#father and son (you can barely sustain yourself. let alone others)

[vagueconfusion]

Feeling real ridiculous for not having realized that Baron's "stark father" was the Nightmare King until now

[thatlongspringnight]

The Song of Solomon (Taehyung/Reader)

⏤ Pairing: Priest!Taehyung/Reader

⏤ Genre: smut, porn w/ plot, romance, forbidden love

⏤ Word Count: 2972

⏤ Warnings: Smut, sacrilege, cunnilingus, sex in a church, sex with a PRIEST, religion, Catholicism, tons of bible references, forbidden romance, oral, fingering, public nudity, sex in a public place 

__ Rating: 18+

Summary: Kim Taehyung left your town right after high school a boyish rake, and returned a pious man. Now you’re together, and the whispered words between you both are only heard by the silent, empty church. 

A very special thanks to Willow who edited this and helped make it beautiful <3 

Tagging: @wwilloww​ @hesperantha​ @jin-fizz​

You shouldn’t be here.  

Here, in the darkened church, the only lights are the flickering of half a dozen candles, here at the front, by the altar, by the crucifix and statues that have always stood here. Here where nothing has changed, since the beginning of time. You feel small, even in the bobbing lights you can see the stained glass, holy mother gazing down at you, clutching her son. Is she passing judgement? You aren’t sure, her expression is the same serenity as always. 

Although at this moment you are anything but serene. 

“I compare you, my love, to a mare among Pharaoh’s chariots.” His smooth voice, so deep - too deep, like the Nile river itself. “Your cheeks are comely with ornaments, your neck with strings of jewels. We will make you ornaments of gold, studded with silver.” He’s standing in front of you, fingertips brushing your cheeks, gentle but firm as he cups your chin, gaze hot on your own. The verse speaks of love, and it's love in your heart. Forbidden and wildly untamed in your chest. 

No, you shouldn’t be here at all. You should be at home, kneeling at your bed and saying your prayers there. You shouldn’t have accepted his invitation to compline. You definitely shouldn’t have agreed so eagerly when he suggested you read from the Song of Solomon. 

You shouldn’t have. You try to convince yourself, like you aren’t kneeling before him, hands clasped, eyes gazing upward at the giant crucifix. Like you aren’t an active participant in whatever is to come. You try and focus. Eyes trailing up - up -

Up - to Taehyung’s face, the only passion play you could bare to watch. 

“W-While the king was on his couch, my nard gave forth its fragrance.” Your own voice stumbles, at first, tripped up by the echoing drum of your racing heart. “My beloved is to me a bag of myrrh that lies between my breasts - “ A catch of breath - it's yours, it's yours because of those hands, his - warm and rough - cupping your breasts as you read. He’s eye level now, and you swear there is nothing more beautiful than the feeling of his hands on you. Your beloved. Still, you forge forward through the verses. “My beloved is to me a cluster of henna blossoms in the vineyards of En-gedi.” 

“Ah, you are beautiful, my love;” He briefly strokes his thumb across your cheek, and the feeling makes you shiver. His eyes are dark in the candlelight, and molten as you meet their gaze. “Ah, you are beautiful; your eyes are doves.” He recites the words, a poem he knows by heart, fingers trailing under your shirt. “Ah, you are beautiful, my beloved, truly lovely.” Taehyung is slow, nimble fingers taking his time with the buttons. He takes his time, as though he is cherishing the moment, like you are. A comfortable silence, until It's gone, fallen to the floor. Will you be bare here, too, then? A sinner bares their soul in confessional...and you would bare your body here, on the floor in this house of God.

“I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valley.” Your voice ceases to waver, strength hidden in your bones rising up. “As a lily among brambles, so is my love among maidens.” You sigh, and sigh again as his nose brushes your throat, as his hands trace your skin. 

It feels like he is worshipping you, that you are the sacred body here, the red candle flickering in the corner. “As an apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among young men. With great delight I sat in his shadow, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.”

“Taste me.” His words are sweet, poison laced sugar as fingertips press against your lips, part for him, Moses and the red sea, and you taste. Taste the salt of his skin and crave him, crave more. More of his gentle smile, eyes alight as he sees you. More of the firmness of his hands, often on your back as he guided you down the hallways of this ancient, holy place. More of his laugh, still boyish and beautiful after all this time. More of every single piece of him.

“He brought me to the banqueting house, and his intention toward me was love. Sustain me with raisins, refresh me with apples; for I am faint with love.” You...you feel faint before you even say the words. The longing, the love - it makes you tremble. How can you be absolved from this? Why don’t you want to? 

If this is sin - this beautiful, divine feeling - then what is the point of it all? He is David and you are a harp, ready to play his tune. “O that his left hand was under my head, and that his right hand embraced me!” Your voice echoes, his hand cupping your cheek, the other sliding down to wrap around your waist. 

He hasn’t even kissed you yet. This feeling is your own sin, eyes eager to devour the words on the page, to decipher his next move. Overcome, it’s lust licking the sweet tendrils of flame in your belly. Hellfire? 

“Your lips distill nectar, my bride; honey and milk are under your tongue.” He tilts your head back, mouth so utterly close to yours. But he doesn’t move any closer, even as you feel the warmth of his breath on your face, the press of his body against yours. 

Is he...is he toying with you? And yet, the thought doesn’t match the desperation of his gaze. The way his hands tremble when they touch you. “The scent of your garments is like the scent of Lebanon. A garden locked is my sister, my bride, a garden locked, a fountain sealed.” The words are choked and you understand. 

You are locked to him, forbidden, closed. If you want him...you must be the one to open the gate. He won’t go forward without it, without knowing that it isn’t just him that wants this - this beautiful, terrifying thing. You want it, want him, want every drop of his love that he’ll offer you. 

“A garden.” You break the silence, the holy book in your hands clattering to the ground. “Solomon built the temple. He was a priest and a king, a man. Like you.” The implication is clear. Solomon was no celibate. And this time it’s you, gripping his face: “this is not a sin to absolve me of father.” It’s your lips on his. Desperate and wanting, you kiss him like a woman starved, and you are starved...starved for him, this culmination of all of your wants, here in front of you. 

He could tread in your garden as he liked. So long as you could taste the nectar of his lips - You would find the milk and honey of his body. Forbidden fruit - let his juices soak you to your core. 

“Not a sin?” Taehyung’s voice, deep in your ear, hoarse. “Fucking a priest in your church isn’t a sin?” His voice is deep, and there is an edge there, a hoarseness that would match your own. He sounds so - so wanting, it almost shocks you. Like his lips, soft and warm against your neck, fingers buried in your hair, tugging at the strands. 

“Not one for the priest to absolve me of.” You reach up, grasping at his collar. “How can I be forgiven if I am not sorry?” What has come over you? The words are bold, foreign on your lips - but you mean them, pulling him back to kiss him again.

He’s so warm, and his grip only tightens at your words. You - you want to succumb to those desires, to the sin in your heart that was for him and him alone.

“Guilt. Shame.” The man muses. “Shame, our punishment for trusting the snake. And yet - Solomon called his lover a garden, beautiful….decadent. Perhaps the garden of eden was like his lover - “

“The garden hid the original sin.” Sin, his hands leaving yours to grasp at his belt - the snap of it in the empty air. Sin, him pulling you forward, onto your feet, bruising lips, bruising fingertips on your thighs, as he drug you forward, pressing you against the altar, the sacredest of spaces. “Forbidden knowledge, is - is knowing you forbidden?” He’s the one on the ground now, on his knees in front of you. “Is it - father?” 

“Taehyung.” He grabs at his clerical collar, the white tossed to the ground as he parts your legs. “I am touching you as a man, not as a priest.”

“Maybe you should touch me as a priest.” You can feel him tense. “Consecrate my body, drink of me until we are both holy.” 

“Sacrilege.” He speaks, pulling down your skirt. “And in the house of God no less.” 

“If you will fuck me on the altar, why shouldn’t you -“ 

“It’s the Song of Solomon.” He interrupts you, nimble fingers pulling at sheer fabric, the only barrier between you and him. “Or have you forgotten?” 

“You - you want to finish the recitation?” He nods, barely perceptible, the sound of his voice as he tugs your sheer underwear down your legs, slowly - so slowly, taking time like he had done with your shirt.

“Your channel is an orchard of pomegranates with all choicest fruits, henna with nard, nard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon,” Your underwear hangs around tense ankles now, gaze trained on him. “with all trees of frankincense, myrrh and aloes, with all chief spices– a garden fountain, a well of living water, and flowing streams from Lebanon.” He sounds amused, even as he touches you, your sacred space. “A channel, a fountain, ripe fruit for the picking, d’you know of the love Solomon is speaking?”

“Carnal…” that answer was easy. “Desire - carnal love.” 

“More than that, he speaks of this.” A finger, swirling against you, sliding into that part of you you were told not to touch...not that you followed that rule. 

Perhaps that was a sin you could confess to. “Of this act, pleasuring you, and who am I not to follow the words of that famous king...and worship at your font - your well, your garden, till your juices drip down my chin like pomegranate juice.

“Let my beloved come to his garden, and eat its choicest fruits…” You speak, remembering the line even without the bible in your hands. “Please Taehyung…” Your hands grip the altar table, bunching the embroidered cloth under your grip. 

He’s worshipping you, you’re sure of it, with tongue and teeth. It's messy, and he’s not shy, those lips that could stir a congregation with their sweetness, his golden tongue - now they were on you, fingers still in you to the hilt. 

It is not quiet, either. Your gasps barely muffled, the wet, lurid sounds he was drawing from your body echoing in the room. 

How often had you sat in those pews in front of you, how often had you knelt, gazing up at this very altar, bated breath as the transfiguration took place, over and over. 

Now you are transfigured - you will never be the same after tonight, even if you want to be. But there can be no regrets as he murmurs your name against your thighs. As he makes you tremble and gasp, tensing under his touch, falling apart like the walls of Jericho, turning to dust in the wake of his fervent, ardent desire. 

“How graceful are your feet in sandals, O queenly maiden! Your rounded thighs are like jewels, the work of a master hand.” Slick fingers grip at your thighs, ruddied cheeks meeting your gaze as you pass your tongue over your lips. His mouth - it's wet, and that makes you blush...though you aren’t sure why at this point.

This is adultery, you muse, and of the worst kind. Taehyung is a priest, he’s married to the Church, and yet...and yet it's not communion wine smeared across his lips...no...he’s ripe for kissing with your essence glossed against his skin.

“Your navel is a rounded bowl that never lacks mixed wine. Your belly is a heap of wheat, encircled with lilies.” He’s mouthing across the skin of your stomach, up and up, till he’s standing again, hands at your breasts, gentle kisses more heated the closer he gets to your mouth.

“T-Taehyung.” Your soft murmur of his name breaks his recitations, but only for a moment, his gaze altogether too hungry to be kept occupied for long. “Please - “ Please what? Please what to this beautiful man, who has already given you so much. 

Please more - please don’t stop - please love me.  

 “Your two breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle. Your neck is like an ivory tower.” Your neck falls victim to this trap all too easily, tilting to the side as his pretty lips press against it, as teeth mark your skin. It’s painful in a way that pleases you, your body still a shudder of pleasure and desire. “Your eyes are pools in Heshbon, by the gate of Bath-rabbim. Your nose is like a tower of Lebanon, overlooking Damascus….” Why is his gaze so sweet? The words barely process as his fingertips ghost over your face, as his lips brush your forehead. 

 “Your head crowns you like Carmel….How fair and pleasant you are, O loved one, delectable maiden, You are stately as a palm tree...and your kisses like the best wine that goes down smoothly, gliding over lips and teeth.” He’s skipping verses, you realize, and he’s asking you for something, something you give. Kisses, like wine, your mouth against his, soft and gentle, and then more. 

This time it is you, it is you touching him, hands unbuttoning his pants, ghosting over the heaviness there. 

“I am my beloved’s, and his desire is for me…” You hear his half gasp as you cup him, and you wonder how long it's been since he’s touched a woman. Are you the first one since he left for seminary? Since he returned back to your little town, a man fully grown, to find that he wasn’t the only one who had changed. 

“I-It is.” The man’s words, they’re darling, even as he’s grasping your hands, pulling them away from him, from his cock - out and hard, beautiful too -  even as he’s letting you tangle your hands in his hair, biting at his lower lip. “It's for you.” There is no guile in his tone, nothing in his eyes but honest desire. “For you - I’ll break my vows, over and over.” 

“Come, my beloved…” Your words are choked with emotion, and then cut off completely, because it's him - hot, inside of you. You wonder if he’s surprised that you don’t come to him a fresh and blushing bride, a virgin. But you both have changed, you remind yourself. 

And those changes had brought you here.  

“I’ll be the one to say that.” He grips at your thighs, his strokes as sure and steady as him. Taehyung was the earth beneath your feet, and - and he was the wind in your hair, the air in your lungs, his touches now - heaven sent. 

You know it now: Taehyung is an angel in disguise. Perhaps he’d strike you down when it was all done, for your sins. And you’d gladly go, if it meant this was the last feeling you had, you could die in his arms and spend the rest of your days in hellfire, or in the cold quiet of purgatory - wandering as a wraith, if it meant that he would keep looking at you this way. 

“S-say what?” You stammer, pulling him closer, so close to you, barely caring that he was fully clothed, and you were stark and nude. It seems fitting. Of course you should bare yourself to your priest, haven’t you done it to him countless times before in the confessional booth? Baring your soul and sins out for him to see.

To forgive. 

Your thoughts are idle, and he is murmuring sweetness into your ear, golden tongue - the snake in the garden. No, Taehyung is no snake dripping poison on your tongue. Taehyung is just as much lost soul as you are. You feel so hot under his touch, sensitive, full - on the precipice of it all.

“Come, my beloved.” His voice is almost as amused as it is desperate. “Come…” And you were falling, falling against him, letting him hold you as you trembled. “Come and there I will give you my love.” Love, in spurts and a muffled moan, his body staggering against you, pressing you further into the altar table. 

“Love…” You murmur, breath returning to normal as he pulls away from you. “The love of God to man, or the love of Solomon to his queen?”

“Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave.” Taehyung answers, ever cryptic. His touch is still warm as he helps you put your clothes back on, touch slow, gentle as he re-buttons your shirt, as he uses your underwear to clean the drips of arousal from the floor. “We are called to love the church as God loves us. But i’m called to love you...like Solomon loved his woman.”  It’s a peck to your forehead, you watch him pocket the sheer material, and this is as much of a confession as you expect, surprised when he pulls you in for a gentle kiss, fingers entwining with your own.“Whatever it means, I won’t deny it, even in death, it will be your name on my lips.”

[robertppattinson]

always the gentleman: steve rogers

summary: steve rogers x reader. smut!!!!! steve keeps walking in on reader having some alone time, and goddamn it if he doesn’t wish it was him instead of an ann summers toy she’s holding.

word count: 1,900

warnings/tropes: smut, clueless!steve, tease!steve. bucky has a cameo teehee. enjoy!

-

The first time Steve sees you like this, it’s a complete and utter accident.

This meaning shaky breath, hair clung to face, a wild bucking of the hips. This meaning ass up in the air, right hand between your legs, the sweetest friction. This meaning soft mewls, almost sinful, though he was adamant you could never be anything but angelic, celestial, even. 

It’s his own fault, really. Steve knows he can be oblivious, careless. The thought of walking in on you in such a compromising and vulnerable position, bent over in your bed, in your room, had never even so much as made a peep at him before he entered without a knock. Your bed, your room; how many times did he have to remind himself? He should know better, for heaven’s sake. Getting involved with someone at work was sacrilegious, no matter what sector ‘work’ regarded. Office romances always ended badly - why should the Avengers Compound get off any easier? ‘Involved’ is a loose word for it, now that he reconsiders. He can’t be ‘involved’ with someone he has only touched in his dreams, really, truly touched like he craved with the girl who left stains on every inch of his brain since the day he met her.

It’s a miracle he has enough sense to remain still, like the carved statue he is, and painfully quiet. Steve aches everywhere; his hands, yearning to reach out and touch you; his legs, eager to step forward; his dick, aching with relentless throbs that snake all the way up his spine, prick his ears and bloom a tender blush on his cheeks. 

It’s a miracle you aren’t privy to his heart, thunderous in his chest, surely visibly protruding from his t-shirt. Golden rings still on your long, slender fingers, glistening in the sunlight poking through your open window. Wait - open window? Don’t you know somebody could see you? Not any neighbours this high up in the building, granted, but somebody? Drones aren’t hard to come by these days, he scolds you internally. And he realises in the boyish, clueless way he’s still prone to that he is that somebody watching you. He wants to leave, knows he should, but he cannot, for the life of him, tear himself away from this. From you. So beautiful, he can hardly stand it. How delicious you must taste in his hungry, greedy mouth; how gorgeous you must look above him, below him, whichever way you wanted; how sickeningly sweet you must feel clenching around him. He’s sweating, poor boy, almost as much as you are -  small, wet tell-tales of exertion on the armpits of your crop top as you work yourself closer to coming. Your legs tremble, tanned against the pale eggshell sheets strewn across the bed, bottom lip harshly bitten into. A hiss of pleasure, a high-pitched intake of breath, one last curl of your fingers and you are undone. 

It’s a miracle he finally regains control of his limbs, silently leaping out of view back out into the corridor before you turn your head towards the door, frowning, swearing you had closed it. Only a few metres apart, a goddamn-cockblocking-son-of-a-bitch wall separating you, both figures shudder and sigh blissfully. Fucked out on your bed, sensitive, you carefully draw your fingers into your folds one last time, curiously observing the milky liquid of your come, and bring it up to your mouth, moaning at the pleasant taste. 

Steve is about to leave, actually leave this time, he means it, when he hears it.

“Mmm,” a sensuous moan, almost guttural. He swears his dick has never been this hard, never wanted to pop out of his jeans so much. That is, however, until: “Steve…” 

Shit. Shit. Shit. You couldn’t have seen him, surely? A quick whip of his head to the door reveals he has escaped a lifetime of embarrassment; no sign of you. Still fucked out on your bed. But if you hadn’t heard him, then - oh. And there it was, the biggest, thickest erection of his life, and all he could do was tuck his dick into the waistband of his boxers (Calvin Kleins, after he had heard you swooning over the Mark Wahlberg and Kate Moss campaign from the 90s), and traipse sullenly to his own room. Steve felt like a teenage boy caught looking through his father’s Playboy, indignant, yet secretly proud of having found the Playboy in the first place. 

With a sigh, embarrassed, shameful and utterly, utterly horny, Steve turns back towards your door and closes it for good, polite measure once he hears the shower turn on. Always the gentleman.

-

The second time Steve sees you like this, he tells himself it’s another accident, that he just happened to be on the wrong (right) floor at the wrong (right) time. 

Looking for Bucky is an innocent act. Why his friend, more like life companion, really, would even be on this floor is beyond him, but Steve pulls out his phone and taps on Bucky’s contact. He’s wandering the floor, from one corridor to the next, when he hears a light buzzing to the east of the building. Goddamn Bucky left his goddamn phone lying around again. Goddamn it. 

He draws closer, and though his mind is slow to catch up, rusty with these lustful theatrics, the most primal part of him senses the situation immediately. The buzzing is louder now, more akin to a gentle rumble, and his dick twitches. Here he is again, outside that door. Only now, he doesn’t have to turn the handle to open it; it’s already ajar. 

Is he a narcissist for thinking you left it open for him, just him, so he could see and hear you again? 

One peek. Only one, quick peek and that’s it, Rogers, I mean it. And he does, truly - but he had also meant not to be presented with the sight before him again, meant not to drift his hand towards his own centre, for lack of a better word. It really felt like his centre - his dick, he means; everything revolves around that goddamn thing lately. He’s hard, palming himself and trying not to have his mother’s shrill voice in his head, yelling at him to stop being a pervert and pull himself together. 

But he can’t, and he’s petulant towards this fact. He can’t, not when you have never looked quite so riled up. Eyes rolled to the back of your head, mouth gaped open in a silent scream, thighs trembling. Small hands forcefully wrapped around a pink vibrator - a rabbit, he thinks they call this particular type - that gets slightly twirled around until you find the right spot. You come much quicker than when using just your fingers, practically writhing around as if you’re being electrocuted. This vulnerability is insanely captivating, Steve notes, this openness. Whenever he jerks off, in the shower, in his bed with a condom (a posh wank, you had called the concept once), he does so quietly, stealthily, still coy and afraid of someone hearing him. Suddenly, there’s nothing he wants more than to have the whole Compound hearing his name slipping from your cherry lips, echoing through the glass and metal. Just the mere thought drives him crazy, hand down his jeans to touch himself properly when you come for a second time, harsher, more sustained and by God, there it is again:

“Oh, Steve… fuuuuck.”

The deliciousness of this barely has time to register before he feels the familiar release of his own orgasm. Right in his jeans. Goddamn it all to hell. 

He’s lucky they’re a deep blue, almost black, so he can walk to his room without arousing much suspicion. It’s wildly uncomfortable, and more than a little gross, but he’ll take what he can get. 

“Hey - you rang?” 

Fuck off Bucky, I swear to God.

“Uh, sorry. Butt-dial,” Steve offers, shuffling awkwardly, trying to get past his miscreant of a friend as quickly as possible.

Bucky raises an eyebrow in question, but decides to let it go. Many years together have taught him to keep to his own business unless Steve asked for help himself, or was otherwise unconscious and covered in blood.

“Alright… I’ll be upstairs if you need me. Wanna show Y/N this new album I’ve been listeni-”

Steve storms off. Always the gentleman.

-

The third time Steve sees you like this, eyes cloudy with lust, squeezing your thighs together for some, any, kind of relief, it is by no means an accident. 

Grey joggers cover his bottom half, his chest bare and t-shirt discarded in a crumpled up mess next to him. He doesn’t know what has come over him, this sudden bravery to practically gallivant his penis in your face as you try to concentrate on the TV, gripping the nunchucks much harder than usual. Wants to test you, he supposes, confirm his suspicions. He’s hopeful, and he has every right to be.

You’re not the best driver as it is, never mind that this is Mario Kart, but the willpower it takes to keep your eyes on the screen is inhuman. Every other second, though, your vision flits towards his groin, mentally tracing the outline of his dick. He’s big, of course, even when flaccid. Your mouth waters involuntary at the conjured up image of him at his full hardness, lining himself up just before his head enters you. 

“Stupid fucking-” you grunt, hitting random buttons in vain as your character is knocked off the track and falls into the water. 

Groaning at your new sixth position (you were just second, for crying out loud), you glance at Steve, who is smirking at you already, having just pushed himself into first place and finishing the track. 

“Language!” He laughs, a big, boisterous sound that makes you nervous. You loved making him laugh - your favourite pastime. Aside from making him come in his jeans outside your door, of course. 

“Funny you should say that,” you begin, tongue wetting your bottom lip anxiously. Come on, Y/N, time for you to be brave now.

“Oh?” 

“You weren’t telling me off for swearing yesterday.”

Silly Steve, it takes him a moment to process the comment. You take the opportunity, can see his cogs turning, to stand up in front of him. And you peep at his joggers, too, but who can blame you?

“… Oh.”

You hold out a hand, shaking almost imperceptibly, inviting, tempting him. “You coming, Captain?”

He’s too far gone to even try to resist, and his hand feels so… so homely wrapped around yours. You reach the door of the games room and before you can pull it open to scurry upstairs, Steve releases your hand and pries the door open himself. 

“After you, doll.”

You know he does this just so he can look at your bum as you walk up the stairs, so you roll your eyes to the heavens, and he smirks again, his brain working faster now and picturing you rolling your eyes in a different, imminent way. 

Steve has been raised right, of course, would never dream of letting a girl, especially his girl, walk through a door without opening it for her first. That’s what he tells himself, at least. Totally not so he can check you out. Always the gentleman.

[speechlessxx]

Requite - part 2 (Andy Barber x Reader)

Summary: In which the reader sticks by Andy’s side throughout Jacob’s trial and the aftermath of a life changing accident.

Warnings: I followed the book’s ending instead of the show’s ending, SPOILERS for Episode 7 and Episode 8 (and the book!), I omitted the trip to Mexico, slight CHEATING (kiss & feelings), implied age gap, 

Word Count: 2.5k

long awaited... i know! i’m sorry!

READ PART 1 HERE

“I won’t get through this without you.”

You weren’t sure why Andy told you this a day before the trial. He was asking – begging – you to stay and see the trial through.

You were rightfully reluctant. You weren’t anything to him. You were just a friend, something you had to keep reminding yourself. Perhaps you were less than that – you and Laurie weren’t even close. You didn’t know if Laurie would appreciate your presence, unsure if she knew what transpired between you and her husband. Your relationship with the Barbers started and ended with Andy, maybe with the exception of their son – even then, you weren’t close Jacob except for the occasional ride. You were simply the next-door neighbor. Nothing more… at least that’s what you told yourself.

Andy’s blue eyes were clouded. The stress and nervousness written all over his face though he tried his best to conceal that from everyone. He was the head of the household. He was their source of stability. If he collapsed (and he was almost there), then the family would topple over, too. Although his and Laurie’s marriage had been fragile for years now, they put up a united front for the sake of the cameras that constantly followed them. It hurt you, but again, it wasn’t your place to be hurt.

