#this line is good for moving the conversation away and clearly telling them you wont answer that but still being open and friendly

[thepartyishere]

when someone brings up your pronouns/identity they'll often non-maliciously ask what you "used to be" or whatever. practice saying "oh that doesn't matter" bc you'll panic when it happens

[thecousinsdangereux]

the land of race car ya yas

A short little ficlet for @corvophobia who has drawn a bunch of art for the bees racer au of my dreams. This is ALL based on her drawings, so make sure you check out her stuff. Happy birthday, Amber! You are one of my two favorite British children. <3

(Please note that I know nothing about street racing. I've only watched the Fast and the Furious movies. Forgive me....)

--

“How’d you do that?”

Blake’s used to the question or some version of it, and maybe that’s why she takes in the words before she notices the tone, imagines a scowl (a lowered brow, hands curled into fists, the flash of teeth as the scowl turns into a snarl) with the same instinct that has her shoulders tensing. It’s only mid-turn that she realizes the question is laced with wonder rather than anger, but even this awareness doesn’t prepare her for the sight that meets her. It’s a woman, her smile wide and unrestrained by pesky things like self-consciousness or insecurity, and her eyes are nearly glowing in the low light, purple and bright and full of open admiration. Her black leather jacket, classic in cut, has the sleeves rolled up mid-forearm, revealing a prosthetic of black and yellow, and her grey jeans are tight, showing off a body that Blake has to work to avoid following the curves of. Her hair is long, blonde, curling around her shoulders and down her back, artful in its disorder, down to the single, stubborn cowlick at the top of her head.

In short, she’s beautiful, and Blake stares for longer than she should, feeling heat in her veins.

“Do what?”

She manages a response, but it’s absent minded. She’s just noticed the light dusting of pink on the woman’s cheeks, coloring the spaces in between her freckles, and it has her re-evaluating, pulling her thoughts to the effort she’s put into her own outfit that evening: a cropped and sleeveless hoodie with blocked colors of white and purple, tight leather shorts, and clunky boots that hit just under the knee. Blake looks good and this woman knows it, which makes them even on this particular front, and that's a settling sort of feeling.

“Win,” the woman says simply, her smile growing. “And don’t just say NOS.”

“NOS,” Blake drawls, just because she can, and she’s rewarded by the woman’s laugh, rewarded even more when she steps closer.

“No, but what’s your delivery method? Direct port, obviously, but you had to have used a custom kit, right? I’ve been telling you, Yang, I need to recalibrate yours. Can I look at your car? Would you mind if I just took a tiny peak just to see what you’ve done with your injection site? We really need to upgrade, Yang. A nozzle with less back pressure will give you a better squeeze. I’ve been telling you!”

She hadn’t noticed the other woman, but blinks at her now, a red blur waving her arms about, hoping from one foot to the other, firing out words faster than Blake — an aficionado of all things fast — can keep up with. The woman (Yang?) seems to find the act familiar and reacts with affection tinged with a false exasperation (put upon for Blake’s benefit or maybe as a means of gentle chiding), sighing and placing a hand on the smaller girl’s shoulder.

“And I’ve been telling you, you can’t just ask people to look at their shit!” She turns to Blake now, and this time her eye roll is definitely for Blake. “Sorry about that, I swear we’re not trying to steal any of your trade secrets. Ruby just… really likes cars.”

“It’s so pretty too,” Ruby coos, batting away Yang’s hand and taking a step towards the vehicle Blake had used to push past Yang at the last moment, a fact neither of these women seem to hold against her. “The purple stripes. But I bet the engine is prettier.”

It’s unprecedented, really. Blake’s been on the scene for a while — longer than she would admit to anyone here — first as a tagalong and now as a driver, but she’s never had an encounter quite like this. The unexpectedness of it all has her feeling off-balance, has her reacting without any of her customary cool anger as Ruby stares at her hood (as though if she focuses hard enough, she’ll be able to see through the metal to the parts underneath). Maybe that’s why Blake responds in a way that’s decidedly unwise, without any further thought at all.

“You can take a look. I don’t mind.”

“Really?” Ruby squeals, but doesn’t wait for Blake to confirm, darting around her and flipping open the hood in the span of three seconds.

“Really?” Yang asks, and the word sounds wildly different coming from her, sliding out from behind her crooked lips like thanks or maybe a challenge (or maybe both). “Not worried about my mechanic figuring you out before the next race?”

Blake should be, of course. But.

“Can’t say I am.”

“Maybe not the smartest move.” Yang crosses her arms; the chrome of her right glints under one of the flickering street lights. For the first time, she looks away from Blake’s gaze, eyes darting over to check on Ruby (who’s leaning so far into the front of Blake’s car that her feet nearly lift off the ground) and then to another group of drivers, a good distance behind them, but clearly watching in curiosity. It’s never wise to gather after a race, but everyone always does when it goes well, and for the first time, Blake’s glad for it. “She’s pretty vicious about giving me an edge. I wish I could say it was familial loyalty, but really, she just wants to make the fastest car in the city.” Yang pauses, tilting her head in thought. “Or country. Or world. Not sure when she’ll be satisfied, to be honest.”

“Sisters?” Blake asks. She can’t really see the resemblance, but then again, she hasn’t spent as much time looking at the younger of the pair, even though she should probably be less focused on the elder (the one not pouring over her engine. Sun and Ilia were going to kill her).

“Yeah.” Yang probably doesn’t realize how much her smile grows in the confirmation, saturated with pride and love. “Scary brilliant too. Give her five minutes with a car and she’ll take it apart, put it back together, and it’ll run better than it ever has. But all that means she always thinks it’s the car that puts a driver ahead.”

Blake arches a brow. “And you think she’s… wrong?”

“Well, yeah.” Yang’s closer than Blake remembers her being, maybe because her legs are long, her strides somehow longer, and it only takes a step before she’s close enough for Blake to feel the heat radiating off her body. “I know it’s only the driver that puts a driver ahead. That’s why I’m here talking to you instead of looking at your car.” Her lips twitch and she amends her statement quickly. “Part of the reason, at least.”

The other part of her reasoning is made pretty obvious when Yang’s eyes trace up Blake’s form once more. It should probably bother Blake, but it doesn’t, maybe because she’s done the same to Yang during this conversation (more than once). Still, there are things better avoided, and Blake knows this better than anyone. She does her best to get back on track.

“It wasn’t me,” she says (almost blurts), and then feels her neck warm when Yang looks at her quizzically. “Before, you asked how I won. But it wasn’t me, not really. You could have had it if you hadn’t fired your nitrous early. You were impatient.”

It’s too blunt, Blake knows this as soon as the words leave her lips. She’s backtracked too much, retreated into aloofness as she was wont to do, but Yang only laughs, and the sound cracks through Blake’s go-to defense, a corner of her lips curling before she can stop it.

“You’re right. I used to be way worse, back when I started out, but I’m a lot better now. Usually.”

“So what happened today?” It’s the question Yang wants her to ask, of this Blake is sure, but it hardly feels like a chore.

“Ah, bad luck, I guess. I took one look at the driver next to me and all that impatience came rushing back. All I wanted to do was finish the race and meet her properly.” She winks. Combined with the cheesy line, it shouldn’t work as well as it does (but it does). “I’m Yang.”

“Blake.”

They don’t shake hands, and Blake’s glad for it. There’s something buzzing between them, a tingling sensation at the tips of her fingers, the build up right before a lightning strike, and Blake’s not entirely sure what the contact — however brief and friendly — might do to her.

“Next time, maybe I’ll be a little more prepared.” Yang’s eyes roam across her face, settling once more on gold. “But probably not.”

“Immersion therapy,” Blake quips. “Give it time.”

Yang whistles sharply, and it takes Blake a moment to realize that she’s called her sister back over. (Blake had forgotten about her entirely, though the grease on her hands and face leads her to believe that Ruby had done a thorough dive under her hood, the sort Blake ought to be worried about.)

“Time is exactly what I plan on giving it. A lot of time, if you’ll let me.” Yang nudges her sister back in the direction they’d come from. Ruby waves, offers a wide grin of thanks, but Blake’s stuck on purple.

“Well. Let’s see how you do in the next race,” she murmurs.

“Looking forward to it.”

And Blake, who started racing to get away, who started racing to run, who started racing so she never had to stay in one place for long, finds that she is too.

—

“What the hell is your problem?”

Blake’s used to this question too, or some form of it, and this time, the tone is exactly what she expects. The small, white-haired woman in a vest and tie, however, is not.

“Listen, I’m sorry I hurt your boyfriend’s feelings by being a better driver than him, but you’re only embarrassing yourself now.” Blake takes another look at the woman’s attire; her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows and — despite the country club hairstyle and the heels — the hint of a tattoo on her pale skin, just under the fabric makes up Blake’s mind for her. “Or… Girlfriend?”

“Not quite,” says a familiar voice.

Today, Yang has decided to show off her abs (and she most certainly does have abs) with a cropped jacket of black and gold checks, and Blake can’t quite bring herself to look beyond that for too long, though she catches the black driving gloves, the oversized and gold sunglasses, the oversized cargo pants. In the seconds it takes for Blake to wind her brain back up, Yang grins, cocksure, and continues.

“Though you were right about the gay thing. I mean, look at her.”

“Look at you,” the other woman sniffs, actually physically turning up her nose. “Could you be any gayer?”

“Yeah, I could be wearing a vest and tie,” Yang fires back, but it’s clear the banter is familiar, it’s obvious these two know each other well enough for their back and forth to not contain any real barbs.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Blake drawls, before she’s able to stop herself, and Yang turns back to her with an arched brow. “Good to see you again, Yang.”

“Oh, is it? Could have fooled me!” The other woman’s ire has been refocused, and it’s seemingly stronger than before, the pitch of her words higher, more dire. “Given you nearly killed her just now.”

“Weiss,” Yang sighs, but Blake winces, feeling the sting of the words despite Yang’s quick glance of reassurance sent her way.

“I didn’t realize you’d pull off when I drifted. I thought you’d… lean in.”

It’s not an excuse. They’d been neck and neck towards the end of the race (again), and when she’d nudged the side of Yang’s car — far gentler than she would against anyone else — she’d assumed the woman would give as good as she got, like most every other racer she’d gone against. But Yang hadn’t taken any chances, and it’d cost her the race.

“We don’t do that here,” the woman — Weiss — says, lips pursed to the point of contortion, but Yang only laughs.

“We do that here all the time. I did way worse to Mercury last week.”

“Yes, but Mercury is a creep.” Weiss pauses, considering. “We only do that to creeps here.”

Blake’s hands lift, a show of peace. “Hey, no one handed me the Beacon Street Racing Etiquette Guide when I joined up the other week. Maybe you could loan me your copy.”

This doesn’t exactly smooth things over with the woman, especially not when Yang snickers, but Weiss can clearly see the writing on the wall, and tosses her hair over her shoulder with a huff.

“Whatever. I’m telling Ruby about this,” she warns Yang (or maybe Blake, or maybe both of them), before stalking away, her last words called over her shoulder. “She’s not going to be happy.”

There’s no concern on Yang’s face as she watches her go, if anything she looks amused. “Sorry about that. She’s… protective.”

“I can see that. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been friends with someone for a while.” It’s a guess (and a probe), but Yang doesn’t correct any of her phrasing, so it must be close enough to the truth.

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean protective of me.” Yang’s grin shows a flash of white teeth. “Weiss bet on me tonight. You lost her money. And that’s the real sin.”

Blake’s surprised at how easily her laugh comes (more surprised how easily the fondness slips through the cracks in her chest). “Oh, I see. So I can kick your ass up and down the streets as long as I convince her to bet on me in the future? Good to know.”

“I’m not sure that’s the message I want you to be taking from this,” Yang drawls, but still smiles, flicking her glasses up to her forehead. “Besides, like she said, Ruby’s the one to look out for. She seemed all sweet and innocent yesterday, but gods help the person she turns her disapproving stare on. I’ve seen people break into tears on the spot.”

From what Blake had seen yesterday, Ruby isn’t the sort that loses her chipper bounce very easily, so despite Yang’s teasing tone, she files the information away as useful. If she were being a little more self-searching, she might question the action, given her tendency to not stick around in any one place for long. (Surely Beacon isn’t any different. Surely she couldn’t know now if it were.)

“Lucky she missed the race today, then.” Her lips curve, a sharp corner that would require a drift. “What, she couldn’t bear to see you lose again?”

“Oh, ha ha. No, she had class. And she knows there’s no skipping for racing; that’s the only hard and fast rule for our household.” It’s not what she expects, the straight answer backed with genuinity, but it strikes Blake as endearing, somehow, especially when Yang continues. “I started racing here so we could pay for those classes, so I think it’s only fair.”

“That’s — ” Kind. Authentic. Surprising. Blake’s not sure which word to use so she disgards them all. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type who was racing for the money. Not that… there’s anything wrong with that. Especially in your case.”

Yang laughs. “Hey, don’t mistake me. I started racing here for the money, but it’s not why I race in general.”

“So why do you?” Blake asks, even though she suspects she knows the answer. (It’s not wise to take your eyes off the road, but she’s done it in both of her races with Yang, eyes darting to the side to find the woman speeding alongside her: eyes wild, grin wide, the fervor of the moment all over her face. There’s freedom there, more than there is anywhere else, and Blake thinks she sees that in Yang as much as she does in herself.)

“Same as you, I think,” Yang murmurs, closer now, sliding in when Blake’s distracted once again.

“I’m not sure you know me well enough to say that.”

A bluff, of course, but it gets the intended result.

“Not yet.” From this close, Yang looks taller, and Blake has to tilt her chin to look into her eyes. “But I’m still looking to fix that.”

Blake wets her lips. It’s too much, and she’s not sure she can tack on ‘too soon’ to quantify the thought, make it less tame. If she had to guess, Yang will always be too much, like sunlight after coming out of a room. Blake’s not sure she’ll ever adjust to the rays, or if she wants to.

“Let’s see how you do in the next race,” she says again, and Yang laughs again, totally unabashed.

“Okay, I’m sensing a trend here. What, you’re not going to let me take you out unless I win a race again you?”

“If I say ‘yes’, what are you going to do?”

It’s not cockiness that overtakes Yang’s face then, not exactly. It’s confidence or want or determination or maybe just the flush that comes from the thrill of a challenge. Blake’s setting herself up for something here, she knows, failure or disappointment or something like it, but right then, she doesn’t care. There’s a freedom in this sort of race too, and that she’s come to love.

“Oh, that’s easy, Blake.” Yang leans in a little more, and Blake knows it’s audible, the way her breath is cut short. “I’m going to win.”

[notyourordinaryrandomgirl]

Silva's Revenant

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

Chapter 5

“Look at them smiling.”

Your lips turned upside down hearing Yami. He is on his way out. Wait, didn’t they all leave earlier? Why is he still here?

“Are you eavesdropping?” You asked, gaping at him.

Yami laughed, “I just passed by and I heard you insulting each other.”

“Mind your own business, foreigner.”

You realized Silva’s favorite nickname for Yami hasn’t changed at all.

“Don’t be such a snob, Mr. Royalty. Y/N is here, be kind.” Yami touts.

You scoffed whilst shaking your head at the two as Nozel is busy glaring to a smirking Yami. The scene brought nostalgia to your heart. It was a kind of feeling that in this moment only, everything seems the same for all these years.

“Begone forever, foreigner.” Silva remarks.

“This will take long. I’ll leave first to leave you two lovebirds.” You turned and walked away.

A smile formed to your lips as you heard him, “Shut up, you idiot.”

“Stop calling Y/N an idiot. She’s not an idiot. You are the stupid one.” You heard Yami defend you.

“What? You are defending her? You foreigner, why?” The arrogance speaks clearly in his tone.

The last thing you heard is Yami laughing so loud, that you decided to totally leave the two. Next morning, you were at your room as you received tons of papers to read. It is the missions that shall be passed to you by the squad captains.

Yami gave you five missions as you wished. It made you smile. Charlotte, Rill, Kaiser, William and Jack all gave you three missions. Fuegoleon gave you two missions, which are all only relatively easy missions. It made you frown and confused. Your captain told you that you aren’t going to be given any as you are still a part of the squad instead she will send missions for me.

You scanned and flipped the pages again but a certain squad isn’t in one of the papers.

The building didn’t change as you looked around. Some senior magic knights quickly recognized you, they looked perplexed seeing you at the place. You must find his office faster. People might think of something and gossip about it!

The magic knight wasn’t clear that you were lost for minutes trying to figure it out. A huge door with royal guards side by side confirmed for you that it is indeed Nozel Silva’s office. You were about to strut your way when you realized something.

“What am I doing here casually?” You mumbled to yourself. The talk last night made you at ease so easily, you wanted to hit your head but that would make you look crazy. This ain’t it, you thought.

“What’s your business?” A royal guard asked you.

You sheepishly smile, “I do-”

“Why? Who’s there?” Nebra appeared to the other side of the hallway. She shifted her gaze from the royal guard to yours.

Now, what are the odds?

Nebra’s cold gaze drilled to your eyes, it almost made you look away. Almost. You smiled a little acknowledging her presence before you. It was not received well as you can conclude based on her unchanging gaze.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, her eyes scrutinizing.

“I need to talk to Captain Nozel.” You managed to answer.

She rolled her eyes at you, “Didn’t Solid tell you to not even try coming near him?”

“Nebra, this is not personal. This is for a mission.”

“Mission?” She scoffed, “He is the captain of Silver Eagle and you are in a different squad, how could he care about your mission?”

“You won’t understand.” You are perplexed.

“Don’t use those words on me!” Nebra yelled.

The raise in her voice took you aback. This person in front of you became a close friend to you. The shared memories you had, good or bad, resonated to your mind.

“Nebra…”

“What?! Don’t come near my brother, or there will be serious consequences. I am not kidding, Y/N.”

“Neb-”

“Nebra Silva.” A low but full of authority voice said. Your eyes shifted to the owner and saw an emotionless look as he stared down to his sister. Nebra slowly looked up, suddenly felt like she was washed by cold water, she stood straight and her clasped hands in her front.

“Nozel-nii sama.”

This is bad.

“What are you saying?” Nozel asked, his expression unfazed. His eyes turned into slits, eyebrows were furrowed, and a deep frown on his lips. He looks angry.

“I was just-”

“I need to discuss something, Captain Nozel. If you don’t mind I am in a hurry today.” You cutted off.

You exactly know how Nozel gets mad. He is collected all the time, but not when his emotions are at peak especially when he is flaring. He lost all the logical reasons, and acted based on his emotions. The reason why his younger siblings always avoid him getting mad.

He turned to you, still glaring but not that intense.

“Come to my office.” His voice sounds cold.

Nebra turned glaring at you. Nozel walked back inside his office, leaving the door open. You looked away from Nebra and followed Nozel inside.

“Make sure it’s just business, or else…” You heard Nebra mumbled before you went inside.

Nozel is behind his table, the build of his back welcomes you. You went all the way in stopping in front of his table. The silence is as eerie and as uncomfortable. It made you uneasy. You remained standing, not making a move at all.

You heard him exhale, “What do you want to discuss?”

“I checked the documents earlier, and you forgot to give the missions.” You paused, trying to read him through his back but it seems he made a wall, “Captain Nozel.”

“I didn’t forget,” You heard him chuckling humorlessly, “I really didn’t give any.”

What?

“You need to pass a mission to me, Captain Nozel.” You said, still level headed.

“Do I?” He turned to you, “Do I really?”

You sighed, “Captain Nozel, this was already discuss in the conference yesterday.”

His lips are on a thin line. You don’t understand why he is making a big deal out of this. Nevertheless, you are sure that he is not unreasonable but stubborn and this attitude is making you question him.

“Captain No- What?” You asked, when he suddenly walked around the table and his eyes pierced yours. The loud beating in your chest made you hold onto it.

“Do you badly want to avoid me?”

“What?”

He stopped in front of you, with a meter away from you. You eased a little at the distance. Atleast he is giving you space but what? Avoid?

“Don’t fool me. I know you are only taking this because you want to stay away.” His voice is dripped with acid, and it is unknowingly clenching your heart.

He stepped forward and you were alarmed that you stepped back away from him. You glanced at him and you saw pain and anguish in his eyes. You cleared your throat and composed yourself again, innocence at your face again as if you weren’t alarmed at the close proximity with him.

Nozel was silent and his eyes didn't wanna leave you alone! This is frustrating that I cannot even look at him!

“I don’t know what…” You gulped, “You are talking about.”

He scoffed, “I am just calling you an idiot, but I am not calling you that because you are so stop acting like you are.”

“Why are we even talking about this, Nozel? I just want the mission!” You said, bursting due to the emotions that you are suppressing and did not wanna show to him at all. You will shout and then leave. That’s your plan.

You saw anger in his eyes. The narrow purple eyes of his, turned into slits. You cannot almost not see his eyeballs. But you are determined to get away from the conversation and his piercing gaze can’t stop you.

“I cannot believe you are bringing up something so irrelevant in this conversation. This is so unprofessional. If you will insist, I have no choice but to tell the Magic Emperor about the mission.” You turned back and started walking out, “I’ll expect the missions till the end of this day and I can tell you I wont te- Agh!”

You were about to pull the door but a gripped pulled you back and pushed you to a wall beside the door. You were met with a different Nozel Silva unlike earlier, this time his eyes are soft but still in pain.

“I-I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” His voice is quiet to your ears. The next thing you know, his forehead is on your shoulder.

“Nozel…”

“I apologized.” He whispered, “Please, don’t leave again.”

It’s like a slice in a gut. The water worked its way on your eyes, as Nozel is still on your shoulder. His arms slid on your waist pulling you closer. He is embracing you tightly.

“I missed you.”

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

[creweemmaeec11]

I'm not sure what this little snippet is, but enjoy it anyway I guess aha!

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

It was about time the hero tried a different tactic. They were tired of waiting for the villain to do something, then showing up to stop it. This time, the hero wanted to stop the villain before anything happened in the first place.

It was genius, really, and was something the hero really should have tried a long time ago.

The only problem, was *finding* the villain in the first place.

It wasn't like the hero had a home adress.

He'd spent nearly two hours scouring the city, hopping from rooftop to rooftop with no sign of anything abnormal when he heard a faint, almost whimpering sound.

The hero was thankful they had heightened senses, otherwise they may not have heard it at all.

They used their super strength to climb up the tall building, continuing to hop a few more rooftops when they froze.

Their eyes landed on the villan. He was sitting on a slightly sloped roof, back against a brick wall where the building continued upward. Their knees where pulled taught to their chest, cape wrapped around them like a blanket to shield them from the chill of the cool night air. One arm was wrapped around their knees, holding their dagger while the other hand was wiping at their face, trying to disperse the tears- *they were crying*.

The hero suddenly felt uneasy. What were they supposed to do here? They always saw the villain as cold, heartless, emotionless but, clearly that wasnt the case. They weren't sure what to do, or even how to feel with that information.

Information they clearly weren't supposed to have, given how high up and secluded this spot was. The villain clearly wanted to be left alone.

But, they were a hero! They're job was to help people and this villain was clearly in distress! He couldnt just leave!

They jumped onto the same roof as the villain, who didnt seem to notice. They were still a good 7-10 meters away from them, but the villain was usually very intune with the environment. The hero had never been able to get even near this close to them without the villain being fully aware.

They were now close enough to use their enhanced hearing to hear the ragged breathes and rapid heartbeat of the other.

The hero took a breath.

"Beautiful night out tonight," the hero offered in a friendly, conversational tone. They were smart enough to know that directly asking what was wrong wouldnt get them anywhere.

The villains reply came in form of a violent flinch and sharp inhale of breath. Their head snapped to look at the hero, shock and... was that *fear* written all over their face?

The villain never wore a mask, much like the hero, but they did usually have a hood down over their face, so being able to see it this clearly was strange.

However, with being able to see it this clearly, the hero could see how red and puffy the area around their eyes were, their cheeks thoroughly damp with tears, their eyes red.

The villain immediately directed their dagger at the hero, scrambling backwards across the roof frantically.

The hero held their hands up, "I come in peace,"

The villain stared at them in shock for a moment, "why are you... what... how long have you been..."

Before the hero could reply, the villain shook their head, steeling their features and pushing themselves to their feet. They wiped their face and took a deep breath, grasping for some sense of composure.

"What do you want?!" They snapped, "Why are you here?!"

Their grip tightened on their dagger.

"Theres no need for that, I come in peace, I swear," the hero tried.

"As if you would ever show up just to chat," the villain hissed.

The hero surveyed the situation. Clearly, the villain, who was usually overly composed and smooth, was distressed.

The villain was doing a good job faking composure, but it was obvious in way their fret twitched, weight shifting from foot to foot, fingers flexing while their eyes darted all over the place. They were one wrong word away from taking off.

Right now, the hero was a threat, and he needed to be seen as not one.

Slowly- very slowly, so the villain could track their movements, the hero sat down on the roof, sliding themselves to sit back against the brick wall like the villan had previously. He bend a knee, resting his elbow on it as he looked out at the city. They didnt look over at the villain, trusting their super hearing to tell them if they moved.

"The view from up here is pretty breath taking," The hero commented casually.

"What?"

"My favourite spots are usually around the inner city, like the tops of the big office buildings, but this spot might be even better, with the already tall building being on a hill and all."

