#you've heard of death of the author how about when the author has a poor memory and doesn't take notes

[merge-conflict]

sometimes writing is like... oooo that sounds cool. don't remember writing that though. what the hell was I suggesting here.

He could just barely feel the pressure of her fingers along his endoskeleton. Somewhere in animal memory he could feel the glide of skin across skin and an answering shiver, but he remained motionless. Underneath the placid waves of the surface there was something stirring in the cold depths, something ancient and monstrous and hungry. “I cannot give you what you deserve,” he said finally, “But I would not leave you in that place. Not even if you hated me.” “I don’t hate you.” V was looking at the ofrenda, eyes unfocused. “I couldn’t hate you. And I don’t regret it.” She turned to look at him, reacting to something he thought he had suppressed. “Do you?

Like obviously Goro is studiously avoiding eye contact with some Big Feeling here but it was not obvious to me what it was supposed to be. I have, however, reverse engineered two or three plausible options which I can now start foreshadowing in a chapter or two of the actual fic I'm supposed to be writing. Never punished. ✌️

[moodymisty]

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author’s note: Send help. Send a therapist I don’t know I just need some form of mental health assistance.

Relationships: Typhus/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW (god save me), Disgusting Nurgle stuff, Fingering, Like 72 degrees of unsafe sex, Implied sex pollen/aphrodisiac, Noncon, Stockholm syndrome, Tentacles,

It’s a massive room, at one point it might have been a cathedral; To Mortarion, to the Emperor, or who else else the Death Guard worshiped before falling to Nurgle. Slime leaks from the walls and rusts away at the metal, eating holes in piping and supports alike. Tentacles, spores and other types of biomass litter it, with little botflies fluttering about. What they're doing you don't know, but they catch your eye every now and again.

It's not as if you can do much else. He's taken your hope, your energy, your home.

In the center of all this rot and decay is your place; A flowerbed of sickly blossoms and blooms, moss and mushrooms all infected by Nurgle.

A beautiful flowerbed for his own little Isha, Calas had said. Though he’s no longer Calas, is he? Typhon has become Typhus, and you've become prisoner.

You now lay on your bed of rotten blooms, picking at flower petals. You can’t escape him- even if you escaped this massive rotten cathedral, where would you go? This ship is his, and you’re deep in what is now heretic space.

He won’t let you die; He won’t let you leave. Bare skin lays against the sticky moss, spores brushing against you.

He’d taken your clothes after the last time, other than the thin cloth that serves as a near useless, dress. You suppose he finds a sort of elegance to it- a maiden in white amidst a pit of disgust. Another parallel to Isha. He's been meticulous in recreating it all so he has his own glimmer of light betwixt a defiled cathedral and a ship of the most putrid diseases.

You can only lay hopeless, displayed on your flowerbed underneath corruption forming a mockery of trees with budded flowers, rotten petals falling to the floor. Typhus’ own altar to whatever desires he has in his head.

Suddenly movement causes you to raise upward, restoring your sanity and consciousness. You’ve never heard even close to this much noise before, not even when the Death Guard were forming up to invade a poor, hopeless planet.

“In here!”

You turn your head to the massive cathedral doors, watching them shake before giving way and pushing apart with loud creaking. Your heart pounds in your chest with more hope than you’ve ever had before, at the sight.

It’s Astartes! A squad of them. You don’t know where they’re from or what they’re doing here, but they’re here to save you from this. Save you from him. To finally either pull you from this rotten ship or kill you here, and finally end this state of undeath Typhus has you lingering in.

One of the Astartes comes closer and reaches for you, and you weakly reach out a hand for him. You try to touch it, but you don’t make contact; it’s like your hand nearly falls through.

“What happened?”

He says, and you wish you had the ability to explain. How Calas has changed, the ship becoming nothing more than a vessel of disgust and disease.

“Help me,” You weakly say, but it feels like you’re trying to speak underwater.

Where did the other Astartes disappear to?

The marine’s armored hand reaches down to grasp your bare arm, and you think you hear him say your name. But how would he know it?

He says it again, and again…

And then your body jolts, legs straightening as your eyes open. Your lips part as you gasp, taking in so deep a breath you almost choke on the air.

“There you are, my girl.”

The man once called Calas looks over you while on his knee, the grill of his helmet hiding what is left of his face.

You’ve seen it; How the Nurgle infection has eaten away at his skin, changing was left to sickly yellow, green and purple. His armor seems entangled with his flesh, becoming one and the same. His appearance horrifies you, and makes you yearn for what once was.

“Were you having a nightmare?”

His rusted gauntlet scrapes across your skin, nicking your cheek. You try to avoid shivering, hands pressing against the ground below you.

It wasn’t a nightmare, it was the brightest glimpse of hope you had since Typhus doomed all of the Death Guard, and it was little more than your imagination.

“My sweet girl, you were asking for help.”

His hand drifts from your face, you wonder why it smells sweet, down your neck then the rest of your body and you whimper, trying to move away from him. His armor feels warm like it's almost alive, and perhaps it is- they're one and the same now.

His massive gauntlet slips between your legs, armored fingers diving between your folds as you writhe and attempt to pull away from him.

“I can grant your every desire much like grandfather does with Isha, you only need to let me in.”

He already is in; You feel his rusted gauntlet prod at your entrance. Your whimper and push at him, in some futile attempt to escape.

“Stop, please stop,”

Calas- Typhus, forces his armor finger into you and feels the way you tighten, pressing your hips down into the mossy flowerbed. Tears prick your eyes as you feel him sink into you deep, cold armor pressing against your cunt.

“You don’t want me to stop; I can smell you. The honey you’re making.”

You want him to stop, you want your skin to stop buzzing and heating up, as you feel your body begin to betray you. The flowers, the spores, Typhus himself, you don't know what he does that makes you lose control over yourself, but you hate every moment of it. It makes tears roll down your cheeks as your stomach tightens in knots over the feeling of his now two fingers deep inside of you, the palm of his gauntlet pushing against your clit.

“Please…. Stop…”

You try to turn away from him but his other hand grasps your jaw, turning you right back. Your body feels so hot, you can feel the brushing of little tentacles across your inner thighs, your breasts, your neck. Whether they’re from him or the flowerbed you don’t know, but they only serve to spark trails of fire as your body heats up like a furnace.

Typhus removes his hand from your cunt to push your thighs wider apart, the bottoms of your feet almost touching. They stay fallen apart, and your hands reach down to grasp at his decayed gauntlet as he pushes his fingers back into you.

Just finish, give him what he wants and then he'll leave. Ignore how good he makes you feel.

He hears you let out a whimper, finally broken. He laughs, the fingers of his other hand stroking your cheek.

“Good girl, just let me gift you all that you desire.”

You can hear the wet squelches of your own cunt as you leak over his rusted, decayed armor, weeping for more without your permission. You can hear in the back of your mind the no no no no no, but it's so chained by whatever sweet scent had filled your nostrils that you can't touch it.

You just want to be filled, by anything.

Your thoughts become your own for a moment as you feel how much you hate when he does this; It’s like your body and mind detach and you can no longer control yourself.

Your hands grasp his gauntlet tighter and try to pull him closer, arch closer to him, begging for more. The disgust of mushrooms and slime and rotten petals falling on your skin fades as he fills your mind with nothing but forced desire for him.

“It took Isha many years to realize Grandfather was her savior,” He pulls his fingers from your tight heat to tease your clit and make you gasp, before sinking them into you again. Your hips jerk upwards, tears in your eyes from how much you want this and how much you don’t want this. “And now you see, as well.”

You feel the tickle of flies landing on your skin, it makes you want to vomit. They always hover around him like he has a gravitational pull.

You cum against his hand as he thrusts his armored fingers deep into you, crying out with a voice now hoarse from your whimpers and cries. He hums pleased behind his helm, as you lay limp in front of him. Your inner thighs are slick, and you feel something tickle against them that isn't his hand.

He pulls his soaked hand from between your thighs, putting it on your stomach as his other hand slips underneath your shoulderblades. He raises you slightly up off the flowerbed removing his hand from your stomach to take off his helmet.

You want to look away, to preserve the memory of Calas. But he’s gone, rotted away. You feel his hand cup your jaw to force you to look at him, your lips brushing against his dried, rotten mouth.

His hand returns to your stomach again.

“My beautiful little flower in her beautiful little garden; Begging to be pollinated.” You feel your mind returning from its foggy state and you weakly kick your legs wanting to get away.

“You are in bloom, my beautiful little flower. I can’t wait to make so many more.”

[thatoneperson747]

Hi

So while procrastinating writing the fic I'm working on, I decided it was time for me to read the Royal Ranger. I only have book one, and I've had it for about a year now, but I never read even the first page. I've heard stuff throughout the fandom about it, but I've tried to stay away from royal ranger specific posts in order to not spoil the book for me.

If you also haven't read it yet and want to avoid spoilers, stop reading now. You've been warned.

Here's the things I knew before reading:

Will has a beard now. This is very controversial.

Alyss dies. She was burned to death. Also very controversial.

Horace and Cassie have a daughter named Maddie. Maddie becomes Will's apprentice.

And that's about it.

I decided that since the Royal Ranger was so hit or miss for the community, I'd document my thoughts on it (as a personal record, if you will) and see how my opinions change, if they change at all. Feel free to laugh at me if I make predictions and they end up being completely wrong lol

I've read the first seven chapters, and here are the main thoughts I have right now.

1. Is Will now just Halt? When he was first being described during the scene with Henry Wheeler, I dead ass thought Flanagan was talking about Halt. I mean, Will is grey already? Like, fully grey. He's described as having a "steel-grey beard." Not grey and brown, just grey. Halt???

2. Alyss' death fit her character well, but why did she have to die? Keep in mind, I was never the biggest fan of Alyss - I thought a character as interesting as a diplomat should have more personality than just "the main character's girlfriend" - but come on? We barely got to see them married. Idk man. I feel like her death would be better justified if they had actually like. been together longer? 10/10 for writing her death though, saving a poor child from death seems really in character for her, especially considering that's pretty much what Baron Arald did for the ward kids (he didn't die for it but still, he saved them from a childhood of neglect and almost certain death). I feel like it's a great wrap to her story, although I wish her story was longer.

3. Crowley was done dirty. What the actual f u c k Flanagan? The Corps Commander, the man, myth, and legend gets a paragraph to explain his death. It's such a lamely written death too? Crowley, a ranger, who was probably in peak health, just nopes out one night. At least he was smiling..? And maybe it's the fact that TEY is my favorite part of the series so far, but Crowley deserved way better than that shit. Also I'm surprised that I managed to not know about Crowley's death before this?? I actually cried reading it. He was such a precious little man in TEY, how could you do this Flanagan???

4. Maddie is a bit of a brat. Not even a bit, she kinda just is. To be fair, Cassie was that way sometimes as well, but Maddie just seems... I don't know, too much of a 'I-do-what-I-want-and-you-can't-stop-me' kinda person, but in a bad way??? Like that one kid in school who would never listen to authority figures and got everyone in trouble all the time? I hope she mellows out because she could be a great character, I think. It's said she takes after her mom, but I'd like to see her act like Horace too.

5. Gilan. Just Gilan. What?? I never liked his relationship with Jenny much, he seems quite a bit too old for her (at least 5 years, most likely quite a bit more since Halt had a few years between Gilan and Will), but he's so relentless in asking her to marry him? Huh??

And also, BOLD of Flanagan to assume Gilan would be hesitant about letting a girl into the corps. This man has traveled with Cassie. He's traveled with Lydia from Brotherband. He knows women are capable. I mentioned not liking his and Jenny's relationship, but like. he even respects her. She's a business woman, she owns her own restaurant. No one can possibly convince me that Gilan doesn't drink his respect-women juice DAILY. It feels out of character for him.

6. Poor Duncan. That's the end of the sentence.

7. Those guards are hysterical. Ah, yes, let's just casually not mention or try to stop the princess sneaking in and out of the castle even though this could end really really badly. Perfect logic.

And yeah that's all I got right now. I'm very excited to see how my opinions so far change! I'll document them here too in case anyone cares. Feel free to reblog with your own RR opinions and the like! I'd love to see what you guys think of my takes lol

[rainyweeds]

A little bonding time

Pairing: Ao'nung x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Ao'nung bond over the events that took place during the war with the sky people.

Contains: Violence, Character Death (Not major *cough* Neteyam), bonding, Fluff

Authors note at the end

You woke up one morning, an uneasy feeling in your chest. The last time you felt like this was when Lo'ak dragged you and the gang out to the abandoned shack in the forest. You walk out of your marui to see Jake and Neytiri knee-deep in the ocean. Jake calling out for his skimwing.

"What's going on?" You find Neteyam watching is parents get on the skimwing.

"There has been a report about a tulkun found dead." The oldest frowned. The tulkun's had just recently visited the clan to return to their spirit siblings. You stood next to Neteyam and watched as Jake and Neytiri rode away along with Tonowari, Ronal and a few other warriors.

It was a cloudy day in Awa'atlu so your daily lessons were going to be held indoors. So you, Ao'nung, Tsireya, Rotxo and the Sully children all sat in a circle in the clan leaders marui. But ever since you heard about the poor tulkun, everyone remained silent. The lesson was long forgotten.

"Who could have done such a thing." Tsireya choked, breaking the silence as tears filled her eyes. The tulkun were always peaceful creatures. Never hurting other creatures or na'vi. You quickly pulled the crying girl into a tight hug.

The horn blows, indicating everyone had returned. All of you ran out of the marui to meet up with the survey group. Except when you saw them, everyone was sullen, Ronal especially. Her eyes were puffy and she was shaking.

Everyone had gathered around each other, around Tonowari and Ronal. You stood beside Tsireya, holding her close.

"My spirit sister and her baby were killed!" Ronal growls. Everyone began shouting in anger.

"This war has come! Through the hunting of our tulkun!" Tonowari continues. "We must fight back!" The crowd began to rile up. Jake quickly trying to defuse the situation.

"You need to tell your tulkun to leave." He pressed. You knew exactly who was behind this. Judging by the device Neteyam was holding in his hand, you could only assume that it was those awful people you met back at the abandoned shack. They somehow found out that Jake and his family were hiding on an island with a clan, and they were determined to kill him.

You watched at Jake held the device in the air, explaining how the sky people will stop at nothing to get what they want. How they forced the Omatikaya people to leave their home tree. He proceeded to tell them that if they didn't warn the tulkun, they would die.

There was a silent pause. Tonawari took a deep breath before turning to a nearby warrior. "Tell the tulkun." Everyone began calling for their skimwings, going to find their spirit sibling to warn them. You watch as Lo'ak slips away from the crowd, heading to the ilu docks. Neteyam seemed to have the same idea as you because the two of you quickly went to follow him.

"Where are you going?" You finally catch up to him. Lo'ak already has the saddle on his ilu, ready to leave.

"I have to warn Payakan." He doesn't bother looking up. Was Payakan the creature who brought Lo'ak back that night? He must be.

"No way you're running off now." Neteyam steps forward. "You've got to keep your skxawng ass here." The two brothers begin fighting, hurtful words being thrown out, mostly from Lo'ak. In the end, Lo'ak still manages to hop onto his ilu and swim away.

"We have to follow him!" You call your ilu. Everyone gets on their ilu and you swim out to follow the youngest Sully boy.

You are way out past the reef by now, closer to the Three Brothers Rock. Lo'ak calls out for Payakan and you see the creature swim up to the surface. So this is the tulkun that allegedly killed many na'vi and fellow tulkun. When you all swim closer, you see the same device that Jake had stuck in the tulkun's side.

"Help me pull it out!" Lo'ak grabs the blinking device and pulls. Neteyam joins his brother and pulls everyone else up to help. Everyone pulls as hard as you can but the device is not moving. You look up to see something coming closer.

"Guys! A demon ship!" You yell. By now, Neteyam was on his ilu with a rope attached to the saddle hoping to wedge the device free. "Hurry! It's getting closer!"

The device is finally pulled free, falling into the water. Everyone gets back onto their ilus and quickly dives under water. But not before Neteyam can grab the device and swim in the other direction of the group. "I'll distract them." He says. You quickly dive underwater, hiding amongst the plants.

The ship behind you begins to send out small machines into the water to chase after you. Ao'nung quickly leads all of you into a bunch of plants for coverage. Your ilus allowed for quick movements around the large plants, creating space between you and the sky people.

You weave through the water before stopping in front of a sky ship. One of its robotic arms reaches out to grab you, grabbing onto your ilus tail. You break your bond, allowing it to free itself and swim away.

Before it could reach you, Ao'nung grabs your wrist and pulls you away. He pulls you onto his ilu, and regroups with Kiri and Rotxo inside of a plant containing a pocket of air.

"Kiri!" You grab the girl and pull her into a bone crushing hug. She returns your hug before pulling away. "Where are the others?" You only spot her and Rotxo.

"They broke off a little after we started getting chased. We need to go or they'll catch us too." The four of you quickly dove back into the water, swimming in the opposite direction as the demon ship.

You arrive back on the island before long, climbing onto shore and looking for Jake and Neytiri. You see them gearing up, grabbing their weapons and applying paint over their bodies.

"Jake!" You rush over to him. "The sky people-! They're coming!" Just as you begin explaining, there's a voice coming from the intercom around his neck.

You couldn't completely hear the muffled voice, but you were able to make out a little bit of it. They had Tuk, Lo'ak and Tsireya.

Tonowari was leading the charge alongside Jake as the remaining warriors on Awa'atlu began swimming out towards the demon ship. You were quietly getting on your ilu who had made it back safely from the prior events that took place. Everyone had already left the island, leaving you, Ao'nung, Kiri and Rotxo.

You convinced Kiri to stay behind with Rotxo to watch over the kids who were far too young to leave the island. Ao'nung had insisted on coming with you, going on about how his sister was also on the ship. The two of you quickly dove beneath the ocean surface on your ilus.

The ship was coming up in the distance, a full blown fight going on between the Metkaina and the sky people. You sneak onto the ship, looking around for any soldiers. Once the coast is clear, you begin searching for your friends.

They were on the desk tied to the railing. Nobody was watching them, all too busy fighting for their lives. You take the chance and run over to them, pulling out your knife and cutting them free. "Come on! We gotta go." You push them towards the same way you came.

One by one you begin diving into the water. You picked a gun from one of the dead soldiers nearby, ready to shoot anyone that came your way. Just as everyone was in the water, an avatar comes in from behind you, grabbing Tsireya by her queue before she can dive into the water. She lets out a scream as you turn around.

But when you look over your shoulder, you're met with the butt end of a gun. You stumble back, hitting your head on a nearby railing. Ao'nung was already climbing back onto the ship, ready to kill whoever held his sister captive. It was a dreamwalker, holding Tsireya in a headlock with a gun pressed into her temple.

"Release her." He was holding a dagger. The dreamwalker turned to point the gun at Ao'nung instead. Ready for any incoming attack from the na'vi boy.

Now fully grasping the situation at hand you lunge at the soldier, effectively making him release Tsireya. "Go!" You punch him. The two of you tossed each other around. Soon, you found yourself being overpowered by the avatar. If you couldn't beat him, the least you could do was buy time for your friends.

Ao'nung watched Tsireya dive into the water before running back to you. He tackled the man on top of you, throwing him off of you and to the other side of the deck. You scramble to your feet to pull Ao'nung away. Neither of you notices the dreamwalker coming back behind you. It wasn't until he towers over you, about to swing his gun at you.

"Move it skxawng!" Ao'nung shoves you out of the way.

He knocks the Metkayina unconscious, standing over top of him and pressing a knife to his neck. Any thoughts you previously had begin to disappear, leaving only one thought. Protect. Before you could even control yourself, you throw yourself onto the soldiers body. Using the momentum to throw him off of Ao'nung. Quickly cocking your gun and aiming, you shoot the faux na'vi.

"Come on. We have to go." You hoist the boy onto your back and run towards the water. You jump into the water, your ilu swimming to your side. You make tsaheylu and swim off, keeping an arm around Ao'nung's waist to keep him secure.

When you get back to the island, you see everyone had returned back to Awa'atlu safely. Some had minor cuts while others had more serious injuries. You quickly take Ao'nung towards the healing hut to be examined. Ronal immediately rushes over to you when she sees her son unconscious on your back.

"What happened?!" She quickly helped you lower the boy onto the ground.

"We went to save everyone." You pant, collapsing on the floor next to the Tsahik. She looks over your body before tending to her son. Ao'nung was still knocked out with blood now dripping down the side of his head.

Ronal made quick work of the injuries, cleaning the blood and patching him up. Once she was done, she stood up to go tend to other injured members of the clan. Leaving you and Ao'nung alone.

Despite being cleared to leave, you remain silent by the boys side. The feeling of adrenaline still coursing through your veins. You slowly begin to calm down as you watch the stars take their place in the sky. Finally being able to breathe properly after you make sure all of your friends were safe.

You jolt awake at the sound of wood creaking. Someone had just entered or left the hut. You look to your side and realize Ao'nung was no longer in his makeshift bed, he must've been the one to sneak out.

The night sky was illuminated by the stars. A gentle breeze blows past you. You see a figure sitting on the sand looking out into the distance. Ao'nung just watches the waves slowly roll in and therefore, isn't aware of your presence. It's not until you plop down right next to him that he snaps out of his trance.

"Hey fish lips." You settle down. Ao'nung just scoffs at your nickname for him. After the last few months that you spent on his island, you couldn't think of a more creative nickname. "Why're you out so late."

"Just thinking about how we almost died today." He says in a monotone voice. You hadn't thought about what took place earlier today. Too busy trying to help around the village.

But everything was alright now. The sky people died and the demon ship sunk to the bottom of the ocean. You're safe now. And everyone you love remains by your side.

"I heard from my mother that you dragged me all the way back to the island." Ao'nung breaks the silence.

"Yeah, and your skxawng ass was heavy." You take the opportunity to lighten the mood. "Your just lucky I'm nice."

"Well. Thank you..." The last part came out as a mumble.

"What was that? Didn't hear you." You lean in with a hand cupping your ear.

"I said thank you." He pushed you away from him. You flop sideways onto the sand, laughing. After spending so much time with someone, you begin to notice things that you didn't before. So when Ao'nung has a small smile on his face, you can tell it's a genuine one.

"It's not like I was actually going to leave you there." You say in a serious tone.

Ao'nung chuckles, looking back out into the distance. The moonlight highlighting his features. Eywa how could someone look so beautiful. You were always taught not to stare because it was rude.

But the more you looked at him, the more you fell for him.

A/N: Anyways I'm not entirely sure how to feel about this fic but I liked writing it so I hope you enjoyed reading it. I didn't want to necessarily give a whole confession scene since it's more about just you bonding and falling in love.

So thank you for reading and I hope you all have a great day/night!

[raisindave]

[Chapter 49] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

The air here was so humid it felt like you could drown on solid ground, though it might just feel that way when you compare it to your climatized opinions based on parched desert air. It forces you to reflect on just how dry that setting had left your skin, your hair, your nails, everything. This military base was remarkably more visually stunning than your last few, especially London's. Yellow brick and plaster in broad arching columns with tidy white trim, soft salmon-coloured bricks lined outer courtyards with manicured foliage and lemon trees. You heard another crisp salute over your shoulder before your pilot returned to taxi away your ride. Ghost seems to be familiar with this base, making his way toward a small red brick building on the far side of the landing strip just beyond a small patch of skinny palms. He always acts like you've been to these bases before as if you have any clue where to go. 

