#i’m his manager. i’m his lawyer. i’m his partner in crime. i’m his wife.

[chilapis]

oft-times i recall that one ajax voiceline about taking on the harbingers in battle and honestly… we need to overthrow the tsaritsa. we need to overthrow all of celestia. how are we going to do that? it matters not. give me a gun and sign over the right to make choices on your behalf right now. please. this contract will be so beneficial to you i promise

[maggiec70]

what did Louise Lannes do then for you to have such a low opinion of her?

Why I Dislike/Disapprove of/Loathe/Condemn The Lovely Louise

!800 – 1809: Greed, Pettiness, and Bargain-Basement Bourgeois Mentality

She had the intellectual curiosity of a housefly and the education of the lowest of the bourgeoisie. Not surprising since her mother home-schooled her in the basics, and she had one year only with Madame Campan.

She was greedy and overly fond of collecting trinkets, ornaments, and similar items of no particular quality or style. She demanded, with some degree of shrill relentlessness, plenty of money to pay for all her crap.

She was often unrelenting in her demands for all sorts of things: that her brother be promoted to Lannes’ premier aide-de-camp; that her brother-in-law be promoted to head of V Corps’ engineers; that her father be given a higher-paying, more prestigious position in the imperial bureaucracy. She managed to give blatant nepotism a bad name.

She refused to be social. Ever. She hated the Imperial Court functions and refused to go, using the kinds as an excuse. She didn’t want Lannes to go either, and when he went because Napoleon expected him to, she engaged in monumental pouts. The myths that she was always so lovely, graceful, and sweet on these occasions were just that—myths.

She had two close—unhealthily close—friends, the slimy Dr. Corvisart, whom her equally slimy father introduced to Napoleon, and a second-rate perennially off-duty chevalier. No women friends of any rank. Just as well, because according to almost all the extant memoirs, no woman of any rank liked her, apparently able to see through the “I’m so sweet and demur” act.

She never went to Lectoure, Lannes’ hometown, and threw a real bitch fit when he wanted to go or went without her “approval” simply because he wanted to see his father and his siblings, and a lot of friends.

She insisted if they visited anyone, carting the kids with them, it was only and always to see her family. Full stop.

1809-1822: Treachery, Treason, Malfeasance, and Suspicious Death

She had to deal with claims from Lannes’ first wife, the much-maligned Polette Meric, on behalf of her son, Jean-Claude, until Naps ended that by a sharp letter to Cambaceres.

She actually went to the Tuileries to demand that Naps grant—posthumously, of course—the title “Prince of Seviers” so she could be a for-real princess just like Mesdames Massena, Berthier, and so forth and so on. She threw a significant shit-storm when Naps refused, and he reminded her that Lannes never applied for the letters patent because he didn’t care about the title, so she shouldn’t either.

No one—literally, no one other than Naps—thought she was a suitable choice for Marie-Louise. The historical record is replete with examples from the folks surrounding Marie-Louise, who was no winner herself.

She and her partner in crime, Dr. Corvisart, worked to insinuate themselves into M-L’s life so that when 1814 arrived, they could work to keep her away from Naps.

She made sure, as her letters show, that M-L and Naps II went back to Vienna, accompanied by her soon-to-be lover, Count Neipperg.

She offered her mansion that Lannes had bought and paid for to Wellesley for his headquarters. He refused, graciously, it is said.

Her parents immediately pledged their loyalty to Louis XVIII.

She lawyered up for the next legal battle with Polette, now that Naps was out of the picture.

She went into higher gear after Waterloo, now with nothing to stop her other than Jean-Claude’s attorney, who began to show that her marriage and Lannes’ divorce from Polette were riddled with illegal points.

Jean-Claude died in mysterious circumstances in November 1817. He had never been ill, and died three days after contracting an unknown illness. This has always been suspicious for obvious reasons.

She packed up the kids and went to Lectoure in 1818—she stayed in Auch, however, about 20 miles south—and, in a large PR event, donated Lannes’ house to the town. She never returned nor allowed any of the kids to return.

To be fair, which I always try to do regarding interpreting historical facts and figures, read Regis Bob-Crepy’s bio of Louise. His family married into hers back in the day before she married Lannes, and he is remarkably talented in glorifying his view of Louise. Besides the sheer comedic value for me, the best thing about his book is the letters he uses, which were/are maintained in the family’s hands and never before shared. Of course, we cannot know if others shed a different light on the subject. Given the family’s cavalier and almost criminal way they have treated anything to do with Lannes, his possessions, or his legacy, opting instead for celebrating their ties with the de Broglies and the Berthiers, I can almost guarantee that any shred of anything detrimental about Louise disappeared ages ago.

I have often sneered at the men who wrote biographies and articles about Lannes buying the Louise myth in its totality. But then, the poor dears simply can’t see things that are very clear to us.

Hope this answers your question.

[c-is-for-circinate]

For a long, large part of my life, being queer in a media landscape--finding queerness in a media landscape--has meant theft.

I'm a Fandom Old, somehow, these days, older than most and younger than some, in that way that's grown associated with grumpy crotchetyness and shotguns on porches and back in my day, we had to wade through our Yahoo Groups mailing lists uphill both ways, boring and irrelevant anecdotes from Back In Those Days when homophobia clearly worked differently than it does now, probably because we weren't trying hard enough. I've seen a lot of stories through the years. I've read a lot of fanfic. (More days than not, for the past twenty years. I've read a lot of fanfic.)

When people my age start groaning and sighing at conversations about representation and queerbaiting, when we roll our eyes and drag all the old war stories out again in the face of AO3 is terrible and Not Good Enough, so often what we say is: you Young Folks Today have no idea how hard, how scary, how limiting it was to be queer anywhere Back In Those Days. Including online, maybe especially online, including in a media landscape that hated us so much more than any one you've ever known. And that is true. Always and everywhere, again and again, it's true, we remember, it's true.

We don't talk so much about the joy of it.

Online fan spaces were my very first queer communities, ever. I was thirteen, I was fourteen, I was fifteen--I was a lonely, over-precocious "gifted kid" two years too young for my grade level in an all-girls' Catholic school in the suburbs--I lived in a world where gay people were a rumor and an insult and a news story about murder. I was straight, of course, obviously, because real people were straight and anyway I was weird enough already--I couldn't be two things strange, couldn't be gay too, but--well, I could read the stories. I could feel things about that. I would have those stories to help me, a few years later, when I knew I couldn't call myself straight any more.

And those stories were theft. There was never any doubt about that. We wrote disclaimers at the top of every fic, with the specter of Anne Rice's lawyers around every corner. We hid in back-corners of the internet, places you could only find through a link from a link from a link on somebody else's recs page, being grateful for the tiny single-fandom archives when you found them, grateful for the webrings where they existed. It was theft, all of it, the stories about characters we did not own, the videotaped episodes on your best friend's VHS player, one single episode pulled off of Limewire over the course of three days.

It was theft, we knew, to even try and find ourselves in these stories to begin with. How many fics did I read in those days about two men who'd always been straight, except for each other, in this one case, when love was stronger than sexual orientation? We stole our characters away from the heterosexual lives they were destined to have. We stole them away from writers and producers and TV networks who work overtime to shower them in Babes of the Week, to pretend that queerness was never even an option. This wasn't given to us. This wasn't meant for us. This wasn't ours to have, ever, ever in the first place. But we took it anyway.

And oh, my friends, it was glorious.

We took it. We stole. And again and again, for years and years and years, we turned that theft into an art. We looked for every opening, every crack in every sidewalk where a little sprout of queerness might grow, and we claimed it for our own and we grew whole gardens. We grew so sly and so skilled with it, learning to spot the hints of oh, this could be slashy in every new show and movie to come our way. Do you see how they left these character dynamics here, unattended on the table? How ripe they are for the pocketing. Here, I'll help you carry them. We'll make off with these so-called straight boys, and we only have to look back if somebody sets out another scene we want for our own.

We were thieves, all of us, and that was fine and that was fair, because to exist as queer in the world was theft to begin with. Stolen time, stolen moments--grand larceny of the institution of marriage, breaking and entering to rob my mother's hopes for grandchildren. Every shoplifted glance at the wrong person in the locker room (and it didn't matter if we never peeked, never dared, they called us out on it anyway). Every character in every fic whose queerness became a crime against this ex-wife, that new love interest. Every time we dared steal ourselves away from the good straight partners we didn't want to date.

And: we built ourselves a den, we thieves, wallpapered in stolen images and filled to the brim with all the words we'd written ourselves. We built ourselves a home, and we filled it with joy. Every vid and art and fic, every ship, every squee. Over and over, every straight boy protagonist who abandoned all womankind for just this one exception with his straight boy protagonist partner found gay orgasms and true love at the end.

Over and over, we said: this isn't ours, this isn't meant to be ours, you did not give this to us--but we are taking it anyway. We will burglarize you for building blocks and build ourselves a palace. These stories and this place in the world is not for us, but we exist, and you can't stop us. It's ours now, full of color and noise, a thousand peoples' ideas mosaic'ed together in celebration. We made this, and it will never be just yours again. You won't ever truly get it back, no matter how many lawyers you send, not completely. We keep what we steal.

.

Things shifted over time, of course. That's good. That's to be celebrated. Nobody should have to steal to survive. It should not be a crime, should not feel like a crime, to find yourself and your space in the world.

There were always content creators who could slip a little wink in when they laid out their wares, oh what's this over here, silly me leaving this unattended where anybody could grab it, of course there might be more over by the side door if you come around the alleyway (but if anybody asks, you didn't get this from ME). We all watched Xena marry Gabrielle, in body language and between the lines. We sat around and traded theories and rumors about whether the people writing Due South knew what they were doing when they sent their buddy cops off into the frozen north alone together at the end of the show, if they'd done it on purpose, if they knew. But over the years, slowly, thankfully, the winks became less sly.

A teenage boy put his hand on another teenage boy's hand and said, you move me, and they kissed on network TV, in a prime-time show, on FOX, and the world didn't burn down. Here and there, where they wanted to, where they could without getting caught by their bosses and managers, content creators stopped subtly nudging people around the back door and started saying, "Here. This is on offer here too, on purpose. You get to have this, too."

And of course, of course that came with a whole host of problems too. Slide around to the back door but you didn't get this from me turned into it's an item on our special menu, totally legit, you've just got to ask because the boss throws a fit if we put it out front. Shopkeepers and content creators started advertising on the sly, come buy your fix here!, hiding the fine print that says you still have to take what you've purchased home and rebuild it with your semi-legal IKEA hacks. Maybe they'll consider listing that Destiel or Sterek as a full-service menu item next year. Is that Crowley/Aziraphale the real thing or is it lite?

And those problems are real and the conversations are worth having, and it's absolutely fair to be frustrated that you can't find the ship you want on sale in anything like your color and size in a vast media landscape packed full of discount hetships and fast-fashion m/f. It's fair to be angry. It's fair to be frustrated. Queerbait is a word that exists for a reason.

There's a part of me that hurts, though, every time the topic comes up. It's a confusing, bad-mannered part of me, but it's still very real. And it's not because I'm fawning for crumbs, trying to be the Good, Non-Threatening Gay. It's not that I'm scared and traumatized by the thought of what might happen if we dare raise our voices and ask for attention. (Well. Not mostly. I'll always remember being quiet and scared and fifteen, but it's been a long two decades since then. I know how to ask for a hell of a lot more now.)

It's because I remember that cozy, plush-wallpapered den of joyful thieves. I remember you keep what you steal.

Every single time--every time--when a story I love sets a couple of characters out on a low, unguarded table, perfectly placed to be pilfered on the sly and taken home and smushed together like a couple of dolls, my very first thought is always, always joy. Always, that instinct says, yay! Says, this is ours now. As soon as I go home and crawl into that pillow-fort den, my instincts say, I will surely find people already at work combing through spoils and finding new ways to combine them, new ways to make them our own. I know there's fic for that. I've already seen fic for that, and I wasn't really interested last time, but the new store display's got my brain churning, and I can't wait to see what the crew back at the hideout does with this.

Every time, that's where my brain goes. And oh, when I realize the display's put out on purpose, that somebody snuck in a legitimate special menu item, when the proprietor gives me the nod and wink and says, you don't have to come around the side, I know it's not much but here--there is so much joy and relief and hope in me from that! Oh, what we can make with these beautiful building blocks. Oh what a story we can craft from the pieces. Oh, the things we can cobble together. Look at that, this one's a little skimpy on parts but we can supplement it, this one's got a whole outline we can fill in however we want. This one technically comes semi-preassembled, and that's boring as shit and a pain to take back apart, but that's fine, we'll manage. We're artists and thieves. I bet someone's pulling out the AU saw to cut it to pieces already.

And then I get back to our den, which has moved addresses a dozen times over the years and mostly hangs out on Tumblr now (and the roof leaks and the landlord's sketchy as fuck but at least they don't charge rent, and we've made worse places our own). And I show up, ready for joy--ready for a dozen other people who saw that low-hanging fruit on that unguarded table, who got the nod and wink about the special menu item, who're ready to get so excited about this newest haul. Did you see what we picked up? The theft was so easy, practically begging to be stolen. The last owner was an idiot with no idea what to do with it. The last owner knew exactly what it could become, bless their heart, under a craftsman with more time on their hands, so they looked away on purpose at just the right time to let me take it home. I show up every time ready for our space, the place that fed me on joy and self-confidence when I was fifteen and starving. The place that taught me, yes, we are thieves, because it is RIGHT to take what we need, and the beautiful things we create are their own justification. We are thieves, and that's wonderful, because nothing is handed to us and that means we get to build our own palaces. We get to keep everything we steal.

I go home, and even knowing the world is different, my instincts and heart are waiting for that. And I walk in the door, and I look at my dash, and I glance over at twitter, and--

And people are angry, again. Angry at the slim pickings from the hidden special menu. So, so tired and angry, at once again having to steal.

And they're right to be! Sometimes (often, maybe) I think they're angry at the wrong people--more angry with the shopkeeper who offers the bite-sized sampler platter of side characters or sneaks their queer content in on the special menu than the ones who don't include it at all. But it's not wrong to be mad that Disney's once again advertising their First Gay Character only to find out it's a tiny sprinkle of a one-line extra on an otherwise straight sundae. It's not wrong to be furious at the world because you've spent your whole life needing to be a thief to survive. It's far from wrong. I'm angry about it too.

But this was my den of thieves, my chop shop, my makerspace. Growing up in fandom, I learned to pick the locks on stories and crack the safes of subtext at the very same time I learned to create. They were the same thing, the same art. We are thieves, my heart says, we are thieves, and that's what makes us better than the people we steal from. We deconstruct every time we create. We build better things out of the pieces.

And people are angry that the pre-fab materials are too hard to find, the pickings too slim, the items on sale too limited? Yes, of course they are, of course they should be--but my heart. Oh, my heart. Every single time, just a little bit, it breaks.

Of course the stories are terrible (they have always been terrible). Of course they are, but we are thieves. We steal the best parts and cobble them back together and what we make is better than it was before. The craftsman's eye that cases a story for weak points, for blank spaces, for anywhere we can fit a crowbar and pry apart this casing--that's skill and art and joy. Of course we shouldn't have to, of course we shouldn't have to, but I still love it. I still want it, crave it. I still thrill every time I see it, a story with hairline cracks that we can work open with clever hands to let the queer in.

That used to be cause for celebration, around here. I ask him to go back to the ruins of Aeor with me, two men together alone on an expedition in the frozen north, it feels like a gift. And I understand why some people take it as an insult. I understand not good enough. I understand how something can feel like a few drops of water to someone dying of thirst, like a slap in the face. If it was so easy to sneak it hidden onto the special menu, to place it on the unguarded side table for someone else to run off to, why not let it sit out front and center in the first place? I know it's frustrating. It should be. We should fight. We should always fight. I know why.

But my heart, oh, my heart. My heart only knows what it's been taught. My heart sees, this thing right here, the proprietor left it there for you with a nod and a wink because they Get It. It's not put together yet, but it's better that way anyway. It's so full of pieces to pull apart and reassemble. I bet they've got a whole mosaic wall going up at home already. We can bring it home and make it OURS, more than it was ever theirs, forget half of what it came from and grow a new garden in what remains.

And I go home to find anger, and my heart breaks instead.

[sorcerersofnyc]

The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 3/9

If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo brings Sam and Bucky to the home he once shared with you.

You reunite and he reflects upon his relationship with you (his wife's friend and his friend's wife) and your journey from being people with mutual friends to partners.

Chapter 3: Sam and Bucky try to understand your relationship with Zemo. It isn't complicated, but he remembers a time when things very much were.

Angst, various mentions of death & mourning, Zemo's wife's name is Heike because of comics.  The reader likes waffles (this is a non-negotiable fact)

Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards, but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won't say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

First Chapter | Previous

***

A fresh breeze filters in through an open window, swaying the room as Helmut’s words take root.

“Partner?” Sam leans forward in curiosity. “You mean like a life partner or a partner in crime?”

“Yes,” is Helmut’s unhelpful reply. He sends you a conspiratorial smile, one you return with a roll of the eyes.

“Helmut and I are engaged in a… civil partnership,” you explain, “for legal reasons.”

“Amongst other things,” he adds.

“Yes, amongst…other things.” A deep honey-like scent wafts into the room from the kitchen as you share a fleeting glance, a private moment despite the scrutiny of James and Sam. You must have put on a pot of tea.

“That should have been in the reports,” James narrows his eyes and examines the room carefully. “Why doesn’t anyone know about you?” Despite his position on the other wall, he angles his body toward Sam, ready to defend against any traps you might spring.

"Well…" you tilt your head in contemplation, "there was a significant delay in the processing of our paperwork. Nothing was documented until after Helmut’s prosecution."

"How much of a delay are we talking about here?" Sam asks, turning his assessing gaze toward Helmut as if to ask, ‘did you do something?’

"Around—what was it, Helmut? A year and a half?"

"18 months," he agrees. “Our paperwork seemed to have gotten misplaced. It's so difficult to find reliable lawyers these days.”

Sam didn’t seem to believe him.

"I'm his spouse on all official records,” You cut in before either of the two to speak, “but I'm sure you understand why privacy is important to me.” When he testified to his crimes, he made it clear that he had no accomplices and the investigation proved the same. The lawyer ‘misplaced’ the paperwork long enough for public interest in his case to die.

You didn’t need that sort of public scrutiny.

Sam seems to agree.

“We would never compromise your safety,” He assures you. He has his own family, people he loves with targets on their backs. He thinks of them as he addresses you.

The teapot whistles in the background.

“Thank you.” You smile and excuse yourself from the room. “The tea is ready.”

Helmut wants to pull you back to him, but he settles on meeting your gaze as you make a hasty retreat through the archway.

You’re gone all but a few seconds before James begins to speak.

"OK Zemo,” He says, his voice low and threatening, “it's about time you tell us what's going on—your partner? Really?"

"I’ve no reason to lie, James—but perhaps you’re not used to honesty,"

“Not from you," James lurches forward like a beast seeking prey. He glares down at Helmut, a mere arm's length from Helmut’s chair.

Helmut doesn't doubt Jame's violent intent, but he isn't particularly afraid. He settles back in his chair, moves his hands along the length of the arms, and brushes a thumb across the cool metal of the gun strapped beneath.

"Simmer down, Buck.” Sam lifts his hands. “This is weird enough as it is.”

James hesitates but relaxes his defensive stance.

"She doesn't seem to like me and Sam," James continues, reclaiming his position on the wall. “I don’t plan on waking up with a knife in my back.”

“She would never do such a thing, it's far too messy." Unbothered by their altercation, Helmut rises from his chair. He moves toward the bay window and liberates a copy of  Arsène Lupin, gentleman-cambrioleur , from the floating shelf.

Before James can say whatever it is he wants to say,  Sam intervenes once again.

“What I think he means is, 'how do we know we can trust her?'”

"You won't come to harm under her care, you have my word."

His word.

James scoffs at the mere suggestion. Trust isn't something that exists between them and it never would.

But the air is so thick with tension and he can hear the unspoken words that linger in the air: ‘What about your late wife?’

So Helmut flips through the book absentmindedly, stopping at a dog-eared page.

“My companion,” he begins to explain, “she was my wife's dearest friend.” He glances up from the pages of the book to meet Sam’s gaze. “She lost her husband when your friends made Sokovia into a battleground so I found it prudent to ensure her wellbeing.”

They're quiet—finally—and Helmut finds their discomfort pleasing.

Turning his attention back to the book, he reads a line you underlined.

'Quel dommage que je ne sois pas un honnête homme!' What a pity that I am not an honest man!'

“Would you like some honeybush tea?” Your voice cuts through the silence a few moments later. You stop at the threshold and gaze back warily gaze wary.