Finially the hero dared a glance at the villain.

They were standing in the same spot, though their posture was more relaxed. They were staring at the hero with a dumbstruck look on their face.

"What are you doing?" They asked, narrowing their eyes.

"I mean, we could talk about the weather if youd rather?" The hero smirked.

The villain glanced away, seemingly considering running again.

"Come on," the hero added, "it's not like you have anything interesting going on tonight,"

"That's a rude assumption to make," The villain replied jokingly, crossing his arms and relaxing more as he glanced at his feet.

"Please, you know if you had something important going on tonight I would have been bat signaled already,"

The villain snorted at that. They gave the hero another look over, before caving and settling back down against the roof.

"Is this your way of telling me your bored? Have I not been active enough for you?"

"Thats- not what I meant," the hero sputtered, causing the villain to chuckle slightly.

The hero glanced over, watching the villain twirl his dagger in the air mindlessly. Or, well, mindedly, considering they were using their telekinesis. But it was twirling in a non threatening way, just spinning in the air like a spin top.

"That's a pretty cool trick," the hero commented.

"What? Oh-" the villain blushed, plucking the dagger out of the air like he hadn't even realized hed been doing it.

"sometimes I wish I had a cooler power," the hero started so the villain wouldnt have to explain themselves.

"Wait, really?" The villan asked, looking at the hero in shock.

"Yeah, I mean, dont get me wrong, enhanced senses and strength are certainly handy, but they arnt as cool as like flight,"

The villain hummed, fidgeting with the dagger in their hands, twirling the tip against their finger.

"Super senses also have their downsides, like when someone is trying to surprise you by baking you something, but you can smell it before you even get in the house,"

"I get the feeling theres a story there,"

"Friends tried to throw me a surprise party, I could hear them shuffling and whispering from down the hall, and I could smell the cake and such,"

"Only a hero would view not being able to be surprised as a *downside*" the villain replied, rolling their eyes.

"I guess I shouldn't complain though, it helps with being a hero a lot, without the hearing I probably wouldnt have heard you,"

Out of the corner of his eye, the hero saw the villain immediately tense, bristling slightly.

"Is that why your here? Doing this? You think I'm someone in need of saving?" They hissed.

"Partly," the hero admitted, "I dont think anyone deserves to be alone when there upset, but I'm also making sure you arent up to anything dastardly,"

"Oh yeah, I'm always doing something villainous alright, like crying on a rooftop," they replied mockingly, before realizing they were admitting to crying.

"I wont pressure you into an answer, but you know I have to ask..." the hero replied after a moment of silence.

"Theres no way-"

"Before you turn me down," the hero interjected, "consider I'm one of the few people who may actually understand, considering the uh... line of work,"

The villain stared with a blank, unreadable expression for a few moments, before huffing and looking off to the horizon again.

"Its the anniversary of something. That's the only information your getting,"

The hero hummed in response, continuing to look off into the horizon. They both stayed silent.

In the end, it was the villain who broke it.

"I need to go." They stated, standing up.

"oh really? Where are you off to?" The hero asked with genuine curiosity.

The villain shot them a baffled look, "you know I'm not going to tell you that... right?"

"Oh,"

"Your weird, hero,"

"Why thank you," The hero joked.

"Until next time," The villain stated, before stepping backwards off the roof.

"Farewell!" The hero called.

Things were... different after that night.

Second part here!

[buckyskorpion]

11 hours - part four

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: super fun chapter, we got some more secret things revealed and some fluff and emosh AND some smut AAAANNNNDDD some drama so really, what more could ya want. thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoy. i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist

part one | part two | part three

When Bucky invites you to another party, you don’t pretend you’re not apprehensive about it. The last one didn’t go badly, per se, but it certainly led to some less-than-favourable events which you’d rather not repeat. Bucky pouts, though, gives you big blue puppy eyes and kisses down your neck and chest and across your stomach until his head’s between your legs and you’re saying yes yes yes without any awareness to what you’re agreeing to.

It’s not at Natasha’s house this time, and it’s nothing like that last party. Bucky takes you to a basement bar in Brooklyn, holding your hand as you descend the stairs behind him into moody lighting and deafening levels of classic rock. Something’s different about this night - you can tell in the stiff lines of Bucky’s shoulders under his leather jacket, the tight grip he keeps as he tugs you into his side, the way everyone seems to falter for a beat and stare as Bucky enters the room. There are a lot of scary looking people in here, you realise, and all their eyes are on you.

It’s a relief to see Natasha’s red head weaving through muscles and leather towards you, and that really says something.

To your surprise, she loops her arm in yours just like at the last party and tugs you from Bucky’s side. You hesitate, gripping Bucky’s hand tighter and looking up at him for some kind of nonverbal explanation. He releases your fingers, grazing his hand from yours in a slow slide, and just stares back at you. Sorry, he mouths, and then you lose his head in the crowd of equally tall, muscular men as Natasha drags you further into the bar.

“Let’s get some drinks,” she says, pushing aside two men twice her size to stand at the bar and tap her violet nails on the countertop. You are, as per usual around this woman, lost for words.

“Is Bucky-?” You don’t even know what you want to ask. You’re quickly realising this isn’t a party just to have fun with friends. This is something outside your world, something you don’t understand, and the way Natasha looks at you all shadowed and shuttered confirms it.

“He’ll be back,” is all she says, and nudges a vodka shot towards you. She doesn’t pay, you notice, just taps the glass on the counter and clinks it with yours before throwing it back. You do the same, hissing at the burn, and watch as she orders two more. It’s very Russian, you think, and file that away for later. You down your second shot without a flinch this time.

“Why am I here?” you ask Natasha, scanning the bar before you as if the answer will arise from the crowd.

“You want to be in Bucky’s life?” Natasha raises her eyebrows at you, gestures to the bar with a flick of her wrist and says, “This is a part of it.”

You hum in way of answer, letting that sit with the burning vodka-warmth in your chest starting to slowly drip down, down, down to your toes. This is what you chose - shady rooms with shady men and more questions than answers. A tormenting nightmare for someone as paranoid and curious as you, is probably what your dad would say if he was here but he’s not, so you ignore that little voice and try to find Bucky in the crowd.

Before you can, Sam comes barrelling over to the two of you with his arms held wide. Natasha shies away from him but he sweeps her into a hug anyway, her unimpressed scowl peaking over the top of a muscular arm and making you giggle despite yourself. Sam ruffles her hair and Natasha genuinely looks like she’s about to murder him - you cover your mouth with your hand, far too amused at the interaction for your own safety.

“Welcome!” Sam yells to you, also pulling you into a crushing hug. He moves away, leaving a hand clapped on your shoulder, and asks, “Having fun?”

“We just arrived,” you say, “But the shots are doing wonders for me.”

“Good, have more!” Sam says, and to your absolute horror, reaches over the bar and grabs the bottle of vodka to sloppily pour in your empty shot glass. He tops Natasha up too, and you must look as scandalised as you feel because she starts laughing and nudges Sam, who throws you a charming grin. “Relax! I own the place.”

“Oh,” you say, more than relieved. That didn’t come up on your search, you think, and try to squash that thought down as quickly as it comes. You’re not investigating them anymore, there’s no need to file information away on them like it’s an open case. Smiling, you say, “Well, in that case,” and down the shot Sam and just poured you. You’re on a one-way ticket to tipsy town and you don’t plan on hopping off anytime soon.

Sam leads you to a booth where Steve and one of the regulars from your time watching his tattoo shop sit. He’s got dirty blonde hair and a plaster on his forehead, waving his hands around as he tells a story which makes Steve belly-laugh. You slide in the end after Natasha, the seat opposite you open for whenever Bucky comes back. You wish he’d hurry up, ignoring their conversation in favour of searching the crowd for his dumb head. Out of your depth didn’t even begin to cover what you felt sitting here with Bucky’s friends in Sam’s bar with a bunch of bikers milling around, watching you all like hawks.

“New girl,” the guy you don’t know says, pointing the straw he’d been fiddling with at you. Natasha smacks him upside the head and he barely flinches, like it happens all the time. He says, “Verse me in darts.”

The entire table groans, and the guy throws his hands in the air and scowls at everyone as he cries, “What? None of you lot will play with me anymore.”

“That’s because you’re a master archer, you dickhead,” Sam says, throwing a balled up napkin at the guy’s head. He doesn’t bother dodging it, letting it hit him square on the nose as he turns to you and waggles his eyebrows.

“Whaddya say? No better bonding activity, I reckon,” he says. You dart looks around the table, catching Steve giving you a cut-throat motion and Natasha shaking her head with an eyeroll.

“I’ll start with your name first,” you say, “Then we can move onto darts.”

He introduces himself as Clint, reaching across the table and knocking over Steve’s glass in the process to shake your hand. Everyone devolves into complaints and arguments about Clint ‘taking advantage’ of new people and feeding his ego with ‘easy wins.’ Nonetheless, your small group vacates the booth and moves to the dart board near the pool tables at the back of the bar. The group already there stop playing mid-game and move off as you approach, which is weird and keeps happening so you think it might be something you’ll have to find the guts to ask Bucky about later. Right now, though, Clint is pushing darts into your hand with a smirk and lining up to go first, despite Steve’s exasperated yell of ladies first!

Clint lands a bullseye with his first dart and does a little victory dance on the spot. His friends groan, clearly having seen this too many times. Three bullseye’s later, he’s moving off the mark and opening it up to you with a low, theatrical bow. You curtsy and take his spot, earning a laugh out of Sam and Steve.

“Archery, huh?” you question as you line up your shot, tongue poking out slightly as you concentrate.

“Natasha calls me her very own Robin Hood,” Clint says, and you’re not facing him but you know Natasha throws something at him if his yelp of pain is anything to go by. Wheezing slightly, Clint adds, “Don’t feel bad when you lose.”

“Hmm,” you say, smirking at the dart board. But before you can throw, you catch movement out of the corner of your eye - close cropped hair and a familiar leather jacket weaving it’s way towards you. You turn to Bucky, leaning into him as he slides a hand up your back, over your shoulders to rest on the nape of your neck and tangle in your hair. You hate the way you melt into his side, because everyone’s watching and Natasha is smirking and you should be embarrassed, but. But but but. You missed him, just a bit, and you feel him relax with you in his arms like maybe he missed you a bit, too.

“How did Barton con you into darts, huh?” Bucky asks, looking down to you and the darts still clutched in your hand. You shrug as much as you can under his arm and grin, maybe a bit looser with the shots, but that’s nobody’s business. Bucky is laughing slightly at you but you can’t bring yourself to care when he uses his grip on your neck to spin you around, hands moving to rest on your hips and position you on the mark.

“Not fair! Interference!” Clint calls out, and you feel Bucky’s chest rumble with a laugh from where he’s pressed up behind you. Bucky is supposed to be helping but all you feel is distracted, hazy focus and burning heat starting from your toes and working up to pool in your stomach.

“Oh now you care about fairness,” Sam says, and the group behind you devolves into a loud argument with plenty of name calling.

You’re not paying attention to them, though, as you bring your arm up to aim and Bucky grips your elbow, fixing your form. His breath is hot against your ear as he ducks down, smiling into your skin, and you feel yourself shiver against him. Bucky says low in your ear, “Don’t close your eyes.”

“Thanks for the advice,” you say flatly, and finally shrug him off. He steps back with a laugh, dragging his hands from your hips slowly so you can still feel his fingers long after they’re gone. You take a steady breath and narrow your eyes at the board. You throw, and in a blink your dart is buried in it’s red centre. The argument behind you comes to an abrupt stop.

“Fluke!” Clint sputters in to the silence, pointing wildly at the board as you turn to him. You raise your eyebrows and he flails his arm, nearly smacking Steve in the face. “Barnes helped you!”

“Hardly,” Bucky snorts. You grin at Clint, all teeth, and Clint’s expression drops almost comically as you wink at him.

“Don’t feel bad when you lose,” you tell him, and then proceed to fling your two remaining darts into a neat little cluster on the bullseye in quick succession. Clint shuts up properly this time.

While Steve and Sam descend on Clint to heckle him to an early grave, Natasha grins over at you and says, “You are full of surprises.”

“Not really,” you shrug, “Just learnt to throw knives with my dad instead of throwing balls with my non-existent friends. Nothing interesting.”

“Respectfully disagree,” Bucky murmurs, and suddenly you’re drawn into that ocean-deep stare of his where the rest of the bar ceases to exist. Bucky steps closer and you meet him halfway, the shouts of his friends and the rock music blaring through the speakers and the clink of glasses fades to a dull buzz. Maybe you had one too many shots, because you find yourself swaying into Bucky as he tugs you by the belt loops, or maybe that’s just Bucky you’re drunk on. Now that you’d allowed yourself to fall you were falling fast, a weightless come-up, not a single thought about the crash waiting for you at the end.

Bucky doesn’t leave your side for the rest of the night, always tethered to you somehow, and its alarming how quickly you’ve grown used to having him next to you. Attuned to him, turning when he does and shifting to his every movement so you fit together, his hand in yours or your back to his chest or tucking yourself under his arm. Bucky is just so warm, is all, and under the bulk of his touch you can almost forget where you are, who you’re with.

That is, until a broad man in a leather jacket much like Bucky’s comes up to your booth and leans down to talk in Bucky’s ear. You’re pressed to his side, head tucked against his shoulder while you lazily follow Sam and Steve’s conversation with your eyes half-closed - the vodka is catching up and you’re getting sleepy as the night wears on. The smell of cigarettes and an unfamiliar voice brings you back to the bar, however, and you’re close enough to be able to hear Bucky and the man’s hushed exchange.

“S’done, boss,” the man says, “twenty-three-forty hours, no witnesses.”

“Y’sure?” Bucky murmurs, and the man must nod or something because you feel Bucky clap the man on the shoulder and he walks off, the cloud of cigarette smoke leaving with him. Bucky twists to look down at you on his shoulder only to find you already looking up at him. He is impassive as you stare at him for a few, silent beats before he asks, “Ready to go?”

It takes an hour to extract yourselves from Bucky’s friends and all the people he has to say goodbye to on his way out, and then you’re on Bucky’s bike with your head tucked against his back as he roars through the few blocks back to his apartment. Bucky busies himself flicking lights on and rummaging in his pantry for food while you collapse on the couch, flinging an arm over your eyes. After a few beats you feel him start to unlace your boots, easing them off your feet and throwing them towards the front door. You peak out from under your arm to grin at him, wiggling your toes in his face when your feet are free, and he shoves at them with one big hand and a smile.

Retaliation comes in the form of him throwing his huge, muscled body on top of yours and squashing you into the couch, knocking the breath out of you. He nuzzles his head into the side of your neck and lies there, snaking his arms under your body in a bear hug that leaves you breathless in more ways than one. The moment stretches on, both of you slightly dozing in the early morning hours, until the niggling in your brain gets too insistent and you can’t hold it in any longer.

“When were you gonna tell me tonight was an alibi?” you ask, hating the way Bucky’s body stiffens on top of you. He slowly raises his head, resting his stumbling chin against your collarbone and scanning your face with those puppy eyes you see in your dreams, now.

“You’re too smart for me,” he sighs, rolling off you slightly so you can shift onto your side and face him, two half-brackets on the couch. Bucky says, “You know what I do. You were- I said you could leave.”

“It’s not what you do,” you say, shaking your head of the concept of leaving. “It’s being kept in the dark. I just wanna know, I hate not knowing.”

“Too dangerous,” Bucky says, mirroring you as he shakes his head, “The more you know the worse it is.”

“Don’t care,” you say, raising an eyebrow in challenge when Bucky opens his mouth to argue. You press your palm to his cheek, scratching into the short hairs above his ear and dragging your nail over the silvery-scar there where hair won’t grow. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut, eyelashes delicate against the papery skin under his eyes, and you marvel at how soft the looks up close. Only tough from far away, you think. Only soft for you.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Bucky says, keeping his eyes closed.

“I figure out secrets for a living, Bucky,” you sigh, “I don’t wanna do that with you as well.”

He looks at you then, the world narrowing to his eyes burning your skin and his breath against your lips. He kisses you, rough stubble and soft lips. Your lips part with a sigh and he rolls on top of you again, hands rucking up under your top to grip your bare waist and hold you there, pressing kiss after kiss on your mouth like he can brand you with just his lips alone.

“You’ll stay?” he murmurs against your mouth, “The night?”

You know what he’s asking. Will you stay, will you listen to the terrible things he’s done and the things he will do and stay anyway, will you let him into your bed and your heart and trust someone you should be afraid of? You kiss him, digging your nails into the side of his neck to hold him there.

“Yeah,” you say, pressing your face against his cheek to kiss the rough skin, murmur words against the corner of his mouth tugging into a smile, “I’ll stay.”

***

The first time you wake up next to Bucky he’s still asleep, lying on his stomach with his cheek smashed into the pillow. One big arm is flung out over your stomach, trapping you to the bed as you blink awake but the heavy weight is comforting. You twist under him to lie on your side, tucking your arms against your bare chest, and watch him sleep like a genuine pyscho. You don’t care. His face is relaxed when he sleeps, peaceful - he looks so beautiful. You want to remember this forever.

Sunlight streams through a gap in the curtains, illuminating the tips of his short hair golden. Pouty lips part, soft in sleep, and there’s a tiny bit of drool pooling on the pillowcase you find yourself smiling at, even though it’s gross. He’s all tan muscles and tattoos lying naked next to you, and you take to tracing the ink on his skin with yours in an attempt to memorise them. His left arm is flung over you, the arm with the sleeve, and the closer you look the more you realise the tattoos cover not just skin, but scars. Old and faded but still there under swirling lines of storm clouds and skulls and the red star in the centre of his deltoid.

How had you missed this? Maybe you hadn’t been looking before, but you’re looking now. From surprisingly thin wrist to meaty shoulder where muscles are bunched and gnarled under a flowery piece which extends down his chest and across his back. His sleeve is a beautiful piece covering not-so-beautiful, painful looking burns and lines and marks you can’t tear your eyes from.

“Stop staring, y’creep,” Bucky mumbles into the pillow, startling you. He grins, eyes closed, and you reach out to whack his side. With the arm across your waist he drags you into him, rolling onto his back and dragging you across his chest without ever opening his eyes. He hugs you close, legs tangling, and doesn’t appear to want to wake up - rather he just holds you and attempts to doze off again, lips pressed against your forehead in a sleepy, lazy kiss.

That won’t do. You’re awake and now effectively trapped - Bucky doesn’t get to go back to sleep like this. With your new vantage point on his chest, you start kissing slow and heady across his skin. Under his collarbone, his shoulder, beside one of the wolves tattooed on his skin making up half his chest piece. Goosebumps form a trail where your lips have been and you grin, victorious. Bucky shivers as you drag your teeth from his peck to his nipple, giving it a quick flick of your tongue. That seals the deal.

Bucky grips the back of your head, fisting your hair and pulling your head up to look at him. Eyes cracked open and bleary with sleep, he glares at you but with no heat. Well, there’s heat. He licks his lips and you track the motion, hungry. Bucky’s lips stretch in a smirk as he watches you watch him. His other hand travels down your back to grip your ass and pull you up in a straddle across his hips.

He pulls you into a kiss and you go willingly with a hand braced on his chest, licking lazy into his mouth. He tastes like sleep and so do you but you really couldn’t care less. His mouth is hot and his skin is sun warmed, strong and smooth under your body, seeping into you so it feels like you’re holding the sun inside you. He pushes the warmth into you; tongue in your mouth, squeezing your neck, kneading your ass under one giant palm. Morning sex, you think, is possibly the best thing in this world.

Bucky hums against your mouth and shifts, sliding his hand back down your ass to rub his middle finger against your cunt. You gasp, and he bits your lip as you open to him. The contrast of pain and pleasure as he slips a finger inside you is brain-melting. All that heat is concentrated now in the pit of your belly and you roll back against Bucky’s hand, nipping at his jaw when he huffs a laugh at you.

You slide a hand up his neck and into his hair, scratching your nails against his scalp and leaving hot, open mouthed kissed down his jaw, neck, chest - wherever you can reach. When Bucky doesn’t move, just leaves you to grind against his finger, you get frustrated and start using your teeth. He’ll be littered with little bruises soon and he clenches his fist in your hair, tugging in warning, but you keep going. So Bucky groans, slides his hand around to your neck and squeezes until you come to a shuddering stop, panting against his chest. He pulls you up to look at him, smirking at the glassy look in your eyes, and pushes another finger into your cunt without warning.

That makes you moan, which makes Bucky grin because he’s a smug bastard and can never let you win. You can’t remember why you were frustrated anymore, though - you’ve got pinpricks of pleasure bursting all over your skin, from your nail beds to your scalp to the back of your teeth. Bucky tugs you by the neck until he can catch you in a sloppy kiss, tongue too deep and too much teeth but you live for it. He removes his fingers from inside you and you whine into his mouth, clenching your fingers in his hair and your cunt on nothing but it doesn’t stay that way for long. Bucky’s there, he’s pushing into you and you forget how to kiss for a second as all your executive function concentrates on the feeling of Bucky’s dick in you.

It’s slow, sticky with sweat from the too-bright sun on your back, sweet in the way Bucky releases your neck and lies fully back on the pillow just to stare up at you. You sit up in his lap and grind your hips slow, letting your hands rest light on his chest as the urgency dissipates into simple, syrupy-soft want. He runs his hands up and down your thighs and your sensitive skin erupts like starbursts, urging you to slide up and down on his cock just to feel the drag inside you that makes your eyes roll back. You lean forward on him, the angle gets deeper, you stop feeling your toes as the ecstasy snaps up your spine in hot waves.

“Look at me,” Bucky says, voice low and rough with the first words of the day. You hadn’t realised your eyes were closed and they flutter open, barely focusing on the pink pout of his mouth and hazy lust in his eyes. “Look at me, honey.”

“Bucky,” you say in response, any other words lost to you. He slides a hand from your thigh up your stomach, muscles clenching against his touch as you ride him, to cup one of your tits and squeeze. He rolls his thumb over your nipple and you moan, head lolling back on a limp neck and hair tickling your bare back. But you remember what he asked and you come back, eyes finding his and they seem to darken, then, as you keep yourself locked on him.

It’s spilling over. That heat that’s been building since you first woke up is trying to go supernova. Bucky moves to rest one big palm on your back and pushes, rising up to meet you as he squashes your bodies together, seam for sweat-slicked seam. You’re limp against him as he takes over and starts a faster, steadier rhythm. He pounds into you, the only sound in the quiet morning being the slap of your ass against his thighs and it should be kind of embarrassing but you’re way too far gone for that. You unspool with his arm wrapped around you, shuddering against his chest but he doesn’t let you go anywhere. Bucky comes soon after with a groan you swallow as you kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him until your lips feel numb and your muscles stop shaking.

“Good morning,” you murmur, licking into his smile as he laughs at you.

“Good morning,” he replies, and smacks your ass for emphasis. You yelp and jerk forward at the impact, still sensitive and he’s still inside you. He moans at the friction and you feel heat start trickling against your thighs. It should be gross but somehow it’s insanely hot and you feel yourself clenching just imagining what his come dripping out of you would look like - that’s when you know you need some divine intervention, because you are too far off the deep end.

Bucky holds you tighter to keep you still, leaning back into the pillows to glare at you and say, “Gotta stop that, honey,” because apparently he’s also too sensitive. You start to smile, a little evil and a lot still-turned-on.

“What, this?” You roll your hips slow, all you can manage since you’re a bit worn out yourself, and Bucky legitimately growls. With a very un-sexy screech you find yourself flipped and on your back, Bucky’s cock slipping out of you and his body pressing you firmly into the mattress. He rests on his elbows either side of your head, dipping down to kiss you, and you hum at the feeling of him sliding a thigh between your legs.

“You’re a menace,” he grumbles, eyes flickering open to mock-glare at you. He’s so close that you feel kind of cross-eyed as you stare back.

“I think you like it, tough guy,” you tease. Bucky rolls his eyes but he doesn’t deny it, and you count that as a win.

Bucky finger-fucks you like that, trapped against his mattress and his stupid-soft lips leaving kisses over every inch of your skin. He has to carry you to the shower when you come again, announcing your legs are jelly and it’s his fault so he has to help you or he’s a bad person. He swings you over his shoulder and slaps your ass, calls you a brat, and you bite his shoulder in retaliation.

The shower is more of a water fight than anything else, after that.

“I like waking up to you,” you say once you’re dressed and coffee-d and fed, leaning against his doorway with a squeak of leather from your jacket. Bucky leans against the doorframe over you, dressed in fresh sweats and really threatening your resolve to go get some work done today. You feel soft, undone after this morning, looking up at him and telling him things your self-preservation instincts yell at you to keep to yourself.

“I could get used to it,” Bucky grins, and you punch him on the arm but there’s no force to it. He tugs you in for a hug goodbye, arm slung over your shoulders and ruffling your hair with his stupidly big hand until you squirm away from him. He laughs and you push him, propelling yourself backwards into the hall - mostly so you don’t grab onto his t-shirt and never leave.

“See you later?” You mean it to come out as an offhand statement but your nerves shake through. Bucky’s kilowatt smile breaks through all that fear of rejection and he nods.

“‘Course,” he says, tilting his head, “You’re stuck with me now.”