You had no plans to stay. You wanted to sever all ties with your old life and start over. Like you told Andy days before that incident, nothing was keeping you in Newton.

But then you stared into Andy’s pleading eyes. This man was your kryptonite. “Please…” he said. His voice was barely above a whisper as if he were afraid to be overheard though both of you were completely isolated in your backyard. “Please stay.”

So, you did.

You stayed for every gritty detail and revelation that was revealed throughout the trial. As much as you hated to admit, Jacob looked guiltier and guiltier, but you still had faith. You believed he was a good kid. How could he not be? He had an amazing father to look up to.

Then, Derek Yoo took the stand. He read out the “Job Story” that detailed a boy named Jason who murdered his bully, Brent, in the forest. You felt your jaw drop slightly as the color drained from your face when Derek finished the story. Andy had turned in his seat next to his son.

At first, you thought he was staring at Laurie, but he was staring at you – something his wife also noticed.

You didn’t know this, but your mere presence alone was a comfort to him. It was something about your smile or the way you’d chuckle lightly when Joana was able to poke holes into the prosecution’s theories. If you believed Jacob was innocent, then others would, too.

He had a panicked look on his face, desperate to find any source of reassurance from you, but you were almost certain that your expression mirrored his. Like Andy, that “Job story” made you start doubting. It was nearly a confession. It might’ve been the final nail to this coffin that Loguidice built for his son.

-=+=-

Laurie tearfully confessed to Andy that she believed that their son was guilty. Like many, the story swayed her though she had already been on the fence about her son’s innocence. She envisioned when Jacob was a young boy. She remembered when he lifted the bowling ball, ready to bash it into another child’s head. The thought that her son – the baby boy she cradled in her arms and kissed goodnight, the young man whom she loved unconditionally – was capable of such an atrocity terrified her. What had she raised? What had she loved?

Andy stared at her in disbelief. His arms were crossed as he leaned against the kitchen counter while Laurie let out everything she’d been holding in.

“He didn’t do this. I know he didn’t do this.” Andy snapped, punctuating every word. But it was a lie. Andy began doubting, too, but what kind of father would he be if he let one thing – a work of fiction – convince him that his son was a murderer? Andy raised him, held him in his arms, taught him how to walk – how to fish, told him he loved him. He couldn’t let himself believe that Jacob was guilty. That was his son.

“No, you don’t!”

“No one can sustain that level of deception!” Andy argued.

“Of course, he could!” Laurie shot back. “You of all people should know that.” She bit her lip while her eyes watered again.

Laurie wasn’t stupid. She knew. She knew the marriage was falling apart – they’ve both known for years now. She knew how her husband wandered off to her next-door neighbor’s. She knew that Andy liked comforting you – that he liked providing you help, always offering to do a favor. She had hoped it was innocent visitations – he was just checking up on the poor young woman whose husband abused her. But she always knew deep down, there was something more. Your presence at court – Andy staring through her to look at you – made it all connect.

Andy scoffed, looking down. She stared at him in silence and he refused to look at her. He wasn’t discreet about his affection for you – his concern for you. Though he’d convince himself that you were just a distraction from his failing marriage, he knew there was something more and he now knew his wife figured it out, too. “Yeah… yeah of course,” Andy said. “He learned it from me.”

“Maybe he learned it from both of us.” Laurie found herself guilty, too. She and Andy stayed together to keep face. They were the picture-perfect Barber family. And although the trial proved that they were far from that, the Barbers knew way before then.

For the first time, they finally agreed on something.

This marriage was a lie.

-=+=-

Three sharp knocks that was followed by the doorbell snapped you back to reality. You hadn’t realized you were staring at your framed wedding photo for the past hour. You hastily opened the door to reveal Andy Barber. He wore sweats and a grey top to match with a scowl on his face.

“Can I crash here tonight?” He asked. You frowned in confusion but nodded, widening the door to let him in. Andy noticed that you unpacked a few boxes. Those marked as “kitchen”, “bedroom”, “bath” had all been reopened. He didn’t fool himself to believe that you were planning to stay in Newton. You had unpacked because he had asked you to stay until the trial was over. He was grateful.

“What happened?” You asked him, handing him one of the beers your ex-husband left behind.

“Laurie and I got into a fight.” He muttered. He took a long sip from the bottle. His brows were furrowed and eyes low. Andy was clearly upset. You scolded yourself for bringing him a beer. The mixture of alcohol and anger never ended well for you.

You decided not to pry. It wasn’t your place after all.

“You know,” Andy said, taking a seat at your dining table. You joined him. “I wish we ended things a long time ago.”

“Don’t say that,” you said. “You and Laurie are a great couple.”

He chuckled humorlessly and shook his head. “We aren’t.” You weren’t sure how to respond, so you opted to keep your silence. Did that incident bring him an epiphany? Your gulped, suddenly feeling a wave of guilt. The emotion seemed to be making its rounds today. “I… I don’t know what to think of that story, honestly.” You hugged your arms around yourself as he took another swig from the bottle. You didn’t want to talk about the story. You still wanted to believe that Jacob was innocent although your faith was slowly waning. Andy narrowed his eyes at your reaction. “Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“Curl into yourself… you do that when you talk about your ex-husband.”

“I thought we were talking about you and Laurie.” You muttered, tucking a piece of hair out of your face. You’d rather not talk about your marriage or the aftermath of it.

“You’re a good distraction.” Andy shrugged.

“I won’t take offense to that.” You laughed a little and unraveled your arms from your body to pick at your thumbs.

“Don’t.” Andy smirked a little. Another sip. “I like you.”

“You’re drunk.” You waved your hand dismissively. You felt butterflies begin to flutter in your stomach and decided to ignore it. He didn’t mean that.

“Sober thoughts are drunk words, right?”

“You’re stressed.” You reasoned although you felt as if you were convincing yourself he was.

“It’s the truth…” Andy said, taking another drink. He stared straight at you. You felt like he was staring into your soul. “I like being around you.”

“I’m a good distraction?” You joked.

“No, it’s more than that.” Andy scoffed, shaking his head. He reached over and grabbed your hand. You stared at him, wide eyed, with surprise.

“Andy –“

“Laurie and I decided we’re getting a divorce.”

“What?” You thought you’d be delighted upon hearing that, but you felt dread course through you. You thought of the numerous mistresses that your husband entertained. You were in their shoes now and you hated it.

Andy licked his lips, taking another sip from the bottle. “We decided no more lying. No more pretending. After the trial – whichever way the jury leans towards – we’re over.”

“I’m sorry…” You didn’t know what else to say. You pulled your hands from his. He let you go.

“You shouldn’t feel sorry.” Andy muttered with a frown. “It’s been years in the making. We just can’t… we can’t pretend anymore.” He stared at you, but you refused to look at him, opting to stare at your hands instead.  “Wait… are you blaming yourself?” Your silence gave you away. “It wasn’t your fault, (Y/N)… We were over a long time ago. It’s finally time we admitted that to ourselves.”

“Okay…”

“I wasn’t lying about before either and forgive me if I’m wrong, but there is something here.” He was blunt. He was more straightforward than he would’ve been if he were sober. Perhaps it was a good thing.

You wrapped your arms around yourself again and shook your head, protesting. “Andy – “

“You’re gonna tell me there’s nothing. You’re gonna tell me I’m wrong, but you’re pulling away from me and curling into yourself like how you did when I asked you about your bruises.” He knew how you were. He knew you. He understood you.

“I’m just your distraction. Tomorrow, you’re gonna wake up and go back to your house.” You frowned. “I’m just convenient.”

“No, you’re not!” Andy argued. “I asked you to stay for the trial because I know Laurie and I wouldn’t be able to be there for each other. I asked you to stay because you listen to me, you understand, you comfort me when my own wife can’t. You’re not just convenient or just my distraction. Honestly, I think if I had met you first, I wouldn’t be married to my wife. I’m falling for you, (Y/N).”

“Andy…” you shook your head. It was wrong for him to say that whether he was buzzed or sober. You didn’t want to argue and his voice steadily increased in volume frightened you. The alcohol in his system and his boiling rage – whether it was from your dismissiveness or from the trial – wasn’t a good mix.

You decided to take yourself out the equation before it got out of hand and stood up from the table. You were going to go fix him a place to stay. Your guest room still had the bed and bedframe set up.

But Andy stood with you, grabbing your hand, preventing you from walking away. You said his name again, but he didn’t want to listen to you lie to yourself – lie to him. Without another word, Andy pulled you into him, pressing his lips against your own.

It was a replay of that incident except you didn’t pull away almost immediately. The soft and gentle kiss slowly heated into a passionate one. Your lips moved in sync and molded together. His beard tickled your skin but you paid it no mind, getting lost in Andy. One of his hands rested on your waist and the other on the back of your head, getting lost in your hair.

Everything about it was addicting. Frightening, even. So much so that you finally pulled away after long moments of getting lost in one another’s lips. But you didn’t untangle yourself from his arms. You simply stared up at him and he down at you. You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve told him no.

But you caved. He was your kryptonite after all.

You pulled him back down to meet your lips, igniting the fire between you both once more. In that moment, the trial, his failed marriage – everything ­– dissolved into the background. It was just you and Andy.

“I love you.” His words muffled by the kiss, but you heard it all the same.

-=+=-

“It’s not my place, Andy.” You told him as he begged you again to stay.

“I won’t get through this without you.” He said the same words that kept you in town for his son’s trial.

Your heart broke for him. It really did.

After the trial, Andy made good on his word. He and Laurie understood that their marriage was unsalvageable. Co-parenting would’ve worked for them. They were still a good team. Laurie even suggested that Andy should have full custody of Jacob and they could alternate major holidays. It was a good plan. The divorce hadn’t been finalized yet, but the decision was already made – perhaps it was made years ago and was only acknowledged now.

You and Andy decided to start over together.

No lies. No deception. Just the pure, unadulterated truth.

Andy started this new life by confiding in you that his father orchestrated Leonard Patz’s confession and suicide. Although neither of you spoke about it, the question still hung in your heads – was Jacob guilty after all?

Andy was eager to leave Newton as you were. You were thinking about moving to New York City – Jacob was excited about it – though Los Angeles and Houston were still in the conversation. You both wanted a change. Perhaps a big city would’ve been a perfect fit for your new life together.  

But then disaster struck. It was Laurie’s weekend with Jacob. There an accident… or what appeared to be one. Jacob was killed on impact. Laurie left in a coma.

And just like that, your new life was put on hold.

Andy was being summoned to court.

Loguidice was building a case that suggested that Laurie purposely murdered their son. Unsure if you could take another trial, you wanted to leave. You were prepared to leave with or without Andy.

But you were the last thing Andy had in his life. His soon-to-be ex wife was comatose, and his son was gone. Your heart broke for him.

He needed you now like how you needed him.

Andy begged you to stay.

So, you did. 

[cherryfi]

Blame it on the Bokbunja

Requested: Anon asks:  haii!!! could you please make ateez san agent au? the concept is up to youuu thank youu

 Plot: The mission objective was simple - take Choi San down by any means necessary. What you didn't expect was how it was to get him alone. You also didn't expect him to be this endearing.

A/N: I got so much inspiration for this wow, I didn’t expect it to be so long, I hope you like it anon! I hope the rest of you like it too aha!

TW: Alcohol drinking, drugging, mentions of violence

Word count: 9462

The mission’s objective was short and simple: Eliminate Choi San– make his empire crumble from the top, down. It would be like cutting the head off a snake, the body wouldn’t be able to sustain itself.

What was not simple, however, would be to actually make that happen.

Choi San was not only one of the most dangerous men in the city, He controlled at least half of the country’s black market and most of its organised crime could be traced back to his syndicate, Ateez. San had inherited this legacy from his father, Jisung, who had ruled the mafia with an iron fist.

Choi Jisung had been an orphan who grew up on the streets and who, together with seven other ‘friends’ built themselves one of the most heavily controlled and untouchable gangs the country had seen. He was highly intelligent and had an impeccable eye for detail. Nothing got past him and no one was able to double-cross him without ending up dead.

Contrary to how he ran his gang, Jisung’s family was his sanctuary and he always pandered to their every need – they wanted for nothing. This could be seen by the countless evidence photos showing family holidays; where he doted on his wife and only son, San.

According to the evidence file, San had been trained from birth to take over the leadership position from his father. And along with the syndicate’s seven other sons they were taught the skills necessary for running a ruthless and successful gang.

Taking over the ‘family’, unfortunately, came earlier than was anticipated for a 16-year-old San when his parents were murdered by a group of upstarts hoping to take over their territory. Jisung had been betrayed by one of his soldiers (Lee Sungjoo, who was paid off for information about Jisung’s whereabouts), who was quickly ‘done away with’ by the other men in the syndeo.

The Lee family were offered a rare show of kindness by San and Sungjoo’s son, Taeyong, remained a close friend. Taeyong went on to run an equally dangerous gang NCT, although both groups deferred to each other.

San’s first order of business upon receiving his crown was to obliterate the would-be rivals, making sure that any other competition knew that he would not take kindly to any threat towards his territory or family. His reputation had quickly been set and in no time,  he was known across the country as being even more ruthless than his father had been.

Whether it was his training from a young age, the need to prove to his doubters that he was as good as his father, or being fuelled by pure revenge – no one could tell but, what they did know, was that Choi San was not a man to be messed with.

And even so – he was fiercely untouchable. Despite being able to hold his own in hand-to-hand combat and knowing his weaponry, San was never alone. The other members, having been friends since childhood were all protective of each other.

So, how were you supposed to take a man like that down?

It wasn’t going to be an easy feat and that’s why they’d called you in. You were a top operative but, you were only ever behind the scenes. Part of the ‘clean-up’ crew, your job was to go in after the field operatives had done their jobs and tie up any loose ends but, every field assassin that had been sent in after San had ended up dead.

It was time for a new strategy, and they hoped that sending in a fresh face with all new ideas and a whole different skill set would be what they needed. There was also a hope that it would flush out the mole that was sending San their mission information. After all, there was no way that he could foil all their plans without inside help.

How you fit into that, you weren’t sure. Technically, clean-up was less qualified than field crew, you were all combat trained, but clean-up didn’t use it as often nor did they go undercover as often but; somehow, they expected it to work.

It wasn’t working.

You’d gone over every possible point of entry into Ateez and none were viable – you’d eventually end up dead or discovered in all of them. They’d all been tried by other operatives and had failed.

Not that the corporation cared. They were putting pressure on you to succeed.

Thankfully, after 2 months of trying to find your way in, an opportunity dropped itself in your lap – as if by magic. And who were you to turn down a good opportunity?

What does a mafioso do when he’s not being a mafioso? He runs a ‘legitimate’ business.

And San was the silent owner of an exclusive bar: ‘The Noir Lounge’.

The Noir lounge was a swanky speak-easy that was a member’s only bar. People only knew about it ‘by word of mouth’ and so, it’s customers and clientele were often very important and high-class, according to the case file even the city mayor and a few city officials were members.

Although it was a bar, the lounge also had a selection of private rooms and a sex club. So, it was important that members remained unknown to the general public. Some of these men and women were married, after all.

It surprised you that they’d be advertising a position for a new bartender but, you weren’t about to let it pass you by.

You applied.

The application process was unique, it constituted of an extensive background check and multiple interviews but, that was to be expected.

None of those interviews had been with San.

It was a Wednesday morning when you got the call.

“Hello Ms Y/L/N? Your application to join the staff at the Noir lounge has been successful. Congratulations. Your start is immediate and so we will expect to see you tonight at 7pm before the bar opens to collect your uniform and go over housekeeping. Please bring with you comfortable, black, smart shoes. You’ve been sent an email with the address. I look forward to meeting you tonight. Enjoy the rest of your day.” That was it. The voice on the other end was soft-spoken but deep and masculine. He also didn’t give you his name.

He was highly professional and curt – giving you no opportunity to respond, you barely got out a ‘hi’ before he spoke.

But that didn’t matter because you got the job. A chill ran down your back both from excitement and terror.

Now it began. You would have to fit into the bar like any other employee – naïve to what was going on behind the scenes but, also interesting enough that you would somehow be allowed to enter the inner circle .

From the outside, the bar looked like any industrial building and you would never be able to suspect that it was teeming with activity underneath. If you didn’t have intel telling you where it was you would’ve gotten lost.

You arrived at 6:45 – 15 minutes before you were required to be there and buzzed on the door 3 times slowly, just as you’d been told to do. It opened and you were wordlessly led down into the lounge.

It was beautiful and crafted in a style that you would’ve expected of Choi San, classy, expensive but, simple.

“Ah Y/N. You’re early which is a good sign. I’m Park Seonghwa, I spoke to you on the phone, it’s good to finally meet you. I’ll be your manager while you’re working with us.” You took his outstretched hand and shook it firmly, smiling.

“Hi Mr Park, Thanks for the opportunity, I look forward to working here.” Of course, you knew who Park Seonghwa was.

On the surface he appeared to normal. Seonghwa was tall, handsome and friendly. It would be easy to fall for him but, he wasn’t a man to trifled with. Seonghwa was Ateez’s resident doctor, if any of the members of the syndicate were injured, they went to him to be fixed up but, that was only the half of it. If there was a poison, best believe that Seonghwa had experimented with it and he was often called in when Ateez needed someone silently ‘taken care off’.

“Ha, that sounds so formal, just call me Seonghwa. We’ll be spending enough time together working that I’ll get to know all about you. We’ll be best friends, just you watch. It’s better that we start off casually.”

‘I’ll get to know all about you.’- I certainly hope not.

You smile shyly – “Okay.”

��Seonghwa, stop flirting with the staff, even if they are gorgeous.” You almost let yourself swoon but remember who you’re talking to -Kim Hongjoong.

Seonghwa was low-key in his work and despite his extensive knowledge of poisons – he rarely got his hands dirty. Hongjoong, on the other hand, was covered in it.

Hongjoong was the ‘answers man’. You’d been disgusted almost to the point of physical sickness when you’d seen his case file. Hongjoong was the king of sadists and incredibly thorough. When Ateez needed answers and had particularly difficult adversaries, they sent them to Hongjoong. The things that man could do with a scouring pad and some hydrogen peroxide were terrifying and he took great pride in that.

But here he was, smiling at you with an almost innocent curiosity, no sign of the sick bastard that he really was.

“I’m Hongjoong. We just had a meeting here so the rest should be filing out soon and then you can open the bar. There’s another bartender working with you tonight but, it won’t be too busy. It’s never too busy on a Wednesday.” He smiled and shook your hand.

I wonder how many lives those hands have taken.

You try not to shudder at the thought.

Hongjoong was right – things were slow that night, which was good because it gave you he opportunity to get used to mixing complicated drinks and taking orders.

Your patrons ranged from well-known politicians to celebrities to other mafia members that were known to your organisation. But no San.

As a matter of fact, over the next 2 months, the only member you saw was Seonghwa and he was often distant.

The promise of casual conversations and time spent together was quickly forgotten and Seonghwa was business as usual. You only saw him at opening and closing time – he was always in a private room at the back of the club – probably with the other members but, they had their own bartender and so, you never saw any of them.

This didn’t bode well for you. It had been 4 months since you’d been given this mission and you were no closer to completion, the bosses weren’t happy to hear this.

Your work phone rang; and it sent a shudder down your spine – you knew you were in for it now.

“Status report?” Well hello to you too…

“No change. The target is yet to be seen. I’ve acquired new work but, no further advancements have been made.” You could hear the disapproving noises from the other line.

“This is unfavourable, we would have expected some status update from you other than a bartending job Y/N. Are you sure you’re the right person for this job?” Now, you were angry, first they leave you to take care of this alone and then they question your methods.

It was true that you were stumped as to your next move but, they didn’t know that. They had no place to criticise you, given how many operatives they’d already lost.

“Am I the right person? You tell me. Given the fact that I was threatened with forced resignation if I didn’t take this job, I can assure you that I wasn’t the one that made the decision to be here. The target is dangerous. I need to play the slow game. Rome wasn’t built in a day and given the amount of lives that have been lost trying to destroy them, I’d expect a little more support.” The line goes silent.

“We’ll call you for another status report in 3 months we expect progress.” And just like that, the line was dead. If you didn’t tread carefully – you would be too.

It was another month before anything happened. It was like you’d completed some probation period because suddenly, you were being told that you would be a personal bartender.

“Y/N. Just the girl I wanted to see.” Seonghwa’s wide smile greeted from the other side of the bar where you stood, restocking it. You turned to look at him.

“Hey Seonghwa, what’s up?” You returned the friendly smile.

“I have a new position for you. We’re having a separate event in one of the other private lounges and I figured you could use the experience of being a private bartender. It’s a little different to being behind the general bar; it’s more intimate and the people you’ll be serving will expect a lot more of you but, no pressure. I’ll be there if you need some guidance.” He leans on the table, his sleeves rolled up and you catch a little glimpse of a tattoo.

“Can I ask what the special event is?” You really have no clue what it could be.

“A birthday, that’s all I’ll tell you now. Don’t look so scared, you’ll be fine.” He reaches across the bar and places a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

You’re scared for another reason. The realisation hits you like a bucket of ice water as your mind runs through all their files.

It was San’s birthday.

You were finally going to meet San and for some reason, it felt too soon.

They were different to how you’d expected them to be, their case files and photos had not prepared you for how normal they appeared. They were friendly and jovial.

Even Jongho, who was known to be quite cold was actually friendly, if not a little awkward.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Your thoughts became completely scattered as you came face to face with your target.

He smirked at you and laughed a little your shock, his dimples on full display.

“Uh, sorry, I was spaced-out. What can I get you?” Play dumb Y/N – you’re not supposed to know this man.

“Yeah, I could tell, it’s not busy in here so I guess you’ve got a lot of time on your hands. I’ll have a French 75.” You balk. A what?!

“Let me guess, you’ve never made one of those? It’s not a regular one to get ordered despite it being a classic. Get a champagne flute.” You do as order and automatically go to put a cube of ice.

“No, no ice. It’s served straight-up. Pour 2oz Champagne, ½ oz of lemon juice, 1 oz gin – the Santamania is the best for this one and normally it’s 2 dashes sugar syrup but, I’ve got a sweet-tooth so give me 4. Rim the glass with some sugar and you’ve got yourself a classic.” He finishes with a wink and you follow his direction, Finishing it off with a lemon slice.

You slide it across to him on a napkin and wait expectantly.

San is not the kind of man you want to disappoint.

I hope I make a good impression.

“That’s a good 75. You know it’s supposedly named after a WW1 gun. It was the Howitzer 75mm, the French and Americans used it all throughout the war. Apparently, the cocktail’s got a kick just like the gun. By the way, if it’s in a slim glass, like the flute, never put ice with it. Ruins the experience. A flute glass is used when you want to keep the texture of the drink,  you want it to keep the bubbles. That’s part of the experience.” His eyes glint boyishly; and you smile as he explains more information about the cocktails.

In another life you might have found yourself falling for a man like him, he was oddly cute.

“You know, it’s not ordered regularly but, it’s a classic cocktail, perfect for bringing in the new year or celebrating another one. I’m San by the way.” He smiles for real this time, dimples on full blast, and you can’t help but, smile back. He shakes your hand.

Damn, he was charming.

“I didn’t think I’d meet a cocktail nerd.” He barks out a laugh.

“You have to be when you run a bar.” You put on your most shocked face.

“You own this place?” He nods.

“It was mean wasn’t it? Not telling you that I’m the owner but, Seonghwa talks about you so much, I had to see what was so special about you.”

“Well, did you find what you were looking for?” You answer him, a little flirty, hoping that that would open him up to you.

He only laughs.

“I’m not sure yet but, we’ll see.”

Your next status report goes a lot better.

“Update Y/N.”

“I’m almost part of the inner circle. A rival gang offered me money to rat on them and I told my manager so, they had no excuse but to tell me what was going on. The members have been conducting business around me now so, it’s a sign of good things to come.” The line is silent again but, you’re not in fear of the response. They wanted progress, they got it.

“And what about the target?” You sigh.

“I can’t get him alone. None of the members will leave him alone, he’s always surrounded.” It was true be it Hongjoong, or Wooyoung, San was always with someone. If San was around, you could easily find Wooyoung somewhere nearby.

Besides the only times you’d been within killing distance of San was during the meetings, where you would serve drinks. You served drinks ,and they talked.  

“What’s your next plan of action?” You sigh again.

“The only thing I haven’t tried: overt flirting.”

“Okay but be careful.” The line went dead again.

You had to put your plan into action.

The only time you got to see San on his own was during select night when he would randomly enter the bar. He’d spend the whole by your bar, just taking in the scenery and occasionally talking to the patrons but, rarely did he speak to you.

To top it all off, Wooyoung or Mingi were always in earshot of you.

How am I going to pull this off?

Your mission’s completion was so close you could taste it. All you had to do now was make San want to get you alone and you’d have him but, you had to tread lightly. It was around this point in the mission that a lot of operatives had lost their lives – they got cocky or crumbled under the pressure of the corporation’s demands.

You wouldn’t end up like that.

Your chance came 2 months later.

“She was cute.” It was a Friday night, but it was at the start of service, so the bar was still quiet. A few of the bar’s members had already arrived; tired and weary from their work weeks (or from the debts they owed to San).

Like the city mayor. He was in the bar and had been downing straight vodka for the last half hour but, you knew why.