Just before awkward confusion settled in, you caught a hazy view of those blond locks approaching from across the heated tarmac. The poor woman had her arm in a sling over a prim blue dress shirt. The closer she got, the more you noticed blooming red sunburns across her nose and cheeks, conveniently shielded by sleek bangs. It felt so good to see another familiar face, though it pulled at your heartstrings to see her injury. A warm and refreshing ocean breeze flooded your hearing, ceasing just before Laswell spoke. 

"Good to see you, Lua." 

"It's good to see you, Ma'am," you smiled. "I'm sorry to hear about your snowboarding accident," you mused sweetly, nodding to her cast. 

"Waterskiing with my wife, actually," she quipped back, allowing you to share a polite chuckle. "I told her it was too windy to go out."

Of course, you both knew the actual context, being her mad scramble with Farah to evade certain death from raining hellfire. However it's not exactly easy, let alone secure, to communicate the truth about the impairment. It's still good to know she got out alive, even if she likely had the worst injury in the group. Her eyes were kind; they always were, even if you have significantly more reason to fear her than any of your teammates. This woman could disappear you and everyone you've ever known with a handful of phone calls, or she could probably make you the leader of a small city-state if she really wanted to. Her connections, her authority, could make a grown man weep. 

"I'm sure you're eager to freshen up," she chimed, gesturing for you to walk beside her. 

Truer words have yet to be said. Filth of multiple forms has made your skin slick and grimy, leaving you eager to shuck these scratchy clothes from your body. Making your way to those same red brick buildings on the far edge of the tarmac, you felt more at ease than you'd expected, considering your existential dread only hours ago. The sun was warm, you were surrounded by familiar allies, and you had the promise of a proper bed along with a much-needed shower. That, paired with the residual orgasmic bliss helped unwind long pent stress. Laswell had described it as an executive suite for officers, making you sigh in relief that you wouldn't be in bunks next to the based soldiers who saluted you as you passed. 

Finally, a quaint but equipped room to temporarily call your own. White sheets and wooden furniture, even a hairdryer in the bathroom and a small cactus on the glossy wooden dresser. This felt more like a hotel than anything. A new thought crossed your mind for a moment, making your face furrow in thought as you realized that all your former luggage had been thoroughly destroyed. It's not like you can ask to send a jet back to Al Mazrah to gather your cell phone and the rest of your nicely broken-in hoodies. It seems like Laswell or the powers that be have already answered that question before the thought could be fully realized. Prying open the fresh black backpack that was laid on your bed, you hesitantly unravel its dark contents. It was a cornucopia of uniforms and tees, still swaddled in thin plastic wrapping, all exactly to your sizing. Even a cell phone in a sleek box, paired with a new dinky burner. It even held new undergarments and hair ties. They really thought of everything, all with that plasticy new car smell. 

Passing the bathroom again allowed a brief glimpse at your reflection, which forced you to exhale sharply in laughter. Your fucking shirt was inside out. Of course it was. An obvious result of your scramble to dress. The thought forced your imagination to recontextualize lingering glances from Farah and Ghost, flooding you with a wretched combination of dread and humour. Hopefully, Laswell didn't notice, but something tells you that few things get past her. That thought filled you with additional dread. Standing in front of a rectangular mirror lets you take a more thorough inventory of your body's state as you separate dusty clothing from grimy skin. This career has a way of rewarding the ability to power through injury, teaching you to save dull pain from minor injuries until after you're on home base. Even if you're not technically on a home base, sunken cheekbones from an appetite overridden by horror and strained morals left you with apparent consequences. It's hard to say if the bruises were a result of the overall vitamin deficiency or if Ghost's grip on the soft flesh just above your hip bone was really that brutal. 

You're really doing a number on your body, the one thing you're supposed to have control over. Anxiousness and guilt have consistently taken a toll on your body, no matter how many times you will yourself to do better on every mission. Tangled hair and dirty fingernails. It's still far better than the last opportunity you had to take a good hard look at yourself again; no bloodshot eyes or strangulation marks around your throat, nor a bloodied crush wound on your outer thigh. You'll feel better after this shower, and hopefully it will wash away this sinking trepidation.

Excusing the literal metaphor, hot water on your skin felt like much-needed rain in the desert. The water temperature couldn't get higher, the steaming heat was the only thing you felt could sufficiently purify the days of grime and sweat. That and the standard-issue bar soap that was so kindly provided. The initial protest that your nerves gave from the scorching water, let alone the strain on the poor metal showerhead was enough to make you think twice. But refused to capitulate. That familiar feeling of fingertips on your skin made your pulse quicken, even if they were your own. They just didn't provide that same electric feeling when they reached the same places as someone else's. Like a hexagonal wheel. It can get you there, but not with the same efficiency. Maybe it would've been wiser to take a cold shower.

A flash of purple caught your eye, an angle that hadn't previously been visible. A ring of teeth marks, and another. Harsh bites once left on your inner thigh had left physical memories across sensitive flesh. Threatening a devastating slip, you propped up your thigh to examine the injury further, letting scalding water trickle on the back of your neck. You couldn't help but grin. Yet another glimpse at the man under the mask. A perfect dental record, clear enough to get a fucking set of braces. Slightly rotated lower canines, but otherwise remarkably straight teeth based on your inexperienced dental opinion. You'd come to expect fangs, with rows upon rows of teeth like a shark or one of those lake eels. It makes you wonder if many of them are fake, considering how likely it is that so many had been knocked out in combat - or by someone who doesn't take too kindly to his constant brooding. 

The thought made you chuckle, as did the idea of having an unintended glimpse past his defences, one that he was too drunk on lust to even consider. Here you are, a grown woman, giggling to yourself about dumb fucking bruises on your skin. It's more of a liability, frankly, as was the slightly reddened and blued skin on the back of your thighs as you twisted in the mirror to view the carnage. More injuries sustained during an active combat mission. You should get a medal for this, really. A shining Purple Heart to pin to your oh-so-decorated uniform's lapel. 

Satisfied with the minor burns that bloomed over mercilessly scrubbed skin, you'd deemed yourself to be washed free from every possible atom of debris from your body. If the scrubbing didn't leave lingering pain, the phantoms of bruises across your behind did. Sitting to put on socks made sure to remind you of that. You were more interested in catching up with the rest of your teammates. They're alive, so you have that as a baseline. But the thought of gnarly injuries, worse than Laswell's, flickered in your mind as you donned a freshly creased grey hoodie. 

Stepping into the cooled stone hallway, flimsy knowledge of Italian led you to believe the common room would be down by the southern wing. In this small guest suite barracks, they'd definitely be there. Footsteps echoed over weathered bricks and plaster walls coloured with thick, glossy paint. Every blink offered a new view down crisscrossing corridors and small meeting rooms, leaving the lingering impression that this complex could've been a monastery in another life. 

There they were, just as expected. Gaz and Soap slung over a low sunken couch, facing a small TV. The two wore mirrored outfits, standard tees and pants, not dissimilar from the ones your pack provided. They sat reclined, focusing on drinking every pixel of the soccer game on the screen. If you thought that the kiss was lingering in your conscience, there was now a new elephant in the room that was invisible to everyone but you and Ghost. Who knows wherever he'd so hurriedly fucked off to, anyways. Luckily for you, their couch faced away from your current position, allowing you to loom over their shoulders.

It's hard to look someone in the eyes when you've just fucked your shared colleague. Twice. You could argue three times, but you got out of that one on a technicality. But Soap and Gaz would understand, surely. Your mind spun. Even if they found out, Soap almost fucked one of your friends on that drunken night at the bar on your birthday. He probably did, and you wouldn't put it past her. Or him. You fiddled with your hoodie strings. Gaz would probably bring up concerns about this affecting synergy on missions somehow, but that's easy to diffuse with the fact that there was no love lost or gained with your interaction with your lieutenant. Even if it clearly hasn't softened either of your hearts, you and Ghost could happily uphold your default ambivalence toward one another.

"Hey, Cricket," Soap glanced over at your approach. 

"Howsit goin'," Gaz yawned, stretching his arms and crossing them behind his head. 

"I'm alive," you sighed, nodding back at the two soldiers. 

"How was yer' little vacation with LT?" Soap nodded, smiling from the corner of his mouth. 

The question made your heart stop. You almost started a shambling flurry of 'what do you mean's before he turned to absentmindedly return to reviewing the game. 

"I got to read some old books n' catch up on some sleep," you retorted politely, gauging their reaction from over their shoulders. 

No response. There was a penalty kick that was about to be struck, and they'd both leaned forward on their seats. 

"We almost killed each other a couple of times," you breathed, eyeing the two of them as they remained transfixed. "I was just getting close before help arrived and saved him." 

Gaz barked a laugh, Soap remained aloof. 

"Maybe next time," Gaz called over his shoulder, and you returned a mannerly grin. 

Maybe next time. Those words have more implications than he could ever understand. It's relieving to know that it's back to dreadful business as usual, and these two chumps have made it out unscathed. They're almost shockingly unphased, where you assumed they'd have at least a few more questions about what happened with the bugged transmissions or the torture you inflicted. 

They didn't seem particularly phased by it all. The questions stopped there. If it were your friends back home, this would have bred at least 35 follow-up questions and a formal investigation. These two are different; they're surprisingly easy to lie to. Well, it's not technically a lie. You could argue it's lying by omission, but they also didn't specifically ask if you copulated with Ghost in that bunker. Judging by how enraptured they are in the plasma screen, you could probably admit it all aloud and get a passive 'mhmm' in response at best. 

"Oh, they want to see you in the office. Down the hall, second to the left," Soap finally spoke up with relieved breath after the goalkeeper successfully captured the ball. 

A dutiful nod excused you, and turning to walk away made up for the explosion of panic that crashed into your system. It felt like when the principal asked to see you in the office after you cheated on a test. They wouldn't have let you freshen up beforehand if it was really bad. They wouldn't have given you a bag of clothes and a new cell. Every clicking footstep made your blood pressure spike, catching the passing glances of bustling packs of soldiers who must be reading your expression of worry. That distant chatter from shoutcasters on Soap and Gaz's game slowly dissipated as you approached the second door down the hallway. Ghost slipped out from the door before you, and your posture tightened. 

The look Ghost gave you as you passed him in the arched stone hallway made your blood run cold. He held your gaze with an intensity that made you question its meaning. If only you could read minds. You suddenly became more acutely aware of every possible stimulus all at once as nervousness settled in. The feeling of your socks in your boots as they stepped through the threshold, the weight of your hoodie around your shoulders, the sweat pooling between your fingers. What could they possibly want?

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Master List

[127-mile]

Hi!! What are some of your fave books you've read recently? I'm really curious pls feel free to ramble

Hello! I got really excited when I saw the notification, so thank you.

I've read "This is how you lose the time war" by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone, and let me tell you, it was a short book also a ride! A ride mostly because not a lot is explained, you are dropped in a scene, in a world you have limited informations about despite it being our world, you have technology, a war between the past and the present/future.

BUT! It's also a love story, some kind of enemies/rivals to lovers between Red and Blue, two women who belong to different timelines, different sides. And it's epistolary in between the scenes, and the ways the letters are made/found are explained and it's genius.

I become bored quite quickly when the romance is too much, but it was subtle and sweet when the feelings realization happened. It was definitely worth the read and I recommend it if you haven't read it.

---

I was in a bit of a reading slump for a few days and because it was becoming frustrating I read a book I already read a few times. It's called, "Quand vient la horde (when the horde comes)" by Aurélie Luong, book that came out last year so there is no translation (something I hope will happen because this book? 10/10)

A little backstory you didn't ask for, I had never heard of the book or the writer, but one day I went into my favorite bookstore and she was there, so curious I asked her to tell me about her book, and the passion in her voice when she did convinced me to buy it. It's also her first book being published, so I hope she goes far and gets more of her work published.

It happens in a medieval Korea with some Russian touch, as they have invaded the country years ago. The main character, Ivan, survives daily. He is poor, lives with his childhood (and only) friend, when, one night, he gets kidnapped by the white horde. The soldiers of the White Whore, a beautiful woman with white hair who has a goal, avenge her little sister and is not afraid to draw blood. Ivan is the bait. He wants to survive, he wants to get back to his friend and for that he has to play the horde's game. He doesn't have a choice. He does what he is told, get money, and plans his escape.

So it's also a enemies to lovers, but with vengeance being the main point of the book.

I think I could talk for hours about this book as I left a big part of my heart inside. The ending is heartbreaking honestly. The book is dark, touches sensitive subjects but it's nicely written.

-----

I have to talk about Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao. It was a book I wanted to read for so long. (and the author is extremely funny, I follow them on social medias and it's always very fun to see them)

The book has as inspiration for the main character Wu Zetian, the first and only female Emperor of China in the late 600s.

The book is science fiction, lgbtqia+, feminist, with pocs, disabled main character, poly and big robots and aliens, another enemies to lovers (trigger warnings to definitely check before reading)

It's hard to explain the book, so let me copy and paste the summary:

The boys of Huaxia dream of pairing up with girls to pilot Chrysalises, giant transforming robots that can battle the mecha aliens that lurk beyond the Great Wall. It doesn't matter that the girls often die from the mental strain.

When 18-year-old Zetian offers herself up as a concubine-pilot, it's to assassinate the ace male pilot responsible for her sister's death. But she gets her vengeance in a way nobody expected—she kills him through the psychic link between pilots and emerges from the cockpit unscathed. She is labeled an Iron Widow, a much-feared and much-silenced kind of female pilot who can sacrifice boys to power up Chrysalises instead.​

To tame her unnerving yet invaluable mental strength, she is paired up with Li Shimin, the strongest and most controversial male pilot in Huaxia​. But now that Zetian has had a taste of power, she will not cower so easily. She will miss no opportunity to leverage their combined might and infamy to survive attempt after attempt on her life, until she can figure out exactly why the pilot system works in its misogynist way—and stop more girls from being sacrificed.

I'm not that into science fiction, but I was curious. I do have to admit I was lost a few times with some terms used for the robots, and also had a hard time imagining things in my head, but I liked the way her relationship with Shimin changed, and there's also her complete opposite with whom she is friend, a rich man who wants to protect her.

The ending had me on my ass! The second book was supposed to come out in April but it was changed to 2024 and I can't wait.

----

Other than that.. I recently started Caraval by Stephanie Garber. The reason is funny, I saw a book at the bookstore "Once upon a brokenheart" and loved the cover, but then I saw I needed to read the Caraval series first, so here I am. I'm currently on the second book and it's pretty okay. I like the universe of Caraval.

I read "The Invisible Life of Addie Larue" by V.E. Schwab at the beginning of the year and it became one of my favorite pretty fast. It was so nicely written that I can't help but recommend it.

I usually only read horror and thrillers but I haven't been able to find much good ones so I've been trying my hands at other books.

What about you? Tell me everything!

[fortleegospel]

Gospel News

Dear friends and members of Fort Lee Gospel Church,

I trust you've have a celebratory 4th of July week! For almost 250 years our nation has been celebrating our independence and freedom as a nation. While America has many troubles, we are still a nation that many in the world desire to come to and make their home. God has blessed us in many ways. I speak to many people who feel hopeless about the state of our nation. Issues include our troubled politics, violence, culture war issues, extreme weather, or growing tribalism. Here are some thoughts on how we can avoid depression and live as joyful participants of American society.

I. Understand What We Can Control

I have learned that I am happier if I focus on issues that I can control. This morning, I spent time reading my Bible and praying. It was a good morning. I could have lamented the facts that many others, even Christians, did not start their day with prayer. I can control what I do. I cannot lament the choices of others and stay joyful.

I agree with the quote by financial advisor, Dave Ramsey, who says, “What happens in your house is more important than what happens in the White House.” His primary focus is that you should not expect politicians to solve your financial problems. Under every President of our nation, some get rich and some become poor. Policies can make a difference, but we waste our time stressing over what the Federal Reserve or the President says or does. Better to save more than we spend and invest for the future. That is under our control.

When it comes to politics, we have little control over decisions made in Washington DC. What we can control and what we should do is pray. II Timothy 2:1-2 says:

I urge, then, first of all, that petitions, prayers, intercession and thanksgiving be made for all people— 2 for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness.

Most of us would be happier people if we prayed more and complained less. Most of us have the choice to “live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness.” Politicians are not stopping us. Hollywood is not stopping us. Wall Street is not stopping us. Let us take control and pursue godliness and holiness. This is where we will find our joy.

II. Limit Your Media Consumption

When I was a young pastor, it was common for preachers to criticize the ‘idiot box’ as the television set was called then. The TV was ‘amusing ourselves to death.’ In our generation social media has become all pervasive and a huge challenge to our wellbeing. The trouble with social media is that it keeps people engaged by making us angry.

Where excessive TV watching makes people apathetic, too much time on your phone’s news feed makes you angry at a political party, immigrants, NRA, one side of the Gaza war, or some other perceived injustice. The algorithm feeds you more stories according to what frustrates you about the world. How do we respond?

First, understand that you are a victim of propaganda. We all are. Second, take breaks from news and social media consumption. The Orthodox Jewish Sabbath is becoming more appealing. 25 hours, once a week, without phone, computer, or technology use. Third, remember that Jesus taught us to ‘love our enemies,’ not destroy them. A timely song for our generation is “The Jesus Way” by Phil Wickham. Check it out if you have not heard it. Fourth, guard your heart. God Word says:

Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it. (Prov. 4:23)

Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will. (Rom. 12:2)

Social media consumption will not help us align with the heart and mind of Jesus.

III. Focus on Loving God and Loving People

The heart of Christianity is a call to love God and love others. When that is our focus, life is better. Most studies on wellbeing report that we enjoy life when we have good relationships. Healthy relationships start from being grounded in our relationship with God. When I know that God loves me, I can deal with a rude neighbor, a friend who is not returning my phone call, or a challenging season in my family. God’s love and our love for God grounds us.

When we reach out and love others we tend to build a better life. A preacher from a previous generation used to say that when he felt depressed, he would go to the hospital and visit the sick. By the third or fourth visit the depression would leave.

This principle of loving God and loving your neighbor is foundational to our faith and our wellbeing. Mark 12:28-31 says:

28 One of the teachers of the law came and heard them debating. Noticing that Jesus had given them a good answer, he asked him, “Of all the commandments, which is the most important?”

29 “The most important one,” answered Jesus, “is this: ‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. 30 Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ 31 The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these.”

This same principle was articulated by President JF Kennedy when he said, “And so, my fellow Americans: Ask not what your country can do for you - ask what you can do for your country.” When we focus on God and others, we benefit. When we look to make our corner of America a little more loving and kind, our focus turns from the big issues we cannot control to the small ways that contribute to our wellbeing.

Again, enjoy this holiday weekend and may God use us to be a blessing!

-Pastor Rick

Weekly Announcements

Sunday worship services at 11:00 AM continue to be livestreamed on our Fort Lee Gospel Facebook page, YouTube channel, and our website, www.fortleegospel.org. We meet in the building where we include a time of worship after the online portion of the service. The Tuesday Men’s Lunch and study meets at the church at 12:30 PM. The Tuesday Bible Study meets at 7:00 PM weekly. We are studying the book of Romans. The 6:00 AM Prayer Meeting on Wednesdays and Saturdays is at the church with an option to connect on Google Meet. The Women’s Bible Study will resume on September 7th. Connect info for Tuesday Bible Studies and Morning Prayer is: Meeting URL :

https://meet.google.com/suk-xpsf-nwh

For dial in: Phone: +1 567-351-1104 PIN: 469 349 929#

[liilgoobs]

Squid Games (Marvel/Squid Games x reader crossover)

A/N: Had this fun little idea after watching squid games. Kinda toyed with the plot a bit, but overall a good base line :)

TW: Swearing, violence, blood

Summary: After being sent to Korea on a solo mission to take down a game hosted by black market sponsors, the Avenger's tune in to why you've been away from the compound for 3 days. At Fury's discretion, of course. Things go south when you're being targeted by some past men who worked by Xu Wenwu. It's your mission to stay alive and take out his men.

The meeting room was silent as Fury's voice echoed through the room. The air was thick.

"Three days? You waited to tell us this for 3 DAYS?" Tony's voice questioned across the room, slamming the table with his hands. Natasha stared at the table, face blank. Thor and Loki had a puzzled look on their face.

"Please forgive me, but what do you mortals call a "Squid Game"?" Loki's voice drawled through the room as all eyes were drawn to the Asgardian.

Fury looked over at Shang-Chi and nodded. His expression was un-readable and glued to the floor, not daring to look up at his new team mates.

"It's an unspoken organization in Korea, and every year they host a game. People who are neck deep in debt are offered a cash reward to participate and play games. It's..black market, dark web stuff."

This further confused the group as a whole, all except for Natasha. She had heard talk of the game on various solo missions with Barton. Xu Xialing spoke up, irritated with her brother's explanation.

"It's life or death. People go and never come back. Nobody has ever been able to trace them or track them down. Similar to how people bet on horses, very wealthy sponsors bet on players."

"They pick their players based on their role to society. Most who participate are poor or homeless people with nothing to go back to."

Realization fell onto their faces as they looked at your empty chair. Just 4 days ago you'd be laughing and telling them how stupid it is.

"Why send her? To go undercover? ALONE? Do you have any idea what we are dealing with?" Nat questioned, distain written on her faces. Fury's stoic expression didn't falter.

"We needed someone to go undercover. Her talents and skills was most compatible for the mission. I don't need you questioning my authority, Romanoff," He said sternly, causing her to clench her jaw.

"Luckily, we planted multiple cameras and microphones on her to bug the place. The reason you are all here is so Tony can connect with the cameras. Undetected."

Their stomachs turned with anxiety as Tony frantically started tapping away on his holographic screen.

"We should be live," He trailed off, in concentration. "Now."

Suddenly you appeared on multiple monitors, from different angles. The team collectively sighed in relief at the sight of you. It was before the first game, and you were sitting in your teal uniform.

"109..how many players are there?" Bucky read, watching you fiddle with your zipper. He knew you always did that when you were anxious.

"Too many." Fury said, shaking his head. "The plan is to track wherever the signal is coming from and take it down from the inside. That's where all of you come into play. There's been a tip that some of your father's men are there," He said, looking directly at the siblings. Their faces tightened. That man still had so many connections, even being dead. As soon they took down 3, another 5 resurfaced days later terrorizing cities across the world.

"But first we need some more information from the inside. The plan is to leave first thing tonight, after the first game. Hopefully, giving us the proof we'll need."

Everyone's eyes stayed glued on the screen as they watched you walk through the maze of corridors, to finally enter a playing field. It was about two football field's length, with a large doll at the end facing backwards. It over towered the players, making them grow nervous.

"The hell is that thing?' You mumbled, scrunching your eyebrows.

"Yeah," Sam scoffed. "That's not creepy at all." Natasha rolled her eyes in annoyance.

You scanned the room to anyone who could pose a threat, but to you everyone looked equally as confused. It was hard to tell who was out of place. Fury had prefaced the very little information on what exactly you were walking into, which is unfortunately right up your alley.

Find the men. Get as much as you can on camera. Stay alive and don't do anything stupid. Of course, you were already on a private jet in the middle of the night so it didn't seem you had much of a choice.

There was no way to communicate with Fury or the team, all you were told to do is catch as much on video as you can. The men in the red suits were intimidating to say the least, as they all wore masks with different shapes. Some holding assault rifles, others holding batons.

"I think the shape on their masks is some kind of rank," You whispered, just loudly enough so the mic would pick it up. They had taken all of your belongings, except for the pieces you hid in your glasses and your hair. Tony never seemed to fail to impress you with all the ways he could disguise an ear pieces and mics.

