#even if i’m wrong about her and ame i hope carmine comes back because she’s just a great character overall

[l00rem]

seeing as there’s a very probable chance amethio shows up next ep, i made this to manifest their potential friendship beginning

[kiridarling]

𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒.

katsuki bakugou | birthday gone wrong (aha), f!reader, baker!reader, pro hero!katsuki, blizzards, angst and smut, exhibitionism, cockwarming, begging, confessions. minors dni!

— 4.7k words

Wanna blow off some steam?

“Surprise!”

Katsuki jumps ten feet high, and the plastic grocery bags precariously balanced on each finger tear without a second thought. Apples hit the ground with a thud and the egg carton with a depressing slap; one that signifies the crack of at least half a dozen. Katsuki looks at the crowd, red-faced and livid, and Eijirou Kirishima intercepts the awkward silence with:

“Happy Birthday Bakubro! I know y—“

“Said that I didn’t want a fuckin’ party?” Katsuki growls, groceries forgotten on the forgotten. Eijirou looks guilty and chuckles, scratching the back of his head.

“W-Well, yeah, but—“

“Everybody out.”

People sigh, and you think you hear Denki whisper told you he’d kick us out. You hate to say that you foresaw a similar outcome. Katsuki’s never been one for people.

Especially you.

“Awe come on, Kacchan,” Izuku says with hands on his hips. “We came all this way! Just let us stay for a little bit.”

“Yeah!” Eijirou seems to cheer up once given a sliver of hope. “Plus, we got cake and stuff. And Just Dance.”

Katsuki narrows his eyes, but you know better—he’s always had a soft spot for the redhead. You all wait with baited breath, wondering if this entire evening was a bust, as Katsuki weighs his options in a pool of fallen groceries.

“One hour.”

Eijirou gasps so hard he chokes, and Katsuki’s generosity earns him applause from the audience. (Plus whoops and hollers from Denki and Mina.)

“And I mean it—y’all have sixty fuckin’ minutes before you’re gone without a goddamn trace. Kapeesh?”

“Kapeesh!”

Katsuki sighs, rubbing at his temples as he steps over the mess at the front door. You assume he’ll make Eijirou clean it up. “Whatever. Where’s the fuckin’ cake?”

Ah.

“In the kitchen, my good sir!” Denki says as he ushers the ash-blond into the said kitchen, the rest of the party hot on their heels. Eijirou grabs the cake from the fridge and you’re tense until the plate hits the marble of their island.

“Flavor?” Katsuki asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh, I dunno, [Y/N] made it,” Eijirou throws you under the bus, just like that, and you want to scoff at the way Katsuki freezes—if only for a moment. Eijirou’s oblivious as ever, “[Y/N]?”

“It’s red velvet,” you say, trying not to burn under Katsuki’s carmine eyes. You don’t know why he doesn’t look away.

“Frosting?”

“Buttercream.”

As if you’d give him anything else.

Eijirou tries his best to cram 26 candles into the cake before being forced to opt for 23 lest he ruin your decorations. Denki presses him to make a wish and Katsuki rolls his eyes as he blows out the candles. Eijirou wipes an invisible tear because ‘his boy is getting so old.’ Mina and Jiro cut the cake and people seem to enjoy it, and you think that maybe, reuniting with your high school friends after so long isn’t as bad as you thought it’d be.

Even if he said he never wanted to see you again.

“—due to the incoming blizzard, we highly suggest all those who reside in the red and orange zones stay inside until it passes; which should be around ten am tomorrow morning.”

You spoke too soon.

Katsuki turns to the crowd, and you know what he’s going to say before his lip curls.

“Out.”

“Kacchan, don’t be unreasonable!” Izuku says from his comfortable position on the couch. “We’d get caught in the storm if we leave now.”

“Not if you’re fuckin’ fast enough,” Katsuki growls, pulling the greenette’s to his feet by his hair. “Get out, I’m not bunking with you fuckers overnight.”

“Dude,” Denki points to the window, and if you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve thought the blizzard had already started. “If we leave now, we’ll literally die.”

“Die, then.”

Eijirou sighs, clapping his roommate on the back. “C’mon, man. You know we ca—“

There’s a whirr then a click, and the lights and tv die at once. You can’t see a thing but you definitely hear Katsuki shout:

“Motherfucker!”

Eijirou turns his phone flashlight on first; Katsuki’s busy angrily flicking at the light to no avail. You sigh, turning to the ash-blond (and ignoring those ugly fucking butterflies in your stomach.)

“It’s a blackout Katsuki. The lights aren’t going to work.”

“Don’t you think I fuckin’ know that, dumbass?” And your chest tightens because even though he’s not eighteen anymore, he sounds the same—but you aren’t sure why you expected him to sound so different either.

You lift an eyebrow (not that he can see it), “It doesn’t look like you do.”

Denki snorts at that, hollering about how you just owned the ash-blond as Katsuki yells at him to shut the fuck up. It’s...familiar and comfortable, like you’re all in high school again, before you had to worry about your friends dying in their line of work because you couldn’t be there with them.

Before you got injured.

“Well I mean, we have a few blankets,” Eijirou offers, and as your eyes slowly adjust to the dark, you’re convinced you see his figure cross the living room. “And like, sweatshirts if it gets too cold.”

“It’s already getting too cold,” Mina says, and you can’t help but agree. The quickly cooling room has the goosebumps raising on your shoulders, and you’re starting to regret forgetting your jacket at home.

“Okay! I don’t have that many, but,” Eijirou hollers from somewhere, before returning with a handful of cloth. He drops it onto the coffee table. “Plus Hanta and Denks left their hoodies here last time.”

“Oh shit, we did?” Hanta says, and you assume it’s his figure who starts digging through the clothes. “Totally thought I lost this, lol.”

“Did you just saw lol out loud?”

“I did.”

“Ooh Ei, do you still have that old Red Riot hoodie?” Mina asks, and all of a sudden, she’s all over the pile. She finds it before the redhead can answer and snatches it away with a gasp.

You watch the pile dissolve in the darkness, one by one, and by the time you reach for something, your palm hits the cool wood of the coffee table. Fuck.

“Oh [Y/N]! Do you need some of my blanket?” Mina offers, but the blanket is small, and wrapping it around both of your shoulders just renders it utterly useless. You shake your head after she tries for a while.

“It’s fine Mina, I’m not that cold,” you laugh, but she shakes her head vehemently.

“No! Girl c’mon, you look like you’re freezing!”

And, well. Freezing is a stretch. Sure, you’re a little cold, but you’ll live.

“Do you need my sweatshirt?” Eijirou asks, already pulling at the hem. You roll your eyes.

“I’m serious guys, it’s not that bad,” you say, waving your arms for emphasis. They all grumble but they give up, and you feel like you can finally relax.

Something soft and army green drops into your lap. You pick it up in confusion, before looking up to see who dropped it.

Katsuki looks down at you, face glowing white from the phone flashlights. His eyes pierce your soul nevertheless.

“I don’t ne—“

“Take it.”

Katsuki takes a seat next to you on the couch in his own hoodie. You don’t realize until you put it on that he gave you a sweatshirt themed after his own hero costume.

You can’t sleep.

You can’t sleep, and you’re sure it’s due to the temperature. The wind howls and it sounds like you’re in the eye of a tornado, loose branches knocking against the rattling glass, and upon looking through the window, you see nothing but stark white. You sigh, checking the time on your phone for the fiftieth time this hour. Yep. Still four am.

“Stop fuckin’ movin’, dumbass.”

You all decided to bunk in the living room for warmth. You’re surprised Katsuki stayed, though; you figured he would just head to his room and let you all fend for yourselves while he slept in a comfortable bed. But here he is, sleeping next to you on the cold fucking floor.

“Sorry,” you say, but it’s hard when your shivering and your jaw aches from stunting your chattering teeth. Katsuki and Eijirou only had a limited amount of sleeping bags, meaning you’ve got to share a blanket with the hulking ash-blond.

“You cold?” He grunts. You don’t know why he’s asking.

“No.”

Katsuki sighs, and you hear him adjust, the blanket sliding from your neck to your shoulder. “You’re a shit liar.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows to glare his way, and you look to notice Katsuki’s laying the same way.

“What’s your point?”

Katsuki doesn’t answer for a moment, but it doesn’t seem like he’s looking for an answer, either—his neon red eyes glow through the dark and straight into your soul, and the next time you shiver, it isn’t because of the temperature.

“You’re stubborn.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing, “Thought you figured that out senior year.”

Katsuki’s face flashes with an emotion you can’t quite pinpoint before it’s gone again. “Yeah. You’d think almost dying would fuckin’ fix that.”

You sigh. Looks like you’re having this conversation now, then.

“I didn’t almost die—“

“Yes, you fuckin’ did,” Katsuki snarls, and Denki almost stirs at his raised tone. “You took that bullet and you didn’t get up for months—“

“And then I woke up and everything was fine! Seriously Katsuki, what’s your problem? I lived.”

“My problem is that you shouldn’t have been there in the goddamn first place!” Katsuki says through grit teeth. You watch his temple roll underneath his hairline. “That was my fuckin’ fight. I don’t need some chick jumping in front of a bullet for me just ‘cause she thinks I can’t take it!”

You scoff, looking around to see if any of your other sleeping friends are listening because get a load of this guy. Naturally, they don’t respond.

“That’s what this is about? Oh, well I’m sorry I bruised your dignity because I didn’t want to see you get fucking shot!”

Katsuki chest inflates with disbelief before it deflates again, and he’s rolling his eyes before he says, “That’s not—you fuckin’ know that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh really?” You laugh, and goddammit Katsuki, you just had to bring it up, didn’t you? “Because waking up after two months to your best friend telling you to give up doesn’t preserve your dignity at all, huh?”

“I didn’t tell you to fu—“

“You said those exact words, Katsuki. You said give up, and you left the hospital.”

The ash-blond has nothing to say to that, because he knows that you know you’re right, and trying to jedi mind trick you into believing he isn’t an asshole won’t work.

“Well you fuckin’ listened,” he grumbles, more to himself than you, but enough emotion flares in your core to make you want to scream.

“I didn’t have a choice,” you say, huffing, before turning your back to him, deeming this conversation over. “Good night, Katsuki.”

There’s a lull and it has you convinced you’ve won, finally relaxing (as much as you can) onto the cold floor. At least arguing heated your blood up a bit.

“The fuck do you mean?”

You roll your eyes even though they’re closed before you hop back onto your forearms to give the ash-blond a nasty look. “What?”

“You...said you didn’t have a choice,” Katsuki says, and it’s the first time you think you’ve heard him sound weary. Unsure. “The fuck does that mean?”

“It means I had to give up on being a hero either way.”

Which sucked. Because you had spent the past four years of your life working your ass off to save others, and you wind up out of commission before you even got started. You...suppose you didn’t tell Katsuki the whole story. Well, you hadn’t had a chance to—today’s the first time speaking with him since you woke up in the hospital.

Katsuki eyes you out of his peripheral, but only for a second. “And that means...?”

“It means that if I land on my spine the wrong way, there’s a high chance I’ll be paralyzed from the waist down.” You growl, frustrated that it was easier to coax the truth out of you than you thought.

The bullet buried close to your spinal column. You had to do PT for months, relearning how to walk as you slowly regain your motor functions. That’s when you started to bake.

“Oh.”

The howling of the wind turns from somewhat soothing to aggravating as Katsuki’s unimpressive “oh” hangs heavy in the air, and you find yourself sighing, the puzzle pieces finally clicking in your head. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Katsuki asks—he’s still not looking at you.

“Blaming yourself,” you gesture to his figure, which is lax with depression, lacking its sturdiness and usual fire. “You didn’t shoot the gun.”

Katsuki snorts at that, running a hand through his hair, “I might as well.”

“Stop.”

“You got shot because of me,” Katsuki says as if it were a fact. “They were trying to kill me. Not you.”

“And they didn’t kill me. I’m here and you’re here. If I hadn’t been there, you’d be six feet under right now,” you reason. Katsuki shrugs because he’s just as stubborn as you are, and you figure he’s been carrying around this baggage for too many years.

“Does your back hurt often?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I mean sure, I get flare-ups sometimes, but it’s not too bad. Doesn’t really get in the way of baking as long as the table is high enough.”

Katsuki thinks for a moment, teeth worrying his bottom lip. “Is the table high enough? At your café.”

You shrug, failing to see where he’s going with this. “I have a platform thingy, so. It’s mostly for decorating cakes and things—“

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

“What?”

“I’ll buy you a new table,” Katsuki says, nodding to himself as if he was confirming the idea. “A higher one.”

It takes a second for his offer to process, but once it does, you’re fighting a smile. Still the same kid. “Kats, I don’t nee—“

“An—And if you need a new chair. I’ll pay for that shit too.”

You shake your head—mainly in disbelief, “I don’t need a chair, Katsuki.”

“Then what?” He asks, and it almost sounds desperate with the speed he rushed the sentence, “Y’need a car? That hunk of junk you drive could use some work.”

You ignore the jab, because your car works perfectly fine thank you very much, and snort at the suggestion of such an outrageous purchase.

“What? You tryna be my sugar daddy or something?” You joke. Katsuki gives you a look, and it's dead serious.

“D’ya need one?”

“I—no!” You laugh, and have to remind yourself to reel it in before you actually wake Denki up. “I’m fine financially I just—what’s gotten into you?”

“Nothin’.” Katsuki quickly grumbles, facing forwards again. “I just...”

You raise an eyebrow, “You just..?”

“I dunno. I dunno,” Katsuki shakes his head. You let him gather his thoughts in silence before he tries again. He doesn’t.

“Then fuck me.”

In your defense, your mouth moved before you thought it through.

Katsuki has an unreadable look on his face, but his voice is anything but steady when he says, “What?”

Fuck. Fuck.

“U-Uh, I mean,” you recoil. Stupid big mouth. “I—you—don’t worry about it.”

“You said you wanted to fuck me,” Katsuki deadpans. You choke.

“I—no, that’s not—“

“That’s exactly what you said.”

“No, I meant as in I’m pent up. Obviously,” you defend with a huff, crossing your arms on the pillow as you glare daggers his way. Katsuki matches your stare.

“Not as pent up as a Pro Hero,” he scoffs, lifting an eyebrow. You take it as a challenge.

You click your tongue in faux pity, “Awe, the number two hero Dynamight doesn’t get laid?”

“No fuckin’ time,” he grunts, though you don’t find much remorse in his voice.

“Well, you have time now,” you say, completely unsure of where this confidence is coming from. Either way, you’ll take it and run.

“I do,” Katsuki confirms, leaning in closer. He’s close enough that you can smell what’s leftover of his cologne, and see the hint of a grin that makes his upper cheek shine silver in the moonlight. You find yourself leaning in just as much as he does.

“Wanna blow off some steam?” You dare to question. Katsuki’s grin only grows wider.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Katsuki’s kisses are surprisingly soft, you think, and so are his lips. But you don’t have much time to think about it as he pulls you in by the waist, quietly groaning into your mouth while he lays you down on your back.

“Always thought you were the prettiest fuckin’ thing,” he growls, trailing butterfly kisses down your neck. “‘M gonna make it up to you, yeah? Make you feel so fuckin’ good.”

A hand hikes his sweatshirt above your chest before Katsuki’s latching onto the skin under your collarbone and sucking, teeth digging into your skin hard enough to bruise.

“Y-Yeah, that’s fine,” you whimper, intoxicated by the way Katsuki’s lips flush pink as he pulls away, eyes locked on the fresh hickey on your chest. They flicker up to you; he grins.

“Good?”

“Mhm.”

Katsuki hums at that, licking his lips before diving back in. You hiss when he bites too hard, prompting him to bite harder, but he always soothes it over with his tongue, topping each bruise with a kiss. You flinch when his lips wrap around your nipple and he chuckles at your meek whimper; a hand removes its grip on the sweatshirt in favor of sliding it up your thigh.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Katsuki says once he pulls away, enjoying the sight of you writhing in anticipation. “And it’s all for me, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, ‘m all yours just—“ you kick a leg in frustration at the thumb playing with the hem of your panties, “—do something already.”

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, “Do what?”

You frown, huffing, “You know what.”

Katsuki shrugs, adjusting so he’s caging you to the floor. Ghosting a thumb over your panties, he says, “‘Course I do. You gotta ask nicely first.”

You tighten your hands into fists. He would.

“I’m no—“

“Beg, Princess,” Katsuki growls, his stare unwavering. He presses an inquisitive finger to your clit through your panties either as a promise or a threat—which, you’re not quite sure.

You crumble.

“I—fine, just—finger me.”

Katsuki doesn’t move. Asshole.

“Please.”

The ash-blond grins, finally pushing your panties to the side.

“Good girl.”

When Katsuki slides his first finger in, it’s much too easy, and you blame it on the foreplay. You shudder, hands moving to brace themselves on his big shoulders, and the ash-blond muffles a moan as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Another,” you moan, bucking your hips into his palm. Katsuki’s heated gaze flickers from your body to your face.

“Already?” He chuckles, the rasp in his throat giving his arousal away. You nod—he clicks his tongue.

“Fuckin’ dirty.”

Two fingers feel like so much more than just one, and they have your eyebrows folding in a poor attempt to muffle a whimper. Katsuki’s fingers still move tentatively but they’re getting comfortable, curling and searching for that place that’ll make you tremble. And then he finds it.

“F-Fuck,” your body jolts, and Katsuki’s shushing you against the pillows.

“Keep your mouth shut, Princess,” he purrs, head dipping down to nip at your neck. It adjusts the angle ever so slightly, but enough to make you hiss, and he chuckles. “Unless you wanna get caught.”

“Oh yeah, because that sounds fun right now,” you snort towards the ceiling. Katsuki pulls away with an unimpressed look as his thumb comes down over your clit.

“Can’t wait to fuck the brat outta ya. Maybe then you’ll actually shut up for once, huh?” Katsuki inserts a third finger without you asking him to, and you gasp, clawing at his back.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he laughs against your mouth lowly, as if the light kisses will do anything but make more noise, “Good God sweetheart, you’re really pent up, aren’t ya?”

“Shit—I doubt you’re much better,” you try, scoffing at what you can see of his painfully hard cock in his sweatpants. Katsuki looks down before sending a huff your way, with a cute little blush dusted on his cheeks.

“Shut the fuck up,” he grunts, pulling out his fingers. You whine at the loss. “How d’ya want me to fuck you?”

You need to take a step back from how crude the question is. Right, sex.

“Right um,” you look around, trying to find the least obvious position—and one that doesn’t make a shit ton of noise. Laying on your side, you tuck an arm under the pillow, before turning around to Katsuki to suggest, “Cuddle-fucking?”

“Cuddle-fucking.”

“Yep,” you say with finality, popping the p. Making big grabby hands his way, you say, “C’mere, big guy.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes but moves behind you anyways, warm arms easily finding themselves around your waist under the blanket. After a few adjustments and ensuring you're both fully covered, Katsuki’s hard cock presses against your entrance as he hooks his head over your chin with a huff.

“This is so not on fuckin’ brand.”

“I don’t think fucking in a living room with sleeping friends is on-brand for a pro hero or a baker,” you say casually. Katsuki breaks out into a snort, pressing his face deeper into your neck.

“God, I fuckin’ missed you, ya know that?” He chortles. Your chest blooms with something it hasn’t in years, and for the first time, you find that you don’t mind.

“Don’t be such a dick and maybe I’ll stick around this time,” you quip with a smile he can’t see. Though you feel his against the base of your neck.

“Noted.”

Katsuki’s last words hang in the air, unusually heavy, and your eyes catch the snow beating against the window with a less than angry howl. Katsuki’s chest shudders against your back but he doesn’t move, hands frozen at your waist.

“Hey, I thought you were gon—“

“I’m getting to it,” Katsuki snaps, and you gasp as he starts to push inside. “So fuckin’ impatient, goddamn.”

He pulls you down until he fills you completely, and you suppress the urge to shout at the speed he did it with. Katsuki moves a hand to slap over your mouth.

“Shut the fuck up.”

You reach around to pinch him in the side with a huff, he calls you a bitch. It’s a little hard to hear you behind his hand as you say, “Then don’t catch me off guard like that, asshole.”

Katsuki snaps his hips and does exactly what you tell him not to do—prompting another surprised whine out of you and a dark chuckle from the ash-blond. His cheek presses into your jaw as he finds leverage in hiking your lower half up until your puffy cunt is level with his cock, and fucking you until you drool all over the pillow.

“What a pretty fuckin’ thing,” Katsuki grunts, and you can tell he struggles to keep quiet in the way his chest sporadically shudders. You have to grip the pillow for some semblance of purchase and Katsuki chuckles at watching you struggle, before he’s hiking your leg up to fuck you that much deeper.

“I always—always knew you’d sound so good,” he pants, the grip around your mouth bordering on clammy. You want to tell him that if he keeps making so much noise he’ll wake up everyone in this fucking room, but there isn’t much time between moans to get more than a word in. “Fuck baby, keep tightening around me like that, and I might fuckin’ cum.”

You find it amusing how close he is so quickly, until two fingers land on your clit and start rubbing in slow, small circles. Your walls flutter around him and Katsuki digs his teeth into your neck with a curse, his grip around your raised thigh contracting as he tries to hold on for as long as he can.

And that’s when Denki starts to move.

First, he rolls to the left. Which would’ve been fine, seeing as it’s in the opposite direction until he bops Eijirou straight on the nose and promptly rouses the redhead from his slumber. Katsuki’s hips still.

“O-Ow, dick,” Eijirou curses under his breath, quickly scrambling to his forearms. It’s hard to tell through the darkness, mostly because you’re squinting your eyes to feign sleep, but it seems like Eijirou rubs under his nose, only to blink back at a bloody hand.

“...Shit.”

Katsuki’s hips shift, ever so slightly, but enough to nestle his cock deeper and force you to bite back a whine. And another. And then another.

You try your hardest to be discreet when you reach to pinch Katsuki in the side, and he breathes a laugh down your neck.

“What?” He whispers, though it's more than a rasp than anything else. Good to know you’re not the only one struggling to not cum, here.

“You know 'what,'” you quickly hiss. But Katsuki’s hips don’t stop as Eijirou weighs his options to cure his bloody nose in the dark. The fingers on your clit return their usual pressure and you inhale sharply, nails digging into Katsuki’s forearm as your orgasm begins creeping up on you.

Eijirou sniffles and gets up, stumbling through the darkness to turn down the hall that leads to the bedrooms. Katsuki sees that as fucking freedom and his hips really start to pick up so much speed that you struggle to breathe through it all.

“‘M gonna cum,” Katsuki whimpers into your neck, burying his face deeper in a poor attempt to stunt any sound. “Fuck, fuck ‘m gonna cum, you close baby?”

“Y-Yeah jus’ a little more,” you whimper, eyes rolling as Katsuki finds some inhumane energy in him to fuck faster. He nods at that and bites into your shoulder with a growl, “C’mon, fuckin’ cream all over my cock—atta girl, fuck, fuck—“

Katsuki fills you up the moment you clench around his cock with a sigh, the weight of your orgasm knocking you forehead-first into your pillow as you bite the urge to squeal. Katsuki doesn't growl as much as you expect, moans breathy and light as his hips finally stutter to a stop—but you suppose some things have to change over the years.

Katsuki collapses next to you in pure exhaustion and you’re sure that’s his cum leaking down your thigh, but for some reason, you don’t really mind.

“Hey you,” he speaks first, eyes blazing red in the darkness. You snort.

“Hey, you.”

Katsuki chuckles with a stupidly giddy smile on his face, "Y'know, you still fuck really well."

You drop your head on his chest to snort, and his hands find their rightful place around your waist.

"Better than high school?"

"Yeah..." Katsuki grumbles, before his eyes narrow. "Wait—hey, yo—"

"I haven't fucked anyone since," you snuff the fire before it even starts, and Katsuki relaxes, though his eyes stay slim. He pulls you closer and you sigh—it's comfortable.

"Good," he grunts. And then after a pregnant silence: "I haven't either."

That's...strangely reassuring.

Your arms wriggle until they fold over his shoulders to play with the small hairs on the back of his neck, and he hums, eyes fluttering shut with a final peck on the lips. As Katsuki's breathing evens and the white of the snow dyes the highest points of his face white, you smile. He looks older.

You think he's asleep until he nudges your waist.

"Be my girlfriend."

You don't even hesitate.

"Okay."

By the time Eijirou comes stumbling down the hall, both you and Katsuki are passed out—with his body encompassing yours in the most intimate way, face tucked into your hickey-ridden neck as your arms and legs lock around his being. The redhead gives you both a soft smile as he passes, snorting to himself.

“Took them long enough.”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY THOTSUKI

[alicemitch09writes]

lame

08.

where do we go from here

“Dorms, huh?”

“Yes,” nodded the green-haired boy, staring at his drink – affogato that you prepared. “it’s to ensure the safety of the students tenfold, considering the recent events.”

Nodding, eyes watched the scars on Izuku’s gentle hands – from when he was trying to figure out his quirk, trailing up to the burn he keeps hidden on his left arm – one caused by someone.

“I can imagine Auntie Inko wasn’t overboard with the idea?”

Izuku shifted in his seat, fingers stirring the straw of his drink. “She wanted me to transfer, because of how much I’ve been through…”

“I can’t blame her,” you nod again – there was USJ, and then there was this. “then again, it was something you couldn’t control and not really the school’s fault.”

“It’s what I told her, but she was adamant on keeping me safe. She’s a mom, after all.” That made you smile, Auntie Inko was really protective of Izuku ever since Uncle Hisashi worked abroad.

“A-Also, A-All Might convinced her,”

(E/c) eyes widened. “W-Wow…”

The All Might was at Izuku’s? Informing Auntie Inko of the dorm system and convincing her to have his apprentice stay at UA?

Izuku must be that special for the Symbol of Peace, his biggest idol, to keep him in UA.

“That’s amazing, Izuku.” Scoffing, you broke into an easy grin. “Isn’t that great, you get to stay in UA, got convinced to stay by the All Might, and you still have a chance to live his legacy.”

“(N-Nickname)!” With your praises, red flushes his cheeks and his arms flounder in the air, much to your amusement, before they ended up wrapped around his head protectively.

Everything changing again, huh?

With the dorms, students of UA will be granted and ensured of their safety as they’ll be living within the school’s premise. Really, they were doing so much just to give their students, future heroes, the very best that they deserve.

Still, it would be kind of lonely to have Izuku away.

Carmine eyes suddenly crossed your mind. The soft look on his face. The smell of burnt sugar. His warm rough hands.

“Neh, Izuku,” arms stretched out, head dropping down, your voice was quiet. “how is he?”

Drink long gone, he swallowed the sweet concoction down his throat, relishing in its sweetness and bitterness. He studied you for a bit, noting the glint in your eyes, how it was much different from before whenever Kacchan brought up.

Tapping his fingers, he carefully shared. “For starters, he’s safe. But somehow, he’s the same as ever.” Fingers twitched slightly at that, curling in slowly. “That much I can tell.” Brows furrowing slightly, especially when you recalled the relief in those carmine eyes, with something else.

The League of Villains.

They kidnapped Bakugou because he was top of their class, an easy target to play with considering his rather volatile streak that might bode well with villains.

“League of Villains,” you try, testing the weight of the villain group in your mouth. Izuku fell silent.

You didn’t like it. It felt dangerous, bitter, terrifying-

“I-It’s about your parents…”

Releasing a shuddering breath, you slumped into the table, forcing the numbing thoughts away. That is until a hand wrapped over yours, giving a gentle squeeze. You squeezed back, as thanks.

“(Nickname),” at the call of your name, you look up, meeting gentle green – brighter than emeralds, opals, more soothing that viridian or moss. “when you get the chance, talk to Kacchan. Okay?”

Carmine eyes crossed your mind again, the shocked expression turning gentle. Burnt sugar filling your senses. The fluttering beating of his heart.

“Little did you know, I’ve already had one.”

He hummed. “Yes, but you know what I’m talking about.” He says kindly, almost teasingly. You rolled your eyes at that.

“By the way,” recovering, you sat up, hands still in his. “you’re currently working on your ultimate move, right?” he nods “Well, need some help with that?”

Puzzled, it took about a few seconds until the questions sank. “Y-You don’t mean…!?”

Giggling, toothily grinning at your best friend, your eyes flashed yellow. “I might not look like much, but at least I can give a few pointers and wisdom. Also, I hope you’re okay with extra hours- “

“Of course! I’ll be in your care, (Nickname)!” he replies almost immediately, face filled with so much excitement to finally see you use your quirk at its full potential.

Mentally thinking of the days you’re not working, but hey, this was all for a good cause. “Looking forward to it, Izuku~”

Taking a break from work, you felt your phone vibrate, seeing a text from Izuku. 

To: (Nickname)

From: Izuku

[image.txt]

I PASSED MY PROVISIONAL LICENSE!!!!!!!!!!!

You couldn’t help the smile breaking on your lips, threatening to split your face in half from sheer joy and pride for your best friend. He did it!

All those days mastering his Shoot Style while dealing with your rather whimsical and unpredictable fighting really paid off!

  From: (Nickname)

To: Izuku

Congrats, you!

I’m so fcking proud of you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

Let’s celebrate, okay? Just drop by the café!

You were tempted to ask if Bakugou had passed as well, debating even to give him a text. Fingers tapped lighting through your contacts, scrolling to find his name, staring. Just staring.

Shaking hands fisting against his shirt, nose buried between his shoulder blades, taking in his scent- You locked your phone, exhaling through your nose as you closed your eyes.

“You’re being unfair to him, (Nickname).”

Just then an unknown number called you.

It had been All Might.

All Might.

The Symbol of Peace.

He had called you, urging you to come to the UA campus at the dead of night for something he wouldn’t enclose over the phone. The hero had managed to work things out for your entry into the premise, albeit, discreetly, since it’s past working hours after all.

“So, you’re Young Midoriya’s good friend, yes?” the said hero was tall, so freaking tall! Even in his skeletal form, he loomed over you like a skyscraper, and his voice was commanding, firm, yet kind.

Remembering he had asked you a question, you fumbled for a reply. “A-Ah, yes sir!” Still, to be in his presence was something. Now you understood why Izuku fanboys hard – there were so many emotions to contain!

“I’ve heard a great deal about you, Young Midoriya speaks very highly of you.” That made you duck your head, a fond smile on your lips. “It’s clear that it is a bond forged greatly through careful means.”

“That, it is.” It was a rather poetic way of putting it, but yeah.

“With that being said, I’m sure you’re also acquainted with Young Bakugou, right?”

You nearly tripped on your own footing, halting at that, glancing up in question. “Y-Yes…” Carmine eyes, the smell of burnt sugar, warm calloused hands, suddenly filled your senses.

“In the short time that I’ve known them, I’ve also come to an understanding that the boys have a rather complicated relationship,” you gulp, for some reason. “they’re both on equal footing, yet it’s not very evident to both of them. They balance each other out perfectly.” He’s not wrong, you thought, hands curling and uncurling into fists.

“W-What are you trying to say?”

Turning to you, you realized that you reached some sort of building – it was huge, almost spanning the size of USJ! maybe it was a training ground? – the hero’s gaze wasn’t one of All Might’s, his gaze was soft, weary, understanding, guilt, and, dare you say, hopeful?

“Those boys have the makings to be a great hero, are each other’s greatest rivals yet they can be each other’s greatest ally if only pushed right.”

That was an idea you would never have thought of, but one you refused to acknowledge.

Before you could ask, suddenly, your senses went on full blast – (e/c) eyes turning yellow.