“I expected Helmut to be alone, but I have other drinks too.”

“The Tea is fine, thank you.” He sets down your beloved book and walks across the room to meet you. Ever so gently, Helmut coaxes the tray from your hand and sets it down on the center table.

“I made lunch as well... si comes ese tipo de cosas .” You mutter, leaving the room once again.

Helmut pours himself a cup before gesturing toward the tray.

"Please, you are guests; have a seat, enjoy some tea." Grabbing the book with one hand, Helmut returns to his favorite chair.

James doesn’t move an inch but Sam takes the seat near the window. His body sinks into the fabric with a sigh.

���Hopefully Torres finds Donya soon. I don’t want to impose for too long.”

“She really is a lovely hostess.” Helmut takes a seat and returns the book. “I intend to enjoy her hospitality while I can.”

***

At first, living with you was easy; Helmut stayed out of your way, he spent his time conducting research and it was quiet.

But the walls were thin and noise echoed through the open vents—He could hear you crying late at night.

He wanted to help, but he had no temporary comforts to offer. The only thing he had was his anger and his plan. You’d rest easier with the Avengers buried in the ash heap, he told himself. That day, when you hugged him, he felt as though you encroached on something, something that would break if he failed to tread lightly.

When you looked as though you wanted to talk or share a fond memory, he mentioned something about the old-fashioned décor and suggested that you change something. He bought you books from the shops he passed on the streets, jars of pigment, and blocks of clay.

He observed you, found what you liked, and got them for you.

“Thank you,” you’d say with a smile, and that was more than enough for him.

He didn’t expect you to return the favor.

But then you’d do things like make him breakfast (always with black coffee and a side of bacon, his favorite.) You’d buy pillows in the same specific shade of burgundy to accent the walls. You’d leave the paper on the kitchen island and kept a jar of honey with the tea.

And he hated you for that, for doing the things Heike would do, for sharing her habits, humor, and sensibilities.

‘Good morning, Helmut,' you would say in the morning, 'Would you like to visit the market with me?’ or, ‘Helmut, you can’t survive off coffee, aren't you hungry?’

He’d refuse you every time.

It was difficult, disappointing you,  but the thought of enjoying a pleasant breakfast, or taking a stroll through the market hurt even more.

He could still feel their bodies buried beneath his feet.

So he opted for uncomfortable silence, and unsteady peace, the ghosts of your loved ones a wall between you.

*

Weeks went by and he continued his research. It took a while, but Helmut could see the steps of a plan unfolding in his mind.

He wouldn’t be the one to send the Avengers to their graves, he’d make them kill each other—and for that, he would need the Winter Soldier, James Buchanan Barnes.

So one day, after reading and rereading the S.H.I.E.L.D.  files he managed to decrypt, he told you he was going on a trip.

“There’s business that I need to attend to.”

“You’re leaving?” You looked up from the clay you were molding. It hadn’t yet taken form, just a sad lump of grey. “For how long?”

“Not long.” He promised, “I’ll be back soon.”

But he returned two weeks later.

Exhausted, Helmut had just taken off his shoes when you walked upstairs to meet him, red power on your hands.

“Helmut! Where were you?” You demanded before you took notice of your tone, the accusation present in your voice. You amended your words quickly.  “I was worried... I missed you while you were gone.”

“My apologies,” was his unsatisfactory reply, his back still turned.

When he finally turned to look in your direction, you wore a troubled look upon your face, and the look reminded him of Heike.

It was the worry of a soldier's wife, of someone waiting by the door to greet an unknown future.

“I’m sorry,” he offered, genuinely this time, and placed a hand on your shoulder.

For a moment that you would reject him. He was certain you considered doing just that, but when you didn’t move or knock away his touch, a strange sense of relief filled him.

You sighed.

"When you've gotten settled, come down for dinner.” It was an order, he realized, not a request.

"Of course." An amused smile tugged at his cheeks.

"Where did you go?" You asked, lingering by the door as he set down his bag. He wasn’t dressed for business in his drab gray jacket and worn shoes.

“I visited an auction house out east."

“An auction house?” You tilted your head and assessed his clothing again. “To bid?”

“Not exactly."

Not at all, really.

He tracked down information about an auction where fanatics were gathered to bid on HYDRA paraphernalia. He hoped to find the book that once belonged to the Winter Soldier's handler, but it wasn't didn’t exist amongst the garbage he found there.

The trip hadn't been a complete waste, however. He managed to rid the world of a few dozen agents and others who would support their cause—but he wouldn’t tell you that.

"What I hoped to find wasn't there.” He settled on saying.

“It took you weeks to do that?”

“I needed to visit Berlin as well. My family collected many cars over the generations. I’ll take you to see them one day if you like.”

Helmut had no plans to get you involved in his plan to end the Avengers,  he couldn't. But he remained true to his word and joined you for dinner that night.

He helped you set the table and you ate paprikash (which, he assumed, you made for his benefit more than your own.)

"Ozenik suggested I make it," you explained. "It was never my favorite but it was fun to make."

"You did a good job."

"Thanks...I thought was time to try something new."

He agreed.

You ate dinner together the next night too, and the next, and the next night after that.

Helmut grew to enjoy the time you spent together—it was a pleasant change of pace.

Even so, he had his ‘business’ to attend to. He would still have to leave.

Sometimes he would go for hours, sometimes he’d be gone for days, and sometimes entire weeks would go by and Helmut wouldn't call or even text you.

And you were frustrated.

Once he returned home to find you painting angry red lines across what might have been an abstract swirl of blue and gray.

One evening discovered you rearranged the dining room completely.

Then one day, during dinner, you attempted to bridge the gap between you once again.

"I received a message last night," You began, "a reminder that I purchased tickets to see a play last year.” It was summer, but the season had been unusually rainy, confining you inside for most of the week. “I’d have to travel to see it but it might be fun. Would you like to see it with me?”

"I'll be gone again soon," Helmut told you. “My apologies.”

You frowned.

"I haven't even told you the date. How do you know you’ll be busy?"

"I have plenty of work to keep me busy through the end of the year." His reply hung in the air for what felt like an eternity. He didn’t even bother to look up as he continued. "If you need to travel, I'll speak with Oeznik about arranging that for you."

You looked down at your plate, sighed, and set down your utensils.

"It's fine." You told him, but it wasn't. You were angry at his rejection, at his nonchalance.

"You know...you don't need to force yourself to be here with me, Helmut." You stared directly across the table at him, meeting his gaze. "We don't have to stay together if you don't want to. I have my benefits from the veterans association now so...if there's somewhere else you'd rather be-"

"There isn't." Helmut looked at you, his eyes dark piercing. "How could you think that?"

“How could I not when I never know if you're going off to the market or leaving for weeks?” A dangerous edge crept into your voice and you didn’t bother to amend it. “What sort of 'business' are you conducting? You won't even tell me."

"You don't need to worry," he tried to assure you, but his weak appeal only seemed to make you angrier.

And that anger, your anger,  frustrated him to no end.

Who were you to question what he did with his time?

Heike always understood when he was gone for longer than expected. When he returned, she greeted him with joy and relief, not accusation and scorn.

But you...he didn't know what he expected from you.

You weren’t his wife, you weren’t involved romantically. You weren't even friends, not really.

So really, what tethered him to this place?

What he planned to do was dangerous; he might not even survive. He fulfilled his promise to see after your well-being, did everything he said he'd do, and yet...and yet…

You sighed, huffed really, and gathered your plates quickly.

“I’m trying, I’m really trying but I’m tired, Helmut,” you told him. “You go and move us to this...this ritzy tourist city and what am I supposed to do? Find friends with similar life experiences? I can’t even sleep through the night and you...you just...” You take a breath as you turn away, leaving with your half-eaten plate.

“I don't... I don't fit in here.” You confess resignation carried in your voice. “I don’t think you understand that and I don’t think we’re good for each other either. ” You decided. “We’re too different. I appreciate you trying to help me, I do, but… but maybe I should leave.”

***

Thanks for reading! You’ve come so far and soon you will be rewarded. Next chapter we’ll see the steps Helmut took to amend your relationship. And in the present timeline, we get to see something super cute (something that involves hand-holding, perhaps?)

Feedback is very much appreciated. Please tell me what you think!

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Previous | Next

[mymoonagedaydream]

Domestic Bliss (Part 3)

Summary: No word from Stark, so you and Bucky are left to your own devices playing husband and wife for a while

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x y/n

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Language

Author’s Note: I’m really enjoying writing this story :) hope it isn’t too slow burn

---

'What are you doing?'

You jumped out of your skin- for a metal unit of a man he somehow managed to move without making a sound. He was leaning against the kitchen door frame wearing a tattered t-shirt, with his hands in the pockets of his low-riding sweatpants.

'What does it look like? Making breakfast.' He furrowed his brows, seemingly astonished at the idea of you cooking. 'You want some bacon?'

'Hell yeah.’ He waltzed into the living room, adding sarcastically over his shoulder ‘you keep this up I might even marry you for real.' 

To be honest, breakfast was intended as a sort of peace offering. You'd thought about it some more and he was right, you were being an asshole yesterday. You even decided to give him more bacon than you. Now that’s an apology.

'Have you heard from Stark?' He shook his head, not looking up from the pile of meat he was shovelling into his mouth. 'Me neither. I just figured it would help if we actually knew which house we were monitoring.' 

'Must be one of the other three in this dead end bit, I'll head up and check out all the gear he's left us after breakfast.' 

Not a bad idea, but you'd had one of your own too. 

---

‘Cookies!’ You said excitedly, piling three Tupperware containers into your bag.

‘Yeah I’m not blind, just confused.’

‘This happy husband and wife are going to introduce themselves to the neighbours and these’ you shook the last box of cookies at him ‘will win us favour.’ You ignored his derisive nod.

The first house was next to yours on the left, similar looking on the outside but with two pretty expensive vintage cars parked outside. You pressed the bell and heard movement approaching. Just as the lock clicked on the other side of the door, Bucky quickly snaked his arm around your waist and pulled you into his side.

'Oh, hello.' Standing in front of you was an old lady with a British accent and warm smile.

'Hi- um...' Bucky had completely knocked you for six and, judging by the smug smirk on his face, he knew it.

'We've just moved in next door.' He piped in. 'Thought we'd come by to introduce ourselves. My wife made you some cookies too, you won’t believe how good she is at baking.' 

Well shit, you'd never heard him sound so much like a normal person. He even punctuated his sentence with a polite chuckle. 

'Well aren't you two just lovely.’

You smiled sweetly at her, finally back on your game, and handed over one of the Tupperware boxes. 'I'm Jo and this is Tom- it’s great to meet you.’

You made small talk with your neighbour for a couple minutes, ending with a promise to be back round for tea at your earliest convenience. As soon as the door closed, Bucky's hand dropped from your waist and he headed towards the next house.

'Maybe warn me next time Barnes? Freaked me right out.' You complained, as if that wasn't his intention. 'And if that hand goes any lower I'm taking it off.' 

He stopped and saluted at you sarcastically as you passed him to go towards the next door. 

The other two houses seemed completely inconspicuous too- a middle aged lady with fiery red hair who insisted the two of you join her and her husband (the lawyer) for drinks one night this week, and a couple not much older looking than you and Bucky with two young children and a new-born baby. 

'Well that got us a big fat nothing.' He complained, plonking himself down on the armchair in the living room. 

'You're joking, right?' He looked at you, one eyebrow raised. 'It's our first day here and we can already clearly identify the supposed residents of each house, we've convincingly consolidated our cover with each of them and two of them even invited us over.' 

'Huh, suppose when you put it like that… We can probably just take the rest of the day off then.' 

And he did. You spent hours in the surveillance room typing up a mission report, he watched TV for two hours then slinked off to the mini-gym for the rest of the day. 

Seems he was settling into married life quite well too.

---

The next night, you and Bucky were leaving for drinks with Kate the redhead and her lawyer husband. 

‘I don’t see why we’re doing this.’ He was fidgeting in the shirt that was far too tight over his shoulders. ‘That redhead hardly seems like the boss of an international crime gang.’

‘If criminals seemed like criminals they wouldn’t be very good fucking criminals would they, Barnes. And since Stark has been all-but-ignoring us since we arrived, we’ve got to explore all avenues.’

You were greeted by Kate at the door and she led you through to their house. It was decorated like a hunter’s log cabin, all brown leather and dark wood. In the living room, the lawyer was waiting with two expensive-looking bottles of scotch. Bucky was invited to join him for ���man time’ while you and Kate were sequestered to the kitchen with a cheap bottle of wine. 

You wouldn’t be coming here again. 

Kate was nice enough but you had very little in common, and you could sense years of simmering resentment between her and her husband. She glared at the door after every obnoxiously loud chortle from the living room, even though you recognised some of them as Bucky, and she kept asking you whether your husband was starting to become emotionally distant yet. The evening didn’t pass nearly fast enough and you actually found yourself wishing that you had listened to your reluctant partner. 

Hours later, when you finally felt you’d got as much as you could out of Kate, you made your excuses and headed to grab Bucky. He was leaning back in the leather armchair, looking different somehow. He gazed at you with a carefree grin, no tension in his shoulders and a look in his eyes you didn’t recognise. 

Was he tipsy? One of the whiskey bottles was empty and they were making good progress on the second. 

‘You ready to go honey?’

‘We’ve got half a bottle of Macallan scotch to drink yet sweetheart, you’re welcome to run along home if you please’ the lawyer piped up. You never bothered asking his real name, didn’t seem worth your time. 

‘Nah, I’m good,' Bucky cut in, 'I think it’s time to take my beautiful wife to bed.’ 

He launched himself off the armchair with great effort and stumbled towards you. You were taken aback by his sudden familiarity but careful not to blow your cover, so you let him pull you in by the waist and plant a few soft kisses on the top of your head. You may even have enjoyed that part, just a bit. That was probably the wine talking though. 

You didn’t enjoy, however, having to all-but-carry him for the short walk back to your house. He weighed a fuck-tonne. 

The two of you spilled through the front door and into the living room, Bucky collapsing onto the armchair with all the grace of a newborn horse. 

'That guy was an asshole, man.' He had his head back and his eyes closed, so you had a bit of difficulty deciding whether he was speaking to you or himself. 

'Yeah? How so?'

'Just a stuck up rich guy y'know, plus the way he spoke to you was out of order. Give me the word next time and I'll bust his ass.'

'I appreciate the sentiment Barnes' you chuckled,  'but I can look after myself just fine.'

Content that he'd survive the night with nothing more than a throbbing headache, you started walking past him towards the stairs. As you got to his side he reached out, grabbing you by the wrist softly, but with enough force that you stopped dead and looked over at him. His eyes were open now, he was staring at you earnestly. 

'I'm serious y/n. No-one speaks to my wife like that.' 

---

‘What the HELL?’ 

You jolted awake. Turning your head, you looked at the time. 3am? What in Christ's name is he shouting for? 

Oh fuck, you’d forgotten. 

You were pissed off at Bucky earlier for leaving all his dirty plates in the sink, so you’d put them in his bed. Petty, yes. But your point was a fair one. 

You’d left him on the armchair, he must’ve slept there for a few hours then woken up and decided to go to bed. He stormed into your room. 

‘Why the FUCK are there plates in my bed?’

‘Oh gosh, I’m not sure. Maybe the dish fairy, you know the one who puts your dishes in the washer after you leave them all over the place, put them there?’

Swaying slightly and clenching his teeth, you guessed he was probably too drunk and sleepy for a proper argument. 

‘Right.’ He pulled his shirt off.

‘Whoa Barnes, the fuck are you playing at?’ Bucky was undoing his belt and in a matter of seconds was standing in your room in just his underwear. 

‘Move over.’

‘Instinct says... no.’

With a slightly jarring look of determination, Bucky clambered over you to the far side of the bed and pulled the covers over himself. For a second you were silent with shock. You and Bucky were in bed together, both just wearing underwear.

His thigh brushed against yours and sent an electric sensation up your side. 

Granted, it would be a hell of a lot easier to just accept this and go to sleep, but you had to be seen to make some kind of protest. You half-heartedly grabbed his arm, trying to yank him towards the edge of the bed- a pointless endeavour. 

‘This is not happening.’

‘Go sleep in the ketchup bed then.’

‘You’re an ass.’

He let out a deep chuckle before turning his back to you and getting comfortable. After firing an irritated groan at the back of his neck, you flicked the lamp off and turned your back in kind. 

Before falling asleep, you and Bucky shared a thought. You tried not to over-analyse it, but it made Bucky grin to himself.

You could easily have gone to sleep on the sofa. 

---

Part Four

---

@billy-jeans23

---

[javier-djarin]

eep congrats on 1000 followers! this is so exciting! could i get prompt 50 with max lord?🥺💕

Do Not Pass Go

A Maxwell Lord One Shot

Ship: Max Lord x Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 1,467 words

Warnings: Soft!Max

Masterlist

Summary: Date night plans changed and now you’re having a games night with Max and Alistair.

A/N:  I’m so nervous about this one, since this is my first time writing for Maxwell Lord. I hope you enjoy it!! Thank you for the support and love!!! Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

Prompt 50: “I thought you loved me!” “Get over it, it’s just Monopoly.”

You put on a comfortable sundress and a sweater before running downstairs to meet your date. You lived in an upscale apartment in D.C., but you didn’t want to make him come all the way upstairs, only to turn around and leave. He’d been over to your place before, but you wanted to get going before the rain hit. 

After the fiasco that happened a few years ago, you were hesitant about going out on a date with this man. But, just like everyone else, he’d hit rock bottom and lost everything, except his son. You’d met him in the most cliché place, a coffee shop. You both were in line, waiting for your order when he accidentally bumped into you.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he apologized.

You smiled at him. “It’s fine. They have us packed in here.”

You heard the barista call your name and you grabbed your coffee. You hadn’t even realized who he was until the barista called his name next. You paused for a moment and glanced at him with wide eyes. “Like the Maxwell Lord?”

He sheepishly smiled at you. “I am.” He was pleasantly surprised you hadn’t turned and run in the other direction. You walked out with him, he held the door open, and you paused to continue your conversation. 

Shaking his hand, you gave him a reassuring smile. His life had been a mess the last two years with very public court cases for his crimes. But his lawyer was able to get him off with surrendering all of his assets and doing community service for the foreseeable future. He managed to start a non for profit organization that helped people who were heavily affected by his actions, which you found so endearing. Your company just happened to be one that was partnered with his, but you never met him, only dealing with his assistants. 

You had a hard time believing the man you saw on TV, confident and determined, was this humbled man standing in front of you. You introduced yourself properly and said, “You work closely with my company, Powerhouse Symmetry,” you grinned.

“I believe I have a meeting with their CEO this afternoon to discuss the new housing project,” he added.

You chuckled and nodded. “Well good luck, I hear the CEO is a ball buster, but don’t tell her I told you.”

He smiled, and you swooned a little. “I hope to see you when I stop by.”

“I’m sure you will.” 

“Maybe I can take you to dinner afterwards.”

“We’ll see.” You gave him a small wink and walked to your job, which was only a few blocks away.

Much to his surprise, when he walked into the CEO’s office that day, he saw you sitting there waiting for your meeting. You managed to keep it light, fun, but also professional. Once business was over and the committee members left, he had asked you to dinner. That was a year ago. Now, as you waited outside your apartment complex in your sundress and sweater, you smiled to yourself at how much your relationship with him had evolved. He was nothing like the Maxwell Lord of Black Gold Cooperative. He cared about exactly three things: His son, helping others, and you. 

He pulled up in his car, helping you in before climbing back in the driver’s seat. He held your hand in his, kissing your knuckles as the two of you drove away. “You look beautiful,” he said, glancing at you when you reached a stoplight.

You smiled. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. Lord.”

He chuckled.

“What’s on the agenda for tonight?”

He sighed. “Plans changed,” he said, “My ex is leaving out of town with her new boyfriend for God knows how long. So, Alistair…”

You frowned. “Oh my gosh!” you exclaimed, “are you sure you want me to go with you to go get him? I can just meet you somewhere.”

He nodded. “Alistair loves you, and my ex deserves to see how happy you make us,” he said, his thumb running over your knuckles.

You smiled and squeezed his hand. He pulled up to the front of her house, and you both climbed out. Alistair came out, by-passing his father and running straight for your arms. “You’re here!” he exclaimed. You hugged him and glanced over to Max with a grin. 

His ex-wife walked out with a man behind her, she glared at you with her arms crossed. “This your newest one?” she asked.

Maxwell straightened, glaring at her, “She’s the same one since last year, Claire.”

“Well, he’s broke,” she spat, “if you’re looking for money, find someone else and leave my son out of it.”

You stood up and crossed your arms. “I have plenty of my own money.”

