, but had given up when he realized he’d rather try to find Haru. And not just for the dance he had desperately wanted.

There was an assassin running around, after all.

And in the spirit of continued honesty, Baron had to admit there wasn’t actually much he had to worry about.

He admitted this to himself even as he still dug through party goers and waitstaff, twisting and twirling and charming his way around the ballroom in the hopes of catching sight of her. Haru could take care of herself, so well that she could probably have done this whole mission by herself. The other three were here more as a cursory role, helping deflect attention while she did the actual sneaking around. But Haru had insisted all be present, said the Bureau wasn’t the Bureau without all its members.

That it was important to her for Baron (... and Toto and Muta…) to be there for her.

He still wasn’t at the point of admitting how much his heart had raced when Haru said that. Emotions were still odd for him at times.

(Especially what Haru drew out of him, piece by piece.)

So the group donned their best suits and gowns, covered their faces in silver masks, and headed off to stop a Royal Assassination. They had a moment with the family, who promised to stay encircled by their guard and away from the party itself, and the Bureau set to work looking for anyone, or anything, suspicious.

Which led to Baron’s current situation.

He’d done about three laps around the entirety of the ballroom itself, stepped out onto many balconies to glance about, and even hazarded a search through empty halls the masquerade was banned from. Not a sign of Haru among the crowds, hidden in corners, chatting with princes and kings, or miserably nursing a drink by the banquet table as Baron was up to now.

He wanted to be proud. He was proud. Haru was a phenomenal Bureau member, and would likely inherit the damn thing if Baron was capable of passing from this world, but…

He sighed, sinking further into the shadows, glancing about the masquerade ball. Elegant masks of ruby, gold, bronze, and lavender fill the space, cavernous and echoing. Baron had chosen silver, to remind himself of the mask Haru had thrown at the Cat King during their escape. To remind Haru, he had hoped, of another dance they’d shared before.

But one cannot break through to Haru when she focuses on a case. He’d been impressed by her drive in the beginning, had praised her openly and constantly for it when she’d first joined. But now, even on cases as lax (though no less important) as this one, she was gone. And he wasn’t sure how to try and get closer to her except during cases, seeing as she tried to keep as busy as possible in her everyday life.

Baron was going to have to admit it at some point. That he, likely, wasn’t an option for Haru, for many valid reasons, and that she considered him as nothing more than a work colleague. Maybe a friend.

Baron took another swig from his drink, sighed once more, and gazed out into the crowd.

And caught eyes with a silver mask.

Heat shot through his veins, sparks and fire, electrical impulses burning through the wood of his heart and searing her name. She was mid-conversation, it appeared, having just glanced and caught his eye. But her smile spoke so much more- joy, excitement, maybe a touch of relief at having found a familiar face, a couple dozen other emotions he couldn’t place but just spoke so deeply of who Haru was.

He smiled back, raised a hand to wave, but she’d turned away. Was back to the conversation at hand, leaving him to imagine if she’d ever even looked his way. He didn’t have time to mourn the chance encounter, to try and call out to the woman he’d spent the night looking for. There was a polite cough to his side, and Baron glanced to find a young woman by his side.

He recognizes her from earlier conversations, and a reintroduction from the Prince’s cousin. And despite his misgivings and soured mood, Baron can't help the inherent desire to make a continued good impression.

"Lady Ladonna Marie," Baron exclaims, taking her extended hand, "an absolute delight to see you once again."

She giggles as he kisses the air around her knuckles, dark blue eyes narrowing at him. He pities the poor fool that falls in her sights, recognizing the gleam inherent to nobles and riches. Baron knows all too well what she searches for, and yet doesn't think to worry for his own safety.

Lady Ladonna's hand lingers in his own, her grip tight around the fingers as he feels her rings digging in. She steps closer, Baron taking the chance to slip from her grip, and watches as she tilts her chin up to meet his eyes. He glances out, supposing she must be hiding from many admirers, as no one but the Bureau is aware of the assassin at hand. He smiles at her, wanting to show her a friendly face among the uncertain crowd.

"Are you enjoying your evening, Baron Humbert?" She bats her eyelashes, and Baron wonders briefly if something is caught in them.

"The evening has been a delight, Lady Ladonna, and the guests wonderfully agreeable. One could not ask for a more perfect party."

"And surely you've had time to dance?"

Baron's smile shifts, his heart aching and fit to burst out of his chest and sail across to the silver mask. One that, as far as he can tell, hasn't glanced back at him. He shakes his head, moving to gather the drink he'd set aside at her approach.

"Unfortunately not, though not for lack of trying. My colleague remains to be seen, and I always endeavor to reserve my first for her."

"Ah, for her loss!" Lady Ladonna exclaims, her hand slipping into the crook of his arm. "Yet you've made many a friend and acquaintance here tonight, another is bound to jump at the chance."

Baron glanced at Lady Ladonna, slightly leaning back to regain some personal space, before looking back out at the crowd.

His eyes meet Haru's again, her mask a shining bone white underneath the light. He jolts, missing how less animated she is in her conversation, the stiffness to her posture. He instead fills with another ache in his heart, and wishes he was someone worthy of her attention. To be seen by a shooting star as it passes through the night.

"Why, I'd be more than happy to introduce you to the ballroom floor!"

Baron snaps back down to the Lady Ladonna, her smile twisting in a self satisfied way. He feels ensnared, in the slightest sense, and thinks of ways to extricate himself without giving offense. Despite the sour mood, he does have a job to do, and the time for dancing has long since passed.

Before Baron can respond, either to excuse or charm his way, another joins the fray.

"Baron, it's so good to finally find you! I would really like to be introduced to your friend here."

His heart seizes.

He turns to see Haru, shining and glittering and beautiful as always, standing before him and the Lady. Her silver mask twists and curls around her eyes, drawing attention to the depth and warmth he finds himself drowning in. Her short hair is slicked back, her gown a navy blue and studded with silver gems.

When he'd first seen her, he'd likened her to a deity of stars and night, swept away and swaddled in her mystery.

Her smile is tense, but he knows the difference between one of anger at him and one of discomfort, and Haru had only so far flashed him one of genuine happiness before being drawn to Lady Ladonna.

Their eyes hold, and Baron feels theady'a grip on his arm tighten to an alarming degree. He gently pries her hand away, stepping to his place beside Haru. Haru rests a hand easily on his arm, touch light and only to alert him that she's there.

"Miss Haru," he begins, before clearing his throat, wrangling in his excitement and nerves, "allow me to introduce Lady Ladonna Marie. Lady Ladonna, my colleague, Miss Haru."

"Lovely to meet you, Lady Marie, but I'm afraid we must part," Haru cuts, before the Lady has a chance, "for Baron, here, owes me a dance."

Haru reaches for the drink in Baron's hand he'd forgotten about and takes a sip. She smiles and raises the cup towards the Lady, before setting it aside and taking Baron's hand. She leads him to the ballroom floor, unaware of his heart hammering between the joining of their palms. He hardly dares to breathe, afraid to break whatever good luck has come along his path.

Haru stops abruptly, and turns, taking Baron’s hands into her own, before adjusting him into a waltz. He follows automatically, taking the lead as one song ends and another quickly begins.

“Quite a friend you made back there Baron,” Haru snorts. “Seemed to have no sense of personal space.”

“Lady Ladonna can be afforded a little leniency, being such a close friend of the Prince and his cousin.”

“Her friendship with the Prince does not mean she can treat others how she wants.”

His heart warms, wanting to soothe the annoyed expression on Haru’s face. He squeezes her hand, drawing her attention away from the lurking Lady. She meets his eyes, and his heart melts entirely, though the aches from earlier still pulse beneath his ribs. He dips Haru, enjoys the lighthearted smile that blooms in its wake, and continues their turn about the dance floor.

“I’ve been looking for you, Miss Haru,” he tells her, hoping his voice doesn’t betray the extent of what he means.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been trying to make myself difficult to find. I’ve narrowed our options down, but there’s still too many variables for me to make a guaranteed guess.”

“Any strong contenders I should be worried about?”

Haru snorts.

“You were just corned by our prime suspect.”

Baron sends Haru into a twirl, leading her spinning around him to grant him another look. Lady Ladonna seems to have abandoned her place in the corner, and maintains watch over him and Baron. Though she seems to have moved further down the banquet table, towards the drinks.

He pulls Haru close, keeping the Lady in the corner of his eye.

“Motive? Method?”

“Close friend of the Prince’s cousin, cousin is first born of the King's younger brother. Succession crisis, announce engagement to new Prince, score of a lifetime. Method remains to be seen, but her rings indicate poison,” Haru says breathlessly, eyes a little unfocused as she gazes up at Baron.

He gives a big grin, and lifts her up into a twirl, chuckling when Haru gives a squeal of delight.

“You never cease to amaze, Miss Haru, well done indeed. Has Muta been alerted to steal the rings?”

“Kind of? I’ve got him pickpocketing quite a few people, but I wanted to see if we could catch someone in the act, rather than hoarding jewelry and guessing who’s is who’s.”

“I suppose we have time, then, before we make our grand entrance. I never knew you as one to delay preventing an assassin for the dramatics of it all.”

“Please, Baron, we both know how much of an influence you’ve played into this. I did learn from the best after all.”

Baron flushes under the praise, especially paired with the way she looks up at him with her soulful eyes. He wants to sing her praises, lift her high above his head and twirl her around, desperately wants to dip her again and enjoy her laugh. He gets overwhelmed with the feeling of it all, the conflicting wants and narratives and the tilt of her smile, and pulls back.

“Yes, well,” he coughs, giving himself room to breathe, “there’s much you learned outside of me. I can’t take the compliment when I know I’ve only provided you a little.”

Her darling smile diminishes, and he wonders what could have stolen it away when all he’d done is be honest. He can’t get carried away, not here at least. They’re so close to solving this case, and maybe after he can come up with a plan to address all he wants. All he needs to do. He so desperately wishes he was more than a colleague and mentor.

“Baron, you must know I…” Haru begins, but Baron simply smiles. Smiles the smile for clients and light shows.

“Another time, Miss Haru, your charms will have to wait for after this case. There is an assassin running around, after all.”

Haru flushes in an odd way, pink dusting her cheeks and ears. He nods to himself, and continues to lead, the pair silent for the time. Baron still twirls and dips her, bringing giggles or smiles out of Haru to pass the time.

As he twirls her again, he spots the Lady Ladonna chasing after a servant carrying a tray of golden goblets. Specific goblets Baron had instructed the Royal family to stick to, to prevent a chance of poisoning or swapping of glasses. He dips Haru once again, letting her catch sight of the Lady’s movements.

“We’re on the clock now, I would say,” Haru murmurs, turning away from the Lady and locking eyes with Baron.

All previous notions of waiting until after the case abandons him when he realizes how close the two are. And Baron struggles not to lean down and kiss Haru that very moment.

The pair are, unfortunately, interrupted by Lady Ladonna opening one of her capsule rings and tilting it over a goblet as she orders the servant about. Baron and Haru freeze, glancing at each other again, before moving as one.

Baron leads her through a waltz once again, spinning and moving faster towards the pair standing at the edge of the ballroom floor. Baron lifts Haru after almost every spin, slightly higher and higher, stepping closer to the tray. He nods down at her, and she smiles, nodding back.

Baron lifts Haru high and spins her, her heels clacking against the tray and sending the wine spilling over the Lady Ladonna and servant. Haru leaps forth and grabs the Lady, while Baron moves to steady the flustered servant, both distracted by the sudden mayhem of the “accident”.

“You better hope that poison doesn’t seep through skin, Lady Marie,” Haru whispers, yanking rings off the Lady’s fingers to search for more capsules. The Lady Ladonna Marie sputters, but a glare from Haru is enough to set anyone to rights, and she folds easily enough.

“Let’s get these two sorted away from the crowd, Miss Haru, and inform the King the matter’s been resolved,” Baron motions to a side hallway, where two guards await them. The party still carries on, unaware of the plot foiled by a dance and a kick.

“Baron, about earlier-,” Haru begins, stopping Baron from moving with a hand to his arm. He glances down at her, her pink cheeks, her beautiful dress, her silver mask, and resolves to listen to any order, any request, any thing she might have to offer.

Muta crashes through the upper balcony, grips the chandelier to slow his fall, and comes crashing down on the ballroom floor.

The pair turn in time to see a dozen guards flowing out after him, Toto taking to the high ceilings in order to also give chase, shouting out unintelligibly to either the guards or Muta.

“I’m not the assassin! Stop chasing me already, I work fer the King!” Muta cries out.

Baron resolves, instead, to just let Haru handle easy missions on her own from now on.

[charlotte--kensington]

Cinderarthur [NSFT]

Don't mind me, I'll just repost what is quite possibly the most shameful work I have ever written... It's still one of my favourites, don't get me wrong.

Cinderella, but filthy. That's all there really is to it.

Anyway... Chapter 1. Let's go.

Once upon a time, in a land far away... There lived a slut.

Arthur Kirkland has had an easy life so far - Being the son of the local baron he's had all the time he could ask for for just about any depravity he might come up with.

Too bad that his father's new wife convinced the baron that his only son has to get married.

What's a young noble to do when all his funds are cut off?

If not for the arrival of his fairy godparent, Arthur could not tell you either.

---

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a young man, close to 24 years old. There were few things special about him aside from his parentage. His father was known for being the baron resident in their town, his mother had been a renowned beauty before her sudden death when he was but a child.

His heritage was what made him stand out amongst a crowd.

That and the fact that he was a slut, a greedy whore, who loved nothing more than the feeling of having his arse filled.

Now, however much the baron's son, who held the name of Arthur Kirkland, could have been yearning for a partner to keep up with any sudden craving he might have felt, for the moment he had not found anybody like that yet.

Quite the opposite, actually, as he instead focused his attention on an ever-growing assortment of playthings he enjoyed in the late hours of the night, the earliest moments of the day and just about any other time he felt like it.

The only problem the baron's son was facing was the recent marriage of his Lord father, which saw him confronted with not only a stepmother who could not stand this young man standing between her and her personal portemonnaie, but also with her twin children.

The woman had had an iron grip on the baron ever since he'd first laid eyes on her - Unwilling to do so or not, Arthur had to admit that she was beautiful, no matter her character. That did not make it any easier for him to like her, however, as she not only did her best to make his daily life hell, but had also instructed her son and daughter, a pair of twins, to do the same.

The twins seemed to have come a lot more after their father, which was the nice way of saying that even the sunlight was trying to hide from their countenances often a time.

Nonetheless they had all the more ambition to flirt with just about anything that moved, including but not limited to their own servants, Arthur's personal servant, any and all guests his father would receive in their residence and whomever else had the misfortune of crossing their path.

Singular, because they were hard enough to separate that they might as well have been joined at the hip.

Maybe this situation with an unlikeable stepmother and two equally ill-mannered stepsiblings was why Arthur was not surprised by the conversation at the dining room table on that particular day that set the greatest change of his life into motion.

"Is it too much to ask for you to get married?," the nobleman exclaimed, as the young man picked at the roast meat on his plate, thinking of whatever he could do to fill his evening.

Do not misunderstand him, he was filled at that very moment by a short but girthy plug straight out of his collection, but that did not keep him from planning whatever else he might be able to do.

"Perhaps it is not too much," Arthur replied between two bites, "but it is still awfully much."

The new baroness let out a weak sigh, casting her eyes away from her husband's youngest son in as dramatic a fashion as only a former actress such as her could do.

"Former actress" because she had dropped her profession as soon as the baron had shown any sort of interest in her.

"Oh Arthur, dearest, could you not have become more like your siblings?," she lamented weakly, "Each of them does more to follow your father's wishes than you! Tonight they will attend a ball at the castle to find and meet possible suitors, what will you do?"

Probably ride a dildo until I cum all over myself, it shot through the head of the baron's son, but somehow he doubted that was what she was getting at.

The ever-stubborn son took another sip of his wine.

"But father, would you not miss me, should I abandon the nest and leave you to live with somebody else?"

The baron shifted uncomfortably, glancing over at his second wife.

She gave him an admonitory look, placing her hand on his much larger one, in an all-too-obvious show of who held the reigns in their "relationship".

"I would," the nobleman spoke, "But nothing would pain me more than knowing that one of my children has to live without a family of his own."

His son did not bother to hide the disdainful quirk of his lips upon hearing him say "one of my children". The baron did not have children, he had one son and two cuckoo's eggs in his nest.

Nothing, if not stubbornly well-spoken he opened his mouth to rebutt again: "Father, I already have-"

"Enough, child!," the baron preempted him, once again motivated by whatever dark power the woman by his side held over him.

"Do as you wish, but I shall not fund any more of your little... Habits as long as you cannot introduce a proper suitor to your mother and I."

Arthur's mouth closed wordlessly as he found himself unable to say anything for the first time in his life.

♤ • ♤ • ♤

The baron's son paced up and down along the length of his chamber, a restless expression on his face, a certain sense of fury to his pace.

It was the late afternoon by now and by all means he normally would have used this time in a way differing far from this, but his father's threat scared him.

He had not expected the baron's new wife/lover/mistress to have as much influence on the nobleman, to wrap him around her wicked fingers as quickly. He'd lost all spine he'd had, had devolved into nothing but a marionette dancing to the strings in her hands, the tune she played.

Arthur was well aware that the second baroness despised him, he was an incarnation of any blockade keeping her away from not only his father's money but also his heart. He adored her, but he did not love her half as much as he loved his son, the only reminder of his long-gone wife.

So she wanted to get him out of her way by marrying him off, was that it?

It made him wonder: Was there even a person out there who would be interested in marrying him?

Arthur neither thought of himself as pretty nor as handsome, not elegant and delicate enough to seem effeminate, but not muscular or tall enough to seem overly masculine.

Not to mention that he was not all that interested in marriage either way.

He wanted a good time, good sex, why would he tie himself down with some stupid metal band around his finger?

The baron's son came to a stand before the floor-length mirror, gazing at his own reflection.

He was lithe, thin of stature, with nothing positive standing out about him aside from his pale complexion that could be seen as an argument for how noble he was - If one was desperate enough to find something good to say about him, at least.

The unattractive aspects, however, seemed to pile up easier and easier the longer he inspected his own reflection.

There was barely a gram of fat on his body, nothing to cushion sharp hip bones and nothing to hold on. His hair stood unruly atop his head in a dirty blond tuft, his brows appeared too large on his face.

Character did not save him either, now that he thought about it: He was fastidious to the point of annoyance, a being of pure jealousy and envy. Not to mention that he was well on the verge of nymphomania on top of all that.

His sex drive was another problem - he wouldn't be content with just anybody, that much he knew. It wasn't just about size, but about stamina as well, not to forget that a possible partner would have to be willing to play a tad rougher on occasion.

It seemed like there were far too many factors to find anybody during this half of the next century, but that did not help him or his monetary situation at all.

Arthur glanced at the clock on his nightstand, wondering how it had been more than three hours since lunch already, when something to his right caught his eye.

A small, violet puff of smoke.

The cloud grew and grew, bigger and bigger until it was larger than even the young nobleman himself, only to disappear with a small popping sound.

In its place there now stood a man of the same height as the baron's son, or at least he would have stood had he not floated about a foot above the ground. The stranger raised one hand in a calming gesture and spoke: "Do not be afraid."

Arthur let out a stifled yell.

The hand dropped, and the floating man (?) dropped his hand with a sigh.

"What about "Do not be afraid" was there to misunderstand?," he questioned, now hovering but a centimetre lower, as though his mood affected the height at which he stayed.

"Excuse me?," Arthur all but exclaimed, "But I think anybody would react that way, if some fey appeared I their bedroom, just... Just floating around!"

He gestured towards the elegant lilac wings on the other's back, still trying to grapple with the fact that there was a literal fey in his bedroom.

"First of all," the other said, "I am not a fey but your fairy godparent. You can call me Francis."

"You had a free choice and you chose "Francis"?," the baron's son deadpanned, one oversized brow raised above the other.