"You will be playing 'Red Light, Green Light'." A voice announced over the field, making you chuckle.

"Seriously, Fury? You sent me to play a bunch of kid games?" She mumbled, rolling her eyes.

"I don't get it, she's just going to play a game? This is why she's been gone?" Steve asks, rubbing his chin out of confusion.

Fury is silent, his eyes staying on the screen.

5 minutes displayed on the clock, her eyes darting to them quick. There were a few people in front of her, a blonde boy and a brunette boy jostling each other around.

"Green light!" The doll said, turning its massive head around to face a fake tree.

The boys laughed, running forward. You rolled your eyes, jogging behind them but keeping your distance.

"Red light!" The doll's head swiveled around, making you stop in your tracks.

The team was silent, watching intently. The two boys in front of you had stopped as well, but the blonde stumbled to keep his balanced.

The doll's eyes eyes quickly shifted toward him, and a gunshot rang out into the air making the hairs on the back of your neck stick up. His body fell limp to the ground, leaving you frozen in your tracks.

"Did he just.." Steve started to say, but his voice trailed off. Everyone's faced painted with horror, slowly putting the pieces together in their heads.

The color in Wanda's face slowly disappeared as Vison reached for her hand in comfort.

"(Y/N)..Don't move.." Loki whispered to himself, knowing he couldn't hear you.

"Oh no.." You whispered, tears gathering in your eyes. The fear in your voice filled the room

The doll's head turned back towards the tree.

"Green light."

You walk forward slowly, keeping your expression stoic. You scan the crowd as see two men at both sides of you a couple feet behind, glaring.

They found you.

Your eyes shift to the boy on the ground, not far away from you. His mouth spurts out some blood on the ground, making you gasp quietly in horror.

You stare down leave the one to your left from the corner of your eye. The stare he was giving you was much like a predator looking at it's prey.

"Red light!"

You stop in your tracks again, staring straight ahead of you. The boy sees his friend, and lets out a shaken gasp as he goes to run away. Bullets fly through the air, making his body fall limp.

The blood splatters on the face of another player, falling at her feet.

"I have eyes," You whisper carefully, not daring to move your body.

"I see them," Wanda says, pointing a finger to the men getting ready to pounce.

"They found her in there." Xu Xialing says, her body tense. "They're going to sabotage her and get her killed."

"Then what are we standing around waiting for exactly? Fury?" Tony asks with irritation, the fear flowing through his veins as the massacre about to unfold in front of his team.

Are they just supposed to watch a body cam of you getting murdered?

You weren't the teams baby, they knew you could fend for yourself. You were easily one of the strongest amongst the team, hand to hand combat being your weak spot.

They couldn't help but be protective of you, coming from a background of pretty much raising yourself. Tony obviously viewing you as a daughter, to see you fighting for your life, on your own, boiled his blood.

Along with the rest of his team mates, he felt helpless.

"The more you beg for money, the easier this should be." He commented, watching you stick the surveillance pieces in your hair.

"You wouldn't be able to hear us but we'll be able to hear you," He explains, pacing the cabin.

"If things go south I have Strange on stand-by. Xu Wenwu's men are ruthless, hopefully you've been working on your combat."

You laugh, fixing your clothes as they were dirtied and holed.

"Natasha and Steve haven't been taking it easy on me if that's what you're asking." You quipped, earning a half smile from your superior.

As the jet began to land, he grabbed you by the forearm.

"Please stay alive," He spoke. "I haven't told the team where you're going to be until you're actually playing. I don't need to be on Stark's shit list twice."

You rolled your eyes. "I can do this fury,"

"Have a little faith." You winked, exiting the jet to camp out at the nearest train station.

After a day of playing your role as a homeless woman, it brought back memories of when you survived on your own in the streets of San Francisco. It was no mind or challenge really, you enjoyed being alone. But what you didn't enjoy were the creepy old men offering you a place to stay if you gave them a little 'something' in return.

You'd silently hoped Bucky was watching, knowing the jealous look that would overtake his face.

Your thoughts were ripped away as a very attractive business man came and set next to you on the bench.

"Hello," He said, flashing a smile your way.

'Showtime' you thought to yourself.

"H-Hello.." You stuttered back in a soft voice, unable to meet his eyes.

"May I show you something?" He asks kindly, setting the briefcase in between the two of you.

"If you're selling something..I'm sorry but I'm not interested." You glance at his intimidating stare, captivated by his brown eyes.

He opened the case to reveal what'd you'd assume to be a very large amount of money, and two stacks of paper squares. Red and blue.

"You've played Ddajiki before, yes?" He questioned, holding up the squares.

You nodded, remembering the files of Korean games you studied on the plane prior to your arrival.

He hummed in approval. "Play Ddajiki with me. I will give you 100,000 won every time you win."

You pursed your lips in thought. To really play the part, Fury sent absolutely no money with you. What happens if you loose?

"However," He said, making your eyes connect with his once more.

"Every time I win, you will give me 100,000 won."

Shit. That's right. No money.

"You can start first," He said, grazing a hand across your face ever so slightly in hopes to convince you.

You felt frozen in your seat, and the only thoughts you could think of was Bucky going ballistic watch this man to lure you in.

You nodded, grabbing the blue envelope from his smooth hands.

Blue was Bucky's favorite color, after all.

When you had lost the first time, making your blood run cold. He effortlessly had flipped over your square, smirking in victory. He looked at you expectantly.

"Don't you have any money?" He questioned, stepping closer to you.

You were at a loss for words. This man's intimidation reminded you of Loki's. This stare being able to capture a picture in a still frame, it's contents not moving out of fear.

"I..I.." You scrambled for words. You squeezed your fists in case he tried to have a go at you. But before you could blink, a sharp pain collided with your cheek, making your head whip to the side. Your feet stayed planted on the ground. Natasha's number one rule.

Always be grounded.

"Play again?" He asks, making the anger in your body rush to your cheeks. You nodded curtly.

After a few more slaps, you started to get the hang of it.

Finally, you had flipped the red square over, yelping in victory.

The frustration slap after slap built in your bones, and as soon as the square flipped your hand flew through the air to meet his face.

It didn't.

He caught your arm with eyes, peering down at you with the smile that never seemed to have leave his face.

He put your arm down gently, never letting go, as he put 100,000 won in your hand.

The breath was hitched in your throat, watching his every move.

"Congratulations," He whispers, closing your hand around the money.

"If you want to win more," He continues, stepping away to close his briefcase. "Call this number."

He hands you a black business card with a number on it. You swallowed and nodded, taking a step backwards.

He simply winks and enters the train that had just arrived, gone in a flash.

Before you knew it, you were in a dark SUV being filled with gas. What the hell were you getting in to?"

"She's going to make it through the first game. After that is when we attack. We stick to MY plan Stark," HIs voice warned, booming through the room.

Their eyes drifted back to the screen, all of them holding their breaths in hope you don't move a muscle.

The woman felt the blood on her face and in her hands, screaming at the sight of it. A single bullet whizzed through her head, making her body drop on top of the boy who had just been shot.

Bullets started firing as people ran towards the back, clawing at the gate to escape. The dolls eyes were going crazy, shooting anything with movement.

"Don't fucking move (Y/N).." Bucky mumbled, clenching his iron fist.

Your camera shown you getting tackled to the side, as one of Xu Wenwu's men face.

"We knew SHIELD would send yo-" He growled, a gunshot piercing through his head, his body falling on top of you.

"With that, let the game resume." The doll spoke, its head turning back around.

You started to hyperventilate, blood covering your hair, face, and chest.

"Fuck..Oh fuck.." You said out loud, struggling to get the body off of you.

"Green light!"

Everyone stood frozen, all except an old man who walked forward with a daring smile. You stared at him in confusion, until your eyes drifted over to three men across the room glaring daggers at you.

They were far away enough to where they couldn't touch you.

Not yet, at least.

"There's more," You whispered, eyes bouncing back and forth between the men and the dead one laying on top of you.

"Can't we talk to her? Does she have an ear piece?" Banner finally choked out, being silent almost the entire time.

He shook his head. "We couldn't. We were already taking a risk with the cameras and mics."

Loki grumbled, glancing at the displeased face on his brother. Thor's fists were clenched on his lap, light sparks emitting from his knuckles. The duo was quite fond of you, they even considered you to be their best friend. Or, 'Brothers from another mother' is how you'd put it. They were confident you could hold your own, but it still worried them to be somewhere where they couldn't fight by your side.

Bucky's stomach was in knots. It had been a slow burn between you and him, neither one of you having the courage to confess your feelings to one another. He hated seeing you in danger, and he feared not being able to save you.

Steve and Sam were silent, constantly looking at Bucky. The whole team teased you two about your flirting, but it was him and Sam who knew the real feelings he had for you.

Nat and Wanda also knew how you felt about him, talking about it with them on many occasions. Usually on your wine and movie nights, which were EVERY Wednesday. Now they're having to watch you play a nightmare of a game with your life at risk.

The rest of the team watched as anticipation as you played the game, with people trying to get you killed on purpose.

"Red light!"

Your eyes scanned the hundreds of dead bodies on the floor. Men. Women. Mothers. Fathers. People who had families.

Your eyes shifted back to the old man, stopping at a halt.

He froze, the devilish smile never leaving his face.

The team watched with a shocked expression to see a man so aged playing this game.

"He must have nothing to lose," Nat commented, folding her fingers.

"He's the only one moving."

Fury's expression never faltered. "This game requires strategy. Planning out your every breath. Hopefully now you see why I picked Agent (Y/L/N),"

His face scanned the group with a disapproving look in his eye.

"Have some faith."

The team was silent.

Your eyes drifted over to the men again, who were boring holes in your head with their evil stares. You narrowed your eyes, almost challenging them.

"Green light!"

They stayed in their spot as the old man moved forward, their expression never leaving their face. You remembered the dead weight crushing you, and you had to get him off. And fast.

Glancing down, another large man was on top of the one who was trying to kill you. Also dead.

"Red light!"

He froze again, now in front of all the remaining players too frightened to move.

You needed to act fast. And quick. Your palms started to sweat and chills ran down your back. You knew one wrong move and your life is over in a second.

You thought about the team and the memories you shared, which was quickly consumed by Bucky. You needed to make it out alive.

The comfort you felt by the mere thought of him overcame your body like a typhoon.

"What the hell would Bucky say to you right now?" You mumbled out loud. The team heard the shakiness of your voice, fighting tears.

You remembered right then he was probably watching. And could hear you. The adrenaline in your veins didn't even care.

Bucky's face softened at the way his name rolled off your tongue, making his heart leap.

The team looked at him, his eyes hard as he watched the screen of you. Scared. Shaking.

Sam put a comforting hand on his shoulder, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"Probably something along the lines of 'Don't show them weakness. Stop acting like a pussy. Kick their fucking asses. I don't know." You mumbled, trying to think of a plan.

"She's right, you know." Sam commented, offering a half smile. A ghost of a chuckle emitted from the team.

"Green light!"

You quickly struggled to shove the dead weight of the two men double your size off of you, until a man came helped push them off of you, pulling you to your feet.

"Red light!"

You froze looking at the man who had just helped you, eyes wide in fear. His jacket read #456.

"Thank you," You whispered softly, and the team watched in shock. Bucky's shoulders tensed as he gave you a sweet smile back in return.

Your eyes drifted next to his head, to the men who had gotten closer to you two. Your face fell, making the man scrunch his eyebrows in confusion.

"Green light!"

"We need to go. NOW." You said loudly, running with him at the sound of the doll's head turning.

You switched sides with him, being closer to the henchmen. There is no way you'd let some kind man be in the crossfire of why you're there in the first place.

Their smirks grew at the sight of you becoming closer, them catching up to you quickly.

You dropped your speed, making sure the player who helped you was safe.

"Red light!"

By this time now, you were a few feet in front of the men after you. Your body shook with nerves. You felt hot and cold at the same time.

"We got you now, Doll." He growled as you rolled your eyes.

"There's only one person who gets to call me that," You called back, not moving a muscle as the doll scanned the crowd of people.

Bodies dropped and you flinched as bullets flew through the air, passing your head.

Bucky's cheeks heated up as Strange walked through the door, with Wong on his tail. All of the team turned to look at him. All except Bucky, of course.

"How's she doing?" He asked in a monotone voice

"Still alive, like I've been trying to tell them." Fury responded with annoyance. "About time you got here."

"You know I protect multiple universes and timelines, you know that right? Anyways, when are we doing this? My men are on stand-by." He motioned over to Wong, who had walked up to Shang-Chi and Xu Xialing.

"When she finishes the first game. 2 minutes left." He responded, turning his attention back to the monitor.

"Green light!"

Your breath became shallow as the men attacked you from behind, and you immediately flip one over your shoulder. With a swift kick to the face you knock him out, you spin around quickly to deliver a swift punch to his stomach. Kicking his side he gives you a right hook to the cheek, knocking you to the ground.

"Red light!"

You freeze, the three men towering over you.

"Fuck.." Tony shakes his head, running his hands over his face. The team is on the edge of their seats, watching with anticipation.

Nat's eyes are glued to the screen, mapping out exactly how she'd want you to take them out. Just like she had trained you. And much to your surprise, you did effortlessly.

"Green light!" With a swift sweep kick under the legs you knock the man off his feet, your elbow meeting the other man's nose.

"That's my girl!" Natasha yelled out like a proud aunt, fist bumping the air.

Player 456 glanced back and watched in awe, as his friend with glasses tugged his sleeve.

The small girl that was pinned under two dead man is now kicking 3 of their asses who are alive.

"Gi-Hun! We have to go now! Forget about her!" He yelled, running with his friend.

With one final grunt, you kicked the man on the ground in the nose as hard as you could while then quickly head butting the man in front of you, knocking him out cold. You sprint on your feet, catching up to the man who graciously saved you.

Glancing back you see the men try to get up and stumble, just as the doll's head turns towards them.

"Red light!"

Their bodies fall to the ground with a thud, gunshots ringing through the air. As you froze you felt the blood dripping out of your nostrils.

"I think I broke my nose," You whimper, the two men on your side hearing you.

"What the hell was that? Are you okay?" He whispers, not daring to move his head. You don't respond, trying to regain your bearings.

"Damn," Sam commented.

"She did head butt him quite hard," Wanda commented, a proud tone coming from her voice.

"Just make it to the end, (Y/N).." Loki said, making Thor glance at him. He could of swore he saw worry on his brothers usual stone cold expression. He made a mental note to tease him later.

"Green light!"

The more you ran, the more your breath felt labored. You just wanted this to be over. No amount of money is worth whatever game this is. And whoever is betting on these people are sick and twisted in the fucking head.

The more bodies started to drop, the more your adrenaline did most of the work. You were painted with blood, and stained with memories that would never escape your head.

"Red light!"

You stopped at a woman's body, whose eyes were staring blankly into your lively ones. The image haunted you as the hole in the middle of her forehead was oozing blood.

This was the first time Bucky looked away from the screen, as well as most of the team. This was horrifying to watch, let alone participate in.

"I never thought it was real," Shang-Chi admitted. His sister nodded in agreement.

"It was always a thing talked about our entire lives growing up, a scary story used to tell your friends.."

"It's a good thing we're putting an end to it then." Steve spoke, slowly looking back to the monitor.

"Green light!"

By this time you weren't far from the finish line, making you sweat. There were other players screaming from the other side to run, and as much as your legs burned you didn't stop.

You ran behind player 456, his chest panting from exhausted breaths. You're both almost there. Yet so far away.

"COME ON (Y/N)!" Thor yells, startling everyone. Everyone starts cheering in desperation, as if they could hear her through the monitor.

As he's running, his foot slips on a dead man's arm on the ground making him loose his balance.

"Red Light!"

Without thinking, you quickly extend your hand and grab his jacket, freezing your position. You were holding him, his nose inches from the dirt on the ground.

He gasps, his hands not moving in the air as the doll scans the crowd once again. His eyes drift up to the timer.

"15 seconds," Tony chokes out, his hands gripping the table until his knuckles turn white. "God damn it, (Y/N).."

Of course you'd save someone any chance you could. You'd put down your life before anybody's if it meant sparing them. It's the good in you.

The avengers sat silent in the room, praying to any god that was in or out of the room you didn't drop the man you were holding.

Who was twice your size.

Your arms started to burn as well as your eyes, as you grunt in pain. Blood was still slowly pouring out of your nose, making you dizzy.

The team watched you, covered in blood, holding onto the players jacket for dear life.

You closed your eyes and focused, zoning in on the thought of reuniting with Bucky again. Grounding you to your surroundings.

His warmth. His smell. His voice. His embrace wrapping you like nothing would ever harm you. You loved how you felt when you were with him. How he made you feel. The version of you that comes out when he's in the room makes you happy.

And if you were going to tell him that, you needed to be alive to do it.

"Green light!"

Your eyes snap open as player 456 scrambles to his feet rushing to the finish line.

"5 seconds.." Wanda says with panic, standing on her feet.

You ran as fast as you could, tears clouding your vision. The pain in your chest was numb as your body heaved with every second that passed.

As the doll's head turned its head one final time, you hurled yourself over the finish line just as the clock strikes zero, player #456 landing at your side.

"YES!" Tony yelled, jumping to his feet. The group yelled in delight as you reached the finish line, some shedding happy tears and hugs. You had survived even with people attempting to sabotage the game.

Fury had a proud smile crawl across his face, as Strange rolled his eyes. He knew you were going to make it anyways.

You coughed, rolling on your back. You sat up, angling the camera at the field so it could capture the last massacre of resining players. You closed your eyes, not wanting to see more innocent lives to be taken.

"Are you okay?" A voice said, making you open your (Y/E/C) eyes. It was the man who had saved you, and you saved him.

You stuttered for words, unsure of what to say trying to overcome the shock of the events that had taken places.

"Y-Yeah, I'm good. Are you..?" You trailed off, unsure of what to say. He nodded, his eyebrows stitched in concern.

"Your nose, it's bleeding.." He pointed out, which then you took this opportunity to touch your nose. He was right, it was bleeding. There was a lot of blood on your originally white shirt, it was unclear if it was yours or someone else's. You shrugged.

"Thank you for helping me," You said, touching his shoulder with a smile. His eyes widened in a incredulous manner.

"Thank me? Thank YOU! I don't know how you managed to hold me! That was amazing!" He gushed, shaking you by the hand. You glanced up to see his friend giving you an apologetic smile.

"Really, it's no problem. I had no idea what I was walking into.." You said, emphasizing the last part of your sentence in hopes Fury was listening in.

Relief washed over the team as you chatted with the man, him thanking you profusely. The only thought in their mind was to take down the assholes who run this shitshow. Nat couldn't stop saying how proud she was of you, using all the moves she'd been working on with you for weeks now.

Loki and Thor were impressed and equally happy you had managed to fight assassins trying to compromise your ability to make it to the end of the game.

Cutting the small talk off in a fuss, Fury quickly explained the plain to ambush the facility to the team, one of the main goals is to get you out alive and seek medical attention.

The team suited up as the monitor showed you going back to the area you had woken up in.

"Gi-Hun," The man said, approaching you at your bunk as you tried to clean up the blood on your nose.

"I'm sorry?" You responded, not being able to hear well. With all the gunshots, you weren't able to hear much without a constant ringing.

"Gi-Hun is my name," He said a bit louder, taking a seat next to you. You smiled. He seemed to be a man you could trust, but you were strictly told to stay with your undercover identity.

"(Y/F/N)," You responded with you fake name, shaking his hand.

"Sorry. Can't hear much since the last game." You replied, shaking your head.

He chuckled. "I don't think any of us can,"

"Why are you here?" He questioned with kind eyes, having trouble how someone young like you ended up in this madness.

"Homeless. No family. No husband or boyfriend. No kids." You responded shortly, your gaze drifting into the middle of the floor. Your eyes scanned the guards who stood in front of the door, tuning out whatever Gi-Hun was saying.

They should be here any minute now.

You grew anxious, wanting this to all be over. Be back in your bed. Or Bucky's arms.

Just then a spark started to omit from the middle of the room, which the guards noticed immediately, calling for back up.

"I'm sorry, but I have to go. I hope everything works out. Thank you again," You interrupted Gi-Hun who nodded with furrowed eyebrows, until his gaze was covered in confusion when he saw the sparks himself.

Careful not to blow your cover, you stood by the bunks to observe 2 waves of soldiers come out of the doors.

Shit.

Shortly after Steve, Tony, Wanda, and Shang-Chi walked through the portal, it quickly shutting behind them.

"Weapons down, and nobody gets hurt."

Tony's voice is like music to your ears, a wave of comfort overflowing your body.

You knew they'd come for you, but the anxiety in your head tried convincing you otherwise.

A smile creeped on your face, but quickly dropped as the weapons were aimed in unison at your friends.

"Wanda, NOW!" Steve yelled, throwing his shield and knocking with weapons out of a group of the guards. Tony and Shang-Chi start to fight the guards, as more flood the room. She quickly casts a shield over the players, scrunching her face in focus.

"Everyone stay where you are!" She yells to the players, scanning the crowd until her eyes fall onto you. You smile, running up to her.

"You guys came for me!" You say, blood covering your exhausted face.

"Of course we did! Go help them kick ass!" She giggles, keeping the shield on the players while also taking out guards.

The rest of the team are through out the building, basically taking down the operation on the inside with Strange and Wong. They found the game manager and held in in restraints as the sponsors were caught and identified one by one.

You quickly run over and start fighting the guards one after one, with poor combat skills. Suddenly you're back to back with Steve, fighting off a large group of guards.

"It's good to see you Cap," You yell, shooting two pistols you had picked up off the ground. "But I'm ready to go home."

"What? Not having fun? We were going to red rover next," He says jokingly as we slowly start to decrease the number of guards until there were none.

Panting, you put your hands on your knees as Wanda drops the shield and asks if everyone is okay.

"(Y/N)!" Tony yells, his face shield retracting in his suit to reveal his face. You sigh with relief and hug him tightly, his chin resting on your head.

"I'm glad you're okay," He grumbles as the rest of the team flows in to check for injures with any of the players.

You tear yourself away from him and give him thankful eyes, until your gaze meets Bucky's. Butterflies swirl in your stomach and your heart pounds in your ears as your legs carry you into his embrace.

"You did so good Doll," He whispers, peppering your blood stained hair with kisses.

"I missed you Bucky," You say, hugging him for dear life. "So much."

You look up into his gorgeous eyes, his pained expression scanning your face. Your face was bruised and bloody. But it didn't make you appear any less beautiful.

"Stop acting like a pussy and kick their asses huh?" He muses, his eyes darting between your eyes and lips.

If there was anytime you should do it, it should be now. You glance down at his lips, and back into his eyes.

Without thinking your lips meet, moving in unison. Fireworks spread from your chest down into your stomach, his hands tangling into your hair. He kissed you like it was his last breath before going underwater, filled with passion and love.

"You have no idea," You panted, out of breath. "How long I've wanted you to do that."

[pretty-boys-book-club]

Bylines to my heart - Chapter 2

Summary: You are a young journalist navigating the turbulent job of reporting for a local newspaper in D.C. What happens when you constantly bump into a cute boy genius? Can FBI agents befriend journalists? Can they fall in love with one?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x journalist!Reader, Spencer Reid x y/n, Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Word Count: around 5k

Trigger Warning: Reference’s to Maeve Donovan’s death, Canon-Typical Violence, Mostly Fluff.

