#though it could maybe be twisted into other verses. maybe he took a bet. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

passable-talent · 4 years

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what about,,, modern au,,, punk mucisian au,,,, anakin with tattoos pLEASE

may I introduce u to my new favorite gif...

also. plot twist! what if,, and hear me out,, you’re the musician, and he’s the fan?

i made an entire setlist for this fuckn au of my taste in punk-ish rock-ish music to base certain lines, moods, and lighting off of. it exists. i’ll hand it over if you ask.

stumbled over this headcanon as i wrote but,,,, modern au anakin absolutely grew up in nevada. desert. middle of nowhere. close to vegas and the racing. automobile industry. thank u for ur time

This whole ‘music’ thing was actually working out. Imagine that.

You were gaining fame slowly- your record company still didn’t get you big gigs, but you got something.

Something like this, in fact. A small, dingy laser tag place, but it was perfect nonetheless. Perfect for you. You felt right at home- it was too hot, and the audience was still loud, since the music hadn’t started. The stage was small, but the lights were bright, and you were standing behind the curtains that had been hung barely a foot from the wall.

“Ready?” you heard Padme ask- Padme, the lead guitarist, your best friend. She was on stage, currently, hidden from the crowd by a blanket of black. On the other side of the stage, you knew, was Ahsoka, the drummer, a little tiny teenager you’d picked up last summer when your original drummer quit, and beside her was undoubtedly Aayla, your bassist. You were lucky- you were surrounded by such great friends that you could pull your weight without having to play the guitar. Which was good for everyone- you were an awful guitar player.

“Anytime, loves,” you said, a smile lighting your lips. You’d almost overdosed on the anti-anxiety pills this morning- the feeling of playing a gig still unfamiliar and nerve wracking.

But you heard the music start, and started to sing.

Only when this particular song really kicked into gear did you toss open the curtain, and the cheer went up, almost drowning out the music. You were certainly the fan favorite of the band, only because you were the most expressive. You didn’t have an instrument, so you got to run around on stage, and kneel down to reach out, brushing your fingers to the crowd’s as you sang, like God to Adam.

It really wasn’t a looks thing- for some, it might be, but not to most. Hey, if there was anyone that should really get the attention, it was Padme. She was unfairly beautiful.

The great thing about being a punk artist was that most of your fans were, too. They came with their tattoos and snuck in their weed, their ripped jeans always leaving with a few more holes than they arrived with. A band like yours, so dominated by women, had really caught on with a female crowd, but there were always guys here, too. You never really cared to know if it was their dicks or their ears that brought them.

There was a little bit of a problem, though. You were well known for trying to make connections with as many fans as you could- not for your sake, but for theirs. You loved taking selfies, touching their fingers, winking at them during a particularly suggestive lyric, guys and girls alike. Which lead to a little problem, one that Ahsoka loved to refer to as your ‘wattpad fantasy’.

Growing up when you had, you’d all been all over the internet, into each of its corners. You knew the common trope that teenaged fans had with their favorite artists- that they’d catch the eye of the main singer, and get dragged backstage after the show.

You had the opposite fantasy. Too many times did one or another audience member catch your eye, and yeah, sometimes you did consider catching them before they left after the show. It never worked- either you lost track of them, or you didn’t have the guts to go through with it.

When you laid eyes on him, though, you wanted so desperately to go through with it tonight.

You tried not to be obvious, you really did try to be subtle- but whenever the multicolored lights caught his hair, your gaze was pulled back to him, no matter how much you wanted to give equal attention to every audience member brave enough to wrestle their way to the front row.

But you also wanted to make sure he knew. That you’d noticed him.

With one or two lyrics, lines like “tell me that you love me, even if it’s only for tonight”, you let your eyes catch his, hoping to whatever powers there might’ve been that he’d be looking back at you.

The halftime break, the intermission, came faster than expected, and you dropped into the one room the laser tag place set aside for you, and tried to clean as much sweat from your scalp and hair as you could.

“Alright, what is it?” Padme asked from behind you.

“What to you mean?” you asked, glancing at her through the mirror you were using to try to artfully smudge your eyeliner.

“You’re favoring the left side of the audience. What, find a wattpad boy?”

“Another one?” Ahsoka called from the other side of the room, rubbing sore callouses on her palms.

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved them off with a laugh, “let me dream.”

Act II came around, and back to the stage you went, trying to be even more subtle this time around. Still, you kept track of him- he hadn’t moved far. Maybe, if you watched him carefully enough, you’d get to meet him before he left.

It was hard to do, and you hadn’t yet been successful. You really weren’t supposed to offer fans any ‘free’ attention, or at least, that was the way your manager had put it. If you let everybody take a picture with you, then no one will buy backstage passes.

A sentiment that your anarchist side absolutely resented. Fuck capitalism, you wanted to chill with your fans.

But hey, back on topic! It was amazing how you could totally tune out during a song, and tune back in, still strutting around the state, still singing perfectly. Luckily, you’d brought yourself back to reality, right when the second to last song was about to end.

When it faded away, you stepped to the center of the stage, readjusting your mic quickly and letting a real smile come over your face.

And this- this was it. No matter how fantastic any show was, it would never top this. You always went out with the same song, way back from your first album, one of the first you’d ever written. You heard Padme start to strum.

“And with that, we’re coming to the end,” you said over the guitar, speaking to the audience like you knew every person there. “So I want you to all sing along with this one. Every damn word. Because tonight- this is a night none of us are going to forget.” You’d said it a hundred times, and yet, you meant it every time. When you stopped speaking, you started singing, abandoning your strutting and stomping for just standing at the front of the stage, looking at them all.

“It was a fall night, late night-” There was a reason you always ended with this song. It was so beautiful, and so sensual. It was a promise, between you, and your band, and your fans, a promise that it was all for them, not for whatever rode in their wallets. A promise that you would keep looking out for them.

And when you began the chorus, you dropped to your knees, getting that much closer to them, your smile so genuine, because you could hear them, every single one of them, like they were performing for you. It was their night as much as yours, it was their music more than it was yours.

A hundred voices welling up around yours was always what kept you awake at night, kept you coming back, pushing through the looks that people gave you when you said you were trying to make it in the music industry, pushing through the late nights where you couldn’t make it through that lyric. This song, right here, this was what brought you back, kept reminding you what mattered.

You stopped singing, and they continued without you. They always did- they would see how you just looked at them all, with the realest smile they’d ever seen, and they sang for you.

You couldn’t help it. You watched him- and he was singing, too.

This time, you knew for sure. You knew he was watching you, too, and when your eyes locked, the voices around you all swelled to a crescendo, like a soundtrack to the scene you were living through.

You had to snap yourself back into the world to pick up the second verse. It stayed just as intimate, just as amazing, all the way to the end of the song, when you sang the final note, and just stood there, basking in it, in a world made just for you.

The stage lights flickered out, and you disappeared into the dark.

Over your earpiece, one of the roadies informed you that your mics were off, and that’s exactly the way you liked them. You dropped onto the stage, hanging your legs over the front of it. You were still a few feet from the closest little fence, but it was closer than you’d been to them yet.

“Hey, guys,” you hissed toward anyone within earshot. That alone, in the dim light, gathered a crowd of twenty or so who had noticed you. You always did this at the end of the show- just to let them hear their name on your tongue.

And maybe, today, to find him.

You looked to a girl who had her hand outstretched to you, and you took it briefly.

“Hey, what’s your name?” you asked, and she shouted back “Oran!”

“Oran, almost like the color, huh?” You were so much more at ease now than you were, before the show. “I bet you hear that all the time.” You turned to someone else, always trying to make it through as many people as possible.

How many could you touch base with before turning to him, so that it wouldn’t be suspicious? Was three enough, or should you do one more?

No, when you caught his eyes, there was no turning back.

“Hey, what’s up,” you said, fighting to keep your heartbeat under control.

“Anakin,” he said, then pulling a bright yellow card out of his jacket. That, you’d recognize anywhere- that was a backstage pass.

Like the universe was aligning for you.

“Well, Anakin, if you’ve got a pass, I’ll see you later, yeah?” As you usually did from a person who had a pass, you moved on quickly, giving this time to others who wouldn’t get more. You heard six or seven more names before Ahsoka was tugging on your shoulder.

“Alright, alright,” you groaned, throwing your legs over the stage again and standing up, but not before blowing one last kiss toward the small crowd you’d gathered.

As soon as you made it back, into where the speakers cluttered up all of the space, you collapsed against Ahsoka, laughing as she struggled to hold you up.

“What, thinking about your wattpad boy?” she said, throwing you to your feet.

“Oh, not again,” Aayla whined, “he’ll be no different than every other one that you dream of finding at next week’s show, and then never see again.”

“No, no, this one’s different!” you insisted, grabbing onto Padme’s shirt. She brushed you off with a laugh.

“Oh yeah? How?”

“His name is Anakin,” you said, rubbing your lower lip between your teeth. “And he’s got a backstage pass.”

“What??” Came the collective cry, and you shushed them all before your manager appeared.

It was showtime, baby.

There were two or three of them, in total. The passes tended not to sell too well, and there were only a few available, anyway. The band just wasn’t quite big enough to pull that kind of fandom, save for a few die-hards who would one day get to pull out a photo and say ‘see? I was there at the beginning.’

Anakin was the last of the bunch.

“Great to meet you,” you said, shaking his hand for real this time. His eyes were damn intense- no wonder you’d been mesmerized by them.

“You too,” he said, and introductions went just as seamlessly with the others. Padme hugged him, and Ahsoka, little firecracker, gave him a playful punch for telling her that she looked taller when she was on stage.

Now- there’s a reason Padme’s your best friend in the world.

“Hey, it’s getting late,” she informed you, as though she were telling you to wrap it up. But she was smarter than that, and had set up the perfect trap.

“Oh,” Anakin said, looking slightly guilty and quite disappointed. “Well, I-”

“Nah,” you cut him off, smacking the back of your hand against his chest, “You paid for fifteen minutes, you’ll get them. We’ve just got to start packing up. You can chill with us, if you want.” No matter the fame difference between the five of you, he was just another guy in his early 20′s, the same as the rest of you, save for eighteen year old Ahsoka. He meshed well with the lot of you, and even helped load ‘Soka’s drums into the truck.

And, hey- he knew what he was getting into when he climbed into the back of the van with the four of you.

And what he was getting into was a bumpy-ass ride to one of the shittiest hotels the area could offer. It wasn’t even midnight, and you didn’t feel like climbing into bed just yet, so you let him follow the four of you upstairs so you could grab your phone and room key before leaving them to entertain themselves for the evening.

“Come home alive!” Aayla called as a farewell, and Ahsoka snorted from where she was laying on her bed.

“Come home capable of walking,” she said, and Padme saved you by slamming the door shut.

“So what’s there to do around here?” you asked him, shoving your hands into your pockets. You walked close to him, shoulders almost brushing with each step, and his smile was just for you.

“Are you kidding? Absolutely nothing. You’re lucky you found the laser tag place.” You looked toward him with a laugh, the ugly carpeting of the hotel hallway stretching on forever in front of you.

“Seriously? How could you survive?”

“Hey, not every town is downtown LA.”

“I’m flattered you think I’m famous enough to live in LA.” You stopped at the elevator, punching the down button. He nudged your shoulder playfully, those piercing blue eyes flicking over your face.

“You’re gonna be. You guys are really good.”

“Good to know I have your blessing for my career.”

“I’m serious!” he said with a laugh, and when the elevator door opened, he let you inside first.

“Yeah, yeah. So if there’s nothing to do around here...” You tilted your head at him, watching as he rested his shoulders back against the buffed metal wall. “What do you do?”

“Find a friend’s basement to smoke in,” he said with a laugh, and you couldn’t help but join him. “Mostly we go see movies, or sneak onto a roof, if we’re lucky.” You narrowed your eyes, letting your gaze slide to the elevator buttons.

“A roof, you say?”

“I don’t want to get you in trouble-”

“Anakin, answer me this-” You pulled out your phone to check the time. “Do you think the lobby security agent of this Comfort Inn is going to be dedicated enough to check the roof at 12:23 AM?” The world outside this elevator didn’t exist as his lips turned up into a smirk.

“No, I don’t think they will.”

“In that case-” You slipped your second knuckle against the highest number on the wall- 6. Not very impressive, but it would do.

Once the elevator went down to the lobby, and back up again, you stumbled your way to the stairwell and up, finding the door that said ‘roof access- do not enter’. Since when do you ever listen?

If you listened to some red sign on a door, you wouldn’t have your head on Anakin’s shoulder, looking up at more stars than you’d ever seen in your entire life.

You’d grown up in California, too close to some of the largest cities in the country to ever see the night sky like this. He’d grown up here, where there were warehouses for shipping to Reno, or Vegas, or Salt Lake City, but none of those cities were close enough to steal the sky.

“See those two, right on top of each other?” He asked, pointing to an area a few degrees up from the horizon.

“Yeah, I think,” you said, and he lifted his left arm, where he had a constellation pattern tattooed between his elbow and wrist.

“It’s this one. The phoenix. The first constellation I actually saw in the sky.” You reached out, taking hold of his elbow, and positioning his arm, from your perspective, just next to the constellation. “My mom took me out to a field and showed me the stars,” he said, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could hear the fondness in his voice. “For a long time, I wanted to be an astronaut.”

“Me too,” you said with a laugh, “but I wasn’t good enough in math.”

“My mom’s friend Watto says I’m too good with cars to fly a ship.”

“Wouldn’t that make you better?” You asked, readjusting so that your shoulder pressed to his. It was a little cold.

“You’d think so, right?” You were such a loud person, that all too often you fought against silence- not tonight. You let it envelope you, bringing with it peace. You could hear Anakin breathing, and it was so calming, your eyes slipped closed.

“You’re going to fall asleep up here,” he said, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

“Shut up,” you groaned, “I had a long day, and you’re warm.”

“You should go back to the room, then.” You rolled over onto your stomach, then, taking a good look at him.

“But that would mean that this night has to end.” He lifted his chest up by planting his elbows down, bringing himself closer to you.

“You said it yourself,” he said, voice smooth and quiet, “this is a night we’re not going to forget.”

“But that doesn’t mean I want it to end,” you breathed, unable to look away from him. You barely noticed it when he begun to lean forward, but then his lips were on yours, and that you certainly took notice of.

Your eyes fluttered closed, thanks to the shock and the welcome nature of it, and you leaned into it. He brought his furthest hand up and let it slide to the back of your neck, as though he could keep you from pulling away. You wouldn’t.

Your lips were still parted when he pulled away, your mind struggling to catch up. He’d- he’d just-

Calloused fingers brushed your hair back, and you opened your eyes to their touch, being drawn right back to his gaze.

“Then it doesn’t have to.”

-🦌 Roe

part 2

#anakin x reader insert #star wars anakin #anakin imagine #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker #punk!anakin #modern au #musician au #star wars #fics

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introverted-explorer · 3 years

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Will You Marry Me (For Financial Aid)

Summary:

The fake dating/real feelings college au no one asked for. Based on that text exchange between two friends in college wanting a better FAFSA Application.

Notes: Major credit to @labelma (AKA Leilah) for betaing this and for encouraging me to post it.

I wrote this about a year ago and got distracted by life. Decided I would put it out into the world for other people to enjoy as a little birthday present for myself, enjoy!

David - italicized Patrick - bold Stevie - both

You wouldn’t expect David Rose to be friends with someone like Patrick Brewer. Not only was he a business major, but also a huge sports fan and equally versed in the arts, which David certainly didn’t mind. Patrick was liked by everyone he met and no one really understood how he could be friends with someone as abrasive and standoffish as David. And somehow they were best friends.

Stevie simultaneously regrets, is overly enthused, and is extremely amused by their friendship and takes full credit for the dynamic of their tiny but mighty friend group. She and David had met during orientation their freshman year of college, bonding over their shared disdain for their overly peppy orientation leaders. They quickly became inseparable, spending the majority of their down time together. A few weeks into school Stevie showed up with this average looking guy she had met in her Intro to Business course to their weekly dinner. Patrick had woven his way into their little duo with a few little teasing jabs at David to which David made complaints of an ‘unbalanced social dynamic’ but loved nonetheless.

Nothing has really changed after two years of friendship. They would do pretty much everything together; homework, meals, vacations (thanks to David’s parents), you name it, they were probably doing it together. Even a few classes, obviously with a lot of pushing on Stevie and Patrick’s end and reluctance on David’s. David mostly stuck to his art classes but was convinced that a few business classes would help if he ever wanted to manage a gallery, good business acumen ran in the family after all.

David came from money, but that money was almost never of conversation and often forgotten all together. It only came up when he casually name dropped or mentioned his designer and high end products. That was until they lost it all. Thankfully school and his apartment were already paid for through the year but it left David questioning his very near future plans. He worried if he would be able to finish out his schooling and where he would live once school was over. By some small miracle, his parents and younger sister found themselves moved to a town that they had bought as a joke at the pinnacle of his family’s financial success. Even better was the fact they were now living in the motel that Stevie’s family owned.

After a long night of anxiety and research on financial aid for the next year, he discovered there were certain situations in which he could receive more aid. David never had to worry about filling out a FAFSA application when he still had money, it was never an issue if he received aid or not, but now it was the most important thing for his life to stay somewhat stable. His anxiety got the better of him and decided to decompress with the little bit of the weed he had left.

Once he got a nice buzz going, he grabbed his phone to come up with a plan to get some of that aid. His finger hovered over his conversations with Patrick and Stevie. He thought Stevie would go along with his plan but would ridicule him to no end and decided that Patrick was probably the safer bet in this particular scenario.

Can you marry me?

The rational part of his brain told him Patrick was likely at one of his many clubs or doing homework or maybe even doing something only good people do. But the rational part of his brain was not steering the ship. The part in control kept yelling at him that Patrick was mad at him for coming on like that and he had ruined the friendship with just four words.

I just looked at the financial aid website and it said I cannot get any aid except for unsubsidized loans unless I have a child, get married or turn 24, so I have to get married

It didn’t take long for Patrick to respond. He would do pretty much anything for his friends and it’s not like it was actually a real marriage and could benefit himself.

Yeah, okay. I’ll marry you. I need a better fafsa application too

That certainly wasn’t the response David had expected and certainly not that fast. David was used to people letting him down even though Patrick, and more often than not Stevie, had proven that people won’t always do that.

Wait. Seriously?

Would you really do it?

I’m going to do actual research on this.

‘After I sober’ up David said to his phone after he sent that final text.

Are we doing this?

It would have to happen like lightning fast. I’ve never had to do one of those applications aren’t they due soon?

Patrick knew David was likely either high or drunk, he hadn’t been dealing with the complete upheaval of his life all that well, and figured he would do all of the specific research as he enjoyed it and was painfully aware of the application and financial aid process. He felt the tiniest bit of disbelief pass through his brain as he started looking into this particular part of the process. Whether this was the idea of marrying David or marrying David to benefit their financial aid packages. He never really thought of his best friend like that before but it felt like a tiny part of his brain was saying this was a good thing. He shut that voice down and focused on his research instead.

Okay.

We’d need to get a marriage license which can be up to $300 depending on where we get it, and then we need to file for a marriage certificate.

I’m an ordained minister but idk if I could file my own marriage certificate

During all of the craziness that had been the last hour and asking Patrick to marry him, he totally forgot that Stevie was coming over.

“David?” she called out opening the door and approached his bedroom.

“You smoked without me? You suck.”

David stilled. He had his phone still in his hand and a small smile on his face. As soon as he saw Stevie in the doorway his smile twisted to the side of his face.

“David.”

“Stevie.”

“You never smile like that. What bit of celebrity gossip are you hiding on your phone?” She asked, grabbing the phone from his hands with little protest as David’s reaction time was slowed by his now depleting high.

“What is this?” She paused to read the conversation. “You’re marrying Patrick? And for financial aid? I don’t know if I should be offended you didn’t ask me or not.”

“I thought about it! I thought you would make fun of me for it. I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine. I’m ordained by the way.”

David gave her a confused look questioning her random fact.

“I was bored in high school one day and did it online after I finished the assignment we were doing. It took like 15 minutes and now I can marry people.” She shrugged it off as if it were nothing.

“And you’re telling me this because..” David trailed off trying to follow the conversation.

“Because I can marry you and Patrick if you need me to.”

Finally David was caught up on the conversation. He took his phone back from Stevie wanting to tell Patrick. He couldn’t help the smile that came back on his face as hard as he tried to hide it.

Stevie’s ordained and said she can marry us. So one problem down!

“I like this for you.”

“Like what? There’s nothing to like!” David shrieked.

David went back to his laptop to do further research into the actual benefits of marrying Patrick. Stevie nodded and pulled out her own phone. She figured if David was going to be preoccupied she could at least have some fun.

So I hear you’re going to marry David?

And you’re officiating?

You’re not mad he asked me and not you right? I don't want this to put a strain on our friendship.

Stevie laughed. She had secretly hoped they would end up together. She loved David but she couldn’t ever marry him, not even a staged marriage.

I may have offered my services, yes.

And absolutely not. He’s all yours.

The extra financial aid would have been nice but I could never marry David.

Fake marry.

Okay, fine. Fake marry. Either way I am NOT interested.

She looked back up to see David’s face now buried in his phone. He had to be texting Patrick.

It’s possible that I can get fafsa to pay for an entire apartment!

Where you would live with me obviously

David stopped and looked up at Stevie nervously.

“I think I just asked Patrick to move in with me.”

I mean only if you want. You have no obligations to do that.

You probably don’t. I mean bringing home a girl would be weird or whatever.

Patrick had left his phone playing music on the counter as he made himself dinner. He didn’t think to check it until he was back in front of his computer with his dinner. He opened his messages to see four new messages from David.

He can’t say he’s not surprised to see David spiraling after those first two messages. He still never understood why David thought Patrick would reject him as he had never shown signs of that during their friendship. He felt a certain sadness for his best friend.

Of course I’d live with you.

The thought of living with David didn’t scare him as much as it should. He knows David is high maintenance. He’s shared spaces with him during vacations. It’s not really something that bothers him. If anything he finds David endearing, especially when he’s a little frazzled making this encounter all the more fun.

Think they would go for a nice little two bedroom apartment?

The relief David feels seeing that first response doesn’t last long. He doesn’t know why he feels a sense of sadness when Patrick mentions a two bedroom. They’re friends. A couple of bros getting married. Just for financial aid purposes.

Do you think we could convince them for two baths? I’ve shared a bathroom with you. You don’t have much but what you do is wildly incorrect and I’d rather not ruin our friendship with that.

Marriage is a compromise David. You’ll just have to deal with my incorrect bathroom products.

We’re really doing this.

Yes we are.

Can we talk more about this tomorrow? I need to get some work done tonight.

We can talk about this whenever you want.

Just

Preferably not before 10 AM.

Never. I know you David. Lunch after my class tomorrow? Just us?