"And second of all," Francis continued without ever replying to the comment, "I am here to solve your little problem, all in one fell swoop, so don't make me reconsider."

The baron's son gave him a doubtful look.

"And how would I go about introducing a fairy to my father," he questioned, "or do you have a solution for that as well, dear godparent of mine?"

One could almost see the venom dripping off his words.

"I do not, my dear brat, because I am not only way out of your league, but also because I have a far better plan," the fey spoke, pulling forth what appeared to be a wand.

The young nobleman snorted, crossing his arms.

"And what would that be?," he asked.

He'd half expected Francis to wave his wand or something like that, but instead he merely moved it back and forth over the tips of his finger nails in a motion that looked suspiciously much like him filing his nails.

"You'll see," was all the reply he got before the fey added, "I'll need you to strip first."

He hadn't even met his gaze while saying that, which meant that it took several seconds of silence from Arthur until he tore his eyes from his manicure and instead looked at him.

"I'm sorry?," was all the young noble was able to say.

The fey didn't bother looking away from his nails again, instead focusing on getting a smooth edge to the curve of the nail on his left index finger.

"Well, unless you plan on putting in a sex toy through your clothes, without additional stretching and by virtue of my powers alone, I suggest you start stripping," he spoke, only to continue when Arthur still didn't move, "We're running late enough for the plan as is."

"What plan?!," he exclaimed, a genuine look of anger and fear on his face, "You can't just... Appear in my room, tell me you're some fairy and demand for me to strip!"

Francis drew in a slow, deep breath, meeting the young man's eyes at last.

"Fine," he said, "I apologise for not being more... sensitive in the way I try to help you."

The young son of the baron shot him a doubtful look, leaning back against his escritoire, arms crossed and waiting for him to continue.

"The thing is, I can't explain the plan, since it is basically very much based on me knowing what you are going to do and what is going to happen. The more you know, the less you're going to act the way I know you will, since you'll try to change parts of the future."

"So I have to play along without knowing anything," Arthur said, stated more than asked.

"I'm afraid so," the fey replied before adding, "although I did not expect you to have as many qualms about stuffing your arse and attending a masquerade ball."

There was a sense of resignation in the young nobleman's voice when he asked: "There is no use in asking you why I should do that, specifically, is there?"

The fey only shook his head, barely looking up from his manicure for more than two seconds.

The baron's son let out a light sigh, then he reached for the buttons of his waistcoat, carefully undoing them one by one.

"Your plan better work out flawlessly," he muttered, only half to Francis.

He was quick to strip once the coat and his shoes were gone, and soon he was left in only his socks and the open shirt hanging off of his slim frame. Only when a shiver ran down his back did he notice how cold the room was tonight.

Arthur turned back around to face the man still floating in front of his dressing room mirror, not bothering to cover his modesty.

Who knew what things the fey had seen of him in the past already...

"Fine," he said, "what's next?"

The other looked up from his nails, which he had started to paint in the same lilac colour as just about everything else that made up his appearance, and let out a low whistle.

"My, not demure at all, are we?," he asked, before adding, "Fine, just a moment."

He let the small bottle of nail polish that had floated before him disappear with the same elegance and suddenness he himself had appeared with, then he flicked his wand before pointing it at his free hand.

Out of thin air, something new materialised.

"There you go," the fairy said with a light smirk, "I take it you have everything you need?"

The young nobleman gaped at the object in his fairy godparent's hand.

"You want me to put that," he pointed at the plug, "up my arse?"

He nodded, before letting the toy float over to the other.

Before Arthur could say anything else, the nail polish reappeared and Francis went back to painting his nails.

The baron's son stared at the anal plug in his hands.

Emphasis on "hands".

It was huge.

The toy was just barely wider than three of his fingers.

That might have been because both his general frame and his hands were small, but that did not have any effect on how much larger this plug was compared to his usual ones.

It was beautiful nonetheless, he had to admit, made from solid glass and coloured in a bright emerald green hue that shone and glimmered even in the dim light of his chamber.

"Good lord," he muttered to himself, as he bent over the small escritoire that stood up against the wall, "If this turns out to be a new form of scam I am going to kill you, I hope you know that."

"Try reaching me all you wish, I can always fly away," the fairy deadpanned.

With a wordless roll of his eyes Arthur reached behind himself to pull out the plug currently nestled between his buttocks.

He bit his lip, stifling a light groan as to not give the fey any more of a show then he already did by default.

Why was he doing this at all?

There were hundreds of ways to find a guy to marry, weren't there?

He could just pick some guy of the street, if things got too tough!

Why was he relying on what had to be the lewdest fairy in the kingdom?

Oh, right, because he was as close to a nymphomaniac as it got, going by past experiences.

With his free hand the baron's son opened a small glass jar on the desk, releasing the fragrant rose aroma of the oil inside. He dipped the fingers of his left hand into the oil, then reached behind himself again.

He might have still been somewhat stretched and lubricated from the previous toy, but with how much stretching he'd need for the new plug to fit, he'd need far more oil.

Carefully Arthur inserted his index finger, pleased at how smoothly it entered. It only took him a couple of seconds until he could add his middle finger and begin scissoring the two digits.

Two down, two to go, Arthur thought.

He rested his forehead on his right arm, trying to focus on staying silent as he worked the two fingers in and out of his hole in slow, deliberate movements. Arthur curled his fingers, well aware of how close he was to that one small spot hidden so deep inside of him.

He could not help the small gasp that escaped him, when he brushed by his prostate. Arthur could feel his teeth sink into his lower lip, could feel his right hand clench into a fist.

He reached for the oil again, then he pushed in the next finger with a low groan, before beginning to pump all three in and out of himself as slowly as he could.

The slow rhythm was both a good and a bad idea.

On one hand it allowed him to slowly get accustomed to the feeling of the next finger inside of him, to gently stretch himself farther at a gentle and careful pace.

On the other hand, however, it allowed him to feel every small ridge and unevenness, every small movement of his fingers inside himself.

When he grazed his prostate again, this time with his knuckle, he was only barely able to stop the light whimpering sound that tried to escape his mouth. The baron's son's breathing had become as uneven as his heartbeat, his heartbeat was as frantic as his fingers' movements quickly became.

"F-Fuck," he groaned, eyes screwed shut and movements stuttering with effort. The young nobleman was struggling to keep himself from making any more sounds, and had he not already been the colour of his brightest lipstick, he'd have been it now.

It took him a while to get used to the feeling of three digits inside of him, but even once he could take those comfortably he knew that they wouldn't be enough to prepare him for the plug in his other hand.

He was careful to spread them apart, slow and even movements to make the next step at least a bit easier on himself. Arthur couldn't help but let out a low groan when he added the next finger.

He'd played with the idea of doing something like this or getting a toy of a similar size quite a bit, but he had never quite had the courage to do so.

Now he would get to know the feeling.

He felt so incredibly full with the fourth digit inside of him, stuffed to the point that every time  he breathed in took his breath away just the same because of all those little spots he stimulated with even the tiniest movement.

His skin was flushed and even in the cool air of his room he felt as though he would melt any second. With every small sound he made, every squelching sound from where he was still pumping his fingers he grew more desperate.

He felt so incredibly humiliated, exposed, but he knew he wasn't ready just yet.

As though reading his mind, the fey spoke up from behind him: "Try not to cum, it'll mess up the plan if you're too sensitive."

Another string of curses escaped Arthur's mouth, but he did his best to focus on his breathing and distract himself from the passion coiling at the pit of his stomach.

Just breathe, he told himself.

In and out, in and out...

Slow and steady.

Fuck, this reminded him far too much of what his hand was doing.

Maybe it was because of that, that he reached for the plug again,  the stopper clenched tightly with his right hand as he brought it around to his back side.

Just the cool press of the glass against his hole made his breathing uneven again, both with the sudden temperature shift and the anticipation of what was to come.

Slow, deep breaths, the young nobleman told himself, then he gave the stopper a first, tentative push.

For all its cold it was also incredibly smooth, making this step easier, at least. Nonetheless, he could feel a slight burn, when the widest part was forced past his sphincter, stretching him just barely past what he had prepared for.

Arthur had given up on trying to contain his voice a long time ago, but for a moment he really wished he hadn't. He sounded like a two-pound-whore.

He thought it was already bad enough when he pushed the plug in, but even more so when his still oily fingers slipped on the smooth material and it settled into its spot all at once.

He couldn't keep in the curse that lay on his tongue, neither could he ignore the heat burning throughout his body. Arthur could feel himself melting and charring, burning, all at the same time.

He was breathing heavily, sweat beading off his forehead and plastering the once loose shirt against his body, like a second skin almost. Arthur took another moment to calm his breathing, then he turned around to face the fey still floating at the centre of the room.

"Fine, I did it," he said, trying to ignore the pride he felt about that.

"Are you happy now?"

Francis, who had finished painting his nails at this point, met his eyes again, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He leant back in mid air, a finger below his own chin, as he thought for a moment.

"I'll be happy once you're all ready and set for the ball," he said at last, before pulling out his wand again.

"Now, before we get you all dressed up, let's get you nice and clean, shall we?"

Another wave of the wand, and the shirt clinging to his skin vanished, a mere second before Arthur was enveloped by a cloud that shared a colour with just about anything else related to the fairy. He could smell the faintest hint of lavender, and for a moment all the young nobleman thought was that he had misjudged the hue of purple.

The next second, however, a tingly sensation spread all over his still shamefully exposed body, a pleasant warmth of sorts. He couldn't quite put it into words, but if he had to, he'd say it felt the way lemons smell - fresh in a way, something to wake one up.

He couldn't help a gasp when the sensation passed over his more sensitive areas, his nipples and his penis, his perineum and even around the plug and further into him.

And then it was gone.

Arthur dropped to his feet, or rather one foot and one knee, as he only barely caught himself.

"F-Fuck," he groaned, when his breathing had calmed down somewhat and the goosebumps all over his body had receded. "Couldn't you have done that before all of this?, he asked, gesturing towards his behind, "Or just let me take a shower?"

The fey tutted, wand still in hand, purple glimmer still shining in his eyes. "And let you get all sweaty again when you put it in? Waste of time."

He tapped the wand in his hand against his hand once, summoning what appeared to be more emerald green jewellery.

He extended his hand towards the baron's son.

"Put these in, it's a set," was all he said.

Arthur looked at the glimmering objects in his hand.

"Piercings?," he asked, "How did you even know I was pierced? I rarely ever wear anything like that..."

The fairy shrugged.

"I know a lot, if I want to. Now put them in, time is running short."

The young nobleman could not help the shiver that ran down his back as he inspected the jewellery. There were both earrings and another set of piercings, a pair of nipple piercings.

Fuck.

His teeth dug into his lower lip as he put in the ear hangers with utmost care, observing his own movements closely in the mirror of his vanity. Only once both were in their respective places did he pick up the nipple piercings and put them in.

Arthur took a step back to admire himself.

Both sets of piercings were beautiful.

The ear hangers were made up of two individual strands of silver that spiralled around one another, small pieces of emerald threaded onto the wire in seemingly random places. Both strands ended in a small gemstone dangling off of a filigree chain at the very bottom of the spiral.

The nipple piercings matched, a small silver ring threaded through each bud with short falling silver chains and emerald embellishments attached to the ring itself.

"Lovely, hm?," an at this point all too familiar voice asked from behind him.

"I really outdid myself with the plans for tonight."

Arthur didn't even bother asking the millions of questions thrumming around his head - there was no point in it either way.

He decided to just get this show over with.

Whatever awaited him at the ball had to be better than this, right?

Anything would be better than this, right?

"What's next? Can I get dressed or is there more?"

The lilac lavender coloured fey only shook his head, tapping his hand with the wand yet again.

"One last piece, then we can get you all dressed up," he said, before adding with both a wink and a smirk: "Wouldn't want you to have a little... Accident on the way to the ball, now, would we?"

Arthur's eyes followed the other's, coming to rest on yet another emerald green object.

"You've got to be kidding."

The fairy shook his head, handing him the cock ring.

"Again, if you have an orgasm, you'll be too sensitive," he explained, "Not to mention you'd ruin all my work on the clothes."

The baron's son was at a loss for words.

There was only so much he could take in terms of strangeness in one day, and the fey had exceeded that limit singlehandedly.

Without another word he took what he hoped to be the last toy and put it into its place, wrapped snugly around the base of his still painfully hard cock. The friction of his hand alone was enough to send another wave of red-hot lust surging through him.

He glared at Francis, or at least he tried.

"I'm done. Anything else?"

The fey wasn't distressed by the dirty look, and instead summoned what appeared to be a stack of green - Arthur wasn't even surprised at this point - fabric.

"Unless you plan to attend the ball naked safe for what you have on, there actually is. But it is only clothing, so it should be easy enough for you."

He handed him the bundle of clothes, and Arthur took a step back to examine it, carefully opening the first piece.

"Oh, lest I forget," his fairy demon-parent (Arthur was rather sure that there was no god whatsoever involved in any part of this being's creation) spoke up again, "no underwear. Trust me."

"Why am I not surprised?," he deadpanned, before turning back towards the clothes in his hand.

The fey shrugged, but the young nobleman didn't bother to respond as he unravelled the bundle of fabric.

The first piece he put on was a simple shirt, made of a soft and breathable, cream-coloured fabric. It felt almost too light on his skin, had barely any weight to itself at all.

Next was a pair of slacks, nothing too extraordinary compared to the pieces following. There was a slight shimmer to the black fabric, and only when he stepped into the pant legs did Arthur notice that there was another, smoother type of fabric used for the area of his inner thighs and calves.

"You want me to ride?," he asked incredulously, "Like this?"

He gestured towards the gleaming pieces of emerald jewelry adorning his body, not even remotely willing to address the most pressing issue about this.

"Since your stepmother and -siblings are using the carriage, you will have to," the fey explained.

"Not to mention it will make it far easier for you to disappear in time if you are independent."

He swallowed heavily, but didn't say anything else as he put on the trousers.

Trying to force his thoughts away from the horse he'd inevitably have to ride all the way to the Royal Palace later that night, he picked up the next piece - a waistcoat the colour of moss during spring, a fresh and vivid colour. A piece in the back allowed for it to be buckled, making for a slimmer waistline. It took but a snap of Francis' fingers for every button to be done up and the back of the coat to be buckled correctly.

He discovered the coat next. A velvety fabric of an even darker colour, with detailed embroidery all along the hems of the sleeves and the coat itself. There was something mystical about the small stitchings, small fairy-like creatures dancing along the edge of the fabric, hiding in between trees and dancing among flowers.

If he didn't look to closely, he could swear they moved.

Only once Arthur had put the coat on, the other spoke up again: "Perfect. And now for the finishing touch..."

He extended a hand, and before Arthur's very eyes the last and most important piece for the ball materialised - a mask.

It was incredible.

The mask picked up the same moss-green colour as the waistcoat, however it was decorated with filigree structures resembling leaves and herbs, with small pearls of the same cream colour as before set all along the edge of the mask.

Beside the right eye there were more decorations, giving it an asymmetrical appearance with the plant-like structures of fabric and pearl.

"It's beautiful."

Francis gave him a soft smile.

"Good, because it is time we get you ready and on the road."

[catsafarithewriter]

Baron: Before I do something stupid, does anyone want to speak up?

Muta: No, no, let's go with stupid.

[samthemarvelfan]

Bad Blood: One Shot

Summary: A misunderstanding almost cost you everything.

Pairing: TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 5,200+

Warnings: Angst, violence, canon-level gore/description of injury. Humor and fluff bits as well :)

A/N: YAY FINALLY! Thank you all so much for being patient. After the holidays, I needed a reset and of course, my lil man is teething. This is such a long fic lol It jumps timelines a lot, but there's a rhyme and reason for it all. Enjoy! Feedback is so, so appreciated! 

FRIDAY:

In the right light, the heavy dust and debris floating through the air could look like snow. Gray powder from the collapsed walls around you coated your skin, mixing with gashes and blood. You coughed, in a desperate but futile attempt to get some oxygen back into your lungs.

Rubble ate away at your back; cutting and clawing it’s way into your flesh. Though, that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the steel beam crushing your legs into the pavement.

Spitting the blood from your mouth, you inhaled as much as your damaged ribs would allow, and hoped to make enough noise. “Help!” You screeched.

But your voice sounded like you swallowed some of the gravel you were pinned too. A shaking, bloody hand pressed the comms piece in your ear, “Does anyone copy?”

That part came out weaker than you’d hoped.

After far too many seconds of silence, you gave up. “Fuck...”

This is how it ends? Seriously? Of all the ways to go out, this is pretty fucking lame.

You couldn’t even muster any tears—that’s how much pain you were in. Your body forgot how to cry.

Realistically, death would come sooner rather than later. That was a relief, at least. No suffering, no feeling your body decay before it gave up. A peaceful exhaustion, drifting away into nothingness.

Except you were alone.

No one to say any dramatic last words to, no one to tell anyone what happened. The guys would find your body eventually, and they’d blame themselves.

Sam would want justice, he’d spend however long it took to find who did this to you and bring them in. Little would he know this whole situation was entirely your fault.

Then there was Bucky…

Bucky would want revenge. He’d want blood and he’d get it by any means necessary. He’d spend the rest of his life blaming himself for this, and the thought of him sitting with that kind of guilt killed you.

Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. He hasn’t seemed to care about your well being in quite some time. Maybe Bucky wouldn’t actually care at all, maybe he’d be relived to be rid of you. 

TWO DAYS AGO:

“You must become someone you claim is gone.”

It was clear what Zemo meant. In order to even make it into Madripoor, Bucky would have to bring himself back to that place; to the empty, cold darkness of the Winter Soldier.

No one seemed to bat an eye at the plan. You, however, were vehemently against it.

“No fucking way, Zemo.” You seethed, stepping face to face with the former Baron. “This is just…you. Taking any and all opportunity to send James backwards. To give anyone a reason to kill him. It’s not happening.”

Zemo tilted his head, signature smirk on his face. “I think many reasons already exist, don’t you?” Zemo’s eyes shifted to Bucky, who was watching the exchange from the corner. “What is it exactly that makes you care so much for him, hm?” He asked.

Zemo was testing you. Seeing if you’d admit that perhaps you were a glutton for punishment after all. That despite what you’ve been through, your feelings towards Barnes had crossed the lines of professionalism.

You would never admit it—not to yourself and certainly never to him. You refused to give Zemo a power play to use against you.

“I care because someone has to make sure there’s nothing in this for you. You’ve tried to steal his life from him once before, who’s to say this isn’t your act II?” Your shaking now, desperately trying to reign in your emotions.

“Barnes is the only reason you’re not rotting in solitary confinement. You fuck with him…” you paused, pulling your gun from its holster.

“Whoa, whoa!” Sam said, approaching you.

You held the gun exactly 5 inches from Zemo’s face. Dead center so he could look down it’s barrel. “You fuck with him, you fuck with me. If you think that’s a wise choice, be my guest.”

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. The only change you notice is a slight dilation of his pupils and an 11% increase in his rate of breathing.

“Gun down, Y/N. Stop engaging him.” Sam practically whispered. You hesitate, but eventually yield to your Captains order and reholster your gun. With a grunt, you make your way to the front door, pushing past Bucky.

His gaze follows until the door is slammed, echoing off the crumbling walls of the safe house. Through the window, he sees you on the front lawn. You let out a scream—one full of anger and frustration and disappointment. Half of which is probably aimed at him.

“She’s right, Zemo.” Sam says aloud, pulling his eyes off of you. “You haven’t earned anyone’s trust here, but I’ll give you a friendly piece of advice anyway. You might wanna go hand-to-hand with Bucky before you mess with Y/N. She protects the people she loves harder than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Bucky scoffed, heading to the bar to pour himself a strong drink.

Love.

Something that, as far as he was concerned, was only meant for 2 things; children and funerals. It was something he surely didn’t deserve, or have the capacity to give to anyone else.

He sipped his whiskey as Zemo retreated to the adjacent room, and Sam walked up to him.

