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sgt-seabass · 1 year ago

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𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒅

✧˚ · . a collaboration between @navybrat817 and sgt-seabass

I just wanna see you bleed. Open you and set you free. (x)

pairing — bucky barnes x fem!reader w/c — 9.7k this is a dark fic. 18+ only. listening to —♫disaster

part of the Vengeance AU previous part - 𝑬𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅

warnings — bucky barnes is going through it, dark fic, the reader is having a hard time mentally (.... totally not self inserting heh), violence, slapping, spanking, use of a gun to threaten, non-consensual connotations and threats (nothing actually happens), mild mention of blood and injury, captivity, forced drugging via injection a/n — sorry this took so long. depression is a bitch. thank you navy for putting up with my delays!

The thing about love is that it comes with risks. And the biggest risk of all is loss, for a heart that does not yearn for another never truly knows the meaning of catastrophic loss until grief visits them.

Love was still worth it to Bucky. Even with his wrenching heart and endless tears, the tenderness he shared with you was something that no one could steal or decimate. While the assailants had trashed your shared home, they could never take the memories - the feeling of your deft fingers brushing across his skin, the bright smiles you’d gift him, and the unwavering silent support that always held him upright.

Bucky was a man because you motivated him to be his best self. He was no longer a ghost, a nightmare, a mirage of misery - he was human.

You were gone. And there would be nothing stopping him from getting you back.

It had been three days since you’d been taken, and frustratingly, Bucky felt no closer to finding you than the day when he’d first found the ruins of the apartment. He’d moved back into the tower with Alpine, taking up refuge in his old compound apartment. It was kept the same, like he’d never left. And he felt the same as when he’d lived there last – lost.

The whole team had become involved in finding you. You were family to all of them. And no one gets away with fucking with the family of the Avengers.

Bucky sighed and impatiently tapped his foot against the floor as he waited in the meeting room with Steve, Natasha, and Sam. Tony had been working on a reconstruction of what happened in the apartment since the security cameras were somehow turned off before the assailant’s arrival.

It was a planned hit; that much was clear. But they needed the rest of the details of what happened to know what they were looking at.

The room was silent. What could anyone say that hadn’t already been said? Bucky’s friends had already assured him they’d get you back safely, but those were empty promises said just to stop him from throwing himself off the top of the compound.

Bucky stared at the blank white wall ahead of him while his mind spiralled. This was his fault. If you were dead, that blood was on his hands. He should have known of the threat – had some inkling that this was coming. But he was completely blind-sighted. There was no indication that there was an incoming attack.

“Move the table to the side so we have room,” Tony commanded as he entered, his usual quips missing – quips that always made you laugh and smile, brightening the room with your aura.

“Hello to you too, Tony,” Sam said, assisting Bucky and Steve in pushing the meeting room table to the side so there was some floor space for Tony’s visualisation tool.

“Do you think she’s alive? Could she have survived the attack?” Were the first words out of Bucky’s mouth, his voice strained from the amount of crying he’d been doing.

“Yeah, I think she’s alive. Are you sure you want to see this, Barnes? It’s… It’s pretty brutal, even for your standards,” Tony sniped, earning a stern look from Steve. Bucky didn’t care, though; it was a fair enough jab when he’d been the one to kill Tony’s parents.

“Real smooth, Tony,” Natasha scoffed, crossing her arms.

Bucky set the awkward air aside. They weren’t going to get anywhere otherwise. “I need to see it.”

“Maybe you should wait outside, Buck—” Steve started, but Bucky raised his hand to shut him up.

“Don’t coddle me. I need to see it.”

Steve just put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze while Tony set up his small projection device.

Nothing could have prepared Bucky for the image that greeted him. There you were, or at least, an apparition of you. He wanted to reach out and touch it, but he held himself back. What he couldn’t stop were the tears that welled in his eyes. What if this was the last time he ever saw you? You already looked like a ghost in the odd blue hue of the technology.

Bucky gulped, his breaths coming out thick as you started moving from the bedroom to the shower. It played out like a macabre movie. Three assailants entered the apartment through the front door.

“They had keys?” Natasha asked, and Tony nodded in response.

Sam partially looked away when the assault began, Natasha and Steve’s faces hardening while Bucky had tears tracking down his cheeks. You fought hard, and Bucky couldn’t feel any prouder. You were his light – his fire, and you fought with every morsel of energy you had.

Tony was right – the ordeal was brutal and cruel. These men didn’t just kidnap you; they tormented you. This was personal.

“Any forensics?” Steve asked, his voice shaky.

“None. Whoever they are, they’re professionals,” Tony leant against the table. “And they clearly have a vendetta. Any enemies that stand out, Barnes?”

“Hydra is always top of the list.” Just the mention of the name had everyone in the room shuddering. Hydra had already done so much damage.

“Hydra fell when S.H.I.E.L.D did. They’re gone,” Sam reclined against the wall, hand rubbing nervously over his jaw, the same spot Rumlow had got a good hit on him during their fight at the Triskelion.

“You’re naive if you think that would get rid of them.” Natasha walked up to the projection, zooming in on the word you’d written on the ground. Blonde. “Although I don’t remember any of our known enemies being blonde.”

“Pierce was blonde.” Steve suggested.

Tony shook his head. “He was grey. And I highly doubt he’d be breaking into an apartment, seeing as he’s got a bullet-sized hole in his chest. Plus, he was an old fucker.”

Bucky forced himself to watch the whole recreation, eyes not straying for a moment as he searched for anything he was missing. It was a carefully executed but merciless attack. Tony was right; it seemed you’d survive physically, but what about your mind?

Bucky could hardly bear to think about what they were doing with you now they had you alone.

With you passed out on the floor, Bucky watched as the men bundled you up in a sheet to carry your bloody mess of a body out in. “There were no drag marks?”

Tony shrugged. “Nope. They carried her.”

“Did no neighbours report anything?”

“It was early morning, so most had already left for work, and anyone who did see something aren’t coming forward. People these days aren’t keen on being a snitch since that puts a target on their backs,” Sam delivered sadly. To a degree, Bucky understood, but at the same time, he wanted to question every person in the damn building.

Realistically, his efforts would be better placed searching through viable intelligence sources. The more reliable the information, the better. These guys would have had to make some noise somewhere, and Bucky intended to find where.

“I’ll ask Maria to get the analysts onto where they might have gone. They’ll check every car that was spotted in the area if they have to. And we’ll see what we can get off the surrounding cell towers. If we’re lucky, they pinged off one of them. They can’t have just disappeared with her,” Natasha’s voice turned clinical. It was easier to be strategic without the emotional strings attached.

Steve nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Check all private flights and airspace as well. I expect they’ve left the country and gone somewhere harder to track. The fact they went to this effort and didn’t kill her outright means they have a use for her, which means she’s still alive.”

“Until that use runs out,” Bucky cut Steve off, his jaw twinging with how hard he clenched his teeth. “Then they’ll kill her.”

“We’ll find her before then, Buck.”

“We have to. She’s taken my heart with her.”

You’d been lucky in your life that you’d been sheltered from physical pain. You’d known grief, sadness, all the usual trials of life. But this level of absolute anguish was new.

You were thankful you’d gone this long not knowing what it felt like to fear an impending death.

What even was death? An endless nothing? A light at the end of the tunnel? A world where you’re reunited with all those souls that had already left? Either way, it was the cessation of suffering. You can’t suffer when you don’t exist.

Days had passed since your capture, and a routine had set in. In your dank, mossy-smelling cell, you ate, stretched, slept, shit, and brushed your teeth - a macabre rinse and repeat that had your mind dulling. You prided yourself in being creative, so having no stimuli apart from grey walls and odd smells was a special kind of torture.

Your captors left you alone for the most part. You only saw them when they delivered meals and your toothbrush, and even then, sometimes, they’d just slide the items through a small hatch in the bottom of the door, expecting you to return the items promptly.

Damien or Maddox would often leave with some snide remark, while Kage never said anything.

The thought of fighting back had crossed your mind, although you couldn’t do much with them watching, the blinking red light of a camera in the corner of your room a constant reminder that you were not alone.

Bucky would be closing in by now, right? Each time you heard steps coming to your enclosure, a morsel of hope would flourish like a blooming flower. And each time, those beautiful flowers had their heads sliced off. The disappointment was clear on your face each time, and a small whine would escape, normally ending in you devolving into a pit of tears.

Crying was the only solace.

As the days had passed, you began to fear the opening of the door, because you expected death with his scythe and billowing black mist to be there waiting to cut off your head, like the way your hope had been deflowered.

Today was the same as all the others. Pain, tears, and acute loneliness all present. You sat on your cot with your legs to your chest, bandaged feet resting on the mattress so you could cry against your knees. Your wounds were healing slowly, bloody bandages changed by Kage each day, while your heart continued to break.

The wall vibrated subtly as music began playing upstairs, the reverberations traveling all the way down to your cell. You were underground, that much you had gathered. After your dinner, you would hear the music begin to play. You weren’t sure what they were doing up there, but you never heard any additional voices, so you assumed your captors were alone. Although, there could easily be a thick layer of concrete separating your roof from their floor, so you just might not be able to hear it.

All you did know was the music normally meant it was time to try and sleep. You had no sunlight, so you had to rely on the meals and music as your clock. You could have an opposite sleeping schedule for all you knew, but the men never said anything of it, so you assumed your intuition was right.

With a heavy sigh, you lay down, covered in an oversized t-shirt and cotton panties. It was cold, but with nothing more than a thin blanket, so you had no choice but to shiver and bear it.

The vibrations in the wall made a white noise that filled the room, and you preferred that over the silence. You couldn’t hear the music, so you liked to try to imagine what song it might be based on the tempo.

You smiled to yourself as you placed your hand against the wall. Whatever it was, you knew Bucky would hate it. Deep bass beats were never his style. While you liked to imagine your boyfriend as John Wick, fighting along to electronic music, you knew the reality was far more grim.

Thinking of Bucky, your eyes started to get heavy, and you slowly fell asleep.

It wasn’t a peaceful slumber, but it was rest - something you tried to get every chance you could. You didn’t know when you’d need your strength, so you tried to reserve it.

And as it turned out, a situation requiring your strength was around the corner much sooner than you had expected.

The door to your cell swung open, and the loud sound had you shooting up with a squeak and wide eyes, no remnants of sleep in your mind as adrenaline surged through your veins.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight you’d be met with.

It was Damien who spoke first as they entered. “We caught ourselves a new pet. I have to say, this one seems much less fuckable than you.”

“Bucky,” you gasped, mostly in disbelief.

It wasn’t the rescue you’d dreamed of. Bucky hadn’t come in guns blazing and a smile of relief on his face.

No, Bucky was slumped, his metal shoulder being carried by Maddox and the other by Damien, while his legs dragged across the floor behind him and his arms were secured behind his back. He was dressed in his tactical gear like he’d come with the intention to save you. His face was bloodied and ashen, his hair sickly sticking to his forehead, and to your horror, there was a muzzle placed over the lower half of his face. You’d seen a picture of Bucky from when he was a soldier when you’d accidentally walked into a briefing room in the compound, his face scattered among others you didn’t recognise. But seeing him like that in the flesh was something else entirely.

You jumped up from the bed, ready to run to him, but Kage was by your side before you could act. He placed his hand on your collarbone, warning you to stay in place. “Your face is priceless.”

You couldn’t even feel the pain in your feet, as if the wounds were never there, as you whimpered at the sight of your lover.

“Bucky, are you alright? Bucky. Oh god.” You tried to move, but Kage’s hand gripped your forearm painfully, his digits digging in and leaving divots. Bucky tried to speak beneath the mask, but only muffled sounds came out. “No, please, don’t hurt him.”

“Bit late for that, don’t you think?” Maddox grinned, the pride clear as day on his face. “The mutt put up a fight, I’ll give it that. But it failed. That must really suck for you.”

They spoke like he wasn’t even a man. Not even a dog. Just an annoyance - a hindrance.

Damien and Maddox dumped Bucky on his knees a few steps from you. And that’s when he finally looked up. It was like he hadn’t wanted to accept that was your voice he heard, but once he set eyes on you, that was it.

The dams broke, and both of you resolved into tears. “No, this isn’t real. This can’t be happening.”

“Oh, it’s happening.” Damien kicked Bucky’s back, sending him lurching forward, his cheek painfully hitting the concrete floor. The pained sounds that came from your boyfriend would haunt you for the rest of your life.

“Stop it!” You yelled, Bucky’s whimpers too much for you to handle. He was trying so desperately to speak, to move, but they’d beaten him badly and secured his metal arm away with vibranium cuffs.

It didn’t stop him from trying though. Bucky rose to his feet, swinging his weight around so he could roundhouse kick towards Maddox and Damien. Maddox was faster though, pushing Damien out of the way and catching Bucky’s leg.

There was a sick crunch when Maddox tripped Bucky’s stable left leg, his body buckling to the floor while Maddox held his right leg, allowing the joint at his hip to fold into an odd position before Bucky hit the floor on his side. He withered with a pained groan, while Damien took the chance to kick him in the stomach. It was like watching the most morbid film play out in front of you, and all you wanted to do was hold Bucky and tell him it was going to be okay. But the thing was, you never lied to him. And you had no plan to start now.

You tried desperately to wrench yourself from Kage’s grip, but instead he yanked your back to his chest, placing his arm across your belly so you were held uncomfortably against him. “He failed you. Do you think he still thinks this is all worth it? Or do you think he should have just left you to rot?”

It was the most Kage had ever spoken to you, as if Bucky’s mere presence brought out a vitriol he kept hidden.

You shook your head, desperate to reject the baseless accusations. Even with his mouth covered, you could see in his expression alone the love Bucky held for you. You would never stop believing in him, even in death. “He hasn’t failed me,“ you gritted out, tears tracking down your cheeks. “He could never fail me.”

A sense of realisation took over you, the cogs turning as you looked upon your beaten lover. You’d wished for him to rescue you, to take you away from the pain and shield you from any further torment. But in doing so, you’d denied that Bucky was vulnerable - that he was the human you so dearly loved - made of flesh and blood and so dearly mortal. By placing him on the pedestal of a hero, you denied him his sensitivities, his feelings. You’d made him impuissant through your view of him as an impregnable force. You forgot that he is but a thing of atoms and material, so easily broken.

It was due to your expectations that he lay on the ground before you, bleeding and crying. Because he knew you were waiting for him. And here he was - just not in the way you had hoped. Now, hope was but a bird with broken wings, ready for death and the conclusion of existence. It was time for it to be put out of its acute misery. And it was time for you to mature and take responsibility for your future.

“The only person who can save me is myself. It’s my path to take, not his,” your words came out shuddered, your hand raising to cover your mouth to try and hide your sob. It did little to muffle the sound as your eyes met the familiar cerulean blues. “Bucky. It’s fine.”

Damien pulled the muzzle from his face, and Bucky allowed a deep breath for what seemed like the first time in hours. “You have me, just let her go.”

Maddox laughed, shaking his head as he ruffled Bucky’s hair. “Trying to be noble, huh?” His fingers looped in the sweat-drenched strands, roughly pulling Bucky’s head back as he whimpered. “Do we look like we’re going to let her go?”

“She’s innocent in this, please,” Bucky begged, blood trickling down from his hairline as he squirmed on the cold floor. It was a painful, pitiful sight. “Keep me, but let her go.”

“Why would we when we can have some fun? She’s so pretty when she cries. The perfect toy for us to play with,” Kage husked, the hand on your stomach starting to dip lower towards your dignity.

You slapped his hand, an action which gained you a violent response. Kage threw you to your knees, the impact causing your bones to quiver and your cries to fill the room. You had to be strong, you had to be strong - the mantra didn’t help much as Bucky snarled protectively. “You touch her, and I’ll fucking kill you. I swear I’ll–”

“You keep running that mouth of yours, and it’s her we’ll punish,” Maddox gripped Bucky’s chin between his fingers, before spitting in his face.

“Please, I’m begging you. She’s just a normal girl, she’s innocent–”

“She’s not going to be so innocent when she has our cocks shoved down her throat.” Damien approached you, eyes raking your barely covered form. You stunk after days of not bathing, but that seemed like the least of their concerns.

“I can see why you picked her. She’s so much fun to have around.” Maddox forced Bucky’s viewline to you, arching his head on an awkward angle with the fingers tangled in his locks.

“You don’t own her,” Bucky rasped. “No one does.”

Maddox hummed with a shake of his head. ”That’s where you’re wrong. We all have our masters. Now we’re hers.”

"I will fucking kill you," Bucky snarled, trying to get off the floor, trying so desperately to fight. But he was easily subdued by Maddox in his weakened state.

Damien turned to your boyfriend with a smirk. "Not before we fill up each of her holes. So why don't you sit back and enjoy the show? Be a good boy now. Wouldn't want to have to muzzle you… again."

"We're going to enjoy breaking her," Maddox teased, his face getting close to Bucky’s, a staring contest of will beginning between the two. A contest that Bucky quickly lost when Maddox punched him in the gut. ”While you have your own appeal, I don’t fuck mutts.”

It was hard to process the scene playing out in front of you - the taunting, the threats, the hurt. It was too much to bear. You just wanted to be in Bucky’s arms again and have him tell you it was all okay.

But no, you had to be strong. “Please, don’t hurt him anymore. I’ll… I’ll do whatever you want.”

Kage held you firm, his free hand reaching up from behind to grab your jaw painfully. He didn’t speak, but you could feel his hot huff of breath against your ear, the remnants of a growl in it.

“You’ll do whatever we want regardless,” Damien commented, searching your face and soaking up all the emotion he could find.

Maddox left Bucky battered on the ground, but not without one more kick, this time to the underside of his jaw. Bucky’s head snapped back, a crack sounding as his teeth slammed together in the forced movement.

You screamed, Kage and Damien’s hands beginning to roam across your body, feeling you like you were theirs. But it was like you couldn’t even see the three men anymore - just Bucky. Your vision had tunnelled to the focus on the one thing you cared about.

“Bucky! Are you alright? Bucky, please!” You couldn’t look away as his head lolled sickly, blood pouring from his mouth and nose.

The hands keep moving over you, nausea roiling in your gut with each passing moment. But you still only focussed on Bucky. “Bucky, please. Bucky. You’ve got to get out of here. Somehow. Just go, please.”

The cell door was cracked open. He could logically make a run for it. But you knew he wouldn’t, not in his current state, and not without you. Maybe Steve was on his way? But you knew Bucky wouldn’t look so crestfallen if help was coming.

“Please, Bucky.” You cried, not even sure what you were asking for at this point, all you could do was scream his name.

The more you yelled for him, the more you chanted his name like the only prayer you knew, the more the world began to warble.

Bucky’s form began to waver, as did the rest of the room. Maddox, Damien and Kage had frozen in their assault, their skin rippling as your breath suddenly fell short.

What was happening? You couldn’t scream for Bucky anymore - you couldn’t do anything, as if your mouth had been glued shut.

As your tears fell and sobs bubbled from your throat, the world dissolved.

The nightmare was ending, allowing leeway for the real horrors to become apparent.

You woke for real this time with a jolt, your sounds muffled by the tape over your lips. You were sobbing just like you had been in your dream, and as you took stock of the room you quickly realised Bucky wasn’t here. It had been a horrible nightmare.

What was real, was Maddox towering over you, a roll of tape discarded on the ground and his gun to your head. He looked the angriest you’d ever seen, salivating and almost frothing at the mouth. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

The tears started falling faster as you screamed against the tape, but it did little to quell Maddox. He forced each end of the tape down, the gun in his hand coldly pressing against your cheek.

“Say his name again, I dare you. I'm not going to cut your tongue out. I'll fucking rip it out,” he growled, his words mouthed against your face and over your bound lips. His spit smeared over your skin, the heat of it warming where the metal of the gun had cooled.

All you could smell, see and hear was him. It was an overwhelming sensation that had you wanting to escape.

You writhed, but you couldn’t get away from him as he caged you in, kissing over your mouth again in a show of control, not endearment. He could take what he wanted from you whenever he wanted. You screamed and squirmed, but Maddox held you in place before ripping the tape off, allowing you to finally breathe in the musky basement air. “This fucking mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble.”

“W-What did I—“ Your heart nearly broke through your ribcage with how hard it was beating as Maddox forced the barrel of his handgun into your mouth, the metal sitting against your tongue and leaving a horrible taste.

The struggle stopped, and you looked into Maddox’s eyes. The malice was pertifying. It wasn’t the same look he’d had during the assault in your apartment; no. It was worse. He was going to kill you.

His thumb moved in one swift motion to click the safety off, his finger resting on the trigger. “Say goodbye.”

You closed your eyes, fear clutching your heart and what felt like concrete in your lungs. You didn’t want Maddox’s face to be the last thing you saw, so you thought of when you and Bucky had adopted Alpine.

She had been found on the streets as a stray, only a year old with matted hair and a little injured paw. You’d both fallen in love with her, and nursed her into the ball of chaotic floof she was today. You thought of the moment where you first brought her home. She stayed in her carrier after the door had opened, too scared to venture out. So you and Bucky sat on the floor, cuddling and talking while Alpine slowly came out, before sitting next to you both. It was so peaceful. Such a small moment changed the trajectory of your life. It was those pockets of happiness you cherished the most.