Stevie hates that we’re ditching her.

But, yes. Lunch sounds great.

“So you’re marrying Patrick and ditching me to go on dates with him?” Stevie remarked after reading their exchange.

David seemed shocked but hummed shaking his head in some sort of hybrid of no and yes. He stood up and shook his arms out. Stevie knew he was getting flustered proving that this might just be more than just an easy way to get some help with tuition.

#david x patrick #schitt's creek #first fic #there is a second chapter to this #they sorta go on a date?#let me know if I should post it

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peachyaone · 4 years

Text

Lonely Heart pt.5

Pairings: Lierra x OC

(A/N : Hi again! I’m excited to announce that the song “You” in this chapter is written by me! :) So pls don’t steal it :( And I’m also less busy this month so part 6 might be out soon! So yeah, hope you enjoyed this chapter, See you in the next one!)

*Luke’s POV*

They arrived at Ashton’s. His palms are sweating, and his throat was getting dryer by the second. Sierra placed her hand on his shoulder, slightly calming his nerves. They stood in of his door. He hesitated on knocking, Sierra had tired of waiting and knocked. Nothing happened at first, Luke knocked this time. There were footsteps, and the door opened. “Look, its early in the morning, so what the fuc- Oh. You two. He groaned. “ I-Is Iris here?” Sierra asked him. “You didn’t check your phones?” He said, slightly irritated. The two took out their phones.

They checked their messages:

[10:00 pm, 09/10/2020] Iris <3 : Hey. Just wanted to tell you that I’m leaving for tour early. I cleared up everything with Ashley and my bandmates. I will be leaving at midnight tonight. You’re welcome to come and see me off, only if you want to. I’ll be with Ashley for the while leg of the tour, we might have separate shows, but we’ll wait for the management announcement.

[10:00 pm, 09/10/2020] Iris <3 : I just wanna say that I apologise for being so distant , I’ve been in a really bad headspace lately. I’m sorry. It’s my fault for making you mad, making Sierra upset and everything.

“Fuck.” he whispered. Ashton was staring at them, arms crossed. "Have you realized what you've done?" Ashton said. They didn't have the chance to speak. "You absolutely wrecked her, you know that? Both of you. I thought you're better than this. She came here, soaked to the skin. She could get sick, and you both know that she gets sick easily. She was trying to keep herself together. She on a verge on an attack, thank god Katniss was there to calm her down. I wanted to march up to your house and beat your ass . But Iris wouldn't let me, you know why? it's because she loves you, Lucas. And that's the only thing stopping me from beating your ass." He scolded. Luke was looking at the ground, ashamed.

"And Sierra, you know what the media could do. They'd do anything to tear people apart, fuck with their mental health, twisting lies into stories with without knowing the real truth. One article could turn people against each other. I really thought that maybe you would understand a little more about this." He said. Ashton was disappointed. He sighed. "Now that you have your answer, I have a lemon tree to save. Goodnight." He said, closing the door on them. The two walked back to their car.

What were they gonna do now?

*Iris's POV*

The live session was a blast. Once she felt sensation of the bass, the sound of the guitar, the kick of the drums, she never felt so alive. They were covering "I Don't Love You" by My Chemical Romance. She felt the problems slowly melt away when she started singing. She sang each verse with all she got. It was pure, raw emotion, the one that could make everyone tear up. It's like she was a different person. Long gone the Iris that was depressed. The Iris on stage now was, way more brighter and her eyes seems to shine with unshed tears. This side of Iris only comes out when she's performing. Usually, without the tears. The crowd cheered her on. She was smiling. The trio gave each other knowing glances, once the adrenaline from performing wears off, she would go back to the woman she was before.

Sad and empty.

They thanked the crowd and the host and went backstage. They were buzzing with adrenaline. "You guys, wanna grab some food before we go back to the hotel?" Maia said. Julia and Helena nodded. "Iris?" Helena said. Iris's head snapped up. "You okay there? Your lookin' a little bit pale, shortcake." Helena said. Iris rubbed her face. "I'm alright, Just need fresh air, that's all. Maybe something to eat." She said. The trio was looking at her worriedly. "Guys. I promise, I'm okay, don't worry." she shyly smiled, nervous from the looks her bandmates were giving her. "Macca's?" Julia said. "Sure." Maia said.

*timeskip*

"That's all your going eat?" Julia said. Iris was eating her veggie dippers. "Yeah. I'm not that hungry." she mumbled. "Bullshit. You haven't eaten anything since last night." Julia said. "Take some my fries." Maia said. "Maia, I can't take it. It's your food." she declined. "Iris, we won't let you fuckin' starve. We have a long night of performing coming up. And you need the energy." Maia said. Iris stared at the ground. Helena rubbed her back, "Please, Iris. We all know you have haven't been doing well." Maia said. "Fine."

"Good girl." Julia said. "Wow, Julia. I didn't know you were into that kinda of stuff~" Iris teased. Helena choked on her drink. Julia looked at Helena, confused. Maia shoved Julia's shoulder. The look of realization dawned on her face. "Oh. Iris, you kinky bitch." She said, smirking. "Well, someone's gotta be the Yuri in this club, and you guys don't have to balls to be him. " she teased again.

They heard cameras clicking.

"Paps." they said in unison. “Shit.” Helena mumbled. “We have to get out of here, quickly.” Julia said. The group got out and tried to get to Maia’s car. Iris was soon cornered by the paps.

“Iris, you know they can do better!”

“Is it difficult having TWO partners? Having to be jealous all the time and fighting for attention – what does that feel like?”

She kept quiet.

“What do you think to the rumours that you cheated on them? There’s evidence of you spending the night with a mysterious female.”

“You’re really nothing special though are you? They won’t stick around for long, whore.”

“We’ve seen the scars on your arms.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bad image for your band?”

“You should look into conversion therapy, disgusting whore.”

“What about your partners? Should they have to deal with that on top of everything they should be doing?”

“You’re nothing but a slut. A cheating, useless piece of shit.”

“You’ll be better off dead.”

“'Lena…” She mumbled, searching for any of her bandmates over the crowd, she felt her vision go hazy for a bit as she desprately tried to push through the paps. She was so close from losing her sanity. The paps was closing in, blocking her in. Insults was thrown her way. She was going to break.

Then she felt their arms. Helena's strong hand gripping hers and pulling her into their arms, cradling her against her chest and Julia pushing through the crowd telling the paparazzi to fuck off along the way.“Get away from her!” She pushed the paps away from the duo while Helena helped Iris up. “We just want answers!” One of the paps shouted back at them. “Well, you’re not gonna get any so take your camera, shove it up your fucking asshole, and fuck off!”

They got her into the car. Maia drove away from the scene as fast as she could. Iris's hands was shaking. “Iris?” Julia ask, her hand moving to cup her face. “Iris, come on.” Julia pleaded, she was desperately trying to help her calm her down, holding her hands and trying to help her breathe. “They said such horrible things.” Iris mumbled. “They’re just trying to get a response.” Helena said.

"Can we call, Ash?" she meekly asked. "Of course, shortcake." Helena said. Julia called him.

"Hey, Julia. Is everything alright?"

"Um... about that."

"What's wrong?"

"Well, we had a run in with paps eariler and they cornered Iris."

"What?! Is she okay? Did the paps do anything?"

"Well, they verbally harassed her. We might ask management to file a lawsuit. As for Iris? She's the reason why I called, wait a minute-

"'Lena take the phone."

Helena took the phone from Julia.

"Hey, Lemon boy"

"Hey, Helena. Is Iris with you?"

"Yup. Let me hand the phone to her."

"Thanks"

She passed the phone to Iris.

"Hey, Ash..."

"Hey, Sunshine. Are you okay? Did they do anything to you?"

"They were closing in on me, taking photos of me and said bad things."

"What kind of bad things did they say, sunshine? "

"That I’m not good enough, they keep insisting that I cheated. They said that I look into converstion therapy-"

She was startled by Helena's hand on her shoulder. "Let it out." She mouthed to her.

"They joked about my scars, they said I would be better off dead." she choked out.

"They what?! Oh, Iris, I'm so sorry."

She sobbed.

" Iris, listen."

"What they said.... it's all lies. You hear me? They are lies. You are not what they paint you to be, they don't know who you really are. You are amazing. You are the most amazing person I know, the boys loves you.... even Luke. He came by with Sierra the night after you left. I didn't do anything, like I promise. But you bet I gave him an earful. But all that aside, Iris, you deserve to be here, and you are good enough. You make people happy. Your fans? They all love you, you make them smile, you make them feels safe. This will pass, things will get easier. I promise you."

"What if I fail to do so, Ash? What if I disappoint everyone?"

"You won't. Trust me, you are not a failure. You will get better. You will heal. You will be stronger than ever. You will make it through this."

"Are they alright?"

"You're seriously asking that? You're not okay and you're asking if they're alright?"

"Please Ash... I want to know."

They arrived at the hotel.

"Yes, they are. You don't have to worry. All you have to worry now is me giving you a lecture. Look outside."

"What?"

"Just look outside."

She looked outside to see Ashton, giving her one of his signature smiles. Beside him.....Luke and Sierra.

"Ashton?"

"Hey, sunshine."

She paled. She turned at the bandmates and chuckled shakily.

"Am I finally going crazy? Is they really here?"

She looked at Luke and Sierra, laughing disbelievingly. Shaking her head, she walked up to them. She prodded Luke at his chest angrily, as she laughed. "You had the fucking nerve to show up here." She was chuckling yet crying in the same time. "Where were you, Lucas. Where the fuck were you when I needed you?!" she said. She stumbled back, shaking her head. Iris's knees gave out. Maia reached out to steady her. "Can we get out of here, please?" She whispered to her. Maia looked at Helena and Julia. "Let's get her inside." She said, quietly. They nodded. They moved to get her inside. Sierra moved to stop them. "Let's talk this through, please." She said to Iris. Helena glowered at her. She stood in front Iris protectively.

"After what you've done, you think you could just come up here and expect her to talk? After the pain you put her through? No, ma'am. You lost that right." Helena said. "Hey, don't talk to her like that." Luke defended her. Julia stepped forward. "Don't think we forgot about YOU, Hemmings." She said. "You don't get to come up here, all high and mighty and expect that we let you go that easily." Helena said. “You two are fucking dumb if you really believe that's a way to treat our bandmate.” Maia said.

“If anyone should be arguing, it should be me.” Iris said, as she straightened up and six pairs of eyes snapped to her. "Thank you for standing up for me, guys." she said to her bandmates. They shrugged and smiled. "Pop off, bestfren." Maia playfully winked at her. Iris smiled and turned to face the duo. The look that they gave her made her newfound anger surge.

“You both don’t get to look at me like that.” She snapped, causing them to reel back in suprise. They never seen her this mad, never at them. "If you gave me the chance to talk back then, we wouldn't have this bullshit." she said. Their faces fell in guilt. The Iris she was before this would've cave in and forgive them but she was seething with anger now to care.

"If you'd noticed the sleepless nights I had, the bag under my eyes. If you'd have cared to even try and listen to what I had to say, maybe I wouldn't be fuckin' pissed at you right now!" Iris snapped and Luke flinched back.

If they'd only looked into her eyes, they would see the bottled up emotions that was threatening to explode. It felt wrong to see Iris so angry. She was always been the one to break up arguements, not start them. "Did you know how much suffering you caused me? Do you know how much pain I've been through? I never asked for this, you know? I never asked for us to fight. I hate fighting, you know that?" She said. She looked at them, they were looking down to the ground.

"Look at me." she pleaded. Her anger disappated. Their heads immediately snapped up."I d-don't think I contribute to this relationship anymore." her broken voice reached their ears.

"Iris!" They called out, but she's gone. Luke frantically searched for her. "Luke, we still have one more chance." Sierra said. "Sierra, there's no more chance. We lost her." He said. "And it's all my fault." he whimpered. "Luke, honey. We have her concert tickets, thanks to Ashley. Let's not waste this chance alright?" She said.

*timeskip*

Two hours till the concert. The stage staff were moving around, making sure that everything goes well. After the encounter, Iris fell in the hotel bed and proceeded take a long nap. And woke up just in time for rehearsal.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours. Iris drank some vodka that was prepared by the staff, it did so little to calm her nerves. She was pacing around. “Iris?” Her makeup stylist called out. Her head shot up, “Yes, David?” She said. “It’s time for your makeup, and then your outfit." He reminded. She smiled softly at him, "Alright, I'm coming."

She got dressed and sat on the chair."So what would we like on this wonderful night?" He said prepairing the brushes. "I was thinking of skeleton kinda look. Some black, a little red." She said. "That sounds good. Would you like some to put glitter on the black part?" he asked. "Sure" she nodded.

(A/N: Here’s the outfit. Credit to @boy..brainr0t for the makeup look)

They made a small talk about the weather and the upcoming shows. Half an hour later, David finished. "Wow, you did a great job! I love it so much, thanks David! " Iris said, her mood brightened. "No probs, Iris." He said with a smile. She side hugged him and left the room.

"Looking good, shortcake! That choker looks deadly, in a good way." Helena hyped her up. Iris flushed. "Enough about me, look at your mohawk! The spikes are as deadly as my choker! " She said, smiling. "Can I.... touch them? " Iris said. It was like a child asking for candy. "Knock yourself out, shortcake. " She shrugged. Iris's eyes shined with excitement and she poked it. "It's rock hard, did you use hairspray?" she asked, "I did. Used a little bit of hair pomade. Gotta make sure it won't fall while performing." Helena explained. "That's cool." Iris giggled.

"Hey, cuties!" Julia hollered from arcoss the room. "Its almost time, get your sexy asses over here!" Maia said alongside Julia. "Alright, alright, we're coming!" Iris shouted back. "You look like Gerard Way, Iris." Julia said. "Awh, Julia that's nicest thing you ever said to me" she joked. Julia playfully punched her in the shoulder. "Heeeey" She pouted. "Hey guys!" Ashley jogged over to them. "Hey, Ashley" They said. "You ready to go up there?" She asked. "Yeah, it's been a while since we last went on stage, still kinda nervous, but excited." Iris said. "Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, but you guys are up in 10" the stage manager informed them. "Alright, thank you for informing us" Julia thanked the staff. "You welcome." the staff said, then walked away.

"Go get ready, I can't wait to see you guys out there." Ashley said, before leaving to get ready herself. "You ready?" Maia asked. " As ready as I'll ever be" Iris said. Her eyes shining with excitement. The group fistbumped each other and went on stage.

"GOOD EVENING, LONDON!" Iris screamed into the mic. The crowd screamed. "ARE YOU READY?" The crowd cheered. "WE CAN'T HEAR YOU" The crowd screamed.The intro for their song "You" started playing.

You,

The thought of you makes me sick

Heaven and Hell doesn’t scare me anymore

Not when your with me

Why you gotta be so greedy?

I’m giving all I have to you,

But you keep asking for more,I’m dying, can’t you see? (Look at me)

My blood stains the floor

And I know you love seeing me like this

When it comes to you, (you temptress)

You act so innocent, like an angel in disguise

Always painting yourself as holy

But your tainted halo says otherwise, my dear

Iris sang, stomping her feet to the rhythm. She was smiling, looking out to the crowd. And then she saw familiar head of curls. It was Luke. Her eyes widened, trying to maintain her composure as she sang. She looked at Julia, who noticed them too.

Look at what you’ve become

My still beating heart you hold,

Your knife against my throat.

I’m on the floor, barely breathing (Gasping for air)

My mind tormented by your lies

There’s no escape from you (Never)

There’s no saving for me

“Oh, my darling sweetheart” you said,

With your hands around my neck

“Let me own you” you whispered

Your cold breath makes me shiver

Death knocks on the door (It’s time)

She puts on a facade, performing all the energy she had. Maia and Helena soon caught up with the situation immediately. They were soon picking up on the energy that Iris is giving out. She was nervous. Very nervous. Her heterochromia eyes instantly found blue ones. She wanted to run off stage but her pride wouldn’t let her. What would the fans think of her if she did? She didn't want to be coward.

*Lierra's POV*

They were standing somewhat near to the stage, same as the people that are there, they were all waiting for the show to start. Soon, Iris came on stage along with her band mates. The crowd screamed and cheered.

"GOOD EVENING, LONDON!" she said. She sounded so different from 4 hours ago. She looked beautiful as always, her facial features were enhanced by her stage makeup. "ARE YOU READY?" They cheered. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" They cheered even louder.

Iris smirked. "Helena, darling. If you please." she said. They both knew it was her persona on stage to be a little flirty , but Sierra couldn't stop but feel a little bit of jealousy. Helena was smirking on the screen. " ONE, TWO, THREE-" Helena said, before she started playing the drums. The intro sounds familiar to them. Then Iris started singing.

In their eyes, she was the most ethereal being they ever seen. She was confident when she sing, it was beautiful.

Midway through the song, their eyes met. Luke could see her eyes widening. She turned to Julia. Julia gave her a brief nod. She turned to the front, with a smile on her face. He gave Sierra a look.She shared the same look, they clearly knew that she was faking her expression. And the thought of that made them feel even more guilty.

*Back to Iris*

Look at what I’ve become

My still heart you hold,

Your knife still against my throat.

I’m on the floor, still and silent

My mind corrupted by your lies

There’s no escape from you

There’s no redemption for me.

As she sang the last verse, the crowd cheered and clapped. She was a little sweaty and she was a little out of breath. She kept on smiling. Her bandmates joined her at the front. Ashley comes on stage next. “Good Evening, London!” Ashley said. The crowd screamed. “ I would like to thank my good friends, The Temptress, for their AMAZING performance tonight!” She exclaimed. The crowd screamed again. "You welcome, Halsey." she said.

In the corner of her she saw a sign. The sign said "It's Nia!". Her eyes shined. "Well won't you look at that, Hi Nia." She waved at the girl direction. A group of girls were screaming as she said that. "Thank you again for the wonderful gift you gave me yesterday, darling. I really appreciate it." She said. The group screamed again. She was smiling. A real smile. The camera was on her and the crowd screamed again. She and her bandmates said their goodbyes to the crowd and Halsey and went off backstage.

She took off her facade and became unsually quiet. She plopped on the couch and drank the vodka she poured for herself. Her friends didn't know if they should comfort her or give her space. "Hey, shortcake." Helena said softly. Iris just leaned against her, her head on her shoulder. "You okay, bub?" Helena said. Iris just buried her face further into her neck.

"I don't know, 'Lena."

#poly!5sos #poly!lierra #lierra x oc #lonely heart #luke hemmings #sierra deaton #5sos fanfic #5 seconds of summer #5sos

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atxlxs · 3 years

Text

Beyond The Veil: Chapter 5

The assessment test was pretty consistent.

Those that had the quirks suited for it at first glance had dominated while the rest all seemed to get variations of the same base score. Some slightly better, some slightly worse. This made it pretty easy for Muska to just, consistently get good scores.

When your quirk, *cough* and other things *cough*, essentially affects anything and everything as long as the energy itself isn’t being used by something else it becomes easy to just enhance everything.

Ball throw? More like sniper propulsion. Long jump? Ha, more like flying to the opposite side. Grip strength? She doesn’t even need to touch it. Just contract the energy surrounding the mechanism. Flexibility? She used to do ballet, like, a century ago but muscle memory counts.

She had some tests she couldn’t do well, like the endurance test. She was here to train her quirk after all. Plus the longer the tests went on the harder it was to continue. If she continued at the level she was doing, she’d have one hell of a headache. It was starting to hurt as well. Every time she tried to go over her limits, using the energy actually hurt so she’d rather avoid that.

By the end of it all, Muska had placed a solid 3rd place. Beating out Robocop and PomPom (Bakugo), looking down the list with curiosity, Muska cringed at Midoriya taking last place. The kid definitely couldn’t regulate the energy belonging to his quirk, which felt really weird whenever Muska looked into it, and had broken his finger on the ball throw. However, what she didn’t expect was the feeling of mirth coming off of Aizawa.

Wait a damn minute.

The fucker wouldn’t.

“It was a logical ruse to make you all perform at your best capabilities.”

The fucker did.

Now, even as the class started shouting once more that evening, Muska was highly focused on the man in front of her. That was a lie. He lied about it being a ruse. The energy had fluctuated just slightly when he said ruse, going from mirth to a hazy feeling. The indescribable experience one goes through when they white lie or bluff.

He was going to expel the person who came in last. Something changed that though. What the fu- Oh. Ooooh.

“...If you won’t take this seriously as the hero in training students you are…”

The bastard was judging our potential and disguised it as an assessment!

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

Rat-man hadn’t given Muska a map, either expecting her to ask someone to help or look at the map and guess. She would do neither. Asking for help would warn them beforehand and she might be waved off considering it was a staff meeting. Secondly, she just doesn’t want to.

Instead of her quirk, Muska closed her eyes and felt around the harmony. Surprisingly, the school was ‘clean’ for the most part. A few dark patches here and there but nothing horrendous. That was when she noticed it. A room towards the top of the fourth tower, left side in the back away from the gate, was filled with several aged energies. One of which seemed to be escaping slowly towards something else. That was weird, but definitely where she needed to be.

It took 10 minutes of dedication to get to the tower needed, and 10 more to not stab the principal on sight after she got up the stairs and walked over to a steel door that had a key code. Disregarding the key code box since she definitely didn’t know said code, she decided that knocking in the tune to “Crab Rave” was a good alternative.

The door opened before the first verse was done to a very confused woman in spandex. Giving her a smile, it definitely had an annoyed flair to it since she could be at home and forcing Eras to be cooking right now, Muska slipped past her and into the meeting room. The Rat-man stood on the large table, surrounded by pro hero’s (based on the flashy getups…. Is that a horse gas mask?) and seemed to be in the middle of something. A beat of silence followed as Muska walked over to an empty chair near the front, it looked to be Nedzu’s but the short rat-man didn’t need it, and sat down. Pulling out her phone and starting to scroll through Tiktok. It was an old app but it stayed strong through the years and was still running.

“Uh, whatsa youngin like ya doin here?” Horse gas mask man asked. The heroes all subtly nodded along, too shocked by her nonchalant actions about crashing a very obvious faculty meeting.

Muska’a face twisted into a small frown as she turned her attention up to see the man. Aizawa, who she just now noticed was sitting at the back corner of the table, was just glaring down at Nedzu. Smart move and he was right.

“First of all, don’t call me youngin, I can guarantee I'm older than you. Second of all, ask Remy the rat here for that info.” Muska stated, about to return to her phone before perking up again and continued, “Also rat-man, if you want answered questions they better be done before 5, I have pasta being cooked by a glorified 5 star chef waiting at home.”

Several heroes choked, Aizawa hid a snort into his scarf, at her words. Nedzu, the fiend, just smiled wider.

“Of course!” The chimera chirped.

Yes chirped, maybe he had some bird DNA mixed in?