“Explains why he’s with you, then.”

You and Maxwell both tensed. You didn’t owe her an explanation of your relationship. She really was a vile woman, that held nothing but contempt for her ex. And poor Alistair was caught in the middle. “We aren’t doing this in front of Alistair,” Maxwell warned.

She huffed. “I don’t know when we will be back,” she continued.

“We can take care of him,” you piped up, “right, Alistair?”

He grinned up at you. “Can we go out for pizza tonight?”

Max smiled at his son. “Of course,” he said, “anywhere you’d like!”

His ex rolled her eyes and walked back inside. Thunder rumbled across the sky as dark clouds started moving in. Alistair hopped into the back seat. You hurried into the front, waiting for Max to start the car and drive you towards your family date. Rain started pouring from the sky as you pulled into the parking lot of a small family pizza restaurant. He said he’d go inside and pick up the pizza and take you back to his place for dinner and games.

You always loved spending time with Maxwell and his son. Alistair brought out another side of him that you couldn’t get enough of. So, when you walked into his house with the father and son, you beamed at them as he picked out his favorite board game to play: Monopoly. You smirked at him and rolled your eyes. “Of course this is your favorite game,” you chuckled.

“I happen to be very good at this game,” he chided.

“I bet I’m better.”

He raised his eyebrow at you. “This might be a big test for our relationship.”

“Daddy doesn’t lose at Monopoly,” Alistair said, crossing his arms, “except one time I beat him. We didn’t play for a month.”

You laughed. “Bring it on, Lord boys.”

“Alistair, I think we need to school her in who runs this game.”

He smiled and instantly grabbed the dog playing piece. You picked the top hat, and of course, Maxwell picked the sack of money.

Right off the bat, you bought six properties. Before you knew it, you owned all Pink, Orange, and Green properties and had houses on each. “Are you going to turn them into hotels any time soon?” Maxwell asked, glaring at you.

You grinned. “I wasn’t planning on it,” you replied, rolling the dice. “Oh, yay! Free Parking!” You landed on the spot and collected the money in the middle of the board. “I don’t want you to break your bank if you land on my hotels.”

“I can’t make money on my properties without houses,” he replied.

“I guess you could say I’m monopolizing the housing market.” You and Alistair broke out into a fit of giggles and Maxwell rolled his eyes at both of you.

He gazed at you with sad eyes. “I thought you loved me.” 

You gave him a pitying stare while resting your hand on his cheek. “Maxwell, I do love you. So, get over it, it’s just Monopoly.”

He couldn’t help but smile at you as Alistair giggled. He leaned across the board and kissed you softly. “I guess I get some of the perks of being with the most powerful woman in the house,” he mumbled against your lips.

“Blehhh,” Alistair gagged, “Do you have to do this in front of me?”

Maxwell ruffled his hair and grabbed another piece of pizza. “Yes,” he said, “so you know how to properly treat a woman.”

Alistair gagged again. “Can we play another game now, since Daddy lost?”

He rolled his eyes and chuckled. For the first time ever, he was happy with losing at his favorite game. He leaned across and kissed you again. You walked back into the kitchen to fix yourself another drink, when you heard Maxwell ask Alistair what other game he wanted to play. “Uno!”

You chuckled to yourself. It looked like your relationship was bound to be tested multiple times tonight. 

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[unfunny-quips]

Snippets from The 22 Deaths of a Fool (an akeshu fic that I’ll eventually write more for).

Makoto’s week started far too early Monday morning with a call about a body being fished out of the bay.

It was supposed to start with a nice breakfast with Haru. Makoto had been looking forward to testing the latest scone recipe her wife had come up with for the cafe and enjoying the freshly roasted coffee Haru had made special just for them. Their schedules had been hectic recently, not leaving them with much time to see each other outside of curling together in an exhausted heap on the couch for a bit before shuffling off to bed.

There was no helping it, unfortunately. Between Okumura Industries’ newest restaurant branch Grand Opening pulling most of Haru’s time not spent at the cafe and the precinct being critically understaffed there was little time left for each other. Makoto’s captain had promised that at least a few more detectives were going to be pulled in from other precincts around the city - and apparently one all the way from Osaka - but until they actually were transferred Makoto was stuck handling the casework of three people. She didn’t even have a partner anymore to share the workload with since her last one had quit to pursue a career in writing romance novels.

She couldn’t even be mad. Not really. Himura’s novels were a delight to read and Makoto had bought every last one he’d written over the past three years and even had him sign them for her. He never seemed so happy as he did the day of his retirement party when he was loudly recounting all the time he would have to focus on his next series.

So, overworked and underprepared, it was to the bay she went. Dark circles under her eyes from not enough sleep and her wife’s coffee on hand as she trudged her way through the chill autumn morning. Haru had been nice enough to drag herself out of their warm bed and make a thermos for her while she showered and got ready. Makoto didn’t know what she’d do without her. Probably walk into traffic in an exhausted, uncaffeinated daze.

She arrived at the scene almost awake just as the body was being carefully zipped up and placed on a gurney, the coroner finishing up her notes as Makoto donned the last of her appropriate crime scene gear and carefully picked her past where the the forensic techs were scouring the area for evidence and towards the perpetually hunched form of the coroner.

“Dr. Ito.” Makoto greeted, only just managing not to yawn. The Coroner worked nights and by all rights should have already gone home by now rather than dragging her exhausted self to an early morning crime scene. She didn’t need Makoto yawning to remind her of how long she’d been on shift.

“Detective Niijima. Nice to see you this beautiful morning.” Ito said flatly, looking more dead eyed and exhausted than usual. A feat in and of itself, especially with her wild mess of hair tucked back under the hood of her clean suit and her tired eyes half hidden behind a pair of safety glasses. Ito nodded towards the bodybag now being loaded up onto the transport. “Won’t be able to tell more til I get him back to the office, but so far it looks like you have an interesting one on your hands this time.”

Makoto tilted her head, “Oh?” She asked. Ito was good at her job, exceptionally good, but had an air of apathy to her that rarely was shaken. Makoto had come to learn over the past few years that the coroner wasn’t actually indifferent to the victims she encountered or the cases she helped work on, but rather just worn out. Fifteen years on the job could do that to a person. 

That Ito looked so interested now spoke of one thing for the case: trouble.

“Yep.” Ito said, “The call reporting the body came in a bit over three hours ago from port security. Me and the techs have been on the scene for about two hours.” Ito jabbed a gloved finger over her shoulder towards transport, “Everything I’ve seen in the report so far shows sightings of our victim drifting around since 2:06am. That’s four hours. And it’s very likely based on what the tech’s told me about the currents here in the port that our friend was probably pushed in from the bridge over the course of several hours,” Ito spread her hands wide, “So in the water probably since midnight and yet our victim looks fresh as a daisy. Barely any sign of decomp on him at all. Hell just you and me talking and not official? Looks like he could have died minutes ago.”

Makoto blinked. “That’s….” 

Unsettling. To say the least.

“Yeah, I know.” Ito nodded, “Like I said, I won’t really know for sure until I get him back at the office and really start digging into things. But that’s not all.”

Unease pooled in her stomach at that. A faint warning at the back of her mind she couldn’t quite name just yet. Frowning behind her face mask. “What else is there?”

Ito glanced over her notes, “For the most part he looks fairly normal. Male. Black hair. Appears to be in mid to late twenties in good shape. 175cm tall. No apparent injuries or cause of death. Then there’s the tattoo.” The coroner pointed up at her covered head, “Right dead center of his forehead he has two Xs. Like roman numerals. And that’s not even getting to his eyes. Never seen anything like it before. Bright gold.”

“Gold?” Makoto found her mind, still a bit foggy at the edges, snapped wide awake at that. “What do you mean? Like contacts or?”

Ito shook her head. “I checked and nothing. I thought it was a trick of the light first but my assistant confirmed it and we double checked the pictures the photographer took.” Ito shifted, “Certain diseases can be known to cause a copper ring in the eye, I’m thinking it might be something similar. Certainly will make it easier to identify him.”

“Right,” Makoto said, feeling far away from her body. She watched blankly as Ito finished up her notes and climbed into the coroner’s van. 

Golden eyes.

Apprehension crept at the back of her neck, a faint dread she couldn’t quite explain settling on her shoulders as she thought of a world long gone to her. A world of shadows and monsters and gods. A world of golden eyes.

A world that shouldn’t exist anymore.

—

Ren Amamiya stood still and quiet in the doorway of Sae’s office, eyes hidden beneath a tangle of dark bangs as he stared at the floor before him.

Sae hadn’t even noticed him arrive, so intent on making sure she didn’t drop the oversized pile of paperwork in her arms as she hauled it over to her desk. She’d just made him out in her periphery as glanced down, and nearly jumped out of her own skin as she did so. She very nearly flung the files in her arms across the room - which would have been a nightmare to gather back up and get back into order.

She should have never let Tae talk her into watching that horror movie the other night, she’d been jumpy ever since. 

Swearing under her breath as she realized just who it was lurking there she sighed, “Ren, god, you scared me half to death.” Adjusting her hold on the folders in her arms she added, “I always thought Makoto was exaggerating when she said you needed a bell on you. Here, give me a second to put these down. 

Turning away from the boy in the doorway she dropped the files onto her desk, glancing at the clock that ticked away next to her computer, the soft clicks of the mechanism turning slowly turning the hands the only sound in the still office. Last minute before midnight, no wonder she was so wired. The files could wait until morning when she could recruit the legal secretary to help her pour over them.

“What are you even doing here so late?” She asked her unexpected guest absently. Her attention was on shuffling the file folders into a neater pile - exhausted or no, there was no need for clutter. Once some semblance of order was in place she looked up at him with a small smile. “Don’t tell me you need a lawyer.”

Ren was no longer in the doorway. Only empty air and the reception area beyond with it’s expansive windows that overlooked the glittering city beyond.

She paused, brows furrowed in confusion. She hadn’t heard him leave. Well, she supposed she hadn’t heard him arrive either - and something buzzed faintly at the back of her mind at that thought. A warning that she’d missed something.

Frowning she shook it off and strode across the room to the open door. Knowing Ren, he’d likely seen the chance for a prank after seeing how spooked she’d been earlier. Maybe even had come in the first place for that exact purpose, Sae had mentioned he’d swung by the clinic recently. Sae didn’t doubt the doctor and the thief might hatch up a plan together to try and rattle her in the wake of the horror movie debacle.

The reception area was empty when she leaned out, no sign of Ren at all.

She frowned.

While her office only had her desk lamp on, lengthening the shadows and giving her eyes a rest from the fluorescent overheads, the reception area was still brightly lit. There were now dark corners for Ren to hide behind, and from where her office was she could see behind the reception desk. The other offices were locked up tight, and though she didn’t doubt that the thief could open one and slip inside in the sparse seconds it took her to cross the room, she doubted that he would just to pull a prank on her.

“Ren?” She called, leaning to see if he had tucked himself behind one of the plants by the elevator. He wasn’t there. Her frown deepened. Had she imagined him there after all? She hadn’t thought so. For all Ren tended to blend into a crowd when he wanted to go unnoticed, his presence was a difficult thing to ignore once you knew him. He had that kind of charisma, even back when he’d been in highschool. Bruised, beaten and drugged half out of his mind and still able to convince her to help him. He’d only grown into himself more in the ten years that followed.

There was no answer to her call. Her frown deepened.

She’d call him, she decided. If he was playing a prank on her, whatever cheerful sugar-pop ringtone Futaba had set him up with this week would give him away. Mind settled she turned -

And came face to face with Ren, a scant few inches behind her.

With a swear she jumped and stumbled back, catching herself on the doorframe so that she didn’t tumble to the floor entirely. 

Ren didn’t make a move towards her, no attempt to reach out and help her, no offered apologies for scaring her so badly. Just stood there, still as a statue with shoulders hunched awkwardly up around his ears. His head was dipped down towards the floor, chin nearly to his chest. His face was obscured by the odd angle and the wild mess of his dark hair. His clothes, too, were wrong. A frayed and thin jumpsuit, black and white stripes, a shackle on each wrists as they hung limply by his sides. There were heavy chains hanging from them, pooling at his bare feet.

Something was wrong.

The thought settled coldly in her stomach, made the hair at the back of her neck prickle and heart hammer in her chest. She felt cold, looking at him, her hands shaking and fingers numb. Ren wasn’t speaking, wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing.

That gnawing thought from before, that sense that she missed something from just moments ago. Seeing Ren now, awkward and strange and wrong, it made the pieces click in place.

She hadn’t heard the elevator. Hadn’t heard the squealing of the stairwell door being pulled open either. Ren had always been light on his feet, a cat’s grace with the same tendency to get in trouble, but even then he would have had to slide in through a window in order to not have been heard arriving on the floor. A tricky thing to do twenty stories up.

“Ren?” She asked, cautious, voice wavering slightly in the sudden stillness of the room. Her throat felt tight.

A distant echo at the back of her mind, some ancient instinct shivering in warning. Not of danger, per se, but of something. She felt as if she was something very small and very helpless standing in the shadow of a giant about to collapse. Rooted to the spot despite knowing that the crash of the colossus might kill her.

Something dripped from his face to the floor. She thought, for the briefest of seconds, that it was a tear. That Ren might be crying but as her eyes flicked down she saw that no. Not tears. Blood. Thick and dark, sliding from his hidden face and collecting in a horrible constellation at their feet.

“I’m sorry.”

Her body trembled at his voice, cold fear icing her veins. Soft and thready, more whimper than whisper. It was not his voice that made her shake, not exactly, but something in it. A high clear note she couldn’t identify that made her ears ring and her bones throb. She felt it in her chest, felt her breaths struggle beneath the weight of it. She thought that her knees might buckle beneath the weight of it.

His head, slowly, began to lift. The movement was wrong - it was all wrong - too slow, too fast, too at odds with the way a human’s body was supposed to work.

She saw his eyes first.

Gleaming and golden, shining all the brighter against the dark blood that covered his face. No, not covered. His face was simply gone. The flesh around his eyes torn away grotesquely, it looked almost like a mask.

Her feet were rooted to the spot, body locked in place by the horrible desperate expression he held. She wanted to run, wanted to flee, but her body wouldn’t obey. Even as he took a shambling awkward step, body still not moving the way it should, the way someone as graceful and languid as Amamiya Ren was meant to move. He shambled and stumbled, hands raised - and they too were red, fingernails torn and hand stained, god it looked like he’d torn his face off. The thought made her want to scream, everything about the situation made her want to scream.

“I’m…I’m so sorry.” He collapsed into her, hands - cold, cold, cold - desperately clung to her. She felt the chill of his skin down to her very bones, felt the weight of fear and oddly grief choking her. Not her own, not entirely. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”

He whimpered it like it was a prayer. His words looping on each other again and again, apologies she couldn’t understand crashing over her, drowning her. That sound that tainted his voice worsened, making her head spin and her stomach churn. He sagged into her hold - when did she move? When did her arms reach up to catch him, when did she become the one keeping him in place? - and they both collapsed to the floor.

She was crying. Cold tears sliding down her cheeks and landing on his torn and tattered face. His eyes were so wide, so frightened that she felt sick as his terror crashed and entwined with her own.

And then she felt the solidness of his body give. 

His shoulders, his back, crumbling beneath the weight of her hold as if he was no more than wet paper. Inch by inch he collapsed into himself, black cracks appearing over him - not just his skin, but his eyes and even his clothes - the splintering spidery lines of cracked porcelain. Where he’d already crumbled was only black ash, flaking away and falling apart in her hands.

His mouth, half deteriorated already, opened.

“I’m so sorry.”

Sae jerked awake at her desk, nearly knocking over the cold cup of coffee at her elbow. Her heart pounded in her chest and she panted as her gaze darting around the dark corners of her office.

A dream. Just a dream.

She’d fallen asleep while pouring over her files and had another nightmare from the horror movie Tae showed her. That was all. 

She’d should just go home and try to get some actual rest, maybe watch a comedy to settle her mind. And tomorrow, tomorrow she’d call Ren and see if he wanted to meet up for lunch. Just as a reassurance, just to see a friend. And maybe - Her hands stilled where she’d been gathering up her things, eyes wide as she stared.

The clock read midnight.

There was ash staining her fingertips.

[retro-scorpio]

Sexual Tension

I don’t know what else to call this little one shot, so you’re unfortunately stuck with this.

I wrote this short story a little while ago, and it’s basically a college AU featuring Julian Devorak from The Arcana with special appearances from Julian’s sister Portia, Nadia Satrinava, Count Lucio, and Asra Alnazar. I may end up adding to this later, but as of right now this is the finished product.

So, if you’re into fanfiction about characters from The Arcana, then enjoy this story.

Julian has the rather stereotypical reputation of being a loner, so much so that it’s impossible to track him down outside of classes. Even then, he’s an elusive presence in the room, always choosing to sit in the back and keep to himself, his notes, and his cup of black coffee. Rumors spread about him as a result of his mysterious nature, but he doesn’t seem to know about them or care. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. I don’t know how true any of it is, because ever since I stepped foot in this university, I’m seeing him just about everywhere I go.

I first got a glimpse of Julian when I bumped into his shoulder as I was trying to find one of my classes. We both apologized, and he directed me to where I needed to go. Later on that same day, I discovered that we were both in the same English class about texts from the Victorian era, and so I opted to sit next to him. He’s always in the campus library the same time I am, hunched over books and scribbling things down in his notebook, and there was even one time where I caught him prancing around outside in the early morning light as if he was part of an imaginary sword fight.

So, I shouldn’t be that surprised to see him at auditions for our school’s fall production of Sweeny Todd, but at the same time it has me wondering just how many more times our paths are going to cross. Perhaps he likes the story as much as I do and wanted to see how our school would adopt it.

“Hello!” a skinny, petite, pale, brunette lady exclaims excitedly at me, startling me and making me flinch slightly. “I haven’t seen your face before. I’m Lizzy.” She extends her hand out to me, and I shake it. Before I can even tell her my name, though, she asks bluntly,

“You don’t know what role you want, do you?”

“Pardon?” Lizzy sheepishly smiles.

“Sorry; I should have warned you in advance that I’m really good at reading people. Being involved in theatre does that to you over time.”

“It’s okay,” I respond. “Especially because you’re right; I’m not even sure if I’ll get a part at all. I just really enjoy the story and thought I’d give this a shot.”

“Have you ever acted before?”

“A couple times, yeah. When I was younger. I’ve always liked the idea of acting, but I’ve not had much time to devote to it.

“Well, here’s your chance to tip your toes back in the water! I think I have the perfect role for you.”

“You do?” I ask. Lizzy enthusiastically nods her head.

“You see that giant group of people over there?” She points out a crowd huddled on the other side of the auditorium, appearing to be watching Julian’s every move and swooning over him.

“They’re all wanting to play the role of Sweeny Todd’s assistant.”

“Let me guess: Julian’s playing Sweeny Todd.”

“Unofficially, yes,” Lizzy answers in a hushed tone. “He certainly has all of the traits of the character. The assistant is the most sought after role because in this iteration, they’re Sweeny Todd’s love interest and eventual partner in crime.”

“I thought Mrs. Lovett fulfilled that role.”

“In the classic, yes. This version is a sequel of sorts that answers the question, ‘what if Sweeny Todd didn’t die and instead managed to escape?’ So, he ends up traveling to and settling down in New York, where he picks up an assistant who helps him around his shop. He leads a normal life for five years until his daughter Johanna finds him and confronts him about what he did in London. The assistant happens to overhear their conversation and talks to Sweeny about it later that evening, and he or she—depends on who ends up getting the role—convinces Sweeny to pick up where he left off because there are a lot of corruption and starvation in New York.” Interesting. So, some artistic license has been taken with the story, which could either go really well or quite terribly.

“So, why do you think I would make a good assistant?”

“Because you’re the only person Julian’s noticed walk in here.” Before I can ask for Lizzy to clarify, a booming voice cuts through the chatter, and I’m forced to rush to the large group of people vying to play the assistant.

“Ladies and gentleman,” the voice rings out. It belongs to a tall, blonde man on the stage. “My name is Lucio, and I’m co-directing this play with the help of my dear friend Lizzy. Now, I’ve been told that there’s a long list of people wanting the role of Sweeny Todd’s assistant, so we’ll get that out of the way first. Will everyone fitting that description please step to the front of the auditorium and line up horizontally so that I can take a good look at each of you?” It becomes clear quickly that Lucio is pulling out the weeds before anyone even says a line, for he goes down the line and says no to the people he deems unfit for the role. A lot of it seems based on physical looks as he utter phrases like ‘too short’, ‘too fat’, and even ‘too ugly’ to a couple of individuals. By the time he gets to me, I’m finding it hard to swallow, but I try my best to not let Lucio know that I’m nervous. Instead, I look straight at him as he glances over every inch of me.