He’d just walked out of a meeting with San and Hongjoong. Hongjoong had a wild grin on his face and San was fuming. The mayor’s re-election had been an odd one. Odd because nobody expected him to win so, when he clinched it, eyebrows were raised but, no one said anything.

San had bought him the election and now he owed San.

You almost felt bad for him but, he deserved it and now wasn’t the time anyway – San was finally alone.

Well, he was, a pretty girl in a blue, velvet dress swayed up to him, taking the bar stool next to him. He made eye-contact with you and you quickly busied yourself; shining glasses. He paid her no mind.

He didn’t even respond to her flirtations. She eventually huffed and walked off.

“Yeah, she was. See that guy over there? That’s Son Hyun-woo. You don’t need to know about who he is but, that girl, is a gift from him. He’s trying to keep me sweet Y/N. I’m not interested. I’m not an easy man to buy.” His stare is intense, and you find yourself struggling to look away.

He breaks out into a slow smile.

“What time are you working tomorrow Y/N?” You don’t really know where he’s going with this.

“I’m in at 7 – same time as always.” You shrug, keeping your tone light and San looks around thoughtfully.

“You’re a good bartender but, I want you to learn some of the more unique drinks. Come in at 5. Don’t worry it’ll be paid. I’m giving you a one on one cocktail class.” He flashes his dimples at you, and you agree.

Time  to put your plan in action.

You head into the bar at 5 to find San already there.

“Y/N! You ready for your masterclass?” He clasps his hands together and rolls up his sleeves, you sit across from him – curious about the array of glasses and alcohols.

One thing was clear – San didn’t respond well to obvious flirtations so; your plan would need tweaking. Maybe you could charm him with your intelligence?

“Get behind here Y/N. You can’t make drinks from that side.”

“Alright. I’m here.” He smiles at you again.

“The first one we’re going to make is a clover club. This one predates the prohibition era in America. It was popular in Philadelphia; where it was created. It’s a classy, aromatic drink; reportedly drunk by literary experts and high-class men. That’s why it’s served in a cocktail or martini glass – so you can take in the aroma before you sip it.” You watch him expertly mix the drink.

“ ½ oz Gin, ¾ oz lemon juice, ¼ oz raspberry syrup or grenadine and one egg white. We make it thick by shaking the ingredients up in a shaker with ice but, serve it dry. Rim the glass with sugar and some frozen raspberries. Go on try it.” He nods encouragingly and you take a sip, he pours himself a glass as well and you look at him curiously.

“What? Shouldn’t I be able to savour the fruits of my labour?” You roll your eyes and he winks at you.

He’s right – you smell the gin and the raspberry syrup. It’s sweet and tart and surprisingly its thickness doesn’t take away from its enjoyability.

He takes you through other cocktails, making you try each one: La Paloma, the Penicillin, The Martinez, the Corpse reviver – you try them all and eventually you’re a little tipsy. He seems completely unaffected by the alcohol.

Bad move.

San looks at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“I made this one myself. Have you ever heard of Bokbunja?” You shake your head, no, and try to steady yourself; giggling when San stands close to you from behind, whispering in your ear.

“It’s a wine that we make from Korean Blackberries. It’s made in the same way as wine but, it has a higher alcohol content. Its acidity makes it perfect for seafood.” You sigh when he wraps his arms around your waist, his breath fans across your ear and jaw. It smells like the last cocktail.

“It’s also perfect with fresh mint, I like to add it with sour mix and elderflower as well. You know why it’s so popular in Korea? Apparently, it’s an aphrodisiac. I don’t know about that but, I know it makes you quite hot under the collar. If you plan on getting fucked later in the night – Bokbunja is the way to go. Now that I think about it, maybe it is an aphrodisiac. Try it and tell me.” San’s lips ghost across the shell of your ear and he pulls away to guide your hands.

You haven’t even sipped it yet and you’re already hot under the collar.

“Take a sip. Do you like that Y/N? Does it make you feel hot?” You moan quietly.

You finally come to your senses when you feel his lips on your neck.

This wasn’t part of the plan – you were supposed to seduce him not the other way around.

“San, I don’t think this is a good idea but, thank you for the lesson.” You pull away from him and he only laughs. You put your hands on his chest. His grey, silk shirt feels good under your palms.

He obviously has expensive taste.

“Maybe you’re right but, you can’t say you don’t want it, want me.” He’s right and suddenly, you don’t think you can carry out the rest of your mission. If you keep feeling this way, you might end up compromised.

You almost fell under his spell and if you didn’t get a grip soon, you’d fail your mission.

Failure wasn’t an option.

But San didn’t make it easy.

Somehow, he’d only gotten worse. Before, you couldn’t get him alone but now? You couldn’t keep him away. Every time you came to work San was there.

He was sweet, he was kind, he was flirtatious.

And those damn dimples.

“Status report, Y/N.” God, where do I begin?

“In the last month, things have advanced a lot. San, I mean the target and I have spent more time together.” There is a pleased sound on the other line.

“This is good. You should complete your mission soon then I assume?” You cringe.

“There is a slight problem – the target has been pushing his sexual advances heavily. I fear I won’t be able to complete my mission without giving in to them.” There’s a huff on the line and you sigh.

“Do you know what ‘by any means necessary’ means, Y/N? We gave you a mission to complete. If that means giving into the target, then do it. Don’t be shy now – these things are often necessary and expected of our field operatives. Make yourself pretty, visit a spa if you must. But, your mission must be completed within the next 2 days or we’re pulling the plug on it and you.”

“2 days?! How am I supposed to do this in 2 days?” You’re beside yourself in anger and bewilderment.

“By any means necessary, Y/N.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“We don’t make threats, it’s a warning. Y/N if he wants you then it should be easy to strike him off. We expect you to deliver in 2 days – we will be in touch.” The line goes dead as your heart drops to your feet.

You have no choice, but to do as told.

As usual, your shift doesn’t start until 7 so, you spend your day at the spa.

You get everything, from a full body wax to a shiatzu, to a manicure – all on the corporation’s dime but, none of the treatments are enough to ease your nerves.

You’d expect that after a day of hot stone massages and saunas, you’d expect all your kinks and sore muscles to be worked out but, instead you feel like a taut rubber band; ready to snap.

It’s now or never.

You wear a new set of lingerie under your uniform for later that night. It’s lacy and rubs against your skin airily and a little rough; the colour complements your skin perfectly. It should make you feel sexy but, you feel filthy instead.

You feel like a whore.

Your hands shake as you place the gun under your clothes and it’s never felt heavier. When you get to work you put it in your bag and in your locker instead, the feeling of the metal on your body making you sick.

As if the universe wants to play a sick joke on you, all the members are unexpectedly at the bar. They’re finishing up on their meeting as you step in and they all greet you once you step behind the bar.

“How are you Y/N? You’re looking a little green.” Jongho studies you but, drops it quickly when you tell him that you’re just not feeling well.

As a matter of fact – all the members were studying you, aware that you weren’t your usual self but, San told them all to step off.

“You’re so used to people acting suspicious that you’ll give this poor girl the 3rd degree? She’s just a little unwell, right Y/N? I think something’s going around, the other bartender called in sick today.” You can only nod, scared that your voice will betray you.

“You know what’s good for that gin and tonic. Here drink up.” He makes you a single with ice and you down it quickly, trying to cover how much your hands shake.

Can you really kill Choi San?

The answer is no, no you can’t.

Your shift goes by uneventfully and you leave work, disappointed.

The ball of tension in your stomach has grown tighter and you’re thankful for your day off but, it’s also your deadline day.

You only had one day to finish your job and you’d failed – you were screwed.

Yeosang calls you in the morning.

“Y/N? This is Yeosang, San would like to see you at his home this morning, it’s to discuss your job. A car will be by your home in 20 minutes.” You nearly collapsed; San wanted you to visit him?

“Yes, thank you. I’ll be ready.” You said your goodbyes and Yeosang hung up.

Were you getting fired?

You didn’t have time to ruminate on it – you quickly got ready for this impromptu meeting placing a small blade in your shoe.

It wasn’t what you would have planned but, you had to improvise.

 The car journey was deathly silent. Wooyoung picked you up and after a short hello, he didn’t say anything else.

He knows. He has to know.

Wooyoung kept stealing glances at you in his rear-view mirror but, wouldn’t say anything, his expression was blank. There must have been a reason why he’d been the one to pick you up, given how close he was to San.

“We’re here Y/N. Just head up to the front door, the butler’s waiting for you.” Wooyoung turns to you and holds your stare for longer than expected. It makes you squirm under his gaze, while he searches your eyes. Your body’s tense with anxiety.

After a moment of you sitting frozen, he laughs shortly.

“They’re waiting for you inside Y/N.” You get out quickly, taking your bag with you.

You’d decided to pack a gun in the end as well, hopeful that you’d be able to end it all quickly, it felt heavy in your bag.

There was a lot more to Choi San than you’d read in his case file. Behind all the bloodshed and cruelty of his world, was a charming man that just wanted to live a normal life.

Could you really blame him for how he ended up, given that this was the only life he’d ever known?

You shake your head at the thought. A criminal was a criminal, regardless of how they got there.

You had a mission to complete, you steeled yourself as you walked up to the front door. Wooyoung drove away once you were at the top of the stairs.

San’s home was completely different to the bar. Where the Noir Lounge was cool and chic with its black interior and classy upholstery, San’s house was light and airy: it felt like a home. Even from the outside, the large, gated state-home looked inviting.

With its lush gardens and gravel driveway, even the wall surrounding the home was unintimidating. You could imagine San entertaining friends and gusts in his home or relaxing in his front room. You could almost imagine yourself right there beside him.

As you walked to the front door, it opened.

They really are waiting for me.

“Miss Y/N, Mr Choi is waiting for you in the dining room. I will bring you to him now. My name is Jiwon, I’m the personal butler for this home and I hope you’ll be enjoying your stay with us.” He guides you through the door, walking you across the marble floor after asking you to remove your shoes and giving you a pair of house slippers.

Jiwon is efficient and he moves fast. As soon as your slippers are on, he guides  you to the dining room giving you little time to get look at the house (or recover your knife) but, what you took in was gorgeous. The doorway led to a large staircase on your right but, Jiwon led you down back, and as promised into the dining room.

It was beautiful.

You breathe deeply to ease your panic. It doesn’t work.

The dining room was an extension of the kitchen but made completely of glass, the sun rays shone into it and you could see another lush garden outside.  In the centre stood a large mahogany dining table big enough to sit at least 20 people. But for now, it only sat one.

San.

“Mr Choi, your guest is here.” He turned to look at you, a dazzling smile on his lips, his eyes practically disappearing. Your heart sped up just looking at him.

He was dressed casually today, in joggers and a t shirt but, that didn’t take away from how beautiful he was.

“Thank you Jiwon. Y/N. Come have a seat by me. Let’s talk.” He pats the seat next to him and you take it, a shaky breath leaving your body. You were going to be alone with him.

Silently, you hoped that Jiwon wouldn’t leave.

“I will be by shortly, with today’s brunch, we have a selection of light foods, such as smoked salmon and cream-cheese bruschetta and some Scandinavian pastries for you to try miss Y/N as well some palette cleansers.” Jiwon smiles at you directly and you return it. In the little time you’ve seen him, you liked him.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“The chef is incredible Y/N, you won’t be disappointed. Thank you Jiwon, I’m giving you the rest of the day off so please, go and enjoy yourself.” You panic a little.

You’re definitely going to be alone with Choi San. Your training kicks into overdrive as you try to casually look for all possible escape routes in case things went south.

It was now or never – you’d never have another opportunity to finish your mission.

“Now Y/N. I’m really sorry to call you here on your day off but, don’t worry, you’ll be paid. I wanted to discuss how things are going with your work. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

A proposition? Your ears perked up. What kind of proposition could he have for you and what did it have to do with the job you already had? Whatever it was, you were sure that it wouldn’t bode well for you. You’d have to put your mission on hold even further, much to your own chagrin and worse - you’d have to report it back to your superiors. Would they give you the benefit of the doubt? You could only hope that you’d be able to convince them that this new job would be a good opportunity to not only take Ateez down but, to take down their associates as well. As long as you spun this roadblock into an opportunity, you’d be able to come out of this on the other side but, whether or not it was unscathed was left to be seen. Up to this point, you hadn’t actually gotten involved in the seedy underbelly of the ateez syndicate - after all you were just a bartender and aside from San’s constant flirtations and being privy to some of the more intimate details of their work, you hadn’t really been involved in dealings. Hell, the members aside from Seonghwa and occasionally Hongjoong hadn’t had more than light conversation with you. This would be a perfect opportunity.

Your musings were quickly interrupted when Jiwon came back in, followed by the rest of the staff. There were 2 other staff members, one of whom you assumed was the chef: given his uniform. “Brunch is served. We have a selection of charcuterie and sandwiches as well as the palette cleansers, as promised. I recommend the gooseberries over the hazelnut coffee for this particular selection but, I’ve put both here as I know how you enjoy your caffeine, San. Please also enjoy, the selection of cakes.” The chef bows to signal his end and San dismisses the staff with a quick smile.

“ I’m sure that Jiwon’s told you, you have the weekend off. I’ll clear the table myself. Don’t worry. Enjoy the rest of your weekend. I’ll see you all Monday morning. ”

Now you’re really scared.

The whole weekend? This must have been big. You watch them file out of the room, a sense of heavy dread filling you as they go. “Now that I have you all to myself; let’s talk business.” He rubs his hands together, smirking at you.

“As you know, you’ve been working with me for a little while and I’m impressed with your work. But,  I’m also quite fond of you Y/N; which makes me privy to a little bias, don’t you think?” He smiles a little and pours himself a cup of coffee. You watch the liquid fill the glass mug, too scared to meet his eyes. The liquid swirls disturbed by the movement and you watch as it settles.

San blows on the mug and takes a tentative sip. “I, uh guess.” you say dumbly. San Laughs. “That was rhetorical Y/N. Please eat something. I want you relaxed. You’re as stiff as a board.” You try to laugh it off when he reaches out to touch your shoulder, but the sound is weak and pathetic.

“Sorry, I’m just not used to brunch dates.” You could kill yourself. You cringe as soon as the words leave your mouth. Dear Lord, please let the ground open up and swallow me whole! Date?! Why did you say that Y/N?

“Is this a date Y/N?” He’s back to teasing you again, his tone mischievous and you know there’s no way he’s going to back down now.

You swallow your pride. “I uh, I didn’t mean to say it like that.” You cringe and turn your attention to the Danish pastries, trying to distract yourself. “Because I would like that very much. Actually, you beat me to the punch. That’s what I wanted to talk about.” You look at him in shock. You lean forward curiously and San places a bottle of bokbunja on the table in between you.

You glance between it and him, a little perplexed.

“You remember what happened when you and I had this drink don’t you? And since then, we’ve been dancing around each other, playing a very dangerous game. I don’t like games Y/N, I like honesty. And honestly, I want you and I’m no psychic but, I know you want me too.” He leans into you and rests his hand under your chin: his thumb resting on your lips.

You don’t pull away, instead your lips part instinctively. Your eyes are still downcast, looking at the pastry in your hands. “Look at me, when I’m talking to you Y/N. Let me see those beautiful eyes. You can’t hide from me anymore.” You look up at him through your lashes, his eyes are intense. They’re ablaze with passion and fondness.

He pulls away from you and your breath stutters. He was right. You wanted him but, a mission was a mission. It needed to be fulfilled.

Yet, somehow, you’re starting to think that it’s not all that important anymore.

“Now, as much as I want you, I also know how dangerous it is to mix business and pleasure. So, I have a decision for you to make. Would you like to be mine?” You gasp.

He remains unfazed and carries on. Your eyes bug out.

“If you say no that’s okay. We’ll carry on as normal and you won’t have to bother about any awkwardness between us, I’m a professional man after all. But, if you say yes, you’ll have to quit. I won’t be able to keep my hands off you at work once I’ve had a taste of you and I won’t want to. I also won’t be able to hold my tongue if one of those disgusting men flirt with you, I can barely restrain myself as it is. If only you knew how vile they were. But I promise I’ll help you find work somewhere else if you’d like. I also promise to cherish you for everything you’re worth, I’ll take such good care of you.” Your heart swells at his words. The look of seriousness in his eyes has you breathless.

“San can I, can I think about this?” Your eyes gaze at him, pleading for him to understand how hard that decision was to make.

Even harder, given that you’re supposed assassinate him, right Y/N? This wasn’t fair. Life just wasn’t fair.

Why couldn’t he be like every other high-stakes criminal? A pig who wanted nothing more than to fatten themselves up off the back of everyone else’s work. Why couldn’t he be 2 dimensional? Black and white? Just pure evil? Why was Choi San so god damned loveable?

His casefile spoke of a deeply troubled and highly dangerous man who had no issue with disposing of anyone. People were pawns to be used and boy was he good at using them. But the man before you was nothing like that. He was fiercely loyal and passionate. Driven, hardworking, and kind.

San was everything you’d ever wanted in a man and then some and it was your job to kill him. You’d been compromised. There was no way that you’d be able to do harm to him now but, there was also no way that you could go into corporate HQ empty handed.

Your mission statement had been clear: failure meant being burned. Which meant definite death for you. If you could stall San, it would give you the chance to run. You’d disappear into the wind probably somewhere where they couldn’t find you. You’d leave him a warning and disappear for good.

Yeah, you could do that… Except- San’s eyes darkened. His face set in determination “No. No Y/N , you don’t get time to think about it. This is a onetime offer. I’m not going to let you keep running from this."  He held your wrists in his hands shaking them lightly; prompting you to look directly into his eyes.

"I’m putting everything that I am out there, I’m offering you my heart Y/N. I don’t think I can sit around and wait while you decide whether or not I’m worth it.” This was new. San looked so vulnerable as he held your hands in his.

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him no. Screw your mission - somehow, you’d make it work.

Eventually, you’d have to tell him that you were a plant but, that could wait.

“Okay San, I quit. I’m all yours.” Your voice comes out in a hoarse whisper. But he hears you. San pulls you forward, wrapping his arms around you and trapping you with a kiss. You taste the hint of coffee left in his lips and the sugar from your pastry: sweet and bitter, just like the situation you were in now.

Your lips move against each other slowly, San takes his time with you, running his hands over your body; caressing every inch that his hands touch.

When San pulls back, he looks like a dream. His dimpled smile stretches across his face, eyes almost disappearing, his hair tousled from you running your hands through it. His lips are spit-slicked and swollen and the prettiest shade of cherry red.

You feel like a teenager experiencing their first kiss all over again, except this time it’s not disappointing. You’re giddy and you can feel your face heating up.

“I’m really happy that you’re here with me Y/N. We should celebrate. How about a drink?” He holds up the bottle of Bokbunja and shakes it.

“Yeah, let’s celebrate.” You sigh, the gravity of your decision finally settling in on you. There was no way you were going to be able to get through this. If you ran now, the corporation would find you and if they didn’t you were certain that San would.

“Let me get us some wine glasses.” He pats your thigh and gets up, taking the bottle of wine with him.  Being alone with your thoughts for that short time was driving you crazy.

How were you going to get out of the situation you’d put yourself in? You’d been trained for almost every possible situation but, there was no training for what to do when you fell for your target.

You’re pulled out of your stupor when San returns with the 2 glasses of wine, placing 1 in front of you.

You try to smile convincingly but, it felt more like a grimace but, you still try to play your role. “What should we toast to?”

San thinks for a moment.

“We should toast to something cheesy like, ‘new beginnings’ or to ‘us’.” He laughs at how cheesy it sounds and your heart swells at his sudden shyness

“Okay, to us it is. To us.” You both raise your glasses together, clinking them and then you drink.

You chug the wine, hoping that a little liquid courage would help you relax.

“Woah slow down there Y/N.”

“Ah, I’m sorry, it’s a really nice wine.” You smile sheepishly and rapidly blink – your vision going a little hazy. You try to hide how nervous you are as you pour another glass for yourself.

San pulls his chair back from the table and sits across from you. You try to reach out for him, but your arm feels heavy.

San just watches you, his expression distant.

“I’m glad you liked the wine, I added something a little different to yours though. Can you feel it Y/N? Seonghwa said you would, he said it was fast acting. It really looks like it’s working. I’ll have to thank him.” You look at him quizzically and try to shake off the brain fog, but  you can’t. Your mind is hazier than ever.

You didn’t drink that much, what did Seonghwa have to do with the wine?

It clicks in your mind and you watch as San’s sombre expression. Your mind runs back to your fact files. Seonghwa was a chemicals expert. He played around with poisons.

You try to convey your alarm, but your head and eyes are too heavy.

“whaid you doo tme?” Inside your head, you’re panicking but, outside you can’t move, you’re slowly losing consciousness.

“I didn’t do anything to you Y/N. You did this to yourself.” You try to fight back as San picks you up bridal style but, your body isn’t working with you. Mounting panic gives way to artificial indifference and your vision narrows down to a pinhead. Everything goes black.

You came to, slowly. The first thing you noticed was that you were sprawled out on your back and that your arms were aching. Trying to stretch them out, you realise with a start that they’re bound to bed posts. Your body slips on black satin sheets as you try to sit up. “Keep calm Y/N, keep calm.” The panic is setting in, freezing your body and you know if you let it take you over that logic will leave.

“Yeah Y/N, stay calm. I’m sure this will all blow over.” In taking stock of your current, bound state, you didn’t even realise that San was watching you. He regards you silently but, coldly. His eyes holding none of the previous love and softness.

You’ve been had. You realised it too late. And now you’re going to die. But you don’t want to die.

Your breath comes in short puffs, quickly increasing and your head is beginning to spin. The feeling of pins and needles travels across your fingertips. Tears start to prick at your eyes.

San quickly gets up from his seat in the middle of the room and sits next to you on the bed. “Calm down Y/N, I need you to breathe slowly. Especially because I need you to be coherent for what I’m going to say."  You try to do as your told and flinch when San reaches towards your face and wipes away your tears.

"I don’t like games Y/N but, that doesn’t mean that I’m not good at playing them. I always win. You’ve been playing a slow game with me and I’m really not happy about it.” He leans in close and you try to back away from him, but the sheets aren’t on your side, you’re still groggy.

“I know who you work for. I’ve always known.” Your heart rate picks up at that. You’d had a feeling that he would’ve found out but, not that he had always known.

“Now, before you go getting yourself into a panic. I’m not going to kill you. No, you could be of some use to me. I’m going to ask you some questions honey and if I think you’re lying, I might have to send you to Hongjoong and we both know what will happen if I do. But, if you’re good and you tell me the truth, I might just let you off the hook.” San’s hand grips your inner thigh and then he pulls back; getting up from beside you and pulling his chair to the end of the bed.

You can only watch him, your mind running through all the possible ways you could get away from him. Your mind comes up short.

“The corporation put another hit out on me, yeah? It doesn’t surprise me but, what does is why they would send a lower level spy so, why you? And remember princess honesty is the only thing that will keep you safe.” He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms and looks at you expectantly.

“They couldn’t figure out why every assassin they sent was getting killed so they figured you must have insider info on who they were sending. Lower level means less clearance so they sent me in because it would be hush hush. Less people to get permission from, meant less people involved, lower chance of failure.” He nods and furrows his brows.

“So, was the aim to still kill me?” “Yes.” You’re surprised to see the flash of hurt pass by his features but, it surprises you even more that it affected you so much.

Killing someone was one thing, telling them was another.

“When.” He watches you carefully, daring you to lie to him. “My deadline was today.” He sighs, nodding.

“What stopped you?"  You can’t answer him. Because I fell in love, was such a cliché response and it would’ve sounded 2 dimensional given the situation you were in now.

San was clearly hurt so most likely wouldn’t believe anything that sappy but, it was true.

Even after being mildly poisoned and tied up your feelings didn’t waiver and even before this, you’d been planning on how to leave him unscathed.

"You’re taking too long Y/N, don’t li-” “I fell in love with you.” You blurt it out before you can second guess it. He looks at with a blank expression, his lips pressed tightly together.

He doesn’t believe you.

“You wanted honesty so here it is. I started doubting my ability to carry out the mission as soon as you guys started letting me into your inner circle. I didn’t get that close to your business, but I got close to you guys; I have so much in common with Yunho and Jongho showed me all his tech stuff and I had lunch with Hongjoong and his mum. His mother, San. The closer I got to all of you the more I didn’t want to carry this out. I was meant to do it yesterday but, I just couldn’t. I can’t hurt you. ” A fresh wave of tears flow from your eyes.

San gets up, wordlessly and walks away, shocking you. It’s over.

“Don’t look so panicked.” He sits by you, tissues in in hand and wipes your tears. “I’m not going anywhere but, I don’t think you want tears drying on your face.”   He’s smiles at you tenderly.

“Untie me San.” The smile drops off his face.

“Why would I do that? Thank you for your honesty but, that doesn’t let you off the hook just yet. Do you have any idea who, exactly, you’re working for Y/N? Because I do.  Your boss has been living on my dime for years, he was even on my father’s books.”  

“For what exactly?” You’re shocked but, not exactly sure what this has to do with you.

“Let’s just say that your boss has a few extra-curricular activities that would put a damper on his career goals. He wants to run for government one day and there’s no way he can do it if the info I have on him gets out.” The cogs are turning in your head, hearing what he’s saying.

