#cassie????? have you lost your fucking MARBLES????

[monty-glasses-roxy]

I still think it's hilarious that in Meteors AU, literally every single person knows about the haunted pile of robot spaghetti that is Tangle, except for Roxy. Who has been unknowingly visiting them and staring them right in the face, for literally years now. She has no idea. Fucking Cassie's dad Eddie knows about them. The Sewerhell guys know about them. The fucking horsies probably know about them. DJ, who is too big to get anywhere fucking near Tangle knows about them.

But not Roxy. It's a mystery to everyone. Half of them think it's a denial thing or willful ignorance. They're completely wrong she genuinely has no idea they're there. Tangle has willfully made their presence known to so many of the others and have tried a hundred times over with Roxy but she just. Has no fucking clue.

If it's haunted, Roxy doesn't know it exists. That's just how it is. She can see Glitchtrap pulling puppet strings on Vanessa and the others, but she can't see the spooky spirit spaghetti. This isn't even just Meteors. She just has no idea. The guy is like glass that gives her a headache, she can't see them but wow does her head hurt after staring into the darkness outside the pizzeria for a minute. Strange. Weird, even. Bizarre, perhaps.

Why does everyone keep freaking out at the shadows?? There's nothing even there. If there was? She'd know! Even in Meteors with her almost complete blindness in the dark, she'd know! Roxy knows everything that's down here and nothing gets past her without her knowing! They must be seeing things smh smh such overreactors smh

#meteors au #meteors roxy #fnaf security breach #this half applies to other spooky guys like the nightmare staffbots... #....... and a little bit to poppet but anyway #yeah nsdndjd she has no idea #eddie seeing tangle for the first time and it holds a tentacle up over its mouth for quiet #and cassie already knows so she silently gives him a thumbs up like :D #oh my god he's so fucking confused #cassie what the FUCK are you DOING running up to it like its FINE?! #cassie????? have you lost your fucking MARBLES???? #why aren't we saying anything????? hello????? cassie #cassie what the fuck man #cassie and the minis warning literally everyone that wants to go down there about tangle and about how roxy apparently doesn't know #at this point tangle doesn't want her to know. they're Concerned okay? #they're just gonna have some tom and jerry ass beef with roxanne mark 1 instead #cause its fun and she's just sorta There #it's a silent agreement that roxy can't be told about them now though #tangle will make their move when they're ready probably #no one knows what's going on with that djdjid #'this might as well happen' but tragedy flavour vibes for everyone!!

[buckybarnesthehotshot]

v: i hate you but allie doesn’t (bucky barnes x reader)

i hate you but masterlist

summary: bucky and y/n can’t stand each other, but y/n needs help with her sister’s kids (enemies to lovers au)

word count: 1903

warnings: swearing, arguing, death, and this is not proofread

taglist is CLOSED

A/N: HOLY SHIT 730+ FOLLOWERS?!? My tumblr’s gonna surpass my personal insta and i’m honestly not mad abt it ily alll

       “I can help you with that,” Bucky insisted as y/n pulled several plates from the cabinets under the counter. y/n gave him a questioning look, as though asking him why she was helping him, and he continued, “if you explain to me why you have a teenager and two kids in your apartment.”

       “Touché, but it’s actually two teenagers, so ha! You were wrong about another thing,” y/n chuckled before her features softened as her gaze wandered to the closed acacia door down her hallway, “My nephew, Ethan is sulking in his room. Honestly, I can’t blame the kid,” y/n explained. With every word that spilled from her lips, Bucky found himself growing more and more curious over y/n’s current situation.

       “How’d you end up with them all in your apartment?” Bucky questioned before adding a quick, “I’m not going to say no offense because that would be a lie, but you look really tired.”

       “Gee, thanks. You sure know how to charm a lady,” y/n rolled her eyes, shoving the plates in Bucky’s hands.

      “I was quite the ladies’ man back in my time,” Bucky winked, placing the plates on top of the place mats y/n had already set on the glass table.

       “I almost forgot you were an old man,” y/n snickered, setting the silverware on the table with one hand and placing Allie in her highchair with the other arm.

       “Didn’t your parents teach you to respect elders and learn to answer questions?” Bucky raised a brow, referencing his previous question.

       “What question?” y/n spoke in confusion as she buckled Allie into the seat. The toddler giggled whilst slamming her palms against the plastic table. y/n made a note not to leave the bowl of baby food there.

       “The one where I asked how you ended up having to take care of two kids and two teenagers,” Bucky chuckled awkwardly, watching y/n struggle to open a jar of baby food. Who knew it would take one jar of baby food to defeat one of SHIELD’s greatest agents?

       Before y/n could reply, Bucky didn’t notice the kid from earlier, Jackson as he would soon learn, was seated at the table and responded for her, “Mommy’s on a trip with daddy and Livvy and Ethan are sad about it,” came his petite voice.

       Bucky, knowing damn well “on a trip” was most likely a code for something he’d encountered quite a lot, gave y/n a look. She only responded with a sad smile as she poured the contents of the jar into a bowl.

       “Jackson, tell Olivia and Ethan breakfast’s ready, please,” y/n requested, earning an eager nod from the boy before he jumped out his seat and rushed to his sister’s side.

       Bucky approached y/n, looking for more answers regarding the kids. He knew this might have been the only opportunity he had to ask y/n without the kids—with the exception of Allie who could barely understand a thing—about what happened to the kids’ parents and what role she played in the kids’ lives.

       “Please don’t tell me you killed their parents and took them in as your own. I think I saw a movie like that once. It was pretty fucked up,” Bucky chuckled but immediately stopped when he saw the way her face dropped at the mention of the kids’ parents.

       “Their mom, she was my sister. I found out a few days ago she died in a car crash and the next thing I knew, the kids were being dumped on me,” y/n spoke, eager to finally explain her situation to somebody even if that somebody was Bucky, someone she clashed with more often than not.

       “What about their dad? Surely, he should’ve been the one to deal with the kids,” Bucky questioned, his brows furrowing.

       “I don’t know where that ass is right now or what he’s doing. That deadbeat killed my sister,” y/n growled, gripping tightly onto the marble counters. Bucky had no idea what to tell her. He’d never been in a situation where he had to comfort his teammate who not only lost their sister, but had to take custody of the kids too!

       Due to Bucky’s inability to speak, and y/n having nothing else to say, they stood there in an awkward silence as y/n stacked pancakes onto the plates one-by-one and topping them with a big scoop of gelato.

       Their mother used to make the best pancakes and top them off with gelato. She and Cassy got the exact recipe which really came in handy when Jackson asked for “Pancakes, please? The way mommy makes them” when y/n asked him what he wanted for breakfast.

       After a few moments of silence, Ethan, Olivia, and Jackson joined them at the table, all silently pulling themselves a seat. Jackson didn’t know why, but whenever his big brother was in the room with his Auntie y/n, there was a somber mood cast upon the room as though there was a rule telling them not to utter a word.

       Ethan sat at the farthest end of the table, Olivia took the seat parallel to y/n’s, while her little brother took the seat next to her. Bucky, not really knowing what to do, stood there awkwardly by the countertop before y/n motioned for him to take the seat next to him where she’d also set a plate of pancakes.

       He took the seat next to her as the table fell into a state of silence while he ate away at his pancakes as y/n turned to Allie and fed her. He would never admit it to y/n, but her pancakes were beyond amazing. Never in a million years did he think to top ice cream with gelato or ice cream until that day.

       “Auntie y/n, is he your husband?” Jackson was the first to break the silence as he stared curiously at Bucky.

      “What makes you think that, buddy?” y/n chuckled awkwardly as Bucky kept his gaze to the plate of pancakes in front of him.

       “Well, daddy always sits at the table beside mommy and he’s her—” Jackson tried to explain only to get cut off by his sister sobbing, “Livvy, you okay?”

       “These pancakes taste just like mom’s! It’s the same fluffiness, same taste, and same brand of gelato for god’s sake!” she sobbed, shooting up from the table and staring down bitterly at the plate of pancakes in front of her.

       “Damn it, Liv, she’s trying to replace mom, can’t you see?” Ethan snarled before turning to face y/n, “You will never be as good as mom ever was. Yes, these pancakes taste like hers, but you won’t replace her just because she’s dead and dad’s in prison!” he cried out before bolting down the hall and back to the room he was previously shutting herself in. Olivia’s features softened a little as she saw the look of hurt on y/n’s face,

       “It’s okay, aunt y/n. I know you’re not trying to replace mom. He’ll come around,” Olivia tried to reassure y/n that through the sobs as she wrapped her arms around her. y/n just nodded slowly in response to the hug.

       “God, I wish grandma and grandpa got custody of us instead!” Ethan’s voice boomed from the room as both Allie and Jackson began crying.

       “Mommy’s dead and daddy’s going to jail?” Jackson cried, a broken expression on his face. y/n rushed to his side, wanting to lie to him and tell him Cassy was coming back, but she couldn’t. She was going to have to explain it all to Jackson some time; she just didn’t expect that time to be at 9:49 in the morning.

        “I’m sorry, buddy,” y/n’s voice broke as she wrapped her arms around the crying boy. Bucky knew he couldn’t just sit there and watch the scene unfold. He knew he had to do something; anything! He hesitantly got up from his seat and moved to the highchair where the baby—Allie—was seated as he unbuckled the seatbelt keeping her on the chair as he hesitantly lifted her up with his flesh arm.

       “Shh, it’s going to be okay. Your auntie y/n’s going to be here and your older siblings are going to be okay,” he whispered as he began cradling Allie against his chest. He didn’t know whether or not he was holding the baby right or if he should’ve been rocking her, but it worked. She calmed down as her cries turned to quiet babbles.

       Bucky nearly panicked at how quickly she became quiet in fear that he’d knocked the toddler out. He held her out again to see if she was—well, alive. She smiled up at him, her big doe e/c eyes piercing into his baby blues. Bucky Barnes was never one to care for kids—not since he became the Winter Soldier—but this was different. A baby, who he was holding in his arm, smiled up at him as she reached for his metal arm? His heart melted at the sight.

       “Otie?” she questioned him, her brows furrowing. He took a seat on the chair, not sure if he could trust himself with a baby while he stood up, before chuckling.

       “I’m not your otie y/n, kid. She’s a little busy at the moment, but I’m her much better teammate, Bucky,” he smiled down at her.

