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bestworstcase · 4 years ago

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Ok, based off of Moira saying ‘this is why I never went to church!’ Do Saporians have an organized place of worship for any deities? Are there masses or whatever held for Zhan Tiri? Is it a weekly or monthly thing, or are some ppl super devout and worship on the daily? Zhan Tiri does have a statue that gets offerings, was it common to do that pre-conquest, did they have small altars or shrines inside? Are there traditional prayers to Zhan Tiri by fishermen against storms? (All the questions!)

broadly speaking char malách has temples, cathay has barrows, and zhan tiri has henges or gardens. and then you get shrines everywhere - big ones in public squares or government buildings, and smaller ones in private houses and so on it’s very. everywhere. and then there’s places that aren’t like... places of worship specifically but are held as sacred grounds by their cults. so, uhhh

thorn syconium / zhan tiri

cashághē is the formal name of the socona henge, about five miles east of socona and right up against the edge of the peatland just south of the pingora mountains. it was always one of the larger henges and it’s one of the few that escaped being completely dismantled by coronans during the occupation, mostly because the nature of the terrain made it too hard to get to on horseback. so now it’s the seat of the syconium and kind of the place where henge holidays are formally celebrated.

the syconium doesn’t really do... like anything resembling mass or sermons, organized worship is very oriented around henge holidays, of which there are... eleven (sometimes twelve) minor ones per year and then five major festivals. the five major festivals are like if you’re pious, if you’re observant at all of the syconium’s tenets, you go to a henge to observe the festivals if you can, and if you can’t then you do the observance at your own shrine. and then the minor henge holidays occur every month on the fifteenth of the month, they’re called crēzáthanchīl / lady’s day, and you Can go to a henge for them if you want to but only deeply devout people do that. they’re pretty much just days of rest and, traditionally, feasting.

the five major festivals are:

azdīnach - the vernal equinox:

this one is kind of weird because, um, the sorchān calendar has a three year cycle of full year (ghaénīchē), small year (ghoshnīchē), and long year (nicheílean) and. in full years, the equinox happens on the 26th of araeháziray, which is the final month of the year and the last month of the ‘formal’ winter season. and then small years don’t... have a spring equinox, hence the name. and then long years have two spring equinoxes, one on the 9th of azlóhot, which is the first month of the year and the first month of the ‘formal’ spring season, and then one on the 19th of the intercalary month shaecaher, at the very end of the year during what’s called ‘little spring.’

so because of this weirdness azdīnach is a festival very concerned with beginnings and endings. the spring azdīnach is the ideal time to open a new chapter of your life; the winter azdīnachs are best for letting go of things that have been harming you. if you’re a farmer or gardener you start planting on azdīnach, if you have a child you name them during the festival or at least hold off on announcing their name to the community until the festival, and one of the biggest components of the festival is funerals! for everyone in the community who has died since the last one.

[there is no burial or equivalent component of saporian funerals, so it’s like - within the syconium, when someone dies the burial rites are done and the body is planted right away, and then you hold the memories until the next azdīnach and everyone in the community participates and mourns together.]

cresilínaeraegh - the summer solstice:

the saporian name for this one translates as ‘flower-maker’s day’ and out of the five it’s definitely the one that is the most. like fun. the festival itself is generally just kind of a big party, there’s a feast, there’s history songs, and prior to the conquest it was mostly notorious for being extremely loud and often very drunk gkjslkdjf. but theologically what cresilínaeraegh is about is commemorating the creation of ki itself, which was a joint… effort would be a strong word since it was kind of an accident LMAO but a joint project of zhan tiri’s and ri ni’n’s and huma’s and turul’s! and then this gets generalized into a celebration of life and growth in general.

azchīlál - the autumnal equinox:

so. this is kind of the shadow twin of corona’s festival of lights, in that the festival of lights is kind of ‘we are saying goodbye to the sun and bracing for the winter to come’ and has this big focus on symbolically remembering and honoring the sun in order to survive until spring. and azchīlál is more like ‘we are ritually killing the sun to perpetuate the endless cycle of rot and renewal’ KLASDJFK. azchīlál is the one where you get the ceremonial sacrifice of goats and other animals. harvests during the day and the sacrifices / feasts / revel after sundown.

tároshdhan - 15th of tárosh

this is one of the lady’s days but it’s the important one, and of the five major festivals it has the most significance and like, weight. traditionally it’s considered the day zhan tiri achieved or discovered choimghē (so, the day she ate ri ni’n), although i tend to think sorchā fudged the dates here a little bit. tároshdhan is very very very heavily associated with magic and the mingling of the profane and sublime. it’s kind of a witch’s holiday; magic is thought to be most potent on tároshdhan, there’s a lot of syconium rituals that are properly supposed to be performed or begun or ended on tároshdhan, stuff like that. (the crēdathámanē takes several years and is supposed to both begin and end on tároshdhan). the festival itself is accordingly pretty focused on magic and ritual.

crēlādīnacharogh - the winter solstice:

this one translates as ‘sun-eater’s night’ and in a similar vein as cresilínaeraegh it commemorates the slaying of jinarche and creation of the cosmos by [what would become] zhan tiri. in contrast to cresilínaeraegh though it’s a very solemn holiday! it’s kind of an accounting of wrongs and it’s kind of equally about atonement and retribution. crēlādīnacharogh is both a time for making amends or laying grudges to rest and for striking back against those who have harmed you, and there’s whole theological arguments to be had about identifying when the former is appropriate and when the latter is necessary. it has a reputation for being the bloodiest and most dangerous of the syconium’s holidays and prior to zhan tiri’s banishment i think that reputation was pretty earned because. if zhan tiri decided to smite you this is the day she’d do it. jksdfkj

it also has an element of paying reverence to huma, which is a really common characteristic for winter solstice holidays throughout the world because of the ‘humaic winter,’ which rosalia references in moonless air 13 and which - basically early in the shattered era one of huma’s cults pissed her off so she took the sun away. for six months. which caused famines and freezes and obviously it was night all over the world for six months while people frantically petitioned their gods for help. gkjsdjkf and then after that she was cajoled into bringing the sun back but this obv had an enormous cultural impact and now virutally every culture across the globe has some sort of holiday that boils down to ‘appreciate the sun or she might disappear again’ and also a big part of the reason why huma, despite being the third oldest god around and supremely powerful, has only a teeny tiny handful of small cults scattered around.

anyway! other important places for zhan tiri in saporia include:

janus point/cresezáhan - a much smaller ceremonial henge built around a yew tree zhan tiri inhabited from time to time, enough to imbue it with her power. unlike cashághē it’s not the sort of henge you’d go to for holiday festivals; it was used for specific rites and by witches who would visit it to collect magic.

stashalaghē - the pitch pond sirin visits in benighted chapter 2. like cresezáhan it’s a deep reservoir of zhan tiri’s magic, and specifically it’s located in the hollow zhan tiri tears in the peatland in this snippet. there’s no henge built around it because, for personal reasons, zhan tiri didn’t want one there, but it’s otherwise used the same way janus point is.

the charcāthēn gardens - these don’t actually exist anymore, but they were a sprawling, half-wild garden in charcāthēn’s religious quarter prior to the conquest. sorchā grew them, maintained them, and lived in them, and they were kind of a cross between open-air theater, community garden, school, and nest.

lady’s point/crēchíol - all that’s left of this is the defaced statue of the lady cassandra sees in benighted chapter 22; it used to be a much more elaborate and well-maintained shrine. this one was built by źatīr thēshala after they swore fealty to her and - kjsdfjk yes alcorsīan sailors would leave offerings there (of shells and bits of seaweed usually!) for good luck before they disembarked.

and then anyone who keeps a garden or a farm or anything where they’re growing plants or keeping animals will probably have a shrine to zhan tiri somewhere. prior to the conquest this was often like, literally a little statue you’d stick in the garden somewhere, but in modern times it’s a lot more common to have like, ‘stealth’ shrines where it’s like, a murex shell tucked away somewhere or a bundle of feathers tied to the side of a planter box or something like that that a coronan wouldn’t be able to identify as an icon of zhan tiri.

the splendorous temple / char malách

pre-conquest there were large, elaborate temples in each of saporia’s major cities - artois, alcorsīa, and charcāthēn - with the one in charcāthēn doubling as a seat of government where the thaómazhatēm convened. the one in artois was torn down during the occupation, the one in alcorsīa survived for a lot longer but was effectively barricaded by coronans and sat empty and neglected for centuries until it was also torn down about a hundred years ago, and the one in charcāthēn has been gutted and is partly in ruins but also still in use, albeit secretly.

services in the temples also don’t really. bear any resemblance to mass - there’s no preaching and i think of it as being more akin to like, a creative workshop? the temple in charcāthēn definitely skirts around the illegality of ternary worship by fronting as an arts school ajksdfjk and i think if a coronan stumbled into a service they… really wouldn’t see anything amiss unless they knew what to look for and where and knew enough saporian to recognize epithets of char malách. and then there’s also i think a really strong culture of like, small group philosophizing where you get together with some friends and a cháthar and just talk over tea.

i think of the splendorous temple as having tons of little holidays scattered throughout the year and really pious people might observe all of them but most just kind of pick and choose the ones they like! a lot of them involve lighting fires in some capacity jksdf. but. the Big One is cháraen, which always happens on the 5th of chámchar so the last month of formal summer. and cháraen’s festivities are basically.

- a water fast begins at noon on the preceding day (the 4th). adults who are observing the fast will generally spend the night cooking, because

- you get up at dawn on the 5th and break fast either in the temple itself or in your own community; both options are a potluck style feast where you’re expected to bring your own homemade dishes

- then for the rest of the day and evening it’s - almost like a fair with music / dancing / street performances but also the idea is you spend the day Making Things, so on cháraen you see a lot of people in the streets with easels and in heavily pious neighborhoods a lot of craftspeople and artisans will open their workshops and give lessons to the public - as a consequence of this a lot of apprenticeships get started during cháraen because it gives professionals an opportunity to spot young people who have the knack for their craft or just seem really passionate about it.

- at midnight there are huge community bonfires or even like pyres and you ceremonially burn the things you spent the day making.

it’s. meant to be a celebration of the beauty of both creation and destruction, and like a time of reflection on mortality and the finite nature of existence and finding appreciation in what one hands whilst accepting that loss is inevitable but survivable.

char malách doesn’t have as many sacred places as zhan tiri does because he’s a lot less liable to get attached to specific places but one really significant location for him is laran house & the golden spring. which has actually indirectly shown up in the story, here:

“—And this is ‘Daybreak on the Golden Spring.” Nigel clears his throat as he glides to a halt before the next painting, and Rapunzel gives it a dutiful glance. A tumble of pale stone, dewy ferns; honeycombed with small azure pools. Steam rises off the water in misty suggestions of gold, giving the whole landscape a gauzy, sun-struck look. “Marvelous piece. From Pamona Percy’s garden series; she completed this one in fifteen… forty-six, if memory serves. See how the water shimmers? She mixed powdered nacre with her paints to achieve an iridescent effect.”

it’s a system of hot springs nestled in the pingora mountains - i think of it as being actually quite close to rapunzel’s tower because the idea of calanthe visiting on the regular really tickles me - and laran house is… kind of a cross between an inn and a museum? built just beneath it. it is super off the beaten path, to the point that i don’t think corona is actually aware of its existence. but the springs are sacred to char malách and touched by his magic - the legend is that the springs bloomed in the wake of massive volcanic eruption that was a manifestation of char malách - so laran house is run by the temple and gets a steady trickle of saporian guests.

the barrow makers / cathay

there is a vast system of interconnected barrows under the hills of śaedhíhran, a town close to charcāthēn that is essentially a fully-fledged city populated entirely by cultists, barrow-wights, and an assortment of criminals and dissidents who aren’t too squeamish to hide out from the law there.

most religious saporians pay reverence to cathay on her holidays and [if they’re not following syconium burial rites and funeral customs instead] during funerals, and otherwise let her be. her cult is largely composed of bone-witches like sitheach, and then undertakers, grave-diggers, barrow-makers and so on, people for whom death is a profession. and then she does get some really extreme little murder cults that pop up now and again but, while mass murders and wars do draw her attention, cathay doesn’t really… care? about individual deaths so murder is not like, encouraged. and the ternary cult is under constant pressure from the syconium and the splendorous temple to not be killing people willy-nilly so it tends to dispatch the murderdeath cults when they pop up gjkdksf anyways

the point being. barrow burials, funerals, and parts of salanmora are open to adherents of the other two cults of the ternary, as are the rites involved when you’re hiring on undead workers (i have mentioned this before i think but a LOT of saporia was built with undead labor, and most pre-conquest saporian buildings will have a little shrine to cathay built into them somewhere as payment for services rendered), and bone-witches are allowed to do temporary reanimation in front of other people, but everything else is closed.

a key component of the faith is repudiation - bone-witches give up their given and sometimes family names and take on new monikers, they might sacrifice certain memories or feelings, it is… not uncommon for the really highly-ranked ones to have undergone amputations and replaced whole limbs with bone constructs and stuff like that! it’s considered to be one of the strictest and most difficult magical paths not just in saporia but anywhere. and it’s all very secret and even within the cult one’s personal repudiations are considered to be extremely, extremely private information. it’s between you and cathay and nobody else has a right to ask.

when the cult gathers it’s almost always for wight-raising, which is an Event! traditionally it happens during the closed portions of salanmora or on the 5th of shóldan (in spring), dathamánē (in summer), sicáraen (in autumn), or shalámaer (in winter).

and the difference between temporary reanimation and wight-raising is a temp wight is only viable for a few hours at most - cathay’s magic is propagated through the blood of the caster, so basically with temp wights as soon as the cuts scab over the magic washes out of the corpse. whereas a permanent wight is prepared and usually done by large groups of bone-witches; there’s a variety of different rituals for different kinds of wights - the rite sitheach used with lance in moonless air chapter 8 was pretty much an abridged version of a rite that would, with an actual corpse and a few more bone-witches to help, result in a flesh-wight that wouldn’t rot until the magic unraveled a year or so later. these are the popular choice for undead labor because they’re physically quite a bit stronger than bone-wights and also a lot less intensive to create, vs bone-wights which can last for centuries but are comparatively weak and take a huge amount of effort to raise.

wight-raising aside a lot of the religous practices in the barrows involve meditation, both individually and in groups, often in magically-induced altered states of consciousness like what happens during the public portion of salanmora. it’s a very. contemplative faith that is very concerned with separation from the individual consciousness and seeing and appreciating and being integrated with the pattern of the collective.

i think the first rite anyone goes through when they become acolytes of cathay is spending the night alone in a crypt or a catacomb with nothing but the dead for company - it’s about facing the reality of death and then relinquishing your fear of it and if you can’t do that then you’re not allowed to fully enter the cult.

#bitter snow #this post is three thousand words long hello #fallingivy

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agent-cupcake · 5 years ago

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So, what do you think the femblem cast would do for jobs irl? Appreciate your stories by the way, beasty and the bard is my favorite so far

I’m trying to work through older asks more like I used to with HxH, shorter form stuff, you know? Anyway, this is silly so a good starting point (also thank you! I love writing that story and going through my inbox I saw so many kind messages. I didn’t reply to them, but know that everyone’s words mean more than I can say)

Dimitri - There’s fanart of him as a firefighter and I like that. However, I guess it’d make more sense if he had a net worth we could only dream of and inherited a company of some sort from his father so that’s what I’m going with. Aside from running that, I think Dimitri would be someone who uses his fortune to engage in a lot of philanthropic work. Also, bless modern mental health care.

Dedue - If we’re going aesthetics, Dedue would also be a Firefighter. Or a famous chef, famous for his intimidating appearance contrasted with his world-famous dishes. Although, hear me out. Dedue was someone whose city or w/e was destroyed by negligence or conflict of some kind and he works with Dimitri to protect his people and built his home back up.

Felix - Raised in a wealthy military family, Felix enlisted and served in the Army as soon as he was able but became disillusioned with the military after the death of his brother and returned home. After that, he became super involved with martial arts and wound up opening a gym, inadvertently taking in other young and disillusioned kids and giving them a healthy method of self-expression.

Sylvain - Rich boy. Bad reputation. E-Celeb. He lends his skills to the social media inept Dimitri to promote and help with all of his philanthropic work. He does a lot of good things but keeps it under wraps to maintain his superficial image.

Ingrid - She runs Dimitri’s personal security force with a side gig of anonymous restaurant reviewing.

Annette - Chemistry professor at a university and rabid overachiever who makes consistent strides in the science world and inspires her students. She knows the Faerghus crew because she’s gone to them to make a case for funding scholarship programs.

Mercedes - Mercedes went to school to became a nurse, which is where she met Annette, and then she met Felix through Annette. Since many of the kids at his gym aren’t likely to go to get actual medical help, he calls her if there are any incidents. At the same time, she is an active participant in her local church and charity drives.

Ashe - Okay I think he’d have a really idealistic sense of justice as a kid, but that slowly became warped as he grew up. He met Ingrid through Felix’s gym and wound up getting a position on Dimitri’s security team, seeing the work that Dimitri does as a sort of justice.

Edelgard - I wanna say like a politician or lawyer, but the fictional kind where they have solid values and beliefs and do good things in the name of justice. Edelgard would be more vocal about her desire to change things entirely rather than follow the system as it is.

Hubert - Obviously he works with Edelgard. Sharing her ideals of justice, he acts as a behind the scenes confidant of sorts. Irl he’d be a bit less simp-y, working with her because he believes in her ability to make a change rather than some blood-intrinsic duty.

Ferdinand - Similar to Edeglard, but more invested in the idea of working within the system to make a change. Despite that conflict, they do work together quite often, respecting the ideals of the other and acknowledging that ultimately they do want the same thing.

Dorothea - Musical theater STAR who is very passionate about social issues, namely the treatment of younger and less famous people in the industry. She uses her platform to promote up and coming actors and all of the backstage production crews that are so often ignored and abused.

Caspar - Head of Edelgard’s security for sure. Grew up a rich kid but separated from his family pretty much completely, deciding to make his own way in the world.

Linhardt - Tech guy. Cybersecurity maybe? At some point, he got hired by Edelgard and works with Caspar bc ofc he does. He makes it clear that it’s not an issue of morality that makes him loyal, but because it’s a fun challenge.

Petra - An ambassador from a smaller country trying to establish more friendly relations for her people. People underestimate her because of her language skills, which actually works out for her sometimes because they don’t expect her political maneuvering.

Bernadetta - An extreme introvert who inherited her father’s company but manages most of it remotely, also focusing on her artistic endeavors. Probably has a super popular webcomic appealing to comically exaggerated introverts everywhere.

Claude - He attended a prestigious university and quickly fell into a career in journalism. Not like, trashy tabloid style, but actual journalism that is well researched and meant to hold people in power accountable. His background and source of wealth are mysterious, leading people to spend an inordinate amount of time speculating about his race online. Claude also uses memes and snappy editing as misdirection.

Hilda - She’s famous for being famous and rich. However, in the midst of all of that fame, she befriended Claude and actually came to stand for a cause. But on the lowest of keys, most of what she posts is makeup reviews and glamorous photos. Gamer girl.

Lorenz - His father's Thomas Wayne, but like... The bad Thomas Wayne from Joker. Weapon production and everything. Lorenz changes that, though, focusing more on those Bruce Wayne endeavors. Except he’s not Batman, but Batman’s flamboyant, eggplant-headed brother. I love Lorenz I’m sorry boo

Ignatz - An artist, of course. Works in animation, maybe? He’s drawn all of Hilda’s graphics and sprites and stuff. She even paid him!

Raphael - He does a lot of manual labor, taking on odd jobs or anything in the name of supporting his sister.

Lysithea - After graduating top of her class, she began working in the medical field, researching cures and other helpful medicine. Claude keeps her discoveries from going unacknowledged, and Edelgard has actually had a donation drive to fund Lysithea’s work.

Marianne - She owns and runs an organization that focuses on taking on animal cruelty and taking care of mistreated animals. She’s incredibly organized and efficient in the way she handles things and sees results through her various charities and request for funding.

Leonie - She works in a private security organization once run by Jeralt, taking on whatever job she gets hired for. Leonie is more interested in the work than the jobs. Drinking, too.

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overheardatthecontinental · 4 years ago

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“Is the Manager in?”

“The Manager is always in.” Charon responds as he always does, blinking at the sight of John Wick. When he had left the Continental, less than an hour ago, he seemed calm and resigned. Now, he appeared frazzled, although there were no apparent marks or injuries bruising the assassin. “He retired to his private chambers—”

John Wick nodded and set a handful of coins on the counter that he had taken from the trunk of his car. “I need a room—no accommodations, just standard mission prep.”

The mission prep rooms were used more for local assassins. They came equipped with top of the line technology, as well as space for maps and guides, weapons assembly and cleaning.

“I also need the Technician sent to the room immediately. I need a phone traced yesterday.”

“I’ll make sure to send him to your room once he’s finished with—”

John cuts off Charon. He’ll apologize later, he decides, but there isn’t fucking time. “I’m calling in Sante Fe. I need him now.”

Charon blinks, surprise evident on his face, but he nods. “Of course, Mister Wick.” He reaches back and grabs a lower key off a hook and hands it over, “Shall I direct the Manager to your room?”

“Please. And the Sommelier.” John grabs the key and departs, taking long strides down the hall.

John rarely used the rooms set for mission prep unless he was on a time sensitive case that didn't allow for trips back and forth over the river. He unlocked the room and stared at the expanse.

There was much to do but nothing that he could start until he got a trace on her phone. He doubted this new enemy would make things easy for him. They probably already had the signal blocked but he had to try. The only other hope was that Winston would know something. The Manager had an ear to the ground in every part of New York City.

John tosses the key to one of the tables and starts pacing.

Whoever wanted Lorenzo and the D’Antonio siblings killed would benefit from the Camorra collapsing. Of course, that included everyone the Camorra held something over, lesser Italian mobs, and the other eleven assholes who held seats at the High Table.

Bullshit politics, he thinks.

Somebody had followed him, watched him to analyze his weaknesses. And they had taken Helen over bullshit politics.

John grabs the chair that sits in front of one of the tables and throws it across the room. The wall cracks under the weight before the chair snaps into a handful of pieces.

“That was an antique, Jonathan.”

“I’ll pay for damages.” He says, not caring, as he turns. Winston stares at him, looking him up and down. John doesn’t give him a chance to comment on his, likely, pathetic posture. “I need a list of everyone who wants Lorenzo D’Antonio dead.”

Winston stares at him in disbelief, “Half of the Camorra want Lorenzo D’Antonio dead. His children want him dead. Most of New York, the entirety of the Sicilian Mafia, the Triad, the Bravta—“

John shakes his head, “I’m looking for an individual, aside from his children. Someone would benefit from the collapse of the Camorra.”

“Again, the list is nearly endless. I would indirectly benefit from collapse of the Camorra. But the point is moot, to act against Lorenzo is to act against the High Table itself.”

John exhales a breath. He was afraid that would be the case.

He opens his phone and looks at his messages again. From Helen’s work phone, a picture of her had been sent. She looked like she was sleeping but he knew she was sedated.

Her hands were bound in front of her and while she seemed largely okay, there were bruises forming on her arms. Her bare arms, exposed by her nightgown. And in that state of undress, they had her on a cement floor.

If Winston didn’t know, and the Technician couldn’t trace the phone, he would have no choice but to go after Lorenzo. He would face whatever backlash there was with the knowledge that Helen would be safe.

Unless, the unknown enemy didn’t keep up their end of the bargain…

Winston clears his throat, “You’ve never shown an interest in Underworld politics.”

“No.” John says, still staring at the screen. “Winston, I need you to dig as quietly as you can. Anybody who’s challenged the Camorra over the last… I don’t know, three years. Open challenges, rumors of trying to find someone to take a contract against Lorenzo.”

“Jonathan,” Winston steps forward, cautiously asking, “are you going to try to kill Lorenzo D’Antonio?”

If I have to.

“I’ve been asked to.”

Winston’s frown deepens “Conspiring to kill a member of the High Table is enough to get you stripped of services!”

John inclines his head, “I’m well aware of the rules, Winston. And I’d rather not have to kill Lorenzo but the matter is complicated.”

“In what way is it complicated?”

John hesitates. He had been stupid to think he could keep Helen safe from the Underworld. And while he had hoped to never reveal her existence to anyone, it was too late for that. He had, unwittingly, involved her.

Winston would disapprove, he already knew.

“I’m being blackmailed, and I’m not sure by who, but someone” I love “very dear to me is being threatened if I don’t.”

His mentor swears. “You know better than to get involved with someone not of our world.”

“I do.” John agrees.

Again, Winston swears.

“I have no inclination to kill the D’Antonio’s, but if I can’t find out who has her, where she is… I will.”

“You can’t act against the High Table—”

John says nothing but raises a brow.

Winston knows him better than anyone, save Helen. The older assassin took John under his wing in John’s early days in the Underworld. He offered guidance and advice, impressed with John’s skill but devastated by his lack of ambition.

Looking back, his relationship with Winston was the most consistent in his life.

So Winston knows, better than most, just how reckless John Wick is willing to be.

Looking defeated, Winston shakes his head, “No woman is worth your life.”

John snorts, “She’s worth a hell of a lot more than my life.”

There’s a knock on the door and John answers it. The Technician, looking rather frazzled, comes in with a large backpack and two smaller briefcases.

“Charon said I was needed.”

John takes out his phone again and unlocks it. “I recently received a call from this contact. I need their phone traced remotely, as fast as you can. It’s likely they’re expecting a trace.”

The Technician takes the phone over to one of the table, “Do you know who the phone is registered to? It’ll be easier if I can track their SIM card. They likely dumped the phone itself to disable the GPS”

“Helen Kingston.”

“Know when she bought it?”

John shakes his head, “No, but it might have been charged to her work account.”

“Where does she work?”

John barely holds back a wince because if Winston was annoyed before, he was about to become really pissed off. “New York City Counseling Associates.”

He can practically hear the steam coming out of Winston’s ears.

“Jonathan, please tell me your girlfriend is not a therapist.”

“My girlfriend’s not a therapist.” Not a lie.

She wasn’t his girlfriend. Just his therapist.

The Technician asked as he plugged in a laptop, “You know her social?”

He probably shouldn’t, but he does. He recites the digits and looks up to see Winston staring at him incredulously.

“Jonathan, who is this woman to you?”

John looks back down, watching as the Technician opens the file attached with Helen’s social security number. Newspaper clippings mentioning her pop-up, along with her transcripts going from Kindergarten all the way through graduate school. Her bank statements, along with every credit card assigned to her.

“Jonathan!”

John doesn’t look up, “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, Winston.”

“Please tell me that she’s not your—"

There’s another knock on the door and John, gratefully, steps away from the table and from Winston.

The Sommelier arrives with a room service table on wheels, covered with a white sheet that John knows from experience will have a variety of weapons.

He pushes the door further open and allows the woman entrance.

“Mister Wick.” She greets.

“Rita.”

“Charon was unsure of what you needed so I brought an assortment for you to try.”

“I appreciate that. Unfortunately, I’m currently unsure of what I’ll need. Versatility is a must.”

“Jonathan!” Winston says again, “Please excuse us, Rita, Karl, I need to speak to Mister Wick in the other room.”

Fuck.

John sighs, looking to the Technician, “If the phone rings from that, or any unknown number, get me immediately.”

“Of course, Mister Wick.”

John follows Winston to the back room.

It consists of a combined kitchenette unit with a coffee pot, microwave, and sink along with a twin-sized bed to nap or rest before missions.

John closes the door and crosses his arms.

He can practically hear Helen telling him to stop looking so defensive.

Winston stands by the counter and runs a hand through his greying hair. “Tell me that you’re not about to go to war with the High Table over your fucking therapist.”

John says nothing.

“Jonathan.”

“You told me not to tell you.”

Winston swears again, the anger and disdain dripping from his colorful language. John waits for him to get it out of his system. If he didn’t need Winston for this, he might have just walked away. He considers it in the moment but if the Tech can’t locate that phone, Winston might be his only shot at figuring out who had her.

But he could handle Winston, so long as he made it about the D’Antonio’s.

Finally, the old man shakes his head, “What the hell were you thinking?”

He isn’t sure what to say.

It’s been seven months and John’s note entirely sure what he was thinking, going into session that first day.

She had given him comfort that day in the café. The only comfort he could really remember ever receiving.

He knew therapy was pointless for someone like him, but he’d called her… just to hear her voice one more time.

But she had sucked him in, convinced him to come see her again and he had been done for.

What had he been thinking?

That Helen’s eyes reminded him of the forests in Belarus. That her smile was worth more than an eternity of sunny days. That she had railroaded him with kindness until he wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

That if someone like Helen could see the good in him… maybe he wasn’t all bad.

His intentions, of course, are marked by his selfishness.

It never should have gotten to this point.

He had been careful, making sure that he left no trace behind on the nights he snuck into her bedroom to watch her sleep. But he hadn’t been careful enough.

He was so focused on Helen, he stopped looking over his shoulder.

And now, she was paying the price.

Winston opens his mouth and John cuts him off before he can be berated, “I don’t have an answer for you, Winston. I fucked up.”

“Clearly.” Winston shakes his head, then loudly spits out, “Therapy. Do you lay on a couch and talk about your childhood?”

John rolls his eyes. This is what Helen would call mental health stigma.

“Why do you need therapy?” Winston asks, the disgust clear in his voice.

Again, he has no answer.

At least, no answer that Winston would accept.

There was a laundry list of reasons that John needed therapy. There was probably one, equally as long, as why Winston would benefit from therapy. But Winston wouldn’t see it that way.

Before he started to see Helen, John probably would have agreed with him.

“I’m not sure if this helps,” John says, “But I only started going because she was attractive.”

Physically, mentally, emotionally. John had been an eager moth to her flame.

“If she’s attractive, you ask her to dinner. You fuck her. You get her out of your system and get your head back into the game. You don’t complain to her about your issues! But now we have some civilian out there, with no knowledge of our world, being held hostage and—"

“She knows.”

The weight of those words rests on Winston and he stops his rant, suddenly going very still.

“What?”

“She knows. About all of this.”

“You told,” Winston repeated, “a fucking mandated reporter that you’re an assassin?”

John nods once.

Winston’s eyes seem to pop as he stares at John.

“I know I’ve already asked this, so forgive me the repetition, but what the fuck were you thinking?” Winston all but screams.

“She won’t talk.”

“Oh, are you sure about that?”

“Yes.” John says with a sense of finality, “Even with this…” he withholds a shudder, again remembering the picture of her bound and sedated on a cold, cement floor, “I trust her.”

“Clearly.” Winston snarls, “But there is a reason we don’t advertise our services to the world! Every single person who learns about the Underworld, in any respect, is supposed to be reported to your local Adjudication services.”

“You know I don’t give a fuck about S.O.P’s.” And before Winston can reply, John raises his voice slightly, “But you also know that I don’t trust easily. Helen’s not going to go running to the media or even the police. The moment she figures out what’s going on…” John shakes his head, wondering if she’s even awake yet, “she’ll know I’m coming for her.”

Winston continues to glare but John holds his gaze. He still looks furious but his posture softens, “Do you love her?”

“Yes.”

Winston lets out a sigh and shakes his head. “You always did take things to the extremes.” Winston mutters, “John Wick gets a hard-on and burns New York City to the ground. Unbelievable.”

In a moment, the air between them had changed. The tension disappeared, even if the disapproval remained.

“Lorenzo and Gianna arrive in the city tomorrow night. Santino is already here. I’ve been given three days to kill them all.” He’s never been good at asking for anything but he finds himself ready and willing to beg, “Winston, I need you to find out who has her. I have no desire to start a war with the High Table and the Camorra, but have no doubt, I will if I have to.”

“It may take time.”

“A luxury we don’t have. If we can’t find whoever is pulling the strings by the time they arrive tomorrow night, I will kill them.”

“I need more than a day, Jonathan. You have through the weekend.”

“I’m not leaving Helen that long.”

“At least, give me until Saturday night.” The Manager compromises, “I’ll do my best. I’ll begin right now, but right now, our only lead is someone who would benefit from the collapse of the Camorra. It isn’t much to go on.”

“Then let’s hope the Technician can pinpoint a location.”

…

She wakes up shaking before she even opens her eyes. Her bed is hard and icy and her covers are no longer tucked around her.

And then it comes rushing back. Waking up to a hand around her mouth and the glint of a needle. A momentary struggle and then nothingness.

Her mouth is dry, her limbs feel heavy.

Even opening her eyes is a struggle but Helen forces them open. All of the sudden, she is very awake.