“Shit,” you say, shaking your head and his laugh follows you all the way down the stairs to the ground floor.

You hesitate at the bottom the stairs. To your left is the laundry room and your familiar route out of Bucky’s apartment building, through the window and the gym parking lot to the block over. Knowing who Bucky is now, what he does, means you have even more reason than ever before to turn that way and keep being a paranoid freak. But it’s mid-morning, now. Someone walks past you up the stairs, the lobby is lit with sunlight, there’s traffic noise and people’s voices and life inside this building. Mid-morning feels very different to three AM.

You’ve just woken up next to Bucky because he likes you, like that, and that makes you brave. You turn right and push out the front door, jogging down the steps to the street with a stupid smile on your face. You shove your hands in your pockets because despite the sunlight it’s still kind of chilly, and you turn to walk towards your apartment for a fresh change of clothes before heading to the office. Your brain still feels like it’s lying in bed next to Bucky, but you try and focus yourself back to the present.

Theres a guy leaning against the building next to Bucky’s, and he stubs his cigarette out as you walk past. When you pass by a parked car a few more buildings down you see in their side mirror that he’s started walking your direction. Stop being crazy, you tell yourself, one time using the front door like a normal person and you freak out, but you keep tabs on him as you walk. Bucky and his room and his touch start to fade from your mind as the stranger does not fade - not into the crowd, not down another street or into a building. He keeps walking, because he’s following you, and that might be paranoia speaking but you’d rather be safe than sorry.

You reach into your pocket for your phone but find yourself hesitating before calling Bucky. You’d only just gotten to the point where you feel comfortable to stay with him, to push past your walls and Bucky’s and dive head-first into whatever this is going to be between you. Telling Bucky someone is tailing you from his apartment would probably build those walls right back up, from both sides. The dark, twisted part of your brain supplies - what if it’s Bucky who’s sent this guy to follow you?

The phone rings one, twice, and picks up on the third. There’s a shuffle, a muttered curse, and you smile before your dad says, “Kroshka, sorry, I dropped the remote. How are you?”

“Great, papa,” you say, a bit louder than necessary, turning your head slightly to look across the street and so your voice travels behind you. Out of the corner of your eye you see your tail slow down, linger back further, when he realises you’re talking to someone who would notice if you suddenly dropped off the line. “What’re you up to?”

“Nothing, it’s early,” he says, sounding a bit suspicious, “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, “Just wondering if you wanted to get lunch today.”

“Of course,” he replies, and you turn the corner to keep on your normal route to home. As you do, you notice your tail has disappeared. You don’t relax, per-say, but you do feel some relief. You barely catch your dad saying, “Wanna get sushi?”

“Sounds great,” you say, “I’ll call you.”

By the time you make it back to your apartment, the glow from this morning has faded. You find yourself in the bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror and trying to convince yourself this isn’t what you think it is. No one followed you, no one’s after you, and Bucky certainly isn’t having you tailed because that’s insane. But you’ve always been like this, chasing down threads that don’t need to be pulled and finding faces in shadows even when they’re not there.

You should tell Bucky. Your supposed tail is as much a threat to you as it is to him, since he knows where Bucky lives. But something is stopping you, and you don’t pick up your phone. You’re a private investigator, you tell yourself firmly. You can figure this out on your own.