       “CKY!” she exclaimed excitedly, trying to jump up. He readjusted the way he carried her, seating her onto his lap while his hands—both metal and flesh—supported her weight to keep her from tipping over.

       “Close enough, kid,” Bucky chuckled, “So, what’s your name?” Bucky didn’t think his morning would lead to this; witnessing y/n trying to console a kid while he talked to a one-year-old.

       “Ayee!” she exclaimed, a wide smile on her face.

       “Ayee?” Bucky questioned, raising a brow at her, making Allie laugh.

       “A-yee,” Allie repeated slowly.

        “Al-lie?” Bucky questioned, his brow still raised as Allie reached for his face, smacking her hands against his eyebrows.

       “AYEE!” Allie exclaimed happily, clapping her hands to celebrate getting Bucky to correctly say her name.

     “Allie, huh? Is that your name, kid?” Bucky questioned as Allie slammed her hands against his face excitedly.

       “CKY!” she giggled as he continued making faces for the girl. Never in a million years did he think a baby would feel at ease with his present. He was learning new things that day, he shrugged.

       “You can’t be Bucky, I’m Bucky” he chuckled as Allie found herself pulling against his beard.

       “Cky!” Allie insisted.

       “No, you’re Allie. I’m Bucky,” Bucky chuckled, poking at her squishy cheek.

       “I Ayee, you Cky?” she repeated, a smile on her face.

       “Exactly,” Bucky smiled.

       “So, you’re Cky now, huh?” he turned to see y/n standing there, her nephew—whose sobbing was coming to an end—in her arms as she grinned at the sight of Bucky with her niece in his lap.

       “Only because you stink at your job here too,” Bucky scoffed.

       “Rude,” y/n mumbled to herself as she set Jackson down on his seat with a ‘you’re going to be okay, buddy’ as she picked Allie up from Bucky’s lap and set her back onto the highchair so she could continue feeding the toddler. As a matter of fact, Olivia’s sobbing even calmed down a bit as she downed the stack of pancakes her aunt prepared for her.

a/n: this chapter was brought to u by my gelato (my mom kinda got made because it was expensive but yknow a girls gotta treat herself) and me wanting ice cream 

i hate you but taglist: @sarcastic-britt​​ / @kmuir1​​ / @shower-me-with-roses​​ / @justab-eautifulmess​​ / @thomasthetankson​​ / @x-abi-sharp-x​​ / @intovert-gone-wild​​ / @brittanymcsharry​​ / @leaving-the-past-behind​ / @xoxabs88xox​​​ / @mylifeiscrazy0423​​​ / @howliebucky​​​ / @i-cry-so-much​​ / @witchything​​ / @naimalove143​​ / @simplybarnes​​ / @kseniiafirebrace​​ / @buckybarnesishot310​​ /

Forever tags: @spatium-viatorem​​​​ / @sxphiiwrld​​​​ / @strangersstranger​​​​ / @nerdy-bookworm-1998​​​ / @cutie1365​​​ / @valeriiaaass​​ / @adorkably​​ / @whatinthyworld​​ /

MARVEL TAGLIST: @captainamerica-is-bae​​​

BUCKY TAGLIST: @missmidnightxo​​​ / @tinymalscoffee​​ / @howliebucky​​ /

#bucky #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x teammate! reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #winter solider imagine #winter solider x you #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine

[viking-raider]

Body Shape *Anon Request*

Summary: You are struggling on Your diet and exercise. You’ve had more cheat meals than You really should have. It was a struggle Henry understands well himself, and he isn’t shy about telling and showing You how much he loves the shape of Your body, and let You know that You’re not alone.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 1,788

Rating: Fluffy Support, Fluffy and Loving Henry, and a Cold Shower..

Inspiration: Anon Request (x)

Author’s Note: To the dear Anon that requested this, I hope I managed what you wanted, and hope you’re doing well. ❤️

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans @jennylovelyheart @MITZWINCHESTER @rosie-loves-things​, @ohjules​, @mary-ann84​, @omgkatinka​, @hm-fck​, @the-freak-cassie-131​, @heelsamizayn​, @badassbaker​, @jensen-danneel-please​, @michelehansel​

You stared at the empty carton of Triple Chocolate Ice Cream, and bit into your trembling bottom lip. You'd done it again, and hated yourself for it. You'd been on a diet for the last several months and had been doing decently well on it, minus the few times you'd stumbled and cheated on it. But, for whatever reason this time was the hardest, you didn't know what it was about this week, but you'd eaten almost everything thing in the house, including Kal, who eyeballed you from the living room. Letting out frustrated growl, you picked up that container and threw it, forcefully, into the trash under the kitchen sink and launched the spoon you'd used into the sink. You went into the private gym Henry had set up in the spare bedroom and decided to do a run on the treadmill for a while, and it did make you feel better for a little while. Until you went upstairs to take a shower and caught a look at your naked body in the full length bathroom mirror, freezing you into place and making you stare at yourself with giant eyes.

“How the fuck can Henry love this?” You gulped, licking your dry lips and blinking at the hot blinding tears welling up in your eyes.

“It's a lot easier than you think.” Henry's voice answered as he appeared in the bathroom doorway, he met your eyes in the mirror and had to take a deep breath before he got emotional seeing you cry. “You are incredibly beautiful, y/n.” He told you, moving closer behind you.

“You're only saying that cause you don't want to see me cry.” You told him, angrily wiping at your eyes and feeling silly. “You have the damn body of a Greek god, and I've got the body of a....play dough figure.”

Henry's eyebrows creased and he rested his hands on your hips. “It took me decades to get my body where it is right now, y/n.” He told you, his lips brushing the cove of your ear. “and you know that.” he said, his fingertips gliding over the curve of your sides, bringing his hands to rest on your shoulders. “and you also know how much I struggle to keep it this way. How many times have you caught me cheating on a diet, or found my stash...”

“You hide everything in your fucking shoe boxes.” You chuckled, despite the tears still in your eyes, knowing he was right. “You've always had a stronger will than me.”

“Like hell I have!” Henry laughed, pressing his lips to your shoulder. “I have to have a trainer beat my ass for months to get into shape, and stay in shape. You don't even use a trainer, you do it all on your own. I could never do that! If I didn't have my Trainer the most exercise I'd do was walking from the couch to the kitchen, or from my computer, as I played World of Warcraft, to the kitchen, or taking Kal on a walk to pee.” He kissed up your neck, his hands smoothing down your arms and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him. “You hit the gym here at home, or with me, or on your own, every day. You get up an hour before me, and I already get up before the sun rises. You're so much better than me at cardio. You beat me by thirty minutes at the Durrell Challenge last year.” He listed all these things, as his hands wandered around your body, touching and caressing your skin and curves.

“You've lost almost all the weight you wanted to lose.”

“Yeah, and I'm about to gain it all back.” You sniffled, biting your lip and leaning back against him.

“No, you're not, Honey.” Henry whispered, ghosting his lips over the skin of your neck. “We all have our moments of weakness.”

“I ate an entire thing of Chocolate ice cream, a pizza, cookies and more chocolate.” You confessed, wiggling as Henry caressed your sides and stomach, touching ticklish spots. “And that's just today. I'm so hungry I could eat Kal.”

Henry dropped his head back, laughing. “I don't think Kal tastes all that good.” He chuckled, turning you around to face him. “He's mostly fur, than anything else.” He tried to get you to giggle, but didn't quite manage it, and he sighed. “I ate the rest of your chocolate cake from the restaurant last night.” he blurted out.

“You what?” You snapped, looking up at him, surprised.

“I ate it.” He nodded, pressing his lips together. “I was supposed to do my fasting cardio this morning. But, when I got up, I went into the fridge to make sure my shake was ready for me, after my workout, and I saw your cake and...I just couldn't help myself.”

“I thought I slept ate it.” You told him, mouth hanging open.

“No, babe. That was me, all me.” He explained, utterly abashed. “So, I didn't actually do my fasted cardio, and I've been sneaking Reese's cups.”

“That's why I found the wrapper under the driver's seat of the car!” You exclaimed, shocked.

Henry licked his lips and nodded his head. “Yeah. My Trainer chewed me out for it, cause I gained a kilo in the last month, and not of muscle.”

“Three pounds, Henry?” You asked him, surprised, you'd thought he'd been kicking his diet and exercise ass, doing so well and amazing at it.

“Yeah, I've been doing some stress eating, worried about the upcoming season of the Witcher.” He confessed to you, caressing your neck and twisting your hair around his fingers.

“Why didn't you tell me, you were struggling?”

“Why didn't you tell me you were struggling?” He countered, looking you in the eyes, deeply with such affection and empathy, it made you to start crying again. “I don't want you to be so hard on yourself. You deserve to be proud of yourself for everything you've done in the last months to lose weight. It's not an easy task to do, but I know you can do it, and can't be any prouder of you, y/n.” he told you, pressing his forehead to yours. “You can always tell me when you're having a hard time with it, or if you just need to talk to me about how you're feeling. I love you with all my heart and soul, y/n. I don't care what your body shape is. I care about what makes you happy, and I want to do anything and everything for you, and with you, to make sure you achieve that. Whatever it is.” He pressed his lips to yours in a tender, but meaningful, kiss.

“And if you're going to cheat on your diet,” he added, pulling back to look at you, his fingers brushing through your hair. “You better let me in on it,” he chuckled, smiling. “You always have the best cheat foods.”

You laughed at him, blushing like crazy. “I really do, don't I?” You nodded, biting your lip.

“Mind, if I share the shower with you?” he asked, stroking your skin. “I'm pretty dirty after my workout and run.”

“I'd share anything with you, Henry.” You told him, moving to turn on the shower. “I'm pretty icky myself, after running on the treadmill.”

Henry grinned, pulling you back against him, and kissing you with incredible passion, before dragging you into the shower with him. You melted feeling his hands on you as you rinsed the soap off your body. You looked up at him as he turned you around, feeling your knees become wobbly as you looked at him, dripping wet and glistening. He was nothing any Greek sculptor could carve out of marble, or any stone for that matter. Henry smirked at you, winked and slowly sank to his knees in front of you, the spray of the shower raining down his head and shoulders, as he wrapped both of his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as he pressed his mouth between your legs, making your let out a breathy giggle, feeling the tip of his tongue swirl around your clit. It was a damn good thing his arms were around your legs, or you'd have melted down the shower drain.

