#one time i catched myself having those head twitches and repetitively saying no over again NOT on command????

[theclosetedskeleton]

I definitely look so silly when i have these head twitches of mine

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Secrets ~ 5

Warnings: noncon sexual acts later in series.

This is dark!Bucky and dark!Steve and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Notes:

So, I managed to come back to this one. So sorry for taking so long! My mind wanders easily but I really do enjoy this series!! I'm hoping to get a few more chapters done in the next week or two if I can. As it is, my time is a bit up in the air with a looming lockdown.

That being said, I love you all, I thank you for your patience and feedback as always! Please don't shy away in the comments and I promise to keep doing what I can for all my ongoing series.

As for tumblr, I’m just kinda in and out. I’m not here here in a way as I’m trying just to stay sane.

You sat across from Barnes. Rigid, as you kept in mind not to slouch. Tense, as you brooded over your hopeless situation. Silent, as you inhaled the scent of the savoury meal but found yourself curtailed at every attempt to eat. His eyes followed every move and you were met with either a tskk or a remonstrance; ‘not that fork’, ‘small bites, smaller sips’, ‘smile’, ‘keep your lips closed’, ‘elbows off the table’...

You sighed as your last attempt to sate your growling stomach ended in another reproach. His words, his even voice almost taunting, stoked your anger and made it difficult for you to follow his direction. You sat back and peered up and down the long table, the chairs empty and table cloth crisp and white.

“How much longer do I have to do this?” You bemoaned. “I’m hungry. Let me eat.”

“Duchess, you will be expected to act as a lady for the rest of your life.” His mouth twitched at one corner as if he would grin. “Do not be unhappy with me, it was not I who neglected your education.”

Your nostrils flared and you looked at the longest knife among the row. He chuckled and you squinted over at him. You sighed.

“Do not be a child, Duchess. When you are queen, you will be the beacon for all other women at court. And if you cannot set a good example, they will make sure you know it.” He pushed his shoulders back. 

“I don’t care about those women. I don’t know them.” You sniffed. “This isn’t my home.”

“It is.” He said plainly. “As close to as you’ll have given that yours would be entirely lost to you.”

You stared at him. You tilted your head and frowned. “You don’t realise how absurd this is? Do you really think I could ever want to be here?”

“If you don’t even give it a chance, then no.” He shrugged, “But you haven’t. You were in school, you liked it?”

You ran your tongue along your teeth and nodded.

“We have tutors; the finest money can find. If you are agreeable, your husband might be too.” He ran his thumb along the line of his palm. “You like museums, well we have one of the grandest in the world. You must know of it given your interests.”

You looked away. It wasn’t the same. What would you do with an education if you were trapped in a royal marriage? How could you enjoy a museum if you just went to look? Your former life felt so far away, yet that before you, felt even further. You weren’t a queen; you didn’t want to be a queen.

“So what? I’ll beg for scraps from my husband? 'Oh, please, I would love to visit the library today, my king. May I? May I really?'” You spat as you clutched your hand together dramatically.

“The King can be amenable but if you approach him with the same attitude as you have me, this marriage will be exactly what you expect it to be. Perhaps you might consider how you could make it at least tolerable?”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes. “You want me to change everything about myself; how I walk, how I sit, how I dress, how I eat. That is not tolerable.”

His lips parted and he tore his eyes away from you as he thought. “Well, to be frank, the king won’t care what you tolerate and he does not tolerate much. So whether you wish it or not, you will at least pretend to change.”

“Mmm, sure.” You huffed.

“I am offering you advice and it is good advice. The king… He will not be as patient as me. If you embarrass him in front of his court, in front of the world, you won’t ever forget it. He’ll make sure of it.”

“You know, the more you tell me about him, the better he sounds,” you said dryly, “A hell of a catch.”

Bucky exhaled slowly and a deep line formed in his cheek. “Go on. Take the salad fork-- no, wrong one.”

You bared your teeth as you blinked at the line of forks. “I’m not very hungry anymore.” You grumbled.

“Hungry or not, you need to learn how to hold a fork, Duchess,” he rebuked, “Sit up straight.”

👑

When you were finally allowed to retire from your first day at Regia, you were exhausted. Your chambers were welcoming as you left your personal tormentor, Barnes, without and trudged over to the bed. As you dropped onto the bouncy mattress, you looked around and your irritation piqued again.

Your suitcase was gone. Only your toiletries remained in their beige leather pouch and a stack of books. You frowned and stood reluctantly. Your neck and shoulders ached from the tension nestled there from a long day of Barnes’ tutelage and his nuisance.

You grabbed the first book, the title wrought in gold on the fading spine; ‘Queens of Astrania’. You fluttered through the pungent pages and took the next; ‘A Lady’s Place’. You set that one aside and scowled as you went down the stack; ‘Manners and Etiquette’, ‘The Provinces of Astrania; Lands and Rights’, ‘Astrania the Bold; A Kingdom Without End’, ‘Queen Loren: The Royal Mother’....

You left them in the pile and covered your face with your hands as you resisted the urge to scream. You turned away and went to the dresser. You slid open the drawer but it wasn’t your clothing inside. Instead of your plain cotton tee and jogging pants, you found satin and silk night clothes in every cut. You opened the drawer beside it and found bras and panties you’d never have wasted a penny on.

You slammed the drawer shut and went to the closet with the thick wooden doors etched with curlicues. Inside, blouses, skirts, and pants hung, pressed and pretty. The wardrobe of a lady. You could see Princess Kate in your head wearing any piece of it and yet, each garment looked sharper, more modern than the British fashion.

You shut the doors and crossed your arms. Three weeks. Well, one day down. That was all you had left. You thought of the women who had come before you; the medieval maidens, the romantic ladies in their puffed sleeves, the Victorian stiff neck marms. Had they wanted it? Or had they been trapped like you? Did they feel the same hopeless despair?

You went to the window and looked out at the green lawns painted in silver moonlight. Clouds framed the shining crescent, the sky streaked in greys and blacks that sent a shiver through you. The gates stood closed and ominous at the end of the winding drive and trees stood sentinel around the palace.

Once, you’d dreamed of visiting a royal home. Your love of history held you reverent in awe of the remarkable architecture, the years marked by renovations and the contrast of styles often found between one room and the next. Visions of spectres stirred your imagination and you thought of the dead haunting the corridors as they retraced the footsteps of their existence.

No, it all just felt horribly empty. These places were prisons. History didn’t need to be kept alive, only remembered as an omen for those living. Let it go but do not forget. 

You drew away from the window and slumped in the upholstered chair not far from it. Barnes had your phone, you didn’t expect to get it back. It wouldn’t be of much use. As much as you missed your mom, you had nothing left to say to her and hearing her voice would only make you feel worse. She would only remind you of what she’d done; of the secrets she’d kept from you.

It was only you and the whispers of the dead. They carried on the breeze outside the window as if to warn you. ‘You are one of us…’

👑

The second day went much the same. Barnes woke you early, his gaze tinged with judgement as he chose your outfit for the day and bid you to pay attention. You ate, slowly and with the same endless critique, and he took you to the palace library and sat you down with a large volume. He paced as you read and occasionally listed off all that you had yet to learn. In all your years of school, you’d never had a teacher as overbearing and relentless as him.

When you were thoroughly restless from the tight font and stiff pages, he took you for a walk around the lawns and pointed out the statues of your predecessors. When you returned to the palace, he gave you another lesson in posture, a book on your head as he had you strut across the foyer over and over again. When you were dizzy from the repetition, it was time for another meal and you growled at your cutlery in frustration.

The days went on as such. You snapped at Barnes when he breathed down your neck but he never again bent you over and spanked you like a child. Instead, he merely grinned and thought of another ridiculous activity. But when he caught you with a sandwich secreted from the house staff and your hand streaked in mustard, he looked close to another lashing. He only took the last of your crust and scrubbed your fingers himself.

On the fifth morning. You woke with difficulty. You were exhausted and angry and about to give up. Barnes tore away your duvet and tossed a dress at you. He stood before the rack of dresses you’d gone through on your first day. You groaned and snatched up the petal pink swathe and rolled out of bed.

You dressed as he waited in the hall and you stumbled out in the pair of steep heels. You held in a yawn as he bent his arm and you merely stared at it in detest.

“Duchess,” he sighed, “Let’s not do this today. We have a packed schedule.”

“What is it? Am I to balance on one foot and recite the royal family tree?” You spat.

He snorted and shook his head. He took your arm and hooked it through his own. He turned and led you down the hall. “Well, no, but I fear you might look just as silly.”

You narrowed your eyes and your stomach knotted. You wondered at his meaning but went along with him. Your days at Regia still felt like a dream; you just couldn’t accept that any of it was real.

He led you down the stairs, with some trouble, as your ankle bent and you caught the railing in panic. He righted you and continued lithely down the staircase. Your heels clicked on the marble as he turned you and guided you to the tall doors that opened into a grand ballroom. Long tables lined the perimeter with straight back chairs and portraits of women long dead and their respective husbands hung from the walls. The high ceiling was pointed and arched in the style of the seventeenth century and velvet curtains were tied back with tassles at the other end of the chamber.

A woman in black, a stiff white collar poking out from beneath her blazer, and a prim twist to her lips, stood expectantly at the centre. She held a stick that reminded you of a 1900s schoolhouse teacher and her round framed glasses magnified her cold glare.

“Priscilla,” Barnes released you and approached the woman. He greeted her in all courtesy, a small nod and a kiss on her hand. “Timely, as always.”

“Lord Barnes,” she arched a brow and her hazel eyes peered past him at you. “Duchess?” It was barely a question as she bent her knee and gave a stoic bow.

“The very one,” Barnes affirmed.

“An honour,” she stepped past Barnes. “I was present when your mother and her father visited our kingdom all those years ago.”

Your lip curled and you looked between her and Barnes. “I never knew my grandfather. Apparently, I never knew my mother either.”

Her eyes rounded and her face contorted as if she had tasted lemon juice. She looked at Barnes who shook his head.

“You know the nobility well, Pris,” he said, “They have the temperance of toddlers.”

“Wouldn’t you know it, my lord,” she quipped. “A blessing to her it is not Austin in my place.”

“I made certain it wasn’t,” Barnes approached you and took your hand, “I do appreciate your expedience.”

“I would never disobey the king,” she held the stick horizontal in both hands, “Very well, first position.”

Barnes turned you and drew you to him. His other hand went to your back. He held you to him, a small space between your bodies and you wobbled on your high heels.

“What the--” His sharp look kept your form profanity.

“You must learn to dance,” he said, “And if you can barely stand straight, I trust we have much to do.”

Priscilla came around you and touched your shoulders with her stick. “Head up,” she chided, “Straight, straight, straight.” She tapped the tip along your spine. “You are lucky.” She girded, “To learn with such a partner. Barnes… I hope that even you might sharpen this one.” She tutted, “There is much work to be done.”

“Would you stop that?” You tore your hand from Barnes’ and wipped at the stick against your back, “I’m not a dog.”

“Mmm,” she hummed and smacked your ass with the stick as Barnes took your hand again, “Move your feet.”

She rescinded the stick and tapped the butt of it on the floor as she began to count. You trod on your partner’s toe as he led you. You looked down at your feet and he hissed, “Don’t look down.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” You stomped his shoe again. “Or do you like broken toes?”

“Just back, forward, side, side, back…” He raised your hand. “Stand straight. Head high.”

“I hate you,” you snipped as you scrambled to keep the beat.

“A good thing you are not my fiancee, then,” he smirked.

“We can agree on that,” you sneered but found yourself pressed against him as you tripped. He caught you and chuckled as he stood you up straight.

“Graceful as ever,” he kidded, “My apologies, Priscilla, it is going to be a long day.”

“You’re apologizing to her?” You grimaced, “What about me?”

“You’ve tread on me nearly a dozen times, so far,” he turned you, “I would say you owe me a few ‘sorries’ yourself.”

“I’d say we’re even,” you snipped. “My freedom, your toes.”

His lips curved again as he watched you. You looked past him and focused on the numbers; one, two, three, and four… Your gaze caught on a queen with sad eyes painted in fading pigments. She had no husband beside her, only an urn on a plinth. A chill rippled through you as you were spun away from the sight. For all its radiance, there was something very grim about this palace of betrothed.

[thorne93]

The Softest Fire (Part 2)

Prompt: Rosaline Vaughan had it all: fame, money, power, glory, a high status job. Until, one day, she woke up, and realized something was missing from her life.

Word Count: 5413

Warnings: dealing with animals(??)

Notes: First Fantastic Beast fic! I could NOT have done this at all without @arrow-guy​​. They have created a counterpart to this fic, writing it from Nora Vaughan’s perspective (Rosaline’s cousin/adopted sister). Fic aesthetic done by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​.

Newt had dropped by my flat less than twenty-four hours after my imposed visited. 

“Rosaline,” he had begun, “my work is… well in some ways similar to what you do and in other ways it is quite opposite.”

“You mean how you deal with animals?” 

“Yes and no,” he responded, his head dipping in that shy, insecure way. “In your line of work, you deal with uncertain circumstances that must be dealt with quickly. The same is true for mine. But in your line of work, the target of your attacks are defending themselves against the law. My targets are defending themselves against us. You’ll have to learn the difference. The creatures I find, help, and study are just living in their habitat, trying to live, mate, eat… They don’t pose a threat to you, until you pose a threat to them.” 

I nodded. “Of course, Newt. I’d never hurt any creature.”

“No, of course, I know that. I just want you to have an idea of what you’ll be dealing with before I offer you the job. Also, your um, ensemble?” He eyed me up and down. I wore a blush pink satin dress with a dress over coat. 

“What’s wrong with my dress?” I wondered. 

“Nothing. If you’re sitting in an office. In the wild though, where we will be most of the time, or taking care of the creatures, it might be a bit more sensible if you dressed in trousers.” 

“Trousers?” I questioned, nearly as if I were offended. I couldn’t help it. I’d never worn trousers a day in my life. 

“If that’s a problem, Rosaline, I understand--”

“No, I don’t mind. Anything to get this job.” 

He gave you a twitch of a smile before telling me, “Then I’m pleased to say you have the job. I just hope it doesn’t bore you.” 

“I’m sure nothing we do together will bore me, Newt. Thank you so much for this opportunity.” 

------------------------

“I’m sorry… You’re what?” Mr. Briggs, my immediate boss asked, confusion and surprise on his face.

With a polite, confident grin, I reiterated, “I’m leaving. Two weeks notice should be enough, correct?” 

“Well… I… I suppose we can fill your spot in that time and have you train another recruit but--but why? Would you like to be put up for head of auror office?” 

I laughed at the offer. Not because it wasn’t a good one, but the fact that they were trying desperately to keep me was rather amusing. I shook my head and quietly replied, “No, thank you. That’s Theseus Scamander’s department, isn’t it?”

My boss shuffled awkwardly in his seat. I could practically sense the sweat soaking through his black and white pinstripe suit. “Well yes, but, we could relocate him.”

I waved my hand, dismissing him. “No, no, that won’t be necessary. I wish to leave the Ministry altogether,” I clarified.

“But… you’re campaigning to become Minister… What ever changed?” 

“I… I don’t know,” I stated. This wasn’t a lie. I don’t know what changed. I just knew my heart no longer lied there. 

“Well I can’t say I’m not sad to see you leave… But I support your decision, Rosaline. You have been nothing but an asset and a friend since you got here. I wish you all the best and you can expect a glowing reference from me, should you need one. I’ll start looking for a candidate to take your position, if you don’t mind helping to train them.”

“Not at all. I’d be delighted to help someone out.” 

--------------

Just like that, my time at the Ministry was over. In two weeks, I had trained another recruit who was still green, but promising. Newt was going to leave a week after my interview, but seeing as I needed time to exit my career gracefully, he agreed to staying behind until I was ready. 

It was odd. I thought it’d feel bittersweet, or that I may even have felt guilty for leaving, but somehow… it felt perfectly right. The transition felt natural, like a stepping stone. Most would say going from a Hit Witch to a magizoologist’s assistant might be a step in the wrong direction, but not for me. 

Life, as I knew it, would be different. No more heels, no more skirts, no more hair pinned neatly into a fitted hat. I would have to learn how to style myself to chase down and follow mysterious creatures all over the globe. 

My next step after finishing my last day on the job was to see Newt for my first day of work. For the first time ever in my life, I was nervous. I had no idea what to expect, what I might see, what I might work with. My love for animals runs deep, but I was still worried that I may encounter some creature I’d never seen or didn’t know how to handle. 

I arrived at Newt’s flat, knocked twice, and heard nothing. I knocked again, still nothing. I checked the door, it was open. Slowly opening the door, I peeked my head in. “Newt? Newt? It’s Rosaline,” I called. 

I heard nothing back, so I eased inside his quaint dwelling a bit more. I heard nothing, saw nothing, but I didn’t feel worried. I went into the front room, calling out again. 

Finally, I heard a noise coming out of the kitchen, so I followed my ears. This led me to a door half open that seemed to lead down some stairs. My feet carried me down, and my eyes beheld something absolutely wonderful. Creatures of all kinds in their natural habitats, seemingly eating or frolocking. 

“Newt?” I said, a little curious as I watched him run back and forth between his suitcase and some of the creatures’ areas. 

“Ah!” He looked up at me, a smile on his face. “You’re here! Just in time.”

“Yes, sorry, I knocked but--”

“We have no time to waste. Alright. I’m taking the nifflers, the murtlap, the demiguise…”

“You’re packing your animals with you?” I questioned, a bit of knowing in my voice. It was mostly rhetorical.

“Of course,” he stated. “I need you to join me to help study and rescue them. We can’t leave them here, no one could care for them.”

“Nora?” I suggested.

“She’s much too busy. Besides, we only have thirty or so creatures,” he stated. “They’ll all fit nicely in here. Now, could you help me with murtlap? I need to catch the little bugger and he’s in this pond here. He’s fast, and he bites so... be careful, hmm?” 

I peered at him, worry on my face. “Um, alright.” I took a deep breath. I’ve fought some of the most vicious wizards and most powerful beings out there. I could handle a little murtlap. 

I bent over the edge of a small pond and reached my arms down into the cold waters, soaking my coat sleeves. Suddenly, something soft, almost squishy, slithered around my fingers. I gasped at the sensation and tried to grab it gently. I lift the fat little thing out of the water. “Here you go,” I said to Newt, holding it out for him to sort it into his suitcase.

Newt was preoccupied with giant dung beetles before the last one went in and he looked up and a look of utter shock befell his face. “You...you’re just holding him?”

I shrugged. “Am I not supposed to be?”

“They’re… usually rather wild.”

I looked around, unsure what to say. “Maybe he’s tired?”

He nodded, not exactly satisfied with that answer but he grabbed him by the tail and lowered him into the suitcase. 

“Alright. I think that’s the last of them. Well, shall we go then?” he asked once he shut the lid on his suitcase and snapped it shut.

“Yes, my suitcase is all packed and ready to go,” I informed, politely. “Where is our first stop?”

“Moscow,” he responded.

“What’s there?” I questioned. 

“I have it on good authority there are some mooncalves there.”

“Mooncalves, hmm?”

“Yes, I’ll tell you all about them on the train. We should get going.”

“Right, yes, lead the way, sir.”

Newt stopped in his tracks to turn to me and laugh slightly. “Rosaline, we were at school together. We practically grew up together. Don’t call me sir, please. Theseus is a sir, I’m merely… Newt.”

I nodded, a small grin touching my lips. “Yes… Newt.” I bobbed my head, trying to wrap my mind around not being so formal. For Nora I’m sure this came as easy as breathing but for me, my straight laced, straight arrow life. I was by the book, I practically wrote the book on rules. The idea of working informally, with anyone, went against my very nature.

But, if I wanted to leave behind the life of idle, boring, strict, repetitiveness, I needed to embrace this way of life. I only hoped Newt would be patient with me, and help me with that.

------------------------------

“So what is our mission?” I asked sitting on the train.

“Our mission?” Newt questioned with a slight frown. “Oh, you mean, why are we doing this?”

“Mhm.”

“I’ve been commissioned to write a book about beasts all over the world.”

“I see… Why?”

“Because some people, myself included, believe that creatures should be protected and are merely misunderstood. It’s my job, well, now it’s our job, to find these creatures, study them, and learn everything we can about them. If we’re more informed, then we maybe we can save some, and the people in the wizarding world won’t be as quick to exterminate innocent animals.”

“I like that idea. Have you already started writing?”

He shook his head, pressing his lips together. “No, no, not yet. But I have many notes. I would really like us to explore all of the world before compiling the book. That comes at the end, after I’ve seen everything I can.” 

“Sounds like quite the adventure. I’m glad you have this opportunity, Newt,” I state happily, reaching across the car and squeezing his hand quickly. 

“As am I. It will help to have you here, too.”

The journey went rather peacefully. Newt informed me that he would like me to take notes on our discoveries and that we may come across creatures that may need to be rescued. Those who we rescued may need more help than others. It would partly be my responsibility to clean, feed, and care for them.

Newt’s informant ended up being correct. We did find mooncalves. 

“Go ahead and approach them,” Newt encouraged as we stood several feet away, watching the small herd huddle in an open field.

I spun to face him, bewilderment on my face. “You want me to walk up to them? I thought I was only here to dictate notes and only assist when needed!” Panic began to settle over my body. Loving animals and interacting with them in the wild were two different things. 