“Would it really have killed you to defend her?” He said, the disappointment evident in his tone.

Bucky’s face remained stoic, his vibranium fingers twisting the glass. “I didn’t ask her to be my fucking guardian, Sam. She wants to use me as an excuse to shoot Zemo, be my guest.”

Sam sighed, “You really don’t get it do you? That girl out there—she’s taken verbal beating after verbal beating from you, and she still has your back. It wouldn’t kill you if you had hers once in a while.”

After Sam’s version of a pep talk, Bucky was left alone.

Good. Just how he likes it.

Getting close to people wasn’t a good idea, in spite of what his notebook-crazy therapist thinks. People die, some people just abandon you.

No one can hurt you if you’re alone.

2 YEARS EARLIER:

Bucky had been nervous all day. His palm was sweating, and he couldn’t remember the last time it had done that.

He was used to being alone. ‘It’s easier this way,’ he’d tell himself. When you’ve seen as much loss, and inflicted twice that like Bucky has, you tend to view relationships as disposable. Never really trying to bond or connect with anyone, not worrying about anyone but yourself.

It’s a shitty way to view the world, but it’s the most realistic one.

Then you showed up.

Suddenly Bucky can’t think straight. He was fine—better than fine. Living his life the way he and the US government thought was appropriate. He only had 3 rules to abide by these days, but when you joined the team, he added a 4th.

Don’t you dare let anything bad happen her.

“This is such a bad idea…” he mumbled to himself, boots bounding up the stairs to the conference room.

As he approached the door, he paused. Bouncing back and forth on his heals, desperately trying to get the confidence to walk into that room, hand you the bouquet of Daylillies he’d got you, and finally ask you on a date.

Bucky was sweet on you.

He absolutely hated the word ‘crush’, so he avoided it at all costs. The two of you just…fit. He didn’t have to pretend with you—didn’t have to be anyone other that Bucky Barnes when you were around.

He loved to make you laugh, the way you tried to hide your smile because you thought it was ‘too big’, and how you always touched his hand when you spoke to him with sincerity.

More than anything else, he loved how much you trusted him.

It made him want to be your guy…officially. The one you could turn to when this fucking job took its toll. When you needed someone you could count on. That’s why he’s so scared, he didn’t want to push you away.

But god dammit, he hasn’t felt this way about a girl in almost 100 years.

He hears your voice as he’s going over his speech, then he hears his name fall from your lips.

“With Bucky?” You question.

“Yeah,” Sam says, followed by the thud of a file being thrown on the table. “I think you and Buck could handle this. I’d be in the way more than helpful, trust me.”

He heard your laugh, and couldn’t help the smile that spead across his face. Bucky peaked around the corner, his breath getting stuck in his throat when he saw how beautiful you looked.

“You sure this is a good idea?” You said.

Sam nodded, “If you’re not comfortable…”

“No,” you interrupted. “I’m comfortable with Bucky,”

Sam noticed the hesitation, “Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?”

You shifted your weight, “The Winter Soldier... That’s what I don’t trust. If it’s just the two of us out there, I’m afraid—”

The smile from his face fell. Bucky didn’t stick around to hear the fear in your voice. James Barnes has felt a lot of pain in his life, but he’s never felt something like this.

This was heartbreak.

You didn’t want to be alone with him. You were afraid of him. That the old him was still buried deep inside.

You thought he’d hurt you.

He dropped the flowers in the nearby trash can, and abandoned his plans. Bucky didn’t know you like he thought he did, and you sure as shit had him fooled. He thought you trusted him, that you knew the real him.

He was wrong.

You lay on your bed, eyes locked with the ceiling.

Zemo is the fucking worst. You think to yourself.

You knew better than to trust him, hell I think even Bucky knew better, and he was the one who broke him out of jail.

You sighed. Bucky.

God, you miss him. It’s been nothing but anger and resentment and coldness from him for the last few years. Worst of all, you have no explanation.

One day, the two of you were spending every second you could together. Cooking breakfast, watching movies, Bucky teaching your extremely uncoordinated self how to dance, and you teaching him how to use doordash when he gets hungry at 3 am.

Then, right before that mission, he turns into a completely different person. He barely acknowledges your presence, and he so God damn cold towards you. It had gotten so bad, Sam insisted he come on that mission. To insure its success because even he didn’t know what was going on with his friend.

That stupid mission…that’s where everything changed for you. That’s where Bucky made it clear he no longer had your back.

You hobbled into the safe house, tracking blood along with you.

“What the fuck happened?!” Bucky shouted at you.

Slumping against the wall, you attempted to keep pressure on your side. “What the hell does it look like, Buck? I got shot.”

Tears you were unaware of fell down your dirt-covered face, making little streaks in their wake. You pushed harder on the wound, letting out a scream. It sucked, but it was necessary; you didn’t really feel like bleeding out right now.

“How fucking stupid are you? You think you’re a one woman army and you’re not. Look at the fucking mess we’re in now!” Bucky shouted, looming over your crumpled frame, shaming the attitude out of you.

“I get it okay? I’m not a super soldier, but I’m good at my job. I thought I—“

“You thought?” He scoffed, “No you didn’t. You didn’t think at all, Y/N.” He grabbed you, scooping you up and laying you on the old dining room table carefully. 

“I got the guy, didn’t I?” You smirk. Your eyes are closed, trying to keep your blood pressure steady.

That idea flies out the window when Bucky slams both fists onto the table, and you’re surprised it didn’t shatter from the impact.

“Is your life a fucking joke to you?!” He screamed. “Is Sam’s?!”

You startle at the tone and volume in which he speaks to you. Why is he mad at you? You actually had a successful mission! Gunfire aside, it went pretty smooth as far as you were concerned.

Involuntarily, your lip began to quiver. Your eyes locked on the ceiling before you shut them tight, a few rebellious tears escaping from them.

“Ya know what? If you’re so tough, take that bullet out yourself. Not like you’d trust me to do it anyway.” He kicked the chair next to the table, effectively shattering it to splinters, before walking out of the house.

With shaking hands and tear-filled eyes, you dig into your hip, screaming as you find the bullet lodged in the flesh there.

“Y/N? What the hell are you doing?!” Sam shouts, panicking as he sees the state your in when he enters the room.

You’re on the verge of passing out from the pain, but you have to push through it. You have to get this bullet out.

You have to prove Barnes wrong.

Your hands are shaking too much to get a grip on it. You feel it still, burning into the muscle. “G-Gotta…can’t. Cant grab it.”

Sam runs to your side, dousing the wound in betadine. The orange solution camouflages the bloody wound, making it slightly more bearable to look at. “Where the hell is Bucky?” He asks in anger.

“L-Left.” Is all you can get out.

“He left you here?!” Sam is always level headed, but right then, you heard pure rage in his voice.

He took a few cleansing breaths, shaking the nerves out of his hands before placing them on your hip. “I gotchu, Y/N. Just breathe.”

You tried too, but the moment Sam got the bullet out, you blacked out from the pain.

3 HOURS AGO:

“You have got to be kidding me.” You gripe, the image in the mirror repulsing you to your core.

Sam chuckled. “I gotta say, I like it Y/N. I think red’s your color.”

You had on a scarlet gown. Expensive, revealing and absolutely zero functionality. A paten leather corset enveloped your waist, while your hair was woven into a singular braid.

“Where am I supposed to keep my guns? My knives? This is completely impractical.”

Zemo held his saucer daintily as he sipped his tea. His eyes scanned your body, and he nodded. “Impractical it may be, but this way you will fit in when we arrive in Madripoor, as opposed to drawing too much attention from unwanted eyes.”

Zemo reached out, attempting to brush back a strand of hair, but you recoiled. He smirked, “I’m glad you came to your senses about my plan, Y/N.”

His tone made bile rise in your throat. Zemo was a slimy rat who only had his own agenda in mind. “I’m following Caps orders—the fact that it was your plan has nothing to do with it.”

Bucky, who was cleaning his hand guns in the corner, kept catching your figure in the mirror. Ocean blue eyes roaming your body and curves, more than once settling on your ass. You ignored him, but couldn’t help the smirk that fell to your lips.

So Bucky Barnes is an ass man. I knew it, Sam owes me $50…

“Our car is here. It will take us into to Low Town.” Zemo announced.

“I’m guessing High Town doesn’t exactly welcome criminals?” You ask.

Zemo held the door for you, “Not our kind, at least.”

Madripoor is unlike any place you’ve ever seen. It’s somehow both filthy and beautiful. A perfect balance of the push and pull of good vs evil.

Bucky has been unusually stoic this time around. You’re sure he’s worried about the mission, and about having to pretend to be who he once was. It’s not fair, he shouldn’t be forced to go through this. Not again.

“I can see what you mean about blending in…” you say as you take in the sights. There were people of every shape and size and they all looked perfectly out of place.

“The only reason anyone will be looking at us, is because we have him.” Zemo points at Bucky.

The alley behind the nightclub is dark and dank. Puddles of who-knows-what reflecting the neon signs high above the city. Sam, dressed in his gaudy and very out of character suit, set up Redwing to do aerial surveillance.

“There’s a room on the upper level. 6 people inside, it’s gotta be where she is.”

‘She’ being Selby—mid level offender here in the grimiest city on the planet, but seriously connected with the newest HYDRA subdivision.

You groan. “Okay, so what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

Walking past Sam, you feel a hand on your wrist. Zemo is stopping you, pulling you closer to him. He steps into your space, successfully brushing the out of place hair behind your ear.

“We cannot simply walk into Selby’s lair. We must be invited. That is where our Smiling Tiger comes in, as well as Soldat.”

You rip your arm out of his grip, and move to reach for the knife tucked into your corset.

Zemo notices as his eyes flit from the blade to your face. ��We must also stay in character. Our lives depend on it.”

You look at Bucky, and he avoids your gaze. “Fine.” Sam ushers you to the end of the alley, while Zemo and Bucky traipse behind.

Then suddenly, Bucky has Zemo by the throat, pinning him against the wall.

“Buck, what the hell?!” Sam shouted.

He ignored him, choosing instead to focus on squeezing the life out of Zemo. “You want the Winter Soldier? You got him…” Bucky growled.

You watched with bated breath, wondering just how far Bucky would push his limits. You hate this—he shouldn’t be pulled back into this mindset.

His grip was unrelenting, Zemo struggling to keep his feet on the ground. He clawed at Bucky’s hand in a feeble attempt to get him to release the hold.

“James…” you call gently.

His eyes meet yours for the first time in months, if only for a moment. Then he’s dropping Zemo to the filthy street below.

Zemo gripped his throat, rubbing the bruised flesh when Bucky leans down to him, mere inches from his face.

“You touch her again, I’ll kill you.”

He’s seething, as he stomps off. Exiting the alley and heading into the nightclub.

Sam, the ever present moral compass, helps Zemo to his feet. “Let’s go before he gets himself killed.”

This place isn’t exactly a picnic.

Selby was seriously connected, and that connection comes with a ridiculous amount of protection. Guards with machine guns surrounded her; nearly one at every window and door in the room.

“Yeah, you were right to come to me.” Selby purred, staring at Bucky as she spoke with Zemo.

She took a few steps, stopping abruptly and pointing a manicured finger in your direction, but refused to look at you. “Who’s this?” She asked.

“An interested party in another transaction of mine.” He mused. “Pay her no mind. I simply brought her along to witness the leverage I hold.”

Selby looked at you now. Sizing you up in a way that could only be seen as threatening. If you weren’t playing the part right now, she’s have a bullet between her eyes.

“You say you have complete control over him?” She asked Zemo, keeping her eyes on you.

“Completely, but that control can be yours if you give us information we’re in search of.”

“Hm…let’s test it shall we?” She smirked.

She walked around the couch to where Bucky stood menacingly as the Winter Soldier. “Because Soldat hasn’t been able to take his eyes off of her.”

Fuck.

“Since she’s of no consequence…let’s let our dog off his leash, hm?” She walked her fingers up his arm.

Zemo glanced at you, and you stood. “I thought you said you had power Zemo? If it takes a simple command from this woman for you to lose your mettle, I’m not sure what you can offer me.” You seethed, staying in character.

Selby tittered, “Mouthy one, isn’t she?”

Sam stepped forward, “If we could speed this up, some of us have other matters to attend too.”

You knew what he was doing, trying to move this along so Selby would forget about you.

It didn’t work.

“Go on Zemo, do it.” She ordered.

You heard the safety of guns being clicked off all around you. This mission was too important to fuck up. You couldn’t let this serum out into the world anymore than it already has been. You tried not to panic, but you knew what was coming.

“Tick-tock…” her tone was darker this time. She sat in front of you, waiting to see her orders followed.

Zemo’s jaw clenched, and he walked up to Bucky.

“Soldat…” he spoke, his tone full of gravel. “сломать еe.”

Break her.

Bucky wouldn’t—he couldn’t.

But then he realizes, if it’s not him, it’s one of these thugs with the guns. At least he could attempt to assuage Selby’s demands with a strike or two, maybe then she’d be satisfied.

This mission can’t fail—the ends justify the means. That’s what you’d tell him.

So he had too. He has too.

Bucky walked over to you and saw fear in your eyes. This is exactly what you were afraid of all those years ago—being alone with the Winter Soldier.

Please, forgive me. He thinks. He was breaking his own rule, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Bucky’s hand closed around your throat, and you see the guilt in his eyes. You grabbed his wrist, trying to rip it off of your neck, of course to no avail.

He tossed you over the couch with ease, your body slamming into the wall, and hitting the ground with a thud, all air being bounced from your lungs.

You coughed as you reached for the gun in your corset.

Carefully aiming for his vibranium arm, you pulled the trigger as he stomped towards you. The shot ricocheted and broke a sconce on the wall.

You have to do this. You have too. It’s a thought that you’re desperate to communicate with him, but you have to maintain your ruse, or every one of you would die.

You felt the hesitance and restraint with every blow Bucky doled out to you. You just hoped it was believable enough for Selby.

Bucky kicks you against the wall, forcing your arm against it, making you drop the gun. His hand returns to your throat, and he squeezes.

He watched the panic in your eyes as he kept his grip sturdy, but Bucky was on the verge of breaking.

“It’s okay.” You mouth subtly, tears filling your eyes.

Bucky couldn’t do it.

He drops your limp body to the floor, towering over you protectively.

Selby cackled from the corner, “I knew it! Guards, shoot—“

You’re not sure where the bullets come from, but Selby’s body falls to the floor…lifeless.

“What the—“ Sam starts. He doesn’t get to finish however, because the shooting starts again.

“Y/N…Y/N!” Bucky shouted. “C’mon…c’mon, Honey, wake up for me. You gotta get up.”

Your eyes flutter and you try stand, but you’re in far too much pain. Bucky doesn’t think twice as he tosses you over his shoulder, making way for the nearest exit.

“We’re okay…you’re okay, Y/N. Fuck!” Bucky cursed, running down the stairs with your limp body over his shoulders.

The chaos in the streets below meant that everyone around was aware of Selby’s murder, and that they more than likely thought the Winter Soldier was to blame.

Bucky ran through several back alleys, finding a broken down building to hide in. Breaking the lock wi the ease, he placed you down on the cement floor gently, cradling your head in his hand.

“Christ, Y/N…” he whispered, and your heard the remorse in his voice.

You cleared your throat, “Okay. ‘M okay.”

What you couldn’t see were the tears in Bucky’s eyes, or the way he bit his lip to keep back the tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I—“

“Had too. You had too.” You finished softly.

You heard him sniffle, “Sam…Sam, do you copy?”

You didn’t hear Sam’s voice through the comms, so you assume they were down.

“Shit,” he seethed. “I gotta find Sam, we gotta get the fuck outta here.”

You nodded, opening your eyes slightly. Bucky looked so sick, like he was ashamed to be himself. “You’re safe here, I’ll be back as soon as I can. Please don’t get up, baby.”

Baby.

Hearing the nicknames he was calling you, after all this time, sent a warmth to your belly that radiated through you.

“Promise.” You whispered softly.

Bucky leaned down, and placed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Forgive me.”

The sound of his boots fading into the distance allowed you to free the tears that were desperate to fall from your eyes.

You were in pain—but you weren’t broken. Your tears were for Bucky, and for the plan that never should have happened. For the thing he never should have had to do.

You were so distracted by your sorrow, you didn’t hear the tell-tale sound of an explosive being launched in your direction. You didn’t hear the chaos outside increasing into panic, and you didn't realize the blast had hit the building you were in, until it was too late.

So now here you were. Literally fading out of existence.

You know you should keep your eyes open, but even that small act requires too much effort.

So you let them close.

You can see Bucky, smell him too. He’s calling to you, saying your name in the way only he can; the way that makes your heart race.

You say his name back, and he smiles.

“I’m okay. Let me go.” You whispered, or maybe you didn’t. Maybe you just thought it softly.

“Don’t leave me,” he says. “You can’t leave me, not like this, Baby.”

If this was the last thing your mind ever remembered, you’d be okay with it.

You felt cold all of a sudden. “I love you, James.” You think. It feels like you’re saying it, like he’s right there holding you. Protecting you, like he always did.

Dull, repetitive beeping roused you from you sleep.

Your head was throbbing, but your body wasn’t in as much pain as you thought it would be.

It’s so fucking bright when you open your eyes, it takes them a minute to adjust. That’s when you finally see the soft blue walls, the bright white tiled floor, and the machines and IV’s you’re currently hooked up too.

A hospital.

I’m alive?

You definitely shouldn’t be. Last thing you remember is the building getting blown to hell, and being beneath the rubble.

Carefully sitting up, you asses your situation. Casts on your left leg and right arm, bandages around your ribs and right leg, but you can wiggle your toes, so that’s good.

Soft snores from your left pull your attention, and you see Bucky, sound asleep in a chair next to the bed. He was so close, there was an indent in the mattress from where the chairs arm pushed into it.

Your eyes water almost instantly. Here’s here. He stayed.

He’s okay.

As you lay back against the pillow, Bucky was jolted from his sound sleep, standing immediately by your side.

He looked at you with glazed eyes, like you he couldn’t believe you were here. “Hey,” he said softly. “Look who’s up.”

Your voice was a whisper as you said his name, “Can’t get rid of me yet, Barnes.”

Bucky smiled, “You’ve uh, you’ve been out for a while, Honey.”

Your smile fell, “You don’t have to do that, Buck.”

“Do what?”

“That,” you sigh. “You don’t have to…pretend with me. I know you don’t wanna be here—“

A large warm hand enveloped your cheek, and he held your gaze. “This is the only place I want to be.”

He swiped his thumb along your bruised cheek bone, and you lean into the familiar touch. No matter how long it’s been, you always craved this feeling.

Bucky clenched his jaw, “I…” he starts, and you hear the strain in his voice. “I though I lost you.”

He cares?

“I didn’t think,” you sit up more, and adjust as best you can to face him. “I didn’t think it would matter to you.”

Bucky’s face falls, “I’m sorry. I know you can’t forgive me, but I’m so God damn sorry. You’re in here…because of me—because of him.”

“Who?” You’re genuinely confused.

He wipes his eyes quickly, “The Winter Soldier.”

You're desperate to be close to him. “Bucky what…what are you talking about? I’m in here because of me, I should have shut this op down the second Zemo suggested it.”

“I know, I know that you’re afraid of me. I just want you to know—“

You interrupt him, “Who the hell said I’m afraid of you?”

Bucky sat in his chair again, wringing his hands together. “You did. I heard you, couple years back. That mission we fucked up so royally? The one where I,” he swallowed hard. “The one where I left you to fucking bleed out on a table.

“I heard you and Sam, you said you didn’t trust me. Didn’t wanna be alone with me because you were afraid of him. That I’d hurt you.”

Your brain was foggy, but you recall the conversation in question, and you realize just how much a misunderstanding could fuck everything up.