Heavy blasts from afar. Devastation followed. Heavy breathing. The smell of fire- no, angered explosions. Fully mapping out the vicinity, you found two presence were at the heart of it all. These heartbeats. Izuku? Bakugou?

“As expected, your senses indeed sharpen at night.”

Confused, angered, you turned to him, yellow eyes glinting in the moonlight. “WHY DID YOU BRING ME HERE!?” Their breathing, it was erratic, labored, abnormal, what was happening!?

He could only stare, expression betraying nothing. “I think I need to give the young boys some time to talk before I do it myself.”

“And what am I, some spectator?”

“I’m sure there’re things you would want to say to them as well, Young Yuroichi.”

Was what he said, but walking into the battlefield, having watched two of your childhood friends going out on each other, talking with their fists, kicks, and quirks, leaving bruised and battered, you could only feel one thing – numb.

With the fight over, your two childhood friends sat back on the asphalt ground, weary and exhausted out – physically and emotionally.

“Who else knows?” asked the ash blond, head hanging low with both arms propped against his knees.

“Recovery Girl, the principal, and…”

Apparently, that was your cue to make your presence known.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, the two boys raised their heads, eyes widening at the sight of you, in their campus, dead at night, eyes still in its dangerous yellow.

“A-ARE YOU TWO FUCKING KIDDING ME!?

They flinched at the volume of your voice, as though you bellowed it with all the air in your lungs, coming out from the shadows after All Might’s speech, knowing that it wasn’t your place to be there, but after hearing Bakugou’s voice – that was pathetic of him, even the hero hadn’t expected that.

“Y-Young Yoruichi-“

“Don’t,” the hero flinched at your voice, pinning him with your stare “get me started you skeletal excuse of a hero!” you say to him angrily, bitingly, forgetting that this man was the Symbol of Peace, the greatest hero of this generation, the hero who could easily do away with you, and the greatest hero to your two asshole of childhood friends.

“(N-Nickname)…”

Giving him a warning look, deadlier under the moonlight with your yellow eyes shining, Izuku knew better than to gulp and avoid your gaze. You then turned the same look to Bakugou, whose shoulders sagged underneath your gaze, a sense of defeat washing over him. He’s already bad in your book, he might’ve worsened it in this situation.

He was walking on thin ice, treading on it really should he wish to fix it.

“A-Ah, K-Kacchan just wanted to talk s’all, (Nickname)! B-but it ended up…um, uh…” words were failing him, especially when you are at the receiving end. Unamused. Unfazed. Unrelenting. Angered. Not even All Might could help out, too scared to deal with an angry teenager. “…uh…i-it ended with our fists….?”

Izuku had been quick to his defense, much to the surprise and annoyance of the blond. But you weren’t having it.

“Stop making excuses for him, Izuku. You’re better than that.” The green-haired boy flinched, hands dropping in defeat. “He should well know to defend himself instead of beating himself down for it, which is a far cry from that proud pompous asshole we’re both familiar with.” The ash blond’s fingers twitched at your words.

Taking a deep breath, you exhaled slowly out your nose. “You two haven’t had a proper talk since and you thought of doing it now with your fucking fists and kicks? What’re you, animals!?”

Having watched their fight and taking into account the months they’ve been in UA, seeing their performance during the Sports Festival, and hearing accounts of progress from Izuku, Aizawa-san, and the Bakugous, the two clearly have changed.

After all this time, you still felt so far from the two.

After all this time, it pained you still to see a drift between your best friends.

After all this time, just seeing finally talk to each other – in the shittiest way of their own version, it was all you ever wanted.

After all this time, the only thing you wanted was for them to finally see eye-to-eye.

After all this time, you just wanted the two to be friends again.

Weakly you fell to your knees, arms reaching for both and bringing them to a hug. The two boys were stunned, to say the least.

“I’m so glad.” Tears began to spill, your hold tightening. “I was worried about you two so much, you know. You two are selfish, stubborn, and terribly reckless in your own ways, but you two are the strongest persons I know.”

Izuku can be so out of reach sometimes, especially when he’s trying to embody himself as the current One for All user.

Bakugou had always been so far from your reach, but it pains you to know that he had been feeling shitty because he didn’t know just how to deal with his emotions.

It made you feel like the worst friend.

“You have to be more honest with how you’re feeling,”

You say you wanted to support Izuku? Part of the deal was respecting his wishes when it came to a certain ash blond he’s admired next to All Might, the person who was the embodiment of victory for him, someone he’d like to catch up with.

But you let confusing emotions – like a stupid crush and hate, cloud over your judgments.

“I’m sorry if I won’t be able to understand if I’ll have to beat it outta you guys, i-if…” hiccupping, your hold slackened momentarily, before tightening. “I’m sorry if I’m such a horrible friend. I’ll try to do more, be better for you guys. So please, don’t ever forget that…okay?”

“(Nickname)…”

A tentative hand reached out, hesitant as it patted your back. Seeing as you didn’t flinch away, the hand awkwardly rubbed comforting circles as you cried harder.

Seeing this, the green-haired teen smiled, relishing in your hug, the pain from Kacchan’s attacks, and the wisdom from his mentor.

“Okay.”

All Might could only watch three youngsters settling amongst themselves, as all friends should.

“Okay, (Name).”

masterlist • nine

[fanficflaneuse]

Dear Draco - Part 1

Part 2  Part 3  Bonus Chapter 

Index 

A/N: Hello loves, welcome to my new mini series based on an anon request. It will have three parts, four at most. I hope you like this! 

Thanks for all the love I received for my birthday. And thanks for reading and letting me know how you feel about my writing. 

Details: 

Draco x reader (she/her) 

Word count: 3146 (I got carried away, sorry). 

Summary: In the summer after fourth year, Draco falls in love with a muggle.

Disclaimers: it’s going to get angsty as hell and also very fluffy. Hermione x Draco friendship. 

Enjoy! 

Hermione sat alone on the library. She was deep in concentration, reading about the Patronus charm for the next DA meeting. All of a sudden, she felt someone looming over her. She closed her book, trying to make it seem as natural as possible. The brown-haired girl looked up, only to find none other than Draco Malfoy himself looming over her. Hermione’s features turned into a nasty scowl.  

“Granger,” he tried to sound conciliatory.

“What do you wa –wait, what? Since when do you call me by my last name?”  

Only then she realized Draco didn’t look like himself at all. Gone was the haughty attitude, the cocky smirk, the puffed chest. Not to mention the posse. He was no longer an image of confidence, but rather seemed distraught. This piqued the Gryffindor’s curiosity. Still, she was not going to let him see that. These days any slip could be detrimental.

Draco shrugged, hands deep in his robe’s pockets. “It’s your last name, isn’t it?”

Hermione eyed him suspiciously. “Oh, really? So, for five years you’ve thought my last name was mudblood?” she snapped.

Draco winced as she said the hateful label, as though it physically hurt him to hear it. This was the strangest sight she had encountered so far – which was plenty, all things considered.

“Are you okay, Malfoy?” she asked, baffled and cautious.

Draco didn’t answer. Instead, he just rubbed his face with his hands before pulling his hair just slightly. Hermione had never seen him act so natural, so human and, above all, so appalled. Slowly, the ubiquitous paranoia in the back of her mind fogged all of her brain. Her mind started shooting conspiracy theories left and right. As the seconds passed, she thought about every possible way in which Draco could be tending her a trap, which meant he knew something. Hermione got nervous and peered around for someone who could potentially help her. She noted – much to her annoyance – that her tendency to study in the farthest corners of the library had her facing the Slytherin prick on her own.

Draco noticed her discomfort and felt really stupid. He was about to leave, but then he remembered why he approached in the first place. It glued him in his place. So, he just shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and swallowed his pride.

“I…I need your help,” he said sheepishly.

For a second, Hermione thought about making a run for it. But she was far too intrigued now. She definitely wanted to know what could Draco Malfoy possibly need her help for. She stayed still, eyeing him skeptically.

“What is it?”

“Not here,” he said in a hushed voice.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Malfoy” she huffed.

Draco lowered his gaze. The silence between them was absolutely charged. Hermione’s glare made him feel exposed and ashamed.

“Please.” The sound of his desperation almost convinced the Gryffindor. Almost.

“Harry and Ron must be within hearing range.”

“Not bloody likely,” he snapped.  

“Then no,” she said, crossing her arms.

Draco sighed, defeated. “Potter and Weasel-ey can’t know. Nobody can know. Hermione, please I am desperate.”

Hermione looked at him, her eyes wide. He had used her first name for the first time ever. She realized he must have been absolutely desperate. As stupid as seemed, it disarmed her. Hermione took a deep breath. In the worst of cases, Hermione thought, she was more than capable to defend herself from Malfoy. Besides, if he knew something about D.A, it was better to get over with it. She stood up, picked her books and looked at him.

“Where?”

Draco turned on his heel and guided Hermione to moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. She eyed him suspiciously as he motioned for her to get into a stall. He shot her a pout and Hermione rolled her eyes, but entered anyways. She thought she must have been going crazy as she found herself just inches away from Malfoy, who seemed unfazed by the whole affair. He felt so hopeless in his situation he didn’t really care what he had to do at this point.

“So,” she said awkwardly.

Draco didn’t listen. Hermione realized he was casting a silencing charm around them. Only then, did he dare to spill the secret that had been locked in his heart.

“Hermione, I am in love with a muggle.”

As the Hogwarts’ express arrived to platform 9 ¾ after their fourth year, Draco found himself alone. This was a strange occurrence; usually his parents were there to greet him. Their absence hinted something unpleasant, considering the dreary note in which the schoolyear had ended, and suddenly he didn’t feel like apparating back home. Not knowing where else to go, Draco joined the crowd of students heading towards muggle London.

He had never been to the muggle King’s Cross station and he’d be lying to say he wasn’t startled by it. He was mesmerized by the buzzing of the crowd, the smoke coming from the muggle trains, and the elegant simplicity of the station. He was eyeing the entrance curiously, wondering if he should step out or apparate back home, when he bumped into her. Or rather, she collided with him and their trunks were suddenly scattered around.

“Bloody muggles,” he murmured, as he picked his belongings.

“What did you call me?” the girl growled.

“Nothing,” Draco said, startled. He was not used to people talking back to him. The only ones who did were the infamous golden trio, but after five years of bantering he considered it part of his daily routine. Everyone else bowed their heads and carried own with their lives. He was expecting the muggle to follow suit.

She didn’t. So, he softened his scowl to take a good look at her, only to find the most striking girl he had ever seen. Draco was absolutely smitten. She tilted her head, eyeing him curiously.

“You have pretty eyes,” she said casually, as though she was talking about the weather. He felt his face getting hot, his eyes opening in a very unbefitting gesture of surprise. He wondered how she could be so…so easy-going about stuff like that. He had been thought to be suave, but four words of her had beat him.

Draco realized she was waiting for a response. “T-thank you,” he said embarrassedly. He grimaced when he heard her chuckle. The girl tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and stood up, offering a hand for him. Draco looked at the stretched hand for a while and took it just before she let it drop. They were soon shamelessly staring at each other, until a wave of people pushed them.

“Where are you going?” she asked. Draco shrugged in response, not knowing what to say.  

“Well…I don’t want to go back home. Would you want to go somewhere with me?”

Draco shoved his hands in his pockets, not knowing what to do. He didn’t want to go back home either. He had an enticing girl in front of him, one that didn’t hesitate to tell him – a stranger – his eyes were pretty and invite him somewhere. But that girl happened to be a mudblood. He shook that thought off his head, realizing, once again, that he was lost in thoughts and the girl was looking at him, waiting for him to answer.

“My name is (y/n),” she said as she pushed her trolley.

“Draco,” he answered, pushing his own trolley, “Draco Malfoy.”

(y/n) giggled, which filled Draco’s stomach with butterflies. “What is it?” Even he could hear the amusement in his voice.

“Was it after the constellation or because it’s Latin for dragon?” she mused.  

Draco gave her a small, genuine smile. “Both.”

He soon realized he had no idea where they were going. (y/n) seemed to read his mind, as she explained that they could leave their trunks at a luggage storage while they a stroll through the city. He then noticed that (y/n)’s trolley had trunks, big wooden trunks that resembled his own instead of the ungodly and shabby suitcases he had seen some mudbloods carrying around. He regarded her for a moment as they walked, examining her wardrobe: she wore a carmine coloured skirt, a matching blazer, black tights, black patent loafers and a creamy button-up with a dainty black bow at the collar. Her hair was up in a complicated hair-do. Draco noted that, by her side, he didn’t look particularly out of place in his sweater vest and tie. They could pass as two eccentric, rich kids.

“I gather you’re not from London.” She caught him staring in awe as they left the station, which made him feel self-conscious.

“N-no,” he stammered.

“Where are you from, then?”

“Wiltshire,” he blurted out. Draco realized he must look totally awkward, stuttering every answer as though he never had a conversation in his life. He didn’t know if he was nervous because of her or the fact that he was walking to the unknown with none other than a muggle, but it was totally wrecking his suaveness.

The girl seemed patient enough and smiled at him softly. Maybe it was even out of pity, but he found it adorable. “My grandma lives in Wiltshire. My mother makes me go there every once in a while, but I don’t like it that much.”

“Why?” he asked, genuinely interested.

“It’s a beautiful place, don’t get me wrong. And my grandma’s estate is marvellous, but such a vast house makes the solitude much more…real, you know?” Draco was hanging onto her every word now. She was describing, unabashedly, something he had felt since childhood. He admired her capacity to say this kind of things without the need of closed doors or silencing charms.

“I…I feel just the same,” Draco answered. He was surprised by the idea that him and muggles could have something in common.

(y/n) stopped on her tracks and Draco, who was following her around like a lost puppy, bumped into her back. He was about to apologize when she stopped him. “Given that you’re not from here, let’s do some touristy stuff. We can start here,” she said pointing out the building behind them. It was a grand construction, all in brick of a pinkish colour.

“British library,” Draco mouthed unsure. He noticed how (y/n) blushed slightly and her smile fell a little.

“We could…we could do something else,” she offered a bit ashamed. Draco felt terrible, he wanted her to smile again, to talk to him excitedly as she had done just a couple of seconds before. So, without really thinking about it, he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the building.

She clasped his hand, an easy smile on his face, and was soon guiding him through rows and rows of muggle books he had never heard before. Draco tried to listen to everything she said. He wanted to remember names and references and look them up to have more things to talk to her about. Draco found himself wanting more conversations with her, more tours through libraries, more recommendations.

(y/n) was an open book. She told him that her parents were divorced. She lived with her mother in Edinburgh. Her father was a professor at LSE – whatever that was. He imagined, by context, it was a muggle Hogwarts.

“I like how you’re unphased by it,” she said.

“What do you mean?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Whenever I tell anybody my dad works in LSE, I get a lot of praise. No matter how bigshot the person is, they want the easy way in to the school,” she shrugged. It meant nothing to Draco, who scratched the back of his neck in confusion. (y/n) laughed and carried on, pulling him through different streets with their fingers intertwined.

Draco just let go. He was having so much fun with her, he almost forgot about how weird the situation was. They talked about astronomy and Greek mythology, topics he – thankfully – dominated. They talked about their love for reading and learning. They bonded over the fact that their parents had very high expectations for them and they were top of their classes.

“Top of your class?” asked Hermione, eyebrow raised, as he told her this.

“I’m the second best. She didn’t need to know about you.” For the first time ever, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy shared a laugh. He then carried on with the most unlikely story ever.

Draco avoided telling her as many details as he could, but they managed to connect over the most universal feelings and situations. They talked about loneliness and pressure, about finding joy in the most unexpected things, about creating a façade for people. When she told him she enjoyed nature, he told her he played “a sport”. He smiled softly and agreed – almost unironically – when she said she would love to fly. When she told him about her pets, he told him his house was full of peacocks.

“She has a dog named Matisse, a snake named Medusa and a cat named Catsby,” he said.

Hermione laughed, which confused Draco deeply. “What’s so funny Granger?” He was getting defensive.

“Catsby,” she said, “what a very nerdy joke.”

Draco furrowed his brow. “Explain it to me. Merlin, maybe for once I can laugh at one of her jokes. She thinks I have the most backward sense of humour,” he ranted, hiding his face in his hands. Hermione thought it was almost – almost – adorable.

She told him in length about The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald and the Lost Generation, because she figured they were some references that would come in handy if he kept talking to (y/n). Once he understood the reference, Draco snorted.

“She’s such a smartass,” he said lovingly.

Hermione couldn’t believe her eyes. She was dying to know what he needed from her, but refrained from asking, allowing him to gush some more.

(y/n) invited him to afternoon tea. The tearoom reminded him of the grandeur of the tea parties back in the manor. He felt comfortable, and ventured to tell her little details about his boarding school. He told her about his favourite places and pastimes – the ones that could pass as muggle, of course. He told her about his friends. They talked and enjoyed tea and pastries until it was very late.

As they picked their trunks, they promised to meet the next day. They spent together almost every day of that summer. He was very careful when sneaking out, but soon realized his parents didn’t notice much, so he had free reign over his time as long as he was back for dinner. They met at the entrance of the station and they would stroll through the city together. (y/n) thought him how to use the tube. She taught him history as they walked hand in hand through museums and libraries. She recommended books he had to read in the middle of the night. And before he could even realize it, Draco caught feelings for her.

They kissed for the first time one month after they first met. They had spent the day walking through Camden Town. They visited little stores and swayed to music in the middle of the street. As every single afternoon, Draco didn’t want to say goodbye. (y/n)’s arms were locked around his neck and his own were on her hips. His chin rested on top of her head and they stayed like that for a while. Not saying anything. She pushed away from him just a little to see his face and they could feel the desire engulfing them.

Draco leaned in first, slow and calculated. (y/n) closed her eyes as soon as she felt their lips touching. It was a delicious sensation, their lips moving in synch in a kiss they had been waiting for a long time. As they pulled away, they were both a bit breathless and absolutely happy.

After that day, things changed for them. Every day they grew more attached to each other and it was harder and harder to say goodbye. And then the last day of August came by. (y/n) gave Draco her contact information for him to write and call her. When she asked for his, though, he made an elaborate story on how his school was very strict and prohibited letters from outsiders. (y/n) hadn’t bought it.

“I don’t get it. What kind of school doesn’t allow you to receive calls and letters?” she said, not very convinced. Draco didn’t want to look her way, knowing very well that he’d give her everything she wished if he saw her adorable little pout.

“So, I won’t hear from you?” she sighed, “Is this true or are you trying to get rid of me?” Draco finally looked her way and his heart broke. (y/n) was trying to hold back tears. He hugged her tightly, protectively.

“Hey, hey,” he said, taking her chin gently with his hand, “Never in a million years would I try to get rid of you.” He wiped away her tears, feeling miserable for making her sad. He hated that she had jumped into that terrible conclusion.

“I promise I will do everything I can to contact you. I’ll find a way. I’ll break the rules,” he said, not a hint of doubt in his voice. (y/n) hugged him tightly.

“I am going to miss you so much,” she said in a small, quavering voice.

“Me too, love,” he answered, hugging her back and trying to remain strong for both of them.

That is why he has here, three weeks into their fifth year, almost begging for Hermione’s help. He was desperate because he hadn’t thought about a way to contact (y/n) and he missed her so much his heart was genuinely aching. He imagined (y/n) must be heartbroken thinking he had played her and that thought alone was enough to give him nightmares.

Hermione was still trying to process everything he was telling her. Still in disbelief, she gave Draco a hug. The Gryffindor felt how he stiffened with her touch, but then he heard him sigh and relax. The Slytherin hugged her back and Hermione’s whole body tinged with hope. If Draco Malfoy had fallen for a muggle, anything could happen now.

“Is this why you didn’t join Umbridge’s squad?” she asked curiously.

Draco shrugged. “Mostly.”  

Hermione agreed to help him and they soon found a way. For the rest of the year, Draco handed in (y/n)’s letters to Hermione. She owled them to her own parents and they sent them by Royal Mail to her. Occasionally, Hermione would sit next to Draco in Myrtle’s bathroom. She would explain to him the references he wouldn’t get, which were mostly about culture. At times, she’d stay a little longer and they would gossip. To their surprise, they soon became each other’s confidant.

tags: @cleopatera @okaydraco @naomi02hook @the-hufflefluffwriter

[fantasyfandommaiden]

Rossi VS Regal (ML Counsellor AU)

Lila Rossi was beyond mad at this point. Her plans to get Marinette expelled had failed, and she had had to lie about yet ANOTHER condition that she had in order to not get into (too much) trouble, but when the STUPID school counsellor insists on talking to Lila and her mother about all the ‘trouble’ she is causing, Lila decides to deal with the neustants the same way she deals with all her problems… with a little bit of magic.

(Post Ladybug, also slight Ladybug Divergence)

~~~~~

[[MORE]]

Lila Rossi comes from a long line of magic users, dating back nearly two and a half centuries… Okay, maybe it wasn’t a long line considering some of the OTHER families, but still, 250 years worth of magic users wasn’t something to scoff at. Her family all specialised in matters of the mind and trickery, her mother was in fact in charge of altering the memory of non-magical people so that word didn’t get out about the magical community, and was top in the field. That was one of the reasons they had moved her from Italy, because some trouble makers were using the chaos of Hawkmoth’s akuma attacks to cause trouble and her Mama needed to alter the memories of some mortals so not to cause too much chaos.

Lila on the other hand was unnaturally charismatic, whatever words she spoke people would instantly believe her and wouldn’t bother fact checking… at least to a certain point. If she told a lie that someone else knew to be false without an ounce of doubt, then the spell would break and suspension would begin to set in (for example, if she stated that she was Ladybug’s best friend and Ladybug herself heard this, having never met the girl, the spell would break).

Marinette was one of those people who knew she was lying, and that made her a threat. So, Lila tried to sew doubt into her classmates, however that proved to be extremely hard to do, because as one of the classmates pointed out ‘Yeah, Marinette can be jealous sometimes, but she would NEVER be down right mean or bully someone!’ meaning that if she claimed Marinette was bullying her, there was a good chance that the spell would break and her hold on the class with it.

So, she had to be clever. Marinette didn’t get a lot of sleep? She didn’t have time to study and decided to cheat on the test. Lila had to escort her to the principal's office? Marinette had been so distraught that when Lila tried to comfort her, Marinette accidently pushed her down the stairs, hurting her knee badly. Her necklace went missing? Marinette was already known to have a history of stealing items from other classmates.

What she DIDN’T count on was Adrien Agreste all but threatening her to tell the truth… which she did begrudgingly. What she hadn't counted on was being told that her and her mother had to speak with the counsellor to ‘check up’ on Lila. Mlle Regal had been out of the country for a week to see her family and had only just returned, and she was not happy with what happened well she was away.

Lila had to deal with this quickly. Her mother had paused to speak with a teacher and Lila had told her Mama that she was going to go on ahead and let Mlle Regal that they were there.

She all but ran to the woman’s office, opening the door and walked into the office, her hands raised slightly as she began to cast her spell, using several complex hand gestures. She ignored the feeling that she shouldn’t do this, even though she felt her magic almost scream at her not to, she pushed that down. Her reputation was more important than her ‘conscious’. Before Mlle Regal could even speak a word, Lila had already began reciting her spell.

“You will tell my mother that there is nothing wrong, that what the principal asked us to speak about is someone else’s song. You will tell my mother that I am the ideal student and that there is nothing that I need to do to repent.” Lila finished the complex hand gesture as her eyes flashed a poisonous green colour. The hand gestures were needed in order to complete the spell, even if she sometimes felt ridiculous doing them, but with time and practice, eventually she should be able to do this sort of thing with just a twist of her wrist, or possibly even just blinking her eyes, but only powerful mages could do that.

She then sat down in one of the chairs, a victorious smile on her face, her and her mother would be out of here in five minutes tops.

Mlle Regal sat at her desk frozen for several moments as Signora Benigna Rossi appeared at the door way, but she did not enter the office. She stood there confused for a few moments as she looked towards Mlle Regal who looked right back at her. The red haired woman gave a small smile and a nod “Please, come on in Signora Rossi.” she said warmly. Benigna gave a small, almost uneasy smile as she entered as well, taking a seat beside her daughter. “I hope that you had no trouble finding my office, if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.” Mlle Regal said, still smiling.

Lila’s mother gulped slightly, but smiled “Oh, no trouble at all Mlle, do you have other meetings?” she asked almost nervously which confused Lila. Mlle Regal wasn’t nearly as intimidating as other teachers, why be nervous?

“Oh no, I don’t have any other meetings, I just feel like this meeting will either be very short or very long, I have no preference really. Now that we are all here.” Mlle Regal’s eyes flashed a brilliant ember colour as the door slammed shut and locked, as well as the curtains closing so that no one on the outside could see. The woman leaned forward, elbows on her desk as she delicately placed her chin on top of her hands, looking at the two woman with a soft smile yet a dangerous gleam in her eyes.

Lila felt a chill go up her spin as she finally allowed herself to FEEL the room she was in, her blood run cold. There was so much magic here, it almost radiated in the air within the room; she had entered someone’s domain. No wonder her mother paused before entering, it was considered rude to enter without asking permission first! It also explained why her magic had told her not to, it hadn’t been her conscious… she had done not one but TWO misdeeds well in someone else's domain, the worst part? Mlle Regal seemed to be extremely powerful if the lack of hand gestures were any indication.

Mlle Regal smiled dangerously, almost in a feral way before saying in a sickly sweet voice “Lets talk.”

~~~~~

For almost a solid minute no one spoke. Lila was trying desperately to figure out how to make this turn out okay for her, well Carmine simply sat there, smiling that dangerous coy smile. It was finally Bengina who broke the silence.

“I had no idea that a magic user was placed in this school.” she said, giving a small smile, “I’m sorry, but the name ‘Regal’ doesn’t ring any bells for me. Your family isn’t from France, are they?” she asked, clearly trying to break the ice.

Carmine’s eyes flickered over to the woman, giving a small smile, “I’m not surprised you haven't heard of us, your originally from Italy. The Regal family is mostly based in England and North America, however, my mother was a Rosewood before she married my father.”

“Rosewood? As in Yarrow Rosewood?” Bengina asked curiously. Lila felt her sense of dread growing more and more as Mlle Regal nodded. Yarrow Rosewood was on the council here in France, and the Rosewood (from what Lila understood) were a VERY old magic family, dating back to the time of Merlin himself.

“Yes, he’s my uncle.” Mlle Regal said smiling, “We are very, VERY close.”

“Oh that’s wonderful! I just saw him this morning! Next time I see him, I'll be sure to tell him I’ve finally met you! He talks very highly of you, that is if your the one he refers to as his ‘Little Camilla’?” Bengina said with a warm smile. “He says you are a very talented magic user!”

Mlle Regal gave the woman a soft smile back “Yes, that would be me. And speaking of magic, can we discuss WHY Lila has been using hers well inside the school against her classmates and staff so they will believe her stories?” Mlle Regal asked ever so innocently.

Lila felt herself panic as Bengina looked at the woman with a confused expression “Mama, she’s exaggerating, I don’t abuse my magic-”

“Tinnitus in the left ear caused by a jet plane engine from when she saved Jagged Stone’s cat, arthritis in her wrist from volunteer work in Achu while with Prince Ali, being best friends with Ladybug herself, being away for SEVERAL months due to traveling abroad, and a medical condition that makes her lie about things uncontrollably.” Mlle Regal said, looking down at a clipboard that was on her desk before looking up at the two Rossi woman with a raised brow “This is just the big things of note, but there are others on this list from Lila’s teacher, as well as concerning students-”

“Mama, there’s this one girl, Marinette, who has been bullying me-” Lila began however a cold glare from Mlle Regal stopped her mid-sentence.

“Lila, I am only going to state this ONCE. Do not attempt to lie while you are within my domain.” Mlle Regal stated “This list was brought forward to me AFTER your attempt at getting Mlle Dupain Cheng expelled, which I have a feeling your magic also had something to do with it.”

“Now Mlle Regal, that is going a little far.” Bengina finally commented, looking at the woman. “Yes my daughter has a decent amount of magic, but she would never use it against her classmates unless it was for a good reason.”

Mlle Regal raised a single brow at the statement “Oh really?”

“Yes, and what is this about traveling to Achu? Lila and I haven’t left Paris since we arrived here.”

“Lila claims that the reason for her absences from school was due to her being in Achu doing volunteer work for the past several months.” Mlle Regal stated evenly.

Bengina’s eyes widened as she slowly turned to Lila, who shrank slightly at her mother’s glare. “... Mlle Regal, has the school been closed at all during akuma attacks?”

“The longest the school has ever been closed because of an akuma attack is a single day, Signoria Rossi. Chat Noir and Ladybug are usually able to handle any akuma within the first few hours of them appearing, I believe the longest it took them to take one down was roughly seven or eight hours.” Mlle Regal stated truthfully in a matter of fact tone.

Bengina stared down at her daughter “... You’ve been LYING to ME?!” she accused, her eyes narrow as Lila shrank in her seat. “You stated the school has been closed for months because Ladybug and Chat Noir were having difficulty doing their job! I was going to go to the council next week with a request to send in magic users to assist them!!!!”

“We wouldn’t be able to anyway.” Mlle Regal stated in a matter of fact tone, which caused both Italian’s to look at her confused. “The Miraculous are immune to our magic but we can still be affected by them. Even with a summoning spell we weren't able to summon the Butterfly Miraculous to use, nor do scrying spells work so we can’t pin-point his exact location.”

“What about anti-glamour spells, so at least we can find out who is really is?” Bengina asked with a raised brow.

“Hawkmoth has only ever showed his face in public twice to my knowledge, both times he disappeared too quickly for that sort of spell to be cast, and like I stated before, the Miraculous are immune to any spell casted.” Mlle Regal stated “However we are not here to discuss Hawkmoth, we are here to discuss your daughter’s abuse of magic, as well as her absence from school.”

Lila’s eyes widened as the attention was placed back on her. “I just wanted to make friends-” she began only to see her mother and Mlle Regal look at her with a look that stated ‘Do not lie.’

Lila dropped the act and rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair “It’s an inherited ability that anything I say seems believable to mortals. Whenever we moved I always tested it, if I am going to be an amazing magic one day, I need to practice. I’ve never done anything that caused someone harm.” she stated, looking at the two woman “Everyone claims to know a celebrity or two, I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“You know what Lila, you are completely right.” Mlle Regal stated, giving a warm smile surprising both Rossi women.

“I am?” “She is?”

“Yes. Magic, like any skill, needs to be practiced. And if its a sort of magic that you can’t fully control, I understand the feeling of needing to be ABLE to try and master it.” Mlle Regal said, still smiling warmly.

Lila blinked, before smirking. Looks like she was going to get away with it after all. Mlle Regal couldn’t exactly tell the school about her magic without breaking the law on it, and even IF her uncle was a council member, he only had so much pull and Lila doubted that he would bother with something so minor as a child lying about knowing celebrities.

“However.” Mlle Regal said, still smiling warmly “What about trying to get Marinette expelled?” she asked ever so sweetly, looking Lila dead in the eye. “Or trying to get the whole class to turn against her by claiming she stole your grandmother’s ‘priceless’ family heirloom?”

Mlle Regal placed her hands on her desk as she slowly stood up, her warm smile turning cold, than deadly, the very air in the room seeming to become denser.

“What about using your magic to manipulate the staff to jump from investigating straight to expulsion against a student? Or better yet, what about you coming into MY office, my DOMAIN, trying to cast a SPELL against ME to make me sweep everything under the rug so you can get away with all of the vile deeds you’ve done?!” Mlle Regal all but snarled at the girl, the air crackling with magic energy.