“Rosaline, you’ll be perfectly fine,” he assured. “Mooncalves are very docile. I really need you to be comfortable with animals. Many times they may end up being your responsibility so I’d like you to gain their trust early on.” 

I nodded in understanding. That was fair. I wasn’t sure why I assumed I wouldn’t ever need to interact with them this way. 

Tentatively, I stepped forward, my hand up and outstretched as I moved closer to the herd. At first, they didn’t notice me, but when I closed half the distance between us, they glanced up, startled and started to back away. I immediately withdrew my hand and took a step back so they would know I wasn’t trying to hurt them. 

I looked back to Newt who was observing diligently. He bobbed his head a few times for encouragement. Taking a breath, I tried again, crouching ever so slightly, moving closer again, but again the herd backed away. I screwed my mouth to the side and remained planted, hoping they would come to me. 

But they merely stood there, watching me. It was a stalemate. I wasn’t moving closer and neither were they. We sat watching each other for thirty seconds or so before Newt approached me from behind, a satchel on his side and he pulled out something. 

“Here, try this.” He poured the food in my hand and then placed his hand under mine, crouching even lower to the ground to where we were walking along in a crouch. The mooncalves must’ve gotten a whiff of whatever was in my hands because they slowly stepped towards us. “There we go. That’s it. See, these are babies… I wonder where their mother is…”

Then suddenly, they were right before us, eating out of my hand as Newt stayed beside me, assuring me that it was okay. 

“See? They’re perfectly safe. They’re kind creatures. You stay here and feed them, I’ll look for the mother.” 

In the end, their mother was nowhere to be found, so Newt brought them along with us. We cared for them and studied them. Soon they were old enough and strong enough to be released back into the wild.

--------------------------------

Our next time catching a creature, I merely watched. The creature was known to be more tempestuous than others, so Newt felt it was best he tried to call it over. And he was quite right. Watching him work was a treat. He not only knew exactly what to do, he also enjoyed it. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen. 

Back at the ministry, I worked with people who were good at their job day in and day out, it was nothing new. But with Newt, he got nothing but pure joy from it and displayed nothing but absolute compassion for these creatures. This wasn’t work for him, it was so much more. It was what he loved doing, he just happened to get paid for it. And paid for it, he should be, because he was the most dedicated person for the job.

He was absolutely brilliant. His knowledge of creatures was boundless and he taught me everything he knew.  When he taught, it didn’t even feel like I was forced to sit and listen to something I didn’t want to know. He made it incredibly interesting. I’d been taught by some world renowned masters in wizardry, and their lessons paled in comparison to his. I looked forward to waking up and getting out in the field every day.

We fell into a pattern. We set out for a new location, and he spent most of the  journey explaining everything about the creature to me. What they ate, if they were typically skittish, if they were harmful or poisonous or venomous in any way. I kept detailed notes and reviewed them at night when he’d fallen asleep.

Before either of us really knew it, I was becoming a natural. By my third trip, we were in Venice, Italy where we ran into a small cluster of bowtruckles. Sweet, little creatures, and I took to them instantly. Of course, creatures like these aren’t threatening or hard in the slightest, but I was falling into an easy regiment of helping these animals.  

In fact, Newt and I took turns all the time feeding all of the creatures in his suitcase, and often took turns in nature approaching them.

Watching Newt work had to be the most enchanting thing I’d ever witnessed. He made a complete ass of himself, but it was for the greater good. Maybe he did roll around to get Graphorns to trust him, or he made himself look and sound like a bird so that a Fwooper would come near him, or he would jump into freezing waters to take notes or rescue an animal tangled in seaweed. He truly was magical, and not in the sense of being a wizard. There was this purity, this innocence about him that I’d never seen in anyone before.

I believe it was when we got Frank that I really understood just how deep his love for creatures ran. We were looking for something entirely different, when we ran into some shady people who said they had a Thunderbird. Newt, being the genius he is, knew that Thunderbirds were native to the United States, Arizona mainly… 

“I’ll give you one-hundred galleons for this bird,” Newt offered frantically to a group of five wizards as we sat in a sand filled shack outside of Egypt. 

“This bird is very rare, very rare indeed… One-hundred is a joke,” the man leading the negotiation stated. 

“Three-hundred,” he proposed.

I watched intensely. The other four wizards seemed… on edge. I had a strong feeling no matter how much gold we gave these cretins, they weren’t handing this bird over, ever. Maybe it was my time as a Hit Witch, but I could smell something dirty going on. 

“Eight, and we may have a deal, and I may let you walk out of here alive,” the man stated darkly, his eyes only on Newt.

“Newt,” I calmly said from behind him, “get the bird.”

He started to object. “I--”

“Get…the bird,” I repeated, staring the traffickers down.

“You don’t touch that bird!” the man shouted, jumping to his feet as the four wizards behind him drew their wands. “Expelliarmus!” he yelled, pointing at my wand, already drawn, but I was waiting for the attack, deflecting it easily.

“Stupefy!” I retaliated to two men in the back, throwing a Petrificus Totalus spell on the other two. Lastly, pointing my wand at the man who tried the expelliarmus curse on us. “Forget us, forget that we ever came, and I’ll let you live a meaningless existence.”

“Why don’t you just obliviate me?” he challenged, his body shaking with anger. “Wouldn’t that be easier?” 

“No, because if I hear that you’re still trafficking, then I want you to remember my face. Because if you see it again, you will know your life is about to become a living hell. Do I make myself clear?”

He gulped and nodded, fear in his eyes.

“Now, my friend is going to take this Thunderbird, and you’re going to stay right where you are, unless you want to spend the next hour under crucio.”

His eyes watched as Newt unchained the creature, before coaxing him into his suitcase.

“So lovely doing business with you,” I said mockingly before I grabbed Newt’s arm and apparated away. We ended up on top of one of the pyramids of Giza.

Newt sat his suitcase down and looked at me for a moment before wrapping me in an embrace.

“How… That was very impressive, Rosaline.”

I tucked my wand back into my sleeve. “Well I’m nothing if not a good bodyguard.”

“I can handle myself.”

I nodded. “I know you can. But you needed to focus on freeing that poor creature. Leave the head-cracking to me.” I winked.

“That was incredible. Why did you do that? Why didn’t you just let me pay them?”

“You shouldn’t have to pay for an animal that’s illegally being sold. That poor bird doesn’t deserve that. Animal cruelty really irritates me. If crucio weren’t illegal, I’d not bat an eye at using it on miserable souls like him.” 

“That’s oddly comforting,” he said with a smile. “Well, shall we get some dinner?”

“Yes,” I responded, grinning, holding out my arm for him to take it. 

After that, it seemed as though being around each other was as easy as breathing. Before that, there was almost this invisible force keeping us divided. Nora practically treated Newt like a little brother. The two of them always working, joking, teasing each other. But I felt as though with him, for the first few months of working together, we were disconnected. A boss - employee relationship, or barely- more-than-acquaintances relationship. 

But that… the moment we rescued Frank together… I knew we were a great team, and Newt seemed to finally trust that I really was in this for the long haul. It didn’t take long at all to see why Nora had become very close to him. 

From there, our work together didn’t feel anything like work.

How could it when we saw the sun set in Paris together, watching it, eating, making sure Pickett, the most dependent bowtruckle got some food too. Or how could I possibly feel as though it was any sort of work that went into observing mermaids in the Black Sea? Wicked creatures, they were, but they had their purpose. For six months, we traveled all over Asia, Europe, and Africa. Each stop as stunning as the last, each new creature just as interesting as the first. 

Frank had a special place in my heart, and Newt said he would make plans to go to America to get him to his natural habitat. 

For now though, we had to return to Newt’s home, and setup a habitat for every one of the creatures to live in, while we studied them for a bit. Some of them had been wounded, some of them had been abandoned. These were the ones we would heal, rehabilitate, and send back out. In the meantime, study and record every detail we could on them. 

Six months in, Newt felt the need to suddenly ask me something that I wasn’t entirely prepared for. 

While we stood in his basement, he cleared his throat and gathered my attention. “Um, Rosaline… I must ask you something,” he began.

“Hmm?” I hummed, turning towards him, a book in hand. 

“This job is far beneath you... It's laughable... So why do you work here? The pay is poor, and the hours are unpredictable… Your life is your job. You haven’t seen your own flat in over six months…”

I closed my book and peered at him, softly responding, “No job is beneath me if I'm helping a living thing, Newt.” My eyes were tender on his adorable face.

He bobbed his head slightly to the side with a peculiar grin. “Yes, but you're one of the most powerful witches, both politically and in magical prowess... So why give all that up to help me feed and find some creatures?"

“I told you before, I had a change of heart. This experience has been… beyond anything I ever dreamed of, and I have you to thank for that. Doing what we do, watching you do what you do, is the most rewarding job I’ve ever had. Chasing down criminals it’s… it’s all very black and white in the Ministry, do you know what I mean?” I questioned, rhetorically. He nodded, slightly pressing his lips together. “The guilty are guilty, and that’s that. It got hard to stomach watching small infractions get the worst sentences. I wanted something where I bring joy to someone or something’s life.”

“Sounds very noble,” he remarked.

I laughed and shook my head. “There’s nothing noble about me, I promise you that. And besides,” I said, lifting my delicate, slender fingers to rest against his cheek, “Contrary to popular belief I haven’t given up anything. I’ve gained something far greater.”

Newt smiled and nodded before blushing deeply. I dropped my hand from his face. 

-----------------------

“Rosaline,” Newt gasped from his desk. I was sitting nearby organizing a feeding regiment and making a list for Diagon Alley shopping. 

“Yes?” I asked, looking up, worried he was upset with me. 

“Your notes are exquisite,” he complimented. “Thorough, accurate, this is the best I think I’ve seen.”

I beamed at him. “Really?” 

“Yes. This will be very helpful in the book.”

“Oh, good, I’m so glad I can be of some use to you.” 

He softly laughed. “You’re more than useful. This is like gold to me. Thank you for being diligent.”

I bobbed my head. “Well, that’s my job. I’m happy to do it for you.”

--------------------------

It was the middle of the night when Newt appeared in the floo of my bedroom. 

“Rosaline, I really need your help,” he stated as soon as I picked up the call. 

“Okay, I’ll be right there.” 

I dressed within thirty seconds and apparated to Newt’s home, calling out for him. He shouted up from the basement. I dashed down there, careful not to slip on the stairs. “What’s going on?” I inquired, calm but ready for whatever emergency had arisen. 

“The Graphorn has gone into labor,” he announced evenly, kneeling beside the pregnant beast as the father stood by, worried. 

“Okay, what do you need me to do?” I asked, instantly all business.

“Towels, lots of them, a bowl of warm water, and uh, baby oil.” 

Without a second thought, I ran up the stairs to grab the items as quickly as possible, and raced back down, working to not spill the water. 

“Is this alright?”

“Yes. Now, graphorns struggle to birth on their own so I may need your help.” 

“Just tell me what you need done,” I assured.

In that instant, the mother graphorn roared, assumably out of pain from the labor and the father began to dig his hoof-like foot in the ground. 

“Uh, you may have to birth it. The father needs to be held back. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with her and he may charge us if one of us doesn’t keep him back.”

“Why don’t you birth and I hold him back?”

“You’re a woman, your pheromones will calm her more than mine will,” Newt explained quickly before pulling out his wand, ready to either calm the beast or keep him at bay. 

“Alright,” I uneasily said as I knelt beside her, stroking her, trying to get her to remain calm and trust me. “So, when do I start? I mean, how do I know she’s ready?” 

“She’ll most likely--” a sudden, loud roar took over the area, forcing Newt and I to cover our ears “--do that.” 

The father got even more anxious, snorting, or what I assumed was the equivalent of a snort. 

“Okay, get behind her, she should be rather dilated, just reach in, feel for feet and pull.”

“You make this sound incredibly easy.”

“It is incredibly easy.... If you pay absolutely no mind to what you’re doing,” he noted, his back to me as he stood before the creature. 

I took a deep breath, keeping my hand on the creature so she knew where I was, where I was moving to, and what I was going to do. “Alright, girl, now this may be uncomfortable, but we have to do this to get your baby out,” I stated, talking to her. 

“When you’re ready, spread the baby oil on your arms and… dive in,” Newt tried, sounding uneasy.

I nodded. This was absolutely mental, but this was my job, and this creature needed help. I needed to overcome my squeamishness to help her. I quickly lathered my arms making sure I was coated up to the elbow and then slowly put one arm in, squeezing my eyes shut as I did so, ignoring the heat and sensation wrapping around my arm. 

“You will probably need both hands,” he urged, looking back at me.

I merely nodded and dug the other arm in. 

“Newt, I don’t feel any-- oh my gosh, I think that’s it. I think I feel the legs. Two fat, little limbs?” I wondered, peering over her body, hoping to hell she didn’t kick me. 

“Sounds right. Make sure you get a good hold on them, and tug, slowly, we don’t want her to tear inside.” 

Again, I nodded before making sure my fingers were wrapped around the baby’s legs tightly. “I think I have it!” Slowly, surely, I started pulling, the little legs coming with me. It seemed to be agonizingly slow, but before long, a little head appeared. “Newt! Newt! What do I do?” I questioned hurriedly.

“Go ahead and pull! He needs oxygen and to walk around.” 

At his command, I tugged, and the baby graphorn was pulled from his mother, half onto my lap, soaking me in blood and amniotic fluid. Newt left the father who seemed calmer now, now that his mate and baby were okay. He rushed to my side, helping to get the baby up. 

“Help me check for breathing,” he instructed as he leaned down, listening for a heartbeat. “I have a heartbeat.” 

Holding my hand in front of his mouth, I confirmed, “He’s breathing.” 

“Good. Get the towels and warm water, help me wash him, please, quickly.” 

I grabbed them, only a few feet away, and we set to work wiping the excess fluid off of him. Once all the mess was cleared away from his eyes, face, mouth, and feet, we stood up and stepped back, letting the bonding process start. The baby took a few shaky steps before stumbling right into his mother, earning a small response before she turned and finally nuzzled him. 

Overjoyed, I turned to Newt and wrapped my arms around him, smiling and laughing from pure joy. Something unlike me to do. Surprise overtook Newt before he finally returned the gesture and I let him go, staring back at the new family. 

“You did amazing. Good job.”

“Thank you,” I stated, nodding. 

I was still watching the family of graphorns when I sensed his eyes on my profile. 

“Is everything alright?”

He nodded, making me turn to him. 

“So, why are you staring?” I wondered, bemused.

“You’re just… different. That’s all.”

“Different from what? Different from school?”

He shook his head. “No, no. Not that. You aren’t the cold, hypocritical bureaucrat I took you for.”

I threw my head back, laughing at his boldly honest statement. Another one of his amazing qualities was that he didn’t cloud everything to be nice or polite, but he wasn’t rude either. He was just honest, no matter the cost. So when he complimented someone, everyone knew he meant it. “Cold bureaucrat, eh?” I smiled, nodding. “And when did you come to this conclusion? I rather thought we were good friends at Hogwarts.” 

“We were friends but that was before you had the Ministry and a political campaign.”

“So you do think I changed.”

“I suppose I thought you fell in line with what your career demanded of you.” 

“So I wasn’t cold at Hogwarts?” I questioned.

“Not in the same sense. Your distance came from the fact that you couldn’t favor anyone and I think you felt more comfortable with the faculty, than the students. But as an adult… well for one, you and I hardly ever saw each other after graduation, even though Nora came around a lot.”

This information somehow stung. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I did let my career consume my life, didn’t I? But you have too. The only difference is you’re actually making a difference, helping something…” I gazed at the graphorns as I spoke. “I think it’s easier to let my work take precedence, easier than to allow myself a potential heartbreak.”

“So you’d rather live in fear of a heartbreak you might never have, than to pursue one?” 

I turned to face him. “Newt, one way or another, my heart will break, if I allow people outside my family to be close to me. Whether I become a widow, leave a husband a widower, or any myriad of other reasons, relationships can go wrong. I simply don’t see a point of tracking that down for myself.” It was true. It was why I was so standoffish with people. I liked people. I always wanted to fall in love, be loved for who I was, but the truth of the matter was, heartbreak was inevitable. I dove head first into studies as a child because I loved it, and I suppose I unconsciously did the same as an adult, for fear that someone could never love me for me. Who could love a cold, orphaned girl?

“Is that really such a healthy way to live? Never letting anyone in? Keeping everyone at arm’s length?” 

“It’s protected me this long,” I murmured. 

“I think I understand where you’re coming from. For me, as…. socially inept as I can sometimes be, it’s much easier to interact with animals, than it is to try to communicate with humans.” 

A soft laugh trilled from me. “I understand. Perhaps we will figure out humans together,” I offered with a side glance and coy smile, to which he nodded and grinned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[r-ahh-mi]

A Cure I Know // Part 4

Part 1  II Part 2  II  Part 3  II 

Pairing: Elliot Alderson x fem!OC (Emerson)

Summary: A sex addict & a nut case - what a perfect pairing, don’t you think?

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Sorry this took so long to produce, but here it is! If you enjoy this series and would like to be tagged in future chapters, let me know and i’ll happily add you to my tag list. Enjoy xx

-

It was like clockwork and to no fail that following Monday we were both once again sat on the train in the same exact train car. I wondered a lot of things. One: did he always aim for this exact train car? That seemed a tad repetitive and manic, but after our little ordeal the weekend before I wouldn’t put it past him should he be a character of mindless repetition. He himself seemed as though he hadn’t a clue what he was doing and whether he was doing it right or wrong or down or sideways. I suppose you couldn’t say much better things about me either because ever since I saw him that first day on this very train, I aimed to catch this exact car as well, just in case, though the chance was more rare than rubies, I would once again come across this intriguing stranger. However, I never thought that me and him would actually create this morning routine of avoiding eyes whilst on a crowded rush hour train.

Now, onto Two: who the fuck is this guy. Truly. He could be anyone -- an assassin, a dull sales person, even a fucking male prostitute. He was a complete mystery to me and for some god forsaken reason I was intently drawn on getting to know him, but not the rough and tough bad boy he oh so attempted to seem to be. That was a lie. I can spot a lie because I too am quite the liar. Except, you know, I'm good at it, but this man--this man was not accustomed to lying, at least not conjuring up a good lie that would be pleasing or believable to others. That’s sorta cute in a way if you think of it. A grown human being not being able to lie well means they still have this sort of innocence to them, but I knew he couldn’t be all innocent.

I did catch him in a dusky alley having an altercation with some wealthy so and so after all, and that was anything but innocent. Not to mention he was deeply insistent on making sure I hadn’t heard or seen anything that he didn’t want me to see or hear. Honestly, the only reason I was upset that I hadn’t any clue as to what he was up to that night was because I didn’t have anything to dangle over his head and tease him with. Though he did seem like the type to have quite a temper and yes, he did frighten me ever so slightly, I knew he was harmless deep down. Simply put, he was just a boy who was lost and seeking out something, I could tell that much. His eyes were quick to give that way.

Today wasn’t any different than the other times I'd seen him on the train. We would make quick eye contact every so often and within a millisecond he was diverting his eyes to the nearest spot that wasn’t my gaze. I never took my eyes off of him, especially not today. Suddenly I felt brave and curious about him all at the same time. He was something that I could see myself chasing after which he should see as a huge compliment seeing as I loved people who were disposable. I wanted the intimacy of a good fuck and that was all. Don’t take me to dinner, don’t try to fucking cuddle with me, and, jesus fucking christ, don’t even try to ask me for my number so we could ‘do this again sometime’. That's not what I want. Well, that is until now.. Which was terribly frightening and intriguing to me all at once.

“Stop fucking staring at me.”

I smirked, recognizing that deep voice seeping out from between clenched teeth. “Am I bothering you?,” I questioned.

“Yeah you are.”

“Guess my plan is working then,” I answered with the most over confident smile I could muster together while his cold gaze was peircing through the even colder atmosphere that seemed to loom around him wherever he went.

The stranger huffed loudly. Loud enough for most other bystanders to notice and grimace at his rather rude behavior on public transportation, but this is where I realized we were alone in this steel built train car and immediately my confidence began to dwindle away. Especially when his hands reached for the long metal bars that went from the floor to the ceiling, and pulled his body up to a standing position. 

His dark attired body sauntered over in my direction until he was directly stood in front of me; I could feel my knee’s brushing along the fabric of his dark, wrinkled pants. He craned his neck down so his face was closer to mine and, should I not feel so intimidated by him right now, I would’ve seen this as a tempting opportunity to have some fun on public transportation. But he was different. He didn’t make me feel like the fem fatale that I usually felt like when I was with other men and women. He was the alpha, but a lost and sad alpha. An alpha who seemed to not understand what he was doing, yet he held so much natural power over others.

“What are you trying to do?”

I shrugged, feeling my eyes grow owlish as they blinked furiously trying to process the harshness of his voice. 

Maybe I was afraid of him? Maybe I wasn’t? How he was able to take me from cocky to nervous and scared was still something I was trying to process, but he was beginning to make me feel..not like myself. I suppose in general he made me feel like a different person entirely.

“I--I’m not doing anything,” I answered with shaky hands that his eyes immediately seemed to notice.

His brow instantly relaxed and the crease set in the middle of his forehead seemed to dissipate as he moved his face back a good foot or so from mine. I watched as his teeth dug into his bottom lip while his eyes searched the train car once more to ensure nobody was within earshot of our conversation, but this only made me feel more nervous. 