“James,” you called him gently, and his soft eyes met yours. “I trust you with my life. I was afraid if it was just you and I, that I couldn’t protect you. That I couldn’t stop people from seeing you as nothing more than The Winter Soldier. We were heading into Romania blind and the world still saw you as a monster. If you got hurt I,” you froze, not wanting to entertain the idea.

Bucky’s eyes stung with tears, “I thought…I was so sure…”

“I love you.” You say without thinking. “I loved you then and I love you now.”

He wanted to hug you, to crush you to his chest and kiss the life out of you and tell you he felt the same. But you were so broken, and you still had a long road ahead.

Bucky gently shifted your leg, and sat on the edge of your hospital bed. “We wasted so much time…” he whispered, placing a hand over yours.

He lifted your knuckles to his lips, and kissed them softly. “I’m sorry I’m such a fucking jerk.”

Your forehead touched his, “I’m sorry I’m such a stubborn brat.”

Bucky lifted your chin, placing a soft, warm kiss on your lips. “I should have done that two years ago.”

You smile, leaning into him as best you can. “You should have--maybe I wouldn’t have been in a coma for...”

Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly, “Th--Three weeks.”

“Three weeks?!”

He chuckled, stroking your hair softly. “You needed it. I would have waited forever for you, ya know.”

“I know,” you say softly. “No more waiting, Buck.”

He nods, holding your hand in his. “No more waiting.”

[balcon1es]

summary:

Leo scrubbed the grime out of his shell, thinking about how this sucked, but like a movie. How the flop was always darkest before the slay. And what if he did kind of deserve this anyway? The thorn became a seed became a flower. And the glass beads on his bracelet bled from blue to black.

The disaster twins come of age, try to build a life, and wear fun matching bracelets that are definitely not haunted by yokai brothers with bad blood.

word count: 2647

chapter 1: spin you until the groove's gone

All year they were reigning champions of Hidden City’s dance hall until Donnie went and took that from Leo, too. 

So he was being a little dramatic. 

But one day Donnie put on the cloaking brooch and badda bing badda boom—there he was, Mr. College Boy in the making, and can you imagine all the conferences I can legally attend now, Nardo?  There went Leo’s dance partner and his street cred. Two birds, one mystic-enhanced stone. Rumor had it there was a new duo coming for the Hamato legacy, but Leo would bet an arm and leg they didn’t have anything on Bootyyyshaker9000’s musicality and his own general MCE (Main Character Energy). It was a twin thing; there was no competing with the twin thing.

Leo kept telling that to himself, anyway. 

He was going to be the backbone of the family, even when most days Raph was off supporting Casey on her new career in vigilantism, or when Mikey started mystic training with Draxum, and finally when Donnie disappeared on weekends to go topside, exploding beakers and bunsen burners with friends, as one does. 

Leo wasn’t invited, which was super fine. Again: super fine. Cooping himself in a library had zero appeal next to the wealth of odd jobs at the Hidden City’s community board, which he often took in exchange for coin, but mostly medic lessons at the city clinic. 

If it felt a little like penance after the whole Kraang situation, nobody had to know.

But Donnie was late to movie night again, and Leo wanted to tell him how he stitched some yokai’s stomach closed today, which was  subaramazing. 

“Penetrating abdominal trauma,” Dr. Masamune explained, teaching him to work the needle with mystic thread; steady hands now, steady. What could college teach that Leo couldn’t? Would college ever let Donnie do something as badass as touching a real liver? There was no way. 

Then came the giggling in the living room; Donnie and April were back, and they just had the most exciting road trip, just a spur-of-the-moment thing with the boys, and Leo should’ve seen it, did he know how cute turtle hatchlings were? Donnie built them forcefield backpacks to fend off the birds looking for a late-night snack, everyone loved it, and what was Leo doing here, all alone in the lair?

“Leo?” Donnie’s blissed out, almost tipsy grin began to slide off his face—Lou Jitsu’s face, if he was sixteen and had a little extra forehead. “Uh, you there, pal?”

“Leo?” someone repeated, and the scene changed; it was Raph, cocking his head at Leo while his birthday candles burned, and right, it was their eighteenth birthday. The room pulled back into focus. Leo stared at his cake, and that was how he realized that two years had passed, and while he’d spent them in a sort of cryogenic sleep, his family hadn’t. 

Raph said his name again. He was flanked by Casey—when did they get matching tattoos?—and Mikey, two of his yokai friends floating around his head, chattering with Baron Draxum, who stood at a concerningly intimate distance to Splinter. And Donnie—

“Leonardo? Leader in blue? Unequal sibling?” Donnie called; on his lap was a DIY Atomic Lass chest plate, a gift from his college nerd friends that April helped organize. The bracelet Leo prepared felt flimsy now. It burned a shameful hole in his pocket. 

“Sorry, I know it’s not much—" Leo fixed the clasp around Donnie’s wrist, purple to his blue one, and dodged his eyes, "but you always said you wanted some funky matching bling. So. Tried to find the exact shade of your bandana but—”

“I love it,” Donnie said, fingering the glass beads with soft eyes. “Genuinely. Thank you, Leo. Got you something, too.”

It’s a jacket with a failsafe feature. 

“Probably a jacket with a secret failsafe,” Leo echoed. Surprise broke open on Donnie's face. It would hit them later, what was happening, but until then there were candles to blow, twins to dunk into birthday cakes—Donnie, obvi, Leo would keep his streak up or die trying.

There was an ending to this story that Leo could predict. They were careening towards it; by the doorstep of the kitchen, Leo froze with his armful of plates and listened to his family laugh and laugh like they could hear it coming too: the inevitable crash, the moment when Leo’s family stopped being all his—and where would that leave him?  

full story on ao3

[filmsmakkari]

Powers and Periods

“No! ¡No, no, no, no!” you said, dropping your skirt and falling dramatically to the floor.

Kate Bishop bursted in the room, a worried expression on her face. “Everything okay, (Y/N)?”

“No! Life is nothing but a melancholy cycle of suffering and pain that I cannot seem to escape. Why, dear God, have you bestowed such agony upon me?” you asked theatrically, staring up at the ceiling and gesturing with your hands.

“What… happened?” Kate asked, hesitantly getting closer to you.

“Look!” you raised your skirt so that she could see the blood dripping down your leg.

“Ah, I see. Is there anything I can do?”

“Kill me. There’s a knife under my pillow. Just cut off my head and end it all. Do be careful to make the blow sure and quick. I shan’t like to have you hacking away at me, furthering my pain.”

“Go to CVS and get candy and ibuprofen. Got it,” Kate said before leaving the room.

Kate made her way down to the common room where the Avengers were waiting.

“Well,” said Tony, “have you figured out what’s wrong with Sabrina Spellman up there?”

When you had felt the first painful cramp shoot up, you had cried out, causing a shockwave of your powers to spread through the tower. The TV had turned off, small sparks flying out of it, the toaster-which Bucky was already petrified of- had burst into flames, and everyone’s cell phones had been ripped from their hands.

You had been subjected to Baron Von Strucker’s experiments in Sokovia alongside Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, gaining powers like theirs, so now, whenever you felt intense emotions or intense pain, it caused you to lose control of your powers.

Kate sighed, “moontime.”

“Moontime?” Steve asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Kate thinks that a woman’s menstrual cycle is some type of sacred womanly connection with the moon thing,” said Nat, smirking at the blush painting Peter’s face.

“Parker,” Kate nodded at Peter, “I’m about to go to the store to get her some stuff. In the meantime, you go up there with her.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. I can’t. I don’t know what to do in this situation. Miss Belova-”

Yelena, whom you were close with, cut him off. “Don’t look at me. I don’t get periods. I don’t have a uterus.”

“Or ovaries,” Natasha added.

“What?” Peter asked in a panicked, fearful voice.

“Oh, yeah, in the Red Room they give us involuntary hysterectomies when we “graduate”. They just kind of go in, and rip out all of our reproductive organs. They just get right in there and chop them all away-everything gone- so you can’t have babies-”

“Okay! Okay, I don’t need to know how it all happens!” Peter practically yelled.

“Oh, I was about to start talking about fallopian tubes, but alright,” Yelena replied nonchalantly.

“Oh, God, fallopian tubes,” said Peter, starting to feel faint.

“Hey!” Kate snapped her fingers, “Parker! Don’t go passing out, now. Your girlfriend needs you up there.”

As Kate started for CVS, Peter began muttering to himself. “It’s okay… it’s okay… it’ll be fine.”

Tony walked over to him, placing his hands on Peter’s shoulders. “Hey, kid, don’t sweat it. Just turn on The Notebook, give her plenty of candy and ice cream, and be her shoulder to cry on! It’s easy as 1, 2, 3.”

“Tony,” Steve shot the shorter man a glare before redirecting his eyes to Peter. “A woman’s menstrual cycle is a beautiful, natural time. Now, what you need to know is-”

Tony cut him off, handing Peter a tub of ice cream and two spoons. “Aht, can it, old man. Kid, Notebook. Candy. Shoulder. One two three. Git.” Tony gestured to the elevator.

Peter took a deep breath. All right, he thought. Here I go.

He made his way to the elevator, went up to your floor, and went to your bedroom door.

He gently knocked on the door. “Baby,” he said softly. “Baby, it’s me.”

You groaned loudly. “Come in.”

Peter opened the door, his eyes widening at the sight of you.

Your hair was positively bedraggled, you were breathing heavily, and there was a look of deep agony on your face.

You narrowed your eyes at him, sighing and saying, “Ugh, I already know I look like the undead.”

“Prettiest zombie I’ve ever seen,” he said smiling at you.

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to hurt my feelings.”

“M saying it cause it’s true,” he replied, sliding in the bed next to you.

He rested his head on your shoulder, sighing. “I brought you ice cream,” he said, raising the two spoons.

You paused a moment before replying. “Rocky Road?”

“You know it,” he said, smiling, opening the tub, sticking one of the spoons in, and handing it to you. You smiled brightly at him. “Now, Kate is at the store getting The Notebook, so I was thinking until she gets back maybe we can do Breakfast at Tiffany’s?”

“That sounds wonderful,” you said, pointing at him as a way to sort of say “right on!”

He smiled happily, pulling out the DVD, and hitting play.

He crawled back into bed with you, allowing you to rest your head on his shoulder and eat your favorite ice cream, a hazy smile on your face. Every so often, Peter would look down at you affectionately, amazed at how incredibly beautiful you looked in your natural state of being.

About an hour into the movie, you spoke up. “Hey, Peter?”

He hummed in response.

“You know, you’re pretty good at the whole “my girlfriend’s on her period” thing.”

“You had doubts?” asked Peter, looking at you with a semi offended look on his face.

“Peter, I have super hearing and can hardly control my ability to read minds. I heard Yelena nearly kill you downstairs and I heard all your nervous thoughts in the elevator.”

“Oh,” he said, his cheeks stinging a shade of pink.

“Don’t worry, you’re kind of the best person to have around during moontime,” you said. You both laughed at the use of Kate’s term.

He didn’t say anything in response. He just kissed your forehead and held you tighter.

You both fell asleep there. Your head on his shoulder and his arms wrapped around you.

Kate ended up busting in, saying, “I got the candy-”. She stopped when she realized that you were both asleep. She smiled genuinely, then mischievously, pulling out her phone and snapping a picture of the sight in front of her. “Blackmail,” she muttered, stuffing her phone back into her back pocket. She left the ibuprofen, candy, and movie on your nightstand, smiling one more time.

She hummed. “They’ll be alright.” And with that, she closed the door, leaving you two your loving rest.

[duuhrayliegh]

A Friend of Yours - pt. 2

pairing: bucky x reader

summary: reader meets up with Bucky, Sam and Zemo to figure out this Flag Smasher drama

word count: 6386

warnings: canon lvl violence? SPOILERS FOR TFATWS, (it’s the episodes with yn in it, like rlly) language throughout the whole thing, i think that’s it.

a/n: i’m actually really proud of this guys. there is a part three that has WAY more Bucky x YN content that’ll be posted in a few days <3 i hope y’all love this!!

i just want to remind y’all that this started out as a request from @dramaticwittch it won’t let me tag you for some reasons babes :((

be sure to read A Friend of Yours - pt 1

A Friend of Yours - pt. 3 is up too!!!

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

check out my other writing here!

xoxo ray <3

You had the same contacts as Sharon, so finding the Three Musketeers was no problem. It baffled you that Sharon had access to satellites. Makes you wonder what she was doing during those five years you were gone. When you got to their safehouse, you were impressed to say the least. It was nice, cute little pillars next to the dining area, some couches, just enough to make it livable. One thing that struck you as strange was that it was also empty, they weren’t there.

“Fuck it.” You dropped your bag onto the dining table and walked over to the kitchen area. You opened several cabinets, searching for alcohol that you could drown your frustrations in. You found an unopened wine bottle, releasing a little cheer, you popped the cork and brought the bottle to your nose. A sweet plum scent invaded your senses, grabbing a glass and pouring it full for yourself before re-corking the bottle. You grasped the cup walking to the stained glass windows on the opposite side of the room. You could hear footsteps approaching the doorway, then the door being forced open. Muffled conversations were taking place during their entrance.

“Well, I got nothin’. No one’s talkin’ about Donya.” Bucky said as he waltzed into the room. Sam followed closely behind him, Zemo immediately going to the kitchen.

“Yeah, Karli’s the only one who’s fighting for them.” You said, startling the pair of men who were now lounging on the couches. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at this?” You dropped next to Bucky, offering him a sip of your plum flavored wine.

“She’s not wrong.” Bucky shot Sam a look, questioning his thought process. “Look, for five years these people were welcomed into countries that have kept them out using barbed wire. There were houses and jobs.” Sam sighed, “Folks were happy to have people around to help them rebuild.” You stopped listening halfway through Sam’s speech, thinking of Sharon. You only refocused when Bucky placed his metal hand on your knee, giving you a look, asking if you were okay.

“That little girl. What’d she tell you?” Bucky asked after you nodded at him. His face never left yours, until Zemo approached the three of you on the couch. He was holding a tray with a clear teapot and cups. He placed it on the coffee table, stepping back and clutching a cup for himself.

“The funeral is this afternoon.” Zemo was always one for the dramatics, so you’re sure that he had something else up his sleeve. Bucky squeezed your knee and you knew he was trying to calm himself.

“You know the Dora’s coming for you any minute. In fact, they’re probably lurking outside right now. Keep talking.”

“Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli.” He made a noise of acknowledgement, “I prefer to keep my leverage.” Bucky hauled himself off the couch to stand in front of the Baron. You gaze flicked to Sam’s, unsure of what Bucky was going to do. Bucky puffed his chest out, clenching his jaw as he gripped Zemo’s teacup and chunked it at the concrete wall behind him. Zemo flinched as Bucky began talking to him.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Sam stood quickly, trying to diffuse the situation before it escalated.

“Take it easy, Buck. Don’t engage him.” You were taking a drink of your wine, as you observed Zemo’s actions.

“Watch out, he’s going to extort you and do that idiotic head tilt thing.” Zemo’s eyes darted to your figure on the couch as he straightened his head. Sam left to make a call, you assumed Sharon and Bucky followed closely behind him. Zemo offered you cherry blossom tea to which you declined by holding up your wine glass. As Bucky left the room, the Baron released a sigh of relief causing you to laugh at his actions.

“You’re really scared of him, aren’t you?” You teased the man who was now glaring at you.

“If you have made him as angry as I have then you would be too.” You shrugged your agreement. You hadn’t made Bucky mad, and you definitely hadn’t been a part of reactivating him as the Winter Soldier to reach your goals.

“Yeah, well you’re a dumbass, so.” You got up and walked to where Bucky and Sam were gathered. Sam’s phone was still pressed to his ear, but you could tell you were catching the tail-end of his conversation. You could hear Sharon’s voice over the phone talking about the Power Broker. In all your years of living and conducting business in Madripoor, you never tangled with the Power Broker. That didn’t mean anything, it was just suspicious because of how successful your operation with Sharon was.

“What’s the plan?” You asked, dumping the rest of your wine in the sink, casting a glance at an appalled Zemo. “It was shit wine.”

“Zemo has a contact that can show us where the funeral is, and that’s all we got.” You nodded before looking at Bucky and Sam.

“Well, what are we waiting for?”

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

You were walking down the cobblestone roadway with the Three Musketeers when a voice shouted at you from the stairway before you. “Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit!” A scruffy looking man approached you. Both him and his partner were clad in tactical gear, the scruffy one’s resembling a Walmart version of Steve’s Cap suit. Bucky spread his arms out.

“How’d you find us now?” The man’s partner responded to Bucky with equal annoyance.

“Come on, man. You really think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” As he got closer you could read Hoskins on his vest.

“No more keeping us in the dark.” Scruff said before anyone else could fire back. He stopped walking in front of Zemo, effectively stopping your forward motion. “You can start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.” You were walking just behind Bucky to his right and you watched him cock his head back, his voice taking on a sarcastic tone.

“He did that himself, technically.” Scruff’s face contorted as Bucky talked.

“This better be an unbelievable explana--” Scruff’s voice was cut off by Sam’s hand bumping into his chest.

“Hey, take it easy before it gets weird.” Zemo began talking over the group around him, explaining what was going on. You remained quiet, observing the interaction between Scruff and the Three Musketeers. Clearly, the Three Musketeers did not like him and so you assumed he was the ‘new Cap,’ whatever that means. The group began walking again with Zemo leading the pack.

“Alright good, we’ll move in fast. Take her by surprise.”

“No, I wanna talk to her alone.”

“I’m not losing her again.” Scruff was insistent but so was Sam.

“Look, the person closest to her just died, she’s vulnerable.” The group had stopped walking again, focusing on the conversation. You could see the wheels turning in Hoskin’s head as Sam spoke. Scruff was not having any part of what Sam was suggesting.

“What? No. Wait, no! No. Stop. Hold on. Stop, okay?” Scruff ran ahead in front of the others, stopping the forward motion, once again. “I think we’re way past reasoning with her, unless you forgot the fact that she blew up a building with people still in it.” This was news to you, deciding to stay offline in hopes of remaining under the radar. The back and forth continued until Scruff turned to Bucky.

“You gonna let him do this?” Bucky tilted his head at the man. “Are you gonna let your partner walk into a room with a Super Soldier alone?”

“He’s dealt with worse. And he’s not my partner.” You knew Bucky was referring to himself in Winter Soldier mode. Your heart hurt for him to have to go through this again with some clueless nobody.

“And last I checked, he’s a grown ass man who makes his own decisions, Scruff.” Your arms crossed over your chest. This had been the first time you spoke since Scruff and Hoskin’s had arrived.

“Who the hell is this?” Scruff pointed at you. “You break her out of prison too?” Sam interjected before you could sass back.

“I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay? This is right in my wheelhouse.” Scruff’s gaze hadn’t left your face. He continued staring at you as he countered Sam’s claim.

“Yeah, I know. And I know those soldiers, which is why I know this is a bad idea.” Hoskin’s hand came up to rest on Scruff’s shoulder.

“Wait, John. If he can talk her down, it might be worth a try.” Scruff was not happy with Hoskin's agreement to the situation. Scruff said something to Zemo, who mostly ignored him, acknowledging the little girl waiting under an archway. The group began moving toward her and you focused on Bucky.

“Hey, you okay?” He just nodded at you, denying you the pleasure of a verbal response. You’ll take what you can get. Bringing up the rear of the group, you entered the factory type building last. The little girl pointed up some stairs, and Zemo translated. Sam walked up behind the girl, making him way up the stairs as Scruff handcuffed Zemo to a metal contraption.

“You got ten minutes. Then we’re doing things my way.” Scruff yelled after Sam, who darted his eyes at you and Bucky, a silent instruction to the both of you. Scruff rested his weight against a table, holding Steve’s shield in front of him. His breathing became increasingly worrisome, an ode to how stable he was in the moment.

“You aren’t looking so hot over there, Scruff.” Bucky shot you a warning look, but it didn’t deter you. “The government is really harping on you to get this shit contained, aren’t they?” Scruff pushed off the table, bringing the shield around his back. You were leaning against a pillar near Zemo and Scruff made his way over to you. His face was about six inches from yours as he spoke.

