#name is gabriel for blue curtain reasons

[7roaches]

im eating chicken with a fork and it made me think about how great opposable thumbs are like if we didnt have opposable thimbs we couldnt turn a ring pop around while holding it or open ring pop wrapper or

[that-ari-blogger]

One Last Hurrah (I'm Not That Girl (Reprise), As Long As You're Mine)

Those who are familiar with my blog will know that I don't particularly agree with the concept of genre. I think it is restrictive, and the dynamicism of storytelling makes it less important for writers than the general public is aware for.

Wicked backs up my claim, I think. The opening number is a booming epic that Glinda switches to a more quiet tragedy, at which point the first act becomes a love story set in a boarding school. The second act mirrors this, slightly, crashing in with a full scale war that Glinda again pushes back to a love story. That same love story and love triangle then takes precedent in act two. Until it abruptly doesn't.

As Long As You're Mine is the finale of the romance arc of this story, and it centres around enjoying the life you have before change takes effect. Although, the romance is a love triangle, Elphaba and Fiyero get a song, but Glinda? Where does her romance end?

With Elphaba. The love story of this musical ends with Glinda thinking of Elphaba.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD: (Wicked, Dead Poet Society)

"Don't wish, don't start Wishing only wounds the heart There's a girl I know He loves her so I'm not that girl"

Well gee, this looks familiar.

This is an interesting case of thematic association. Because on it's own, I'm Not That Girl (Reprise) isn't really that important or interesting. It's a nice melody about unrequited love, which is heartfelt and everything, but not really saying much.

But the word's "on it's own" are doing a lot of heavy lifting in that paragraph. This song is the reprise of an earlier number by the same name, and that means all of the meaning from that song gets carried over to this, and it gets to give its own take on those themes, which is interesting.

In the internet world of oversimplification and memes, one will probably come across the idea that teachers overanalyse things. The "the curtains are blue because he likes the colour blue" joke. The weird thing is, this joke is correct, but it misses the point entirely.

Yes, overanalysing media is exactly what folks like me do. Technically, you don't need to engage with anything more than the baseline of what you have been shown. If your takeaway from blue curtains is that the owner likes the colour blue, go for it, nobody is stopping you, and that is perfectly reasonable. The key, is that that approach is not inherently more or less valuable than an overanalytical one.

I will wager that blue curtains will evoke a certain emotion in you. Maybe they are a deep blue, like the night just before dawn, giving you a tired, more chill vibe. Maybe they are much lighter, like the sky, giving a more youthful atmosphere. Or maybe they do not match with the rest of the room at all, to comedic or unsettling effect.

The point I am making is that subtext exists, and you don't have to dwell on it, but its a vital part of how communication works. It's also usually a majour factor in engagement. So, at the very least, acknowledging it will help you understand why you do or don't like certain stories.

Once again, I turn to PBS's Wicked In Concert and recommend the versions of these songs from that. This version of I'm Not That Girl (Reprise) is sung by Gabrielle Ruiz, and is really good.

For the moment, however, I'd like to conduct a thought experiment. Imagine that Wicked is actually happening. This is a world where people spontaneously break into song and this isn't weird.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to make up a song once, let alone mimic a song that you were not present for?

In universe, there is only two ways Glinda would know this song. Either she overheard Elphaba pining, or Elphaba sang it to her. Take that as you will.

Exiting that thought experiment and back into overanalysing things because it is fun. I have another post about I'm Not That Girl and it's thematic implications (link), so check that out if it interests you, it will form a background for what I am saying here.

Essentially, I'm Not That Girl is the Jolene of musical theatre. It is a song about resignation, but it's core idea is this: Elphaba doesn't think of herself as beautiful or deserving of love. The person she associates with those qualities is Glinda herself. The song is essentially a biromantic heartbreak, when both of Elphaba's love interests love each other, and she can't bring herself to break that for either of them. That is the meaning ascribed to this song and these notes.

Now, Glinda sings the same melody, and it is suddenly flipped. She realises she has been outplayed in the romance game, but she can't bring herself to break it apart for either Fiyero, or Elphaba. The audience doesn't need to hear the same song again, just the highlight reel to let them know that these same emotions are being felt.

The song then cuts off, and is replaced by a much more active, much more passionate number, As Long As You're Mine. The meaning of which has been summed up best by my flatmate. "Reject society, bonk in a hedge".

That is kind of the entire point of this song, though, isn't it? Living in the moment in total freedom. It is proof that Elphaba isn't crazy, that there are others who see her dream, and that even if this goes wrong, the story will end with her happy.

Full disclaimer, I am asexual, so I cannot comment on the more intimate subtext of this song. I am aware it is happening, but I would rather stay away from the specific thematic significance of that, if that is ok.

The transition of this song comes through that repeated low note. It is hammered, like a war drum, and it drives home that urgency and collision of the two plots. This is the moment in which the musical goes from a romance to an epic, and that rhythm is a threat of what is to come.

Although it is notable that the swaying melodies of Elphaba and Fiyero overpower this drum, their love holding off the inevitable. Specifically, the instrument hitting the note changes from a piano to what my, admittedly lacking, musical knowledge thinks is a bass guitar. (Music scholars, please correct me on any of this). That change means that the heavy beat becomes distorted and stretched, as if time is stretching out.

"And just for this moment As long as you're mine I've lost all resistance And crossed some borderline. And if it turns out It's over too fast I'll make every last moment last As long as you're mine."

Would you look at that, there is even explicit lines in the song about stretching time out and seizing the day. Carpe Diem.

Dead Poet Society is one of the greatest films ever made, and that isn't just my Robin Williams bias speaking. Despite some elements that haven't aged well, the film is truly heart wrenching and has a meaning pretty similar to As Long As You're Mine.

As a side note, this film has a lot more similarities to Wicked than you think. It's about challenging unjust rules, and forging your own path. It's a film about personal freedom, essentially. Although it ends less than happily. It also has about the same amount of queer subtext as Wicked.

In any case, the central thematic of "Carpe diem, seize the day" tells its characters and its students to take life as it is, and live it to the fullest. It is about making the most out of limited time. Quite a lot like As Long As You're Mine.

The ending of Dead Poet Society is a tragedy. It ends with the death of a student and the loss of the teacher's job. But it also ends with hope. Things change in Dead Poet Society. The Latin teacher shifts up his lesson, the boys actually learn, and the "Oh captain, my captain" scene is synonymous with looking at the past and making the future better because of, and in spite of it.

That's a familiar ending, isn't it. The main character dies, and the people in their life resolve to make the world better because of the life they lived. In Wicked, the death isn't permanent, because this is a gospel and no main character in a gospel can ever stay dead for more than a few days.

That motif of making time last is reflected in the music as well. Each stanza has a squash and stretch thing going on with the formation. The triplet brings the three notes within together and plays them faster than is normal, making them feel like they are stumbling over each other, falling forwards, until that held note at the end evens out the pace. Things are moving quickly, but it is a conscious decision. to slow down.

Those held notes also create a feeling of clarity in the music. Once again, music knowledge ain't my forte, but to me, this seems like it is working in a similar fashion to key frame animation. Each held note is the crux of the phrase, and the rest is just making up the difference.

Which means that there is a neat little progression going on here. The first phrase, "kiss me too fiercely" contains two, a B flat on "fierce" and an octave fall to another B flat on "ly", as Elphaba tries to fly away, but is brought back down. Then there is the F on "tight", and the E flat on the latter third of "believing", before the stanza links back to B flat for "tonight".

This, according to google, forms a B flat chord with a suspended fourth, which loops back on itself to form a stable, self-enclosed sentence that descends to keep itself together.

The second phrase operates within the same notes but changes the inflection slightly.

That last note creates an upward inflection to prepare the audience for the chorus, rising into it to set up a crashing theme of power and freedom that... doesn't arrive yet.

Instead, we get the same notes repeated, mostly. It's a quiet moment, an E flat that rises to an F for "borderline", then to a high C for "fast", before resolving back to F and then down to a lower C.

Ok music scholars help me with this please. The sheet music that I have found for this song (link) claims the second part of "fast" is a C flat, which my piano app tells me doesn't exist. Any clarification on this would be really nice.

In short, this is understated, and this isn't the first time we've heard an understated first chorus in a Wicked love song, is it? That's how the first chorus of Defying Gravity sits, before Glinda joins Elphaba and pushes her to new confidence.

Which leads me back to my point. Elphaba relies on other people, she needs Fiyero to comfort her, but also to prove she is right. That's the moment she is cherishing.

When Fiyero joins in, he literally makes the song more hopeful by changing the key signature from E flat majour to C majour. He is more graceful and easy with this. He is the rock that Elphaba is anchored to and that supports her.

As such, that final chorus looks like this:

"Just for this moment. As long as you're mine. Come be how you want to, and see how bright we shine. Borrow the moonlight, until it is through. And know I'll be here holding you. as long as you're mine."

Freedom. Come be how you want to, I'll be there to support you. This is a musical about dreams and reality colliding, and this song is the victory lap of things going well. One small dream has become real, that being the desire for love. And if one is possible, what else can Elphaba do?

On a related note, if Fiyero is the rock that grounds and supports her, what might happen if he is taken away?

FINAL THOUGHTS

Bear with me. Chord analysis is new to me, so if that was completely false, please let me know. As a behind the curtain thing, this blog exists as a place for my hyper fixations to breathe, but also to help me learn more about this whole analytical thing. So, any advice from people who are more knowledgeable than me would be greatly appreciated.

You may note that I didn't talk that much about Fiyero, and there is a reason for that. Honestly, I don't think Fiyero's character in the second act of this musical is that interesting. I'm sure there is lots to talk about with him, but to me, he has been reduced to "love interest for the main character", which I find less captivating as "jock on the verge of an existential breakdown". That's just my opinion.

Next week, I will be looking at No Good Deed, the first true clash of dreams and reality, and Elphaba's breaking point. So stick around if that interests you.

Previous - Next

[paimaniagalaxia]

FNAF AU- Clean Up Time

Ship: Springtrap x Self insert

Word count: 1,259

Summary: The after math of the events of FNAF 1, where a clean up crew is hired by Henry Emily to help refurbish and confiscate the animatronics.

Paige is apart of that clean up crew and decides to leave the rest of her crew mates to finish the job, all the while exploring the rest of the pizzaria. Only to end up in parts and services, to find the one and only William Afton. AKA, Springtrap.

CHAPTER THREE

I have never seen… So much… God, it’s sick to look at. How can anyone-- Well, I do it for a living-- But, this. This takes the cake.

Or pizza-- God my mind is a fucking mess right now.

Bodies, bodies just everywhere. Parts scattered about as if this was a free-for-all-- I mean, to THEM, it was a free-for-all. I didn’t think they would do all this, all in one night!

All in, oh boy. Oh… O-Oh no--

~

Paige grabs a nearby bucket that was nearby Springtrap, hugs it close to her body as viscerale noises escape her lips. Muffled by the bucket, so they wouldn’t exit out silently. So those, those animatronics wouldn’t hear they missed one person to eviscerate.

“Honestly, I’d thought they would have done worse.” Springtrap comments, not phased by the entire situation.

“WORSE?!” Paige shouts back before getting light-headed once more, and heaves into the bucket she was hugging.

“Henry didn’t give us any heads up that these… These monsters would attack.”

Springtrap looks away, as that name isn't what it wanted to hear again. That man, the bane of its existence, was the reason why it was still here. Trapped in this horrible place, but now he had a second chance. Possibly, it could-- He, he could fix all of this.

“Let me go and speak to them. Stay here.”

Paige grabs his arm and holds him back.

“NO! You’ll get hurt!!”

Springtrap huffs and yanks his arm away, before flexing his metallic digits.

“Like I can feel pain. But I’ll be fine.”

“They know me.” Springtrap adds before opening the door. Looking both ways before signaling to Paige to remain here. 

She nods and notices the spilt bucket.

“I got that.”

Springtrap sighs and shakes his head. Before nodding and leaving.

~~

In the front entrance, the party room to specific, The Main Four enjoy themselves. After ‘cleaning up’ the intrusion that invaded their home. 

(as the bodies were just sitting in the chairs, some even have party hats on)

Freddy Fazbear, the brown bear in the top hat, was adjusting his microphone. Humming to himself as he was set to getting this shindig started once again.

As if nothing BAD happened to them.

“Hey Bonnie, did you find your guitar?” He asks his purplish-blue rabbit pal.

“It’s somewhere, man, they really need to stop moving our stuff about. It’s hard enough as is.” Bonnie responds back as he looks around behind the amps on the stage. His head turns about before looking over, jumping back as a reddish fox animatronic, scares the living daylights out of him.

“FOXY! Knock it off!!”

The fox pirate cackles happily, as he loved scaring his fellow mates.

“Arr! Don’t get yer bolts so tight there Bonnie!! It’s all in good fun!”

Freddy shakes his head before seeing a red bass guitar lurking behind a curtain. As he could remember, the last time they were awake was placed back there. He walks over to it and picks it up, brushing the layer of dust before eyeing Springtrap.

“Oh, Mr. Afton. What brings ya here?” Freddy asks.

“Just Springtrap Freddy… Don’t want Gabriel waking up.” Springtrap mentions.

Freddy sighs as he lowers the bass in his grasp.

“Sorry about that Mr-- Springtrap. They kids didn’t like all that noise going about, so well… They took care of it.”

Springtrap nods as he sees the lifeless bodies, sitting up in the chairs. Including the party hats on some of their heads. A grimace and shocked look appears on his face.

Followed by a groan.

“And so they did…”

He then looks around, as he sees Foxy and Bonnie teasing at each other. Good Jeremy and Fritz were occupied at being near one another, last time he’d met them, they were close friends. But he could tell, there was one missing from The Main Four.

“Hmmm… Where’s Susie? Chica?” Springtrap asks.

Freddy blinks and points over to the kitchen area. That the chicken with the craving and admiration for pizza, would be in her usual hangout spot.

“Oh, she is in there. Been there for a while though.” He answers back.

“Nervous breakdown. We hadn’t been open since the 90’s…” Springtrap reveals.

Foxy and Bonnie look over, hearing the news astonished and dreadful gaze.

Foxy’s jaw even drops, before Bonnie pushes back up.

“That… That can’t be right?” Freddy spoke bewildered, that they couldn’t be out of commission for that long. It boggled his mind, holding the side of his head to ease the confusion.

“It is. All of you, I need you to REALLY clean up this mess. No show if there’s a mess like this.” Springtrap orders.

“WE’RE ALL OUT OF PIZZAAAH!!” Chica pipes up as she exits out of the kitchen before looking over at the other three and Springtrap.

“Wrong timing?”

“Wrong timing…” Springtrap remarks before relaying to Chica the news of what to do.

Soon the Main Four were busy and preoccupied cleaning up the pizzeria’s party room, being given all mops and buckets of clean, sanitized water. Thanks to Paige’s help of course. She was introduced to them, thanks to the aid of Springtrap. They didn’t seem to mind her, and neither did the spirits either, since they didn’t see Paige as much of a threat.

She acted ‘less adulty’ than her previous cleaning crew. 

Paige continues to mop one section, alongside Springtrap who was scrubbing down a nearby chair. Something in her mind came to her suddenly, bluntly speaking to Spring. That caught him off guard.

“So, the animatronics have a mind of their own, because of the kid spirits inside of them?” She asks back, as she was told by Spring that it wasn’t just the personalities that the animatronics had-- But living ghosts inside of them too.

“Mmhm.” Springtrap nodded as he kept detailing.

“How did they die?” Paige blurts out.

Springtrap locks up from Paige’s blunt question.

How could he tell her that he was responsible for the murders? That he went out on a full rampage of his own twisted nature, taking the lives of children? No… No he couldn’t mention it back to Paige, because-- Who knows how she’ll act??

She was too nice to know to be traumatized this soon.

Springtrap turns his head over to Freddy as he gestures to them to keep quiet. That none of what happened should be told to Paige.

Freddy nods in agreement, as he gestures back to the others.

Foxy, Bonnie, and Chica nod as well.

“Killed, too soon.” Springtrap answers back vaguely.

“Oh.” Paige solemnly spoke before looking at the other animatronics.

“Let the spirits rest. They did enough damage tonigh--” Springtrap freezes before his suit locks up. Coughing and sputtering blood onto the tile floor.

“Oh for fok sake! N-Not again!!”

“Spring!!” Paige gasps as she rushes over to him, helping him lay back.

The Main Four overhear and stay where they were, knowing this would reawaken the children.

“T-Turn me around…”

“W-What?!”

“Turn me around…” Springtrap repeats back to Paige.

Paige nods as she turns Springtrap onto his stomach.

“There should be a back panel… Flip the switch to r-restart the springlocks.”

“Wouldn’t that crush you ag-- Right, can’t feel pain.” 

Paige corrects herself as she opens Springtrap’s back panel. She sees a switch that was labeled RESTART, and flips the switch. Hoping that this would do the trick, just as Springtrap told her.

Then, the suit tenses and makes Springtrap twitch. A guttural grunt was heard before completely collapsing.

“SPRING!? SPRINGTRAAAP!!”

[END OF CHAPTER THREE]

[lunasilverwolfofthestars]

The room was dark, sunlight streamed in despite being blocked by the grey blackout curtains. Harsh pants and wanton moans filled the room and the squeaking of the bed accompanied it. Upon the bed laid a beautiful male of platinum blond hair who had an equally beautiful girl riding him with her back arched and breasts shoved into his face. Soleil gripped his shoulders as he hit that one spot so pleasurable that she blanks out and sees nothing but stars, "Oh yes, there! Lukas! There!" She moans out, jet black hair violently swishing as she throws her head back as she writhes in unbelievable pleasure. Lukas grits his teeth as he grinds her hips to his, grunting as he acknowledges her command. He growls, low in his throat as he lifts his head to stare into her dark captivating eyes, her kissable lips, her adorable button nose and pinchable cheeks. He loved her with his very heart and then some. She gasps in delight as he slams into her one more time, riding their release together.

As he basks in the aftermath of their love making, Lukas softly gazes at the woman he loves so dearly. Cigarette dangling from his pale fingers, he idly muses that she was the night to his day, outer appearance not withstanding. He tousles his hair as he reminisces the day she asked him to come with her. A soft sigh exits Soleil's mouth as she curls into his side, a content smile on her lips as she slowly blinks open her eyes. Moaning sleepily she crawls into his lap and settles there, falling asleep once more.

-date written: 12.07.2019

Lukas and Soleil defeat Aiden Gabriel but at the cost if their humanity therefore they become demons, immortals. They take over his army and subsequently, the world. They were benevolent rulers but the rebels wanted them gone simply for the fact that they were demons. We go to the heroes perspective and their point of view. Both Lukas and Soleil are now villains, coldly staring down at humanity.

