#cast members getting paid to be rude good for them

[summonernoctis]

prerecorded oscar isaac pretending to be poe dameron in a theme park ride preshow: those are some fine-looking recruits you’ve got there!

me in the preshow room:

[jazziejax]

The Challenge

Pairing- BlackOC! X Challengers Cast

Summary- moments between Orion O’Connor and the Challengers cast that the people loved

Warnings- swear words, flirtatious between costars

Author’s Note- This sucks raccoon ass, it’s 2am, and I haven’t written in a very long time so cut me some slack, I beg you! I’m gonna write for Challengers at some point but I’m waiting because I want to write a series and I’m gonna need it on streaming services to do that(because I already paid to see it twice). But I’ll probably write some one-off things for you guys. Sorry for any spelling errors and grammar mistakes. As I said, it’s 2am.

Word Count- 2,686

“So, I have to ask.” The woman interviewer said, mainly looking over at Orion. Said girl’s expression went from calm to suspicious as she turned her head and side eyed the woman. The interviewer was about to open her mouth to speak again before Orion lightly gasped as she faced forward again.

“Let me guess.” She stated, leaning forward in her seat. Everyone paused, waiting for the girl to speak. “You’re gonna ask if we’re married.” She said, her left index finger motioning between her and the British man next to her. The woman’s mouth fell open a little bit as she stared at the brown woman across from her.

“How’d you know that?” She asked, genuine surprise in her voice. Orion slightly nodded as she adjusted herself in her seat. She crossed her right leg over her left and her body was slightly tilted to where she leaned Josh’s way. “Everyone has the same look in their eyes before they ask.” She shrugged. The tension of such a question could be felt throughout the room but also on social media. Fans went crazy with this clip, seeing the obvious signs that Orion was tired of such a question and was getting bad at hiding it. Some people called her rude while others defended her saying the interviewer was bad at her job for asking the same thing they already know the answer to.

“I just wanted to know how you guys felt about such rumors going around about you two?” The interviewer asked. Orion looked over at Josh, seeing if he wanted to give the question a go. Said man glanced down a little to make eye contact with the woman next to him before turning to the woman in front of him. “Um, the rumors don’t necessarily bother me. Not anymore at least.” He stated. “People have been saying this since the beginning of our careers, almost, because we became friends right before and have been for so long. So, I guess it just seemed like we were married?” Josh said with confusion written all over his face, his tone rising at the end since he was more so asking a question.

Orion dry chuckled as she watched the man deliver the answer she was tired of giving. “I say it’s rather flattering, in a sense, that people think we are married. Because Orion is an amazing woman that anyone would be lucky to call a wife.” He finished softly, glancing over at the woman next to him. “But no, we’re just best friends with the same name.” He said, visibly pink in the face as he continuously glanced at the woman next to him.

With the new craze of Challengers, every cast member gained new fans along with the one they already had and all were tuned in on their press tour. Social media went crazy over Josh and Orion, new fans because of their on and off screen chemistry while old fans were just excited to see the pair in another project together.

Orion made a cute pout at his words, her face heating as she looked at him in his blue eyes. Her big eyes reflected the fluorescent lights above them as she stated into his. “He’s too sweet for his own damn good.” She said in a sad tone as if she was crying. She leaned her head on his shoulder for a split second before raising it and dropping her façade. “Let me just say this.” She started, sitting up straight in her seat. Zendaya and Mike, who felt as if they were third wheeling the whole time, chuckled at her. “I don’t understand why I keep getting asked that when it could be easily answered by taking a look at my hand.” She said, showing her left hand. She used her right index finger to rub her left ring finger as she stared directly into the camera lens. “I do not have on a ring.” She said, shaking her head. She grabbed ahold of Josh’s and and held it up. Before she could even speak, her cast mates burst out laughing, knowing she was very riled up, which was quite amusing.. “He does not have on a ring.” She then looked back at the interviewer. “I would never do such a thing. I would be mad at Josh if he allowed me to do such a thing.” She stressed. “And I would also never let him or any man disrespect me in such a way. Isn’t that right?” She asked, looking over at the British man next to her. Josh immediately nodded.

“Correct.”

The initial context of video was ignored once clips hit other media sites. All people could talk about was the sheer amount of times Orion and Josh caught the other one staring. And if not them then the camera caught it. They all went feral over the last line, finding the way she demanded an answer out of him attractive and the way he answered her immediately. The compatibility between the two could be felt through the screen. Many edits were made out of the two and their characters, Dion and Patrick.

For backstory, Orion and Josh have been friends for many years. Meeting each other on the set of The Durrells where Orion was the only American that used an English accent for an obscene amount of time to play her character ‘Daisy’. They were only together in a couple of scenes but off screen, Josh and Orion became good friends. They grew even closer when Josh moved in with Orion when she went back to America. He would be staying for a while for work and Orion wanted the transition to be easy for her friend since he was such a big help for her in Europe, so she offered him a room in her New York flat. That’s when the rumors started. Seeing pictures of this pair of up and coming actors with the same last name, doing activities and living together. They blushed and joked at the rumors at first but after a while it started to get pretty annoying.

This being brought up again, fans started researching for old pictures of the two and they couldn’t get enough of the pair. Pictures of them holding pinkies as they walked around New York. Most of them from the same day as Orion showed him all of her favorite spots. There were pictures of them on the subway reading a book together. Pictures of them on visiting each other on set when they worked on different projects. So many pictures for the fans to choose from.

A while later in another interview, the energy seemed to be more prominent between them all.

“Do you think is most like their character?” The interviewer asked them. All of them immediately pointed at Orion, who even pointed at herself. Seeing that they all had the same idea, they laughed at one another. “Why is that? What makes you like you’re character?” He questioned again.

“Um, it’s actually funny because they changed things around for Dion once I was casted for her.” Orion started. “Her name was changed for be more boyish after I was casted because Luca and Justin liked the contrast of such a sweet and feminine character with a “boys” name.” She stated, doing air quotations around the word boy. “They did a lot of tweaking to the script after I was chosen for…whatever creative reasons they have.” She chuckled, waving her hands to indicate she didn’t know why but it was slowly up to them.

“I would hope I would be the most like my character because it’s almost based off of me at this point.” She shrugged. “But I would say I'm most like her in the way I love and express myself. In the movie, Dion is very physical with her friends which I tend do to be.” She chuckled to herself. Mike nodded his head next. She looked over at him, her smile big on her face as she blushed out of embarrassment. “Oh yeah, she’s like a baby koala. Or a sloth.” He started, seeing that the attention was on him. Everyone laughed. “She was always on top of someone in between takes. She falls out when she laughs, and she’s always sleeping.” Mike said, sitting up in his chair as he listed, his voice showing mock annoyance. Orion covered her face in embarrassment, leaning her head back as she laughed.

“I’m sorry, okay! This is just how I am!” She shouted. After a while of everyone laughing, they calmed down and sat still in their seats. “I see where my affection is not wanted.” Orion said sassily as she rolled her eyes, crossing her legs and leaned away from Mike. Mike groaned at her dramatic behavior and rolled his eyes too, doing the same as her. Seeing this, Orion softly scoffed at him. “Art wouldn't treat me this way.” She joked, causing laughter to fill the room again.

“Why do you guys say Orion is like Dion? Where do the similarities lie in your eyes?” The interviewer asked. Mike was the first to answer.

“I say she’s like Dion in the way she stated, herself .” He said, gesturing over to Orion. “Dion is a very loving and passionate character. You see that in the way she treats her friends, and in the games she plays. She doesn’t play for competition , she plays for the feeling it gives her. Like in the scene where she goes against Tashi, it didn’t cause them any strife because she doesn’t see it as ‘who’s better’, she sees it as a relationship and almost a way of communicating.” He said. “I see that a lot in Orion because she doesn’t really communicate through words, she communicates through her actions, in real life and within a character.” He finished. There was a moment of silence as everyone sat with what he said. Mike quickly looked around the room at the silence before looking over at Orion.

“Aww, Mikey.” Orion said as she pouted and leaned over to give him a side hug, placing her head on his shoulder. Breaking the tension in the air, the room chuckled. “He knows me so well.” Orion spoke up, placing her cheek against his with her hand on the other side of his face, smushing them together. They both smiled, feeling their cheeks mush together.

Fans were already in the Art Donaldson/Mike Faist train before they even saw the movie and especially afterwards. During most of the press tour the cute moments were between Josh and Orion and Zendaya and Orion, since the girl has previous history with them. But when Orion and Mike had their cute moments, fans almost felt like they were in love.

It was admitted in an interview Mike had without the whole cast he really admired the work Orion did before he formally met her. He first saw her on the comedy show Community. He found her really funny there and could tell her chemistry with the cast was impeccable. But her acting skills really shined to him when he saw her in Fleabag and The Handmaid's Tale. When he heard that she was going to be in the movie with him, he had a fanboy moment to himself for a few hours before calming down. Little did he know that Orion admitted herself in a solo interview that she used to have a crush on Mike after first seeing him in Dear Evan Hanson. She said that even though she hated that musical, she watched it for him. That’s also why she went and saw Brokeback Mountain live. Fans loved hearing this information, the Art and Dion edits having a mega surplus afterwards. Their interview moments together were cute but people mainly loved their red carpet interactions, Orion either bullying him for what he had on or the way he posed. She never let him live.

Another moment that went viral was their interview talking about intimate scenes together.

“Was that awkward to do with your best friend?” The journalist asked Orion.

“No, because we’ve done that before.” She answered quickly, not thinking of what she said. Zendaya’s head snapped to her, eyes a little wide as she gave the girl next to her a questionable glare. Mike raised his eyebrows while Josh tried to hide his laughter, and his red face, behind his hands. Seeing the reactions she got around the room, Orion chuckled before trying to save herself. “Not like that. I just mean I’ve seen him naked before.” She defended no better. Now all you could hear was the laughter of her cast mates. Mike and Z leaning on one another as they laughed while Josh put his head in his hands. “You guys know what I mean. We’ve done things like this before.” She continued to try to defend herself. Seeing her get nowhere, Josh placed his hand on her shoulder. She looked over at the cute smiling British man next to her, unconsciously smiling along with him.

“What? Tell them this isn’t something new for us.” She demanded the man. Josh placed his large hand on top of hers that was resting on the arm of the chair. “Our characters in The Durrells were in a relationship. That’s what she means.” Josh said, his face still red from trying to hold in his laughter. And blushing.

“The real question is, did you enjoy it?” Orion asked, looking over at the man next to her. But before he could speak, Mike spoke first. “Oh, I enjoyed it.” Mike joked. “Art and Dion were like rabbits at Stanford.” He emphasized.

“Her and Patrick were pretty wild too.” Zendaya said. “

“I think Dion was just like that with everyone, honestly.” Josh said. At that, Orion turned back to him, an eyebrow raised. “What’s that supped to mean?”

“No, byy everyone I mean, Tashi, Art and Patrick.” Josh rushed out, looking her right in the eyes. That’s something the fans caught into a lot. Whenever Orion looked his way, he would never break eye contact. No matter how many times she glanced off to the side or down at her hands playing with his, he never took his eyes off her face, especially when she was speaking. “Which is quite interesting when you take into account Dion was almost in control of everything.” He finished.

Orion immediately rolled her eyes and turned away from him. . Before she could say what she was going to, her other cast mates spoke in agreement. “100%.” Zendaya said.

“I’m not about to have this conversation again.” Orion spoke. “Dion is innocent and she was done wrong.” She said, looking directly into the camera.

“Dion played everyone.” Mike said.

“Like a game of tennis.” Josh finished, a small smirk on his lips. His eyes never left Orion, as if he was waiting for her to turn around. Mike and Zendaya groaned at him while Orion turned to him, a smile on her face when she looked his way. “That was so corny.” She said through her laughter that increased the more she thought about the terrible joke. Oriron loved a bad joke that was delivered kind of awkwardly. The rest of the interview consisted of small moments between Josh and Orion. Jim raising his hand to play with her dangling earring when Mike was talking. Her pinkie wrapped around his when both of their arms rested on their chairs.

Needless to say, the people loved Orion O’Oonnor and were on the edge of their seats to get more of her.

oconnorschildren

liked by, joshoconnorstoe, orionstar, and 36, 792 more

oconnorschildren you mean to tell me that this is Josh O’Connor and Orion O’Connor when they lived together???

view 3,944 comments

zendayacollective sups cute!!! ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

mikeyfaist they look like a couple

orionstar and they’re wondering why people assumed they were married 🙄

⤷ oconnorschildren right! they act in love and get mad at us!

⤷ joshoconnorstoe they should just get married

tomdayaofficial I don’t know who I want her with more, Josh or Mike

⤷ oconnorschildren me neither, she’s has such great chemistry with both! I love her with them!

liversometennis I can’t wait until challengers is on streaming services so I can’t watch her kiss them all day everyday

zendayastwin I wish people would post the moments between her and Z, they are so cute together. Small hints of flirting but amazing friends.

⤷ oconnorschildren I’ll post some in the future because they are cute together!

[rossemboss]

Notes from Tokyo Vice: An American Reporter on the Police Beat in Japan by Jake Adelstein

note: take book with grain of salt as author is greatly self-aggrandizing, but provides some nice color on yakuza

many yakuza prefer to be called 'gokudo' (the ultimate path)

shobadai - slang for protection money paid to the yakuza

"Santa Fe was a book of nude photos of the popular actress Rie Miyazawa" that showed her pubic hair. When authorities didn't pursue the book for breaking obscenity laws based on the photos' "artistic qualities" it opened the floodgates to the relaxing of those policies enjoyed to this day

typical divisions of a police station: violent crime, white-collar, fraud, , traffic, juvenile crime, prevention, lifestyle/vice, plus an organized crime control division, which would pursue drugs, credit card fraud, and human trafficking

kind of neat - the idea of exotic animals being sold to yakuza to scare people. who would have a leashed tiger?

When someone leaves the yakuza, a letter is circulated to all members, either a hamonjo - this person is no longer in the organization, don't do business or associate with them; or a zetsuenjo - betrayer hunt this person down.

if a murdered body is found with the head facing North, that may indicate a killer feeling remorse as that's how dead bodies are laid out.

suicides remove their socks and shoes as it's rude to wear into the afterlife

There are two major types of yakuza: tekiya, low-level con artists and bakuto, the big leagues, who engage in predatory lending, human trafficking, the racket, and blackmailing corporations. They are over half Korean-Japanese and the dowa, formerly untouchable caste of Japan.

The major yakuza have lots of sub-groups that pay monthly dues. The Yamaguchi-gumi (biggest) takes in about $50M in private equity monthly and this is considered a conservative estimate.

The police don’t have the authority to wiretap, offer plea bargains, or witness protection in yakuza investigations, which limited their ability to effectively prosecute them. It’s also not illegal to be in a criminal organization.

As of 2006, the Tokyo Metropolitan Police compiled a list of ~1k front companies in greater Tokyo, 20% real estate with significant investment in securities, auditing, consulting, and other financiers.

Police sometimes call the yakuza “Realtors” lol

In 2008, a major Corporation was found to be paying over $100M USD to yakuza to remove tenants from properties they wanted to purchase (this is called jiage or land-sharking and is big because tenant laws are so protective.)

The bosses of some yakuza groups are minor celebrities and will be photographed and reported on having meetings/dinners with politicians, or will grant TV interviews!!!

Marubo cops – organized crime detectives

One business model: landsharking, moving yakuza into buildings before they can be repossessed and then buying them themselves or getting money from the original owner for the service, protection money from the sex trade, and the cash cow, extortion (specifically, shaking down business people with embarrassing secrets). They would do the same with companies in financial trouble. They would take out loans from midsize banks using the company’s real estate as collateral, but then when the company would go bankrupt, those loans would go unpaid. The Sumiyoshi-kain also ran staffing companies, loansharking, and an insurance company specializing in false claims to rip off real insurance companies. A collection agency for recovering bad debts for real loan companies. Pawnshops for trafficked goods. A talent agency for porn (paid well not coerced). Transportation and security for large events. Take construction contracts and then subcontract out, pocketing the difference. Set up a fake political org for the tax break and a way to launder money. Have your extortees pay to receive your newsletter.

kabukicho was the undisputed red light district of tokyo before it got partially cleaned up following the 2001 fire of the Myojo 56 building where 40+ people died. It is speculated that the yakuza burnt it down after not being paid its protection money by the mahjong parlor inside.

At least in 1999 during the time of this book, a reporter tells him: "Nine times out of ten, no matter how much it looks like a murder, the Shinjuku police will write it up as a case of assault resulting in death - manslaughter? Why? So they don't have to launch a full investigation." Murders of 'low-lifes' not deemed newsworthy. What WAS newsworthy was anything involving someone famous, a civilian, or a teenager. Maybe a brewing gang war.

The reason the anti prostitution law is on the books is to protect girls who were being sold into sexual slavery after the war. That's why they only go after the pimps and owners, not the girls.

one thing to track is i keep writing big clubs, when i should go smaller, seedier, and more participatory. one stage, men using vibrators on the fully naked dancer. also kinkier: more costumes, piss play, the works.

downtown there are typical haunts where the yakuza hang out near their offices, where they get coffee and shoot the shit. and it's not one organization, but all of them.

lots of young girls (high school to college) get addicted to the host clubs and run up a big tab at which point they get redirected into becoming hostesses or joining the sex trade themselves. these are usually unlicensed clubs that have no police protection and are therefore easy marks for the yakuza. a good host club makes about $300k a year in 1999; the legit hosts can make big money too, think $6-10k a month not including gifts. hosts and hostesses often frequent each other's places when they get off work, so they're often busiest at like 4am/late late hours.

Roppongi is known for its foreigners. The place to go if Japanese people and foreigners are looking to connect (/connect!) Before the bubble burst, Roppongi was known for its highbrow establishments, but it's gone sleazy with big clubs, drugs, and all the typical sex trade establishments. It's nicknamed "High-Touch Town"

Because yakuza bosses can be held liable (and sued) for the crimes of their subordinates, when someone gets collared, it's typical to throw them out of the org (at least on the surface) claiming they were just a bad egg to limit liability. Yakuza will also sue newspapers and other organizations that call their businesses fronts or old members yakuza. Very good lawyers.

money laundering - hostess clubs and sex parlors (have your employees act as regulars and pay there); donations to religious organizations you run from the profits, own restaurants, r&r spots, and more and have your employees go there with the profits.

there are legal limits on interest rates for consumer loans, but yakuza loan sharks obviously go way above that. keep database of all customers at one establishment to see when the loan is falling behind, and then reach out from one of your other loan offices to offer a loan with even higher interest rates to double prey upon your victims.

more swords as weapons since gun use penalties are so high!

not uncommon for yakuza to own the movie studios making yakuza films which has promise as a funny detail; also more chopped fingers, toes transplanted as fake fingers, etc.

Tokarev - Russian guns popular in the 90s with yakuza

"that's why we farm out the dirty work to the Chinese and the Iranians. If they get caught, they don't talk and they just get deproted."

control the media by running the top talent agencies and denying them access to top entertainment talent if they publish unfavorable reporting

[salcreus]

So I'm no writer. I don't mean this in a bad way, I just can't write long texts or keep my attention on the plot that I'm writing.

Having said that, however, I've been thinking a lot about an AU where Impulse and Etho end up teaming up, and things don't seem to work as they should on the 3rd life server.... [AO3 LINK]

Pop. Crack. The taste of muddy, bitter water in your tongue. You’d figure that if you tried hard enough, you could even notice the hints of salt scattered throughout. But focusing on the little details in life are for people that have the time to do so- And you, Impulse, are

“-an absolute idiot.” “Whoah there buddy, all I did was help some people out on their business. Don’tcha think that having more cards at play is gonna help us out in the end?” The redstoner says in such a tone that almost feels acrid in the way that fruits rot, if left forgotten, yet poor phrasings and curses aside, they truly were words of a man that means no malice- a curse of playing so many sides, he’d assume, if he were in another time. What he gets in response is but a boneless sigh, one that is tired of the shapes and turns of life and death, the game that they always play but never win. - “Impulse, you know that I love having you around- I’ll go so far as to say that you are the only one I can truly trust around here. But you are making me have some second thoughts about that.” “About my loyalty? Oh come on, you know that you are my pal til the end of times!” “Do I?” Etho has a way with words, it seems. He doesn’t use expensive expressions, the ones that are far too costly for your own soul or mind- Nor does he try to seem something that he isn’t, that’d be too unnatural, even for someone of his stature. But something in his tone moves rocks and mountains if the man so desires, and oh boy does he desire that a lot. You could say that It’s the type of tone that tugs you relentlessly, even if your conscience is clear- it’s never enough to hurt, of course, Canadian costumes or something of sorts, but it’s enough to make you doubt your own self down to the last cell in your body. And that; is far worse than any heartbreak or ill mouthing. Impulse staggers a bit away from his machinery- a simple system that would cast a rain of arrows down to any intruders from the sidelines - and contemplates the question that had been dropped in the air. Does he? Etho wouldn’t doubt him so much if he did, that’s the logical conclusion to that pinpoint. Now onto figuring out why the sudden suspicion. “You do know that I’ve sworn allegiance to you, right? I’m not saying this to be nice, or to play the part, this is not a master plan to trick you and stab you from the back- Heck, I wouldn’t be fortifying your fancy castle if that were the case! Though I doubt that you’d need my help with the redstone side of things-” A slight frown waves upon the man’s face for a split second, and Etho would have probably told you he hadn’t seen a thing if someone were to ask, for sight can be deceiving, and so can the light, and the mind, and your thoughts. “Agh, just please know that I’m doing my darn best to make sure that we can be the winners! That’s the whole goal of me being buddy-buddy with the other teams, right? So that we can gather intel and be 5 steps ahead of them.” And he meant that so truthfully, so genuine and pure, for someone that was doing so much wrong. There was a moment of silence. Well, not true silence- The sloshing of water against hard wool, the wind kissing the crops good morning, the distant chattering of the sheep, it all played a song to fill the current void in this conversation, which was not halted by the need to come up with something more to speak, or the lack of subject, but yes by the need to figure out if both of them believed in this story. “Why are we doing this?” Impulse is taken aback by the shift in conversation- Etho is no person to bring doubt into the table like that, after all. To question others? That’s a fair game, albeit a bit torturous at worst- But to question his own purpose, just like that, out of the blue? Now that was a heavy rock thrown to the face. Thankfully not in a literal sense, though. “...What do you mean by that?” Is what he managed to blurt out in response. “The betraying, the killing, the alliances- all of that. I mean, fundamentally, we do know that we are doing this for ‘fun’ and to ‘wind-out’ ” - The white-haired figure makes sure to over exaggerate the quotation marks of his sentence, giving it such a grand gesture that it almost breaks the somewhat tense presence filling the air. It was nice to take a step back and to remember that, at the end of the day, Etho is

still just Etho, silly and well-meaning. - “We know it because it’s what Grian told us it is.” “So you’re implying that there’s something more to it..?” “I’m not sure yet. You can just call it a hunch, really. But maybe Hermitcraft just... Wasn’t enough for him.”

