#because the us and france could definitely stand to return some things too

[talentlessmuse]

It would pretty definitely get me kicked out, but I would love to take a group of people on a "Stolen Antiquities Tour" of the British Museum. We would go through the museum, and I would identify the artifacts, where they were stolen from, their cultural importance, how long they've been separated from their homeland, and which nation would very much like their things back now. If, by some miracle, I were to actually get to the end of the tour, I would conclude with a discussion about how the British Museum's refusal to return these items is just a modern continuation of their Imperialist history, laying claim to things they have no right to.

I would also strictly enforce a no harassing the staff policy. Most of them are just trying to make a living, and they are not the ones responsible for the refusal to repatriate artifacts. That decision is made higher up the chain.

[teecupangel]

What if Desmond is reborned in Unity as Elise's or Arno's baby brother?

Oh, oh. I can think of 3 main ideas we can play with.

Now, before anything, we’ll set up some rules that all ideas must adhere to (all of which came from the premise of every Yew Branch I’ve written):

Desmond remembers his life as Desmond Miles

Desmond will have his ancestors’ memories and skills but those memories will be vague

With that out of the way, let’s get to how Desmond could screw up AC Unity’s plotline:

1 Desmond is reborn as Arno’s baby brother and he grows up with Arno.

I think that Arno would be a responsible older brother, maybe kinda like how Ezio was with Petruccio.

Considering it’s only them, Charles would have definitely emphasized to Arno that Desmond’s safety is his responsibility.

Arno’s protectiveness would definitely go through the roof once it became clear that Desmond is a bit of a ‘strange child’ while Desmond is half-exasperated and half-delighted because his new family is definitely leagues better than William Miles and his wife.

There’s no way in hell Arno would leave Desmond alone to play with Élise while they’re waiting for Charles.

Not to mention, Desmond would definitely try to act like the big brother and say ‘go, I’ll wait for father’ and that would only make Arno want to stay with Desmond because that’s what a good big brother would do.

In this scenario, I can see Élise joining them instead, playing where the Dorian brothers are waiting and, when Charles comes to pick them up, he would recognize Élise and maybe they’d even escort her back to her father.

Now, this is where things can go either way. Even before Versailles, Desmond would have realized that Charles is an Assassin which meant that he would definitely be paranoid, using his Eagle Vision every so often. In this scenario, either Desmond sees Shay approaching and warns Charles OR he’s too late and he and Arno see Shay kill Charles.

And that’s where we will have two different routes we can take:

1.a Charles Lives and Arno and Desmond become Assassins under his tutelage

In this scenario, Arno and Desmond would have a brotherly relationship similar to Federico and Ezio with Desmond being the ‘Federico’ and Arno being the ‘Ezio’.

Charles’ main task in the Brotherhood is to travel around the world and, now, it’s to protect the precursor box that the Assassins gave to him.

This means that Arno and Desmond would be raised on the road and seas, maybe even on the run and hiding from Shay Cormac who will definitely be looking for them.

And then everything comes to a head when they returned to Paris to help the Brotherhood as the sociopolitical unrest in France starts to boil over.

In this scenario, Arno and Desmond would probably remember Élise but there would be no messy love story between Arno and Élise. They would be one-time playmates turned wary allies as Élise would be trying to find who killed her father and the brothers would have the same goal because Élise’s father had been close to finalizing a truce between the Assassins and his more moderate Templars.

Bellec may or may not betray the Brotherhood. If he does, it would be Charles that would stand against him (with the help of his sons).

Shay would probably make an appearance in Paris later on because he learns Charles is there.

Desmond would be with Arno and Élise when they fight Germain and Élise won’t die. Whether Arno and Élise would actually end up together though… hhhmmm… I’ll leave it to you, nonny.

1.b Charles dies and the de la Serre takes the Dorian brothers in

Desmond would definitely find out that the de la Serres are Templars. It might take a few years, he’d probably spend a year or two grieving Charles’ death and being there for Arno, but he’ll definitely find out.

During that time, Arno would develop a crush on Élise.

Once Desmond is sure that they’re Templars, Desmond would be faced with two choices: stay with the de la Serre who have been nothing but kind to them (although they do tend to be treated like servants at times too but that’s fine) or he gets Arno to run away with him and try to live on their own

If Desmond tells Arno they should run away, Arno would say no because he likes the de la Serre and he doesn’t understand why Desmond would want to leave. At this point, it’s either Arno would tell the de la Serre Desmond’s plan and Desmond would run away alone (leaving Arno) or Desmond finds a way to get Arno to agree to leave with him.

Staying with the de la Serre will also complicate things

1.b.1 Desmond stays with the de la Serre

If he stays with the de la Serre, it would be more of “I wanna see what the Templars are planning” than any gratitude he might feel for the de la Serres.

He won’t stop Arno from getting close to Élise.

The de la Serres would probably not realize Desmond is spying on them and Desmond would know when Élise has started her Templar training. That’s when Desmond would advise Arno to be careful.

Arno would think that Desmond doesn’t approve of Élise and they would start their whole secret relationship.

Either Desmond doesn’t find out because he’s busy trying to spy and not getting caught or he knows about it but doesn’t say he knows because he wants to honor his brother’s choice.

Monsieur de la Serre still dies and the plot of Unity kicks off with Desmond and Arno becoming Assassins.

Arno wants to find out who killed Monsieur de la Serre, Desmond is just there to make sure Arno doesn’t do anything really dumb.

Bellec still betrays the Brotherhood and Desmond is the one to kill him.

Germain still happens but Élise lives in the end.

1.b.2.a Desmond and Arno run away together

If they successfully run away, Desmond would use his Eagle Vision to find the Assassins. Either they find the Parisian HQ first and get taken in by the council (maybe even Mirabeau?) OR Bellec finds them first and he takes them in.

If they grew up with Bellec as their foster father, there’s a high chance that Desmond would be able to stop Bellec from betraying the Brotherhood later (through the power looovvee logic and reasoning).

They get trained as Assassins and when AC Unity kicks off, they’d be part of a 4 member squad and perhaps even in charge of de la Serre’s death (which was given to them because of their history).

Élise and Arno would have a bitter ex kind of vibe in their relationship and Desmond gets caught in it, along the lines of ‘he chose you instead of me’ or ‘I left her for you’ and their squad will tease that it’s like a fucked up loved triangle between Arno, his biological brother, and his foster sister (all said in jest, of course).

1.b.2.b Desmond runs away alone

If Desmond runs away alone, he would be the only one that gets taken in and raised as an Assassin.

He’d always check on Arno but never show his face.

Arno, on the other hand, would feel absolutely guilty for what he’s done. He’ll try to run away too to try and find Desmond but he’d get caught every time.

At this point, either de la Serre gets into contact with Mirabeau to talk about Arno or, and this is the more dramatic route that would definitely make everything messier, Élise gets Arno to be trained as a Templar, maybe even whisper to Arno that they can look for Desmond as Templars.

Élise’s party in AC Unity will now be a party for both Arno and Élise as they are inducted into the Templar Order.

AC Unity plot happens with Arno and Élise working together as Templars while Desmond takes over Arno’s parts in the game.

This would definitely have a kind of ‘Abel-Cain’ setup between Arno and Desmond with Desmond being the ‘Cain’ as he doesn’t trust the Templars and Arno is torn between his loyalty to the de la Serre and his brotherly love for Desmond.

Might even come to blows with “You left me.” “Well… you made it clear who was your real family is back then.”

2. Desmond is Arno’s half-brother, born after their mother left Charles and Arno

In this scenario, I think it would be interesting if Desmond meets Arno when he joins the Parisian Brotherhood (maybe after their mother’s death and she tells Desmond the truth on her deathbed?).

Depending on their age gap, Desmond could join the Brotherhood during AC Unity’s main game plot OR during Dead Kings DLC.

2.a Desmond meets his half-brother during Unity’s main game

Desmond would act more like Arno’s partner during missions. They won’t have any familial bonds so there are a lot of awkward talks and sometimes they just ignore their familial ties and act more like two colleagues trying to get to know one another.

There will be bonding moments of course but things will come to head after Desmond tells Arno that he’s too focused on Élise. The two of them will have their 3rd act break up at this point.

Desmond would be the one to find Arno drunk after Élise ‘dumps’ him. There might be a one-sided fistfight as well because they’re both idiots.

This is the scenario where Élise living has the lowest percentage, not because Desmond would let her die (of course not) but because there’s a possibility that Desmond wouldn’t even know what Arno and Élise were planning until it’s too late.

2.b Desmond meets his half-brother in Dead Kings

In this scenario, Desmond would be a ‘novice’ tasked to retrieve the missing Arno Dorian

Dead Kings still happens although with additional bonding moments between Arno and Desmond

Their relationship will be more: Desmond is the exasperated assistant of a grieving/brooding Arno

They will also bond over the death of loved ones (in this case, Desmond would probably relate because he still feels the pain of Maria’s death)

Léon gets adopted by Desmond. He likes to call Desmond and Arno his brothers.

And finally:

3. Desmond gets reborn as Élise’s younger brother

This is honestly going to messy, might even be messier than Desmond running away without Arno plot (probably).

First of all: Desmond won’t run away from the de la Serre because they love him and he loves them. He also won’t realize that he’s been born into a Templar family until it’s too late and he already loves them too much to betray them.

Depending on the age gap between him and Élise, he could either be there when Charles Dorian dies and plays with Arno too or he meets Arno after Arno becomes a ward of the de la Serre.

Regardless, here is the plot point that I kinda don’t want to do but, at the same time, I kinda want to just for the sheer unnecessary soap opera level drama it would add to the mix: a Love Triangle between Arno, Élise and Desmond.

To be more exact: Arno having a bi-crisis of epic proportions because he develops a crush on both Élise and Desmond growing up.

Desmond is oblivious to it, Élise is not.

At this point, either we go down the love triangle route OR Élise would do an ‘I want my beloved to be happy’ and be Arno’s wing woman.

Either way, Desmond would develop feelings for Arno as well which he would mistake for just ‘fondness’ because Arno reminds Desmond a lot of Ezio.

Desmond learns that their father is hoping to finalize a truce with the Assassins and he supports it because he loves his father and he still remembers how much Connor had wished he and Haytham could have found some common ground (until Haytham fucked that up and Connor was too angry to even try again).

Desmond and Élise get inducted at the same time and their father dies.

This is where AC Unity’s plot starts to get messy because, to Desmond, this isn’t about Assassins and Templars right now.

This is revenge. He’s the calm one to Élise’s hot-headedness and Arno is taken in for the ride because… well… Arno’s a dumbass who fell in love with a Templar(s).

And now Bellec thinks Arno is being corrupted by the two de la Serres

Élise won’t die in this one. There’s no way in hell Desmond would let that happen.

Pairing-wise, it could honestly go with Arno x Élise, Arno x Desmond or Desmond x Arno x Élise XD

Plot points that will happen regardless of which idea we go for:

Desmond’s skills will compare him a lot to his older sibling (Arno or Élise). There’s gonna be feelings of inferiority going on, that’s for sure.

If Bellec raises Desmond and Arno, he would be kind of a hardass but he would be ‘loyal’ to them. Even if he goes through with his plan to betray the Brotherhood, he would probably let either Dorians kill him because he can’t kill them even if he tries.

Desmond is the best recruiter of the Assassins. He will refuse to do any recruiting as a Templar.

Desmond would be super sus of Germain. He might not know what a Sage is but he knows something is giving him the heebie-jeebies whenever he’s near Germain.

Germain would have a hard time hitting Desmond with the Sword of Eden for some reason. (probably related to the device Desmond activated)

Desmond will definitely try to contact Connor one way or another. Whether he is successful in finding Connor though is up in the air.

[twilightmalachite]

Raison d’être - The Nameless Girl 7

Author: Akira

Characters: Shu, Mika

Translator: Mika Enstars

"Hmph. Because if I am to be motivated, I need you to be too."

⚠️ Content warning: Contains mentions of suicide.

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Season: Winter

Location: Apartment in France

Mika: (But… When one partner can’t contribute, the other’s gotta stand strong!)

(I gotta do my best!)

(But, uu~, I seriously feel like runnin’ away!)

(I’m lyin’ to Oshi-san��)

(Turnin’ away from reality, coverin’ it up, glossin’ it over…)

(Even though I always wanna be honest to Oshi-san.)

Shu: Ka~ge~hi~ra~?

Mika: Nnah? Whats it this time? I, I-I, I’m not lyin’ ‘bout anythin’!?

Shu: Hah? Your attention was distracted again, wasn't it—I was telling you that lunch has been prepared and it’s time to eat. What’s with this overreaction?

Mika: Nnah, yer right, it smells real good…♪

Shu: Your extraordinary ability to concentrate is a virtue, but it’s not good to become so absorbed in one thing that everything else gets neglected.

Don’t be the kind of idiot that gets hit by a car because they were in thought.

Here. This is not genuine foie gras, but I attempted to recreate the taste and texture to the best of my ability using the ingredients I had on hand. You wanted to try it, didn’t you?

Mika: Nnah… T-Thank ya kindly. Yer bein’ so kind, Oshi-san, it’s creepy!

Shu: Hmph. Because if I am to be motivated, I need you to be too.

While the Funeral Contest has no definite deadline, the other contestants are going to outwit us at this rate.

So we need to hurry up and decide on at least a concept for our funeral soon.

Mika: Ahaha.

Shu: You laugh out of context sometimes.

Mika: Nnah~… It’s jus’~, ya said “our funeral”, so it sounded like we were gonna do a double suicide together.

Shu: I understand where you’re coming from, but I do not understand why you would laugh at that.

Mika: ‘Cause wouldn’t that be wonderful? If we die together, we’d go to hell together fer eternity~…♪

Shu: Even I said that I do agree with you, it would be imprudent to talk about death so lightly! Well, I suppose it is a little late for that.

Actually, I wonder if that’s the case… I’m not able to come up with any ideas, because I do not typically talk about death.

I had been opening that by deciphering the diary and nearing my Grandfather’s past would at least give me a start on things.

Mika: An’ we struck out there, didn’t we? Right…

Shu: But it wasn’t completely for naught. Hence, why I am still here in Paris.

According to the landlord, who knows my Grandfather’s past well, it seems the past as described in the diary is more or less accurate.

The sole thing that appears to be a fantasy is only the existence of the fictitious woman named “MADEMOISELLE”.

That, and the other things the historian who translated them pointed out; since some of the entries contain facts that anyone including my grandfather could not have known at that time—

I can conclude that while not a pure diary, it could be a recently written novel.

One with facts portrayed that, according to the landlady, are astonishingly accurate.

Of course, the landlady is quite old, so her memory appears to be a tad hazy in several areas.

In fact, she seems to have quite the rough time simply reading through it… Well, it is a diary written in a language that is not of her mother tongue, so that’s understandable.

Mika: Umm, did’ja have the historian translate it into French, or somethin’?

Shu: Yes. As we’ve been doing things so chaotically, time has only been flying by.

Myself aside, as I live in Paris; Kagehira, you must have work to do in Japan.

Your visa is reaching its expiration, so how about you return to the country for some time?

I’m sure Nito and Kiryu, who are assisting us for some reason, are concerned as well, so I’d like you to meet them face-and-face and fill them in.

Just a brief summary, of course. I just feel that genuinity is lost over the phone.

Mika: R-Right… What ‘bout you, Oshi-san?

Shu: I intend to continue to look into things through talking with the landlady, and by paying my Grandfather’s acquaintances and properties she has referred me to a visit.

Even if those diaries are nothing but fantasies, the depictions of my grandfather spending his youth here are fact.

I would like to believe that there is still significance in experiencing and finding meaning in it.

[ ☆ ]

← prev | story directory | next →

[the-firebird69]

This is a chateau in France no it's actually Zurich and it is a very very old Palace and castle it's just ancient is built in the year 180 ad now a lot of people don't get this but the deer and the antlers those are not from UMass. There is evidence of some sort of break-in and they hardly took anything it's famous because there were a series of murders in the house and people who moved in there would die so I thought it was inhabited by a ghost and it's like the last house we looked at that had some strange footprints but really that was dried blood and then he stepped in but not really something that matters and because Trump is the one with that type of boot and he's going back there and other creeps do too it's not the only one Jason doesn't quite often and VGA always returning to the scene of the crime and you can use it as evidence what they look for is odd stuff really the looking for people who are still there. Nobody was here it is in France and the idiot doesn't know how to look for stuff doesn't know where things could be there's tons of hidden doors and walls and Chambers and he's a moron and he's a wasted damn time he's just going in there and thinking people are impressed that he acts like a puma and that's what he actually and who cares some sort of animal stand for your feet kind of just reinforces it no it definitely reinforces your an idiot and just an animal I'm sorry that you can't remember that one word I guess we're going to have to pound it intotoo. It was terrible I was thinking about a 3-year-old child to discipline when he trying to run it Galaxy or something I'm tired of this I'm ordering it to be done I hear what you're saying you had to get it done or it is you and that's true.

So many people have died around here for just sitting here and getting sick he'll say loose home because people don't want to help is here our son getting beat up he's trying to have them drink water it's good for you and trying to eat food and make some sad images I encouraging it and one day his number one guy got up and live himself on fire outside the courtroom and everybody on Earth knows she's the people are wimps with money it's tried to go after them so he pulled the robots out and he got caught and now he's in trouble with the law in the United States they're putting warrants out on John remillard AKA Donald Trump and they're doing it for several reasons one of the biggest is that he is constantly committing treason out loud he is calling for people to commit atrocities and sabotage things when he said in the news and they're charging him with these crimes now all sorts of people all over the place are doing it but they're finding out that he is a humongous terrorist humongous and fighting did not figure it out until later but he said this guy is disgusting and he is a gross person I'm the one who near my son I don't wear my daughter and grandson anyone anybody near him is going to get disgusted so the word is starting to get out that he is a repulsive and abhorrent killer and takes lives for the inappropriate reasons that you're hearing about and you should not be near our son he is a philandering idiot as well and he's calling himself that in court if you could hear our son saying those times have won since past people don't put up with it like they used to he says what are you telling me for did you sound like a freaking caveman what you're saying is ridiculous and he says you're kidding said no out of your mouth talk comes the most something incriminating stuff I've ever heard of you're running around America admitting all the all these asinine crimes and he's trying to giggle a little he started to giggle and he said you're kidding me I said why don't you ask your lawyers whatever you want and so he asked his lawyers and he said do I seem like a child so Trump looked at him and said you're fired for taking the enemy side and the lawyer said what you're saying in public is illegal to say and you're threatening me if you fire me I'm going to charge you with the crimes that you should be paying for so he said I'm sorry I didn't mean it a few minutes later he said pick up your stuff and get out and the lawyer said no I'm going to take my stuff that's mine and he's one of his people and he called his in and he's taking his stuff out and Trump is saying not that and not that and not that and the lawyer said shut up or I'll tell you violated your gag order again and he said you be quiet and you said no I said you'd be quiet you're a nobody now no one's going to represent you in America and I'm going to make damn sure that happens and our son said you better Lock and load and get ready to take a shitload of money and stuff and kill him and see when I ammo so he goes that's great it says this is what it really happens so he got ready and he's still killing off these weird pussies I'll tell you what we need to come in here and finish this John reborn guy off right now he needs to die he is a massive loser and we need to kill him every day so it's a big day for the lawyers his team quit it said another case but it's this one as well and the some guys that look like him that look like them that are going to come in and they're going to check their identification and if they're not the people they have to be sworn and these guys won't get three sworn cuz they're impersonating so that's going on the diamond store is saying real world stuff the Trump next door is saying gross stuff about our son and I want teams in here now

Thor Freya

Olympus we are sending teams but we're requesting volunteers again and you can come back if you did before just make sure you get here we need you now here in punta Gorda

[muraeeeeena]

𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐬 / 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Part 5

Summary: you are getting tired from working in fashion industry in general and for Baroness in particular. Old friend from France offers you work in an interesting project and you finally decide to leave the industry. What definitely doesn't fit in your plans is a new redhead girl in big glasses called Estella

a/n: week was exhausting so this one is really short

Feedback is always appreciated

Updates on Mondays and Fridays

Word count – 0.85k

Warning: spoilers for "Cruella" (2021), smoking

(@miphas-trident @scruffyumbreon @gayarchnemessis ) 

• • •

Everything was upside down. Press has written about "Black and White ball" multiple times pointing out it's awful organisation, Baroness was furious because of that and this mysterious Cruella didn't make the whole situation any better.

What kind of gossips have you heard in the next few days! Imagination of your collegues was focused on discussing if Cruella's appearance had to do anything with a robbery attempt. What you didn't expect was that Estella, surprisingly, was interested in this subject too! You, on the other side, didn't have this much time to spend it on talking, so Estella was using your shared lunches as opportunity to discuss it. Slowly, thanks to her, you got interested in Cruella too. You had no idea who she was or what she wanted to do but Estella had a bunch of theories about it. Your favourite one was about Cruella being a hired actress who just distracted guests while robbers tried to break into the safe of Baroness.

Because of the previous failure the standarts in "House of Baroness" have risen (even though you thought there was no place to raise them anymore). Now you needed to focus on the Valentine's day show and make everything perfect. It was hard considering that you were running off the energy.

• • •

The work day has ended. If it was the normal one Estella would stay with you and work few extra hours but today she was busy with something else. You were left alone in the giant building, with nothing else to do but sew and think about Cruella.

What was her purpose? Was it her fault that the ball has turned into the mess? Will she make a new move?

Scissors started to fall from your tired arms.

And she had such a standing out style... intresting, how would she look in...

You yawned.

Yes, it would look great! And with that it would be even better...

At some point you took your sketchbook and started to quickly draw there silhouettes of dresses and costumes that were popping in your mind one by one. With Cruella as a model, for some reason, it was really easy to create the design. Thanks to her white and black hair, she was almost like a cartoon character...

You traced a final line and proudly looked at your work. Considering that it was created at 2 AM... it wasn't bad.

Your eyelids started to fall and you comfortably stretched out on the table. You will need only one minute to rest and you'll return to work. Yeah, only one minute...

• • •

A hand on your shoulder was soft and warm. It gently shaked you and somebody whispered in your ear:

"Y/N...Y/N".

You rolled from back on the side and continued sleeping. The voice grew stronger.

"Y/N!"

You didn't respond. After few silent minutes you heard how someone was flipping pages of your sketchbook.

This made you wake up in a second. Estella was standing in front of you and she was curiously looking through your drawings. Her hair were messy and she looked sleepy too in general.

"Wow", she turned another page.

You reached for your sketchbook and grabbed it as fast as possible. Your heart pounded in your chest.

"What were you doing?"

"Just looking at your works... why are you so nervous?"

"Don't take my things without permission. Especially sketchbooks", Estella starred at you and nodded. She didn't say anything but you could see a question in her eyes.

You hoped she didn't see anything with Cruella. You had ripped off the list and put it in your pocket. You had to get rid of it before it will get rid of you. Even though Estella was nice, you didn't trust her a lot.

You couldn't wait for this work day to end.

• • •

During the lunch you didn't go in the park, instead, you went in the whole other direction.

It didn't matter where to go. You just needed to make sure that Estella won't notice and follow.

Quickly, quickly, quickly...You just needed a trash bin.

Here it is! The design was ready to be thrown there. You pulled it out and... something stopped you. Even though it was, in fact, the root of the problem, the design was great and it was hard to get rid of it that easy.

You reminded yourself that it wouldn't be safe to keep it. Focusing, you shaked your head and tore the design up in four pieces that immediately got into the trash bin. You sadly exhaled and headed to the bus station.

There is no place for being pity. If Estella tells Baroness about it...

No. She won't.

You shaked your head again.

At least you hoped so.

And lost in your thoughts, you didn't see how one redhead girl in big leopard glasses appeared from the corner and started to rummage in the bin. When she has finally found what she was looking for, you were already in the bus, on your way back to the "House of Baroness", completely unaware of everything.

[marauderundercover]

The Strings that Bind Us: Chapter Two

AO3

Prev

Marinette dances around her apartment, feeling lighter than she’d felt in years. She had dinner on the stove, a movie on the table, and her boyfriend of two weeks coming over in ten minutes. Honestly, she couldn’t remember a time when she’d been happier. She grins when she hears the knock at her door. Quickly pulling the pan off the heat, she rushes over to the door, nearly falling on her face in her rush. Without even checking the peephole, she throws the door open and grins widely at Bruce. He smiles back at her and she kisses his cheek quickly.