“I wouldn’t want to keep you too long! Faculty, this is Viridis Muska, Viridis, these are the pro heroes on staff that I trust to keep their mouths shut under oath of an NDA! Your guardian was kind enough to email it over to me this afternoon.”

Muska snorted at that. “Yea sounds like her.” Placing her phone face up on the table next to her, she tapped on the table expectantly as the Rat took his sign to continue.

“The most obvious question should probably be first and I know my dear staff are confused, what did you mean by you being older?”

It was an innocent question, she’ll answer it.

“Why Remy, that's cause unless Humanity has managed to surpass their expected due date of at max 120 years, then I am very much so older.”

The room was filled with confusion. It radiated off them in waves as distress rose at getting such vague answers. Aizawa in the corner sighed and snapped his gaze from the rat to her.

“I’m sure what the rat meant to ask was how old are you exactly and how did you reach that age.” Aizawa stated. Clear and concise.

“Of course, if I remember correctly I should be turning 267 this year,” she said, not pausing even when coffee was spat all over the table from a few of the people around the room, “and I was born a human, however upon entry into the veil and my chosen profession as a witch, I was changed. Reaching the height of my craft has allowed me to unlock certain aspects of my being, immortalizing my body for now. I’m still technically in my ‘teen’ years considering the average witch you’ll meet has passed a thousand years in some capacity.”

Aizawa ran a hand down his face in exasperation and a quiet mumble of “fucking problem ch- witch” escaped. A few other heroes were pale, and the spandex woman looked very intrigued. A twink with blond hair that had the weird energy actually coughed up blood. Muska’s gaze snapped to him at that. The need to heal over writing her focus for a moment before Nedzu cleared his throat for attention again.

Reluctantly she returned her gaze to the rat. If she didn’t know any better she would have thought he was undisturbed. She did, however, know better. The rat was practically vibrating where he stood in excitement.

“Viridis, do you think you could give us a basic rundown of the veil?” Nedzu quizzed, looking more and more like the sadistic researcher he was. Fuck, He's just like the elves.

Muska leaned back and sighed. She expected this and went over it with eras last night. They came up with what could, or couldn’t be talked about for the beginning until they were all deemed trustworthy.

“I can give you a short, very short compared to all the details of the veil, summary but frankly the veil doesn’t want certain info getting into certain hands.” She said, voice cold and steely. She would not be taking a no for this.

“I understand! Anything you can trust us with for now would help the mystery that has been plaguing me for years.” Nedzu said, which caused Muska to cackle a bit.

“I know, the… reps of certain races and collectives have placed bets on when and who would slip and give you the info at some point.” watching with amusement as Nedzu’s whiskers twitched, she sighed and leaned forwards. Pointing a finger at the white board behind her.

Nedzu, who of course understood exactly what that meant, nodded.

Muska stood up and grabbed three markers. One black, one green, and one red. Taking the black marker, she drew a large circle and wrote ‘The Veil’ above it. Uncapping the green marker, Muska spoke up as she marked off sections in the circle with black and labeled them in green.

“In the veil there are set collections and races. I, as a witch, belong to the group called Magia.” Magia was written in a section taking up a 5th of the circle, “It's a collective that represents those who follow magically tied professions, no matter the race you are, since once you become a part of what defines the Magia you are assigned this section. Of course like nations there is also dual representation. However, that's more complicated and this is the short version.”

A quick glance told Muska that everyone in the room was listening with rapt attention. Especially Aizawa and Nedzu, one more concealed than the other.

“Next is the elvish. Yes, elves, and yes, they are very pretentious. The younger ones are more lax and ready for mischief, but the elders tend to be stuck in their ways or research. God the research they do. They’re called the scholars of the abyss. Do you need to know something? Ask an elf. They write and read practically everything there is to write and read.” Another section gets cut off and labeled.

“Then there's the dwarves, oh and I’m listing these in population order as is the sectioning. The more people the bigger the section and so on. I’ll get to influence later. Back to dwarves. They aren’t all blacksmiths as myth leads you to believe but they do make the best weaponry and armor. You can find quite a few in engineering professions. A lot find jobs in mixology and brewing as well.” Another section. So far all are labeled with green.

“Next is the Vampires. These guys are incredibly important in the veil since they were the first members of it. Treated the closest to monsters, they had to run away from society's view earlier than loved races like elves and dwarves. Hell, even witches had some supporters when Halloween started to become a festive rather than a lore holiday. If you want to truly know about the veil? Then ask a vampire. They have every secret tucked away and safe guarded by their Origins.” Muska said, a small mischievous smirk was hidden as they faced the board. The energy shift in Nedzu told her the first time he met Eras would be cathartic considering it's her quirk registry game that led her here.

“Next is a much smaller group called the Fae. They are everything you’ve read and more. Do not engage with them until you’ve gone through Celtic mythology. You’ll become moss like that. I fuckin hate the imps sometimes.”

“In a more general group are the smallest numbers. Collectively known as the ‘inbetween’ these members range from the sirens in the waters to the spirits that haunt the earth and fuel the energy. Demons fall under here too but they rarely visit earth and always do so under contract so they don’t have much of a voice. Dragon descendants too, the last of the actual dragons died thousands of years ago but their blood lines are in half dragons. They have wings on some, horns and scales on others, but all carry the boiling blood of their predecessors.”

Muska took a deep breath after labeling one of the last spaces with green. Capping it, she uncapped the red and wrote a bold ‘FORGOTTEN’ in the smallest space. Turning around she dropped all smiles and pleasantries. Voice harsh and cold as she spoke venom with every word.

“Never, ever, look for those in the forgotten. They do not have representation but they are known and branded. A red circle with a line in the middle along with text that only certain people can read is their symbol and it's burned into their skin. The forgotten are the, essentially, criminals of the veil. The veil is filled with people of dubious legalities to humans but there is a special place to rot for those that cross veil taboos. Whether it’s a necromancer practicing on those that are alive, or a vampire who has gone blood crazy and slipped into the view of humans as food. Elves committing experimentation on live creatures for research or sirens drowning sailors into the ocean out of amusement. These are all examples of forgottens who get branded soon after they are recognized.”

The air seemed stale as Muska ran her glare over the heroes present. Even Nedzu shuddered as the energy in the room seemed to freeze and burn those that took too deep of a breath despite not actually happening.

The heroes nodded once they realized she was looking for a response and her gaze softened but still held a serious edge to it.

“The brands are placed by chosen representatives of the race where the forgotten came from. The representative is chosen by a council meeting between the heads of each race, the heads themselves are chosen by vote or position within the race and the job is carried out within 24 hours of discovery.”

Speaking of the representatives of races,

“Any questions before I head home for my fuckin pasta?”

(She just really wants her pasta)

Tags:

@baguettehead

#bnha #mha #mhafanfic #bnhafanfic #mha oc #au

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mhdiaries · 4 years

Photo

Wave 1 Holt Hyde Journal

July 23

Woke up in a moving truck last night - in the cab... this time. But I was totally confused as to how I got there and exactly where I was going. I figured since Moms was driving it meant another new job in another new town - maybe this one will be the last for a while...

July 25

Tried to stay up so I could see what the new town looks like in the daytime but it was no use. Soon as the first ray or sunlight cracked the horizon I was out. Shouldn’t be surprised, since for as long as I can remember, I’ve been trippin’ to the music of the night. I can’t recall the last time I saw the sun... really I can’t. I used to wonder if I was part vampire but so far no fangs and no overwhelming desire to make beat juice my new drink of choice. I must do some serious sleep walking during the day though, cause sometimes when I wake up I am dressed like a complete dork.

July 27

I put some flyers up at the Maul advertising my DJ biz. Hopefully I’ll get some bites. I know that once I get a few gigs I’ll be busy all the time ‘cause I can definitely spin some scary mixes.

August 1

Being the new monster in town means I’ve got to figure out who all the players are so I don’t get off on the wrong claw with any of the locals. So I’ve been taking walks at night with Crossfade just to check things out. This is what I’ve peeped so far:

Count Dracula - This ain’t no mopey “Please give me a hug ‘cause I’ma vampire” cry baby. This is the original old school, dark as midnight, bad to the fang Nosferatu. There may be monsters that have been around longer but none of them have Count Dracula’s street cred. He and his daughter live on my street in what is either a gigantic mansion or a small castle. I guess you’d have to go with mansion but only because there isn’t a moat and a drawbridge.

The Mummy - Got to say there’s just something about old school monster royalty. They’re like rock stars or something I’m not the kind of monster that gets star struck but I seriously wanted to ask for his autograph. I didn’t but I thought about it. He and his princess daughter Cleo de Nile live in this palace that looks like a movie set with servants and all. I don’t know Cleo but it seems like she’s wound a little tight.

The Werewolf - There’s one Alpha wolf in his pack and he is it. I heard he could have gone pro in just about any sport he wanted but he was so much stronger and faster than the other players they said it wouldn’t be fair for him to play. He’s got a big family in a not so big house and it always seems like there is some kind of drama going on over there. The way they argue you’d think they don’t like each other but you’d be wrong. They watch out for each other and if you fight one of them you better be ready to take them all. Clawd is the BMOC - Big Monster on Campus and Clawdeen is going to have songs written about her one day.

Frankenstein and His Bride - Mr. Stein is pretty chill for a dude who’s 8 feet tall and looks like he’s strong enough to tie knots in oak trees. Mrs. Stein on the other hand... well let’s just say Mr. Stein is a lucky monster. They live in a house that looks like a cross between a Swiss chalet and a research lab. I think they’ve got a new baby over there but I haven’t seen her yet.

The Sea Monster - He doesn't’ really live on land, at least I don’t think he does - for sure he’s got a little beach house where Lagoona Blue lives. It’s got this killer dock that goes out over the water. I saw Lagoona sitting out there talking to him one night. He never got out of the water though so I couldn’t tell exactly what he looked like but he churned serious water when he left. I think he mostly just keeps to himself and doesn’t spend a lot of time with surface monsters.

Medusa - Seems like she’s got her hiss together and is in total control of her emotions - good thing too, cause if she ever lost it, your career as a permanent life size paperweight would start right away. I guess that’s why she wears sunglasses outside of her house - even at night. Speaking of her house it looks like a building from one of those pictures at a Greek restaurant the kind with the big columns and everything. I bet the acoustics in that place are awesome. Wonder if she ever lets Deuce have parties up there?

August 3

Have you ever met someone for the first time and it’s like you’ve known them all your life? Dude this totally happened to me last night. I was doing this bubblegum dance gig, not really my style but sometimes you’ve got to give the monsters what they want - ya know? Anyway, this absolutely smokin’ little vampire was out on the floor doing the Transylvania Trance and there wasn’t another monster in the place who could keep up so I flipped the switch to auto pilot and jumped right in there with her. When the song was over I was like, “Ula D you rock!” Then she said, “How do you know my name because I don’t think we’ve ever met have we?” I couldn’t think of a time when we had but somehow I just knew who she was. Weird huh?

August 10

Had a date with the lovely and lyrical Operetta. She’s a bit of a diva but what a set of pipes! I took her to see this band I really like and everything was going great until this gargoyle bumps into her and almost knocks her down. I didn’t think his apology was sincere so I got hot and long story short... I got us kicked out. Operetta was embarrassed about it, and asked me to take her home. I sent her a dozen dead roses but she’s still not talking to me. My temper constantly gets me into trouble but never gets me out.

August 11

Mom found out about last night from Operetta’s dad. She says I need to do a better job controlling my temper and stop being such a hot head but it’s not like I can just become a different person. Sometimes I think she wishes I wasn’t a monster at all. Does she think I can just snap my fingers and turn into some dorky human or something? I swear sometimes I just want to ~~~~~~~~~~ ASHES! I melt more pens this way. Maybe mom’s right - wish there was like a potion you could drink to get rid of the bad stuff... oh well.

August 20

I think I’m going to take some night school classes this year. I heard that Monster High does non-traditional classes for monsters who don’t do daylight and since I seem to fit into that crew I’m gonna sign up. There’s supposed to be this siren that gives voice lessons and Operetta’s dad teaches a keyboard class.

September 5

I started working on this song that I want to be kinda about my life. Maybe inspiration will hit and I’ll finish it or maybe I haven’t lived long enough to write a song about my life. Anyway I got the first verse:

A twisted road plays out like a rhyme

Revealing itself a little at a time

Turn the corner Leave what’s behind

Outta sight and outta mind

Guess I’ll have to see where the road leads.

#monster high #monster high diary #monster high journal #holt hyde #wave 1

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chalantness · 4 years

Text

fic: Here, On the Edge of Hell (6/6)

Rating: M Word Count: ~14,300 (part six) Characters: Steve/Natasha Summary: mafia au. She knows her father hadn’t been lying when he said that Uncle Howard wanted her to keep an eye on Steve, but if this was simply about protection, he wouldn’t have put her on the line at all. Especially not with all of the heat Steve Rogers is getting from the other Families, which means that her uncle has another reason for Natasha to be involved.

He just won’t tell her what it is.

Read On: [ ao3 ]

A/N: I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S FINALLY HERE! The last part of the mafia 'verse!!

I initially thought this was going to take me 1-1.5 months tops to finish, but in true Chanty fashion, it took twice that long... three months later, and we're finally at the end! I'm excited and a little nervous to get to the big reveals, and I'm warning you now that this is my first genuine attempt at writing action sequences of this kind, but I'm really happy of how this chapter and this whole story turned out and I hope you darlings are, too! I had so much fun with this 'verse, and it's definitely the closest of anything I've written to the kinds of stories I want to tell in my original works. If you liked this story overall (I know there was a lot of room for improvement!) then I think you may like the stories I've got in store as an author!

Thank you darlings for all of your support and enthusiasm!

“I must admit, I was beginning to doubt if I’d ever get the satisfaction of having a Rogers on his knees. Of course,” Anton muses, sliding both hands lazily into his pockets, “I’d always pictured it to be Joseph. Maybe Pietro. But I suppose you look enough like both of them to suffice.”

Steve clenches his jaw, eyes flickering to Wanda kneeling beside him in the middle of what seems to be an empty warehouse. Honestly, Steve wouldn’t be surprised if it’s exactly that. The restaurant he and Wanda had been about to pick up food from is near the harbor, and Steve knows that Howard Stark just bought a few shipment facilities in this area from a business going bankrupt. He mentioned they were about to break ground on this site, too, which means all of the buildings would’ve already been cleaned out and fenced off from the public, and since this place is going to be the new site for another Stark Industries building, it would make sense that Anton would have access to it.

“And you, my dear,” Anton continues, turning to Wanda, and Steve feels his entire body stiffen as Anton reaches down to grasp at Wanda’s throat, forcing her to tip her chin up to meet his stare. Her wrists are tied behind her back, probably just as tightly as Steve’s are, but her arms still wiggle as she struggles against the knot, twisting her body away from Anton as best as she can. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to get rid of you as well. If I thought you would actually stay quiet, I would’ve kept your pretty face for myself.”

Wanda narrows her eyes up at him in a glare. “I would have begged for you to kill me instead.”

“I thought you were smart enough not to show your hand.” Anton releases her throat with a shove, nearly knocking her over, and Steve grits his teeth together. “Since it seems worse than death for you, I might just change my mind. Kill your beloved brother in front of you then keep you out of sight for a while, just for my amusement.”

“I’m all for that plan,” Ivan chimes in, squatting down beside Wanda and brushing her hair from her face, glass shards from the shattered back windshield of the car still threaded through the wild strands. He grasps her chin with his fingers, flashing his teeth in a dangerous smile. “What do you think, princess? Should we have a little fun?”

“That’s enough,” Steve practically growls. “You’re not touching her.”

“Unless it’s over your dead body?” Anton guesses. “Because if that’s what you’re waiting for, it’s about to be arranged.”

“You’re not touching her, period,” Steve snaps, only barely keeping his voice from shaking, every muscle in his body going taut. He’s pissed. He’s fucking pissed, and he knows that Anton can see it in his eyes because there’s a fleeting flash of alarm in his eyes before he blinks, smug once more.

It doesn’t fool Steve, though. Anton might’ve taken his gun, and he might have Steve on his knees with his hands tied, but the man still feels threatened by him.

“You’re not in any position to be making threats,” Ivan spits out at Steve, practically sneering. “But what else would I expect? You Rogers feel like you own the fucking world. Howard barely even blinks in my direction all these years and yet, you step in and he serves his precious niece up to you on a silver platter, just because you’re Joseph’s boy.”

Steve curls his fists even tighter, somehow, almost tight enough that his fingernails practically break through his own skin. “Therein lies your problem,” Steve replies, and some small, selfish part of him relishes in the obvious annoyance flickering in Ivan’s expression at how calm his voice is, almost nonchalant. No doubt the guy thinks it only proves his belief that Steve feels like he’s entitled. “Maybe if you stopped treating women like playthings, he might start to consider you as someone worth acknowledging.”

Ivan half-shoves his hand away from Wanda, just as Anton had, and grabs the front of Steve’s shirt with his fist, hauling him onto his feet as he practically growls in his face.

Steve blinks back at him, jaw ticking, but he manages to keep his expression composed. Which of course only pisses Ivan off even more.

“You think you can just swoop in and take your daddy’s place on top?” Ivan demands. “You think you’ve got everyone fooled?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Steve hitches his mouth up ever so slightly in a smirk. “I think being head of the Family already speaks for itself. Not that you’d know what that kind of respect is like considering Howard barely considers you one of his soldiers.”

Ivan grits his teeth. “I’m the only one who isn’t too big of a coward to be scared off by Stark’s made up rules. That’s the real reason he doesn’t get in my way.”

“You’re a liability,” Steve counters. “You think my father is the only reason I get any respect? Your father is the only reason you haven’t been cut off.”

A growl rips of Ivan’s throat. “You little—”

“Calm down, boy!” Anton barks, yanking Ivan back by his jacket, and Ivan shoves Steve back before shrugging his father’s hand off of him, still gritting his teeth. “This is why you get sloppy. He’s trying to rile you up and you’re falling for it.”

Steve holds back a grunt of discomfort as his knees hit the ground again, his body very nearly swaying back from the force of Ivan’s shove, but he manages to catch his balance at the last second. Anton is in Ivan’s face now, his words coming out in a low hiss as he says something to Ivan under his breath, and Steve takes the moment of distraction to turn to Wanda once more. He hadn’t wanted to risk more than just a few quick glances, wanting to avoid drawing any more attention onto her. It’s already obvious to Anton and Ivan that the only real advantage they have over Steve is his sister, and likewise for Wanda, but actually showing that weakness is even worse.

He was worried that she might’ve been more banged up from the crash than he initially thought, and now that he has the time to look for any injuries, he notices a fresh scrape on her arm, probably from when Anton dragged her from the wreckage. But it isn’t bleeding, nor does it seem all that deep, so he won’t worry over it right now.

What does worry him, though, is the fact that Wanda is still squirming against her restraints. It’s subtle enough that Ivan and Anton probably won’t notice, but Steve does, and for a moment he thinks that maybe she’s in discomfort because of how tightly the rope could be knotted around her wrists—but then he catches a glimpse of something shifting behind her back. The slim, black metal is hidden by Wanda’s blouse at an awkward angle with the way her wrists are tied together, but he recognizes it in an instant.

Bucky’s knife.

... ...

The hotel that Yuri’s men take her to is one of the few in New York that her uncle hasn’t managed to buy out, which Natasha is willing to bet isn’t a coincidence on their part. That’s likely the only reason they were able to slip under the Family’s radar for so long, though the place itself is by no means modest, and Natasha isn’t surprised when they lead her onto the elevator reserved for the residential suites at the top. And he’d probably booked out the entire top floor, too, not simply for his men but for the sake of discretion as well – and, not for the first time, Natasha knows it’d been the right call to follow Yelena’s advice to not have Tony follow her when she was going to be grabbed.

Judging just from the number of men posted along the hallways on the way to the suite, Natasha knows her family would’ve been outgunned on their own, even with every capo and soldier available on such short notice. Having the entire Family and their men will give them the advantage.

Just as long as Natasha can hold out until they find her.

Yelena has barely glanced in her direction, her composed expression perfectly in place, and Natasha has been careful to keep her own gaze appropriately alarmed considering she was just coerced into the back of a van off of the street without any explanation. If she comes off too unaffected, they may realize that she’d been expecting this; but she can’t come off too affected, either, considering it would be just as suspicious for someone so high up in a mafia to act as if this is her first ever time in this kind of situation.

Which it isn’t, though both other times had been part of her plan, so it really didn’t matter how unaffected she appeared to be when she’d had the upper hand from the beginning. This time is far different, and if Natasha had any less of a poker face, she wouldn’t stand a chance at making Yuri believe she’s entirely in the dark.

Yelena produces a keycard from her pocket as they reach the double doors of the suite, unlocking them, and then two men draw them open from inside, revealing a large sitting room with wide, glass walls overlooking the city.

And, lounging on the couch in the center of the suite, is Yuri Petrovich.

Natasha had already known who he was before Yelena had explained their connection. He may live in a different country, but his mob has associates in New York, so the Family has always kept tabs on them. Even without that reason, her uncle would’ve insisted on it, anyway, simply because of their reputation.

And because of her, she realizes. Just as Yelena had said, whether or not Natasha truly is related to him isn’t relevant; the possibility of it alone would’ve been enough for her and her mother to be on their radar to begin with, and that would’ve been enough for Uncle Howard to view the threat of the Petrovich mob coming after them as real.

“Natasha,” he greets, his smile almost charming, and his men usher her further into the room as they close the doors behind her. “I’m glad that you can join us.”

Her lips curve into the ghosts of a smirk. “I couldn’t exactly decline the invitation.”

He waves her over with two fingers, and she takes a moment to let her gaze slide over the room. Partly to assess where his men are posted throughout the suite, a move he would’ve expected her to pull, but also to take note of where Yelena has come to stand behind the couch Yuri is seated on. Distant enough as to not draw suspicion yet close enough to have an advantage over him from behind, though it also puts her in everyone’s line of fire, so the chances of her actually being able to make the first move are slim.

Not without a distraction, at least.

Natasha walks around the couch opposite of Yuri, perching herself on the cushion, and he leans forward to grab a bottle of vodka out of a bucket of ice on the table. “Care to join me?” he asks, pouring the alcohol into two shot glasses. “I know it’s not a traditional drink to share for first meetings, but I have a feeling you and I have the same taste.”

She lets cautious curiosity flicker in her eyes when he looks at her. “That’s quite an assumption”

“Let’s just say, I recognize a kindred spirit when I see one,” he replies, sliding one of the glasses over, and she eyes him skeptically as she picks it up. “After all, we already have quite a lot in common.”

“Because I’m of Russian blood?” she asks. She knows it could be dangerous to try and coax the truth out of him like this, but the secretive, smug edge to his smirk only widens, his eyes flashing, and Natasha can tell that he finds her choice of words more ironic than suspicious. “If you know this about me, you’ll also know I was raised here.”