Silence lingers for a few moments longer, a bit too thick to be swallowed easily, but accusations like these just weren’t possible to digest with a light heart. Impulse, almost inspired by a feeling very fitting to his name, took a few steps forwards, taking in the comforting feeling that the floor of their castle provided, soon sparing a glance at the lava fortifications surrounding them. If he really tried, he could spot Tango’s killing game by one of the exposed gaps, which earned a small chuckle in response. If it was loving, or nervous, he would decide later. “So” - The (yellow themed) redstoner finally spat out - “Going off your logic there… We’re friends with a guy that runs off bloodshed and sadistic tendencies, a guy who has created, even fought, so many battles on the other server, yet felt the need to kick the violence up a notch- For… entertainment?”

In response, the other (more so blue themed, but does Etho really have a colour of his own?) redstoner walked closer towards the other man, each step carrying a moment of reflection. “Ehm- Maybe? I mean we always knew that’s the main point of what we are doing, I’m more so implying-” “Implying that his goals are beyond a couple of laughs and water guns between friends.” “Mhm.” “We don’t usually take such a long break from Hermitcraft, which might have been why he felt the need to create this game.” “Or maybe he was just tired of the pawns, so he traded them for new pieces…” Impulse coughs out another chuckle, but this time anyone that paid some mind to the man could tell the pain that it was carrying- It was almost a brand image at this point, a coping mechanism he had earned over the years. He would go as far as feeling a certain shame about it, at least in his darker hours- it’s hard to play the part if your true colours can pop out at any moment, after all. At that moment, he had come to the realization that he would be awful at poker. “...Either way, I do think that Grian is taking this too far. I don’t know about you, but I would rather not have to betray and kill my friends like this. In a lighthearted competition? Sure. But this is turning people into monsters, Impulse. It’s turning us into monsters, in fact.” He spares another sigh, his face twisting into a more pained expression - contrasting the usual cool facade that he kept around the server - , taking the chance to keep his words down to a mere whisper, almost as if to share the secrets of the world with Impulse, spells and curses for his ears only. It almost felt a bit special, in a way. “It’s not like I enjoy the idea of our friend being some sort of sadistic megalomaniac- And I promise you that I’ll eat my own words one by one if I’m wrong, cross my heart, hope to die-” - Worth to note that both of them shared their just as secret reactions to the phrasing used by Etho- The man of the minute with a scrunch of his nose, and the person looking at him with an accidental eyebrow twitch. - “...But I really need you to trust me on this one, Impulse. You know that I wouldn’t bring such accusations without a reason.” Pop. Crack. The taste of muddy, bitter water in your tongue. You wished that if you tried hard enough, you could preoccupate yourself with the bits of salt scattered throughout. Moments of self reflection and torturous analysis, little glances, short breaths, holding your head, holding your mind, holding your heart- Correction, your hearts. Holding simultaneously nothing and the idea of Nothing at the exact same time. You stare at Etho. He stares at you back. But, in the end, focusing on the little details in life are for people that can afford to do so. And you, Impulse, are- “-running out of time! So I guess we are going to call it a day here, folks! Please log out of the world as soon as possible.” The communicators scream, rudely buzzing out to all of the members present in the server.

[ruhrohrps]

Feel free to ignore this. I’m new to the tumblr rpc (where I rp is very different from here) and I’m not american nor european, so there’s plenty I don’t understand. I don’t want this to come off rude, but why is it so important to ban certain fcs on Tumblr? I get the whole “do not use deceased fcs, minors or criminals”, but it feels a little over the top reading through banned fcs lists of over 50-100 people who have barely done anything that can be deemed as problematic. Isn’t the fc just that, a faceclaim? A visual representation. Their irl values don’t have to align with ours or our muses’. We’re not casting them for a movie role, they’re not getting paid. They’re definitely not getting any more famous because we use their gifs for rping purposes. It’s just that: a gif. An image. I honestly don’t see the big deal with using, say, Timothée Chalamet because he had a couple of movie roles that don’t fit my moral compass (CMBYN and ARDINY), which btw is different for everybody so I just can’t expect it to be universally wrong nor right. It just isn’t. So I don’t know. I’ve been in the tag for a few weeks now and I’m getting a bit anxious because every little thing seems like a problem, and as a much as I would like to try rping here, feels like even the slight slip up might end up in me getting “cancelled”.

welcome to the rpc !

we are in this dumpster fire, together !

woo !

you're not being rude, at all ! and i agree, tbh, but there's also like valid reasoning and it goes way more into depth. it's not black and white, but a huge grey area.

so, basically, banning faceclaims is something that roleplay groups usually do. sometimes, there's pre-established banned faceclaims on a list (which is usually based on the admin group's level of comfort and sometimes what they feel their prospective members would not like to see on the dash). from there, the players can tell the admins of trigger faceclaims that are put on the list to ensure their safety and comfort. it's also why you'll see some places ban halsey, and others don't - ect. cause, really it comes down to the admins and their players.

so, the premise of banned faceclaims is actually good to keep the roleplay community a safe place for people in a group setting and independently. but, i can see how it may come across as overboard. especially in groups where they have extensive lists.

at the end of the day, it just comes down to everyone's comfort level. to be honest, timothée is showing up on less and less banned fc lists - because the roleplay community switches up so fast - i get whiplash haha.

i think that's why most people tend to gravitate towards indie roleplaying. because you get to set your own boundaries, and people are more open-minded with plots and faceclaims (you make your own rules!).

like, even i have my own limits. i refuse to play against a specific faceclaim or even allow him in my roleplay groups because the mere sight of him makes me insides rot. again, it's all just a comfort thing.

i understand you may be a little uneasy, but... my ass has been cancelled like 1234567890 times and i'm still here with plots and friends and making groups. i lit just blast 'look what you made me do' by t. swift and carry on. i even had the audacity to make the rpc call me ‘dad’ for almost a solid year after being ‘cancelled’.

roleplaying is supposed to be fun. the community, itself, is.... chaotic, but once you find what type of roleplaying works for you, you find your roleplaying partners, and you create your own little place - it's a vibe. i promise.

[christ-h0le]

The Weight of Gold

Summary: Imagine if S.Coups was Robin Hood and he takes a nap in the woods but in the woods there were bad boiz.

Genre: Fantasy

Words: 1.5K

Part 1 of TBA

This is for the #caratcreatorwriter event with some buds (new friends). Thank you @seungkwns for hosting, and thank you @coupsnim for being my partner. Please look at their blogs as they are better than me.~

With heavy eyelids our hose-clad protagonist laid down his head to rest. The still and peaceful sounds of the lush woods were too enchanting to ignore. As the wind rustled through the leaves of the Sherwood Forest S.Coups slept.

A simple carpenter's life kept him safe. Like the sturdiness of the nails and wood he worked with, his job gave him security and sureness. Once out in the forest he was a different man. He could finally be a man unshackled from a world where worth was weighed in coins, and if you didn't have enough...

Sherwood Forest offered him a sanctuary. It was a place where possibilities were endless. Around one weathered rock he could be free. Behind that gnarled oak he could live at peace. Life could be different in the woods. The calluses on his hands didn't have to be used to keep him a productive member of society. Instead, they could help him climb the tallest of trees where he could feel the wind rushing through his shaggy brown hair.

It was always hard for him to get a good night's sleep within the bleak walls of town. At night while laying in bed he'd stare at the ceiling with unsleeping eyes. His ears would pick up his own doubts bouncing off the masonry. Thoughts of his humdrum existence would infiltrate the time he could finally escape. Luckily when the daylight shined there was hope that even in the mud-baked village he could be happy. His hard work would pay off. He could live free. With no taxes to pay he could afford an extra loaf of bread. He would have enough money to take a day off of his grueling work and enjoy a good drink with some friends. Tax collectors wouldn't have that happen. Just last week he witnessed a collector, Kwon Soonyoung dressed in expensive furs, push down his neighbour after they refused to give up forty percent of their earnings. Forty percent! It was despicable the way the rich treated the poor and it was obvious that they skimmed the top before giving them to the king. How else could they afford striped animal furs otherwise? Their guilty pockets were lined with the sweat of the villagers. With his sweat. Maybe without the expectation of that heavy levy S.Coups would rest easy in his bed at home.

In the Forest Seungchol slept. Even at midday he could sleep easily under the leafy canopy and the foliage-filtered sunlight danced on our hero, devoid of all worry. How quickly did the peacefulness of nature disarm him? It took only a few minutes of his eyes being closed before our main character was fully and deeply asleep. His shoulders relaxed and his body sunk lower into his leafy bed. With a steady breath and a relaxed face he slept peacefully and soundly. Better than any sleep he could hope to have in his own bed.

The sun moved across the sky but S.Coups did not stir. In the distance a robin called out to its mate but Seungchol did not wake. Bees bobbed from flower to flower, dizzy with nectar but he kept sleeping. Not a single fear crossed his unbothered face. The only thing on our peaceful protagonist that changed were the shadows as minutes and hours passed. Without the worry of Soonyoung demanding his hard-earned wage he could sleep without fear.

There was more to fear in the woods than tax collectors. Though the Sherwood Forest brought Seungchol peace and tranquility it was filled with the unknown. Behind each mossy stone there was the chance of an angry boar, a crazed hunter, or greedy brigands coming and fucking up his beauty sleep. There was the chance he was the second guest to that bed of leaves. With no ceiling to stare at, unknown eyes could instead look at him. Where the only noise was the breathing of S.Coups how could one not stop and listen? In the woods one was not always safe and this soft man with not a single worry on his beautiful face, was definitely not safe.

A flock of fowl fluttered up into the sky as a branch snapped. People were drawing near. The glow of a torch was growing ever brighter as the strangers made their way through the dense brush of the woods. Handsome faces appeared through the foliage, ruggedly sexy but harsh in the glow cast by the fire they carried. Then they saw him sleeping there all peaceful-like. With closed eyes Seungchol didn’t stand a chance to see the equally sexy, and equally hose-clad men draw near. S.Coup’s was too busy staring at the back of his eyelids to see all the shenanigans. It was obvious they were planning something by the way they were whispering and nodding to one another; a plan that was devious at its best and horrific at its worst. With light steps a handful of the group crept up, the soft earth cushioning the sounds of their steps. They closed the distance between them with care, not wanting to wake our sleeping carpenter ahead of schedule.

However the time would have to come when both parties’ fates would forever be intertwined. Our mysterious brigands couldn’t be quiet for much longer. With only a few steps between them and their target one of them made his move. His hands reached forward; one palm covering the inevitable shout that tried to escape S.Coup’s throat, the other hand brandished a short knife which he held to the now very awake man’s neck.

“If one word comes out of that pretty mouth of yours I’ll cut you down faster than you can blink.” said the man. By the way he held the knife, S.Coups was convinced he’d be able to follow through. Not that he could say anything at all with his mouth covered up. He could only nod his head to show he understood and pray that harm wouldn’t fall upon him.

He was wide awake and took stock of the situation.

Seven men surrounded him in total and each man bared a weapon. Most held knives but one man at the back had a bow with an arrow notched, another could be seen with a hatchet. Being woken up this was worse than rude, It was terrifying.

S.Coups couldn’t focus on the others for too long as there was a more pressing issue. That issue was a cold piece of sharpened metal pushed firmly against his throat and the man who held it there. His wide eyes looked up at him and saw a beautiful man staring back. The villain had a long and straight nose and a freckle under one of his eyes. If he wasn’t being held up, S.Coups would think he was handsome.

The firm hand that held him silent softened and withdrew but the eyes of his captor kept him pinned to the forest floor.

“Now.” DK started, moving to a standing position. His partners changed formation and circled S.Coups. “Give us all your money and we’ll let you live.”

This day DK, sometimes called Dokyeom or Seokmin by his friends, stood tall and proud, happy to be leading his crew to victory in apprehending their target. He commanded the band of merry men only by name; the rest of the crew was capable in their own rights and if anything, they all shared responsibility in the group. Truthfully the only reason DK was leader was because he had won a bout of rock, paper, scissors. Luck was with his back then as well as now. They were about to get paid.

“You heard what I said. Give us all your money.” he said kicking Seungchol, laughing all the while. His pals laughed along with him, joining in on the fun.

When you lived in the woods poor and with very little food it felt nice to have power over someone sometimes. Kicking people wasn’t everyone’s definition of fun, but being able to afford a warm meal and a brew under a roof was worth doing some deplorable things every now and then. They looked at the man on the ground expectantly, they were all ready for money.

“I don’t have anything,” Seungchol said, covering his face with his hands for protection from their kicks. “Check my coin pouch if you don’t believe me.” He didn’t want any trouble. He might be able to outrun the average man, or win against one person in a fight, but against seven he stood no chance. All he wanted was to get away out of the dark woods and back to his gloomy, but safe, bed.

DK pocketed his knife, and leaned forward to search S.Coups. “You’d better not be tricking me,” he said harshly. With no pay in hand DK wouldn’t be kind, but even less so if he was being lied to. If there was one thing worth less than a broke person, it was a liar. The crew he was with was permanently broke but they all had trust for one another, and that was a beautiful thing; a group of criminals with no monies that called each other friends.

With no consideration for comfort, Seokmin roughly searched S.Coups, looking for any traces of wealth on his person. It didn’t take long for his hands to find the coin pouch. It didn’t take a genius to see that it was empty. “So, our victim was telling the truth,” DK thought. With a sigh, Dokyeom stood up and turned to his crew.

“Guess this guy ain’t very cash money. Looks like we’ve got to kill him now.”

[nochiquinn]

mighty nein vs vox machina battle royale: for fuck’s sake

oh this is one I'm not gonna be able to look at the screen for

don't join them in the chat

apocalyptic fun buns

all the art is v v good

ready for taliesin to forget which accent goes where

I enjoy the "made possible by viewers like you" in the corner

mala: we paid 3 million dollars for these outfits

veth from somewhere in the distance: "I'mma fuck it"

taliesin hot potato

if they both touch it at the same time there's a 0.00028% chance of getting caduceus instead

thunderorgy

matt trying to rein in the collective horny energy of this group

(good luck)

BIGSBY'S HAAAAAAND

the magic of video editing

"the boots of haste LAURA BAILEY"

oh this is the level 20 battle royale again

Ride the Hand

does fjord have the ring of fire resistance

jester's been learning from caleb

PERCIVAL

ahh I missed percy's voice

"vex isn't here, he's all mine" liam

mala: Liam still going for the orgy end

"does waterbreathing work in lava"

MY BOY

laura: "did you mean hot? I think you meant hot."

FIRST BLOOD

"just for fun" he's dead

NO MERCY PERCY

I heard "I'm going to use a bonus accent" and yes you probably are sir

fgjlskdf literally moving him across screens

dramatic fucker

liam you ONLY made that comparison to fuck with travis

"RUDE"

liam can you even see the dice through that thing on your face

rogues are whatever

this music is Good

"I cast thunderstep" "oh! I cast counterspell"

liam and marisha clapping in unison

he's stuck in percy's accent lmao

I missed literally everything molly did, cool, thanks child

ugh I'm completely lost now

rip fjord

"don't go over there, it sucks over there"

"is that technically a teleport" "yes" "AHAHAHAHAHA"

"let's have some fun" he's dead

SDLKFJSLDK

oh good maybe I can get back on track after the break

guiding beau up the butt

I can't believe marisha killed liam in the parking lot

liam can't use his tablet with his apocalypse glove on

lmao taliesin putting the glasses back on

"what's back up? oh, your bullshit?"

"I'm trying to limit the number of dumb fucking things I do in this game" for the first time ever

taliesin: [laughs menacingly]

DINOSJAUR

"you sound like me when I was in the second grade" aw, matt

the giant mug with the equally giant crazy straw is killing me

they wouldn't let sam drink from the flask again but the mug IS labeled "biohazard" so it's pretty much the same

no wait I got the flask and the stein confused, is that THE stein? bc in that case the biohazard tape is required by law

"the winged man in dark clothing"

tal that laugh was horrifying

FIRST BLOOD

"my butt was exposed just a little bit, just in case”

"oh you're one of those rich boys!" "oh yes."

oh good, I wasn't the only one getting ben franklin vibes

"the gayest ben franklin" "so just ben franklin"

"this is the best view I've had all pandemic" liam

percy's starting to take this personal

percy: you CATCH miette's bullets??? you NEGATE miette's damage????

marisha: why are you helping him???

oh right, she Hurt Scanlan in front of Vax

"you're throwing it? you fool. you absolute imbicile."

"you're the person in the back with a sniper rifle" ah. me.

"I'm pulling out Bad News - " "And loading a health potion into it and shooting it into my leg?"

samuel

FIRST BLOOD

SECOND BLOOD

ah, travis learned from sam. horrifying.

scanlan is an among us ghost

"I'll catch you!"

I enjoy the mental image of travis holding the back of laura's shirt to stop her fucking up a little league ref

protecc

he protecc, he attacc, but most important, he have pike as snacc

vax disappears into the void

"I want to be buried in this"

laura bailey is the most dangerous member of the mighty nein

"how did you MISS he was THREE FEET IN FRONT OF YOU"

sarenrae slapping pike's hand away from the hot radiant damage stove

"are you arguing with a ghost" that's percy's whole personal arc

Feathered Fuck

Campaign Three No Monks 2021

(Campaign Three All Monks 2021)

mala: once again Marisha is op its not the class, its her

travis said very near the beginning "we should animate this" and I love that that's his reaction to every cool moment now bc it is also mine

marisha: where'd you hide it, vax? liam: up my dick sam: joke's on you, he's got three dicks liam: dagger dagger dagger~

someone also said "action action bonus action" and I THINK it was liam but that took too long to type and I forgot

ashley going after that die only for it to betray her

also what I assume among us ghosts are doing

sdkljflsk vax just staring at them in horror

at level fuck it

"sorry liam this is your table" "that's okay, I'll just take a shit under yours"

I forgot how pissy liam gets when vax isn't doing well

like specifically as vax, he gets like me when the internet is slow

scanlan flipping sides

"this is twice marisha has killed me in battle royale"

"with vax going down" huehuehue

I enjoy that they're just confirming polymachina all over the place

he really did hide it up his dick

tbh I kinda figured it was gonna go this way. tm9 is fresh in their minds.

"you're such an asshole!" "I'm dead!"

vax just putting the gem on the ground and hoping it looks like all the other rocks

"you ASSHOLE you shot me SO MANY TIMES"

"I am alarmed that he is standing so well"

WAIT

PART TWO??

PART TWO WHEN

[shadowsfascination]

Shadamy Swordland ch 6 |

Rouge brushed the dust from her clothes after scolding Shadow about his reckless move, whose attitude remained as indifferent as ever.

“Guys?-” Amy said, trying to get their attention.

  “I knew what I was doing!”

  “Sure didn’t look the part.”

  “Guys, look!” The pink hedgehog shouted. “A floating city…?!”

  Shadow and Rouge finally paid attention to her, turning their heads to look at her. Amy walked towards the end of a cliff and bent over to the edge to overlook the place they ended up on. Multiple sandstone paths winded across the skies along floating, vine-clad buildings with spiralling paths around them, leading to the top. Shadow joined her, hooking a finger behind her belt to keep her from a potential fall into the depths he couldn’t see the end of.

“It’s so beautiful… We should have a date here sometime.” Amy dreamily glanced at Shadow.

Rouge whistled, impressed by their discovery. She flew to the closest floating pathway across from the others and created a connecting road between them, closing the gap so they could cross. Amy ran forward to the path and yanked Shadow along with her, who had forgotten he was still hooked on her belt. The male tumbled onto her, his weight pressing on her, making her falter. He quickly unhooked his finger from her belt and curled his arm behind her back to catch her.

  “Gotcha. You need to start watching your back more if you still want that date, Rose.”

 _____________________________

 Meanwhile elsewhere on a floating island above the sky-high ruin befallen floating city the three had set foot on, an echidna picked up the slightest of vibes of a familiar energy. He rested against the stone stairway that led to an altar, his eyes closed as he concentrated on the waves of energy that unexpectedly drifted among the upward winds. He rose and walked towards the bridge that connected the floating island to the city below.

  ‘Knuckles’, the guardian’s name, attempted to seize some shards of green energy that whirled up to the island, but couldn’t get a hold of it. They flew off in different directions, escaping the grasp of his hands. He doubted for a second.

  “No, I’m sure of it. This has to be Chaos Energy!”

  The quizzical expression however didn’t leave his face for the gemstones he was guarding were right here with him. They were the only thing he’d ever seen that could produce this type of energy waves. He was more than familiar with the stories of special Mobians possessing a strange power that could either use or produce Chaos Energy, but never saw one before.

“Guess it’s time for me to test out that sacred art skill.”

 Every new-born member of the designated guardian family inherited a sacred art skill called ‘vision’ when they’d been given a name. After the naming ceremony, which would secure the bond between the Master Emerald and the future guardian, the skill would develop along with them as they grew up.

  The ‘vision’ allowed them to sense Chaos Energy up to a 15 mile radius around them. It also gave them the ability to ‘jump’ into an image, zooming in on it like a telescope. The most important thing about it though was that the guardians could make the entire island temporarily invisible to hide it from outsiders.

  Knuckles rapidly blinked three times in a row, activating the skill and zoomed in on the source of the Chaos energy. Taking in three Mobians he saw walking on the floating paths of the Sky Sanctuary he gasped with unease. The black one made him recall something like he recognized him.

 “He looks like…-”

 He ran back to the altar and quickly scanned the murals on it, his eyes widening at the shocking resemblance of the images and the Mobian strolling on the floating pathways below him. He looked at the black male again.

 “It is him! But why? What’s he doing here? I’d better keep an eye on them.”

 The guardian decided to track them from the island and casted a spell to turn the island invisible, not letting his curiosity getting the best of him.

 ___________________________

  “So, what will you do when you’ve obtained the emerald, Rouge?” Shadow asked.

  “I’ll take it to the man who’s willing to help me, like I told you.”

  “What does he plan to do with it?”

  ‘He’s getting a little too interested in this. I’d better distract him.’ Rouge thought.

  “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask so many questions?”

  The bat acted overly insulted only to bump into Amy next when she wasn’t paying attention of what was ahead of her. The pink hedgehog had stopped walking without warning and the others immediately understood why. Unmistakably present was the amount of Chaos spores in the air ahead of them, leading upwards. Amy took a step forward.

  “Amy!”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Rouge yelled.

  “What?! I’m going up there! To that floating island.” Amy pointed upward.

  “Floating island?” Shadow questioned.

  “Sweetie, I don’t see anything up there. Maybe we should call it a day.”

  “How- how can you NOT see it?! It’s right there! Look!”

  Seeing the other’s puzzled expressions Amy finally believed they really didn’t see what she in fact saw: a bridge leading to a floating island. That’s where all the chaos energy’s concentrated. How could they not see it? Especially with their sacred arts levels higher than hers.

  “It’s really there! I’m telling you it’s real. I’m not crazy, okay!”

  Shadow and Rouge first glanced at each other with a kind of concern before shifting their gaze at Amy.

  “I don’t rule out that there’s something up there, okay? But let’s call it a day and go back here another time. “ Rouge said.