“Hey, dinner’s almost ready.” She says, tugging him in and closing the door.

“You really didn’t have to cook tonight, we could’ve ordered in.” He says, and she turns to him, wrinkling her nose.

“Bruce, I’m honestly worried that all you ever eat is takeout.” She says flatly. He just laughs, and shakes his head.

“Mari, I can assure you I don’t always eat takeout.” He says, snaking his arms around her waist. She raises an eyebrow, giving him a softer version of her Ladybug stare. He just grins and leans down, kissing her gently. She instantly melts into the kiss, standing on her toes to try and deepen it. Just as he lifts her up, the timer goes off and she groans.

“I’m going to throw that damn thing out the window.” She gripes, giving him a quick peck before jumping down and pulling the pan with the steamer off the heat. “Could you grab some plates?” She calls over her shoulder, focused on moving the dumplings out of the steamer. She smiles as she does, the familiar feeling of working closely with someone she cares about washing away all of her worries. She grins as she feels Bruce’s arms wrap around her waist again as he nuzzles his head into her neck. She just hums in content, dishing out the dumplings and veggie stir fry. She could honestly get used to this.

---

Marinette blinks sleepily as she sits up on the couch, trying to figure out when she fell asleep. Glancing around, she smiles tiredly at Bruce.

“C’mere.” She says, reaching out for him. He chuckles.

“I’ve gotta go, Mari.” He says softly and she whines.

“No, don’t leave.” She asks, smiling in success as he sits back down next to her. She leans up against him, almost back asleep when he says:

“I have to go love, but I’ll stay until you fall asleep.” Well that’s not gonna happen. She pushes herself back up and forces her eyes open, frowning at Bruce’s laugh.

“If I sleep, you’re gonna leave.” She says with a pout. Bruce kisses the top of her head and she melts into his touch, eyes fluttering shut and- NO. Stay awake.

“How about I come back in the morning and we can have breakfast together?” He suggests and she sighs, leaning against him again.

“Fine, but I’ll get you to stay sometime. The nightmares always stay away when you’re here.” She says sleepily. He says something, but she doesn’t process it before she’s asleep again.

---

“Bruce, hi?” Marinette says, blinking in confusion at her boyfriend.

“Hey Mari, you didn’t forget about breakfast, did you?” He asks with a teasing smile. She frowns, as she tries to remember when they scheduled that. Her eyes widen when she realizes he definitely asked her last night. When she was half asleep. And had no filter.

“Oh my god, please tell me I didn’t say anything too embarrassing last night.” She begs, hiding her head in his chest. He chuckles.

“You mean besides the proposal?” He asks. She gasps and jumps away.

“No, I didn’t- did I-” She stammers out, pausing when she realizes he’s barely holding back a smile. She narrows her eyes. “You are an absolute ass, Bruce.” She says, glaring at him. He shakes his head.

“I’m sorry love, it’s just so easy to tease you sometimes.” He says, leaning in to kiss her. She huffs, but kisses him back, the butterflies exploding in her stomach. After a few more dizzying kisses, she pulls back, taking a deep breath.

“So is there a reason for our random breakfast date?” She asks, trying to decide how she should dress as she was still currently in her pajamas.

“I actually thought we could talk about a few things.” He says, with a small wince. Her heart drops.

“Are you breaking up with me?” She asks, terrified of his answer. His eyes widen and he shakes his head frantically.

“No, oh god no, Mari, I- I just wanted to tell you some more things about me, let you decide if you want to get out now.” He says, and she lets out a sigh of relief before jumping forward and wrapping her arms around her boyfriend’s neck.

“As long as you aren’t secretly a super villain, you couldn’t get rid of me.” She assures him, sighing as she feels him relax. She steps back and grins at him. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I thought that maybe we could drive through somewhere and grab something quick, then go to my place?” He suggests, and though it sounds simple enough, she can see his nervousness.

“Bruce, if you don’t want me to-” She starts, but he shakes his head.

“I want you to be in my life. I’m just worried that you’ll see me differently.” He says and she kisses him quickly.

“Well let me go get dressed so that we can go and maybe reassure you that I’m not about to run for the hills.” She says softly before rushing back to her room to get dressed. Her mind runs through a million different scenarios as she gets dressed, but she honestly can’t think of one where she would just leave him. Minus the whole villain thing. That was the only deal breaker she could think of. Shaking her head, she grabs her purse before walking back into the living room and grinning at Bruce. He smiles back and grabs her hand, but she can practically feel how nervous he is. She raises an eyebrow as he opens the car door for her.

“Do you not like it?” He asks, and she snorts.

“Bruce, honey, I have no knowledge on cars except this one is shiny. And a different one than I’ve seen you use before.” She says, grinning as she manages to make him blush slightly.

“Oh, uh, well. I like this one more, and thought it would help with the conversation.” He says and she raises an eyebrow. How would a shiny car help with a conversation? She just gets in the car, frowning at the person across the street taking a picture of them. Once Bruce is in the car, the person walks away and she narrows her eyes.

“I don’t mean to alarm you, but that person definitely just took a picture of us.” She says, surprised that instead of getting angry, Bruce just sighs.

“Marinette, how much do you know about the Wayne family?” He asks.

“Well, I know that they own Wayne Enterprises and that Wayne Enterprises owns a lot of Gotham. And they do a lot of charity work, but that’s about it.” She admits, grinning sheepishly. She’d meant to look into it more after Bruce told her he works at Wayne Enterprises, and especially after she heard a customer talking about a recent attack on the building, but she’d forgotten and now she felt like an idiot.

“My last name is Wayne.” Bruce says, and she just shrugs.

“Okay, so you’re related to the Wayne Enterprises people?” She asks, and he sighs.

“Mari, I am the Wayne Enterprises people. I’m Bruce Wayne, CEO of the company.” He says and she suddenly understands. It’s just like when she was in lycée and Adrien got nervous around people who knew he was an Agreste. Her amazingly sweet, smart boyfriend was worried about what she’d think about him now. She reaches out and grabs the hand that he had left between them, squeezing it tightly before smiling.

“And my last name is Dupain Cheng. My parents own one of the most successful patisseries in France. I adore you, mon cher, because you’re you. Not because your last name is Wayne.” She reassures him, he smiles at her softly and she laughs. “Look at the road, Bruce. I’d rather get where we’re going in one piece.” She says.

“There’s something else, Mari.” He says. She hums and raises an eyebrow. “I have two sons.” For a moment she panics. She didn’t know anything about being a mom, the most she’d been around kids was when she babysat throughout school. Before she can let herself spiral, she takes a breath. He wasn’t asking her to be a mom all of a sudden, he was just telling her. He was opening up.

“How old are they?” She asks, grinning at the wide smile he gives her in return.

“Dick is 18 and recently moved out. Jason is 13.” He says and Mari frowns. Was Bruce a teen dad? He hadn’t mentioned their mom, did he do it all on his own? That must’ve been extremely stressful. It couldn’t have been easy. And the company? It- “I can see you panicking, love. What is it?” He asks, frowning.

“You must’ve been a teenager when Dick was born! Did you do it all on your own? How in the world could you run a company and be a father so young and-”

“They’re both adopted.” He says, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

“I was so concerned for little you!” She exclaims. “I felt so awful that you had so much responsibility so young.” She admits and he chuckles.

“Trust me, even if I had been a teen parent, I wouldn’t have been alone. Alfred would have been there for me.” He says.

“Alfred?” She asks.

“Technically he’s the Wayne family butler, but he’s more like a father to me than anything else.” Bruce explains and she grins.

“He sounds amazing.” She says and Bruce smiles awkwardly.

“I was hoping you’d say that. I wanted to introduce the two of you. Today.”

Next

Tag list: @maribat-october-rarepairs @stainedglassm @kittenmywaythrulife @laydeekrayzee @doll246 @queenz-z @deathssilentapproach-blog @literaryhiraeth @unoriginalmess @ashbrea381writings 

[reidyoulikeabook]

Personal Google

4 times Spencer knows the answer, and the 1 time he doesn’t.

Summary: Spencer is your own personal Google. He always knows the answer to anything you ask him.

Warnings: Pining, slow burn-ish (?), reader and Spencer are both idiots who aren’t acknowledging their feelings for each other. Some mentions of a case and case-typical violence. No references to the gender of the reader!

Word count: 2k (this ran away from me)

A/N: Part two to this is here!

Requests: open!!

“Hey Spence?” You call, barely looking up from your phone as you scroll through Twitter, “What’s a hedgefund?”

“Are you reading about the GameStop stock?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

He clears his throat, and you look up at him, “Okay. A hedgefund is a way for accredited investors to invest in a way that minimises the risk to their own assets. Without getting too complicated, because it can get really convoluted, it’s basically just a way for rich people to get richer a lot of the time because a prerequisite for investing in the majority is having a high net income or a high net worth to begin with.”  

You smile, “So basically rich people are getting screwed?”

“Something like that.”

“Good,” You respond, putting your phone away.

You swear you hear a little laugh escape his mouth as he turns back to the computer at his desk.

***

You’re sat on the jet, in your usual seat next to him, when everything starts to go pear-shaped. It jolts a little, sending you knocking into his side. You grimace.

“It’s just a little turbulence,” Hotch says, “Probably because of the storm coming from the East. We should be landing soon.”

Rationally, you realise there’s nothing to be afraid of. But it’s easier said than done to keep rational when the plane’s rattling like a pack of smarties and your head is bashing against Spencer’s bony shoulder every five seconds.

He senses your unease, tentatively reaching across to take hold of your hand. His instinct is to supply statistics about plane crashes but something in him tells him you won’t respond too well if he tells you the odds of getting in a small plane crash are higher than a regular commercial flight but still lower than the chances of being involved in a motor vehicle accident. Instead, he chooses a different tactic.

“It’ll be alright, we’ve been in the air for two hours and,” He squints at his watch, “Forty-three minutes. This flight’s two hours fifty-eight tops.”

You nod, “Hey Spence?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember this morning when you were telling me about the French dancing plague and we got interrupted by the call about the case?”

You don’t have to say anything more, he immediately launches into a spiel about France in 1615: the death of crops, how the people felt they were being spited by God, the whole thing. He gestures wildly with his free hand, but the hand that lies atop of yours doesn’t budge an inch. You rub small circles on it with your thumb, which goes unacknowledged. Privately, you’re a little disappointed. Privately, he’s afraid you’ll stop if he points it out.

***

It’s been a long and fruitless day. The local PD had been worse than useless, they were so reluctant to accept that anybody from their town could possibly have been responsible for what was going on that it felt like a constant battle to get anything done. You’d been out interviewing possible witnesses from the local bar. Well, trying to, you would have been a lot more successful if the Sheriff hadn’t constantly been under your feet, undermining your questions and generally resulting in making you look like an idiot.

Hotch had chewed him out in the end, relinquishing you from interview duty to help Spencer with the geographical profile back at the station. He’s scribbling away on the map while you slump in the chair, a little defeated.

“Hey Spence?”

“Hmm?” He hums in response, not taking his eyes off the section he’s just crossed out.

“How come you’re ruling out that side of town?”

He flips the whiteboard pen in his hands, returning its cap before turning around to you, “A lot of the area over there is industrial. I’ve been combing through to get a closer look, but it doesn’t look like our unsub would have the kind of privacy he needs. There are a lot of factories, granted, but they’re pretty much all occupied. He’s meticulous, I don’t think he’d take the risk of working in an environment where he couldn’t control anything and risking getting himself caught. And from what we know about him he certainly isn’t affluent enough to rent property on that side of town. Rent is almost three times as expensive there,” he gestures with his hands, tapping the lid of the pen on the area he means, “I think he’s more likely to be from the northmost part of town.”

You smile, “I don’t know how you do that.”

He opens his mouth to respond before seeing the softness in your eyes, realising you’re not asking for an explanation. You’re giving him a compliment. His chest feels a little warm.

***

You can’t sleep that night, despite how exhausting your day has been. You’d think the physical and mental exhertion would knock you out but instead you’re sat on your bed, idly flipping through TV channels. Not much is on except some old NCIS re-runs, and oddly enough you don’t feel like watching a crime show.

You could text Spencer. The thought appears in your head of its own accord, without your consent.

You could though.

10:12pm - You

You’d think after a day like today I’d be able to get some rest

10:13pm - Spencer

You can’t sleep?

10:13pm - You

No, sorry, I didn’t think you’d be asleep

10:14pm - Spencer

I can’t sleep either, don’t worry. Do you want to come over to my room? I have a documentary about Pearl Harbour I was going to watch

10:14pm - Spencer

Or we could do something else. Not sure if Pearl Harbour is more fun for you than struggling to fall asleep

10:15pm - You

A Pearl Harbour documentary sounds great

Thankfully you’d had the forethought to bring nice sleeping attire rather than your old ratty ones. You’d learnt your lesson before, when your presence had been required in the middle of the night and you’d had to scramble down to team meetings in pyjama bottoms that had a hole in the right thigh.

You take a quick look at yourself in the mirror, some anxiety fluttering in your stomach for some reason.

It’s odd. It’s hardly the first time you’ve been over to Spencer’s room for crying out loud, I mean he’s the person you’re closest to on the team and your best friend and your private yearning for him is mostly   inconsequential. Mostly. Except you fix your hair and smooth down your top a little anyway.

He’s only three doors down and it’s easy enough to slip quietly into his room. He sits on the bed, two glasses of water resting on the bedside table, his laptop resting by his knees. He’s illuminated by the bedside lamp next to him, and his hair looks fluffy as hell. No doubt from him running his own hands through it in frustration today. He smiles at you, patting the space next to him.

You pad across and join him, “Hey Spence.”

“Hi.”

His laptop isn’t particularly loud, and the screen isn’t very big, so you end up sat quite close to him. The laptop rests on his lap. You hesitate before nuzzling in against him, feeling how his breath catches in his chest as your head rests against his on the bedframe.

“Is this okay?” You ask.

“Yeah,” He answers, a small content smile playing on his lips, “Yeah this is okay.”

***

You’re not sure when or how you fell asleep but you wake up with a start to the sound of pounding on the door. And you’re not in your own bed. You briefly acknowledge the warmth next to you before it’s gone, Spencer leaping out of bed to answer the door.

“We’ve been-” Emily stands in the doorway, the bedroom lamp that you must have neglected to turn off allowing her to catch a glimpse of your dazed face, “Reid, why is ____ in your room?”

Spencer opens his mouth, flustered and unsure of what to say, floundering between looking at you both for a moment before  Emily rescues him. The digital clock obnoxiously blinks the time: 2:18am.

“Okay we’re definitely talking about this later but there’s another body, Hotch wants us all down at the station in 15.”

It occurs to you, as you rush embarassed from Spencer’s room, apologising to him at least five times on your way out, that the only thing standing between you and a million questions about your personal life is the focus on an unsub who you’ll hopefully catch today. You shrug your clothes over your head, replacing them with fresh ones and pulling on your shoes. The jet home is going to be fun.

—-

You were right to be hopeful about today. The unsub is tracked down and arrested by the time night comes around. His arrest is clean, no hostages and no shots fired. Really, in your line of work, it was the best possible outcome.

Hotch made the call that you’d spend another night here, since there was paperwork that’d need to be taken care of in the morning and some final loose ends that required wrapping up. You suspected some small part of it was because J.J wanted to ensure you made nice and left things on good terms with the local PD before you left, since there’d been a lot of headbutting throughout the case. Spencer had also been completely right about the geographical profile, the unsub had been working and killing from a rundown ramshackle house in the northmost suburb.

Speaking of Spencer, you’d barely acknowledged each other since this morning. Sure, you’d shared rooms together before, even beds when the occasion had called for it, but you’d never been so intimate before.

Maybe it was best for you both if you just ignored the whole thing entirely, carried on as normal. Yeah. Yeah that’s what you’d do.

You worried about the meaning of anything you said being lost over text so you headed to his room, knocking on his door. It brought a small smile to your face to think how you’d been on the other side of it the last time someone knocked.

He opens it, just slightly, before relaxing when he sees it’s you, “Hey.”

“Hi,” You step past him into the room, watching him close the door and take a step towards you.

He waits for you to speak.

“So. We never finished that documentary.”

He laughs, soft, “We didn’t.”

“Do you want to finish it now?”

“Uh…”  He visibly pauses and you feel a small twinge in your chest. Maybe you’d made him uncomfortable, maybe you’d misread the whole thing, maybe you’d...

He interrupts your self-deprecating runaway train of thoughts with a simple, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

As you settle down to watch the film, his laptop situated firmly in the middle of the bed this time, you feel the gulf between you. Empty space where his leg rested against yours yesterday. Still, that was what he wanted, right? His own space. Not to talk about it.

You don’t notice because you’re watching the documentary, but Spencer has to stop himself from reaching his arm out for you when he stretches. You didn’t want to talk about it, obviously. Meaning you probably wished it hadn’t happened. He tried to ignore the ache in his chest at that thought, the hollow feeling it left. Thankfully it wasn’t too long before you spoke again.

“Hey Spence?”

“Yeah?”

“Is this historically accurate?”

And explaining the nuances of Japanese-American history is much easier for him.

[barricadebops]

And He Falls With a Smile

Summary: In 1823 Feuilly arrives in Paris. In 1824 a man in a daring red waistcoat invites him to a student organization where despite his orphan status, Feuilly gains a family in the throes of rebellion and revolution. Read on AO3 here.

1823

In many ways, Paris is quite unlike the south. The city bustles with more people than Feuilly had ever seen in Aigues-Mortes. He will likely have to take a while to become accustomed to the constant crowds in the streets, the way everyone seems a stranger to each other.

However, to his due consideration, Paris is also in many ways quite akin to the south.  

The language of French rolls easy off his tongue like the rhythms of Provençal and Polish, and casts no doubt on his employability when it comes to dealing with coworkers at the fan-making atelier. The streets are still lined with the poor who cry out for help, for just one sou while the haughty bourgeois stroll past leisurely, and there are still women thrown on the ground—prostitutes from destitution, children begging for alms instead of attending school, and there is so much misery that surrounds him when he steps foot in the city, and the orphan boy thinks that there has not been much significant change here, that he will work here until he dies never having known a true family.

Feuilly’s only family has been the concepts of France, Poland, Greece, Hungary, Romania, Italy—simply put, the rest of the world, the people of the rest of the world.

So, Feuilly resolves that he shall adopt the people of Paris too.

________________________________________________________________

1824

He meets a man by the name of Bahorel, down by the schools of law.

Three francs does not buy a man much. It hardly puts bread on the table. It certainly does not provide for better clothes than what Feuilly dons everyday. And only in his scarcely selfish dreams, do three francs provide him with a place at the universities of Paris, where every bit of knowledge is put within his reach with thought only of reading and reading and reading until his brain tires and he nods off to sleep, blissful in the knowledge that he will not have to rush awake the next morning to catch work.

But three francs does not lend him that reality. Three francs only lets him gaze wistfully outside the buildings and think of a life where he could read better, where he could write better, where he wouldn’t have to waste away toiling at the fan-making atelier—where others would not have to toil away—others who are younger, who are needy, who should be going to school. People from France, from Poland, from Greece and Hungary and Romania and Italy. People from around the world who deserve better than to have their inherent right to an opportunity, an education, a leap at life—taken away from them.

L'École de droit de Paris is teeming with young men, all affluently dressed, all hailing from wealthy families—men who care not for why lawyers are so prudent, why law needs to be so heavily examined. It is filled with men who walk without casting a glance at Lady Themis, their patron, who stands disappointed—though she may be blindfolded—knowing that her supposed guardians do nothing to bring about justice, to bring about her divine right. It is filled with bourgeois young men with haughty airs, fake smiles, and cold graces.

L'École de droit de Paris teems with such young men when classes are let out. For now, Feuilly can enjoy its tranquility, its academic aura without the glances thrown his way. Peasant worker.

So no one can really seek to blame him for the irritation that rises within him when he feels a man crash into his side, throwing him off balance and sending him sprawling onto the hard cobblestones of the campus.

"Are you quite alright?"

Feuilly has the strong urge to snap at the hooligan present above him now that he was not alright at all, not since he disturbed some of the only moments he is allowed to breathe free with his rough tumbling.

But he stops short. Something about the man's smile—though he must admit, it seems rather rude to smile in a situation like this—halts the words on his tongue.

The man, or well rather a boy since he looks like he cannot be much older than him—is smiling brashly, unabashed in his humour. Though he wears the red coat of a man bound to be wealthy, there is a certain quality in the way he holds out his hand to Feuilly, without disgust, without turning his nose up at him, without thinking that he is a great saint for doing so, that makes Feuilly think that he cannot possibly be of the bourgeois, and without thinking, Feuilly takes the proffered hand and rises his feet. As he regains his footing, the man nearly sends him back down by delivering a mighty clap on his back.

"My sincerest apologies, my good fellow. Here you were, wasting away your time like a respectable gentleman should be doing, when I so rudely crashed into you. But I do believe this is a fortunate coincidence! To meet another sensible individual—it is not everyday you have the great opportunity to meet another idler—they seem rather scarce in this dull profession. I do know of just one other, but unfortunately Bossuet is forced to remain in Blondeau's class—what amusement! Imagine Blondeau really considering that being kicked out of his class is a punishment! I fret for poor Bossuet who shall come out having truly come into possession of knowledge on property law. Just imagine!"

Much as Feuilly may have tried if he really did want to, he could not imagine, considering he was not actually a student of law, not to mention that he had absolutely no clue who this Bossuet was.

"But—" the man continues on, and Feuilly vaguely realizes that at this point he should make haste to mention that he is not actually a student of l' ècole and that he really should be heading back to the atelier, but the man barrels on, "say, I have not seen you in any class before. You certainly must be younger than I, for there can be no other way to explain it."

Feuilly flushes. How could this man seriously still go on believing that he was a student here when he saw the way he dressed and held himself?

Clearing his throat, he shook his head and clarified, "You're mistaken, Monsieur. I am not a student of the school."

The man's eyebrows furrow for a moment before his smile returns with massive force. "And I thought you could not possibly get better!" Feuilly's gaze darts up curiously. "How fortunate indeed!"

At this, Feuilly's mind staggers a little, and he bristles at the way the man's words rub on him. Did he think it was fortunate that a poor man like him could not afford an education, a right all deserve? Did he think it was fortunate that children lacked the opportunity to acquire knowledge because of the situations they were born into?

This man had to be of the haughty bourgeois, there was no doubt about it. His bold, rather daring waistcoat definitely spoke a testament to the statement.

There was work to be done at the atelier, there were fans to be made, money to be earned, another day to be lived. Feuilly needed to head back and throw this man out of the recesses of his mind, for he did not have any space freed up there either.

And yet—

And yet, Feuilly finds that this man is so incredibly wrong to have said what it is he said, and, well, someone must correct him one way or another—

"Forgive me, Monsieur," he says stiffly, "but I see absolutely no reason as to why this is a good thing. Do you really laugh at the thought of an orphan being unable to find the money to pursue an education?"

For the first time in their spontaneous conversation, the man's face is thrown off guard.

"Pardonnez-moi ?" His brows wrinkle before he bursts out with a hearty laugh. "Oh no! My dear fellow you have it all wrong!" The man grins and for a split moment Feuilly is sure he is the slightest bit mad. "I—of all people! I could never make fun of the peasants—my own parents are peasants, mon ami, it is why they have common sense."

There is something in this man's bold words that has even Feuilly amused enough to crack a smile. Perhaps he had simply misjudged him; though he would likely never understand Feuilly on the full on accounts of actually still having parents that evidently did love their son, the man hailed from a peasant background, so of all things, he was definitely not stuffy like the rest of his new-class, though the daring red coat did write him into Feuilly's books as just the slightest bit reckless—such was the effect of the colour red clothed on such a brash man.

He lets out a resigned sigh; at this point he absolutely has to get back to the factory if he wants to clock in on time. But the man is still grinning at him, and Feuilly cannot help but feel the urge to stay.

"Your words undoubtedly ring true, and it speaks a testament to the kind of life you have been made to lead." All at once, his face turned serious. "We need more men like you at our meetings—come join us, I beg of you."