You waited for the bang, the flash, the quick pain before the nothingness. But it didn’t come.

Instead, you heard rushed steps and yells before Maddox was hauled off you, the brunette slipping the safety back on as he let the other two pull him back.

“What the fuck?” Damien snapped, a commotion starting.

But it was like water was in your ears as you stared up at the ceiling from your bed, the chain secured around your ankle rattling with the way your body couldn’t stop shaking. Your arms covered your torso, and it took you what felt like forever to open your eyes.

“She was calling for him! For that bastard!” Maddox yelled, and it was then you turned your head to look at him.

“What, so you were going to kill her? Mads! Stop! We just got her!” Damien grabbed Maddox by the shoulders, shaking him like it would bring him to his senses.

"One simple fucking rule. Don't ask to go back to him. She was wailing like a fucking banshee."

Kage was the only controlled one, ushering Damien out of the way so he could take Maddox’s face into his hands. “You’re not back there. You’re not being compared to him, not being tested on. Stop. You’re here, and you almost just killed her.”

“She. Called. For. Him,” Maddox said through gritted teeth.

Damien glanced over at you, and it made you curl a little closer to the wall. "She didn't mean to, Mads. You know she didn't. Just breathe. Come on.”

It didn’t stop Maddox from spitting on the ground, his breaths coming out in adrenaline fueled shudders. “That piece of shit. I bet he bragged to her. I bet she fucking knows everything he did and is playing stupid.” With Kage holding him, his sightline turned to you. ”You’re pretending like you have no idea what he’s done, aren’t you? You dumb fucking bitch!”

“You know that’s not what’s happening,” Kage quickly reasoned with Maddox’s face still between his palms. It was clear there was a brother-like bond between the three of them. It would be nice, if the context of the situation didn’t exist. If anything, it made you more scared of them.

The fear had your body feeling frail, and it took you a few tries before you could sit up on your cot. “W-Whatever I did… I’m sorry. I don’t k-know what’s happening.”

Even you were caught off guard with the weakness in your voice, but the apology did nothing to appease Maddox. In fact, it incited the flame again. He broke free of Kage’s hold, and you didn’t have time to defend yourself before he smacked you hard across the face, the sound resonating like a sick echo in the cell.

The pain came a few seconds later, a sharp sting spreading across your face as you sobbed.

“You fucking bitch. You think this is funny, don’t you? Playing the innocent act just so you can fucking laugh at me once I’m gone.” He was trying to goad you into something you weren’t. You wore no mask, obscured no part of yourself. You were just you. And in a world where so many people lied and deceived, you could understand where the line of thought had come from. But Maddox couldn’t be more wrong about you.

What was it he had against Bucky anyway? There was clearly history you were missing, some big piece of the puzzle that had been hidden.

You didn’t get a chance to respond before Damien was tugging him back, taking the gun from him and pulling him away. “Mads, you’re triggered. That’s enough. You’re not yourself.”

For a moment, you could swear there were unshed tears in Maddox’s eyes, but didn’t get the chance to tell before Damien had pulled him from the room, leaving you alone with Kage.

There was a long silence for a moment, just your cries as your hand rested on your throbbing cheek, with Kage standing by in thought. He looked to you, his icy stare not helping you calm down. “I’m going to have to punish you.”

You could still hear Maddox yelling as you rubbed your cheek, and when Maddox’s voice finally faded you curled your knees up to your chest, your sobs shaking you. Maddox would have killed you if they hadn’t intervened, but now you were going to be punished. It was cruel. “What did I do?”

“You broke a rule. You called for him. Subconscious or not, every part of you has to learn the consequences.” Kage rolled up his sleeves, crossing his arms. It was clear his conviction was settled, and there would be no point bartering. “First, you’re going to shower. You’ve pissed yourself.”

Fresh tears filled your eyes when you looked down and realised Kage wasn’t lying. The sheets stuck uncomfortably to your legs and panties, the hem of your shirt soaked. You weren’t even sure when it happened, having been so caught up in the nightmare and then Maddox’s rage. Your fingers gripped the edge of the mattress, head hanging so you didn’t have to look at Kage.

Part of you wasn’t even sure if you were humiliated. They’d stripped you so bare you didn’t have much left, not even the dignity that would be hurt from something like this. More than anything, you cursed yourself for not being braver.

You had to hold your own if you were going to survive.

Words failed you when Kage took your arm to stand you up, and you didn’t say a word as he released your chains started to lead you from the room.

It was a slow walk as you hobbled on your injured feet, but it was clear Kage had no intention of carrying you as he walked a few steps ahead. He’d let go of his hold, so confident that you’d follow him that he didn’t even look back. You knew he’d overpower you without even breaking a sweat if you tried anything, and you didn’t have the energy to fight.

You were surprised to see the underground was more than just your room, with a small hallway connecting you to a large shower room. You assumed there must be more cells, because there were multiple shower heads and a few random lockers. Almost as if it was a prisoner gym shower. It was odd, and you cautiously stepped forward.

Kage just ushered you towards the shower, crossing his arms as he watched you limp onto the tiled surface. You went to take off your bandages, but he cleared his throat and shook his head. Flustered, you moved to your shirt and underwear instead, turning away from him as you stripped bare and dumped the soiled clothing on the floor.

You cautiously stepped forward to turn the shower on, shuddering when the cold water began pouring out. There was only one tap, and no indication that the water was getting warmer, so you turned back to your captor. “There’s no hot water?”

There was no response from Kage, just a stare that told you all you needed to know, as if he was silently saying ‘get on with it’.

You shivered as you stood under the cold stream. When the water washed over your face, it was like you were back in your apartment all over again, and you let out a panicked gasp before stepping back.

The way your body shook wasn’t only from the cold.

With a bated breath, you glanced back at Kage. But he was no closer. He wasn’t going to pull you out, going to attack you, it seemed. The danger still loomed, memories of your assault fresh in your mind.

You returned to the water, washing yourself off as you could feel Kage’s gaze burning into you, as if he was studying each of your movements. He finally moved when the water shut itself off, pointing to a grey towel that was the same dull colour as the rest of the basement.

The last remaining water droplets blinked from your vision as you stepped forward, taking the towel and beginning to dry off. You glanced around, frowning when you saw there were no fresh clothes.

“Uhm… clothes?” You asked hopefully, to which Kage shook his head. It wasn’t surprising, but it was upsetting.

As you ran the towel across your skin, you couldn’t rid of the nagging question that was plaguing your mind. “Why didn’t you just let him kill me?”

“He doesn’t need the guilt,” Kage finally spoke, but his answer only made your brows furrow.

“Why would he feel guilty for getting rid of someone who doesn’t matter?” It was conflicting information. They’d said you were nothing while in your apartment, and had treated you as such. But of course, you weren’t given an answer. Instead, Kage began leading you back to your room, your waterlogged bandages making it hard to walk. “What’s my punishment?”

Kage doesn’t answer, instead leaving you alone in your cell. “Strip the bed. I’ll be back.”

You gently rubbed your cheek where Maddox slapped you as you stared at the open door. You could run, but that would just worsen the situation. And you were in no condition to make it far.

Your gaze shifted to the blinking red light in the corner, staring into the black lens before snapping out of it and beginning to strip the bed as you were told. You kept replaying the events in your head, but it just didn’t make sense. You didn’t know why Maddox was so furious, and why Kage and Damien stopped him before he did any real damage. There was clearly something you were missing, but you were too fatigued to notice.

You used the sheets to soak up any remaining moisture from the mattress, which was covered with some sort of dark waterproof fabric. Unsure of what else to do, you placed the sheets by the bed.

With the sheets on the floor, you sat next to them on the cold concrete, waiting until Kage came back in with fresh bedding. He held it out to you, waiting for you to approach him with an air of impatience. You hoped your punishment was a simple as making the bed, but you knew you were in for worse at the hands of these men.

It didn’t take Kage commanding you to put the fresh sheets on the bed, his eyes not leaving you for a moment. He let out a hum when you finished, before taking a seat. “Come here.”

You let out a shaky breath before you approached him. There was something so ominous about the blue shine to his eyes, like a full moon bearing its magnetic energy onto you. You couldn’t help but feel pulled towards him, like your legs moved before you could even think. When you got close enough, Kage took your wrist into his grip. There was a beat of silence for a moment before he yanked you down. You yelped as you fell, your stomach hitting his thighs as he bent you over his knees. It was a humiliating position. As if they hadn’t caused you enough shame.

As naked as the day you were born, you lay across his legs, your ass raised, and shoulders slumped. There was no escape. You were under no illusion that there was no way you could reasonably get out without help. And without Bucky, or any of your friends, you were stuck.

You felt as if you hadn’t slept at all, and tiredness nipped at the back of your eyes as you resigned yourself in his lap. He seemed pleased, a near silent grunt sounding as he rubbed circles over the globes of your ass.

When the first slap landed, you yelped, a sharp pain on your ass from the impact of his palm.

“One.” You heard him count under his breath, before the second spank hit. “Two.” Tears gathered in your eyes, small droplets hitting the ground below as the third hit landed. “Three.”

“Why?” You croaked out. “Why are you doing this?”

“Four.” Kage uttered, another slap hitting you and causing your body to jolt. Four. The counting continued despite your pleas, the pain worsening with each hit. He wasn’t holding back, and the pain began to elevate to the point where you felt as if your bones may shatter. Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

“Please, I don’t understand. I’m sorry- I’m s-sorry I said his name. But I didn’t do it on purpose,” your words are mottled with sobs, and you turned back to look at him despite the way you had coiled around his thighs. “I don’t understand. Why do you hate him?”

Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.

Kage’s icy glare met yours. In just a look alone he conveyed so much emotion, far more than words could ever express. There was anger and hurt all broiled up in a stew of self-pity. Twenty one, twenty two, twenty three, twenty four, twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine. His spanks didn’t stop, not even when your cries resounded off the walls like a ghoulish orchestra, your begs garbled with the agony coursing through you.

“Thirty,” he coldly said, his hand once against slapping against your abused ass. When he brought up his hand for another hit, he stopped. On his palm was little dots of blood. You whimpered at the sight of it, and his eyes narrowed. He’d been hitting you so hard he’d broken skin with the impact.

“Please, why? What’s going on?” You lamented, growing weary of his silence. “Just tell me. Why do you hate him? What did he do?”

Kage hit you again, more aggressive this time. You howled in pain as he held you still. His breaths came out in a huff as he calmed himself down. “Don’t act dumb. You’re his girlfriend. You know what he’s done.”

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

Kage’s steel blue eyes flashed with something dangerous, his hand rubbing circles on your skin and smearing your blood across your flesh. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” You were genuine, and Kage’s eyes narrowed as he considered you. “I’m sure you did some research before taking me. I’m just a girl.”

”What, your boyfriend didn’t brag of the lives he ruined? How he ruined our lives. We’re orphaned freaks because of him. Because the Asset couldn’t just do his fucking mission. But he had no problem doing his job just fine when he trained us, when he beat us to a bloody pulp making us wish were dead. Over and over and over again. Hydra’s fist hits fucking hard. And he leaves behind nothing but lost souls.” It’s the most you’ve heard Kage speak, but what he’s saying makes no sense to you. “The Asset doesn’t care about the wreckage he leaves behind as long as he’s happy – as long as he can continue on with his pathetic life.”

Bucky ruined lives? The surprise and confusion on your face said it all. From what you knew, he didn’t do anything. He was a prisoner of war, he was a soldier, but his involvement with Hydra was news to you. The most you’d heard of the organisation was from reports when the triskelion fell. It was broadcast everywhere. “He didn’t tell me anything. I only know who Hydra are from the news.”

Kage let out a dark, mocking chuckle. "Stop lying."

"I'm not! I swear. He never told me. He doesn't tell anything about his missions either. H-He said he couldn't. That it was safer that way." You remembered the first time Bucky came home from a mission. He was covered in soot and a mess. Being naive, you asked him what happened, and it was then you realised it was better for you not to know. The horrors of the world were not for your eyes… until now.

Kage’s fingers gripped into the plushness of your ass. ”But you’ve been to the compound.”

“As a guest - a friend. Never when a mission was happening.” You sobbed, your brain spinning in circles at the new revelations. “I’ve been there for dinner or parties. Nothing else.”

His nails made divots in your skin as he gripped you. "You really had no idea?"

"No, I didn't. And I'm sorry. For all of you," you hiccupped. You couldn't lie about that. Losing family is never easy. "I didn't know."

Kage didn’t seem convinced. ”But you know of Hydra?”

You shrugged best you could over his knee. “Sort of. N-Not really. I just saw the news when those big helicopter things crashed - uh, helicarriers?” You let out a shuddered sigh. “The news said Hydra was behind it.”

His fingers eased, moving to rub over the sensitised skin. ”Did you read the documents that were leaked?”

You shook your head, tears dropping to the floor. “No, why would I do that? I didn’t need an existential crisis. I get stressed enough about everyday news, like a mugger or a cat stuck in a tree.”

"So he kept you in a bubble," he said after a moment, more to himself than to you. "If you're lying—"

"I'm not," you promised, almost dissolving into more tears. "I swear to you. All of you. I have no reason to lie to you."

There was a beat of silence while your mind ran a million miles an hour. Bucky was a prisoner of war, you knew that – the world knew that. But… he was with Hydra? You pursed your lips. There was no way he would have been with them willingly. He was a prisoner of Hydra, you surmised. He’d made comments in the past about never being in control until now – always being ordered around by someone else. Admittedly, you hadn’t taken it as literal. A soldier takes orders, but this – this seems entirely different. There’s no way Bucky would hurt someone unprovoked, not unless he was being controlled. The man you loved was no villain.

Kage broke the silence. ”Do you resent him for not telling you?”

A heavy sigh left you, pain still flickering up your spine from your abused ass. “It’s his story. I’m not the one who can decide when it’s time to tell it.”

"But he's the reason you're here,” Kage said as his hand ran up your back before reaching your shoulders, pulling you up and guiding you to sit in his lap.

You whimpered at the pressure on your bruised skin as you sat on Kage’s thighs. "Better me than another innocent person."

Kage’s face was close to yours, his breath fanning across your skin. ”You wouldn’t trade places with someone else?”

You tried to move back, to get some distance, but Kage held you firm. “No. I couldn’t bring myself to subject someone else to this kind of pain.”

He seemed to be searching for something in your eyes. "You don't like others hurting, do you?"

The question surprised you. "No, I don't. I've always tried to help others if I can."

Your answer has the air in the room changing, some of the coldness turning a bit warmer as Kage brushed away some of your tears. Your blood was still on his hands, and you eyed the redness of his fingers as he touched your face.

A tremble coursed through you when you heard footsteps approaching, and your attention turned to the doorway, where Damien emerged with a salve, some wipes and fresh clothes.

His expression had changed too. Where there was anger was now a new understanding. They really thought you knew what they’d been through, you realised. You glanced between the two men, uncomfortable and distressed. Their anger was ruthless, but you feared whatever this was more. Kage’s hands over your waist were firm, but with an edge of gentleness.

You didn’t want them to like you.

Maybe you should have just lied and said you knew. But that wasn’t you. You weren’t deceptive.

Kage lifted you easily, placing you face down on your cot, your face wetting the fresh sheets below you as you cried. The overstimulation of your body and mind hit like a freight train, and you sobbed like never before.

“Jesus, try to calm down. You’ll make yourself sick,” Damien tried to placate as he sat next to you, wiping away your blood before beginning to apply some ointment to your battered skin. “You really did a number, Kage.”

You glance over at the blonde, and he didn’t seem proud of himself. Quite the opposite. His jaw clenched. “Shut up.”

“Hey hey, I’m just trying to break the tension here.” Damien kept applying the ointment until your welts were covered. “You took your punishment well.”

You think he’s trying to compliment you, so you respond with your head buried in the sheets. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he quickly responded before finishing up.

Your mournful cries didn’t stop, and they only got worse when Kage and Damien finally left, leaving you alone. You dressed yourself in the plain tshirt and panties, before it all became too much and returned to the bed.

All your bottled-up emotions spilled out into the mattress. You screamed, your sounds muffled by the bedding, not stopping until your throat hurt and your voice was course.

The more emotion you let out, the more fatigued you became. And slowly, you began to pass out, crying yourself to sleep. All you could hope was this sleep was more restful, and less eventful than the last.

Thankfully, you didn’t dream this time. Your rest was no more than a limbo between horrors – horrors which seemed very intent on continuing, with Maddox stood with his arms crossed, watching you slumber as he leaned against the open doorframe. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You nearly jumped through the ceiling in fright at the sight of him, your whole body flinching as you sat up, your bruised ass instantly sore from the movement. “You didn’t.”

“Good.” He tilted his head, the anger he’d been sporting gone behind his normal demure expression. “So, I had a chat with the guys. Look, we thought you knew all about us. And now we realise you really are innocent in all this. We feel a bit bad about the whole situation, so we’re going to let you go home.”

It sounded like a foreign language as Maddox spoke, your heart skipping a beat. “You’re going to let me go?”

“Seems only fair. I think we’ve put you through enough,” Maddox shrugged nonchalantly.

“But you were so angry,” you cautiously observed Maddox. It felt like a trick, and it likely was one, but you couldn’t help the desire that smouldered in your heart. You could go home. More than anything you just desired to be comfortable in your own bed again, with your cat and the love of your life.

Maddox pushed himself off the doorframe and approached, the movement making you shuffle back on the mattress. He chuckled, shaking his head at your scurrying. “I have no intent of hurting you.”

“Surely you can’t blame me for being afraid,” you squeaked as he towered over you.

“Oh, not at all. I’ve given you more than enough reason. But here, truce?” Maddox offered his open palm for you to take, to help you stand. You stared at his hand for a moment, taking in the scarred skin. It looked like he held the sharp end of a knife more than once. They weren’t kidding about having been through pain.

Anxiety was a thick sludge in your throat as you placed your hand in his, allowing him to be a crutch for you as you got onto your feet. Your entire backside hurt like something fierce with each movement, but you tried to not show it too much on your face.

“Kage really let you have it, huh?” Maddox grinned, leading you out of the door and to the left, where Kage and Damien stood at the bottom of concrete stairs.

“Ready to go home?” Kage said as Damien took your free hand in his.

“Yes,” you blurted out honestly. “Are you… are you really going to let me go?”

“Of course. We may be assholes, but we’re not liars,” Damien chided, the warmth from his skin heating your hand.

“What about Bu– I mean, my boyfriend?” You questioned, making wobbly steps up the stairs towards what looked to be a basement door. Your suspicions were right - you were underground.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about him. That’s our business to attend to,” Maddox grinned, but it was akin to a shark showing their teeth. There was danger in the way he spoke.

Distracted, you missed a step, but they were quick to catch you, all giving out a soft laugh before you made your way to the top of the stairs.

You had guessed that you were underground. What you hadn’t expected was that you were under a house. You emerged into an open-plan living room and kitchen with a rustic aesthetic.

“Do you like it?” Damien asked proudly. Clearly, he owned this place.

“... It’s nice.” You placated, taking your hand out of both Maddox and Damien’s grip. “I can.. just go?”

“Yes. Off you go. There’s a car outside waiting for you,” Damien said, and you could feel the soft rumble of a running engine through the floorboards.

You glanced back at the men, each of them looking expectantly at you. There wasn’t a moment of hesitation before you turned around and bolted for the front door, despite your body hating every moment. Your feet were still healing, and with your bruised muscles, it was torture. But you wanted out. No, you needed out.

You reached the front door quickly, and when you turned the knob, your eyes went wide. It was locked tight. There were multiple bolts on the door, which all seemed unlocked, but when you looked down, you realised the front door had a finger scanner.

Reality began to set in when you placed your finger on the door and were met with a red flash and beeping. Access denied. “No... No, no, no. Not like this.”

You went to turn, but before you could, there was a sharp prick to your neck as one of the men plunged a needle into you. It became clear Maddox was your assailant as your legs went numb, and you tumbled to the ground with a gasp, seeing him standing behind you with dark eyes. Whatever the contents of the syringe were acted quickly, an odd floaty feeling spreading across your body as you lost control of your functions, your body stuck on its front on the cold hardwoods.

Their laughter became distorted as your brain fizzled, but you didn’t pass out. No, whatever they’d given you was keeping you awake, forced to watch as they circled your limp body. “She made it further than I thought she would with her injuries,” Damien smirked as he poked your side with his shoe.

“It’s cute in an utterly pathetic way.” Maddox used his boot to roll you onto your back before leaning down near your head. “Aw, is someone feeling a bit sleepy?” Unable to coil away, Maddox spit in your face with a cruel laugh. “C’mon, wake up, it’s playtime.”

Kage was next to torment you as you tried to roll yourself back onto your stomach to crawl away. His boot pressed painfully into your stomach, the steel tip digging in just below your ribcage. “Knock my foot away. Try it.”

You whined as you tried to use your arms to push him away, but you couldn’t. Your arms were like jelly.

“Mm, as fun as this is, we gotta move.” Maddox sighed as he straightened up, discarding the used needle out of your sightline.

You managed to get onto your stomach with Kage backing off, but all you could do was whimper as hands gripped your ankles, dragging you across the hardwoods and out the front door, your nose banging on the solid surface as you tried to dig your nails into the floor, but you had no strength left.