“You taste so good.” He moaned against you, making the vibration of his deep voice tickle you. “You are my favorite cheat meal, ever.” He told you, turning his head to suck on the very inner spot of your thigh. “I could devour, and worship, your body for life.” He turned his mouth back to your clit, cupping you in his mouth as his tongue slipped along the length of your lips, delving into your center to tease the growing wetness there.

“Oh, fuck all, Henry.” You gasped, arm shooting out to the shower wall to steady yourself, and Henry's arms hugged your legs tighter. “We're going to have to run this off, or at least, do some serious cardio.” You panted, your free hand tangling into Henry's wet hair.

“Cardio.” He whispered around you, moving one of his arms further around your leg, to move a hand between your legs and slip a finger inside of you from behind, making your head fall back, the cold shower water falling over you with a shiver, or was it Henry's mouth that made you shiver?

“Yes.” You panted, tightening your fingers in his hair, tugging on those wet curls and pressing his face a bit firm between your legs, as your orgasm mounted. “Please, Henry.” You whimpered, gulping as your body felt tingly and warm, despite the ice cold water, your knees gave a little bit and the hand you had on the shower wall, clenched Henry's shoulder with your nails digging into his skin. You dropped your head forward and looked down at him, seeing that he'd been looking up at you the whole time. “You hungry, bastard.” You laughed, then gasped sharply, feeling your orgasm washed over you, making you sway, feeling light and dizzy, your eyes rolling back into your head.

Henry stood up, wrapping his arms around your waist to support you, and kissed you. “I love you.” He whispered against your lips. “I love your body. I love your curves, and I love your soul.”

“I love how loving and supportive you are of me.” You answered, nipping at his bottom lip. “I love how you love me, even when I don't love myself.”

#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill/Reader #Henry Cavill/You #Henry Cavill Requests #Viking-Raider Fics #Viking-Raider requests #anon request #fic request #Body Shape *Fic* #Geralt #Geralt of Rivia #The Witcher #Witcher #Superman #Man of Steel #Clark Kent #Kal #Kal-El #Nomis #Night Hunter #Marshall #Walter Marshall #Napoleon Solo #man from uncle #The Man from U.N.C.L.E #August Walker #Mission: Impossible – Fallout #Mission Impossible #Mission Impossible: Fallout #Fall Out

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #223: of Robin Hoods and Roustabouts

September, 1982

Apparently a “roustabout” is an unskilled or casual labor.

And lets admit the obvious that if Hawkeye is either of the two things, he’s a robin hood. And its not inaccurate but be nicer to Scott Lang.

Even if he manages to be even more hapless in this issue then in modern takes that leans into him being a fuck-up.

As for the cover? Pretty striking cover. I’ve been waiting for Hawkeye to shoot Ant-Man at someone. Its apparently an Iconic Avengers moment and to think it first happens in a filler.

Because I’m pretty sure this is a filler. Its written by David Michelinie alone instead of Jim Shooter getting a plotter or co-writer credit. It doesn’t really have anything from the dangling plot threads of Hank Pym or the Masters of Evil.

Between this and and the filler with the immortal child who badly wanted to die and all of the plotter or co-writer credits, you just really get a sense that Jim Shooter did not have time to devote to Avengers anymore.

So what kind of filler will this be? Weird? Impactless? Good Actually? Let’s see!

Well, apparently Hawkeye is going to the carnival so at this point, it could go either way.

I like that Hawkeye has a H belt buckle because that’s the kind of thing that he would do and that I can make fun of him for.

I know that it’s been a while since he’s mentioned kewpie dolls but Hawkeye came from the circus. He and his brother ran away to one when they were little and the Swordsman taught Hawkeye archery. The point being, “he’s come home.”

As in, this is specifically the carnival he used to work before he became very briefly a superhero, and then for slightly longer a supervillain, and then for much much longer a superhero for real.

Point is, he’s been away for a while. But he received a flyer in the mail and decided he just had to come.

Because someone wrote HELP! on the back.

Hawkeye figures that the previous owner’s daughter and current owner Marcy Carson sent it as a goof but heck if she’s going to go to that trouble, he’ll be happy to visit.

So he breezes past the workers outside the owner’s trailer and-

Actually they beat the shit out of him for trying to breeze past them. Goes to show.

When Hawkeye threatens to beat them up for this rude treatment, they get ruder and call him a rube. Can you believe! Him, a former employee himself being called a rube! Also they pull a fancy sci-fi gun on him.

So Hawkeye does buzz off. So he can change into his hawking eye duds and buzz right back on.

Roustabouts carrying laser pistols is very suspicious. And I guess Ant-Man isn’t the roustabout of the title. He’s moving up in the world.

MEANWHILE, Perfectly Ordinary electronics technician, ex-con, and Ant-Man Scott Lang is having a night out with his daughter Cassie. And they’re having a bit of a disagreement.

See, Cassie, future superhero, wants to ride the really cool roller coaster the Spin-’n-Heave. Scott Lang, dad with dumb views on gender apparently, insists that a roller coaster just isn’t ladylike enough and she should ride something more refined like the pony ride or ring toss.

Also, Scott is carrying the Ant-Man suit with him, loose in his pocket. And the helmet just drops out of his pocket and the damn fool would have lost it if Cassie hadn’t spotted it and mistaken it for a marble.

Geez, Scott! I stood up for you!

Scott’s attempts to dad by restricting what his daughter can and can’t do based on his own views on what is ladylike get dropped when he spots Hawkeye hauling ass across the carnival and decides that This Cannot Stand!

Scott Lang Ant-Man may not be an Avenger but dangit he can’t leave a fellow hero in the lurch! He must offer unsolicited aid!

So he caves on the Spin-’n-Heave issue because its a way to keep Cassie occupied for the length of exactly this issue.

Scott gives the operator a bunch of money and tells the operator to let Cassie ride until it runs out and then takes off.

Cassie is thrilled.

Meanwhile, Hawkeye has returned to the owner’s trailer but Marcy is gone and so are the two goons that were guarding the door. But he spots them marching Marcy through the crowd.

The goons are complimenting Marcy on being so cooperative but also say that if she’s not cooperative, her star acts are gonna get fed to the lions. And that might happen anyway once everything is said and done because their boss be like that.

Anyway, that’s when the two get hit by a KRAK THUBB arrow. Punch arrow? It looks nerf-y.

Hawkeye grabs Marcy and runs off with her into a tent so she can explain it all.

But first: he has to notice that she is beautiful. He has been gone a while so, y’know. People grow up or whatever.

Hawkeye: “There, that’s better! Now maybe I can get to the bottom of -- hey! You’re beautiful!”

Marcy: “I’ve waited a long time for you to notice that, ol’ buddy.”

Hawkeye: “Yeah, well, it’s hard noticin’ anything when you’re bein’ tripped into a pile of elephant dirt -- which, as I recall, used to be your favorite pastime!”

Marcy: “People change, Clint.”

Young Marcy sounds like a really interesting person. She certainly gave Hawkeye the business.

Anyway, she explains that it was pure luck that she was able to sneak that message out to him. And that the carnival has been taken over by some freak with powers.

Marcy: “Why, if he even suspected I was in touch with you he’d kill me deader than a Monday night in Des Moines!”

Off-screen Villain: “Nicely put, dumplin’! Should make you a dandy little epitaph!”

SCENE CHANGE TO PRESERVE SUSPENSE

Scott Lang has ducked behind some circus carts to change into Ant-Man.

Except he still has the whole shrunken costume piecemeal in his pockets so the process is one of slapstick. Scott goes digging in his pockets for the suit and accidentally drops it all in the straw.

Then he has to go digging around for the incredibly teeny pieces of gear while realizing that this was a stupid plan.

Maybe he should keep the suit in a tin. Like a mint tin or something.

But he finally gets all the pieces together and uses a safety pin to trigger the enlarging gas to full-size the outfit so he can put it on.

Huh! Enlarging gas! Early days in Avengers, they were all about the logistics of the shrinking and growing for Ant-Giant and the Wasp but it hasn’t been talked about in a long while. Wasp just changes size without the how being discussed.

But if it is Pym Particles, then I guess Scott isn’t at the point yet where his body naturally produces them so he has to use the gas canisters on the belt.

Scott does get dressed in his ant duds and uses the helmet to command some ants to find Hawkeye. And this is a carnival with a lot of dropped funnel cake and cotton candy so you know that there’s plenty of ants available.

SCENE CHANGE because we can only preserve suspense so far.

The mysterious off-screen villain hits the lights in the tent that Hawkeye and Marcy were talking in. Which reveals a bunch of gym and training equipment. It’d be nice if carnivals could provide such robust gym benefits to their workers but I feel that this is actually suspicious, finding this here.

Especially the combat flight simulator.

Hawkeye: “This place looks like a training ground for World War III!”

Off-screen villain, about to be onscreen: “And what better setting for the world’s greatest trainer? Namely... the TASKMASTER!”

Heyyy its the Taskmaster!

I forgot that he was a loose thread. He got away after the THREE-PARTER that introduced him. Then again, I guess since he’s the explanation for where villains get their armies of mooks, he didn’t really need to be tied up because that would defeat the purpose.

Anyway, Hawkeye wasn’t on the team for that three-parter but thankfully, the Avengers take thorough records.

Hawkeye: “Yeah, I remember readin’ about you in the Avengers’ files! You’re some sorta goon peddler!”

Taskmaster: “Watch yer mouth, bow-bender! What I am is a teacher!”

And then he recaps his goon, mook, henchman training business for the audience. He even clarifies that his series of secret academies are going great, thanks, but he’s trying to branch out with a mobile recruiting center.

Aka, this circus. And heck, according to Taskmaster, carnies already come off unscrupulous so having a bunch of goons hanging around won’t stand out.

THE PERFECT CRIME.

Actually. I don’t know if this is a crime? It’s not illegal to do combat training or learn how to fly a plane, probably. Then again, when 100% of your alumni wind up arrested for helping steal the Statue of Liberty, a legal goon school would get a lot of unwanted scrutiny. So best keep it secret.

And of course, extorting the owner and workers of a circus is definitely a crime. Pretty sure.

Anyway, the mobile recruiting center scheme is helped by Marcy telling anyone who asks that the new people hanging around are a new act that isn’t ready to open yet.