“You’re telling me, that Kim Jinyoung, the same Kim Jinyoung who’s been strait-laced his whole career, who’s been responsible for removing some of the worst careered criminals off the streets, who has a doting wife and 4 kids; is in the back pocket of your gang? That’s not possible San and I’m not playing your game. Just hurry up and kill me.” Oof, you don’t know where that came from, probably the frustration of being tied up and realising that you’ve been had the entire time.

But think about it, Y/N, if San can be good despite what his casefile says then, Jinyoung has every possibility of being vile.

San gets up and reaches for a manila file in the bedside table.

“I thought you’d say that. I normally have these files stored away but, I bought this one just for you. Let me show you what he’s been up to. Here’s one of him doing cocaine. Here’s one of him drinking with Taeyong at one of Taeyong’s parties; I’m sure you know who Taeyong is. And, this one’s my favourite: him being spanked by a girl at Mingi’s strip club. So, tell me again that I’m lying.” You’re left speechless, unsure of what to say and having no clue where to even begin.

San pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs again. You only look at him in bewilderment.

“Look, I’m not going to kill you Y/N. If I’d planned on doing it, I would have killed you already.” He pulls the key from his trousers and undoes the cuffs around your wrists. You rub them gingerly and flex your fingers – trying to get the feeling back into them.

He unties your feet as well and sits back in his chair.

“I’m also not letting you leave. I’ve had a mole in the corporation for a while, I’ve known this was coming. But I wasn’t expecting to get feelings for you. The plan was to play with you and Jinyoung, make him think he’d finally gotten the one-up on me and once he’d gotten comfortable or you thought you were close enough, I was going to send you to him in pieces.” Your body runs cold and you start to shake.

San had planned on mutilating you?

“Well what stopped you?” You want to look defiant; you want to appear strong but, the question comes out in pathetic whisper.

“You were only doing your job. As were all of the assassins. They were given choices. Stay or die. 4 stayed and they work for Ateez now and 1 was disposed of. You’re the only one I’ve fallen for and trust me when I say that I love you. My proposition still stands Y/N, although in a different way. I want you by my side but, obviously that means quitting your job – your real job. If not, I’ll let you go; I can’t hurt you and I won’t let anyone else, not even your boss.” He rubs your cheek with his thumb lovingly.

You lean forward, closing the distance and kiss him slowly.

When you pull back, his cheeks are dusted with pink but, he still looks unsure.

“Choi San, I quit.”

[365daysoftododeku]

28th December 2019

Author: Kenyoda

________________________________________________________________

People always act like fate is a stone maze from which no man can escape. But the truth is that reality is the maze and fate is a collection of runaway bullets that ricochets off one wall into a person before bouncing off another wall and breaking another one. People can choose to bow to it and await their end or continue on to see what havoc it has wrought until their time is up. In this world full of mysterious and wonderful Quirks, the people living in it are not exempt from this truth. In fact, in this realm, those bullets can split into pieces that can have long lasting consequences.

One of the more fascinating paths is the one involving All For One and his brother.  A man was born in Japan during the most tumultuous time of Quirk manifestation. He had a powerful Quirk that could change the face of Japan or even the world for good or ill. Unfortunately, ill became his mark as he succumbed to the lure of power. The man nearly bent Japan and possibly the world under his foot, but he made a mistake. He split the bullet by forcing a Quirk onto his younger brother. From then on the two pieces raced in parallel to one another bouncing from incident to incident, person to person. The Quirks within his brother being cultivated into One For All, a Quirk that could change fate...

It was again split when the two collided with a heroine named Shimura Nana. The brother’s bullet splits, a piece ended up with the son she abandoned for what she believed was his own good and safety… the other in the hands of a young man named Yagi Toshinori. He later goes on to become All Might, one of Japan’s Greatest Heroes. Meanwhile, her son let his part turn bitter and brittle. He ends up launching it at his family, his son Tenko specifically. It would lead to an incident that would leave Shimura Tenko alone, broken, and vulnerable. 

Easy pickings for the embittered All For One. 

While the villain was poisoning his possible replacement into Shigaraki Tomura, Yagi was plowing through rankings and villains, barely able to function around the injuries he had sustained in his final clash with the villain. His bullet also split, half ending up in the hands of his bitter rival, Endeavor. When the time finally came that he had to give One For All up, he was drawn to another young Quirkless boy with an impossible dream. 

He gave the other to the boy when he passed down All For One. 

Midoriya Izuku clung to it like a lifeline. Training to wield it effectively as he could. His journey to UA would put him in the firing range of Endeavor’s pride, his son Todoroki Shouto. The boy was forced to hold the bitter piece of the projectile by his father. Midoriya, by choice, gives him a piece of his to free him from his father’s folly. The two combine in the boy bring the shards back down to 4. 

At the moment our story begins, there are 4 shards of fate that are on a collision course for one another and in the middle of them was the fate of Japan. So what will happen? After all, a handful of choices have lead to this point.

Another possible divergence point is brewing on the horizon, All For One, Shigaraki Tomura, Todoroki Shouto, and Midoriya Izuku all holding onto a piece of fate... what will they choose? 

It turns out, one decides to listen….

Shouto was panting and sweating. Bakugou was an opponent that was miles above his other opponents, including Midoriya. He was not going to be able to rely on his ice for much longer. He was already starting to flag horribly, but Bakugou was just getting more and more wound up and his explosions were getting more and more powerful. It was the worst match up possible. 

As he continued to shield himself using his ice, Shouto thought he could hear someone calling out to him over the noise. Ganbatte Todoroki-kun! It’s yours! You can do it! Shouto blinked. Midoriya. Was he right? Could he really make this fire his own and not become him? Was it right to do so? The uncertainties were singing through his veins making him shiver… or was that his ice slowly freezing him to death?  But he refocused. He was not sure about the fire or anything else but what he was sure of was that his… friend?... had given up his chance to be where he was to help Shouto.

And Shouto was going to be damned if he squandered it. 

Flames leapt from his fingertips, just as eager as they were during the match with Midoriya. He hits the pillar with it and the arena is instantly covered in smoky steam. Shouto quickly darts around the pillar. Hitting it with another burst of fire. He strained his ears to try figure out where Bakugou was. He then heard the sound of ice cracking. He turned and noticed he was directly behind Bakugou. The orange glare of Bakugou’s Quirk shining like a beacon on a lighthouse in a sea storm. Shouto slammed his foot down and then suddenly the sky darkened and the explosions stopped. As the wind blew the fog away, a smaller glacier than the one he trapped Sero in, was before him and the crowd. He cautiously worked his way around to the other side. Once again, his opponent was encased in ice unable to move. Bakugou’s heated glare was a far cry from Sero’s defeated one.  

The crowd cheered as Shouto moved to free his classmate from his prison. He resolutely ignored his gloating father’s roaring. Once Bakugou was free, he bowed and left. His normally volatile classmate, silent for once. Shouto stumbled on numb legs to the 1A waiting room and collapsed onto a vacant bench. 

He did it.

He used that bastard’s fire to win. He broke his promise again. What other promises would he break? His vow not to become mindlessly violent? His vow not to be like his father? How long before he was excusing all of that, too? It’s mine. Said a small voice. It’s mine and I can do with it what I want… Shouto shuddered. He knew what he didn’t want to do with it at least. The rest was still foggy in his head. He sighed miserably. A familiar, tinny sound echoed through the room. Shouto stood up and retrieved his phone from the locker he stashed it in. He looked at the device.

There were several texts, most of them from Fuyumi. All of them were nice and encouraging, although she did scold him about the glacier and Sero (Someone could have lost an eye, Shouto! Be careful!). Then there was a single one from Natsuo. The most Shouto knew about him was that he was going to medical school and that he openly hated their father as much as he did. They did not talk much otherwise. 

It had been a simple congratulations text. It was the most recent. He replied with a simple thanks and asked as he was busy. Shouto was not sure why he wanted to know. When he answered that he was not busy. Shouto found himself hitting the call button.

“Hello, Shouto?” Natsuo greeted. 

“Hi… I hope I didn’t disturb—”

“You didn’t! So, congratulations on your win!” 

“Yeah thanks… I guess,” 

“You don’t sound very excited.” 

“I honestly… I don’t know how to feel,” Shouto said, surprised to feel the prickle of tears in his eyes. 

“Is it about the fire…?” 

“How did you know?”

“Fuyumi has mentioned more than once that you refuse to use it.”

“Yeah… I used his— my fire to…”

“To win a school competition, Shouto. It’s not like you burned the arena down and killed people with it.” his brother’s voice a weird mix of amused and exasperated. When Natsuo put it like that, Shouto did feel a bit silly. But there was so much history tied to his Quirk that it was difficult to separate it all.

“I know that in my head, I guess. I am just so used to hearing about how he gave me power and…” 

“I know, kid… trust me, I know. He had a fit when mine manifested. He almost… never mind. Shouto your power is your own and your life is your own and you can do with it what you want. Ok?” 

“He won’t see it that way. He will make me train with it more…”

“Of course, you need control over it. You have a good handle on your ice, but even that can slip at times,” Natsuo cautioned. Shouto winced as he remembered the first glacier. He was right as much as Shouto hated to admit it. He did need to learn to control it, before he did hurt someone. But he did not want to learn from him… but he may need to. 

“You’re right… I just don’t know if I want to learn control from him…” Shouto sighed. “ I don’t think he knows the meaning of it.” Natsuo laughed at that. That made Shouto smile. 

“You may not have to, there are plenty of heros that have powerful abilities that require focus and control. Fire Users don’t have to train with fire users… while studying with one could probably lower your learning curve. But that is all, it’s up to you.” he said. 

“I guess I have to think about things. I just don’t know what to do or feel?” he said. “Midoriya said the same thing that its my power… that I can choose what to do with it… but it can’t be that easy.” Shouto said, a single tear making its way down his face. 

“Yeah, I know the feeling. You question if you can change things that easily. But I can say the first attempt is always the hardest. After that, it gets easier! You made a pretty big one today. Don’t beat yourself up too much! Take your time and do what you can ok?” Natsuo said, he could hear the smile in his voice.  Shouto found himself smiling, too. It had been awhile since he really spoke with any of his siblings, truly talked with them. He should probably do it more often. 

“Thanks, nii-san… It was nice talking to you.” he said awkwardly.  There was a soft chuckle from the other end. 

“You, too! When I get settled at my internship, I will send you the address! We can hang out sometime. Of course, you can always give me a call and if I don’t pick up, I will call you back as soon as I get a chance. I promise,” Natsuo said. “I love you, little brother. I am sorry I never said it as much as I should have.” Shouto was thrown but touch nonetheless by the sentiment. 

“Same. I will talk to you later then?” he asked, slightly affronted at how eager he sounded. Natsuo’s immediate confirmation made him feel happy and warm. The two said their goodbyes and Shouto hung up. He still felt conflicted, but it did not seem so heavy in his mind anymore. The sound of footsteps brought him out of his thoughts. He was tense, expecting to have to deal with his father, but the footsteps sounded far too hesitant. He relaxed completely as Midoriya Izuku opened the door. 

“Ah! I thought I might find you here.” he said softly as he shuffled into the room. Shouto winced at the state of his classmate. His arm was still in cast and he was wearing a leg brace. 

“Should you be walking?” Shouto asked, concerned. He then winced at how tactless it sounded. Midoriya laughed. 

“Probably, not,” he said sheepishly. “But Recovery Girl said I was fine as long as I didn’t over do it.” Shouto gave him a weak smile. The action still felt a little foreign on his face, but the beam he got in answer from Midoriya lit him up from the inside out. 

“Did you need something Midoriya?” he asked, wondering why he was looking for him. 

“Oh, well not really… I was just worried when you left. You did not look too happy…” he said. Shouto blinked. They were practically strangers and yet Midoriya was asking about his well being. This was definitely different.

“I am still— conflicted about some things. I am still ashamed of the way I treated Sero, and Bakugou was—” he tried to explain.

“Trapped in a glacier, too. Yeah, I could see how that would be a little awkward. But I am glad you did your best, though,” Midoriya said sincerely. Shouto nodded. “And I also wanted to apologize. I know I was being rather pushy during our fight.” The smaller boy scratched at his cheek self-consciously. Midoriya’s nervous disposition was rubbing off on Shouto as he unconsciously shuffled his feet as he stared at the ground. 

“I don’t think you should apologize… I needed to hear that. I want to apologize as well. There was no reason for me to come after you the way I did. I took a personal problem out on you and that was not fair.” Shouto said, bowing. He was adamant that he would not become his father, but today had shown him that denying part of himself while still behaving like him was not the way to go. So, it was paramount that he start by humbling himself and apologizing to the classmates that he had been unjustly rude to. 

Midoriya’s eyes grew wide and his face turned pink.

“Oh! I— you really don’t need to—” he protested. 

“No, I do. I meant what I said. I don’t want any part of the man that my father is. That means accepting who I am and the consequences of my actions. I behaved abysmally towards you and others in our class today. I owe you an apology for that.” said Shouto, slowly. It was not easy but it’s as both Midoriya and Natsuo said, it was his life and he can choose what to do with it. 

He was choosing to be better. 

[lighterandpaper]

If You Want to Go Quickly, Go Alone

Photo by @sashafreemind

In her bedroom, Queen Laurie pretends to sleep. King George enters. “You awake?” 

She doesn’t answer. 

George sighs. “I can tell you’re awake. You’re never that still when you’re sleeping.” He removes his shoes, worn down from the decades, waiting for the technology to replace them. 

“I’m tired, George.” 

“You’re always tired. That creature is taking you over.” 

“It’s what you wanted.” She’s still facing the dried mud wall, now picking at a piece of grass in it. 

“I want protection for the new world we’re creating. Does that mean I can’t also enjoy my wife?” 

Laurie stifles a shudder. “I’m trying to sleep.” 

“Goddammit!” He kicks over the wooden table that Fal made for them. As an answer, to the silence that follows, a rumble. 

George swivels and backs away from the door. “You wouldn’t use her on me.” 

“It’s not me,” Laurie says. She lifts herself up to see Sheila. They look at each other for a long, silent moment. George looks between them, quite left out. Finally, Laurie looks at him. “Something is wrong. Someone is here.” 

“What?” George says. Laurie is getting her clothes on. On her way out, shoes in hand, Sheila behind, she looks seriously at him. “Another Laurie got a reaper.” 

Outside, orange flames of an unusually high bonfire make shadows dance on the uneven walls. The clones are awake, and so are the children. The beautiful daughter of Henry and Laurie, who the queen cannot bear to look at for long, stares at something in the shadows. Queen Laurie becomes more frantic, she finds her son. “Where is she?” Fal does not answer right away. 

“She’s right here,” says a voice, whose form limps out of the shadows. It’s that cloudy-blue-eyed-Laurie-clone that was supposed to be dead. Death looms near her battered body and sunken eyes, but she is alive. Behind her, a young man appears who the Queen has never seen before. He looks so much like Henry, that she immediately knows him to be their son. Her son, genetically. She clutches the angry boy she knows. The Queen cannot help but soften at whom she sees next: Tina. “Tina...” she says. Tears sting her eyes, which fill with guilt just a moment later, when she sees Anna appear from the darkness. 

“I figured it out,” the Laurie says, pulling a crystal from her pocket. 

“You obviously don’t know what you’re dealing with,” the Queen says, her voice lashing with anger that fills her eyes with fiery life. She snaps a finger and the red-eyed Sheila appears from the palace to stand next to her. Fal takes a few fearful steps away. “You should not have come here.” 

McGregor leaps from the shadows and lands next to Laurie with a rumble. Laurie leans against him, breathing heavily from her nose. “I keep hearing that.” 

The Queen looks into the yellow eyes with obvious fondness. “You found him...” 

“He found me. Where is Henry?” 

She snorts. “You think that’s some evidence of your nobleness? They are curious about us, they aren’t moralizing about our motives.” 

“Then make her kill me,” Laurie says. 

The Queen narrows her eyes. “I’d have to have a good reason.” 

“Then tell them the story of what we plan to do,” says George. He appears from the palace, having waited for this moment. He avoids looking at Anna. “And how this clone would destroy it all out of jealousy of an Original.” 

“Where is Henry, George?” Laurie says. 

“Henry had a change of heart, and he is being restrained until he can see the bigger picture.”

Laurie takes a step forward, but Sheila rumbles. “Should you use a crystal?” Jon whispers. “I think it might kill me...” Laurie whispers back. “Don’t worry, we’ll get your father.”

“George...” Anna says. “What is this?” 

“I’m sorry. I hate that you have to find out this way, but I never loved you, and I was too much of a coward to admit it. I wish I would have done the right thing sooner, but now I have; I live my truth and the universe is rewarding me. Join me, Anna, and you will be among the Original royalty of the new world.” 

“Jesus, you’ve lost your mind...” she says. 

“Actually, he’s always been like that,” says Soren. “He’s just got no reason to hide it now, huh, Georgey?” 

The King flexes his jaw and resists the urge to look at Soren. “Small minds,” he says. 

“Please, Anna,” Horatio says. “Join us, and we can build this world together.” He looks at the back of the King’s head. 

Anna pieces it together. “Good God,” Anna says. “Did you promise me to him, George?” George does not answer. “I think I’m going to be sick...” Anna says. 

“I feel like I need a minute to process what the hell is going on...” Tina says. 

“It’s simple,” King George says. “I am building a new world, a world ruled by Originals, worked by clones, and sustained by our children, whose lives will be natural length until Laurie has the infrastructure to make them ageless as well.” 

“That helps me understand, but not in the way you think it does,” Tina says. 

“Mom!” Fate says, emerging from a hut. She runs to Anna, and they hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. Dad’s lost his mind. Why didn’t you tell me I am going to get old? You look mad. What’s going on?” 

“I was just getting caught up on everything,” Anna says. 

“Oh...” Fate says. She surveys the scene. “Well, whatever is going on, I’m with Mom.” She holds Anna’s hand. 

“Fine!” George says. “Whoever be with whoever! We will see whose side everyone is on when I create a new world. Whoever doesn’t believe in me now will believe in me then. You will all eventually kneel at my altar.” He lets that land, seems happy with it. “My Queen! Make this new reaper disappear.” 

“George...” the Queen says. 

“King!” George says. 

Laurie glances around. “King... I, um, I don’t know if she will do it.” 

He whips his gaze to her, and she shrinks. “Tell her our story. That’s what you told me, isn’t it! You show them what you want in a vision, and they help you make it happen? Well, fucking tell her that our future depends on destroying that fucking reaper!” he points to McGregor, who bubbles. Laurie steadies him, recognizing his question. 

“It’s just...” the Queen begins. 

“What!” 

“I need to believe it first...” 

George appears ready to bite her. “I will!” she says. “It’s just, a lot is happening right now, and I feel weird... I don’t know if it will work right now!” George takes a deep breath. “It’s OK,” he says, quieting her with a hand, eyes darting, just for a moment, to the crowd of staring eyes. “What would help you believe it?” 

“I don’t know...” she says. 

“How about the fact that you have believed it perfectly up until this point? Is it because of her?” he points to Anna. “I have no feelings for her. Her being here changes nothing for me, does it for you?” Anna clutches her daughter.

The Queen takes a moment. “I don’t know...” 

Soren takes a step more into the light of the fire. “She sees the writing on the wall, Georg--”

“Don’t fucking call me Georgey!” he says. “I am King George the Original. When this is over, I will make you understand that.” He huffs, a quicker deep breath. “Besides, the writing on the wall is written by my Queen. She decides our fate.” All eyes turn to Laurie. 

“Laurie...” Tina says. 

“Queen!” George barks. 

“Shut up, George,” she says. “Can you hear him? Is this what you want? Is this how you are going to treat yourself?” She gestures to the dirty clones of Laurie, broken eyes. “That’s some Freudian shit, I can’t even begin...” 

The Queen eyes cast down, overwhelmed. “I don’t need you,” she says. 

“Yes!” George says, grabbing her hand. 

“And I don’t need you,” she says, yanking her hand away. “I don’t need any one of you for this. I am the one with the power here. Fal!” she says. Fal stands at attention. “Go get my crystals. Now!” 

“What are you doing, Lou?” George asks. 

“Don’t ever call me that again,” she says. “My mother called me that, and I left her to die alone.” Fal returns with the bag. She pulls out a large crystal.

“That’s a big crystal, Mom...” Fal says.

“I’ve got big plans, son! I left her to die alone with some idiot I barely knew. And then I let myself be dragged to space by some other idiots I barely knew. Now, look at me, following the vision of the biggest idiot I know,” she gestures to George, who shrinks himself, in a rare move. “Well, enough relying on idiots I barely know. My mom always said if you want something done right...” She walks over to Sheila. “Do it yourself.” She plunges the crystal into the back of the reaper’s head. Her eyes roll back in her head, and she drops to her knees, apparently unable to let go of the crystal if she wanted to. Sheila is affected by the connection, but not nearly as much as the Queen, who is drooling. 

After a long moment of total silence, the Queen takes a huge breath and drops to the dirt. “No...” she says. Sheila stands and hovers over her body. The Queen summons everything in her to try to get away. “No!” she says. “Don’t kill me! I can do it alone... I can do it alone! I just need you...” She reaches out a gentle hand to pet the reaper. Sheila snaps the hand in her mouth, no restraint. The Queen screams, arm snapping loudly. Sheila looks back at the crowd, rumbles something that the blue-eyed-Laurie hears as a mild apology, and leaps away into the darkness. The Queen’s screams until she is too far away to be heard. 

Blue-eyed Laurie turns slowly to Jon. “Go get your father...” and she allows herself to faint, as if she’s been waiting to do so for a while. Jon slows her fall, Tina and Anna rush over to help, and Jon rushes to find Henry. 

[laketaj24]

Gladiator IV

A/N: It’s back! I hope you enjoy the update! Taglist open and please let me know what you think! 

Gladiator I, Gladiator II, Gladiator III Vikings MASTERLIST

Warnings: SMUT, SLAVERY. 

Ubbe wades through the water in the barracks alone, a privilege given only to the Champion of the Ludus. Ubbe sits upon the steps washing his body with sponge and then dipping it back into the water. There was little peace to be obtained in the days of late. He’d won over ten victories in the past three months, rising Dominus Aurav to fame and hearing his name chanted even in his sleep.

“Gladiator Ubbe.” Aurav enters the bathing chambers with his guardsmen not too far behind. “You fought well last week.” He smiles. “And now you are needed in a different form tomorrow. The Senator’s daughter has taken interest in you, beyond the arena. And it is to my understanding that my sister Y/N and you have been spending time together. Nothing will ever come of it. She cannot marry property.”

His words sting Ubbe’s ego for a moment, but it was not something foreign to him, he knew the law just as well if not better than Dominus Aurav. “Dominus.” He pauses sitting back in the water. “I am here to serve.”

“Precisely, clean yourself and become well rested. I order you to not mount my sister until after you have bedded this senator’s daughter for my sister fucks you for free and she has offered 100 denarii. Is this understood?”

“Yes.”

“Nice speaking with you, granted you had little to say. The guardsmen will have their eye on you two, as they do always, do not defy my orders and I might let her watch.” Aurav waves over to one of the younger gladiators. “You will do for tonight. Guards.” He leaves the barracks bathing pool just a quietly as he arrived taking a gladiator with him.

 ***

“Are they all topless?” Hvitserk grinned biting into the pomegranate. He nudges Bjorn taring down at the women. “I could get used to this.”

“I am sure it appeases you Hvitserk, it is likely the only way that you can see them.” Ivar eyes watch the marketplace for her figure. He had seen her a day before tagging along the works of a slender gentleman and now today she walked through the place unaccompanied. “I will take my leave.” Ivar smiles fixing his royal blue tunic.

“We are to meet here at high noon Ivar.” Bjorn wipes his face. “We are not here for leisure, and bare in mind this is the same place you referred to as the scourge of the earth.”

“I have yet to take back my statement, brother.” Ivar hops onto the steps. “But why not bask in the place of filth while we are required to be here.” And with that he takes his leave merging into the flow of traffic far beyond the eyes reach of his two older brothers.

Hvitserk’s hair drapes among his shoulders. “His name has only been stated in among the peasants, brother.” He spits the seeds to the ground tearing off another piece of the pomegranate. “For all we know they murmur the name of a legend.”

“The Ludus is ten miles south of the city, but half a day’s journey. You will present yourself to the Lanista and declare your desire to become a gladiator.” Bjorn perches against the wall rolling his eyes at his younger brother who chides the women below. “Hvitserk the Younger, will you listen. This gladiator task is endearing, but we must have eyes on him before we proceed to call upon father.”

“I hear you Bjorn. I unlike Ivar do not have the attention span of a child. I fully understand my role within this plan of yours.”

“Perfect, then I shall spare myself the wasted breath to explain it to you once more. When Ivar returns we will send you on your way and we shall see you at the games within a fortnight if you progress as you say you will.”

“I have slaughtered hundreds of men in battle, you doubt me Bjorn?”

“I doubt all of you.” He says sucking through his teeth, “Find Ivar, he’s had enough time.”

Atria was rarely allowed into the city without supervision but having been the slave of the house for so long Aurav nor yourself did not think ill of her intentions. She paced through the city collecting everything on the list. There were to be guest tonight and the Domina had plans to make sure they were well fed and fucked to insure patronage to the house.