Meetings? What sort of meetings could this man have been talking about?

Unless…

Feuilly was not illiterate. He had caught whisperings of secret Jacobin societies, groups that hid themselves away from the gaze of the King as they would secretly plot rebellion. A man of the people, the true common man, Feuilly too had been eager to join these groups—but where was the time? He hardly had any time to go back to the pathetic little apartment he had managed to scrounge up money for, how could he find himself time to attend Republican meetings?

At the atelier, the clock was surely ticking away, bringing Feuilly closer every minute to being late heading back to work. "I'm sorry," he turns away and makes to head off. "I find myself unable to join, unfortunately, at the moment."

There is an elbow at the crook of his arm easing him around. "I urge you to reconsider, Monsieur. There is always room for new recruits, and I assure you that your input will always be valued." He opened his mouth to argue when the man put up a hand to stop him. "Your time needn't be an issue—we are all but students, we will uphold your responsibilities if need be. But your word—your word will be no doubt incredibly valuable. Please think of it."

Feuilly hesitates; in the sky, the sun burned bright in indication of a rapidly approaching afternoon. "And what do you call yourselves?"

The man's eyes twinkled. "Les Amis de l 'ABC," he replies rather cheekily.

Les Amis de l'ABC? Somewhere, the name strikes at Feuilly's core. The Friends of the ABC. Surely an educational group—that was something he could support—and something he could personally understand, too.

"And what is it exactly that your group does, Monsieur?"

"Well, in name, we are dedicated to the education of children." (L'ABC). The man's smile turns a little sharp as he lowers his voice. "In reality, we… Well, I suppose you would have to come see yourself, would you not? Though I suppose if you ponder our name long enough, you should figure out anyways.”

ABC…

ABC…

Abaisse.

Les Amis de l’ABC — Les Amis de l'abaisse.

The Friends of the ABC—the Friends of the abased.

A rather clever name, if he had to be quite honest. So it was as Feuilly suspected.

“And who exactly makes up your group?” he asks, attempting to keep up his inquisitive tone even as he moves to clasp the man’s hand.

The man laughs. “Well, if—when we succeed, I imagine we shall become a group that will belong to some measure of history, though that’s not why do what we do.”

“Succeed?”

“Yes! I have no doubts that we shall do exactly that. The question is, Monsieur, will you be there with us when we do so?”

There is no reason to say yes; in fact, there is every reason to say no. The minutes are still ticking by and the factory foreman is not a forgiving man, especially not towards orphans who need the job more than he needs the orphan, and there was never any time to join such organizations, and so many of them are run by bourgeois boys who did not know what they spoke of, never truly knew what it was their goals should be, why would they accept Feuilly among their ranks—

And yet, there is just something about this man, something about the aura he exudes, something brash and reckless but accepting, even if his words do not always come off that way, that makes him hesitate from immediately flatly refusing and turning to get on with his day, something about the unspoken promise held in his words, something about the name—the Friends of the Abased.

He heaves a breath and looks up at the sky; it’s approach towards afternoon and the way campus seems to hold its breath, ready to release when the professors adjourn their classes signals his inevitable tardiness at work.

He glances at the sparkle glinting in the man’s eyes—there is an entire future, a lifetime held within the promise of the society that the man informs him of that Feuilly is yet unaware of.

“Well where is it that you meet?”

With a mighty thump on his back, the man slings an arm around his shoulders, using his arm to point his finger towards the horizon in the direction of the north-east. “Follow the streets until they take you towards the Café Musain at Place Saint-Michel, near six tonight. Ask a patron to lead you towards the backroom—a male, however, for we do not allow women to enter—with the exception of dear Louison, that is—surely you can understand the delicate nature of women, my own mistress would tremble at the talk of rebellion and she is one to laugh at about anything I should think to say—and surely you shall see me there. And if I should be late—for it is not unheard of that I should be out late talking to others of the same cause—tell them you were asked to join by Bahorel.”

Feuilly swallows. Seemed rather a large commitment he was signing onto before even truly attending one of these meetings.

“I shall ensure my best efforts to attend one of your meetings then, Monsieur Bahorel,” he says at last.

“And we shall ensure our best efforts to work towards that future in which orphans are allowed to pursue the education they seek.” The man—Bahorel—tips his hat. “Now you must pardon me, Monsieur—”

“Feuilly,” he interrupts. Bahorel inclines his head in sign of having listened.

“—Feuilly,” he says, “but the afternoon approaches and classes will soon be adjourned for the rest of the day, and I must deploy myself to the mighty task of finding Bossuet and listening to his new complaint no doubt against Blondeau, and then head off with him to find young Enjolras and de Courfeyrac too, for though the former may be able to sway a crowd with his words, especially with his second-in-command by his side, those two cannot hope to find their way through the university streets and—”

“Thank you, Monsieur Bahorel, I shall hope to see you then, tonight," he interrupts, only the slightest bit ashamed for having done so; he really does need to be on his way.

If Bahorel takes offense to his interruption, he makes no sign of it; rather, he clasps his hand, and says, “Thank you, Monsieur Feuilly. Your presence will be greatly appreciated. No doubt everyone will be pleased. I look forward to seeing you sit amongst us.

Feuilly tips the ragged hat he has on his head in response.

This is how it begins.

________________________________________________________________

1825

It is ten at night, a most indecent time for respectable men to still be outside, and yet Feuilly can see no sign of Enjolras tiring while he listens with bright eyes to what Feuilly has to say on the subject of the partitioning of Poland.

It was indeed a topic of great rage and indignation for Feuilly, that date of 1772. How was it that a monarchy, a tyranny, had the right to strip a people of their identity? Of their nationality? He exclaimed as much to Enjolras, who watched on with awe.

"But how can they have the right? To tell a people that they no longer have the ability to climb atop their tables and exclaim 'I am Polish! Here I stand free in my country of Poland! ?" Running a hand through his fiery hair, he fumed just as he thought about it. "The audacity!"

At the table, Enjolras scoots closer, looks up at him with wide eyes. “Indeed. Tell me more of it.”

He glances at him, and, briefly, he allows himself to ponder the person sitting in front of him. Feuilly hesitates to call him a boy, though, at nineteen years, that is exactly what he is.

It is simply that, despite his excessively youthful face, there was something in Enjolras' eyes that gave him the feeling that the boy had already lived for hundreds of years, made him feel as if he were seated in front a man who had already, in some previous existence, traversed the many revolutions of the past.

And yet—

And yet, despite that, not having gone unnoticed by any of those few members who attended the meetings, it is Feuilly who Enjolras evidently idolizes—reveres, even.

And it is a fact that Feuilly cannot fully comprehend; of all the people Enjolras is surrounded by, all the people he has to idolize—Combeferre or Joly or even Bahorel—he sees first and foremost Feuilly, a poor orphan who struggles to read when Enjolras himself could make his way through the thickest of volumes with ease.

Feuilly does not think less of himself for his background, but how often can a man go on surrounded by people who excelled in a variety of skills than he could only ever hope to gain without feeling the occasional pang of self doubt?

He allows himself a smile. “But I thought you had already read about this, Enjolras? Combeferre tells me the matter is one that incenses you quite the bit—rightfully, might I add.”

He thinks of how strange it is—at the atelier, no one gave second thought to anything Feuilly had to say, so he never really thought to say anything anymore to his coworkers or his foreman who he knew would either ignore him or dismiss him straight away.

But Enjolras listens. He listens to the words of a poor orphan boy, and despite his upbringing by his parents that likely taught him not to pay heed to the words of a man like Feuilly, he instead leans forward, always leans forward at every meeting whenever Feuilly raises his voice to contribute, and he listens breathlessly and nods and says But of course, and Yes you’re right, and But if you could please tell us more, we need more of what you have to say.

Enjolras nods vigorously. “Yes, of course, the stripping of the autonomy of any nation is an injustice—it is simply that hearing you speak of it is all the more informing.”

Feuilly quirks an eyebrow at him. “And why would that be?”

“Because you are all the more knowledgeable of this, of course.”

He huffs a laugh. “It was not as if I was there when they put down the first partition. I am hardly an eye-witness, nor would I say more knowledgeable than you.”

In front of him, Enjolras reaches a hand to grasp at Feuilly’s. “But you are! For as well as I understand it, I could never truly know what kind of an effect such a monstrous event could have on the common man. But you, Feuilly, you know so well, for you have endured far worse than I have, you are a much better man than I am, surely you must know you have my eternal respect—”

As he blushes, Feuilly briefly thinks of scolding Enjolras for proclaiming Feuilly better than himself only on the grounds that he was born in a different circumstance.

He squeezes Enjolras’ hand back. “Do not declare yourself a lesser man than me, Enjolras. Over this past year you have demonstrated the fact that those of the upper class can still have compassion and the skill to identify injustice, and you have made me feel all the more welcome amongst your ranks.”

Enjolras smiles. “Les Amis de l’ABC would not be what we are without your inclusion, my friend. It is for people like you that we fight, it would hardly be a cause if we did not have your voice present with us. The gratitude should be coming from me to you for trusting us, for joining us. You make us who we are Feuilly.”

And Feuilly is just the slightest bit blown away by Enjolras’ words, for while he knew Enjolras held a special sort of respect for him, he had never imagined that his reverence shaped up like this.

“Will you tell me more about Poland?”

He glances down at Enjolras, who stares up with hopeful eyes, and he smiles.

“But of course.”

________________________________________________________________

1826

It is not unheard of that Jehan Prouvaire should be sitting quietly in his corner after meetings, staring dreamily at his paper as if he could see entire meadows and forests scrawled on it rather than the lushious words he pens to create his poetry.

“The stars are not out and yet you gaze at your paper as if you can already see the constellations they form,” he says as he lowers himself into the chair next to Prouvaire, having been beckoned over.

Prouvaire blushes and smiles softly. “Every constellation has a story tied to it, and poetry seeks to do much the same. Poetry is how our ancestors spoke of their tales around the fire.”

“Is that what you will be writing about today? The stars?”

Prouvaire hums and shakes his head. “No. I think I should like to write in Polish today.”

Jerking slightly, Feuilly looks at him, confused. “Write in Polish?”

He nods. “Yes. I think of it often, you know, and I feel it’s an injustice, the way the Polish identity has been stolen from the people, almost as if their right to thought has been taken. I figured, would it not be prudent, then, of me to write a poem in Polish, and reaffirm their status?”

Nodding vigorously, Feuilly agrees, “Yes, of course. Your words hold the utmost merit, and I’m glad to see you acknowledge this through your words. I can think of no better way for you to express your thoughts about this than through your sacred form of writing.”

He props his chin on his hand and leans forward. “Yes, but I seem to encounter a problem in that I do not know how to speak Polish. My friend, I only have one favour to ask of you: will you help me construct this poem?”

Feuilly blinks. Of all the honours he could have been bestowed with… For Prouvaire, reading and writing poetry was one of the very fundamental things that kept people humble. To connect to nature, to hear of stories past—it is what both allows humans to soar amongst the beauty present in the world, yet keep them humbled and grounded to work on what needed to be improved. For Prouvaire, poetry is his form of worship, his devotion to the miracles of the world before him, present in front of him, and the one yet to come.

“You would choose to ask… me, to help you?” he asks, bewildered at the thought of him sharing something so close to his heart, to his spirit.

There is a sort of sparkle in Prouvaire’s eyes, a look he reserves for when he gazes at wildflowers and oats growing in meadows, or for when he hears the nightingale sing—a look so impossibly soft that he can use it only when he finds himself looking upon a being he believes deserves to be showered upon with love and written about with the utmost tenderness—and it is present in his eyes when he gently places his hand atop Feuilly’s and says with the utmost solemnity, “My friend, I could think of no one else who I would trust more for such a matter.”

Feuilly is rendered speechless. Both with the love he feels for his friend, and by the astonishment at the trust his friend shows in him.

Feuilly hopes the world will see Prouvaire's soft verses and name him with the likes of Keats, whom he idolizes.

Jehan hopes that one day the world will read his poem—the one he writes now, that tells the story of a common fan-maker who spoke Polish and still strived to see the possibilities of the entire world despite the world never having strived to see the possibility in him—and understands the adoration that he and the rest of his friends had for a man who was made up of a thousand different nations and came from a thousand different stories and had with him a thousand different plans for the future.

________________________________________________________________

1827

The sky is dark and Feuilly’s perception of time has been skewed by the long, insufferable hours spent at the atelier crafting fans while harbouring a most dreadful headache.

He does not see that the clock has struck much past seven, much past eight, now half an hour after nine, and that his foreman kept him detained much longer than he realizes, taking advantage of the evident illness that has Feuilly dazed and unaware. With much effort, he pushes the door to the café open and stumbles towards the backroom where he expects his friends will be.

Upon reaching the backroom, he leans a hand against the frame and struggles to comprehend the image of an empty room, one where the meeting has clearly adjourned.

Well, mostly empty.

“Feuilly?” At his side, Combeferre reaches a hand to place on his shoulder, a steadying presence among the rushing winds that seem to have found their way into the café. “Are you quite alright?”

He coughs—once—twice—three times into his fist. “Well I do find myself in a bit of confusion,” he admits as Combeferre gently takes him by the crook of his elbow and seats him at a table. “Has the meeting for today been cancelled? I would not have imagined that everyone would be busy all at the same time.”

Combeferre tilts his head and looks at him peculiarly. “The meeting?” He frowns. “My friend, are you well? The meeting ended about an hour and a half ago.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, he coughs twice more as he shakes his head and says, “No, that cannot be. Surely it cannot be so late. I had only just seen the clock, look, there, it says…” he trails off as his eyes fall upon the small hand halfway towards its path to the painted ten, then glances back at Combeferre sheepishly. Clearing his throat, a rather painful task to do considering just how raw it feels, he manages to scrape out the words, “It appears I have missed the meeting. I apologize, I did not realize just how late it had become.”

Combeferre smiles sympathetically. “Evidently. Your presence was greatly missed at the meeting, Enjolras looked rather down about it, but nonetheless we understood, though we thought it was simply because you were working.

Burying his head in his hands, he croaks, “I was supposed to be working regular time. I don't know how I didn't realize the foreman had me working late without informing me of it.” At this, Combeferre’s eyes darken a shade.

“You cannot let this go unprotested, Feuilly,” he says, the slightest bit angry, though Feuilly knows it is not anger directed towards him. “Your foreman has no right to do so; we will go back tomorrow and demand he pay you what you deserve for working the extra hours you did.”

Raising his head, Feuilly looks up, a little surprised at Combeferre. “It will not work, Combeferre, for all that I would like it to. The foreman has plenty of people available to replace me should I start to fuss. Though it is wrong, you must know that he has the power to keep me longer without paying.”

Combeferre runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “However much power he holds, he cannot go against the principle of the matter and expect no retaliation. It is settled; we will go and speak to your foreman.” When Feuilly opens his mouth to speak, Combeferre holds his hand up and halts the words on his tongue. Silently, he reaches forward and gingerly places the back of his hand on Feuilly’s forehead, tutting at the heat that comes away. “Tell me how you feel,” he commands.

Feuilly frowns. “It is really not that much of a concern, my friend—”

“Feuilly,” Combeferre pinches the bridge of his nose before looking up at him again, “in about a years time I shall begin my internship at l’Hôpital Necker; as of right now, I have enough medical knowledge—well, really, anyone has enough medical knowledge—to diagnose you with the fact that you have caught a cold—no doubt from the rainy season we have all found ourselves trapped in—and while it is nothing serious, it can become something of a concern if you do not rest and allow me to take care of you.”

Feuilly looks away. “While I do not doubt your knowledge, Combeferre, you needn’t bother yourself with—”

“What is more so a bother, Feuilly,” Combeferre interrupts him once more, and does not even look the slightest bit embarrassed for doing so, “is when one of my friends fall ill, and instead of taking the time they need to get better, they only continue to work until it is worse and their recovery becomes all the more difficult.” He watches as Combeferre rises from his seat, holding out his hand when he says, “So, for my own convenience, if you believe—unjustly, may I add—that your own convenience is not worth it, please come back with me to my apartment so that we can have you back on your feet in mere matter of days rather than weeks.”

As Feuilly allows himself to be hauled up, his arm slung around Combeferre’s shoulders, for he does not believe he has the strength in him to stand a single second more on his own—he marvels at what it is he must have done that warrants fate to provide him with friends who care for him like a mother or father would their own child, though Feuilly is not well acquainted with the feeling.

________________________________________________________________

1828

Even before he feels Courfeyrac’s hand clap down on his shoulder, Feuilly can feel Courfeyrac approaching—because that is simply the kind of person he is; his aura is boisterous and bubbly, a loud that made you grin rather than cringe away.

“My friend!” Courfeyrac exclaims. “My friend, my friend, my very good friend!”

Feuilly smiles as he knows what is inevitably going to come up. “As much as you may ask, Courfeyrac, I simply do not have the time to stand out in the middle of the street only so you can ‘save’ me in front of that Genevieve girl you have recently taken a fancy to.”

Courfeyrac looks taken aback for a moment before he begins to laugh. “No, no, I was not speaking of that. Besides, I have most recently been made to come to sense that I do not need anyone to play the part of a man in distress who needs to be saved—as long as I somehow end her near Bossuet, I shall allow him to carry on with the way he already lives, and soon enough I shall have saved him from his own stupidity in front of her!”

At another table, Bossuet indignantly pipes up, “Hey!” In response, Joly waves his cane dismissively.

“Calm yourself, Aigle de Meaux, his facts are not incorrect.”

As Bossuet and Joly begin to bicker in that lighthearted way friends so often do, Courfeyrac turns his gaze towards him, and Feuilly finds himself blinking, trying to figure out what exactly it is Courfeyrac will be asking him as a favour, for he knows the beginning of their conversation is exactly what Courfeyrac will do every time he seeks to extract a favour from someone.

And whatever it is, Feuilly already knows he will be saying yes, for not only does he love his friend enough to do anything for him, he is sure that had it been Feuilly asking for the favour, Courfeyrac would have already been up from his seat heading off to help.

“Out with it, Courfeyrac,” he encourages with a smile. “What is it that you evidently need me to do?”

Courfeyrac grins. “You know me so well, my dear friend. Well, the matter is,” he lets out a long-suffering sigh, “my parents have been writing incessantly to me in hopes that I will, at their side, attend the ball of one of their long-time friends.” Courfeyrac grimaces. “I shall depart for Avignon in a week’s time.”

Feuilly blinks, confused. He could hardly grasp at what this entire affair had to do with him.

“But Courfeyrac, you have always struck me as a man who delighted in dressing in a nice coat and going dancing.”

Waving a dismissive hand, Courfeyrac huffs impatiently. “I like to go dancing with my friends. I would rather not have to suffer by my parents’ side at some ball surrounded by a crowd of people who cheer at the sight of the 1814 Charter.”

At his mention of the Charter, Feuilly allows himself a little laugh, his mind straying to a recent memory of Courfeyrac throwing a copy of the very same thing in the fire during a heated debate with Combeferre.

Calming himself, he manages enough breath to ask, “That is all good and fine, but what do I have to do with all this?”

With a beam, Courfeyrac shuffles closer to throw an arm around his shoulders. “So,” he begins, “all I ask from you is a small favour.” At Feuilly’s silence, he continues, “I want you to attend with me.”

At this, Feuilly nearly spits out the coffee he had taken in his mouth.

Once he finishes choking, he adopts a look of astonishment and asks, “Me?”

Courfeyrac’s grin is one of sincerity; try as he might, there is no sort of a joke written on his face.  “Yes.”

Clearing his throat, he asks, “But… Why would you ask me of all people?”

At this, Courfeyrac frowns. “But why ever not you? I cannot think of a single reason why I would not ask you.”

He feels a humiliating blush stain his cheeks as the many, many reasons why he should be amongst the last people Courfeyrac should ask crosses his mind. For God’s sake, even Grantaire is a more preferable option—he, at least, hailed from a wealthy family, and so has the knowledge of the sort of behaviour and etiquette to be employed in such situations.

With a sad sort of smile, he places his hand on his friend’s shoulder and says, “Find someone else to go with you, Courfeyrac. I’m sorry, I truly am, but I must deny you this one thing.”

Courfeyrac’s frown deepens. “But why?”

Must he really push this issue?

Well, Feuilly is not ashamed of who he was, but it really is a little rude making him say the words.

“Courfeyrac,” he sputters, “I haven’t the faintest clue how to behave at such a social gathering. Neither do I… neither do I have the money for the sort of lavish clothing no doubt one is expected to wear there.”

Courfeyrac’s mouth flattens, and it is a rare moment that Feuilly sees him so frank. “Your background has not rendered you a scoundrel, Feuilly—I have only ever seen you act as a man should—honest and down-to-earth. You’re exactly the kind of person a man should be like, and frankly I do not care much for the opinions of my parents’ friends, and I believe you needn’t do so either. As for clothing, if you will not allow me to purchase you new clothing, I shall simply ask Combeferre to borrow his, on your behalf.”

His little speech shocks him. “But,” his voice is a little weak, “why would you ask me?”

At last, Courfeyrac’s face brightens once more into the sort of face he was famous for amongst his friends. “My friend! You are such interesting conversation! I cannot think of another person I would rather have by my side as I am forced to endure another gathering of insufferable royalists.”

Feuilly struggles with his words. Courfeyrac would have him attend the ball by his side? Once more he finds himself searching Courfeyrac’s face for any hint of a cruel joke, but finds none.

At his silence, Courfeyrac rises from his seat, grinning widely, for silence tends to give the impression that the opposing side has fallen into agreement. “Excellent! So, Tuesday next week we shall depart. And I shall begin my valiant search through Combeferre’s wardrobe!”

Feuilly remains astonished in his seat.

________________________________________________________________

1829

If he has to be completely honest, Feuilly does not talk very often with Grantaire, and so, Feuilly finds he cannot really come to a conclusion about him. He sees that the man is doubtful of their efforts, loud and rambunctious, and is drunk, always seems to be drunk.

But there is also a sort of melancholy present on his face when he thinks no one can see, when he does not constantly keep up that smirk as he goes on his next drunken ramble, a bitter and sardonic expression when he hears the rest speak of revolution and he finds himself too tired to even inject himself into the conversation. He sees a yearning, impossibly broken look grace Grantaire's face when their leader starts to speak or makes to smile or cries when upset or rages when he is furious—he seems to look as if he is reaching for something he can never quite have no matter how he stretches his fingers whenever Enjolras does anything, really.

Feuilly does not know much of Grantaire. So, he thinks to speak to him.

"Grantaire," he sits down next to him and inclines his head in greeting when Grantaire looks up from where he had been staring hard at his bottle of absinthe.

"Ah! The fan-maker makes time for me at last!" Grantaire cries as he spreads his arms wide. "Yes, young Feuilly, what is it that you find yourself in need of a drunk for?"

He ignores the young comment, only meditating briefly on the fact that he is the same age as Grantaire, and instead, hoping to forge a connection to the man, asks, "Did you really study under the guidance of Gros?"

Grantaire bellows out a loud peal of laughter. "My good fellow," he slurs, and Feuilly worries for how much he has had to drink tonight, "you must not believe everything that comes out of this drunkard's mouth."

He furrows his eyebrows. So he was lying?

"So you lied?" he asks in clarification. "You never did go to art school?"

A smile twists up Grantaire's face. "I only just told you not to trust everything I say. And yet! And yet, what is the first thing you do after I give you advice?"

He was beginning to get a little lost here. "I’m not quite sure I follow. Did you attend art school or not?"

Grantaire leans back in his chair. "Yes and no!"

"Yes and no?"

He grins at Feuilly. "A tale worthy of the likes of pleasant idlers, I am afraid, and while you are pleasant enough, you are anything but an idler—you cannot possibly hope to enjoy it."

He leans forward. "And yet, I find myself curious enough to hear of it nonetheless."

"Well," he starts, and for a moment, Feuilly fears that Grantaire will start on another one of his rather infamous rants, and while it is not that he is exactly opposed to them, but more so, he needs to get home so he can get however many hours of sleep Joly ordered him to get. "I certainly did attend classes at first. But the pretentiousness of it all! No man can tell you better that artists are amongst the most pretentious people to grace this hellish landscape we call earth. And the nude models were hardly anything to look at! I could get myself a better whore for less than a sou! Or better yet, not pay at all when it is me that such women always want!"