Lila sank further into her chair, trying despratly to get away. It seems that Lila had underestimated Mlle Regal in every way possible. Lila looked around the room anxiously, looking for the sign of an akuma to get out of this situation… but none showed.

Mlle Regal took a deep, slow controled breath, seeming to calm down as the buzz of magic slowly calmed down. She looked towards Bengina, who still looked stunned at everything that had just happened.

“Your daughter has broken one of the basic rules of any domain by trying to cast a spell against me, not to mention…” the red haired woman’s eyes narrowed at the girl “She has caused chaos while within the school with her magic against mortals.”

Bengina stayed silent for a long time, looking straight at Mlle Regal. “... whatever punishment you find fitting for this I will support.”

Mlle Regal raised a brow “... Even if I state that her punishment shall be the lose of her magic?”

Lila’s eyes widened with fear as she looked at her mother who simply nodded “Mama, you can’t be-“

“Lila, you broke domain and have been using magic against mortals. Your lucky that Mlle Regal hasn’t summoned a member of the council here yet.” Bengina hissed, glaring at her daughter.

Mlle Regal leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes deep in thought. “... I won’t take your daughters magic away. She is still young, I would hope that she still has time to learn… However, no ill deed can go unpunished…” she walked around her desk to stand in front of Lila, looking at her bracelet. “Give me your hand.”

Lila looked at her, almost glaring “Why-“

“Give me your hand or I WILL take your magic and summon the council.” Mlle Regal hissed, her eyes flashing an almost demonic yellow. Lila hestitantly held out her hand, Mlle Regal grabbed her wrist, her hand encompassing Lila’s woven bracelet. Her eyes turned from hazel to ember as she began to speak.

“From this day forward until you repent, every spell and incantation shall cost twice what is spent. Every lie that is whispered from your lips, shall make you feel pain from your toes to fingertips. And if you ever try to harm one of your peers because of jealousy or greed ever again, you shall find yourself at the mercy of the councilmen.”

Lila felt her bracelet get unbareably hot, it felt like someone had placed red hot iron shackles on her wrist. She tried to scream but no sound came out as Mlle Regal let go of her wrist with a cold expression on her face.

“What did you do?!” Lila hissed, glaring at the woman who looked back at her.

“Surely you were following along with my incantation.” Mlle Regal stated with a neutral tone. “But, I will simplify it for you. Until You repent for everything that you have done here and at your other schools, you will now find it incredibly difficult to do even the most basic of magic. Also, every time you lie you will feel pins and needles going through your entire body. Finally, if you EVER…. and I mean EVER, even AFTER you find yourself repeating for your crimes that you try and do something like you did to Mlle DupainCheng” Mlle Regal looked down at the girl with a cold expression, one that had never been seen before on the usually warm Counsellor “... you will be instantly teleported to the council, for them to decide your fate.”

Lila felt her heart stop as she stared in horror at the woman “... you…. you can’t do that!”

“I believe I just did.” Mlle Regal said evenly. “See that you learn your lesson Rossi… otherwise, the council will not be as forgiving as me.”

No one touched or messed with Mlle Regal’s students… No. One.

[gongju-juice]

1. Once Upon A Southern Night

Not So Bad After All

Warnings: None that I can think of

“You look lovely, Y/N, why don’t you try to be more optimistic?”

You looked up at your mother’s hopeful features. Carmine Robynson was an exceptional surgeon with national and international awards in her field. She was also the most beautiful woman you’d ever see. Her skin was a glittering porcelain white, and she had pale pink lips and caramel colored eyes that seemed to change color every now and again. Today, her long blonde hair was pinned up in a bun—perfect for a long day at her new job at the hospital.

“I’m trying to be, mom,” you whined as she ran her fingers through your hair, bringing your curls to life. “But I’m so worried. I’ve barely ventured outside the state of Alabama, how am I supposed to fit in with people from Washington State?”

Carmine rolled her eyes. “How do you think I felt when I traveled all the way from England to the States? It was terrifying, dear. Much more terrifying than you moving to a new state. I promise, you’ll be fine.”

You grabbed her things, and she locked down the house. The new house was Victorian style, like one of the houses you see in the movies. You and your mom spent months picking out the perfect furniture and decor to make your new residence come to life. It was one of the positives about the move.

In the driveway, the car hummed quietly. It was a sleek silver Mercedes, perks of a surgeon salary. You climbed in and slumped in the seat.

The drive to the school was fairly pleasant. The long, winding road was flanked on either side by towering jade green trees that cast blue shadows on the ground. The sky, as it had always been since your arrival, was gray and overcast. It was quite a difference from your sunny home back south. 

The school was small, just about the size of your old school. Except this time, it was even. . .less diverse than back home. At your old school, you were normally the only black girl in most of your classes. However, there were still others in your school that made you feel less isolated. But here, everybody was white as a wedding gown, and it made you nervous. Growing up with a white mother, you’d think you wouldn’t have that issue. But if anything, your experience as an adopted black kid made it quite clear what it was like to feel different from everyone—from black and white kids alike.

“Love you. Have a good day,” she said with a kiss to your forehead.

You climbed out of the car, and immediately shivered from the morning air. It was September, and already it felt like winter. Sixty degrees back at home was December weather.

Your first class was homeroom. The teacher, Mrs, Bobbins, made you introduce yourself to the class. Everyone was very interested in the new girl on campus—the new girl who also happened to be the only black girl in class. This interaction did lessen your nerves some, but you were still anxious to get the day over with.

Second period was Advanced Chemistry. Honestly speaking, you hated the first Chemistry. But as a part of your advanced trek, you had no choice but to take the class. It wasn’t that difficult—not when you had a full on surgeon to help you out living in the house—but still, it was not your favorite subject by a long shot.

The space between the second and third period was strange. The school was allowed to have “break”—a period of time where the staff and students alike could chill for fifteen minutes and do whatever they wanted. 

Not knowing where to go or who to talk to, you stumbled to the canopied walkway on the side of the building. Here, there were fewer students. However, at the end of the walkway by the blue double doors, a group of gorgeous looking teenagers stood conversing quietly amongst themselves.

“Hello, Y/N, isn’t it?” called a voice beside you. It was a curly-head ginger girl with the prettiest ice blue eyes and freckled skin. She was very tall, and wore athletic tights and a long volleyball shirt with the school’s Spartan mascot.

“Oh, yes. It’s me,” you said, pushing up your thin-rimmed glasses. “I’m sorry, but what’s your name?”

“Amelia Bloom. You probably didn’t notice me, but I’m in your homeroom. You’re a new student, aren’t you? Your mom is Dr. Robynson that was just hired at the hospital?”

You were impressed by how much she knew. It always took time for people to figure out that Camille was your mother. And you thought Satsuma, the town you came from, was small. But Forks hit a whole new level of “everyone knows one another.”

“Yeah, we just moved here. Sorry if I seem a little antsy or what have you. I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.” You offered your hand. “I hope we can be friends, though.”

You swore you saw the blond hair boy of the group flinch. But just as quickly as she glanced at him, you saw he had never even moved. Great. Now your mind was playing tricks on you.

“Those are the Cullens,” Amelia explained, judging you wanted an answer by the spooked expression on your face. “The most coveted teens in all of Forks. They were adopted by Dr. Carlisle and his wife Esme, who are both pretty young themselves. Don’t try to make friends with them though, they’re pretty stuck up.”

You couldn’t help but feel disappointed by that, though it was quickly replaced with a wave of optimism. 

“Well, I don’t like to judge people before I meet them, but I won’t bother them then, if that’s the case.”

The bell rang loudly just then, and Amelia showed you to your next class.

Interestingly enough, your next class was history, and in it was three of the Cullen siblings. You wanted to sit near the front of the class like you always did (on the account of your poor vision), but lamented to find that the seats were assigned. Confused and anxious to blend in, you turned to the teacher for help.

“Ah, Ms. Robynson. Lovely of you to join us today,” said the man, who informed his name was Mr. Howard. “You can take the empty seat by Jasper. Jasper, please raise your hand.”

To your surprise, the blond Cullen boy lifted his hand in the air. Just then, all of the confidence left your body. You were intimidated by utterly attractive he looked—like a daffodil in a field of weeds.

You slowly walked to your seat, which he had already pulled out. Oh God, you thought. You would have to sit by him. You would be within a foot of his presence, and you’d have to act like everything was fine.

You brushed your skirt down as you took your seat and pulled out your notebook. Already, the lavender covered book had been used. However, you loved history and couldn’t bear to throw away your pretty notes from the beginning of your old class.

The first page you turned to was marked in postage stamps from the antebellum period. You had a picture of the Oakleigh Plantation Mansion from Mobile, one of your favorite southern pieces of history.

“Okay class, it’s going to be a sensitive unit, but we are moving on to the Pre-Civil era, also known as the Antebellum Era. It’s important to know the important parts President Andrew Jackson and James Buchanan played in shaping the tensions and economic standings that inevitably led to the Civil War. So for your bellringer, you’re going to be listing some factors that led to these said tensions. You have five minutes. Begin.”

You turned to a fresh sheet of paper and took out your calligraphy pens. 

Factors that led to Pre-Civil War Tensions:

Jackson left the country in an economic depression by his withdrawal of federal funds from the National Bank in 1832, thus causing the Panic of 1837 which heavily impacted cotton exports and revenue for the Southern economy.

The expansion West caused an imbalance of power between states which made Southern states feel they had no authority in the federal government. It was an intense competition between slave states and free states.

Events such as Bleeding Kansas, Harper’s Ferry, and the Dredd-Scott Supreme Court ruling caused many across the nation to become angered.

“Does anybody have any ideas?” Mr. Howard asked.

The class was silent, and you realized it was much different from what you were used to. Where you were from, everybody knew about the Civil War—no matter how skewed or racist their beliefs were.

Beside you, Jasper raised his hand. 

“Yes, Mr. Hale.”

“James Buchanan did virtually nothing to stop the wave of seceding Southern states, and although he believed secession was wrong, he didn’t believe he had the Constitutional power to stop them. Had he quelled the fears of the slave states, the war could have been prolonged another few years.”

“Right, as always, Mr. Hale. Would anyone else like to attempt?”

“May I?” 

Mr. Howard looked at you excitedly. “Of course. Have a go, Ms. Robynson.”

“The Southern states believed that they had done nothing Constitutionally wrong. According to them, they’d only joined the Union in the first place due to the Fugitive Clause added to the Constitution for the sake of the Southern states voting on the new Constitution after the Articles of Confederation. Because Northern states violated this clause, they felt that they were breaking the so-called “contract”, and that only they, as independent states, had the power to decide if their end of the bargain was being upheld. Even though the Fugitive Clause was not a part of the immediate Pre-Civil War Era, I feel it’s the most important aspect to mention when evaluating the factors that led to the war.”

Mr. Howard clapped loudly, waking up the rest of the class. “An amazing answer. I couldn’t have said it better myself. Now, without further ado, let us begin today’s lesson.”

Beside you, the Cullen boy shifted. “Not bad,” he murmured before gazing back forward.

Your heart leapt within you.

That night, your mom arrived home at seven. You had already eaten, knowing your mom only ate late at night. She was a strict dieter and pretty much only drank the tea concoctions from her thermal cup. But you were an avid omnivore and didn’t mind eating without her.

“How was your first day at school?” she asked, setting her things down on the couch.

“It was better than I honestly expected. I even met a new friend. Her name is Amelia, and she’s the captain of the varsity volleyball team and even plays softball and golf.”

“Wow!” she exclaimed. “See, I told you everything would be fine. How’s history?”

“Mr. Howard seems to know what he’s talking about. Not nearly as biased as Mr. Davis was, but very sympathetic to the North.”

“I guess now that you’re up here, you won’t have to worry about an abundant amount of hot-head racists. But if something does happen—”

“I know, Mom. I know.”

You dressed in your silk nightgown and headed for bed. On the middle shelf of your bookcase was a model of the Oakleigh Mansion. You didn’t know what it was about it, but the antebellum era intrigued you. And this house in particular. . .

You turned on the lights inside the little house and turned off the lamp. Now it was dark in your room except for the tiny chandelier lights glittering inside the white home. 

Sighing, you turned on your side. The curtains fluttered in the light breeze from your slightly open window. This gorgeous house, and quaint little town was your home. You’d have to come to accept the changes—which were not all bad. You miss your friends, you missed the warmth and sunshine, but the world was not over.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d have the opportunity to see Jasper Hale more often.

I hate the fact I can write faster for my fanfics than my actual real-life projects but you can thank sTePhEnIe MeYeR for that.

Part Two    Part Three   Part Four

[razorblade180]

I’ll show you!

“Ow!” Carmine winced, rubbing the bandaid that was on her bruised nose. The nine year old had gotten a little rough with some other kids in a disagreement. Now she was being badgered by the crankiest woman around, Maria.

Maria:That’s what you get for getting beaten up like a chump.

Carmine:A few bruises is not getting “beaten up.” Besides I won, five against one and now they’re tasting dirt.

Maria:Now they are getting treated and your mother is going around apologizing! Have you no self restraint!?

Maria bopped her cane on Carmine’s head. The young girl winced again from the blow.

Carmine:Ow! Can you stop that!?

Maria:Why don’t you just beat me up? Apparently that’s what you like to do, you little brat.

Carmine:Like I’d hurt an old prune?

Maria:Ha. Please, I’d kick your butt with my eyes turned off!

Carmine:I don’t understand what’s the big deal about what I did. Going easy on on jerks that don’t have the strength to stick to their guns makes no sense. The weak shouldn’t challenge the strong if their all isn’t in it.

Maria:*shakes her head* Oh child...you’re a far cry from your mother. Your auntie, not so much. I guess that’s the difference between growing up on a backwater island rather than a kingdom built on grit. Ever think those kids were jerks because they felt weak.

Carmine:Th-That....no. No, I didn’t. Even if that was the case, which I doubt, what does that have to do me?

Maria raised her cane again to swing, but saw Carmine flinch. She decided on sparring the girl any more pain. It’s not her fault she didn’t understand feeling weak, Carmine never loses to other kids. She also doesn’t really get other kids either or people that much in general. A weird thing indeed when her parents might just be the most empathetic and sympathetic people around. You would think Carmine would be overflowing with emotions; a child that would wear her heart on her sleeve. Yet she wasn’t. She kept to herself, was blunt, and didn’t seem to care about other’s desires. That couldn’t be all the way true. Maria was sure of it, everyone was. Carmine’s eyes, they held a light that told the world itself just how much she cares.

Maria:You are a really strange brat.

Carmine:You’re a really cranky lady, abuela.

Maria:Why try so hard against people when you can beat them with half the effort? Same reason why you would go alll out, to send a message. However, having restraint gives the other person time to reflect on their decisions. Even change their minds.

Carmine:So? Are you saying having regrets is enough not to warrant punishment?

Maria:Of course not! And what kid uses the word ‘warrant!?’ What I’m saying is roughing up two might’ve been enough for the others just to leave with their friends. Then they’ll keep the others in check out of concern or fear. Instead you left them all on the ground hurt and embarrassed. They’ll hate your guts, and probably get into more trouble with you, or do it secretly. Mercy is strength too. I didn’t wack you again and now you’re calling me abuela.

Carmine:That makes sense, I a ridiculous way. You’re asking for potential problems.

Maria:Your mother would’ve held back. You do want to be like her right, or are you saying you’ll never be able too.

Carmine:Hey! I’m going to be better than my mother!

Maria:Ha! Kid there is no one like your mother. She’s the cream of the crop. I should know, I helped train her.

Carmine:So what, I’ll be more of creamy crop.

Maria:Do you even hear yourself? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you act emotional. You think and process things so plainly all the time. Where’s that spark?

Carmine:I have spark. I’ll show you! I’ll totally be more emotional.

Maria:Yeah, and I will go back to being in my twenties.

Carmine:I’m serious. No way I’m taking those words lying down. I’ll show mercy to those losers next ti-ow!

Maria hit her with the cane again.

Carmine:*sniffles* I think that left a knot.

Maria:Dummy! You don’t get it all! You have a long ways to go, brat. *cackling*

Carmine:I am not a brat!

xxxx

Such a simple conversation, and not to mention sudden. It was always been like that. They’d have many more. At least, that’s what Carmine thought at the time. Only a month later, she stands with mother outside of Maria’s sleepy old town; placing roses on her grave. In reality, this wasn’t much of surprise. Maria was old. To go peacefully in her sleep is the greatest blessing a warrior and inspiration could receive after all she’s been through. Ruby offered a silent prayer and Maria’s favorite kind of nuts to go with the roses. Carmine simply...watched her mother kneel down and close her eyes.

Ruby:Thank you for everything. Hope you see mom. She’ll probably want to hug you for helping a brat like me, hehehe.

Carmine:....

Ruby:Carmine, want to say anything?

Carmine:Not really, what’s there to say? Thanks for hitting my head and always challenging me? She talked all tough about me falling below my own standards and now she’s not even around to eat her words. Making claims like that at her age; even saying she could beat me. I guess it was all old lady ramblings.

Ruby:Carmine!

Ruby snapped her eyes open. That was no way to speak of the dearly departed. She turned to give Carmine a serious talking to, but choked on the first syllable. Ruby was expecting that same calm demeanor and hands in cargo pockets her daughter always did. Not clenched fists with a stream of tears silently rolling down her red cheeks.

Ruby:Carmine...?

Carmine:..

Carmine:I told her I’d show her that she was wrong. That I I’d be better than you one day. I wanted her to see that; I thought she’d see that. Egging me on the whole time, until I- I got it right. Even now she’s doing it. Not emotional? No spark? Bet she did this to prove a point, and look who’s wrong? Now can you come back already, abuela!? Mom I want her back. I don’t know how but bring her back! I don’t care if she hits every day or stops patching me up! Just bring-

Ruby reaches out and held her child tight. Tighter than she’s ever had before. Her fingers ran through Carmine’s blonde and red hair while she quietly started shushing the child; just to try and ease her. Ruby didn’t mind the weeping. She wanted her to let it all out. Her quiet child with the biggest heart of all. A heart filled with so much love for this world and its people was now experiencing loss. Who wouldn’t cry at such a thing?

Ruby:Sssssshhhh it’s okay. Things are going to be okay. Cry as much as you need to.

Carmine:I know she went peacefully. I know this would happen one day. This is the best possible outcome, so why does this hurt so much!?

Ruby:It’s proof, proof of how much you loved them. I promise you it gets better and it might not seem like it right now, but that love will keep Maria with you always.

Carmine:I...I don’t understand.

Ruby:You don’t have to right now sweetheart. All you worry about is letting it all out. I’m right here for you.

Ruby pulled Carmine off for second. Those pesky red contacts were removed to see the beautiful silver eyes that shimmered underneath. Carmine was pulled back in and she wept louder than before. A simple conversation. Sudden and normal. Carmine would treasure it for the rest of her life.

[pikapeppa]

Abelas/Lavellan angst: The Knife Again In My Soul

Thank you, @midnightprelude​ and @contreparry​. ❤️ For @dadrunkwriting​ Friday.

Read on AO3 instead. ~2000 words.

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

He never said it when they were together.

It was not because Abelas didn’t have the chance. There were a multitude of moments when he could have told Athera that he loved her. Now that they are apart, with Abelas following faithfully at Fen’Harel’s side while Athera does her best to unravel their plans from afar, the memories of those many lost moments torture him during the times when there is nothing else to occupy his mind. 

He could have said it when they were eating those tiny Orlesian cakes in the kitchen at Tarasyl’an Te’las. Her smile was secretive when she removed the cover from the platter of cakes, and the way she popped each whole cake in her mouth was endearingly common. He loved Athera, with her mischievous smile and the way she teased Solas for having a sweet tooth when she herself harboured a fiendish fondness for sugar. 

But he didn’t tell her so.

He could have said it during one of the blissful and too-few times that they were making love. Abelas hadn’t been touched this way in over a thousand years, and Athera had all the eagerness and energy of youth, and the way they came together was… fenedhis, it was better than anything his vast and melancholy morass of memories could conjure. She arched into his fingers and his tongue in a way that made him feel so incredibly wanted, and she gave herself to him so completely, pouring a potent combination of emotion and desire into every kiss and every arching thrust as she brought herself down against his hips. He loved Athera, loved the heat of her tongue and the taste of the nectar between her legs and the sweet feeling of sinking inside of her. 

But he didn’t tell her so.

He could have said it the last time he saw her in a dream, after Fen’Harel had taken the mark from her ill-fated arm. He should have said it then; it was their last chance, and both of them knew it. He should have said it before she woke, before the Fade faded away from her and stole her from his grasp. He loved Athera, loved her conviction and her commitment to her duty and how gently she touched him despite the barrier of their opposing goals.

But he didn’t tell her so. And now it is too late. 

It has been a year since Abelas last saw Athera, and still he thinks of her late at night in those quiet and desolate moments when he lies on his pallet with nothing else to do. He thinks of her, running over the memories of their too-brief time together, and he thinks of how he loves her and how she never knew.

It is on one of these lonely nights that he visits Tarasyl’an Te’las in a dream. The Dread Wolf’s old stronghold is empty once again, abandoned shortly after Fen’Harel revealed himself to Athera. As per Fen’Harel’s extensive network of agents, the Inquisition now operates as a series of connected cells in disparate places across the continent, and Abelas knows that Fen’Harel both approves of the Inquisition’s decentralization and pities their attempts to keep up with him. 

Abelas can’t decide how he feels about this mixture of approval and pity. But he knows that Athera would be angry if she knew of her former best friend’s pity, and this is enough to make his heart ache.

He treads softly through the fortress in his dream, nodding graciously to the many spirits that hover here and skimming over the memories that are stored in the ancient stones. He soon finds himself in her bedroom — the bedroom that she shared with him during the precious handful of nights they spent together. It is his intention to sink into the memories here, to torture himself by gorging on the moments of their love that have sunk into this sacred space. 

But the room is already occupied by spirits, and they are gathered around the writing desk.

Curious, Abelas approaches the desk, then stops short in shock: there are three letters on the desk, and the letters are made of parchment. Mundane parchment from her world, which has somehow found its way into the Fade. 

Even more shocking is the fact that the letters are addressed to him – addressed in her large and loopy handwriting. 

His pulse is pounding in his ears. Numbly, carefully, he picks the first letter up. It is dated Drakonis 16: nine months ago. 

Abelas,

I wonder if this will get to you? I honestly have no idea. I burned this letter in a veilfire torch as an experiment. Solas Your precious friend Fen’Harel said veilfire straddles our world and the Fade, so I figured, what’s the harm? Worse comes to worst, I wrote and burned a letter. It’ll hardly be the craziest thing I’ve ever done. Actually, it’s probably better if this doesn’t get to you. I just hope it doesn’t pop into the Fade on some poor unsuspecting spirit’s head.

I wonder how you are. I’m doing great. I just realized I can’t tell you anything else about what I’m doing because you’ll just take it back to fucking Fen’Harel. I hate miss you.

Since I can’t tell you anything meaningful, here are some random thoughts instead.

Deep mushroom is terrible on cakes and in tea. Don’t trust Orlesian tastes.

Why are there so many words for the colour blue? Cerulean, navy, midnight, ocean, sky, indigo… are there this many words for colours in old Elvhen? I bet there are even more. Elvhen seems tricky that way.

What would happen if I cut my hair? Would the voices from the Vir’Abelasan stop making my hair dance around in my dreams? Probably not. Either way, I’m thinking about cutting my hair.

I’m reading ‘This Shit Is Weird’ again for nostalgia reasons and I love the way Varric portrayed Blackwall Thom. He’s such a romantic hero, and Varric got him pegged. I swear that even Cassandra swoons over it.

Crystal grace is my favourite flower. Did I ever tell you that? It’s so pretty.

That’s all I can think of for now. 

Love, Athera

There are splotches in the ink on the second half of the letter, like the echoes of teardrops on the parchment, and Abelas can’t breathe. It feels like there is a vice compressing his ribs.

He picks up the second letter. It is dated from five months ago.

Dear Abelas,

Some more random thoughts.

Who do you think was the first person who looked at a nug and thought, ‘you know what I should do? Breed this little creature to be huge so I can ride it into battle.’ Who did that? Who thought that was a good idea? I love nuggalopes, don’t get me wrong, but still. They’re sort of obscene.

The Grand Tourney is quite fun to watch. Thom and Varric brought me to see it. It’s basically this big sparring competition that happens in the Free Marches. I would never have gone before the Inquisition because, you know, Dalish. So I guess that’s something nice that’s come out of this.

Sometimes I lie awake in the middle of the night and wonder what it would feel like if I just stopped breathing. If I just held my breath and didn’t

I talked Dorian into reading sections of ‘Swords and Shields’ to me at night through the sending crystal when I can’t sleep. It’s so funny that I swear I can’t breathe from laughing by the time he finishes a page. Maevaris must think he’s gone mad.

Love, Athera

Abelas wipes his face and picks up the third and final letter. It is dated from two months ago.

Abelas,

Some random thoughts:

Here are some of the many words for red: carmine, scarlet, blood, ruby, pomegranate, tomato, cherry – no, now I’m just listing foods. I must be hungry.

Isn’t it strange how some grass feels nice and soft under your feet, and some grass is pokey and it just tickles you? Grass is strange. All plants are strange, really. (I am not high, I promise.)

I managed to land a hit on Thom the other day when he was training me with a sword and the shield for my missing arm. Considering that I’m all unbalanced, I’d say that’s pretty damn good.

I love you. I hate that I love you. I hate that I still fucking miss you. I thought about asking Cole to make me forget you before he went back to the Fade, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. I should have. I wonder if he would have done it.

Love, Athera

He stares numbly at the letters. He should take them to Fen’Harel. There may be clues in these letters, hints about the Inquisition’s activity that Solas will be able to pick out due to familiarity with its people. Besides, it is important for Fen’Harel to know that burning an item in veilfire sends it to the Fade. Perhaps he is already aware, but it is something that Abelas didn’t know; there is still much he doesn’t fully understand about the way the deadened world interacts with the potency of the Fade. 

He sinks to his knees and stares at the letters. She was writing to him all this time. Writing to him without knowing that he would ever see these letters. Writing to him because she missed him and wished that they could speak. 

Athera was writing to him because she loves him. And Abelas never told her so. 

The pain is like a howling pit in his chest. The spirits are crowding around him and crooning with his reflected sorrow, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell them that their company only hurts him more. 

He remains in her bedroom for time uncounted. He reads the letters again and again, hearing her sunny laugh in his head and imagining her clear grey eyes filling with tears as they did so many times – too many times – during their short time together. He reads the letters again and again, his gaze lingering on the love that marks the end of each one.

He should show the letters to Fen’Harel. He knows the price of betraying the Dread Wolf, the price paid by the slow arrow, and it is a price that Abelas can ill afford, not while he still has a duty to fulfill to his people and to Mythal. 

He wonders if Athera will write more letters. There was no final farewell on the most recent one.

He wonders if he wants her to. 

By the time he rises to his feet to leave Tarasyl’an Te’las, his heart is so heavy that it’s a wonder he can stand. He lingers for a moment, his gaze on the bed they shared — the bed they lay in together and moved in together and talked in until the deepest hours of the night. 

He never told Athera he loved her, because he didn’t want to make this harder for her. The love Abelas harbours is selfish, an empty offering that has given her nothing but pain and a binding more cruel than the kind that those Tevinter mages place on the spirits they seek to control. He never told her he loved her, hoping that if the words remained unsaid, the consequences would be less painful for them both.

He stares at her letters. In these words of devotion written in her hand, his naïveté and his denial are laid bare, and Abelas wishes with his entire broken heart that he had told her while he had the chance.

He wipes his tear-stained face. She is no longer here in the place where they talked and laughed and moved together in a torrid tempest of desperation, and he doesn’t know if she will ever come back. 

He takes a deep breath. Then, far too late, he tells her.

“I love you, Athera,” he whispers. “You deserved better than a tired old warrior like me.” 

His words rise into the air to join the spirits still clamouring around him, and in their nebulous and never-ending memories, he knows his love will stay here forever. 

He folds the letters carefully and places them in the pouch at his belt. Then, with one last lingering look at her bed, Abelas steps out of the Fade. 

[gffa]

You have great taste, so I was wondering if you have any fic recs for the OT trilogy? Specifically with Vader? Your recs are the reason that I no longer eat or sleep and exist entirely of off Ao3.