The hot sun beamed upon her exposed shoulders, the nearly sheer dress done nothing to protect her tawny skin from the searing rays of the sun. She takes to the merchants beneath the awnings picking her needed things from the list. “Four pomegranate and ten plums.” She smiles at the merchant and watches him bag the items for her.

“You are the first beauty I have laid eyes upon in this dreadful place.” He leans against the table in front of her. His veined arms are revealed beneath the white toga. He bit into the plum wiping the excess juice from his face. “And I have traveled far and wide across this wasteland called Rome.” He grins, and she pays him no mind moving to the merchant with busy eyes. He growls in frustration sifting through the traffic of people. Rudely he shoves and moves ahead until he is by her. “What is your name?”

“Five pears please.” Atria says ignoring him.

He groans in frustration stopping in front of her. He accesses her from head to toe. The curly head woman before him was like unlike any other woman he had seen before. Her hair rung in tight coils that draped to her shoulders, with lips pink like a rose. Her beautiful sun brazened skin nearly glowed against the sage colored dress and then her eyes twinkled like starlight. He was not going to have her ignore him. “I would have your name.”

He steps in front of her halting her stride and smiling at her with wide blue eyes and a smile. “Have I been rude or disrespectful to you?” He asks.

“No sir you haven’t. I am simply buying food under the order of Dominus Aurav.”

“Dominus Aurav is not my concern.” He pauses. “I am Ivar.” Ivar announces himself with a mischievous grin and wide eyes. “Why are you barred?” He touches the metal brace around her slender neck and steps back. “Are you enslaved?”

“I am, Ivar. And being such, if Dominus Aurav is none of your concern than neither am I, May the Gods bless you and may you stay out of my way. Ivar.” She feels the heat radiate her face as the crimson color flushes her body. Never had she taken the eye of a man so handsome.

“Why the aloofness? I simply wish to make my time here in Rome better.”

“What brings you here?”

“That is a private matter.” He reaches into her bag and grabs one of her pears tossing it above his head and then back into the bag. “You shop for your master, yet you get nothing that will sustain or nourish the body, only entertain. Fruits, nuts and wines. Do Romans not eat meat?”

“I cannot and will not cart goat up to the villa, there are men there for that purpose. You ask many questions and you have not yet stated from where you come? Why should I bestow answers about my master to you, a stranger of Rome?”

“But not a stranger to beauty and the finer things of life. Everything is crueler here in Rome. The arena, the sports,” He pauses giving her a devious eye. “The women.” Ivar walks beside her. “How long will it take for your master to search for you while you are absent from him?”

“My absence?”

“Yes,” He removes the hair from her shoulder and his finger traces along her collar bone. Ivar wets his lips and shakes his head. “You are going to be busy for a few.” He takes her hand leading her from the busy streets of the city and to the catacombs of the city. He looks up at the busy movements of the people smiling. “I think you deserve a moment away from it all,” He whispers leaning in closer to her. “Just to breathe.”

Atria shifts her weight swaying listening to the people pass above her and Ivar’s deep breaths. He steps closer to her and she swallows hard. “I have to leave now, Ivar.”

“Ivar, son of King Ragnar, Prince of Athens.” He smiles. “I fair that this is not the last time that we shall see one another, no?”

“If the gods will us seeing one another again, Prince Ivar… then it will be.”

“The gods tend to shine their favor upon me. I am confident I will see you again.”

***

The Recruits line the center of the small arena, it was nothing new to you watching them get whipped into shape. They were feeble compared to the men your Ludus had produced, all but one. He stood at the end with his crooked smile jarring at the experienced gladiator in front of him. You watch intrigued, wondering what Ubbe would do if he had a chance at the exuberant character in the rink. You fan yourself reaching for a glass of water from a quiet Atria.

“How was the marketplace?”

“Pleasant Domina.” She said with a subtle smile.

You pay her no mind. There were other matters of pressing concern. The senators daughter, Aurelia a close friend of your brother had purchased a session with Ubbe. This was customary. Women far and wide would travel to the villa just to be bed by them, but this was treachery, for Aurav knew the closeness of Ubbe to you. You hadn’t spoke to him really but in passing, thinking of ways to strip power from him seemed pointless except but by marriage, and you would rather be chained to your brother than remain miserable in the rest of your days.

The quick recruit springs out jabbing his wooden sword knocking the trained gladiator down before him and giggling as he won. The others watched intrigued, it was told he volunteered, it didn’t surprise you. This one looked accustomed to the madness. “Atria, where are they preparing Ubbe?” You whisper pulling her near you.

“Aurelia and Aurav are approaching Domina, I dare say you are too late.” She takes the goblet of water from you and nod over to your brother and the young blond. She approaches you smiling. “Speak Domina.”

“Aurelia, a site for sore eyes.” You grin kissing each of her cheeks before taking her hand from Aurav. You walk to the edge of the balcony. “See our fine recruits today.” You nearly sit staring over. “The youngest one at the end is quite a site.” And he was, the long hair clearly showing he was not from your barracks and his grin. He had a maniacal grin. His eyes stare up at the balcony and Aurelia turns to you. “Ubbe awaits you.”

“Is he as energized as he?”

“I do not know, I do not mingle with slaves.” You smile. “That one is not a slave, but a free man. He came here willingly.”

Aurav cut his eye over to you nodding his head indiscreetly. “Ubbe awaits you.”

“I want him.” She smiles. “He is a savage, and I personally am ready to be ravaged I will wait in the chambers Aurav. Do not keep me waiting. You know how I am about waiting.” She kisses your hand parting from you with her servant.

Aurav seethes beside you. “He has not been washed like Ubbe. I had plans.”

“Aurav, remember who put you in charge of this villa, whose money you sit on. Whose house you dwell in,” You pull him buy his shirt. “No one will fuck him but me. Is this understood? I would hate for you come up missing and I have to find another Dominus.”

“Keep your fucking filthy slave, sister.” He whispers. “One day soon he will be a distant and faint memory as the prior gladiators in his status, the new recruit already looks promising.”

“Good clean him, I hear he is already swelling your pockets.” Once he leaves you turn to Atria with a wide grin. “Fetch me a cloak and see that Ubbe is sent to the chambers upstairs please?”

***

Aurav had Ubbe sent back to the Barracks which meant you had to cloak yourselves. You await him at the bottom of the steps away from all the gladiators in their quarters patiently. And finally, he appears around the corner with a furrowed brow and yet a smile. “Domina.” He smirks. “What are you doing here at such hour? You will surely be seen.” He whispers peaking through the flow of linens hanging from the wash area.

“I nearly lost myself today. The thought of you with another woman,” You pause trying not to tell all of your faults to him. “You look well cleaned. How many servants did Aurav send to clean you?”

“Jealous, are we?” Ubbe peers up the stairwell. “We have but a moment, I am expected back a training. I must prepare the new recruits for the test.” Ubbe backs you into the corner lifting your dress. “Won’t it be brave of you to return to your friends freshly fucked by the man she desired? Smiling at them while picturing me between your legs.” He whispers as he places you on the stone counter. You remove his subligaria (roman underwear) without hesitation. “You mustn’t make sound, I could end up with lashes on my back.” He says lifting your legs to pull you closer to him. “Can you handle that?”  

You whimpered biting your tongue as his calloused fingertips kneaded your thigh. Of course not. He made you lose control of yourself but that wasn’t important now. Ubbe shakes his head already predicting the outcome. He enters you sharply, pressing his cock deep in you and muffling your cries into his chest. Every thrust is intentionally meant to rile you there quickly. He slams his hips against yours and then winds it giving friction to your clit only to slam back into you over and over. Your legs wrap around his waist pulling him deeper and a moan escapes. He covers your mouth pumping into you faster and faster then snaking his hand between the two of you to rub circles on your clit. “Cum for me. I can hear them approaching.” He warns. He circles faster and faster combined with the thrusts of his hips and you come shaking into him allowing him to finish himself.

He was right down the steps marched the recruit and the guardsmen throwing him into the common room. You pull Ubbe closer to you and he peppers kisses down your neck listening for the guards to leave and stands. “Good woman you, you can be quiet.” He kisses you once more. “Take your leave. The senator’s daughter will be in search of you.”

“Have you seen the recruit, he is fearless. More so than you I fear.”

“I fear nothing, not even death Domina.” He assists you to the floor and fixes your dress for you. “Sleep well, and may your dreams be of me.” Ubbe watches you up the steps and turns back to the barracks fixing his subligaria.

“We come to save you, and here you are fucking your owner.” Hvitserk smiles with wide eyes at his brother.

“Hvitserk the Younger.” He beams. “What are you doing here? Where are the others?”

“Come, I have plenty to tell you brother. But first,” He pauses. “Are all their women here as unexpectedly wild in bed as Aurelias? I might have to stay here a while.”

@ivarsshieldmadien@equalstrashflavoredtrash@whenimaunicorn@akamaiden@siren-queen03 @titty-teetee@sparklemichele@greennightspider@tomarisela@scumyeol@raindrop-dewdrop@naaladareia@vikingsmania@readsalot73@oddsnendsfanfics@amour-quinn@wheredidallthedreamersgo@unsure-but-trying@leaderradiante@microsmacrosandneedles@valynsia@captstefanbrandt  @therealcalicali @lol-haha-joke @b-j-d @cinnabearice@cris101071 @ivarswickedqueen @cheychey10142@ilvebeenabad @starrmoondaisy @kissedbydragonfire@ceridwenofwales @imgoldielikehawn  @ilooklikeididyesterday@grungyblonde @tephi101 @leaderradiante @selenedarkbloom@bang-kim-bap @rekdreams247

[breakingbadlikeaboss]

Lokane Gift Exchange!

A Gift for @nofearofwaves

An AU in which Jane does the impossible and brings together two brothers for the holidays, while finding a family to call her own along the way. Enjoy!

Pass the Discord, Please

Jane loathed the holiday season with every fiber of her being. The happy families, the food laden tables, the traffic jams from traveling that made her late to work almost every day. Hated. Loathed. Despised.

This year was no exception. With Thanksgiving approaching in a mere two days, Darcy had left her alone in their apartment so she could visit family in North Carolina. She had invited Jane to come with her, but after the incident where the younger girl’s uncle got drunk and used Jane’s shoes to relieve himself, she’d said never again.

Then there was Erik. He was so involved in his work that he barely knew what day it was, much less that Jane was going to be alone for the holidays. So alone she was, watching Die Hard in lieu of the cheesy Hallmark movies that monopolized her television this time of year.

She was in the process of watching John McClain kick some ass when her phone rang. She picked it up, seeing her ex-boyfriend’s name on the caller ID and groaned.

“What do you need, Thor?” she answered, rolling her eyes. He couldn’t be bothered to call her and chat when they were dating, but he certainly called when he needed favors.

“Jane,” he croaked, his voice sounding broken and tired over the phone. “Thank you for answering. I just… I need someone to talk to right now.”

This was different. She sat up on the couch, clutching the phone in her hands, her brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?” she demanded.

“It’s…” she heard him breaking down on the other end of the line, his voice cracking as he spoke. “Mother’s dead. She was in a car accident.”

Suddenly Jane felt like the worlds biggest asshole. “I’m sorry…” she apologized, vowing to be kind to Thor, at least for tonight. She remembered Frigga quite fondly from when they were dating. Thor’s mother had doted on her, and Jane had come to love her like she was her own mother.  “When is her funeral?”

“Three days from now,” Thor sighed. “We’re still going to get together for dinner on Thanksgiving as usual, and go to the funeral the next morning. Father’s not taking it well, and Loki… well, he’s in an even fouler mood than usual. I worry they’ll be at each other’s throats, and I won’t be able to stop them. I was hoping…” He paused, as though unsure of his next words. “I was hoping maybe you could come to Thanksgiving with me this year,” he asked hopefully. “Maybe having you there would diffuse the situation somewhat. They both know how much Mother loved you.”

“Absolutely not,” Jane shook her head. “You know I don’t do holidays.”

“Please, Jane,” Thor pleaded. “I’m begging you. I have no one else I can ask. You won’t have to do anything, but be there. I promise.”

“Thor –“

“Please.”

Jane sighed. “Alright, I’ll do it,” she conceded. “But you owe me.”

Thor thanked her profusely, and when he finally hung up, Jane sunk down on the couch in defeat, the sounds of explosions from her television echoing in the background.

“Well,” she sighed. “I guess I’m doing the holidays after all.”

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The evening started out normal enough. Jane dressed in her favorite sweater and boots, and took a cab over to Thor’s house. It was a well-built stone living quarters in an upscale neighborhood. Nothing but the best for the son of a wealthy contractor.

The inside was even more impressive, with teak wood flooring and marble accents everywhere. Even the furniture was more than Jane could afford on her modest paycheck.

When she arrived Odin was already there. He sat on one of Thor’s oversized chairs, watching football, and looking generally displeased with being present. The eye patch he wore that covered wounds he’d sustained in the war did little to make him more approachable. He scowled the moment she walked in the door.

“Jane Foster,” he greeted, his tone icy. “I thought you and Thor had broken up.”

“We did,” she quipped, trying not to let his tone get under her skin.

“Isn’t the point of breaking up that you agree not to see each other anymore?” he pried. “Are you so desperate for Thor’s attentions that you have to show up and ruin the holiday for all of us?”

Okay. Now she was starting to get pissed.

“For your information, Thor asked me to come,” Jane spat as she hung her coat up inside the door. “Not that I owe you an explanation or anything.”

Odin’s brow furrowed in anger, and he was about to respond when Thor came in the room, saving her from an unnecessary rise in her blood pressure.

“Jane!” Thor greeted fondly. “I’m so glad you could make it.” He stepped forward and enveloped her in a tight hug, which she returned. Odin scowled yet again as he watched them.

A buzzer went off in the kitchen, and Thor excused himself to check on the ham. Odin turned his attention back to the game, leaving Jane to stand in the doorway awkwardly.

She had little time to think about it, before the door opened behind her. A tall young man with pale skin and raven hair stepped inside, looking slightly perplexed upon seeing her. He removed his coat, his intense green eyes flickering to her in interest.

He was quite handsome, and Jane was at a loss. “Hi,” she fumbled awkwardly. “I’m… uh… I’m Jane.”

“Hello, Jane,” he greeted, his voice a soft rumble. Something akin to a smirk played at the corners of his lips, as his eyes assessed her boldly. It felt as though she were naked under his intense gaze, and she found herself crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re the Jane, correct?” he asked. “Jane Foster?”

“Huh?” she blinked, her mind taking far too long to register that he’d spoken to her. “Yeah,” she blurted. “I’m Jane. Foster I mean.” She instantly wanted to face palm for sounding like such an idiot.

The stranger tsked playfully. “Trying to win your way back into my brother’s good graces I see. Wanted another shot at the family fortune?”

All of Jane’s tongue-tied awkwardness slipped away to be replaced by anger. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he smirked, leaning in. “Why does any woman date a pompous, self absorbed asshole? You’re digging for gold, and you’ve found it. It would be a tragedy to let it slip away.”

There was a loud pop as she struck him, and his cheek was set on fire with her handprint. His eyes widened in shock, and for a moment Jane was afraid she’d taken it too far.

He pressed a hand to his cheek, and looked at her with a mixture of surprise and awe. He smiled. It wasn’t a smirk, but a genuine grin that stretched across his face, followed by a low chuckle. “I’m Loki,” he introduced himself, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”

At that moment Thor returned, looking quite pleased. “Loki,” he greeted warmly. “I see you’ve met Jane.”

“I have,” Loki acknowledged, his eyes never leaving her, even as he moved away. “I like her. You should have kept this one.”

Thor glanced at her in confusion and Jane merely shrugged. Loki left towards the kitchen with only one lingering gaze on Jane. He ignored Odin’s presence completely.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thanksgiving dinner was a tense affair. The four of them stabbed at their ham and potatoes awkwardly, while Thor tried to keep a conversation going. Jane helped him out where she could, but it seemed that only the two of them were interested in having a good evening.

Loki refused to look at or speak to Odin in any way, and even his comments to Thor were short and brusque. His eyes often fell to Jane, and she could feel his near constant gaze on her as they ate. Odin grumbled and spouted out one word answers, his heart not in the conversation.

“So have you decided what you want to do about the business, Thor?” Odin asked suddenly as he took a bite of his ham. “I’m not getting any younger.”

Thor’s fork clattered against the plate, and Loki’s eyes instantly fixed on his brother, brows furrowed.

“I…,” Thor stammered. “I’m ready to take it over if you still want me to,” he finally said.

Odin nodded. “Of course that’s what I want,” he agreed. “I need some time to travel, and get away after your Mother. You’re ready now. I couldn’t imagine a better replacement, and I’d be proud to hand the business over to you.”

Thor seemed at a loss for words, and Loki snorted. “How touching,” the dark haired man growled. “I thought that perhaps on the eve of Mother’s funeral, that we could put aside your favoritism and focus on the woman you never deserved in the first place. My mistake. It seems as though you’re still determined to rub Thor’s superiority in my face.”

“Odin rose from the table, and fixed Loki with a harsh glare. “Silence, boy,” he snarled.

Loki sprang up and slammed his fists on the table, leaning his upper body across the feast and towards Odin. “You call me boy, but what do you know of being a man?” he shouted. “Mother cried nearly every night, because of you, so stop pretending like you ever cared about her!”

Odin lunged across the table, and Jane jumped up, scrambling to get away. Thor intervened, putting himself between his father and his brother.

“Enough!” he shouted, putting on hand on Loki’s chest. “You should be ashamed of yourself to speak to our father in such a way. Where is your sense, Loki?”

Loki pushed him away, fury contorting his features. “You would side with him? Even after everything he’s done?”

“Aye,” Thor nodded. “Father’s actions do not excuse your behavior, Loki.”

Loki reached forward, and for a moment Jane was afraid he would knock the dishes from the table onto the floor. She was wrong. He straightened up and gained control over himself. A cold fury shone in his eyes, but his face was impassive.

“To hell with both of you,” he simply said. “This is no family.”

Without another word, he swept through the house and left, slamming the door behind him. They heard him drive away, his tires peeling out on the concrete.

“Well…” Thor sighed. “That didn’t go well at all…”

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Frigga’s funeral was far bigger than Jane ever expected. People showed up in droves, and if she had to guess, she would say there were at least a hundred mourners in attendance.

She had worn the only dress she owned, and come to pay her respects to a woman she had admired. Thor found her almost the moment she walked in the door, and asked her to sit with him and Odin. She wanted to refuse, but after the evening before and the terrible loss they had endured, she didn’t have it in her heart to say no.

Thor and Odin both wore suits, a haunted look in their eyes as those around them talked about how much Frigga was loved. They whispered quietly amongst themselves, occasionally shedding a few tears. Thor tried to make small talk with Jane before the service started, but he seemed a poor version of his usual cheer.

“Where’s Loki?” Jane asked before she could stop herself, unable to help but notice the younger brother’s absence. He might have been an asshole, but surely he wouldn’t skip his own mother’s funeral.

Thor shrugged. “I called him four times last night. He didn’t answer. I thought he would at least show up, but now… I don’t know…”

The funeral service started, and Jane found herself looking around at the crowd as the speaker gave Frigga’s eulogy. She refused to believe that Loki wouldn’t show up to his mother’s funeral, especially after he defended her so vehemently the night before.

It took her nearly fifteen minutes, but she finally saw a flicker of his presence at the back of the crowd. He sat alone, his hands gripping the back of the bench in front of him, and his lips tightened in a pained expression. She didn’t know why she felt drawn to him, but a desperate need to just go and sit with him so he wouldn’t be alone drove her to action.

Jane waited until some of the crowd stirred and slipped out, mumbling some excuse to Thor about having to use the restroom. She snuck back to the very last row, and weaved her way in and out until she found herself next to him. She plopped down beside Loki, with only a faint “hi.”

He looked at her as though she’d grown a second head. She could see the unshed tears in his eyes, and he wiped at them with the back of his hand.

“What are you doing here?” he leaned forward and whispered fiercely.

“Thought you could use some company.”

“You didn’t come with Thor?”

“No,” Jane told him simply. “I came by myself.”

He seemed placated by her answer and nodded, saying nothing else. Jane sat with him for the remainder of the funeral, listening to the music and eulogies given by those who knew her. Neither Jane nor Loki spoke until it was over. Once everyone stood to leave, Loki turned to Jane and gave her a curious glance.

“Tell me, Jane Foster,” he asked with the slightest hint of mischief in his eyes. “Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?”

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Loki’s apartment was several miles out of town, and nothing at all like Thor’s house. It was plain with little decoration anywhere to be seen. No photographs hung on the walls, the furniture was black leather, and everything was pristine, almost as though no one lived there.

“I’m still in the process of moving in,” Loki explained, as though he expected her to ask. He went into what looked like a bedroom, shutting the door behind him and leaving Jane alone in the sparsely decorated living room.

When he returned, he held a box under his arm, and was pulling on a t-shirt over a chest that had Jane’s mouth watering. He was not as built as Thor. His body was pale and lean, but it was all muscle. The t-shirt slid over his chest, hiding it from view and Jane struggled to raise her eyes back up to his face. If Loki noticed, he said nothing about it.

“I have some of Mother’s things in this box,” he explained as he sat the box down on the table. “I wanted to take something to put at her graveside, and I was hoping you could help me choose since you knew her.”

“Of course,” Jane said easily.

They sat together on his leather couch, and he opened the box. Inside were various items that Frigga had owned. A necklace, a coin purse, a book on medicinal uses of plants, another book full of poetry, and a knife that had roses engraved on the hilt.

“All of this was hers,” Loki said reverently.

“Was there something she liked best?” Jane questioned as she looked through the items. “Maybe something she used or wore every day?”

Loki gave it some thought before answering. “The only thing I saw her with everyday was the knife,” he admitted. “Her father gave it to her, and she engraved the flowers on the hilt herself. She carried it with her everywhere.”

“Then that’s what you need to take to her graveside.”

He asked her to go with him, but he didn’t have to. Jane would have gone anyway, if only to just to pay her last respects to Frigga.

Loki knelt at his mother’s grave for quite some time, a few stray tears making their way down his pale cheeks. Jane watched at first, unsure of what to do, until finally she decided to kneel down beside him. She placed a hand on Loki’s shoulder, and just stayed there, letting him know that she was there if he needed her. The gesture was simple, and all she had, so she knelt on the ground with Loki for what seemed like hours, wishing she could do more.

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The next week passed in a blur. Thor and Loki had both called on her to accompany them on an evening during the week. She had said yes to both, thinking they could use a friend right now.

Jane watched as Thor threw the bowling ball down the alley, knocking over nine out of the ten pins at the end. He threw a mighty fist up in triumph, before heading back over to retrieve his bowling ball.

Thor’s friends, Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, and Sif clapped with exuberance at his near strike.

“Nice one!” Jane smiled, as she watched Sif ready for her turn behind him.

Thor threw his ball the second time, taking out the last pin with a whoop of victory. He came to sit down next to her, seeming happier than she’d seen him in awhile.

“Nothing better to help with stress,” he proclaimed proudly. “I can’t control everything, but I can always control my bowling score.”

“Is everything okay with the contracting business?” Jane asked.

“Oh yeah,” Thor laughed bitterly. “Father just takes off and leaves the business to me like it’s no big deal.” He leaned forward, his hands on his knees, and whispered, as though he were telling Jane a secret. “I can handle the customers and the various laborers we hire, but the books… they’re way over my head, and Father left me with hundreds of receipts and nothing written down. I’ve got an auditor coming at the first of the year, and I’m absolutely screwed.”

Jane was taken aback. “Odin just left you with all of that? Why?”

Thor threw his hands up in the air. “Your guess is as good as mine. I tried to hire someone to get the books in order, but everyone is backed up until after tax season. There’s no way I’m going to have this done by the first of the year.”

An idea struck Jane, and the words spilled from her mouth before she could think them through. “Why don’t you call Loki and ask him to help you?”

Thor snorted. “Yeah right. He didn’t even come to Mother’s funeral. I’m not calling him, and even if I was desperate enough to do so, he wouldn’t help me. You don’t know him like I do, Jane. He wants nothing to do with Father or the family business, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Loki was at the funeral,” the astrophysicist informed him. “I saw him there.”

Thor seemed surprised by this revelation. He ran a hand through his golden hair, temporarily at a loss for words. “I am glad that he went, though I wish he would have not been so dramatic and sat with us.”

“You should call him,” Jane tried again.

Thor shook his head, his lips set in a firm line. “No,” he decided. “There’s no way I’m asking him for help.”

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“Absolutely not,” Loki growled when Jane tried to bring up the subject of him calling Thor.  They had just had their second dinner together in a week, and were now putting a considerable dent in Loki’s bottle of chardonnay. “He’s dead to me,” Loki said matter of factly as he sipped his glass of wine.

Jane sighed. “You can’t avoid him forever. You’re brothers.”

“Yes I can.”

“No,” she said firmly. “You can’t.”

“Watch me,” Loki replied defiantly.

Jane sat her wine glass down, and leaned closer to him on the couch. “What’s your deal with him?” she asked. “Why are so angry with Thor?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

Loki bit his lip and scowled. “Fine,” he agreed. “It started when we were children. Father always favored him over me, and for a very long time I didn’t understand why. Everything Thor did was perfect and pleased Father, while I… well I was quite the disappointment to our old man. Never good enough.”