He hums, lifting his glass instead of replying, and Natasha tips her head back as he does to drain her shot. It’ll take more than this to get her drunk or even buzzed, but she still needs to be careful if he insists on more.

“I do know this,” Yuri finally answers, setting the vodka aside as he stares back at her. “I know quite a bit about you, in fact.”

“And I suppose the reason for that is why you’ve come all the way here to pay me a visit in person,” Natasha muses. “Or is this how you woo all the Russian girls?”

“Woo?” He shakes his head. “No, that would be rather inappropriate, though I don’t suppose Melina Stark has given you a clue as to why.”

Natasha allows her irritation to flit across her expression, her body stiffening in annoyance at his tone, though the satisfied curl of his lips tells her that she’s come off as alarmed as she’d intended. “If we have as much in common as you say, then you’ll know that as adept as I am at playing games, I don’t particularly enjoy them,” Natasha replies, letting her casual tone slip from her voice as she narrows ever so slightly. “I would hardly consider us kindred spirits simply because we’re both of Russian descent.”

Yuri raises his eyebrows slightly, almost seeming impressed by her bluntness. “Perhaps we don’t have everything in common, because I do enjoy a good game of watching others squirm. But since I admire your boldness, I’ll return it: our Russian descent isn’t all that we share, dear sister. We are blood by its very definition.”

She tilts her head, gauging his expression. It’s clear that he believes his words, just as Yelena had said, and she lets anger flit across her face. “And I should take your word?”

“If I had the time, I would’ve brought Melina here to tell you the story herself,” Yuri replies, his smirk widening as he lounges back against the couch. “But since she isn’t with us at the moment, I’ll give you the courtesy that she should’ve given you and tell you exactly why Melina Vostokoff fled to America on your father’s arm. Of course, if I’d been accused of having an affair with my best friend’s husband, I wouldn’t be too keen on sharing that story with my supposed daughter,” he adds with a shake of his head.

“An affair?” Natasha questions.

“I believe you’re intelligent, dear sister, and the talk of you within the underground of New York would support my belief,” Yuri muses. “I know you must have wondered what would’ve compelled your mother to marry a man who had been on vacation and leave her country on such an impulsive whim. Sure, it makes for quite a romantic story, but you know deep down that isn’t the truth.” Yuri leans forward again, his elbows resting on his knees as he holds Natasha’s stare, eyes flashing dangerously. “The reason that Melina acclimated so quickly to her husband’s lifestyle is because she was already familiar with it herself. It was a life she shared with her best friend Alia back in Russia.”

“Which is supposedly your mother,” Natasha guesses, keeping her voice dry and unamused. “Alia Petrovich.”

He flashes his teeth in a wide grin. “Formerly known as Natalia Romanov. Quite similar to your own name, isn’t it, Natasha?”

This time, Natasha’s surprise is genuine as she pulls back slightly. He reaches into his pocket, making Natasha’s body stiffen in alarm, but rather than a weapon, he produces a thin necklace and tosses it in her direction, and she catches it in her palm. The charm is a slim bar, engraved in script—her own name, she realizes.

“When my mother passed, this was found among her possessions. At first, I believed it was simply hers. Natasha is a variant of Natalia, after all.” He shakes his head, and there’s something in his voice, something in his eyes, that has Natasha nearly holding her breath. She isn’t simply feigning ignorance for his sake; she can feel her blood begin to hum in her veins, as if anticipating his next words. “But then I realized that it wasn’t meant for her. It was meant for you, my dear sister,” he tells her, and Natasha nearly risks a glance at Yelena, wanting to see if this is a surprise to her as well. Natasha is willing to bet that it is. “Melina never had an affair. Our mother was the one that did.”

... ...

Steve clenches and unclenches his jaw, careful to keep his anger in his expression even as he feels relief unfurl in his chest as Wanda finally slices through the knot around her wrists. She catches the rope in her fingers before it can go slack, hand closing tightly around the handle of the slim, black knife. The one that Ivan had evidently missed when he’d patted her down. Considering her arms have been drawn behind her back this whole time, Steve is guessing that she had the holster strapped under her blouse. Bucky’s knife is thin enough that it would have still been decently concealed despite the tapered fit of the material, but also, they’d been lucky that Ivan hadn’t done a thorough check.

He probably thought he hadn’t needed to; Wanda is as adept with a gun as the rest of the Family, but she isn’t typically armed.

It seems that Bucky has taken care of that himself.

“Enough,” Anton finally barks, shaking his head at Ivan before turning back to Steve. “Yet another example of how you Rogers have been a thorn in my side all these years.”

“Considering I didn’t even know who you were until a few months ago, it’s rather an impressive accomplishment to be under your skin for years,” Steve retorts. Anton may not be as reactive as Ivan, but Steve still knows how to piss Anton off. He’s pretty damn full of himself, and considering how long Joseph Rogers has known him, it’d be a definite bruise to Anton’s ego to know he hadn’t been worth mentioning, especially since Steve had already known most of the other Family members when he took his father’s place.

As long as Anton and Ivan are too focused on being pissed at Steve to notice that Wanda’s freed herself, all she’ll have to do is hold off until the right time.

Though Steve doesn’t know how easily that’ll come, if at all. It may just be Anton and Ivan inside the warehouse with them, but Steve knew he’d had a few men with him during the crash. Likely the handful of capos and soldiers loyal to him rather than to Howard, because there’s no way they’d go along with this kind of plan otherwise. It’d put their asses on the line, too, and Steve would hope that they’re sensible enough to know that both Anton and Ivan would throw them under the bus if Howard got wind of it.

Anton’s jaw ticks. “I’ve known you the least, but I’m pretty damn sure I’ll get the most enjoyment out of putting a bullet through your head.”

“Because I walked in and took the seat at the head of the Families that you’ve wanted all along?” Steve asks. “Or because I know you were the one stealing from Howard?”

It’s something Steve had a gut feeling about being true when it’d clicked into place in his mind, but the flash in Anton’s eyes is all the confirmation he needs. He manages to school his expression back into annoyance only a second later, but it’s more in vain than anything else. He knows Steve had caught his initial reaction.

And maybe that’s why he doesn’t completely deny it like Steve had still been expecting. “And what makes you say that?” Anton asks, still feigning annoyance.

“Howard is a cautious man when it comes to his legitimate businesses, and especially when it comes to Stark Industries,” Steve points out. “I can only imagine how much stricter he was when Stark Industries was getting off of the ground, and operating out of only one small building with a handful of employees should’ve meant he’d have no trouble keeping everything locked up tight. Not unless someone Howard trusted enough to give complete access without his monitoring was the one stealing,” Steve adds.

Anton’s eyes flash. “I’ve known Howard for years. He wouldn’t believe your word over mine.”

“He would if it made sense, which it does,” Steve counters. “Howard’s loyal, but not blindly loyal. And considering your son’s recklessness puts the Family’s ass in some kind of jeopardy almost every day, he’d have no problems cutting both of you out of the picture the second he gets a decent reason. Even if your secret dies with me, he’d still cut you off for trying to get rid of Pietro and Wanda, too.” This time Anton doesn’t attempt to hide his surprise, and in his peripheral, Steve catches his sister flinch, genuinely shocked.

Anton smirks, but the smugness from his eyes is gone. “Those incidents weren’t my doing,” he argues.

“Maybe not directly,” Steve counters. “It was an Asgard car spotted near both of those scenes at the time, and by every one of the Family’s busted deals and shipments, too. But if we dig just a little deeper, it’d be easy to find out that you and Ivan were the ones goading Hela into doing your dirty work.”

“She doesn’t need anyone to help fuel her crazy.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Steve agrees. “Which makes her a convenient person to pin the blame on, especially since the Family knows she has it out for my father. Dad was getting a lot closer to your secret. You knew he’d share his theories with his kids, too, so you needed a quick and permanent fix. Then my dad goes missing and you get your chance.”

Anton narrows his eyes. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” he questions, but there’s no real threat in his voice, and Steve knows his assumptions are right.

Before Steve can respond, though, Ivan snaps, “I’m getting sick of all this talking.” He draws his gun from the pocket inside his jacket, giving Steve a glimpse of his own gun hooked into Ivan’s holster at his hip. “Maybe we should test your theory of this secret dying with you,” he snarls. Steve simply blinks back at him, but then he catches Ivan’s gaze shift back to Wanda and Steve’s shoulders go rigid. Ivan smirks. “Or better yet, maybe we’ll start with your sister first. You won’t feel like such a smug ass then, huh?”

Ivan squats down and grasps Wanda by her neck, forcing her chin to tip up as he starts to dig his fingers into her throat—

And then a screech from outside. It’s muffled but unmistakable, and close. Maybe no more than a few dozen feet away.

Tires.

Ivan and Anton’s heads snap around toward the doors at the other end of the warehouse. “What the hell is that?” Ivan growls out, but Anton lets out a low hiss for him to shut up, one hand already reaching into his jacket for his gun as he takes a few steps closer, as if ready to head outside to check himself.

There are voices being raised from outside; the men Anton kept posted out there to keep watch start to shout over one another, their words muffled but the alarm ringing clear in their tones.

And then two harsh cracks rip through the air – gunshots – right before the sound of metal slamming together, colliding in a hard crash.

“Shit,” Ivan mutters, starting to get up, but then Wanda slips her arms out from behind her almost in a blink, knife in hand, and Ivan lets out a sudden groan as she thrusts the blade into him. He hisses, his hand going slack around his gun as he staggers back, and then Wanda is shoving him forward and sending him stumbling back into Anton as his weight knocks them both over. Another blink, and Wanda is lunging across the small distance, on her knees beside Steve and shoving him over as another shot goes off.

Steve groans, a jolt of pain shooting through his shoulder right before his side hits the ground, but he barely has a second to register it before Wanda is down on one knee in front of him, her body half-angled away from him just as Anton has gotten back onto his feet, lifting his gun to aim it in their direction.

For a fleeting second, Steve’s heart slams to stop against his ribcage—

And then Anton’s face twists into a sneer as he spits out, “You’re too much of a princess to pull that trigger,” at Wanda, and Steve’s eyes snap onto his sister. With the way he’d fallen and the way Wanda’s back is turned toward him, he hadn’t noticed the gun in her hand, pointed right back at Anton.

Ivan’s gun, Steve realizes. His gaze slides down and, sure enough, he finds Bucky’s knife still curled tightly in her other hand, only a little bit of blood actually smudged onto the blade from how quickly she’d pulled it out of Ivan’s chest.

“Go ahead, prove me right,” Anton goads. “You don’t have the balls to—”

He’s cut off as another crack rips through the air, and then he’s shouting, staggering down onto one knee, his gun falling from his hand and clattering onto the ground as he clutches at his shoulder with a hiss. Wanda shifts her body, arm swinging toward Ivan as he’s in the middle of staggering back up to his feet, and then another shot goes off and groans out, “fuck!” and clutches at his leg, his body hitting the ground once more. Wanda whirls back toward Steve, bending over him, and though the blade manages to nick his skin in her haste to slice the ropes from around his wrist, he barely notices. After getting grazed with one of Anton’s bullets, a little cut is hardly going to bother him.

Wanda is on her feet before Steve is, gun aimed at Anton once more as she gets her boot on his gun where it fell, sliding it back before he can attempt to retrieve it. Steve half-lunges across the small distance to Ivan, still clutching at his leg where Wanda shot him, and then Steve snatches his gun out of Ivan’s holster and aims it at him.

He turns his head, keeping Ivan in his peripheral as he looks at Wanda with his lips twitching at the corners. “Good aim.”

Wanda’s eyes twinkle. “I’m Clint’s best student for a reason,” she replies as the doors at the other end of the warehouse are thrown open, and then both of their gazes are whirling in that direction just as Bucky and Sam and a few officers burst through.

Steve very nearly slackens in relief, but he manages to keep his gun aimed at Ivan until one of the officers reaches him, producing a pair of handcuffs.

Wanda lowers her gun, too, just as Bucky reaches her, one hand reaching out to cup her cheek as his eyes dart over her almost wildly. A moment later, he exhales a breath, the tension ebbing from his body as he seems to confirm for himself that she isn’t hurt, and then he’s reaching down with his other hand to curl his fingers around hers where they’re still gripping the handle of the knife. His knife, stained with Ivan’s blood. His eyes glint. “Atta girl,” he murmurs, and then he’s drawing her close, slanting his lips over hers. Steve watches as Wanda’s body finally eases in relief, very nearly melting into Bucky as she sways forward, and he hooks an arm around her to keep them both steady.

Steve turns away to give them a moment, and then Sam is beside him, reaching up to touch the frayed line of his jacket where the bullet grazed him.

“Just a scratch?” Sam asks, one eyebrow arched as his lip hitches at the corner, and, despite everything, Steve breathes out a laugh.

“Barely a paper cut,” Steve returns, and Sam just shakes his head. “You guys got here pretty fast.”

Sam nods, gaze shifting onto Anton as two officers are snapping cuffs around his wrists and starting to lead him out of the warehouse. “We’ve had a tracker on Anton’s car for a few days now and we’ve been tailing him at a decent distance. The second it got cut off in the crash, our asses were on the move.”

Steve nods, but there’s something in Sam’s eyes that makes him pause. “What?” he asks, aware of the way Bucky and Wanda pull away from each other in his peripheral as Bucky tugs her closer to Steve’s side, his lips twitching into a grin.

“We’ve got something for you,” Bucky answers, nodding his head toward the doors.

Steve catches his sister’s curious gaze, exchanging a look before Bucky is gently urging her forward with a hand on the small of her back, and Steve follows the two of them out of the warehouse with Sam. There are already several patrol cars parked along the fence that’d been put up by the construction company, officers in the midst of loading Ivan and Anton and their men into the back seats, and what few pedestrians happen to be walking in the area are already starting to pause to try and see what’s happening.

It isn’t until Steve’s gaze finds a familiar car at the end of the fence, though, that he realizes why Sam and Bucky had been grinning so hard.

Dad.

... ...

Our mother.

Natasha’s fingers tighten around the necklace in her hand, so much so that she can feel the charm starting to dig into her palm, but she barely flinches. Her stare stays fixed on Yuri, searching his face for any small shift in his expression, any small twitch or tell that may give away the fact that he’s bluffing—but that smirk sits perfectly in place and the smug gleam in his eyes never wavers. Rationally, she knows that this doesn’t automatically mean he’s telling the truth. She has a pretty damn good poker face, too, and she can count on one hand the number of times someone had picked up on it when she was bluffing. Even then, they hadn’t been entirely sure if she was actually lying or not.

But she can feel her chest tightening, and her instinct tells her that something about his story makes sense.

She’s always found her parents’ story odd, and though Yelena’s explanation would’ve cleared a lot of it, Natasha knew something was still off. Something was missing. Why would her mother join a mob so that she, Joseph, and Alia could keep each other safe and yet sleep with the man her best friend married? The very same one she wanted to protect Alia from? And Natasha knows she looks like her father, like her Uncle Howard and Tony and Peter. It’s been said countless times that she has the Stark stamp to her.

Belatedly, her conversation with Steve comes back to her and how he apologized for getting upset when she hid “Sarah Rogers” from him. He told her he would’ve done the same thing, would’ve waited before telling Natasha something that could upset her because it was about her mother.

I just want to be sure, he told her.

This was what he’d been hesitant to tell her. Maybe he didn’t put together the exact truth, but he’d already suspected that her mother wasn’t her birth mother.

“I suppose you expect me to just take your word for it,” Natasha replies, managing to keep her voice steady despite the way her heart is starting to pound against her ribcage.

Yuri sits up a little straighter, lifting his eyebrows. “Perhaps I should have invited Melina to join us and tell you herself.”

Natasha lets out a light, almost nonchalant him in reply, even as her fist curls even tighter around the necklace still in her hand, and she knows she’s managed to catch him off guard by her lack of reaction to his threat because there’s a fleeting shift of uncertainty in his eyes. Then he blinks and that smug, knowing gleam is back in place.

“I’m surprised you didn’t consider it to begin with, after going through all this trouble to come here to convince me of the truth in person.” Natasha quirks an eyebrow at him. “Unless, of course, you have another reason for coming to an entirely different country to meet someone who could only supposedly be your family.”

He nearly bares his teeth in a dangerous grin. “You really don’t enjoy games, do you, dear sister?” he drawls. “It’s almost as if you’re trying to rush this along. Of course, if I were you, I would be eager to get to my date tonight as well. With Rogers, correct?” He reaches for the bottle of vodka again and then leans forward to retrieve Natasha’s shot glass, his eyes glinting as he catches her stare. “Like mother, like daughter, after all. I’m told that our mother was quite fond of Joseph Rogers. I’m sure I would’ve heard all about him if not for the way my father got particularly violent whenever Joseph Rogers was ever breathed. It’s quite tragic that he went missing a few months ago, isn’t it?”

Natasha studies his expression for a moment, and, possibly for the first time since he began speaking, she knows he’s bluffing.

His tone is suggestive, and threatening, wanting her to believe he’s in on the secret of how Joseph Rogers had gone missing, or maybe that he’d been involved somehow.

But he wouldn’t be here if he knew the truth. Even if he’s cold enough not to care about someone planning to kill his own father, Ivan dying while Yuri is overseas won’t make it easy for Yuri to take control of the mob if he makes it back to Russia. Not if there are already more than enough people that want him gone.

Maybe she doesn’t need to stall. Maybe she can distract him herself.

“Oh, you don’t expect me to believe that you listen to the rumors,” Natasha counters, letting her voice lilt in amusement—and, sure enough, there’s a flash of uncertainty in his eyes at her reaction. He slides her shot glass back over and she picks it up, letting a secretive smile curl at her lips. “But I will say this, your acting is quite convincing.”

She downs her shot without waiting for him to finish pouring his, licking her lips, and his jaw ticks. “And here I thought you don’t like playing games.”

Natasha tilts her head, arching an eyebrow. “And what game is it that you think I’m playing?”

Yuri smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “I’m sure it doesn’t do well for your reputation that the head of the Families went missing at all, let alone for this long and without any leads,” he muses. “But there’s no need to keep up pretenses for me.” She simply hums as he sets the bottle of vodka down on the table between them, letting her lips curve into a smug, knowing smirk of her own, not so much as blinking when he holds her stare, and she can see exactly when he realizes that she may not be bluffing.

He blinks twice, working to keep his expression unaffected. “Alright. I’ll humor you, dear sister. If Joseph Rogers hasn’t been missing all this time, where is he?”

Natasha leans in closer to the table between them, nearly perched on the very edge of the couch. “Tell me, baby brother,” she starts, her smirk widening when she catches the way his jaw ticks, “why I should divulge that when you haven’t even admitted that you’ve come here to kill me. I’ve never even stepped foot in Russia and yet, I’m a threat to you, aren’t I?” She leans in even closer, catching the way Yelena draws closer to Yuri from behind, too, as is protective. “If it’s a choice between you and me, I’m the best bet. A mafia princess to the underground and a Stark princess to the world. I can offer them everything, but you and your father are nothing but liabilities they’re eager to cut out.”

A growl nearly rips from Yuri’s throat, his composure quickly slipping through his fingers. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”

“No,” she replies, her voice dropping to a low, staged whisper. “I only pretend to,” she says, glancing over his shoulder to catch Yelena’s gaze, and the woman gives her a barely discernable nod right before she has her gun up, firing two shots – one each for the two men standing at the doors of the suite.

Natasha doesn’t have to look back to check to see if they hit, nor does she have time to, because just as Yuri starts to turn around, Natasha’s hand wraps around the neck of the bottle of vodka and she’s swinging it hard, slamming it up into Yuri’s jaw with as much force as she can muster at such a close range.

Yuri keels over as Natasha is on her feet, twisting her body around as she flings the bottle toward the two men standing to her left. There are also two more men to her right that could have a chance to shoot at her, but as she gets a running start, she catches a glimpse of the two guys that’d been posted behind Yelena dropping to the floor as she whirls around, gun pointed, so Natasha doesn’t worry about what’s behind her as she sprints forward, dropping to the ground right as one of them manages to get their gun up. He gets a shot off, but Natasha is already sliding across the carpet, swiping her legs under the other guy – the one already staggering back from being hit with the bottle of vodka – before spinning back around and onto her feet, and then she grabs the other guy by his jacket, yanking him down and sending his head cracking against her knee.

She swipes one of their guns out of their hands and whirls around, aiming it at where Yuri had been in the same second that Yelena does—

But Yuri is already up and over the couch and bounding out the suite, the doors slamming closed behind him, and Yelena exhales a curse under her breath as she lowers her gun and catches Natasha’s gaze.

“As soon as he caught me, he knew he’d be outnumbered when it came down to the three of us,” Yelena tells her. “But if the others are still in the hallway when we leave this suite, we’ll be outnumbered. If even half of the men stayed, that’s too much heat for us to take, and there’s no other way out of this suite.”

“Well, if he makes it out of this hotel, he’ll come after both of us and my family, too,” Natasha counters.

Yelena rubs her lips together, considering this for a moment, and then she swears under her breath again. “Let’s go,” she says, and Natasha swallows lightly, crossing the room and meeting Yelena at the door. “Any plan?” she asks.

Despite herself, Natasha lets out a humorless laugh. “Try not to die?”

Yelena nearly cracks a smile. “Your plan sucks,” she retorts, and then they’re both tugging at the handles, throwing the doors open and stepping into the hallway, and Natasha whirls around to stand with her back to Yelena’s as she points her gun at—

“Mom,” Natasha breathes out, her heart nearly slamming to a stop against her ribcage as she lowers her gun. Her mother lowers her gun, too, and her composed expression dissolves into relief. Natasha’s eyes flit over her shoulder and down the hallway, her father already lowering his own gun as he makes his way over to them, and then, right in front of the door to the stairwell, Uncle Howard and Nick Fury are watching as Thor and Odin are shoving someone over the threshold and maneuvering him down the stairs.

Yuri.

Natasha nearly sways back on her feet as she feels the relief flood through her, her eyes shifting back to her mother. “You got him?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer. She still wants to hear it, though.

“Yes,” her mother tells her, her voice soft. “If you had waited a few more minutes, we would’ve saved you from all the excitement.”

“She wouldn’t be our daughter if she preferred less excitement,” her father quips, coming to stand beside them. Natasha exhales a sharp, breathy sort of laugh as her mother reaches for her, drawing her close—and though she and her parents have never been the kind to prefer hugs, it’s almost instant, the way she melts into the embrace.

... ...

Wanda must’ve seen their father a split second before Steve had, because just as Steve’s mind is starting to catch up to the fact that that’s him – that his father is here, after being gone for so months – Wanda lets out a shaky, sharp, breathy sound, and then she starts running, quickly crossing the distance to the gate at the corner of the fence as their father gets it open. She throws herself at him in a hug that quite literally knocks him back a few steps, but his arms go around her, too, as his deep laugh fills the air.

