#when he was nine he felt like he stepped into a minefield with them and authority is complicated and he's sensitive to rejection and

[ahsoka-in-a-hood]

I have no problem projecting my own discomfort with negotiations and group projects onto Anakin. You know how when you're disagreeing over something, not getting your way feels bad, and getting your way feels maybe even worse, and compromises often make no one happy anyway? I think maybe Obi Wan can handle all that. I think maybe he feels smug when he gets his way. It's because of his time with Qui Gon, probably. Anakin though, I think he's more like me. I think he finds the whole thing a bit of an ordeal, just bad vibes all round. He's literally an apprentice diplomat and the whole process is causing Stress. This is why when he caught the dark side he just went ahead and started selecting option murder everytime. That also causes lots of bad feelings but like, he gets his power from them and his master tells him he's a good boy, so.

[bellakitse]

The one I can’t live without

“Am I okay?” he hisses like a rattlesnake. “My boyfriend just took a swan dive off a four-story building with an asshole with a gun. What do you think, Carlos? Does that sound okay?”

Carlos does something reckless at work upsetting TK.

Written for @911lonestarangstweek - Day 1: Emotional whump + “How do we fix this?”

In hindsight, Carlos probably shouldn’t have been so flippant in the sight of TK’s worry.

He’s running on adrenaline. They’re in the middle of a standoff on the roof of a four-story apartment building with him between an erratic gunman on the ledge and his girlfriend. He’s trying to talk the man into lowering his gun when his radio goes live, letting him know the rescue cushion has been inflated below them, and he cringes as it causes the man before him to lose the last bit of grip he has on the situation. He doesn’t stop to think; he sees the man’s trigger finger start to pull back, and Carlos rushes forward, his arms going around the guy’s waist. Next thing Carlos knows, they’re in the air freefalling before landing on the giant cushion.

Screaming and orders are being shouted as he rolls off the cushion with his arms still around the man. He lets him go to grab his cuffs before standing him up and passing him over to his partner, finding a look of exasperation on her face.

“You’re either the bravest or dumbest son of a bitch I know, Reyes,” she says with a shake of her head before tilting it in the direction of a series of first responder vehicles. “Get your ass over there to make sure you still have your brains in the right place, though after this stunt, I have to wonder.”

Carlos rolls his eyes but does what she says, starting to make his way over to the paramedics.

“By the way,” she calls out, causing him to look back at her. “Your man is over there spitting nails.”

Carlos winces, just now noticing the number on one of the rigs. He continues walking over, feeling dread as he spots Paul and Judd and sees the pitying looks on their faces as he passes them. He sees Tommy and Nancy first. They seem to be forming a barrier with their bodies, and he quickly realizes it’s because TK is behind them, sitting on the edge of their rig with his head between his knees, taking in deep breaths.

“Baby, are you okay?” he asks, concerned, stepping around them only to step back when TK snaps his head up to look at him, his green eyes flashing.

“Am I okay?” he hisses like a rattlesnake. “My boyfriend just took a swan dive off a four-story building with an asshole with a gun. What do you think, Carlos? Does that sound okay?”

“TK – “ he starts to say with what he hopes is a calming voice. It seems to do the exact opposite as TK turns redder, his face twisting into a nasty scowl.

“Of all the reckless, stupid, boneheaded things to do,” he rants. “What were you thinking? Were you even thinking  at all – “

Carlos scoffs, and even though his brain is screaming at him not to continue, he can’t help himself when TK gives him a challenging look at the sound. “That’s a little hypocritical coming from you, don’t you think? Reckless is kind of your trademark.”

He knows it’s the wrong thing to say the second the words are out of his mouth. He expects TK to curse him out if he’s honest. What he isn’t expecting is the flash of hurt he sees cross TK’s face or the way his hand trembles. He feels his stomach drop unpleasantly as TK’s eyes shine wet, and he’s more than ready to apologize when TK turns towards his Captain.

“Captain Vega,” he starts, his voice shaking slightly. “If you would please check Officer Reyes over. I’ll go check on the girlfriend and make sure she’s okay.”

He notices Tommy look over at him, but his focus is on TK and how he won’t look at him anymore.

“Sure, TK,” Tommy answers kindly, her voice motherly the way he’s heard it at times with both her people. “Nancy, go with him.”

“You got it, Cap,” Nancy answers, putting herself on the side of TK to act as a barrier once again when they pass him. He thinks of reaching for TK anyway, but the glare Nancy gives him as she walks by stops him in his place. Instead, he watches them walk away, his dread growing with every step TK takes away from him.

Tommy clears her throat, forcing Carlos to turn back to her. He feels his face go hot at the judging look he finds on her face.

“Well,” she starts to say, letting out a loud breath. “That was an idiotic thing to say, wasn’t it?” she questions bluntly, and Carlos can’t help but cringe before nodding.

Tommy’s expression softens a bit at that. She rolls her eyes at him before waving him forward. “Well, come on, let’s get you checked out,” she motions to where TK had been sitting, probably hyperventilating because Carlos dove off a damn building – fuck he’s an idiot.

“TK might be pissed at you right now, but I guarantee the first thing he’s going to ask when he comes back is if you’re okay. It will go a long way to get you out of the doghouse if I tell him you’re fine. Then you can apologize for the stupid thing you just said when the man that loves you was on the verge of a panic attack over your safety,” she finishes pointedly, making him feel worse if possible.

 ֎֎֎

 He doesn’t get to apologize.

Mitchell comes over to tell him they’re wanted back at the station before TK and Nancy come back to the rig. He goes reluctantly; he knows he has a job to do, but he hates the idea of leaving things unsettled with TK.

Tommy sees his hesitation, her expression softening once more as she gives him a slight shove and lets him know that she’ll tell TK he’s okay. He nods, grateful, and asks her to tell TK if he can please text him, getting a nod back from the medical Captain.

He gets that text he’s waiting for hours later when he’s gotten home. Only it’s not with the message he’s hoping for, whatever that might be. Instead, it reads: ‘Spending the night at my dad’s. I’ll call you.’

Nine simple words that make his stomach clench with unease. He wants to call TK, but his eyes keep falling on the last three words of the text.

‘I’ll call you.’

The message is clear for Carlos to understand. TK doesn’t want him to reach out before he’s ready to talk to him.

He looks at his kitchen, prepped for an apology dinner he had planned of coconut curry ramen, and sighs as he starts putting things away. He loves cooking for TK, having him sit on his counters with a smile on his face as he watches him work, stealing kisses from him after he lets him taste a sauce. It’s not the same as cooking for one anymore.

As a matter of fact, he quickly realizes through the rest of the evening that his apartment isn’t the same without TK. He’s known for a while that his boyfriend spends a lot of time at his place, but Carlos hadn’t realized how much he’d gotten used to it until now that they’re fighting and he’s not there.

He eats cold cereal half-heartedly and then heads upstairs. Usually, he and TK would cuddle on the couch after dinner, only half paying attention to whatever was on tv as they exchange kisses and touches. Not having that tonight, knowing that it’s by his own doing, leaves him feeling despondent. He gets ready for bed, already knowing that it’s going to be a restless night. The only times he sleeps alone these days is when TK has an overnight at work.

He lays in bed feeling agitated and miserable as he turns to face TK’s side of the bed, hating how it’s cold to the touch when he extends his hand to touch the space. He wants to reach out and have his fingertips find his boyfriend’s warm body there.

He falls into a fitful sleep, startling awake when he hears movement in his bedroom. Sitting up, he inhales a sharp breath as he spots a tense TK by the door, the light of the hallway illuminating him. Turning on the bedside lamp, he plays with the covers as they stare at each other, nervous energy crackling between them.

“I’m still pissed at you,” TK finally speaks, his brow pinched. “But I can’t sleep without your arms around me anymore,” he whispers, obviously more upset than angry.

Carlos swallows hard, hating to see TK like this and knowing he’s the cause. “How do I fix this?”

TK lets out a sigh, and pushing his shoes off, comes over to the bed, sitting down on it. “I think the real question is how do we fix this,” he corrects him, giving him a sad smile. “And unfortunately, the answer is there is no real way to fix it. I was so scared for you today because I’m so in love with you, so unless I decide to stop loving you, I’m always going to be scared when you’re in a dangerous situation,” he finishes with a wry chuckle that sounds accepting of his fate. It makes Carlos’ heart break and fills with hope simultaneously.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” Carlos whispers. He slowly reaches out, touching his fingertips to the hand TK has resting on the bed, letting out a sigh when TK turns it, taking a firmer hold.

“Yeah, that was dumb,” TK answers dryly, his eyebrow raised in challenge for a moment before he lets out a sigh of his own. “But you weren’t wrong. I have made you worry about me more than once on the job.”

“Yeah,” Carlos breathes out, thinking of TK getting shot, of the minefield and his abduction. Each time Carlos had his heart in his throat, but never did TK dismiss it the way he did today. “I’m sorry,” he says again, letting out a breath when TK’s expression softens.

“I know you are,” TK says softly. He moves, laying back on the bed, his arms open to Carlos.

Carlos doesn’t waste a second. He sinks into TK’s frame, relieved to be back in his embrace, closing his eyes when TK presses a kiss to his forehead.

“We have to be more careful out there,” TK says against his brow. “The both of us.”

Carlos nods in agreement. He thinks back to how lonely his place felt all evening without TK and lets himself voice the thought that has been echoing in his mind all night. “We have someone important waiting for us to come back home in one piece to.”

TK touches his chin, tipping his head up to look him in the eye. “The most important person in my life,” he tells him with a gentle smile, and Carlos knows he’s been forgiven completely.

“The one I can’t live without,” Carlos whispers back, swallowing around the lump in his throat as he takes in the shine in TK’s eyes at his words.

“Yeah, the one I can’t live without,” he whispers back before covering his mouth with his, kissing him gently.

Carlos returns it, deepening it as he grows desperate for more, his hands reaching out under TK’s shirt to touch the warm skin he was yearning for earlier.

TK answers his touch by pulling back long enough to pull the shirt over his head, turning as he rolls Carlos over, covering him with his body, and kissing him thoroughly and deeply. Carlos lets out a whine when TK breaks the kiss, pressing smaller, softer ones over his cheeks and nose as Carlos makes another sound.

“We should sleep,” he says quietly, shaking his head when Carlos protests. “It’s been a long day, it’s late, and you jumped off a building. You can’t tell me you’re not tired.”

Carlos tries to argue only to let out a yawn that makes TK laugh.

“Thought so,” he continues smugly. “Sleep, sweetheart. We can pick this up in the morning.”

“Fine,” Carlos pouts, his eyes already growing heavy, causing TK to chuckle again.

He watches as TK stands to remove his pants before getting back in bed.

“Can I hold you?” he questions nervously.

“Yes, please,” TK breathes out, turning his back to him, letting out a sigh when Carlos throws an arm around him, tucking his face into his neck, breathing in that uniquely TK scent.

“I love you,” he mumbles into the skin, exhaling as TK squeezes his arm.

“I love you too, baby,” he answers, sounding just as tired as Carlos. After their emotional day, it makes sense he’s so worn out.

Carlos closes his eyes, finally relaxing for the first time all day with TK back in his arms.

[talkfastromance4]

4. Minefields--Ashton Irwin ‘Lovers in a Song’ series

a/n: So while each ‘chapter’ is titled after a song it’s more of the mood and a few choice lyrics that really made the story. This story changed a lot as I wrote it but in the end it all flows really nicely together. I’m so excited to share this with you! Each part is 3,000 with the exception of the last part. Please don’t hesitate to send me messages, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Word count: 3k

warnings: PLEASE READ THIS FIRST, there is physical abuse in this, it is minimal/accidental and happens after drinking/drug usage please, please read with caution, drug use mentioned briefly but no particular drug named, aftermath of drugs, aftermath of hit, more angst

Masterlist

LIAS masterlist

***

1 Year Ago

Cressida is flipping through her magazine on the couch in her hotel suite in Italy. She’s here on a promotional trip for the newest Brandy she helped design. It has a hint of vanilla and is in a beautiful gold bottle. Ashton gave her the idea.

Ashton is also in the hotel across the street. She wonders if he’s thinking of her too. The last time they were together they got into a big fight about Gavin and Lucinda. Ashton���s heard rumors he’s a part of a large drug cartel involving opioids, hallucinogens, the whole nine yards. Cressida disagreed because that’s all just rumors to stir the pot.

She fired back that Lucinda is only after Ashton’s money and plans on taking it all in a large divorce battle where she’d play victim. Ashton told her she was insane and they both left the hotel in huffs of fury.

She flips past a page that has her and Gavin blown up on both pages while they were out walking for lunch. The small article claims there’s “trouble in paradise and alcohol might be at risk.” Gavin has been partying a lot more recently and doesn’t come home until five a.m. most days. Cressida checks the watch on her wrist that matches the bracelet Ashton gifted her.

It’s nearly 2 in the morning now, her jet lag is still a nuisance. She glances to the open window and sees movement in Ashton’s room behind the white curtain. The only way she knows it’s his room is because that’s where they stayed while they were here that wonderful summer.

Her lips are pursed as she contemplates and thinks, eyes glancing to the pink rotary phone and the short yet oh so far distance to where Ashton is. Giving in, she reaches for the phone and dials the hotel’s number asking for the room Mr. Irwin is staying it. When asked who they should say is calling she told them, “say it’s Miss Gold.”

The phone hums in her ear and she saunters over the window waiting to hear his voice and to hopefully see him in the window.

“It’s you,” his voice is soft and quiet. He almost sounds relieved.

“It’s me,” she smiles and begins to pace. “I know this might be a mistake calling you this late but…”

“But what angel?”

The use of her nickname is a sign that he misses her too. She moves in front of the window and sees his silhouette facing her.

“These dreams I have of you aren’t real enough.”

He’s silent for a beat.

“Is he there with you?”

“No, he’s at some club. He doesn’t get back until early in the morning anyway, I could come over and—”

Cressida stops short because she hears a woman’s voice behind Ashton asking if he ordered the turn down service yet. Her heart sinks as she watches in horror when Lucinda wraps her arms around Ashton, their silhouettes become one large shadow. There’s a lump in Cressida’s throat and her vision becomes blurred with tears.

“Is that them? Let me tell them there were used towels—hello? I’d like to complain—”

Cressida slams the pink phone in its cradle, the ringer tings loudly as her tears fall in rage and hurt. She shuts her curtain and falls into bed falling asleep by draining the sadness from her heart.

There’s a New Year’s Eve Party happening at The Golden Lion and Cressida is there with Gavin. When she spotted Ashton by himself at the bar with a friend of his, Luke she thinks is his name, she wants to put on a show for him since Lucinda is absent.

Cressida’s felt embarrassed ever since that phone call to him in Italy. Clearly there’s something going on between Ashton and Lucinda, right? More than just publicity? Cressida downed two lemon shots in a row, loving the sweet and sour taste of the lemon and sugar.

Anytime she and Gavin were in eyesight of Ashton, she’d drape herself over Gavin and laughed extra loud. Sober, she’d hate herself for acting this petty, but being intoxicated made it all appear crystal clear. She could feel Ashton’s gaze on her the whole night until she ducked away to the bathroom.

When she exited she caught sight of Gavin with his hand up some woman’s dress and she’s giggling at something he’s saying in her ear. Cressida sees red, because not only is Ashton happy in his ‘relationship’ leaving her in the dust, but Gavin is also doing it for all the world to see.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Cressida shrieks making her way towards Gavin.

The girl he was hitting on gasps then quickly ducks away back into the main hall where the party is. Gavin sighs rolling his neck from side to side before facing Cressida.

“Please, don’t tell me you’re hurt about this,” he scoffs. “Why don’t you go run to Irwin?”

“What are you talking about? You can’t be seen making out with someone who isn’t me, not when our relationship is in the spotlight 24/7.”

“Oh, come on, you don’t need me to be in the spotlight. You don’t need anyone because you’re Cressida Leigh James, the princess of Brandy because your great grandaddy double-crossed his partner. Guess that does run in the family.”

Cressida felt like she got slapped. While her and Gavin’s relationship is merely for public eye, they always seemed to have gotten along pretty well. She thought they were somewhat friends, but she has been double-crossing him this whole time. She’s been double-crossing her entire family from three years ago.

“You really think I want to marry you?” Gavin stalks closer to her and she backs away, he’s never acted this way with her before. “You’re a selfish rich girl expecting that everyone loves you. I never did and I never will, so when it is announced that we are to be married, I’ll be as faithful as you’ve been to me. See you at midnight.”

He shoves past her and Cressida is left alone with her shame and guilt. It falls out of her from her tears that won’t seem to stop. She hobbles from the room to go back into the bathroom, she’ll stay there for the rest of the night. No one wants her. Ashton has Lucinda, Gavin has everyone else. While she’s swiping at her cheeks trying to dry her tears, she collides into someone and by the smell of his cologne she knows exactly who.

“Cressida? What happened?” Ashton asks steadying her by her shoulders.

“It’s not like you care,” she cries trying to continue her way past him.

“What are you talking about? Did Gavin hurt you? I’ll kill him, I swear I’ll—”

“I’ve hurt myself. I’m hurting other people, too. Leave me alone, Ash, you should be with Lucinda.”

“Angel—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I should have known you’d be right here waiting in the wings for her to fall back into bed with you, Irwin,” Gavin’s voice strikes her like a whip. “I came to apologize but I was right. You are a slut for him.”

“Watch your mouth, de Poiters,” Ashton warns shifting Cressida behind him. He takes a step closer to Gavin, his fingers twitching. He’s wanted to punch Gavin ever since he saw he’s been linked with Cressida.

Gavin laughs and comes toe to toe with Ashton, Cressida sniffles watching what will happen. She’s thankful no one else is around, but at the same time she almost wishes there were people witnessing. Then this whole hidden façade could end.

“You hit me then everyone will know about you. Even her Daddy.”

Ashton clenches his jaw and Cressida gasps. Why would he say it like that?

“I know a lot more than you two think,” he jeers. “But I guess I owe you thanks, because I don’t ever have to fuck her.”

Ashton’s fist connects with Gavin’s nose in record speed. Cressida shouts in surprise and watches in horror as they tousle, fists colliding with flesh and snatching onto shirts trying to get more than one hit in.

“Stop! Stop! Please!” Cressida cries trying to break them up.

A defensive backhand meant for Ashton strikes Cressida’s cheek and she falls to the floor with a pained scream. Her vision turns black and spotty, and her ear is ringing from the commotion above her.

“You bastard!”

“I didn’t mean to! Cress, are you all right? I’m sorry, please, I didn’t mean to hit you. I took some pills to ease off tension and—”

“Shut the fuck up and get away from her,” Ashton seethes shoving Gavin against the wall. His face is centimeters away from Gavin’s. “If I hear you talk disrespectfully to her again or if you lay a hand on her, I will kill you with my own bare hands. If you have any drugs that are near her, you get rid of them, you hear me?”

“Y-yes. Please, I’m sorry. I need to make sure she’s—”

“She’s not your concern now because you’re on a trip. Sober up and get out of my sight,” Ashton threatens pushing him towards the door. “She’s going to be with me until you stop acting like a fucking teenager and if I hear you’re anywhere near this building, I’ll have you arrested to rot in prison for life.”

Gavin gives one last pleading look to Cressida who is rubbing at her cheek before leaving. Ashton rushes to her side, his fingers graze at the shine on her cheek. It’s already bruising, and she flinches at his touch, her eye clamped shut.

“It’s me. He’s gone and I’m right here,” he soothes keeping his hand hovering above her face. “Can I help you up?”

She nods sniffling, her hands reaching out for him. She’s off balance from drinking and her head is still spinning from the backhand. Ashton helps her walk but it’s hard for her, so he just lifts her into his arms. She cries out in pain when her cheek rubs against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he hushes, “I’ll take you up to our room and clean you up.”

“Okay,’’ she whimpers, lips trembling. She closes her eyes to blink and when she opens them again she’s staring at their room. Her ears are ringing and it’s hard to see through her puffy eyes, both from crying and the slap.

“I’m setting you on the bed and I’ll call Louisa to send up your clothes and a first aid kit,” Ashton tells her. When he sets her on the bed he removes his hands from her like a hot iron. “No one will know what happened, okay?”

Cressida sways in her spot on the bed, her head feels really heavy and all she wants to do is sleep. It seems like forever until Ashton is back in front of her with a pile of clothes she keeps here that the staff washes and a first aid.

“Do you want to change first or have me clean your cheek?” Ashton’s voice is so soft it reminds her of a feather.

“Change. My feet hurt,” she whispers.

He helps her change out of her dress and into the sleep shorts and t-shirt. She lets out a cry when the fabric touches her cheek, he quickly apologizes then opens the kit. His fingers are very cool and gentle as he splays them on her cheek inspecting it.

“You’re bruising already,” he breathes then dabs at it with an alcohol wipe.

“Ow!” she cries.

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos sympathizing with her pain. “I need to clean it and Louisa brought up an ice pack so we can bring down the swelling.”