She’s on her side, still in her nightgown, which gratefully reached her knees. She’s lying on a concrete floor. Iron bars reach from the cold floor up to the ceiling above her, caging her in a box. She uses her bound hands to push up to a sitting position to get a better look around.

The cell itself is empty, save a small stall in the corner that she really hopes contains a bathroom.

Outside of the cell is a spacious unfinished basement. There are mats on the opposite corner, covering the ground. Two punching bags hang from the rafters.

In front of her, two men sit playing cards on a rickety, foldaway table.

There’s a moment of blinding terror, her heart racing in her chest as she takes in her new surroundings. And then there is an eerie wave of calm.

She knows herself well enough to accept her weaknesses for what they are. Physically, she probably can’t put up too much of a fight. She doesn’t have the skill. It occurs to her that she may not even be able to throw a proper punch.

But she’s not useless, either.

She clears her throat, wincing as the action scratches at the dryness.

“Would one of you like to call whoever’s in charge?” She rasps out.

They exchange a look and the one on the left says, “I’m in charge.”

Helen surveys him. If she had to guess, she’d put him in his late twenties. His pants are baggy with tears she can make out from where she sat and he was wearing a sweatshirt.

This wasn’t a random kidnapping, she knew. This was planned. Well thought out. Someone who knew her schedule and learning routine took time. Then, they had sedated her. It was too organized, too clean.

This was about John.

And that kid sitting, playing cards probably had no idea the kind of monster he had just set loose by taking her.

She hums, “Maybe in the room, but not of the operation.” Helen pushes herself back so she can lean against the wall, “Call your boss, honey.”

“Listen, little bitch,” he pushes back from the table and steps over to the iron bars, taunting, “I own you right now.” He tugs a gun loose from the back of his pants, “I could kill you just like that! So how about you show me a little respect.”

“No, you listen, kid.” She forces herself up to her knees and then wobbles to her feet, “You point that thing at me, and we’re going to have a problem. If your boss,” she emphasizes, “wanted me dead, I would have been dead in my bed. No, he took me because he needs me. Alive and unharmed.

“Now, I’ll take pity on you because you’re young and you probably have no idea who you are messing with right now.” And she was certain that neither of her current jailors would stand a chance against John Wick, “So how about you call your boss, and let the grown-ups talk? Hmm?”

She’s dealt with enough pissed off clients to know when to stand her ground and when to back down. And she would be damned if she backed down from a guy who would probably trip running from the cops because he wouldn’t tie his damned laces.

And then he turns away, glaring and tucking his gun back into his pants. He grabs a phone off the table.

Helen closes her eyes and breathes.

Her head is pounding but that truly is the least of her worries.

“She’s awake.” The kid tells whoever’s on the other line. “She wants to speak to the boss.”

The kid hums along to whatever is being said on the other end. He is clearly cut off at the end, pulling the phone from his ear and looking mildly disappointed.

Disillusion amongst the ranks? She wonders. She can work with that.

He shoots her a glare, “He’s coming.”

Helen nods her thanks and rubs at her eyes. Even now that she is awake, her lids still feel heavy. Her body, lethargic. Sore. Cold. She backs up to the wall and slides down to a sitting position.

Her body feels overly tense and she wonders if that’s a side effect of the drug, the cold, or the trauma. Or a mix of all three.

The kid is still standing, which leads her to believe that her actual captor is somewhere in the building. At the very least, nearby.

Sure enough, she hears footsteps coming down the stairs.

He’s not too much older than the boys guarding her but she’d place him in his late thirties. Dark hair, dark eyes. A pleasant smile as he regards her with interest. He’s well-dressed and walks with the assurance that comes from having everything in life handed to you.

“Hello, Miss Kingston.”

“How long have I been here?” She asks and that seems to set him aback.

The man tilts his head. “Do you know who I am?”

“Can’t say I’m interested.” She retorts, “How long have I been here?”

His lips quirk in a daring smile, “You’re not the least bit curious about who I am or why you’re here?”

“I can guess the why. John Wick pissed you off. Or you need him for something no one else could possibly handle. Vengeance, blackmail, I don’t really give a shit. And knowing your name, who you are… it won’t matter because unless you let me go right now, John is going to hunt you down and disembowel you. So let me ask you again, how long have I been here?”

She can vaguely see his two minions staring at her wide-eyed in the background. It occurs to her that maybe she shouldn’t be talking to this stranger like this but what is he going to do? To shoot her, to hurt her would be suicide by angry assassin.

But their leader just smirks, “And all this time, I thought you were just a pretty face. You’re a delight. To answer your question, cara mia, it’s nearly noon.”

She went to bed at ten.

And John, bless his heart, was never as subtle as he thought he was.

He would have been there sometime after midnight for his nightly stalking habits that she pretended she didn’t know about.

“He knows I’m missing.”

“Yes.” He says, “I spoke to him last night. He was quite distraught.”

Helen shakes her head in disbelief. His calmness was unsettling because either he didn’t know what John was capable of or he somehow thought himself above it. She guessed the latter, “I don’t know what you need John for. Between us, I don’t really care. But you need to think long and hard about if this is really your best idea.”

Her captor only smiles, “While your concern is touching, I’m not worried.”

“Then you’re a fool. He won’t let you walk away after this.”

“He won’t have a choice. By the time Wick completes what he needs to, he’ll find himself too entrapped by politics to be able to hunt me down. His precious therapist will be freed, and he will be consumed by the punishment for his actions.

“I suppose,” he inclines his head, “I have you to thank for all this. You entrapped John Wick. I entrapped you. And now the world will be at my fingertips.”

Helen knew she didn’t fully understand Underworld politics but she was certain that this man was vastly overplaying his hand.

“The Camorra will fall. Italia will be mine. And all because John Wick made the mistake of falling in love.”

She swallows but tries not to let it show.

Because she knew. Of course she knew.

She knew John better than anybody. Half the time, she knew what he was thinking before he did.

Helen wasn’t immune to the longing stares he thought he hid so well. She wasn’t blind to the midnight visits John paid her, at first only once or twice a week, until it steadily increased to a nightly guardianship.

And she wasn’t stupid enough to think that no one was ever going to figure it out. A part of her even expected this. At the very least, she wasn’t surprised to find herself kidnapped and held hostage at the whim of one of John’s enemies.

“A therapist.” The man shakes his head, amused, “Tell me, whatever does John Wick cry to you about?”

John hadn’t been kidding about the misplaced misogyny in his world, as well as the unfettered arrogance. This was ridiculous.

She had dealt with ridiculous men before and, while this one clearly believed himself to be special, she wasn’t above doing what she did best.

Helen exhaled, assessing the best she could in her weakened state.

Now was not the time for mistakes.

She took in the suit.

The manner in which he presented himself.

His demeanor.

His attitude.

His actions.

An obvious neophyte in way over his head.

In a position of power that obviously didn’t belong to him, convinced he was far better than he was.

Certainty was never possible, but it was worth the gamble. “Does your mother know that it was you that killed your father?” She asks.

Immediately, the cocky smile vanishes from her captor. “What?” He growls out.

“She struggled to conceive, didn’t she? You were her little miracle baby. Thank fuck you were a son so she didn’t have to go through that again. Daddy needed his heir, didn’t he?”

Bullseye.

“And your father was appeased, for a while. But then you grew older. Not so good at the physical stuff, were you? It must have been confusing, never being able to meet your father’s expectations while your mother insisted that you were perfect in every way.”

“You must think you’re very clever, Miss Kingston--”

“But not as clever as you.” She quips, “Your father tried to teach you to run the business, but years of your mother’s coddling made you soft.”

“Shut up.”

“For years, you trained. You did what he asked. It wasn’t enough, it was never enough. You just couldn’t take it anymore so you killed him. Well,” Helen pauses, “You had him killed. Wouldn’t want to mess up that manicure, would we? Which leads me again, to my first question. What I can’t figure out. Does your mother know that it was you who killed your father?”

She’s met with utter silence. His two minions are staring at her in stunned disbelief. Her captor, however, is fuming. She can feel the rage, the humiliation pouring off him in waves.

Helen inclines her head, “Unless, oh, honey,” she makes a sympathetic face, “Did mommy kill daddy for you?”

“Nick!” A long string of Italian follows the name and the minion who hadn’t threatened her with a gun nods, frantically, before running across the room.

She looks back to the man in charge, “I prefer to counsel in my office, but I can make an exception if you want to start talking through your mommy issues. I won’t even charge you, considering you’ll be dead in a week anyway.”

Nick runs back over with capped needle and Helen resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Here Mister DeLuca.”

Well, now she had a name.

“Seriously?” She gestures around at the cell, “I can’t even walk six feet in any direction, and you’re going to sedate me? If you didn’t want to talk about your mommy issues, you could just say so. Sometimes, we need to build up to the bigger things.”

Her door was unlocked, and it kills her but she doesn’t move or try for escape. She’s still too tired from the last cocktail of sedatives they loaded her with.

The kid, Nick, comes in and Helen idly offers her arm.

Do what you want, she thinks, it won’t stop the storm that’s coming.

“You’re right about one thing.” Helen says, “I am John Wick’s therapist. Which means I know John better than anyone. I know what he’s willing to compromise on and what he’ll hunt you down until the ends of the Earth over.”

Nick grabs her arm, holding it tight as if he’s expecting her to start to struggle as he uncaps the needle with his teeth.

“He’s going to tear you apart.”

The needle pierces her skin.

“So I’ll ask you again. Are you really sure this is your best idea?”

It doesn’t take long for the sedative to run its course but she holds DeLuca’s gaze until the world grows fuzzy.

...................

Taglist: @greenmanalishi, @cynic-spirit

#john wick #helen wick #Winston (John Wick)#charon (john wick)#the sommelier #john x helen wick #helen x john wick #john wick fanfiction #john wick fanfic #overheard at the continental #the matrix has queue #fanfic

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wu-sisyphus-gang · 4 years ago

Text

Motion Sickness 177: Let Me Have This Moment

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Weiss and I were waiting at the airfield. I glanced around way over Weiss’s head. Travelers were coming and going. Embarking and disembarking on ships of all sorts of sizes. Massive cruisers and the lingering Atlas Battleships swept up and down onto the airstrips. Smaller private liners landed and took off like little gnats compared to the larger ships.

“So…” Weiss began. She was searching for her words carefully. “So I was thinking.”

“Okay? This doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s nothing bad. Don’t be a coward. Well, it’s not necessarily bad.”

“Shoot.”

“I think we should stop trying. It’s been a month and nothing has come of it. And if I’m getting married within the next nine months I don’t want to get married pregnant. We can start trying on our honeymoon again. Does that sound alright?”

“That’s really your decision.”

“You have a say too.”

“Do I though?” I asked. “Could I really demand that you keep trying when you just said you don’t want to? Could I actually? Think about it. It’s your body. What you say goes.”

“Is that really fair?”

“Pretty fair. You’re the one who would have to carry the thing.”

“Baby,” she corrected. “We call those ‘things’ babies.”

“Yeah that. One of those,” I agreed. “An infant. You’d be the one dealing with hormones and weight changes and body changes and pushing it out and feeding it and mood swings. What am I gonna do? Ejaculate and evacuate? There’s nothing I could do to help.”

“You’ll be there suffering along with Ruby and I. There will be two pregnant women for you to attend to at once. You will suffer, don’t worry.”

“Yay?” I wondered.

“So, I think we should stop trying until we have the wedding. What’s our budget look like for that?”

“Under two million?”

“You have no idea how much weddings cost, do you?”

“Under two million.”

She whacked me in the chest with the back of her hand and smirked up at me.

“Well, yes. But with just our small group of family and friends it can’t be more than two hundred thousand. And that’s fairly extravagant for twenty or thirty people. And it’ll probably be fewer than twenty people.”

“Okay? I don’t have a very good picture of money. All my life I’ve just sort of earned it way too easily. Like way too easily. Other people struggle but I make the stuff hand over fist.”

“Plus you robbed a mob boss.”

“I did do that.”

“That’s dirty money.”

“What money isn’t dirty money? It’s all filthy. Money is kinda gross when you think about what it really is.”

“I suppose that’s true to a certain extent…”

An Atlas airship swung down into the bay in the mountain. It was a decent sized passenger liner.

“Is that Ruby’s flight?” I asked Weiss.

“I think so…”

“Do we just wait?”

“Well you made the sign.”

I shuffled the ‘Ruby Rose’ sign in my hands. I did make the sign. I did. Weiss and I were both in our hunter clothes which for Weiss was that white dress with a blue sash and tassels. She had her blade by her side and the little box containing Ruby’s engagement necklace in it in the palm of one hand. She opened the box and peeked inside. Then she carefully manipulated the locket so its face was just so within the box and closed it again. Then she carefully held it in one hand so the face would still be forward when we presented it to Ruby. She exhaled hard.

“Relax,” I told her helpfully.

“Thanks for the tip,” she sassed.

“You’re the one who’s so sure she’ll say ‘yes.’”

“I mean… probably. Right? Why wouldn’t she say ‘yes?’”

“Don’t trip. This was your idea. Don’t start flaking on me now.”

“You’re right, of course you’re right.”

We spotted Ruby making her way off the airship with her bags and weapon on her back. She was beautiful with wolfish bangs and hair that was red just at the tips. She wore a tight corset that led down to a skirt and tight leggings but the leggings stopped above the knee and skirt only went down to about mid thigh so there was this space of white flesh shown off that was dimpled by the leggings. Her developed chest was pushed up and out by the corset and I think Weiss and I both sighed when we saw her but it could have just been me or it could have just been her. Somebody sighed was the point. At least one of us did.

It was apparent when Ruby saw us. She jumped excitedly and paced over to us at a rush. As she got closer I was able to make out her eyes.

Man, if Ruby thought she could just look up at me with those eyes and get whatever she wanted, then she was totally correct.

“You guys!” She ran up and threw her arms around Weiss jostling the box Weiss was holding. Weiss hugged her back and I lowered down the sign I was hefting and grinned as I watched the two of them embrace. Ruby drew back and pressed her lips against Weiss’s and I saw Weiss melt into the kiss with a smile.

“Sweetheart,” I greeted with a grin.

She drew back and turned to me. I dropped the sign and swung her up into my arms. She wrapped her hands over my shoulders as I easily held her aloft in one arm. Then she grinned and kissed my cheek. She chased that kiss with another one on my lips. My free hand came up to her cheek and cupped it gently while I kissed her back. Then I lowered her and set her to her feet on the ground.

“You guys! I missed you both so much. And Jaune it’s been a long time. Too long. Way too long. Never do that again!”

“Fair enough. Yeah. Fair cop.”

“Ruby…” Weiss muttered and she glanced at me. I just nodded a little with a small smile.

Weiss and I got down on our knees.

“You guys!”

Weiss opened the box.

“Ruby Rose, won’t you marry us?” Weiss asked.

“Of course I will! Finally!”

I laughed. Weiss took the necklace out of the box and stepped behind Ruby to put it around her neck.

“How are we doing this?” Ruby asked.

“No idea,” I said.

“He does too.” Weiss waved exasperatedly. “We’re going to pair off for the engagement presents and we’re going to modify one another’s weapons slightly.”

Ruby jumped a little in place.

“It’s so exciting. We need to plan the wedding and we need to invite my family. And Blake and Penny and Oscar and who else do we know?”

“I was going to invite the butler who raised me to walk me down the aisle.”

“I have no one to invite,” I declared. “Well, no one who would be appropriate to invite. Just a crowd of enemies, really. That would be interesting,” I admitted.

“Ooh this is so exciting. I’m going to be married. Mrs. Arc. Me. And you? Weiss?”

“Me too,” Weiss smiled. “I’ll take his name as well. I’m probably ending my family name but that may be for the best.”

“And kids. How many am I allowed to have? Jaune? Weiss?”

“How about we start with one and see where that takes us…” I trailed. “If - you know, nothing horrific happens, then I don’t know. Less than five. Don’t destroy me, Rubes.”

“Nothing bad will happen. You’ll see, Jaune. Oh my gosh there’s so much to plan. Have we set a date yet? Weiss and I need dresses. And we have to get a cake organized. And what kind of cake do you two want? And instead of little figurines can we have miniature versions of our weapons on top? And where do you want it to be? Where are we going for our honeymoon? What’s our budget look like? Where are we staying? Can we buy a house? Where are we going to raise our babies? Anywhere in the whole world. Where would you two pick? Oh, I suppose we want Jaune to keep his job. So somewhere here or near Vale? Like Patch? Oh we could buy a nice big house out in Patch. Big enough for all the babies and us three. And Jaune can fly. He can really commute without a problem. And it’s such a safe job. The safest he could have gotten. I mean… the sort of missions he could be being sent on by any of the councils or militaries could just be the most dangerous. They only pass you up to harder missions the better you are. It’s such a good job. It pays well enough and he can really stay close to home and not have to travel much. What do you guys think?”

“I agree completely. He should keep his job right here.”

I glanced at Weiss. They both turned to look up at me at the same time. I sighed.

“I have to kill my dad. And I have to butcher my mom. I can’t stay teaching forever and make my family someone else’s problem.”

“Why not?” Ruby asked. “Why can’t we have our lives?”

“Weiss, come on, can you really sit back and do nothing while your family makes a mess out of things?”

“I’m not going to do nothing. But dealing with my family and dealing with yours are two seperate things. Yours is a whole mess of trouble that is never really going to get solved.”

I sighed. I looked down at them. Ruby was looking up at me with those big fucking eyes. Weiss folded her arms and raised an elegant white brow on her scar side.

I turned away.

“I can’t do nothing. It’s my responsibility. Can you really ask me to not do anything and let more and more people die? It’s a fucking meat grinder out there. My Mother isn’t going to stop. How many other hunters should I let get blended up? I can put a stop to it. I can end this whole cycle of suffering. It’s on me. It falls on me. Ruby… would you really love me if I put it aside for someone else to deal with? If I condemned other people to face her. If I made someone else take my place. Really?” I side eyed her. “Could you really sleep soundly beside me each night knowing what I let other people face in my stead?”

When one of us looked away it wasn’t me.

“...no…it’s what makes you a hero,” she muttered and she eyeballed Weiss. Weiss let her arms droop and sighed despairingly. “But we can have both. We can beat Salem. But we can also live our lives. I really believe that we can. I do expect you to face your mother. But not today, this week, this month, or even this year.”

“My father has to be stopped. That’s next on my agenda.”

“Marrying us should be next on your agenda,” Weiss cut in.

“I thought that was first?” I asked. “You have my accounts. You have my schedule. Just ask me. I’m yours. For this year I belong to you. But I also belong to the world. It falls on me to slice up my Mother and put an end to this train of human suffering. And humanity will grow and blossom without her withering influence. Maybe the sort of world peace the gods expect from us will happen one day and Oscar will be able to unite the world. But it comes down on me. I’m the one with the power to face my Mother and I’m growing weaker now. I was getting stronger but recently I’ve been faltering more and more. The more time I waste the more other people get hurt and my chances of success fall too. If I’m not at my best she will destroy me. Like a bug on a windshield. She won’t even need to use my sisters against me but she can. My best chance to take her down is right now.” I pointed at the ground to emphasize my point.

“But I’m asking you to wait. We’re asking you to wait,” Ruby informed me. “Wait. It’ll be okay. Live with us.”

I breathed deeply. I… I couldn’t say ‘no’ to her. Not really. Never could. Maybe that was a weakness of mine. If I could look at her and tell her ‘no’ and start flying in my Mother’s direction I could end this today. I could still feel her out there on the edge of my thoughts. She hung like a piano over my head ready to crash down on me.

“Fine. Yes. Sure,” I bit out. “But one day you’ll have to let me go to her…”

“We will,” Weiss whispered. “We’ll let you go.”

“We’ll release you. We will.”

“I’ll die,” I warned. “She’ll kill me,” I said without emotion.

They said nothing. They looked between each other but I marched forward.

“I might get her but she will get me. And if she doesn’t, then my sisters will. You have to let me go anyway. You have to let me go knowing that.”

“Jaune…” Weiss trailed. “You don’t know that.”

“Yeah. I do. And you do too,” I said.

Weiss frowned but didn’t have a ready retort.

“All the more reason to spend some time with us,” Ruby pressed. “Don’t you think? Just a little more time together…”

“It will never be enough, though. You have to see that. You’re always going to want more. You’re going to want even more time. No matter how much I give you it will never be enough and you’ll never be satisfied.”

“Let us have this at least,” Weiss demanded. “Don’t start leaving us now. We only just got all together. There’s no need for this. We don’t want you to go now. We want you to be with us now. All of you. Your mind and your body and your soul. Don’t start straying from us the moment we’re finally one again. Let us have this moment. Ruby just said yes to us. What more do you want? Why do you have to undermine it? Just be with us.”

“Let me have this moment,” Ruby pleaded. “This moment with you and Weiss when we’re all engaged. Let me have the moment where I see your face as I walk down the aisle. Let me have the moment where we hold our babies in our arms. I’ll let you go. I will.”

“You know that I will too…” Weiss murmured. “I can’t hold you back from your destiny. And I believe you have the power to stop Salem. I won’t stay your hand. But you have to be with us the rest of the time. You can’t be pulled apart by your worries. You need to really be with us. Not partially but all the way.”

“I can’t do that either. She lingers like a curse on me. I’ll always have to look over my shoulder… but I can give you the rest,” I promised. “And if nothing horrible happens I’ll give you as many kids as you want. Well, not as many. But quite a few. No more than I have fingers for.”

“You always have to tag with that, don’t you?” Weiss leveraged. “Something ‘horrible.’ They’re our babies. Let’s be optimistic.”

“We still don’t know if I’m not using an empty revolver.”

“Please. Little Jaune is a rifle,” Ruby cut me off. “Call a spade a spade, at least.”

“Um. Anyways,” I shrugged that ego boost off as well as I was able. And I was pretty good at it. Not gonna lie. “We tried for a month straight and nothing happened. And I’m probably the issue. Not you, Weiss. You’re young and healthy.”

“And you’re not?” Weiss continued.

“You know I’m not. I’m old for my age.”

“Five or four,” Weiss informed me.

“Yeah. Five,” I agreed. It really was so young. So many people got so many years. Even in our hellish world. They got to grow up. They got to live. They got to grow old. They got to die.

I was cutting to the chase. I didn’t get to grow up. I got grown. And if I wasn’t careful I wouldn’t get to do much living as I aged rapidly. I would definitely die. All people did. All people should. Everyone got that privilege. Except for my Mother. She always had to be the exception to the rule. My Mother… my fucking Mother.

The eternal bitch.

I sighed heavily.

“I’m only five. I should be worried about kindergarten. And the cutest girls in class. And trying to make my parents proud. Not… not having kids, or wives, or saving the world from that alien. I’m matricidal and patricidal. And I’ll be sororicidal too. I don’t want to kill my sisters but I will. So it counts.”

“You always stack the deck against yourself,” Weiss dismissed. “You always have. You can’t see the good parts of who you are and what you do. It’s not like you asked for your family to be evil. And you take it on yourself to solve it. That’s what a hero would do.”

“You can’t see that you’re a hero. You’re blind to yourself,” Ruby pointed. “We’re going to work on that.”

“We have time, Jaune. You’ll see. You’ll have all the time you need to become a good father and a good husband before you save the world and come back to us. And you’ll see that having kids is easier than you think.”

“I… I doubt it. I bet having kids and doing a good job is hard as fuck.”

“I told you to work on your language. Start with that. We probably have just been getting unlucky but we’ll get it right. If we need to, we’ll get tested. There’s always medical programs to assist with pregnancies if we really need them. You worry far more than is healthy. I do too, I can admit that. But we have Ruby now. All together we really can figure this out. There’s nothing we can’t do. I know you don’t always feel that way. So we’ll just have to show you. We’ll show you what you’re really capable of.”

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

-WG

#motion sickness #lancaster #rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #weiss schness #war of the roses #whiteknight #jaune arc x ruby rose #jaune arc x weiss schnee #weiss schnee x ruby rose #whiterose #Salem is Mama Arc

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 5 years ago

Text

Dazed and Confused (Part 5)

Summary: Dean Winchester grew up wanting to be a cop. When he gets kicked out of the police academy on a fluke though, he turns to a life of crime. After breaking up with Dean and seeing him committing a crime in the act, the reader becomes an officer herself and eventually a detective. Four years after that day, the reader is sent undercover to figure out what Dean is up to. Only she has no idea how far Dean is willing to go to keep her from finding out the truth…

Pairing: AU!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 2,600ish

Warnings: language, scary situations, violence, murder, etc.

A/N: This series has been on Ao3 only for awhile now and I am finally reposting here as well. It’s not new but it may be new to you. Please enjoy!...

______

“Our dad killed our mother? Our dad? John Winchester? ” asked Dean, Jack nodding his head. “Well that must make me the fucking Easter bunny then.”

“I’m serious,” said Jack.

“Well I ain’t laughing,” said Dean, clenching his jaw.

“Nine times out of ten, a person knows their killer,” said Jack.

“It wasn’t him ,” growled Dean, moving his chair back, your hand catching his keeping him in place.

“Yes, it was!” said Jack, throwing his hands up.

“I swear to God kid, you say that one more time and I’ll-“

“Dean,” said Sam, so quietly you barely heard it from across the table. “I think...he’s right.”

“Sammy. It’s dad,” said Dean, running his free hand over his face. “He was a street cop most of his career, then a detective, then chief. He didn’t work for the FBI. When the hell would he have even done it?”

“Yeah he did work for them,” said Jack, holding up a hand, pointing at the laptop in front of Sam. “Look it up.”

“Tell that little brat to shut up for two minutes,” grunted Dean, stealing the computer away, typing away before his mouth twitched at whatever he was reading.

“The little brat would suggest the big brat cool it,” said Jack, Dean glaring over the screen at him. “Your dad’s the bad guy, not me.”

“Dean?” asked Sam, Dean shrugging and shoving the laptop aside.

“He was in the FBI. So what,” said Dean. “It proves nothing.”

“So you don’t think he was smart enough to wait until you were 15 to kill your mother?” asked Jack, raising an eyebrow that made Dean squeeze his hand around yours so hard you had to let go. “Until you hit your growth spurt and were strong enough that he could pin it on you? You had the means and the opportunity to pull it off. A smarter, more talented little brother that got more attention than you, a mom that cared more about him than-“

“That is not true,” spat back Dean, swallowing hard, taking deep breaths.

“The motive of jealous brother? John could twist that real easy given what you’ve been up to the past four years. You’re angry, emotional...he’s probably been setting you up to take the fall since you were old enough to walk,” said Jack. “He planned this for years.”

“Kid, you’re this close to-“

“Dean!” you shouted when he stood up. You expected his anger to turn on you, for him to start shouting his head off.

But he only forced his mouth shut and took a deep breath through his nose, sitting back in his chair.

“The old Dean still in there?” you asked, Dean nodding his head slowly. You reached under the table to hold his hand, Dean staring at his lap, running his thumb over the back of your hand. “Jack. Remember you’re talking about their parents. A little finesse in your phrasing, okay?”

“Sorry,” mumbled Jack.

“Whatever,” said Dean, your hand squeezing his until he grunted. “Sorry I was going to beat the crap out of you.”

“I could take you,” said Jack with a smirk.

“In your dreams rookie,” said Dean, giving one back, his anger gone like that.

“Guys are so fucking weird,” you said, turning your attention to Sam. He was spun around in his chair, elbows on his knees, head between them.

“Sammy?” asked Dean, much more gently now, Sam lifting his head slowly. “Don’t freak out on us now. Just because Jack said those things doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“Do you remember the time Bobby was supposed to take us to the zoo? I was five I think. I had that awful cold. You promised we’d both go again real soon and you went with Bobby on your own?” asked Sam.

“Yeah. I got you that little moose stuffed animal. You loved that thing,” said Dean with a big smile.

“Mom and I were home sick. Dad came home in the middle of his shift. I remember because I asked if he would get those sore throat suckers for me and mom on the way home. He was weird, just said I wouldn’t have to worry about it. I don’t remember a whole lot but mom looked at him funny and a neighbor stopped over with some soup soon after that and he want back to work. He brought home my suckers later on and I never thought about it again until just now,” said Sam.

“Sam...that’s beyond circumstantial...that’s…” said Dean, rubbing his free hand through his hair, pausing mid way. “You slept in my room for a week after that, with your little moose. You didn’t have a nightmare. You were scared of something but wouldn’t tell me.”

“I can’t remember what of but whatever it was, it freaked me out,” said Sam. “Bad. Like reoccurring nightmare to this day bad.”

“You honestly think…” said Dean, Sam nodding his head. “But you were there in the house. That doesn’t make sense. You would have been a witness.”

“Unless I was supposed to...you know...” said Sam.

“Sammy, stop,” said Dean, holding up his hand, staring down his little brother. “We don’t know anything.”

“It fits. The timing and-“

“What’s the motive?” asked Dean. “There is none. No way would dad hurt you or mom.”

“Dean,” you said, cupping his cheek with your free hand. “There was that one time-“

“I told you, we were messing around like guys do and I hit my face accidentally. Dad didn’t do it on purpose,” said Dean.

“He does know they teach cops how to spot a lie, right?” asked Jack. “Especially when someone is being-“

“It was an accident,” said Dean. “None of it makes any sense so until I see anything but hard proof, and I mean hard, I ain’t jumping on the bash on dad train. Y/N, you’ve worked for him for years , known him longer than that. You can’t possibly think dad is involved.”

“I want to know what Jack does before I start going gone way or the other on this thing,” you said, Dean nodding his head, Sam sighing. “Sam, I believe you. But that was years ago and you said it yourself, you can’t remember everything. I mean, I know you guys don’t have the greatest relationship with your dad but we should be smart about this.”

“Y/N, can I speak to you privately,” said Jack, both Winchesters whipping their heads in his direction. “It’s delicate and I’d rather tell Y/N first on account she is better at...phrasing things.”

“I’ll be right back,” you said, Dean tugging on your arm when you stood up.

“Be careful,” said Dean.

“It’s Jack,” you said, Dean’s jaw tensing.

“Please be careful,” said Dean. You gave him a smile and he dropped his hand away, Jack leaving the conference room first, moving down the hall until he found an old locker room, poking his head around.

“Jack,” you said, leaning back against the rusty things, Jack far more relaxed away from Dean but making sure you wouldn’t be overheard all the same. “They aren’t eavesdropping. Now do you want to tell me what you can’t say in there?”

“I work internal investigations,” said Jack.

“Yeah. I got that. You’re a smaller version of Sam with a gun,” you said, Jack giving you his best bitch face. “Oh look. There’s my friend again.”

“Yes, I am a mini Sam,” said Jack rolling his eyes, sitting down on a bench, rubbing his hands on his legs. “Dean thought he was working an undercover gig to get in with his mom’s killer, right?”

“Yes,” you said.

“Sam was investigating the team that assigned Dean this job, the team where someone on it in the FBI was Mary’s killer, right?” asked Jack.

“Yes and your job is to make sure nobody tries to kill Sam while he does that,” you said.

“Yes and no,” said Jack, looking over his shoulder at the door. “I’m supposed to protect Sam. I’m also supposed to do the footwork part of the investigation he can’t. Mary’s killer had to be in Lawrence that day. A local. There was only one person that fit the bill. John Winchester.”

“Where’s your proof Jack?” you asked.

“DNA. Only DNA found in the home was that belonging to the Winchesters. It was a mess according to the crime scene photos. No way to do that and not leave something behind. It had to without a doubt be a Winchester,” said Jack.

“Sam and Dean were kids,” you said.

“I know. If there’s only three possible suspects, two of them wouldn’t go through the trouble of setting themselves up to try and clear a name when they were getting away with it, would they?” said Jack. “It had to be John.”

“I need hard evidence, Jack,” you said. “Dean won’t believe conjecture, even if it fits.”

“Find me a murder weapon,” said Jack, lowering his head with a deep breath. “It was a kitchen knife. One was missing from the butcher block. A mistake a kid in a rush might make. Not one a guy framing his kid would.”

“He’s their father. I’ve had how many dinners with the guy. He’s my boss. He’s your boss. You know him,” you said.

“If this were anybody else, why would you be denying it? It’s because you don’t want to hurt your friends, right?” said Jack.

“How do you know they were FBI, the person who killed Mary,” you said, crossing your arms, kicking at the ground.

“They understood FBI protocol...they put out an anonymous distress signal in Houston, pulled in officers from all over the state, including Lawrence. John Winchester didn’t show up until two hours after everyone else,” said Jack. “He played the part well but there were a few that suspected him.”

“Why didn’t they do anything then?” you asked. “They just let their buddy go around and kill his wife?”

