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rowanaelinn · 3 years

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I Feel Like I'm Drowning - part one

When Aelin Galathynius and her future court come to Doranelle to negotiate peace between Maeve's lands and Terrasen, Aelin didn't expect to find her mate.

“It’s colder than I thought,” Aedion said, interrupting a long silence. His loud voice resonated in the hallway and he didn’t seem to care that many fae ears could be listening.

“Are you joking? I’m sweating.” Lysandra complained and Aelin was inclined to agree, even summers in Terrasen weren’t usually this hot. Aelin could feel the material of her dress sticking to her skin and she hated that feeling.

“Aedion just decided he hated Doranelle years ago and is too stubborn to admit he was wrong.” Aelin winked and her cousin rolled his eyes. Aedion had been sent with her to protect her and because her parents knew Aedion wouldn’t be blind to Doranelle’s magical illusions. Evalin Ashryver’s distrust for Doranelle was well-known, and Aelin still had no idea why her mother acted this way.

“As if you are the best person to talk about someone's stubbornness.” Sam teased Aelin with a small smile on his face. He was standing next to Aedion, hands joined behind his back. He looked proud. He could, Aelin thought, Sam deserved everything good this world had to offer.

“You wound me,” Aelin said, placing a hand on her heart and fainting to be hurt. Sam just laughed and shook his head.

“They’re late.” Elide complained and Lysandra groaned.

“Oh for mala’s sake, not you, too.”

“Rhoe and Evalin would never disrespect a host by being late,” Aedion said and Aelin wanted to agree, her parents would never make their guest wait. She couldn’t vocally agree, though. Who knew who was listening to them? She may didn’t know why her mother distrusted this court, but Aelin trusted her mother. For the next few months, she and her future court would have to be careful.

“Someone come and save me,” Aelin murmured after a while. Why did she have to wear heels? These were not fashion-items, but torture tools. She missed the simple tunics she wore in Terrasen all year long. Maybe she could burn them and go barefoot. Maybe she could even burn her corset, who cared about what her breast looked like, anyway? She’d use her power if she knew how to stop it. She wouldn’t put her friends at risk. Maybe she could find another way to control her magic now that she was in the land of Faes.

“I think you can consider me your hero, your highness.” A deep male voice said and Aelin turned her head to find the prettiest male she had ever seen. He was tall with long blonde curls. They didn’t have males this beautiful in Terrasen. He had a wicked smirk drawn on his face, but nothing mean. No, it was playful. “Her Majesty is ready to see you.”

“She sent such a pretty male to inform us?” Aelin arched a brow and crossed her arms as she made a show of checking him out. He was all muscles. A warrior, then. This stranger roomed his eyes over her too, it just made her smirk wider. “My aunt must want to impress me.” Two people coughed. Aedion and Sam. Of course, they would ruin her chances to flirt.

“She only sends the best for her best.”

“You’re my type of person…” She silently asked for him to introduce himself.

“Lord Fenrys.”

“Well, Lord Fenrys, this is my cousin, Prince Aedion Ashryver.” Aedion had a severe look on his face and he looked like he was having a staring contest with Lord Fenrys. Gods help her, would he do this with every Fae male they would meet? Fenrys took a breath and looked paler. Before anyone but Aelin could notice, he looked normal again but tenser than seconds ago. “My ladies in waiting, Lady Lysandra and Lady Elide. And this is Lord Sam.” Fenrys looked away from Aedion and dipped his chin at Elide and Lysandra then his eyes met Aelin’s.

“Shall we?” He asked and started walking toward Queen Maeve’s throne room. Lysandra and Elide fell into steps next to Aelin.

“He’s hot!” The shifter whisper-shouted, which just made Aelin quietly laugh.

“If everyone looks like him in this court, then we can forgive Maeve for being late.” The other woman said and it surprised Aelin. Elide’s type was people as scary as she was. Dismissing Lady Elide Lochan because she seems small and sweet would be a big mistake. Aelin had known the girl her whole life and still didn’t know everything that hides in that wicked brain of hers.

“Please,” Aedion begged, making the three girls laugh.

“Don’t pretend you don’t think like them,” Sam murmured and he was right. Lord Fenrys was exactly her cousin’s type. Or he was just anyone’s type.

“You’re right,” Aedion admitted. “Nice ass.”

“You do realize he can hear you, right?” Sam asked and he looked a little pale. Out of everyone here, Sam was the one who spent the least time with Faes. Faes weren’t usually bothered by comments on their looks, that’s all she had learned of the demi-Faes living in Terrasen.

“It’s nice to know I’m approved by half of Terassen’s royal family.” Fenrys turned around and winked in Aelin’s way. She bit her lip and winked back. How good it felt to flirt with someone after all these weeks at sea, even if it would lead to nothing. She just loved to have someone who matched her energy.

“You and I are going to be very fast friends, Lord Fenrys.” She said as he opened the doors or a veranda. Aedion came on her side, just a step back. Lysandra, Elide, and Sam were all in rank behind them.

“I sure hope so, Your Highness.” She said quietly and when Aelin started walking in the throne room, she felt a hand brush the small of her back. Okay, maybe this would lead to something. Chin high and a small smirk on her face, her favorite mask when she had to be seen in public, Aelin started walking.

“Ready?” Her cousin asked quietly.

“Try to keep my sword clean.” She said, talking about Goldryn strapped on Aedion’s back. He had his own sword, the sword of Orynth who had been gifted by Aelin’s uncle two years ago, at his sword belt but he always kept Aelin’s sword when she couldn’t carry it herself so she could still fight if she had to. Never would she be hopeless again. Aedion’s grin was nothing short of feral. Aedion had come for her security but also in the hope to find good soldiers to spar with. These past few years he grew bored with The Bane’s soldier, Aedion’s skills were very impressive. Even for a demi-fae.

“Her royal highness, Princess Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.” Someone introduced her when she finally entered the throne room. Aelin could hear the river even in her human form. Maeve sat in her throne of stone, legs crossed and an elbow resting on the arm of the throne. She looked so at ease and it just made her terrifying. Aelin suddenly wished she had shifted into her Fae body, just to pick up everything she could in this room. Maeve didn’t wear any crown, it would be useless. Everyone on this earth would recognize her for what she was. Aelin and her companions stopped walking and her friends bowed. Not as low as they would for Aelin’s family but just enough to recognize Maeve’s royal blood.

Aelin, however, stayed still. She didn’t bow and wouldn’t until Maeve also recognized Aelin’s rank. She may not be a Queen yet, but she was the crown princess of the most powerful Kingdom in her continent. She would get the respect she deserved. Her eyes never left Maeve’s and the queen seemed amused by Aelin’s behavior. Something flickered in Maeve’s eyes as if she understood Aelin, and she lowered her chin slightly. Aelin figured out it was the best she would get so she lowered her chin too, as low as the queen did.

Maeve let out a low laugh and joined her hand on her knees.

“You may rise.” The fairy queen said and Aelin started analyzing everything in the room. Her whole focus had been on the Queen and how she would make her respect Aelin and her rank. Most of the room was made in stone, it was elegant but odd, too. Aelin definitely wouldn’t have chosen stone as material for her throne room, she loves luxury too much. There was a black wolf, lying in its belly, at the right side of the throne.

“Nice dog,” Aelin said and Maeve laughed softly as the wolf snarled. Fae, then.

There was a blonde male standing next to the dog and he seemed so familiar to Aelin. His eyes were fixed on Aedion and she would have wondered about it more, would have paid more attention to his shocked expression if someone else didn’t draw her attention. On the left side of the throne, a silver-haired male was standing, hands joined behind his back. She didn’t have to analyze him to know he was a warrior. Everything about him screamed power. She should be scared, Aelin knew he could kill her easily and faster than Aedion could react to protect her, but she couldn’t be scared. She knew Maeve used the warrior at the sides of her throne as a way to scare people, that’s what Aelin’s father did whenever they had visitors in Orynth. Aelin and Aedion were always at his side, protecting their king.

She was supposed to consider him as a threat, she was supposed to think about how she would survive a fight with him. But when did Aelin ever do what was expected of her, anyway?

When green eyes connected with hers, everything in her and outside went silent. Her entire world shattered. She knew there would be no way for her to live her life like she used to before she entered this room. It’s like she could feel her soul-touching his. It took everything in her not to fall on her knees as these deep green eyes held the answers to every question she ever asked. She could feel what it was like to be him.

She used to need air, water, food, and sleep to live. But now, only this stranger was necessary for her to live. She needed him and nothing else. He had shattered her world and remade it, changing it in the process. The simple thought of a life without him made her want to die.

Mate. He was her mate.

Aelin didn’t know much about the Faes but she knew enough to recognize a bond. His face was expressing his shock and she was sure her face was the same. Who was he? She needed to talk to him, with him.

“You’re my son.” A voice cut her in her emotions and she brutally turned her head toward the blonde male who stood right next to the black wolf.

“Bullshit.” Her cousin spat and Aelin realized she wasn’t the only one who would come out of this room changed. Her cousin had rage and pain written all over his face and seeing him like that changed something in her. Whoever hurt her cousin wouldn’t be left unharmed.

It was impossible, they knew nothing about Aedion’s father except that he was dead, surely this male couldn’t be him. But it would make sense. It would explain why Aedion's sense of smell and hearing was as good as Aelin’s when she was in her Fae form. Why he was so strong.

Aelin turned toward her companions and they were as troubled as she was. She started to take off her rings but Lysandra took her wrist to stop her and shook her head. “Not here,” Lysandra mouthed. She turned her head again and saw her mate taking a step toward her, his brows furrowed as his eyes went from her face to her hands. She abruptly hid them behind her and took a step toward her cousin. She could feel his anger and had to do something before he ruined all their chance at peace.

“Aedion,” Aelin tried with a soft voice but his eyes stayed on the man in front of him. His breathing was ragged and her heart sank at the sight of him this way, she’d slaughter that man if Aedion let her. The blonde man took a step toward Aedion who only took a step back and his hand drifted to his sword. She felt more than saw her other three companions tensing and getting ready in case they had to fight their way out of this room.

“Aedion,” Aelin tried again, this time her voice was stronger but nothing could make him look away. So Aelin took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and shifted in her Fae form. Maybe in this form, she could bring back the Fae part of Aedion to reason. “General Ashryver,” she repeated with a Queen’s voice. She felt all eyes on her and she had to fight not to show the pain she felt in her entire body. She could not appear weak. Aedion’s head turned back to Aelin and as much as she wanted to comfort him, he needed orders. So right now she wasn’t his cousin, she was his future queen.

“Gavriel,” Maeve used the same voice on the blonde male and Aelin’s eyes widened. Surely this male couldn’t be the Lion of Doranelle, right? Gavriel went back to his place at the side of Maeve’s throne but his eyes betrayed his emotions. Well, it seemed that Gavriel, contrary to Aedion, knew how to obey orders. She’d tease Aedion about it if she knew he wouldn’t beat her up for it.

“Permission to leave, your highness?” Aedion grunted through his teeth. He was shaking with anger and his knuckles were bone-white around his sword. For a second she thought about what it would look like if her general stormed out of their first meeting with Maeve. It was Aelin’s court first official appearance and it would be a disaster. Actually, it’s already a disaster. Of course, she had to find her mate, and Aedion had to find his not-so-dead father the first time Aelin’s parents decided to trust her enough to work for the crown. If Aedion were to make a scene, and she couldn’t blame him, it could lead to war.

“Granted,” Aelin said and Aedion didn’t wait for anything else before storming out of the room, leaving Goldryn to Sam. Aelin wanted to take it back, it was her sword, but even in his rage, Aedion was smart. Aelin couldn’t bear a sword, not if she wanted the rest of this meeting to be peaceful. Aelin looked at her cousin until he slammed the door and only then, Aelin turned back to Maeve and did her best to ignore the silver-haired male at her side. She couldn’t be more distracted. She had to think about Terrasen’s needs before hers.

“I apologize for my blood sworn’s behavior.” Even if she tried to hide it, it was pretty obvious she was angry. Aelin would have worried about what this cruel woman would have done was it not for the two words she said. Blood sworn. Everything in Aelin’s body froze.

“This male is blood-sworn to you?” She had to ask, and just when Aelin thought it couldn’t be worse…

“As are every male in this room.” Her aunt said with a proud smile as if they were all objects she liked to collect. Aelin’s head turned to her mate and for the first time since she entered the room, he avoided her gaze. She was going to vomit, her mate belonged to somebody else. He belonged to another queen. Before she could feel anything, she focused on her rage. The rage that had been there for years, now.

Aelin looked at Maeve and she knew flames were dancing in her eyes from the look on Maeve’s face. “I lay a claim on Aedion Ashryver, he is mine. He is to be my blood-sworn and he is my second in command. If you ever try to take him away from me or Terrasen it will be considered an act of war. If you lay a finger on my cousin, I will burn your kingdom to the ground.” She knew her friends had stopped breathing, waiting for Maeve’s reaction. Aelin didn’t let the fear enter her, no, she only focused on the rage. The rage she felt at the idea of losing her cousin, her brother. She meant every word, she’d burn this entire kingdom to ash if it meant getting Aedion back. He’d do the same for her.

“Threats, Aelin?”

“Threat, promise, take it as you want, I don’t care. As long as you got the message,” she smirked and felt more than saw everyone in the room, with the exception of Maeve, tensing. Lysandra took a step to stand beside Aelin. As her third, if Aedion wasn’t at Aelin’s side, Lysandra had to be. When Aelin looked to the side she saw the shifter’s face looking more feline than human, Aelin wondered if her friend would turn into her favorite form, a ghost-leopard and she didn’t know who Lysandra would attack first between the queen and Gavriel if she was given a chance. The feral grin on Aelin’s face wasn’t faked. With all the perfume and Aelin’s clothes on Lysandra, there were few chances of the faes in this room to know she was a shifter.

“I have no intention in taking your cousin, niece. I have enough blood-sworn here, don’t I?” She gestured again at the five males in the room and Aelin’s eyes landed on her mate. She wanted to take a step and talk to him. It was more than want, actually, she needed it. As if sensing she would do just that, she shook very slightly his head and she could read the words on his face. Don’t.

She guessed if she could read his face, he could too. Why?

Do you trust me? There was hope on his face and she knew her answer would set the tone of their relationship. Did she even want a relationship with him? For all she knew, he might be an awful person, but something on her told her she was wrong. Foolish as it was, she wanted to give him a chance.

Yes.

Relief was all over his beautiful and harsh face, probably imperceptible to anyone else but her. I will seek you out later. Play your part, your highness. She could have sworn there was a flicker of wickedness in his eyes. Aelin’s smirk was nothing but feral when she looked back at her aunt.

“If I were you, I’d find a sixth member to this little… cadre. I like even numbers.”

Maeve let out a low laugh. “My commander is away on a mission, but you’ll be able to meet him tonight when you and your companion dine with us.”

It was normal to be invited to dinner when you were sent for politics, but Aelin didn’t expect Sam and Elide to be invited too. But good, she would need their sharp minds.

Aelin smiled innocently at her aunt. Let the games begin.

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i’m probably gonna create a tag list for my works so tell me if you want to be added!!

#rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #throne of glass #rowaelin fic

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pl-panda · 4 years

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The vines that bind us - Chapter 6

Chapter 1 || Previous || NEXT

Elevator took her all the way to the highest floor. When she exited, the floor was back to perfect condition and several more plants were awaiting her. She promised them silently to check on them soon and went to the main office. She knocked several times on the doors, but nobody answered. Hesitantly, she pushed the doors open, but no one was in the office. After double-checking with security, it turned out that Tim Drake did not show to work. She sighed. Looks like more work for her… Just like Nathalie said.

“Didn’t you cause enough drama…” Lila never got a chance to end that sentence, because Mari delivered a straight one strong enough to send her flying several feet back before she came crashing down. Blood pouring from her nose.

The girl was about to launch herself at the liar and pound her into the ground when two strong arms grabbed her. She noticed the characteristic spikes on the sides of black gloves and stated to trash around. “Let me go you overgrown furry!” She screamed. “I will mix her face with the concrete until it’s nice and even!”

She tried to wiggle herself out of his grip. Most of the class surrounded Lila and were trying to help her. It only served to irate Mari more. She kicked her leg back, hitting Batman’s shin. It was finally enough to let her go. The girl fell down... right into the embrace of Chloe and Adrien who managed to get to her on time. The two blondes hugged her tightly.

“There. It’s alright Goldie. You got her good. Rest.” The girl cooed and pressed her best friend to her chest, muffling the sobbing. Adrien was just silently there and hugged them both. When Batman tried to approach again, the boy sent him an angry glare. The warning was clear and the vigilante didn’t really need anything from the girl right now.

After a bit, Mari fell asleep in their embrace. The stress finally caught up to her and she couldn’t hold exhaustion at bay any longer. Chloe easily picked her up and started to walk toward a taxi that was conveniently parked nearby, waiting for them.

“What!?” Angry Alya looked from Lila who was now being cared for by a pair of paramedics. She turned to Commissioner Gordon who was discussing something with Batman. “You!”

The policeman looked at her curiously. Alya continued her shouting. “You’re letting her go just like that? She just assaulted Lila! She might’ve ruined her modeling career! Arrest her!”

“Miss.” Gordon shook his head. “These are some of the braves men and women in Gotham, but I doubt any of them would dare to try and arrest her right now. They don’t get paid enough.”

“What?!” Several kids started to protest, but Gordon just ignored them and directed Harvey to start taking statements. He wasn’t paid enough to deal with these brats.

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Bruce sighed as he exited the Batmobile. Almost immediately, he was swarmed by the rest of his family. Jason and Dick practically carried him, still in the suit, to the movie room.

“Now, Ladies and Gents, we have some of the greatest shows for you. We call it… The Demon Trashing!”

What followed was a clip taken from monitoring in the anteroom of the CEO office in Wayne Tower. He watched as Damian, dressed in civilian clothing, and carrying a simple ninjato on his back entered the room. He walked around for a moment before knocking on the main office doors, but whatever answer he got seemed to have irritated him given the scowl that formed on his face. He walked over to the PA’s desk that stood there, but no one was here. After a short moment, one could see the elevator doors open again and a small girl in a smart outfit walked in. Damian dashed to the shadows before she had a chance to notice him.

Bruce resisted the urge to facepalm. He could already see where this was going.

When the girl started to walk to the desk, his son suddenly reappeared with the sword drawn. He pressed the blade to her neck. From the angle, it was impossible to see either of them expressions. The man did not expect his son to kill a civilian for trespassing, but the amount of glee on Jason’s and Dick’s faces was suggesting that his headache hadn’t really started.

The girl suddenly grabbed the blade and pushed it away. Damian, probably acting on instinct, tried to cut her, but she just walked out of the way and disarmed his son before knocking him out. There was a short skip to when Jason and Dick entered the room. The small girl was clearly very much irritated with them from the start and when she reached her limits, she used a pencil as a projectile to open the elevator doors.

A small smirk made its way to Bruce’s face when he saw her storm past his three sons, carrying the ninjato through a tissue. The video ended with Damian waking up.

“And that’s how Drake’s new PA trashed a certain Demon Spawn. I swear, she could probably give Luthor’s bodyguard a run for her money when it comes to being a badass” Jason commented on the silent video in his typical fashion.

“Tt. She stole my sword.” Damian huffed.

“You mean the sword she later used to stab Riddler’s man before disarming him?”

“I still consider the best part of today when she called B. an overgrown furry,” Dick said trying to hold back on laugher.

“Wait. I have a new personal assistant?” Tim asked half-awake.

“Yeah. She was supposed to be an intern, but apparently, Sarah hired her on the spot and quit.”

“Oh… Cool.” Tim said and took a swing from his gargantuan cup.

“Did you manage to pull the video of her taking down Riddler?” Bruce asked.

“The cameras malfunctioned before she even entered.”

“It was me,” Tim confessed. “I was still in my office when the alarm sounded. I keep a separate copy of my suit in a hidden compartment. To save time I dressed there, but I had to disable the CCTV…”

“Yeah yeah. Whatever.” Jason shut him up. “I also got the part when Damian’s eyes roll back as my new screensaver.”

“Tt. You’re lucky I don’t have my sword.”

“Don’t think you’re getting it back any time soon,” Bruce said in a stern tone and sighed. “What exactly do we know about her?”

“She is from Gotham, but she lives in Paris for some years. She said she was practicing martial arts since she was five.” Dick started

“She is also one bada…”

Jason was interrupted by Alfred, who entered the room with a plate full of cookies and tea. “A young woman just called. She asked me to forward a message to young master Damian.”

“Tt. What is it?”

“I quote. ‘Good luck getting your sword back now. Police took it as evidence. Suck it, Wayne.’ I believe the woman was young miss Chloe Bourgeoise.”

Dick, Jason, and Tim were literally rolling on the floor laughing. Bruce just facepalmed.

“No, you can’t break into the evidence room. You might jeopardize the whole investigation if you taint the evidence.” Bruce said in an exasperated tone.

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It was late after midnight (or even early morning, depends on your definition) when the vigilantes returned from the patrol, only to meet Tim and Barbara working on something on Batcomputer in tandem. Whatever it was, they were completely devoted to it since neither realized they had company until Bruce made a coughing sound.

“Not now.”

“What exactly are you doing?” The father inside Bruce resisted the urge to force-feed Tim some sleeping meds.

“We’re doing the background check,” Barbara said while typing frantically.

“On my new personal assistant.” The boy supplied.

“oh?” Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Like… from what we found she is either the worst bitch on the block or strongest badass around.”

“Langauge master Tim.” Alfred scolded him.

“Sorry. But like seriously! There are so many contradictions.”

“Check this out.” She pulled out a scan of a letter. It was largely creased, but still perfectly readable. “Her adopted parents one day disappeared, leaving her everything they owed sans some of their clothes. It was like they packed and left.”

“You suspect a foul play?”

“I’m not sure. The investigation was a joke and so was the follow-up proceeding. The interesting part is the custody battle that followed.”

“Jagged freaking Stone and Parisian Mayor.” Tim interrupted Babs. “It ended with a compromise that Jagged was lawfully named her uncle and Mayor became her guardian. She was the one who suggested it.”

“How can one be lawfully named someone’s uncle?”

“Apparently one can in France. Or they just made some concessions to a celebrity. Seen weirder things.” He shrugged. “She was also his designer for years now. You remember that mysterious MDC?”

“The one you used to fawn over?” Bruce asked.

“She is brilliant so sue me.” The boy huffed. “Also, it stands for Marigold Désign et Création. She runs an internet boutique where she takes commissions from both commoners and celebrities.”

“What does it have to do with anything?”

“I’m getting to that. Gee.”

“Maybe I will get there?” Babs tried to take over. “She’s been working part-time as a babysitter to get funds to buy materials for new clothes and received nothing but praise. She also became a class representative. A successful one at that. She also holds the national championship in U-17 Mechastrike.”

“How is that important exactly?”

“You wanted to know everything about her B., so we are giving you everything.” Tim sassed

“Just… get to the important parts.” He shook his head. What did he do to deserve this?

“Fine. Her school records are a mess. Skipping that they wouldn’t hold to any official inspection, they straight-up contradict each other.” Tim waved his hand in some undefined gesture. “On one hand, she receives nothing but praise from the teachers, but at the same time, there are multiple bullying reports and even several assaults in here. Most of them were met with harsh punishments.” Tim opened a separate file. “Too harsh according to the school charter.”

“It didn’t help that the letter from her parents also mentioned these kinds of things.” Babs chimed in, trying to regain control of the tale. Bruce just gave an exasperated sigh. He just gave up and allowed them to solve it, mentally already cataloging the information.

“Except! There were statements from several people that contradicted this. Especially Chloe Bourgeois. She said, ‘Puh-lease! Mari is the kindest doormat in the world. I was mean to her for years and she still welcomed me back with open arms.’ Given her track record, I’m inclined to believe it.”

“There was also this Drama, capital ‘D’, with MDC stealing designs. Several tabloids caught the wind of it and it even led to the police investigation. Only after Jagged Stone intervened, the thing quickly shut up.”

“Now onto the juicy parts!” Babs smiled.

“And that was what? An introduction?”

“Yup. She has a certified black belt in two different martial arts, is a master gymnast, has an IQ of over 130 and owns two separate businesses in Paris.” She quickly read. “As we mentioned, she is the honorary lawful niece of Jagged Stone, but also designed for Clara Nightingale, Nadia Chamack, worked with Gabriel Agreste, was offered an internship from Audrey Bourgeois before she became her ward. She was seen hanging out with Kagami Tsurugi, world-renowned fencer, and Luka Couffaine, the rising star under Jagged Stone’s tutelage.”

“That was fast.” Tim summarised.

“Yeah. Also, she was adopted some nine years ago. She originally comes from Gotham.”

“Do we know her biological parents?” Bruce asked, getting serious.

“That’s where it gets juicy. When I tried to pull out her adoption files, the computer shut down to avoid detection. There is some serious encryption on it. Probably due to who her father is. We got some of it. She described her mother as ‘wearing an outfit that showed more skin than her beachwear’, so we suspect she was a prostitute.”

“Hm… It’s not unheard of. You say she was with her mother until she was eight?”

“Between seven and nine the file said.”

“Hm… Do you think she is a threat?”

“No. But I have a different question. Why didn’t the league investigate Paris’ supervillain?”

“We were made aware of him only recently, after what our satellites mistook for Poison Ivy attack,” Batman said in an irritated tone. The fact that there was a supervillain running around for close to four years completely undetected grated on his nerves. “Diana Prince has been investigating for some time now. She has it under control.”