Tears roll down her cheeks as he cleans her up, he comments on what he’s doing, how well she’s handling it, and when he’s almost finished. He places a small band-aid on the small cut that’s on the apple of her cheek.

“You’re all done,” he kisses her hand then rests the ice pack on her cheek. She winces again when he places her hand over it to keep it on the most swollen part of her bruise. “What can I have the front desk send up for you?”

“Water,” she croaks, “and bread.”

“I’ll be right back.”

He’s gone again and she feels oh so tired, so she lays down on her side letting the ice pack stay on its own. It’s hard to see because her eye is swollen shut, the pack feels good on her bruise. She wants Ashton.

“I’m here, I’m right here,” his voice soothes, and she’s being lifted to the center of the bed. Cressida crawls onto his chest, his arms wrap around her protectively. Hesitantly, and very carefully, he kisses the top of her head.

He helps her drink the water that’s sent up and feeds her the bread in small pieces, it hurts her to chew. And all the while he holds her, his heart aching for her yet also bursting in happiness by being with her. He lays the blanket over them and holds the ice pack on her cheek while she sleeps. It’s a restless night, whenever she turns she lets out a small cry and Ashton is quick to pacify her.

The next morning, she can only see him out of her left eye because her right is shut completely. Ashton smiles at her warmly but then memories of the night before come creeping back. Gavin’s words, his and Ashton’s fight that resulted with her on the floor. Ashton’s lip is cut but other than that he still looks perfect.

“I bet I look horrible,” she croaks trying to sit up then groans. Her body feels like cement and her head is pounding. She lays her head back down gingerly on Ashton’s chest.

“You’re always beautiful,” his fingers rub over her hair, “you’re just a little bruised up right now.”

They lay in silence as the sun starts to rise, the light lifting higher and higher on the wall facing the window. The steady beat of his heart is a familiar tune to her ears. She’s been graced to be in his presence five months earlier than they planned and from what she remembers from last night, she’ll be here with him until Gavin’s sober.

That could take months.

“He’s never hit me before,” she tells him quietly. His fingers pause on her back. “And I know it was an accident. He’s also never talked to me how he did.”

“He was on something, Cressida. That’s why he was acting the way he was. I know it’s fake between you two, but I thought he had respect for you. I want to make sure you’re taken care of when I’m not with you. I meant what I said, you know.”

She shifts her head so she can look at him properly. He’s a little blurry from her distorted vision, there’s some scruff on his chin. The cut on his lip is dry and she’s confused.

“You were hit more than me and I’m the one who looks worse. And I know you did, thank you for helping me.”

“It’s always the beautiful things that suffer the most damage,” he kisses her head giving her a sad look. “I’ve missed you.”

“Lucinda wouldn’t like to hear that.”

“She’s not here.”

“She was with you in Italy.”

“Is that what has you so upset? I had to accompany her for fashion week, my whisky was the premiered drink. You honestly think I wouldn’t have called you over to my hotel room if she weren’t there?”

“Really?” she smiles but it’s more of a grimace. Even her lips hurt.

“Try and relax your face, angel.”

“It’s hard. I’m so happy to be with you. Is that twisted?”

“A little,” he grins, “but that’s part of your charm. You’re a twisted woman.”

She frowns remembering what Gavin had said, she really is a twisted woman.

“Hey, what he said to you wasn’t true. All four of us are guilty of pretending with each other and lying to everyone else.”

“So, you don’t have feelings for Lucinda?”

“I respect her business, she’s great at branding and marketing. She’s a friend, and she asks about you.”

“She knows about me?”

“It’s no surprise they both caught on eventually,” he smiles, “we’ve been doing this for a long time, angel, and always in the first week of May.”

She touches her cheek carefully; her head hurts from all the thoughts coursing through it and from the throbbing pain in her cheek. She’ll call Gavin later to make sure he’s all right and to let him know she’s okay. Maybe the four of them could come up with a plan where they could all be happy.

“Ashton?”

“Hm? Are you hungry? I told Louisa to have breakfast delivered by ten. I figured you’d sleep later.”

“No, I’m not—” she stares at him.

Memories of their past push away the dark parts that have occurred. This situation isn’t fair to any of them. Even this, her staying with him now might be a mistake, it’s all broken in so many ways. Ashton always puts her back together again, much like last night. They’re in a constant minefield waiting for a bomb to go off. Last night was explosive but it wasn’t the nuclear bomb ticking away like the time they share.

She’d walk through a hundred minefields to be close to him.

“Kiss me, please?” her request is so soft he barely hears her.

“What I risk to be close to you,” he sighs with a teasing grin before pressing his lips ever so carefully on hers in a tender kiss, and she smiles in contentment. She doesn’t know how long they have, but any amount of time is worth it. Ashton is worth it.

“I still belong with you.”

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[andcontemplation]

Old Friends, New Lives

Joyce Byers saw a ghost. Right there in the produce section of the supermarket. 

Across the display of crated oranges, hovering over the bulk bins, Jim Hopper had caught her eye. She stopped in her tracks and gasped. It was clear by the shock written all over her face that she wasn’t expecting to see him.

“What are you doing here?” 

The words tumbled out of her before she bit down on her bottom lip so hard, there was no way she didn’t taste blood, and her eyes went wide. She blinked once, twice, and gave her head a little shake. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing -- was it really him?

“Getting groceries for my mom,” Hopper gave a half shrug. “What does it look like?”

He waved the list at her as if to convince her that yes -- he was indeed real, and it wasn’t really a big deal. Not like she hadn’t seen him in just a smidge over two years. 

843 days to be precise… not like either of them was keeping count.

 A smirk tugged the corners of his mouth at the sight of her floundering above the mixed nuts, but he fought it. She was still so cute when she was flustered, and to be honest, he was enjoying making her squirm—just a bit. 

Joyce just shook her head impatiently.

“No, I meant, what are you doing here? At home. We weren’t expecting you…”

Hopper glanced at his list and grabbed a box of oranges for his basket.

“I’m on R n’ R. Uncle Sam let me come home for a few weeks before my next tour.”

Joyce continued to shake her head, moving from impatience into disbelief. Or maybe hurt? Anger. Sadness.

She blinked back what looked like tears and nearly choked on her next words.

“And you didn’t think to call? Or write?”

“Well, I was going to…” Hopper shrugged again, wondering how much longer he could keep up this charade of not-giving-a-fuck. Then he reminded himself that he kinda had a reason to be distant and cold with her. 

“So why didn’t you?” she asked.

Joyce shifted her weight, and even though he couldn’t see it, he knew she had her hands on her hips behind the display. He couldn’t meet her gaze, so he glanced around the store, at the walnuts on sale, at a young family passing by pushing their baby in a shopping cart. Looking anywhere but at her.

“Didn’t think it was right to hit up someone else old lady at Christmastime,” he muttered after a second.

Joyce sighed deeply, and it drew his attention back to her. 

She was staring at him, in earnest or exasperation, he couldn’t tell. Her eyes drifted over him as if taking in his image just in case it was the last time she might see him again. It didn’t feel like much had changed since they’d seen each other last. Sure, his messy, dirty blonde mop was now cropped high and tight, and the old button-down flannel he’d got from his closet didn’t quite fit him like it used to just a few years ago back in high school. He’d bulked up from his time in the army and lost some of that boyish charm and innocence somewhere along the way to the jungles of Vietnam, and maybe she could see that too. 

She was staring into his soul now. As much as he might’ve been hurt, she was hurt too, maybe even worse. If that was even possible.

“We’re still friends, Hop,” she said, finally.

“Are we?”

Joyce nodded, her cheeks flushed. She looked down for a long moment, and when she raised her head again, he swore she looked just a little bit guilty.

“Yeah,” she said. “We are.”

Then she stepped around the bulk bin, out from behind the crates of Christmas oranges and into the open where he could see now why she might feel guilty. Just a bit.

Hopper knew about the wedding. He didn’t know about this...

Joyce pushed her cart to the side and walked closer to him, fully aware it was his turn to stare now. Her left hand fell to her belly self-consciously, and Hopper didn’t know what hurt worse: the flash of a modest gold ring on her finger under the harsh fluorescent lights or the graceful swell of the child growing inside her. 

She was glowing with her rosy cheeks, dark hair pulled up high in a bouncy ponytail, and a blue corduroy jumper dress that flattered in her condition. Motherhood looked surprisingly good on her, and Hopper struggled with the emotions bubbling up inside; that it wasn’t him who put her in the family way instead.

“Christ, look at you,” was all he managed to get out, his hardened exterior slowly starting to melt away. 

Joyce heaved a sigh and leaned against the bins. 

“Yeah.”

Hopper’s heart sank at the verbal confirmation that what he was seeing was the god awful truth. He cleared his throat and tried to talk over the lump forming there. 

“I heard from Mom that you and Lonnie…” 

He couldn’t finish. He didn’t want to think about the fact her new last name was now Byers.

“Yeah,” Joyce said again, looking sorry. “I wanted to tell you. I just… didn’t know how.”

Hopper just shook his head.

“How-- I mean… When are you… due?”

“Any day now.”

Hopper rocked back on his heels, searching for something more to say than abject stammering. The emotions were getting the best of him. 

“He treating you good?”

“Yeah,” Joyce breathed, a happy grin creeping up on her lips. “Never thought I’d say that. But Lon’s been really sweet on me since he found out he’s gonna be a dad. It was even his idea to get hitched,” she said, trailing off, “I wanted to wait…”

Anger and jealousy won, and Hopper’s lip curled, despite himself. 

“Didn’t wait very long, huh?” 

He only sort of regretted saying it the second Joyce’s grin vanished. 

“Well, good for Lonnie,” Hopper continued, trying his best not to sound too sarcastic. “Never pegged him for the marrying kind.”

The color disappeared from her cheeks then, too. Joyce set her jaw and glared. 

“At least he stays true to his commitments. Unlike some people.”

Hopper rolled his eyes. 

“Yes. Clearly, Lonnie knows where his priorities lie. Like sending his pregnant wife out to get groceries for Christmas dinner right when she’s about ready to pop.”

Joyce gripped her shopping cart and pulled it towards her in defiance. 

“Well… a wife’s responsibility is running the house, you know.”

“Not when you’re as big as a house.” 

Hopper realized what he said as it left his mouth, and he had never felt more regret in his twenty short years on Planet Earth.

“Excuse me?”

“Whatever happened to women’s lib?” Hopper tried to backpedal. “I thought you were all for getting women out of the house…”

“I am nine months pregnant, Jim Hopper--”

“I just meant you shouldn’t be on your feet right--”

But Joyce refused to hear him.

“I cannot believe you! That is the rudest--”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” 

He cut her off, raising his voice, causing the nearby shoppers to stop and gawk at the trouble brewing next to a case of apples and oranges.

“You know what?” Her hand went up, and she leaned forward over her cart handle. “I’m going to stop you right there before I take out your knee caps using this shopping cart as my battering ram.” 

Her eyebrows shot up as if she was telling him to try her. For a moment, he was actually scared of the five-foot-three mother-to-be -- she was absolutely Horrifying with a capital H when she was hormonal and angry. No Viet-Cong could send chills down his spine the way she just did.

Then, as if a switch was flipped, Joyce straightened up, looked at her wristwatch, and pressed her lips together, slowly pushing her cart away.  

“It was really nice running into you, Jim, but you’ll have to excuse me. I suddenly have more important things to do… like pick out a ham.”

“Great!” 

Hopper grabbed an apple and slammed it into his basket. He grabbed another and squeezed it, bruising the fruit as he watched her walk away. 

“Excellent. Thanks for the catch-up. Let’s do this again sometime!” He called out after her, eliciting a few more concerned glances from passers-by. 

She stopped at the next aisle, looked over her shoulder, and gave him an exaggerated eye roll and a dismissive wave.

“Have a nice life, Hop,” she muttered over her shoulder, just under her breath. Just loud enough so only he could hear her.

“Same to you, sweetheart,” he snarled, even though he was pretty sure only the bananas heard him that time. 

A few moments later, Hopper was awkwardly standing in front of the bountiful display of yams and potatoes, his shopping basket at his feet, hoping Joyce would be done with the cereal soon -- where he needed to go next -- when he heard her cuss. Expecting it to be directed at him, he turned, ready to start the argument up again but instead, his blood ran cold. 

Joyce was holding herself up against the Cheerios, clutching the shelf with white knuckles. Her face was twisted in pain. 

Hopper left the basket at his feet and crossed the produce section to get to her as fast as possible.

“You okay?” he asked as he approached, worried.

“Yeah, fine.” Joyce waved him off through a grimace. She rubbed her belly and tried to convince the both of them. “It’s just a little cramp. I’ve had them all morning.”

“Joyce,” Hopper said, reaching for her as the cramp worsened. 

“I’m fine!” She shouted, pulling her arm out of his grasp. The motion made her fall back into her cart, and Hopper caught her just in time before it rolled away on her.

“No,” he told her firmly. “You’re not!”

Joyce grimaced and whined and bore down through the pain. 

“I- I think I’m…” she stammered before it happened.

Hopper stepped back just as her water hit the floor tiles with a sickening splash. Joyce looked up at him, stunned.

Oh shit. 

“Okay,” he said, taking charge. “Let’s get you out of here.” 

“The groceries…” Joyce said in a daze, reaching for her cart as Hopper was escorting out towards the store’s front.

Just like in combat, Private Hopper never skipped a beat under pressure. All sorts of pressure. Like navigating a minefield or getting his ex-girlfriend to the hospital to deliver his arch-enemy’s baby.

“Forget the groceries,” Hopper told her before he started asking the tough questions. “Where’s Lonnie?”

“I… I don’t know,” Joyce admitted as she waddled down the aisle, Hopper helping to hold her upright from behind. She let go of his hand she didn’t realize she was holding as the wave of pain started to subside.

“He’s not at home?” Hopper asked her. Why was he even surprised?

“He said he was going to visit a friend last night, but he didn’t come home.” 

“Of course he didn’t,” Hopper snorted.

As they turned the corner towards the front doors, they passed an unavoidable crowd -- the checkout lines were full of onlookers. 

“Hey buddy, clean up on aisle three,” Hopper said to the nearest bag boy.

Everyone at the checkout lanes stopped what they were doing and stared. Some, who knew the pair, whispered between them; others smirked but averted their gaze. The bag boy, who was all of fourteen, turned white as a sheet when he realized what was going on, but the kid quickly nodded, opening the door for them out into the parking lot.

“Out of the way!” Hopper shouted to a group of smoking, loitering teens, and they scattered at the foreboding sight of the pregnant lady going into labor. 

“Where’s your car?” Hopper asked Joyce.

She stopped to catch her breath. 

“There.” 

She pointed at her mom’s beat-up old Ford Galaxie in the expectant-mothers stall and handed him the keys from her purse.

He opened the passenger door for her and all but pushed her in. If she hesitated any more, it might’ve looked like a kidnapping to any other bystanders. 

“Do you need anything from home?” he asked as he climbed into the driver’s side. “Or do you want to go straight to the hospital? Joyce?”

She had a distant look on her face, and all the color drained from it in a split second. She was going into shock. 

“Joyce!” Hopper barked like he was trying to get a new Private’s attention. “Answer me!”

“I’m fine! I’m fine.” She snapped out of it and moaned. Clutching her stomach, she closed her eyes. “Just take me to hospital. Please hurry.”

He did as he was told, and it didn’t take them long to get there. The Galaxie practically floated down Main street towards Hawkins Memorial on what was left of the suspension. Hopper drove the big pink boat like it was a Ferrari, weaving in and out of the wintery mid-day traffic, and silently practiced what he’d say if they got pulled over. But by the grace of god, they never did.

He got her to the Emergency Room in record time, leaving the car parked and running at the entrance. An orderly helped him bring Joyce to intake, and Hopper helped her answer questions through another wicked contraction. Then, as he got her comfortable in one of the waiting room chairs, with the assurance that it wouldn’t be long now, Hopper got the feeling like maybe he had done all he could, or should... 

He would park her car, call a cab to take him back to the supermarket, finish up his mother’s shopping, and go home. His job here was done. Yet he couldn’t help himself when he asked aloud:

“Do you want me to stay?” 

Joyce’s eyes were red, rimmed with tears as she tried not to cry while she contemplated his question. It felt like forever before she shook her head. 

“No…”

Hopper nodded slowly but took the answer quickly, half expecting it. He squeezed her arm and stood up to go. 

“Wait,” she said, grabbing his hand. “Can you find Lonnie? Please?” she asked. “Call Norm Brown. 0465. Or maybe Tony’s? He’s at 3112. Or was it 3113? Shit. I can’t remember…” Joyce wracked her brain for the phone numbers to give him, looking panicked, sucking in shallower and shallower breaths. She was starting to hyperventilate. 

“Hey, breathe…” Hopper said, crouching in front of her, getting her to slow down. “Just breathe. I’ll find him for you, okay? I promise. What about your mom? Want me to call her too?” 

Joyce focused on her breath, speaking between long inhales and exhales. 

“She’s not here. Taking care of aunt Darlene. It’s just Lonnie. And me right now.”

When her breathing evened out, he caught her eye, giving her one last reassurance. 

“I’ll find him. Don’t worry your pretty little head… Mom.”

Joyce laughed at the absurdity of the new name on her. 

“This is actually happening, isn’t it?” A couple tears ran down her face, and Hopper caught them with his thumb before they got too far down her cheeks.

“Yup.”

“I’m not just dreaming this?” she sputtered, followed by another short giggle.

Hopper forced a smile, even though he knew it was tinged with sadness.

“Nope.”

It looked like Joyce was about to say something more when a matronly grey-haired nurse with a wheelchair interrupted, killing the moment.

“Missus Byers? We can take you in now. Does Dad want to come in too?

Hopper stood up and let go of her hand, practically recoiling. 

“Oh, no. No. No… I’m not…”

The older nurse frowned.

“Oh.” 

Joyce smiled awkwardly. 

“He’s just an old friend.”

“A close friend of the family,” Hopper added.

The nurse raised an eyebrow. 

“Sure, whatever you kids wanna call it,” she said, then turned to Joyce. “Are you ready?”

Joyce closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

“Yes,” she said to the nurse. As Hopper helped her into the wheelchair, she reached for him one last time. 

“Find him for me, Hop?”

“I will. Hey,” Hopper locked eyes with her and then leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “You’re gonna do great.”

“Thanks.” She whispered back, squeezed his hand, her fingers lacing with his for a brief moment in time.

Hopper swiftly kissed the top of her head as he stood up to go. Then, he watched her get wheeled off beyond the swinging double doors and into the next stage of her life while he stayed firmly planted in their old one. 

When Hopper had parked her car and left her keys with hospital reception, he found a payphone and called the numbers Joyce had given him. One was no answer. The others said they’d pass along the message to Byers, which was good enough for now. 

Then Hopper called a cab to go back to the supermarket, but he could barely focus. He grabbed the essentials from what he remembered from his mom’s list, lost somewhere along the way to the hospital, and then went home in a daze himself. 

He wondered how it was they got to this point -- former best friends, lovers, now perfect strangers in each other’s lives, except for those few moments in between when it was only them and whatever trouble they’d found themselves in. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend the merry-go-round of misunderstandings and his-and-her mistakes in life that brought them here. Any sane person would say it was time to let go, move on. 

Was a friendship even salvageable after all they’d been through? She seemed to think so, briefly before he ruined it with his bad attitude. 

Later that evening, Hopper tried to get comfortable and get some sleep, something he was sorely lacking since jetting halfway around the world only a few days prior -- he was still on Saigon time. But he could only toss and turn, thinking about Joyce. Worried that Lonnie might still be MIA, and she’d be all alone, he got up, grabbed the bouquet of lilies he’d brought home for his mom from the airport out of the crystal vase off the dining room table, tied it up with some ribbon he found under the Christmas tree and drove back to the hospital. 

He wasn’t entirely sure what his plan was when he got there. He just had the urge to see Joyce again, one more time, and tell her it’d be okay.

But when he walked through the front entrance to the Maternity ward, Lonnie was there in the waiting room just beyond the intake desk, smoking a cigar with a few buddies, looking like they’d just finished up a shift at the bar. The sight of the other man was enough to stop Hopper dead in his tracks. The last few times they had interacted ended in fisticuffs, and Hopper knew better than to engage, especially tonight. Lonnie might’ve been an asshole, but it was still his first kid. He had a right to be happy and celebrate, without anyone shitting on his parade or stirring up trouble. 

Hopper doubled back to the pretty red-headed nurse at the front desk and handed her the flowers, interrupting the paperwork she was shuffling through.

“Give these to Baby Byers. Tell the family congratulations for me.”

The young nurse nodded and smiled sweetly at Hopper as he turned to go.

“Oh, but there’s no card,” she said after him. “Who should I say they’re from?”

Hopper shrugged. 

“Just an old friend.”

[sherlollysecretsanta]

For the second prompt... I suppose merely some parent Sherlolly, or the two of them taking care of Rosie and it goes horribly awry or something like that. *shrugs* I'm not a terribly picky person, honestly, just nothing NSFW please.