For a split second, Grantaire's gaze drifts, and when Feuilly tracks the movement of his eyes, he ends up looking over to where Enjolras stands at the table near the front, regarding Grantaire with a strong look of disappointment as he holds Grantaire's stare before returning to whatever it was he was discussing with Combeferre.

Grantaire tips his bottle towards the ceiling.

"No, I made the decision that no more would I waste away somewhere I knew I would rot. So instead I spent my time pilfering apples."

He huffs a laugh. “Pilfering apples? The ones used to model fruit?”

Within Grantaire’s eyes, Feuilly sees a mischievous sort of glint. “The very same.”

“And now? Do you still attend?”

He shrugs. “From time to time, though, I must ask why you think to ask me. My good fellow,” he reaches forward and lays a heavy hand on Feuilly’s shoulder. “I should think to ask you, rather, on your own painting.”

Feuilly flushes a little. “I haven’t the slightest of time for painting, Capital R.”

“And yet what little you have painted deserves to be hung up next to the works of Géricault!” Grantaire cries once more, and despite himself, Feuilly grins a little.

“It is hardly anything compared to Géricault.”

Grantaire waves a dismissive hand. “Bah! All these names—Géricault, Prud’hon, Delacroix—all of them are insufferable men who catch one whiff of fame and lose themselves to their pretentiousness. Your one work, young fan-maker, would be worth more than any of those scoundrels’ paintings put together.”

And Feuilly cannot help but gape, for this man in front of him, the very set definition of a skeptic, who once told their group, on his own whims, that believing was for the foolish and that he had no wish to believe in anything that would earn him an early death—he now sits here telling Feuilly that he finds meaning in his work, more meaning than in the works of the greatest painters to exist.

It leaves him shocked beyond compared.

Attempting to gather his thoughts once more into a state of decent coherency, he proceeds to ask, "Do you paint anymore?"

For a moment, just one quick moment that Feuilly admits he would not have caught had he not been looking closely, Grantaire's eyes flicker over to where Enjolras appears to be moderating some sort of a debate between Combeferre and Courfeyrac, laughing at something Courfeyrac must have said, and he notices the way Grantaire's face twists bitterly.

"Yes."

Feuilly does not ever ask what—or who—his subject is.

________________________________________________________________

1830

The weather of Paris in the spring signals the approach of a storm the Friends, unknown yet to their knowledge, will find themselves fighting in when the people decide in the season of July that tyranny must not be allowed to continue, and will resurrect barricades all throughout the city in the name of a free France achieved through a revolution that sees the overthrowing of King Charles X.

But for now, it is spring and the rain beats down upon the poor the hardest, upon those who have less shelter, fewer clothes, scarce food, and only in abundance do they have misery.

Feuilly counts himself lucky that he has a roof over his head, even if it is one that freezes in the night’s cold, and in the summer, swelters in the day’s heat.

Joly, however, does not seem to think so.

“I simply cannot allow you to go back to your flat when the rain beats down on our heads like this!” he cries, ignoring Feuilly’s several protests to the idea of spending the night at Joly’s residence, after Joly had taken one step into Feuilly’s own apartment and declared it uninhabitable in their current temperatures. “There is more than enough room at my residence, and I will not have one of my own falling ill when I had more than enough resources to prevent the ailment.”

“I wish not to intrude,” Feuilly repeats for what must surely be the hundredth time. “You already find yourself housing Bossuet, too, and—”

“Feuilly,” Joly scrubs a hand across his face, “helping a friend is hardly any bother to me. In the six years we have known each other is this how you expect me to behave?”

And Feuilly stops short, because Feuilly, who has never had a family—who has never had a mother or father or brother or sister—could hardly ever have imagined in his life that would have a friend—that he would have several friends—who would care for him—who would love him—like this, enough to offer up the chance at a residence that must look like a palace compared to his own shabby room, even if for one night.

“I simply… I simply would not want to cause any burden,” he mumbles.

Joly’s face splits into a bright grin, the one everyone who knows him is familiar with, the one that gives reason to why they all call him Jolllly. “But my friend!” he exclaims. “The more people to house, the more amusing the occasion, no?” Armed in one hand with his cane and the other holding Feuilly by the elbow, he begins to lead him towards his apartment. “Come! We shall make merry by the fire and drink to our heart’s content today—and we will not have to worry about rationing our drinking, for Grantaire is not here, either!”

“Make merry by the fire? But I regret to inform you that the Yuletide season is well past us,” an amused voice says by their side. As they both turn to the left, a familiar, laughing bald head makes itself apparent to their eyes.

Feuilly snorts. “I have not known you to be one to turn down an opportunity to nest by Joly’s fire, Bossuet. I find that I would rather while away the time in the false pretense that Christmas is still upon us rather than spend the hours shivering in the rain—would you not?”

“Bossuet can handle a little rain, what with the two sous in his pockets, he may even be able to manage a meager coffee,” Joly teases, carefully bringing the tip of his cane to rub at his nose.

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “Do tell, how does one manage a coffee at just two sous?”

“With enough grovelling at my door once he realizes that his endeavour is an impossible one and he owes me for the medical supplies I would inevitably have to purchase to bring him back to health after shivering so long in the cold.”

Bossuet bellows a laugh as he makes way for himself in between Feuilly and Joly, draping an arm around each's shoulders. “The grovelling will not be necessary, Jolllly, I shall tag along anyways. I would never decline, having found myself in the company of our dear friend Feuilly.”

Feuilly shoots him a confused look. “And why might my company be so desirable?”

Bossuet and Joly both laugh as if he had just told them the most amusing joke, but Feuilly cannot quite catch what it is that is so funny about what he said.

“Friends do not ask each other why their company is desirable, Feuilly,” Bossuet simply says.

And Feuilly feels something warm in his heart turn to a roaring fire, despite the chill of the rain.

Later, when he finds himself tucked into one of Joly’s armchairs, a blanket around him, he feels Joly lay a gentle hand upon his shoulder, looking at him most earnestly.

“I beg you think not of this as charity, my friend, but rather as something a friend would do for another. Nay a friend—more a brother.”

And with that, Joly leaves to prevent Bossuet from setting himself on fire in the kitchen while Feuilly struggles to blink back a wetness that threatens to slide down his cheeks, though his feelings are far from any sort of sorrow he has felt before.

________________________________________________________________

1832

He is hungry and he is thirsty and he is tired and he knows he is going to die.

He also knows that not only will he die in triumph, but he can imagine no other group of wonderful, extraordinary, familiar people he would rather die with.

Enjolras has already delivered news of their abandonment. Now, they sit and listen as he speaks of the principles of their fight, of the principles of their deaths, and Feuilly can think of no better speech he has ever heard in his short life.

He realizes, with a jolt, that Enjolras has turned to him. “Listen to me, Feuilly, valiant worker, man of the people, man of the peoples. I revere you. Yes, you see the future clearly, yes, you are right. You had neither father nor mother, Feuilly. You adopted humanity as your mother and right as your father. You’re going to die here—in other words, to triumph.” He holds his gaze for a second longer before he continues.

And Feuilly nods. Because he believes in Enjolras. He trusts in his words.

He knows he will die. But what better cause could there be?

He wishes they had succeeded, he had hoped, had so ardently believed that the people would rise with them.

But if the people do not wish to answer the call of revolution, he knows it will not succeed. He has accepted this.

And he realizes it is okay. He has come to terms with it.

He dwells on Enjolras’ words.

You had neither father nor mother, Feuilly. You adopted humanity as your mother and right as your father.

And, he quietly thinks to himself, I have adopted my friends as my brothers. And there is no one I would rather die beside. There are no other people who I would rather see smile one more time, or hold one more time, or laugh with and cry with and sit with one more time.

When he had first arrived in Paris, back eight years ago, Feuilly had resolved that he would adopt the people of Paris just as he had adopted those of the rest of the world.

He never imagined he himself would be adopted in turn.

________________________________________________________________

Rather than the bullet, Feuilly feels a sort of warmth spread through him instead. He lifts a hand to place at his side, where his blood begins to seep through his shirt and waistcoat.

He thinks of Bossuet’s laugh when he comes up with only two sous in his pocket and still offers Feuilly a drink.

He remembers why Joly was named the way he was, remembers his jollity in just about every situation Feuilly had found himself and Joly trapped in.

He nearly laughs at the thought of Grantaire’s rambles, and he sympathizes with his pursuit to find a family after his own had thrown him out. He sincerely hopes he will find the family that Feuilly did, too.

He recalls the feeling of Courfeyrac’s warmth, recalls how he kept the group together, how he shared that warmth with everyone no matter who they were, even if they were orphans like Feuilly.

He remembers Combeferre’s care, the way he always seemed to keep one eye open to look after everyone in the group, the way he never stopped making sure Feuilly got enough sleep, or had enough food, or rested enough, and he thinks that the world has just lost one of its greatest doctors.

He smiles at the memory of Jehan’s empathy, how his eyes seemed to see right through anything, and the way he always knew when to sit with Feuilly and ask him if there was something he wanted to share, something weighing down on his chest that was suffocating him, something that seemed to be relieved only when Jehan would smile that soft smile of his and tell him that he always had him by his side.

He can still feel Enjolras’ passion light up the barricade, recalls how his passion showed when he preached of a free France, when he spoke of the plight of the poor, and remembers the way that passion would soften into reverence when he would sit with Feuilly and listen to what he had to say, despite the fact that all his life he was likely taught to disregard men like him.

He remembers Bahorel’s bravery, how could he ever forget? He remembers that reckless smile, the bold behaviour that led to him taking his hand after being toppled to the ground, remembers that single question Bahorel asked him that would change his life forever, and he wishes—he cries at the thought of never having had the chance to say thank you, to tell him he is the reason why Feuilly is content to die in the situation he has found himself in.

Feuilly thinks of being born into the world with no family, no one to call his own.

Then he thinks about leaving it having found the men he loves, he loves—oh Lord above he loves like he could never love a mother or a father, he loves these men so much that it tears his heart in two thinking of each and everyone dying—he catches a glimpse of Enjolras being backed up the stairs while the National Guardsmen continues to prowl their way towards him and he sees Combeferre glance towards the heavens as his chest is speared by three bayonets and he sees Courfeyrac fall to his side having been shot once, twice, three times, and he sees Joly and Bossuet look towards each other as they are both shot side by side and he remembers the strength in Jehan’s voice when he cried out one last time in the name of the world they had sought to build and he remembers Bahorel’s spirit being the first to leave and he remembers, remembers, remembers, and it hurts so much, it makes him ache with a pain that makes him want to scream and cry for he cannot imagine the thought of having finally found his family and then having them torn from him, one by one, he hurts so much and surely God cannot be so cruel that he snatches their dreams, snatches the only people he knows he will ever love away—

And then he finds peace. Because as he bleeds out, he hears a voice, clear as the dawn drawing above the new day, cry out Long live the republic! and it is Grantaire, and he can almost hear Enjolras smile when he hears what he knows is the final report resounding, and in Combeferre’s eyes there is a sort of divine trust as his eyes remain affixed to where he believes he will find salvation, and there is a sort of tranquility in Courfeyrac’s eyes, and he sees the way Joly and Bossuet are still looking to each other even in death, and he thinks of how Jehan went out exactly as he wished, with strong words on his tongue, and he thinks of Bahorel’s fighting spirit and how he died doing what he thought was right.

His hand grows damper and hotter as his blood seeps out quicker and quicker.

The world may not remember their names in history—but Feuilly knows they will have a permanent place in his.

Like Combeferre, he casts his eyes towards heaven, and he thinks he can see Bahorel hold out his hand like he did eight years ago.

He can’t wait to have his life change again.

And Feuilly falls with a smile.

[oswinsdolma]

Proving all the Knights of the Round Table have magic part 3: Elyan

I've seen quite a few people headcanon Elyan with magic before, and it's definitely one of the more popular magic!knights hcs, so I apologise if I accidentally hijack anyone else's points xx

The most obvious indicator of this is the fact that Elyan leaves Camelot a year before Merlin arrives. This is about the same age Morgana's magic shows itself, so it would be natural to assume he left because he began showing signs of being a warlock, Camelot's laws being what they are.

It is also implied that Elyan left fairly abruptly, with Gwen having no idea where he went. He may have left in a hurry because somebody might have noticed him, and not told Gwen or Tom for fear of putting them in danger.

Perhaps in a darker note, he didn't say where he was going because he was ashamed of his magic and didn't think his family would accept him.

Gwen says that "[Elyan] always seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time". Maybe accidents happen around him because he had trouble controlling his magic and found it increasingly difficult to cover for. This could be another indicator as to why he left.

Elyan didn't return to Camelot even for his father's funeral, and while he expresses his guilt, he doesn't give sufficient reason why: the reason? He may not be able to tell Gwen because he was still scared to return with magic.

When Gwen reveals her relationship with Arthur, Elyan is skeptical, and maybe even a little panicked. After all, would your sister falling in love with someone with the power to set you ablaze not be a terrifying concept to anyone with magic? But when Arthur comes to rescue them and proves himself to be slightly less of a prat than he may think, he tentatively agrees to return home, though I suspect this is mainly for Gwen's sake.

When the immortal army invades Camelot, Elyan manages to stay hidden and fight off some soldiers. Note that he is the only one of the group within Camelot with no Knights' training, which begs the question: how did he manage to escape? The answer could very well lie with magic.

Again, in The Darkest Hour, he is one of two knights that survived the meeting with Morgana. He is one of the more inexperienced knights as well, which suggests that he may have aided himself magically in the fight.

When faced with a seemingly unbeatable threat, Elyan says to Arthur: "tomorrow, we fight in your name, sure. For freedom and justice in this land." Now there is a lot to unpack here, but if we break it down, firstly there is the fact that Elyan places is emphasis on "your" when addressing Arthur. He has previously made a statement about the Pendragon crest, but in this moment, it seems that he cares more about Arthur than this. This is clearly indicative of the fierce bond between Arthur and the core knights, but it could be more than that: the emphasis of "your" is specific to Arthur, but perhaps more importantly, it is an exclusion of Uther. In his time, Arthur has made mistakes, but he has generally been more sympathetic towards magic than his father, and this may be Elyan's subtle way of acknowledging that.

In addition, the words: "for freedom and justice in this land" could just be in reference for Arthur's abilities as king, but this is a deep speech and one would assume it has a deeper meaning. Freedom and justice are two things that have not been afforded to those with magic for a long time. Uther's twisted "justice" involved executing anyone who disagreed with him and anyone who could be vaguely affiliated with sorcery. As for freedom, Arthur has created a fairer kingdom than his father, but magic users still live in fear. Combined with the earlier stress of "your", this is indicative that Elyan too believes that Arthur may one day come to bring peace to anyone who is born with magic.

This last point also has the implications that Elyan knows of the Once and Future King and surrounding prophecies. Though he is described as a troublemaker by Gwen before he comes to Camelot, he keeps his head relatively low upon arrival. Perhaps in the time he spent travelling, he sought help from magical communities, e.g. the druids, who helped him control his powers. This would also explain his vagueness about his whereabouts and lack of contact during the years he was missing.

I could go on about this quote but we'll leave it there for now.

Before he is overtaken by the power of the Lamia, Elyan is vocal in standing up for Merlin. This could be because he knows what it is like to be shunned by society. Magic could be a reason for that. (Also I fully believe that the only reason the Lamia didn't try and take over Merlin was because she was scared of the extent of his magic, not just because he had magic.)(and the merthur reasons when I'm in the mood)

Then Elyan falls sick, before the others begin to show symptoms. Maybe the Lamia sensed some magic and decided he was more trouble than he was worth.

Elyan was not raised by druids, and does not have the same powers as Merlin so wouldn't have sensed the power of the shrine, at least not too strongly. When he first sees the spirit though, he is genuinely sympathetic, even before the murderous intent takes hold.

In the Dark Tower, Elyan is consumed by his need to find Gwen, convinced that he is to blame for her capture. This could be survivor's guilt (and to an extent, probably is), but it is equally probable that Elyan believes that he should have used his magic to protect her.

Going off on a slight tangent here, the theme of "I have magic so it must have a purpose" within warlocks/sorcerers in the show is a) not a healthy mindset and b) uncomfortably common. Elyan may have latched onto the idea that he must use his magic to protect Gwen to convince himself to stay in Camelot, and with that conprmino, he began to fall apart. His behaviour is almost identical to Merlin's fervour regarding Arthur at this point, and it's fairly disturbing that these characters adopt this mindset that is Not Good For Their Mental Heath, Please Get Some Therapy.

Elyan dies. It's heartbreaking, and he does so trying to save his sister. But what is interesting is his funeral. When most main characters die, they are given a funeral in Camelot, e.g. Uther, Lancelot (the first time). But then Freya and Shade!Lanceot (and later Arthur) are set to rest in the Lake of Avalon. The difference between the two is that the lake funerals were arranged by Merlin, and those laid to rest there can somehow be affiliated with magic.

Now I'm not saying that Merlin knew about Elyan's magic, because sometimes he can be really not very perceptive about that (though it's always fun when fics cheerily toss that out the window because it's fun goddamnit-), but I don't believe he was entirely oblivious. Think about it: there are two of Arthur's closest friends canonically hiding magic from him and it's fairly probable that they'll pick up on Elyan's magic at some point. Even if it's just little things like his sympathies with magic or gentle arguments about the way mages are treated. There are so many avenues to explore with this it's overwhelming-

I also think Elyan may have picked up on Merlin's magic later in the series: the point of realisation was probably when Merlin rescued him during his time being possessed by the drowned druid boy, upon which he says: "you know, Merlin, you're much braver than you look." This is the first time Merlin has revealed his more BAMF side to Elyan, and in this moment, something unspoken passes between them. If not mutual understanding, it is at least Elyan realising what Merlin does beneath his carefree exterior, and despite the possession, I think he acquires a lot of new respect for his friend.

(also are we going to ignore that the lake funeral implies that it was arranged by Merlin. How close were they and what stuff did we miss out on behind the scenes for him to be trusted with this?? I need to know)

Elyan and Mordred have a friendship in series 5. If the earlier headcanon about Elyan learning to control his magic with druids is true, perhaps he may have recognised Mordred from his time there. They probably didn't acknowledge it much, but it created a bond between them.

And now for the mythological context!!

Of all the Knights of the Round Table, Elyan's backstory is perhaps the most estranged from the original legend (of course all of them are fairly disconnected *flashbacks to pope-gwaine* but Elyan's is w a c k y)

As a consequence, there is little to draw on for behind-the-scenes evidence of magic.

Elyan, or Helayn, was another Knight whose origins stem from France (the Vulgate Cycle, I think, though he could have surfaced earlier). He is said to have joined Lancelot in exile after his affair of 'courtly love' with Guinevere (go and look up this concept- it gets convoluted in the myths but is really interesting in terms of both origin and content). Anyway, his exile here could represent the time he spent out of Camelot before his appearance in s3, and relates to hiding from harsh laws, particularly if we regard Lancelot and Guinevere's relationship in the same way as we do in the Vulgate Cycle (basically keep the context with the appropriate work and it sort of makes sense)

I appreciate this seems a little like grasping at straws but that's literature I suppose ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

In the legends, Elyan is nephew to another of Arthur's knights, Sir Sagramore. This knight is less famous than some, but at one point, he embarks on a quest to find the fay. The fay are closely linked with the she, and perhaps also live on Avalon, somewhere mortals are only supposed to see moments before death. Perhaps Elyan can be associated with this magic?

In reality, there is little written of Elyan and no prose or poetry dedicated to him so it's quite hard to find stuff about him.

Also legend!Elyan is heir to the throne of Constantinople, which just goes to prove how widespread and deeply convoluted the mythos is.

[myrwritesfootie]

Like The Old Days - Chapter Two - Mason Mount

Who: Mason Mount x Original Female Character Words: 1629 Disclaimer: I do not know Mason Mount or anyone else mentioned in these writings. Note: So the first chapter was just mainly an introduction, this chapter is nearly double of the previous chapter and I hope you all like it.

July 31st, 2017. Arnhem, Netherlands

The weather was quite chilly for a day in the middle of the summer. Not that it was a strange occurance in the Netherlands. It was one of the things I disliked the most about living in this country. I am someone who preferred the sun and the warmth. Unfortunately that was not going to happen anytime soon.

Despite the dreary weather, I knew that I would have to enjoy the summer as much as possible before it was over and before I would start on my last year of education. Just one more year and then it was time to find work. Something I just didn’t want to think about just yet. I actually liked my school years until now.

The voice of my friend next to me pulled me out of my thoughts.

“Iris? This is like the third time you blanked on me, what’s going on in that head of yours?” Marie asked and I quickly blinked, a guilty expression on my face. “I’m sorry Mar. What were you saying again?”

The blonde sighed - clearly exaggarating, the smile on her lips giving that away as well as she looked at me  over the edge of her sunglasses, bright blue eyes looking into my own hazel ones. “I was asking if you were up for going out for a drink this afternoon, after I finished work. It shouldn’t be a long day and they say that the weather will only get better by the end of the day. Pretty please?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. It was an ever returning question from Marie whenever the weather was nice in the city. “Fine, we are going out for a drink, but we are going to bring our own drinks and we are going to the park,” I encountered. Marie squinted her eyes for a moment, but then nodded. “Deal. I’ll ask Frances, Yvette and Sanne as well to see if they want to come.”

Even now I could already tell that the park was going to be packed. The park in the middle of the city was one of the most beautiful places in Arnhem, at least in my opinion. Whenever the sun was shining, it was busy. The slight slope in the grass made it a perfect place for sunbathing but also to have some barbecues in the summer. It was as if a big part of the city made its way into the park and my friends and I were definitely no exception.

The morning at our secondary school was one that finished pretty quickly. Marie and I were busy with our second year, with two more years to follow after this. After that university would probably follow if we were to choose for that, but so far I have not been interested in that. It meant more years at school while I knew what I wanted the most; I wanted to do something physical. I wanted to mean something for people, I wanted to travel. I did not want to get back in the school benches once more when I was done with this level of education.

So while Marie left to get to her job, I went back home. A home where a young brother had been bouncing around the house for some time now because our local football team Vitesse had been having a good pre-season so far and new names had been signed. With the Johan Cruijff Shield coming up at the start of the season, the football vibe was big in our house, with my brother bouncing off the walls. I liked football too but I had to admit that I didn’t like our own competition much. That’s what you get when you get hooked on the Premier League. The pace and level of that league was so much higher than our Eredivisie so who can really blame me, right? So where Sam - my younger brother - had a yellow and black obsession, I had a red one. A Liverpool shaped one.

The moment I walked into the house, it was clear that my mum was pissed off. “Sam de Jong, how many times do I have to tell you that you don’t get to kick that ball around inside.” The sight of shattered pieces on the floor that had previously been a longdrink glass came into my view as I walked into the living room.

“I’m sorry mum! I was trying to score the winning goal.” I couldn’t help but laugh at the words of my ten year old brother. As soon as I saw the look on my mother’s face, I bit my lower lip to stop myself from laughing.

“I just came by to let you know I’ll be at the park for the afternoon and also probably for dinner,” I quickly said, before leaving the room again so I could get upstairs, not wanting to witness the disaster that Sam was about to face.

It was only a short visit at home. While I freshened up after school - and listened to my mother yell at Sam while making him clean up the mess that he had made, I quickly looked through some messages on my phone where the other girls already showed that they had bought drinks and food already for the park.

Once I got the message from Marie that she was on her way to the park, I left the house as well. The park was only a short walk from my house but because I was known as the lazy one of my friends (and it was probably true as well), I picked the bike as my form of transport to the sunny greenery in the centre of the city. It didn't take long for me to find my friends, who had perched themselves on a large blanket in the grass. Many people had thought the same thing as we did. Other little groups had formed on the grass, some guys were kicking a football around while yelling at each other. In English. Which wasn't that rare here in Arnhem.

As I reached my friends, I just heard the last bit of a sentence Francis had said. "- is pretty cute." I rolled my eyes at the words, Francis was probably one of the biggest guy crazy people I had met but I loved her for it. I followed her gaze and found the footballing guys on the end of it. Oh, and Francis had a preference for athletes.