-

Lukas closed his eyes with a sigh, head tilting back to hit the headboard, while he loved Soleil, he couldn't ask her to marry him yet, seeing that they were in the midst of a war after all. The madman that called himself Aiden Noah Gabriel. The man turned demon with the name of an Angel, how ironic, he snorts. Breathing deeply, he looks at the woman in his lap and decides, if it came to it, he would forsake world for her continued well being. But for now, he will stay by her side. - They stand side by side together, silently gazing at their enemy with cold eyes. They were dressed in the standard uniform of their militia, white shirt, black trousers and and navy jacket. Soleil breathed a deep sigh, dark eyes glinting in the fading light, "This is it, we're really doing this."

The man beside her nods, eyes of icy blue calculating and dismissing several plans at once.

-date written: 21.07.2019 -dont ask, i have no idea what this is. the reason why there's multiple dates is because i wrote the scenes then and there when the muse hit since it is the same universe with the same characters in it

"The Devil and his Angel! Give yourselves up and come quietly! You are outnumbered and surrounded!" Ah, the hero has arrived, with an army it seems, how…quaint. The duo glanced around, seemingly unconcerned about their pending capture, the Devil was unimpressed; "The heroes of today have really fallen, the standards of when we first started out were much more impressive than the current stock." He scoffed, distaste evident in his eyes. The young hero, affronted went to reply when the Angel coldly cuts them off, voice soft," We were like you once, young, innocent, naive" She spits out, lips curling," What fools we were. We won the war, but instead of moving on and rectifying the mistakes that led up to it, the public turned back to their habits, therefore enforcing the repeating cycle of never ending struggle. For what is a hero without a villain? And what is a villain without a hero?" The Devil, Lukas picks off from Soleil," We live in a society that propagates hatred in a mean cycle of blood and death. In order to break the chain, we came to the agreement that humanity must perish, to stop the cycle of death and let nature return to how things were meant to be."

-another snippet of the universe....date written: 16.11.2021

[livingcontradictions]

Did I miss the mass 2015 human update?

I feel like I have the cranium the size of a walnut with the smoothness of the clearest of marbles. Been living in Windows 4 as everyone else has been slowly updating all the way to Windows 11. I’ve now just got it all in a single month after sperging out and raging in a notebook, and somehow gave myself therapy.

When I think about all the 4th wall and put it into perspective. I realized something. That’s all it really is in real life.

Perspective. (and maybe some control)

   I came to realize this isn’t about a single story. The 4th wall is us, in a sense, waking up looking back at who is controlling us, being self-aware of our own actions and how people view us, as if looking through a TV screen to catch you; Bosses, cameras? Where we don't want to fall out of line, or be caught, otherwise it's Wanda Vision all over again. We have rules and laws for a reason.

Ads and stories that are too conveniently popping up on matters we're dealing with, surfing through the web until we're convinced of something, God directing us for divine intervention cause everyone's fighting? Heck if one can take the necessary requirements, they could be the next big thing, the next Big Shot...

   How they want to control our actions as we do content creators and how streamers use it for personal gain too, but also to make us happy, sad, mad, informed. But if you're not funny, enjoyable, or if there's something dastardly hidden, you'll be locked away and go crazy as the world keeps spinning. I ain't asking what the Dog doing, chill out and throw some ice, could care less, he brought something amazing out that got me back into the spirit of thinking and creating.

Gaster isn’t just some random entity, he’s a person, a concept, an epiphany that requires those “fun, key values” of those who remember themselves, and or him/her/them, whatever Gaster is…

    Someone who, when we see what they were capable of, from building a soul-extracting machine and something to power the entire civilization of people, the core, we ask who Gaster is, what Gaster is, when was Gaster, where was Gaster….. But we never ask, How is Gaster… at least before the fall.

  We don't really know who Gaster is so we come up with our own narrative, from him being just sad goop droop in comic form, or even better, where he was a faceless monster creating more. All we know is that he was the previous Royal Scientist, but the dude did more than just advanced science. He had to know how to build things like an engineer, nothing just pops into existence, if I recall correctly it does say he built the core.

  When we do find something that only we want to see, we scream “Eureka! I found it!”, like Isaac Newton… or Gaster when we touch him. But he doesn’t stay… he vanishes… he runs…

It says Gaster fell, but did he really? 

Is it possible that he willingly let himself be ripped apart in time?

There’s a word for this in Japan, Hikikomori, someone who severely socially withdraws, who hides away and gives up.

(God fucking damn I became the thing I swore to destroy, a goddamn literature teacher, I don’t know why the curtains are blue, they’re depressed??)

...Depression can be like running on autopilot, just going day by day without thinking, just existing without any substance.

(…Thank you, to all the Youtubers, Comedians, Memers, People who i’m about to name drop, who’ve helped me get through funky times and learn to value myself and what is legitimately wrong from right. To all the friends I made along the way.)

   We realized what Gaster could have been, maybe he was logical, funny, and ironic like Sans, or was someone we looked up to, for me it was people like Dave Chappelle, Bill Burr, Aries Spears, “Fluffy” aka Gabriel Iglesias, FredoOnTV, and especially Classicmand. 

  To the dorky and endearing, salty, unyieldingly positive and infectiously bright Papyrus, Jordan the Stallion (The CEO of Fast Food secrets), CalebCity, Dashie, Markiplier, and JackScepticEye. 

   Who’s intentions were for good like Asgore, The Pope, MatPat from GameTheory, MeatCanyon, Avocado Animations, Neytrix, TheDadvocate, DougDoug’s hilariously random, nonsensical videos ,  and so, so, SO, many more who created amazing, horrifying, and inspirational art that helped me to try and understand people more.

 But maybe… he could’ve been the exact opposite. Only a few monsters; people, actually knew him after all and they don't stay for long and disappear. We're not even sure what his true appearance is but we choose the aesthetically pleasing one.

 “Beware the man, that speaks in hands. It's rude to talk about someone who's listening” and more.

We'll never know what kind of person they're until we truly get to sit down and talk with them. Because Gaster can be any of us for someone else.

Me and my word vomit.

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XIII

More author’s Notes at the end because it may contain spoilers! 

But if you’re just joining us... where the heck have you been?

Here are the previous parts vvv:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

They had moved Cordelia to the best guest room in the Institute, small but comfortably furnished with a narrow oak bed and a simple writing desk, but pleasantly decorated with blue striped wallpaper and flowery chintz curtains. A lace-skirted sink, with running water, occupied one corner, and a large window stood open to the night and the fragrance of the garden. In the distance, a shimmer of silver indicated the sun on the Thames.

James walked in carrying an impressive stack of literature he’d taken from the library under his arm and in his free hand he carried a lantern illuminated with the soft bluish glow of a witchlight. He saw Cordelia first, her red hair vibrant against the white pillow case. Color had returned to her skin and the thick black veins that ran underneath it were now gone. The thick top quilt was pulled up and tucked around her chest so that her shoulders and arms were out and rested by her sides. She was modestly covered by an ivory cotton gown. Every once in a while, her fingers would twitch against the fabric of the top quilt and it felt as if the weight of the stack of books weighed on James’s chest.

He set the books on the foot of the bed and sat on the wooden stool beside Cordelia. Wishing more than anything, that miraculously, she would open her eyes and turn towards him with a smile.

“Dickens, Chaucer, Wilde, Homer, Sophocles,” said Jem as he sifted through the books James had brought. “Interesting choices.”

“I brought things that might encourage her through the darkness,” said James.

“Nothing like a good epic to encourage one through dark times,” said Jem, as he set The Iliad back on the stack. “She was administered medicine not long ago, so she is peaceful and still, but do not be alarmed if she cries out. If she begins to sweat or claw at the blankets, come and find someone immediately. If you find yourself growing tired and in need of some rest, you will also need to find someone to take your place.”

James remembered his father and the fierce devotion he had shown his mother when she had fallen ill after transforming into her clockwork angel during the war. He never left her side, not even to eat or drink, or so James was told by relatives and maids. And any time Tessa would fall ill, succumb to an injury, or give birth, Will remained by her side until she made it back on her feet again. His parents remained his highest example of love and devotion. After nearly twenty years of marriage, they still seemed to illicit in one another the emotions of young love: a bit reckless, always public, possessive, but demure, and full of endless patience. James hoped to one day find a love as eternal as the one his parents shared, and he thought he had when he met Grace Blackthorn. To learn that his feelings were simply the product of an enchanted piece of jewelry left a sinking feeling in his chest. Not because of the loss, his feelings for Grace always felt burdened, troublesome, and lonely. He grieved for the love that had the potential to burn as brilliant as his parents.

A sharp pain burst across the center of James’s forehead. He leaned forward, his eyes shut tight, and tried to rub the pain away.

“James?” Jem came beside him and placed a light hand on his shoulder. “What is it? Are you all right?”

“Yes,” said James. “It’s nothing. Just a bit of head pain is all.”

“How long have you had it?”

“It comes and goes,” said James, and waved his Uncle’s concern away. “Thank you, Uncle Jem. For allowing me to be here with her.”

“It is what is best for Cordelia,” said Jem. “She needs the familiar voices of the people she is closest to in the world. Your sister was in here not long ago. While I admire Lucie for the incredible talent that she possesses, someone should warn her about her overuse of adverbs.”

“Are you volunteering?” asked James.

Jem scarred mouth twitched. 

“Coward,” said James and turned to look at Cordelia. “Can she hear us talking? Even now?”

Jem nodded. “Yes, I believe she can.” Jem placed a hand on James’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “When I return to administer her medicine, I will bring you a vial for your headache. I’d also like to examine you tomorrow, to be sure it’s nothing serious.”

Jem left with a quick click of the door when it closed behind him. Now alone with Cordelia, James felt as awkward as he had when he was a fourteen year old school boy attempting to speak to his crush.

With a sigh, he moved the stool closer to Cordelia and the witchlight that flickered on the nightstand. Her fingers twitched against the bed cloth. He picked up the hand closest to him and held it in both of his. Her skin felt so soft. Had it always been so soft, he wondered. Memories of her finger tips grazing his skin in the orange light of the Whispering Room made his mouth run dry. Unsure what possessed him to do such a thing, he brought her hand up to his face and pressed his cheek into her cool palm.

“Daisy, my Daisy.” The name he’d given her didn’t seem to match her anymore, but there was a familiarity in it that he clung to. He hoped that maybe she could cling to it too. “If you’re able, will you grant me the smallest reassurance that you’re alright in there? When we were young, Math and I would communicate through small signals in class when our Instructor would be droning on about the history of runes, which I should have paid closer attention to, but my mind was otherwise detained on some personal dilemmas at the time… Forgive me, I’m rambling.” He brought her hand down.. “Squeeze my hand once if you can hear me?”

His eyes went to her face and watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest. He waited for the coveted pressure of her fingers gripping his with the desperation of a sinner languishing for forgiveness.

When it never came, he lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “That’s all right. Your focus should only be on healing. I brought some books to share with you. Personal favorites from the library that I thought you might enjoy. Mostly classics, because I thought you might like something familiar and those damned contemporary authors and their quest for enlightenment; squandering on about transcendentalism.

“I thought we could start with…” When he reached for his father’s beloved copy of Great Expectation, he caught a vibrant red leather bound book with gold lettering on the spine that glistened in the light beside the bed.

Layla and Majnun

He picked up the copy and stroked the letters with curiosity. He recalled Sona and Alastair calling Cordelia, Layla, but never understood the reference; being so enamored with another woman and his personal throes, he didn’t think to ask.

Cordelia expressed a desire to read it together some day, but under the circumstances, he didn’t think that she would mind.

James kept Cordelia’s hand in his own. With his spectacles perched on the end of his nose, he propped the book against his thighs and opened the cover and found a small inscription on the left hand corner. It read:

Dearest Layla,

I hope this book brings you pleasant company during your travels. You have always wondered and asked why I call you by the name that this most divine tale is titled after, this may bring you some clarity. Please believe that my absence from your life is in no shape your fault and do not burden yourself with trying to understand it. Please know and forever keep in your mind, that I love you and your brother and your mother. Nothing is forever, my darling, we will be together again.

Be omide khodâ,

Bâbâ

The words were slightly smudged in some spots, as if water had dropped onto the ink. The pages were all wrinkled and torn in some places. For a moment, it felt to James like he was opening something sacred: a journal, a personalized letter, a love note, but he couldn’t help himself from turning the page. He turned until he found where one should always start a new story— at the very beginning.

As he read, he smiled to himself when he approached the part about when Layla and Majnun first met. It reminded him something of the first time that he saw Cordelia. When he really saw her. Away from the blinding manacle around his wrist. She was beautiful, but more than that, she was pure light. When he approached a passage, his tone slowed:

[His soul was a mirror for Layla’s radiance: how could he keep such reflections to himself? She shone in him like the sun at noon in a cloudless sky: how could such light be concealed? How could he turn away, even for a second, from the only thing that gave meaning to his life? Kais’* heart was out of step with his reason, and however hard he tried to hide his love for Layla, he failed miserably. Without her, he felt the arrows of reproach from a thousand bows; without her, the pain of separation cut into his heart like a knife.]

When he finished reading it aloud, he felt the faintest flutter from Cordelia’s hand against his, and when he looked up, her mouth was slightly open. The book nearly tumbled out of his lap as he leaned closer to her.

“Cordelia?” He picked up her hand in both of his again and tightened his hold, bringing it to his chest. “Cordelia, can you hear me?”

Her eyes fluttered back and forth underneath the hoods of her eyes.

“I’m here,” he whispered and climbed into the small space on the bed beside her. Carefully, he tucked her head underneath his chin and straightened the quilt around her again. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

                                          ___________________________

The cottage of Cecily and Gabriel Lightwood was a low, thatched building standing amid the fields in an arrangement of a perfectly tended garden. Ivy grew on the green-painted windows, and the eaves and the plastered walls. The front gate hung open, slightly distressed on its posts, and a bicycle lay carelessly toppled against the porch, where two large glazed pots, of the most intense blue, foamed with flowers in hues of Mediterranean pink, orange, and red. The cottage should have inspired only disdain for its tumbledown air, but instead Grace Blackthorn, who was raised to despise her adopted uncle and aunt, found it strangely romantic.

From the rough stones of a back hall, she emerged into the kitchen where a most egregious ruckus was coming. Since arriving at the Lightwood cottage, she’d spent most of her time either in the garden reading or in the kitchen talking to the housemaid who seemed to be the most interesting individual in the house and who didn’t seem to mind Grace’s presence especially after recent truths had risen to the surface like bloated dead fish. The kitchen was always orderly. On a wooden table in the center, a tea urn hissed above its small burner, a stack of old blue and white china teacups waited to be filled. A cake stand held an assortment of the usual small sandwiches and the plain rock cakes that were popular now. Only today, atop the counter, kneeled someone in tweed trousers, one leg bent on the counter and the other outstretched for balance as they reached for something in the cupboards above. She quickly recognized him as the young, illusive Christopher Lightwood.

She leaned her shoulder against the door frame and crossed her arms over her chest.

Since her arrival at the Lightwood’s, she’d rarely seen Christopher. They’d pass each other in the hallways or sit across from each other at meals, but he would be scribbling in a notebook, his face covered in some type of grime. She never attempted a conversation with him considering her relationship with his friend and cousin James. She had the impression that he didn’t care for her so much.

She could hear him whispering to himself. “Where are the damn tongs?”

“Bottom drawer,” said Grace, “to the left.”

There was a terrible clamber as Christopher looked over his shoulder at Grace, resulting in his leg slipping off of the counter. He reached for a ceramic bowl for stability but ended up taking the kitchen utensil down with him. She could not prevent a cry of fear as he hit his back upon the impact.

“Are you all right?” she cried as she ran around the wooden table. “I’m terribly sorry.”

His glasses were askew, as were the dark brown tendrils of hair that mirrored his father’s, fringed at the ends as if burnt. “Fine,” said Christopher after shaking ceramic out of his hair. “I’m fine.”

“Allow me to help you,” she said. Christopher, she had noticed, had the kindest eyes out of all of his friends. She reached her gloved hand out to him.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” said Christopher, not unkindly, but rather sheepishly. He grabbed a hold of the table’s edge and hoisted himself back to his feet. He brushed his hands off on his trousers, but seemed otherwise unscathed. “Sorry if I disturbed you. I was looking for the—“

“Tongs?” Grace pointed to the drawer by Christopher’s left hip. “They’re in the top drawer. And there is no need to apologize. I was the one who startled you.”

“Not at all.” He turned and opened the kitchen drawer, moved things around a bit, and finally retrieved the tongs from the far back. “A-ha!” He clapped them together several times. “Wonderful. Thank you. Our housemaid likes to hide them from me.”

“Why is that?”

“Possibly because I’ve melted the last several,” he said, and though she could not detect any note of humor, she couldn’t help but laugh into the back of her gloved hand. Christopher looked at her perplexed, his cheeks turned a soft shade of pink.

“Melted them?” she asked. “How on earth did you manage something like that?”

He examined the tongs in his hand. ���Uh, it’s difficult to describe.”

“Could you show me?” she asked, shocked by her own bravery, or her desperation to escape her lonely isolation. “I’ve heard so much about your experiments and I really admired your discovery of the cure for demon poisoning.”

“I conduct most of my experiments in my Uncle Henry’s basement,” he said. “He’s not really my uncle, but I’m close enough to Matthew that he might as well be. I have a few experiments in my bedroom, but I don’t think that it would be appropriate for us to be alone in that regard.”

Grace hesitated, but there was no hint of condescension in Christopher’s tone, and his blunt face showed worry in a single vertical crease between his eyes. He was trying to treat her well. She understood that in the past couple of months, or years, she had lost some trust in how people would treat her. She blinked her eyes and nodded once without a word.

“Of course,” she said. “I’m embarrassed for suggesting it.”

“That’s quite all right,” he said, as he examined the tongs. “You must be terribly bored here.”

She was, but she felt it rude to say it. “It was very kind of your parents to allow me to stay in their home considering the grief my dear mother has brought to them.”

“Lucky for you my mother does not share my father’s grudges.” He meant it in fun, but he noticed the dubious look on her face. As she ran her finger through a spilt pile of flour on the counter, he wondered how all of the time he could have mistaken Grace for being so cold and plain when she looked saddened and lost. “Perhaps you could help me with something.”

Her gray eyes lit with curiosity. “With what?”

“I need an assistant to conduct one of my experiments,” said Christopher. “Since Thomas is spending time with his family after their recent loss and the four of us are not meant to be spending too much time together as punishment, but perhaps we can conduct some sort of arrangement for you to be my assistant of sorts. If it’s not too forward to ask.”

Grace fought to keep her emotions respectful, but inside she felt the quick bubble of anticipation that she had not felt in some time swell in her stomach. “As long as I wouldn’t be in the way and your comrades wouldn’t mind us spending the time together.”