Your drool and blood from your now bleeding nose created a trail across the floor. At least if anyone found this home, there’d be evidence that you existed, your DNA staining the wood.

“Should we change her?” Damien asked, and from his voice, you could tell he was the one dragging you.

“She’ll be warm enough,” Maddox watched from the side as you were dragged to the porch stairs.

“God, she’s not going to piss in my car, is she?” Damien complained as Kage slung you over his shoulder, your body like a ragdoll, as he lifted you with scary ease.

“Just wrap a towel around her ass. It’ll do.” Maddox began putting bags in the back seat of the SUV parked outside.

Damien began to help him, but not without continuing to complain. “Just watch it. She already bled on my floor.”

Maddox laughed. “She bled all over her apartment and you didn’t even blink.”

“But that wasn’t my apartment,” Damien argued, a playful irritation in his tone.

They were having fun while tear droplets hit the gravel below you.

Maddox wasn’t giving up, though. ”You’re so materialistic sometimes, Dami.”

”When you pay for shit you can be too, Mads. Oh wait, you don’t pay for anything.”

”I’ve saved your ass enough times for payment.”

Kage sighed, his hand resting on your exposed ass. ”Would you two just shut up and help me get her in the car? I can do it myself, but then I’ll make sure blood and piss gets everywhere.”

Maddox sighed, too. "Yeah, yeah. Gimme a second. You leave the present in her cell?"

"Yeah. They'll find it."

You tried to speak, but only a groan came out.

"Try not to talk. It won't do you any good.” Kage said as Maddox helped him haul you into the trunk of the car.

”At first, we couldn’t get you to talk, and now you won’t shut up.” Maddox started to wrap a towel around your lower half. "Just put some music on and drown her out."

“You… lied…” You managed to get out amongst your drooling whimpers.

Kage leaned in, his hand caressing your cheek. “We didn’t. You are going home.”

“Just not to the home you hoped for,” Maddox chimed in, derisively patting your thigh. “Rest up, babydoll. There’s a long journey ahead of us yet.”

Kage and Maddox pulled back, and their faces were the last thing you saw before the boot was slammed shut, and you were covered in darkness.

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smallraindrops-blog · 5 months ago

Text

Sacred Ingredients

Zagreus/Male!reader

Fandom: Hades (2019 game)

Word count: 3.3k

Summary: There was a new cook in the house

warnings: Implied reader death, no beta.

Notes:

The fic that is the reason yall have been seeing so many food posts lately.

This is the first response for the wholesome Zagreus x male reader request. I took my time with this since I wasn’t sure if I was following the prompt.

To the anon, thanks for the wait. If this isn’t what you wanted, please lmk and I will be happy to redo it. I do hope you enjoy this one.

Important: often people would use other names for the gods to avoid bringing unnecessary attention to themselves. Our reader is one of those people.

Enjoy!

One of your first memories was of your Mom holding a small bit of cake between her fingers.

It was made of thin layers of dough, heavy with sheep cheese, crushed nuts and honey, so heavy with it that the dipping honey caught the sunlight just before you bit in.

Sweet. Creamy. Nutty. All combining together in your mouth as you chew.

You groaned in pure delight as she laughed, getting you a plate with a much bigger piece. See? I told you that you would like it. Mama is never wrong. Not with food.

Just like that, food had became your life. To you, there was no better way to say ‘I love you’ than by cooking someone a good meal.

You learned how to perfectly roast fishes, how to stuffed chicken, the right moment to add herbs or how to use olive oils or butter to add rich flavors to the dish. You learned how to knead the bread, how to time the rise just right and the best spots in the stone ovens to place the loaf.

Food was everything. It was the bittersweet memory of your mama’s hand on your cheek after a sickness took her far too soon, it was a way to feed your family while working hard as a fisherman, it was a way to earn your place among warriors and kings.

You loved all of it, even as the other men had scoffed at you for enjoying women’ work. However they never turned away a meal you cooked, at home or in the war tents.

The very last thing you cooked, a recipe your mama taught you, was a simple bread, meant for dipping in wine.

Barley flour. Dry yeast from the grapes. Then you added the simple spice mix you came up with and always added in. The one that had people waiting outside for your bakery before the markets opened.

Parsley. Rosemary. Oregano. Garlic cloves smashed up and added into the bread, and just a little dash of salt.

You had set one aside for yourself for later.

You never got to eat it.

When the news came that the terrifying god of the underworld was looking for a new cook, you didn’t hesitate.

To get a spot in the house of the gods was prime time. It meant respect, a place to live and most importantly it meant regular income. That was money you can send to your mama and sisters so they can get into a better area of Asphodel.

You had spent hours over the cake.

You made sure that each layer of the dough was perfect, thin and flakey with a satisfying bite, that the cheese was the perfect amount of tangy creaminess, that nuts were crushed to the right size, that the honey was placed in the perfect spot to complement the cheese and nuts.

This had to work because your family worked hard to get the coin to order such things from the expensive shop of the boatman.

Even the neighbors had pitched in, with the promise that you will pay them back.

You took a nervous breath as you shifted on your feet, winced as the terrifying King of Below tossed aside the meal someone brought him, promptly dismissing them.

“And another one bites the dust.” The sleep god muttered as he crossed something off a list.

He looked up, blinking heavy downturned eyes at them. You and the other commoners were careful to keep their gazes low, not willing to show any disrespect to any of the gods.

The gentle one huffed and gestured for the one before you to go ahead. You were up after this, assuming that the person before you didn’t have something amazing.

The underworld King made a loud gagging sound and wordlessly dismissed the shade. Gentle one only clicked his tongue as he crossed out another line and shook his head, white curls flopping around.

“Good luck, buddy.” He told you with a cheerful grin, using his quill to point to the desk.

Did the gods normally call people buddy?

With a deep breath, you went to the looming desk, feeling like you were meeting the fates themselves.

“And what is this?” The King of those below growled, his haunting eyes locked onto you like a predatory bird. His hellhound shifted next to him, their three noses twitching at the food.

“This is a plakous, my lord.” You said, proud that your voice was stronger than you expected. “Made with wheat dough, rich honey-“

The King held up a large hand and you stopped speaking, fearing you had already lost your chance. A shade took the plate from you and brought it to their master.

You held your breath as he took the first bite, your heart no longer beat but you swore you felt it in that moment, slamming against your chest. He chewed slowly and his bloody red eyes slowly went wide.

A hush fell over the grand hall.

Then the King did something he didn’t do with any other meal, he went back for a second bite.

After that bite, he peered down at you for a long, long time.

“Is this all you can cook?” His voice broke over you like thunder. You shook your head, your hands curled up nervously

“No, my lord. I have created meals for kings and I can cook many things. Meat of all kinds. And bread, vegetables and so on.” You wished you were a more eloquent man, but that had never been needed before.

Not to mention such an education was beyond your reach.

And your food alway did the talking for you.

The king took a third bite then tossed the rest to the hellhound, the animal eating in a single swipe of its tongue. The tail wagged once, thumping on the floor.

The Wealthy One nodded slowly. “You may start today.”

The kitchen size alone would have made your mama weep with joy. The amount of fresh produce, herbs and clean grains along with plenty of meat made your jaw drop.

You clapped your hand together in thought then…You hit the ground running.

There was an endless list of tasks to be done before the kitchen would be ready to open and you went through all the tasks with horse blinders on, determination fueling you.

The first meal you officially served Master was a few of salted and peppered trout with a garlic lemon sauce with butter and herbs along with a hearty lentils soup, warm sourdough bread for the soup and sauce.

You added a fresh cucumber salad along with a large plate filled with cheeses and fruits that would compliment the fish.

When the plates came back, clean of even a drop of sauce, you felt something loosen in your chest.

Eventually you began to learn the house's routine and the many shades. You learned to always have some type of bread readied with olive oil.

You learned what went fast and what you had to jazz up to get rid of.

The most important lesson you had learned in life and one that remained unchanged even now was that most souls just wanted something that tasted like home.

It was toward the end of the kitchen hours when you heard someone take a seat.

Even at this late hour and working alone, you weren’t one to turn away a hungry soul so after wiping your hands on your apron, you turned with a smile.

“Welcome! What can I…” your words trailed off, your eyes going wide as you realized who was sitting in one of the barstools.

The Prince of the underworld gave you an exhausted, crooked grin. There was a curious gleam in those mismatched eyes, the strong lines of his cheeks softened by the dim lights of the lounge.

He was inhumanly beautiful in the ways all divine beings were.

But there was something different to his handsomeness.

Unlike the soft loveliness of Sleep, the sleek grace of the Fury or the dark shocking beauty of Night herself, this god before looked almost moral like. It was his eyes that revealed his godhood. It was the power in his broad shoulders.

You were surprised by how much you liked it.

“So you are the new cook everyone is raving about.” The Prince said, leaning on his forearms to peer at you. You saw the strength in his arms, his quick grace as he moved. Strong and muscular with thick tendons upward from the knuckles.

It was clear this god was a warrior of a sort.

Your eyes flickered down in embarrassment when you realized you were being disrespectful in your staring.

“I believe so, your highness.” You said, bowing your head in a show of respect for his position. “How may I serve you?”

“Honestly?” The Prince leaned, scanning the area behind you. “Whatever you have will work. The last cook we had working here would just give us sliced onions if we came in this late. Once he gave Hypnos a single apple peel for daring to ask for something else.”

He sounded amused, chuckling to himself at the memory. It was a nice laugh, deep and rich.

You couldn’t imagine being so rude to the gods. Your mom was a pious woman and even a quiet sigh during prayers would get you a disapproving look.

With a nod, you went to get the Prince his meal and drink.

Thankfully you had a leftover trout and tossed one onto the grill to cook as you prepared a bowl of cabbage for him, added in spices along with honey vinegar and silphium.

You had some bread and garlic cheese so you plated those as well with olives and grapes.

You decided to give him a rich red that most enjoyed, filling it up to the brim.

“Oh wow.” The prince muttered as you set everything in front of him and with a bow, you rushed back to the fish, flipping it over. Once it was ready with some garlic butter sauce, you brought it to him.

“Please let me know if you would like for me to serve you more or cook something else for you.” You told him and the prince blinked at you, his mouth filled with bread and cheese.

The prince waved a hand before you left him for his meal. He drank the wine deeply before placing it back down. You immediately refilled it. “This is plenty, my good shade. Thank you.”

With a respectful nod, you resumed cleaning up the kitchen. Counters got wiped down, supplies restocked but it wasn’t the usual relaxing routine it normally was.

You felt the weight of those divine eyes on you. The Prince was quiet as he ate but you caught quick glimpses of his curious gaze on the shine of the plates, or reflection in your knives.

It was only when the Prince left that you let yourself breathe.

Master liked large meals but only if they could be eaten quickly. The only thing you had been warned never to add was pomegranates. No one would tell you why.

The Gorgon, the creature was surprisingly sweet for all the horrible tales you heard of her kind, ate in a rush as well.

If you were smarter, maybe you could have made a clever joke about how the lowest server and the King of the Underworld ate the same way.

But one look into her smiling face held your tongue. She was always kind so you would be so in return.

The Fury was a regular companion of hers, requesting simple meals of fish and some types of roasted vegetables. Mostly she would drink deeply, often you would have a pitcher of wine put aside for her.

Sometimes Dreaded Death would join her, unwelcoming to all and cool. He rarely ordered any food, his fingers drumming on the table sounded like funeral marches to your ears.

His twin was the complete opposite, Gentle Sleep had a sweet tooth unlike anything else you have seen. Often he would ignore the dinner option altogether and eat slices of cake, candied figs or honeycombs.

If you weren’t careful around the god, plates of cookies that were meant for the whole house would go missing around him.

You still haven’t found the last two plates he stole from you.

And...

There was The Prince himself.

He was a regular now, always sitting close to wherever your work station was that day. He also was the only one who ate anything you put on a plate for him, and would shove the meal into his mouth like a starving creature. You always made sure to give him larger servings.

“Tell me your name.” He ordered you one day. His tone was deep, firm. Making it clear he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “You keep feeding me delicious food, no matter the hour. And I don't know what to call you.”

Then he added with raised eyebrows, sounding more like a playful suitor than a Chthonic god. “Please?”

You considered it, your hands still on the bowl of the hardy stew just placed before the god. You stared at the stew for a moment, then at him.

Or just past him, not willing to meet the god’s eyes, life and death danced in those unusual eyes of his.

You were a moral, a simple one at that.

You never picked up a sword, never learned all the fancy learnings that a prince might, never learned much beyond what you needed to but you knew names had powers, could decide whole destinies before a babe even wailed out their first cry.

Names could summon the gods themselves.

Quietly, you told him.

The prince grinned at you, his smile fierce and beautiful like a victorious lion. Your breath hitched, forgetting that one was to never look the gods in the eye.

Then the next words he spoke early jumped started your heart into beating once more.

“It suits you, my good cook. Call me Zagreus.”

Later, alone in the kitchen, recipes laid in front of you, you tried to will yourself to focus.

Schooling was too costly for your family especially after your Mother’s death. Your reading went far as basic words and numbers, just enough to get by in the markets.

You never needed much.

Right now, however, the recipes might as well be another language.

You were too lost in thought, several times you had already caught yourself even daring to think The Prince’s name in your mind.

What would happen if you dare to…

Zagreus.

A soft noise came behind you and You whirled around, glancing everywhere as if expecting him to appear right behind you.

He didn’t.

You realized you heard the sounds of the Wretched Broker restocking his shelves. Thankfully, he was too busy to realize that the House’s cook had gone mad simply by learning a God’s name.

Maybe you should start wearing a pot on your head.

“Zagreus.” You whispered, fingernails digging your palm nervously. “Zagreus.”

When the god didn’t appear, you didn’t know if you were disappointed or relieved.

Slowly, you learned more.

There were the loud fights between Father and Son that would cause the house to rattle. Many shades would escape into the lounge, hands over their ears.

”Tell me, do you get along with your father?” Zagreus grumbled, his plate cleared of any crumbs. His legs were bouncing, filled with an endless energy you knew you would never be able to match.

“No.” You said, not wanting to think of that man. You knew he was somewhere in the underworld but the less you knew, the better. “I suspect few do.”

Once, over a glass of white wine and a simple meal of sourdough bread and warm vegetable soup, He told you was looking for his mother.

“You will find her. I know you will.” You told him quietly, holding his stare. “Have faith, Zagreus.”

Another time, over a cake from a new recipe you came up with, Zagreus asked about you. Maybe it was the exhaustion after a successful dinner rush but you told him everything.

His smile was warm, his eyes watchful of your every move as you told him of your family and their new place you brought for them.

Your cheeks flushed when you realized he was staring at you.

“I will have to stop by then.” He teased, his hand almost brushing against yours.

“Yes.” You agreed in a whisper, your mouth suddenly dry.

“Cook me your favorite meal.” Zagreus ordered one day, not even bothering to sit down. You lifted a cool eyebrow, well used to his impulsiveness by now.

“Hello, Zagreus.” You greeted dryly, wiping your hands on your apron, not actually that upset.

Not too long ago, you would have wilted from the thought of being so playful with a divine creature but things changed.

Zagreus brought it out of you somehow simply by being himself.

“I am doing well, thank you.” You continued to teased despite his oddly serious expression.

Zagreus blinked, then chuckled with a bright grin. “I am a horrible influence on you, I fear.”

You laughed, cheeks flushing at his smile. “I am afraid so, your Highness. Now what is this about a favorite meal?”

“Yours. I want to know what your favorite food is.”

“Oh.” You grabbed an apple, rolling it in your hands for something to do. Butterflies dancing in your stomach as Zagreus leaned in, his hands on the counter. This close, you caught the scent of copper.

unwillingly, your gaze tangled with his, caught like a fly in a complex web. A stray thought reached you, could a mere fly understand the geometric structure, beauty of such things?

You swallowed nervously. “It’s nothing special, Zagreus. Just something my mom cooked up for me.”

Zagreus narrowed his eyes, his jaw firm in his resolve. “Excellent, then. I trust you have all the ingredients you need?”

You nodded but opened your mouth to dissuade the prince from his idea, however he was already walking away, “I expect a meal to be waiting for me when I get back!”

One day, staring at a wooden spoon in your hand, cake batter dipping from the tip, you realized that Zagreus had became someone very, very dear to you.

Morals and gods didn't mix together well. At least, not for the morals. Cracked eggs and spilled milk and all left would be a big mess with no one to clean it.

What did it mean when a shade, a mere ghost of who you were, was in love with a god that shone like the sun, whose very presence made you felt like you were alive once more?

When Zagreus returned, his hair was still damp from the Styx river and you had to look away from his beauty.

Quietly, you put the final touches on your favorite meal. You swallowed nervously as you picked up the plate and went over to him.

Thin layers of dough. Creamy cheese. Crushed nuts. Honey.

A long ago memory of your mom's smiling face as she watched you take a bite. Sunlight made her golden and immortal in that singular moment in your very heart.

You offered it up like the cake was a sacrifice, like you were offering yourself up to the god to make the final decision of the worth of your mortal soul.

“This is the first thing I can remember my mom making for me.” You whispered, your work rough fingers curled nervously against the counter. “This meal is what got me a job here. I got to know you because of this cake.”

Zagreus took a small bite, then closed his eyes in bliss. He said your name with a weight that you never heard before.

When he looked at you, his expression gentle and hopelessly fond, there was no need for more words.

When he kissed you for the first time, he tasted like home.

#x male reader #x male y/n #hades zagreus

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baelpenrose · 7 months ago

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Alright, action plan for the Left

I keep telling anti-Voting advocates "okay so what's your plan" and they keep asking me, "okay but what's yours" Alright, bet. It exists in three parts.

Phase 1: Apotheosis Denied. Republicans have spent the last 40 years playing a very long game in order to weaken institutions in ways that only benefit them - jerrymandering, weakening institutions at state and local levels, and seizing supreme court, in order to make something like Project 2025 a reality, but it has also led to a critical fracturing of their party. At this point, they are making one desperate gambit to seize power, and if it fails, they will have a critical fracture in their party as the authoritarian wing, now a cult of personality around trump, attempts a second violent coup and is met with the violence of the state and is curbstomped into the dirt. The resulting republican realignment will be frantic, and leave them in a much weaker position - no less fascist, but weaker. Our first step, right now, because we are so far behind, has to be to deny them the apotheosis of their 40 year long game. Phase 2: Parallel Systems. There are multiple components to this one and this is where the government is going to get a little more concerned. This can start NOW, and should start NOW, but continue in tandem with phase 3. Phase 2.1: United Labor - Join the IWW. Join a union. Look into unionizing your workplace. Regardless of how small a difference you think it makes, increasing the power of labor decreases corporate power, full stop.

Phase 2.2: Mutual Aid: Set aside a certain percentage of your income each month - doesn’t have to be a lot, but just a certain amount, that you can budget for each month for helping your community. Make helping other people part of the budget. Creating this simple system, if enough people do it, will limit the reliance on corporate and state control. Do not exceed this - you will expend your resources and wind up needing to rely on others and then overdraw. Keep it to within what you can give. Further, budget a certain amount of TIME each week to doing something that serves your community (see below as well) and getting to know them.

Phase 2.3: Community Networking: Engage with your community in real life, outside. Set aside a certain amount of time each week to do this. If it’s working with underprivileged kids or providing childcare, taking care of the elderly, etc. You can go to a sewing circle and start talking to the people there and bring salvaged clothing that you repair and donate and talk them into doing something similar. Work your hobbies into it! Can you sew? Knit? Scarves and ponchos are never a bad thing, and you can show people how to do it - or swap labor for something you need.. Can you do carpentry? Repair furniture for people who need it, and odds are you can give lessons to people for free and put on a workshop - or swap labor for things you need. Start building these networks in your community. Also, anyone who has a yard? Start looking towards native food-bearing plants. If you’re rural, look into ethical hunting and community cookouts. Kill feral pigs, especially. There’s a shit ton of them, they’re invasive, and they’re tasty, and a cookout of them will bring people together.

Phase 2.4: Community Accountability/Mentoring. Do you have problems in the community with crime? Kids being assholes? Have you considered, rather than calling the cops, giving the kids something to do so they aren’t shitheels? Hooking them up with mentors who can give them skills or help them explore their passions? Providing programs with volunteering? Get involved at your school as well, or form a parent group for it, this will help reduce how many of your kids wind up in the school to prison pipeline.

Phase 2.5: Community Defense: Arm. Odds are you have at least a few disaffected veterans in the community who know the government screwed them and their families who are willing to train you to defend yourselves and who will be happy to be asked to do so - and easy enough to radicalize if they spend time with other people the state is fucking over. It doesn’t have to be everyone in the community, but realistically, you should have at least a few able-bodied people with guns from every community who are practicing with firearms and tactics to protect their community from the fascists as things escalate. This will allow considerably better protection in the event of a shooting or similar. Phase 2.6: Community Assets: Every community should develop a battery of people who can provide at least some degree of help in a variety of situations. Become trained in first aid, CPR, etc. You won't be as good as a doctor, but you can still help. Have a community garden or three. Develop a neighborhood mechanic. Develop a neighborhood seamstress or carpenter if you know one. Trade services. Watch each other's kids.