  “Agreed.” Shadow added.

  “Fine. I’ll show you when we get back here.”

 _______________________________________

  After Amy and Shadow parted from Rouge they walked back to the academy in the dark. It had started snowing again and a bleak breeze flared up, dusting up the snow in tiny, cold whirlwinds of powdery snow. Before Shadow waved his student goodbye and paced on to his home, he told her to get a good night of sleep before the sword fight tournament tomorrow. He hoped she wouldn’t be too tired from today’s events. Bending over to the flower pot next to the front door to pick up his keys from underneath it, he suddenly felt someone’s hands on his shoulders.

  “You and I need to talk!”

  His fellow knight hissed at him while dragging him into the shadows of the alley next to the hedgehog’s house. Blaze yanked Shadow towards her, their metal breastplates clanking at their touch. The cat pulled him up by the little chest-fur that managed to pop out from under his armour, poking a finger in his muzzle. Her eyes fiercely glanced at his own crimson ones.

  “Why are you still hanging out with her? On your day-off that is. Don’t you understand how this will add to the already existing rumours?”

  He pushed her away and stepped back. “What’s your problem?! It’s dark and no one’s even here.”

  “I am. I caught onto it. Someone else might as well.”

  “We have been training in the woods today in preparation of the tournament tomorrow. I have nothing to hide apart from my trainee’s excellent swordfight skills, that is.”

  “It doesn’t look like that, Shadow! You return in the dark after spending the day together. You’re constantly looking over your shoulder and scanning the place the entire way you’ve been walking with her as if to make sure no one catches onto you two.”

  “We’re just trying to avoid causing more rumours. I’m not even the least bit interested in her like that. I don’t care about romance, Blaze.”

  “Well, you’re clearly getting along with her. Even if what you say is true, it looks suspicious.”

  “See what you wanna see. I don’t care.”

  The lavender coloured cat grabbed his shoulders, genuine concern glistering in her eyes.

  “Care about it a little more, will you?! As a member of the high order of knights you have a reputation to uphold! We all do. Your actions might affect all of us.”

  “No need to remind me. Now stop sticking your nose in my business and worry about your own student. That hyper-annoying blue hedgehog is a real troublemaker.”

  Blaze’s face showed a variety of changing expressions at Shadow’s statement. Sonic was an adventurous spirit with an impulsive nature and when he felt it was needed, he turned out to be a true rebel at heart. It often lead Blaze to the board’s office to apologize on behalf of him when Sonic refused to. Her cheeks coloured a bright pink, all much to Shadow’s amusement.

  “That’s… beside the point right now! I propose the idea that you two will only train inside the training facilities and domes for a while, so you’d be in si-“.

  “Rejected. It’ll disadvantage her in battle. Amy has as much right to develop her fighting style in secret as anyone else.”

  “If you truly have nothing to hide, this shouldn’t be a problem.”

  He shrugged himself free of her hold.

  “This conversation’s over. Good night, Blaze.”

 ___________________________

 “Hey Ames!”

  Sonic excitedly waved at his pink friend when spotting her entering the Ruby Dome’s dressing room. He walked up to her, tossing her towel to her. Amy caught it with ease and wiped the sweat from her forehead while gulping down a glass of water.

  “Ah, thanks! I needed that. Are you up next?”

  “Sure am. How did your matches go?”

  “I’ve won every single one of them.” Amy smiled like a victor.

  The blue hedgehog gave her a thumb’s up while holding the door open for her to enter the main battlefield in the dome. Shadow and Blaze greeted their students and Amy proudly told her friend and trainer how she’d won all of her matches today. The cat expressed her gleeful surprise about Shadow and Amy’s secluded training session the other day, only to display the suspicion in her jade eyes.

  “That’s me! Wish me luck, will you?”

  “Good luck, Sonic!”

  As Amy watched Sonic enter the battlefield, she saw Shadow enter after him. She’d completely forgotten Shadow competed against the seniors today. Amy knew very well that both Sonic and Shadow were crazily fast and both had outstanding sword and dodging skills. It was still likely for Shadow to win, but every spectator today knew this match ought to be very interesting.

  Both hedgehogs had that peculiar look on their faces with a certain grin curling their lips and a certain seriousness in their eyes. Amy couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. She took a seat next to Blaze whom she felt had a similar nervousness over her. Amy said a little prayer in her thoughts that Blaze wouldn’t start questioning her about Shadow. She felt guilty enough already as it was for lying to her.

  “Good luck Sonic, you’ll need it” Shadow challenged him.

  “Heh, we’ll see about that.”

  Sonic’s grin widened and he scratched his nose. They nodded once at the referee, readying themselves at his countdown. The way the hedgehogs’ body language showed the energy inside them made it more than obvious both had long anticipated a match like this. At the sound of the ringing bell the two dashed forward, racing towards their opponent, leaving a cloud of dust behind.

  Confidently preparing for the incoming impact of their swords clashing against one another, Shadow neared his opponent, effortlessly matching his speed. Searching for an open spot to strike, the two hedgehogs closed in on each other. Sonic’s eyes fixed on Shadow’s sword to block his upcoming strike.

  Within the last two or three steps away from him, he felt his heart jolt inside his chest, his eyes drawn to their swords. The spectators screamed enthusiastically behind them. The small piece of emerald on the handgrip of Shadow’s sword flared with light as he dashed forward. The air filled with thousands of tiny turquoise fireflies, which Amy now knew were actually Chaos spores.

  “Oh boy… “ Amy squeaked, holding her breath.

  “You’ve seen this stuff before?” Blaze asked.

  “Errr, yes! It’s some sort of energy.”

  The metal swords clanked against each other with tremendous impact when Sonic blocked his opponent’s strike. His sword suddenly blazed like Shadow’s after their touch, creating a large bolt of nasty bright light. Like he had hit the break at once everything just stopped around them, totally frozen in time. He was only able to move his eyes and shifted his gaze from his sword to Shadow. The black hedgehog looked back at him, clearly experiencing the same thing.

  In the blink of an eye a small emerald was laid in the handgrip of his sword, blazing as fiercely as Shadow’s. It sent a powerful rush through his body before the frozen world came back alive again. The bolt of light swung them high into the air, smashing them down on the opposite sides of the battlefield with a loud crash. Neither of them moved. Clouds of dust formed above the place the hedgehogs crashed into the ground while the crowd gasped in shock in the stands behind them.

________________________________

END NOTES

Pfff this took me long enough. I’m actually not at all satisfied with this chaper. I feel like it’s a little stiff. Bleh. I just don’t know how to write it differently.  This always happens though. Somewhere along the process of writing a story I start to dislike what I write because it lacks decent quality imo...  AAAAHH! 

Anyway here it is! I still hope the ppl who do read it enjoy it. As always: annoying drammar mishaps/typos or tips and thoughts are welcome. Be friendly though :) Just message me.

I’m also working on a couple of oneshots and drawings. In between now and June I’ll be busy making a portrait of my grandpa who passed away in november (he had covid). I promised my grandma I’ll make her a painting of him for her birthday in june. 

@shadamyheadcanons 

[llendrinall]

Hi I have a writing promt.

A story that is written from both pov's that shows Draco and Harry falling in love with each other. Little moments together where they fall a bit more in love. Things they do that make the other thing "Wow I'm so in love with him". Ect.

Harry had always been starkly aware of Draco, but it was after the war, in the Wizengamot, when he actually noticed him for the first time.

Draco was sitting next to Pansy Parkinson, holding her hand so tight that he was leaving white marks. Harry got a glimpse of them when Pansy was called to give her testimony.

Then the unthinkable happened. Instead of demurring, which she was allowed to do –was expected by everyone to do, was what every other member of a Death Eater family had done so far– Pansy answered all the prosecutor’s questions. She gave true testimony and denied her parents the imperius defence.

Draco was waiting for her when she came down from the stand. He grabbed her hand and led her away with measured steps so it wouldn’t look like they were running.

 *

The second time Harry noticed Draco like that, as a person rather than as an opponent, was, coincidentally, the first time Draco saw Harry as Harry. Not as a school enemy or a war enemy or The Boy Who Lived or The Saviour Of The Wizarding World. Not even as Harry Potter. He saw Harry as just Harry.

It probably helped that Harry was unrecognizable under a thick layer of soot and grime so Draco didn’t know who he was calling an idiot. Draco also yelled to stop immediately and step back and, miraculously, Harry did. No hesitance.

Not all Death Eater had been arrested and not every awful individual had joined Voldemort, which meant that there were plenty of terrible people out in the world. Someone, Death Eater or not, had attacked Wisteria House. The house where rescued and freed house-elves were hosted.

Draco understood that the house-elves weren’t the goal. They were just the bait, a cheap collateral. The point of the attack was to have someone (maybe Harry, most probably Granger), cross the door quickly, without looking around them, and walk straight into a deathly trap.

Draco saw the trap, called out a warning and Harry listened. He listened to Draco.

Both of them walked away with a different opinion of the other. No one comes out the same from a burning building.

 *

 The third time went like this.

“Occupied.”

“Je- Blimey!”

“Find your own corner in the shadows to hide, Potter. This one is mine.”

“I don’t have time to find another spot.”

“Too bad. W- wait! No, quit it!”

“Scoot over! We can share.”

“No, we can’t. This is my dark spot, go away.”

“Either we share or I make sure they find you too.”

“As if I care. I’m not hiding from your devotees. Go away.”

“It’s Clay Buckthorn.”

“… be quiet, then.”

They hid in there for an hour, talking in whispers and sharing a bottle of butterbeer, while Secretary Buckthorn, the most persistent and insufferable politician to ever crawl out of the Ministry, looked around for a popular face to join his campaign. They were about to leave when in came Rita Skeeter, pressuring Percy Weasley to answer her questions. They watched from the shadows as she pressed and cajoled and he resisted. It was a bit like watching some sort of fight sport, only after ten minutes they weren’t sure who they were supporting.

 *

Harry thought Draco was dating Pansy Parkinson and maybe he still was. Evidently, it was all for show. No need to read so much into it.  

There was this old witch complaining about tradition and values. Nothing no one hadn’t heard before many times. People these days had no respect, it was disgraceful and so on. But then she turned to Dennis Creevey and his boyfriend (some Slytherin kid, Harry didn’t know him), and she asked if their families weren’t ashamed of them. Two men together. They ought to be.

Harry wasn’t sure if she knew about Dennis’ brother or not. It was hard to believe that people could be so deliberately cruel to a stranger. The question stopped him from immediately jumping to her neck. He had been accused of blowing things out or proportion before. And by before, he meant that morning when he called out that rude shopper who cut the line before a goblin.

Meanwhile, Draco rolled his eyes in that magnificent way of his. For someone who acted so proud and proper, Draco had a very expressive face and the rolling of his eyes was a spectacle to behold. He stood from his table, grabbed Theo Nott by the lapels, and kissed him on the mouth long and hard right in the middle of the crowded restaurant. Afterwards he sat down, perfectly composed, and both Theo and him turned to look at the witch like the smuggest pair of snakes in the forest.

The witch left the restaurant soon after. Dennis lost the wretched look on his face and Harry paid the bill on Draco’s table, earning a nod from him on the way out.

*

The day Draco’s heart began to beat a different rhythm was a hot Thursday in summer and someone had tried to kill him.

It wasn’t a particularly well thought attack and Draco took precautions. He wouldn’t have gotten anything worse than an intense headache and maybe some sore muscles. Still, Harry felt the need to push him to the floor and shield him with his body from the sparks and shrapnel falling over them. Harry had stopped the hex in mid-air, which was admittedly impressive. Draco watched the purple rivulets of the failed curse slowly descending around them and wondered if he was in shock. That would be embarrassing. This clumsy attack on his life didn’t deserve any shock.

Harry jumped from him (so nimble!) and chased down the would-be murdered, on foot, like a muggle. He, he just ran down the street, didn’t even cast a spell until he caught up to him and brought him to the floor. Draco was sorry to miss that part, although there were very good pictures on the newspaper the next day. Harry looked amazingly heroic. One of the pictures had him jumping in mid-air.

Draco didn’t know if this was something Harry did for everybody or if it was just for him, nor did he care. His chest and stomach and… other parts, were confused enough about how to feel, and his heart, in particular was beating to a new tune.  

*

So Draco could make moving shadows to play stories and it was amazingly beautiful and Harry loved it, he loved it, and no, it was not the potion talking, he was perfectly sound of mind. St Mungo was about to let him go! But Draco had come visit him and when Harry complained about being dreadfully bored, Draco had put on this absolutely magical spectacle (yes, Harry knew they were both wizards, it was still magical; no, no potion talking, it was an honest opinion). In the end Harry stayed the night, just like the mediwitch had begged him to, and fell asleep with the shadows performing a dance before him.

*

Draco didn’t call it love because he was quite an obstinate young man, but he was at that stage where he would easily admit that he was willing to lay down his life for Harry. He only had trouble with the word, not with the sentiment itself and its manifestation.

They were at the Ministry. It should be a pretty simple and straight-forward process. Go in, Pansy signs the documents, Draco bears witness and signs his own documents, go out. But of course it wouldn’t be so simple. A pretty pureblood witch doing anything against her family was a spectacle. The press wanted photos, people wanted to see it live, and, of course, there was the ever present mob who just wanted to shout awful things. Usually Pansy dealt with the mob by herself, swiftly and with a sting.

But today was different, hence why Draco had informed Pansy he would be accompanying her before she could ask him to. It wasn’t like the day she gave her testimony, but it was close enough. In a way, it was worse. A year ago they had her testimony to think about. Today it was just signing a document. That could hardly distract them from the crowd waiting for them.  

A push. A yelp. A crash. And Harry Potter gallantly preventing a very old wizard from having a huge flower vase fall on top of him. Somehow, Harry didn’t cast protego in time, so he avoided being brained by the vase but was splashed by the water and stood completely drenched in the middle of the Ministry main hall.

Across the mass of curious people and reporters and workers and people who had come to shout awful things, Harry looked at Draco. He gave him A Look. If he had more time, Draco would stop and think of a suitable metaphor for Harry’s eyes, their colour and intensity. But he didn’t, so he grabbed Pansy by the elbow and together they crossed the hall without the crowd noticing. Everyone’s attention was naturally fixed on the way the Saviour of the Wizarding World’s wet clothes clung to his chest.

Afterwards, once he had seen Pansy safely (and discreetly) home, Draco went to find Harry. He was perfectly dry now, but he had a faint scent of flowers around him.

“The rose garden is lovely in June,” Draco said, which should be enough but of course Harry didn’t understand him. Harry was kind, brave, handsome and clever in the most useless way so Draco had to actually explain, with words, that Weasley and Granger must have realize by now the extent of their fame and what it would mean if they married at the Burrow, where anyone could break in. Hence, why Draco mentioned his lovely rose garden where they could get married if they chose to without anyone invading their privacy.

“Hermione’s extended family is muggle.” Harry said, and dear Merlin it was even worse than Draco thought. They were going to pick a muggle place. So not only people breaking in, but a violent attack against the muggles too. Just what you want for a wedding.

“The Malfoy family marries for power, not blood purity.” Draco explained in a whisper. “There is no repello muggletum in our houses.”

“What!?” Harry cried, drawing immediate and sharp attention to them so they had to leave quickly and find a quiet place where Draco explained that Grandmother Imogen –that is, Lucius Malfoy’s mother– was a muggle but, most importantly, a peer of the Realm.

Harry stood in shocked silence for a minute, and after a lot of “whats” and “hows” and “no, really, how could you join Voldemort?” he accepted to at least extend Draco’s offer to the happy couple.  

*

Draco said he didn’t plan on attending the wedding. Just because he was offering his summer house it didn’t mean he expected an invitation. He got one anyway, because Draco had showed them his summer house and two country houses belonging to his muggle cousins and was very careful not to mention Malfoy Manor at any point. Ron appreciated it even more than Hermione.  

He rejected the invitation anyway because he said he much preferred to sit by the gates and send stinging hexes to anyone trying to intrude. It was his one chance to curse people indiscriminately and he didn’t want to waste it.

He showed up later, during the reception, looking handsome and with a pleased smile on his face. He grabbed a glass of champagne, immediately transformed it from a flute to a pompadour without wasting a drop, and sat himself next to Aunt Muriel whom he proceeded to engage in a long and acrid dispute until Ron and Hermione had left. Dear Aunt Muriel didn’t get a chance to insult the bride, or the groom, or any of their families really.

It was right then, while Draco forged a lifelong enemy (her life, not his) by insulting her garden (how did he know so much about flowers), that Harry realized he was in love. He was in love. He was in love. He wanted to be with Draco and insult people together and scandalize prejudiced old bats until they themselves were old bats.

*

Harry picked up a fight with the officiant (to be fair, that comment about the goblins was very unfortunate) and they ended up getting married at a muggle register’s office and Draco was so, so, happy. His family was obviously displeased. Cousin Nerissa said that her fiancée could officiate and was very offended when Fred Weasley said no one wanted to be married by a man named Cuthbert. It was amazing. George Weasley sat next to Cousin George, the baron. Hermione and Ginny Weasley started a fight with the most traditional-minded relatives (from every side). Cousin Audrey came out to the family when she was caught propositioning Luna Lovegood. Pansy Parkinson got engaged to no less than three lords and said they could sort between themselves who got to marry her.

Draco was so in love. It was amazing.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Pure Blood 38 (Sirius Black x F!Oc)

Words: 2, 397

Masterlist

Chapter 37 Chapter 39

1

“Peter's late," Remus looks toward the door of the restaurant.

“He'll get here eventually,” replies Lily.

"How are the preparations going?”

“Nightmare—“

“—Everything’s ready!” say James and Lily at the same time. I laugh at this.

The redhead rolls her eyes.

"We have everything, James worries about a few details, he makes it look like it’s a huge party, but it’s only his parents, my mother, you, some friends from school and that's it…”

"And that's it?” repeats James snorting. "You make it look simple, Darling.”

"Not to be rude, but I want it to end, I'm sick of James asking me about the colour for the tablecloths,” Sirius scoffs.

"Or the flowers," adds Remus.

"Or the chairs,” I grimace.

Lily laughs and kisses her fiancé's cheek.

"I appreciate the help, but I have everything under control.”

“What?"

"Do you really think I haven’t checked every detail twice already?" She raises an eyebrow.

James sighs. "Thank Merlin…”

Before anyone else could say anything, a roar shook the place. We all jumped up, wands in hand. Outsiders run and scream through the streets.

When leaving, my breathing stops when I see dark figures, some set fire to the premises, others cast hexes without even seeing who they hurt. They’re everywhere.

"Percy!" Sirius yells at me, which makes me react. I dodge a hex and attack back.

I lose sight of each of my friends, I’m scared, but I try to ignore it. One person in particular casts a spell towards a roof. It falls on me and I land on the ground. I pray that this doesn’t affect my old wounds. I don't have time to verify, as the person keeps casting spells.

"You don't even have the courage to show your hideous faces!” I yell at them.

"You won't want to see them, blood traitor," A woman hisses. She casts a spell that knocks me out towards the wall.

I try to get up carefully. The fight continues and it seems that the others are multiplying like rats. When you take one down, more come out of hiding.

“Persephone!" I hear near me. My body freezes when I see my older sister standing in front of me.

“Juno…”

“You better give up. We’re more than you can handle.”

“We're not going anywhere!”

Another boom echoes to my left. I crouch down and try to fight the others, but with every move, black smoke keeps me from seeing. Only until she throws me into a wall I can see my sister.

"This is the moment when you tell me your malicious plan,” I pant.

“The game’s over, Persephone. Go home,” She hisses.

Her words are poisonous, but her eyes show fear and insecurity. He looks around and turns back to me.

"You must go.”

"My family keeps fighting!”

“They’re a lost cause. Your whole cause is. Runs away, look for Regulus and disappear—”

“No," I grit my teeth. An explosion blows on us. My lungs demand air, my bones tremble, I finally feel a familiar ache in my leg. Little by little my eyes get used to the cloud of debris that is around me.

"Do it!" A woman screams. I raise my head, startled to see Juno pointing her wand at me. Her hand trembles. I quickly look for my wand, but can't find it. "Do it!” Bellatrix Lestrange walks up to my sister. “You’ve prepared for this moment. Make Daddy proud…”

“Juno…”

"It's a shame we were almost family," Bellatrix says with a mocking smile.

“Juno!" I say louder.

“Bye-bye, little sister," Juno says.

“Please…”

Her eyes connect with mine. Those eyes that used to chase me around in the mansion.

"I'm getting bored," says Bellatrix.

The ground moves uncontrollably, distracting the two women. With a groan, I get up.

"She's running away!" I hide behind a wall, deflecting a spell.

I hear groans and fights. Bellatrix destroys the wall.

"Crucio!" I feel like lightning is spreading through my entire body, every nerve is out of control and my arms are twisting. "Avada Kadavra!”

"No!"

The following moments are blurry, I hear screams, I can only see dust.

The last thing I remember is black smoke drifting away, leaving only an inert body on the ground, right in front of me.

“Juno!"

***

2

"To communicate, we’ll use the Patronus enchantment,” informs Alastor Moody pacing back and forth. “I'll assign areas to each group and from now on, your locations will be unplottable."

Mad-Eye, as many knew him, an excellent auror, explains the new security measures with other members of the order and Dumbledore. When he finishes, the headmaster of Hogwarts takes his place.

“We’ve lost many loved ones, I’m afraid to tell you that this will not end unless we can defend ourselves and protect anyone, wizard or muggle.”

"Who were these people, Dumbledore? Who sent them?"

“A dark wizard, Miss Longbottom. One of the most dangerous I have ever met. Now he calls himself Lord Voldemort and calls his followers Death Eaters. His goal is to make a new world order where wizards rule over the Muggles.”

“Like Grindelwald,” someone adds.

“His efforts have paid off. Many families have fled in fear of what he can accomplish. That’s why I have asked you to put up resistance, unite and protect yourselves.”

"What else can we do?" Sirius takes my hand.

"I'm afraid you can only wait for orders of any partner who needs help. We will be on the lookout for the followers of the highest rank. Be alert and follow Alastor's instructions.”

"Who are in the high rank?"

"For now we don’t know that yet, but we’ll tell you if anything changes.”

“Ares Singh,” I attract everyone's attention. I get up and turn to the others. "Amelia Singh, Isis and Balder Singh,” I swallow the lump that forms in my throat. “Juno Singh.”

"The Black family,” adds Sirius, getting up as well.

Some look at us with pity, others nod.

“We can’t ignore our enemies. We’ll fight to prevent what we have built together from being destroyed,” I say looking at Dumbledore. He nods.

The meeting ends. Sirius hugs me and I hide my face against his chest.

"I wish I could take your pain away," He whispers.

“That’d be good.”

He smiles at me as we part.

"I think we should talk about security measures, especially for the wedding,” says James coming to our side.

Lily walks over, along with Remus and Peter.

"I'm sorry about your sister, Persephone," Peter whispers without looking at me.