A/N: It's my first published fanfic, so feel free to send me any tips on how I can improve! I'm loosely following what happens at season 11, but with adaptations for the story. Overall, some of the themes used for Joy's story. The team in this version includes Emily and Derek, plus all the members that appear in season 11. Joy Rossi is mentioned slightly, but you can decide if she is a journalist as well or not. 

Special mention to my beta reader, @sweetandsunny​ who is an absolute angel and has helped tremendously with this fic! 

Chapter 1

Parallel lives

“Wanting connections, we found connections — always, everywhere, and between everything. The world exploded in a whirling network of kinships, where everything pointed to everything else, everything explained everything else...”

― Umberto Eco

“Y/N? Can I see you at my office?” your editor calls you. Standing up, you turning off your computer screen – not even getting the chance to read your emails before being called to your boss's office. Great, we're gonna have a long day. 

It's been over a month since you had to cover the beekeepers' fair in Washington and since you met Spencer at the bookstore. You went back to the shop a few times after that, but you didn't see him. After questioning the owner, you found out that he didn't work at the store (what a shame to have thought that) but that he was one of the most loyal customers. You searched the web, looking for any clues for a social media presence, but gave up the search after finding nothing - Spencer is a pretty common name, #269 on the list of most popular names in the US, and without a last name your search is pointless. There’s no chance you’ll ever see the man again. 

After a few days, you let it go, concentrating on work and mundane tasks. But much as you try to avoid it, Spencer crosses your mind from time to time, more often than you'd like to admit. You swear you see someone who looks like him in the metro. Once, being so sure that it was him, you followed a poor innocent boy to a café, only to find that it was a random teenager with a similar haircut and not the man you're desperately searching for. 

It helps that you've kept busy, settling into your new role a bit better. But with so much work in the past weeks (you are now covering so many events that you slept through a ping-pong competition last week) - you've barely had enough time to think about anything other than your job.

You enter your editor’s office. John Williams is a man in his late fifties, with deep expression lines and thinning hair, something you attribute to the stressful profession. You can't picture what he must have looked like as a young man, without the beard or the smoky voice he has after years of smoking cigarettes in the newspaper office. You assume that this is a consequence of having worked as a journalist long before health laws prohibited smoking indoors.

“Hi boss, what do you need?", you use your most pleasant voice to avoid seeming rude to your boss. 

“Sit down.”

“Okay…”

“So, I gather you’ve heard of the homicide at northwest D.C.?”

“Yeah, I did. It sounded very grisly… Does that... Does that mean what I think it means? You want me to go over there and interview the authorities?” you say, almost not believing that your editor might ask something like that of you. It’s so outside your field of expertise, you have zero experience covering crime scenes and tragedies in general. 

“Yeah, I want you to go there, but not only to talk to the authorities, the FBI and local PD will be there, but I want you to talk to the families of the victims.”

“You want me to talk to the families? Sir, they are just going through what is most likely the worst moment in their lives, are you sure I’m the person for the job?”

“As much as I hate to send a reporter with no previous crime experience to write about a case like this, we need an interview for an article. These kinds of things drive our readership through the roof, since the big papers will be more focused on the President’s speech tomorrow than on a local crime. Y/N, all the locals will want to know more about this horrible thing happening in their backyard. I need you to get enough material for a story on this.”

“Okay, but are you sure-” You look into your editor’s eyes, trying to think of a single argument to convince him that someone else should do it. The man looks so tired, overworked, like most of your colleagues, you suppose. It doesn’t help that you're part of a local newspaper in a city like D.C., having to compete with big papers like The Post.

“Look, kid, we hired you because you have a very impressive CV, having worked at the Times-“ John tries to reason. 

“Correction: interned, and only for a year.”

“Well, having interned at the New York Times, so this shouldn’t be something a big shot reporter like you can’t handle.” He pleads. Well, he's really trying to butter you up today, huh?

“But I'm not a big shot reporter at all! I interned at the Times' entertainment section for a year, and then worked for a magazine in the retail industry for five! I’m not exactly a crime reporter, John. And you know it!” 

“Look, we’ve got Mark covering the game tonight and Janet is on sick leave, so that leaves you as the only one available. I wouldn’t ask you to do it if I didn’t think you had it in you.” He gives you a look as if to make sure you're actually okay with it, even if his words aren’t the most comforting. 

“Okay, yeah, I suppose I can interview the families or something like that. But you know I’m not a crime specialist and I can’t promise that I’ll get enough for a feature.” 

“Just get some quote from them saying how horrible it all is and we’ll be okay. The press conference is at the precinct at Tenleytown in two hours, so you have some time to get acquainted with the story. Try to meet with Agent Jareau or Agent Hotchner there, they are usually the ones we use as sources when these kinds of things happen.” He gets up from his desk, signaling that his decision is final. “And, Y/N, just to follow your journalistic instinct, it never failed me and you’ll see that it won’t fail you either. You’ll do great." He gives you a little pat on the back, as if this will stop you from panicking. "I don’t care what you have to do, just get me enough to run something about it, ok?” The editor says loudly, his voice booming at the office, making sure that everyone outside the room could also hear your conversation. You know he doesn't mean any harm, so you nod. 

—

Spencer is using all his energy to go through all the possible reasons for the UnSub killing his victims. It has been a few weeks since the BAU has had a day off, with cases demanding them to travel across the country. Once they arrived at D.C., a local police department asked them to consult on a serial murder case, and here they found themselves, in a police precinct at the north of the capital city. The team is tired, he can feel the exhausted energy in the air. Rossi and Emily are out getting something to eat, while Morgan is with him in the conference room, looking through files again to make sure they have missed no clues. Hotch and JJ are somewhere else, getting ready for a press conference that is about to start. Tara is talking to the families, who have been notified a few hours ago, taking their statements. 

No wonder Garcia is more than happy to call him and let him know that she's had a breakthrough on her "special assignment".  As soon as he sees Penelope's name on his screen, he excuses himself and enters a separate room from the rest of the team. 

"I found her, Reid!" She talks so loudly on the phone that Spencer has to put his phone away from his ear, her excitement apparent. He can picture her jumping up and down in her seat with a sparkly pen in her hand. “I almost thought your pretty girl was made-up, but I found her! Not to brag, but you know it would usually take my cute little fingers only a couple of minutes to search for her if you had anything more than a name to go on, but I'm pretty sure I found her." she giggles, happy to help him however she can. "Oh, you never said she was so gorgeous, remind me again why you’re having me stalk this poor girl online instead of going after her yourself?”

“It’s…It’s complicated, Garcia.” he almost whispers, earning a concerned look from Morgan, who’s staring through the window from the conference room. "Have you found where she works?"

"Yeah, she's a reporter for WTOP, I have an article here about a theater production she wrote last Tuesday and another about a student protest at Howard, and she's really good, Reid. I like her." 

Penelope's opinion is something Spencer trusts, so hearing her say that she likes the articles lets a smile escape his lips. "I'm glad to hear that," he says, before realizing that he has done so.

"I bet you are, pretty boy. What do you want me to do with the information? I can forward it to you in five minutes..."

Spencer cuts her off: “Just, just keep this between us for now. You don’t need to send this to me right away, I’ll check what you have once we’re back at the building, okay?”

“Afraid someone might find out that you are crushing H-A-R-D-” Garcia’s singsong voice rings through his ears. He feels his neck and ears heat up, hiding his face in his hands. 

“Thanks, Penelope, I have to go. Bye.” Spencer cuts her off briefly. He has bigger worries than a stupid crush at the moment. He goes back to the conference room, only to be met by Morgan with a smug smile on his face.

“Who was that, pretty boy?”

“It's just Garcia, she’s helping me with a consultation.” 

"If you say so."

"What do you mean?"

“Nothing, kid, nothing." Spencer hides his cell phone in his pocket, noticing that Derek is looking at him intently. He feels a bit self-conscious under the older agent's gaze, knowing he can't disguise the dark circles under his eyes, or the fact that his hair is totally disheveled.   

"Listen, try not to overwork yourself so much. You know, most of us have someone or something waiting for us at home to help us unload after a case, you, on the other hand, have been working non-stop since…”

“I know, I know, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“But we do. We all worry about you, Reid.” Morgan seems to have good intentions, but Spencer can’t help but feel peeved that they all try to intrude in his personal life so frequently. “Look, I need to get these files to Hotch before the conference starts, you keep working on the geographical profile for now. But please, once this is all over, you need to catch a break.”

“I’ll let you know if I have any news.” Spencer knows that everything Derek says is true, but he won't allow himself to confess anything. He hates that they see him as fragile. 

Morgan leaves him alone. Even as he tries to focus on the case, his mind is quicker, moving to the subject he is trying to avoid. Could Garcia really have found her? And if so, how would he approach her? Now that it seemed more real, he felt stupid for not having a plan. Morgan and Emily made flirting and dating look so easy, and he was still afraid of even asking a girl out for a date. 

—

You clutch your notebook in one hand and your phone in the other. You see your own calligraphy, words scribbled in a way that even you have trouble reading them, a result of writing way too fast. Whether it’s an iconic quote scribbled in a notepad or a detailed scene describing a moment in time, the notes that reporters take are an early, but crucial, step in the process of journalism.

Each journalist has their own process for recording the details that make up their report, which can vary widely depending on their beat. But the goal remains the same: to document the truth.

You like to think that the truth is in the details, the unspoken things, the silences. That is why, while other journalists are focused on finding the right angle to make themselves look good on camera, you are sitting in your seat, your phone ready to record in the press of a button, more concerned about watching the flow of policemen entering and leaving the station.You have a good view of the office through the glass and notice the team of people going in and out of a room across the hall. 

They are all wearing suits, rather than the uniforms that the other officers wear, making them stand out in the ocean of blue shirts. You deduce they must be with the FBI, and when two of them, a blonde woman and a man with dark hair and furrowed eyebrows, walk towards the auditorium you are in, you are sure that they are the two agents your editor mentioned earlier.

The other journalists, being more accustomed to this routine, settle down and begin preparing their cameras when the agents enter the room. You have arrived very early and got a good seat in front of the audience, so you can pay close attention to all that is said. 

"I'm Agent Hotchner and this is Agent Jareau, we are here to give a brief description of the type of person we are looking for and ask for all of your outlet's cooperation," he begins, with a deep voice and a serious expression. You sense that he is the ideal type of person for a job like this. 

"We are looking for a man in his late thirties to early forties, who can blend in with the people in the neighborhood. He's probably well dressed, charismatic, and we think he's going into people's homes posing as some kind of service provider. Since most of the victims are college students who live with their parents, this means that he is acting at times when young people are alone and that he knows how to make people feel safe around him. That means we are talking about a dangerous criminal" the blonde, Agent Jareau, adds. 

"So we are asking all residents of Tenleytown to be extremely cautious. Students should avoid being alone at home. Confirm the identities of all persons entering your residences and report if you see any suspicious cars on your streets." Agent Hotchner concludes. He watches the rest of the room, "Any questions?” Hands go up around the room.

A woman with dark skin and curly hair stands up, holding a microphone: “Mary Coulson with the Washington Spark. Are you going to release any more details about the victims? What university did they go to?”

“We’ve already made all available data public as of last night. We can’t confirm which campus they went to in order to keep the attacks from escalating. We don't wish to cause a social media uproar. From what we can tell, the suspect has a very specific killing zone, so we have no reason to think people outside of Tenleytown are in danger.” the female agent answers. She has a soothing tone, which comes very handy when dealing with this type of situation.

“Lewis Parker, Washington City Paper. Has something similar to this happened somewhere else? Why is the FBI involved?”

“We have reason to believe this is a serial case.” Agent Hotchner responds. “That is all for now, please reach out to me or Agent Jareau if you have any further questions.” 

The rest of the journalists get up, ready to leave the police station in a hurry. You notice that the older agent leaves the room while the commotion takes place, as the younger agent stays to pack up some papers in front of the auditorium where the two were speaking moments ago. You notice an opening to go talk to her and see if you have any chances of getting something from the families. After all, even though you recorded everything that has been said, you still haven't gotten the interview you need.

 "Agent Jareau? Hi, I'm Y/N, from WTOP. My editor, John Williams, said you could help me." you extend your hand to greet her, and she quickly accepts. 

"Nice to meet you, I usually deal with Janet from your website, is everything okay with her?"

"Oh yeah, she's sick so they sent me to cover the press conference instead. I was wondering if I could ask some questions to the victims' families."

The blonde looks around, making sure there are no other journalists besides you. It's noticeable that she's contemplating the best course of action. You look at her with pleading eyes, hoping that she takes that as a sign that you have no hidden intention of making this request. ”Look, I wouldn't normally let the press get in touch with the families so quickly, but it might raise awareness about the case and help us catch this guy before he strikes again. I can't promise you anything. If they talk to you, it's on their own free will."

"Sure, I understand," you nod. "Thank you so much, really. Can I ask you something?"

She looks surprised. You reflect, realizing that more experienced journalists probably wouldn't have such a hard time navigating a situation like this.

"Okay."

"It's my first time covering a case like this, any tips on how I can ask them things without sounding insensitive, since the murder are so fresh in their minds?"

"I think judging by the fact that you asked this question, you won't have a hard time. Just try to imagine how you would feel if you were in their shoes." That's a hard thing. You can't begin to imagine the feeling of shock, pain and anger they must've felt after receiving news of the brutal murder of their loved one. Agent Jareau continues, "I will let them know that a reporter is waiting to talk to them."

"Sure, I'll just wait here.”

—

He's been at the police station for hours now, finally deciding to leave the conference room, feeling the dire need of having caffeine in his body. Preferably in large quantities, with an exorbitant proportion of sugar, scalding hot. Better coffee than is available at the precinct. And maybe something sweet to digest the sandwich Emily brought him an hour ago. 

"I'm going out to buy some coffee. Anyone want anything?" he asks Prentiss, Rossi and Lewis, the only ones also in the room. They all answer in the negative, only Emily raising her gaze from the file she's flipping through.

"If I didn't know you, I'd be worried about that much coffee."

"I just need something that isn't made in an old police station coffee pot."

"I understand you. Go ahead, we'll manage around here."

He leaves the room, nodding at them as a response. He's exhausted from the countless sleepless nights spent to solve murders. Glancing around the precinct, his eyes land on something. Much rather someone. He swears that his eyes are deceiving him. 

It can't be. 

He rubs his eyes, convinced that he must be hallucinating from exhaustion. But there she is, taking notes as she talks to the family of one of the victims. She looks so beautiful concentrating like that. Spencer is lost in thoughts of how she looks for a moment, until an officer bumps into him, reminding him where he is. He quickly pulls himself together, walking faster towards the exit. 

Before he gets through the doors, he hears what he could never dream of: "Spencer?"

—

You can hardly believe it. 

“Spencer? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I can explain.” 

“Are you in trouble?” you look around as you speak, genuinely concerned for this man you hardly know and imagining that he might need your help.

“It’s not that…” he bashfully replies. 

Agent Jareau appears at this instant, with a glass of water in each of her hands. "There you are, Y/N, the water you asked me for.” She looks at you and Spencer, a ghost of a smile leaving her lips. Then she looks at you, "Were you able to talk to the families?"

You are so confused that it takes you a minute to answer. "Yes, I think… I think I have enough material to do the story, thanks…" you say, not taking your eyes off the man in front of you. He looks gorgeous, in a slightly more formal attire than the last time you met. The other thing you notice is how tired he looks too. 

"Oh, how rude of me, I see you have met Dr. Reid?” she extends her hand toward the guy you’ve daydreamed about for the past weeks.

"Doctor?" you still don't understand what is going on, making your voice crack a little bit. 

"Yes, Doctor. And one of the best - and youngest - profilers we have on our team." The blonde complements, with a smile on her face, as if she sees something they don't.

Oh. Okay. No freaking out. Oh my, is Spencer an FBI agent? But he looks so young. A part of you short-circuits, you try to speak but your voice goes up an octave: "You're a doctor and an FBI agent?!"

"I am an FBI agent.” he says matter of fact. "The Doctor is because of my PhDs, not an MD.” he looks down at the ground. 

You continue to stare at him, incredulously, only snapping out of whatever trance you're in when Agent Jareau coughs. You realize that you are abusing the poor woman's generosity and quickly hand her your press pass. 

"Thanks again." you smile, trying to pass on the gratitude you feel to her. She has a broad smile on her face, looking at Spencer and the way he is clearly embarrassed. He looks at her with a face that says to not make the situation any worse.

"You're welcome. And I'll leave you two to it, I see you clearly already know each other.”

"I'm sorry."

"Why? You didn't do anything wrong."

"I didn't correct you when you thought I worked in the bookstore." He is red, clearly feeling bad for giving you the wrong impression. You think you're going to explode due to his sheer adorableness.

"Well, I'm the one who should apologize for making an assumption," you try to calm him down. “I even had you waste your time walking me to the other side of the store! I'm such an idiot.”

He looks at you with a funny expression, wrinkling his nose.

"How did you know my name?"

"The checkout lady."

"Oh."

"She asked me if anyone in the store helped me, and you did, so I told her that a tall guy had helped me, and she said ‘Oh, Spencer?’ and I just said yes.” you try to explain, your words stumbling together. 

“Of course…” he says, a smile on his face. “Can we, maybe, start over?” he says, holding out his hand. You take it and feel how warm his hand is against yours. You look up to him, your eyes meeting once again. 

“Hi, I’m Y/N Y/L/N. I work at WTOP as a reporter.”

“Hi, Y/N, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, I’m with the FBI.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Reid.”

“Oh, Spencer’s fine.” he laughs, still holding your hand.

“Would you like to grab some coffee sometime?”

“I was really hoping you’d ask. I’m actually on my way to a café right now.” 

—

“I thought Reid didn’t do handshakes", Emily says, watching the interaction from afar with her arms crossed. JJ walks up to her, both of them smiling, rooting for Spencer. 

“Well, apparently there are some exceptions.” JJ replies, sliding up to the brunette. 

“Clearly.” Tara concludes. 

“What are you all doing here?” Hotch walks into the scene, looking confused at the smiling BAU ladies. He doesn’t mean to intrude, but they should all be working on the profile. He looks in the same direction as the three women, seeing Reid talking to a girl he recognizes as a reporter from the press conference before. "What is going on?"

“Nothing”, the ladies say in unison. 

“Nothing at all”, Emily whispers to herself, as she sees both of you walking out of the station with Spencer laughing at something you’ve said. It seems they’re letting Spencer keep this a secret. 

For now.

A/N: This chapter came to me in a burst of inspiration after all the extremely supportive comments. Next one might take a bit longer as I’ll be taking a much needed break during the weekend and will only have time to write next week. So hope you’ve enjoyed so far :) Hope you liked the little guest appearances of all the BAU members. Thank you for reading this far! More chapters on their way. – Cat

Taglist: @lil-stark @beeblisss @rexorangecouny @writer-in-theory

[cacti-are-like-flamingos]

Jealous Obi, Hinawa, Benimaru, and Burns...

Akitaru Obi

as yall already know, i simp for this man HARDCORE

anything for him

*insert Jerry meme with the caption, ngl that made my pussy throb

that's legit me everytime i see him 🤪

anygaysss,,,

a jealous Obi is hella funny in my opinion

i see him as one of those stereotypical hallmark or whatever you call it early 2000 movies where the guy tries everything to make her dislike the other guy and it's just funny asf

yeah that's Obi

when he sees someone flirting with you he'll act like he needs help with something and ask for you

other times he'll kind of just glare like when a dog gets tricked or something like that

he also tends to puff out his chest and flex his muscles more

" Let me help you with that y/n" BAM FLEXES BICEP

Omg this man I swear

lets not forget that when the other guy leaves and you start to talk about them, Obi will say whatever he has to in order to keep them fuckers out of your mind

"I heard he hates uhhh cranberries" says the most randomest shit

and the funny bit is you know that he's jealous

how the fuck can you not???

he makes it so blatantly obvious that it's almost painful to watch

but at the same time, everyone, even yourself, are betting how long it would take for him to ask you out

so far the Lieutenant was winning and that was, most definitely, not good for your wallet

you really had hopes and this hunk of a man was failing them miserably 😂

" Y/n let me use you as a weight. I bet that other guy can't lift you like I can."

"All due respect Captain but what the fuck is that suppose to mean?????"

Hinawa Takehisa

i have a love/hate relationship with this man

on one hand, my authority issues are screaming to give him the bird and tell him to go fuck himself

and on the other, i turn to actually smush whenever he smiles or just shows his soft side even if it's in the slightest

it's very confusing

nonetheless, i simp

now to get back on topic, a jealous Hinawa consists mainly of hella intense death glares and- oh? what's this? He also becomes more...touchy? OH?

he usually keeps his hands to himself but upon noticing another individual flirting with you, he'll break that no-touch habit and place his hand on the small of your back

seemingly to guide you towards something when in reality he's guiding you away from an unworthy bitch

he also becomes a bit more talkative

mainly complimenting how you've improved with your training and what not

you're shocked, Obi's shocked, the whole Company is shocked

Ooo I want to see a pouty Hinawa but that ain't ever happening 😔

Benimaru Shinmon

this one

this man right here

scrumptious

delicious

he's literally me in male form

i'm actually surprised that I sjmp more for Obi than I do for this man but what can I say? taste changes over time 🤷‍♀️

if this man were jealous, oof I pray for the other guy

not only does Benimaru have looks that can kill, but his tongue is made out of pure fucking silver

his brows are knitted and there's a slight scowl on his face as he lightly grits his teeth together

now that's a look I can get used to seeing

he'll insult the guy until they're crying on the floor or anime crying-running

like you want to say "hold on Jamal dont pull out the nine" but it aint even a nine, it be an AR-15 with the amount of insults spitting out of his mouth like freaking rap rhymes

even Konro has to take a moment to pray for the poor soul who had to be on the end of that

Leonard Burns

mate

how is Fire Force full of beautiful men?

like BRO

HOW?

my expectations are higher than my own fucking life expectancy because of Fire Force men

sigh

also

when I look at this man I have the strongest urge to desire a head pat

I need yall to understand that me desiring a head pat is not characteristic of me

even I'm like wtf?

ANYGAYS

jealous Burns is an interesting thought

similar to Hinawa, he glares...A LOT

when Burns is jealous he tends to be closer to you, up to the point where his chest is briefly touching your shoulder blade

his glare so piercing and deadly that no guy dares approach you

and if they somehow do approach you ---cough cough they have a death wish cough cough--- Burns is not gonna let up from staring at the motherfucker

cue a small flame producing on top of his eye patch

cue the shitting of pants

ahhh how I would love for a headpat

...

Hope you enjoyed!

[stiltonbasket]

hi! i dont know if you've done something similar for renouncement verse but lwj getting baby rearing tips from lqr would be really cute uwu

(brief author’s note: please please reblog, since that’s how we get prompts for future chapters!)

Two weeks after Wei Shuilan’s full-moon party, Lan Xichen orders Wei Ying to get some fresh air and take a trip down to town with the juniors. 

“I’m ordering it as your physician,” he scolds, as Lan Wangji kisses his husband’s forehead and slips a packed lunch into his qiankun bag, just in case Wei Ying doesn’t like any of the delicacies Caiyi has to offer; having A-Lan altered his sense of taste, among other things, and made him more partial to sweet and bitter flavors as well as spicy-sour ones. “You haven’t left the Cloud Recesses in months.”

“Xichen-ge,” Wei Ying says, rolling his eyes, “you try taking those stairs when you can barely fit through the door. Or fly in a straight line without overbalancing, for that matter.”

He has a point, Lan Wangji thinks. A-Lan is a very round baby, big enough for her age that some of the guests at the full-moon feast asked if they were holding the party late, and it had certainly showed on Wei Ying’s slender figure in the weeks before her arrival.