“The only problem I see is that she is only sixteen,” Barbara pointed.

“I mean I’m barely seventeen and I ran this company for two years now. And don’t act high and mighty. You started playing Batgirl at fifteen.”

“Played?!” She screamed.

“You wore a hoodie and carnival mask at first.”

This quickly developed into an insults contest until Bruce finally had enough. He just shook his head and left. Alfred silently followed him, carrying a plate of sandwiches.

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The next morning, Mari woke up in her bed, with Chloe and her curled together in a mess of limbs and clothes. Of course, she panicked and jumped up, waking the blonde.

“Honestly, Goldie, five more minutes. I need my beauty sleep!” She murmured.

“Um… Why are we in one bed?”

“Because you fell asleep hugging me yesterday and refused to let go at any point. I swear I wanted to get a crowbar. Ridiculous!”

“Sorry…” Mari gave her a sheepish smile.

“None of that! You ruined Lila’s face in one punch. Adrien texted me that in the end she lost seven teeth and will require plastic surgery for her nose not to look like a mashed potato.”

“No…!” Her eyes widened.

“Yup.” Chloe grinned, popping the ‘p’.

“That’s awful! I can already imagine how much the class will hate me now! And the employees that saw this! There were cameras there!”

“Some people actually applauded you. It could be also because you called Batman an overgrown Furry though…” Chloe’s voice wandered off. Mari collapsed onto the bed, head buried in the pillows.

“Kill me…”

“Can I kill you with hugs?”

“Fine…”

When the panicking bluenette finally calmed down, Chloe got her to sit down and showed her the headlines.

Brave WE employee saves dozens of lives!

A hero without a suit!

Civilian stopped Riddler!

Personal Assistant takes down a dangerous criminal!

They were all overly positive and showed much support. Only one tried to vilify her based on Lila’s comment and her being punched, but it quoted Ladyblog as a reliable source, so it was dismissed. The majority of the comments were also positive. The ‘overgrown Furry’ was already trending too.

Only one of the articles contained the list of names of people killed in the attack.

Ted Black - a security guard, put himself between the bullet and another employee Sigfried Osborne - a security guard, died when he tried to stop them from entering Molly Bishop - a PR specialist, called the police when she thought the guards were busy Heidi Dickson - a security guard, killed in crossfire Craig Lloyd - an HR employee, wrestled the gun from one of the henchmen before he was shot in the back. Ethel Arson - A lawyer, killed in crossfire Christian Thorn - a security guard, shot two of the riddler’s henchmen in defense of a group of hostages.

Their room had several live plants on the rail. Mari walked to them and allowed her powers to flow. Slowly, the flowers bloomed. She picked seven beautiful flowers and put them on the table.

“Mari… I’m sure they will understand if you don’t come to work today…” Chloe placed a hand on her best friend’s shoulder.

“No… No. I won’t be scared into hiding by Riddler of all people.” She said with determination and some coldness in her voice. She stood up and walked to her suitcase. From there, she gathered a different outfit. Now she would wear a red shirt, a black blazer with the Ladybug logo on her right breast, a black pencil skirt, and black leather ballet shoes (she still hated heels). But the greatest change was her hair and eyes. She let go of her twin pigtails and allowed her wavy hair to run free. It was no longer black, instead turning dark blue with purple highlights. Her eyes also changed. Her bluebell eyes also changed. The iridescent green she used to suppress was now mixed with the normal eye color, giving an entrancing effect that was hard to stop looking at.

“It’s time to rock this place.” She smiled at her best friend.

------- (Play ‘Confident’ by Demi Lovato) --------

Marigold and Chloe entered the Wayne Enterprises in full stride. Flashing her pass, she got them through control without the queue or checking, much to the shock of the class (who still had no idea Mari was now technically their boss). Adrien showed the girls thumbs up. Lila was seething, but neither Chloe nor Marigold paid her any mind and guards didn’t let her follow them and straight-up kicked her to the back of the queue.

Mari gave a nod to the receptionist, but they didn’t slow down. Elevator was about to close, but one of the employees held it for her. Once they entered, she quickly checked her tablet and the to-do list she had for that day. First stop: PR. Chloe was going to HR to receive a new mentor after… the previous day.

When she entered the Public Relations department, Mari didn’t stop to chat with the employee that looked at her in awe. Her goal was the department’s head office and that’s where she would go. Gently knocking on the doors before entering, she pushed the doors. While she was smiling kindly, her whole posture screamed professional.

“Hello. Mr. Drake will need the Friday press conference plan adjusted in response to what happened yesterday. There needs to be a mention of the event, as we won’t want to sound too detached. The press would tear us apart. Some gesture to show the public that we care…”

“Maybe a memory board in the lobby? And perhaps schedule Mr. Drake to visit each of the families somewhere next week?”

“I think it will be okay…” For a short moment, Mari allowed her confidence to drop, but she quickly gathered herself and made a note in her calendar.

“If that’s all…”

“I will also need a press statement no later than by lunch.” She said quickly. “Make it a priority and forward it to me to read before you post it.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The man smiled. Mari was about to leave when he spoke again. “And thank you for yesterday. Many people owe you their lives.”

She stopped in her tracks, unable to say a word. Finally, she regained her composure. “Thank you. I… I’m coping.”

As she left the office toward the elevator, Lila and Alya, who were interning in that department, tried to speak with her, but she didn’t even spare them a glance. Alya tried to grab her, but she was stopped by one of the older employees. As the elevator doors closed, Mari could see the girls receive a serious scolding. A grin made its way onto her face. Lila and Alya would have a really hard life for the next two months. Especially if she had anything to say about it.

Her next stop was the security office. She entered it with a neutral expression, but it lasted only maybe five steps from the elevator. She didn’t tear up. She was a Gothamite inside. Right as one walked out of the elevator, there was a small bar, behind which a board was filled with pictures. Some looked really old, black and white or even sepia, while some others were high-quality and new. Roughly half of them were the clean pictures one would attach to a resume. The other half were profile pictures from social media. Or a photo that was taken in the forest. One was even a detailed drawing of a person. There were maybe fifty of them in total.

“It’s a reminder. Guards who lost their lives since the founding of WE” An older man said. “Silas Wayne started the tradition after he served in the Great War. You’re here for something miss?”

“Oh… Yes. The security on Friday press conference. We must increase it by about fifty percent. And make sure that only those with invites can enter.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her.

“Um…” Mari suddenly felt a bit uncomfortable.

“Don’t worry. It wasn’t your fault.” He said in a comforting voice.

“Thank you, sir.” She allowed a weak smile to enter her face before she left. Only two more stops.

The elevator next took her to the Legal Department. She had many things that needed to be done here. Chloe met her as soon as she exited the elevator. Mari managed to regain her professional posture and once more emanated the aura of confidence. She wasn’t sure how long she could keep it up, but she was determined to show that she was okay.

“I already forwarded your requests. At first, Madame McKinsley was reluctant, but apparently, our entrance is already the top corporate gossip. Good job Mari-bear.”

“Good. Thanks, Chlo. Now get back to work before someone sees me get friendly with an intern. I have a plan.” Before they separated, Marigold let a smile ghost her face. “One more thing. You’re free to unleash the foxes of war.”

Chloe lit up at that. Her whole demeanor changed to almost beaming light. She immediately started planning. Mari left her to the devious scheming and instead went to McKinsley office. The head of the Legal Department was a middle-aged woman with short, slightly graying brown hair and no-nonsense composure.

“Miss Bourgeoise informed me of your visit. I already had several documents prepared, but I will need clarification on several things.” She offered the young PA a chair, but Mari refused with a shake of her head. She opened her tablet and started to go through the list.

“First of all, the video that caused the attack was leaked by an intern. What actions exactly can be undertaken in response?”

“There are several options. We could terminate their contract entirely, but as it’s their first offense, it could’ve been seen as too harsh. It would also require to terminate all internships.” The woman was clearly unamused by the situation. Mari just raised her eyebrow and gave her a quizzing look.

“I’m not sure who in their right mind wrote their contracts, but when I track them down they are gonna get their ass demoted to toilet cleaner. It’s one big mess.”

“Don’t I know it…” Mari deadpanned. “So, other options?”

“We can move them between departments, so having them demoted to Toilet cleaners could also work, but it’s not exactly a legal punishment. The fact that it was Riddler really threw a wrench in any legal proceeding as he is clinically insane and the video was not directly calling him out and only speaking about him. I could give you the legal mumbo-jumbo, but the gist is that they are somewhat protected.”

“What about revoking their privileges?”

“Take that to HR.”

“Will do. Now, about the next matter.”

“It was much easier. She can’t do anything to you, not even forward the bill. You were in shock and there are several recordings showing her taunting you. If she pushes it, she will lose. You’re a public hero right now. Good job by the way.”

“I was only doing what had to be done.” Mari brushed it, doing her best to keep a professional face.

“Sure…” It was clear that McKinsley did not believe her.

“Now about the last thing?”

“Ah. The slander. I already directed it to our French and Italian departments, but it’s slow-going. That witch made it an international case. It will definitely bite her, but we have to be patient.”

“Brilliant. Thank you for your time.” Mari left the room with a grin on her face. Now onto the HR.

As she strode through the floor, people turned their heads to look at her. In the killing outfit, she looked older than she was and the aura of confidence and professionalism made her seem like a powerful woman. They had no idea just how powerful she was, but the way she carried herself was enough to make them shake in their shoes.

----

When the doors of the elevator opened, Juleka and Rose were waiting for her. Both looked furious. Before either got a chance to say anything though, Marigold silenced them with a murderous glare that took away their voice. She strode past them looking fabulous. Any other employee removed themselves from her path to avoid her ire. The rumors were already circulating and the fact that she took down Riddler before Batman even arrived did wonder to her image.

“Hello. I had an appointment.” She said when she entered the head of the department office.

“Yes. Miss Dupain-Cheng. I was told you forwarded a list of topics, but an intern lost it.”

“Was this intern from my class?” She asked in a cold voice.

“Um… Yes actually.” The woman said after checking a small post-it.

“Then it was probably sabotage.” Mari spat the words. “I asked to have a list of possible punishments in regards to the newest intern group prepared. Two of them were responsible for the leak. Sadly, as one of them is the class representative, she is quite popular.”

“Ah. Well…”

“First of all, both Alya Cesaire and Lila Rossi are to have all possible privileges revoked for breaking the rules. They leaked or were involved in the leak of video. Neither of them is to be handed anything more important than refilling a stapler or bringing someone coffee, to ensure they are no further threat to this company. They will also receive an official warning and an entry to their acts. They are also restricted to the lower floors. If possible, I want their access to electronic devices restricted. Maybe assign them a pager each so it doesn’t negatively impact their work.”

“Hm… I will see what can be done, Ma’am.” The woman replied, already going through her notes.

“Good. Onto the next business, while it pains me to do it so fast, we need to hire more security as soon as possible. But make sure to triple check their backgrounds.”

“Understandable.”

“And the last thing. Why was Damian Wayne allowed to bring a ninjato into the building?”

“There is actually no restriction on bringing swords ma’am. We’re trying to fix it, but we’ve been blocked at every turn even when Mr. Wayne was the CEO.”

“And whose permission is needed?” Mari allowed a small grin.

“Yours would do. Sarah was always too stuck up to even leave her desk unless forced so she didn’t care that much.”

“Consider my permission granted. Forward the paperwork to me.”

“And if Mr. Drake disagrees?”

“He can try.” She said coldly, remembering how close she came to being cut in half.

“Oh…”

“Last thing. When is the top floor scheduled for repairs?”

“It should be done already. It was made to withstand an assault from a much larger force, so we only had to replace the furniture. Following the instructions that were left, we repotted the plants into bigger and more decorative pots. As per your request, we added some more plants.”

“Thank you. Plants always calm me down.”

“I prefer cat pictures.” She pointed at the wall where a cheesy calendar with a cat giving her thumbs-up was hanged. It took all of Marigold’s willpower not to burst into laugher at the image of Chat Noir posing for such a calendar.

“Good. Thank you.” With that, she left. This time, Rose and Juleka did not try anything. They were too terrified of her.

----

#maribat au #maribat #marinette dupain cheng #redeemed!chloe #Good!Adrien Agreste #Batman #miraculous lb #miraculous ladybug #Miracuolous #DC #mlb x dc #Mother!Ivy

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gabenathreversebang · 3 years

Text

GabeNath Reverse Bang 2020 Masterpost

Lady in Blue

When Gabriel akumatizes Audrey again, it goes awry and backfires on him. When he, Ladybug and Chat Noir are compromised, Nathalie decides it’s time for her to take matters into her own hands.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Changing Hearts and Changing Tides

The Agreste boys and their plus one, Nathalie, have decided to spend the week in a cabin by the coast. While Gabriel tries to mend his fractured relationship with Adrien, Nathalie is more or less there to keep the peace, but she soon finds herself out of her depth. With emotions shifting as frequently as the tide can the trio band together and take strides towards the future, or will they be swept out to sea and left hanging?

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Your Sword and Shield

The last time the Graham de Vanilys showed up to the Agreste mansion, they proved they are not to be trusted. Nathalie should have known Amelie would go to treacherous lengths to get under her skin. After a tense confrontation and the shocking reveal of a new villain, Nathalie must step into a new role to protect the one she loves.

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A Moment of Reflection

After a particularly upsetting defeat, Gabriel is feeling like it might be time to throw in the butterfly brooch and move on. Nathalie tries to encourage him to continue but even she has some reservations about the idea. The two have a heart to heart over some brandy and learn things about each other.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

well, of course i’ve tried lavender

K O E L N @archekoeln you think, i didn’t know mayura was the type to resort to something like this? but you’re wrong, because now you’re being carried like a sack of potatoes above paris and, 3/11

K O E L N @archekoeln well, the view’s nice and all but you’re also in the arms of a villain??? 4/11

K O E L N @archekoeln you also think, how is she so strong??? because you know you aren’t as light as a feather (haha i’m funny) and her arms are skinny af, but you know, magic i guess 5/11

An online thread about Mayura sparks something in Gabriel. And as her boss (and friend, and villainous partner, and her something), isn’t it his job to… to do what exactly? Well, even he doesn’t know.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Not All Heroes Wear Capes

Superheroes, in daily life, usually remained hidden. Men and women, bestowed with god-like powers, living among those whose only powers remained in their knowledge and talents. One of these heroes was Mayura, a peacock-themed superheroine with the power to create new life. As more laborers were going on strike, Mayura’s efforts to keep the economy from deflating were more crucial than ever. Because of her, livelihoods were kept intact for the destitute. For the corporate overlords, however, she was the bane of their luxurious existence. But what does this mean to Gabriel Agreste?

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Broken Arrow

Ordinary innkeeper Nathalie is plagued with visions of a captive Gabriel, begging for help. She sets out to recruit his son Adrien, the Demigod of Love, to aid her in freeing Gabriel from Emilie, the goddess of beauty. But Nathalie doesn’t know the secret that Adrien keeps from her that may tear them all apart.

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Gabriel’s Inferno

Nothing seemed to predict how it all would end, and yet it had to have been obvious. It had been weeks since Mayura’s last appearance and he didn’t even let her go out to fight in person, but a broken miraculous doesn’t get carried away by precautions once it’s activated. With Nathalie balancing between life and death, Gabriel will have the opportunity to fix things or lose himself forever in a hellish battle that will overcome all nightmares.

Fanfic (English), archived Fanfic (Spanish), archived Art, archived

If I Could Turn Back Time

Gabriel and Nathalie obtain the rabbit miraculous and travel into the paths of time as Velveteen and Mayura, with the goal of preventing the chain of events that would lead to Emilie’s death. But on their way to Tibet, they encounter surprising visions of possible futures that leave them questioning what is possible and what they really want.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

This is Hallowe’en

With All Hallow’s Eve hanging over their heads, the Agreste household gets wrapped into celebrating Samhain. With Gabriel and Adrien following Nathalie’s knowledgeable path, they can not fail, probably. This moderately functional family will honor Emilie Agreste in the best ways they can.

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Malleable Fates

A red thread starts materializing around Gabriel’s finger nearly two decades after he’s already found his soulmate. As he and Nathalie devise a faultless plan to finally win Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous and bring back his wife, Gabriel fights the onslaught of confusing feelings brought about the mysterious reappearance of his soulmate string - including the sneaking suspicion that his soulmate maybe isn’t who she used to be.

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The Splintered Soul Staring Back At Me

In the aftermath of the battle and a brief hospital stay, Nathalie is safe at home. Her recovery has been a bit stagnant, but she’s been granted leave from work and the miraculous is finally fixed. Things can only go up from here, right?

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With the Flap of a Butterfly’s Wing

It only took one little thing, the barest of moments, for Duusu to feel their love, and decide that they had to do something about it. Which was how Duusu ended up roping Nooroo into trying everything under the sun to match up their two stubborn holders.

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The Orders He Defies

After her husband’s death, Nathalie Sancoeur fell into deep despair. Determined to bring him back, she set her goal on obtaining the Black Cat and Ladybug miraculous, using the power of her own one. All her attempts for the last year, however, were futile. Should she remain careful? Or should she let it all burn, as her assistant Gabriel suggests she should? And is the goal even worth its price?

Fanfic (English), archived Fanfic (Ukranian), archived Art, archived

Royal Pain

Nathalie liked to think that she would make a pretty good king. If she had been born as the opposite sex, anyways. But as the facts were, Princess Nathalie Sancoeur had a duty thrust upon her that she would rather have not, all things considered: to be married to a foreign prince, in order to bring good fortune to her family and kingdom, and bolster their strength should the rapidly-cooling relations with one of the neighboring countries turn into a full-blown war. It was enough to make her gag every time she thought of it.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Dancing on Broken Glass

It was Lila that almost reduced Paris to rubble.It was that conflict that caused an irreversible change to two miraculous holders.It was that change that brought them together.

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Anagnorisis

«Define Hubris»

Gabriel never considered how much a Deus Ex Machina would cost.

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Worth

It’s been seventeen years since Nathalie and Gabriel sat in the cramped studio working hard to get the brand off the ground, and now he can’t help but reflect on those long-forgotten years.

Before Emilie. Before Adrien. Before the money and fame.

As he looks at her across his desk… he wonders if it was all worth it.

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A Witch’s Desire

Gabriel Agreste was a peculiar man, who was known around town both as a famous fashion designer and a powerful witch who was able to read and control minds, though he never used that second power unless there was a real emergency. Heck, he barely even used the first. But after losing his wife, Gabriel becomes desperate to do anything he can to bring her back, even that means using his powers for evil, or tracking down a mysterious powerful witch who had disappeared many years ago, with the power to bring the dead back to life.

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Not a Minute of Peace

Even though the akuma wants to shackle them, the Collector and Catalyst have more freedom than Gabriel and Nathalie ever had. They may be criminals turned into prey, but they enjoy the hunt. There is only one thing they are running from.

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Revision

Nathalie made the wish.

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The Woman With The Golden Feathers

The annual Bourgeois masquerade comes at the right time for Gabriel. In a moment of personal uncertainty after his discreet divorce, he will find the possible answer in a mysterious lady with golden feathers.

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Time and Time Again

The stress of being a young designer trying to make it in the fashion industry is taking its toll, and Gabriel’s and Nathalie’s marriage is slowly unraveling.

They’ve stood the tests of life since their first year of university, but when everything comes crashing down, Gabriel finds himself stuck reliving the day it happened. Failing and falling, time and time again with every passing ‘day’. Why is he here? How can he stop it? The answer lies in a choice as to what matters more: his career or the woman who has stood by him through it all.

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Clarity

A year after Hawkmoth’s surrender, Gabriel asks Nathalie to join him to gaze at the stars. While she waits for him, she contemplates the empty space left by the removal of the portrait from the foyer hall. Growth ensues for them both as they learn to just be by each other’s side.

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C’est la Vie; C’est le Ballet

After the death of his wife, upstart choreographer Gabriel Agreste is looking for a new star for his ballet, Miraculous. Hard to please and willing to do whatever it takes for the sake of the show, none of the auditionees fit his artistic vision…

…except Nathalie, a former prima ballerina turned ballet instructor. She’s stoic and very dedicated to her craft, but there’s a reason she stopped performing four years ago and it has dangerous potential.

Through the trials and triumphs and betrayals that run hand in hand with the world of ballet, Gabriel and Nathalie begin to find something more in each other’s company, and perhaps the seeds of new beginnings.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

I’m Praying (There’s Saving)

It was to be Gabriel’s first party on Olympus, but little did he know it would also be the last. Not only for him, but for everyone. In the blink of an eye everything changed, sending the god of nature and his newborn son to take refuge with the Queen of the Dead. They thought they were safe, but even the depths of the underworld couldn’t escape the King’s wrath forever.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

#gabenath reverse bang #gabenath events #gabenath #miraculous ladybug #reverse bang #gabenath reverse bang 2020 #masterpost 2020

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

Boxer

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Seo Changbin (SKZ)

Warnings: Smut, Smut, Smut (and explicit language with some mentions of violence)

Word Count: 3K

Summary: There was an undeniable relief when the referee held up Changbin’s hand to declare him the winner. Meanwhile, Y/N tried to relax inside his locker room, waiting for Changbin to return, just like he always promised.

A/N: Since everyone is losing their minds over Changbin today, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to release this little slice of smut. BTW I was kinda inspired by the movie Southpaw.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, your lightweight champion of the world!”

I held my breath, watching the television screen as Changbin threw his fists into the air, celebrating his victory while holding his mouthpiece between his teeth. The crowd was screaming his name, roaring with their delight for his defeat of an opponent who had been taunting him for weeks at the press conferences leading up to tonight’s event. He had never once felt intimated by the man who was being carried out of the ring by local medical staff, and Changbin approached the camera with extra swagger in his steps, showing off the bruises and scars decorating his flushed skin. “I’m the champion,” he practically growled, revealing the title belt wrapped securely around his waist.

I shivered at the dark look in his eyes, leaning further back on the bench in his locker room. It was never easy to watch Changbin’s fights, wincing every time he was hit by a rival, or when he fell to the mat after suffering from a powerful blow. There was never a moment when he wasn’t a canvas of battle wounds, and I often took my time bandaging him after his matches, ensuring that I took care of my husband since he often disregarded such trivial affairs.

But they mattered to me, and I had voiced my complaints regarding Changbin’s chosen career path. It was a dangerous sport, and the risk of suffering from something greater than a few scrapes was constantly hanging over my head. Nevertheless, I was also aware that he had so much passion for the sport, and I would likely never convince him to stop because he was addicted to the rush of adrenaline that left him in a permanent state of exhaustion.

So, I always tried to support him, and I maintained a pleasant smile when I heard Changbin enter the locker room. He smirked in my direction, reaching behind him to undo his title belt before draping it across the long metal bench next to me. “Did you see me out there, sweetheart?” Changbin asked, seeking my approval which I always gave him.

“You did so good, Binnie,” I told him in return. “Will you let me take care of your hands?”

Changbin startled at the question, looking down at his fists as if just realizing that blood was steadily pouring from the knuckles. He nodded in response, keeping his eyes trained on the wounds while I fetched the first aid kit from the back room. Meanwhile, he carefully sat down on the bench. “I didn’t even realize...” Changbin trailed off, watching me as I knelt down in front of him to carefully clean the mangled skin with an antiseptic wipe before unwrapping a fresh layer of gauze to secure the wound.

“You usually don’t,” I said, pressing a soft kiss to the each hand before glancing up at him. “But I’ll always be here to take care of it.”

Changbin grinned, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from my eyes. “I love you, Y/N.”

My heart ached in my chest at the meaningful sentiment, returning the words as I pressed a gentle kiss to his lips while also being mindful of the cut that had previously split the skin in a different fight. His lips were chapped, but I didn’t mind, tracing their shape with my tongue before I attempted to pull away from him. However, one of Changbin’s hands came around to the back of my head to hold me in place, chasing after my lips like a man starved for touch. “Binnie,” I whispered between kisses, growing increasingly breathless from his ministrations.

“Come up here,” he suggested with a sly smirk, patting his lap with both hands. I nodded before carefully straddling his thick thighs which were covered by the tight material of his shorts, wrapping my arms around his neck as he tightened his grip on my waist. “Beautiful,” he declared, reclaiming my mouth once again as his tongue made a leisurely swipe against my teeth, deepening our kiss and steadily grinding his hips into mine. I whimpered because the outline of his erection was even more apparent in the shorts that always complimented his lean body, hugging tightly to his legs and emphasizing the roundness of his ass. I moaned just thinking about about the mental image, remembering how the sweat glistened on Changbin’s well-built torso after his match, and I could feel his fingers working apart the buttons on my blouse.

I allowed the shirt to fall from my shoulders, collecting against the creases of my elbows in a delicate fashion. It exposed more of my upper body to the colder air permeating the locker room that was suddenly alive with the sound of our heavy panting and the wet smack of our lips. Changbin groaned low in his chest, allowing me to collect my breath while he trailed his lips down my neck and collarbones, brushing his mouth against the swell of my breasts. I met his dark gaze as he looked up at me, mouthing against my nipples through the thin fabric of my silken bra, forming a stain from the heat of his tongue. It was nothing short of sinful, and I couldn’t help but moan at the contradiction between the warmth of his mouth and the pleasant sting from his teeth.

“Yes,” I whispered, trembling because the friction was delicious against my sensitive flesh, watching Changbin leave behind colorful bruises to affect the pale skin of my chest. I closed my eyes in pure delight, moving my hands away from his shoulders to move down his massive chest, feeling the impossible strength in his pectoral muscles and the faint abdominal lines leading to the waistband of his shorts. His body was built like an Adonis, and I was incredibly lucky to have such intimate access to someone who dedicated a good portion of their time to sculpting those hard muscles.