Hawkeye is sick of Taskmaster’s smarmy smarm and tries to shoot a grabber arrow? at Taskmaster.

Who just blocks it with his shield.

And takes the opportunity to brag about his photographic reflexes, where he only needs to see a sweet move once and he can do it perfectly.

He shows off by doing some Cap moves and then doing a Spider-Man move. Which he seems to do just to do.

And by Spider-Man move I mean hanging upside down from a line. Which, yes, Spider-Man does do that but it doesn’t really seem that necessary or helpful here and you’re totally doing it just to show off but really you look a little ridiculous.

Taskmaster even shows off some Tigra moves by kicking Hawkeye in the face. Its fun to me that he shows off Tigra specifically. Its for some acrobatics like flippy kick but there’s gotta be other acrobatic heroes. Like Spider-Man.

But Tigra was on the Avengers recently and briefly and dammit, he’s gonna show off what he learned!

Anyway, Taskmaster beats up Hawkeye until he gets bored of it and then just takes Marcy hostage to get Hawkeye to surrender.

He just really wanted to show off some of his sweet moves. And as soon as he ran through five different hero movesets (Cap, Spider-Man, Tigra, Daredevil, and Iron Fist) he’s just like ‘k I’m done’.

Meanwhile, back to Ant-Man ant-again.

He’s lurking around a corner trying to be inconspicuous while children are pointing and asking if he’s a clown. Perhaps realizing that he didn’t need to put on the full costume to use the helmet and that he’s just made himself look foolish.

But some of his ants report in that they’ve found Hawkeye so Ant-Man shrinks down to ride an ant into action.

Wait. Yeah. You could have just shrunken down and perched somewhere to wait for ant reports. You’ve made yourself look a fool and you fully had the power to avoid that in so many ways.

Meanwhile back to Hawkeye yet again, Taskmaster knows that killing an Avenger would attract notice so he’s going to make it look like an accident.

So he’s locked Hawkeye in an electrified cage with a lion, a normal situation that can accidentally happen to anyone. So now when Hawkeye gets mauled to death by the lion, nobody will suspect it was anything but an accident.

Taskmaster walks away because its villain tradition that you don’t watch the heroes you lock in the death traps. That’d just be gauche.

The lion sizes up Hawkeye and decides that he’s food and leaps for the kill!

And Ant-Man grows out from under the lion and throws it into the electrified bars, knocking him out.

Pretty good timing Scott! And that poor attempted man-eater lion! That poor five hundred pound lion! WOW SCOTT, do you work out?

I also feel that Republic Serial has aged poorly for more than just lion tossing.

Ant-Man and Hawkeye get each other on the same page. As it happens, Ant-Man actually has more experience with Taskmaster since he was actually in that three-parter. That’ll give them a tiny, tiny, tiny edge.

They’re still stuck in a locked cage and Hawkeye is like ‘gee whiz shrinking hero guy how can we possibly get out?’

Would you be surprised that Ant-Man just shrinks Hawkeye? Scott does muse that he could probably have picked the lock if he had the tools for it but shrinking just saves time.

Hawkeye does not care for it though.

I don’t know what he’s complaining about. Big sleepy cat even bigger now. You could live in the mane at that size.

You could be a tiny man living in a lion’s mane. Imagine.

Anyway.

Over in Taskmaster’s private tent, he’s telling Marcy she done fucked up calling for Hawkeye and she’s going to wish she was getting mauled to death by a lion in an electrified cage like Hawkeye was.

And Hawkeye does the equivalent of clearing his throat and saying ‘hey dingus, not dead’

Taskmaster reaches for a magnesium flare like he used against the Avengers but Ant-Man’s expert knowledge of meeting Taskmaster one time lets him warn Hawkeye who shoots it out of Taskmaster’s hand.

Taskmaster just questions why they didn’t go for a killshot when they had him surprised and then calls a goon squad on the heroes.

Of course, goon squads being called on heroes is just a setup to make heroes look really cool showing their stuff on some expendable targets.

“While the Taskmaster’s troops have been well-trained for normal combat, they fare woefully poor against these super-normal foes!”

And show their stuff they do. Like Hawkeye leaping around firing net and bola arrows!

And Ant-Man... shrinking down really small to punch a guy’s earlobe.

Look. He’s trying.

Also, Marcy is braining people with a juggling pin like some manner of alien clown because she is exceptionally irate at Taskmaster and his goons.

While the three beat up this crowd of goons, Taskmaster runs off to set up his “escape insurance.”

Ant-Man and Hawkeye chase him into the big top where there’s already a crowd watching the show. And waiting for the human cannonball act.

BUT! Taskmaster is apparently a cartoon villain because he’s replaced the human cannonball with a dummy full of explosives and he’s going to shoot it and blow up the grandstand, killing a couple hundred innocent lives.

Taskmaster tells them they can capture him or they can stop his ridiculous scheme.

Taskmaster: “Have fun decidin’, chumps!”

And then presumably he runs off giggling.

Hawkeye wants to go after Taskmaster and have Ant-Man take care of the nothuman cannonball bomb.

Ant-Man: “No, Hawkeye! There are too many lives at stake! And it may take both of us to stop that cannon!”

Hawkeye: “But we can’t just let that psycho walk! We can’t -- .”

Ant-Man: “Hawkeye! Think about it! Think! Please... !”

Hawkeye: “Yeah, I guess you’re right... blast it.”

Scott Lang has his heart in the right place to be a hero even if he is a bit of a goofus about it. I like you, Scott Lang.

Hawkeye runs back into the tent and shoots the goon manning the cannon with a bola arrow. he gets the goon but the goon falls on the button.

Fortunately, its the elevation control, not the fire button.

Unfortunately, there is no firing button, so the firing cycle is automatic.

Fortunately, hitting the elevation control accidentally made the cannon point up instead of at the grandstand. So the bomb is still going to fall and blow everything up but they have time and Ant-Man has an idea.

He has Hawkeye nock his fastest arrow and jumps on it.

Hawkeye shoots the arrow and hits the explosive filled mannequin in the neck right as it reached the top of its trajectory and hung very briefly in the air.

As the bomb starts to plummet, Ant-Man crawls up the arrow onto the bomb-man and to the detonator.

All too soon the bomb hits the ring

but doesn’t detonate.

Ant-Man managed to defuse the bomb!

And he also managed to survive the fall because of course! He’s not destined to die for a long while and only then in a really dumb way.

Thanks to Scott’s experience of watching Raiders of the Lost Ark twenty-seven times he’s a real expert on jumping from one speeding object to another.

Aka, from the falling bomb to a flying ant. Sure.

The heroes see that Taskmaster has escaped while all this was going on but Hawkeye decides he’ll get him next time.

Also? The audience has thought that this was part of the show the whole time so they’ve loved every second of this.

Soon the other Avengers arrive, too late to take part in the plot but in time to help clean up the goon operation.

Also, She-Hulk is in her tattered white dress outfit again. I really think there was some miscommunication here. Like with having her dressed like that on the previous cover and having her dressed like that here in this filler issue.

She doesn’t wear that anymore but its the Iconic outfit for her so if an artist needs a ref to draw her, they’re probably looking at a picture from her Savage She-Hulk series.

And Scott Lang gets the last page because whoops, he left his daughter on a roller coaster the whole time and forgot her in the heat of the adventure. DAD OF THE YEAR!

Scott runs to find her sitting outside the Spin-’n-Heave looking down, head in hands. Scott is worried that something is wrong with her but

Cassie Lang: “I’m a little tired right now, daddy *yawn* but can we come back an’ ride the ‘Spin-’n-Heave’ again t’morrow?”

Scott Lang: “Tomorrow? Again? *sigh* Kids.”

Hah, she tuckered herself out riding the roller coast over and over again but is game to keep doing it again tomorrow. That’s the Cassie Lang that will grow up to join the Young Avengers!

So, Avengers filler but it wasn’t weird or inconsequential. It doesn’t do anything with the ongoing plots but it feels like it does since Scott Lang has come back into the books recently because of the Hank Pym plot. And it follows up on Taskmaster who has gone unaddressed since his introductory stories.

Its just a nice story and by focusing on a guest star and one of the Avengers doing an impromptu team-up it has some fun energy.

Good times.

Hey. Follow @essential-avengers​ maybe? Its better than the Spin-’n-Heave! ... I can’t actually prove that. But also like and reblog this post because I’m a cool person. ... I can’t actually prove that either...

#Avengers #Taskmaster #Hawkeye #Ant Man #Scott Lang #some roustabouts #some robin hoods #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging #some avengers in a one panel cameo in their own book #ant man and hawkeye make a good team weirdly #i'm weirdly fascinated by the Spin 'n Heave #it has a waterfall

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

libera nos a malo chapter 6: si, un mostro son

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 6/20

libera nos a malo masterpost+

unstoppable force/immovable object masterpost+

<< chapter five+

chapter seven+ >>

During the first Potions lesson of the New Year, Cassie called in a favor. She hated to do this, preferring to hoard them like a miser hoards gold; but she knew that a favor never spent was almost as useless as one you’d never had in the first place. And she hadn’t wasted all of third year trailing Draco Malfoy in order to give Pansy Parkinson a detailed account of the boy’s habits and routines for nothing.

She arrived early for class to claim her prize as Draco’s bench partner for the rest of term. As a peace offering (for she doubted he would be pleased with the new arrangement), she gathered the supplies listed on the board for the day’s lesson, setting up both of their work spaces with quick efficiency and shaking hands. She’d not forgotten the feel of Fenrir Greyback’s teeth on her neck, and when Pansy flounced into the room and gave her a haughty glare before slinking to the back to partner with Tracey Davis, Cassie had to restrain herself from laughing out loud. She would never be afraid of the likes of Pansy Parkinson again.

Draco barely looked at her when he arrived, and she knew from the house elf chatter that he’d been up most of the night again. Class began as usual with Professor Slughorn asking a simple question and Hermione Granger regurgitating the text book. Apparently this was what the professor considered sufficient instruction, and he set them loose to create a credible antidote for the mystery poison assigned to them. When she and Draco each had their poison simmering in their cauldrons, she quietly drew a piece of parchment from her textbook and slid it across the worktable to her partner.

He glanced at it and stuffed it into his pocket. “Your uncle?” he asked indifferently.