“I don’t know, Y/N. Maybe you should have asked them before one had his brakes fail. One had his gun jam out in the field. One fell in the shower. Three weird deaths of the three guys that thought maybe something was up? I’m sure that was all just a coincidence,” said Jack.

“He did it,” you said, running your hands through your hair.

“Likely. Timeline fits. John retired from field work, went local cop route. Stayed on as a consultant for us. Who do you think pushed for Dean’s team to come together in the first place? He did once Dean was in the academy. He never suggested Dean by name but implied things. When Dean went ‘bad’ John cried wolf that he couldn’t watch Dean do that, hung up his fed coat and let the pieces fall into place,” said Jack.

“Sending me in, the feds...what was that?” you asked.

“Dean punched his ex-girlfriend. Shows a history of violence. Not too much of a stretch with his rap sheet to mommy murder when he was a teenager,” said Jack.

“Fuck,” you said, sliding down to the ground, hands on your head. “Fuck, Jack.The stuff with Sam…was that real?”

“I don’t have a motive, Y/N so I don’t know. I have a whole lot of if this happened then that happened but I really need a murder weapon, a confession, a jacket with Mary’s blood, something. You know this family better than anyone else,” said Jack.

“Is Sam safe?” you asked.

“Someone tried to kill him a few days ago so probably not,” said Jack. “I don’t know if Sam’s always been a target or he was getting close. I don’t know.”

“I want somebody with Sam 24/7. Either you or me or Dean, understand?” you said.

“You don’t think you’re a target?” asked Jack. “We’d be stupid to discount you as one.”

“I’m a junior detective, I can handle-” you said, Jack standing and on top of you, stealing your gun from your holster easily, backing up with a cock of his head.

“You can handle what now?” asked Jack, your gun in his hand.

“He’s...older. He’ll be slower,” you said, Jack rolling his eyes as he handed your gun back over. “You aren’t babysitting me.”

“I didn’t say we had to. Just be careful,” said Jack with a smile.

“I have to be the one to tell the guys about John, don’t I,” you said.

“Probably a good idea,” said Jack. “I have to head into work soon before someone thinks something is up. I’ll call you later to meet up. We can use this place as a base.”

“Alright,” you said, following him out of the room. Jack paused before he got to the door, stopping you in your tracks.

“Did...did you know Dean found his mother?” asked Jack.

“No,” you said. “He only spoke about that day once. I figured it was better not to bring it up again.”

“Read his statement when you get a moment to yourself,” said Jack. “It’s what made me start looking at John in the first place. It’s not pretty but it’s useful. I don’t think he realized it, that he even realizes it now, but both those boys are afraid.”

“How’d you get assigned this case?” you asked. “Investigating John Winchester.”

“My dad. He was the one that had his brakes fail. I was in the backseat,” said Jack, a sad smile on his face. “Not a fun day.”

“Jack,” you said, grabbing his arm. “You really…”

“My dad kept notes. He didn’t work with John often but he knew something was off with him, especially after Mary,” said Jack.

“You’re doing this out of revenge,” you said, Jack shaking his head.

“I want some justice for my dad just like those guys for their mom,” said Jack with a sad laugh. “Go team murdered parents.”

“Yeah,” you said, giving Jack a smile. “You better get going. Bobby’s going to make you run laps outside the building if you get in after him.”

“You’re joking,” said Jack.

“I wish I was,” you said, Jack taking off down the hall.

“I call you later!” he said, barging through a couple doors, a car revving to life outside.

You took a few minutes to let everything settle, walking down to the conference room, the boys going through an old supply cabinet, pulling out notebooks and pens. Apparently they had the same idea about making that your base.

“He took off quick,” said Dean.

“He’s got work,” you said, holding out your arms. “Both of you, come here.”

“Why?” asked Sam, slowly walking over, letting you hug him, Dean uncertain on it as he tensed up, getting in close though.

“You two are about to have a very bad morning, Sammy, that’s why. Take a seat guys. We might as well get this over with.”

______

A/N: Read Part 6 here!

#supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #au #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #series

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queenofthelanternfish · 5 years ago

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Disclaimer: I am once again posting my gf @anesther‘s lovely fics to my account in order for it to have some chance of showing up in the tags. Definitely read it, it’s steamy!!!

AN: A much longer chapter, and it probably wasn’t smart with my hands but here we go!

Title: Interfaces

Characters: Entrapta, Hordak, featuring quite a few characters

Pairing: Entrapdak, implied Catradora and future Scorpfuma

Rating: M (smut found its way in)

AO3 is for better times.

Party

“You are cordially invited to a party held at Bright Moon by Queen Glimmer,” Entrapta reads, holding up the invitation. She looks at her communicator, “Why would you send out an invitation if you’re going to call us directly?”

“I got excited!” Glimmer says. “It’s been a while since we had a proper celebration of any sort, and I feel this is a good way to bring everyone together for a little bit.”

“Did you not host an event a few months ago?” Hordak asks over Entrapta’s shoulder.

“No, that was a picnic. Which you two didn’t come to,” Glimmer pouts, crossing her arms.

“Sorry, but we really were too busy to go,” Entrapta says, scratching her cheek. “We will be able to go to your party though!”

“Really?!” Squealing, Glimmer points at the two of them, winking. “I’ll see you two at eight sharp. And you don’t need to dress too fancy, it’s semi-formal!”

With that, the communicator is turned off. Entrapta returns to her mechanics, welding a piece of metal together. She asks, not looking at him, “You don’t mind going, right?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be a waste of an evening. Besides,” Hordak touches her shoulder. “You would encourage me to attend.”

Entrapta flips up her mask, “That I would!”

The dining hall, even for a semi-formal party, seems to be packed with people.

Hordak walks down the steps with Entrapta, staring straight ahead. Entrapta, meanwhile, has her gaze darting everywhere, paying attention to the decorations and individuals.

“Entrapta! Hordak!”

They turn, Glimmer teleporting right in front of them. Entrapta smiles, “Hi!”

“Hello,” Hordak nods.

Glimmer appraises the two of them, “You two are looking good. Love the pantsuit and dress combo.”

“Thanks!” Entrapta looks down at her outfit. “I’ve had this for a while, but I never needed to go out to a party before.”

“Well, be sure to mingle! Refreshments are at the table,” Glimmer tells them.

Hordak watches her walk away. Dusting off imaginary debris from his dress, he glances at the balloons and string occupying every corner of the vicinity.

Entrapta grins up at him, “Do you want to get a drink?”

“Why not,” Hordak replies. Entrapta shuffles on her hair, staying at his eye level. “I thought this was supposed to be semi-formal.”

“Truthfully, I don’t know if what we’re wearing counts, but Glimmer seemed to be pleased with our choices,” Entrapta says. Reaching the table, she leans down, hands folded together. “Ooh, tiny cupcakes!”

Taking a plateful of sweets, Entrapta and Hordak walk over to one of the standing tables.

“Entrapta! There you are!”

She turns, swallowing her sip of soda. She smiles, “Hey, Bow!”

He grins at her, “I thought that was you. Hordak, how’ve you been?”

“Well, thank you. And yourself?”

“I’ve been doing okay. I’ve been helping my dads with their library, for right now, in order to make sure that they have their records on Etherian wars and the First Ones updated.”

“Has it really been taking a long time?” Entrapta asks, holding up her plate.

Taking an offered treat, Bow bites into a cookie, “Amazingly, yes, since the majority of our contents are mislabeled.”

“Have you been making any new inventions?”

“I’m glad you asked, Hordak!” Bow says, ecstatic. “Look, I brought all these new types of arrows, and some technology Glimmer calls Spy Stuff.”

Entrapta lifts an arrow with a strand of hair, sipping her drink, “What’s in this one?”

“It’s one of my explosion arrows!”

“Don’t you have one of those?” Hordak asks. “I remember having that blow up in my face.”

Bow gives a sheepish grin, “I’m still sorry about that.” At Hordak’s offhanded wave, he continues. “And no, this one explodes but it releases smaller pods that also explode. It’s a kinda diversion arrow, I guess.”

“I say this because if you change around the compounds in your arrow, you will be able to produce a more effective explosion that spreads out a fire.”

“It’ll take down anyone!” Entrapta laughs.

Bow mulls over their answers, “Hmm, that would be useful if we needed it again.”

“You could use it for prescribed burning,” Hordak suggests. “Right,” Entrapta agrees, turning to Bow. “Isn’t there an area Perfuma needs to clear away in her kingdom?”

“That sounds like a good idea! I’ll begin tweaking after,” Bow says. “What about you two?”

Together, they begin to discuss the latest inventions they’ve been working on for the past several months. Entrapta and Bow add a layer of zeal to Hordak’s calm demeanor that is relaxing for the three of them. Hordak finds himself at ease, despite knowing that there are folks staring at them, or, more rather, himself. Despite the length of time gone by, Hordak isn’t oblivious to the wary gazes from some of the other guests.

“Hey, if it isn’t the best inventors on Etheria in their little clique!” Glimmer says, appearing in a dazzle of stardust. “How’s it going?”

Bow and Entrapta grin at her, “Going great!”

“Hordak?”

The three of them turn to him, expectant.

“Uh… I’m having a fun time?” Hordak says, intelligently.

“Really?” Glimmer asks, leaning forward to him. “You mean it?”

Hordak gives a thumbs-up.

“Yay!” Glimmer and Bow cheer, feeling accomplished.

“He wouldn’t lie,” Entrapta says to the pair, draining the last drops of her drink. “We are having loads of fun. This is quite the party you set up.”

“I got everyone here, and some of the other princesses showed up too,” Glimmer informs them. She glances behind the three. “Oh, Mom! Dad! Come here.”

Hordak’s ear twitches as he looks at her parents, former enemies and fairly tenuous allies. While Glimmer has taken to him well, Angella and Micah are staring at him with neutral interest. In truth, he feels the same about the previous king and queen.

“Everyone is enjoying themselves!” Glimmer announces, hands on her hips.

“I am glad to hear that this is going well,” Angella says, choosing her words carefully. She looks at Hordak, “Are you finding the festivities to your liking?”

“Yes, thank you,” Hordak says, standing upright. He gives a low, respectful bow, “I appreciate being invited to your home.”

Micah and Angella glance at each other, then their shoulders grow lax.

Micah gives a small smile, “That is good to hear.”

Glancing at Glimmer, Angella steps up to him. She extends her hand, “Thank you for coming. If I may ask, would you care to accompany me to the dance floor? I would enjoy the exercise.”

Keeping his surprise to himself, Hordak looks at Entrapta, who gives an encouraging motion.

Staring at them, Glimmer returns to her conversation with the rest of her friends.

Hands pressed together, Angella spins with Hordak in place. Wings tucked firmly behind her, she steps to the side, “I have heard from Glimmer that you have been helpful in restoring Etheria. Is the progress going well?”

“It has been,” Hordak answers, lacing their fingers together. He gently twirls her body, her footfalls light. He raises a brow, “I know you couldn’t have asked me to join you unless you wanted something from me.”

“What would that be?”

“To interrogate me.”

“I wouldn’t use the word interrogate,” Angella says to him, twisting on the ball of her foot. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she stares at him, “I would use the word ‘threaten,’ if needed.”

“A waste of time, Your Majesty,” Hordak replies, voice low. “I have no malicious intent toward your daughter or kingdom. She asked me to be here.”

“I know,” Angella tells him. “She has allowed bygones to be bygones. And while I have seen that you are not up to your old ways, I wanted to discuss things with you privately. We haven’t been able to talk alone in all this time.”

“I understand the concern, however, I don’t find it prudent or wise to insinuate that I’m biding my time to destroy your planet.”

“A person can never be too sure.”

“If I had ill will towards your people, I wouldn’t have joined the Rebellion in the final battle,” Hordak says, tone clipped.

Angella throws a delicate glare at his direction, “Be that as it may, I wanted to be certain that you aren’t going to harm us in the future. Can we trust you?” At one point in time, they couldn’t have. But he has changed, gone through a metamorphosis that he never expected to undergo. The time spent on Etheria, not as a warlord, but as an individual, showed him how many wasted years he had spent in the name of vengeance and bloodlust. His lack in valuing other lifeforms stemmed from believing that no one had value, least of all himself. He was born to destroy, and that was the end of it.

“I do not expect you to forgive me, or even trust me,” Hordak replies, slowly. “But I promised someone I care about that we would live differently, treat others better. I trust her above all else. And I trust myself to amend what damage I have done.”

Angella lifts an eyebrow, then her gaze softens, staring at nothing. She whispers, “When I lost my husband, I hated you. I hated you more than words could express. Then I felt… numb. So numb I couldn’t bring myself to fight you. As if all life in me had been leached out. I felt this ache in my chest every waking moment. That hatred of you became apathy. I wanted you gone, but at times it felt...” Angella’s voice fades for a moment.

“It felt as though I simply wanted it to be over. In the worst part of me, I wanted you to win, to win and end my suffering. I failed my husband, so what good was I to lead, if I couldn’t protect those close to me? I wanted to be with my beloved, and if it meant giving up my kingdom… I didn’t care. And now I feel as though I have to make up for that, by ensuring your loyalty has changed, because, in those moments of weakness, my loyalty to my people and daughter didn’t matter.”

“I…” Hordak glances at the ground. Then he directs his gaze at her, not breaking eye contact. “I’m sorry. I truly am sorry for the pain I caused you. And more so, knowing now what it means to lose someone you care for.”

Angella looks at Hordak, allowing herself to pirouette around him, “You do?”

“I never had a person I cherished before. I never thought someone would want to be with me. I had… formed these ideas in my mind, that maybe things could fall into place now, and she would be in them. When I believed she had betrayed me, I barely held my composure together. There was rage in me. And I became more determined to destroy all of you. As wrong as it was, it made sense at the time. It wasn’t simply about conquering another nation, but to hurt people because I wanted others to understand my anger. Then, when I thought she had died…” Hordak’s gaze flickers to the side, before turning back to Angella.

“I thought that was it. For a brief moment, I didn’t care if I won or lost. I wanted to die. But then, all that time I spent, it would be for nothing. So I pushed myself to go on, because then, the little I had left, perhaps it would ease the realization that I failed her.”

Angella pauses in her movements, eyeing her previous foe. He meets her gaze, quiet.

Neither of them are open people. They prefer to keep their insecurities and worries at bay, by either neglecting their emotions or engaging in destructive ones. They once led the opposing sides of a war, growing fractured as years came and went. She had been afraid of him for the harm he wrought, and he had been afraid of her for the victories she continued to gain.

He knows, and she does too, that there doesn’t have to be forgiveness to move forward. Perhaps not now, if ever. But resentment is breeding ground for corpses. So she will give him tolerance, and he will prove that that is enough for her to do.

They stand as the music peters out to silence. The applause doesn’t break their concentration.

Angella gives a curtsy, smiling gently, “Thank you. The dance was illuminating.”

Hordak bows, “Likewise, Your Majesty.”

She walks away to Micah, and he walks toward Entrapta, lost love reconciled.

Hordak finds that their little group has increased. Angella and Micah bid them goodbye after their dance, while Perfuma and Scorpia had joined up with them. The four of them slam their fists onto the table, “Chug! Chug! Chug!” Hordak raises a brow as Glimmer tosses her head back, gulping down her beverage. When she puts it on the table, she holds up her pointer finger. Waiting. Then lets out an enormous belch.

“Ooh, Glimmer wins,” Entrapta announces, clapping.

Bow snaps his fingers, “Aw, darn. I thought I had that one.”

Scorpia slaps his back, “I’m sure there are lots of other things you can beat her at.”

“Like what?”

Hordak stands beside them, “You keep your dignity. Is that not better than a… whatever that was?”

“It’s called a burping contest—” explains Glimmer.

“—Disgusting—”

“—And I won, so there.”

Perfuma giggles, leaning onto Scorpia, “Maybe we should see what else we can play.”

Bow hears a sound from behind. Seahawk stands flexing his muscles on a table, Mermista’s face in her palm.

“Glim, we should probably get him,” Bow informs her.

“Ugh, I thought he’d behave. Excuse us.”

Scorpia looks at Hordak, “We saw you dancing with Queen Angella. I didn’t know you could dance.”

Hordak shrugs, “It doesn’t seem overly difficult.”

“Man, it’s been a while since we hung out. Not that we ever did, but it’s kinda weird you’re not my boss anymore.”

“It’s still hard to believe we don’t have to fight anymore,” says Perfuma. “Which is wonderful, conflict always disturbs my energy flow.”

“Ooh, what kind of energy flow?” Entrapta queries, grabbing her recorder.

As they talk, Hordak allows himself to relax. The conversation with Angella, while not terrible, tired him a little.

“Hey, Hordak.”

He looks over his shoulder, “Hello, Catra.”

His once Force Captain sidles up to them, “What are you guys doing?”

“Perfuma is telling me about her energy flow!” Entrapta says.

Catra smirks, “That sounds interesting.”

“Very much!”

Catra looks up, “Hi, Scorpia.”

She nods, “Hi, Catra. You, uh, look good.”

“Thanks.”

Perfuma and Entrapta glance back and forth between them, with Hordak appearing disinterested.

“Whew, sorry, we’re late!” Adora yells, coming up to the group. She glances around, “Where are Bow and Glimmer?”

“They went to go stop the singing pirate from dancing on the table,” Hordak informs her.

“I should go help too. Catra, I’ll be back,” Adora bounds away, telling Seahawk to mind his manners.

Clearing her throat, Scorpia smiles at Catra, “How’s everything?”

“It’s been good. Adora and I have been great.”

“That’s nice, I’m glad you’re doing good.”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

“It is good, yeah.”

Entrapta and Hordak exchange glances.

Perfuma, sensing the odd tension, takes Scorpia’s claw, “Oh, I forgot I wanted to show you this dance move Mermista taught us. Can I?”

Scorpia nods, “Sure! Let’s boogie down!”

Catra sighs as they walk away. Scratching her chin, she says, “I didn’t know they were dating.”

“They’re not,” Entrapta interjects, swinging her legs in her seat. “I think you made it too awkward to be here.”

Catra frowns, “Thanks, Entrapta.”

“You’re welcome!”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Catra turns to Hordak, “You’re quiet as usual.”

“There is nothing to discuss, ergo, I am quiet.”

Dragging a chair over, she sits on it. Taking a cupcake off Entrapta’s plate, she wrinkles her nose, “I never understood the appeal of sugary desserts.”

Entrapta shakes her head, hand on her heart, That is so sad.” She perks up, “Do you want me to see if I can alter your tongue’s ability to perceive sweets?”

“Not today.”

Glimmer, Bow and Adora come up to them, having finally wrangled Seahawk off his ‘stage’ and onto the dance floor.

“I’m parched,” Glimmer says. “I’m going to get another soda.”

“Just don’t burp anymore,” Hordak teases.

“Har har,” Glimmer sticks her tongue out at him.

“What?” Adora asks.

“Entrapta, do you want a refill?”

“Yes, please!”

With a quick teleport, Glimmer takes off and comes back. Tired of being still, they all head to dance in the center of the room. Entrapta and Hordak watch from the sidelines, much better observers than participants.

“You okay?” Entrapta asks, touching his shoulder with a lock of hair.

“Yes, the evening is proving to be tiring, is all.” “When we get back to the lair, we’ll go right to bed.”

Hordak leans on his palm, finding the idea vastly more tempting than anything, “That sounds pleasant.”

Entrapta looks at the dance floor, then back to Hordak. She smiles, “You were really dancing out there.”

“It’s not difficult. It’s simple side motions much of the time.”

“Can I have the next dance?” she asks.

“Of course you can,” Hordak answers. Smirking at her, he leans toward her, murmuring, “I can do a lot more than dance too, you know.”

Slowly, a wide grin spreads across her face, “Do you want to find a room?”

Entrapta drags her mouth along the crook of his neck, breath hot on his pulse.

Hordak’s head tips back, gripping her thighs with his hands. Guiding her hips, she slides onto him. He breathes out when he feels familiar warmth, wet and soft.

Moaning, Entrapta begins to gyrate her hips. Her shirt is unbuttoned, revealing the curve of her breasts. Her fingers dig into his abdomen, gliding them along dark skin. Her hair wraps around his wrists, keeping them at her waist. His thumbs stroke her sides, laying still as she rocks her frame against him.

Breathing out, his eyes shut tight, relishing the feel of her body, strong and secure. Hordak allows his body to loosen, forgetting the world outside this room. Her moans drown out all other sound, the scent of her removing all thought.

All thought except getting caught.

Entrapta grins down at him, and she allows her binding to relax. His hands skim over to her breasts, massaging her nipples through the shirt. Groaning, her back arches, sinking further onto him.

Hordak hisses between gritted teeth, tempted to buck his hips. Her grip tightens, noticing his pelvis shift upward.

She bends low, brushing her mouth over his. His head inches forward, and she inches away. Teasing. Mocking.

Daring.

He thrusts up, causing her to cry out in pleasure.

They glance at the door, and they grin.

Quickening their pace, Entrapta pushes her hips down onto him, the two moving in an easy rhythm.

Panting, Hordak caresses the top of her thighs with his nails, sending shivers throughout her body. She releases one of his hands, and it glides along her frame to her clit. His thumb rubs it slow and gentle, even as she pumps her hips in fast motions on his cock.

Sweat forming on their skin, the two do all they can to make the other scream, all while attempting to be discreet. Entrapta thrusts her body down, Hordak bites his lower lip. Hordak rubs her clit harder, Entrapta covers her mouth with the back of her hand.

Her walls clench around his cock, the sound of their bodies slapping onto one another driving his mind wild. Remembering the talk he had earlier, and he’s all the more glad she’s alive. He reaches up to touch her cheek, throat tight.

Entrapta slows for a moment. She stares down at him, gaze loving. Pressing her hand against his, they don’t say anything. Glad they don’t have to miss each other anymore.

The movements pick up faster than before, trying to make up for lost time, the past mistakes made to stand in the way of what’s happening. Soon, they forget all that. Ministrations become more hurried, and they forget to be completely quiet, allowing their moans to deepen, gaining a little more volume.

Bodies hot, Entrapta and Hordak come together, muscles tensing, then easing. They glance at the door.

Entrapta and Hordak grin at each other, laughing quietly in the dark.

“Hope everyone had fun!” Glimmer shouts at guests disbanding. She turns to Hordak and Entrapta, “And it was nice of you to join us on the dance floor near the end.”

Entrapta beams at her host, “It was a lot of fun! And the food was delicious.”

Hordak bows his head, “It proved to be an entertaining night.”

“Well, don’t forget your party favors,” Bow tells them, handing each a small bag. “Don’t be strangers.”

“Seriously, you’re welcome at Bright Moon anytime,” Glimmer tells them.

Entrapta smiles, Hordak smirking beside her. Bidding farewell, the two wait until they’re well out of earshot before bursting into evil cackles.

“I wonder what they’re laughing about,” Adora says.

Glimmer shrugs, “I don’t know. I'm more wondering why I got a weird feeling again.”

#entrapdak #entrapta #hordak #spop #shera

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dykexanderharris · 4 years ago

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heartache, i’ve heard, is part of life

(kennedy/willow, heavy mention of tara/willow)

Post-Chosen

It’s May and it’s only been a couple weeks since you watched her hair turn white with magic and felt centuries of the slayer line run through you. It’s May and she hasn’t said it but you think it’s been one year since the last woman she loved died. You have a few reasons for thinking that.

One of the big ones is that it’s May and You’ve learned that May being Apocalypse Month is one of the Scoobies’ favourite jokes. Since Willow was the cause of the last Apocalypse, you figure Tara probably died almost exactly a year ago. There’s also the thing where Xander and Buffy have both been big with the hovering for the last few days. You get wanting to be with friends after a near-apocalypse, you’ve spent a lot of time with Rona and Vi since Sunnydale turned into a crater, but Xander and Buffy have nearly attached themselves to Willow.

But the biggest hint is the way Willow is quiet. In the few months that you have gotten to know her, Willow has been a lot of things, most of them amazing, a few of them kind of terrifying. None of them is quiet. She can be shy occasionally and she can overthink which can look like quiet, but you can always tell that it’s not actually quiet since her eyes do this really cute and expressive thing where it kind of looks like she’s trying to figure out the worlds secrets.

Right now she looks quiet. She talks with same vernacular that you’ve grown so fond of and she smiles at you every time she catches you staring. But she looks quiet and her eyes don’t look complicated at all and there’s sadness there, more than usual. You’re not worried in the stressed and panicking sense, you’re just worried in the concerned that she isn’t talking to anyone about her dead girlfriend.

You recognize that you are definitely someone she can come to, but that she probably wouldn’t be big for conversing with her girlfriend that she accused of making her forget about her dead girlfriend - turning into the man she killed or not -about said dead girlfriend. So, you hope that Willow’s talking to someone but you have an inkling that she’s not going to talk to Buffy or Xander since they both have more recent dead loved ones. You doubt she’d talk to Daw, especially since Dawn has been kind of an asshole to both of you since she realized that the two of you aren’t just screwing because of your common experience of pre-apocalypse lesbianism. You wish you had her confidence, because even you aren’t convinced of that fact.

Th point is, you care, a lot, about Willow. And whether it’s been a year since Tara died or if the grief is just heavier now that there isn’t magic recovery or a First Evil to fight, you want to be there for her. So, when she comes out of the bathroom and into your room, towelling her hair, you just smile at her and invite her to come sit with you.

You listen to her breathe for a while as she flips through a handwritten journal, leaning your head on her shoulder you recognize most of the handwriting as Willow’s but there a more hurried and loopy script running through the pages along her steady and colourful words. You feel when her cheeks life with her smiles as she reads and thanks to your newly enhanced slayer hearing, you can hear the frequency with which she starts swallowing when she comes across full pages of the blue and loopy words.

Feeling her shift as she runs her finger along the edge of the page you shift with her, looking up to her. Softly, you ask, “Tell me about her?”

When Willow looks down, the same quiet in her face as the last few days but a small confusion, you clarify. “Tara. And only if you want to. I know you say you two were private and I respect that, but grief is hard and it’s harder when you don’t talk about it. So, if it’s okay with you, you can tell me about her. Or I can get Xander or Buffy and you can talk to them.”

Willow smiles at you and you really wish this warm feeling in your chest would stop popping up every time she looks at you because you don’t want to be the stereotypical lesbian who says I love you on the third date but she makes it easy. And she pauses and swallows again, and then she closes the journal and looks at you. And she says, “Are you sure?”

And you’re not, because you have this tendency to get jealous about stupid things and you don’t want to put yourself in a place where you might end up jealous of a dead girl and that would be stupid. But you say yes anyway because the hope in her eyes makes it clear she needs this. And Tara sounds like a good person from every account you’ve ever heard about her, plus you’ve got that whole loving Willow thing in common, so she seems like the kind of person you would’ve wanted to know if you could’ve.

With your confirmation, Willow tells you about her. She tells you about her as in the way that she loved horror movies even though she basically lived in one. You learn that Tara used to always get on both Willow and Dawn’s backs about eating healthy but she always kept gummy bears in her backpack in case it turned into a bad day. You listen when Willow admits that Tara thought the two of them were dating weeks before Willow realized she was gay and she laughs with you when you tease her.

And then she tells you about the journal on her lap. It started as just a catalogue of demons and meals and spells and little anecdotes from her daily life but eventually became the story of her and Tara, written out in their own handwriting. Willow mostly tells you about Tara teasing her about how she writes like she talks - in circles until someone tells her it’s okay to stop. You smile into Willow’s shoulder when she points to a period after a run on sentence that lasted over two pages long that is a different colour that the rest of the pages.

She goes through each page and tells you some of the stories and keeps some to herself, and from Willow’s account you can see how everyone views Tara as a perfect person because she seems pretty amazing. But then, a couple months into the journal, Willow starts flipping through pages written in black ink - an odd occurrence when previous pages were pinks or sparkly blues or lime green - with incantations and spells and ingredients and frustrated scribbles. You feel the way she tenses and she tells you about Glory who had made Tara go literally crazy and how she spent days pouring over texts just trying to find something to bring her back and how because of that Buffy died. You don’t correct her, it’s a different battle for a different day, but you do relish in her smile when the loopy writing is back.

There’s a page with some stranger ingredients and Willow tells you it’s the spell that brought Buffy back. You note the different coloured question mark next to the ingredient “vino della madre”. Now Tara’s notes are smaller than before, things like ‘dork’ when Willow pours over how much she loves Tara in the pages. you laugh are surprised that you have felt no jealousy, just sadness that Willow, and everyone, lost her. But you watch as Tara disappears from the margins, not abrupt like last time, but slower, until her only input are small drawings. And eventually she’s gone, and there’s a page that’s been scratched out but you see the way it bleeds onto the next page and figure it wasn’t the prettiest breakup. Willow confirms to you that it wasn’t, she tells you every step she took that ended up with her turning into a terrible and abusive person.

That’s one of the things about her that scares you sometimes, but you don’t need to think about that now. Willow flips through more pages, some of them black, some with colourful writing and fewer and fewer with spells, some with small self-affirmations. And you tease her for it and she blushes and you love her, in all your own stereotypical lesbian glory. She gets to the last page of the journal. Not the last page in the physical journal but you can tell it’s the last one in the way she looks at it.

And the last pages are all Willow, one is about a serum to help Buffy and the other two are about Tara. And then, proving your theory about the day she died, on a page dated May 7th, 2002, in purple ink is one sentence. ‘I love you, always, even when I’m not around.’

Willow gasps as she reads it, and you watch her gasp turn into a sob and she starts crying. You didn’t expect this conversation to end anywhere else, so you hold her and tell her it’s okay until she calms down. She shakes her head, as if to deny what just happened. Then she shrugs, “I’m sorry. It’s just, this,” She points at the journal, “and a couple pictures are the only proof that she was ever...”

She trails off and you get it. You don’t get it, but you think of Amanda who was younger then you but who reminded you of your sister so much and now she’s just a body in a hole that the government plans to fill with cement with no proof that you ever even knew her. You know, somewhere with her is Anya and Spike and Tara.

But Willow’s wrong, because Amanda is the one who encouraged you to forgive Willow, and wherever this goes, Amanda is part of the choices you make. So you kiss her cheek and place you hand on her other one, wiping away the tears there with your thumb. And you nod, “You’re right, she was a whole person and now all that’s left is notes in a journal and a couple pictures. But you forgot something.”

At Willow’s confusion, you continue. “You’re still here, and Dawn’s still here pissed off on Tara’s behalf. She’s gone but she’s still here. So, yeah, it is unequivocally shitty that she doesn’t get to be here so that the world gets to know her. But the world gets to know you and Dawn and Buffy and everyone else that got to know Tara. And I think, that’s plenty since she’s supposed to be my competition or whatever and I think I might like her more than I like you.”

Your last words are teasing and Willow smiles at you, though her eyes are serious. She leans her forehead against yours, running her hand through your hair and sighs wetly. “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”

And you smirk at her. “I did actually, but thanks for the ego boost.”

It’s easier like this, when you can say serious things but end the conversations lightly and don’t have to sit with the discomfort. Willow shifts to kiss you and is crying when she pulls away. “Thank you.”

And you could say it now, that you love her. That you’ll follow her wherever she wants to go once the apocalypse hangover is gone. But as much as you’re comfortable being a stereotype, you’re not an idiot. You’ve been given what you consider to be the extraordinary gift of getting to date Willow Rosenberg, most powerful witch in this hemisphere. You’re not going to mess that up with as something as stupid as saying you love her off the hinges of a conversation about the dead love of her life. So, you just smile.