“Listen, I just want to know why you’re doing this. Just tell me. I’m not going to hurt you or anything… did someone send you looking for me? Was it-“

Before he could finish his sentence, I shook my head in response as my brain tried to wrap itself, yet again,  around this man and why on earth anyone would be looking for him or why someone would send me to find him. Who was he?

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Immediately he coward back both physically and mentally as he released the metal bars and let his body balance itself as the train moved at a fast pace.

“I just don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?,” I questioned, but he didn’t seem to want to say anything else. Instead he took one of his hands underneath the black hood covering his head and ran it through his hair, causing a small strand of black to fall onto his forehead.

I watched the strand, almost in slow motion, as it relaxed onto his tan skin and the urge to be cliche and fix the hair back into its place was there. Infact, my hand twitched as if it was going for it, without letting my brain grant it permission, to touch this strangers stray hair. Usually only a gesture made for couples or those who sustained close and precious relationships, yet I took had the urge for this man.

“Elliot?”

An unfamiliar blonde woman had entered the train car, along with a few dozen other people, as she made her way over to this stranger who evidently wasn’t a mystery to her. She placed her hand on his shoulder as the stranger looked between me and the blonde haired woman--he seemed cautious and nearly scared by her or rather what she could say.

“Elliot, I haven’t seen you in days. Why haven’t you been at work?”

I watched as the stranger took his hand, that was still underneath his hood, and gently lift the black fabric from his head as he shrugged. “I’ve just been busy with some stuff.”

The blonde scoffed at the man, who I presumed to be Elliot, as he mumbled his words and seemed annoyed as she began versing him in why it’s essential to let your friends know what’s going on in your life, but frankly I was much too distracted to pay attention to their conversation in its entirety.

Elliot. What a sweet name. It was somehow fitting for this stranger that had a dark and cold outer appearance; the opposite of sweet, yet it suited him well, very very well. I was surprised I never even thought about naming this mysterious person, but never once did I stop to think of his name, his backstory, and what made him who he was.

The scary part was that now I was thinking about all of that. I was thinking of his middle name, does he have any pets, is this blonde bitch going to get in my way of getting to know him, also, why the hell did I want to get to know him? Why was I having monologues with myself regarding this man who, up until a minute ago, I hadn’t a clue of even his name. I hated this and most importantly i hated who I was right now because I wasn’t the type to pine and day dream after another. Why was he different. Why on this god forsaken earth is there a creature say as he that would make me feel such foreign things that I hadn’t felt in decades.

“Are you okay?”

I hadn’t noticed that I zoned out, with my eyes still fixed on Elliot, until his now much perkier, yet still lifeless, voice questioned my dead eyed gaze.

I nodded, gulping back a breath I hadn’t realized was being held captive in my throat as I looked around for the blonde woman, who had been previously scolding a grown man on proper friendship etiquette--how precious. Thankfully, she was nowhere to be found. I must have been so deep in my thoughts that her departure had gone unnoticed to my zoned out stare. 

“You sure?,” Elliot questioned again, ending his sentence this time with a brief and deep chuckle that made me smile, but I quickly removed the grin from my face in the hopes that he wouldn’t see it. I didn’t need to give him any sort of leverage in whatever it is we were (friends, acquaintances, etc.).

“I’m fine,” I lied, but like I said, I was always convincing when it came to lying and this time was no different.

Elliot nodded just as the loud speaker announced the stop I was needing to get off on and only then did I realize my belongings were nowhere near being close to gathered and ready for me to descend into a crowd of thousands of others working at a miserable job. I began scrambling manically for my things as Elliot just watched me with some sort of look in his eyes that seemed sympathetic in nature, but what for?

I didn’t bother to acknowledge him as I stood to move past him and out of the train car. We never really said or entertained any sort of greeting when we departed so it wasn’t anything unusual.

“Bye.”

I stopped dead in my tracks, directly in the middle of the automatic doors, as he spoke the words. I’m sure I was blushing or wearing some sort of smitten grin and god how I hated that my feelings were from something as small as a ‘bye’ from him, but now wasn’t the time. I wouldn’t let these unusual feelings I was having for this man cause me to shatter the outer appearance I worked hard to convince others of. Not today, not ever--no on was worth that much.

“See you tomorrow, Elliot.”

-

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[angelofthequeers]

Ladybug and Reine Nuit: Chapter 9

Mr Pigeon & Darkblade

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

@miraculousl4dybug @livinthebilife tagged as requested :)

Part 8 | Part 10

Just when Marinette thinks that Chloé can’t possibly get any more spiteful and mean, Chloé seems determined to prove her wrong when Gabriel Agreste announces a derby hat designing competition. They’ve only got a day to design and make their hat, and Marinette’s about two seconds from tearing her hair out.

“This is a disaster!” she groans, pacing back and forth in the courtyard at lunch while flipping through her sketchbook. “Derby hat, derby hat, derby hat, derby hat…I don’t have any derby hat designs! I’ve got top hats, caps, even two-horned hats! Need a beret? I’m your girl. A sombrero? No problem-o. But a derby?”

“Dude, what’s got Marinette so worked up?” Nino says when he and Adrien draw level with Alya. Marinette, meanwhile, is currently bashing her forehead with her sketchbook.

“The fashion competition,” Alya snickers. “She’s just overreacting, don’t worry. She always gets like this under pressure.”

“You know what? It won’t even matter, 'cause I’ll probably make a total fool of myself at the event, most likely trip over my stupid derby and collapse on Mr Agreste, give him a full-blown concussion, and he’ll hate me forever and remember me as the girl who knocked him out! I'll never be a world-renowned fashion designer. My life is over!”

“Well, you definitely won’t be a famous fashion designer if you give yourself a concussion, girl,” Alya says, prying the sketchbook from Marinette’s hands as Marinette hyperventilates. “Let me look through this, okay? There must be something in here.”

“Forget it, I’m a disaster zone,” Marinette groans, slumping on the bench. “I’ll probably mess it all up.”

“Like hell you will,” Adrien says. Marinette whines when she sees him looking over Alya’s shoulder at the sketchbook, and she covers her face with her hands. “These designs are awesome! You’re so talented, Marinette! You seriously have a good chance of winning.”

“You really think that?” Marinette peeks out from behind her fingers just in time to see Adrien’s face redden.

“Uh – yeah – I love –” Adrien clears his throat. “Yeah.”

“I probably shouldn’t even be talking about it with you,” Marinette teases hysterically, twirling one of her pigtails to try and calm herself down with the repetitive motion. “You know, in case people think that you’re showing favouritism or something.”

“Let them think,” Adrien says. “My father’s picking the winner, not me. I’ve got no input specifically for that reason. Although I wouldn’t mind modelling your hat.” He winks and then groans when his face grows even redder.

“Are you feeling okay?” Marinette says. “You’re not coming down with anything?”

“Trust me, dude, he’s totally fine,” Nino smirks.

“Well, that leaves you nine hours to come up with something to impress Gabriel Agreste, now that you know you’ve got a chance,” Alya says, handing Marinette’s sketchbook back and checking her phone.

“Gah!” Marinette jumps to her feet. “I'm off to my secret garden of inspiration. I’ll see you later!” She turns and promptly smashes into the brick wall behind her. “Ah! I’m okay! I’m okay!”

“Pfft,” scoffs a loud voice from nearby. “Look at the clumsy little freak. As if she’s got a chance of winning this competition.”

Marinette just rolls her eyes. Adrien, however, is far less tolerant of Chloé’s crap.

“Why are you being so nasty?” he demands. Chloé just shrugs.

“I still don’t know why you’re hanging out with those losers, Adrikins. Haven’t you realised yet how you’re dragging yourself down?”

“Being rich and influential doesn’t make you a better person,” Adrien says, crossing his arms. “Marinette and Alya and Nino are the nicest people I know. You’re just making me wonder how I never realised before what a mean person you are!”

“We’re besties, Adrikins!”

Adrien shakes his head. “No, we’re not. We haven’t been since I found out that you’re a bully. And if you keep going this way, I won’t even talk to you anymore.”

Chloé gasps, then rolls her eyes. “Since when do you have a spine? It’s never been a problem before.”

“Since I realised that I have to do the right thing and stand up against what’s wrong rather than ignore it.” Adrien smiles at Marinette and, with a pink face, adds, “Marinette taught me that when she fought to let me stay at school.”

Marinette bites her lip and ducks her head, her cheeks warm.

“Ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous!” Chloé stomps her foot. “You’ll see, Adrien! One of these days, you’ll learn that these losers aren’t worthy to even speak your name! And when that day comes, I’ll be waiting!” With a flip of her ponytail, she storms off, Sabrina scurrying off behind her.

“Uh…so, that happened,” Nino says slowly.

“Are you okay?” Marinette says when she catches sight of Adrien’s stormy face, resting a hand on his arm.

“I’m not gonna get akumatised.”

“That’s not what I was asking.”

Adrien tries to smile but ends up looking constipated. “I’ll deal with it. I can’t just stand by and pretend I’m okay with her being a bully.” He sighs, then adds, “I should get going. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Okay, you listen to me, girl,” Alya says when Adrien walks off. “You’d better get your butt out of here and design the actual best derby hat to ever exist. You capiche?”

Marinette’s lips twitch. “I capiche.”

.

Hours later, after a gruelling battle against an akuma pigeon-man overlord, Marinette wants to scream. Pigeons. Pigeons. Her pigeon feather hat is so cursed. At least she’s got an hour left to work on it though, otherwise she would have actually thrown herself off her balcony at missing out on such an amazing opportunity like this competition.

At long last, she’s attached the pigeon feather to the feathery black derby hat. Success! But then she catches sight of the time on her phone and shrieks when she realises that she’s barely got minutes to get to the school! She frantically drops her hat into a hat box and thunders down the stairs and out of the bakery, crying, “Bye, Mum! Bye, Papa!” as she goes.

“Where have you been?” Alya demands when Marinette finally make it back to school and skids to a halt next to her empty hat stand. “You got your hat?”

“Yep, here!” A wheezing Marinette deposits her box on the stand and takes the lid off to reveal her sleek, feathery hat. However, rather than looking ecstatic, Alya’s face falls.

“It’s the same as Chloé’s,” she points out. Marinette looks over her shoulder at Chloé’s hat and gasps. That thief! But how? She must have gotten her claws on Marinette’s design somehow! But then Marinette smirks when she remembers her secret weapon.

“Don’t worry, Alya, I can handle this,” she says. Now it’s her turn for her hat to be inspected by Mr Damocles, Adrien, and Gabriel Agreste through a tablet that a dark-haired woman is holding. Marinette gulps when she realises that the woman is the same one she’d yelled at on Adrien’s first day of school, and she prays to the gods above that the woman doesn’t remember that…incident. Under Gabriel’s intense scrutiny through the tablet screen, Marinette starts to fidget. What if she doesn’t pull this off?

“Hm. Turn the tablet back to Miss Bourgeois’ hat, Nathalie,” Gabriel orders. The woman obeys. “Is this a joke?”

Chloé immediately turns on the waterworks. “No fair! Marinette copied my design!” she howls. “It’s scandalous! How could you do that?”

Marinette meets Adrien’s eye and smiles. “I apologise for the situation, Mr Agreste,” she says to Gabriel. “But I can prove that this derby hat is my original design.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrow. “Go ahead.”

“Well, everything on my derby hat is handmade, from the embroidery, to the weaving of the band, to the stitching of the brim. All done by me. And last, there’s a special design element that only the designer knows about: I signed mine.” She turns her hat upside-down to reveal that the golden embroidery around the base of the hat spells out her name in beautiful cursive.

When Chloé gasps and knocks over her derby hat stand, everyone turns back to her to inspect her overturned hat, which displays the very same signature that’s on Marinette’s hat. Chloé starts bawling for real.

“That’s low, Chloé.” Adrien growls.

“But Adrikins –”

“No. If you want me to be your best friend again, you’re going about it totally the wrong way. How could you do that to Marinette, especially when you know how Father and I feel about stealing other people’s work?”

Chloé runs out, crying for her father. Gabriel’s next words ensure that she’s quickly forgotten.

“Very exquisite creation. You definitely have the labouring hands of a hat maker, Miss…”

“Marinette,” Adrien says and puts his hand on Marinette’s shoulder. The woman’s eyes narrow, and Marinette gulps. Okay, yep, now she remembers who Marinette is.

“Congratulations on your demonstration, Miss Marinette,” Gabriel says. “You’re the winner.”

Marinette gasps and looks at Alya, whose eyes are shining. Then she turns back to Gabriel and cries, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” while bowing again and again in sheer joy.

“Adrien will wear your derby on our next advertising campaign,” Gabriel says. Adrien beams.

“I told you I wouldn’t mind modelling your hat, didn’t I?” he says, taking the hat from Marinette. Marinette smiles so widely that her cheeks hurt, especially when Adrien starts to put the hat on…but her smile vanishes when he sneezes loudly.

“Wait, what?” she says.

“Sorry,” Adrien says thickly. “Uh – allergic to feathers. Achoo!”

“…Gesundheit?”

“Ha. Thanks.”

.

Things come to a head during the class representative elections a week later. After Chloé runs for the position yet again and blackmails everyone into not running as a candidate against her, Marinette decides to run herself. Even if she doesn’t get in, at least she’d tried to do something, right?

Naturally, Chloé decides to resort to buying everyone’s vote by holding a campaign launch party and inviting Jagged Stone, with the promise of autographs for all. Marinette growls when she hears the news. She’s been slaving away all afternoon on a speech that includes everyone’s wishes, like Rose’s desire for comfy seats, yet Chloé’s just going to waltz in and win purely by throwing cash everywhere? In frustration, Marinette tosses her diary back into her lockbox and storms downstairs to see what this is all about.

“I'm pleased to welcome you all to the official launch of Chloé's electoral campaign,” André Bourgeois announces when Marinette arrives at City Hall and finds all her classmates squeeing over…Jagged Stone? And a special thank-you to world famous pop-star Jagged Stone for endorsing her!”

“And when you vote for me, you’ll get free tickets to Jagged’s next concert!” Chloé adds smugly. Marinette’s eye twitches. Well, at least if she loses, she can say that she didn’t have to resort to bribery and blackmail to win in the first place. Jagged Stone doesn’t appear all that happy to be there either, so that’s another small consolation.

“Do you realise that you’re all being bribed?” Marinette demands of her classmates. “Concert tickets are awesome, but they aren’t gonna solve classroom problems!”

“So, what’s your campaign then, Marinette?” Nathaniel says. His cheeks turn a faint pink when Marinette looks at him.

“Well, uh…I’m, um…” Marinette fumbles to remember everything she’d written down earlier. “I’m thinking that cushions would be more realistic than buying new chairs! Your cushion could be very pink,” she says to Rose, who gasps and beams. “And I’ll see about listening to music in the library,” she adds to Nino. “Through headphones, of course.”

“Remarkable,” Chloé drawls. “You actually sound like a class rep. Too bad you don’t have a chance of winning. A word?” She yanks Marinette behind a nearby pillar, and Marinette gasps when she sees her diary lockbox clamped shut around Sabrina’s hand. That no-good, dirty, cheating –

“If you don’t pull out of the race,” Chloé says with an evil grin on her face, “then all your secrets will be revealed.”

“Don’t – uh – I mean – what secrets?” Marinette tries not to let on how freaked out she is. Sure, Sabrina’s not getting that box off any time soon, but it’s not like the box is indestructible. And if Chloé finds out that she’s Ladybug…

“Ha! I guess we’ll find out…as soon as I get my hands on a chainsaw!” Chloé says. Just then, the sound of trumpets fills the air from outside. André carefully opens the city hall doors a crack to peek out, and he’s quickly joined by Marinette, Alya, Adrien, Rose, and Kim. They’re met with the sight of, well…a sea of black and green knights holding poleaxes. Honestly, Marinette’s so not in the mood for this.

“O-ye, o-ye!” one of the knights proclaims. “Darkblade shalt speak now! Listen or be imprisoned!”

Another knight steps forward, only he’s red and black instead of green and black, and he’s carrying a long, wicked sword. Out of the corner of her eye, Marinette only just registers Alya ducking and bolting from the room, but her attention is quickly drawn back to the red and black knight Darkblade.

“Henceforth, my flag shalt fly over thy kingdom!” Darkblade points his sword directly at the doors. “Bourgeois, pathetic knave! Come hither and do battle!”

“What did he say?” André whispers.

“He wants to beat you up and take your position,” Adrien says. André whimpers.

“Er…ask my secretary for an appointment!” he says before slamming the doors shut. From outside, the muffled chanting of the knights can be heard, and Marinette dashes over to a high window just in time to see Reine Nuit jump into the thick of the knights and start bowling them over one by one. But she’s no match against Darkblade himself, what with her lack of sword-fighting skills.

“What are we gonna do?” Ivan says, once again peering out through the doors. Marinette goes to join him to get a better view, along with Nino, Adrien, and Chloé, and her eyes widen when Darkblade turns and looks directly at them.

“The doors, quickly!” she cries.

“The doors, quickly!” Chloé mimics. Marinette smirks.

“Quit, Chloé!”

“Quit, Chloé! Oh…”

Heh. Sucker.

“Kneel before thy flag of Darkblade!” Darkblade approaches the doors, while Reine Nuit continues to fight knights in the background. Chloé shrieks and dashes away to hide. “Bow down before mine eyes!” In response, the students slam the doors shut and lock them.

“Chloé, what should we do?” Rose says, leaning over the front desk to look at Chloé, who’s hiding behind it. “What would a class rep do?”

“Well, if indeed you vote for me, I’ll provide you with an answer,” Chloé says. “Tomorrow.”

“But we can’t wait until tomorrow!”

“Then you’re out of luck. You’ll have to ask someone else!”

“Real helpful, Chloé,” Adrien says from where he’s now pressed against the window, watching the action outside with his phone out. “Thanks for convincing me to vote for Marinette.” He winces. “Ouch. I don’t know how much longer Reine Nuit can hold out!”

“What?” Chloé springs up. “I mean – ugh!”

While all this is going on, Marinette slips away to talk to Tikki about what to do, since she’s needed as Ladybug but also as Marinette. In the end, she finally has a plan.

“Kim, Ivan, lock the doors! Make sure all the windows are closed too! Quickly!” she commands. Kim and Ivan hurry to do as she says. “Nino, Juleka, Rose, Mylène, and Adrien, you come with me!”

It’s a mark of how much danger the whole class is in that Adrien doesn’t even complain about being ripped away from the action, instead running to Marinette’s side immediately.

“Hey, I was going to say the exact same thing!” Chloé whines. “Sabrina, Ivan, Kim, go lock the doors!” But no one even spares her a glance.

Once the entrance is barricaded and André has led Marinette’s classmates to safety, she calls out an excuse about checking the windows and then ducks out of sight. Tikki darts out, wide blue eyes trained on the locked doors. “It should be safe now,” Marinette says. “Tikki, spots on!”

.

“So, where were you?” Chloé demands when Marinette emerges after detransforming. Around her, everyone else is taking down the barricades and returning everything to its rightful place now that Darkblade has been defeated. “Safely hiding under a rock?”

“Very funny, Chloé,” Marinette says. “I got transformed…into a knight.” Then she crosses her arms. “Now that this is all over, I want my personal items back!”

The other students gasp and gather around them. Chloé’s eyes widen.

“I really have no idea what you're talking about! I –” She’s cut off by Sabrina shoving her aside and thrusting the box-trapped hand out at Marinette.

“Oh, yes! Please take it off!” With a smirk, Marinette takes the box key out of her purse and unlocks it to free Sabrina’s hand. Sabrina gasps, “Thank you!” and runs off.

“Got an explanation, Chloé?” Alya grins with her phone out and aimed directly at Chloé.

“I told you, I never took her diary!” Chloé huffs. “And I'm offended that you're accusing me!”

“Then how did you even know my diary was in here?” Marinette says with a raised eyebrow. Chloé pales and grabs Sabrina, shoving her best friend in front of her.

“Uh…it was Sabrina! Sabrina told me! It was all her idea!”

Sabrina shrinks as the class starts to mutter among themselves. Only Adrien gives her a reassuring smile and nudges her, and she gives him a nervous little smile and ducks her head.

“At least now we know nobody voted for Chloé,” Alya says smugly. “You're gonna be our new representative!”

But Marinette shakes her head. “Not so fast, Alya. I wanna be voted in fairly; not because you don't wanna vote for Chloé, but because you believe in me! I'm not gonna make promises that I can't keep, and I'm not gonna be able to get you everything that you want. But I am resourceful, and I know how to prioritise. I'm a good listener and a great multitasker. Representing you all is something I truly believe in. And most importantly, I believe in myself. So…vote for Marinette, for class representative!”

Everyone starts applauding. Chloé, meanwhile, seethes.

“This is ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous!” she snaps to Adrien. “How can you stand to listen to this junk?”

“Junk?” Adrien says. “Marinette’s just being honest. And unlike you, she didn’t have to resort to dirty tactics.”

Chloé scoffs. “Oh, Adrien, you know that’s just politics. Why have you got yourself so twisted?” She latches on to his arm, but he pulls away.

“That’s enough!” he says. Everyone falls silent to watch the confrontation. “I’ve put up with this for long enough. I didn’t want to be too hard on you because I hoped you could change, Chloé. But you’re just getting meaner and meaner!”