“There’s no need for them to know,” said Christopher, straightening his glasses up higher on his nose making his eyes appear abnormally large. “Besides, they don’t seem to take much interest in my experiments anyway. Thomas is with his family. Matthew is under Charles’s watchful eyes, and James is—“ Christopher flushed.

“Is what?” she asked.

She already suspected that they all knew the truth behind the bracelet that she had given to James, but no one cared to ask for her side of the story. Why she did what she did? It was probably for the best. She wasn’t entirely sure she could tell them the truth of it anyway.

“James is with Cordelia.”

“It’s all right.” She pressed her lips together, and began to wonder if it was a mistake to have entered a conversation with him. “What I did was terrible and I won’t pretend to see it otherwise. I understand if you are disinclined to trust me.”

“Can I ask how you did it?” he asked. “How did you enchant the bracelet?”

The question took her off guard. Most people that have approached her with the question asked her why she felt the need to do it. James Herondale was more than inclined to give her his affections on his own; there was no need for an enchanted bracelet. Her answer was often some variation of the same lie.

“I would prefer it if you didn’t ask me that question,” she said. “Only because I cannot answer it. But would it help to know that it wasn’t me who did it?”

“It would,” said Christopher. “It does.

Grace folded her hands in front of her and felt a strange weight removed from her shoulders; grateful that while her truth remained hidden, some of it could be shared with someone else. And while she didn’t believe herself to be entirely innocent, there was some relief in not being entirely guilty either.

The housemaid entered through the swinging doors from the servant’s quarters, humming a Irish melody, which was cut short when she found the two of them in the kitchen. Her cheeks flushed as her watery eyes drifted down to the tongs in Christopher’s hands.

She switched her basket of fresh veggies over to her other hip. “Are you doing the cooking for supper tonight, boy, or are you just polishing the silver again?” she asked. “Because I know you’re not taking my good pair of tongs to use for your little experiments.”

(Author’s notes: Hello! Thank you for reading. I appreciate each and every one of you for indulging me through this quarantine while I pine and wait for Chain of Iron to be released. So a few things, I think everyone knew the book James reads to Cordelia would be Layla and Majnun... it would have been insulting if it was anything else. If you’re not familiar with the story (here is a link if you want to check out a preview), Majnun’s name at the beginning of the story is Kais. SPOILER: when Layla and Kais separate, he becomes mad with sadness and the town people call him Majnun, which means ‘madman’, so that’s why in the passage he is referred to as Kais... in case you were wondering. It’s such a beautiful story. I highly recommend everyone to read it. It gives me strong Romeo and Juliet vibes. There are so many variations of the story, but I really liked this one, and I believe it’s mostly accurate to the original source-- correct me if I’m wrong.

Also, I’m not sure where that Christopher and Grace scene came from. I wanted to experiment with their characters in a friendly way and I wasn’t mad at it, so I thought I’d share. There is a purpose for it in the story. I hope you enjoyed it. As always, if you liked it, please give it a heart, give me a follow, pop in with some comments about what you liked and even what you didn’t. I really appreciate you all. Next update will be Sunday, 7/26. Cordelia is waking up and things are about to get messy.)

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

Rating: G

Summary:  With the help of the baby he found along the way, Mr. Banana sets out to rescue Princess Floria. If he can return her to Paris, she should be able to end Lord Gabriel's war on magical creatures. He'll only have to fight off giant lollipop monsters, Mayura's minions, and his own feelings along the way.

Word Count:  3082 | Chapter 1/2

Notes: I blame @botherkupo. Floria’s her name for August’s mom. Overall I’m torn between pride and regret at writing this. i wont tag maddy bc i think she’s suffered enough for her sins

XXX

“Lollipop!” The baby—Mr. Banana had taken to calling him Greenie, on account of his radioactive green eyes—cried out and tried to clutch at the castle in the distance.

“No, it’s not a lollipop,” Mr. Banana laughed as he adjusted Greenie on his hip. It did look like one, though, with the swirling stripes and colorful shingles on its turrets. “Here you go, little guy. This is even better than a lollipop.”

He stopped walking to bend down and pluck another onion from the ground. Some people thought he lived off of nothing but bananas, and that that was the reason he looked the way he did.  It always boggled him. Didn’t they know that would be like cannibalism? But onions—now those were a vegetable he could get behind.

Sometimes he chose to pretend it was his onion breath that kept all the other fairy tale creatures away, and not the fact that he was a giant sentient banana.

“Lollipop?” Greenie tried holding the onion by its tall grassy top, as if it were a stick. When the onion drooped, he spun it around like it was the heroic Ladybug’s magic yo-yo. 

At least the baby was entertained. Mr. Banana had run out of lollipops about ten kilometers ago, so it was the best he could do.

Unfortunately, that meant that he had to carry Greenie instead of Greenie carrying him.

“At least I’ll have some nice biceps to impress the princess with.”  He flexed his free arm and grinned.  Well, he was already grinning.  His face just sort of did that, no matter how he was feeling.  His neighbors probably found that more unsettling than the onion breath.

Greenie didn’t mind, though.  He just gurgled and swung his onion at Mr. Banana’s peel.

Two hours and one diaper change later, Mr. Banana stood in the castle’s shadow.

“Lollipop,” Greenie said with wide eyes.  Mr. Banana held him close, patting his back.  The castle might look disarming with all its pastel colors, but Lord Gabriel had told him that a terrible monster guarded the princess inside.

Not for the first time, Mr. Banana wondered if this quest was worth it.  Lord Gabriel wanted him to retrieve Princess Floria, who had been imprisoned by the enigmatic witch Mayura over a year ago.  Mr. Banana didn’t understand all the details.  He just knew that Lord Gabriel said the princess’ brilliant red hair could heal any ailment.

Maybe it could even Mr. Banana into a human.

No point in getting his hopes up about that, though.  He still had to actually save the princess first.

“You’d better stay outside, Greenie.”  He set the baby down in a patch of grass.  “It might be dangerous in there.”

“Nana?”  He reached out, opening and closing his tiny fists.  His radioactive eyes were wide, like he was about to cry.

Mr. Banana’s grin faltered.  “I’ll be right back.  I promise.”

Ever since Mr. Banana had saved Greenie from Lord Gabriel’s minions, they’d been attached like apples and bananas.  Magical creatures like himself and the baby weren’t safe in Paris.  Hopefully, Princess Floria could change that.

Mr. Banana saluted the baby before pushing open the heavy castle door.

“Stay peachy, little guy.”

XXX

The inside of the castle was just as bright as the outside.  Weren’t castles supposed to be dark and scary?  But this one was decorated with bright purple and blue swirls across the walls and up the pillars.  It was prettier than Mr. Banana’s lonely swamp, honestly.

But pretty or not, the castle was lonely.  Mr. Banana hadn’t seen a single sign of life.  Was the princess actually here?  If no one was guarding her, wouldn’t she have just run away?

Maybe there were guards further inside, near the tower.  He’d better be careful.

He pushed open another large door.  This one was pinky-orange, like a soft ripe peach.  His stomach rumbled; he should’ve eaten that onion on the way here.

“Woah,” he breathed when he entered the room.  “Greenie would love this.”

Giant lollipops seemed to grow along the walls of the chamber.  Were they part of the castle’s magic?  Or did Princess Floria spend her days gardening lollipops to pass the time? ...Could you even garden lollipops?  He didn’t think so, but then again, most people didn’t think living bananas existed, either.

No time to get distracted, though.  He crept through the chamber, leaving footprints in the thin layer of sugar that dusted the floor.  If his were the only footprints here, he could at least be pretty sure the room was deserted.

A low rumble sounded from the far end of the room.  

Okay, not deserted then.  

He froze as a cluster of lollipops peeled from the walls, then latched together like the limbs of a saccharine golem.  Despite not having a face, it seemed to swivel to look at him.

“Uh-oh.” He gulped.

Time to make like a banana and split.

He dashed down a corridor branching off of the chamber.  The thundering footsteps of the lollipop monster crashed behind him.  That thing would be too fast to outrun, and his potassium-filled heart was already beating as fast as it could go.  Should he dive out a window?  No, the castle was at the edge of a cliff; he’d end up mush in the chasm below.  But this hallway seemed to stretch on forever, and the monster was gaining on him.

He tripped over the plush carpet.  This was it.  After everything, he was going to get crushed by a giant lollipop monster.

But if he was gone—who would take care of Greenie?

He rolled to the side, and the monster’s lollipop fist shattered the floor where he’d been lying.  That could be him next, if he didn’t get up soon.

He scrambled to his feet, but still nearly slipped into the fresh hole.  That dark abyss was not peachy.

“Wait—that’s it!”  He grinned.  (Well, he was already grinning, but his heart was in it now.)

He dashed further down the hall while the monster was shaking the dust from its spherical fist.  Then, he removed a section of his peel.  There was no time for blushing modesty; he dropped it on the floor and kept running.

A few moments later, he heard a giant crash.  Hopefully the monster slipping on the peel.  He didn’t look back to check.

He finally reached a spiral staircase at the end of the hall, and sprinted up the steps two at a time.

XXX

“Wow,” Mr. Banana whispered as he reached the top of the tower.  He could’ve stared at the gossamer curtains, or the plush carpet, or the broken bits of lollipop hung from the ceiling, catching the afternoon light like stained glass.  But each of those things only got a passing glance.

The real beauty was the princess lying sprawled on the couch.

Her limbs were askew; one arm hung off the side, fingers dangling in a piece of peach pie.  (Clearly she had good taste.)  A soft snore escaped her, sending his heart stuttering.  But the most stunning thing about her was her brilliant red hair.  It fell around her face in waves.  One strand was stuck in her mouth, and seemed to be plastered to her cheek with drool.

He hated to wake her when she was sleeping so soundly, but he had no idea when the lollipop monster would right itself, or if it could fit up through the spiral stairs.  Either way, he would surely have to get Princess Floria past it.  He hadn’t really thought that far ahead yet.

“Um, Princess?”  He stepped forward and tapped her shoulder.  

No response other than a louder snore.  This wasn’t some kind of magical sleep, was it?  In all the stories, true love’s kiss could wake any unconscious princess, but that wouldn’t help him.  He was a banana.  He couldn’t be anyone’s true love.

“Princess Floria?”  He shook her a little harder.

“Ah!”  She bolted upright, fists swinging.

He yelped and sprung back, but not before taking a punch to the nose.  “Ow...”

“Oh my gosh.” Floria’s eyes widened.  Her hands covered her mouth.  “Are you okay?  I’m so sorry, I’m—wait, who are you?”

He flashed his best grin (well, his normal grin) and flexed his arms.  “I’m your knight in shining peel, Princess.  Here to rescue you from this castle.”  

She took him in from stem to toe.  Maybe he should have worried about modesty—it would take a day for that strip of peel to grow back, and he was painfully aware of how naked his side would look. Still, he wouldn’t let his worry show.  She didn’t have to like him; she just had to come with him.

And, hopefully, fix his curse.

“You—you’re a banana.”

“Mr. Banana, actually.”  That’s what he’d taken to calling himself, anyway.  If he had a real name, no one had ever bothered to tell him.  Maybe he should’ve picked something a little more… normal-sounding.  Well, he could pick a new one if he got to become human.  

He was thinking Louis.  That had a nice ring to it.

“Is this some kind of joke?”  Princess Floria asked.  Whatever remorse she’d had for punching him had vanished.  She rubbed the back of her hand across her cheek, scraping off the dried drool.  “Why did Mayura send you?  Isn’t trapping me here enough?”

“Mayura—?  No, I’ve never met her.  Lord Gabriel sent me, actually.  He said Mayura should be on vacation this week.”

“Oh, that’s so much better.”  She crossed her arms, getting peach filling on the sleeve of her green dress.  “Mayura may be a witch, but I trust her on one thing.  Gabriel’s more of a heartless monster than any creature she’s created.”

Mr. Banana blinked.  None of this was going how he imagined.

“So, uh… does that mean you don’t want me to rescue you…?”

She sighed.  “Sorry.  None of this is your fault.  I’ve just—it’s been a long time, and talking to the sentimonsters gets pretty boring after a while.  Mayura only comes around when she wants to vent about something, so… yeah.  Shall we?”

She held out her hand, as if expecting him to help her to her feet.  That hand happened to be the one with peach pie still stuck to it.

He shrugged and tugged her up.  “Guess we shall.”

XXX

“You didn’t slay the monster?”  The princess gaped while crouching behind him.

Mr. Banana stared over the side of the spiral staircase, where the lollipop monster was trying to shove its bulbous fist through the handrail’s supporting bars.

“I’m a banana!  I don’t know anything about killing monsters!”

“Then why did Lord Gabriel even send you?”

“I was the only one who would try!”  

He was the only one with nothing to lose.  Well, except Greenie, but the baby would’ve been taken by Lord Gabriel if Mr. Banana hadn’t complied.

The sentimonster shook the staircase again.  If he didn’t find a way out soon, the structure would crumble right into the monster’s sugary clutches.

“You couldn’t just eat the lollipop thing, could you?”  Mr. Banana grinned at the princess.

She gave him a deadpan stare.  “Not any more than I could just eat you.”

Sweat beaded on the outside of his peel.  “R-right.  Just throwing out ideas.”

He couldn’t make the monster slip again; its feet were already planted on the ground.  Maybe he could slip through its legs?  But he wasn’t confident he could carry Princess Floria at the same time.

The princess gripped the railing with white knuckles.  “Maybe we could—”

“Lollipop!”  A high-pitched voice interrupted her.

Mr. Banana’s eyes widened.  He leaned over the rail, searching the floor below.

“Greenie!”  He spotted the baby crawling towards the monster.  His dark brown face was powdered with sugar, but those radioactive eyes were unmistakable.  (Plus, there probably wasn’t another baby in the castle.) 

“Is that—August!”  The princess shouted.

And then, before Mr. Banana could stop her, she leapt over the railing.

“Floria!”  He reached out, but she was falling, falling, her green dress billowing up around her.  The sentimonster swung at her, but she gripped the stick of its arm and flipped from it like an acrobat on a trapeze.

Mr. Banana gaped as she stuck the landing.  She… she was incredible.

She scooped up Greenie while Mr. Banana was still tripping down the stairs.  The sentimonster couldn’t move fast, but it was still too big to outrun, especially if the princess was carrying a baby.

“Lollipop!”  Greenie wailed while Princess Floria rushed him away.

“Right, banana-split up!  Keep the monster confused.  Brilliant,” Mr. Banana said.

Well, it would have been brilliant, if it worked.  The monster only seemed interested in Floria.

He dashed after them, trying to keep up with the monster’s lumbering steps.

“Lollipop!  Lollipop!”  Greenie still screamed.  Now wasn’t the time for the baby’s sugar addiction— 

Or was it?

“Princess!”  Mr. Banana shouted from behind the monster.  He could still see her running away through the wide gap in its legs.  “Put Greenie down!”

“What?”

“The baby!  You’ve got to put him down!”

“Are you out of your mind?  I’m not losing my son again!”

Her—what?

But like it or not, she didn’t have a choice.  The sentimonster’s heavy step shook the floor, and she tripped, barely managing to curl around the baby as she fell.

“Lollipoooooooooop!”  Greenie squirmed from her embrace.

This had better work, Mr. Banana thought with a grimace.  Magical, monstrous lollipops might not trigger Greenie’s transformation like the ones he’d stolen from the town.  They might not even be edible.

That didn’t stop Greenie from latching onto the monster’s foot and licking it anyway.

Suddenly, Greenie grew to enormous size.  Purple and pink spandex stretched over his dark skin, so thankfully none of them had to deal with the problems of a giant naked baby.  Just a normal giant baby.

“A-august?” The princess gasped.  “What’s happened to you…?”

“No time to explain.”  Mr Banana grabbed her wrist and tugged her along.  “He’ll be fine, trust me.”

“Why should I trust you?  You’re a talking banana who cursed my son and wants me to leave him with a monster!”

“Lollipop!”  Greenie—no, August, apparently—laughed and picked up the sentimonster with both hands.

Then he stuck its head in his mouth.

“Y’know, I think I feel worse for the monster right now,” Mr. Banana said.  “I’m sure he’ll find us when he’s done.”

She glanced over her shoulder one last time before nodding.

Then she hiked up her skirts, and they ran.

XXX

Ten minutes later, August crashed through the castle wall, still clutching bits of chewed-up lollipop in his chubby fists.

“Lollipop,” he announced proudly.

“Fantastic job, Gree—er, August.” Mr. Banana beamed.

“Are you going to tell me why my son is the size of a house now?” Princess Floria asked once she’d finally caught her breath. She straightened from where her hands had rested on her knees.

“Nana,” August crouched beside them. His eye was as tall as the Princess, and it took her in with curiosity. “Who?”

“You remember me.” The princess’ voice was pained. “Ma-ma. I’m Mama, August.”

“Ma...ma?” The giant baby frowned, then looked at Mr. Banana. “Na-na.”

“I’m sorry.” He fought to turn his tetanic grin upside-down. “You’ve been in that tower for over a year, haven’t you?  Do you think he…”

Princess Floria didn’t meet his eyes.  Probably for the best, since he shouldn’t bother finishing that sentence.  It would only make her feel worse.

Instead she scooted closer to August, resting her hand against his giant foot.

“He doesn’t remember me.”  She bowed her head.

“Pretty,” August said, patting her red hair softly.

She choked out a laugh.  “Thanks, sweetie.”

She wiped her eyes before turning back to Mr. Banana.  He froze, still feeling like he was intruding on this mother-son moment.

“You brought my son back to me.  Even if I don’t know who you are, or how you did it, I suppose I owe you for that.”

His heart pounded.  This could be where he asked her to heal him.  To turn him human.  If she even could.  He had no proof that he was like August; once normal, but cursed by Hawkmoth’s evil taint.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he ended up saying instead.  “You’re free now.  To take August and go… wherever you want, I guess.”

She frowned up at her son, who had taken to picking tiles from the castle roof and tossing them into the river that flowed at the base of the cliff.

“Will he be okay?  I mean… will he go back to normal?”

“In about an hour.  He only changes if you let him eat lollipops.”  Mr. Banana smiled.

“Okay… weird, but convenient.  No more sugar for you, huh, baby?”

August ignored her, blowing raspberries as he continued deconstructing the castle like it was made of legos.

“You might want to leave now.  While August is still big enough to carry you.” Mr. Banana said, though his heart ached at the thought of returning to isolation.  But he couldn’t ask Floria to return with him to Lord Gabriel.  He doubted she’d do it, considering her opinion of the man.  Besides, she deserved to be free, to finally raise her son.