#kennedy (btvs)#willow rosenberg #kennedy/willow #btvs fanfic #btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #mine #kennedy

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warwaged-archive · 4 years ago

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I’ll just make a list or I’ll never get this done, but this is about divergences in how I write lor’themar. I am canon based (but as always also very reliant on my own headcanons to expand stuff and fill in blanks) up to Legion.

he was friends with sylvanas once upon a time, but to make a call back to that after it has literally been ignored most of the time is lazy and the way it’s done just makes it seems like he didn’t care. his relationship with her is complicated, both because of what it was in life and because of their interactions after she died, with lor’themar not being able to trust her and the other dark rangers in silvermoon and sylvanas extending a hand then wanting more of his people to die on a battle they weren’t ready to fight. I don’t think there’s been trust from either side for a long time, but sylvanas is his oldest ally amidst the other leaders, in spite of how sketchy an ally she is.

honor, as a concept, is not in his top five priorities probably. honor helped them very little in fighting arthas, or dealing with kael’thas, or restoring their kingdom, and while lor’themar understands its value, he doesn’t place it above the well being of his people (see also: would switch factions in the blink of an eye if it guaranteed it’d best for the sin’dorei).

he does have limits though, and burning teldrassil, murdering most kaldorei and making them undead afterwards just hits too close for comfort

like, deceiving the kaldorei so teldrassil would have a smaller defense force, then marching on it and taking it for the horde? sure. that’s all fine and good. but blowing up the entire thing and killing everyone and making the ones left undead is just. Too Much.

with all of that what I mean to say is: from that moment he has 0 allegiance to sylvanas. he doesn’t like night elves but what she’s doing would bother him enough I can’t see him not confronting her about it. it was different with garrosh, who he not only didn’t know on a personal level and had no ties to, but who he knew enough to be wary of from the start (and to know voicing his issues to would only make things worse). he knew sylvanas, he has some tie to her still, and even if he didn’t, there’d be the emotional reaction of seeing someone who was dear to him and who he chooses to remember fondly for what she was in life suddenly appear to be following on the footsteps of the very monster she gave her life to fight.

how she’d deal with it is ofc up to sylvanas. for the most part, it doesn’t change things heavily because in spite of that lor’themar wouldn’t withdraw from the horde. he has negative levels of trust in humans, thinks the alliance is in fact rather stupid to be following a child and is very aware that between the kaldorei and jaina there wouldn’t be much of a welcome to his people either.

that’s all to establish this is the important thing when he switches sides. couldn’t give a single fuck about sylvanas raising humans against their will, she’s been doing that for a while.

still! given he voices his opposition at the beginning, wouldn’t it make a lot of sense sylv sends him to nazjatar, given she was sending people to die? so yeah! sends him on the boat with nathanos to fight the alliance

he ends up in nazjatar, as he canonically does. ends up leading the horde forces there when nathanos fucks off to do his thing. gets to befriend thalyssra somewhat while there.

lor’themar’s decision to work with the alliance is one he does solely out of need. he won’t ever be truly friendly to jaina until she’s at least been held accountable for murdering his people in dalaran. walking away is a fine lesson and all ty taran zhu, but it’s not fair to his people that he let it go while jaina faced no consequences whatsoever.

on that note, vereesa can choke he’s never making amends with her ever

windrunners stop fucking things up challenge

anyways! back to bfa! he respects baine, but his imprisonment is really just the last drop, not what prompts switching sides on its own.

I just think it’s more fitting with him, as a character, to make this less about the horde and honor, given those are not the things that drive him as a character or even a leader.

ultimately it does lead him to the same realization that they can’t fight azshara and n’zoth or whatever while also still fighting the alliance, a goddamn lot of people already died in this war and keep it going will only make things worse, but sylv doesn’t care and is sending them to die and imprisoning those who oppose her so it’s time to switch sides ig

I know in canon he’s all like ‘I had hoped my old friend would see reason’ while talking to the PC but I think it’s also important to note that I don’t write lor’themar as being genuinely open towards anyone he doesn’t have some degree of trust towards. his feelings are private (and he often pushes them to second place when it comes to how he feels vs what must be done or just his job so). it’s not something he would speak of in general tbh unless prompted to, and even then it’d be more ‘I had hoped she’d never go that far’ more so than ‘hoped she’d see reason’

he really doesn’t feel guilty for saurfang dying idk what that was about

I maintain he’d very much be like ‘will you be warchief again, thrall?’ as soon as that was being discussed, because he won’t be warchief thanks but no thanks

is ok with signing the truce. keeping the war going is of no benefit to quel’thalas or the horde so

rip talanji but sometimes it be like that

he is very on board with the council idea. the sin’dorei have already suffered plenty under shitty warchiefs and the idea of a council making decisions instead is a big improvement on his opinion

thalyssra is a tentative friend at most. lor’themar doesn’t trust people easily to be quick in considering anyone friends fast. back in legion, he did not interact with her, liadrin did --- his friendship with her only begun after legion/early bfa, and while he does see her in a friendly manner, that’s it tbh

so like, I do not write him being in a relationship with her as canon has it

a moment in verse never happened

during what would be the shadows rising timeline he’d be very concerned with finding out what sylvanas is up to because she could be a threat to all of them and they have 0 clue what is her goal.

anything that happens in the book in regards to him specifically, too, I do not follow. he wouldn’t be the one to suggest open negotiations with kul’tiras (did I mention jaina never faced any consequences for what she did and that’s unfair to his people)

he’d take a very personal interest in the council to guarantee the best for the blood elves always.

the only way I can accept shaw’s spies catch him writing something like “My dusk lily bends more each day toward the sun.” is if he was aware he was being spied on and did that purposefully to give the alliance useless information tbh (and had a moment of lol what if I write some shitty poetry and make them think that’s how I spend my time)

other than that yeah no he’d not do that unironically

lor’themar can be very diplomatic if he wishes to be, and he’s not prone to being open with his thoughts/emotions when he’s acting as regent lord, and by extension as a member of the council. he can also be a bitch when he doesn’t think diplomacy is necessary.

he’s learned a lot being part of the horde, and definitely grew with it too. he certainly is a much more tolerant person he was in the past, and has come to see many of the other races in a different way than he used to. I do think he doesn’t want to leave the horde as he may have once, but his loyalty will always be first and foremost to the sin’dorei. his morals are not orc or tauren morals, and like, when it comes to do the honorable thing or what benefits his people, he’ll do what benefits his people. what I mean with all of this is: don’t expect my lor’themar to be crying about saurfang and yelling honor and holding hands with jaina kasndfkjsdfn

he also doesn’t look 5 thousands years old. let lor’themar be pretty like he deserves to be.

#* muse: lor'themar theron / SUNGUIDED.#* general: headcanons / WHO TELLS YOUR STORY?#* character study: lor'themar theron / THE SURVIVING‚ THE HEALING‚ THE REBUILDING.#it's purposefully close to canon to fit with things that happen and make things easier for us all #kasjndfkjsdnf #but from a character point of view it's enough to make him Not that thing he is in recent canon bc I do not like #I should proofread but I won't I'll just post if #it*#kajndfkjsndf #long post cw #I think the important things are all here? also there's considerable rambling and I cannot write an entirely Serious post to save my life #* out of character: the mun / THAT GLOOMY GIRL WHO SIGHS A LOT?

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kayteewritessteve · 5 years ago

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If London Should Ring

Description: An elusive Hydra criminal finally comes out of hiding after months. Bringing Steve, Tony, Bucky and Sam to an exclusive weapons expo in London, alongside a rather interesting Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) agent. Masterlist HERE.

Word Count: 11,700 ish. Bloody hell! This one got away from me just a bit...this is basically a mini series in a one shot.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: PG. Warnings: Curse words. Accounts and moments of violence. Mentions of dying and dead Hydra henchmen. And I think that’s it.

Requested: Yes, by the lovely @thedarklightwithinus who wanted a one shot with a British reader. So here it is, I truly hope you enjoy it! And sorry it’s so dang long, I just got super into it and couldn’t stop! ♥️♥️♥️ A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

Fury enters the large meeting room, a brown manila folder gripped tightly in his hand, as he makes his way to the front of the massive table. All the available Avengers already sitting around it, wondering why they are here, and what this impromptu meeting is all about.

Steve glances around the room, seeing only Sam, Bucky and Tony present. As Nat, Wanda, Clint, and Vis are all off in random places in the world, on different missions. And Thor is off—well, off doing Thor things probably, no one really knows where he goes, somewhere far out in space no doubt. And Bruce is in his lab, tinkering away on some project Steve would never be able to understand. So that just leaves the 4 guys in the tower, attempting to enjoy their off time—well as much as they can, knowing that at any given moment they could be called into a briefing and shipped out. Much like right now, he assumes.

Fury drops the heavy folder on the table with a thud and clears his throat, drawing all the attention to him. He flips the folder open and grabs a few pieces of paper, effortlessly sliding a few small, stapled stacks across the tables smooth surface, one to each man. All of them picking the packets up and briefly skimming over the few pages of information. Forgoing a greeting, in classic Fury fashion, he just begins to explain why they are all here. Not wanting to waste anyone's time, but mainly his own. “We finally got some intel on Surkov,” he starts and Steve instantly perks up at the mentioned name.

Nikolai Surkov has been a thorn in Steve's side for months now. He’d first encountered Surkov—or rather, first learned his name—while in Russia taking out a large Hydro facility that was testing, and producing, animal warfare. Taking regular animals and changing them into bloodthirsty killing machines. Steve was disgusted, to say the least, and it had left him with a few new haunting images to fill his regular nightly nightmares.

They’d gone in full force and had successfully managed to take control of the entire location within 20 minutes. Along with also managing to keep all the animals safe, up until the specialists and scientists were sent in and took over. The animals were all successfully extracted and then brought to safer locations. Locations where the specialists could begin humanely attempting to undo the damage done to them, and look at relocating them all to more permanent, safe sanctuaries. Where all the animals could live out their days, peacefully. But even with that facility being permanently shut down, they knew it was only a matter of time before a new one popped up, and took over where this one had left off. And to make matters worse, Surkov had managed to escape undetected during the melee. Slipping away into the night right before they could capture him for questioning, as he was the one in charge of the whole facility. And they knew he’d be valuable for intel moving forward, being that he was rather high up in Hydra’s organization.

After they’d cleared out the whole facility, they’d then spent weeks searching for Nikolai, taking out a few more, smaller Hydra bases along the way. But he’d basically vanished, and had clearly gone deep underground. So deep that even Nat couldn’t track him, though she had tried, but it always ended up in the same place. Either just missing him, or having not even been close to him to begin with.

So, 7 months later, and they still haven’t been able to locate him. Not even so much as a single clue as to his current whereabouts, or even a hint as to which country he may be residing in. And to make matters worse, the Avengers aren’t the only ones looking out for him. A few international government organizations are searching as well, but there hasn’t been a single hit on him. Anywhere. He had basically dropped off the face of the earth. But now, now they might finally be getting somewhere. Or at least Steve desperately hopes that they are.

“Our sources believe he will be coming out of hiding to attend a large weapons expo in London. But he’ll most likely be going under an alias, and in a disguise of some sort. It is a private, and heavily guarded event, and attendance is by invite only,” Fury looks to Tony, “and since you are Tony Stark, you got one of the elusive invitations. But before you go getting too excited about that, Steve is your plus one.”

Tony glances at Steve, smirk plastered on his face, “how do you look in a dress, Capsicle?”

Steve scoffs and crosses his large arms over his broad chest, “you’d probably look better in the dress.”

Tony nods, “true, I probably would. I look good in everything.”

Steve shakes his head then turns to focus on Fury, having a few questions bouncing around in his head. “So we don’t know for sure if he’ll even be there?”

“We don’t.”

“Do we at least know why he is coming out of hiding now, and for an expo of all things?”

“We don’t, but we can assume it has something to do with the world's top weapons distributors and manufacturers all being in one place at the same time,” Fury shuffles some papers around on the table. “The risks of him attending this event are high, but there is too much potential money at stake for him to not attend. He will either be there to make illegal sales of his own weapons, or he will be there to illegally buy weapons. And both options aren’t particularly favourable to any of us, so we have to take him down before he accomplishes either.”

Steve nods in agreement, having a Hydra high up in possession of major modern warfare does not sound appealing at all. Especially if that higher up is Surkov. He focuses back on the packet of paper in his hands, one section standing out to him. “We will be working with SIS agents on this?”

“A SIS agent,” Fury corrects Steve.

“Wait, MI6!?” Sam interjects, as he sits up straighter, and glances around at the other guys, “I thought they were only allowed to handle matters outside of the UK?”

“That’s correct, MI5 usually handles everything within the UK, but MI6 has been hunting Surkov for months, just like us. So I’m assuming they have a bone to pick with him, as they aren’t usually too pleased with criminals outsmarting them. And I’m guessing in their eyes, what MI5 doesn’t know, won’t kill them. So they have chosen to quietly lend us one of their top agents to help facilitate things.”

“Meaning they want us to have a babysitter while we’re there,” Tony comments.

“Essentially,” Fury nods. “Their agent needs to stay out of the limelight on this though, so once Surkov is in custody they will disappear as if they were never there.” The men all nod, understanding that the agent will basically be a ghost to anyone but them. There to oversee and assist, but gone before anyone even notices they were in attendance to begin with.

“So what’s the plan then?” Bucky asks, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

“Tony and Steve will attend the function, same with the MI6 agent. While Sam and Bucky will be on the roof, watching the doors.”

“Okay, and when do we leave?” Steve questions. Fury closes the folder then picks it back up, “in 3 hours, so pack your suits boys, your going to London.”

Steve steps off the Quinjet, raising his hand to block the blinding sunlight as he looks around. Bucky, Sam and Tony joining him on the tarmac as their eyes also start to adjust to the bright light.

“Enjoy it while you can lads, the sun doesn’t come out too often,” a sweet accented feminine voice rings out in the air. Steve instantly goes searching for the source of the voice, feeling Bucky elbow him in the side as he makes a low whistle sound, just before Steves eyes lock onto a petite form.

The woman is standing about 20 feet away from them, in a simple grey pants suit, with a white blouse. Nothing too fancy, but it’s not the clothes Steve is looking at. She is absolutely breathtaking, and even in the misleading pant-suit Steve can tell she has curves in all the right places. And he instantly chastised himself for checking her out, they are here to do a mission, not gawk at the agent. A mission that could easily end badly, though hopefully it will end with a very connected, and very dangerous, man behind bars. So no, now is not the time to be ogling their liaison, no matter how beautiful she may be.

“That’s the MI6 agent?” Sam mumbles so only the guys will hear him.

“I call dibs,” Bucky whispers with a chuckle.

“Like hell you do, Tin-Man,” Sam scoffs. “Plus you’re far too old for her.”

“And you’re far too dumb,” Bucky retorts, childishly. Steve shoots both guys a stern warning glare, telling them to zip it and behave.

“You both don’t even stand a chance,” Tony chuckles as he shakes his head and makes his way towards the agent. Sam and Bucky hurrying to catch up to him. Steve just sighs deeply and slings his bag over his shoulder, following the guys towards where she currently stands beside an all black Mercedes GLS—But Steve only knows that because the back of the large SUV is currently facing him, and he can read the chrome decals with the model name on it.

You arrived to the airstrip 20 minutes before the Avengers were due to land. And to say you were excited to meet the legendary heroes was a bit of an understatement. You’d admired them all for years, maybe even longer, reading countless articles on them and their accomplishments. Even occasionally watching the odd news release on them, if you could find the time, that is.

When this opportunity was offered to you, you’d had to reign in your excitement level. Not wanting to look daft in front of your superiors. So you’d just given them a stiff nod, replying professionally that you’d accept, and then listened intently as they finished briefing you on the operation, before promptly exited the room once they had finished. And then the second you were out of eye shot you’d done a little happy dance, allowing your utter internal glee out for just a moment. Before you’d promptly reigned it back in and continued on with your day.

So now, 2 days later, here you are standing on the tarmac waiting for their aircraft to land. And desperately trying to calm your rising nerves and racing heart. You quickly wipe your clammy hands down the front of your pants, as you hear the first sounds of a descending aircraft. Then do a silent prayer to the heavens that you don’t make an arse of yourself in front of them.

You are a distinguished agent, one who has spent your whole life honing your skills and climbing the proverbial ladder. You are a top MI6 agent for a reason, you didn’t just fall into this position, you earned it. You can’t let 4 men—superheroes or not—get to you like this. You’ve done countless missions. Saved, rescued and killed many, many people. This should be a piece of cake for you. So then why are you still so bloody nervous?

As the ramp lowers, you shift your weight anxiously from foot to foot. But then quickly reprimand yourself, and force yourself to stand tall and steady. You watch as the four men start to walk off the aeroplane, you smile as they all start to squint or raise their hands to shield their eyes from the sun. It was a beautiful day out, the sun was out and shinning, which wasn’t a regular occurrence in this part of the world. But you weren’t complaining in the slightest.

Your eyes glance over each of them, pausing for a little longer on a certain blonde super soldier. You’d assumed he’d be rather dashing from the photos you’d seen, but you never expected him to be this insanely fit. Like drool all over yourself attractive. He was a dishy for sure. You giggle quietly to yourself then loudly say, “enjoy it while you can lads, the sun doesn’t come out too often.”

You watch as their eyes all search for you, each of them finding you rather quickly. You have to bite your lip to hide your grin when you watch Sergeant Barnes promptly elbow Captain Rogers. Then the guys all exchange a few words that you can’t make out over the general noise of the airstrip, but you can assume what they are chatting about. You.

Mr. Shark is the first one to make his way towards you, and you stand tall—as tall as you can, at least—and focus your full attention on him. But you are always aware of your surroundings, so you note that Mr. Wilson and Sergeant Barnes are only a few steps behind him, while Captain Rogers is still near the end of the ramp. And just as Mr. Stark reaches you, you stick your right hand out to him, “Mr. Stark, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Harper.”

He playfully grimaces, “please, call me Tony, no need for the formalities. And it’s nice to meet you also, Harper,” he says the name suspiciously as he shakes your hand, a smirk playing on his lips. “Though I am curious if that is your real name or not.”

You smirk right back, “it is today.” Which is true, that isn’t actually your name, but you have to be a ghost here. And using real names makes that rather difficult to accomplish. So as far as these lads are concerned, you are Harper.

He playfully narrows his eyes at you, “I tried to look you up, couldn’t find any mention of you anywhere though.”

“I should think not,” you wink at him then turn your focus to the other two men, sticking your right hand out once again, “Sergeant Barnes and Mr. Wilson, I presume?”

Sergeant Barnes shakes your hand first, sending you a handsome smile, “just Bucky is fine, Doll.”

Mr. Wilson scoffs loudly at Bucky’s use of the pet name, and you almost burst out laughing at that. Being utterly thankful he drew the attention to him, and away from the flush most likely now on your face. You offer your hand to Mr. Wilson, who shakes it and also corrects his name, “everyone just calls me Sam.”

“Sam it is then,” you smile and nod.

“Okay, I gotta know,” Sam starts, leaning in slightly to whisper, “how did you end up in MI6? I heard it’s extremely hard to get hired with them.” He leans back and gives you a once over, but not in a creepy way. More of an assessment. “And you can’t be much older then what? Mid twenties, max?”

“Yes,” Tony pipes in, eyeing you up as well, “I’m also curious about that.”

“Guys,” a deep voice sighs, exasperatedly, from your left, “you all know she can’t give us any information on herself.”

You glance over to see Captain Rogers now standing near you. Finding yourself instantly and utterly gobsmacked by the ridiculously tall and insanely attractive super soldier. Your mouth promptly dries and your heart starts to race. He is even more of a dish up close. You tear your eyes away from the solid tower of a man, forcing them back to the three others. Not wanting to just awkwardly ogle him any longer, for fear he may think you daft, or worse, a slapper. You internally cringe at the thought and externally nod to the men, “yes, Captain Rogers is correct. As far as you all are concerned, I’m just Harper, your hired tourist guide, and nothing more.”

They don’t look too pleased with your response, but you can’t risk your true identity getting out. The fact that they already know what you look like, and that you are MI6, is already too far out of your comfort zone. You shake off your worry and then turn to face the tower again, extending your hand for the final time today, “Captain Rogers, it’s truly an honour to meet you, sir. Welcome to London.”

And once again, you internally cringe, but this time it’s at how eager and utterly star-stuck your voice sounded just now. Barely even registering in your ears as your own voice. You want to face palm, instantly. Your eyes catch the movement as the corners of his lips twitched up just slightly, instantly confirming that he had picked up on your flustered tone as well. Though luckily for you, he doesn’t draw any attention to it, and instead just grasps your hand firmly. And the moment his large, warm hand engulfs yours, you want to melt into a puddle. You never expected to have this sort of instantaneous reaction to a man, let alone Steve Rogers AKA Captain America. However, in your defence, you never actually expected to ever meet the man, let alone shake his hand.

“Please, just Steve,” he smiles, “and it’s an honour to meet you too, Harper.”

How did he...? Right, super soldier with crazy intense hearing. You’d need to remember that for the future. You smile in return, reluctantly extracting your hand from his, then gesture towards the SUV. “Well, now that the introductions are all out of the way, shall we be off?”

They all nod and then move towards the vehicle. Tony, Sam and Bucky all bickering about seating placement as they hop into the back. And you make your way to the right side to get into the driver's seat. Rounding the back to the car you see Steve going to pull open the door and you giggle at that, “you planning to drive us?”

He turns to you, his brow furrowed in confusion, “I’m sorry?”

You smirk, leaning in to whisper, “we do things on the opposite sides here.”

He quickly turns to look in the window, most likely now seeing the steering wheel, then chuckles and rubs the back of his neck as he looks back to you, “I’m still not entirely used to that. Clearly.” He pulls open the door for you, stepping back slightly so you can get in.

“I figured,” you smile sweetly, as you climb into the car. “And thank you.” He nods and closes your door then makes his way to the left side of the car.

“He forgot you guys do things weirdly over here, didn’t he?” Tony pipes up from the back and you glance over your shoulder as you click in your seatbelt, and just as Steve opens the passenger door you speak.

“No, I believe he was just being a gentleman,” you reply nonchalantly as you look up at Steve, who gives you a thankful nod as he takes his seat.

You may not know Tony Stark well—or rather, at all currently—but you can already tell that he’d be someone to hold something, even as small as this, over Steve for days. Where as it’s common knowledge that the super soldiers are gentleman, being from the 40’s and all. You glance back at Tony, who looks ridiculous currently sandwiched between Bucky and Sam, having refused to let them sit next to each other.

“And we do things the right way over here. Hence why the driver is located on the right,” you gesture to yourself then turn to face forward. Starting up the car, and driving off the tarmac, heading off towards the hotel where you’ll all be staying for the next week.

The first 3 days flew by, spending most of that time touring the guys around London, showing them all the sights, and keeping up the rouse that they were just here on vacation, and to attend the expo as guests. You wore a full disguise and acted as their ‘hired tourist guide’, when in actuality you were all out hunting down information on Surkov. Trying to learn if he was for sure going to be in attendance at the expo.

By the 4th day of reaching out to informants and your lads in the underground, you managed to figure out that he was in fact going to be there. And that he would be going by the alias, Dmitry Kalashnik.

Then the 5th day, was spent huddled in Tony’s room studying Surkov’s photos, going over the floor plans, and finalizing everything else. Making sure you were all on the same page, and everyone knew where to be, who they were looking for, and what their assignments were.

And now being the 6th day, also known as expo day, you were currently getting ready for the show. But you hadn’t seen much of the guys all day, everyone taking the morning to themselves to prep and prepare for the mission. Just as you’d done as well.

However, it was finally time to start getting ready, and even though this was a weapons expo, the dress code was posh as shite. You’d had to purchase a formal gown for the event, but luckily because this was technically a mission, SIS had covered the cost of the dress. So all you really had to do was pick one out that you liked.

The dress you’d ended up choosing was a nude Gemeli Power creation, that was form fitting and had somewhat sturdy wrap around straps. Though you’d partially chosen this dress mainly for the fact it would be impossible to fight in, and as you weren’t supposed to even be in the UK. Let alone working a job for MI6. You figured having on a dress that restricted your abilities and that you risked ripping apart at the seams in a melee, was a smart choice. Mainly just to help keep you in line, and remind you that you couldn’t blow your ghost cover.

Though you had originally been looking at a red dress, but figured red would stand out too much. So you went with a flattering nude colour, it accented your skin tone perfectly and didn’t draw too much attention to you. You couldn’t be remembered by anyone tonight, but you still needed to look pretty enough to actually entice Surkov enough to chat you up.

You’re assignment was only to track Surkov down and distract him, while Tony slipped a sedative into his drink and Steve watched everything play out from afar, handling any interferences. Then when he started to feel the effects of the sedative, you’d be a caring stranger and help lead him outside for some fresh air, where Bucky and Sam would be waiting to collect him. And once that was all said and done, you’d slip silently away into the night.

You’d showered quickly, deciding to leave your hair down, and styling it minimally, then applied your makeup and gotten dressed. The final touch being a beautiful pearl ring, that held a teensy tiny secret, and that you never left for a mission without. And now all that was left to do was to make your way to the expo, as you’d be showing up alone. Instead of with the lads, as that would—once again—draw too much attention to you. You needed to pretend like you had no clue who they were, like you were just there on behalf of your company.

A company that was entirely made up by MI6, but that they used as a front for things exactly like this. In the eyes of the public, Ingenx Inc was a fully functional and operational legal weapons wholesaler and manufacturer. Yet in actuality, it was just an empty warehouse in the middle of nowhere, with the only staff members being the security guards that watched over the site. You’d never even been there before, yet you supposedly headed up the companies entire ‘acquisitions and procurement’ department.

As the hired car pulled up outside the venue, you quickly slipped in your ear piece, switching it on and then climbed out of the car. Adjusting your dress so it fell on your body smoothly and then made your way into the large venue.

Showing your invite to security once you approached, and giving them your Ingenx alias of Kelly Hartley. And then once they had found your name on the list, they ushered you through the doors and you entered into a grand lobby. Finding lots of poshly dressed people standing around in small groups, mingling and sipping drinks. You continued on ahead into the first of three massive ballrooms that were housing the expo tonight, with only one thought on your mind as you entered the massive room, lined with booths along all the walls and two rows down the middle. The game is afoot.

Steve wandered around in the second ballroom, keeping his eye out for Surkov as he went. But stopping every few booths when something caught his eye, to check out the weapons and ask pointless questions as to keep up the front that he was only here to scope out products for the Avengers.

Harper—as she claimed—was going by Kelly tonight and was in charge of searching ballroom one. Steve was in charge of ballroom two, and Tony had the third ballroom. Whoever located Surkov first would inform the others over the comms, and they would all convene to that ballroom and then the plan would be put into action. Steve raises a hand to pretend to scratch his ear and then inserts the comms device, turning it on once it was in place. Then he murmurs a quick, “can everyone hear me?”

“Aye aye, Captain,” comes Tony’s quick response. Followed closely by a, “you betcha, Pal,” from Buck. Then a, “loud and clear,” from Sam. But Harper is silent, so Steve speaks quietly again, “Harper, you out there?”

A moment later she finally speaks up, and Steve releases the breath he’d been holding. Worried that something might have already happened to her. “Yes, I’m here. My apologizes, I got stuck chatting up a smarmy git who refused to put a sock in it,” she huffs. And Steve has to attempt to not laugh out loud, as he isn’t currently talking to anyone, and that would only draw unwanted attention to him. “A what now?” Sam asks confused and Steve hears Bucky laughing loudly in the background. “And put a sock where, exactly?” Tony adds, through a chuckle.

A loud sigh rings out over the comms, and Steve figures that she is slowly becoming more used to the guys constantly asking what her British slang means. Her sigh is followed closely by her soft, slightly irritated, accented voice, “a smarmy git is like a,” she pauses. “I duno, like a greasy, unpleasant person, I guess? And the sock would have been for his gob.” Another pause, “you remember what a gob is, yeah?”

Tony chuckles, “that we do.” And Steve internally agrees with him, they had learned a bunch of new words over the last week, gob being just one of many.

During one of their ‘touring’ days, as she called them. Harper had been cut off by another car and had made some strange hand signal and yelled, “you tosser!” out the window at the other driver. Sam had promptly asked what a tosser was, and she’d just sighed and then explained that it meant ‘a wanker’. And even though Steve knew that the guys understood what she meant by that, Tony, being Tony, still questioned it further. Causing her to shoot him a playful glare but then explained that in some cases, much like being cut off, it meant an idiot with a total lack of regard for others.

Then, the next day she accidentally turned the wrong way down a one way street, and uttered a, “bloody hell!” when she noticed. That time, the guys didn’t need to ask what she meant by that, but yet in classic Tony form, he had said ‘language!’ and then, because she obviously didn’t know the context behind that phrase. Nor would Tony clearly ever let Steve live that down, he explained exactly where ‘language’ came from. Causing Harper to giggle uncontrollably but then, surprisingly, she hasn’t brought it up or joked about it since. Which did not go unnoticed by Steve.

“Anyone have eyes on him yet?” Steve asks over the comms. “Negative Capsicle,” Tony answers. “Nothing yet,” Harper replies, “though I have searched the entire room and he isn’t here. What would you like me to do now, Steve?”

“Stay there for now, Harper. If he isn’t here yet, the first ballroom will most likely be where he goes once he arrives. Tony, is your ballroom clear?”

“Yeah, he isn’t in this one either.”

“Alright, then let’s all convene in the first ballroom to wait it out,” Steve answers as he makes his way out of the second ballroom and heads towards the first.

“I just have to see a man about a dog, and then I’ll be there,” Tony replies, cheekily.

A snort followed by an angelic giggle plays through the comms, causing an involuntary smile to break out on Steve’s lips as he enters into the first ballroom. He was growing pretty fond of the sounds of her laughs. Or rather, just her in general. More fond than he should be after only a week around her. And with every passing day, the realization that he’ll have to leave soon sinks in more and more. Leaving him completely clueless as to what he is going to do about that. But for now he has to focus on the mission, focus on finding Surko—

His eyes instantly land on her as he enters into the first ballroom, and he is positive his jaw is actually laying on the floor now. He is speechless. Or gobsmacked, as she’d put it. He hadn’t gotten a chance to see her all day, let alone since she’s been in that dress. She’d been wearing loose fitting clothes all week, in an attempt to help mask her identity. He’ll admit, even in the ill fitting clothes she was absolutely stunning.

But like this?! This dress, the way it hugs her like a glove, and shows off just enough skin but also leaves some to the imagination. He can barely contain the urge to go to her, scoop her up and take her away from all of this. Somewhere he can keep her forever, and do everything in his power to make her happy, safe and carefree. He shakes his head, clearing the thoughts, and forces his eyes to move away from the goddess in front of him. He is supposed to be a stranger to her, and vice versa. He can’t blow her cover, nor his own. He has to get a handle on his emotions, his thoughts, and his eyes.

You’re standing in front of a booth that has a display of long range missile launchers. Listening to the vender explain all the features and you’re not going to lie, you want one. Badly. Maybe you could buy one for yourself? But would you really ever use it? Would you ever need to? Who are you kidding, of course you would, you’d honestly find any reason to use it. But what if you lose it in a melee? Best to get 3 of them, just to be safe—

Something large and royal blue catches your eye, and you glance over to see Steve, slowly making his way down the row of booths towards you. And your heart skips a beat as you take in just how utterly handsome he looks in his suit. So handsome it should probably be illegal. You’d write a letter to parliament later about that.

You glance around the room, noticing a few female eyes lingering on the ridiculously fit super soldier. But honestly, you’d have expected way more eyes to be on him. How are some women, and men, not even paying attention to their surroundings enough to notice him?! Who could not want to just stare longing at the tower of a man. He was utter perfection.

You shake your head, suppressing a laugh at your ridiculous thoughts, and then attempt to focus back on the man going over the missile launchers you so desperately wanted just 4 minutes ago. But now, now you don’t want 3 of them anymore. You just want 1 Steve. Bullocks! You sigh deeply, then thank the vender for the presentation as you step away from the booth. You need a drink now, or maybe 5.

And just as you turn, you collide with a wall of muscle, and know instantly who it is, without a shadow of a doubt. You glance up at the piercing blue eyes that you’ve grown so enchanted with over the last week. Then your eyes drop down to his lips, as the corners of them twitch slightly. Clearly he is suppressing a smirk right now. Cheeky bugger. Your eyes snap back up to his just as he starts to speak, “my apologizes, ma’am. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

You force your face to stay neutral, “that’s alright, neither was I. No harm done.”

“How’s about I buy you a drink to make up for it?”

You furrow your brows at him momentarily, you both were supposed to be steering clear of each other. You weren’t supposed to even chat him up, let alone get a drink with him. What is he doing? In your peripherals you notice people watching you both, realizing that if you decline the offer it may seem more odd then if you just accept the drink offer. Because honestly, who would turn down a drink with Steve Rogers? No one, that’s who. And if you do turn him down, people may question as to why you did. You nod, “that sounds like a splendid idea.”

He offers you his right hand, “I’m Steve Rogers.”

You shake it, “Kelly Hartley.”

“It’s truly an honour to meet you, Kelly,” he smirks at you, offering you his arm and reciting the flustered line you had originally used when you both first met. You have to bite your lip to prevent yourself from laughing at this big beautiful bugger.

“Likewise,” you say as you place your hand in the crook of his arm, then he leads you towards the bar.

Tony’s voice rings out in your ear, “Cap, did you miss the part where we weren’t supposed to interact with,” he pauses for effect then continues on to say your name slowly, drawing attention to it. “Harper.” And just like every other time he has used your name, over the last few days, he always says it slowly and with a sarcastic emphasis on it. Making you well aware that he knows it’s not your real name, and that he desperately wants to know what your actual name is. But that is one bit of information that Tony Stark will not be getting his hands on. And that thought makes you grin, knowing that you are frustrating thee Tony Stark makes you proud.