Thank you, that’s very sweet of you!  I’m glad to help with the “I should be sleeping but who am I if I’m not staying up way too late to read just twenty more chapters before finally collapsing into unconsciousness, like, WHO AM I AS A PERSON if I’m not doing that?” because I don’t want to be the only one!So, here, HAVE SOME VADER FEELINGS.  And some occasional post-Vader feelings, but that were meant to take place near the end of the OT.  This is specifically for Vader fics, but if you want other OT-era stuff, like with Luke and Leia, just let me know.  ♥VADER & LEIA FIC:✦ Just a Little Bit of History Repeating by victoria_p (musesfool), anakin & leia, 3.7k    “I’m in charge of security, Your Highness,” Vader said, haughty and automatic, and had to shove away a sudden onslaught of memories. It was this building, he thought, and the presence of a small brunette senator with a smart mouth. That was all.✦ Father’s Heart by FernWithy, anakin & leia & ocs, 38.8k   During Princess Leia’s teenage years, she discovers a friend in an unlikely – and disturbing – person: Lord Vader. ✦ Leave Me, Oh Love by AceQueenKing, han/leia + anakin & leia, 3.2k    “No offense,” she said, “but I’m not in the mood to deal with you right now.” “Leia-” Vader said, but she held up her hand. “Of all the dead people in my life, you really are the one I least want to see right now.” ✦ The Tyranny of Kinship by amarielah, anakin & leia & luke & han & obi-wan & rex & ahsoka & cast, 23.6k wip    The presence of an Alliance mole aboard the Death Star leads to Bail Organa learning quickly of his daughter’s capture. With the dissolution of the Senate, only one option remains for him to save her life: telling Vader the truth of her parentage.✦ on the day… by victoria_p, anakin & leia & obi-wan & bail/breha & cast, 6.4k    Darth Vader eavesdrops on a very interesting conversation.✦ which grows higher than soul can hope by victoria_p, anakin & leia & luke & han & cast, 8.6k    “If Vader captures you, if he threatens to torture or kill you, you tell him you’re Padmé Amidala’s daughter.”✦ Everything That Rises Must Converge by victoria_p (musesfool), obi-wan & anakin & luke & leia, 5.1k   In which Leia makes it to Tatooine’s surface after the Tantive IV is boarded, and nobody is prepared for this particular family reunion.✦ I Won’t Disturb the Slumber of Feelings That Have Died by Darkmagyk, anakin & leia, 1.6k   Leia Organa is no angel. ✦ Clarity by Orange_Clown, anakin & leia, 1k   By the time that the Imperial Forces landed on Hoth, Leia was the only one left on the base. ✦ Flesh of My Flesh by igrockspock, anakin & leia, 3.6k   Leia was not adopted. She was stolen in the middle of the night and registered to House Organa with forged papers. This was kidnapping, a class one felony, and her parents could be executed – unless she returned voluntarily to her rightful father. Immediately. A man called Grand Moff Tarkin explained this to Leia when she was eleven years old.✦ Carmine by AceQueenKing, anakin & leia, 2.7k   The Princess stirs, waking; her eyes catch him at her door and her face darkens, ready for a fight. ✦ The Trick is to Keep Breathing by AceQueenKing, anakin & leia, 3.3k    She’s older now, and so is he. Far older now. She wonders: will he have lost any power with his age? Will he be shorter, weaker? An old man on a ventilator?It’s hard to imagine that he won’t still be dangerous. But then, that’s exactly what she’s counting on.✦ Hear Me by crowleyshouseplant, anakin & leia & luke & cast, 3.2k   Leia struggles to reconcile Luke’s experience with his father and hers with Darth Vader.✦ In Which Vader Discovers He is a Father by glompcat, anakin & luke & leia & cast, 27.7k   A collection of (mostly self-contained) AUs where Vader learns about his kids earlier than he did in the canon timeline. Exploring both that moment of initial discovery, and the way the story unfolds after Vader finds Leia and/or Luke. ✦ deep as a secret nobody knows by victoria_p (musesfool), leia & anakin & obi-wan & luke & han & bail & cast, 6.3k   “If Vader captures you, if he threatens to torture or kill you, you tell him you’re Padmé Amidala’s daughter.”✦ daughter of mountains (the flesh and bone remix) by darlingargents, anakin & leia, 1.4k   Vader was Leia’s father, too. To die by his side would be the greatest honour.✦ The Gifted Child by AceQueenKing, anakin & leia & bail, 2.3k    Bail Organa watches his daughter navigate Coruscant society.  So does Darth Vader.✦ Siren Song by madame_alexandra, anakin & leia, 1.8k    Lord Vader has a crippling headache, and the source of it fascinates him.✦ The War at Home by victoria_p (musesfool), anakin & leia, 1.4k   He’s been there for all her other losses, so it feels right for him to be here for this one, too.VADER & LUKE FIC:✦ Sibling Revelry by frodogenic, anakin & luke & leia & cast & ocs, 25.5k   After Bespin and before Endor, Darth Vader is shocked to discover that Luke and Leia are twins. He’s even more shocked when Imperial Intelligence reports that Organa and Skywalker are, erm, a tad closer than previously suspected. ✦ Limpet AU byfrodogenic, anakin & luke & mara & piett & cast, 69.8k   AU. Darth Vader, having survived the Battle of Endor, proceeds to get himself and his ship lost in the Unknown Regions for twenty-five years. When he returns, he finds the Empire has fallen, the New Republic is in force, and he himself has a new role to play…Grandpa. If you have ever wanted to see Vader vs. toddler, this is your story. Fluffily humorous.✦ a walk on part in the war by victoria_p, anakin & luke & leia & ahsoka & cast, 10.3k    Luke considers this family reunion far more successful than the one in Cloud City. At least this time, no one loses a hand.✦ In Loco Pirates by izzythehutt, anakin & luke & cast, 34.9k   A down-on-his-luck Hondo Ohnaka manages to capture the unicorn of all bounties–Luke Skywalker, which sends Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith, on a painfully familiar trip to the planet Florrum to collect his prize. The failed negotiations leave Vader in the awkward position of being stuck in a besieged pirate bunker, trying to balance keeping his wayward child safe (and in his custody) with controlling the tongue of a loose-lipped pirate who–to the surprise of no one–has a bad habit of telling ‘amusing’ anecdotes from the Clone Wars.✦ Deja Vu by SkippingSteppingStones, obi-wan & anakin & luke, 2k   When Darth Vader is roused from sleep by a sob he feels strangely connected to, he is compelled to find its source.✦ Two and a Half Men (with a baby) by jerseydevious, obi-wan & anakin & luke & piett, 5.5k wip   After a long day of bargaining with Hutts and attempting to ignore his past, Darth Vader is nearing the end of his rope. When he discovers his two-year-old son, it’s the straw that breaks the semi-rational Sith Lord’s back; in a rash act worthy of the Skywalker name, he scoops his son into his arms, steals a shuttle from his own fleet, and punches in random hyperspace coordinates to a destination on the other side of the galaxy. Unfortunately, father and son are not the only ones on the ship.✦ The Family Tree by frodogenic, vader & luke, 12k   In which Luke Skywalker is stranded in a tree waiting for a flash flood to recede. Too bad he’s got company… Post-ESB oneshot, can be read as canon-compliant.✦ Out of the Darkness and Into the Sun by Spongyllama, anakin & luke & leia, 2.7k   Luke is desperate to keep his father alive after Endor, but he’s the only one who thinks Vader should be allowed to live.VADER & AHSOKA FIC:✦ trade your heroes for ghosts by victoria_p (musesfool), vader & ahsoka, 1.5k    Vader presents Ahsoka with an ultimatum. ✦ memories like ashes at our feet by ambiguously, anakin & ahsoka, 4.2k   Darth Vader was gravely injured in the explosion of the Sith Temple. Now Anakin Skywalker has no memory of what he’s doing here with Ahsoka.✦  the stillness of remembering by darlingargents, anakin & ahsoka, 2.3k   A few years after the rise of the Empire, Ahsoka starts to have a recurring dream ✦ Balance Point by Vinyarie, anakin & ahsoka, 34.3k   Ahsoka wakes up trapped beneath the rubble of the Sith temple on Malachor with the man currently known as Darth Vader. He’s a Sith lord who has done some truly awful things, but she’s certain that some part of him is still Anakin Skywalker, and she’s going to convince him of that. No matter how many times he tries to kill her for it.✦all the words i once believed by darlingargents, anakin & ahsoka, 6.8k    Anakin Skywalker wakes up after fifteen years with a body that isn’t his.✦ Precious Illusions by amarielah, anakin & ahsoka, 2.4k    In the aftermath of their confrontation on Malachor, Ahsoka pays Vader a visit. From a certain point of view.OTHER OT/VADER FIC:✦ Not Placid Stars But Singularities by iceplanet, anakin & cast (obi-wan & luminara & ahsoka & darth plagueis), 6.2k    In the weeks after Mustafar, Vader must come to terms with his new body and the remnants of his past. In the process, he has a few conversations that he does not expect. ✦ Salvage by SharpestRose, obi-wan & anakin & luke & padme & shmi & qui-gon, 4.6k    Obi-Wan thought he’d seen the worst of what Anakin was capable of. Obi-Wan’s not entirely right about that.✦ Wrong Number by Siamesa, obi-wan & anakin & luke & yoda & owen/beru, 3.4k   In hiding on Dagobah, the Lars family aquires a holocom. Things go horribly wrong.✦ Surrender to the Light by Raven_Knight, obi-wan & anakin & luke & qui-gon, 1.1k   Ben Kenobi knew exactly what he was doing when he saw Luke watching his duel with Darth Vader.✦ Domo Arigato, Mr Roboto by amarielah, anakin & sam & dean & cast, crossover, 16k wip   When Sam and Dean investigate a spate of Vader sightings in a remote Wyoming town, they discover that – this time – they’re hunting the real deal. Vader, meanwhile, has to adjust to a world that seems designed to piss him off. All while trying his best not to strangle the Winchesters.OBI-WAN & VADER FIC:✦ Cold by Yesac, obi-wan & anakin, 5.4k    Luke wasn’t the only one that Obi-Wan visited after he died. ✦ Betrayal: A Love Story by Shiny_n_new, obi-wan/anakin, 2.7k wip    A week after he kills Obi-wan Kenobi, Vader realizes he is being haunted. ✦ untitled by phosphorescent-naidheachd, obi-wan & anakin, ~1k    All you really need to know is that Obi-Wan’s ghost is in the slow process of haunting Vaderkin back into the Light during the original trilogy. ✦ Until Their Dying Breath by Down the Rabbit Hole, obi-wan & anakin, 1.1k    Vader’s ghosts are complicated. Set between The Empire Strikes Back and The Return of the Jedi. ✦ You Can’t Front on That by victoria_p (musesfool), obi-wan & anakin, 3.9k    When he hears Kenobi’s voice again months after killing him, Vader wonders if perhaps he’s begun to go mad.✦ Replaceable by amarielah, obi-wan/anakin, mildly nsfw, ~1k    He buries hands of flesh in thick, auburn-colored hair. He knows this is a dream. ✦ World Come Undone by crazyundeadfairy, obi-wan/anakin & luke + background anakin/padme, 68.3k wip    Unexpected things happen when ObiWan takes Luke to Tatooine. ✦ Second Chances by Driverpicksthemooseic (Ratkinzluver33), obi-wan/anakin & han/luke & leia + cast, de-aged fic, 106.3k wip    Leia wasn’t convinced inviting evil incarnate to join them in fighting the Empire was exactly one of Obi-Wan’s brightest ideas. ✦ Everything You Wanted by obaona, obi-wan & anakin + background anakin/padme, 11.3k    A RotS AU. Anakin is now Emperor and has captured ObiWan. But things are never that simple …✦ Back Drifting by puts foot in mouth, obi-wan & anakin, de-aged!obi-wan, 20.4k wip    After falling on Mustafar, Obi-Wan awakens to the dubious reality of being trapped in the cloned body of his child self, and now has to cope with the reversed father/son relationship fostered upon him by the new Sith Lord.Darth Vader redemption story. ✦ Disjointed by Ha_neul, obi-wan/anakin & luke, 2.1k    Returning to Tatooine to erase his past, Vader reunites with his old lover and their son. ✦ closing in by SpaceTimeSkywalker, obi-wan/anakin, 1k   Anakin and Obi-Wan were already long gone at that point, as their souls had perished together in the lava and amidst the acrid smoke; and all there was left was their shells, empty, remembering fragments of happier times that had long since passed. ✦ Obikin Drabble by fn_6969, obi-wan/anakin, ~1k   Anonymous prompt: “fic idea- darth vader thinking about obi-wan oh no”✦ we were born for better days by FireflysLove, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 3.6k wip   Obi-Wan attempts to save Vader from the Dark Side, but the Rebellion, especially Bail Organa and Ahsoka Tano, are not going to believe that after a decade of terrorizing the galaxy, Anakin Skywalker can possibly be saved.✦ Sear me pale sun by liv_k, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, bittersweet themes, 9.8k   “So here we are, a failed Jedi, a Sith, and our imminent deaths. I leave it to you to choose how we will meet our demise, whether fighting or doing something else entirely.”✦ my heart is an echo chamber by Burning_Nightingale, obi-wan/anakin, 3.4k   Obi-Wan Kenobi and Darth Vader don’t meet again until their final confrontation on the Death Star. Not in person, at least.✦ They rhyme by liv_k, obi-wan & anakin, 5.2k   Past and future, darkness and light, despair and hope meet one last time.FORCE GHOST ANAKIN FIC:✦ can’t carry it with you by irnan, obi-wan & anakin, 2.2k    So oneness with the Force is found in a field now? ✦ The Moment You Know by tricksterity, obi-wan/anakin & luke & leia, ~1k    A short, alternative ending to Return of the Jedi and the appearance of certain Force ghosts on Endor. ✦ The Last Temptation of Anakin Skywalker by theascetic, obi-wan/anakin, 4.9k wip    Obi Wan gives, and Anakin takes. ✦ Ghosts Can Become One by Lilly_Thoo, obi-wan/anakin, 1.3k    Anakin and Obi-Wan bicker a little bit. ✦ Complexities of Love by agentjedi, obi-wan/anakin, nsfw, 7.5k    Anakin comes to terms with his new existence, and learns new lessons in the Force in a most unusual way. ✦ Salvation by Spongyllama, obi-wan & anakin & cast, 6.8k    Following his death, Anakin isn’t quite sure if he’s in heaven or hell. Not that he’s ever really believed in either. ✦ i wake up more awake than i’ve ever been before by ShakyHades, obi-wan/anakin, 1.1k    He missed their bond and camaraderie, the times they trusted each other with their lives. It hurt, seeing Obi-Wan and remembering how Anakin was the one to destroy everything the other had held dear, including himself. ✦ Dig the Grave and Let Me Lie by de_corporis, obi-wan & anakin, 1k    “Anakin,” says Obi-Wan again, and slides one hand up to cradle Anakin’s cheek. “I am so very proud of you.” Obi-Wan welcomes Anakin home. ✦ Died last night in my dreams by SquaresAreNotCircles, obi-wan/anakin & qui-gon & yoda, force ghosts, 2.2k    Obi-Wan sipped his tea and stared morosely out into nothing. “Become a force ghost, he said. It’ll be for the good of the universe, he said.” ✦ Strange Meetings by gilestel, luke & ahsoka & anakin, 2.9k    Luke almost didn’t notice the figure cloaked in white who stood before the charred remnants of the pyre in which he had cremated his father’s empty armor.✦I Never Knew You by Ibelin, anakin & kylo ren, 3.8k   After the defeat at Starkiller, Kylo Ren is on his way to Snoke to complete his training and, during meditation, he gets a visit from someone he’d always wanted to meet. It doesn’t go as well as he’d hoped. Be careful what you wish for - especially when what you wish for involves Darth Vader.✦ I Never Knew You by Ibelin, anakin & kylo, 3.8k   After the defeat at Starkiller, Kylo Ren gets a visit from someone he’d always wanted to meet. It doesn’t go as well as he’d hoped. Be careful what you wish for - especially when what you wish for involves Darth Vader. ✦ Let the Past Die by Ibelin, anakin & leia, 2k   Anakin’s Force ghost has scared Kylo Ren. When he visits Leia next, it’s his turn to be scared.✦ we are here and it is now by victoria_p (musesfool), anakin & rey & luke, 3.5k   “So either you’re not here or you’re not living,” she says. “I’m definitely here,” he replies, and there’s amusement in his voice.✦ And There Shall I Find by ambiguously, anakin & leia, 5.6k    After her shuttle crashes on a desolate world, Leia has only one person to keep her company. ✦ Drowned in Moonlight by scarletjedi, anakin & leia & cast, 3k    Leia Dies. What, like that was going to stop her?✦ learn to live with what you can’t rise above by victoria_p (musesfool), anakin & leia, 1.9k     Leia doesn’t have time for the ghost of her dead father, except when she does.

[raywritesthings]

Mamihlapinatapei\Lauriver

Thanks for the prompt, and I hope you enjoy this!

Should Have Been Her

Summary: In light of an early breakup between Oliver and Felicity, Alex can’t help reflecting on his boss’ choices in regards to relationships... especially when he can see the obvious.*Can also be read on my AO3 or FFN, links are in bio*

This job was going to be the death of him, Alex thought tohimself. “What do you mean Felicity won’t do it?”

“We had a fight about, uh, an old boyfriend of hers… andalso about her mom, I guess, last week,” Oliver said, looking undeniably wornout. He had to wonder how many nights the man had been sleeping on the couch.

“It’s not going to look great if you show up to a lunch withprospective endorsers without your own plus one.”

“I’ll just take Thea with me.”

“Thea’s booked for an interview with Williams in the samehour block, can’t do it,” Alex reminded him. He held his hand out for his boss’phone. “Look, I’ll call Felicity if you want.”

“She’s really not going to want that.”

Oh, so this was a serious possible break-up type situation.Just great. He hadn’t exactly been impressed with the candidate’s girlfriend;her inability to show up for meetings and the casualness with which she seemedto throw the campaign money had always struck him as flighty and poorlymanaged. But people liked a pretty, smiling face, and not having one on his armmight make people sour on Oliver. At least they weren’t engaged; that wouldmake things easier to spin.

Alex’s thoughts were so preoccupied with the work he wasgoing to have to do that he nearly missed Oliver’s next suggestion.

“Laurel might be free.”

“Laurel?” Alex wasn’t quite able to keep the strain out ofhis voice.

Oliver fixed him with a look. “She’s a part of the team, andshe honestly knows the ins and outs of this kind of stuff better than I do.I’ll give her a call.”

Despite Alex hoping and praying that the DA’s office beincredibly swamped with work that afternoon, Laurel was able to give them herlunch hour. So she was coming to meet with the union bosses.

Although, if he’d given more than a thought to her familybackground, he might have realized that could prove a boon.

“Laurel, how are you?” Boomed Larry Carmine, the Presidentof Star City’s Police Guild. He went in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek,which Laurel accepted with a smile. “Quentin says things are running prettynicely between the offices.”

“We try to keep communication channels open. Best way tokeep the system running. How’s Abby?”

“She’s just fine. Finished pre-med last semester.” Carmineturned to Oliver and shook his hand next. “Oliver Queen. Full of surprises,aren’t you?”

“I suppose I am.” The group all sat down, Oliver pulling outLaurel’s chair for her. She smiled up at him, and he returned it before takinghis own seat.

Alex motioned to the waiter hovering at the edge of theirprivate room to bring out the pre-ordered food. These were busy people afterall, so they hadn’t wanted to keep them waiting.

“I have to say, I should have expected you two to getinvolved in politics,” President Raynes of the Local 27 said after they’d allmade significant progress on their meals. The former fire chief had onlyretired from active duty last spring and made the transition to union work.“You made a pretty good team figuring all that out with Garfield. Still a shamewhat happened to him, but I wouldn’t be here without you. Makes me prettyinclined to listen, Mr. Queen.”

Oliver nodded all the while Alex made a mental note to askjust when in the hell his boss had been planning to tell him he’d saved thefirefighter union chief’s life. “I’m hoping you like what you hear. My campaignis committed to supporting those who need it most, and that includes our firstresponders, our firefighters, all those out on the front lines. Alex here hassome of the numbers we’ve been talking about.”

“These are preliminary plans we’re hoping to have your inputon,” Alex said, taking his cue to pass out the portfolios he had compiled.Laurel looked off of the one Oliver had laid out in front of them, their headsbent closer together than Alex really thought they needed to be.

Raynes was nodding along as he read, but Alex was moreinterested in Carmine, who leaned to his right to ask Laurel, “So you reallybelieve in this one, huh?”

“I do.”

“But I still remember your old man cursing his name!”Carmine and his Vice President burst into laughter.

Alex winced and held his breath, but Laurel only laughedlightly herself and said, “And he would be the first to tell you just what achanged man Oliver is. Believe me, I used to think we’d never see the dayeither.”

“Laurel and her family have been good enough to give me asecond chance,” Oliver added right off her statement. It was almost startling.In these previous sessions with endorsers they’d been attempting to woo, Oliverhad seemed content to allow Felicity to ramble on about this or that and waitfor her signal to speak. But now he seemed to know instinctively when to comein.

“I’m hoping that the citizens of Star can be willing to takea second chance as well. Not just on me, but on our home,” Oliver continued.The others had all gone quiet as they listened, none more closely than Laurel,who seemed to be hanging on his every word. “I know that we’ve struggled a lotthe last few years and that a lot of people are giving up or asking why webother? But I think with patience and with determination in equal measure, wecan help turn this city into the best it can be. The same way Laurel’s alwaysseen the best I can be and stood by me.”

“Well, thank you for proving me a good judge of characterafter all,” Laurel said, and they shared a smirk that was so fond it wasinfuriating. Alex coughed, and they both blinked and looked away from theother.

“I consider myself a good judge, too,” Carmine said, “and Ican tell you right now, Mr. Queen, so long as you have this lovely lady’ssupport that goes a long way in my book.”

Oliver looked at Laurel rather than Carmine as he answered,“I’ll keep it under advisement.”

Laurel headed back to City Hall on her own while Alex andOliver rode to the campaign office. Once alone with him, his boss seemed toretreat back into his thoughts, frowning out the window. Alex wondered what wason his mind.

“This may be the one time you hear this, but I might havebeen wrong,” Alex finally admitted, if only to try and draw the other man backinto the present. “About Laurel.”

Oliver’s eyes drifted in his direction, a half-smilecrossing his face. “Only might?”

Alex grimaced. He wasn’t really good at the whole admitting faultthing. “She’s good with those guys from the Locals. Probably grew up surroundedby them, didn’t she?” Oliver nodded in confirmation, and he supposed it madesense that the other man would know. “And I have to say even I was surprised athow well she made you look when they asked about your history. I actuallybelieved her.”

“That’s because she believes it, too.”

“Yeah. Makes you wonder…”

“What?” Oliver shifted in his seat, sitting up straighter.

Alex paused. It wasn’t really his place, nor was he reallyhoping to get that deeply involved in the candidate’s personal life. So heshrugged. “Nothing. Chief Raynes was right, though, you two make a good team.”

“Yeah,” Oliver agreed after a moment. He went back tostaring out the window, though this time his expression was far more wistful.

The more Alex thought about it, the more maddening itbecame. They were too good, made only more obvious when Laurel stopped by thecampaign office to pick up Thea for dinner.

“You could join us,” Thea told her brother.

“Only if you’re not needed here,” Laurel added quickly witha slightly guilty glance in Alex’s direction. She refocused on Oliver whiletucking her hair back behind one ear.

Oliver held her gaze for a moment before dropping it to thedesk. “I should probably put in another hour. You two go ahead.”

“We’ll see you later,” Laurel promised, and Alex watchedOliver watch them leave with a smile. Like he was watching his family. Which hebasically was.

Except that wasn’t his girlfriend. At least, not the mostrecent one. Not the one Alex had spent the last few weeks building the campaignaround; their little office romance or whatever it had been. It all sounded soshallow in his head in retrospect.

Whatever it was Oliver and Laurel had was strong, strongenough to survive time and scandal and the metaphorical equivalent of agasoline fire. They were still working together and for a common good. It was apolitical power couple the likes of which someone like him could only hope towitness.

And yet, they couldn’t really be together. Not without itcausing a stir in the campaign. And they both seemed to know it.

He knew it was deeply ironic to be disappointednow when before he’d been begging Oliver to put some distance between himselfand Laurel. But that had been before he’d realized: it should have been her.

[jessekeyes12]

Developer Jesse Keyes turns unconventional into bold statement

If there was ever a case of a building perfectly mirroring its developer, it would be One Seventh and Jesse Keyes. Both are angular, ultra-chic, smart and aggressive. Both are also making their emphatic debut on the New York architecture and style worlds.

Built on a 45-degree angle at the juncture of four different streets where Seventh Ave. South meets Varick and Carmine Sts., One Seventh resembles a hulking helm of a slick, futuristic boat or space-age flying machine. Six stories tall with just four units, the corner building shaped in an angular prism has a façade of manganese ironspot brick and Solarban 80 double-paned glass.

 The side of the building on Seventh Ave. South that parallels the rush of autos making their way to Tribeca or the Holland Tunnel has bold racing stripes and competing slabs of vertical windows. On the mellower Carmine St., Juliet balconies face the local cafes, old-time Spanish restaurants and bootleg record stores. One Seventh blends seamlessly with its intersection and has gainied total community board support.

 "No developer would take a chance on this site, which was operated as a gas station since the 1920s and unused for almost a decade," says Keyes, 35, an investor in the swank Goldbar and a partner in La Esquina, one of New York's hippest eateries. "They said it was too small or that the shape wouldn't work. I saw it as an opportunity. We took design risks with this project that architects generally do with museums and public spaces."

 Designed by Rogers Marvel Architects, the same firm recently awarded the Governors Island commission, One Seventh is allegedly the world's first full-floor triangular residence. To make the project work financially, Keyes' development firm REcappartners worked with zoning attorneys Charles Rizzo & Associates to help get a variance to build higher than the allowed three floors. On top of the building, Keyes built a penthouse duplex with two outdoor terraces, both of which lean toward the corner angle.

"The question we had to answer was, how does one live in a triangle," says Keyes, who plays a hand in every design decision. "When I picture who is going to live here, I see an investment banker with an artist inside or an artist with a lot of money. I see the banker sitting totally naked in a chaise longue at the apex of the 45-degree angle, looking out at the cars driving down Seventh Ave., on the phone with his friends, thinking: 'How am I going to own this town tonight?'"

With hardly any marketing, they have two offers for the four units. One from a banker, the other from the son of a Spanish film producer. Prudential Douglas Elliman's Kevin King, a two-year agent who happens to be the long-time maitre d' at Balthazar, heads up sales. The three 1,371-square-foot, two-bedroom, two-bath apartments are listed for $1,995,000. The 2,106-square-foot, three-floor penthouse with 961 square feet of outdoor space costs $4.45 million.

"We're waiting till the units are completely finished until we formally sell the apartments," says King. "A finished product will show how unique this project is and assure we get what it's worth."

Jesse Keyes comes from both sides of the tracks. His parents were hippies. His mother, a lesbian, split from his father but stayed in Redwood City, Calif., supporting her two children as a gardener. As Jesse puts it, they lived on the "wrong side of the tracks." Ironically, she tended gardens near Jesse's father's estate in Woodside, Calif.

"Mom was a real hippie, and dad was a pseudo-hippie," says Keyes, who was called "Blanquito," or little white boy by his Pueblo Mexican barrio neighbors. "Half the time I was in my poor Mexican 'hood with my mom and the other half with a swimming pool, Mercedes, Porsches and horses with my dad."

Keyes talks openly about his desire but inability to communicate with his Spanish-speaking neighbors. He talks openly about almost everything, especially his drive to never stop learning or moving.

"There's a point where you grow up in suburbia that you say I'm either going to get stuck in this for the rest of my life or do something fascinating or interesting," he says. "I was visiting a friend in Mexico City when I was 17 years old. We were in his family's penthouse and I was looking over the slums of the city, whose people needed major help at the time. I thought to myself, we as capitalists need to do better for these people. It was then that I knew I needed to focus on this for the rest of my life."

For Keyes, that meant Princeton, a year in Spain to learn the language, a Fulbright Fellowship and a master's in architecture in Catalonia, a Kinne Fellowship in the Dominican Republic, a job with the prestigious Boston Consultant Group, a master's in real estate from Columbia University, a doctoral candidacy and teaching fellow at Rutgers University in Urban Planning, and roles in the Gore and Kerry presidential campaigns.

"My father is good friends with Gore from St. Albans," says Keyes, whose great-grandfather on his father's side was Democratic Senator Morris Sheppard from Texas who championed Prohibition and women's rights. "My goal was eventually to work in Housing and Urban Development [HUD]. After those two losses, I planned to teach and research through my 30s. But academia, especially in our current political climate, was not as fulfilling as I thought. Building strong architectural projects is a way to make my mark and some money. Eventually, I will get back into affordable housing and giving back in some way."

Keyes' next project is already a major coup for him and New York. Working with Habita, a Mexican group known globally for designing and operating some of the world's chicest boutique hotels, Keyes will open a Mexican-themed, mixed-use hotel and condo project in a location below Houston St. on the East Side. Mexican architect Enrique Norton, who designed One York on Canal St. in New York and the Guggenheim in Guatemala, is an equity partner in the project.

"I want to make a unique statement and be part of the next big place," says Keyes, whose groomed beard and middle-parted hair give him the look of Al Pacino in "Serpico." "You hope it doesn't become something like what happened in the Meatpacking District, which had little thought and planning and became oversaturated with the same product, bars and restaurants. There should be mixed use there. And the Hotel Gansevoort is a mistake. I don't know how they got that built."

Slightly controlling, obsessive about details, and intellectually strategic, Keyes even wrote the copy for the One Seventh marketing materials. (I haven't met a developer yet who does that.) He prefers to focus on one project at a time as opposed to stretching himself thin and losing touch with the day-to-day decisions that these high-design projects demand.

"Scalability will be hard because for each project I'm looking for a specific art and message," says Keyes. "In any case, when you get bigger you lose control over certain levers, and I don't want that to happen."

Still, according to Thaddeus Briner, the architect for One Seventh, formerly of Rogers Marvel (and I.M. Pei's firm) and now on his own, Keyes is a very good client. "This was a dream project," says Briner. "It combined a really challenging site with an extremely progressive client. Those don't come along very often."

Resource :   https://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/real-estate/developer-jesse-keyes-turns-unconventional-bold-statement-article-1.339485

[logancreatesworlds]

The White Queen - (Aro x black!super spy!reader)

Author’s Note:  Okay, so we’re gonna switch gears a little bit.  I found of picture of this beautiful woman (she’s in the collage) and this idea came to my head.  Hope y’all like it.  Thanks!

Warning:  Violence, poison, bit of angst, and a little bit of blood and sex.

Disclaimer:  None of the images are mine.

Prologue

SPLASH!

“Tell me the truth!”

You began to break.

All the lies you had told...the graves you filled...it was all catching up.

“I can’t,” you whispered brokenly.

SPLASH!

“The truth!”

“I can’t!”

“Why?” He asked brokenly.

You looked down, your mouth dry.

“Because...,” you said solemnly, “Because it will hurt you.”

“Aro is coming here?”  Bella asked, her amber eyes widening at the dark news, “When?”

“In a few hours,” Alice Cullen responded as the Cullens hurried up to get ready, “They’re moving fast.”

Indeed, the Volturi did arrive at around 4pm that wintry Thursday evening.  Nobody would have thought anything of importance was up, but Aro’s face didn’t have that usual maniac glee that made other vampire tremble.

Something was wrong.

“Aro,” Carlisle greeted, trying as always to keep the peace, “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Carlisle,” Caius replied seriously.

Aro was silent.

That was odd.  The only time Caius spoke was when he was yelling for someone to be executed.

“Is something wrong?”  

Caius took a moment to reply. 

“There is a matter of concern,” the vampire lord said in an unusually calm manner, “We need to talk.”

After Carlisle let the Volturi into the living room of his him, he got straight to the point.

“You are not speaking Aro,” Carlisle noticed, “What is the problem?”

“He is distracted,” Caius replied frankly, taking off his trademark overcoat and crossing his arms over his black shirt.

“I am right here Caius,” Aro snapped.

The first words the First King of the vampire race had spoken since he arrived.

“I know,” Caius replied, “But you are angry and emotional - which means that you are in no place to rule at the moment.  Let me handle this.”

All of the Cullens’ eyes widened.

Caius never spoke to Aro like that.

“What’s the problem?”  Carlisle asked, finally understanding the weight of whatever issue was before him. 

“A human knows about us,” Caius answered, “We need to find her.”

“What is her name?”

Caius, resisted the urge not to snap at the continuous questions, but he went to answer them regardless.

But Aro intervened.

“(Y/N),” he answered.

“How did this happen?”

“...It all started out months ago,” Aro began.

You walked elegantly with the other guests into a dark and mysterious location.  

Your camera hung around your neck, along with your black Afia frames, which went nicely with your snow white Armi pantsuit.

You made no sound except for the soft clicking of your Giuseppe Zanotti suede sandals on the hard marble floor.

They were also white.

Everything about you, sans your skin, was...white.

“This is Secret Castle of Volterra,” your tour guide introduced.

You remember her name was Heidi.

“It is the oldest and most private structure in the whole city.”

You mentally snorted at the lie.  

That was what Heidi always told the foolish people who were dumb enough to take up on her of “an all-expenses-paid vacation” or “handsomely-paying job.”

After all, who would have known better than you?

You had been scouting her, watching her for weeks.

“The people of Volterra built this great place as a haven of holiness to protect them from the vampires who would prowl the night,” Heidi continued as she led you and the others through the castle.

You had to give it to her.  She was a good little actress.

“Come along everyone,” she said silkily, “We’re almost to the best part.”

Here we go, you thought, readying yourself for the worst.

You all came to two large doors, which opened up.

As you entered with the large group, all of the details came into your view, including the three ethereal men sitting in the thrones and waiting.

All according to plan...

“Ah Heidi my dead,” the head man greeted, “Right on time.”

He was more handsome than your other targets.  He was tall, with hair as long and dark as his suit, and his eyes - in all of their carmine red glory, contrasted sharply against his pale skin.

A vampire...

“Yes, my lord,” Heidi replied with a bow, “They are here, just as you commanded.”

3...2...1...

“Good,” your target replied as the other two men stood from their throne.

Others seemingly came out of nowhere, all with the same red eyes and pale skin.

Then, the doors shut and locked.

Now.

“Feast, my dears,” The vampire commanded, holding his hands out grandly.

The blonde besides him was the first to tackle a human.  

You gasped, pretending to be surprised at his brutal technique, as he seemingly ‘came up for air’ - showcasing his now bloody mouth.

The people screamed and you did too, running where they did so as to avoid being eaten.