Maybe he could take her place here.  Living alone in a castle would be better than living alone in a swamp, wouldn’t it?  At least here he’d have a lifetime supply of candy.  

Mayura might come back and demand to know what happened to Floria, though.  

“Leave?  But… alone?”  The princess wrapped her arms around herself.  “I’ve been alone for so long… and August seems to like you, even if you are a talking banana…”

Mr. Banana chose to ignore that half-insult.  It was better than what he usually got when people talked to him.

“Are you saying I—I can come with you?”  He asked.

“Well, you are my knight in shining peel, are you not?”  She smirked.  “Plus, I think August might listen better to you.”

Listen was a bit of a stretch, but Mr. Banana still grinned.

“Greenie!”  He cooed, and August dropped the brick he was playing with to blink at him.  “Up?  We go up?”

“Up!”  August threw his hands in the air.

Then after a bit more coaxing, he picked up Mr. Banana and Princess Floria, and they were off to…

Well, hopefully somewhere safe.

[bugaboowritings]

Cameras and Dead News - Emilie Agreste Is Missing - Fic

Adrien is Rocking Some Shades From The ‘90s. 

I got the idea from a post, that I can’t find- lucky me. But basically, Gabriel doesn’t go out after Emilie’s death/disappearance so the paparazzi couldn’t ask him questions. Do you guys know who still leaves the house tho... Adrien.

Just imagine how that would go. A kid missing his mom, forced to hear questions about her disappearance. 

(Found the post, it was @chloe-is-a-lesbeean. Buzz Buzz, Bitches --> the post) 

hope everyone is alright as we handle these COVID-19 shutdowns. 

-----

“Damn,” The young flim-maker sighed before folding the newspaper in his hands. 

His lips pursed together in thought, not knowing how to feel or to even believe what he was reading. All while he sat in a cafe, one that’s tucked under the shade of another building, his friend gladly munched on the breakfast they ordered. He hasn’t touched his plate since he got there and the other has been debating with their wallet if they should order another coffee for the trip back to the studio. Idly slouching on the bean-bag as he sat rigid against his wooden chair, gripping the paper in his hand. 

 He’s a small artist in the north of town, who sleeps on his friend’s couch because art doesn’t sell, not at a price that will pay for rent, only for that of a good breakfast and lost dinner. Only known underground for his camera and his good eye for color, but never really having any real connections to the silver screen nor the crowds usually involved painting on it, but he was one of the many victims that a certain star carried her influence over. You had to be living under a rock to not know the blonde, the one who fostered a new generation of artists under her wing and films. 

Even though this director didn’t know her personally, it didn’t stop the heavy stiffness from setting gently on his chest. Wondering if he should even take this headline to heart. 

Hell, he’s unsure if what he was reading was even true or just another clickbait story. Shaking off the bitter feelings just in case this was fake. A stunt pulled by some hot-shot manager or rowdy marketing team. 

If so, it’s utter bullshit to write an article like that just to sell crates full of print. 

It wasn’t until his friend noticed the cold and untouched coffee, that they raised their eyebrow and nodded their head to him to speak up. Yet, the director didn’t talk, only giving a heavy sigh before passing the newspaper down. They, an able writer and a genuine friend willing to give up a couch, hastily sucked the syrup off their fingers and wiped their sticky hands on their loose denim jeans before taking the press in their hand. 

Licking the sweet cream off their lips from their breakfast before staring hard at the page. 

Suddenly that bagel on the white clean platter didn’t seem so appetizing. The cream cheese turned bland and the orange juice after-taste went sour and disgusted their taste buds. 

“. . .Wow.” 

Quickly after that, the two flipped to the main article inside. Scanning the black text to see if this could even be true. Their fingers pinched the press a little tighter as their hands got clammy.  Swiftly scanning to see if there was any reason to believe the bold headline that was selling fast in Paris. 

           EMILIE AGRESTE MISSING            A STAR NOW DIMMING...?

From her famous production skills to her unforgettable acting, along with her hand in public service with the Mayor and to aid the City of Paris, her strong love for the arts and her endless funding for them, and her infinite support towards the young creators in Paris- Emilie Agreste was famous and known around for not only her marriage but her character. 

She’s the very reason that so many got their chance and felt like they could make it in a field that seemed impossible to touch. 

Agreste, along with being caring, she was talented in so many ways.  She had the audience in the palm of her hand when she played the sickly lover to the crazed workaholic on the screen. When she shed a tear, the spectators wept with her. When she smiled, the world seemed fine and the sun always shined. When she sighed at the sky, people wondered what she was daydreaming about. Her name was used in tv shows and other movies, as an homage to her and to her fame. 

The blonde really was Paris’ muse. 

Emilie Agreste, an icon that was thought to never fade from the minds of Parisians or from their headlines. 

This proved more true when people just wanted to know more as the news traveled further and further in France. All everyone wanted to hear, read, or watch were the updates on this case or the basic details that the public has access to. 

Where was her last known location?  

What could be the cause of this? 

Why did this happen?

How could this happen in the first place? 

Then the one that astonished everyone. 

Where is she now? 

‘What happened to Emilie Agreste?’ became the most searched thing in Paris in under 24 hours. 

The world faced the media for answers and clarification, but they too were speechless. Even the journalists notorious for finding the small secrets from cheating scandals,  friendship drama, secret pregnancies or always managed to know an inside-source for everything— 

They too came dry.

Not with a drop of gossip or a hint of rumors. 

All that there was, was the police report filed days ago by her husband, who seems to disappear from the public eye as his wife did from the earth. 

Calls to interview him went unanswered. Emails for a comment on this situation got clicked and dragged to the trash bin. Cameras that waited outside the mansion,  like starving lions waiting for the picture-perfect prey, only got a snap of the maids taking out the trash. The Agreste fashion-shows, ones that were planned months ago, were canceled the day before they took place. The spring collection had to be pushed back before releasing the photos to the magazines weeks later. 

No one could get the details of Parisian Darling and that didn’t change no matter how much the reporters bid for the voices of assistants and maids to speak on the matter. 

The only person out in public and with a tight connection with the Agreste was Emilie’s one and only child.

Adrien Agreste. 

Blossoming model to the Agreste Brand a few months back and the only Agreste that would step out to the sun to go to his fencing lesson and photoshoots. The reason the gates opened again was to only to let in his Chinese tutors or piano instructor. Then, the gates would shut again when he stayed in his rooms for hours on end. Not really a public face until his father released his anticipated winter collection last year, all with the teen as the front cover of every fashion magazine advertising it.

And man, was it well received. 

There were times where Adrien had to be shielded from the press by his bodyguards to get to his fencing competition. Deciding early on to take his Chinese lessons at home instead of going off to the university for his studies when he got pestered by hidden paparazzi and nosey students. 

Reporters, photographers, and the curious were hot on his heels as they shouted things to make him turn around, to get a reaction. Anything to make their salary bigger.  Anything to put on a tabloid. Anything to print on the press. Anything to get something that sells. 

“Is your mother dead?”

“Is it true that there is a ransom note at Emilie’s last known location?” 

“Do you think your mother left with her own will and didn’t disappear?” 

“Adrien, do you think that your mother left willing or is this just a stunt for the new film with Grand-”

“-How is your father dealing with this situation?” 

“ADRIEN, turn around! Tell the public what they were waiting to hear!” 

“Is Gabrial Agreste so disheartened that he can’t step out? Should we still expect the fall collection with-” 

“What is the police saying about your mother’s case?” 

“Are there any new leads about her disappearance?” 

“Adrien, what do you think of this situation?!” 

The heir to the Agreste Brand, the name and legacy stopped in his tracks on the stone staircase. 

It’s a sunny morning out, so his hair managed to glimmer nicely thanks to the sun’s rays. It was also an excuse to wear sunglasses, to pull a curtain over his face so no one could dare to notice how much he wanted to cry. Covering the bags under his eyes and shielding them away from the bright lights since his eyes got more delicate the longer he went without sleep. 

But no one would see that. All they would point out would be the fact his shades are his dad’s old collection from the ’90s. 

They wouldn’t see how he picks his lips because he can’t tap his toes against the marble floors in his house without creating an echo that makes him feel more alone. 

But no one would see that. They would just ask what his lip care routine or if he used any innovative k-beauty products to keep them that shade of pinky-red or that glossy. Totally not the ointment that keeps them from bleeding. 

He would come to practice in all grey or wear minimalistic clothes because he doesn’t want to think about how to match the patterns or the fact it felt so wrong being so bitter when wearing mustard yellow or baby blue. 

But no one would notice the reason for his monochrome wardrobe and call it a new style for the summer. 

Taking little ways he showed his grief when everyone seemed to move too fast. Adrien barely felt the ground under his feet as Natalie changed the times for his lunch again to fit another appointment and meeting. 

Processing the last time he saw his mom before he got asked for another interview on her disappearance. 

How the little interactions and moments popped into his head only to taunt him. The way she stirred her tea, how she comforted him that one time he fell on the concrete, how she always got a plate of cut fruit for him when he was studying, then how she winked at him and said, “Let me talk to your father. He’ll come around,” whenever Adrien asked to go out but there was some hesitation, or how his mother managed to make even the scariest things seem not so scary in the end. 

So to answer that question, he didn’t know.

 Everything was growing out of place in his life but it was in an excepted way. His father was never a man of conversation but became one secluded in isolation without his mother pulling him in with her words out of his cave and keeping him sitting by the dinner table. Adrien didn’t even know if his father locked himself in his large office and buried himself in work or if he still in his parent’s room- trying to process what’s going on. Adrien has been out of the house so much that he doesn’t even know if he left his bedroom the way it is or the maids cleaned up when he was gone, not knowing if his game is still paused at this point. 

 It also just hit him on that nice, sunny day that he may have lost the ability to say ‘parents’ when only one is currently at home. 

As hungry reporters encroached the teen, Gorilla shoved them back and away. Setting his palm on the young Agreste’s back to urge him to keep moving. Only getting a nod, letting a few seconds pass before he hurried up the staircase and into his lessons. 

[persephonescat]

Birds and Other Supernatural Phenomenons

New chapter??? Already??? Yeah, don't get used to it, I have so many exams this week (and the next one too), that I think I'm gonna just straight up die. So naturally, I'm procrastinating. Yey.

(This wasn't edited nearly as much as any of the other chapters, even though I wrote at least ten different opening scenes for it. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not.) And apparently, my aesthetic is writing Gotham's weather. I have no idea how that happened.

Warning for violence!

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________________

Ch. 7: Light and Darkness

Life sucks.

Sometimes, she stared into the darkest abyss and even the mere existence of it terrified her. Other times, she looked back at her life and thought, "the abyss would be pretty comfortable, after all".

She didn't know when her life turned into a cheap video-tape. The sounds were distorted, and the protagonist was horrible, but she kept watching it anyway.

***

The rain was flooding the gray streets of Gotham. The streetlights were dimmed by the thick curtain of dust and fog. Neon billboards flickered over shops, the cars sprinkled dirty water on the few pedestrians who didn't run from the weather as if it was the plague.

The rain disturbed Marinette's senses. Dick's quiet swearing was oppressed by the deafening sound of dropping water and shrieking vehicles. There were too many smells. Her vision was blurry, her red raincoat didn't protect her from getting soaking wet. She put her insensate hands in her pockets to keep them from shaking violently, but it still took all her self-control to keep herself together.

"'You okay?" Dick shouted on her right side, giving up the fight with the umbrella she gave him and settling for a small coverage over his face.

"Yes," shouted back Marinette, but her voice was lost in the downpour. 

"We're almost there!" He tucked the girl a little closer and tried to get the umbrella to protect her.

"I know," she muttered even though there was no way he could've heard her.

The buildings were closing over their heads, merging with the dark clouds. A car passed beside them, and Marinette screwed her eyes shut. It was too loud.

"Marinette?" she heard a familiar voice say. Suddenly, it was easier to breathe.

"Adrien?"

"God, are you okay? I've been looking for you." She could finally see him in his large, black raincoat, rushing towards her with an umbrella.

"Sure," she muttered, hoping her voice didn't tremble from the cold. She was grateful that he spoke in English instead of French, it would've been considerably harder for her to keep her cover otherwise.

Adrien stood next to her, holding the umbrella over her head. He only then seemed to notice the man on her side, and she wondered if he was just pretending to be normal or if he really didn't pay attention.

"Hi! Who are you?" he asked Dick kindly, but Marinette could hear the wariness in it.

"Umm..." Dick seemed to be lost in thought for a second before he answered. "Hi. My name is Dick. You are Marinette's classmate, right?"

"Yes, I am." He paused and smiled politely. "I think we should go, it's very cold out here." He was waiting for Marinette to agree, but she didn't say anything.

"Of course. I've to go too, I'm really late for work," Dick said, glancing at the Wayne Tower. "Thanks for the umbrella," he smirked one last time before shoving the dripping object into Adrien's hand and making a run for the tower. They both stared at him as he cut his way through the rain.

"Come on, let's get you to somewhere warm," said Adrien, finally turning to her. "Can I touch you?"

A few years ago, Marinette told him how uncomfortable she felt sometimes when people touched her. Since then, he always asked for her permission, especially when she was in a bad mood. She had a strong urge to roll her eyes dramatically every time he did it. It was so... Adrien of him. He always respected people's boundaries. Maybe that's why he didn't fight his father. 

The guilt was climbing up inside Marinette's throat as she remembered her investigation on Hawkmoth. Half a year ago, she started suspecting it was Gabriel Agreste, but she said nothing. Now she was almost sure and still didn't tell anyone. Not even Master Fu. She knew that if something happened to her, Tikki would tell him what he needed to know. If for some reason - Marinette didn't even want to think about that, - she couldn't, she had at least four different ways to make the guardian know.

She looked at Adrien. He seemed to be happy. His years as Chat Noir made him more confident. He was a lot like Chat now, just like how she was more and more like Ladybug. Psychologically, it was fascinating. In practice, it terrified her sometimes.

Instead of answering, she hugged Adrien's waist with one arm as they walked to the nearest diner.

***

After some getting some hot cocoa and warm food, - they both knew Marinette was not the best at eating healthily and regularly, he sat down beside her and put her freezing hands between his, warming them up. She gave him a grateful half-smile.

"Next time you decide to disappear, you could really send me a text or something. I tend to check the weather forecast, unlike some people," he said. "Why did you have a raincoat and an umbrella on you anyway?"

Marinette was starting to feel her hands again, and her mind was no longer screaming from confusion.

"I tend to come prepared, unlike some people, who constantly forget to bring a toothbrush to trips," she said mockingly.

"I mean, I don't do that constantly," he protested.

"Every. Single. Time," she told him. "I think I actually brought two spares, just in case."

"Nah, I'm good, Nino brought one for me too," he muttered, avoiding her gaze. Marinette snorted.

***

The teachers gave them the afternoon off again. The rain stopped around noon and Gotham was swimming in sunlight. The wet streets were glimmering as the light touched the asphalt, people slowly poked their heads out of their homes, a few annoyed cats were roaming around, showing off their wonderfully dry pelage.

Marinette walked slowly, admiring the sky-high buildings and silently memorizing all the shops and alleys she went by. There was a chance she was going to forget most of it by tomorrow, and once again, she cursed her brain for needing so much sleep.

St. Anthony Street was not a pretty view. Thanks to the rain, Joanne's blood was painting small, brownish-red veins on the concrete. The original red puddle was still visible, and even though it faded a lot, it was big.

Near the large, rust-colored spot, there was a smaller one. 'Must be where her hand fell next to her side,' Marinette realized. That would mean the girl entered the street from where Marinette stood, the attacker jumped at her almost immediately, and she fell backwards. The paper said the wounds were on her chest and torso, so she must've landed on her back, then the attacker stabbed her twelve times and took the murder weapon with them. Marinette could replay the scene in her mind.

Joanne must've been in a hurry because she doesn't notice someone already waiting for her. The attacker grabs her hands to keep her from escaping and knocks her back. Then they get their knife out and Joanne screams, but nobody bothers to check what's wrong. The attacker stabs her again and again. At some point, the girl is conscious enough to touch her bloody T-shirt and try applying pressure on a wound. It doesn't matter. Then her hands fall to her sides, her bloody palm leaving a mark on the asphalt, and the murderer finally stands up, looking at the body in front of their eyes. They're panting heavily. They leave with the knife, their clothes sprayed with blood.

Twelve stab-wounds would clearly state it was personal, but when it comes to hate crimes like this, it's usually pretty obvious who did it. Not many people have enemies capable of something like this.

There were multiple faults in her version of the events. 

She walked around the dark spot slowly, hundreds of ideas crossing her mind, most of them faulty and unusable. 

She rubbed her face frustratedly. If she wanted to make something out of this, she needed to sleep first.

She took off her red backpack with the black-and-white apple blossoms she made a few years prior - when she realized that the lock pick set, the handbooks, the Swiss Army Knife, the skein, scissors and needles, her not-so-secret green tea stash, the matches, her phone and the small army of power banks she always carried with her didn't fit her old purse anymore, not to mention Tikki and her cookies. 

She took out the thermostat of coffee she got on the way back with Dick and drank half of it in one gulp. Now that she was thinking about it, she might've liked coffee after all. Tikki and Kaalki both frowned at her in perfect sync inside the bag but given they were in the middle of the street, they didn't say anything.

Marinette checked the time and decided to stick around for a little more. She was wandering the block slowly, noting all the broken doors and windows on the way.

She was examining St. Anthony Street for the fourth time when she noticed something in the few threads of grass sticking out where the road and the pavement met. She went closer.

For a moment, she thought it was a wrapper or a piece of plastic, but as she took it between her gloved fingers, she realized it was a small, round wooden-bead painted ultramarine blue. 

Three days passed since the incident. Anyone could've lost a single bead since then. Actually, it might've been there for weeks, but she still slipped it into her pocket before going back to the Wayne Tower.

________________

Comments are like macarons: fun. They're fun. That's it. I'm tired. Please share your thoughts!

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[rage-is-here]

Fronnie | One-Shot

A/N: Hello! This is Rage, writing about a ship I really like-

BTW IN THIS STORY HEADCANONS ARE THAT BONNIE IS JEREMY, FREDDY IS GABRIEL, FOXY IS FRITZ, CHICA IS SUSIE AND G.FREDDY IS CASSIDY

Warning: if you do not like Fronnie (Freddy x Bonnie), please, p e r i s h -

So, with that being said, let's head on to the story itself;

uwu uwu story time uwu uwu

The camera buzzed as it moved from left to right, observing the room fully. The animatronics on stage just sat there looking lifeless. And that's what the nightguard thought as well - they didn't believe in that gostly-possesed crap everyone seemed to believe for those animatronics.

... At least that was the case until they suddenly saw the camera be filled with static. When the white noise cleared, all three of the animatronics were staring straight at the camera; no, straight to him. It looked like the animatronics were watchinghimthrough the cameras.