Chloé rolls her eyes.

“See? You don’t even take me seriously!” Adrien draws himself up and says, “We’re not friends anymore, Chloé. Not until you can prove that you’re genuinely changing for the better. And the only reason I’m even still talking to you is because I remember the nicer girl you used to be, and I’m hoping you can be her again.”

“What?” Chloé’s eyes bulge. “Adrien, no –”

“Adrien, yes. Now leave me alone.” Adrien approaches Marinette and smiles. “I can’t wait to see what you do for us, Marinette.”

Marinette beams at him. Her smile dims when she catches sight of Chloé’s apoplectic face, though, and she realises that she’s going to have to seriously watch her back from now on, since Chloé will no doubt be out for blood.

[okuraiani]

Ikemen Revolution – Oliver Knight Route Part 7

Okay, here we go with Oliver’s Route Part 7!

Not much to say, other than that I had so much fun with this chapter! Very much nice information (even if some may already know about it), banter and the two uninvited guest from chapter 4 on are hilarious!

PART 7 CHAPTER 1

[Blanc] “I am simply wishing for my friend’s happiness.” “Dean, won’t you lend me your help?”

Dean catches Blanc's tender but unwavering gaze head-on.

[Dean] "That's fine... But I'm really surprised."

[Blanc] "About what?"

[Dean] "That even for you there is an existence that could be called a friend."

[Blanc] "Did I look like there wasn't?"

[Dean] "Kind of. You are talking intimately with everyone, but at the same time you have no deep relationship with anyone." "It looked to me like you are keeping people at a distance on purpose. But it seems I was wrong."

[Blanc] "As expected... You are quite perceptive."

Listening to the song 'London Bridge is broken down' outside of the window, Blanc is narrowing his eyes—

[Blanc] "Even I have a single friend."

[Alice] "Mmmh–... That was so much fun, but now I'm tired..."

When we get to the garage, I drop onto the couch for good. Blanc's conversation seemed like it was dragging on, so Oliver and I headed back from the public hall before him.

[Oliver] "They took turns interrogating you since the second half, though."

[Alice] "I didn't think everyone would be so interested in London."

(They were asking with amazingly sparkling eyes.)

[Oliver] "In London, there isn't one bit of information about Cradle, right? It's the same thing." "For Cradle, the Land of Reason is something close to a wild dream." "It's no wonder the children are interested, don't you think?"

[Alice] "Right. If you say it like that, it is convincing—" "—is what I wanted to say, but how come you know the song 'London Bridge is broken down' then, Oliver?"

[Oliver] "... ...!"

[Alice] "It seems children from Cradle don't know it, but YOU do know it, don't you?"

Looking at me, Oliver's expression got a little clouded.

[Oliver] "If you'd think a little, you should understand." "I lived in London. That's why I also know that song."

 PART 7 CHAPTER 2

[Oliver] "I lived in London. That's why I also know that song."

[Alice] "... ... ... ...Sorry?"

[Oliver] "What's with that dumb face?"

(He lived in London?)

Leaving the speechless me be, Oliver reaches for a tool with an unconcerned look. I am startled as a clattering sound began to sound in the workshop.

A: "That's a lie, right!?" B: "You're just kidding." C: "I never heard of that!?"

[Alice] "I never heard of that, though...!?"

[Oliver] "Of course, because I never told you until now." "It wouldn't be strange if there was a guy, other than you, who got lost in Cradle at some point, would it?"

[Alice] "That's true, but..." "If you are a person from the Country of Science, then why haven't you told me from the beginning?"

[Oliver] "Why, because I wasn't asked."

(Ugh... True, I didn't ask...!) (No, but wait a minute. If Oliver is a person from the Land of Reason for real, then—)

-FLASHBACK

[White Rabbit Blanc] "A few years ago, someone from London got lost here and held the same power as you." "You should also know about that little girl. Her name is 'Alice'." "For the time being, you are the Second Alice."

-FLASHBACK END

(Blanc said, that with me it has been the second time a person from the Land of Reason has come to this world.) (That Oliver is also a person from the Land of Reason means...)

[Alice] "No way... Don't tell me you are the First Alice, Oliver?"

[Oliver] "... ... ..."

[Alice] "... Are you a girl?"

[Oliver] "Hah?"

Oliver places down the tool and walks over to me.

(Huh, isn't his smile a little scary?)

Placing his knees on the couch, Oliver grabbed the ribbon on my chest and yanked me towards him with a start.

[Oliver] "What part of me looks like a woman?"

 PART 7 CHAPTER 3

[Oliver] "What part of me looks like a woman?"

[Alice] "I mean, your face is pretty, so it wouldn't be surprising if you'd tell me you are a woman—"

[Oliver] "Are your eyes glass balls or something? If so, should I better crush them?"

[Alice] "Sorry! Of course, you are a boy! You're so not a girl...!"

(I only understand him well when he's being angry...!)

Heaving a grand sigh, Oliver sits down next to me.

[Oliver] "The First Alice and I are two different people."

[Alice] "But the people from this country refer to people who come from the Land of Reason as 'Alice'..."

[Oliver] "I'm an irregularity, though."

[Alice] "Irregularity?"

[Oliver] "I followed a different path than you. That's why I didn't become an Alice."

[Alice] "I see..."

The atmosphere surrounding Oliver feels a bit heavy, so I hesitate to step in. Even if I'm waiting for the story to continue, Oliver doesn't say any more than that.

(Seems like he doesn't want to talk about what happened.)

[Alice] "Well, uhm... Then, don't you want to return to London?"

[Oliver] "I never thought that I want to return."

[Alice] "Huh? Why?"

When I raise my voice in surprise, he snorts.

[Oliver] "A repetitive life of waking up every morning, going to work at a confectionery shop, stuffing yourself with sweets and going to sleep." "You told me that was your life in London a while ago, but didn't you ever think you were bored with that life?"

[Alice] "I didn't say that I was stuffing myself!"

[Oliver] "You weren't?"

(That's some mean smile alright...)

[Alice] "It wasn't boring. I was happy every day, being surrounded by the sweets I love."

[Oliver] "... I can't understand that."

Leaning on the couch's armrest, Oliver murmurs as if disappointed.

[Oliver] "London is tiresome. Day after day everybody repeats the same kind of life..." "Here in Cradle, on the other hand, there are many unknown things. Here, only things that prompt my curiosity exist." "I won't bother returning to the 'ordinary every day'."

(Mmh... Although I do understand what he wants to say...)

[Alice] "...Is there no one waiting for you in London, Oliver?"

When I put those hazy feelings into words, his small shoulders twitch slightly.

[Oliver] "... I wasn't good at socializing in the first place." "Nobody cares if I'm there or not."

(Oliver...?)

Oliver, who stood up, pulled his silk hat deep in his face. The moment I felt a strange connection towards him, I heard a knocking sound on the garage's door.

(Maybe it is a customer?)

 PART 7 CHAPTER 4

(Maybe it is a customer?)

While still worrying about Oliver's condition and as I open the door leading to the outside—

[Jonah] "Heh, she really is at the White Rabbit's house."

[Edgar] "Hello, Alice. It's been a while."

[Alice] "... ... ..."

I closed the door with a thud as if nothing happened.

(Am I hallucinating?)

[Alice] "Oliver... Just now..."

[Oliver] "I saw it. Lock the door right now. It would be annoying if those scoundrels break in."

[Jonah] "Hold on, who are you calling a scoundrel!?"

With a bang, the door was thrust open and Jonah broke into the garage.

[Alice] "Uwah..."

I instantly get ready to pick up the nearby broom.

(What should I do... I can't believe they come at me so openly...!)

As if to shield me with his small body, Oliver stands in the path between me and the other two.

[Oliver] "You two, do you realize where you are?"

[Edgar] "Of course. We are in the Central Quarter where acts of hostility are prohibited."

[Oliver] "If you understand, then hurry up and leave."

[Edgar] "I would very much love to do so. But it seems our Beauty has some business with Alice."

[Alice] "What kind of business...?"

Arrogantly lifting his chin, Jonah looks down at me.

[Jonah] "Even if you don't exercise such caution, this visit is no military action." "We currently aren't wearing our uniforms, are we?"

(Now that he mentions it...)

[Jonah] "I, as well as Edgar, don't carry any weapons. If you are worried, I'll give you special permission to conduct a physical examination."

[Alice] "N— No thank you."

[Oliver] "If this isn't a military action, then what do you want?"

[Jonah] "Isn't that obvious? I've come to seduce Alice."

 PART 7 CHAPTER 5

[Jonah] "Isn't that obvious? I've come to seduce Alice."

[Alice] "Excuse me?"

[Oliver] "Come again?"

In front of Jonah, brimming with confidence, me and Oliver stand stock still and at a loss for words.

(... Did he really just say he will seduce me?)

[Edgar] "Jonah, it looks like these two can't keep up with the topic."

[Jonah] "It can't be helped then. I will give them an explanation from the very beginning."

[Alice] "I don't need an explanation."

(I absolutely have a hunch that this will be a disaster!)

[Jonah] "It's fine, so just listen."

Jonah grabs Edgar's arm and makes him stand in front of me.

[Jonah] "It seems, the other day, this fool treated you very roughly." "As a soldier, treating women like that is disgraceful behavior."

[Alice] "Uhm..."

[Jonah] "That is why I personally came to offer you my apologies."

[Oliver] "The Red Queen... Apologizing?"

[Edgar] "Yes, that's right. Jonah, who put Alice in handcuffs first of all, apologizes for the rough treatment."

[Jonah] "At— At that time I put handcuffs on her because I thought she was a suspicious person!" "But now I perfectly understand that her being in that place was beyond human control."

Showing me a beautiful smile, Jonah stared at me head-on.

[Jonah] "This morning, through Edgar's report, I came to know about the incident that occurred the other day." "Even though Alice is very much desired by King Lancelot, barbaric acts damage the Red Army's dignity." "So I came here to entice you."

[Alice & Oliver] "Entice..."

[Jonah] "If you yourself say that you want to come to the Red Army, everything would be solved."

[Edgar] "Oh my, as expected of Jonah. I couldn't have come up with that."

[Jonah] "Right? Alice, I will do you the favor and plentifully discipline you, so that you will desire me on your own."

(Just where in the world does that confidence come from...)

While feeling a bit dizzy, leaning my body towards Oliver, I whisper in his ear.

[Alice] "Do you think he is serious about that?"

[Oliver] "Unfortunately, I guess he's serious. Although he's impossible to understand."

(As I thought... It's like that...)

[Alice] "Wha—What should I do..."

[Oliver] "You can't do anything except that."

In front of Jonah, who brims with confidence, Oliver is lifting the corners of his mouth—

[Oliver] "Let's directly humiliate that guy."

[beca-mitchell]

it’s 3 a.m. (could you be the one?)

Summary: Chloe realizes she has a new neighbour.

based on a prompt from @dailyau/@stardust-sketcher: Its like 3am and I’m exhausted and I can hear you raging next door about failing at putting an ikea bed together so here I am helping you put it together and holy shit you’re cute AU

Happy (early?) birthday @lilhan! You asked and I have attempted to deliver. Hope your day is as wonderful as you are. :) I managed to smash this out within the past hour, so hopefully it’s not too horrible!

word count: 2329

Chloe has only recently taken on the graveyard shift at the local veterinary emergency hospital. She loves this particular part of Los Angeles because it’s far enough away from the hustle and bustle (read: traffic jams) of the city, but close enough that she can enjoy a night out on one of her rare weekends off.

She’s racking up hours at the clinic because she’s trying to apply to vet school. She’s only about fifty hours away from a good-enough number to put on her application, so she’s pretty pumped about finally churning out those applications and sucking up to old professors for recommendation letters.

“Hey,” she greets her cat when he trots into her line of sight.

Button is an adorable Scottish Fold that she adopted from her brother when he had to move across the country for a job (read: he dumped the cat on her). She doesn’t regret anything about adopting Button because he’s all the company she needs on most nights. He meows happily (or angrily - she’s still unsure) at her, quickly dodging her repetitive pats and scratches before dashing between her legs. He sits expectantly by his bowl, tail flicking back and forth while he watches her expectantly.

Tilting her head, she raises her eyebrow at him. “I know Aubrey came by earlier to feed you,” she tells him, even as she opens the top cupboard to pull out a small bag of treats. “You’re lucky I love you,” she tells him.

She’s about to put the bag back when a sound startles her so much that she drops the bag, causing a few more treats to skitter out. “No!” she whisper-yells, trying to collect them. Button bats at her hand aggressively with his paws and quickly gathers two treats in his mouth before she can stop him.

Sighing, she straightens slowly and turns towards the hallway, which is where she heard the rattling and thudding.

“Fuck!” she hears, echoing from somewhere down the hall. Startled, she makes her way towards the bedroom, picking up the baseball bat from her front closet just in case. She wonders vaguely if this is how she dies. She never expected it’d be in Los Angeles, so she supposes that’s a plus.

Peeking around her empty room, she realizes that she likely just heard a neighbour. It seems empty enough but she holds her bat up and flings open her closet door and flicks the lights on.

Empty.

She frowns, not enjoying how paper-thin the walls are. Also - 2:45 a.m.? Don’t people need to sleep? Chloe makes sure to schedule her extracurricular activities for appropriate hours.

She props her bat against her dresser and sighs, throwing her hair up into a bun before heading to the bathroom to wash her face. She wants to get the clinical smell off her. She sheds her scrubs, sighing in relief.

When she’s rubbing her facial wash into her cheeks, she startles again when there’s a light thud from the wall against her bed and another distinct curse.

Scowling, she takes care to not poke her eye out and quickly rinses. She dashes into her room and leaps on her bed before hitting her fist firmly against the adjoining wall. “Hey!” she shouts. “People are trying to sleep!”

There’s a brief silence before another, more purposeful thud against the wall. “I’m trying to sleep,” comes the muffled shout back, sounding vaguely feminine. Chloe strains her hearing, putting herself right against the wall.

“What?” Chloe asks, letting her fist drop to her side. “That doesn’t sound like sleeping, I’m just saying.”

There’s another thud against the wall, slightly less aggressive. “Dude! I’m just - I’m trying to put my bed together, okay? Can you mind your own business?”

Chloe scowls. She’s sure she’s never met this neighbour before. Maybe it’s an Airbnb tenant. “Well it’s 3 a.m. and there are supposed to be noise regulations in place. Maybe you should have put your bed together this afternoon.”

“Whatever!”

Chloe huffs and taps the wall. “I’m coming over and I’m bringing my cat. You’re 2E, right?”

“Yeah,” comes the faint muffled reply, before “Wait, what? Seriously? No!”

Chloe is already pulling a sweater around her shoulders and sliding her feet into her running shoes. She picks up Button along the way.

He could use another friend.

Chloe raps on the door, sharply, but quietly, mindful of the other surrounding apartments.

“Hello?” she calls quietly.

A pause. “How do I know you’re not going to kill me?” comes the voice, closer than when Chloe heard it through the wall.

Chloe rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m just going to help you speed things along because you’ve clearly never put a bed together before.” She peers at the peephole, wondering if her neighbour is peering at her nervously.

There’s a dramatic sigh. Chloe stifles a grin. “Fine,” the disembodied voice says and the door finally swings open.

The first thing Chloe notes - and later, she’ll blame her fizzled-out brain - is how cute her neighbour is. The second is, well, how quickly her brain moves from cute to “hot” in a blink.

Chloe notices that she’s not particularly tall, almost the same height as Chloe. She’s dressed casually in a t-shirt and sweatpants, which Chloe absently notes are hanging low enough that she can see a sliver of (appealing) skin. Her brown hair is pulled into a ponytail, loose tendrils coming to frame her face appealingly.

What compels Chloe the most to this stranger/neighbour is how striking her eyes are. They’re sharp, cobalt blue, and trained directly on Chloe’s-

Chest? No.

(Not that she’d mind.)

“Uh,” Chloe starts, her eyebrow creeping upwards. “Are-”

“-Is that a cat?”

Chloe blinks, realizing she had forgotten she carried Button over. “Oh, this is, uh, Button. I hope you don’t mind.” Chloe shifts him in her arms, ignoring the little aggravated purr she hears from him. “I’m Chloe, by the way.” She offers a slight smile and her hand. “See? Not a murderer. Just a concerned neighbour,” she chirps.

Beca’s lips twitch into a smile, immediately making her look even more beautiful. She shakes Chloe’s hand. “I’m Beca. I, uh,” Beca opens the door further. “I just moved in, so…” She shifts, a bit awkwardly. “Come in?”

Chloe finds Beca’s behaviour oddly charming. She slides in, brushing past Beca. “Shoes on or off?” she asks politely.

“You can keep them on. Everything’s a little messy, so,” Beca says, gesturing at her own feet that are adorned with her own running shoes. Chloe is already intrigued by her neighbour and hopes she isn’t completely overstepping her boundaries, which is something she has been working on.

Beca pauses, turning back towards the short hall leading to her bedroom. Chloe is surreptitiously trying to peer into the assorted boxes in the kitchen and dining room. “What was your cat’s name?” Beca asks, when Chloe moves closer.

“Button.”

“He doesn’t look like a button,” is Beca’s immediate response.

Chloe frowns. “I mean, I hope he doesn’t?”

Beca tilts her head. “He kind of looks squashed, actually. Like his face is a little smushed.” Beca points at her own cheeks for emphasis.

Chloe is offended on many levels. “Excuse me? That’s rude and untrue.”

Beca shrugs. “The bedroom’s this way.”

Chloe scowls and holds Button closer to her chest. “Don’t listen to her,” she whispers.

Beca’s apartment mirrors her own, though sparsely decorated considering she’s just moved in.

“Here’s the culprit,” Beca says, gesturing with her arms. There’s a mess of wooden planks scattered across her bedroom floor.

“Good God,” Chloe says before she can stop herself.

“I know,” Beca says, sounding slightly embarrassed. “I’ve never really lived by myself before and I got in so late. I really just wanted to put together this bed so I could catch some shut-eye.”

“It kind of is a two-person job,” Chloe admits. “Especially since you’re so small,” she says slyly. She’s not sure where it comes from, but she feels comfortable and relaxed around Beca - enough so to attempt a jab at her, in an attempt at humour.

Thankfully, Beca is receptive and huffs indignantly. “I am like...half an inch shorter than you. One inch, at most.” The equally teasing tone isn’t lost on Chloe and she allows herself a smile.

Button meows, blinking up at Chloe tiredly. Chloe coos, kissing him on the head. “Hm, maybe I shouldn’t have brought him over,” she murmurs.

Beca steps closer and hesitantly lifts a hand to his face so he can acclimatize himself to her scent and presence. Chloe is surprised to see how easily he allows Beca to gently stroke his head and torso with a finger.

“You can put him in my bathroom. There’s nothing really in there yet. I’ll fill the sink with water,” Beca offers. She clears her throat when she realizes how quiet her voice had become. She darts her eyes up to Chloe’s before she steps away hastily.

“That would be nice,” Chloe says, once she finds herself able to breathe again.

She picks up the instruction manual on Beca’s bedside table.

“You know Ikea’s supposed to be idiot-proof, right?” Chloe calls into the bathroom, before following the sound of Beca’s indignant huff.

Chloe learns that Beca is an aspiring DJ by night and a music producer during the day.

“Anything I would have heard?” Chloe asks, slotting a slate of wood into place. Beca holds out a wooden dowel helpfully. “I need the other thing,” Chloe says absently. “The screw thing.”

“Oh.” Beca rummages through the bag. “I don’t know if you’ve heard anything. I just post things on Soundcloud from time to time. Usually my original stuff.” Beca shuffles around. “I have worked on a few Taylor Swift productions, though.”

Chloe drops the instruction manual she had been perusing. “What? That’s amazing!”

“Taylor Swift?”

Chloe shakes her head. “I guess - but the fact that you put out your own original music. That’s incredible. I thought you definitely just did remixes and other…” Chloe gestures vaguely. “...production stuff.”

Beca’s blush reaches her ears. “Oh. Do you want to...hear something?” She looks genuinely surprised, yet touched, that Chloe is so receptive to her profession.

Chloe nods, dropping her materials completely. She feels excitement buzz through her, wondering if she can still chalk it up to the late hour.

Beca nods vigorously, matching Chloe’s enthusiasm. “Okay, I’ll just - I’ll get my laptop!”

Somehow at 3:32 a.m., Chloe finds herself leaning against the bedroom wall, next to an unfinished bed, and listening to music from her neighbour’s laptop speakers.

Beca Mitchell is...something.

Chloe had been prepared to completely write off Beca as a lost cause because what adult doesn’t know how to put together an Ikea bed?

According to Beca, lots of people, apparently.

Regardless, Chloe finds herself drawn to Beca, both physically and emotionally. There’s something about the woman that endears Chloe to her.

“This sounds amazing,” Chloe says quietly, speaking just loud enough to be heard over the quiet music. She can feel Beca breathing next to her. It baffles her how intensely Beca is focused on her screen, drawn in by her own passion and talent. “Is that you singing?”

Beca nods, shifting slightly. “I, uh, sing some back-up vocals from time to time.” Her eyes slide over to Chloe’s tentatively. “Do you sing?”

“I...did some a capella in university.” She pauses. “Do you know what…a capella is?”

Beca laughs. “I mean, I can’t put a bed together, but I haven’t completely lived under a rock. Of course I do.”