Part 5

~~~

let me know what you think!! thank you all for reading xx oh and listen to the playlist i made pls its fire

[princess-of-riviaa]

I Won’t Say I’m In Love

Request: How about a oneshot with him and reader reciting a scene from a future film project. Reader is secretly in love with Henry(but being insecure enough about herself and her looks that she never would deserve him). The scene reveals an intense love confession, that would end with more..amorous activities. With all those feels inside, reader do not have a problem to get in the right emotional set for the scene. Even Henry is baffled - anyone else he would complement for their skills - but she, his crush, made his heart flip… In the end of the scene readers tongue slips, embarrassed she tries to leave, but Henry wont let her… Amount of feels,fluff or smut is up to you… by @scorpionchild81

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader

Author’s Note: I chose one of my favorite scenes from The Tudors for this because it has very intense undertones and thought it would fit perfect for this oneshot.

Warning(s): roleplay, dry humping, Henry is a very eager boy

Word Count: 1,759

“Do you…” You clear your throat, trying to get into character. “Do you play cards, Your Grace?”

Henry keeps his eyes on you as you read from his script. He’s clearly fighting a smile at how terrible you are at this, though he does his best to stay in character. You’d agreed to help him go over his lines but you hadn’t made any promises about being a skilled acting partner.

“Sometimes,” Henry replies, giving you a look that makes your heart race. It must be the way he’s meant to look at the other character in the scene because Henry has never looked at you with that dark glint in his eyes. It makes your toes curl.

Henry Cavill is your best friend. You’ve grown up together. He’s been by your side as you struggled through college and you cheered him on as he struggled to find a film that would make his acting career take off. But you’ve also been in love with him since you were old enough to understand what love is. You’d been more than willing to run lines with him, but hadn’t realized that it was a love scene until you did your initial read-through.

“What game shall we play?” you ask in a monotone voice as you read the next line.

Henry clears his throat. He drops the act as he says, “Margaret’s supposed to be… seducing me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What game shall we play?” you moan out.

Henry laughs, though it’s more half-hearted than you expect it to be. Your eyes might be playing tricks on you but… is he blushing?

You clear your throat and say the line again, this time trying to say it right. The words bounce playfully off your tongue as you speak flirtatiously. “Better?” you ask.

Henry clears his throat and nods. “Y-yeah.”

God, this is so uncomfortable. You laid it on too thick. He’s probably regretting this idea now.

Henry scoots forward in his seat and rests his arms on his legs. You two are sitting across from each other with less than a foot of distance between you. It feels casually intimate, just how the scene is supposed to be. You ignore the way your heart begins to beat faster and heat rises up your neck.

“You choose,” Henry says, once again Charles Brandon.

You continue on in the scene, exchanging lines back and forth like it’s a casual conversation. Henry’s hand sneaks around your leg to the underside of your knee and tickles you. You gasp and shy away from his light touch. Another look at the script tells you that this isn’t part of the scene. What’s he doing?

You read your next line, “Don’t tease me, I don’t like it!”

Henry pauses for long enough that you look back at him. His eyes are serious and you know him well enough to sense the glimpse of pain in those beautiful blue orbs. “Will you like it when an old man tries to make love to you?”

Make love to you. You practically gasp at the way those words sound coming off his tongue, so sinful and teasing that you want to taste them. And damn if the way he’s looking at you doesn’t make something in your stomach tighten.

You force your gaze to return to the script, silently hoping that you’re not blushing as brightly as it feels like you are. “Y-your Grace goes too far already.”

“The Gospel says the truth will make you free.” You can hear the smile in his tone, teasing your character, pushing boundaries.

Your grip tightens around the paper in your hands. “Now you are blasphemous. M-my poor…” You clear your throat. Is it suddenly hot in here? “My poor ladies shouldn’t hear you.”

Henry stays silent, his gaze locked on you as you read the next lines in the script. Margaret’s serving ladies curtsy and exit, leaving her alone with Charles. Margaret moves to the door and closes it before stomping to Charles’ side.

You look back up at Henry. The distance between you suddenly feels nonexistent. Your heart is racing now, petrified that he’ll be able to read your thoughts written all over your face. He watches you with hesitant interest, but you can’t tell how much of that is Henry and how much of it is Charles.

“I want you to leave,” you say, not having to look down at the script as you read the next line.

“Do you?” The way he says it--it’s not even a question and you think yes, he can see right through me. He’s playing with me, trying to get me to the point of admitting everything--

You swallow. Your voice shakes as you say the next line. “Y-yes. Now.” The heat inside of you is making it impossible to breathe, to move, to do anything but look at him.

Henry inches towards you, a smile on his mouth as his eyes stay serious. His gaze is locked on yours as he murmurs, “Pity. I had a winning hand.”

You can practically feel his lips move as he speaks, you two are so close. You can’t breathe and you swear it feels like you’ll implode if he doesn’t touch you--

Your gaze falls to the script just long enough to see the next stage direction: Charles and Margaret kiss. Oh--

Thick, calloused fingers are gentle on your chin as he moves your face up. You move just an inch until your lips meet his. It’s barely a brush of your mouths but it’s enough to set you on fire. You’ve wanted this for so long, dreamed about it too many times to count, and now it’s finally happening. His mouth moves hesitantly against yours, testing the waters. Once again you can’t tell if it’s supposed to be Charles kissing Margaret, or Henry kissing you, but you’ll take it either way. You don’t know if you’re meant to deepen the kiss but you do. He loses all sense of hesitancy when you begin to kiss him back. His hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer against him and you gasp as his other hand wraps around your back to pull you onto his lap. Your hands move to cup his face. You run your fingers along his stubbled jaw as he kisses you so deeply you feel it in every inch of your body. He breaks the kiss to start sucking on your neck.

“Oh, Henry!” you gasp out.

Both of you freeze.

Shit.

Fucking shit.

You weren’t supposed to say that.

You weren’t supposed to kiss him back, yet somehow you’re on his lap. How the hell are you supposed to explain that? Oh sorry, I was just getting carried away with the scene. You’re not an actor; he won’t believe that in a million years.

You’re a goddamn idiot.

Henry pulls away from you first.

You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye.

“Uh… that’s probably a good place to stop,” he says.

You force yourself to nod, wishing the ground would swallow you up. “Yeah, I think you’re right. We should definitely stop there.” Forgetting yourself for a split second, you look back at him--

Fuck.

The way he’s looking at you… His pupils are completely dilated, his mouth parted as his breathing comes in short, shallow clips. His face is flushed and he looks--god, he looks like he wants to kiss you again.

“Henry…” you breathe out.

His gaze bounces between your eyes and your mouth. “Or we could… not stop. I mean, I need all the practice I can get.”

Your focus zeroes in on his lips, already red and starting to swell. You bite your lip at the things running through your mind right now. “Practice makes perfect,” you agree.

And suddenly you’re kissing again. His hands squeeze your hips and move you against him. You gasp when you feel his erection straining against his jeans. Fuck, this is arousing him too. His mouth moves from your neck to your exposed chest; you’d opted to wear a low tank top today and are suddenly aware that that was the best decision you’ve ever made. Your body and brain are no longer in sync. Instead your body works its own agenda as your hips move against him, rubbing your clothed core against his erection. Henry’s grip tightens on your hips and the pain is delicious, burning your insides even more. Your touch is gentle on his chest, ghosting over his body like you’re afraid that you’ll make the wrong move and realize that this is all a beautiful dream--

Henry grabs your hand and moves it lower. Your fingers ghost over the muscles of his stomach before resting over his jeans. Warmth radiates from his bulging erection, burning through his jeans. His mouth finds yours again as you palm him over his jeans and you swallow every delicious moan you pull out of him. You know how to give an amazing handjob and use that knowledge to your advantage. It doesn’t take long for him to start bucking up against your hand.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “If you don’t stop--”

“Cum for me,” you whisper as you nibble on his ear. “I want to make you feel good.”

You squeeze the shaft of his cock again before rubbing your hand up and down his length a few more times.

His body tenses against you and his grip on your hips tighten even further as he moves close to the edge. Your teasing touches are unrelenting, drawing his orgasm out of him with skilled movements. He throws his head back as he grunts out. The sight of his parted mouth and closed eyes is something you’ll never let yourself forget. He’s angelic when he falls apart; it’s something you want to witness again and again and again. And the thought that you’re the cause of it--

His seed soaks through his underwear, wetting his jeans and dripping onto your hand. Even after he comes down from his high, he keeps his eyes closed, like he wants to bask in this feeling for as long as he can. “This is… a little embarrassing.”

“Funny,” you murmur, tracing the outline of his mouth with your fingers, “that’s not the word I was thinking of.”

His eyes finally open. “That was… just part of the scene, right?” He sounds hesitant, hopeful almost.

“Y-yeah,” you say, hoping the lie is believable. “That was all for the scene. Nothing more.”

***

Tag Squad:

@agniavateira​ @hnryycvll​ @littlefreya​ @celestial-vomit​ @lestersglitterglue​ @watermeloncavill​ @honeychicana​ @penwieldingdreamer​ @mary-ann84​ @elixasays​ @buckysgoldenheart​ @noz4a2​ @trippedmetaldetector​ @omgkatinka​ @lunedelorient​ @aphrodites-punch​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @sweetybuzz25​ @iloveyouyen​ @deathonyourtongue​ @utterlyhopeful​ @wondersofdreaming​ @tsukuyomi011​ @the-soot-sprite @desperate-and-broken​ @jayismz

Let me know if you want to be added/removed from my taglist!

[20thcentury-kylo]

Tides Of Memory Chapter 1.5

hey there.. I'm gonna be honest this probably took more out of me than it should- i got a tad too ambitious and burnt myself out :p and i was so unsatisfied with it that most of the art got scrapped in the process, with that in mind i don't consider this a full chapter, I'm gonna take a step back and try a more manageable approach for the next one- (hopefully that wont take as long heheh)

Anywho i hope you enjoy what i have here even if its not much~

Eyes set adrift a sunlit room that morning. Echos of his dream still rang clearly in his thoughts. Kiome shifts from the dorm’s bed in a slow fluid motion. Standing to stretch, he revels in the subtle pops and cracks that surge through his body. Stray tears are wiped away as the sleep slowly fades from his eyes. He’s standing at the bathroom mirror- trying for once to remember the sights from his last dream, nothing comes to mind except flashes of red and pink hues. However what he remembers more than anything- and what he can't seem to shake from his mind; is the lullaby-like melody and the words playing over and over in soft loops.

“I knocked on your bedroom door~” The lyrics come to him so naturally that Kiome can't help but hum them as he brushes his teeth. Strangely enough it’s accompanied by faint strums of a guitar that isn't really there- all things he chooses to ignore. The poor boy's life is confusing enough already.

It takes no more than an hour for Kiome to be ready and out of the dorm, checking his phone to ensure he isn't late for homeroom. Summer’s in full swing as the temperatures rise to the mid 80’s and the scent of blooming sunflowers once again grace the air. Kiome’s pace slows as he’s accompanied by Ryota, Kengo, and Shiro, with the latter two engaged in their usual morning banter. The swordsman falls behind a bit- still trapped by thoughts of his dreams. Something about the clouds wispy white puffs is strangely familiar, and he finds himself unable to contain the smile that forms in response. Ryota gives him a questioning look, yet with a smile from Kiome brushes it off as a sign that today would just be a good day.

First period is no slower than usual, Ziz moves her lesson along at a comfortable pace allowing Kiome time to daydream. His mind wanders again to the contents of his recurring dreams, something similar to a sad nostalgia seems to wash over him in the moment. He remembers… losing something- someone, but when he screams the question of who into the void- he gets no response, only the words he can't seem to get out of his head

“Darling, I love you~”

The school day seems to blur by, a collection of laughs and sighing wistfully at the antics of his classmates. Kiome is packing up from his last class when he hears an intriguing rumor amongst his friends.

“Yeah, something about hearin’ strange music and coming back from hell-'' Kengo mutters in between bites of the treats Ryota had brought for them. His interest piqued- Kiome slid closer to the group, getting a rainbow bun from Ryota in the process. Morikata continues the story- telling them of how a group of transients attempted to salvage some sunken treasure- only to have their ship sunk by some mysterious sound wave. As the information kept coming in by each of his peers, he’d figured he knew where his next adventure was.

“Sounds like they got into some serious trouble for it, even if it is true we don't have much to go on '' Shiro's words of warning felt strangely directed at just him, but regardless this wasn't something the swordsman was just gonna let pass by. At another mention of Nakano by the others, the boy's mind shifts to some familiar faces. Knowing it was anything involving ships, Eita and the others especially Benten. Benten would definitely be there- He’d go on and check on them while he was there. The group all decides to hold a study session together for the upcoming exams, and while Kiome wouldn't mind attending- he had other matters to attend to.

“You’re headed for the station~” Toji approached him in the school's main courtyard, speaking it as more of a statement than a question. It didn't take long for him to get the gist of it.. Of why he had to go, what surprised Kiome further is when he offered to cover for him. Looking back on it the swordsman owed him one, big time. There was this strange sense of anticipation as he boarded the train, he felt this trip would be something… important. The train ride to Nakano was quiet enough, and he pretty much spent it lost in his own head, but once he arrived, the hustle and bustle of the ward itself was almost overwhelming, he had a slight idea of what he was looking for, but no clue where to even start. Seemingly lost, Kiome sighed in relief when his phone started to buzz. The familiar Buzz, and jingle that always came when lil Sal appeared.

“Ta-Dah! It’s your trusty Familiar Lil’ Salomon at your service.” The small familiars antics aside, it was good to see him, and give a few belly rubs while he was at it.

“Woah- what are we doing all the way in Nakano Master?” After relaying the information he’d heard from his friends, Lil Sal proceeded to go through the list of apparent hits his search had brung up. They're soon heading to the shopping complex looking for the largest crowd they could find. In the shopping districts center the crowd is overflowing- Kiome can barely weave through the torrent of passing bodies let alone focus enough to find anything. Yet among the clamoring voices of conversation he begins to hear a voice, a boy's voice.

“H-hello, are you interested in embarking on a wondrous adventure!” Kiome follows the sound of it, weeding through the lessening crowd to its source. The more he heard it, the more the swordsman felt he had heard it before.

“A Life changing Journey on the open seas, with undiscovered riches!” After a lot of pushing the crowds dispersed until Kiome found himself in a clearing. The voice was loud and clear yet as he turned about- he couldn’t find a figure to match said voice.

“Here's What I think of your stupid treasure hunt!!” The clear yells of a transient rang out- drawing the boys attention. It was a therian- dressed kind of like a generic video game mob- and in front of him was clearly the person he’d been looking for. He makes a bee line for them but before Kiome can reach the pink haired boy is shoved in his direction. Instinctually he goes to catch the poor victim, falling to the ground with a heavy thud. Flyers have scattered everywhere, and he can hear the snickering of those passing by.

“Oi- hey are you okay..” Kiome looks up as the words leave his mouth, only to meet a pair of silver- pink hued eyes..

And suddenly- his head hurts...

~As always comments and reviews are very appreciated~

[lovelivingmydreams]

Family and identity

And so we have arived at a new chapter in the Paper Flowers au. This one complete from the start. I promise. For those who missed it, previous instalment can be found here.

All the chapters can be found in the pinned post t the top of my page.

In this chapter Patton takes Roman's unintentionally given advice and it goes as well as you could expect. Enjoy!

Virgil was lying on his bed listening to music. He was feeling pretty okay. Not great, but all things considered he was having a good day. Usually that thought would make him panic and try to remember what he was doing wrong. But right now, he wasn't going to question it. He had a list, he checked it twice, today was just going to be nice.

Roman was really getting to him. Here he was once again being optimistic. And rhyming on top of that.

A sudden knock on his door had him confused. Hardly anyone knocked on his door.

Princey wouldn't knock on that one. The field had become their hang out spot. They watched movies, talked, listened to music or brainstormed together. It was nice.

So it wasn't Princey.

Janus and Remus were out too. Both tended to invite themselves inside if they wanted to bother him. One more reason to be happy with the field. He'd spent some alone time in there truly at peace knowing nothing could harm him there. If he didn't have to look after Thomas he'd probably move there permanently. And he supposed he couldn't leave Princey to deal with the specs on his own...

Speaking off those two. At least one of them was at his door.

The knocking was back. “Kiddo? You in there?”

Virgil frowned confused as he got up and walked to the door.

"Patton?" He said in surprise as he opened it. Sure he'd figured it had to be him or Logan. But between the two he would've put his money on Logan. Patton usually just announced that dinner was ready and left before Virgil could even respond. Then Virgil would go down to collect a plate and leave for his room right away. He'd been tempted to stay and listen to Roman's stories once or twice since they became friends. To gang up on him with Logan, pointing out holes in the grand tales and laugh along as Patton made a joke, making them all forget what they'd been talking about. But he figured he better not intrude on family time and risk messing up. They tolerated him when they were working. If he forced his company on them in their free time they'd probably send him back down. And as much as he cared about his fellow outcasts, he couldn't go back there….

Would his key work if he did? He should test it out, just in case…

He was getting of track. “What's wrong?” he asked. Trying to sound like he couldn't care less. He leaned against the doorframe to sell it better. Inside he was terrified.

Patton smiled at him nervously, leaning back and forth on his heels, wringing his hands. Why was he here? He clearly didn't want to be.

“Nothing wrong kiddo… just… dinner will be ready soon. Why don't you join us?”

What? “Better not,” he huffed looking at his fidgeting hands with a raised brow. He planned to turn around and close the door to freak out in peace, but then…

Patton balled his hand in fists at his side and stopped wiggling. “Sorry, but that wasn't really a request Anxiety. You live with us, so you join in for family dinners. I make Roman come out of the imagination, I drag Logan away from his work, up until now I’ve given you time to adjust and join us on your own time. But I’m done waiting. Pizza night is family dinner night. I expect you at the dinner table in 15 minutes.” And before Virgil could respond he turned and went downstairs.

Virgil went back in and shut the door. What was going on? Should he go ask Roman if Patton said something? Should he go to the others? Maybe this is a weird joke from J?

Or maybe this is a test? Or maybe Patton is looking for a good reason to send him back down? Proof that he doesn’t fit in with them? No, that doesn’t sound like Patton at all… what should he do?

“Dinner is ready!” Patton’s voice pulled him out of his panic. He’d been worrying for a full 15 minutes and now it was too late…

He took in a deep breath. He would not mess up. He just had to get trough dinner. And Roman would be there to distract Patton right? Right. He could do this.

When he arrived downstairs Roman and Logan were already seated and served.

Roman saw him enter and paused his recollection of his latest adventure to look at him.

“Evening Seymore Krelbore,” he greeted with an elaborate gesture.

“Likewise Bummertime,” he replied as he loaded his own plate and, to the surprise of both Roman and Logan went to sit at the never before used chair. Patton looked pleased at least.

He didn’t think he could handle a conversation though. Luckily he didn’t have to. Roman continued his story as if nothing had interrupted it and Virgil got away with just eating his pizza, thanking Patton for dinner when he was done, putting his plate in the dishwasher and leaving for his room.

Roman watched Virgil going up the stairs. He wasn’t surprised that shortly after he disappeared from sight he could feel a swift, but urgent pulsing from the key in his pocket.

He wanted to join Virgil at once, but then Logan said something that drew his attention.

“Patton? What’s the problem?” Roman looked at the paternal side and saw that he was looking up at the stairs with a frown.

Patton sighed and slumped in his chair, letting his head fall into his hands.

“It worked, but I don't know if I can keep doing this,” Patton explained.

“What worked Padre?” Roman wondered.

“Tough love… patience didn't get him to open up to us, but you seem to get him to at least talk to you for more than a minute nowadays. So I thought… maybe if I pushed just a little? I'm sure there is a wonderful kiddo hiding under that eyeshadow. I thought that making him join family dinner would help?” Patton explained. Roman felt a little guilty. One, he had given Patton this idea that had put both Virge and the moral side through a tense dinner for their troubles. Two he had all the answers to make Pat feel better… no. It was not his place to tell. Patton would understand.

He laid a reassuring hand on the eldest side’s shoulder. “If you wish I shall retrieve the pumpkin king in the future,” he promised.

Patton thought about it for a bit. “Are you sure Roman? Will he even come if you ask?” he wondered.

Roman chuckled and bowed. “No worries Padre I will ensure his company won't be lacking on pizza night ever again,” he vowed though he wondered if he'd have to break that promise.

He'd cross that bridge when he got there. He used his key to get to the field. The others never questioned his doors. He was the prince of imagination after all. Things like this were expected.

Once he closed his door, he looked around. Where… he spotted an empty spot in the otherwise smooth sea of origami flowers. He smiled as he walked over and sat down next to it. One leg straight in front of him, his other bent at the knee. He leaned back to look up at the clouds passing by. Supporting his weight with his hands.

“They do look lovely today,” he started casually.

“Still not doing it Princey,” Virgil replied to a question Roman had yet to start building up to.

“He meant well, he just wants…”

“Me to be part of the family, I know!” Virgil groaned as he sat up hugging his knees to his chest. “But I’m not and I’ll never be. You didn't see him when he told me to join dinner. He thinks that I’ll turn into one of you. All soft and optimistic. And he wont have to be scared of me anymore. That can't happen, for everyone's sake. I have to make you guys cautious. So we can't tell him.”

Roman could tell the subject was over. He'd tried to encourage Virgil to let the others in as well a few times. Normally he'd probably push harder, perhaps even until he crossed a line that wasn’t meant to be crossed. Ruining their friendship in the process. But the field was so relaxing, and their friendship was comfortable and safe enough that he felt he could fake his time considering his words. He'd found himself realizing that he kept parts of himself hidden from the others as well. Parts that he feared would make them loose respect for him. Virgil knew about some by now. He had very quickly picked up on how stressed the spotlight made him sometimes. He knew talking about Remus made him feel guilty and terrified though they hadn't talked about the why yet. Anyway, Roman would be a hypocrite if he made Virgil tell the others about his true self if he wasn’t willing to do so himself.

Roman sighed under the heavy atmosphere.

“Hey Virgil?” he asked, a small burst of pride exploding in his chest as he said Virgil's proper name. He was still getting used to it. And he was glad for their battle of the nicknames or he definitely would have slipped in front of the others by now.

Virgil looked up, curious what Roman wanted.. “Yeah?”

“Did you actually listen to my adventure? Cause it gave me a few ideas…”

Virgil chuckled. Roman was probably just looking for an excuse to tell it again. Knowing this Virgil nodded. “Yeah I heard you.” Roman's face fell a little, though he tried to play it off and Virgil grinned teasingly. “But best to make sure I remember all the important details right?”

Roman lit up, not even caring that Virgil just messed with him. He jumped straight into story teller mode.

“So there I was…”

 __________________________________________________________

The Prince found himself once more locked in combat with his arch nemesis.

Theirs was as rivalry written in the stars. An ancient battle between the heavenly lights of goid versus the dark depths of evil.

And he couldn't have asked for a better opponent.

“How long have we been doing this dance? Surrender! You know you cannot win!” he bellowed readying his sword.

“Never! And 5 years today! Don’t pretend you don't know that,” his opponent growled.

The prince gasped, moved. “You remembered!” he exclaimed in awe. He hadn't been sure if the lord of evil cared enough.

“Of course you nitwit,” his foe grumbled a bit flustered before regaining composure. “Now die!”

Both men raised their weapons and charged with a battle cry.

 __________________________________________________________

You are browsing tumblr.

Thomas's latest vine was hillarious. You are probably way too attached to the villain character though. He's existed about 18 seconds. You take comfort in the fact that you are not the only one. There is art and fics about him and the prince popping up everywhere.

And boy do people ship it. Suddenly you see a thread that catches your eye. You start reading.

"Considering how well liked he is, Prince's nemesis should have a name if Thomas isn't going to at least give him a title. I vote Marcus. It sounds badass and it is. It comes from Mars, God of war. All hail to our future overlord."

You chuckle. But Marcus does sound good. The thread continues with another fander stepping in.

"He should have a name. But knowing Thomas I'd think it's Kevin."

If you'd been drinking you would have choked on it. Kevin?

A reply from yet another user. "Let me guess you are one of that idiot Prince's squires? I'm with OP. The dark lord is called Marcus."

Oh this is getting spicy.

"Well you are clearly a henchman. Just look at how the guy is dressed! He looks like a 2000's emo kid. Defenitely a Kevin. XD"

There were more replies of people proclaiming themselves as either squires or henchmen. It's all in good fun. Plenty of laughing emoji's made that clear. You hit reblog and take a moment to consider who you are going to join.

Thomas has no clue what he's started.

Next chapter: By any other name

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [39]

x. fallen

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: language, bleeding, fighting, death, violence, general angst. 

Summary: Bellamy learns the news of Lincoln’s fate, and Octavia lashes out. from Arkadia, Monty calls and asks for help, sending you on a rescue mission.

a/n: hi just a heads up that TOMORROW IS MY BIRTHDAY, so I probably wont be that active!!! the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

Octavia’s cries for Lincoln quickly turn to anger. 

You can see it set in her face, feel it rolling off of her in thick tidal waves, and you know that no matter Octavia does, she’ll get revenge for Lincoln. 

She turns away and walks back to Helios, the mood of the group somber as she takes his lead from Harper and starts to walk to the cave. There’s nothing the rest of you can do except follow, everyone quiet as the rain soaks you to the bone and hides your tears. You feel your heart crack open at the thought of Lincoln being gone, forever, sacrificed to keep his people safe. Nothing you do will bring him, or his quiet wisdom, or his intense sparring sessions, or his kind comfort, back. Lincoln is dead, by Pike’s hand, and you were almost dead too. The same way you want to honor Gina with your life, you want to do the same for Lincoln. All he ever wanted was peace, and a life with Octavia. He’ll never get the latter, but maybe the rest of you can achieve peace in his name, his memory.

At some point, Miller pulls ahead again, and Octavia drops back to walk with you. You know there’s nothing you can say to ease her pain, so you reach out and grab her hand, letting her know that you’re there for her. You walk the rest of the way to the cave hand in hand, but she drops it when you get there so she can tie up Helios.

You follow the others inside, Ocatvia beside you still, and as you come around the corner you see Bellamy. You let out a little gasp at the sight of him, chained up to the wall, unable to go anywhere. He looks relieved when he sees you and Octavia both alive and well, but he catches on to the mood of the group quickly. You see his eyes bounce over everyone one after the next, before he realizes who’s missing. “Where’s Lincoln?”

Octavia turns away from him, pulling her sword, Lincoln’s sword, off her back and setting it on the ground at her feet. You see her fighting back tears as she answers, “Pike put a bullet in his brain.”

“O…” He trails off, begging her to look at him, but she ignores him and pulls her wet jacket off, dropping it on top of the sword. “O, I’m so sorry.”

You can see the change again, can practically feel Octavia pushing her heartbreak down and pulling out her anger instead. It’s lighting fast, but it’s written all over her face, and you have half a second to register the change before she spins around quickly and punches Bellamy across the face. Everyone in the cave shifts slightly, towards Octavia and Bellamy, you included, all eyes on the siblings, waiting to see if you need to intervene. 

The force of Octavia’s punch knocks Bellamy’s head to the side, and he looks up at her in shock, before she punches him again, once with her right fist and then with her left. You step forward, grabbing her arm. “Octavia, stop.”

She turns and pushes you down, blinded by anything but anger, and Kane steps closer to the pair of you. “Octavia, that’s enough.”

Bellamy looks over at him, blood already starting to mark his skin. “Kane, stay out of this.”

Octavia stands panting, watching her brother, before she continues her assault, hitting him wherever she can reach: his arms, stomach, face. You can hear her sobs in between the sounds of the punches, and everyone turns away from the scene, unable to watch. You stay frozen on the ground, still watching, unsure what to do. Miller is the only one still watching alongside you, and as soon as Octavia knocks Bellamy to the ground, he closes the space between them and grabs her arm, pulling her away. “Okay, stop. That’s enough.”

She turns and punches him in the chest, knocking him back, into Bryan’s arms. You scramble to your feet as Bellamy pants, “Miller, back off.”

He pulls himself to his feet, blood all over his face, and as she punches him again you walk towards them, unable to watch anymore. She knocks him to the ground as you reach her, and you wrap your arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. She struggles for a second, tears falling down her face, before she finally goes slack in your arms. She stares down at Bellamy, her face a storm of emotions, and he looks up at her from her spot on the ground. “You’re dead to me.”

You see his face fall, her words devastating him more than her fists ever could. Octavia shrugs you off and storms out of the cave, and everyone stands frozen for a minute, unsure what to do. Bellamy pulls himself into a sitting position, tucking his knees to his chest, and avoids everyone’s gaze as he processes Octavia’s words. You look at Kane and nod in the direction Octavia ran off in, and he nods, standing to follow her. You move to one of the packs and grab a first aid kit, before walking to Bellamy and plopping down in front of him. He glances up just enough to know that it’s you, before dropping his head again. You reach out, tip his chin up so his gaze meets yours, and eye his face.

He’s covered in blood, but you can’t tell where it’s coming from, though you suspect it's from a few places. You reach for the first aid kit and start to wipe away the blood, wordlessly cleaning him up as his eyes roam over your face. As you’re applying antiseptic to his wounds, he whispers, “What happened?”

You glance back, making sure Octavia isn’t nearby, and answer, “Pike said there was going to be an execution today, and if we didn’t turn ourselves in, it’d be the prisoners.”

You see that unreadable expression settle on Bellamy’s face again, and you hate it, how closed off it makes you feel, but you say nothing. He’s quiet as you clean him up, clearly lost in his thoughts, and you struggle with whether to say something to him, or leave him in his head. Ultimately, you keep quiet, deciding to let him process things on his own, for now. When you finish, you stand, turning to leave, but he reaches out to grab your hand, stopping you. “Lexa’s dead. Indra left to meet the new commander.”