Mike felt the blood instantly drain from his face and he yelled in sudden terror. Pulling down his monitor, he checked the lights outside the office doors. No one or, more likely, no thing was there. Taking a deep breath, he pulled up the monitor again, only to widen his eyes terrified again.

The only animatronic on stage right now, was Freddy. Bonnie and Chica were gone. Frantically, he checked around the cameras, searching for them anxiously. Finally, he heard noises from the kitchen, and assumed one of them was in there. Yet, he wasn't sure who.

He found Bonnie in the closet. That was... An interesting location. Mike couldn't suspend a snort of a giggle.

He checked around the cameras again, and at one point, he clicked on the Pirate's Cove camera. The purple curtains of the small out of order stage had been pulled by a little, revealing a fox animatronic's head. For some reason he looked... Grumpy? Yet, his piercing eyes were seemingly tearing through Mike's soul.

He pulled down his monitor to check the lights again... Bonnie was right there.

Mike screamed and slammed on the door button, the door falling with a rather loud thud, followed by a smaller one, like something hit on the door. Looking from the glass next to the door, Mike saw the bunny turned around and holding its nose, a kind of pained expression on its face. The sight made him laugh in amusement; those animatronics feel pain? Upon hearing him, the bunny turned his attention to him, death staring him, before walking away with angry steps..

Meanwhile, back on stage . . .

The Freddy animatronic opened his eyes lightly, quickly groaning and blinking rapidly, trying to adjust to the lighting. He prefered rather darker environments due to how sensitive his eyes were.

Taking a few slow steps, he got off the stage and looked around. Bonnie and Chica were both nowhere to be found. 'The probably be hunting the nightguard', he thought.

He yawned, still sleepy and all that, when he saw Bonnie walk out of the west hall. His ears were slumped over, and that was a clear sign that he was annoyed and/or angry.

"Uh, y'okay Jer?" the bear asked asked, walking towards him.

"I'm fine." the bunny said impatiently walking by him, not even shooting a glare at the bear.

"You definitely don't look like you're okay though." his fellow animatronic replied again, looking straight at him.

"Oh christ, leave me be Gabriel! I want to focus on finding a way to get to the nightguard, cause he pissesme of, there!" Jeremy barked at him angrily.

"... What did this nightguard do to piss you off this time?" the bear, apparently named Gabriel, asked, following the bunny.

Jeremy rolled his eyes in slight annoyance as the bear apparently refused to leave him on his own.

"...He closed the door when I was about to get in, making me hit my nose on it." the blue/purple bunny muttered.

The bear looked rather unamused.

"Don't you think you have a tad bit too short temper...?" Gabriel questioned, crossing his arms, "I mean really, we are after him and want to kill him, so isn't it like, justified that he slammed the door?"

Jeremy looked at the bear animatronic surprised, but the surprise soon turned into anger.

"Are... Are you feeling pity for him?!" he exclaimed loudly, "How can you? Have you forgotten what they did to us? Do you not care for that?!"

"B-But it wasn't him who kille-"

"I. Don't. Give. A. Fuck!" the bunny yelled, cutting Gabriel off, before closing his eyes in an attempt to calm his nerves, "I know for a fact though that he works here, and this place is owned by Afton, so he works with or for that disgusting creature, and I won't EVER show any kind of pity towards him OR the people that work for him, and if you ever decide to come tell me that bullcrap, I swear..."

The bunny trailed off as he opened his eyes, looking at Gabriel. The poor bear had cowered back, a scared look on his face. His eyes were wet, and seemed like tears were threatening to fall any moment from now. He had forgotten how sensitive the bear was, and yelling at him like that weren't the wisest of choices.

A few seconds of silent staring passed, with the only audible thing being Gabriel's heavy, unstable breathing.

"... Fine, I-I'll leave you to it, have fun killing yet another person-" Gabriel said as he started walking the other direction in a fast pace.

"W-Wait Gabs..." Jeremy said as he grabbed Gabriel's arm, just above his elbow. He quickly pulled at him, making him forcefully turn and face him. The sight broke the bunny's heart, as a few tears had stained the bear's cheeks who just stared at him silently, not trying to break free from his grasp. Instantly, he pulled the bear in a tight hug, surprising the smaller animatronic.

"I... I'm sorry... I-I shouldn't have yelled at you like that..." Jeremy muttered, feeling disappointed in himself for his actions.

The bear did not respond, yet he just hugged the bunny back just as tightly. They both stayed like that, unmoving, silent, both enjoying the feeling of the other's embrace, and calming, to the sound of their breathing. Neither wanted to let go of the other, and hoped for this moment to last forever.

"Aww, aren't you two adorable..." a low, girly voice said.

Both animatronics instantly looked around, breaking the embrace, but still instinctively holding each others hand, to see who said that. Neither could locate anyone close to them though; but then, Gabriel caught a glimpse of a faded gold suit, before it disappeared instantly.

"Damn you Cassidy." Gabriel mumbled, followed by a quiet, girly giggle.

"Could we, um, you know, have some privacy right now?" Jeremy asked, slight embarrassed.

"Heh heh, sure, sure..." Cassidy said, still giggling, before the room went silent again.

"Okay now that happened," Jeremy commented dully.

"Yes," Gabriel replied, "...Where were we...?"

"I think we were to the point were I was going to kiss you." Jeremy said looking straight at the bear.

"Oh yeah righ- W-WAIT WH-" the bear exclaimed before he was shut of by something blocking his mouth.

The bunny had grabbed the shorter animatronic by the shoulders and pulled him into a kiss, closing his eyes while doing show. Gabriel just stood there, his mind shutting off for a few seconds, before he nervously kissed back. He had to admit that he absolutely loved the feeling, loved this sudden rush of non-existent adrenaline through his metal veins.

A few moments later, Jeremy broke the kiss, opening his eyes and looking straight into the bears bright blue eyes, while the bear looked into his crimson red ones. The bear smiled, and hugged the blue animatronic again, softly pressing his head against his chest, hearing the soft sound of Jeremy's metal pump. It's sound so inhuman... Yet, to Gabriel, it sounded identical to the sound of a human heart.

The bunny hugged back, petting softly at the bear's back of the head, as he felt his breathing against his chest, as well as the rise and fall of his chest. For a second, he imagined. He imagined, what if they never died. Yes, he would still have his family. But now, at least, he has him. And, for the first time, after that fateful day, the bunny felt truly happy.

They might be trapped in this living hell. But at least, they are together. From today, till the end of all days.

A/N: Holy heck finally I am done with this- I know, the end might feel a bit rushed but oh my lord, I personally love how it turned out :)

Anyways, stay safe you all, and see you some other time-!

[qqueenofhades]

in the dark of the night

Happiest of birthdays to my dearest @prairiepirate, who wanted dramatic and slightly angsty de Clermont brothers, horses, guns, and general Dashingness. I hope this will hit the spot. Ahem.

Bavaria, 1754

The sun set an hour ago, the temperature is dropping, and there is a keen in the wind that, to Garcia Flynn de Clermont’s ears, sounds like snow. They are getting a late start as it is, since the godforsaken coach broke an axle again before they could leave the post inn, and hasty repairs had to be contrived before they continue. In Flynn’s opinion, they should have stayed here, much of a shithole as it is, and not risked going on in this weather. They are near the border with Austria, deep in the mountains, and the Prince-Elector of Bavaria has been at war with Austria almost interminably, even if they are supposedly presently at peace. There are wolves, and wild dark forests, and other things. But Maria Theresa demanded that they press on anyway, and here they are.

It is not the most glamorous job the de Clermont brothers have ever taken, working as hired bodyguards to escort wealthy young ladies to Salzburg. Flynn (he acquired the name in sixteenth-century Ireland, under the auspices of Grace O’Malley, the pirate queen, and he’s kept it) still isn’t entirely sure how they were landed with it. But Herr Gerhard Pfaffenburg is very old and very rich, insisted on the best for his daughter, who awaits some sort of splendidly titled marriage in Austria, and somehow wound up engaging a pair of immortal vampire knights to accompany her. They are being paid handsomely for it, to be sure, and Herr Pfaffenburg does not actually know that they are vampires. He is under the impression only that they are particularly good soldiers, and he is not wrong.

Flynn cocks an eye at the unfriendly black sky, urging his horse to a canter alongside the lumbering coach. Maria Theresa, like most young ladies of quality, is not used to hearing the word “no,” and it was to avoid any petulant fit that he, who often finds himself baffled by women anyway, agreed to set out. It’s not snowing yet, at least, and the coachmen keep a steady touch of the whip on the horses’ backs. The lanterns on the spars rock and jostle, and Flynn, who can see in the dark much better than they can, peers ahead in search of sudden obstacles. Then he circles around and gallops up to Gabriel, who is presently serving as rearguard. “This is a stupid idea.”

“You should have said that to her.” Gabriel’s teeth flash white in the night, his thick black hair artfully ruffled by the wind. He seems amused, as he knows that the entire reason they are out here is because Flynn was once more bested by a small and feisty woman, and apparently preferred to sit back and watch him struggle rather than step in and put his foot down. Technically it does not matter – nothing can happen to them, and a night of hard, rough, and unpleasant travel might teach Fräulein Pfaffenburg a few valuable lessons about listening to her guards. “Come on, darling, where is your sense of adventure?”

Flynn grumbles under his breath, checking that his flintlock musket is slung over his back, as if it would be anywhere else. They are clad in the belted blue frock coats of the Bavarian army, they have Maximilien-Joseph’s personal medal on their chests, and they are far more than a match for any lurking bandits or other persons of ill intent. If even robbers are out on a night like this, as any sensible people are indoors. The ground is turning steeper, one of the horses skids and whinnies in fear, and Flynn curses. “If she gets into some sort of accident, even if this was her idea, you know we’re the ones that will be blamed for it.”

“Indeed.” Sounding utterly unconcerned, Gabriel pushes his blowing hair out of his face, then kicks his horse to a gallop and vanishes into the darkness. Flynn spots a delicate hand pushing aside the curtains of the coach to watch. Despite (or perhaps because of) her imminent matrimony to stout old Graf Ludwig Otto Hoffmeister with his impeccable family connections and influence with the Hapsburgs, Maria Theresa is considerably taken with her extremely handsome and gothically romantic mercenary escort. If Gabriel said something about this being a fool idea, she’d probably flutter her eyelashes and call the whole thing off. Flynn is not going to be blamed for this. Thank you very much.

They manage to make another half an hour with no significant calamities, though they’re going slowly enough that, Flynn thinks pessimistically, they have only managed to wear out the horses for no real reason. He hopes vainly that Maria Theresa will decide that she is tired and wants to rest – surely she cannot be in haste to become Gräfin Hoffmeister any faster? Unless this is part of some secret plot that the young lady has contrived, in order to have herself kidnapped, or snatched by thieves, or anything else, to spirit herself away from an unwanted marriage and into some new life instead? Has Flynn, by trying to prohibit their onward journey for the night, nearly thrown her entire escape plan into jeopardy, or is he just far too suspicious, and they really should stop before they –

At that moment, somewhere off in the woods, he hears the crack of a gunshot. He can’t see who is shooting at them, or from where, but it spooks the horses, makes the coachmen look around and yell in alarm, and Gabriel reappears in a flash. He unslings, primes, and aims his musket all in the same motion, and firing expertly into the dark trees. This is all accomplished while riding at full gallop, which is unlikely to do anything to dim Maria Theresa’s hopeless fancy for him, and even Flynn has to admit, it is a nice bit of shooting. But then there is the sound of more shouting from up ahead, and he catches sight of some kind of log barrier built across the road (which out here is little more than a muddy track through the trees). With the coach going full tilt, they will crash into it, kill the horses and severely wound Maria Theresa, and whether or not this was the intention, Flynn cannot permit it to be carried out. There’s another shot, one of the coachmen screams and falls, and Flynn, noting that the horses are panicked, one coachman alone cannot stop them, and there are only seconds in which to prevent catastrophe, acts all at once.

He gallops alongside the out-of-control coach, kicks his boots out of the stirrups, and springs directly up out of the saddle and onto the running board with a swift vampiric leap. He grabs hold of the reins and wrestles six very strong and fast-moving Percherons to his will just in time to avoid a full-speed collision, as Gabriel reloads with his hands, rides with his knees, and shoots into the tangled trees. By the sounds of things, he’s hit at least one of them, and he yells at Flynn, “That way!”

Flynn jerks the reins to the right, they go on two wheels around the logs, and hit the ground on the far side and keep galloping. Flynn thinks it must have been a nest of local outlaws, lying in wait for anyone stupid enough to dare the road at night, and thinks of several very clever and pointed things to say to the Fräulein later. But because it seems that their woes for the evening are not over, they still have a few of them on their tail. Flynn cannot drive the coach and shoot at the same time, and the surviving coachman is goggling at him, having never seen one man fly off his horse and handle a coach-and-six all by himself – not to mention Gabriel’s preternaturally accurate marksmanship in pitch darkness. A dark suspicion is starting to form on his face, of which he will need to be disabused posthaste. Flynn has had enough of this night already, and does not need to avoid a staking on top of it. Bavarians are notably not very fond of vampires.

“Back there!” Flynn yells down to Gabriel, who once more expertly reloads the balky flintlock, aims, and fires. They work together this seamlessly, they know each other’s thoughts and movements before they make them, from centuries of fighting at each other’s sides, and indeed, Flynn barely needs to speak aloud. He has the better vantage point from his seat atop the coach, so he can just look down and from that alone, Gabriel will know where to shoot. But now there are the sounds of more guns, another register of shouting, and torches burst through the woods, carried by men in uniform who look official (and angry). The leader gallops right into the coach’s path and shouts in German, “Stop right there!”

Since the only other option is to run him over, and Flynn has a feeling that would not go over well with his friends, he wrestles the coach to a halt, the horses snorting, frothing, stamping, and ploughing, billows of steam jetting from their nostrils in the cold night. The leader is wearing a blue army jacket of his own, the golden epaulets on his shoulders mean that he is a captain, and they have the look of Prussians. What the hell? Prussians and Austrians hate each other, so a company sneaking around this late in the dark, near the Austrian border, cannot be up to any good. That, or –

“What are your names and what are you doing?” The captain, for all that he is up to the exact same sort of skullduggery, has apparently decided to act as if he is in the right and has nothing to answer for. He is tall, lean, and has a long dark ponytail, a dark shadow on his jaw and startlingly blue eyes, and although his German is flawless, Flynn can detect the hint of a familiar accent beneath. God, he hasn’t heard that since – since 1192, probably, washing up on Lokrum island with Richard and the rest of the shipwrecked crusaders, Ragusa with its mighty walls overlooking the Adriatic. He was born there in the sixth century, before he left for Gaul, and curiosity prickles at him. Is this man from Dalmatia too?

The national origin of the captain holding them up is, however, far from their most pressing concern. Flynn glares down at him. “We will thank you to let us pass. You have no authority here.”

Gabriel gallops up at the coach’s side, and the de Clermont brothers and the Prussians glare at each other. The captain does not seem intimidated. “The Kingdom of Prussia is the greatest sovereign authority in the German states,” he reminds them coolly. “We have every right to be here, and indeed, more than you. Your trim is Bavarian. Envoys of the Prince-Elector? If so, and your business is legitimate, then you may pass. But we have heard gunshots in these woods, and – ”

“Those were outlaws,” Flynn growls. “We did not start it. We are conducting a young lady of good breeding, Fräulein Maria Theresa Pfaffenburg, to her marriage with Graf Ludwig Hoffmeister in Salzburg. If you wish to make yourself useful, you can go look for the scum who shot at us. They have built a roadblock, just a few miles that way.”

The captain eyes him suspiciously, finally snaps orders to a few of his men, and they gallop out of sight, as if to verify the truth of his story. Then the coach door cracks open an inch, and Maria Theresa – sounding rather terrified, but not overwrought, and Flynn has to grudgingly admire her nerve – peers out. “What is – what is going on?”

“You would be Fräulein Pfaffenburg?” The captain considers, then dismounts. His spurs click as he strides toward her. “Your… escorts have said you are bound to Salzburg. Is that so?”

“Yes.” Maria Theresa bites her lip. “If there is difficulty, please do not blame them. I was the one who insisted we press on late into the night.”

The captain considers her with those intent blue eyes. Not a man who misses much, this one, and Flynn finds himself oddly intrigued by him, even in the midst of the danger and general inconvenience that he is causing them. “Why is that, my lady?”

Maria Theresa flushes. “I was…” She glances guiltily at Flynn and Gabriel. “The marriage that awaits me, it was… I thought that perhaps if something happened to us, I would not have to… he is an old man. Rich. My father’s choice. But I had heard no good report of his kindness or his character, and… it was foolish of me. I am sorry.”

Flynn has just enough time to feel grimly vindicated that she did want something of this nature to happen, and he and Gabriel exchange eyebrow-raised looks. For his part, the captain frowns thoughtfully. It has apparently not escaped his attention that if Maria Theresa’s Austrian marriage was thwarted, it would be useful for the Prussians, and that they do not necessarily have a strategic interest in merely conducting her on and hand-delivering her to mean old Graf Hoffmeister. Then he says, “That was audacious of you, my lady, if very foolish. You could have gotten your men killed as well. It seems to have already cost you one of your coachmen.” His eyes flick to Flynn. “You can drive a team of six by yourself, sir?”

“Yes.” Flynn stares back at him.

“You do not look like a stableman, or a groomsman.” The captain considers, then turns to Maria Theresa. “Very well. While I do not know if it should be customary to reward such filial delinquency, I can see you safe to King Frederick’s court, and once you are there, it would be difficult for either your father or Graf Hoffmeister to retrieve you. If, of course, it is truly what you wish to do.”

“Yes,” Maria Theresa says fervently. “Oh, yes, yes, please.”

The surviving coachman starts to make a noise of protest, there is a shocked whimper that must come from Maria Theresa’s maid, and it is felt best for everyone that they do not have the chance to interfere. While the Prussians search the coach to make sure that they are who they say, Flynn and Gabriel discreetly remove the coachman and the maid, tie them to a tree, and sit there watching them, daring them to say a word. This has been one of the more eventful nights of the brothers’ lives, which is rather something when you consider how much of it there has been, and Gabriel finally slings an arm around Flynn’s shoulders. “You know that if we come back without his daughter and an apologetic tale that we accidentally let her get abducted by some passing Prussians, Herr Pfaffenburg is going to be very angry. He is not going to pay us, and he may be inclined to express his displeasure in other ways. We might have to find a new occupation.”

“I wasn’t aware we were planning to do this again anyway,” Flynn grumbles. “Tell me. Did you know about this?”