Here you go!

Thoughts On Domestic Perfection - Sherlock spends some time in his daughter's room, thinking about how lucky he is to have the wife and children he was blessed with.

READ @ AO3

“Fudgebucket!”

Sherlock instinctively lifted up his foot in response to stepping on the Lego. Neither he nor his brother, and possibly his sister, had had Legos in the house, but Molly’s brother had sent a big yellow bucket of them for Christmas, possibly in retribution for the drum set that he and Molly had gotten for her niece. He wasn’t sure. But if it had been revenge, it was well played. That yellow bucket held crayons now, and the Legos were willy nilly all over the place.

Molly gave him a pained half-smile as she picked up the Lego he had stepped on. “I thought I got them all,” she said.

“I just hope I didn’t wake Timothy up. He’s off his naptimes,” he said. No damage to his foot, but he was thankful he hadn’t said an actual curse. Eloise was picking up on the things adults said and her happily saying “fuck” all day would get him yelled at or worse, Molly wouldn’t speak to him.

Parenthood felt like a minefield, but he did love his children.

Molly was bent over, putting various toys in the chest that Eloise and Janice, the twins, used in their room. She had put on some more curves thanks to twins and then their surprise son, and he found he appreciated the view quite a bit. She straightened up and turned to look at him, a curious look on her face before she wiggled her hips and grinned. “Later, Sherlock. Later.”

“Delayed gratification?”

“I know, your least favourite thing.”

“I don’t know. If I get a kiss, I could be swayed.”

She chuckled and went over to him, winding her arms around his neck. He bent his head down and kissed her soundly before she pulled away and he got another lovely view of her arse as she left the room.

He was glad they had Molly’s old home for their family home. Baker Street would always be special to him, but with Timothy’s arrival nearly a year ago they knew that Baker Street was going to be too small for their growing family. Eloise and Janice were now seven, and they needed room. The twins were happy sharing a room, but should that ever change they could have separate rooms. They had a backyard here, with a play structure and a somewhat dodgy fort in the oak tree in the backyard. By the time Timothy was old enough to climb the tree to use it, the girls might be tired of it.

And that was only if Molly wasn’t expecting their third as he suspected she might be.

He had never expected himself to be a family man, or to want children. But Molly had changed his views on all of that. As long as the children were hers as well, he wanted as many as she wanted. He’d get snipped if she said four was enough, but his home was filled with laughter and love, and after the childhood that was coming back to him, slowly but surely, it was a panacea he desperately craved. Not even his best drug high compared to hearing his daughters call him “Daddy” for the first time, and he had Timothy’s first words to look forward to as well.

“Sherlock?”

He shook the thoughts out of his head as Molly came back into the room, looking at him. “Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

“Anything wrong?”

“No,” he said, lifting his arms to reach for her. She walked into his embrace and he held her close, this woman whom he loved more than life itself. “I was just thinking of how perfect this life with you and the children is.”

“Well, I think it’s perfect too,” she said. Then she looked up at him. “Timothy is still sound asleep, and the girls aren’t due home for two more hours. We could...spend a little time together.”

“We could,” he said, looking down at her, a wide smile growing on his face before he let go of Molly and picked her up, carrying her to their bedroom and gently kicking the door shut behind him.

–

He had been mistaken about Molly being pregnant already. But he wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when they welcomed Matthew Louis Holmes into the world nine months later.

[puddygeeks]

Wᴇ Cᴏᴍᴇ Rᴜɴɴɪɴɢ - Tʜᴇ 100 Bᴇʟʟᴀᴍʏ x OC - Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 29: Wᴏʟғ Iɴ Sʜᴇᴇᴘ's Cʟᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ

Masterlist

Episode: We Are Grounders - Part 1

Rating: Mature

Summary: During her time in the Skybox, Indigo formed a precious friendship with fellow outcast Octavia Blake, the girl under the floor. At first they thought their departure from the oppression of the Ark was a blessing, but quickly came to rely on Indigo's keen survival instincts. The 100 struggle to meet the challenges of Earth whilst Bellamy strives to lead the wavering teenagers and his irresponsible attitude fuels constant conflict with Indigo. Their only shared interest is in protecting Octavia and Indigo beings to suspect that there is a deeper cause to Bellamy's seemingly irrational choices. As the consequences of his actions mount up around him, he finally begins to confide in her and she discovers more than she ever bargained for. 

Fandom: CW’s The 100

Pairing: OC x Bellamy Blake

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Non-consent, language, sex, self harm, suicide, anxiety, helplessness, torture, captivity/confinement, alcohol/drug use.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The night seemed to drag on forever as I pushed myself to keep working. I’d lost the feeling in my hands hours ago and my eyes stung from exhaustion. I was constantly aware of the impending danger of attack from the grounders and the risk of being outside the camp walls gave me a healthy dose of fear that kept me awake. Many of the others had either given up or swapped out with someone else, leaving as one of the last few determined workers remaining in place. I was relieved when daylight broke but I knew that Bellamy would find me when he was ready to talk about next steps. I assumed that, like me, he wanted to squeeze every last moment of preparation out of camp that he could so I continued planting landmines with bleary eyes.

“Indigo!” I could barely tell where the voice was coming from through my exhaustion. I glanced around, unable to see the source of the voice but it seemed to be far away. “Indigo!” The call came again and I knew that I had definitely heard it this time. I stood up and turned towards camp. McIntyre emerged from the gate and sprinted towards me in a frenzy. “Indigo! It’s Murphy, he killed Myles and he’s taken Jasper hostage in the dropship! You have to talk to him, he listens to you.” She blurted and my stomach flipped as her words washed over me.

All feelings of tiredness dissolved and I was immediately on high alert. I bolted through the minefield without even considering the danger and sprinted into camp. I could hear shouting in the distance and my mind raced through a million scenarios of what could have happened. I was terrified that I may have misjudged Murphy and that my defence of him may have cost Jasper his life. I hoped that I could still reach him but as I turned McIntyre’s naive words over in my mind, I expected that any chance of reasoning had long passed as I considered the seriousness of what Murphy had already done. 

As the dropship came into view, I was shocked to find that the door was open and I watched in horror as Bellamy strode inside. I willed my body to move faster in a desperate effort to apprehend him but I was already at my limit thanks to the sleep deprivation of the last few days. I witnessed someone tumbling down the ramp and Octavia surged forward to catch them. As soon as she lifted them to their feet, I recognised that it was Jasper in her arms. I realised with a crushing panic that Bellamy had traded himself for Jasper’s safety and suddenly Murphy’s change in behaviour made a sickening sense. I knew in my gut that he had been biding his time to get to Bellamy this entire time and I felt a rage boiling inside of me as I threw myself at the rapidly closing ramp, bouncing off it with a thud. 

“Bellamy!” I screamed and lashed out in attacking the door, before Octavia attempted to pull me away. “Please, please tell me he didn’t just hand himself over?” I interrogated in terror as I glanced over my shoulder at Octavia and she nodded back tearfully. “God fucking damn you Murphy! If you even think about harming him I’ll tear you apart! You’ll be begging for the grounders when I’m done!” I snarled as I pounded at the door and my words came out with a fury that I couldn’t control. Octavia and Jasper dragged me backwards and I fought against them, lost to the madness of my anger. I landed on my ass and the impact snapped me out of the desperate behaviour. I panted in an attempt to regain control and instead felt myself descending into panic. I pulled my legs into my chest and my hands wound into my hair, tugging at the roots in stress. 

“This is my fault.” I wheezed, barely able to get the words out through the manic thoughts that ricochet around in my mind. “I defended Murphy, I protected him, I pushed others to trust him and now I’m going to lose Bellamy to that vile little rat.” I felt myself shaking in terror and my eyes filled with tears. Jasper crouched down and put his hands on my shoulders to steady me. 

“This isn’t your fault Indie, we’re gonna get him out of there.” He smiled reassuringly at me, despite the obvious nervousness in his eyes.

“Oh, Jasper!” I gasped, gripping him back in a wave of relief. “I’m so sorry, did he hurt you?” I ran my hands over him to check for any visible harm, hardly able to keep up with my back and forth of my emotions.

“Nothing major, considering he wanted to kill me.” He smiled and I released him from my worried grip. “Raven has found a loose panel, I think we can get in that way. Bellamy knew about it before he went in, so he’s just gotta keep Murphy busy until we can back him up. We’ll get him back for you Indie, so don’t panic yet.” He explained in a calm voice and I startled at this news. I used his steady position to pull myself to my feet. 

“I’m coming with you.” I stated firmly, wiping my face and searching for any sign of Raven in the immediate area.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He queries as he scanned me sceptically. I could understand his concern but I was driven by an overpowering need to do something.

“Oh I’m sure, I need to get my hands on Murphy.” I insisted and I felt my voice drop to a low, dark tone as I spoke. “Let’s go.” I prompted and Jasper reluctantly led me to the back of the ship where Raven managed to pop off the panel as we approached. 

“There you are, no time to waste.” Raven called back to us, opening the hatch and crawling in on her front. Jasper crawled alongside her and as the passageway was narrow, I had to wait for them to get all the way inside before there was space for me. The very first moment that I saw an opportunity I threw myself inside and crawled through as rapidly as I could. Once I reached Raven and Jasper, there was enough space to crouch and I scanned the space for a way into the main ship. I could hear Bellamy and Murphy speaking above and my stomach lurched at the arrogant tone in Murphy’s voice.

“I’ll have to shoot through the floor. I just need to figure out where Murphy is.” Jasper whispered, frantically searching for somewhere to aim through. I fell into step with him in my eagerness to stop Murphy. Raven gripped onto Jasper’s shoulder to halt him and she nudged me to gain my attention. She indicated up at hydrazine containers above our heads and I sighed in frustration at the sight of them.

 “Bad idea.” She hissed, tapping on the containers and it was clear from the sloshing sound that they made that they were nearly full. “Holy crap, there’s tons of it!” She breathed in an excited manner.

“The engines fired late on the way down.” Jasper explained as he scrutinised the containers. He suddenly turned to face Raven, catching on to her excitement. “We can make more bombs!” He gasped and I saw hope glinting in his eyes even in the darkness.

“Can we focus on how you’re gonna get me up there to kill that bastard first?” I hissed, drawing both of their attention with my exasperation. Although I was glad that we’d found something useful, I couldn’t even consider it when I knew that Bellamy was in grave danger right above me.

“Sure but from now on, no shooting. You got me?” Raven instructed, glimpsing between us both for a sign of acknowledgement. As she waited for confirmation that we wouldn’t take any drastic actions a gunshot sounded above and I flinched to face the ceiling in horror. 

“Get me up there!” I snarled as I broke into pacing around the space, examining every inch of the wall and ceiling for any possible entrance points. I felt my hands shaking as I ran them across the panels that made up the ship's interior and I knew that I was barely holding back the bubbling storm of emotions inside.

“Indie, you need to stay calm if we’re going to figure this out.” Jasper whispered as he appeared at my side and tried to slow me down, whilst Raven busied herself with some kind of fuse box behind us. I could hear Octavia’s frantic voice through the radio above as I searched and I knew that we were sharing a similar feeling of despair, although she relied on me to save Bellamy from certain death. 

“You want her to know you’re okay? Start tying.” Murphy’s condescending voice was clear even through the floor and I struggled to contain the panic as it blossomed in my chest.

“God, he’s going to kill him.” I hissed as I rubbed my head in an attempt to calm down, but I felt as if my brain might explode from the stress at any moment. I couldn’t think straight despite my desperation to come up with a plan. 

“I’m fine, just a misfire.” I heard Bellamy’s firm voice respond from above. He spoke in a way that would’ve sounded calm to most people, but I could feel the nervousness in his words and I felt myself becoming breathless. “Now, stop worrying about me and get back to work, all of you.” He ordered, pausing to clear his throat. “And tell Raven to hurry her ass up.” He added with a poignant tone. I thinned my eyes at Raven and she sighed as she continued to fiddle with the wires. 

“All right, that’s long enough.” Murphy spoke again, the cool tone of his voice sending chills down my spine. “Tie those two ends together.” He instructed and the realisation of what he was forcing Bellamy to do struck me in a wave of dread. I had to cover my mouth to keep myself from gagging as the unwelcome image of the situation above filled my mind. Jasper came to my side and put a careful hand on my arm. 

“He’s making him tie his own noose.” I whispered in clarification, feeling a hot tear roll down my cheek. “Jasper, I have to get up there, I can’t just sit and listen to this.” I hissed between panting as I felt panic overwhelming me again and my chest compressed. I hadn’t felt this powerless in many years and it was a painful reminder of the way I’d felt watching my mother suffer before I had the courage to end it.

“Raven’s working as fast as she can, she’s gonna get that door open, we’ve just got to be ready.” Jasper replied softly whilst observing me closely to see if I had calmed down. When I continued to panic, he decided to try another method. “Or you can put that devious mind of yours to good use and find us another way in.” He prompted with an encouraging smile. 

My eyes widened at his words and I slowly came to my senses as they sunk in. I have to find a way to get to them. I separated from Jasper and wandered the space anew, forcing myself to tune out of the conversation above. I caught sight of a small beam of light and all of my focus honed in on it. I ran my hands along the edge of the panel where the light was coming from and could feel air pouring through. “Air vents!” I breathed, remembering that Octavia would use these to sneak around in the skybox. “Jasper, help me get this open.” I called under my breath and he rushed to my side to help me. 

Together we strained against the panel in a desperate bid to move it and I could feel that it was starting to budge. I felt confident in the knowledge that it would have been designed to open for maintenance, but the ship was so old that I doubted this had ever been done. With one last desperate push, the panel popped out to reveal a tiny passageway. It wasn’t clear where it led, but there was a bend that light shone in from. I scanned the entrance to see that there was nothing to grip and the space was directly vertical from my position. I glanced back at Jasper for suggestions and he shrugged defeatedly.

“I want you to feel what I felt, and then…” Murphy’s voice carried clearly from the newly opened space. “Then I want you to die.” My eyes widened at the words and I realised that if the sound was carrying that clearly, this passage must lead to them. I made the impulsive decision that I was getting through it, no matter what it took. 

“Jasper, boost me up.” I instructed firmly and he studied me doubtfully.

“I can’t get you up as far as the bend, how are you going to move up there?” He questioned as he scanned the space and furrowed his brows in concern.

“I’ll figure it out, we don’t have time to plan. Just get me as high as you can, then stay here and be my backup for Raven’s plan.” I demanded and my words bolted him into place. 

He lifted me onto his shoulders with a struggle and launched me up into the cramped vent. I leaned over and managed to wedge myself across the space with my back to one side and feet and hands on the other. It took constant strength to maintain my position and my body shook at the strain. I moved in tiny, controlled movements as I tried to wiggle myself upwards. It was impossible to ignore the events above now, as the sounds echoed through the chamber. I heard something being dragged across the space before Murphy’s stern voice spoke again. 

“Stand on it.” He demanded and I already had a clear image in my head of what was happening in there. I heard two steps and could see Bellamy stepping up to the noose in my mind. “Put it over your head.” My breath hitched at the next order and I urged myself to move faster, pleading with any god I could name to protect him. I was almost at the bend now, I just needed a little more time. I concentrated on keeping my grip; one wrong move now would send me flying back to the bottom and would alert Murphy to our presence inside the ship. 

“This is insane. The grounders could -” 

I heard Bellamy attempting to reason with him before shots were fired again, causing me to involuntarily flinch. I clung to the wall with every muscle in my body and could feel several beads of sweat running down my back. My legs shook in exhaustion and I took a few deep breaths in a dire attempt to calm myself.

“Put it over your head.” Murphy repeated and I breathed a sigh of relief. I took this as confirmation that Bellamy was still managing to stall him and tried to reassure myself. I had to believe that Bellamy could do this, he was holding his side of the bargain, I just had to get to him. I heard the telltale sounds of movement, before Bellamy spoke again in a frustrated tone. 

“Happy now?” He spat and I felt my panic blossoming in my chest. This could only mean that the noose was around his neck and I could easily imagine the smug expression that Murphy would be wearing. We were definitely running out of time. I finally reached the bend in the passageway and met my biggest challenge so far to manoeuvre myself onto the horizontal platform that faced me. I put one foot in the section, and one on the wall behind me and tried to steady myself. 

“You’re so brave, aren’t you?” Murphy sneered as I leaned my arms forward, stretching my body to it’s breaking point. With a multitude of muscle tearing movements, I launched myself forward and splayed onto the next section. I peeked up to find a grate just above me and took in a sharp intake of breath. I was almost there. “I mean, you came here thinking you’re just gonna turn this whole thing around, that you were stronger than me and maybe one of your friends would come and help you.” Murphy continued rambling in a taunting manner and I shifted onto my knees to reach the grate. I tried to simply lift it in vain hope, but I was quickly disappointed to find that it was screwed down. I grabbed the knife from my belt and began slowly turning the bolts with the point of the blade. 

“Well, what are you thinking now Bellamy?” Murphy sneered as I realised that I could see into the space now and was horrified by the scene before me. Bellamy stood on a crate with a noose made from several seatbelts around his neck and Murphy gripped the other end with childish delight. He yanked gleefully at it causing Bellamy to shift onto his tip toes, desperately clinging onto the crate for balance and I could hear his strangled gasps for air. My hands were trembling again and I cursed my fear for slowing me down. Bellamy struggled to keep his hands inside the noose to protect himself and Murphy paced the room, enjoying the act of watching him. 

“You know, I’ve got to hand it to you Bellamy. You’ve got ‘em all fooled.” Murphy moved tauntingly close as he spoke and I descended into screaming in my mind. I was still only on the first screw. “They actually look up to you almost as much as they look up to Clarke. Yeah, well, we know the truth, don’t we? You’re a coward.” He spat just as the first screw finally came out in my hand. I quickly moved onto the screw in the opposite corner, hoping that if I could just get enough movement I may be able to prize it open. 

“I learned that the day you kicked out the crate from beneath me.” He remarked with bitterness filling his voice. I moved much more frantically this time. My nerves were dissipating now that I knew it was possible to get the screws out with my knife. My fingers bled from my grip on the blade but I carried on without any consideration. “Isn’t that what you said? That you were just giving the people what they wanted, right?” Murphy continued with his verbal attacks and I found myself growing annoyed with his words as well as furious with his actions. The version of Bellamy that he wanted to punish no longer existed; he’d grown so much since Murphy began his exile that it felt as if he were punishing the wrong man.

“I should have stopped them.” Bellamy breathed and I could hear the regret in his tone. I couldn’t help worrying how this level of guilt could affect his mental state and I hoped that he would be able to remain focused.

“Yeah, it’s a little late for that now.” Murphy retorted and I kept working on the second screw. I prayed that Bellamy could keep him busy for just a little longer.

“You think they’re just gonna let you walk out of here?” Bellamy questioned and I was thankful that Raven informed him of the plan in advance so that he knew to keep Murphy talking. I doubted there would’ve been much conversation here otherwise.

“Well, I think the Princess is dead...but I know the King’s about to die, so who’s really gonna lead these people, huh? Me, that’s who.” He spat confidently and I struggled not to scoff out loud. I berated myself for falling for his act. He was undoubtedly delusional if he truly believed that the camp would treat him as a leader after this. “And yeah, maybe I'll have to kill your grounder-pounder little sister-” He began in a jeering tone and I knew in the seconds before it happened that Bellamy was about to lash out. 

When he kicked at Murphy, it signalled that I was out of time. I knew that as soon as he stopped focusing on keeping him distracted, it wouldn’t be long before he was killed. Murphy jumped back out of his reach and leapt at the end of the rope, pulling it tight. Bellamy’s boots barely grazed the stall now and he snatched at the noose in a panic. I inhaled sharply as I witnessed the moment unfolding in horror, when the second screw finally dropped out. 

“Of course, I might have to kill your crazy girlfriend too...but then again, she seems pretty fond of me since I got back, so maybe I’ll just keep her as a pet.” He provoked.  I felt sick to my stomach at his insinuation and I was repulsed by the idea that I’d given Murphy the impression of interest as well as causing Bellamy to react in jealousy. I was about to thread my fingers through the grate to prize it open when a spark from below caused Raven to cry out. Murphy quickly realised that they were not alone in here and he glanced down at the floor with a sadistic smile. 

“I’m guessing that’s her right now, looks like I’ll have to kill her after all.” He drawled, storming over in the direction of the sound and firing randomly at several sections of the floor. I put my hands over my head and curled into a ball, anxiously waiting for the gunfire to stop. I heard the sound that Bellamy had trained me to recognise as a gun jamming and I decided that stealth was no longer an option. 

I slid onto my back, unable to see the two men any longer and risked kicking the grate. It lifted slightly and so I kicked it at full force with both legs over and over. I was shocked that the loud clanging sound of my attack didn’t draw Murphy to investigate and I became aware of Bellamy choking with a wave of dread. Between kicks I recognised the sound of a punch and hoped that it was Bellamy turning the tide. There was a slight creaking that echoed from above as I finally kicked the grate free, sending it flying out of sight and I frantically scrambled through the opening. As the room came into view, I spotted Murphy manically climbing the ladder out of the corner of my eye, but I couldn’t focus on him as my attention landed on Bellamy. He was hanging from the noose in a limp fashion with his face pointing at the ground in a lifeless expression. 