“Well, you ought to go now,” Lan Xichen urges. “It’s a wonderful day, and A-Lan’s asleep. Go stretch your legs, and then come back and rest as soon as you feel tired.”

So Wei Ying had gone, leaving the Cloud Recesses with a kiss for Lan Wangji before flying off on A-Yuan’s sword and vanishing into the cloudy mist hanging over the Caiyi River.

After that, Lan Wangji settles down in the jingshi to wait for his husband’s return, placing his baby daughter on the bed beside him and starting on the mountain of official correspondence he’s been neglecting since A-Lan was born. Most of them are congratulations and well-wishes for the baby, along with a select few (which Lan Wangji sets on fire the second he opens them) consoling the Chief Cultivator for the one child of his blood being a daughter, and assuring him that the next baby will surely be a boy. 

Upon further reflection, Lan Wangji points a finger at the ashes in the hearth and incinerates them a second time. The thought of his little daughter ever facing anything but the honor and worship due to an empress sets his teeth on edge, and it takes only a moment of thinking until he decides to put off answering the guilty clan’s request for a second representative in Lanling’s council for as long as he can.

But unfortunately for him, the sound of the snapping fire jolts poor A-Lan awake, and she gives a soft, confused little gurgle before lifting her head and looking around. Lan Wangji lifts her into his lap, humming Wangxian beside her tiny ears as she begins to whimper—but his efforts are in vain, because the baby bursts into tears and refuses to stop crying no matter what he does to calm her. 

“A-Lan,” he says, more than a little shocked—because he has never heard A-Lan cry like this, not since that first shrieking wail when she first found herself out in the world six weeks ago. But A-Lan keeps crying, even after he tries changing her smallclothes (needlessly, since her diaper was freshly changed when Wei Ying left the jingshi) and puts her in another blanket to keep her warm, and no amount of rocking or singing or even a cool bath proves useful in the slightest. 

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Lan Wangji asks urgently. “A-Lan, baobei—”

Shuilan only draws her tiny legs up to her chest and sobs, rubbing her fat fists into her eyes as if the whole universe was against her, and the realization hits Lan Wangji so suddenly that he nearly falls to the floor, baby and all. 

“It’s because Wei Ying isn’t here,” he says wretchedly. “It is, isn’t it? You’re not sick, surely—he’s coming back, A-Bao. Don’t cry, your A-Die is coming back.”

But with such a little baby as A-Lan, how was she to know? All A-Lan knew was that she spent the first ten moons of her life safe inside Wei Ying, listening to his precious heartbeat and kicking out at his affectionate touches when he tried to feel for her head or her hands, and then she was in his arms instead, but still never so far away from him that she could not hear his voice. And now Wei Ying is gone, and A-Lan has rightfully taken his absence for the calamity that it is. 

Lan Wangji remembers his sixteen years of mourning after Wei Ying fell from his grasp and plunged to his death in Qishan, and wonders how frightened Shuilan must be that Wei Ying has disappeared without any explanation her infant mind can understand. Neither of them have left her side since she was born, so for one of her parents to disappear without explanation, and for it to be Wei Ying who had disappeared—

He nearly bursts into tears himself, just thinking about it. 

Naturally, it is at that moment—with half of Lan Wangji’s layers sliding off his shoulders, A-Lan screaming herself hoarse, and sweat dripping down her father’s pale face—that Lan Qiren lets himself into the house, apparently expecting to find a peaceful nephew and great-niece before he walks into the middle of a virtual tornado instead. 

“Wangji?” he calls, as Lan Wangji drags himself into the front room in all his miserable, disheveled glory. “What is the matter? Have you fed her?”

“I have fed her, changed her, checked her temperature, and made sure all her clothes were loose enough,” he says, distraught. “Perhaps I will take her to the healing ward, just to make sure she is well. Good afternoon, Shufu.”

“You examined her with your lingli, didn’t you? She’s not sick.”

“No, but—”

“Give her here,” his uncle sighs, holding out his arms for the child. “Now,  bring me that square blanket on the divan, and watch closely.”

While Lan Wangji watches, Lan Qiren lays the blanket out on the bed and folds it into a triangle, and then he places A-Lan onto it with her fluffy round head above the folded edge and packs her into a tight bundle with one arm waving freely outside it. 

“Shufu,” Lan Wangji ventures, brow furrowed. “What are you—”

“Quiet,” Lan Qiren instructs him. “Pay attention, Wangji.”

He folds up the bottom corner of the blanket, laying it over A-Lan’s chest and her chubby bent legs, and then he folds the other half around her like a bamboo string around a zongzi, trapping her flailing fist against her body before handing her back to her father. 

“There,” he says, satisfied. “See?”

A-Lan’s sobs are already calming down, and a moment later she blinks in confusion and goes straight back to sleep. 

Lan Wangji gapes at her. “What did you do, Uncle?” he wonders. “I already tried wrapping her, but this…”

“That is how a baby should be swaddled,” Lan Qiren scolds. “You and Wei Ying wrap her like a pancake roll, and it does well enough most of the time. But when a child this small is in distress, it can be helpful to remind them of their time in the womb, and put them in a similar position with a swaddling blanket. What made A-Lan cry so?”

“She missed Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says dully. “He went to Caiyi with Sizhui and Xiaohui, and she woke early from her nap and cried when she realized he was gone.”

I remember weeping because Wei Ying was gone, he doesn’t say. She seemed as heartbroken as I was, back then. 

“Ah,” his uncle murmurs. “A word of advice, Wangji. When you are overtaxed, and dealing with a child in distress, your discomfort will inevitably worsen theirs. I learned this by trial with your brother, and it ended with him stopping his tears and laughing for me because he hated to see me cry.”

It sounds so much like Lan Xichen that Lan Wangji feels his throat swell. “En?”

“In such times, seek help before you become overwrought,” Lan Qiren advises him. “I am here, as is Xichen, and the nursery teachers who cared for you both when you were little. You and your husband are not alone, in any aspect of your lives, and it would be a joy to all of us to aid you.”

And then Lan Qiren makes tea and shoos Lan Wangji back to the bedroom, where he sinks down onto the bed with the baby snoring quietly in his arms and falls asleep himself.

When Wei Ying returns an hour later, he declares that everything must have gone perfectly for both of them to be so at ease.

“I didn’t want to leave you!” he laughs, cuddling a squealing A-Lan to his breast and waving a handful of new toys over her curious little face. “But you were as cool as a cucumber, Lan Zhan! Why can’t I be like you?”

“It was not so smooth as I hoped it would be,” Lan Wangji confesses. “But everything was all right in the end, xingan. My shufu is a very good teacher.”

[bumbershots]

LOVEFOOL

Author’s note: HELLO! This is my part for the Valentine’s Day challenge that @1dffchallenges put together. Make sure to keep an eye out for any other pieces published by other authors. Enjoy! And happy Valentine’s weekend! (:

Summary: Harry agrees to go on a blind date set up by his friends in hopes that it will help him move on from an unrequited love.

Word count: 3K

Challenge prompt and dialogue: blind date set up by friends. “I don’t want this to end...”

There’s a first for everything. Harry’s had his fair share of them at the age of twenty-seven. First time on an aeroplane at the tender age of six for a family holiday in Rome. First kiss on his home town’s park with someone he deeply cared about. First time in a recording studio. First time going on tour. The first night spent alone in his new and barely furnished home. The first morning he laid eyes on the girl next door. The ugly heartbreak after she got married, certainly felt worse than his first one.

Life is full of firsts, Harry knows that, and he wishes to have been the first to sneak his way into Jane’s heart, all those years ago.

"You love her" it almost sounds like an accusation coming from Jeff, though the last thing he wants is to make Harry feel guilty. The musician doesn't reply, he shrugs, eyes never leaving her no matter how deep into the ocean she seems to be. "Does she know?" Harry shakes his head in denial. "Did you bring her along just so you could tell her?"

"I enjoy writing music with her, that's why she's here," his tone leaves no room for more questions, the manager knows and sighs defeated. Harry stands from his spot on the beach and heads back inside the house, alone.

Is he being that obvious?

He reviews the past few days and wonders where he slipped, nothing rings any bell. Harry completely and conveniently forgets how he doesn't nag her for having a smoke after dinner, instead he just opens the window and stands close to it, or how he's been making her a cuppa everyday at noon. But it was the time when Jane asked him to help her French plait her hair when something clicked in Jeff's brain, the way Harry beamed at such a simple request left no room for questioning. Yet he asked him, because there was that tiny chance of it all being part of the manager's imagination, but when he looked back on it, the little things now made more sense to him and in a way he always knew.

They've been in Port Antonio for two weeks now and everything was going just dandy, Harry was writing more than ever, the first week he had a new song every day, he even polished the old ones and had a tune for his favourites, thanks to Mitch's help. When Jeff Azoff got there earlier this week, he spent a good two hours talking to Jeff Bhasker about how much of a good idea the trip was.

"Harry is on a writing spree." He complimented Azoff's client, it was nothing but the truth. However the reason for it all, was now heading back to the house to join the others after a good surfing session.

Jane went straight to take a shower, ready to rinse all the ocean's saltiness from her body, thinking how wonderful it would've been if her own worries could be washed away with her tangerine shampoo. In contrast to Harry's good spirits and excellent mood, her own cloud of trouble seemed to follow her all the way from London. She still hadn't heard from her husband, so it is safe to say he was still upset about her going away to work in Harry's album. It was impossible for her to forget the argument they had, at first thinking it was a joke on his side, insinuating that they were ‘shagging behind his back’.

After her shower, wearing comfortable clothes, Jane joins the others for supper but keeps to herself, still with the dichotomy about calling Alex or letting him be. He will eventually come to his senses and apologise. 

What if he doesn't? 

The thought alone of her clothes being packed in boxes by the time she gets back home almost makes her cry, perhaps she can call or text him just to test the waters. It is ridiculous how she seems to be more mature about this than him.

"Penny for them?" Harry's voice brings her back to the now empty dining room, the voices from the rest of their party can be heard from the living room.

"God I'm sorry H, lost myself out there for a moment," she is embarrassed, with him, the others and herself for letting this situation get under her skin. And she's also avoiding talking about it, with Harry or anyone. "I was just thinking about the tempo for Sweet Creature."

"Liar," he hates to be shut down by her more than anything. "Is it because I didn't let you eat the last peanut drop the other day?" It would've been easier for her to say it was, than to address the actual reason. But Harry hasn't lied to her, ever.

"No love, although I was a bit hurt because of that, it's actually this thing with Alex we are, I don't know, he was upset with me and said some things," Jane couldn't finish, her speech was cut short by a quiet sob and Harry was quick to pull her from the chair onto his lap and hold her tight. His own heart speeding at the sight of her distressed.

"When was the last time you spoke to him?"

"Two weeks ago." Her voice barely whispers on his chest, "he's being a wanker to be honest, just because he's not going on tour with any of his bands I'm supposed to be a stay at home wife!"

"Why don't you explain this to me, from the beginning, please?" He asks rubbing her back soothingly, and she spills it all, the having kids now or never argument, to her wanting to have a proper wedding party and finally the latest fight where Alex suggested an affair going on between her and Harry, the latter had to do his best not to put the option on the table, since her husband so kindly suggested it. Might as well, he thought. "It all sounds like a big misunderstanding, I know you're a great communicator sunshine, so it baffles me that you've let this go on for so long." He's got a point.

"You're right, but I feel like it's his turn, you know?" Jane's done weeping, but remained on her friend's lap and arms, head resting on his shoulder. "He's always forward, mature, a proper thirty year old except when it comes to arguments where we ought to reach an agreement," she plays a bit with the cross hanging from his neck, a scowl on her pretty face. "Like with the children thing, we only stopped arguing when I said that maybe in two more years we could have one instead of, you know, my early thirties." It's good that she can't see how upset Harry is.

"You gave into that one, he should do the same but it's his choice," Harry sighs and can't believe what he's about to say. "Take the day off tomorrow, call him or FaceTime, Skype whatever you choose, but have a proper conversation with him." She wants to argue and say it's not necessary to be absent the whole day, she can spare a few hours. But she will need time to think about what to say, make her point clear so they are on good terms until she goes back to London.

"Fine, but if he is still acting like a dickhead afterwards, I'm not going to let it into my head anymore, we will continue to bask in this great work environment going on here." Jane states, pulling away from his embrace just enough to give him that stern look she uses when trying to make a point, and Harry nods with a warm smile, the one she never gets tired of seeing. "I'll call it a night now, gonna be asleep in seconds now that I've got that out of my chest." She stands from his lap, missing his warmth instantly. "Thanks for that."

"Anytime honey pie." Harry says before leaving a kiss on her left hand that burns her skin from then till morning.

Jeff joins the musician in the dining room right after the girl walks away to her room, he takes a seat across from him and scrutinises the look of adoration his friend still sports once she is out of the room.

"She'll never know, if you never tell her." Jeff is right, but the thought alone of going through that again scares him to death. Or so he says, because there's a part of him that is fond of the thrill it makes him feel.

"It's not like I haven't tried, just last year I told her," Harry remembers that night vividly, how pretty she looked even with her makeup all smudged under her eyes. "I'm not sure if she heard, it was too loud like where we were at the time." He was also pissed out of his mind.

"H, there's nothing wrong with being in love."

"I'm not saying it is, but even if she did love me I– I would find a way to hurt her. Anyway. she's happily married now, it's too late." Saying it out loud doesn't hurt him any less like he thought it would. Harry sighs in defeat before rising from the chair, "she's everything to me, I wouldn't mess with her head by confessing my feelings, deep down I always knew she deserved better and now she has it and that's good enough for me." The musician disappears through the corridor where his everlasting love did just a few minutes ago, he paused for a moment outside her room, pondering whether to barge in and just follow his instincts, kiss her like he should've done after winning that award back in 2014.

Harry shakes his head and goes straight to his room, he reminds himself that it was time to let her go. It's for the best. He is not good enough for her, he can't even write a song for her, about her. He mustn't love her that much then.

What Harry doesn't know is that he can't write a song about her because he loves her too much, the poor lad can't even figure out where to start. But he's about to get rid of that curse in a day or two, he just needs to be patient.

The reward for it came, all of a sudden Harry wrote too many songs about her until she inevitably became aware of the situation they were in. Harry vowed to stay away from Jane’s life after recording the album. He dated people that didn’t remind him of her, and even moved temporarily to Japan. But despite all his efforts, four years later Harry still finds himself thinking about her, everything seems to be tainted by her. The music he adores, the new dinner recipes he cooks, the books he chooses to read.

Completely out of options he agreed to this blind date his friends set up for him.

He arrives at the modest restaurant they so kindly chose for the occasion. “All you have to do is wear something nice and show up.” Alexa reminded him over the phone last week.

This is a new first for him, it is also exciting, to take a seat at a table for two conveniently placed at the back, pretend to pay attention to the menu but let his green eyes avert to whoever approaches. Harry is having a great time, he knows that soon his date will arrive. He wonders what they’ll be like.

According to Alexa and Pixie, the person arriving is the perfect match for their young friend. Harry can only hope they like Vietnamese cuisine because that’s apparently this place’s special offer this week. If he’s lucky enough the date will agree to share a starter and perhaps two main courses, that way he doesn’t have to choose between one or the other.

“Here’s your table.” Harry hears the waiter speak and his gaze meets a very familiar figure standing beside him. It can’t be.

“Excuse me, there must be a mistake, I’m waiting for someone else.” Harry protests.

The waiter shakes his head and shows him the notepad with some specifications written down. “Nothing wrong, got specific instructions from Miss Chung, a lady will come in to say is here for Geldolf’s blind date, you are sitting at the table they reserved. I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.” He is quick to explain and disappear.

Jane sits because there is no way she can stand any longer, her legs are about to give out from the commotion. This was not the blind date she was expecting either. It’s been at least four years since she last saw Harry. The night after he finally admitted being in love with her, waiting for a reaction, anything from her, after what seemed like hours but was only ten minutes later, he walked out of her house and entire life, leaving her confused and upset.

“How’ve you been?” she asked after confirming that Harry wasn’t going to up and leave.

“Pretty fantastic, until you arrived.” He’s never spoken to her like that before, with so much affliction in his tone. “What are you doing here?”

“I was set up on a blind date by Pixie—

He interrupts her. “That’s fucking convenient, did you all went to this much trouble, just to mock me? I thought they were my friends, you know, that even after everything, they cared about me.” Harry stops, his voice breaks, he’s so angry, hurt and confused by the situation. “Did your husband come along, to witness my humiliation too?” He looks around, trying to find the man of Jane’s dreams.

“I wouldn’t know if he’s here, haven’t seen him since we got divorced three years ago.” She snaps before hiding behind the menu from a gobsmacked Harry.

The words he’d been waiting to hear were finally out of her mouth. Unlike the million times he dreamt about this happening, Harry is not sweeping her off her feet and running away into the sunset holding her hand. Instead he reaches out to touch her arm, testing the waters. He waits for her to lower the menu and surprisingly there are no tears in her eyes. Perhaps only a bit of sorrow that is quickly replaced with confusion, at how fast her heart raced after Harry’s touch.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice is back to oozing the tenderness he reserves just for her. Jane nods.

“But can we share a rice bowl and Pho noodle soup?” 

“Yes, and dessert too!” Even after four years Harry’s sweet tooth hasn’t changed, Jane sighs before the waiter is back to take their order.

Keeping a conversation between the two of them is not hard at all, even if it is an awkward topic —her not so recent divorce. “We didn’t have anything in common anymore, there were so many fights every single day. When I finally suggested the separation, he seemed relieved and I felt like a complete fool.” Jane remembers the sigh of comfort that came out of the man she once loved with all her heart before that rainy afternoon, when she finally decided that she’d had enough. “He left that night, hadn’t seen him since, his lawyer took care of everything,” a sour laugh escapes her lips, Harry’s eyes are full of sympathy for her. “I’m sorry for ruining your blind date, I know you’ve never been to one before.” Of course she did, she knows him better than anyone.

“This has to be the greatest date I’ve ever been to.” He speaks without a second thought. 

All those years Harry spent away from Jane were not going to be in vain. He was not going to neglect the feelings he still had for her. That affection he felt for her, only her. Harry shifts in his seat, this is not at all how he planned it, in a restaurant full of people on fucking Valentine’s day. It almost seemed like a tacky move.

But after all this time of pining for her, hating her and himself at times. Harry was brave enough, it was now or never, he didn’t want to wait any longer, not after his friends schemed and executed this soppy plan to bring the two soulmates together. Before she could take the final bite of dessert that Harry kindly left for her. The world stopped.

“I don’t want this to end...” Harry says with a dimpled smile she can’t look away from. “I’d like to take you out on a second date, a third, fourth, fifth. Believe me when I tell you, I have planned up to a thousand of them.” He takes her hand in his and can feel her pulse race along his own. The smile splits his face again, because he knows, he feels, he sees it in her beautiful eyes. “Janey, you’re the first person I’ve ever wanted to hold on to. I know there is a name for this emotion, I’ve written songs about it, but now I don’t think it’s a word big enough for us.”

She squeezes his hand and breaths out a laugh, tears of joy brimming out of her eyes. “Let’s call it love, until we come up with a better name for it.” Harry agrees and just then, Jane brings up his hand to her lips. 

His skin tingles where she kisses him for the first time and he beams at her.

There’s a first for everything, and although it feels like it for Jane and Harry, this isn’t by any means the first time they confess their love for each other. It was always there, in every laugh they shared, every song they wrote together, every touch. It was on Harry’s unwavering devotion, on his impatience and selfless actions throughout the years.

They were bound to be together, their story didn’t begin on that initial blind date, it did years ago after he caught a glimpse of her shiny black hair on the morning she moved into the house across the street.

Harry drives her back to her new flat on the other side of the city, enjoying every minute of the long ride, happy to hear her ramble about her newest obsession with romantic novels and burst out laughing after Jane confesses that sometimes she doesn’t finish reading books she likes, just to pretend the story keeps going. With a quick kiss to the back of her hand he completely agrees.

No tale is more compelling than one that never ends.

[unprofessional-bard]

Out of Touch

Pairing: Jacob Frye x Reader

Warnings: Jacob being Jacob (aka a lot of teasing/flirting), just some grabbing around (nothing to explicit), angsty at first but ends with a slightly heated fluff.

Summary: Jacob has been your bodyguard for the past month under strict orders from poor Evie who had been dealing with your father's unnecessary worrying. Jacob is a rough, reckless man who killed and you were the daughter of a man who had taught you manners and raised you as if you were royalty. Two complete opposites... right?

Author's Note: Okay nsjdjdjdsjns this is basically a Han/Leia AU... I've watched the originals again and wanted to write a fic with their chemistry: a scoundrel and a princess - Jacob and my lovely readers 😚 And of course a big thank you to @marshmallow--3 for helping me when I got stuck while writing 😊💘

This fic is for readers of all genders! If I've written anything that says otherwise please please please let me know!

Enjoy!

"Ugh!" You huffed for the umpteenth time that day because of the boredom eating away at you. All you had been doing for the past month was to sit on your armchair in the library with a hawk watching over you. Or should you say, a rook?

A rather handsome rook at that.

"What is it now, your highness?" Your supposed bodyguard groaned at you.

"Would you stop calling me that?" You snarled at him as you pushed the wood in the fireplace around with the steel poker. The poker was dirtier than you imagined, which annoyed you even more as your hands got covered in ash and dust. "This whole being stuck at home thing is really getting on my nerves..."

Jacob gave you an offended look: "You've been stuck in a big, empty house with the most handsome man in all of London for the longest time, yet you still complain - unbelievable..."

You didn't bother looking at him as you walked to the door. If it were your first week with Jacob, you'd be gasping, throwing a book his way, yelling at him to shut up with his infuriating flirting; but you were used to it by now and chose to ignore him for the sake of your nerves.

You were born in London, but your family moved to Paris when you were younger and now, ten years later, you were back in London -not as settlers but as guests- with your father. Your mother had passed before you could begin your assassin training and it wounded your father deeply, leading him to cancel your training and keep you out of the "assassin" business. It didn't anger you before because you didn't care, grieving and moving on from your mother's passing took a toll on you and it took too long. When you turned 16 however, you started realising what a great opportunity your father had taken away from you and so you've been upset with him ever since. Five years had passed and here you were, stuck with a reckless assassin named Jacob, who's father was friends with your own for a long time until his recent passing.

The reason you were stuck in the house with the said assassin was nothing but for your own safety, at least that's what you've been told by a variety of people. How hard was it to put you in a carriage and let you sail back to France?

Too hard apparently. You didn't even really know why your father was in London in the first place. He kept saying "assassin business" and hid things from you, why did he even bother bringing you along in the first place?

"Remind me, for how long more will I be stuck with you?" You walked to the living room, Jacob right behind you.

"Two more weeks," he shrugged. "Why, bored of me already, your worshipfulness?"

You sighed loudly in irritation, to which he replied: "I bet I can get you to make those sounds with my-"

"Will you shut your gob?!" You turned around, eyes and arms wide open, shouting at him. "The audacity you have, if you were half the person your sister was-"

"Oh don't bother," Jacob spoke suddenly with a tone you haven't heard before. "I'm too 'wild' and 'vulgar' and 'rebellious' for the likes of you people, I know. Spare me the lecture."

Your anger cooled down and you almost felt sorry for him, thinking about how upsetting it must be to always being compared to someone, not better than him, but different. He didn't look you in the eye as he turned around to leave.