Gabriel shrugs. “Not the details. But I had a sense that the good Fräulein was unhappy with her matrimonial arrangements, and should be granted a chance to thwart them, if it was at all possible. So.” He shrugs again. “Truly, it worked out for everyone.”

“Oh God.” Flynn rubs his face. “Tell me you didn’t sleep with her.”

Gabriel gives him an insulted stare. “You may have my word,” he says, “that Maria Theresa will leave our custody as virginal as when she entered it. That was a neat bit of driving back there, Garcia. If you hadn’t missed those logs – ”

“Aye, well.” Flynn stretches out his long legs with a sigh, feeling as if even he may need a few days to recover from this. “It was good shooting from you.”

Gabriel gives him a soft, crooked smile, and they sit there in companionable silence until the search of the coach is finished, the Prussians have apparently been convinced of their bona fides, and they pick up the trussed coachman and the maid like a brace of chickens and carry them back. It is, as all sensible people argued long ago, too late to proceed for the night, so a makeshift camp is pitched. Maria Theresa and the maid sleep in the coach, and the Prussians make a fire and invite Gabriel and Garcia to share their drink and tobacco. The men sent to investigate the roadblock return with a pair of dead outlaws dragged behind their horses, and the captain raises an eyebrow. “So you were telling the truth. I can say, I wasn’t entirely sure.”

“Why else would we be out here?” Gabriel asks innocently, making Flynn glare at him; he is not intending to let Gabriel forget for a while that he got them into this. “But aye, we are men of honor. I am Gabriel de Clermont, and this is my brother Garcia.”

“Frenchmen?” The captain considers. “By your names, at least. But you were born somewhere else, I think?”

Flynn is startled at this perspicacity, though perhaps he can detect the faint accent as they heard his. “My brother was born in Rome,” he says. “I was born in Ragusa.”

“Ragusa?” The captain looks startled, and wistful. “I was raised not far from there, though I left to make my fortunes elsewhere. If you will be searching for new occupation after this, the Prussian army always has room for gentlemen of valor and skill – though perhaps best,” he adds wryly, “that we make no mention of this particular episode. Don’t you think?”

Gabriel and Flynn assure him that they are in no haste to go spreading the news, and they pass around the drink and tobacco with the Prussians. It is the same rough campfire camaraderie of any army, talking about the same things that soldiers everywhere do, and Flynn is startled to realize that it feels as if he has already known them for a long time. Then, as the soldiers are undoing their bedrolls, the captain looks surprised that the brothers are not following suit. “Do you not intend to sleep?”

“We’ll keep watch,” Flynn says. He does not intend to be taken off guard again. Something else, some spur to painful honesty, makes him add, “There are… things you don’t know about us.”

“I imagine there is a great deal I do not know about you.” The captain’s eyes remain on him. “Perhaps I will learn some one day, Garcia de Clermont.”

“Perhaps.” Flynn feels oddly tongue-tied. As the captain starts to stride away, he blurts out, “I do not believe I’ve yet had your name?”

The other man looks at him over his shoulder. There is something in his gaze which Flynn might be imagining, or which he might not, and he does not know which is the more terrifying. “My name,” the captain says, “is Matej. Captain Matej Radić, at your service.”

[zarcake-writes]

Giveaway Prize: 1st Place

Lol, remember this everyone? The first place winner is @overwatchdarling who is a wonderful, patient, and kind person. I’m sorry this took so long, but I hope you enjoy it. I did my best to make it sad, and I hope I delivered.

Warnings: mentions of violence, kidnapping, blood, angst

There was blood on his hands, whether it was his or hers he couldn’t tell. He watched as the blood dripped off his fingers and land on the carpet. The slice marks along his arms were beginning to sting, and his lip was throbbing. It hurt to breathe, he knew a couple of his ribs were broken. The sensation of something wet sliding down the side of his face made him jump in surprise. He touched the substance and saw it was more blood.

The faint sound of sirens reached his ears. Turning to the broken window she had jumped out of, he saw the curtains she picked out several years ago fluttering in the breeze. He swept his gaze over the destroyed room he once shared with her. The mirror above their dresser was shattered, he had flung her into it. There were a couple knives in the walls, she had thrown them at him. The heavy wooden lamp, the first thing they bought as a couple, was lying next to his feet. He had smacked her with it at some point. The pictures of them together were on the floor, smashed to pieces like his heart.

One of the pictures was of them standing on a beach. Behind them was the ocean and the setting sun; the sky was a mixture of soft pinks and orange. She was looking at the camera; a smile on her face and a beer in her hand. He was looking at her; one of his arms was around her waist and the other held a beer. He remembered how perfect that moment was, and how beautiful she had looked. He proposed to her that night.

The sirens were louder now, probably only a few blocks away. He could feel his body shaking; whether it was from the cold air blowing through the window or the adrenaline crash, he couldn’t tell. His hands were shaking, and the blood on his skin was beginning to dry. It started to itch.

A shrill ringing sounded through the room, making him jump. He turned and saw his phone light up on the other side of the room. It was probably Jack or Ana, maybe even Jesse. He had attempted to call for back up, but she had punched him in the face and he dropped the phone. She picked it up and hung up his call, she threw it over her shoulder. Without so much as a second thought, she continued trying to kill him.

Fuck. Just thinking those words broke his heart and made his breath hitch. He inhaled shakily and tried to release an even breath. She tried to kill him. The woman he loved had tried to kill him. The woman he had proposed to you, was planning to marry, had tried to kill him. They had plans after the wedding. They wanted to have kids, he was going to retire, and they would move away. But then she... she tried to kill him.

The night had started out normally. They ate together and got ready for bed together. Ever since her rescue from an unknown terrorist group, she had been quiet and a bit distant. She's been this way since she was found in an abandoned facility. There was no evidence of assault or physical torture, she was simply dehydrated and starved. Her wrists and ankles were bruised, but that was it.

She was so quiet though, yet she denied experiencing any sort of assault. Angela had said she might have gone through some form of mental torture, but she wasn’t sure. Many tests were done on her, and many more were planned for the future. Her next appointment with Angela is in two days or was in two days.

Gabe thought she was still healing from the stress she had endured. He knew what it was like to experience trauma, so he never pushed her to talk or open up. When she was ready to talk, she would, he thought. While she was quiet, she would still smile at him, hold his hand, kiss his cheek. She would let him hold her against his body when they slept together. He felt secure with her in his arms, and she said she felt safe and at home.

Tonight, was the first time in many months that they made love. He didn’t mean to start anything. He was simply kissing her shoulder, and whispering how much she meant to him. His hands ran down her body and he pulled her against his body tightly. Gabe had nightmares about her disappearing again, so he always tried to hold her at night.

She rolled over in his arm and took control of the situation. She had shushed him when he asked if she was sure. She simply said she wanted him. The night continued like most nights before she was taken. He held her, kissed her skin, whispered in her ear. But something new happened. She started to cry. It wasn’t crying from overstimulation or intense feelings, it was a broken sob. It scared him at first, and he stopped. He asked if she was ok and was moving off her, ready to get anything she needed, when she grasped his face and said, “Please continue.”

The sirens were outside now. He could see the bright red and blue lights flashing through the broken window. The light illuminated the room in an odd way, it was almost beautiful. But God, everything seemed so loud.

It was after they were done making love, she attacked him. He could feel her moving and getting out of bed. Something didn’t feel right. His hair was standing on end and his instincts told him to open his eyes. It was the instinct that saved his life many times in the field. When he opened his eyes, he saw her standing at the foot of the bed, clothed with a gun pointed towards him.

Everything happened so fast after that. He threw something at her, a pillow probably. It was enough to distract her, and he lunged for her. The next thing he knew he was wrestling her for the gun. It went off a few times before he threw it across the room. Then she came after him with knives. He didn’t even know where she got them from.

A pounding on the front door made him jump. He heard the familiar sound of the door being kicked in and people were shouting his name. He tried to speak, to say he was in their room, but no words came out. He could only sit there and look around the room he decorated with the woman he loves.

Jack was the first one to enter the bedroom. Gabe was looking down at his hands, he didn’t see the horrified look on Jack’s face. Gabe didn’t notice him until his hand was on his shoulder, and he said his name for the fifth time.  

“Gabe?” He jumped at the contact and looked up at his friend with blurry eyes.

“She… she’s gone.”

“Where is she? Who took her?” Jack was angry. His jaw was clenched, and his brow was furrowed in a particular way. His nostrils flared, and he was breathing hard.

“No one. She… she attacked me. We had just… then she… Jack… why?”

“She did this?” Jack looked down at his friend in disbelief. The room was destroyed and his friend was covered in blood. Jack could see the slashes on his arms and the damage to his face. How could she do this? None of it made sense.

“Y-yes. Jack, why? Why d-did she? I don’t understand, what did I do?” The tears were running down Gabe’s face now. Jack said nothing, he couldn’t say anything. He draped his coat over Gabe’s shoulders, pulled his friend against his chest, and did his best to comfort him.

People began to enter the room. It was a mixture of Overwatch officials and the local police. The police seemed torn between admiring Jack Morrison from afar and being annoyed that Overwatch was taking over.

Gabe barely noticed when Jack helped him stand, and leave the room. Jack said it was so the police could do their jobs, but Gabe didn’t hear him. He didn’t see Ana or Jesse standing on his front lawn, he didn’t hear when they called his name. He barely noticed when he was placed in the ambulance or the questions he was being asked.

Gabe didn’t notice when Jesse climbed into the ambulance with him and took hold of his bloodied hand. He missed the fearful look on the man’s face and the way his eyes filled with tears. He didn’t notice when the paramedics drove off or when he was wheeled into the hospital. All he could see was that empty look in her eyes and that blank look on her face as she tried to kill him.

 The safe house had the furniture deemed necessary and no decorations. Only the most basic of supplies were in the house. The food was cheap and usually consisted of military MREs. There were only water and the occasional half-empty bottles of liquor. However, there was always a cache of weapons and ammo hidden within the homes. This was the norm for Talon safe houses.

The house was located in a neighborhood filled with families. Lawnmowers and barking dogs were heard most mornings, and in the evenings the sound of kids playing and shouting echoed down the street. On the weekends, the smell of barbeque always entered the house. The place was a good cover, most of the neighbors thought the man living there was a workaholic bachelor, not a ghost-like man out for revenge against Overwatch and the world he once swore to protect.

All the rooms in the house were white, the bedrooms had small beds and simple nightstands. The beds all had white or grey scratchy sheets, the blankets were thin and rough. Hospitals had more comfortable bedding.

In the master bedroom, was Reaper- no. Gabriel. His name was- is Gabriel. His skin was no longer a warm earthen color, it was now an ashen grey. His facial hair was no longer nicely trimmed, it had grown out and was streaked with white. The only reason he grew it out was that the hair covered the scars along his lower face. His once neatly buzzed hair is gone, it is now shoulder length and in a messy ponytail. Despite these changes, he was still Gabriel. He found it difficult to remember this some days, but it was something he whispered to himself in the mirror, and at night when he tried to sleep.

He lay on his back, dressed in simple dark-colored sweats and a shirt. His shotguns were next to him on the bed, while his tactical attire lay across the room. His coat was sloppily draped over a chair, his boots were next to the door, and his armor was on the dresser. The mask that instilled fear into so many people was on the nightstand next to the bed.

The emotionless, empty feel of the room didn’t bother than man. He didn’t even react to the fact that his coat was slipping off the back of a chair or care that one of his boots had fallen over. The only thing the man focused on was the photo in his hand.

The photo was faded and creased. It was of him and her at the beach. He looked good, at least better than he looked now. And she… she was breathtaking. Just seeing her smile, her hair, those beautiful eyes made his heart skip a beat. Now though… she looked was nothing more than a husk of her former self.

Tears filled his eyes as he remembered yesterday. He never expected to see her again, he had no idea it was Talon that did that to her. If he knew it was Talon, he never would have joined. Course, some days he wondered if he even had a choice. Was he a puppet, just like the woman he loved? Were they controlling him? Did he even have a choice in the things he did?

He knew he wasn’t supposed to have seen her, no one had ever mentioned that she was there. Gabriel has always been a curious man. Some things never change, even for those who were more ghost than human.

He was snooping around Moira’s lab, something he did a few times a week when he found his lost love. A door to a section of Moira’s laboratory was heavily locked; it wasn’t locked last week. He wondered what, or who, she was keeping behind that door. For some reason, he ghosted beneath the door and found himself in a dimly lit room. There was a bed, a small bathroom area, and a table. What really got his attention though, was the person who was sitting on the bed.

He froze when they looked up at him. He'd recognized that face anywhere, he’s dreamt of that person every night since he’s lost them. It was her. The woman he loved.

For almost a decade, he’s dreamed of finding her, saving her, and running away with her. Those dreams never stopped, even when he became what he is now. However, as he stepped towards her, he realized that’s all those were, just dreams. He immediately noticed something was wrong. She wasn’t who he remembered. Yes, physically she was fiancé, but there no spark in her eyes. There was nothing in her eyes. No fear, no hope, no apprehension, no curiosity, just… nothing. They were empty.

He didn’t realize he was shaking until he removed the mask from his face. He doubted she would recognize him, but he hoped something, anything, would appear in those eyes. Some realization would come over her; a look of surprise, anger, fear, fucking anything. But when she continued to stare up at him with that same empty look, he felt sick.

He took a step towards her and touched her face. Through his gloves, he could feel how cold her skin was. His other hand wrapped around her upper arm and squeezed. She made no move to stop him, no sign of discomfort crossed her face. She was devoid of all emotion, and those soulless eyes bore into his own.

“Do you know me?” he asked. His voice was shaky, and his vision was going blurry.

“No.” Her voice was so… wrong. It was mechanical and flat. It wasn’t her, but it was her.

They made her like Widowmaker, he thought. It was Talon who took her all those years ago and made her into this. It all made sense now. Talon knew from the beginning he was a threat. They either wanted him dead or they wanted him on their side, and they used her to get what they wanted. They made it seem like some other terrorist agency kidnapped and brainwashed her. It was Talon who made his fiancé attack him. It’s always been fucking Talon. And they tricked him.

“You will tell no one I was here, understand? That’s an order.” He stepped away from her and put his mask back on. He didn’t know what he felt at that moment. Sick, angry, horrified.

“Affirmative.”  

His phone ringing made him jump. He cleared his throat and wiped the tears from his face as he checked who it was. No name appeared on the phone, only a pink skull.

“What?” he snarled.

“Gabe, I removed any evidence of you being there from the cameras. And… I got that intel you wanted. It’s… it’s not good,” Sombra said. The somber tone of her voice made his heart clench.

“Send it to me.”

“I’m sending it now. Give me a call when you decide what you want to do. I’m with you.”

Gabriel didn’t reply. He hung up the phone and grabbed his holopad.  He opened the documents from Sombra and read through them all.

He had already guessed most of the information; she was taken to target him. She was supposed to kill or make him second guess Overwatch. Their plan worked. He was now an official agent of Talon hell-bent on destroying everything Overwatch worked for. But he didn’t care about that, he wanted to know about her and what she went through, and most important, could she be saved.

The things that were done to her were very similar to what was done to Amelie. Except they only used mind breaking techniques to make her a drone. With Amelie, they relied on both mind breaking and some type of serum. Gabe's body shook as he read the next section about her behavior.

“She is incredibly volatile. Some days she follows orders, others she tries to kill everyone she meets. The reasons for this are unknown. This explains why she has only been sent on one mission, and even that was almost a failure. It took several units to bring her down,” Gabriel read aloud. “I would recommend terminating this project, but she can be of use if Agent Reaper begins rebelling. This will be a good motivator to keep him in line, perhaps continue to lie and say we saved her? Or simply tell him the truth, and threaten to end her life. If this path is chosen, I suggest lying that the process can be reversed."

His heart was in his throat and his body was beginning to lose its physical form. He took several deep breaths; in his nose, out his mouth. Once he felt a bit calmer, he continued reading.

“I originally thought it was her memories that were making her so aggressive. The person she once was, was no doubt fighting against who she has become, but she has no reaction to any triggers. She does not seem to remember her name, Gabriel Reyes, or her time in Overwatch. Even if we mention her family, she does not react in a positive or negative way. I believe her memories are gone, and she is simply a failed experiment. It is important to remember she is a prototype to Amelie, so that may have something to do with it. Overseeing physician… Doctor Moira O’Deorian.”

Gabriel threw the holopad across the room and screamed. The pain he felt as his body came undone, and turned to smoke could not compare to the pain of knowing she was gone. His screams turned to sobs while his body lost all physical form.

He failed her. He promised to protect her and he failed her. She was so close to him this entire time if only had gotten to her sooner. Maybe he could have saved her. He should have known it was Talon from the beginning. Mind control was something they were known for. He was such a fool. A fucking fool.

When he could cry no more, he simply laid on the floor in his room. His throat was raw from screaming, and his face hurt from crying. His body ached as it usually did when he lost his form, but that was a dull ache compared to his broken heart.

He managed to grab his phone and call Sombra.

She answered the phone on the first ring. “Gabe, you ok?”

“Sombra… let’s tear this fucking organization apart.”

“Understood. What about her? I can always contact-”

“You read the report Sombra. She’s gone. I want this organization to burn.”

“You sure Gabe? I'm sure we can help-"

“Forget her Sombra. Focus on the mission.” He heard his voice crack and felt the tears slide down his face.

“…Got it, Gabe.”

Gabriel hung up the phone and continue to lay on the floor. He watched as the smoke floated around him. How fitting, he thought, I’m a ghost and she’s a shell.

[gwennhadu-bug]

Special Treatment

(Otherwise known as: “The five times Ladybug didn’t understand why she gave Alya special treatment and the one time she did.) 

Alyanette Week Day 2: Interview

“Ladybug, over here! Over here!”

“Ladybug, how did you know what to do with that giant monster? What was it?”

“Ladybug! Give us a smile!”

No...not them…

“Ladybug!

“Mademoiselle Ladybug! Where does your magic come from?”

No...no...where is she?

“Ladybug!”

Voilà! Ladybug grinned. She pushed past adult reporters and squeezed through tweed suits.

“Yes, you? You run a blog about me, right?” Ladybug asked, smiling directly at Alya Césaire.

“Oh, wow, you read that? Yes, I mean, yes, I do! The Ladyblog!”

“Did you have a question for me?”

“You were incredible out there, but Paris doesn’t know what’s going on with all these new villains. Akumas, right? What can you tell Paris?”

Ladybug smiled wide. She knew Alya was the right choice...what a great question! “Just know that Chat Noir and I are here to keep them safe. We won’t let you down!” Her earring beeped and Ladybug covered it with a hand, hoping no one caught on. “I’ve got to go now. À plus!”

“À plus, Ladybug!” Alya squealed.  Ladybug turned around and launched her yo-yo away from the rush of the press. But not before she heard a handful of disgruntled press asking, “why does she get special treatment?”