“No!” I screamed in horror as I pulled the pistol from my belt. I hadn’t fired it since he trained me and felt nervous as I pointed it in his direction. I remembered him telling me that the time would come when I would need it and how he praised my excellent aim when I had the right motivation. I couldn’t think of any motivation that could ever be stronger and so pointed the gun at the clasp on the belts, took a deep breath and fired. As the bullet bounced off causing the belt to snap open and release Bellamy, I ran forward to catch him before he could hit the floor. I was unable to take his weight and so I used my body to soften the impact, lowering him to the ground. I laid him flat on his back and he stared up at the room, remaining perfectly still. 

“Breathe! Please Bellamy!” I shrieked as I pleaded with him but nothing about his lifeless demeanour changed. I straddled him in preparation to do CPR as I wracked my terrified mind to remember how. Two breaths, thirty compressions. I leaned down to pinch his nose, as I blew two strong breaths into his mouth and promptly sat back up. I heard panicked voices from behind, but I couldn’t tell if they were real and I didn’t have the awareness to tear my attention away from Bellamy. I knitted my hands tightly together and just as they touched the centre of his chest, he coughed violently as he tried to sit up. 

“Oh thank you, thank you!” I yelped as I frantically climbed off his lap so that he could turn onto his side and I rubbed his back as he gasped out for air. In my blind panic, I hadn’t even noticed that the door was now open. Jasper and Octavia ran to his side in a panic, dropping to their knees to check on him. I was shaking wildly as adrenaline coursed through me and I couldn’t make out a single feeling in the whirlwind of emotions that tore through my mind. Bellamy didn’t even seem to notice our presence at his side. As soon as he could move, he turned onto his hands and knees and hollered up at the hatch above. 

“Murphy!” His voice was guttural and wild, adequately conveying the fury that radiated off him in waves. 

He dragged himself up the ladder and was able to force it slightly open with the strength of his rage. Now that I could see that Bellamy was safe and had no ill effects from his brief time in the noose, I was able to push the fear aside momentarily. Instead, his determination reminded me that Murphy was still inside the camp and my anger returned, refuelling me for a fight. I ran from the dropship in a red tinged haze and I couldn’t feel anything other than the need to get hold of Murphy. I knew that there were outdoor grips on the ship that were designed for use during space walks and I climbed them in a frenzy. I could hear Bellamy’s furious threats even through the walls and I continued climbing until I had almost reached the top floor where I knew Murphy was hiding. 

As I neared the top level the grips ran out and I searched the ship’s exterior for a way inside. I bashed various panels to check for any movement, but nothing seemed to budge. Without warning I was thrown from the ship by a blast that rang out across camp and fell to the ground, landing on my back in the dirt. I was dazed, unable to properly focus my eyes and there was a sharp ringing in my ears. I could make out a hole in the top of the ship that hadn’t been there before and saw a figure jump out of the hole to break into a run out of camp. I knew this would only be Murphy and so despite feeling winded and disorientated, I forced myself to my feet. Once I stood up straight, I felt my vision clearing and I stalked toward the gates. Although I moved slowly at first, by the time I neared them I had completely returned to my senses and marched towards them in fury.

“I’m gonna kill you Murphy!” I bellowed as I approached, only to be apprehended by two guards who blocked me from exiting the camp. “What are you doing? I have to get out there!” I growled frustratedly as I attempted to force my way past them. A firm set of hands pulled me backwards out of the struggle and I was turned by my shoulders to face Bellamy. 

“Indie, you can’t go out there, the grounders will kill you.” He reasoned, gripping onto me tightly to hold me in place. He scanned my face with a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes and I felt my resolve weakening slightly at the sight of him.

“I can’t just let him get away, not after what he did to you.” I argued, feeling tears fill my eyes again as the image of him hanging in the ship flitted through my mind. I shook my head to force it away and Bellamy’s brows furrowed in concern.

“I’m okay, you don’t have to worry about me.” He stated gently before forcing his face into a reassuring smile as he met my emotional eyes. “As for Murphy, the grounders will deal with him.” He declared and I sighed in defeat.

“Someone’s coming!” A frantic cry from one of the guards drew our attention and he turned toward the gate. Several members of camp moved into formation, approaching with guns raised and I waited with baited breath. I’d already been through so many emotions today, I didn’t know if I had it in me to fight the grounders too. “Hold your fire! Clarke and Finn! Open the gate, get it.” I turned to peek at Bellamy with wide, hopeful eyes and we both remained rooted to the spot, hardly able to believe what we’d heard. Jasper jogged over to stand at my other side and as the gate slid open, I almost collapsed at the sight of our two missing members.

“Hey, we heard an explosion, what happened?” Clarke questioned as she ignored the surrounding campers who celebrated their return. Instead, she ran straight to Bellamy for an update and it was strangely comforting to witness.

“Murphy happened.” He announced in a manner that revealed his disbelief at the state of events. Clarke widened her eyes at him and he shrugged. Jasper suddenly rushed forward to hug Clarke and without thinking I hugged Finn tightly. He seemed taken aback but returned the embrace with a chuckle under his breath. As soon as she was free, I hugged Clarke in quick succession as my relief overflowed. 

“It’s so good to have you both back.” I breathed as I glanced between them thankfully and I noticed Bellamy’s entertained expression from the corner of my eye.

“Where have you been? Where’s Monty?” Jasper asked, hovering around them nervously and I quickly peered behind them to find that he wasn’t there. I had hoped that only their names had been announced, but it seemed that Monty truly wasn’t with them.

“Monty’s gone?” Clarke replied in a confused voice and I put my hands over my face as I felt my stomach drop.

“Clarke, we need to leave, now. All of us do.” 

I heard Finn’s voice but I couldn’t bring myself to care about what they were discussing. All I could concentrate on was Monty. If they hadn’t seen him, I knew that meant that the grounders likely left him to die in the woods, like they had Myles. I lost all hope of him returning and the enormity of that realisation was too much to bear. I turned to face Jasper who seemed to be having the same internal crisis that I was and without a word he pulled me into a hug. I stayed wrapped up in him as the others discussed whether to leave camp or not and we shared a moment of mourning for Monty. We only broke apart to force ourselves to pay attention when Bellamy addressed the crowd.

“This is our home now. We built this from nothing with our bare hands! Our dead are buried behind that wall in this ground, our ground! The grounders think they can take that away? They think that because we came from the sky, we don’t belong here. But they’ve yet to realise one very important fact: we are on the ground now, and that means we are grounders! I say let them come!” Bellamy exclaimed, earning cheers from the riled crowd. I managed to smile at him, despite the whirlwind of emotions that was ravaging me on the inside. After listening to Murphy berate him earlier, I couldn’t help but notice how much he’d grown in the time since we arrived on Earth. I could honestly say that I was proud of both the leader and the person that he was now. 

“Bellamy’s right.” Clarke declared as she stepped forward and I was surprised to find her standing with him for once. “If we leave, we may never find a place as safe as this. And God knows in this world, we could be faced with something even worse tomorrow. But that doesn’t change the simple fact that if we stay here, we will die tonight. So pack your things, just take what you can carry. Now.” Clarke urged. I was disappointed with how her message flipped from start to finish and the feeling only worsened when the crowd dispersed without question to follow her orders. Only Bellamy, Finn, Octavia, Clarke and I remained in the centre of camp, staring at each other in a tense silence.

“Help me!” 

A small cry caught our attention and we turned to see Raven limping into camp gripping her hip. We moved to surround her and I realised with a feeling of horror that she had been shot when Murphy fired into the floor of the dropship. The guilt of my actions threatened to crush me under its weight, as I analysed that I may have been able to protect her if I’d remained by her side. My solo mission barely took me to Bellamy’s side sooner than her plan and even if she’d still been shot, I could’ve at least found help for her sooner. I almost burst into tears as I considered how long she had been trapped there, desperate for rescue whilst we reunited in campgrounds. Finn immediately lifted her into his arms and carried her into the dropship, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. The overwhelming guilt that fell on my shoulders was the last emotion to push me over the edge into despair. Clarke moved to follow but Bellamy blocked her path with a scrutinising look.

“Clarke, leaving here is a big mistake.” He appealed to her calmly but it was clear from her expression that she wasn’t interested in his opinion on the matter.

“The decision has been made.” She answered coldly before she attempted to push past him and I was frustrated by her unreasonable behaviour. He stepped back in front of her stubbornly and I remained frozen to the spot. 

“Crowds make bad decisions, just ask Murphy.” He pleaded and I watched with sympathy as his brows furrowed together. It was painfully obvious that facing the consequences of that mistake today haunted him as I feared. I agreed that this was an overly rash decision and desperately wanted to back him up, but I couldn’t find the strength to step in. “Leaders do what they think is right.” He added firmly with a glimpse in my direction and my heart skipped a beat. I almost burst into tears at hearing him repeat the advice that I’d given the night before and I was thankful that I’d been able to help.

“I am.” She replied with an icy determination. She took one last annoyed glance at him before she stormed toward the dropship and left us alone.

[asgardlover75]

Wonderwall

So this is one of my favorite songs of all time.  I love the simplicity of it and the fact that everyone loves to sing it, regardless of their taste in music.  I’ve been thinking long and hard about how to write this one and had some ideas.  One day last week I just sat down and wrote.  Kinda nice when things flow like that.  I’ve decided to go ahead and post it because if I keep messing with it I’m gonna go crazy.  Lol  

Thank you @buckysforeverprincess for hosting this and congrats on the milestone!

Enjoy!

 Character Pairing – Steve x OFC

Triggers – some talk of foster care and neglect but nothing too crazy.  

Song – Wonderwall by Oasis

Since Shield had been rebuilt, much to Steve’s disappointment, the Avengers had created a program that allowed some sharing of resources with other agencies.  Those agencies were the federal and world wide governments and SHIELD of course.  Sharon Carter had become director of SHIELD for its reincarnation and she had been doing a bang up job so far.  Agents that Director Carter and a small group of trusted advisors thought were reliable and trustworthy could have a chance to work closely with the Avengers.  That could entail going on missions across the world or helping out at the compound or Avengers Tower.  In the last two years there had only been a handful of agents picked for this highly prized internship but Steve had to say he definitely had his favorites.  

Aribella Stone was one of those favorites.  

“Uh, forgive me Director but these stats are not as…they kinda suck compared to what you’ve compiled for us before.”  

Steve sat next to Tony, rolling his eyes as he blew out a frustrated breath.  Chastising the billionaire quietly, the captain gave his friend the stink eye and turned back to Sharon.  The director looked unaffected by Tony’s outburst and even had a trace of smugness in her smile.

“No, the stats aren’t as high as what we normally select but this one is special.  I think she will fit in nicely with your bunch.”

Tony froze, looking up at the woman across from him, puzzled.  

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means she’s good at her job and can hold her own with you assholes.”

Nine months later and the team joked about keeping her permanently because Sharon was correct. Aribella fit in so well with their group that it felt like she’d always been there.  No, she wasn’t the fastest agent they’d worked with.  Aribella couldn’t break down a weapon in record time or take down someone twice her size, but she was dependable and smart as hell. She also rivaled Stark in the snark department.  

Sam and Bucky enjoyed her ability to word vomit her thoughts.  She had no filter at all but no one complained because her insight was almost always valuable and her humor was on par with theirs.  Tony and Bruce would often drag her into the lab to pick her analytical brain and outside the box thinking.  Wanda and Nat just liked having another girl that they could just be themselves around.  

She wasn’t the only agent working with them at the moment, but there was more of a camaraderie with Aribella than the other agents.  Steve and Tony didn’t play favorites, each agent had their own strengths and helped contribute.  Aribella’s were just more well-rounded than some of the others.  The petite, 28 year old blonde had become an invaluable member of their team and none of them wanted her to leave, but her time was up and it was soon becoming someone else’s turn to learn from Earth’s mightiest heroes.  

Then, the illness hit. All around the world people were becoming sick and dying and there was a race to stop the mysterious illness. Quarantines were instituted all over, especially in the bigger cities.  New York was no exception.  Considering around 8 million people lived there the team made the decision to move back into the tower, hopefully temporarily.  Bruce and Tony would be working with scientists around the world to figure out the virus and try to make a vaccine.  The rest would be ready to help out wherever needed and they needed to be in the thick of it.  

Pepper was working on making sure all non-essential personnel made it home to their families safely and that they had what they needed during lockdown.  Aribella and Nat had worked alongside her to prepare as well as they could for not only their employees, but anything the team might need as well.  Tony and Steve had come to Pepper’s office to check on how things were going and share information.  Aribella and Nat were gone when they arrived, which was probably a good thing.  They needed to get working as soon as possible.

“We’ll need to keep a skeleton crew at the compound just in case.  Sam has a list of those that are volunteering to stay, a couple would like their families to stay with them as well.”  Pepper’s voice had a  tinge of exhaustion in it as she shared where they were with Tony and Steve.  

“Shouldn’t be a problem. The automated systems are enough to keep everyone safe.  We can always run over and check on them if need be.”  Tony responded, a bit distracted by the news on the screen in front of him.  

Steve was sitting on the couch, studying his Stark tablet when he heard the worry in Tony’s voice and looked up.  The banner at the bottom of the screen scrolled across with the numbers of those sick and infected and they seemed to climb every day.  He knew that Tony was using every resource at his disposal to try and help the World Health Organization and the CDC get ahold on this thing.  Sharing a quick glance with Pepper, Steve cleared his throat and tried to refocus his friend.

“Looks like all the agents on loan have been released to go back home.  Three of them have volunteered for anything we might need and are willing to come back should something happen that we need some help with.”

“Does that include your girl too?”  

Steve felt his face heat up at Tony’s playful tone but kept his eyes on the tablet.  It irked him being so transparent that his friends had picked up on his interest in Aribella.  Though their ribbing had been relatively gentle, Tony took every opportunity to goad him, especially when the lady in question wasn’t around.  

“Oh, she’s staying.”  

One dark and one light haired head whipped around to stare at Pepper.  Tony’s Cheshire grin seemed to engulf his face it was so wide and Steve…if Bucky were there he would remind his friend to close his mouth before he caught some flies in it.  The redhead’s face softened and she stood from her desk chair and walked over to her husband.  Learning into his side, she slid her hand over his chest and smiled sadly at them both.

“She offered to stay so some of the security guards could go home and be with their families.”

Brow crinkling, Steve rubbed his chest over his heart trying to soothe the ache there.  He knew why she had volunteered because he had stepped quite heavily into that minefield about one month after Ari  had joined them.  

“So tell us about your family Aribella.”  Steve’s words had been intended to continue the warm atmosphere of the night but seemed to have the opposite effect as he watched her face change. A small, sad smile formed on her lips and she took a drink of the beer before speaking.  

“Um, there’s not much to tell.  I actually grew up in the foster system.”  Her head came up to meet Steve’s gaze and saw the look of apology there as he opened his mouth to speak.  “It’s ok.” The hand not holding her drink was stretched in his direction, palm towards him as if to stop what she knew came next.  She continued, her voice taking on a softer tone.  “It’s not like I go around introducing myself as an orphan.  Please don’t feel bad about it.”  

Sitting next to her on the couch, Sam reached over and laid his hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze.  

“You don’t have to offer anything you don’t want to.”  His quiet, soothing tone bringing a smile to her face.

“I don’t mind talking about it.  Just seems to bring the mood down when I do so I don’t tend to volunteer information unless it comes up.”

For the next hour or so the team had asked questions and Aribella answered them honestly, her instinct telling her that the information wouldn’t leave this group and that there would be no judgement of her upbringing.  While she was open, she left many details to herself that night.  Steve however, knew a bit more than his friends due to the late nights he and Aribella seemed to find themselves having.  

Being a super soldier Steve didn’t need a lot of sleep and often found himself restless in the early morning hours.  About a week after Ari’s revelation he found her on the balcony outside the kitchen, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a warm cup of tea held in her hands. She was staring blankly out onto the city and before he could consciously make the decision his feet carried him outside.

Despite obviously being tired, Ari greeted him with a warm smile and a raspy greeting.  That was the first of many talks they had shared with one another and over the next few months she opened up to Steve about her childhood.  It wasn’t always pleasant.  Six different foster families before she finally graduated high school and the last one’s…well they weren’t unhappy to see her go.  Just the money.  

Steve thanked whatever deity existed that she never suffered any abuse in her homes but his heart ached at the neglect she found.  Her first family was the most caring and the one she had for the longest.  They had desperately been trying for a child and decided to foster in the meantime.  Ari was just seven years old when she arrived at their house but it was filled with love and warmth.  

A couple of years after her arrival the wife finally became pregnant and Ari feared she would have to leave.  The couple reassured her they wanted her to stay but when the baby was born things changed. He was so sick and had so many issues they couldn’t manage both children.  To this day she remembered how heartbroken they were to have to send her back.

“Melinda was nearly inconsolable in her grief.  I remember, despite all the strain she was under, she was still so patient and kind to me.  It was just too much for them.  I don’t blame them at all.  In fact, I still keep in contact with them.”

Steve turned his head to study Ari’s face.  Anyone could hear the warmth and love in her voice for her first foster parents.  He also saw the glassiness of her eyes and the way her shoulders pulled in as if to protect herself.  

“How did their son fare, after you left?”  His quiet inquiry brought a genuine smile to her face, despite the tear that fell down her cheek.  

“Pretty healthy considering all the heart surgeries he’s had. Nathan is getting ready to graduate high school this year.”

The other families though…Steve had to remind himself that he could not go and visit them to give them a piece of his mind.  He was better than that, despite every bone in his body itching to do so.  Ari’s stories ranged from having to fix one of her foster family’s dinner every night, before she could do her homework or eat herself, to having to lock her door because she never knew if someone would try and take out their anger on her in their inebriated state.  She definitely considered herself lucky to have made it to 28 years and still be a relatively sane and mentally balanced individual.

If anything the stories had only endeared her to Steve even more.  He saw a young girl, alone with not much support, tough it out and make the best of her situation.  It wasn’t easy but he felt a sense of pride to hear how she had taken care of herself after graduating high school.  Signing up for SHIELD, finding a roommate and a place to live and working a part time job on the side.  On the few missions she had been on, most locally, he witnessed her kind and compassionate nature along with her ability to protect those around her.  Hell, he didn’t know anyone who didn’t like Ari.  

While she wasn’t as lithe and skilled as Natasha, she definitely knew how to defend herself and work with a team.  She had earned the respect of the Avengers for her brains and kindness along with her strong belief in hard work.  Steve wasn’t sure when his feelings for her had started to change but it had gotten to the point of distraction lately.  Possibly because they were all locked in together.

Her curves definitely did something for Steve as well, who had been caught by Bucky or Sam multiple times staring at their charge.  Sam would just smile that canary eating grin but Bucky would give him crap when they were alone.  

“Why the hell don’t you just ask her out, Punk.  For a coffee or something.  You know how much she likes her coffee.”

“She’s our teammate Buck.  I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.”

Bucky snorted and pushed Steve into the wall as they walked to the elevator.

“I’m relatively sure she wouldn’t complain ya big idiot. She’s almost as bad as you are with the puppy dog eyes.”

Those words had caused Steve to stop in the middle of the hall as he stared after the super soldier in disbelief.  The shit eating grin covering Bucky’s face barely registered as he waved his metal fingers in a  good bye gesture, the elevator doors closing and leaving Steve bewildered.

 Present Day

Rubbing his face roughly, Steve felt the stubble starting to grow and wondered how the hell he hadn’t realized he needed to shave in the last few days.  They’d been so busy working their asses off that basic hygiene seemed to suffer for everyone, not just himself.  Setting the tablet down he sat back in his chair and spun around to look out over the city.  It looked strange, even to someone who had viewed it before all the technology and millions of people came along.  

Streets were barren of cars and people, an odd one of both things here and there.  Many lights that were normally blindingly bright were dimmed or off completely giving the city a bit of an eerie feel.  He definitely didn’t like it but it meant that people were doing what they should me.  Staying home and staying safe.  

It was past dinner when Steve finally made his way towards the common room.  He had been so involved in the current information collected that he had lost track of time once again.  Meaning dinner was over and everyone was probably back in their rooms already.  Frowning, he clicked the tablet in his hands off and thought about what he needed to accomplish tonight.  

As he neared his destination a soothing guitar sound filled his ears and he lost all concentration when he rounded the corner.  Sitting on the ottoman was Ari.  Her acoustic guitar was perched on her left thigh, eyes closed and he could hear her humming quietly along with the tune she played.  It wouldn’t be the first time he had found her practicing in the big room, though usually Clint was here coaching her or singing while she played.