“Spunky,” he murmurs. I’m not wearing anything grand, so I wonder what brought on that comment. “I like it.” He moves on to the next person, and I hesitantly remain where I’m standing. Even though he gave me a compliment, Lucio didn’t explicitly tell me to stay like he did with the others still in line.

“Alright,” he states once he’s assessed everyone, clasping his hands in front of his chest. “So, for those no longer standing up here, you can either talk to Lizzy and audition for a different role or you can leave for the evening. The choice is yours. As for the rest of you, you’ll be ad-libbing your way through a pivotal scene in the play shortly. Julian, if you would hop on stage please.” Looking back at the seats, I see Julian sprawled out, as if he was right at home. He leisurely untangles himself and makes his way on stage.

“Bring out one of the folding chairs from backstage,” Lucio nearly barks at Julian. As Julian fulfills the request, Lucio tells us that we’ll be acting out the scene in which Sweeny Todd admits his crimes to his assistant.

“Julian will deliver the first line, thus setting the scene, but the direction it goes is entirely up to you. When I have seen enough, or if things are stalling, I will call scene. Remember, only one of you will get the role, so make a good impression. Julian!”

“Ready when you are!” Julian calls back. His voice is surprisingly smooth. The few times we’ve talked, he’s sounded a bit groggy, as though he needed more sleep. Combined with his tall stature, bright eyes, and muscular physique, it makes him quite the dream boat. I can see why so many people want to play his love interest.

“Excellent! You there. Pinky.” Lucio points at a girl with hot pink hair. “You’re up first.” Thank goodness. I did not want to go first. Lucio directs us to sit down in the second and third rows as he plants himself closer to the middle of the auditorium.

I must say, Julian is very good at improving. Not only does he know his character, but he’s also giving his partner opportunities to showcase their talents. Whether they take him up on his offer is another story. Some of them want to steal the scene, and others are using it as a means to flirt with Julian. Meanwhile, Lucio’s patience is slowly growing shorter as no one seems to be exactly who he’s looking for. He’s given everyone nicknames, some of them unflattering as time wears on. Fortunately for me, he calls me Spunky.

When I sit down on the chair on stage, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, envisioning the scene I’m about to play in my head. If this is a pivotal part in the play, then it needs to be full of suspense and drama. Just like that, a plan’s in place.

“Ready?” Julian whispers as I open my eyes back up. I nod my head, and he utters the opening lines.

“Elise, what you heard my daughter say is true. I am—well, was—the Demon Barber of Fleet Street. I murdered countless people. Judges, doctors, lawyers, even my own wife. I ran away from London because I didn’t want to get caught, but the truth is all of those people either deserved to die or were wishing for death to be bestowed upon them. I was simply doing the world a favor.”

“I don’t believe you,” I reply. There’s a fleeting moment where Julian’s caught off guard, but he quickly recovers.

“Oh, really? And why’s that, dear?”

“How am I supposed to believe that the same man who constantly stubs his toe on furniture and smiles at everyone that he meets is capable of ruthless, calculated, cold-hearted murder? For God’s sake, you can’t even walk into a room without making some sort of mess! You’re always relying on me to keep the shop tidy, and I feel like someone who was into killing people would be able to neaten things up themselves.” Julian sticks his hand in his pocket and pulls out a pencil.

“So, you don’t believe I have it in me to be a murderer.”

“No, I don’t.” The next thing I know, Julian’s leaning over me, his face inches away from mine and his pencil hovering over my nose.

“Let me tell you something, darling; this tool has helped me make my way up the social chain. No matter how rich a man is, there comes a day where he needs a shave, and I’m the best there is.” He moves the pencil down and presses it against my throat while maintaining eye contact.

“There’s a certain amount of pressure that you need to apply in order to get a smooth, clean shave. If you don’t put enough pressure, you end up missing a few spots. Put too much, and well, you end up cutting him. Draw the knife across the neck fast enough, and you have a dead man suffering from major blood loss.” He presses the pencil harder against my throat to emphasize his point, making it slightly difficult for me to breathe.

“Shall I show you what I mean, Elise, or have I made myself clear?”

“I believe you,” I gasp. He immediately releases pressure and takes a couple steps back, smirking at me.

“Good. Now, if that’s all you wanted to discuss, then I suggest you head up to bed for the evening. We have a long day tomorrow.” He starts walking away from me, but Lucio hasn’t yelled for the scene to end, so I assume that I have to keep going.

“Why America?” Julian stops in his tracks and turns to face me.

“Pardon?”

“Why did you flee to America of all places? You could have easily traveled to France or Italy, but instead you chose New York.” Julian sighs.

“Like I said, I didn’t want to get caught. I wanted to start a new life, and word travels quicker from England to other countries in Europe than it does from England to America. The two countries are separated by an ocean, after all.”

“Have you ever thought about doing it again?”

“Doing what again?”

“Using your profession as a means of…extermination.”

“Elise, I was in a really dark place when I executed that plan in London. I’m not the same person I was five years ago, and if I were to do it again, I’d be signing my own death sentence.” I get up from the chair and slowly walk up to Julian, worried that my next actions are going to make Lucio end the scene.

“My father was killed by a drunk police officer who mistook him for another man, and my mom was raped and beaten by the judge overlooking the case.” I gently place my fingers around his chin and stand on the tips of my toes, bringing my face closer to his.

“The rich and powerful are just as evil and corrupt in New York as they are in London, Mr. Todd. They get to do whatever they want with impunity, even if it costs the lives of innocent, hardworking people. Someone has to make them pay for their crimes, or their offspring will continue being monsters among the human race. Is that something you’re willing to live with?” Julian looks like he’s beginning to run a fever at this point with his flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. I plant my feet back on the ground and walk around him, heading towards an imaginary door.

“Good night, Mr. Todd.”

“Scene.” Even though Lucio’s voice is the softest it’s been during this entire process, the auditorium is silent enough for it to carry.

“Well, Spunky, I knew there was a reason I liked you. Congratulations, you have the role. Asra, you’ll be Spunky’s understudy, because you’re the only one that has as much chemistry with Julian. Everyone else who was auditioning for the assistant, you can either stick around and try for another role or leave; it doesn’t matter that much to me.”

 I end up staying through until the end of auditions, mainly because I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to leave or not. Turns out, once all the roles were filled to Lucio’s satisfaction, he gave everyone a copy of the rehearsal times, so it’s a good thing that I stuck around after all. Plus, I got to watch Julian perform on stage. I must say, the way he carries himself when he’s acting is quite entertaining, to say the least.

Speaking of Julian, he practically runs up to me as I’m leaving the auditorium.

“Well, hi, Julian,” I greet him, surprised that he sought me out. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” he replies quickly, his words rushing together into a jumbled mess. “I was just wondering if you would maybe like to walk with me? Since we’ll be working closely together, I would like to get to know you a little, but it’s totally fine if you just want to be alone.”

“I wouldn’t mind a little bit of company.” Julian smiles enthusiatically, and it makes my heart race.

“Great!” The two of us walk outside and start meandering around.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten your name,” Julian tells me. “Isn’t that weird? We keep seeing each other around campus, and we even share a class together, but I don’t know what to call you.” Is Julian normally this nervous? He’s certainly a fast talker, and he’s rambling a bit.

“My name’s Carina.” He stops in his tracks and gawks at me.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah…” What about my name is making Julian awestruck? He doesn’t hate the name, does he?

“Carina was the name of a pet rabbit I had when I was younger. I’ve always liked how sophisticated and beautiful it sounded, and I thought that if I was to have a little girl, she would be called Carina.” He takes a momentary pause and shakes his head before adding,

“Then again, naming a child after a childhood pet isn’t exactly normal.” He continues walking, and I kind of have to jog to catch up to him.

“So, Julian, how long have you been acting? You looked like a professional on stage.” The compliment makes him flush.

“I’ve been acting since I was about five,” he answers softly, avoiding my gaze. “It started with children’s theater and stuff like that, but when I was ten, I attended my first summer drama camp, and my love for acting has grown ever since. Lucio ran the camp, you know. Has for many years.” I had no idea Lucio and Julian had that much history together.

“Do you like working with Lucio?”

“He’s very passionate about his work, which makes him a very intense person to be around. If things don’t go his way, he’s prone to throwing fits and screaming at people. Despite of that, he does manage to put together spectacular shows and treats everyone to a nice party in the end, so I would say working with Lucio is similar to a roller coaster. It’s both scary and exciting at times.”

“I see.” Julian finds a bench and beckons for me to sit down with him. Once we’re seated, he asks,

“What made you decide to try out for this play? Was it in order to get closer to me?” Before I can answer, he quickly backtracks.

“I don’t mean that in an arrogant way. God knows I’m way too insecure to think that way. It’s just that ever since Lucio accidentally let it slip that I would be the male lead in this play, I’ve heard people whispering about me all over campus, revealing to their friends what they would do to me if they got to play the assistant. To be honest, all of the attention makes me sick. I mean, I enjoy being in the spotlight when it comes to acting, but when I’m not on stage, I…”

“You just want to be left alone, don’t you?” Julian clasps my hand and nods his head.

“Well, Julian, if it makes you feel any better, I auditioned because I really enjoy the story of Sweeny Todd and wanted to see if I had what it took to get a role. That’s it. No nefarious intentions involved.” He visibly relaxes.

“Thank you, Carina,” he sighs contently. “You have no idea how much that means to me.” He brings my hand up to his lips and kisses it softly, making me look away and blush. This play is going to be interesting, to say the least.

 I wish there was a way to describe how today’s rehearsals went without being vulgar, but when you’re forced to repeatedly act out a scene where you’re passionately arguing with someone that you feel unresolved sexual tension towards and from, the most mild way to go about it would be to state that it was like two animals in heat. I’m honestly surprised that Julian and I managed to get through rehearsal without tearing each other’s clothes off on stage in front of everyone in the auditorium to see.

You see, this scene involves Elise, the assistant, yelling her grievances at Sweeny Todd, which revolve around money and sex, and Sweeny shouting that those problems wouldn’t exist if she didn’t essentially tell him to become a criminal again. This of course makes Elise more angry at Sweeny, and the scene ends with her storming out of his room and slamming the door behind her. Lucio calls this scene “the beginning of the end”, because after this point in the play, their relationship quickly becomes toxic to the point where they want to kill each other.

Speaking of Lucio, he’s been a key player in creating the tension between Julian and me, because he continuously forces us to approach the edge of no return, but he never allows us to go over it, not even outside rehearsal. Julian’s trying his best to be a gentleman and abide by Lucio’s rules, but I can tell that he’s getting worn out by constantly pushing down anything he may feel towards me and only allowing those emotions to come out when we’re on stage.

I suppose that’s why Asra pulls me aside as soon as Lucio dismisses us for the evening.

“Carina, there’s something you need to know about Julian,” he tells me softly but firmly.

“Go on…” Asra sighs.

“He’s a bit of a pressure cooker. He shoves any feelings he deems undesirable down until he can’t contain them anymore, and then they explode out of him with no way for him to control them until they’re completely out of his system. And it’s not just feelings like anger or sadness; he can get quite horny as well.” Before I can even reply to anything Asra has said, he quickly adds,

“I’ve seen the way you two have interacted during practice, and I don’t want to see you hurt. Sure, he’ll light up your world, but only for as long as he has to act with you. The moment the curtain drops on the final performance, he’ll throw you away like the burnt match you’ve become while spending time with him.” So many questions zoom through my brain, but right as I pick one to ask Asra, Julian walks to us and practically drags me away from him with a fake smile plastered on his face.

“Did something happen between you and Asra?” I ask Julian as we walk outside the auditorium.

“It’s a long story,” Julian mutters scornfully.

“I don’t have anywhere I have to be, so spill.” Julian stops and turns to face me, grabbing my hand as he does so.

“Carina, there are just some things that are best left in the past. Let’s just say that Asra and I aren’t the best of friends.”

“Why?”

“Why do you care so much?” Julian’s voice gets a bit nastier and louder, making me feel defensive.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I nearly shout sarcastically. “It’s not like anyone would get curious if someone told them that a friend of theirs treats people like they were pieces of trash to be disposed of at the first opportunity.” Julian’s eyes briefly widen in shock before decisively narrowing in anger.

“Maybe some people are trash. You try your best to hold on to them because they mean a lot to you, but in the end you have to cut ties before they hurt you.”

“What in the hell are you talking about, Julian?”

“I’m talking about Asra!” We’re both yelling at this point. “He’s always painting himself as the victim, and he never acknowledges any of his wrongdoings!”

“What?!” Julian lets go of my hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in order to calm himself down.

“Look, if you want to know the truth, you’re not going to get it from either Asra or me, because we both were self-centered at the time.”

“Then who does know the truth?”

“Why don’t I have you meet her?”

 As it turns out, the girl in question happens to be in an apartment Julian lives in. Initially, I thought she was the short, plump, red-headed individual who greeted us when we stepped inside, but then she quickly dragged Julian away, talking excitedly about finally having a subject for the painting she was working on. Before I know it, a door slams, and I’m left alone.

“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?” a smooth, female Indian voice tells me, making me jump out of my skin. When I recover from my shock, I find myself face-to-face with a regal-looking woman. She’s just wearing a t-shirt and jeans, but her face looks very queenly. I follow her request and sit down in one of the chairs in the kitchen, which is the first room you’re in when you walk inside the apartment.

“You must be Carina,” the woman states, pouring hot water into two mugs and putting in tea bags. “Julian’s told me a lot about you, so I figured it was only a matter of time before he brought you over. I’m Nadia.” She walks over to the table and sits in the chair next to me, handing me a mug as she does so.

“How do you know Julian?” I nervously ask. There’s something about her that tells me that I’d do well to not piss her off.

“In simple terms, I’m a friend of his who’s mentoring his sister. She was the one that you saw first.” I take a sip of tea.

“What about in complex terms?” Nadia smirks at me.

“You’re clever. Julian could stand to be around someone like you.”

“Thank you,” I reply shyly.

“I’m Julian’s…unofficial therapist, you might say. Then again, I’m kind of everyone’s unofficial therapist, except for Portia. Julian’s sister,” she quickly adds upon seeing the confused look in my eyes. “Anyway, I deal with secrets. Secrets that can either bring people together or make them despise each other.”

“How do you do that?”

“Why, I talk to people. I listen to them, note anything interesting, and pass it along to whoever’s interested in it, for a small fee. Speaking of which, I’m sure there’s something you’d like to ask me. I have a feeling Julian didn’t bring you over here just to meet his sister and her teacher.” I take a deep breath to calm my nerves.

“I don’t know if you would be able to answer this, but something happened earlier this evening that raised some questions for me.” I quickly recount what Asra and Julian had told me after practice, and Nadia nods her head as I talk.

“To be honest, I’m not surprised,” Nadia responds. “Asra’s quite petty, and Julian can be melodramatic sometimes. They’ve both come to me complaining about the other, and I’ve seen their interactions with each other over the years, so I have a lot of information about the nature of their relationship. I just need one thing from you.”

“I understand.” Nadia smiles, making her look that much more like royalty.

“Good. So, tell me: how do you feel about Julian?” I nearly choke on my tea, and I feel my face start to burn up in embarrassment and something else, something more animalistic.

“I see,” Nadia replies to my nonverbal response. “You’re both pulled so taut that you’re about to snap.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“Only because you both blush at the mere mention of the other. How hard has Lucio been pushing you?”

“We’re not allowed to be intimate off stage. We can be friendly, but that’s it.” Nadia sighs.

“Classic Lucio. Gets completely blindsided by Asra and then takes it out on you.”

“What do you mean?” Nadia proceeds to launch into the story of Julian and Asra. Apparently, they started off as rivals because Asra was jealous of Julian becoming Lucio’s favorite without even trying when he had to work tirelessly for two years prior just to get Lucio’s approval. The rivalry was one-sided, though, because Julian was blissfully unaware that Asra felt any ill will towards him.

When Julian was a sophomore in high school and Asra a senior, they ended up being the lead characters of one of Lucio’s original plays. Julian had shot up over the summer and was eight inches taller than Asra, which led to Asra developing feelings for Julian. This, of course, presented some internal conflict for Asra up until Julian had expressed interest back. From there, their relationship burned bright and fast.

Things between them started going downhill quickly when Asra would manipulate Julian into doing sexual things that Julian most likely wouldn’t have done on his own and Julian would either get super clingy or super distant. Nadia had tried to get them to work things out, but as soon as the final show ended, Julian broke up with Asra and ghosted him as much as he possibly could.

“So, why exactly would Asra care about my wellbeing if he really doesn’t care for Julian?” I ask Nadia once she’s done with her tale.

“Well, once Asra and Julian broke things off, Julian developed the habit of getting romantically close to his costar only to drop them once the production was over. Since you’re pretty new to the acting world, Asra wouldn’t want your experience to be soured by anything Julian does. At least, that’s what he’s told me.”

“But?” Nadia smirks knowingly.

“You’re the first person since Asra that’s made Julian…I don’t want to say lovestruck, because that sounds overdramatic, but maybe pleasantly nervous.”

“Really?” She nods her head.

“If you stay over here long enough this evening, Julian’s bound to show you what I’m talking about.”

 Julian’s managed to contain himself, all things considered. His sister Portia kept teasing him about me, Nadia awarded her with smirks, smiles, and some extra dessert, and it seemed like every other commercial on TV was based on a cheesy romantic comedy.

But then Nadia leaves for the evening and Portia goes off to bed and Julian starts channel surfing only to stumble upon a show that featured a girl moaning loudly as a guy’s using his dick like a jackhammer to drill an additional hole into her.

That’s when I can tell that some frayed strings in Julian are snapping. His face becomes flushed, his eyes dilate with a mixture of shock, horror, and arousal, and his mouth’s agape at the scene unfolding in front of him. I myself am having a difficult time keeping my composure, but I’m able to remain sane long enough to gently take the remote from Julian’s hand and shut the TV off. In a blink of an eye, my hand replaces the remote as Julian turns his body so that he’s facing me.

“C-Carina,” he stammers. “I…I’ve been trying so hard, and I—” As quickly as he grabbed my hand, I place my index finger on his lips and lean close to him. Somehow, his face becomes even redder.

“Julian, what do you want to do to me?”

“I don’t know if I should—” I cut his sentence abruptly by clamping my hand over his mouth.

“Just nod or shake your head, okay?” Julian nods his head, his gray eyes sparkling in the living room light.

“Do you want to kiss me?” Nod.

“Do you want to make out with me?” Nod.

“Do you want to run your hands all over my body?” Nod.

“Do you want to leave bites all over me?” A more hesitant nod.

“Do you want to do to me what the man on the screen did to that girl?” A very slow, almost ashamed nod, but a nod nevertheless.

“I want you to listen to me, Julian, because I’m only saying this once. When I remove my hand from your mouth, I want you to do me on this couch. You can go as rough or soft as you want, but I don’t want you to stop until you’ve orgasmed. I don’t care what Lucio’s going to say when he sees us at our next rehearsal; his decisions have pulled you so taut that you’re snapping right in front of me as we speak. Do you understand?” After a moment of serious contemplation, a quite shy nod.

“I’m going to count to three, and then I’m leaving you to do whatever you want.” Nod.

“One.” Julian swallows.

“Two.” Something inside me quivers in anticipation.

“Three.” Time gets jumbled for about five seconds, and when it straightens itself back out, Julian and I are at the other end of the couch; he’s moved on top of me and is frantically kissing every part of me that he can touch. I can’t really keep up with him, not that I’m complaining.

[the-villain-vanessa-cortez]

Dunno if it’s too late for your ask thing, but here’s one! Vanessa, how did you come to join the organization??

(Picture to come soon)

It’s a rather tough story. I’m not sure you want to hear it but I’ll tell it anyways.

My Father, Allocer/ Alastor Cortez is a rather well known lawyer who gets villains off the hook for our heinous crimes. He is called the silver tongued devil of the courtroom and he lives up to that name. My father met Black Hat before I was even born and became aquatinted with one another even becoming friends. He’d get Black Hat’s clients out of prison and Black Hat would grant him a sort of protection. You could in some ways say that Black Hat was like a god father to me.

In school, I attended Black Hat academy and was destined to be a villain. There was no if ands or buts about it. My destiny was already planned out for me whether I liked it or not. When my mother died from an illness, my father drove himself deeper into work and I found myself coming to Black Hat for guidance.

After graduation, I did not attend Black Hat’s college portion for long before going to a smaller college for a small bit, graduating from that and starting my new career as a villainess-for-hire with my then partner in crime who shortly became my fiancé. We were the best duo the villain world had ever seen and were extremely notorious for being able to get “business” taken care of fast. This included a lot of robberies and killings. With my father to catch us if we fell, we were unstoppable.