"Thank you…”

"Is it a bad time to suggest building a huge house for all of us to live in?" Remus says. I raise an eyebrow, normally those ideas would come from Sirius or James. "Don't look at me like that, I could look after everyone at school, now everyone lives in different places…”

"Don't worry, we'll be fine,” says Lily.

***

3

“Only James and Lily Potter can marry in the middle of a war! But now that I think about it, their friendship, although they refuse to admit it, began with one— From her screams to the not so innocent jokes from him. We all witnessed each fight, some were amused, others were fed up, but all Hogwarts agrees that there was a something between the two most stubborn people in the wizarding world.

That something, thanks to Merlin, is finally settled today in front of their greatest friends. From now on, their union can only be severed if James comes up with the stupidest idea of ​​his life and Lily can no longer stop him— or a force beyond our control decides to separate them… We can never know, but the important thing is that they will continue to yell, fight, laugh and celebrate each day as if it were the last…”

I raise my glass a little towards the happy couple.

“I'll always be eternally grateful for the love, support and the second chance that both gave me to enter their lives,” I smile trying not to let my tears ruin my makeup. "I don’t know about you, but I’ll stay by your side, witnessing your connection and obviously, I'll keep betting to see who loses their mind first. Congratulations to the Potters!”

The guests clap and I walk off the stage.

"James, are you crying?”

"Leave me alone, Padfoot.”

"It was the best speech, thank you, Persephone…”

"Better than Sirius,” adds James hugging me.

"I'd like to complain, but it's true,” Sirius kisses my cheek. "Although my joke with the new flying bike will never be surpassed.”

"Hey, what if we go for a ride, Paddie?" James offers.

"You can't go right now, this is your wedding, you idiot," I scold him.

“True…”

Lily slaps her husband on the shoulder lightly and they both laugh.

The celebration continues all afternoon and most of the night. We danced, drank, and laughed, completely ignoring the mess outside the little garden.

"You've got to be kidding me!” I squeal when Jenna shows me a beautiful ring.

"P, I'm going to get married!" She squeals in a daze.

"Yes, I know what that huge rock means!" I shake my head and hug her. After a few minutes of her crying on my shoulder, I see Marlene laughing near us. "Congratulations, Marlene! Uh, I would hug you, but I'm a little busy,” I say pointing at Jenna.

"Don't worry, she needs you…”

After Jenna wipes her tears, both girls go to Lily to break the news. They’re a little nervous, neither of them wants to ruin the redhead's moment, but all concern vanishes when Lily screams, raises her arms and hugs them.

"Before I die from anxiety, I must ask,” I was startled to hear Sirius next to me.

“Now, what did you do?"

"Nothing," He says, adjusting his black tie.

“You’re sure?" I help him remove it.

"Doesn't this all feel strange?" I undo two buttons from his white shirt, then frown.

"What do you mean?"

"Weddings, commitments…”

I look at him in surprise.

“Don't scare me. Do you feel weird?"

"I don’t know. I don't think we've ever talked about this, but I see the others, wanting to get married and all that. So I wondered if you would want it too, after all we've been through. I, uh…” He sighs. “If it's what you want, it's fine by me. I would do whatever you ask me to…”

I laugh lightly and put my hand on his cheek.

"I don't want that, Sirius.”

"No?"

I shake my head and he heaves a big sigh.

"I think we’re in a good place,” I stir uncomfortably "The truth is that thinking about getting married brings up very bad memories, which I prefer to leave in the past.”

"So it's not just my thing?"

“Noup."

“Great. I think the same,” He hugs me by the waist. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I don't think a wedding is necessary.”

“Okay."

“Okay."

He kisses my lips sweetly.

"By the way,” He says as we part. "Did I tell you how beautiful you look in that dress?"

"About twenty times,” I smile looking directly into his gray eyes.

“Great."

***

"Sirius, wake up!" I scream in his ear and he falls off the bed.

"I didn’t do it!" He screams. Sirius rubs his eyes, takes a few seconds and then turns to look at me, checks me to see if something bad is happening and sighs. "Yes, dear?"

"We must go to the hospital, Jane is having the babies!”

I threw his clothes at his face and then leave the room.

Sirius doesn't take long to be ready and we both show up on the spot. We quickly arrive in the room where Jane is.

"Aunti Phoney! Babies!” Atlas informs me as soon as he sees me. I laugh.

“You're excited?"

“Duno…”

"Thanks for coming quickly, I must go with her…” says a very nervous and sweaty Apollo.

We entertain little Atlas. Ever since Jane's pregnancy got risky with twins, Sirius and I have become quintessential babysitters.

"Siru, babies!” He insists after a while.

"Do you want to have brothers or sisters?"

“None."

“Atlas, we already talked about that. You can't get rid of your siblings."

"Why?"

"Merlin knows I tried,” I say making Sirius laugh.

"I want to see Mum," He says for the tenth time, but before we can say anything to him. Apollo arrives with a huge smile.

Apollo enters with Atlas before us to explain what is happening.

"I can't imagine being in your brother's position," Sirius says.

"My brother? What about Jane?”

"It's not like I could get pregnant, but that's scary too.”

"As always, I have to carry everything,” I grimace.

"Aunti Phoney, Uncle Siru, babies!" We hear Atlas scream when his father opens the bedroom door.

We both walked in.

“You musn’t scream, Atlas. You scare them!”

“Sowy!”

I walk over to Jane.

"How do you feel?"

“Better," She smiles tiredly. She has two lumps wrapped in blankets on each of her arms. “He's Hades," She says, handing me a baby. "And He’s Hercules,” She says passing the other to Sirius.

I see the little pink baby in my arms, who quietly settles in.

"Hello, little one,” I take his small hand that sticks out of the blanket. I kiss his forehead.

"They are so... small,” says Sirius in disbelief. I smile.

"I want a baby," Atlas demands.

"Oh, you want them now?" I ask raising an eyebrow.

"My babies, my brothers!” He answers.

"I already want to see him when they cry or poop," Jane complains.

"I don't want them to poop," says Atlas confused.

Jane and Apollo begin another explanation for the little boy. I move closer to Sirius.

"Is it crazy to think that I want one, too?" Sirius asks looking at me.

"No, not that crazy," I look back at the babies.

Within dark and risky situations, I must hold on to the little lights that come into my life, like the ones we hold, the new Potter family, Jenna's engagement, the union of my friends, and whatever comes my way.

My thoughts are interrupted when Hercules sneezes, causing him to panic, and scare his brother, now they both start crying.

"Jane take them back, please.”

"Oh, come on!”

Taglist

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[twstismymuse]

Hello hello!!

First ever post!! Yay!!

This is a little piece I whipped up after getting inspired browsing through pinterest

(Yes i use pinterest they actually have pretty good stuff on there)

Anyways this scenario features my Professor oc, Kathryne Bones ☠️

She’s twisted from Captain Hook and I’ll have more on her soon!

In the meantime, enjoy my pirate queen kicking misogyny right in the dick!!

{Title: A Valuable Lesson}

{Summary: Professor Bones puts a few narrow minded students in their place through a hands on demonstration.}

{Warnings: Misogyny, degrading comments, strong language, objectification}

(Pssst, some character info has been updated here)

—————————————————————

It was supposed to be smooth sailing for her. It had only been a week since Kathryne Bones was recognized as a professor and Geography was added to the curriculum at the esteemed NRC and she couldn’t have been happier. Sure she’d had to push and shove to be able to secure the position of a professor at the college, but the college had only recently begun it’s transformation as a co-ed school and the pure fact that she got the job was a feat in itself as a respected educator. There were doubts about her “qualifications” to be a teacher, but Kathryne was determined to break through those boundaries and prove she could teach a class filled with young boys as good as any man.

Kathryne adored her students and wanted to push them to be the best they could be! Geography was an essential subject, to learn not only about the world they inhabited but the people in Twisted Wonderland as well.

She really thought she would be able to gain their respect.

For the most part, it was adorable seeing the looks on their faces when she walked into the classroom and introduced herself as their new professor.

“Welcome boys! My name is Kathryne Bones and I’ll be your Geography professor. I trust that we’ll be able to get along and you lot won’t feel too put off by me. Savvy?”

“...”

“I’m asking you all if you understand.”

“Ohhhhh…”

The first half of class went swimmingly. Many of the students asked genuinely interesting questions and gave insightful responses. They paid close attention when she pulled up a map of Twisted Wonderland and began pointing out key locations.

“As we can see, the Afterglow Savannah’s absolute location-”

“You should bend over a little more!”

Her metal finger paused and hovered over the labeled country on the map. It took her a moment to fully comprehend what had happened as the sound of snickering and cruel laughter echoed throughout the classroom.

“Or better yet, show us your tits!”

“Doesn’t this school have a dress code? A teacher shouldn’t be walking around in clothes like that, you know.”

“Showing that much skin on the job?”

“Maybe she’s some pirate whore-”

Kathryne kept her back turned toward the chalkboard, yet several students spoke up in her defense.

“Hey, assholes!! The fuck is wrong with you, she’s tryna teach us here!!” A boy with bright red hair and a heart painted on his right eye snarled at the group.

“That is no way to treat a professor, much less a lady!!” A student with slicked back hair and pointed brows barked.

Ace Trappola and Sebek Zigvolt, her brain helpfully offered.

“Come on! What was the school thinking letting a female professor teach at NRC?” One of the ruffians, a Heartslaybul ribbon around his arm, scoffed and reclined in his seat while his friends sniggered. A student with violet hair and soft blue eyes, glared daggers at them and spoke loudly.

“Professor Bones is just trying to do her job, it's very rude to-”

“Please Felmier, in that get up? My dad was right when he said NRC was really going to the dogs-”

“It seems to me, lad, that your father has a rather narrow mindset.”

“Eh?”

Kathryne turned around, a brilliant sickly sweet beam on her face as she moved towards the center of the classroom.

“What did you say about my-”

“I’d like to know what gives you the right to question my authority and not only that, but disrupt my lesson. Is it because you feel the need to say something? Well, the floor is yours now. Do enlighten all of us on what exactly your father has to say about NRC’s reputation.”

The student paused, thrown off guard by the unwanted spotlight suddenly cast on him and the eyes that were watching him and his friends.

He gulped before attempting to maintain his composure, “W-well...he...he said that he didn’t know what the headmaster was thinking, bringing in a woman to teach us-”

“So, just to fully comprehend what you’re saying...your father believes that simply because I am a member of the opposite sex, I’m not able to teach a class filled with males?”

“Well-”

“Look at what you’re wearing though!! What kind of respectable teacher would go around looking like that? It’s distracting! My mother never wears clothes like that!” One of the boy’s friends, an Ingihyde student, came to his aid.

“...I see. Yes, I understand completely!” She clapped her hands together and her eyes sparkled, “Students! I just had the most wonderful idea! Why don’t we try a more hands-on approach~?”

Beckoning the Heartslaybul student forward with her finger she called, “Could you come down here please?”

Confusion and befuddlement visible on everyone’s faces as the young man came forward as instructed.

“Yes, just stand riiiiight there, perfect! Now as for me…” Walking over to the desks, she squeezed past the boys and sat right in the empty seat left by the Heartslaybul student. “Alright, now I want you to go to the board and I want you to pick up my lesson right where we left off, can you do that?”

He hesitantly nodded and turned around to face the wide map. Kathryne nudged one of the male’s friends on her left and gave a sly wink just as the boy started talking.

“Um, well...the Afterglow Savannah is located at uh-”

“Hey, why don’t you bend over a little more? I can’t see your ass all that clearly, sailor.”

He paused while much of the class began snickering under their breaths as the boy’s friends fidgeted in their seats.

“Or better yet, why don’t you just rip your shirt off for me?”

He turned his head slightly, visibly embarrassed and uncomfortable with her cajoling.

“You shouldn’t be walking around with your shirt unbuttoned like that, you’re showing way too much skin during school hours, you know. And your pants are far too tight, I can practically see your bulge through them. I mean really, what were you thinking walking around like that?”

She looked around enthusiastically, yet the male’s friends avoided her eyes, the Ignihyde student scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“What’s wrong? You all were so enthusiastic when I was in your mate’s position? Why won’t you join in?”

They remained silent, yet she pressed, “Go on, tell me, I’m listening.”

“...B-because it’s-”

“Uncomfortable? Derogatory? Demeaning? You all seemed like you were having a jolly good time speaking to me that way, objectifying my body and criticizing my outfit though. What changed?”

“Your...sh-shirt…”

“How is my shirt different from his? We’re both showing a bit of skin, yet you feel the need to tell me and not him to cover up?”

“It’s because of...of...”

“Don’t be shy now, I want to hear it.”

“Your...your chest-”

“Ahhhh, I see. Yes, I mustn't let anyone see any hint of the tissue overlying my pectoral muscles. They’re not at all nearly the same in terms of our biology, isn’t that correct?”

“...”

Kathryne carried on as she stood up and made her way back to the floor, “Isn’t it funny how as a matter of fact, Professor Crewel who I know you all hold in great respect, also is fond of wearing form fitting clothes that accentuate his assets yet not one of you seem keen on interrupting his lesson by shouting obscenities at him? What makes my fashion choice different from his? These are the clothes I feel comfortable in, clothes that I feel confident in, yet you lot want to try and bring me down by calling me a whore. I bet you all wouldn’t be so quick to critique me if I told all of you to cover up from head to toe because seeing your uniforms is distracting to me. How would that make you all feel?”

There was no answer, a slight muttering under hushed tones and an uneasy silence filling the air.

“You have no right to tell me what to do with my body and how I decide to dress. You’re all here to learn, not to jack off in the middle of my class to the busty school teacher. I’ll have you know, this is the very same outfit I wore when I commandeered the fiercest crew of buccaneers the seven seas had ever seen. This is the outfit I demanded respect from them in and it will be the outfit you will respect me in. Savvy?”

“Yes…”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Professor Bones.”

“Excellent. Now, let’s get back to the lesson. As for you four…” Her gaze landed on the group, a smirk on her lips seeing how shaken they looked. “I’ll be reporting this behavior to each of your dorm heads as well as the Headmaster and they’ll deal with you properly. I’m not fond of dishing out punishments like Professor Crewel, but I happen to know Heartslaybul in particular is a real stickler for the rules.”

“Let’s see…” She mused, turning her attention back to the map. “Who can tell me the Afterglow Savannah’s absolute location?”

Perhaps her academic career wouldn’t be as difficult as she thought.

[saudadeonly]

i loved and i loved (and i lost you)

Read on ao3. Chronologically posted second. 

Death Eater! Sirius Black AU

The three times James Potter lets Sirius Black get away.

(And the one time he doesn't have to.)

Word count: 11453

___

I. December 1978

James’s breath fogs in the cold winter air as he heaves a frustrated sigh. He aims a kick at a small stone he finds particularly offensive but as it flies off and bounces on the paved ground he finds his irritation is no less present. “This is a waste of time,” he says as he crosses his arms in a vain attempt to shield himself from the biting cold. The warming charm he cast a couple hours ago has worn off and the streets around them are too crowded with Muggles for him to renew it without risking exposure.

“I wasn’t aware,” Remus says placidly from beside him. He, of course, thought to bring along a pair of gloves and a hat with a large ridiculous tassel so he’s looking positively toasty. “You hadn’t said so for the past 6 and a half minutes.”

James scowls. “Don’t be a prat.”

“Pot, kettle, black.”

James holds in a wince at the last word, fingers tightening almost unconsciously on the wand in his pocket. Chancing a glance at his friend, he finds his face equally strained for a moment before it smooths back into absent amusement, though it seems less genuine than before.

Well, if Remus won’t say anything about it, then neither will James. Absently, he notes that it’s a game they, along with Lily, Peter and another handful of Order members, have been playing since the mistress of 12 Grimmauld Place sent Peter and the two of them scampering away a couple of months ago, accompanied by a set of strong words and well-aimed jinxes. Their letters to the same address had been coming back unopened long before that.

“I just don’t see a point in patrolling here, of all places,” James grumbles in lieu of addressing a serious topic—pun not intended—and kicks another stone down the street. “It’s not a really note-worthy place, for anyone and especially not Death Eaters.”

“Moody’s orders,” Remus reminds him with the air of someone who’s done this a hundred times and tired of it, which James finds unfair, because, really, he’s only done it sixty-seven times. “We’ll just check for any abnormal activity and we’ll be on our merry way.” He bumps his shoulder against James’s. “You’ll be home before supper.”

It does little to lift James’s spirits—Lily is on duty at the headquarters until midnight, when James is supposed to relieve her so on top of having to freeze his ass off because of Moody’s bloody paranoia he’ll have to come home to a cold and empty house too.

At his petulant silence, Remus sighs. “I know this has been hard on all of us, Prongs, but really, there’s no need to be so—”

Remus’s would-be talking to is cut short by the sudden screams coming from the main square.

Sharing a reproachful look with his old friend, James dashes down the street toward the screams, pushing through the crowds who exclaim and huff at him, while Remus follows close behind, the picture of apologetic politeness compared to James’s rudeness.

They reach the main square at the same time, though, stopping side by side just in time to see a masked wizard upend an elderly woman mid-air while another five send streaks of light shooting at fleeing Muggles, laughing as the poor people topple over, helpless against their wands.

James is at a loss. He’s been an active member of the Order for the better part of six months and this is by no means his first mission, solo or otherwise, but it is the first time he has seen the Death Eaters’ cruelty in person, the way they taunt and mock their victims as they convulse on the ground.

Luckily for him, Remus seems to have his head on straight. He pulls James by the back of his overcoat until they’re both hidden in the shadows. He mutters a low incantation and a moment later, a silver streak shoots from his wand, bounding into the dark sky.

James stirs and starts for the square, but Remus stops him again, the grip on the collar of James’s robes surprisingly strong for someone so thin.

“Are you mad?” Remus demands, voice lowered to a whisper. “You want to go against six trained Dark Wizards on your own?”

James gives him a crooked smile, though it falls flat. He always used to have at least one other companion with even worse impulse control than his. “Well, not on my own, of course, Moony. I have you.”

Remus rolls his eyes, but must consider him deterred enough he releases him and uses his free hand to flick his sandy hair out of his eyes. “I’d rather not have my ears screamed off today, thanks,” he says.

One of the muggles in the square lets out a particularly blood-curdling scream and James tightens his grip on his wand.

“Moony,” he implores.

But Remus is as unaffected by his wide eyes as he has ever been. There has really ever been only one person whose eyes he isn’t immune to. He only levels him with a stern look. “We’re not good to anyone dead. It might even hurt the Order if we get captured.”

James has no good argument to that but before that can be properly obvious, there’s a streak of silver light through the night sky and a large horned owl of the same colour materialises in front of them.

“We’re on our way,” it says in Dorcas’s voice. “Do not engage until we arrive.”

“Well, too late for that,” James says, raising his wand as a dark figure splits off from their companions and slips into the dark alley, silver mask glinting in the moonlight. James curses under his breath. Talking Patronuses, while an incredibly quick and effective way to communicate with other Order members, are not very inconspicuous.

The Death Eater approaches, wand raised, and tilts their head as they examine the two of them. “Well, well, what do we have here?” they crow in a low but delighted voice. “If it isn’t baby Potter and little Lupin.” They cock their head to the side, strangely patronising even without the use of their face, and James’s fingers go white on his wand. “Here to play heroes, are you?”

“Certainly.” Remus is a picture of quiet confidence, his form perfect, his hand steady. If it weren’t for the way his eyes flick towards James just for a second, James might’ve thought him to be catching up with a Hogwarts classmate over tea. “Someone has to, if you insist on being the villain, Wilkes.”

Aidan Wilkes—for it is indeed Aidan Wilkes, James can see now, in the thin blond hair that shines green in the light of Death Eaters’ spells, and the pale scarred hand holding on to his wand—seems to not have expected to be recognised, but Remus always has been exceptionally observant. Wilkes sends his reply in the form of a purple light at James, who deflects it with a murmured “Protego.”

It gives Remus enough time to send a silent spell flying his way, but Wilkes easily dodges and takes a step back. They trade spells that way, some spoken, some wordless, and James finds his frustration returning with a vengeance when neither they nor Wilkes prevail. There’s two of them and only one of him and he thinks that the math there should be obvious.

He knows, of course, why they can’t beat the damn bastard—while they use spells hardly above the level they used for one of their more elaborate pranks back at Hogwarts, Wilkes fires curses at them that James hasn’t even heard of, much less experienced, and when one of particularly nasty ones grazes his shoulder, he finds he can hardly move his left arm.

The curses under his breath come quicker when he realises Wilkes has managed to retreat so far that one of the other Death Eaters jumps them from the left and they’re forced to dive to the ground to avoid the streak of green light.

Sharing a look with Remus, they spring back to their feet and press their backs together, spells shooting from their wands before they’re even fully balanced, James’s toward the new Death Eater and Remus’s toward Wilkes.

Now, James is a decent duellist, not the top of their Duel Club at Hogwarts—that honour belonged to the two most important people in his life—but he’s ended up walking away from his duels almost unscathed more times than his opponents have.

The problem is, the Death Eaters have obviously have come here to have fun and James has to assume that obliterating a couple of barely-out-of-Hogwarts wizards has to be more entertaining than simply suspending a few Muggles in air and laughing as they scream in terror.

They gather round Remus and James as they take notice of them, the Muggles they were tormenting only moments before falling to the ground. Their cackles of delight can be heard even over the sound of the explosion one of Wilkes’s spell causes.

“Just when I thought today was going to be boring,” one of them says and James sends a Backfiring Jinx—just to make things less boring for him—at him just as he shouts, “Flipendo!” He’s blasted back several metres, hitting the side of a tall building.

The one second James paid attention to him was one second too long—he is hit with a Knockback Jinx of his own, feeling like a giant has just punched him in the chest, and sent flying across the square. He lands on the cobblestones, the breath knocked out of him, black spots dancing in his vision.

He gasps for air and grapples for his wand with one hand, fixing his glasses with the other, but when he finally grabs onto something, it’s not the wooden handle of his wand but a hand, shrivelled and tiny, but still warm.

With horror, he looks to the side to see the elderly woman that was first to go up in the air blankly staring at him, blood trickling out the corner of her mouth.

He shakes his head—there’s no time to be horrified right now—and grabs his wand which rolled to the side to rest right next to the hip of the woman.

Once again, a bloody moment too late.

“Don’t move,” says a menacing voice above him, the end of a dark wand pointed at him.

The Death Eater standing in front of him is tall and lean, the intricate patterns on his silver mask almost beautiful. But there is something in the way he holds himself, high-strung and casual all at once, that seems almost reserved for one particular—

There are several successive cracks—James counts five—and the Death Eater is blasted to the side before he can so much as turn.

Marlene McKinnon—Merlin’s socks, he’s never been so happy to see her in his life—offers James a hand, which he gladly accepts, and gives him a stern look that seems almost as alien on her as a smile on her girlfriend. “I thought you weren’t supposed to engage.”

James gives her a sheepish look. “To be fair, they engaged us.”

Marlene doesn’t seem impressed but she shrugs it off. “I’ll let Lily and Dorcas do the lecturing,” she says instead, flashing him a lopsided smile.

She turns on her heel and sends a turquoise light toward Wilkes, who was just making a slashing motion toward Remus. Another swish of Marlene’s wand and he is out cold on the floor.