Blend in, be silent.  That was what you were taught.

Within less than ten minutes, you were the only one alive.

You cowered back into the stone wall behind you as your attackers closed in on you from all sides.

Your formerly white suit was now crimson with blood, and you waited until your target appeared, ready to take a bite.

If you were unsuccessful, you would be drained of all your blood and your body would be disposed - no name, no date, no obituary.

But you were never unsuccessful...

He came closer...closer...

Never.

You could feel his breath on you.

Lights, camera...

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”  You screamed fearfully, putting on your best show as you cowered away from him.

“Aro!”  a male voice shouted, “Don’t!”

Your target looked over his shoulder.

“Why?” He asked.

So that was his name...

The man, whose face seemed bizarrely morose, came forward and grabbed his hand.

The man’s hungry gaze then turn to intense surprise. 

Within a minute, he was off of you.

“Clean up this mess immediately,” Aro commanded, “Everyone clean up.  Jane, get her to a room and clean her up.”

Though your brown eyes were wide and your body shook as if riddled with fear, on the inside, you smiled.

“Mission Opening” was a success.

You sat silently in the room that ‘Jane’ had placed you in, waiting patiently for your target to come to you.

It was dark, but even if your imagination used to run wild as child, you were still the scariest thing present.

The door opened and you turned around.

Deep, shuttering breaths...

Nervously, you whimpered as you backed away from him into the corner, trying to make yourself look as small as possible.

“Please,” he said softly, “Do not be afraid.”

“A-afraid?”  You replied as you made your eyes wet with tears, “Why would I be afraid?  S’not every day that you live through a group of innocent people being attacked by vampires.”

“You know of our kind?”

“Watching you suck people’s blood kind of gave you away,” you replied, wiping your cheeks dry.

Aro smiled softly as he came toward you.

He moved almost as silently as you did...

“Shhhh....,” he soothed wiping your eyes as your brought the tears back out.

“Calm down.” Aro said softly, “I will not harm you.”

Your breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Please let me go,” you pleaded in broken tone, “If you’re planning to hold me for ransom then you should know I have no money-”

“Shh...,” Aro soothed, gently tracing your soft lips with his fingers, “I told you.  I will not harm you.”

“Then...why won’t you let me leave?’

“Because,” Aro replied, grabbing your hands in his, “You are very special to me.”

July 13th

“My love, are you sure you don’t want something to eat?”

“Honey I’m positive,” you soothed, “Besides I see something far more delicious right now.”

A hungry look glimpsed in Aro’s eyes as you grazed his stone chin with your manicured fingers.

You and he decided to step out for a night on the town and were flanked by Felix, Demetri and Jane.

As the two of you walked, he told you everything you wanted to know about “The Cold Ones.”

“Tell me more about your kind,” you said, curling closer to Aro as your white trench coat billowed in the nightly Italian breeze.

“What else could there be?”  He asked, “We are immensely strong, we do not sleep, we drink human blood - though the man I told you of in Washington lives off the blood of animals along with his...family.  What else is there?”

You stopped, taking his hands in yours and looking deep into his eyes.

“Why did you spare me that night?”

Aro sighed, “Because you are my mate.”

Intel on mating habits acquired.

“Your mate?”

“Yes,” Aro answered, “Each vampire, male or female, has another half - a mate to call their own.  This person is their soul mate, and the vampire cannot function without them.”

“Then...what will happen to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I am human, honey,” you answered, “I am inching closer to death while we speak.”

Aro smiled softly, taking your cheek in his hard hands, “That is no problem, my love.  I will turn you into one of us.  Then we shall be together forever.”

“I like the sound of that.” 

You smiled and leaned close, planting a kiss on him.

Aro smiled and kissed you again, making your lip lock deeper.

“Forever.”

In that moment, you were compromised.

 That night, you sat in Aro’s study, looking nervous.

His “wife” Sulpicia had found you two in a particularly inappropriate position on top of Aro’s desk.

SMASH!

You winced as the glass broke.

Needles to say, she wasn’t taking it too well.

Against your better judgement, you snuck out of the study and took the short journey to the throne room to see what was happening.

They were at each other’s throats.

“Aro I will not accept it!” Sulpicia yelled. 

“I DO NOT CARE WHAT YOU WILL ACCEPT!”  Aro roared.  “SHE.  IS.  MINE.”

“You abandon me for her!”

“Wow, my dear,” Aro snapped venomously, “How perceptive of you!”

“You have been different ever since she came here,” Sulpicia ranted, “You are not as cold as you used to be.  You are gentler, calmer.  ...You are happy.”

“YES SULPICIA, I AM HAPPY!”  Aro ranted, “I have not felt this way in the thousand years I have been like this.  I am myself when I am with her.  I can tell her anything.  She is kind and sweet...gentle.  She is intelligent and the only woman cultured enough to understand the value of The Merchant of Venice.  And the best part?  She’s all mine.”

A tear cascaded down your eyes as you listened to him speak.

Nobody ever said anything like that about you before.

“So yes Sulpicia,” Aro spoke, “I am different with her, because I am happy.  You can either accept that, or I can dispose of you like you were never here.”

“You will not disregard me,” Sulpicia growled, “I will kill that Moorish whore before you-CUUGGGGHT!”

Aro had her by the throat.

“On second thought,” he said coldly, “You services are no longer required.  Goodbye, my wife.”

Then, Aro yanked Sulpicia’s head off like it was plastic and kicked it across the room.

“Jane,” he called.  

The young blonde came in.

“Please have this...trash burned.  I do not wish to smell the filth anymore.”

“Yes Master.”

For the first time since you left, you were unhappy.

Aro had killed someone for you.

It wasn’t that you were shocked.  You knew the kind of man he was, the kind of ruler he had to be...

But when he killed Sulpicia, he had committed a fork - one attack on her, the other on your heart.

Indeed, you thought, Compromised.

September 4th

You curled into Aro, trying to slow down your rapidly beating heart, as her brushed your 4C curls - which were now wet with sweat.

The two of you, after hours of lovemaking, were now curled up naked in his bed.

“Honey that was amazing,” you praised, grazing his chest.

“Mmmmm I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said with a smile, “Thou it was quite the vision to see you so wet for me.  Those moans of yours are...sinful.”

“You are unkind sir,” you teased, placing playful kiss on his lips.

“Then perhaps you should punish me,” Aro said seductively, pulling you into his arms and meshing his tongue with yours.

KNOCK KNOCK!

Aro huffed as you rolled off him.

He always hated interruptions.

“Aro,” Caius called, “If you are done producing your body weight in sperm, we have business to attend to.”

Aro growled, but relaxed slightly when you kissed his jawline.

“Fine,” he called, “I shall be there in a few minutes.”

“You’re leaving?”  You asked as he got up to head to the bathroom.

“Not leaving,” he answered, sparing you a loving look, “Just working.  Relax for the day, and I shall return later.  We will pick up right where we left off.”

You sighed with exaggerated air as you crawled on the bed, “But I want you to stayyyyyy.”

“My love,” Aro chastised, “Are we really going to - ”

“Mmmmm,” you moaned, parting your legs and rubbing your clit, holding your parted legs wide open so he could see.

Aro bit his lip and the scent of our sex his nose.

“Fuck Aro,” you moaned, your fingers catching a rhythm as you stuck your butt up, “I need you.”

Aro growled, swiftly returning to bed and flipping you over.

“I suppose we could have a quickie,” he said.

Shortly after, your moans filled the castle.

September 4th

This was the longest time since your ascension that you were able to act like yourself.

You did not have to be prim and proper around Aro.  

He loved you whether your were perturbed, goofy, grumpy...

He loved all of you.

Sure, you were compromised, but you didn’t even give C.H.E.S.S. or the Intel they wanted that much energy anymore.

You were happy.

“You are good at this game,” Aro commented, as you moved another white piece on your board.

A Nimzo-Indian.

“Thank honey.  And to my credit, I have been playing for a long time,” you said as Aro moved another black piece on the board, “You might want to be careful though. My bite is worse than my bark.”

Aro smiled, “Well I am sure of that.  You proved that well enough last night.”

You laughed as Aro winked at you.

“You flirt,” you giggled.

“Oh we are way past flirting, my dear,” Aro replied, taking out a book.

“What is this?”  You asked as he handed it to you.

“Just open it.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully, but you did as he said.

You flipped through the pages of The Merchant of Venice copy and your eyes furrowed with interest when you noticed a gap in the pages.

Flipping to it, your eyes widened when you founds its source and held it up to the light.

“Holy shit,” you said.

“It is not much but - ”

“Aro I love it,” you said, “It’s beautiful.”

“Good,” Aro replied, coming around from the chess game, “I want you to admire your engagement ring.”

Oh shit.

“W-What?”

He knelt down in front you, taking your hand in his.

“(Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N), I have never met any woman like you.  You are perfect for me in each and every way and I cannot live without you.  I need you not just to be happy, but to live.  (Y/N)...will you marry me?”

C.H.E.S.S. never allowed operatives to marry.

Too many loose ends and distractions.

Still, a ray of hope glimmered inside of you, the kind that said that you could outsmart a government organization.

You could make this work, you were sure you could.

You just had to tie up some things first.

“Yes,” you said tearfully, “I do.”

“You proposed to her?” Esme asked with large eyes.

“I loved her,” Aro answered, “So yes, yes I did.  I was planning to turn her right after the wedding but...well, you understand.”

“So let me get this straight,” Emmett said, “You’re saying that you - Aro Volturi, king of all vampire kind, fell in love with a woman who turned out to be a super spy and now that she’s disappeared, you want us to help you find her.”

“Pretty much,” Caius said casually, “You didn’t even hear what happened when she left.  I had to find out her dirty little secrets.”

November 3rd

Aro walked to the room you two shared, ready to confront you.

Even with the coming of the wedding, and everyone (sans Caius of course) being cherry for the upcoming occasion, you - for some odd reason, were not happy.

Everybody had caught onto your mood swing.

Instead of being your happy, cultured and goofy self, you were cold, quiet and withdrawn.

Aro opened the door to the room and his eyes widened.

You were nowhere in sight.  Your clothes had been left there, and the window was open.

You were gone.

That sent Aro into panic mode.  All of the vampires in the Volturi had immediately been called back from any assignment and ordered to search for you.

After three days, Caius came into Aro’s study.

“Aro,” he said urgently, “We need to talk.”

“Not now Caius.”

“Yes now!”  Caius snapped, “It’s about (Y/N).”

“What did you find?”

Caius came in a dropped a thick manila file on his desk.

“I had a couple of scouts head to the United States to search for her.  One of them came across a government worker who was about to incinerate her file.”

Aro was confused.

“Her file?”

Caius gestured to it, and Aro flipped through it.

“She is not just a normal woman, Aro.  She’s an operative for the Clarigate Hessian Eradication Secret Society, also known as C.H.E.S.S, based in the United States.  She has over three hundred confirmed kills and she is skilled in multiple forms of martial arts ranging from Jujutsu to Muay Thai.  She is also well versed in the use of multiple military grade weapons.  They call her The White Queen.”

Aro was flipped through the file, looking at all of your victims.

Government workers...rich moguls...German chancellors...they had all fallen by your hand.

He froze.

Everything...every single thing about you...was a lie?

Aro roared with rage, flipping over his desk.

“Find her,” Aro growled, “Bring her back to me!”

“I didn’t take it too well,” Aro explained.

“Holy shit,” Renesmee mumbled.

“Young lady,” Bella chastised, “Language.”

“No,” Caius said solemnly, “She is right.  This woman got to us in a way that no human has.  She lived with us for months, learned endless secrets.  If we do not find her...it could mean the end of all vampire kind.”

Just then, Jane rushed back in. 

“Master,” she said hastily.

That was the first time Bella had seen her shocked.

“Jane...what is it?”

“She’s here.  The White Queen is here.”

Aro, Caius, The Volturi and all of the Cullens rushed to the back yard to see the commotion.

You stood there in your trademark white bodysuit, waiting patiently.

“(Y/N),” Aro said.

“Hello honey,” you greeted solemnly.

“You lied to me,” Aro growled coming toward you, “You broke left me.”

“I know that.”

“You disappeared without a word!”

“I know that too.”

“Was everything a lie?  Our love...all of it?!”

You shook your head, a tear dripping down your cheek, “No.”

“The what was the truth?”

“The truth...is that I love you.”

“You are a government operative.  How can I be sure that you are telling me the truth?”

You said nothing. 

After all, and given the circumstances, Aro was right to suspicious.

Aro roared with rage as he rushed toward you.

Remembering your years of training, you sidestepped him and used his strength to flip him a few feet away.

Getting up after his tumble, he glared at you.

“So that’s who you really are,” he said venomously.

“Yes,” you said gravely, “Attack me again Aro.  Maybe you might kill me and make things simple for me.”

“SIMPLE?! RAHHHHHHHH!”

Aro fought you with pure rage and you blocked every single move.  Everyone watched as the two of you went back and forth in a blur of black and white.

Before the Aro could strike another blow, someone got between the two of you and pushed you apart.

“Enough!”  Caius commanded, “Everyone calm down!”

“She lied to me!”  Aro said angrily, “She left me!”

“I know that,” Caius growled, “But she came back.  And you will hate yourself if you kill her.”

Aro calmed down slightly, but his glare never left you.

“Now,” Caius ordered, turning to you, “You have some explaining to do - ”

“Caius I can’t tell - ”

“Do not dare argue with me after what you did.  You are going to explain and you will do it now.”  

You backed up, “I just came to say goodbye.  I do not have time for explanations.”

“Then you will make time.”

You were grabbed by Felix and Demetri and knocked to the ground.  Jane came and wrapped your arms and legs with hard cables.

“Get her inside,” Caius ordered, “We’ll make her talk.”

You sat across from Aro in the Cullen’s dark basement.

While you were tied to a chair, his arms were crossed and his eyes sharp and narrow.

Oh yeah, he was pissed.

“Why?”  He asked.

“Why what, Aro?”

“Why did you lie to me?”

You shrugged, “You were my target.  I had to collect Intel.”

“Intel on what?”  Caius demanded.

“...On vampires.”

“So that is what this...C.H.E.S.S. is?  An organization meant to hunt us down?”  Carlisle asked gently.

You nodded.

“So you don’t love me then.”

You looked up at Aro, “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“You lead me on for months, charming me...getting me to love you.  Was it all for me, or were just charming me for information?”

“No...no it...it started out as any other mission.  Then...after that kiss we shared months ago...I fell for you.”

“When was our first kiss then?  If you love me so much then you should be able to recall when it happened.”

“July 13th, 9:40 pm near the Caffè di fiori,” you answered instantly.

Aro sighed, momentarily satisfied.

“You could have just told me the truth,” he said.

“I was going to.  After you proposed I immediately started making plans to disappear off C.H.E.S.S.’s radar forever.  I was going to go all the way - fake my death, destroy my files - you name it.  But it wasn’t that simple.  They wouldn’t let me leave since The Queen’s Gambit hadn’t been completed.”

“The Queen’s Gambit,” Caius repeated, “I assume that’s code for your mission to spy on us?”

You nodded, “When an operative becomes compromised, or defects to the enemy side, they have to be put down.  They put a Code Zugzwang on me.  I’ve had two assassins come after me just this last week.”

“I assume you handled them?”

You nodded.

Aro’s eyes were narrowed again, “You’re not telling me everything.”

“What?”

“Do not what me.  You are withholding something.”

You shook your head, “Aro I swear...I’m not.”

Before you knew it, Aro had you by the neck and your body was resting on the chair’s hind legs.

“Tell me the truth,” he growled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Aro huffed, sitting you back upright.

“Get the water,” he told Caius.

SPLASH!

“Talk!’  Aro growled.

He knew how you hated getting your curls wet. 

The water always made the oil on your scalp itch.

“I said I don’t know what you mean!”  You snapped.

SPLASH!

“Dammit Aro!”  You snapped, “Stop it.”

“Not until you tell me the truth,” he said brokenly, before pouring more cold water on your head.

SPLASH!

“Tell me the truth!”

You began to break.

All the lies you had told...the graves you filled...it was all catching up.

“I can’t,” you whispered brokenly.

SPLASH!

“The truth!”

“I can’t!”

“Why?” He asked brokenly.

You looked down, your mouth dry.

“Because...,” you said solemnly, “Because it will hurt you.”

Aro knelt in front of you, holding your head in his hands.

“Tell me the truth,” he demanded.

“His name is Jack Barnett.  They call him The Player.”

Aro held you in his arms as you told him everything about you - the real you.

When you were eight, your parents were murdered by vampires.

Jack Barnett, a hot new elite agent for the U.S. Secret Service found you.

It was then after meeting you an taking you in that he got a brilliant idea.

An organization, dedicated to wiping the scourge of all supernatural creatures, carried out by young and talented child soldiers who would be nurtured into mindless soldiers.

You were the first.

Jack nurtured you, told you that you were his “special girl.”

It was only after you learned the meaning of sexual assault that you finally understood what that meant.

“He...he raped you?”  Aro asked.

You curled closer to him on the couch as all of Cullens and Volturi members listened in.

“Three times,” you confirmed with a nod, “He thought I forgot.  I was actually planning to poison him after this last mission.  But I didn’t anticipate you.”

Aro smiled, “So...you love me?”

“More than you could ever know.”

“Then we should confront C.H.E.S.S.,” Caius suggested, “And Mister Barnett will die first.”

The Volturi murmured in agreement.

“In that case,” Carlisle said as the Cullens stepped forward, “We’re helping too.”

“Plus I really want you to show me some of those coll fighting moves,” Renesmee commented, plopping down next to you.

You laughed lightly, pinching her cheeks, “Of course I will.”

The next morning, Aro watched from the back porch as you taught Renesmee the Throat Punch and Reverse Roundhouse Kick.

“Your wife is impressive.”

Aro looked over his shoulder to see Bella come up beside him.

“Your daughter isn’t bad either,” Aro replied casually, noting how Renesmee was swiftly catching onto your training.

“She is a fast learner,” Bella said, “And I imagine you are happy to have your Queen back.”

Aro snorted lightly, “A little bit - yes.”

“Good,” Bella commented, patting him on the shoulder, “You should keep her around.  She had a good effect on you.”

Aro smiled again, waving back at you as your smiled and waved at him.

Perhaps you did.

It had been a funny turn of events.

You - the woman who had entered the world with lie on top of lie on top of lie, now lit up his world with justice, honor, truth and happiness.

Ha, the White Queen always did win after all...

Author’s Note:  Aaaaaaaand that’s all folks!  Gosh, this was a long one!  Hope y’all liked it.  I worked REALLY hard on it.  Comment to let me know what you think!  Thanks guys!

@shinyanchorface  @tenaciousarcadeexpert  @princesswagger15  @macfizzle  @valynsia  @siriuslycollins  @hekaates  @twilight-sapphire-lover  @plussizeappreciationfics  @dumbchick  @witchiewinchester  @stark-red19  @emmettjasper  @nerdycaramelgirl  @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes  @lovelynervouschaos  @belauriette  @dreatine  @cynbx  @naturally-bri

[faunusrights]

‘AFTER THE FALL’ - LIVEREAD III

The more I hear about the latter half of this book, the more depresso espresso I’m drinking. Let’s see how it goes, huh?

(Since there’s more chapters in the latter half than the first half, short chapters will probably get combined together for the sake of. I’m lazy.)

CHAPTERS EIGHT AND NINE

I love that Velvet’s the one who enlisted Weiss and Yang, expecting shit to go sideways. She saw these two gays on main and went ‘they look like they can party’. Was she wrong? No. Did she invite Cinder for the express purpose of drama? Yes. Can you make me stop shipping Sinnamon Bun? Also no.

Okay, this book has read my mine though!!! Ruby pitches a Beacon Battle Club where they play music as they fight, and no word of a fucking lie, that happens in Great Weiss Shark AU! I am not kidding! I had this whole story planned out! This is theft of the HIGHEST order.

“Doilies are absurd and elitist,” Yang said.

This is simultaneously the least Yang-like line and also the most Yang-like line I’ve ever heard. The duality of idiot, I suppose.

I like Fox! I really do, actually! He’s my son now. Although, the bad news is I dunno if I can replicate him in The Frapp Logs, so he’ll just have to keep dragging Coco to the ends of the earth. Same thing, right? R-right?

“Leaders can’t be the comic relief.” Fox raised his eyebrows. “Jaune.”

Is this the second time Jaune’s been dragged? I’m living for it. Also, sleepy Blake! And CFVY knowing she’s (they’re) a Faunus! And the second book behind a book! I love you, Blake.

Velvet correcting Yatsu’s ‘catnap’ joke! I wrote a ficlet about this exact thing once, so I TOLD you my Velvet’s NEARLY CANON. SHE JUST NEEDS TO EAT MORE PROTEIN IS ALL.

Onto chapter nine. God, these chapters get thinner by the second, huh?

BACK TO THE DESERT WE GO, and there’s... fog? Which is now gone! Wow! Is this a plot device? Foreshadowing? I sure hope so, because why on earth it would warrant a mention we’re just not too sure!

A sandstorm is incoming and hidden tracks are gonna get blasted away. I’m trying to figure out if this is all pathetic fallacy or if I’m reading too much into handy-dandy plot devices. Why not both?

Heart-to-heart with Coco and Yatsu... and we’re back to Yatsu giving Velvet all the hugs. Now that I’m sensing the Velv/Yats vibes, I’m extra suspicious. You stop that. Let Velvet have a fashionable GF at least if you won’t let her kiss Weiss!!!

‘[...] even the women were down to halter tops. Focus, Coco, she thought.’

Ah, lesbian as always. I’m soothed. Carmine enters the tent and Coco gets even gayer. I’m very soothed.

‘What was Jaune doing after losing a member of his team, a friend... someone he clearly cared about.’

I don’t care about what Jaune feels. Why the heck would Coco even care? There’s literally so many more people that impacts than just Jaune, lawd.

CHAPTER TEN AND ELEVEN

Back to Fox, who is honestly the shining star of this book by now. I love you, my blind and sassy son.

I love Ada and the battle mechanic she has! I’m really enjoying how Fox interacts with the world around him and using his Scroll and AI as an accessibility device. It’s neat! I didn’t expect them to go as ham on him as they did, but they did.

“Update,” Ada said. “Weapon has projectile capabilities.” “You mean it’s also a gun.”

Obligatory gun meme.

Combat stuff happens, Fox wins a fight against a confused Edward, and it turns out Gus is the one summoning Grimm and Fox just got jumped, so we slide into another flashback for chapter eleven. Lemme tell ya, this book ain’t afraid of moving fast.

“I guess you slightly oversold your ability to track the survivors,” Coco said.

Again, this is one of those lines that reads as very... callous? Kinda mean? I’ve always had Coco in my head as someone who very broadly puts her team (and their feelings) first, even if it’s rough, so lines like this make me go 🤔

Velvet falls, Yatsu panics, Coco gets up in everyone’s grill. There’s a lot to this dynamic I am not enjoying right now, and even then this seems inconsistent with the CFVY we’ve seen in the book itself. I know the author’s trying to communicate that Coco is tired and frustrated, that I get, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t how... it would really happen given her character? I dunno. ‘S weird.

Was that a fat joke I spotted there? From Coco? I need a nap. Also COCO LET VELVET DO THINGS JESUS CHRIST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCK ME SIDEWAYS!!!!!!!!!!

Coco has claustrophobia! I wrote her as having agoraphobia, so this is a hilarious turn of events. Also Coco has two brothers, not one: Mate and Toma.

Coco is fighting Grimm in a cave with CFVY, but still finds time to criticise Velvet in combat. Hey, maybe if you let her do things, she’d prove you wrong, dingus. And then she does! See!

Aaaaaaaand the six survivors are all dead. This was a pretty traumatic event, all told, which makes it weird that they look... less affected in the show? Still, this chapter was VERY weird for the characterisations because Coco seems especially inconsistent, alas. Anyway, onto:

CHAPTERS TWELVE AND THIRTEEN

The sandstorm is approaching and catching the wagons, which I have just realised are actually vehicles that use fuel. Mostly because that’s the First I Heard Of It.

‘Velvet noticed a pistol tucked in the back before she closed the door.’

Hi, can Chekhov please pick up his gun from aisle twelve? Thanks.

GIANT SAND TURTLE. AVATAR AANG C’MERE Y’ALL GOTTA LEARN HOW TO DEFEAT THE FIRELORD.

“You said it’s big enough to ride on?” Velvet asked.

Maybe this is why Coco dismisses Velvet so often. She only pitches the craziest ideas, which is why I love her. That said, Coco finally lets Velvet do something! It’s a miracle of man! Climb that turtle, bihh!

Yatsu calls Velvet V. I’m so used to Velv that V sounds entirely too cool for this idiot.

Everyone’s pissed again, but-- IS THAT THE SAND WORM THING FROM ARRAKIS?! What A Tweest!!!!!!!!!!!!! Nobody coulda seen THAT coming!!!!!

So let’s go to chapter thirteen, where Fox has had the shit beaten out of him behind a Denny’s. Sound about right.

So what’s-his-name-- Bertilak, whomst from now on shall be called Bert because what sorta water tribe name even is that (wow the ATLA references are on fire today). Anyway, Bert is being paid by someone else to deliver people with Stronk Semblances like summoning Grimm! Gee I Wonder Who That Might Be (I don’t actually know but I’m honestly not going to be surprised either way).

“Yeah, [Bert]’s a real bastard.” “Even I can see that,” Fox sent.

I love it. Fox really has been the highlight of this book for me.

Fox is on the ground and the referee is counting him to ten, so it’s mid-chapter-flashback time! We learn how Fox’s parents died (sinkhole) and how that became his motivation for... going to Beacon? Okay, tenuous link at best, but I’m going with it.

Carmine is full of trouble and Fox is determined to take Bert with ‘em. Let him DIE.

I’m gonna keep going since we’re not four chapters from the end, so:

CHAPTERS FOURTEEN AND FIFTEEN

Flashback time! Again! Only it’s CFVY’s POV of their return to Beacon. I wouldn’t mind this if like. We hadn’t already seen this from RWBY’s perspective in the show? People know this from my tastes in fanfic, but I’m not a huge fan of retellings of canon events, it’s soooooo boooooring. So I’m just gonna grind through this asap.

(I do like that RWBY and CFVY have all these parallels being called to. As they should.)

Okay we’re past the recap and OH LAWD I HEARD OF THIS BIT. Goodwitch is here (I love u Glynda no matter what) but yeah, I’ve heard this part is Big Oof so uh, let’s see this happen go down. Velvet is being requested to see Ozpin so /buckles down.

Velvet’s being questioned alone for the Whole Thing, and team CFVY have burst into the office demanding to know why, and Velvet’s a crying wreck! I’m still very >:I for everyone being overprotective of Velvet, c’mon, but also: Oz, can you please have tact? Just once in your life? Tact? Do you has it?

Anyway, CFVY have reconciled and we turn to chapter fifteen, in which: Yatsu.

Carmine has Gus, everyone’s on the Turtmobile, and shit’s hitting the fan. Yatsu’s going after Gus and Carmine alone, and I’m still waiting on Chekov’s Gun to Chekov its way right into someone’s butt. Unless it’s Chekov’s Red Herring.

Here comes a fight scene! I never have much to say during fight scenes, so, uh, yeah. There’s some real last-minute exposition in places, though, where it really shouldn’t be.

Eey, Carmine is telekinetic! Very powerful and also OP, gotta nerf that shit right down, Edward.

Yatsu’s very nearly defeated, Bert is back, baby, and shit’s getting real. Time for chaaaaaaaaaper sixteeeeeeeeeen.

CHAPTERS SIXTEEN AND SEVENTEEN

Today’s livereading soundtrack is Simple Things by Zero 7. The whole album, I mean. This is a fun little fact to make sure you’re still awake and aware, ‘cause I sure ain’t!

Roy Stallion of BRNZ is presumed dead, along with the whole team, so big RIP to May, who was cute and deserved better. Swear to God if ABRN are dead too I will kill a man. Two men, to be specific.

Velvet admits she never wanted to come to Vacuo, Coco promises they’ll return to reclaim Beacon in future. This reads like a protagonist’s last speech on hope and strength in friendship... and it should, as Coco gets swallowed by a worm! Straight up just down the hatch! This should be a tragic beat, but this is honestly so funny. Coco, pick better ways to die.

Anyway, we’re onto chapter seventeen. I was very kindly given this message:

And I-- OH HELL YES! HELL YES IT’S A SCHOOL DAY TIMETABLE!!!!!!!!!! THE LORE! THE CLASSES! THE NAMES! THE FACTS! THIS IS THE BEST THING IN THE ENTIRE BOOK SO FAR WHICH REALLY GOES TO SHOW I HAVE NO HOBBIES!

Is this a... flashback? Flash... forward? I’m not sure, actually. Either way, CFVY are in Beacon clearing the place of Grimm. Actually, this must be a flashback to before they went to Vacuo, I suppose, which would make sense to follow Velvet’s little admittance last chapter before Coco got swallowed like a paracetamol tablet.

Velvet waited for someone to ask her what she thought, what she wanted, by no one did.

Now I’m SAD why won’t people be NICE to VELVET just ONCE!!! God, this book really just gives her the short end of the stick every time.

Off go CFVY to Vacuo. Bye.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN AND EPILOGUE

Heremst we go.

Coco’s alive! I mean, no surprise. And full of the Joques as ever:

Coco figured sacrificing your life for a teammate was one way to be remembered as a good leader, but maybe that was just cheating.

RIP Coco and her claustrophobia! Hey, now that was good foreshadowing! That gets a whole Murphy Cookie of Approval. 🍪

Coco loses her Scroll and her hat, but Velvet swoops in to save the day! Meanwhile, Bert has been convinced that Carmine double-crossed him, so they’re battling it out! Basically, Gus cast frenzy. Finally, it works in everyone’s favour.

“I can’t believe I thought you were cute,” Coco spat.

Some lines in this book haven’t been very good. This one, on the other hand, very much is.

So Carmine goes underground and starts creating sinkholes everywhere like a weird desert gremlin, and Edward manages to block her Semblance and like. Carmine flat-out nearly suffocates herself to death. Another death I would have found both gruesome and hilarious for its irony. But Velvet uses Flynt’s trumpet to quite literally doot the sand away, and-- I’m so sorry, this line has me literally laughing to myself. She fuckin’-- doots the sand. Oh my god.

Anyway they win, catch up with Slate and the Nomad Fam, and meet team SSSN! The boys are back in town!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Things are looking good.

Epilogue time. I’m still laughing about the sand-dooting.

So, we don’t know who paid Bert and Carmine, I guess? I do believe there’s maybe a sequel or something in the works, apparently, so maybe this is part of an overarching plot type thingie. Still.

Ah, yep, Coco confirms that they’re not through with this line of investigation yet, But, Velvet wraps it up with a heart-felt, if not a little bit cheesy, segment about home being wherever CFVY is, and so the book comes to a close.

WRAP-UP

So, I’m definitely gonna have a second read-through of this without having to constantly stop and do a liveblog, but the book was... okay, I guess? I feel like this plotline wasn’t the greatest one for CFVY, and that the author doesn’t have a crazy good handle on the characters -- he’s likely more suited to original content, which is valid. It’s a good romp and we do get new lore, but as expected, I feel like CFVY would be best used in the show that conceived them in the first place. A book is nice, but I’d love to see their return in RWBY itself, especially since this book wasn’t really... long enough, I don’t think? Seriously, y’all’ve met me. I do write hundreds of thousands of words in this world and I still haven’t written everything I wanna yet! I’d also like to see more Velvet as seen in RWBY Chibi, in which was she Cool and Good, and maybe less Yatsu alongside her directly. But! It’s a book! It’s decent! It’s CFVY! For most people, it’s Good Enough. And they’re valid too.