Steve takes his time making his way over, feeling himself smile as he watches his father brushes a kiss to Wanda’s hair, murmuring something to her that makes her giggle and press her face into his shoulder. Then his eyes shift, watching through the fence as Pietro gets out of their father’s car and starts heading toward their father and sister. He catches Steve’s gaze, lifting his hand in a wave, and Steve’s smile widens, relieved his brother doesn’t seem any worse for wear considering he just got out of the hospital.

“Bet you didn’t see this coming!” Pietro calls out, and their father lifts his head, his eyes wrinkling into a brighter smile when they land on Steve.

Wanda turns to look over her shoulder at him, too, her eyelashes dotted with tears she hasn’t quite shed yet. His sister’s smile is small and shaky, but beautiful and relieved and so fucking happy, and then she steps back from their father, practically ducking under his arm to squeeze Pietro in a hug the second he’s within her reach.

“Steve,” his father greets, his voice low and gruff. The two of them had never been particularly affectionate with each other, not in the same way his siblings are, but it was never something Steve held any resentment towards him for. His father raised the twins mostly on his own, while Steve didn’t even meet his father until after high school, and anytime they’ve spent together since then, they’ve had the twins as a buffer. He and his father are closer now, but there had still been some lingering space between them.

Still, somehow Steve isn’t all that surprised when his father doesn’t hesitate to grasp at Steve’s shoulder, pulling him in for a hug as well.

Steve blinks, his chest tightening, but he doesn’t miss a beat in returning his father’s embrace. It doesn’t linger quite as long as his hug with Wanda had, but his father still gives him one last sort of squeeze before pulling away, one hand still lingering on Steve’s shoulder.

And this time, Steve is surprised when he catches the cracks in his father’s usually nonchalant expression. Considering who the man is, Steve had always seen his father as formidable and unyielding. Sure, Steve knew firsthand that the man had a soft side for his children, but for the most part, his composure never wavered.

“Welcome home,” Steve tells him, his voice a little rough. “How was your trip?”

His father’s eyes glint. “Good,” he answers simply, and it should be strange, how that one word seems to make the air shift. He turns to Wanda and Pietro as Wanda blinks up at him, her eyes wide and glimmering. “It was really good,” he tells them, the meaning clear in his tone. “But I much prefer to be home.”

“I take it that means you don’t have plans to be anywhere else anytime soon?” Steve asks.

His father squeezes his shoulder firmly, his lips hitching up into a wider smile—and, for a fleeting second, Steve almost sees his own face smiling back at him, making his chest squeeze in a way he hasn’t felt since his mother had passed.

“No,” his father promises, shaking his head once. “I’m right where I need to be.”

“Well, if you ever did decide to take another vacation,” Pietro chimes in, his lips spreading into a wide grin as he glances at Steve, “we can hold down the fort.”

Wanda breathes out a laugh, her smile bright, proud, and when Steve catches his father’s stare once more, he sees the same emotion reflected in his eyes. “I’ve always known that,” he says, and Steve feels his chest squeeze again, his own smile widening because he’s starting to realize that maybe he always had, too.

... ...

Her uncle stays behind at the hotel to handle things with Nick and Odin, and though Uncle Howard asks Natasha if she wants to have a say in what they do with Yuri and his men, she promises her uncle that she won’t come up with something nearly as creative as he can. Besides, she knows that the Family likes to take their time in dealing with anyone that’s threatened one of their own, and Natasha doesn’t want to waste another ounce of her energy on Yuri if she can help it. And she’s willing to bet it will drive him crazy to be told that he’d gone through all of this effort to come after her himself when she doesn’t even want to be there to watch while the Family has their fun with him.

“I know today has been exciting and all, so I thought I’d make one of your favorites,” her father says, and it’s almost instant, the grin that pulls at Natasha’s lips when he slides over a double shot of vodka poured into a wine glass. Part of her wonders if she should find the choice of alcohol ironic, all things considered, but as she picks up the glass, swirling it around as if it were actually wine, she doesn’t think of sharing shots of vodka with Yuri in that hotel suite. Instead, she thinks about the first ever time her father had poured her vodka in a wine glass just like this, when she first moved into this apartment out of college and her parents had come over to help her get settled in.

He’d joked about it being a celebration of both of her heritages, when in reality, they simply hadn’t wanted to open every box until they found her shot glasses.

“How sentimental,” her mother notes, amusement pulling at her own smile.

Her father tips his head, considering this. “I have my moments,” he admits, reaching into his pocket, and Natasha watches as he pulls out the thin, silver necklace that she’d held earlier that night, setting it carefully on the kitchen island between them, his expression softening.

Melina picks it up gently, threading the chain through her fingers and lifting it to let the engraved bar dangle for her to read.

Natasha watches her mother, remembering the way she and Alia—Natalia—had looked in that photograph she and Steve had found among his father’s things. It had to have been taken after Joseph Rogers, Alia, and her mother had joined the mob since Alexi was in the photo, too, and yet, Alia looked content. She looked happy because she was with the people she loved most, and that was enough to make her feel as carefree as she’d looked in that photo, even if her life had been anything but that because of Ivan.

“Is there any truth to that?” Natasha asks gently, nodding at the necklace in her mother’s hand, though it’s not really a question. The expression on both of her parents’ faces is more than enough proof.

Her mother catches her gaze, her smile soft. “Yes,” she answers simply, reaching over to tuck some of Natasha’s hair behind her ear. “You’re my last piece of her.”

Natasha feels something warm tug at her chest, and then she turns to her father. “How did you all meet?”

“Because of Joseph,” her father replies. Natasha lifts her eyebrows slightly in surprise; she hadn’t expected that. “By now, I assume you and Steve both know the truth about him and Alia and your mother?” her father asks.

She nods, glancing at her mother. “We found an old picture of you with some of his things.”

Her mother’s smile widens just a little as she sets the necklace back down, untangling the chain from her fingers. “The three of us had known each other since childhood,” her mother explains. “Alia had the biggest heart and wore it on her sleeve, but that was a dangerous thing in our world. Ivan wanted her the moment he saw her, but it was clear to everyone that Joseph and I were the only ones she cared for. She always blamed herself for Ivan wanting to get rid of Joseph, and she was never the same after he left.”

“Joseph was the reason your uncle and I went to Russia in the first place,” her father adds. “He couldn’t risk going back, but when Howard and Maria were having problems and needed space, Joseph asked Howard and I to go to Russia just to check on his old friends. He never stopped worrying about them, but also, he could tell that Howard needed some objective to keep his mind busy.” Her father’s eyes shift to her mother’s, his lips quirking. “Your mother was actually the one to introduce me to Alia,” he says.

Natasha turns to her mother, her own amusement tugging at her lips. “Really?”

Her mother chuckles. “He and your uncle didn’t quite do a good job at hiding how they studied us at the bar,” her mother tells her. “I didn’t know at the time it was because of Joseph. I just knew that Alia had been having a particularly hard time lately and could use a charming stranger to comfort her.”

“We actually left Russia shortly after, but your mother tracked us down when Alia found out she was pregnant,” her father continues. “She hadn’t been engaged to Ivan by then, and your uncle and I snuck the two of them away. But Ivan was far too possessive to let Alia go, and Howard and I hadn’t been prepared to handle this kind of threat away from home.” His eyebrows furrow, the frustration of the memory flashing in his eyes. “Alexi was able to warn us that Ivan finally found her after Alia had given birth.”

“She wanted your father to take you to keep you safe.” Her mother gives her a small, wry sort of smile. “She wanted me to go with him. Ivan only wanted her. He stopped searching for Joseph because he was no longer in his way, and he wouldn’t care if I was gone, either. If she had come with us, he would’ve stopped at nothing to find her and drag her back. She didn’t want to put anyone through that, and she absolutely didn’t want you to be raised like that, always on the run, hiding. She begged us to save you.”

“The moment we brought you home, Joseph recognized her in your face,” her father says, voice soft. “Everyone says how much you look like me, but you look like her, too. You just have to know where to find it.”

Natasha feels herself smile, feels a warmth fluttering in her chest as she thinks back to the photograph they’d found among Joseph’s things. It’s a little odd to think that she hadn’t recognized her own face in Alia, even when Alia had been so much younger in that picture, but part of her liked that it hadn’t been something so obvious. Her likeness to her birth mother, just like the secret itself, was something you have to know to see—something that makes a difference but doesn’t change everything about Natasha’s life.

It doesn’t change who her mother is. It simply gives her another woman to admire.

“I wish I could’ve met her,” Natasha says quietly, and her father comes around the island, cups the back of Natasha’s neck as he brushes a kiss to her forehead.

He doesn’t say the words – neither of her parents do – but Natasha knows the feeling is mutual. She also knows that there wouldn’t have been a way for that to happen, even if Alia was still alive. Not as long as Ivan was alive, too.

A knock at the door makes her father draw away slightly, glancing at Natasha, and, despite everything, she feels her lips twitch in a grin. The only people other than her parents who have ever had her codes to the apartment before are Uncle Howard and Tony, and neither of them would’ve let themselves in at the lobby only to knock on her front door. Then her father blinks, amusement glinting in his eyes as he realizes who it could be, and she rubs her lips together to fight off a smile as he goes to answer it.

And no, she’s not at all surprised when Steve is in her kitchen a moment later, his gaze finding hers within seconds.

“Nat,” he breathes as he crosses the distance to her in a few steps, cupping her face with his hands as his eyes flit over her, checking for himself to see that she’s alright.

Then he exhales a sharp breath, his body easing in relief, and Natasha feels herself smiling as he slants his mouth over hers. The kiss is hard and deep in an instant, and she almost feels herself swaying back atop the barstool with the force of it. He sucks on her bottom lip, thumbs brushing over her cheeks, down the line of her jaw, drawing a soft noise from her throat, and then she hears someone (likely her father) clearing their throat. Steve chuckles as he eases his lips off of hers, parting their kiss and pulling back.

“I’m alright,” she reassures softly, reaching up to wrap her hands around his wrists, giving him a gentle squeeze as if in emphasis.

Over his shoulder, she catches her mother getting up from her barstool, walking toward the threshold of the kitchen – and that’s when she notices Joseph Rogers filling the doorway, reaching for her mother and pulling her into his arms in a hug.

Natasha feels her chest flutter, the warmth of relief at seeing Joseph Rogers alive and home mixing with the bittersweet twinge of knowing what he and her mother are offering each other comfort for. Natasha’s throat tightens a little, her chest tightening, and then Steve is stroking his thumbs over her cheeks in slow, soothing strokes, and her eyes flit up to his. She doesn’t have to ask to know that his father must’ve filled him in on the truth of her and Alia because she can see it in his eyes, just as she knows that the empathy there isn’t just for her. It’s for his father and for her parents, and for Alia, for the hope that they could’ve reunited one day, no matter how slim the chance.

“Come here,” Steve murmurs, pulling his hands from her face so he can wrap his arms around her, drawing her close—and she doesn’t quite realize how overwhelmed she is until her eyes are closed and her face is pressed against his chest, blocking everything else out other than his steady breaths and the soothing circles he rubs over her back.

... ...

It’s late by the time they make it back to his place, but he’s still wide awake as he lays next to Nat in bed. She’d come back with him rather than the two of them crashing at her apartment since they were already there, and he knows it’s because she wanted him to be close to Pietro, just in case. His brother is supposed to be watched for the next few days, anyway, and since Wanda and Pietro had already taken to sleeping at his brownstone rather than their own apartments for the last few days, Steve doesn’t see a point in switching things up. It’s hardly a bother to have them under his roof, and after having the place all to himself for so long, he likes that it feels less empty these days.

He starts to slip out of bed when he feels Natasha reach for him, her fingers curling around his forearm as he’s sitting up, and he smiles down at her in the dark. Even though he’s not tired, he knows she is, because she’d passed out almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. Still, part of him had expected her to wake up as soon as he moved.

She’s always been attuned to him like that.

“I’m just going to drink something warm to help me sleep,” he tells her softly, leaning over to brush his lips to her cheek, running a hand over her side through the duvet.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks, her voice heavy and a little raspy with sleep, and he feels his smile widen as he peers down at her in the dark. She’s practically still half asleep, but he’s not surprised at all that she still offers to get up with him. He knows she had quite a day, but she knows he did, too.

“No, it’s okay,” he reassures, sliding his lips lower, pressing a kiss to the spot along her jaw that always, always makes her shiver, and she makes this little noise from the back of her throat. “Sleep,” he murmurs against her skin, and she chuckles softly, barely above a whisper, as she curls into herself a little more and hums in reply.

He clicks his door shut softly behind him when he steps out into the hallway, quietly padding past Wanda and Pietro’s doors as he heads downstairs. He can see that the kitchen light is already on, which likely means his father is still up, and, sure enough, Steve finds him sitting at the kitchen island with a mug of tea sitting on the counter in front of him. His father has his head bent over his phone in front of him, but considering the screen is off when he lifts his head to look at Steve, he was probably just lost in thought. Steve doesn’t blame him. It’s probably the reason the man is up at all, just as Steve is, which is likely why his father doesn’t seem surprised to see him up, too.

The kettle is still hot when Steve picks it up, so he pours some in a mug and grabs a packet of chamomile tea from the box that Wanda keeps stocked in his pantry.

“So, you and Nat, huh?” his father asks once Steve is sitting in the barstool next to his, and a laugh bursts from Steve as he tears at the packet, dunking the tea bag into his mug. His father chuckles, too, shaking his head a little at himself, and maybe also at the strangeness of the moment. Not because it’s the two of them talking alone, when that hasn’t really happened much before, but because, out of all the things he could’ve asked about after the last few hours – hell, after the last few months – this is what he picks.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and maybe he should feel like an idiot for smiling so widely, but he honestly doesn’t care and he knows his father doesn’t, either.

In fact, his father’s mouth hitches as his smile widens a little, too. But his eyes soften a little as he asks, “How’s she holding up?”

Steve pauses as he considers this, toying with the string of the tea bag hanging over the rim of his mug. He thinks about the way Natasha had held onto him in her kitchen when he’d pulled her against his chest, squeezing him close but yet not quite clinging to him, either. “I think maybe it hasn’t entirely hit her just yet,” he admits, because he thinks that’s the truth. She hadn’t seemed particularly shocked when they had dinner at her apartment with their parents; she simply seemed tired, and maybe a little distracted, like she couldn’t help her thoughts pulling her away from the conversation every now and then. “But I don’t think her entire world has been knocked out of place.”

His father nods at this. Considering he’s known Natasha her whole life, he’d probably know how to interpret her reactions pretty damn well, too.

“Honestly, I didn’t think it would be,” his father tells him, rubbing a hand over his hair. “But we didn’t want to minimize how big of a secret it was to keep from her, either.”

We. As in, him and Melina and Edward, maybe even Howard and Maria, too, since Steve doubts Howard would’ve kept this from his wife this entire time.

“Why did you and Melina pretend not to have known each other from before?” Steve asks. It’s not an accusation, and he knows his father won’t take it as one, and though Steve already has an idea of the answer, he figures he might as well ask, anyway, now that all of this is out in the open.

“I think it was instinct, mostly.” His father’s smile turns a little wry as he looks at Steve. “We’d gotten pretty good at downplaying how close we were with each other and with Alia back in Russia, even before Ivan started actively threatening me. When Edward brought her to New York and I saw her again after all those years, it was like a reflex. I’d missed her—missed both of them—but there really wouldn’t be a reason for me to have known a woman who’d never stepped foot in the States before. The Family knew I was adopted, but not from where. Your grandparents kept it under lock and key because Ivan was on a manhunt, and even after he’d stopped, we didn’t want to risk any slip ups.”

Steve nods at this. “Did you ever plan on telling her, or any of us?”

“We debated on it for years,” his father admits with an exhale. “It made sense not to when you were all younger, but there were several times later on that could’ve been right that we just didn’t say anything. I don’t think it was any one thing or any one reason. But it was more about how we felt about it and about bringing it up. You all had the right to know the truth, especially when it could’ve put you in danger, just like Natasha had been today. That’s on us,” his father adds, swallowing roughly with a shake of his head.

“Dad,” Steve says, his voice low and a little rough, too. “It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault.”

He’s not just saying that to comfort his father, but because Steve genuinely believes it. Yeah, his father had a point; if he’d never sent Yelena to warn them before Yuri got to New York, they wouldn’t have had an edge over him.

But the truth had come out when they needed it, not when it was too late to help anyone, and it was so much more than just keeping Natasha’s birth mother or keeping his father’s past a secret from their own children. His father had to flee the only home and the only family he’d ever known at only thirteen because a man almost twice his age was threatened by his friendship with the girl he wanted, and Melina had to leave her best friend behind, knowing she would’ve likely been dead once Ivan found her. And it wasn’t just that, either. Melina must’ve been terrified of what Ivan would do to Alia for running in the first place, but Alia begged her to keep her daughter safe, and so Melina honored her plea. Even Edward, who had only known Alia for a short while, had to have been affected at leaving the mother of his child behind right after she’d given birth.

If telling the truth meant having to relive those memories, Steve would’ve been incredibly hesitant of it, too. That’s not something he or Nat, or Wanda or Pietro, would hold against their parents.

“Your mother knew, though,” his father adds after a moment, and Steve feels his heart trip in his chest as he stares back at his father. “She was the first to meet Melina.”

Steve feels his eyebrows furrow at this. He’s a few years older than Natasha, but not by much, which meant… “I thought you’d stopped seeing me and Mom by then?”

His father nods. “I had. We thought it would be safer, not just because of the Family, but also because I never knew for sure if Ivan was still looking for me. I also knew it was a lot for your mother to take in general, even if she’d never say it. She never would’ve asked to keep you away from me, but I knew she needed it to be that way, at least for a little while.” He rubs his lips together, looking Steve in the eyes as he adds, “I know that wasn’t a choice I should’ve made for her, for you. And to this day, I still wonder if it was the wrong one. I knew your mother was a tough person, tougher than both of us, but maybe I’d underestimated what she was willing to bear for me,” he admits quietly.

Steve doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until it comes out in a sharp exhale. “You thought she wouldn’t want to handle this life?” Steve asks.

His father rubs at his jaw, seeming to contemplate this. “I wondered a lot of things. Your mother was too good for this world from the beginning, but she’d also known who I was when we met. She’d chosen to trust me, and I respected her and her choice. I loved her. But I knew it all bothered her to some extent, especially when you came along.”

Steve swallows lightly. He’d like to believe his mother could’ve handled anything, but he also knows firsthand that this world is a lot at first glance. It’s still a lot once you’re on the inside, too, but his mother had been young and had her child to think of. She genuinely loved his father, but that didn’t mean she had to love his lifestyle, too.

And he knows his mother. If she let his father convince her that keeping Steve and herself from him and the Family was for the best, it was because part of her had believed it, too. If she wanted to raise Steve in this lifestyle for whatever reason that may have been, she would’ve fought her father like hell to stay and she would’ve won, too.

Like he said: she was tougher than both of them.

“How did she meet Melina, then?” Steve asks after a moment, already feeling a smile tug at his lips. He knows without a doubt his mother probably loved Melina.

She would’ve loved Natasha, too.

“By pure chance, actually,” his father answers, his own smile widening, too, as he glances down into his tea at the memory. “Your mother recognized Melina from the photograph I had and knew of her from the stories I told her, and we happened to run into each other in Brooklyn. It was the one and only time your mother and I had approached each other since we agreed to keep our distance. And they loved each other, of course, but I knew they would. You’d think they were the childhood friends.”

Steve chuckles at this, feeling a warmth squeeze at his chest. Somehow, he could almost picture the memory perfectly.

“Your mother and Alia would’ve loved each other, too,” his father adds, his smile softening as Steve stares back at him. “And Alia would’ve loved you.”

Steve reaches over, placing a hand on his father’s shoulder, and his father lifts his hand to grip Steve’s. “I would’ve loved her, too,” Steve says, giving him a squeeze, and his father lets out a breathy laugh as he nods.

... ...

She can feel Steve’s hand at her hip, his fingers calloused yet gentle and teasing as they toy with the hem of his shirt on her. Natasha had rolled onto her back sometime during the night, her shoulder practically pressing against Steve’s chest, and she feels her lips pull into a soft smile as he inches her shirt higher up her body, making her stomach flutter just under his palm when he splays his fingers over her skin. Then he dips his head to press a kiss to her cheek, her jaw, the column of her neck, feeling her pulse thrum under his lips, and she makes a soft noise when he hand dips down, fingers slipping under the waistband of her panties and pulling them down over one hip.

“Steve,” she breathes, feeling his mouth curve into a grin against her collarbone, and then his fingers hook under the other side of her panties, too, pulling them down her legs and then off entirely.

“Good morning,” he says into her skin, and she feels her smile widen, feels him nudge her legs open as his body slides down hers. He pushes her shirt up a little higher, kisses over one of her ribs, brushes his lips against an old scar on her other hip, and then his face is pressed against the inside of one of her thighs, lips quirking into a smile.

Her eyelashes flutter open as she lifts herself up on her elbows, glancing down to where Steve is settled between her legs, pressing one into the mattress as he pulls the other over his shoulders. She can already feel her breaths coming in a little shorter and shallower, feel her heart beating a little faster, even as a slow, almost lazy sort of smirk pulls at her lips as she meets his gaze. His mouth is hitched in that crooked, boyish sort of smile she’s come to love, but there’s nothing teasing about the heavy look in his eyes.

Under the darkening arousal, she can see the pure adoration in his gaze, reflecting her own. She knows, realistically, it’s only been a few days—but she can’t really remember what it was like to wake up without Steve beside her, to fall asleep to his large, warm body curling over hers, and she doesn’t want to remember, either.

“Good morning,” she breathes, reaching down to cup his jaw, rubbing her thumb against the corner of his mouth as it widens just a little more.

Then he’s dipping down, licking into where she’s warm and already a little wet for him, and she sucks in a breath, trapping it in her chest as her eyelashes flutter. She keeps her hand on his jaw, rubbing the budding stubble there, feeling it flex with every pass of his tongue against her, every little groan and lick and nibble, and it almost makes it feel heightened, somehow. She’s not quite holding onto him, but still, it feels as if he presses in closer at the exact moment her fingers twitch to drag him in, feels as if his licks linger when his tongue slides over a particularly sensitive spot that has her hand trembling to twist into his hair. She keeps her gaze on him as her vision grows blurry and her eyelids grow heavy, and then his eyes lick up to hers, sucking at her little bundle of nerves, and her head almost falls back as her body gently arches off of the bed.

He sucks at it again, her elbow nearly sliding out from under her, and then his tongue dips down and into her, and her lips part in a soft moan. And then his lips slide back up before she can find a rhythm, teasing her, tongue flicking against her hard bud right before he sucks it again, and she twists her neck to press her face into the pillow.