I was drawn out of my lustful haze when Changbin finally removed my shirt from my arms, reaching behind me for the clasp to my bra, which left me bare and openly displayed for his eyes. “Now, we’re even,” he grumbled against my throat, nipping at the skin that was pulled taut as I threw my head back to allow him better access.

There was a noticeable air of dominance surrounding my husband, and his aggression was growing more and more apparent as he marked me with his teeth. As a result, my legs tightened around his thighs, and I could feel my panties growing damp with my arousal. “Changbin, please,” I said, desperate for more.

It caught his attention, and Changbin finally paused long enough to look at me before I suddenly found myself on my back, gasping because the cold metal of the bench was harsh against my exposed skin. His sudden display of strength caught me off-guard, and I watched as he moved further down the bench to wrestle my jeans and panties down my legs, growling low in his chest before throwing them into the floor. I whined again because there was something undeniably vulnerable about my current position: completely naked and exposed for Changbin who sauntered above me while palming his cock over the material of his shorts. “Touch yourself for me, slut,” he snarled, and I arched my back against the intensity of his gaze.

Nevertheless, I accommodated his request, jerking my hips at the first touch of my index finger against my throbbing clit, which was suddenly desperate for some form of release. I delicately circled the tiny bud, whining Changbin’s name after I realized that everything was too sensitive, and it hurt when I attempted to increase the speed of my touches. At the same time, I could barely stand to meet Changbin’s intimidating gaze, turning my head to the side as I parted the folds of my labia to tease one finger inside of my drenched pussy. “Oh!” I gasped, reacting to the sudden penetration and the way it caused my legs to shake as they fought to close against the intrusion.

“Keep your legs spread,” Changbin said, reaching down to interfere, and I moaned when he parted my thighs, fingers digging bruises into the skin. “I want to see you come like this.”

I shook my head because I was feeling overwhelmed, but I still continued to test my limits, adding another finger and using my free hand to tease my clitoris, increasing the pressure while timing the thrusts inside of my tight heat. I could feel myself clenching around my own fingers, responding to the light, but pleasurable touches. My entire body was shaking with my growing need to come, and my hips were grinding down in a desperate attempt to chase the irresistible vibrations that were contributing to the slowly building climax in my lower abdomen.

However, even as I continued to pump my fingers inside of my warm cunt, I thought about Changbin and how much I desperately wanted him to take control, but he had an impeccable resolve. If he set his mind to something, then he would do everything in his power to see it come to fruition. The only way that I would see any kind of pleasure from his cock was after I managed to push myself over the edge on my own. It was still nice, though, focusing on how well I was stretching myself in preparation for him, and how good it felt to fill myself with anything, even if it had to be my fingers.

Thankfully, I was starting to approach my release, and I whimpered at the embarrassingly loud squelching sounds that were disturbing the quiet of the locker room. There was an undeniable pressure building in my tightening core, responding to an intense combination of the delicious friction from my fingers and the weight of Changbin’s gaze as he continued to watch me while stroking himself over his shorts. But then again, just thinking about his cock was enough to drive me insane.

I bit my lower lip to keep myself from moaning when I finally came, riding out the waves of my first orgasm as my hips continued to roll desperately, rising and falling against the metal bench underneath me. There were tears steadily falling from the corners of my eyes, and I had only started to remove my fingers when I felt Changbin grab my thighs to jerk me down to the edge of the bench. I looked at him through lidded eyes as he tugged down his shorts, allowing them to pool into the floor as he took another step forward. I groaned when I saw his cock, thick and erect, and I felt my mouth start to salivate as I remembered how it felt to taste him inside my mouth. The tip was painted with an angry red color, and I lifted myself into a sitting position. “Can I?” I asked him, placing a tender kiss against the underside of his cock.

Changbin inhaled sharply as he reached out with both hands, wrapping his fingers through my hair as he brought me even closer to his erection, allowing the head to slip obscenely across the seam of my lips. “My little slut can have whatever she wants,” Changbin replied, and I needed no further encouragement before opening my mouth and inviting my tongue to taste the bead of precum that had gathered on the tip. The result was bitter, but I relaxed my throat and took him as deep as I could manage, bobbing my head up and down the full length of his erection. Changbin grunted at my efforts, planting his feet on the floor as he gave an experimental thrust, and I started choking around him, pulling off to gather my breath before trying again.

“Such a good girl for me,” Changbin purred, and he was more affectionate when his fingers traced my lips that were stretched around the girth of his cock. I moaned around him, watching as he closed his eyes to savor the vibrations that I had caused. “That’s right,” he said, gripping his cock at the base to feed me more of his erection until my nose touched his public hair, and the sting at the back of my throat had more instinctual tears falling down my face.

After several more successive thrusts into the warm heat of my mouth, Changbin pulled me away from his cock, breathing heavily as he reached for my waist. My legs trembled under me as he manhandled my body into the position that he wanted, bending me over the edge of the bench as he drug his cock against the crevice of my ass. There was no denying that I was a mess at this point, crying because of my overpowering need for him, and pushing back against his hips as he continued to tease me, dragging the tip of his cock against my wet slit.

My breath caught around a moan when I felt him finally end my suffering, pushing the full length of his cock inside at a slow pace. My eyes practically rolled to the back of my head as I supported myself on my forearms, arching my back for a better angle until his hips were flush against my ass. “Changbin,” I whimpered, feeling incredibly full from the sensation of his cock stuffed deep inside where it belonged, and I was practically split open around his impressive girth.

I sniffled as I squeezed myself around him, grateful that he was giving me time to adjust, before I reached back for one of the hands that were still holding my hips. I gave him a reassuring squeeze, and he moaned in response. “So fucking tight for me,” Changbin said, and he started grinding his hips in steady circles, grazing over a pleasurable spot that managed to heighten the warm haze settling over the center of my chest. It was nice to savor the thickness of his cock, and I gasped when Changbin began to pull out, teasing me with just the tip before ending my pain and filling me again and again. In the meantime, he whispered words of praises, telling me how good I looked from behind, taking his cock like I had been made for him. His words mixed scandalously with the smack of his hips, joining the chorus of my moans and grunts as I felt myself quickly unraveling from the inside, crying even louder when one of Changbin’s hands tangled itself into my hair, pulling back and forcing me to arch my back even more.

The new angle was addicting, and my pussy was throbbing as he started to increase the pace of his well-timed thrusts, finding an easy rhythm as he played with my body like it was personal toy to be used whenever he needed pleasure. But I didn’t mind the idea, and I loved how much stronger he was, moving my body around to his liking. He liked to experiment with interesting positions, and I gasped when Changbin kicked my feet further apart, spreading my legs even wider as he somehow managed to leave me feeling utterly wrecked and destroyed around his cock.

“It’s so good,” I slurred when Changbin brought another hand down between us, finding my clit with expert fingers. I moaned when he started to stimulate the throbbing organ with tight circles, knowing the best way to break me down. And the dueling sensations of his cock penetrating my desperate cunt and his fingers assaulting the swollen bud were bringing me even closer to the edge.

I wasn’t surprised when my walls started tightening around his cock in response to my impending orgasm. Desperately, I started bucking my hips against his, meeting him on every thrust as I felt my vision start to blacken around the edges. Even so, I managed to look over my shoulder at Changbin, listening to his heavy panting as he closed his eyes and tossed his head to the side, thrusting even harder into my aching core and hitting my G-spot repeatedly from deep inside.

The visual was enough to break me, and I came around him with a muted scream, wrapping my hand over my mouth as he continued to push into me over and over again as I rode out my second orgasm. I cried when everything grew distorted around me, and Changbin was still chasing his own orgasm, dragging his thick cock against the fluttering walls of my pussy as I swallowed him again and again. Everything was suddenly veering on the edge of overstimulated, and I was whining and crying from the pleasure, chanting his name while my lower arms started shaking with the threat of giving out at any moment.

“Y/N!” Changbin grunted, and his hips stuttered in place once, twice, and then three times before he came inside, and I could feel his warm seed fill me to the brim. “Holy shit,” he cursed, allowing his flaccid cock to fall from my leaking pussy.

I swallowed around a deep inhale, barely keeping myself up as I managed to maneuver myself onto my back, looking up at Changbin as he towered over me. “Binnie,” I called for him, stretching out my arms in his direction.

“You look so good like this, sweetheart,” Changbin said, and he gently wrapped his arms around me, lifting me up into the air as he encouraged my legs to lock around his waist. “We can take a shower here,” Changbin said, pressing kisses against my lips. “Then, we’ll go home, okay?”

I nodded, feeling drowsy from everything that had happened. But there was no better place in the world than being wrapped around my husband, reveling in his strength as he supported both of us. I closed my eyes as I buried my face into the side of his neck, savoring his warmth because he always managed to make me feel safe and loved.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x y/n #stray kids fanfic #stray kids changbin #seo changbin fanfic #seo changbin smut #stray kids changbin smut #changbin x reader #stray kids angst

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hydraulicfluidinmyteapot · 3 years

Text

Pirates of the Caribbean

This is an ask from @shrigma-male, but i accidentally deleted the ask.. so sorry! I am high key excited to get an ask about this topic, as the Pirates of the Caribbean ride is probably one of my earliest animatronic centric obsessions. not only is it one of the earliest and most impressive feats of Imagineering, it also remains solid to this day. it houses a great many iconic animatronic figurines, all of which work together in perfect harmony to capture beautifully life filled scenes of a cohesive storyline. Its individual ride concept was so strong that it birthed a line of clones and even a famous movie franchise. isn’t that sick? a RIDE was the key source material for a whole movie series! but it’s unsurprising, with the time and care poured into the ride. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you think about it, the ride is JAM PACKED so there is a LOT to talk about. This will only be a super brief post information-wise, but who knows? There may be more to come if this performs well. Apologies, my life’s not going great at the moment and i don’t have a lot of spare time so this is not as high a quality as i would like it to be.

Here’s my fast fact file on it!

Debut: March 16, 1967

Withdrawal: All rides are still operating

Attraction: The Pirates of the Caribbean

Locations: Disneyland, Magic Kingdom, Tokyo Disneyland, Disneyland Paris, Shanghai Disney (but this one’s heavily modified)

Attraction Type: Dark ride

Riders Per Vehicle: 23–24

Number of vehicles: 50

Animatronics: 119 ish but it depends on the ride version

Ride videos: The entire ride varies from version to version and different people want to see different parts. i’m leaving you guys to find your own ride videos. it’s a very popular ride, just type on in to youtube and you’ll find heaps of nice high quality ones.

The thing that stands out about this ride is the theming and the sheer amount of effort put in to creating an immersive environment. the ride houses an impressive 119 audio animatronics, 53 of which are animals. There are 630,000 gallons of water in the ride (original Disneyland) and takes three whole days to drain. there are over 40,000 gold coins in the treasure room scene alone. It holds what could possibly be considered Disney’s first themed restaurant which can be seen at the start of the ride. It is objectively one of the coolest things I’ve ever ridden. I want to call specific attention to the boat scene, where cannons fare at each other from opposite ships, creating glowing impacts and throwing water about. the first time I rode it it ensnared my attention and completely suspended my disbelief.The ride system is based on the one used in it’s a small world, due to that rides incredible success in debuting a boat-based transport system. Although I hate it’s a small world with a burning passion and refuse to write anything on it, I must be forced to admit that it did wonders as a test on how to create a good dark ride, emphasising key features such as a high rider capacity, boat-based transport system, and proving that animatronics are an incredibly attractive key event. Since the 60’s when it debuted, the Pirates of the Caribbean ride has gone through many changes throughout its location, including entire scenes being added and removed. but what it has maintained throughout its historic run time is its notoriety and splendour. the key change that I will bring up is the 2006 and 2007 renovations that include more theming from the very successful movie franchise. slightly unrelated, but the song “Yo ho, a pirate’s life for me” was actually first written for the ride. The rides are all being constantly updated in minor ways whether it’s slightly improving the animatronics, touching up background details or changing costuming. I’ll attach here a brief sort of timeline of the ride that I’ve whipped up here, but it only touches on the most notable modifications. sorry about how crap-tier it is..

Now, to talk more specifically about animatronics. The animatronics used on this ride are some of the earliest made by Disney. some are really quite basic, with their full range of motions being a singular full body action such as raising and lowering out of a barrel, but others move heads and arms in (sort of) lifelike actions. Some are newer, (specifically captain Jack Sparrow), but most are the original ones from the 60’s. One of my (and everyone’s tbh) favourites is the redheaded lady. She is (very originally) named Redd. Previously she was being sold off for auction, but in 2018 she was swapped to being an auctioneer. She has stunning red curls and a beautiful dress to match, and now holds a gun. here’s a little before and after.

in the same refurbishment that changed her the mist screen in the tunnel before the fort battle was removed and replaced with a pirate in a cage who turns into a skeleton via an optical trick as well as an octopus playing with some medallions, along with the original 1967 narration about cursed treasure being restored. Her new version is based off none other than Anne Bonny herself (worth a google, she’s a fucking BOSS (like seriously!! Queer history icon!!! LOOK 👏 HER 👏 UP 👏 )) . She’s also displayed in dead man’s cove in a portrait, which I think is kinda neat. Her Paris version is completely silent, but the others yell about selling rum. Sadly I have never actually seen the new Redd in person, as I have only ridden the ride in Tokyo (where she is still being sold).

Now, the barker bird! oh how I love him so <3 he’s a little green pirate parrot, who spent his days crying about the ride. he was originally in the queue area but got kicked outside eventually to help deal with crowd control. he was then gotten rid of in 2006 in the big movie refurb. He was remarkably similar to the original barker bird who resided outside of the Enchanted Tikki Room; however, the pirate version has a peg leg, eye patch, tattoo on his chest and wondrously villainous hat. he was originally based off of Captain Flint, the parrot from Treasure Island. It is theorised that he has a skeletal clone inside the ride; the parrot belonging to “the Dirty Feet pirate”.

When you first get on the ride, the first animatronic you come across is Old Joe. he is an animatronic character used in multiple different attractions, including Liberty Belle Riverboat, The Western River and Mark Twain Riverboat. in each version, he lives in a shack and is associated with the banjo. I say associated because it is actually a really common misconception that he actually plays the banjo. he does not, it is just a dark scene and there is banjo music playing around him. you can see the tip of his pipe glowing as you approach it in the ride, lit up alongside the fireflies. he is a small taste of what is to come.

Barbossa replaced the original pirate captain of The Wicked Wench in the boat battle scene in the mass movie renovation. he is my tied favourite with the redhead, as his dialog adds so much to the scene. his character moves in a beautiful fashion, lit up by a spotlight. His face is artfully painted, capturing what I believe to be the most human expression in the entire ride. His boat is fighting a Castillo del Morro fortress of Isla Tesoro, whilst busy searching for treasure and presumably captain jack sparrow. in 2011 his WDW version’s outfit was swapped over to his privateer uniform from On Stranger Tides, to keep the ride tied to the movies. What can be considered quite odd is that in Paris’s later renovation, the Captain did not replace the Wicked Wench captain, and was rather added in to a scene at the end of the ride, in the skeleton grotto. he is standing on the shipwreck beside the skeleton helmsman, carrying a lantern.

The auctioneer. I don’t like him. greasy man. his eyes are wild. He’s originally voiced by Paul Frees (an icon, a legend) and is inspired by Captain Bartholomew Roberts (considered the most successful pirate in the golden age of piracy. He is also a pirate from the ship The Wicked Wench, and his auction is set up near a canteen called "La Cantina”. very creative. He was originally selling brides (human trafficking, not very snazzy) but now he sells chickens he stole from townspeople. however, this is unsuccessful. In the Paris version, instead of the chickens he is trying to sell a painting of Jean Laffite. Funnily enough, Jean is one of Disney’s sort of “stand in” pirate characters that they frequently just use whenever they need a pirate to slide in. Unfortunately, the auctioneer is always kept relatively up to date with the shiniest, newest technology that Disney can spare, and is always one of the most advanced figures on the ride. doesn’t deserve it, he’s slimy and I don’t like him. I should probably mention that he doesn’t actually have a name other than the auctioneer. There’s also a clone of him used in the haunted mansion for the duelling animatronics. loser.

This is a very long post, so I shall cut it here. I will leave you with an image gallery, further reading and a possible promise of a part two if this post does well. Thank you!

(ok so i actually haven’t got any further reading gathered yet. give me like 6 hours and ill fix it in an edit. i promise. i just want to get this post out asap)

#animatronic #audio animatronics #Audio Animatronic #animatronics #Disney #disney parks #pirates #pirates of the caribbean #redd #captain barbossa #history #long post

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winchester-purgatory · 3 years

Text

Fake marriage, snobby mother and booty calls | Dean Winchester x OC

Summary: Awsten’ sister tells their parents she’s married - she isn’t. Dean accepts to play along when her parents comes to visit for dinner

Word count: 1670

Notes: I wrote this for the Christmas bingo I participated back in December but only now got to finish it

Dean Winchester wasn't husband material. He liked old cars, 80s rock music, had a bit of a drinking problem and had been in jail. He hated to wear ties, being more of a flannel kind of guy, and always had oil or grease stained hands from fixing cars.

Her mom was going to hate him.

He was also a bit of a ladies man, but that part didn't need to be mentioned at the Christmas gathering.

''Are you sure this is a good idea?’’

''You gotta be there,'' Awsten insisted, looking at Dean over the island countertop where they were having breakfast. ''My sister already told everyone I was married. I would be the family’s laughingstock if I they show up for dinner and there is no man in my apartment after such a big news.''

''I still don't get why you couldn't tell them it was a misunderstanding. Why make things complicated when they were initially simple?''

''Because they're from another generation and won't understand. They won't find it funny that we played the 'just married' card to get free alcohol. Or that we only hook up on the daily.'' The redhead sighed, taking a sip of her hot coffee. ''If Charlie hadn't tagged us on social media, my sister would've never seen the picture and caption...''

Dean reached out, squeezing Awsten’s bare thigh on the bar stool, and looked at her with apologetic eyes. ''Charlie’s really sorry. She didn’t think the picture would get to your family.''

''I know. It’s okay. I made my peace with it. Now, we just have to play pretend.'' She stood, taking her empty plate and putting it in the sink to wash later.

Today was going to be a long day and Awsten was dreading all of it. Having her parents and sister over for Christmas wasn’t part of her December plans. For the last two years, she had escaped the family reunions and had intended to do it again this year. She didn't hate her family, they were just so strict, judgemental and draining to be around.

She'd rather rent a cabin in the mountains with a couple friends - Charlie and Dean included. At least, that promised a lot of fun.

Dean joined her by the sink, doing the same with his dishes.

''Thank you for doing this, Dean.''

As insane as the situation was, Awsten was glad to have someone like Dean. Not everyone would have agreed to partake in her crazy plan and play married couple for the holidays, even for one night. And, he will definitely add some spice to her family's Christmas dinner.

''It was my idea in the first place to get the alcohol. And, I wasn’t going to say no to free turkey.''

Awsten scoffed. ''The turkey might be free, but you are helping me. I’m not gonna do all the hard work by myself, Winchester.''

''I would try to eclipse myself, but since you did most of the work last night, I guess I could help you for today,'' he said as he slid a hand under Awsten's tee shirt to cup one of her cheeks and gave it a small squeeze.

After six hours of chopping, whisking and seasoning, the faux-married couple were finally ready to receive Awsten’s family.

The redhead has put a red tablecloth to mask the chips on the wooden table, something that would've definitely not gone unnoticed by her mother, and pulled out the pretty candle set she had received three Christmases ago to decorate the center.

Dean lit up the Christmas tree filled with miscandellous, non-traditional ornaments and hoped no one would point out the missing Christmas crib under the tree. It was somewhere in the storage closet and Awsten didn't feel like fetching it.

As they were setting the table, Dean caught the silver ring on the redhead’s finger. ''Just so you know, I would've never offered you this cheap ass looking ring. My wife deserves something better than a plastic rock.''

Awsten narrowed her eyes. ''I did with what I had and with the time I had, Dean! I couldn't get myself a real wedding ring. Diamonds are hella expensive.''

''You didn’t even get me one.''

''I forgot. But, knowing my family, they won't even notice. They'll be too occupied looking elsewhere,'' she promised.

''You mean my charming smile?''

She glanced at his flannel and stubbles, both red flags in her mother's book. ''Among others.''

It was around six o’clock when the doorbell rang. Awsten smoothed her velvet dress and checked her lipstick in the hallway mirror before opening the door.

''How can you get married and not tell us? I didn't raise you like this,'' her mom asked, skipping the greetings and walking in like it was her own place.

Awsten contained herself, forcing a smile. ''Hello to you too, Mom…''

Richard and Emilie, Awsten’s dad and sister, followed inside, shutting the door behind. They shed peeled off their winter layers and hung them on the overflowing coat hanger.

The elder woman peered into the apartment, looking for the handsome man her daughter had married. ''Now, where is that husband of yours? We didn't make all that travel for nothing.''

''I’m right here, Mrs. Torres,'' Dean replied, coming to the entrance to greet the guests. He kissed both her mom and sister’s cheeks and shook hands with Richard, his politeness surprising the Torres.

Although he had succeeded to impress her with his politeness, Dean didn't earn Cecelia's approval. She gave him an up and down look, disapproval casting itself on her face almost immediately.

''Shall we move to the kitchen? Dinner is ready.''

''What's your career, Dean?'' Cecelia asked, attacking him with questions as soon as they sat down around the table.

The redhead gave her mother a dirty look, knowing exactly what she was doing. To most, it looked like Cecelia was being nice and trying to get to know Dean, but she was being a snake and trying to find valid reasons to not like Dean to back herself with when she’ll later confront Awsten.

Dean swallowed his bite before responding. ‘’I'm a mecanicien, ma'am. I work at my uncle's auto-shop.''

''Ah.'' She glanced at her cadet daughter and back to Dean, disapproval in her eyes. ''Are you planning on taking over the business?''

''I love cars, but owning an auto-shop isn’t in my plans for the future.''

''What is, then?''

''Owning a bar. Commercializing my own beer...or whiskey, perhaps. Something along those lines.''

''I assume you are studying business?'' Mr. Torres asked, suddenly taking interest in the conversation, owning himself a business.

Dean shook his head. ''No. I’m not in college, Sir. College isn’t for me.''

''How did you meet?''

''Was it like the movies? Your car broke and he repaired it?'' Emilie asked with a snicker, making fun of her sister.

Awsten glared at her. ''No. We met through Charlie, my roommate. You remember her? She and Dean are long date friends.''

As the dinner progressed, Cecelia’s disdain toward Dean was getting more and more apparent - and she made little efforts to hide her feelings.

''If you'll excuse us, I need a drink. Awsten, darling, will you come help me in the kitchen?'' She flashed Dean a forced, bitter smile and stood, heading to the kitchen for some privacy.

''You don't like him.'' taking a glass out of the cabinet to

''With reasons! Have you seen this guy? I don't know what you find in him. He looks like...a lumberjack. You are worth so much more than him, Awsten. Guys like him don't go far in life,'' she said in true Cecelia Torres fashion, always quick to judge others.

''Well, we're already married, Mom. What can you do?''

''Is this why you got married in secret? Because you knew we wouldn't approve.''

An unsurprised laugh left the redhead's lips. ''Of course you would think that… Yes, Mom, I married a guy solely to spite you.'' Awsten poured the strong alcohol in the glass, the amber liquid gliding over the baby Yoda shaped ice cubes. ''Is it so difficult for you to believe that I love Dean? Just because I was raised in high society doesn't mean I wish to follow that kind of life.''

Cecelia huffed. ''You say that now, but you'll change your mind.''

''I doubt it.''

''Did he...force you into this? Marrying him.''

Awsten's eyes widened. She couldn't believe the words that left her mother's mouth. ''I'm leaving. You're being crazy.'' She took the drink she had prepared for her mother and left the kitchen, needing it.

''What about my drink?''

''Congratulation, Mom hates you. You’re everything she didn’t want for me.''

''Aw, damn,'' Dean said with sarcasm, helping Awsten clean up. ''I thought I had made a good impression.''

The redhead bit back a smile. ''I’m sorry for how she behaved toward you. For the way she talked about you. She’s insufferable sometimes.''

Dean shook his head. ''Don't apologize for her. I don't care what she says about me.'' He brought the leftovers to the fridge, trying to control his grin at the thought of stealing a tupperware of turkey for his lunch tomorrow. ''And it's not like we really are married - not that I'd care more then.''

''Now you get why I never visit my family. They're all similar variants of my mother.''

''They say family wants the best for you, but it's not always the case. I've stopped caring about others' opinion of me long ago. I can take a snobby mother who believes I forced her daughter into marrying me.''

Awsten stopped washing the plate, her stomach dropping. ''Oh no... You heard that?''

Out of all the disgusting things her mother had said tonight, this took the crown. Awsten had hoped Dean hadn't heard, but the kitchen wasn't very soundproof.

She opened her mouth to apologize once again, but Dean beat her.

''Don't say it.'' He turned around to face the redhead, eyes soft on her. ''She can assume whatever she want of me, but I'm still your main booty call,'' Dean added with a smirk.

''Dean!'' She hit his shoulder at his crude words, holding back a smile.

He shrugged and continued what he was doing.