He frowned, drumming his fingers against the side of his wine glass. “I tried so hard to be the son he wanted me to be. I wanted to take over the family business eventually, thinking maybe then he would be proud of me. When I was eighteen, he announced that Thor was to be his successor. He’d never even considered me.”

Jane felt herself reaching for him, and she placed her hand over his. He looked to her, his green eyes pulling her into their intensity.

“I confronted Father about his choice of successor,” Loki continued. “And he finally told me the truth. He wouldn’t give the company to me, because I’m adopted. In his eyes I’m not a true Odinson.”

“But that…That’s not fair,” Jane stammered.

“No, it’s not,” Loki agreed. “I thought Thor would be on my side, and help me talk some sense into Father, but he didn’t stand up for me when I needed him to, and it’s caused resentment between us ever since.”

“I’m sorry,” Jane told him earnestly. “I know Thor, and he doesn’t always say or do that right thing. Have you ever told him how you feel about all of this?”

“Absolutely not,” Loki scoffed, removing his hand from under hers. He leaned across the couch, nearly pressing her backwards with the invasion of his body against hers. Jane struggled to keep her position, while still maintaining enough space between them so that he wasn’t on top of her.

“But tell me, Jane Foster,” he growled, his voice dangerously low, his face so close to hers that she could feel the heat of his breath. “Have you been telling Thor about your feelings lately? I know you’ve been out with him twice since the funeral, and I’m beginning to think you’re not truly broken up.”

Jane blinked twice, her brain taking a moment to process the meaning of his words. “What… No!” she snorted. “It’s not like that at all. Thor and I are most definitely broken up. I just… I thought he could use a friend right now with your mother’s passing. That’s all there is to it.”

Loki seemed to consider her words for a moment, a scowl turning down the corners of his lips. “And what of me, Jane?” he demanded. “Are you simply spending time with me because you pity me?”

“That’s not – “

“Then tell me, Jane,” he snarled. “What am I to you?”

“I…”

He kissed her then, pressing his lips to hers harshly. The kiss was not gentle. Loki’s lips were demanding and desperate, taking hers as though he feared she would push him away at any moment.

She didn’t. Instead, Jane wrapped her arms around his neck, as they slid down on the leather couch together, and returned the kiss with fervor. When they broke apart, he lay over her, his forehead against hers, and their breaths ragged with excitement.

When Jane pulled up to kiss him a second time, she decided that even though she wasn’t sure what he was to her, she was definitely not kissing him out of pity.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next two weeks passed quickly. Jane saw a lot of both Loki and Thor, one as a friend, and the other as decidedly more.

She played with the bracelet Loki had gifted to her as she once again tried to talk sense into Thor. He sat at the table in the diner, receipts spread out everywhere, and a large, black book in his hands. He was beyond stressed, and he kept picking up the receipts and putting them back down, unsure of where to start.

“You need to call Loki,” Jane told him again, beginning to feel like a broken record.

Thor shook his head.

“Why won’t you?”

“Father entrusted the company to me,” Thor sighed. “I have to prove to him that I can do this on my own. Loki would not be willing to help me anyway.”

“Why do you say that?” Jane pressed, as she caught a receipt that nearly fell from the table.

“He wants nothing to do with Father or the business, ever since…. well since he caught Father cheating on Mother.”

“What?”

“It was an ugly business,” Thor told her. “Loki caught him in the act, and Father offered the business to him instead of me in exchange for his silence. He said no, of course, and told Mother. Loki and Father have hated each other ever since.”

Jane was silent for a moment, not really knowing what to say. “You’re not your father,” she finally told him. “Whatever grudge Loki holds against Odin, is not your fault. You two need to talk some things out, and he won’t call you first, so it has to be you. Just do it. You might be surprised how he feels.”

Thor gave her a quizzical look, as though he’d never considered that Loki wasn’t angry with him. “You think he would take my calls?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Thor called me,” Loki told her as they sat together, drinking and watching television.

Jane perked instantly at the news. “Oh, really?”

“We talked, and he asked me to help him with the books for the business.”

“Are you going to do it?” she asked, trying to feign only mild interest.

Loki cocked a brow at her, and took a sip of his wine. “Yes,” he finally answered. “I told him I would go to his house tomorrow and help him straighten up the books.” He sat his wine down next to him, his eyes watching her intensely, and Jane got the feeling that he wasn’t finished.

“And?” she prompted.

“He invited me to come to his house for Christmas dinner as well.”

“Oh?”

“I was hoping that you would go with me,” Loki finished, watching for her response.

Jane’s mind scrambled for something to say. “We have to tell him,” she blurted out. “I can’t just show up unless he knows.”

“I’ve already thought of that,” Loki admitted. “And I intend to tell him tomorrow. Hopefully he’ll take it well.”

Jane took a long drink on her wine, the prospect of showing up to Christmas at her ex-boyfriend’s house with his brother, both terrifying and exhilarating.

“So much for sitting at home and not doing the holidays,” Jane muttered, half to herself and half to Loki. “Between you and Thor I may never have peace again.”

Loki laughed as he leaned over and kissed her.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thor sat at his kitchen table with Loki at his side. His younger brother had just finished up organizing the books for the contracting business’ audit that was coming up in a mere week. Everything looked perfect. All the receipts were in place, the book had been double and triple checked, and Thor had never felt more relief over anything in his life.

“Thank you, brother,” he told Loki earnestly. “I could not have done this without you.”

Loki waved him off, and handed him the finished books. Thor hesitated for only a moment before taking them in his hands. “I’ve given it some thought, and I was wondering if perhaps you would like to take part ownership of the business,” Thor asked shyly.

Loki stared at him in disbelief, and Thor found himself stumbling over his words.

“I am owner now, not Father, and the business is mine to do what I wish. I would be honored to have you as my partner,” he mumbled. “If that’s something that you would want.”

Loki gaped at him for a moment, before a smirk settled across his face. “I would love nothing more, brother,” he admitted. “But before you sign the paperwork and make me you partner, there is something I must tell you.”

“Oh?’

“It’s about Jane.”

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Odin spent Christmas at Frigga’s grave, a pot of poinsettias in hand. He talked to his dead wife as he had on so many evenings since she passed. Sometimes he told her about his day, other times he asked her questions even though he knew that she would never answer, but mostly he apologized. He’d spent so many years running a business, that he’d forgotten how to be a husband and a father, an error that had caused much pain to both his wife and his sons.

“Forgive me, Frigga,” he breathed, the cold air around him chilling him to the bone. “I have not been a good man, and certainly not a good husband to you.”

The grave was silent as though Frigga herself was giving him the cold shoulder. He chuckled at the memory of her, so vibrant in life.

“I did what you asked,” Odin told her. “And you were right. You were right about everything. I should have treated Loki better, and I should not have put so much pressure on Thor. They were always meant to run the business together.”

He shifted on the dirt, placing the poinsettia down next to her headstone. “You were right about Jane Foster too,” he admitted. “She reminds me a lot of you, my love. All fire.” He laughed. “She brought them together, just like you said she would.”

Odin reached out and touched his palm to her headstone. “Rest in peace, my Frigga. I will join you soon enough. Until then, know that our boys are happy and well thanks to you.”

A wind swept out from the night, and trees above Frigga’s grave danced in the cold air, as though his wife had heard him and was pleased.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane sat around Thor’s table yet again, the mood far lighter this time. She ate, talked, and laughed with Loki and Thor. They talked of the future for the Odinson business, and made plans to get together more often.

Loki held Jane close the entire night, his arm rarely leaving her shoulder, unless he meant to take her hand in his. Thor strangely seemed pleased with their budding relationship, and Jane was relieved that there were no fights.

They opened gifts and drank hot chocolate together, staying up well into the night and enjoying each other’s company.

Somewhere in the festivities, Jane realized that she would probably not celebrate another holiday alone. In the span of a month she had made a friend, acquired a lover, and found herself a family, and she couldn’t have been happier.

The End

[calligraphist-artemisia]

I’ll Take Her Place (Chapter 14)

Summary:  AU. When Allura breaks the news that she is to wed Prince Lotor in order to continue the peaceful relationship between Altea and Daibazaal, Pidge knows that she has to do something to change that. And so, with a little help, she comes up with a new plan. A better plan

Pairings: Keith/Pidge (main) ; Shiro/Allura (minor), Hunk/Lance (minor) ; Lotor/Allura (one-sided)

Chapter 1 - Previous - Masterpost

Also on AO3 and fanfiction.net

Chapter 14

There were alarms blaring in the castle.

Keithir rolled out of bed and onto his feet, sliding his dagger out from beneath his pillow in the process. He strode forward, nearly smacking into his bedroom door before it had the chance to open. “Thace!” he shouted into the next room.

“It's the castle's alarm system. Something has happened,” Thace said tersely. He stood across from Keithir near the bedroom he shared with Ulaz, staring down at a tablet in his hands. “Kolivan's orders are to dress and meet him on the bridge.”

Keithir gave one short nod, turning back to change into his uniform. The alarm quieted after a few minutes, lowering in volume before shutting off completely as Keithir joined Thace and Ulaz and they set off for the rendezvous point.

Thace led the way to the tallest point of the castle, keeping to one side as the castle staff frantically walked the halls, some with a sense of purpose and others bustling about their small children, reminding them to keep their voices down as some of them wailed about leaving behind a favorite toy. Keithir personally witnessed one father scoop up his daughter in his arms, press a kiss to his wife's cheek, and then race off down the hall with his giggling child to retrieve the toy in question. The wife tutted with a fond smile and took their son by the hand, reminding him they'd meet up outside before they hurried on their way.

Keithir quickened his pace to walk alongside Thace. “What's going on? Why is everyone leaving?”

“Standard evacuation for a ship of this nature, I imagine.” The response came not from Thace, but from Ulaz, who watched the proceedings with interest. “Whatever has happened, it's enough to warren take-off from the Castle of Lions. Only those with the proper clearance will stay on board.”

Keithir gaped at him for a moment. “The castle is a ship?!”

“Compose yourself, my prince,” Thace calmly reminded him.

Keithir slowed up and went silent, his ears flicking back in discomfit.

“It was constructed six-hundred years ago when the Black Lion was rediscovered by a team of Altean alchemists,” Ulaz explained. “They knew its paladin would one day need a base capable of traveling long-distance and wanted a safe place to keep the Lion until they could be found. Four other hangars were built in the hope they would one day house the other Lions.”

“That's a lot of hope put into finding one Lion.”

“That hope is the reason the paladins are so well respected. The Lions would not pick a pilot they found unworthy of carrying such a burden,” Ulaz said.

Keithir thought of Shiro, who reached out to him and welcomes him warmly. Of Hunk, who seemed wary of him but happy to lend a hand when it was needed. Of Lance, who could be a little abrasive with his cockiness, but was also willing to put aside his pride when he needed to. Of Katie, with her quick wit and determination to do the right thing. The way her eyes lit up when it came to technology. That little quirk to her lips when he said something she found humorous.

Wait, that wasn't...

He frowned, dropping his gaze to the floor.

“We are here,” Thace announced.

The door slid open before them. Kolivan was already there, looking more serious than Keithir had ever seen him. He was quietly speaking with Shiro and Princess Allura at the front. The rest of the paladins were there as well, seated at their stations in full armor, trying to keep busy as they waited for instructions.

Katie looked back when the door opened, giving him a tiny smile before getting back to her work.

“There has been an attack,” Kolivan informed them as they approached.

Allura's hand trembled as she pulled up a video feed of an Altean communication satellite under clear duress. A weak particle barrier surrounded it in an attempt to keep it from further harm, but as they watched it was very clear from the debris floating around it that the power wouldn't hold for long.

“We received the call half a varga ago. All power has been diverted to sustain the particle barrier, including... including life support. There are no survivors and currently no clues as to who the assailants are.” Allura paused to take a breath. “We will be launching the moment the civilians are clear of the Castle of Lions. If you wish to leave with them, Prince Keithir, you are welcome to stay with mother and father at the main castle.”

“I may be a prince, but I'm also a member of the Blade of Marmora. I'm going with you,” Keithir said, not waiting for Kolivan's approval.

Thace rested a hand on Keithir's shoulder, offering his silent support. “What is our heading, Princess?”

“The Napamku Quadrant, near Nyrydya,” Allura responded. “They are one of the few people in the area who will welcome both the Galra and Alteans. We've already sent a request to Queen Toryné asking for permission to land on her planet and she has been kind enough to grant it.”

“The attack on the satellite has them just as worried as we are. If it goes down, that's an entire sector without the ability to communicate beyond their own planets. It's imperative that we find out who did this and stop them from causing any more harm,” Shiro said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Pidge, any luck accessing that security feed?”

She shook her head, her fingers flying over the holographic keyboard. “Nothing from here so far. It would be a lot easier if I was actually there and not trying to transfer data from so far. We're either really lucky the transmission reached us with the station so damaged, or someone wanted us to get it.”

Keithir guessed that “someone” wasn't someone actually meant to be on the satellite, but whoever orchestrated the attack.

“But why would they want us to find out?” Lance asked.

“It could be a trap,” Ulaz suggested.

Allura frowned as she turned away from them. “We will proceed with caution. Trap or not, this is not something we can ignore.”

“Then we leave on your command, Princess Allura,” Kolivan said.

It was an event they had trained for, but that didn't stop Shiro from worrying as they set down on Nyrydya and prepared to disembark. He, Allura, and Kolivan would be meeting with the Nyrydyan queen to thank her for her hospitality. Meanwhile, the rest of the Blade of Mamora, along with Pidge, Hunk, and Lance, were to take a shuttle up to the satellite and begin assessing the damage.

Until that day, all they'd ever been called upon for was to assist with a planetary evacuation due to the natural shedding of the outer crust of the planet or lengthy escort missions through dangerous parts of space or that one time Coran set up what they thought was just a standard training exercise but turned into some crazy quest that ended with them fighting a world-destroying beast.

Shiro didn't doubt they were capable of handling whatever was happening in Napamku, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the attack than what they thought. Something about the situation just felt... wrong. There was every chance that Ulaz was right and they were walking right into a trap, but whose trap was it?

Queen Toryné seemed an unlikely culprit, given Nyrydya's peaceful history with Altea and Daibazaal. They were a race who deeply appreciated peace and tranquility and to even consider that they would attack without provocation was a grave insult to them.

There were other nearby planets and moons to consider. Netka, a planet of vast stretches of desert which was only broken by deep gorges and jutting mountains, whose people had not taken kindly to Daibazaal's attempts to create a settlement there. The Rujanvymir's were quite outspoken about any foreign satellites in the area. And then there was Taabaher, which was home to a people who prided themselves as great warriors, but they had formed a tenative peace with Daibazaal and flat-out ignored the Alteans as long as they stayed away.

Shiro couldn't help but consider a more recent problem. One which was steadily growing to become the source of all his frustration.

Lotor.

He didn't want to believe that the Galra prince would outright attack an Altean communication satellite. To do so would be akin to declaring war! And surely that wouldn't fit in with the prince's desire to win Allura's heart.

Shiro scowled. He would never let that happen.

A feather-light touch settled on his hand, barely registering through his gloves. He looked to Allura, who kept her gaze straight ahead and acted as though she was doing nothing out of the ordinary.

The reminder of her presence next to him was enough to calm him and help him focus on the task at hand. First, he had to thank Queen Toryné for her hospitality. Then he would worry about all of the different possibilities surrounding the attack.

Pidge frowned as she played the footage again and again, viewing it from as many angles as she could. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something wasn't adding up. If only she still had Hunk with her, but she'd shooed her friends off ages ago so she could try and make some repairs without him hovering over her and making concerned sounds whenever she touched something. He'd taken Lance with them, leaving her utterly alone.

Pidge sighed, slumping back and shutting her eyes, already feeling the exhaustion settling in.

“Taking a break already?”

Pidge shrieked in surprise, clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. She spun her chair around to face the one who interrupted her, ready to tell them off for sneaking up on her, but all of her fight died when she found Keith standing there.

She cocked her head in curiosity. “Shouldn't you be with Keithir?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, no. No, he's fine,” Keith said as he walked into the room. “Should you really be alone here?”

Pidge hummed noncommittally as she turned back to the security feeds. “Well, I'm not alone anymore. Come help me with this.”

“How many times have you watched these?” Keith asked.

“Apparently not enough,” Pidge muttered. “I've tried everything I can think of, but this is all I could salvage. Just these few minutes of video. It's like... it's like someone deliberately went through and wiped it all clean, but left this behind, which makes no sense. Why leave anything? Why take that risk?”

Keith frowned as he focused on the screens in front of them. “Maybe they were going to do more, but ran out of time?”

“Time...” Pidge narrowed her eyes and leaned forward, rapidly flipping through the cameras in search of something.

Keith watched her with a growing sense of confusion. “Uh, Katie?”

“There's no time.”

The cryptic statements were not helping. Keith had no idea what she was trying to accomplish or how he was supposed to help her. What exactly did she mean “there's no time”? They had plenty of time. Days of it, as long as they made progress.

“Maybe it's time for you to take a break. Rest your eyes? Drink some water?” Keith wondered what it would take to get her to at least blink.

Pidge finally tore her gaze away. “Keith, there's no time. On the feeds. They're supposed to keep a record of the date and time, but there's nothing! Look at the bottom of the screen! Doesn't it look like it got cut off?”

“Oh,” Keith breathed, his eyes widening as he took a second look. “I think you're right. But how did they get on board and do all of this before we arrived?”

Pidge's expression was grim. “I think... and this is just a hypothetical situation, but what if someone got on board and delayed the alarm from being triggered and edited the security feeds while they were here? That would have given them enough time to do all of this and get away without us seeing them.” She banged her fists on the desk in frustration. “I thought I could find something here, but if they really wiped the memory...”

“Maybe we can't find out what we need here, but I know something else we could try,” Keith said, already forming a plan. It could be dangerous an there was no way Kolivan would ever approve of what he was about to suggest. Even Thace wouldn't be able to get him out of trouble if they got caught, but it was a risk worth taking, in his opinion.

He held out a hand to help her up, thoroughly ignoring the way his heart fluttered when she took it.

“Why do I get the feeling that Shiro's going to be really disappointed in us after this?” Pidge asked with a teasing smile. “What's the plan?”

“There's a Galra fueling station in orbit around one of Taabaher's furthest moons. We're going to sneak on board and see if they've picked up on any strange activity in the area,” Keith told her. “But first, you'll need a change of clothes.”

Hunk wiped the sweat from his brow as he carefully closed the hatch and stood up. “That should hold until the actual repair crew can get here.”

Lance eagerly dropped out of his yoga pose. “Does that mean you're done? Can we go get Pidge and get out of this creepy place?”

“Yeah, just let me...” Hunk hit a few keys on a nearby console to get it to reboot. He grinned when the panels lit up with a familiar blue light, letting him know that the satellite itself was back up and running smoothly, letting communications resume. “Alright, now we can go get Pidge.”

“Finally! This place gives me the heebie jeebies. Like, I get that it's import for us to come up here and look into it, but I'll be happy if I never have to come back,” Lance said, leading the way out the door.

Hunk followed him with an amused expression.

They back-tracked their way through the halls, passing by only one member of the Blade along the way. It didn't take them long to reach the security room where they had left Pidge to work her magic, but instead of seeing their small friend there, they found Shiro, Allura, and Kolivan.

“Uh, where's Pidge? Did she head back to the Castle without us?” Lance asked.

“We thought she was with you!” Allura said, turning to Shiro in alarm. “Where could they have gone?”

“They?” Hunk asked, an uneasy feeling curdling in his stomach.

Kolivan crossed his arms over his chest. “Prince Keithir is missing as well.”

Dread settled in Lance's chest. His mind raced with the implications of what that might mean, ranging from the lewd (his usual go-to) to something more serious. Like a kidnapping. Though on second thought the lack of obvious struggle made that theory unlikely. Pidge would absolutely leave some kind of clue behind and Keithir was skilled enough that he wouldn't have gone down without a fight.

“Maybe she found something and they both went back to the Castle?” Hunk asked hopefully.

“Except we just came from the Castle and we didn't see either of them or the shuttle they were using,” Allura said.

“Don't those shuttles have tracking? Can't we, I dunno, use that to find out where they're at?” Lance asked.

Shiro shook his head. “We thought of that, but one of them must have disabled it. At the moment, we have no way of knowing where they are and Pidge isn't responding to my attempts to contact her.”

“Then they've gone dark,” Kolivan said, sounding calm despite the situation. “We have no choice but to wait until their return.”

NEXT

[ryik-the-writer]

Rumbelle Fic: Lipstick (Chapter 5: The Monster on the Stairs)

Rating: M (rating may change)

Something’s wrong with Gideon ~ Mr. Gold recalls the day he  discovered his son was different.

A03 

Special thanks to @robertmarch82 who’s been a huge inspiration *blows kiss* 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Gideon!”

Mr. Gold chased his son up the stairs as fast as he could, but Gideon had a good six inches more of leg on him and reached the top of the stairs before Mr. Gold barely made the middle step.

“Gideon for god’s sake stop son!”

To his surprise Gideon did stop, but he kept his back to his father.

Gold reached the top of the stairs, panting and staring up at his son.

“Gideon.” Gold wheezed. “Son, please…”

Gideon turned to face his father and for the first time that day, Gideon’s eyes met his, and they were so full of discouragement that Gold could have vomited. His nails dug into the wooden banister, anger and hatred brewing in his gut towards the people who made his son—his beautiful unique boy—feel so uncomfortable in his skin.

There had been a time when such a concept hadn’t been a twinkle in Gideon’s eye, when he was young and innocent and unashamed of anything.

Reid Gold was sure he could pinpoint the day everything in their lives changed, not knowing then that the amusing moment between both father and son was the beginning and the end of Gideon Matthey Gold.

It had been a hot day, he recalled, summer in fact. A time when Storybrooke’s youth could run ramped, experiment and adventure until their parents called them in for the night. Those whose required more structure or who needed extra money for vacations worked part time at the diner or the daycare. Those otherwise took part in the reading program Belle had set up in the library.

Gideon had loved spending those days with his mother, setting up the events, choosing the books, and he recalled solemnly, helping Belle pick out the dresses she would wear that day. He enjoyed the latter the most.

It was on that blistering day that the heat had been too much for the young five-year old and he had had no choice but to stay home with his father (who had refused to go out into the blasted heat and open shop). All had been uneventful until late afternoon when Belle had phoned to inquire about dinner plans.

“We could go to the diner.” Belle suggested.

“It’s Friday.” Mr. Gold reminded her. “It’ll be packed and it’s hot enough without being shoulder-to-shoulder with Storybrooke’s sweaty tourists.”

Belle snorted in amusement. “Okay smart guy, what is our son in the mood for?”

“Do you even need to ask? Pizza!” he recited the last word in a pitched tone to (poorly) intimidate his son’s voice.

Belle laughed joyously over the phone. “Sounds great. But make a salad so we can tell the other parents we actually try to feed our son right.”

The couple chatted pleasantly for a moment more before Gold said his goodbyes and went upstairs to locate his son. He was a bit surprised to not find the boy in his room where he had been the majority of the day. He began to make his way towards the bathroom when he heard a hushed giggle coming from his and Belle’s room.

While Gideon wasn’t necessarily banned from his parents’ room, the Golds had tried to teach him the importance of permission and privacy, thus the young boy usually stayed where he knew he was welcomed. Yet, when Mr. Gold peaked curiously inside, he found the boy standing in front of their full-length mirror with a pair of Belle’s heels on his feet and her favorite blue dress sagging over his play clothes.

The first thought to go through the father’s mind was that Belle was going to be very irritated that her son had wrinkled her favorite silk dress.

The second thought was why was his son donned out in his wife’s clothes?

He watched his son twirl awkwardly in Belle’s size six shoe, giggling as he fruitlessly soothed the fabric of her dress. He looked so happy that Gold didn’t have the heart to intervene on his playtime, even if he was concerned.

He knew it was normal for children to imitate their parents, talk like them and dress like them, however it had never crossed his mind that children would do this with the parent of the opposite sex. Sure, Gideon idolized his mother, adored her in every way a son adored their mother, but he had always hoped that he would walk in on Gideon playing with his father’s ties and vests and not…this.

Gold leaned against the door, causing it to squeak as it opened. Gideon shot around, eyes wide from being caught.

Full of discouragement?

No, just the boyish fear of being snuck up on.

“Papa you scared me!” Gideon giggled, holding up the ends of Belle’s dress so that he could bound awkwardly towards his father.

Gold kneeled to place a hand on Gideon’s head to steady him from tripping. “Pardon me…” he apologized, seeing the full extent of Gideon’s getup now that he was close. He had Belle’s limited-edition lipstick smeared on his lips and chin, blush and orange eyeshadow he recalled Belle using with a Halloween costume last year.

“That’s…a very interesting look you have.” Gold commented with a small smile.

Gideon’s smudged eyes widened and he smiled with glee. “Am I pwetty like Mommy?”

Mr. Gold released a wet laugh, not in mockery or humor of the situation but at little Gideon’s innocent outlook on his game of dress-up. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, Mr. Gold chastised himself. A little unordinary perhaps, but nothing close to damnable.