“Do you know who I am?” He was trying to intimidate you, which clearly wasn’t working.

“Do I look like I give a shit?” Scruff’s eyes darted over your frame, a look of recognition washing over his features.

“I know who you are.” He glanced at the clock across the room before looking back at you. “I could arrest you right now. Enemy of the State, standing before me right here.”

“We’re not in that state, dumbass. Technically, you don’t have jurisdiction.” The corner of your mouth raised in a smirk as Bucky called your name. You pushed off the pillar behind you to stand next to Bucky, who was leaning against the railing of the stairs.

“Don’t antagonize him, Y/N.” Bucky berated you, to which you shrugged a shoulder. Scruff began pacing back and forth, frustration getting the better of him.

“It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight.” Hoskin’s tried to calm Scruff down.

“Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me.” He shot a look at Hoskins, then the clock, then Bucky, making a decision in his head. “I’m goin’ in.” Bucky rose to his full height, not allowing Scruff to get by him. “This is all really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins.” You watched Bucky’s jaw clench, you could see the anger bottling up. “Barnes, your partner needs backup in there.” Bucky was an immovable fortress of solitude. “Do you really want his blood on your hands?” Oh shit.

You watched as Bucky’s resolve faded, allowing Scruff to step around him. Bucky was tired of being the cause of other people’s deaths. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust that Sam could take care of himself, he just didn’t want the burden any longer. He was finally free of being a murder machine, finally able to rinse his hands clean. Scruff knew just which buttons to push to get what he wanted.

Scruff busted into the memorial site, guns blazing. You trailed behind Bucky who was fighting against Hoskin’s to try to reach Scruff. Karli and Sam were previously engaged in peaceful conversation, until Scruff announced that Karli was under arrest. Betrayal laced her features as she looked at Sam, defending herself against Scruff advances. She threw Scruff’s weight into Sam, launching them both into the table behind. Bucky took off after her, chasing her through the halls. You crouched next to Sam, making sure he was okay.

Sam recovered quickly, racing down a different corridor leading to another stairway. You followed close behind, allowing Sam to attempt to navigate the area around you. The two of you eventually went down enough of the wrong corridors, that you met up with an equally confused Bucky. You head perked up at the sound of gunshots somewhere in the building. Not sure who the culprit was you turned to Bucky and Sam, who looked just as panicked.

The three of you retraced your steps to find Scruff standing over a knocked-out Zemo with crushed vials wetting the floor. Scruff tossed a glance back at Hoskins and then one to the three of you on the staircase landing. “What did we miss?” Sam directed his question at Scruff, who didn’t dignify him with an answer. Scruff nodded to Hoskins before walking away from the rest of you.

“Thanks for your help, asshole!” You shouted after him.

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

Hauling Zemo’s deadweight back to the safehouse was a job that you and Sam decided Bucky was fit for, being a super soldier and all. Through much complaining and whining on Bucky’s part, he did get him to the safehouse relatively injury free, dumping his body on the couch, jostling Zemo just enough to wake him up. Bucky promptly left the apartment after dropping Zemo off, going to clear his head was the explanation you got as he left.

You huffed, discontent with everything that was going on. You walked to the kitchen, wetting a rag and tossing it at Zemo. “For your head, cover your eyes, it’ll help.” You then popped a few cubes of ice in a glass and poured whiskey over it, handing it to Zemo as well, tapping your temple at him. You went back to the kitchen, jumping onto the counter, letting your legs dangle over the edge. Sam had pulled out a laptop and was typing furiously.

“Were you ever offered it?” You knew Zemo wasn’t talking to you, but to Sam, who hadn’t looked up from the laptop screen. You zoned out of their conversation, trying to decide what Sam was sending Sharon now. “Sam, you can’t hold out hope for Karli.” This made Sam pause and turn to face Zemo, who continued talking. “No matter what you saw in her, she’s gone. And we cannot allow that she and her acolytes become yet another faction of gods amongst real people.” Zemo removed the rag from his eyes, locking gazes with Sam. “Super Soldiers cannot be allowed to exist.”

“Isn’t that how god’s talk?” You interjected, then you asked quietly, “And if that’s how you feel, what about Bucky?” It was a valid concern. “Blood isn’t always the solution.” Bucky waltzed into the apartment, stripping his jacket from his shoulders, giving a perfect view of his two contrasting arms.

“Something’s not right about Walker.”

“You don’t say.” Sam quipped, closing his laptop and facing Bucky.

“Well, I know a crazy when I see one. Because I am crazy.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Shouldn’t have given him the shield.” Bucky jabbed at Sam, sticking to his guns on this.

“I didn’t give him the shield.” Sam was exasperated in his delivery.

“Well, Steve definitely didn’t.” You turned to Bucky.

“Hey. Back off, Buck.” Bucky was going to say something in reply when the door burst open again. In walked Scruff and Hoskins, all gung-ho about something.

“Alright. That’s it. Let’s go.” He pointed a finger at a now standing Zemo. The whole room began shifting, Sam in front of Scruff, Zemo to the side out of direct view, and Bucky to your other side, glass in hand. “I’m now ordering you to turn him over.” Sam stopped before Scruff, annoyed.

“Let’s be clear, shield or no shield, the only thing you’re runnin’ in here is your mouth.” You added from your spot on the countertop. Scruff pointed his finger at you.

“And I’m taking her too.” Bucky stepped in front of you, blocking Scruff’s view of you. You placed your hand on his left shoulder, letting him know you were still there.

“I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful today. We’re gonna need all hands on deck for whatever’s comin’ next.” Scruff puffed out his chest, attempting to intimidate Sam.

“How do you want this conversation to go Sam, huh?” He stepped back slightly, “Should I put down the shield? Make it fair?” Taking on a condescending tone with Sam, making your brows raise. Suddenly a spear lodged itself in the pillar next to Scruff’s face, all eyes darted towards the woman across the room. Two more warriors walked in, holding spears by their sides and Bucky looked resigned. This was new territory for you, who the fuck are these people? One of the women stepped forward near Scruff. She spoke at Bucky in a language that sounded vaguely familiar to you.

“Release him to us now.” Scruff ignored her instruction, deciding to step towards her, holding his hand out for her to shake.

“Hi. John Walker. Captain America.” You scoffed loudly.

“No, you’re not!” You received a look from Sam at your comment.

“Let’s put down the pointy sticks and we can talk through this, huh?” Sam stepped forward, warning Scruff against tangling with the Dora Milaje.

“The Dora Milaje don’t have jurisdiction here.”

“The Dora Milaje have jurisdiction wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be.” Your hand balled into a fist, quickly covering your mouth.

“That’s a burn, Scruff!” You yelled like the little shit you are.

“Y/N! Cut it out.” Sam snapped. Scruff, for some reason, thought it was a good idea to place hands on the Dora he was speaking to. She quickly brought her spear up to force his hand off her shoulder, then bringing it downward into the back of his knee and finally bouncing it off of the front of his helmet. She launched her foot into his chest while he was dazed, sending him backward into the spear behind him and face planting on the ground below. Scruff recovered quickly, sliding his arm into the straps of the shield to protect himself from the spear coming at his body.

The three warriors began fighting with Scruff and Hoskins, much to yours and Bucky’s delight. Sam backed up to stand next to Bucky, who crossed his arms over his chest. Sam looked at Bucky.

“We should do something.” You had just barely heard Sam say it when you and Bucky yelled at the same time.

“Looking strong, John!” “You’re doing great, sweetie!” Bucky gave you a look at your term of endearment, not understanding that it was a patronizing use of the word. The warrior battling Scruff was about to drive her spear into him, until Bucky gripped the handle, stopping her attack.

“Ayo!” Bucky yelled at her. “Ayo! Let’s talk about this!” Ayo had effectively yanked Bucky towards her body, then throwing him backwards. Sam stopped another warriors spear before it drove into a downed Hoskins. The last warrior threw her spear at Scruff, trapping the shield against the table. She began her approach to him and Sam yelled your name to help him.

You got down with a groan, unhappy that you had to save this asshat. All movement was stopped when you heard a metallic thud against the floor. Your head snapped to a now one armed Bucky, his vibranium arm laying on the ground. You released an audible gasp as Ayo walked away from Bucky, his blue eyes wide. Everything around you faded as you watched a broken Bucky, kneel to pick up his metal appendage. Your eyes flicked to Sam, who was just as shocked as you.

“Did you know they could do that?” Sam gestured to Bucky’s immobile arm.

“No.” He swung his arm around once to restart the systems. You heard Hoskins checking on Scruff’s wounded ego, but that didn’t matter to you.

“Bucky. Are you okay?” He avoided your question, grabbing his jacket and telling Sam that Zemo had gotten away. You held your arms out in front of you, what the fuck? Are you the enemy now? You followed after them, not sure where you were going. You got closer to Bucky, grabbing his left arm and yanking him back to you, making his attention be on you for a second or two. “I’m talking to you, dickwad.” His eyes hardened as you continued. “I don’t know what the fuck just happened back there, I’m assuming that has to do with you not being the Soldier anymore. I don’t really care. What I care about is if you’re okay or not.” You stopped walking, still holding his arm.

“What do you want from me, Y/N?” Bucky inquired.

“I want you to fucking talk to me. I’m here for you to unload on.” His brows scrunched and you realized what you said. “Oh my god, not like that, sicko. Well, I mean--”

“Y/N.” Bucky smiled at your humor.

“There, see? How hard was it for you to smile. Just talk to me. I’m making sure you’re okay. Don’t shut down, I hate it when people do that.” Bucky went to say something else when the both of your attentions shifted to a concerned Sam.

“She said what?” A pause, “Right. Hold on, hold on. I know, I know.” He sighed loudly, “Listen, pack an overnight bag and take the boys.” He tried to calm the other person down. You began walking again, Bucky asking quietly.

“What happened?” Sam dropped the phone to his collarbone.

“Karli called Sarah. She threatened my nephews.” Bringing it back up to his ear, he continued. “Go somewhere safe. Only pay cash, alright? Let me know when you get there.” You turned your attention to your surroundings. The bland streets offered little to no security, but they did give too many vantage points to count. “She wants me to come alone.”

“I’m coming with you.” Bucky fired back, not changing his mind about this one.

“Yay, more friends. She’ll love that. Where we going now?”

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

You’ve never seen Sam as mad as he was when he walked into that building. Although you weren’t sure if it was anger or if it was betrayal that he was displaying as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. “You called my sister? That’s how we’re gonna play this?”

“Sam, I would never hurt her. I just wanted to understand you better.” Her accent shone through with every word. You could tell that she didn’t want to hurt you. Her demeanor was relaxed, her guard was up, but she was being civil, almost like a politician. You were good at analyzing the people around you, so when Karli mentioned Sam and Bucky just being tools she really meant it. She wasn’t interested in hurting people she deemed innocent.

“Hey, Sam, new Cap is moving, looks like he’s found them, or maybe they found him.” Sharon’s voice snapped you back to reality. The two of you hadn’t spoken since you left Madripoor.

“Scruff’s coming, guys and you know it’s not going to be pretty when he does.” Bucky jumped over the ledge and Karli followed suit. Jumping into Bucky, slamming his body into the post. You ran alongside Bucky to the location Sam had sent to your phone. By the time that you had gotten to the building where Scruff was, you had lost Bucky. Taking an entrance that was already knocked open you heard gunshots from a few floors above you. With your gun raised, you scanned the room for any friendlies.

“Y/N, you’re about to come up on Hoskins. He’s not moving, may need an assist.” Your brows furrowed as you entered the room cautiously.

“How the hell do you know that, Shar? How did you get access to satellites?” You questioned as you approached a tied-up Hoskins. “Need some help, Battlestar?”

“I totally had that.” He said as your knife snapped the zip tie around his wrists.

“Yeah, yeah.” You held your hand out, hauling him to his feet. “It’s okay to be the damsel, ya know?” He shook his head at you, not engaging in your hilarious banter. “Jeez, who pissed in your Cheerios.” You shoved your knife back into your thigh holster, leading the way to where the others were.

When you walked in, Bucky had just caught a knife that Scruff had so deflected. He twirled the object in his right hand, ready to defend against the Flag Smasher attacking him. Their fight was quick and ended with the Smasher on their back, the knife Bucky was holding embedded in the floor inches away from their face. You jumped in, helping Sam fend off another Smasher when suddenly Bucky’s fist flew by your face.

“You’re welcome.” He darted off to deal with the others. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Scruff being held by a Smasher and Karli coming with a knife in hand. You started towards her to stop her, until you saw Hoskins attack from her other side. He tackled her to the ground, Karli bounced back quicker than Hoskins, allowing her to throw a punch at Hoskins. Your jaw dropped as you watched his body fly into the concrete mainstay behind him. His whole body slackened and Karli stood in shock.

Scruff was struggling in his captors hold, thrashing about to get to Hoskins. Once he was free, he shook Hoskins and pushed his fingers against his neck, checking for a pulse. “Hey, hey. Hey. Lemar!” You stood silent in between Bucky and Sam, unsure of what to do. It wasn’t until Scruff stood again that you knew what he was going to do. He had a half-second head start, but it was long enough that he was able to reach the Samsher that was holding him back before you could reach Scruff.

You had to push through the crowd to see what was happening. The Smasher had his hands protecting his face against the slam of the Captain America shield that was being hammered into him. You gasped and had to turn your face into Bucky’s shoulder. This is not happening, but it was.

And the whole world saw it too.

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

The next time you saw Scruff was in an abandoned warehouse. He was talking to himself, yelling about different things. If you weren’t sure before, you definitely were now. John Walker had taken the serum and it was enhancing all the wrong things. Scruff was kneeling, resting his hands on the bloodied shield before him. You were on Sam’s right when Scruff walked up to you.

“You guys should see a medic. You don’t look too good.” He paced in front of the three of you. “You saw what happened. You know what I had to do. I killed him because I had to! He killed Lemar!”

“He didn’t kill Lemar, John.” Bucky’s voice remained calm. “Don’t go down that road. Believe me, it doesn’t end well.” Scruff sent Bucky a disgusted look.

“I’m not like you.”

“You convincing yourself or us, Scruff?” You recognize that this probably isn’t the time to pull his strings but he wasn’t thinking clearly anyway.

“Listen, it was the heat of battle. Okay? If you explain what happened, they may consider your record. We don’t want anyone else to get hurt.” Scruff never stopped pacing, his hand flexing in the shield.

“You gotta give Sam the shield, Scruff.” He stopped pacing and turned to you, getting a little close for comfort.

“Oh, so that’s what this is.” He leaned forward, “You almost got me.” His index finger jabbed into your chest then rested there as he spoke. “You don’t wanna do this.”

“Yeah, we do.” Came Bucky’s reply before all hell broke loose. Bucky and Sam rushed Scruff, fighting for a way to get the shield from him. Scruff sent Sam flying backwards with a swift kick to the stomach. This gave you the room you needed to launch yourself onto his shoulders, attempting to flip him using his own body weight and your momentum. Your move distracted him enough that Bucky got a few decent hits in, but it really just served to piss him off further. He whipped one arm around, gripping the waistband of your jeans and dumping your weight off his shoulders. He threw you into a wooden shipping container, knocking all of the air out of your lungs.

You watch, as you lay there gasping, Bucky get beat to his knees by Scruff and Scruff’s attention is turned by Sam flipping in the air, kicking the shield to the side. You rose to your feet, readying yourself for the opportune moment. Once you found it, you flung yourself at Scruff, sending the both of you to the ground and the shield away from the both of you. You resituated yourself to straddle his stomach, this position didn’t last long because he flipped the both of you. Slamming your back against the ground, he gripped your wrists, yanking them way up high causing you to groan out at the stretch. He released you but not before delivering a swift punch to your cheek.

Your vision blurred, but you could make out Bucky going head to head with Scruff again. Scruff threw the shield at Bucky after kicking him into a lift. Luckily, Bucky was able to catch the shield and shift it to his own arm before Scruff attacked him again. Scruff pressed the shield tight against Bucky’s body, then began speaking to him.

“Why are you making me do this?” You and Sam shared a look then watched as Scruff tossed Bucky clear across the room into an electrical outlet, short circuiting his arm. Sam flew at Scruff, trying to catch him off guard. He was unsuccessful in his efforts, ending with Sam facing Scruff as you crouched in Scruff’s six.

“This isn’t you, John.” Sam began trying to reason with him. He is who is way past reasoning, not Karli. Scruff’s head tilted as he spoke in that condescending tone again.

“We could’ve been a team.” Sam didn’t say anything. He deployed his wings, flying past Scruff and sending a small grappling hook to try and take the shield. Scruff flipped through the air, then braced himself against one of the lifts. You came up from behind him and tackled him off the lift, sending Sam to the ground as well. As you landed, you hit your head on a piece of broken concrete, disorienting you. The shield was out of Scruff’s hands, and he wasn’t happy about that. They both dove for the shield but Scruff managed to get to Sam first, landing on top of Sam.

“I am Captain America.” Scruff grunted out as he ripped Sam’s wings from his suit. You watch in horror as Scruff holds the shield, ready to give Sam a face lift. Bucky knocked Scruff off just before he could land his hit. Scruff had pinned Bucky to the ground after driving Bucky’s head into the side of the shield. You hauled yourself to your feet again, wrapping your arm around Scruff’s neck, hindering his movement. Sam came from the front, delivering a harsh blow to Scruff’s face. You continued to hold your chokehold as Bucky and Sam pried the shield off his arm. You heard a sickening crack as Sam withdrew from the hoe down. Bucky rose to his feet and spit out the blood collecting in his mouth, reaching out his hand for you to take.

You walked over to Sam, you hoped that would be the end of it all. Lo and behold though, Scruff got up yet again. “It’s mine.” He growled possessively, starting towards Bucky again. Bucky ducked lifting Scruff over his shoulder and Sam threw his whole body weight into Scruff who was dangling off to the side of Bucky. The three of them laid on the floor, bloodied and sweaty as you stood over them.

Bucky rose to his knees, the shield in front of him and he used the leverage of it to stand fully. He dropped it next to Sam, pausing for a few seconds and then walking away completely. You stood next to Scruff, in disbelief. “This just got a whole lot more complicated didn’t it, Sam?” He didn’t reply to you, but you watched as he tried to wipe the blood off the outer rings of the shield.

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

You stood outside the building where Donya’s funeral was held, listening to Sam talk to someone else named Torres. Bucky had walked right past you, not a word said. He was shutting down and running away, at least that’s what it looked like. You wouldn’t know because the whore wouldn’t talk to you. You sat down on the stairs, head in your hands frustrated about what was going on. Your phone began buzzing in your pocket, so you took it out ready to deny the call, until you saw who it was.

“Shar.” You sighed into the phone speaker.

“Y/N. How’s it going?” You could hear the smugness lacing her tone.

“Alright, just get it over with. Tell me that you told me so, just make it quick.” She scoffed.

“I mean, I did tell you so, but now I don’t want to tell you that I did.” You laughed at her.

“You realize you just did, though?” You sense that she was smiling.

“What happened?” Her tone switched into a serious one on a dime.

“Walker took the serum, went batshit, killed a Flag Smasher, and then beat the shit out of Sam, Bucky and me in order to keep his precious shield because he ‘is Captain America.’” Your voice morphed to imitate Scruff.

“Well, that was bound to happen sometime. He’s all over the place.” You nodded, pulling the phone away from your ear and switching to speakerphone so you could talk and scroll through Twitter.

“He’s already trending. Captain America Kills Innocent Man, what a great headline. You know the worst part about all of this, Shar?” You switched the speakerphone off, bringing it back to your ear. “I don’t even think that Karli is in the wrong here. She’s doing what she’s doing for good reason, she’s just doing a shit job of getting her point across.”