#dean winchester #dean winchester fic #reader x dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fic #fake marriage au

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jeanjauthor · 3 years

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Hello, hope you’re having a good day. I was wondering for you lovely expertise. I’d like to write more of ladies in my little book, since it’s highly undervalued in books, and want each regions to have their own distinctive style. Also all the gossip happens whilst they’re embroidering. It’s historical based and but it’s quite a mesh of different cultures at different times yet the foods pretty European mediveal and south Asian based it’s not nearly sexist. Have you got any style ideas or types?

I’ll presume you mean it’s a non-Earth setting that’s pre-industrial medieval in its tech level, with influences from South Asia and Europe.

If it’s pre-industrial, then they won’t have instantaneous communication with far-flung places...but you can still have them living within, say, walking distance of each other. How? Well, if it involves a whole bunch of different styles and regions and foods, etc, you will want some sort of crossroads city for your characters to live in. Examples of highly multicultural cities include Rome, Constantinople, Mumbai, Hangzhou, places like that.

Port cities are great for this because sailing can be faster than land-based travel (boats with sails don’t get tired so long as the wind keeps blowing more or less steadily), but land-locked crossroads are doable, too--cities along the Silk Road, for instance, would see a flux of travelers seasonally, and some would bring their families, or fall in love, settle down, and stay. You definitely will want to consider a couple of things though, and trade with other regions is merely the first of them.

European medieval...well, everything...was influenced by its climate. The foods that could be grown, the architecture needed to survive the hotter Mediterranean areas or the very cold taiga (subarctic forests) of Scandinavia, and everything in between. They developed many methods of preserving foods to keep it from going rotten, but a lot of it relied on smoking, drying, salting, and even freezing (icehouses were a thing in some regions even before it became industrialized). Clothing styles are definitely designed more for surviving the cold and staying warm than in keeping cool, and to keep their clothing warm even when wet (yay wool).

South India (except in the more mountainous areas) tend to be very hot and vacillates between hot and dry and very very wet (yay monsoon season). Food preservation did include salting, dehydrating, smoking, but very little freezing, and the flavoring profiles were completely different, as (unlike herbs) a lot of spice plants actually require a hot climate to grow. (People trying to grow peppers in Alaska are still having a hard time despite decades of careful cultivation, breeding, and selecting for cold-weather hardiness.) South Asian clothing styles are designed to keep the wearer cool and comfortable, and to dry quickly when it rains (yay sari fashion, the one garment that has been in continuous use / popularity for over 5,000 years).

So you’re going to have to decide what kind of region this city is located in, and what kind of weather and/or seasons it experiences. From there, you can figure out what kinds of architecture they’ll have, the size of the windows, whether they’re covered all year round (glass, oiled parchment, sheets of horn, etc), or only partial, or narrow pierced openings to keep the air flowing while keeping out hot sunlight, etc.

From that, you can also interpret what kinds of clothing people will be wearing. If cultural identity is strong, some groups will cling more to their saris and chamsas, while others will wear their hose and their houppelandes, or their Norse apron dresses, their great kilts, whatever. (Archer hoodies, aka mantles, will be popular across a wide range of eras; they’re great for keeping head, shoulders, and a bit of the chest dry in the rain, and you can turn them into those fancy cockscomb hats if you know how--ask me if interested!)

Once you have climate, architecture, clothing established, figure out which foods will be locally available, which will be imported, from how far away, and whether or not any special equipment is needed for growing said food--if glass is a locally produced commodity, with sand reserves and limestone for flux (lowering the temperature) and plenty of wood or coal for burning in the furnaces, it is possible that a colder climate has glazed greenhouses in which to grow the plants that need hot conditions to produce spices, for example. Or it’s just that all the colder climate foods are grown on the north-facing slopes of nearby hills, and there are irrigation canals everywhere to keep everything watered.

(If it’s a world with magic, do consider the ecology of how the magic is generated, used, spent, where it goes when it’s used up, how difficult it is to use, what system is required to access it (inner energies of a mage, special runes or material components, the blessing of a deity or patron entity, etc).)

If it’s not going to be nearly as sexist (thank youuuu!! *gives you a basket of hugs, prepackaged in biodegradable shrinkwrapped, magically enchanted in stasis so they’re a fresh-from-the-dryer snuggly warm blanket kind of hug*), then you’ll want to decide what legal protections females (and/or any nonbinary folks) have. What positions they can hold, how much of their personal belongings and/or income they can retain or control, what they’re legally allowed to inherit, and what say they have in who they marry or what job they take up, what apprenticeships they can hold, etc.

You don’t have to shove it in people’s faces, but you can definitely weave it throughout the story--Guildmistresses of various craft positions, noblewomen in leadership roles, royalty inherits based either on the firstborn, period, or on whoever is deemed the most competent--this can be an interesting plot point for a disaffected male “heir” who was set aside in favor of his more competent sister, etc--and in other ways. You can also have women warriors being taken seriously, whether they’re town guards or kingdom soldiers, and women sailors being treated as equal to the men, without the superstition of “a woman on a ship will curse it!!!1!” which was the medieval version of “ewww, girl cooties!” I guess... (idek *eyerolls at medieval/age of exploration men*)

Your plot will also have a lot to tell you about the world these people live in. If they’re embroiderers who gossip a lot, are they living in a town where their embroidery is sought out by merchants from near and far? How valued by their society is it? Are they plotting while embroidering to change certain laws, social situations, etc, because “nobody would suspect embroiderers of favoring the disposed Crown Prince over his sister, since surely the sister will buy all their wares? (except she doesn’t; the crown princess expects them to provide it for free, how dare!!)”

I have no idea what your plot might be, but it can give you directions and ideas if you think about it. The most important thing to remember in all of this is that all these things interweave together. Sometimes this will cause problems (side plots!--zomg we’re all out of purple thread and the crown princess will kill us for not having any purple dye!!) and sometimes this will create solutions (sending secret messages to the prince’s supporters via embroidery!!), etc, etc.

Hope that helps at least somewhat!

#RewritingForFeminism

#MultipleCulturesInOnePlace

#answers

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bowieandqueen11 · 5 years

Text

Always Called It / Danny Torrance Imagine

Request: Hello Love I hope you’re doing well! I wanted to ask if you’d be willing to make a Danny Torrance imagine where him and y/n where friends when they were little because they both have the shining but one of them moved away but reunite because of Abra and they end up getting married in the end (a happy ending please). Thank you love! 💚💚

This is honestly what I need right now ;’3 <3 Also I’ve received SO many requests for more Danny Torrance wowey

Comments are always appreciated!

The bench was once a sea boat, one that had ridden so many waves with buoyant ease, feeling the sun and letting the wind pass by with its tuneful song.

Now the colours of every year she was painted show through in rainbow flakes, rendering her all the more beautiful, safely in her earthen harbour. The bench had been exposed to the elements for many seasons, likely it was older than Danny could even count to yet on his fingers, but still he ran them over the swirls in the wood grain as he talked to DIck, his breathe tasting like brine as the old man turned on his heel and left him there alone again. He sat, not without impatience, but feeling as if his legs had been glued to the seat. He knew if he tried to move, his feet would give out, and Wendy was too far away to shout for help.

Besides, he could feel you in his mind, poking about, and it comforted him plenty to know you were there with him.

‘Who was that?’

He felt the wind tousle his hair, cool, refreshing and let his eyes fall on the ocean, the horizon, far away. He wondered how many had sat in this very spot and what their emotions were, perhaps some were boys with their dads on their way back from school, some the old folk come to remember a loved one who's passed. He was neither of these things, and yet somehow both at the same time.

He wondered if anyone else had felt as scared as him whilst they sat here.

‘My friend Dick. He’s trying to help me get rid of the monsters. And control the shine now that Tony’s gone.’

‘I thought I was helping you?’

Today was damp and bleak, and a light grey mist hung over the lake like a veil, clouding his view of the sun.

‘You do. You are. You’re my best friend, you know that... where are you?’

Whipping your head around to make sure your mum was busy tending to your sibling, you step a little closer up the brown crunchy grass of the slight hill by the lapping water to splay your hand against the trunk of an old tree. You watch Danny for a moment, the brown haired boy slumped against the seat, his skin so pale at first you think he’s ill before you see him slowly raise his thumb up to his mouth.

‘I miss you. I wish you were here.’

An unfamiliar, and unsettling feeling churns in the pit of your stomach as you watch his eyes dull, an unknowing blush spreading a hot red against the the brows of your cheeks as you finally dare to step out and speak.

‘Danny, I have to tell you something. We’re moving.’

The bench was an old brass colour that reminded Danny of a fire extinguisher. Strange, he knew, but there was something menacing about the twirling swirls of metal that wound like spikes around the top as he lets his fingers fall to the surface, feeling the heat of the day that had soaked into the metal. Only here such a thing could remain, here in the walled garden. The bench was typical of the parks, the rosy cedar browns married to the iron that curved into the great arms and grew into ever-blooming flowers to rest on.

The park covered a wide area that could fit about three small houses. It was hilly with a tall tree or two near one hill. There were benches for people to sit in every corner and jogging tracks were all around the edges of the park. The west corner had some swings too on which many children used to come and play. Flower hedges and bushes grew all around; this made the park look more pleasant and attractive. This place would have been most beautiful at this time; it would have been so pleasurable to relax here and take in some cool fresh air but only if bad things were not happening. If only his heart wasn’t hammering so harsh in his chest that he felt the sick rise up his throat in hot lumps of acid.

‘Hello, Danny.’

He feels his breathe leave his body as he turns slowly around, every nerve and every fibre of his being trembling as he spots the lady standing next to Abra.

‘Hey Uncle Dan, I told you I’d find her! Lucky she’s my teacher, huh? It would have been harder to find her if she lived miles and miles and miles away-’

Finally braving a small cough, before placing his hand against his chest with what he could only hope was a perfectly reasonable pass for a smile, Danny allows himself to fall back onto the bench as you leave Abra’s side and sit down next to him.

‘Hi-’

‘What happened to your hair?’

You laugh lightly, and Danny feels the tips of his ears burning red as you hit him gently on the shoulder. ‘It’s a good look, I’m not sure the bowl cut is super in fashion right now.’

‘Jeez, I’ve missed you Y/n.’

‘Yeah, I missed you too. I tried to find you, I swear, but it was just so difficult over such a long distance-’

‘It’s fine, it’s fine, really. I always knew this day would come.’

He pauses for a moment, his fingers lightly gliding across the cold metal, its material coarse against his skin, but as his fingers splayed closer to yours, he couldn’t care less. He held in his breathe, not daring to move or even look at you as his pinkie bumped against yours, before his trembling fingers finally find the courage to slowly slide over yours, enveloping them completely.

‘Or at least, I hoped it would.’

The night passes so quickly, Danny can hardly recall the time difference between Abra leaving the two of them with a big smirk on her face just a little past when she was meant to be home at dinner, and when the darkness blanketed them in a mist so cold Danny finally offered to walk you back home.

He had always enjoyed the nights here, the pure inky black a comfort, a blanket of generous velvet that kept him safe and illuminated the world in a light he could understand and draw upon. It is the pure black that makes the moon so beautiful, that makes a stage for her to stand upon, and gives the stars a beauty that makes the soul serene, and lights a spark in the imagination. That night was no different, but there was the added bonus that he felt after years of gazing out of his bedroom window wishing that he was out there with you, you were finally here with him.

Kicking at the gravel softly, a dopey smile on your face, you allow the short tufts of your hair to fall over your forehead, embracing the cooling breeze, but not allowing yourself to meet Danny’s gaze in case he figured out how reminiscent they had become.

Beaming like the sun, Danny gazed fondly at you, before asking ‘well, what shall we do now? The night is still young, and I don’t have to be at work for another few hours.’

‘And hopefully the day will be too’, you add, looking up at him quickly with a stiffness in your frame, an electricity surrounding you that nearly takes Dan’s breath away. Your hoarse voice continues, as you begin to bite your bottom lip, ‘and the day after that, hopefully too.’

You look at yourself in the mirror one last time, imagining the young girl who used to wave at the young boy she’d heard in her kindergarten class was the strange child with the dead father, the boy who’s mind used to shout at hers whenever he passed her by in the corridor. Your young mind not yet afraid of consequences or danger or in-laws, built up the courage to climb the tree outside his house and reach out to tap on his window before nearly falling out of it when his Wendy ran out the front door and caught you in the act, inviting you in for milk and cookies and asking you, next time, to just ring the doorbell. That was the day Danny had realised he felt a strange, scary but right feeling, almost as if the part of him that had been lacking or missing or longing for something in this strange town. After the Overlook, after all the monsters, he truly believed you were there to save him.

And after Abra brought you back to him, he made it his job to never lose you again, even if it meant settling down in New Hampshire (which Billy was thrilled about).

Taking Abra’s hand, you step into the Church, seeing the face of your fiance turn from anxiously sweeping the guests into a gaze of adoration and complete devotion once he had spotted you, you knew that whatever the future held for the two of you, as long as you were together, he would be alright.

And for the first time in his life, Danny Torrance wasn’t afraid of the future. In fact, he looked forward to it.

#doctor sleep #doctor sleep movie #ewan mcgregor #danny torrance #dan torrance #danny torrance imagine #dan torrance imagine #ewan mcgregor imagine #danny torrance x reader #dan torrance x reader #danny torrance fluff #dan torrance fluff #doctor sleep imagine #doctor sleep fluff #danny torrance doctor sleep #doctor sleep danny torrance #wendy torrance #dick hallorann

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devilmaycry-headcanons · 5 years

Text

So I made the thing

High School AU

The DMC gang (nobody knows what it stands for)

Dante (Senior):

The sports star of the school.

No one can believe that he has such a high GPA.

He accepted several invitations to the school dance. It was a disaster.

He doesn’t go out on Saturdays night because that's when he and his mom watch their series.

Everyone thinks he's the coolest person in the world until they hear him talk.

Good kid, kinda soft boy jock

At a party he said he didn’t think it was cool to smoke and everyone stopped doing it

He plays the guitar and someone shouts "'That's not fair!"

He always gets into other people's fights.

Constantly visit the principal’s office. "Bullies and idiots don’t have rights!"

His locker is a disaster area.

Try to be around people because he don’t like to be alone with his thoughts. The adolescent anguish is getting out of control... he believes.

On one occasion his parents went on a trip and he was hospitalized for not eating anything other than Pizza.

“What do you want to be when you grew up?”

“Death lmao”

Dante, no.

Vergil (Senior)

Student president, first person to give real power to the position.

If it were not because they are identical nobody would believe that Dante and he are brothers.

Ivy league line begging for his ass.

A video of him cutting things in his backyard with a katana went viral.

That day he and Dante ended up in the principal’s office for fighting (it was Trish who uploaded the video).

Practice fencing.

King of the lists of things to do.

He was never good at music and stopped trying (mainly because Dante was good at it and Vergil started saying it was a hobby not worthy of him.)

The most posh vocabulary in the entire west.

Hang out involuntarily with DMCgang because they are always in his damn house!

Trish (senior)

The distant cousin of Dante and Vergil, not a very known gossip but she's identical to their mother.

Captain of the cheerleaders.

Always in the best events.

Organize school dances and the yearbook.

It is rumored that Vergil fears her and that made her very powerful.

Beauty blogger™

So many leather accessories started the rumor that she liked BDSM.

Friend mom ™

Lucia (junior)

Is the exchange student.

She was quickly adopted by dmcgang.

She’s staying in the house of the best genes of school (Dante and Vergil)

At school they think she's lucky. She thought so too.

Now she just wants to sleep.

Take care of the school garden with Kyrie.

Nero (sophomore)

Relative of Dante, Vergil and Trish although it is not known how exactly.

Nobody has ever seen him without a sweatshirt, even in summer.

He and Kyrie are the official couple of the school.

He had a stage in which he got into philosophy and art cinema.

Teen angst ™

Maybe worse than V but it does not do the fashion statement.

Without friends and then suddenly a lot of strange people around him, Dante leave me alone.

V ( sophomore)

Theater kid™

It is rumored that he always brings a cat in his backpack, but nobody has really seen it.

Goth™

Love making monologues

Has never done a squat in his life.

Literature teachers hate him.

"It's like a great man said..."

Yeah, we know, V! And yes, we already hear Hamilton!

Dyes his hair.

Lady dyes it.

Hates Star Wars.

Can’t math.

Has many tattoos that he’s dedicated to hide so that no scholar authority discovers them.

Lady (Senior)

Cheerleader because Trish asked her

But really almost all her time is spent in gymnastics.

She will go to the Olympics.

Frightening dad, no boys allowed.

It is rumored that she loans money with high interests.

Dante confirmed the rumor.

Being the archenemy of your friend's brother gives material for uncomfortable situations.

She won cool point when she arrived with a motorcycle to school.

Dante wants one (his mom doesn’t let him)

She has a crush with Dante and deals with it giving him notes that reads “get out of my school”

Patty (freshman)

Lolita fashion.

Make everyone participate in her anime club.

Knows everything about everyone.

She defied the stereotype of anime nerd / kpop fan being one of the most popular girls in the school.

Makes Dante carry her on his back whenever she can.

Dante is now her older brother and there is nothing he can do to prevent it.

Kyrie (sophomore)

Conservative family girl.

She started giving pamphlets of the strange religion in which her family is.

Ended up chanting the metal songs that Nero and Dante likes.

She’s in the choir and probably going to start (at V request) in the theater club.

Perfect manners

Has a studyblr.

Nico (sophomore)

Has exploded the laboratory more than once. Which one?

All of them at least once.

“Did we have homework? I'm kidding!” * does it 10 minutes before the class starts*

The friend cryptido.

She started smoking and Dante told her that he was going to accuse her with her grandmother, she took out a list of dirty things that she has about him.

Crazy scientist friend with Nero.

Lucia who is still absorbing the language has problems with her accent at times.

#text #dante #trish #lady #vergil #nero #kyrie #v #nico #patty #dmc #devil may cry #dmc1 #dmc2 #dmc3 #dmc4 #high school au #au #headcanon #devil may cry headcanon #devil may cry 5 #dmc5

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 5 years

Text

Chapter 1

Meanwhile, Across Town by George deValier

Chapter saved by ocean-babyblues ♥

INTRODUCTION

Once, not all that long ago, the streets of Hetalopolis were ruled by greed and tyranny. Rival gangs roamed both alleyways and corporate boardrooms. Citizens huddled afraid in their homes, the night belonged to the darkness, and evil held the city in its iron fist.

Then rose up the superheroes. Humans born with inhuman powers, who chose to fight the dark with the powers of virtue and right. For a time war raged above and within our fair city, the supervillains and the superheroes locked in an age old struggle of right and wrong, good and evil, light and darkness.

Until finally there rose five. Five heroes from the north who vanquished the ruling villains of the east and drove the remainder into hiding. And the streets became safe once more. The villains faded into obscurity and the heroes found themselves unneeded, discarded, forgotten. Some moved on, took jobs, lived quiet, little lives. Others, unable to reside in normality, clung to their past dreams, their past glory. And for a while, all was well on the streets of Hetalopolis.

But for some, peace is uneasy, and of those born with power some will always use it for darkness and gain. Evil now lurks in the shadows once more. But where there is evil, good will always rise to fight it, and where there is despair, hope is never far...

"Are you nearly done?"

"...huh?"

"Well, it's just, I mean, I asked you if you'd heard any news lately and you've been droning on for about ten minutes now, it's getting a bit tiresome."

"Some people can't appreciate a good bit of dramatic history."

"Some people don't have three years to stand around chatting in alleyways."

"Fair enough. You want to know what news I've heard? Read your local newspaper. The articles by Arthur Kirkland. He's the only one who seems to have a clue."

"I travel all the way here to the scummiest side of town to speak with you and you tell me to read the newspaper? What happened to the informer, the AlleyCat, the guy who always knows what's going on?"

"You asked. I answered. Go pick up your local newspaper. And remember my words."

"What words, aru?"

The AlleyCat shrugged, threw another handful of crumbs to the dozens of cats that always congregated around his feet. "'... where there is evil, good will always rise to fight it.'"

CHAPTER ONE

"Just what do you expect me to do with this?" shouted Ludwig Beilschmidt, chief editor of the Hetalopolis Times, throwing the small pile of paper down on his desk. Arthur winced and prepared himself for an outburst. "This is pathetic. Your last story was just as pitiful, but do you really think I will stand for this twice? What is this even…" The editor in chief picked up the papers again and stared at them incredulously. "'The Perfume Villain Strikes Again.'. That's your headline? No one has even heard of this 'Perfume Villain!' How can he 'strike again' when we didn't even know about the first strike?"

"Sir, he's actually robbed a few bank vaults by now, and I really think…"

"No, you don't think, Kirkland, that is your problem. You used to be brilliant. Your articles about The Nordic Five versus the Sunflower Posse were some of the best I have ever seen. They won you the damn Journalist of the Year award. But no one cares about superheroes anymore. Ever since the demise of the Posse, they're old news. Frankly, your work is slipping. And this," the editor threw the papers back down on the desk again, "Is trash. So get out there, bring me a great story, or I am going to have to think quite seriously about letting you go. Now get out of here and do your job."

Arthur picked up the papers and stormed out of the office, almost feeling smoke coming from his ears. He was fuming. He was furious. He was... he was a god damn writer and he couldn't even think of another synonym that started with 'f'. No wonder he no longer wrote the front page articles. Foul! There's a word. He was in one hell of a foul mood. Arthur stomped past rows of identical desks and identical tapping at keyboards and ceiling length windows that looked down on the sprawling city below. He fell into his chair and threw the papers onto his desk even more violently than Ludwig had done. And Ludwig was a champion at throwing paper angrily onto desks. He could compete in the bloody angrily throwing paper on desks world championship. Arthur was just thinking that at least things probably couldn't get any worse when Francis Bonnefoy, fellow journalist, fashion editor, and fabulously irritating thorn in Arthur's side, spun around from his desk in front, smiled revoltingly, and practically sprawled across Arthur's desk. "Well?" Arthur snarled at him. Things could always get worse.

"Same old bleeding bloody buggery bullshit." Arthur realised he seemed to be a fan of alliteration when pissed off. Francis flinched and sucked in a breath through his teeth.

"Language, dear, sometimes you conjure up the most horrific mental images."

"What the hell does he expect me to do?" asked Arthur angrily, loudly ignoring Francis. "I can't create stories out of thin air! I'm a journalist, not Stephen bloody King! How can I be constantly expected to produce five star, gold material when the most interesting thing that has happened this week is that Miss Katyusha from channel five news busted her top open live on air Wednesday night?"

"And the gossip department is already all over that one," nodded Francis sympathetically.

"Do you know what I mean though?" Arthur was nearly shouting now. "No one else gets this sort of pressure put on them. Look at Feliciano." Arthur gestured to where the Italian food critic was currently sitting ON his desk, making paper planes and throwing them at the sports department. "What has he published, two articles in the last month? And he's not getting called into Ludwig's office every day."

"Well, he is, but for an entirely different reason I think."

Arthur groaned and dropped his head onto the desk. "This is so unfair! What am I supposed to do?"

"Come up with a brilliant story," said Francis brightly. Arthur resisted the urge to stab him in the eye with a pen.

"There are no stories, I've already told you." Arthur spoke through gritted teeth. "The town is running better than it has in years. The supervillains have pretty much disappeared and the only heroes left have nothing to do but get kittens down from trees and help little old ladies cross the street. So, pray tell, where am I supposed to find this brilliant story?"

But Arthur knew where the stories were. He was convinced that the only reason no one cared about superheroes anymore was because most of the popular ones had retired. If only there was someone new, someone fresh and interesting that people could get excited about. And if this new superhero had an adversary, well, there was Arthur's golden ticket to journalism popularity. The glittering awards shows, the lavish dinners with heads of state, the prestige that came with having the rich and famous under the power of his pen. It could all be his again. Arthur already had the villain of his story... true, a rather smalltime, unknown, pathetic villain, but what was good journalism without a little embellishment... so now he just needed the hero. But where the hell was he supposed to find...

"Here's your coffee, Mr K!" Arthur looked up to see Alfred Jones, resident copy boy and coffee maker, stumble towards him like an out of control steam train. Arthur pushed his chair back just in time to avoid the cup that smashed and spilled over his entire desk.

"Bloody blasted hell boy, watch what you're damn well doing! And I asked for tea!"

"Sorry about that, Mr K," said Alfred apologetically, leaning over the desk in an eager, dementedly happy attempt to clean up the mess.

"No," said Arthur, trying to salvage what he could of the soaking papers, "Just leave it."

"I am sorry, honest, I'll get you another one just as soon as I've cleaned this..." Alfred pulled a handful of crumpled tissues from his pocket and used them to wipe down the desk. "Oh man, I even spilled some in your lap, lucky it wasn't actually that hot, here let me..."

Arthur shot out of his chair like a rocket. "Hands, watch the hands!"

"Sorry sorry!" Alfred backed away, hands in the air. Arthur sighed in exasperation. How did they even hire people these days...

"Look, listen, Allan..."

"Alfred," corrected Alfred, sounding a little hurt.

"Yes yes of course. Just... look, just go away, will you? I'm incredibly busy right now."

Alfred's face fell and he nodded. "All right, Mr K, I really am sorry though." He walked away slowly and Arthur grumbled as he turned his attention back to saving what he could from his coffee soaked desk. Francis stared at him through narrowed eyes.

"You are too harsh on him."

"Well he's a walking train wreck with impeccably bad timing. Why did you even suggest Ludwig hire him?"

"Well, look at him. He's so... energetic. And cute. Just look. I mean really, look now, while he's walking away, he's got a really cute butt."

Arthur refused to admit that Francis was right on that last point. He forced himself not to look. "He's a bloody nuisance is what he is."