You feel the breath leave your lungs as he says it, thinking about Clarke, and the loss of someone special to her. You realize now that you were so focused on Lincoln’s death and Octavia’s reaction that you didn’t even notice Indra’s absence. You nod, thanking him for the information, before returning the first aid kit to the pack and joining the others, passing along the information.

-

Kane returns with Octavia less than an hour later, and they find you all sitting around the fire, talking quietly about nothing. No one wants to address the elephant in the room, or the traitor in the cave, so the conversation is kept to light topics. 

When Kane and Octavia return, they join the circle, and you all fall into silence, turning to look at Kane. “We need to talk about next steps.”

Bryan is the first to speak up. “I say we run two men patrols around the clock, starting now.”

“We'll do that but we should be safe here. The Grounder blockade's too close for Pike to risk looking for us.”

“Yeah, but are we safe from the blockade?”

“As long as we stay on this side of the line, we should be.”

You give Kane a serious look. “None of that will matter if we give Pike to the Grounders.”

Miller agrees, “We take him out, we can go home.”

Kane nods, already on the same page. “That's right. We become the thirteenth clan again. Those were the terms.”

Sinclair shrugs, “Lexa's terms. If what Bellamy said is true and she's dead, how do we know the next commander will honor them?”

“One problem at a time.”

“The only thing that matters now is killing Pike.” Octavia’s voice is flat when she says it, her mind focused only on Pike’s death as she sharpens her sword. 

“Octavia's right. So how do we do it?”

Before anyone can offer up any ideas, a radio to your left crackles to life with Monty’s voice. “Bellamy, come in. It's Monty, I'm in trouble. Please say you still have your radio.”

You pick up the radio, looking at it, and Sinclair puts a hand over yours. “If we respond and Pike's listening-”

Bellamy cuts him off, “Go to channel seven. ‘Please say you still have your radio.’ That's seven words after the word trouble. It's code, go to seven.”

You turn and look at him, scanning his face for any signs of deceit, but you find none. You turn back to Kane, who nods, and you change the channel before passing the radio to him. “Monty, it's Kane. What's wrong?”

“Pike knows that I helped you get out.”

You can hear a sigh of defeat pass through the circle, before Kane asks, “Can you get to the dropship?”

“I think so.”

“Good, go there, I'll bring you in. Stay off the radio. Over and out.”

Harper turns to Kane, looking worried. “Hold on, what if it's a trap and Pike's waiting?”

“That's why I'm going alone.”

Octavia glares and stands when Kane does, “Like hell you are.”

You stand as she says it, adding, “You’ve lost it if you think I’m not going with you.”

Kane looks between the two of you, sighing. “If it is a trap, I'm not marching our entire insurgency into it, so you two and you two alone are coming with me.”

Octavia nods to Bellamy, still chained to the wall, silent since the tip about the radio. “He's coming too. We’ll need a hostage to trade for Monty.”

Kane looks at Bellamy, thinking it over, before agreeing. “That's a good plan. He stays chained, and gag him.”

You turn to Kane is shock, protesting at the same time as Miller. “Kane-”

“Sir, with all due respect-”

Kane cuts you both off, snapping, “He's the enemy. Do what I said.”

“You were the enemy once too. So were we.” You give him a long look, before glancing over at Miller, the only other one on your side, and when he drops his head, you sigh, conceding. “Fine.”

You walk over to one of the packs, pulling out one of the strips of fabric for bandages, before moving back to Bellamy. Miller comes over with the keys to the chain, detaching it from the wall, but keeping it on Bellamy’s hands, and Bellamy stays still the entire time, letting you both work. Miller passes you the keys before he steps back, and you shove them into your pocket. And then you lift the gag to his mouth, whispering, “I’m sorry.”

He lets you slip it between his teeth, and you pull it around to the back of his head, securing it in place. You turn and look at Kane, who grabs one of the rifles, and Octavia, who is busy strapping her sword on her back. You lead Bellamy to the entrance of the cave, waiting for the others, and when they finally appear, Kane tries to pass you the rifle. “In case he acts out.”

You roll your eyes and push it away. “I’m not going to shoot Bellamy. If he runs, he runs.”

He sighs and pulls the strap over his chest, taking it himself, before he nods to the entrance. “Lead the way.”

You turn and grab Bellamy’s arm, leading him out of the cave, Kane and Octavia right behind you. They both have their weapons out, ready to attack if necessary, and you have to resist the urge to say something. Because despite Bellamy being on Pike’s side, he’s not the enemy. Not really. An asshole maybe, blinded by his pain, but not the enemy.

The walk to the dropship doesn’t take long, and before you know it, you can see the remains of the gate up ahead. Kane and Octavia press closer to you, Kane now turning his gun towards Bellamy’s back. You stop just inside the walls, and Kane yells out, “Monty?”

You all wait, listening for a response, eyes searching the camp for a sign of life, but you hear nothing, see nothing. Kane whispers, “We got here first.”

He pushes on Bellamy’s back, urging him forward again, but he only manages to take three steps before Octavia lifts her sword to Bellamy’s throat and mutters, “No we didn't.”

You turn to her in surprise, “Octavia, what are you doing?”

She doesn’t answer you, just keeps her eyes on the dropship door as she yells, “Get outside! Now!”

Monty slips out the door, slowly, hands raised, followed by the barrel of a gun. You glare as Pike comes into view, his weapon trained on the back of Monty’s head, who apologizes. “He followed me. I'm sorry.”

“Let him go, Pike!”

“I can't do that.” He says something into his radio, quiet enough that you can’t hear, and a second later a bullet whizzes towards you, lodging into the dirt by your feet. You all jump in surprise, turning to look at the closeness of the impact, as Pike adds, “It's over. Put down your weapons.”

Octavia whispers, “Shoot him.”

“Monty's in the shot.”

“Come on, Marcus. I promised Monty's mother that I'd bring him home alive. Don't make me a liar.”

You turn and look at Kane, waiting for his instructions, and he lowers his gun as he steps away from Bellamy. You step away too, lifting your hands in surrender, and Octavia protests, “No, don’t.”

Kane pulls his gun off and drops it at his feet, lifting his hands in surrender. Pike glares at Octavia, who still has her sword to her brother’s neck. “Now you.”

She pulls Bellamy closer, wrapping her arm around his neck to get a better angle. You and Kane both protest, but she ignores you. Pike lifts his radio again, and you can see Bellamy tense, both of you guessing what the next command is. Bellamy ducks under Octavia’s arm, twisting it back painfully, forcing her to drop her sword. Pike whistles, and hidden guards move into the camp, making a beeline for all of you. They pull out cuffs to restrain you, while another holds a gun to your head. Bellamy pulls his gag from his mouth as Pike walks towards him, looking him over. “You don't look so good.”

“I'm fine.”

“You’ve got about five seconds to make me believe you're still with me.”

Bellamy deadpans, “All the others are in a cave not far from here.”

You yell out his name, angry that he would sell out the others, just like that. No hesitation at all. He turns to look at you, a flash of something passing over his face, but you can’t tell what. Octavia turns towards Bellamy, just as angry as you are, screaming, “You son of a bitch!”

She runs towards him, ready to attack, and Gillmer pulls out his shock baton and zaps her with it, the force of it taking her to the ground. You try to move towards her, to go check on her, but the guard in front of you steps closer, pressing the gun to your forehead. You look up at him, glaring, lifting your chin in defiance, daring him to pull the trigger. 

“Give me the coordinates.”

You Glance over at Bellamy, gun still pressed to your head, and he shakes his head. “I don't have the coordinates. But I can take you there.”

“Good.” He turns to the other guards. “Gag them.”

The guard in front of you steps away to get a gag, but Gillmer beats him to it, coming to stand in front of you, holding the gag up with a smirk. “Not much of a fighter now, are you?”

You look up at him, eyes landing on his nose, set differently from before, a cut across the bridge of it. You smirk in return, looking up to meet his eyes. “Nice nose. Little crooked now though.”

His smirk drops into a glare and he punches you in the stomach, the force of it sending all the air from your lungs in a whoosh. You double over, letting out a pained groan, and he leans down to whisper in your ear, “Don’t you worry, soon you’ll be just like your friend Lincoln. Dead.”

The words send a wave of rage through you, angered that he’d even say Lincoln’s name, and you try to leap at him, yelling as you do. But the guard at your back expects the move and wraps his arms around you, holding you back as you kick and thrash, trying to get to Gillmer, who stands in front of you, smirking again. Bellamy walks over to him, holding out his hand for the gag. “I’ll do it.”

“No, I can-”

His voice is firm when he cuts him off. “I’ve got it.”

Gillmer slaps the gag into Bellamy’s palm, turning to stalk off, and you calm your fighting enough to let Bellamy approach you. He reaches into your pocket and pulls out the keys to his cuffs, quickly freeing himself before he steps toward you, gag lifted, voice scolding. “Stop fighting.”

“I’m nothing but fight.”

He sighs and holds the gag right in front of your mouth, waiting for you to comply the way he did, and you look down at the gag and back to him before opening your mouth just enough. He slips it between your teeth before reaching back to secure it behind your head. His mouth is right at your ear, and he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

He pulls away, stepping back and turning to nod at Pike, letting him know he’s ready, leaving you to wonder what shitty thing he’s apologizing for, because the list is getting long.

-

You all trudge through the woods back towards the cave, hands cuffed and mouths gagged. Bellmay leads the way, Pike at his side, and you and Octavia follow closely behind them. Her gaze never leaves the back of Pike’s head, staring daggers at him. If looks could kill and all that.

Kane is behind you, and Monty behind him, and the guards are all dotted between you, sticking close. Gillmer is behind you, and you can feel the weight of his gaze on your back, leaving you feeling uneasy. As Pike walks beside Bellamy, you can hear their conversation drift back towards you. “You sure about the route? We're getting close to the blockade line.”

“That's why Kane set up out here. He didn't think we'd risk it.”

We. You feel a wave of nausea roll over you. “Well, he was wrong.”

Bellamy glances back at you and Octavia, and his voice drops slightly, but you can still make out his question. “What's gonna happen to my sister? I know she has to answer for her crimes but-”

You glance at Octavia, watching her glare shift from Pike to her brother. “Tell you what, I'll make you the same promise I made Monty's mother. Immunity for all past actions, but if she screws up again…”

“Oh, she won't. I'll make sure of it. My sister, my responsibility.”

Octavia’s glare deepens, and you can practically feel the scoff she’s trying to hold back. Bellamy glances back again, eyes focusing on you, before turning to Pike. “What about...those that were sentenced to death?”

“I told you, crimes against our leadership can’t be tolerated. Miss Griffin and Kane will die for their crimes. We need to set an example.”

You tense up, turning back to glance at Kane, who seems to understand the conversation being had at the front. Though you expected nothing less from Pike, hearing that your execution will resume as soon as you’re back at camp is not a comforting thing. You turn your gaze back to the front, eyeing the tension in Bellamy’s shoulders, something you’re sure wasn’t there a few minutes ago. 

You watch as he turns off the path to the cave, and starts to walk down a hill, towards the blockade line. Your brows furrow, confused, because this new path takes you away from the cave, not towards it. Pike realizes the closeness of the blockade line, and holds up a closed fist to stop his people. “Hold on.”

“The cave's just on the other side.”

You want to turn and look at Kane, to see if he realizes what’s going on, but you don’t want to risk exposing Bellamy’s intentions. Instead, when Pike gives the order to continue walking, you keep your eyes on the treeline, looking for the Grounders, but saying nothing. 

When you reach the bottom of the hill, a horn echoes through the air, signaling their arrival. “The blockade! Anybody got eyes?”

The guards all spread out, turning in circles, looking for the Grounders that are no doubt hidden in the trees. When they see nothing, Pike yells, “Back to higher ground!”

You glance at Bellamy to judge his reaction, looking over just in time for him to pull Pike’s pistol from his thigh holster and point it at the man. “Drop your weapon!”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Bellamy’s command is so forceful it makes your brows lift in surprise. “Drop your weapon!”

To your right, you see Gillmer turning towards Bellamy, lining up his gun, and you channel all of your force into your hands and hit him in the stomach. While he’s still caught off guard by the move, you hit him hard in the head, splitting your knuckles, knocking him out the way Lincoln showed you. You pull your gag from your mouth and turn to look at Bellamy. 

“We bring you Chancellor Pike of the Sky People!” Bellamy turns to look at his sister, who is still taking everything in. “O, translate.”

She slides her gag from her mouth, and yells, “Osir lid yo in Chansla Paik kom Skaikru!”

Pike glares at Bellamy. “You've killed us all!”

Bellamy ignores him and tells Octavia, “Take him and lift this blockade.”

“Teik em in, ban disha treibloka we!”

All of the guards that are still standing in between your group are shot down, killed with arrows. As they hit the ground, Grounders come towards you from all sides, dropping from the trees, materializing from the bushes, slipping from their camouflage hiding. Octavia leans down and pulls a knife from her boot, one they clearly forgot to take from her when they took your weapons, and she turns towards Pike. 

You realize what she’s going to do and you step towards her, but Kane beats you there, pulling the gag from his mouth to say, “Hey, hey, no. The Grounders are gonna need him alive. They didn't get justice for Finn, so we won't get away with that again.”

Pike, who must have been listening, turns to Bellamy, ready to take his gun. “In that case-”

He is cut off by an arrow flying towards him and lodging into his shoulder, knocking him to the ground, and one of the Grounders descends on him and knocks him out. Four men walk to Pike and each of them grabs one of his limbs, as Kane tries to follow. “Where are you taking him?”

“To the new commander.”

“May I join you?” He pulls up his sleeve, revealing the mark of the coalition. “We're the thirteenth clan.”

“Don't slow us down.”

You step up to Kane and grab his arm to stop him. “Are you sure? We know nothing about the new commander.”

“I'm sure. Go home, tell our people what happened here. Tell Abby…” He trails off, trying to find the right words to say, before shaking his head and giving you a small smile. “I'll look out for Clarke.”

You nod, and he surprises you by stepping forward and pulling you into a hug. It’s quick, almost like he’s embarrassed he even did it, so you smile at him when he pulls away, letting him know you didn’t mind. “May we meet again.”

“May we meet again.” He turns to follow the Grounders, but as he passes Bellamy, he stops. “Did you do this for them? Or because it was the right thing to do?”

“You're welcome.”

As Bellamy tries to walk away, Kane grabs his arm to stop him. “It matters. Until you see that, you'll still be lost.”

You see Bellamy’s jaw clench, before Kane lets him go and turns to leave with the Grounders. Monty is standing nearby, staring down at the dead guards, and Bellamy stops at his side. “My mom turned me in.”

Bellamy glances over at Octavia, and then you. “You're family. You'll work it out.”

Before anyone can say anything else, you hear a groan from the body near your feet, and look down to see Gillmer waking up. Octavia closes the space between them and lifts the knife from earlier and plunges it into his chest. He groans, struggling to breathe for a second before his head lulls to the side, and he takes his last breath. Octavia looks up from his dead body, and you follow her vision over to Bellamy as she mutters, “Jus drein jus daun.”

Blood must have blood. It takes you a second to remember that beyond Gillmer’s usual asshole behavior, he was one of the main guards that threatened Lincoln, and he was the guard that threw a rock at Lincoln at the memorial. You look down at his dead body, and feel no sorrow, glad that he’s gone. 

Octavia wipes the blood from the blade on Gillmer’s shirt, before holding it out to you. “I believe this is yours.”

You finally realize that it’s your Grounder knife, the one the guards took from you when they arrested you. “Thanks, I was wondering if I’d get it back.”

She kneels down and starts stripping the guards for gear, and you grab the holster from Gillmer’s thigh for your knife. As you strap it on, you glance at her. “Wait, how’d you get it?”

“It was on Bellamy when I searched him.”

You hum, but say nothing else, just kneel down to help Octavia take anything useful off the guards. Later, after you distribute the gear between you, Bellamy, Monty, and Octavia, you’re walking back towards the cave, ready to tell the others what happened. Bellamy comes up to walk with you as you lead the way, and you walk side by side in silence for a while, before you finally ask, “Did you only do this for us? Because Kane’s right, if you still agree with everything Pike did and you’d do it all over again, you’re still lost.”

“I didn’t agree with everything he did. I didn’t want to kill the wounded when we went to that army, I saved Indra’s life, I protested the attack on the Grounder village, I spoke up for you and Kane after your sentencing. I came to Octavia to save your life.”

He whispers the last sentence, and you’re reminded of his conflict, and all the times you’ve seen him struggle with the leadership he chose to endorse. You know you should be angry, hold a grudge like Octavia and make him earn your forgiveness, but you don’t have it in you. Not with him, and not after nearly getting executed in the last 24 hours. 

“It’s behind us now. Now, we start over. We’ll fix things in Arkadia and fix our relationship with the Grounders. We can work for peace, real, lasting peace. Build a life and a future that isn’t full of fighting and killing.”

You reach out for his hand, and as you make contact, he pulls away. You look over at him in confusion, and you can see that he’s wound tight, ready to pop. He whispers, “What if I’m nothing but fight? Nothing more than that?”

You shake your head, surprised at the way he twisted your earlier words. “You’re more than that, Bellamy. You always have been. You’re kind, and smart, and strong, and you’d do anything for your people.”And then you see it, the guilt weighing down on him for everything he’s done, the belief that he’s worth nothing more than the fight to survive. “You deserve more than fighting to survive. You deserve peace, too. Happiness. A future.”

“You’re wrong.” He snaps it at you, so fiercely that you feel yourself pull away from him on instinct. He notices right away and his face falls, before he walks away from you in a hurry, dropping back to trail behind the group. 

You glance back at him and then back to the path, nearly at the cave now, and you know there’s nothing you can do at this point. Others will forgive him, some quickly, some slowly, but none of it will matter until he forgives himself. Until then, you can stay by his side, offer your support, and hope he sees that.

-

next chapter

[teamvnla]

Cutscene ; Turnabout

“Do I look familiar?” The doctor asked in a soft tone, his eyes looked over Kashmere’s face. He had certainty grown, yet there were still distinctive features the shown through.

Kashmere stared at the man, his mind abuzz. Something about him looked so familiar, yet the young Faunus could swear he had never seen him before...however there was a chance that it was true that he knew the man and that HE didn’t know him. He took a tentative sip of his water.

“You look quite familiar, what’s your name?” Fir pressed on, there was no doubt in his mind of who the boy who sat before him was. He had never expected a reunion, let alone one like this. The lack of recognition in the boy’s eyes showed no sign of a front. What had happened to him?

“....my head hurts…” He mumbled, lips grazing against the plastic rim of the water bottle.

“Ah, of course. Just wait here a moment, I have just the thing.” He stood with a gentle smile, Kashmere couldn’t quite place his finger on how to feel about it unless the aftertaste at the back of his tongue was any sign. Once the man had left the room Kashmere steadied himself, pressing his ear to the door for any sign of movement on the other side. Receiving a response of silence, he slipped from the room taking the bottle with him doing his best to casually make his way out of the hospital.

He nearly flinched at the screech of his earpiece only now noticing that it had been inactive, however he didn’t hear any voices. There was no way he wouldn’t be getting an earful had it actually been working, maybe they had some faulty equipment. He tried to push what the doctor had said to him from his mind, whether that man knew whatever was before who he was now didn’t matter...right? Despite his attempts the lingering questions and familiarity remained in his mind.

————

“What the hell happened back there?!” There was the earful the porcupine had been waiting for, though he hadn’t expected it the minute the door behind him closed.

“I felt sick..” He muttered, pulling the earpiece out of his ear, “That wasn’t much help anyways.” He added tossing the earpiece onto the coffee table, while Opal was ready to give Kash a lecture on the importance of maintaining a connection to your home base Russ was quick to swipe up the earpiece cracking it open with a small pair of tools. Opal’s head swiveled upon hearing the other boy break apart a piece of her equipment, though before she could spiral into a new lecture she appeared to come to the same conclusion Russet just had.

“It’s totally fried.”

“..it wasn’t just a simple dead zone..” She muttered a manicured nail held between her teeth, the annoyed expression left the beautiful woman's face replaced with a furrowed brow as she found herself returning to her desk quickly typing eyes roaming the multitude of tabs opened. Upon seeing Russet make his way over to join the older women pointing over her shoulder and commenting on something, Kash decided to make his way outside to the balcony figuring the cold air would help him think.

He leaned forward against the balcony, slipping the water bottle from his coat pocket tracing a finger over the label of the bottle,it wasn’t like it was going to aid their job anyway, but knowing that no one from the hotel room had seen the interaction between that man and himself made his thoughts muddle up. He let out a puff of air letting his head come down a rest against the cool metal of the railing, it was soothing against the warmth of his forehead.

“...Maybe I should just start smoking like Van..” He chuckled to himself.

“Quite a nasty habit, hard one to quit at that.” He felt the tips of his quills bump up against his shirt upon hearing the sudden voice, but from the accent alone Kashmere could tell who had entered the balcony, he hadn’t even felt her approach though that wasn’t unusual for a certified Hunteress. “What’s on your mind, boy?” Tarragon asked with a warm smile, unlike when Leo referred to them as ‘kid’ or ‘boy’ to Kash hearing the older women call him ‘boy’ felt anything but condescending.

“Dunno, just thinking…” It wasn’t even a good excuse, he turned leaning back against the railing to face Tarragon. His gaze rolled over her analytically, out of the three hunters they were traveling with he had decided Tarragon was his favorite. The questions she asked never seemed to have an ulterior motive. He was a people watcher, see, when you aren't too sure who you are taking on others personalities is lot easier than you'd think. Tarragon's personality was far kinder what he had expected when he first met her, that was besides the point. The Faunus paused, gaze shifting to the building nearby. "The thing is….I have this gap in my memory...I wouldn't really call it a gap though. Its more like...like falling asleep at the beginning of a movie and waking up in the middle. So, you try to piece together your own plot from the pieces around you." He ran a hand through his hair failing to remain casual upon explaining his situation.

Tarragon watched the boy's expression, for being so stoic Kashmere was still very expressive in his own ways. Having this team around who happened to be the same age as her own child, really reinforced her reason for taking on this job with such vigor. Her thoughts shifted as his words came to stop and his gaze moved back to her looking for a reaction to go off of. Bring a hand to her chin she mulled over the new information. "So now you're wonderin' if the plot line you've come up with is anythin' close to the original?"

"I don't care about the original plot line." Kashmere was quick to respond, lips pressing together in a thin line after, it made Tarragon wonder if he was saying to convince her or himself. “I mean...why should I care? I have everything else set up just fine around me, what does the past matter?” He clearly struggled with the new emotions bubbling in his chest, he shot his gaze away taking a deep breath attempting to regain the aloof composure he was known for.

“Kash,” She began softly, “Are you worried that whatever happened that you don’t remember is going to change you?” She tilted her body trying to put herself back into his view, his gaze glanced to her briefly making eye contact. “I can assure you it wont, you’re a bright boy with a strong personality and will. Finding out what you don’t know ain’t gonna change ya, if anythin’ it’ll just make ya even more sure of who you are in this moment.” She spoke warmly and encouragingly.

“So..you’re saying I should find out.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t.”

“Sometime’s speaking to you is like solving a riddle.” Kash commented with a huff, he couldn’t tell if his thoughts were less muddled than before or if they had just gotten worse.

“How sweet, well my dear boy join the rest of when you’re ready. We’re ‘bout to have supper, you deserve a warm meal after a hard day of work.” She responded with a wave over her shoulder as she turned to exit the balcony.

Kash leaned against the railing further tilting his gaze up to stare at the darkened sky for a moment longer, what he wouldn’t give to be a bird and not have to deal with breaks from the mundane.

———

A few days had passed before Lye was being suited up for another appointment, Kash had yet to be called on for another exploration into the hospital and given few chances to be sent on reconnaissance either. He was practically bouncing at the chance to do something instead of given more times to stew in his thoughts, even his best friend was too busy to have a conversation.

“Russ, I’m probably going to head out to see if there anything I can find out from that lead from the other day.” He approached the redhead who was switching between typing away at his laptop and writing notes down. “It’s the one from the old hag who kicked you out of her shop,” He chuckled remembering the jokes they had made after the incident. “Wanna join?”

“Ah..” Russet finally looked up from the screen, a hand came to the side of his neck rubbing as he tilted his head. “Sorry man, Opal gots me workin’ cracking pass some of the firewalls for a lot of the restricted areas. Van might be willing to go with you though?”

“Yeah, Van..” Kashmere nodded nearly shocked that the person who knew how to read him the best couldn’t see the disappointment written across his face, the canine Faunus shot him a smile before returning to his work.

——-

He made his way to the living room which had been converted to the main hub of the operation, Opal was briefing Lye on the particular details she would need for the job today. He figured it would be best to make it quick.

“Lye, do you know where Van is?” He stepped in glancing towards one of the tablet screens with a feed of code he couldn’t quite understand.

“I don’t, and frankly I don’t care.” The curt response quickly reminded Kashmere of the tension still remaining between the Marigold twins. Mood clearly soured Lye purse her lips, turning her attention back to Opal. “Sorry, kinda busy right now Kash.”

He gave a silent nod taking it as his cue to see his way out, he knew she was pissed at Van, but a simple no would have been enough to send him on his way.

———

Kashmere poked his head into the penthouse kitchen where both Jae and Leo were mulling over blueprints of the hospital.  “Have you guys seen Van?” He asked, feeling as if he was interrupting despite it feeling like the millionth time he had walked in on the pair going over blueprints.

“I saw him earlier..I think he was heading out.” Jae glanced towards Kash while the only reply Leo had was a gruff shrug.

“He went with Tarragon on some reconnaissance.”

“Oh.”

Titus queried a brow at the blunt response, he figured that the boy would be more happy to receive an answer. “I can tell you where they were heading, I don’t think they’d mind the extra set of hands.” He added feeling a sense of the pity for the young hunter.

He nodded almost hesitantly, he headed out after receiving the coordinates though once a block away from the hotel he stopped abruptly. Staring at the ad of the great owl tucked in amongst the branches of the tree, in that moment his conversation with Tarragon flashed in his head and before he knew it his route had changed in the direction for the hospital.

———

Kashmere knew what cameras the team had their screen focused on, he also knew the routes that they had gone over using. Combining bits pieces he managed to assemble a route straight to the head office, were it not for the waves of nausea and the thumping in his chest he would’ve been quite proud of himself for doing so. The route he took was practically a cake walk, maybe he’d have to give the team the signal that it was far easier to infiltrate than they had originally thought.

He swallowed hard staring at the grand oak door before him, he could feel a cold sweat forming on the back of his neck. The door struck had something deep within him that he couldn’t place his finger on, instead of dwelling on the feeling he grasped the gold handle and pushed the door open.

“We need to talk.” He stated the door shutting behind him, facing the old man sitting at a large desk with a beaming smile quite the opposite of the tense expression the young Faunus wore.

“I was worried for a moment you wouldn’t return.” Fir stood gesturing to one of the lush seats in the middle of the office. “May I offer you some tea before we start, chamomile is known to help ease nausea.”

[skgway]

1823 Aug., Tues. 5

7

11

In the stable etc. 1/2 hour – Read from page 71 to 83 on “the letters and life of Ninon de l’Enclos” volume 8 (No. [numero] 15) Retrospective Review – I agree with the reviewer – some fastidious readers may possibly object to the publication of such an article thro’ such a medium –

Dissatisfied with several passages of the letter I wrote last night to M– [Mariana]. Wrote it over again in 3/4 hour in a hand so much less close, that in spite of the great deal left out, made it fill 3 pages and a few lines of crossing on the 2nd page – There seemed some appearance of annoyance and displeasure in my 1st letter which I entirely avoided in my 2nd –

Went down to breakfast at 9 40/60 – At 11 took George in the gig and set off to Haugh – Put a letter into the post for my uncle, and got to Haughend in 50 minutes – All the party at home with the addition of “Captain” Butler, a very grood sort of, vulgar, quondam Captain of an Indiaman – The young people did not appear till luncheon –

Sir John A– [Astley] franked my letters to Mrs. N[orcliffe] (Langton hall, Malton) to Miss Marsh (Micklegate York) and to M– [Mariana] (Lawton hall, Lawton, Cheshire) and they went in the Haughend letter bag in time for yesterday’s post – Nothing particular in the conversation way –

Sir John somehow or other inquired if I believed all Homer’s stories, or that there ever was such a place as Troy, or such a siege – I saw he had read Bryton or some sceptic on the subject and was very gentle in what I said in support of my historical creed – At last Sir John (after some flimsy observation) tried to shew that women were as much respected in ancient days as now – Briseis as much respected by Achilles, as wives were respected by their husbands now – Woman as well treated then as now – He (Sir John) would have treated lady A– [Astley] as well at that time as he does at this – I did not say much, not wishing to appear to have too much the better of the question argument for none said a word about it but ourselves, and Sir John is evidently looked up to as an oracle by them all, tho’ his responses will never set the Thames on fire by their wisdom –

He complimented his wife exceedingly – In fact, she is pretty enough, stylish enough, sensible enough, everything enough for him – Speaking of their place of family, she observed she “always thought the Astleys were an envied family in Wiltshire” “My dear” said he “they envy me for having got you” –

It is plain enough to me from their manners etc. etc. that they not exactly comme il faut with the Wiltshire county society – They have had the house in London that Sir Jacob Astley and his family had had, and many calls were therefore made upon them by mistake – They returned some – Were admitted at one house, the manners of the ladies shewed they were not expected, and the A– [Astley]s took their leave – A party was soon afterwards given by the family, and they (the A– [Astley]s) were not asked – They do not get on in London society – Nor as yet perhaps are they likely to do – Nor will Miss A– [Astley] even after “she has been presented” (at court) –

Lady A– [Astley] has not worldly nous enough to keep all these things to herself – Thinks Mrs. William Henry Rawson very ladylike, Ditto Mr. Christopher Rawson – The manners of the Society here suit the A– [Astley]s very well – Captain Butler it seems has had 1 or 2 premiums from the Doncaster society (I know nothing of this society) for feeding horses – Kept his draft-horses throughout the winter at 3/5 a head on chopt straw and line-seed – His saddle horses only cost him about 5/. [shillings] a week having nearly the same as the cart-horse with the addition of a little hay and corn –