Ladybug didn’t need to think on it long. She’s my best friend, that’s why! Ladybug thought. And she was absolutely confident about that.

----

Ladybug stood at the top of a staircase in an old train station, empty and majestic and imposing. She waited with a hand on the railing and moonlight streaming to be her own personal spotlight until finally...Alya walked in.

Alya gasped at the sight and Ladybug could hear it from meters away. She couldn’t hold in a giggle. I can already imagine how much Alya’s going to gush about this to me tonight…

Slowly, Alya approached the stairs with awe-struck eyes glued on Ladybug. Ladybug took a step towards the stairs herself. This is just like Cinderella, she thought. Her steps froze as she realized she wasn’t exactly sure which girl was Cinderella in this scenario. True, Marinette was the one hiding her identity behind a mask, standing at the top of the stairs and making Alya gasp. But hadn’t Alya’s appearance made Ladybug choke, too? And wasn’t she waiting for Alya all along, picking her out of thousands for this exclusive interview?

Why had Marinette chosen her for special treatment again? Again and again? After every time that Alya would crash onto her bed, raving and ranting to her best friend about Ladybug’s talents and beauty and poise and professionalism, Marinette started planning their next interview.

The answer was obviously because Alya was her best friend and Marinette wanted her to be happy. And now her best friend had reached Ladybug, her hazel eyes glinting in the moon and fan-like grin melted into something reverent. That was it, their friendship. Right?

----

“Do you think Ladyblog readers will see much more of Rena Rouge?”

“Alya, I think they will. She is eager to help whenever Chat and I need an extra hand, and more friends is always a good thing, especially when we’re taking down Le Papillon.”

The girls sat in front of Alya’s recording webcam. Behind them, a simple navy blue curtain hung in Alya’s bedroom as their backdrop that Alya claimed made Ladybug’s spots “pop”. And Alya smiled earnestly at Ladybug’s last reply. “She seemed really on top of her game with those Sapotis. Thanks again for all our readers who sent in that found footage!”

“Yes, I was proud of Rena Rouge for sure. Chat and I couldn’t have done it without her.”

“Her specifically?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean...Rena Rouge is new to your team. Is there a reason you pi-...is there a reason she joined and not someone else?”

Is there a reason Alya got special treatment? That was easy. But Ladybug couldn’t tell Alya the truth. She couldn’t tell her that it was because out of all the people Marinette knew, Alya Césaire was her most trusted friend and bravest companion. No! But she could say, “I know Rena. I’ve worked with her, professionally, and I trust her.” She smiled at Alya, who started to bite her lip, hiding a smile. “I would trust Rena Rouge with my life. She’s my partner now. Mine and Chat Noir’s, and I can’t wait to work with her again.”

Alya beamed. “I’m sure she agrees.”

----

“Alright Ladybug, here’s a question from CaraMeHome2Night. ‘Which member of the Miraculous Squad is most reliable?’”

From behind Alya’s head and safely out of view of Nino’s camera, Adrien started to bounce up and down. He pointed to himself and Ladybug had to do all she could not to roll her eyes. After all, the Ladyblog viewers didn’t know Chat Noir was in the room. And they certainly didn’t know he was Adrien Agreste.

“All of us are reliable in our own way. Chat Noir is reliable for a laugh and to know exactly what we need in a battle, Queen Bee is always eager to help, Carapace is never late when we need him, and Rena Rouge is so dedicated. All of us have sacrificed ourselves at least a few times for one another, and I trust everyone with my whole heart.”

“That’s a great answer, but CaraMeHome2Night wants you to name just one! Who is the best?” Alya probed. They both saw Adrien waving again, they both ignored him.

Ladybug sucked in air before admitting, “It’s probably Carapace. He would drop whatever he’s doing to protect any one of us. But that’s a hard question!” From the corner of her eye, she saw Nino smile softly and mouth, “thank you”.

“We have time for one more reader question tonight...this one comes from Mario23. Ooh, perfect last question. ‘Will you do another group interview soon?’”

Ladybug smirked and raised an eyebrow. “I would love to. We’ll just need to arrange a time with the rest of the squad.”

“I get the feeling you’re never far from them anyway,” Alya replied. She smirked back, Ladybug giggled, and Alya addressed the camera to say goodbye and goodnight. Ladybug politely waved, said her own salutations, and Nino shut off the camera. Immediately, Alya spun to face Adrien. “Boy, I am going to kick you out if you keep trying to distract Marinette while I’m interviewing her.”

Adrien gave his most winning smile and said, “I’m not trying to distract her! I just get so invested when My Lady interviews, I can’t help but feel like it’s purrsonal.”

“Yeah, and it’s gonna feel real personal if I gotta beat you every time,” Alya threatened, smacking her notebook on the palm of her hand.

Nino laughed. “You better run, Adrien, before you lose one of your lives.”

Ladybug spoke up. “He’s right, minou. I need to get home anyway; it’s getting late.”

“Yeah, I still have a chapter of reading left, too. So you three better get out of here,” Alya agreed.

Ladybug’s eyes went wide. “The reading!”

All three of her friends laughed. Alya lightly smacked Ladybug’s arm with her notebook, teasing, “You’re clearly not the reliable one, girl.” Her smile was infectious. “See you tomorrow. Adrien, take her right home!”

He saluted, saying, “My pleasure,” and transformed. Nino and Alya watched arm-in-arm while Chat Noir and Ladybug bounded away.

In midair, Chat Noir commented, “It makes more sense now, Marinette.”

“What does?”

“Why the Ladyblog always gets special treatment from you.”

“Oh, because Rena Rouge is the moderator, you mean?”

“No, because Alya is. She’s your Alya! You’ll always give her your special treatment.” Chat smiled honestly and landed on Marinette’s balcony first, easily able to take her hand and guide her to the floor. “Marinette and Alya. À la vie, à la morte! I’m only surprised I didn’t figure that part out earlier.”

Marinette dropped her transformation and shrugged thoughtfully. “I guess I haven’t thought about why I play favorites with her,” she lied. She leaned in for a polite kiss goodnight.

Chat couldn’t seem to help but nuzzle her cheek after. He purred, “well, you know why I play favorites with you, Buginette.”

“I don’t think it’s the same thing, Adrien.”

Adrien pulled back and smiled serenely. Silently. With just enough silence for Marinette to contemplate...she didn’t think it was the same thing...

----

“So, Le Papillon is gone. The akumas are gone. Logically, the heroes will be next to be gone. Right?”

Ladybug swallowed. She wanted to say no. She wanted to laugh at the impossibility. But she didn’t feel like she knew anything. Her entire world was shaken from underneath her feet when they defeated goddamn Gabriel Agreste. “I hope not,” she finally answered.

“I hope not, too,” Alya said, a little softly. She spoke up in her more practiced, professional interview voice. “We know the miraculous heroes appeared after the first akuma did. All of Paris, including us here at the Ladyblog, hope the miraculous heroes stay as city protectors, like the miraculous heroes in legends past. Do you think all the heroes want that too?”

“Not all of them. At least not right away. As we discussed earlier, Chat Noir need a break.” Ladybug’s heart had broken a little, too. “And Carapace is likely spending time off helping him.”

“Do you know about Queen Bee?”

“We haven’t discussed it.” Ladybug fiddled with her gloves. “I haven’t discussed it with Rena Rouge yet, either.” Alya was quiet. As Ladybug peered down at her hands, having Alya’s identity on her mind and her voice in her ear, she just kept talking. “I really hope she doesn’t want to quit. I know I’m not ready, but I don’t want to save Paris alone. Especially not without Rena Rouge. After all this time, it wouldn’t seem right. She’s what...she’s why…She’s…” my best friend. My inspiration. My partner. My Alya. À la vie, à la morte. “She’s…” Ladybug looked up at Alya, waiting with baited breath. Curiosity and hope and something Marinette was finally figuring out colored her eyes and twitched at the corner of her lips. It was odd, how Alya was always the one interviewing Marinette, because Marinette felt like Alya had all the answers. She was all the answers.”Rena Rouge, she…”

...ohhhh, crap.

-----

Alone in her room, Alya fiddled with the lighting and filters for her newest interview. The first Ladblog exclusive post-Le Papillon. As always, Marinette had done an amazing job. It was heartfelt, funny, emotional, and had just the right air of mystery. She was already excited to rewatch it and relive those intimate questions.

There were a lot of things that Alya hoped didn’t end with Le Papillon rotting in jail. From a purely selfish professional angle, interviews with Ladybug was one of them. Alya always loved interviewing Ladybug, right from the start. The thrill of interviewing a real, live superhero, especially one Alya had a bit of a celebrity crush on, was enough to jumpstart any journalist’s enthusiasm. But when it was someone as poised and put together as Ladybug, someone as loving and open hearted as Marinette, someone Alya could easily spend her entire life talking to and being with and listening to, someone...

Who was now in her window.

“Mari? What are you doing here?” Alya asked, turning around. She glanced around the room. “Did you leave something here?”

Ladybug dropped onto the carpet and took an awkward first few steps. “No, I didn’t. I actually need to, um, I need, euh, I need to give you something.”

Confused, Alya looked up at her friend. Marinette was marching closer, but wobbling awkwardly on her way. “Give me? What?”

She didn’t answer. She just took a deep breath and started marching directly to Alya, marching like Ladybug was in control and not Marinette, grabbed Alya’s face and gave her a big, wet, forceful kiss.

A kiss.

A kiss!!!

Alya’s head was spinning and stars burst behind her eyelids until she had the strength to open them. Marinette’s heaven blue eyes stared back at her, bright and bold against the red of her mask. “You...you came to give me…”

Softly, Ladybug’s lips cut off Alya. She could melt against those perfect lips. Then, Ladybug’s perfect pink lips smiled and gave Alya the answer she wanted. “I came to give you the special treatment you’ve always deserved.”

[young-writer1787-blog]

Scene 1 of The Fallen

I havent edited this too much. I think I will post the edited version of the story in full when the first draft is done.

I envied Loth as he calmly slid the bolt into place, pulling back on the crossbow. He crouched, so confident, so sure; as if we weren’t about to take out one of the most important figureheads in the kingdom. “Livin’ up Gared,” Loth said. I tensed at his words. “There are twenty of my best men down there, trained to kill. You’ll be fine.” I grunted. It was easy when you were a trained assassin. Loth could defend himself. I fingered the pommel of the sword that hung at my waist. Little good it would do. I looked out over the balustrade, we weren’t very well covered, but that wouldn’t matter when the fighting started. Below, the common folk dotted the street, stopping at carts and vendors on their work breaks. The gurgling hum of machinery and the low din of gruff industry men floated through the air. Spread out among the tanneries and salons, dispersed throughout the crowd, were twenty ruthless, treacherous, dangerous and expensive men. They had cost me as much as half of my life’s earnings, not that I made much as a dock worker. It had taken careful persuasion, many half-fulfilled promises, and enough loans to make the banks suspicious. I had to remind myself of the necessity, I was already being investigated by the Inquisition. It helped that Loth was family. The only reason I didn’t owe him right now was in the fact that I kept his plots and cunning cons a secret. I was desperate. “Cog’s makin’ his move,” Loth whispered. If I was nervous before, I was just about ready to run into the streets screaming, ‘take me, it’s my fault,’ now. My heart thudded in my chest. Was it supposed to skip? Sure enough, Cog, a surly man in a long leather duster, crossed the street, slipping a wicked dagger from his leather sleeve into his hand. I looked to Cog’s right and a squat, squarish man with a crooked nose, hobbled to a man in a deep, sea green, military coat. The crowd had already grown quiet, passerby’s stopped in their tracks, by the time Lout approached the soldier. Major Lieutenant Deth, head bodyguard to High Priest Edam. Rage filled me, filling half my heart, replacing a part of the nerves. When Edam slaughtered my mother and daughter, he had only been a priest with the name Father Jarle. But he had taken up one of the fallen gods’ names since I last saw him. That didn’t change how I felt about him. So what if the gods blessed him. I eagerly waited, my heart still pounding. Lout fell on to Deth, feigning drunkenness. For all I knew, Lout really was drunk. Deth shouted and made to strike Lout, but not before the ‘drunk’ man stabbed him in the leg. Deth fell in a tumble with Lout, blood splattering on the cobbled road. The crowd grew excited. People shoved through one another, trying to get away. They knew what would follow. In their haste, a whole caravan of soldiers, traveling from the mountains to meet with the King, was revealed. And, at their center, born in a luscious palanquin, sat Edam. “Now!” Loth cried. His voice echoed off the buildings, loud and confident. Twenty men moved at once. Lout stood, Deth unmoving beneath him. Dead. Cog dashed into the caravan, his duster trailing behind him. Before the soldiers could react, one of them slumped to the ground, his throat a bloody mess. Soldiers drew weapons, swords and spears, bows and arrows. A skinny young man with a rapier thrust at Cog. He missed, stumbling past the broad man. Before the soldier could turn around, a knife sprouted from his back. Just as quickly, Cog produced two knives seemingly from nowhere, one in either hand. Two more soldiers fell. From the palanquin came muffled shouting. I heard several curses from behind its curtains as several men in royal blue coats, the honor guard, escorted the High Priest into a business complex. Arrows flew into the group of soldiers, now pressing close together. A mistake. Some soldiers replied in desperation, sending their own arrows into the sky. They clattered aimlessly off the walls of the buildings. Some windows shattered and I heard a dull cry of pain over the chaos. It sounded like Sanduel. Damn the man. Loth had said that Sanduel would take me to the priest when the worst of the fighting died down. I was a tremendously terrible fighter. Strong yes, but I lacked the soft yet careful precision of a killer. The soldiers’ victory was short-lived. Loth stood up beside me and fired, killing three soldiers. Without Deth as their leader, the soldiers couldn’t hold against the barrage. There were at least eight of my mercenaries spinning through the men, cutting them down. Lout had retreated, nursing several wounds. Cog still fought. Not counting Sanduel, I guessed there were six archers still firing. The soldiers wouldn’t last long. What had once been over seventy, there were now thirty. Only three assassins lay dead. “The only reason those soldiers are still livin’ is because they that good,” Loth said. “They’ll put up a fight. I’m goin’ in.” “Wait. Sanduel is-” “Yeh, I know,” Loth cut in. “But you don’ make the rules, yahr enemies do. That’s the best thing I evah learnt.” I didn’t know what to say at that. I took it as a piece of good but unnecessary advice and nodded. Loth swung over the balustrade and hit the street in a roll before running off into the fight, firing his crossbow. A stray arrow from above me took one of the mercenaries in the chest. There were now about twenty-five soldiers still fighting, the battlefield was evenly matched. I had to do something. I could not just let them fight my fight and then be done with it. I thought of Gabrielle and her kind voice. My wife had given her the name of a Goddess. But doing so was frowned upon. I think that’s what killed her, the curse of the gods. I thought of mother, disposed of by Father Jaerl. I felt her die as I loaded boxes and crates onto merchant ships. Gabrielle murdered alongside mother. She had been in the wrong place at just the right time, for Jaerl at least. This was my fight. It must have been the emotions that drove my decision. But whatever it was, I could not stop telling myself how stupid I was being. I was going to die out there and then it wouldn’t matter because I would be just as dead as my family. I jumped. I didn’t fall as well as Loth. Pain shot up my leg as I landed and I fell to my side. I felt a sharp crack and my breath was carried away. One of my ribs. I struggled to stand, gasping for air. It finally came, but it was too late. A sea of white-clad officers poured into the street. The Watchers, Alietum’s police. In their hands were long, brown barrels of wood, held dangerously. Rifles. A marvel of modern technology. Faster and more powerful than a crossbow. More lethal and efficient than a sword. The fighting slowed to a stop. The remaining soldiers searched through the buildings and brought out seven assassins. Two were dead. I felt a small swell of pride, noticing that fewer soldiers came back than had entered the building. My men still had some fight left in them. The watchers circled the fray, stepping around the living and dead, my mercenaries, creating a defensive barrier. Sanduel’s body was thrown at the assassins’ feet along with another limp figure, Grunt barely sixteen years old and just starting to shave. Cog charged at the police, wicked blades in hand. Click Clack. A gun cocked and fired. BANG! Blood flew from Cog’s chest and a sizeable chunk of flesh opened at his back. He fell instantly. It occurred to me there that Haldar and Dick hadn’t raised the alarm. They were supposed to be watching for more soldiers. The Watchers hadn’t seen me yet, they probably thought me dead. From my spot on the road, I saw a man supported by two men. He hung limply, blood pouring from his nose onto the street. His eyes were swollen and he looked close to death. Dick. Stepping from the circle and towards the mercenaries, was Haldar. Loth screamed, “Traitorous bastard! We made a vow! You are our brother.” “Was.” Haldar flicked his wrist and BANG!. Loth stumbled back several steps. He looked down at his stomach and held his hands to the wound. Blood began to seep through his fingers. He didn’t die as fast as Cog, and when he did, it was in pain. I screamed in rage for all the good it would do. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when I was this close. Edam had likely already gotten away. Unless-- Damn. A pair of bare feet walked over to where I lay. How--it didn’t make any sense. I had been planning this operation with Loth for months. “We are the light that watches.” The voice was smooth, silky. It terrified me. I stood warily and spat in the face of the man who shat on my life. Edam growled. The Watchers made to move. “No,” the High Priest shouted. “He’s mine.” My mercenaries cried out in protest as the soldiers rounded them up and shoved them past the circle of white. The sound of steel entering flesh is not pretty. I winced at the defiant cries as all my men died, tears gathered at the corner of my eyes. This was my fault. In my blind need for revenge, I had simply and easily forgotten that these were people. They bleed. “You break the rules Gared,” Edam said coolly, staring me in the eye. “Just as your family did. I know who you are. I remember your daughter, Gabrielle was it not? Oh, she screamed. She screamed when your mother couldn’t. Such a pretty voice. She should have known better. Her grandmother would have died anyway, she lived a good life in the factories. You know, I never thought Gabrielle was meant for the industry. She did have a goddess’s name. She would have made a fine whore. No matter, she broke the rules. She would slip out sometimes, thinking we wouldn’t notice. She claimed she was helping her grandmother. And then she disappeared. She had done so before. But three weeks!” I was just about ready to smash his brains into the street. There were rules that the commoners had to follow, but it was all to keep the peace. Rodau had just recovered from a massive depression. But the kingdom didn’t kill people for not working. The sick bastard was explaining his actions as necessary. “But, you know what I think?” Edam continued. Even the Watchers seemed uncomfortable as he spoke. “I think, as pretty as your daughter was, she had other plans while grandmother slept. Sucking on some street boy’s cock perhaps?” I grabbed for his throat, ready to strangle that scrawny neck. How dare he call my daughter a whore. “Son of a bitch,” I growled. He danced out of the way, his robes shuffling about his legs. “Careful now,” He said smiling, displaying two rows of perfect teeth. At that, all thoughts of nervousness were replaced with the need for blood. Rage filled my heart and I felt nothing but hatred. Hatred at Sanduel for being the first to die. Hatred at Loth for his confidence. Hatred for Haldar, a man I barely knew, who sold away his brothers. Had he joined them just to report back to the Watchers? Hatred for Edam and his jests. And hate for myself. For failing to kill the man who fucked with my family. I could imagine Gabrielle shaking her head, sadly asking why. I saw mother, dying silently. I saw my wife, her name to sad a memory to remember. She would know what to do. Something came over me. There was no way out of this that didn’t result in death. So, I charged, remembering the fallen. I don’t know how or when, but my sword was in my hand, held clumsily but with a purpose. The High Priest chuckled and picked a short sword from the dead hands of a fallen mercenary. He slapped my blows aside lazily. I swung in mad, uncontrolled arcs. My shoulder ached, but I kept attacking, trying to back him down. In reality, it was I who was backed down. I stepped back after each exchanged blow. He wasn’t trying to kill me. Not yet. “I will remember this,” Edam said. “I hope you tell your family how you died. Really, if you just let them go, we wouldn’t be in this current predicament.” He said his words carefully, and they hurt, digging into my heart. Pain flared in my arm. A thin gash ran from my wrist to elbow. I was forced to switch the blade in my hands. This was the end. The sword fell from my hands, clattering to the ground. I had nowhere to run. “Yield,” Edam said, the tip of his blade pointed at my throat. “Yield and I will let you live.” “Why?” I croaked. “Just kill me.” “That would be better wouldn’t it,” he said. “But alas, the gods are not merciful. They deal a swift and cruel justice. No, I will not kill you. I want you to live knowing that you failed. You broke the rules.” Your enemies make the rules. Loth’s words. This was Edam’s game. I couldn’t win. The High Priest turned to the Watchers. “Do not let this man die.” “Now you see--” Edam said turning back to me. He realized his mistake too late. I wrapped my arms around him and threw my weight against him. We both fell to the ground and tumbled apart. My fingers felt cold steel. I ran my hand deftly down the length of metal and found the hilt. I grasped it and raised both my body and the sword, thrusting it into the air. I felt a heavy weight on the end of the blade. Edam towered over me, eyes wide, a revolver in his right hand pointed at my head. The sword wasn’t buried deep, but it was enough. I twisted with all my remaining strength and let the weapon clatter to the side. The High Priest collapsed in a heap on top of me. Shouts of alarm ran through the street. Edam’s body was removed from atop me and I was roughly hoisted to my feet. My broken rib shouted in protest. The barrel of a gun thrust into my back. “No!” cried a voice. Haldar. “The High Priest said not to kill him.” “But--” the Watcher pointing the rifle at me protested. “He’s right,” a soldier. “It’s treason to disobey the High Priests, even if they’re dead.” “We’ll take it up with the King,” Haldar said. Time passed in a blur. And all I could think of was the hollow emptiness that followed Edam’s death. It was over, it had been so easy to kill him. I hadn’t hesitated, and now he was dead. It bothered me when I knew it should not. I felt starved where I should have felt full. It was as if something had been ripped from my body, the one thing that kept me tied to reality, gone. The cell door closed and the moans flooded my ears. I don’t know how long I sat in the dark dampness of the dungeons but something in me clicked. I had broken the rules of my enemies’ game. But now they would play by my rules. My game.