The remaining four Death Eaters seem to be reconsidering their life choices right about now as the combined strength and wrath of Marlene McKinnon, Lily Evans, Dorcas Meadowes, Frank Longbottom and Alice Fawley comes thundering down on them, along with rejuvenated Remus and James.

James stops only for a second to admire the sight of his fiancée dancing out of reach of one of the Death Eaters’ purple spell, her hair flying behind her as she sends a retaliating hex back. He smiles to himself, then plunges back into the fight, sending a Disarming Spell to divert a dark stream meant for Dorcas, who fluidly blasts her opponent back.

“Where’s your master now?” shouts Marlene at them, the taunt in her voice obvious as the Death Eaters flock together, retreating step by step. One—James thinks it’s the one that blasted himself back—even Disapparates. “Where is he now to hide you, you cowards?”

“Here I am, McKinnon,” says a voice, high and cold.

They all turn toward the source of it and James has to ask himself how it all went so horribly wrong so quickly.

A tall figure, garbed only in a set of elegant black robes and lacking shoes, stands in the middle of the square, the wand in his hand held almost loosely. His eyes are red, skin white and face almost snake-like, but despite himself James can still find something barely human in the tilt of his high cheekbones, the curve of his smiling lips.

Lord Voldemort holds out a hand to his followers, who, as if driven by some innate force, pick themselves up off the ground and drift toward their master. Even Wilkes, who should have been unconscious, gets up and joins him.

James moves a step closer to his friends, making sure to position himself directly in front of them.

Voldemort’s eyes focus on him first. “James Potter,” he drawls in his bone-chilling voice. His fingers slide along the length of his wand. “I heard quite a lot about you.”

James swallows. “All bad things, I hope,” he answers, shifting so that his useless arm isn’t exposed, his wand hand twitching in preparation to be raised. He is profoundly glad his voice doesn’t shake.

He chuckles, but the sound carries no humour. “Depends on who you ask.” His eyes flick toward the last Death Eater to join them, the one Marlene blasted away from James, his mouth curving up the tiniest bit before they focus back on James. “I must admit, I hoped the purity of your blood might lead you to me, but I see you need a bit of a stern hand.”

James opens his mouth, whether to tell him to sod off to hell, or to imply the same with his curses, but he’s already looking away from him and towards Marlene.

“Same goes for you, McKinnon,” he says, then adds with a glance at each of the Order members, “Longbottom, Fawley.”

All good, respectable pureblood families, though out of the four of them, Marlene is perhaps the furthest away from her family’s beliefs—while not outright blood supremacists, her grandparents are by no means fond of Muggles or Muggleborn, though her parents seem to counteract that with the way they adore Dorcas, a witch technically not a Muggleborn but close to it with her squib mother and Muggleborn father.

“The rest of you, of course, are not as worthy of following me as they are, but given the good things I heard about your talents, I will let you join me.”

Grave silence rules the square, no one daring to even let out a breath.

Lily slips her hand in James’s and though his fingers are still half-numb he is glad for it, trying to convey his gratitude through running his thumb over her knuckles.

“Rot in hell,” Dorcas spits, a deliberately Muggle saying, and just like that, all of their wands are pointed at the darkest wizard of all time.

James has a feeling they’ll all die tonight.

Voldemort seems unperturbed. “I thought you might be inclined that way—the old fool must have his claws deep inside you—so I brought along someone who might be more motivational than me.” He turns to the Death Eater directly on his right, the one that stood above James. “Prove to me they’re worthy.”

The Death Eater ducks into a shallow bow, his hood falling off as he straightens, revealing a shock of night-dark hair. “My Lord,” he murmurs and takes a few steps forward, still to the right of his master and nowhere near hiding him from their view. He walks with an easy sort of grace, strides even and measured, the back of his robes billowing behind him as if compelled.

Just like before, James finds something familiar in the way he moves, the way he carries himself, as if he’s made not of mortal flesh but of stars and steel, and there’s really only one family, pureblood or not, that James can think of that hold themselves like that.

And James knows, somehow, though perhaps it isn’t so strange all things considered, even before the Death Eater stops and pulls off his mask, knows and dreads and feels whose face they will see underneath that mask. And he prays, prays to every deity he knows, every god or goddess he has ever heard of that he is wrong, that it isn’t his dearest friend who is about to stand opposite of him.

His prayers go unanswered.

Sirius Black removes his mask with little dramatics. That particular flair of his seems to have been reserved for the way he grins at them, slow and crooked and so Sirius his chest cracks open, because he knows that smile, the one he’s seen millions of times before, the very same one that used to fall apart in a matter of seconds.

“Hello, James.”

Strangely enough, the first thing James notices about his friend that he hasn’t seen in roughly half a year—a hundred and sixty-eight days but who’s counting—is that his hair is much shorter than the last time he saw him, cut just above his ears, but still managing to retain its elegant wave. Sirius loved his hair—he used it as one of the many ways to drive his mother up the wall—and threatened anyone who so much as dared to tease him about cutting it with a gruesome death and James has never been convinced it was purely a joke.

The second thing that catches is eye is the prominence of his cheekbones and the hollowness of his cheeks, as if someone had sucked anything he could spare out of him. He wonders if Sirius has been eating enough, or even at all.

The third thing he registers—and really, he needs to get his priorities straight because this one is perhaps the most important—is the fact that Sirius Black, who has hated everything to do with Dark Magic since the day he met him, who has despised his family and their affiliations for much longer than that, is a Death Eater.

Someone lets out a sound that is between a choke and a sob. Marlene, James thinks. Marlene, who bleeds love and light like she was born for it, who adores Sirius above everyone else, her first ally, her first friend, who hexed Caradoc into oblivion just last week because he dared to imply Sirius had turned.

“Sirius kept some questionable beliefs when I first met him, I’ll admit,” says Voldemort, but his voice sounds far away to James, who currently has the mental capacity only to stare at Sirius. “But he has proven to be one of my most loyal servants and he is matched only by his dear cousin in terms of capability. Just proves my point of how remarkable such noble Houses are.”

A shadow passes Sirus’s face, gone quicker than James can blink and he convinces himself he must have imagined it.

“What did you do, Sirius?” Lily asks, voice as ashen as her face.

James squeezes her hand.

“What I should have done a long time ago, Lily,” Sirius says easily. “I was wrong before; this is where I’m meant to be. Serving eternally by the side of the most powerful wizard of all time.” His eyes flick toward someone behind James’s back and he can take an educated guess as to who’s standing behind him when something shifts in those grey eyes. He looks away and drawls on, “You can too. You take my hand and all that you have done against us, will be forgiven.” His hand, wandless and long-fingered, rises to stop mid-air, waiting palm-up for a clasp that James knows will never come.

Us. There was a time James was a part of that us. Now, looking into the face that is familiar and alien at once, too smooth, too cold, too impassive—for Sirius Black is a lot of things but impassive is not one of them—he finds he no longer wishes to be.

James lifts his wand higher. “Who are you?” He is terrified to see his hand tremble. “What did they do to you?”

“I’m me, James. They did nothing to me. Ask me anything and you’ll see.”

His voice is so calm, so reasonable, so very unlike Sirius James wants to throw up. He can’t speak past the lump in his throat.

“What did you do to him?” Marlene screams, wand pointed not at Sirius but at the dark figures behind him.

Voldemort throws a look at Sirius, a cruel smirk curving his lips. “Convince them or they’re dead, Black,” he says, the words barely more than a hiss. “I’m getting bored.”

Sirius’s hand shakes almost imperceptibly. “James, please,” he murmurs and James doesn’t think anyone other than Lily or him can actually hear him.

James shakes his head. “I’d rather die.”

Sirius’s face changes at once, harsh lines surrounding his mouth, a furrow between his thick brows. His hand drops, hanging limply by his side.

“So you shall,” the Dark Lord drawls. He looks to his Death Eaters, voice nothing short of bored as he orders, “Finish them.”

Alice, ever the vicious Hufflepuff, is the first one to throw a spell. It shoots right past James’s ear and heads straight for Voldemort, bathing the silver masks of his followers in red light.

He deflects it with a lazy flick of his wand, lazily prowling towards them, while the Death Eaters shoot forward. “Is that all you can manage, little Alice?”

Instinctively, James steps in front of Alice and feels more than hears the others do the same. Lily’s hand is still in his and he squeezes it.

Sirius has put his mask back on and his wand is a mere blur in the air as he sends a blue stream of light towards James, who barely manages to shout the incantation for a shield, though he can feel the shock of the hindered curse reverberate within his bones.

“You’re going to pay for that!” Lily shouts and throws a well-aimed Stinging Hex that hits Sirius straight into the chest and Merlin, James loves that woman, he adores her more than he has ever cared for anything else in his life. “Bloody traitor! Expulso!”

The stones at Sirius’s feet explode, throwing him several metres back, but he twists mid-air like a cat and manages to soften his landing with a shield charm. “Is that all you got, Evans?” he taunts, already making a circular motion with his hand.

James pulls down Lily just in time to avoid the pale light, and then they’re forced to twirl away as the Dark Lord himself starts for them, Alice now lying on the ground with a deep wound down her side.

“You are fools,” he says, brandishing his wand with a rather dainty swish. “You could’ve had everything in my service.”

“Everything but our dignity,” James mutters.

“Let’s be honest, James, you haven’t had that in years,” Sirius says and James doesn’t regret the Bat-Bogey hex he throws his way, an old reflex from their school tussles, in the slightest—but like always, Sirius is ready and gracefully dodges, laughing as he does.

“You’re on the battlefield,” he crows, then demonstrates that fact with a swish of his wand that sends Dorcas spinning in circles and then crumpling to the ground. Marlene’s face is a mask of fury, but Sirius seems oblivious as he drawls, “Act like it.”

James is forced to tear his eyes away from Marlene’s wand pointed directly at Sirius when Voldemort sends a jet of green light towards him, forcing him to jump to the side and land on the cobbled stones for the second time that night, which his tingling arm doesn’t take kindly to. Pain flares up from the tips of his fingers all the way up to his neck.

“James!”

But James doesn’t get to answer Lily, for there is another flash of green light and a number of cracks, announcing new arrivals.

“Expulso!” yells a familiar voice, deep but raspy, and James lifts his head just in time to see Sirius flail through the air along with his master and the rest of the Death Eaters.

He looks toward the sound of the voice and finds Moody standing in the middle of the square, the Prewett brothers and Benjy Fenwick behind him already firing curses at the fallen Death Eaters. Brilliant, brilliant people.

Voldemort is gone before the spells reach them.

The rest of them try to follow but most of them lost their wands and one of them, possibly Wilkes, is hit just as he grabs his, going down like a puppet with cut strings.

James ignores the pain still flaring up his arm, grabs his own wand and starts toward Sirius, who has managed to scramble away from the worst of the curses, though he seems to hold his leg precariously. His wand lies just out of his reach.

James points his own at him.

Sirius looks up at him, though James can see nothing of his face except for his eyes, which seem to almost match his silver mask. It is a beautiful thing, James can see now, intricate patterns engraved into it and he realises a beat later that they’re constellations, stories written in it, though James was pants enough at Astronomy to not recognise any of them. Black, indeed.

“Are you going to kill me, James?” he asks, hand blindly searching for his wand as he keeps their eyes locked.

“Why?” James demands in lieu of answer, hand trembling.

“I can’t answer that.”

“You—you could’ve come to us! To me!” His eyes sting but he promises himself he won’t cry. “You didn’t have to—”

“You’re right, I didn’t,” Sirius says, lifting his chin in that pureblood way of his, the way his mother did right before she hexed him so thoroughly he barely managed to get himself home. It rattles him to his bones that he can recognise Walburga Black, the epitome of hate, of everything that is wrong in this world, in his closest, dearest friend, a boy he considers—considered his brother. “I chose to.”

“Potter!” Moody barks. “Finish him!”

It’s a second James takes to glance at the grizzled Auror, but it’s enough. In his peripheral vision, he sees Sirius’s fingers close around his wand and he turns, the light shooting out his wand more of a manifestation of his anger, confusion and pain than an intended spell.

It hits bare stone, sending up a flurry of dust.

Sirius is no longer there, only a smatter of blood on the cobbles proving that he once was.

He feels arms around him then, strong gentle arms that are accompanied by a voice that he loves more than anything else in the world, and he lets himself sag against Lily as she murmurs in his ear, “You’re okay, we’re okay, we’re okay, . . .”

But as he recalls Sirus’s face, hard and ruthless, he isn’t so sure.

 II. December 1979

The sun isn’t supposed to set for hours but James feels as if the warm autumn sunrays can’t reach him in the cocoon of darkness and numbness he has enclosed himself in.

The words of his parents’ oldest friend, Mrs Jowles, might as well be coming from underwater. The crowd around him, far smaller than it is supposed to be—but such is the time of war—seems blurry. His hands, clasped in front of him so tightly the knuckles are white, are trembling but he can’t muster up enough will to hold them still.

The grave in front of him is barely big enough to fit the complementary urns of his parents—the nearly frozen earth proved to be quite a challenge to dig up, even for wizards and their wands—but he thinks they might’ve liked it to stay so close together. He stares, not really seeing as the remains of their bodies are lowered into the earth, and clenches his jaw in an effort to keep the tears at bay.

It takes him a full minute to realise that Mrs Jowles has stopped speaking and is now looking at him with a mix of pity and expectancy. He wishes Lily were here. Or Remus. Or Peter. Or—he doesn’t let himself think of that last name.

He moves forward, toward the pile of dirt next to the hole. As their closest living relative, as their only living relative, it falls on him to cover them in the first layer of earth.   

The tradition is to use your wand to lift and lower the soil into the ground, but that feels too detached, too formal, so James drops to his knees next to the pile, uncaring of staining his white trousers, and grabs a handful of the earth, letting it fall onto his parents’ urns. He does it again and when he reaches for the earth for the third time, he realises his shoulders are shaking.

Mrs Jowles touches his shoulder. She doesn’t say anything to him, as is customary, but he understands all the same. He stands up and walks back to his previous position, watching as people form a line to pay their respects.

Something wet and cold hits his palm and he looks down, his hand automatically going for his wand once he sees the big black dog by his side.

It’s been over a year but James would recognise Padfoot, with his dark shaggy fur and sharp grey eyes, anywhere, anytime and probably blindfolded, too. He looks as bad as James feels, his tail hanging so low it touches the muddy ground, his fur wet and clear eyes unusually downtrodden. He looks like he isn’t here to pick a fight at all.

James drops his hand from his wand. If Lily were here, she’d probably hex Padfoot and then him, and Remus would kick him bloody—James, that is. But they’re not, both sick at home, Lily from pregnancy and Remus from the full moon the previous day, so James doesn’t think of it twice.

Padfoot whines, so low it’s barely audible, and buts his head against James’s thigh gently. He waits a moment, as if preparing for James to bat him away and then, when he doesn’t, he sits back on his haunches and presses himself against James’s leg.

James runs a hand over the dog’s fur and finds that, though it’s wet, it is as soft as ever. He traces a pattern on top of his head and tugs on one of his ears, then gently slides his hand to Padfoot’s neck and holds on to the fur there. It must hurt Padfoot, the strength with which he does it, but he doesn’t let out one sound. “You’re lucky I don’t hex you,” he mutters.

Padfoot lets out a sound that’s between a growl and a whine and they both know that James’s threat is empty. He’s gripping the fur of his neck too fiercely for it not to be.

So they stand, Padfoot and James—not Padfoot and Prongs, not James and Sirius, because those people don’t exist together, not anymore—side by side, as they haven’t for ages, watching as people lower themselves to their knees and grab handfuls of earth to cover their parents.

At the very end, Padfoot whines again and starts forward. James lets him go, his fingers numb for a completely different reason now, watching as Padfoot crawls across his belly towards the grave and pushes the last of the soil over the grave.

James watches, unable to look away as the big dog, his oldest friend, his most trusted companion, noses the dirt, the expression on his face so inherently human, so damnably crushed, that James wants to scream.

A blink; then Padfoot ambles back to James’s side, graceful even as a dog, no trace of that emotion in his eyes now, and together they walk away from the grave.

Usually, a wake would be held after such an event, but in times like these, one doesn’t want to dally anywhere, much less gather in big groups for an extended period of time.

James is quite content to have his wake consist of getting drunk on cheap whiskey with Peter, who is due to return from his Order mission this evening, while Lily and Remus watch on with sad eyes and then get them safely to bed.

He glances at the dog next to him, his hands clenching into fists. Quite content, yes.

He waits until they’re far enough, until he’s heard enough cracks of disapparition he can be sure most of the people have gone and will not see him arguing with a dog, as so many of his classmates have. Then he whirls on Padfoot. “Shift,” he orders.

Padfoot doesn’t listen, like he never has. Instead, he sits and stares at him with big eyes, charmingly innocent enough that James stops to consider if this is just a stray mutt who looks eerily like his best friend’s Animagus form. He dismisses the thought as soon as Padfoot cocks his head—there’s far too much defiance in his expression to be canine.

“I’m not going to talk to you while you’re a dog.”

Padfoot lies down, putting his head on his front paws and looking up at him in a way that seems to say, Well, you’ll have to.

James pinches the bridge of his nose. “Padfoot…”

There are so many things he’d like to say to Sirius Black and not Padfoot, because for all of their foolish youth’s nicknames there is a definite line between the two. What in the name of Merlin’s pants were you thinking, for one. Or, how could you be so bloody stupid. Why did you do it. Then they turn softer, these things that James doesn’t dare think of even in the dead of the night. I miss you. Tell me you don’t hate me. Tell me it’s all an act. Come home.

The words bubble up in his chest, swirling and mixing and burning, but they refuse to come out, content to simmer until they’re acid that will claw its way up his throat. Instead, all that comes out is, “I’m sorry about Regulus.”

Padfoot’s ears perk up and he lifts his head, grey eyes suddenly much less clear. He yips, this small acknowledgement of his baby brother that splits James’s soul right down the middle.

James heard about the death of the youngest scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black from Moody, who made it sound like the death was a cause for celebration, the first of many bull-headed purebloods to fall, rather than a tragic loss of a boy who was barely out of Hogwarts. They hadn’t even found a body to bury, he was informed in that sharp, no-nonsense way of Moody’s. It hadn’t hit him until then, not really, how divided Sirius must be in the war.

No matter which side Sirius chose, he would end up standing opposite one of his brothers.

“I know he meant a lot to you.” James bends down and scratches behind Padfoot’s ears, where he remembers he likes it best. His heart swells and then cracks at the seams when Padfoot leans into his palm.

He pushes back to his feet. “I should go,” he says, watching as Padfoot picks himself off the ground as well. “You’re not coming with me, are you?”

Very slowly, Padfoot shakes his head.

James knew, but it still hits a part of him he didn’t even know was still within him. It tastes bitter and harsh but familiar and sweet, a word James knows all too well and doesn’t want to say out loud. He’s forgiven Sirius for a lot of things over the years, stupid and messy and cruel as they were, and he hasn’t regretted one of them. It scares him to think that he might forgive him for this too.

If Sirius wants his forgiveness at all.

He doesn’t fool himself into thinking this past hour was anything more than a momentary truce, Sirius acknowledging that he’s hurting and that he’s not going to add onto that hurt for the sake of whatever they once were—though some days, he doubts that was real, too. Or perhaps it’s for the sake of his parents, who he adored and was adored by. The next time they meet on the battlefield, neither one will hold back, he’s sure of it.

He turns and starts walking away because it somehow doesn’t feel right to simply disappear from Padfoot’s view. They’ve always had a way of poking and prodding at each other with only their actions, though it’s only ever been for fun.

He’s just about to disappear on the spot, when he hears a voice call out, “Jamie.”

That nickname—the nickname that his mother used to call him and then stopped when she realised how much it hurt him after, after, after—feels like a punch to the stomach.

He turns and finds Sirius standing where Padfoot was only moments before, his hair wild around his hollow face. His robes, dark and elegant, seem to hang off his lean frame. James wonders if that’s what he looks like, too.

A moment later, he remembers he should probably pull out his wand and his hand dives into his pocket.

But Sirius doesn’t reach for his own, though James can clearly see it’s strapped to his forearm, right over the dark brand. Instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets. “When my time comes,” he says, “mourn me.”

He vanishes into thin air just as James’s fingers close around the handle of his wand.

 III. February 1980

“And remember,” Marlene says, jabbing a finger into James’s chest, “don’t start fights you can’t finish.”

“But it’s a rescue mission,” says Cyrilla Hayes before James can ask why Marlene had to point him out, her dark eyes uncertain and reproachful as only new members’ are these days.

“Exactly,” Marlene says, turning her sharp eyes on the young witch, who seems to shrink under the attention of that piercing brown gaze. People say that war hones a person, gives them an edge that later takes years to dull, but James likes to think Marlene came screaming into the world with that edge and is finally alive now that she gets to cut with it. “We don’t need other people to get caught too. You’re no use to us then.” She gives the poor girl another scrutinising look and says, “You’re with James. Podmore, with Vance. Silas, you’re with me.”

James sees Jeremy Silas, another new addition, share a look with Cyrilla, half terror, half exasperation, before she turns towards James, offering him a shy smile.

James doesn’t consider himself a war veteran, not by a long shot, but it’s astounding how he can feel the ache in his stomach, the exhaustion in his bones, both razor-sharp and ditchwater-dull, as he meets the eyes of the young witch before him. He returns her smile, though it feels thin, even to him.

“Okay,” Marlene says loudly, “does everyone know where we’re going?”

They nod.

“Good. Let’s go.”

The six of them appear on a field somewhere in the south of England. There’s nothing around them for kilometres, but for a shabby-looking barn, with a blown-off roof and more missing planks than present. It hardly looks an appropriate place for a Death Eater rendezvous point but the intel from one of Voldemort’s sympathizers tells them otherwise.

“There are three entrances,” Marlene says, voice carrying even over the wind that whips her long blonde hair about her face, covering and uncovering the patch of dark bruises along the line of her jaw. She still refuses to tell anyone where she got them and rejects any offer to have them healed. “James, take the left one, Vance the front one, we’ll take the back one.”

James salutes her and just catches the edge of her smile before she casts a disillusionment charm on herself and then Silas. He copies her, rapping his wand against the top of Wilhelmina’s head, then on himself and watches as Sturgis and Emmeline do the same.

He starts towards the left side of the barn, making sure that Cyrilla is following him. “Stay close,” he murmurs to where he thinks she is, “and save your energy for spells you really need.”

He takes her lack of response as confirmation and sends out a few prodding spells that determine what kind of spells have been cast on the barn.

They all seem to match the information the young wizard told them—the usual number of protective enchantments, a few dark curses that chill James down to his bones and a couple of jinxes—but they are also all negated by the spell the aspiring Death Eater cast on them, making them able to pass through the enchantments as easily as Voldemort himself.

The door opens with a tap of James’s wand and he slips inside, the scuff of boots on the wood telling him that Cyrilla is right behind him.