Boils down the linseed to the consistence of cream – Perhaps about 2 quarts water to a pint of lineseed – Mixes this with their oats or chopt straw to a proper  (a mashy?) consistence, and gives them as much as they will eat – A chopping machine at Doncaster 7 1/2 guineas – Try our horses with about 2 wine-glasses full of linseed at first – Merely pour on boiling water – and let the seed stand till it is mucilaginous –

This plan is good for feeding cattle – It is the way in which dealers fatten up horses – But it wont do for hunters, or horses from which speed is required – The linseed works away to greasy perspiration – Runs out of the anals like melted fat – They must have good hay and corn for speed – But cart-horses do uncommonly well on this food – 

They all like Caradoc – Think him “a very likely horse” – His toes turn in a little: this is best for a gig-horse – If the toes turn at all outwards, the gig horse can scarcely ever keep his feet – He cannot hold up up hill and down – 

Staid till about 3 – Called at Saville hill to ask Miss P– [Pickford] whether, when she called with me at Haughend, she meant to call on lady A– [Astley] or not – Not – Asked her to come to Shibden to see Caradoc’s long switch tail cut – She would meet me at the library in 1/2 hour –

At 4 1/4 – drove thro’ the town, past Northgate, and Crosshills, and turned up by Greenhill, stopt at Furnish’s, and got a pair of new reins 10/6 – Left George to drive the gig home from Northgate, and without going into the house, went to the library – Shewed Miss P– [Pickford] the article respecting Ninon de l’Enclos (vide the 1st line of today) and the points of Humour (vide page 79) – She agreed with the retrospective reviewers, and with me that the soldier and his chére amie was the best print –

She walked home with me to the top of our little lane, but must there return for the children who would come to meet her – We walked about on the top of the bank – My aunt joined us – She left us in about 20 minutes (at 6) – 

We then walked to H–x [Halifax] – Miss P– [Pickford] returned with me up the old bank even to xxxxxx. I walked back again with her a little way up the Cunnery lane, when we met her party of children – 3 Wilcocks, 2 Paleys, and Miss Jones the governess, and we parted –

Our chief conversation about Miss Threlfall and my entreaties to see her last letter. Nothing could prevail till at last I asked if she feared its telling me anything I did not know before. On finding this the case, I said I would soon sooner move this fear by proving that I was not as still suspected in any degree of uncertainty. 

I wondered she did not know this already, but I had wrapped up my meaning too much and she should now have it so clearly that no doubt could possibly remain in her mind. Upon this I said I considered her connection with her friend a marriage of souls and something more. That if they were on a visit and their friend provided them separate rooms it would be unnecessary and they would presently defeat this arrangement by being together. 

Under other circumstances it would have been a wonder that with beauty fortune etc. etc. Miss Threlfall did not marry but now it was no wonder at all. Asked Miss P[ickford] if she now understood me thoroughly. She said yes. I said any would censure unqualifiedly but I did not. If it had been done from books and not from nature, the thing would have been different. Or if there had been any inconsistency first on one side of the question, then the other. But as it was, nature was the guide, and I had nothing to say there was no parallel between a case like this and the sixth satire of Juvenal. The one was artificial and inconsistent the other was the effect of nature and always consistent with itself.

At all events, said I, ‘you remember an early chapter of genesis and it is infinitely better than the thing alluded to there,’ meaning onanism. ‘This is surely comparatively unpardonable. There is no mutual affection to excuse it’. Miss P[ickford] did not say much but seemed satisfied. 

‘Now,’ said I, ‘the difference between you and me is mine is theory. Yours practice. I am taught by books, you by nature. I am very warm in friendship, perhaps few or none. Moreso, my manners might mislead you, but but I do not in reality go beyond the utmost verge of friendship. Here my feelings stop. If they did not, you see from my whole manner and sentiments I should not care to own it. Now do you believe me?’ ‘Yes,’ said she, ‘I do.’ 

‘Alas,’ thought I to myself, ‘you are at last deceived completely.’ My conscience almost smote me but I thought of π [Mariana]. It is for her sake that I fisrt [first] thought of being, and that I am so deceitful to poor Pic, who trusts me so implicitly and at last turned no objection to my seeing the letter. I said perhaps there was not another in the world she could trust so safely. Perhaps not Miss Caroline Renouard, she was not read or liberal enough tto [to] think as I did. She would condemn unqualifiedly. Pick agreed. 

I owned my manners might mislead people, particularly before I knew as much as I do now, before I read Lubinus’s Juvenal, before I first knew Miss Brown of whom she has heard reports. But now I knew how to be more careful. Yet still, my manners might mislead Miss Vrelfall [Threlfall]. She said, ‘yes they would’ –

I ended by saying I was now satisfied that she thoroughly understood me and that I had had an opportunity of telling her my sentiments, for she must often have wondered and not known what to make of me. We parted mutually satisfied, I musing on what had passed. I am now let into her secret and she forever barred from mine – Are there more Miss Pickfords in the world than I have before thought of –

Came in to dinner a little before 7 – Had ordered George to have the gig ready a little before 9 in the morning to go to Huddersfield to speak to Pontey about coming over to plan our new road to the house, etc. – But finding my uncle against it contrary to my expectation – (I had always thought all he said against it in joke) – I immediately countermanded the order very quietly determining never to mention the thing again – Nor to mention planting or otherwise improving the place –

I told my uncle very quietly I certainly would not teaze him any more on the subject; and I shall indeed change my mind, if I do – The thing absolutely did not annoy me at all – I immediately thought to myself, ‘perhaps it is best as it is – I incur no responsibility – etc. etc.’ Perhaps I may save my money in future instead of laying it out on the place and leave things as they are –

Barometer 1 3/4 degrees below changeable Fahrenheit 56º at 9 p.m. – Rainy morning till between 10 & 11, afterwards a shower or 2 which I escaped and otherwise a toleraby fine day i.e. fine afternoon and evening – Came upstairs at 10 25/60. E [two dots, treating venereal complaint] O [three dots, signifying much discharge] Missed washing just before dinner –

Miss Pickford called this morning and sat a little while with my aunt – She brought me Samouelle’s system of Entomology to read –

[sideways in margin] Major P– [Priestley], speaking of horses that went near the ground, called daisy-croppers – i.e. going so near the ground as to crop or strike off the tops of the daisies – Drove along the new road today for the 1st time

“the soldier and his chére amire“– Points of humour; illustrated by the designs of George Cruikshank [x]

[thotsforvillainrights]

~Perfect Birthday~

Au: Kaishi

Part: twelve

Theme: Fluff? Comedy? Who knows lol

(These 2 are going on an adventure)

"Buttercream? No that wont do. Vanilla with a touch of banana or Strawberry? Shoot! What about...hmmm...." You focused on the ingredients so hard that you were developing a light headache. Meanwhile, your husband sat across from you at the kitchen table, scrolling through his laptop for themes and present ideas. "Y/N, just settle on chocolate and call it a day." Kai announced while his eyes hovered on a Circus theme. He shuddered lightly at the thought of animals being involved. 'Absolutely not' he thought to himself. You sighed and put the ingredients list down. "I cant settle on Chocolate. I'm worried that someone might have an allergy to it. I'm also so worried about the vegan adults that might be here. What about the picky eaters too? Kai, I feel like I'm going insane right now." You gripped the sides of the chair you sat on. He peeked up at you and notices your incoming distress. He sighed and stood up to move behind you. He softly gripped each of your shoulders and began to give you an impromptu massage. "Stop worrying so much about it so much, Angel. Just do chocolate cake since its the brat's favorite flavor. We can go with a vegan cupcake option that should be safe for the people with chocolate allergies as well. As for the others, there will be other food and even beverage options. You're working so hard for people I dont even care about. This is all for my son and no one else but him. His happiness is my only concern."

You sighed and reached up to place a hand on your husband before turning to smile sweetly at him. "Kai, you're being sweet today." You teased him and he scoffed. "Anyway, I know you only want to focus on Kaishi but having other kids here for the first time, other than Ishida, is like his dream come true. It took me a lot of time to get on the parents good sides. It took a lot of time for them to want to bring other kids around Kaishi because if the yakuza affiliations. Had it not been for the fact that you've began working into charity for the city, I dont think anyone would've given us a chance. Bow we have parent friends, and now Kaishi has a chance for an amazing birthday this year. Let's not mess this up, okay? That means NO EXCESSIVE GERMAPHOBIA, and NO ANTISOCIAL BEHAVIOR okay?" You drilled it home at the end. He sighed in annoyance. "Ugh fine. I'll try to conversate with the other scum as if they never insulted the yakuza before. You had better be lucky I appreciate you and Kaishi at this point or this wouldn't be happening." Kai complained before pulling his medical mask down and kissing you lightly on your lips. "You two are being icky again. I'm going to tell Grandpa on you guys." Kaishi's voice brought you two back to reality. "Oh hush, and mind your business." Kai said as he ruffled his son's short hair playfully. Kaishi giggled and swatted the gloved hand away. He took a seat at the kitchen table next to Kai's laptop and peeked over to see what was on the screen. While you went to fix him some oatmeal, his father bolted to the seat and slapped the laptop closed. "No peeking. Havent you any manners?" Kai fussed lightly while Kaishi smiled. "Its okay daddy, I already know you two are planning my birthday for tomorrow." The boy said proudly. "That may be so, but it doesnt mean we cant at least surprise you with the decorations and food." Kai explained. You placed breakfast in front of Kaishi and sat down with your boys. Pops had just entered the kitchen at this point. "Family breakfast? Dont mind if I do." He smiled and took a seat next to you. "Grandpa, what will you give me for my birthday?" Kaishi asked excitedly. Kai flicked his cheek. "Dont be rude brat, respect your elders." He scolded him as Pops laughed. "Oh calm down, Chisaki my boy. My grandson is very calm at this age compared to how you used to act." Pops said with a smirk as you laughed and Kai blushed lightly with embarrassment. "Anyway, my Grandchild your gift will have to remain a surprise until tomorrow." Pops winked and Kaishi groaned. "Aw man. Well, mom/dad? What will you get me?" He turned to look at you in anticipation. You put a finger to your chin to think for a second. Then you snapped and made an 'Ah-Ha' expression. "I'm going to get you a fancy suit! Maybe I'll get some toys too. Just maybe, you'll have to wait and see." You teased him and he smiled. "Daddy, what about you?" He looked at Kai for an answer. "Just like Pops said, it will be a surprise. However, I'll take the time now to ask you what you want as a gift from all of us. It'll serve separately from the gifts we'll get you so dont worry." Kai watched his son expectantly as Kaishi searched his little mind. Seconds later he piped up excitedly:

"SMOOGLY!!!" He shouted happily and raised his arms dramatically in the air. You and Pops laughed while Kai tilted his head in confusion. "Smoo-what? Are you well? Are you speaking in tongues???" Kaishi giggled at his father's confusion. You turned towards Kai to explain. "Kai, Smoogly is a character from Kaishi's favorite show. He's this giant lollipop that dances and sings. Yknow, kids love that stuff." Kai stared at you for a second before nodding. Then he turned his attention back to Kaishi eating breakfast finally. "Alright then, you want Smoogly then that's what you'll get." After breakfast, Kaishi went to call Ishida on the phone. You monitored in awe, gushing as your baby talked to his little crush over the phone. The two were fast friends, and she was the first/only child in the class to accept and support Kaishi to the fullest degree. Meanwhile, Pops went to the backyard to water the flowers and feed the Koi in the pond. Kai headed out to the car to call Kurono/pick him up. "Chrono, I know I've given you the off day but I need a favor." Kai spoke on the car wireless phone while he drove. "Yeah man, what's up?" Hari answered from the other side. He was currently face deep in a 3rd bag of chips as he reclined on his sofa. "The brat's birthday is tomorrow and it's his first big one with other parents and children expected to be there. He wants some actor there to perform or something. Some thing called Smogie or Smothly or something like that."

"OHHHHH!!!! You're talking about Smoogly!" Hari shouted excitedly, his voice boomed over the car speakers. "Yeah whatever that mess is. Anyway, help me track him down and I'll give you tomorrow off to repay you from today. You can also have some leftover cake." Kai offered him. "Bet!" Kurono answered shortly before hanging up and getting ready. In moments Kai was at his door to retrieve him. The two men drove around for a bit while Kurono did some searching online. Lucky for him, it wasn't that hard to find Smoogly's booking information. "Found it, Kai. It says here that we can email and make a down payment, or call the home offices for a response in about...14 days." Kai almost slammed on the breaks. "14 days??? No that's not possible for a booking that could be denied. My Kaishi's birthday is tomorrow. We need to get this Smoogly there as soon as possible." He felt a bit of panic set in. Kai would never forgive himself if he couldn't get his son's biggest wish for his birthday. "Hey man chill. We'll just go to his office and speak to him directly. I mean, we've got a little pull when it comes to money. Also, we're yakuza so..."

"I know what you're thinking Chrono, and the answer is no. We cant push too many buttons or we'll end up leaving the gray area in which we operate in. I cant afford to get arrested on Kaishi's birthday." Hari rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Whatever man. Just take a left onto the main freeway and we should reach the exit in like 30 minutes. After that, we just follow the main road for 4 more minutes, take a right at the stop light, and turn off the Broadway drive. Smoogly's office should be right between a steak restaurant and a car dealership." Hari explained the directions. Kai nodded and the two were on their way. Once they made it to the offices, they took a number and sat in the waiting room. The wait wasnt uncomfortable to Kai...it was the old man across from them that kept coughing that made him uncomfortable. He felt hives pop up on his arms. Luckily the two were called before he went insane! Only minutes later they were standing before a chubby man smoking a cigarette behind a desk. He had dark hair, and was balding right in the middle of his head. His skin was just a step away from being super pale (no doubt because he had the costume on a lot) His noticable feature was the large mole on his cheek. He was clearly a foreigner from some city somewhere, thanks to his accent.

(!!!Reader, think about Carl from Aqua Teen Hunger Force!!!)

"Alright, what can I do for you two men? Wait a minute, you two are the tax guys right?"

"Uhhh, no. No we're here to inquire about an opening to hire you? The pay will of course be-"

"Yeah yeah yeah. Pay doubled blah blah. I've heard this a million times before. I get bastards like you that come in here every single day asking to pay extra just so I can come to your event. The moms are even worse since they also think they're entitled to my services." The chubby man interrupted Kai. "Please. It's my son's birthday. You see, this birthday is special because he's never had-"

"Pshhh...yeah buster, you're kid is special. Just like everyone else that's come in here before you to say the same thing. Bottom line is that I ain't doing it. If you want my services than file through email or take it up with the front desk. Deposits non-refundable if you get denied. Have a nice day." He put out the cigarette and picked up a rather inappropriate nude magazine. Kai looked at Chrono and sighed as if to say Hari can take over. Hari smiled darkly and went to approach the desk. The chubby man hadn't looked up from the magazine as he spoke. "Look man, I said piss off. What, you didnt get the picture the first time or-" he immediately froze and turned his attention to Hari when he heard the click of the gun. When he turned, he was staring down the glock.

Hari spoke up darkly. "Hey buddy, I'm a changed man but that doesn't mean shit is sweet. I've killed a dozen people before and I'm not afraid to go to prison. Either you do my nephews birthday party tomorrow, or we wear your face on a memorial T-Shirt. Fuck is it gonna be? Eh???" The man gulped and shakily reached his finger out to the voice machine on his desk. "Deborah cancel all my appointments tomorrow, I've got a birthday to go do." Hari and Kai smiled when they heard the voice reply 'Right away, sir.' They bid the man goodbye and left the office. The next day, Kaishi rushed to the backyard after taking a quick shower and getting ready. It was decorated beautifully with bounce houses, a splash area, party games, an extensive food/present table, swings, slides, etc. Most importantly, the parents actually showed up with their kids. Kaishi almost cried tears of happiness when he finally had friends to play with. Meanwhile, you and Pops chatted with the other parents until Smoogly arrived to perform. The kids absolutely loved every bit! Every once in a while, the Lollipop turned to look at Kurono standing in the corner, smirking menacingly and daring him to slip up just once. Smoogly quickly turned around and kept performing. At the end of his shift, he was paid extra just as Kai promised, and Kaishi got to take a picture with him. Finally it came time for presents. Kaishi was happy to receive so many gifts, but he was more eager to get his gifts from you, Kai, and Pops (even Hari got him a secret gift at the last minute). Kaishi smiled at the wooden box Pops had given him. When he opened it, it revealed a small pin on a soft cushion. It was shiny and brand new. It was the symbol of the Hassaikai, the infamous flower design. "My grandson, when your father was younger I had given him this very same gift. Please be sure to take good care of it." He gently placed a hand on Kaishi's head. The boy nodded excitedly and passed the box for you to hold while he opened up the remaining gifts. It was a surprise jacket from you to him. It was just a smaller version of Kai's jacket! Plus that suit you promised, and a few other Smoogly themed toys as well. From Hari, he recieved a new helmet for his new bike. Finally from Kai he received a matching mask. With the suit and the jacket, he was the matching embodiment of his very on father (aside from inheriting some of your skin tone depending on your color, my dear reader).

This was truly the perfect birthday.

»—————————–———————————————————–✄

TIp Jar: https://cash.app/$YuTakeyama

[glon-morski]

FF XV - the missing reconciliation post chapter 10

Alright, everyone who has ever played FFXV knows the game’s not perfect. Whether you love it or hate it, the game has some issues you can’t just pretend not to see. I personally adore the game, but that doesn’t mean I wave away its issues. Especially not the glaring ones, like the story-telling, which really could use some work at times, what with all the ‘missing scenes that should be there’, the plot holes and stuff.

One such moment of ‘atrocious story-telling’, as is widely accepted as fact by fans and haters alike, is in the second half of the game: the rather infamous chapter 10 and the chapters that follow. For context reminder, chapter 10 of FFXV’s story is right after the catastrophe that is the covenant with Leviathan in Altissia. It’s the chapter about Cartanica, the chapter where our four main characters (and friends) are at odds with each other, treating each other to stony silences unless they’re arguing, the latter being especially the case of Noctis and Gladio, with Gladio throwing a few quite vicious comments Noctis’s way. With everything that happened right before, the character dynamics in this chapter really hit hard. By the end of the chapter, Ignis has had enough and snaps, telling basically everyone off for being at each other’s throats during a time when they should be more united than ever. And after that… things pretty much go back to normal in the group. Which is all well and good, except for one thing. The arguing, and Gladio’s vicious attitude especially, may come a little out of nowhere, but it’s still understandable if one puts just a little thought into it. Noct is grieving Luna’s death and blaming himself both for the fact she died and likely also Ignis’s blindness, he’s overwhelmed by his emotions which cause him to shut himself off emotionally. Gladio is feeling guilty, too. He is Noctis’s Shield and it is his duty to protect him, with his life if he has to. But he hasn’t been there to protect him after Leviathan was dealt with and Ignis did his job for him, getting severely injured in the process. That shouldn’t have happened. In Gladio’s mind, Noctis either should have been strong enough to not need Ignis to protect him (and making him able to defend himself is Gladio’s job as well, since he’s been training Noct since he was a kid), or Gladio should have been there to protect him instead of Ignis. But he wasn’t. He had failed as a Shield and he’s reminded of that fact and the guilt that comes with it every time he looks at Ignis or Noct. And Gladio had always covered up his negative emotions, guilt included, with anger. So he lashes out. It comes a bit out of nowhere and takes some thought to understand, but it’s not something that can’t be figured out.

The sudden shift back from the end of chapter 10 to chapter 11, however, is less acceptable and as far as I know, everyone was saying how the reconciliation was poorly handled and there should have been at least a short scene where Gladio apologizes to Noct, if nothing else. A scene where they talk it out, where the argument actually gets closure and we can believe the characters move on. We don’t get any of that, though, and it’s apparently a ‘narrative nightmare’, which is likely the main reason there are so many ‘missing scene’ fanfics out there that attempt to rectify it, to write a fitting scene that could actually connect the character’s attitudes from the end of chapter 10 to chapters 11-13. And honestly, for the longest time, I agreed with that assessment, because there really should be a proper reconciliation scene.

Unless there shouldn’t be. Unless it’s not a ‘narrative issue’ this time, but something that has been done on purpose. Because what if… Please consider, what if Noctis and his crew didn’t actually properly make up before the end of chapter 13 and Noct’s ten-year-long absence?

Hear me out.

I) “Guys Don’t Talk About Feelings”

Fair point, and it does stand to reason considering what we see in the game. Noctis is the kind to clam up and he doesn’t talk easily, Gladio and Ignis pretend they don’t feel much of anything (except anger in Gladio’s case) and Prompto hides everything behind his happy-go-lucky joker mask. So yeah, a valid assumption to make. Except that it’s not true, because there are instances where the boys talk about feelings and Noct in particular is willing to have these kinds of conversations, even if he doesn’t always (or ever) initiate them. Proof in the game itself include:

- the talk with Prompto when you sleep at a motel and he ends up opening up about his insecurities. Sure, you can have Noct answer in an absolutely dickish manner and conform to the stereotype, but the game rewards you for having Noct listen to his friend, take him seriously and reassure him, which in all honesty sounds a lot more like Noct to me anyway. Sure, the guy can be a bit standoffish at times, particularly in the anime, but there’s no denying he cares and he’d never be a dick to his friends on purpose.

- post-credit scene of Episode Ignis, where Ignis is the one to open up a little (he opens the conversation with a broken ‘we have lost so much’, you can’t tell me the entire exchange isn’t driven by emotion even if part of it is Ignis testing Noct’s resolve) and offers Noctis to abandon their journey. Noctis refuses.

- post-credit scene of Episode Prompto, when Noctis properly apologizes to Prompto over what happened on the train and reconciles with him before they talk about ‘uniting all of Eos’ so no one has to suffer like Prompto has simply because they happened to be born in a different country.

So no, the boys do talk about feelings. Maybe not often and maybe not always as extensively as some would prefer, but they do talk about it when it really matters. Most of the time.

II) Chapter 11 Loading Screen

As FFXV is wont to do, instead of showing us stuff to connect chapters of the story together, we get loading screens with a short text, so more of a ‘tell not show’ approach. Which is a shame, but in this particular instance, it works to my advantage as far as analyzing stuff goes. Here’s the loading screen in question:

This is a peculiar word choice, isn’t it? ‘Ignis’s resolve forces a reconciliation’. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you can’t actually force a reconciliation. It doesn’t work that way. You can force two people to stop arguing all the time, maybe, but you can’t force them to see eye-to-eye, you can’t force them to apologize and mean it, you can’t force them to make up. Ignis’s words and resolve could and definitely did force Noctis and Gladio to see how stupid they were being, how they shouldn’t be divided at this point in time… but it can’t force them to forgive and forget. Especially if you consider Gladio’s reactions.

After Ignis’s outburst, he’s still angry. He doesn’t outwardly agree with allowing Ignis to come along, but he also doesn’t bite back at his words how it’s not up to Gladio to decide when Noctis will take up the mantle as king properly. He shuts his mouth and storms off. And that the last interaction we get before the ‘normalcy’ at the beginning of chapter 11, before Gladio and Ignis go off.

At this point in time, I’m pretty sure Gladio hasn’t actually apologized. Hell, I’m persuaded he doesn’t actually think he was out of line that much. Nothing that Ignis said would have made him realize just how much of an ass he’s been. Ignis told him off for pushing Noct for something he’s not ready for and reminded him it’s not up to Gladio to decide when he will be, whether they have the time to wait for him to be ready or not. Gladio doesn’t agree with that precisely because they don’t have the time and Noct has to act like the king he’s supposed to be. Still, Ignis’s words do make him realize the way he’s been pushing is (at least in part) the reason for the growing rift between the four of them and he agrees they can’t afford in-fighting, so he backs off. A little. He’s still a bit confrontational when they go back to the train, but doesn’t lash out quite as badly anymore. I mean, look at his response when Noct actually asks if they can make a stop in Tenebrae (for the first time actually mentioning wanting to, as far as we’re aware). Gladio’s answer is a flat ‘as long as it helps him move on.’ It’s not understanding, it’s not supporting, it’s more ‘fine, if it gets your ass in gear, we can do it’, but said in a less dickish manner. He doesn’t agree to the stop in Tenebrae because he cares for Noct’s feelings, he agrees as a means to an end – Ignis won’t get on his case again and Noctis will (hopefully) ‘pull his head out of his ass’. In short, Gladio is less confrontational, but his mindset clearly hasn’t changed much if at all. He doesn’t act like he thinks he should apologize, either, so it would be no stretch to assume that he simply doesn’t. He acts like his earlier attitude never happened instead and Noctis follows his lead on it. (Or maybe Noctis is the one who starts and Gladio follows his lead, both are likely.) In fact, the first (and only) moment where it might seem like Gladio actually realizes he may have gone too far only happens in chapter 13 Verse 2, when they find the recording of how Ravus died. Gladio remarks that Ravus ‘even called Noctis “his king”’, then lowers his head and stares at the ground for a bit. Don’t know about you, but the posture he adopts looks kind of ashamed to me. Which makes sense, because this is Ravus. The guy who has been going on and on about how Noctis is undeserving of his title as Chosen King, or the Ring, or his father’s glaive or Luna’s help, and he openly admits Noctis is ‘his king’, the Chosen King. He sees a king where Gladio hasn’t and I think that really resonated with him and made him realize just how overboard he’s gone. Because how can it be that a man who used to think Noct unworthy of his title as Chosen sees him as the King he is before even his Shield does? Gladio is supposed to be one of Noct’s closest confidants, the one he trusts most, the one to keep him upright when he can’t stand up, the one to focus when Noct can’t etc. etc. Being a Shield is a difficult duty, but it also means being extremely close to the King, it means he should know him well enough to see things others don’t, he should always be supporting and protecting him. And yet Ravus, of all people, saw what Gladio had failed to see in that instance: that Noct already is king and he is acting the part to the best of his abilities. Ravus believed in Noctis more than his own Shield did. And it’s in that instant, I think, that Gladio truly realized he’s crossed a line (or several lines) and that while he might have had a point in there somewhere, he went the entirely wrong way about making it. In that singular instant, he feels a brief moment of shame and actually realizes he might need to apologize at some point, I think. But they’re in Zegnautus Keep, in the middle of enemy territory and Noctis isn’t even with them, so a heart-to-heart obviously will have to wait for a better time.

Furthermore, there’s the bit how through ‘forcing a reconciliation’, Ignis’s resolve ‘restores harmony to the group’. Another curious choice of words there. If they had really made up properly, couldn’t it be ‘restores the bonds between the four friends’ or something like that? Something more telling that things are actually ok again, that they’ve made up and everything is well? Instead it’s just ‘restores harmony’, which doesn’t really mean much beyond ‘gets rid of the discord’, meaning Noctis and Gladio simply stop fighting. But it doesn’t mean they’ve actually made up, that they’re back to how they’ve been before Altissia. They aren’t. But for the sake of ‘harmony’, they act like they do. After all, ‘a king moves ever forward’ and his Shield is supposed to be by his side, come Hell or high water, right?

III) Game-Play-Story-Integration

Out of all the games I’ve played, Final Fantasy XV is still the one with the best and most extensive game-play-story-integration I’ve ever seen. From the fighting system to the quips between the bros to how the AI acts in combat in certain parts of the story, the attention to detail is unreal. It is especially noticeable in chapter 10, not only because of how Ignis always stays behind for obvious reasons, but also how Prompto never strays from his side or the way Gladio only goes half-way after Noct if the player goes on ahead (though not without bitching about ‘staying together’). It’s also visible in combat.

So… let’s look a bit at the game-play of chapters 11, 12 and 13, when the boys have supposedly been forced to make up, shall we?

Chapter 11 – we get a short cut-scene with Ignis and Gladio where they talk about gathering some information about the going-ons in Tenebrae and Gralea. Noctis is attentive, but still rather subdued. Gladio acts mostly like his normal, confident self. No discord in sight… but also no true unity if you ask me. Ignis and Gladio leave soon after. Noctis doesn’t try to stop them or follow them and neither of them attempt to make him. In fact, no one comments on his lackluster attitude at all and while that’s better than the fighting from before, it doesn’t actually look like a group of three friends, more just three men working together because they’re supposed to. Ignis may just be trying to give Noctis time to grieve properly, it’s what he’s been doing for the entirety of chapter 10 as well all while dealing with his own problems, but Gladio just simply pretends he doesn’t see it. He doesn’t give an indication it bothers him in any way, not in terms of making him angry or worried or anything. He just pretends not to see and lets it roll off his back.

And that’s it for Ignis and Gladio. We don’t see either of them for the rest of the chapter. We don’t see much of Prompto, either, because Ardyn decides to switch places with him. We get one little fight together with fake!Prompto but other than that, throughout the chapter and the fighting on the train, Noctis is alone.

Chapter 12 – it doesn’t actually get better. The chapter starts in Tenebrae station, which counts as an outpost and thus a safe place. You can opt to just follow the other characters and advance the story by talking with everyone you need to talk to, but you can also explore the station first to gather some items and, in the Royal Edition, to gather almanac entries. Now, in any other outpost or city in the game, while there might have been short moments where Ignis, Gladio and Prompto wandered off and behaved a bit like curious NPCs, they always followed Noct once he got a certain distance away. For the entirety of the game up until Altissia, you hardly had any moment when they didn’t follow Noct unless it was story-dictated that they didn’t. That’s not the case in Tenebrae. There’s no real reason for them to remain ‘in NPC mode’ if you decide to explore the station, but they do. They don’t follow Noctis at all. Once again, he’s alone and he remains that way even once they’re on board the train even though Ignis and Gladio are technically still part of the party (you can see their HP bars and stuff).

Once again, much like with fake!Prompto in the previous chapter, we get a fight where the three men fight together. But once it’s over? Gladio calls Noctis to ‘come and see something’, then doesn’t wait for him to follow. The next thing we know, Noct is encountering Ardyn and Shiva and once again, he is alone. At any other point in the game, no matter what was happening, Ignis and Gladio did everything they could to stand by his side – figuratively as much as literally by being physically there. But in this chapter, they don’t. Even post Shiva, when Noctis tells them to go check on the front of the train, they both do without complaint. Noctis is on his knees, half-frozen like they are and he very clearly still looks out of it, but neither of them protests being send away despite the fact that Gladio could have checked on the drivers alone and Ignis could remain with Noct without issue to make sure he’s alright (or so they could both make sure the other is alright). But that’s not what happens.