[jedwashere]

A Billion Years Away - Prologue

Slowly Drifting To You

***

I’m slowly drifting to you

The stars and the planets are calling me

A billion years away from you

I’m on my way, I’m on…

I’m on…

***

Somewhere.

Painburningbetrayalwhywecouldhave…

We…

Could…

Have…

“Michael!” he called out, before clutching at his chest in agony, and slumping back onto… onto…

… a soft bed?

What?

The man glanced down at his conspicuously bare chest, but apart from from a small, thin scar where he had been stabbed, there was no sign of any injury.

What had happened? The last thing he remembered was…

We would have helped you if you had asked.

He felt a scowl appear on his face, but he dismissed the feeling. Of course she wouldn’t have helped him. Of course she wouldn’t have given up her vaunted ideals. Of course none of it would have gone right.

And, of course, Georgiou would have taken the opportunity, any opportunity, to ruin his plans, destroy the trust he’d built between himself and this other Michael, and then finally to run him through.

In the back, he thought, scowling, of course in the back.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. A whole year of planning, wasted. A whole year of fighting, torture, uncertainty mixed with… with…

No, he admonished himself, forcing himself to remain calm. It’s in the past. All in the past. Michael’s face flashed in front of him, but he pushed it away. We’re alive. We move forward. That’s the only way to go from here.

It was far easier to think that than to focus on just how much he had lost in his last gamble. Shaking his head slightly, he looked around the room, trying to ascertain just where he was and what was happening.

It looked… nice.

The walls were wood-panel, real wood too if his eyes weren’t lying to him. There were windows, though the view outside was blocked by opaque, faintly blue curtains, diffusing pale sunlight from outside. There were wicker chairs dotted about, and a library. It was warm, but not unpleasantly so.

He sat up, wincing. His chest still hurt, but he was fine otherwise. He seemed to have been dressed in a simple pair of thin pyjama trousers made from loose-fitting cotton, which gave no indication as to what sort of people he’d ended up with (except that they were probably humanoid, or at least used to working with humanoids). He stood up and looked around, trying to see if anything of his own attire had survived, but there was no sign.

That could be a good thing, if they didn’t see the insignia, he thought. If I ended up in Federation space, maybe I could get away with playing the same trick twice.

That was, of course, assuming he’d ended up in that universe. Or, for that matter, any universe he’d recognise. His bedclothes certainly didn’t seem like Starfleet standard. It was entirely possible, given multiverse theory and all the associated headaches, that he’d ended up somewhere completely different.

Would be just my luck, he thought, scowling.

Before he could consider any of this further, however, there was a soft knock at the door.

“Hello?” a female-sounding voice asked softly. “Are you awake?”

“Come in,” Lorca said, straightening subconsciously.

A woman entered: she was human, or more accurately looked human. She had pale, almost alabaster skin, strawberry blonde hair that she wore in a ponytail, and striking blue eyes. She wore a simple white robe that draped down to her ankles, and soft white slippers.

“Hello,” she said quietly, inclining her head at him. “My name is Laurien: I’m one of the nurses here. I have been taking care of you.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Gabriel Lorca,” he said, giving her his best winning smile. Best to avoid any specifics until he had a few of his own. “And, uh, I have no idea where I am.”

“This planet is called Erlös,” she said, the pronunciation somewhat strained. “We are on the outermost edge of known space here, as we prefer.” She paused, choosing not to elaborate on whoever ‘we’ referred to. “I know you have no reason to believe me…”

She was right there, he had no reason whatsoever. But he decided to do something he would never have done before his stint in the Federation’s Starfleet: give her the benefit of the doubt. He resisted the urge to snort derisively. Goin’ soft in your old age, Gabriel.

“I’m here and alive,” he said, trying to sound grateful as opposed to sardonic. “And, truth be told, I figure if I’m here and alive I’m probably not going to cease being the latter at your hands any time soon. You had plenty of opportunities to do me an injustice.”

That, of course, was discounting the potential for this to be an elaborate trap, or for them to want to pump him for information somehow. But this felt too genuine, too honest.

Definitely going soft, some voice that sounded like Katrina Cornwell said in his head.

“Indeed,” Laurien said quietly. She tilted her head. “Forgive me, but… we’re a little unsure where you come from.” She paused. “Are you… are you Federation?”

They know about the Federation, Lorca thought, smiling. That made things a little easier.

“I am,” he said with a nod. “Captain of the Federation Starship D- Starship Buran.” Be careful, Gabriel. “Although…” he added, affecting a mournful tone, “actually, I don’t even know what the state of the Buran is.”

Lying prick, the Kat-voice said. He ignored it.

“I have never heard of it,” Laurien said, inclining her head. “But I will speak with Dannik. He will contact the Federation for you.”

“Thank you,” Lorca said with a nod.

“In the meantime,” Laurien continued, “would you care for some food? We do not serve meals that you will be familiar with as standard, but I can request access to the replicator for you.”

Lorca nodded slowly. He was hungry, in point of fact. “I wouldn’t mind some grilled chicken, if your synthesiser can manage it.”

“Of course,” Laurien said, smiling. “I will return shortly.”

As she left, Lorca sat down, thoughts running through his mind. He was alive, surprisingly.

Best to remain Captain of the Buran until I get a clearer picture, he thought. He tried to remember what he could about his counterpart – the smile, the confidence, the love of fortune cookies were all things they’d apparently shared. But I’m supposed to be dead. So I need to explain why I’m not.

Well, that would be easy. He hadn’t the foggiest idea what had happened to his counterpart, after all. Most likely the man had been incinerated, but despite their differences, he was still Lorca. Maybe he had survived, somehow.

He sighed, and began thinking – he only hoped questions about his origin wouldn’t be too far gone.

There’s one piece of hope though, he thought. If Laurien knew about Starfleet, and we’re in the Federation, the war with the Klingons can’t have gone that badly.

He held onto that. Silver linings and all.

***

Next Chapter

[santheweird]

Hey Sarge! (Chapter 1)

Summary: Due to the lack of jobs because of World War 2, Alexander Sami Hale joined the army to keep her family’s head above the water.

She falsified her enlistment form, convincing the officials that she was actually a boy named Alexander Hale.

When her sergeant, James Barnes, was captured by the German forces during a battle in Azzano, Alex went AWOL to aid a man named Steve Rogers to rescue his best friend.

This is her story.

(That eyebrow tho)

“Get the hell outta here! I’ll hold them off!”

“Sarge! No-” Alex cut herself off, wincing as another wave of pain shot through her arm. Her head throbbed painfully and her vision flickered as she tried to look for Bucky through the thick curtain of rain. Fear flashed through her as there were several gunshot sounds and flashes of blue light.

“James!” She screamed over the thunder, pushing away the soldier who tried to bring her to the trucks nearby, hot tears streaming down her cheeks, mixing with the rain.”Bucky!!”

Two months ago: Alex panted heavily as the mid-morning sun beat down on her, her hands on her knees, sweat dripping from her forehead onto the ground. Her legs trembled slightly from exertion as her fingers fumbled for her water canteen. She took a long swig from it and let out a long sigh.

“Yo, Alex.” Alex turned her head and saw Timothy not too far away, hand outreached. “Gimme some of that.” He wheezed.

“What ‘bout yours?” She heaved out, handing over her canteen.

“Stuck. Too lazy to get it.”

Alex rolled her eyes and stumbled over to Timothy’’s pack, reaching for his canteen and with a sharp tug, pulled it out with a tug. She uncapped it and downed half of the contents before handing it back to him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Timothy also handed her back her canteen, this time almost empty with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Every time, Dugan.” Alex grumbled, tucking her water canteen back into her pack. “Every fucking time. You better watch ya hat next time, or you’ll find it hanging off the roof of the barracks one day.”

“Now that’ll be a sight.” A hand clapped Alex hard on the back, and she nearly bowled over. She turned and saw the wide grin of their squad sergeant.

“Sergeant Bucky.” She drawled, mimicking the deep voice of their camp commander, placing her small finger under her nose to imitate his limp mustache. “What brings you here to this rat-infested swamp?”

James paused, not expecting that reply, before his grin widened. “Well, I dunno.” He replied, putting on a lady’s voice. “Just wanted to ask if any of you charming lads have any water to spare for this thirsty dame.” Alex bit her lip savagely at James’ impression of a lady, batting his eyelashes and pulling down his collar a little to show some ‘cleavage’

“What happened to your water, Sergeant Buck?” Gabriel Jones, who was nearby, snorted when Timothy adopted a nasally voice and held his water canteen protectively to himself.

“Gave it to that dashing young man over there.” James replied in a breathless voice, taking off his helmet and grooming his ‘long’ hair. “He looked pretty hot, in more ways than one.”

There was a moment of silence, before the four of them dissolved into giggles, collapsing onto one another like a bunch of schoolboys. Alex reached up, snatched the canteen from Dugan and tossed it to James.

Camp was tough. Waking up as early as 4.30 am and 10 to 20 mile treks before breakfast. Gruelling training from the afternoon to evening, pausing only a few times for meals in the mess hall. Showers under cold water before falling asleep in cramped barracks and on thin mattresses, only to wake up and do it all again tomorrow with sore legs and aching arms. It didn’t help when Alex couldn’t take off her shirt when it was particularly hot, or her identity would be revealed.

Alex admitted to herself that the conditions were vastly different than back at home, perhaps better. She didn’t need to do a god-awful amount of push-ups in the early morning, but she appreciated the fact that she had a bed to rest on at the end of the day. And it was great having friends too. When she was still in Brooklyn, she was solely focussed on work to earn money and making sure her employers didn’t find out about her real gender.

However, being in the army was different. Alex was already being paid, whether she was working hard or not. She didn’t have to worry about needing to rush from one job to another. Just had to stay in the camp and follow orders. Bunking in close proximity with strangers brought everyone, quite literally, closer to each other. It brought a sense of camaraderie through the entire squad, and three men and one girl four men were even closer.

“In more ways than one…pffffftt- AHAHAHA!!” Jones snorted when he redid James’s impression of a lady, sending the other three into hysterics again. Alex clutched her sides as she tried not to land her face into her food. Even though the mess hall was always loud and noisy at mealtimes, she was sure that their table was one of the rowdiest.

Wiping away the tears from her eyes when the laughing fit was over, Alex finally started on her breakfast, which consisted of a bowl of bland, mushy oatmeal and an apple. She shrugged and ate it anyway. At least it was better than nothing.

“Whoa, look at the rat eat!” Alex turned at the voice behind them. It was Cameron, also in their squad, looking down at her in distaste. “I guess he’s really considered vermin, considering that he can stomach this trash.” He sneered gesturing to the bowl before walking away.

James stood up abruptly. “Hey! What did you just say-”

“Sarge! Calm down!” Alex cut in, coaxing him to sit back down on the bench.

“Are you sure about that, Alex?” Dugan asked. “He’s been real annoying to you ever since the start of camp, and it’s getting to be really irritating.”

James nodded angrily, and Gabe started cracking his knuckles threateningly. Alex immediately started trying to convince the three of them to calm down.

“I’m really fine about this. I’ll fight my fights when I want to. 'Sides, I think he’ll get bored and leave me anyways.”

Dugan, Jones and James conceded to lay back, but Alex could see that they weren’t so convinced.

Alex lifted her head, ears straining to hear any noises outside the barracks. She slowly moved up from her lying position on the bed, pausing every so often when one of the soldiers shifted in his sleep. She reached under her bed and grabbed a small bag of toiletries which she had hidden underneath.

Alex padded past the snoring recruits and slowly pushed the barracks door open. She stuck her head out, looking for any officers who might be patrolling the area, and then scampered off towards the showers.

She settled in a cubicle most hidden from the entrance, and turned on the tap at a minimal flow. Stripping down, Alex gave her hair a quick rinse and dampened a a towel to wipe herself down. Drying off, she dressed and washed her bra, the design adopted from an old newspaper advertisement when the flapper style was all the rage.

After wringing it out, Alex gathered her items and crept back towards the barracks, the whole ordeal only lasting her at most twenty minutes. She heaved a sigh of relief and grabbed the handle of the door, only for it to swing out towards her!

A small squeak of surprise escaped her as her amber eyes met a startled blue.

“Alex?! Whatcha doin’ out here?” James exclaimed, his voice lowered to a whisper.

“Uh, I mean- what are you doing out here as well?”

James paused, and then shrugged nonchalantly. “You got me. I couldn’t sleep, so I came out here for a smoke.”

“I-I didn’t know you smoked.”

“Not very often. What ‘bout you? Couldn’t sleep too?”

“You could say that.” Alex replied, suddenly thankful that she chose to rewear her pajamas so that there wouldn’t be a bundle of suspicious looking laundry, and her small bag of toiletries along with her bra was hidden in her pocket. “But I’m goin’ back in now.”

James nodded before opening the door slightly wider for her to pass through. She slipped in with a nod of thanks and power-walked as quietly as she could to her bed. She climbed into bed, heart beating furiously, only relaxing when she heard the door close.

After hiding away any incriminating evidence, Alex’s mind went back to their conversation:

“You got me. I couldn’t sleep, so I came out here for a smoke.”

Now that was strange. Training was so tiring that everyone usually immediately fell asleep once the day was done. Homesickness?

As Alex let her mind drift, she imagined James standing outside in the chilly night, with only the smoke of a cigarette for company. The thought brought an unknown ache to the bottom of her stomach as she slowly drifted to sleep.

Notes:

- Lets write Alex, Bucky, Dugan and Jones all fooling around after training immediately after a potentially angst-filled scene, shall we? ;)

- I read that “Dum Dum” Dugan and Gabriel “Gabe” Jones were in the 107th, just like Bucky, and I thought it would be best that all four of them would be friends.

- Alex is used to sleeping on just some cardboard at home, and not eating for days when there isn’t enough money for food, so she’s not complaining as much as the other recruits.

- Oooohhh, Cameron made an appearance. Ooooohhhh, Protective!Bucky has also made an appearance! Maybe because Alex is of a small stature, so (s)he kind of reminds Bucky of Pre-Serum Steve, making him go Mother Hen!Bucky.

- But I know y’all aren’t worried about Cameron, ‘cos just like what the sneak preview said, Alex is gonna punch him in the sucker one day :)

- As Alex has learned in the streets that bullies would leave her alone once they’re bored, she becomes mostly unreactive to taunts and blows so that they would go away sooner. Which is why she asked Bucky, Dugan and Jones not to go after Cameron. Also, three-on-one? Isn’t that kinda overkill?

- Alex showers when everyone is asleep, for obvious reasons. She also does it as quickly as she can so as not to get caught.

- About the design of the bra she saw in an old newspaper advertisement. I wasn’t actually lying. Check out the Symington Side Lacer from the Roaring Twenties. Alex’s version is mostly made out of cloth scraps and some help from Aunt Grace, made with the sole purpose of hiding her breasts during work, and in this case, the army.

- When Alex accidentally bumped into Bucky outside the barracks, she was wearing another makeshift Side Lacer, so he didn’t suspect anything. Thank goodness.

- Oooooohhhh what’s this? Alex is developing feelings for Bucky? Not blaming her though. That man looks delicious in the uniform ;) (She won’t be realizing her feelings until much later though)

- Any questions, just ask! Any feedback? Tell me! Comments are greatly appreciated!

Prologue  Chapter 2

Masterlist

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