"He has a crush on you, you know." Francis waggled his eyebrows. Arthur felt himself turn red.

"Don't be ridiculous. And stop bothering me, I'm busy! Don't you have your own work to do? Just look at the time. Oh bugger off!" Francis just laughed as he turned back to his own desk.

Arthur stayed late at the office, trying to work on the dregs of this nonexistent story he had. A small time villain whose power appeared to be a nerve paralysing fume he used to render guards and law officers unconscious. Nothing special, but he had so far managed to make off with a few million dollars worth of diamonds and jewellery. But no deaths, no battles. Nothing much to draw the publics attention. Now if only there was a hero to set out, fight, and defeat the guy... now that would be interesting. That would make a story.

By the time Arthur finally left the office the building was empty, and the dark alley he exited onto was silent and unlit. He'd always hated that the staff exit led to this horribly narrow and smelly and sinister alleyway. It was bad enough in the middle of the day. But at this time of night… Barely paying attention to his surroundings, but walking a little faster than usual, Arthur only made it halfway to the main street before the lane was blocked by two huge men before him. Arthur froze and took a wary step backward.

"Little late to be leaving work alone, isn't it?" asked one of the men unpleasantly, stepping forward as Arthur stepped back.

"Well... uh... you know how it is, deadlines and such..." Arthur turned to look behind him but another man, even bigger than the first two, stepped out of the shadows to block the way. Arthur swallowed the rising fear in his throat.

"Now we don't want to make this any more unpleasant than it has to be," said the third man, cracking his knuckles and making Arthur shudder. The other men laughed as they advanced. "Oh wait... yes we do."

Arthur stood frozen for a moment before adrenaline pumped through his veins and he attempted a brash, futile escape. He was swiftly grabbed by the shoulder and slammed against the wall. One of the men pulled his laptop case from his arm and the other tore his briefcase from his grip before rifling through his jacket. "Wait, no..." Arthur couldn't believe this... it was like it wasn't real. His pulse thrummed hazily in his head. Wasn't this just his bloody luck... right when the damned city was getting safe, he gets mugged in the street. He tried for another escape but received a stunning blow to his cheek for the trouble. The men were laughing. Their hands were like iron. Arthur couldn't escape. He started to panic.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a red, white and blue tornado descended before Arthur's eyes. A few surprised shouts, a grunt, a flurry of fists and limbs and garish colour and before Arthur knew it the three men were lying unconscious on the ground. He blinked dazedly in surprise and looked up at his unexpected saviour. He wiped his eyes and shook his head, but the strange vision before him remained the same. The man was dressed in an awful blue Lycra unitard, enormous boots that looked like they had been spray painted red, and what looked suspiciously like an old bed sheet tied around his shoulders. He put his hands on his hips and stood before Arthur in an impossibly ridiculous stance.

"Are you all right, fair dams… uh… citizen?"

Arthur squinted. Sure it was dark, and he was a little shaken, but he was fairly sure that the guy standing right before him was… "Alfred?"

Alfred's eyes darted and he laughed nervously. "Who is this Alfred you speak of?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Alfred, I know it's you."

"I know nothing of this Alfred. For I, fair citizen, am…" Alfred took a deep breath, thrust out his chest, and tossed his bed sheet behind his shoulder. "America-man!"

Silence. Arthur swore he could hear crickets chirping. "No you're not, you're Alfred Jones, the copy boy who spills my tea every day."

Again Alfred looked around nervously. "I swear, fair citizen, I..."

"Alfred, you can't just take off your glasses and wrap a sheet around you and expect it to be a credible disguise."

"Oh." Alfred deflated somewhat. Arthur tilted his head as he studied him. He didn't know whether to laugh. Alfred almost looked like a little boy playing dress up. A rather tall, oversized, very muscular actually through that Lycra...

"Not thinking that! I mean, uh, so you're a superhero then?"

"Yep!" At Arthur's skeptical expression, Alfred's brave smile fell a little. "Okay, so I've only just started, and I don't have a copyright yet, or a proper uniform, really, or a, uh..."

"Clue?" supplied Arthur.

"I suppose, but hey." Alfred brightened and thrust out his chest again. "Did you SEE the ass kicking I gave those guys?"

Arthur looked down at the unconscious would-be muggers. There were a few superhero wannabes around... those who had a lot of enthusiasm but no actual powers... but Alfred had certainly done a number on the three men. Plus he had a certain something, indefinable, an attitude that made it seem like he really could take on the world. Maybe there was something there after all. Maybe Arthur could work this to his advantage. "All right. Alfred?"

"Yeah? Oh, damn it..."

"Listen here."

"Okay."

"You want to be a superhero?" Alfred nodded eagerly. "So, now I'm just guessing here, you can't fly."

"No."

"You can't turn invisible."

"No."

"You don't have super speed?"

"Uh… no."

"Forgive me for asking, but what exactly is your superpower then?"

"Well, I can do this. Follow me." Arthur picked up his laptop and suitcase and followed Alfred out of the alley, taking care to kick his unconscious attackers in the head as he went. Then he watched as Alfred walked over to a car parked on the side of the road, grabbed it by the bumper, and in one fluid movement lifted it over his head. Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Super strength. Well that's something. Very well, Alfred Jones..."

"America-man."

Arthur paused only briefly. "As I was saying, very well. I believe there may be some hope for you after all. But first thing is first. We are going to have to do something about that outfit of yours. Now you, follow me." Arthur turned and headed down the street. Alfred hurried to follow. "Alfred."

"Yeah?"

"Put the car down."

"Oh. Right."

Alfred wanted to be a superhero. Arthur needed a story. He smiled to himself. He may have just found the answer he was looking for.

Meanwhile, across town…

The third security guard fell to the ground, motionless. The masked villain smiled as he passed. No one could withstand the assault of his nerve paralysing perfume. Years of exposure had left him immune, but when others smelled it they dropped like little old ladies who got in his way in the after Christmas sales. With none left to obstruct him, he strutted calmly and purposefully to the locked room at the end of the hall. He held up the key, recently obtained from a helplessly unresisting bank manager, and placed it into the lock. The doorknob turned with a satisfying click and the masked man stepped into the undefended room.

The perfume villain walked over to a small safe on the back table, pressed in a simple five number code, and smiled when the little black door swung open. He pulled out a blue velvet box and held it up to the light, inspecting his nails as he did. He frowned. He'd already chipped one. And he'd only just had a manicure. He placed the box in his exquisitely tailored jacket and turned on his red varnished heel. The steadily approaching sound of sirens did not bother him. He would be gone well before they arrived. He giggled to himself and gave a tiny wave to a security camera as he passed.

"Totally killer. Seriously, that was, like, way too easy. Classic."

To be continued…

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

THANK YOU OCEAN-BABYBLUES FOR SAVING THIS CHAPTER!

#George deValier #meanwhile across town #meanwhile across town chapter 1

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maid-of-mourne-shore · 5 years

Text

5 Ways to Say it - Bucky x Reader

This is my entry for @moonstruckhargrove‘s writing challenge!

Scenario: Secret admirer

Summary: Where the reader finds four ways to tell Bucky her feelings, and Bucky finds one.

Warnings: None!

Please check out my Master list if you like this and want more!

February 10th - Red roses

Back in the day, James Buchanan Barnes was quite the ladies' man. This wasn’t groundbreaking news, but even in the 30s and 40s, he was typically the one giving the gifts, the flowers, the chocolates. Sure, times had changed, but he wasn’t that man anymore, and though he had been on a few dates here and there, life with the Avengers hadn’t exactly given him the kind of time he used to have for a social life. So, when Bucky walked out the kitchen that morning and found a vase of twelve, fresh cut, red roses addressed to one James Buchanan Barnes, he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

On top of this, Bucky was unsure of how to talk to women he found attractive anymore, let alone date them, he was out of practice to say the least. So, he had put his focus elsewhere, first and foremost, relearning who Bucky was, finding peace with his past, and standing up to his demons, all of which wasn’t exactly first date material, nor was it something a lot of people wanted to assist with for the long haul. Bucky was a handful and he knew it, so sometimes it felt better just to brave it alone.

He took the small note attached to it, turning it over in his hands, it was pink with tiny hearts lining the edge. Not exactly subtle, but he wasn’t here to dissect someone’s approach to attraction, as his tactic had simply been clear avoidance. There was no name, and no indication of who it came from as he didn’t recognize the handwriting. Perhaps, they were not as bold as he originally thought. He was still in shock that someone would send him flowers, who would do that? And why? Bucky sighed, placing the note down and getting on with his morning, shuffling over to the coffee maker, and pulling out his favorite mug from the cabinet.

It wasn’t long before people began to trickle in, each one remarking on the bouquet on display, asking about its origins, trying to solve the mystery.

“It’s official, Bucky has a secret admirer,” Natasha smirked, eyeing the roses.

“This 100-year-old tin can does nothing but mope around, and he gets flowers?” Sam exasperates, gesturing to Bucky. “I don’t get women.”

“Some girls like the quiet kind,” Wanda says, giving a shy smile.

“Don’t worry, Buck. We’ll figure out who it is,” Steve gave him a winning grin, as he saw the dread on his best friend’s face. Bucky wanted to know who they were, but he was also terrified, having to face someone’s affections head on.

February 11th - Favorite dessert

Bucky had always enjoyed working out, even before he became a soldier, it was something he could focus on, under his control, and sometimes it just felt good to hit something. Physicality was important to him, using it as a way to express himself, a medium to expel energy, this new chapter of his life with the Avengers only strengthening that, as he had to keep up his skills for combat, in peak condition to weather all sorts of conditions, and Bucky genuinely enjoyed that challenge.

But Bucky also had a sweet tooth, a big, fat, sugar craving that could never be satiated, and everybody knew it. Steve was always on him about eating healthy, and treating food as fuel, though Bucky couldn’t care less. Under HYDRA, food wasn’t made to taste good, hell it was barely food at all most times, and there was certainly no dessert, Bucky felt that he was just making up for lost time. He often hid his snacks, so that he could escape a lecture from Steve, and so that other prying eyes wouldn’t help themselves. Though above all other treats, Bucky’s favorite was a good old fashioned, homemade chocolate cake. In his opinion, nothing compared to a perfectly moist inside, with icing that melts in your mouth, all fresh out of the oven. So, when Bucky finished his workout and came into the kitchen to grab a protein bar, and he smelled that famed dessert in the air, he couldn’t help but close his eyes and sniff.

There, on the counter top, was a chocolate cake, a tiny card beside it: ‘For James.’ His mouth dropped open.

“Oo, I smell cake!” Tony sang as he rounded the corner, rubbing his hands together.

“I’ll get the plates,” Sam added, running to the cabinet.

“What’s all the commotion about?” Steve asked, looking around until his eyes fell on the current situation, sitting innocently on the counter. Of course, everyone would congregate with such convenient timing, Bucky thought.

“Buck, that’s not a good post-workout meal,” he sighed, Steve’s best ‘disappointed dad’ expression on his face.

Bucky looked around the room with wide eyes, all of them closing in with one, shared goal in mind: They were going to take his cake. Someone had gone to the effort of baking him a cake, timing it so it was still warm once he finished his workout, and my God he was going to enjoy every last bite. Bucky would kill them before he shared. In an instant, he grabbed the cake, made a mad dash for the elevator, before anyone could grasp what had happened. Bucky had downed the whole thing before the elevator doors opened to his floor.

February 12th - Being present

Ever since he had taken his mind back from HYDRA, Bucky had been working on himself. It was a fulltime job, and progress was not always linear. He had begun seeing a therapist who helped him sort through all the painful memories, building his confidence back up, and learning how to cope with his trauma. Steve reminded Bucky of who he was, and more importantly, helped him explore who Bucky had become. Everyone at the compound was more than happy to assist in the ways that they could, and even just having so many people around who cared about him was healing.

But even now, he still had bad days, times where he was absolutely haunted by what he had done and what had been done to him. Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night, throat raw, drenched in sweat. Sometimes it would be a sound, a word, a trigger, causing an associated memory to take over. Other times he wasn’t even sure what it was, to pinpoint what had set him off, though he supposed he didn’t always need a reason, sometimes, it was just a bad day.

Steve had been his go-to, always getting him through those moments, staying up and chatting when he couldn’t sleep, grounding him when he retreated into his mind, but tonight, Steve wasn’t here. It was a particularly bad one, the kind that left him shaking in his skin, one where Bucky couldn’t stand to stay still afterwards. He ventured out into the living room, flicking the TV on, more for the noise than the content. Bucky settled into the couch, letting his head roll back, taking a deep breath as he tried to remember some strategies his therapist has taught him.

I can see the grey ceiling.

I can smell the leather couch.

I can hear footsteps.

Footsteps?

Bucky turned his head, looking for the source of noise when he saw (Y/N) stumbling across the hardwood floor, yawning as she went to the kitchen. Rummaging around the pantry, clearly unsure of what she wanted, (Y/N) stopped and turned her head to see Bucky’s slate blue eyes peering out from behind the top of the couch.

“What are you doing, Bucky?” She drawled, slow steps bringing her towards the living room, a box of crackers in hand.

“Can’t sleep,” he shrugged.

“What are we watching?”

“Dunno.” Bucky handed her the remote as she plopped down beside him, scrolling through some options before deciding on a buddy cop film.

They stayed in silence for a while, partially watching the movie, partially spacing out in their sleep deprived state, the only sound was the crunch of crackers in her mouth. (Y/N)’s presence was nice, he had always felt that way, especially once he had gotten to know her better. Professionally, she was serious, calculated, and a bit sarcastic, but when the uniform came off, (Y/N) turned into a bit of a goofball. It was endearing to see her like this, barely able to stay awake, head leaning dangerously to the side, when he had the image of her killing people with her bare hands in the field to contrast it with. Abruptly, she shook her head, blinking, once, twice, and then sitting back.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” She kept her gaze forward, her words even, and tone easy, an effort to keep it casual.

“No,” Bucky appreciated her concern, but it was too hard to think about his dreams again when he was getting his bearings back in the conscious world.

“Okay,” (Y/N) gave him a small smile, eyes starting to droop again, her head falling back against the couch, and Bucky knew she wouldn’t last much longer.

“Hey, you don’t have to stay,” he mumbled, her eyelids fluttering open.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then I'll stay.”

February 13th – Cover me

Bucky awoke with a start, a bolt of energy zipping through him as he sat up in bed. No nightmare, no dream at all, so why the rush? His eyes drifted over to the cellphone charging on his night table, and it hit him.

10:14am

Shit. The briefing started already.

“Shit, shit, shit, fuck” Bucky hissed, jumping up from his bed, pulling on the first pair of pants he found. He shoved a hoodie over his head, slipped some shoes on, and he was out the door.

Bucky scooted down the hallway and into the elevator, pulling his hair back and tying it back with an elastic that lived on his wrist for times like this. His foot tapped impatiently as it went through each of the floors before the doors opened at his destination. Once he found the closed door of the conference room, Bucky took a deep breath before pushing it open, ready to take the heat from Fury and the team for being so late, but when he stepped inside that wasn’t the response they gave him.

“Oh, Barnes, didn’t expect to see you this morning.” Fury eyed him, and Bucky wasn’t sure if he was testing him or not.

“Why not?” Bucky dared to ask.

“(Y/N) said you were needed for emergency maintenance on your arm, some sort of mechanical malfunction.”

Bucky’s head whipped over to see her giving him a sheepish smile and the pieces came together. Oh, she had covered for him.

“Yes...yeah, exactly. Uh, it was a quick fix, luckily,” Bucky nodded, opening and closing his fist for show.

“Well, glad you could join us,” Fury concluded, looking back to everyone who was seated at the conference table.

Bucky’s eyes fell back onto (Y/N) who now had a focused gaze to the front of the room, her cheeks a distant shade of pink, and he couldn’t help but notice that the seat next to her a was free, a file sitting on it. Bucky made his way over, and her head snapped up to look at him, hands grabbing the file and motioning for him to sit down. Bucky gave her a warm grin, sitting himself beside her, the folder addressed to him placed on the table, all of the briefing materials inside. She seemed to be doing her very best at ignoring his presence, leaning forwards on her arms, looking down the pages, and back up at Fury, her head staying completely parallel to Bucky’s and he had to wonder what all that was about.

(Y/N) was a friend, even more so than some of the others, during these meetings they would often share knowing looks when Steve accidentally said something that had another meaning, which was quite often honestly. Once, they had even resorted to writing notes when Fury was reaming their asses for a careless mistake which had a turned the mission upside down. Regardless, Bucky was becoming antsy as the briefing was dry, and (Y/N) wasn’t giving him any attention.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Bucky whispered, but she was steadfast in her goal to be a good girl.

“(Y/N).” Still nothing.

Bucky stuck out one vibranium finger and jabbed it in between her ribs, which caused the woman to let out a sharp hiss, squinted eyes looking over to find a smug grin on his face.

“What?” (Y/N) quipped.

“Hi.”

“Oh, for fuck-.”

“(Y/N), do you have something to add to the matter at hand?” Fury cocked a brow at the young woman, clearly asking a rhetorical question. She froze in her spot, resorting to a simple headshake to indicate her answer, before ducking to look at her papers again.

Bucky felt bad, he really did, but he also couldn’t help but chuckle at her small misfortune. Fury liked her, in a day he would forget all about this little mishap and she would be back in his good graces, Bucky had no doubts about that. He watched her, the way she twiddled with her pen, chewing nervously on her lip, her eyes darting to catch his gaze before flipping back to Fury. Bucky reached his hand out, placing it on her thigh, thumb rubbing circles over the smooth fabric, her wide eyes questioning his actions as he mouthed ‘Sorry’. He hadn’t meant to get her so worked up, though unbeknownst to him, when it was Bucky, it didn’t take much.

The meeting was adjourned and everyone rushed to get out. It’s not that they didn’t love their job, Bucky included, but getting down to brass tacks was never anyone's favorite part. Even goody two shoes Steve Rogers could be seen spacing out near the end of it, doodling on the back of his folder, much to Fury’s disapproval. Typically, Bucky would become restless fidgety after sitting for so long and take a trip down to the gym, but today his need to speak with a certain someone, was far more alluring. He swiveled his chair around only to find that his certain someone had disappeared. Bucky stood from his chair, finding that in his state of carelessness, everyone had left the room, his feet nearly tripping over each other as he bolted to find her.

Thankfully (Y/N) wasn’t far, as he rounded the corner to the kitchen, Bucky could hear her sweet laughter ringing out, mingling with a low chuckle, her form coming into his vision along with Steve and Sam. Steve saw him and nodded, the other two turning their attention to him as well, Bucky waltzing to the fridge as if he had come in for something.

“Hey, tin can. I was just telling (Y/N) about your secret admirer,” Sam snickered. Steve shot him a warning glance, but (Y/N)’s face dropped, her mouth clamped right up, eyes dropping to the floor.

“Secret admirer?” Bucky questioned, closing the fridge, a bottle of Gatorade in hand.

“Don’t play dumb!” Sam scoffed.

“I don’t have a secret admirer,” Bucky stated, his free hand closing into a fist, and (Y/N) winced. Steve’s eyes traveled between the three of them, taking in their words and their reactions, his heartbeat raising as he began to piece the puzzle together.

“Oh, so then how do you explain the flowers, and the cake?”

“Sam,” Steve started.

“What?” Sam retorted.

“Just stop it!” Bucky growled, his slate blue eyes trained on (Y/N)’s pained expression, jumping at his harsh tone. The room went silent, Sam’s mouth hanging open, Steve’s brow knit together in worry, and Bucky breathing hard. Her eyes darted around, fingers pulling together, as she dashed out of the room, leaving the three at a loss for words.

“(Y/N),” Bucky went to follow her, but Steve stopped him, giving him a knowing look.

“Buck, I gotta tell you something.”

February 14th – In a different language

It was the day, Valentine’s day, the Hallmark holiday where one had to show their undying love and affection by purchasing halfdead flowers, and overpriced chocolates. Bucky felt like an idiot standing in that flower shop, surrounded by people, all buying the same, damn thing, all because they were told to. The man in front of him was barking on his cellphone about how it was such a pain, and how roses would most certainly be marked up for today, but if he didn’t get her flowers then he’d be left in the doghouse tonight. Bucky sucked his teeth at that comment, feeling sorry for the poor woman who would be receiving those roses later today, but could he really think of himself as better? Wasn’t Bucky about to do the same thing as everyone else here?

“Next!” The attendant called, pulling Bucky’s attention.

“Hi, I want to get something really special,” Bucky’s eyes pleaded, hoping that she would understand what he meant, the importance that this bundle of flowers would be carrying. “She deserves more than just roses.”

“Certainly,” she beamed back at him. “Let’s start with her name.”

“It’s (Y/N).”

“Alright, tell me about (Y/N).”

“Well, I could write a book,” Bucky chuckled, pushing some loose strands of hair back. “But I'll start with the basics. She’s beautiful, really beautiful, inside and out, and she’s always helping me, even when I don’t ask. She’s fierce, intelligent, damn good at her job, and a force to be reckoned with, but the worst part is, I'm just realizing all of this now.”

“Hmm,” the attendant quirked her brow, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she took in his words. “Ah! I’ve got it.”

She brought out a bouquet of flowers, a kind Bucky had never seen before, and she explained all of the different meanings to him, wrapped it up, and sent him on his way. Bucky was smiling ear to ear, despite the chilled weather and the falling snow, as his heart had never felt warmer, the conversation with Steve from the night before ringing in his ears.

“What’s going on?” Bucky questioned. Steve had led him to his room, closing the door behind him, pacing around as if he was about to tell Bucky that he had been diagnosed with cancer. Steve stopped in his tracks and just stared at him.

“It’s (Y/N).” Steve answered.

“What’s (Y/N)?”

“Your secret admirer.” Bucky’s slate blue eyes widened as he took in Steve’s words, as incredulous as they were.

“No, she’s not.” Bucky stated.

Steve sighed, hands pulling across his face in frustration. “Yes, she is!”

“How do you know?”

“Buck, whatever just happened in the kitchen told me everything!”

“What do you mean?” Bucky mumbled, almost afraid of the answer.

“When Sam told her about the secret admirer and you turned it down, she looked devastated. Now, why would that be?” Steve crossed his arms, waiting for the realization to set in. Bucky chewed his bottom lip, thinking of what had just transpired in the kitchen, the way her face had dropped at Bucky’s dismissal.

“It was her,” Bucky breathed.

“Thank you,” Steve sighed, his head rolling back.

“And I rejected her,” Bucky’s hand moved to comb through his hair, anxiety setting in.

“Did you mean to?” Steve watched his friend's expression, still unsure of what Bucky wanted out of all of this.

“No, God no! She’s amazing, she’s incredible, I just didn’t, I mean, I didn’t know that-.”

“You didn’t know it was her.”

“Yeah.”

The compound was surprisingly quiet, though Bucky supposed that everyone was out spending their time with someone they loved, the silence only wrenching his heart further. Bucky worried that he had messed everything up, that (Y/N) thought Bucky didn’t want her, the pained expression, the creases on her forehead, the hurt in her eyes all came back as he squeezed the stems in his hand. No, he would apologize, make it right, and if she would have him, then he would gladly be hers. Bucky felt so blind, how he hadn’t seen it before, how he hadn’t seen her before; He always knew she was extraordinary, but it never crossed his mind that she would want him like that, that anyone would. It was his own self-conscious thoughts, constantly bearing down, reminding him of his past, of his altered and broken body, his bent and twisted mind, not (Y/N). No, she had never seen him that way.

Bucky decided to freshen up in his room before asking FRIDAY where (Y/N) was, needing another minute to get his thoughts all in order before he could face her, but when he arrived, she was sitting on his bed. Opening the door, her head shot up to look at him, eyes wide, fingers twisting together on her lap, and Bucky nearly dropped the flowers. She launched herself up, clearing her throat, eyes falling back to the floor as she spoke.

“Bucky, hi.”

“(Y/N), what are you doing here?” He questioned, stepping forward, placing the flowers down as he shrugged his heavy jacket off.

“Um, I-I'm here to apologize to you,” she breathed, fingers running along her arm.

“What for?”

“F-for the gifts. It wasn’t fair of me to make it so public, I should’ve just done it in private so I wouldn’t have embarrassed you.”

“(Y/N)-.”

“Please, just let me say this and I'll be out of your hair,” she pleaded, eyes full of remorse that Bucky just couldn’t say no to her. He nodded, not trusting his voice.

“Bucky, you’re an amazing friend. Whenever I'm around you, my heart feels full, like everything is going to be okay. I don’t know when, but somewhere along the way I fell in love with you. I know it’s difficult in our line of work to navigate workplace relationships, and it was so hard to get a read on your feelings so I decided to keep it to myself, but eventually I couldn’t stay quiet anymore. I had to know, even if you didn’t feel the same, but I've humiliated you, and for that, I'm so sorry.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper at the end, tears coming to her eyes that were cast down to the floor.

“Is it my turn now?” Bucky asked tentatively. She nodded. He took the bouquet from the bed, peeling back the paper to reveal the flowers inside.

“I don’t know much about flowers, but these are carnations, and like roses, the different colors have different meanings,” his eyes were on her, taking in the change in her expression from sadness, to confusion, to hope.

“The white means, ‘Sweet and lovely,’ which although I know you’re much more than that, it certainly captures the way I’ve come to think of you. The pink means, ‘I’ll never forget you,’ because no matter what happens, I wouldn’t, I couldn’t. And the red, um, apparently, they mean, ‘My heart aches for you,” Bucky cleared his throat at the confession.