After Shiva, we get another short cut-scene as the train reaches Gralea and demons pop up while Noctis and co. realize they’re weaponless. Noctis is so shell-shocked by that discovery that he almost takes a Goblin’s claws to the chest, but Gladio pulls him back and kicks the demon away. He protects Noctis. He does his job as a Shield. Noct’s reaction? A split second of relief before he tries for a grin and briefly compliments Gladio’s blow, visibly trying to loosen up, to act normal. That split second of relief is really telling, though, because it implies he might not have expected for Gladio to act. He might have worried he wouldn’t help him. Which he has reason for as apparently, in chapter 10, if Noct happens to be caught by an enemy (you know, that button-mashing moment to get free), Gladio’s AI apparently doesn’t even try to help. I say apparently because I didn’t get the chance to test it on my new play-through, I was on NG+ and over-leveled to Hell, so the characters could one-shot-kill everything long before one stray enemy could grab on to Noct for me to test that. But assuming this little bit of game-play-story-integration is true, it would make sense considering Gladio’s general attitude in chapter 10. Still, we’re talking about chapter 12 now, where the boys have supposedly reconciled, so… why would Noct worry about whether or not Gladio would help him if he needed it? Why would he be relieved when Gladio simply did his job? If they’ve actually made up, then he has no reason to worry or be surprised and relieved about it, right?

Chapter 13 – I don’t think I need to say much about that one. Zegautus Keep. Noctis is separated from his friends for most of it and is once again alone. Nothing more needs to be said on that front. Except maybe one thing. There are two points in the chapter where Noctis has to leave his friends behind. One in the hangar towards the end, when he’s about to reach the Crystal. He hesitates then, looks back once he’s gotten through the closing door, but moves on. The other is way at the beginning of the chapter, when Noct gets separated from Ignis and Gladio by the collapsing train. Not only does he not hesitate to run and leave them behind then (understandable, as he’s surrounded by daemons and unarmed), but he also doesn’t wait for them once he’s in the Keep. That first room he’s in is huge and open and you can see there aren’t that many daemons prowling about. Noctis had locked the door behind him and since the Goblins haven’t broken it down before, there’s no reason they would now. Ignis and Gladio are still out there and Noctis should probably assume they’d try to follow him or find a different way in. So… why does he go on alone? Why doesn’t he wait? Or at least call/text them to see what their plan is so they can agree to try and regroup somehow? In fact, for the entirety of this chapter, why doesn’t Noct try to contact Ignis or Gladio once? His phone still works as far as we know even though he’s no longer in Lucis, chapter 12 proved that when Ignis called him after Noct pushed Prompto off the train. So why don’t they even attempt to communicate when, as far as we know, they have the means to?

I don’t know about you, but for a part of the game where the three of them are supposed to be tight-knit once again and have supposedly made up, the story and game-play goes way out of its way to contradict it by ensuring Noctis is alone at nearly all times, when the normal behavior of all of his friends is to stick close to him at any given time, be it for running around the wilderness, combat or even exploring a safe outpost. And when Noctis’s normal behavior is to try to stick with them, too, and yet in these chapters (and chapter 13 in particular) he goes out of his way to not do that.

IV) Friends And Retainers In One

There’s a very specific part of chapter 13 that really stuck out to me on my latest play-through. Once you reunite with Ignis and Gladio, find Prompto and finally get your weapons back, the boys have their one (ONE!) on-the-field conversation in the entire chapter. Where before Altissia they constantly quipped at each other and you had those short conversations once every couple minutes, this is basically the only piece of dialogue outside of a cut-scene you get this entire chapter (Ardyn’s taunting notwithstanding).

It starts with Prompto pointing out that Noctis is wearing (and using) the Ring of the Lucii. Noctis response is a rather bland ‘I had to. No weapons. No friends. No choice, really’ and goes on to say how he had to find and save the rest of them and for that he had to be able to fight so he had to use the ring. This entire 5-second-explanation is delivered in a low, kinda dead tone, too. There’s barely any inflection to it, let alone any sort of emotion. He just sounds tired and wrung out and completely done with it all. The one who responds is Gladio… with a comment along the lines of ‘you finally sound like a King’ with a ‘took you long enough’ heavily implied if not stated outright. Noctis doesn’t respond to that and neither does anyone else. Once again, it does not sound like an exchange between friends. It sounds more like what a Shield would say to his King.

And that’s exactly what’s going on, isn’t it? What has been going on since chapter 10, actually. In the aftermath of Altissia, Gladio pulled back from everyone, but Noctis in particular. He was no longer his friend, he was his Shield, through and through.

Now, Ignis and Gladio always had some trouble with navigating their relationship with Noct because of its duality between being his retainers and being his friends, something the game touches upon a little (though it’s way better portrayed in the Brotherhood anime). Ignis has more trouble with it, though, because in his case, the line between friend and retainer is extremely blurred and it’s easy to fall from one into another seamlessly and without noticing. From chapter 10 onward, though, while Ignis tried to keep some ‘friend’ aspects to his demeanor, he still acts more like an advisor. This is likely due as much to the fact that he wants to prove to everyone (himself included) that he isn’t a burden and can keep going with them, as it is to Noct needing a little advisory needling to stay on course and not fall back into his apathetic behavior from earlier.

In Gladio’s case, the line is a lot more cut and dry and easy to distinguish. There’s a clear difference between Gladio the Friend and Gladio the Shield. During chapter 10, Gladio is only a Shield. A retainer to his King. Not a friend. Which is part of why he’s so vicious in his comments. During chapters 11-13, he dials it back more and more, but still stays more on the side of ‘Shield’ than ‘Friend’.

The only person who doesn’t have that struggle is Prompto, because while part of the Crownsguard, he’s still Noct’s friend first and foremost. But he’s absent from chapter 11 onwards. So for most of chapters 10-13, Noct is alone. It’s a moment in time when he lost too much too quickly and he desperately needs a friend to help him, but he doesn’t get that. He can’t go to Ignis because he feels like Ignis has enough of his own problems to deal with, he doesn’t want to burden Prompto who’s already very clearly stressed by the situation in general and tries to help where he feels most useful (with Ignis) and he only has an angry Shield in Gladio, not a friend. All that game-play I pointed out earlier where Noctis is suspiciously alone? That’s a show of how he feels as much as the physical situation of it. He is alone when he’s separated from his companions and he feels alone even when they’re there. Because the ones following him now are not his friends, they’re his retainers and he’s not supposed to be Noct the Person, but Noctis the King.

Going back to that little piece of dialogue I mentioned earlier, well, it’s not part of a cut-scene, so we don’t really get much in terms of clues to interpret the characters’ feelings besides the voice acting. There’s no expression and little body language to go by. But the fact that Gladio’s comment is met with silence from Noct is already very telling. To me, it feels like he’s looking for at least a little comfort from them. He’s looking for reassurance from his friends. He’s been alone, unarmed, basically at daemons’ mercy and had no choice but to put on the ring everyone saw he could hardly bring himself to look at, much less wear. I wouldn’t be surprised if the answer he was looking to get then was something as simple as ‘you’re not alone or defenseless now, it’ll be ok, we’re here with you’ or something like that. Instead, what he gets is a comment about how ‘he finally acts like a king’ from the person who has been raving on him for not being ‘kingly’ enough the most before.  And I think that might sort of cement it for him (like it also sort of does for the player): he isn’t surrounded by friends at this moment in time, no matter how desperately he wants and needs it, even if they share some friendly banter in a cut-scene or two before that. He’s surrounded by retainers and he has to be their King, no matter how impossible it seems for him to do that.

And then, of course, the icing on the cake: getting sucked into the Crystal. Noctis is alone at that point as well, barring Ardyn. By the time Gladio and the others catch up, he’s already disappeared.

Here comes the kicker: Gladio, Ignis and Prompto proceed to attack Ardyn and try to kill him… and it’s honestly the first proper show of emotion all three of them have since chapter 11 that actually proves they care for Noct as a person, not just a king. They act like they lost not a king, but a dear friend and they’re understandably angry because of that. Which is heartbreaking because it happens at a point in time when Noctis can’t see it anymore. Just as the three of them were too late to see Noctis get sucked into the Crystal (and maybe try and fail to stop it from happening), they were too late in dropping the façade of retainer and act like Noct’s friends instead. (Again, with the exception of Prompto, because he doesn’t have that issue.)

It’s doubly heartbreaking when you consider Regis’s last order to them, too. ‘I ask not that you guide my wayward son. Merely that you remain at his side.’ Which is really just a fancy way of saying ‘I don’t want you to accompany him as his retainers, I want you to be his friends.’ No one seems to catch on to that, however, and when shit truly hits the fan, they do the exact opposite instead.

V) Reconciliation

Finally, one last point, tying somewhat to point I to finish this entire word vomit off. As we all know, there is no reconciliation scene between the four friends in the game, a fact that has been very bemoaned by fans. That’s just it, though. There’s no reconciliation scene between the four of them or at between Noct and Gladio… but there is one (even two) between Noctis and Prompto! In the main game, once you find Prompto in Zegnautus, he asks Noct if he was worried about him. Noct can respond with a choked up ‘of course I was… what kind of question is that?’ or try to tease and act like all is normal (the second one backfires slightly) but in both cases, it’s followed by an apology, which Prompto accepts and responds to with ‘everything is alright now’. It’s not perfect, but there was an apology, there was forgiveness, there was understanding and closure and actual reconciliation. If that’s not enough for you, Episode Prompto adds the post-credit scene I already mentioned above.

So, we do get a proper reconciliation between Noctis and Prompto. But not between Noctis and Gladio. Or Noctis and Ignis, considering they should have really talked about how Noct feels guilty for Ignis’s injury, too, in my opinion, even if they haven’t really fought or anything. There’s still a kind of rift there. Which means Noct reconciles on-screen with one friend out of three. You really think the developpers would make one scene and then ‘leave out’ or ‘forget’ another? I find that hard to believe.

In conclusion

As many narrative and story-telling issues as FFXV may have, I honestly don’t believe the lack of a proper reconciliation between Noctis and Gladio (or Noctis and Ignis if you think they need one) is one of them. It looks far more like it has been done on purpose, because while they both try to act like they’re good and everything is back to normal, the fact of the matter is that it’s probably not true. They’re still at odds and Gladio only really realizes he might have gone too far in Zegnautus, but at that point, he doesn’t really get a chance to talk with Noct before the latter disappears for ten years into the Crystal. Which would mean the two of them never actually made up between chapter 10 and the end of chapter 13. This fight of theirs remained unresolved until it was too late to do anything about it, something that gives Gladio even more reason to attack Ardyn as savagely as he does in the Crystal’s chamber. Because he can finally admit to himself that maybe he was a bit out of line and he probably wanted to talk it out with Noctis, maybe even wanted to apologize, but in the end, he never got the chance.

Then ten years pass during which Noctis is in Reflection and Gladio gets to live through the World of Ruin while waiting and hoping for his king to come back. Ten years is a freakishly long time to not see a dear friend of yours and bringing up a fight you never got to get closure over after that much time is just not something people do. Especially since it’s a post-apocalyptic world and they have world saving to do… and Noctis knows he’ll die. He likely doesn’t want to bring up the painful past at that point because really, what would be the point? He already has very little time left as it is. Best try to use it to have at least a semblance of happiness in what’s essentially his last moments with his friends. As for Gladio, after stewing over it for ten years, a part of him might need to talk it out, to get proper closure, but if Noctis prefers to pretend it never happened and that everything was fine, then who is Gladio to begrudge him that in what’s essentially his last moments? In that regard, I feel like Gladio’s character made a complete one-eighty in chapter 14 (and I’m obviously only looking at the original chapter 14, not the additions the Royal Edition made because those feel tacked-on and like you’re playing a mesh-up of two different time-lines, but that’s a rant for another time). Where in chapters 10-13 he was nothing but a Shield, in chapter 14, he tries to be a friend more than a Shield, though he obviously still takes his duties seriously.

TL;DR: There are many details in the game that seem to point to the conclusion that the lack of a proper reconciliation between Gladio and Noctis post chapter 10 was on purpose. That they never actually made up and that while their bond didn’t break, it suffered some serious damage, which shows clearly in later chapters. That Gladio realized he might have gone too far a little too late and that by the time he was planning on sitting Noct down and talking things out with him and apologizing once things calmed down, it was a lost cause because he lost his chance the moment Noct was sucked into the Crystal without any indication if or when he’d come back out. Which is honestly depressing and heartbreaking, but at the same time, looking at character interactions and stuff, it makes a sad amount of sense.

[memoirsofamessybitch]

In My Mind Part 6

Joe x Fem Reader

Warning; strong language.

Thanks to all for the warm-ish welcome back to this space. I’m sorry if anyone has been waiting far too long for this update. But it’s here now!

Enjoy!

Prologue  Part One  Part Two  Part Three  Part Four  Part Five

I finished Joe's face in silence as my boss hung around the trailer, making sure we didn't run off again. There were at least 2 things that I was certain of after that moment. Things were never gonna be the same again between Joe and I; and that I was dreading the follow up conversation.

“Right he's done” I stepped back and watched as she examined him intently.

“Perfect, right grab your shit you're coming on set” I frowned at her in confusion.

“Really”

“Touch ups, plus you owe me for fucking around earlier”

“That was my fault, in all honesty I was having some kind of crisis we needed a private area...” Joe jumped in for me, but it made no difference.

“Don't give a fuck, when the director is breathing down my neck, I'm breathing down hers” I shrugged and started to pack up some things in a bag to bring to set. I didn't even look at him, I couldn't. I let him slink away to his trailer as they prepared the scene. I was left to the mercy of my boss.

“You're good at this job, I've never seen you behave the way you have lately and because of him? You can do way better than that guy....he's a little ass” Nicola Kyle always had a way with words. A woman well into her 40's who clearly had never experienced any kind of love or happiness in her life. She was not the person I wanted to be speaking to at that particular moment. Never the less I continued.

“Don't talk about him like that he's a nice guy....I think he's cute” I paused for a moment and thought about him. “No! you don't get to think their cute, you don't hook up with talent okay, that's not how I run shit here and you know that”

“I don't wanna just hook up....I really like him” I went to chew the end of one of my make up brushes.

“Well he's clearly INFATUATED with you....it's been obvious since the day he sat in that chair.....the only person who doesn't see it is that dopey engineer who he's been using to get rid of his feelings for you”

“Don't say it like that, he's not using her...I don't think so anyway” Nicola put her hand on my shoulder and shook her head. She was pitying me.

“Men are all the same Y/N....I thought you were wise to that by now....if you wanna pursue this then be my guest....if you think he could be...”the one””

She removed her hand then ushered me to follow her onto set.

“You think I should tell him to cancel his date with her....I mean I told him to go on it but now....” The flood gates had been opened and I was spilling. However Nicola had had her share of this and put her hand over my mouth.

“No more...I don't wanna know, I just want you to be professional for at least the rest of the day” I nodded and continued to follow her in a much more docile manor than previous.

I wasn't needed much on set, I ran on a couple times but nothing intense. I couldn't believe we hadn't even got to location filming and I had already fucked things up between Joe and I. We both glanced at each other as he walked off set. God I wanted to run up to that beautiful bastard and just kiss him, but I contained myself.

“Can I go now” I touched Nicola on her shoulder and pulled her away from her concentration.

“You know what please do, you've done my fucking head in all day. But you're staying for night shoots next week”

“Okay whatever” I turned quickly on my heel and rushed out of set. Swinging my brush kit almost childish like.

When I got home and I shut the door slowly. I lent on it and took a few deep breaths and tried to numb the sinking pain in my stomach. I'd fallen so fucking hard for this BOY that I was risking my professional career, something I'd worked REALLY fucking hard for. What I needed was a bath, some booze and a book. But not any book, insert favourite book.

This book got me through the hardest times, it saw me through beauty school, the loss of anyone I had loved. It was a crutch in times like these. I smirked softly to myself as I pulled it from the bookshelf in my bedroom. I had tied my hair up in a scarf and had got into my bath robe. I just hoped this would get rid of that sinking feeling, that feeling that I may never find anyone that makes me feel the way Joe does again.

The water filled up the tub steadily as I poured my self a glass of goodness, watching the steam rise from the water I glanced at my reflection. They'll be another, there has to be.

BANG BANG BANG.

It sounded as if someone was trying to knock my door down. Instantly fear washed over me as I hurried to grab my baseball bat from under my couch. Completely disregarding the fact I was in a bathrobe and only a bathrobe I opened the door slightly; clutching my bat for dear life.

“Joe?” I just blurted out his name. As if it was the only thing I could say in the instance I saw him on the other side of my door. I pulled the door open the rest of the way still holding onto my bat. He looked me up and down.

“I feel like I had a dream like this once” He pointed at my bat, I threw it to one side as it crashed onto the carpet. I laughed nervously and pulled the robe around me tighter.

How did you find out where I lived?” Was genuinely my first question.

“I asked someone in your department; and they told me, like it was that easy, you should be cautious of who you tell that information to” I grimaced at the thought and moved on.

“Why aren't you out with Becky?” my next question. Only this time it was a little pointed.

“Who are you my Mother, I’m here aren’t I, not with her” He was so direct and blunt. I loved it. I invited him in and immediately remembered the bath I was running.

“FUCK” I screamed rushing to my bathroom. I turned the taps off just in time. The fucking thing was brimming with scolding water. I exhaled in relief and pulled the plug.

“I am so sorry, looks like you had some major plans” Joe had followed me into the bathroom, I sighed heavily then turned to face him.

“I needed a little reset. So one of these tends to do the trick...especially after I've been dicked around”  I pursed my lips in a cheeky manor. I wasn't sure if I was being conceited or flirting. At this point with Joe I just didn't fucking know any more! “I have to do night shoots with extras because of today, I'm still trying to figure out if it was worth it” I stormed past Joe and walked through to my living room. I felt him follow closely behind and I found myself standing next to my couch watching the man of my dreams lean on my bedroom door.

Joe just looked at me, or was it through me. I couldn't tell, I was still trying to process him even being in my apartment.

“Sorry...I....you just look so beautiful” his voice sounded like a wave of calm and warmth. SO naturally I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

“Really? With my stained robe and lack of make up. Wow you really are a good actor” I joked; but after taking another good look at Joe, I could finally read the room. I was frozen as I watched him walk closer to me and pull the scarf off my head, letting my hair free. There was no way I could disguise myself trembling as he played with my locks. He took a deep breath in and smirked.

“You done talking now?” His voice had softened to a low whisper. I nodded. No matter how hard I should have tried to fight it, I just wanted nothing more than for him to plant one on me. And you better believe a fucking church choir sang to the heavens in my head as soon as Joe Mazzello pressed his lips against mine. It wasn't an overly long or explicit kiss. But it was enough to make the hairs on my arms stand up on end. He pulled away, much to my dismay.

“Oh wow” I exhaled with my eyes still closed.

“I heard what you said today To Nic...and I know you don't think much of me right now but I think the WORLD of you. You're the first decent person I've met in months, who has obviously been hurt in the past and I can't change that, and a few nights with me wont erase them from your memory. But I just want the chance to show you how good it can be” I couldn't stop the tears, they rolled down my flushed cheeks and dripped from my jaw onto my robe.

“I'm scared” I whispered; unable to hold back my emotions. He had stripped me down to this with just a few sentences, I felt foolish.

“I know, and I respect that, I respect you” Joe's hands cradled my face now. His thumbs clearing my falling tears. I let him continue, lost in his words.

“I...you know every time I take on a new project I always call my Mom, and I tell her about my first day, who I'm working with etc.  She told me I had mentioned Y/N 20 times....in one phone call. I'm super fucking professional and I won't let anyone tell me otherwise; but you got me running off set, day dreaming. Forgetting my lines. Y/N I am out of this fucking world into you” I guffawed in response. I sniffed unattractively and grabbed Joe's wrists pulling his hands away from my face. I just stared at him, wondering what to do with all of this...

[maidenxfmight]

make ash and leave the dust behind (pt 2)

Tagging: @master-of-magnetism & Kara Zor-El When: August 1st, 2020 Where: Erik’s apartment What: This is the part where the villain says “we are not so different, you and I.” Warnings: Manipulation, xenophobia mention Word Count: 6,505

ERIK: He was distantly aware he should be worried, that he should have the familiar creep of anxiety cloying in his chest. Any time before a big move--lab raids, police station attacks, any of the sorts of things that tend to land him on the news--that feeling has been there. There were always so many things that could go wrong, and as a strategist, Erik knew what they were, how numerous, how dangerous.

What was coming tomorrow was the biggest mission he'd ever arranged, with far more moving parts--and far more lethal consequences should something go wrong. He knew that.

But the feeling wasn't there. Instead, he felt this other thing in him all but purring in excitement and reassurance.

One way or another, your people will be free in 72 hours' time.

Freedom. Novel.

He'd taken up in his Brooklyn apartment, tonight--he would return the the headquarters before sunrise to be there for final preparations, but he wanted the space tonight.

More importantly, he did not want anyone else seeing the uninvited but not unwelcome guest the Phoenix warned him would be coming. And it had yet to be wrong. He was at his window with a glass of scotch (what Jean didn't know wouldn't hurt her) when he felt the other presence, and Erik waved open the door before the woman could do anything with it--whether she would have knocked or knocked it down was up in the air, but he had a feeling it was the latter.

He also had a feeling that he could well die tonight, if he wasn't careful. But he knew her. They'd spoken before--even more than Erik had realized, until the confrontation at L-Corp. He could talk to her.

If he was going to talk an entire country into breaking one of their usual rules, he could talk down Supergirl. Even one with Kryptonite in her system.

"I knew you'd come," he said, glancing at her reflection in the window. He drained his glass and set it down in the windowsill before turning to face her, feeling a dangerous sort of calm.

(Dangerous for who?)

"I thought we might be able to help each other."

KARA: Something was wrong.

It scratched just beneath her skin, pressed against the back of her mind. Somewhere it registered, maybe she shouldn't feel like this, this was wrong wrong wrong and she should be clawing her way into figuring it out. But no matter where she dug in, her grip crumbled and faltered and she was falling again. Something was wrong.

But Rao it felt so right.

She'd woken up with her hand pressing through her phone and into the bedside table below, wood splintering beneath fingertips that hardly even felt it. It might've bothered her before (she was a reporter, Snapper hardly let her off her leash as it was, she had to eat she couldn't afford this), but her fingers curled and she found some kind of satisfaction in the way the glass crackled and ground together.

(She could just go take one. Who would tell her no?)

Everything felt off, from the way her clothes fit against her to the lazy Metro line she took to work each morning. The first time she put on her suit her crest felt gaudy. She'd never liked it plastered on coffee mugs, hugging billboards and printed on the front of T-Shirts anyone could buy from Wal-Mart. It was hers. It belonged to the Great House of El, and only those honored to share their last name should wear it.

The point was she felt different. Good different. Her fingers curled into fists, she could plough through the Earth without breaking a sweat and maybe, just maybe she should. The only good thing that had ever come of Earth was, was (crawl up, get out, this is wrong)–

Slip, stop, no. It wouldn't do to think of the people she called friends and family. There were more important things to address. Because Kara could pinpoint the change, and it looked like curling metal and fire roiling behind cool grey eyes. It felt like damp back alleys and the smell of blood and cigarette smoke. It was a sneer and anger that had hardened into something cold and dangerous.

It all came back to Erik, somehow, as it was wont to do of late. Whether they were on street corners in out-of-the-way suburbs, the late-night shadows of New York's rougher neighborhoods, or her supposed best friend's ivory tower, it all came back to Erik Lehnsherr. He'd always had an agenda, she'd known that from the moment she met him. When she got wrapped up in it, however, she wasn't sure. (She wondered, briefly, if she should be thanking him. A veil had been lifted, the air felt different. She hadn't replaced her phone since she'd crushed it and if Alex had called she didn't care).

He wanted something, he wouldn't have stolen the kryptonite if he hadn't. He had his cards in his hand, arranged just the way he wanted, and Kara fully intended to scatter them. She could rip the sleeves, unravel the threads, figure out just what he was hiding. It started with his apartment, lit a light yellow-orange against the starry New York skyline. The doors opened before she could crash through them, and she couldn't help but laugh. He'd been expecting her. Of course he'd been expecting her. The rush of wind caused by her sudden entrance scattered papers in every direction, but he seemed singularly focused.

(This is wrong, this is wrong, but really, honestly it isn't.)

"Oh, funny. You think I need you."

ERIK: The laugh bubbled out, unrestrained, because this was funny.  (It's not, it's not.)  The smile on his face didn't falter, didn't flinch at the way his papers scattered around the room.  Hell hath no fury like a woman, and this woman could blast buildings to so much confetti if the desire struck on a good day, but he wasn't worried.  There was too much power rolling through both of them.  He and Jean had nearly taken this building apart once before as a conversation spiraled out of control, had stopped only by virtue of their mutual sentiment for each other.  If he and Supergirl went the same route, there was no telling who, or what, would be left after.

It wasn't quite mutually assured destruction, but it was something like it, something that made the Phoenix sing.

"I think you needed the blinder taken off.  Which I've done for you," he answered smoothly, taking a step toward her.  Unafraid, perfectly steady, perfectly composed, because he was an Omega-class mutant with the force of life itself running through his veins and because he knew better than to show something dangerous anything but your own teeth unless you wanted to end up with theirs in your own throat.  "Believe it or not, I was worried about you, Kara.  You were so optimistic in our conversation in that alleyway.  That sort of idealism gets people killed--even supers.  Your little friend was manufacturing kryptonite behind your back.  There are variants that kill you, as we all know, but I didn't want that.   I just wanted to help you.  And I have."

He stopped in front of her, eyes searching hers, his own silvery eyes flaring with the fire of the Phoenix.  "Tell me it doesn't feel good, letting go, being able to stretch your powers without worrying about anyone else.  Tell me it doesn't feel like the first taste of freedom you've had in ages, and if that's the case, do what you came here to do.  But we both know that's not how it feels.  It feels good."

KARA: Manufacturing. The word caught and tumbled, gathered the breath in her chest and stole it. Somewhere, there was a feeling, like maybe if she could think straight it would hurt. Because 'manufactured' was worlds away from 'storing.' Manufactured implied Lena had made it and she–

Maybe she would. It's not like it was the first time Lena Luthor had done something behind Supergirl's back. Oh, she claimed she did it for the greater good (she did, she didn't), to cure chronic illnesses or save a friend, that the Kryptonians had nothing to do with it. Humans died every day, right? They were at risk from cars, but no one banned cars. Lena's given reasons bounced around then fell right off a cliff, useless. Because cars weren't specifically designed to hurt one person. Designing a car to hurt one person without considering them would be irresponsible, wouldn't it?

And Lena wasn't irresponsible, she was smart. She was smart, and she was specifically manufacturing a car that could hurt Kara's family, and her family alone. Her breath came in short puffs, a muscle jumped in her jaw. Her fingers curled against her palm and she could feel the stiff set of her shoulders, relished in it. She wasn't suppose to feel like this, "you don't get to be a real person, you're a superhero." But she did, she had been for a long time. She'd been furious when Lena had first shown her the detection device prototype, when she learned Lena used kryptonite to restrain Reign, when Lena did both of those again.

And to find out she made it? Eriks windows looked tempting. She could shatter them on the way out (you did this to yourself Lehnsherr). She could crash through the rubble of L-Corp until there was nothing left, she could find the one thing that might hurt Lena Luthor and–

But Erik was stepping closer, his agenda went beyond Lena. He weaved honeyed words not unlike those he'd lain at her feet in the alley. Fire danced behind his eyes, and she could still clearly remember the way the pipes had groaned around them. She could be mad (it was so easy to be mad). He was laying his cards down one by one and it was shaping up to a straight flush. If she flew away on a whim, she'd never know how it ended. And he had done something for her, hadn't he? She'd spent months writing articles, meeting with friends in tucked away corners, just trying to make them look worthy.

They would never be worthy. Humans would only ever welcome that which was familiar to them. She could write pretty words about Warren Worthington all day and all anyone would see were his wings. She'd tried with Lena. She'd backed away, shaking, channeling her fear of a device she should never have had to be afraid of in the first place into a passionate article which had been scrapped anyway. Everything she did, everything she said went through a human filter, since the moment she'd landed on Earth.

Erik was right about one thing, he'd lifted the filter. Whatever he'd done, she didn't care anymore. For that, he at least deserved to be heard. She lifted her chin as he approached, eyes hard, breathing carefully measured. There was no trust, but there was something. Something forged between the lines of texts and in the soft curl of cigarette smoke, a tentative understanding she'd been fighting, but found her old logic just didn't hold anymore.