The hallway in front of them is dark, lit with blaring spheres of light that cast long looming shadows on the splintered walls. There’s a set of dark, wide doors at the far end, with golden whorls and peeling paint, light shinning through the cracks around their hinges.

James starts forward, keeping his feet light and close to the walls to make as little noise as possible, and makes sure his wand doesn’t waver.

Just as they are a meter away from the doors, a scream pierces the air, making Cyrilla let out a squeak that has him pressing a hand to her mouth and against the wall.

It takes James a few seconds to will his heart into a normal rhythm again and only then does he realise that the voice, that high, pained voice is not only screaming but begging, too.

“I don’t know, please, I don’t know any—” It breaks on the last word, barely-there sobbing replacing it.

“Finish her, Rosier,” says another voice, completely at odds with the first one—level, deep, bored. “She doesn’t know anything.”

James doesn’t see Cyrilla’s eyes, but he can guess they’re wide open and panicked by the quickness of her breath against his palm. “Are you with me?” he asks lowly.

He feels her nod against his hand, though her breath is still shaky. He wishes, not for the first time, that Lily were with him.

“Good,” he says. “Follow my lead.”

There’s another, younger voice that says, “She must know something.” There’s a crack and the woman shrieks, short and sharp. A moment of silence, then, “Crucio!”

James bursts through the door just as the woman—Wilma Hughes, an important ministry official and a witch well-known for her muggleborn pride, he can see now—starts to scream. There is no time to take a look around the room but he does manage to register the three other bodies lying haphazardly against the far wall.

“Stupefy!” he shouts and Lucius Malfoy, the only Death Eater in the room wearing a mask but easily recognisable by his long, blonde hair, raises his wand to deflect it just late enough it knocks him back a few steps.

The young Death Eater that James now recognises as Evan Rosier, just a year younger than him, attacks first, twirling his wand as he shoots a dark spell at Cyrilla, his blonde curls pasted to his forehead as he ducks Cyrilla’s retaliating curse.

There’s a third Death Eater, but James doesn’t recognise him though his pointed teeth, bared in a vicious sneer, and a long, yellow nails present an idea that James would rather not entertain. “Finally, a good meal,” he growls and pounces toward James.

He is thrown to the side by a jet of white light, landing him on the cold floor, where he lets out a sound that seems to be something between a yip and a growl.

“Good aim, Silas!” says Marlene’s disembodied voice, promptly followed by a streak of red light toward Malfoy, who, this time, does manage to send the spell hurtling toward the wall, which shatters into splinters.

“Lestrange!” he roars.

James sends a wordless spell his way, but misses when he’s forced to duck away from the grey-haired man, dancing out of his reach as he pounces on him.

“Your left, James!”  Marlene shouts.

He turns just in time to put up a shield charm for a red jet of light from Rosier. James growls and slashes with his wand.

Rosier goes down, dark eyes wide as a red line appears across his belly, but not before he manages to send a badly-aimed stinging hex that hits James’s shoulder.

The third door bursts open just in time with James’s hiss, revealing an unmasked, stocky man with a shock of dark hair, holding Emmeline Vance in front of him, his wand pressed to her bleeding neck.

The movement in the room stills. Even the supposed werewolf doesn’t move.

“Drop your wands,” says Rabastan Lestrange, “or I’ll kill her.”

“Don’t,” says Emmeline, short hair soaked with blood. Her voice is slow and barely discernible. “Rescue mission.”

The werewolf, just a couple paces away from James, sniffs the air and licks his lips. “Let me have her, I’ll convince them right away.”

“Back off, Greyback,” snaps Malfoy, eyes focused on Emmeline and Lestrange.

Greyback slinks back, lips curling up in an expression James can only describe as pure hate. “Yes, sir,” he murmurs.

James takes a step forward, hands raised up but his wand still in his fingers, and finds both Lucius’s wand and Greyback’s eyes following his movement. “Rab, old chap, why don’t we talk about this rationally?” he says, voice surprisingly calm considering the situation he’s in.

Rabastan presses his wand deeper into Emmeline’s neck, drawing out a yelp from her. “Nothing to talk about,” he growls, but James can see his eyes darting around uncertainly. He’s always been a tad brighter than his brother, Rabastan, clever and uncertain where Rodolphus is more brawn than brain, and he must be coming to a conclusion that standing three against four can’t come out all that well for him, in the end.

“Look, we’ll just take what we came here for,” James says, moving one more step forward.

“Potter,” Marlene warns just as Rabastan slinks one step back, dragging Emmeline with him.

He ignores her. “You give us the prisoners—they’re of no use to you, really—and we won’t drag you to Azkaban for it,” he says instead, to Rabastan.

“Certainly,” Lucius sneers, grey eyes narrowed as they slide from James to Rabastan. “Kill her, they’re obviously not interested in keeping her alive.”

“No!” shouts Sturgis as he enters the room, a dark-haired man shuffling in front of him. His wand is pressed just below the man’s jawline, another, darker one tucked behind his ear, while he holds the man’s hand behind him. “You kill her, I’ll kill him.”

“Thanks for the heads-up, Rab,” drawls the man and James would recognise him by voice alone, even if he didn’t raise his head and reveal a face he knows all too well. “Really, a simple ‘Hey, Sirius, intruders,’ would’ve done the trick. Wouldn’t have even had to use verbs.” He blows a stray strand of his hair, shorter again by now, out of his eyes and manages to look down on Rabastan even with his hands pulled back. “Tosser,” he mutters.

“You should’ve paid more attention,” Lucius says, unimpressed. “Shouldn’t have let your guard down.”

“You told me you had everything handled,” Sirius growls. His flashing eyes find Cyrilla’s, who seems to be torn between vomiting and fainting. “Hex him,” he says and James recognises the dryness of his voice, the thinly-veiled contempt behind the words.

Cyrilla looks to James, who shakes his head at her imperceptibly.

Not yet, he mouths.

“Kill him, if you want,” Lucius drawls, mouth curving up at the glare Sirius shoots his way. It’s not hard to see parts of his old friend in that defiant look. “I don’t care much for him.”

“The Dark Lord does,” Rabastan says, biting the inside of his cheek. James can see his wand slowly dropping from Emmeline’s neck. He must be redoing his calculations.

James looks at Marlene, her disillusionment charm, like all the others’, long gone by now, who mouths a spell at him. He’s accustomed to the silent communication by now, understands it as he understands so very few things these days, so he nods and nudges Cyrilla, whispering to her, “Follow my lead.”

“Let her go,” Podmore says, voice low, as his blue eyes stare at Rabastan.

Rabastan flexes his fingers in Emmeline’s hair, eyes on Lucius. “He will be displeased—”

“Now!” Marlene shouts, a blue light already flying from her wand, Silas, James and Cyrilla’s following only moments later.

It’s impossible to tell which spell is whose but they all manage to do damage of some kind. They blow up the floor in front of the unmoving bodies, the door just behind Rabastan and one of them even manages to hit Malfoy’s hair before he can dodge fully, singeing a good part of it off.

James sees Rabastan let go of Emmeline, who stumbles forward, only half conscious, but Podmore, pushing Sirius away forcefully enough he falls down, catches her just before she hits the ground.

Podmore’s eyes catch James’s, wide and panicked, and James shouts over the sound of shooting spells.

“Go, go!”

Podmore doesn’t need further encouragement. Shooting one last spell at Malfoy, he whirls on the spot, Emmeline in his arms, and disappears.

He’s not the only one to do so. Rabastan must have decided he prefers his head intact and is gone with a crack and a swirl of dark robes, followed by Malfoy, who at least manages to get in a couple of good curses before he disapparates.

“Son of a banshee.” Sirius is lying on the floor, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Cowards,” he shouts toward the space where the other two Death Eaters previously were. “Bloody cowards!”

James raises his wand to stun him, but is forced to aim it at Greyback, when he launches himself at him. The spell hits, weak and poorly-aimed as it was, but Greyback seems to be affected only for a moment, then shakes it off and lands on James, knocking his glasses off his face.

They go tumbling back on the floor, Greyback snapping his teeth, sharper and longer than a human’s should be, as James tries to keep him at arm’s length. His yellow nails try to scrape at him, and James remembers how careful Remus has always been with them, taking care not to scratch—less often bite—them deep enough to draw blood for fear of infecting them with even a fraction of his curse.

“Petrificus Totalus!” he shouts and Greyback falls back, unmoving except for his sharp eyes trying to convey his hatred for James through sheer force of will.

James grapples for his glasses and shoves them back on just in time to see Silas disappear with two of the unconscious wizards, Marlene following just a few seconds later after she’s levitated Wilma Hughes and the third wizard close enough to be able to touch them both. Cyrilla is standing above Rosier, wand pointed at him as she starts murmuring an incantation. He can barely hear the start of the spell on her lips—

“No!” It’s Sirius who shouts, which stands to reason, since he’s the only one still able to, and careens right into Cyrilla a split second before she’s finished the spell. The thick ropes she conjured up fall just a few centimetres away from Rosier.

Sirius lands in front of Rosier, his knees making a sound impact on the creaking planks, and throws his hands out, hair a mess, eyes a storm as he looks up at Cyrilla. He’s wandless, his wand lying just in front of the door, where Podmore must have dropped it, but that doesn’t seem to stop him from saying in a low, dark voice, “You’ll have to go through me.”

“Stupefy!” James shouts, slashing his wand downward, but Sirius is just as fast.

“Protego!” he says, so forcefully James is knocked back by the mere throwback of his own spell.

James sees Cyrilla send another stunning spell towards Sirius but, just like James’s, it bounces off his shield and hits the wall next to the door James and Cyrilla came through.

He stands up and walks toward the two of them. He can see up close the blood trickling out the side of Sirius’s mouth and the ring of bruises on his collarbone, far too dark to have been dealt to him today. Then the thin scar right along his cheekbone, stark even against his fair skin, and James wonders if it was Walburga who dealt it to him, or someone else entirely.

Sirius keeps his eyes on Cyrilla’s wand, still pointed right at him, although he does glance at James when he stops beside her. The right sleeve of his robes is torn, revealing the long red gash down his forearm, his hair is a mess and he looks as pale as a sheet, but still, there’s nothing but defiance in his eyes when their gazes meet.

“Stand aside, Sirius,” James says, calmly levelling his wand at him.

Sirius is still a large wound on his heart, not quite open anymore, but festering still, full of anguish and rage and something James can’t put a name to, but it’s been long enough that he has dealt with it in the best way he could—which is to say, not at all—and is ready to do what it takes to not let this end the way all their other meetings in the past two years have ended.

“No.”

James gives him no further warning. This time, his spell is silent, only a quick slash of his wand through the air.

Still, Sirius is prepared. “Protego!” he shouts again and his shield reflects red as James’s spell hits it. Cyrilla’s follows only a second later, but it doesn’t do any damage either.

Sirius’s face pales by the second, mouth pressed tightly together, a crease between his brows as he concentrates on warding off the spells that they shoot at him. He deflects each one. It’s only been a minute when he says, “You’ll have to use an Unforgivable.”

James stills. Cyrilla, her face drained of colour, does too.

“You won’t get through this, not before Evan wakes up, or Greyback frees himself, or someone comes looking for us, with these amateur spells.” His eyes are dark, darker than James has ever seen them, malice written in the corners of his mouth when they turn up and James thinks, what happened to you, what happened, whathappened. “You’ll have to use an Unforgivable.”

James’s mouth is dry. His hand, the one holding his wand, lowers just a bit.

Sirius tilts his head. “Have you ever done that, James?” he asks, voice a low drawl, the one Peter used to call a part of his pureblood mask. Doesn’t seem like it was a mask, after all. “Used an Unforgivable on someone?” He chuckles, low in a way that sends shivers up James’s spine. “You have to really mean it, you know. To control, to torture,” he says, “to kill.”

“Shut up,” James says.

“James,” says Cyrilla.

James closes his eyes. He wishes Lily were here, he does, more than he has ever wished for anything. She’s the only one that can build back up what Sirius so carelessly tears down.

“Steady hand, James,” Sirius crows. “Make your parents proud.”

Bile rises in James’s throat, unbidden and bitter, clawing and tearing, and James hates him, he hates him with every bone in his body, with every beat of his heart, with every breath he takes, he hates him, he hates him, he hates him.

Except, he doesn’t. Not really.

But Sirius always has known how precisely to get to him.

“Shut up!” he roars, wand trembling as he points it back at him.

There was a time Sirius would flinch when people yelled at him all of a sudden. He would draw back and his eyes would shutter for a few seconds, dark and distant. Only minutes later, he would act as if nothing had happened. They learned with time to not yell, but to speak in even tones, even when they were furious with him. No one ever asked him why he flinched, but they could all guess. He never did manage to convince them entirely that his home life was only a few and far between arguments with his parents.

Sirius doesn’t flinch now, only looks at him. There is something in his eyes, something beyond the humour and offence that James recognises as a part of his dear friend, softer and perhaps almost human. “Go home, James,” he says and there is none of the previous mocking in his voice now. He sounds, above all, tired. “Your wife is waiting.”

“James, we can’t—”

Cyrilla is cut off when Sirius hits the floor with the flat of his palm and shouts, “Expulso!” which cracks the wooden planks and sends up splinters of them flying up in the air. Sirius shouts something else, sounding suspiciously close to a summoning charm, but James doesn’t have the time to dwell on it—the old barn seems to have taken one spell too many today, despite how weak the last one was, and it starts collapsing in on itself, the horrendous cracks along the wooden planks almost in sync with James’s frantic heartbeat.

He grabs Cyrilla’s hand and disappears on the spot just a second after he’s heard the crack of disapparition in front of him.

The sound of the roof hitting the ground follows him, echoing in his ears, even after his knees have landed on the carpeted floor of the Order Headquarters.

*********

I. March 1983

Dodging what James is sure is a horribly dark curse from who he is pretty sure is Mulciber, he is painfully aware that he’s losing the battle, not to mention the war has probably already been lost, too.

The spell hits the stone behind him, a large chunk of which explodes into dust, showering down on James and probably turning his hair a charming example of salt-and-pepper.

Well. At least it’s a lovely day to be meeting imminent death. The birds outside aren’t chirping—even they, he supposes, are not dumb enough to come near this, which, on the other hand, says a lot about him—but at least the sun is shinning and it’s unusually warm for this time of year, so, really, James has no complaints.

He wasn’t expecting to reach twenty-three, anyway.

He fires off a spell at Mulciber, who deflects it easily and retaliates quicker than James can even think of producing a shield charm. The curse that just grazes his neck, sending a sharp stab of pain up to his brain, is a stark reminder how out of practice he is. But people tend to get lazy when they’re forced into hiding for over two years.

“Bloody bastards,” Dorcas mutters beside him and really, it’s only thanks to her, Marlene, and Gideon that James still has not only all his limbs but also his head attached to his body. Her spell hits Amycus Carrow, his mask knocked off his face a few spells back, making blood gush out his nose in a torrent.

He presses his hand to staunch the bleeding but it’s only a matter of seconds before the blood seeps through his fingers.

James doesn’t have time to see what happens to him because Alecto Carrow jumps in her brother’s space, jumping not toward Dorcas but James and he’s forced to dodge once again when she sends a green light his way.

“Alecto!” Amycus growls, looking like something out of one of those horror films Lily so adores with the blood having surrounded his mouth and now running down his chin. “We’re not allowed to kill him! The Dark Lord wants him alive!”

“Shame,” Alecto says with a pout and sends a purple light James’s way.

Diverting it towards a particularly ugly tapestry on his right, he asks his companions, “Any ideas on how to get rid of these losers?”

Gideon inflicts a gash on Dolohov’s chest before he answers, “None. There’s too much of them.”

James copies his movement on Alecto, but she dodges, quick as a snake, snickering up until the point he shoots off a spell that has her stumbling several metres back. He wants to finish it off with a stunning spell but she dodges and here they go again.

Marlene’s wand is a blur as she swings it so quickly her opponent, Rodolphus Lestrange himself, is suspended mid-air and then forcibly thrown into the wall behind him. At least she is not out of practice, even if the blood gushing from her forehead down the side of her face tells a slightly different story.

“We need to distract them,” she says, pushing back her blood-matted hair while already taking on the once again able, if a bit unsteady on his own feet, Amycus Carrow.

How exactly that was to be executed remains a mystery to James because he feels, before he sees, the approach of cloaked and hooded figures drifting down the hallway, just a few centimetres off the ground. They turn towards them, as if beckoned, moving now quicker, quicker, quicker.

The cold that seeps into his bones, that sinks into his soul, is not an unfamiliar experience but it has been a long, long time since he last felt it. His lungs can’t take in air anymore, the breath in them frozen, and as he lifts his wand to say a spell, any spell, his arm seems to be made of lead, and all he can remember is his parents’ urns lowered into the ground, Sirius’s impassive face, the dark brand on his forearm, Peter’s screams as he begs and begs not to be taken, Lily’s tear-streaked cheeks as she sobs and heaves until there’s nothing left in her anymore.

He tries to push it away, to think of Lily walking down the aisle toward him, as radiant as the sun when she beams, red hair like a fiery crown.

“Expecto patronum,” he says. A wisp of silver-blue light streams out his wand, but it’s blown away before James can even take a breath. He’ll die, oh Merlin, he’ll die, or maybe something worse, and he’ll leave everyone he’s ever loved behind.

He failed. He failed Lily and Harry and—

Harry. Harry. He thinks of Harry, of his dark mess of hair, of his bright green eyes, everything he’s ever loved, cherished, adored. Harry, roaring with laughter as he zooms around on his broom, squishing the cat to his chest, shrieking with joy as he sits atop James’s shoulders. Harry, reaching up to him to be snuggled, grabbing up after puffs of smoke from James’s wand, curled tightly against Lily’s chest and dozing off.

“Expecto patronum.”

The light looks like something now, almost, almost, but someone laughs, low and cackling, and it’s gone, this thing that gave him reprieve, that reminded him he should fight.

Should he fight?

“Expecto patronum,” someone says—it might be Dorcas, or Marlene, although probably not Gideon—but their voice is just as weak as he feels and what might have been a bird disperses.

“Take them,” says a harsh voice.

The creature is in front of him, leaning his face up to its own, or to where it might have a face, and James’s fingers loosen around his wand. His mind is no longer trying to conjure up Lily or Harry or Remus. Instead, it’s Remus’s thin body with deep gouges down his back, his sides, his legs; it’s Lily’s motionless body, hair fanned out around her face as blood runs down her face; it’s Harry screaming and sobbing, green eyes full of tears; it’s all he has ever feared.

A bright form slams into the Dementor in front of him, sharp teeth digging into the creature’s neck and throwing it away from him with such force it knocks aside several of its companions.

James blinks, feeling the warmth it radiates even from so far away, and sees the Patronus clearly only for a moment before it bounces ahead and pulls the Dementors off Marlene, Dorcas, Gideon, throwing them aside as if they are nothing more than mist. It’s large and lean, four-legged, with a long snout and pricked ears, and a thick tail, and James thinks, Moony.

Marlene whoops, weak and barely-there, but it might be the best sound James has heard all day.

“What the—” starts Dolohov, but he’s blasted back against the wall right next to Lestrange, along with the Carrows and Mulciber. They’re levitating in the air, all five of them, only a moment later, and are viciously bounced up and down, from ceiling to floor—James thinks their impact on the stone is a sound he will not forget for a long, long time, because he can physically hear their bones fracturing—exactly three times before they land in a heap of limbs and groans right next to a griffin gargoyle.

“Dear me,” says a deep, muffled voice as a new figure strolls into the hallway, his wand raised in front of him. He’s dressed in dark robes, tailored to his tall, lean form exactly, his hood drawn up just enough to reveal a sliver of night-dark hair. The Patronus, having successfully driven away all dementors, bounds toward him, wrapping around his knees and revealing his teeth in a canine smile that James hasn’t seen in many, many years, however familiar it is. Its blue-silver light illuminates the newcomer’s face—or rather, his mask, but James recognises the constellations, the moon engraved into that mask, too. “I didn’t mean to be quite so gentle with them.” He flicks his wand and the gargoyle tumbles over the limp Death Eaters with a high-pitched whoop.

None of them so much as groan.

“I’ve wanted to do that for ages,” Sirius says and pulls off his mask, his grin a sharp glint of teeth. Padfoot at his feet disperses as he takes a step forward, depositing his wand back into his holster, and offers James a hand. “Come on, Jamie, up and at ‘em.”

James looks at the hand in front of him, palm up, long fingers slightly crooked, and thinks back to the last time Sirius offered him a hand. It’s been years, years since that fateful night James’s world came crashing down around him and a part of him thinks that he shouldn’t take it now either. Not just because Sirius helped them now, once. It could all be a trick.

But it hasn’t been the only time Sirius has helped them, has it?

So James meets Sirius’s eyes and takes his hand. He lets him pull him up and into his arms, his own coming up to fist in the back of Sirius’s robes, as dark and elegant as ever. He smells faintly of dust and smoke, but underneath it there’s menthol and wet dog and somehow, despite all the years, all the hate, despite everything, really, that still makes him feel like he’s finally, finally home.

“I didn’t doubt you for a second,” he says into Sirius’s shoulder.

Sirius’s snort of laughter is familiar and alien at once, sharp and bark-like, but more subdued, too, as if he isn’t quite used to it anymore; that’s alright. James can reintroduce him again. He’s done it before. Sirius's fingers on the nape of his neck tighten. “I sure hope you did.”

[maraudererasmut]

Black and White (Part XV)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX

When Sirius Black walked into the run-down little coffee shop that Remus worked at, he looked extremely out of place. The Daily Grind was one of those cafes that had mismatched furniture and paintings from local artists on the wall. It wasn't glamorous, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it felt comfortable— homey. Remus was willing to bet that Sirius had never set foot in a cafe like this, preferring to get his coffee from Starbucks or a butler in a tuxedo or something. 

The first thing that Remus noticed about Sirius was that he was wearing a suit, like always, with his long hair in a loose bun and his posture stiffer than a board. He glanced around him, scanning the room, until his eyes met with Remus' and his jaw tightened. Remus forced himself to smile politely, offering the gallery owner a small wave. Sirius made his way over to Remus' table, his typical saunter less noticeable now that he was in an unfamiliar environment.

"Good evening, Sirius. Thank you for joining me." Remus kept his tone courteous, his words formal. He knew that he would have trouble relaxing around Sirius. The two of them had a business relationship exclusively; meeting up socially was strange and unprecedented.

Sirius' mouth twisted into what Remus could only assume was an attempt at a grin. 

"Remus," he muttered stiffly, giving a firm nod. He glanced down at the empty chair in front of Remus, but remained standing. Remus felt his shoulders tighten in discomfort.

"Please… have a seat." Remus gestured towards the empty chair and Sirius nodded again before sitting down. "Uh… thanks for meeting me."

He didn't know what else to say. Seeing Sirius in the cafe wasn't quite as hilarious has Remus had anticipated; instead, the two men were both uncomfortable, awkward, struggling to relax in front of one another.

"Yes, well…" Sirius began, before trailing off. "So… is this where you work?"