You and Steve reach the bar and you reluctantly remove your hand from his arm, turning to him as he speaks, “what would you like to drink?”

“Surprise me, I’m easy,” you smirk up at him and he chuckles softly, then turns to the waiting bartender and orders you both a drink.

Turning to face you again once he’s finished. “So, Kelly, what is it that brings you to a weapons expo?”

“Same reasons as you, I presume,” you smile, and it’s slightly cheeky, “here to check out the merchandise, and possibly leave with some. If one catches my eye, that is.”

The twinkle in his eye tells you he caught your double entendres, like always. “Have any?” he pauses, then adds, “caught your eye yet, I mean.”

You glance around the room, nonchalantly, “a few,” then you lock eyes with him again, “one in particular.” Then you see the bartender put your drinks on the counter beside you and you pick yours up, taking a deliberately slow sip. But keeping your eyes locked with his the whole time.

“Oh?” He says, intrigued, also picking up his drink, “and which one was that?”

“A rather large, rather robust,” you lick your lower lip, your eyes flicking down to his plump lips before snapping back up to his eyes. “Long range missile launcher,” you finish, watching as his cheeks flush slightly, and you almost want to pat yourself on the back. Over the last week, Steve and you have had a very interesting friendship. You both had clicked instantly and within a day, you were curious just how proper America’s golden boy really was.

So you tested the waters, starting with a few small and slightly flirty innuendos. And you were not disappointed by his responses, at all. Yes, he’d blush like a schoolgirl, but he would play into them and respond in kind. It quickly became a game to you both, seeing just how far you could take the double entendres or innuendos, before one of you caved and either laughed or forfeited.

You were pleasantly surprised by just how quick on his feet he was—and you aren’t talking about his fighting skills. The games score was basically tied up at this point, you both being pretty evenly matched in the wits department. But there was one secret part to the game, one Steve was gormless too. And that was that you were also seeing if you could make him blush. And each time you did, you’d get a sweet. Looks like you owe yourself a sweetie now.

“Is Cap blushing?” Tony’s voice cut into your mind once more, “you two are playing that game again, aren’t you?” You bite your lip, and nod, knowing wherever Tony is, he’ll see your subtle reply. Then you glance around and catch sight of him off to your left, near a booth for miniature grenades, but your eyes don’t pause on him and instead continue on around the room. “And you didn’t invite me to join?” He gasps playfully, then continues on in the worst English accent you’ve ever heard, “I am completely and utterly appalled.”

You snort and Steve subtly shakes his head, then continues on with the charade, “I don’t believe I’ve seen those yet. I’ll have to thoroughly check them out before I leave.”

“Oh yes, you simply must,” you nod.

“Guys, I got eyes on Surkov,” Sam’s voice rings in your ear now, and both Steve and yourself tense up slightly, “he is entering the building now.”

And just like that, the game is over. We’ll just call this one a drawn. You hold up your glass in front of you, “thank you for the drink, Steve. But I must be off, though I do so hope you thoroughly enjoy checking the weapons out.”

He smirks, “same to you, Kelly.” Then you move away from the bar, and the insanely fit super soldier, and start to make your way around the ballroom. Heading towards the entrance as to position yourself where you may be able to catch Surkov's eye.

And just as you reach the booth closest to the door, you see him entering the ballroom. You position yourself so that your bum and exposed back are facing towards him, and then you glance over your shoulder as if looking for someone. But then you pause your ‘search’ when your eyes lock on to his, before giving him a very obvious, and very played up, once over ending it all off with a coy smirk as your eyes meet his once again. And once that is competed you promptly turn back around, continuing to look at the wide selection of artillery attachments, before picking up an advanced clip on thermal scope. Pretending to be ridiculously interested in it and all its features.

After a moment you feel a presence right next to you, closer than proper society would allow, and you glance over to see Surkov standing there. Checking out the accessories as well. And you almost laugh at just how easy it was to catch his attention. “Can you believe just how far weapons accessories have come,” you start, stepping a little closer to him as he glances down at you. “I could probably fit that sniper rifle stand in my handbag, but I’d wager 100 pounds that she could easily support the weight of a rather large,” you eye him up and down again, licking your lower lip, “man. If need be.”

He smirks at you, giving you a full up and down as well, “easily, you say?”

“Oh yes,” you nod, “very easily. Care to wager against me?”

“No,” he shakes his head and chuckles, “I only bet on sure things. Not against them.”

“Well darn,” you sigh, playfully. “I was rather looking forward to taking your money,” you smirk up at him, “seems you are too smart for my tricks.”

“So it would seem. Care to join me for a drink..?” He trails off, prompting you for your name.

“Kelly,” you stick your right hand out to him, “Kelly Hartley.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kelly,” he clasps your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “I’m Dmitry Kalashnik.”

You deliberately think of Steve being the one kissing your hand—and maybe other places as well, you dirty birdie—the images causing an instant flush to take over your cheeks. Helping to play up your act of being interested in Surkov. “You, as well.”

He grins and then leads you both off to the bar, and once you get there he orders for you both. Not even asking what you’d like, but you already figured that’s what he’d do. He seems like the type to need constant control in every situation. So you’d play to his ego and give him exactly that.

You spend the next 20 minutes listening ‘intently’ to everything he says, answering the odd questions he asks here and there, and absentmindedly playing with the pearl ring on your finger. Spinning it round and round as a distraction.

You are still on your first drink, but he is now on his third. You’ve caught eyes with Steve a few times when he’d check in over the comms, letting him know with your eyes that you were okay. But other then that, every one stayed away and quiet, allowing you the peace to continue pretending to be focused on Surkov. You catch movement behind him, and hear Tony quietly say over the comms, “I’m ready when you are.”

Your eyes flick momentarily passed Surkov and lock with Tony’s, giving him the signal, before focusing back on the large Russian. He is yakking on about his homeland or something, you aren’t really sure anymore. You tuned out a while ago, but continued to nod every once in a while. Seemingly very interested in whatever he was saying.

And then your celly chirps from with in your small handbag, and you open the snap and go to grab your phone. But just as you reach your hand inside the clutch, it falls out of your hands and crashes to the floor. The contents scattering all over the place. “Oh bullocks,” you mumble and then quickly crouch down to collect up your scattered things.

Surkov places his drink down on the bar, then crouches down to help you pick everything up. His hands instantly finding the 3 condom packages you’d strategically placed in you handbag for this exact reason. He lifts them up between his fingers, a smirk playing on his lips and one eyebrow raised.

You instantly force yourself—though you’re not going to lie, it honestly doesn’t take much effort at all—to think of a certain blonde tower, possibly using those rubber johnny’s with you. And once again you flush, instantly.

Making you realize right away that using images of Steve to help you fake being flustered works surprisingly well, and you plan to exploit that new little trick further in the future. It could definitely come in handle in situations just like this. As long as the images themselves don’t kill you on there own—that being a very real possibility for sure. But is exploiting your attraction to Steve like this, creepy? Probably. Are you going to let that stop you from fantasizing about the man in the buff? Not bloody likely.

You internally shake yourself, forcing yourself to focus, and decide to play it up by coyly bowing your head, pretending to be embarrassed. You gather up the last of your things, placing them back in your handbag and then take the condoms from Surkov, making sure to graze your fingers along his as you do. “Better to be safe, I always say,” you place them in your bag as well, then stand back up. Instantly noticing that Tony is now gone.

“All clear,” Tony’s voice comes over the comms again, and then he chuckles out a, “and the condoms were a fantastic touch, by the way.”

You bite your lip to suppress the smirk that wants to form, as your eyes flick instantly over to Steve’s, seeing him raise a brow at you. The expression almost causing you to blush even more. You glance back to Surkov, who has a smug smirk on his lips as he replies. “that it is.” He picks his drink back up and takes a generous gulp. Just like you hoped he would.

You both continue to chat, Surkov finishing off his drink and ordering another. And then after 10 minutes he starts to sway slightly on his feet, slurring his words and looking a little flushed.

“Are you alright?” You inquire, feigning concern. He just nods erratically in response, but doesn’t offer any verbal reply. “Do you need to go take some air?” You ask, as you tentatively take a step towards him. “You’re looking a little off colour.” He just silently nods again and you offer him your arm, giving him what little balance support you can, and then lead him towards the back exit. Which leads to a set of stairs and then some hallways and finally into a large courtyard, where Bucky and Sam will be waiting for you.

You throw Steve a look with a slight nod as you pass him, telling him to inform the guys that you’re on the way outside. And he nods back once, in confirmation.

You exit the ballroom into a long corridor, hearing Steve’s voice in your ear, “Buck, Sam, Harper is making her way to you both.” You smile to yourself at the sound of his deep voice, hearing Buck and Sam’s acknowledgement of his words shortly after. You go down the hall a bit then through a door that leads to a set of stairs. You caustiously and carefully help Surkov down them and then through another door, making a left once through. And then heading down another long hallway, towards the final doors that will lead you both outside.

But as you are slowly making your way, finding it rather hard to maneuver the giant half asleep man, you feel his hand shift on your arm. And then all of a sudden your back is slammed into the wall, his large right hand on your throat, firmly pining you in place. You were caught completely off guard, which isn’t like you, at all. You are usually always alert, always vigilant. And you normally never underestimate your opponents. But, unfortunately, this time you had. “Who do you work for?” He growls directly in your face.

You put both hands up in front of you, trying to show you aren’t a threat. “I-Ingenx I-Inc,” you stutter out, playing up Kelly’s fear. While Y/N devises a plan.

“Bullshit!” He yells, yanking you forward then promptly slamming you back into the wall. You quickly clasp your hands together, covertly removing the ring off your finger. “I’ll only ask one more time, who do you work for?”

And just as he finishes the words, you secretly slip your ring into my suit jacket pocket, and then turn your body quickly to the left, as your right hand comes up and your palm slams into his wrist. Knocking his hand off your throat and then you promptly elbow him in the neck, with your already lifted and primed right arm. And before he can even comprehend what is going on, you bend down, yanking up the bottom of your dress, and remove the small handgun you have strapped to your right ankle. Then aim it directly at his head. “I work for a very interested party, who wants nothing more then to see a disgusting prick like you behind bars,” you click off the safety, “now get on your knees and put your hands on your head. Nice and slow, Surkov.”

He glares at you and is just about to lower himself down, when a door near the end of the hall opens and a few rather large and unfriendly looking chaps emerge. Guns drawn and raised in their hands. And then they all take aim at you and begin to fire, you spin and quickly throw yourself into a small door alcove. Gun clasped tightly in both hands in front of your face, posed and ready to fire should any of them come for you.

You take a moment to try to steady your breathing, while bullets loudly embed into the walls surrounding you. Then with a deep breath in, you drop down to a crouch and lean out from your hiding place to return fire, managing to take out two of Surkov’s henchmen and then tuck back into the alcove to stand. Knowing that trick would only work once, you try to come up with any sort of plan to escape. You only have so many bullets on you, and at this rate you are going to use them all in no time flat.

You startle when you hear Bucky’s voice over the comms, having almost completely forgotten about your ear piece, “Harper, are you okay?”

“Is she not there yet?” Steve asks, concern laced in his voice.

You release one hand on the gun and raise it to your ear piece, “I’m okay, but I seem to have gotten myself into a bit of a jam.”

“Where are you? What happened?” Steve quickly asks, already sounding like he is in motion.

“In the lower hallway to the courtyard, the sedatives didn’t work, and he brought back up,” you rattle off then pause, leaning out again to return fire momentarily, so you can count the henchmen. And thanks to your stellar marksmanship skills, you manage to take a third henchman out while at it.

“How many?” Tony asks hastily, while you are in the midst of figuring that out.

Once tucked back into the alcove you continue, “there are only 7 of the buggers left, and all with truly appalling aim,” you scoff. “Though best be careful when you enter the hall, they do have full control of it at the moment.”

“Where are you, exactly?” Steve questions.

“Tucked into an alcove about half way down.”

“Good, stay there, we’re coming for you.”

You barely even have time to release a relieved sigh when a door, down near where you had originally entered the hall, bursts open, followed by the sound of another door bursting open at the other end. Then as if seeing land for the first time after weeks at sea, you catch sight of the iconic shield coming down the hall towards you. Watching as bullets ping and ricochet off it as if they were mere balls of paper.

And in no time at all, Steve is sliding into the already cramped alcove with you. “I heard someone needed some assistance,” he says playfully through a grin, though you can see the worry deeply etched into his face and eyes. He raises his shield to block you both from the hall, in case a bullet ricochets off a nearby wall.

The shield basically makes a small enclosed space for you both, causing you to become acutely aware of just how close you are to each other. Steve is almost the same width as the alcove and damn near just as tall, so there isn’t much room to work with currently. But you aren’t about to complain about having the handsome super soldier pressed up against you. Though you will complain that you wish it was due to more personal reasons, preferably ones that involve less clothes, and less of a potential for death.

“Splendid timing,” you smile up at him. Just then all the gun firing and commotion stops, and you hear Tony call from down the hall, “all clear you two.” Steve lowers the shield and you both step out of your hiding place and into the open hallway, the henchmen’s bodies all lying in various places along the hall.

“Is Surkov one of these?” Steve asks as you both make your way towards Tony, stepping over the bodies and checking for your guy as you do.

“No, he wasn’t in the hall when we arrived,” Tony responds and you glance up to notice him in his full Iron Man get up, minus the face piece.

Steve quickly lifts his hand to his comms, “Sam, Buck, please tell me you guys have Surkov?”

The comms channel opens up, and gunshots can be heard in the background along with Sam’s breathy voice, “we almost had him Cap, but the asshole brought heavy back up. If you guys don’t have anything better to do in there, we could really use a hand out here.”

Upon hearing the gun fire, you sigh deeply, knowing the smart thing to do right now would be to leave this to the Avengers. You really should head back to the expo and leave out the front. You aren’t even supposed to be here, and getting into a melee outside and in public isn’t a smart move. At all. But one glance up at Steve, and you know you can’t just walk away now. You owe it to them to help, and you also owe it to yourself to put Surkov behind bars. He has seen your face, if he gets away now you will have to forever be looking over your shoulder. And that’s not something you’re even remotely interested in.

So it’s settled then, you will see this through till the end. You bend down and quickly removed your heels, knowing they will only hinder you. Then you shed an internal tear for what you are about to do. “Bugger, I was really looking forward to wearing this again,” you mumble as you remove the hidden knife that’s attached to your left ankle, and then cut a vertical slit into the bottom of your beautiful, and expensive gown, then with both hands you pull apart. Tearing it to midway up your left thigh, instantly allowing you a way better range of motion.

You tuck the knife back away, grab your clutch off the floor then stand back up. Quickly retrieving your phone, then discarding the handbag, full of fake personal items, back on the ground. It was just a prop to distract Surkov, nothing in the handbag is of any value, or can help anyone locate you. Once that is done you glance up at Steve, who is just watching you, brows furrowed in confusion. “Like I’m going to let you chaps have all the fun,” you sass with a grin, tucking your phone into Steves pants pocket. “Hold on to that for me, would ya? It may come in handy later.”

Steve chuckles, “will do,” then he raises his hand once again and says, “on our way, guys,” as he starts to run towards the exit doors. Tony right in front of him and you hot on his heels.

Tony’s face piece forms back in place as the three of you burst out the doors, Steve's shield blocking you both as Tony thrusts up into the air. You glance up momentarily to watch him, and notice Sam up there as well. The guys clearly came fully prepared.

You focus back on the mission at hand, and start shooting any henchmen foolish enough to get in front of you. And as you are taking out a rather stupid henchman, you see Surkov hopping into a car. You reach up to click the comms button, “he’s getting away.”

“We got him,” Tony replies as he takes off at full speed to chase the car, Sam hot on his trail.

You, Steve and Bucky make quick work of the remaining henchmen and then are left in complete silence, no sight of Tony or Sam anywhere.

“What do we do now, Cap?” Bucky asks as he approaches you both, a massive assault rifle in his flesh hand. Steve is just about to click his comms device, most likely to ask where the two others are. But you halt him, then without breaking eye contact with him, you reach into his pocket and pull out your phone.

Receiving a curious look from Steve and then you glance at Bucky and see him shake his head, a smirk on his lips. “I believe now is the time that this,” you wiggle the phone, “will come in handy.” You quickly unlock it and then open the tracking app, bring up a map with a little red blinking light on a location a few blocks away. “I might have slipped my tracking device into his pocket,” you smile smugly at the lads, as you show them your phone screen.

“Can we keep her?” Bucky whispers through a laugh. And Steve only chuckles at his friends question, but doesn’t answer as he takes your phone to look more closely at it.

“They are 2 blocks over,” Steve comments as he hands it back to you, a smirk on his lips, “looks like we’ll have to leg it.” You giggle at his British term and then you all ‘leg it’ to the location where Surkov is.

And just as you reach the spot, you find his car crashed and on it’s roof, while Tony and Sam have him out of it and laying face down and cuffed on the ground—Which is a little anticlimactic and a bit of a piss off, if you’re being honest. You were really looking forward to catching the prick yourself, but he is apprehended nonetheless. So all and all, you are pleased. Sort of.

But now that they have him, your mission here is done. You slowly move away from the commotion and see a taxi nearing you. You lift a hand to flag it down, and just as you open the door you turn and lock eyes with Steve. Giving him a smirk and a small nod as you get into the taxi to leave.

This wasn’t exactly how you envisioned this night playing out, but you were happy it was all over with. And now you can go back to the hotel, pack up your things and then go home for a while. Or at least until you are debriefed and shipped off to the next mission location. But just as the taxi is pulling away you hear Tony’s voice ring in your ear, one last time, “hey kid, if you ever find yourself in New York, look us up.”

“That will probably be sooner, rather than later,” you giggle, then continue, “as I’ll need to trade this posh little comms device for my pearl ring. Keep it safe for me, will ya?”

“Pearl ring?” Tony asks, confused.

“Which pocket is it in?” Steve questions. And you reply, “his left jacket pocket. I’d be rather unhappy to lose it, it’s quite important to me.”

“Got it,” Steve replied after a moment, “and don’t worry, I’ll keep it safe for ya.”

“Thank you, Steve. Stay safe lads.” “You too,” Steve replies.

Tony, Bucky and Sam all say their goodbyes, and then with that you turn the comms device off and pull it out of your ear. And just as the taxi slips away into the night, one thought floats through your mind. You’re really going to miss those lads. But especially Steve.

3 MONTHS LATER - IN AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION.

You are running down a corridor, gun in hand, and chest heaving from the exertion. You are currently hot on the heels of yet another smarmy prick. One who thought it would be fun to attempt to plot world domination. These utter pillocks will just never learn.

You come to a corner, and halt, knowing to check before you go any further. You aren’t interested in gaining any new ventilation holes today. You raise your gun and peek around the corner, seeing the bloody idiot still running down the hall. You take a second to calm yourself then aim and shoot, hitting him in the upper leg, and knocking him down to the ground in a mess of limbs and curse words. You step out from behind the corner, and hastily make your way towards him, kicking the gun away from his reach once you get there.

“Good try, chap,” you say as you pat his shoulder, pressing your right knee down onto the middle of his upper back, “but you were a tad bit slow on the exit.”

He says some rather unpleasant things back to that, but you just ignore him and quickly cuff his hands behind his back, just as another person rounds the corner. You glance over your shoulder and see Tony, in his full Iron Man get up, and smile smugly at him. “Got him.”

“I can see that,” he replies through a laugh. “Well done, Harper,” he says the name sarcastically, just like before, which causes you to giggle.

You stand up, and pull the prick up with you as you do, then start to make your way back to the exit. “Ya know,” you drawl, as you hand the prick off to Tony, “you don’t actually have to call me that anymore.”

He smirks, “it’s sort of grown on me now.”

“Of course it has,” you shake your head. “So, how did I do?”

“Consider yourself hired,” he smiles and starts to pull the imbecile down the hall towards the exit, yelling over his shoulder as he goes, “that is, if you’re still interested.”

You grin widely, and once Tony is out of eye shot you do a little happy dance in the middle of the empty hallway. Then reign in your excitement level and make your way to the exit as well. Now you have to go home and pack!

1 WEEK LATER.

You walk into the posh lobby of the Avengers Tower, still not even able to comprehend that you now work here. You are now an Avenger, and you haven’t been able to wipe the grin off your face all week. You shake your head in disbelief as you make your way towards the front desk, Tony had informed you just to give them your name and they’ll set you up with a clearance pass.

You reach the desk and give the gorgeous woman your name, she quickly looks it up and then smiles up at you as she hands you your pass, pointing to the lifts off to the side and telling you the floor number. You thank her and then head for them.

The lift doors open up on the correct floor and you are just about to step off, when a body pushes you back in and enters the lift with you. And you are just about to show this prick why it isn’t smart to sneak up on an ex MI6 agent/current Avenger, when you realize it’s Tony. And he has a massive smirk on his lips, as if he knew you were just about to kick his ass into next week.

“You wanted your eye to match your suit colours, didn’t you?” You grin at him.

“I do always like to colour coordinate,” he chuckles and clicks a new floor button. “Welcome to New York, kid. How was the trip over the pond?”

“Long and uneventful,” you nod once.

“Everyone is gathered in the living space, he still has no clue that you are even here. Let alone that you now work with us,” Tony smirks wickedly at you.

About 2 months after the weapons expo in London, you’d gone to New York for a mission and had stopped off to exchange the comms device for your ring. Tony had secretly approached you and offered you a job with them, and you’d agreed to interview for it. Except, when it came to becoming a superhero, a regular, stuffy boardroom interview just wouldn’t cut it. So you’d finally had to cave and tell Tony your real name, plus give him all your actual contact information, and then he said he’d be in touch doon. So then 3 weeks later, he called you up about a small, simple mission that he would be doing alone. Hunting down a prick who was attempting world domination—Yeah, that guy you shot in the leg.

You had agreed almost immediately to do the mission with Tony as your interview. And holy shite! You might be an Avenger soon! But more importantly, you had managed to not squeal like an idiot at the offer! Though you’d only managed to hold it in until you hung up the phone. But that’s neither here, nor there.

The other Avengers all knew a new agent named Y/N was being interviewed, but not where the agent had come from. But it’s not like most of them would even know who you were, if they did know. However, Sam and Bucky both knew who you were, and were sworn to secrecy weeks ago by Tony, as he wanted to surprise Steve. That or they all just wanted to mess with him some more. With these lads it could be either or, really.

So he had no clue you’d even been offered a job, let alone taken it, passed with flying colours and had been hired on the spot. Nor was he currently aware you were even here. In the United States. In New York. In the tower. In the bloody lift, for crying out loud!

And now here you are, riding up with thee Tony Stark, AKA Iron Man, AKA your new boss. On your way to surprise Steve. And bloody hell! Can this lift not go any faster! You just want to get there already. “I can’t wait to see his face,” you smirk back just as the doors open up into a large, posh living area. Seeing all the Avengers lounging around, chatting and relaxing.

You smile as you see Bucky and Sam, both with knowing grins on their faces. You nod to them and then your excited eyes meet Steves curious blue ones, and you almost want to burst out laughing or bounce in place, because you are THAT excited to see him. You and Steve had kept in touch over the last 3 months, talking damn near daily either via text or over voice calls, when you both had the time for them that is. So you’d grow very close with the handsome super soldier, you’d even go as far as to say you were good friends now. Maybe even more.

He is just about to stand up when Tony loudly clears his throat next to you, “alright, as all of you know,” he glances at Steve, “well everyone, except Capsicle. This is our newest member,” he turns to you, “I’ll let her introduce herself, as her accent is much cooler than mine.” He smiles and gestures for you to go.

“Hello everyone, my name is Y/N Y/L/N,” you wave, “and I’m so utterly thrilled to be here.” Everyone comes over and introduces themselves, chatting you up a bit before they leave the room, heading off to go do whatever it is they do in their spare time. The last few to greet you are Sam and Bucky, both hugging you tightly and giving you a warm welcome then leaving as well. So now the only two left in the room are Steve and you. He comes over to you and you grin widely up at him, “hiya Steve.”

He chuckles, “hey Y/N.“ And the sound of your actual name falling from his lips, for the first time in person, makes butterflies instantly erupt in your tummy. “So, I was the only one who didn’t know, huh? And more importantly, when did this all come together?” He asks as he gestures around the room.

“Are you asking when this room was built?” You glance around, then continue to reply cheekily, “now that I’m not too sure about, you’d have to ask Tony.”

He shakes his head, but smiles at your horrible joke nonetheless, “I mean, when did Tony approach you about joining the team? And why didn’t you tell me?”

“Don’t look at me, it was Tony’s idea to keep it a secret from you, and we all know what Tony wants, he gets,” you giggle. “But you remember when I visited last month, yeah?” You ask and he nods, so you continue on, “well during my visit Tony offered me a job. Then a week ago I did my interview and now here we are.”

“So you did well on the interview, I take it?” He smirks.

You scoff playfully, “of course I did. Have we not met?” You laugh and stick your right hand out, “Hello, I’m Y/N,” you jokingly introduce yourself.

He chuckles and shakes your hand—and of course you have the same reaction as the first time he did. The instant need to melt into a puddle. “Steve. And it’s truly an honour to meet you, Y/N.”

You giggle at the use of that darn line again, but before you can say a word back, Steve speaks up again. “If you don’t have any other plans, would you like to go grab a coffee with me?” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly then adds, “ya know, like a date.”

“‘Like’ a date?” You repeat, raising a questioning brow at him.

“Is a date,” he clarifies.

You smile up at this big beautiful tower of a man, and nod, “then that sounds like a splendid idea, Steve.”

He smiles widely and offers you his arm, which you instantly accept and then you both head for the lift. Off to enjoy your first date with Steve—a date for which you hope there are many, many more to follow. But as long as you have any say in the matter, there will be. Because you’d have to be off your damn trolley if you ever let this wonderful man get away now.

And If London Should Ring, looking for you to return, you’ll just tell them that you’re busy, from now until forever.

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

@hopefulmoonobject @caps-lockdown @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @tessvillegas @boxofteenageideas @wangdeasang @giggleberts @casuallydarktiger @theonelittleone @agentbadbitch @ratwrites @starrystellars @bandsandanimefreak @rockyroadthepastryarchy @lovvliies @cuffski @icesoccerer @alwaysright4 @lilsthethrills @imdiegohargreeves @zombiepotterfour @mu-mu-rs @ledandan1244 @straightforwardly @badassbeckettswan @denzmallows @xremember-me-notx @gwynethjodie @lollipopdomination @capstopavenger @jemimah-b99 @rcvenqers @justkending @marvel13princess @alagalaska @silent-loucidity @sabertooth-potato @pies-wands-and-more @interstellarmess @gabriella69816 @phantom-soilder @wordlesscaptain @captain-hammer-of-asgard @starstucknature

#au fanfiction #fanfiction #long post #long read #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x british!reader #british!reader #if london should call #one shot request #everyone lives happily in the tower #everyone is alive

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scotiaeire · 4 years ago

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JUST THINKING OUT “LOUD”.

I’M AN OLDER WOMAN, WHO GREW UP IN THE TIMES WHEN IF YOU HAD A TELEVISION YOU WERE CONSIDERED WELL OFF. VIDEO RECORDERS HADN’T BEEN INVENTED YET. MOBILE (CELL) PHONES WERE THE STUFF OF STAR TREK AND SCI FI. THE NET? WE’D NEVER HAVE IMAGINED IT, EXCEPT IN STORIES.

AND HERE WE ARE. THE AVERAGE SMARTPHONE HAS MORE TECH IN IT THAN IT TOOK TO PUT ARMSTRONG ON THE MOON.

FEW FOLKS WATCH TV NOW, BECAUSE EVERYONE HAS “A DEVICE”, NORMALLY THEIR PHONES, TABLETS, WHATEVER THEY CALL THEM NOW. AT THE LEAST, A LAPTOP (ME. I’M A LUDDITE. I TOLERATE THE LAPTOP BECAUSE, GOING BLIND, I CAN’T *SEE* ANYTHING SMALLER)

AND WATCHING ALL THIS TECH COME INTO BEING, FOLKS OF MY GENERATION HAD OPTIMISM..IT HAD SO MUCH POTENTIAL. ALL THAT POWER, THE CAPABILITIES. WOULD IT HELP HEALTH BE DIAGNOSED OR TREATED EASIER? WOULD IT HELP FAMILIES SCATTERED ACROSS THE GLOBE KEEP IN TOUCH WITH ONE ANOTHER?

WELL, AYE, IT DOES BOTH OF THOSE THINGS.

BUT LOOK AT WHAT ELSE IT DOES...

IT ALLOWS HACKERS TO STEAL FROM THE BANK ACCOUNTS OF VULNERABLE OLD OR POOR PEOPLE. AND EVEN IF IT’S NOT CASH THEY WILL STEAL, IT’S INFORMATION, A LOT OF IT INTIMATE AND PERSONAL, PRIVATE. AND BY “HACKERS” I’M NOT JUST MEANING SOME GUY IN A BLACK HOODIE SITTING IN A DARKENED ROOM IN A BASEMENT SOMEWHERE. GOVERNMENTS AREN’T ABOVE WATCHING YOUR EVERY MOVE ONLINE EITHER, FROM WHERE YOU SHOP AND WHAT YOU BUY TO READING YOUR EMAILS, FOLLOWING YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA (SOME POOR BUGGERS IN GOV OFFICES MUST HAVE HELLUVA BORING JOBS, REALLY...)

IT ALLOWS NARCISSISTS OF ALL AGES, TYPES AND MINDSETS TO CREATE “BRANDS” OF THEMSELVES..LITERALLY, SELLING THEMSELVES...BY SETTING UP ACCOUNTS THAT ARE CAREFULLY CURATED, CAREULLY STAGED, ALL TO PRESENT A LIFE THAT IS *NOT* THEIR REAL, ACTUAL LIFE, BUT MORE OF A WISHLIST.

IT ALSO, BY DEFAULT, HAULS MASSES OF FOLKS INTO SITTING ON THEIR ARSES, SPENDING HOURS SCROLLING THROUGH PIC AFTER PIC, POST AFTER POST, IMAGE AFTER IMAGE, JUST STARING AT WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THEY DON’T KNOW AND PROBABLY NEVER WILL, ARE DOING.

WHAT A WASTE OF TIME AND ENERGY....

IT ALLOWS US TO BE TARGETED LEFT RIGHT AND CENTRE BY COMMERCIAL CORPORATIONS SEEKING TO SELL US JUNK, WHETHER WE NEED IT OR NOT. AND FAR TOO MANY FALL FOR THAT, WHEN THEIR CASH COULD BE SPENT MORE PRODUCTIVELY.

IT CREATES ENVY, AS THOSE WHO FEEL THEIR LIVES LACK EXCITEMENT OR ADVENTURE LOOK AT THE FAKE LIVES OF “INFLUENCERS” (THAT IS SUCH A LOADED WORD BTW) AND SO CALLED “CELEBRITIES” (WHEN I WAS YOUNG, TO BE A CELEBRITY, YOU HAD TO HAVE *DONE* SOMETHING OF WORTH OR AT LEAST, BE A HALF DECENT ACTOR, NOT JUST A PRETTY FACE) AND THAT ENVY IN TURN CREATES DEPRESSION AS FOLKS REALISE THEY’LL NEVER BE ABLE TO OBTAIN THOSE MAKE BELIEVE LIFESTYLES.

AND IT *IS* MAKE BELIEVE. TRY IMAGINING, FOR A MOMENT, YOUR FAVOURITE CELEBRITY SITTING ON THE TOILET. PICKING THEIR NOSE. LAZING AROUND ON THE SOFA WITHOUT A SCRAP OF MAKEUP, CONTOURING OR THREE INCH THICK EYEBROWS, READING TRASHY MAGAZINES.

IT ALLOWS “CYBER BULLYING” WHERE ANONYMOUS SHITTY PEOPLE THINK IT’S OK TO RIP TO SHREDS THOSE WHO ARE VULNERABLE, FRAGILE AND UNABLE TO FIGHT BACK.

I’M AN OLDER WOMAN WHO NEVER THOUGHT THIS TECH WE USE ON A DAILY BASIS WOULD EVER COME TO PASS. YET GOVERNMENTS ALLOW US THE USE OF IT, BECAUSE IT KEEPS US DISTRACTED FROM REAL LIFE. LIKE A DRUG FOR THE MASSES, AS THEY USED TO SAY TELEVISION WOULD BE. (THEY WERE RIGHT THOUGH...)