“Bucky, I thought,” she trailed off, fingers delicately grazing the edges of a crimson carnation.

“I know,” Bucky sighed. “I know I messed up, but you have to believe me when I say I had no idea it was you,” his words were rushed, wanting to get it all out so she would understand.

“And well, um, I didn’t actually realize that I felt this way until I knew that you did.” He bowed his head, checks filling with heat.

“Thank you,” (Y/N) whispered, her hands cupping his jaw. Bucky sighed, leaning into her touch, his whole body relaxing into her. “No one’s ever bought me flowers before.”

“Really?” Bucky asked in disbelief.

“Our business doesn’t leave much time,” (Y/N) gave him a solemn smile.

“I’ll buy you as many flowers as you want,” he deadpanned, pushing the bouquet into her hands, causing a giggle to erupt from her chest.

“Oh sweetheart, it’s okay,” she cooed.

“I’m serious,” Bucky pleaded. “And I'll find out what they all mean too, so I don’t give you any that say something rude.”

“Bucky.” He quirked his head. “I just want you.”

“You have me.”

Bucky let out a shaky exhale, a hand coming to rest on her hip, pulling her closer, his flesh hand holding her cheek, guiding her face to his. His actions were slow, almost hesitant, giving her plenty of time to pull away, but she melted into him, eyelids fluttering closed as their lips touched. It was sweet and innocent, gentle and nervous, the room gone completely silent, but soon the flowers were forgotten, hands, lips, and tongues making up for lost time as the air thickened. When a rough nip to her bottom lip let out a breathy moan, he finally pulled back, taking her in, the way her chest rose and fell, the distant look in her eyes, the heat coursing through his own body at the sight. (Y/N)’s head rolled to the side, eyes widening when she realized the poor bouquet had been dropped to the floor in the heat of the moment.

“I’m sorry, Bucky!” (Y/N) scrambled to recover the flowers, smoothing the petals over with her fingers.

“I’ll buy you more,” he shrugged.

“That’s not the point.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is my first bouquet,” she remarked. “I’m going to save it.”

Bucky’s lips curled up into a splitting grin, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to her cheek as she fretted over the slightly jumbled flowers. His hands covered hers, slowly pulling the bouquet from her as she watched him, perplexed when he placed it onto the bed once more.

“Plenty of time for that later,” Bucky mumbled, guiding her into another sweet kiss, savoring just what he had been missing.

#moonstruckhargrovevday #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barns x reader #reader insert #winter soldier

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johaerys-writes · 5 years

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Dorian Pavus x Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 9: Gilded Masks

BOY OH BOY is there a lot going on in this week’s chapter. I’m pretty wrung out from writing this and I don’t want to spoil anything, so please have a chapter where Dorian and Tristan spend some time in Val Royeaux and snap at snooty Orlesian nobles and someone ends up having a few drinks too many and... well, you’ll see.

Read here or on AO3!

************

“Did I hear correctly? Was that woman judging our outfits? Our outfits?”

Tristan turned around, following Dorian’s gaze as he glared at a couple of passing noblewomen. They were wearing extravagant, voluminous gowns, covered almost from head to toe in silk, lace and fine organza, their faces obscured by their ornate masks. They were staring at them, and one of them was definitely giggling behind her fan.

Tristan strained his ears to catch their words, but they were soon engulfed by the crowd in the Val Royeaux busy market street.

Dorian shook his head and clicked his tongue in annoyance. He straightened his back and smoothed his palms over his black silk shirt, huffing indignantly. The dark red cloak he was wearing was made of lush velvet, the gilded golden buckles on its sides glimmering in the light of the waning sun. The golden rings on his fingers also glimmered as he moved. In fact, the entirety of him was glimmering. Varric’s nickname for him was entirely justified, Tristan thought with some amusement.

“I’ve heard a lot about assassination plots in Orlais, but the only crime here was that lady’s ensemble” Dorian said, wrinkling his nose. “Prairie green silk paired with pink lace? Tsk, tsk. I would introduce her to my tailor if I didn't think she was too far gone.”

Tristan nodded absently. “Yes, that was definitely last year’s fashion. I would hide in my basement in eternal shame if I were her.”

Dorian spun around to look at him, his grey eyes wide and sparkling. “This is your fault! I bet most of them are gawking at us because they recognise you as the Inquisitor.”

Tristan shrugged, trying to hide his smirk at Dorian’s irritation. “What can I say? My reputation precedes me.”

“Well” Dorian said. “That can be fixed.”

Tristan glanced at him questioningly, but before he could say anything, Dorian had threaded his arm through his and was dragging him to a nearby vendor’s stall.

“Welcome, messieurs!” the vendor exclaimed, bowing so deeply that the feathers on his hat almost touched the ground. The buttons on his silk doublet sparkled as he straightened up. “Hats and masks of the finest quality for fashionable gentlemen. Browse at your leisure.” He bowed again and gestured towards his wares.

“What do you think of this one?” Dorian was holding a golden mask with elegant carvings of flowers and leaves along the sides. Their arms were still entangled, Dorian’s elbow lightly grazing his side. Tristan’s mouth had gone dangerously dry.

Swallowing thickly, Tristan tried his best to look absorbed in examining the mask. “It’s… it’s quite elegant. Though I don’t think it would go well with my complexion.”

Dorian turned to look at him, tilting his head to the side. “Hmm, yes… Gold is definitely not your colour. You’d look dashing in silver though, I wager” he said, and picked up a relatively simple silver mask from the stall. He placed it lightly over Tristan’s eyes. “Perfect” he mused, smiling. His fingers on either side of Tristan’s face lingered only for a moment before he took the mask off and handed it to the vendor. “We’ll take this. And this” he announced, indicating an extravagantly gilded golden mask. Tristan raised an eyebrow at his selection, but Dorian only smirked. “When in doubt, dazzle.”

Tristan nodded. That… actually made a lot of sense, coming from Dorian.

When Tristan tried to reach for his purse, Dorian stopped him, placing his palm on Tristan’s hand. “Please. Allow me. It’s the least I can do to thank you for inviting me here.”

The feel of Dorian’s fingers on the back of his hand sent a shiver through. His throat suddenly felt as if it were made of sand. “You don’t owe me anything, Dorian.”

“Oh, but I insist.” He pulled his hand back, reaching in his coat pocket for his purse.

The vendor gave them a wide, oily smile as he accepted Dorian’s coin and handed them the masks. Donning the mask on was a challenge in and of itself, with its flimsy ribbon digging at the back of his head, but in the end Tristan managed to fix it in place. He gazed at his reflection at the window of a nearby store and frowned. He looked utterly ridiculous.

Dorian, on the other hand, was having a much easier time with his mask. It fit perfectly on his face, and although quite extravagant, worked harmoniously with the rest of his outfit. The golden glint of the mask made the golden hue of his complexion stand out, and emphasized the golden flecks in his silver eyes. Not a few passers-by turned to stare at him. The golden statues in the square and all the shiny artefacts on the vendors’ stalls paled in comparison.

“Well? How do I look?” Dorian said, turning towards him and placing his hand under his chin in a fancy pose.

Tristan startled slightly as if electrified. He hadn’t realised he had been staring. “It’s, uh… it’s fine” he mumbled, and turned away.

“What, just fine?” he heard Dorian say. “I knew I should have chosen that other one with the rainbow feathers.”

Tristan swallowed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s… you look… very handsome. Impressive, actually.”

Dorian stopped for a moment, his eyes fixing themselves on Tristan’s, his smile faltering momentarily. Then, he tossed his head back and laughed, and threaded his hand through Tristan’s again. “Maker, you always know the right thing to say, don’t you?”

Tristan only managed to smile awkwardly as he was promptly dragged to a nearby book stall.

“A rare edition of Compendium of Arcane Transmutations by a Magister Domitius” Dorian gasped, his eyes glittering. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Tristan bought it for him despite his protests, along with several old and dusty history books, and gave the vendor some extra coin to deliver them at the inn they were staying. The vendor gave them a wide, knowing smile, as if they were two lovebirds on an escapade away from home.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know” Dorian whispered when they were at a safe distance from the vendor and walking along Val Royeaux’s waterfront.

“Oh, but I did” Tristan replied. “And I wanted to. After all, you have become Skyhold’s librarian of sorts.”

“Who would have thought that Dorian Pavus, Scion of House Pavus, would be reduced to so mundane an occupation! If only my father could see me now.” He glanced at the book, a hand caressing its worn, leather back with utmost care. “You see, it was out of necessity that I assumed the position. During the first week of our arrival at Skyhold, I saw a worker in the yard tearing a page out of Aldius’s Treatises on Chronomancy to wrap a cudgel. A cudgel! That was a crime against humanity if I ever saw one” he shuddered. “I’ve been keeping an eye on these books ever since.”

“That was very thoughtful of you” Tristan said, and he meant it. They walked on, appraising some very intricate Antivan fans laid out on another stall. “I talked to Helisma a few days ago when I dropped off some research materials she asked of me. She said you have an effective, if somewhat idiosyncratic, way of storing the books.”

“Let me guess: did she say ‘idiotic’ rather than ‘idiosyncratic’? That would sound more like her.” Dorian sniffed audibly. “She has some very strong opinions for a Tranquil, let me tell you.”

Their steps soon took them away from the busy market and to the promenade along Lake Celestine. They walked for a while in silence, watching the seagulls flying over the calm waters. The large statues that had been built and set in the lake looked as if floating on the clear waters, their polished marble surface reflecting the sun.

The relative silence of the promenade compared to the hustle and bustle of the market brought a pensive lull to their conversation. Tristan’s mind drifted against his will to the meetings he had had earlier that day. Lady Josephine had been right. There was indeed a lot of talk about the mages of the Inquisition, and what was to happen with them. He glanced at Dorian, who was indifferently watching a swarm of seagulls fighting over a scrap of bread.

“There is something I’ve been thinking about for some time” Tristan said. “I was hoping I could get some advice from you.”

Dorian blinked at him. “The Inquisitor wants my advice? I must say, you never fail to surprise me” he said with a small, teasing smile. “How can I help?”

“I’ve been… thinking about the mages of the Inquisition. It’s been giving me headaches, actually.” Tristan took a deep breath, tapping his fingers on the carved marble railing of the promenade. “When I offered them a full alliance, I knew I would receive backlash for my decision, and I was ready for it. I knew that I wanted the mages to be free from Circles, Templars and the Chantry, and I would support them in that, no matter the cost. But there are times that I feel like my dream of a world where mages are free is just that. A dream.” He paused to take another breath and gazed at the lake. “Perhaps the world isn’t ready to accept mages being independent from Chantry control, leading normal lives, having the same rights as everybody else. Yet… if no one stands up for them, how can they ever hope to be accepted?”

He stole a glance at Dorian, who was listening to him attentively. Tristan gave the ring on his finger a small twist, just to arrange his thoughts.

“When I was given the title of Inquisitor, I realised that I have the power to change things. Really change things. Still, it has to be done right. There’s so many people expecting the Inquisition to fail. I want to prove them wrong.”

“Ah, yes. So many well-wishers in the world” Dorian mused, nodding solemnly. “What are you planning to do?”

Tristan paused for a heartbeat before fixing his gaze on Dorian. “How are mages trained in Tevinter?”

Dorian looked at him incredulously. “Do you mean to tell me that you’ll be asking a Tevinter to give you advice on how to handle mages? It’s starting to sound as if you don’t want to keep that pretty head about your shoulders after all.”

Tristan gaped at him for a moment. Did he just call him… pretty? He shook his head only slightly. It must have been a figure of speech. “Trust me, Dorian, there’s nothing I want more. I know how it might appear to some. But I don’t care. I only want what’s best for the mages. Tevinter has been around for centuries, and mages there have never been as oppressed as they are here. Clearly your countrymen are doing something right.”

“Yes, they are. But they are also doing many things wrong. My homeland should be a cautionary tale, not a source of inspiration” he said, letting out a sigh. “In any case, to answer your question, there is no comparison between how magic is viewed in Tevinter and here in the South. The Chantry has instilled fear and distrust of magic in people’s minds. In Tevinter, on the other hand, magic is considered a gift, not a curse. Mages are allowed to use their power and experiment as they wish, within reason of course.”

“Are there no abominations, then?”

“Oh, there are some. But there isn’t such a big fear of demons in Tevinter. Abominations are simply thought of as an occasional consequence of magic, not a constant threat. If a mage fails during their harrowing, there are other mages present to subdue them. It’s quite rare, mind you. Mages are taught from a very young age to trust and hone their abilities, not be afraid of them.”

Tristan twisted the ring on his finger thoughtfully. “What about the rite of Tranquillity? Is it ever performed in Tevinter?”

“Yes, on occasion. “Abuse of magic” has so many convenient applications. It is seen as the ultimate punishment for a mage. Worse than death.”

“From what I know of it, it sounds absolutely horrendous. To sever someone from the Fade, from their own emotions… I can’t imagine what that must be like for a mage.”

“Nor can I” Dorian said solemnly. “Most Tranquils I’ve met insist that their lives are better that way. But anything would look fine to someone who can’t tell the difference between choosing something for themselves and having it chosen for them. As far as I’m concerned, it’s preferable for one to live a terrible life on their own terms, rather than a comfortable one on someone else’s.”

They walked along the waterfront for a long while, quietly talking about Tevinter, mages and the Chantry. Dorian’s views on magic and the training of mages were somewhat unorthodox, but fascinating all the same. Tristan was sure that if a Chantric overheard their conversation, they would run away screaming in terror. The thought cheered him up quite a bit.

The sun dipped slowly below the horizon as they conversed, painting the sky pink and golden. Reaching a quiet spot of the promenade, Tristan paused for a moment to take in the view around him. The waves crashing softly on the rocks below the wooden ledge were a smooth, delicate murmur. He leaned against the railing and breathed deeply. He took his mask off and let the breeze caress his face.

“Ready to assume the role of Inquisitor again, I take it?” he heard Dorian’s voice beside him. His hand brushed lightly against Tristan’s back as he drew near, and leaned with his elbow on the railing.

Tristan smiled tiredly, looking at the mask in his hand. “No, not really. I don’t think I’ll ever be.” He fixed his gaze on Dorian’s eyes that were studying him behind his gilded mask. “It was good to spend some time away from it all, Dorian. With you.”

“Likewise” Dorian replied, a soft smile on his lips.

Tristan felt the world growing silent and his breath shallow as they stood there, gazing at each other. They were in the capital of Orlais, surrounded by gossiping nobles, yet all he could see was that man in front of him, the breeze flowing through his dark, glossy curls, his lips slightly parted, his expression unbearably hard to read behind that mask that obscured his features. A memory of a smile haunted Dorian’s lips as Tristan moved closer, his palm brushing against Dorian’s elbow, and-

“Inquisitor! Is that you?”

The shrill voice behind him made him jolt. He took a reluctant step away from Dorian, and turned to face the source of the noise.

The noblewoman looking at him with sparkling eyes and a wide smile was painfully familiar. He had been forced by Lady Josephine to dine with her on more than one occasion. “Comtesse Lucienne” he said as courteously as possible, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

“I knew I saw you at the market earlier! What brings you here to Val Royeaux? And who is your friend?” she replied, her eyes sliding off Tristan to fix themselves on Dorian.

“This is Dorian Pavus of Minrathous. An esteemed member of the Inquisition. ”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, madame” Dorian replied, bowing his head.

“Enchante, messieur.”The Comtesse smiled cordially, fanning herself. She kept her eyes on Dorian only for a moment before she turned her full attention back to Tristan, as Dorian had simply ceased to exist. “How fares the Inquisition, mon cher? Oh, you must tell me all about it. I am hosting a small gathering at my manoir later. I’d be devastated if you didn’t come. ”

Tristan cleared his throat, daring a quick glance at Dorian before he spoke. “I’m afraid I must decline, Comtesse. I have… important business to attend to. For the Inquisition.”

“Oh, but surely your business can wait? Duchess Auclair, Empress Celene’s cousin-in-law will be there as well, and she has been dying to meet you. She is one of the Empress’ ladies in waiting’s close friends, as you know. Your… friend is welcome to join us” she added, somewhat curtly.

Tristan turned to glance at Dorian, then back at the Comtesse, who had taken hold of his hand and was smiling expectantly at him. “Oh… I, uhm… maybe some-“

“Of course he’ll come, Comtesse. Won’t you, Inquisitor?” Dorian broke in, smiling graciously. “That Inquisition business can wait for a while.”

Whatever objection Tristan was going to bring up, it was robbed from him by Dorian’s intervention. The Comtesse let out an exclamation of joy, clapping her hands. “Oh, that’s marvellous, Inquisitor! Now, come, my dear, my carriage is waiting.”

Tristan let the Comtesse drag him away, defeated. He turned to glance at Dorian, who had already started walking away, his head held not quite as high as he remembered.

***

The air in the Comtesse’s ridiculously extravagant tea room felt hot and stifling. Tristan sipped on his drink, discreetly loosening the collar of his shirt. At least his drink wasn’t too bad. Berry tea, no doubt spiked with some fruity brandy. Warm, but refreshing. It almost made him forget that he probably needed something much, much stronger to get through the dreadful event.

The Comtesse’s guests talked merrily around him, exchanging flowery compliments and fake smiles, but Tristan was only half listening to them as he stared out of the tall, ornate arched windows. The view of the manoir’s gardens and Val Royeaux’s tall white marble spires was really quite charming. Night was descending slowly, and the first lights were making their appearance in the far away buildings.

He let his eyes roam over the extravagantly gilded ceiling and the outrageous tapestries on the wall. He could never understand what it was about them that people found appealing enough to hang where everyone could see. He studied the one closest to him with uncanny focus -oh, look, a very distressed looking lady carrying a giant silver goblet and riding on the back of a unicorn, and oh, what’s that, a lion playing the flute?- in hopes of quelling his boredom and frustration. The entire affair reminded him of those soirees his Mother used to host in the Trevelyan mansion in Ostwick. He distinctly remembered being bored out of his mind then, too.

He wondered what Dorian was doing. Perhaps he had continued his stroll along the promenade. Or he had decided to return to the inn they were staying, to curl up in front of the hearth with one of the books they had bought that day. Or perhaps he had climbed up to the tallest balcony in Val Royeaux and flung himself straight into Lake Celestine, to save himself the second-hand embarrassment of seeing Tristan again.

He cringed at the thought that he had tried to kiss him in full view of every passer-by in Val Royeaux. Blight, perhaps his mother had been right all along. He really was a fool.

“…isn’t that right, Inquisitor?”

The Comtesse’s shrill voice stirred him out of his thoughts. From what he had vaguely heard, they had been talking about the Civil War between Empress Celene and Duke Gaspard. She was no doubt asking his opinion on it. Problem was, he didn’t really have one. Vagueness was always the best strategy when it came to situations like these. “Empress Celene’s forces are formidable, to be sure. But Duke Gaspard also commands great numbers. The Empress certainly needs to take his tactics seriously if she is to win the war.”

Several heads nodded, flowers and wings on elaborate hats and hairstyles fluttering slightly. A man, whose name Tristan had already forgotten, placed his cup on its saucer and cleared his throat.

“And how is the Empress to do that, if the Duke continually rejects any invitations for negotiations? Patience has its limits.”

“One needs to possess a great deal of patience if they are to achieve anything in this world” Tristan replied, suppressing a bored sigh. “Whether one is an Emperor or a farmer, nothing can happen simply by stomping their foot and expecting everyone to do as they say.”

A few cold glares this time, but some nods as well. The Comtesse gave him a warm smile. “Our Inquisitor is an expert in these matters, my dear. Our Empress would do well to listen to whatever he has to say. He is the leading force of resistance against that dreadful Tevinter cult, after all.”

“Certainly” the man said, crossing one leg over the either and shooting Tristan an amused glance. “I hear they are a tougher enemy that most thought. Almost invincible, one would say.”

Tristan shifted in his seat. He didn’t like where the man was taking the conversation. “They command great numbers, that is true, and their influence is spreading, but I would hardly call them invincible. The Inquisition is doing everything they can to suppress them.”

“Not quite as much as is required, it seems” the man said. His ridiculous hat looked like two hollow tubes glued together and plastered on his ridiculously small head. His mousy black eyes stared at him from beneath his golden mask. “We keep hearing about their plots, even here. Rumours of several houses secretly allying with them is spreading.”

Comtesse Lucienne nodded, closing her fan on her palm. “But of course! How can we forget that scandal with the Duke de Besson? He was found harbouring two Venatori mages in his mansion. Apparently, they’d offered to use blood magic to help him deal with some… private problems he was having, in exchange for his support.”

From the Comtesse’s tone and her small, mocking smile, Tristan could only gather that the Duke’s problems had been very private indeed. Several ladies spread their fans to hide their sneers.

“They had even started performing some of their vile spells by the time his treason was uncovered” the Comtesse continued.

Ridiculous-Tube-Hat shook his head with disgust. “Nothing that comes out Tevinter is ever good. “

Tristan resisted the urge to grind his teeth. The man was obviously a knucklehead. “Tevinter and the Venatori are hardly one and the same. In fact, Archon Radonis has already refuted any and all connection with them. They are an entirely independent and extremist cult, led by a creature that holds no more allegiance to present day Tevinter than you or I do.”

“Oh, that theory is a bit too convenient, isn’t it? Tevinter has been planning on how to exert influence over the entire world for centuries, and then someone appears that claims to want to restore their old power and all of a sudden they have no connection with them? Whatever it is they say, they cannot be trusted.”

“Oh, come, my dear Bellard, don’t be so gruff. You know that not everyone holds the same opinions about Tevinter as yourself” Comtesse Lucienne said, languidly fanning herself. “After all, it seems that our Inquisitor has… personal ties to the place.”

Tristan shot the woman a sidelong frown. “What is that supposed to mean, Comtesse?”

“Well, either my eyes were deceiving me, or I did see you canoodling with an attractive Tevinter fellow earlier. Now, what was his name…”

“Dorian Pavus” Tristan replied through tight lips, his voice verging on a growl.

“Ah, yes. As I was saying, you two looked very close. He is rather good looking. For a Tevinter, at least" she said, emphasizing the word in such a way that made Tristan's hands almost ball into fists at his side. "Quite an interesting choice for a companion. Oh, look, he’s blushing!” she exclaimed, hiding her broad smile behind her lace fan as laughter erupted in the room.

Not clenching his jaw while the Comtesse’s friends clucked like hens around him proved to be a challenge. He took a deep breath, remembering Lady Josephine’s instructions. Calm. Poise. Rationality. And most importantly, no snapping at prospective allies.

Oh, fuck it.

“It sounds like you were far more taken with Lord Pavus than I was, Comtesse” he said, forcing a sickly sweet smile on his face. “He is indeed a very interesting companion. Perhaps I should introduce you to him next time you visit Skyhold. At your age, you should take advantage of every opportunity to have some fun.”

He loudly slurped on his tea while icy glares bore straight into him from every corner of the room. He pretended not to notice as he set his cup on its saucer with a clink and smacked his lips. “Now, what were we talking about? Ah, yes. Tevinter. I hear their wines are exquisite this time of year. I should have a bottle of Perivantium Red sent to you when I go back to Skyhold. I assure you that after you try that, you’ll never go back to the wish-wash you call wine around here.”

***

It didn’t take long after that for a servant to very kindly show him to the door, with a hastily given assurance by the Comtesse to visit him in Skyhold. Something told Tristan she wouldn’t be coming any time soon.

It was a relief when Tristan finally got in the carriage to take him back to Val Royeaux. He wanted nothing more than to get back to the inn and sink under the covers. It had been an excruciatingly long day.

The streets of the capital were unusually crowded for that time in the night. It reminded him a little of Ostwick’s main district, with all the pubs and the dance houses, not to mention the smoke houses. Once, he would have loved nothing more than to stay out all night, pub hopping until the early hours of the morning. It didn’t really matter with whom, as long they could play Wicked Grace and keep up with his drinking. Now, if they offered him eternal bliss in exchange for one of those nights, he would seriously consider whether to accept the bargain.

The rooms Lady Josephine had booked for him, Dorian and the handful of emissaries she had sent with him were at an inn in the more high end part of town. Tristan paid the carriage driver and got out, the heels of his tall formal boots clicking on the hard pavement. Faint music and laughter drifted from the inside of the inn. It was quite late, so Dorian must already have retired to his room. He pushed the door of the inn, and his mouth almost fell open.

The musicians were playing a slow and solemn love song, one Tristan knew well as an Orlesian favourite. A throng of people were standing in a wide circle with their cups in the air, singing loudly in discordant voices. And at the center of them all, propped up on a table, there was Dorian, singing the loudest of them all.

From where comes this, Fair one, I beg of you, That you no longer do relate to me? Ever shall I be filled with sadness Until you should send me but a sign. I believe you no longer want a friend, Or someone has spoken ill of me to you, Or your heart has now taken up a new love.

His velvet voice carried cleanly through the room. It was smooth, melodic, and utterly captivating. But most of all, it filled Tristan with a vague sadness. He had heard the song before, many times, but coming from Dorian it sounded impossibly wistful and nostalgic. The rest of the people in the room were gazing at him with wide eyes, and soon, one by one their voices died down until there was only Dorian’s. For a long moment, Tristan just stood by the door, enthralled.

If you do quit the pretty train of love, You do but make your beauty a prisoner. If you’ve forgotten me due to someone else, May the Maker then grant to you your dearest wish; But if you think badly of me at all I want only that you be as sweet to me, Or even more, as you are being stubborn.

The song drew to a perfect close. After it was over, laughter and cheers erupted from the crowd, and they all gathered around Dorian to clink their glasses with his.