"Of course you have found the cutest guy in the entire park already," Marie said as she waved at me, holding out a glass with some fizzy drink in it. I looked over my shoulder and had to agree with Francis, however. The brown haired young man standing closest to us was not bad on the eyes. They were probably around the same age as us.

It was always good to spend free afternoons in the sun with my friends. For a moment there was not a worry in the world - although my mother would counter that at my age I did not have any worries. Laughing seemed to be the best remedy against long boring school days. I tried my best to zoom back into the story that Marie was telling. "So my brothers were in the backyard, mum kept yelling at them to grey inside for dinner, that they had to stop fooling around. They didn't listen at all, continued playing rugby and next moment, the ball went through the window. Mum was livid." I shook my head, a laugh escaping me as I thought back at the scene between my own brother and mother. 

"Your brothers aren't the only ones good at breaking glass. Sam wanted to score the winning goal for the Johan Cruijff Shield and thought it was a good idea to do that inside. I walked in on -"

Before I could finish my sentence, this time I was interrupted by a sudden football hitting in the middle of our picnic cloth and knocking glasses over, the ball ending in my lap. I was too surprised to jump up like some of the other girls were doing. 

"I'm so sorry ladies, my friend over there did a terrible job controlling the ball." A male voice spoke up in a British accent. It had to be one of the guys who had been kicking the ball around just a few meters away from us. A look up confirmed that it was the cute brown haired one who had come over to collect the ball in my lap. From up close he was even closer. Dark eyes matched his hair and a smile was on his lips, a shy one at that. He was our age, maybe just a bit older but when he smiled he had crinkles next to his eyes. It was Marie who found her voice back as the first one, of course she was. 

"You can definitely say that. He should learn how to play football." The guy standing with us left out a chuckle, even though I did not understand why it was so funny what Marie had said. 

"I'll let my friend Mitchell know." His gaze moved in my direction, since I had the ball. "I really am sorry…" he trailed off, not knowing which name to add to the end of the sentence. A very smooth way to ask for my name although I didn't even realise it. I scrambled onto my feet finally with the ball in my hands. "It's Iris. Here's your ball back." I held out the ball to him, his fingertips brushing mine for just a second as he took it from me. 

"Thank you Iris. I'm Mason."

[fortisfiliae]

Promised Part 8 - Tom Riddle x reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterpost | Masterlist

Summary: In this story, Tom didn’t grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader’s sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Disclaimer: Please be aware that I don’t condone any of this in real life. (GIF is not mine)

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Word count: 2.9k

Part 8 - Slughorn’s Party

Coming back to Hogwarts after the Christmas holidays was a lot easier this time. Now that you knew Elsie was definitely better, you could enjoy your stay and focus on your studying. Maybe you could also focus on Tom. Both things seemed equally important somehow. 

The fact that you could see your best friend Camille again added to the good things Hogwarts had to offer.

You were sitting on her bed in her dorm, telling her everything that had been going on during the last days. The Gaunts who had wanted to force you to do an unbreakable vow, their fight with Tom, that Tom had stayed for a bit, the book he had gifted you and everything in between. 

“I can’t believe you got him a snake,” Camille laughed. “What do you think his family said about that?”

“I couldn’t care less what they think of it,” you said jokingly. “Hopefully they’re mad at me.”

“Do you think Tom got in trouble for it?”

“I hope not. But I don’t think so. He knows how to stand his ground.”

“And the book he gave you?” she asked excitedly. “Do you think that it means something? It’s some sort of family heirloom after all.”

You lay down on your back next to her and thought about it. 

“I’m not sure. Do you think that was some kind of secret message from him?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll have to look into that.” You rolled over to face her. “And what have you done these days? Tell me all about your presents.”

“Well,” Camille said with a smile. “The presents weren’t the most exciting part of my holiday, to be honest.”

“What?” you asked. “Oh. Hang on, let me guess. You met someone! A guy?”

 The smile on her face widened. “I didn’t meet him. I just kept in contact via owl.”

“Oh, Merlin! Who is it? Someone from school?”

She nodded.

“Go on, tell me!”

Her expression suddenly changed. 

“You have to promise not to be mad.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“It’s someone you don’t exactly like,” she said, a thick tone of guilt in her voice.

Then you knew. 

“No. Don’t. It is Ben Hilt, isn’t it?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Oh, Camille,” you sighed and needed a moment to sort out your thoughts. “Why?”

“He is a very charming boy.”

“He’s a year younger than you.”

“So?” she giggled.

“He wanted to tell on me to the Ministry, so that I wouldn’t be able to marry Tom. Sticks his nose in everybody’s business.”

“He just wanted to help. He thought you were forced to do it. And you have to admit he wasn’t exactly wrong about that.”

“Have you told him about the pact?” you asked and gave her a serious look.

“Of course not. I would never. I told him right from the start that if he’s only after me to get information about Riddle and you, he could piss off.”

“And?”

“He didn’t piss off,” she said happily. “He’s a really nice guy. We never talked about you and Tom after I had made it clear it was none of his business. He didn’t even bring it up, to begin with. I would never date someone who would want to harm you, I swear.”

“Ugh, I know,” you groaned. “You’re too good. For me and for Ben.”

“Shut up,” Camille answered as she nudged your shoulder.

“Hang on. Did you just say ‘date’ someone? Are you official?”

“No. I guess not. But maybe someday. Now, what are you going to wear to Slughorn’s party?”

Slughorn’s annually belated New Year’s party was one of the few exclusive gatherings happening in school. Students could only attend if they had gotten a personal invitation, from Slytherin’s headteacher Horace Slughorn, who would invite his favourite pupil, or rather, the ones he thought looked best in his trophy collection. 

Camille, Tom and you had all gotten Slughorn’s owl.  

You had not known how to bring up the topic in front of Tom for a while. Even though you were going to marry him, that didn’t mean he wanted to go to the party together. Together, as in, on a date. And yet you had felt too weird asking him about it, so you usually had danced around the subject, awkwardly trying to find out if you were on the same page. Until he had finally said what you had wanted to hear. He had asked when to pick you up from your dorm as if it had been crystal clear to him, that you were going together. 

Seven o’clock, as arranged. It had arrived so soon. You hastily fixed the small wrinkles on the hem of your dress with a spell when you heard him knock on the door. Tom looked very posh in his black suit, politely offering his arm. And off you went. Together.

The guests at the party were usually students of year six and seven, as well as some teachers, so you knew most people there. Camille, who had brought Ben with her, looked absurdly pretty in her golden dress. Ben couldn’t have been more proud. He talked to Camille non-stop and really seemed head over heels for her. Right next to them stood two of Ben’s friends, looking all out of character in suits.

Avery and Lestrange came without dates and seemed awfully nervous for some reason. They whispered to each other every time you looked their way.

And then there was Freda Morris. Hogwarts’ head girl, who had her eyes fixated on Tom from the moment you had entered the room. You wondered if she had even noticed you next to him and if she was aware Tom was off-limits. Everyone knew by now that you were engaged after all. Either she didn’t know, or she didn’t care. The expression she sent you, after carefully staring you up and down, told you though, that she was absolutely aware of your relationship. She looked like she wanted to throw you out the next window.

“What in Merlin’s beard?” you muttered quietly to yourself after she had finally turned away from you.

“Pardon?” Tom asked and came closer so he could hear you better.

“Nothing. I just thought Freda was looking at me weirdly.”

“Really?”

“Let’s go over to Camille and Ben, shall we?” you asked, quickly changing the subject.

Tom’s gaze fell right on the two. 

“Your friend came with Hilt?” he asked sternly and began to walk their way. 

“Um, yes. About that,” you said, pulling lightly on his arm to stop him. “They’re dating. Kind of. They’re not official yet, but, you know, it could lead somewhere.”

He looked like you had just given him the world’s most unnecessary information. 

“What are you trying to tell me?” 

“That we have to be nice,” you answered and gave him your best fake smile, demonstrating what you wanted him to do.

“Nice?” he asked, gawking so blankly at you, it was almost comical. “You want me to be nice to Benjamin Hilt? After what he’s done?”

“Well… Yes.”

“Why?” Tom asked, genuinely not understanding what you meant.

“Because Camille is my best friend. And she likes him.”

Tom sighed.

“Answer me this,” he said. “Camille knows a lot about you, yes?”

“Yes.”

“I assume she knows about us,” he started talking more quietly. “Our pact?”

“She does.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

“So?” you asked.

“Isn’t it clear? He’s sweet-talking her to get information.”

“That’s what I first thought too. But Camille swore she wouldn’t tell him a thing. And she said she had made that clear to him from the beginning.”

Tom was still eyeing Ben sharply. 

“Come on,” you said and pulled him their way. “I trust Camille. It’ll be fine.”

“It‘s not her I don’t trust,” Tom said under his breath but proceeded to walk towards them with you.

“Good evening,” you said to them.

Camille hugged you and gushed: “You look so beautiful! Oh, you both know Ben, I believe.”

You offered him your hand and Ben shook it, an honest smile on his face.

“Fresh start?” you asked.

Ben nodded and turned to shake Tom’s hand as well. Tom looked at him seriously for a moment, inspecting his hand as if it was covered in Dragon Pox, until you nudged his side with your elbow, urging him to accept, which he reluctantly did.

Slughorn called for dinner before you could talk more, so you all went to the big oval table at the other side of the room.

Ben sat down left to Camille, you to her right and Tom on your other side. The three courses were lavish, as were all feasts at Hogwarts. 

Slughorn talked openly across the table, asking his students about their holidays. Freda, obviously trying to impress, mentioned that she had been to France with her family, which didn’t have quite the effect on Slughorn that she had hoped it would.

“Pathetic,” you mumbled and Camille chuckled.

“Mean, aren’t we?” Tom whispered, a grin forming on his face.

“Me? Never.”

He exhaled a laugh through his nose and slowly grabbed your hand beneath the table, taking you by surprise. You looked over to him, your fingers wrapping around his hand, then you pulled it upwards and rested both his and your hand on the table. 

“Now you’re just cruel,” Tom jested when Freda looked over and saw the two of you.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you answered, biting the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from smiling. “I’m merely holding my fiance's hand. That’s not an act of violence, is it?”

“Fiancé?” Tom asked and cleared his throat.

“Aren’t you?”

“You’ve never called me that before.”

He was right. You had never called him that in person, or when you had talked about him to anyone else. 

“Well,” you swallowed, feeling a wave of heat on your cheeks. “It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Tom grinned and held your hand a little tighter while glancing down onto the table. “Sure.”

After dinner, the guests spread around the room, chatting and drinking punch while they waited for the first dance of the evening. Slughorn had pulled Tom aside a while ago, asking him for his opinions on different things concerning Potions, politics and the news. He visibly hung to Tom’s every word, clearly awed by his favourite student, nodded and agreed to most of the things Tom said. 

You turned your back on them and faced Camille and Ben, still hearing the two chat behind you and thinking of how well-spoken Tom was. He knew how to lull in every teacher by heart.

Each word that left his mouth seemed carefully crafted for Slughorn’s ears only and made him react just as Tom wanted him to. Impressive. 

You had engaged in a conversation with Camille and Ben, still keeping an ear on Tom behind you, when Slughorn finally set him free and wished him a nice evening. You expected him to join you, even though he still didn’t like Ben, but suddenly heard an all too familiar voice talking to him.

“Hello Tom,” Freda Morris said, sickly sweet. “How are you? How were your holidays?”

You shot Camille a look, to which she automatically checked the people behind you, eyes wide in disbelief when she peered back at you. 

“What are you going to do?” she mouthed silently.

“No idea,” you mouthed back.

Ben stared back and forth between Camille and you, completely confused until he finally noticed what you were whispering about. 

“Oh,” Ben snorted. “Someone’s looking for trouble.”

Alright. Freda had not given up on Tom yet. There was a knot in your stomach, pulling bitterly and twisting your insides. You tried to ignore it, took a deep breath and decided to listen to them first. Maybe you were overreacting. You could always jinx her later.

“Oh yes, Paris was wonderful actually,” Freda enthused and had pronounced ‘Paris’ in a weird French accent. “It’s so cosy there around Christmas, you have to go someday.”

“Sounds nice,” Tom answered, rather casually. “Well, if you don’t mind, I-”

“Oh, Tom, actually,” she went on. “I wanted to ask you. Don’t you think we should open the first dance together, as head boy and girl? It’s a tradition, after all.”

Tradition? You had never heard of such a tradition before. Camille and Ben, now eavesdropping too, were as dumbfounded as you. Camille was sincerely shocked, while Ben’s mouth was open, half laughing, half speechless, like a fish on land gasping for air. It seemed that you had not been overreacting, so you turned around, now facing Tom and Freda’s backside.

“I don’t know if that’s actually a tradition, Freda,” Tom said, looking back at you briefly, one side of his mouth pulling upwards.

“Philip Elms and Eve Sterling opened the dance at last year’s party,” she huffed. “They were head girl and boy too.”

“Correct,” Tom agreed. “But they were dating at the time, weren’t they?”

Freda didn’t answer.

“And seeing as we are not dating, I have to politely decline,” he said, again looking at you. “Now excuse me, I have to talk to my fiancée.”

Tom left Freda standing there and the four of you watched her wandering off. No one said a word, you could have sworn Camille was holding her breath until Ben burst out laughing.

“Mate,” he chuckled. “That was… Deadly.”

Tom didn’t laugh, squinting at what Ben had just called him, but nodded appreciatively before he turned to you, offering his hand.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Opening the dance? The music has just started and Slughorn told me I should do it.”

You shook your head amusedly, took his hand and let him take you over to the dance floor.

“For someone who accused me of being cruel, you’re doing a very good job yourself, you know,” you said, keeping an eye out for Freda, in case she planned on hexing you. Better safe than sorry. 

“Ah, she’ll be fine,” Tom assured. “Or would you have preferred if I took her to dance?”

You didn’t answer but shot him a smile when you arrived on the dance floor, where you got in position. Tom placed his right hand on your waist and took your right one in his left hand, holding both of them upright below shoulder height. All the guests had gathered around the floor, waiting for you to start dancing. Luckily there wasn’t enough time to get too nervous. It had all happened in a matter of minutes.

“You know how to waltz, right?” Tom asked.

“It’s been a while, but-”

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll lead,” he said and took the first step, spinning in circles in three-four time.

Tom was a good dancer, which didn’t surprise you. He probably had taken courses some years ago, just like you, upon your parent’s request. You kept up with him quite well, only taking a wrong step every now and then.

“If I had known, I would’ve practised,” you mumbled.

“It’s alright, people will join in soon. You’re doing well,” he reassured you and lightly squeezed your waist.

That reminded you of the fact that you had never been so close to each other for more than a moment. Suddenly the spinning felt faster, all eyes focusing on you, burning holes right through you. The only thing steadying you was Tom and his hands.

You spotted Camille in the crowd, who was smiling at you, holding up her hand and giving you a thumbs up. That made you feel a bit more at ease, so you let Tom lead you round the floor, twirling away from people’s stares. Finally, halfway through the song, pairs of people joined in and filled up the dance floor, leaving not much room to be glared at.

Tom looked down at you, a proud smile adorning his face, his eyes softer than you had ever witnessed them before.

“What’s that I’m seeing there?” you asked. “A genuine smile? Certainly a rare sight.”

He swallowed, not changing the way he looked at you.

“Camille was right,” he said quietly.

“She usually is. But what do you mean?”

“Earlier, when we went up to them. She said you look beautiful. You do.”

People’s faces around you seemed to blur and you couldn’t hear them properly anymore. The only thing you saw was Tom’s face and how his eyes still stared down on you. It felt as if you weren’t dancing anymore, but rather floating above the ground, a swarm of butterflies emerging from your stomach. Your hand went from Tom’s shoulder behind his neck on its own and pulled him closer. Closer, just a tiny bit closer, so that you were able to view every single one of his eyelashes. His chest bumped against you and his cologne tickled your nose pleasantly. You let yourself sink into the smell of bergamot and lemon, feeling how his hand squeezed your waist a bit tighter by the second.

Closer, until you both shut your eyes and your lips met in the middle, kissing Tom right out there on the dance floor. You were the only people that had stopped spinning, even though it still felt like you spiralled around a hundred miles an hour. Butterflies turned into aeroplanes, rotating and crashing gently against each other, just like the two of you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterpost | Masterlist

Please consider leaving a comment and tell me what you think so far :) They motivate me so much to keep writing! Let me know if you want to be tagged, or untagged. Thank you for reading!

Permanent tags: @geeksareunique @ren-ela @marauderskeeper @way-obsessed5 @oreofrappiewithblueberry @draqcnheartstrinq @dogfatherpads @obscurilicious @maralisa124 @theseuscmander @lumos-barnes @theboywhocriedlupin @igotmadskills @jamcspotters @thisismysecrethappyplace @vulpecula-minor @snarledblack @swellwriting @carolinesbookworld @fandomtravels @heartbeats-wildly @clockworkherondale @aikeia @i-padfootblack-things @emmamass24 @sleep-i-ness @miss-theya @gruffle1 @peachesandpinks

Promised tags: @superblyspeedydragon​ @angeli-fucking-cat​ @cyarikaaa​ @hp-slaps​ @prettylittlehiddles​ @katjusja​ @elderwilliams​ @-thatgirloverthere-​ @1950schick​ @kissing-violet-wings @accio-boys​ @mythicalamphitrite​ @aqswdefrgthzjukilop​ @always394patronus​ @nesseldee​ @peachyserenade @iliveforthefandom04​ @chr0nicbackpain​ @truly-insatiable​ @blushingpogue​ @scarlet-says-hi​ @staplerrrr​ @uglipotata72829​ @muralskins​ @noobmaster696969 @urbankite2 @prettysatan @april-showers-and-flowers​ @etherrxall​ @slytherclawmalfoy​ @thoseofgreatambition​ @officiallyunofficialperson​ @lettersfromtheocean​ @whyisallthecoolstufftaken​

If your tags don’t work, please check if your email is verified on tumblr!

[pl-panda]

The vines that bind us - Chapter 6

Chapter 1 || Previous || NEXT

Elevator took her all the way to the highest floor. When she exited, the floor was back to perfect condition and several more plants were awaiting her. She promised them silently to check on them soon and went to the main office. She knocked several times on the doors, but nobody answered. Hesitantly, she pushed the doors open, but no one was in the office. After double-checking with security, it turned out that Tim Drake did not show to work. She sighed. Looks like more work for her… Just like Nathalie said.

“Didn’t you cause enough drama…” Lila never got a chance to end that sentence, because Mari delivered a straight one strong enough to send her flying several feet back before she came crashing down. Blood pouring from her nose.

The girl was about to launch herself at the liar and pound her into the ground when two strong arms grabbed her. She noticed the characteristic spikes on the sides of black gloves and stated to trash around. “Let me go you overgrown furry!” She screamed. “I will mix her face with the concrete until it’s nice and even!”

She tried to wiggle herself out of his grip. Most of the class surrounded Lila and were trying to help her. It only served to irate Mari more. She kicked her leg back, hitting Batman’s shin. It was finally enough to let her go. The girl fell down... right into the embrace of Chloe and Adrien who managed to get to her on time. The two blondes hugged her tightly. 

“There. It’s alright Goldie. You got her good. Rest.” The girl cooed and pressed her best friend to her chest, muffling the sobbing. Adrien was just silently there and hugged them both. When Batman tried to approach again, the boy sent him an angry glare. The warning was clear and the vigilante didn’t really need anything from the girl right now. 

After a bit, Mari fell asleep in their embrace. The stress finally caught up to her and she couldn’t hold exhaustion at bay any longer. Chloe easily picked her up and started to walk toward a taxi that was conveniently parked nearby, waiting for them. 

“What!?” Angry Alya looked from Lila who was now being cared for by a pair of paramedics. She turned to Commissioner Gordon who was discussing something with Batman. “You!” 

The policeman looked at her curiously. Alya continued her shouting. “You’re letting her go just like that? She just assaulted Lila! She might’ve ruined her modeling career! Arrest her!”

“Miss.” Gordon shook his head. “These are some of the braves men and women in Gotham, but I doubt any of them would dare to try and arrest her right now. They don’t get paid enough.”

“What?!” Several kids started to protest, but Gordon just ignored them and directed Harvey to start taking statements. He wasn’t paid enough to deal with these brats. 

--------

Bruce sighed as he exited the Batmobile. Almost immediately, he was swarmed by the rest of his family. Jason and Dick practically carried him, still in the suit, to the movie room. 

“Now, Ladies and Gents, we have some of the greatest shows for you. We call it… The Demon Trashing!”

What followed was a clip taken from monitoring in the anteroom of the CEO office in Wayne Tower. He watched as Damian, dressed in civilian clothing, and carrying a simple ninjato on his back entered the room. He walked around for a moment before knocking on the main office doors, but whatever answer he got seemed to have irritated him given the scowl that formed on his face. He walked over to the PA’s desk that stood there, but no one was here. After a short moment, one could see the elevator doors open again and a small girl in a smart outfit walked in. Damian dashed to the shadows before she had a chance to notice him. 

Bruce resisted the urge to facepalm. He could already see where this was going. 

When the girl started to walk to the desk, his son suddenly reappeared with the sword drawn. He pressed the blade to her neck. From the angle, it was impossible to see either of them expressions. The man did not expect his son to kill a civilian for trespassing, but the amount of glee on Jason’s and Dick’s faces was suggesting that his headache hadn’t really started.

The girl suddenly grabbed the blade and pushed it away. Damian, probably acting on instinct, tried to cut her, but she just walked out of the way and disarmed his son before knocking him out. There was a short skip to when Jason and Dick entered the room. The small girl was clearly very much irritated with them from the start and when she reached her limits, she used a pencil as a projectile to open the elevator doors. 

A small smirk made its way to Bruce’s face when he saw her storm past his three sons, carrying the ninjato through a tissue. The video ended with Damian waking up.

“And that’s how Drake’s new PA trashed a certain Demon Spawn. I swear, she could probably give Luthor’s bodyguard a run for her money when it comes to being a badass” Jason commented on the silent video in his typical fashion. 

“Tt. She stole my sword.” Damian huffed.

“You mean the sword she later used to stab Riddler’s man before disarming him?”

“I still consider the best part of today when she called B. an overgrown furry,” Dick said trying to hold back on laugher.

“Wait. I have a new personal assistant?” Tim asked half-awake. 

“Yeah. She was supposed to be an intern, but apparently, Sarah hired her on the spot and quit.”

“Oh… Cool.” Tim said and took a swing from his gargantuan cup. 

“Did you manage to pull the video of her taking down Riddler?” Bruce asked.

“The cameras malfunctioned before she even entered.”

“It was me,” Tim confessed. “I was still in my office when the alarm sounded. I keep a separate copy of my suit in a hidden compartment. To save time I dressed there, but I had to disable the CCTV…”

“Yeah yeah. Whatever.” Jason shut him up. “I also got the part when Damian’s eyes roll back as my new screensaver.”

“Tt. You’re lucky I don’t have my sword.”

“Don’t think you’re getting it back any time soon,” Bruce said in a stern tone and sighed. “What exactly do we know about her?”

“She is from Gotham, but she lives in Paris for some years. She said she was practicing martial arts since she was five.” Dick started

“She is also one bada…”

Jason was interrupted by Alfred, who entered the room with a plate full of cookies and tea. “A young woman just called. She asked me to forward a message to young master Damian.”

“Tt. What is it?”

“I quote. ‘Good luck getting your sword back now. Police took it as evidence. Suck it, Wayne.’ I believe the woman was young miss Chloe Bourgeoise.”

Dick, Jason, and Tim were literally rolling on the floor laughing. Bruce just facepalmed.

“No, you can’t break into the evidence room. You might jeopardize the whole investigation if you taint the evidence.” Bruce said in an exasperated tone. 

----------

It was late after midnight (or even early morning, depends on your definition) when the vigilantes returned from the patrol, only to meet Tim and Barbara working on something on Batcomputer in tandem. Whatever it was, they were completely devoted to it since neither realized they had company until Bruce made a coughing sound.

“Not now.” 

“What exactly are you doing?” The father inside Bruce resisted the urge to force-feed Tim some sleeping meds. 

“We’re doing the background check,” Barbara said while typing frantically.

“On my new personal assistant.” The boy supplied.