IT HAS BECOME, ALMOST, A NECESSITY AS, MORE SO IN THESE TIMES, FINANCIAL TRANSACTIONS SUCH AS PAYING BILLS, BUYING GOODS ETC, CAN ONLY MAINLY BE PERFORMED ONLINE NOW, AND TO DO THAT YOU *HAVE* TO HAVE A BANK ACCOUNT WITH CARDS, AND THEY REQUIRE NOT ONLY THOSE DETAILS BUT YOUR PHONE NUMBER AND IN MANY CASES, YOUR NAME, DATE OF BIRTH AND MORE.

THEY’LL WANT YOUR DNA NEXT BEFORE YOU CAN BUY A LOAF OF BREAD....

SEE WHAT THEY’VE DONE?

YES, THE NET HAS IT’S GOOD FACETS. BUT IN MY OPINION (WHICH DOESN’T COUNT FOR ANYTHING BUT HERE I AM, ON SAID SOCIAL MEDIA, GIVING IT ANYWAY) THE BAD OUTWEIGHS THE GOOD.

YOU’RE SPIED UPON. HACKED. BULLIED. ENVIED OR WILL ENVY. CONSTANTLY PAYING BILLS ONLINE. BUYING JUNK YOU LIKELY DON’T NEED ONLINE DUE TO CONSTANT ADVERTISING OF SAID JUNK.

WORSE, WE GET THE NEWS FROM ALL AROUND THE WORLD AS AND WHEN IT HAPPENS.

BUT NOT THE GOOD NEWS, OH NOPE. WE GET THE WARS, KILLINGS, RAPES, VIOLENCE, SHITTY POLITICS, FEAR-MONGERING PLAGUE STORIES AND MORE. AND MOST OF US ARE NOT IN A POSITION TO HELP CHANGE IT OR DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT. THAT’S THE SIMPLE TRUTH. ALL DESIGNED TO KEEP US IN OUR PLACE....RIGHT WHERE OUR RESPECTIVE GOVERNMENTS WANT US.

SO KEEP ON BEING DISTRACTED BY ALL THE PRETTY PICTURES. THE LOVELY PEOPLE. THE CAREFULLY STAGED LOG CABIN INTERIORS. ALL THE LOVELY STUFF YOU DON’T ACTUALLY *NEED* FOR SALE. SIT AND RAGE OR COWER OVER HOW “AWFUL” THE WORLD OUT THERE IS WITH THE INCOMING CONSTANTLY BAD NEWS, WHILST FORGETTING THAT EVERY DAY SIMPLE ACTS OF KINDNESS AND SMALL BUT IMPORTANT *GOOD* THINGS HAPPEN TOO. THEY’RE JUST NOT REPORTED IN MAINSTREAM MEDIA.

BUT DON’T FORGET, THERE’S A REAL WORLD OUT THERE. AND A LOT OF THIS GENERATION CAN’T WALK ALONG A STREET AND DARE TO LOOK ANOTHER PERSON IN THE EYE, IT MAKES THEM SO UNCOMFORTABLE.

NOBODY SMILES AND SAYS “HELLO” NOW. IT’S ALL HEAD’S DOWN AND SCROLLING.

IN EXILE IN BELGIUM, I ONCE SAW A TEENAGE GIRL LITERALLY COME WITHIN INCHES OF BEING RUN DOWN BY A TRAM BECAUSE SHE WAS CHATTING TO HER BOYFRIEND ON HER PHONE. I WAS ON THAT TRAM. INCHES.....

HEAD DOWN, GIGGLING AND LAUGHING. TRAM DRIVER HONKED THE HORN AND YELLED AT HER. SHE NEVER EVEN LOOKED UP. NEVER EVEN BLINKED. DID NOT DEVIATE FROM WHAT SHE WAS DOING...FLIRTING ONLINE WITH HER FELLA. AND SHE ALMOST DIED.

*THIS* IS WHAT MODERN TECH IS DOING.

DO I ADVOCATE WALKING AWAY FROM IT ALL? NO. BECAUSE IT *DOES* HAVE A GOOD SIDE. BUT I DO, AND ALWAYS WILL BELIEVE, PEOPLE HAVE TO FIND THE HAPPY MEDIUM..WHERE YOU USE ONLINE LIFE AND MODERN TECHNOLOGY AS A TOOL ONLY WHEN NECESSARY.

AND THAT YOU DON’T LET IT RULE YOUR LIFE TO THE POINT WHERE IF YOU HAVE A NET-LESS DAY, YOU FEEL EVEN FAINTLY ANXIOUS ABOUT IT.

THERE’S AN AWFUL LOT OF SHIT ONLINE. FAKE NEWS. LIES. DANGEROUS STUFF LIKE PORN AND PAEDOPHILIA MASQUERADING AS INNOCENCE. BAD POLITICAL AGENDAS. STUPID ONLINE FEUDS. EMPTY HEADED MEDIA (ASK ME IF I GIVE A F*CK WHAT ANY ONE OF THE BRITISH ROYALS EVER DOES OR WEARS....) AND AN AWFUL LOT OF PEOPLE FALL INTO THAT HOLE AND NEVER DIG THEIR WAY OUT.

BUT SOME ARE WAKENING UP. SOME ARE ADVOCATING TECH FREE DAYS. SOME ARE SAYING JUST WHAT I’VE BEEN SAYING (WELL, MAYBE WITHOUT THE “WHEN I WAS A GIRL” BECAUSE THEY’RE MOSTLY YOUNGER FOLKS AND NOBODY LISTEN TO OLD PEOPLE ANYMORE, IF THEY EVER DID)

ANYWAYS, AFORE I SIGN OUT, HERE’S A FEW TIPS:

THAT INFLUENCER YOU’RE FOLLOWING? FAKE.

THAT CELEBRITY YOU ENVY? FAKE.

99% OF THE NEWS YOU’RE HEARING? IF NOT FAKE THEN SERIOUSLY MANIPULATED TO SUIT WHICHEVER GOVERNMENTAL AGENDA IT FOLLOWS. AND BY DOING SO, YOUR OWN MINDSET.

AND HERE’S A VERY SPECIAL TIP. IF YOU LIVE ANYWHERE NEAR TRAFFIC, LEAVE YOUR PHONE IN YOUR BAG/POCKET/WHEREVER. DON’T TAKE IT OUT AT ALL. AND ESPECIALLY NOT WHEN CROSSING ROADS/TRAMLINES/BUSLANES.

ABOVE ALL, TRY WALKING AWAY FROM IT FOR A WHILE ON A REGULAR BASIS AND TAKING AN ACTUAL LOOK AT LIFE AROUND YOU. THERE’S PEOPLE OUT THERE WHO AREN’T EVEN ONLINE. MAYBE THEY’D LIKE TO BE FRIENDS? TRY SEEING NATURE WITHOUT A CAMERA LENS...GO SMELL THE AIR, TOUCH THE LEAVES, WALK THROUGH THE SCENE YOU’RE TRYING TO SHOOT THE BEST OF. SIT A WHILE AND DRINK IT IN. EXPERIENCE IT FOR REAL.

(JUST HALF AN HOUR AGO I SAW A BEAUTIFUL IMAGE OF A YOUNG GIRL SITTING ON A DECK BESIDE A LAKE. BEAUTIFULLY STAGED, BUT I CAN TELL YOU FROM HARD EXPERIENCE, SIT THE WAY SHE WAS (BACK ARCHED TO LOOK SLENDER ETC) AND YOUR ARSE WOULD BE HURTING, YOUR SHOULDERBLADES GETTING SPLINTERS FROM THE WOOD FENCE AND YOUR TEETH FIRMLY GRITTED. JUST SAYING.)

I USE VIDEO CAMERAS TO TAKE IMAGES AROUND MY HOME. WHY? BECAUSE I’M ALMOST BLIND. I USE THE CAMS AS TOOLS. I TAKE FOOTAGE (WHICH INVOLVES AIMING IN THE GENERAL DIRECTION AND HOPING I’M ACTUALLY FILMING WHAT I WANT TO SEE) THEN I UPLOAD IT TO MY LAPTOP AND VID CHANNEL SO THAT, THROUGH A LARGER, CLOSER SCREEN, I CAN ENLARGE AND *SEE* WHAT MY EYES NO LONGER DO. IT’S THE ONLY WAY, NOW, MY EYES CAN SEE THE LANDSCAPE THAT SURROUNDS ME IN ANY DETAIL.

THOSE ARE TOOLS. THAT’S A GOOD WAY TO USE THEM.

I’VE SEEN SOME HORRENDOUS USES OF TECH OVER TIME. FROM THE GHOULS TAKING PICTURES OF ROAD ACCIDENTS OR PEOPLE BEING BEATEN (WHEN THEY SHOULD HAVE BEEN GOING IN TO HELP) TO THAT GIRL AND OTHERS ALMOST BEING KILLED, SO INTENT ON WHAT WAS ON THEIR SCREEN THEY WERE, IGNORING THE *REAL* WORLD AROUND THEM.

DON’T BE A SLAVE TO YOUR TECH. BE IT’S MASTER. AND COME BACK TO THE REAL WORLD AT LEAST ONCE IN A WHILE.

#THOUGHTS #TECHNOLOGY #SLAVES TO IT #MOST OF ONLINE *LIFE* IS FAKE...#CONSTANT NEWS IS HARMFUL #WATCH OUT FOR TRAMS FORGODSSAKES!

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sidlyrics · 5 years ago

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How to download the tickets and what to do on the day of the live

Even though we've already bought our tickets, it's not enough with the email we've received, we still have a few steps left to get our tickets. The way we'll receive them will depend on the purchase method we've used.

Downloading ID-s basic tickets

For a few years now, SID tickets are not printed anymore, we'll get them through Ticket board. Luckily for us, this website is foreigner-friendly (lol) and has an English version.

We won't have to do anything, two or three weeks before the live, SID's STAFF will create an account for us and update the details of the lives. In order to log in, we have to click on "my page". Our user ID will be our email address and the password will be our birthday in YEARMONTHDAY format.

Next, we'll click on "application/purchasing history" and we'll see a list of all the lives for which we have tickets, although we won't be able to do anything for the time being.

A few days before the live (between 3 and 5 days), we'll receive an email letting us know that our tickets ara available.

If we log in again on Ticket Board, we'll be able to see the details about the tickets and, at the end, we'll have the option to download our ticket and write the personal information about our partner (I don't have pictures of that, but they'll basically be asking their name and email, it's a really simple proccess).

We can't download the ticket to our mobile phone storage, it's online. Also, we can't take an screenshot, we must show them the website, since they'll be stamping the screen with a special device (I don't really know how it works, but when the stamp is near the screen, it somehow sticks on the ticket). For this reason, it's VITAL that we have access to the internet, since they first need to check our name in the details of the ticket and then they'll have to go back and stamp it.

Downloading LINE ticket tickets

About LINE, the proccess is much simpler. A few days before the live we'll receive our ticket on a LINE message and, on the day of the live, the ticket will be resent at the time of the door opening.

If we click on the message, a description of the ticket will pop up and, if we scroll down, we can open the ticket. My advice, though, is for you not to touch anything and let the STAFF do it. I opened my ticket and, in order to validate it, you just have to touch the screen, so I validated it myself by mistake before going in the livehouse and it's not possible to open it again. When I explained what had happened to the STAFF members, they understood what the problem was and said nothing, but just in case, show them the description of the ticket and let them do the rest.

Anatomy of a ticket

Although Ticket board website is available in English, tickets aren't, so we'll see a couple of pictures to understand the relevant parts.

1- Ticket information. They'll have to access that to check your data. 2- Date of the live, opening time, starting time. 3- Ticket type and number, we need that to know where we have to sit or when we have to go in. 4- Stamp that will appear after our ticket has been validated.

1- Date of the live, opening time, starting time, location. 2- Ticket type and number, we need that to know where we have to sit or when we have to go in. 3- Confirmation that will appear after our ticket has been validated. In the case of the tickets I've used, the ticket type was "standing", which was the only option available, even for VIP tickets. The letter that appears right after that informs us about which our group is in order to access the venue. The first people to go in will be the VIP (in case there are any), then A, then B... The numbers after the letter tell us the order inside each of those groups. In the Ticket board ticket, in group A, I had to go in in the 19th place; whereas in the LINE ticket ticket, I had to go in in the 53rd place of group B. However, most of SID's lives take place in halls, so we won't be standing, there will be seats. Therefore, in the ticket, we'll get the area where we are supposed to sit, the row and the seat number, like a cinema ticket.

What to do on the day of the live

Even though I imagine that the procedure will vary depending on the live we are attending to, the place where it's held or whether we have a VIP ticket, I'll briefly share my experience. The events I went to took place in livehouses, so they were a lot smaller and there was less people, but I think the procedure to go in is a bit more complicated (in the case of halls, I think you just have to stand in line in whatever order and just look for your spot once you are inside, but it's not like that for livehouses). If you don't know the place, I recommend arriving a little earlier, since some are clearly visible, but others are a bit more hidden (for example, Club Junk Box at Sendai has a sign outside, but it's located in the basement of the building and that's where you'll have to go to stand in the line or buy goods). It is not neccessary for you to stay there for hours, a lot of people just arrive 15 minutes before the opening time. It really doesn't matter when you arrive since you'll have to get in in the order that appears on your ticket. It's true that the sale of goods starts a couple of hours before the opening time (in any case, either on the website or by email, they'll let you know all the details so you know when you have to be there), so if you want to buy something, you can go a few hours ahead (there really were queues to buy merchandise, so I would recommend arriving with a bit of time, also so that you know for sure whatever you want won't be sold out) and leave again until the opening time. Although the STAFF probably won't speak English, there is usually a paper with the goods or they'll be on display, so you can just point at whatever you want. Plus, they'll be showing you the total amount on a calculator so it'll be easy for you to know how much to pay. Most venues have lockers where you can leave your stuff (there were none at vanvan4 in Kanazawa, but they gave us some bags and numbers so that the STAFF could keep our things safe). Normally they'll be between 300 and 500 yen. They are quite big, so your bags, sweaters, etc. will fit. In case there are no lockers at the venue, you might find some at train stations. If we have a VIP ticket, we'll get an email stating when we can go to pick up our passes (for example, the live started at 19:00 and we had to pick them up at 15:30) and the schedule of the VIP event (the VIP tickets for AKi included the rehearsal, an acoustic live and a meet&greet from 16:15 to 17:30, even though we had to be there at 16:00 to go in the livehouse).

The meet&greet was only with Aki (the other band members were not there) and we just went in order, one by one, to the corridor that gave access to the venue, where Aki was waiting to meet us. In general, everyone was quite fast and didn't stop much, but my guess is that if you stay for too long someone from the STAFF will tell you that you have to keep moving. While you are there, only Aki and the STAFF members are around, the other fans will be waiting outside, so it's kind of private. At the opening time, we have to be ready with our ticket and passport in hand, because they'll be checking it to make sure that the name on the ticket is the same as the name in the passport. If we have an ID-s ticket, it's better for us to carry as well the FC card with us. I was never asked for it, but it says on the website that they might want to see it, so it's better to be safe. At this time, someone from the STAFF will stand at the door and start yelling the numbers (and don't think they'll do that in a loud voice, so pay attention). First, they'll yell the group that is going to go in (VIP, A, B...) and then they'll start yelling the numbers one by one (they'll do it in Japanese, so you either ask someone to let you know when it's your turn or you'll have to learn the basics about numbers). At the beginning, they'll be going slow, but if there are unsold tickets, instead of saying the numbers one by one, they might do it ten by ten (it happened to me at Osaka, since there were not many people in the B group). When the person from the STAFF says your number, you'll have to approach them, they'll check the number on the ticket and you'll have to go with another STAFF member who will check your passport and stamp your ticket. Finally, since it's a livehouse, you'll have to pay 500 or 600 yen for a drink you'll be given at the end of the live. It is not optional, you have to pay for that even if you don't want the drink, so keep that in mind. However, if you have a VIP, the drink is included in the ticket fee. Once inside, you can stand wherever you want as long as there is an empty space. If you want to be far from the stage, it's okay if you stay at the back, although people usually respect your vital space and you won't have a person stuck right next to you, so it's not really uncomfortable to be in the middle even if you don't like crowded places (my friend doesn't like them and she said it was okay). Also, some people will just voluntarily stay away from the stage, so it's no problem if you arrive later and want to go closer to the stage (for example, at Osaka, the venue had two levels and a lot of people were in the second even though there was still some space in the first. When I approached them to ask if it was okay for me to go down to the first level, they said I could). Now that you are in your spot, just enjoy the live.

#SID #sidlyrics #Tutorial #Entradas #Tickets #Conciertos #Lives #シド

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akiwisfics · 5 years ago

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In the Middle Chapter 7

Notes: Not technically cross-posted anymore, but two chapters already written. If people get annoyed by this, please savior “kiwi crossposts” to save your eyes.

Description: The war's over, but the mess is still left behind. Kasumi finds herself among the wreckage with unexpected companions and questions that seem almost impossible to answer for. Life keeps moving forward, however, and the surprises it leaves behind aren't always pleasant ones.

Pairings: KasumixSha’ira

“Ms. Maeda, come out please.”

The major was using her alias. That was a good sign. She kept her eyes closed as she listened carefully, noting that most of the steps outside the tent at the moment were whisper-quiet. Trained and unlike the cacophony that Kasumi had grown accustomed to at their camp. The STG had taken over completely at this point, then, but where were the others exactly?

Kasumi had seen no reason to report the initial incident to the STG exactly for this reason. She didn’t want them crawling over the place, rifling through things better left private. They’d done enough already, enough so that she was half-tempted to play up her injuries, appeal to their humanity as a wounded gazelle.

It was probably Sha’ira. She couldn’t blame her for her due diligence. While no doubt she knew there were more secrets to uncover, one of their group members had been killed. She was going to do her own investigation this morning, though mostly to make sure there weren’t any other trip mines in the area they needed to worry about. From there, she could likely figure out some information based on the mine alone. They were a common enough accessory in both various militaries and the terminus systems, but rarely were the models of the same caliber. Most mercenaries had to make do with whatever and whoever would be willing to deal outside of the Citadel, so they were usually handmade or modded in some fashion. Military, naturally, were usually more manufactured, less prone to misfires.

However, a really well paid mercenary could get what they want, especially if they’d been working for a long time. Not many survived in their line of work without knowing how to make their own shit.

Her alibi checked out if there was trouble, at least. Despite what verbal spat (? if it could be called that) her and the consort had the evening before, there was little denying the fact that she had been laid up from her injury, and as far as they were aware, unarmed. Rolling over just confirmed what she knew already. Sha’ira had left early that morning. Her hands still felt warm from when they touched. She admired how freely the consort gave her affection, a small gift with every passing brush and squeeze. While Kasumi affirmed what she could with what ways she could afford, she hadn’t remembered anything beyond a smile or a pat on the shoulder recently. Hugs were even foreign after Shepard’s passing.

Their conversation wasn’t really done, was it? She could admire Sha’ira’s stubborn passion if she wasn’t on the receiving end of it. Maybe it was just a common feature for people like them. It was the only reason she could think of as to why she still hadn’t stirred from her cot.

The tent flap zipped open, and Kasumi met the Major’s exasperated gaze with a placidly affable smile. “You should know better than to spoil me with all this attention,” she greeted, and decided the joke could last a little longer. “I have nothing to do with what’s going on.”

He sighed and pitched his voice lower, just in case there were any prying ears. Based on what little she heard beyond more salarians, he didn’t need to worry. “I’m well aware. Can we discuss this outside?”

“In my condition, Major?”

“The mine didn’t kill you, and it clearly didn’t leave you deaf. Outside.”

He seemed more hurried than last time. If it’d just been the turian’s death, they would’ve swung by sooner. Maybe they had. Though the recovery was quick, Kasumi had been left to her own devices for the most part yesterday. She had her visitors, but beyond a few awkward conversations, the last 24 hours had been a hazy doze-- likely thanks to whatever medigel and drugs Sal had tossed together.

Maybe she could get a change of clothes first. The t-shirt and sweatpants was even more bare compared to their last meeting. Despite a little soreness in her knees, a little bit of heaviness in her chest, it was still easy to stand. What work Sal had done did its job.

A small contingent awaited her as she finally emerged. Major Kirrahe waited just a few feet away, flanked by two members that she vaguely recognized from her run-in. The camp was deserted beyond the rest of the unit, soldiers listlessly flitting from tent to tent, though never staying for longer than a minute or so. They weren’t searching through belongings. Not yet anyway. Clearing the area then? The others were probably secured in a smaller perimeter then, maybe the building where their tower had been installed. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but the interior was gutted enough to house all of them.

Something had happened. She doubted Sha’ira would be considered among the suspects, but Kasumi realized to the STG-- she was the only one accounted for yesterday.

“Nothing in your tent was touched,” Kirrahe offered as he approached. His brow was furrowed and he looked tired, more than anything. Though salarians rarely needed to sleep for long, the major looked overdue for at least an hour or so.

“Not that we’re on the best of terms right now but--”

“One of our men went missing yesterday.”

Ah, another victim then. That narrowed the scope considerably. An average mercenary or soldier wouldn’t easily get the best of an STG member, not without some considerable knowledge of the area. However, that didn’t make much sense. Their group had been there a week, tops, and as far as she was aware, only herself and Sha’ira knew about the other camp in the old university section. “You think one of us did it?”

“... Not necessarily…” he scratched at one of his scales, a nervous habit. She would have to remember that. “We’re simply narrowing down our suspects, Ms. G-- Maeda. Your camp is the only other known party in the area.”

Not the only, but a tabloid reporter didn’t strike her as a murdering type.

“We found him dead earlier this morning. How did the turian die?”

“I never actually saw the body, so.”

Kirrahe hummed in response. “Justicar Samara has offered her expertise with interrogations, but considering you’re the least suspicious person here…”

Oh. This was a nice position. The plan right now had been just to sneak in at some point and take her mods back, but this was a much better and less risky solution to that problem. The major didn’t need her, and Kasumi wasn’t thrilled over the prospect of interrogating people that barely knew her-- people that likely had their own ideas as to why she hadn’t really socialized with anyone else. However, it beat trying to aggravate what good grace that had been left from their first encounter. “How about a deal then?”

“Absolutely not.”

“If there’s a murderer around, I’d like my pistol at least.”

His saucer eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you have another elsewhere, Ms. Maeda. The mods are staying in our possession.”

Sore loser. “You’re making it very hard to do my job, Major. I don’t mind the challenge, but can you really afford it?” She had copies back home, at worst blueprints in case she had to make any necessary repairs or replacements. However, “home” was currently Illium, and wasn’t really easy to access at the moment. She could have Urch or Tianna dig through her workroom, but that wasn’t really time that they could afford. Not with dear Kiera breathing down their necks and Urch’s own research on Khalisah.

“Based on your little save the other day, your observational skills are fine without them.” He sighed and seemed just a little bit less like a military man and more salarian. More like they hadn’t just gotten out of war, hadn’t just pulled himself out of the front lines. “I’m not asking for your help for free. Consort Sha’ira had made very specific… requests on your behalf.”

“She isn’t a suspect then?”

“While technically not cleared, she doesn’t really have means or motive. Her and Sura will likely be released shortly.”

That was nice to hear. “I guess I’ll ask her when I see her.” Clothes came first though. She wasn’t exactly intimidating in her pajamas. The soldiers by Kirrahe stiffened at first as she moved to leave, hands just a tad too secure to their guns for comfort. Right. Just because she had been cleared of one crime didn’t mean they weren’t aware of plenty others. Hopefully they had the sense not to panic the rest of her camp even further with the behavior. They weren’t really known for their panic, but there didn’t always need to be a lot of change for people to start noticing. Sometimes all they needed to see was them with a bit more unease around her than usual.

Still, Kasumi smiled in return and was relieved to see them leave her alone as she began retreating back to her actual tent.

“Ms. Maeda?”

Though she guessed they weren’t done yet. She showed nothing as she turned back, waiting for Kirrahe to continue.

“Do you have any suspects?”

Katul was a thought. He went missing first, but no one had actually mentioned if he was still alive or not. If he had returned after the one person he seemed to have tension with had died, that didn’t look good. However, nothing could shake the ghastly visage he carried and how much it resonated inside of her. She doubted little could shake him from his deep, pervasive grief. It took her months to even want her life again, much less act out against those that took Keiji. Whatever problems the two turians had, it wasn’t like revenge. They would’ve seen something happen far before this. She would’ve acted much faster than this.

Dharshan was also… strange, though she doubted her suspicions on him were anything more of shades from her own past. Though she tried desperately to not let that inhibit her work, she could count what few positive interactions she had with other batarians on one hand. The man was a source of ire recently, but that wasn’t out of any murderous intent on his part. He just couldn’t take the hint that she wanted nothing to do with him.

“If I’m honest? I don’t think it’s anyone from here,” she answered after a moment. “No one really strikes me as the serial murderer and poke the bear type.”

“Poke the bear?”

“... You know. Big, scary, and a bit silly to go after?” Maybe the bear thing was the problem? She wasn’t sure if the major was familiar with Earth biology. “Lot of the people have military experience, but none of them would be dumb enough to go after the STG is all I’m saying.”

“True. I have to ask--”

“Sha’ira and I haven’t mentioned you all were here, no. They either had to have stowed away in the shuttle without us noticing somehow, or had access to the channel like I did.”

“Right. … Thank you anyway.”

She hadn’t blamed the Major for the thought. It would be easier for it to be someone from the group. Someone that they could get today, and not be left digging in the ruins for some phantom. A phantom that was laying traps for everyone. Kasumi knew she had plenty enough to ask still, but unfortunately for them both, a phantom seemed far more likely than anything else at this point.

About all they could hope for was someone close by, and that it was just that. One.

However, Kasumi knew better, and Kirrahe did too.

Her tent was well kept, despite the knowledge that Sha’ira had been in at some point. She knew to grab the QEC, knew to bring it to her when she needed it. It hadn’t surprised her. It was the same reason that Sha’ira was one of the last to leave her tent in the mornings, but one of the first to have movement inside its confines. She didn’t know what all went into being a half-retired consort, but any job worth its credit had its fair network of associates to make it all work.

Maybe that was why it was easy for her to pick Kasumi at her seams. She learned as much as the consort gave away, and yet she couldn’t help thinking that she was just at the surface of what was there. It wasn’t an alluring darkness that drew her in, that much Kasumi was certain. She knew enough to recognize the shades of someone with blood on their hands, how they looked onto the world and regarded the value of life around them.

Like Kirrahe. She didn’t doubt that an unexpected loss of someone from his command affected him, but he made sure not to show it as he talked, as he observed the world around him. He knew enough. Knew that letting that side show meant it was a vulnerability for someone to pick at later, and maybe then another man would die under his watch.

But Sha’ira was different. Her hands had trembled when she spoke of Nelyna, even as she knew enough to try to obscure the incident from Kasumi’s questions at first. She still worried and fussed over Kasumi after her injury, even though someone as close as Shepard would’ve stayed, but she wouldn’t have--

What would she do here? The Major had known her from the war, so perhaps he would’ve approached the situation entirely different either way. She couldn’t recall meeting the man on the Crucible project, but that didn’t really mean much.

The grey-box was still safely tucked in her duffle bag. She ran her fingers against the cool metal and allowed a brief rush of comfort before she finished getting dressed. She could peer into the contents later, maybe to glean some advice from his past experiences-- ones that she hadn’t been afforded on her own.

She spotted a shadow looming over her tent from the corner of her eye and tucked the keepsake back in the confines of her clothes. It was only a second of hesitation before she took the locust instead. Kirrahe already mentioned her having another weapon on her. It shouldn’t spook him too much, and now that there was someone actually making moves against them, she sure as hell wasn’t going to go unarmed.

“Just a second!” she called out as she holstered the gun on her hip. In one fluid motion, she unzipped her tent and emerged-- and froze, half smile at the flash of red and gold in front of her. Well. Maybe should’ve gone without the gun then.

Samara regarded her with a tad more warmth than before, though it really wasn’t much. Her eyes didn’t have the glean of murderous biotics, which was comforting. She found the pistol at her side immediately. “... I see the Major was correct.” Was that relief in her voice…? “I had brought an extra pistol in case you were left without.”

“It’s an old habit.” She stepped beside her as Samara turned back to the main road and halo of buildings. Their target was in the middle, close enough to camp for anyone to pick up the signal of the comm tower from the comfort of their cot. Unless Sal spilled on her work on the Crucible project, this would probably lead to some questions. She just hoped any lies that came up before were believable enough, or so outrageous that they were easily disproven if needed.

Kasumi glanced to her companion, noting idly how quiet her steps were beside her. Her skills were as sharp as ever. “... Can I ask you something?” she chanced.

Samara regarded her with cold eyes, but still she nodded.

“What are you doing here?”

“... I could ask the same, Ms. Goto.”

That was fair. Sha’ira mentioned some grand plan that fell into place with everything, that their intentions and choices would always have meaning. If she thought more, she would know. If she was truly, deeply honest with herself. She wanted to see that red hair in the wreckage and a beating heart. She wanted to find herself again, for once building instead of taking. It wasn’t that simple. It never was. Here she stood, walking with a justicar to solve a murder. Sure, a different sort of thing, but it wasn’t the sort of closure that Sha’ira had been talking about before.

Still, the fact that Samara was talking to her was a good sign. A good chance that Samara would try to murder her by the end of it, but… Shepard still connected them all somehow.

It wouldn’t hurt to give. Just a little. “The crucible plans are gone, if it helps.”

“We had suspected, but it is good to hear confirmation from you directly.”

“Did you know it was me?”

Samara hesitated, stopping just shy of earshot from the salarians guarding the building entrance. It surprised her to see some sort of softness in the way she regarded her, nurturing and motherly. “... I had believed it, though you left no proof,” she said, voice startling serious for how she regarded Kasumi. “... My code may dictate your fate; however, I am allowed… discretion in regards to your heart. It’s rarely necessary, nor is it a train of thought a justicar should explore often. Yet…”

She hadn’t needed to say it, but it still felt nice.

“Commander Shepard trusted you. Whatever reasons you have to be who you are, there is some righteousness in how you regard the world. I am simply grateful that assessment had been correct the first time.”

It was the closest she would get to a compliment. A strange feeling settled inside her at receiving it, undeserved… or maybe just as weird for the justicar to give. Kasumi gave a taut smile in return. “That’s sweet… I think.”

“Do what you will with it. It saved your life this time. It may later.”

Ah. That feeling was gone now. What a surprise.

“We have more important matters to attend to. I would focus on that for now.”

“Right. How do you want to go about this?”

Samara hesitated. “... You are aware I’m afforded little gentleness in my work.”

And neither was Kasumi. However, she didn’t have the same weight dictating her every move. “Right. I’ll lead then… uh, if that’s fine?”

She nodded in agreement, giving away nothing as to how she actually felt about the matter. Probably for the best. They had enough of a heart to heart to last a lifetime. Samara was rarely afforded an unique voice on matters, one that wasn’t dictated by law or code. It was nice to see underneath that she seemed… almost normal. Kasumi was aware she had one daughter still, back in Thessia last she heard. It was strange that they weren’t together, but no doubt she was safe from any remaining trouble left in the galaxy. She still had something pushing her forward to each new day.

Kasumi felt a pang of jealousy at the thought, one quickly buried for later. There was little to envy from Samara. She hadn’t needed to murder Keiji. She hadn’t needed to murder any family for being monsters. There was nothing to envy of that pain no doubt buried inside. And if she was healing, allowed herself the thought? … It was good for Samara. Something that she probably never let happen before. She deserved that chance.

Then Sha’ira’s eye met hers. They must have finished their interrogation with her, just stepping out of the gutted building with a new weight of exhaustion sagging her shoulders. She remembered, albeit vaguely, that she seemed to struggle sleeping the night before. Either not adjusted to the uneven ground, or their conversation still hanging over her head. She wished there had been a better way.

Still, the smile was warm, even tinged by the lack of sleep clear in her heavy gaze. “How are you feeling?” she asked as she bounded the broken steps to where her and Samara stood.

“Better, thanks to you and Sal,” Kasumi said, just as the consort’s finger tips found her again, grazing over the bandage against her temple. She ducked her eyes out of courtesy to the attention and tried to ignore the curious eyes boring into her back.

Sha’ira remained undeterred as she pulled the bandage back, studying the healed over gash. Whatever she saw was to her satisfaction it seemed, as she peeled the bandage completely off this time and folded it neatly between her fingers. “I would have preferred you in bed longer, but I understand these are extenuating circumstances. I trust you two will clear up matters quickly.”

“What’s the next step for yourself, Consort?”