[anonthenullifier]

An Auspice of Scarlet - Chapter 10

A Scarlet Vision Victorian AU

Chapter Title: In which the lovers descend into hell. 

Chapter Summary: Ultron's plan begins to clarify as Vision pays the price for his closeness to Stark.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12184758/chapters/42603071

AN: A warning for this chapter: The interactions between Ultron and Wanda are depicted with behaviors common of abusive relationships. If this is something you do not want to read, I wanted to let you know up front.

There is a particular way some doomed men walk, a rigid hold on their shoulders, their muscles taut so as not to let their necks droop, and their faces blank, minus a light sheen of defiance. She’s seen it many times in her career and it’s usually heartening to witness the spirit of humanity thrum so strongly in the face of a bleak eternity. Except now, when she doesn’t want the man to be doomed.

Vision, if not for the slight limp in his long strides, has remained steadfastly silent and unemotive, head held high and breath painfully even despite the tempest in his mind. There’s not even a flinch or blink of surprise or sharp intake of breath when they enter the cavernous warehouse that serves as the base of Ultron’s operation. The main floor is a fairly ordinary pot and pan manufacturing company, bodies scurrying around, steps punctuated by the pounding of machines and loud, menacing screeches of gears in need of oil. Yet the deeper they get, moving from the cacophony of the main cavern and into the sparsely decorated maze of hallways and rooms, the taller Vision stands.

Wanda, for her part, is petrified, though she tries to mimic Vision’s stance and combine it with Ultron’s unmitigated sense of victory, understanding she has to successfully play the part of her former self to get out of this alive.

They reach the inner retreat, the area where only Ultron and his favorite disciples ever get to go...well and the people who are brought in here and leave in a burlap shroud. Compared to the rest of the building, this is a sanctuary, carmine couches and finely polished cherry tables illuminated by a hanging, tiered gas-powered chandelier, the windows to the outside inlaid with patterns of blooming marigolds. There are small rooms along the perimeter, shadowy, uncomfortably sized spaces where questions are asked and the answers thread the loom of fate. Wanda does her best to remain outwardly unperturbed when Ultron leads them to one of the rooms on the left wall.

“Mr. Vision, was it?”

The, “Yes,” is hollow, uptight, and mildly dismissive, the epitome of a well-trained butler.

Ultron grins, the scars on his face puckering into a grisly mask. “Wonderful. Are you good with riddles?”

For the first time, Vision slips up in his painstakingly constructed apathy, brow furrowing as he tries not to glance at her for guidance. “I believe so.”

“Perfect, this one had been bothering me for years.” The tone is light, peppy even, the words winding easily between friendly and threatening. “What do you call a man who is both alive and dead at the same time?”

There is a long pause as Vision tries in earnest to come up with a solution, mind calming into a focused consideration while his eyes finally turn somewhere other than straight ahead, instead studying the stained glass near the ceiling. Eventually he offers a skeptical, “Dr. Frankenstein’s monster?”

Ultron snorts followed by an unsettling chortle. “Well-read man, I see. I admire that.” The glee is executed promptly, the smirk descending into a scowl, “But wrong, try again.”

If Wanda knew the answer, she’d send it into his mind to stop whatever tactic Ultron is utilizing, instead all she can do is silently watch as Vision’s head moves in a slow, confused shake. “I do not know.”

“A liar, Mr. Williams.” The mask of indifference falls from the butler’s face, shattering at his feet while his eyes widen and he glances briefly at her. Wanda wants to comfort him, wants to reach out to his shoulder, whisper to him she never shared this information, but she knows her every action is being watched, so she holds back, deciding to stare at Ultron instead.  The man rolls his eyes, voice nudging Vision’s attention back to him. “Oh please don’t give her any credit for this.” The acquittal of deceit should lighten the weight on her shoulders, not add to it. “Do you know how long I’ve been trying to figure out who Victor Williams is? I mean his name is mentioned six times in the Stark Industry by-laws on corporate succession despite the fact an obituary states he died over five years ago.”

The explanation stalls, Ultron waiting on Vision for some sort of response, likely an admission of his cunning at figuring out the butler’s identity or a denial so he can bathe himself in the glee of dismantling the lie further. Vision offers only stony silence. “If it were me,” Ultron shrugs, voice growing patronizing, “I’d have also forged a death certificate, makes it a bit more convincing, you know. Stark’s not the best at following through though.”

“That would have been an excellent idea.” Vision’s attestation is dry, the shock and terror shoved deep into his mind.

“Maybe next time.” Wanda flinches at the off-handed comment, stepping back, hands tingling with pent up energy at the casual sway of Ultron’s body as he thinks, his actions often unpredictable. His head cocks to the side at the spark of scarlet that ekes out of her pinky, a smarmy arc forming on his face. “I suppose I was lying earlier,” a wink in her direction and Wanda’s fingernails dig into her palms to extinguish her powers. “Wanda was instrumental in my revelation,” her heart drops at the stoop of Vision’s shoulders, “if she hadn’t told Jocasta about your prowess with the Iron Man, I don’t think I would have connected the dots for a little while longer.”

“What do you want?”

Had she even contemplated the possibility of this meeting happening, Wanda would have prepped Vision for how to interact with Ultron. This affront to his power, this attempt to change the direction of the conversation, to deflect from his past life, is dangerous. Ultron frowns, motioning to the woman in white to help peel the glove from his right hand. “How rude of me to not introduce myself, I’m Ultron.” He extends his arm and grins at Vision, following the butler’s eyes as he takes in the thin steel fingers, hinged for gripping objects, and the aesthetic choice of a perforated floral design in the metal plate that makes up the palmA, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Exquisite.” The answer is honest, empathetic in a way she prays Ultron is ignorant of.

Vision goes to shake the hand and is met with a stern rebuke, “This is not a forum for discourtesy, Mr. Williams.”  

A moment of confusion morphs into understanding, Vision gently sliding the glove from his own hand, eyes taking in his bare skin before reaching out and gripping the metal fingers still hovering in the air. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ultron.”

Ultron isn’t listening to the empty civility, instead studying the raised scars and discoloration of the butler’s hand. “You really were in that fire.”

“I was.” Vision tries to deflect again, twisting their gripped hands several degrees to the left, “Who manufactured this?”

The prosthetic is yanked away, amusement flickering in Ultron’s eyes the same way the fire danced in Tony’s memory. “I’ve been informed you know the Iron Man quite well.”

“I do.”

At least her claim is substantiated, a minor protection for their current well-being. Ultron, almost point for point the same as Tony this morning, slings his arm clumsily around Vision’s shoulders, only this time the two men are roughly equal in height and so the only discomfort comes from the tension in Vision’s jaw. “How are your drawing skills?”

They step into the room, too small to house more than the two men, leaving Wanda to remain useless in the doorway, eyes straining to simultaneously watch the room and the woman in white who stands a respectable distance away. “I…” Ultron guides Vision into a chair, his metal hand never leaving the butler’s shoulder. There’s a stack of parchment on the rickety table, an inkwell, and a polished, engraved pen. Vision runs his fingers over the pen before commencing in a staring contest with the paper. “I am afraid in my current state it would take me days to draw an accurately detailed plan set of the Iron Man.”

This sort of blanket refusal is typically met with acridity, yet Ultron seems to weigh the man’s words judiciously. “What if you simply drew the arc reactor?”

Another long gaze at the parchment, “Currently,” and then he looks to his trembling hands, “it would likely take five, maybe six hours for me to steady my hand enough to produce a passable drawing.”  It’s usually unwise to make weaknesses known to men such as Ultron, an admission like this opens the door to a slew of unpleasantries that can be leveraged against you, but the characteristic honesty with which Vision presents his own failings seems to steer Ultron away from exploitation. For now, anyway.

“And if your body was relieved of this burden?”

Genuine surprise and academic contemplation wrinkle Vision’s forehead, the right half of his torso moving in a shrug that tosses away the hard-set rules of anatomical functioning to allow the whimsy of hypotheticals. “I would say two hours.” Vision pauses, palm coming to rest on the fresh-faced paper, “Three if you wish it to be fully annotated.”

Vision’s strategy of survival seems remarkably simple: acquiesce to all questions and demands calmly and unhesitantly. Each acquiescence blows out the fuse of the bomb known as Ultron. Logically it makes sense, if the fuse can’t stay lit, it can’t harm them. If only she could convince herself it will work because she’s seen the smile drawn on Ultron’s face far too many times to feel any sort of hope. “Wonderful. Wanda?”

“Yes?” Her voice somehow comes out at a normal volume and even has a somewhat authoritative heft.

Both men turn to her and, in the best interest of everyone in the room, she only acknowledges the storm grey irises of Ultron. “Do you remember how helpful you were to that banker, the one who had such a long day?”

The number of individuals she has seen come in and out of these rooms is far too large to count, their faces mingling and morphing into vague outlines of despair and agony. This banker, however, is different. She hadn’t thought of him for a long time, likely due to the wonders of repression, but now that his memory is stirred, she can’t unsee the blood dripping down his face, the way his left eye was swollen shut, and the unnatural bend to his left leg. Ultron had summoned her in the middle of the night, wrapped his arm around her waist, guided her closer to the man, and asked if there was some way she could help him not be so tired, his body shutting down and fulgurating between life and death. “I do.”

“Why don’t you show Mr. Williams here how we like to help with the betterment of our clients.”

Ultron runs his hand along her back as he walks out of the room, arms crossing while he intently watches her approach the table. “Vision.” Cerulean eyes turn to her, his mouth set in a grim, partial smile, and it’s the first time she’s gotten to make direct eye contact with him since the steamboat. There is still intense emotion in his gaze, only now it skews far more negatively. “I’m going to help you.” Whether Ultron remembers the fact she doesn’t need to touch her marks to fulfill her task is inconsequential, her desire to bring some level of comfort to Vision far outweighing the risk of being caught, so she reaches out, laying her hand over his. Smartly he doesn’t respond beyond a slight flinch of his fingers. “I’m not going to hurt you.”  

Wanda has no idea if his “I know,” is whispered or if he is projecting it into her mind, but she latches on to this steadfast trust as scarlet dances around their hands. The banker needed to be kept awake, still refusing to give Ultron information on the financials of Stark, therefore Wanda took from him the weight of his torture, the anguish of his injuries, leaving him no choice but to be alert. Now she does the same to Vision, locating the uncountable points of pain in his joints, fused into his bones, rippling in his muscles, and she clusters it all together, drawing it up his torso and down his arm until she can gently pry it from his hand. In the air between them it spins, the manifestation of his daily struggle, every slightly rusty edge of every rivet combining with his lack of sleep into a glistening, lively ball of red.

The change in his posture is immediate, eyes breaking from her gaze to study the peculiar calm of his fingers, his arms lifting as he bends his knuckles to test this newfound normalcy. Her heart constricts at the experimental shrug of his shoulders, at the stretching of his legs, at the borderline rapture filling each pain-free movement. “Mr. Williams, how are you feeling now?”

“I feel,” he grips the pen in his right hand, automatically using his left to hold his wrist, and then he removes the support, fingers lightly grasping the metal cylinder without any issue, “invigorated.”

Ultron’s gold plated teeth flash in a wide, pleased smile, “Fantastic. You have an hour and a half to draw me the arc reactor.” Before Vision can counter back at the decreased time, their captor has moved on, “Wanda, leave him be.” Reluctantly she steps out of the room, casting one last look at Vision before the woman in white shuts the door and stands in front of it. “Wanda,” Ultron’s voice echoes off the walls, “come along.”

Each step away from the room is harder than the one before, the orb of Vision’s pain weighing down her body, wrists starting to ache at the effort it takes to simply deal with its existence. How he is able to do this day in and day out is beyond her. “Wanda.” Ultron’s voice is harsher now, impatience seeping into his tone and it kick starts her feet into action, carrying her the rest of the way to the couches in the middle of the room. “Have a seat.” Following Vision’s strategy, she acquiesces, lowering herself down onto the plush couch, not caring about the way the bodice digs into her hips or how the hoop skirt is ballooning out due to the angle of her body. “Put that down.”

She stares at the scarlet bundle still in her palms, the only connection she has to Vision right now. “I can hold it.”

“Under love’s heavy burden does she sinkB.” The orb drops to the table, her cheeks stinging at the lash of his words and the daggers imbedded in his challenging stare. “You must be hungry, moja mala vještice.” Food sounds wholly unappetizing right now but what comes of refusing Ultron’s goodwill is far more nauseating. Wanda remains silently affirmative. “Jocasta,” the woman leaves her post, “why don’t you grab Wanda here some refreshments and also send Gideon over to encourage Mr. Williams to stay on task.”

“Of course.”

The woman leaves and Wanda waits, eyes never leaving the man across from her, the deep creases of his face even more pronounced in the dimming light of dusk, the shadows from the chandelier filling his scars in with a malevolent tint, and his hands rest calmly on his crossed legs, the intricate metal hand cupping the roughly carved wood of his other prosthetic. The first time she saw him sit like this, so open about the hardships of his life, she felt a kinship, a sympathy for his troubles, and an acknowledgement that this man understands pain. Only now she has seen what he has done with his own torment, directing it outwards with the philosophy that what he suffered, those around him should suffer tenfold. “She isn’t exactly a facsimile of you,” rancorous tenderness drips from his tongue, “but her loyalty and conscientiousness are welcomed after your unexpected exodus.”  

“I left to pursue a lead on the reactor,” a lie she needs to maintain, having rehearsed this conversation countless times in her relatively sleepless nights since they first arrived for the Exhibition, “and then I came back.”

A man dressed in gray slacks, off-white shirt, and a navy waistcoat saunters in, his face familiar, and it’s only in the cocky tilt of his head towards Ultron that she recognizes him as the man she spoke to in the tent. No words are exchanged as he enters the room adjacent to Vision’s, the door slamming shut, sending reverberations around the room. “What’s he doing?”

Ultron blinks, a frown ruining his relatively jovial mood, “He’s lighting a fire under his feet,” just as quickly a smile returns to his face, body leaning back into the armchair with a self-satisfied air. “Escaping the eternal flames of hell is a relatively strong motivator.” His head quirks to the side, eyes narrowing to scrutinize her confused reaction, “You’ve clearly been away too long to be asking such naïve questions.”

Footsteps interrupt them, the woman in white returning, a silver tray balanced delicately in her hands containing two cream-colored porcelain mugs and a plate of assorted meats from the butcher located next door. “Wanda,” when she meets his eyes there is mischief and power waltzing arm-in-arm, “did you know Jocasta was created just for you, a perfect defense to a perfect weapon?” The woman seems unbothered at being treated like a novelty lamp or a glass sugar bowl carved like a diamond, an empty, placating curve fastened to her rose-colored lips. “Why don’t you show her.”

A nod and the woman reaches up, fingers curling into her hair. In a smooth, automatic movement, she removes it, the wig flopping limply in her hands. Wanda barely registers the discarded blonde strands, eyes fixated on the metal plates riveted to the woman’s scalp. It’s almost identical to the metalwork on Vision’s back, only this seems to not only be screwed into her skull but melded to her skin, puffed, reddish-brown scarring lining each plate. “Try to read her mind.”

Three times today Wanda hadn’t noticed the woman, three times she’d never registered her in the sweep of the crowd. Even now, with her pristine dress practically in arm’s reach, Wanda can’t feel her. “Why?”

Vision’s struggle to recover still sends ripples into his everyday life, his body, with the highest quality materials and, from what she has gathered, the best medical minds available, is unable to cope with what was done. Staring at the horrifying jigsaw puzzle on the woman’s head causes a shattering sense of loss to overcome Wanda, starting in her feet and sloshing up her body. Ultron, on the other hand, sits in awe, the look on his face similar to what is seen on the faces of people staring at paintings or Grecian statues or the dome of the Crystal Palace. “If you are going to unleash a mind reader into the world, you need a failsafe in case she goes rogue.” He sends a nod to the woman, dismissing her back to the role of a sentinel at Vision’s door, her hands expertly placing the wig back in place. “Don’t worry, Wanda,” the wink that accompanies his words sends her stomach turning and when he moves to sit next to her, his hand clumsily landing somewhere near her knee, her stomach plummets, “you haven’t been replaced yet.”  When she doesn’t respond, he leans closer, hand rising to trace the curve of her cheek, “you will always be my favorite, my promised one.”

This affection needs to be abated lest her powers erupt and tear his hand off, “Now that I’m back, what’s next?” Wanda swallows her disgust and turns towards him, opening her shoulders for conversation. “Are we finally destroying Stark for good?”

“You know what I have missed most, moja mala vještice?” The words are spoken softly into her ear, his breath stirring the stray hair Vision knocked loose while they were tangled on the couch. “The joy of watching you partake of your spiritualism,” an activity he utilized as a cover for interrogations, inviting wealthy men into the hallowed halls of their operation, wooing them with strong brandy, and then placing them in the company of, he always said so proudly, the ethereal beauty of the Scarlet Witch.  “Jocasta,” Wanda stares at the unguarded door, tempted to reach out just enough to feel Vision’s mind, but she knows she’d be signing his death certificate if she interfered now. “Will you please retrieve some tarot cards for Wanda here?”

“I have my own.”

“The best spiritualists need to be adaptable.” The best spiritualists never use someone else’s materials, otherwise they would lose the carefully placed manipulations in their own cards or crystal balls. Thankfully Wanda’s hidden tool is not so easily replaced.

He hands her the deck once it is retrieved. The backs of the cards shimmer with tiny gilded stars that mimic the appearance of the night sky in winter, when the cold seems to make everything crisper. “Is this reading for you?”

Ultron shakes his head, scooting closer to her so that he has to lean into her body to see where the cards will be laid on the table. “No, the fortune teller must tell her own future from time to time.”

There are rituals to using a deck of tarot, careful steps to align oneself with the energies, some suggest laying it in the sun, others putting it in a box with quartz, Wanda has never abided by said rules, always allowing the mind of the person she’s reading to guide her loose interpretations of fate. Only now, as she holds the deck in her hands, does she feel a need to cleanse the cards from the unholy touch of their owner. Carefully she shuffles the deck, eight times, a number she doesn’t think is spiritual, but one the elderly soothsayer who taught her insisted is best for randomizing the cards.

Whenever she conducts a reading, she informs the person to consider the complication or problem for which they are seeking guidance. Given it is herself, her mind focuses on Ultron, on the pestilence his presence has been and on how she can be rid of him. The problem clear in her mind, she fixes the three rings Natasha approved for her outfit, the only part of her attire that feels like home. “The Past.” Wanda flips the first card and swallows, the spire rising from the mountain a memorable scene, and this deck enhances the meaning with golden outlines of two bodies plummeting from the height of the structure. “The Tower, upheaval from a great loss.”

“Your parents and your brother.”  

Usually no one else is allowed to interpret the cards, the argument typically that it throws off the flow of the reading. She doesn’t dare tell Ultron to still his tongue since he is one of the few people who knows of the falsity of her spiritualistic endeavors. “The Present.” As she lays the card, she first notes it is upside down and then she makes out the old man holding a lantern aloft. “The Hermit, reversed.”

A prickle alights along her spine as Ultron continues his role as backseat fortune teller, his voice level, yet almost a touch mournful, “A descent into seclusion, a deep dive into the mind that lurks with hidden, self-imposed horror. A dangerous crossroads, one that may either drag you farther into the abyss or send you catapulting into redemption.”

Nothing is wrong in his statement and if not for the fact she had carefully shuffled the cards, she would suspect a trick, but there is not enough proof yet. So, she forges on, treating his interruptions much the same as Natasha’s earlier, get it over with and move on with her life. Wanda turns the last card over as she speaks, “The Future.” The scales of justice tip in the hands of a robed king, the sword of truth held aloft. It means fairness and equitability, that the wrongs of the past will be righted, that all will resolve as it should. Whatever that means is unclear to her even now, the future murky and increasingly unpromising. “Justice will be had.” Wanda collects the cards, removing the numbingly honest read of her life.

“Shuffle them again,” it is an order and she hates herself for following it so readily. “Now tell Mr. Williams’ fortune.”

This time she shuffles the deck twelve times, even turning it over once to fan through the cards to make sure all seventy-two options are there, and then she mixes them together again. “The Fool.”

“How fitting.”

It is, her mind filled with the image of a young engineering student, naïvely approaching a mansion, partially in search of a job and partially there as a spy, mind distracted by boundless possibilities ahead of him. She moves on, wanting his reading to be done even faster than her own. The next card has two people, trapped in a passionate embrace and there has to be some way Ultron is controlling these cards. “The,” Wanda takes a breath, shoving the growing alarm down to keep it out of her voice, “Lovers.”

She goes to flip the next card, but is stopped by a wooden hand. “Have I mentioned how proud I am,” a light pressure pushes her hand down into her lap, trapped beneath his touch, “that you finally embraced my suggestion of utilizing,” Ultron pauses, head coming to rest on her shoulder, “the entirety of yourself to accomplish a job.”

Never in her life, not even with Tony Stark holding her hand, has she wanted to jagC someone so badly. “It did prove very successful.”

“Tell me, Wanda,” his voice fills her mind, so close and so stifling, inescapable no matter how far she runs. She shuts her eyes for a second, steadying the frantic beat of her powers in her chest. “When he saw you did the web fly and float wide, did the mirror crack from side to sideD?” Confusion is a common tactic, the utterance of nonsense draped in the delivery of intellectualism is meant to catch his marks off guard. Wanda remains silent, uncertain what to say. “You may continue, brave Lancelot.”

She swallows her rage, hands growing restless under this roundabout and unhelpful torture. “His future.” The card is practically thrown onto the table, her hand burning at the image of a man tied by the foot to a cross, only the card is upside down, the man appearing to stand instead of hang. In this position, the Hanged Man has a specific meaning with very little room for interpretation. In Vision’s future is a sacrifice that gains him nothing, that solves nothing for his life, a loss that he may not recover from.  “How are you doing this?” The question is accusatory and foolhardy, exactly what Ultron wants to see, enough to confirm she isn’t fully impartial. “Don’t you dare sell me a dogE.”

“‘The curse has come upon me,’ cried, the butler of Tony Stark.”

Scarlet bursts from her arms as she stands, removing herself from the toxic contact with Ultron, able to stare down at the seedy smile on his face, at the coarse fabric he wears as if it is the finest silk known to man, at the unadulterated hatred in his eyes that never rests, that never dims, that merely changes who it is directed at. “What are you planning?”

A wooden groan tears her attention from his unctuous stare, Gideon approaching them, his waistcoat gone, sleeves rolled up, shirt unbuttoned halfway, and hair matted with sweat. “‘e’s almost done.”

Ultron doesn’t seem excited by the information. “How is he faring?”

“Surprisingly well, ya know, even with being all-fired. Lost the ‘at, gloves, vest, tie early on,” the man sounds truly impressed, bestowing an honor on Vision usually reserved for those who maintained their silence even into death. “Won’t unbutton anything though, sorry t’ say.”

Aggravation falls as a heavy sigh and a roll of Ultron’s eyes, “Can you make it hotter?”

Slowly Wanda is piecing together what is happening, recalling the installation of furnaces and pipes between the rooms around the time she vacated her position, a new way of interrogating people inspired by a particularly balmy summer and a steel room. Gideon, like herself, is horrified at Ultron’s request. “No ‘fense, but I’m ‘bout to pass out in me own room. Plus, not like ‘e’s not completin’ the task.”

“Insubordination is the fruit that banished Adam and Eve from Eden, my dear Gideon.”

The sweaty man tosses his arms in the air, muttering under his breath as he returns to the small room. Wanda swivels back to Ultron, “Are you trying to kill him?”

“God is in the details, my dear,” his arms spread out to the side, a gesture meant to make him appear jocular and witty, though it only serves to make him look more like a snake, “What better way to spur a man towards God than to introduce him to hell?”

Answers are never direct, always a convoluted journey to the outskirts of truth and she’s weary of it. Wanda braces herself as she willingly enters Ultron’s path of destruction, prepared to demand answers instead of being strung along like a puppet. “Just tell me what the plan is.”

His face sets into lines of unwavering resolve as he stands, even the limp created by having only one good leg doesn’t lessen the threat inherit in his swagger. “I’ve already informed you of how to get it,” he reaches down and shoves her hand towards his face, “you have to take it from me.” The last time she touched his mind it was filled with destruction, with annihilation, a terrifying, deafening scream of rage that still echoes around her late at night. Wanda shakes her head and then hates herself for betraying her weakness. “Down in the real world, we are faced with ugly choices, Wanda. You can’t expect to simply be given everything you want, sometimes you have to take it for yourself.” Revulsion and disappointment swell in the syllables he spits out, “Have I taught you nothing? You were given to me to supplant me, to carry on the legacy, you and I were meant to take down Stark.”

She believed this once, embraced it, coddled it, allowed it to convince her to tear apart the minds of lesser people, of those who were sympathetic to Stark, to governments that worked with Stark, to innocent people who happened to manage the bank where Stark kept his money. All of their blood runs through her veins, seeping out as scarlet energy when she can’t control the guilt. Ultron’s not wrong, sometimes the choices we make have to be ugly, have to disgust us. Wanda steps forward, gripping Ultron’s face as her powers ignite, diving deep into the mire of his thoughts. Laughter fills the air around her, his glee at her intrusion disheartening, only intensifying her anger as she navigates the innumerous plans he has, the people he intends to torture. Then she finds the center of his hatred, the glowing arc reactor that represents Stark. And she cries out at the hell-scape she encounters, the monstrosity of his intentions so hot it sears her palms and sends her backwards, severing her connection from his mind as she pants.

“You’re a monster.”

The sneer on his face confirms this, one often found in the murals of sinners painted on cathedral ceilings. “Hansel and Gretel were the true monsters, just like the industrialists, taking and taking everything from the witch before killing her. Someone has to control the vermin.”

“Um, sir?” Gideon is back, rocking anxiously on his heels, no doubt ruminating about his outburst from before and what it means for his increasingly short life.

“What?”

A cough and a thumb thrown over his shoulder explains the intrusion. “Drawing’s done. Should I let him out?”

Ultron waves the woman in white over, directs her to fix the bowler hat Wanda knocked askew in reading his mind. “Please.”

When Vision walks out, Wanda has to stop from gaping, the only other time she’s seen him appear so undone was when they came in from the storm, even then, his hair wasn’t as flat, his shirt as drenched as it is now, sticking to his body like a second skin, and she knows if he were to take off his coat, they’d all be able to see the outlines of metal. In his outstretched hand is a sheet of parchment containing a detailed drawing. “Here is your plan set.”

The woman in white collects the sheet and brings it to Ultron, holding it up for him to inspect, his frown upending into pleasure at what he sees. “Well done, Mr. Williams. Your invaluable contribution to the betterment of the world will be remembered with fondness.” The eulogic tone blanches Vision’s face and sends her own heart into a frantic beat. “Jocasta, shoot him in the head please.”

A pistol is drawn from the drapes of her skirt and Wanda immediately wraps the weapon in scarlet, rushing to stand between Vision and the others. “No.”

“Wanda.”

Warnings are useless now, her need to protect overriding the selfish instincts that pester her with thoughts of just letting this happen and finally being free of everything, escaping on the next train and following the lines to the other side of the country. She’s not that person anymore. “You kill him, Stark is going to institute a manhunt. Do you want police crawling all over this place? Do you want the Black Widow to find you?” Ultron holds up his hand to Jocasta, instructing her to lower the gun. “If you let him go back, I can control him, he won’t tell anyone what happened, I swear.”

Satisfaction oozes from Ultron and she realizes how easily she flew right into his web, trapping herself to be at his mercy once again. “A reasonable suggestion. But you know we can’t just let him walk out of here.” Vision hasn’t looked away from the ground, his chest rising and falling noticeably as he struggles to maintain some sort of composure. “Gideon?”

“Aye, sir?”

Ultron adds a touch of manufactured concern to his voice, “Are you tired?”  The man nods, fanning himself with his cap as the acknowledgment of his exhaustion pulls his limbs down. “Wanda, why don’t you take that from him and give it to Mr. Williams?”

“I-”

“And make sure to give Mr. Williams what you took earlier, can’t have that sitting around ruining my table.” She glances at the orb still shimmering next to the tarot reading. “And actually, my workers have been toiling all day, please, help them by giving their fatigue to Mr. Williams here, as a reminder of my generosity in sparing his life.”

Wanda nods, throat constricting at the request, her hands remembering what it feels like to do this, a strategy they’ve only used twice before. Briefly she considers faking it, sending a rush of scarlet at Vision and instructions on how to act, but all it would take is one person in the operation to complain of a sore ankle or a mild headache and Ultron would kill them both without a second thought. She closes her eyes as she reaches out to the sixty or so minds around them, fingers waving through the air as she struggles to tie it all together into one manageable bundle.

Eight halting steps bring her closer to Vision. His eyes are no longer on the floor, locked now onto the rotating ball between her palms. For the first time since he was introduced to her power, there’s fear in his eyes, an acknowledgment of the harm she can cause and an understanding of the harm she has done to others, the actions he so nobly never seemed concerned with before. Except now he is staring at the possibilities and his face is not much different from all the others streaming through her memory.

She waits for him to look at her. “I’m sorry.” It’s a silent apology, mouthed to him as she begins sending the red into his body, and for what’s it worth, she thinks she sees him respond with an “It’s all right.”  Unlike all the others, he never breaks eye contact with her—not when his legs buckle (her own hands shaking at the feel of his body giving out), not when his arms collapse (her muscles screaming in sympathy), not when a pained cry (which she mimics) comes out as the last sound he makes. He stares at her all the way until he tumbles face first to the ground.

Wanda steps as calmly as she can to his body, kneels down and immediately checks for a pulse. It is faint but present, a mild relief. Carefully she laces scarlet around his body, lifting him up so that she can bring his arm over her shoulders and then wrap her arm around his waist, the proper grip Stark showed her the night of the séance. It takes an enormous effort to turn them both to face the delighted Ultron. “I’m leaving now.”

“A terrifying beauty to behold.” She ignores him, moving at a stilted pace towards the back door. “Wanda, one more inquiry.” This time she doesn’t turn, worried if she does that she won’t have the strength to reorient their bodies again. “Rumor has it Stark has some precious metal walking around, I assumed it would be the Iron Man, but it wasn’t. If you see it, please let me know. It is of the utmost interest.”  

She leaves without acknowledging him, understanding now the disappointment he had when Vision wouldn’t bare his body. Just one more fact she assumed Ultron hadn’t pieced together. It’s clear now she has grossly underestimated his tendency to be a step (or ten) ahead. That’s not important right now, it can’t be, all that matters is getting Vision away from Ultron.

Once they are out of the warehouse and on the street, the humid breeze refreshing on her face, she chances talking. “Vizh?”

A groan is all she gets. It’s better than nothing.

Her voice fractures as she talks, unable to keep up the façade of strength she managed in the warehouse. “Vizh, come on. I just need you to keep moving, okay?” Another groan and she realizes he needs more than just support, tendrils of scarlet loop around his ankles, easing his feet forward one after the other.

They continue like this down the sidewalk, the only saving grace at the moment is the fact night has descended, their pathway illuminated by the moon and the sputter of lamps along the street, allowing her to act as if he had a bit too much smash at the Exhibition. “Come on, Vision.” Five more steps and even her powers are strained, forcing them to stop, his back against the brick of a building and hers pressed against him to keep him upright. To anyone in the distance it must look like an indecorous meeting of lovers. If only that were the case. “You’re really heavy.”