“You look very…unique.” The father insisted with an indulgent smile. “But…” he reached out to swipe a glob of lipstick from the corner of Gideon’s mouth. “I think we need to work on your coordination before you try lipstick again.” He looked down at the dress. “And color scheme. I think your more of an autumn than a summer, m’boy.”

Gideon stared at his father curiously.

“I’ll explain later.” Gold stated, standing uneasily. “In the meantime, let’s get you in the tub.”

Gideon’s smile faded slightly, his bright eyes looking down at the dress he was in longingly.

“Can I…wear the dress just a little longer papa?”

“…why would you want to do that son?”

Gideon twirled lightly in the material. “Because I look pretty.”

Mr. Gold froze, his mind going blank for a response. He wanted to allow his son this flicker of happiness but something—something Gold knew had no business in the mind of a parent—wanted to crush it.

He quickly banished the thought from his mind, reminding his self that this was child’s play—nothing more and nothing worth getting upset about.

“How about,” Gold compromised, “you take off the dress and I add bubbles to the bath. We can even pull out the bath toys for a little while, yeah?”

Gideon’s hopeful look faded, but he smiled mildly and nodded his consent, pulling the silky material slowly over his head. He hugged the dress to his chest for a moment before handing it to his papa.

Discouragement.

Gold felt a shameful sense of relief when Belle’s dress was in his hands, but also a dark churn of guilt at seeing the defeated look on his little boy’s face.

“Hey.” Gold smiled, talking hold of the boy by his sides and hoisting him up in the air (and out of Belle’s shoes). Thankfully, Gideon squealed in delight and the dark cloud over him momentarily cleared.  

He sat him down and Gideon went trudging off to turn on the water for his bath (which, despite his mother’s protest, he was old enough to do). As soon as he heard the water running he shot into action, stuffing the dress into the bottom of the hamper and placing the heels back in their proper place in the walk-in closet.

He then set to work on Belle’s vanity which was littered with makeup dust, opened lipstick tubes, and nearly deflated lotion tubes. He cleared it all away quickly, making a mental checklist of what he would have to replace, all the while wondering why he was even covering this up. Belle would be annoyed by the destruction of her makeup table, but not angry at Gideon for being a child. She might even laugh about it.

Yet he continued to clean the table like his life depended on it. Like Gideon’s life depended on it. Something in his mind didn’t want this near his family, near his little boy.

With shaky, discolored hands he entered the bathroom where Gideon had added a bit too many bubbles to the bath.

Mr. Gold heeded the suds no mind and pulled the stool he kept in the bathroom to the side of the tub, turning off the water. The little boy was forming the bubbles into a sort of hat for the plastic frog he was playing with.

“Hey son,” Mr. Gold greeted as cheerfully as he could. “How about we keep today a secret, just between you and me?”

Gideon glanced away from his toy, staring at his father with large brown eyes.

“Why?”

Mr. Gold grimaced, considering for a moment about dropping what he was about to say and leaving the boy alone.

“Well son, you know how you can only dress up in a costume on Halloween?”

Gideon nodded.

“Well, if you wore a costume everyday, Halloween wouldn’t be a special when it came around now would it?”

Gideon shrugged.

“Now to mention,” Mr. Gold added to get to the main point of his speech. “some people might not understand.”

“But you and mama told me not to worry what people think.” Gideon recited.

Damn, they did. Curse his and Belle’s life-sustaining messages.

“That is true m’boy. But sometimes…you have to care just a wee bit. Because some people will do whatever they can to make you feel different, and they won’t stop.”

Mr. Gold saw the flash of uncertainty flash in his eyes and stopped. He wished he could explain this in a way that wouldn’t scare the boy; that was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

“But hey,” Mr. Gold smiled, patting the little boy’s wet hair. “you will always be safe here. You can…always be yourself.”

Gideon perked up. “I can wear the dress again?”

Mr. Gold swallowed hard but nodded. “Sure son, let’s…let’s just not tell your mum yet. Let’s keep this our secret…for now, okay?”

Gideon frowned. He had been looking forward to his mama seeing how pretty he could be. But she might not like him playing with her dress and makeup, and he didn’t want to get in trouble.

“Okay papa.”

To the present day, Belle had no knowledge of the events that day. Her son had been scrubbed clean, and if he and her husband looked a bit crestfallen she blamed the heat.

Now she couldn’t blame the summer heat that stopped her child from having a fun day. It was autumn and her son was decked out in a light cardigan and full-fledged makeup and the laughing stock of his school.

“It didn’t work.”

Mr. Gold looked up, his son’s bitter voice breaking him from his daze.

“What didn’t work son?”

Gideon shook his head, gasping as he sought for the words.

Mr. Gold moved closer, hands reaching out to balance his son.

“What happened this morning Gideon?” he asked gently. “Why did you go out like that? We agreed…”

A sob cut Mr. Gold off and he took hold of Gideon’s arms just in time to prevent him from dropping to the ground. He balanced him against the banister, holding him up as he curled into himself.

“I thought it would be okay…” Gideon sobbed into his lap. “I thought…I thought it wouldn’t matter…”

Mr. Gold held his son up, wishing Belle was by his side to give Gideon the motherly comfort he needed.

However, it was time for a talk between father and son. One of many they’d had since Gideon first revealed himself to him all those years ago.

“Son,” Mr. Gold whispered just in case Belle made an appearance. “Gideon you remember what I told you…the day you told your mother about…this?”

Gideon’s dead-set eyes met his father. “The day I expected you stand by my side when I told mother about who I was? Oh yes, papa, I remember it well.”

Mr. Gold was a bit taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor, and also ashamed by the reminder in the lapse of bravery that day.

Belle had retreated upstairs after suggesting Gideon change his shoes. Mr. Gold wasn’t quite sure what she was going to retrieve (or if she needed a moment to compose herself) but he did know that he could finally breathe.

He waited until she was up the stairs before he turned to his son. Gideon looked…relieved, and Gold felt a wave of guilt churn in his stomach.

“Gideon.” Mr. Gold spoke.

Gideon turned to his father, his smile fading at the site of his bitter frown.

“What?” he growled, knowing a fight was underway.

Mr. Gold spared a glance up the stairs before moving closer. “What are you doing?”

Gideon rolled his eyes. “I’m getting fashion advice from my mother. Is that a problem?”

Mr. Gold’s jaw clenched. “We agreed you wouldn’t—”

“No you—” Gideon glanced upstairs and lowered his voice. “You’re the one who told me not to tell her! To hide who I am from her! But I’m sick of it dad. I’m sick of hiding who I am. I want out!”

“And you will be.” Mr. Gold tried to assure him. “When you’re 18—”

“Don’t bring that up again. I can’t wait another year. I need out now.”

“Son, you can’t—”

“Why?” Gideon yelled. “You told me I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You don’t.”

“Then why the hell do you keep me from being myself?”

“Because they won’t understand you!” Mr. Gold finally shouted, his hand swinging out to point to the outside world, knocking the pitcher of orange juice off the counter.

Gideon jumped from the violence but the fear in his eyes did little to settle the seething father.

“There are people out there who will destroy you for being different! They’ll go after you, and they’ll go after your mother! You’ve put both you and her in danger!”

Gideon froze, his glassy eyes searching around the room. He was panicking obviously and Mr. Gold regretted every word that had just left his mouth.

“No Gideon I’m sorry I didn’t mean—”

“Stay away from me.” Gideon gasped, picking up his discarded heels and turning to the stairs.

Mr. Gold reached out for him. “Please son I-”

“Get the fuck away from me dad!” Gideon shouted, racing up the stairs before his father could grab him.

Mr. Gold let him go but wished he could start anew. What had he done? What kind of a parent said things like that to their child?

Him apparently.

Could he justify what he had said to Gideon? It was out of fear that he had said those things, fear of his wife’s and son’s safety. This town hated him and not above attacking his property to spite him. Who could guess what they would do to his family.

When he heard Belle call after Gideon, he made himself busy cleaning up the mess he and Gideon made. He turned his back to the stairs when he heard Belle’s quiet footsteps. He couldn’t face her, couldn’t tell her what he had done and how he had all but broken their son.

So he left them. He left his loving wife and son to brew in their fear and sadness and he spent the day in his dusty, cold shop doing the same.

“You abandoned me.”

Gideon’s growl brought Mr. Gold from his remembrance, and when he met the boys eyes, he did not like what he saw.

“You stood there and berated me, acted like you had no idea what I was in front of her.”

“I know I did Gideon. I—”

“Why do you keep doing this?” Gideon seethed, eyes pooling. “Why do you keep telling me I’m okay and then turn around and ostracize me?”

“Gideon, try to understand that everything I do is to protect you—”

“From what?!” Gideon boomed, his lithe body shaking so hard Mr. Gold was afraid he’d trip down the stairs.

“From mom?” Gideon laughed, and really it was hilarious. “She doesn’t care dad, and if you had told her all those years ago she wouldn’t have cared then!”

“She might not Gideon but the people she’d told would have!”

Gideon paused, taking in the scorn his father was displaying towards his mother.

“Mom wouldn’t have done that to me. She wouldn’t have just…told the whole world about me like that.”

“Not on purpose son. Your mother has one unfortunate flaw: she trusts people too easily. She would have told someone about you in confidence and they would have stabbed her in the back.”

“No…”

“Yes…”

“She wouldn’t!”

“She would have and it would have gotten worse from then on out! I’ve told you this before! Storybrooke is the kind of town that doesn’t let anyone be different! They will sniff it out and crush it! I never want that to happen to your mom and you!”

Gideon’s breath became labored and his nails dug into the carpet.

“Son.” Mr. Gold took the boy by his shoulders, fearing he was about to fall into a panic attack. “Son it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

A sound between a sob and a laugh left Gideon’s throat. He lifted his head and the look in his eyes chilled his father to the bone.

“No, Papa, everything is not going to be okay. I’m out. I showed all those people at school who I really am…and I can’t take that back. And you know what, I don’t care. If they kill me tomorrow, I don’t care because I’ll be me. And dad, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Mr. Gold released him, staring at his son in disbelief. What had he done to him?

Wait…

Mr. Gold gently moved Gideon’s shaking hands from his face and realized why he had been so shaken when he had looked into his eyes.

Those were not his son’s eyes.

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Prince you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Amycus Carrow!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

There was so much obvious love and thought that you put into Amycus that your entire application was so beautiful to read through (although heartbreaking and terrifying at times too!) You crafted a villain who we can sympathize with, and gave Amycus a humanity that others might’ve failed at. We think that his relationship to his family, his father and Alecto in particular, was really well explored -- and you gave us a firm grasp on who Amycus is in a way that brought him to life before our eyes. We’re so happy you decided to apply and we can’t wait to see Amycus on the dash! *your faceclaim change to Ben Barnes has been accepted 

application beneath the cut ( tw: gore, torture, abuse, murder, etc.) 

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Prince 19 he/him

ACTIVITY

7/10 I work about half the day so I’m free early afternoon on/weekends.

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

the marauders rp tag, promo blog. was in this rp like, ~7-8 months ago??

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

I don’t remember much since it’s been such a long time since reading. I know I definitely always had a soft spot for Neville when reading the books though.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Here you can tell us everything else you have in mind like questions, concerns, notations or anything else you can think of

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Amycus Aldrich Carrow

Amycus; Amykos, Latinized as Amycus, in legend was the son of Poseidon and the Bithynian nymph Melia. He was a boxer and King of the Bebryces; killed ina boxing match.

Aldrich; A name meaning ‘a wise and aged ruler.’ With such a name, his family expects and predicts great things of their boy. He will one day be powerful, so very strong.

Carrow; “Carrow” in Norfolk, or “Carraw” in Northumberland. The first is assumed to have its name derived from the Old English word “carr”, meaning “rock”, and a word of Celtic origin; “hoh”, meaning “spur of a hill”.  

FACE CLAIM

Xavier Dolan, Ben Barnes, Mikkel Jensen

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

I’ve played Amycus for, about a year’s worth, on and off, and I enjoy him because he’s his own person but also has the ‘dynamic’ of having a twin, and living/making decisions not only for himself but sometimes for the both of them, or having them being treated as ‘the same’ by others, because they are twins. Like, it’s interesting to have a character so closely linked to Amycus. And I love exploring his family dynamic bc he’s one of the characters that doesnt really have a ‘set’ past in canon, so there’s so many different ways he could end up because of what his life was like as he grew up.

—

Amycus could say his childhood had been. Interesting. Born the male of a pair of twins, he was favored, and it wasn’t hidden. He was given the love and attention his sister was denied, and the words that best described his as a toddler were ‘spoiled brat’. He grew up learning he could have whatever he wanted, and that ‘no’ didn’t really mean ‘no’, not to someone with power and money like him. Though his parents weren’t entirely interested in raising children. They wanted an heir to the family and had no time or patience to deal with a growing child, let alone two. A lot of Amycus’ childhood was spent playing his sister and hiding from his tutors and nannies.

Amycus was very young when he realized what the world was like. His father had never been a pleasant person, and the nights he would drink were the nights the whole family suffered by his hands. He and his sister learned the world was ‘dog eat dog’, and many dog eaters looked like humans. They learned to be vicious and bare their teeth at others. As they got older, they learned it wasn’t enough to look scary; you had to be scary. They must pit themselves against the world or die trying. Fear of his father and reality of the world drove Amycus to learn to defend himself, in anyway he should need to. Amycus learned to defend himself, he needed to be the monster he was afraid of, and very readily embraced it.

Amycus learned to be vicious, as did his sister, but didn’t learn to hide it behind polite smiles and good manners as she did. The words that best described him as a young teen were ‘cruel monster’. Amycus was mean, he was a sadistic monster that choked kids until their eyes pleaded with him for their lives, whose pranks turned from mean letters to disemboweled pets as Christmas presents. The voices that coo words to him in his head remind him what a monster he is. Sometimes, the voices are quiet, and Amycus is never sure whether he’s glad for the silence, or is afraid of it.

Amycus has dragged himself down into a rotten little hole now, which he knows will one day make his grave. His time in school in Slytherin house led to him to making friends with other ‘bad’ children, and is where he found his interest in the Dark Arts. Now working with the Death Eaters, Amycus has found a place where he feels more accepted, though he still garners dirty looks with his bloodied hands and maddened grins.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Amycus will sleep with whomever says yes. He’s not picky by any means whatsoever. Sex is sex, after all. A means to an end. Amycus identifies loosely as a cis-male, and prefers he/him pronouns but also answers to they/them as he’s used to being addressed as a pair along side Alecto. If he had the information, he’d probably identify something closer to agender, but as that’s all very abstract and not widely shared information at this time, he’s simply content with being called a male.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

Quotes and lyrics: -  “When the Fox hears the Rabbit scream he comes a-runnin’; but not to help.” – Mason Verger - “Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time. Are we not created in his image?” –Hannibal Lecter - “ I love you crookedly because my heart’s been unhinged from birth. The doctors gave me strict instructions not to fall in love: my fragile clockwork heart would never survive.  “ –Jack and the Cuckoo Clock Heart -“ In the end You dig yourself the hole you’re in” –Dig Your Own Hole -“  God, I pity the violins In glass coffins they keep coughing They’ve forgotten, forgotten how to sing ” –All The Rowboats

headcanons;

-Amycus is surprisingly good at memorizing spells, and knows quite a few charms and curses, more than the average students learned at Hogwarts. He’s had a few private tutors at the behest of his father, and read quite a few books on magic in his spare time. He’s very good at martial magics, and can sustain a Fiendfyre for quite a long time without losing it’s control. -Amycus is photosensitive, and often gets migraines from being in the light for too long. Thus, he prefers being a night owl, or at least avoiding being outside, especially if it’s a sunny or bright day. He likes keeping his room and as much of the house dark as he can, which makes the place look pretty gloomy. -Due to very little social interaction beyond his sister as a child, Amycus has a hard time understanding sarcasm, and often take’s other’s opinions in a very ‘black and white’ way. He thinks people either like him, or hate him, and there’s no in between. Also, people are either angry with him, or enjoy him; he has a hard time knowing if he’s upset people, and struggles to read into tone of voice and other social cues. -Amycus is rather paranoid about noise, and enjoys the quiet. He very often moves around to avoid noise, and is easily set off into distress or anger over loud noises. He’s most afraid of the sound of footsteps, as it reminds him of the sound of his parent’s coming down the halls of their home as a child. -It’s more likely than not Amycus lies somewhere on the Autism Spectrum, but his parents only considered him a fussy child. Even he doesn’t think he’s autistic, mainly because mental illness is stigmatized and not talked about, especially among wizarding communities. -Amycus has schizoaffective disorder, and cycles between intense depressions and manias. He suffers from auditory hallucinations that started to develop during his time in school, and soon after he started having visual hallucinations, though those are much more uncommon to him. -Amycus is a very physical person and enjoys being able to touch objects or other people, but understands personal boundaries. He won’t continually touch those who’ve expressed discomfort about it. When idle, he often likes having something to hold on hold onto, or to be held himself. He wears heavy jackets often, even in the heat, because the weight of it on his shoulders is comforting. -Amycus usually has his wand up one of his sleeves strapped his his forearms; mainly to his right as he’s a left handed person. He also often carries a switchblade on him. Amycus often wanders off into the Muggle parts of town, and fighting with a knife leaves less clues to point back to him than using magic against them. Though due to his temper, he’s been known to try and stab anyone who upsets him, even other wizards.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

“Some kind of…Weaker Cruciatus maybe. I mean, hey, a good Cruciatus is great. But sometimes you only need a little, something to push someone off the edge. You have to stop a Cruciatus to get people to talk. Something a little less strong, you could torture them and get ‘em to give up whatever you want. Wouldn’t that just, be great?”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

“Alecto, obviously. But it’d probably be her fault, why we’d be going into the Forest anyway. And bring. Well, besides my wand, how about Alecto’s wand? It doesn’t work the best, for me at least. But it’s something, isn’t it? And it’s not my wand so it’s not breaking the rules, huh? Twins don’t count.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

“Very, puzzle like decisions. Where people want to trick you with their words. Saying one thing, meaning something that’s not what they said. People make things so much more complicated than they should be, almost all the time. Bullshit.”

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

“That I’m the worse twin. Just look at Alecto. I’m even, better looking. There literally can’t be any way that I’m worse. I’m very obviously the better twin. Who would even think twice about it? Huh? Even Alecto knows, I’m the better one. Though she won’t admit it. Which makes her worse. She’s too up her own ass to see it, really. ”

WRITING SAMPLE

—Amycus hissed and withdrew his hands from the piano when it shocked him, looking over his shoulder at his father. “Start over.” Darius replied, leaving Amycus to quietly turn back to the piano and begin the piece again. The boy got tripped up at the same spot, and was shocked once more by the piano. He bit his tongue to keep from whimpering, and without being told started from the beginning. The third time he was able to play it, but only a few bars past made another mistake. He yelped when the shock hit him, and this time he turned to look at Darius. “Father.” The man stopped his pacing to stare at his son, and Amycus did his best not to let his voice falter, “Please, I-It’s very hard to continue learning the piece if I have to start again at every mistake. I w-won’t get good at the end if I only play the beginning, sir.”

“If you paid more attention to what you were doing, perhaps you wouldn’t have to begin again so many times.” Darius quipped back, leaving Amycus deflated. He bit his tongue again and gripped the piano bench tightly. After a few moments he turned back to the piano to continue playing. The nine year old could only endure the harsh treatment for so much longer, and after about another half hour Amycus stood abruptly after being shocked, the piano bench scraping across the ground. He stood with his hand balled into little fists, tears in his eyes and just beginning to tremble. “Sit down.” Darius warned with a hiss.

“No!” Amycus snapped back, glaring at his father with teary eyes, “I don’t wanna play anymore!” The boy began storming away to the door, and just before he reached for the handle he was thrown to the ground harshly, landing on his side. “I said sit down.” Darius had his wand raised and slowly moved to stand over his son. Amycus was crying by now, getting back to his feet slowly.

He stood there and hung his head, and just as his father began to speak again, Amycus shoved him as hard as he could and bolted out the door. Darius stumbled back a bit and almost fell in surprise, then snarled and yanked the door all the way open to storm into the hall. “Amycus!” He screamed at his son, who was just barely scrambling down the stairs out of sight. Amycus made it to the front hall, fumbling with the locks on the door. When he opened the door he only got one foot outside before he ran headfirst into his father who had Apparated in front of him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Darius hissed. Amycus sobbed, crying out when he was dragged back to his feet by his arm, feebly attempting to pull himself from his father’s grip as he was dragged across the marble floor in the front hall. His feet scrambled for purchase as he tried to stop his father from dragging him, screaming and tossing himself around like a trapped animal. Amycus was close to hyperventilating now, body shaking with fear as he desperately tried to escape his father. His head turned at the creaking of a door and he saw her there; Alecto stood in the door way, expressionless and staring. Blank empty eyes looked into his own as he began pleading for Alecto to help him, but his pitiful cries seem to fall on deaf ears as the girl didn’t so much as blink as her brother was dragged through the basement’s door.

Amycus knew what an Unforgivable curse was before any of his friends.

—Amycus stormed past his mother as he walked through the front door of the Carrow Manor, dropping his suitcases with a harsh clatter and climbing the stairs two at a time, quickly making his way to his room. He slammed the door behind himself and moved to stand in the middle of the room. He shook with anger, his nails biting into his palm as he made white-knuckled fists. It’s not fair. Why couldn’t he stay? All of his friends got to stay at school over break, but he had to go home. Amycus stormed to his dresser and swept his arm across the top, knocking everything to the ground and letting anything glass shatter. It’s not fucking fair! Why the hell should he be home? He fucking hated it here, and both his parents knew it. The boy strode to his desk and threw the chair aside, throwing the journals and books to the ground and chucking the inkpot at a wall. Ever since he began attending Hogwarts, Amycus had loathed returning home for winter vacation, and especially for summer vacation. He never wanted to be home anymore. He never wanted to be around his father.  

“You’re upsetting your mother, if you insist on throwing a fucking tantrum like a child, I’ll-” Darius yelled as he swung the door open, and a picture frame very narrowly avoided his head and shattered against the wall behind him. “Fuck you!” Amycus screamed, grabbing a book from the shelves next to his desk to throw at his father as well. “You fucking wanted me home! I’m here! What the fuck did you expect, father?” the boy’s tone was mocking, and he shrieked with pain when hit with a Cruciatus Curse. The fourteen year old crumpled to the ground writhing in agony as white hot pain shot through him.

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that you ungrateful mongrel!” Darius snarled at his son. Amycus could only scream, the pain terribly overwhelming. The Cruciatus Curse was more powerful the more hatred the user felt. The pain made him want to black out. The teen laid on the floor struggling to breathe when the curse was lifted, making no move to get up when his door was slammed close. Amycus laid on the floor for another hour, his body aching too much to move.

One night soon after, Amycus waited until late to leave his room, to make his way down to the kitchen. He grabbed the biggest knife he could find and took the back door into the yard, walking across the wet lawn in the moonlight. He grimaced at the sting of the cold, only wearing his pajamas and socks in the freezing weather. It took most of his strength to push open the door to the stables, and it took no time to walk over to the stall. Amycus stared at the horse, looking at the medals that decorated the wall behind it. Father’s prized racing horse. The stall door was easy to open.

Amycus said nothing as his father walked into the dining hall, staring the man down as his father stopped dead in the doorway. He watched the color drain from the man’s face as he looked at the crudely butchered horse that was strewn across the entirety of the long table. He sat back in his father’s chair, giving his father a cold and hateful stare. “Merry Christmas, father.”

Amycus always got the best gifts at Christmas time.

[biofunmy]

Who Made Your Clothes? – The New York Times

Rumsinah, 44

Role: Zipper operator at PT. Fajarindo Faliman Zipper, which focuses largely on in-house brands

Where: Tangerang, Indonesia

“Most of my co-workers and I are all old-timers,” said Ms. Rumsinah, who has been working at the same factory for 26 years. “It’s a good factory, so no one really quits. There’s seldom any job openings — only if someone retires.”

She is paid about 3.4 million rupiah, or $241, per month, which she said is tight as a single parent. Her son recently finished high school. “He can’t work at my factory because there’s no openings,” she said. “He wants to be a teacher, but we don’t have enough money to send him to go to university.”

Though her job is tiring, “all jobs are tiring,” she said. “At least weekends are off, and the hours are not too bad.”

Waheed, 38

Role: Sewing bedsheets and curtains at a textile mill

Where: Pakistan

Waheed, who is being identified only by his first name, has been in the textile industry for 20 years and works seven days a week to support his wife and two young sons. They share a house with his parents, his sisters and his brothers.

“Most factories place a lot of restrictions on garment workers. Once they come in for their shift around 8 in the morning, there’s no knowing when supervisors will let them out. It may be 8 p.m. or 10 p.m. by the time they are allowed to leave for the day.

Workers at my factory don’t have it as bad. That’s why I’ve been here for the past 10 years. It’s a nice place to work. But some of the resources that workers really need aren’t provided, such as first-aid kits or pension cards.

It’s pretty common to get your fingers injured — sometimes needles break and get stuck in your bone if your hand gets in the way of the machine. Then you have to go to the hospital and get X-rays yourself.

It’s difficult to manage on the salary I earn. My expenses amount to about 2,000 rupees a day, including the cost of my children’s clothes, their education, my family’s groceries and other bills. But I barely make 1,000 rupees a day.”