She smiled just a bit wider. “Not wise for any of us to have idle hands right now, Ms. Maeda. Come by my tent later?”

“You bet.”

Satisfied with the response, Sha’ira slipped between them, hand briefly brushing one of her shoulders as she left.

Kasumi sighed in relief, happy to know that she could put off that awkward conversation just a bit longer. Then felt those curious eyes on her again. She looked to the justicar, and noted the bemusement sent her way. “What?”

“... How long have you two known each other, exactly?”

“Does it matter?” She kept the defensive edge out of her voice. It wasn’t like Samara to be curious, and while not welcomed, it wasn’t for malicious purposes. God, she hoped not anyway.

“Simply…” Then Samara caught herself and shook her head. “No, that’s true. Let us continue then.”

“I didn’t think you were much for gossip either way.”

If she didn’t know better, she would almost say there was a blush on the justicar’s cheeks. Honestly, she appreciated signs of something beyond the stern warrior bravado she put up. Even if that figure was so morose underneath.

She let Samara lead the way into the gutted structure, following about a half step behind and naturally falling into what habits she knew and felt comfortable in. Interrogations weren’t new to her, though rarely did they involve people that already knew her in some capacity. She usually didn’t have her face out in the open either. And there wasn’t an obligation to keep those people alive afterward-- usually. Sometimes she had if the person was freaked out enough, but that was as rare as innocence in the Terminus Systems.

Ten of them total? Nine, if they disregarded the victim’s widow. No one looked surprised to see her as she crossed the threshold. There were four more salarian guards positioned around the large ruined lobby, ones that didn’t directly look at either her or Samara as they came in. The ramp leading to the roof was installed in the back, and through its make-shift stairway, she noticed another soldier casually squatted on one of the remaining pieces of stone, idly checking the sniper rifle secured in his hands. They had a skeleton crew back at their own camp then. Made sense.

Katul and Sura sat furthest from the entrance, talking quietly amongst themselves. Though the turian looked haggard, he didn’t appear injured, which made his disappearance odder in her eyes. What had he been doing to be gone so long? Sura seemed… better than yesterday. Maybe her words meant something after all, even if it barely covered everything.

Darshan was, predictably, praying by the ramp, robes trailing on the dirt and dust as he paced. She smelled a hint of rosemary in the air. Though it wasn’t typical for the few rituals that Kasumi knew of, perhaps he was making do with what resources were still around. Sal sat on his knees against the left wall, another cigarette planted between his odd litt lips. He waved as soon as he saw her, but for once didn’t seem to be in the mood to follow that up with any remarks or questions. Mostly normal then.

Elcor and Krogan on the other side. Neither of them were up for talking, it looked like, but she wasn’t sure if that was how they actually felt or a natural disposition of the species. Meeran… Maron? The pilot was absent once again. Either speaking with their benefactor or had already been cleared to leave. The volus was sat on a broken piece of concrete, short suited legs dangling over the ledge as he observed the space around them passively. Maybe Nora helped him up it. The drell appeared to be asleep next to the broken piece, using the cool concrete as a backrest as she slept.

No panic. They had been stuck inside here for a while then, but not quite long enough for anyone to start complaining. Likely the structure and how very armed their guards were kept any aggression to a minimum.

Frankly, Kasumi didn’t know enough to really exonerate them, but nothing from the dossiers she read stood out either. Military backgrounds, but so did everyone in some capacity or another at that point. They just got out of war. Near extinction. She was surprised anyone had the energy right now to go on a killing spree.

“I will let you lead,” Samara reiterated as she observed the crowd herself, just as passively. If she had any suspicions, she kept it to herself.

The only thing they could do was just… start. With any luck, Kasumi would get more answers along the way. She scanned the field of faces in front of her and chose the first name that came to mind. “Sura?”

The asari stopped her conversation short and turned her head to them, obvious relief shown in soft eyes. Kasumi only hoped that relief wouldn’t be misinformed.

There were a few theories.

The happiest would be that the murders were coincidental. Sure, that would mean that there were two separate murderers out there that Kasumi no doubt would be involved in, but separately? They wouldn’t be so competent as to make two people from two separate camps to disappear and then murder them. It would just be one-- one which may have been some crime of passion or whatever, and another competent enough to take out an STG member. Two people not working together, weren’t collaborating together and now were more likely to make sloppy mistakes.

Or they weren’t coincidental. Then… why a group anyway? It just seemed natural. A hunch, it would be called on any popular media. Really it was just recognizing the signs from personal experience. Sure, one person could’ve killed the turian Thyra then placed mines all over the place, but that was a pretty short time window from them starting to search for Katul, to finding and killing Thyra, and then placing the traps. Guy would have some pretty decent cardio.

Then the next day killing someone from the STG? Something that would give Kasumi trouble even on home turf? Just having another body somewhere facilitated every single step.

Exactly who and why were harder questions. If it was just STG targeted, she could maybe suspect another government organization, like the Alliance or one of the few surviving spectres in the galaxy. Maybe to protect what few secrets could be found in the remnants of the Crucible. However, it wasn’t just one of their members dead, and whatever secrets could be found weren’t very much and would require a shit load of resources to make. Those few organizations left also, almost certainly, had better things to do with their time than just blanket killing other groups in the area. If there were other ones here, no doubt STG had or were investigating them as well.

The other option was either mercenaries or just a couple of crazies, though they weren’t mutually exclusive categories. People like them tended to be shorter-sighted, and usually, they didn’t need a lot of resources to sell information to the highest bidder. If Liara was still alive, she might have even expressed interest in something like that. It was a thought, briefly in the haze and chaos of everything happening, to keep the plans for herself, sell them when things calmed down, and go about her merry little way. Maybe Shepard had improved her a little.

So mercenaries were her strongest theory, but it hadn’t exactly explained Thyra’s death. Their camp was stationed near derelict reaper carcasses, something that would pique Kasumi’s interest if it hadn’t reminded her of nightmares-- screaming, melting colonists, the screams of banshees ringing in her ears, the metallic taste in her mouth turning everything to ash--. Perhaps others were able to stomach looking into the jungle of wires of old gods. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

(They also weren’t close enough to the old university to be a bother, but maybe, just maybe, there was a scrap here or there near their position to grab someone’s attention. Either way, they’d need everything to know how it worked. Kasumi made sure of that.)

So it really wasn’t interrogation perse. Just… asking questions. Knocking herself out had left her without crucial information. She would go out in the night later, find the graffiti wall and the spot where Thyra died. She wouldn’t leave without more information though, and preferably not without her mods. She did have a spare cloaking unit, tucked between the pages of one of her books. If she was really that desperate--

“Um.”

Ah. Sura first, she guessed. There weren’t many spots left that would be considered private in the vicinity of the camp. Sura’s steps were expectantly careful on the plywood, practiced like a commando should be. They weren’t quiet-- commanding the building to heed to every step. In another time and place, Kasumi would imagine her head hanging just a bit higher, not lost on grieving her lover.

“I’m sorry. I was just getting my thoughts together.” Kasumi provided a bit lamely as they all stood somewhat listlessly in the open expanse of the roof. The sky was clear today, sun a bit harsh on the high point of the roof. Neither Sura or Samara seemed bothered by the heat, even though she couldn’t recall Thessia being particularly tropical-- especially when compared to the likes of the Salarian homeworld. Her stops at both planets were brief affairs.

“I know this is…” Sura half-started, then seemed to think better on her approach. “What did you do again?”

“Consulting.”

The asari looked awkwardly between them, but knew better than to question the answer given.

Kasumi scratched at the healing scar and sighed. “... I don’t think you did it for the record. You both seemed, well, happy with each other. And we talked before.”

Sura sagged at the very thought, and Kasumi was reminded how little she wanted to do this. She hadn’t even wanted the conversation yesterday, and now? Now she was expected to pick apart a story she didn’t have. What a dumb string of events.

And despite it, she mustered what voice she had and continued. “I assume you went with Thyra that day? Did you two get separated later on?”

Sura nodded. “We were just trying to cover more ground. She-- Thyra was never much for trekking. Small for a turian, you know?” She knew that look. Sura was already on that stage of ‘what if’. The very thing she warned her against. “... She promised she’d stay on the main roads. I… I guess she heard something.”

“I’m sorry,” and Kasumi truly meant it. “No one could’ve known this would happen. Just… don’t think on it too much. It just makes it worse.” Like how she could’ve stayed with him. She could’ve called off the plan. All sort of things. It didn’t, wouldn’t bring him back. “... How did she die? I was uh, out of commision before the body was actually found.”

And why did Sura look surprised by that. She didn’t say, but it was enough to get Kasumi’s mind to wander. “... She was shot. Sal suggested a sniper, I think? I’m sorry, I- I don’t really have much more than that. The shot looked clean? I’m not really--”

“It’s fine,” she wasn’t expecting her to memorize every detail. Not everyone had a morbid recollection like that. “Tell the guards you’re free to go.”

“... Thank you.”

Samara hummed behind her, just as she had bid Sura on her way. “... I am surprised,” she noted, though her tone indicated nothing on that actual feeling. “I would expect you to be much harder on your associates.”

“If I thought she had more to say, I would’ve asked. You said it yourself. I’m not heartless.”

“What brought you on the Normandy to start with, if I may ask?”

That was… fair. Kasumi knew her story, even if Samara didn’t know that she knew. Maybe she had. While she wasn’t part of that initial trip into Illium, she had listened in on everything that happened on the Normandy. It kept her safe, and it kept her from being too bored when she was relegated to support. That became less so once Shepard and her had developed their odd sort of friendship, but well, it still didn’t hurt to listen.

Would it benefit Samara at all to know more than she did? … Probably not, but that didn’t mean it was worth sharing the sordid details. If anything, she was glad to hear that Shepard respected her privacy. “Cerberus offered a good deal at the time. I didn’t have a reason to stay once that was done.” Not technically a lie, but Samara could guess that there was more to the story if she really wanted.

“You don’t work for credits.”

“Presumptuous, but you’re right. Again--- does it really matter?”

“If you have personal matters that might affect your reasoning--”

“Noted, Samara. The concern is touching though.”

The small hiss of breath on her end was interesting, but Samara didn’t press further.

---

Sal came up next, though that wasn’t who she asked for. He was smart enough to put out the cigarette in the lobby and left his smile there too. If anything, he just seemed annoyed about the whole situation. Kasumi could understand it on some level; he likely knew some of the people currently holding him there. It probably didn’t feel great to be under their scrutiny for once.

His steps were quick up the roof, not subtle at all and lacking the grace she would expect from someone in his rank. Maybe he had been forced into the Crucible project early, and hadn’t been on the front lines in some time. Either way, he bursted through the door to the roof and was immediately on her, grabbing her arms and lifting her jacket up.

“Hey!” Kasumi called out and tried to push her jacket down through his grabbiness. Sal was undeterred as he snatched one of her wrists, twisting it out of the way.

“I can’t believe you just walked out of that tent without clearance first! You’re my patient first of all and--”

The warp immediately knocked him off his feet. He crashed onto the hard concrete and screeched several feet away, nearly off the roof completely. He looked kind of sad crumpled like that. The only indication that he was alive after the assault was a meek and pained cough.

Samara breezed past Kasumi, the aura of biotics surrounding her frightening and sudden.

“Hold on!” she called after the justicar. The cry was ignored.

Latching onto Sal’s collar, Samara dragged the poor salarian back to the center of the roof. He was only given a moment of reprieve before being dropped back onto the ground once he was at a position that seemed satisfactory to her. “Explain. Now!” she snarled.

Sal groaned, pathetic as he curled into himself.

“... He’s a medic,” Kasumi supplied for him.

And she was fine, for the record. Sal? A quick once over from Kirrahe after, and he was sent on his way. It was little consolation at that point.

Nora came up next. The drell was a strange sticking point for everyone at that point, she assumed. Between the birds, how she often wandered alone-- and as far as she could tell, she had been just as reclusive as Kasumi herself. All things considered, she was the most suspicious person among them, but it was all the more reason she hadn’t considered her at all.

Frankly, it was too obvious an answer. What she remembered from the dossier was that she was like most drell-- she served the hanar until the war, and then went from company to company, doing what she could for the war effort. Her specialization as a sniper was a point against her, but beyond maybe a bit of post-indoctrination crazy (or something), she was about as normal as what she expected from anyone that spent most of their life fighting. Especially for folks like the hanar.

As an aside, she hadn’t heard much from the hanar since the war finished. She wasn’t sure if the insular nature of its society kept it that way, or if perhaps, enkindler proselytizing at the moment would be in… poor taste.

Nora didn’t stand out much as a drell. Her blue skin and spots were something Kasumi had seen in plenty of others, though the way her eyes constantly observed her surroundings, using the drell’s photographic memory to its full advantage, spoke of someone with experience. Compared to the previous two, she stood very nonchalantly and seemed unconcerned by the turn of events.

“It must be nice to have friends in high places,” Nora said, observing the concrete and brokenness below them.

“It’s not as cozy as it looks,” Kasumi responded in kind and sat at the edge of the building, letting her legs dangle over the asphalt. Nora plopped down beside her and it was like any other morning.

“They must like you. No chaperones… well, one chaperone, I guess.” And she blinked and twisted her body around to peer at the justicar, head tilted at an odd angle. “You must have a lot of work to do, Justicar. Lots of bad people left in the galaxy, I would imagine. Though you folks stay in asari space, don’t you? And lots of you died when...”

Whatever look Samara gave Nora shut her up pretty fast. She turned back around, huffing.

“You don’t keep good company.”

Kasumi snorted.

“Am I a suspect?”

She shrugged. “Who did you go with?”

“The batarian. He’s the only one that likes me enough. Except for you, maybe.” She tapped on the concrete space between them, and seemed to wince at the temperature underneath. “Are you familiar with drell physiolo-- no. Of course you are.” Kasumi wasn’t sure why she would think that, but plenty of time with Thane taught her enough. “It’s cold here. And wet. If I did more than I’d need to, I’d kiss my sorry ass goodbye. I’m already going to have to for coming here at all.”

That was an interesting point, actually. “Why are you here?”

“Simple. I don’t want to go back to Kahje. At this point? I’m gonna die somewhere. Might as well be at a place I like. Picking fights with STG and people just trying to live aren’t on my to do list in the meantime.”

“Do you have your rifle with you?” Samara remarked from behind them.

“Nope! Feel free to check. Make it this girl that does it though? She gets me.”

Kasumi paused. “Do you even know my name?”

Nora threw her arms up. “It’s probably fake. Mine is. Who gives that shit for free these days?”

“Izumi Maeda.” Samara practiced the words with careful fluidity, as if testing the strength when spoken out loud. Admittedly, it sounded strange coming from someone that had long known better. Like it was too thick in the justicar’s mouth, too careless and too big. It would spill over any second.

“Did Sha’ira tell you all?”

“Among other requests,” she replied, a bit more thoughtful than before. Maybe she felt bad after nearly cleaving Sal in half. “... She is… unexpectedly shrewd.”

“Surprised me too.”

“Are you close with her?”

Kasumi wasn’t sure what she meant. That they talked? That they were friends? Had she slept with her? That was always the problem with being too tactful. Sometimes that ambiguity hung in the air, and she was left wondering if one answer or another would give away too much. Deflection it was then. “You met her before?”

Samara sighed through her nose, glancing only once or twice to the door. Perhaps to make sure they would stay alone for the moment. She hadn’t heard any footsteps. Krogans especially were loud, no matter how hard they tried to be sneaky. “... Our paths have crossed a few times. It seems it always ends the same.”

“Yeah?”

“It is the nature of politics to fall into a realm of grey, Ms. Goto. I’m sure you’ve seen that enough.”

That she did, but where was she going with it, exactly?

“A word of advice as friends,” and her voice was grave, graver than usual. “I would be careful with her. A knowledge like the consort’s... at so young an age? It is rarely gained through clean hands.”

…

Why couldn’t she just have nice things?

The krogan, it turned out, was named Belak, and was one of many that joined Urdnot after Grunt’s infamous joining. She was surprised to hear it-- considering the age that clearly showed on his scaly skin and the worn scars that gnarled deep into his plate. He looked happy to see her alive, and a little gentle prodding kept him from trying to headbutt her in greeting. She didn’t need a more severe concussion as congratulations on her speedy recovery.

Still, they talked for a while. He had gone with the volus, figuring that he needed someone big to keep the scrawny thing from rupturing his suit somewhere. They had been on the other side of the perimeter when the call came in, not nearly enough time to set up something so elaborate and then book it.

“Wasn’t long after we found Katul, actually. Guy was banged up from a nasty fall,” and he laughed, a deep bravado and gruffness that was so, so krogan. “They’re just all bones and so, so tiny. Surprised he didn’t break his back.”

“It was the other turian that died, remember?” Kasumi remarked, but couldn’t help feeling a bit nostalgic honestly. She wondered how Grunt was doing with all this mess. No doubt he was back at Urdnot helping to clean up. Though she didn’t really know what a normal Tuchanka was supposed to look like.

“Yeah, I guess that’s sad, or whatever. At least you got hit doing something nice.” He perked up then, as if remembering something. “Hey, is Sal going to be alright? Squishy bastard owes me a few hundred credits.”

A lack of empathy didn’t mean a guilty conscience, so after checking in with the volus, both were let go to continue their business.

“Should we get the elcor next?” Samara asked as the volus left, bumbling down the stairs with a heavy sigh.

Kasumi looked at the width of the planks and shook her head. “He won’t make it up. We’ll talk to him once everyone else is done.”

“That leaves… the batarian and the turian, correct?”

Neither of which Kasumi really wanted to talk to. However, no one would let her procrastinate further. She would keep her words as neutral as possible and hoped the threat she left the priest with yesterday was enough to keep his mouth shut. The last thing she wanted was Samara to know.

To push off that particular issue a bit longer, she chose Katul first. It would be good to start with something simple maybe. A cursory check of his injuries? Maybe a lighthearted joke about him being her errand boy? Neither of them seemed appropriate. Perhaps a simple ‘how’s he feeling’ would do to ease an already skittish man into talking.

His steps were heavier and slower than usual. A surprise with how haunted he was ordinarily.

He came to the roof, and Kasumi’s voice died in her throat.

Something was wrong. She hadn’t noticed in the crowd before, but now that it was just three of them, she had much fewer distractions. The shiftlessness, the way his eyes seemed to drag as he flitted his gaze from her, to Samara, to the expanse beyond them, to the sky above. He… he was ghastly. And the pain inside was so open for the world to see, so much more raw and visceral than before.

She saw a man a moment away from wailing, and she felt that brewing inside her, always ready to claw itself to the surface. It just needed the right trigger-- a smell, a tugging thought, sometimes just a certain shadow that would creep in at night, tricking her just long enough to think it was Keiji in her sleep-addled mind.

She stared and dug right into Katul’s soul, and found something even worse inside.

Samara’s touch on her arm startled her, and at once she was back in reality. She wasn’t alone, and too quickly she would have to put herself back together. Kasumi brushed the touch away with as kind a hand as she could muster and found her voice again. “... What happened?”

“Sura hadn’t told you?” his voice was even, but he stayed rooted just past the door that he came from. “Thyra is-- was my daughter.”

No.

No, she wasn’t doing this.

It didn’t matter that he was gone for too long. That his movement and time was the most unaccounted for. It didn’t matter. The STG could work that out for all she cared.

“Leave,” couldn’t come out quick enough.

“Ms. Goto?”

She didn’t know she was staring.

“Would a break help you?”

How come it didn’t bother Samara? Maybe she wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Maybe it shouldn’t take a new piece of her every time, leaving her with holes and broken parts that no amount of wiring and tinkering could fix. She wanted to stop remembering, but it-- it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to him. It wasn’t fair to her. The emotions, the passion, the love and inspiration that carried her forward.

Samara had lost more. Lost worse. It was one thing to lose a lover. It was another to lose a child. To lose children. Her daughters. And she did it by her hand. Her hand with the same biotics and skill that terrified her. Who was Morinth? How could she put so much inside herself that she was okay again? Kasumi wanted it. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t--

She felt cool fingers curled against her temples, and suddenly she found two passive eyes looking back, except they were warm, motherly. She saw a gentleness there, of a person buried underneath. Someone that saw her daughters before her, trembling and vulnerable.

Sympathy. Understanding. “... I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Kasumi closed her eyes and breathed.

She didn’t ask for Darshan, but he found them just the same. Kasumi had slumped against the wall next to the door at that point, already more exhausted than she had ever been. Samara was messing with her omni-tool not far, back to the cool demeanor she was used to. The silence had been comfortable, but it didn’t take much to pick up Darshan’s heavy gait, weighed down by the robes he had on him.

“Company,” she called out to Samara, who quickly shut the omni-tool down and turned to greet their visitor. By the time Kasumi stood, the door had creaked open.

There he stood, and already she felt herself stiffen.

“You weren’t requested,” Samara greeted coolly. “I understand this is a process, but you must exercise patience, priest.”

She rubbed her temples. “It’s fine. We’ll get this done quick.”

Samara looked ready to disagree, but the priest interjected quickly, sweeping into the roof. “I appreciate your accommodation, Ms. Maeda. I… I must confess something.”

Not this again. Kasumi rolled her eyes and crept closer to the man, ready to throw him off the building if even a single word came out about her time in slavery. She was not going to be this man’s redemption arc, no matter how badly he wanted it. “If this is about what we--”

“There is another group here.”

What?

Samara seemed less than impressed. “We’re aware of several actually.” What?! “But please elaborate, priest.”

“... I had tried telling you yesterday,” he was not going to blame her for this. Fuck that. “It’s a band of batarians. I’m not sure where they are exactly, but one of their members reached out when we first landed.”

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” She tried to keep the irritation down. Certainly, certainly he had his reasons. They could be refugees. Could be another dead end. It’s not like slavers had the resources or the market to start culling again.

“I…” Darshan glanced to Samara, and thought better on his initial response. Fortunately. “... I am aware of our reputation right now. I assumed they were just trying to survive. It didn’t make sense to incite panic at the time.”

“But if they have been here for some time…” Samara found her mark.

“Please. They might have their reasons. We didn’t all just die when the reapers came, and if there are some life left--”

“It’s okay,” she found herself saying, even if she wasn’t sure she really meant it. It would do better than to panic the priest further anyway. “Did they say where they were when you talked with them? How did they make contact before I had the tower up?”

“I ran into a scout while we were setting up camp. He… he didn’t mention where the rest were.”

That was a lie, but that was fine. If his story checked out, they were likely between the two camps. Still a lot of ground to cover, but if they had a settlement, there would be signs before she saw it. Pathways, landmarks for strays. She had a lot of work to do this evening. After all of this, she wasn’t sure how much sleep she would be getting anyway. Though they had a sizable unit at the camp, Kasumi knew enough about STG habits to sneak out. A quick chat with Sha’ira, a stop by her tent, and she would be out as soon as the sun set.

But what to do with him? It would be easier to let STG do what they liked, took out a potential liability before he had the chance to spill further information and awkward conversations. He didn’t really deserve it though. Despite hiding this for as long as he did, he had… reasons. Understandable reasons. He didn’t know she recognized her own biases. As far as he knew, she was just an angry woman that wanted nothing to do with him.

But even beyond that, she doubted the STG would let him roam freely around the camp. She looked to Samara, who remained carefully stoic. “... I’m sure the major will have his own ideas, but don’t kill him?”

She nodded. “They will be upset if you leave.”

Kasumi offered a smile in apology. “I’ll bring good news back. Promise~.”

---

The elcor was still waiting patiently by the time she bounded down the last few steps. Oh. She forgot about him.

He craned his neck and looked at her. Sometimes, if she looked hard enough, Kasumi would say that the elcor were a species that was constantly smiling. Still, he had clearly behaved, and she had enough information to go about her business. It’s not like an elcor could hold a sniper rifle. … Or could they?

“You’re free to go,” she still offered.

“With relief: I am happy to hear that this matter will be resolved shortly. Exasperated: I have much to do, then. Please, excuse me…” and off he went, lumbering and squeezing through the entrance of the gutted building with some effort.

She would have to brush up on her elcor biology later.

---

The QEC felt good in her hands. It was modded of course, like most any piece of tech Kasumi carried around with her. Multiple encryption channels, decryption keys for whenever she was ever curious, voice modulator and screen distortion if she ever felt like being super spooky. Amazing how many people still fell for simple tricks like that.

“I’m glad I could keep it safe for you.” Sha’ira’s eyes wrinkled when she smiled. The one just wide enough to show perfect teeth. It was nice to see such warmth easily given after spending all day with a justicar.

“I hope you didn’t just guard it all day. You certainly had better things to do.”

“Something more difficult, I’m afraid.” Sha’ira brushed her shoulders, dusting off what soot and dust that may have collected clamoring up and down the building all day. “Did we find anything?”

She grinned. “A crumb trail. Don’t wait up for me.”

Sha’ira’s smile waned, eyes deadly serious. “... Alone?”

What other choice was there? Samara was good at what she did, but what she did wasn’t subtle. Major Kirrahe would be doing his own investigation, and following up with whatever parties were out there. If she asked, sure, she could probably get a guard or two to keep her company, but that was if he let her out of the confines of the camp in the first place. “Sneaking around is kind of what I do. I’ll be fine.”

“What about you friend?” Her brow furrowed. “... Do the others know about them?”

Khalisah? The idea of seeing her in a catsuit was hilarious honestly, but she had a better use for that camera this evening. Maybe a bit of bargaining and she could be a security camera. Make sure no one was looking for her back at camp. Though she wouldn’t really expect someone so… normal to make a habit of staying up all night. “I’m sure she’d like to keep the others from finding out. Do you mind?”

“If you trust her, then I shall as well. Hopefully she’s able to defend herself.”

Oh, most definitely not. The reporter seemed smart enough to have a security system in place at her campsite though. She wouldn’t be taken out easily.

Still, Sha’ira didn’t look pleased. Her eyes flickered to the rest of the campsite, careful-- always careful of who was watching or listening. “... If I can’t dissuade you, at least stay long enough for me to apologize.”

There they were again. How often they danced like this? Sha’ira was an adept one, Kasumi admitted. She tangled herself in her words and slipped through where each opening laid. She didn’t think the consort meant an actual apology, but more an olive branch, ensuring the conversation continued in a way that Kasumi wouldn’t shrink away again. It was being offered with an open hand again.

To Sha’ira, was she a ghoul looking back? An empty face, staring unblinking into her well of grief, just as Katul had before her?

“... You don’t need to,” Kasumi chanced, awkwardly given between half-starts and half-finished thoughts she didn’t want to voice. “... I… I would like to continue that talk, actually. Maybe when I get back?”

The relief that washed over Sha’ira made the concession alone worth it. “I believe it would be good for us both.” She found her left hand, threading it between her own and squeezing gently. “... It won’t be without its rewards, Kasumi. I promise you that.”

She still wasn’t sure. But maybe she would find something in it, or make something new out of the little bits of herself she had left. If she could be better, was it wrong to reach for it? Samara had. Katul would, in time. She saw the earnestness in the way Sha’ira looked on her, so open. The only thing she could think to do was tuck herself further away. “... I like chamomile?”

“Done. Oh!” The smile was back as she stepped away, back toward the entrance of her tent. “... I left a surprise for you at your tent. Though you feel it unnecessary, I think you’ll find it apology enough for the trouble.”

As if talking about her problems was a burden to anyone but the listener. “All day for me? You spoil me, Consort.”

And there was pride in the way she smirked. A look that wasn’t so unfamiliar on herself. “I do my best.”

Please don’t ask for anything else.

- Kirrahe

She stared at the assortment of mods, having been packaged neatly in its own dark bag-- secured safely inside her tent and out of sight. She began sorting through the collection, knowing the order with automatic, fluid grace and motion. Though she rarely disassembled her omni-tool completely, it never hurt to know how each one connected to one another.

Her hand brushed against another datapad, buried deep within the bag.

Be safe.

- Sha’ira

…

Of course. Of course she knew Kasumi would. Maybe the woman was dangerous.

It made the whole game more exciting that way.

#kiwi crossposts #mass effect #fanfiction #multichapter fics #kasumi goto

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heroesmusings · 5 years ago

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FULL NAME: Wanda Django Maximoff

MEANING: wanderer

NICKNAME: Little Witch

MEANING: Bucky usually calls her little witch in Russian

AGE APPEARANCE: Appears and is 28

BIRTHDAY: April 16th, 1992

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Aries

SPECIES: Enhanced Human

GENDER: Cis female

ALLERGIES: None

SEXUAL PREFERENCE: Demisexual

THEME SONG(S): Nightmare by Halsey, Ship to Wreck by Florence and the Machine, Like Real People Do by Hozier, A Place in this World by Taylor Swift

APPEARANCE

HAIR COLOR: Dark Brown

HAIR STYLE AND LENGTH: Nearly mid back, almost always down and is fairly straight

EYES COLOR: Brown when not using powers, red when using powers

EYESIGHT: 20/20, the stone perfected her eyesight

HEIGHT: 5″7′

WEIGHT: 120 lbs

OUTFIT/CLOTHING STYLE: For missions she wears tight fitting black pants, red corset and a red overcoat, but off mission she's usually just wearing black jeans and a big zipper hoodie and whoevers shirt she found

ABNORMALITIES: None.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS(SCARS,MOLES): She's got scars on her upper arms from Hydra and a tattoo on her ribcage for Pietro

SELF CARE(MAKE UP): Wanda loves a heavy eyeliner look almost anywhere

FIRST IMPRESSION ON PEOPLE: SHY. She's not very forward, tends to keep to herself

SKIN COLOR: White

BODY TYPE/BUILD: A thin leaner build

DEFAULT EXPRESSION: Usually avoids eye contact so a bit of a demure unsure expression

POSTURE: Wanda has a hunched posture, she's constantly trying to make herself seem smaller

PIERCINGS: three piercings on her lobe, two cartledge on her left ear, septum, belly button and right breast nipple

DESCRIBE THEIR VOICE: Wanda's voice can be a bit on the montone side, especially when she's uninterested in something, and she has a Russian accent

RELATIONS:

MOM: Maya Maximoff

HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: Before she died, Maya and Wanda got along really well, she misses her mother constantly

DAD: Django Maximoff

HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: Before he died, Wanda adored her father was always excited when he returned home

SIBLINGS: Pietro Maximoff

HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: Pietro was her ride or die -- they were connected at the hip and you never saw one without the other, very protective of one another before he died

CHILDREN: N/A

HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: N/A

OTHER FAMILY MEMBERS: N/A

PAST LOVER(S): Unknown

CURRENT LOVER: Carol Danvers

REACTION TO MEETING SOMEONE NEW: Wanda usually is distant, seemingly uneasy because she's constantly worried everyone is scared of her. So she keeps her distant and only interacts when she's required

ABILITY TO WORK WITH OTHERS: shockingly Wanda works really well with others she's just usually not all that talkative

HOW SOCIABLE(LONER,ETC): LONER LONER LONER

FRIENDS: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton and the rest of the avengers

PETS: None

LEAST FAVORITE TYPE OF PERSON: Anyone who mistakes her shyness for powerlessness

PARENTAL TYPE(PROTECTIVE,ETC): Protective and Loving

FAVORITE PEOPLE: Carol, Steve, Bucky, and Clint

LEAST FAVORITE PEOPLE: Anyone who thinks she's a monster, Hydra,

PERSONALITY:

..WHEN YOU FIRST MEET THEM: ? Shy, Quiet, Uneasy

..AS YOU KNOW THEM BETTER(AND THEY LIKE YOU): Playful, Joking, Protective

..AS YOU KNOW THEM BETTER(AND THEY DISLIKE YOU): Sassy, Cold, Impatient

FAVORITE COLOR: Red and Black

FAVORITE FOOD: Spaghetti with her mother's special sauce

FAVORITE ANIMAL: Grizzly bear

FAVORITE INSTRUMENT: Violin

FAVORITE ELEMENT: Air

LEAST FAVORITE COLOR: Yellow

LEAST FAVORITE FOOD: Fried Chicken

LEAST FAVORITE ANIMAL: Alligators

LEAST FAVORITE INSTRUMENT: Trumpet

LEAST FAVORITE ELEMENT: Water

HOBBIES: Cooking, reading, gardening

USUAL MOOD: While it looks like she is unhappy all the time, she's usually in a decent mood

DRINK/SMOKE/DRUGS: Drinks socially

DARK VERSION OF SELF: Cruel, wicked, killer

LIGHT VERSION OF SELF: Smiley, Uninhibited, Gentle

HOW SERIOUS ARE THEY: Wanda is pretty serious a lot of the times but around her close friends she's not

BELIEVE IN GHOSTS: Yes absolutely, she knows not to disrespect the dead.