“oh?” Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Like… from what we found she is either the worst bitch on the block or strongest badass around.”

“Langauge master Tim.” Alfred scolded him. 

“Sorry. But like seriously! There are so many contradictions.”

“Check this out.” She pulled out a scan of a letter. It was largely creased, but still perfectly readable. “Her adopted parents one day disappeared, leaving her everything they owed sans some of their clothes. It was like they packed and left.”

“You suspect a foul play?”

“I’m not sure. The investigation was a joke and so was the follow-up proceeding. The interesting part is the custody battle that followed.” 

“Jagged freaking Stone and Parisian Mayor.” Tim interrupted Babs. “It ended with a compromise that Jagged was lawfully named her uncle and Mayor became her guardian. She was the one who suggested it.”

“How can one be lawfully named someone’s uncle?”

“Apparently one can in France. Or they just made some concessions to a celebrity. Seen weirder things.” He shrugged. “She was also his designer for years now. You remember that mysterious MDC?”

“The one you used to fawn over?” Bruce asked.

“She is brilliant so sue me.” The boy huffed. “Also, it stands for Marigold Désign et Création. She runs an internet boutique where she takes commissions from both commoners and celebrities.”

“What does it have to do with anything?” 

“I’m getting to that. Gee.” 

“Maybe I will get there?” Babs tried to take over. “She’s been working part-time as a babysitter to get funds to buy materials for new clothes and received nothing but praise. She also became a class representative. A successful one at that. She also holds the national championship in U-17 Mechastrike.”

“How is that important exactly?” 

“You wanted to know everything about her B., so we are giving you everything.” Tim sassed

“Just… get to the important parts.” He shook his head. What did he do to deserve this?

“Fine. Her school records are a mess. Skipping that they wouldn’t hold to any official inspection, they straight-up contradict each other.” Tim waved his hand in some undefined gesture. “On one hand, she receives nothing but praise from the teachers, but at the same time, there are multiple bullying reports and even several assaults in here. Most of them were met with harsh punishments.” Tim opened a separate file. “Too harsh according to the school charter.”

“It didn’t help that the letter from her parents also mentioned these kinds of things.” Babs chimed in, trying to regain control of the tale. Bruce just gave an exasperated sigh. He just gave up and allowed them to solve it, mentally already cataloging the information. 

“Except! There were statements from several people that contradicted this. Especially Chloe Bourgeois. She said, ‘Puh-lease! Mari is the kindest doormat in the world. I was mean to her for years and she still welcomed me back with open arms.’ Given her track record, I’m inclined to believe it.” 

“There was also this Drama, capital ‘D’, with MDC stealing designs. Several tabloids caught the wind of it and it even led to the police investigation. Only after Jagged Stone intervened, the thing quickly shut up.”

“Now onto the juicy parts!” Babs smiled. 

“And that was what? An introduction?”

“Yup. She has a certified black belt in two different martial arts, is a master gymnast, has an IQ of over 130 and owns two separate businesses in Paris.” She quickly read. “As we mentioned, she is the honorary lawful niece of Jagged Stone, but also designed for Clara Nightingale, Nadia Chamack, worked with Gabriel Agreste, was offered an internship from Audrey Bourgeois before she became her ward. She was seen hanging out with Kagami Tsurugi, world-renowned fencer, and Luka Couffaine, the rising star under Jagged Stone’s tutelage.”

“That was fast.” Tim summarised. 

“Yeah. Also, she was adopted some nine years ago. She originally comes from Gotham.”

“Do we know her biological parents?” Bruce asked, getting serious.

“That’s where it gets juicy. When I tried to pull out her adoption files, the computer shut down to avoid detection. There is some serious encryption on it. Probably due to who her father is. We got some of it. She described her mother as ‘wearing an outfit that showed more skin than her beachwear’, so we suspect she was a prostitute.”

“Hm… It’s not unheard of. You say she was with her mother until she was eight?”

“Between seven and nine the file said.”

“Hm… Do you think she is a threat?”

“No. But I have a different question. Why didn’t the league investigate Paris’ supervillain?”

“We were made aware of him only recently, after what our satellites mistook for Poison Ivy attack,” Batman said in an irritated tone. The fact that there was a supervillain running around for close to four years completely undetected grated on his nerves. “Diana Prince has been investigating for some time now. She has it under control.”

“The only problem I see is that she is only sixteen,” Barbara pointed.

“I mean I’m barely seventeen and I ran this company for two years now. And don’t act high and mighty. You started playing Batgirl at fifteen.”

“Played?!” She screamed. 

“You wore a hoodie and carnival mask at first.”

This quickly developed into an insults contest until Bruce finally had enough. He just shook his head and left. Alfred silently followed him, carrying a plate of sandwiches. 

-----

The next morning, Mari woke up in her bed, with Chloe and her curled together in a mess of limbs and clothes. Of course, she panicked and jumped up, waking the blonde.

“Honestly, Goldie, five more minutes. I need my beauty sleep!” She murmured.

“Um… Why are we in one bed?”

“Because you fell asleep hugging me yesterday and refused to let go at any point. I swear I wanted to get a crowbar. Ridiculous!”

“Sorry…” Mari gave her a sheepish smile.

“None of that! You ruined Lila’s face in one punch. Adrien texted me that in the end she lost seven teeth and will require plastic surgery for her nose not to look like a mashed potato.”

“No…!” Her eyes widened. 

“Yup.” Chloe grinned, popping the ‘p’. 

“That’s awful! I can already imagine how much the class will hate me now! And the employees that saw this! There were cameras there!”

“Some people actually applauded you. It could be also because you called Batman an overgrown Furry though…” Chloe’s voice wandered off. Mari collapsed onto the bed, head buried in the pillows.

“Kill me…”

“Can I kill you with hugs?”

“Fine…”

When the panicking bluenette finally calmed down, Chloe got her to sit down and showed her the headlines.

Brave WE employee saves dozens of lives!

A hero without a suit!

Civilian stopped Riddler!

Personal Assistant takes down a dangerous criminal!

They were all overly positive and showed much support. Only one tried to vilify her based on Lila’s comment and her being punched, but it quoted Ladyblog as a reliable source, so it was dismissed. The majority of the comments were also positive. The ‘overgrown Furry’ was already trending too. 

Only one of the articles contained the list of names of people killed in the attack.

Ted Black - a security guard, put himself between the bullet and another employee Sigfried Osborne - a security guard, died when he tried to stop them from entering Molly Bishop - a PR specialist, called the police when she thought the guards were busy Heidi Dickson - a security guard, killed in crossfire Craig Lloyd - an HR employee, wrestled the gun from one of the henchmen before he was shot in the back. Ethel Arson - A lawyer, killed in crossfire Christian Thorn - a security guard, shot two of the riddler’s henchmen in defense of a group of hostages.

Their room had several live plants on the rail. Mari walked to them and allowed her powers to flow. Slowly, the flowers bloomed. She picked seven beautiful flowers and put them on the table.

“Mari… I’m sure they will understand if you don’t come to work today…” Chloe placed a hand on her best friend’s shoulder.

“No… No. I won’t be scared into hiding by Riddler of all people.” She said with determination and some coldness in her voice. She stood up and walked to her suitcase. From there, she gathered a different outfit. Now she would wear a red shirt, a black blazer with the Ladybug logo on her right breast, a black pencil skirt, and black leather ballet shoes (she still hated heels). But the greatest change was her hair and eyes. She let go of her twin pigtails and allowed her wavy hair to run free. It was no longer black, instead turning dark blue with purple highlights. Her eyes also changed. Her bluebell eyes also changed. The iridescent green she used to suppress was now mixed with the normal eye color, giving an entrancing effect that was hard to stop looking at.

“It’s time to rock this place.” She smiled at her best friend.

------- (Play ‘Confident’ by Demi Lovato) --------

Marigold and Chloe entered the Wayne Enterprises in full stride. Flashing her pass, she got them through control without the queue or checking, much to the shock of the class (who still had no idea Mari was now technically their boss). Adrien showed the girls thumbs up. Lila was seething, but neither Chloe nor Marigold paid her any mind and guards didn’t let her follow them and straight-up kicked her to the back of the queue. 

Mari gave a nod to the receptionist, but they didn’t slow down. Elevator was about to close, but one of the employees held it for her. Once they entered, she quickly checked her tablet and the to-do list she had for that day. First stop: PR. Chloe was going to HR to receive a new mentor after… the previous day.

When she entered the Public Relations department, Mari didn’t stop to chat with the employee that looked at her in awe. Her goal was the department’s head office and that’s where she would go. Gently knocking on the doors before entering, she pushed the doors. While she was smiling kindly, her whole posture screamed professional. 

“Hello. Mr. Drake will need the Friday press conference plan adjusted in response to what happened yesterday. There needs to be a mention of the event, as we won’t want to sound too detached. The press would tear us apart. Some gesture to show the public that we care…”

“Maybe a memory board in the lobby? And perhaps schedule Mr. Drake to visit each of the families somewhere next week?”

“I think it will be okay…” For a short moment, Mari allowed her confidence to drop, but she quickly gathered herself and made a note in her calendar. 

“If that’s all…”

“I will also need a press statement no later than by lunch.” She said quickly. “Make it a priority and forward it to me to read before you post it.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The man smiled. Mari was about to leave when he spoke again. “And thank you for yesterday. Many people owe you their lives.”

She stopped in her tracks, unable to say a word. Finally, she regained her composure. “Thank you. I… I’m coping.” 

As she left the office toward the elevator, Lila and Alya, who were interning in that department, tried to speak with her, but she didn’t even spare them a glance. Alya tried to grab her, but she was stopped by one of the older employees. As the elevator doors closed, Mari could see the girls receive a serious scolding. A grin made its way onto her face. Lila and Alya would have a really hard life for the next two months. Especially if she had anything to say about it. 

Her next stop was the security office. She entered it with a neutral expression, but it lasted only maybe five steps from the elevator. She didn’t tear up. She was a Gothamite inside. Right as one walked out of the elevator, there was a small bar, behind which a board was filled with pictures. Some looked really old, black and white or even sepia, while some others were high-quality and new. Roughly half of them were the clean pictures one would attach to a resume. The other half were profile pictures from social media. Or a photo that was taken in the forest. One was even a detailed drawing of a person. There were maybe fifty of them in total.

“It’s a reminder. Guards who lost their lives since the founding of WE” An older man said. “Silas Wayne started the tradition after he served in the Great War. You’re here for something miss?”

“Oh… Yes. The security on Friday press conference. We must increase it by about fifty percent. And make sure that only those with invites can enter.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her.

“Um…” Mari suddenly felt a bit uncomfortable. 

“Don’t worry. It wasn’t your fault.” He said in a comforting voice.

“Thank you, sir.” She allowed a weak smile to enter her face before she left. Only two more stops. 

The elevator next took her to the Legal Department. She had many things that needed to be done here. Chloe met her as soon as she exited the elevator. Mari managed to regain her professional posture and once more emanated the aura of confidence. She wasn’t sure how long she could keep it up, but she was determined to show that she was okay. 

“I already forwarded your requests. At first, Madame McKinsley was reluctant, but apparently, our entrance is already the top corporate gossip. Good job Mari-bear.”

“Good. Thanks, Chlo. Now get back to work before someone sees me get friendly with an intern. I have a plan.” Before they separated, Marigold let a smile ghost her face. “One more thing. You’re free to unleash the foxes of war.”

Chloe lit up at that. Her whole demeanor changed to almost beaming light. She immediately started planning. Mari left her to the devious scheming and instead went to McKinsley office. The head of the Legal Department was a middle-aged woman with short, slightly graying brown hair and no-nonsense composure.

“Miss Bourgeoise informed me of your visit. I already had several documents prepared, but I will need clarification on several things.” She offered the young PA a chair, but Mari refused with a shake of her head. She opened her tablet and started to go through the list.

“First of all, the video that caused the attack was leaked by an intern. What actions exactly can be undertaken in response?”

“There are several options. We could terminate their contract entirely, but as it’s their first offense, it could’ve been seen as too harsh. It would also require to terminate all internships.” The woman was clearly unamused by the situation. Mari just raised her eyebrow and gave her a quizzing look.

“I’m not sure who in their right mind wrote their contracts, but when I track them down they are gonna get their ass demoted to toilet cleaner. It’s one big mess.”

“Don’t I know it…” Mari deadpanned. “So, other options?”

“We can move them between departments, so having them demoted to Toilet cleaners could also work, but it’s not exactly a legal punishment. The fact that it was Riddler really threw a wrench in any legal proceeding as he is clinically insane and the video was not directly calling him out and only speaking about him. I could give you the legal mumbo-jumbo, but the gist is that they are somewhat protected.”

“What about revoking their privileges?”

“Take that to HR.” 

“Will do. Now, about the next matter.”

“It was much easier. She can’t do anything to you, not even forward the bill. You were in shock and there are several recordings showing her taunting you. If she pushes it, she will lose. You’re a public hero right now. Good job by the way.”

“I was only doing what had to be done.” Mari brushed it, doing her best to keep a professional face. 

“Sure…” It was clear that McKinsley did not believe her.

“Now about the last thing?”

“Ah. The slander. I already directed it to our French and Italian departments, but it’s slow-going. That witch made it an international case. It will definitely bite her, but we have to be patient.”

“Brilliant. Thank you for your time.” Mari left the room with a grin on her face. Now onto the HR.

As she strode through the floor, people turned their heads to look at her. In the killing outfit, she looked older than she was and the aura of confidence and professionalism made her seem like a powerful woman. They had no idea just how powerful she was, but the way she carried herself was enough to make them shake in their shoes. 

----

When the doors of the elevator opened, Juleka and Rose were waiting for her. Both looked furious. Before either got a chance to say anything though, Marigold silenced them with a murderous glare that took away their voice. She strode past them looking fabulous. Any other employee removed themselves from her path to avoid her ire. The rumors were already circulating and the fact that she took down Riddler before Batman even arrived did wonder to her image. 

“Hello. I had an appointment.” She said when she entered the head of the department office. 

“Yes. Miss Dupain-Cheng. I was told you forwarded a list of topics, but an intern lost it.”

“Was this intern from my class?” She asked in a cold voice.

“Um… Yes actually.” The woman said after checking a small post-it.

“Then it was probably sabotage.” Mari spat the words. “I asked to have a list of possible punishments in regards to the newest intern group prepared. Two of them were responsible for the leak. Sadly, as one of them is the class representative, she is quite popular.”

“Ah. Well…”

“First of all, both Alya Cesaire and Lila Rossi are to have all possible privileges revoked for breaking the rules. They leaked or were involved in the leak of video. Neither of them is to be handed anything more important than refilling a stapler or bringing someone coffee, to ensure they are no further threat to this company. They will also receive an official warning and an entry to their acts. They are also restricted to the lower floors. If possible, I want their access to electronic devices restricted. Maybe assign them a pager each so it doesn’t negatively impact their work.”

“Hm… I will see what can be done, Ma’am.” The woman replied, already going through her notes.

“Good. Onto the next business, while it pains me to do it so fast, we need to hire more security as soon as possible. But make sure to triple check their backgrounds.” 

“Understandable.” 

“And the last thing. Why was Damian Wayne allowed to bring a ninjato into the building?”

“There is actually no restriction on bringing swords ma’am. We’re trying to fix it, but we’ve been blocked at every turn even when Mr. Wayne was the CEO.”

“And whose permission is needed?” Mari allowed a small grin.

“Yours would do. Sarah was always too stuck up to even leave her desk unless forced so she didn’t care that much.”

“Consider my permission granted. Forward the paperwork to me.”

“And if Mr. Drake disagrees?”

“He can try.” She said coldly, remembering how close she came to being cut in half.

“Oh…”

“Last thing. When is the top floor scheduled for repairs?”

“It should be done already. It was made to withstand an assault from a much larger force, so we only had to replace the furniture. Following the instructions that were left, we repotted the plants into bigger and more decorative pots. As per your request, we added some more plants.”

“Thank you. Plants always calm me down.”

“I prefer cat pictures.” She pointed at the wall where a cheesy calendar with a cat giving her thumbs-up was hanged. It took all of Marigold’s willpower not to burst into laugher at the image of Chat Noir posing for such a calendar.

“Good. Thank you.” With that, she left. This time, Rose and Juleka did not try anything. They were too terrified of her. 

Elevator took her all the way to the highest floor. When she exited, the floor was back to perfect condition and several more plants were awaiting her. She promised them silently to check on them soon and went to the main office. She knocked several times on the doors, but nobody answered. Hesitantly, she pushed the doors open, but no one was in the office. After double-checking with security, it turned out that Tim Drake did not show to work. She sighed. Looks like more work for her… Just like Nathalie said.

----

NEXT

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Behind Closed Doors

Keanu Reeves x OFC (Emma Mathers)

Masterlist Behind Closed Doors Masterlist

Warnings- NSFW/SMUT, infidelity, oral sex (female receiving)

Just Friends?

With his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, Keanu paced in front of her bedroom door, the words going over in his mind, playing on a constant loop. Ever since their kiss, or rather, series of kisses, in Paris on his birthday, things had been stiff with Emma. She was actively avoiding him, which was hard considering they were in the same suite, then the same plane, and obviously because she was taking care of his children. That didn’t stop her from trying though, avoiding sitting near him when they were at restaurants, taking her breakfast and dinner back to her bedroom when they dined in the suite and keeping the kids between them whenever they ventured out. Even after returning to L.A, she’d been cold, avoiding small talk, eye contact and the slightest of touches. No brushing hands on the rare event of having to pass each other something, no bumping into her in the hallway and definitely no spending more than five minutes in the same room together.

Truthfully, Keanu had missed her, and it had barely been two weeks. He’d surprised himself by holding up for that long, but wasn’t willing to bet that he could last any longer with the awkward tension between them. He’d missed her smile, her laugh, the ease that was usually shared between them, just everything. And that was why he was going to apologize; say he was sorry for letting things get out of hand when they were in France, ask if they could go back to the way things were and promise to do his best to keep things friendly on his end. Even if being her friend had started to grow increasingly difficult.

Taking a deep breath, Keanu stopped directly in front of the door, squeezing his fist tightly. There was no better time to apologize than that night; his mother had been dying to take the kids for the weekend and Miranda was still out of town. It was perfect, just the two of them, being nothing more than perfectly friendly.

“Just do it,” he urged himself, practically forcing himself to lift his fist to the door, though, just when he was finally about to knock, right before his knuckle made contact with the dark oak door, she pulled it open. Stunned Keanu just stood there, hand still raised in the air, eyes widening at her attire; a plain white, silk nightshirt, the top three buttons undone and the black lace of her bralette peeking out. The garment hung off one of her shoulders, and in her hand, Emma held a wine glass, a draining of red liquid left. In the background, indie rock played softly, definitely not audible with the door closed. “Em,” he cleared his throat, still surprised.

“Keanu,” she huffed breathily, using the had with the glass to nudge some of her freed tresses of of her face, “I thought you were out still,” obviously caught off guard herself, Emma turned away for a moment, “I didn’t hear you come back from dropping the kids off.”

“I’ve been here for a while actually,” he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He’d been mostly fine before laying eyes on her, but then, face to face with Emma was throwing Keanu off balance. It may have had something to do with how she was dressed, legs out and skin on show, but it was mostly because she was the woman he sometimes dreamed about, in ways that he shouldn’t have. “I wanted to talk to you,” trying to sound firm, Keanu straightened his back, “But if you were gonna do something-”

“I was just gonna get more wine,” she smiled sheepishly, dropping her hand to her side, still gripping the door handle with the other, “What’d you want to talk about?” Pursing her lips, Emma tilted her head to the side, slightly leaning against the open door and crooking one of her legs.

It was hard to focus when she was looking at him like that. Her eyes felt like they were seeing right into his soul and her plump, wine stained lips were deliciously inviting. “I want to apologize,” averting his gaze, Keanu cleared his throat, trying to chase away the fog in his brain, “For what happened back at the hotel.”

Before he could get any further, Emma knitted her brows, interrupting, “Keanu, you don’t have to apologize, I think I may have overstepped. You know?” She sighed deeply, “We were talking….and, things got out of hand.” There wasn’t really any logical way to explain what they'd or why they'd done it without exploring their feelings, and Emma seemed to know that just as well as Keanu, instead choosing to stumble around the topic to save them the trouble.

Nodding, Keanu returned his hands to his pockets, not knowing what else to do with them, “Maybe we both had a part to play,” he attempted to smile, but it faltered and Keanu knew that if he was being honest, he didn’t want to have to toe around his feelings for Emma, apologize for a kiss that had translated mutual longing. But he didn’t want to be the kind of man that would hurt two women in one go either. Miranda was the woman he’d chosen to spend the rest of his life with, and he couldn’t just back out on a promise like that. “You’re right though, things kind of just spun out of control. And,” he fumbled again, not even knowing if he was saying the right thing, while something in the back of his mind told him that he wasn’t really saying anything at all. “And…..it was inappropriate. I’m your boss.”

“And I’m your employee,” Emma seemed hesitant too, and there was a pained twinge in her tone that Keanu wished he hadn’t caused, “We should just…..”

“Go back to being friends?” He raised his head, and simultaneously, Emma shifted to face Keanu again, their eyes locking unexpectedly.

Her lips fell slightly ajar and she glanced at his mouth before meeting his eyes again. Emma’s tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and her voice was a wavering whisper when she agreed, “Yeah, we should do that. Friends?”

Keanu stared at her for a solid minute before managing, “Friends.” Friends. Neither of them budged, an invisible string keeping their dilated stares steadfast. They were further apart than they had been on that faithless night. The night he'd guarded from his unsuspecting fiancée, and the same one they’d just barely addressed. But still, the space couldn’t have been far enough to vanquish the unscrupulous effects that they had on each other.

Keanu knew that their conversation should have been over, but they were both just standing there, unspeaking with Emma looking so astonishingly beautiful that one would have to be blind to deny the fact. She was giving him this look too, the kind where her eyes said so much that it was hard to pretend that there wasn’t something between them. Keanu liked that something, even if it was immoral and wrong, even if it would all just crumble to nothingness one day, he wanted it. And he wanted it to turn into more. “Fuck it,” Keanu mumbled, stepping forward and taking Emma’s face in his hands, crashing his lips to hers, tasting the red wine still lingering on her tongue. As if she’d been thinking it too, Emma draped an arm around his neck, clumsily setting her glass down on top of the dresser nearby before clutching a fistful of his t shirt.

Never breaking their feverish, passionate kiss, they stumbled back into the room. Gracelessly, with hurried movements, Keanu undid the rest of the buttons holding Emma’s shirt closed, letting it billow to the floor afterwards. The back of her knees hit the edge of her bed and, just after pulling off Keanu’s navy t-shirt, she let herself fall back onto the unmade sheets, crawling backwards towards the pillows. When he came to hover over her, Emma gazed up at him, almost in disbelief, one hand caressing his face while lithe fingers of the other trailed down his body, grazing the vertical scar dominating his stomach.

Keanu shuddered when she touched it, suddenly a little self conscious. It was from a time in his life where he was careless, reckless, and hadn’t yet cemented that actions had consequences. One stupid ride had left him with a permanent reminder that he wasn’t invincible, that one more wrong move and he might not have been where he was then. “Maybe we should turn the lights down,” he whispered, slowing down for a minute.

“Why?” Emma’s hand inched over his ear, tangling in his mane, while the other found the elastic band of his sweats. Having her beneath him was surreal, and the way she looked so underdressed in just a lace and silk bralette with matching high waisted panties while her hair created a sea of black on the pale yellow pillow, Emma looked ethereal, in the most sinful of ways. “I want to see you,” she whispered huskily, “All of you.” Shifting beneath him, she started pushing his pants down, bucking her hips up towards this hard on.

His touch skimmed her side, ghosting the contour of her full breasts, the slender dip at her waist and her sensuous curves, before his fingers hooked to her panties. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamt of his,” he divulged, lips descending on the heat of her neck. Licking up the delicate column, he only stopped to suck a bruise into the hidden spot just behind her ear lobe, listening intently to the way she reacted; a hissed inhale, followed by a hollow whine. “Have you ever thought of me?” Keanu probed, goosebumps raising on his skin when he felt her shove his pants down, the sides of her bare heels rubbing against his legs.