Seak Hong, 36

Role: Sews outdoor apparel and bags at Horizon Outdoor

Where: Khum Longvek, Kampong Chhnang, Cambodia

Six days a week, Ms. Hong wakes up at 4:35 a.m. to catch the truck to work from her village. Her workday begins at 7 and usually lasts nine hours, with a lunch break. During the peak season, which lasts two to three months, she works until 8:30 p.m.

Ms. Hong has been in the garment business for 22 years. She earns the equivalent of about $230 a month and supports her father, her sister, her brother (who is on disability) and her 12-year-old son.

She hopes he will not end up in a factory, too, but the price of a quality education — about $20 per month — is beyond her means. While she is at work, her sister manages the household, taking care of their oxen and rice farming their land for extra food.

“I feel tired, but I have no choice,” Ms. Hong said. “I have to work.”

Yurani Tascon, 34

Role: Tracks daily production numbers at Supertex, which works with major active wear brands

Where: Yumbo, Colombia

“They spoil us a lot here,” Ms. Tascon said. “It’s a job with good stability.” Her workplace blasts music — usually salsa or something traditional — from speakers throughout the day while employees make coats, bathing suits and sportswear.

At 11 a.m., employees get “pausas activas”: active breaks with music.

Sarjimin, 39

Role: Makes shoes for a comfort footwear brand at PT. Dwi Naga Sakti Abadi

Where: Tangerang, Indonesia

Mr. Sarjimin has worked at the same factory for about 12 years. The job is relatively stable, and his workplace is spacious, bright and safe.

He earns the equivalent of $250 a month, and his wife also works at a factory. The family is able to send their children, a 13-year-old and a 9-year-old, to good schools. They recently purchased a computer for their older son, who is passionate about technology.

Mr. Sarjimin farms catfish to supplement his family’s grocery money. He started six months ago, filling a big empty drum with starter fish as an experiment. Now he has two drums with 300 fish each, and he sells them to friends, family and neighbors.

One day, he would like to raise catfish full time. “There’s a motivational speaker I heard once, ‘You have to dare to dream, how to get there is a question for a different time,’” he said. “I like remembering those words.”

Saida, 38

Role: Sewing machine operator at Pinehurst Manufacturing, which works with major active wear brands

Where: San Pedro Sula, Honduras

The factory where Saida has worked for the last 12 years is one of the few in the area. She earns about 8,200 lempira each month, roughly $331. “It doesn’t cover everything,” she said. “Vivimos sobregirados.” (“We live overdrawn.”)

Saida lives with her mother and her 19-year-old daughter, who goes to school. “I am the one who provides everything at home. The house, the water, the electricity,” she said. “You have to stop buying certain things to be able to cover the necessities.”

Her unit currently has one primary client, a major sportswear brand. This is a source of anxiety for her and her co-workers because they fear mass layoffs if the client leaves the company. “It’s really difficult having one client,” she said.

Bui Chi Thang, 35

Role: Stitching denim together for sustainability-focused brands at Saitex International

Where: Bien Hoa, Vietnam

Mr. Bui has been at his factory for seven years. “It matches my skill,” he said, “and the salary is enough for my family.” He earns approximately 90 million dong annually, roughly $3,880, which he uses to support his mother, wife and son.

During the average nine-hour workday, “I can finish 1,000 to 1,200 pieces a day, depending on the difficulty,” he said.

Santiago, 48

Role: Sews clasps and zippers onto dresses, blouses and pants at a factory

Where: Los Angeles

“I’m from Guatemala. I’ve been doing garment work for 16 years. I started because it was the only thing I knew how to do after leaving my home country,” Santiago said. “I came here because there were not as many opportunities back home, and with six children, there are a lot of expenses.”

In the last five years, he has worked in five to eight factories. They are often windowless and dirty, with little ventilation, he said.

When he first moved to Los Angeles, Santiago was working 11-hour shifts, seven days a week. Now he works about 50 hours a week, taking home up to $350. The majority of his co-workers — around 30 other people — are Spanish speakers from Guatemala, El Salvador and Mexico.

“I’m just making ends meet,” he said. “I’m always trying to figure out how to save money, how to buy food, how to not eat out too much.” Still, he said it is better than what he was earning in Guatemala.

Maria Valdinete da Silva, 46

Role: Self-employed seamstress

Where: Caruaru, Brazil

The last factory Ms. da Silva worked at produced men’s street wear. She spent eight years there, stitching side seams together in an assembly line with an hourly quota.

“Some companies, like the one I worked for, no longer have employees inside the factory and the seamstresses work from home,” she said. “They establish small groups, tiny factories, and they are paid per item, so they basically have the same production without any costs.”

In order to make minimum wage, outsourced employees “have to work from day to night,” she said.

Ms. da Silva now makes women’s clothing independently, producing fewer pieces and selling them locally. She makes “maybe half” of minimum wage, but she said it’s worth it to work at her own pace. “I love what I do,” she said. “I no longer see myself in that situation of sitting in front of a machine doing the same thing every day.”

She is planning on taking fashion design courses soon. “Seamstresses are the key element in the fashion chain, we are the ones who put the clothes together,” she said. “You basically have to kill yourself in front of a sewing machine in order to provide for your family.”

Antonio Ripani, 72

Role: Leather quality control at Tod’s Group

Where: Casette d’Ete, Italy

Mr. Ripani, who began working with leather at 14, has been employed by Tod’s for more than 40 years, where he assesses “practically all the hides that arrive” for quality.

“Alone it’s hard to do everything, so I have a group of ragazzi [guys] under me and I have taught them everything I’ve been able to understand after all these years,” he said.

Mr. Ripani doesn’t earn much, he said, but he sets his own schedule, often working eight to 12 hours a day. He has assistants and has received awards for his highly specialized work.

“It’s not so much the salary, it’s that I am here because we’re all one family,” he said. “When I started, I had long hair. Now, I am bald.”

Rukhsana, 48

Role: Security at Sitara Textile Industries

Where: Faisalabad, Pakistan

Rukhsana began working in the garment industry shortly after her husband died seven years ago. She works seven days a week.

“The hardest thing about working in a textile mill is that management kind of cuts you off from the world for the duration of your shift. If anyone calls you from home — with good news or bad news — you can’t take the call and management doesn’t tell you until the day is over.

Two years ago, my nephew died in an accident when I was working. My brother tried calling me, but management didn’t tell me about it until my family had already held his funeral. I was so upset, I quit my job.

Now that I’m in security, I know when someone comes to the mill and tries to contact a worker. But I’m still not allowed to tell the worker their relative has been trying to reach them.

It’s not just difficult, it’s impossible to survive on the salary the textile mills pay. Are we supposed to choose between buying food and roti or paying for clothes and medicine? And there’s always rent to pay in addition to that.”

(Employees store their phones in a locker before beginning their shift, a company spokesman said in a phone interview, and they aren’t allowed to leave the organization “without any written acknowledgment from the manager.”

He said that family can reach employees on their cellphones or by calling the factory directly, and that he was not aware of any incidents in which family was prevented or delayed from contacting an employee during an emergency. )

Vu Hoang Quan, 21

Role: Sews dress shirts for mass retailers at TAL Apparel

Where: Binh Xuyen, Vinh Phuc, Vietnam

Mr. Vu has spent the last four years working on a production line with about 30 other employees, each overseeing parts of the sewing process. On average, he earns about 10 to 12 million dong (about $432 to $518) monthly. He sends most of it back to his family.

“My favorite time is at 3 p.m., when we have an exercise session,” he said. “We stay at our work spot. We pause our work process, line up and follow the exercise instructions of team leaders.”

He recently participated in a talent show hosted by the company, where he performed modern dance. “I don’t have plans to leave this job anytime soon,” he said. “I’m quite satisfied with it.”

Catherine Gamet, 48

Role: Leather goods artisan at Louis Vuitton

Where: Saint-Pourçain-sur-Sioule, France

Ms. Gamet began working with leather when she was 16 years old and has been employed by Vuitton for 23 years. “To be able to build bags and all, and to be able to sew behind the machine, to do hand-sewn products, it is my passion,” she said. “That’s how I got into it.”

About 800 employees work in Saint-Pourçain, spread out across four sites. Ms. Gamet said the workshops are well organized, bright and modern. “The time flies by,” she said.

S, 33

Role: Tailor making pants and socks for fast fashion and active wear brands at Shahi Exports

Where: India

S.’s shift begins at 9 a.m. She feels a lot of pressure from supervisors to reach quotas of about 90 to 120 pieces per hour and said many workers are afraid to take breaks or use the restroom because it will waste time.

Employees who can’t keep up are often pulled aside at the end of each hour, she said, and supervisors will yell at them and bang on tables. Many workers spend most of their 30-minute lunch breaks scrambling to finish more pieces to get back on track.

“We don’t even have the freedom to drink water,” S. said, adding that management doesn’t allow employees to bring in water bottles.

Instead, water is handed out by the factory. In the spring of 2018, the supplied water was making workers sick, and when employees gave management a letter with a variety of basic requests, including clean water, they were beaten in response. Their clothes were torn, and many of their valuables, including phones and jewelry, were taken.

The employees took their complaint to the labor department. The issues were resolved three months after the incident, after the factory faced public pressure from a report by an American watchdog group, social media and brands that worked with the factory.

Some conditions have improved: Employees get mineral water now. But the pay is still bad, S. said, and the main work space doesn’t have windows, air-conditioning or heaters.

“We want to ask for more salary, but people are scared after what happened last year to ask again,” she said.

(In an email, a spokesman from Shahi Exports acknowledged the 2018 incident and forwarded a statement outlining the preventive measures the company has since enacted.

In a separate email, a spokesman said that berating employees in any way “constitutes misconduct,” and instances brought to management’s attention would “initiate action” against the perpetrator.

“While we do strive to drive efficiencies, there is no scope to berate any employee on account of non-performance or deficient performance,” he said. The spokesman added that there “is adequate ventilation” within the work space and that the entire factory is “in compliance with the law.”)

S. is a single parent and picks up extra work in the evenings, along with taking out loans, to support herself and her daughter. “There are thousands of people” in her city in the same situation, she said. “My story is just one of them.”

Phool Bano, 38

Role: Tailor at Friends Factory

Where: Noida, India

Ms. Bano has been a tailor for about 22 years and works at a progressive factory that makes small batches of garments for high-end independent brands. The building has little luxuries like air purifiers.

“It feels nice working here,” Ms. Bano said. “It’s clean. There are some plants and trees also, you know, the kind that are meant for decoration.”

Helena Lúcia Santos da Conceição da Silva, 54

Role: Seamstress at Fantasia D!kas Roupas

Where: Nova Friburgo, Brazil

“I’ve always thought of myself as a seamstress. I even made my daughter’s sweet-16 dress. It looks like overlapping petals. It’s my greatest pride.

I start work at 7 a.m. We make everything: pants, shorts, tops. I work eight hours a day Mondays to Fridays with a one-hour lunch break. It’s a small company: me and five other seamstresses. We don’t have a quota. Here they value quality over quantity. I don’t even know how many pieces I work on in a given day. We don’t keep track.

Ms. da Silva does not make enough money from her day job, so she picks up extra work from private clients to complete on evenings and weekends, sometimes working until 10 p.m.

I prefer working for this manufacturer because I’m on the payroll, I’m entitled to vacations. It’s more secure. But my dream is to have my own atelier at home.”

Knvul Sheikh contributed reporting.

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[whatapunderfullife]

damn op don't leave all of this in the tags

l#love cassandra's gender situation going on here tbh #hell of an episode. i am totally normal about it (they are in fact. not normal about it at all.) #am willing to explain my thought process here if need be #there is a slight temptation to write something about the possible relation between cassandra and baron now though #did cassandra know that was where baron was like she could always summon kalina? #the creator and creation (the thing you made at your worst) #father and son (you can barely sustain yourself. let alone others) #you were once a god and then you weren't and you made this being and now you are a god again and it still exists #hmmmm #hm! #things to think. thoughts to ponder. #sorry i keep adding tags. i keep having Thoughts

going to be thinking of "you were once a god and then you weren't and you made this being and now you are a god again and it still exists" for a while

Feeling real ridiculous for not having realized that Baron's "stark father" was the Nightmare King until now

[biofunmy]

Who Made Your Clothes? – The New York Times

Rumsinah, 44

Role: Zipper operator at PT. Fajarindo Faliman Zipper, which focuses largely on in-house brands

Where: Tangerang, Indonesia

“Most of my co-workers and I are all old-timers,” said Ms. Rumsinah, who has been working at the same factory for 26 years. “It’s a good factory, so no one really quits. There’s seldom any job openings — only if someone retires.”

She is paid about 3.4 million rupiah, or $241, per month, which she said is tight as a single parent. Her son recently finished high school. “He can’t work at my factory because there’s no openings,” she said. “He wants to be a teacher, but we don’t have enough money to send him to go to university.”

Though her job is tiring, “all jobs are tiring,” she said. “At least weekends are off, and the hours are not too bad.”

Waheed, 38

Role: Sewing bedsheets and curtains at a textile mill

Where: Pakistan

Waheed, who is being identified only by his first name, has been in the textile industry for 20 years and works seven days a week to support his wife and two young sons. They share a house with his parents, his sisters and his brothers.

“Most factories place a lot of restrictions on garment workers. Once they come in for their shift around 8 in the morning, there’s no knowing when supervisors will let them out. It may be 8 p.m. or 10 p.m. by the time they are allowed to leave for the day.

Workers at my factory don’t have it as bad. That’s why I’ve been here for the past 10 years. It’s a nice place to work. But some of the resources that workers really need aren’t provided, such as first-aid kits or pension cards.

It’s pretty common to get your fingers injured — sometimes needles break and get stuck in your bone if your hand gets in the way of the machine. Then you have to go to the hospital and get X-rays yourself.

It’s difficult to manage on the salary I earn. My expenses amount to about 2,000 rupees a day, including the cost of my children’s clothes, their education, my family’s groceries and other bills. But I barely make 1,000 rupees a day.”

Seak Hong, 36

Role: Sews outdoor apparel and bags at Horizon Outdoor

Where: Khum Longvek, Kampong Chhnang, Cambodia

Six days a week, Ms. Hong wakes up at 4:35 a.m. to catch the truck to work from her village. Her workday begins at 7 and usually lasts nine hours, with a lunch break. During the peak season, which lasts two to three months, she works until 8:30 p.m.

Ms. Hong has been in the garment business for 22 years. She earns the equivalent of about $230 a month and supports her father, her sister, her brother (who is on disability) and her 12-year-old son.

She hopes he will not end up in a factory, too, but the price of a quality education — about $20 per month — is beyond her means. While she is at work, her sister manages the household, taking care of their oxen and rice farming their land for extra food.

“I feel tired, but I have no choice,” Ms. Hong said. “I have to work.”

Yurani Tascon, 34

Role: Tracks daily production numbers at Supertex, which works with major active wear brands

Where: Yumbo, Colombia

“They spoil us a lot here,” Ms. Tascon said. “It’s a job with good stability.” Her workplace blasts music — usually salsa or something traditional — from speakers throughout the day while employees make coats, bathing suits and sportswear.

At 11 a.m., employees get “pausas activas”: active breaks with music.

Sarjimin, 39

Role: Makes shoes for a comfort footwear brand at PT. Dwi Naga Sakti Abadi

Where: Tangerang, Indonesia

Mr. Sarjimin has worked at the same factory for about 12 years. The job is relatively stable, and his workplace is spacious, bright and safe.

He earns the equivalent of $250 a month, and his wife also works at a factory. The family is able to send their children, a 13-year-old and a 9-year-old, to good schools. They recently purchased a computer for their older son, who is passionate about technology.

Mr. Sarjimin farms catfish to supplement his family’s grocery money. He started six months ago, filling a big empty drum with starter fish as an experiment. Now he has two drums with 300 fish each, and he sells them to friends, family and neighbors.

One day, he would like to raise catfish full time. “There’s a motivational speaker I heard once, ‘You have to dare to dream, how to get there is a question for a different time,’” he said. “I like remembering those words.”

Saida, 38

Role: Sewing machine operator at Pinehurst Manufacturing, which works with major active wear brands

Where: San Pedro Sula, Honduras

The factory where Saida has worked for the last 12 years is one of the few in the area. She earns about 8,200 lempira each month, roughly $331. “It doesn’t cover everything,” she said. “Vivimos sobregirados.” (“We live overdrawn.”)

Saida lives with her mother and her 19-year-old daughter, who goes to school. “I am the one who provides everything at home. The house, the water, the electricity,” she said. “You have to stop buying certain things to be able to cover the necessities.”

Her unit currently has one primary client, a major sportswear brand. This is a source of anxiety for her and her co-workers because they fear mass layoffs if the client leaves the company. “It’s really difficult having one client,” she said.

Bui Chi Thang, 35

Role: Stitching denim together for sustainability-focused brands at Saitex International

Where: Bien Hoa, Vietnam

Mr. Bui has been at his factory for seven years. “It matches my skill,” he said, “and the salary is enough for my family.” He earns approximately 90 million dong annually, roughly $3,880, which he uses to support his mother, wife and son.

During the average nine-hour workday, “I can finish 1,000 to 1,200 pieces a day, depending on the difficulty,” he said.

Santiago, 48

Role: Sews clasps and zippers onto dresses, blouses and pants at a factory

Where: Los Angeles

“I’m from Guatemala. I’ve been doing garment work for 16 years. I started because it was the only thing I knew how to do after leaving my home country,” Santiago said. “I came here because there were not as many opportunities back home, and with six children, there are a lot of expenses.”

In the last five years, he has worked in five to eight factories. They are often windowless and dirty, with little ventilation, he said.

When he first moved to Los Angeles, Santiago was working 11-hour shifts, seven days a week. Now he works about 50 hours a week, taking home up to $350. The majority of his co-workers — around 30 other people — are Spanish speakers from Guatemala, El Salvador and Mexico.

“I’m just making ends meet,” he said. “I’m always trying to figure out how to save money, how to buy food, how to not eat out too much.” Still, he said it is better than what he was earning in Guatemala.

Maria Valdinete da Silva, 46

Role: Self-employed seamstress

Where: Caruaru, Brazil

The last factory Ms. da Silva worked at produced men’s street wear. She spent eight years there, stitching side seams together in an assembly line with an hourly quota.

“Some companies, like the one I worked for, no longer have employees inside the factory and the seamstresses work from home,” she said. “They establish small groups, tiny factories, and they are paid per item, so they basically have the same production without any costs.”

In order to make minimum wage, outsourced employees “have to work from day to night,” she said.

Ms. da Silva now makes women’s clothing independently, producing fewer pieces and selling them locally. She makes “maybe half” of minimum wage, but she said it’s worth it to work at her own pace. “I love what I do,” she said. “I no longer see myself in that situation of sitting in front of a machine doing the same thing every day.”

She is planning on taking fashion design courses soon. “Seamstresses are the key element in the fashion chain, we are the ones who put the clothes together,” she said. “You basically have to kill yourself in front of a sewing machine in order to provide for your family.”

Antonio Ripani, 72

Role: Leather quality control at Tod’s Group

Where: Casette d’Ete, Italy

Mr. Ripani, who began working with leather at 14, has been employed by Tod’s for more than 40 years, where he assesses “practically all the hides that arrive” for quality.

“Alone it’s hard to do everything, so I have a group of ragazzi [guys] under me and I have taught them everything I’ve been able to understand after all these years,” he said.

Mr. Ripani doesn’t earn much, he said, but he sets his own schedule, often working eight to 12 hours a day. He has assistants and has received awards for his highly specialized work.

“It’s not so much the salary, it’s that I am here because we’re all one family,” he said. “When I started, I had long hair. Now, I am bald.”

Rukhsana, 48

Role: Security at Sitara Textile Industries

Where: Faisalabad, Pakistan

Rukhsana began working in the garment industry shortly after her husband died seven years ago. She works seven days a week.

“The hardest thing about working in a textile mill is that management kind of cuts you off from the world for the duration of your shift. If anyone calls you from home — with good news or bad news — you can’t take the call and management doesn’t tell you until the day is over.

Two years ago, my nephew died in an accident when I was working. My brother tried calling me, but management didn’t tell me about it until my family had already held his funeral. I was so upset, I quit my job.

Now that I’m in security, I know when someone comes to the mill and tries to contact a worker. But I’m still not allowed to tell the worker their relative has been trying to reach them.

It’s not just difficult, it’s impossible to survive on the salary the textile mills pay. Are we supposed to choose between buying food and roti or paying for clothes and medicine? And there’s always rent to pay in addition to that.”

(Employees store their phones in a locker before beginning their shift, a company spokesman said in a phone interview, and they aren’t allowed to leave the organization “without any written acknowledgment from the manager.”

He said that family can reach employees on their cellphones or by calling the factory directly, and that he was not aware of any incidents in which family was prevented or delayed from contacting an employee during an emergency. )

Vu Hoang Quan, 21

Role: Sews dress shirts for mass retailers at TAL Apparel

Where: Binh Xuyen, Vinh Phuc, Vietnam

Mr. Vu has spent the last four years working on a production line with about 30 other employees, each overseeing parts of the sewing process. On average, he earns about 10 to 12 million dong (about $432 to $518) monthly. He sends most of it back to his family.

“My favorite time is at 3 p.m., when we have an exercise session,” he said. “We stay at our work spot. We pause our work process, line up and follow the exercise instructions of team leaders.”

He recently participated in a talent show hosted by the company, where he performed modern dance. “I don’t have plans to leave this job anytime soon,” he said. “I’m quite satisfied with it.”

Catherine Gamet, 48

Role: Leather goods artisan at Louis Vuitton

Where: Saint-Pourçain-sur-Sioule, France

Ms. Gamet began working with leather when she was 16 years old and has been employed by Vuitton for 23 years. “To be able to build bags and all, and to be able to sew behind the machine, to do hand-sewn products, it is my passion,” she said. “That’s how I got into it.”

About 800 employees work in Saint-Pourçain, spread out across four sites. Ms. Gamet said the workshops are well organized, bright and modern. “The time flies by,” she said.

S, 33

Role: Tailor making pants and socks for fast fashion and active wear brands at Shahi Exports

Where: India

S.’s shift begins at 9 a.m. She feels a lot of pressure from supervisors to reach quotas of about 90 to 120 pieces per hour and said many workers are afraid to take breaks or use the restroom because it will waste time.

Employees who can’t keep up are often pulled aside at the end of each hour, she said, and supervisors will yell at them and bang on tables. Many workers spend most of their 30-minute lunch breaks scrambling to finish more pieces to get back on track.

“We don’t even have the freedom to drink water,” S. said, adding that management doesn’t allow employees to bring in water bottles.

Instead, water is handed out by the factory. In the spring of 2018, the supplied water was making workers sick, and when employees gave management a letter with a variety of basic requests, including clean water, they were beaten in response. Their clothes were torn, and many of their valuables, including phones and jewelry, were taken.

The employees took their complaint to the labor department. The issues were resolved three months after the incident, after the factory faced public pressure from a report by an American watchdog group, social media and brands that worked with the factory.

Some conditions have improved: Employees get mineral water now. But the pay is still bad, S. said, and the main work space doesn’t have windows, air-conditioning or heaters.

“We want to ask for more salary, but people are scared after what happened last year to ask again,” she said.

(In an email, a spokesman from Shahi Exports acknowledged the 2018 incident and forwarded a statement outlining the preventive measures the company has since enacted.

In a separate email, a spokesman said that berating employees in any way “constitutes misconduct,” and instances brought to management’s attention would “initiate action” against the perpetrator.

“While we do strive to drive efficiencies, there is no scope to berate any employee on account of non-performance or deficient performance,” he said. The spokesman added that there “is adequate ventilation” within the work space and that the entire factory is “in compliance with the law.”)

S. is a single parent and picks up extra work in the evenings, along with taking out loans, to support herself and her daughter. “There are thousands of people” in her city in the same situation, she said. “My story is just one of them.”

Phool Bano, 38

Role: Tailor at Friends Factory

Where: Noida, India

Ms. Bano has been a tailor for about 22 years and works at a progressive factory that makes small batches of garments for high-end independent brands. The building has little luxuries like air purifiers.

“It feels nice working here,” Ms. Bano said. “It’s clean. There are some plants and trees also, you know, the kind that are meant for decoration.”

Helena Lúcia Santos da Conceição da Silva, 54

Role: Seamstress at Fantasia D!kas Roupas

Where: Nova Friburgo, Brazil

“I’ve always thought of myself as a seamstress. I even made my daughter’s sweet-16 dress. It looks like overlapping petals. It’s my greatest pride.

I start work at 7 a.m. We make everything: pants, shorts, tops. I work eight hours a day Mondays to Fridays with a one-hour lunch break. It’s a small company: me and five other seamstresses. We don’t have a quota. Here they value quality over quantity. I don’t even know how many pieces I work on in a given day. We don’t keep track.

Ms. da Silva does not make enough money from her day job, so she picks up extra work from private clients to complete on evenings and weekends, sometimes working until 10 p.m.

I prefer working for this manufacturer because I’m on the payroll, I’m entitled to vacations. It’s more secure. But my dream is to have my own atelier at home.”

Knvul Sheikh contributed reporting.

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