Remus nodded, his hands tightening around his cup of tea. He didn't hate his job, but it was exhausting. He was on his feet most of the day and he rarely had enough energy to paint at night. It took everything Remus had in him to drag himself out of bed each morning, ready to face the same mundane routine that slowly ate away at him. 

"It's… nice." Sirius glanced around at the paintings on the wall. His mouth spread into a thin smile as recognition lit up his face. "There's a familiar one…"

Remus glanced over his shoulder to find one of his older pieces hanging on the wall behind him.

"Oh… yeah… I forgot that one was there. It's… not my best work."

"No, it isn't."

Remus spun around to cast a glare at Sirius.

"That's not very polite."

Sirius cocked an eyebrow and Remus could have sworn he saw the slightest hint of humour in those silvery eyes.

"Why? It's not. Your current stuff is much better. The paintings that you've been producing recently? They're a different caliber altogether."

Remus could feel his cheeks heat up as Sirius paid him a rare compliment. It was backhanded, yes, but it was the closest thing to praise that he could hope for from the gallerist.

"Uh… thanks." 

Sirius leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his bangs and brushing them away from his eyes. Remus felt himself mirroring Sirius, finally able to sink into his chair and relax slightly. 

"So…" Sirius began, cutting the silence, his tone gentler than usual. "I… I am sorry. About yesterday. I know I said that earlier, I just… want you to know that."

Remus chewed the edge of his lip, trying to formulate his response. Every fiber of his being wanted to say it's okay, to brush off what happened the other day as if it had been perfectly normal. That was his immediate response to everything. 

It's fine.

It's no bother.

It's okay.

Although he couldn't figure out why, there was a part of Remus that didn't want this to be the same as always. It wasn't okay. The way Sirius treated him wasn't fine, and Remus wasn't going to allow himself to be a doormat. Not this time.

"You were an arse."

"I know." Sirius' gaze dropped to his hands, which were fiddling with a packet of sugar. Remus felt a wave of something— was it affection? — pass over him as he watched Sirius. He hated it.

"It was rude," Remus continued, trying to sound upset, to hide the fact that Sirius' fiddling was in any way endearing. "The way you spoke to me. The way you acted around me. It really was unprofessional."

"I know."

Sirius didn't justify his actions. He didn't make any excuses, didn't try to explain anything, he simply sat there as Remus called him out, a distinct look of guilt darkening his silvery blue eyes. 

"You… really shouldn't treat people that way…"

"I know."

Remus paused. He brought his tea to his mouth and took a sip, giving himself time to think.

"Why?"

Sirius glanced back up at Remus, his eyes shining like a lost puppy. Remus had to suppress a grin.

"Why what?" The gallerist asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Why did you… what made you so upset? Why were you so… cruel?"

Remus watched as Sirius closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He exhaled slowly as he leaned further back in his chair, as if he knew this question had been coming the entire time. Sirius' eyes shot open, darting back and forth as they searched Remus' face. After a moment, Sirius finally spoke.

"You don't know much about me…" He began, before trailing off. Remus remained silent, assuming that there was more to follow. There was. "I… I do that on purpose. I don't like getting too close to my artists. It… this has been strange for me; you being friendly with James. It… made things awkward."

Remus cocked a brow and pursed his lips.

"How so?"

Sirius gave a heavy sigh.

"I don't… really have any family. I have James and Lily. That's it. They're… they're all I have."

Remus was confused. He had read about the Black family before; they were well-established business people, the family name known throughout the city from their various enterprises. Sirius was a member of this prestigious family, how could he say he didn't have any?

Remus' face must have betrayed his thoughts, because Sirius let out a dark laugh.

"Before you ask, no, I'm not close with the other Blacks. They're… the only thing we share is the name. I'm not… well, I'm different. We don't speak anymore. It's better that way."

"Oh." Remus didn't know how else to respond. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's as much my doing as it is theirs."

"I see…"

"Anyway…" Sirius' fingers turned the sugar packet over and over and over. "I'm… very protective of James and Lily…"

Remus scoffed. 

"You weren't jealous, were you?" He asked with a grin. Sirius didn't respond, and Remus realized his mistake. His smile faded. "...were you?"

Sirius shrugged his shoulders, his focus remaining on the sugar that danced through his hands.

Never in a million years would Remus have expected Sirius Black to be jealous of him. Remus was broke. He worked himself to the bone, barely sleeping, hardly eating, unable to afford anything beyond the absolute necessities. 

"I'm…" Remus began, not sure what it was he wanted to say. "I don't think James or Lily would ever replace you…"

"No, I know that…" Sirius said to the sugar. "I know that. I just… have trouble believing it…"

The man in front of Remus was someone so different than the Sirius Black he thought he knew. This was someone soft, scared, afraid of losing the people he loved. This was a man who had everything and nothing all at once, who couldn't fathom going through life on his own. This was someone that Remus understood.

"I'm… I'm sorry if I— "

"No, you're fine," Sirius interrupted, glancing back up at Remus, a forced smile on his face. "This was on me. I've got a bit of a temper. I lashed out at you. And I'm sorry about that. Anyway…" Sirius' hand dropped the sugar and brushed his bangs from his eyes. "None of this is important. You just… wanted to know why. So… that's why."

"I really am sor— "

"Can we please drop it?" Some of the ice returned to Sirius' voice, reflected in the glacial blue of his eyes. Remus gave the gallerist a curt nod, knowing that the subject was a delicate one. 

"Yeah, sure. Consider it dropped." Remus tried to smile, to keep his emotions hidden from his face. "We're good, you and I. As far as I'm concerned…"

"Good."

"Yeah…"

"So…" Sirius mumbled, picking up his sugar packet again, breaking the suddenly awkward silence. "You mentioned a message?"

Shit.

Remus swallowed past the lump in his throat. When he was still angry at Sirius, he had planned to make the man feel bad about his drunken voicemail. Now that they had connected over a candid heart-to-heart, it didn't seem right to bring it up.

"It… it was nothing. Honestly…"

Sirius raised a brow skeptically.

"Remus…"

"You… you just left a voicemail is all. It really wasn't anything… you didn't say much…"

Remus watched as the colour faded from Sirius' face, his eyes growing wide with horror. Butterflies erupted in the pit of Remus' stomach as the icy blue of Sirius' irises melted through his heart.

Shit shit shit…

"It really wasn't—"

"I don't remember leaving that…" Sirius twisted his sugar in his hand, accidentally breaking the packet and spilling the grains across the table. "Fuck!"

"It's fine! I've got it! I can clean it up!" 

As Remus moved to sweep up the mess with his napkin, Sirius slammed his fist against the table, startling the artist and causing the sugar grains to jump.

"Was I drunk?"

Remus blinked. He looked at Sirius, who suddenly looked more angry than nervous.

"Uh… p— possibly? It was only a voic— "

"Was I drunk, Remus?"

Sirius looked— well, serious.

"Uh… y— yeah… I… I think so."

"Fuck!" Sirius' profanities echoed across the cafe, earning him scathing glares from the other patrons. "Shit!" He muttered, a bit quieter.

"Really, Sirius. It's fine. It wasn't anything! You didn't say anything embarrassing or anyth—"

"I have to go."

Sirius was on his feet before Remus could even respond. The artist stared up at the other man, mouth agape, utterly confused.

"Sirius, you don't—"

"I'm sorry, Remus."

He did sound sorry. His eyes grew soft for a moment as his gaze lingered on Remus. Then, before the artist could get in another word, Sirius was heading towards the door.

"Sirius, wait!"

Remus' protests came too late, Sirius was already out of earshot. Remus stared as the expensive suit and elegant bun faded from view, wondering what the hell had just happened.

[queenmaracasandlove]

Love Of  My Life Series - Joe Mazzello x F!Reader - How They Met

Word Count: 2400

Summary: Y/N works on a new Netflix project with Joe Mazzello but is deeply annoyed by him.

Warnings: Mention of alcohol

A/N: The ‘Love Of My Life Series’ will be a series of short One Shots featuring members of the BohRhap Cast x Reader. Although you will be able to read them indepedently, they will all follow the ‘same couple’ if that makes sense. They are not aimed at being very long and I will try to post one a week at least ! Hope you enjoy it. 

MASTERLIST

It was her first important job and the last thing she wanted was for the experience to be ruined by a stupid fellow actor. Working for Netflix was quite a big deal. If the show was successful it would be a big step in her career and she knew it. Unfortunately someone was particularly getting on her nerves, Joe Mazzello. Unlike her he was used to big productions and had been in the business for so long. But to her, he just acted as if  he was somehow entitled to take more space than the others. He loved to have a laugh between takes when all that she wanted was to go over her lines and notes before the camera started rolling again. 

She did not have a lot of scenes together in the episode that they were filming and still, she always found herself at hair and makeup as the same time as him and even though he needed much less work than she did, they often finished at the same time. She thought it was mainly because he was always joking around and that made her even more upset. To be completely honest she were also a little jealous of the way he was able to seem so at ease with everything, so relaxed. She wished she felt the same but unfortunately it was not the case right now and all she wanted was some peace. 

‘Could you please turn the music down?’ she asked

‘Excuse me. Did you just talked to me?’ He joked, looking at you

She frowned, what was he playing at again? She was definitely not in the mood. She did not want to be rude but the music was preventing her from focusing on the script. Usually he played stuff that she did not know but today it was like he was playing all her favourite songs and she could not help but singing all the songs in her head. 

‘Yes, sorry. I was just wondering if you could…’

‘You don’t like it?’ he asked, before you could even finish your sentence

‘No it’s just… I’m trying to…’

‘Learn your lines. Come on Y/N, I’m starting to wonder if you are not learning all the roles just in case.’

She pinched her lips. She was just doing her job, there was nothing wrong with it. She had worked so hard for this and she was completely terrified. 

‘Sorry Y/N I was just…’ he started

‘Joking’ she said, being the one finishing the sentence this time, ‘Yes I know. I’ve realised you did that a lot’

‘Do you have a problem with me?’ he asked. He did not seem angry, mostly saddened. 

‘No’ she simply answered

‘Great. So happy we could talk’

That was the end of the exchange and he came out of the caravan before her. After this they rarely were in the same place at the same time. Days passed and things felt a little better. She always needed time to adapt but mostly to trust herself with what she were doing. She always felt out of place and not good enough. But time was the greatest helper and the good comments from the team had lightened Sher mood. She was more comfortable with her character and everybody who was working on the project. Everybody except Joe. He did not annoy her half as much as he did at first. In fact, he was just quite cold with you.

To be honest she knew it was your fault. She had not been the nicest to him. Over the last weeks she had paid more attention to him, not only to things that had annoyed her at first but to the rest. She was actually quite impressed with his acting and could see he was very into it, she also noticed how he was deeply interested in the directing aspect of it. And she had to admit, some of his jokes were not as bad as she might have thought. But it was too late now, he rarely even looked at her when she was not in the same scene and barely ever talked to her. 

Tonight was one of the cast member’s birthday and they all had been invited. She thought that it would be the perfect occasion to relax even more and enjoy the experience while she could, maybe even apologize to Joe. She was never good at knowing what to wear but she had picked one of your favourite dress, a little sexy and very pretty, the type that made her feel empowered. She hoped that her feet would manage the high heels for the night and got off the taxi that had arrived in front of the restaurant. Her eyes looked for some of your colleagues but she quickly realised that she was early, as per usual. 

She went towards the bar and ordered a drink. As she was getting yourself on one of the stool, she looked at the door to see Joe coming in. She gave him a timid smile as he was looking in her direction. He seemed to hesitate but eventually made his way towards her. He did not seem especially pleased to see her and her gaze focused back on her drink. 

‘Hi Y/N’ his cold voice uttered

‘Good Evening Joe’ she answered, trying to sound as warm as possible

He ordered a drink and for what seemed to be eternity there was an awkward silence between the two of them. She was thinking about what to say, how to apologize about the other day, say something nice or find a completely neutral subject. But before she could open her mouth, a group of people entered the restaurant and shouted both of their names. She had been saved from this uneasiness. 

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

The party was great. The meal was delicious and the drinks numerous. Presents had been opened and it was now time to dance. She felt really good and the inhibition had been replaced by confidence, due in part, to intoxication. She  laughed as her and her colleagues were moving on some of the best 80s tracks, her favourite type of music to dance to. Joe was dancing across the dancefloor and she could see that he was looking at her from time to time. She walked in his direction and extended her arm, an invitation to dance with her and maybe a peace offering.

He grabbed her hand and her body suddenly felt even warmer than it already was. His eyes were still fixed on her. She started dancing again and he followed her. Finally he started to smile and she relaxed a little bit. She did not what to say, maybe her gesture would be enough for him to understand that she was sorry. She was not great with words, but he probably had figured that out already. She tried to smile as he was starting to be goofy again. His dance moves were, interesting to say the least. 

‘Can I offer you a drink?’ 

The tip of his nose brushed her ear as he came closer to deliver those words. She shivered and agreed. They both walked towards the bar where the music was not as loud. They were both short of breath after the dancing. He ordered the drinks without even looking at Y/N. She was surprised to see that he had chosen your favourite drink. 

‘How did you know?’ she asked

‘You drank the same thing all night’ he smiled

‘Are you stalking me or something?’

She had said that in a tone that was much more reproachful that what she intended. A frown replaced the smile on his face and she felt stupid all over again. Before she could say anything he grabbed his fresh drink and walked back towards the others. 

‘Joe! Wait!’ she called him

‘What Y/N? What have I done wrong this time?’

‘Nothing… I just wanted to say sorry. I know I’ve behaved like a selfish brat’

He looked at her, surprised. She was kind of expecting an answer but nothing came, making the moment even more awkward than it already was. At first she felt like she was about to apologize even more before she noticed how he was trying to repress a smile.

‘Are you enjoying this?’ she asked

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about Y/N.’ He said with a smile testifying of the contrary ‘But apology accepted.’ 

‘Good’ she sharply said

‘I feel like I should apologize for always upsetting you but it’s not like I’m doing it on purpose’ he said playfully 

She did not how to react. It was not so much that he was upsetting her but the way he always unsettled her. He was standing right here, probably waiting for an answer. Clearly, she was not the kind of person who liked to lose an argument and he seemed to know it. 

‘You are not upsetting me’ you tried, not very convincing

‘Really. Why are you giving me the silent treatment everytime you see me?’ 

‘As if you had not been avoiding me !’ she retorted

‘What do you mean?’ he asked with confidence

‘Since I asked you turn the music down you always stand on the opposite side of the room or go somewhere else or…’

‘How did you notice? Are you stalking me?’

She rolled her eyes. He was clearly teasing her and yet…

‘What do you mean I noticed?’ she realised ‘So you were doing it on purpose. I was right’

‘Y/N…’ he softly said ‘For someone who always wants to be attentive to every detail, you are not very perceptive’

‘So you just did so to annoy me?’

‘Not really’ he sighed

‘Then what?’

‘Let’s talk about it when you’re less drunk alright. Your clearly too intoxicated if you’re not able to understand what I am trying to say’ he reckoned

And because she thought he was probably right, she followed him as he was joining the others. For the first time in a while she did not try to have the last word.

---------

She had spent the whole Sunday in her room, trying to get over the massive headache that alcohol had left her with. She only vaguely remembered what had happened after her fourth cocktails. While reading her script for the following day, she had noticed that she would be sharing a scene with Joe. She knew that she had apologised but the end of the exchange was a blur although you did not if this was caused by the alcohol or the lack of comprehension of what he was trying to say. 

She had thought about him most of the day. Sometimes she found herself thinking that although his dance moves were not always great, he knew how to move. She also thought about how a simple white shirt looked great on him. How he was always teasing her but was never mean. She had arrived early on set and could not help but be saddened by the fact that he was not in the hair and make-up caravan with her. She almost regretted putting on the playlist that she had made (yes,she had made a playlist while fighting the urge to sleep the previous afternoon) with the songs she remembered him sing when they were both getting ready a few weeks ago. It now felt suddenly ridiculous but as she was grabbing her phone she saw him getting inside. 

‘Morning everybody’ he simply said

Everybody answered and he almost did not look at her. It seemed stupid to her but Y/N felt a little hurt by this behaviour. She almost said something but he seemed to be captivated by something on his phone so she decided let it go. It was time to go on set and she found herself looking in Joe’s direction very often. They were playing in the same scene but everytime the director said cut he would be doing something on his own, looking at the script or his phone. Without realising she was talking louder than usual, asking questions in the open so maybe he would hear her. But at the end of the day he still had not talked to her. 

She was now worried and felt completely stupid. She was supposed to focus on work and not on some dumb guy who was teasing her all the time. As she was on the way to the caravan that she was sharing she suddenly froze and started walking in the opposite direction. She was more determined than ever. She kept reading all the names on the caravan’s doors before finding the one she was looking for. She knocked with determination and waited for an answer but nobody came. She looked at the window and saw that there was light inside. 

‘Joe. Are you here?’ you asked ‘Please, it’s Y/N’

A few minutes later he opened the door and all her confidence disappeared as quickly as it had came. He looked at her  and started smirking and she instantly knew that she was right. 

‘You were trying to impress me’ she said

Everything she had done today, the music, the loudliness, the urge to talk to him, it was exactly how he had behaved with her before she finally made him stop. But now she wished she hadn’t.

‘That might be a little strong. Let’s say I was trying to get your attention’ he admitted

She would usually have felt happy because she had found the answer, she had had the last word. But something in her stomach still felt weird. But it was not anxiety or anger, it was something different. 

‘But why?’ she said 

‘Why did you try to get my attention all day?’ he enquired, leaning on the ‘you’

She looked down and bit her lips before her gaze crossed his again. And she smiled. She did not know why Joe Mazzello would be interested in her but she definitely was not able to say he annoyed him anymore, on the contrary. And for the second time since she had met him she did not know what to say and was left voiceless. 

‘Are you free tonight?’

[yoondoze]

ultimatum | l.dh

donghyuck is a cute regular who has seen your spectacle reserved for rude customers a number of times and just can’t get enough of it.

pairing: donghyuck/reader

genre/au: fluff, coffee shop! au

word count: 2.2k

warnings: none

a/n: i kinda forgot that i had this in my drafts and decided to finish it! this was the mcdonalds au i once mentioned but thought that a coffee shop might work better. hope you enjoy <3 also, this was inspired by an incident from this post

When you’ve been working in fast food for long enough, your skin gets real thick.

There was just about nothing that could get to you, not even the wrath of a fifty-year-old man with a heavy southern accent calling you a whore because a barista accidentally gave him whipped cream when he didn’t ask for any - even claiming that whipped cream was emasculating! It wasn’t your fault and you knew it, even though he treated it like you killed his firstborn son. Still, you didn’t let it stress you out. You were tougher than nails - in fact, you were the type of person to throw nails into your mouth like sunflower seeds, chew them, and spit them out. When you were at work, anyway.

However, that didn’t mean you enjoyed dealing with it. Sometimes, you couldn’t get customers to leave you alone - Jesus Christ lady, I already gave you a refund and a coupon if you ever want to come back (please don’t), what more do you want? And you had a perfect way to get rid of it.

It was just a thing. Your coworkers laughed til their ribs hurt every time you pulled it and it was undeniably hilarious. You knew you weren’t supposed to anymore and perhaps it was a bit manipulative, but in your book, they deserved it.

And here we go again. 

“There are no straws left,” she said abruptly. Her horribly cut side bangs swept to the right of her face screamed that this would be more troublesome than you were willing to put up with. When you looked over, she was correct. There were no more straws left in the basket on the counter. Big whoop.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” you replied in your most polite, high pitched voice, “I’ll be right on it in a moment.”

You continued taking the current customer’s order, hoping a coworker mulling around might have heard it and would get her the damn straw. No one stepped up though, leading you to believe that they almost wanted it to escalate, especially when Jisung - who was “busy” making a drink - gave you a look. Nothing had happened all day and everyone was bored out of their minds.

“Alright, your total will be-”

“Excuse me?” Her eye twitched as she interrupted you.

“One moment please ma’am, I’ll be right with you.”

“...Are you kidding me?” She scoffed. “All I need is a damn straw, and you kids are just going to ignore me?”

In the blink of an eye, you were wearing an anxious expression like a mask and your voice was faltering with worry. The customer who was right in front of you, who was actually quite pleasant, was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the woman leaning into his bubble just to get in your face.

“Ma’am, I’m dealing with another customer-”

“And you were dealing with me first!” she yelled, bringing up a poorly manicured finger to point at you. “This place is horrendous. I cannot believe how low the bar is for the service I am receiving right now. You are one lazy little girl, and let me tell you, not one member of your generation is fit for the workforce right now. Always in your phones, not even able to refill the straws! When I get home, I am going to leave a Yelp review that will bring this place to the ground!”

You had to stifle a laugh in your throat.

It was dead silent. Conversations came to a halt, food was left half-chewed in people’s mouths as they focused on the ordeal up at the register. Some people in the place had seen you do it once or twice, if they came here regularly when you were working. Those people met your eyes and watched with excitement. One who you were familiar with, Donghyuck, looked up from his phone and raised his eyebrow at you from a corner booth, anticipating your next move.

The first time viewers were in for a treat.

Cue the waterworks. Your eyes filled to the brim with glassy tears, something you learned to do on command since you started working here, and brought your hands to your face. It was just natural at this point.

In a choked voice, you stumbled over your words, “I, I’m so sorry ma’am, it’s just that I… It’s my first day today and…”

You watched as her anger melted away and guilt began to take place. “I’m so sorry for messing up, I just got overwhelmed and…”

“No, no, no darling, I am sorry for yelling at you and I shouldn’t have. You’re new and it was my fault…” Her cheeks were incredibly red at this point, eyes wide and absolutely astonished. While you kept crying, sobs comparable to those in an afternoon soap opera, she had no clue what to do. Everyone in the store was looking at her with judgemental eyes, even her kids sitting at the booth. You spared a quick glance to Donghyuck, who gave you a concealed thumbs up as he tried not to laugh.

Instead of finishing the conversation, she simply hurried away back to her table, embarrassed, putting on her jacket and quickly pushing her family out. Trying to hold in your laughter, you ran to the back and let another watching worker take your place.

The others on break burst into laughter when you walk in and you couldn’t help but join them. It just felt good to see rude customers get what was coming to them, even if you had to lie a little. You wiped your eyes and patted your face dry with a towel as they complimented your performance. It was unbelievable that you weren’t being cast in movies instead of working a minimum wage barista job.

“Oh my god, Y/N, you’re so good at that!”

“It never gets old, I swear.”

“Just don’t let the manager find out you did it again.”

That was the one problem you had with the joke. Your manager, Doyoung, was strict and held way too much pride in his direction of the café. He maybe smiled at it the first time and then warned you not to pull the act again or there would be consequences. Since then, it always had to be something just between the employees. He was friendly but took his work in the fast casual business seriously and wouldn’t hesitate to let you go if you presented any problems, and unfortunately, you needed the money.

“Well, I’m not letting him know anytime soon, so you better not either. I’m your only source of entertainment around here, anyway,” you laughed, setting down your towel.

After it was safe to go out again, you received a few comments from customers who had witnessed it. Some were apologetic, clearly those who felt sympathetic for the new worker. Others were happy to praise your acting, and the shared laughter made you forget about the possibility of getting fired for it and wondering if it was worth the effort.