He laughed, a deep, sonorous laugh, as he clinked and smiled at each and every one of them. For an instant, he looked far more the beloved hero than Tristan could ever hope to be. It was ironic, really, that Tristan held such a lofty title, while at the same time Dorian could captivate a crowd with something so natural and effortless as the sound of his voice.

Dorian’s eyes fixed themselves on him through the sea of people around him. They glittered in the light of the candles and oil lamps with an unusual intensity. Stabilising himself on a man’s shoulder, he hopped off the table and made his way through the crowd to him. He stopped before him, swaying lightly, his grey eyes glinting with excitement.

“You’re back” he said. His voice had a slurred, liquid like quality to it. His drink was half finished in his hand. Tristan highly doubted that it was the first, second, or even third of that night. “I was wondering when you would come.”

“Of course I’m back” Tristan replied with a small smile. “I left the Comtesse’s party early.”

A smile widened Dorian’s lips. Without a word, his fingers closed around Tristan’s wrist and pulled him towards his table.

“He’s here” he announced to the people there. “The man of the hour.”

Several people turned to look. Eyes blinked and peered at him from flushed faces.

“You’re the Inquisitor?” a tall blonde man said. His big brown eyes took a moment to focus. “The Herald of Andraste?”

“The one and only” Dorian said, beaming proudly at Tristan. “This is Eluard. He owns the book stall we went to earlier today.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance” Tristan said, although he wasn’t, really. Not with the way the man gawked at him.

“Don’t take this the wrong way” the man named Eluard said, fixing his small, round hat about his head. “but I thought you would be taller. Scarier. You’re… normal. Not at all scary. Quite the opposite, I would say.”

The thinly veiled sarcasm in the man’s voice brought a frown on Tristan’s face, but he almost forgot about what the man said when Dorian suddenly threw his arm around Tristan’s shoulders.

Tristan glanced at him, startled. Dorian leaned on him, the warmth of his body seeping through Tristan's clothes. He was so close that Tristan could make out the distinct undertones of his cologne, mixed with the alcohol he was drinking and the smell of… him.

Their proximity sent shivers down his spine. He swallowed thickly as Dorian laughed aloud and gave the Orlesian a wide smile. “You’d be surprised how strong he is. I’ve seen him fight. None of you would have a chance against him.”

The tension blew over as swiftly as it had come about. “In that case” Eluard said with a laugh, “come, sit. Drink with us.”

Tristan took a seat at the table, and Dorian sat next to him. The Orlesian poured some drink into a glass a handed it to him. He took a sip from it. It was brandy, and very strong, but it was exquisite.

“That’s really nice” he said. “I haven’t had brandy like that in a while.”

“It’s Fereldan. I didn’t even know they made good brandy down there. He’s the one that chose it” the Orlesian said, nodding towards Dorian. He gave Tristan a wide, drunken smile and raised his glass. “It seems your boyfriend here knows his liquor.”

Tristan gaped at him. His face suddenly felt as if it were on fire. “He’s not my boyfriend!” he blurted out. “He’s… he’s-“

“Yes, what am I?” Dorian asked, perching his chin on Tristan’s shoulder and batting his eyelashes at him.

His word, the man was plastered.

Tristan opened his mouth, then closed it again. The seconds seemed to stretch endlessly, and, judging by the heat creeping up his cheeks, he must have looked like a pomegranate. To his eternal relief and gratitude, one of Eluard’s friends started telling a particularly vulgar joke about Fereldans and goats, and Tristan was entirely forgotten.

Dorian’s arm was still draped over his shoulders though. His heart fluttered like a leaf in the wind inside his chest.

“People around here talk a lot about you, you know” he said softly. His breath tickled Tristan’s ear and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“I’m not surprised. I hope they’re not saying anything too harsh, at least” Tristan replied, trying to keep his voice level despite a shiver that passed through him. He sipped on his drink and shot Dorian a sidelong glance.

Dorian smiled faintly. He was watching him intently, as if afraid to miss a single word. He lowered his voice to almost a whisper as he leaned closer. “Would it bother you if they did?”

“I…” Tristan swallowed thickly. He looked at the people around the room. They were drinking and talking and laughing, but somehow their gazes still managed to fall on them, as if by accident. Tristan clenched his jaw. “No. Not really. You know what they say. Sticks and stones can break my bones…”

“But words can never hurt me.” A sad smile blossomed on his face. “I wish that were true.”

He glanced at his half empty drink on the table. Sliding his arm off of Tristan’s shoulders, he picked it up and tipped the brandy over his lips. There was suddenly a sombreness to him, steady and deep. It felt like it had always been there, just lurking below the surface.

It didn’t last long, though. When the Orlesian ordered another round of drinks, his face lit up and he readily joined in the jests and the commotion. Tristan sipped slowly on his brandy, discreetly frowning as Dorian downed a shot of… something the Orlesian gave him. If anyone was familiar with the swaying, and the unfocused eyes, and the flushed cheeks that come about when someone's tipsy, then that was him. And Dorian was way beyond that point.

“I think it’s time to go to bed” he told him quietly.

Dorian looked at him, blinking. “But the night is still young! We still have so much to say! And to… well, drink. Don’t you want to stay a little bit longer?”

Tristan had become so accustomed to drinking alone in his quarters, that being in this crowded bar room felt odd. Like a fish out of water. And Dorian had certainly had more than enough for one night. A little more, and he would be falling flat on his face.

“It’s actually quite late. And we have an early start tomorrow, remember?”

“Let the man have his fun!” Eluard exclaimed from across the table. “Or are you too eager to get him alone? In that case, have a pleasant night” he said, and shot them the most innuendo-heavy look Tristan had ever seen.

His face felt impossibly hot again. He tried not to scowl too much as he stood up. “Gentlemen” he said formally, “I was pleased to meet you. Please accept my wishes for a good night.” He glanced at Dorian who was looking up at him, gaping. “Come, Dorian, let’s go.”

Dorian snapped his mouth shut and straightened up. “I’ll have one more drink, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind. You’ve had more than enough.”

“There’s a mother hen for you” the Orlesian said with a sly smile.

Tristan scowled and prepared to tell him off, but Dorian was quicker. He flicked his finger on the man's forehead and gave him a wide, condescending smile, as if Eluard was but five years old. “Now, what did I say about talking to the Inquisitor that way?”

The other men around the table erupted in raucous laughter. Eluard looked stunned for a moment, but it didn’t last long. He leaned slightly forward, his mouth twisted in a scowl. Tristan caught Dorian’s arm and pulled him away. “Alright, that’s enough. Time for us to go before anyone gets hurt.”

This time, Dorian followed him. He took a step after him, then turned back, picked up his drink and downed it in one go. He placed his glass on the table with a thud and twirled his fingers at the men. “Too doo loo, boys.”

Tristan rolled his eyes and pulled him towards the stairs to the rooms. Climbing up the steps proved to be more of an effort than he had anticipated, half carrying a stumbling and giggling Dorian. Once they reached his room, Tristan pushed the door open and let him in. It was a wide enough room, with a large, comfortable bed. The red and gold carpet was thick and soft under his boots. The silk tapestries on the walls depicted scenes of lavishly dressed men and women partaking in what looked like a celebration around a fountain. Luckily, this one contained no unicorns or lions playing various musical instruments that he could see.

He stumbled towards the bed, easing Dorian’s arm off his shoulders as he helped him sit down. Dorian plopped on the mattress and groaned as he kicked his boots off. His eyes were closed and he let out a soft sigh while he worked the buckles of his coat open. “That brandy was excellent” he said in a slurred voice. “If I may say so myself.”

He took off his coat and threw it over the side of the bed before pulling at the laces of his shirt. Tristan was panting slightly with the effort of practically carrying him up the stairs, but his breath suddenly caught in his throat. Dorian’s bare chest moved softly as he breathed, the dip in his collarbone glistening slightly with a sheer film of sweat. His dark, golden hued skin looked soft like velvet, smooth like silk. It stretched over the taut muscles of his abdomen as he tugged the hem of his shirt out of his breeches and pulled it over his head.

Tristan felt so flushed, there was sweat gathering at the back of his neck. Either the temperature in the room had suddenly risen to the levels of a heatwave, or he really should stop looking. He shook his head slightly, hoping to bring some sense back into it. Dorian was obviously too drunk to realise what he was doing, while Tristan just stood there and ogled at him like a lecher.

He grabbed a blanket that lay folded at the edge of the bed and hastily shook it open. He made it a point not to stare at Dorian’s half naked body as he leaned over him to cover him, before Dorian could take off any more items of clothing. Tristan pulled the blanket up, until its top was resting snugly under Dorian’s chin.

That was better. Infinitely better.

He made as if to straighten back up, but instead gasped out loud and almost fell flat on top of Dorian when he pulled him towards him.

“Wait,” he breathed.

Tristan blinked, struggling to understand what had happened. He hovered over Dorian, his hands at either side of him as he tried to keep his balance. Dorian’s one hand was tangled in the fabric of his shirt, the other curled around his back. They were so close, their noses almost touched. Eyes like polished silver peered straight into him. His lips glistened in the half dark when he lightly ran his tongue over them.

Tristan felt every muscle in his body bristling. He felt irresistibly drawn to his lips, to the look in his eyes. Dorian’s warm breath washed over him, making every hair on his body stand on end. Maker, he longed to touch him. To press himself against him, run his hands over him and kiss the living breath out of him. To absolutely ravage him.

Yet, one thing was certain. Dorian was positively, undeniably, out-of-his-mind drunk.

Tristan tried to pull away, but Dorian held him fast. He brought his hand up to touch his cheek, his eyes gliding softly over his features. Tristan felt completely frozen and numb when Dorian gently brushed his nose over his.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, before surging forward and placing his lips on Tristan’s.

#cw: alcohol #dorian pavus #dorian pavus fic #dorian x trevelyan #dorian x inquisitor #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #dorian x tristan trevelyan #dorian x tristan #dorian/inquisitor #a world with you #johaerys writes

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geethedentist · 5 years

Text

The Sassenach Warrior

Catch up on Chapter 4 here!

Chapter 5: Just a Lass

Present Day

In the days following the Gathering, Dougal had organized a group of men, (and me) into a small party to collect the yearly rent owed by the clan. It was evident to me that Dougal enjoyed going on these escapades away from Castle Leoch, and out of reach of his brother. I rather thought he saw himself as the commander of some small, ragtag, eclectic group of soldiers. And so, marching around the Highlands in his wake demanding that some poor family give us their last goat became a bit tiresome after a while. I tried not to think about the unspoken but obvious reason for my presence: Dougal wished to have me near at all times. I had lost all drive after being seconds away from stealing my ring back, only to be interrupted by Laoghaire. My current plan was pathetic to say the least. I had basically elected to play the waiting game, bide my time and do whatever Dougal said whilst giving him no reason for further suspicion. It was difficult, and my patience was wearing thin. But at the same time I reluctantly decided that I was happy to have their company, however soon I might be saying goodbye. Rupert and Angus had taken to teasing me daily, like irksome older brothers.

If the last few months had shown me anything, it was that the English had taken advantage of the Highlanders and had done much to contribute to the widespread poverty we had encountered. The inhabitants of Castle Leoch were living in a bubble. It was saddening, to see these people offering us their last bits of food when we were passing through for the night. Many of the towns were so small they couldn’t even house a tavern. They were more like small collections of houses. Dougal seethed whenever the English were mentioned, and my ears always pricked forward in interest. Colum had said he would act upon his emotions, and I was impatiently wondering why he hadn’t. But he didn’t keep me waiting much longer.

__________________________________________________________________

The line in front of Ned Gowan was shortening now as we prepared to spend another night sleeping under the stars in another tiny town. I sat in the wagon munching some bread while Jamie leaned against the side, trying to balance his dirk in his hand. I yawned loudly and he chuckled.

“Tired are ye, Sassench?”

I scoffed, “It’s not like you can sleep soundly on the ground either! I’d kill to sleep in a bed tonight.”

“Aye, there’s a knot or two in my neck to be sure.” He rubbed the back of his neck and winced.

I hesitated, then decided to voice my worries. “But I feel exposed out here. Don’t you? I feel as though I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, that soldiers will show up any second.” I was alluding of course to the fact that we were both fugitives, something I didn’t care to say outright. Jamie was still the only one who knew this about me, and part of me wished he’d ask why. He’d laid a lot of himself bare to me that day when we first arrived at Leoch. I felt like I needed him to know, but fear and anxiety continuously kept me from following through.

He caught the dirk as it began to topple over. “I suppose that’s always a worry but to me this is far better than bein’ trapped in that gloomy castle. Besides, I prefer being outside, tending horses. It reminds me more of … home.”

“You miss your sister, and your parents?”

He smiled sadly. “Only my sister, Mam and Da have passed on. But did ye ken,” he said, steering the conversation away from his family, “that I am the Laird there?”

“Just like Colum?” I asked incredulously.

“Weel, no quite like Colum, he’s a clan chief after all. I mean Laird of my estate and the land surrounding it. I have my own tenants and crops. … Or at least I should.” His eyebrows drew together in a look of longing. Being unable to claim your rightful place at your ancestral home sounded heartbreaking. He couldn’t even claim his rightful clan name. At Leoch, many had been calling him by ‘MacTavish’, which I suspected was an alias.

From what I came to know of Jamie, what he had just described to me was his calling. I had no doubts that he would stop at nothing to adequately provide for his tenants and his family. But by staying away as a wanted man, he believed he was protecting them.

Our exchange was interrupted by shouting and cheering over at the base of the hill. Many of the villagers had gathered in a circle. The unmistakable clash of swords filled the air and I felt my face light up. The words had not even left my mouth before Jamie said, “I’m right behind ye, Sassenach.”

There were two teenaged boys sparring in the middle of the circle. It was all in good fun for the moment, each boy showcasing his skills with respective friends and relatives encouraging them. In reality they were training. Training to protect their families, their way of life. They would be soldiers one day. I looked at Jamie, and I knew that beneath his kind exterior there was a lethal warrior. I wondered if I’d ever see that side of him. I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to.

The cheering rose to a crescendo as one of the boys fell backward losing his sword, the match clearly won. They shook hands and clapped each other on the back before making their way back into the circle. Another man sauntered to the center and spread his hands wide. He looked to be a few years older than Jamie, and certainly quite cocky. He had shoulder length sandy blonde hair, no beard, and a tattered kilt. He pulled his impressive sword out of the holster and began to swing it about in an extravagant fashion. I rolled my eyes.

“Which of ye shall be my challenger eh?” He scanned the crowd in search of a worthy opponent.

A long silence ensued.

“… I will.”

Every single head turned immediately and simultaneously in my direction. I waved awkwardly as I heard Jamie inhale sharply to my left. I crossed my arms.

The man just laughed. “”Tis a very funny joke there, lass. What’s your name?”

“My name is Claire. My apologies, does it look like I am joking? Perhaps I should make an effort to be more clear or perhaps you should make an effort to be able to recognize an actual joke.” I unsheathed my weapon. A murmur went through the crowd and some of the women gasped.

He looked taken aback for a moment and then seemed to regain his composure. “Come now lass, why don’t we be a bit more polite?”

“I am not interested in being polite.” I said defiantly.

He looked helplessly at Jamie, who simply shrugged. “You better fight her man, and dinna ask any questions.”

I stepped forward and the crowd parted like the Red Sea. The man scoffed and tried again, “ye canna seriously be allowing her to do this?”

Jamie shrugged again. “I canna tell her what to do.” I heard a few muffled gasps escape the crowd. The man approached us, trying to be discreet. I had stuck my sword into the ground and was casually leaning on the hilt, arms crossed.

“Ye must get yer wife under control!” He said to Jamie, voice barely over a whisper.

The red cheeks and hilariously flabbergasted look that subsequently adorned Jamie’s face prevented him from replying before I laughed loudly.

“Is that what the issue is? Allow me to be the first to inform you that I do not have a husband and I never will. Will you fight me or not?” I began to step back towards the center of the circle, causing him to back up. “Or are you fearful of losing?”

At that, he regained his previous haughty attitude. “Fearful of losing? You’re only a lass.”

My sword shone in the setting sun.

“Then this should be easy for you.” I would be brutal.

Recently, I had attempted to stop making assumptions and judgements of those whom I has just met. Jamie came to mind concerning this resolution, and perhaps Rupert, Angus and Murtagh as well. As much as I tried to fight it, numerous unwelcome presumptions materialized in my mind all the same. It was some solace however, that this time I was absolutely right. My opponent whose name I later learned was Rodrick, was entirely reliant on his size and strength, and nothing else. As expected, he came lunging at me with his sword up in the air. I sidestepped him neatly and ducked under his arm. He whirled around stupidly, as if in amazement that I was now behind him. He tried again.

“Why don’t try using the weapon instead of throwing yourself bodily in my direction?” A few laughs rose from the crowd. “Allow me get this started so that we might finish sometime tonight.”

I was back in the courtyard of Uncle Lamb’s house, a clumsy adolescent. The dummy I was practicing on had taken quite a beating. I was dripping sweat and covered in dust while the other ladies my age were sitting in a drawing room somewhere sipping tea and sharing the latest gossip.

I stepped forward with a thrust. He clumsily parried it, and imitated my attack. After that, the fight picked up some momentum. He had begun to wildly swing the sword in all directions. Sidestepping and crisscrossing my feet like a dance, I avoided and blocked every swing. I noted with satisfaction that he was growing tired. Several more clashes rang out, the surrounding crowd was leaning forward in excitement. I felt sweat rolling down my forehead and back. Chest heaving, I let out heavy, punctuated breaths as we sized each other up once more. Knees bent, feet apart, I waited. Waited for him to let down his guard for a fraction of a second. I expected one more blind, brutish lunge, for he must realize that it was nearing an end. When he began to barrel toward me, I swept my foot in a wide arc. His feet flew out from under him. The ground shook as all the momentum directed at me fell victim to gravity. He fell hard on his knees, then his elbows. While he was preoccupied with falling, the toe of my boot connected hard with the sword hilt and sent it flying. He now had no weapon and was staring up at the point of my own sword as it hovered inches from his face.

“The Sassenach won!” Someone shouted. With that, the crowd erupted into shouts and applause. I straightened up and extended a hand to Rodrick. Distractedly helping him to his feet, I watched as Jamie discussed the match with a few of the villagers. He waved his arms excitedly, a big smile on his face.

“I didna teach her anything, man.” He was saying proudly. “Have ye no’ ever seen a swordsman as agile as Claire?”

Dusk was setting in quickly. The villagers had begun to retreat to their homes for supper. A heavy hand fell on my shoulder.

“I must say I didna expect to be beaten by a woman today, much less an English woman.” Rodrick said. There were other men craning their necks behind him.

“Well, life is full of surprises, isn’t it?” I answered sarcastically, turning to walk away.

“Ye ken ye’ve got a wise mouth and ye’ve overstepped yer boundaries there, lass. One day ye’re going to anger the wrong person, that mouth and those trousers are going to get ye into a situation that ye canna make it out of.”

I scoffed. “Is that a threat?”

“It just isna normal.” One of the men spoke up.

“What can I say? I’m an unusual lady.”

“How does it feel? That no one takes ye seriously? That half o’ this village is laughing at ye.” Rodrick tried to put sting into his words. It was working.

“I should hope I have gained myself some respect after defeating you.” I retorted.

“Oh aye, one small victory wilna do ye any good. Ye’d best stop pretending to be man. Just because ye dress the part and know a little sword play doesna change a thing.” Some laughter from behind him. My cheeks burned. “Come on lads, let’s let the lassie sort out her identity crisis on her own.” They left me there, fists clenched and shaking.

“… Sassenach,”

I whirled around and there he was. Jamie had heard the whole thing. I pushed past him and sprinted up the hill. I paced in tight circles at the crest of the hill. The anger boiling up found its release when my fist connected with a tree trunk. “Fucking bastard!” The tree received no mercy and soon my hands were covered in blood. I sat heavily down on a rock to catch my breath.

“I know you’re there,” I said without turning around. Jamie chuckled as he stepped out of the trees and sat beside me.

“I had a feeling ye did,” he said. “Though I figured I’d finish letting ye teach that tree a lesson.”

I flexed my fingers painfully. “I think it taught me a lesson instead.”

“I understand though, Sassenach. When ye’re in a blind fury, ye hardly even ken what ye’re doin’. I bet it didna even hurt while ye were throwin’ those punches.” He brought a handkerchief out of his sporran and began to swab the blood off.

“That’s exactly right. How did you know?” I winced as he brushed over a particularly deep cut.

He chuckled again. “Because I do the same thing. I dinna just mean punching trees.”

I had never seen Jamie as angry as he was describing, but it wouldn’t be long before I would.

“You know I act as though their words don’t affect me, but I wish it was Rodrick I was punching instead.”

“Ah but the fact that ye didn’t makes ye stronger than he’ll ever be.” Jamie replied.

“I know what I am. I don’t claim to be anything I’m not.” I suddenly felt as though I had to justify myself. But here sat the one person who didn’t need to hear it.

He put the bloody cloth down. “Of course not, Sassenach. I ken ye’re no man. But ye are the strangest, most wonderful woman I have ever met.”

Now I turned and looked into his eyes. “Thank you, Jamie. That means a lot.” I was silent for a few moments. “But why?”

“Why?” He sounded startled. “Why what?”

“Why does it not offend you? I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t be like everyone else … but you’re not.”

He leaned back on his elbows, the sinking sun creating shadows on his face. “Well, because ye’re strong, and I can only imagine how much shite ye get for this. But ye still stay true to yerself.”

I laughed, “that is a massive understatement.”

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the moon rise. My question to Jamie was still on my mind. Why? He had given his answer, and I knew he meant every word. But I couldn’t help but feel that he still kept things hidden. He may be hiding it verbally, but he’s hopeless if he thinks nobody can notice the way he lit up during that fight. Or when he stares at me when he thinks I don’t notice. Or even in that moment when he was so blissful and happy sharing this time with me, taking joy in the fact that he made me feel better. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, and the look of complete contentment on his face.

Oh Jamie.

He’ll be crushed when I leave.

__________________________________________________________________

My realization about Jamie had unsettled me. I had therefore decided to distance myself from him a bit. He was my friend and he was much too good to me; he didn’t deserve the grief he was sure to feel when I left. This was the only way.

Angus yawned loudly as we sleepily filed out of the village the next morning. “Look alive will ye?” Dougal said. “If ye want to make it to Nairn by this evening ye must stay awake! And then ye can stuff yer face and sleep in a nice warm bed aye?”

“I canna remember the last town big enough for a tavern.” Murtagh responded.

“Aye well we shall be staying in this town for longer this time,” Dougal continued. “’Tis a good deal bigger than what we’ve seen on this excursion. More people who owe the Mackenzie their rent.”

The prospect of resting for a couple of days was exciting. I would use this time to renew my efforts to steal the ring and escape. An uneasy thought made my stomach flip. What if Dougal did not even have the ring? But somehow, I knew he had it. He would need it if he wanted to taunt or threaten me, after all. The men fell into conversation while I rode alone.

“Good morning Sassenach,” Jamie said cheerfully.

I had been staring into space and his greeting made me jump in the saddle. He laughed, and I sadly fought the urge to laugh along with him.

“Good morning.” I responded. I said nothing more, but gave him a small smile. This was going to be difficult, considering I didn’t want him thinking that he did anything wrong.

He breathed deeply, evidently enjoying the morning air. “Excited?” He asked. I looked at him quizzically.

“We finally get to sleep in a bed!” His eyes immediately widened. “I - I mean separate beds of course, I didna mean …” He flailed for a few seconds and finished with what must have been a Gaelic curse.

“It’s okay Jamie, I know what you meant.” I looked away, hoping it would make this easier.

“Is something wrong, Sassenach?” The concern in his voice was unmistakable.

“I - no. I’m just not feeling very good this morning.” I said shortly, turning to face him again. His eyebrows had knit together and I wasn’t sure if he knew something else was amiss. He probably did, damn him.

The rest of the day involved me riding alone. Dougal was in the lead. Angus and Rupert were laughing behind him. Jamie rode ahead of me, not joining in the antics. All of a sudden, my world felt just as it did when Uncle Lamb died, and just like it did when I walked into castle Leoch. I was alone, and I was severing the only meaningful connection I had made since my life fell apart. I suppose I was preparing myself for my departure as well as Jamie.

A chilly rain began to fall as we trudged into the larger town late that night. I hoped the tavern had soup. I flexed my hands, wincing as the movement stretched the wounds on my knuckles. There was blood caked onto the bandages. It has turned a dark brown, like all old blood stains do. It felt like such a long time ago when Jamie had tenderly cleaned and wrapped them, back in the other brief life I was trying to leave behind.

The tavern was full of people, more men than women, some of which stared. But many were too engrossed in food or drink to notice me, and I was thankful. Many were wearing kilts but all had some type of clan tartan on his person. There was cozy yellow light coming from a grand hearth and several candles, either placed upon a table or in a lantern hanging from the ceiling. Large cushioned armchairs surrounded the hearth on the right side. Straight ahead, a flight of stairs ascended into darkness. To the left, there was a large bar at which sat several patrons and a cluster of tables and booths. There was a low din of conversation, the nonsensical noise of dozens of voices at once. Someone played a fiddle in the corner. I was warm now.

I settled myself into a corner and leaned back in the chair. A mug of ale was pressed into my hand. I lifted my head and Dougal was standing over me. “I thought ye could use a drink.” He smiled at me, but not in his usual menacing way. He seemed excited about something, and he couldn’t keep still. He went about making sure everybody who lacked a drink was now holding one. Over near the bar I saw Jamie down his ale in one gulp, slam the mug down and rub his hands hard over his face. He looked tired, and very tense.