But someone else caught my partner’s eye. I had no idea at the time, but he started sleeping with another woman on the side. I had my worries, but I figured it was just my imagination.

Well one night, we were hired for an easy robbery. He told me that the job was more suitable for me to go in and steal the cash and get out with him keeping watch for cover. He claimed he was too clumsy. I believed him. When I snuck into the building I was met with police force surrounding me and blocking all escape plans. I was set up like leading a lamb to slaughter. Soon enough, there I saw him on the side of the police, ready to fight along side them to kill me. I managed to escape by the skin of my teeth and I put everything together. Headlines were made the next day of my partner turning to the hero side with his new secret wife. I was the absolute laughing stock of both the heroes and the villains.

Humiliated and with nothing to lose, I stormed my way to Black Hat’s manor myself and begged him to help me. He gave me one condition; I must work for him and give him my soul in exchange for glory and the chance to kill my ex fiancé. With tears in my eyes, I signed my life away.

It worked. Soon enough I started to climb the ranks again with people knowing that Black Hat was on my side. But it still wasn’t enough. I was still mocked and criticized. And then one day news came out that my ex was killed in an accident; an explosion that was a result of a hero and villain fighting. My chance for revenge was taken from me. He was killed so easily as if it were nothing. But a deal’s a deal and my soul still belonged to Black Hat; and for nothing.

So that’s why I’m here and in the company. He treats me kinder than the others but that doesn’t always mean with kindness. If I’m lucky I’m shown indifference or mild interest. But I can’t say I hate it. I’m more respected than if I were on my own and this odd family of ours I think is worth fighting for. I feel as if I have found my place again and I enjoy the thrill and danger Black Hat brings with his many clients. I feel important again.

[lovemesomerafael]

No One Else                                           Chapter 5:  The Hunt

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Read it on AO3

“Where the fuck is Kate, you freakin’ lunatic?”  Sonny screams into Mary’s face.

Olivia Benson rolls her eyes and stands, pulling Sonny by the arm from the interrogation room.  “Yeah, so much for that,” she says as she pulls the door closed behind them.

Sonny paces in front of the one-way glass, gesturing at his former assistant, sitting quietly crying at the table in the room.  “Look, I’m sorry, Liv, but she has Kate!  We don’t know where she is, we don’t know what she’s done to her… she could by dying right now.  I know she knows where Kate is, and so do you.”

“Yes, Carisi, I believe you, and we will get her to talk.  But having you here isn’t helping.  You’ve tried sweet-talking her, that didn’t work.  And you just saw how well losing your mind went.”

The pacing is getting to Olivia.  She wishes Sonny had been able to get Mary Duderon to talk, but he hadn’t, which means that at least she doesn’t have to watch him pace the interrogation room any more.

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you.  I’d be as upset as you are right now.  But I can’t let you back in there.  You asked us to take this case, now you need to let us handle it.  You want to help Kate, that’s what you need to do.”

Sonny looks at her for a few beats, knowing she’s right, but wanting to beat the information out of Mary.  Kate has been missing since last night, almost eighteen hours now, and Sonny is frantic. All his fear and anger is focused on the mousy, chubby woman sitting looking around the box, dabbing her eyes occasionally and looking for all the world like the least likely kidnapper ever. But Sonny knows different.  She hasn’t shown her crazy to the SVU detectives yet, but she will.  

At that moment, Scott Lam comes around the corner with a folded paper in his hand.  

“Thank God,” Sonny says, snatching the search warrant from him.  “I’m takin’ Fin and Amanda.”

“You can take Fin.  But I need Rollins for this interrogation,” Olivia says, waving him toward the squad room.    

 *********

Sonny isn’t surprised to see that Mary’s apartment is sparkling clean and perfectly organized.  He is surprised to see a large, framed copy of his ID photo from the DA’s office. The presence of the picture itself is creepy enough, but its prominent placement in her living room is also troubling.

“Just be glad it ain’t next to her bed,” Fin says, laying a comforting hand on Sonny’s shoulder.

He doesn’t really expect Kate to be held in Mary’s apartment; somehow that seems too easy.  But he still tears through the small flat calling Kate’s name until it’s clear she isn’t there.  Kate’s partner, Tom Hensler, meets them at the apartment and, after a quick introduction to Fin, goes in search of the Building Manager or Superintendent, or whoever might be able to give him access to any other places in the building that Mary might possibly be holding Kate.   After that, he’ll begin to knock on the neighbors’ doors, hoping to learn something helpful.  

Sonny and Fin turn up several disturbing things during their search of Mary’s apartment. One is the picture of Sonny and Kate at Forlini’s, or what’s left of it.  Mary has burned Kate out of the picture.  

Sonny and Fin share a look of horror at that, after which Fin says quietly, “Let’s just keep on lookin’.  We don’t know anything yet.”

In Mary’s bedroom, they find a sort of macabre shrine where she has photos from the press conference following the trial, as well as pictures from the party afterward at Maxwell’s that she appears to have downloaded from social media sites.  They are candid photos taken by various people, which Sonny recognizes because he’s in all of them.  He can remember posing for most of them, although there are a few where he’d simply been caught in a shot.  Many have been blown up to a large size, and most other people cut out so that only Sonny remains, then framed.  Sonny feels icy chills creep up his spine looking at them.  

There is one picture, larger than the rest, among the framed photos.  Sonny remembers posing for this one, as well.  It’s of him and Mary at the Maxwell’s after-trial party.  The picture is a simple posed shot of some of the people they work with, in which Sonny is standing behind Mary.  She’s cut everyone else from the picture and blown it up so that it looks as though it’s a photo of just the two of them.  

As it turns out, there is a picture of Sonny next to the bed. Several, in fact.  These are the most disturbing of all.  They’re pictures Sonny recognizes, which Kate must have posted on social media, because they’re all pictures of Sonny and Kate.  But Kate has been removed from the photos.  Mary has very skillfully used Photoshop or some other program to substitute herself in each of the pictures.  It’s all Sonny can do not to smash them to pieces.

Besides the pictures, they find a shirt Sonny discarded at work after a cartridge of printer ink exploded on it, and a number of napkins he apparently used at one time or another.  He can feel his stomach churn at the evidence of Mary’s obsession with him.  

What they don’t find is anything obvious that will lead them to wherever Kate is.  

After a careful search, they find that Kate is nowhere in the building where Mary lives.  They haven’t found any receipts or other evidence that Mary rents a storage unit or some other place she could be holding Kate.  And none of the neighbors have seen or heard anything to indicate Mary’s had any visitors – ever.  Certainly not one who was there against her will.  

Sonny is beside himself.  Not only have they proven that Mary is dangerously obsessed with him, but they’ve found nothing to indicate that she is holding Kate somewhere.  Which leaves one horrible possibility.  

 ***************

Amanda Rollins needs to proceed very, very carefully.  She wonders why Mary Duderon hasn’t lawyered up – she works for ADAs, she has to know better – but she has a suspicion that, in Mary’s twisted mind, being here will result in more attention from Sonny.  

“This is where Sonny worked before the DA’s office, did you know that?”

Mary sniffles.  “Yeah, I knew that.”

“I was his partner for more than five years.  I know him pretty well.”

Mary just looks at her, saying nothing but betraying just the slightest bit of… something.  Amanda hopes she knows what it is.

“He ate dinner at my house more than at his own.  Practically helped me raise my daughters.”

“When is Sonny coming back?”  Mary asks.

Amanda continues as though she hasn’t spoken.  “Of course, it all changed when he went to the DA’s office.  He still came over sometimes, but I hardly get to work with him anymore.  And then when Kate came along, no more dinners.  Do you know Kate?”

“I’ve met her.”  

“He’s crazy about Kate.”

Nothing.

“Sonny, he always had a thing for her.  They were together in Brooklyn, you know, before he came to Manhattan.”

“Whatever.”

“Yeah, and he always used to talk about her.  He would tell me how much he missed her, how great things were between them, that kind of thing.  It was so cute, how it was just always Kate, Kate, Kate.”

“That’s ridiculous.  She wasn’t even his girlfriend then.  She let him go.”  

Amanda definitely has Mary’s attention now, if the malevolence in her comments is any indication.  

“Maybe.  But the minute they saw each other again, they were back together.  I think they’re soulmates.”

Mary doesn’t like that assertion at all.  But she says nothing more.

 *************

Tom Hensler is having no luck checking Mary Duderon’s social media accounts, because she has none.  That seems right, if she’s as insular as she appears, but they also haven’t seen anything around her apartment that indicates any hobbies, other than her cats.  And how much time can you spend hanging out with cats?  She doesn’t appear to be a reader, she doesn’t have a collection of movies, there are no crafts in her apartment, and as far as he can tell, she has no friends.  Can she really spend all her time watching TV? Or surfing the internet but making no connections?  

He hopes TARU will hurry up with the forensics on her computer.  He had personally brought it to them, making sure to let them know that the vic was a missing cop.  A couple of techs there know her, and said they’d do their best.  Although they’ve only been partners for a few months, he and Kinsella are starting to form a solid partnership.  He likes Carisi, too, and he can see the guy’s a wreck. He imagines what he’d be like if it was his wife, Kelly, who was missing, and actually has to admire Carisi for remaining as controlled as he is.  

 ************

Sonny returns to SVU, simply because it feels right to be investigating Kate’s disappearance from there.  So far, with the apartment yielding nothing but shudders of disgust, the only possible leads are Mary’s computer, and Mary herself.  But even if she has no friends, she has to have family, right?  That’s something to check out.  He gets on the phone with the DA’s office, demanding Mary’s personnel file, and hoping they wouldn’t make him bother to get a warrant.  He’ll get it if he has to, but it would take time. And all he really wants to know is Mary’s emergency contact.  

While he badgers the HR Director on the phone, he works the computer.  It feels oddly comfortable to be back in detective mode, sitting at his old desk.  He may be a new lawyer, but this, he knows how to do.  

“Hey, Carisi,” Fin calls over from his desk when Sonny hangs up the phone.  “This is interesting.  Your friend’s got a record.”

“Seriously?”  Sonny gets up and goes over to Fin’s desk.  

“Yeah.  You ready for this?  Three different guys have taken out restraining orders against her, and she’s got a conviction for Second Degree Stalking.”

“Second degree?  That’s not easy to get.  That’s stalking behavior plus the victim has a reasonable fear of harm and either a weapon is involved it’s a repeat conviction within 5 years.  What’d she do?”

The crimes of which Mary has been convicted look very much like her behavior toward Sonny and Kate. This is something they can work with. It’s also encouraging, in that she has frightened people, and destroyed some property, but she’s never actually hurt anyone.  She’s pled to stalking, so some of the property crime charges were dropped, but she’s been violent before, at least towards her victims’ homes and cars.

“We need to talk to these vics.  See if they know anything that can help.”

“What I wanna know is, how’d she get a job in the DA’s office with a Class E felony on her record?”  

“Let’s worry about that when we have Kate back, huh?  You try to find the family, I’ll see if I can track down these vics.”

Sonny tries to focus on his work.  He ignores the part of his mind that wants to scream with terror and frustration, focusing all his attention on the immediate task at hand.  He’ll have plenty of time to freak out later, and it will do no good to imagine nightmare scenarios of where she might be.  Right now, he has to find the woman he loves.  He closes his eyes briefly in prayer, thinking that he’s been praying so much God might return Kate just to shut him up about her, and picks up the phone.

Within an hour, Sonny and Fin have a list of people to go see.  

 ************

Amanda sits looking at Mary, who fumbles almost continuously with the edges of her oversized pink sweatshirt, the seams of her jeans, or her hair.  Amanda hopes it’s more than just nervousness about being questioned.  

“So, Mary, why don’t you tell me about you and ADA Carisi?”

Mary looks at Amanda, eyes wary.  “I was his assistant.”

“Yeah, I know.  What was that like?”

“I don’t know.  It was OK.”

“What’s he like to work with? As an assistant, I mean.  Was he nice to you?”

“He was OK.”

“Really, Mary?  Just OK?  Not good?  Not bad?”

“Good, I guess.”

“Me, I liked working with him.  We talked to people right here in this room, in fact.  Right here at this table.  All the time.”

Mary seems not to react, but after a few moments of silence, Amanda notices her put her hand flat on the table and move her fingertips ever so slightly, as if stroking the table Sonny touched.  

“When is he coming back? I really want to see Sonny.”  

“I don’t know, Mary.  He’s out trying to find Kate.  He’ll probably keep going until he finds her.”

Mary looks straight at Amanda for the first time all day.  Amanda smiles a little wistfully at her.  “I wish somebody loved me like that, y’know?”

“He doesn’t love her.”

“Of course he does. You must’ve seen it.  Heard it in his voice.”

Mary shrugs, but there’s a definite change in her posture.  She stiffens a bit and lifts her chin.  

“But now she left.  Now he’s with me.”  Mary quickly adds, “At the DA’s office, I mean.  We work together.”

“Yeah.  I guess.”

“I do everything for him. He depends on me.”  An element of defensiveness, possessiveness colors Mary’s speech.  

“I’m sure he does, hon. But it’s not the same.”

“She left.  Now he’s mine.”  

Amanda injects a sympathetic note into her voice.  “I don’t think so, Mary.  He’s Kate’s.”

“Kate.”  

Amanda allows herself to react to the acid tone with which Mary hisses the name, but only a bit.  “You don’t like Kate?”

“Don’t know her.”

“C’mon.  There’s nothing wrong with admitting you don’t like her. I don’t.”

“You don’t?”  Mary sounds genuinely surprised.

“I don’t think she’s right for him.”

“She’s not.”

“Right.  But I guess it doesn’t make any difference, since he’s in love with her.”

“No, he isn’t,” Mary snaps.

“I suppose he talks about Kate all the time, though, doesn’t he?”

“Not that much.  He doesn’t care about her.  Not really.”

“No?”  

“No.  He’ll get over her now that she’s gone.”

This is the delicate moment Amanda’s been working toward.  “You think so?”

The superior look Mary gives her isn’t what bothers her.  It’s the malice.  “Of course he will.  He has me now.”

“Are you…”  Amanda hopes she gets the inflection right.  It’s crucial.

“Sonny and I love each other.”

“You do?”  Amanda acts surprised, but also as though she believes her.

“Well, we can’t talk about it yet.  First we had to stop working together.  That’s why he got reassigned, you know.”

“Oh.  So now that he’s reassigned, you can go public?”  

“He’ll have to pretend to be sad about Kate for a while, of course…”

“Sad?”

“Yeah.  You know.  Because she’s gone.”

“You said that before. What makes you think she’s gone?”

“I know she is.  That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?  Because she left him?”

“Sonny doesn’t think she left him.  He’s afraid something happened to her, Mary.”

“Nothing happened to her. She just left him.  I know he’ll be sad for a while, or he’ll pretend to be. But I’m here to comfort him.”

“He seems kind of mad at you.”

“I know, but he isn’t. He’s just upset because Kate left him. We’ll be fine.”

“How do you know Kate left him?  Maybe she’s just, I don’t know, visiting a friend or something.”

“She isn’t.”

“How do you know?”  

“I just… know.”

“But, Mary, how do you know?”

“I just know.”

Amanda Rollins isn’t giving up.

 **************

“That bitch is cray-cray.”

The man standing in the doorway of his house is clearly disgusted by the whole topic of Mary Duderon, and annoyed that he has to talk about this yet again.  

“We’ve read the police reports, and your statement to the court in support of your request for a restraining order.  So we know what she did.  What we’re wondering is whether there’s anything else you can tell us,” Sonny says.  

“Like what?”

“A woman is missing. We think Mary Duderon had something to do with her disappearance,” Fin explains.  “Can you think of anywhere Mary might go, anyplace she might have access to?”

“Look, I haven’t seen her in years, and I don’t want to.  I barely knew her!  She just… latched onto me and when I told her to get lost, she got mad and trashed my car. That was it.  She got fired, and I moved so she couldn’t find me.  End of story.”

“OK, well anything you can think of could help,” Sonny says, handing the man his card.  “Give it some thought.  Call us if you think of anything.  Please.  A woman is in danger.”

  The next person Sonny and Fin go to see is a man who employed Mary for about six months.  During that time, he had a drunken one-night stand with her, which he barely remembers, except that he thinks it was she who came on to him.  After that, however, she made his life a living hell.  She told him she was pregnant.  When he demanded proof, and proof of paternity, she went off the rails. Although the man’s wife had thrown him out of their house, Mary went there and harassed his wife and sons, shrieking tearful demands.  She called and texted his cell phone at all hours of the day and night, and eventually took a baseball bat to the windows of his business.  When he fired her and reported her activities to the police, she’d tried to set his car on fire, but didn’t know what she was doing and had done no real damage.

The man doesn’t want to talk to them.  He’s back with his wife, and really just wants to forget the whole thing.  He claims not to know anything about her, and is no help.

“Listen,” he says.  “Whoever this woman is, I feel sorry for her.  ‘Cause Mary Duderon is a psycho, and the more she hears ‘no’, the crazier she gets.  I wouldn’t put anything past her.”

That information does nothing for Sonny’s nerves.  

 ***********

Tom Hensler gets a call from TARU.  They’ve found some searches on Mary’s computer and want him to take a look.  He calls Sonny.

“Hey, Carisi, I got a call from TARU.  They’re in Mary’s computer.  They called me, but you know her, I don’t.  You wanna meet me down there?  Take a look?”

Sonny looks at Fin, who is driving them toward the boarding house where Mary’s mother lives.  “Where are you now?”

“Station house.”

“Look, we’re way uptown, so you go ahead.  Take a look and then call me.  We’ll see if there’s anything there.”

“Will do.  You holdin’ up?”

“I’m tired and I’m pissed. Not payin’ any attention to anything else right now.  You?”

“That bitch disappeared my partner.  I’m thinkin’ if there’s nothin’ but cat videos on her computer, I’m goin’ down to SVU and we’re gonna have a talk.  Off the record.”

“Yeah, I heard that, but you don’t know Captain Benson.  She’s not likely to cooperate.”  

“Then this damn computer better give me somethin’.”

“Amen to that.”

 **************

“So, Mary,” Amanda begins, handing her a cup of coffee.  “Where do you think Kate went?”

“How should I know?”

“Well, I mean, if you had to guess.  Where would someone like Kate go, if they left Sonny?”

“I really don’t know. I don’t care, either.”

So much for that tactic.

“You know what I think?” Amanda asks.  “I think she’s coming back.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because you’d have to be crazy to leave a man like Sonny.  Right?”

“I would never leave him.”

“Exactly.  That’s why I think she’s coming back.  When Sonny gets back here, I’m going to tell him that.  So he doesn’t give up hope.”

“No.  She’s not coming back.  He should just forget about her.  He’s mine now.”

“You don’t know that, Mary. And Sonny, he’s so handsome, and so nice, it’s like you said.  You’d never leave him.  So Kate didn’t, either.  I’m going to tell him that.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s not coming back.  She’s such a…”

“A what?”

“Nothing.”

“C’mon, Mary.  I told you how I feel.  Tell me.”

“Her apartment burned. And she made Sonny let her live with him after that.  She’s a whore.”

Amanda tries to look fascinated but says nothing, hoping that Mary will take the invitation.  But she doesn’t go on.  Amanda tries again.

“Kate’s apartment burned?”

“Not bad.  Nobody got hurt or anything.  But she stayed at Sonny’s after that.  She wasn’t supposed to do that.  But he was just too nice to say no.”

“Maybe he wanted her there.”

“No, he didn’t!  Anyway, she’s gone now, she… left him.  And she’s not coming back.”

“I think she is.”

“She’s not.”

“Tell me why.”

“Because she’s not. She’s gone.  And Sonny is mine now.”

“I don’t think so.  I think she’s coming back, and when I tell him that, he’ll wait for her.”

“You don’t know anything.”

Finally, Mary is beginning to forget to hide her anger.  

“Neither do you.”

“Yes, I do.”

“What do you know?  Why shouldn’t Sonny wait for Kate to come back?”

“Because she can’t.”

The most delicate moment of all.

“Why can’t she, Mary?”

But Mary has realized what she said.  “Because… Because  he’s mine now.  That’s all I meant.”

 *************

Mary’s mother lives in an old-fashioned boarding house, where she rents a room and meals are served communally by the landlady.  It’s a surprisingly nice place.  It’s clean and comfortable and, although Mary’s mother is in her eighties, she looks healthy, if a little frail.  But she’s not happy to see that the police have come to ask her about Mary again.  She’s especially not happy that one of them is Mr. Carisi, the man Mary has been so focused on recently.