“Yes. It’s the first step to restarting the magic. If it’s not too much trouble, please take notes on what happens when you follow those directions. Then I can send them to Uncle, and he’ll be able to advise you on what to do next,” she replied, her head bent over her work.

“This is going to take too long.”

“I’m sorry. We’re doing the best we can. If you like, I could come with you and take the notes myself. It might make the whole operation go a little faster.”

“No. I don’t need anymore of your help.”

“Something wrong, Draco?” asked Professor Slughorn from where he lazed at the front of the room, his feet propped up on a velvet poof.

“No, sir,” Draco quickly replied. “We were just discussing the next step.”

Professor Snape would not have allowed this to pass unexamined, but Professor Slughorn was thankfully both more benevolent and less energetic than their Head of House.

“Very good, carry on,” he said, and returned to his reading.

The antidote preparation soon demanded their complete attention, and it wasn’t until Cassie was painstakingly extracting the essence from a year-old cat’s gallbladder that they had time to speak again.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” she said. “I’m doing my best.”

He curled his lip unpleasantly at her, but she had the distinct feeling that if she prodded his angry mask ever so slightly, it would crumble into despair.

“Yeah, well, you’d better try harder,” he hissed back.

She swallowed hard and turned her focus to the extraction; trying not to think about Greyback’s teeth.

*****

On Thursday evening, Finn and Miranda were lingering over bowls of jambalaya and glasses of iced coffee in the MACUSA cafeteria while they waited for Finn’s portkey home. The Marx Brothers were the evening’s wall entertainment, and Miranda gave Harpo and Chico half her attention while a sweet sort of melancholy tickled her heart. She rarely spent time in self-reflection, but the looming end of this visit with her favorite living brother was tempting her to the vice.

“I’m going to miss you,” she said, hoping to disarm some of the emotion by speaking it aloud.

“Course you are,” he replied, a flattering mix of disappointment and affection on his face. “It ain’t the same at home without you, no matter how many times you go off. But if you’re really aimin’ to set up a homestead here, maybe now’s the time to start easin’ everybody into the idea.”

Leave it to Finn to thrust her right back into the middle of her confusion. “I’m not going to stay here forever.”

“You sure about that? I mean, we’ll give you shit about it, but if it’s what you want we’d all back your decision.”

She dragged her spoon through the dregs of her bowl, avoiding his shrewd eyes. “It’s not what I want. I mean, I’m planning to stay for awhile longer. The money’s good over here, and much as I hate all Healers, I want to keep working with Healer A’isha at least until I’m back to normal.”

He wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily. “And then there’s always Severus Snape.”

“I’m not staying because of him.” God, she didn’t want to talk about this now.

“Miranda Jane Rose, you lie to whoever you want, exceptin’ yourself and me.”

“I’m not lying to you!”

“Then what the actual fuck is going on with the two of you?”

“You wait until now to ask me that? You’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

“Exactly. There’s no time for you to beat around the bush. Now talk.”

“Ass. It’d serve you right if I just left you here without saying anything.”

“Probably.” He pulled out a pair of cigarettes and flipped one to her. “But you ain’t gonna.”

She gave a sigh of resignation and snapped her fingers to light the cigarettes. “The truth is, I don’t know what the fuck we’re doing. I thought it was just going to be a casual thing—just blowing off steam. It was that way for a long time. And then it wasn’t.”

“Do you love him?”

There was no way on God’s green earth that she was going to admit to that out loud. “I’d be an idiot if I did. He’s in the middle of a giant shit show over here, and he’s tied up in enough emotional knots to make Alexander scream.”

“Seems to me you know a thing or two about shit shows and fucked up emotions. Does he love you?”

“You are like a dog after a bone, Finn.”

He had the audacity to wink at her. “Yep.”

She never could lie to Finn. “He’s never said so, but I wouldn’t be shocked if he did. I’m not stupid. The way he looked after me when I got hurt in Romania—I know he wouldn’t have done all that if he didn’t care. And I know it hurt him when I moved out of his rooms and back to my cabin. But I couldn’t stay there with him and let it all choke me.”

“You do what you gotta do; but if he’s in that deep and you don’t feel the same way, it seems only sportin’ to let him go.”

“I know.”

“But?”

She puffed out a few rings of smoke and sent them dancing in and out of each other beneath the bright cafeteria lights. “But I don’t want to.”

“Interestin’. It ain’t your style to play with hearts like that.”

“I don’t need you to point that out to me. I know it’s a shit thing to do.”

“I ain’t here to judge you. Just watch your back. Even a lowly No-Maj like me can tell shit is hot over here, and I don’t wanna be goin’ to your funeral. I’ve had enough of buryin’ siblings to last me a lifetime.”

“Don’t I know it?”

They snuffed out their cigarettes and tossed them into their empty bowls. The interrogation had lasted long enough that they had to rush through the Hall of Virtues to make it to the Transportation Hub on time. Finn queued up at the back of the portkey line, and set down his rucksack to give his sister a fierce hug. She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the smell of home, and her throat was so tight it hurt to breathe. When he let go of her at last, his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“See ya ‘round, Sis,” he said. “If you need anything, you call me. I’ll be here in two shakes.”

“I will,” she replied. “And same goes for you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, threw his rucksack over his shoulder, and stepped up on wide platform. The ruby slipper appeared on the marble pedestal before him, and he threw her one final grin over his shoulder before reaching out to touch the portkey.

Then he spun away, back to Kansas and home.

*****

Half an hour later Miranda was hurtling into classroom 1B, ten minutes late for her first Animagus lesson. She skidded to a halt and fought the urge to wince at the way her boots echoed through the cavernous room. The door slammed ominously shut behind her, and Minerva McGonagall did not deign to look up from the podium where she sat marking scrolls and looking severely disappointed. Miranda’s face turned red as she slunk penitentially to a desk near the back of the room, and she was surprised to see Remus Lupin, dressed in tattered trousers and an overlarge flannel shirt, already sitting in the back corner. He gave her a sympathetic look when their eyes met, but she had the distinct feeling that he was studying her every move, withholding judgement until she either won her place as his working partner—or lost it completely.

“How good of you to join us, Miss Rose,” Minerva said, still busily marking. “I take it you had trouble getting through security?”

Miranda already liked Hagrid too much to throw him under the Knight Bus. “No, Ma’am. My brother was heading back home tonight, and I didn’t figure in enough time to get from the Embassy to here. Sorry for the inconvenience, it won’t happen again.”

Minerva let this answer hang in the air and Miranda slid into a desk a few rows in front of Remus, suddenly feeling eleven years old again.

“See that it doesn’t,” Minerva said crisply.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Minerva finished marking the scroll while Miranda fell victim to the sort of restlessness that only descended on her in the classroom. Through monumental effort, she managed to restrain this feeling to the tapping of one toe inside her boot, but she knew it would only be a matter of minutes before she felt like screaming. At last the steely professor rolled up the scroll, laid down her quill, and gave her student a look that showed how very unimpressed she was with the American witch thus far.

“May I safely assume that you have read Perdix’s Animagi Liberatus?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And do you have any initial questions on the material?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Then please stand up and cast a Patronus.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The chair squeaked horribly as she got up, and her boots sounded thunderous as she took her place in the middle of the empty aisle. She wet her lips and did her best to banish all these little humiliations with the thought of spring and perfect baseball games. “Expecto Patronum!”

The bobcat burst immediately out of her wand, displaying a confidence she didn’t quite feel. It eyed the inhabitants of the room curiously, slinking around Miranda’s ankles before prowling across the room to Remus.

“Funny, I thought you were a dog person,” he observed, returning the Patronus’s stare with an amused one of his own.

“I am. God has a sense of humor,” Miranda quipped.

“Please keep the commentary to a minimum,” Minerva ordered.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Remus and Miranda chorused.

“Thank you. Now, I want you to take a moment to study your Patronus as minutely as you can,” Minerva said.

Miranda squatted down to do as she was bid, narrowing her eyes as she marked each stripe and curve of her silvery bobcat. The Patronus ignored her, still staring at Remus, until it gave a hiss of displeasure and darted up one of the bookcases to perch imperiously on the top.

“Are you ready?” Minerva asked when the Patronus was settled.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Miranda had never made an emptier boast.

“To remind you, the incantation is Amato Animo Animato Animagus,” Minerva said.

“Decline puer,” Miranda muttered under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Minerva clearly didn’t believe her, but she let it pass. “Picture your Patronus as you speak the words, and don’t fight whatever happens afterwards.”

“Okay, here goes.” Miranda took a deep breath and let her mind go mildly unfocused. “Amato Animo Animato Animagus.”

As soon as the final syllable left Miranda’s lips, her skin started to itch everywhere. Her reptilian brain started to panic as coarse, striped fur sprouted all over her limbs and her spine stretched and snapped like a rubber band. She closed her eyes against the pain as her right hand shriveled into a mangled caricature of a cat’s paw. Gradually the pain and the pitiful pseudo-transformation stopped. Remus’s eyes were glinting with humor when she opened hers again, although he had the decency not to laugh at her attempt.

“Not bad for a first try,” Minerva allowed.

“Surely we don’t need an audience for this,” Miranda said in a voice that was now colored by a throaty purr. “We must be wasting Mr Lupin’s time.”

“Not at all,” Remus replied. “The more time I spend with you, the less likely I’ll be to attack you when the wolf takes over. The Wolfsbane Potion isn’t always enough on its own.”

“I see.”

“Please shift back to your human form and then we’ll try again,” Minerva ordered brusquely.

“God, this is going to be worse than Apparition,” Miranda muttered. “Amato Hominis.”

Remus’s eyes were still on her, and she did her best not to flinch at the discomfort of shifting back.

“Whenever you’re ready, Miss Rose,” Minerva said.

Miranda had a sinking feeling that Minerva McGonagall was going to turn out to be an even sterner taskmaster than Severus Snape.

*****

By the end of the lesson, Miranda ached from head to toe and wanted nothing more than to crawl down to Severus’s rooms and beg for a massage. Remus, unfortunately, stuck to her like a bad penny, and she had to make a show of “going home” for his sake.

“Care to join me for a drink at the Hog’s Head?” he asked as they went out into the frozen night.

She didn’t, but something in his tone told her this question was another test. “Sure. We should probably get to know one another if we’re going to be working together.”