"I just wish that you'd cut it out when you're told to cut it out," you said quietly, not wanting to start up a fight with him. "Anyways... I am going out."

That made him halt in his tracks and turn around: "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me." You said, determined. "I am going out and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

"Oh, trust me, you don't want to know the amount of ways I can stop you from taking another step," he said, still shocked.

"Well, I don't care. You either come with me or stay out of my way because I am going ou-" Just as you were reaching for the door handle, you felt your body being pulled backwards and pressed harshly against the wall.

"Good lord-" you gasped involuntarily. He was pressing against your body from behind, your face trapped between the wall and his face which was only inches apart from yours. "You make it so difficult sometimes."

"I do, I really do..." Jacob nodded as he held you in place but he wasn't hurting you . "You could be a little nicer though. Eh, admit it, sometimes you think I'm bearable."

A moment of silence settled between you as you pushed him off yourself and turned around, still leaning against the wall, rubbing your wrist: "Occasionally- maybe, when you're not acting like a rotter."

"Rotter?" He raised a brow at you. "Rotter..." he repeated as he very slowly closed the space between you two and gently grabbed your wrist. He smirked like the rascal he was as he carefully massaged your wrist - you both knew it wasn't hurt at all. "I like the sound of that."

It took you a short moment to realise what he was doing: "Stop that."

"Stop what?" He asked, confused.

"Stop that," you repeated, trying to pull your wrist away from his big hands; "my hands are dirty."

"My hands happen to be dirty too, your majesty. What are you afraid of?" His voice was low and it couldn't have been deeper.

"Afraid?" You tried to act confused as you felt the distance between you close even more.

"You're trembling..." he pointed out.

"I'm not trembling," you tried to chuckle but instead your voice trailed off.

At this point, he was towering over you: "You like me because I am a rotter... There aren't enough 'rotter's in your life."

"I happen to like polite men-"

"I am a polite person," his nose brushed against yours and it was then, you realised, he almost had you.

Just before he could close the little distance between you entirely, you pushed him off with little force and immediately went out the door.

Jacob was absolutely stunned at your sudden act and followed you out: "Oi!"

You smirked to yourself as you skipped around the streets amongst the throng of people, thinking that Jacob will have a hard time finding you and dragging you back home. Ten minutes were all you needed and before he knew it, you'd be back as if you hadn't stepped outside at all.

Well, you were wrong.

Just after three minutes of walking around the streets you finally took a turn and stopped to rest on an empty alley, but only after 20 seconds of freedom and starting to feel joyful because of finally being by yourself, you were harshly grabbed by your waist and shoulders once more and were pulled into a small cabinet behind you.

You yelped but a big, familiar hand muffled the sound as it closed over your mouth.

After you stopped moving and stood still, Jacob dropped his hand onto your shoulder and the other remained around your waist. Your back was, once more, pressed tightly against him; his breathing on your neck sending involuntary shivers down your spine.

"Let go," you demanded quietly.

"Sshh-" Jacob ignored you. You weren't exactly sure what he was up to, but it was starting to become suffocating in there.

"Let go, please..." you asked, softer this time. Although he wasn't pressing you down entirely and you could easily move out of his hold like you did minutes ago, Jacob noticed how you weren't really fighting to get out of there but decided to reply anyway.

"Don't get excited now," He whispered half arrogantly and half disturbed.

"Well, Mr. Frye, being held by you isn't quite enough to get me excited."

But your reply seemed to excite him: "I'm sorry love, but we haven't really got the time to do anything else at the moment."

Jacob let go of you just in time as some nasty looking Blighters finished passing by and stepped out of the cabin with you.

You straightened your clothing as Jacob growled: "Do you have a death wish? What were you thinking?!"

"Perhaps I do," you replied angrily but you didn't raise your voice at him. "What do you care? Other than getting an earful from Evie and your little gang of assassins?"

"Your father-"

"Of course," you sighed. "But you needn't worry, Jacob. If he cared about me even in the slightest, he would've respected my choices and left me back in Paris instead of getting me into this mess."

"But he does care about you, a lot in fact."

"Really?" You asked, smiling bitterly. "If he had cared from the beginning, I would've been an assassin now and we both wouldn't have been stuck in that cursed house for weeks! Maybe if he didn't wail as he does with everything and lost himself in his assassin business and actually cared for me, then he would've made sure I could take care of myself instead of 'protecting me from the dangers of the world!'"

You didn't realise the tears rolling down your face as you finished yelling at the once more stunned Jacob. After a moment of quiet, you began sobbing and broke down, falling onto your knees.

Jacob calmly approached you and kneeled down beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and putting his hands on them.

"Please take me home," you sobbed quietly as you leaned in to rest your head on his chest. He didn't move while you cried a little more and thought about how hard it must've been for you. He couldn't imagine what he'd do if he wasn't an assassin and he understood your frustrations with your father.

He gently moved and picked you up bridal style. You had neither the energy nor the state of mind to fight him about it and let him carry you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying his head in the crook of his neck.

"Hmph," Jacob hummed thoughtfully as he aimed his rope launcher to the edge of a roof. "Hold on tight love."

"What do you me-" you began but got interrupted when you heard a thwip, then a far away clang from above you; and just as you felt Jacob's arm tightening its grip, with a whoosh, you suddenly gasped.

In a matter of seconds, you were launched in the air and landed on a rooftop in Jacob's strong hold. How did we not fall?! you thought.

"Jacob!"

He switched your position from his arms to his back: "If this doesn't excite you, I don't know what will." he said smugly and just as you hugged his back tighter, he repeated the motion with the rope launcher and down you went.

You were surprised at how strong both Jacob and the rope was as it carried you across the sky, downwards to your house. It took maybe a little over a minute but it felt like more - and it certainly did pump some adrenaline through your veins. You shouted and laughed all the way through which put a different kind of smile on Jacob's lips.

You both almost fell over when you landed, but Jacob grabbed your legs and found his balance. You were right in front of your door, which made you sad as you had the most splendid time in a long while. When he let go of your legs, you only grabbed onto him tighter.

"What's this then?" Jacob smirked as he tried to turn his head around when you didn't let go. He could feel your heart beating on his back and it was still beating like crazy.

"Your grace demands that you carry them into their chambers," you demanded in an exaggerated way and smirked backed. "You asked for this, I told you to stop calling me those names."

"Very well," he sighed in defeat and adjusted your form on his back, then went to open the door. If this was all it took to make you smile, then so be it.

Jacob carried you all the way upstairs to your room but instead of dropping you on your bed right away, he somehow effortlessly switched back to the bridal hold.

Your smirk dropped from your lips as you noticed that you were trapped in his hold. He gazed at you for a while -your disheveled hair, your beautiful eyes, crimson cheeks that matched your perfect lips- and then slowly lowered you onto your bed, but as he did, he carefully climbed on top of you; he gave you enough time and space to tell him to stop or push him off, but you didn't.

Jacob moved closer until your noses touched and quietly asked: "May I have my kiss now?"

Without hesitation, but slowly, you lifted your head up and connected your lips with his in a soft, passionate kiss; he, however, immediately grabbed your face and pressed you back onto the bed.

Incredible was one way to put it, arousing was another, but you truly couldn't find the words to explain how utterly delicious that kiss was. Your hands were quick to find their place, cupping his face, his beard an absolute delight to feel on your fingertips.

Just as everything was getting more heated, however, there was a calling of your name along with Jacob's from downstairs.

"Damn..." you cursed, breathless.

"We'll continue this darling... later." Jacob smirked devilishly, he was as out of breath as you were. He quickly jumped off you while you called your father.

You both quickly fixed your attire and went out of your room to greet your father. A sour expression settled on your face, which Jacob noticed. He quickly but gently pushed you against a wall and gave you another toe curling kiss.

"Thank you, Jacob..." you managed to say when he detached his lips from yours. "For today- for everything, really. Much as you infuriated me, you also made this past month more bearable."

"My my, is this a confession?" Jacob said with a brow up.

"Don't get cocky," you pushed him off and went downstairs.

Maybe it was a confession, maybe it wasn't, nevertheless it would be better if you kept it to yourself, for you'll be on your way back to Paris in two weeks.

... But then again, you could make your last two weeks more interesting. He said it himself, you two weren't done yet - it wouldn't hurt to have a little fun and make this a memorable trip, right?

[scribbleseas]

The Indignant Pawn, Chapter II: The Woman In Beige

Description: You are Y/n Y/l/n- formerly known as Princess Helena, the runaway princess.

You're an assassin for hire who only agrees to find the worst of London's criminals at the business end of your knife; until a mysterious woman hires you to end the likes of Ciel Phantomhive, the King of the Underworld. You find yourself trading your weapons for your abandoned family crest in order to infiltrate his home as none other than Princess Marie-Louise, your twin sister. What's to happen when you find that the young Earl is more than a callous businessman?

OVERALL STORY WARNINGS: sexual assault, objectification, death, detailed description of blood/gore, detailed description of murder, lying, impersonation, theft, weapons, detailed panic attacks, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

Author’s Note: If you have any questions or concerns about these warnings, please don’t hesitate to contact me! Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

-Dan

⇠ PREVIOUS CHAPTER  | NEXT CHAPTER ⇢

. . .

DECEMBER 17TH, 1891

LONDON, ENGLAND

The outside of the Globe theater was alight with bustling crowds as Oscar Wilde's London premiere of Salome had just concluded for the evening.

You were never partial towards theater. In fact, it made you wonder how a show could captivate such a diverse audience, as you watched formally clothed aristocrats and their servants cringed amongst the middle-class plebeians as they exited the theater through the matching front doors. Little did they know, the real show would take place inside of the closed carriage you waited in, peering through the red blind that covered it. Your thumb ran over the smooth pommel of your dagger. You focused on its smooth entirety as you sat back in the carriage to wait, distracting yourself from the consuming darkness.

Thankfully, Felix Keating, the wealthiest factory owner from Birmingham, valued his privacy. He opted for a carriage that had a single window on the door. This made his carriage an ideal place for you to intervene and elude any potential witnesses, considering the man had little to no time alone. In your case, it was less than optimal, but strategically, it was going to do the trick.

You stared at the wall of the carriage across from you before squeezing your eyes shut. You tried to focus on something concrete- perhaps the weight of your weapon, the tickle that your wool scarf gave your lip as it concealed the bottom half of your face. You inhaled deeply, reaching out for the drape of the window to let a fraction of light, but you froze and for a moment, you were...gone. When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself in the hallway of your home, a lantern burning dimly in your hand as you heard two men talking- one voice familiar, the other strange.

'Lass? I haven't the slightest-'

'Just hand over the money and we won't have to blow no one's brains outta their skulls.'

Gunshots. Blood.

'Has she already been broken in? Lord knows what she was doing here with that old bum.'

'Doesn't matter, she's ours now, isn't that right?'

'Whore?'

Cold.

Piercing pain in your neck reminded you that you were in a carriage with years of difference from that morning. You had a job to do as you heard approaching steps and the posh voice of the factory owner himself. Before sinking to the corner furthest from the door, you took a generous inhale of the drafty air and focused on how it filled your lungs, rather than the poorly timed panic that the darkness insisted on showing you towards. You wiggled your toes in your black boots and wrinkled your nose, which served as tics that you had cautiously picked out years ago to help ground yourself when necessary. You held the dagger in your hand, the blade ready to pierce a sinner's flesh.

"That playwright will bring tears to the steeliest of lads. Quite brilliant. I must write to Wilde," Felix Keating's dulcet voice sounded as his coachman greeted him. "Reckon I could stick my nose into the theater enterprise, Her Majesty is quite interested in renovating these rubbish theaters," Keating mused, his muffled voice growing closer by the step.

"A clever investment, Mr. Keating," the coachman validated as you hugged your legs, making yourself smaller in the corner of the carriage, your head down and hood up. The door opened and you held your breath, as your heart pounded against your ribcage in protest. "May I offer you extra linens for warmth? The wind's just startin' up."

This wasn't the first time you've had to hide in order to carry out an assignment, yet the adrenaline between waiting and pouncing was always riveting.

"Ah, no Horace, I'll be 'right," Keating took his seat, more focusing on lighting his cigar. The scent caused you to tense, reminding you of the conman, someone smoked as if his life depended on it. He was a smart man that would scold you for the way you grew past his death. He'd be disappointed in you, a relentless advocate for diplomacy. Ask questions, shoot later.

"Right. If you change your mind, you gimme a holler," Horace, the coachman, shut the door as Keating settled himself with an exasperated sigh. He pushed the short drapes that were concealing the window, allowing the city lights to illuminate the small quarters and simply watched the street go by as Horace told the horse to "get walkin".

Without wasting another moment, you got to your feet, your dagger precariously reflecting light that shone through the window.

"Who is it? Who's there-" Keating started to shout, immediately sitting to attention as you used the whole of your arm's strength to shove him back against the wall that he was previously reclining against. Your nondominant hand barely fit around the circumference of his clammy neck, but nevertheless you were able to force his head back completely, his torso following in suit. You squeezed firmly, your fingers digging into the warm flesh and you could feel his hurried pulse with ease as you kept your back straight and legs strong. The angle was awkward, seeing as you were bent over in a moving carriage, but your balance was more than you gave it credit for. "Why- please!" he gasped for air, his glasses low on his nose, threatening to fall to the floor. "Stop! I have...money! Take anything you want. H-Horace!"

"Shut up!" Unintentionally, your grip tightened as you shoved his head back into the wall again, causing Keating's extinguished cigar to fall on the cushioned seat next to him. His hands flailed in panic as his chest tensed with effort as he tried to yell out to Horace again. "Maggie Calvert," you snarled as your petticoats moved with your short steps closer. Your nose could have touched his while you held his sightline. You adjusted your hold on the wooden handle of your dagger in your dominant hand before impelling the blade between his fourth and fifth ribs and close to his midline. "This is for her."

His body froze, his mouth agape. You couldn't tell if he recognized the name, but you wanted him to. A greedy businessman of his caliber deserved to think about someone other than himself during his last few moments alive. You pushed your dagger until both quillions were making contact with his white shirt. You have the dagger a small jerk for maximum damage before pulling it out, allowing blood to immediately gush out of his wound. Finally, your heart rate was beginning to slow with the rush of merely completing the task and you let go of his neck, your fingers aching from being tense. Keating was choking as he tried to yell or scream, or perhaps curse you, but the blood that was rushing into his collapsing lung was going to keep him from doing so.

"Maggie Calvert," you repeated solemnly, using Keating's long coat to clean off your dagger and tuck it into your pocket bag, one of the two large pouches that were nestled between your skirts. The body was limp and the strangled hacking had finally come to a stop. After all, the blood had stained your stomacher as it had come up through his mouth during his final moments of struggle. However, the compensation you were about to receive for this task would more than cover it. Unfortunately, it left Horace with more than a mess to clean up. Blood was a stubborn substance.

. . .

DECEMBER 20TH 1891

BIRMINGHAM, ENGLAND

Before you could knock, the door of the brick building flew open, causing you to jump in surprise.

"Miss Y/l/n," Eric Calvert's muddy green eyes were glassy with unshed tears as you pushed the hood of your cloak off of your neck out of respect for the modest home. The housing in Birmingham, an industrial town, was much different than London's. It was more compact, the air was more polluted with factory smoke. The Calverts seemed to be better off than most common families, but that meant nothing in this case. Factory conditions were poor, even after the reform laws from the 1830s. You were blessed to be introduced to more lucrative work upon your arrival- drawing money straight out of pockets with the most genuine man to have strolled down the cemented walkways of the city. "Please, come right in," he gestured with his gloved hand, moving out of your way as he removed his hat and bowed.

"Mr. Calvert," you offered a tight-lipped smile at the bowing man. In the hand that pressed against his chest, Eric pressed his grey hat into it, like a proper gentleman. The gesture had only fed into your discontentment, while Eric seemed no better off. You weren't blind to the pallid shade of his face, the withheld energy in his stance. "You mustn't bow to me," you assert, waiting for the man to right himself as he frowned.

"Oh, please... Mr. Calvert's my father." Eric said with a miffed shake of his head, raking his fingers through his sloppy waves of hair. The two of you walked down the short hall that led into a big foyer. A fireplace was on the far side with several articles of outerwear hanging on the mantle to help warm them from snow, you presume. The scent of the burning wood brings you a foreign nostalgia that ideally, you would've failed to notice. The past deserved to stay where it belonged- in the past. The only hearth you were to be a part of was your own.

"Evelyn, dear! Draw some tea, she's come back!" Eric called his wife, who seemed busy in the kitchen that was located in an attached room. "Hurry!" You presumed that he felt apprehensive about being left alone with you, which was fair.

"Just a minute!" Evelyn called from the attaching room, the door left ajar. You were right to assume that it was a kitchen of some form, seeing as the general layout of this building resembled that of your own home, the fuss of her brown petticoats catching your eye. You wished she'd move with more urgency. You had yet to eat properly, seeing as you were more occupied with moving efficiently over the past day or two. At least the vicinity was warm, allowing you to pull off your thick gloves and tuck them into either pocket bag as Eric led you to a small area near the fireplace. There were two big loveseats across from each other and with a rug in between. The cushions were patched together with random sheets of fabric.

There was a single photograph in a hanging frame over the fireplace's mantle, the glass dirty. It was Eric and Evelyn, jubilant in light, fancy clothing as they cradled their baby girl between them. You understood how the couple found themselves in such desperation to acquaint themselves with someone like you when they had once smiled without any semblance of malignity. She was stolen from them, and it had seemed that the world was prepared to let the men at fault see their own children grow up. You were the one to right that wrong- by driving your knife between the ribs of Felix Keating and watching him choke as blood filled his lungs. His eyes tearing as he begged for mercy when Maggie Calvert, who was no more than nine, died in his workhouse because of his cheaply built machinery. She wasn't given a chance, so who was Keating to think he deserved one?

"She'll be uh...right out," Eric smiled at you again, repeating the words of his wife, those of which you had no problem hearing. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the uncomfortable way he held himself, as opposed to the haughty attitude he sported during your first meeting. He was dubious that a mere lady like yourself (months shy of twenty) could hurt a fly, much less hold a body count to her name. Yet the morning prior, the bustling headlines of The Daily Telegraph reached Birmingham, selling quickly as they covered the murder of Felix Keating, owner of many iron manufacturing factories who narrowly escaped an immense prison sentence for a major accident in his Birmingham factory a week before.

"Oh my, Eric," Evelyn entered the main room, precariously balancing a steaming teapot and a modest spread of small bites on a tarnished, silver tray. "Where have your manners gone?" she tutted, setting it down on the oakwood table before turning her attention to you. Her blonde hair was tied in a disheveled bun, droopy and with tendrils falling out of it like spider legs that swayed as she moved.

"My manners?" Eric began to protest, only to be interrupted by his wife again. You found their dynamic as a couple quite refreshing. After all, you would not have been there, had Evelyn worked to contact you without her husband's knowledge.

"Miss Y/l/n, allow me to take your cloak," Evelyn gestured to the many hooks that were nailed into the fireplace mantle where there were drying articles of clothing hanging, narrowly dodging the short flames.

It was difficult to compel yourself to smile, but the corners of your lips turned upwards anyhow. There was a line where social niceties ended and another where gullible kindness started. This was the latter as they knowingly welcomed you, a murderer into their home because you made an ally out of yourself. "Don't trouble yourself any more than you have, Mrs. Calvert. My time here is brief," you found satisfaction when she shook her head and began to pour you a cup of the steaming tea, despite your words. Thankfully, she made no attempt to sit with you.

"Brief?" Evelyn repeated, gently passing the delicate teacup to you. The warmth spread over your palms on contact as you brought the rim to your lips. Your hold was improper, though necessary, seeing as the finest details are what make the best disguises. Only the wealthy held their teacups with so much consideration. Besides, the warmth was much more satisfying when it went beyond the tips of your fingers. "I reckon a woman such as yourself is a tad busy," she concurred, causing you to tense in surprise. You were rarely referred to as a woman.

"Quite," you mused after her, taking a contemplative sip of your tea. "I ought to be at the station in less than an hour," you lied, gently tapping the tips of your short nails on the warm cup. All that was necessary was payment and crucial parting words. The assorted bites on the tray were beginning to seem unappealing, the longer you stood there. "But we must discuss a few things-" you start, only to be interrupted by Evelyn, which was common.

"Your fee. We have the first installment," she gestured to Eric with her chin, her smile long gone as he offered a small pouch made of different, threadbare, fabrics. While you had already discounted your normal charge for the couple's situation, they could hardly afford a fraction of the sum.

"We've tried to save as much as possible. Take it. It's the least we can do at the time," Eric spoke, linking his arm with his wife's. Reluctantly, you hold your cup in one hand and deftly slide the pouch into the pocket bag between your petticoats. They would have felt worse if you refused to take their money. After all, you avenged the silenced death of their girl.

"It's plenty, thank you," after finishing the rest of your tea, you proceed with your original thought before they could try to pass their relief for protest. You had to recite the practiced discourse that you gave to every one of your patrons before making your leave. "Now, the two of you will be suspects to the Yard, be cautious," you put emphasis on your words by meeting each of their gazes. "You must avoid London and keep your heads down. Do you understand?"

"And... what happens to you?" Eric asked, sipping out of his own teacup. His shoulders were still unnaturally squared and attentive as he actively avoided your sightline. "Where are you off to?" his focus quickly turned to Evelyn, who was untangling her arm from his and bringing the tray back into the kitchen.

"The distance from Birmingham to London is great, she'll starve before she returns!" Evelyn stopped to yell from over her shoulder before leaving the door open behind her. In the kitchen, she promptly began to wrap the biscuits in napkins.

"Nevermind me," you coaxed Eric back to the conversation by answering his question. You smiled once again as you put your cup on the table and begin to put your gloves back on their respective hands. "You need to make certain that you both have an alibi for the night of December 17th, I cannot stress this enough, Mr. Calvert," you looked up from your gloves, pulling them so they covered your forearms again.

"I assure you, Miss Y/l/n. We were both working in that refinery- until dawn," you had no doubt about the truth to that statement, though any Peeler would press further. That part was to the Calverts to handle, seeing as you had played out your role. Pursing your lips, you took a generous inhale to soothe the ominous pit of anxiety that had settled in your stomach.

"Sure," you pulled your hood back over your head as Evelyn returned with a minute basket. It was covered and you wished you still had your appetite from when you had entered their home.

"Here you are," Evelyn allowed you to take the handle in your non-dominant hand. In a city, it was always smartest to have your dominant hand free, which was yet another insignificant habit that you had inherited from the old conman. What was the date? December 20th, which meant there were still a few weeks before it was the anniversary of his death. Otherwise, the most difficult twenty-four hours to bear out of a calendar year.

Evelyn was smiling, but it didn't reach her eyes. After all, for most women, motherhood was a privilege and it had been torn away from her. She was attempting to care for you as she would have for Maggie...had she lived to nineteen. Tears were welling in her eyes as she watched your hand extend to briefly touch her shoulder. "Take care," you said, finally meeting Eric's green hues that were tearing up as well. "I can show myself out," you shook your head dismissively when he moved to go to the front door with you. Evelyn needed to be coddled more than you did.

. . .

JANUARY 5TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

Evenings at home always unsettled you, being the start of an all-too boring night, which made you feel restless- itchy for action. Rather, your quiet home always put you on the height of your guard, even as you were sitting behind the short shed, submerging your assorted gowns and petticoats into the warm, soapy water that bubbled in your wooden tub. It was a tedious, once a week process that perhaps irked you more than cooking. With a huff, you directed your stress into the iron grip that you kept your washboard upright with, rubbing fabric over its ridges.