“Well, sorry,” Chloe huffs, nudging Beca with her shoulder. Beca only laughs again, this time sounding closer to a giggle. “I mean, you’re out here living that celebrity life. I thought a capella might be a little nerdy for you.”

“You think I’m cool?” Beca asks immediately.

It kind of reminds Chloe of a nervous freshman, seeking validation. Validation that Chloe’s only too happy to give. “Among other things,” she teases, testing the waters.

Beca’s furrowed brow is adorable and would be even more attractive if it didn’t mean Beca was likely trying to figure out how to interpret Chloe’s comment.

“I thought you were, uh, very attractive when you first opened the door,” Chloe says.

A smirk appears on Beca’s face, surprising Chloe a little bit. She swallows, a little nervously when the smirk continues to transform Beca completely, now exuding complete confidence. Chloe realizes she had just been played.

“I mean, you’re not so bad yourself, Chloe Beale.” Beca’s eyes seem to sparkle in the low light.

Chloe thinks that there have been worse ways to meet somebody new.

Somehow, the bed gets made somewhere around 4:00 a.m.. Chloe doesn’t quite remember falling asleep, but when she blinks awake, it’s about 7:30 a.m. and she can hear Button meowing from the bathroom. She sits up, dislodging Beca’s arm from around her waist. She winces when Beca grunts quietly in her sleep and twists so her body is curled and facing Chloe.

Chloe is struck once more by how attracted she is to this woman.

“God, you’re cute,” Chloe mutters. She tentatively brushes a strand of hair from Beca’s face.

She remembers talking until they fell asleep, just talking about music, their hobbies, and other interests.

Chloe remembers thinking that Beca’s voice could lull her to sleep anytime, despite having found it so irritating only a couple hours before.

And just like that, she’s awake at 7:31 a.m. and gently tucking Beca’s blanket up around her shoulders to protect her from the AC blast.

She leaves a quick note containing her phone number and places it right next to the instructions for Beca’s bed before heading over to collect Button from the bathroom.

Later that day, Chloe receives a text from an unknown number.

Unknown (2:42 p.m.) Hey, so I kind of need help putting my dining table together. Want to help me figure it out, then maybe I can make you dinner or something?

Chloe grins.

[grailacademy]

Welcome To Grail Academy - Chapter Twenty-two: Trouble

Finally, the exams were over. No more stress, no more classes, no more teachers, no more lectures. A wave of relief swept over the entirety of Grail Academy, the hallways of the school had never been so calm before. Where there was once petty squabbles and panicked studying, now was students exchanging contact information and hugs before the winter break set in. Everyone, except for Esmerelda and her teammates. They all stood huddled around Nico’s locker while he maneuvered the lock on it. He had forgotten the combination years ago, but the paper clip he wiggled in the slot between the combination wheel and the locking mechanism was working just fine. A small click, and the lock popped off. “So, what’s the plan again?”

Esmerelda crossed her arms, a look of thinly veiled disgust crossing over her face as she watched her teammate hook the lock onto a belt loop on his pants. Tacky. She explained, “Wicker Street has Boost deals every day, that’s where we’ll start. The police tend to patrol that neighborhood anyway, so we’ll follow behind one of the cars and use them to lead us to potential suspects or witnesses, anyone that might know something.” Bernard held his arms out like a bellhop while Nico dove into his locker, chucking garbage over his shoulder and stacking items of importance in his partner’s hands. A rack of cassette tapes, a hoodie, a wrench most likely stolen from the Weapons Ec class, a pair of gaudy platform boots, a spare cartridge of dust, a second, bigger wrench, fistfuls of cheap plastic bead necklaces, a poorly handmade mug, a half-eaten banana, and a pink knitted scarf. He wrapped the scarf around his neck and tied it, seeing flakes of snow flutter down to the courtyard through a window by one of the classrooms. “That’s all fine and dandy, but….” Nico paused and gestured to Esmerelda’s high-end fashionable fur coat and matching earmuffs, snickering with an apologetic smirk. “You don’t exactly blend in with the street life down there.”

The other boy nodded while he dropped all of Nico’s stuff into an open backpack slung across his partner’s shoulder. Except for the banana, he first checked to see if it was moldy or brown, and then ate the rest of it. “They don’t take kindly to rich folk”, Bernard said monotonously. Esmerelda stared at the two boys in shock while they engaged in the most unsanitary activity she had ever seen: sharing the old banana they found in the locker. Okay, thin veil of disgust was now gone. Her disgust was now out in the open, for all the world to see. Bernard munched on his portion, and offered the end of it to Nico, who simply took a bite out of it while the other was still holding the fruit. How did she end up on a team with these animals? Nico continued talking while he was still chewing his food, adding to the nastiness that no one but their leader found appalling. “Half the community’s been gentrified to hell, and it’s only getting worse, so yuppies are a no-go.”

“I’m a yuppy now?” Esmerelda raised a brow, cocking her hip to the side. That look was never good, the end of her brow twitching and arched with her arms folded, her lips pursed. That was the look that mothers gave their children as a silent way to say, watch your mouth. The boys knew that look well. Bernard actually took a step backwards, ready to run, knowing that whatever Nico said next would determine their fate. Nico laughed nervously, putting his hands out in front to defend himself just in case. “No, no no no! I-I didn’t mean you SPECIFICALLY, I just meant….well. You’re fancier than most people. And that’s not a bad thing! No! But you….stand out. And we’re trying to be stealthy, you know?” The smile on his face did nothing to hide the fear in his eyes. To their amazement, the hook in Esmerelda’s brow slowly lowered, and her mouth slowly creased into a small frown, and she grumbled. “….I guess I could tone it down, a bit.” Those words ushered sighs of relief out of Bernard and Nico, who silently praised whatever deities resided in the heavens for sparing their lives from certain death.

Bernard added, “We’ll still need covers if we want to get into any of the joints.”

“Already on it”, Nico disappeared into the depths of his locker once more before returning with three plastic computer chips clutched in his fist and shutting the cabinet with a metallic slam. He handed each of them to his friends and they plugged the chips into their scrolls, bragging, “Made them myself. What can I say, Nico Rosé comes prepared!” Bernard and Esmerelda wondered how someone like Nico was capable of getting such high-end IDs, but their questions were answered when they read over the uploaded text on their scrolls. Bernard squinted and held the ID up close to his eyes. “….You made me forty two years old.”

“And what are these names?” Esmerelda questioned, “I mean, Viridescence Eau De Nil? That seems overdramatic, even for my tastes.”

Nico waved off their complaints, chirping “I know, aren’t they great? It’s our cover! We’re a rock band, and we’re looking at new venues for gigs. It’s perfect!”

“I don’t know about perfect….” Bernard grumbled, noting that the name on his card was Brick The Dick. Nonetheless, they all slipped their IDs into their pockets, bundling up before heading out into the snow.

Aurum sat reclined in a dusty loveseat, flipping through channels on the tiny tv box he had set up on top of a crate. Lolanthe was meticulously whittling a small bar of wax soap with a pocket knife on the other end of the loveseat, shaping it into the figure of a duck. They both waited on the couch, in the refurbished office space that hung above the factory floor with its glass walls covered in papers. The tv monitor paused on a baking show, where a contestant carried an elaborate cake with rose decorations up to the judges. It made Aurum burst out in a huff, “Bah! I could do better than that. These people never put their heart and soul into their work!” His thick accent broke through when he raised his voice. Lolanthe rolled her eyes.

“I was a baker once, you know”, he turned to the woman next to him.

“I know, Aurum. You tell me every day.”

“You know what this show’s problem is? The contestants are too-”

“-Too afraid to use heavy butter. I know. I don’t understand why you watch this channel when all you do is yell at the screen.” She had clearly heard him make the butter argument many times before.

“Because, butter is what holds the entire pastry together! They’re fools! This show should be called Teaching Clowns To Use Butter.”  Their one-sided bickering was interrupted when Sable’s imposing silhouette slithered across the back wall’s window, and Aurum snapped the tv off when her shadow reached the door. In she walked, with Queenie by her side. They both stood up quickly, the loveseat even scooting backwards on its stubby legs from the force of them pushing against it.

Queenie passed the envelope under her arm to the two of them, and Lolanthe inspected its contents. Blueprints of a clocktower, Grail Academy class schedules, the layout of the school’s basements, red marks over exits and entrances. “It’s time.” Sable folded her hands behind her back as she spoke, “Call in the Butcher.”

Outside the office, Yorick leaned against the wall and anxiously spun the canisters in his revolvers. They locked in place, then unlocked, then locked again. Scarlet eyed him, annoyed by the repetitive clicking. He tightened the white scarf on his neck before turning around and wandering down a hallway to get out of the inevitable awkward silence that came with being a third wheel. Leaving Rettah alone with him. Yorick didn’t notice until he looked up, the lack of a third presence automatically made him nervous. Rettah twirled the curls in her ponytails, whistling a tune. Why was it so quiet? Even with her whistling, and the clicking of his revolvers, it felt eerily silent. Was he sweating? He checked his palms. Was there something on his face? He smoothed back his bangs and picked at his teeth with his pinky nail. Where was everyone? Say something, anything. Tell her she looks nice today. Tell her you love her. No, no, too fast. Tell her that her eyes shine like sapphires. Ugh, cheesy. Say you like her dress. Talk to her, you idiot.

“Uhm….you’re pretty.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, uh. You look pretty today!” The fidgeting with his gun’s canisters sped up.

“Oh, thanks!” Rettah smiled brightly. It made his heart leap out of his chest. She knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, reel it back, play it cool.

“Because, some days you don’t look nice….”

“Oh….?”

Crap, too cool, too cool. “N-not that you’re ugly! You’re definitely not ugly. I think you’re beautiful!”

Rettah made a strange face. It wasn’t anger, more like confusion. Yorick’s heart plummeted. Too much, you’re coming on too strong, you have to save it. Suddenly, he started laughing weirdly and looked up at the ceiling. “Yeah, yesterday you were a total hot mess! But you really cleaned up today!” His thumb slipped on the edge of the barrel, and the nervous spinning on his weapons caused the bullets inside to abruptly spiral out of their case in a shower of shells, all of them clattering to the floor. Rettah flinched, dodging the loose bullets, whereas Yorick was hit in the face by a handful of them when they sprayed upwards, making him jump. The jangling of the metal snapped him out of his rambling, and brought him far enough into reality to see Rettah walking away. He was trapped in awe of his own words, his body knelt down and his hands started to pick up each of the bullets without him telling it to. He felt like throwing up. “….You were a hot mess? Who SAYS that!?” He scolded himself, sweeping up the remnants of his bullet casings into his pockets.

The snowflakes passing across the orange glow of the streetlamps reminded Nico of the fireflies he used to catch during summer as a child. The light beaming off the insect made the flesh of his hands cupped around it turn a soft shade of pink. He preferred the warm weather to seasons like this, but there was still something charming about turning around and seeing his footprints alongside his friends tracks in the snow as they walked. The group made their way down street after street, shawarma and halal stands, hair salons, foreclosed apartments, rented office spaces, junkyards, sports bars, diners, autoshops, trailing behind a patrol car. “We’ve been following this dude for hours”, Nico muttered. Esmerelda responded by putting her index finger to her lips, hushing him so she could focus on her surroundings.

She had never been to this part of the city. Of course, they all visited the abandoned sector when they fought at the hotel, but that was only for a few hours. Esmerelda looked at each building, each stranger passing them, each rusted bench, each flake of paint peeling off the storefront windows, taking mental notes. The further they progressed down Wicker Street, the faster the quality of their environment deteriorated. She turned to her teammates, posing a question. “What happened here?”

Bernard stayed silent, idly flipping the fake ID in his coat pocket.

“Gentrification. Segregation. Whatever you wanna call it,” Nico piped up, “The governor thinks he’s doing the city a favor. Enriching the culture or something. The major parts of Calicem grow from new businesses and fancy houses, and the people who can’t afford to live in those houses and buy from those businesses are forced farther and farther out of the city, until they end up in shitholes like this where the resources are garbage.” This was the first time Esmerelda and Bernard had heard Nico speak like he knew what he was talking about. The first time he actually sounded serious. He pointed to the patrol car they were following, that was slowing down near a stop sign “It’s literally herding them like cattle. He uses the fuzz as his sheepdogs. Forcing them all into a corner, like some kind of slaughterhouse. He’s killing the city.”

The noiseless air that swept between the three of them rested on their shoulders like heavy fog, which strangely helped their attempt at being inconspicuous. “You ever wonder why every person who walked past us for the last three blocks was Faunus?” He tilted his head up to Esmerelda, who remained silent as she took a moment to look, really look, and see what he meant. Nico hunched down and slouched as he walked. “Exactly.” Esmerelda knew that her people faced hardships and struggles, but it wasn’t until this moment that she realized just how sheltered a life she lived before Grail Academy. It only made her hate her father even more, and it left a feeling of guilt to fester in her stomach.

“Hey.” Bernard nodded his head towards the patrol car. It came to a full stop by the side of the road, and the driver stepped out. The officer was adorn in military-grade armor, from chestplate to kneepads. Her hair was pulled up into a tight high ponytail, and she approached a burly looking man in a leather vest, who sat on a stool next to the entrance of a pub. They talked for a minute or so, the man scratching his bushy ginger beard. The officer pulled out a notepad and tore off a page, handing it to the man and getting back in her car. As she sped off, the man crumbled up the paper and tossed it over his shoulder. This had to be a good spot to start.

Nico’s back straightened, and he slung his arms around his teammates. “I got this one. Watch and learn.” Bernard just grunted and rolled his eyes. Esmerelda huffed, crossing her arms. “Time to work my magic~” Nico vocalized, strutting ahead and flagging down the bouncer.

“Should we be worried about what kind of ‘magic’ he’s going to work?” Esmerelda asked Bernard. He shrugged. “Probably.”

“Yo, big hoss!” Nico flashed his ID to the intimidating presence of the doorman, smiling confidently. He quirked a brow at the little pink punk in front of him, reaching out and taking the card. From out of his pocket, he pulled a blacklight torch, and shined the bluish lavender light on the plastic square. Somehow, the frown that was already on his face sank down more, as if he was deflating. The scraggly voice vibrated in Nico’s chest as the man spoke, “….Your groups name is Jaundice?” He said it as a statement, but his tone suggested that the bouncer was questioning Nico’s logic. Nico’s smile never faded, he stood unfaltered. “Yup! Rest of the band is back there,” He hiked his thumb over his shoulder towards Esmerelda and Bernard, waiting awkwardly under a street lamp. “We got a meeting scheduled with the manager. Tickets, merch, stage set-up, that sort of thing. Very important, you understand.”

The man shifted on the stool, unimpressed. “I’m the manager.”

“Uh-oh….” Well, their cover was officially blown, and they hadn’t even gotten into the pub yet. Nico’s grin dissipated. “Listen, I’m gonna need a more legit form of identification, or else I can’t let you in”, The doorman explained. Nico took the ID back and begrudgingly stuffed his scroll into his pocket, looking over at his friends under the lamp post. They were a few yards away, just enough that they wouldn’t hear anything he said or see any fine details where he was.

“….Alright.” Discreetly, Nico pulled his scarf down and tugged at the collar of his shirt, exposing his neck. The bouncer shined the blacklight on that section of skin, revealing the intricate patterns and symbols of a bird skull on his throat, the ink glowing an artificial pink under the light. The man’s eyes widened, and he flicked the flashlight off, making the tattoo disappear. The man whistled, “Phew. Chicken flew the coop, huh?” He held the door open, and Nico waved his friends over to follow him as they entered the bar. Neither of them could see what he did, but they were both thoroughly confused. “What did you do?” Bernard whispered. Nico just smiled again and linked arms with him. “Don’t worry about it. We’re in, aren’t we?”

“What did we get ourselves into….” Esmerelda breathed. Looking over the sea of bar patrons, the three of them gazed at an all-out bar fight taking place in the middle of the dance floor. The shiny jukebox propped up on the wall threaded a disc into the slot, an uncharacteristically upbeat surf rock song vibrating across to all corners of the pub. A bottle flew past Bernard’s head and shattered against the wall behind them. The women who were trying to dance screamed and scattered as a group of leather-clad men drunkenly wrestled and threw their fists. Near the back, everyone else ignored the commotion and continued to nurse their drinks and play pool. “This’ll be fun!” Nico joked.

[overcaffeinated-creative]

A Random Fic Idea Part 2.

Characters: I have some ideas tentatively nailed down but the inspiration should be apparent. 

Rating: Gonna keep it as a T. 

Summary: This is was mostly me indulging myself with unexpected sort of angst, sort of not kissing. It’s set in the Star Wars Verse circa 9 BBY, on someone’s ship.

Notes: Later on this may or may not be canon for my ideas. But, I just had to write it regardless. Also, I’ve stared at it far too long and rewrote in a different font each time. I think I caught everything but probably did not.

Much better companion piece to this fic.

“You were my first crush.”

Her ears perked up to decode the words leaving his mouth. In terms of Empire Days this was her most sober one in nine years. Even if she had helped drain a bottle of rotgut it was better than before. There was only a strong buzz instead of being wasted. No type of spice coursed through her system to blot out memories or fuel another bender. Someone’s blood was not drying on knuckles while she shoved her tongue down another stranger’s throat for a victory kiss to ride the high. Instead, she spent the entire day with someone she loved from her past; a spectre that came back to her.

“I thought it might have been idolizing you. But, now I know it was a crush.”

Good news was her ears still worked. He was confessing to a past crush on her brought on by...something. She had spaced out for a bit earlier when the ship made a jump to hyperspace. The tell-tale rumble had her mentally reviewing where they were heading to next. Bad news was her Empathy was also functioning to full capacity. So, she knew he was not feeling bashful but was uncertain about the surprise. Even with the prickling edges he still felt warm...safe even. It was a word that had fallen out of her vocabulary in the last decade. Nothing was safe anymore for people like them. But, here she was sitting next to someone and feeling it again for the second time in forever.

“Really?” her voice almost squeaked out when her mind remembered she had to say something.. Making it sound neutral took a lot of focus...focus was good right now. She needed to focus on him. Yet, her long ears tipped downward while her face blushed. A past crush was in the past but her stomach still fluttered. Someone had liked her then?

“Yeah.” The durasteel bottle was still in his hands. It gave him the excuse to drink while she tried to get the words moving. “I figured you already knew. Nothing ever escaped your notice.”

Seconds after he lowered the bottle she had her hands on it. His idea of drinking to buy time was a fantastic idea. Even better when she was able to use the first drink to steel her nerves. The warmth of his hand felt nothing like his scorching admiration echoing in her mind now. It left her body still but antsy. The second burn of bitter engine brew helped to give her some focus. Otherwise, she would turn into a babbling, directionless mess of words. Saying things the right way was supposed to be her strong suit. Drink three was making it look like a good idea to just down the whole thing. Physically, she had to stay put on the ship so full body running away was out. Try real hard to get blitzed to avoid confronting her feelings was still on the table.

His uncertainty crashed into her like a solid wall. “You did know that right?” Fuck she had been quiet for too long.

Sharp canines bit into her bottom lip while she thought back. Back then he did feel different sometimes. “A little.” Her voice brushed just above a whisper while she peaked at him from the corner of her eye. Reading him right now was wrong so it would be just body language as her cues. “I tried not to pry into your mind too deeply into your mind. Enhanced Empathy or not it would be rude.”

Thinking back harder did put a few, smaller interactions into perspective. All the rumors of Zeltrons, or part in her case, being unerring mood readers was false. Even with her empathy enhanced by the Force she was still unable to pick apart minute shifts in moods in everyone. It took being truly close to someone and a lot of focus to really dissect things especially with sentients. Trying to tune out the excess information made her blind in a sense. A bitter part of her mind snarked she preferred being blind to avoid knowing just how much of a disappointment she was to others.

“Sorry for making things awkward.” Pulling her mind back to the here and now she worked to focus again. His hand had to brush hers to the bottle back. She hyperfocused on the little scars crisscrossed his knuckles from past fights. They were not that unlike in that regard. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Stretching for a moment she resettled with her right leg tucked up beneath her. “No reason to be sorry then or now. You weren’t obnoxious about it.” Reaching up she poked the tip of his nose. Before it had been simple but now she stood a full head beneath him. She usually settled for poking his chest. “Not like I haven’t made a fool of myself enough times.”

Gorgeous eyes lit up. “You, a fool?” He was teasing her; he had to be. They both knew the kind of mess she was at nineteen. “Everyone was in awe of you. I wasn’t alone in idolizing you.”

The repetition of caught her attention. He wanted her to know the praise was for her. That there was no joke for her to be locked out of. This idea of people idolizing her was something he truly believed.

Her bitter peal of laughter took her by surprise but was not unwarranted. “Awe is the wrong word to use.” Hands getting antsy she began to pick at the hem of her shirt. Quick tugs against loose threads to divert the energy in her somewhere else. Otherwise, she would resort to bouncing her dangling heel off the plastoid crate or worse finally bolt from the room. Running away seemed to be all she was good at. “Tolerated or indulged would be better words. I was non-traditional in many eyes and that ruffled feathers. Even the younglings picked up on that.”

Uniformity was not something she had excelled at except for the best days. What the asked of her before the War felt impossible. Her Giftedness was what got her promoted; it and the work she put in to hone them. A Master Jedi and his Padawan saved her because she was Gifted. The Jedi brought her into their outer folds because she was Gifted. And she supposed being cursed to survive came from the same thing. Without having her Giftedness to offer she would have been left on her birth planet.