Eleanor Duderon knows that her daughter gets a little… overly attached sometimes.  Mary’s always been reserved in public, but there’s a lot more going on under the surface than people think.  And she has been known to overreact when the real world doesn’t cooperate with the complex, detailed worlds she builds in her head.  

“Mrs. Duderon,” Sonny begins, “We need to ask you some questions about your daughter, Mary.”

“All right.  Is she in any trouble?”  Her voice is scratchy, but strong.

“A woman is missing, and we think Mary may have something to do with her disappearance.”

“Oh, I don’t…  Mary’s not the kind of girl who would ever hurt anyone.  She’s gotten a little carried away in the past, I know, but she just has deep feelings.”

“Ma’am,” Fin tries, “This woman is a police officer.  If your daughter’s done something to her, she���s in a lot of trouble.  You understand that?”

“But she doesn’t usually hurt anyone.”

Sonny and Fin both clearly hear the “usually”.  

“But she has hurt someone in the past?”  Sonny asks, leaning far forward, his forearms on his thighs, peering intently into Eleanor Duderon’s troubled face.

“I can’t really talk about that.”

“Mrs. Duderon, I work with Mary.  She was my assistant, did you know that?”

“Yes, I know.  She’s mentioned you.  I’m afraid she’s developed a bit of a crush on you, Mr. Carisi.”

“Ma’am, it’s more than a crush.  I think you know that ‘deep feelings’ is an understatement for what Mary can be like. Don’t you?”

“Well, I suppose you know she has been in trouble before, when things didn’t work out for her and a man she likes.”

Sonny turns the charm up as far as he can, given his exhaustion and frayed nerves.  “So, here’s the thing, Ma’am.  The woman who’s missing?  She’s my girlfriend.  And your daughter, she set her bed on fire, along with all the pictures she had of the two of us together.”

“Oh, no…”

“Things at work have become strained, and Mary’s not happy about it.  She blames Kate.  She has this idea that the only thing standing between her and me is Kate.”

“Oh, so that’s who Kate is.”

“She’s talked about her?” Sonny and Fin exchange looks.

Mrs. Duderon’s face takes on a hint of confusion, tinged with what Sonny thinks might be fear.  “She doesn’t like her, this Kate.  But she told me that Kate was gone.  That she’d left you, and now the two of you would be, I don’t know, dating or something.”

“When did she tell you this?” Fin asks, on alert.

“Three days ago.”

Kate has only been missing for one day.

Fin is standing now.  “Did she say where Kate went?”

“No, only that she was gone, and she wouldn’t be back.”

[theladyactress]

Anna Cora Mowatt and the Rumor Mill

It is more usual to think of historians as searching for verifiable facts about historical figures and events. Because this research project is focused on scandal and reputation, I am in the unusual position of being engaged in a search for verifiable rumors and documented innuendo.

I have seen traces many Ogden, Ritchie, and Mowatt descendants in my travels on the internet.  If you make a stop here, be assured that I am not casting aspersions on your illustrious ancestor.  Anna Cora was ruined financially and devastated emotionally by Walter Watts’ crime. Her effort to rebound from this scandal – further complicated by the timing of James Mowatt’s death -- was nothing short of astounding.  I am merely plumbing the depths of the pit into which she suddenly found herself plunged without friend or comfort.

To anyone joining us for the first time, here’s a brief rundown of the Watts scandal:   After Mowatt’s very successful Broadway debut in 1847 as first a playwright then as an actress, she was encouraged by friends, critics, and colleagues to try her luck on the London stage as many American performers had before her to varying degrees of success. Arriving there, she immediately drew the attention of Walter Watts, the manager of the Olympic and Marylebone theaters.  Despite the fact that she was a mere novice, he signed her to a lucrative long-term contract (Even stars players were usually hired only for one show at a time). Watts publicly presented her with expensive gifts and had a deluxe dressing room outfitted for her where he hosted champagne dinners attended by London’s literary and social elite. This jealousy-inspiring treatment came to an abrupt and shocking end in March of 1850 when Watts was arrested for fraud. Watts’ arrest brought to light the fact that he was a clerk for the Globe Insurance Company who had been financing a millionaire lifestyle for over a decade by systematically embezzling from his company. Four months later, Watts hung himself in Newgate prison.

(If you’d like to read more about the scandal and Mowatt’s entanglement in it, this webpage goes into more depth: Touch of Scandal)

The double difficulty in my research into this scandal is that I’m trying to sort out not only what really happened, but what people thought happened. Because of her personal rhetorical approach and the general standards of the times, Mowatt did not directly address the rumors connecting her to Watts. After a certain point in her autobiography, she even ceases to refer to him by name. Her biographers use phrases like, “everyone in London thought” when talking about the scandal, but it now seems like few of those people documented their beliefs. Therefore more than a century later, I am trying to pick up the echoes of a very damaging whisper campaign.

A tidbit I discovered in one of my recent research “finds” is a perfect illustration of the sort of damaging innuendo that may have been being spread tying Mowatt to Watts at the time of his arrest in a manner that did harm to her reputation in England.

The article, entitled “The Forgeries of Walter Watts” appears at the bottom of page 3 in a New Zealand newspaper on November 5, 1892. Walter Watts and James Mowatt had been dead for forty-two years when the article was published. Anna Cora herself had passed away twenty-two years before. Still, this “true crime” story from half the globe away was deemed by the publishers of the paper entertaining enough to devote two columns to -- wedged in between a chapter from a Robert Lewis Stevenson story and a testimonial for the Society for the Cruelty to Animals.  This account followed along the general lines of the narrative that I first saw recorded by David Morier Evans in Facts, Failures, and Frauds: Revelations, Financial, Mercantile, Criminal in 1859.  The narrative mentions all of what I have come to consider the “major” rumors tying Mowatt to Watts; such as the silver urn, the dressing room, the locket, and the silk scarf.  We will devote much time in future blogs dissecting each of these elements at length as they appear in this and other accounts.  However among the colorful details this story adds that I have not seen in other accounts, I want to focus here on the following:  “(Watts) sent the lady’s husband on a voyage to Trinidad…”

Nothing in my research indicates that Watts funded James Mowatt’s trip to Trinidad or that it was the manager’s idea in any way. According to Mowatt’s autobiography, her husband set sail for the West Indies in October of 1849 on the advice of more than one doctor after a re-occurrence of an unnamed neurological disorder or perhaps a growing tumor that rendered him blind in one eye and would kill him before the end of 1850. She says that the doctors thought the warmer climate and the long sea voyage would be good for him.

I have to enter into the record here that this is the point in Mowatt’s autobiography where she has stopped referring to Watts by name. She wrote her account of the decision for James Mowatt to set sail for the West Indies using a lot of passive voice and vague constructions like “doctors were consulted” and “it was decided.”  In the spring and summer of 1849, Watts was presumably still the Mowatts’ friend and great benefactor.  She was giving speeches in public talking about how wonderful Watts was and writing glowing dedications to him in the published versions of her plays.  Watts was Anna Cora’s employer and had access to much more money than the Mowatts did. If he generously offered help fund a medically-ordered trip to Trinidad for the critically ill James and insisted that Anna Cora stay in London to fulfill her contractual obligations, then how could they refuse?

Also, to look at the scenario from the other side, if I was Walter Watts – embezzler and con man, leading a double life, -- who had convinced James Mowatt,  -- ailing, middle-aged, controlling, ex-lawyer husband of my little American princess star actress -- to invest his wife’s life savings in the Olympic theater that I probably had burned down in the spring so I could rebuild with money I was stealing four and five hundred dollars at a time from the insurance company I was secretly working for... You know, I think I could think of a thousand good reasons why I might want him in Trinidad soaking in the sun and slowly dying instead of at a hospital in Germany or Switzerland that specialized in neurological disorders or cancer treatments while I had champagne dinners with his young beautiful wife in her fancy dressing room in London.

Thus you can see that the “(Watts) sent the lady’s husband on a voyage to Trinidad…” statement starts with the firmest foundation of a good rumor.  It is plausible. All the characters are behaving in the manner that we imagine that they might—even when we imagine them to be behaving very, very badly.  

[In a future blog, I plan to discuss the the aspect of rumor in which the spread of scandal is aided by prior negative perceptions of certain classes of individuals and how being an American actress in London fueled the harm caused to Mowatt by the Watts incident. However, we’ll leave that for now.]

In addition to being plausible, another aspect giving additional power to the Trinidad rumor is the truth of this information is knowable. Unfortunately, I’m not saying that I think that I will ever know the truth of the matter, but it is plausible that there were individuals at that time who knew the truth of about whether or not Walter Watts paid to send James Mowatt to Trinidad. When James left, Anna Cora moved in with her acting partner, E.L. Davenport and his pregnant wife, Fanny. They probably knew.  Their children could have known. Members of the theatrical company may have known. Friends of Watts could have known.  This anonymous account is written from the perspective of a young man of who Watts befriended.

Thus the “Trinidad” tidbit is succinctly is capable of confirming a willing listener’s most negative suspicions about Watts’ predatory behavior in the Mowatt marriage and Anna Cora’s either passive or active participation in that interference – depending on how negative one’s pre-existing view of her is. Although anonymous and even only ambiguously non- fictional, the narrator gives himself just barely enough credibility to serve as a plausible source for this information.

And so, my friends, forty-two years after the principals are dead, a strong rumor takes a deep, nourishing breath of fresh air.

The presentation chosen for this account leaves me with several questions that I’d like to share with you, dear readers. How seriously am I meant to take this “Page 3” story? It shares many characteristics with Sydney Horler’s “true crime” version of Watts’ story in his 1931 book Black Souls (A million thanks to Christi Saindon for helping me track down this hard to find volume!). Unlike Horler, though, the anonymous narrator claims to have first-hand insight to Watts’ actions and does not identify their version of the manager’s thoughts or words as fictionalizations.  Do any of you know anything about New Zealand newspaper publishing conventions circa 1890?  Was this section of the paper reserved for light entertainment? Reprints from English papers? Excerpts from books or magazines?

Also, my knowledge of Victorian medical science is thin. Do any of you have more expertise? How valid was the West Indies as a destination for the dying James Mowatt in 1849? I know that neurology was in its infancy and that “the rest cure” was being proscribed for a wide range of psychological and physical disorders of the brain that would be treated with medicine or surgery only twenty or thirty years later, but wouldn’t there be better places in England or Europe to treat someone with something that was exerting so much pressure it was making them lose sight in one eye?

I look forward to your input! Next week – more scandal!

[sepublic]

Rough Draft for a Venom Sequel Plot

So in light of Andy Serkis being set to direct the upcoming sequel to Venom, and other similar news, I thought it’d be fun to bring up a rough draft I made for a Venom sequel, shortly after I’d watched the movie in theaters.

It’s actually the first of a few rough drafts I had in mind for Venom 2, as well as a  Venom 3. I also had ideas for a Venom 4, and maybe even Venom 5 and 6, but I’m not entirely sure.

For now, though, I thought it’d be fun to share some of these ideas had! I hope anyone reading this enjoys!

Warning: Mentions of Abuse, Bloodshed, etc. below. The idea is that this film will be Rated R, so expect some heavy content.

           The movie starts off with a prologue of the initial origins of the Carnage Symbiote (AKA Red). Perhaps it was born of Life Foundation scientists scraping together bits and pieces from Venom and Riot. Alternatively, Red lands on Earth on its own. Either way, it has arrived, or is about to.

           Cut to a scene of an abusive husband doing typical horrible things in a poor neighborhood apartment. The poor wife is screaming for help, and the terrified son is watching. Eventually, the son musters up the courage and yells at his father to stop.

           The abusive father, in a calm rage, turns around and advances, lashing out and asking if the son ‘wants some’. Right on cue, the wall bursts, and in comes Venom with the biggest, dumbest, shit-eating grin on his face. “I want some!” He muses. The abusive man screams and tries to run, but Venom ensnares him.

           Venom tells the man that he will never hurt anyone again- No doubt due to the fact that he’ll be eaten. Venom then opens his mouth and lunges in, but instead bites the man’s arm off instead. The man, terrified, runs off, trying to staunch the bleeding. Within, Venom complains that he only got to eat PART of the guy, and Eddie muses that the two shouldn’t abuse their power too much.

           The terrified son, meanwhile, approaches Venom and asks who he is, and what else to do. Venom tells the son to always protect his mother –unless SHE abuses him, too- and then turns to leave, before adding the iconic “We are Venom” line. Then Venom swings away, having developed web-slinging as a technique.

           Cut to a montage of Venom going about, helping in whatever anti-hero way he can. A would-be rapist is quickly gulped up by Venom. A corrupt corporate dude manages to cheat people out of money, but Venom crashes in and forces him to return the money, threatening to eat the guy. Said dude questions how Venom knew of this, and Venom muses that he has ‘sources’ (AKA Eddie’s investigative journalism). A person is selling drugs and ruining lives and is predictably devoured, as is a human trafficker.

           Throughout the montage, we have Venom cracking really cheesy, edgy one-liners that he unironically enjoys and thinks are actually cool. Eddie can’t be bothered to break the truth to him, not that it matters all too much.

           The montage ends with Eddie and Venom overlooking San Francisco. The two discuss their recent string of crime-fighting, as well as subtler affairs involving Eddie’s own journalism. Venom is occasionally used to do things Eddie can’t legally do. All in all, it’s a good life, and Venom agrees with Eddie that their symbiosis was quite beneficial.

           Suddenly, the two spot some generic bank robbers getting away with a heist. The pair give chase, but are soon hindered due to disagreements on how to act. This slows down the duo and causes them to freeze up in vital moments, and it ends with Venom crash-landing in an alleyway while the robbers get away.

           Miffed, Eddie and Venom ask each other what the hell was THAT?! The two begin arguing over how they should’ve done this, or that… Their debate cools down with Eddie trying to break it simply to Venom, and Venom in return admits that back at his home, just called Homeworld, things are rather different. Recalling this, Eddie asks Venom what his home was like.

           Right on cue, we cut to an unknown alien space craft infiltrating earth’s atmosphere, undetected by satellites and sensors. It lands somewhere, and out come a group of Klyntar. Among them are Plague, the Apocalypse group, Clash, etc. (Basically some Symbiote OCs I made up) It’s clear some are currently inhabiting alien hosts, while the others find hosts in humans and even animals.

           The group talks with one another mission-style, trying to find Riot, and they decide to use the knowledge of their hosts to figure out where he is. Eventually one host reveals a memory of a news article about alleged alien sightings, one of whom resembles Riot. It also mentions another black Klyntar, whom the Homeworld squad deduce is Venom. They decide to head to San Francisco, having found a lead.

           We cut to a maximum security prison. We get a look at Cletus Kasady’s daily routine. Because it’s from Cletus’ perspective, he comes off as a cheery dude with a lot of interest in bloodshed, with everyone else exasperated. Other prisoners are creeped about him- Cletus likes to creep them out with smiles, stares, or friendly gestures. We see how carefully guards restrict Cletus, and we find out why. Cletus finds some unorthodox method to badly stab and wound a fellow prisoner, shedding lots of blood.

           As Cletus is restrained, he muses that he loves the smell of blood like coffee in the morning, stuff like that. From the shadows, some scientists watch and mark down Cletus as a candidate for testing.

           We cut back to Eddie and Venom going back to regular life and routine. We get to see Anne and Dan again- Dan helps Eddie and Venom with check ups to make sure the two are fine, and regularly prescribes chocolate, having deduced that it has a Klyntar-friendly chemical. Anne uses her abilities as a lawyer to help Eddie take down corrupt people. It’s a very odd sitcom of sorts between two couples, one of which consists of a human and Symbiote. We also get to see some of Mrs. Chen, and Richard. Both are doing better as of late, and we get to see more of Richard’s family and how busy he is. Eddie always makes sure to help, and Venom remarks that he likes the guy.

           We then get (in no particular order) various scenes. We see Cletus be rudely awoken and seized for an experiment, which he cheerfully ponders about. Cletus is tied down to a chair and injected with something, and in typical Cletus fashion reacts enthusiastically to the procedure. Nothing happens, and scans show the ‘Proto Symbiote’ apparently dying. Giving up, the scientists send Cletus back to his cell. [Alternatively, Red just finds Cletus and bonds to him in his sleep]

           It seems to be worthless, until Cletus awakens to hear a voice in his head. Unfazed, he muses about gaining schizophrenia. The voice clarifies itself as a Symbiote, it thinks… To be frank, it’s not sure. Either way, the two interact, and Cletus explains himself and his world view. Red gets to see Cletus’ life and memories, questioning him on things as Cletus goes through his routine. The regular guards, unaware of the experiments, assume Cletus has gone even crazier. Soon, Cletus and Red hit off and become friends, and Red expresses its own desire to kill. The two experiment on their abilities, and are blatantly peas in a pod.

           Eventually, Red and Cletus decide to act. The old guard that hates Cletus mocks him, and in response Cletus cheerfully lashes out with a long red spear, impaling the guard and killing him. As blood spurts crazily and Cletus cheers, Red becomes exhilarant and enthusiastic. However, their celebration is cut off when alarms sound, and as they hear guards storming in, Cletus bemoans a potential separation.

           Red reassures him, and spawns hands that tear the cage apart. Guards come in and confront Cletus, telling him to put his hands up. Cletus and Red more or less look at each other knowlingly and are all, ‘Ready, Partner’ when Cletus suddenly forms into Carnage. We first see Carnage as a shadow stretching over terrified guards.

           Cut to prisoners just mulling about on an enclosed courtyard, guards nearby, when a guard flies in and hits the wall like a fly, bleeding and torn apart. As everything stops to note, other bloody body is tossed in, and in steps in Carnage- We get to see him in his fully, bloody crimson glory.

           Carnage gleefully greets everyone, expressing a desire to kill- And then goes on a massacre. Because this is from Carnage’s viewpoint, the whole massacre is played off as enjoyable and humorous, probably with an inappropriate song like Mr. Blue Sky playing in the background.

           Prisoners and guards try to escape or fight back, but it’s for naught. One tries to access an elevator, but Carnage is all ‘No no no!’ playfully and kills the schmuck. It ends with the entire floor smeared and awash in blood. Carnage laughs gleefully and dubs itself by its name, due to Cletus noting Carnage to be his favorite word, followed by Massacre, Bloodshed, etc.

           Carnage prepares to leave, declaring “We… no, I am Carnage!” before breaking out of prison and into the night.

           We get a scene of Eddie and Venom’s domestic life and their constant arguing. At one point Eddie questions why the two are together, and Venom muses that it’s because they are the only ones for one another. Next is a cut to Mrs. Chen, taking out the garbage or some other mundane task. She smells something funny and hears dripping, rounds the corner…

           And sees a torn-apart corpse, blood smeared everywhere, the word Carnage painted above the dead body. Mrs. Chen screams, and then we see Eddie and Venom in the midst of an argument, only to get a call from Eddie’s boss about a murder he needs to see.

           Eddie heads off and arrives at the gruesome scene, surrounded by police. He sees the sight and is disgusted, and even Venom is repulsed, noting it to be such a waste of good food before Eddie corrects him.

           As people question who could have done this, Eddie hears about Cletus’ escape and realizes that he has a Symbiote. As the two question how this is possible, Eddie gets notifications of more and more similar corpses being discovered across San Francisco. As this horrifying realization dawns in, we then cut to Carnage happily and darkly slaughtering a victim before setting to work writing his name.

           Eddie and Venom put together a team plan. We see stuff from Anne, Dan, Mrs. Chen, and Richard. The next night Eddie and Venom set out in Venom form, tracking down Carnage, when they’re suddenly ambushed by the Homeworld squad.

           They interrogate Venom, demanding to know why Venom is being a freak and wasting perfectly good food like this, where Riot is, why they fought, etc. It’s clear that neither group is thrilled to see the other, and Venom explains that he found an awesome host named Eddie. The Homeworld Squad is repulsed by the idea, and then hear that Venom killed Riot.

           They all laugh this idea off in disbelief. They’d rather believe that Riot accidentally killed himself, and this irks Venom. Eddie and Venom try to fight, but are clearly outmatched and are forced to retreat. Police rush in and the homeworld squad decides to retreat.

           As Venom escapes, they come across Carnage finishing a murder. Carnage notes Venom and mocks and challenges him before escaping. Venom tries to chase, but isn’t fast enough. Eddie asks Venom if he recognizes Carnage, but he doesn’t.

           Eddie and Venom devise a plan to lure in Carnage. It works- They confront Carnage in a power plant overlooking the sea or something. As the two circle and trade words, Venom asks what’s the deal with ‘I am Carnage’, not ‘We are Carnage’. Carnage explains that Cletus and Red’s symbiosis is so pure and complete that they’re practically singular.

           Venom and Carnage fight, but Carnage is the clear winner in this fight. Venom is constantly struggling and panics, which leads to Eddie and Ven fighting and hesitating. Carnage senses this and acts on it, pinning down Venom. Carnage brags that Venom’s bond is not as strong as his.