A slurred, “Sorry” incites a strained laugh. At least his politeness remains even when he’s barely cognizant.

“What the hell are you two doing?” The admonishment in Natasha’s hushed voice is a blessing, a prayer answered, and the punishment, whatever it may be, is worth it.

Wanda steps away from Vision, her hand still braced on his chest to keep him steady. “Please,” suddenly the last stronghold of her resilience breaks, fat tears crashing from her eyes as her lungs spasm, the feel of Ultron’s mind, of his touch, overwhelming, but not nearly as much as the way Vision’s body folded beneath her hands. “Help us.”

“Shit.” Clint’s the first one to actually look at Vision, his hands gripping the butler’s cheeks as he studies his fluttering eyes. “We need to get back to Stark.”

Her mind sobers, even if her tears don’t stop, and a threat of scarlet sparks from her fingers. “No.” They can’t go back to the tower. Stark can’t see Vision like this, not again. “We’re not going back tonight.”

Disbelief exudes from Clint, her refusal stunning him into silence. “Okay.” The gentle, non-judgmental way Natasha concedes loosens the noose that’s made its home around her lungs. “I know someone around here.” The woman approaches her like you would a stray dog on the street whose mouth may or may not be foaming. “It’s safe, I swear.” Wanda nods and moves back to collect Vision.

Together she and Clint carry Vision, his feet barely moving as his shoes scrape against the stones, probably ruining the finish on them forever. Natasha leads the way, ducking into alleyways that connect to other streets and Wanda thinks they move in several circles. She assumes it meant to shake any of Ultron’s lackeys who might be trailing them.

After what must be the twentieth alleyway, they arrive at a two-story stone building, the door unassuming in its unfinished wood and iron handle. Natasha knocks five times, a distinct pattern to the way she taps out their arrival, and then the door opens to reveal a tall, muscular man, with gentle eyes and a fierce stance. “Nat?”

“Hey Steve, have room for some guests?”

The man glances past Natasha, lips falling when he sees Vision’s bowed head. “Come on in.”  He steps back from the door, welcoming them inside. They immediately encounter a table where a brunette woman and a dark-skinned man sit conversing. “This is Sam,” the man smiles at them, producing a friendly wave, “and PeggyF.”

Peggy stands, face serious and forehead wrinkling as she steps up to Vision. “What happened?”

All attention turns to Wanda and she does her best to stutter out some sort of explanation. “He was tortured.” It’s not entirely false, in fact, it is likely the most accurate way to describe what she did to him and it is far easier to say than magically imbuing him with the pain and exhaustion of sixty people.

Peggy reaches out to touch the butler’s face, “He’s burning up, we need to cool him down.” The lull of her accent is similar to Vision’s, something that shouldn’t instill Wanda with the sense of safety she feels right now, but if Natasha trusts these people, so will she. “Bring him in here.” They’re led into a tiny spare room, big enough just for a mattress and a three-legged stool. “Will it be okay for him to sleep?”

Wanda has never actually stayed to watch someone recover from her mental assassination. Sleep can’t hurt, she thinks. “That’s probably the best thing for him.”

A nod and a friendly touch of her hand to Wanda’s wrist continues to work as a salve. “I’ll grab one of Steve’s nightshirts.”

Before the woman is out of the room, Clint guides Vision to sit on the bed and begins peeling off his jacket. “He’s soaking wet.” The observation only intensifies her guilt as she reckons with the knowledge Vision would be so much safer if not for her presence in his life. “Vision, I’m trying to help.”

The comment draws her back and she watches as Vision’s hand flops against Clint’s wrist each time he tries to undo the buttons of the butler’s shirt. Since she clearly can’t protect him, she can at least provide him some level of comfort. “Clint,” the fight over the buttons stops, “he hasn’t had anything to eat or drink since breakfast, could you grab him something?”

“But I-”

“I can help him.”

Clint draws in a loud, annoyed breath, his eyes never leaving her face as he considers her command. “I’ll be back.”

As the man leaves, Peggy returns, handing Wanda a folded up nightshirt and then the woman steps back out. Wanda shuts the door, pulling the stool until it is under the handle, providing at least enough resistance to give them warning if anyone tries to enter. “Can I help you?” The little resistance he showed towards Clint melts away, arms falling to his side as she undoes the buttons of his shirt. He helps a bit, mainly in taking his arms out and then sliding on the night shirt.

A knock and she leaves Vision sitting on the bed, opening the door just enough to grab the plate and cup from Clint and then she turns back to find Vision with his head in his hands. Wanda places the food down and sits next to him, hand hovering behind his back, uncertain if he wants to be touched, especially by her. “Vizh.” He doesn’t look up but his body sags to the side enough that their shoulders meet, providing some level of permission to run her hand along his upper back. “You need to sleep,” a nod and his body begins to lay back prematurely. “Vizh.” Her hand stops him from continuing. “We should um,” every time she’s fantasized of this moment, she had it playing out very differently in her mind. “I um,” her voice grows more and more timid with each word, “I need to get your um, gas pipes off, let them dry out.”

“I can do it.”

Wanda nudges his chin up so that he can see her incredulity. What she hopes to find is one of his small smiles--the boyish, embarrassed tilt of his mouth--but his expression is empty, devoid of any marker that might help establish his thoughts. “I won’t look, I promise.” This garners an infinitesimal lift to the right corner of his mouth that she interprets as his acceptance of her offer.

“Okay,” she stands and wraps her arms around him, hefting him up onto his feet, “hold on to me.” Weakly he folds his arms around her shoulders, his head resting on top of hers as her hands dive beneath the nightshirt to unfasten the four buttons of his fly and then she helps ease the garment over his hips, not missing the bump of rivets against her skin as she goes. Wanda removes her hands from under his shirt and lets gravity do the rest of the work, her palm against his chest pushing him back down onto the bed so she can remove his shoes, socks, and pants. It’s not lost on her the way the lone lamp reflects off the metal that exists even on his feet, a stirrup fastened on either side of his ankle that joins together in the arch of his foot.

“Thank you.”

She tips his face up so she can look at him, examine the creases of exhaustion shooting from his mouth and the distant, barely there look in his eyes. “Do you want me to try and help?” Gently her hand moves to his cheek, scarlet beginning to grow.

He flinches and his cheek becomes an active steam pipe, her palm blistering as it flies away.

“Wanda,” his arms encase her waist, tugging her closer so that he can bury his face in her dress, his voice distraught as it croaks out, “I’m so sorry.”

“No, no,” she cups the back of his head, not wanting him to pull back and see the tears glistening on her cheeks, “no, Vizh, it’s,” dozens of words stream through her mind, veering from equally apologetic to guilt-ridden to merely pacifying, “it’s fine.” She bends to kiss the disarray of his usually well-kept hair. “You need to sleep now.”

“Okay.”

Wanda eases him down, helping him swing his legs onto the bed, and he’s too tall, feet hanging off the edge, but that doesn’t seem to bother him. After she covers him loosely with a sheet, in case anyone else enters the room, she kisses his brow, hoping he can feel her remorse. And then she leaves.

“How’s he doing?” Peggy asks the question the second Wanda closes the door behind her.

The only open seat is between Natasha and Peggy, a position that is oddly soothing and helps her breathe just a little bit easier. “He’s sleeping.”

This seems an acceptable answer, Natasha returning their conversation to idle chatter, “So Sam, I thought you were moving to Saratoga?”

Sam’s easy shrug goes along with his amicable explanation, “A houseG sounded nice but I felt like what Steve and Peggy are doing is a bit more important than owning some land, you know?”

Someone responds but the contents of the words don’t particularly matter to her, something about military operations, a railroad, Virginia, hidden closets, and daring escapes. Her mind isn’t at the table, it’s stuck in the spare room, her fingers itching to reach out and check Vision’s mind. But the carte blanche invitation has been revoked. One flinch and the cracks have formed, the damage too fresh to assess, and it is gnawing at her. When she can wrestle her mind away from the man in bed, her thoughts swing to Ultron, to every misstep and miscalculation she made. Of course he wouldn’t have followed a schedule, of course he would have bombarded them, she herself had been the agent of bombardment on numerous occasions. How could she have been so blind to his game? Even more, why did she assume he was ignorant, that he didn’t know exactly what he wanted or what she had. It doesn’t matter now, he has the arc reactor plans. The first part of his plot is complete. Wanda shivers at the inferno of his mind, at the deranged glee twisting with each path and step of the plan. From here she just needs to stop the rest.

“Wanda?”

When she looks up, the table is empty save for Natasha. “What?”

“Why did you break from the plan?” Anger wavers in between the syllables yet it never takes hold or moves into accusation, remaining merely a harsh curiosity. “We had a deal, why did you go against it?”

They did. They had a plan, one that was well thought out, one that would have mitigated the risk Wanda and Vision took in going alone, one that would have ended differently. Had Natasha and Clint been lurking within sight, Ultron likely wouldn’t have descended. All Wanda has left is honesty, too tired to try and come up with some partial lie to save face. “We just wanted time alone.”

“You could have asked us.” It’s what Vision had suggested as well. “I would have gladly helped you get some time alone back at the tower.” The mask of espionage is removed to reveal a sympathetic sheen to the woman’s eyes as she probes further. “What happened to him?”

Wanda’s lungs spasm, a guttural cry puncturing the silence of the slumbering house and she begins crying again, doesn’t even try to shrug off the arm Natasha curls around her. “They were going to kill him,” another sob shakes her body as she relives once again the feel of sending him to the floor, “the only way to get him out alive was if I-” her voice fails before she can finish.

A hand brushes over her hair, Natasha’s voice barely a whisper. “He’ll be fine, Wanda.”

“You don’t know that.”

Laughter isn’t commonly found with sorrow, but Natasha chuckles, running her hand through Wanda’s hair again. “It was a bad lie.” What is supposed to be a laugh comes out of Wanda’s mouth more as a strangled hiccup. “Will he recover?”

“I think so.”

“Good.” The spy sits back, removing her physical comfort while maintaining it in her voice. “I know what it’s like to run from an,” she winces, “unsavory past.” Wanda can’t seem to stare anywhere other than her hands, fascinated at the thud of her rings against the table as her fingers tremble. “The transition from being a weapon to a person is difficult.” The tap of her rings cease when Natasha grips her hand, “I promise you though, you don’t have to be defined by the red in your ledger.” Now Wanda looks to the woman, is momentarily frozen at the bare sincerity in her expression. “You have people willing to support you,” she stops and glances towards the closed door, “willing to love you. Don’t run from that,” a squeeze goes along with her plaintive, “please.”

Wanda rubs the tears from her face, nodding silently at the request, unable to commit to it now but willing to consider it. “I’m really tired.”

Whatever closeness grew between them dissipates. “Me too.” Natasha stands to grab a pile from the hearth. “Here, Peggy thought you’d be more comfortable in these.”

“Thanks.” The clothes sit awkwardly in her hands while she stares at the house. “Where am I staying?”

According to society, Natasha should insist Wanda stay with her, instead the spy smirks, head inclining towards Vision’s room. “I convinced Clint it would be okay just for tonight.” The woman turns and walks up the stairs with a “Sleep well,” and not a single care given to her complacency in shirking the rules of appropriate courtship.

As quietly as possible Wanda enters the room, endeavoring to remain silent as she shuts the door and struggles to get the offensively tight bodice off, resorting to using her powers to manipulate the fabric off of her body. For the first time all day, she breathes freely, a small, unnecessarily amazing moment of peace.

Even if she hates the dress, all that fabric will make for a decent bed. Wanda checks on Vision, mainly to confirm he is breathing, and then lowers herself to the ground, fluffing the skirt until it forms a pillow and changing position until she’s comfortable.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

In the dark she can’t make out anything from the bed, the silence stretching out long enough she assumes he fell back asleep. “Wanda,” she sits up at the summons, squinting into the darkness, “you can sleep in the bed.”

She wants desperately to be able to rest her head on his chest if only to listen to his heartbeat throughout the night, wants to believe he actually desires her closeness, but it is more likely his politeness dictating the offer. “If the roles were reversed you know you’d be insisting on sleeping on the floor.”

Quiet befalls again, elongating into an uncomfortable eternity, and she thinks he may be going in and out of consciousness, making his ability to stay on topic impressive. She wonders if that skill is part of Robert Robert’s guidelines. “And you would insist I join you in the bed.”

He’s not wrong and the logic behind their impasse actually brings a smile to her face. “You win.” Fabric rustles as she stands up, a swift kick to the skirt to get it off her foot far too satisfying, and then she assesses how exactly to join him. The bed isn’t necessarily small, but Vision is sprawled in the middle of it, leaving only the edges for her. “You’re taking up the whole bed, Vision.”

Embarrassment thickens the air and she is tempted to light her hand to see his face, then remembers the way he recoiled earlier and deems the dark just a small obstacle to deal with. “My body seems unable to move.”

Detachment of the mind and body is one of the side effects she’s seen in people affected by her power, at least at the trials they had her complete while she and Pietro were still at the research facility. “It’s okay.” She settles along his side, experimentally draping her arm over his waist, waiting several seconds for any sign of dissent. When there is none, she allows her muscles to relax, cheek coming to rest over his heart, “See, I’m good.”

Her arm rises and falls with his breathing, a soothing, albeit shallow rhythm that she latches onto, her own inhales and exhales synchronizing with his. In the solitude and serenity of night she finally feels a relative safeness.

“Wanda?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you work for him?” They’ve covered this before, briefly, and at that time Ultron was an abstraction, a nameless, faceless boss for whom she regretted working. Now Vision has a name, has a face, has abhorrent memories that will no doubt haunt him the way they will haunt her.

Confessions in the dark always seem to hold the most weight, a lack of visual information freeing her tongue to be wholly honest. “Because when he found me all I wanted was to kill Stark.” She can’t remember if she’s ever been this blunt, usually erring for words like destroy or ruin, death far too polarizing. “That’s all Ultron wanted as well and I was able to justify every horrible action by convincing myself it was a necessary step to my goal.”

What is likely seconds of silence feels like an hour. “What made you leave?”

“There was a job we had been planning, a burglary of Stark’s Manhattan factory.” Excitement had thrummed through the entire organization at finally being able to attack Stark where it may actually hurt him. “Ultron seemed particularly distant and his orders were vague, it made me suspicious.” She remembers bringing a bottle of sparkling CatawbaH to Ultron’s room, his lips looser when inebriated though it also made his hands even more eager, a scale weighing how willing she was to be uncomfortable and how much she wanted the information tipping towards the latter. “I looked into his head that night and saw what he actually had planned.”

“What was it?”

She’d been ten years old when she watched her parents die in the inferno of the factory, could never, even after more than a decade, shake the sight of the dancing, ravenous flames or forget the heat that made the winter feel like spring. That night with Ultron, she experienced it again. “He was going to set the factory on fire, during the evening shift, barricade the workers inside, and force Stark to live through another public tragedy.” A sniffle fills her ear. She reaches out her hand to touch his cheek and meets a river. “I couldn’t-” now she joins him, his response allowing her to mourn anew, pulling his body closer and burying her face in the nightshirt to muffle her sob.

They lay like this until her throat is hoarse and her tears slow. Vision hesitantly furthers the conversation, providing his inquiry as a statement. “Mr. Stark received an anonymous tip about a plot against his factory.”

He did. She went to a random street vendor, asked if they could write, and had them make the note. Then she delivered it and hopped on a train north, only a small bag of clothes and a few mementos coming with her. “Yes, I couldn’t let that happen again”

Absolution is unwarranted, forgiveness is questionable, all she can truly hope for is some level of understanding. “Thank you.” Wanda has no idea if he is thanking her for sharing, for being honest, for saving the lives of the workers, and she isn’t going to ask for clarity because he owes her nothing after what she’s done.

“You should sleep.”  Like a true witch, her words act as a spell, putting him into a slumber, his breathing deepening as his body sinks deeper into the straw mattress.

By the time the sun streams through the cream-colored curtains, his heart has beat twenty-four thousand times, give or take. When she realized that sleep was never going to befriend her, Wanda decided the best way to keep her intrusive thoughts at bay was to count the hum of his life, the task both comforting and distracting. As his heart beats on towards the next thousandth benchmark, the door cracks open, Natasha’s face coming into view. “We need to head out soon.”

“Okay.” The door shuts and Wanda extricates herself from the bed, careful to remove her arm from his waist in a way that won’t stir him, wanting him to get as much sleep as possible. With the sun illuminating the surroundings, she discovers a small mirror in the corner, her reflection mildly terrifying, coaxing her hands to fix the mess of frizzy braids, half of them falling down towards her shoulders and the other half either in place or jutting out to the side. Once her hair is somewhat presentable, she inspects the clothing Peggy provided, a quartz colored blouse not unlike the one Wanda usually wears (though this one is far nicer and had been well-pressed based on the stiffness of the sleeve cuffs) and a chestnut skirt that is a snugger fit than is typical of women’s fashion. It’s far preferable to the other outfit, which Wanda intends to accidentally forget on the floor.

Vision, when she turns back to him, lays in a peaceful state, face lacking the tension of the night before, his hair still wild but it adds to the serenity. She hates that she has to wake him up. Haltingly she walks back to the bed, easing herself to sit next to him, and then gingerly she shakes his shoulder with a quiet, “Vision.” Light sleeping must also be a hallmark requirement of a good butler, his eyes shooting open then immediately tightening into a cringe. Wanda’s nose scrunches in empathy, her fingers combing through his hair as he brings a palm to his face and cringes again. “How are you feeling?”

True to his nature, he contemplates the answer before speaking, likely assessing each part of his body to give a full picture. “Have you ever had a loose cog fall on your head and split it open?” Her finger runs along his hairline in search of the scar she discovered the day before, guessing this might be its etiology.

“I have not.”

“Oh,” his eyes haven’t opened since the first attempt, “it is like that only infinitely worse.” A muted thankfulness wraps around her at the knowledge he can’t see the guilt stitched into her expression. “I also just feel,” he stops, hand lifting into the air before plummeting back onto his face, “dense, like my bones have been filled with lead.”

Wanda considers apologizing again. Really, she feels as if she could apologize every minute of every day for the rest of her life and it would never actually help her eschew the shame she wears. “We have to head back to the tower,” she allows a few seconds for some sort of response, continuing when he doesn’t move, hand still affixed to his face, “I can help you get dressed.”

This lowers his hand and opens his eyes, his irises dim, like clouds invading the sky on a sunny day. “I would like to do it myself.”

“Vizh-”

“Wanda, please,” he grips her hand, his fingers bungling the action so that only half her hand is encased within his own, “I need to do it.”

Need is a strong word, want is likely better, until she remembers watching him in the calm of the morning tying a perfect knot, the joy on his face and the pride in his eyes at being able to complete the small action. Sometimes what one person perceives as a preference, another considers a lifeline.  If he needs to prove his autonomy, particularly after last night, it is only to himself, and that, she reckons, is a good enough reason to let him do it. “I’ll just step out and find out what’s happening. Will you-”

“I will inform you if I need help.”

Outside the room, Natasha and Clint are eating at the table while Steve and Peggy stand near the hearth, his hand lightly on her lower back as he watches her pour out a drink. Wanda slinks over to the table, sliding into the seat next to Natasha.

“Well good morning, Wanda.” Clint’s cheeriness is a bit grating. “Sleep well?”

A plate is placed in front of her, nothing showy like at Stark’s, just a hunk of bread and some cheese. “Thank you.” Steve smiles at her and returns to Peggy, leaving Wanda to answer Clint’s question. “No. When are we leaving?”

Natasha sips her coffee before responding, not nearly as chipper as Clint, which is preferable. “As soon as Vision is ready. Steve’s set up transportation for us.”

“Well, Sam’s setting it up now,” the blonde-haired man shrugs as he corrects the comment, crossing his arms while he talks, “Is, um, Vision,” his voice slides up when he reaches the n and Wanda nods to confirm he’s correct, “okay with enclosed spaces? Figured you all might want to use some underground transport in case of prying eyes.”

This isn’t information she’s ever gathered from Vision, the topic not one that seems easy to slip into conversation. What she does know is that he utilizes the somewhat claustrophobic secret passages in Stark’s homes on a daily basis. “I think he’ll be fine with it.”

“Good.” There is something about the man’s smile, it’s charming but not in a romantic way or in Stark’s narcissistic way. It provides a fact about his life that, like many others in the room, he has seen nightmares brought to life and consciously decides each day to remain positive. That’s it, there is a purposeful, non-manipulative kindness to his smile. “Then once Vision’s all set, I’ll get you all home.”

As she nibbles on her breakfast, Wanda can sense the anxious way the others are holding themselves—tapping fingers, restless legs, eyes bouncing to each other—a plan having been set and all of them simply waiting to enact it. “I’ll go check on him.” The chair scratches against the floor as she stands and she tries not to look back when she opens the door, sure everyone is watching her.

Inside Vision is mostly dressed, pants on and shirt three-quarters of the way buttoned, though it’s not tucked in. His hands move in a tired frenzy, each one holding an end of the bow tie, looping, pulling, and then dropping to his side in dismay, the knot existing but lacking the bow. “Vision?” He turns defeated eyes towards her and it breaks her heart to see him like this. “We need to go.”

A tug undoes the sloppy knot and he shoves the offending fabric into his pocket, bending (with a grunt) to grab his coat, shrugging it on with his eyes still closed, and then he looks down at the loose laces of his shoes. “Would you be willing to help with my shoes? It will take me at least ten minutes more if I do it on my own.”

“Of course.”

He sits on the bed and she bends down, making quick work of the laces. “Thank you.” It is a nicety laced with vitriol not at her, but at himself, even his eyes glaring at his hands for betraying him.

Wanda does her best to ignore his tone, refusing to stoke the fire of self-hatred. “Come on,” she offers him her hand and he takes it, standing with a slight wobble that she corrects with an arm around his waist. Then she removes the support. “Do you want help?”

The shoes seem to act as the first domino, tipping forward and leading to the next fall of his resistance, “Please.” Her arm returns to his waist and he in turn drapes his arm over her shoulders as they walk (with a bit of sideways maneuvering) through the door.

“There he is!” Clint is still enthusiastic, leaping to his feet with a wide grin and outstretched arms.

Attention is not at all what Vision desires, his body shriveling at the sudden onset of four pairs of eyes. Wanda tightens her hold and encourages him into the room. Eventually he acclimates to the environment and responds with a brief, “Thank you.” The words are meant for everyone; mostly, however, they land on the shoulders of Steve and Peggy, both of whom act as if nothing unusual occurred.

“We were happy to let you all stay,” Steve’s voice contains both authenticity and conviction. “Friends of Nat’s are friends of ours.”

“Plus, it’s nice to hear a familiar accent around here.” This is Peggy, lips spread into a friendly smile and the effect of her comment is instantaneous, Vision’s muscles losing a touch of tension. “Northern London?”

Vision’s face finally breaks from its gloom for a moment, “Hertfordshire.”

“Ah, a farm boy,” Peggy grins wider, voice slightly teasing, “always was jealous of the idyllic life.”

“Only in my youth. And you?”

“London proper, military family though, moved around a lot.” The conversation feels as if it is only beginning, yet the somewhat impatient stance of Steve cuts it short. “If you ever want to commiserate over the horrid tea here,” Vision chuckles, the only one who seems to find it amusing, “come back when you’re feeling better.”

Natasha stands which leads to Clint following suit. “Thank you again, for everything.”

Nothing more is said beyond general checks to make sure everyone is ready, and then they move to a room in the back. A large tapestry hangs on the wall and when it is removed they find a doorway. One by one (or two, when Wanda and Vision enter) they enter a dank, lightless tunnel, Steve’s voice instructing them to touch the sides if they need guidance. This is far worse than the passageways at the manor, at least there Vision has set up lamps to light the way. It seems inconvenient for Wanda to learn right now of her strong dislike of closed spaces, the only saving grace is the feel of Vision against her, his presence helping remind her why they are doing this. When they reach the end, they come out another door, stepping into a small church, one that appears to not have the most active or wealth congregation, the pews rotting, the crucifix slanted, and the stained-glass windows in desperate need of a cleaning.

They also find Sam, sitting in the back pew, “Ready for round two?” I

At this point Steve leaves them, returning to the tunnel, and Sam leads them out the back of the church and into a wagon, the sides and top covered with a heavy brown tarp, though at least in this setting some sunlight streams through the seams. No one speaks as they bump up and down with the cobblestones, the sound of other carriages and the shouts of vendors providing little information on where exactly they are at the moment. And then the movement stops. A creak comes from ahead of them, likely Sam getting down from his seat, his voice reaching them as he informs someone, “Got a delivery for Stark.”

Happy’s face is contorted in bewilderment when he lifts the tarp to find the four of them, confusion tugging his eyebrows down and his lips up into a thoughtful pucker. “You know we have a carriage, right?”

“We know.” Natasha exits first, brushing the butler aside, and helps the rest of them out, her arm bumping Wanda’s as they steady Vision’s descent.

It appears they are behind the tower, in a back alleyway Wanda assumes is meant for use by servants and delivery carriages. Wanda checks over her shoulder, finding the only sight lines the lone opening to the alley and rooftops of the buildings adjoining the tower. From here, there doesn’t appear to be anyone watching them.

Happy corrals them towards the back door of the tower, Natasha staying behind for a couple minutes to talk with Sam while the rest follow the increasingly nervous, curly-haired butler towards the main seating room. Throughout the trip, Vision has to stop multiple times, gather his breath and composure, and re-set Wanda’s arms to better support him, each turn and each step slows him down, only the continued promise of “Just a bit farther and you can sit,” coaxing him along.

When they reach the main room, Happy lets out a “Huh,” and leaves them, searching for something that is apparently lost. Moments later, however, it is found, Tony Stark stomping into view, his eyes set on one person and one person only. “Vision, where the hell have you been?” Per his usual conversational methods, he’s not actually wanting an answer, using the question to dive into a rant that has clearly been simmering overnight. “One, do you know how long I’ve been waiting in that chair?” An angry finger points to a chair that is usually in Stark’s study, a leather-backed seat that swivelsJ depending on the movements of the person sitting in it. “All I wanted was to have a big dramatic turn around to accuse you of being a horrible butler, but no, you can’t even give me that. Instead you take forever and I get hungry.” This seems trivial and a bit mean, if Wanda had any say, which she does not and will not intervene beyond squeezing Vision’s waist in even intervals as his muscles continue to tense under Tony’s anger. The ranting man holds up two fingers as he continues, “Two, since you clearly forgot about setting up a meeting that was meant solely for your well-being, I met with Cho and Palmer alone this morning.” Vision almost loses his balance at this information. “Guess what, it was a lovely time and Cho even brought her entire damn display from the Exhibition to show you. But apparently you sipK one third-class spiritualist and suddenly your commitments mean nothing. That’s something to expect from me,” Tony’s eyebrows lift as his fingers tap his chest in a moment of clarity and honesty, “not you. You’re the responsible one in this household. And three,” another finger is added to his gesticulating, “why didn’t you-,” it’s only now that Tony seems to actually look at Vision, take in the untucked shirt, the messy hair, the utter exhaustion of his face, and his ire shifts just a smidgen. “I swear to God, Vision, you better look like this because she’s been bagpipingL you all night.”

Silent horror is the most apt way to describe the response of the group. No one is going to respond other than Vision, his the only word Stark cares to hear. “Vision, why aren’t you doing the whole ‘Please sir’ or gasping with a ‘Mr. Stark!’?” Tony approaches the butler, his hands grabbing his shoulders so he can stare him in the eyes, forcing Wanda to move away to give him space. The fury of before—one she recognizes as being birthed from concern and unconditional love, Stark’s intonations almost matching her own father’s the one time she and Pietro were caught playing amongst the active furnaces at the factory—gives out the longer they stare at each other and morphs into a dangerous, wild animal seeking some new outlet of blame. Tony steps away from Vision and swings his glare to the rest of them. “Can someone please, for the love of God, tell me what the hell is going on. What happened to him?”

“Tony,” Natasha says his name in the soothing sing-song often used on tantruming toddlers, “we should sit down.”

This is not what he wants to hear. “No. You all have been sneaking around for days.” He pauses and then re-emphasizes the timeframe, “Days. Tell me what is going on, right now.” The way he says it implies a threat, an unfinished or so help me, I will ruin you.

“Mr. Stark,” Vision finally manages some words, voice weak, the syllables a bit muddled compared to his typically crystalline pronunciation. “I would really like to sit down.”

A frustrated, incomprehensible sound comes from Stark’s throat, but he acquiesces, blocking Wanda from touching Vision and helping the butler over to the couch himself. The two men whisper to each other, too low for anyone to understand what they are saying. Whatever passes between them seems to allay Stark enough that his face is back to a frigid confidence when he sits down. “Tell me what’s going on.”

They all default to staring at Natasha and she graciously accepts the baton of authority they hand her. “A very credible threat is targeting the arc reactor.”

“Who isn’t these days?”

“Tony,” she continues with gravitas, “we have every reason to believe this is an actual threat. The people wanting it have already infiltrated the guest list for your exhibition,” knowledge Wanda suspected but had no idea had been confirmed, “they have been staking out you, Vision, and Pepper since you walked off the boat,” Stark’s goatee sinks at the information, “and they kidnapped Vision last night,” it sinks even deeper into a menacing scowl.

Wanda hasn’t been completely open with everything from the night before, not because she was attempting to conceal, but because her mind hasn’t been focused on Stark. It’s imperative they all know the truth. “And they have the plans for the arc reactor.”

“Excuse me?” Even Natasha’s face mimic’s Tony’s complete inability to fathom the stupidity of what she just said.

Vision, his face in his hands, provides more detail, “I was forced to draw the plans for them.” He grimaces as he looks up at Tony, “So I drew them the original plans for the arc reactor.”

“What did you just say?” Dubiousness still resides in his voice undercut by an unusual uptick that might be hope.

“I drew them the original plans, the ones you first showed me.”

Tony is out of his chair in seconds, three and a half steps bring him to Vision’s knees. In one swift movement he bends down, grabs Vision’s face, and lays a heartfelt, smacking kiss to the man’s forehead. “You are the most brilliant, cunning, fantastic person I have ever met,” another kiss and Stark drops the butler’s face, standing tall, “just don’t tell Pepper I said that, okay?”

A minuscule tilt forms on Vision’s lips, “Your secret is, as always, safe with me.”

“So,” Clint, who is lounging in an armchair with his boots on the glass table, asks the question on Wanda’s mind, “can you maybe explain why that’s so good?”

Tony laughs, tossing an affectionate look at Vision, and then sits back down, body freer, more laid back, and his hands bounce as he explains. “The original plans for the reactor had the wires wrong. It boggled me for years. I could never get the damn thing to work and then this angel,” he waves his hands towards the blonde-haired not-wholly-angelic-looking-at-the-moment angel on the couch, “comes up to me and is all like ‘Mr. Stark, sir, I beg your pardon, but your diagram is wrong.’ Turns out I’d had the wiring backwards.” Stark is beaming, voice matter-of-factly stating, in the most aggrandizing way, “So what he gave to these assholes won’t ever work.”  

This should be enlightening, should be happy and fortuitous news, except once Ultron realizes this flaw it means the target on Vision’s back will be branded into him until he finds his way into a body bag. “That doesn’t change anything,” Wanda hopes her voice conveys the peril they are in, that this one positive development is meaningless. “He is coming for the arc reactor, even with the plans, he is still going to do everything in his power to get the one you are showing in three days.”

“And how, pray tell, do you know this, Wanda?” Stark’s fingers steeple, likely how he intended them to be for his dramatic swivel that never happened.