The water made your fingers prune and the stool under you caused your bottom to grow sore, the longer you had to sit there, toiling away until each article was hanging on your makeshift clothesline- fastened with pins. When you were a girl, you had about twice the amount to wash and yet, you enjoyed the task because there were two more hands to make light, fun work of it. The conman liked to sing to pass the time- the lyrics had taken you ages to comprehend, seeing as your English had challenged for years. He was anything but a schoolteacher.

You cringed as your hand slid down the washboard too quickly, causing the hot water to splash back up at your face. The weather was foul, the winter in London was always tempestuous and the warm water on your face had only reminded you of how little warmth your wool scarf provided. It was wrought with holes by now, but you couldn't bring yourself to give it away, you've had it from the day you arrived...nine years ago. Dismissing the thought, you allowed the cooling water to run down your forehead, passing the slope of your nose, until it finally fell and assimilated with the top of your stomacher.

You squeezed the wet petticoat, turning it in order to ring the water out. Although you could have been more thorough, the boredom that came with domestic chores was causing you to rush and find something more occupying to start. The tranquility of the night was eerie, an uneasy contrast to the violent life you led.

The sound of approaching voices caused you to pause, your hands pulling the washboard out of the water to hold, ready to swing. The petticoat that you had been wringing out fell back into the wooden tub with a quiet splash. The soap suds ran down your forearms, dampening the brown sleeves of your gown.

"No entiendo por qué la señora quiere una chica. Podríamos bombardear el sitio de Phantomhive más rápido que esta pérdida de tiempo," the voice of a woman spoke quickly, in a language that you couldn't identify. A denomination of Latin? Knitting your eyebrows, you conceded, deciding to focus on what you could understand. Bombard, Phantomhive. Bomb?

Vaguely, you recognized the name 'Phantomhive' from the newspaper. The Earl Phantomhive ran the Funtom Company, children's' toys and confectionery.

"Quiere su nombre lo más lejos posible de esto. La chica es una asesina exitosa, así que sería más discreta que los explosivos," a masculine voice responded, a stiff twig cracking beneath one of their shoes. You scowled as you shifted your weight from your left side to your right. The washboard was a viable weapon, but it was simply a matter of timing. Their silhouettes were getting closer, each short and clad in neutral earth tones.

"A menos que te interese en enredarte con ese mocoso," the man chuckled. He wasn't secretive or trying to be discreet. By the way he trudged, he was probably leaving deep tracks in the slushy excuse for snow.

"No tengo un deseo de muerte, a diferencia de ti. Callado!!" The woman said, her voice suddenly at a harsh whisper.

"Ah. There," the man spoke in English, finally a language that you could comprehend. "Y/n Y/l/n?" He asked, pulling down his scarf to expose the rest of his face. In comparison to yours, his accent was much thicker. Your grip on the washboard didn't waver.

"Who are you?" You demanded, stepping forward to stand your ground as they approached you. The pair wasn't visibly armed, their figures weren't particularly threatening to you. The man merely smiled at you while the woman to his side scowled.

"Diego- and uh, Carmen. Peace! We come in...uh, peace," Diego stammered, stopping at a respectful distance from you while showing you his empty hands as they beckoned with his rapid words. He seemed amused with your choice in weapon and assertive stance. "Carmen," he elbowed the sour-faced woman, causing her to grunt and hold her gloved hands up as he was.

"What brings you here?" They must have knocked at your door and came around when there was no response and a dim light behind the shack. Their winter gear suggested that they had some tier of wealth or deft hands in thievery. If it was business, this wouldn't be the first time you were asked to aid in stealing. However, as tempting as the offers were, you turned each one down. 

"Business." Carmen answered this time, her hand slowly reaching into her jacket pocket. "No fret. Is just a letter," her English was just as mediocre as yours had been, years ago. Your eyes followed her hand as she pulled out an envelope with a dark red seal. "Business for our...líder?" She explained and looked at the man, leaving a long pause before her last word. It was essentially 'leader', but the stress was on an 'i' sound instead.

"Yes. Leader," Diego cleared his throat in a weak attempt to mask a laugh as you dropped your washboard back into the washbasin with a short splash. You ignored him as you took the letter from the woman, your wet hand causing the ink on the front to smear. It read your name, Y/n Y/l/n, in a pompous script, the illegible type that royalty and aristocrats penned. "All you needa know is there."

The Undertaker was supposed to be the partition between yourself and clients. Who did he think he was to give these servants your address? You'd have to give him a stern reminder for the next time you cross paths. With a frown, you pushed the envelope into your pocket bag, allowing it to jut out due to its dimensions.

"Is this all?" You asked as you waited for them to either leave or proceed with more broken commentary. Your lips were pressed together in a tight purse, a fresh lump of apprehension growing in your stomach. However, you couldn't let it show as the man sheepishly removed his hat with a shallow bow. It was more unctuous than anything as it only caused your scowl to deepen.

"Yes, Miss. We can... be going now," Diego righted himself and put his hat back over his dark curly hair. You didn't offer either of than a proper dismissal for the favor of going back to your washing and ruminating over the letter. It merely had a location, date, and time with no further information. No explanation of identification. You could appreciate the impudent nature of it, as this 'leader' assumed you had no plans for January 10th or presumed that you would handle any conflicts yourself when they were approaching you for your services. It was crude of them to assume that you still took orders.

. . .

JANUARY 10TH, 1892

READING, ENGLAND

Perhaps it was curiosity or a lapse of judgment that led you to board a train and throw caution to the wind. Whatever it was, your default prudence seemed to abandon you at each instance you dared open the letter that you were given- if you could call it that. The paper inside merely had your name, a distinct address, time, and date all in a presumptuous formality that made you want to tear it to shreds. But you refrained and instead, rolled your shoulders back and down as you knocked on the painted door of the lofty residential home that coincided with the address in the letter. The walls were constructed with sturdy brick and there was smoke wafting out of the chimney. As you predicted, the entirety of the property before you suggested wealth, just as the note and the delivery had.

You knocked on the door, the letter in your hand as you waited several long, cold moments before a woman greeted you. Most of her features matched Carmen's, deep olive skin and brown hair that was tied back. "You are late," she spoke, disdain clear in her voice as she ushered you through the open door and into a foyer. You were only late by a few minutes, according to the clock on a passing wall. "My mistress is impatient," the woman added as an afterthought as if that fact was supposed to faze you into an apology. Her accent was quite notable, pronounced, and sharp like the other servants.

As she led you to a winding staircase as your gaze trained on each room that you passed. They were each decorated in a modest fashion and the colors were left to a simple tan palette. It was more simple than you would have expected from the manor's proud exterior. The woman cleared her throat, "Doña, she has arrived," she knocked twice on the closed door before opening it, revealing another woman. She stood behind a mahogany desk, watching you with relaxed shoulders. The bay window behind her illuminated the silk of her beige dress, contrasting her tan skin as it hugged her slender figure. Beige was uncommon at the time, given the dullness of it, although this woman wore it like a badge, using the simple color to allow other parts of her appearance to stand out.

"Leave us, Andrea," the woman's gaze had yet to leave yours, causing you to look away in mild discomfort. Once the door was closed again, she extended her hand to you, speaking again as you cautiously shook it. Her grip was confident and warm against your bare palm. "It is my pleasure, Princess Helena. I feared you would disregard dear Carmen and Diego." You retracted your hand, the name causing you to meet her eyes again.

"Y/n," You corrected, your mouth running dry as you calculated each of your words, down to the syllable. This foreign woman was able to unravel each of your lies within the latest nine years and frankly, it took every bit of your skill to remain composed. The conman would assess the person standing in front of him and decide if they were entitled to the truth that they were trying to extract. He would run through each advantage and disadvantage and return to the same conclusion- murder was always an option. After all, it was the only sure way of containing sensitive information. "Y/n Y/l/n," you repeated, causing the woman to laugh, her rounded cheeks eclipsing her eyes.

"We may both employ our pseudonyms, then. Address me as Doña," she sat in the red, cushioned chair behind her. Doña raised her eyebrows at you expectantly as she motioned towards the decidedly less opulent wooden chair across from her. You complied, frowning at her as she leaned towards you. Her smile only seemed to expand. "I have a task for you, Y/n. Only you can complete it for me."

"I know there are other services in London you might have requested," you contradicted, sitting back in the uncomfortable chair as you showed no qualms in testing her.

"No," Doña said with a simple shrug of her slender shoulders, "I need you to eliminate the Earl Phantomhive- the Queen's Guard Dog who puts an end to anyone she names. The graveyard to his name exceeds even yours. Although... it seems to be watered with the blood of the innocent, instead," her smile finally melted, causing her red lips to lay in a natural frown. In the streets of London, her lip color was enough to impose any of the filthiest assumptions about her.

"How does this concern me, specifically?" You asked. As your interest piqued, your eyebrows furrowed and you found yourself leaning towards the edge of the desk, rather than sitting slack against the wooden chair. The notion of the proprietor of a children's company having blood on his noble hands was more endearing than anything, especially to someone such as yourself, living substantial evidence that no one was who they appeared to be.

Your eyes followed Doña's hand as she opened a drawer in the desk, pulling out a pristine, folded newspaper. The masthead read 'DIE SUEDLlCHE POST' (THE SOUTHERN POST), a German newspaper with the headline of 'PRINZESSIN MARIE-LOUISE GIBT IHRE VERLOBUNG MIT PRINZ ARIBERT VON ANHALT BEKANNT' (PRINCESS MARIE-LOUISE ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT TO PRINCE ARIBERT OF ANHALT). There was a picture within the columns of words of your twin sister as she sported a gaudy dress and faux-smile as she beckoned the public into her personal life. Seeing Marie's matured face resemble yours so flawlessly was disarming and you only remembered to release a breath you had been holding when Doña spoke again. "The Queen trusts the Earl implicitly- enough to put the safety of her granddaughter in his...capable hands. At any mere threat, the Princess will come overseas to stay under his protection," she paused, smiling again as she unfurled the groundwork of a meticulous plan. "The monarchy is quite predictable, no?"

You had to give her credit for her unwavering confidence. The idea that she implied was beyond mad and yet, she sold it well. "We intercept her transportation before she reaches the port," Doña raised her chin as she explained, her expression smug to challenge you. Someone had trained her to manipulate others, just as the conman had done for you. She was reflecting your body language, while keeping her own polished mannerisms as a subtle attempt to establish trust, but express her own certitude.

"And you intend for me to take her place," you finished mapping out her plan for her, almost speaking in disbelief. Reclaiming your past? Your sister represented the whole of what you had resented in Germany; the wealth, the social faux pas, down to each ruffle of every gown. "Kill the Earl within his own estate," you bit the inside of your bottom lip, keeping yourself in the present.

The door opened behind you, the startling sound of a crying baby caused you to jump and turn your head to the source. A frazzled Andrea, the servant who greeted you, held a crying infant in her arms as it squirmed. "Doña, su hija te necesita ahora," she said, offending you as again as the two individuals conversed in a foreign tongue, ignoring your confusion.

At the sight of the distressed child, Doña's expression curled such as milk did. Her nose wrinkled, her eyes staring at it in disdain. Her glowered response came quickly as she gestured with her hands, "debes llevártela. Andrea, deberías saber mejor que interponerme cuando estoy ocupado con los negocios."

Immediately, and to your relief, Andrea left the office with a mumbled curse that you couldn't decipher. The baby was still crying. "You never learned Spanish?" Doña mused, her hands slowly returning to the wooden surface that separated herself and you. At least you had been correct in assuming it was from a Latin dialect. "That was my daughter," she explained with a careless shrug, causing you to frown. Your mother always spoke of you with the same amount of indifference, if not more than what this woman expressed, calling her daughter a 'that'. Bearing witness to that treatment left you vulnerable to frustration, an emotion that distracted you from the clear thinking you were trained to maintain.

"Earl Phantomhive," you said, bringing her back on topic before she could fiddle with your strained heartstrings any more. "It's a personal vendetta, is it not?"

"Ah. Correct," her face grew serious again as she brought her heavy stare back to yours. For a moment, you looked down at the newspaper- at your beaming sister and her Prince. "The Earl killed my husband after my whole family," Doña said as she shifted in her seat. Her eyes pried into your soul as if she was weighing each of your sins and virtue against each other in that moment. "I cannot rest until he feels the same anguish. What do you say?" She asked, raising her thin eyebrows, leaning forward in her seat.

For the first time that afternoon, you understood the woman sitting before you. You understood the lingering pain behind every smile, the loneliness behind her confident handshake. For that, you didn't need her to prove that the Earl was deserving of just intervention when normally, you required a means that ensured you that you weren't being sent to murder an innocent. The Calverts allowed you to read the court records of Keating's failed prosecution. But in this case, you recognized the raw emotion in her face. You saw it weekly in your employers and it used to stare back at you in the mirror...before you grew.

"Fine," your shoulders relaxed as you shifted in on the wooden chair, tempted to retreat, the more she invaded your space.

"We will begin our preparations immediately, then. We may discuss the finer details over tea."

. . .

JANUARY 17TH, 1892

READING, ENGLAND

"Diego and Carmen have returned," Doña entered your room without the formality of knocking, even though Andrea was in the middle of preparing you for your arrival to the Phantomhive Manor while you were attempting to keep yourself present. You gave your toes a discrete wiggle while they were crushed in tall heels. At least the slight pain was grounding. "Your personal effects will be included with ours," she added as a suggestion for you to respond. Over the week you had spent in her presence, you learned that talking to her was an exhaustive endeavor when most of the time, all you needed to do was listen. Meanwhile, Andrea was finishing your complicated hairstyle behind you. She tied strands of your hair into braids that led into a single low ponytail behind your head. Frankly, the steps she took had you standing there for ages, but you didn't protest, as opposed to the riot you always threw in Germany.

"At last," you stared at your reflection in the mirror before you, willfully ignoring the addition of her behind you. It was almost difficult to recognize yourself, considering you were staring at the visage of your sister, Marie as you dawned a sky blue gown that was embroidered with white designs around the bodice and top petticoat. The neckline had simple ruffles that covered the top of your stomacher, alternating with lace. Your skin was smooth to touch, almost delicate with the amount of cold cream that Andrea had insisted on smothering over every inch of you each morning and night. Even the apples of your cheeks were lightened with a gentle hand of pink rouge. "Putting that off to the last day was careless."

"At least our princess needs not to remember her privilege," Doña smarted, her red lips pursing in a sardonic grin. "Only her grace."

"And what of the princess?" You asked, turning away from yourself to give the packed trunks in your room a quick once over. They were each packed with fine clothing and luxury products that Doña had procured over the week, whilst important belongings of your own had just arrived, according to the woman herself. The conman's watch stayed with you for each task, whether you wore it, forced it into your pocket bag, or wrapped around a garter.

"Her steamship was supposed to dock about an hour ago. It should be in the process of sinking in the North Sea." The words had no effect on you, other than perhaps, relief. While Marie was your sister, you grew up in her looming shadow, her constant jibes, and haughty smiles. Her death secured your role in perhaps, one of the most complicated schemes you have ever dared take part in and did well to rid the world of another self-absorbed leech. Doña's hand gave your shoulder a patronizing pat as she smiled, "peace, Y/n. Your face is too young for frown lines. Remember, princesses haven't a care."

"You would know?" you asked, pressing your lips together and gathering your breath in a shallow inhale. The statement affected you more than it should have, but you blamed the superior tone that Doña attempted to pull over you. Although there were many years separating the two of you, it gave her no right to treat you as a child. You believed that Evelyn Calvert said it best- you were a woman, a lady that deserved every brutal sentiment that the world had to offer. "I believe the monarchy in Spain ended years ago."

"Someone did their reading."

"Enough," you glared, "I believe it would be best to allow Andrea to finish here. Before I stain this gown with your-" Andrea gave your hair a slight tug to tighten the hold before she gave you a quick once over. She seemed proud of her work- turning a runaway back into a princess. Quickly she patted a bit of power over the exposed junction between your neck and shoulders, adding some to your throat. Rather than making you appear paler, it was mostly translucent and served as a more natural aromatic while hiding blemishes. Andrea then left and quickly returned with a white coat that ran down to your mid-thigh. Deftly, she buttoned down the middle of it, closing both sides with little effort, seeing as it was made to be snug over all of your tight layers.

"-No, I believe that is quite enough, Y/n. Don't forget- we are allies, love." Doña reminded you with a smile. "In fact, I retrieved something else of yours to prove it," her hand disappeared into the deliberate fold of her pocket bag, revealing a small box. It was a black velvet that was soft in your hand. "Go on, she prompted, nodding at the box with her chin, "open." Slowly, you opened the box as it revealed a breathtaking emerald ring. The band's soft rose gold shone in the sunlight that came through the windows as small diamonds lined its circumference and outlined the expensive gem itself.

It couldn't be-

Your breath hitched as you took the ring out, putting the box on the vanity to your side as you looked at the interior of the band, your eyes wide as the engraving read 'Prinzessin Helena Victoria, 5/3' (Princess). It was your family ring, the exact one that you had given to a young boy because he was too poor to buy himself a proper jacket. All he wanted were a few coins for you to buy his newspaper, but you had no currency at the time. Instead, you gave him the ring and changed his life, rather than allowing the damned thing to burden you any more than it already had.

"That ring has seen...nearly all of Europe before returning to you," Doña said as she watched you slide the ring back over your satin glove. It fit your ring finger perfectly. Marie was made a completely identical ring, emerald, rose gold, and diamonds. You shared the same birthdate with her, being twins. "It would have been wiser to procure hers, but we must make do. You may never take it off." She was right. Though the ring was in fact, a smart decision to make your appearance more legitimate, the engraving could just as easily be the end of you.

"I understand." You confirmed, with a generous inhale. You felt your chest expand against the confining corset you wore.

"Andrea, ¿está lista ahora?" (Andrea, is she ready now?) Doña asked the servant, who was cradling her daughter, a chubby infant in her skinny arms, seeing as she finished tending to you. Andrea was not given enough credit, seeing as she took care of you, the baby, and everyone else within the household. She seemed to be around the age of Doña herself, perhaps younger, though missing a ring on her own finger. You owed her more respect than Doña, seeing as she took the time to teach you bits of conversational Spanish. Sitting in that house for a week while most individuals spoke in their native tongue was frustrating to you, and she cared enough to alleviate some of that pressure.

"Yes. You all should be going. Marie would have been near to our destination." Andrea said, before leaving your room to presumably, get Diego and Carmen to load the carriage with the aforementioned trunks. She left you and Doña alone, in temporary silence.

"Diego and Carmen are escorting you," she spoke, ushering you to leave the room behind her and start to the carriage that waited in front of the brick manor. "They are dock workers to you since the Queen called for finesse; minimum security." Marie's steamship was private- it made sense that she'd only have a few individuals as personnel. Although, they were likely dead at the bottom of the sea with the intended princess. "I will be in contact," her eyes, once again, stared into you, but you refused to falter. At a time like this, it was important to appear confident, even when there was residual panic racing through you.

"I won't be long," you replied, quite sardonically. The Earl Phantomhive was just a boy, about two years younger than you. He had a butler and four servants and an opulent estate that gave you plenty of opportunities, space, and minimal witnesses. You have surmised much harder conditions in the past, considering you've posed as a maid and drowned a woman in her own bathtub since she kidnapped and sold little girls to the highest bidder. That case had reached a particular soft spot within you, although it made you sensitive to the scent of rose water.

For a moment, you were back in that bathroom. The steam of the heated water hit your face in droplets as the curvaceous woman thrashed, her knees peeking out of the water, kicking. She was screaming, but it was garbled by the water as she choked on it. You had to use both of your soapy hands to press her forehead against the porcelain tub and apply moderate pressure around her trachea before she went limp...

"I'm sure," Doña rolled her eyes as she opened the carriage door for you. Diego and Carmen came out the front door with the small trunks in their arms. Carmen's tan features were still warped in her perpetual scowl, but Diego beamed at you, his eyelashes fluttering. You squeezed your eyes closed before opening them again, repeating the process multiple times while wrinkling your nose. It was, naturally, still cold and unlike the staff, you were only given a coat and gloves to stay warm. How Doña stood her ground without sleeves in this weather was lost to you.

"Andrea, fixed you up real good, Your Highness," Diego said, leaving Carmen to finish packing the carriage as he approached you. He bowed at his waist, over-exaggerating the movement. You had come to the conclusion that he was an excitable puppy dog, personified in a man. It was hard to imagine a man like that had the nerve to use the handgun in his holster. You frowned, the sight of firearms never failing to unsettle you, despite your line of work.

Trap the gun.

You urged yourself to focus on the people in front of you and the task that was rapidly coming into fruition. "You ought to ask her for a hand," you shrugged dismissively, the jab subtle as you shrugged and showed yourself through the carriage door. You sat down on the cushioned seat, closing the door and staring out the window of the carriage. Though you could have afforded a simple goodbye to the staff, your growing demand to be alone was overwhelming. Even the carriage, though it was white and an unassuming beige upholstery lined the seats, you had to force yourself to stay present.

Felix Keating.

"Y/n, we're pulling out now!" Carmen's grumpy voice announced as she knocked twice on the closed door to get your attention. She and Diego were to be driving the carriage- as Doña said, they were acting as port attendants to substitute Marie's dead servants. Your fingers wrapped around the pommel of your dagger, giving it a long squeeze.

"Fine!" You responded, watching the street from your window as it slowly passed by, paired with the trotting hooves of the horse that dragged you to your possible demise.

. . .

JANUARY 17TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

The Phantomhive manor was on the outskirts of London, shielded within the countryside by a thin forest line. As it rolled into your sightline through the small window of the carriage, you shamelessly allowed yourself to gape at the sheer size of it- the height of the walls, the militant stone masonry, and expansive stone garden that surrounded the cobblestone path. The cobblestone caused the carriage to bump clumsily and you could hear the sound of the packed trunks shifting around, even though they sat in the front with Carmen and Diego. To you, having so much space for one person was simply a waste- you made do in a shoebox that was going to be comparable to a linen closet on this property.

There was no describing the intimidating grace of the noble manor that stood proudly before you- although it was the furthest from your first complicated infiltration and as much as you tried to repress it, grew up in a castle. However, even Glücksburg was feeble in comparison to the fortress that your carriage slowed to a stop in front of. Diego wasted no time in opening the door, allowing more of the afternoon light in. You shuddered as the cold, once again, attacked your face and outer extremities, despite the petticoats that Andrea had precariously piled under your gown.

"We have made it, Your Highness," the joke was obvious in Diego's face, the apples of his cheeks too perky with his enthusiastic smile. He needed some of Carmen's restraint while the latter required at least a semblance of his warmth.

Your Highness. The form address was foreign to you. It was nothing but a burden that weighed just as much as the genuine metal around your ring finger and the tight corset that restricted your torso. But this was your role- at least for the next week or so. Your smile was small enough to not seem horribly forced, though anything but enthused. Restraint was something Governess Lydia always stressed, making it one of the single things she had in common with the conman, who never let you forget about the strength of words. This task required you to heed lessons from the both of them, which was unfortunate, considering the conman represented the best two years of your life, while Governess Lydia was the embodiment of your poisonous girlhood.