           Cue the classic comic scene of Carnage prying Eddie and Venom apart. The two try to keep connected by the tips of their fingers but are torn apart. Venom is flung aside, and Carnage dangles Eddie over a cliff, deciding to spill his blood into the ocean below. Venom attacks from behind, causing Carnage to drop Eddie into the sea below.

           Eddie loses consciousness, and comes to in the hospital with a concerned Dan and Anne. They explain how Eddie was found, and Dan reveals he snuck Venom in to heal Eddie. Ven explains that Carnage left. Venom offers to bond with and heal Eddie, but when he tries the two have issues. Venom is rejected, and the two realize they’re becoming incompatible. The duo becomes frustrated and angry at one another, questioning their bond, and as they fume, Dan timidly suggests they take some time off. The two consider it, but Eddie asks who will defend San Franscisco. Anne volunteers to be She-Venom, low key enjoying the power rush and freedom.

           Eddie heals and decides to take a few days off to recuperate. He interacts with his friends, and Chen and Richard can tell Eddie is down. Meanwhile, She-Venom operates. Ven questions why they should even fight Carnage, who wants humanity alive as much as Venom- Anne tries to explain it in Eddie’s terms, but Venom doesn’t understand. The two at least bond over a mutual love and frustration of Eddie, however.

           Meanwhile, a store owner checks their chocolate stores to see the Homeworld squad devouring it, and is eaten. As Homeworld Squad discusses the delights of chocolate and argue over who got to eat the human, they consider what next to do. Riot apparently is dead- So what now?

           Well, they can at least tell that this planet has plenty of food, so perhaps they can feast- And maybe even head back to Homeworld and bring everyone else. Carnage is listening in on this and acts, tracing the squad to their ship and destroying it, enraging them. Carnage escapes, with Cletus and Red happily noting that Earth must be protected.

           Carnage escapes… only to run into She-Venom, who tries to fight him with a police squad. Carnage pins her down and kills several policemen in a big action sequence.

           We get more Eddie and Richard interaction. Eddie talks to Richard, who has a wife, about relationship issues, avoiding explaining how Venom is an alien symbiote. Richard provides his own advice, while Anne gives Venom her own insight. The two also note that they have greater differences than Eddie and Venom, and laugh over it.

           Eventually, it all culminates in She-Venom trying to fight the Homeworld Squad, being outgunned and outnumbered, until Carnage comes in. Carnage’s bond and skills allows him to defeat the Homeworld squad, with him slicing Plague in half for example. He also utilizes a flamethrower and even a sound device against Apocalypse- Carnage has the stronger bond and outlasts Apocalypse, who gives in and splits before Carnage. Carnage turns off the device and defeats the individual War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death symbiotes. Deprived of hosts, all of the Klyntar retreat into the sewers.

           Carnage is triumphant, and then She-Venom hits him over the head with something. It breaks and Carnage is unfazed, because his bond is stronger. He fights She-Venom, pinning them down and mocking Venom for resorting to a c-list, bootleg relationship. She-Venom reactives Carnage’s device, and while Anne and Venom split, they keep the device on long enough to force Carnage to retreat.

           They agree that they need to get Eddie and Venom back together. Eddie and Venom meet up and try to sort out their differences, but when they try to refuse, they reject one another. It seems neither has sorted things out yet.

           This leads to both getting frustrated again and even lashing out at Dan, before apologizing to him. Anne angrily criticizes Eddie and Venom’s egos, and Eddie storms off.

           He soon gets a call for a job, and gains an informant. This anonymous person asks Eddie to meet at a place, and Richard gives him a drive because Eddie’s bike is busted. Richard waits outside and Eddie confronts the informant in a shadowy parking lot, only for Carnage to emerge, revealing it was a trap.

           Carnage muses that they hated to leave a job unfinished and have come to finish off Eddie. Eddie tries to avoid death, with Carnage playing a game of cat and mouse. He decides to finish things off, when Richard drives the car into him.

           He yells at Eddie to get in, but when Carnage lashes out, Richard takes the blow for Eddie. Eddie is horrified, even as SWAT reinforcements come in. Carnage laughs and decides to let Eddie wallow in misery a bit before leaving.

           Richard dies in Eddie’s arms and asks for him to get back with his friend, before recalling his own wife and kids. Eddie genuinely sobs as the uncertain SWATs surround him, concerned, and the camera pans up to the lonely night sky.

           Cut to Richard’s funeral. A somber Eddie gives a speech, and Anne and Dan arrive. Anne and Eddie discuss, Venom in tow, and Eddie and Venom reach a consensus on stopping Carnage when Venom notes how he liked Richard, giving Eddie a chance to explain things to Venom in more Klyntar terms.

           It’s decided- They have to stop Carnage once and for all. A plan is devised- Dan supplies Eddie with a REM scan machine to hurt Carnage. The plan culminates in She-Venom luring Carnage to some fancy skyscraper.

           Carnage defeats She-Venom, but Eddie comes in with a flamethrower and the REM scan machine. Carnage is seemingly subdued, but She-Venom is split apart. At the last second Carnage lashes out, breaking the flamethrower. The ceiling collapses on Eddie, but not before Venom reaches out to him and vice-versa.

           The rubble lands, and Carnage turns on a vulnerable Anne, musing about her poor life choices and the weakness of Eddie and Venom. On cue, the rubble rumbles and clears apart to reveal a newly-formed Venom and Eddie, now back together and stronger than ever before. As Anne gets somewhere safe, Venom and Carnage circle one another, with Carnage mocking and questioning Venom’s newly-fixed bond.

           In response? Venom challenges Carnage, leading to a climactic final battle beween the two. Floors and windows are shattered, but Venom manages to keep up with Carnage and even land several good hits. It’s clear that their bond has been restored to greater lengths than ever before.

           The battle leads to the basement of the building and its power source. Carnage redoes the tear-apart move on Eddie and Venom, but they remain attached by the fingers. Annoyed, Carnage tries to split them with a knife, but it rebounds, not strong enough. Sure enough, Eddie and Venom fuse back together, and in a smooth motion slam a punch into Carnage, sending him flying into exposed circuitry.

           As it electrocutes Carnage, Venom acknowledges the strength of his bond, before telling him not to underestimate their bond as well. Red fluctuates to reveal a similarly shocked Cletus, and Venom escapes as the building collapses on Carnage, seemingly killing them.

           The protagonists celebrate, as authorities return to report a charred corpse and ashes. The epilogue has Eddie and Venom celebrate their reunification, while visiting Richard’s family to see that they are well.

           As they leave, they notice another robbery on the news. Looking to one another, Eddie asks Venom if the two want another go, and Venom agrees with “With you? Always.” Venom forms and swings off.

           Cue credits. Then there’s an end-credits scene with a wounded, burnt Cletus being interrogated in a lab. Apparently the corpse was a fake. As far as Cletus knows, Red died taking the damage from the shock and collapse to protect him, and he mourns as scientists analyze him. In a dark spot, he closes his eyes, dozing off, and the last thing he hears is Red’s voice reassuring him that they’re ALWAYS there for him.

           In another end-credits scene, a sewer worker is heading down to the sewers to check an issue with the system. Cue a horror scene where he’s cornered in the shadows and drops his flashlight, picking it up just in time to see the Homeworld symbiotes closing in on him. Cue a scream, and darkness once more.

-Additional bits;

-There’s a corrupt tech ceo that Eddie is trying to take down. Perhaps he is the one that Venom intimidates into giving back money. Later, Carnage attacks the person and forces them to create a sound-device against Klyntar for him, as well as explosives to collapse the sewer tunnels on the Homeworld squad under the impression it would kill them. When Carnage lures Eddie in by pretending to be an informant snitching on said CEO, he drops the CEO’s bloody body to reveal that he killed the man shortly after.

-Potentially, Carnage could be the result of scientists implanting ‘Symbiote embryos’ into test subjects, hoping to create a Human-Symbiote bond that is formed through biology. Only Red and Cletus bond, and it’s left ambiguous as to why they worked- Was it luck, or was it because the two genuinely match and enjoy each other? Either way, Red and Cletus’ bond means the two can’t separate from one another, ever. Red, after being implanted into Cletus’ bloodstream, slowly develops and grows within him and initially manifests as just a voice before the two perform their prison break.

-The Scientists responsible for Red are members of some strange cult that worships Symbiotes. They’re led by a masked, cloaked figure with a distorted voice who has an uncanny understanding of Symbiotes despite being human.

-There’s probably going to be a subplot involving Jenna Cole, Andi Benton, and/or Tanis Nieves.

[ionlyreadfivebookslastweek]

Bless The Broken Road - 22

A new case came in at 4am on Monday morning. Everyone was glad to see Spencer and Jane back at work and to see Spencer well again.

“This case is local. John Barker’s wife was murdered in their home. He’s a high profile lawyer here in town. Her throat was slit. His alibi checks out. He was at his office working on cases late last night,” Hotch shared with the team. “The media will be on this quickly so we need to stay ahead of them. Jane and Reid, go to the crime scene. Morgan and Rossi, talk to Barker. JJ and I will handle the press. Garcia, start looking into Barker’s cases to see if anyone recently got released or paroled from prison.”

Jane and Reid arrived at the Barker house to find that the media was already there, including Jack. A few weeks ago, he had started working at a news agency in town.

“Jack, hey!” Jane greeted, walking up and hugging her brother. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been assigned to cover this story. It’s my first big one! It’s with a partner though,” he explained, gesturing towards a man standing by the news van. “So can you give me any information about what happened here?”

“Not yet. There’ll be a press conference at a later time to inform the public,” Jane told him. “Now if you’ll excuse us, Spencer and I need to go examine the house.”

Spencer smiled and waved at Jack before following Jane inside to begin looking around.

“How did the intruder get in here? For such a high profile person, you’d think he’d have a security system on his home,” Spencer commented.

“He did have one,” Jane said, approaching a panel on the wall. “But it never went off.” She looked back at Spencer to find he shared her puzzled expression. Looking past him, she noticed the window was open. “Here’s his point of entry,” she stated, walking over to it. “So before she went to bed last night, she must not have armed the system.”

They made their way back to the bedroom, the main crime scene, to see a blood-stained bed.

“There’s nothing in this house that’s out of place until you get back to the bedroom,” Spencer observed. “This wasn’t a burglary. He didn’t take anything so his sole mission was to get to the wife.”

“Why the wife? Why not target Barker himself?” Jane questioned.

“It’s more torturous to kill the wife than the lawyer himself. He has to live without her now,” he suggested.

Jane turned back to the bed. “It appears that she was sleeping and caught off guard. There wasn’t much of a struggle.”

Spencer headed towards the bathroom. “There’s blood in here. He washed his knife in the sink and dried it with a towel.”

Jane stepped out and asked CSI to check the bathroom out for DNA and fingerprints.

They took one last look at the house before heading back out towards the car.

“Excuse me,” they heard a man speak from behind them. “Excuse me, can you tell me what happened here?”

Jane and Spencer turned around to see Jack’s partner approaching them.

“As I told Jack, there will be a press conference later,” Jane explained to the man.

“Oh come on, pretty thing. Give me something. Or are you not qualified to speak to me?”

Jane raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “Excuse me?”

Spencer touched her shoulder. “Jane, we need to get going.”

Jane agreed and they started to walk away. Before they were out of earshot, the man called out, “Yeah, go back to a desk job where you’ll fit in better!”

Jane whipped around and started walking angrily back to him.

“Jane, stop! He’s not worth it!” Spencer insisted.

She sighed, summing up all of her will power to turn back around and go to the car.

When they arrived back at the BAU, they all shared what they’d learned. Garcia had come up empty on her search and Barker was unable to think of anyone who would do this.

JJ entered the room and picked up the remote on the table. “You guys need to see this,” she told them, turning on the news.

The caption on the bottom of the screen read, “FBI agent lashes out at press” and on the screen was a picture of Jane. Jack’s partner must have taken it when she had turned back towards him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jane exclaimed before storming out of the room and into the bullpen. Hotch followed her out.

“You need to calm down,” he told her.

“That guy was being aggravating, ask Spencer,” she yelled.

“He was just trying to get a reaction out of you. You need to calm down. I need to know that you can do your job.”

“I can do my job.”

“Then prove it.”

She let out a huff and nodded. “OK.”

They worked into the afternoon without finding any leads.

Jack called Jane and she stepped away to answer it.

“Jane, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know he was planning on doing that. I tried to stop it before the story was released, but I just don’t have enough pull for that yet.”

“Just forget it. I don’t have time to argue with you. I’ve got a case to solve,” Jane snapped at him, hanging up before he could respond.

She ran her face through her hands in frustration.

“Agent Addison?” Jane looked up to see Anderson coming over to her. “Another lawyer, Elijah Powers, just came in. He says his wife is also missing.”

She looked past Anderson at the man sitting out by the elevators. “Notify Hotch,” she told him. “I’ll talk to him.” Jane got up and went over to Powers. “Mr. Powers, my name is Agent Addison. Please come with me.” She led him to the break room, where they could speak privately.

“I heard what happened to John Barker’s wife and I wanted to be safe so I said I’d meet her at her work for lunch. When I got there, her coworkers told me she never showed up today. She won’t answer her phone. She’s gone,” Powers grieved.

“I’ll need a description of your wife’s car so we can put an APB out on it.”

She wrote down the information then told him someone would be in to speak more to him in a few minutes before stepping out and heading to go find Garcia.

Hours later, they tracked down Powers’s wife and her car.

Hotch sent Morgan and Addison to the scene to check it out. They arrived to find that the woman’s throat had been slit.

“Damn it!” Jane shouted, walking away from the car.

“Come on, focus here, kitten,” Morgan. “Why take her in the car and kill her? Powers left for work before she did. She was home alone so why not kill her the same way as he killed Barker’s wife?”

Jane thought for a moment. “Carjacking and burglary. What if these are similar to cases of the lawyers?”

Jane pulled out her phone and called Garcia. “Garcia, look into cases in which Barker got a burglar convicted and Powers got a carjacker convicted and see if any of them are connected.”

“OK...ok! I found a father and son pair. The father was convicted of burglary and the son was convicted of carjacking.”

“Addison, you are a genius!” Morgan cheered.

“There’s more, chocolate thunder,” Garcia spoke. “The father of the pair said they did it as part of a plan to gather enough resources to run away from his abusive wife.”

“Does he have any other children?” Jane asked.

“Yes. Looks like there’s a second son who was convicted of robbing a grocery store. He also killed one of the store’s managers. They also had a daughter. She was left alone with the abusive mother after the other three went to jail.”

“That’s gotta be our UNSUB,” Morgan stated.

“Who was the lawyer on that case?” Jane questioned.

“Andrew Wallace.”

“Can you get us his wife’s phone number?”

“Can I get you his wife’s phone number? That’s a silly question. Of course, I can.”

“On a time crunch, Garcia,” Jane reminded her.

“Right, of course. Just sent it to you.”

Morgan dialed the number and spoke with the wife, only to find that she was already at the grocery store.

Shots rang out on the other end, loud enough that Jane could hear them too.

“Stay calm, we’re on our way,” he assured her.

Jane called Hotch to get the rest of the team to meet them at the store and they raced off to catch the UNSUB. When they entered the store, they found Wallace’s wife being held by the UNSUB with a gun against her temple.

Morgan stepped forward and spoke to the UNSUB, managing to get her to drop the gun. He put her in handcuffs and escorted her outside to a police car. Jane led the woman out to the ambulance to be checked out before meeting up with the rest of the team.

~ The next morning, the headline in the paper showed a story about the UNSUB’s tragic background and the difficult job of the BAU, solo written by Jack Addison.

After she finished reading the article, Jane called Jack to congratulate him.

“Jack, your article was great! And your first solo write? That’s awesome. Congratulations!”

“Thank you, Jane. That means a lot,” Jack replied.

“I also owe you an apology,” she told him. “I’m sorry I snapped at you yesterday. You had nothing to do with what your misogynist partner did.”

“It’s alright. I understand you were frustrated and I just happened to be in the line of fiery anger.”

Jane laughed. “Yeah.” ~~~

The next month, Saturday, April 10th, Jane woke up earlier than normal. She crawled out of bed, doing her best not to disturb spencer, and went out into the living room.

Turning on the TV, she found that there was a Harry Potter marathon on TV.

Jane gasped, dropping the remote on the couch and running back to the bedroom, screaming, “Spencerrrrrrr!!!!! Wake up!!!!!”

“Ahhh!” He shouted, sitting up in surprise. “Jane, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“Come on! Get up! Come look, come look!” she insisted, pulling on his arm.

He hurried out of bed to find what Jane was so excited about. Seeing the TV, he turned to her and questioned, “You woke me up because of a Harry Potter marathon on TV when we own the series?”

“But never before seen scenes!!!” Jane cheered. The smile fell off her face when she saw Spencer’s reaction. “What?”

He moved forward quickly and she screamed, running down the hall as he chased her. Eventually catching up to her, Spencer picked Jane up and took her back to the bedroom, throwing her down on the bed. Climbing on top of her, he began to tickle her, causing her to laugh uncontrollably. He leaned down and kissed her neck as she continued to giggle.

“Spencerrrr,” she spoke.

He kissed her once on the mouth then rolled off. Jane rolled onto her side and kissed him one more time.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too.” “WAIT!”

“What?!”

“Can we go watch Harry Potter now?!” she asked.

Spencer chuckled. “I guess so.”

Later in the morning, the couple got a call from Hotch.

“Yeah, we’d love that! Alright, see you then!” Jane told him before hanging up. “Hotch wants us to watch Jack for a while so he could go for a run.”

“That sounds like fun!” Spencer said, excited.

~

“Don’t worry, I’ll save you from the monster!” Jack shouted, wielding his cardboard sword.

“Oh, Jack! Hurry!” Jane cried from the corner where she was ‘trapped’.

“Roarrr!” Spencer growled.

Jack ran at him and poked him with the sword, causing him to groan dramatically and fall to the floor. Jack ran past him and pulled the loose rope off of Jane.

“My hero!” she cheered, leaning down and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Jack shrieked and ran off. “Cooties!” he yelled.

Spencer sat up and looked at Jane. They both laughed.

“Jack, how about I make us all lunch?” Jane called out.

Jack reappeared in the doorway to the living room. “Mac and cheese?” he asked.

“Of course!”

Spencer and Jack continued to play while Jane fixed lunch. When it was ready, they took a seat at the table to eat together.

“Uncle Spencer?” Jack asked after a while of silence.

“Yeah?”

“Are you and Aunt Jane gonna get married?” Spencer looked at Jane and smiled. “Perhaps someday.”

“Why not now? You love each other, right?”

The doorbell rang, saving them from having to answer the kid’s question. Jane stood up and went to answer the door.

She came back a minute later with Hotch following in behind her.

“Hey, buddy! Did you have fun?” he asked his son.

“Yeah!”

“Thanks for watching him,” he told the pair.

“It was no trouble at all!”

Jack put his shoes on and they headed to the door.

“Have a good rest of your weekend!” Jane cheered as they left.