“Bantha shit. You were one of the kindest, bravest people anyone knew.” Those words rose over her while she was in a daze. His calloused hand took her to stop the movements. “Hell, you’re still all of those things and more. Stop talking about yourself like that.”

Silence weighed them down for several long moments. Her mind tried to deconstruct what he had said to her. To worry it down until she was left as Nothing again. Instead, his conviction overrode those feelings. Snaking tendrils of self-doubt found no way to hide in her mind because he illuminated everything within the Force and herself.

Chancing a look up she felt this was the first time she was truly seeing him. The hazy memories of their briefly shared past was gone except for those inquisitive teal eyes. She hoped those would never change. Instead of sitting before her as an eager to learn teenager (asking questions to a recently knighted older teenager) he was entirely a man. A fellow survivor of everything life, the Empire, and the Force had thrown at them yet. A continued survivor if she had to wager on it and oh how she would. He could survive anything if he could survive that.

It had to be the booze that put some of the color high in his tanned cheeks. A bursting red-pink like the end of a ripened meiloorun. Something to tantalizing and begging to be touched...too be tasted. Right or wrong she wanted to kiss him more than anything in that moment.

Maybe he felt the same? Something in the room felt the same.

“Then kiss me.” There was a tremor in her voice. Kissing her would be taking a leap they could never come back from. The past would firmly be left behind at that point. She would no longer be a surrogate teacher of the same lineage. He would still be her lineage brother but never a true brother. Neither of them had ever really been the same since the past. A decade could, and did, change everything. This could be a change they needed to make too.

He hesitated with widened eyes so she found her voice again. “If you want to kiss me then kiss me.” Each word of her voice grew stronger. Yet, it faded at the next whispered confession. Something that had been weighing on her mind for months and appearing in her dreams. “Right now...I want to kiss you too.”

Seconds ticked by before her pressed a quick kiss to her lips. Unsure of how far he should go he tried to pull back. Fisting her hand into his well-worn green sweater she drug him back down to kiss her. If they were going to cross this line they would properly cross their line. No chaste, second long kisses like blushing Padawans in the throes of their first mutual infatuation.

His full lips were blazing against her own. Nipping at him drew a low whine from deep within his throat. Taking it as encouragement she tried again. Another quick catch of her teeth and one more for good measure. More than anything she wanted to hear more sounds of pleasure from him. To touch and taste and feel alive in that moment. Every thought could be burned from her mind by this inferno of a person. All she had to do was stoke the fire.

Running out of air she had to regrettably pull away from him. His chest was heaving not unlike her own. He looked at her with an almost unreadable expression. Had she scared him off? Was two kisses enough to sate whatever desire he had leftover from the past? Ears twitching in anticipation for what would happen next she looked at him.

In place a verbal response he reached out to tenderly touch her. Fingers trailed from her flushed cheek, ghosted past her sensitive ear lobe, and stopped only when he could properly cradle her head. The touch and look in his eyes felt far more intimate that she could have ever imagined. He had heard about her flaws and missteps in the past but that had been swapping war stories. This? This was something more. It was him holding her like she was so much more than a scarred storm of a person just surviving.

Taking the tender action as permission enough she dove to kiss him again. He bit her and intentional or not it drew a growl from her. Something that rumbled up from deep within her wanting more. Rushing to untangle her uncooperative legs she almost fell over.  He caught her with one hand spanning her waist. Steadied she held onto him before get trying to move again. A quick pivot on her knee had her straddling his lap. Taking charge was crossing into unfamiliar terrain but she would take it.

The impulse to take his hair down flitted across her mind before immediately being indulged. Sluggish fingers tried to get the stupid band to do actually move more than a millimeter. Two halfhearted failures later she just broke the damn thing. It could be replaced. All that matter in the here and now was the halo of dark brown hair. Even more than that was the perfect leverage it gave her to pull them flush together.

Not the only one to give into impulse he laid backward against the crate with a dull thud. Only luck had her fingers free fast enough to catch herself. Hands bracketing his head she glanced down at him. Her mouth wanted to say something, anything really, in that moment while staring down at him. Kiss swollen lips, eyes dark with pleasure, and mussed up hair stole her breath. Unwilling to trust her words she instead inched down his body to planet kisses along his jaw and neck.

Mouth busy and brain foggy she failed several times to get the buckle of his armor undone. The constant distraction of stubble rubbing against her skin just so sent glorious fissures of pleasure-pain up her spine. Seeing her problem he tried to help but she stopped him cold. Fingers interlaced, she pinned his hand above his head with her free one. What was going on was her show to run. Even if she had to misuse the Force to do it the metal would give way.

Even distracted by her sudden quest she made was aware of his free hand trailing down her spine. A steady, even pressure drug her shirt downward. She fully expected him to grab a handful of her ass; if he was cheek enough to slap it. After all, she had a very nice ass. Instead, he took her by surprise to hook it just beneath it and haul her upward for another kiss.

Buckle forgotten she melted against him. The double feedback of pleasure was breathtaking. Something about feeling passion with a fell Force User always added a surreal element. But, what was between them was something more. It was felt like two stars trying to merge to form something new or go supernova. She was prepared to burn alive with him if it meant she could keep feeling this.  

[chezzkaa]

Treaty Line

A/N: Holy fuck, am I really posting a fic? Sorry guys, uni is kickin’ my butt, but have this stupid, short angsty thing I did to give myself a break. 

Pairing: FAHC! Michael Jones x Reader

WC: 1693

“Can we talk about it?”

He doesn’t meet your question, let alone your eyes. Tracing ruts into the grain curling through the table, fingers tugging on the splinters left by wood guzzling up the passing rain of a happier morning. Of an easier time in a section of the park the two of you adorn almost every day, bathing in the cold sun until you’re forced to part ways, lives pulling you apart.

God, you wish it were raining now, at least then there’d be something to fill the silence. Something to drown out the sound of your racing heart and the throb of rejection drumming in your stomach. Repetitive, nauseating. A winter night that froze with the whiplash of the day’s events, emotions tumbling into chaos as the world screeches to a stop. Stuck in this moment. Stuck with him.

“Please, Michael. I need you to tell me it’s alright.”

But he still refuses to acknowledge your existence, the words he spits joining your guilt pooling across the floor. Despair feeding the grass, seeping through the pathway stones. You can almost hear it hiding in the trees, gentle rustling nagging at the hairs dusting your skin, running over your scalp. “Why the fuck would it be alright?”

You don’t know how to answer, left to stare at the nothingness dancing from your lips in the cold, biting air. Of course it’s not alright. You doubt it ever will be. Somehow you find your voice, but it’s not much. A broken whisper that sounds far too close to a cry, almost lost on the wind that tears through your clothes as though you aren’t really wearing them at all. “I don’t know.”

“Am I ever going to get a straight answer from you, Y/N? Or are we hiding everything now?”

You were wrong, it’s not the air that bites. It’s him. The accusations in his eyes. The scalding soup of denial and betrayal and anger. Simmering in confusion, bubbling with bitterness; and with each bursting dome it gets worse. His mind more and more made up. A friend drifting further and further away.

“I’m sorry, Michael. I don’t know where to start. If you’d just listen, maybe-”

“Listen?” You can hear the growl rattling in the back of his throat, eager to crawl across his tongue and hang from his lips - but he does he best to hold it back. Instead he rockets from his seat on the park bench, glaring down at your fragile figure shrinking away. “You want me to listen to how you lied? To how you went behind my back?” He’s pacing down, wringing the night’s neck between frigid, unruly hands. He makes no attempt to hide the snarl. “About how you knew what you were doing, but decided to hurt me anyway?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like, Y/N?” He stops his pacing, and the anger you expect him to turn on you is replaced with defeat. Watery eyes and a face so pale the redness of his nose glares. “I thought it all mattered. I thought I mattered. More than the fucking crew who’s been screwing us for months, anyway.”

“You do matter, Michael.” You want to reach out, clutch his collar and shake until the trembles rocking your body subside. Want to hold him until it’s all alright and the din of the street fades into nothing. An involuntary hand twitches towards him, fingers calling out for his comfort, but he swats them away. “You matter so much.”

“Apparently not.” His arms cross tightly, blocking off this chest. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have been on the other side of the fucking treaty line. With them.”

You bristle, and it takes all you have to keep the rise of your hackles from curling your top lip. Instead a steady needling scratches the back of your neck, burrowing between your shoulders as he lets off a defiant sniff you almost feel sorry for. But it hurts, the accusations he hurls, the blatant disregard. Hurts enough for your self loathing to shift.  “You wouldn’t understand.”

At this he laughs, harsh and bitter. Incredulous, his eyebrows shoot beneath copper curls, the usual cheek that graces his face brightly almost returning. But his eyes stay flat. “You’re right, I don’t.” He returns to his pacing, the bottoms of his jeans wet with the grass. “I don’t understand how I thought I could trust you. How I thought you and me could be-”

He stops, catching the words he’s never had the courage to say, and certainly doesn’t have the will to now. Angry hums take their place, his face scrunching like the fists he holds by his sides. “Why did you pick them over us?”

This you have an answer to, though it’s not one you’re comfortable admitting. Never one to play the damsel, but helpless all the same. “I didn’t have a choice. If I left they’d-”

“What, kill you?” He laughs again, hollow.

“-Kill you.”  

Michael physically stiffens, caught off guard. You take the opportunity to draw in a shaky breath, the feeling long since lost in the fingers you delve into your pocket. From it you retrieve a hefty envelope crammed so full that the sides threaten to split. It thunks onto the park table beside you, taking with it the last of your patience. Then you roll up one of your sleeves, exposed skin stinging as fresh welts greet the open air. At the sight he pales, looking ill  while you roll up the other. The same red marks screaming angrily across your body, flesh wrinkled and twisted with the shape of the hot pokers that had been pressed against you only days before. The same goes for your stomach, body blotched with brutish blues and yellows beneath your clothes. You don’t know how noticeable it is in the bathing of the street lamps, but know by his horrified expression that it’s obvious enough.

“I couldn’t leave my crew because they’d kill the Fakes if I did. Everything they did to me,” you yank your clothes back into place, “they’ll do to you. That file?” You motion to the envelope, and this time he shifts his gaze to the offending bundle of paper. “It’s everything they have on you and your crew. Well, all that’s left that is. I managed to destroy most of it before they got hold of me, and did all of this.”

Michael tries to turn the information over in his head, confusion obvious. It takes a minute but eventually he admits that he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“They found out that I was friends with you. One of the guys, Todd I’m guessing, must have been tracking me for weeks. Should’ve realised, I was an idiot for not being careful. Remember the night you told me that you were a part of the Fakes? It was when Los Santos did those stupid light shows and had the market stalls. We sat by the pier and ate peanut butter everything until I nearly puked?”

He remembers, there’s no way he can’t. It was arguably the happiest night he’s had in years. The way the flashing string lights had danced with the colours shining in your hair, dusting your shoulders and bobbing across the water. He always remembers of that night, of you swinging your legs as they dangled off the wood, the gentle smile that crossed your lips and the way his hand itched to hold yours. “We ate a fuck tonne of pizza.”

“I told you not too.”

Michael pulls a face, exterior defenses thawing a little. He’d fought against your reminders of his lactose intolerance, eagerly eyeing up the cheesiest pizza either of you had ever seen. He regretted it, but that’s something he’ll never admit. You smile, though barely.

“Well, they’d heard you. The next day they… questioned me. I told them I was running some undercover ops after they finished trying to beat out my teeth and I had time to talk. Told them that I was trying to get access to the Fakes so I could rob you blind, and hadn’t told them because I wasn’t sure it would work. They believed me, for the most part. But I started noticing your files growing, so I decided I’d try and leave. Wanted to take all of the info with me too, but they smelt a rat. They brought me in again the other night, made sure I knew what would happen if I decided to consider changing sides. To me and to you. I stood on that line and put a gun to your head so they wouldn’t kill you.”

He doesn’t know what to do, hands working the air and eyes searching for something to fuel his anger. He finds nothing, only able to take in your distraught expression while gathering your guilt from the floor to claim it as his own. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You smile, happiness breaking through the dreariness of the night and colouring his cheeks a pleasant pink. “Because you’d have gone running in and gotten yourself killed. And after all the effort I put into keeping you alive, I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

He can’t deny it, but for a moment he looks as though he wants too. Instead he takes a tentative step forward, uncertain. “I, err… I guess I’m kinda being an asshole, huh?”

“You think?”

Then relief washes your cheeks with tears, nervous laughter muffled in his shoulder as he pulls you against him. His apologies join the clatter of your head, words tangling in your hair. You breath him in, smoke and sorrow catching in your lungs and stumbling over the fingers gripping his jacket to stop him escaping; not that he has any intentions of doing so.

“So, are we friends again?”

He laughs, but you’re almost certain it’s a distraction from crying. “Not even close. But,” he pulls back, smiling warmly down at you as though the past day hasn’t sent the two of you in spirals, “we can rebuild as long as you pay for dinner.”

[porkchop-ao3]

If you're still taking requests, how about Miami Rick partying downtown with his gf, having a crazy time and doing sexy stuff

mmm I had fun with this one. Thank you!

-

This old bastard was crazy. Three times my age and I was still struggling to keep up with him as he dragged me into the third nightclub, and coincidentally third dimension, of the evening. Rick definitely knew the hot spots for getting royally wrecked; it was barely midnight and I was already completely fucked, stumbling on each step and practically clinging to my companion for stability.

“Come on, baby.” Rick purred, shooting a toothy smirk over his shoulder at me as he led me to the bar.

“No… no more.” I slurred, shaking my head, watching the world blur as I did.

“Y-you fucking lightweight. I’m barely buzzed.” He snorted. His pink coat looked even more vibrant under the pulsing lights of this newest club, and his sunglass glared flashing bright strobe lights into my eyes. I squinted and groaned.

“Take those fuckin’ things off your face, it’s night time.” I complained, and he cooed at me, throwing his arm around my shoulders.

“Aww, are we a grumpy drunk to-tonight?” He asked, his tone condescending. I narrowed my eyes at him and he scrubbed his hand up and down my arm. “You want me to cheer you up, babe?” He said, voice dropping as he leaned in close, nibbling on the shell of my ear. I shuddered. “Let’s find somewhere quiet and I’ll-I’ll suck on that nice little pussy of yours, hmm? Would you li-like that?”

“In public?” I scoffed, squirming out of his grip and almost losing my balance as I did. I steadied myself right before I tilted too far. “Yeah you would do that, you’re such a… man-slut.” I teased, finally making my way to the bar without Rick’s help. I climbed onto one of the stools, feeling the world go off kilter when I realised it spun. I was too far gone as it was, I didn’t need anymore alcohol, but I still ordered a pair of vodka shots.

Rick joined me, sliding onto the stool next to me and leaning his elbow on the bar, turning to face me. “You bet. I can do anything for you, baby. What can I do t-t’ make you smile?” He asked, just as the bartender placed the shots in front of me. I slid one over to Rick, and we downed them in sync.

“Wh-? I’m smiling. I’m happy. See?” I beamed at him. “I’m jus- just so fucking drunk.” I snorted.

“That you are.” He nodded in agreement. Reaching over to grip my chin between his fingers, turning my head towards him. “You’re completely thrashed, aren’t you?”

“Completely.” I agreed.

“Drunk en-enough to fool around in public?” He asked, tilting his head at me and licking his lips.

“I don’t know, Rick. You gonna convince me?” I grinned. He stared at me for a moment, before bursting into action and dragging me away from the bar and towards the dancefloor, where tightly packed people were writhing to the beat of the repetitive dance track playing. He led me into the middle, before crushing me against his chest, sticking his leg between my thighs and grinding up against me in the crudest version of ‘dancing’ I’d ever bared witness to. I immediately enjoyed the contact though, so I tossed my arms over his shoulders and swayed my hips in time to the beat, rolling my head back and laughing deliriously.

Rick grunted as he pressed his face into the side of my neck, inhaling deeply. One of his hands reached down to cup my asscheek, and I felt completely surrounded by him. I didn’t know how it was possible, but it made me feel even drunker than I already did. I slid up his thigh, putting our hips flush together, and every grind of his hips and sway of mine worked beautifully together, and I imagined our movements looked rather graceful. Of course, that was just the alcohol talking, because our ‘dancing’ looked just the same as everyone else’s on the outside; shameless dry humping in time to some music.

I felt so hot and so close to him that I couldn’t help but become aroused; the constant friction between legs causing me to moisten with more than just sweat. Rick seemed to be in the same boat, and I felt the hard line of his growing erection against my leg. I chuckled darkly, trailing a hand up to the back of his head and fiddling with his hair. Rick kissed at my neck, leaving a wet trail behind.

“You’ve got a stiffy, haven’t you? God you’re such a fuckin.. fuckin horny bastard.” I said into his ear. The best thing about night clubs was that you could say whatever you wanted to the person next to you, and nobody else would hear it. Rick nodded his head and hummed in agreement.

“I want you so goddamn much, I-I can’t even tell you.” He replied, licking a long stripe up my neck before looking me in the eyes. I reached up and pushed his sunglasses upwards so they were propped up on top of his head, and I was happy to finally see his eyes. They were clouded with arousal, and he ground his hips more deliberately into me. He let out a soft moan, I could feel him twitch against my leg as his cock filled out.

“Yeah? What do you wanna do to me?” I asked him, flashing him a dirty smile.

“Like I told you. I wanna eat th-that pretty pink puss of yours. Make you cum all over my goddamn tongue so I can get a taste, baby.” He told me, his voice catching on certain words as he rubbed his cock against the dip where my leg met my hip.

“Would you do it right here? With an audience?” I asked, tugging gently on his hair with one hand, stroking his chest with the other.

“Y-you know I would.” He breathed, bucking his hips hard.

“And if anyone tried to stop you?”

“I’d literally murder them.” He laughed darkly before kissing me, his tongue trailing along my bottom lip. I didn’t let him in, for now. “And after I finish you off, I’m gonna bend you over and plow that dripping hole, you’re gonna be fuckin’ begging for it.” He growled, squeezing my ass and pulling me harder against him. The movement of his hips were no longer connected to the beat of the music, he was just straight up humping me.

“Yeah? You sure you aren’t just gonna cum in your pants for me?” I asked, my tone sickly sweet.

“Fuck.” He spat, pressing his forehead into my collarbone.

“Do it Rick. I wanna see you lose it like the needy little whore you are.” I giggled. “Make a mess of yourself, in front of everyone here. They’re all watching you, baby.”

“N-no, I can’t fuckin’ lose it like this. I wanna feel you, baby, I wanna- oh Christ.” He shuddered, rocking faster and faster, we were definitely getting a few glances at this point. People didn’t seem particularly bothered though.

“Yet you aren’t stopping. Nobody’s making you hump me like a dog, sweetie.” I reminded him, sliding a hand into the thin gap between our lower abdomens. I could feel the head of his cock brush against my fingertips with each upward thrust. “You’ve got no self control.”

“Hnn, fuck, fuck…” he sighed, seeming torn. He’d slowed his movements down, eased some of the pressure, but at the same time he seemed to be chasing my hand.

“It’s okay. You can cum, I’ll help you.” I whispered to him, subtly sliding my hand into his pants and wrapping it around his cock. Rick cried out shakily, his hands coming to grip the back of my top tightly. “I won’t let you fuck my pussy out here, but my hand… go ahead.” I kissed the side of his head a number of times, and Rick wasted no time in starting up his thrusts again, fucking my hand in earnest.

It wasn’t long at all, in fact it was only about six thrusts in that he was coming, shooting into his underwear and over my hand. His breaths were loud and broken up by deep grunts as he came, his hips stuttering. I let him keep moving until his was done, then carefully removed my hand. My palm was sticky, and I faced the dilemma of what to do with it.

“Fuck, baby. That, that was- here.” He shook his head, lifting up the bottom of his coat and holding it out to me. I raised a brow at him, but accepted it; wiping my hand over the hot pink fabric.

“Classy.” I commented.

“Says the chick who just jerked me off in public. And I’m the slut?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“I wouldn’t go that far. I barely did anything, you were the one whining and humping like you… like you’re in heat or something.” I rolled my eyes right back at him.

“Whatever, don’t pretend like you didn’t g-get a kick out of th-that.” He said, placing his hands on my waist and resuming his sway to the music; this time a lot less sexual. I danced with him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

“Never tried to. That was hot, I should reduce you to that pitiful state more often.” I grinned.

“Be my guest.” He told me, pressing forwards to kiss me once more. This time, I let his tongue explore.

[chalantness]

Romanogers: 5 times the Avengers walked in on Steve and Natasha having sexy times and the 1 time someone finally decided to do something about it. ;)

I tried to stretch it to 5 + 1 but it ended up as 3 + 1 because I felt like I was getting repetitive after a while. Also how do you end things?

“romanogers! 5 times they were interrupted + 1 time they weren't” requested by @roomtemperaturewater​​ + “Natasha has a certain pair of heels that are a like a signal to Steve and when she wears them he knows…( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)” requested by @otptilltheend​, originally posted by @heyfrenchfreudiana

one.

She finds them in the back of her closet, when she’s looking for something to go with the dress that Tony sent her for yet another Stark Industries event. Tonight is a banquet of some sort, and apparently a big enough deal to require her to be in a ballgown. But, whatever. Pepper has excellent taste, and she knows the woman loves having them here at these events for the support. The fact that there’s always free food and an open bar at these things makes it a lot easier to have to mingle all night.