Phase 3: Electoral Counterstroke This phase exists in two parts: Phase 3.1: Divide and Conquer: Further hasten the crumbling of the republican party. While it realigns, it will do so into a number of factions, the one most likely to win is the authoritarian, christian, culture war, racist wing. You have the ability, if you approach gun nuts and "small government" conservatives (which still exist in many areas of the country) to discuss with them their options. They will NEVER vote democrat or green or left - and they will never be leftists. BUT. They will be easy to convince to splinter from fascism and join a right-wing Libertarian party. They won't be on our side, but their defection from the fascists serves us still in that it splits a right wing further and makes a divided left much less of a gamble.

Phase 3.2: Left Surge Okay, so flat out? This year, Jasmine Sherman is not a viable candidate. They should be, by all rights, but they are not. This is partially due to ballot access tampering, but also partially because far-left candidates have a bad habit of starting their homework five minutes before class starts and then wondering why they don't get a good grade. We have four years to figure out how to get them ballot access in all 50 states, and we need to accomplish that goal, and ensure that they actually are on the ballot in all 50 states in 2028. A vote for them in 2024 is wasted, a vote for them in 2028 should not be unless we've all fucked up to a ridiculous degree. (Yes, I know they have it in 48 states. One of the two where they DON'T because both the democrats and the green party bent over backwards to stop them is CALIFORNIA. You know, the state that no left-wing candidate can win without because of our whopping 55 electoral votes. I mean it when I say they need it in all 50. We can get them there by 2028 if we aren't stupid.)

Further, your local elections should be contested. That public defender who tries to keep juvenile offenders out of jail? Push him to run as a judge and rally as much support as possible. Push left wing retired teachers to run for school board and help them run their campaigns. Push librarians who have lost their libraries to right wing culture war nonsense to run for school board. Politics is local and controlling local power controls most of the governing.

In the senate races, the party machines in almost every state have a lock, so what you're going to do is vote the farthest left democrat you can, consistently, and force the dems to move towards us. This will damage the republican obstruction capacity and begin hijacking the democratic party and make us a block the dems MUST appease.

In the House, you vote radicals, and try to encourage other radicals to run. Where possible, vote green or left-wing third party, where not, repeat the strategy in the Senate.

For state legislature, there's more play for independents - check your state races, these vary a lot more, and to be honest I am much, much more aware of my own state's political machinery than I am aware of anyone else's to the point that any advice I gave on this point would really only be relevant to CA.

There you go, actionable, intelligent planning for the next decade of how the left can effectively sieze power and specific things YOU can do to make the situation better.

#leftism #direct action #electoral action #jasmine sherman #third party #anarchism #antifascist #political action #effective action #us politics #american politics

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orbitswritings · 2 years ago

Text

a neteyam/fem!human reader series. word count: 3k

Chapter 1 (here)

Chapter 2

future NSFW content/smut, breeding kink

synopsis: Neteyam and you are in a secret relationship because you’re a sky demon and he’s the clan’s future Olo'eyktan, so you have to keep it secret. However, one day his parents finally catch on, and Neteyam is told to stop any contact with you immediately. Unfortunately for them, he has a plan that he hopes will ensure you two can be together.

note: chapter 1 is here! nearly all the other chapters for this are about done too, i just need to do some more editing and ill have them up.

tags: @neteyamwifesstuff @christinechickiee @heaven1oo4

Chapter 1

The village was empty. Not surprising, all the other Na’vi having taken refuge to get away from the incoming storm. But Neteyam knew something was up, he just knew. What it exactly was was yet to be determined since nothing was out of the ordinary, but his nerves were on alert through a prickly feeling that wouldn’t leave his stomach. The rumbling storm must’ve been a warning by Eywa. Before, when he was still with you, the sky had been clear and bright as one would pray for. It wasn’t until after dropping you off at your studio and beginning his flight to home that the sky took a sudden turn for the worst. He and his ikran fought against the increasing winds, pushing through the growing storm as it progressively continued to gain in strength. Now inside the village, it was just beginning to unleash; the dark clouds opened with a loud crack of lightning, sending water pouring down. He increased his speed towards his family’s shared kelku. Before entering, Neteyham couldn’t help but hesitate for a moment, the uncertain feeling within him churning even more. Despite the apprehension, he shook his head and entered. Unfortunately, his gut feeling was entirely correct. Inside, he felt his heart rate pick up in speed, seeing only his father and mother, their backs turned to him. Normally during a storm like this his entire family would be squished inside, taking shelter together. His flickering ears picked up some mumbling between his parents, their quiet words indiscernible, but the strain in their tone apparent. The building tension in Neteyam finally snapped, his body becoming cold, the drastic drop in his body temperature made the Na’vi sharply inhale his breath. Hearing him, his parents turned their attention from one another to look at their son. The looks on their faces were nothing Neteyam, their golden firstborn, had ever been the subject of. Instead, both their gazes were piercing and cold. Neteyam could still discern the subtleties within each of them; his father was struggling, forcing himself to keep up the appearance of strong disapproval and anger. Meanwhile, his mother’s was of just pure, undiluted force- barely tethered by an impressive amount of resolve she found within. Her intention was clear: to put an immediate stop to whatever unsightly connection had blossomed outside of her approval. His mother’s strong will and determination made him already know that this wasn’t going to be a discussion. If that still wasn’t enough, her sheer disdain of sky demons was just the catalyst. His father was just being dragged along. It didn’t matter if his father was less definite on this, Neytiri had more than enough fury to fill the gaps of his father’s hesitation. Neteyam knew exactly what spurned this. It occurred earlier today, when outside his better judgment, something happened. A moment that exposed the real feelings you two had for one another. Neteyam swallowed down the growing knot in his throat, struggling with his self control to not outright mirror his parents’ glare. Turning away, Neteyam feigned ignorance. “What is it?” He asked with a obviously constrained tone, removing his bow from around his shoulder to set it aside with a little more firmness than usual. He was internally fighting to keep himself in check, something he never needed to force before. He disliked conflict with his parents, something instilled in him as a young Na’vi child. All his life he tightly held himself to high standards of not just being only a good role model to his younger siblings, but to all the Na’vi, and he excelled in just that. Now though, he felt himself fighting to keep from coming undone. Two paths laid ahead of him, one of feuding and the other of dutiful respect, and the other of doing whatever it took to protect you from the incoming attack.“You know exactly what this is about.” Neytiri hissed, rapidly closing the distance between her and her son. Neteyam flinched but stood his ground, staring holes into his mother’s eyes. Jake also went forward as well, his eyes nervously glancing between his son and his wife, considering whether he would need to put himself in between them. “How? How could you do this?” Neytiri exclaimed. “You, you, Neteyam! Us, your family, your clan! Befriending that sky demon, spending all your time with- I bit my tongue, I had to pray to Great Mother for the strength to tolerate it, but this?!” Neytiri took a sharp inhale, her nostrils wildly flaring as her lips flattened into a near non-existent line. His mother’s eyes were engulfed with a fury Neteyam himself had never been the sole focus of. Despite her enraged voice, a hint of hurt was detectable. That facet was keeping Neteyam inline, the smallest piece of shame.

Her voice lowered. “I would never even imagine this of Lo’ak, but coming from you?” She hissed through clenched teeth. Neteyam felt his upper lip twitch. “But what? What behavior, mother?” Neteyam pressed again, leaning forward slightly to press into his mother’s aggression. His feigning ignorance was clearly artificial, mocking. Neteyam was indirectly admitting guilt, but he still wanted his mother to say it out loud, own what she knew. Neytiri only snarled and bared her fangs, her curling tail rapidly flicking in irritation. She looked like a cat ready to pounce, clearly teetering on whether or not to claw her firstborn’s eyeballs out. Jake took the initiative and stepped in, forcing himself between the two. Jake raised his hands, giving his wife a silent but telling look to calm herself. He then turned to his son. “A clan member saw you and . . . your sky perso being more . . . more than friends.” Jake’s eyes flicked over to Neytiri’s for approval of his phrasing. Jake silently prayed there wasn’t a need to go any further in detail. The muscles of Neteyam’s jaw flexed as he tightly ground his teeth together, his eyes staring into the floor. Yes, your relationship with one another had progressed, much longer ago than his parents would guess. It was secretive, both of you understanding that the second it was found out there was going to instant uproar, like now for instance. So today must’ve been found out. You two had worked so hard to keep it under wraps, a shared understanding that letting anyone know any further was going to be looked upon in a unfairly negative light by not only your fellow humans, but most severely, his clan. The feelings were too just strong. Being near you, Neteyam would describe it as deep and close as a tsyhalu. Neteyam would fly you out miles away so neither of you would be disturbed in your enjoyment of one another, all done under the excuse of helping you with your ‘research.’ Well, there was truth to it. You were still being productive, your chauffeur and bodyguard was just also your boyfriend. It was evident that Neytiri disliked you right out of the gate, especially when her son was spending so much time with you. If you were Na’vi the issue wouldn’t even have been raised, probably celebrated even. The future leader found himself a prospective mate. At the time Neytiri couldn’t protest much, since Lo’ak had his own human companion then Neteyam should be allowed one as well. At least, that’s what Jake had successfully argued. Now Jake was secretly wishing he hadn’t won that fight. He just never considered his son would develop this beyond friendship because of the obvious differences. Now, he feared how deep his son’s bond with you went. And he was right to. Jake didn’t know much, but he knew his son. For Neteyam to be acting like, so on guard and defensive, this connection wasn’t to be taken granted by any means.

It’s funny, today was the day you two actually had gathered enough gall to discuss your futures, sharing it with one another. Nothing was set in stone or even really planned, but the talk was deep and fruitful. It was heavy enough that on the trip back, as you reached your home and landed, you two broke the agreed rule of only sharing affection while far out, and shared once last moment before parting. That must’ve been when you two were spotted. By whom, well, Neteyam already had names for the three suspects. His father moved in closer. Neteyam felt the urge to throw his self control away and flip out just like his mother was just barely keeping herself from, he knew it wasn’t going to do much besides fan the flames. “You are the future leader of the clan.” Jake’s parental tone started, placing a comforting but firm hand on Neteyam’s hardened shoulders, his muscles twitching at the contact. Neteyam couldn’t meet his father’s gaze. “You have responsibilities because of that, Neteyam. Responsibilities to the People, so you need be mated with another Na’vi. One of our kind.” Neteyam looked exacerbated. “Dad-! You were one the sky people!” Neteyam argued. It was rare, if ever, for him to be combative. But when Neteyam looked at their father’s hands, he saw the hypocrisy. Neteyam never thought in a million eclipses he’d be so passionately arguing for someone of the sky people. He found it hard to interact with them, even with the likes of Norm and Max, who more often than not got his cold shoulder. While he was greatly influenced by his mother, he didn’t share his mother’s outright disdain of the sky people. It was more like a disinterest. They lacked a queue, they couldn’t see or interact with Eywa or experience Pandora beyond whatever small, superficial bits they would scrape up and obsess over in their cold bright labs. Jake blinked, following Neteyam’s gaze. The ends of his lips twitched. “Yeah, yeah I was,” He held up his opened palm in admission. “But I gave it up- my human form, to be Na’vi. And I know that your girl,” His tone faltered on his word choice, eyes glancing between Neytiri’s wide-eyed, exasperated expression and Neteyam’s unreadable one. “-Doesn’t even have an avatar to ever transfer to.” Jake’s brows pinched together. “You two just can’t be. It’s just not right, not for you, and not for her. Think about it, Neteyam! She can’t even breathe our air!” Neteyam’s face remained like stone, but inside, he felt a hollow hole where his stomach was supposed to be. His upper lip curling into a snarl. A fire of jealousy flared within his chest. Both his parents were taken aback by the sudden and aggressive response from their usually calm child. Jake’s surprised expression quickly was fixed into a hardened, didactic one.

His father was trying to sell him on separating you two as a sacrifice for your ultimate well-being and happiness. It wasn’t fair for you to force yourself to be with him. It would just cause suffering. Neytiri was the first to shake away the initial shock, replaced with a refilled tank of anger. “Don’t you dare bare your fang at me, boy.” She hissed, shoving her finger into the face of her son. Neteyam growled but reluctantly shut his mouth, although an unhappy wrinkle from the curl of his upper lip remained.

Neteyam released the air from his lungs, shaking his head in disbelief. No, he couldn’t accept it. “But why?” He asked. “Why does it bother you so much that she isn’t Na’vi?” Neteyam asked, his strained, controlled voice edging into distress. Neytiri felt her harsh features soften. Both his parents were unable to witness their son emotionally struggle, but both knew it was best to break him now rather than later. “. . . . Because as the future leader you are to have children. You cannot do that with a sky person.”

“Well, has it ever been tried?!” Neteyam raised his voice, the strength of it shocking even him. The force was unintended, but he felt like you were there in the room with him, he needed to defend you.

Again, his parents both paused, an awkward silence filling their den as both their minds slowly processed his unexpected question. It was like both had to restart their minds in order to deal with it. This is what happens when confronting someone with such brute force in such a short amount of time since receiving the news that spurned such a moment. They should’ve given themselves more time to concoct a better strategy.

“Okay, okay, look, I’m not much of a science guy,” Jake started, clearly irritated. Oh, how he was wishing he’d payed way more attention in biology class when he was a kid, or Hell, even took a second to consult Norm or Max before this. But he didn’t think! Neytiri got all fired up, and well, he just didn’t think this exact topic would even be brought up! “But if it was even possible we would’ve known by now. Ok, someone would know.” Flimsy, bad reasoning. It sat in the back of his mind, heavy like a rock, the fact his avatar was the result of hybridization with human and Na’vi DNA . . . still, that was done with complex tinkering by brainiac scientists. There had to be something, something that he just couldn’t explain at this very second.

“Listen, kid, you just need to accept it. As your father and your leader I am telling you, you are done with that human. Understood?”

That human. Neteyam’s mind flare in anger. It was insulting to you to be referred to as something. Jake really had no idea.Jake knew the ground was shaky and was just hoping his ultimatum would be enough to end this. Again, for the countless amount of other times in his life, Neteyam was expected to be selfless, mature, and act like the leader he was destined to be. “Yes, sir.” The words felt like bitter acid on Neteyam’s tongue, but like every other time before, he dealt with the retching disgust and bowed his head in submission.

Both his parents finally breathed, exhaling and visibly relaxing. They seemed pleased, like a weight had been lifted from their shoulders. The argument had been quite intense but at least it was brief, and a consensus was reached. Unbeknownst to them, the thoughts racing through Neteyam’s mind were anything but.

Fine. Let them pretend there’s a consensus. It’ll keep them occupied for the time being. Turning his back, Neteyam grunted about needing some time to cool down, disappearing into heavy blue showers. Mounting his ikran, he flew off in the downpour. Despite the pounding of large rain drops beating down onto his body, he did his best to take odd turns and use his knowledge of the nearby terrain to his advantage, just in case any of his family attempted to follow him. For now he guessed they wouldn’t, taking their trustworthy son at his word. Eventually he assumed, as time would tick on and he remained absent, they would get a clue about where he was going . . . just not exactly where.

While you mainly lived with the other humans at their outpost, you also had your own space; an abandoned metal trailer you took ownership of as your personal ‘study studio.’ Inside, you could peacefully do your work or whatever else without the distractions that came with the cramped shared building the rest used.

Landing outside your space, Neteyam detached his queue, sliding off onto spongey grass that squished beneath his feet. He walked through the flooded terrain, at least an inch of water having accumulated. Neteyam called out your name, then again but a little louder in case you couldn’t hear due to the massive rain droplets hammering down on your metal cabin.

A few frustrating seconds passed until he saw a small light flicker on, then a warm orange hue filling the rest of your space. The door unlocked and you slowly creaked open the heavy door.

You must’ve been sleeping and he woke you up. Your tired voice was small and suppressed from your mask plus competing with the loud onslaught of rain. He managed to catch in your tone confusion and concern. What was he doing here this late? You only just saw him a few hours ago.

“We . . . need to talk.” His voice was low and strained as he climbed up the steps. You craned your head back to see his face. His facial expression was unreadable, but the position of his pinned ears and the slight pinch between his brows gave you a big hint. Blinking a few times as your sleepy mind slowly processed, you finally stepped to the side to allow him in. He had to hunch over to slip through the doorway, but luckily the inside of your dwelling had a ceiling just high enough to accommodate him.

You struggled with your strength to push the heavy metal door closed. The hinges on the door struggled in opening. Until Neteyam added his single hand, easily shoving it closed, sealing off your cabin to the outside. Once completely closed, a pleasant beep signaled the air filters were kicking on.

Inside Neteyam’s whirling mind, he managed to hear you tell him to stay put while you got something. You dug into a nearby drawer, pulling out a towel, before handing it to the tall Na’vi male, telling him to dry yourself off.

You didn’t want your giant, dripping boyfriend to create puddles on your floorboards or worse, accidentally inflict water damage on important papers. An annoyed Neteyam groaned but complied, quickly wiping himself off.

He had to bite his bottom lip, stifling a groan as he watched you so caring apply another towel to his torso, innocently helping him in wiping off the droplets that clung to his toned form.

He probably wouldn’t be this touchy if it wasn’t for what he’d drafted in his head on the way over. You then yawned, asking him about why he was here while taking the soaked towels to the hamper. Neteyam’s face immediately hardened, his brows knitting together. He wasn’t going to take any joy in delivering the news.

“My parents know.”

#avatar x reader #avatar 2009 #avatar imagine #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #atwow #avatar the way of water #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam sully x reader

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msmk11 · 7 months ago

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Wrapped Up In a Bow

Lucy Gray Baird x gn!reader

WC: 1.6k

CW: Very brief allusion to the covey struggling with money; mentions of food; but otherwise PURE FLUFF

Summary: While in town, you decide to buy Lucy Gray a thank you present. And it certainly has nothing to do with the fact that you have feelings for her.

(This was meant to be a blurb but 100% got away from me.)

Day 5 of mk’s mad dash

Being covey, you preferred to make a life out of the natural resources surrounding your home. You knew how to look for edible plants and differentiate them from poisonous ones, you could set simple snares and traps, and you drew your water from the streams nearby. It was a simple life, but not always sustainable with so many mouths to feed. Making a small amount of income from your performances at the Hob, you all had agreed to set some of it aside each week for going into town and buying the absolutely necessities from the market. And, on the rare occasion, if your week’s income had been a little more generous, you’d splurge on an indulgence.

All of the covey took turns going into town to shop, and this week it was yours. You’d gotten up extra early this morning because though the market was open until around one, you truly believed that the early bird always got the worm. You woke with the sun and set out shortly after, your old knapsack slung over your shoulder. The walk to town was about twenty minutes and you enjoyed how peaceful these early mornings were. The brooks babbled to life around you, bunnies and squirrels skittered across the forest floor, and the birds harmonized with your simple tunes. The town square was still fairly quiet at this time of the day, and only a few people milled about to the different vendors.

Though your list wasn’t long, you always joined chatting with the locals you’d slowly made friends with over the years. You playfully bargained over milk and cheese prices with Rhonda, you asked after old Joe’s kids while you sifted through his freshly baked bread, and you restocked on a few herbs while you talked with Lily about the covey’s most recent performance. Your knapsack was full in no time, but you still had a few coins jingling in your pocket. You decided to allow yourself the pleasure of visiting your favorite vendor- an older woman named Susan who sold the most beautiful trinkets. While you enjoyed the woman’s company, her goods were not ones you could often afford, so you’d only look on at them longingly as you made more responsible purchases. But with the little extra money on hand today, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to look.

Susan instantly greeted you with a warm smile, “Hello dear, it’s been a moment since I’ve seen you or your family.”

You returned her smile, “Yes, well, money’s been a little more tight recently, and we can’t bear to tempt ourselves with your beautiful things.”

You fingered the pretty ribbons, necklaces, and brooches with such a gentleness you’d think they were made of glass.

“Well you’re here today, so that gives me hope that things have been better for you,” she answered knowingly.

You smiled and nodded at her, “Yes, we’ve had a pretty good week or two. Might be ‘cos of Lucy Gray’s new songs. Quite popular with the young folk.”

“That girl sure can carry a tune, can hear it all the way from my house.”

You chuckled fondly and hoped your face didn’t betray the feelings you harbored for the songbird.

“It’s certainly a gift,” you agreed, “Think I wanna thank her for it too. Wouldn’t have this money if it weren’t for her.”

“Well I’ve got lots of pretty things for a pretty girl like her. Anything strike your interest?”

You eyed everything carefully. You wanted to find something that you truly felt embodied Lucy Gray. While she liked her floral patterns and pretty things, she was a humble girl at heart and you didn’t want to embarrass her with a gift that was too flashy.

While many may have overlooked it, a baby blue bow in the corner caught your eye.

You nodded toward it, “May I?”

With shaking hands Susan handed it to you. The bow was made of soft, smooth satin and was attached to a simple silver clip. You could already picture it resting prettily in Lucy Gray’s raven hair, pulling some of her front strands away from her face while she sang and danced on stage at The Hob. You knew it’d go just fine with that one long, blue skirt she favored that was decorated with tiny little flowers.

“I’ll take this, please.”

*****

When you arrived back home, the covey house was alive and bustlin’.