Again, and again, and again he works his mouth over her, groaning with her every little shift, sending delicious vibrations everywhere as she arches and rolls her hips—

And she doesn’t know if this morning feels different because of what happened yesterday, or if they feel different, but already it feels like too much, too fast, and she practically smothers herself with his pillow to muffle her voice as she bursts apart at the seams. White-hot pleasure crashes over her, rushing through her as he holds her to him, and she twists one hand into his sheets, the other braced against his headboard as she rides out her high and he coaxes every last drop of it out of her with a long groan.

Then he eases his mouth off of her, sliding his hands gently up and down her thighs, over her hips, almost soothing her as she shudders delicately from the pleasure. He kisses up her flushed skin, his lips brushing against almost every inch of it along the way, letting her catch her breath as he settles back over her.

He presses his face into her neck as she wraps her arms around his torso, kissing her there, too, and she lightly digs her nails into the muscles in his back.

“Good morning,” he says again, drawing a breathy chuckle from her that quickly dissolves into moan as she feels him between their bodies, hard and pressing right against her little bundle of nerves. His hand curves over her hip, gripping as he presses at her entrance, and then her body arches as best as it can under his as he slides in. She sinks her nails into his back a little harder as he sinks into her a little deeper, pausing as he slips all the way, and then his other hand is braced against the mattress, his mouth slanting over hers as he starts to move, and she very nearly whimpers into the kiss as he sweeps his tongue into her mouth at the same second he snaps his hips harder against hers.

They try to be slow at first, to savor it, but within seconds their kiss quickens, and then so do their bodies as they move against each other. Her chest squeezes, her lungs starting to sting just a little bit because she needs to take a breath, but she doesn’t pull away, not yet.

Not until a few moments later, when her second orgasm bursts through her, almost taking her by surprise as she twists her lips away from his to suck in a shaky breath. Pleasure rushes through her again, a little harder and a little faster now, her lips parting in a moan that seems trapped in her chest as she shudders under the white-hot waves crashing over her. He kisses her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, groaning words into her skin that she can’t quite hear over the blood pounding in her ears, but then she feels his body growing taut above hers, his hips growing more urgent, until he stiffens and buries his face into her neck, teeth sinking into her skin as his groans out in his release.

It’s a long, few moments before Natasha feels her breaths finally start to even out, feels his body finally start to ease above her, and then his tongue darts out, licking at the indent of his teeth in her skin before he lifts his head to peer down at her.

“A girl could get used to a wake-up call like that,” she breathes out, and even though her voice is light and teasing, she knows there’s something more in her own words.

And she knows that Steve can hear it, too, because the warmth fluttering in her chest is reflected in his eyes as he smiles down at her. He replies with a teasing, “I’ll keep that in mind,” but she can hear the promise in his voice, and she’s smiling when he dips his head down to kiss her.

... ...

“Hey, soldier,” a voice whispers in his ear, warm and teasing, and Steve feels his lips twitch into a grin as Natasha slides onto the stool beside his, setting an empty glass on the bar counter. He spins his barstool to face her, rubs his lips together in vain to hide his amusement, but even if he could manage a poker face around Nat, she’d still see it in his eyes that he doesn’t find her new little joke as annoying as he sometimes pretends. Somehow, she’d decided that his father being back to take over as head of the Family meant that Steve was no more than a soldier now, or less, considering he wasn’t technically a “made” man, and honestly? Steve is far more amused by how much delight Natasha takes in her own joke than the actual joke itself. “Can I buy a man a drink?” she asks, setting her hands atop his knees to lean in and brush a kiss to his lips.

“The drinks are free,” Steve points out, arching an eyebrow, and Natasha smirks, her eyes bright with amusement.

He remembers how she’d had that same twinkle in her eyes when they first met right in this restaurant, almost at this very spot at the bar just a few months ago. The place had been closed that day, too, though rather than catching it between the lunch and dinner rush, the restaurant is closed for the rest of the night.

And technically speaking, it’s closed for them, though Steve is starting to realize that the Family will find any and every excuse to gather together and celebrate.

“Shouldn’t you two be over there?” Pietro chimes in from behind the bar, pouring more water into Natasha’s empty glass before gesturing at the dining room filled with the rest of the Family, loud with excited chatter and the sound of the kids screaming. “Of course, if Howard is retelling how he kicked Anton’s ass, I’d be hiding here, too.”

Steve breathes out a laugh. Over a month later and both Howard and Tony still manage to bring up the story of officially kicking Anton and Ivan out of the state—hell, damn near out of the country—but then again, considering Anton had been a fundamental part of Stark Industries from the ground up, Steve doubts Howard will get over it anytime soon, or ever. Even if Howard had only really tolerated Anton these last few years, knowing that he had been betrayed for so long was a hard thing to get over. Howard may be more pissed than anything else right now, but some part of him is upset, too, just as Odin and Frigga must have been upset that Hela had been behind all the ambushes.

Steve half-expected Odin to argue against banning Hela from New York, but he had practically demanded to do it himself. Odin had been furious with his daughter, but at the end of the day, she’s still his daughter, and it’s probably easier for Odin to focus on her betrayal and her recklessness more than anything else.

“It’s a good story,” Sam comments, dropping into the stool on the other side of Nat, pulling Maria between his knees as she sips on the tumbler of rum in her hand.

“You only like it because you’re in it,” Maria retorts, and Sam hides his grin against her shoulder as she rolls her eyes, her lips twitching at the corners in a smirk. “Although, it does make for quite a tale. Two cops joining in on an old-fashioned mafia shakedown and chase? I still say you should let me publish an anonymous article on it.”

Sam just chuckles, knowing there’s no genuine threat behind her words, and then something catches his eye that makes him sit up a little straighter, flashing his teeth in a smile as he asks, “And where might you two be coming from?”

Steve turns to look over his shoulder as Wanda and Bucky step out from the kitchen, his sister tucked under his best friend’s arm. He has his head bent close to hers, likely to whisper something in her ear, but he straightens up at Sam’s comment, pressing his lips together as he shakes his head. Wanda’s cheeks are flushed, and yes, maybe Steve would feel wary about that, except he already has a pretty good idea on why Bucky might’ve wanted to steal Wanda away for a little while. He’d come to Steve and his father earlier that week about wanting Wanda to move in with him, not because he had been asking for permission or anything, because in the end, whatever she wanted was what he was going to give her, even if her father and brother were wary of it. But he’d wanted their honest opinion on whether they thought it would be too much, too fast for her.

Had it been a few weeks before, maybe it would have been. Steve still remembers how his sister sat in his kitchen and admitted that she didn’t see things going further between them. Even if he didn’t care about her being a mafia princess, she’d been worried about the Family never quite accepting him. But if Sam and Bucky helping to protect Wanda hadn’t been enough to earn the Family’s good graces, the evidence that they gathered against Anton, Ivan, and Hela to prove their betrayal would have.

“Pay attention to your own girl, Wilson,” Bucky counters, brushing a kiss to Wanda’s hair as she giggles. She pauses their stride as she turns to them, stretching on her toes to whisper in his ear, and he dips his head to kiss her, quick and hard, earning a half-hearted noise of protest from Pietro that has Wanda pulling away with another giggle.

Then she glides over to Natasha, taking her hand and giving it a tug. “They’re about to start slicing and serving cake, which means we need to do a toast!”

Natasha catches Steve’s gaze as Wanda starts to pull her onto her feet, her eyes sparkling, and Steve gives her a grin, grabbing their glasses as they all head back into the main dining room. It’s louder and warmer, and little Morgan Stark and Nathaniel Barton nearly trip him over as they run by, but it only makes Steve’s grin widen.

He joins Natasha where she’s standing at the head of the long table in the middle of the room, a few dozen faces staring back at them as they take their seats. He peers down at Nat as he hands over her glass, catching the way his mother’s ring twinkles on her finger under the bright glow of the chandeliers. Then he glances around the room, finding his father sitting further down the table, smiling at him from his seat between Howard and Melina. Across from them, Peter nudges Bucky with his elbow as he and Wanda sit with him, Peter whispering something that makes Bucky hide his laugh with a cough, and on his other side, Pepper and Tony laugh as Morgan practically climbs into Sam’s lap.

It quiets down as Steve lifts his glass, curving his hand over Nat’s hip and drawing her close as he thanks them for celebrating with them tonight, asking them to raise their glass in a toast to his father coming home safe, to Pietro’s quick recovery, and to his and Nat’s engagement.

“And to Family,” he finishes, peering down at Natasha.

“To Family,” she echoes, and there are cheers and clinks of utensils against glasses of wine right before his mouth slants against hers in a kiss. Then he feels Natasha smile against his mouth just as she parts their kiss a moment later, turning his head to bring her lips near his ear. “And when exactly do you want to tell them the Family is about to get a little bigger?” she whispers, and Steve breathes out a chuckle, pressing a kiss against her neck. If he thought he could get away with touching her stomach, he would’ve.

“This is the Family we’re talking about, Nat,” he points out, drawing back to catch her bright eyes, a warmth squeezing at his chest. “They probably found out a week ago.”

#romanogers #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #chanty writes #mafia 'verse

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starwarsfic · 4 years

Text

Hunters

Originally posted September 25, 2020

Summary: Some monsters are made, some are born.

Details: Jango/Obi-Wan. Sithspawn!Stewjoni verse. Monster!Jango.

CW: Kinda cannibalism. Huge consent issues. Implications of future noncon.

xxxxxx

The scent-feel hit Obi-Wan the moment he stepped into the cycled air of the compound where he'd been directed to land on Kamino. It was completely unfamiliar, but made every instinct within him bristle.

It wasn't the Kaminoans, not any he met, but when he got into the room with the clones he had his answer. Whatever they were--or at least whatever their template had been--was no more human than Obi-Wan himself was.

His guide confirmed it, that they’d taken the “beneficial” parts of their template’s genetics and tempered the others. They’d be stronger, faster than most of the sentient species (and the implication the Kaminoans didn’t think of these clones as sentients was very clear), but still obedient.

To the Jedi. Who they were supposed to serve.

Obi-Wan had no idea how he was going to explain this in a single data packet to the Council.

***

Eventually he managed to get the Kaminoans to agree he should meet the template. The walk towards his rooms had the uneasy feeling increasing steadily. From the way the Kaminoan’s emotions shifted, he thought it might be the same with them, too. It wasn’t just from the Force or Obi-Wan’s instincts, there was something more at play.

His whole being felt tense when they reached the door, only his training as a Jedi keeping it from showing. When the door opened, it was to a human-looking figure recognizable from the form the clones had taken.

Fett. A Mandalorian name. That helped to narrow things down, even if it didn't clarify everything, and Obi-Wan tried to analyze what he knew as he ran through an introductory conversation on autonav.

There weren't many native Mandalorian creatures left, the Taung had hunted many to extinction, most of the rest were killed off in the Mandalorian Excision. But there were some that had been sentient and had been integrated into Mandalorian culture enough to survive.

None of them were what the humans considered pleasant creatures, many classified by the Republic in some of the same categories as the Stewjoni.

From the blur of light around Fett, Obi-Wan guessed he wore some sort of illusion--one that sharp eyes and Force senses couldn't break through, even. Which was odd, since his Force presence was...so indistinct. If Obi-Wan wasn't looking at him, he might even miss he was there at all.

He stiffened, realizing he actually might know what Fett was, although he'd only ever heard them spoken of in legends.

"I thought the hoda'nynii were all gone," he said as casually as possible when they were finally left alone.

Fett's eyes sharpened and Obi-Wan could guess that he was suddenly putting together all the little clues that had confused him when a person who seemed so human showed up at his door. He moved closer, as though stalking prey. Obi-Wan had to keep himself from responding negatively, especially as Fett began to circle him.

There was no other outward sign of physiological responses, but there wouldn't be--the hoda'nyniise were experts at illusions and it would not break until Fett was dead or dropped it himself. When he concentrated, he could feel something brushing against him, which he imagined must be Fett's tail, a deadly weapon in itself if the legends held other truths.

"La'ar'striilii," he finally stated and it took Obi-Wan a moment to comprehend it was the Mando'a for Stewjoni. "What happened to you?"

He stopped at Obi-Wan's back, hands hovering where the graceful crest of spines would have been. It was all Obi-Wan could do not to hunch into himself, feeling vulnerable at the reminder.

"Not everyone can trick others into seeing what they want."

Fett made a noise, more shrill than the soft trills of Obi-Wan's people, but he decided it might simply be a thoughtful sound. When he walked around to face Obi-Wan again, there was no warning before the illusion dropped.

One moment, there was a human-looking figure, the next there was a hoda'nynii straight out of the stories the Mandalorians would tell at night to scare each other. A dark, smooth exoskeleton was and a face full of teeth and pedipalps was what Obi-Wan noticed, first. Then the thick, serrated tail rising up behind Fett, not quite pointing at Obi-Wan, but still a threat.

Every instinct--Stewjoni and Jedi-trained--was screaming at him that this situation had turned deadly. And intellectually he knew that, too, because why else would Fett reveal himself so obviously?

"Is it true what the stories say, that your kind heal by feeding?" Fett's voice matched the noise from earlier, but was more, crowding Obi-Wan's ears.

He tilted his head to the side, deciding that he'd play along if Fett wished it. "Yes, though it depends on how strong the prey is in the Force."

The face he watched wasn't one for the human expression of a smile, but Obi-Wan thought that was what answered him.

There was a momentary shift, Fett's tail swinging towards him. Obi-Wan dodged, calling his lightsaber to his hand, not getting the chance to ignite it before it was knocked away. His opponent knew something about fighting Jedi, it seemed.

Fett's room was more cramped than Obi-Wan liked for combat without his lightsaber and he'd never encountered something like him before, was tripping over illusions as he dodged and attempted to strike back with fists and feet.

The Force found Fett too slippery for any sort of throws, sliding off of him the way a weapon might his exoskeleton, but that shouldn't have affected the warnings it gave Obi-Wan. Yet, it did, because the danger remained too low, lacked the urgency that a life or death situation always had.

It was only when Fett knocked into him, his body slamming Obi-Wan to the floor, that he spared a moment to wonder if maybe there was no plan to kill him.

***

Obi-Wan woke up somewhere else. His senses still buzzed with the unsettling feeling of the clones (they couldn't be actual hoda'nyniise, he didn't think, instead some sort of hybrids using characteristics that the Kaminoans liked, even if Fett was possibly using them for re-population).

But closer, much closer, were two Kaminoans. Barely conscious, already bleeding. Injured as he was, Obi-Wan let out a few notes of Song before stopping himself.

"Please, there's no need to refrain," Fett, back under the illusion, said from what looked to be some sort of observation room. "Help yourself."

Looking around, Obi-Wan had the sinking feeling he wasn't going to get out any time soon. Not until he gave Fett what he seemed to want. The only door was clearly reinforced and if he had to bet, he’d say this was some sort of training room, everything designed to take heavy weaponry without a mark.

He licked his lips and looked back at the Kaminoans, tracking the waves of Force around them. Despair, fear, confusion. The sense of their lives was strong, they wouldn’t be dying any time soon.

Could he outlast this? Not if Fett truly meant to do this. For all he knew, there was a way for him to just keep dropping people into the enclosure until Obi-Wan’s instincts overrode his common sense.

“What do you want?” he asked, needing a delay to collect himself.

He didn’t think the pause was caused by Fett thinking it through and more likely that he was up to something else and away from the internal comm.

“I want to see you, not this human creature the jetiise made you.”

A traditional Mandalorian of any sort didn’t normally favor the Jedi, he could understand a hoda'nynii liking them even less. But the Jedi had taken him in and kept him safe and it aggravated him to think that anyone would think so poorly of them.

“Do you know what a young Stewjoni is worth on the slave market? A young force sensitive? A young Stewjoni force sensitive?”

“You aren’t young anymore. A grown Jedi can take care of themselves, especially one with your unique abilities.”

He turned his attention to the Kaminoans when one of them moved, tracking every shift. Jango had done just enough damage that he’d want to heal.

“And what I want doesn’t factor into this?”

Obi-Wan waited, thinking perhaps Jango was done talking, but then the answer came, “You can’t know what you want. I’ve seen the jetiise at work, I’ve studied them and what they do. None of the children they take could resist indoctrination.”

He’d heard enough of this sort of nonsense on his Mandalore mission and in other sectors of the galaxy where resentment ran high. He knew there was no easy way to counter it without making Fett double down.

He could feed, could suck the life from the Kaminoans, let the energy unleash itself against all the grueling work done on his body. After, he might be able to lull Jango into giving him more freedom. Or, at least, ignoring him once he’d seen what he wanted to see. Just because no one else was in the system didn’t mean there weren’t other Jedi around.

After collecting his thoughts and mentally preparing for what would happen, he crawled the short distance to the Kaminoans, Singing softly into the Force. He waited until they had relaxed, soft noises of pleasure escaping them.

Then he leaned over the first, lips nearly touching, eyes locked, and pulled. He twined their life into a ball inside of them, twisting and turning it together, before he brought it up to himself, sucking it down.

Obi-Wan gave a full body shudder, tipping to the side, as the meal filled him. He’d never eaten like this, never taken and taken until a body could give no more. The energy filled him, racing underneath his skin, and he could feel things shifting and changing already.

“Both of them, you can do it, mesh’la,” Fett ordered.

He was upon the second Kaminoan before he’d registered Fett’s words. This time he sipped and savored, on and on, dizzy from the overload of energy and the healing that was being done.

When he was done, he fell back and away, scrambling at the permanent lenses affixed to his eyes and pulling them out when the pressure got too great, tracks of blue blood following in their wake. His ears itched, his back burned, even his claws, with so few changes, hurt in their own way as they grew thick and healthy again, long and sharp.

At some point, everything stopped. There was energy left, flying over his nerves and soothing some deeper part of him, but it had done all it needed to do to heal him. When he shifted around, turning to lie with his front on the cool metal floor, he realized the energy had even destroyed the parts that had been added to him to help him pass.

“Mesh’la,” Fett said again, from within the room this time, and his tone made it seem as though he was surprised to find Obi-Wan so beautiful. “I had heard stories, I had not realized their extent.”

His hand brushed over the side of Obi-Wan’s tall spines and he felt them swaying gently, no longer familiar with how to move them as he wanted. He turned his head, tracking Jango against the bright colors of the Kaminoan style walls.

He needed to get away, he knew that, but he was exhausted and off kilter, on a planet full of hoda'nyniise, or whatever the clones counted as. Fett didn’t seem the type to give up control, must be playing everyone involved in this, and now Obi-Wan was one of them.

Claws stroked ever so gently over his body, a rumbling like a purr buzzing through Fett, making Obi-Wan’s skin crawl. “Are you going to tell me why you’re doing this?”

Fett gave a semblance of a chuckle, a sound that had the familiarity of a noise mimicked and not natural. “The Jedi will die,” he stated, with the simplicity that someone might say Kamino was a water planet. “A treasure such as you shouldn’t be lost with them.”

It was a trap.

Obi-Wan would find out how to stop it. One way or another.

xxxxx

Mando'a: hoda'nynii - made up from hodar (deceive)/hodasal (camouflage), nynir (hit/strike). Plural is hoda’nyniise. la'ar'striilii - made up from laar (song) and striil (a dog-like anima)/striilir (track/trail), the Mando'a word for Stewjoni Mesh’la - beautiful

#character: jango fett #ship: kenfetti #character: obi wan kenobi #verse: sithspawn stewjoni #theme: dark #verse: alternate aotc #theme: mandalorian culture #theme: possessive behavior

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inorganicone2230 · 4 years

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All i feel is pure lust for seph, for some reason i can see him getting too attached to what the reader thinks is a hook up, bc she knows him, knows he's bad, but shes just in it for the 🍋 hes a smart bby so he'll realize this quick but use it to be intimate with the reader, intimidation kink? Check black mail? Perhaps (sorry i accidentally framed this like an ask, it wasn't supposed to be, just thirst lol)

Okay let’s be real here, Sephiroth is not the most well versed when it comes to women (that department belongs to Genesis) and it’s not because he’s naïve or insecure, it’s because he’s just very dedicated to his duties as Shinra’s number one SOLDIER, as well as the man eventually trying to destroy the planet, so he probably has way too much on his plate to really ever consider things like that. If he did somehow find a woman that could capture his attention though, you can be damned certain that he’d be hard pressed to ever let her go.

So let’s say that this hook up took place before Nibelheim, he’s going to be very frustrated that this woman is proving to be such a heavy distraction for him and he’s going to want to try to distance himself from her as much as possible to clear his head. He’s well aware that she only saw this as a one time thing and at this point he’s still an honorable man and a good guy, so he would never want to force a woman to be by his side no matter how much he might want to. There’s also his position as Shinra’s Silver General that could ultimately pose issues for his ability to have a functioning relationship that he’d have to consider, as well as the high chance that Doctor Hojo could take an interest in her and try to use her in one of his experiments. That man is a level of sick that even Sephiroth wouldn’t want to impose on anyone, let alone the woman he’s developing feelings for.

After the Nibelheim Incident though, all bets are off and all those concerns are thrown right out the window. He wants what he wants and he’s more than happy to take it by force if he has to. He’s going to hunt her down no matter where she is and he’s going to start leaving her signs to let her know that he’s watching her and that he’s coming for her. He’ll do things like leave black feathers on her doorstep or in her bed, let her catch glimpses of him out of the corner of her eye, write her cryptic and twisted love notes, even kill anyone that has ever taken a romantic interest in her by skewering them on his Masamune. And if all that fails to make her compliant with his wishes, then he certainly has quite a few hands on methods that he can use to ‘persuade’ her, ones that are far more pleasurable then his others.

Those mako injections do more than just turn the SOLDIERs into beefed up human weapons with super strength and speed, I’m talking stamina and libido for hours, maybe even days. She’s going to go through more than a few mind breaks before he’s done with her, and once he is, she’s going to be his completely; mind, body, and soul.

#ask response #anonymous #yandere!sephiroth #final fantasy vii #thirst post #seeking other thirsty indeviduals

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unsettledink · 3 years

Text

(Part two of looking back at the fandoms I was in and the fics I wrote in 2020)

(Part one here.)

Most popular story:

By Kudos (and comments), Seiche : By hits, Indefensible : On tumblr, Pocket Change

Story you wish was more successful:

Well, that’s kind of the curse of writing rare pairs. I want anything with Tony/Quentin or Peter/Quentin to be more successful, lol. Defining the feeling of success in fandoms/pairings like that is tricky, because— do I wish they’d gotten more attention? Of course! Do I consider them fairly successful because they got any attention? Yeah, kinda.

Something like Intent got very little response, but considering the size and age of the fandom, it actually felt successful to get any response?

The entire Old Adages series I really wish had found an audience; I’m very fond of it, and it’s… softer than I usually write? The filthy smutty kinky stuff always outpreforms anything else, and that sort of thing feels easy for me. And I’m extrapolating a lot for young Quentin’s characterization, so I’m a little insecure about that as well.