Her heels are black stilettos, strapless and opened-toe. They’re a little taller than something she’d usually wear, and they make her legs look killer, but they aren’t all that special. She owns at least a dozen variations of them.

Steve seems to like them, though.

“Oh,” she gasps as his hand slips under the thigh-high slit of her dress, fingers pressing right over the damp lace of her panties, right over that spot that has her hips jumping and her mouth parting in a moan as he nips at the column of her throat. She should probably try to be quiet. There’s a few hundred people in the ballroom just paces away, and any one of them can just walk out onto the balcony and walk around the corner and find them like this, and she doesn’t care. Not when he’s circling tightly over her nerves, pressing hot, wet kisses against her neck as he tells her how much he wants her, how gorgeous she is. How he’s wanted to slide his hands under her dress all night.

“Careful, Nat. Don’t want people looking for us.”

“Shut up,” she breathes. He smirks, tucks his fingers under the waistband of her panties and strokes two fingers over her, slow, teasing, and she lets out a moan. “Steve,” she hisses, gripping his hair and dragging his lips to hers in a hard kiss. He chuckles, slides his fingers lower, and her hips jump. “Fuck, just like that–”

“…don’t know, Pep, I thought I saw them come this way.”

Steve stills, and Natasha bites on her lower lip to muffle her whimper. Steve meets her gaze, alarm flashing through the haze of desire.

“Do you want me to call her?” Tony offers, his voice sounding clearer, closer.

“No, no. It’s not that important. It’s just – I need a drink, and she’s the only one that knows exactly what to say to calm me down.”

“Ouch,” Tony laughs, and Pepper starts to speak, but he cuts her off with, “I’m kidding, love. When it comes to motivational monologues, Nat is your Steve.” Natasha lets out a sharp, soft breath. Steve’s lips twitch at the corners as he gives her a crooked grin. “If I find her before your speech, I’ll send her to you.”

Natasha bites back a groan as she hears Tony and Pepper walk away.

Shit. She needs to talk to Pepper.

She knows Steve can tell what she’s about to say, too, because he gives her a gentle kiss to her forehead and a small smile as he pulls his hand away, his fingers coming back slick. “You’re a good friend,” he tells her, and she rolls her eyes as she breathes out a laugh, pushing him away from her to straighten out her dress. “I’ll make it up to you later,” he says, squeezing her hip.

“You better.”

two.

Her head hits the cupboard when she tosses it back, but she tightens her grip on Steve’s hair, keeping him between her thighs as she says, “I’m fine, Steve, just don’t stop,” in a shaky breath. He chuckles, licks a broad stripe up her wet heat before closing his lips around her clit and sucking, almost making her hips slide off of the edge of the kitchen counter when she rolls them, needing more.

She’s not sure what’s gotten into him, but she’s not complaining.

Not when he has his lips on hers before she’s barely stepped out of the bedroom, hoisting her onto the counter and spreading her legs before she could catch her breath. They have dinner plans that Sam and Sharon are picking them up for in ten minutes, and she really, really shouldn’t have let Steve start this. Even though she hadn’t particularly fought him on it when he’d hiked the hem of her dress up her hips and stroked his calloused fingertips over the inside of her thighs, dancing his fingertips closer to her slick heat.

“Steve, what…” He gives a particularly hard suck, then lets out a long groan when she scrapes the back of her stilettos down his spine, tugging him closer. “What’s… god, what’s gotten into you?”

He laps at her again before pulling away, and her lower lip quivers in her attempt not to whine. “Just can’t handle how beautiful you are.”

She can practically hear him smirking. “Liar,” she breathes, scraping her nails over his scalp. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the inside of his thigh, then a little higher, then a little higher, and she sucks in a breath, digging her heels–

“Steve, Nat?”

She lets out a curse, and Steve jerks back as Sam starts knocking on the door. He looks up at her, lips wet, and fuck. Why the hell did they agree to dinner?

“Nat?” It’s Sharon this time, knocking again, and Steve helps Natasha off of the counter and tugs the hem of her dress down. “Are you guys in there?”

“Yeah, just a second,” Natasha calls out, grasping Steve by his hand when he starts toward the door. She smirks, reaching up to swipe her thumb over the corner of his mouth. “Might want to clean up first,” she says, and Steve has this sparkle in his eyes as he chuckles.

three.

“Nat, the party–”

“Wasn’t on your mind when you started making those eyes at me,” she points out, arching an eyebrow as she pushes him back against the mattress of the hotel bed. People are probably going to notice that they’ve left the benefit gala after only an hour in, but she doesn’t care. Not when Steve hadn’t been able to keep his hands off of her all night, touching and squeezing and teasing her until she could barely keep upright in her heels. She didn’t know where this was coming from – because it’s hardly the first time they’ve gotten dressed up for these things, and he’d been pretty well behaved before.

But she hadn’t missed the way he stiffened ever so slightly whenever her foot would bump against him, didn’t miss the way his eyes would trace down her legs, or the way his hand lingered on the curve of her ankle – the curve of her heel – when they stumbled their way onto the bed.

“Didn’t realize you had a shoe fetish, Captain,” she teases, relishing in the way he groans as she gets his belt undone and tucks her hand inside, grasping his length. “You should’ve told me sooner. We would’ve had so much more fun.”

He lets out a throaty laugh. “Couldn’t quite understand it myself.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of, soldier.” She gives him a gentle squeeze, smirking when he hisses out, “fuck!” and grasps onto her hips like he needs an anchor. She bites her lower lip, feeling the pressure building quickly between her legs as she takes in the sight of him sprawled out beneath her, eyes glazed over and cheeks flushed and lips parted, quirked up at the corner in that ridiculous smile of his.

She pulls her hand away, feeling her smirk widen a little more at the little sound he lets out as she reaches for the waistband of his slacks–

Until the door unlocks, and she mutters, “shit,” and pulls away.

“Nat, I know you’re here,” Clint drawls, and she hears his key-card clatter as he tosses it onto the table in the sitting room. Fuck. She’d forgotten she gave that to him when he left the kids’ bags in their room. He steps toward the room and she scrambles to get Steve’s pants zipped. “You can’t just hide in here because you hate dinner talk, so get your ass back – oh, shit!” he mutters as he swings open the door, eyes widening. “Sorry,” he says, not meaning it as his grin spreads. “Didn’t notice that Steve disappeared, too. But now it makes sense.”

“Clint,” Natasha says, glaring. His eyes twinkle. “Get out.”

“Hey, they want to do another toast,” he continues as if she hadn’t spoken. “Considering Jane invited us, we should probably be there for her.”

“We’ll be down in a minute,” Steve says, voice rough.

Clint raises his eyebrows. “Sure you don’t need more than a minute?”

“Get out,” Natasha snaps as Steve stifles a groan into her shoulder, and Clint just laughs and closes the door behind him.

plus one.

“Fuck, Nat,” he breathes, not even noticing his sketchbook falling to the floor when she shrugs out of her coat. She’d caught an earlier flight home from her business in Berlin and Wanda had been the one to pick her up from the airport so she could surprise Steve. He’d given her that bright, boyish smile of his when she walked in, and it’s ridiculous that that’s all she really needs to make her skin flush, the warmth in her stomach fluttering and coiling and tightening as it builds between her legs. Wanda had just giggled when Natasha asked if the girl could hold onto her luggage and grab it later, and Natasha just smirked and continued squirming out of her clothes in the back seat.

The girl will probably have told everyone about her little surprise for Steve by now, which Natasha doesn’t mind right now.

Maybe their friends will finally leave them the hell alone.

“Whoa,” he says as she climbs onto his lap, taking in her lacy red bra and panties and her (his) favorite heels. “What’s all this for?”

She smirks, presses a kiss to her throat. “For you, soldier. Try to keep up.” He all but growls, squeezing her hips as he pulls her flushed against him. “Now that I know how much you love me in these heels, I’ll be sure to get some good use out of them,” she says into his skin, and then nips at his pulse, making her skin tingle when he lets out a groan.

“I love you, not the heels,” he corrects, lips twitching at the corners as he tucks his fingers into her hair and pulls her lips to his to kiss her properly. She cups his jaw, parts her lips and makes a little noise from the back of her throat when he presses his tongue against hers. He smirks, sliding his hands down her calf to play with the curve of her heels. “Though you do look sexy in these.”

“I know,” she says, and he laughs as he kisses her again.

[samanddeaninpanties]

You’re Missing Out

Title: You’re Missing Out

Ship: Destiel, Wincest, Wincestiel 

Rating: Explicit 

Link: AO3 

Ko-fi: Buy Me A Coffee

Word count: 1577

Created for @spnpolybingo

Square: who puts on morning coffee? 

Tags: extremely dubious consent, serial killer au, serial killer Cas, first time, first time blowjobs, anal sex, anal fingering, bottom!Dean, top!Cas, humiliation, begging, begging Dean, scared Sam. 

Summary: They break into Sam's house in the dead of night, when Sam will be half awake and slow to fight back or argue and find him scrounging for a late night snack in the kitchen.

Notes: Inspired by CONventional Psychopathy Part 1: Primary Deviance by @mayalaen . If you haven't read Maya's fic: in this universe, the worst criminals aren't imprisoned for their crimes. Instead, they are captured by licensed serial killers who dispose of them. Castiel is one of those licensed killers (called Cleaners) and Dean is his Handler. They work for the CON - the Correctional Operations Network.

While reading Maya's fic isn't necessary for understanding this one-shot I strongly suggest you take a look at some point because it's fucking epic.

I suppose it should also be noted that this is very much a fanfic of her fanfic. Don't expect plot points to line up or for the pairings to be the same. I did this for very self-indulgent reasons, one being I can't help but see Wincestiel in everything I read.

Tagging: @rainsoakedsam , @purgatoan , @justanothersaltandburn , @bendoverandbiteyourgag, @deadmockingbirds1. 

He'll be alone - Cas already did his research. Jess is on a case for the CON, so they're in no danger of being interrupted.

Not that Cas thinks Jess would try to stop him. Knowing her she'd help Cas scare Sam. And maybe next time he’ll ask her to join him, but his vision for tonight doesn't include the beautiful blonde.

They break into Sam's house in the dead of night, when Sam will be half awake and slow to fight back or argue and find him scrounging for a late night snack in the kitchen.

“Shit!” Sam yelps, shutting his fridge and gaping at them. “What the hell, guys? You couldn't knock?”

He's wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and Cas notes how Dean is careful to keep his eyes on his brother's face.

“We could have, but Cas didn't want to,” Dean says, rolling his eyes.

Sam frowns. “Why not?”

“Why do you think?” Cas asks, voice low.

Sam swallows hard, shaking his head. “Don't know. That's why I asked.”

Cas gives Dean a shove. “On the floor.”

Dean shivers and obeys, which surprises Cas. Even though they discussed what Dean needed to do before coming over he'd expected resistance. He’d thought Dean would put up his walls and fight the whole way.

He fists his hand in Dean’s hair, making him wince in pain. This has to be humiliating for him and it makes Cas’s cock twitch. “Speak.”

“F-fuck,” Dean whines. “Can you let go of my hair first? Can't think.”

“No,” Cas says, tugging viciously. “I won't.”

“Guys, you really don't have to -”

“Shut up,” Cas growls. “Listen closely to what your brother has to say.”

Sam’s eyes go impossibly wider and it makes Cas wanna hurt him - if he succeeds and makes him scream he’ll come from the sounds alone.

“Okay…”

“Sammy.” Dean pauses then groans when Cas jerks his head back so he has to stare right at his brother. “I'm sorry for scaring the shit out of you.”

“What else?”

“F-fuck. I'm sorry. So sorry, Sammy. You gotta believe me. Would you please… forgive me?”

Sam blinks and his gaze shifts to Cas, frowning. “What is this?”

“He's not finished.”

“I know I fucked up,” Dean continues, voice wobbling. “But it's all better now. Cas has me on a tight leash and you don't gotta worry anymore."

Sam’s eyes narrow. “What the hell is this?”

The younger Winchester’s eyes harden and Cas’s cock twitches again.

“Does he need to repeat what he's said for you to understand? That can easily be arranged -”

“No! Fucking no, I don't want that at all. Let him the fuck up!”

“Well, what do you want, Sam?” Cas’s eyes fall to Sam's crotch. “Hmm. Would you like a blowjob?”

“W-what?” Sam yelps.

Dean's squirming, but doesn't object. Cas almost can't believe how good of a boy Dean is being.

“Sam. Don't make me say it again. And don't you dare lie.”

“I… I don't know. It's. It's incest. I've never thought of him like that and -”

“You seem to be right now.”

“Fuck.”

“Something like that.” Cas reaches for Sam’s boxers and tugs on them roughly, making his thick cock spring free. Sam tries to cover himself and Cas slaps his hand away. “Fuck Dean’s mouth. I don't like waiting.”

“I don't understand why you're -”

“Because. Dean’s been a naughty boy, he scared you… and it'll be fun.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Stop asking questions and do it. ”

Sam cringes, but Cas is disappointed he isn't making noise. This is a way the Winchester brothers differ, apparently.

Sam's dick is still hard. There's some precome on the slit and Cas catches Dean licking his lips in a mixture of nervousness and maybe a hint of lust that Dean likes to try and deny is there.

“Dean, why aren't you fighting back?” Sam hisses, eyes pleading. “Is he abusing you?”  

“No, Sammy. Course not. Listen. None of this is gonna hurt. I'm awesome at blowing guys. It'll feel good -”

“Enough,” Cas says coldly, pulling Dean's hair hard. “I'm tired of waiting.”

“You fucking asshole,” Sam says quietly.

Cas shrugs, unmoved. “That's not news. Quit pretending I'm not doing you a favor and use him however you like - just remember who he belongs to.”

“I trusted you. You were supposed to help Dean, not ruin him.”

“I wasn't killing! Cas already told you!”

Sam shakes his head, ignoring Dean. “I thought you'd save him, but he's changing because of you. I was so fucking stupid -”

“Hey! Earth to Sam! Cas isn't fucking me up, dude.”

“You're not freaking out over the incest thing. I think it's safe to say he fucked you up big-time -”

“Say you want to use his mouth, Sam. I certainly don't blame you. It's a fun mouth to play with.”

Sam looks like he's giving himself a pep talk. The way his lower lip is trembling tells Cas it's not going very well.

“I-I want to use his mouth,” Sam says, wincing as if saying the words are painful. “I wanna fucking come in his mouth.”

“Good.” Cas raises an eyebrow. “Now do it.”

Sam bites his lip, looking down at Dean and up at Cas a few times before resigning himself to the inevitable. He gingerly scoots forward and brushes the head of his cock along Dean’s lips, gasping when Dean sticks out his tongue to taste him.

“F-fuck, I can't fucking believe -”

“That you've denied yourself this long?”

Sam shakes his head. “N-no.” Then Dean swallows him down and Sam bites back a whine.

“Then what?”

“I have a wife. Granted, she doesn't really give a shit if I play around, b-but I think she might care about this. And you. Why not keep Dean to yourself? Why give him to me on a platter?”

Cas snorts at the absurdity of it. “I'm not giving him to you. You're borrowing him. That's it. Besides, I don’t get butterflies like you and Dean do. And there’s no hearts and flowers. I don’t get jealous. I’m going to enjoy myself thoroughly tonight.”

Dean pulls off Sam's cock, giving Sam a grumpy look. “It's really fucking rude to talk about me like I'm not here - especially when I'm suckin’ dick. Do you mind?”

“Get your mouth back on his cock.”

“Fuck you.”

“Now.”

Dean grumbles but obeys.

Cas tilts his head to the side. “Pathetic. You aren't going to win any awards moving like that.”

Sam's thrusts are too shallow. Gentle. Dean keeps tapping on Sam's thighs, letting him know he can move faster and harder, but he won’t.

Sam flushes. “I don't wanna hurt him.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Look at him. He's begging you with his eyes. He wants more.”

Sam still doesn't move faster. Cas sighs through his nose, grabs Dean's head and controls the pace himself.

“Oh!” Sam's mouth falls wide open and he tilts his head back, the tension melting out of his body.

When Sam comes he bites his fist, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Cas doesn't like it. “We want to hear every sound you make, Sam. That's not allowed.”

Sam’s eyes widen when he comes down from his high, like he can't believe he let his brother suck him off.

“This is crazy.”

The repetitive comments are wearing thin on Cas. He lets go of Dean's hair and strolls over to Sam's fridge.

“I'm hungry.”

Sam shakes his head in disbelief but doesn't dare send them away.

“Hey, what about me?” Dean complains. “I haven't come yet!”

“It won't kill you to wait a few minutes.”

“I never agreed to blue balls!”

“Wanna put a finger in Dean's ass?” Cas asks.

Dean's on his hands and knees, ass high in the air, presenting for Cas.

“No,” Sam says too fast.

“Your loss,” Cas says, taking out the small bottle of lube in his pocket and squirting some onto Dean’s hole.

Sam Winchester is at war with himself because he doesn't go to bed. He stays rooted to the spot, observing as Cas quickly and efficiently opens Dean up.

“Fucking takin’ too long,” Dean whines, rocking into Cas’s fingers.

Cas spanks Dean's ass hard. “Watch your tone.”

Dean nods, resting his forehead on the floor.

He only gives Dean two fingers before pulling his fingers out and staring at Sam as he slicks his cock up and presses into Dean.

“You're missing out,” Cas grunts and starts to thrust, knowing he won’t last long with the way Dean starts screaming.

Sam doesn't say anything, but he does move closer, carefully taking in both Cas and Dean's expressions as they come.

They stay the night. Cas is sure Sam doesn't want them to, wants them to go away, but the younger Winchester is too afraid to say no.

Still is.

Currently, Sam and Dean are in the kitchen fighting over who gets to make the morning coffee and making Cas more than a little irritated. Dean likes taking care of people, but so does Sam.

“It's my house,” Sam points out.

Cas is impressed by the tone of Sam's voice, like he hadn't gotten a blow job from his big brother the night before.

“Yes, but you make shitty coffee -”

Dean wins the argument regarding the coffee, but it doesn't stop the noise.

Cas fantasizes about throwing them both in his basement for a timeout while they bicker like children and it makes him smile.

[sapphireswimming]

Breakthrough (a Gundam 00 fic)

Again, not finishing the whole thing tonight, but this is the first of what I think will be three parts to this fic which would, in its entirety, make sense for @g00week ‘s Day 5- Five Times/Repetition

For @durinswizardwheezes and with help from dannyboymw

(on fanfiction)

Sumeragi knows what to expect even before the door slides open—they can’t be slammed open, in low gravity, just because of the mechanics of the thing, but she is fairly sure that the door somehow hisses open with more than its usual vigor.

Tieria is on the other side, barely pausing long enough to finish removing his helmet before he is pushing off of the hallway floor to glide onto the bridge, face contorted with the only emotion he seemed to know.

“Sumeragi Lee Noriega,” he calls in the coldest of tones, before he even catches onto the back of Feldt’s chair to touch down. Feldt stares at him over her shoulder with wide eyes, but everyone else on the bridge is careful not to catch his gaze as he sweeps over them dismissively.

Sumeragi half turns in her seat to look at him staring forebodingly down at her from the steps. “Tieria Erde,” she acknowledges with a tilt of her head, careful to keep her face neutral before the oncoming storm he looks ready to unleash.

“What was that?” he demands of her, eyes flashing dangerously as the words burst out of him.

The corner of her mouth twitches, for just a moment. “That,” she replies evenly, “was a simulated battle plan, Tieria. I should have thought… that was obvious,” she adds with a wave of her hand.

The fingers holding onto his helmet begin to convulsively squeeze into the padding lining the rim and his breathing is far too even to be natural. “A battle plan,” he seethes, “that makes no sense,” he finally grinds out.

Sumeragi raises a lofty eyebrow and adjusts herself in the chair before turning to him more fully. “Without a real enemy, I understand that it might not make sense to you,” she allows, watching him bristle at the implication that he can’t figure out exactly what the exercise had been.

“The point of these simulations, however,” she continues before he can interrupt, “is that you all complete them whether they make sense to you or not. And then,” she continues, slowly, as if he’s hearing this for the first time, “when the time comes, and there are enemies out there, you’ll be able to execute any or all of the plans without even having to think about it.”

“It’s the others that need to think about everything,” Tieria bites out, stiffly.

“Well,” she points out, coolly, “it’s hard for them to practice when one fourth of the strike team walks out of training mid-maneuver.”

“I already know all of the maneuvers,” he shoots back.

She inhales deeply and closes her eyes for a moment. “And you need to work with everyone else until they know them as well,” she finally says. “It’s no good blaming Setsuna for not knowing his part when you refuse to do yours. It’s a team effort,” she explains.

His eyes narrow dangerously. “In what universe,” he asks, slowly, “would Setsuna F. Seiei and I ever need to work together?”

Sumeragi stares at Tieria in disbelief, trying to fathom how his brain must work to come up with ideas like these. “In this one,” she says bluntly. “You’re both Gundam Meisters for Celestial Being. You’ll be working together a lot.”

“Not in such close proximity,” he says, the disdain in his voice crystal clear. “I’m the artillery while Exia is designed for close encounters. The two styles of fighting couldn’t be more different.”