“Yeah, well she’s becoming a pain in everyone’s asses, so that puts her on everyone’s shit list.” Sharon took a deep breath before continuing. “You need to get out of there. I know you’re not technically in the States, or alive, but you know how the government is. They’ll find a way to get you, if they want you.” She was lecturing you out of love, you knew, but it was frustrating for you still.

“Can you not trust that I know what I’m doing?” A grunt released from her end of the phone. “No, seriously Shar. We grew up the same, went through all the same training, what makes you know so much better than me?” Deep down, you knew that wasn’t what she meant, but you had always felt second best when it came to Sharon.

“It’s not that you don’t know what you’re doing.” She sighed heavily. “It’s that you were gone for five years and things have changed. Governments have become stricter and you don’t understand that they aren’t the same as they were.” You remained quiet, expecting her to say something else. “That’s why it’s good you have me because I know how they work.”

“You know how they work, do you?” You were fed up with her. “Then explain to me how you have access to satellites, Sharon. That’s not something that you just happen upon.” Your tone was accusatory. “Are you working for the Power Broker behind my back?” You heard a sharp intake of air on her end. “I swear to God, Sharon. We promised each other we wouldn’t work for that asswipe. He’s involved in too much bad shit. If the US government were to ever find out that we were working for the Power Broker, they wouldn’t grant us pardons, Shar. Did you fuck this up for us?”

“I didn’t fuck anything up and you need to check your tone when you’re talking to me.” Your brows shot to your hairline.

“The fuck did you just say to me?”

“You heard me. We need to work this shit out. I didn’t fuck anything up and neither will you if you come back to Madripoor right now.” You were shocked, Sharon had never talked like this to you.

“I really don’t think I would be comfortable being somewhere that I’m clearly not welcome anymore, so I’m going to stick with what I know.” Sharon began backtracking as you resigned yourself to being on your own for the first time in forever. “Goodbye, Sharon.” You ended the call and shoved your phone into the pocket of your jeans.

You dropped your head into your hands in defeat. Being on your own was daunting and you weren’t sure how Sharon survived without you well enough to grow your business all on her own. You tried to think of your next move, deciding that sticking with Sam would be your best bet. He’s the easiest to guess where he’s going since Bucky has been mentally MIA towards you.

You recalled Sam mentioning his sister and nephews, thinking he would go there to check on them. You hauled yourself out of your slump and to Zemo’s apartment to collect your things before going. You were going all in if you were going to do this, so why the fuck not?

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

@londonalozzy @marvelofwitch @dramaticwittch @hellmoonsin @jn-wolf @youcancallmeishita @iabrokengirl @veroxloki @liveloudwriteloud @lainternettuale @angelofthetrenchcoats @rosiahills22 @peachymichu @sj-ficrecs @learisa @itsyagirl01 @simply-me-xoxo @ghoststudyy @taina-eny @japanrecs @sinfulhun-collapsedheart @isaordora @shutupstevie @sprsoldierfics @beachbabe925

[lastxviolet]

Madripoor is for Lovers (Zemo x F!Reader) - Ch. 3

Summary: Y/N is a SWORD agent recruited to help Sam and Bucky track down Karli and the super-soldiers. When Helmut Zemo joins the team, he takes a special interest in her. The friendly union is wrought for disaster, but then things take a turn for the worst when Y/N is taken as collateral. Will Zemo keep her forever? Does she even want to escape? And what happened in Madripoor that made the whole thing so complicated?

Warnings: 18+ / smut / oral sex / f receiving

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32878015/chapters/81589774

The hypnotic bass and Zemo's enthusiastic dance moves almost got you carried away. But over the bouncing crowd, you saw Sharon, Bucky, and Sam on the stairs, looking for you.

“Shit,” you mumbled, breaking the trance. “We gotta go.”

Zemo followed your line of sight and turned to lead you back to the group in silence. You try to hide the disappointment on your face.

“We found him,” Sharon yelled over the music upon your approach.

The five of you went over the plan for tomorrow back in Sharon’s suite. You doubted that even with your experience, you could’ve found Dr. Nagel without Sharon's help. In the states, it was easy to pick a needle out of a haystack, because you always knew what you were looking for. But here, everyone was a criminal. Uncharted territory where you had to find the sharpest needle amongst thousands.

“You good?”

Sam’s voice cut through your thoughts. You looked up and noticed the dissipating group. Sharon showed Bucky to his room, and Zemo sat with his eyes glued to a book on the couch. Only Sam remained standing in front of you, looking like he was about to pass out.

“I’m fine,” you assured him. “Go get some sleep. You look terrible.”

He chuckled and nodded in agreement. “We gotta get the hell out of here. Madripoor has aged me at least ten years.”

“Me too. I miss places where being a criminal makes you the odd one out, not the other way around.”

“Goody two-shoes,” he teased before turning to find his room.

Sharon waved him on from down the hall and they got back into it about her pardon and what she’d missed in the states.

Your attention shifted to the only other person in the room. Zemo’s eyes wasted no time abandoning his book and landing on you as soon as you were alone.

“The Odyssey,” you asked, pointing to his book. “I didn’t take you for someone who enjoys fiction.”

He smiled at the attention and made room for you on the couch.

“I often find that there are elements of truth in every fantasy. The human spirit is sometimes better examined by poets than by professors. This, for instance, is a brilliant study on heroes.”

“Hmm, studying heroes? An attempt to know thy enemy?”

He laughed and turned to you with his elbow up on the back of the couch, bringing him less than a foot away from your face. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the lights down the hall go out. There were no interruptions, or easy outs, now. All that was left was you, and the only man who’d ever made you truly nervous.

“Y/N, if you were in Odysseus’s place, content and immortal, would you give it up to go back home?”

“You’re asking me if I’d abandon my legacy and family to shack up on an island with some mistress?”

He chuckled and nodded in approval. “Very wise. But what does he gain by leaving? Struggle? Hardship? Mortality?”

You tilted your head to match his. “Are you telling me that you’d stay on the island?”

His expression shifted for the first time since you’d stepped foot in Madripoor. The overconfident, smirking Baron dissolved into a man.

A man who hid the sense of riotousness that he carried with dramatic flair. A man whose charm and wit seemed fabricated.

This man now, fighting off sleepy eyes and grappling with the moral quandary posed, seemed burdened. You wondered if his quest for justice would ever get to be too much. After all the destruction he’d caused, could he still see himself as the exactor of fairness? Were the Avengers still his enemy? Were you?

“No,” he confessed looking down at the copy in his hands.

Your lips twitched but you didn’t smile. “You’d make the hard choice — the hero’s choice if it came down to it.”

He looked almost somber at your words and nodded.

“In another life…perhaps.”

His voice wavered, almost as if he regretted saying it out loud. The briefing that Sam and Bucky had given you about him flashed in your mind.

A hero's choice was the right thing to do; the hard thing to do. You knew that he was a soldier before everything happened. Just like you.

Was that not a hero’s choice?

He tore the Avengers apart in an attempt to stitch up his own heart. An eye for an eye. Avenging his country because its destruction had been glossed over by the world. His loss fueled his anger but he was more capable than most. A man without armor, or mystical abilities was able to wreak havoc on those who had wronged him.

Was that heroism?

If losing those you love didn’t permit revenge, you weren't sure what did.

He broke the silence by tapping his knuckle on the book.

“It is the perfect testament to the valiance of heroes,” he continued. "But, I must say that the wisest thing Odysseus did was marry his wife.”

You laughed and nodded, remembering how she saved the day. Without her, Odysseus’s homecoming would’ve been much more perilous for him.

“I often find that behind every great man is an even better woman.”

He smirked and didn’t miss a beat. “Like you with…your Avengers.”

“I stand beside them,” you corrected.

He raised an eyebrow and waved a hand. “Semantics."

You gave him an eye roll in return.

He smiled then, wider than you had ever seen. It almost made him seem shy. Perhaps it was because he was making a genuine point, masked in humor.

You were well aware of your importance to this mission and yet burdened by the fact that it didn’t make you a member of their special club. When this was all over, you wouldn’t be an Avenger, or anywhere close. You’d go back to S.W.O.R.D to wait until called upon again. It hadn’t occurred to you before, but there was a pang of sadness there where the thought rested. It’d be a mistake to let Zemo know but it seemed to be too late.

“You’re making fun of me.”

His hand brushed yours. “No. I am merely expressing my concerns about your allegiances.”

Still aware of the small amount of alcohol left in your system, you looked away from his quirked moving lips.

“Enlighten me, Baron. What wrong decisions do you think I’m making?”

Frozen in place, you let him brush his fingers along your wrist to your arm. He took his time, tracing patterns on your skin and inspecting his work with an unwavering gaze. Only when his thumb caressed your cheek, and his hand landed on your neck did he look you in the eyes again. The air in your lungs was gone and your body betrayed you with a furious eruption of butterflies.

“Living a hero’s life,” he said somber-eyed and serious.

Your heart rate quickened. As if you’d learned nothing in S.W.O.R.D about manipulation, you were back to watching his lips. They parted slightly, as if he had something else to say but thought better of it.

A hero.

You didn't feel like one.

A sidekick, maybe. But even then, no one knew your name. No one sang your praises at home or breathed a sigh of relief knowing you were out there in the world fighting evil. It seemed that the only one who thought of you as more than an assistant was Zemo.

Your heart felt heavy then. The two of you were impossible. An inconceivable pair brought together by chance.

But that didn’t make his dark eyes any less enticing or his words any less intoxicating.

That didn’t make you any further from his lips.

He was a breath away, but so was your own destruction.

In another life, the island might tempt you.

“Look,” you said glancing past him to find something to change the subject. “It’s a full moon.”

Without sparing him another glance, you crossed the floor in four quick steps to the large windows. Never one to give up easily, you heard him follow close behind.

He beat you there and pushed open the glass door before gesturing towards the balcony in silence.

You looked down at your feet until the skyline drew your eyes. The plan to diffuse the tension had not worked in the slightest. The moonlit balcony overlooking the beautiful city had only made it worse.

You heard him stop a few feet from you and then settle on the lone armchair. The reality of the situation hit you like a train. Away from the windows, you had privacy. This high up no one would see you and everyone else was in bed. You'd meant to creep out of the lion's den but instead, you'd locked yourself in.

“The moon is a friend for the lonesome to talk to,” Zemo mused from behind you.

“Carl Sanburg,” you confirmed, so he knew you didn't think he'd made it up.

Both of you were silent then. Swaying in the tension you'd built. Sanity pulling you back inside, inexplicable hope keeping you planted in place.

“Are you lonely, Baron?”

The words fell from your lips more delicate and intimate than you had meant them to. You let slip that you cared about his answer. That you might even care to cure him of the ailment.

“Me? No.”

You turned and scoffed.

“Liar. You were in a cell for years and you hardly talk to anyone now that you’re out.”

He leaned back in the chair, arms on either rest and a leg crossed with the ankle of his right knee. His demeanor was harmless in the same way that a predator poised to pounce was. Elegant, still, and ready for the kill.

“Not true,” he corrected. “I talk to you.”

“One person isn’t enough,” you said, taking a step closer.

Were you walking into disaster? Or being pulled? You couldn't tell the difference between his seduction and your own reckless desires any longer.

“The right person though…can be,” he half-whispered. “And you, Y/N, are more than I deserve.”

He gazed up at you from the chair. Kings throughout history, in war-won golden thrones and elegant capes, paled in comparisons to how regal he looked. Anointed with a crown of moonlight, ruling over whomever he pleased.

Your eyes widened with the admission. “Baron — ”

“Helmut, please.” He stood then and met you near the railing, his hand grazing your hip. “Only if for tonight.”

You shook your head, knowing this was a bad idea. His hand made its way to your waist regardless. He pulled you against his chest before searching your eyes for any signal that you were going to run. You knew he’d find nothing. You knew you mirrored his look of lust with blown pupils and flushed cheeks.

“Have I gone too far,” he whispered, bringing his other hand to brush loose hair behind your ear.

“No,” you sighed, letting him pull you closer and brush his lips to your cheek and jaw.

“Tell me if I do,” he whispered again before finally capturing your lips with his.

You uttered no complaints as his tentative kiss turned bruising and possessive. His arms wound around your waist, crushing you into him. But you needed to feel closer. He grunted as you sprung to action, flinging your arms around his neck, deepening the desperate kiss. He tasted like whiskey and something sweet. A cool breeze brushed against the exposed parts of your body. You let your hands wander beneath his coat, chasing warmth and proximity. He let you do as you please, only insisting that his lips stayed on yours.

You let out a whimper as his hand explored the front of your dress. He stopped to press his warm hand against your breast, before holding your face.

It was then that he pulled away, steadying your searching lips with a grip on your chin.

“Ich esse nicht,” he sighed, kissing a pattern to your ear. “Ich schlafe nicht, ich tue nichts anderes, als an dich zu denken.”

His teeth grazed your pulse point, leaving you gasping for air.

“I don’t speak German,” you managed to stutter out.

A hand slid up the back of your dress, gripping the zipper before undoing it in one swift motion and the fabric fell to the floor. The cool air seized your naked torso for only a moment before Zemo pressed himself against you again. The coat you’d complained about before, now provided warmth and security. You tipped your head back, almost over the edge of the balcony as he continued worshipping your neck and chest.

“I don’t eat, I don’t sleep,” he said between wet open-mouthed kisses on your breasts. His hot mouth left purple spots that cooled instantly in the chilly night air.

“I do nothing but think of you,” he finished before toying with your hardened nipple between his teeth.

You moaned then, louder than you should’ve, and let your eyes flutter open. The world was upside-down but you made no motion to move. You were making Madripoor proud by being pressed up against a balcony by an international criminal.

Utterly pleased with himself, Zemo raised his face back towards yours, leaning you both over the edge.

“Shhh liebling,” he cooed.

He pulled you back over, kissing your shoulder before removing his jacket and draping it over you. Each brush of his lips feeling more improper than the last.

“We would not want your friends to see you like this.”

In the next second, he swept you off of your feet and hoisted you into his strong arms. You watched the world sway around you and then settle when he placed you on the lounge chair, letting you get some warmth back from the coat and cushions.

He draped one of your legs over an armrest, exposing you to him except for a thin pair of underwear.

“Not with you spread open for me,” he growled. He towered over you for only a moment before kneeling between your legs. The man whose stature made him the tallest amongst giants; the most important in any room he chose, knelt before you.

“What would they say,” he mumbled in a trace. His hands gripped both of your thighs, causing an eruption of goosebumps across your whole body. “If they saw you like this, with me?”

He looked up at you then, raising an eyebrow, and tracing the inside of your thigh with his thumb.

You answered him breathlessly. “They’d tell you to stop.”

“And what would you say to that?”

His voice sent shockwaves through your system. Dark and sultry, with a hint of danger. You threw your head back again, barely able to keep a single thought straight. Your body shuddered but you couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or the need for his touch. When you looked back to him, he was surveying your body with the hunger of a starved wolf.

“Would you want me to stop?” His voice was gentle and sweet then, asking in earnest.

“Meine Liebe," he taunted you for consent as he flashed a smirk and pulled something from his pocket.

Cold metal grazed your thigh. A moan escaped your throat as he unsheathed a serrated knife and caressed your skin with the dull side.

“I wouldn’t want you to stop,” you gasped, almost vibrating with anticipation. “I don’t want you to stop — Helmut — please don’t stop.”

He chucked again, before focusing his attention on the area between your legs. You bucked slightly as the icy knife slid underneath the fabric. He made one strong slash upwards and you felt the fabric fall away from your wet core. One of his hands gripped your ass, but only for a second before he tore the rest of the fabric from your body.

“How could I ever withhold something from you, liebling?” His nose grazed your inner thigh, inching closer and closer to where you needed him most. It was only a moment before you felt his breath between your legs.

“How cruel it would be,” he growled. You moaned and slapped a hand over your mouth as he kissed your sensitive bundle of nerves. “To not give you everything.”

His tongue swirled against you in a tantalizing pattern, stroking you deliciously. He licked you methodically like he was reading the blueprint of your body right then and there. He held each thigh in a punishing grip, pressing you deeper into the cushions as he made a meal of you. The stars above your head blurred and the universe shifted.

If this was your destruction then it was illustrious. You'd do it over and over again until you landed in a cell right next to him.

“Helmut,” you whined with a heaving chest.

“Tell me what you want,” he mumbled between flicks of his tongue. “And it is yours.”

You would’ve begged him to let you cum but he beat you to it, making your back arch and mouth fall open in ecstasy. You trembled beneath him, over and over, but he didn’t let up. Your legs strained from being extended by his unflinching hands. You tried to stutter something out to him but no sound came except for content sighs and haphazard gasps. But his eyes remained closed regardless of the noise.

Without his mouth on you, he would’ve been mistakable for a good Christian, deep in prayer. Brow's furrowed in focus and devotion; lips moving in silent divine appeals. Only he could make you feel worthy of an alter. You couldn't picture anyone ever worshipping you in the same way again. It was his, you thought. I am his.

Lost in pleasure and shock, you reached up to run your nails against his scalp. Only then did he release you, and raise to meet your waiting lips as they trembled.

“You,” was all you could manage to whisper. “Only you.”

He pulled you from the seat, to wrap your legs around him. You brought your forehead to his and let him pepper you with chaste kisses.

“When I have you,” he said, before pulling the coat around you again. “It will be in a proper bed.”

You stared at him, confused and overwhelmed. The space between your legs ached with a longing to be filled but he let your legs fall away, and stood up.

“We can’t…I mean not now — they’ll hear.”

Zemo smiled and nodded while looking for something on the ground. After a moment of searching, he picked up the torn pieces of the red underwear you had been wearing. Before you could retrieve it, he pocketed the shorn fabric and stared you straight in the eyes.

“Worry not, Y/N,” he purred, reaching a hand out to help you up. “We have all the time in the world.”

[ironwoman359]

You Don’t Own Me (You Don’t Even Know Me)

Chapter 4

Navigation: Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6

Summary:  As the son of a Baron, Roman Sanders always knew that when he married, it would be due to a political arrangement rather than true love. Still, when he is sent away to marry an older, more powerful Earl, he is determined to make the best of his situation. Despite the Earl’s indifference towards him, Roman forges ahead and prepares to become the best husband he can possibly be, making new friends along the way. But when his fiancé’s demeanor turns from cold to cruel, Roman must shift all of his focus to survival, and find a way out of his marriage before it’s too late.

Ships: Logince, side Moxiety and Dukeceit

Content Warnings (overall): arranged marriage, abuse, attempted sexual assault, murder, poisoning, character death, hurt/comfort, angst Chapter 4 Warnings: possessive behavior, verbal and physical abuse, angst, allusions to abuse and murder 

Word Count: 4067

Read on AO3: here!

A/N: Co-written with @5-falsehoods-phonated​, check out his masterlist here and check out mine here! 

---

“And when I tried to get down, Remus spooked the pony and it bolted, with me still clinging to the saddle for dear life.” 

Virgil snorted, then immediately brought his hand up to cover his smile. 

“You wound me!” Roman said dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. “Eight-year-old me was certain that his life was going to end, and you’re laughing?” 

“I can’t help that the mental image of you dangling off the saddle of a pony and screaming your head off is the funniest thing I’ve seen all week,” Virgil replied. 

“Be nice, Virgil!” Patton scolded, even as he fought back giggles of his own. “I’m sure it was very scary at the time!” 

“You’re telling me,” Roman agreed. “I wouldn’t set foot near the stables for a month.” 

“I can’t believe that after all that you somehow grew up to be a competent rider,” Virgil said. 

“Well, I probably wouldn’t have if it weren’t for my older brother Remy. He started taking me with him when he went out on his rides; I felt a lot safer riding double with him than I did by myself.”

“Your brothers sound wonderful,” Patton said, smiling. 

“Oh, they’re the absolute worst,” Roman said. “But also I love them more than anyone.” 

“I hope we’ll get to meet them at the wedding!” 

Roman’s smile went brittle around the edges, and he forced himself to nod. 

“I hope so too,” he said quietly. 