He grinned as he leaned against the wall and tried to quietly watch her.  She had her hair pulled back into a bun tonight, one of his favorites only because she couldn’t hide her face behind her hair.  Feet were bare, as usual, one leg tucked under the other as she sat up straight to play.  The tune was repetitive but the notes soothing with a mood he couldn’t quite put a finger on.  She made a few mistakes but plodded on and he watched as a proud tilt came to her lips.

“You’re getting better at that.”  He offered quietly, watching as she turned her head to gift him with a smile but continued playing.  A slight blush rose to her cheeks and he felt an ache in his chest at the sight.  Man, he had it bad.

“Thanks.  Though this is a pretty simple melody so I should be able to get it with as much as I’ve practiced.”  Her statement didn’t hold any negative feelings about her ability to play.  She had worked really hard on this song because it was one of her favorites and seemed to speak to her more than usual.

Smiling, he waited a few bars before he pushed off the wall and made his way to the chair a couple feet  in front of her and to her right.  He sat down heavily, leaning back into the cushion as he watched her fingers pluck out the notes gracefully.  Her eyes slid closed, her right foot tapping out a quiet pattern to the notes she played.

“What’s it called?”  

“Wonderwall.  It’s by an English band called Oasis.  It’s one of those songs that everybody knows and is usually sung by a lot of people.  Sometimes drunk.”

Steve laughed at her words and leaned forward resting his elbows on his thighs.  Their gazes locked for a moment before Ari looked down to hide what she was sure were her feelings written all over her face.  

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but what’s a Wonderwall?”  There was a brief silence before Friday’s voice made them both jump, though his eyes didn’t leave Ari’s form while the AI answered his question.

“According to Urban Dictionary, a Wonderwall is somebody you find yourself thinking about constantly, and you are completely infatuated with.  Writer of the song, Noel Gallagher told BBC Radio 2 in 2002 “ It’s a song about an imaginary friend who’s gonna come and save you from yourself.”

Quietly, he thanked the AI and processed the information. It was just a song.  It didn’t mean anything, right?  She said it was popular and it sounded relatively simple to play.  However, Ari still hadn’t looked up and his stomach did a funny turn.  She obviously picked it because it meant something to her. Ari didn’t do things just because. There was always meaning or a reason for something.  Steeling himself for what could possibly be a mistake, he took a deep breath and gathered his courage.

“Will you sing it for me?” Steve’s soft request caused her head to shoot up and the air to catch in her throat.  Soft blue eyes met hers and she saw the compassion and genuine interest in them along with something else she couldn’t quite place.  Swallowing heavily, she nodded and cleared her throat willing her nerves to go away.  Fingers strummed nervously over the strings before she took a deep breath and started to play.

Today is gonna be the day That they're gonna throw it back to you By now you should've somehow Realized what you gotta do I don't believe that anybody Feels the way I do, about you now

Backbeat, the word was on the street That the fire in your heart is out I'm sure you've heard it all before But you never really had a doubt I don't believe that anybody Feels the way I do about you now

And all the roads we have to walk are winding And all the lights that lead us there are blinding There are many things that I Would like to say to you but I don't know how

Because maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me And after all, you're my wonderwall

Today was gonna be the day But they'll never throw it back to you By now you should've somehow Realized what you're not to do I don't believe that anybody Feels the way I do, about you now

And all the roads that lead you there are winding And all the lights that light the way are blinding There are many things that I Would like to say to you but I don't know how

I said maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me And after all, you're my wonderwall

I said maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me And after all, you're my wonderwall

I said maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me you're gonna be the one that saves me you're gonna be the one that saves me

It was comfortably silent in the room as she strummed the last few notes and Steve could see her fingers shaking against the strings.  Slowly, he reached over and wrapped his fingers around the neck of the guitar and pulled it gently away from her.  Ari’s eyes shot open and met his, a gentle smile coming to his lips at the vulnerability he saw.  Steve didn’t break eye contact as he set the instrument down to his left and slid to the floor on his knees.  His hands rested on the padded surface beside her thighs, not touching but ready to move in an instant if he felt any sort of alarm or resistance from the beautiful woman in front of him.  

He brought his hands up to cup her face, resting them gently on either side as if he held the most precious thing in the world.  Her pulse raced under his hands and he smiled, his thumbs feathering back and forth over her cheeks.

“Breathe sweetheart. I’m not sure I can handle it if you pass out on me.”  Ari gave a wavering laugh at his levity and took a deep breath, her eyes closing as he held her.  She felt his breath wash across her lips before he lightly skimmed his mouth across hers.  

First kisses were always special, at least hers had been.  This one though, was soft, sweet and short circuited her brain.  Every pass of his soft lips on hers, he increased the pressure slightly, sending her heart flying.  Her hands came up to rest on his forearms earning a hum from the sweet man who was kneeling in front of her.  

Ari’s lips parted and Steve wasted no time deepening the kiss.  He was still gentle, but his tongue slid across her lips then dipped inside to find hers.  One of his hands left her face to wrap around her hip as he pulled his body into hers, chest to chest, and tilted his head to gain better access.  

Neither knew how long they became lost in one another but finally the urge to breathe won out and Steve pulled back.  Resting his forehead against hers they both fought to catch some air, hearts racing in their chests.  Both remained silent, Steve’s eyes sliding open as he pulled back from her.  When she finally met his gaze he smiled, his thumb rubbing over her cheek softly.

“Since you haven’t decked me yet I’m assuming that was ok.”

Throwing her head back, Ari let out a belly laugh at his words.  Steve’s grin deepened as the sound of her happiness made the pace of his heart pick up again.  Her hazel eyes met his as they crinkled with her humor and she leaned forward to place a kiss to his lips.  

“It was more than ok. It was wonderful.”  

“It’s about damn time.” The baritone voice from the hallway surprised them, causing Ari to yelp and move quickly towards Steve. Unprepared for both their audience and Ari’s reaction, Steve lost his balance and wrapped his arms around her waist as he tumbled backwards with an oomph.  

Neither one of them heard footsteps but suddenly Bucky’s dark head was over them, hands on his thighs as he grinned in their direction.  

“How long have you been there?”  Steve asked confused, still trying to wrap his brain around what just happened.  

“Don’t worry.  I wasn’t spying on you two.  I came to get a drink and well, you didn’t notice because you were slobbering all over each other.”  

“Buck!”  Steve admonished his friend while Ari hid her face in his chest and laughed.  

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it.  I’m glad you two finally figured it the fuck out.  It was exhausting and frankly nauseating watching you two make eyes at each other.”  Bucky’s words might have been harsh but the smile on his face spoke volumes.  He was genuinely happy for his friends and glad he was the one that caught them, not Tony or one of the others.  “Imma go get my drink and leave you kids alone.”  With a salacious wiggle of his brows, Bucky turned to go into the kitchen while Ari and Steve stayed right where they were.  

Steve felt contentment wash over him, as Ari’s palm rested on his chest and her head settled on his shoulder.  He reached up to wrap her hand in his and felt sure that the smile on his face was going to be permanent.  The smile was gone with Bucky’s next words.

“You two might want to skedaddle in case one of the others come in here.  They won’t be quite so nice about finding you two in a compromising position as I am.”  As he was leaving the room he heard Steve’s snort and Ari’s giggle and found himself smiling almost as big as Steve had been just moments before.  It was good to see his friends happy, now he had to go and find Sam to tell him the good news.

 Thanks for reading!  

[peachyteabuck]

across a minefield, pt 3 of ‘act of godhood’

summary: the last of this series. bucky joins in on natasha’s favorite thing to play: you

pairing: natasha romanoff x bucky barnes x reader

words: 4322

trigger warnings: smut...lots of it (wax play, temperature play, spit-roasting, strap-on, rope play, etc)

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

READ PART ONE, ‘ACT OF GODHOOD’

READ PART TWO, ‘BITE OF FRUIT’

Where everything you and Bucky did together was spontaneous, scenes with Natasha took a little more planning. This included preparation of toys, possible rearrangement of furniture, maybe instructing you what to wear. Most people didn’t like to plan when they had sex, they just wanted it to happen. But Natasha - a woman with a tight schedule, a work and home life that bled together so often they often became one, and a desperate need for control - struggled to unplug from everything else in the world without warning. She always needs time to mentally prepare herself for whatever she was planning to do to you, with you, for you. So, when you got the text the morning of one of Tony’s parties that was as ominous as she is, you buzzed with excitement.

It was simple, precise:

No panties tonight. My room at 22 hours. Do not be late, pet.

That day, she was training new recruits. You were requested to help Clint with some new bow he was trying out. Therefore, neither of you saw each other all day. Maybe this was part of her plan, to make sure the temptation and eagerness built up in you like a volcano waiting to burst.

It seemed more like something she specifically construed once you actually get to the party. Both of you were too busy trying to butter up donors and MIT alumni and whathaveyou to exchange any more than curt nods and the tips of glasses. You were stuck only being able to stare longingly, and damn, did she give you a lot to look at.

The sparkly floor-length black gown hugged her in ways you never thought was physically possible for fabric. It was sleeveless, and her skin contrasted well with the sharp lines of the dress. Her hair was loose, slightly curly. The dark makeup she had on made you want to kiss her just so you could mess it up. You wanted to leave kisses along her collarbones, down each arm until you could suck on her soft fingertips, feel the sharp black nails rub against the pink of your inner lips. Her black stilettos - the same ones she was wearing when she walked in on you and Bucky - clicked against the tile as she walked around, jovially greeting guests and inviting them to look at the new technology or whatever.

The buzz of the party was loud and the all-black dress code made the crowd stick together as if they were a pack of zebras and you were a lion, but somehow she stuck out to you. The loud, sharp clicks of her shoes made it easy to mentally follow her around the place, tracing her footsteps like some kind of lovesick stalker.

Your own dress felt plain in comparison to her. Yours was short, hitting the middle of your thighs. It was black, like hers and everyone else’s attire at the party. It had this cape-thing that flowed behind you and made you seem more dramatic than you felt. A stylist had come a few weeks before, and Wanda ended up helping you pick it out.

“To show off your legs,” she told you with a wink. All you heard was, “to give Nat easy access.”

Thinking back you question how she could’ve predicted that, how she could’ve known you were hoping to get some that night.

Oh, right...mind reader

The rest of the night passes in a flurry, the only highlights being when you get a peak of Natasha laughing or when Bucky comes behind you to rest his arm on your waist. At first you thought it was protective (you do have a pair of damn good legs, and a lot of men here are single, sexy nerds just looking to get some Avenger pussy), but the third time it happened you figured it out. It was a warning, a reference to future behavior.

That, and because he whispered, “See you tonight at 10:00, babygirl,” seductively in your ear. Plus the countdown he occasionally taunted you with.

“Two hours, darling.”

“Just an hour and fifteen minute, baby.”

“Down to forty-five minutes, doll.”

“Only ten minutes left...do you think you can make it?”

Damn does that man know how to build anticipation. Natasha seemed to be aware of your little game, smirking every time she caught you with Bucky looming behind or next you. You felt just like you did that first time in the laundry room: a trapped animal sure of their own doomed fate. “Doom” seemed like the wrong word, though. Persephone was only ruined and damaged in the eyes of her mother; in reality she was now the wife to an extremely influential god and got to assistant in ruling the Underworld. Just like her, others probably thought you lost all control when you submitted to the powers of the seemingly-cataclysmic people you love. In truth, all you did was gain. You gain love, trust, autonomy.  

The minute the clock on your phone struck 10, you ran like Cinderella to Natasha’s room. You open the door carefully, finding Natasha and Bucky chatting over half-empty drinks. Bucky was leaning against the dark oak desk, Natasha was sitting on the plush carpet you two had fucked on no less than five (5) times.

It takes a second for them to acknowledge you as you stand tall (or attempt to) in front of the now-closed door. Them treating you like this always makes you knees weak. Like they’re completely indifferent to you, or you’re an object, or you’re only to seen when they feel like it.

This, and everything this entails, is what Natasha loves best. One you stepped into the room, you’re all hers. Hers to control, hers to destroy, hers to protect.

Natasha stands languidly, easily.

“Strip and get into position,” she tells you. Easily, you take your own dress and underwear off before you lower yourself to the ground. Your legs are folded under you and your hands are placed on your thighs, fingertips pointed to your knees. Head lowered so that you’re looking at the piece of ground right before her feet.

“Look up,” she tells you. As you do, you see her pulling a makeup wipe out of a container on her nightstand. You can tell she’s been planning this for awhile and thought ahead to everything you’d need: your favorite cucumber and shea butter makeup wipes, the cookies you love during aftercare, an extra set of clothes for when you’re done, a large bottle of lube. It’s sweet, the way she takes care of you like this.

The cool wipe slowly strips you of the light makeup you had on with ease. You remain pliant and calm as Natasha turns your head side to side to make sure she got all of it off, knowing any movement could warrant punishment. This is her time to make sure you’re in the right mindset to do this, make sure all you can think about is whatever she makes you think about.

By now, Bucky sort of understands what she’s doing. He’s not used to doing things like, your fuck sessions had always been fire lit with reckless abandon. The whole world was his playground, and he intended to play. This, though, is different. He watches Natasha’s careful actions with purpose. It feels like he’s witnessing something special, secret; an intimate moment no one else has ever witnessed.

“Stand,” Natasha tells you once she’s sure she’s finished. You stand. “Unzip me,” Softly, careful to make sure none of her loose hair gets caught, you unzip the long dress. It falls to the floor and she kicks it away leaving the surely expensive item in a heap. She’s still in her lingerie. “Good, pet,” she says, stroking the side of your face. Then she leaves you momentarily, moving towards the mini fridge that’s near her bed. When she turns around, you see that she’s got a water bottle. “Back into position,” she says as she opens it. You go back to the floor As soon as you’re settled, she holds the liquid up to your lips. “Drink,” she commands. You only stop when she tips it back from your lips, and by then it’s half empty. You can feel its coolness travel down your throat and into your belly, chilling the heated feeling that seems to cook your belly. Out of the corner of Natasha’s eye, she can see Bucky looking a little confused. He got the makeup wipes...but why this?  “She didn’t drink much water during the party…” she explains calmly. “I need to make sure she’s hydrated.”

She puts the bottle back in the fridge, then turns back to you...just to look. To watch you be good for her. It’s her biggest - and favorite - stress-reliever. It’s a breath of fresh air for her. Nine out of ten days are spent trying to wrangle grown-ass men that act like children, and those are just the scientists and donors and trainers and government hacks and whatever else Tony tortures you with. That doesn’t even count the Avengers themselves, who all seem to be wildly childish for a job she was bred for. “You’re so good for me baby,” she coos as she steps closer to you. Your hearts thuds in your chest in anticipation. “I’m so proud of you...remember the first time we did this together. You were so scared, and so bad. Had to punish that out of you. Training is so hard,” she muses. “But it’s so worth it in the end…”

You want to moan but you stay quiet. Natasha’s taught you better than that, spanked you until you better than that.

“Up on the bed, pet,” she instructs. “On your back.”

You happily oblige, legs and arms spread out a little. She crawls onto the bed, sitting cross-legged next to you. Bucky now sits in the same plush chair you sat in the first time you did this with them. He’s got it pushed more to the side of the bed, though. He wants a good view of the show you and Natasha were putting on. Last time only made his Porn Pickiness worse. Bucky truly hasn’t been able to rub one out without feeling so ridiculously unsatisfied in so long he constantly thinks he could drop dead any second. Plus, the excitement of watching you and Natasha do whatever this is for the first time is making his bones vibrate.

Natasha runs her hands up and down your body; squeezing your breasts, tracing your ribs, massaging your thighs. The movements are purposeful, like she’s inspecting you. It seems she’s checked every inch of you before her fingers dip between your thighs. She’s seeing how wet you are, and it’s torture. Additionally -since you’ve been waiting for this since you got her text this morning -you’re absolutely soaked. You don’t you’ve been this wet since you paid off your student loans last year.

“Ooh,” she purrs. “You’re dripping, utterly dripping for me.”

You’re now desperately trying to hold back and not move, but it’s so fucking hard. She turns her head to face Bucky’s, who’s literally sitting on the edge of his seat. “Get the pink rope from the second drawer from the top in my bathroom.”

Bucky nods curtly and goes to fetch the special BDSM rope she bought especially for you. It was a gift, presented to you after too many panties were destroyed. Every time you use it, she tells you the pale pink looks mouth-watering against your skin. How she could just eat you up.

Slowly but surely, Natasha ties your legs in a bent position and then ties your wrists together. After making sure it’s not too tight, she asks your color.

“Green,” you grin.

She smiles, too. “Good.”

You beam under the praise, always wanting more. The words that tumble past her lips are the most addicting drug you’ve ever tried, and - like other substances - no amount ever seems good enough. As she stands over you, you start to melt under her gaze. You just want this so bad and she’s just looking at you and holy Jesus you’re so horny. Natasha sees this and takes a small amount of pity on you. “You may speak, kitten.”

“Thank you Mistress,” you gasp out before you  “Please touch me, please. All I want is for you to touch me.”

“Bucky,” she barks while still looking at you. His head snaps up, almost too busy staring at you all hog-tied and whatnot to notice anything Natasha does. In truth, he’d never really had the patience for this kind of stuff...but now he really sees the appeal.  “C���mere and help me flip our little kitten over onto her stomach.”

Your body and cunt flutter as you’re placed on your stomach and arms are tucked under you. The whole time, you bite your lip harshly to stave off another moan that threatens to leave your throat. Being manhandled like this is a dream come true, it makes you feel so small and helpless. You’re happy you could cry. But, if you make a sound without permission, you’ll be punished. They’re painful normally, but you know Bucky being here is making her harsher, stricter than when you’re alone. At one point, she spanked you until your ass bled. You’re assuming whatever Bucky could make you do wouldn’t outweigh that again.

Once you’re positioned, you can see Natasha’s underwear fall to the floor. Then you feel her fingers dance over you again. “Hm...what should we do to our little kitten, Bucky?”

Bucky laughs huskily. “Kinda wanna just fuck her tight little cunt, make her scream.”

Natasha chuckles a little, too. “Then that you shall do.” She pulls you up by your hair and places you on your elbows, making it easier to for Bucky to access your back or neck if he so pleased. “Be good for our little Bucky boy, can you do that for me?”

All you can do is nod as Bucky enters you. You smash your lip between your teeth as he slides in and out of you, making them more raw with each passing minute. His thick hands on your hips make it even more sensual, you feel like all you ever need to do is lost in the slap of skin for all the previous agony to be worth it.

As you grip the sheets as best you can with your bound wrists, you almost don’t notice Natasha put on the strapon. It’s your favorite, a black average silicon one with little ridges and cute little sparkles baked into it. She bought it from someone who makes them special, which made you almost crumble when she presented it to you. That was her dirty little secret. It wasn’t that she was a total domme, it was that she cared so much about you. Emotions have never been her talent, but with you they seemed to come naturally.

She balances on her knees in front of you, pulling you up by your hair. Your eyes have glazed over, tears run freely down your face as Bucky continues to fuck you. He softens his thrusts a little bit so Natasha can grab hold of your slack jaw.

“Open up, darling,” she coos, slowly inching the cock into your mouth. Wordlessly, you take all of it. As it hits the back you gag a little, but Natasha still forces it down your throat. “Take all of my cock.”

Now you’re being spit-roasted, each of Bucky’s thrusts forcing you to take more of Natasha. It’s an inescapable rhythm that has you getting wetter by the second. You can feel your own juices dripping down your shaking thighs and your spit trail down your neck. The liquids add to your sweat, creating a sheen layer of filth that has you feeling like the disgusting whore you are.

Natasha, noticing your mind slipping from the moment, gives you a break (on her end, at least). She pulls the dick out of your mouth, and gestures to Bucky that she wants to do something a little different.

“Have you ever done wax play, Bucky?” She doesn’t look at him while he speaks, instead she pulls your hair away from your back with a hair tie she grabs from the nightstand.

Bucky shakes his head. “What were you thinking?”

You can’t see her - the tears cloud your vision way too much for that - but you’re sure she’s flashing that signature devilish grin. Before you can process it, you’re on the ground again. The position you’re in is similar to before, but your legs are a little further apart and your hands are placed between them. The rope digs a little into your ass, which seems to ground you enough to see her grab a lighter and candles from a drawer in the desk.

As she lights one and lets it burn a little, Natasha’s voice is as stern as ever. “I want to see how long you can stand this,” you shiver a little. This is something you’ve only done once before, and it ended with you screeching your safe word after the first drop hit your skin. “For every minute until you say that you’re red, you get an orgasm.”

Now this, this is something Natasha definitely thought of ahead of time. You’re so sensitive one tap to your clit could have you squirting, what would happen if Bucky and Natasha really worked to please you. Once a few are lit, she places them on the ground in front of you so you can watch them burn and she can take the strapon off. Bucky follows suit, now standing in front of you, too. It’s the first time you’ve really been able to look at him since Natasha made you lie on the bed. He’s naked, completely and utterly so. His hair is messy, sweaty, perfect. God, you want to touch him so badly.