“Mornin’ all,” you greeted in a singsong tone.

Maude Ivory strayed from setting the table to run over and give you a hug.

“What’d you get in town today?” she asked excitedly.

“Well only the best for you, of course,” you answered sweetly.

You laid your knapsack out on the table and allowed her to dig through it, pulling out the bread, milk, and the likes. She held the loaf up to her nose and inhaled deeply, “Mhmm smells so fresh.”

“That’ll be real good for dinner later,” you told her, “so you best put it away so it doesn’t tempt you.”

The blonde grinned at you sheepishly and set it back on one of the counters. You walked over to Billy Taupe who was cooking at the skillet and leaned over his shoulder, “smells real good. Got my stomach grumbling already.”

“Breakfast should be ready here soon’s Tam Amber gets back from the creek.”

You nodded at him, “Thank you.”

Then, you hesitated, “Where’s Lucy Gray.”

He turned and looked at you with a knowing smirk, “Why’d you wanna know?”

You tried to act nonchalant, “‘Cos I have a present for ‘er.’”

Billy Taupe wiggled his eyebrows at you, “Whoo-whee? A present? Someone’s whipped.”

“Quit it, Billy Taupe,” you replied, slapping his arm, “Just wanted to say thanks for her songs bringing in a little extra money this week.”

“And you’re not hoping to get anything out of it in return?” A new voice added. You turned to find Barb Azure walking into the kitchen, a basket full of berries resting on her arm.

“No,” you groaned, crossing your arms, “Just wanted to be nice!”

The two only gave you more teasing looks and you huffed, “Would someone just tell me where she is, please?”

Finally, Barb Azure relented, “Out back, tending to the garden.”

You headed out to the back porch and spotted Lucy Gray in the distance instantly, crouched over some flower of hers. You traipsed down the hill with a pep in your step, excitement bubbling in your stomach. When you grew nearer, you could hear the girl humming a tune quietly.

“What’cha singing?” You asked her.

She startled a little, holding her hand to her chest, “You scared me, darling. Thought everyone was inside by now. But to answer your question, nothing in particular. Just been thinking about a melody recently.”

“Got any words yet?”

She shook her head and you swore she blushed a little, “Nah, just the tune.”

You nodded, “Well, I uh, got something for you at the market today.”

She looked up at you from her crouched position, big brown eyes shining with excitement, “For me? Whatever for?”

You looked down at your feet timidly, “Just felt like saying thank you for sharing your songs with the world. Did us some real good this week.”

Lucy Gray stood and wiped her hands on her dark brown skirt, “Well you know I’m glad people enjoyed ‘em, but I write ‘em for myself.”

“‘Course. But either way…” you hesitated and then reached into your pocket, pulling out the bow, “Here, for you.”

You thrust the pretty blue bow into her hands and she gasped softly.

“Sweetheart, this is just, beautiful. You get it from Susan’s?”

“Mhmm, the one and only. Reminded me of that pretty skirt you own. That blue one with the flowers?”

The raven-haired girl looked up at you with a beaming smile and whispered, “That’s my favorite skirt.”

You tried to hide your blush from her intense gaze, “I know. Thought this’d go nicely when you wear it.”

Her thumb swept gently over the soft fabric of the ribbon as she looked down at it, “Well thank you very much. I already love it dearly.”

You smiled happily at her and your heart fluttered in your chest.

Lucy Gray then looked at you sweetly, “Will you…put it in my hair?”

“Yes, yeah. Course.”

You took the bow from her hand gently, “Turn around.”

She obliged and you reached out, running your hands through her thick, raven hair. You’d dreamed of doing this countless times and it was even better than you imagined- even if it was only for the sake of putting the bow in her hair.

You pulled strands of hair from either side of her head and brought them together in the back. You popped the silver clip open and slid it amongst the strands, clasping them into place. Once it clicked shut, you took a second to admire how lovely it looked amongst her dark tresses.

“Well, how’s it look?” She asked you.

You paused, lost in a trance.

“Does it look bad?”

Lucy Gray turned around, and because you’d been close behind her to clip on her bow, her face came within inches of yours.

You shook yourself out of your trance, “No, no! It doesn’t look bad at all. You look like a real pretty package, all wrapped up in a bow.”

This time, Lucy Gray certainly blushed, “You think so?”

“I know so,” you told her confidently.

“Sweetheart, could I ask you something?” she asked quietly.

You nodded mutely.

“How would you feel if I kissed you right now?”

All of the air rushed out of your lungs.

“I’d be happy as a hummingbird singin’ a new tune.”

Then, before you’ve even processed what happened, Lucy Gray closed the gap between you, kissing you softly. You reciprocated quickly and placed your hands gently on her waist.

When she pulled away you’re breathless, and you rested your forehead on hers, “I need to get you gifts more often.”

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acti-veg · 2 months ago

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In lines with the 'how rich is too rich' ask, what do you think of the early retirement movement? Saving a large % of your income + investing in index funds? Im tempted because I want to spend more time volunteering and less time working but of course all the money I save could be donated and it feels so scummy to even have the amount now while animal sanctuaries are begging for dollars you know?

There is nothing wrong with working to secure your own financial future, it is something every one should do if they are able to. Financial freedom should be attainable for all people, the fact that it isn’t is not your fault. Getting your own finances in a good position frees your time to use for good, and gives you enough money to help family, friends and social justice causes. Financially secure people can do a lot of good.

I’m about to offer you some unsolicited advice based on research and experience, but if you don’t need or want it then skip to the final paragraph. I am in no way qualified to be a financial advisor, this is just some of the stuff I’ve learned the hard way that I wish someone had told me when I was in my 20’s!

It is a good idea to track your spending over the course of about three months, and calculate what are essential expenses. From what is left, you should set aside about 25% for savings and investments. Build up an emergency fund in an instant access savings account first (about 3-6 months of whatever your essential spending is - more if you have dependents), before you donate or invest. Then, calculate a percentage from what is left over that you can comfortably afford to donate monthly. Personally, I don’t think it is prudent to be donating more than you’re saving.

Once you’ve got your emergency fund, set up some donations as monthly direct debits, and keep some to use for more ad hoc donations, like responding to crisis appeals and fundraisers. That way, you are donating from a set budget and won’t leave yourself short. You could also keep a smaller, separate ‘altruistic fund’ to use for other people’s emergencies, that is just gathering a small amount of interest in the meantime. Don’t underestimate the value of giving your time to a cause as well.

Look for sustainable and socially conscious investments (to the extent that they exist) and compound growth will mean that you are in a better financial position to donate more money in the future. If you just donate all you can now, the amount of time and money you have free to donate will not increase over time.

Don’t wait or be ‘tempted,’ the earlier you can start the better. If you take nothing else useful from this, please understand that there is nothing unethical about seeking financial freedom so that you’re no longer chained to a wage. So long as you don’t exploit others to get there, there is really no downside.

#ask #finances #advice

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mathsbian · 1 year ago

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You know what I was thinking about last night?

In the US, we pay into various accounts that are set up by the government to help us out later if/when we need it. These include unemployment insurance (UI), social security retirement benefits, and social security disability benefits (SSDI). These accounts are directly connected to how long you have worked and the amount of money you were paid, and are only for you to access.

We also pay into programs that are for anyone who needs them, no work required to get assistance. These include social welfare programs like SNAP (food stamps) and TANF (cash assistance for families with children so they can buy clothes for their kids and stuff that isn’t covered by SNAP) and SSI, which is another kind of disability insurance but is specifically for poor disabled people who are possibly still working but can’t afford their cost-of-living expenses which are higher than the average person thanks to their disability.

If you want to get money from SNAP or TANF, you have to prove that you need it. The government will be checking if you have a job and how much you get paid, they’ll look at your bank accounts to see how much money you have on hand, you send them copies of bill statements to prove your expenses eat up most or all of your income. Since SSI is a similar program, I can understand why there’s hoops to jump through to get money from that program.

However, if you want money from your UI account or your social security retirement account, you pretty much just have to tell the government you’re in the group that account is for now. For UI, you have to show you’re still looking for new work (at least in my state) but it’s a very lax requirement compared to the requirements for SNAP/TANF. I’m not entirely sure how one goes about collecting their retirement benefits but I assume it involves a similar process of filing with the government that you’ve retired instead of being between jobs, and they’re only check that that admission from you is true.

SSDI, though? You pay into that account your entire career. But then if you suddenly need the money, you have to go through a ridiculously complicated and drawn out process to be approved. UI approval takes a week at most in my state. I assume retirement benefits get approved in under a year at the very most. But getting approved for SSDI when you don’t have one of the limited diagnoses that automatically qualify you (and not even just a diagnosis in the list, a diagnosis with the right stipulations such as mental health conditions having to be present for over two years without much documented improvement despite consistent treatment)? That can take up to TWO YEARS because they can just deny you over and over again and force you to appeal the decision as many as like 5 times, and each appeal has a 6 month waiting period. And on top of that, once you stop working, the account starts counting down to self-destruction. You only have so much time before you lose access to the money entirely. If I am not found disabled on this application (I’m halfway through all the possible appeals), I will not be able to get my SSDI money AT ALL.

It’s fucking bullshit. I paid into that account so I would have money set aside for if I became disabled. I don’t have to prove I need the unemployment money, which I’m no longer qualified to receive, they’ll basically give it to me no questions asked. But when I’m disabled and barely scraping by for years I keep getting told that “actually from our review of your case it seems like you totally can have a desk job, go fuck yourself” despite me constantly including the detail that I cannot sit upright at a desk for more than an hour without needing to lie down completely flat for two hours immediately after. It’s MY MONEY. They’re not saving it for someone else, they’re going to just eat it if I don’t get it, why can’t they just GIVE IT TO ME???

#disability #us politics #ssdi #disability benefits #disabled things #fibromyalgia #chronic pain #chronic fatigue #poverty #vent #on my soapbox

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pastel-charm-14 · 1 year ago

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how to create a budget: for beginners

budgeting doesn't have to be daunting, especially if you're just starting out. here are some simple steps to help you create a budget as a beginner:

track your expenses: start by tracking all of your expenses for a month. this includes everything from rent and groceries to dining out and entertainment. use a spreadsheet, budgeting app, or pen and paper to record your expenses and categorize them.

calculate your income: determine how much money you bring in each month after taxes and other deductions. this includes your salary, freelance income, side hustle earnings, and any other sources of income.

set financial goals: think about what you want to achieve with your money, whether it's saving for a vacation, paying off debt, or building an emergency fund. set specific, achievable goals that align with your values and priorities.

categorize your expenses: organize your expenses into categories such as housing, transportation, groceries, utilities, entertainment, and savings. this will help you see where your money is going and identify areas where you can cut back if needed.

create a spending plan: based on your income and expenses, create a spending plan that outlines how much you'll allocate to each category. aim to prioritize essentials like housing, food, and transportation, while also setting aside money for savings and debt repayment.

track your progress: regularly review your budget and track your spending to see how well you're sticking to your plan. make adjustments as needed to stay on track with your financial goals.

build an emergency fund: aim to set aside money each month in an emergency fund to cover unexpected expenses like car repairs, medical bills, or job loss. start with a small amount and gradually work your way up to having three to six months' worth of living expenses saved.

be flexible and patient: budgeting is a learning process, and it's okay to make mistakes along the way. be patient with yourself and stay flexible as you adjust to your new financial habits. remember, every step you take towards managing your money better is a step in the right direction.

#budget #cost #strategies #bank #opportunities #income #money #management #pastel dreamer✨

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adhdnursegoat · 3 months ago

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Episode 4

Word Count: 14.4k

Content Warning: none right now

Pairing: Edward Nashton X OC Romy Winslow

Setting: Pre-Arkham Origins; 2013

Jack Ryder: "Good morning, Gotham! It's 6:00 AM on January 11th, 2013, and you're watching Gotham City News. III'm Jack Ryder."

Summer Gleeson: "And I'm Summer Gleeson. Starting your Friday off right with the news you need—"

Jack Ryder: (interrupting with a smirk) "-and maybe a little news you don't. Like how I prefer my ladies how I like my liquor—intoxicating and bad for my health—in case anyone out there is wondering." (winks)

Summer Gleeson: (rolling her eyes with a laugh) "Right, because that's exactly what Gotham tuned in to hear. Don’t do it ladies, a real walking red flag over here.” (jerks thumb to her partner before shifting in her seat, becoming more serious) “Today, let’s start with Mayor Hamilton Hill's latest initiative, or as some are calling it, his latest attempt to win brownie points before reelection season."

Jack Ryder: "You’re referring to his new ‘Community Clean-Up Program,’ right? Mayor Hill has announced the allocation of $500,000 to fund neighborhood beautification efforts in lower-income areas. That includes fixing potholes, planting trees, and—wait for it—installing decorative streetlights. Because what says 'safe Gotham streets' more than better-lit crime scenes?"

Summer Gleeson: "Hill says it's about 'restoring pride in our neighborhoods.' And while it’s a nice sentiment, critics are pointing out the glaring issue: no amount of flowers or freshly painted benches is going to stop the rising crime rates. Concerns are growing over his administration’s lack of action against Gotham’s criminal underworld, with many residents saying this is just a single band-aid for several bullet wounds."

Jack Ryder: (leaning back smugly) "But hey, at least those bullet wounds will be framed by lovely begonias."

Summer Gleeson: (shaking her head) "Moving on, though, not everyone is waiting for City Hall to act. Gotham’s own Dark Knight continues his crusade against crime. Last night, Batman was reportedly seen stopping a hostage situation in Coventry."

Jack Ryder: "That’s right. The vigilante saved three employees trapped inside a late-night pharmacy after a robbery turned violent. While many are calling him a hero, as always, there are those who criticize his methods, describing them as overly brutal and, let’s be honest, a little melodramatic."

Summer Gleeson: (nodding earnestly) "Still, it’s hard to argue with the results. For some, he represents the only hope left in Gotham. Let us know what you think—hero or menace? Share your thoughts on our website at www.GCN.org/Batman."

Jack Ryder: (grinning) "I’m calling it now—‘no capes’ is going to be trending by lunchtime."

Summer Gleeson: (adopting a more serious tone) "Well, Jack, humor aside, it’s hard to ignore that the city’s problems are growing more dire. Gothamites are looking for hope wherever they can find it. Just this morning, we received a troubling report about another missing young woman. Janice Owens, 19 years old"—(a photo appears on screen of a smiling young woman with dark curls and bright eyes)—"a student at Gotham University, was reported missing after a party last weekend. Friends say she was last seen leaving the event alone, and no one has heard from her since. If you have any information about Janice, please call 201-551-HELP or visit www.gcn.org/findjanice."

Jack Ryder: (softening, but keeping his tone light to ease the tension) "And if you see someone wandering around in socks and sandals, Summer, that’s your first suspect right there."

Summer Gleeson: (biting back a smile) "Jack, this is serious."

Jack Ryder: (grinning) "I’m just saying, Gotham’s fashion crimes are almost as bad as its real ones. Almost."

Summer Gleeson: (suppressing a chuckle) "Well, let’s lighten things up before we go. In some good news, Gotham Zoo has welcomed a new addition to its penguin exhibit: a fluffy chick, hatched just yesterday. The zoo is asking for name suggestions, and the top contenders include Waddles, Snowball—

The screen abruptly cut to black as Edward Nashton’s finger pressed the TV remote power button.

The device clattered onto the desk without a glance from him, sliding to the side and forgotten as his focus remained laser-sharp on the glowing monitors surrounding him. Strings of code and complex algorithms flashed across the screens in rhythmic chaos, a language only he could interpret. His mind hummed with activity, far removed from Gotham’s morning fluff or the platitudes of its ineffectual mayor.

With a quiet scoff, Edward muttered, “‘Beautification’... Ridiculous.”

He leaned back momentarily, the chair’s worn springs creaking under him. A half-eaten piece of toast, gone cold, sat abandoned alongside a mug of coffee that had long gone stale. On the desk beside him, a cigarette smoldered, its faint, acrid scent mingling with the stagnant air of the room. A thin wisp of smoke curled lazily upward, occasionally dissipating when a chilly breeze drifted in through the cracked window.

This space, officially designated as the second guest room, was anything but welcoming. The walls were bare, painted in an uninspired off-white that did nothing to soften the harsh glare of the fluorescent desk lamp overhead. There was no art, no photographs, no hint of personality or warmth—just a single shelf crammed with books, binders, and puzzles, and a desk overflowing with tools, cables, and scraps of paper: organized chaos.

The hum of his computers was a soothing lullaby, the rapid flicker of code on his monitors more invigorating than any rest. He typed furiously, his fingers a blur over the keyboard. Each burst of keystrokes was punctuated by the occasional satisfying click of a compiled program or decrypted file. The light from the screens reflected in his glasses, casting faint, distorted patterns onto his pale face, taut with focus and intensity.

He hadn’t slept. He didn’t care. Sleep was an inconvenience, a weakness he rarely indulged. What others called exhaustion, he framed as clarity—his sharpest insights always seemed to arrive in these quiet, liminal hours when the city was dormant, the world still, and his thoughts could run unchecked.

“Idiots,” he muttered under his breath, a sharp grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. Even Gotham’s most ambitious criminals couldn’t hide their tracks from him.

He had been working on the response time case for weeks now, piecing together data Loeb and the other incompetents at the precinct would never bother to analyze. Dispatch logs, call center records, GPS coordinates from patrol units—all of it fed into his custom algorithm, meticulously designed to reveal the systemic rot buried within GCPD’s operations.

And it was working.

His monitors flashed with heat maps of Gotham, clusters of data points glowing brighter in certain areas. His eyes narrowed behind his glasses as a string of data scrolled across his main monitor, a new pattern emerging amidst the chaos. His eyes zeroed in on flagged areas. The response times there were staggering—calls for help going unanswered for fifteen, twenty, even thirty-two minutes—if they were answered at all.

Meanwhile, similar incidents in neighborhoods like The Diamond District, Coventry, or Burnley received near-immediate attention. The contrast was glaring, and Edward felt a rush of satisfaction as his algorithm highlighted another anomaly. He tapped a key and fished for his cigarette while a series of flagged reports loaded. He took a drag, exhaling slowly as the results appeared: assaults, missing persons, .

In The Narrows, Park Row, Old Gothem, The Bowery and The Cauldron, these cases didn’t just take longer to respond to—they often disappeared entirely, the reports either “misplaced” or buried in backlogged paperwork. Patterns emerged, each one pointing to the same damning conclusion: Gotham’s police force prioritized the protection of the wealthy while leaving its most vulnerable citizens to fend for themselves.

He tapped ash into an overfull tray, his mind racing as he followed the digital breadcrumb trail. It was intoxicating—the hunt, the thrill of unraveling secrets buried in plain sight. There was nothing else like it. Every click, every discovery, was another piece of the puzzle falling into place, another thread of corruption exposed.

But it wasn’t just the response times that interested him. It was the timing, the frequency. A subtle spike in calls around specific hours—late evenings, early mornings. Patterns that aligned too neatly to be coincidence.

Edward’s fingers paused, hovering over the keys as his mind spun, piecing together the implications. He hadn’t turned this information over to Loeb yet. Not because he couldn’t, but because he wasn’t ready to let go of the thrill of discovery. Loeb didn’t deserve the credit, anyway. No, Edward would give him the data when the time was right—when it was undeniable, unassailable, a perfect storm of facts that would either force Loeb to act or reveal his complicity.

Edward shifted in his chair, his fingers hovering over the keyboard for a moment before he typed a name into the GCPD employee files (which no one knew he had access to):

Jack Hartley.

The query pulled at him like a loose thread, one he felt compelled to unravel. It wasn’t just about the man’s audacity—though Edward found Hartley’s overconfidence grating in the extreme—it was the way Hartley carried himself. The swagger, the smirk, the casual sense of entitlement. It irritated Edward in ways he couldn’t fully articulate, and irritation demanded answers.

The first results were standard fare: employment records, a GCPD personnel file, patrol routes, commendations for “bravery” during an apprehension in The Bowery three years ago. Edward snorted at that. Bravery? More likely brute force or sheer dumb luck.

He tapped a few keys, bypassing a surface-level firewall to access more detailed internal records. His lips curled into a faint smirk—so much for GCPD security.

Hartley’s disciplinary file was sparse but not empty. A single flagged report caught Edward’s attention:

Complaint filed by a civilian.

Allegation: Excessive use of force.

Status: Dismissed.

Edward’s fingers hovered over the keys. Dismissed? Of course, it was. Most complaints like this vanished under the weight of red tape or cronyism. Hartley wouldn’t be the first officer to benefit from a system designed to protect its own.

Still, it was a lead. Edward’s eyes narrowed as he dug deeper, cross-referencing Hartley’s name with incident reports and internal communications. Patterns began to emerge—subtle, but visible to someone who knew where to look.

Hartley’s name was tied to a disproportionate number of incidents in The Narrows, Gotham’s red-light district. Those nagging, lagging response times, assaults, questionable arrests, and more than a few vague, unexplained “interventions.” Edward’s scowl deepened as he pulled up Hartley’s patrol logs. He saw the gaps immediately—times when Hartley was unaccounted for, “off-route,” with nothing to show for it in the official records. No arrests, no reports, just blank spots in his timeline.