It was a little while later that you noticed that Donghyuck still sat in his corner booth. It surprised you, as the boy was typically only here for an hour max to do schoolwork before heading home. To be completely honest, you were always a bit disheartened when he left. You thought you worked better when there was eye candy present, encouraging you to do your best. Not like correctly making lattes would impress him, but you get the gist. 

You memorized his order fairly quickly when he first started coming around and always tended to him with much more care than other customers. Your coworkers noticed it and teased you about it constantly - especially Jisung - but nonetheless let you have your fun.

Donghyuck was fairly talkative. Typically you would only listen half-heartedly when it came to customer conversations, but you paid full attention when he was speaking. He talked about his group of friends at school, his teachers, and sometimes you were even treated with a fun story of something that had happened recently. He was really kind and charming, not to mention that he was so cute that it made your heart hurt sometimes.

Occasionally you left a smiley face next to his name on the cup when you were feeling lucky, but not much came of it other than a small laugh, which you were still delighted to see anyway. Jisung suggested for you to write your number down a few times, but you wouldn’t be able to deal if he rejected you like that.

In other words, you had a big fat crush, and him staying later today gave you an ounce of sweet, sweet hope. 

It was close to the end of your shift when he came up to the counter. Jisung had gone to the back to get his things since the place was pretty empty, so it was just you.

He looked like he was just going to leave, with his backpack slung on his shoulder and all, but he didn’t. You tilted your head to the side as he approached the pick-up counter rather than the registers. “Not ordering?” you asked.

“No, actually,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “I, uh, I just wanted to talk to you for a little.”

It was safe to say that your heart leaped from your chest. This had to be it!

“Oh, okay... well then what’s up?”

He sighed and then smiled. “That act you pulled earlier… I swear, I never get tired of it.”

You laughed in return. “Yeah, me neither… I don’t know, it’s pretty entertaining for me, too.”

“How do you do it?” he leaned in closer and lowered his voice for dramatics. “Like, you start crying on demand. It’s amazing!”

You could only shrug, trying to keep your cool as he talked. “I couldn’t tell you. I just make myself get really upset, like it’s actually my first day, and go from there. I’m no actor, but... I’d say it’s pretty convincing.”

“No, it’s definitely convincing. I think I’ve seen it happen about four times now, including today. It’s great, like you just flip a switch and boom! Oscar-winning performance.”

The two of you giggled over it, sending your heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings. You couldn’t see yourself in a mirror but were sure your face was flushed red. Eventually, as the energy started to die down, he began again.

“Anyway, so I think you kinda know that I’m not just here to talk - I, I mean I like talking I just had something else to say-”

“It’s fine,” you said, grin prickling at your lips, “Don’t worry.”

He sighed, fingers entangling themselves as they rested on the counter. Donghyuck cleared his throat and then he said quickly, “This is a bit awkward and probably not the best place to ask but since I don’t know when else I could do it… would you go on a date with me sometime?” 

He waited for your response with wide eyes, chewing on his bottom lip. You were so shocked that you couldn’t get any words out. It was your dream come true, yet you were still screwing it up.

“Um, you know what, nevermind, it was stupid of me to ask and especially while you were at work-”

You waved your hand as you realized where he was going. “No, no, it’s fine! I was just surprised, that’s all!” It was especially shocking that he was so flustered. From what you had seen from him, he was calm and collected. This wasn’t smooth as you imagined, but it was incredibly endearing.

You bit your lip mischievously. “I mean… I don’t know, Donghyuck. You’re a customer. Why should I?”

Fortunately, he received your playfulness well. What you didn’t expect was for him to come back even stronger. “Well, if you want to get serious… I’ll leave a complaint that you fake cry to make annoying customers feel guilty?”

A loud, hearty laugh made its way out of your chest. “Okay, fair enough. As long as you don’t tell my manager, I’d be happy to go on a date with you.”

You gave him a cheeky wink and grabbed a notepad and a pen and started to scribble down your phone number. When you handed it to him, that adorable signature grin spread across his face.

“Okay, I’ll... call you sometime. Thanks, Y/N.”

Then he was off, out the door with a certain bounce in his step that made you giddy, too. You had to turn around, letting yourself do a little dance of joy. At that moment, Jisung came out from the back with a smug look on his face. He punched you on the shoulder lightly as he walked out behind the counter.

“Finally,” he laughed as you protested. “It’s literally been months.”

You squinted your eyes as you stared at the boy who was now cleaning up. He had been gone for quite a long period of time, and wasn’t he just getting his things? “Did you have anything to do with this?”

He just smiled to himself as he washed his hands.

“Jisung!” you whined, swatting at him. 

“Hey, hey, I only dropped some hints! Nothing explicit, it’s not like I paid him… just some hints!”

Scrunching up your nose, you crossed your arms and looked away.

“C’mon, Y/N, I’m your wing-man! You needed it and you know it.”

“Okay, maybe!” you threw your hands up in surrender. Then, in a small voice, you mumbled, “Thanks.”

But that pretty much decided it. If you could get yourself a date with the cutest boy you’ve ever seen out of it, the risk of being fired was more than worth it.

[get-your-fics]

Whatever He Wants

Summary: You’re an intern at Wayne Enterprises, and you mistakenly catch Bruce Wayne’s eye.

Pairing: dark!Bruce Wayne x reader

Warnings: Smut, rape/non-con, sexual harassment, language

You stood in the back corner of the executive-conference-room-turned-work-party with a drink in your hand and your arm folded protectively around your waist. The air was filled with chatter and laughter, and you stared at the clusters of business execs and board members who all got paid ten times what you did. It was supposed to be a casual affair, but casual meant something completely different at Wayne Enterprises than it did to you. You felt out of place in your plain slacks and button up blouse. Everyone was wearing what they had worn to work that day, but that meant the women wore Louboutin stilettos and designer dresses, and the men wore two piece Givenchy suits. It looked like a casting call for New York Fashion Week models more than a work party.

Being an intern, you didn’t have many friends at Wayne Enterprises, especially not ones of this high of status. In fact, your work only ever required you to talk to one person, and you hadn’t spotted him yet...

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)!” You snapped your head to see your boss Lucius Fox walking up to you. Spoke too soon. “Shouldn’t you be on a coffee run somewhere?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, shut up.” You knocked your shoulder playfully into his.

Contrary to his joke, Lucius was one of the few bosses you had while interning that didn’t make you fetch Starbucks orders or make copies the entire time. He actually taught you things that would apply to your career later in life, and sometimes he would even let you handle projects he oversaw. For someone in this cutthroat line of work, he was surprisingly nice and levelheaded. He never talked down to you or acted you like you were less than him. He treated you more like his coworker than anything, and you severely respected him as your mentor.

He opened his arms, and you gave him a big bear hug. “How are you?” He stepped away. “Why are you lurking in the corner by yourself?” he asked.

“Waiting for you to show up, don’t you know?” you taunted him.

“Oh, I’m flattered.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “But relax tonight. Mingle, meet some people.”

“Right, ‘cause who wouldn’t want to talk to a broke college intern in a room full of world class business execs?” You scoffed.

Lucius opened his mouth to speak, but he never got the chance to as a tall figure approached. Bruce Wayne strolled up to you, dressed in a black Yves Saint Laurent suit. His jet black curls were parted and slicked, and his dark, brown eyes were sharp like a hawk’s. “Lucius.” He gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

“Bruce.” He met his gaze before shooting you a look out of the corner of his eye.

Bruce Wayne was an absolute foil to Lucius Fox. He walked around like he owned the place even though he had just recently come into his inheritance of the company within the last year. He would strut into Lucius’s office and completely ignore you most days. On the days he didn’t, he would send you on meaningless errands and talk to you like how an owner would talk to his dog. He claimed the title of advisor and CEO, although he hardly did more than prance around and flaunt his abundance of wealth and condescend to anyone who had the unfortunate displeasure of crossing his path.

He turned his head, and his dark eyes locked with yours, scalding you. “Mr. Wayne.” You clasped your hands in front of you and kept your tone passive and neutral.

His eyes narrowed into slits as he looked you up and down. You felt like you were under examination. “Intern, I have some papers in my office I need filed.”

Your eyes widened. He didn’t just... did he?

“Bruce,” Lucius’s tone was sickly sweet and artificial, a warning, “it’s a work party. Nobody’s doing any work right now.”

He laughed like he had said a joke. “Like she does work any other day of the week? All she does is sit there and watch you type on your computer.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your side, and you bit your tongue. He was acting like you weren’t even there. You so badly wanted to tell him off for speaking to you in such a rude manner, but you knew better than to do so. As much as you hated it, he was your boss, even more so than Lucius, and he could have your ass thrown out of the Wayne Enterprises building any time he liked.

“Come on, Bruce. Let her enjoy the party. You should enjoy it too,” he suggested.

His face remained stone cold and unfeeling. He switched his gaze to you. “Let’s go. I’ll show you where they are.”

He spun around on the heel of his polished dress shoe, and you knew better than to disobey him. Lucius let out a sigh next to you. “Have fun, intern,” he accentuated the last word, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, you know I will.” You took one last look at Lucius’s smile full of blinding white teeth and chased after Bruce. You hurried to close the distance between the two of you before he could realize you had tarried.

You turned out of the conference room and into the hall as you followed him. Your flats slapped against the glossy, marble floors as you approached the elevators. He jammed the button displaying an up arrow with his thumb, and a second later, a resounding ding sounded as a red light flashed above the elevator to your left. The sleek, metal doors of the elevator slid open.

He placed his hand on your lower back. “Get in.” You stiffened under his touch. His hand moved down until it was resting just above the curve of your ass. You were about to step out of his grasp when he gave you a nudge with his hand towards the elevator.

You caught yourself on the frame of the elevator door before you could tumble. You thought you heard a deep chuckle behind you, and you gritted your teeth before walking into the elevator. He got in beside you, entering with grace and elegance, and hit the button for the top floor of the building. It lit up as the doors clicked into place, and the elevator jolted as it started its ascension.

Silence settled over the elevator, and you could feel it eating you up inside. You fidgeted and shifted your weight from foot to foot as Bruce stood beside you, stoic. The prospect of spending time alone with him made dread form deep in the pit of your stomach, although you didn’t mind getting away from the party. You were slightly grateful for having an excuse to escape, if only he hadn’t have been that excuse.

The elevator halted, and a moment later, the doors opened. Bruce stepped out first, and you followed after him on instinct. You walked down a corridor before stopping in front of a tall door. He fished his keycard out of the pockets of his suit pants and swiped it through the scanner. The red dot changed to green, and he turned the handle without a problem. He pushed the door open and stood to the side, gesturing you inside.

You walked into his office. All of the lights were off. He stepped in behind you and let the door fall shut. With a flick of his finger on the light switch, the dim, overhead lights cast a warm, yellow glow down on his office. You had never been in here before, but it looked just how you expected it would. The walls were lined with floor to ceiling bookcases, the shelves filled with neatly stacked, color coded books. A grandiose, black desk was in the middle of the room, a overstuffed, tufted desk chair on one side and a plain one on the other. You assumed whoever had sat in the plain chair was either really lucky or really unfortunate. But the most breathtaking part of his office was the wall behind his desk that consisted of large windows looking out onto Gotham City’s skyline. You could see every neon light, every digital billboard, and every headlight of the cars stuck in traffic several levels below your feet. You wanted to press your hands and face to the glass and stare out the window all night, but resisted the urge to.

“You have a beautiful view,” you broke the silence, your voice wavering.

Bruce didn’t say anything. He merely walked past you, and you swore you felt his hand brush up against your ass. But it must’ve just been your imagination. You shook off the feeling as he got out a stack of loose papers piled a mile high. He dropped it onto the desk with a solid thud.

“Here’s the papers.” He maneuvered around the desk and pulled out the bottom drawer. “And here’s where you can file them.”

You walked over and peered down at what he was talking about. The bottom drawer of the desk was a built in filing cabinet. It was separated by multiple dividers all a different color. They each had a tab with a letter going from A to Z in bold, black font and a manila folder behind each divider.

“I want all of them sorted by the first letter of their last name.” He put his hands on his hips. “Think you can manage that?”

You quirked a brow, but his face was hard and unreadable. Was he joking? You learned how to do this in middle school. “Yeah, I can,” was all you said, however.

“Good. Then get started.” You thought that he would leave, but he remained stationary where he was.

You grabbed a paper off of the top of the stack and scanned it with your eyes. It looked to be contact information of some sort. You found the person’s last name and bent over the filing cabinet. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw Bruce lean over as well, as if he was trying to get a peek down your shirt. You fixed your blouse so it covered more of your cleavage and shrugged it off. You were just paranoid, and now your mind was playing tricks on you. You searched for the corresponding letter and filed the paper into the appropriate folder.

You still felt his presence behind you. Maybe he was just trying to make sure you knew what you were doing. He didn’t trust you to file a few papers correctly? “Like that?” you asked, hoping the slight edge to your voice made it clear you wanted to be left alone.

“Yeah, just like that,” he answered. His voice sounded breathier and lower than it had before.

That’s when you felt it: two hands on your hips, and something hard brush up against your ass. You immediately retracted and turned around, your back bumping into the desk. You stared at him with wide eyes. “What the hell?”

Unfortunately, your position allowed him to trap you between him and the desk. “You’re such a tease, you know that?” He pushed a strand of hair behind your ear and pressed an openmouthed kiss to your neck. “Walking around this office with your nose in the air like you’re better than everyone, like you’re better than me.”

He nipped at the skin on your throat, and you squeaked. You grabbed him by his shoulders and shoved him back far enough so he wasn’t touching you. What was he talking about? He was the one who thought he was better than everyone! “I... I think I should go.”

You made to slip between him and the desk, but he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and jerked you back. “You’re not going anywhere, not until I show you where you belong.”

You furrowed your brows. “What are you doing?” It was becoming increasingly hard to hide the panic in your voice. You tugged against his hand on you, but his grip held strong. “Let go of me!” You struggled to break out of his grasp. “Help!”

“Go ahead, scream. Most of the floors below us are empty. No one will hear you.” He pushed you back against the desk and held your body flush against him. His erection was now painfully evident as it strained against the fabric of his pants and poked you in the stomach.

Your eyes widened with fear as you realized no one was coming to save you. Now that flight was no longer an option, you decided to fight. You raised your free hand and clawed at him with a snarl. However, he caught your hand before it neared the smooth, pale skin of his cheek. Your vengeful expression fell, and his lips curled into a devious smirk.

“We’ll have to work on your behavior,” his hold on your wrists was tightening, his fingers painfully digging into your skin, “especially towards your boss.” He leaned in and buried his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent. His hips bucked against yours, and you yelped when you felt how hard he was.

“I’ll... I’ll tell someone!” you threatened, your voice shaky and uneven. “I’ll tell-”

He reared back. “Who are you going to tell? Lucius?” he cut you off. “He can’t do anything. Besides, I’ll just fire you, and you’ll look like you’re making up shit to save face.” He took the skin of your neck between his lips and sucked, clearly aware of the power he had over you.

You bit down on your lip to hold in any moans that wanted to escape as your body tensed against him. You didn’t want to lose your job - couldn’t lose your job. It was the first internship you had found that you had actually enjoyed, not to mention being an intern as a freshman in college at Wayne Enterprises was a major feat. You knew you would have to give into him eventually. It was inevitable; he was Bruce Wayne. Everything got handed to him on a silver platter. Anything he wanted, he got, no matter the cost.

“Please, don’t fire me,” you squealed. You despised how pitiful and helpless you sounded.

He pulled away and cupped your face in his hands. “Oh, you want to be a good girl for me now?” You were forced to stare directly into his eyes. They were dark with lust, and his pupils were extremely dilated. They looked completely black.

You sucked in a breath before your next statement. “What will you do for me if I do?”

He grinned like a wolf barring its teeth. “Now, you’re talking.” He moved his leg in between yours and pressed his thigh right against the sensitive area in your crotch. You gasped at the pleasure that ran through you like a chill as warmth pooled in your gut. “I’ll double your salary,” he rocked against you, causing his thigh to rub your clit, “and guarantee you a job in four years time.”

“Do you like doing this?” You tried to seem tough despite your wavering voice. “Forcing yourself on vulnerable interns?”

He chuckled at that. “Lucky for you, you’re my first. There’s just something about you I find so... irresistible.” He ran this thumb over your bottom lip, and your jaw went slack. You were the same age, but right now he seemed so much older than you. “So, do we have a deal?”

You were absolutely aching now. As much as you hated the wetness that gathered in between your thighs, it was growing unbearable. You didn’t think you could stand it any longer, and his offer was pretty much impossible to pass up on. Securing a job at Wayne Enterprises would set you on a good career path for the rest of your life.

You nodded. “Okay.” Your voice cracked.

His grin widened, and his eyes darkened until they swallowed all light that hit them. “Good.”

He crashed his lips against yours. You were so taken aback that you bumped back into the desk, causing the stack of papers to crash to the ground. They scattered across the floor, and some floated in the air before slowly descending and coming to rest. He didn’t seem to care and continued to move his lips against yours. You closed your eyes and tried to relax into the kiss. He tilted his head to the side and slipped his tongue into your mouth, quickly gaining dominance over yours. He tasted like whatever drink he had been sipping on downstairs at the party: sweet, but bitter. You loathed the fact that you enjoyed the taste and found yourself yearning for more.

He disconnected your lips, a flush of red across his pale features and one dark lock out of place on his forehead. “Get on the desk,” he whispered huskily, his lips tickling the shell of your ear.

You did as he said and grabbed the lip of the desk, pushing yourself on top of it. You laid down on your back and hugged your knees to your chest. You caught sight of the red marks he had left on your wrists and rubbed at them. You rolled out your sore wrists, knowing you would find bruises there later.

He grabbed your blouse and tore it open, causing buttons to pop off and fly everywhere. You listened as they bounced off of the desk and onto the floor. He covered the cups of your bra with his hands and left a trail of wet kisses over the swells of your breasts. He moved his hands lower to the zipper on your pants. He pulled it down and practically ripped your pants and your underwear off of you. He pushed your legs apart, and you became aware of how exposed you were. You felt like you were on display for him.

He stared down at your pussy like he was mesmerized and ran a finger through your folds. “You’re so wet, all for me.” You felt your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. He slipped his finger inside of you, and you gasped as the burning stretch gave way to pleasure. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this.”

He got on his knees and wrapped his lips around your clit as he continued to pump his finger in and out of you. The sensation was too much for you, and you couldn’t stop the filthy stream of expletives that spilled from your lips. You needed something to grab onto, so you threaded your fingers through his hair. He moaned against you as you roughly yanked on his dark curls, the vibrations only aiding the arousal pulsing through you.

Just as you felt your climax building, he pulled away. You almost whined at the loss, but stopped yourself by biting down your tongue. He ran his tongue over his lips, licking your juices that dripped off of his chin, and sucked your slick off of his fingers. He shrugged off his suit jacket and loosened the tie around his neck. Then, he reached down and undid his own zipper. You watched as he pushed his pants and boxers over his hips, freeing his straining erection. You got a good look at just how big he was, precum dripping off of the red tip.

He leaned over you so his face was mere inches from yours. You felt the head of his cock at your entrance. He pushed in, and a squeak fell from your lips. You felt like you were being pulled apart in different directions. You sat up on your elbows and spread your legs wider to alleviate some of the tension. He pushed you back down and pressed his chest flush against yours. He finally pushed in to the hilt, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

He pulled out of you only to thrust back in with a sharp snap. You yelped, your walls still too tight to accommodate him comfortably. “Relax, intern,” he purred, his tone strangely soothing. He planted one arm on the desk next to you to steady himself as he set a pace. “Fuck, I knew you’d feel amazing.” Sweat gathered on his brow as his lips parted in rapture. The sight made your stomach crawl, and you looked away. He grabbed your chin, squishing your cheeks, and turned your head back to face him.

He forced you to stare into his eyes as he fucked you. They were like two blackholes, endless, bottomless voids that you could fall into. He pounded into you faster now, and you could feel your orgasm starting to build once again. His white button up clung to his chest with sweat where your bodies met, and the creaking of the desk under your weight filled your ears. Your breaths came shorter now, and there was no stopping your desperate mewls. He grunted in time with his thrusts, the head of his cock hitting that spot in you just right each time he pushed in to his max.

You were on the cusp of your orgasm as you latched onto his shoulders. “Are you going to cum for me, intern?” he almost sneered at you.

You wanted to curse him out, but found that your brain couldn’t form any words. All you could do was let out a breathy sigh and nod your head. You locked eyes with him as your pussy constricted around his cock, drawing a high-pitched whine from you. Your juices spilled out of you and coated your thighs as you came. You arched your spine, the back of your head painfully connecting with the desk, and curled your toes as every nerve ending in your body was set on fire. You raked your nails up his back under his shirt, leaving goosebumps and red, irritated skin in your wake.

He groaned and sped up. “Gonna fill you with my cum,” he muttered and licked at your breasts. “You want that, intern? For me to cum inside you?”

You couldn’t say anything; you were still coming down from your high. He growled and pushed your knees up by your shoulders. He thrust into you all the way as he came, spilling his warm seed into you. He stilled on top of you, his thighs twitching and his face frozen in ecstasy. Then he pulled out of you, and you could feel his cum drip out of your sore pussy.

He collapsed on top of you, burying his face in your hair. You both stayed like that for a moment as you recovered from your climaxes. Then, he pushed himself up and covered your face in kisses. It was a strangely sweet and intimate gesture for the harsh fucking he had just done to you.

He got completely off of you and pulled his pants up, zipping his fly. You slowly sat up, your head spinning. You looked for your discarded pants on the floor and eventually located them through your blurry gaze. You reached for the lacy underwear sitting on top, but a hand snatched them out of your grasp before you could get to them. Bruce brought them up to his nose and sniffed, a mischievous smirk coming over his face. “Consider these assurance of our agreement.” He dangled them from his finger tauntingly before stuffing them in his back pocket.

You grimaced as you pulled on your pants, the material sticking to your legs. You didn’t know why you were getting dressed; there was no way you could go back to the party looking how you did. Your hair was mussed, your lips red and swollen, and you were covered in sweat and saliva and cum. You looked thoroughly fucked, and everyone would know what you were up to with your boss in his office. It wouldn't be hard to come to some conclusions.

Speaking of... “So, when will I get my raise?” you asked as nonchalantly as possible. You tried to casually lean back against the desk. You could see an outline of your entangled bodies in sweat on the surface.

You watched as he adjusted his tie. “Probably by the end of this weekend.” He fixed the collar of his button up. “However, it is going to come directly out of my personal bank account. Not that that’s a problem, but I think that I should be the one getting the benefits of your hard work instead of Lucius.” He smoothed out the fabric of his shirt with his hands. “So you’ll be interning under me for now on.”

Your heart sank to your stomach. “Wha... what?”

He smirked. “You heard me, intern.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his chest, pressing a kiss to your matted hair. He had gotten the last laugh. “It looks like me and you will be working very, very close together.”