"Your prudence is more than appreciated," you accepted his hand as he helped you down the two, rather short stairs of the carriage. This was it- now you were Princess Marie of Schleswig-Holstein. Her identity belonged to you- rather than a withering corpse in the sea- however Doña had managed to get her there. For your own sake, you found it easier not to ask. You didn't need the blood of your sister on your conscience while you embodied her likeliness. Or at least...what you could recall from your spoiled bias and hourly etiquette classes in the castle. "Thank you, Diego," you let go of his hand once you stood on your own feet. You didn't need to look at him to know that he was shaking his head, discouraged that you were being kind to him simply because you had to. Prior to the carriage ride, you'd told him to see Andrea and give her a chance to improve his scraggly appearance.

"Of course," he responded with a hasty bow. Diego shut the door with a slam, clumsier than he needed to be. You pretended that all of your doubts were conveniently left sitting on a cushioned seat- as dispensable as a glove. Confidence in your own vast skill sets was going to get you through this and the blade of your dagger between the Earl's ribs. "To the door, Your Highness. You'll catch cold." Diego led you to the door, leaving Carmen to unload your baggage. The door opened immediately after he knocked, revealing a simpering man.

"Wir heißen sie herzlich willkommen, Eure Hoheit. Ich hoffe, dass Ihre reise bis zu diesem punkt angenehm war.," (Our deepest welcome, Your Highness. I do hope your journey was pleasant to this point,) he spoke, his German succinct as if he was a native speaker himself. Following his practiced welcome, he bowed, the silver accessory that was pinned on his lapel moved as he did. A gloved hand pressed politely over his heart as he righted himself at your nod. In this case, you would have preferred him to speak to you in English, seeing as the whole of the experience was already quite out of body for you. "Bitte, treten sie ein." (Please, come in).

You complied, reluctantly crossing the tall threshold. Diego was behind you and silent as you took a moment to look over the barren foyer around you. "Sie haben ein schönes anwesen. Danke, dass sie mein Refugium beherbergen - Ihre Majestät kann mehr als exzessiv sein," (You keep a lovely manor. Thank you for housing my retreat- Her Majesty can be more than excessive,) you replied, noting the butler's endearing features. His face was pale as if the moon decided to bless him with natural illumination and in contrast, his hair fell in black tresses that framed his face. His smile was too perky for his darker disposition.

"Es ist unser privileg, mit ihrer sicherheit betraut zu werden." (It is our privilege to be entrusted with your safety.) The unctuous pleasantries were in excess. A little went a long way, especially for you, who tended to be brief towards every accessory- every pawn. As a girl, that efficiency labeled you as ill-mannered, as Lydia, the uptight Governess, cautioned you.

"Gibt es einen namen für sie?" (Is there a name to call you by?) It was more appropriate for his master- the rudely absent Earl, to introduce him properly, but you were growing weary of having no name to associate with the man. You tilted your head, thinly smiling at the butler who immediately stood to attention to respond. He had more effortless poise than you did, but at its essence, it couldn't be hard. Between your intense life in the monarchy was nearly a decade of living amongst the middle class and working for anyone with the fortune to pay you.

He bowed again, the palm of his right hand returning to his heart. "Natürlich. Mein Name ist Sebastian, mein meister-" (Of course. My name is Sebastian, my master-) he was interrupted by the door opening again, proceeding with three individuals and Carmen entering the foyer, bringing the trunks that were in the carriage. There were only six boxes, but the shorter boy out of the group was holding three heavy boxes instead of one.

"Sebastian! Where should we be putting these?" A woman asked rather loudly, as opposed to the smooth dulcet of Sebastian's German. Her voice had a clear, animated quirk of an English accent and it took you a moment to return your brain to the language, seeing as focusing on one at a time rather than two at once was simpler. Then you entered her sightline, causing her to shriek in surprise as she gasped. "Princess Marie- Your Highness!" she dropped the box, sinking into a clumsy excuse for a curtsy. At your side, you could hear Diego attempting to stifle his laughter. As for yourself, you weren't one for sudden noises and had to feign understanding. By the end of the day, your cheeks were going to ache from constantly having to smile.

"Your Highness, these are the other servants of the house," Sebastian finally spoke in English as he gestured with an arm to the two men and the woman. As the three other servants put the trunks down. The woman's face was red under her disproportionate glasses as she looked from the older man to the younger one at her sides, searching for validation for her abrupt enthusiasm. "Our gardener, Finnian-"

"-Finny!" He interrupted with a bright smile, before meeting Sebastian's eyes and shrinking. Finny cleared his throat, his gloved hand rubbing under the hat that covered the nape of his neck. "Please, um...call me Finny, Your Highness." In front of him were the three trunks that he had been carrying- stacked vertically. One alone was heavy for even yourself, but he seemed unaffected.

"Right...Mey-Rin, the maid," Sebastian continued. Mey-Rin's face was still red as she looked at Sebastian and then you, uncomfortable with the attention of the room on her. "Our cook, Baldroy."

Baldory seemed to be the most composed of the three. Notably, there were strands of grey in his blond hair as he regarded you with an easy simper, his shoulders relaxed. "Good to meet ya," he said with a simple nod of his head. His voice reminded you of the conman's- perpetually at ease.

"And ...Tanaka- the executive director of the Funtom Company," Sebastian said, guiding your attention to a small man that watched you from behind Baldroy's legs. He wore a monocle and seemed to hold a cup of tea as he bowed. The executive director of the Funtom Company was a frail man?

"Oh but, that's how he is- he rarely goes into his full size," Finny chimed in, once again, cutting himself off at Sebastian's pointed gaze. He only gave you more questions than he had answered. How was such a large estate taken care of by such a small cast of individuals?

"Might I ask about the Earl himself?" You didn't feel the need to properly introduce Carmen and Diego, seeing as they were only supposed to be distant dockworkers to you. Marie wouldn't have thought twice about them, seeing as she was her own sun, moon, and savior. Instead, she would be miffed that a mere Earl had the self-importance to show tardiness in meeting her.

"Our master should be with us in a moment. Please allow me to show you to his study," Sebastian said, easily making a transition from the exhaustive introductions to sitting in. "In the meantime; you three, take Her Highness's belongings to her quarters." This time, Baldroy picked up Carmen's neglected box as she stood at Diego's side. The three of them responded enthusiastically as if they were excited to be given a laborious task from their superior.

"Sure," you agreed, more than aware that this was going to be a temporary goodbye to Diego and Carmen, the final allies you'd speak to before heading into a minefield of social complexity, corsets, and lies. You turned to Diego, almost unsure of how to let him depart. It was almost pathetic of you, growing tongue-tied from a simple goodbye. The duo had no semblance of sentimental value to you. All you had was yourself, a dagger, and a large sum of money waiting for you.

"We leave you in capable hands, Your Highness," Diego smiled as he bowed, before quickly winking at you.

"Farewell," Carmen added, her expression illegible as she too, bowed and left with her counterpart.

"Right then," Sebastian led you up the massive staircase. Each step was narrow and troublesome but you attempted to tread smoothly. "Would you care for tea? You toiled through quite a long trip..."

. . .

Tags:

[hoseokslefteyebrow]

The Serpent's Shadow || J.HS || 3

Pairing : Jung Hoseok X Reader

Genre :  Angst, prob fluff at some point

Summary : But how could the Serpent ever know? What's happening behind his back? In his own Shadow? Without looking back?

-

This story is IN the Harry Potter time line!

( Deathly Hallows Part one & two)

Wordcount: 1.1k

The Serpent's Shadow Masterlist | Next

You cringed as the professor kept talking on and on about the three unforgivable curses.

You weren't exactly a fan of it after all. Your mother had been murdered in the first wizarding war, she had been tortured by the Cruciatus curse, before the Imperio was used on her to make it look like she had killed herself. 

You had been forcefully sat down with the Ministry of Magic to watch the security tape. The death eater (Bellatrix Lestrange) had been way too happy that there was a security camera near.

You tried not to loose hold on your magic while watching a poor animal ( a poor Doxy), was whimpering under the Cruciatus curse.

" STOP IT!" A voice, Taehee's, pierced the air as she yelled at the professor to stop.

The professor, Amycus Carrow, stopped with what she was doing, whipping her head in your best friend's direction.

Taehee swallowed, but the fire in her eyes did not die down in the slightest.

" Did you just speak against me?" Professor Carrow asks lowly, narrowing her eyes at her.

Your table mate's only response is gulping.

" How dare you-"

" I told her to." You speak up timidly, not looking into her eyes.

Professor Carrow looks at you with a small smirk, as if she was a snake looking at her prey.

" That explains it. Pathetic Hufflepuff. Let me geuss, you do not want to get punished again, so instead you ask your stupid brave Gryffindor friend for help? Well, your house has always been known as the weakest. " She laughs fakely.

You don't say anything, looking down at your lap.

Even tough you're afraid of the curses, you're not exactly afraid of her. You just don't want to give her more reason to punish you.

You've been one of her favorite students to pick on. Not because you tell your friends to speak up against her, but because you watch over first years. You remember your own first year as one of the best years, and you truly pitty them that they have to spend their first year like this. You often take their beatings when they 'do something out of turn'.

" Well, well, what kind of punishment shall we give you? How about we try one of the curses on you? To see what it-" She's cut off as the door opens.

Hoseok steps in, taking you (and undoubtedly your friends too) by suprise.

Taehee grips your hand.

After that night when he escorted you from the forest, he's been avoiding you. You haven't spoken to him since then. However, you're grateful that he's here now. You know that he probably won't, but you hope he'll stop her.

" I'm sorry to interrupt your lesson professor Carrow, but I heard you talking about teaching miss L/N a lesson, I would love to do that myself." Hoseok says, and you swallow with wide eyes.

You're not sure if he means it or not, the steel look not leaving his eyes as he makes eye contact with your scared ones.

To everyone's horror, professor Carrow starts giggling. 

" Of course not Hoseok. Take her away. I personally tough to-"

" I'm not interested in what you would do. I'm pretty sure I have more creative ways." Hoseok cuts Carrow off, effectively shutting her up.

Tough she does seem upset about not being able to share her opinion. Or that she at least can't talk to him in general.

Hoseok switches his gaze to you again and you look at him with big Bambi eyes. 

" Well what are you waiting for L/N?! Away with you!" Carrow turns back to you as she screeches the words.

You let go of Taehee's hand and get up with the intention to follow him.

" Take your stuff with you. You will most likely not be able to return to class." Hoseok speaks, and you do what's told.

While you're packing your stuff, Taehee grabs your wrist.

" Please be careful." She tells you.

You nod.

Hoseok looks you down while you're walking trough the door opening, before nodding at Carrow ( who smiles as if her crush has noticed her) and telling you to follow him.

Moments later you're down in the dungeons, and you're following him into a hallway you've never been before.

He opens a door, and motions you to go in.

You do so.

Even tough you hate it, you still want to at least believe that he's still your Hoseok.

You study the room in confusion. It's not a classroom. It seems more like a bedroom?

There's a big bed in one corner, and a closet in the other, a bureau placed beside it. There's also minimal belongings scattered around, even the pajamas are fold on the bed. Your eyes land on the window, which showcases the Black Lake.

You realize that this is not some unknown classroom or study, this is his own room, most probably.

" Are you okay?" You jump when you hear his voice and turn around.

" You're- you're not going to hurt me?" You ask him carefully.

He shakes his head.

" No, I could never. I needer to make it believable for her." He told you while gnawing on his lower lip, a sign he's nervous.

You all but drop your bag, sprinting to him and developing him in a big hug.

He's suprised to say the least, but hugs you back after a moment. Feeling content with the feeling of being in your arms and the smell of your conditioner tickles his nose pleasantly.

After a moment ( one too soon in his mind) you releasr him and take a step back before looking deep into his eyes.

He feels you looking into his soul, your gaze holding emotion while you read his, he knows that all the facades he built up to hide behind crumbles down as you look at him so tenderly.

" What happened? Tell me everything."

[ A/N: So I used to be writing this story 'Wanted' in Wattpad and it was only available in dutch. I've decided to translate it to english, and it's now only available in Quotev. ( Because I had to switch all my writing to Quotev, the new Wattpad update deleted and/or moved some of my drafts.) In case u need the

Summary: “Let me geuss, your parents are dead and you're family with one of my mates so that's why you're staying with us for a while?”

“Um, no. Sorry. Just running for the authorities and your window was open.”

It's a J.JK X Reader so if u have nothing to do please check it out. :)]

[katedrakeohd]

A Choices: The Royal Masquerade Fanfiction

Pairings :(MC) Julia Aster x Renza Fierro,

Julia Aster x Kaydan Vescovi

Author's Note: As I transferred this story from writen page to digital it occurred to me just how long it was becoming so I've had to break it up into several parts.

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

Part One:

A State of Undress

The morning is sunny and warm on the day of our cruise on the Fierro yacht. I’m standing outside in my courtyard with my steward Vasco waiting for Renza’s carriage to come pick me up. As I smooth my hands down over my corset and skirts for the hundredth time, Vasco notices my nervousness and smiles.

“I suppose this will be your first time on a sailing ship M’lady,” he says.

“Yes, it will.” I nod.

“I’ve heard that Lord Hector is a very honourable man. Are you anxious to meet him?”

To tell the truth I’ve barely thought of him at all today. And it’s not Hector or the boat trip that have me feeling anxious. Since we’ll be with the Fierros, that means Kaydan the Crown Shield will be around too. And these days he has occupied my thoughts more than anything.

“I’m hoping Lord Hector isn’t as dull and strange as Lord Emery is. Such a disaster that dinner was. If it weren’t for Henry rescuing me with a new plate of dinner after Cyrus and Emery left the table I would have starved to death.”

My pet wolf cub Astro scampers around the courtyard threatening to trample the flowers. His antics have stolen Vasco’s attention and my comments go unanswered. I shrug and go back to my own thoughts.

Ever since I met Kaydan Vescovi the night of the masquerade, I haven't been able to get him off my mind. Just being around him with his dark eyes, wavy black hair and strong muscled physique is enough to make even the most sober person feel a little intoxicated. When he smiles at you and gives you his full attention it's like nothing else matters. I consider myself a lucky woman to have had the chance to spend so much time with him these past few weeks. As the Crown Shield wherever King-regent Henry Fierro goes, Kaydan isn't far behind. Between both handsome men being around lately it's like receiving two beautiful presents for your birthday when you're only expecting one.

During the joust when Kaydan and Henry both sought my favor, it was such a thrill. But when the swords came out after they had both been knocked off their horses, I realized that the rivalry goes much deeper. Fortunately the duel ended without anyone getting seriously injured. I know they're friends and I would hate to see them ruin that because of me. But still I must admit seeing Kaydan win was exciting.

In the stables after the joust Kaydan told me that it had been fun to fight Henry in front of the crowd. Being able to knock his half-brother Cyrus down a peg anonymously as the Black Knight had also been satisfying for him. His victory takes the title of Champion of the Tournament of Flowers out of noble hands. I enjoyed cheering with the other spectators, even if I was the only one hoping for Kaydan to win.

Henry is all sunshine, winks and flirty smiles. There's no wonder all the single ladies at court clamor for his attention. There's no mystery to him and he wears his heart on his sleeve. He radiates a perfect example of wealth and privilege. When I'm around him I’m polite and friendly. He's given me no reason to doubt his intentions as Crown Regent are genuine. But for me all I feel is loyalty not affection.

Kaydan is all long looks, secret smiles and quiet respect. Although he was born of nobility, he's not considered one of them. He's accepted his place as the bastard son and chose a life of hardship and responsibility in the guard.

Henry may have his name and noble house to hold him up, but it's Kaydan's humble strength and sense of duty that protects him. I admire Kaydan for that, although he won't accept the title of hero no matter how often he's earned it. There's more to Kaydan than his imposing presence. I'm drawn to him in a way that goes beyond the physical, and I’m determined to know him better.

He's worked his way up through the ranks to become Crown Shield, and earned the respect of many along the way. I've sought out his expertise in matters of security, and he's always seemed pleased to have my company. Sometimes when we're alone we comfortably lapse into conversation and he lets down his guard a bit.

In the short time we've known each other we've developed a mutual respect and kinship. When we're alone I'm just Julia the scribe, and he's just Kaydan the black sheep and we're comfortable with that.

I hear Renza's carriage approaching and take a deep breath to prepare myself to be in her company. She's as brash and confident as her brother is charming and sweet. I never know what she's going to say or do when we're together.

Vasco steps forward to open the door of the carriage for me, “Are you entirely sure you don't want me to travel with you your Ladyship? There's room for one more in the carriage.”

As I take his offered hand to assist me up into the carriage, I smile and shake my head. “I'll be fine with Renza. Please make sure that Astro is fed and properly put away for me, and then join us at the marina later for the trip.”

Vasco nods, bowing to me, “As you wish.”

Tucking my skirts around my legs I settle down on the seat opposite Renza. Once Vasco has closed the door behind me, Renza looks me over critically from head to toe and then shrugs.

“Well good morning to you too,” I jest.

“My dear Julia, please tell me you don't expect to impress Lord Hector wearing that?”

I can't help but take offense to her remark since I am wearing a gown in the rich tones of blue and gold that represent my noble house. The House of Aster. I’m not sure if her jab is an intentional insult to my house or my sense of style, so I try my stoic best to deflect it as irrelevant.

“Honestly Renza. If I must marry someone for the sake of politics, what does it matter what pretty wrapper I am presented in?”

It's not like I'm that excited to be offered up to Hector as some sort of trophy wife.

“You may say that now, but you don't need to sound so bored and dismissive about the prospect of a match.”

“I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound that way. I'm just distracted. My poor sister has still not awakened, and suddenly becoming the head of my household is overwhelming. I've barely had the chance to figure out what that even means, and now I am expected to marry myself to a total stranger to support the Crown. Whatever happened to falling in love and getting married. That's what I really wish I could do.”

Renza laughs, “Oh you're such a Romantic. Don’t forget that you're a noble now. Marriage for nobles is a contract with obligations, land titles and bank accounts. Romance is for affairs outside of marriage. Why are you so hung up on love and romance anyway? Is there someone you've had your eye on?”

“I…well. I don't want to say. That's between him and I.” I can feel myself blushing.

“Ok fine, but I'll find out one way or the other. I bet a little wine will get you talking.”

Before I can turn her down, Renza has already opened a bottle of red wine and poured me some. It's still morning but apparently Renza feels that drinking wine is appropriate for all hours of the day.

When the carriage turns off of the main road and onto her Manor's private lane one of the wheels bounces over a rock. I gasp in surprise as the wine in my goblet splashes over the front of my dress.

“Oh no! This is a disaster.” I cry.

Renza produces a handkerchief out of the bodice of her gown and offers it to dab at the wine stains.

“Well that's a shame. But look at it this way. Now I’ll have the excuse to put you in a dress suitable to impress the pants off Hector and your secret lover.”

I hand her back her handkerchief, shaking my head. “We're hardly lovers.”

“Not yet. You may have been able to charm the minds of men at court so far with your cleverness and wit. But leave it to me and your looks will charm the rest of their…parts.”

I roll my eyes, “Oh please Renza I’ve already gotten my fill of Cyrus and his brand of sleazy charm. I don't want all the men at court to start talking to me that way. I implore you to at least keep some shred of my dignity intact.”

As the carriage comes to a stop, I look out of the window and marvel at the grandeur of the Fierro Estate. Renza escorts me to the dressing room attached to her bedroom to get changed. The opulent furnishings of even this room put most of what I have back home to shame.

Renza wastes no time in helping me get out of my dress. As I stand in my underclothes she gives me another critical inspection and I feel myself blush.

“H..happy now?” I stammer.

Renza's surprised expression takes me off guard, “More like impressed! With a body like that you could make a bedsheet look alluring. I'm almost tempted to send you out like this.”

Crossing my arms across my chest I frown at her, “Renza, seriously. Focus.”

She gives me another critical inspection, making me feel even more uncomfortable.

“Natural beauty aside, whoever tied this corset isn't doing you any favors. Here let me fix it for you.”

I back away, holding up my hands. "No, no. Leave it alone. I like being able to breathe thanks.”

She sighs and then steps away from me again. “As you wish.”

I'm still standing in just my underwear as she continues to talk.

“So are you curious about meeting Hector at all?”

“I'm mostly curious about what kind of person he is.”

“Well professionally all that I can tell you is that he is a trade expert hired by the merchants across Cordonia to help improve their business.”

I try to sound interested, “So he's ��business minded.”

Renza scoffs, “Well when you say it that way it makes him sound stuffy. Lord Hector sails the world and visits all sorts of interesting places. Imagine the fascinating stories he could tell."

I nod, "Well then I guess he doesn't sound so stuffy after all."

Renza smiles, looking relieved "Good now let's get you dressed. Stay here while I fetch you something to wear."

She gives me a wink and then leaves me alone. I feel self conscious, exposed and plain in such a fancy room. When I hear the door open suddenly I turn around expecting Renza. But instead it's Kaydan!

"Lady Renza, I found the --... "

He stops short and his eyes go wide when he sees me, "Julia!"

I feel myself blush to the roots of my hair, but as shocking as it is for him to see me in my underwear, I can't help but feel a rush of excitement too. My heart is pounding like crazy in my chest, but I flash him my bravest smile and place my hands on my hips and ask, "Looking for something?"

He's still standing there rooted to the spot and gaping. "I..I wasn't expecting -- .."

"Hmm?" I smirk at him, stepping closer.

He clumsily shuffles backward, trying to avert his eyes from seeing so much of my bare skin.

Renza re-enters the room and gasps, "Crown Shield, what in the world do you think you're doing?"

"But..but.." he stammers, looking at us both.

"Out, out, out! Now!" she shrieks.

He quickly shields his eyes and mumbles his apologies as she pushes him out of the room and closes the door.

"The nerve!" she exhales with relief.

Biting my lip and trying to hide my grin, I giggle. "I hope that he enjoyed that as much as I did."

Her mouth drops open and her eyes sparkle with amusement as she laughs, "Lady Julia Aster, you saucy minx!"

"What? Accidents happen. Besides he knows this is your room so I could ask you questions too."

Renza brushes off my remark and raises her chin giving a haughty retort, "Well this is my house after all. Quit avoiding the issue. Out with it, you like him don't you. And here I thought it might be Henry."

Breathing a sigh of resignation I admit it, "Yes, Kaydan is who I'm interested in. Please don't tell anyone. I know he's not noble."

Renza laughs, "True, he wouldn't improve your social standing as a match, but he's definitely an impressive piece of man to have on the side. If you're saying there's more to him than what's on the surface then I must say congratulations to you both."

I open my mouth to protest that Kaydan is more than just a side piece, but then decide to change the subject. "If I'm to impress Kaydan or Hector today you better give me something to wear."

Renza blinks, remembering the gown she has in her arms. "Of course, where was I?" she hands me the dress. "You're sure to grab attention in this."

As she lays the shimmering blue and white silky and sheer fabric in my arms I am amazed at how light and airy it feels. It's surely worth more than my entire wardrobe.

I stammer as I thank her, "Are..you sure about this? Have you nothing more plain or modest?"

"No, no I insist. Consider it my engagement gift to you. It never fit me properly anyway. Hector won't be able to take his eyes from you."

Or Kaydan either, I thought to myself.

I nod gratefully and step into the dress, "Well thank-you, could you help me fasten the lacing in the back?"

Renza smiles as I turn around. She adjusts and ties the satin lacing a little tighter than necessary, and I find it difficult to breathe. Is she jealous that the dress fits me better, or is she feeling spiteful and wanted Kaydan for herself?

As I turn back around and catch sight of myself in the mirror I can't help but smile.

Behind me I catch Renza's expression and she looks annoyed as she says, "Alright then now that you're wearing a properly fitting garment, let's be off, the carriages await."

...

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