Edward leaned closer to the monitor, tossing his cigarette butt toward the ashtray. Where were you, Officer Hartley? What were you doing?

He dug further, following the digital breadcrumbs with the precision of a surgeon. Each file, each string of data, was another piece of the puzzle, another thread in the tapestry of Gotham’s corruption.

A flagged entry caught his eye—an arrest made by Hartley in The Narrows, just over six months ago. The details were sparse, almost deliberately so, but the key points stood out: charges filed against the arrestee were dropped within 48 hours.

That alone would have been suspicious, but it was the name that made Edward’s fingers pause over the keys. The arrestee? A known associate of Black Mask—Jeremy Ritter.

Edward’s brows furrowed as his mind processed the connection, dots aligning faster than his screen could refresh. An arrest like that should have made waves, especially given Roman Sionis’s reputation. Instead, it had vanished into the void, scrubbed clean of any official scrutiny. Hartley’s involvement, paired with the rapid dismissal of charges, suggested something far more deliberate than mere incompetence.

He leaned back in his chair, tapping another cigarette loose from the pack and lighting it. The sharp scent filled the room as he took a drag, letting the cigarette dangle from his lips while he leaned forward again, diving deeper into the data. The implications were tantalizing, a thread he couldn’t resist pulling.

Exiting the GCPD server, Edward pivoted, running a full background check on Jack Hartley. It took mere seconds for the first wave of data to populate his screen:

Education: High school diploma, minimal academic achievement.

Military Experience: Served in the army, honorable discharge with a medal of valor.

Edward snorted. A "hero," then. Of course.

He dug deeper, combing through public records and local news archives. Something caught his attention—a police report filed two years ago. Arrest for domestic assault. The victim? A girlfriend at the time.

Edward’s lips curled into a cold grin as he opened the file, scanning the sparse details. Charges dropped. No surprise there. He didn’t need to see the rest to know what likely happened: intimidation, pressure, and a system designed to protect men like Hartley.

The grin widened as Edward switched focus, pulling up more personal details:

Current address: Apartment in Coventry. 1701 33rd Ave, apt 25, Gotham, New Jersy 23537

Financial records: A trail of minor but telling inconsistencies—cash deposits that didn’t align with his salary, credit card transactions placing him in areas of Gotham he shouldn’t have been patrolling.

Edward tapped ash into the tray, flicking the butt with his thumb. His monitors flashed with the growing dossier on Hartley, the pieces of the man’s life falling into place in stark, damning detail.

Hartley wasn’t just a nuisance. He was a liability. A jarhead with a violent streak and a penchant for cutting corners when it suited him. And now, with his potential proximity to Sionis, Hartley was also a potential informant—or worse, an asset to one of Gotham’s most dangerous crime lords.

His grin sharpened, his mind racing with possibilities. This was more than just satisfying curiosity. Hartley’s connections, his history, his patterns—they were all data points, pieces of a larger puzzle.

He added the information to his growing compilation—every flagged incident, every suspicious deposit, every loose end waiting to unravel. By the time he was finished, Edward knew Hartley would never cross his path again.

“Oh, Hartley, Hartley,” he muttered to himself, the faint edge of a grin tugging at his lips. With a few taps, he powered down his personal computer.

The more he uncovered, the clearer the picture became. Hartley wasn’t just another mediocre cop puffed up by his own sense of self-importance. He was worse—a cog in Gotham’s corrupt machine. A man who used his badge as leverage, whether for power, profit, or both.

Edward stubbed out his cigarette, pushing away from the desk before closing the cracked window. Within a few minutes, he tossed his toast, brushed his teeth, spritzed on cologne to mask the smell, and grabbed his coat and scarf. He clipped his keys to his belt loop, checked his phone—no notifications—the background as generic as it had been since he’d bought it.

Another day, another mess to untangle.

And then there was Romy.

Edward exhaled sharply at the thought, slipping his cigarettes, phone, and wallet into his pocket as he stepped out into Gotham’s cold morning air. She would be waiting at the precinct, no doubt eager to piss him off. Edward shook his head, trying to shove the thought aside.

The truth was, for all her confidence and wit, she was still a student—a fledgling in a field he had mastered. And yet, something about the way she worked, the way she challenged him, gnawed at him. It got under his skin, poking at places he didn’t even know were tender.

The streets of Gotham buzzed faintly as Edward trudged toward the GCPD, the hum of traffic and distant sirens blending into a white noise that filled his mind.

He had never wanted this. To precept Romy. To precept anyone. The very idea of teaching someone felt like a cosmic joke—especially after the years he spent tormenting his own teachers.

Edward had taught himself everything he knew. Beyond the basics hammered into him in elementary school, he had quickly realized he didn’t need the people at the front of the classroom. Most of them hadn’t understood the material as well as he did.

He remembered the shift vividly. At first, he had been the quiet student, the one who raised his hand only when he was sure the answer was correct. But then, there had been the first time he had corrected a teacher—a simple arithmetic mistake during a lecture. The teacher had dismissed him, brushing it off like an irrelevant interruption. But Edward had been right.

That dismissal had ignited something in him.

It had started small: muttered quips under his breath when a teacher had fumbled through an explanation, little digs that had earned scattered laughter from classmates. But it had grown quickly. He had begun questioning everything, openly challenging authority figures in the most obnoxious way possible. His corrections hadn’t been polite—they had been biting, precise, and delivered with an air of superiority that had made it clear he didn’t just think he was smarter than them. He had known it.

Chemistry teachers who couldn’t balance equations. History teachers who had glossed over inaccuracies. Geometry teachers who hadn’t understood the proofs they were assigning. Edward had exposed them all, one by one, with the kind of cold precision that had earned him grudging respect from his peers and thinly veiled disdain from his teachers.

And the worst part? He had thrived on it.

He remembered the looks on their faces—the tight-lipped frustration, the feigned patience as they had tried to maintain control of their classrooms. He had remembered the way they had fumbled for explanations, trying to regain the upper hand, and how he had already had the answer, waiting, like a loaded weapon.

Edward Franklin Nashton hadn’t needed teachers—not when he had known everything.

But that hadn’t been enough for his father.

“Do it yourself, Edward,” the man had barked, his breath heavy with the stench of beer and cigarettes. “ Don’t expect anyone to hand you anything. You want something? You earn it.”

The hypocrisy of it still churned in Edward’s gut. His father, the bloated, useless excuse for a man, who had never lifted a finger to improve his own life, had dared to demand perfection from his son.

Edward had learned early that the world wouldn’t help him. If anything, it would try to drag him down, to shove him into the same mediocrity everyone else wallowed in. So he had taught himself, rising above the noise and filth around him through sheer force of will.

And now, he was supposed to teach Romy.

Romy, with her smartass mouth and maddening persistence. Romy, who seemed to question him as much as he had questioned others, as though she had the right.

Edward’s scowl deepened as he approached the GCPD, the looming building a monument to the incompetence and corruption he had worked so hard to distance himself from.

He didn’t like her. He didn’t want to like her. And the way she approached problems, the way she wasn’t intimidated by him or his intellect—it unsettled him. There was something in her that reminded him of something—someone.

And he hated it.

Just as he planted a foot on the precinct steps, his phone buzzed sharply in his pocket. He didn’t miss a beat, continuing his ascent to the top step as he pulled it out and answered.

“Nashton,” he said, his voice clipped, already bordering on exasperated.

The voice on the other end was brisk and professional—one of the precinct’s administrators. “We’ve got a situation. Vincent Carlyle. We need you on-site for a search warrant—suspect laptop, sensitive data, the works. High stakes.”

Edward listened without breaking stride, pushing through the precinct’s heavy glass doors and into the cacophony of fluorescent lights, ringing phones, and overlapping conversations. The administrator rattled off an address.

Carlyle.

The name stuck, tugging at the edges of his memory. Some kind of hedge fund manager. Edward’s lips twitched in a faint grimace. The type of man who probably thought himself untouchable, hidden behind layers of encryption and NDAs. Idiots like that always made the most satisfying targets.

He rolled his eyes, glancing at his watch as he sidestepped a cluster of uniforms loitering near the bullpen. 07:13. Traffic would be terrible.

“I’ll be there in an hour,” he replied curtly, ending the call without waiting for acknowledgment. The phone slipped back into his pocket as he continued his path through the precinct, his mind already dividing itself between Carlyle’s laptop and the growing annoyance that was Romy Winslow.

If nothing else, this would be a distraction—a reprieve from the tangled mess she was making of his carefully ordered life. His scowl deepened at the thought.

Edward shook his head, forcing his focus back to the task at hand. Carlyle. Laptop. Sensitive data. High stakes.

As he neared his office, he considered his approach. Should he leave her behind entirely, trusting she’d remain occupied? Or should he drag her along, hoping the field trip would appease her incessant pestering? Neither option seemed particularly appealing. No, he would make her stay here. Yes, there would be less to worry about and a brief reprieve from her. He could only hope Romy would actually stay quiet today, buried in whatever busywork he assigned her. But something deep in his gut told him that was wishful thinking. She didn’t have it in her.

There was a certain energy about her—a need to push, to probe, to test boundaries—he could already tell.

Edward exhaled sharply as he reached for the door handle, steeling himself for whatever chaos the day would bring.

Sure enough, there she was—the thorn in his side, the perpetual disruption to his carefully constructed routine. Romy was seated at her desk, wired earbuds in, looking entirely too comfortable in a space that belonged to him and him alone. She was a sight that stuck out against the room like a sore thumb. Edward’s eyes lingered for half a second, cataloging the details without conscious effort.

Wednesday, lavender. Yesterday, gray and green. Today, a mix of the two. Her turtleneck was a soft lavender, tucked neatly into a gray skirt that fell just above her knees. And, of course, she was wearing those thigh-high stockings again, paired with knee-high black boots. Edward’s scowl deepened.

Did she own any pants at all?

The thought irritated him, though he couldn’t quite say why. Perhaps it was the impracticality of it. Gotham was freezing this time of year, and yet she walked around as if immune to the cold. Her hair was draped across and behind her shoulders that day, smooth and deliberate in its placement. Another detail he wished he hadn’t noticed.

Edward exhaled sharply, a sigh meant more for himself than for her, and strode into his office. He didn’t bother to announce his arrival. The click of the door, the scuff of his shoes against the floor—those were enough. As he moved past her desk, the faint trace of her perfume caught his attention. Floral, that time. Something light, subtle, but still noticeable enough to pull him from his thoughts for just a moment.

Why did she always disrupt everything? Even when she was silent, she was a distraction.

Edward spared her a brief glance, his eyes flicking toward her and then away just as quickly, as though acknowledging her any further would give her the satisfaction of knowing she had taken up space in his mind.

That day would be different. That day, she would not get under his skin.

Without a word, Edward strode into his workspace, setting his bag down on the desk with more force than necessary. The thud reverberated through the quiet room, cutting through the faint hum of electronics. He didn’t bother removing his coat or unpacking anything—he’d just have to put it all back on soon enough.

The sound of drawers opening and closing filled the space as he moved around with clipped efficiency, gathering what he needed.

It was only when he started making enough noise that Romy finally looked up. She pulled an earbud out, tilting her head to the side as if she had just noticed him. That infuriating half-smirk of hers was already in place.

“Good morning, Mr. Nashton.”

Edward didn’t respond. He simply continued rummaging, pulling out an external hard drive, a toolkit, and a few other necessities. He placed them on his desk with precise movements, methodically packing them into his bag.

“What are you doing?” she asked, leaning forward slightly in her chair.

“Collecting equipment,” he replied curtly, his focus unwavering.

“For…?”

He doesn't pause his movements. “Got a call for some fieldwork.”

At that, she sat up straighter. “Ooh, a field trip. Where are we going?”

Edward froze for a split second before continuing. “Fieldwork,” he snipped. “Not a field trip. And we aren’t going anywhere. I’m going. Alone.”

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a mock pout. “Why so secretive, Mr. Nashton? What kind of super-important work are you up to?”

He sighed, zipping the bag shut with deliberate force. “Investigating a laptop belonging to an idiot who thinks he can do whatever the hell he wants.”

“Cool. Let me grab my stuff.”

“You are not coming,” he snapped, spinning to face her.

“Why not?” she shot back, adding a subtle pout that Edward refused to acknowledge. “This is supposed to be a learning experience, right? What better way to learn than by watching the brilliant Mr. Edward Nashton in action?”

He stared at her, his jaw tightening, the muscles working as he gritted his teeth. Was she trying to appeal to his ego? Was she trying to challenge him? Goad him into proving himself?

The thought gnawed at him, and Edward narrowed his eyes slightly, scanning Romy’s expression for any hint of mockery or insincerity. Her words seemed deliberate—too deliberate. Was this calculated? A ploy to manipulate him?

If it was—it was working.

And he hated it.

The idea of her following him, asking endless questions, disrupting his carefully ordered flow—it was maddening. Absolutely maddening. But the look on her face told him everything he needed to know.

Part of him realized that maybe it was not a good idea to leave her there alone. There was no telling what she could ruin or break in his absence. He took a deep breath. Yes, no matter how much he hated the idea of babysitting her, he would much rather deal with that than the aftermath of her subsequent meddling.

Plus, she wasn’t going to back down.

She hasn’t in the three days he’s known her.

Edward exhaled through his nose, the sound sharp and clipped. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice heavy with exasperation.

“Cool.” The grin that spread across Romy’s face was infuriatingly self-assured, her confidence somehow amplifying his irritation. “Love a good field trip.”

“ Work. Field work. We are working. Not taking a fun little trip.”

Edward sighed sharply, the weight of his decision already pressing down on him. He slung the bag over his shoulder, heading for the door and outside without waiting to see if she’d follow. Of course, she did. The telltale click of her boots against the linoleum floor trailed after him, each step like a needle pricking at his patience. He took a brief detour to sign out a set of keys for one of the department’s unmarked vehicles.

By the time the two of them reached the precinct parking lot, Edward’s irritation had only grown. He headed toward the row of vehicles with purposeful strides, his coat flaring at his sides as he moved. He stopped by one of the sedans, pulling the key fob from his pocket. “Get in,” he said curtly, opening the passenger side door without looking at her.

“So demanding,” Romy quipped, sliding into the seat with a grin. In his periphery, he watched as she swung her legs inside, noting the black trench coat she wore, and the matching Michael Kors bag. Edward ignored the comment, snapped the door shut, and rounded the car to slip into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary. The faint scent of stale coffee and vinyl filled the car.

As he started the engine, she settled in beside him. He didn’t even look at her as he muttered, “If you so much as breathe too loudly, I will throw you out of this car.”

She smirked, clearly unbothered by his sharp tone. “Noted.”

The drive began in silence. The hum of the engine filled the cabin, accompanied by the honks of traffic around them and the occasional squeak of the suspension as the car navigated Gotham’s congested streets. Edward’s eyes remained fixed on the road, but even as he focused on the task at hand, he was acutely aware of Romy sitting beside him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her—her expression calm, as if this were just a leisurely outing. He hated it. Hated how her presence shifted the energy in the car, how it disrupted the careful balance of his focus, his life. She was too calm, too composed, as if she were waiting for something—or worse, planning something.

This was going to be a long day.

The silence stretched on, taut and heavy, until it felt almost unbearable. And then, as if on cue, Romy sighed—a long, exaggerated exhale. Edward’s lips pulled into a flat line. He had told her not to breathe. Without a word, she reached forward, her hand hovering over the radio controls before twisting the knob and tuning the station. The soft static faded, replaced by the upbeat rhythm of a pop station.

“What what, what, what. What what, what, what—"

Edward blinked.

Then, he reached forward and cut the radio off with a sharp jab of his finger, his eyes never leaving the road. For a moment, there was quiet again. But then, as if testing him, Romy turned it back on.

“I’m gonna pop some tags—”

Edward scowled. He didn’t look at her, didn’t say a word, but his hand moved with the same deliberate precision as he shut it off again.

She waited a beat before reaching forward once more. The pop music resumed, the silly notes filling the car, mocking him.

“... walk into the club like, ‘What up, I got a big cock—’”

His hand shot out, slamming the power button harder than necessary.

She reached—

“Touch it again,” he hissed, “and I will turn this car around and drop your little ass on the precinct steps.” He cast her a brief side-eye, his lips pulled tight over his teeth.

Romy paused for a beat, her hand hovering over the radio controls. And then, with a slow, deliberate grin, she leaned back in her seat. “Alright, whatever you say, daddy,” she purred.

In response, Edward’s breath caught. It was faint, barely noticeable, but it was there—a tightening low in his abdomen that he most definitely had not asked for, nor did he welcome. His posture stiffened immediately, his spine snapping straighter against the seat.

No. Absolutely not.

For a moment, it was as though his brain stalled, caught between processing Romy’s words and the way she had said them. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, fingerless gloves squeaking. His eyes darted to her, just for a second, but it was enough to catch the amused glint in her verdant gaze and the deliberate twitch of her smirk. He snapped his attention back to the road immediately.

He cleared his throat, the sound coming out squeaky. Edward’s pulse felt heavier. “Don’t—” he started, his voice tighter than he’d like. But the words faltered, falling flat before they could fully form. What the fuck was he supposed to say to that? How did you even respond to something so—so absurd, so wildly inappropriate, so Romy? “Were you dropped on your head as a child? What is wrong with you?” he finally snapped.

“Lots of things,” she replied breezily, dismissing the insult with a casual wave.

Edward glared at the road ahead, his jaw working as he bit back the string of colorful expletives bubbling in his throat. He didn’t trust himself to speak further, not without giving her the satisfaction of knowing she had gotten under his skin.

Which, of course, she had.

He inhaled through his nose and exhaled out of his mouth, adjusting and relaxing his grip on the wheel, trying to ground himself in the monotony of the snail-paced traffic ahead. He was going to get through the day. Seven more hours—seven more hours and he would be free of her until next Wednesday. Four days—four days, and everything would be back to normal.

Normal until the next Wednesday, that was...

What had he done to deserve this? What had he done to have his well-managed, solitary peace disrupted like this? What had he done to deserve this little, bratty twit sitting next to him in the passenger seat? What had he done to have someone so arrogant, so annoyingly confident charged to him? This was his curse—his personal hell, his Sisyphean task, his—

Tap.

Tap-tap-tap-tap...tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap...

Edward’s eye twitched, the muscle beneath it spasming in time with the rhythm of the sound. He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of his attention. But his periphery betrayed him, catching just enough to confirm what he already suspected.

Those fucking nails.

Romy was on her phone, thumbs flying across the screen with practiced ease, her mint-green acrylics emitting a maddeningly rhythmic symphony of taps against the glass. Edward had thought—hoped—that the car ride would grant him a reprieve from the incessant clacking, tapping, and clicking she did all day. But no. Even here, in the small confines of the vehicle, she had found a way to test his patience.

Tap.

Tap-tap.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap...

The rhythm escalated, a relentless barrage that crawled under his skin, settling in his nerves like a splinter he couldn’t reach. He tried to drown it out, focusing on the road, the faint hum of the heater, the dull ache in his jaw, the twitching of his eye, the warmth in his—no, no. No.

T-t-tap.

T-t-taptap.

Tap-t-tap-tap-tap-t-t-t-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-t-t-tap-tap-tap...

...

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-t-t-t-tap-tap-ttttt-tap—

“Are those ridiculous nails really necessary?!”

She blinked, then tilted her head slightly, as though genuinely considering the question. Then, as serious as the grave, she quipped, “Oh, they’re absolutely essential.”

“I fail to see the purpose other than to piss me off.”

At that, Romy shifted in her seat, angling herself toward him with deliberate ease. She propped her elbow against the door, resting her cheek on her fist, and paused just long enough to make him even more uncomfortable. He could feel her gaze boring into his profile.

“Then you, Mr. Nashton, have obviously not had a girl run her nails through your hair,” she chided, tone sly, “or your neck, chest... or—well—anywhere really.”

Heat flooded Edward’s face, creeping up his neck like an unstoppable tide. His scowl deepened, his gaze fixed intently on the car ahead. Move. Move. Move. His mind commanded it with such intensity he half-expected the vehicle to vaporize. Anything to escape this conversation.

His thoughts betrayed him, spiraling against his will. The images her words conjured—hands, nails, touches—were too vivid, too sharp in his imagination. Not that he had any real frame of reference, though... No, he hadn’t felt that. Not a girl’s nails, not soft fingers, or kisses, not anything…

And it wasn’t because he didn’t want to. No, it was just... circumstances. Yes, that was it. Circumstances. He’d never had the time. Between school, work, and his ever-expanding projects, his life hadn’t left room for such trivialities. Relationships, intimacy—those things were distractions, irrelevant to his goals. Not that he hadn’t thought about it before. But those thoughts were fleeting, inconsequential. They didn’t matter. They shouldn’t matter.

It felt too warm in the car, the heater suddenly oppressive. That was it. The heater was to blame. But his face burned, and he knew—oh, he knew—she was watching him.

Finally, he forced out a response, his tone sharper than intended. “That is entirely irrelevant.”

Romy’s chuckle was soft, almost purring, a sound that rippled through Edward and made his grip on the wheel falter for the briefest of moments.

“If you say so, Mr. Nashton,” she replied, and he could hear the grin in her voice, even without looking at her.