"You're right. I feel better than I ever have." She took a step closer to him, boots pressing into the floor with a crunch, hands lifting briefly at her side and lips ticking up in a smile. He had power she couldn't imagine, and somewhere she knew she should be afraid, but she wasn't. She had a feeling she was his last card, and a straight only worked with five in a row. "And I suppose I should thank you. But I'm waiting for the part where you tell me why I should stick around. I don't like people meddling in my life, and I have no reason to trust you won't do it again. What do I have to gain by working with you?"

ERIK: She did her best to hide it, but he knew what that look meant.  He'd worn it himself too many times before: betrayal.  His fellow engineers, Magda, Charles--there was no sting quite like broken trust.  "You didn't know."  It wasn't a question, only an observation, an understanding of things as they stood.  He could see the anger coil in her shoulders, balling her hands as she cut her eyes through his windows to wear L-Corp stood out in the skyline across the water, and he felt it almost like it was his own.  "You can't trust them, Kara.  No matter how much they claim to care."

Come not within the measure of my wrath.  Lena Luthor held the unenviable position of being subject to the wrath of two of the most powerful people alive--had created materials that held the potential to bring what there was of both their species to their knees and thought herself immune from consequences because she'd worked so hard on image.  On painting herself as separate from her brother's insanity or her parents' corruption.  She was a different sort of Luthor, she claimed, but she was human.

Erik let the woman advance, until they were standing within arms' reach of each other, and simply kept his eyes trained on her face as the wooden floor crunched under her feet.  This space was too small, too delicate for the likes of them--hurricanes contained by glass.  If they wouldn't break, the world would have to.

You're right.  There was a part of him that wanted to say you'd be surprised how often that happens, but no.  No need for that.  They both knew he was right about far more than this.  She was smart--he wouldn't get her help if she wasn't, wouldn't let her within a mile of his plans if he thought she would be stupid.  He'd lifted the naive trust she'd been afflicted with, and so the wariness of his own motives was fair--welcome, even.  It meant she was learning.  "Because I did you a favor--etiquette suggests you ought to do the same for me.  Of course, I wouldn't be asking for your help if that's all I had."

He stepped back and turned his back to her for a moment, trusting they had something of a ceasefire for the time being, and retrieved his glass, pacing over to where the decanter sat on his coffee table.  He poured himself another drink.  "If you'd like one, just let me know," he offered, turning his full attention back to the Super.  "More importantly, our goals line up--at least for the time being.  We both have information the other doesn't that could be useful, when shared--as you've just seen with regard to Miss Luthor.  I have a plan in place already to enter this war, bring about that peaceful society we both want, set to commence tomorrow.  I have an army at my disposal.  I am happy to share what I have with you for our shared needs, and the only thing I want in return is that you do what you already want to do."

He didn't need to ask, didn't need to confirm--she was angry, had been angry for a very long time and hiding it under the mask, and now that she had the opportunity to burn it off?  She would.  She had to.  "Humans have never been worthy of your protection or your trust.  You see that now.  There can be no peaceful coexistence alongside people who don't know peace.  So help me give them the war they've been wanting so that we can build something new.   Show them how afraid they should be."

KARA: The moment Erik turned his back, Kara's eyes were back on the distant 'L.' It was only the faint tinkling of ice in his tumbler that kept her in place, a reminder there was someone in the room who had yet to lie to her. As far as she knew. Erik's passion lent only to truth. Lies made someone small, the conviction behind them only as strong as the fear of possible repercussions.

Kara would know, she'd done her fair share of lying.

She'd acknowledged the passion behind his words even before she'd found the courage to believe in them. Experience brought credence to his cause. Of course, there was a contempt for humanity that leaked through his pretty words of revolution, but it was easy to see where it came from. Humanity had been unkind to him. Kara had molded herself into something humans could digest. There was a danger in being different, Jeremiah had said, as he handed her a pair of glasses and told her never to use her powers again. Jean had told her she wished she had the bravery to be as open even as Kara was.

Neither of them held a candle to Erik. He flaunted his powers in a way even Kara's crest couldn't capture. He was proud of them, and he was meant to suffer for it. People said 'mutant' much the same way they said 'roach.' He had every reason to rally against his oppressors, and she had no reason to doubt that he would. That he meant it, when he said he intended to help her level herself a new home. Who else would she trust?

Not Lena. Not Alex, who forgot her. Her sister's name caught, and somewhere in the back of her mind she clawed for purchase once more, a twitch of her fingers and a hitch of her breath, but the moment passed. . She pulled in a breath and turned back to Erik, a glass in his hands. He always looked so suave, even in damp alleys. She wondered if he was scared, if he'd even considered it when he turned his back on her. The implied trust would almost be refreshing, if it wasn't drown out by the residual sting of betrayal. She narrowed in on the steady thump of his heartbeat. "You have my attention, Erik." His name came out sharp, the distrust evident even as she gave. "But you have an agenda. I'm not here to a play a part in your game. I'm done playing the superhero, for anyone.

"So I'm listening, as long as I'm working with you, not for you."

ERIK: Her eyes were on the horizon through the window, when he turned back from pouring his glass--it was just a moment that he caught, but he knew without asking where her mind was.  Ordinarily, he'd encourage it.  He would smile and tell her to go and exact her revenge on the woman who'd put her life at risk, who had lied to her and taken her help for granted.  Yet another characteristic of humans--abusing those who would give them aid and being stunned when they finally hit back.  Kara's desire was normal, expected.  But this was the first time she'd let out her anger on humans since she'd come, and Erik knew better than most the best ways to hurt people, had spent decades of his life with revenge consuming every day.

He would show her, because she was saying yes.   Because she wasn't turning her powers on him, she was willing to help.   Erik's mental chessboard reshuffled.  Checkmate.

But when he began to compose his response, a pang lashed through him abruptly, covered with a sip of his glass that briefly felt clutched a little too tight.  It hadn't been just like this, not really, but it was close enough that the deja vu stung for a moment.  In the next, the Phoenix was soothing, smoothing, and Erik said the very same words he'd told Charles on that beach in Cuba all that time ago before everything went to pieces.  It would work this time, though.  He knew it.

"Of course.  I want you by my side."  And he did--someone like Supergirl was too powerful to be behind.   (Demeaning to her power and dangerous, because someone behind your back can far more easily stab it.)  He took a seat in one of his chairs, perfectly steady, perfectly calm.  "You're welcome to sit, if you'd like.  You’re right—of course we have an agenda; anyone who tells you they don't have one is either lying or suffers from a tragic lack of ambition."  He was nothing if not meticulous in his words nearly always, and yet the plural pronoun went unnoticed. He waved a hand, and what had seemed to be a simple decorative panel of rippled steel on the wall slunk back, retreating towards the ceiling and revealing a wall covered with plans meticulously laid out with all the care of an engineer, a perfectionist, a master strategist.  "Tomorrow, my people go to war.  A two pronged attack to begin with, to gather attention and secure a space from which to negotiate in Stark Tower.  I will be holding the citizens of New York hostage for three days, during which time the government will cede land to us to form our own society.  One where we can finally have the peace humans don't understand."  He leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at Kara.  "I could do this myself, but timing and distance would be difficult given the location of the UN building.  The largest thing I would need your help with, should all go well, is tomorrow morning:  at around eleven o'clock, I need the bridges and subways into Manhattan blocked or broken.  I assume you could use the chance to burn off some steam.  Outside of that, once Stark Tower is secured and the endgame is underway, I'm happy to assist you, should you want it, in satisfying desires of your own.  Information, strategy, assets: I am at your disposal as much as you are at mine."  So long as it could be kept from Jean.

KARA: By my side.

It still felt empty. It was half a promise, nothing more than a means to an end. He had his maps and his strategies, laid out in perfect detail. He had an image in his mind of a home, somewhere he could be safe with all of his people. And he had them: people. So many of them. Kara briefly thought of Jean – remember Jean? Maybe she could help, please help, this isn't right – and Scott and Charles who could be happy and themselves. He had a goal with a happy ending, a resolution to years of anger and revenge.

It was a goal so close to her own, and he knew it. Their thoughts aligned in a way that could be just beneficial enough for both of them. But he'd miscalculated.  Kara didn't have anyone left. Her goal was a planet that was nothing more than dust orbiting a dying sun, a glint of green seen through the lens of a telescope. She couldn't carve a planet out of New York City. She'd tried. She'd been trying to make Earth her home since she'd first landed. She'd shaped and molded herself into the perfect human, then donned a cape and devoted her life to protecting them. And all she'd ever received in return was more pleas for help, a bounty on her head, and the word 'roach' spit across internet servers slowly gathering steam.

No. Erik wanted land; Kara wanted the whole damn planet. He wanted to ask and Kara wanted to take. She was done molding. She was done pretending. Pretending like she was less than what she was, pretending like it didn't hurt – she was too much too much too much, constantly making herself small so others wouldn't feel threatened.

It burned and she could feel it building in her chest. Why did she need strategies, if she could level the city and rule the rubble?

But there was something to be said for having a partner. He wanted her to cause a little chaos. He wanted her to burn some bridges, and he was willing to scratch her back in return? He'd get his land, Kara would help. Then she'd take the rest. "Look at you, everything perfectly in its place." She ran a finger along the boundary of New York City on his map, pausing over the Brooklyn Bridge. Something so iconic, it could be fun to watch it fall. "Me, too, right? Falling exactly where you need me to. How long have you been planning this? Years? What would you have done, if I'd decided to work against you?"

She lifted her finger, blowing out a breath, turning to face Erik once more. Leaned back against the wall, it almost felt like she could fit. This wasn't the product of a whim, her being here. There'd been a connection – not anymore, Kara, this isn't right, you have to – built on a mutual understanding. She'd given in just the right ways, and he sadder than she had ever expected (underneath all the anger, because if Kara understood anything, it was what hid behind rage). But she knew better than to believe she truly fit, not here. This would only last as long as it took them to achieve their respective goals. "Not that I will. I'd be happy to burn some bridges for you, Mr. Lehnsherr. Just...stipulations."

She stepped forward again, "I won't be directed. If there's anything you don't want me to do, you'd be smart to tell me now, and we'll talk about it. And...Lena Luthor–" Her voice ground over the name, low and dangerous. "Lena Luthor is mine to deal with from here on out."

Preferably now. How high was her building, forty stories?

ERIK: There was a new glint in her eyes, a dangerous chill to her voice that delighted the Phoenix but made something in Erik's stomach shift uncomfortably.

This part of the plan had been last to be put into place for a reason. He'd been reluctant to do this to someone who was becoming something of a friendly enemy (and oh, he knew far too much about those, how they were always a heartbeat away from one of the other), and most especially to someone like Kara. Countless visual abilities, flight, enhanced senses and strength and speed--she had so many gifts it was hard to keep track, would be nigh on impossible to account for all of them. Letting her loose was a risk, he knew, especially without knowing the effects the Kryptonite would have on a person rather than the mice Lena had been using.

So of course he had plans. You always had to have an extra card up your sleeve, a piece in reserve until you were ready to play it.

Erik wasn't certain he could beat Supergirl in a fight, if it came to that. Even with the Phoenix Force. Jean might be able to, if she had to, but she'd never let it go. No, the best way to fight a super was with Kryptonite or with another super. If it had been necessary--if it became necessary--someone could call for Superman to come handle her.

Or, if worst came to absolute worst, despite Erik's hatred of the man's human-first worldview, Lena's brother would no doubt be adequate, as much as Erik didn't want that man anywhere within miles of the operation about to unfold.

"A very long time." In varying degrees of depth, of course, and adjusting for current events. "But the version you see there now has been largely within the last few months." With some help (and helpful nudges) from the Phoenix. What would you have done?

"I prefer not to entertain ex post facto hypotheticals except as strategy evaluation. So often they only serve to make one upset." ( He could have killed Alex, he could have-- )

Erik set his glass down and regarded Kara, feeling a creep of uncertainty crawl it's way down his spine before being pushed out of mind by his current cohabitant. Destruction was in both their natures (no matter what Charles said), and she looked so very happy to indulge, and he should be happy for her except except except--

Train of thought derailed, just in time, as Erik took note of the red glow creeping through her veins around her eyes. Something, deep down, screamed danger. Erik stayed impassive, heart not missing a beat. "Certainly. I wouldn't dream of giving you orders, or getting between you and Miss Luthor." Not with Kara as she is, at any rate.

He leaned forward on his knees. "However, I do have some friendly advice and another request--related, as it turns out. Killing Lena Luthor would be... incredibly satisfying," he conceded. "However, I think doing so a bit later in the game would be even more satisfying. She claims that what she does, she does to help the world, that she's doing it out of the goodness of her heart. Let her see how very badly that's worked out, for a while. Let her see the city she calls home, the humans she works so hard to help, suffer as a result of the work she's done: the detection device, the Kryptonite, all of it. Let her watch it fall to pieces and then, when she's seen that, put her down." . The smile that came with that was the same shark-like smile that so many of the Nazis he'd hunted over the years had met their ends with as their last sight.

"On that note--I would prefer you somewhat limit the human casualties within the island of Manhattan, as holding people hostage works rather better when they're alive. I certainly wouldn't dream of asking you to refrain entirely--in fact, seeing that might put a bit of urgency on the negotiations, on their end of things, make them more eager to get in and get their people out. But I do need a fairly sizeable number of living hostages, at least within Manhattan. And amongst them need to be the UN diplomats. My mutants will be holding the building, so if you could kindly avoid bringing it down on their heads, I would be much obliged."

KARA: The requests gave her pause. Somewhere, it registered they shouldn't have to be requests at all. Somewhere, she was screaming and no one could hear it. Her hands stilled and the red glow faded and her breath caught–

And it passed. He didn't want her to kill anyone, and it wasn't an unreasonable request to make, though she imagined there were a few protestors on street corners with anti- signs she would happily leave under a building or two. "I don't want to kill everyone." Her voice had a softer tone, annoyed just around the edges. "I just want, I–"

A home. Her breath escaped in a huff, and she paced the room, too fast, hands moving restlessly as she spoke. "I've done everything for Earth. I've made myself so small, insignificant. Then I put on a cape and I've spent years protecting them, and yes there have been hiccups, but I've loved this planet. I just...why won't it love me, too?" The words felt heavy, somehow. Her pacing stopped as she pivoted to face Erik, her hands clenched at her sides. The truth was it was never going to love her. She was going to spend the rest of her life trying and failing, and Erik had shown her a path forward that might actually work. He'd gotten her this far, and she was willing to see how much farther they could get.

"I want a home. I want to make one." She pulled in a breath, and gave a small nod. "I'll keep your people safe, you don't have to worry about that. And Lena–" the name curdled whatever calm had taken over, "I'll wait, then. This is me trying to trust you, Erik."

ERIK: It was nothing he hadn't heard before, nothing he hadn't said himself, nothing he hadn't preached. And yet it stung more than he would admit—felt like being run over by a freight train, in fact—to hear the words come from someone like her.

Jean and Scott's conversion to his way of seeing things hadn't been entirely unexpected--Jeannie had his temper, beneath it all, and Scott had the same sharply strategic mind that had revealed to Erik that there was no path forward but by blood.  Their swaying to his side had been inevitable, sooner or later.  This was different.  This was someone who saw the world far too much like Charles, with optimism and hope and absurd faith in humanity.

Someone like Erik used to be, a long time ago, when in the aftermath of the War humanity swore never again and seemed to mean it. Maybe he'd never been quite as hopeful as they had, but he'd hoped to be able to live. To be able to settle in the home he built himself with his wife and child, to go to work and go to community potlucks and share photos of his growing daughter with his coworkers and have a simple life where he didn't have to jump any time he heard someone outside the door. He'd been willing to pay the price of keeping his powers secret, had been willing to smother a part of himself to integrate, to make things easy. And he'd had that, for years. Had played human, had gone to neighbors' birthday parties and babysat children and been the very picture of a perfect citizen.

He'd tried so hard. And then. Her words put a lump in his throat, made his eyes sting, and he turned back to his glass so she wouldn't see, downed the rest of the whiskey in one swallow because that burn was more welcome than that knotted feeling.  But that didn’t make it go away.

He pushed himself out of his seat, clearing his throat and pacing over to stand in front of her, eyes locking with hers. The fire of the Phoenix lingered, but the man looking at Kara was more Erik than he’d been in weeks. “I know,” he said, and hoped his voice didn’t sound as tight as it felt. “You deserve—we deserve to be loved.” ( At least one of those was true, but he really was less and less certain that he did--). “We did our best to be like them, to play by their rules, to help—we deserve a home, safety, love. And if they won’t give it, after so long, we’ve earned the right to make our own.”

This is me trying to trust you, Erik.

He couldn’t say whether he deserved that. She could trust him to the same extent that anyone at the Institute had ever been able to trust him—that he would never do anything to hurt the Cause, that he would do what it took to keep the people he considered his safe.  And he was doing that. But there was deception here, already—there was a reason he wasn’t clarifying the reason she felt different, a reason he hadn’t told Jean what was going to happen, a reason he was only getting Kara involved in the most peripheral of ways. The very same reason that he hadn’t yet told Lorna that Charles had messed with her memory, because Lorna was like him and would demand a telepath free what had been locked away which would reveal a much older erasure, one Erik had paid to have performed himself. Because Erik hated lying outright to the people he cared for, but he was not above deception and manipulation for their own good.

This was for Kara’s own good. It was. It had to be.

“I want to help you, Kara. Don’t doubt that.”

Kara: For a moment, it almost seemed like he genuinely cared. He abandoned his drink, he stood in front of her and there was something different about the way he looked at her, then. It was in his eyes, she thought. They'd been burning. She'd noticed first in the alley, as the pipes groaned and his voice smoothed over talks of revolution.

There was something softer about them when he stood up. His voice wavered the smallest bit, choked in a way it hadn't been moments before, something she wouldn't notice if she wasn't paying considerable attention. The burning seemed to recede, and for a moment Kara thought he was going to step closer.

(A part of her wanted it, but not from him. Her eyes glassed over, and her mind couldn't pinpoint why. He'd put her here, she couldn't get out, she needed to yell, to cry, to– she wouldn't mind a hug, but then...)

She took a quick step back, feet barely touching the floor. Red pulsed along her veins before fading, itching just beneath her skin. There were bigger things at play. He wasn't someone to be believed, he was a chess master. He was moving his pieces, and he was about to put the king in check. Kara could only move as he intended, and hope she was still on the board when the king toppled. Trust enough to get her to the end, then see how far his trust would stretch.

"The bridges will fall tomorrow morning." She said in lieu of an acknowledgement, of any care that had worked its way into his voice. Her feet skated further back until she hovered, framed by his window. "You'll get your home, then we'll talk."

ERIK: She backed away, and the spell broke, the Phoenix pressing forward in turn and relegating the conflicting emotions to the box in his mind where they belonged.

He had a war to win. He couldn't afford second thoughts. She knew that. Get a grip.

He would need to be completely focused in the morning, completely in control, because his people were trusting their lives--their futures--into his hands and he could not, would not let them down. He'd waited years for this moment, for the shoe to drop and war to come knocking on his door in earnest. He was prepared.

How laughable that he'd once sworn to himself that he wasn't a soldier, now that he was about to lead a revolution and plunge his hands into more blood than Sh--

No.

The humans had started this war, and by G-d, he would finish it. No matter the cost. He had failed his children, but he refused to allow their children to live like this.

Never again.

Erik flicked his fingers, unlocking the window latches to let the air in. He wasn't sure if she'd have broken his windows, and he didn't care to find out. "Of course. Until next time, Kara. Have a good night."

This was the last night of the old world--one way or another, it would never be the same after tomorrow morning. Those moments had come countless times in Erik's life.

G-d willing, this would be one of the few for the better.

And if not, the world would pay with him.

[bigsnzstanacct]

Kn/ives Out - R/ansom Fic

Inspired by these posts, although I went a liiiiiiiiiiiiiiittle overboard with it, as is my wont. This may or may not be the first of a five-or-six part series, a sort of “Five Times Ransom Pissed Off Everybody By Sneezing, and One Time He Didn’t.” Or it might just be the one little story. You know the drill, over-the-top sneezing ahoy lmao.

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    “Do we have to talk politics?” Joni asked, her fingers tensed, her eyes rolling as she walked rather briskly to the drink cart. “It’s not that I’m not willing it’s just it’s so contentious and I’m a little concerned about that kind of energy—”

“No, no, no Joni,”—Richard cutting in now, his words stretching longer in the way all of him seemed to extend and elongate when he was drunk, as though he forgot Linda and Harlan were watching and expecting—”No, Joni, you don’t get to throw stones and then hide your hand, if you say something about our President, I’m gonna say something back.”

“Now, now, Richard,”—The aforementioned Harlan—”I think we can all agree the President—”

“Our President, Harlan, our President, I’m not saying I like him but I’m saying he’s our—”

“N-now… now come on Richard”—Walt, briefly, before being steamrolled by—

“Richard, I think I’d like a change of subject now—” Linda, ordinarily authoritative enough to end the line of inquiry altogether, but apparently not tonight.

“Well I wouldn’t, Linda. I wouldn’t like a change of subject, and for that matter...” (Richard, elongated as though he forgot Linda and Harlan…)

“How boring,” Ransom said in an aside. Marta happened to be walking by, picking up Richard’s emptied drink, and Joni’s recently downed one. It wasn’t actually her job to provide maid service for these people but they seemed to expect it and Harlan encouraged it and they really were so generous.

So it was to Marta that Ransom delivered his aside, though it wasn’t really to her—it might as well have been to the drink cart, or the grandfather clock, or the nonexistent camera over his shoulder. Ransom was the sort of man who walked around as though there could always be a camera over his shoulder. In fairness, Ransom was also the sort of man cameras commonly followed around. He’d very nearly committed to at least two reality tv shows, mostly to annoy his family. He’d gotten his current sports car upon backing out of a reality tv show. It was too bad he was too old to start a YouTube channel. He was still waiting to see what he could get out of revealing Jacob’s channel to the family, whether it would be better to threaten Jacob with its reveal to his parents, his parents with its reveal to to the family, or perhaps the family as a whole with a leak to… whatever random book-related website might find that gossip interesting. Maybe just Reddit.

Marta was just about to respond, to perhaps engage Ransom in conversation. She had it on good authority--Harlan’s--that she could be good company to a Thrombey or a Drysdale. Everyone seemed rather wary of Ransom, but aside from his aversion to the dogs, Marta had no reason to think ill of him, and so tried to assume the best of him. And---she could admit somewhat blushingly---he certainly wasn’t unattractive. She could see how, in her younger, sillier days how she might nurse a bit of crush on him, the wealthy prince charming and the maid---although she was not a maid, no matter how they treated her, she was a well-trained professional, dammit---

But before she could speak, Ransom’s face suddenly underwent some sort squishing, snorting motion. His long nose scrunched up short as he took in a sharp sniff, nearly a snort. His eyes closed for a moment, and a smile played on his lips. “This’ll be fuhh-hun,” he said in half a whisper, airy breathing infusing and interrupting his murmur.

Marta tilted her head to the side, curious what Ransom could be referring to, until she saw his nose, which was twitching: once, then twice. A heavy sniff, then another, then two in a row, then a long one, for all the world like fanning a flame (a flame, as she would come to realize, to light a fuse, to burn down to an explosion...)

It was around this moment that Ransom abruptly stood, and she could not help but notice how broad his shoulders were, as his eyes fluttered, and his chest began to swell. His nose was starting to pinken around the nostrils, the flaring and scrunching continuing, his arms falling slack. The creak of his chair as he stood brought everyone’s attention towards him, and as they noticed the bizarre ritual Ransom was performing or enduring.

“Oh, god, Ransom, not this again…” (Linda, eyes rolling)

“Ransom, Ransom buddy, Ransom please...” (Richard, hands waving)

“Is he going to do that screaming thing again, I’m leaving the room---” (Joni, hands raising towards her ears)

“Leaving the room won’t do her much good.” (Harlan, with a bit of a snicker in his voice)

Ransom was starting to vocalize now, little “hehhhH… hEHHHhh…” sounds that sounded as though they were either being dragged out of him or as though he was dragging them out himself, perhaps both. His head was tilting back, that chest looking larger than ever as it stretched and air flowed in and his long nose scrunched and his mouth hung open in a tall O and his back arched and hands went over ears and then one last voiceless gasp in… “huuuUUHH!”

“HHHHEEYYY-SSHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” 

Ransom sprang forward, giving vent to what was plainly a titanic sneeze to begin with, let alone his leaning into it, relishing it, and then on top of that, as the sneeze went on it seemed to turn into a pure, guttural yell, his voice roughening in an obviously voluntary way. It sounded as though the sort of scream one might hear on a hardcore metal record was riding the rails of an involuntary, massive rush of air, and Marta couldn’t help but frown as a visible spray was ejected from Ransom’s face along with the helter skelter noise, but she could hardly notice the spray since, standing closest to the blast, her ears were assaulted worst with Ransom’s screaming sneeze or sneeze-flavored scream, whatever it was, and she dearly wished she’d followed the family’s example and plugged her ears.

The sneeze tapered off at last, and Ransom--who’d doubled over with the blast--bounced back up, face reddened from exertion, practically beaming. Or at least he would have been beaming, were his nose not already scrunching…

“Whew! Big wuhh-hunn…” He was presumably celebrating his sneeze, congratulating himself on a “big one” although the urge had not yet left him entirely, and it seemed another sneeze was one its way. Joni was just walking back into the room as he went into his sniffing routine again.

“Jesus! Ransom you’re gonna give your grandfather a heart attack…” she huffed, before seeing him building towards another sneeze, spinning on her heel and promptly marching out of the room again.

(Harlan, for his part, was chuckling.)

“S-suhh… sorry guys, think I gotta sn-sneeze again…” he warned, breath catching as he actively tilted his head back, presumably seeking some sort of light to look into. His eyes were tearing slightly as he fanned one hand in the general direction of his nose, perhaps… attempting to spark another sneeze by fanning dust at himself? He smiled as he could the whole way, clearly enjoying this performance.

“What the hell, kiddo, didn’t we tell you about your whole yelling routine…” Richard grumbled, making a move to walk towards Ransom but clearly thinking better of it as Ransom’s breath caught yet again.

“Ransom!” His mother interjected. 

“You’re not a kid, you get allergy shots, I don’t know why you put on this whole production…” (Richard again)

“Ransom stop that this instant, you know the neighbors called the police last time they thought someone was in here being murdered.” (Linda)

“Shh, shh, shh, you’ll make it go away… ooh, I can feel it…” (Ransom, giggling)

The rest of them were rolling their eyes, plugging their ears, shuffling away from the scene---Marta heard a door slam, clearly Joni wasn’t risking being within the house for Ransom’s next explosion.

Meanwhile Ransom seemed to have clinched the sneeze, no longer trying to coax it out but surrendering to it, preparing for it, getting ready to ride the wave and rattle the rafters… he held up his hand, and put his fingers down one by one, his giggling nearly putting him off his sneeze again as he counted down to the sneeze: five fingers, four, three, two... and just as he had one finger left up, he gave another of those great airy voiceless pulls with his flared nostrils and slack mouth and…

“EEEYYYYYYYYAAAA-SSSHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

This one was less a heavy metal growl and more a pure scream, perhaps inspired by his mother’s mention of murder, as it bent higher pitched towards the end, and Marta couldn’t help but think she wouldn’t have imagined such a large man could reach such a high pitch.

Once again Ransom pitched forward, staying bent over, hands over his face this time as he pushed out the sneeze, dragging it out beyond all necessity, but clearly enjoying it. He popped up again, “whew! Think I got the itch out that time!” He said, beaming like a child pleased to have gotten away with something naughty, before he screwed his face up again, “W-well, I think I got it…”

“Ransom, stop it, I know you’re just putting it on this time, I can tell.” Linda said, although this time she was chuckling a bit. Harlan was outright laughing, although he rolled his eyes as he said “you’ve outdone yourself.”

Marta had prepared adequately for this one, fingers plugging her ears, but she was still rather distracted by the whole affair. She’d never seen anyone sneeze quite so dramatically. Still, he seemed to have some measure of control over the whole affair; standing behind him, she couldn’t help but notice the sheen of his hands, practically glistening with the moisture from the sneeze, before he wiped them roughly on his pants. Clearly this sneeze had been much… juicier, she thought with an alarmed frown. Ransom must have anticipated that, ergo the hands tented around his nose as he’d howled out that last sneeze. 

“You done yelling at us, buddy?” Richard asked, clearly irritated. His son had managed to take up even more space than he did, after all. Practically took up all the space in the house; certainly there wasn’t a room in the house (or on the grounds altogether, practically) that Ransom’s sneezes couldn’t be heard. 

“Yeah Dad, sorry.” Ransom said, his childish grin replaced with a more adolescent smirk, his eyes cutting over towards the couch where his father sat. “Just had a tickle in my nose.” His voice grew brighter, though no less mocking, as he looked over at Marta, who once again could have been a drink cart, a grandfather clock, a camera for all it mattered. He tilted his head at her, and adopted what might have been a boyish pout (if his face weren’t so smug) to say:

 “Allergies, you know. I can’t help it.”