“I agree.”

Hagrid and Fang met them at the gate, and they paused long enough for Miranda to scratch the mastiff behind his floppy ears. Once they were clear of the school’s wards, Remus held out his hand to her. His skin was rough and calloused, and soon she felt the unpleasant pull behind her navel as he side-alonged her to the edge of the Hogsmeade High Street. The Inn was quiet when they arrived, dingy and smelling of old ale. A dour man with bright eyes and a long hoary beard manned the bar, and he grunted to them by way of greeting.

“I’d take a pint when you get a minute, Aberforth,” Remus said as they went by. “What would you like, Miss Rose?”

“Rye if you’ve got it, Firewhiskey if you don’t,” she replied.

Aberforth muttered something derisive and shuffled away to gather their drinks while Remus led her to a table in the furthest recesses of the bar. Without asking, he took the chair with its back to the wall, putting her in the uncomfortable position of relying on his eyes for protection. They stared at each other, each taking the measure of the other, until Aberforth arrived with a chipped bowl of greasy popcorn, a pint of cloudy ale, and a glass of flaming liquor.

“To new beginnings,” Remus said, raising his glass.

“New beginnings.” Miranda clinked her glass to his and drank without breaking eye contact.

“So tell me,” he asked as he picked at the popcorn. “How did you wind up working for Albus Dumbledore?”

After the excellent dinner at the Embassy, Miranda had no stomach for bar food. “By way of Lucius Malfoy.”

“Really?” His curiosity was obviously piqued.

“Ironic, don’t you think? He hired me to hunt down Sirius Black, and Albus hired me to pretend to hunt down Sirius Black to keep Malfoy busy. Then just to make things more entertaining, Albus sent me to Romania to help Charlie Weasley with a project. Now that’s over, and here I am with you.”

“I see. Albus does like to get his money’s worth out of people.” The bitter edge to this observation did not go unnoticed.

“Do I remember correctly that you and Mr Black were friends?”

“You do.” If possible Remus’s already woeful countenance became even more melancholy. “We were mates from our school days.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. I never got to meet him, but I think I would have liked him, if I’d gotten the chance.”

“What makes you say that?” he asked dubiously.

Something about his gaze made her vaguely uncomfortable—as though he could see through her in a way most people couldn’t.

“I spent a fair amount of time interviewing people who knew him while I was on the case. I got the impression that he was a passionate man, fiercely loyal to his friends, brave to the point of recklessness, and possessed of a wicked sense of humor. Sounds to me like the sort of fellow I’d love to have known.”

Remus took a long drink and then stared into the depths of his pint. When he finally looked back up at her, she knew he was setting her yet another test.

“Tell me Miss Rose, is Severus Snape one of those many people you interviewed about Sirius?”

Through long practice she managed not to visibly react to Severus’s name being spoken, but her toe inside her boot started tapping again.

“No,” she replied. “I never met Professor Snape before that Order meeting when I met you.”

Remus gave her a cold, wolfish smile, that did not suit his features in the least. “This is a terrible start. I’m going to ask Albus to reassign you.”

Her heart started to pound uncomfortably, but her voice was even and curious. “Why? What did I do wrong?”

“We’ve barely met and you’re already lying to me. Doesn’t bode well for future work together.”

“What are you talking about?”

He leaned across the table and dropped his voice to a low growl. “Miss Rose, I don’t believe for an instant that you met Severus for the first time at that meeting. His smell was all over you, even after he left. What did you do, spend all day in bed with him?”

It was a stupid mistake—forgetting that some loup garous had a preternatural sense of smell even in human form—and she blushed for shame of having been caught making it. She covered her embarrassment by finishing her whiskey, then returned his gaze boldly.

“And if I did?” she challenged.

Remus snorted. “I don’t care who you sleep with. But if we’re going to work together the way Albus expects us to, we can’t lie to each other. With what we’re going to be walking into, we have to trust each other completely. Unfortunately, there’s no time to build that trust.” He slugged down the rest of his pint and stood up from the table. “I’m sorry to waste your time, but it’s better for you to be off this assignment anyway. Safer, you understand. It was good to meet you.”

“Mr Lupin, wait,” she said, taking the risk of laying a hand on his wrist before he walked away completely. He glared down at the trespass, and she strongly suspected he was fighting the urge to snarl at her. “Please, just sit down, have another drink, and let’s talk about this.”

She held his gaze fearlessly, surprised he didn’t shake her hand off. After a moment he signaled to Aberforth, and resumed his seat at the table. She waited until the barkeep had set them up with another round and a fresh bowl of popcorn, furiously working out what exactly she was going to say. In the end she fell back on her usual tactic; improvisation.

“Listen, I’m going to lay it all out for you, and then you can decide what you want to do,” she began, ignoring his scoff. “I met Severus the summer before last while I was hunting a vampire. We’ve been on and off since then; mostly on. I know about both of his…bosses. Albus knows about me, but the other one doesn’t, and we’re trying to keep it that way for everyone’s safety. I think you can imagine what the Dark Lord would do if he got wind of the fact that his minion is fucking a No-Maj born like me.”

“I didn’t know you were Muggle-born.”

She bristled. “Does that matter to you?”

“No, not at all.” Remus’s suspicious expression became very thoughtful. “I think I’m just surprised that it doesn’t matter to Severus.”

“I haven’t grilled him on it,” she shrugged.

“Maybe you should.”

This was not a conversation she wanted to pursue. “I don’t remember asking you for relationship advice.”

“You’re right, you didn’t.” His lips turned up in a humorless smile. “You’re wise to keep things quiet. Does anyone else in the Order know about you?”

“Arthur and Molly Weasley. But as far as I know they’ve kept mum, so I hope you won’t go clucking with them about it.”

“I won’t. What do you see in him?”

That was more than enough. “I don’t see the need to justify my love life to you, Mr Lupin. Or maybe you’d like me to start asking you questions about Auror Tonks.”

“No, I’d rather you didn’t,” he said coldly.

It seemed to her that they’d scuffled enough for one evening. “Maybe we should go back to safer topics,” she suggested as a peace offering. “Like loup garous or blood politics.”

He studied her for a long time, and then his face relaxed into a real smile. “Yes, let’s. Tell me more about the werewolves in America.”

*****

As the clock ticked perilously close to midnight, Severus sat in his armchair, reading Oscar Wilde and doing his best not to be annoyed with Miranda’s tardiness. He’d long since accepted her chronic lateness, and he knew she’d had a hefty list of commitments ahead of their engagement. Still, it was his birthday and it would be nice to see her at some point before the ninth of January turned into the tenth.

At five minutes to the new day, the door to his sitting room creaked open and he put aside his novel, greeting her tired smile with what he hoped was a reserved, but pleasant expression of his own. She hung her bag on a hook by the door that he’d installed for the purpose and stretched like a languid cat. He admired her form, unreasonably pleased that she was finally here.

“I’m glad that’s all over,” she said.

“Did your first Animagus lesson go so poorly?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Professor McGonagall said I did well, but my joints all say differently. She’s as hard a teacher as you are.”

“Harder, I think.”

She came to him and slipped onto his lap. His arms went around her waist, and as she laid her head on his shoulder he felt unnervingly content.

“Then Remus Lupin decided to give me the third degree. That’s what took me so long. He wanted to cut me out of the whole mission,” she explained.

Merlin, he didn’t want to think about the details of this pernicious mission. “Perhaps you should have let him.”

“I know you don’t like that I’m assigned to it, but it’s part of my job. And anyway, I talked him into keeping me.”

“I’m not surprised. You can be quite…persuasive when you care to be.”

She gave him an impish smile. “Speaking of persuasive, what would it take to convince you to give me a massage? I had no idea that Animagus training was going to make my body feel like a pretzel.”

“I give you a massage?” he teased. “I was under the impression that it was my birthday.”

“And so it is. I’ll give you your presents first if that’s what it takes.”

He kissed her temple and shook his head. “No. You’ve coerced me. To the bedroom with you.”

“I knew there was a reason I spent time with you.”

She stripped down to her knickers on the way to the bedroom. He hung his frock coat in the armoire, and rolled up his sleeves as she picked over his store of healing balms for a satisfactory concoction; more comfortable in her own skin than anyone he’d ever met. She tossed him her selection and stretched out on the bed with a happy sigh, and as he knelt over her his heart ached with an emotion it was ill-equipped to process. He buried this hurt with the feel of her flesh under his fingers, and the sound of her appreciative moans as he kneaded her pains away.

“Mmm…” she hummed. “You do love me.”

Her shoulders tensed instantly under his frozen hands, and he inwardly cursed her impulsive tongue for uttering such nonsensical truth.

“I mean metaphorically speaking,” she added quickly.

“Of course,” he replied, his hands mechanically returning to their work. “You’ve quite an inflated sense of your own importance, haven’t you?”

“That’s me,” she said, her voice nowhere near as relaxed as it had been moments before. “My head’s so big it’s in danger of floating away.”

For a brief moment he had the insane urge to confess the sin she’d lightheartedly accused him of; morbidly curious to witness the destruction it would likely cause. As she settled back into limpid tranquility under his touch, he frantically searched his mind for some other topic of conversation to distract him from wantonly lighting the inferno that would no doubt spell the end of their association.

“I…had thought we might attend the opera on Saturday,” he said. It was a mostly idle promise—he hadn’t even spoken to Charity to arrange the purchase of tickets—but he hoped mentioning it would both please Miranda and close the door on the previous topic.

“Oh, Severus, I’m so sorry, but I can’t,” she replied.

His temper was rubbed raw from the last ten minutes, and her contrition was salt in the wound.

“May I ask why?” he asked in an subtly acrid tone.

“I’m actually already going to the opera on Saturday.”

“I see. With whom?”

“Dante Sanguini. He set it up weeks ago. Didn’t I tell you about it earlier?”

“Not that I recall. I don’t suppose it matters to you if I mind that you are cavorting with a vampire.”

“My time is my time, and I’ll spend it with whomever I like.”

“Need I remind you that you have yet to regain your full strength either magically or physically?”

“No. I’m very aware of my limits.”

He seethed silently as his fingers worked on her muscles. How dare she be so reckless with her person and then claim he had no right to be concerned?

“Severus,” she said after a few moments of deadly silence had ticked by, “you’re hurting me.”