“Yes,” Emma admitted, pressing his face to her neck, feeling moisture gather in her panties, ruining the strip of cotton that served as the crotch, “Every time I fuck myself,” her moans were music to Keanu’s ears, “Every time we’re together,” still ravaging Emma’s neck, Keanu sneakily pushed her panties down, “I wish you were mine.”

“Good,” Keanu kissed his way lower, pausing only so they could finally finish undressing themselves. Taking one of her pebbled nipples into his mouth, Emma’s breath hitched and her eyes slipped shut at the feeling of his teeth grazing her skin, between intervals of his tongue swirling around the tip. Favoring her other boob with his large hand, he erotically squeezed and massaged, leaving Emma to dig into his forearm. “Sometimes all I can think of is you,” hastily, he mumbled between more open mouthed kisses travelling down her body, each one slow and lingering as he reached her hallowed stomach.

Upon reaching the top of her sex, Keanu grabbed Emma’s knees, pushing them upwards so her feet were planted flat on the bed and spreading her legs wide. “You’re so wet for me,” he mumbled, flattening his tongue and lapping up a strip of heated arousal, “And you taste so fucking good.” Emma’s head lolled to the side and her hand urgently searched for the top of Keanu’s head, her nails grazing his scalp as she held onto a fistful of his hair.

His tongue flicked her clit just seconds before Keanu took the throbbing, swollen bundle of nerves between his lips. A pleading whine was cast out, and Emma bucked her hips, only for them to be restrained by Keanu resting his heavy palm on her stomach. “Fuck…..Ke….” she couldn’t even manage his name, and the pressure in the pit of her stomach built. His mouth worked her well, his tongue, versed beyond compare, fucking her perfectly as he introduced two rough digits to her nub, rubbing vigorously. “God,” her moans reverberated, complimenting the music that had already been playing.

Her little, pleasured sounds were incomparably intoxicating and the hardness of Keanu’s crotch was becoming almost too much to bear. “What do you want?” He raised his head a bit, proceeding to pepper kisses along the inside of her thighs as he awaited her answer. His fingers stayed on her cunt, sliding downwards to slip into her dripping entrance, while Keanu’s beard bruised her satiny skin.

Her throat burned and Emma could barely think straight, though, she knew what she wanted. She’d known for a while, “I want to feel you Keanu…..” her sultry words were slipping out without her full consciousness, using up the last bits of sensibility before she completely gave into her senses, “I want to feel you inside me.”

Tearing his mouth away, Keanu smirked when Emma emitted a frustrated sound as his fingers deserted her too. With his hands planted on either side of her petite frame, Keanu crawled up her body, once more taking a minute to admire her wanton state before capturing her lips, letting her taste herself. Arching upwards, Emma threw both her arms around him, her legs winding around his waist and trying to press him to her. “Please……” Emma begged huskily, “I’ve waited for so long…..”

“So have I,” Keanu pressed his forehead to Emma’s, slipping one of his large hands between them so he could line himself up with her sex, his tip teasing her folds. Pushing into her slowly, he swallowed up her lewd moan, trying not to lose himself in the way her tight walls cocooned him. Giving her a minute to adjust to his size, briefly pulling away to observe how her eyes had widened as her jaw hung slack. She felt so good, took him so well, like her body had been shaped to his.

He started by pulling out almost completely, the throbbing veins running along his shaft creating an unmatched, addictive friction, and then sliding back in, his pace steady and controlled. The slick sound of their bodies moving together joined the sinful symphony, though the sound of blood rushing in their ears was enough to drown it. Her nails raked up his back, the sensation painful and each time Keanu filled her the pleasurable burning between her was intensified. No one had ever stretched her so wide and no one had ever taken him so very well.

"Faster," Emma promoted, the tips of her glossy, polished nails sunk into his shoulder blades, “Go faster.” And as she pleaded, Keanu quickened his pace, one of his hands lowering to hold her hip in place, while the other stayed sunken on the soft pillow near her head. His balls slapped her core and the air swirling around the room started to feel warm, their passion heating it up.

His gruff, strained sounds were caught in his throat, his praises broken. Below him, with her head tossed to the side, the purplish bruises barely covered by her messy hair, the image of Emma was almost enough to get him off, though he could already feel her legs stiffening. Her breaths were ragged and Emma’s eyes were screwed shut, “Cum for me,” he gnarred, struggling to hold himself together, “I want to feel you, I want to feel everything.”

Still clawing at his back, surly leaving her own marks on his body, Emma whined quietly. Her toes curled as her high reached its crescendo and the heat brought with it a barely visible flush to her skin. Exertion dampened their bodies and loud, languid gasps ricocheted as her walls clenched around him. Keanu’s movements stiffened, restricted by her cunt squeezing his sheathed cock, though he still bucked his hip, rigidly, seeking his own release as Emma came around him, a gush of slick moisture coating their thighs and dripping onto the wrinkled sheets. “Keanu….” she sounded hoarse and out of breath, barely keeping up as he continued to ride out her high.

Just as her legs started slackening, going limp and lifeless around his waist, Keanu grunted, the pads of his fingers digging into her skin, simultaneously squeezing a handful of the pillow in his fist, as his climax creeped up on them. Faltering thrusts made his movements uncoordinated as ribbons of cum were spilt deep inside her. By then, Emma’s noise had softened, no match for the satisfied groan that reverberated Keanu’s chest, just before he collapsed on top of her.

“You just….we just….” Panting, Emma could barely manage a sated smile, threading her fingers through his sweaty hair, the guilt not yet catching up even as Keanu buried his face in the side of her hair.

A slight nod had his rough beard scratching her rosy cheek, and his hand skimmed her side, almost as if he were checking to see if she were real. “We did,” he huffed, swallowing thickly to quell the dryness in his throat. His mind was too fogged, his heart to contented to realize the gravity of what they’d done. But regardless, they were both sure of one thing; they’d certainly crossed a line that night.

So much for being just friends.

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea @nonsensicalobsessions

[galesh]

Wish fulfillment au of Severus who was born in Albus' Dumbledore's time. I just wanted to post it as a reply on a discord server but then it got out of hand. So

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

- Two clever swots duking it out... in academics!

- Debating each other of old spells and whether or not they're dark and the librarian jinxing them out of the library with hexes for being too loud

- Albus and Sev rubbing their stung bums and arguing about the hexes the librarian used

- Albus and Sev both discovering they're poor halfbloods and railing against the arswholes in charge who think they can sting their bums and get away with it

- Them stinging each other's bums because it's a fascinating body part and maybe rubbing them with a different set of hands because maybe it'll help, and they're experimental

-Albus viewing the fascinating kid with so much dark potential with new eyes.

-Sev keeping an eye out for the twinkly eyed twit because it's unnerving, really, and because he always found the goodness in others fascinating. He doesn't believe he can emulate it, but maybe some would seep through him in osmosis. That's what that muggle book said anyway

- His ma always said he had a thing for redheads. He's starting to suspect her of practicing black magic

- Albus and Sev working on potions and transfig together because none of them can tell the other they're bloody brilliant and that they're fascinated, and could we just get to stinging bums and rubbing out the soreness please

- Sev visiting the Dumbledore's on summer break because his father is dead and his mother as good as, meeting the creepy girl creature because he's nosy and of course he'd look at the one room Kendra told him not to

- Abe running to Ariana's room because she screams bloody murder. It's only when he gets there that he realises that that bloody snake they let into their house is being accosted by a happily shrieking Arianna who wants to meet this strange new black haired scarecrow her brother likes

- The older one

- Sometimes, Arianna suspects

- Sev being horrified by Ariana's sad tale, and not wanting her to waste away, working with Albus to make sure she can get out

- Abe (begging to) help them because he really wants to, and because he doesn't trust the snake

- Sev learns Abe can't bloody spell after the third time.he has to squint if the bottle has fluxweed or filchweed (Dyslexia is not recognised yet, but it will be, in the muggle world) amd tries to help. It's more insulting than helpful, but he tries!

- Albus feverishly searching for a way to fix what those muggle boys and their mother's imprisonment and his neglect have wrought. Searching in the darkest grimoires, because really, what is honor and goodness if it can't even help his sister?

- Ariana getting her father's silver signet, carved with the runes of protection, family, forgiveness and renewal. They can't fix her magic, but the magic she once loved has caused her loved ones only harm, and really, it's time to stop listening to the voice inside her, who wants to rip her mother to shreds and burn the whole world down

- In the end it's abe, who comforted her when her mum looked at her with hate and Albus ashamed who puts her ring on as she says the words the runes describe. It's hard to forgive her mother and those muggle boys, but Arianna thinks they've suffered enough (it'll be years later that she realises that she left one person, but as she watches her daughter's delightful coo as she Dan's her nose with a glowing goden finger, she is only thankful that her lack of forgiveness didn't take all her magic away).

- She kisses her brother-in-law to be on the cheek, as is only proper for a member of family.

(Ariana has a very feeble grasp on social niceties. She tries, okay! You try learning everything from books while trapped in a cottage like a demented princess, with a brother who even she knows has an unhealthy fascination with goats who'd talk to her normally)

(Arianna's husband and her daughter, who she names Severus --because every universe must have a second child with a severusly controversial name -- would really come to fear her social skills, or lack thereof. Severus blames her godfather and her uncle with a the raging hate of a 10 year old who's been denied Uncle Sev's sweets)

- Sev and Albus competing for the top spot in the classes with professors and the bottom in the classes without

- Albus meeting Gellert in the evening he's supposed to leave for France and noticing the same dark charm. Severus noticing, but wanting to taint it than emulate it

- A black owl pooping on Gellert's golden hair because he Does Not Share!

- Albus sharing his plans to Change The World which would kill a girl with beautiful, uncontrolled magic and put a vengeful father in a prison of his own despair

- Sev agreeing to them and adding some rather inventive and cruel revenges he'd have on the Wankers who disowned his mother for following her heart

- Albus crossing out those points with eyes that twinkle in gentle admonishment, because really Severus, where would you even get a fully grown basilisk, and ignoring the calculating glitter he gets in return

- Abe following the idiots because Ari orders him to help the idiots and he can deny her nothing

- Gellert becoming a Light wizard after being at the wand end of a particularly dark spell (they teach *that* at Hogwarts, the light school!?!?!?!?) By a vengeful gargoyle after he drunkenly kisses*Bruder* Dumbledore

(years later, Headmaster Dippet can't figure out why his newest Dada teacher is so militant about students knowing everything about Dark magic and why some magics should never be studied, or why flinches everytime he sees a mistletoe. He has enough experience at 300 Not To Ask)

- Albus learning the most beautiful healing spell at the hands of a scowling-dark-phoenix with moist, angry black eyes after the 12th use of a dragon's claw soon after he discovered the 12th use of their blood

(Fawkes could never forgive Severus Snape for stealing it's thunder. Also he smells owl. They're the worst!)

-Severus stealing the Flamels' thunder by creating a philosophers stone after being at their home for a month.

(Perenelle suspects it's because Nicholas, who can be really old fashioned about these things, forbade their apprentice and that brilliant boy with no thoughts from rooming together)

- Severus lacing Albus' lemon drops with the elixir of life because clearly, that imbecilic martyr thinks dragon claw wounds are amusing

- Albus lacing Severus' tea with it because it would be such a horrible thing to live alone

(or without the one person who matters, no offence to his family. Oh, alright Abe, you're definitely not it!)

(the elixir of life prepared yearly mysteriously dissappears into tea and lemon drops. Albus stops worrying over Severus getting killed by vampires while he gets their teeth in exchange of galleons like a demented tooth fairy, and Severus stops worrying about Albus getting nicked by antsy Dragons or Phoenixes or Nifflers, or whoever Albus scraps with in his spare time)

- Albus putting his demented convoluted plans in motion by destroying wizarding currency through inflation. It somehow leads to a goblin revolution, equal rights for magical creatures, and the adoption of muggle currency. Don't ask

(Rumour has it that Gellert, Wizarding Britain's champion one look at the the scowling face of a Severus Snape and proposes negotiations.

Muggle currency was great, really. Made mathematical sense, easier to handle, and twinkly eyed not quite evil overlords can't dependably reproduce all the identifiers. They hope

Quite coincidentally, as Severus will assure you, all the pureblood families --including the Princes, coincidentally-- lose all their accumulated money in the resulting changeover.)

- Albus rules everything from behind the iron curtain with gentle fists and an open smile. Everyone learns to agree with him because behind him stands the spectre of DEATHOMgWatdidyoudo that you want to always keep happy)

- An excited Tom Riddle learns about magic from a charming Professor who's really interested in how he speaks, and who agrees that muggles are awful but keep it down will you?

- Tom Riddle learns to confide in and trust the person who introduced him to the magical world; and tells him when he accidentally discovers the chamber of secrets while hissing open at one of the taps in the girls loo that just wouldn't dispense water (he was under a lot of pressure okay! No, he's not a creep!)

- Tom Riddle grows up to be a politician with a particularly hard view on those muggles. Being backed by the Headmaster of Hogwarts helps. The society has made great strides in the concept of equality and democracy however, and most creatures really don't like him for some insane reason. Albus Dumbledore wins the elections by a landslide again. Tom is tenacious, and plots for when he'd get the position after the old man dies

(On his deathbed, Professor Emeritus of Hogwarts, Professor Tom, curses todgy old men with unnaturally long lifespans)

-Harry Potter, who grew up loved and a headmaster who didn't want to train him in any way, shape, or form (Harry was glad. Headmaster Grindenwald was nice and all, but he really didn't want to know all about the Dark arts and why not to use them kplzthnx). He went on to work at the ministry because his mother instilled in him values of fairness, kindness, and Get Out The House And Go To Work You Bum!

(He named

- Ariana's first kid is named after Abe. Her second is called Severus. Severus being a girl, never forgives her, and years later, when her son is born, names him Ariana with a vindictive gleam in her eyes.

(Ariana never really learned a the social niceties. They're horribly ineffective, and Abe tells her she's always charming in any case)

(Severus Smith is comforted by the fact that her godfather is a immortal wizard who gives her the best sweets)

- Severus and Albus never really fall out of love, even though they fall out of bed many times. They are a different breed of men, really. Eternal devotion means eternal devotion, as they find out. The Flamels' are happy they finally get to go on what the muggles call double dates.

- They also never stop stinging each other on the bum, but that is a rather more mature tale.

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Bonus Chapter: Harley VS Bruce

AO3

Ch. 18 (main fic)

Master list

Harley Quinn was a lot of things. Psychologist, ex-villain, ex-girlfriend of one of the biggest assholes in Gotham. Girlfriend of the lovely Pamela Isley, and best friend of the amazing Selina Kyle. She was now also the proud aunt of the adorable sunshine that is Marinette Wayne. What she wasn’t, though, was someone who gave up easily. Which is why she originally texted Bruce Wayne once she woke up this morning. She texted him and then intended on getting ready to go out to breakfast with her three favorite girls. She did not intend for Bruce Wayne to come and knock on her apartment door. 

Harley glares at the man standing in front of her, not amused by his claims. So what if he says the kid is his “biological daughter” and that she has “no claim” on her. To hell with him, that adorable ray of sunshine was hers now. She was officially one of the girls. And she was not backing down easily. Her text was supposed to reassure him that Marinette would be safe with her and the other Sirens. Not make him rush down here to try to take her back before the girl had even had breakfast. This just wouldn’t do. 

“Harley, please. Marinette is my daughter and-”

“But you already have so many kids! And the kid really likes us.” Harley argues, pouting. Mr. “I dress like a bat for fun” was not about to take Mari away from them. 

“I understand that Harley, and she can still come to visit. But she’s not living with you.” Bruce says, putting his foot down. Who would’ve guessed one night with the Sirens would be enough for them to try and adopt his daughter out from underneath him. 

“Or, you could always come and visit her while we have full custody. Makes more sense to me!” Harley counters with a wide grin.

“I don’t even have custody of her, she’s just visiting Gotham for the summer.” Bruce says tiredly. Harley frowns. 

“Whatdya mean you don’t have custody? Who does? Her mom?” She asks. 

“Her adoptive parents in France.” Bruce says shortly. Harley gasps. 

“France? Well then forget this fight, I’ve got a flight to catch.” She says, whirling around to leave. Bruce stops her, gently grabbing her wrist. 

“She loves her parents, Harley. And they’re letting her see me and stay here in Gotham for the summer, something I never expected them to agree to. If you go in guns blazing, they’re never going to let either of us see her again.” He points out, letting go of her wrist once he guesses she won’t run. 

“But that’s not fair!” She whines, stomping her foot. The summer was so short! There wouldn’t be enough time to spend with the kid if B man was insisting on also spending time with her. That wouldn’t work. It just wouldn’t. 

“I’m sorry, Harley. But she has a life in France. We can’t be selfish.” Bruce says. Harley scoffs. 

“Fuck that. Maybe you can’t, but I sure as hell can.” Harley says, crossing her arms. Bruce sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Harley-”

“No! No more Harley this or Harley that. Marinette is staying with me and Ivy and Selina and that is final!” She says. 

“The hell it is! Listen, Harley, I’m trying to work with you here. Really, I am. But I went almost fifteen years without knowing about my daughter. I’m not about to give her up now just because you think she fits in well with the other Sirens!” Bruce argues, finally letting some anger seep through. Marinette was his daughter, damnit. He already had extremely limited time with her and while he would never stop Marinette from seeing the Sirens (as long as they weren’t doing anything too illegal), he wasn’t going to just let her live there. 

“Uh...what’s going on here?” Marinette asks, blinking sleepily as she looks between her dad and her newly adopted Aunt who appeared to be having a standoff right outside the apartment. With both her and Harley still in pajamas. Lovely.  

“Nothing pumpkin, go back inside.” Harley says, squeezing her shoulder. 

“No, Marinette, come on honey. We’re going home.” Bruce says. Marinette frowns. 

“Selina said we were gonna come back later. We’re supposed to go grab breakfast with Aunt Harley and Ivy first.” She says. He starts to say something, then stops. Staring at her pants before sighing. 

“Are the two of you really in Batman and Robin pajama pants?” He asks, exasperation filling his voice. 

“Yeah- Dad what’s wrong? If I really have to go home right now I will. I just thought Selina told you where we were. And when we’d be back.” Marinette says, confused as to how this whole situation started. 

“She did. And I was fine with it. I know how stressed you’ve been, sweetheart. But then Harley texted me-”

“We don’t have to talk about that.” Harley says, laughing nervously. Marinette narrows her eyes. 

“Aunt Harley, what’d you do?” She asks, sticking her hands on her hips to try to look more intimidating. 

“Sweets, I just wanted you to be able to stay here with me and Selina and your Aunt Ivy.” She says, smiling awkwardly. Marinette turns to her dad, quirking an eyebrow up. 

“She informed me, via text message, that you would not be returning to the manor. And that no amount of money could make her return you, that you were happy and fine and you made a great addition to her little family.” Bruce says. Marinette turns to Harley and launches herself at her, wrapping her arms around the woman. 

“Aunt Harley, I love you. And I’ll always be part of your family, but I have to go home at some point. I just met my brothers and dad recently, and I have years to make up for. Besides, I’m sure this isn’t the last time Maman and Papa will let me come to Gotham. I’m not just gonna forget you because I’m across town.” Marinette says, hugging Harley tightly. Harley sighs, but wraps her arms around the girl and returns the hug. 

“I know you won’t sugar, I’m just gonna miss you. You fit in so well here.” She says softly. Marinette sighs. 

“I’m not even leaving yet. We’re still gonna go get breakfast, right? And besides, you have my number now. And Selina already said we have to have a girl’s night every week for the rest of the summer, and I don’t know about you, but I’m not gonna go against Selina.” Marinette reminds her with a grin. Harley snorts. 

“Fine, fine. Only because you want to see your dad and brothers for some weird reason. But the second you get tired of them, you can come live with Auntie Harley.” She insists. Bruce opens his mouth to object, but Marinette cuts him off. 

“Of course.” She says, giving her another quick hug before turning to look at her dad. “See ya later dad, I’m gonna go change for breakfast.” She says, giving him a quick hug before going back into the apartment. 

“I win.” Harley says with a smirk. “Conditionally.” 

“I- fine. Conditionally. Please be cautious of what you say while out for breakfast. She’s not quite ready to be announced as a Wayne.” Bruce says.

“Whatever you say, B-man.” Harley says with a half-hearted salute. Bruce simply sighs before walking away. Harley grins. She definitely won this round.

Tag list: @megawhitleycalderonpaganus @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @jumpingjoy82

[bluesylveon2]

My My, I Could Never Let You Go

Summary: Sasha Zoe just wants her dad to walk her down the aisle. There is only one problem: she doesn't know who her dad is! Sasha invites 3 men in hopes of finding out which one is her father. What could possibly go wrong?

Pairings: Levi x Hange, Sasha x Niccolo, and other background relationships

Disclaimer: This is a Levihan Mamma Mia au. This fanfic is inspired by Mamma Mia which is directed by Phyllida Loyd, written by Catherine Johnson, and uses music from the pop group ABBA. Attack on Titan is a manga/anime series written by Hajime Isayama and published by Kondasha

A/N: I’m alive! I would insert a sob story, but I’ll spare you the details. I RECOMMEND looking up Mamma Mia Dancing Queen by Movieclips on Youtube to get a feel of the end (look for the ******). Enjoy!

Need to catch up? Catch up here!

Ch 5: Dancing Queen

Rico and Nanaba were out drinking again at a nearby bar while Hange was away. Hange mentioned how she had to grab some things from her goat house, so Rico and Nanaba took it upon themselves to drink some more and talk to the locals. 

Rico looked up at the bartender in front of her. She recognized him as one of the men who had helped her and Nanaba earlier. This man was way taller than her, and definitely over 6 feet. He had long, light ash-brown hair styled in a mullet, and he had small, intense golden-brown eyes. It almost gave him a vicious look. This time the man was shirtless and only wore swim trunks. It's a good thing wearing swimwear on/underneath clothing was considered normal on the island.

“Here you go, one cocktail for a beautiful woman like you.” he slides the drink over to Rico and gives her a wink. Rico grabbed the drink and gave the man a flirty smile. Definitely not vicious. He seemed like a nice and flirty guy to her. 

Maybe husband number 4? Rico smirks as she drinks her cocktail. Don’t get Rico wrong now. She knows what is out of line when it comes to choosing her future husband. However, a little bit of flirting won’t hurt.

“Thank you…” Rico trailed off. Shoot. She never got the guy’s name.

Jean grabs a wet rag and starts cleaning off the bar “Jean. I’m also one of Sasha’s friends.”

“Ah, I heard of you!” Nanaba yells out suddenly. She looks at Jean with excitement. Nanaba loves learning about the bits and pieces of Sasha’s life. After all, it’s been years since she has last seen her. “Sasha has talked a lot about you! You’re Niccolo’s best man, right? Have you been on the island this whole time?”

Jean nodded “Yes and no. Yes, I am Niccolo’s best man. No, I haven’t stayed on the island the whole time. I actually came back a few months ago to prepare for the wedding. I’ve been busy with college studying for art before coming back. I'm currently staying at the old house that I share with my friend, Marco.” 

Jean is a Fine Arts major at the Paris College of Art. He agreed to study in France because of his mom. You see, Jean originally lived in France before moving to Kalokairi to be more independent. He was from Strasbourg, which is about 500 km away from Paris. It’s a long drive, but it is worth it for him to see his mom’s smile every time he visits. Jean also works part-time in the bar in Kalokairi to help pay for his expenses. Jean is lucky his old boss let him work again, or else he would be doomed. 

Jean reminisced when he first came back to Kalokairi. He was excited to see Sasha again and for the wedding. Jean views Sasha as a sister he wishes he had, and he was genuinely happy to be a part of her wedding. 

Jean smiled at the memory. He was strolling through the island, greeting the locals and familiar faces. In fact, Jean was too busy reminiscing to even hear the sound of running footsteps heading towards him from behind. It was then when Jean’s peace was ruined by Hanami jumping on his back. She loudly proclaims her excitement for them working together for Sasha’s wedding (she is Maid of Honor, and he is the Best Man). 

Jean sighed as he finished wiping off the bar. That woman is gonna be the death of him one day.

Nanaba looked up to find Rico studying Jean, who was lost in thought. Oh no. Here comes Husband number 4 already. 