Most "Holy crap, that's wrong, even for you" story:

You know, there are several stories I feel like should be that? But let’s be honest, considering what I’ve written in the past, they’re not that bad.

So I’m going to have to go with Creepy Crawly. I mean, I get squicked a little if I read it in the wrong mindset. SPIDERS D:

Hardest story to write:

Causality. I just… could not quite connect somehow. I had the image in my head fine, but when I went to write it I felt pretty meh. I think I hadn’t done much (any?)Peter POV at that point, so that was a stretch. And I think I’d been spending so much time in the world of Gotcha that any other version of Peter/Quentin felt strange. I got it done, I have a sequel planned, but it was a struggle.

No Lies was also tricky. I picked the prompt ‘make-up’ because I had this crystal clear mental image of someone kneeling, crying, makeup smeared all over them. But I didn’t know WHO. I tried so many pairings and characters, and even when I figured out that I really wanted that to be Tony… who with? Could I actually make Peter behaving that way believable?? Once I got it sorted out the writing was easy, but getting there - gah.

Easiest story to write:

Indefensible was bizarre to write, because it literally just arrived in my brain in one giant chunk, complete, and I just had to transcribe it over a day or two. Very odd.

Pocket Change was much the same. The idea appeared and that first image of Tony holding the bill was just… there. The rest of it fell into place so easily as I went along.

Most fun story to write:

Just a Bite was a lot of fun to write. It’s a topic I enjoy anyway, and I like trying to focus in on one element like that. Peter discovering a new thing he liiiiikes is always a ton of fun.

11:59 was also surprisingly fun? Like— three characters that have interesting dialogue patterns, a slightly darker Tony, being able to indulge in nasty Quentin without him being quite a villain, the constant shifting of emotions for everyone in the room. Just so much going on in small ways. There are totally at least three more fics set in that universe.

What’s your personal favorite thing you wrote this year?

Tough call, but probably A Perfect Fit. Really, the entire insane little universe that’s expanding into. Definitely not something I would have expected at ALL back in January.

What’s your least favorite thing you wrote this year?

Maybe Can’t, Wont? Idk. I didn’t have a strong enough idea for the prompt to really make something of it, I guess. And writing Peter/Quentin is kind of difficult at the moment. It feels weird because I’ve spent so much time in the world of Gotcha that other takes on the characters are odd.

If you could go back and change something about one of the fics you wrote this year, what would it be?

Probably Want What I Want. I knew what I wanted and I just couldn’t quite make it function. So I went with a slantwise version of it - which isn’t bad, but doesn’t have the focus I wanted it to. It felt like more of a twist on the prompt than I wanted. I’d like to go back and expand it out, dig into the specifics of the prompt a little more.

And tbh, I got a comment on that very point. I’m normally really good about letting go of comments? But it was something I’d questioned myself, so it stuck more.

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters:

(Just) Waiting Around? Maybe? As much as I love top/experienced!Peter, I had to sit down and figure out how I might be able to actually get him there, convince the reader that this was a Peter that current Peter could become.

And any of the Tony/Quentin fics. There’s not a lot given for Quentin in canon; taking those little bits and trying to follow them back to these younger version of Quentin was really interesting and difficult. How do I make this character the softer, more open, more vulnerable, less confident version of himself from 10/15 years ago, and still keep those sharper edges that will grow and take over? How do I make the reader believe both that this version could have existed and that version could actually become the canon one?

Story that was most different from what you usually write:

I mean, Relief? I’ve never written het before (and probably never will again, lol), but I wasn’t going to let the chance to write redwings pass me by.

In general, all the freaking ABO. Which I’d never written before this fandom, though I’ve read tons of it. Not something I really expected to write? And then suddenly I’m not just writing it, I can’t seem to stop.

Sustain felt pretty different, and it took me a moment to figure out why (don’t laugh at me!). I’ve never written straight up non-sexual kink before. Not just a kink scene that doesn’t have sex, but a kink scene that doesn’t even have the intention or desire for sex. Completely removing that additional layer of tension and complications is fascinating. I’m really interested in expanding that verse.

Most unintentionally telling story:

Oh, other than Gotcha, lol? Um. I don’t know if any really are? Maybe Backhand, or Sustain. Hmm, maybe Getting Started, though it’s not finished.

Now I wonder what conclusions those have people drawing.

What’s your favorite piece of description or narration?

Oh my god, what an impossible question. Uh. This is difficult because I… think of images in words? I feel very odd about the bits I picked, Idk.

It’s so small, and I don’t know if I captured it as well as it is in my head, but I come back to it so often:

Stark sits on the bed, and then seems to get lost, or distracted, not moving again until Phil pushes him gently towards the middle of the bed. He gets Stark curled up on his side, just a sliver of his back touching the sheets.

There's a chair against the wall that doesn't look too modern, so hopefully more comfortable than most of the monstrosities around here; Phil has a feeling he's going to be here a while, watching Stark come back up. He stands, about to walk away when there's a soft touch on his hand. He looks down.

Stark's arm is stretched out, his fingers just barely resting on the back of Phil's hand. He's looking up at Phil out of the corner of his eyes, head just barely turned towards him. It's a clear a request as anything spoken; stay.

"I'm not leaving," Phil tells him. "I'm not even leaving the room. I was just going to get a chair.'

There's a breath, a hesitation, Stark's hand not leaving his, and then it's gone, Stark dragging it back in, turning his face into the pillow. That was the wrong response, something about it was just... wrong.

"Stark," Phil says, leaning onto the bed. "Do you want me to stay here? On the bed? I wasn't sure you'd be comfortable with that." After all, this doesn't seem to be at all sexual for him.

Stark doesn't say anything—Phil's not entirely sure if he's nonverbal or not—but he turns his face back towards Phil a little. Doesn't quite look at him, and doesn't make a move; he's not going to ask again, not after what he obviously took as a rejection. His reactions are odd, not much like Phil had expected.

- Sustain

Or:

Beck gets Peter turned around, still kneeling but settled back against Beck's legs, leaning into it. "Toss me his shirt," he says, and Tony throws it at his face, Beck managing to catch it before it connects. Laughs, like this is fucking funny. He slips his hand into Peter's hair and tugs his head back a bit, wiping the come off his face.

"Take five, baby," Beck says, and Peter hums, resting his head on Beck's thigh and staring at Tony. Beck's petting him, hand sliding slowly though Peter's hair, and it's a fucking nightmare that Beck knows what that feels like and Tony doesn't. "You see?" Beck says. "He likes it a little rough. A lot rough, sometimes, so don't worry about hurting him. Don't worry when he cries," and Tony glares at him.

Beck's looking down at Peter, though, and then Tony is too. He's turning red again as Beck talks, but he's not denying anything, and not looking away from Tony.

Beck's hand trails down Peter's neck, hooks around the front and pulls him back; Peter's head tips back, exposing the whole of his throat to Beck's hand. "He's a little embarrassed by it," Beck says, "but he's an awfully sweet submissive too. Aren't you, honey?"

Peter looks up at him, his expression soft, open. "Yes, sir," he says, and Jesus Christ, Tony had no idea how much he wants Peter to say that to him. Peter likes it too, not just giving it lip service judging by the way his cock is getting hard again. Beck smiles.

"I'm going to miss you," he says. "You've been a lot of fun, baby." He looks up, catching Tony's eye, a smirk growing slowly on his face. "Guess I'd better make sure the last time makes up for it."

- 11:59

What’s your favorite piece of dialogue you wrote this year?

I mean, I’m very fond of Hang Up, it’s like 85% dialogue.

Alternatively:

"Looks like you're finally ready to be fucked," Tony says. "Bets on if you'll come on my cock, or if I'll have to give you a reach around with this?" settling the gauntlet on Quentin's hip.

"No," Quentin says, shaking his head as much as he can manage, "no, no, Tony—"

Tony leans in, thighs pushing Quentin's legs apart, the head of his cock bumping up against Quentin's ass. "If you manage it just once without my hand," he whispers, ducking his head and rubbing his beard over Quentin's shoulder, "I'll fund every last thing you ask for."

"No," Quentin moans, because he can't.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Tony says. "I'll make sure you can."

- Make Sure

Story with the single sexiest moment:

AHHHHHHHHH fuck this is the hardest one.

Secondhand and Gift Wrapped both have some of the hottest moments, I think:

Peter's so hard he can barely think, absolutely can't control the way his dick jumps in Quentin's hand. He doesn't want to hear about this, doesn't want to imagine Tony with Quentin at all. Doesn't want Quentin to stop.

Quentin kicks off his pants and then he's crawling up over Peter, staring down at him with that manic glint in his eyes that Peter knows well enough by now to worry about. "He fucked my face like that," Quentin says, watching him. "Kept babbling that shit and fucked my throat nearly raw. Can't you hear it, honey?" and Peter can, he can.

"Can't you imagine it?" Quentin asks, and Peter can.

- Secondhand

And:

Peter wants— he curls his fingers in Tony's hair and yanks, Tony's head hanging loosely from his hands. He looks wrecked, sweaty and his whole face is dark, his lips wet and red and puffy, all from Peter's cock. When he opens his eyes, it's like he's not even seeing Peter, completely lost in his own little world; he's stiffening slowly, his spine rounding and he tries to brace himself, his eyes going wider and his breath getting shorter and— and is he about to come, Peter wonders. Is he really going to come just like this, from being fucked like this?

He is, he totally fucking is because a moment later Tony stops breathing entirely, his head jerking hard against Peter's hold, his whole body jerking as he comes. He gasps, eyelashes fluttering, and Peter can feel Tony's come landing on his legs, holy shit.

Pepper eases her thrusts, sinking into Tony and just rocking against him while he comes. Waits until he's gone limp, sunk down even more between her hands and Peter's; "Peter," she says. "Get a good grip on him for me. He gets all wiggly afterwards and I'm not done."

- Gift Wrapped

But if it comes down to what is probably my favorite -

Peter had already been pretty out of it when Tony came back, already wound up and just existing, no thoughts and no worries, nothing but want and feeling and response. He’d already been awfully close to flying, and this— this drops him over the edge, completely.

Some part of his head is aware of the way he’s thrusting up into Tony’s mouth, Tony taking it happily, drooling around him; is aware that Peter’s tossing his head back and forth, fighting against Rhodey’s tight grip on his hair, only making it worse with every yank. Is even a little aware that the others must be watching him, watching them, watching just like Rhodey’s looking down at him, Tony looking up, their gaze so heavy on Peter he can feel it, just like he can feel everything, every touch and every texture and every single spot his body is in contact with anything. Can feel everything, too much, overwhelming, amazing, and he doesn’t know if it’s that, or the pain of Rhodey’s grasp, or the wave crashing down on him as he comes that have him crying. Maybe it’s all of them, or maybe it’s just that he’s wanted like this, kept and held and wanted.

Rhodey kisses him, gently, and Tony crawls up over him; kisses Rhodey and kisses Peter and Peter could stay just like this forever. He can see Tony’s mouth moving, talking to him, then Rhodey, then him again, but his head is full of nothing but static, white noise.

- Flaunt

(So, uh, what does it say that all of those are threesomes?)

Stories I haven't yet written, but intend to:

SO MANY. Beyond the fics I’ve got going for other people and Gotcha, and the (hopefully) one off continuations of kinktober fics, I really want to focus on -

The rest of Deep End (I know it all exactly!)

The sad AI Peter/Tony, real!Peter/Tony

Branches of Aegis

ONE of my longer ABO pieces.

Fluffuary & Kinktober, again.

Fingers crossed. I don’t even want to think about how many more ideas will come creeping in.

#end of year #unsettled rambles #starker #spiderio #quentony

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hollywooduniversityalumnus · 4 years

Text

4. nothings and somethings

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Margot was never a fan of dark rides. It was quite understandable, considering her past, that she would hate twisting tracks in near-darkness, swallowed up in dimly lit scenery, and carried along in jerky carts past fantasy backdrops and jolting creature animatronics, as if the glossy-painted bunnies and bears would distract her from what lurked just beyond the backdrops. On her first and only trip to Disneyland, she’d staunchly refused to squeeze into a Peter Pan flight carriage. Instead, Miss Peaches paid for an overpriced ice cream that melted quickly under the sweltering sun that Margot refused to take refuge from. After all that time waiting in the dark for someone who would never return, she made a point to surround herself with light.

So, of course, Bianca lured her into the Riding Hood ride at Fairy Kingdom. The formal was well underway, and Lisa’s concert was due to begin at any moment, but the celebutante - and daughter of the most manipulative man Margot had ever met – knew how to get her away from the spotlight.

Without one of her borrowed designer heels to complete her outfit, Margot had no other choice but to retrieve it. Even if it meant doing what she couldn’t bring herself to do before.

“See you never,” Bianca said saccharinely, slapping the ‘start’ button at the operator’s booth with a flourish.

A garishly painted car with Squeaky the Squirrel – and her very expensive, borrowed-from-the-designer pure white G. Lass shoe – lurched forward, slipping through the large archway into darkness. Margot squinted, but couldn’t make out any shapes through the arch.

Bianca blew a sarcastic kiss as she flounced away.

A red-and-white checkered car flanking a particularly terrifying bust of Madame Wolfe on the hood appeared on the tracks, squealing to a stop by the booth. Margot slipped into the final seat of the car, just as it too lurched forward and made its way through the archway.

She was quickly engulfed in the pitch-black. She stilled, her hands gripping the safety bar in front of her. No sound at all; Bianca must’ve done the bare minimum to get the ride moving, and so the music and whatever else that had to be activated separately were not in operation.

Or something like that. Margot wasn’t well versed in . . . well, many things, but certainly not amusement park ride operations.

Margot took a deep breath, then another, trying her hardest not to simply sink down into the seat and begin her panic-chant. That would do her no good right now, especially since she wouldn’t believe it anyway.

No one was here. She was all alone. All alone in the dark, in this stupid ride designed for children that brought her right back to that barren hovel, that bare mattress scratchy against her cheek-

The ride dropped, and Margot leaned forward to wrap most of her arms around the safety bar as she waited for the car to level.

This, she thought, this is why I stayed outside all those years ago.

The car squealed beneath her as it continued moving through the dark. She felt the car ride a large turn, and then squeezed her eyes shut in preparation as an archway with a world bursting with light and sound and colours beyond it came into view.

Through the fake forest filled with candy colours and whirring Woodland Warriors with glassy eyes and jerky motions, she saw up ahead the car with Squeaky and the shoe. Despite her eyes watering from the sudden shift into light, she leapt out of the car and dashed through the fake forest, dodging branches and tiny animatronics donning “wooden” armor and weaponry. Cutting through a curve, Margot made it to the other side of the track just as the car with the shoe maneuvered around a nearby curve.

Stepping onto the car, she maneuvered her way through the rows. Finding the G. Lass heel, she slipped her foot back into it before collapsing into the seat behind her, exhausted from the effort of the chase.

It would take two other rooms – an admittedly riveting battle scene and the resulting Woodland Warrior celebration – before the car reappeared before the gaudy castle backdrop and operator’s booth at the loading dock. In that time, Margot conceded; the critters had kind-of realistic fur, and the backdrops were detailed enough to distract her through the rest of the ride.

But the cheesy nursery rhyme-y celebratory song the animatronics twisted to? Yeah, that was going to be stuck in her head forever now.

Yet another reason to despise Bianca.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Margot emerged from the Riding Hood ride sweaty and messy-haired. She prayed silently that the paparazzi snapping photos all evening had gotten distracted by another attendee, so the chances of May Gordon or another vulture reporter getting a shot of her looking disheveled were very low. She was a Penn Cattrall-approved actress now. Negative press might make him change his mind before they’d even sent her the script, and she didn’t want to lose such an amazing opportunity.

She followed a narrow stone-paved pathway that seemed to head towards the castle. In the distance, she could hear Lisa’s concert raging, the head-thrashing song she’d helped write threatening to shake the leaves off the surrounding trees. What had started as light rain quickly gained heft and speed, and Margot hugged herself as she took step by shivering step towards the brightly lit castle that seemed to glow beneath the star-speckled sky.

“S-so c-cold-”

Margot stopped short. A turn in the path had revealed that she wasn’t alone on it; a dark-haired man in a suit stood beneath an umbrella, gripping the handle with one hand while lazily scrolling on his phone with the other.

Thunder crashes across the sky, like a shout from the heavens, and he glanced up, starting when he saw her staring back at him.

She reckoned she must’ve been a sight to him: inky hair plastered to the sides of her face, makeup running down her face, her silver-blue dress dampened by the rapid rainfall. Of course, she assumed she looked awful. No setting spray in the world could withstand such a downpour, or at least not the one she used.

Meanwhile, he looked as put together as usual. His all-black suit was pristine, and if it weren’t for the furrowed brow and ever-present scowl on his face, she might’ve assumed he worked at the amusement park, or at least for the event that night.

“P-Professor,” she said.

His voice was hesitant, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Is - Are you all right, Miss Schuyler?”

She shrugged.

Thunder rolled over them again, making her jump.

Professor Hunt quickly made his way over to her and held his umbrella above them, offering reprieve from the sheets of rain that somehow wasn’t dampening the energy of Lisa’s concert crowd, if the shouts and screaming to the thumping music were anything to go by.

When her heart stopped pounding so loudly, and she started to feel a little less like a drowned rat, she chanced a look at him. His focus was back on his phone, though he was not scrolling, and appeared to be frowning at the screen.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice barely audible above the rain.

He didn’t take his eyes off his screen. “It’s nothing.”

She shook her head indignantly, dispelling drops of rainwater onto his suit. He wisely didn’t say anything about it, choosing instead to focus on her face as she replied.

“It’s not nothing. It’s you being nice. Maybe that means nothing to you, but it means something to me.”

“I would do this for any student caught in the rain,” he said blandly.\

“But I’m not just ‘any student.’” She dared to look him right in the eye. “You’ve driven me back to my dorm before. You’ve been stuck with me on a movie set. You’ve danced with me publicly-”

“-While disguised,” he hissed.

Margot rolled her eyes. “There’s something here, between us. Please don’t tell me you don’t know what it is.”

His voice was flat. “An umbrella.”

“Thomas.”

“Miss Schuyler-”

Another boom of thunder, and that one seemed to do the trick; from their position on the pathway, they could feel the rumble of running feet hurrying towards the shelter of the castle, the chatter of the crowd carrying over the bushes and trees that separated them from the pair huddled beneath an umbrella.

“My shoes!”

“Ugh, it took me two hours to get my hair done.”

“That Lisa Mermaid girl better not win the ‘One to Watch’ tonight. We’ve already watched her! She can’t possibly qualify.”

“I bet it’ll be that girl dressed up like a Neopets faerie. Niche much?”

“I thought she was Thumbelina.”

From beside her, Margot felt more than heard his deep sigh.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

It was a safer topic than what they were just discussing, and she could tell he was grateful for the switch. He stood a little taller, lifting the umbrella slightly so he can take a better look at the bustling crowd from their hiding spot.

“Despite, or perhaps because of, the University’s best efforts, this Fairy Kingdom Formal is quite possibly the most ridiculous event of the year. The media circus is out in full-force, and even students who’ve yet to make a name for themselves are acting like fools to catch their attention. Look around. Who among them deserves to be named someone to watch in the industry? Queen Titania? Ursula? Jack the Giant Slayer?” He squinted, perplexed, at one of the costumes. “Is that . . . the old woman who lived in the shoe? Who – or what – is that?”

Margot suppressed a giggle. “But look, you’re here too, right? Doesn’t that make you part of the problem?”

He peered down at her, thick eyebrows knitting together. “I . . . fair point.”

They stood in silence for another minute before she nudged him with her elbow and gestured for him to lean down.

Cupping a hand around his ear, she whispered, “You want to know what I think?”

Despite himself, he nodded.

Her voice was airy, reminiscent. “Everyone here wants to be something, but not everyone here will succeed.”

As she pulled away from him, he reached up to her cupped hand and took a surprisingly gentle hold of her wrist. She froze, eyes stuck on where his skin touched hers, and she wondered if he felt the same shockwave she did.

“Is that right?” he drawled.

She nodded.

“Aren’t you part of that problem, then? You clearly want to be seen as something by being here, all dressed up and looking every bit the damsel in distress. Though the shoes definitely are a . . . statement.”

He nodded at her shoes, and she felt herself blush at the realization that he’d noticed the G. Lass heels that hugged her feet like a second skin.

“You know I’m no damsel in distress.”

“So you were walking in the rain for fun?”

She shook her head at him, ready to retort, when she heard the chimes of the castle clock. Looking down at her shoes once more, she silently counted the chimes in her head.

Seven . . . eight . . . nine . . . ten . . . eleven . . . oh, no!

Margot’s eyes widened as the chimes for midnight began. Feeling her pulse quicken beneath his fingertips, Hunt dropped the wrist he had forgotten he was holding and raised an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong, Margot?” he asked.

She was embarrassed to be on the verge of tears. “I’m too late. I’m supposed to have these shoes back to Ethan before midnight. I’m not even sure where Ethan is right now, and the shoes are all covered in mud, and I can’t get negative press right now-”

“Hey.” He moved to stand in front of her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Breathe.”

Though she took a deep breath, she still rattled on. “But Ethan will get in trouble with the G. Lass! They told him that the shoes had to be back by midnight or else, and I don’t even know what ‘or else’ means to them!”

“G. Lass?” Hunt cocked his head to the side, as if listening intently. “The shoe designer?”

“No, the baker,” Margot snapped. “Of course, the shoe designer.”

And, in one perfectly fluid motion that startled Margot, Hunt reached up and pulled the umbrella closed before stepping to her side and offering his arm to her. Shocked at both the disappearance of the pounding rainfall and his sudden gesture, she hesitated to make a move.

“I’m certain Mister Blake will be waiting at the front entrance for you,” Hunt said calmly. “Furthermore, it’s getting late. I’d like to make sure you get there without any further delays.”

And, though she was confused by the sudden shift in topic and demeanor, she placed a hand upon his offered arm and matched his pace on the pathway to the castle.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

For a moment, Margot saw Ethan waiting by the limousine, forehead creased in worry and visible from far away.

And then her line of sight was overtaken by flashing lights and shouts that sounded both right beside her ear and far off in the distance. Blinking rapidly, she turned her head to look up at her professor, who steadfastly directed her to her agent and idling limo with a tense jaw and determined stare forward. More lights flashed; she squinted towards them to find that they were slowly being mobbed by paparazzi.

“Looks like they found you,” she said quietly.

Though his face was practically set in stone, his voice was sardonic. “Actually, it looks like they’ve found you. I overheard a few of them earlier . . . you’ve been the ‘One to Watch’ the moment you showed up.”

Startled, she glanced around them, her expression seemingly opening her up to the descending vultures. Reporters began to shout at her, from compliments to questions about the inspiration behind her costume, but she simply stared forward and strained her ears to hear Hunt mutter beside her.