(IN)DEPENDANT: Fairly dependent honestly

SOFT SPOT/VULNERABILITY: Referring to her as dangerous, Talking about Hydra or the Experiments, Talking about her Family

OPINION ON SWEARING: She doesn't mind swearing, she swears often

DAREDEVIL VS CAUTIOUS: more so in the cautious side she has to be

MUSIC TYPE: She likes classical music, also she can get behind some good rock

MOVIE TYPE: Any type! She does like a good horror but she's also got a soft spot for rom-coms

BOOK TYPE: Again she likes a good horror but she's also find of fantasy

GAME TYPE: She likes any type of board games really but operation is a classic

COMFORTABLE TEMPERATURE: Wanda runs pretty warm so she prefers things to be cooler

SLEEPING PATTERN: Wanda usually starts the night on her side of the bed, curled up in a somewhat fetal position then stretches out throughout the night and ends up closer to the middle. She has frequent nightmares

CLEANLINESS/NEATNESS: Wanda doesn't mind a little bit of mess but she does prefer clean

DESIRED PET: KITTIES

HOW DO THEY PASS TIME: Talking to her little succulents on the windowsills and hanging out with her friends

BIGGEST SECRET: she's actually pretty afraid of any and all explosives, even fireworks freak her out

HERO/WHO THEY LOOK UP TO: Her mother, Maya

WHAT ANIMAL WOULD THEY BE: she'd definitely be a fox

FEARS: Accidentally harming innocent people, the death of her friends

COMFORTS: Quiet rooms, Carol holding her hand, Homemade food

HOW DO THEY ACT WHEN THEY ARE:

SAD: Wanda shuts down, she doesn't want speak or to eat or to do anything, she really lets it consume her

HAPPY: Happy Wanda is a private Wanda, only few get to see it. Though it's a Wanda who laughs and smiles and hides her face shyly in into her jacket

ANGRY: You do NOT want an angry Wanda. She's vengeful, she's unforgiving and especially if you hurt someone she loves? She won't hesitate to take you down

AFRAID: She tends to fear herself when she's afraid, worries her powers are going to go haywire, so she tries to seclude herself as best she can

LOVE SOMEONE: Wanda is cautious with love, she's lost everyone she loves so far so she's afraid it might happen again but when she finally lets herself love, she's fierce about it, she adores and protects

HATE SOMEONE: WANDA AVOIDS she doesn't want any confrontation

WANT SOMETHING: It depends, if its someone she is pining over she won't but other than that she tends to go for what she wants

CONFUSED: Wanda doesn't love to be confused, so she'll work on figuring it out

HOW DO THEY REACT TO:

DANGER: Wanda usually faces danger head on, she'll take it in stride and protect the ones she loves from danger before herself

SOMEONE THEY HATE WHO HAS A CRUSH ON THEM: good more avoiding for Wanda

PROPOSAL TO MARRY: SHE'D BE SHOCKED. She truly wouldn't know what to say at first, she'd be so stunned but of course would say yes

DEATH OF LOVED ONE: it's soul crushing, she loses control of herself and everything and she wants nothing but revenge

DIFFICULT GAME/MATH/ETC: She'd spend time trying to figure it out but give up eventually

INJURY: Wanda doesn't really get too hurt anymore, it's pretty easy to protect herself but if it's someone else? She'd be a little overbearing to make sure they're okay

SOMETHING IRRESISTABLY CUTE: Wanda would laugh about it I'm sure

LOSS OF HOURS OF WORK: She'd do a little gardening

KNOWLEDGE:

LANGUAGES: Russian, English

SCHOOLING LEVEL: High School

FAVORITE SUBJECT (S): History and Home Economics

INTERESTED CAREERS: N/A.

EXPERTISE: Reality warping, probability manipulation, flight, telepathy, mental manipulation, energy projection and manipulation

PUZZLES: she tends to enjoy puzzled

CHEMISTRY: Neither science nor people chemistry interest her

MATH: Nothing special

ENGLISH: She speaks the language well enough

GEOGRAPHY: Not very good at geography

POLITICS/LAW: Wanda has very strong views on politics and laws in her home country she went to countless protests

ECONOMY/ACCOUNTING: Again a lot of feelings and protests over the economy

COOKING: Wanda really enjoys cooking it was something her mother passed down to her and it's very important to her. She's a damn good cook too

SEWING: Shes alright at mending clothing

MECHANICS: Nope

BOTANY (FLOWERS): Wanda likes a lot of basic gardening things

MYTHOLOGY: Not too much

DRAMATICS(ACTING,SINGING): Wanda doesn't really have an interest in any of that

READING LEVEL: In Russian she's proficient but English she can struggle

HOW GOOD ARE THEY AT PLANNING AHEAD: Wanda isn't all that great at planning ahead she's much more driven by emotion so whatever happens, happens

ROMANCE:

DO THEY TAKE INITIATIVE: At first? NO, she was a little timid but now she takes the initiative a LOT

HOW DO THEY ACT(SHY,ETC): Shes shy to start but ends up getting pretty damn confident

GENTLEMAN/LADYLIKE VS KLUTZY: a lady thank you, she's an expert with her fingers

GO SLOW VS JUMP INTO: Again at first go slow, Wanda is baby

PROTECTIVE: yes yes for SURE

ACT LIKE FRIENDS OR LOVERS: boTH

WHAT KIND OF PRESENTS DO THEY BUY: once she gets confident she'll start buying toys :)

TYPE OF KISSER: Wanda is a bit of a frantic kisser, like she can't get enough, she likes it a little handsy and electric

DO THEY WANT KIDS: ..not really?

DO THEY WANT TO MARRY: YES

MAKE GOOD OR BAD DECISIONS: Both, she's driven by emotion

ARE THEY ROMANTIC: she can be

HOW ARE THEY IN BED: Using her fingers is her day job so… pretty good

GET JEALOUS EASY: not really? She could squash anyone who poses an issue

WIFE/HUBBY BEATER: NEVER

MARRY FOR MONEY: LMAO NO

FAVORITE POSITION: Wanda likes being draped over Carol, so the two can care lazy kisses with one another and she also likes being between her thighs

WHAT WOULD HAPPEN ON THEIR DREAM DATE: having dinner and dessert on a different planet, it's the bEST

OPINION ON SEX: Wanda only ever feels sexual attraction once she's developed a relationship with someone, so before that she's fairly disinterested but once she's involved she enjoys sex

#wanda ;; bio

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homenum-revelio-hq · 5 years ago

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Welcome (again) to the Order of the Phoenix, Seb!

You have been accepted for the role of BRANWEN YAXLEY with the faceclaim of Sonequa Martin-Green! We adored your application for Branwen! You really took the bio created and brought her to life in your own way! We especially loved the bias/prejudice section and how you really went for the nitty-gritty and didn’t hold back. We’re so excited to have her on the dash!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Seb

AGE: 21+

TIMEZONE: CET

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I‘m on my winter-break for three weeks now, and while it might get busy for me around Jan and Feb, I should still manage at least one reply daily.

ANYTHING ELSE: Nothing really. Thank you for asking <3

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Branwen Yaxley

AGE: 30

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis female. She/Her. Hard rock gold star lesbian with a(n unpopped) cherry on top.

Her sexuality was always something she was very straight-forward about. She was probably introduced to the term ‚homosexual‘ as a slur at first, and immediately decided to defend it, not even knowing what it actually meant. By the time she found out, she had spoken up about it too loudly to retrieve her opinion quietly. And because it seemed so magnificently radical to call herself a Lesbian and be attacked by homophobes first hand (which gave her a reason to do what she does best: fighting) that it became an identity she wore on her sleeves from a young age on.

I like to imagine that the pureblood side of the Wizarding World was – even in the 60s and 70s – less open about such topics than the Muggle World. The pureblood mentality is all about passing on ‘pure‘ genes, isn‘t it? Which could mean that they see homosexuality as something standing in the way of such goals. Nevertheless, I don‘t think Branwen would‘ve been quiet about her identity. For one, because it told the sweet, quiet and closeted pureblood girls that they were very welcome to approach her in the shadows of certain corridors at Hogwarts, and for two, because most pureblood families raised their daughters to be perfect future wives. And this train had long left the station for Branwen. Her parents – who still think this is just a phase and will pass eventually – always knew Branwen would choose a husband fit for her rough and brawny attitude herself. So as long as they think this will still happen, they mostly refuse to talk about it with her. After all, the Yaxley name will live on whether Branwen has children or not: through honourable, righteous Corban. The one everyone is so goddamn proud of…

So, yes, Branwen has made her experiences, with emotions as well as short-lasting relationships, but only ever with other pureblood girls. After all, even if an accidental child won‘t be a situation, the mingling of bloods is just ‘wrong and disgusting’.

(note: I just want you to know that personally I dislike the term ‘gold star lesbian’ as it‘s usually used to invalidate gay people‘s identity based on their past relationships, and the same goes for ‘popping a cherry‘, for obvious reasons. But when I thought about how Branwen herself would answer this question, this was the exact phrase that came to my mind. The nuances of terms don’t matter to her at all as she doesn’t care at all about offending people.)

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor

ANY CHANGES: I‘d love to change the FC to Sonequa Martin-Green. While Mackenzie looks very cool and has strong brawl vibes, I think Sonequa fits those vibes very well too.

She’s unashamed of who she is but, because of siding with the Order, does have to restrain certain parts of herself. I’d like to express this with some hair symbolism: whenever she’s being herself, unrestricted from either side, she wears her hair natural and open. Willing to fight anyone who might want to say something negative about her appearance. But then, for example when she joins the Order in a battle (or in smaller situations in which she has to act in a way that is unlike her), she prepares by braiding her hair. For this symbolism, I think black hair works best. It holds the most meaning, considering our society‘s prejudices against it, and that‘s why I‘d prefer Sonequa over Mackenzie!

Also, giving her a non-white FC is a nice way to visualise her name, which means ‘beautiful raven‘.

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

There are three things one needs to know about Branwen:

She knows exactly who she is. She acts before she thinks. She is unapologetic and relentless in what she wants and does.

I looked up the etymology of the name ‘Branwen‘ but accidentally typed ‚Bram‘, which apparently is the old English word for ‘broom‘. Even though the name Branwen has a different origin, I had a good giggle and it gave me a good idea to explain her personality. On the one hand, Branwen is extremely skilled on the broom, most likely having played on the Gryffindor Quidditch team during her years at Hogwarts (as a Beater, naturally). On the other hand there is this a German adjective, borstig, which means to be like the bristles of a broom/brush. More than any other, I believe that this adjective describes Branwen perfectly.

She is like the rough bristles of a broom, sweeping over whatever surface she deems messy, tearing everything away from their peaceful state on the floor, allowing no failures on her side. Crash your hand directly into the bristles and you might even draw blood from the wounds, but run your fingers over them carefully, putting up no counter-pressure, the bristles will tickle you at most. Perhaps even feel like a gentle caress.

When crashing your hand into the bristles:

It’s important to understand, that she doesn‘t prick for the sake of pricking. Nor is fighting for moral reasons. She‘s not a Nora Lynch type of a personality, despite their similar willingness to quarrel.

There‘s a saying which goes, your bubble of freedom ends where the bubble of freedom of another person starts. Branwen‘s bubble is larger than most people‘s. To be comfortable she needs to be able to swing her arms and be able to express herself loudly. She takes up a lot of space, not minding to take up other people‘s space but minding very much when other people take up hers. Whether it be opinions, physical space or emotions, she knows exactly who she is, anyone opposing her beliefs is – in her opinion – someone who tries to minimise her bubble of freedom. So when she pricks, it‘s not because quarreling with people is a way to alleviate boredom, but because she deems it necessary to gain her freedom back.

When gently touching the bristles:

In return this means that Branwen is – as long as one lets her be who she wishes to be – quite the enjoyable character. Because she‘s the opposite of whatever ‘social anxiety‘ is, she‘s easy to be around. There‘s no awkward silence, no struggle to understand what she wants, no hesitation when it comes to making plans. She leads the conversation, and because there‘s no topic too private for her, she can and will lead those conversations easily to blush-worthy places.

She‘s always up for drinks and jokes, adores hearty jokes, never says no to adventures, and while she doesn‘t really care about ‘deep‘ topics or philosophising around, she does care about the problems of those she considers friends. The aforementioned caress, is a genuine one. It’s not particularly deep, has no healing effects, but it can soothe a momentary itch. She will lend you an ear and give you concrete advice, usually even offer to deal with the problem in question herself.

This being said, there is one scenario where she restricts herself and turns a little stiff, and that is when she speaks to Muggleborns or half-breeds.

Around all Order members she wears a mask of civility, which holds in her prejudices much like braids keep her hair tied back, making sure her fight for personal freedom never turns political. But around Muggleborns and half-breeds she’s too aware of how different she is from them.

Perhaps it’s something akin to disgust, but perhaps it’s also the fear that if she gets started on fighting for her freedom around them, she might go too far and unmask herself completely. She‘ll warily stalk around small-talk and listen more than she speaks, which is unusual for her. No leading of conversations, instead she allows herself to be led – but put a pin in this, we‘ll come back to it later. For now it‘s important to know that Branwen is not at all the same person around people she likes, and people she is convinced don‘t deserve her respect. People who thinks might one day take away her freedom on a political basis.

All in all, Branwen has the kind of personality that allows for fun threads. The war doesn‘t affect her the way it affects most Order members (again, put a pin in that) and so not all her conversations turn around its effects. There‘s no heaviness to her, no sorrowful pondering or air of hopelessness. After all, what has she got to lose? This being said, stir the conversation towards something she has an (utterable) opinion on, and you‘re in for a ride. (As long as you‘re not a Muggleborn, as previously mentioned.) She knows no shame, never thinks back about where fights went wrong, always runs head-first into what many people would consider ‘taboo topics‘. And even when fists and curses come and go flying, she will never think herself in the wrong. After all, she‘s not the one who started. It was her freedom bubble which was being stepped on! She only defended herself!

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF THE FAMILY:

To understand Branwen, it‘s vital to understand her family, her paternal side, the famous Yaxleys, as well as her maternal side.

Part of the sacred 28, an – in Branwen‘s opinion – honourable circle of British purebloods, the Yaxleys are Scottish and have their seat in a grand castle in the highlands, not too far away from Hogwarts. Most of the sons who carried down the name were in Slytherin, however it is not uncommon for the daughters of this family to land in Gryffindor, showing that the Yaxley‘s priority has always been honour and pride.

Lachlan Yaxley, Branwen‘s father, is your typical Slytherin. He‘s two-tongued and cunning, ceaselessly putting the appearance of what he does over its actual content. What he wants, he‘ll fight for with all his might, but contrary to his wife, he fights for it in the shadows, silently, in a way that leaves no traces of the sharp, unforgiving violence he exerts.

Bethan Yaxley, born Burke, Branwen‘s mother, went to Gryffindor. Although from another generation and an even stricter familial background, she always showed signs of rebellion, of a will to fight. Raised to be the perfect bride one day, always taught to be lady-like, beautiful and adorable, her ways to get what she wanted were never concealed or performed in secret. Stand in between what she wants and herself, and your life might literally be in danger. She‘s no less violent than her husband, but while his violence shows itself in emotional abuse, always making sure he‘ll be able to call himself innocent afterwards, she‘s unapologetic about her ways.

In fact, while she had been engaged to marry into the Yaxleys from a young age on, she decided herself that she wanted the older, instead of the younger brother. Her ways to get him were never concealed or performed behind closed doors, on the contrary, the whole Wizarding World watched as she made her family even more noble, even more rich, by catching Lachlan and putting him into her pocket. Did Lachlan disagree with what she wanted (his money, his nobility), no one ever learnt about it, though. He must’ve not been too disapproving of Bethan’s determination though, or else he would‘ve had his own, quiet ways to stop her. After all, make no mistake, just because he seems more subdued compared to her, it doesn‘t mean he‘s less powerful in their relationship.

Growing up as the daughter of two people, who, on the one hand, encouraged Branwen‘s large freedom bubble, always teaching her to take what she wanted, never make excuses, and on the other hand, had their own very large freedom bubble, which was so easy to overstep, was anything but easy.

The abuse – as modern Muggle psychologists would call it but which Branwen‘s would never see as such – strengthened her. From a young age on she had to fight for every inch of freedom she wanted to claim for herself, be it something small like which books she enjoyed reading (”Really?“ her father would always ask in a skeptical, hostile way. “That‘s something you enjoy?“) or who she knew she truly was (the day she came out to her parents, her mother wiped a spell over her, leading to a permanent scar across her shoulder which she carries to this day).

Psychologists would also be able to detect the ways it weakened her. Her fear of actually letting people come close, scared they might judge, scared she might never get the freedom back, for example. Her inability to be soft and gentle. Or her constant need to be right, as though allowing another opinion to co-exist with hers, would negate who she is as a whole person. Or her actual physical flinching at the idea of befriending a Muggleborn.

But Branwen would never admit to that, perhaps hasn‘t even figured it out herself yet. She firmly believes it made her strong, and perhaps it did. The ability to unapologetically demand what she wants, what she believes she deserves, it is a type of strength. To get through battles and duels with a grin on her face, because what is there more familiar and home-feeling than fighting with others? To never step down from a childhood feud that started for a reason no one quite remembers, simply because she can. To never hurt when yet another girlfriend ditches her, after all, she wasn‘t raised to share but to be self-sufficient, raised to never need people‘s friendly words and gentle touches…

To her, her surname means power. It means protection and honour, and she carries her head high because of it. Being way more outspoken about it back when she was at Hogwarts, she has however stopped mentioning who she is all the time now. Perhaps because the Order wouldn‘t see this as something positive. Perhaps because slowly she has stopped seeing it as something quite as positive either. Before, she was quite indifferent about the prejudices the Sacred 28 fostered, not really caring about the ‘deadborn‘ and enslaved Squibs, and definitely not bothering to question what there was to hate about Muggleborns. Nowadays, she still doesn‘t really care about any of that, but she understands that her noble name comes with those opinions.

However, she’ll never renounce this name. She won‘t let her parents disinherit her, she won‘t let herself be burnt off the family tree, she won‘t do anything that‘ll risk her nobility. Even if that means that one day, she will have to let her bubble of freedom burst and submit herself to her mother’s control… But it’s worth it, right? To give up ‘Branwen’ to be a proper ‘Yaxley’? After all, this name means strength. And she is strong because of it. If she were to lose her name, her family, what would be left of her? And, who knows, even though she’s determined to win this war to stick it to her damn cousin, what if they lose? At least she’ll have a proud title to go back to.

OCCUPATION: Blacksmith and vendor at Potage‘s Cauldron Shop, the Knockturn Alley branch.

After some splendid suggestions from the group, I have come up with a little idea: Wizards can conjure material goods but only for a limited period of time. It is therefore only logical that they need to buy the objects they expect to last for a whole year or longer, such as cauldrons. And therefore it is just as logical that those objects need to be manually crafted.

If some cauldrons are more expensive than others then it’s because they are more sustainable, and this is achieved by the kind of metals used, but also by the magic woven into them as they are crafted over a real flame (considering that elemental magic is the oldest and purest form, therefore also the strongest form of magic).

Branwen is clearly not in need for a job. Even if her parents disapprove of her choices, they still believe she‘ll come back around to marrying and giving the Yaxley genes to a child one day. (The name and heritage will follow Corban’s bloodline, anyway). They support her with a huge monthly allowance that make working obsolete. So why is she doing it anyway?

Well, the truth is, she started to work at Potage‘s Cauldron Shop because the branch in Knockturn Alley allowed her to overhear the telling chit chat between family members. Sellspeople are so easily overseen by the rich… It was one of the plans she had with which she talked her way into the Order. Told them that she had a great job where she could innocently inquire about this and that and learn about what was going on with the Dark Lord‘s supporters via their wives and babbling children. And because the shop is close to Borgin and Burkes, where a paternal great-uncle of her works, it not only put her parents at ease knowing he‘d look over Branwen, but also allowed her to be alone often, it was a winning argument.

What she tells her parents and everyone of the noble Pureblood Society, however, is: „I‘m doing this for fun.“ And it might‘ve been a lie once, but is it still?

Certainly, working as a friendly sellperson is mostly out of character for poor Branwen, who struggles with just letting the hostile comments of clients wash over her, but damn is she good at finding exactly the right cauldron the person is looking for. She‘s not someone who gives up or half-arses her job. If she is asked to help someone, find the exact right cauldron for a very specific potion, then she will not rest until that very cauldron has gone over the counter.

One day however she couldn’t find such a cauldron. So she went down into the cellar where the cauldrons are being made and it was the start unexpected: she began forging cauldrons herself. Manually. In the roaring fire, she‘ll stand for hours and hours, one hand holding the potion-soaked hammer, in the other the metal, as her mental strength turns into physical strength. She doesn‘t stop when the soot covers her face, doesn‘t stop when her clothes drench from the sweat, doesn‘t stop when her muscles begin shaking under the hard work. Seemingly inexhaustible she forges, refusing to think about how this work comes from a time when Muggles and Wizards still shared lives.

No one knows that she is more than a vendor, other than the other blacksmith, and she needs this to stay that way. She is proud of every single one of the cauldrons she makes, knowing they are perfect, but she is not proud of the manual labor. Yes, there is magic involved, but still. She is a Yaxley! And this is lower class labor at best… But there is something about holding the heavy hammer, about feeling the fire burn in her lungs that keep drawing her back down into the cellar, and she can‘t explain what it is. In a way she doesn‘t want to think about it, because what if she began to admire Muggles for their manual labor too? Began to envy them to live in a world without magic…

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

I think the bio does a beautiful job at explaining how Branwen feels around the Order.

On the one hand she just couldn‘t care less about the cause. She doesn’t care about morals or politics as long as the hierarchy of society stays in a way that she can keep her power, money and title. Most Death Eaters, she assumes are good, upright citizens, family and friends, who are just concerned about the Wizarding World. Not everyone who‘s on the Dark Lord‘s side immediately wants all Muggleborns dead, right? Most of them just want them apart so they can‘t mingle with the purity of their beautiful magical world, and isn‘t that very sensible? Surely most Muggleborns must agree, too!

On the other hand she has begun caring for the Order members. I love this part a lot so I don‘t want her to be too far into this caring yet but want to develop it as I play her. I don‘t want her to be too enamored with everyone just yet, but enough that she‘d consider some of them almost friends. When they talk to her about their private problems, she finds herself caring, and while she might hold back from seeking out their friendship, it‘s definitely begun forming, slowly, quietly, within her. No matter how much she pretends it hasn‘t, she can very much feel it. This feeling of fondness. Of admiration. Adoration, at times, even.

She values strength, doesn‘t she? She loves fighting and honours those who fight bravely as well. So this means two things:

One, her purpose in the Order is exactly that. She‘s not someone who will spy in other camps, or sit at home watching over a map like Edgar. She‘s someone who wants to be out on the field, her wand in her hand, curses on her tongue. And because she lacks moral values – the Death Eater values as much as the Order values – she has no trouble fighting with all her heart. She just wants to win, what for, it doesn‘t really matter. She just doesn‘t want to lose and so she fights without hesitation, and the other Order members will know that. That‘s perhaps why she‘s made it to Mid-Level at this point: because she has proven herself to be trustworthy on the battlefield. No hesitation, no laziness. When she fights, she fights. She‘s in it, with her heart, head and muscles.

Two, she has seen other Order members fight like that as well. When she initially joined she didn‘t know what she got herself into, perhaps even thought that they‘d need her to win this war. After all, they were just some silly rebels who just happened to oppose her cousin‘s side, she didn‘t really have faith in them. That‘s why she joined. To prove her cousin wrong. But then the months went by, years, eventually, and Branwen had to learn a harsh lesson: those people weren‘t joking around. They weren‘t wimps. They weren‘t pitiful. They were everything she had ever wanted to be, and at times even more.

Usually, when she argues with someone, duels them, she has no emotions or opinions about it afterwards. It‘s never really personal. During her time with the Order, she quarreled a lot (mostly with non-Muggleborns as explained above), however it never left her quite as cold as fighting did when she was young. She began rethinking what people told her in those arguments.

And instead of despising her for being so head-strong, she began admiring them for it. Especially because they didn‘t fight like her father did, with jabs and a smirk, solely to leave you emotionally wounded. They didn‘t do it like her mother did it, with physical violence, rather wanting to lame you than to allow you to take up space. No, what they did, how they defended themselves, is by simply … standing their ground. By reminding her of other people‘s freedom she endangers. By taking her by the hand and guiding her to show her that them (the people who they‘re trying to defend) being free, doesn‘t necessarily mean she won‘t have any left for herself. That true freedom means freedom for everyone.

She‘d rather cut out her tongue than speak about this to anyone, but it‘s there. This knowledge. She knows it has happened. She knows how she feels. And she fears how it‘ll make her decide one day…

SURVIVAL:

Being a pureblood with a well-known family, she doesn‘t struggle much in this war. As long as she gets her few hours at Potage‘s in, no one wonders what she‘s doing during the rest of the time. She officially lives with her aunt in a city house in Wizarding London, but she mostly comes by to take a shower and change her clothes. Most of the times she‘s out at night, enjoying life, not worrying too much about all this war-trouble, and convincing people to let her stay in their bed. Yes, bed. Do you think a Yaxley would settle for the couch?

In recent times, she‘s begun sleeping over at other Order members’ places more and more often. Perhaps because they don‘t ask questions like “so what are you going to do with your life now”? Perhaps because … no. Branwen refuses to see them all as friends. Some perhaps. Close acquaintances who she happens to trust with her life. But friends? Never.

And yet, when she speaks words of comfort, holding them shielded from dark incidents, promising to be there for them, she can‘t help but wonder how much of her freedom she‘s already given up for their love.

It conflicts her greatly. You wouldn‘t see it in the way she interacts with people, but it almost scares her, all this. The idea that they might lose this war. Because it would make her cousin all too happy, yes, but also because, well, what would happen to them? Trial? Azkaban? Death?

She condemns no one from her family to be on her opposing side and yet is quite glad they don‘t know on which side she‘s on. Perhaps because she knows that one day she‘ll see her parents‘ shoes under the Death Eater‘s robes and will have less than a second to figure out on whose side she‘s truly on.

RELATIONSHIPS:

It is safe to say that Branwen never really had friends.

At Hogwarts she was the kind of person to throw those (in)famous Gryffindor parties; aword from her and everyone would come. She knew everyone, and everyone knew her. A party thrown by her meant a good time. And people usually liked being around her. This went on even after Hogwarts, in Wizarding London. And yes, she‘s the type of person to call people she met a few times ‘friends‘, to treat them like buddies, touching them and talking to them as though she knew them for years. But real friends? People she trusted with her emotions? With her pain? With her fears? Those were incredibly rare. Countable on one hand.

One of those people is Alice Longbottom, as she proved herself from a young age on the type of person Branwen respects. I‘d need to plot with the player, of course, but I like to imagine that they got into a terrible fight-at-first-sight, and Alice won in such a glorious way, that Branwen couldn‘t help but feel that through her bruised ego, she was mostly just proud of Alice for having such a big dick energy. And because they spent so much time together, eventually, the deeper conversations started to unfold, and she did grow attached.

But this doesn‘t negate what I previously said. She‘s not someone to get all touchy-feely with, and so many people would never place her high on their friendship list, even if Branwen does like them a lot. Like, she might feel close to someone, but they‘d never think about inviting her to their intimate wedding “for family and just a few closest friends”.

So the war didn‘t change much. That she can‘t talk to her purebloodist friends about what she does outside of partying and working at Potage‘s, or that she can‘t talk to the Order members about how little she actually cares about their cause, doesn‘t really affect her relationships. She was never someone to just talk about how she truly felt, anyway.

On the contrary. Because around Muggleborns she‘s forced to shut up and listen, she might‘ve grown to learn how to actually listen to other people for once. Before, when someone talked in a way that bored or upset her, she‘d just say so. Around those she can‘t do this, she is forced to listen to their side of things, to their opinions, their feelings, and as the years with the Order went by, she might‘ve begun actually caring for other people on more than just surface level. She got to know them, and because they are all brave in their own way, she began to like them.

No, she never really had friends.

But at times she wonders if she wouldn‘t like to be friends with those in the Order…

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

As literally everyone else, I‘ll obviously say Branwen x chemistry. However, I do think that romantic/sexual relationships with men will be out of the question. Deep, important friendships as explained in the point above? Heck yes! But no romance.

Also, I do like the idea that Branwen might fall for a Muggleborn girl. Not just for the beautiful star-crossed lover trope but also just to explore her bias and morals. I think such a romance could work well for character-development.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Muggles are inherently dirty. Werewolves (as well as other half-breeds) shouldn‘t even be just kicked out of society, they should be killed. Or at least be castrated. It‘s a shame to even consider them human, and allow them to perform magic. Muggle music is stressful and too loud and chaotic, there‘s no grace to it. The same goes for all their other art. Halfbloods can stay but their magic is weaker. The magic of Muggleborns is weaker as well, in fact, so weak, that Hogwarts shouldn‘t even seek out British Muggleborns but just let them stay in the Muggle world. Squibs should consider themselves lucky that they‘re made servants instead of being completely kicked out of society, as it would be the Wizarding World‘s right to do. It’s for people with magic, after all. A marriage between a Muggle and a Wizard/Witch should be forbidden. Salazar Slytherin was right when he said Hogwarts should stay clean of mudblood, as Muggles are known to be inherently hateful. They have proven themselves incapable of accepting magic and it‘s therefore for their best to keep them unknowing of the Wizarding World. After all, what if the Wizarding World ended up being revealed to the Muggles? Would they come hunting Witches again? Or would the Wizarding World have to force them into submission, into oppression, perhaps making slaves out of them the way they do it with Squibs? It’s just for their best to keep them away, really.

Here a handful of prejudices Branwen‘s fosters. But mind you, she is not only outspoken about them but also doesn‘t have enough … incentive to fight about it. None of this really regards her, she finds. She will fight about everything and anything, but not for moral reasons. As long as her status of a mightier Witch isn‘t doubted, she won‘t fight with people who say Halfbloods‘ magic is valid. However if they say it‘s as strong as hers, she‘ll want to fight to prove them wrong. So if the war would end in favour of the Order, she‘d be like, okay, as long as I get to keep my privileges. Being rich. Getting an education. Having people respect her noble status. Etcetera etcetera.

All those beliefs she holds are beliefs because they were taught to her as facts. Not as opinions. What drives people angry are when opinions are being challenged. “This movie was bad”. She‘d fight people on that. But the same way no one would fight another person about the colour of bananas, she has no reason to fight people about the dirtiness of Muggles. It‘s just a fact. They clean their houses with mops! So that‘s perhaps a reason why she manages to not get into arguments with other Order members. Because she either thinks them uneducated about certain topics – or her silence forces her to listen to what they call facts, quietly challenging what she thought to be the only truth.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

I am easily uncomfortable in group chats and environments with new people. But this group was just so welcoming (the first night alone I received about five messages from people asking for plots!) that it made me feel terribly at ease. So I was very soon very certain I wanted another character to dive deeper into this game with all those lovely players.

I wanted a character different to my Edgar baby to explore the purebloodist side of the war, and open myself up to in-character conversations you‘d never see Edgar having.

Branwen immediately caught my eye because she joined the Oder out a joke-like whim, not because she already sees the problems in her purebloodist upbringing. It’s always a fun challenge to play a character who thinks very differently than me. The idea that someone might manage to challenge her prejudices and actually change to a point that one day she might even fight her own beloved parents in a battle, enthralls me.

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

I‘d love to see the Yaxley‘s being outed as Death Eaters, or getting hurt by the Order. To see how Branwen would react.

I‘d also love to see what will happen with the werewolves by the McKinnon farm next. Edgar seems to be getting it into his head that they should be allowed into the Farm and have a warm bed – and Branwen‘s reaction to even just the suggestion makes me laugh.

Also, I wonder what would happen if a mission such as the current event fails and members of the Order get injured. If Branwen‘s worry would show and if perhaps it would drive her to 1) question why their morals are worth dying for and 2) realise she does love them like friends.

Oh! Also: “[…] she won‘t do anything that‘ll risk her nobility. After all, this name means strength. And she is strong because of it. If she were to lose her name, her family, what would be left of her?” I’d love to explore this as well. Her being outed as an Order member, far far down the line maybe, and see what she’d do.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Thank you for your consideration and thank you for being lovely admins! (You put in an alternative subit-page!! :D) You can be very proud of yourself and I hope you‘ll make it through the (dangerous for RPs) holiday season without too many losses and without getting too stressed!

#homenumaccepted #harry potter rp #marauders rp #hp rp #hp roleplay

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