“My apologies,” he muttered, lightening his touch.

“Just stop. That’s enough anyway.” She extricated herself from her position beneath him and rolled up to sit against the headboard, her knees tucked to her chest as she studied him with new eyes. “I don’t need you telling me what to do. Do I complain when you go off to have tea with the Dark Lord?”

“That is different,” he growled.

“It’s not.”

He felt his face turn to stone and he got up off the bed, crossing his arms over his chest like a shield charm.

“I do not ever needlessly put myself in harm’s way. You make a sport of it,” he accused.

“Well why do you at all? Put yourself in harm’s way I mean. You’re not a hero, so why do you do it?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You hate teaching—and I’m not all that convinced you like Albus Dumbledore. You’re not a coward, but I don’t think you’re the sort of man to be swayed by “The Cause.” So why are you doing all this?”

“We aren’t talking about me. We’re talking about you and your dalliance with a creature that can snap your neck and drink your blood before you could raise a finger to stop him.”

She swung off the bed to face him, her hands on her hips and her eyes flashing. “You sound jealous.”

“I do not.”

“First Lupin and now Sanguini?”

“That is the most ridiculous accusation…”

The rest of his defense dwindled into hiss of pain as the mark on his arm flared to life, twisting with an ugly black fire. His suddenly numb fingers fumbled to roll down the sleeves and fasten the buttons as he watched the anger on Miranda’s face give way first to fear, and then to acceptance. She opened her mouth to say something, but apparently thought better of it, and went out into the sitting room to collect his cloak for him. It took an age for him to don his frock coat and retrieve his mask from the armoire as he fought to bring his roiling emotions under some semblance of control.

His feet were like lead as he dragged himself to the door, and Miranda’s brave smile did little to cheer him. When he had his cloak in place, she impulsively threw her arms around his neck and kissed his mouth. He groaned pitifully as he pulled her against him; their embrace a fury of tongues and teeth as fierce as their argument had been.

“I can be here when you get back,” she said in a husky voice when they parted. “Or I can go if you think you’d rather be alone.”

“No. I want you to stay,” he replied, his own voice raw from choking back all the things he dared not say.

“Then I will.”

He traced a finger over her cheek and accepted the kiss that she pressed to his hand—a kiss that troubled him to the core of his battered heart. The mark on his arm continued to throb painfully as he paced outside the wards, breathing in the bitter night air and waiting for his mind to reach a place of indifference that Occlumency required. It seemed to him that the longer this misadventure continued, the more difficult coming to that place became. His life had never been under his own dominion; but now it often felt to him that Lily, the Dark Lord, Albus, and Miranda were horses intent on drawing and quartering him alive.

*****

The plush delights of the private box on the Grand Tier of the Royal Opera House, and the glorious music of Rigoletto did not quite assuage all of Miranda’s guilt that her companion for the evening was a sentimental vampire rather than a dour potions master. She was mildly annoyed at her conscience for smiting her and sullying what ought to have been an evening for decadence, and she was indulging in far more of Dante’s excellent cabernet in an effort to compensate. As the lights went up for the beginning of the interval, she knew she was well on the way to a headache in the morning, but she stubbornly stuck to her self-destructive course. Severus had no right to boss her around, and she was going to prove it by means of what was likely to be a wicked hangover.

“Tell me more about Giuseppe,” she said. There was nothing like hearing Verdi with a man who’d known him.

“There are those who would call him cold, but I liked him very well,” Dante replied. “Although he was at times a difficult partner at the card table. When the music would invade his brain, he would set everything aside until he’d jotted it down. I was there the night he sketched out that magnificent quartet.”

“That must have been thrilling.”

“It was. It’s a shame he would not let me bring him over.”

“Did you try?”

“Of course! A genius like that, to molder in a tomb. It’s a crime.”

He offered her a refill from the bottle of cabernet, which she accepted (although she probably shouldn’t have). His own glass he topped off with his preferred blend of merlot and type AB positive.

“What did he say when you offered?” she asked, enjoying the buzz from the wine and the music.

“He said that only a fool wished to live forever in a body of dust and grime.”

His smile was sharp on his pale lips, and whether he was mocking the dead composer or himself, she wasn’t sure.

“I’ve never thought you were a fool, Dante.”

“I thank you for the compliment, and I hope that you will not behave so stupidly when I come for you.”

She shivered. “I didn’t know you were planning to.”

“I was. As long as you do not manage to destroy yourself so extensively that my kiss would be useless.”

She was flattered and horrified in almost equal measure. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. But I want you to know that I’ll probably give you the same answer that Giuseppe did.”

“How disappointing. Why would you do such a thing?”

“I have my reasons.” She swirled the crimson liquid in her goblet, and the movement (or perhaps the conversation) made her head swim. “Do you mind if we change the subject? I hate talking about death at the opera.”

“And I adore it. But you are my guest, and I will indulge you. Tell me about your current projects. Hunting any other cousins of mine?”

“No, not lately. I’ve moved on to werewolves and Death Eaters.”

He raised his mocking eyebrows at her. “I never thought you one to play the hero.”

“I’m not, it’s all about the money.”

“I’ve always appreciated that ruthless streak in you.” He took her hand in his, laughing as the chill of his touch raised gooseflesh on her arms. “Do watch that charming backside of yours.”

“I will. But if you happen across any information that would help me watch it better, I hope you’ll share it.”

“And what will you pay me in? Smiles?”

“If you’ll take them, they’re yours.”

He brought her hand up and rested her palm against his cheek, sighing melodramatically.

“There is nothing quite like a warm hand when you are dead.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Is there something you’re getting at, or is all this a tease?”

He leaned down until his icy breath brushed her ear. “I have it on the best authority that a certain dark wizard is building an army of inferi.”

The chill that went through her had nothing to do with Dante’s breath. “How uninspired. Didn’t he do that last time?”

“His creativity is indeed lacking these days, but this new army will put the last one to shame.”

“Have you seen it?”

“I have.”

“Where is it?”

“It is moved by now.”

“By which you mean you aren’t going to tell me.”

“Topolina, I have told you enough already.”

He dipped his head and ran the edge of a sharp canine over the sensitive skin of her earlobe, and she put a finger on his cheek in warning.

“Thanks Dante, I do appreciate it. But I’m not going to fuck you tonight, even if you do cast a tutela charm to keep yourself from killing me.”

“Tease,” he grumbled. “Why not?”

“I’m just not interested.”

His dark gaze was as penetrating as Remus Lupin’s—and she was just about sick of being studied like a side of beef.

“You have a lover,” he accused. “That accounts for the extra perfume. You didn’t want me to know. Why not? Are you ashamed of him?”

“No. I just didn’t want to talk about him.” God she was sick of everyone being in her business. It was almost enough to take up the mantle of celibacy for the rest of her live-long days.

Dante, bless him, seemed to catch on to her exasperation. “Then I shan’t ask you anymore about him.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that. Really.” The lights began to dim around them, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Dante, if I find myself needing a hand in the near future, will you help me? I’ll make it worth your while.”

He gave her a devilish smile. “Will you? Aren’t you afraid of what I might ask in return?”

She wasn’t fooled. “No. You’re a gentleman.”

“You wound me! But I could deny you nothing. Ask, and I will be there.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

“Shh,” he grumbled as the curtain rose. “The opera!”

*****

Notes: The chapter title (yes, i am a monster) is a quote from Verdi’s opera Rigoletto. In the opera, the Duke sings this line in jest—but he pretty much is a monster.

The incantation to become an Animagus is taken from Pottermore. The textbook, the incantation to turn back (and the attending Latin mistakes) are mine. The process by which one becomes an Animagus is also from my imagination.

libera nos a malo masterpost+

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#ocappreciation #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #snape #pro snape #snape x oc #snape fanfic #snape fanfiction #severus snape #severus snape fanfic #severus snape fanfiction #second wizarding war #ilvermorny #spying #romance #action/adventure

[soartfullydone]

Well, well. If it isn't the little mouse come to rummage around once more in my things. Oh, no please. Don't get up. I'd love to see what is of such interest to you on my desk. Last I checked, it was a mountain of requisitions from Urban Development. Do close your mouth, pet. You could give give some men the wrong idea. Hm? Why so surprised? Did you really think I would be unaware of the comings and goings in my own office?

ahaaaaa bite me cassie

*

Rufus Shinra’s office wasn’t as obnoxious as his father’s, but an air of pretentiousness lingered all the same. Melody felt that way about most executive offices. It seemed like anyone in Shinra who breached past the managerial level acquired a new suite big enough to fit their ego inside, the size of the space in direct correlation with the amount of money most of them didn’t deserve to make.

Namely because they weren’t in said office working often enough. With higher-ups, it was always arriving late and two-hour lunches and leaving early. Melody didn’t know what was stronger: her lack of surprise or her disappointment that Rufus appeared to be cut from the same cloth.

As Mayor Domino promised, Shinra’s heir apparent was absent, and this, too, gave her conflicting feelings. Relief. Frustration. However, her disgust was aimed entirely at herself.

Just get this over with.

Walking on the balls of her feet to minimize the clacking sound of her heels, Melody darted across the room, feeling immediately off-kilter.

She couldn’t remember ever seeing so much white. The tiled floors, the seamless stretch of wall, even the great expanse of his steel desk—the room was an uninterrupted blanket of white. The company’s usual selection of marble had been completely rejected for this room, for even the whitest marble displayed veins of black and gray. There were no deliberately placed accents, no splashes of color save for the odd item on Rufus’ desk. A black fountainpen. A silver paperweight shaped almost as perfectly as materia. A discarded, canary yellow paperclip. Then, there were the stacks of papers—Melody recognized the cover page on one stack instantly—the three computer monitors, the leather chair pushed into the desk, all of them white.

It was this chair Melody slid into, attempting to ignore how unnerved it all made her. There was nothing personal. No paintings on the wall, no shrubs in the corner, no pictures of family or friends. There was an entire wall that was a window, which displayed Sector 8 through Sector 2 in dazzling silver as sunlight beat down on steel and stone. Thank God. This was a room one could go insane in without such a view. She had never seen a space that was so clearly used be so cold and clinical at the same time; hospitals had more life.

It’s possible our dear Prince Shinra will be a little more careless on his own turf. Most employees are that arrogant, Mayor Domino had said wryly.

What am I looking for? she’d asked.

Anything.