“Which is why maneuvers where the two of you respond in tandem are so effective,” Sumeragi says, her bountiful supplies of patience beginning to wear thin.

Tieria scowls. “I fail to see how.”

She lets out a very controlled breath.

“Were I to intervene in one of his battles,” Tieria continues, “there would be no way to guarantee that when I target the enemy I wouldn’t get him as well. Not that it would be a great loss, of course,” he adds, lip curling in a parody of a smile. “If he’s ever truly in that much trouble, then it only confirms my certainty that Setsuna F. Seiei is not worthy to be a Gundam Meister in the first place.”

“And so you would abandon him mid-battle?” Sumeragi asks. “Allow the Exia to be captured by the enemy?”

“Well, if you foresee that as a possibility, then take him off the Exia now!” Tieria fumes. “I’ve already expressed my opinion on his dismally sub-par capabilities.”

“Yes,” Sumeragi interrupts with a tight smile. “Quite thoroughly, thank you. But I’m not going to take him off his Gundam.”

Tieria grinds his teeth. “He is nothing more than a headstrong child,” he mutters under his breath, although he makes no effort to keep anyone from hearing what he’s said.

“He’s not the only one,” she retorts and he blinks.

Tieria’s just starting to reply to that when Sumeragi stresses, “That’s why you need to go through the full training sequences alongside him.” He opens his mouth again but she continues, “And after all, it was Veda that recommended him as a Meister. I know you don’t hold my opinions in high regard,” she says witheringly, “but surely you can accept the fact that Veda was the one who wanted Setsuna here.”

Tieria scowls at her and Sumeragi smiles pleasantly in return.

“That still doesn’t change the fact that this formation exercise was a complete waste of time,” he finally manages.

“I disagree,” she countered quickly.

“Then you have no cause to be our forecaster,” he spits, just as the door opens again.

Lockon pushes through, this time, helmet in hand and brow furrowed as he lands and takes a step forward, trying to assess the situation. In a moment, he takes in the quick, relieved glances from Chris, Lichty, and Lasse. Worried, he looks between Tieria and Sumeragi, trying to figure out what Tieria’s had a chance to do before he could get to the bridge.

“We would be better off without you in that chair,” Tieria hisses viciously, tearing his gaze away from Lockon as he tries to get one last word in before he’s forcibly escorted from the room.

Sumeragi merely hums and Tieria scoffs at her response, about to reply with something truly scathing when Lockon closes the distance between them,

“Hey, now,” he interrupts, putting a hand on Tieria’s shoulder. “Miss Sumeragi is the best—”

Tieria roughly shrugs off his hand and whirls around, hair swishing as he stares defiantly up at his fellow meister. “Surely, you’re joking,” he says. “I could—”

He stutters to a stop, not because of Lockon’s sharp frown, but the expression growing on Sumeragi’s face. When he turns to see her beaming up at him, he falters, wondering what had happened and confused as to why she looks so utterly pleased.

Her grin widens as he warily finishes, “-could… do better…”

“Would you like to?” she asks, tilting her head at him, and he blinks.

“Like to…?” he frowns.

“Take over?” she offers. “Be Celestial Being’s new tactical forecaster?”

Tieria peers down at her, trying to determine if she is being serious or if this is another one of those jokes she seems so fond of, but for which he cannot divine any purpose.

Before he can accept the startling offer, however, Lockon jumps in. “Whoa, whoa, no,” he says. “I think that’s not a good idea.”

Sumeragi isn’t listening to him, though, and is staring considering at Tieria. “Fine,” she acquiesces, and Lockon sighs in relief. “We can have a test first,” she says instead and he jumps in alarm. “Is that acceptable?” she asks Tieria, ignoring Lockon’s squawks of protest.

He pauses. “What kind of test?” he asks.

“Comparing out mental prowess,” she replies. “Our forecasting skills. Strategy. Winner…” she relishes the pause, “gets to decide what happens in this chair.”

Tieria narrows his eyes, looking for a catch.

Lockon balks at the stakes, trying to separate the, “Um, I really don’t think this is a good---” he tries again.

“Lockon?” Sumeragi asks with a smile. “Am I or am I not currently the tactical forecaster here?”

“You are.”

“And… weren’t you just saying that I was the best?” she presses.

“Yes…”

“Then don’t you think I can decide for myself if this is a good idea?” she asks.

“I—” he huffs. “Don’t twist my…” he stumbled, staring at her before throwing his hands up in the air, knowing full well that he had talked himself into a corner and was unable to change the outcome of this conversation.

“Well, then,” Sumeragi turns to Tieria. “How about it? You pick the time and the place and the skill.”

There’s a moment’s pause where Lockon stares between them, wide-eyed, and trying not to draw parallels between this set-up and some kind of deadly dues, and then Tieria is nodding sharply, his fears at being taken in apparently assuaged. “Tonight in the mess hall,” he decides. “Chess.”

Sumeragi’s eyebrows rise in pleasant surprise and she smiles. “Alright.”

“Alright,” he echoes back, stiff now that they have reached an agreement. With a final glance around the room, he turns and pushes off the bridge.

Everyone sighs in relief as soon as the door slides shut behind him.

Lockon stares at their forecaster in exasperation for a minute. “Miss Sumeragi…” he finally begins.

She smiles up at him, seemingly without care. “What,” she asks, “You’re not starting to question my abilities now, are you?”

He sighs explosively, running his free hand through his hair. “No,” he grudgingly admits. “But…” he trails off. “Chess?” he finally asks, voice high.

She shrugs. “You heard Tieria. And chess is a game that’s as much reading your opponent as it is the situation at hand,” she says, settling back comfortably into her chair. Then she snorts. “He’s probably on his way to Veda right now for a last minute study session,” she predicts.

Lockon turns back to the open door and the now empty hallway, realizing that she is probably right.

“Do we even have a chess set on board?” he asks in a belated bid to halt the game.

“Of course,” Sumeragi replies, “It’s in the game cupboard.”

Every head on the bridge swivels to Sumeragi in surprise.

“We… have a game cupboard?” Chris asks in disbelief.

“Well,” Sumeragi amends thoughtfully, “the only thing in it right now is the chess set, but the ‘chess cupboard’ sounds a little underwhelming, don’t you think?”

Lockon snorts and shakes his head. “Anything you need from me?” he asks absently, regretting the offer as soon as he catches sight of her bright smile when she turns back to him.

“Why yes!” she replies immediately. “I could use a drink.”

He gapes at her, trying to come up with something to say.

“A stiff one,” she adds, before turning her attention back to the front of the bridge. “Christina, Feldt,” she says, and the two girls turn toward her at once, waiting for her instructions. “I think we’ve had enough of this for one afternoon. Tell Setsuna and Allelujah they can come back in.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they chorus, before opening communication lines to the remaining Meisters still executing a lop-sided training sequence and starting to configure their docking sequences.

Lockon shakes his head but soon realizes there’s nothing else to be done, so he turns and follows Tieria’s path toward the heart of the Ptolemy.

[a-rat-and-a-blob]

Fake

It was dark in the depths of Zaun. The people skittered about. I looked desperately for any more potential distractions that could delay the inevitable encounter between Twitchy and the people that he tried desperately to save. No poisonous tank to leak out. No TNT explosions to create smoke. This sector seemed to be free of any of it. Guess there’s only one way to avoid this from getting any ugly: I have to talk to the little guy myself down there.

I sat in silence, trying to think this through. I couldn’t just force my way as usual, or barge in and just say “Hey! You wanna talk!?” There was no doubt in my mind that Twitch either thinks I’m dead, or that his soldiers are hunting me down as I sat here. It was frustrating. I keep thinking how that encounter could’ve been better. Maybe I should’ve been more supportive? Find a way to get the clones to not kill anyone? Maybe teach them? I just don’t know..

As I sat in thought, the ground rumbled violently, shaking Zaun’s civilians on the surface. He’s here. I jumped on the statue in the park. “EVERYONE! GO TO YOUR BUNKERS NOW! PLEASE GO TO YOUR BUNKERS!”  Many people tried to squirm into their homes, but it was too late. Manholes began to pop out. Poisonous gas exploded on the surface. Green gas filled the air. ZAC dove right in the fog and grabbed as many people as he could. The faster these guys get in a bunker with health equipment the better.

I ran as fast as I could, trying to catch a sound with my antennae. The ominous green fog made it impossible to see through. Thump. Thump. Thump. Skitter. Skitter. Skitter. The rats were nearby, I grabbed on to a building and slung myself to the top. I looked down. The shadows showed a fleet heading towards the center, leaving a bunch of sludge covered corpses in their wake. I tried to make light of the shadows in the fog, but it seemed impossible. All of them looked virtually the same. Slouching. Crossbow in hand. Ears held high for anyone in sight. I grumbled at the repetitiveness of it all. How am I ever going to find Twitch in this mess..

Suddenly, a shadow appeared following the rat. 2 figures in particular. A rodent that was looking at another massive gigantic creature. It has an antennae just like mine and a massive build. They seem to be talking to eachother.. I snuck into the pipes and crawled my way down for a better spot to hear from. I pressed my antennae on the metal surface.

“Goopy One.. I thought you were dead..” the rat said on the other side. “Why did you try to betray me... to grab this from me?’

“Oh... I was.. just worried about how it was... affecting you! I thought something would happen like last time. All of those clones dying.. The corpses that fell from the mach-”

“I GET IT! I don’t want to recall those times... Stupid chemist... Ruining Twitch’s plans... I’m... just glad you’re truly on my side Goopy One.. A full-time subject for Twitch’s army!”

“heh.. Yeah buddy.. Yeah..”  

I was... confused. Another... Goopy One? Another.. ZAC? And why was he acting like me..? Something fishy was going on, and I will get to the bottom of this. Suddenly, the footsteps were beginning to leave. I had to make my choice. I readied my body, and prepared to launch. Whack! The pipe didn’t budge. STEP. Step. step. C’mon.. I pressed my body forward and made another attempt. WHACK! It creaked silently. step. step. step. I growled in frustration. “C’MON!” I shouted. I tried, the pipes burst, and I rolled on the floor, face down. I tried to wake up, only to be picked up like a ragdoll.

“What... is this..? Did the humans make another you?” Twitch squeaked. I opened my eyes to see him aim the crossbow at my head, shaking constantly.

“Hmph! Guess they did..” the person behind me growled in a bitter voice. He.. wasn’t happy to see him. “They can’t beat the original though.. Put it out of its misery!”

“Wait.. More Goopy Ones means more subjects for Twitch right!? Let’s keep him! I do need more shields..”

I shouted, raising my hands. “Twitch, you got to listen to me! I’m the real ZAC! Not this.. Where did you find him?”

“Look at him..” the ZAC behind me growled. “Trying to trick you. Obviously made by those humans.. I still say we put it out of its misery!” The ZAC threw me on the ground. Twitch went silent. 

“Twitch! You gotta believe me!”

“I’ll handle this my king. Go with the others! They’ll need you...” The rat walked away quietly into the mist before looking back in confusion. My hostile doppelganger grabbed me by the neck and hoisted me in the air. His eyes turned from yellow to bright red. “You should’ve been dead... Get out of our way!”  He placed his hand on my face. It glowed, radiating with intense energy. i felt my green skin growing crisp and burnt. I screamed. 

“I will not let you.. I will not let you! First this city.. then the entire world.. Must feast...” The ashen black began to form. “hehe... Hahah.. Hahah! Get out.. GET OU-” He stopped abruptly. He looked down to the arrow in his chest,  poisoning his well being. He looked at me in hatred before he exploded into dust. It quickly moved towards the rat in question and absorbed into his amulet. The rat looked at the red jewel inside again.

Twitch was beginning to connect the dots. The gem. The dreams. He wasn’t 100% sure, but something was off here. The rat scurried over to ZAC and looked at his face. A black hand print covering his mouth. “Guess he wasn’t real huh.. You’re still a traitor..” Twitch hissed. I closed my eyes, anticipating something between the eyes. “Who was that... The creature that went into this..” Twitch asked, hands on his head, scared and confused. “That wasn’t you... That wasn’t you..” 

“I-I don’t know what happened Twitch. I’m just begging you to stop..”

The rat growled hatefully, throwing the amulet on the ground beside me. “TAKE IT! Take your stupid shadow doppleganger back! Tired of people playing with Twitch.. Tired of it all..” The rat ran to mist to follow. I struggled to get up, holding my face. Suddenly doors open. Gas masks began to appear. Seems like the people are fighting back. I... can’t let them see me.. I can’t have them go against me.. I quickly picked up the amulet and crawled back into the pipes. 

Twitch ran through the alley where his rodent army was shown, but all I saw was grey dust mixed in this poisonous fog. He caught some in my claws and sniffed it only once to find out that it was the same dust. The same dust that was absorbed back into the amulet. They were all fake.. 

No.. No... It couldn’t be. Twitch begged for it to not be an illusion. The rat looked around to find shadows all around him. Surrounding him. Are these the plague rats that were once his friends? “Subjects.. Is that you? Please.. Are you guys there!?” No comment. Just faster marching. “I-I command you to show yourself! Please!” Gunfire was heard. The rodent dove quickly to avoid it. He shot in that area. Nothing happened. He looked around. “Are any of you my subjects!? ANY OF YOU!? Please answer Twitch! I command you!” Suddenly his answer came. As the squad fired, something burst out of the pipes and soaked all of the fire. 

The remains of his one sole friend exploded into bloblets. Twitch backed off slightly, and found the shadows running towards him. There was too many to fight. Too many to kill. It was impossible. The rodent quickly grabbed the remaining bloblets on the floor and shoved them into his pouch. He ran back into the shadows, never to be seen. The fog eventually subsided, leaving only the amulet that caused the entire catastrophe.

[aranyaphoenix]

Waking Up in Paradise

This place was too beautiful.

Aranya stood on an open balcony, and breathed deeply as a soft breeze carried the fragrances of different flowers and oasis plants, with the misty scent of water, weaving over her skin and through her raven hair like invisible ribbons caressing her. Rariv’sha Muerte’s island truly was a paradise, with it’s natural beauty, its marvelous architecture, and the hospitality of its queen leaving nothing to be desired. The night spent here had been restful and content, the morning dawned in breath-taking views of the rising sun and a delicious breakfast.

This was an exotic realm that Aranya would not dream of saying “no” to re-visiting.

The magical defenses that the madame had hired the arcanist for had been executed perfectly.

Aranya reached out to the enkindled core with her senses, getting a feel for the pulse and pattern of its power and raised one hand in a arcane gesture, keeping sync with it. She shifted her focus to the six rune marks that she had placed around the island, and extended her other arm fully, fingers spread like she was catching at individual strands of a spider’s web, and slowly drawing them together.

Madame Rariv’sha Muerte watched silently, keeping track of the other woman’s movements with a twitch of her index finger.

Lord Ebonsteele kept his gaze flickering between between the madame and the work of the arcanist, silent, keeping his words and his thoughts withheld.

Aranya began incanting unfamiliar words under her breath, as the power began to crackle around her slender fingers, weaving an fusing together. Then she made slow, smoothing gestures, keeping her awareness on the shift in power, until it all settled into a new rhythm.

The arcanist took a deep breath. “It is done,” she said.

She could feel the whisper of her own energy’s fingerprint in the distance when she closed her smoldering green eyes. 

Unfortunately, that was not the only thing that the Thalassian sorceress could feel.

Very close to the madame’s abode, a grand, magnificent tree grew.

It reeked of dark magic. 

Aranya was particularly sensitive to magic, even for an elf, and the tree was of such power that it left her feeling a little bit uncomfortable, physically. She said nothing about this to the madame, however. The arcanist had worked for clients and benefactors who were inclined to darker energies numerous times in the past. As long as everyone upheld their end of the arrangements, she didn’t make judgements or pose questions about what they did.

... So what left her feeling so uneasy about it this time?

A thought, repetitive and unwelcome, came to the forefront of Aranya’s mind. If a second personification of herself had been standing next to her, she would have smacked it and said, “Stop it, shut up.”

Kurel.

Thoughts of the horned elf seemed to constantly skitter around the edges of her mind like the scorpid he so embodied, darting into the light and then lurking away in the dark again. Ever since their last meeting. He’d given her a small ivory scarab token with its wings closed. On the underside of its flat belly was something akin to a map, without clear directions of where, and Tanari hieroglyphs etched into the bone edge.

"Don' ge' hung in the middle, bu' you do. You go lookin' where you ain' supposed to. Askin' wha' you ought no' an' ge' yourself in deeper than you should, you show this. You go compliantly where you taken, you tell'em everythin'. Where I am. What I'm doin'-- where to fin' me. I'll come ge' you out of it.”

What the fel did it all mean?

Aranya placed her palms together by her chin, her fingers interlacing and steepling in front of her mouth, her index fingers to her lips in ponderous thought, her fel-kissed gaze looking into infinity at nothing.

Rariv’sha had the scent of dark power around her. It was unmistakable. Interesting thing was, Kurel did, too. Yet, the scarab queen had every indication of having embraced the powers at her command, while the captain seemed... stupidly lucky. Aranya knew from personal experience, possessing power without taking responsibility for it was dangerous.

You had to either master it for yourself or someone else would step in and become master for you.

How was Kurel keeping things under control, given his obvious aversions to magic?

Mavas, came the immediate guess. It made sense. The warlock obviously cared about him, and had his trust. It wouldn’t be a stretch to believe that he had done something to allow Kurel to go day to day, walking around like a powder keg with no fuse yet attached to it. Aranya only hoped that however it was done, that it lasted.

Turning one palm up, the phoenix-mage breathed, “Felomin ashal...”

Fire appeared in her hand, and she uttered a name to it, “Grell...” Aranya thought of the gregarious sprite who belonged to Opheron, and now assisted her in her role as the new head of the Eclipse Syndicate with his master’s retirement. “Grell, do you hear me?”

“Miss Rainy!” Squeaked the voice of an unsurprisingly excited Grell, and Aranya smiled wryly, eyes a-twinkle. The little sprite never could get her name quite right. Rainy was the closest he could manage to Aranya, and so it stuck.

“Grell, I need you to get a message to Hawke,” ordered the arcanist. “Tell him I’m ready for a day, time, and place. He’ll understand once you tell him who sent you, and don’t let him intimidate you just because he’s a warlock.”

Aranya turned and leaned back against the balcony, one elbow resting on it lazily. “Then I need you to make an appearance to the Land’s End home of Colpeia Beamgully - the ‘math-mage’ friend of mine I told you about.”

Some very excited utterances of delight at finally getting to personally meet the Tanari illusionist filtered through the flames from Grell.

“And remember to use those impeccable manners Opheron and Althaea taught you,” said the arcanist. “You’re to finalize arrangements with Colpeia and her sultana for me to meet with them to discuss a formal trade arrangement between the Eclipse Syndicate and the Eclipse Weaver tribe as their international partner.” Pointedly, she added, “I want the best buyers from all the known worlds for them. Whatever loops we have to pull over any sanctions or tariffs that would normally get in the way, we’ll do it for them.”

“Grell see Captain Horns, too?” The sprite asked. Amazingly, Aranya succeeded at not laughing. He could only mean Kurel.

“Why? What about him?” Aranya asked.

“Business for Captain Horns!” Grell squeaked. “We be very good business, Miss Rainy,” he insisted.

Aranya thought, for a long, hard moment. “No,” she said.

All kinds of blustered, confused sounds fed back to her from the flame. Clearly such a decision made no sense to the sprite.

“You’re to make no approach to him yet,” said the arcanist firmly. “He’s already heard that I’m the Eclipse Syndicate’s new head. Whether or not he was paying attention at the time doesn’t matter, he was there - standing right across from me - at General Winters’ ball when I said it. He heard.” Aranya turned to lean forward over the balcony now, one hand resting on it. “And I mentioned Opheron’s name, among other things, the last time I saw him. He’s not a fool, Grell. You drop only the right few words in the right places, but no more than that; those words will get back to his ears and he’ll put the pieces together on his own.”

Her tone went a notch softer, “I just need to have more behind me by the time that he does.” 

“Other business before Captain Horns’ business?” Grell asked, sounding like he wanted to be sure he had that straight and that it was what she really wanted.

“Yes, Grell,” answered Aranya with a smile.

A pause followed. Then the question, “What if Captain wants Miss Rainy to talk before other businesseseses?”

“Then you let that be my concern, whether he decides to be cross with me or decides he just wants to discuss,” answered Aranya. “As to other matters, don’t worry yourself about the prospects in Gadgetzan. I’ll be handling those myself, personally. I’ll be discussing deals in Silvermoon tomorrow that should get things in motion with that, and I also need to talk to Halenvar about an idea that could benefit the Scions in this as well. Shorel’aran.”

Aranya closed her fist, and the flame doused, along with its connection to the hearth-fire of Opheron and Althaea. She bent down, as if to scratch the inside of her ankle, but in truth she was brushing her fingertips over the ivory scarab that Kurel had given her, slipped just beside one of her boot-knives.

I swear, for once, it’s not because of how I lack trust in you, she thought, but didn’t say aloud. It’s because I’m suddenly afraid of how I may be starting to.

@eclipsesyndicatewra @rarivsha @lordebonsteele @kurel-andiel @shaded-hawke @eclipsesyndicate @althaeajadewalker @enipnion @beamgully @wolf-queen @wolvesof-winter @tattered @halenvar @scions-of-antiquity

Timeframe: Four days ago, Wednesday morning.