Ned Gowan had started to take out the ledgers to start collecting rent, but Dougal stopped him. He assured him we would have ample time to recover the payments, just not tonight.

All of a sudden heads went up, focusing on some spectacle unfolding in the center of the room. Dougal had strode to the forefront, kilt swishing and shoulders squared. With no idea what madness or nonsense he was going to insight, I shrank back in the chair, content to be a fly on the wall.

Then the most passionate, incomprehensible speech flew from his lips. His arms waved animatedly through the air, sweat stood out on his forehead, his voice even cracked. Head cocked to the side, I sat engrossed. It felt like watching a performance. The only one not watching Dougal was Jamie. His back was facing his uncle and I could practically feel the tension in his shoulders from across the room. We had not spoken all day.

I was pulled back into the moment when Dougal suddenly switched to English.

“…And this is what they do!” His eyes were molten and his smile was made for war. He had taken two large fistfuls of Jamie’s shirt, and split it right down the middle. The shirt now hung jaggedly from his shoulders. The shiny surfaces of the healed welts shown in the firelight. There were several gasps, one woman sobbed into her husband’s neck. Jamie’s head was bowed and his eyes were shut tight. He looked as though he would rather be getting a third flogging. I thought back to the day he showed me the scars. I was now more disgusted on Jamie’s behalf than I was regarding anything Dougal had done to me. He was using his nephew as propaganda. Murtagh had his face in his hands.

“They are merciless. Flogged this boy to within an inch of his life!” He pushed the shirt all the way off; Jamie’s hands curled into fists. “Sometimes, scars have a lot less to do with where ye’ve been, and a lot more to do with where ye’re going.” He produced his cap from within the folds of his plaid and plopped it on the nearest table. He tossed in a coin. “For King James, and for Scotland!” He roared. A massive cheer went up and soon he was swarmed with people trying to give him money. Jamie rose, but Dougal grabbed him by the shoulders and plunked him back down onto the stool. He would have to stay like that until Dougal was finished collecting donations, then.

From within my haze of shock, I wondered idly what Colum would think of this little rally … and then my eyes snapped open.

“Well, if ye are not a spy, as ye say, I suppose I am askin’ ye to try yer skill at it.”

This is exactly what Colum meant. I would have bet my life that he had no idea what his brother was up to, much less approve of it. Dougal was raising money for an army, and I was going to be the one to tell Colum. Seeing finally that I am no English spy, he would summon his brother up to his quarters, and Dougal would kneel before the crippled man to whom he had sworn loyalty and obedience. Colum would then order Dougal to return to me the last remnant of my old life, the last piece of evidence that I did in fact have a family. Then I would be free of the brute forever.

Jamie sat there steaming until the tap room was mostly empty, save for a few drunks and the barman. I don’t even know why I had stayed to watch this. Rupert and Angus had stumbled up to bed, and Murtaugh left a long time before that. The last Jacobite dropped his coin into Dougal’s hand and in the same instant Jamie rose and snatched his shirt fiercely off the floor. His eyes were wild and he didn’t even look at Dougal as he turned toward the back exit.

“Lad.” Dougal called to him.

He paused halfway out the door without looking back.

“I hope ye brought another shirt!”

The door slammed so hard it rattled the bottles on the shelves behind the bar.

#Outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fandom #jamie and claire #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #clairebeauchamp #the sassenach warrior

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kendrixtermina · 5 years

Note

Thank you for pointing out that Byleth and Rhea's supports give off major creepo vibes. I've seen people say that Rhea genuinely cares about Byleth in non-CF routes and when I finished all the routes I was just like "uhh, where is it???" and her S-support honestly felt so tacked on.

I mean you do get that “It was uncomfortable please don’t do this anymore” dialogue option so it’s not just me saying it ‘cause of bias.

Though of course this is somewhat subjective. I mean there have been occasional posts where ppl were put-off by universal faves like Flayn or Claude because most ppl have some a list of personality traits that kinda set them off, rub them the wrong way or would be dealbreakers and its important to keep in perspective how much of that reaction is you and how much is the source material.

It’s not inconceivable that someone would like her attention or have their sympathy overpowering any alarm bells.

For me personally her death scene in SS kinda seals the deal because she keeps talking to the crest stone in their chest to the very end... yeah she was dying and delirious but thats precisely it, lying or cushioning your statements takes more mental energy, it’s like blurting out the truth when you’re high or drunk.

The s support is relevant in the sense that she does admit her crimes in a watered-down fashion/ in so far as she understood them (ie, it’s another point of evidence that this isn’t just something Edelgard made up or got from a dubious source, though really aren’t ppl seeing that Claude is also suuper onto her?)

She also outright admits that she just wanted them to turn into Sothis until recently/ throughout part 1

To be fair she does protect them during the imperial raid on Garreg Magh and in Shambhalla, and this is what eventually results in her death, but given her last line that was all ‘cause they’re Sothis container -not to mention that she had her own reasons to want Shambhalla destroyed and fight to the death for that - for the first time since the war of heroes, she is directing her anger at the real actual culprits. Now if only she could’ve done that to begin with!

Actually I think the experiments are some of her less bad deeds, because she created the homunculi from scratch and she didn’t expect to make a new person that would then get erased, but for Sothis to inhabit the new bodies to begin with - also from the example of Byleth’s mom it seems like she let them live normal lives.

That doesn’t make it less shady that she definitely tried to spark a takeover with Byleth (why you think Jeralt was always sent of lots of faraway missions?)but in the end she had little real control over wether it happens or not.

That’s the one she feels the most guilt about because its “against the rules”, but the whole “ruling from the shadows for centuries, making people fight among themselves so she could rule, striking down all dissenters” part is actually waaay worse and had many more victims.

Even here the problem is not even so much that she’s the ruler but her great incompetence. She never meant to have a world full of xenophobia, instability, inequality, crest obsession and corruption and she certainly doesnt want the agarthans running rampant acrosss the map but these were the side effects of the tools she used to keep power.

Ironically she might’ve had a better chance finding the real culprits or just ruling the world better if she didn’t have prejudice against humans as a whole. Everyone who criticises her is the same as Nemesis to her, so, no investigation or discernment. Humans being savage and corrupt? Nothing she can do about it, it’s in their nature.

She probably THINKS, or convinces herself, that she’s just protecting the land like her mother before her (from Seteth’s and Flayn’s worth they do view being the guardians of the land as their duty, and in her S support she says that she did it all “to keep the peace”, though she does quite a lot in her mothers name that said mother would never have approved of) and keeping up this Benevolent Mother Figure look when she’s an extremly immature lost child inside with pretty shallow undifferentiated emotions. Some remorse is better than no remorse, but it’s a fairly childlike remorse born out of being told the things she did are bad not understanding their consequences.

“If my actions had anything to do with the war...” Lady there’s no ‘if’ it was totally a consequence of the world your built and your own lies biting you in the ass, starting with the fact that there was no mechanism to vote you out, or even to convince enough noblemen to support, say, your more competent brother as a ruler, since you’re basing your authority on the local religion and you viciously repressed all dissenters before even asking questions.

There were rebels left and right, produced by dissatisfaction - Edelgard was just more well-connected than most.

Generally it seems overly cynical to probe the purity of someone’s motives when they’re taking in orphans and outcasts, if the end result is than an orphan isn’t on the street that’s what’s important - but you have to see it in the context of her other actions. It’s like a billionaire supporting crooked, fuck-the-poor style politicians with all their money to get their own interests, and then donating to charity. Charity is good no matter who it comes from but doing an itty bit of good can’t balance out cavalcades of harm, even harm that’s just a side effect.

She created this situation in the first place oh isnt she caring and merciful for not being completely indifferent to all its victims.

IMHO what you see in CF seems like a pretty logical continuation of the same zealotry you see in Part I. Part I is basically you doing all of the Church’s dirty work for a year and they makes the ruling class do this at a relatively young age, as an indoctrination tactic . You don’t need to believe Edelgard or Claude, you just need to keep your eyeballs peeled.

”so they learn never to turn their blades on the church” as Rhea herself outright puts it... whatcha think that line means. Why’d she say that if she didnt regularly put down rebellions, or “ppl would lose faith in the nobility if they heard that one tried to use a relic and transformed into a monster”, what they think that means?

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 5 years

Text

Part 3 of my meandering “Maximus and Fabian team-up to kidnap Luna” fanfic, based on the brilliant ideas of @thecorteztwins. I’m afraid I didn’t manage to get them naked in front of a crowd, but they do have another kind of clothing mishap.

Apologies for Fabian’s vague homophobia, and for the ableist insults that some of the characters throw at Max.

There were two things wrong in this situation as far as Fabian could tell.

One – Fabian and Maximus were in a department store with Luna, the child they had kidnapped, just twenty minutes after said kidnapping. Maximus was making no attempt to blend in, and their change from coveralls into casual clothing presented a flimsy disguise at best.

Two – Fabian and Maximus were in a department store with Luna, spending Fabian’s money.

Luna, whom Fabian had previously known as such a sweet, quiet, well-behaved child, had pouted and whined and threatened tears if she were not plied with gifts. Obviously her time among the royals of Attilan had entirely spoiled her, despite their extremely neglectful parenting styles. So now they were spending valuable time that they really did not have, waiting for an eleven year-old girl to decide between T-shirts emblazoned with different pastel ponies. And because Prince Maximus of Attilan was used to having all the finer things in life but never having to pay for them, it fell to Fabian to fund their little shopping trip. Of course. Fabian’s family was descended from royalty as well, but he didn’t walk around with impractically empty pockets.

It wasn’t that Fabian didn’t have the money. He had moved his family’s considerable wealth into various untouchable accounts in the Cayman Islands and Switzerland, so that the police would not seize his assets over his little hobbies. He was doing it for his sister as well – Anne-Marie was too enraptured by the Acolytes’ cause to think about money, so Fabian, as the responsible and loving brother, had accounts set aside to take care of her. (Well, one account. A sizable amount. It was all she needed, really, he’d manage the rest.)

“This is not going to work,” Fabian hissed as Maximus took his arm and pulled him in disgustingly close. He was not at all happy having the Inhuman who specialized in mind control, and who somehow always smelled like engine grease getting so touchy-feely. He knew Max’s powers could also work from a distance, but still. “We should just say that I’m her father, and you’re her uncle.”

“I am her uncle, what’s the fun in that? C’mon Cortez, role-play. Get into the spirit of things.”

“They’ll never believe,” Fabian insisted. “I don’t look gay!”

“I wasn’t aware that there was a specific look.” Maximus looked genuinely curious, not sarcastic, although it was often hard to tell. “They don’t look any different in Attilan. Are there physiological differences or is it just choices of fashion?”

“It’s….it’s complicated,” Fabian said. It wasn’t that Fabian had anything against gay men in particular. He wasn’t like the petty-minded fools that bristled at the thought of another man finding them attractive. It was only right and proper that gay men find Fabian attractive, just like everyone else did. Fabian was attractive. There was something tragically romantic at the thought of all the men who must surely pine after Fabian, their desires forever unfulfilled. He wouldn’t hold it against them. But he couldn’t quite imagine himself in that role. The thought of certain acts made him uncomfortable.

“It’s not so complicated in Attilan. You just ask. Until the Council assigns you a spouse, it doesn’t matter. And it usually doesn’t matter so much afterwards, either, as long as you are discreet.” Maximus had been the one who thought it would be ever so amusing to pose as Luna’s same-sex parents, because apparently there was no such thing in Attilan. Same-sex relationships were accepted, but procreation and child-rearing was decided entirely at the whim of a council that determined genetic compatibility. It sounded barbaric to Fabian, who would surely be mobbed by women seeking his superior genetic material. No amount of polite refusal would do, they would fight for his favor – he would be exhausted and utterly milked dry after even a single day in Attilan.

A jerk on his ponytail pulled Fabian out of that extremely pleasant reverie.

“Do try to keep your wits about you, Cortez, we are still in the middle of a caper, here. Though I suppose the vapid expression does make you look appropriately non-threatening.”

Fabian gritted his teeth, but said nothing. Some people were so utterly crass and entitled, especially unstable Inhuman princes. It would be worth it in the end, when their plan granted Fabian the power he deserved, and then he’d find a tall building to push Maximus off of. He’d let Luna live, he wasn’t a monster, after all.

Meanwhile, Luna had abandoned the pastel pony shirts, and was pawing through T-shirts featuring a group of handsome Asian teens, with BTS floating above their heads. Fabian had no idea what “BTS” was, but based on the group’s bland prettiness, he guessed it must be some insipid boy band. They were allowing Luna to browse without keeping a grip on her – Maximus had suggested that some Very Bad things would happen to the sales clerk if she tried to run or even wandered out of their sight. Said clerk breezed right up to them, cheerfully unaware that Maximus would mentally force her to bite her own tongue in half if Luna called for help.

“Can I help you gentlemen find anything?”

“Your assistance is greatly appreciated, dear lady,” Fabian drawled. She was fairly attractive, for an older woman. He resisted the urge to place an arm around her shoulders, but one hand strayed up to undo the top button on his shirt.

“We are just buying some clothing for our beloved daughter,” said Maximus, putting an arm around Fabian’s own shoulders and squeezing up against him. Fabian hoped his disgust did not show on his face.

“Technically she’s my daughter,” Fabian blurted out. “Biologically, I mean. I had her. With a woman. I’ve been with a woman before.”

“I see,” said the saleswoman, lips pursed as if trying not to smile.

“Yes, my partner supplied the genetic material for the surrogate to create our precious little seraph,” Maximus said, gesturing at Luna, who was still ravaging the BTS merchandise. “We’re so happy to have her in our lives.”

“Aww, that’ sweet,” the saleswoman cooed, possibly genuinely enchanted by them. Also possibly turning on the charm because she worked on commission, and men rich enough to afford a surrogate were likely to drop a lot of money in the store.

“I’m the top,” Fabian announced suddenly, answering a question no one was asking.

“Oh…okay.”

“I’m always the top. And he absolutely loves the things I do to him, because I am extremely good at sex. With my penis. Not any other way.” The saleswoman just laughed nervously.

“Well, naturally.” Maximus folded his arms. “I wouldn’t take an inferior lover. Of course you always satisfy me in every way and do everything I ask.”

“That’s right,” Fabian said, with just a hint of uncertainty. He had a weird feeling that he was somehow losing this conversation.

“Well, that’s…um….I’m glad you’re so happy together,” said the saleswoman as Luna came running up with an armful of shirts. “But maybe we should pause this conversation. Little pitchers have big ears, you know.”

“What does that have to do with anythi –“

Maximus’s question was cut off when the far wall of the store suddenly blew apart. The saleswoman shrieked and wrapped her arms around Luna protectively as they were showered with debris. Blinking through the dust in the air, Fabian could see the Wrecking Crew emerge through the hole in the wall. Which would mean….oh, this wasn’t good at all.

“See, I told you I saw them go in here,” said Piledriver, gesturing at Fabian and Maximus.

“What are you doing here?” Maximus demanded. “You’re meant to be smashing up Times Square, and keeping the Avengers’ attention for at least another –“ Maximus checked his watch. “12 minutes and 38 seconds.”

“The check bounced, Prince Deadbeat,” said Wrecker. “Pay up, or we’ll take it out of your hides.”

“Yeah, or you’re gonna be Prince Deadmeat,” added Bulldozer. Thunderball groaned and shook his head, rolling his eyes.

Maximus whipped his head around to glare at Fabian. Fabian tried to glare back, but wound up giving a half-hearted shrug. Perhaps falsifying the account number had been an extremely minor, insignificant mistake on his part, but how was he to know that the Crew would be checking their bank accounts before the job was even finished?

“Can’t you even complete the simplest of tasks, Cortez?” Maximus snarled.

“What, you expect me to waste my fortune on morons like that?” Fabian shot back. “We would have been away already if you hadn’t wasted valuable time indulging the girl!” Yes, that was right. It was all Maximus’s fault.

“It was only a small amount of your supposedly enormous fortune, you dullard, which I would have gladly reimbursed after I regained my rightful-“ Maximus was interrupted as Bulldozer charged towards them, head down. Maximus ripped Luna out of the saleswoman’s arms and dove to the right, Fabian jumped to the left. Carried by momentum, Bulldozer ran past them, jumping harmlessly over the saleswoman who had fallen to the floor.

“Get out of here, lady,” he yelled as he swung back around, trying to decide whether to go for Maximus or Fabian. “Our beef’s with them, not you.” The saleswoman hesitated, looking at Luna, clearly wanting to pull her out of harm’s way. Luna’s eyes flashed.

“Run,” she commanded, and the clerk turned and fled.

“See, this is why I always say we should insist on direct transfer. Checks are worthless, and frankly outdated. Everything’s digital now,” Thunderball was saying, as he advanced towards.Fabian, swinging the wrecking ball that gave him his name.

“Or cash. That’s even better,” said Piledriver, heading towards Maximus. “You can always depend on cash.” Fabian held up his hands in a placating gesture. Much as he loathed the idea of groveling in front of these men, surely he could talk his way around these simpletons.

“Gentleman….I believe there’s been a misunderstanding. The bank must have made an error, which can be easily remedied –“ Fabian was cut off as the wrecking ball swung at his head. As he ducked, he could see Bulldozer out of the corner of his eye, apparently deciding that Fabian was the better target. Just his luck.

“We’re not stupid, Cortez. You’re not going to scam us out of what’s rightfully ours.” Fabian tossed himself out of the way at just the right time, and this time the wrecking ball collided with Bulldozer’s head as he charged.

“Ow! What the hell, Franklin?!”

“Well, don’t run right into it!”

Fabian was a skilled fighter and master tactician. He had been in multiple battles alongside the Acolytes, often leading the charge himself. He had never lacked for courage or skill. And, as an experienced and highly intelligent fighter, Fabian knew the advantage of a strategic retreat. As Thunderball and Bulldozer sorted themselves out, Fabian took the opportunity to sprint away and hide in a utility closet. Let Maximus handle the brutes, then he’d take Luna and continue the mission (possibly in honor of the Inhuman prince’s memory, depending on how the fight went).

As he ran, he saw that Maximus had used his powers to turn Piledriver against Wrecker, and the two were trading blows. So clearly Maximus could handle the situation, and there was nothing wrong with him withdrawing from the battle temporarily to rethink strategy. The utility closet was cramped, pitch black and smelled of bleach, but they were less likely to find him here than one of the fitting rooms. He just needed a moment to think. His powers would not work on the Wrecking Crew – their strength and durability was based in Asgardian magic, not superior genetics like mutants (or, to a lesser extent, Inhumans). The way these humans immediately squandered their gifts through petty crime just showed the natural superiority of mutants. Humans couldn’t be trusted with powers.

Obviously an alternative plan was necessary. Perhaps a quick wire transfer would smooth over this little problem. Or maybe Maximus would finally make himself useful and use his powers to subdue the whole group, which he frankly should have done in the first place. It was also likely that the destruction at the mall would draw the Avengers, which would ruin their plans, but allow Fabian to slip away in the chaos. He could hear the sounds of the fight continuing outside, with shouting and what sounded like heavy punches. Off in the distance, glass shattered.

Then, suddenly the door to Fabian’s sanctuary was thrown open and Maximus ducked inside, rubbing his right hand and wincing with pain. Alone, Fabian realized.

“Where’s the girl?” He demanded.

“The little brat bit me and ran off,” Maximus snapped. “Too much like her mother, indeed!”

“So you just left her out there with those thugs? She’s your niece, for God’s sake,” Fabian exclaimed, appalled at the Inhuman’s callousness and cowardice.

“Luna is an intelligent, mature girl, and they are unlikely to hurt her. I just needed a moment to think, and the crew is still fighting one of their own. Thanks to me, and not you! You abandoned us both!”

“I was coming up with a plan!” Fabian hissed. He was no coward, his retreat into the utility closet was entirely different from what Maximus had done.

“Well, what is your brilliant plan, then? You’re the one who caused this problem in the first-“ A voice interrupted him, shouting through the store.

“Heeeeeeeey, Ponytail and Prince Loon. We’ve got the girl! Come out and face us if you want her back alive. Make some noise, girlie.” There was a faint cry of pain, then Luna’s voice called out.

“Uncle Max, help! This isn’t fun anymore!”

Maximus went rigid, and in the faint light, Fabian could see his face contorted with rage. Fabian himself was outraged – he might use Luna as a pawn in his larger plans, but he wasn’t going to physically harm the girl.

It was partially vanity that made them take a minute to throw on their respective suits. Fighting in human casual-wear was so undignified. It was also the fact that their costumes were made of a high-tech, extremely strong cloth that would not easily tear and partially protected them from injury. Also, Fabian appreciated how his costume would show off every bit of his beautiful, sculpted body. One should always look one’s best, no matter the situation.

Crammed into the utility closet, they threw on their clothing in the dark, with muffled curses as feet were stepped on, and elbows jammed accidently (or not-so-accidentally) into sides. After a few confusing moments of fabric and limbs going all sorts of strange places, they burst out to confront the Wrecking Crew again. They did not expect the Wrecking Crew to laugh.

Fabian glanced over at Maximus, who was trying to pull his long coat over Fabian’s own cape and shoulder pads. The costume hung loose on the shorter, slighter Inhuman. Which meant….Fabian reluctantly looked down (one of the very few times he was ever hesitant to look at his own body), and saw Maximus’s black and silver suit, stretched tight across his chest. The shirt would not come down all the way, leaving a bare midriff that Fabian would normally enjoy showing off, if he wasn’t wearing the disgusting, unwashed suit of a greasy lunatic. And he generally preferred baring his abs for the ladies, not ugly, brutish career criminals.

Maximus glared over at him.

“Take those off, Cortez, you’re stretching them out!”

“Oh, forgive me for actually having a body worthy of homo superior! We can’t all be scrawny nerds that never exercise!”

“Oh, do forgive me for spending my time in actual worthy pursuits instead of “bench-pressing” and “man-scaping” and “GTL” like on the Jersey Shore –“ Maximus gave an indignant squawk as Fabian ripped the cape off his shoulders and fastened it around his own.

“Are you ladies done? We’ve got business here!” yelled Wrecker. He had Luna tucked under one arm, struggling and kicking at him with little effect. “No need for things to get ugly. You give us the money, we give you back the girl.”

“Yeah, and can we wrap this up before the Avengers get here? We dropped a cement truck on She-Hulk, but that’s barely gonna slow her down. And she’s gonna be pissed,” said Bulldozer impatiently. Fabian could sympathize – he couldn’t imagine trying to get cement out of his own luscious, flowing locks.

“Fine, fine, no need for such base violence. We’ll pay what we owe. That’s what we intended in the first place,” Maximus said, with a meaningful glare at Fabian.

“You’ll pay more than that,” said Wrecker. “You tried to cheat us, so the price has gone up. We want triple the original amount.”

“Let’s just get out of here,” said Thunderball. “We can take the girl to a safehouse and release her when they pay up. We shouldn’t be hanging around the guy with mind control powers.” Piledriver, who had shaken off Maximus’s control when the Inhuman ran, nodded in agreement.

“I’m still in charge here, Professor,” snapped Wrecker. “We’re not getting any deeper into this than we have to. We get the money now, give them the girl, and then disappear. Let them deal with the rest of it.”

As they argued, Fabian was feeling along the outlines of the suit that was stretched too tight across his body. Bits of metal were digging into him whenever he moved, odd lumps on the inside of the suit. Prince Packrat must have all sorts of things stashed into hidden pockets – maybe one of them would be useful. He pulled out a small round sphere, about the size of a ball bearing, that had been digging into his left armpit. Maximus grinned when he saw it.

“Flash bomb,” he whispered. “Throw it and cover your eyes.”

“Hey, what are you two smirking about?” yelled Piledriver. “We’ve got the girl, you’d better not –“

Fabian tossed the sphere at their feet, and threw an arm across his eyes as the world suddenly got impossibly bright for an instant. He put the arm down, and saw that the Crew was momentarily blinded. Beside him, Maximus’s eyes flashed blue, fists clenched as he used his power.

“Toss her to me,” he commanded, and Wrecker suddenly hurled Luna across the room at them. Fabian was the one who wound up catching her. She appeared unharmed, but had both hands clasped across her eyes.

“Uncle Max, I can’t see! I wanna go home!” she wailed.

“Be brave, child, the affects will fade soon. You’ll be fine,” Maximus insisted, still concentrating. Bulldozer started to stumble forward towards the sounds of their voices, but was slowed by Wrecker’s crowbar. Maximus had the man completely in thrall, and he began to swing indiscriminately, battering the other disoriented Crew members.

“Can I trust you to carry her, Cortez, or will you be screwing that up as well?”

“None of this would have happened if not for this side trip! We should have stuck to the plan!” Fabian wondered what other delightful gadgets Maximus had in this ridiculous suit of his. He’d palm a few when they exchanged clothing again. There were so many ways for him to kill the Inhuman after he’d outlived his usefulness, and that thought was the only thing that kept Fabian going through this farce of a team-up.

“We’ll finish the plan!” Maximus insisted. “This is just a minor set-back. But first…” The two of them looked at the Wrecking Crew, still blinking and trying to fight off their leader, then looked at each.

“Strategic retreat?”

“Indeed.”

With Luna in his arms, Fabian followed Maximus as they ran for the exit.

#fabian cortez #maximus boltagon #luna maximoff #poor luna doesn't deserve this #thecorteztwins

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