All too soon, the candles are completely melted. Natasha picks one up and blows it out, handing it to Bucky. “Pour this down her back slowly and carefully.”

Bucky nods, a little hesitant. He trusts Natasha, though, so he does as he’s told. Slowly, carefully - just as Natasha said - the wax drips down your spine. Each time the hot wax makes contact with your skin, it causes you to gasp and squirm a little. There’s nothing you can really do, though, since your arms and legs are tied up. Natasha finds it cute, the way you attempt to twist and contort your body to inch away from the pain.

“Good girl...you’re so good for me, you know that?” she coos, petting your hair. You lean into her touch, which she happily gives you. Natasha then grabs a second candle. She pushes your shoulders back a little, your hunched back now curved the other way.

The wax drip, drip, drips down between your breasts and down your sternum. The skin there is a little more sensitive, so a few more gasps and hiccups of slight pain. Bucky and Natasha both stand over you, watching you wordlessly. In all, there are exactly five candles. When the last one is about to be poured over you, Natasha suddenly changes her mind.

Her tone is sultry, almost suspicious.“Bucky, why don’t you do the honors in finishing our little girl off with this last one?”

He takes it, a little hesitant. Wax currently covers your chest, stomach, back, shoulders, arms, forearms. The only part of your body that’s been untouched is your thighs. Easily, he readjusts you so that your legs stick out a little bit, with your still-bound arms limp between them. Natasha holds your head back with her fist in her hair, the ponytail-esque thing she created before now resembling an extremely messy bun. Her fingers clutch the scalp under it, massaging every so often.

God, you’re so spent. It shows, too. Your thighs quiver, waiting for sting of the hot wax. As Bucky pours it over you, letting it coat each leg equally, Natasha’s crouches down next to your face. She leaves light kisses along your jaw, eyebrows, nose, whatever she can reach. When Bucky’s finished, he sits on the floor on the other side of you.

They have the same thought simultaneously, because of course they do. Bucky and Natasha take turns praising you.

“I’ve never seen you do that before...I’m so proud of you, pet,” Natasha coos before kissing at your hairline.

Bucky traces up and down your arms. “God, you looked so hot doing this doll...I’m so happy with you…”

After the last of the wax has hardened, Natasha stands up while Bucky stays next to you. You’re slumped into him, your legs seemingly seconds from completely giving out. Soon, Natasha comes back with one of those large, wireless Hitachi wands. When it lands in your field of blurry vision, you could almost cry. You’ve been aching and quivering and just begging to cum this entire time...you have absolutely no idea what it’s going to feel like when you finally get what you want.

“Feel free to make any noise you want, kitten,” Natasha whispers as she turns it on. Immediately, your body starts convulsing. It feels like there’s a forest fire inside of you, like after this some old part of you will be burned away and reborn in the process. Bucky stills anchors you and holds you upright while Natasha mouth at your neck. Your senses are filled with them, and no matter how much you moan or cry out, neither of them remove themselves from you. It doesn’t take long for you to orgamsm, the waves of pleasure ripping through you like a scythe.

“Please Mistress please make it stop I can’t take it I just can’t just please Daddy please make Mistress,” is all you can ramble out. Your brain is completely fried, utterly useless. It hurts you to move, to breathe, to squirm, to do anything.

As Bucky mumbles praises into your ears, Natasha slowly unties all the ropes. She rubs that lavender lotion you and her love so much into your red and indented skin.  Some of the wax comes off in the process, but she’s careful to just rip it off of your skin (or body hair, for that matter).

She can tell you’re totally done for, brain drifting somewhere else. “Stay here with her while I draw a bath,” she tells Bucky.

“What are we going to do about the wax?” Bucky asks, tucking you into his chest.

You can practically hear Natasha roll her eyes. “They’re massage candles, you idiot. They just come off with warm water, body wash, and a loofah.”

Bucky mumbles a small “oh,” which causes you to laugh a little. Slowly but surely, you come back to life. You’re dead tired, but now you’re present in the room (or, as present as someone in your situation could be). It makes Bucky smile a little.

When the bath is fully drawn, Natasha gets down to work. If sex is her specialty, then aftercare is her side hustle.

“Do you want a bath bomb?” she calls from still in the bathroom.

You nod.

“Yes!” Bucky yells back.

“Rose petals?”

You nod again.

“Yes.”

He can hear some shuffling, the Natasha appears in the doorway in just a robe. “Bring her in.”

Bucky complies, picking you up bridal style. When he steps across the threshold into the expansive bathroom, he huffs out a laugh. “Bubbles?”

Natasha replies plainly. “She likes them.”

As he lowers you into the large tub, you sigh loudly and babble like a baby who’s been laid for a nap after an exhausting day. Immediately, you start to grab for Natasha and Bucky.

“You want us to come in with you?” Natasha asks. You coo again, nodding happily.

Without hesitation, both Bucky and Natasha join you. It causes a few bubbles and petals to fall out of the tub, but Natasha doesn’t mind at all. Her entire focus is on you, and you only.

You rest with your back to Natasha’s chest and your feet tucked under Bucky’s folded legs. At one point, he picks them up and start to massage them, an action that makes you moan in pleasure. “They’re a little stiff, aren’t they?” he asks as he digs his thumbs into your heel.

All you can is groan out a noise that sounds vaguely like a “yes.” You’re teetering on the the edge of sleep, and Natasha using an extra-soft loofah to rub your down isn’t exactly making it easy to stay awake. She’s finished with both of your arms when you finally fall asleep. Silence settles over the room as the bubbles die down and the water cools. Once all of the wax has been removed and your hair has been washed, Bucky drains the tub while Natasha picks you up and bundles in one of Natasha’s ridiculously fluffy towels she special orders.

Obviously too tired to do anything or yourself, you let her dry you off and dress you in the clothes she set aside for you. It’s one of her t-shirts and a pair of loose boxers. By then, a still-naked Bucky has joined you. He sees you’re curled into Natasha’s soft, squishy chest and curls up behind you. You coo at the warmth of both of their bodies.

Bucky waits until you’re asleep again to whisper to Natasha. “You never came...did you?”

Natasha smirks and looks down at you while she answers. “It’s not really about cumming in situations like this…”

In truth, Bucky has absolutely no idea what she’s talking about, or what she means. He’s too tired to dig further, though, so he just lets your slow and even breathing lull him into the deepest sleep he’s had in months.

[vincent-frankenstein]

Bloodbond - Chapter Nine

Part nine of my entry for @ts-storytime!!

Chapter Summary: The Royal Mage is gone, and King Odin has disappeared with him. Faced with a horrifying realization, Roman, Virgil, and Joan must put aside their differences and work together if they want any hope of bringing them back.

pairings: prinxiety

Warnings: blood mention and swearing

Read on A03

{ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 }

art by @pattykrabbies {here} and @vdkstar {here}!!!

(cover by @vdkstar <3)

Silence.

Roman knocked again, harder this time, but still silence reigned, and the door remained closed. His eyebrows furrowed, and he reached down to try the handle.

“What the hell?” he whispered as the door creaked open, revealing the dark, empty room beyond. He held out his hand, summoning a small, flickering scarlet flame to illuminate the room.

Bits of broken, burnt furniture littered the floor, a minefield of ripped books and spilled ink and shattered possessions. But it wasn’t the destruction that twisted Roman’s lungs and set fire to his thoughts.

Only the table in the center of the room remained, tinted blood-red in the light from Roman’s fire. He recognized the tattered remains of the Royal Mage’s uniform, folded neatly atop the table — and he recognized the bright crimson of the Gaepried emblem of his father’s crown, dripping with scarlet liquid.

The world had shattered, had gone silent save for the deafening beating of his own heart. He felt numb, detached, floating away as his gaze caught on the droplets of red splattered across his father’s crown. There was one last item on the table: a piece of paper that crinkled beneath his tense grip when he picked it up, a terrifying note written in red.

“What happened here?” Virgil stepped over the shattered remains of what had once been a mirror, the bluish-purple of his eyes nearly glowing in the darkness. His gaze fell on Roman. “... princey?”

Roman didn’t answer. He barely even heard him. His grip on the note tightened as he read it, over and over again, shock and fear and fury and disbelief welling up all at once within him.

Virgil stepped up beside him, peering at the note over his shoulder — and a moment later he stumbled back, terror flashing through his wide eyes. He glanced between the tattered uniform, the bloody crown, and the note, his face going ghastly pale as he connected the dots.

“Come and find us.”

Four words. Four words written in black above a horribly familiar runic circle drawn in horribly familiar rusty red. He knew every curve of nearly every rune, every bit of demonic magic written into its corners. He’d been trained to recognize it, trained to avoid it at all costs.

“That’s —” Virgil began, voice halting and fearful.

“A portal spell,” Roman finished for him, gently tracing the outline of the circle and feeling the potent magic stored inside. “A demonic portal spell.”

“No!” Virgil stepped forward, swallowing hard as he regarded the note. “I mean — yeah, it is, but… look.”

He reached forward, his pale finger tracing the only rune in the circle that Roman didn’t recognize. It almost looked like a bastardized version of his own royal crest; warped and changed nearly beyond recognition, sharper, deadlier.

“The Aliahan crest,” he said, tone dark. “It’s the queen’s symbol — t-the demon queen. She was here.”

“Does that mean… did she — did she take them?” Roman was reeling, the paper in his hand crumpling as his hand tightened into a fist. Queen Aliah, the leader of the demonic realm, the one who had started the great war, so many years ago. She had caused the death of so many humans, and the banishment of every demon. Her cruelty was unparalleled throughout all the realms; if she truly had stolen the Royal Mage and King Odin, there was no chance of getting them back.

“What do we do?” Roman whispered, setting the crumpled paper back down and tracing the ruby gemstone in the center of his father’s crown. Dried blood flaked off beneath his finger and fluttered to the table and Roman grit his teeth, his eyes stinging. Princes don’t get scared, his mind chanted, to which his body replied with a wave of terror that almost made Roman sick. “We have to… we can’t just —”

“Roman.”

In his terror and his confusion, he hadn’t heard the footsteps approaching the house, hadn’t heard the door creak open — and now Joan stood before them, their expression shock and betrayal and anger and sadness all at once. Virgil growled, magic flaring, but Roman held out a hand to stop him. He met Joan’s gaze resolutely.

“Joan,” he began, tone soft as he stepped forward, “we’re not your enemies.”

“What, you expect me to fucking believe that?” Joan said. “You’ve broken enough rules to get yourself exiled, Roman. You’re friends with — with one of them!”

“So what?” Roman demanded when Virgil flinched, drawing himself up to his full height.

“‘So what?’” they repeated, eyes wide. “Roman, you… do you have any idea what your father would say? And now you’ve broken into a royal official’s home! You…” They stopped. It seemed they had finally noticed the state of the room around them, the buzz of foreign magic floating discomfitingly through the air.

“Quite frankly, I don’t give a damn about what my father would say,” Roman snapped, and it felt exhilaratingly dangerous to say out loud. “He was wrong, Joan. But if you don’t calm down and help us, we may never see him again.”

He snatched the bloodied crown and held it out for Joan to see. “The demon queen took him,” he said, his voice grim, “and the Royal Mage.” He gestured to the pile of tattered fabric sitting beside the note and Joan paled.

“She took T —” They stopped, swallowing hard and running a hand through their hair. Their gaze traveled to Virgil and their eyes narrowed, their magic flaring green. “How can you still trust that one, then? One of them took your father!”

Roman bristled, silently wondering when he’d become to protective of the young demon. But Virgil spoke up before he could, his long fingers curling over the rose clasp of his cloak.

“There isn’t a demon alive who cares for her,” he spat. “I can’t prove that you can trust me. But right now, I’m your only hope of getting your humans back. I can take you to the demon realm.” He paused, his gaze flickering to the crown in Roman’s hands. “I can help you.”

Roman stared. Guilt bloomed in his stomach as he recalled every horrible thing he’d ever done to him, as he wondered how he could possibly be so open, so helpful, despite all the danger Roman had put him in. His fingers tightened around the crown and he turned to Joan, expression firm.

“I trust him,” he said, “and once, you trusted me. We can save them, Joan. We just need your help.”

He met Joan’s gaze with pleading eyes. They were the second most powerful mage in all of Gaepried; with them on their side, they might actually have a chance. Roman thought back to his days spent with Joan, to every training session and sparring match, to every moment of friendship, and held out his open hand. “Please.”

Joan hesitated. Their gaze flickered from the crown to the note to Virgil, who watched with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. Finally, they sighed, shaking their head as they took Roman’s hand.

“I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?” they asked as Roman’s face broke out in a wide grin.

“It’s Roman we’re talking about, of course you’re gonna regret it,” Virgil said with a dry chuckle. Roman rolled his eyes, shoving the crown into his bag and offering Virgil the note.

“Oh hush, you negative nancies. Everything will be just fine!” He could feel the magical energy thrumming through Virgil as the demon took his hand, and his heart began to race. He watched as Virgil traced the runic circle, his eyes slipping shut, before letting the note flutter to the floor and offering Joan his hand.

We’ll find you, he promised silently, the bloody crown in his bag weighing on him like a bag of bricks. I’ll make you proud.

“Okay, just… stand still. Don’t let go of me no matter what.” Virgil took one last look around the destroyed home and let out a breath, his hold on Roman’s hand tightening. His eyes began to glow as he murmured a lilting, foreign incantation, his magic flowing across his skin in veins of violet. His power buzzed through the air, making the hair on the back of Roman’s next stand, and his light grew brighter and brighter, until…

Until, in a flash of white lightning, the three vanished.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

The Turnabout Prosecutor

It was suggested to me that in my "everybody lives/defense team shenanigans" AU, Gregory should adopt Franziska after von Karma goes to jail for attempted murder. I liked this idea and so I have written 5.9k words of it.

"Do you know what the von Karma family motto is?" Franziska asks and Miles does not ask her why she thinks he knows or wants to know anything about the man who tried to kill their father. He does not ask her why she concerns herself with that legacy more than that of the man who has raised her for most of her life. "It is 'to be perfect in every way'." "And what does that mean to you?" he asks.

Franziska is seven when she tells Miles that she wants to be a prosecutor. He is fourteen, lying on the floor reading his textbooks, and she is sitting on the couch with her latest weapon of choice in hand, a flimsy length of plastic with a trigger at one end and a chomping dinosaur head two feet down from it. Without getting up, she can reach him to prod him and make the scientifically-inaccurate featherless tyrannosaurus rex chew on his hair. It is an almost absentminded habit of hers, annoying but not as annoying as the year and a half starting when she was five when she was never found without a flyswatter which she used exclusively, constantly, to slap Miles in the face. She gets annoyed if Miles tries to acknowledge it every time she starts poking him, so he waits until he hears his name before pushing the dinosaur away from his head. "Miles. Miles."

"Yes, Franziska?" he asks, not taking his eyes from his reading.

"I want to be a prosecutor."

He looks up at her. "Why?"

She removes the dinosaur from his face and sets it carefully next to her. "Because," she says, "you want to be a defense attorney, and I..." She pauses for dramatic emphasis. "...want to beat you." She lunges from the couch, landing sprawled across Miles' back. He yelps, trying to roll over to shove her away, and she manages to reposition and remain sitting on his chest. "I am victorious!"

"You win," he gasps out over the sound of her laughter, "you win! The defense acknowledges the prosecution's victory!"

-

He was nine when Franziska entered his life, at a time when his world had already been upended. He remembers, clearly, he will always remember, lying curled up next to his father on his hospital bed, as his father, recovering from being shot by Prosecutor von Karma, worried about what would happen to von Karma's young daughter.

Franziska shouted at anyone who came near her and Miles already had enough trouble interacting with anyone smaller than him even if they weren’t an authoritative German toddler. Suddenly he was no longer the only attention of his father, his father who looked different with bandages around his head and when he took them off there was a huge ugly scar across his forehead that made Miles cry the first time he saw it. Suddenly there was this little girl who didn’t speak the same language commanding his father to spend time with her. Suddenly the house that had felt warm and comfortable with two of them had a third and suddenly it wasn’t. Franziska communicated with Miles by smacking his arm in different rhythms and then barking words he didn’t understand. They found common ground in pointing at objects and each saying their word for it. By the time he went back to school, near the end of February, his sentences were jumbled together in two languages and Phoenix and Larry looked at him funny when he tried to talk to them. Everyone looked at him funny all the time, especially when in May they took a class trip to a museum and he started crying when they got on the elevator. 

The teacher let him take the stairs when they went back down and Phoenix went with him. 

-

He is sixteen, and he is sitting at his kitchen table pouring over college websites and applications, Phoenix next to him grumbling at the edits that Miles has made to one of his application essays. "You know what?" Phoenix says finally, the first thing he has said at a regular volume in half an hour; the rest has been curses under his breath at rules of grammar. 

"What?" Miles asks.

"I am done with this, all of this. I am going to become..." He waits for Miles to look at him before he finishes his sentence. "...a bridge troll."

"No," Miles says.

"Yes. I am going to drop out of high school -"

"We're so close to finishing it. Please at least graduate."

"- and then I'm going to... abandon my fashion sense -"

"Implying that you have any to begin with."

"- and then I'm going to, uh... make my living by..." He pauses, his eyes searching Miles' face like he's trying to figure out what will get the best reaction. "Illegal gambling," he says firmly. "I'm going to drop out of school and become a gambler."

"Please don't."

"Well, it'd be better than this!" he says, throwing his hands in the air and flinging two pencils and a few stray university pamphlets aside. "I don't even know what I want to do!" 

The tea kettle on the stove is whistling behind him and Miles turns only to see that Franziska has swept in. She is barely ten and her handling hot water and hot cookware makes him anxious but she has an angry independent streak of pride that was not born anywhere in the Edgeworth household, and she will yell at him if he tries to help. She has before.

"You should be a defense attorney," she says to Phoenix.

He turns around, sits with his arms draped over the back of his chair. "Hey, Fran!" he says cheerily, and then his face drops. "I'm dying. Don't grow up. It's a trap."

She laughs. Phoenix is good at making people laugh - sometimes at him, but mostly with him. Miles has never been personable like his father or Raymond, or like Phoenix or Larry. He envies the ease with which Phoenix converses with people. "Why do you think I should be a defense attorney?" Phoenix asks Franziska. 

"Because I am going to be a prosecutor and I want to beat you!"

Phoenix laughs and Franziska's face falls, hurt flashing across her face before she replaces it with her usual kind of anger. "Why are you laughing, Phoenix Wright?" she demands. Miles hears the real question beneath that: are you laughing at me?

"Me, a defense attorney," Phoenix says. "Can you imagine? Fran, you'd kick my butt in court."

"Exactly!" she crows, triumphant, bright again now that Phoenix has assured her that he's laughing at himself. "That is why you should! So that I can beat you as well as him!" She jabs a finger at Miles. 

"You know it's not just about winning," Miles says, and then he cringes at himself. Why can't he just roll with the joke like Phoenix does instead of getting so pedantic? Is it the scar on his father's forehead that makes him as scared of a von Karma talking of winning as he is of earthquakes? "It's about -"

"- finding the truth," Franziska finishes. "Yes, I know. But I will find it better, and faster, than you, and that way, I will win." She hands him his tea cup and then prods him in the forehead with her finger. "But you have to study and be the best defense attorney, because I will be the best and I refuse anyone but the best for my rival."

"So then what would I be?" Phoenix asks. "Your punching bag?"

"Yes," Franziska answers, and then she smacks Miles, not Phoenix, on the shoulder.

-

Miles attends his father's alma matter with three semester's worth of course credits already completed from doubling his work load in high school. Phoenix goes to the general university thinking he'll either major in theater or comics art, and maybe he'll study to be a defense attorney on the side. Larry decides he wants money first and dives into whatever odd jobs he can find. For the first time in nearly a decade, they are split apart.

Miles takes the stairs to his classrooms alone.

-

He is twenty when one day he drops by his father's office intending to peruse his books there instead of the ones in the courthouse library. His father is out, but Franziska is there, sitting on the floor surrounded by books and old case files, studying with more careful concentration than Miles has seen in many of his classmates. Gregory has kept Miles updated on her, with more than a bit of worry; she is thirteen and has already tried to throw herself full-time into studying law. She is enrolled now in extra classes on evenings and weekends, she is applying to Themis for high school, her teachers call her "a prodigy", and Gregory wonders to his son why she is putting this pressure on herself, why she is pursuing her goals with more fury than enthusiasm.

"What are you reading?" Miles asks. Franziska flinches like she didn't hear him come in, too absorbed in the pages. He carefully navigating the minefield of open books and binders to where she is. "What kind of cases are -"

In an almost guilty motion she pushes together all of the papers in the open file in front of her and shoves it around to her side, away from Miles' eyes. "What?" he asks. 

"Nothing," she says, her voice clipped, and Miles steps close and leans over her head. 

"What are you trying to hide -?"

He sees, scrawled in pen across the manila folder, a label that she does not manage to place her hand over quick enough: DL-6.

His mouth is dry. "Franziska?" 