Patton’s brow wrinkled, and Roman knew that look, that was Patton’s “I’m worried about you” look, and as much as he had come to view Patton and Virgil as his friends, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to get into the whole “my twin brother ran away from home to escape noble life and I haven’t seen him in years and might never see him again” topic with them just yet. 

“Well this has been great,” Virgil cut in suddenly. “But it’s getting close to midday; I need to get back to work, and you need to get to your little lunch date.” 

“Excuse you, it is a perfectly professional business meeting!” Roman protested, and Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Sure it is. That’s why you meet with Logan every single day and always perk up or get this silly smile on your face whenever you mention something that he said, most of which has nothing to do with business.” 

Roman gave Virgil a deadpan look. “Do you really want me to retaliate right now?” he asked, glancing pointedly at Patton. 

Virgil’s cheeks flushed pink, and he waved Roman away. 

“Go on, then!” he said. “Go have your perfectly professional business meeting.” 

“I will!” Roman said primly, but as he stood to leave, he shot Virgil a grateful smile, and Virgil nodded in return. 

After parting with Patton at the house’s entrance, Roman made the short trek down to the library alone. He hadn’t been sure how he would manage living at the Howard Estate at first, but his life had settled into a predictable yet comfortable routine since the engagement banquet. 

Patton brought breakfast to his room every morning, and after Roman insisted several times that he preferred the company, Patton now stayed to eat with him most mornings. After breakfast, Roman changed into his riding clothes and the two headed down to the stables together, where Virgil was waiting for them with Angel. Roman took his morning ride, and Patton and Virgil did whatever it was they liked to do when they were alone together. 

When he returned, Roman helped Virgil groom Angel, and the three of them often fell into easy conversation with one another. At midday, Roman took his lunch in the library with Logan, and he spent the afternoons on his own, exploring the mansion or indulging in his creative hobbies. All in all, his days were mostly pleasant, until dinnertime, of course. 

His nightly dinner with Lord Howard was, to his disappointment, the most boring and uncomfortable part of Roman’s day. It became clear to Roman after a few attempts of engaging with his fiance that Lord Howard wasn’t even slightly interested in talking with him; what he wanted was somebody to talk at. Roman sat, night after night, and listened to the earl rant about frustrating business partners, idiotic city officials, and even tiny annoyances like a scuff on his boot or a fly in his office. It was difficult to not feel like an emotional punching bag, and Roman always left dinner exhausted from playing the polite, doting fiance that Lord Howard expected him to be. 

Roman stepped into the library, and smiled when he saw Logan sitting at a table beneath a window, the afternoon sun casting golden beams of light through his long hair.

At least there were more positives than negatives to living at this estate. 

“Ah, Roman,” Logan said, smiling as he approached. “Excellent timing, I was just beginning to review my weekly report for Lord Howard. Would you care to assist me?”

“Always,” Roman said, sitting down across from him. 

They poured over the receipts and summaries and work orders together, and Roman couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer amount of work that Logan did every single day. 

“Honestly, Logan, you do almost too much for the earl. Especially considering what he pays you.” 

Roman had seen the payroll receipts for all the staff, and he couldn’t help but be a little insulted on the servants’ behalf. One of the ways Lord Howard kept costs down was clearly at the expense of his staff. 

“While I may agree with your sentiment, the fact of the matter is that if I did not do all this, the estate would fall apart,” Logan said. “And regardless of any...personal feelings about his lordship, there are far too many people who depend on him and his estate for me to consider stopping.” 

Logan paused, frowning as he scanned a document, then sighed. 

“For instance, his lordship neglected to sign off on a shipment of new armor to the city guard, despite my reminding him to do so three times in the last week.” 

He scrawled something along the bottom of the document and set it aside, and Roman raised an eyebrow. 

“Was that Lord Howard’s name you just wrote?” 

Logan fiddled with his glasses, and he glanced around the room before answering. “This is...not the first time that his lordship has neglected his duties on what he perceives to be minor issues. I, uh...take the liberty of correcting such oversights for him.”

“You can forge his handwriting?” Roman translated, and Logan nodded sheepishly. “That’s amazing!” 

Logan blinked, looking up at Roman in clear surprise. “I...it is?” 

“Are you kidding me?” Roman exclaimed. “Of course it is...you’re so talented, Logan, really. I’m not exaggerating when I say you’re wasted as a secretary.” 

“Oh...well, thank you, Roman,” Logan said, his cheeks flushing slightly pink. “I must admit, you also have far more potential than his lordship would care to acknowledge.” 

“I’ll get him to see sense soon,” Roman insisted. “Then maybe together, we can make some real changes around here!” 

“I wish I shared your optimism,” Logan said with a sigh. “But I am glad to share your company, at least.”

It was Roman’s turn to blush, but before he could think of a reply, the sound of footsteps caught his attention, and he looked up to see Patton approaching their table. 

“Sorry for interrupting, Kiddos, but I’ve been asked to fetch Roman here and get him ready.” 

“Get me ready?” Roman asked, and Patton nodded. 

“His lordship requests your presence at a business meeting he has in an hour with other estate holders. I’ve been instructed to dress you for the event and bring you to his lordship.” 

Roman forced down the twinge of discomfort in the back of his mind at the earl choosing an outfit for him like he was some sort of doll, and grinned as he got to his feet. 

“You see, Logan?” he said. “This is our chance!”

“If it is a meeting with other nobility, then I’m afraid I won’t be present,” Logan said. “Lord Howard does not wish for...commoners to be present at such negotiations. He instructs me on what measures need to be taken afterwards.”  

“That’ll be the first thing we change then, once I make him see reason,” Roman said. “You’ll see, this is going to be the start of something great!” 

“I hope you are right,” Logan said with a small smile. “Good luck, Roman.” 

“Thank you, Logan,” Roman said as he followed Patton out of the library. 

I’ll certainly need it. 

--- --- ---

Roman fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair, shooting a glance over to the earl to make sure he hadn’t noticed. The silky fabric that his pants were made of stuck uncomfortably to his skin and made his legs itch horribly, but he had been in similar attire before and had had plenty of practice in the art of keeping his poise while screaming internally. Thankfully, even though he was seated right next to Lord Howard, he had yet to draw his attention. Howard had been too occupied bragging about his various business exports for most of the meeting to pay much attention to him. 

Even through his discomfort, Roman had been learning a lot about his fiance, dutifully keeping mental notes on everything he heard, from which parts of land he had inherited to which ones he had bought or negotiated into owning. Overseas businesses and local investments both let his power reach farther than one might first suspect, and all that put together was what kept the Howard Estate with its acres of land, sprawling mansion and extensive grounds and highly specialized staff all running smoothly. 

It was a lot to manage, so it made sense that Lord Howard had Logan figure out most of the work and only signed off on the most important things himself. Having someone as competent as Logan run things in the background so the true estate head could make the actual appearances as the business leader was a strategy many nobles used to keep their properties under control. 

Craning his neck to look up at his fiance from his lower seat, Roman furrowed his brow in thought. He wondered just how much Logan did that the earl never saw anything about until he reaped the benefits of it. Sure, Logan was extremely capable, but relying entirely on one person to manage everything seemed a bit foolhardy to Roman.

Tuning back into the conversation, Roman perked up as another lord gestured stiffly at a stack of documents in front of him, smooth calculation clear in his tone of voice. Negotiations were something Roman had always prided himself in handling, and handling well. He had often spoken circles around his own father in their practice debates, and it was rare that Roman participated in a discussion without gaining something in his own favor. 

As neither party at the moment looked particularly stressed, Roman figured with a slight twinge of disappointment that such measures shouldn’t be needed this time. He would have liked to show off just a bit and make Lord Howard see what a useful asset he could actually be in their marriage, but he supposed that could wait until a more appropriate opportunity.

“I have most of the influence in this field anyway. Signing your bit of land over to me now would cause fewer problems for you in the future; especially if I don’t have to take it by force when I’m looking to expand.”  Punctuating his statement with a firm tap to the papers, the opposing lord sat back with a satisfied smirk.

The icy glare Lord Howard fixed him with was enough to wipe the smirk fully off his face, however, and he tilted back slightly as the earl leaned forward to fold his hands smoothly in front of him. 

“I’m not in the habit of signing away what’s rightfully mine, Lord Rilken, Baron of Vilvik.”

Roman flinched slightly at the way he practically spat the other man’s title…a title he shared, and had never once felt insecure about until this very moment. The way he spoke to these men, these people in positions of power, like they were nothing but dirt to be brushed off his own much more impressive riches- it was enough to make Roman want to run all the way back to his own estate and beg for another way, plead to wait for someone else to ask for his hand or to find someone himself. He stiffened in his seat and shook the irrational thoughts away. 

No, this is how one played the game when negotiating important matters. Put up a cold and intimidating front until the other person backed down or bent to your own suggestions. If anything, Lord Howard's act was admirable; it almost immediately shut down any arguments, even if it hardly held any semblance of tact. Realizing this would be a good opportunity to show his skills, Roman leaned forward and placed his own hands on the table in front of him, gaining the attention of the opposing business owners quickly.

“It might prove advantageous to you both to simply form a partnership and share the land and business potential it holds. With as much power as the both of you hold over this branch, you’d be able to expand much faster and reap more benefits than you would if you spent all of your time attempting to take control over the others’ sections.” Pleased with himself, Roman glanced over to Lord Howard, expecting at least to have impressed him since he hadn’t really had the time to explain all that he had been trained in and what he could bring to the estate with their union. 

However, as he met Lord Howard’s eyes, ice ran through his veins. The earl was glaring, staring him down like a particularly resilient bug that he could hardly wait to smash beneath a steel-toed boot. The room went so quiet that Roman could swear that the other nobles were holding their breath, and glancing around in his peripherals, he saw everyone sitting around the table gawking at him as if he’d just committed high treason. Had he really said something so wrong? Was this not what was customary, nay, expected behavior of the soon to be co-owner of the estate? Shrinking down slightly as his ears burned red, he finally lowered his eyes as the earl turned away. Roman heard him take a deep breath before saying in a deliberately controlled voice:

“You must forgive my fiance, he hails from a country estate you see; he isn’t accustomed to the way things work here yet. If you would be so kind as to excuse us for just a moment so that I may explain a few things?” Not waiting for an answer, the earl stood and held out his hand for Roman to take. “If you would step into the hall with me, dearest?”

Recognizing the order under the request, Roman stood quickly and took Lord Howard’s hand, wincing at how tightly he was gripped and practically dragged out of the room. The door was opened just a bit too forcefully to calm his nerves in the slightest and he watched as Lord Howard seemed to barely refrain from slamming it back closed, instead closing it with deliberate calm before whirling around to face him and jerking his hand out of Roman’s to tower before him.

“Let me make this perfectly clear, you do not speak out of turn in these meetings. You do not speak above me or-”

“But I didn’t! I was only-” Roman didn’t register what the dull smacking sound echoing in his ears and making them ring was until pain bloomed and spread from his lower jaw to his entire cheek. Raising his hand to his face in disbelief, he felt a bit of wetness and looked to see blood on his fingertips. Fear and horror twisted in his gut as he realized one of Lord Howard’s rings must have caught on his cheek and opened a cut. His jaw ached and his teeth felt numb; the blow had been hard enough to rattle them in his skull. Romans looked up and flinched as he saw Howard’s hand still raised to strike should he choose to speak again, and he shrunk in on himself in an attempt to seem too small to expend more energy on.

“You,” The earl spat, “do not speak above me, or make suggestions on my behalf. You are not here to offer up useless opinions that were not asked for or needed. You were brought into that room to sit obediently and look pretty on my arm and that is the full extent that your role will ever be. Have I made myself clear?”

Roman hesitated for just a second too long, and Lord Howard reached down to grip his chin, tipping his head so he had no choice but to look his assailant directly in the eyes. “My dear, I believe I asked you a question, and I expect an answer.”

Biting back a whimper Roman nodded as much as he could with his face trapped in the steely grip. “Yes my lord, I understand perfectly. I apologize for overstepping, it won’t happen again.”

The answer, as demeaning as it had felt to say, seemed to appease the still seething man, and Howard dropped his chin and stepped back with a wolfish smile. 

“Very good, see to it that it doesn’t. Now, I believe we’ve been here long enough. If you’re done blubbering, you may join me.”

Startling a bit at the choice of phrasing, Roman hesitantly reached up to touch his face, wincing as he realized there was more than just blood on his cheeks. Taking a deep breath, he carefully wiped the tears away before plastering on a small smile and moving to stand just behind the earl. He was loath to go back into the room like this, humiliation and blood reddening his cheeks, but he didn’t dare speak up for fear of more punishment. As Lord Howard opened the door and moved back to his place at the head of the table, he hardly spared Roman another glance, and Roman had no choice but to meekly follow. 

Sitting down, Roman realized most of the people at the table were staring at him like one would a fresh kill, their expressions a mixture of pity and approval while they averted their eyes. Sinking down even lower as the meeting resumed, he realized this was to be the second part of his punishment. He was to learn and remember his role as Lord Howard’s betrothed and eventual husband. Sit still and look pretty, step a toe out of line and be punished, and make sure everyone in the room knew that the power held over him was just as absolute as the power the earl held over everything else. 

“I’m pleased to know some people still know how to keep common folk in line. Truly, the disrespect-” Roman’s ears rang as someone close by whispered to another just loud enough for him to overhear, making him want to sink down even lower and let the floor swallow him. 

The meeting continued on for what seemed like forever, but unlike before, Roman didn’t absorb a single word of what was said. The voices of the other lords washed over him as he sat as still as he could, hands clenched in his lap to keep them from trembling. When at last Lord Howard stood, Roman almost stood up next to him, but caught himself just in time and sent a questioning glance up at his fiance. 

Lord Howard’s lips curled into a smile, and he held his arm out to Roman in invitation. Roman swallowed down his revulsion and stood, slipping his arm into the earl’s and schooling his face into a pretty smile. Lord Howard covered Roman’s hand with his own, and Roman’s skin burned at the touch. 

“Well gentlemen, this concludes our discussion for the day, I do thank you all for coming.” 

One by one the nobles stood, nodding to Lord Howard as they filed out of the room. Roman’s cheeks heated as several of them swept their eyes over him as they passed, their gazes lingering on the bruise blooming on his face. When at last, every one of them was gone, Lord Howard turned his attention to Roman, all false pleasantries gone from his expression. 

“I trust that after today, any...confusion about your role here has been cleared up?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. 

“Yes, my lord,” Roman whispered, and the earl smiled. 

“Good. Now go clean yourself up. Dinner is at seven o’clock sharp, and I expect you to look presentable.” 

“Yes, my lord,” Roman repeated, and as soon as Lord Howard dropped his arm, he practically bolted from the room. 

He hurried through the corridors of the mansion, head down and eyes stinging. When he finally reached his room, he all but slammed the door behind him, and collapsed to the floor, his shoulders shaking as he released the sob he’d been holding back for the past hour. 

He let himself cry, for how long, he wasn’t sure, not only for the sting on his cheek and the shame that came with it, but for every doubt, every grief, every pain that he’d pushed down and bottled up over the past month.  

After everything he’d been through, everything he’d sacrificed, was this really his fate? Chained forever to a man who only saw him as something to own, to display, to use... 

Roman lifted his head slowly. 

“Remember all that we've taught you, and you'll do fine." 

His father had taught him everything he knew about business, about politics, about matters of the state. He knew how to act with decorum, how to spot an opportunity, and how to charm a room while negotiating, all thanks to his father’s teachings. 

But now, with tears running down his face and a bruise blossoming on his cheek, he remembered another set of lessons. 

Lessons his mother had given him as a teenager, after time had run its course and he was no longer the slightly awkward, gangly kid he had once been. 

“You’ve grown into a handsome young man,” his mother had said to him on his eighteenth birthday. “Your father believes that when you are married, it will be purely for political reasons. You need to know that this may not be the case.” 

Roman had tried to forget the lessons his mother had passed down to him, had told himself that he would never need them...but here he was, sobbing on the floor, the first of what he knew would be many marks on his skin if he didn’t tread carefully. 

Roman learned everything he knew about running an estate from his father, but he learned everything about acting from his mother. Thanks to her, he knew how to conceal his emotions, how to smile when his stomach rolled over and how to sigh when his skin burned. He knew how to mold himself into the perfect husband, because if he did not let himself be molded he would find himself broken before it was too late. 

“Too late for what, mother?” the younger him had asked, eyes wide and horrified, and she’d smiled in a way he’d never seen before. 

“Did I ever tell you the story of how your grandfather died?” 

Roman knew what situations were most likely to result in “accidents,” what weapons were easily concealed and what poisons were difficult to detect. He knew how to pluck a nose hair to bring tears to his eyes and slap his cheeks so they appeared flushed. He knew how to appear calm and collected when he was suffering, and how to appear stricken with grief when all he felt was relief. 

He had been preparing for marriage his whole life...every kind of marriage. And now that he knew the kind of husband that Lord Howard really wanted, he knew exactly what kind of husband he was going to be. 

Even if he wouldn’t be one for very long. 

--- --- ---

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[eternalglitch]

Like Father Like Son: Chapter 1

Prologue

Arc 1: Chapter 1

“Ha! Your loss, brother,” Donnie crowed, holding up the complete popsicle stick with a flourish.

Read it on HERE on ao3.

Chapter Specific Warnings: no specific ones (please see the general ones listed in the prologue) 

Chapter One: a Night Like Any Other

“Ha! Your loss, brother,” Donnie crowed, revealing the last complete popsicle stick with a flourish.

Leo glowered at the half of a stick that was left in his hand, his brow furrowed as he stared at the stick like it would give answers as to why it had betrayed him so. “Why did we switch to drawing sticks for pizza runs? What ever happened to a good old game of rock-paper-scissors?”

“Mikey kept losing,” Raph said, already fishing one hand around inside of their collective pizza fund’s jar. “So I figured this would be a little more… fair.”

Mikey, perched on the table next to Raph, rubbed the back of his head, his cheeks flushing a bit as he looked to the side. Raph patted him encouragingly on the head as he pulled his other hand back out of the jar, counting up the coins in his palm.

“Fair? How is this fair Donnie clearly cheated!” Leo complained, jabbing an accusatory finger in Donnie’s direction. “Look at that- that look on his face! He clearly did something!”

“I would never.” Donnie crossed his arms, raising one of his sharpie eyebrows in mock hurt. “And, really, Nardo? You were the one holding the sticks at the start. How would you propose I even did that? Where is your proof?”

“Well, what about ordering it in? What ever happened to that?” Leo pressed, waving his hands around in large, dramatic motions.

Mikey swung his feet forwards as he slid off of the table and landed on his feet with a small bounce. “It’s a pickup special night!” he said. “We get two whole pies for the price of one!”

“And so, of course, we ordered four,” Donnie deadpanned, typing something into his wrist watch. “Now, if you please, I estimate the pizza will be out of the oven in exactly eighteen minutes based on the last twenty times we ordered it, so be on your way now. Shoo shoo, go go.”

“But- couldn’t April-“ Leo kept trying, but Raph pried open Leo’s right hand and pressed the change into his palm.

“C’mon, Leo, the pizza’s gonna get cold. We did this fair and square.” He stared at Leo, putting on his puppy eyed pleading face, and Leo couldn’t exactly say no to that look, now could he.

Leo sighed loud enough to make sure everyone heard it, but tucked the money away in his pouch. “Fine,” he grumbled. Raph patted him encouragingly on the shell as Leo passed by to head for the nearest ladder to the surface. “But I call dibs on the first slice!” he called over his shoulder. He chuckled as he heard a faint “boo” echo behind him.

Leo approached the slightly rusty ladder that lead up to the nearest sewer lid, and glanced up at it. He reached for the first rung but hesitated, considering his options.

“Actually, let’s take a shortcut,” he murmured, unsheathing his sword in one smooth motion. His reflection winked back at him as he drew the sword forwards and started to carefully draw bigger and bigger circles in the air. With a soft crackle, a blue portal snapped into existence, vibrant and brimming with energy.