She rolls her eyes and looks at Rico's drink. It had a peachy color, decorated with an orange wedge on the rim and a mini umbrella. It looked familiar to her, but she couldn’t put a name to it. The orange slice meant it’s definitely fruity. Ironically enough, Nanaba is not a big fan of fruity drinks. She likes a fruity smell in her perfume though. Nanaba prefers drinking beer or hard alcohol like whiskey.

Nanaba grabs Rico's attention. “Hey Rico, what kind of drink did you get?” She proceeds to drink her beer.

“Sex on the beach,” Rico replies nonchalantly. This causes Nanaba to almost choke on her drink. She began to have a coughing fit.

Rico repeatedly slaps Nanaba’s back until she stops coughing. “Did I say something wrong, Nana? Why did you start coughing?” Rico raised an eyebrow.

Jean, noticing Nanaba’s coughing fit, stops making drinks for other customers, to give Nanaba a napkin. She thanks him, and Jean nods and returns back to his job.

Nanaba wipes her mouth and turns to Rico. “Are you trying to imply something by ordering that specific drink with him? You're staring is not exactly subtle, you know." She quickly darts her eyes to Jean, who was busy doing his job and not eavesdropping on their conversation.

Rico laughs and takes a sip of her drink. “Take your mind out of the gutter, Nana.” Rico smirks “I just wanted to order a drink. That’s all. Unless...maybe I am?" She winks at Nanaba and laughs. 

Nanaba rolls her eyes and smiles at Rico. She wasn’t surprised that Rico took the opportunity to mess with her. Nanaba looks over to Jean to make sure he is busy. She places a hand on Rico’s shoulder and looks at her with a serious face.

“Don’t mess with the poor boy, Rico. You’re old enough to be his grandmother,” she says with the most serious tone she could come up with. She takes her hand away and takes another sip of her beer. Rico lightly slaps Nanaba’s shoulder in fake offense and laughs again. Of course, Nanaba would point that out. Rico was ready to make a comeback but stopped as she heard running heading in her direction.

Both women turn around from their seats to see an exhausted and frightened Hange run up to them. Hange’s hair was messier than normal, and her glasses were slightly crooked. One of the straps of Hange’s overalls came loose too. She looked as if she ran a marathon or was practicing for the Olympics.

“Where’s Sasha?” Hange asks as if her life depended on it.

Jean, who noticed Hange's appearance, answers for Rico and Nanaba. “I think she’s at the beach with the other girls.” He goes back to his job but doesn't question Hange’s looks. He doesn't want to die before the wedding.

“What’s up?” Nanaba asks tenderly and reaches up to fix Hange’s glasses. Now that Hange was up close, she noticed how red her eyes were and the tears that were ready to spill.

Hange was overwhelmed with emotions. She has to juggle running the hotel, Sasha’s wedding, and now deal with her past lovers! This was not how she wanted Sasha’s wedding to go. She couldn’t bear the idea of having both sides meet. What would the men think? Heck, what would Sasha think? Hange has been vague about Sasha’s father for years now. Would Sasha hate her for keeping them a secret? She doesn’t even know who Sasha’s actual father is!

Hange felt her dam begin to burst and some snot running down her nose. Hange ignored Nanaba’s question and ran off to the nearest bathroom. She ignores Nanaba and Rico calling out to her. Hange ran into the nearest open stall, closed the door and the toilet seat, and sat down to cry. She didn’t want the whole island to see her at the moment, so crying in the bathroom was the best thing to do. Hange grabs a part of her overalls to blow her nose.

Meanwhile, Nanaba and Rico (who brought her purse and her drink) followed Hange to the bathroom and called out her name. Sadly, there was no reply. She only heard the soft cries coming from the nearest stall. Nanaba runs to the front of the door. Rico closes the bathroom door and sets her stuff down before joining her.

Nanaba knocks on the door and turns to Rico with a worried look on her face. There was no response again except for Hange blowing her nose.

“Talk to her,” Rico whispers to Nanaba. Nanaba nods her head and turns back to the door. She leans towards it and takes a deep breath.

“Hans.'' She starts with Hange’s nickname from college. Nanaba spoke to Hange with a tender and caring tone. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Nanaba places her ear against the door and waits to hear anything from Hange. She only hears soft whimpers instead. This caused Nanaba to frown. She turns to Rico and moves her hand in a hurry-up motion. She already put some effort into this. Now it's Rico’s turn.

“Oh, right! Uhh…” Rico was unsure about what to do. She hasn’t seen Hange cry like that in years. The last time Rico heard Hange cry like that was after Levi left, and it was over the phone too! She glances at Nanaba who kept encouraging her to go. 

Rico was unsure about what to say. She’s not the best at comforting people, but she will at least try. For Hange. “I’ve never seen you with so much sorrow, Hans." 

Nanaba turns to Rico in realization and grabs her shoulders "and the wedding is tomorrow!"

"We have to see Hange!" She whispers to Rico.

Rico nods in agreement and takes Nanaba’s hands off of her. "Good plan. You go on all fours on the floor, and I'll stand on your back. You look from the bottom, and I'll look from the top." 

Nanaba looked at Rico with disbelief "Are you crazy? It's logical for me to be on the top. I'm the tallest!"

Rico pinched the bridge of her nose, causing her glasses to move up slightly. She sighed while Hange’s crying continued in the background. 

"Now is not the time to be comparing heights, Nanaba. Hange is not emotionally stable right now, and she needs us to help. Besides, it's logical for you to be on the bottom. You're heavier than me."

Nanaba wanted to punch Rico for playing the weight card, but she did have a point. She also knows about Rico’s cleaning standards (which aren’t as high as Levi’s, but only Hange knows that), so she won’t go down on the floor unless she has to. 

Nanaba sighed. Now was the time for arguing. They needed to focus on Hange and can deal with Rico later. 

"Fine." Nanaba moved to go on all fours on the floor. She tilted her head towards her back "Hop on." 

Meanwhile, Hange continued to cry into her palms. She was too depressed to even hear what was going on the other side of the door. The memories with all three men kept replaying in her mind nonstop. Hange can recall cuddling on the beach with Erwin. She can picture dancing with Mike underneath the night sky on his yacht. She also remembers the time when Levi kissed her forehead when she pretended she was sleeping one day. Hange continued to cry but stops when she hears a thump on the door. 

Hange looks up to find Rico staring down at her and holding on to the door. Now Hange was confused. Rico is too short to look over from the top. Unless…

She let her eyes fall downward to find Nanaba looking at her from the bottom. Both she and Rico had a concerned look on their faces.

"I hate to see you like-” Rico gestures to Hange “-this."

Hange looks up at Rico as she continues on. Hange felt ridiculous. Here she was crying over 3 men on the toilet. She knew she looked like a mess. She needs to get up from the toilet first in case her friends suddenly burst into song. 

Nanaba adds onto Rico’s statement, "Hans, you can't deny that you're sad. It's just...We haven't seen you this sad since- ahh!" She and Rico scream as Hange suddenly opens the door. 

Hange runs out to the bathroom door and to the nearest sink. Nanaba and Rico quickly stood up and went to either one of Hange’s sides. Rico and Nanaba patted Hange's back to comfort her. They didn't want to force Hange to talk. She can talk when she is ready. 

Hange looks at herself in the mirror. She looks and feels like shit. Ironically, it made her think about Levi. What was that nickname Levi would call her besides Four Eyes? Shitty Glasses. Hange looked at herself in the mirror. Now her whole face played the part too. It almost made Hange laugh. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she could see some snot dripping down her nose. Hange wipes it off with a tissue Rico put out in front of her. Hange’s clothes looked disheveled too. She couldn't recognize herself in the mirror. 

Nanaba leaned her head on Hange’s shoulder. Hange smiled and put her right hand on Nanaba’s cheek as thanks. Rico leaned on Hange’s other shoulder, and Hange placed her head on top of Rico's.

"You're our best friend, Hange," Nanaba says softly. She uses Hange’s actual name instead of her nickname. That's how Hange knew Nanaba was being serious.

"You can rely on us" Rico replies next with a soft tone as well. 

Hange begins to cry again. What did she do to deserve friends like them? They saw Hange rise and fall in life, yet they stayed by her side no matter what. 

Nanaba and Rico, who noticed Hange’s waterworks appearing again, turns Hange away from the mirror. They push her up to sit on the sink. Nanaba and Rico sat down on the sink next to Hange after she was situated. 

Rico speaks up first after a moment of silence "You’re usually so sure of yourself Hange. Now, look at you. You look so broken." She looks at Hange with concern. "Just know that it's ok to cry. You’ll be up and dancing again once your pain ends" She rubs Hange’s arm and Hange smiles at the gesture.

Nanaba leans towards Hange to fix her overalls, and Hange turns to look at her. "I hope we can patch up whatever is going on, Hange. We just want to see you happy again." Hange smiles at Nanaba’s words. 

"That's it!" Rico suddenly says "you just need a little pick me up. That would help cheer you up!" Rico turns to Nanaba. "Help me out her Nanaba."

Both women jump down from the sink. Rico goes to her purse, which was nearby. Nanaba takes off Hange’s glasses and stands ready for whatever Rico has in store. 

First, Rico hands Nanaba some tissues to wipe Hange’s tears and snot. Nanaba wipes Hange’s nose until Rico starts throwing one too many tissues at Hange. 

Second, Rico grabs a breath spray freshener. Nanaba opens her mouth for Hange to mimic as she takes off the cap. Nanaba sprays it one time, but Hange starts coughing from the spray entering her throat. 

Third, Rico grabs some perfume and hands it to Nanaba. Hange was expecting a few sprits of perfume not bathing in the whole bottle! Hange sneezes because of the perfume. Maybe she would smell good enough to be up to Levi’s standards? Hange rolls her eyes at the thought.

Finally, Rico grabs her cocktail for Hange to drink. Nanaba works to redo Hange’s ponytail. Hange reaches over to grab the drink, but Rico moves it out of her reach. Rico places the drink on Hange’s lips and tilts the glass up to a point Hange might as well chug the whole thing. Hange moves her hands up and takes the drink away from her mouth. 

"OK! I appreciate the help, you guys!" Hange cries out. She sniffs and wipes her nose with her arm. She might as well confess and get straight to the point 

"It's her dad," Hange confesses. 

Nanaba and Rico were confused. "Who's dad?" Rico asks.

Hange looks at Rico with a serious face. "Sasha’s dad" she clarifies 

Hange stares at her friend’s faces but was met with silence. She decided to continue with her story. 

"Remember how I told you it's Levi, the supposed mystery guy who is actually a millionaire? The man who left to get married." 

Nanaba and Rico nodded to show they are following Hange’s story.

"Well, there were two other guys. Around the same time. You already met one of them before."

Hange looks up at Nanaba. Although Nanaba was looking at the floor, Hange could see the gears turning in her head and the puzzle pieces fitting together. Nanaba realized who she was talking about and how he and Hange did more than just ‘go on nightly boat rides.’

"The man who accidentally ran into you that day...the boat rides...” She looks up to meet Hange’s eyes. “One of them is Mike. Isn't it?" 

Hange nods and looks away in shame. She didn't want to see Nanaba’s reaction. Hange suspected Nanaba had a crush on the guy, but she noticed it too late. Hange’s mind was clouded by her summer romance to even notice Nanaba’s longing stares at Mike. Hange still feels guilty and selfish about it to this day.

Rico placed her hand on Hange’s cheek so she can face her. "Why didn't you tell us?"

“Well, I never knew I would ever have to really! I don't even know who Sasha’s actual father is!” Hange confesses.

Nanaba placed her hand on Hange’s shoulders for support. Hange didn't see any hatred in Nanaba’s eyes after confessing about sleeping with Mike. Bless Nanaba’s heart. “Well, we already know Levi and Mike. Who’s the third guy?”

Hange takes a sip of her drink before responding, “A man named Erwin Smith. I don’t think any of you know him. He left Kalokairi before you guys arrived.”

Nanaba takes her hand off of Hange’s shoulder and shakes her head “The name does not ring any bells.”

Hange looks at Rico expecting the same reaction as Nanaba. What she did not expect was Rico’s mouth wide open in shock. 

“Erwin Smith. Tall, blonde hair, blue eyes, and a face that looks like he starred in a movie? That Erwin Smith?” Rico asks as if she was in a trance

Hange looked at Rico with surprise. “Yes?”

Suddenly, Rico broke out of her trance and jumped with excitement. Hange and Nanaba looked at her confused.

“I’ll take that you know Erwin Smith?” Nanaba asks after Rico calmed down a bit

“Of course! Who doesn’t know who he is?” Rico said

“Apparently me,” Nanaba mumbles to herself, but Rico hears her anyway.

Rico sighs after calming down a bit. She takes out her phone and googles Erwin’s name. She pulls up the first image of him and shoves her phone to her friend’s face. 

“Of course you wouldn’t, Nanaba. Erwin was on the cover of People’s: Sexiest Men Alive a few years ago and was in the Top 10 of the Most Handsome Faces in TC Chandler!”

Rico looks at Hange and Nanaba’s faces. She was expecting an exciting reaction but was met with her best friends just staring at her. 

Rico continues instead “His dad was a successful university professor and is known for his contributions in research and activism. Erwin is similar to him, except he is a lawyer. Overall, Erwin is a very influential person in New York, and he has a good looking face”

Rico turns off her phone and pockets it away, and turns to Hange. “Hange, you’re a lucky gal to have slept with him. I gotta say that I’m impressed. You gotta introduce me to him sometime.” 

Nanaba rolled her eyes. Hange couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I knew he was a lawyer, but not all of that!” she waves her hands around to emphasize it. She ignored Rico’s suggestion for now. 

Rico gave Hange a sympathized smile “Well, you’ve been so focused and dedicated to your hotel and Sasha. I’m not surprised you don’t pay much attention to everything outside of Kalokairi or even Greece.”

Meanwhile, in Nanaba’s head, she was trying to fit all of the puzzle pieces together. She didn’t see any of the men when she and Rico first arrived on the island, nor did she see them while heading to the hotel. 

So that means they arrived after us, Nanaba thought. The question is, where are they now?

“Hange” Nanaba interrupts Rico and Hange’s conversation. Rico had asked Hange who she thought was the best out of the three she slept with. Nanaba could tell who she picked based on Hange’s small yet goofy and Rico’s 'are you serious?' face. “Where are the men now?” she asks carefully.

Hange’s face became horrified. She last saw them in the old goat house, but what if Sasha came back from the beach? How would she react?

“The old goat house,” Hange says. She looks at both of her friend’s faces “We can’t let them meet Sasha!”

Nanaba and Rico quickly grab their things as Hange puts the drink down and jumps off the sink. The three ran off towards the goat house, but not too fast to avoid any suspicion from any onlookers. 

Meanwhile, Sasha and her friends peeked up from their hiding spots to find Rico and Nanaba entering the barn. They went back into hiding as soon as Hange entered.

“Don’t let them hear you!” Hange whispers as Rico and Nanaba climb up the steps to the attic. 

Nanaba opened the hatch and looks inside first. Rico and Hange followed after only to find nothing. 

“There’s no one here,” Nanaba says in shock.

Rico turns to Hange. “Are you sure?” she asks questioningly.

Hange rolls her eyes. “Of course, I'm sure! Do you think I would forget my daughter’s dads?”

She sighs. “They were all here. Levi Ackerman, Erwin Smith, and Mike Zacharias.” 

Sasha takes a quick peek from her hiding spot with Mikasa to find her mom walking down the steps from the attic. Nanaba and Rico followed behind her.

“They must have gone on Mike’s boat,” Hange says as she walks out of the barn. “I hope they hit aground and drown.” 

Hange enters the hotel and goes up the stairs to go to her bedroom. “What are they even doing here? It’s like fate just hates me today,” she says and throws her hands up in the air.

“Do they know about Sasha?” Nanaba asks as she runs up the steps.

“What are they, psychic?. Of course not! I never told a soul.” Hange turns to face Nanaba before heading into her room. 

“Not even Pieck?” Nanaba asks and puts her purse down. 

“I never told her too,” Hange says as she paces around near her bed. 

“Oh Hange, you kept this to yourself all these years,” Rico says sympathetically and puts her stuff down.

Hange stops pacing and heads to her balcony door. “It doesn’t matter to me.” She closes the door. “The only thing that matters is that Sasha does not find out.” 

Rico puts her hands on her hips and watches Hange walk around the room. “Maybe she might be cool with it?” she suggests.

Hange walks up to her bedroom door and closes it. “Cool with it,” she repeats. When would Sasha ever be cool with something like that? She might react the same way Hange reacted to Eren and Connie accidentally breaking her vase from Ms. Alexandra. It was not a pretty sight. 

Hange chuckles nervously and walks over to her friends. “You don’t know Sasha as I do. This would be like a bombshell. 

“But Hange, they’re gone!” Nanaba argues

“I don’t know that! They could be anywhere for all I know!” Hange runs her hands through her ponytail and moves to sit in front of her vanity. 

She looks at herself in the mirror “I did this all to myself because I was stupid and reckless little slut.” she says and glares at her reflection.

Rico and Nanaba both gasped. “A slut?” Rico questioned. “You sound like your mother, right Nanaba?” Nanaba nods and laughs

Hange quickly turns around “I do not!” she says offensively.

“Yes, you do,” Nanaba says as Rico laughs this time.

Rico walks over to Hange’s stuff and grabs a feather boa and a ridiculous-looking hat. She then turns to Nanaba and gives her a familiar look that only Nanaba could understand. Nanaba caught on to Rico’s message and took her phone out of her pocket. 

“Whatever happened to our Hange? The life and soul of the party.” Rico says dramatically. She puts the hat on top of Hange’s head and the boa around her neck. 

“Yeah, the one who would talk your ears off about her research but can convince you to do a random musical number in the middle of campus? I’m astonished by how many men agreed to join." Nanaba adds as she was scrolling through her phone. 

"Exactly, Nanaba! I remember how our Hange would attract so many guys with that back in New College." Rico laughs at the memories of different men walking up to Hange as she studied. Hange was too engrossed in her research to give most of them the time of day!

******

Hange could tell what Rico was trying to do. "Well, I grew up." She says as she recalls how much she has changed since. 

Nanaba nudges Rico and steps away from her to give them some space. Rico smiles. "Well, you need to grow back down again Hange."

Rico jumps in her spot to face Nanaba and points to her. "Hit it, Nanaba!"

Nanaba presses play on her music app and pocket her phone away to where Hange could still hear the music. The familiar tune of “Dancing Queen” fills the room. 

Hange watches her friends as they move their arms in a goofy manner, shook their hips, and sang their hearts out to the song. At one point, Nanaba and Rico faced one another and they sang to each other before directing their attention to Hange so she could sing along.

Hange squealed when her friends poked her sides. She ran to her bed and laid face down to avoid them. She moved her head up slightly to peek at her friends from her spot behind her blanket. Instead, she found her room empty, but the music continued to play.

Hange watched Rico and Nanaba rise up from the floor, go back down, and repeat the process a few times as they sang. The two eventually moved around Hange’s room and used multiple objects as props for their performance. In Hange’s opinion, Nanaba and Rico’s singing and dancing looked pretty ridiculous, but she knew they meant well. "Dancing Queen" is one of Hange’s favorite songs, and people at New College witness Hange dancing at parties. She was known as the Dancing Queen back in her college days. She wasn’t the best dancer, but anyone could tell she was having fun with one glance. 

Hange started tapping her foot to the beat as she continued laying on the bed. She started reminiscing about her college days when she would go out and have fun, all while learning about biology. She remembered how she and her friends would let loose and just live life to the fullest. Hange wanted to explore and discover new parts of the world. It was one reason why she left for Kalokairi on her own all those years ago. 

Hange sat up and pulled the blanket towards her. She watched as her friends go through her drawers to grab random articles of clothing to put on. Rico put on a puffy dress over her clothes, and Nanaba grabbed a random shirt and tied it around her head. Hange felt her mood change, and now she wanted to join in on the fun.

She sets the blanket aside and jumps during the song’s refrain. Hange felt as if she was the star of the show, her bed was the stage, and her friends were her audience. Hange felt alive! She felt like she was 22 again performing onstage with her friends. Hange even did a split in the air! Hange continued dancing on her bed before she had an idea. She grabbed her forgotten boa and ran out of her room.

“Where are you going?” Rico calls out while laughing.

Hange was running down the steps of the hotel, stops, and turns around to Rico. “I feel like singing today. Might as well do a musical number just like old times.” She winks and laughs as she continues running down the stairs.

Rico and Nanaba look at each other with glee before following Hange. They got their Hange back!

Hange, Nanaba, and Rico jumped around in sync as they passed the courtyard. The locals who watched nearby laughed. It looks like the trio was back at it again. 

You see, before Hange had met Mike, Hange and her friends did a few performances in Kalokairi to help Hange deal with her heartbreak. Occasionally, Hange would invite the locals to perform with her, and the island would break out into a big musical (which never happened until Hange and her friends came along). The island was quiet after Hange had met Mike and her best friends left. Ever since Sasha’s birth, the locals would often find Hange singing those old songs to herself as she strolled around with her daughter. It was a sign to them that the Hange they met was still there, just dormant for now. 

Hange stopped dancing once she reached a group of locals sitting around a table playing a board game. She places her boa behind one of the elderly men and lets the boa slide across his shoulders, much to his shock. The Hange he usually saw was too busy with her hotel to start dancing around for fun. Hange then places the boa across her back and on her elbows as she sang.

Meanwhile, Nanaba and Rico were out recruiting some locals to join them. It’s a good thing they were familiar with Hange and her group, or else the whole interaction would have been really awkward. 

The group marched across the hotel grounds as the music continued to play good Nanaba’s phone. Hange skipped past the entrance with everyone following her. Nanaba and Rico would occasionally leave to gather more people to join as she led the group through town. Other locals were drawn to Hange’s group after seeing her singing and dancing again. Everyone singing along helped amplify the song, and everyone was in sync.

Hange was having so much fun and was having the time of her life. She skipped and sang as leads the group through different parts of the island. It felt like old times when she used to perform with her friends. Now here she was singing "Dancing Queen" with practically the whole island!

Hange started heading towards one of the piers. At this point, the group had doubled in size. A local piano player and an electric guitar player accompanied the song from their boats. The group stopped moving on the pier and continued dancing and singing to the beat. Everyone followed Hange, Nanaba, and Rico’s lead. 

As the final parts of the song started to end, everyone who joined started to face Hange. They wanted her to end the song with a bang. Hange took her hair tie out of her hair and let her hair loose. She whipped her hair back and forth a bit and laughed cheerfully. 

Hange came up with a good idea to end her little musical number. She looked to her left as everyone sang the final note to see Rico, who was the closest to her. Hange suddenly ran up to Rico and pushed her into the water. She then turned to Nanaba with mischievous eyes. 

"Oh no, you don't!" Nanaba laughs as she attempts to run away from Hange. Nanaba didn't get far before Hange pushed her into the water too. Hange jumped in after her. Thank goodness for the invention of water-resistant cell phones. Everyone else jumped into the water after Hange. 

Hange felt much better now than an hour ago. As she trod on the water, she couldn't help but think of her memories with the three men. She has happy memories with Erwin and Mike. She wishes she could say the same for Levi though. Hange felt pain thinking about him although she spent the most time with him. He was the one who broke her heart the most. Yet, swimming in the water reminded her of one time when she took off Levi’s clothes and pushed him off a pier and into the water. Hange's plan backfired when Levi grabbed her wrist to drag her with him. The goofy smile returned for just a slight moment, but it was long enough for Nanaba and Rico to catch. 

Nanaba and Rico glanced at each other while treading on the water. Their plan worked for the most part. However, Hange Zoe still had some lingering feelings for Levi Ackerman.

©: This is where I insert all rights reserved stuff. This story belongs to me. Do not modify or republish

Author’s Note:

The “Dancing Queen” scene was the hardest to write for me. I hope you like it and understand what is going on.

I apologize if any character is OOC and I know I portray Greece inaccurately.

I changed the character’s ages based on the school year in Greece (Sept 11 - June 15). Everyone is 20-21 and Armin is the oldest. Sasha’s bday changed to May. 

I appreciate ANY feedback (especially after this chapter). I hope you have a good day, and everyone affected by today’s earthquake is safe.