She looks up at him, raising her head defiantly. "I wanted to know," she says.

"Know what?" he asks, trying to pull his father's chair out from the desk and sit down, but he ends up sliding to the floor instead. "What happened? You know what happened."

"I know the basic summary and the verdict," she says. "I wanted the testimonies." She has the thick file back in her hands, folding and unfolding one of the corners. "I wanted to know what my father said."

And Miles almost starts to say, our father didn't testify because he was unconscious in the hospital at the time, and then he realizes. She means her father. Some bitter bile rises in his throat, something born of exhaustion from climbing too many extra flights of stairs today, and he snaps, "Our father, who's raised you for a decade, or your father who tried to kill him?"

She carries the surname von Karma because Gregory didn't feel it right that he should deprive her of a connection to her country of origin. He took night classes to learn German and Miles learned it online; they speak it at home so that Franziska remembers her native language. Two summers ago they spent five weeks in Germany. Franziska barely remembers any time lived anywhere but in the Edgeworth household. Gregory takes his daughter to visit in jail the man who wanted him dead. 

Miles read the DL-6 testimony last year. Von Karma broke down into some kind of hysterics that was half laughter and half screams when he finally confessed on the witness stand, and the last thing he said before he was arrested and taken from the courtroom was, "I should have shot him through the heart. The chest is a larger target; I wouldn't have missed."

"I can tell you anything you want to know about what your father said," he snarls. "You don't need court documents to tell you what he was." Ask the scar on our father's forehead, ask me why you have never seen me in an elevator, ask why every time there's an earthquake you come into my room to find me crying.

Her fingers digging into the carpet curl into fists. "Then tell me about my father," she snaps. "Tell me what he was, Miles Edgeworth," and the way she says his name looks like she is biting down on it, the way she spits his surname which she does not share sounds like it is poison in her mouth. "Tell me what he was and what I am!"

The cold knot in his chest shatters and the air rips from his lungs. He can't breathe; there's no air left around him. Franziska glares at him out of gray eyes that somehow look like his. Strangers comment on their resemblance as siblings. Miles blinks water out of his eyes and he sees it spilling down her cheeks. 

"Franziska..." he says weakly. She has gathered the DL-6 files in her arms and stood, about to storm off. "Franziska, wait." He tries to stand but he feels shaky, his head spinning, like he is still suffocating, and he falls back to the floor. She turns back to him, still crying silently, and her expression is stuck halfway in between anger and pity, the former turning into the latter. Damn her father, damn the man for the scars he left Miles with. He tried to shame himself out of these fears, these weaknesses, and when that didn't work - of course it didn't work, and you have nothing to be ashamed of, his father said - he gathered up all of the hatred he had for himself and turned it toward von Karma, let it fester into a powerful bitter rage against a man whom he would never speak to. "I'm - I'm sorry," he says, and no apology has ever sprung from his throat so quickly or so easily. "I'm sorry. You aren't - you aren't your father."

"And what am I not?" she asks. The vitriol is gone. "What is he?"

His father is the one who was shot, the one who was the target, but Gregory has never appeared to harbor this hate that boils within Miles anyway. He is ashamed of it but it breaks loose. "He is a monster, corrupt and a cheat and liar and murderer, and he deserves to rot -"

Franziska is crying harder now, her face screwed up trying to hold back audible sobs. "I have to be better," she whispers. Her voice cracks. "I have to be better than him, I have to be the perfect Prosecutor von Karma because he was not. I have to be perfect and make up for what he did."

"You don't have to be anything because of him," Miles says. He makes it onto his feet, steps toward her. "Franziska, you aren't responsible for -"

She drops the DL-6 files on the floor and the papers fly everywhere, coating the floor, and she stoops to pick up one of the big law textbooks she was studying and in one fluid movement she swings and slams it into Miles' shoulder. She is strong for her age and size and proud of it and has a hilariously evil smirk which she turns on Miles whenever he asks for her help opening a jar; she hits and smacks him all the time but lightly. She always pulls her punches.

She doesn't this time.

Miles yelps, stumbles back and swears - in German, he and Franziska agree that the language is much more satisfying - and Franziska raises the book again, freezing with it high in the air. "Children," Gregory says, from the doorway. Miles' stomach plummets. Franziska drops the book. It lands on Miles' foot. It hurts less than the disappointed gaze that their father has turned on him.

Their father steps into the room and stands aside, leaving the door open for either of them to exit if they wish. Miles does; he can't stand to see his father looking at him that way anymore, he can't stand to see Franziska looking so hurt when he is the cause. He limps from the office, rubbing his shoulder. 

Out on the street, he wants to sink into the ground and disappear; he wants passers-by to stop looking at him, questioning glances at the tears welling in his eyes. He sits in his car and is about to start driving, show up unannounced on the doorstep like they always do to each other, and as he is about to turn the ignition he realizes that girl might be there. There are four numbers set to speed dial in his phone and he calls the fourth. Phoenix picks up on the second ring but Miles hears him saying something to someone nearby, laughing at a joke Miles isn't privy too, before he actually says hello.

"Hey Miles! What's up?"

"Nothing much," Miles says, unsure of what stops him then. "Just... just thought it's been a while since we've seen each other. Are you busy now? Or later?"

"I'm - sorry, yeah, I'm sorry, Dollie and I were just headed out soon." Miles' stomach twists itself into a nauseous knot. "I'm sorry!" Phoenix does sound genuinely apologetic but it doesn't loosen the constricted feeling in Miles' chest. "Are you doing anything tomorrow - the weekend? Do you still take weekends off?"

"Not really," Miles says. "All the tests, and studying - I just had some open time today come up, so I thought maybe..."

"Free time just 'came up'?" Phoenix repeats. "Don't you schedule your days down to the minute like, weeks in advance?" He waits for Miles to answer but when several seconds of silence pass he goes on. "Is everything all right? Is something wrong? Did something happen?"

He could answer honestly: I got into a fight with Franziska. I said some things I shouldn't have. She's hurt and I'm disgusted with myself but I don't think she understands how much her father, von Karma, scarred me, and that hurts me. However infatuated Phoenix is with that girl Dahlia - Miles doesn't like her at all but tries to hide it for Phoenix's sake - he has never not dropped everything to help Miles when he needs it. Miles could answer honestly; Phoenix would probably cancel the date night and tell Miles to come over.

But that probably is not certainly and his heart feels tight in his throat thinking about the possibility of Phoenix choosing her over him. Maybe he wouldn't, but maybe he would, and it's better not to know, for Miles to keep thinking that maybe there's the chance. They are Schrodinger's cat and Miles could open the box right now but he would rather keep his untouchable quantum-state cat than risk finding out that it's dead.

"I'm fine. I just messed up my schedule and only just realized I'd left an empty block when I got to it."

"Okay," Phoenix says. He doesn't sound quite convinced. "All right. I'm sorry. We'll - call me sometime and we'll figure out a time to hang out, okay?"

"Sure," he says. "Sure."

His hands are shaking when he hangs up the phone. In all his memory he cannot think of a time he has ever lied to Phoenix.

-

He is twenty-one when he has his dislike of Dahlia validated in a worse way than he ever thought possible. It is a day when his father and Raymond are out investigating a crime scene in an area with no cell service - Gregory warned Franziska and Miles that morning - that he receives a phone call in the middle of class. He ignores it, but there is a second, and the third time he slips from his front-row seat and into the hallway. It's one of the defense lawyers that his father used to work with, a man named Marvin Grossberg, asking if Miles knows the whereabouts of his father because there's a case just come up that they think he should take on.

"I don't think he'll be back in time," Miles says after he explains. "But why are you calling me about it? Surely your office has someone who will take the case, or..."

"We do, we do - one of my junior partners was very interested once she heard the full details of what is involved - but the defendant is, well..."

Miles' head spins. He nearly drops his phone, his hands trembling as he repeats, aghast, "Phoenix?"

He darts in and out of the classroom to grab his bag and then he is sprinting down the hallway.

By the time he reaches the detention center, Phoenix has signed away his fate into the hands of a young defense attorney named Mia Fey and it's all Miles can do to keep from screaming. "Sorry I couldn't keep from being arrested until after you passed the bar," Phoenix says. Miles is torn between wanting to tell him to take this seriously and being grateful that Phoenix is trying to distract him from the anxiety threatening to consume him, between wanting to hug him and kill him.

He feels the same way by the end of the trial, when Dahlia is convicted and Phoenix is acquitted, through absolutely no help of Phoenix's own testimony and actions. Miles finds him in the defendants' lobby when court is adjourned, talking to Ms Fey. He doesn't yet look the worse for wear from his ordeal but Miles has known him long enough to expect a crash to come in the next few hours. Whatever Ms Fey is saying, it's enough to keep Phoenix chatting amiably, giving the impression of someone who still has life left in him. His eyes light up when over her shoulder, he sees Miles.

Ms Fey scrutinizes him closely. They spoke - argued, more like - when Miles met her at the detention center yesterday. He doesn't remember what he said but he's pretty sure it wasn't pleasant or nice, and he forces himself to look her in the eyes and thank her, though he chokes on an attempted apology.

"I think I want to strangle you," he says to Phoenix, who laughs weakly and slumps his head against Miles' shoulder when he hugs him. 

Franziska is waiting outside of the courthouse for them. She calls shotgun for the ride back to the Edgeworth residence and Phoenix lets her have it, sprawling in the back seat like he is made of rubber and refusing to sit up. "Thanks for coming," he says on the walk into the living room, "both of you," but he is only looking at Miles, and then he collapses into the couch. Miles goes into the kitchen to make him some tea and glances out into the living room just in time to see Franziska throw a bottle of cold medicine at his head.

"He is a fool," Franziska mutters under her breath, in German, though really only one or the other would be necessary for secrecy - Phoenix’s German has lapsed some since he left high school. She is fourteen and sullen and their relationship still stands on rocky ground. "A foolish evidence-destroying fool. It is a wonder he was not convicted, after eating the most decisive piece." She snaps her fingers in Miles' face. "Teach your fool some of your courtroom wisdom."

"My fool?" he repeats.

"Yes. And I was a fool to ever believe or suggest that he could ever be a competent defense attorney."

"I think I want to become a defense attorney," Phoenix says when Edgeworth brings him tea in a suitably non-breakable container. 

In the doorway Franziska throws her hands in the air. "Verdammt!" she snarls, loud enough for Phoenix to hear.

"Go verdammt yourself right back," he calls. She storms off and he looks at Miles and says, "I know that's not how you use that word."

"You know, I was just going to let that one slide," Miles says. He sits down on the floor, back against the couch, near Phoenix's head. "Why are you thinking of making that change?"

"I was talking to Mia - Ms Fey - after the trial, and I just got to thinking... it's about helping people who have no one else to help them, right? What she does, what your dad does, what you do - and I could. I could do that too, I could do something instead of just -" He gestures vaguely, helplessly, into the air. "I could - I could save someone, like you did for me, like she did for me. That's got to be worth it, right? All the work it'll take, but to be able to help people when they're in trouble, that's what it's about. And I want to do that."

There are stars in his eyes when he mentions Mia. Miles looks away. "Do you think I should?" Phoenix asks. "Do you think I could?"

"Yes," Miles says. "And yes."

-

He is twenty-four, ready to move from beneath his father's wings to find an office of his own, but he is waiting for Phoenix to pass the bar. They are at his kitchen table like years ago, applying for colleges, Miles certain, Phoenix lost, but now they both have a path - and the same one, again.

Franziska bounds into the room. "Ta-da!" she announces and Phoenix looks up from Miles' old notes to nearly smack his head into her hand, which holds a gleaming gold-and-white badge right in front of his nose. She is seventeen, not just a prodigy but the prodigy. The name von Karma causes whispers to follow in her wake. 

"Am I going cross-eyed or do you have two prosecutors' badges because you're just that extra?"

"Ha!" Franziska sits back in her chair, across the table from Miles and Phoenix. Phoenix's eyes are still crossed. "Of course. Since I earned my badge before you" - she points at Phoenix - "earned yours, I am entitled to two."

"Do you get a third when you beat me?" he asks.

Phoenix passes the bar before Franziska is given her first case; she looks profoundly disappointed when she sees that he will not be her first opponent.

-

On the first trial that Franziska prosecutes, the verdict is a "not guilty". Miles is there to watch on the first day; when Franziska introduced herself as “Prosecutor von Karma”, the judge's eyes grew wide and he did not speak for a solid minute. The defense team immediately began whispering, giving Franziska fearful glances. Miles picks up words all around him, echoing through the courtroom: falsified, corrupt, attempted murder. Franziska stands through it all, waits for the courtroom to quiet, with her head held high, standing like a statue with her hands clasped behind her back, only her fingers twitching.

The trial drags on for a full three days and her thorough, comprehensive analysis of everything that could vaguely resemble a clue at the crime scene leaves the judge, the gallery, and the police all without a shred of doubt that they have finally apprehended the correct suspect. Watching her is something strange: the way she objects to the defense's statements, her gestures when she corrects them with a confident smirk. She points with the accusatory finger that she has used to prod Miles in the face all their lives, but he isn't used to the way that when she finishes laying out her facts, she spreads her hands wide, palms up, inviting the court to consider her words; or the little flourished bows that she makes, or the way she taps the side of her head as thought to say think about it before she issues a correction to the defense's theories. Miles has his own trial at the same time on the second day, but on the third he is back in the gallery, Phoenix with him. He nudges Miles with his elbow, nodding at Franziska as, palms open, she gestures as though to the words she has just finished speaking, and whispers, "She looks like someone we know, now doesn't she?" Miles blinks and can't quite figure out why Phoenix is looking at him like that.

After the trial is over, the babble that spills from the courtroom into the lobby is infuriating; Miles doesn't realize that he's curled his hands into fists, readied to start a confrontation, until Phoenix's hand on his shoulder grounds him. The perpetrators keep walking, their words still ringing in his ears: "must not really be a von Karma if she lost like that, huh?"

The utterances of her name suddenly, confusedly, quiet, when in the main lobby, Prosecutor von Karma receives a huge embrace from Defense Attorney Gregory Edgeworth. Miles is too far away to hear what is father is saying, but there is obviously pride, and then something apologetic as he is forced to rush off elsewhere, not leaving without a second hug and kissing Franziska on her forehead. She stands there alone after he leaves, looking tiny and lost and alone, but she brightens instantly when Phoenix yells over the crowd "Hey, Fran!" and waves.

"What are you doing here, Phoenix Wright?" she asks, darting over to them.

"I came to see the debut of the prosecutor who's going to kick my ass, of course."

She laughs and looks at Miles, something like doubt creeping into her face. "You did well," he says, studying her reaction; does he sound insincere? Should he give more praise? Will she think more is insincere? The gap in conversation draws longer. He struggles to think of something. "How did you think to examine the last witness' apartment with Luminol? He would have gotten away if you hadn't but how even did you figure to..."

Tension disappears from her shoulders and the anxiety in her face smooths away. Talk about evidence, about methodology, not feelings; they are both better in the realm of the concrete. "On our second day of investigation, I thought I saw blood in the carpet. A small spot." She circles her thumb and forefinger together to form a circle less than a centimeter in diameter. "When Detective Scruffy and I returned yesterday with some more questions, there was none such spot to be seen. I found that odd, given how unnaturally clean the witness' apartment was the first day we spoke with him. If he had already cleaned recently, why clean again, if not to cover something up?"

"Wasn't the carpet that you're talking about maroon, though?" Phoenix asks. "How did you ever see a little bloodstain on a maroon carpet? And who has a maroon carpet?"

"As it turns out, people who are liable to commit murder," Miles says.

"It is my job to carefully investigate any scene that may be of importance to a case," Franziska says. "It is my job, with close observation and decisive evidence, to find the truth, and often the truth hides in the smallest details, so then I must examine the smallest details."

"I'm imagining you crawling around on the floor squinting at the carpet while the detective tries to interview the witness," Phoenix says.

Franziska slowly tilts her head to the side to look at him, her face perfectly expressionless, her eyes unflinchingly fixed to his face, and says dryly, "Perhaps it is so."

Phoenix waves to flag down someone else, and over the heads of everyone else in the lobby, Miles spots Diego, presumably with Mia somewhere nearby. "There you are!" Diego says, clapping a hand on Phoenix's shoulder. "Trial's going to another day; we've got to go investigate the scene again and we need all hands on deck. Get ready to get moving - who's this?" Franziska looks comically small in front of him, and frowning, she sizes him up in return, her eyes lingering on his mask.

"This is," Phoenix says, with a dramatic pause, and Franziska groans as has long been her only response to his theatrics, "the prodigy Prosecutor Franziska von Karma, our new greatest rival, dutifully sworn for the past eight years to kick my ass in court."

"Eight years, really?" Mia asks.

"She's my sister," Miles explains. "Franziska, this is Mia Fey, chief of Fey and Co Law Offices, and her partner, Diego Armando. They work with Phoenix and me - or we work with them, if you prefer to be pedantic about it."

"I do, actually," Diego says.

"Nice to meet you, Franziska." Mia extends a hand. "I look forward to seeing you in the courtroom in action."

"Thank you, Ms Fey," Franziska says, shaking her hand. "I do, as well."

"We've got to be heading out soon," Mia says to Miles. "Another few minutes." 

The message is implicit: wrap it up. Miles nods. Phoenix is already asking Diego about the details of their trial and Mia joins them, leaving Miles and Franziska alone on their side of the lobby. He looks at his sister, and then away, and then back again before he finally manages to say, "I'm proud of you, Franziska."

She narrows her eyes. These are words he has never said before. She assesses them carefully for tone, hidden meaning, wary perhaps of something patronizing or pitying, a sorry about your loss that Miles does not mean now and never intends to mean. "Honestly. I am. The whole court didn't know what to make of you." A prosecutor who kept pressing even when the judge was about to hand down a "guilty" verdict, who was sure that the truth was still buried somewhere and would not stop until she dug it up for all to see, who had no concern for a win record.

"Do you know what the von Karma family motto is?" Franziska asks quietly. Even if Miles did know, she does not leave enough time to answer, instead continuing, "It is 'to be perfect in every way'." He thinks she is about to go on, but she doesn't.

"And what does that mean to you?" he asks.

She raises her head to look him in the eyes. "To be a perfect trial, the one single truth must be uncovered. There is no room for stones left unturned, lies left unexposed, or testimony left unspoken. To do anything less is to fail in our role as prosecutors - and perfection leaves no room for failure. What I am is the opposite of my father, and I will be perfect - this, I promise you."

Their relationship has never been one built on obvious affection, but he thinks this - this deserves a hug. "And you" - when they pull apart she prods him several times in the chest - "must be perfect, because I will accept a rival no less."

In her parlance, truth is perfection, and perfection, the truth. "I think I can do that," he says. 

"And since you have your fool, you may have him crawl about on the floors, and escape that fate yourself."

"My fool?"

"Yes, yours; and I believe your crime scene awaits. Remember what I have told you, Miles Edgeworth."

- It is a week and a half after the trial when Miles drops by his father's office to retrieve a case file that Mia thinks may be helpful to reference as a precedent. Franziska is there, sitting on a desk, a plastic ruler in her hand which she is rapping against the edge of the desk with increasing frequency. "Is something wrong?" 

"No," she says. 

"So you're just about to vibrate into orbit for the fun of it?"

"Yes."

He stops noticing the tapping sound but then, flipping through binders to refresh his memory on which should contain this file he is searching for, he notices when it stops. "I am going to visit my father," Franziska says, without prompting, when Miles looks up.

"Oh." He isn't sure what to say to that. She has never told him about those meetings before; he has not asked. 

"And I will tell him what I told you - what is perfection, and that I have attained perfection more than he ever did. I will tell him proudly of my loss."

The final indignity, the final revenge, for what Manfred von Karma tried to do, would be for him to hear these words from his daughter's lips. She smacks the ruler against the desk one last time so that with a sound like the crack of a whip, it snaps in half. "I will tell him what I am."

[realmonstersrp]

INTRODUCING NAM JUNSEO, OUR NEWEST STUDENT WITH THE POWER OF SMOKE MANIPULATION

WELCOME TO GUMI INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL FOR THE POWERED.

WHO ARE THEY?

PERSONALITY

(+) curious, resilient, brave (–) shameless, impulsive, stubborn

BACKGROUND

PLAY PM 4:53 MAR. 09 1996 the sound crackles and the screen tears before the video content starts playing, it opens on what looks like a hospital hallway, white linoleum floors and walls tinted a little yellow-orange from the camera. a baby can be heard in the background, crying like all newborns do. a young child’s voice comes from behind the camera, excitedly asking if he’s here, if his new baby brother is here? the camera shakes while he runs and the picture goes blurry, but a man in black shoes can be seen for a brief moment, can be heard for even briefer as he says, “yes,” and nothing more.

STOP

the video cuts there because the man in black shoes takes the camera and shuts it off. he has half a mind to throw the camera hard against the squeaky floors, but he only has so much money to his name and that camera was an expensive gift that he can’t throw away now. not when the person who gave it to him just died before his eyes.