The only problem was that it was too small for Leo to feasibly fit through it.

“Fine,” he sighed, sheathing his sword. The portal winked out of existence, and Leo started to painstakingly ascend the ladder. “Looks like we’re doing this the old fashioned way.”

It was late, but New York still bustled on, lights making the alleyways and corners appear that much darker. Leo remained there, in that twilight area between the human and the yokai world, with a practiced ease as he ducked into an alleyway and scaled a drainpipe to get to the roofs.

He’d never admit it, but he didn’t actually mind going on these pizza runs. Sure, it was a bother, and he could be watching the Jupiter Jim movie that Donnie had no doubt resumed watching without him right now (of course, Raph would make sure they rewatched the parts Leo missed), but it was sometimes nice to just have some space. The feeling of his feet slapping against the buildings as he jumped from one to the next, the way the moon always looked bigger and brighter at this time… even the distant screeches of the weirdest things New York had to offer, like fake wizards or a small group of mutant silverfish or even that more recent group of flat earthers. It was comforting… it was familiar.

He made it to their favorite pizza place in record time, crouching low on the opposite rooftop as he scoped out the situation inside of the pizza parlor. “Couldn’t just get Hueso’s, could they,” he muttered, squinting as he tried to spy which pizza box set out had their names on it. “Just had to make me figure out how to get the pizza from the “no mutants allowed” area.”

He spotted a stack of four boxes, one with a short word on top that maybe said either Leo or Raph; it was too far away to be sure. “Okay, this time for sure,” he muttered, drawing his sword again.

It was like a video game; wait for the waiter to pass, avoid the chef setting out more pizzas, aim, and… bingo! A blue portal popped up next to Leo and above the pizza boxes. He reached both hands in, fishing around for the edge of the boxes as he squinted against the blinding blue light suddenly right in his face. He felt the edge of the top box and followed it down, snatching the four hot boxes and pulling them against his chest. The portal started to shrink, and Leo threw the money from his pouch into it just before it vanished. They ate here far too often to be banned for dine and dashing.

It was rare to have four pizzas to carry though; normally there was just the one that they all split. Even if it was just paying for two tonight, Leo decided that dad must have been in a good mood. There was no way Raph had enough money for two pizzas stored up, they always ate through their pizza money the second they had any available. Perhaps he was just impressed that his four sons were genetically related to the movie star Lou Jitsu? That was definitely something worth celebrating.

Leo carefully picked up the four boxes, using his chin to press down on them to make sure they didn’t fall. He turned a bit, staring back at the multitudes of roof tops he now had to jump across with precious cargo. The smell of melted cheese was now heavy in the air, and his stomach growled loudly. Leo wilted, slumping over the boxes in his arms. “There has to be a better way to do this,” he said. He glanced at his sword. “What do you say? Two outta three?”

The sword, of course, did not give a response, nor did it apparently feel like going for two out of three. After waving it around and cursing it a lot, Leo had to come to the conclusion that slowly jogging back was the only way to go.

It was painstakingly slow compared to the trip over, and the smell of the pizza made it feel that much more unbearable. Leo was so caught up in making sure his packages were delivered safely, however, that he remained unaware to the presence of two small gargoyles watching him from overhead.

“Hey there!” a voice chirped, and Leo startled, nearly tipping backwards into an alleyway he had just hopped over.

He glanced upwards, eyes flicking from place to place until his gaze landed on what he was looking for. Two small little black bodies, barely held aloft by small wings, greeted him.

Leo squinted at them, perplexed. “Do I know you?”

One of them flew forwards, his sharp little face nearly touching his. “Know us? Of course you know us! We’re Huginn—“

“-and Muninn,” the other added helpfully.

“Right, right. And Muninn,” the gargoyle continued. “And we’re the official henchmen of none other than-“

“Oh, wait, right,” Leo realized. “You’re Baron Draxum’s shoulder pads!” He whirled around, completely missing the slightly offended and proud looks on Huginn and Muninn’s faces as he focused instead on scanning the rooftops while his grip on the pizza boxes tightened.

Was Draxum here? Not that Leo was scared or anything- of course not- but, well, he didn’t exactly dream of fighting murderous mutants by himself.

At this point, Leo realized the gargoyles were still talking, but it was too late to tune in now; if Draxum appeared, he wouldn’t be ideal to fight alone, especially while his stupid sword was on the fritz. The gargoyles had come closer to him now, and were hovering directly in his way. “Sorry, we’ll have a chat later; gotta go!” he shouted, shoulder checking the two gargoyles so they were sent spinning out of his way.

“Hey!” an indignant voice shouted as Leo leaped into the air, scrambling to not drop the pizzas as he dropped and rolled onto the next roof. He ended the roll clumsily on his back, rocking slightly as he skidded forwards on his shell, and had to use forwards momentum to leap back onto his feet. One pizza box slipped and he barely saved it from hitting the ground.

“What, not even a greeting? I thought you’d at least have the decency to stay and exchange a few words!” The voice was right behind him already, and Leo jolted, glancing backwards. Right. They flew, of course he couldn’t lose them so easily.

“Wasn’t he supposed to be the funny one?” the other gargoyle asked from behind him.

Leo started running again, not allowing himself to stop and catch his breath. “Wow, my brothers really ordered rush delivery,” he managed to say in between gasps. He glanced over his shoulder and winced when he saw the two keeping up with his pace. Was he out of shape? No way. It must be him trying to balance four pizza boxes while doing this.

At that thought, his eyes darted back down towards the pizza boxes, and Leo groaned as a very bad idea struck him. “Nooo don’t make me choose,” he whined, legs still pumping as fast as he could go while awkwardly holding everything. “You guys are the worst! Just for making me do this! You hear me?” he yelled over his shoulder at the two pests that were still right behind him.

He grabbed the top pizza box- sorry Raph- and threw it like a Frisbee at one of the gargoyles- Huginn, maybe? Really, they looked kind of the same to Leo. Huginn avoided it, his sharp little face grinning wider than he had already been doing. “Ha, you missed- gah!” He vanished into an alleyway beneath them, this time Donnie’s pizza acting as tribute.

“Haha!” Leo cheered. “Score one for the turtles! Donnie, you owed me for stealing my allowance last week anyways.” His gaze swung to the remaining gargoyle, whose eyes widened.

“Uh,” Muninn squeaked. “Can we maybe talk about this?”

The pizza box hit him in the face, and he tumbled into the alleyway after the other one. Leo paused, leaning over the edge of the building to watch Muninn crash right on top of Huginn, who had been trying to climb out of a dumpster. The force of the fall made the lid swing shut on top of both of them.

“Well,” Leo said, scratching the top of his head. “Talk about taking out the trash.” He glanced down at the remaining box in his hands. It was, not surprisingly, the box with his own name on it. “Aw man, the pizza though,” he groaned. “Maybe I overreacted to two flying rats- er, gargoyles. But they better not make me pay for it. This wasn’t my fault, obviously.” He pondered it for a moment, pacing on the rooftop before the thudding and distant cries of trapped gargoyles made him stop. He crouched down to stare at the dumpster before nodding. “Right. Well, they never need to know about this. If I just say that maaaybe there was like, eight bad guys, or- or maybe even Baron Draxum himself, they won’t even be able to be mad! It only makes sense that I had to make sacrifices!”

“Oh, well, in that case, maybe I can help you out.”

Leo reacted immediately, his hand shooting to his sword’s hilt as he unsheathed it and whirled to face Draxum behind him in one fluid motion. The yokai stared down at him, a smirk on his face, as he stepped down off of the purple roots that had lifted him onto the rooftop.

“I came here to ask you-“

“Absolutely not, I am not facing you on a rooftop again,” Leo interrupted. He glanced down at the last pizza. “Sorry,” he whispered, before he wound his arm back and hurled the box at Draxum’s face. Clearly a pizza box assault was the last thing he was expecting, because the yokai just stood there and took the corner of the box right in between his eyes. The box crumpled and opened just enough for gooey cheese to cover his face, and more importantly, his eyes.

Leo didn’t wait another second; he took off again, gripping his sword tightly as one hand fished around in his pouch for his cellphone. He furiously punched in the numbers and held the phone up by his earhole. “C’mon Raph, pick up the phone, pick up the phone, pick up the phone.” There was a moment where the ringing dial tone continued before Raph’s voice answered.

“Raph! Quick, I need- aaaaand that’s a recording,“ Leo realized as the pre-recorded message he had heard so many times continued. “Why didn’t I call Donnie? He’s the one always glued to his technology, Raph sometimes forgets to charge- whoAH HEY THAT’S NOT OKAY,” he yelped, skidding to a stop as purple roots burst from the cement right in front of him.

His momentum lost, his arms pin wheeled furiously as he attempted to turn and keep going. The roots shot towards him, and he jumped, landing on one before hopping onto the next. A grin grew on his face as he realized that he just had to keep moving, and he did a flip in the air before gracefully landing on the next one. “Annnd he sticks the landing!”

There was a cracking sound, and Leo’s face froze as his phone fell apart with a small tinkle of scattering glass and electronics. A smaller root had spearheaded his phone from behind, puncturing a perfect hole through the center.

“Wha- this was the worst welcome reception I’ve ever experienced!” Leo wobbled as the roots shifted, Draxum appearing just above him on another root. The yokai flicked off the last string of cheese from one of his horns, face almost expressionless as he stared down at Leo.

“There’s nowhere to run,” Draxum said, a smug smile finally crossing his lips. “Now, why don’t you make it easier for both of us and just come along quietly?“

Leo’s eyes darted towards his sword. “Oh, is that what you think?” he asked. “Because I’m just getting started!” He jumped, bringing the sword down on Draxum, who blocked it with one armored arm with ease. His orange eyes narrowed, and Leo had just enough time to brace himself before he was sent hurtling backwards, skipping across building tops like a pebble across water.

Leo finally stopped when he hit an advertising billboard with a cracking sound, denting the metal and sliding down into a seated position. The familiar sound of cars and chatter cut off, a loud ringing sound filling Leo’s head instead. He blinked a few times, opening his eyes to stare up at the clear night sky. To the rest of New York, it was just a night like any other, but right now... “Ugh,” he groaned, pressing one hand to his temple. He felt sick and dizzy, and through a blurry gaze he could see Draxum gliding towards him on his roots. Leo tried to stand, but his legs shook, and the urge to throw up only seemed to grow with each movement. He wobbled, and had to use his sword as a crutch to prop himself up. “I knew fighting him up here was a bad idea,” he muttered.

Through the ringing, Draxum’s voice took on a sinister tone, the yokai approaching Leo slowly, as a cat cornered its prey. “That wasn’t very impressive, was it?” he asked. He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow at Leo. “Want to try that again?”

“No,” Leo managed to get out, leaning against the bulletin board. “But I am willing to try this.” With a shaking arm he used his sword to draw a circle in the air between him and Draxum. The portal burst into life, small, but not small enough that it wouldn’t work. For once, Leo didn’t even care if he got the destination right; he just moved, only able to focus on getting away.  He dived through the portal, arms outstretched as he made a last ditch desperate attempt to get the hell out of dodge. And, for a second, he thought he made it, the familiar sewer air kissing his face as he made it through the portal. He even managed to portal home, too, with what felt like a concussion on top of everything else going on. His brothers would be impressed once they hear about his adventurous night out, Leo thought, woozy but pleased.

He turned to watch the portal snap shut, but then he felt it- a hand on his ankle, nails digging into his skin, a grip tightening and tightening until it hurt and with his already bad balance Leo was easily being yanked backwards, the sword clattering to the floor besides him, and he was being pulled back through his own portal-

He scrambled blindly at the floor, searching for something to grab onto, but he couldn’t reach anything; he needed help-

Where is everyone-

This is bad bad bad-

“Guys?!” Leo yelled, kicking at the hand. He saw stars. “Anyone? Da-!”

And the portal disappeared, almost as if it had never been there.

Only a sword remained, forgotten on the sewer floor.

(Chapter Two ->)

[remmushound]

Curse of the Clans part 29! @scentedcandlecryptid @brightlotusmoon

Michelangelo was waiting patiently outside the door with Baron Draxum. How Renet had managed to get the two of them past the invisible Gyoji was a mystery to Michelangelo, but she managed to pull it off. He really didn't want to have to fight a hovering, invisible yokai, but if it fell to it he was sure he could take on this Gyoji! The two of them weren’t allowed to enter the Time Lord’s chambers just yet, though; Renet had been concerned about how her teacher would react to such a sudden intrusion and opted to be the one to explain the situation to him. Every second Draxum and Michelangelo spent out in the open, the empty hallway stretching out on either side of them, was another second they risked getting caught and punished by The Overseer.

“This is a waste of time” Draxum grumbled for what must have been the hundredth time since they arrived.

“Just wait~” Michelangelo said, confident in Renet, “You’ll see.”

“I’ll see that we’re wasting time.” Draxum replied bitterly, too quiet to hear.

Michelangelo folded his hands and continued to wait. Finally, the large golden doors creeped open and Renet was there to beckon the mutants inside. Draxum looked to Michelangelo with one final look of skeptical disapproval before both entered.

Walking into the Time Lord’s room was more like walking into a nursing home. The air was sharp with the smell of sterilization and all lights but one dim lantern in the corner was darkened. Decorations in the room were very few, the only furniture a bedside table that held a dark lamp, and a bed that held the Time Lord.

The yokai looked almost human. Just as Renet, however, he had scales across his face and his limbs, but his were more gray than blue and almost peeling off of pallid and sunken skin. His robes were the most beautiful shade of deep navy blue, golden tassels hanging around his collar and sleeves, beautifully intricate designs criss-crossing the soft fabric. If Michelangelo hadn’t known any better, he could have mistaken the Yokai for a corpse! But he was breathing, and corpse’s didn't breathe.

Renet rolled over to her teacher’s side and placed her hand on his, taking his hand and rubbing her thumb across the back of it. The hand reached weakly to grip Renet in turn; the other was tucked protectively over something that Michelangelo couldn’t quite see.

“Sultan Simultaneous…” Renet said softly, her voice clear and slow, “This is that friend I was telling you about.” Renet waved Michelangelo closer, and he obeyed.

Walking to the Time Lord’s side, Michelangelo could get a better view of what he was holding: a staff. It’s shaft was a translucent blue with mass to it, and floating around inside were the spiraling shapes of atoms bouncing every time it hit the barrier of the staff. At the very top of the staff was a swirling hour glass, secured by another aura of blue almost like a crystal ball and held in place by a blue atom. On the bottom half of the hourglass was a pile of beautiful, golden sand.

“Hi, Mister Sultan!” Michelangelo said, trying to keep his voice quiet and polite as possible. “It’s nice to meet you!”

The only response he got from the old man was a low, raspy breath. Michelangelo hummed and waited a few more seconds, looking to Draxum with a concerned, doubtful look. Draxum was practically smirking with the belief that he was proven right. Michelangelo looked back to the Time Lord.

“I really need your blessing to save my Clan…” Michelangelo said. He got to his knees so he could be closer to the Sultan and did his best pouty, begging lip. When he got no reaction, he grabbed his Kusari-fundo and held it out to the old Time Lord. He pushed the weapon closer, hoping the ancient peri was able to see it. “Please… I just need a mystic weapon and I was told you could do it! Please…”

Again, there was only a gentle breath sound that followed. Michelangelo frowned and looked to Draxum once again.

“Ready to admit that this was just a massive waste of time?” Draxum growled.

“This has to work Draxum…” Michelangelo whimpered. “I know it will! He fits Bishop’s description!”

“Are you quite certain you can trust this… Bishop?”

“Yes.” Michelangelo said; the words felt bitter and meaningless on his tongue. “Maybe you can try talk to him?”

“Really?” Draxum huffed. “That yokai is one wrong breath away from turning to dust.”

Michelangelo turned his pathetic, pleading face to Draxum. Draxum scrunched up his nose and tried to ignore the expression, looking away to escape the sympathetic effects. Michelangelo followed him, forcing the faun to witness the sadness.

“UGH! Fiiine!” Draxum finally relented, and Michelangelo’s pout turned into a grin. The mutant yokai turned to face the bed, clearing his throat and ready to address the Sultan. Before he got the chance, however, there came another voice to interrupt.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO THE TIME LORD?!”

~~~

Michelanelo felt an overwhelming surge of guilt that contrasted Baron Draxum’s smug attitude; in his eyes, he was right. They hadn’t been able to get the blessing like Michelangelo was sure they could! And they had wasted… how long had they been there? Michelangelo hummed and looked around. It couldn’t have been that long, right? Why couldn’t he remember…?

The shouting from the other side of the door brought Michelangelo back to reality, and the terrible scolding was even louder now that the mansion was empty; the music had stopped and there were no yokai left hanging around. The Overseer had seen to that. Now the haunting melody of silence was all that echoed down the hall. The lights were still on and just as bright as ever, working only to give Michelangelo a major headache.

“Draxum…?” Michelangelo asked, “Is it our fault the party ended…?”

“Of course it’s our fault! If you had thought before you—“ Draxum’s words fell short as he turned to face Michelangelo. The box turtle had his head tucked into his shell, his shoulders bunched. His eyes were the only thing peeking up over the edge of his plastron, and they were pleading and sad. Draxum took a deep, slow breath. “We did nothing wrong, Michelangelo. We just have to find a different way to get the blessing. I… must admit that this was the best lead we have, and while your thought process was flawless, the… way you went about it was all wrong. We can try again, Michelangelo— I’m stubborn, as you know— and this time we will get it right!”

The door creaked over. Michelangelo went stiff, but Baron Draxum remained as relaxed as he always was. Renet rolled out of the room first, with Gyoji close behind. Judging by what he could see of the furniture inside, Michelangelo guessed the room must had been Renet’s; most of it was decorated in the same beautiful, sparkling blue of the peri’s makeup and scales, the bed low to the ground with handrails on both sides. The vinyl floor was spotless, enough space between the scattered furniture for Renet to be able to maneuver herself freely. The walls were decorated with posters of yokai that Michelangelo didn't recognize, but assumed must have been from a yokai equivalent of a comic book or superhero movie. He didn't see much more of the room before Gyoji closed the door.

Before the disappointed-looking overseer could say anything, Michelangelo ran forward to meet them. “Mister Gyoji-sama I am so sorry—“

“I-it’s fine.” Renet gave a sad, tired smile, “I told him it was all my idea. You’re not in any trouble.”

“Please don’t punish Renet!” Michelangelo pleaded, hands pressed together as he fell to his knees before the floating yokai.

“You disobeyed the rules of my home.” Gyoji said slowly, his voice soft but still commanding the respect of the subordinate mutants. “You agitated my master.”

“He didn't seem to mind!” Michelangelo tried with an anxious grin, “I don’t think he even realized we were there!”

Michelangelo realized too late that the words had been the wrong thing to say when Gyoji’s eyes flashed red with rage. Renet was quick to snub out the anger by interrupting Goyji before he could speak.

“I should have never taken you to meet him in the first place.” Renet said. Her voice was cool and haunting now, the bubbling rush that Michelangelo had grown to love entirely lost to her quiet sincerity. She gripped the armrests of her wheelchair and lifted herself up so she could push herself against the backrest and sit up a little straighter. “You should go, Hamato Michelangelo.

“But I really need—“ Michelangelo began to say.

“To go.” Renet repeated slowly. “I wish you the best of luck with your Clan. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more, but I’m not a Time Seamstress yet!”

“Aww that’s not your fault Renet— wait whatchu mean not yet?” Michelangelo’s voice shifted dramatically, going from soft and reassuring to a sharp and almost Brooklynn accent as he put a hand on his hip.

“I’m just a student right now!” Renet sighed and rested her head on her hand. “If only you had come a few years later and I could have blessed you!”

Michelangelo and Draxum looked at each other, and then slowly back to Renet.

“So you’re saying you’re… a… time seamer…?”

“Seamstress~” Renet sing-songed, “In training.”

Michelangelo gawked, and Draxum facepalmed.