The car ahead lurched forward, and Edward seized the opportunity to accelerate, focusing intently on the road. His foot pressed harder on the gas than necessary, the sudden speed a welcome distraction from the unbearable weight of her words.

But then she spoke again.

“So—” she began, and he already heard the mischief in her tone, “is it that you’ve never dated anyone who wore them? Or...?”

His breath caught. A storm brewed in his chest—embarrassment, irritation.

Don’t answer. Just ignore it. It’s a trap.

But the silence was uncomfortable, and he could feel her gaze like a laser, dissecting him, poking at cracks he didn’t even know he had. His jaw clenched, teeth squeaking audibly. The truth sat heavy and bitter in his throat. He’d never dated anyone. Not seriously, not romantically, not in the way she was implying. The few fleeting interactions he’d had were awkward at best, disasters at worst. He’d always been better with knowledge, education, facts, logic, reasoning, puzzles than people.

And this—this conversation—was a prime example of why.

Edward inhaled sharply, his chest tight, and chose the only defense he had left.

“That’s none of your business,” he grumbled.

Romy leaned back slightly, her smirk widening, and he knew he’d just handed her exactly what she wanted—a reaction.

Edward exhaled through his nose, the sound sharp and controlled, an effort to tamp down the simmering irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. He didn’t respond, didn’t dignify her words with an acknowledgment. She was fishing for a reaction, and he refused to bite.

Instead, he locked his gaze on the road ahead, scowling at the snail-paced traffic, trying to will her out of his mind. But it was too late. Her words, her teasing, her relentless prodding had made him acutely aware of something he tried very hard not to think about.

Thirty years old and still a virgin.

How pathetic.

The thought crept in, uninvited and unwelcome, like a spider skittering into the corner of his mind. He tried to squash it, to smack it aside with cold, logical reasoning. It was his choice, after all. It had always been his choice. He’d been too busy, too focused on his work, too... selective. Yes, that was it. Selective. No one had been good enough for him.

But even as he repeated the justification to himself, it felt hollow. Had it truly been his choice? Or had it simply never been an option?

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, but before he could spiral further, another sound cut through his thoughts.

A shutter click.

Edward flinched. Another click. He spared Romy the briefest of glances, just enough to confirm what he already suspected.

She was taking selfies.

Sitting in his passenger seat, completely at ease, she held up her phone, adjusting the angle as she cycled through expressions: a bright, charming smile; a sultry smolder; a dramatic pout. Each click of the camera was like a needle pricking at his patience, unraveling the fragile thread of control he was clinging to.

Why was she so disruptive?

Click.

“Really?” he muttered, the word escaping before he could stop it.

Click.

She glanced at him, unbothered, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “What?”

He exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing against the steering wheel.

Click.

“Do you ever stop?” he asked finally, his tone clipped and weary.

“Stop what?” she replied innocently, though the glint in her eye betrayed her.

“Stop existing."

She laughed softly, the sound light and unbothered, and it grated on him in a way he didn’t fully understand. She took another picture.

“You’re the one who agreed to let me come along. You could have said no.” And another.

“I did tell you no!” Edward growled, his voice a little too loud. His mouth snapped shut. He took a deep breath. “You know, you are intolerable. A gnat. A pest. A menace.”

“Aw.” She gave him a mocking pout. “And here I thought you were starting to like me.”

“I can’t stand you.”

“Then you should try me lying down...”

His mind tripped over itself in a desperate attempt to process her words. He blinked once, twice, his vision tunneling as entirely unbidden images invaded his thoughts. Her lying down. Him beside her. The suggestion was so absurd, so impossible, and yet his brain conjured it with maddening clarity. His scowl deepened as though sheer willpower might banish the thoughts. He focused on the road, willing the asphalt to crack apart and swallow him whole. He shouldn’t be thinking about this. He didn’t want to be thinking about this.

Why would she say something like that?

Edward gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles turned white under his gloves, the smooth leather creaking beneath his gloves. His mind screamed at him to shut down the train of thought before it careened into dangerous territory, but it was already too late. The images lingered, vivid and intrusive, like a puzzle piece jammed into the wrong spot—wrong, out of place, but impossible to ignore.

He cleared his throat, the sound harsh and forced. "Do you ever listen to yourself?" he muttered, voice strained. "Or do you just say the first ridiculous thing that comes to mind and hope for chaos?"

Romy spoke in an almost absentminded manner. "A little from column A, a little from column B." Her fingers trail idly over her phone screen. Another click sounded, and Edward's eye twitched.

"Enough with the photos!" he snapped, his voice rising before he could stop himself. "What could you possibly need so many pictures for?"

"For posterity, bro.” Romy shrugged, tilting her phone to show him the screen, where a string of perfectly angled selfies displayed her smug expression. “Gotta commemorate the first time you let me tag along. It’s a historic day."

"Historic," Edward repeated flatly, his jaw tightening. "If by 'historic,' you mean the first and last time, then yes, absolutely. You have been nothing but a pest."

She chuckled softly, the sound buzzing under his skin like an itch he couldn’t scratch. "You wound me, Mr. Nashton."

"Good," he shot back, his voice sharp. "Maybe you'lllearn to shut that smartass mouth of yours."

Her laugh bubbled up again, lighter this time, almost genuine. "Oh, you love it, and you know it."

Edward didn’t respond. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, he focused on the road, the traffic, the cacophony of Gotham’s streets—anything to drown out the chaos sitting in his passenger seat.

But even in silence, Romy was a presence he couldn’t ignore. Her perfume lingered faintly in the air, floral and warm, and every now and then, he caught the faintest sound of her shifting in her seat, her nails tapping against her phone, her amused hums as she scrolled through her gallery or apps.

She was infuriating. Impossible. Distracting in ways he couldn’t fully articulate.

The light ahead turned green, and Edward seized the opportunity to accelerate again, the engine’s low rumble a temporary balm for his fraying nerves. But as the car sped forward, Romy spoke once more, her voice soft but unmistakably playful.

"You know, I think you might eventually like having me around.”

"I would rather chew glass."

"Now that sounds like a date," she quipped without missing a beat.

Edward groaned audibly, his head thudding back against the headrest for just a moment before he forced himself to refocus. "This is going to be the longest day of my life," he muttered under his breath.

Romy heard him, of course. And when she laughed, soft and wicked, he knew—deep down—she was enjoying every second of his torment.

“You know...” Romy said, her voice dropping, “you’re kind of adorable when you’re this frustrated.”

Adorable.

No one had ever called him that before.

He didn’t want to be called that.

He didn’t want to like being called that.

And yet, there was no denying the fresh, unwelcome wave of heat creeping to the tips of his ears. He kept his eyes fixed on the road, as though it held the answers to his sudden and overwhelming discomfort. His jaw tightened, teeth grinding together.

Romy settled back into her seat, entirely too pleased with herself. He didn’t have to look to know she was smiling—that maddening, self-assured smile that made his stomach churn in a way he didn’t understand. The tension in the car was unbearable now, suffocating in its weight.

Edward didn’t know what bothered him more—her audacity, her unwavering confidence, or the way she made him feel so completely out of his depth. Romy was unlike anything he had ever subjected himself to before. Girls like her always pissed him off.

They were the ones who ruled the hallways of his childhood: the cheerleaders, the popular girls, the preps. The ones who didn’t bother hiding their disdain, who sneered at him for daring to exist in the same space—forget even approaching them. They made him feel small, invisible, undeserving of their time and attention.

Yes, that was why he didn’t like Romy. Because she was everything he despised: girly, obnoxious, vain, pretty, styl—

Pretty.

The word dug into him like a splinter under his nail. It wasn’t just that she was pretty—it was the way she knew she was pretty. It was in the effortless way she drew attention without calling for it, the way her every movement seemed calculated for maximum impact.

And it infuriated him.

The sharp, electronic sound of coins falling shattered his thoughts, yanking him back to reality.

Edward’s head jerked slightly, his eyes darting toward her before he could stop himself. Romy giggled softly, tapping quickly on her phone, her expression lit with amusement as she swiped and typed with practiced ease.

“What now?” he grumbled.

She glanced at him briefly, her smile turning sly as she returned her focus to her phone. “Nothing.”

Edward bit the inside of his cheek, his scowl deepening as his mind raced. What was she doing? Why did she make so much noise? Was she built to piss him off?

Yes, that was it; she was specifically crafted for his torture.

The car fell into relative silence again, but it wasn’t the relief he had hoped for. Instead, the quiet buzzed with unanswered questions and the paroxysmal tapping of her nails and clicking of her selfies.

Edward focused on the road ahead, counting down the seconds until the drive ended.

The Ryker Skyrise jutted into the air like a blade, nestled among the towering spires of Founder’s Island. Its sleek steel and glass façade gleamed in the pale morning light, a monument to wealth and power in a city where both were practically synonymous with corruption.

Founder’s Island was everything Edward despised about Gotham, concentrated into one suffocating district. Unlike the raw chaos of the Narrows or the festering rot of Crime Alley, the filth here wore a suit and tie—criminals all the same. Banks and brokerage firms lined the pristine streets, their marble steps and polished brass fixtures gleaming with an almost obscene clarity. The sidewalks were scrubbed clean, the cracks in the pavement filled with fresh mortar, as though the island could somehow mask the rot lurking just beneath its surface.

It was all an illusion. The buildings might shine, but the people inside were nothing more than predators in expensive wool, preying on Gotham’s already-broken underbelly. Edward’s lip curled as the car inched forward, traffic snarling in its usual morning crawl.

He hated it. He hated all of this.

And worse than the traffic, worse than the oppressive air of Founder’s Island, was Romy.

The ride had been unrelenting. Exhausting.

Edward wouldn’t allow himself to admit it, but she had drained him. Romy, with her prickling yet well-timed chatter, her phone’s incessant notifications, her very presence. She was a little vampire, sucking him dry of his near-limitless resources of energy and patience.

That was impossible.

She was a child.

Not literally, of course. He knew Romy’s age, her background, the purpose of her being here. But in every way that mattered, she was brash and entirely too comfortable dismantling his carefully maintained composure. No wonder she had gone to juvie; even if it had only been for hacking, he had a feeling she would have wound up there one way or another.

He kept his eyes on the road, jaw tight, as the car finally reached the entrance to the Ryker Skyrise’s subterranean parking deck. The sleek metal gates slid open, and he descended into the shadows of the underground lot.

The deck was silent save for the sticky sound of tires rolling over smooth concrete. It was cavernous and nearly full of gleaming vehicles that screamed of excess. Edward found a spot near the other GCPD personnel vehicles—a patrol car and a detective’s unmarked one—easing the car to a stop beside them. He cut the engine, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence. It soothed his ears, offering a reprieve from the sound of Romy’s voice, her tapping nails, her phone’s incessant jingles.

Edward exhaled slowly, his hands resting on the wheel as he stared straight ahead. He didn’t look at her, didn’t want to see whatever expression she was wearing. He could already feel her gaze, her amusement, her disruption.

“You’re not going to sit there all day, are you?”

Edward didn’t even glance at her. “Stop talking.”

Without waiting for a response, he pushed the car door open and stepped out into the chilled, slightly stale air of the parking deck. He grabbed his bag and closed the door with a little more force than necessary. The sound of his shoes against the smooth concrete echoed faintly, a rhythmic beat that only served to highlight the maddening clack of her heeled boots as she followed. Every step grated on him.

The elevator awaited, its metal doors sliding open with a smooth sequence. Edward let Romy step in first and followed behind, the enclosed space becoming stifling. He could feel her beside him—not touching but impossibly present, her perfume faint but noticeable in the still air. He stared at the control panel as he punched the button for the 49th floor, his fingers pressing harder than necessary.

The elevator hummed to life, climbing rapidly, though not fast enough for his liking.

Romy didn’t speak, and for a blessed moment, he dared to hope the ride might pass without incident. The silence felt precarious, though, like a thread stretched taut, ready to snap at the slightest provocation. Edward kept his eyes fixed on the glowing numbers above the doors, watching as they climbed higher and higher.

The elevator dinged as it passed each floor.

Finally, 49.

The doors slid open with a soft chime, and Edward gestured for Romy to step out first. She sauntered out, her boots clicking against the polished floor, and Edward followed close behind, eventually passing her. But the two of them didn’t get more than a few steps away from the elevator before he whirled around. His finger held between them, stopping just short of her nose.

Romy blinked before her gaze slowly crossed, centering on his finger. A cheeky smirk grew on her face, spreading like a sunrise as she looked back up at him with a delicate tilt of her head. Edward’s lips pressed into a thin line, his tension faltering for a split second before he doubled down. His voice was low, measured, and brimming with barely contained frustration.

“Don’t say anything. Don’t do anything. Don’t touch anything. Don’t breathe. You. Don’t. Exist.”

Romy’s lips pinched to one side, and she tilted her head slightly, eyes glinting with amusement. Slowly, deliberately, she raised two fingers in a mock salute.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Nashton, sir.”

Edward lingered, his finger still in the air to make his point. His gaze bored into hers, trying to intimidate, to assert control, but her smirk didn’t waver. If anything, it widened.

With a sharp huff, he spun on his heel, his coat flaring slightly with the motion as he marched ahead. He didn’t look back, his pace brisk, purposeful, his entire being focused on putting as much space between himself and Romy as possible. She fell into step behind him, her boots clicking merrily against the floor, and Edward’s jaw tightened. This day had already stretched him thin, and it had barely begun.

The sleek, clinical air of Ryker Skyrise was stifling, the polished marble floors and minimalist decor projecting an aura of wealth and power. At the end of the long corridor sat a desk manned by a meticulously dressed secretary, her ginger hair pinned into a flawless bun, her glasses perched precisely on the bridge of her nose. She glanced up as he approached, her expression professional but faintly wary.

“Edward Nashton, GCPD Cybercrime Division,” Edward announced briskly, gesturing to his laminated badge. It glinted under the cold overhead lighting as he dangled just long enough for her to confirm it.

The secretary studied it briefly before nodding and picking up the phone. “One moment, Mr. Nashton.”

Edward stood stiffly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as a faint hum from the office filled the silence. His eyes darted around the room, cataloging the details with mechanical precision: the polished black marble floors, the modern abstract artwork lining the walls, the sleek tables adorned with spotless vases and plants arranged with mathematical symmetry.

Then his gaze caught on Romy.

She had wandered a few steps to the left, giving him her profile as she gazed out the glass corner over the city below. The skyline stretched beyond her, softened by the remnants of dawn. The bright orange of the early morning had melted into a hazy peach that hung like a veil over the buildings. Against the glass, her figure was outlined sharply, statuesque despite her shorter stature. Her hands were clasped loosely behind her back, a posture that suggested ease but carried a deliberate elegance. She tilted her chin up slightly, her gaze narrowing at something on the horizon.

His eyes lingered longer than he intended, drawn to details he hadn’t noticed before. The curve of her jaw caught the soft light, a faint shadow tracing the line of her neck. The sunlight played across her skin, creating subtle highlights that added depth to her features. In this light, she seemed almost otherworldly—sharp edges smoothed by the morning’s luminescence, every detail strikingly clear. There was a glow about her, he noted reluctantly, and he told himself it was just the sun. Of course, it was the sun.

Edward realized he was staring. Before he could force himself to look away, Romy’s eyes flicked to him in a subtle, sideways glance. Her lips twitched, curving into a small, almost knowing smile. The expression was maddeningly effortless, a quiet acknowledgment that she had caught him, yet she said nothing. Instead, she turned her face fully toward him, the soft quirk of her mouth sharpening the tension in his chest.

The light shifted as she moved, catching along the curve of her cheek, the glossy texture of her hair, and Edward felt the heat rush to the tips of his ears. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, a knot of irritation. He jerked his gaze away, his focus snapping to the nearby table adorned with flowers, their delicate petals a safe, inanimate alternative to the unsettling presence of her.

Asters. Pale pink camellias.

The burst of purple from the asters was almost too vibrant against the muted tones of the room; their intricate petals fanned out like tiny fireworks frozen in time. The soft pink camellias beside them carried an elegance, their velvety folds unfurling with quiet grace. The combination should have been meaningless… decorative fluff for the sleek, soulless space they inhabited. His jaw tightened, and he dragged his attention away, the flowers offering no solace, only an aggravating sense of mockery.

His posture stiffened as he straightened his shoulders, his body snapping back into its usual rigidity. He pushed the moment aside, burying it under layers of practicality. His mind scrambled for something to ground him, to steady the fraying edges of his focus. The task ahead. The case. The comfort of the structured, logical world of data and analysis waiting just beyond this room.

That was what mattered.

The secretary’s voice broke the silence, pulling him back. She finished her call, hung up, and stood, smoothing down her skirt with practiced precision. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to Mr. Carlyle’s office. Your team is already there.”

Edward nodded curtly, his fingers curling slightly around the strap of his bag. Without a glance in Romy’s direction, he stepped forward immediately, falling into step behind the secretary. His focus locked onto the path ahead, his mind circling the problem like a shark scenting blood in the water. He didn’t need distractions.

Not from the flowers. Not from Romy.

The walk was short, the muffled sound of voices growing louder as the three of them approached a set of heavy double doors. The secretary pushed them open, revealing a spacious office dominated by a large, sleek desk and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a sweeping view of the city.

Inside, Detective Hall, a port man, and two uniformed officers stood near the desk, their expressions varying shades of boredom. The detective, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a poorly tied tie, looked up as Romy and Edward entered. His gray eyed gaze briefly flicked over Romy before landing on Edward.

“Nashton,” the detective greeted, his voice gruff but not unfriendly. He gestured toward the desk, where a sleek laptop sat closed, flanked by a neat stack of files. “Glad you’re here. We’ve got a situation.”

“I was briefed on the basics.” Edward stepped forward, setting his bag down on the desk. “Embezzlement and fraud allegations. What are we looking at?”

“Vincent Carlyle. CEO of Ryker Capital.” Detective Hall crossed his arms. “There’ve been whispers for months about shady practices—money disappearing, shell accounts, that kind of thing. We finally got enough to move forward. Carlyle’s agreed to cooperate, but he’s adamant that his devices stay on-site.”

Edward’s brow furrowed slightly as he processed this. “Where’s Carlyle?”

“In another room. Didn’t want no funny business.” The detective gestured toward the device. “So, do whatever it is you do. But we’ve got to do this by the book. If we screw this up, the whole case falls apart.”

“What I do is nothing short of amazing.” Edward doesn’t look at the short man as he sits in Carlyle’s plush brown leather riveted chair.

The detective rolled his eyes before shifting them to Romy. “And you are?”

She opened her mouth.

“A student and no one.” Edward’s tone was clipped as he still focused on the space before him.

The detective raised an eyebrow but didn’t press the issue. Instead, he nodded toward the laptop. “The device is password-protected. Carlyle claims he’ll provide the password if needed, but I’d prefer if you can get in without him.”

Edward smirked faintly, a flicker of confidence crossing his face. “That won’t be a problem.”

Without waiting for further comment, he opened the laptop with poise much like a surgeon preparing for an operation. He motioned for Romy to follow, his focus already locked onto the task at hand. As he pulled his supplies from his bag—an external hard drive, a set of cables, and a sleek USB forensic toolkit—his movements were quick, deliberate, almost mechanical as he plugged everything in and prepped what he needed, having it all at the ready.

The officers exchanged murmurs near the door, their voices barely audible. The detective stood nearby, arms crossed, his sharp eyes fixed on Edward’s every move.

The steady clack of the keys filled the room, a rhythmic sound that cut through the oppressive silence. He began the delicate process of creating a forensic image of the laptop’s drive, isolating its data to ensure nothing was altered in the process.

“What are you doing?”

The soft question pulled him momentarily out of his focus, his fingers pausing mid-motion.

He had told Romy not to talk. To not exist.

Still, Edward was not one to pass up an opportunity to demonstrate his genius. He glanced at her briefly, irritation flickering in his expression before his tone softened slightly. “I’m creating a forensic image of the hard drive. Think of it as a snapshot—an exact copy of all the data on this laptop. This way, we preserve the integrity of the original while being able to analyze the contents freely without compromising the evidence.” His gaze shifted back to the screen, his fingers resuming their rapid typing.

“Why—”

“Shut up.” He didn’t look at her, his attention glued to the stream of data unfolding on the screen.

The room settled back into silence, save for the rhythmic clacking of Edward’s keys and the occasional low beep from the laptop. Edward’s world had narrowed entirely to the task before him, the outside distractions melting into a distant haze as he dove deeper into the labyrinth of data.

“Almost there,” he muttered, the words more habit than communication.

Edward was aware of Romy leaning over his shoulder but didn’t pay attention. No. Not now. On the screen, a progress bar inched forward as the forensic imaging program meticulously copied the contents of the laptop’s hard drive. It was painfully slow, every tick of the bar dragging seconds into what felt like hours. Even Edward was, at times, impatient with the already fast flow of technology—nothing was ever fast enough.

Then, the screen flickered.

“Wait,” Edward said sharply, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. His hands froze mid-motion, his eyes narrowing. And then he saw it—the cursor moved on its own, erratic and deliberate.

“Is that—”

“Remote access,” Edward hissed, cutting her off, his tone laced with low urgency. “Someone’s trying to wipe the drive.”