PLAY AM 6:23 MAR. 03 2001

the video starts out with a young voice, one similar to the young child in the first tape but a little older now. he zooms in close to a younger boy’s tired face, eyes squinted and lips parted while he tries to situate himself, and says, “get up, jun! you’re gonna be late for your first day of school!” he’s laughing, hitting his little brother playfully against the blanket and tugs at his arm, pulling him up. the video shakes, blurs, and soon enough it stabilizes as it hits the soft carpet. the screen is half carpet, half socks and feet scrambling out of bed and running to get out of his older brother’s clutch and get dressed. they talk and laugh for a bit until a loud slur can be heard, “hey, you two, shut up or i’–”

STOP

the video cuts there because the older brother, whose name we’ve learned is jinseo through some of junseo’s whining in the previous clip, runs to get the camera and shuts it off quickly. he shoves it into one of his drawers, keeps it safe, and runs once more to get ahead of his brother. not for teasing, not for malice, not for anything other than hiding him while they navigate the minefield that is their small, dirty living room. bottles and clothes and cigarette butts line the floor they walk on, and they try to slip out as quietly as possible. breakfast is never eaten in the kitchen, junseo learns at 5 years old. breakfast is red bean fish bread and free water from the small stall across their apartment.

PLAY PM 8:27 DEC. 25 2005

a nine year old boy’s voice opens the next video. he asks, “why are you always recording with that thing?” the video focuses on jun, lying stomach-down on his bed, legs kicking the mattress idly, softly. there’s a warm tint to the video and lots of noise, but the cocked eyebrow on jun’s face can still clearly be seen until the video shakes, blurs. jinseo moves to sit next to jun and holds the camera up in a way that he hopes has both of them fitting on the screen. only jinseo’s cheek can be seen on screen, but he can be heard saying, “this was mom’s camera, so i’m recording us for her.” it’s subtle and barely discernible on screen, but jun’s smile fades a bit, voice lowering in volume when he replies with an, “oh,” because he doesn’t know what to say. the video shakes again until it settles down on top of a blanket. a series of footsteps and some rustling can be heard before jinseo speaks up again, “because i’m sure she would’ve loved to see your reaction to this – here.” when the video stabilizes again, now from jinseo’s point of view once more, it focuses back on jun now with a poorly wrapped present in his hands. he tears through it and pauses when he sees the nintendo ds box, his grin returning when he looks up at jinseo, “no way – how did you–”

STOP

the video cuts there because the battery runs out. but maybe it’s all for the best, because jinseo’s answer certainly wouldn’t impress their mom. not when he had stolen it from his better off friend to give jun a good christmas that year. jun doesn’t mind though. he’s only nine but he’s had his fair share of five finger discounts too. kimbap and popsicles from the convenience store, a shirt from the market, pencils from the stationary shop down the block whenever he breaks his previous one. everything his parents should give him, but his mom had unwillingly left him nine years ago, and his dad willingly chooses not to ever look him in the eye, or if he does it’s with resentment and a bottle of whiskey. so he leans on his older brother, six years older, and he teaches him how to be slick with his hands, how to lie with a straight face and fake dignity. he learns to stop at nothing to get what he needs, wants, and grows into his teenage years stubborn and brazen.

PLAY AM 11:56 MAR. 10 2008

the next video opens on jinseo, arms out and a wide grin on his face. around him, a tiny goshiwon’s interior. jun can be heard from behind the camera, “look mom, hyung’s going to university.” he sounds natural while pretending to talk to his mom now, he’s gotten three years of practice after all. jun frames the shot in a way that attempts to look less home-made, his brother slightly off center while he shows off the bed. three steps back and to the right and he’s showing off the bathroom, rattling off some facts about the seoul based goshiwon and how it’s somehow better than their barely larger apartment back home in daegu. the video focuses on jinseo again, zoomed in a little too close on his face for assumed comedic effect. there’s nothing funny about it though when jun can be heard saying, “hyung’s abandoning me now.” there is a teasing lilt to his voice and jinseo even chuckles a bit, but even through fuzzy video the bittersweet mood can be read.

STOP

the video cuts there because jun turns the camera off, not particularly wanting to remember the way he almost choked up afterwards. seoul is hours away from daegu, and now jinseo too is hours away from jun. he catches a bus home that night and counts the hours, concluding that it’s much too long. jinseo tells him he’ll come down to visit when he can, but it turns out he almost never can (or never wants to, jun’s not so sure).

PLAY PM 9:35 NOV. 02 2010

smoke is all that fills the screen of the next video’s opening. it rises, then it twists in ways unnatural for smoke. instead of continuing to rise straight as smoke does, it bends, it loops, it forms a large cloud before it dissipates.

STOP

the video cuts there because jun is unsure if he wants to even chronicle this. he doesn’t say a word the entire video, doesn’t speak to his mom in it like he usually does, doesn’t show himself at all in frame. because he’s not sure his mom would be particularly proud of him. he never knew her, but he never forgets the way his dad looked at him with even more contempt in his eyes than usual after a particularly heated argument ended with the smoke from his cigarette shifting and twisting according to jun’s fingers, shocking them both. and even jinseo doesn’t know how to react after jun tells him about his newly discovered powers over the phone, confused and scared and looking for comfort in his hyung (he doesn’t find it, and jinseo never answers his phone calls after that). by extension, then, he assumes his mom would react very much the same to the fact that her second son can manipulate the intangible consequence of fire. a fitting power, he thinks bitterly to himself, because he’s always felt like an unwanted consequence too. tainted now with this thought, jun stops filming with this camera and his rudimentary smoke manipulation video is the last tape. he never gets rid of the old camera, stashing it somewhere safe and never forgotten, but he never turns it on again. his love for filming never goes away, though, even as he funnels more time exploring his newfound skill. so, he works part-time and takes up odd jobs here and there as he grows older, saving his money for better filming equipment.

PLAY PM 5:09 AUG. 08 2014

the video plays on a laptop screen, now, because it’s saved online, not a physical vhs tape. the picture on screen is much clearer than before, doesn’t have that warm orange tint to it, doesn’t physically display the timestamp on the bottom left corner. it opens on an alarm clock, focused on the red numbers with a bed and what looks like jun, several years older, behind it, blurred. there’s a vignette around the edges, the sound editing is a little rough, still able to hear light background noise like the whir of an air conditioner. the alarm turns to 6:00 and a loud noise permeates the room, jun groans a split second too early but he’s not applying to be an actor anyway. the rest of the video chronicles the life of a south korean high school student, jun the star of it all with a few smokey twists along the way. it’s humorous but well shot, all things considered, and the credits that roll at the end all read nam junseo.

STOP

the video stops there because the credits ran, weren’t you paying attention? it’s the first piece of the portfolio he’s compiling to apply to gumi’s film program. it’s not the best plotline nor the most compelling or beautifully shot video, but it gets him accepted anyway. he thinks maybe it has to do more with his relatively impressive display of manipulating smoke throughout it. whatever the case, he leaves daegu behind and moves to incheon (he’s just over an hour away from jinseo now, but it doesn’t matter – they haven’t seen each other in person for years). over the next three years, he spends his time in gumi relishing in the fact that he can use his powers freely, even joins a team that promises him a legacy. his bitterness has transformed and there is less self-hatred, replaced with cockiness and bravado, reckless abandon with his tendency to trend towards more aggressive use of his powers. because as they say: fake it until you make it, right?

truthfully, he’s not so sure he’s faked it hard enough yet.

WHAT CAN THEY DO?

DEFINITION

in sum, junseo is able to manipulate smoke born from combustion or pyrolysis (thus, he can’t just manipulate regular air or vapor). meaning, he can shape and control the direction of smoke while it’s visible and use it in various types of attacks. for example, he can induce people to choke/cough by directing smoke down their throats. he can also project ‘bolts’ and ‘blasts’ of smoke that, when projected fast enough, can be tangibly felt by the target, though it quickly loses its physicality upon contact and expands and rises as regular smoke does. in addition to basic manipulation, he can also absorb smoke for temporary enhancements, particularly in gaining energy and dulling pain. lastly, this is an application he’s only learned about recently during his time at gumi, but he’s able to ‘smoke dash’. meaning, he can teleport very short distances by turning into a cloud of smoke and then re-materializing quickly elsewhere a few feet ahead of him.

WEAKNESSES

physical limitations: the extent to which he can manipulate and use smoke in attacks is directly correlated to the strength of the smoke itself. for example, if the smoke he’s manipulating is just that from burning cigarettes, the chances of him being able to actually use it as a blast is very slim. the same goes for his absorption, weak smoke gives weak enhancements (if any at all). the thicker the smoke, the better his manipulation and absorption becomes overall. furthermore, as mentioned previously he can only manipulate smoke born from fire/combustion and pyrolysis. or, in other words, he can only manipulate flammable vapor, and not things like steam from boiling a pot of water. range limitations: he can of course only manipulate smoke that he can see and that is within a 15 feet radius. attacks that he send out (i.e. blasts and bolts) can travel further than that depending on how much energy he exerts and how large the attack is (meaning, how much smoke is actually used to make up the attack). but the farther it is, the less of a physical impact the attack actually makes. and the maximum range for it is about 30 feet before it no longer makes any physical impact at all. for absorption, he can absorb any smoke within a 10 feet radius. for smoke dashing, he can only dash up to 7 feet ahead of his starting position. time limitations: due to the natural dissipation of smoke, all of his powers have an inherent time limitation, rendering his powers for more fast-paced fighting. because, of course, he can’t manipulate smoke when it’s not there. his powers do allow for slight prolonging of smoke dissipation, but not for much longer than one minute beyond its natural decay, thus he always has to act quick when trying to manipulate smoke and use it in blast attacks and the like. in addition, the energy enhancements and dulling of pain he receives when absorbing smoke don’t last too long either. his energy is only enhanced in short five minute bursts before he has to absorb more or rely on his own human stamina to keep up energy. the dulling of pain lasts longer at half an hour, but when the pain comes back, depending on the injury, it typically feels ten times more painful since it rushes back all at once. but hey, at least it helps him keep going during fights without worrying about any injuries he contracts. smoke absorption limitations: in addition to the maximum time limits of his enhancements, his toleration of absorbing smoke to receive said enhancements actually increases the more he does it. so, the more he absorbs and the more his toleration grows, the more he needs to absorb over time to reach max enhancement. furthermore, while he’s grown tolerant of smoke that he rarely chokes/coughs on it and his biology is more forgiving of smoke inhalation, he isn’t completely immune to the negative health effects of smoke. thus, he can certainly still obtain lung and heart diseases normally caused by smoke inhalation, though it may take a much higher amount than most humans. smoke dash limitations: smoke dashing takes a lot of mental focus and physical energy out of him with even just one use. especially because it’s a relatively new power that he’s only learned about in the past few years, it’s still a bit disorienting. after all, he essentially becomes smoke for a millisecond before materializing once more, during which he often gets migraines or feels lightheaded. he can’t use it in quick succession just yet as it is very taxing, but at maximum the most he can do is double dash within a second. any further dash requires a bit of a cooldown of three minutes before he can even attempt it again. but again, he hasn’t even been able to double dash just yet and prefers to only have to dash once during any given fight.

DID YOU KNOW?

he can always be found with a lighter on him (a metal one with his initials engraved at the bottom corner), because he 1. likes to smoke and always has a pack on him too, and 2. he is not above burning things to create smoke that he can manipulate

[speedygal]

Not a logical intervention - part 70

Living in a alternate variation of history came with its cons.

It was a unpredictable period until the familiar era arrived. Some parts of history were not documented well or classified so that was like walking in a minefield wearing a blindfold. Just one wrong move and everything could be changed for the worse. Kirk and over a nine dozen representatives were secured on deck nine in the mess hall. Some of the representatives were sitting down in chairs. Tables were out of the room left into the corridor.

Science officers were left to the science labs. Medical officers were restricted to sick bay with a crew of security officers standing guard. Of all the fifteen decks, several security officers were stationed outside the mess hall lead by Lurille. Durche was looking off into space through the window watching the battle going on between the Cardassian vessel and Gresociou. Kirk worriedly watched watched a ship nothing like a Cardassian vessel come alongside the damaged vessel firing on the oncoming blast.

“I never heard of this Gresociou  .  .” Spock said. “Nor read about it.”

“Perhaps it became extinct because of this battle,”‘ Kirk said, resting by Spock’s chair in a spare chair. “A good reason why no one talks about it.”

“Logical,” Spock said.

The ship shuddered as the lights briefly went out.

“Charles. . “ Orego’s eyes slowly opened. He was laid against the wall.

Orego’s heart broke into pieces.

The inside of the beetle was spooky and terrifying at once.

There was no light in the long corridors that had the shape of a rounded design.

The lighting from the protection gear displayed the dark and chilling design.

As though there were a series of long, thin bars installed bent to the will of the ship. The sound of insects were around them. They were not stepping on the insects for that matter. Ku’mie was visibly disturbed. Raj’eh’is and Ku’mie watched Charles back. He lowered the phaser down. The additions on his shoulder served as lighting to what was ahead. Ku’mie looked in both ways bobbing their head like a chicken gazing around. Something didn’t feel right. Not one bit. There was a eerie calm. A familiar one to Charles. Raj’eh’is came to a stop in front of the Commodore then held out a hand. Rak’eh’ish closed his hand then lowered it looking over toward Charles who was gazing around.

“They know we are here,” Charles said.

“Where is the center section?” Raj’eh’is asked.

“I don’t know,”  Charles said. “They just reached out and attacked me.” Ku’mie turned around stepping aback holding the adjusted phaser rifle.

“Great,” Raj’eh’is said, rubbing his forehead.

“I was dragged to the chamber,” Charles said. “I couldn’t exactly see since they blinded me.”

The phaser was long and bulky, heavy, even. There were two more chambers installed. One for each method that worked on killing the insects. Ku’mie turned bobbing their head. A flash of light landing on the wall. Ku’mie slowly lowered their phaser.

“You mean to tell me that Commodore Orego had good reason that you shouldn’t go?” Raj’eh’is asked. Ku’mie slowly walked forward lowering the phaser rifle. “Cardassians have better sense of direction than we do. They are better at finding insects than we are.”

“Their hearing is intuned for that,” Charles said. “I believed it would be worth a shot finding it before the same thing happens again.”

Raj’eh’is stared at the man with a dead panned expression. The air was still. The sound of insects was remarkably absent. Charles felt uncomfortable as he felt all eyes were on him. Charles normally felt comfortable with eyes on him but this was a different situation that wasn’t the typical. Charles felt the respect for him drain from Raj’eh’is.

“You just gathered a small landing party for protection,” Raj’eh’is said.  “without a plan or idea where to go. . .  to get over some trauma?” Charles considered the reply. Only hesitating briefly.

“When you put it that way--” Charles said.

“My goood!” Raj’eh’is said, rubbing his forehead turning away. Raj’eh’is shook his head. “I picked the wrong ship,” he turned toward Raj’eh’is half pissed, half amused, and professional. “Commodore, there is therapy for a reason!”

The wall paneling slid back with a loud grumbling that earned the two officer’s attention.

“What did you do, Lieutenant?”  Raj’eh’is asked, coming to the Lieutenant’s side.

“You do not want to touch the walls,” was all the Lieutenant replied.

“This is the right way,”  The three looked on toward the newly formed corridor. Charles walked forward passing by the two officers. “I can feel it in my brain.” 

Raj’eh’is sighed, then flipped out the golden communicator.

“Go after him, Lieutenant,” Raj’eh’is said. “I will inform the Hood.”

“Yes, Commander,” Ku’mie said, then tagged after the Commodore.

“Ensign Raj’eh’is to the USS Hood,” Raj’eh’is said.

“Hood here,” T’Pot’s voice came over.

“Permission to speak freely, Captain,” Raj’eh’is said.

“Request granted,” T’Pot said.

“We are screwed,” Raj’eh’is said.

“How so?” T’Pot inquired.

“Commodore Culber does not know where he is going. He is only following his brain’s feeling. I believe this is a dangerous move. He is attempting to reconcile with his trauma rather than relying off scans.” the sounds of insects grew louder around him. A green insect landed onto his shoulder with horns covering its body. “Lieutenant Ku’mie is following him.”

“Ensign, I cannot hear you,” T’Pot said. “Speak louder.”

“Ku’mie is with him!” Raj’eh’is said. The insect traveled to the side of his neck on the pieces of dark metal bronzed with the starfleet delta. Another landed beside it. And another. And another. The buzzing was soft. “Permission to knock the Commodore out and return him to the----” the buzzing grew loud.  A loud scream erupted from the Ensign as the insects dug into his neck. A jet of blood flew out.. “AHHHHH  AHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHH---”  the line went dead as he collasped out of pain.

“Transporter room, one to transport, medical team be on site,” T’Pot said. There was a disturbing silence as she ended the communication. Raj’eh’is’s painful, agonizing screams echoed like a bad sting in their mind. T’Pot tapped her fingers on the arm rest.  “Officer Dale. . . Contact the party and inform them that they must return immediately.”

“Aye . . . aye captain,” Officer Dale, communications officer, turned back toward his station and began to hail the team. “Hood to Culber, Hood to Culber. .”

Charles’s communicator beeped on the ground as the couple walked on ahead.

“Did you hear that?” Ku’mie asked.

“Hear what?” Charles asked.

“I thought I heard a communicator,” Ku’mie said, looking over her shoulder.

“Liuetenant, if it’s ringing, we don’t go after it,” Charles said.

“Why?” Ku’mie asked.

There was silence from Charles at first.

“You don’t want to see,” Charles walked on.

Ku’mie followed behind him as the sound of buzzing was heard.

Hall entered  the transporter room to smell blood.

There was loud buzzing inside the transporter room.

Noises that didn’t belong there.

“Step aside, doctor,” came a ensign.

Security officers stepped in front of the group then fired on the buzzing creatures. Green liquid erupted from the juicy bodies. Blood decorated the transporter padd. Hall took aside his team and they wanted out the firing until the loud booming from the phaser rifles became soundless. They peaked in to see the body laid on the transporter padd with layers of skin peeled back and his eye sockets were empty.

In his entire career, Hall had never seen a death that grizzly. The arms were covered in muscle. Some of the bones could be seen. They returned with a black bag. There was no heartbeat. The corpse’s uniform was in tatters. His golden communicator was in half. His long golden hair was halfway eaten away. His feet were the only body part that retained skin displaying the dark purple color. The corpse was lifted into the bag. Hall closed the black bag then nodded toward the surviving transporter technician.

“Transporter room to bridge,” the technician said, in a unsteady voice.

“Bridge here,” T’Pot’s voice came over.

“The officer didn’t make it,”  the technician said.

“My condolences,” T’Pot said. “Bridge out.”

And the occupied gurney was wheeled out. Through the doors came Orego.  Orego stepped onto the transporter padd holding onto his phaser rifle. The technician shakingly raised the three bars on the transporter console. Orego vanished before the officer’s eyes wearing  a pissed off facial expression with his phaser rifle ready.

T’Pot watched the Cardassian vessel explode.

The bright light illuminated space briefly then it died down.

Sacj’s vessel had drifted away enough not to be part of the explosion.

The shields were up on the Hood acting as a cocoon. Asides to the first strike by the Gresociou, the ship was intact. Starfleet command had yet to reply what to do about this problem. T’Pot had a fear that they would die in space, all of them, ranging from the Commodores, to the the admiral, to the Ambassadors, and last the Delegates. Space become too dangerous to go near Catalia. After the Cardassians, the insect would go after them. Whoever they are. Whatever their reason were. They had failed to respond to their hails of friendship. Diplomacy was off the table.

“Captain T’Pot,” Sacj appeared on the screen. His bridge was badly damaged and he didn’t look too good himself. Pieces of the ceiling on the bridge was dangling down in the center. Smoke was drifting off stations. The ship trembled with more force striking it. Sacj was grasping onto a station to keep himself steady.

Captain T’Pot stood up from the chair.

“Captain Sacj,” T’Pot greeted him. “I see your ship is damaged. Prepared to hand yourself over?”

“Not . . . yet,” Sacj said.

“Even if I could help you, I am bound by Starfleet regulations to not aid in your lifestyle,” T’Pot said.  Sacj rolled an eye.

“Permission to beam over non-essential personnel to your ship,” Sacj said.

“Are they in the law?” T’Pot inquired.

“They’re not in the system,” Sacj said. “Please, take care of them. Expect them in five minutes after we arrive. We might have some passengers from the other Cardassian vessels, non-essential, just like them aboard.”

“Cardassians working with pirates?” T’Pot said.

“For the good of people they care,” Sacj said. “We’ll be by your ship in thirty-five minutes on impulse power.” He turned away as a panel exploded behind him.  The screen turned to black. T’Pot turned away from the screen facing the captain’s chair.

“What are we?” T’Pot asked. “A rescue ship?” her gazed went over toward the acting chief of security. “With me, Lieutenant T’Stonn.”

T’Pot was joined by T’Stonn toward the doorway.