Wanda can’t stop her hands from rising, her fingers from curling in frustration at dealing with this condescending man. “Because he doesn’t stop. He never, ever stops. Once he wants something, he will do anything, and go through anyone to get it.”

The click of Tony’s tongue sounds like the cock of a gun, his eyes finding hers as he aims, “I noticed it was phrased as Vision was kidnapped, not Wanda and Vision were kidnapped despite the fact you were the only one with that juicy little tidbit about the drawing.”

“Sir.”

“Vision,” Stark says the name as a warning: speak again and all good will is gone. “How did he end up like this and you are unscathed?”

Sometimes Wanda wishes instead of reading minds and manipulating matter, she had the power to just sink through the floor and disappear. Sadly, she doesn’t, so she sits up straight, squaring her shoulders, trying to match Stark’s confidence under the weight of the curious stares around the room. “Because I did it to him.” Tony’s face contorts into a hellish rage, mouth opening to speak, though she refuses to let that happen, continuing until she can provide context. “Ultron gave me a choice, either Vision gets shot in the head or I incapacitate him. I chose for him to live.”

“Did you say Ultron?” The rage pales, giving way to a troubling edginess. Wanda nods in affirmation. “Is that his God given name, by any chance?”

For a man with a butler named Vision, it seems an odd question. “No.”

Tony stands, hands rubbing together. “Vision.” He claps loudly, walking to the butler and offering his hand, “Come on, you look like hell.” Not only does Vision accept the help up, he also graciously accepts Tony’s support, leaning into the shorter man’s frame as they walk away. “We’ll all chat later, okay?”

An eerie silence descends, confusion cozying up with apprehension, the stakes suddenly elevated if Tony Stark is this terrified of a name. Compounding this new development is the sickening feeling Wanda gets watching Vision be led away, a premonition of sorts, a sign of a future where he’s always just out of reach, always with his back to her, where the fractures from yesterday are irreparable, and the only person she has to blame for this bleak fortune is herself.

Victorian Language and Culture decoder:

A

Over on AO3 there is a link to a picture of a real Victorian prosthetic used as inspiration.

B

Slightly amended quote from Romeo and Juliet

C

Jag: the desire to use a knife on someone

D

Referencing Tennyson’s “Lady of Shalott” poem.

E

Don’t sell me a dog: Don’t lie to me

F

Fun fact, Peggy was a nickname for Margaret by this point! I was worried it didn’t come into existence until the 1900s, but nope, around the mid-1700s it was recorded as a common use nickname.

G

In the early 1850s, Saratoga Springs was the first place in New York that allowed Blacks to own land. The reason behind it was to draw in more people to work in the stables, Saratoga being famous for their horse races.

H

In 1842, in Ohio, the first successful winery existed in the U.S., where they grew Catawba grapes and accidentally created a pinkish, sweet champagne when the grapes fermented for a second time.

I

In case it is not clear, Steve and Peggy are part of the underground railroad. Sam came up through the railroad from Virginia and decided to stay and help them instead of moving on north. There is a lot more to their background than that, but that’s all that’s needed for the story.

J

The swivel chair was created by Thomas Jefferson and supposedly he was sitting in his swivel chair when he signed the Declaration of Independence in 1776.

K

Sip: synonym for kiss.

L

Bagpiping: In Victorian times this term meant fellatio. Today it has a very different sexual meaning, which you are welcome to look up if you want to.

[randomly-random-jen]

Uncalled For Actions (14/?)

A Girl Genius fanfic

When Gilgamesh Holzfäller is fourteen, he’s taken on as an apprentice to Baron Wulfenbach as part of a program to produce the next generation of leaders in the Empire–a group that will hopefully get along (although most see this as wishful thinking on the Baron’s part). He’s learned a lot over the months of shadowing the Baron, but nothing has prepared him for his most challenging assignment: confronting the skeletons in his closet.  

[Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | Part 15 ]

Part 14

"Not taking the bait, huh?" he continued, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Aren't you just a dedicated little thing? I wonder how dedicated, though." He stood, rifling in his coat while his companions--probably the same idiots from yesterday--snickered at his side.

There was a swish of metal on metal that made all of the hairs on Violetta's arms stand up and then a dagger landed ten centimeters from her left pinky. She didn't flinch--just glared at the knife. More feet entered her field of view while interest grew in the confrontation. She was sure some people were taking bets, and she didn't like her odds at the moment.

Another knife landed with a thunk between her hands, setting off additional rounds of betting. She never hated anyone more than she hated Martellus at this moment--him and his stupid games and always trying to make Violetta look bad.

What is his problem? She very nearly gave in to the urge to blurt the question but bit her tongue instead to keep quiet.

A moment, later, a third knife dropped past her face, wedging in the ground between her thumb and forefinger on her right hand, getting the tiniest twitch in her fingers. Sweat coated her skin and dripped into her eyes, forcing her to blink to clear them. She wet her chapped lips, tasting the salt then swallowed hard.

Martellus disappeared behind her where a knife skimmed her leg, landing near her knee. Another settled near her left boot while a third suddenly appeared next to her wrist--this time drawing a trickle of blood.

"Oops," Martellus said, "did that hurt?"

Violetta called on every training exercise she normally despised to keep still and control her breathing. She wasn't too worried about Martellus right now--he wouldn't do anything to seriously injure her with all of these witnesses, but he would enjoy humiliating her which just fueled her need to show him a fool.

"Damn, I'm out of knives," Martellus called. "Anyone got a spare or three." He laughed at his own lame joke as the other kids clamored to appease his request.

Violetta focused on her reflection in the large dagger directly ahead of her and prepared for the next knife to drop, but Martellus decided to change things up. The knife he dangled before her was more of a small sword. He pressed the flat side to her forehead--the steel feeling cool to her clammy skin then slowly he slid it up then over the top of her head and across her back.

He settled it between her shoulder blades, hilt resting against her tailbone and the tip scraping her collar.

Martellus pressed his mouth to her ear--his breath hot and heavy. "You should really learn to mind your own business, Violetta."

The implied threat froze her insides, setting off panic alarms in her head.

“Let's see how still you can be," he said loud enough the crowd could hear. "That point is sitting a millimeter from your brain stem--the smallest tremor could move it which would be very, very bad for you, little dumpling."

Violetta's arms ached as she fought to keep still and the knife was heavy enough to throw her balance off--nevermind all of the blood that had been pooling in her head the last half hour. Worse than the physical pain was the edge of panic wedging into her subconscious. She had no idea how she was going to get out of this short of Martellus showing mercy which was a hell of a long shot.

Her only option was to hope she could hold out long enough that he just got bored because she knew no one was going to take her side over Martellus--not even her own brothers who were somewhere in the cavern already doing nothing.

If Tarvek were here...

But he wasn't, and she had told him she didn't need him to protect her. She almost laughed at the irony and redoubled her efforts because she didn't want Tarvek finding out about this and proving him right. It would go right to his already-fat head.

Martellus squatted down in front of her again and tapped her nose. "How you doing, Violetta? Ready to admit defeat--you just have to say the words."

Not a chance in hell, she thought but kept her jaw clamped tight. Somewhere to her right, a boy shouted then a scuffle broke out, forcing the crowd to shift away from them. Violetta watched a boot come precariously close to stepping on her fingers. She still refused to move.

"Sounds like the natives are getting restless; you could get trampled. Just say the words and you're free to go. 'Martellus, you are so much better than me in every way, and I bow to your superiority.' Of course, you'll have to actually bow, too--it's only right."

Violetta rolled her eyes--he was so full of himself, and she bowed to no one except maybe Tarvek, but she worked for him, and there would need to be circumstances.

Someone suddenly bumped her side, causing the knife to slide down her back, the point now pricking her skin. A trickle of something slid over her neck, but she couldn't tell if it was sweat or blood.

"Uh-oh," Martellus said with a laugh that made her want to punch him.

Of course, most things he said and did made her want to punch him.

"What is the meaning of this," a voice boomed, echoing around the chamber.

The other students scrambled back to their stations, giving Violetta her first clear view of things. Several kids had stayed in their positions like Violetta, but most had given up and were now trying to decide if it was worth the effort to fake it.

Next to her, Misha lifted himself back onto his hands, but Viktor just stood at attention behind her. Martellus hopped to his feet, snatching the daggers from around her as he turned to the front of the room.

Herr Delmeck strolled purposefully through the chaotic lines. "Martellus von Blitzengaard, why am I not surprised? I was under the impression you graduated from my class already, but perhaps you've realized the sad conclusion that you don't know as much as you think you do."

"I've missed you, too, sir," Martellus answered smoothly.

"Then perhaps you'd care to join us."

Martellus started to walk away, the knives nowhere to be seen. "I'd love to, Herr Delmeck, but I'm needed at the summit."

"That wasn't a request, von Blitzengaard--in formation now."

Several kids snickered as Martellus cringed then slowly turned to take up the ready position next to Violetta.

Delmeck studied them a moment before returning to the head of the room. "Maybe you can help us in our lesson today."

"Which is?" asked Martellus sounding more bored than anything.

"We're having a discussion on the merits of routine versus spontaneity in the field. Half of the class believes in following routines because it's as it always has been while the other half responds to sudden changes because that's what was demanded. What are your opinions?"

Martellus thought it over a moment. "Routines, training, dedication-" he side-eyed Violetta "-are good starting points in any engagement. It's what you know and can keep you safe by reacting without thinking but being able to change based on circumstances is how you win because real life is nothing like training--it's unpredictable.

“On the other hand, following orders just because someone yells them could get you killed--you have to learn to trust your instincts.”

"Very good, Herr von Blitzengaard," Delmeck said with a nod.

"What?" Viktor shouted, his voice cracking in his apparent anger.

"Wait," said Misha, now sitting, "you mean there's no right answer. It didn't even matter if we followed the routine or did the flip?"

Delmeck stopped in front of Misha. "Ah, but you did neither, Herr Dohvoshki--you are dead."

"What was even the point?" asked Viktor.

"The point was to make you think. Training can take you only so far; you must learn to react to sudden changes, and as Martellus said, trust your instincts."

"Well, my instincts told me to be confused," Misha muttered.

"Yes, and that's why you are dead--your instincts need to be worth listening to before you act on them."

This got laughs from the other kids.

"Your instincts told you to follow my commands," he said to Violetta," because you trust me."

"Yes, sir," she whispered, ashamed of the way her voice quivered with exhaustion.

"And you stayed in this position because?"

Violetta swallowed hard, hoping her voice less croaky this time. "Because you didn't dismiss us yet."

Delmeck didn't respond right away, just strolled off.

"Such a suck up," Martellus said under his breath. "You learn that from Tarvek or does it come naturally?"

Violetta growled as her patience wore dangerously thin, but before she could give in to the urge to react, Delmeck returned to the front of the cavern.

"Class," he shouted, "at attention."

Despite her aching muscles, Violetta shot upright, back straight, arms at her side. Martellus and the others did the same without hesitation either.

"Violetta, Carmine, Delia, Warner, and Sanjay," Herr Delmeck called, "the five of you remained at your commanded positions even after I left and von Blitzengaard commandeered my class. I commend your dedication and your instinct to obey your trainer. You are al free to go."

Violetta let out a sigh of relief, her shoulders relaxing.

"The rest of you obviously need more lessons."

Not waiting to see what lessons the trainer had n mind, Violetta darted for the exit, snatching one of Martellus' daggers still in the floor near her foot. She bypassed the Smoke Knight dorms and didn't stop until she was on the other side of the castle.

Again, her instinct was to find Tarvek to tell him what happened so maybe Delmeck was wrong about her. She ignored the urge, instead, creeping through passages until she found her way to Tarvek's empty lab.

Chemistry wasn't her strong suit, but Tarvek had tutored her extensively for her last exam. That with the textbooks and equipment here she could try to analyze her potions to figure out what went wrong with her interrogation.

She laid her vials on a table then gathered her supplies using the lists Tarvek had her memorize for the tests then she stood there staring at the mess.

"I can do this," she said out loud but didn't feel much convinced. Before she could dwell further on her sure-to-be-failure, she forced herself to set up the burners and prepare samples like Tarvek showed her.

"I can do this," she repeated with more force. “I don't need Tarvek to hold my hand through everything." She still didn't sound too convincing but the longer she messed with the equipment, the more confident she felt

While the first test did its thing, Violetta finally allowed herself to relax, tossing her cloak onto a chair and stretching her sore shoulders. When her fingers brushed over a raised spot at the base of her skull, she vowed to make Martellus pay, and for that, she might have to ask Tarvek for help.

* * *

The afternoon meeting got off to a slow start. Gil skirted through the door just as the guards closed it, but the Baron and Prince weren't at the table. He took his seat beside Tarvek but neither acknowledged the other.

A servant arrived to fill the ink wells and deposit extra stacks of parchment then disappeared without a sound. Gil nearly asked the boy if he could get a snack--a piece of bread would do--but managed to hold his tongue. Minutes passed with nothing happening which gave Gil too much time to think about everything that had happened the last two days and wonder at what catastrophes lay ahead. 

He opened the folder in front of him and found his schedule for the week. Today's meeting was to end at six in the evening. According to the clock on the wall, it was half-past two--three and a half hours to go then no doubt countless more hours finishing his translations Tarvek had so kindly volunteered him for. Supper was to be served at seven in the guest dining hall or private quarters.

The next morning, smaller workshops were scheduled on various topics, but it looked like the Baron would be having private meetings. Gil didn't know what that meant for him--maybe more translating. More workshops and more meetings filled the afternoon with Thursday being more of the same.

Friday was another day of long meetings in the summit room with presentations by various apprentices. He groaned when he saw his own name penciled in at three--he had no idea what to do his presentation about. His father hadn't given him a choice when he made Gil an apprentice, but he'd thought it would be at least more exciting than school.

He was wrong.

With a sigh, he slipped the schedule behind his other papers and tapped the folder with his pen. Why weren't they starting yet?

Having nothing to do was almost worse than having too much except he had things he could be doing like translating or eating or sleeping off the growing headache. His other fingers joined the rhythmless beat of his pen while his grumbling stomach offered a counterpoint.

Tarvek suddenly grabbed both his hands, crushing all of his fingers together then signaled with his other hand to a guard. "Do you have any idea what the delay is?" he asked the older man.

"Apparently several apprentices are missing--they're attempting to track them down."

"Who's missing?" Gil asked, struggling to free himself from Tarvek's grasp.

"I do not know, sir."

"Thank you, sergeant," Tarvek told him, waiting until he returned to his station before releasing Gil.

Gil swiped half-heartedly with his pen, but Tarvek easily deflected.

"Any idea who's not here?" he asked.

Tarvek glanced around the room--people were milling about, obviously curious of the delay and bored. "No."

"There's only like fifty of us and aren't you related to half of these people?"

Tarvek sighed like the teachers often did with the younger students on Castle Wulfenbach. "There are actually fifty-six including you and me, and I may be related to many of them, but I'm not their keepers."

Gil frowned at his folder. "Wait, there's fifty-five apprentices for the Fifty Families? Do you people even know how to count?"

"It's complicated," Tarvek said with another sigh.

"Family always is," Gil muttered then quickly added, "or so I've heard." A couple minutes passed before Gil found himself tapping again. "But weren't some of them sick?" he asked suddenly, remembering that detail from yesterday morning. "That would narrow the field."

"Holzfäller, let it go--I have no idea who isn't here."

"I'm bored," Gil protested, "work with me here."

Tarvek pinched the bridge of his nose. "How are you even here? Of all the people, why did the Baron choose you when you can't even sit still?" He grabbed Gil's tapping fingers again and squeezed. "I can't figure out his angle. Seventy-five percent of politics is tedium, and the rest is schmoozing and you can't handle either. All of your fumbling around just looks bad on him and the Empire, so why you?

“My only conclusions are he picked your name from a hat and is unfortunately stuck with you or he's completely lost his mind."

Gil tugged his hands free, glaring. "I'm sitting right here."

"I know, and it's totally baffling. You should quit."

"What?"

Tarvek continued to watch the room, avoiding Gil's gaze. "I'm not trying to be rude, but you're not cut out for this life--being a ruler is-"

Gil crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not here to be a ruler."

"Then why are you here?" Tarvek asked, finally looking at Gil.

Because I'm going to lead this Empire some day. He didn't say it out loud, though, and before he could formulate an acceptable answer, the door behind them opened and their fathers took their seats, bringing the meeting to order.

The afternoon progressed with little time to dwell on Tarvek's veiled insults or the fact that he sort of agreed with the weasel--Gil wasn't sure he was made to be a leader. It's a thought that haunted him at every meeting he was dragged to.

Finally, four hours later, recess was called for the evening and Gil was dismissed. He didn't wait around to be hauled back to the library to translate but had no idea where else to go so he followed the other delegates back to the guest quarters where they were preparing the dining hall for supper.

"Hey, Holzfäller," someone called, running up behind Gil. "You going to the party, right?"

"Party?" Gil frowned, racking his brain for a memory of a party listed on his itinerary.

"Yeah, a bunch of us are getting together tonight--strictly invite only."

A momentary thrill shot through Gil at the thought of being included--how often had he wished for that as a kid? "Sure," he answered without really thinking, "I'm in."

The kid clapped his shoulder then headed for his next invite just as a little sense cleared Gil's head. "Hey," he called after him, hesitating slightly until a name popped into his head, "Erik, is Sturmvoraus a part of this?"

"Prince Stick-Up-His-Butt-" Erik said with a laugh, "hell, no." Then he winked. "But his sister is."

"Okay," Gil said not sure if he felt relieved or disappointed, and the fact that he couldn't decide worried him almost as much as the sudden flare of anger over Erik's insult of Tarvek.

Why do I care what the other kids think of him? Plus, they're right--he's a stick in the mud. No one wants him around. Except a tiny part of him kind of did, and he hated it. He shook his head, veering towards his room to change--after all Anevka would be there. The thought made him smile as he snagged a buttered roll from a wheeled cart outside the dining room.

Maybe the day could be salvaged after all.

* * *

Gil waited for Barkley to go on his midnight walk before slipping out of their suite and following the barely legible directions scribbled on a scrap of paper he'd found after his shower. His heart raced as he snuck around the castle, reminding him of all the adventures he had as a kid--funny how Tarvek had been there for those, but now that they were in his house, he was nowhere to be found.

Which was for the best Gil reminded himself because Tarvek would probably ruin the fun somehow.

Taking a left, Gil found himself in a large sitting room with an entire wall of windows looking out onto a dark patio. According to the directions, he needed to cross the patio to a mirror sitting room. At least he thought that's what it said--he was worried about the literacy of whoever wrote the note.

He'd made it three steps into the room before someone grabbed his arm, yanking him to the floor behind a sofa, a hand slapped over his mouth as someone else shushed him just as a guard stomped through the room.

"That was close," said a girl--Celeste he remembered from a meeting last month.

"There's still two more," said the girl that shushed him.

Gil pulled away from the hand over his mouth to get a better look at the familiar voice. "Zulenna? What are you doing here? You're not an apprentice."

Zulenna scoffed. "I should think not, but my father and brother are here so the Baron allowed a pass to visit our families. Theo is here, too," she said, nodding past Gil.

Gil squinted over his shoulder just making out the glowing white eyes and teeth of his friend in the darkness.

"Hey, Gil," Teho whispered.

"Aren't you kind of young to be going to parties?"

Theo crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing. "I'm twelve... and a half."

Gil snorted. You sound just like Seffie."

"Who?"

"Nevermind."

"Shh," Celeste hissed, ducking further behind the sofa and squishing Zulenna into Gil who fell against Theo. Another guard entered the room, looked around then exited onto the patio.

"What are we doing?" Gil whispered.

Celeste peeked over the back of the sofa. "We need to get across there, but the guards are changing shifts."

"They're very unpredictable--Uncle Aaronev says it keeps people on their toes."

Of course, she's a cousin, Gil thought. "Guess we know where Tarvek gets his sneakiness from," he muttered.

"We need a distraction," Theo said excitedly, eyes sparkling as he started snatching things from around the room. “I could totally make a misdirection gun from this and this-"

Gil slapped his hand over Theo's mouth as his voice pitched up an octave. "Calm down, Sparky," he said.

Theo mumbled something into his hand so Gil slowly pulled it away. "I just want to help."

"I know, but the solution doesn't always have to be so complicated. Watch and learn." Gil picked up a small solid glass orb from a dish on the side table then tossed it over the sofa towards the open patio door.

The four of them peeked over the sofa as the orb smacked the door frame, bounced across the room and into a large wall clock, setting it off then ricocheted off of a bookshelf into a lamp that wobbled precariously but didn't fall, and finally crashed into the patio door, spreading spiderweb cracks across the glass.

The guards, attracted by the noise, came running just as the large pane shattered.

"Oops," Gil mumbled.

"I'm watching, Gil," Theo said, "and learning so much."

"Stuff it, both of you," Celeste hissed then shoved them towards the patio where a window sat slightly ajar.

They crawled behind the guards' backs as they argued and discussed the broken door then one-by-one left out the window and scurried through the potted plants and mostly leafless trees. Back inside the castle, Celeste guided them out of the sitting room.

"This way."

"How do you know?" Gil asked. "Do you have a map or something?" He twisted his written instructions sideways and upside-down but they still made little sense.

Celeste grabbed the paper, crumpling it. "I memorized it, simpleton. Now let's go before the next guard rotation comes through here." She marched off, leaving Gil blinking after her.

"I like her," Zulenna said, hurrying after Celeste.

Gil sighed and followed.

"I'm still learning so much," Theo said with a grin.

"Oh, shut up."

"Both of you shut up," Celeste said without slowing. "How the guard hasn't caught the two of you with as much noise as you make is beyond me--no grace at all." The last part was said to Zulenna who nodded.

"You have no idea. On Castle Wulfenbach, I've been trying to get them to implement much-needed poise and etiquette lessons, but they don't listen."

"Not everyone can be as brilliant-" Gil said catching up to the girls.

"Or perfect," added Theo.

"-As you, Zulenna. You should definitely keep pressing the issue."

"Really?"

Gil nodded vigorously, Theo mimicking the move. "Oh yes--the Baron always wants to know how things are running on the ship, and who better to tell him about the school's shortcomings than the brightest student."

His father would kill him if he ever found out Gil's part in this, but he couldn't help himself--Zulenna was such an obnoxious brat, she deserved the Baron's personal attention.

"This way," Celeste commanded at the next intersection, turning right.

"What happened to being quiet," Gil asked.

"This part of the castle isn't used in the winter," she stated confidently.

No sooner were the words out of her mouth when a guard shouted, "You kids, halt!"

Celeste froze, color draining from her face. Zulenna looked between her friend and Gil with wide, frightened eyes that made him wonder if she ever stepped out of line and got caught. Well, Gil wasn't waiting to find out.

"Scatter," he yelled, grabbing Theo's arm and darting down the hall, taking a left not knowing where he was going but anywhere away from the guards was good with him--he was in enough trouble with the Prince already.

The two boys made it halfway down the hall when two guards appeared at the other end. Gil shot through an open door, Theo on his heels. The room appeared to be some kind of storage for the castle servants--filled with cleaning and maintenance supplies and no exit.

Great. Gil's eyes darted around, looking for any way out, anything to keep them from being caught.

"Now what?" asked Theo.

Heavy booted feet stomped down the hall as Gil's gaze landed on some barrels just inside the door. He used all his strength to swing a barrel around, tipping it on its side as he did.

"Now you get ready to run."

[ Part 15 ]

[fantasyfandommaiden]

Magic Mentorship AU: What to do about Chloe

Carmine Regal was stuck at an impasse. She had honestly not expected Chloe to actually lift the curse while she was still in school. She was proud of her, but now she had a problem.

With Chloe now having full access to her magic, Carmine needed to decide if she was actually willing to teach the heiress or not.

Occuring directly after this

~~~~~~

You could hear a pin drop on the carpet it was so quiet in Mlle Regal’s office. After Chloe had awoken from passing out on the street, Mlle Regal had all but dragged Chloe back to the school (which was suppose to be closed) and into her office. 

The counsellor than spent the next half hour explaining to Chloe what exactly had HAPPENED to her, and why she felt so strange and light (her magic being returned and unlocked would do that to anyone) and looked at Carmine.

“So, I’m like… a witch?” she asked hesitantly, still trying to wrap her mind around all this information.

“Not quite.” Mlle Regal said patiently, looking deep in thought “A ‘witch’ is someone who practices witchcraft. Until you find a teacher, you're simply magical.” she said in a soft tone, still leaning back in her seat. What Chloe found odd was that throughout the whole time of explaining to Chloe what exactly was going on, the woman had yet to make herself any tea.

Chloe looked at Mlle Regal, sitting straighter “Okay… so will my mother…?” she slowly asked, and it didn’t take a genius for Carmine to figure out what she was going to ask. 

“The curse on your family had been lifted from you, onwards. Unless Audrey somehow learns to become a better person, she will never get her magic back, and I do not have high hopes for her Chloe.” Mlle Regal explained to her gently. 

“Oh…” Chloe said softly, frowning. After a long moment of thought, she sat up straighter, looking at the counsellor. “Alright, so when do I start?” 

Mlle Regal looked at her with a raised brow “... start what?” she asked slowly. 

“My training, duh.” Chloe said, fliching slightly at the rude tone “Sorry, I mean… your magical, that's why you know all of this stuff right? And I can’t become a proper witch without training, so when do I start?” 

The red haired woman looked at Chloe for a long moment before speaking “Chloe, I didn’t say I was going to teach you…” 

Chloe looked at the woman with wide eyes, completely shocked “But… but you're the ONLY magical person I know! How am I supposed to learn if you don't teach me?!” she asked in an almost angry tone, one of the teacups on Mlle Regal’s shelf actually shattered after she finished the sentence, making the blonde jump slightly as Carmine looked over at the tea cup with a lazy expression, as if she had half expected that to happen. 

“D… did I do that?” 

“Emotion has a lot to do with spell casting.” Carmine explained simply, sighing as she leaned back into her chair, her eyes flashed a soft amber colour as the shattered tea cup was pieced back together, before placing one hand against her forehead to rub her temples. “Chloe, I already have a magic student. Before I even THINK about taking another student, I need to ask him if he’s alright with sharing my time-” 

“Then ask! I mean, who wouldn’t want ME as a classmate!” Chloe said boastfully, and not feeling bad about it. Even if the curse being lifted made it easier for her to be ‘nicer’, that didn’t mean she wasn’t any less self-confident than she already was. 

“And…” Mlle Regal continued looking at Chloe “... He understands that NO ONE outside of the magical community can know he’s magical.” Carmine told her in a serious tone “The only exception to this rule is spouses. He understands this rule, and has abided by it for as long as I have been teaching him.”

“I can keep secrets too!” Chloe countered back quickly.

“Chloe, you post everything on social media.” the counsellor explained in a patient tone “Even mundane things like going to school outfits, I also know you fairly well from our sessions Chloe. You often look for validation in anyway possible, and I fear that you would use this s a means of getting it from the people…”

“I can keep secrets! I keep loads of secrets!” Chloe said sharply, gripping the arm rests of her chair, seeming to not hear the crackles of static in the air that her magic was causing. Carmine however, looked at her with an unimpressed expression, drumming her finger tips against her desk.

“Alright, what are these ‘big secrets’ than? Because keeping childish secrets like crushes hardly compare to the magnitude of hiding an entire magical community.” Mlle Regal stated, looking straight at Chloe.

Chloe opened her mouth, about to tell her the biggest secrets she knew, to prove she could but stopped herself.

Her biggest secret was her secret identity as Queen Bee, and that the kwami’s were what gave the super heros their powers, not the jewels alone… but if she told Mlle Regal that, that would compromise her identity, and put her and the counsellor at risk. 

She had also promised Ladybug and Chat Noir that she would do better, be a better person and also to not tell anyone her identity. Even if she knew that Mlle Regal would never tell a soul, she had promised the superheros she wouldn’t tell… 

Chloe closed her mouth, slumping in her chair in defeat “... I lied. I don’t have any secrets that big.” she said, lying through her teeth. If she said ‘I can’t tell you the big secret’ that would be the same as admitting she had one, and she couldn’t even do that. She didn’t know how to convince Mlle Regal to teach her magic, she knew she had to learn and she knew that with a teacher that would be easier. However Mlle Regal wasn’t the type of person you could throw money at to convince them of something, or the type to allow Chloe to throw a tantrum to get her way, the woman had too much self respect for that.

Really, all Chloe wanted was to do the woman proud. She was the only one, besides Bustier, who actually bothered to listen to Chloe and give her advice beyond just ‘You have to try to be the best you, you can be’ (because that was FAR to vague for Chloe to follow through on) or ‘Just try to be like Marinette’ (which was impossible to be like that goody two shoes). 

Chloe still remembers the first piece of advice Mlle Regal had given her on her path to becoming ‘good’. ‘Know when to strike and when to wait.’ Chloe had been confused at first until the counsellor had explained that there was nothing wrong with standing up for herself, or for wanting to be the centre of attention, however there was a time and a place to do it, and that sometimes by waiting, a better chance would reveal itself. 

After that it had been about wording what you say. Mlle Regal had told her that she loved how Chloe wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, however she could still do that without it coming off as too harsh. It had taken a lot of practicing, and still found herself slipping, but eventually she found she was able to tell Mlle Regal ‘The clothes you are wearing are far to bland for your skintone, maybe try a pop colour?’ instead of ‘It looks like you put on last season's rejects’. 

Mlle Regal looked at Chloe for a long moment before seeming to make up her mind, grabbing a pen from her pen mug and writing something down on a pad of paper “Chloe, due to an influx in student’s needing my help, I will be unable to continue our weekly sessions within the school.” she explained to her calmly, the sudden change in subject was so fast that it almost gave the blonde whiplash. 

Chloe looked at her shocked, dread going through her system. Did she know she lied? Did she want less to do with her because she knew about magic and was worried she would blab about it?!

“Mlle Regal-” 

“So, we will continue our weekly sessions at my home office in my apartment.” Carmine continued undisturbed, continuing to write down on the pad of paper. “I suggest you bring a notebook, and wear relatively comfy clothes, I will inform you the day before if you need to wear clothes you don’t mind getting dirty.” 

Chloe blinked at the statement, looking at Mlle Regal with a confused expression. “W..what?” she asked softly, looking at her as she pulled out a paper from her desk, holding it out. “Since we’ll be having them out of school, you’ll need your father or guardian to sign this form to acknowledge you’ll be attending ‘sessions’ with me outside of school. These are unpaid for, I am doing this ‘pro bono’ as it were.”

The blonde heiress looked at Mlle Regal, slowly taking the form as she looked it over, noting that it was a form basically stating everything the woman had just said. “Mlle Regal, why are you-”

“Carmine.” 

Chloe blinked, looking at the red haired woman “... What?” 

The counsellor finally looked up from her writing, a large, warm smiling across her features. “... My other student calls me Mlle Carmine during magic lessons, so that is what you will call me as well, if you feel comfortable that is.” Mlle Carmine explained, standing up and stretching her arms above her head. The information was slowly being processed in Chloe’s head as the woman continued to speak. “Do know however, magic is not easy. You WILL have to work hard, and although my other student can help and encourage you, he will not do the work for you, and although I don’t assign homework much, I do expect to see you have a good work ethic-”

Chloe bolted out of her seat and hugged Carmine tightly around her middle “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I WON’T let you down! I promise! I’ll be the best student you ever had! Even better than your other one!” she exclaimed, already promising herself to work hard (even though it sounded like she would hate herself later for thinking this).

Mlle Carmine simply laughed, giving the girl a hug “I’ll be sure to tell him you said that…” she said, smirking slightly at the thought of Chloe finding out that her classmate was going to be none other than Adrien.