“Even though that means literally nothing.”

And though the reporters and the camera flashes felt overwhelming, and the wrinkles on Ethan’s forehead seemed to deepen as she and Hunt reached the limo with the horde tailing after them, she felt a genuine smile play at her lips.

Ethan admonished, “Margot, the shoes-”

Hunt cleared his throat. “Mister Blake. Tell G. Lass upon returning the shoes that they never specified which midnight they were to be returned by.” At the young agent’s confused stare, he added, “I don’t question the idiosyncrasies of such an eclectic designer. But I do know how to work with them, and I have before. It’s an easy loophole to exploit. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got my own car to get to, and these photographers are tap-dancing on my last nerve.”

Ethan ushered Margot into the limo, sliding in to sit beside Addison and a shockingly sleepy Lisa. And then, just before Hunt closed the door for them, Margot caught his gaze.

“Thank you, Professor.” She hoped the small smile she gave him conveyed her gratitude. She punctuated it with a small wave, instantly feeling dorky at the gesture.

A corner of his mouth pulled up as he gave her a short nod in acknowledgement.

Then he was gone.

As the limo headed back to the school dorms, Margot leaned back into the buttery leather of the seats, her mind replaying that short nod and smile while her friends gossiped beside her.

#thomas hunt #thomas orson hunt #hollywood u #fanfiction #only fools fall for you

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silenthillmutual · 3 years

Text

2020 Creator Wrap

I was tagged by @stvlti to do the 2020 Creator Wrap: Favorite Works tag! Thank you, sm!! c:

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

Tagging: @lawliyeeeet @soupcans @kunoiichi @milk-teeths @darkpaladin and anyone else who wants to!! Though there’s no pressure to do this if you don’t want<3

So... according to my AO3, I seem to have published or updated 63 works in 2020, which is just a whole hell of a lot more than I usually do! So I’ll pick the going from oldest to newest that I’m most happy with :)

CONTENT WARNING though, under 18 please do not read below the cut as two of the fics are M and one is E. Additional content warning: two deal with self harm and one with intrusive thoughts, and one with pregnancy.

01 || Communication (T)

I think this was when I really hit my stride with understanding how I wanted to characterize Daniil, specifically, and more generally when I worked out how I wanted to write his relationship with Artemy. I tend to focus on the ways in which they communicate differently, and I think I pulled off their voices relatively well.

Favorite moment, when I managed to slip some autism into my characterization:

This is a flaw of his - a messy, embarrassing secret, this inability to distinguish jokes and sarcasm from serious discussion. He masks his insufficiency with a flat-toned seriousness. People find it harder to separate the sarcasm and the jokes from his regular speech when he makes no vocal distinction, and he enjoys the discomfort it brings in others. He considers it, to a degree, payback. A taste of their own medicine. And when he wants to make it clear where his feelings lie, he’ll be picky with the words themselves. He is, if absolutely nothing else, exceptional in the area of verbal self-expression.

02 || sine sole sileo (M)

This is one of my older works and it is far from being my best, it’s terribly out of character and woobifying, but I’m fond of it as my first really long and more emotional work for the fandom. I had fun writing the first chapter out as a Twitter thread, and then expanding on it. It’s multi-chaptered and actually finished, which is something I have a hard time with!

Favorite moment, which I still actually kind of like, despite everything:

He knows the silence behind the doors, too. It’s a stillness that makes the tips of his fingers buzz. How many days has it been now? Three, four? Artemy though he’d changed the sheets, added new notations. Welcomed in the vocals, the strings, the what-ever-else accompanied performances like this in the Capital. His verses hadn’t been well-sung, but the band had started to play with him. He’d come to anticipate the thrumming percussion. A heart with its own rhythm. Footsteps that rose and fell. Words that lilted, that lead, that brought the symphony to a heightened frenzy.

But silence is a kind of noise too. Where the heart doesn’t beat. Where the voices don’t speak. Even when there is nothing, there is noise.

Artemy has to take a breath before he opens the door. He knows he won’t like what he sees, but he’s seeing so much more in his mind than will be there to greet him. His eyes shake and jostle him to great many things: a gun, a hook, a rope, stained bedsheets and curtains ripped from windows. He sees death even before his eyes adjust because he can smell it, and because he can hear it.

Twelve, he thinks.

03 || o tempora, o mores (M)

This fic was my baby! I wanted so badly to write a character struggling with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder the way I do, and while it’s not my best-performing fic for the fandom (I haven’t kept track of which one is, actually) it’s probably my favorite. I worked so hard on this one, trying to replicate what it’s like to struggle with OCD, and it felt so gratifying to do. I’m currently working on a follow-up to this one, and I’m very excited for it as well!

Favorite moment is really the whole thing, but I do like this in particular, because I feel it really resonated with how intrusive thoughts and compulsions work for me:

The self-talk gives him enough of a boost to get him through the doors of the hospital. It feels safer here, where there’s only the ill and the dead instead of the thousand living eyes trying to touch him. No one comes to bother him here, just him and Artemy and sometimes Clara and Rubin until a few days ago –

YOUR FAULT. HE IS SICK BECAUSE OF YOU. HE IS IN TROUBLE BECAUSE OF YOU. IF RUBIN DIES, IT IS BECAUSE OF YOU. “Stop it, stop it, stop it,” Daniil mutters. THE EYES KNOW THE VACCINE DIDN’T WORK. THEY ARE WAITING FOR YOU TO ADMIT IT, ADMIT THAT THERE IS NOT ENOUGH TO PROTECT THEM SO THEY CAN HAND YOU TO THE DOGS. THEY WANT TO RIP YOUR BODY OPEN AND DEVOUR YOU. CANNIBALS, ALL OF THEM. AND YOU CAN’T RUN FOREVER. “Stop it,” he repeats, and tries to dig a jagged nail into his wrist.

It won’t go. Too slippery from the ointment Victor applied. He has something in his bag to help, another jagged edge, a rusted pair of scissors lost to their original purpose. The Morae were busy here, he’d thought the first time he saw them, and had laughed at his own clever joke. But now he feels the red string is his skin.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. (it is starting to hurt these could be infected they are dirty they are rusted,) Eight. (but it has to be ten he has to get to ten it has to be even) Nine. (has to be a multiple of five but even always even, no odd numbers in sight)

04 || vita in motu (E)

Heheh I’m in danger (chuckles).

I’ve only managed to get one piece of hate for this fic which I figured would draw way more ire and make me orphan it, and I’m glad I haven’t had to because I’m stupidly attached to the concept. I was trying not to go for E rated fics for this, but this fic meant so much to me to write and for something marked explicit I put a lot of thought into how I wanted to characterize Daniil for it.

So. Yeah. Publishing it was scary as hell but I’m glad I did. I also got some really nice feedback on it, and more than I expected to. I’m very happy with how it turned out.

Favorite moment was actually much longer at the start of it, though kind of like with o tempora, o mores I actually really like how the whole fic turned out. But I really liked this part because I view Artemy as someone who would be very grounding for Daniil to be with:

“Stay in the moment,” Artemy tells him, and kisses him again, kisses him slowly. “Stay here with me. I love you.”

It should be utter nonsense, to give in so quickly to this, but Artemy makes it easy. Daniil would never have seen this in his future, would not have even made this as a joke. Something had to beat down his resistance to the emotional, a pro to outweigh the cons he associated with vulnerability. Keeping tightly bound was the safest bet, the easy one. He could say he lacked emotion, and anyone would buy it. Nothing short of a miracle could drag him back to the land of the living – but then again, nothing short of a miracle could have saved this town. Artemy Burakh is a man who manufactures miracles.

05 || it’s sacrilege, you say (T)

This is the last fic that I wrote out that I took a lot of time planning instead of going “hey, I think this idea would be neat” and slapping it onto paper. And I think it turned out really well!! I almost wanted to do something darker with it, more akin to Silent Hill, but I have other ideas in mind for that kind of AU that I’ll play with later, one of which will be a sort of crossover with TMA.

Favorite moment is when I actually implied the twist, though I’m not sure you can call it a twist at all when I used proper tags:

Her eyes drift from Daniil to the wall, pivoting to look through the window. “No,” she says. “I don’t know why he made you.”

The center of Daniil’s chest feels like a flower, budded but unopened. Smooth, perhaps, but heavy to move, and his petals are made of something sharp. Crystal, maybe. And he can feel the petals start to part with her words, though they make so little sense to him. He steps forward, closer, half expecting Aspity to recoil from him, but she stays unnaturally still as he approaches. He reaches out to wet his lips, dry as sand, before he speaks. “Made me?” There’s no tone in his voice. “What do you mean, made me? And who are you talking about?”

She doesn’t turn to face him. She blinks, and lashes fall on sunken cheeks. “Do you remember how you got here, doctor?” He opens his mouth, but she’s faster. “Not to my home. To Town. Think: Can you remember how it is you came to be here?” Daniil grinds his teeth on the side of his tongue, sharp edges digging into the flesh. The flesh. The flesh . “Take your time,” she says, but it sounds like a joke. “The last train that arrived brought the menkhu, and no one else aboard it. There are no other ways into our Town.”

#icarus.txt

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toonqueen · 4 years

Text

Duckvember 2020

--Game--

Just some OC stuff. Move along. Nothing to read here. NO BETA and NO WRITING GOOD DESCS JUST GOING WHERE THIS ENERGY DRINK IS TAKING ME.

PG-13 for the violence. Murder mentions. I’m sure there is a curse word. Fun on a bun stuff.

P.S. IT WAS BETAed THANK YOU @cataradical ALSO THANK YOU FOR THE ONE PART I WAS STUCK AT nnnngh

-------

“Now that I’ve got your attention, let's play a little game,” the canine antagonist’s voice drifted from the speakers, followed by loud, maniacal cackling. There was no sight of him, but the room wasn’t empty.

Faustina curtly stood up from the ground where she had fallen deep into the pit. She was less concerned about the menacing, dangerous voice as she was her clothes getting dirty. Although she was angry, it was more at her sister than this weirdo who’d trapped them here.

“‘Mr. Canis is so nice in the Nega-verse. I just wanted to see if his gas station was anything like the one in the Middle-verse. Your version, he’s such a kind old man, so… what if he’s an absolute grump here? How funny would that be… teehee.’” Faustina repeated words said to her earlier in a mocking tone. She looked around the room as she brushed off her skirt; a small cell with a single glass wall. “Yes, what a great adventure, /sis/,” Faustina growled, pounding on the glass angrily, “find out our good friend /here/ is a serial killer. /Fun times/.”

Faustina glanced up, spotting a TV screen mounted above the glass. Playing was footage of her sister, Felicity, hurrying down a hallway, surrounded by large, halved circular saw blades whirring in and out and along the walls. Faustina’s dark-haired twin was swiftly moving, twisting, dancing around them.

“/I am not a killer/!” the voice shrieked from the speakers, offended, disgusted, “I am merely a tool that creates the puzzles. It is Fate that decides who lives and who dies, not me.”

“Oh, /boy/. This is going to be a /hoot/ then. Fate. With this gal. /Wow/. Why not run me through your death maze too?” Faustina stifled her giggling.

“Because you are going to be the prize for when--or if--she gets through my CORRIDOR OF KARMA and the PRECIPICE OF SERENDIPITY,” the villain bellowed, causing the speakers to glitch a little.

Faustina had completely lost it, cackling until her stomach hurt and she doubled forward, banging a fist against the glass wall. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, her face sore from smiling so much. “Oh, you sad, poor little--if you /only knew/ her! Oh, man, where’s my phone?” She managed to collect herself, wiping away tears and sniffing a few times. A moment to gigglesnort before deep breath. “I’m going to have to record your reaction for later, Mister I Let Fate Decide, but I’m sure as soon as she gets through your stupid game, you’ll change your tune. I bet you made it so everyone loses no matter how hard they try, right? You’re gonna be so butthurt when you realize she’s gonna get through all that.” Unable to restrain herself any longer, Faustina started laughing and snorting again, arms thrown around her belly.

“Laugh now, fool. I hope you see her get torn apart. Behold! She just now entered the GAUNTLET OF THE GILDED-- wait, where did she go?” the canine gasped and choked.

Faustina looked back up at the TV as it started flipping through channels, all showing different chambers and mazes of torture and misery. Every single one of them… empty. Just as another channel turned on, Faustina heard a light shuffling coming from the ceiling above her head.

A second later, a panel on the ceiling right outside the cell room fell to the ground. Felicity climbed out until she was standing, face to face, with her sister on the opposite side of the glass.

Faustina huffed, hands on her hips. “About time. That took you a little longer than I thought,” Faustina complained to her “hero”.

“I would have gotten here sooner, but I felt obligated to read the name plaques he put up in each room. Masquerade of Misfortune was my favorite,” Felicity replied as she placed her hands on where the glass wall met a metal wall.

“How-- /How did you get in here!/ The vents don’t--don’t even lead here!” the voice hissed and snarled from the speakers.

“Well, they do now,” Faustina said on behalf of her sister. Felicity ignored them, tugging and prying along the strip of metal before peeling it loose. A line of bolts popped free.

“No matter! That was cheating! You’ve forfeited the game, and now you will see your sister suffer a gruesome fate,” the voice guffawed sinisterly. Liquid started pouring from the cell’s ceiling, right next to Faustina.

The trapped twin sniffed, and instantly knew what it was. “Gasoline? Really? Gonna set me on fire, huh? This is just getting more and more hilarious. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a bad idea. We need to do this every week. Man, if this jerk only /knew/,” she chuckled, casually pressing a hand up against the nozzle and stopping the flow of gasoline.

“Now, Felicity, was it? How ironic your name means “fortune”. Maybe you’ll be lucky by persuading me to let your sister live. Get on your knees, and /beg/ for her life,” their captor ordered, his tone much more disturbing and ruthless.

Felicity gave him the cold shoulder. “Heat would expand the glass, and then you can crawl out through this seam,” she explained to Faustina. “The bolts are out. You’ll be fine.”

“Are you not listening to me?” the voice raged. “You need to convince me to free your sister! I decide her fate!”

“Cool, cool, all right, hellfire. Got it.” Faustina put her fingers in front of her and started to move them like she was playing with an invisible cat’s cradle string.

“Do you not /understand/, you simpletons? All I have to do is throw a lit match and your sist-- /What in the fuc--/!” the voice changed from commanding to panicked when Faustina herself burst into flames. The fire had started from her own hands, and spread across her body. Flames rolled down her skirt, thick and magma-like, setting the fuel at her feet on fire. There was an immediate rushing blow of black smoke.

Felicity backed away from the hole so Faustina and her fire could do the rest. The escaping duck showed no pain from the flames. She just shrugged and climbed out. The speakers crackled but no voice.

“/Coward/!” Faustina yelled as she got out of the cell, rolling back the glass with the heat. “Why didn’t I think of this?”

“We are underneath a gas station. Might want to tone down the fire,” Felicity suggested. She looked up at where the fuel was still dripping. A few options on what to do rolled around in her mind. “Why is this bothering me more than any other villain we fought?”

“I dunno. More the peeps we beat up tend to rob banks or fight other heroes, so, uh,” Faustina said, the flames disappearing in wisps of black smoke until not even a spark was left. The entire cell floor was covered in flames still. Despite having been set on fire, not a single part of Faustina’s body, even her clothes, had been burned or harmed. However, there was black smudging along the hem of her skirt. “... You’re gonna get my dry cleaning bill.”

“Yeah, we’ve never had to fight a killer that's been taking out… defenseless people,” Felicity mumbled, still watching the dripping gasoline.

Faustina noticed the change in her sister’s tone. “Look, I can be a reverse conscience, bein’ all for tearing this guy apart. Is that what you want to do?” Faustina leaned in close to her twin, twinkle-eyed. “Really, I’d like to have that family bonding girls’ night /finally/.”

“No...” Felicity replied quietly. Another moment’s pause, then she asked, “Can you resurrect the bodies in the freezer?”

“Yes,” Faustina said without hesitation.

Felicity opened the nearest door, finding it to be a closet with the usual cleaning supplies. She handed Faustina a push broom. Not exactly what she hoped for but it would work.

“I’ll go after him. You get the victims out of here,” Felicity said as she pointed to the hole in the ceiling that Faustina had originally fallen from.

The blonde witch gave a nod and got on the broom, flying out the available exit. Felicity took a ladder from the closet, used it to climb up into a different opening.

-------

Mr. Canis, a mild-mannered gas station owner with a shotgun in hand, was now running out of his business as fast as his legs could carry him.

Well, not that mild mannered, since he would often trap a lone 3 AM traveler or two, and force them to play his sadistic death games he held below the gas station. “A sacrifice to Fate during the bewitching hour” is what he called it. And two tired women on a road trip were just the perfect meals to feed the beast.

Metaphorical beasts. Not monsters like these two were.

Mr. Canis had made a mistake. He had seen the warning signs! …Though, could the blonde filling the super size one liter soda cup with nothing but nacho cheese really count as a warning sign? After all, she did put a fifty dollar bill on the counter and said to charge her as much as he needed for extra cheese. This weird girl who he’d now just seen catch on fire and come out completely unscathed without any show or sign of pain.

Mr. Canis wasn’t going to stick around to see what the witch’s equally oddball sister could do.

To think an hour ago his biggest concern was she might be a cop. The way she had just... inspected things on the shelves so tentatively. Actually stood there at the counter for a moment, reading the back of a bag of chips. And then, when he was ringing her up, she just smiled at him like she knew him. Asked how his day was with a strangely large amount of curiosity.

Mr. Canis assumed the woman must know him--better yet, know what he did. Knew about the puzzles, the games. Knew about the sacrifices he had made to Fate. He could see it in her eyes.

There was a rattling of metal coming from right behind him. He ran across the small parking lot, toward the grass of the surrounding woods. He heard the rattle again. Like a horror movie, he just had to check, see the source of the sound--

The canine’s feet were back on the pavement. The rattling came from the steel door to the room containing all the fuel tanks. There was faint knocking from within--specifically one tank with a small “door” locked up. Mr. Canis laughed despite his fear; one of these so-called “powerful” women were now trapped by a simple metal lock on a rusty old door.

He stopped laughing when the lock broke after another couple knocks. Seemingly with no force either. With one more push, Felicity climbed out of the tank, drenched. Instead of the strong scent of gasoline, she was soaked in cola.

Mr. Canis was all the more confused when harmless brown soda could be seen (and smelled) in the fuel tank, instead of the gasoline that would be more harmful for this girl to swim in. He was frozen, flabbergasted. How could the hoses for the syrup to the soda fountains even be out here? They must have been diluting the fuel he was using for the traps.

When Mr. Canis snapped out of his daze, he found the black-haired duck glaring back at him in silence. If looks could kill, he’d be dead and buried.

Felicity had been excited to meet the Prime-verse counterpart of the Nega-verse gas station owner she was friends with. She had expected a grumpy version of the man that ran her favorite Nega-verse stop. Maybe throw out loitering teens instead of offering them free day-old donuts. It was going to be amusing. Be fun.

Not deadly.

Mr. Canis fired a shot at her, and it missed. Missed even at point blank. Sure, she had tilted her torso just slightly left, but it should have still hit something! Mr. Canis wasn’t an amateur when it came to firearms.

Felicity abruptly grabbed the gun. One hand around the top of the barrel, and the other farther down the shaft. Mr. Canis' finger was still curled around the trigger, and he fired another shot. In an instant, she bent and raised the barrel so the shot went into the air.

Felicity gained leverage and let one hand go of the gun. Her free one grabbed under the canine’s arm. Mr. Canis was on his back in a flash when the smaller duck flipped him onto the ground.

Felicity held the gun now, aimed expertly at her would-be attacker. “Get up. Get inside the gas station.”

“Look, this is all a misunderstanding. Obviously you have the blessed fortune to get through my maze of fate. You and your sister are free to go! Isn’t that wonderful? Go ahead and be on your way!” Mr. Canis was desperate; poor excuses, he knew, but he tried. Maybe the girl would be so in shock by what happened she would just leave?

Felicity was silent, and still glaring. In that moment, Mr. Canis wished she was more talkative like the blonde. He reluctantly got up, and headed into the gas station. Felicity followed, keeping the gun pointed at his back.

“I take it you two are going to tie me up and call the cops to come get me?” he chuckled, like he’d forgotten all about the insanity of the last ten or so minutes.

That peace did not last long. Faustina was sitting on the checkout counter. Three other women were in the station as well. Very familiar women. Awake, moving, but still cold from the freezer. Glassy eyed, they actually did not look fully alive. Just alive enough.

“Are there more? Because those woods back there look very iffy,” Faustina questioned, as casually as someone would when looking for their lost keys. She sat in her billowy dress, legs crossed and hands resting on one bent knee. She smirked wide when the murderer was too shocked to reply. “What? Nothing to say? What would you like to do, dearest sister?”

“We let him choose his fate,” Felicity finally spoke up. There was a glimmer in Faustina’s eye. She had never seen Felicity prone to actual violence. This was a treat. Though, she gave a disheartened pout when her sister just had to ruin it with all the lawful goody-two-shoes stuff. “We’re calling the cops, and you better sit still and stay here while we all wait for them to arrive.”

“Those three… How are they… what is… going on?” the panic returned to Mr. Canis’s voice. The same panic when he watched Faustina burst into flames as if it were nothing but a change of clothes.

“Idiot. You have the worst luck ever. You literally, /literally/ put someone cursed by Fortuna in your fate maze, and someone blessed by demons in your fire trap. How dumb. What a /moron/. /Absolute tool!/” Faustina complained and scowled.

“I’m sure your mood’ll improve soon enough,” Felicity said, eyes rolling. She waved a hand and turned away. “I’m stepping out to call the cops. I’ve got the gun on me, but I’m sure you can handle him if he tries anything funny.”

Faustina grinned, watching her sister leave. “No problemo!” She turned her grin, now more feral, to Mr. Canis as she cracked her knuckles. “So, hey, a couple of your ‘former customers’ wanna file some complaints about your little side business here. I recommend you take them very seriously.”

Mr. Canis whimpered, looking between Faustina and the three women lumbering closer. “Are you… are you going to kill me?” he gulped.

“I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to leave it to fate. Ladies, if you get rid of him before sunrise, the spell will resurrect you. The more pain you put him through, the better the rezz,” Faustina said and grinned before turning to leave the room. She shut the door on the horrified, high-pitched shrieking and crying.

Felicity stood outside, arms crossed, like she had just caught a child eating all the cookies from the jar.

“What? You prefer I don’t rezz them?”

“I’m pretty sure you can just transfer his life force into them without the--” Felicity’s words were interrupted by a blood curdling scream.

“Yes, but where’s the fun in that? Karma’s a bitch, after all.”

------

Lawd the baddies in the Saw movies piss me off would love monster girls to beat the shit out of them. HUZZAH.

#duckvember #duckvember 2020 #negaverse #felicity de spell #faustina de spell

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