The calm precision of his movements shattered as his fingers danced over the keyboard. The sharp beeping of an alert pinged, warning of imminent data loss.

“Can you stop it?” Romy asked, her voice tight with concern.

“Stupid question,” he bit, not even glancing at her. His jaw was set, his focus absolute, but the progress bar tracking the remote wipe continued its relentless climb.

Ten percent. Twenty.

His hands blurred over the keys, the machine chirping angrily in response.

Thirty. Forty.

With the external hard drive already connected, its LED light blinked faintly as Edward worked to redirect the data flow. His commands were precise, calculated, but the remote signal fought back with equal intensity.

Fifty percent. Sixty.

“Faster.”.

Seventy.

The lines of code shifted rapidly, Edward’s commands racing to intercept the malicious signal. His face was tight with concentration.

Eighty.

With a final, decisive keystroke, the screen froze. For a heartbeat, the room was utterly still, the tension hanging so heavy it felt like the air itself had thickened.

Then, the progress bar vanished.

Edward exhaled sharply, his shoulders slumping just slightly as he leaned back in his chair. The faint whir of the laptop’s fan filled the silence.

“Idiots,” he muttered under his breath, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

The adrenaline still thrummed in the air, but Edward’s calm, measured demeanor had already returned, as if the near-crisis had never happened.

Romy let out a breath, leaning a little closer to his shoulder. “That was close.”

“Too close,” he replied, his tone clipped as he sat forward again, already refocusing. His eyes locked back onto the screen. “But they didn’t get everything. Now let’s see what they were trying so desperately to hide.”

Edward’s hands moved with a steadier rhythm now as he began analyzing the cloned data. The cloned drive opened like a vault, spilling its contents onto the screen—directories, files, metadata, layers of encryption—all waiting to be picked apart. He muttered to himself occasionally, faint snippets of thought escaping as he worked, his concentration absolute. He sifted through hidden files with methodical precision, isolating metadata, piecing together patterns.

At one point, he paused, his brow furrowing. “Interesting…”

Romy leaned closer. “What is it?”

“A poorly hidden directory,” he replied, his tone almost dismissive as he clicked through a series of files. “Either he thought we were idiots, or he’s trying to waste our time. Look.”

He opened a file filled with mundane-looking spreadsheets, columns of numbers that seemed utterly ordinary at first glance. But with a few keystrokes, Edward overlaid the data, lines of code intersecting and rearranging themselves on the screen. What had looked harmless seconds ago now revealed hidden markers embedded within the spreadsheets.

“These,” Edward explained, pointing to the highlighted markers, “are coded references to offshore accounts. The spreadsheets are a cover—a way to bury the transactions in plain sight.”

“Money laundering,” she murmured.

“Exactly. Sloppy work, really.” Edward smirked faintly, his fingers already back to work, the clack of the keys a steady rhythm undercutting his words. “But effective enough to fool anyone not paying attention.”

“That’s… really cool, Mr. Nashton.”

The compliment caught him off guard. His fingers faltered for the briefest fraction of a second before resuming their steady rhythm, but his eyes flicked to her, his expression hovering between skepticism and disbelief. Cool? Of course, it was cool. He knew it was cool. What he couldn’t fathom was what Romy, of all people, could possibly understand about it.

He opened his mouth, a retort already forming on his tongue, sharp and dismissive. But the words stuck in his throat the moment he registered how close she was. She was still leaned over beside him, hands braced lightly against her thighs, her posture casual and unbothered. From this angle, her proximity felt intrusive, overwhelming. Far too close for his liking.

And from this angle, he could see everything.

The soft sweep of makeup, precise and deliberate, catching the light just enough to highlight the healthy flush of her cheeks. Her cheeks were dusted with freckles, giving her an extra youthful appearance. The lavender of her turtleneck framed her face, making her mossy eyes—always easy and observant—seem brighter, deeper.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably.

Edward cleared his throat, the sound a little forced, and sat up straighter in his chair. He retreated to his sanctuary: brusque words and deflective logic. “Of course it is. I’m doing it,” he said, his tone sharp and cutting. His fingers resumed their rapid pace over the keyboard, the clacking loud against the quiet hum of the ambiance. “It’s basic pattern recognition,” he continued, his voice clipped. “Anyone with a decent grasp of logic could have figured it out.”

He didn’t dare look at her again, his focus pinned to the screen like his life depended on it. But the heat crawling up the back of his neck told him all he needed to know.

“I definitely wouldn’t have even known where to begin,” Romy admitted, her tone light but tinged with genuine admiration. “You really are brilliant.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean much, because you’re an idiot,” Edward said flatly, his tone clipped and biting. His narrowed gaze locked onto the screen, refusing to drift toward her. “And, of course I’m brilliant. You’ve been told that.”

“Forgive me if I needed to see you walk the talk,” Romy replied smoothly, her grin evident in the teasing lilt of her voice. There was no edge to her words, no malice—just that persistent confidence that grated on him. “But, I understand now… I see you, Mr. Nashton… Good-looking and actually smart—not bad.”

His fingers paused mid-keystroke. Against his better judgment, his gaze shifted to hers again. Her eyes met his, and the faint grin tugging at the corners of her lips only unsettled him further. His mouth opened slightly, the barest movement, as though searching for a retort, but no words came out. Romy cocked a brow, giving him an expectant look.

What did he say to that? Thank you?

The idea alone felt ridiculous, absurd. Thanking her would imply that he appreciated her words—he didn’t. Or at least, he shouldn’t. But the praise…

He shifted in his seat, his hands flexing atop the keyboard. He told himself that her comment was meaningless, empty flattery, designed to distract or unnerve him. And yet… there was something about the way she said it. Casual. Effortless. Honest, even. It scratched an itch inside him.

Just as he found his words, the sound of the door opening cut through the thought. Their heads snap towards the sound as a tall, young man in a pinstripe suit strode in, his presence sharp and commanding, flanked by a shorter man in a tailored gray suit, his briefcase dangling like a weapon of choice.

“Mr. Nashton, I presume,” the shorter man began, his voice smooth but edged with steel. “I trust you proceeded within the boundaries of the law. My client,” he gestured to the taller man, “has been cooperative thus far, and I’d hate to see that trust compromised by overreach or… questionable methods.”

“Everything we’ve done is by the book,” Edward replied, his tone sharp but calm. He smirked and resumed his work. “Your client’s cooperation—begrudging though it may be—is noted.”

The taller man’s, Carlyle’s, jaw tightened, impatience flashing across his face. “How much longer is this going to take? I didn’t agree to an expedition.”

Edward paused, his gaze lifting to meet Carlyle’s. His expression was flat, unimpressed. “Mr. Carlyle, it’s a forensic analysis.” He gestured to the screen. “And your laptop? It’s proving quite... enlightening.”

“If you’re so confident in your findings, why not share them with us? We have a right to know what you’re accusing my client of.” The lawyer stepped forward, his hand twitching as if to grab the laptop himself.

Amused, Edward’s lips curled into a faint smirk as he swiftly tilted the laptop away, angling the screen so it was just out of the lawyer’s line of sight. “Chain of custody,” he said coldly, enunciating each word with precision. “If you want to tamper with evidence, feel free. It’ll save us the trouble of proving intent in court.”

“You’ve yet to establish anything substantial.” The lawyer bristled, his composure slipping just slightly. “Any so-called evidence gathered here could be circumstantial, at best.”

“Circumstantial?” Edward gestured toward the device. “These encrypted markers hidden in your client’s spreadsheets link directly to offshore accounts. Shell companies. Consistent patterns of money moving in and out, all flagged under high-risk AML regulations. Circumstantial, maybe, but damning all the same.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Carlyle’s face darkened, his impatience shifting into something closer to anger. “Those are routine transfers—completely legitimate.”

“Routine transfers don’t require this level of obfuscation. Nor do they pass through networks tied to organizations flagged by the International Financial Action Task Force.” Edward raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “But if you insist, I’m sure a forensic accountant will have a field day verifying your claims.”

The suspect stiffened. “You’re making assumptions—dangerous ones.” He set his jaw, nostrils flaring as he stared Edward down. “I have the resources to bury this, you know.” His lawyer shot him an incredulous look, clearly telling his client to shut up.

Edward’s expression hardened, the smirk disappearing. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a lethal calm. “And I have the evidence to make it stick. You can delay this, stall it, drag it through every court in Gotham—but every move you make will only make you look more guilty.” He narrowed his eyes, pinning Carlyle to the spot. “So, by all means, Mr. Carlyle, proceed.”

Carlyle opened his mouth again, frustration evident, but his lawyer cut him off, his voice sharp and unwavering. “Enough.”

The lawyer’s glare shifted to Edward, his jaw tightening. “Do what you have to do.” He straightened his jacket, his posture rigid as he threw a pointed look at Edward, the detective, and then Romy. “We’ll be seeing you in court.”

With that, the lawyer gripped Carlyle’s arm, steering him toward the door. Carlyle hesitated for a moment, his face a mix of indignation and anger, but he followed, the door clicking shut behind them.

The tension lingered in their absence, the room tense with residual hostility.

Detective Hall, who had been standing silently by the desk, shifted and crossed his arms. His gaze moved between Edward and the laptop. “Well, that went about as well as expected,” he said dryly. “What a dumbass. Can’t even keep his mouth shut.”

“They’re like clockwork.” Edward didn’t look up, his fingers moving to save and secure the data he had gathered. “Predictable, dull. Trying to remote into the desktop was their most creative move, and even that failed spectacularly.”

Hall snorted faintly, his gaze still fixed on the laptop screen. “What exactly are we looking at here, Nashton?”

Edward glanced at Hall, his expression neutral, before adjusting his glasses with a precise push up the bridge of his nose. His fingers hovered briefly over the keyboard, then resumed their rapid rhythm. Without looking up, he spoke, his tone measured and deliberate.

“Detective, humor me for a moment. What is something that grows the more you hide it but can collapse in an instant?”

Hall’s brow furrowed, his annoyance evident in the bent lines of his brow. “I don’t have time for this, Nashton.”

“It’s relevant.” Edward allowed himself the faintest smirk, his gaze fixed on the stream of data crawling across the screen. “Trust me.”

The detective groaned, rolling his eyes before looking to the side, very obviously trying to ponder the question. “Aghhh…” He made several unintelligible grumbles as he grasped for the answer. It only made Edward's smirk grow.

What a moron. Couldn't even answer if his life depended on—

“A lie.”

The words, said in a higher pitch than Hall's, stuttered the rhythm of Edward’s typing and his thoughts. His head snapped toward Romy. Her smirk was maddening, a sharp curve of confidence on her lips. She raised her hand in a mockingly cheerful wave, her green eyes glinting with mischief.

“Correct,” Edward hissed, tone terse. “Though I was hoping the good detective might work it out, girl.”

“Seemed obvious.” Romy shrugged, her smirk widening as though she were utterly immune to his irritation.

He stared at her for a long moment. Edward’s lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing as well, then he turned back to the screen. She had answered correctly. Again. The second time she had done this. It wasn’t just the answer—it was the ease with which she offered it, as though it had taken no effort at all. Worse still, it was that damn smirk. A smirk that said, I’m not impressed by you, Edward Nashton.

The thought coiled in his mind, a small, simmering ember of frustration. He did not tolerate being underestimated—or outshone. She was quick, yes, but her eagerness to outpace him grated on his nerves. Was she trying to impress him? To undermine him? Either possibility was equally infuriating.

And yet, he couldn’t deny the way her quick wit stirred something deeper. Annoyance, yes—but also an unbidden flicker of... respect? No. He crushed the thought as soon as it formed. She was a student, a fledgling who still stumbled through basic coding syntax. Whatever spark she displayed now was meaningless, a fluke.

“Alright, fine,” Hall interrupted, his groan breaking Edward’s reverie. He gestured impatiently to the laptop. “What’s the point, Nashton? How does that relate to Carlyle?”

Edward’s irritation evaporated, replaced by the sharp edge of satisfaction. His smirk widened as he brought up a series of transactions on the screen, the glow of the monitor reflecting in his glasses.

“Carlyle’s entire operation is built on lies,” Edward began, gesturing to the laptop. “He’s using shell companies—fake businesses that don’t actually provide goods or services—to create a paper trail of invoices and transactions. On the surface, it looks like legitimate income.”

He tapped a key, overlaying a web of connections onto a digital map. Red and green lines crisscrossed the screen, forming a tangled mess of offshore accounts and suspicious transactions.

“But when you dig deeper, you find inconsistencies. Money flows between accounts in different countries, moves through currencies with no clear purpose, and always ends up back in his hedge fund. It’s the textbook definition of layering.”

Hall squinted at the screen, leaning in. “So he’s cycling the money through fake businesses?”

“Exactly,” Edward replied, his voice sharp with satisfaction. “By the time it reappears in his hedge fund, it looks clean—legitimate profits from supposed consulting services or international trade. It’s integration, the final step in laundering. Simple. And completely illegal.”

Romy leaned closer, peering at the screen. “And he kept records of all this?”

“Well, yes, that brings me to the nail in his coffin.” Edward allowed himself a low chuckle, though his eyes remained on the data. “Carlyle made one fatal mistake. He kept detailed logs—encrypted, of course—of every fake invoice, every fabricated transaction. Sloppy for a man who thought himself untouchable.”

“So, this enough to bury him?” Hall asked, his tone grim.

Edward’s fingers clicked over the keyboard, pulling up the final piece of incriminating evidence. “Absolutely suffocate him,” he said, his voice steady, but his smirk faintly triumphant.

“Good.” The detective nodded, stepping back and crossing his arms again. “Compile all of this into a report. Detailed but tight—we’ll need to send this up the chain. This isn’t staying local for long.”

Edward raised an eyebrow, still working. “FBI?”

“Most likely.” Hall nodded. “Something this big? It’s going to get their attention. And when it does, we’d better have every ‘i’ dotted and ‘t’ crossed. I want it by tomorrow morning.”

“You’ll have it by tonight,” Edward bit and closed the laptop with a snap. Then, with efficient movements, he packed up his equipment in the reverse order of when he laid it out, before pulling his bag over his shoulder. Not sparing Romy a glance, he finally spoke to her, his tone brusque but lacking its usual disdain. “Let’s go.”

He strode to the door with purpose, his long steps echoing faintly against the sleek floors. Romy followed without hesitation, her heels clacking in a steady rhythm as she fell into step behind him.

The sound, once a source of irritation—a relentless distraction he couldn’t tune out—now seemed to blend seamlessly with the cadence of the moment. He noticed it but didn’t bristle. There was no tension in his shoulders, no frustrated scowl tugging at his lips. They rested instead in a neutral line, his expression unreadable.

As the two of them moved through the corridor, the world outside the task at hand seemed to fall away. Edward didn’t analyze the change, didn’t question why the sharp, deliberate clicks of her boots no longer grated on his nerves. It was a shift he chose to ignore. Instead, he simply walked, the faint echo of her footsteps trailing him until they both reached the elevator.

“Is this something you do often?” He could hear the smirk in her voice without turning to look. His hand hovered over the elevator call button for a beat before pressing it.

“Do what?” Edward asked, his bespeckled gaze fixed on the display panel as the numbers above the elevator doors ticked steadily upward, red digits against a black background.

“Oh, nothing… just absolutely dominate people like the daddy you are?”

His shoulders stiffened instantly, the faintest twitch tugging at the corner of his eye. For a moment, the space between them filled with nothing but the low hum of the building and the faint mechanical whir of the elevator ascending.

Edward glanced at his watch—10:01 AM—and back to the car position indicator. The day already felt endless. And now, he had the rest of it to spend in her godforsaken presence. “Please refrain from projecting your disgusting Oedipal complex onto me, you silly little girl.”

Romy tsks. “You see, when you say things like that—‘princess,’ ‘silly little girl ’—you’re not helping your case.”

The elevator dinged, the sound sharp and precise. The doors glided open with a faint hiss, and Edward reluctantly gestured for Romy to step in first. “I should leave your ass here to walk back to the precinct,” he muttered.

“You talk about my ass a lot.” She brushed past him with deliberate confidence, chin held high, smugness radiating from the sharpness of her stride.

Edward’s eyes flicked to her for half a second—longer than he intended—his gaze catching on the sharp turn of her heel and the deliberate clasp of her hands behind her back. There was something in the motion—practiced, poised, irritatingly graceful—that held his attention before he wrenched it away. His neck felt hot, an unwelcome warmth crawling along his skin, seeping into his collar. He pointedly ignored it, stepping into the elevator after Romy, his expression carefully composed into a mask of indifference.

Without a word, he punched the button for the basement garage.

“Sooo…”

He rolled his eyes and exhaled, the sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl. His head tilted slightly, his brows knitting in a way that spoke of his disdain before he even looked at her.

Romy leaned casually, her shoulders against the elevator wall, that easy, half-lidded gaze fixed on him—a look she had mastered, one he found infuriating in its effortlessness.

“...are you this dominant in the bedroom too?”

The doors slid shut with a soft hiss, cutting off the sound of Edward’s sharp inhale.

Later that evening, Edward lit a cigarette, the flick of his lighter sharp and deliberate in the stillness of Gotham’s biting cold. The flame flared briefly, casting a fleeting glow against the shadows, before surrendering to the wind. Smoke curled upward in ghostly tendrils, dissipating into the night like his futile attempts to purge her from his mind.

The rhythmic tap of his footsteps against the cracked pavement was a steady counterpoint to the chaotic loop of his thoughts. He pulled his scarf tighter against the unforgiving chill, his strides sharp, purposeful, as though walking faster might leave her behind.

It didn’t work.

He didn’t like how easily Romy had burrowed under his skin, how her presence lingered like the acrid burn of cigarette smoke in his lungs. She was a nuisance—a fleeting, irrelevant distraction in his otherwise meticulously ordered existence. And yet, her voice, her glances, her noisy nails, even the maddening percussion of her heels clicking against the floor, reverberated in his mind with infuriating clarity.

Her existence in his world was contentious, like a grain of sand caught in the smooth workings of a finely tuned machine. She was disruptive, inappropriate, too bold for her own good—and worst of all, she was competent . Annoyingly so. Just smart enough to demand his begrudging tolerance.

“Quiet, submissive, obedient, my ass…” he muttered, the words spilling out like a curse to the night. His breath fogged in the frigid air, an outward manifestation of the exasperation knotting tighter in his chest.

He shivered again, this time telling himself it was the cold, though he knew better. His fingers tightened around the strap of his bag, the worn leather biting into his fingers as he pulled it closer. The weight of it pressed into his shoulder—a grounding sensation, a reminder of where his focus should have been. The work. The work was all that mattered. It was the singular thing that gave shape to his otherwise chaotic existence, the only arena where he felt truly in control.

But tonight, there was no peace to be found in that thought, no comfort in the familiar rhythm of his logic. Instead, irritation lingered beneath his skin like a low-grade fever. Not the sharp, crackling irritation born from the incompetence of Gotham’s criminal elite or the blundering idiocy of his colleagues at the precinct. No, this was different—softer, quieter, and infinitely more insidious.

It gnawed at the edges of his mind, this odd, unfamiliar discomfort. It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t even the sharp sting of humiliation he felt when someone dared to challenge him in his arena. It was something else entirely, a dull, unsettling calm that he couldn’t quite name. Like the strange stillness that follows a storm, when the air is heavy with the smell of rain and the earth feels too quiet.

He hated it. He hated the way it lingered, like settling dust that refused to be brushed away. She was to blame for this—for intruding on his carefully structured reality with her quips, her smirks, her intolerable self-assuredness.

Edward's jaw tightened as he thought of her again, her voice and face echoing in his mind. The ease with which she had answered his riddle, the glint of mischief in her emerald eyes as she waved at him, her smirk daring him to respond. She was a disruption, a wrench thrown into the precise gears of his life. And yet, despite his best efforts, she had lodged herself firmly in his thoughts.

He shook his head, as if the motion could dislodge her from his mind, and quickened his pace. His shoes struck sharply against the pavement, their rhythm purposeful, almost aggressive, as if he could outwalk the unease coiling in his chest. He reminded himself that he was in control. He reminded himself that she was nothing more than a temporary nuisance, an irritant he would endure until her presence in his life—this semester—was over.

Four days. He had four blissful days to himself before he had to deal with her again. Four days of routine, of normalcy, of silence unmarred by her incessant tomfoolery. The thought brought a flicker of relief, but it was short-lived, swallowed quickly by the lingering discomfort she left behind.

This season, this semester, couldn’t end soon enough…

3 months and 15 days

15 weeks and 1 day

105 days

2,520 hours

151,200 minutes

9,072,000 seconds

9,072,900,000 milliseconds

9,072,900,000,000,000 nanoseconds

1. 683×1048 Planck seconds

Edward lit a second cigarette before he even realized it.

Link to AO3 here!

#Edward Nashton #Edward Nashton Arkham Origins #Enigma #Enigma Arkham Origins #Arkham Origins #Pre-Arkham Origins #The Riddler #Riddler #Edward Nigma #Arkhamverse Riddler #Riddler Arkhamverse #Edward Nashton x OC #Edward Nashton x Female OC #Edward Nashton x Romy Winslow #Goat #ask the goat #sit with the goat #The Edge of Us

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