She shut the door then led Spencer back to the living room. They spent the rest of the day on the couch, cuddling and watching more of the Harry Potter marathon.

~~~~~~~~~~

Bless The Broken Road Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List:

@cynbx @neon-deanmon @drw0301bieber @notsosmartbutcute @banananna99

[starsailorstories]

dude that rugsy/dt modern au with dt as an awesome businesswoman more like YES PLEASE?????

omg ok you’ve given me an excuse to show you all how deep this rabbit hole goes. I love that you describe DT as an “awesome businesswoman” when she’s still never not a criminal in that AU her scheme is working PERFECTLY

I could make this as a movie with new characters someday tbh because I have a whole like Story planned out, under a cut because it’s so long and like. softly R-rated

1. Fun backstory before we dive in: Rugsy was a theatre kid–set/strike crew–in high school and had a clique she’d stay after in the scene shop with so she didn’t have to go home. That’s where she got a lot of her practical skills and also where she got so good at lying to cops.

2. What DT actually is, besides a con artist, is a financial consultant. That allows her to bounce from company to company and choose her “””””””victims”””””””” (who don’t suffer at all whatsoever) carefully–when she can’t get away with anything, she does her job spectacularly well; when a 20something who inherited a cool billion and has no clue what they’re doing and doesn’t really care or notice a difference in the amount as long as it’s still ten figures tells her to move like a few million to an offshore account so it won’t be taxed she says “of course” and wires a few inner-city kids a full ride to Harvard.

3. this may be Controversial but I’ve had a couple conversations about how like, the only thing that matches the fucked up stigma and trauma minefield of being a receiving girl (the only specifically-sexy role in a sexless culture) would be being like, a stripper in a club who was–without the club owners’ knowledge–full service for the right price. She’d have been socking money away the whole time, saving to go to college or something, but then some wall street high roller decided to book her an extra hour for some pillow talk and found out she was a financial genius and started paying big, BIG money to see her again just so she could give him stock tips. When they were finally “caught together” all parties were fully clothed and she just introduced herself as an independent consultant to the company. He was absolutely TAKEN ABACK when she proceeded to PULL OUT BUSINESS CARDS and just start playing this role.

4. Once she’d made her first network connections, she stopped answering his calls to her personal phone and started addressing him only as “client zero” when they meet face to face. She went through his phone and just started turning up at all his fancy company events and From that point they develop a weird sort-of friendship? Can you call it a friendship when there’s a strong element of blackmail?

5. I firmly believe that they met because Rugsy was being arrested after chaining herself to the fence of a bank headquarters and DT accidentally-on-purpose bumped into her and slipped bail money and her number into her shirt pocket.

6. Eventually after they’ve been dating for like a year, they’re still pretty guarded with each other. Then one day Rugsy gets a phone call from an unfamiliar number and the call goes like this:

DT, with no salutation or introduction whatsoever and completely unemotional: So I’m being sentenced to 2 years’ house arrest

Rugsy: WHAT

DT, with mild annoyance: so now I have to BUY A HOUSE,

Rugsy: WHAT

DT, audibly perking up: I’m kind of excited though, I’m really going to get a lot done

7. Rugsy had no idea she’d even been arrested let alone charged with anything but as it would turn out they managed to get her on one of her more minor cons, like don’t you worry there my honey most of the $$$$ is untraceable

8. Rugsy’s just glad it wasn’t something stupid like that time she sold a bunch of counterfeit wine on eBay to pay for an old friend’s appendectomy

9. The local news releases a video of her testimony in which she coolly says that she was fully aware she was breaking the law but in doing so she hurt no one in any consequential way and made numerous lives better and asks some Deep Philosophical Questions and Rugsy watches it in complete silence on her laptop while DT walks around like microwaving a hot pocket or something and when it’s over she just closes the laptop and takes a deep breath and says “Will you marry me?”

10. It takes 15 minutes of interrogation for DT to ascertain that she is not joking

11. Back before her court date DT like, got on Yahoo Answers or some shit looking for advice on what she could do to get off easier and started DMing with Shade, who at this point is in law school. When she calls to ask how it went DT is like “fine, can lawyers officiate weddings?” and Shade is like “I’m not a lawyer. No. What brings this up.”

12. They don’t actually get married until DT is moved in and has started her sentence but Shade does one of those “become a justice of the peace online” things because she is nothing if not The Friend Who Rolls With Things

13. Rugsy wears a tuxedo t-shirt and cutoffs and sneakers. DT wears a beautiful white sundress, stiletto heels, a bachelorette party crown and an ankle monitor.

14. Rugsy, drunk, holding DT in her arms on their wedding night: You’re my wife now you have to tell me when you commit a felonyyyyyyy

15. After her sentence is over, DT decides to leave crime behind–she can get her thrills by being a relatively high-profile good person, in this day and age. She partners up with local housing co-ops and crisis housing networks and turns them into mutual-aid powerhouses with passive side income and outreach to rural areas and medical programs. 

16. A few legitimate-looking political think tanks DO crop up, solicit thousands of bucks worth of donations from conservative legislators, and then suddenly declare bankruptcy around the same time that a bunch of kickstarters for gay and trans elders’ retirement funds and activists’ legal fees get paid off but nobody can prove that was her!

I have more ideas about this and I want there to be more going on with Rugsy in here but yeah. YEAH

[blackkudos]

George William Crockett, Jr.

George William Crockett Jr. (August 10, 1909 – September 7, 1997) was an African-American attorney, jurist, and congressman from the U.S. state of Michigan. He also served as a national vice-president of the National Lawyers Guild and co-founded what is believed to be the first racially integrated law firm in the United States.

Early life

George Crockett was born in Jacksonville, Florida to George William Crockett, Sr. (1883–1975) and Minnie Amelia Jenkins (1884–1983), who had two other children: Alzeda Crockett and John Frazier Crockett. George Sr. pastored the Harmony Baptist Church in Jacksonville for more than 30 years and mastered the carpentry trade. George Sr. became a railroad carpenter for the Atlantic Coast Line Railroad. His son, George Jr., would later build room additions and continue practicing carpentry for pleasure in adulthood. Minnie, a gentle woman, Sunday School teacher and poet, said in a November 23, 1969 Times-Union Journal (Jacksonville) article, "My philosophy is that children should be ahead of their parents, should climb a step higher and make a contribution to the family and to society." George Jr. took his mother's philosophy to heart.

Education

Crockett graduated from Stanton High School in Jacksonville. In 1931, he received a Bachelor of Arts degree from Morehouse College, Atlanta, Georgia, a prestigious, historically black university that awarded its first degrees in 1897. He was later given an Honorary LL.D. from Morehouse in 1972, was inducted into Phi Beta Kappa, and served as a Trustee of the College for many years. During his Morehouse tenure, Crockett pledged Kappa Alpha Psi.

Crockett received a law degree from the University of Michigan Law School in 1934 and returned to Jacksonville to practice law that year as one of very few African American attorneys in the state of Florida.

As a lawyer

Crockett participated in the founding convention of the nation's first racially integrated bar association, the National Lawyers Guild in 1937, and later served that organization as its national vice-president.

As the first African-American lawyer in the U.S. Department of Labor, 1939–43, Crockett worked as a senior attorney on employment cases brought under the National Labor Relations Act, a legislative program of President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal. Crockett also worked as a hearing officer in the Federal Fair Employment Practices Commission during 1943.

That same year the United Auto Workers retained Crockett to run the union’s Fair Practices Committee, which tried to oppose so-called “hate strikes” by white workers, who protested the migration North by Black workers.

In 1946, Crockett along with partners Ernest Goodman, Morton Eden, and Dean A. Robb, co-founded the corporation believed to be the first racially integrated law firm in the U.S., Goodman, Crockett, Eden, and Robb, in Detroit, Michigan. The firm, eventually called Goodman, Eden, Millender and Bedrosian, closed in 1998.

In 1948, Crockett became a member of the legal team that went to New York for the Foley Square trial to defend 11 Communist Party leaders accused of teaching the overthrow of the Federal government, a violation of the Smith Act. Among the 11 were Communist Party leaders: Gil Green, Eugene Dennis, Henry Winston, John Gates, Gus Hall, Robert G. Thompson and fellow Morehouse alumnus and first black New York City Councilman Benjamin J. Davis. In 1949, while defending the Smith Act prosecution, Crockett and four other defense attorneys were sentenced by Judge Harold Medina to Federal prison for contempt of court. Crockett served four months in an Ashland, Kentucky Federal prison in 1952. A portion of Crockett's jury summation at the trial was published in "Freedom is Everybody's Job!: The Crime of the Government Against the Negro People, Summation in the trial of the 11 Communist leaders."

Crockett’s criticism of McCarthyism and the House Un-American Activities Committee grew after that case, and in 1952 he represented future Detroit mayor Coleman Young and the Rev. Charles A. Hill before the Committee.

As large numbers of young civil rights volunteers traveled to the U.S. South in the spring of 1964, Crockett recruited lawyers from the National Lawyers Guild to follow them. He founded the National Lawyers Guild’s office in Jackson, Mississippi, and managed the Mississippi Project (a coalition of the NLG and other leading civil rights legal organizations) during the 1964 Freedom Summer.

The infamous murders of the civil rights workers James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner occurred in June of that year. The three had been arrested by local police while investigating the arson of a Black church near Philadelphia, Mississippi. Collaborating with local white supremacist vigilantes, the Neshoba County sheriff released the three men from jail late at night, and other civil rights workers reported their disappearance.

From the NLG office in Jackson, Crockett dispatched Guild lawyers to search for the missing men. The effort was in vain, and, years later, Crockett described his growing despair in the 1995 PBS documentary Mississippi America, narrated by Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee.

In the film, Crockett recounts his drive from Jackson to Meridian in a personal search for the missing men. He survived an effort of the sheriff to arrange his ambush by loudly offering driving directions, while white supremacists loitered nearby. Crockett returned safely to Jackson. He offered a full report to the Justice Department and the FBI, who refused to take the information. The murdered bodies of the 3 young men, one black, two white, were found days later.

As a judge

In 1965, Crockett became a candidate for the Detroit Common Council. Bob Millender guided his campaign. Crockett lost by a small margin "after he had been severely red-baited in the election," according to his former law partner Ernie Goodman (A Tribute to George W. Crockett, Jr, privately published, 1997.)

In 1966, Crockett was elected Judge of Recorder's Court, Wayne County, Michigan. The court handled criminal cases. From that bench, Judge Crockett incurred the wrath of the white corporate media and endured death threats for his role in a highly publicized police shooting, raid, and mass arrest.

On March 29, 1969, following an officer-involved shooting outside New Bethel Baptist Church in which a Detroit police officer died, police officers fired into and stormed the church. A secessionist organization, the Republic of New Afrika, had rented the church for a meeting. Witnesses in the majority African-American neighborhood later stated that the responding officers had all been white. More than one-hundred fifty persons, including juveniles, were arrested inside the church and taken to police headquarters. The church pastor called Judge Crockett before dawn.

Crockett opened temporary court at police headquarters. In refusing to find probable cause to hold the people from what he termed a “collective punishment” mass arrest, Judge Crockett released 130 of the arrested persons. In the controversy that followed, Detroit saw the appearance of bumper stickers that read, “Sock It to Crockett” and "Impeach Judge Crockett". The police association organized a picket line at the courthouse. The black community and interracial civic organizations supported Crockett.

In 1974, Crockett was elected Chief Judge of the Detroit's Recorder's Court. He served there until retiring in 1978.

As a Congressman

In November 1980, as the candidate of the Democratic Party from Michigan's 13th congressional district, Crockett was elected in a special election to the 96th Congress to fill the vacancy caused by the resignation of Charles C. Diggs, Jr. from the U.S. House of Representatives. Dennis W. Archer ran Crockett's successful election [1] campaign].

Crockett was simultaneously elected to a full term in the 97th Congress and was subsequently re-elected to the next four Congresses, serving from November 4, 1980, to January 3, 1991. Speaker of the House Thomas "Tip" O'Neill swore in 71-year-old Crockett in the presence of Crockett's wife Dr. Harriette Clark Crockett, son, and 96-year-old mother, Mrs. Minnie Crockett. She recited a poem she composed many years earlier titled, Our Children Three.

During his tenure, Crockett was a member of the Congressional Black Caucus, the Democratic Study Group, the Congressional Caucus on Women's Issues, and the Congressional Arts Caucus. He also served on the House Judiciary Committee, the Select Committee on Aging, and the House Foreign Affairs Committee. As a member of the Africa Subcommittee, Crocket authored the Mandela Freedom Resolution, HB.430, which called upon the South Africa government to release Nelson Mandela and his wife Winnie Mandela from imprisonment and banning. The resolution was passed by both houses of Congress in 1984. Later, Crockett continued to denounce apartheid in South Africa and was jailed with Detroit Mayor Coleman A. Young and others for demonstrating in Washington, DC against apartheid.

Crockett filed suit against the Reagan administration claiming violation of the War Powers Act in providing El Salvador with military aid (Crockett v. Reagan, 720 F.2d 1355 (C.A.D.C., 1983)).

Crockett chaired the Foreign Affairs' Subcommittee on Western Hemisphere Affairs from 1987 until his retirement.

On Wednesday, March 28, 1990 Crockett, who was affectionately called "Judge" by his House colleagues, announced on the House Floor: "Mr. Speaker, a few days ago the press carried the story on the death of the Honorable Harold Medina, who was the judge who presided over the famous communist trials in New York back in 1949 and 1950. In the course of that trial, Judge Medina sentenced the five defense lawyers to prison. I'm the only living survivor of those five defense lawyers.

"During the four months that I served in a federal prison, it never occurred to me that one day I would also serve in the United States Congress and be a member of the committee having oversight jurisdiction over all federal judges and all federal prisons.

"Today, Mr. Speaker, I rise to inform my colleagues that I have decided to retire from the House at the conclusion of the 101st Congress. After 68 years of working, championing unpopular causes, I'm hoping to enjoy a little time off.... I've been privileged to serve the people of Michigan's 13th District in this body, and it has been a challenge and an honor I will always cherish."

Representative John Conyers, also from Detroit, described Crockett's announcement by saying "When he finished, all the members stood and clapped." Source: Detroit Free Press, March 29, 1990, p. 15A.

Family

George and Ethelene Crockett had three children: Elizabeth Crockett Hicks, George W. Crockett III, and Dr. Ethelene Crockett Jones. George III also served on the Recorders Court. George Jr. had nine grandchildren: Wayne, Charles, Kyra, Iyisa, Kimberly, Kelly, LeBeau and Enrique, and eight great-grandchildren. One nephew, Rear Admiral Benjamin Thurman Hacker (1935–2003) was a U.S. Navy officer, who became the first Naval Flight Officer to achieve Flag rank.

Following the death of Dr. Ethelene Crockett, George Crockett Jr. married Dr. Harriette Clark Chambliss, a pediatrician in Washington, D.C.

Crockett is buried in Laurel, Delaware in the New Zion United Methodist Church cemetery, with his parents and other generations of Crocketts and within walking distance from Crockett Street, named in honor of the Crockett family.

http://wikipedia.thetimetube.com/?lang=en&q=George%20W.%20Crockett%2C%20Jr.

[reifromrfa]

Hello, I'd like to request RFA reacting + Minor Trio reacting to Lawyer!MC. Keep up the great work, your posts are really enjoyable to read!

Everything written below is based on the K-drama Suspicious Partner and Legally Blonde :)) Huhu sorry guys, I’m really not familiar with this one but I tried my best ;;; I’m assuming MC is a criminal defense lawyer, I hope you like it! ^^

Note: To any lawyers/future lawyers out there please don’t hate me hahaha and feel free to correct my mistakes :))

Yoosung

W H O A

Respect

He saves animals while you put the bad guys behind bars

Yoosung is really proud of you and is your number one supporter

He gets interested in your job and browses through your law books when he has free time

Remember, Yoosung is really smart

So one day when you’re telling him about a case you’re handling

He totally understands all your law terms and he can keep up with everything, even asking questions or citing certain cases

And you are more in-love with him more than ever

Because this guy not only took interest in what you did, he learned about it so he can understand you better

When you’re stressed with work, he cooks you something nice and even makes you coffee for when you have to work late

He always makes it a point to pick you up from work since you finish later than him

And if he sees that you’re overwhelmed with work, he tries to help you

He really looks up to you and he loves that you’re trying to make the world a safer place

But he makes sure you guys have dates every now and then and makes sure you don’t live on instant noodles and 4 hours of sleep everyday

Zen

He’s played a lawyer before but he still wants to know everything about what you do

And he loves that you’re so dedicated to your job and he can see how hard you work

Just like him

He can watch you talking to yourself about your case and debating with yourself for days

Honestly, Zen loves watching you work

He goes to one of your trials and he just loves how brilliant you are and how confident you are

When he gets free time, he studies up on your cases and pretends to be the other lawyer or the judge so you can practice your arguments

And at first it you just laughed at him because he’s so cute and adorable and supportive

But when you guys get into it, you realize how good Zen is as a lawyer/judge

Lol he watched a LOT of court dramas just so he can pull this off

And his arguments actually made sense so you got a chance to prepare for other angles of the case

Your female co-workers would always swoon over him when he visits you or picks you up from the office

He always reminds you to be careful and he worries endlessly over you

But he loves the fact that his girlfriend is so smart and badass

Jumin

He can respect that you want to continue working despite not needing the money anymore

Because you truly wanted to do what’s right and help other people

He would, of course, help you in any way he can

This guy is very powerful and has a lot of connections so if you needed information, you will have it

Insists that you have a bodyguard with you at all times because he knows lawyers can get threats too

You work as hard as he does so you two barely get enough sleep

He sets up a home office for you so you can continue working at home; Jumin doesn’t like it when you stay late at your office

And when you lose track of time and stay in the office past midnight

He will pick you up personally and carry you home if he has to

He’d watch you in court when his schedule will allow it and he will glow with pride at his wife in action

He knows about law of course, but reads up on criminal law so he can understand you better

And you often see him slumping against the headboard of your bed with one of your law books in his hands, his eyes closed

He’s very much enamored with you and always takes you out for celebratory dinners whenever you win your cases

Saeyoung

Oh my God his girlfriend defends people in court

He totally wants you on his side

Especially when Vanderwood comes over and starts nagging him

And you come to his defense and Vanderwood would always lose the argument

Of course, you also put the bad guys in jail

Ehem he’s a hacker ;;;

Not that he’s a bad person, it’s just he’s done a lot of illegal bad things for his job

You accept him and love him all the same

And he helps you in any way he can

“MC, I can hack into his laptop for you~”

“Saeyoung, no”

Whenever you have to go to the crime scene to investigate or meet up with potential leads, he makes sure to watch you through CCTV cameras

You bring home so much paperwork ;;; Saeyoung can’t really cook for you but he buys you decent meals and drags you away from work (LITERALLY) just so he can feed you~

You have come home to him dressed in your corporate attire more than once

Never misses an opportunity to use legal jargon with you

“Saeyoung, are you wearing my shoes?”

“Careful MC, false allegations can get you in trouble~”

“…Saeyoung.”

He would grin and swivel in his chair, showing you his feet

“Alright, guilty as charged,” he would say, grinning

“You have to admit though, I look good in your shoes.” 😉

Jihyun/V

He’s more into the creative stuff —photography, the arts, performance arts, music —but he will learn as much as he can about your job

He’s a very good listener and he pays attention to every detail whenever you tell him about your case or rant about your job

But he can tell you’re very passionate about what you do

And he will always try to support you

He attends most of your trials and you see him give you encouraging smiles whenever you look in his direction

Also has an album in his phone of you in action and you keep wondering how he manages to get good angles of you

You take clients who have been wrongly accused and your goal is to clear their name, at the same time try to find the culprit

V accompanies you to client meetings and as he listens to your conversation with your client, he finds himself more drawn to you

Because you have such a good heart and pure intentions

He’s so lucky to have someone like you as his girlfriend

You work hard and always end up bringing work home

He always makes you a cup of coffee or hot chocolate and plays soothing music in the background

When it’s past midnight and you’re still working, he will persuade you to go to bed with him

And if you insist on staying up

He will legit carry you into his arms and shower you with kisses and hold you in his arms until you fall asleep

He understands hard work, but he won’t let you value work over your health

Saeran

Researches what being a criminal defense lawyer is

Asks you questions about your job every now and then

You’re actually a pretty good lawyer and he comes across several articles of the cases you’ve won and innocent people you’ve freed

And Saeran’s respect and adoration for you grows

You’re working on a new case where your client is someone who got framed and you’re trying to prove his innocence

When you get threats from an “anonymous” person telling you to drop the case you’re currently working on

He realizes that your job isn’t as safe as he thought it was

And he gets mad

You have to calm him down and make sure he doesn’t do anything that would land him in jail ;;;

Saeran becomes your bodyguard, making sure to send you to work and pick you up afterwards

He doesn’t tell you but he also uses his hacking skills to look for the killer

And the evening before the trial, you receive a usb containing surveillance footage of the murder

You win your case and the killer gets a life sentence

And when you come home you kiss Saeran’s cheek

You tell him all about the trial and he smiles, seeing how happy you are

Neither of you acknowledge the USB, but you know it was him and he’s just glad he was able to help you keep the bad guys off the street

Vanderwood

He’s not supposed to exist or have relationships

But when you guys fall in-love and he discovers you’re a criminal defense lawyer and your goal is to put as much bad people in jail as possible…

Baby if only you knew how many people I’ve killed with my gloved hands ;;;;

But you love him all the same

You guys would get into arguments a lot, mainly because Vanderwood would push you away

He feels guilty that you’re with him, a criminal, when your job is putting criminals in jail and letting the innocent ones walk free

He doesn’t want you to go against your morals for him, he feels like he doesn’t deserve it

You don’t believe he’s a bad person though

And you stand by your decision to love him

You volunteer to be his lawyer in case anything ever goes wrong

But since he doesn’t technically ‘exist’, there’s nobody there to sue him

The people in his line of work would probably kill him than sue him ;;;

He makes sure you’re always safe though

Because you get threats a lot

Vanderwood cooks you decent meals whenever you work late and he will carry you to bed when you fall asleep on the table on top of your notes

Teaches you basic self defense in case he has to go away for a mission and can’t be there to protect you

He gives you his taser too, just in case

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