Melody didn’t have much time. She’d originally guessed she’d linger no more than five minutes, but Domino’s warnings—not to mention her past experiences with Rufus—had scared her down to three. She tried the desk drawers first, only to find them all locked. The one that wasn’t held nothing but a keyboard, and a quick inspection failed to uncover any poorly-hidden notes containing computer passwords or other intriguing information. The computer was locked, too, and a quick keystroke put it back into sleep mode. Her hands flew across the papers on the desk, thumbing through them rapidly.

New recruit considerations for the Department of Public Safety, most of them unfavorable. Performance analytics for weapons prototypes from Scarlet’s department. Melody’s eyes snagged on the schematics and armaments list for a mechanical monstrosity labeled “Project Airbuster” before she was forced to continue on. She reached to move aside the one handful of papers containing information she already knew when, inexplicably, the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

“Well, well,” Rufus Shinra said, his lips ghosting the shell of her ear as a strand of his blond hair brushed her cheek. “If it isn't the little mouse come to rummage around once more in my things.”

Melody twisted around—or tried to. The Vice President had other ideas, his hands gripping both sides of the chair and holding it steady, his body an uncompromising wall. She was locked in and going nowhere.

“Oh, no, please. Don’t get up.” Rufus smirked, his tone polite and mocking at the same time. He knew he had her caught. As if to boast this knowledge, he shifted just enough so he could lean over her left shoulder and cage her in further as he pretended to examine the spread of documents. “I’d love to see what is of such interest to you on my desk. Last I checked, it was a mountain of requisitions from Urban Development.”

With a smooth sweep of his hand, he gathered that very mountain she’d messily dropped in her shock at hearing him—feeling him—just behind her. He straightened the papers and feathered through them, the pages skipping across his thumb. “A scintillating read, I’m sure, but...” His sidelong gaze caught hers before it dipped, skimming down her neck, tracing her clavicle, caressing the swell of her breasts. Finishing his lazy inspection, his crystal blue eyes found hers again, searing this time. “Rather than suffer more of Tuesti’s thinly-veiled pleas for financial backing, I’d rather find you waiting for me here, on my desk—but not today.”

Melody had an iron-clad defense ready, but her lips parted in surprise, a blush spreading across her face at how casually Rufus could talk about fucking her. At how intimately she remembered what his cruel mouth could do to her flesh, how quickly his skillful fingers could make her come. She hated how easily he could fluster her by merely mentioning it. She hated how he could dangle the possibility in front of her only to yank it back without any true regret at all.

And most of all, she hated how badly she wanted it—wanted him—anyway.

Rufus regarded her with half-lidded eyes before leaning closer, setting off a new wave of panic and eagerness within her. Was he actually, finally going to kiss her? Was she finally going to discover what he tasted like? He tilted up her chin, and Melody’s knuckles turned white from squeezing the chair’s armrests. His lips were a breath away from hers when he chided, “Do close your mouth, pet. You could give some men the wrong idea.”

He released her with a flick of his fingers and straightened, his focus returning to the desk with a more worrisome air of assessment. At least, Melody should have been worried, should have been busy double-checking that she had put every document back in the exact spot she had first found it. Instead, she was leaning back in the chair, dazed and barely holding onto herself inside her own skin. Little mouse. Pet. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to know how creative he could get with names for her. Gratefulness that she had avoided reaching some point of no return with him again warred with the urge to see how far she could push him until he took what he wanted.

Instead, she steered her resolve toward the plan and managed, “I didn’t mean to bother you, sir. I— I didn’t expect to see you.”

“Hm? Why so surprised?” replied Rufus coolly. He was frowning suddenly at the assessment report from Weapons Development. “Did you really think I would be unaware of the comings and goings in my own office?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what,” he said, his voice and eyes frozen as he turned to advance on her, “are you doing here?”

Melody stood so quickly that she pushed the chair free and clear from her. She meant for her hands to raise in a placating gesture, but they became the barrier against Rufus’ chest to halt him from coming closer. (Not that they could truly stop him. Not that some part of her wanted to cling to the lapels of his jacket and pull him flush against her, imploring him to take, take, take.)

“The proposal!” she exclaimed, her thoughts scattered. “In your hand.”

A crease appeared between his blond brows, doubtful and contemplative at once. “What about it, Miss Westfire?”

Her stomach flipped with a thrill at his put-on formality. She loved how he humored her, but God, how she hated him for how he played with her. “A team member of mine thinks she included a page from another report in there by accident. She was freaking out, so I offered to get it back.” She looked down at the Urban Development proposal, concern flitting across her face. “Assuming you haven’t already trashed it.”

“I haven’t looked over it at all.”

Melody ignored that dig. She crossed her arms, feigning calm as Rufus flipped through the pages much slower and more thoroughly this time.

“Is this what you’re after?” Rufus pulled a page free, and a glance at its surface showed a half-formed spreadsheet, its cells missing numbers, with notes penned in flowing cursive across the bottom of the paper. It also lacked the distinctive formatting that the proposal was required to have and clearly displayed on its other pages.

Melody sighed, relieved. Even though she’d planted the page herself, a part of her had believed wildly that it had somehow vanished. “Yes. Thank you. She’ll be so glad.”

She went to take the page, but Rufus wouldn’t relinquish it. He asked, “Which team member lost this again?”

Her smile thinned. “I didn’t say.”

“Then say, Miss Westfire.”

“I would prefer—”

“I don’t care what you would prefer. Imagine if this held trade secrets, SOLDIER patrol routes, blueprints of our reactors. Now imagine if this information fell into the hands of Avalanche.” Rufus pulled, and the page ripped in an uneven half between their hands. Crumpling his half, Rufus tossed it on the desk, the completed proposal landing with a thump beside it. “Our company—my company—can’t afford this kind of carelessness. Tell me who it was.”

“So you can do what?” She let her half flutter to the floor, her heart pounding in her chest.

“I would think that was obvious,” Rufus said, dragging his chair back. He sat facing her, elbows braced on the armrests and his fingers laced together. “I’m going to fire her.”

Blood rushed in her ears. No, no, no. No. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

Seeing her indecision, Rufus smiled and leaned forward. “Tell me, Melody. Tell me now, or the one I’ll be making an example of will be you.”

Her fists clenched at her sides. If she bit down any harder, she thought she might shatter her teeth. Rufus’ eyes glittered before he shrugged, unconcerned. “Pity. In that case—”

“Rainy,” Melody bit out. “It was Celeste Rainy.”

Rufus’ smile sharpened. “Good girl.”  

“Want me to send her up, too, while I’m at it?” she snapped, enraged at him. Enraged at herself.

“Oh, no. I don’t mind handling all the unpleasantness for you. You’ve done enough.”

Yes. Yes, Melody had, and she had nothing to show for it except getting a faithful, hard-working employee fired over her lies and schemes. Sick to her stomach, she went to leave, uncaring that the Vice President hadn’t dismissed her yet.

He caught her with an arm around her middle; he didn’t even have to rise from the chair to do so, but he did anyway. “Now, I can’t let you go with you looking this upset. What about your reward?”

“I have a lot of work to do.” She refused to meet his eyes. If she did, he would know exactly how much she despised him. More than likely, it would make him happy, and the last thing on Gaia she wanted was Rufus Shinra’s happiness.

“Work, she says.” The tips of his fingers traced the line of her neck. “Everything you do… In the end, it’s all for me.”

She went to protest, incensed, but his hand tightened around her and drew her into him. She felt his leather, fingerless glove press into the nape of her neck, his thumb caressing her racing pulse. Racing because his mouth was lavishing cruel ministrations to the column of her throat, his kiss hot, his mouth sucking hard enough to leave marks on her skin. She gasped as he rose higher and higher, his teeth scraping the underside of her jaw. Each kiss was a new way to claim her, and she was helpless against any of them.

At some point, her knees had buckled. Rufus’ arm was around her waist, pinning her against his chest. One of his legs was in between both of hers, and she moaned, the heat of his thigh driving her temporarily insane. Melody rolled her hips, wanting that delicious friction. Rufus bit her earlobe sharply.

“I said, not today.”

He let her go, removing himself enough that she was forced to get her legs under her. They felt shaky, but she managed. Her hand rose to inspect her neck, which felt utterly ravaged, and it was enough to bring a hint of sanity back. “You call this a reward?”

“You’re never satisfied,” Rufus noted, smiling as if he was satisfied. “That must be why we get along so well.”

He strode to the door of his office, expecting her to follow, which she naturally did. It was her only escape route. She frowned when he opened it for her like a gentleman. “That wasn’t your reward. I’m still debating what it is you deserve.”

Those words caused butterflies to flutter and a chilling dread to settle in her stomach all at once. When she was level with him, she asked archly, “What was it then, besides unwanted?”

Rufus traced her lips with his thumb, felt her shudder before she could stop it. “Don’t lie now.”

He leaned down, so they were looking nearly eye to eye, icy assurance versus burning resolve. “It was a warning, my dear. You’re good at this game, better than most, but you’ll never be able to play it like I can.” His smirk was sharp and prideful. “Next time you want to play spy with me, take greater care with your pawns.”

#:)))))))) I Love It Here #cue scene #ca: observe my sins #Anonymous

[cactusheartd]

❝ I aim to be lionhearted; but my hands still shake and my voice isn’t quite loud enough ❞ ZENDAYA COLEMAN? No, that’s actually CASSANDRA BONES-JORDAN. A SEVENTH YEAR student, this HUFFLEPUFF student is sided with MCGONAGALL’S ARMY. SHE identifies as DEMI-GIRL and is a HALF BLOOD who is known to be SHORT TEMPERED, SELF-CRITICAL, and IMPULSIVE but also POETIC, RESILIENT, and LOYAL. { AUDREY, 20, JST, SHE/HER }

death tw !   disordered eating tw ! running away from ur bullshit tw !                 

Born a Lover and a fighter  /   dumb ass funfacts here while i get my shit organised !

Sword lesbian

vegan

Plant mother and art hoe, loves thrifting

Generally dumb as shit, only smart when it comes to talking in 7 levels of sarcasm and irony.

Says ‘do it for the vine’ and other completely outdated slang constantly.

If you remind her vine is dead she will - unstan.

Very tech savvy, extremely upset that tech devices have been banned in Hogwarts like ?

No fashion sense whatsoever like honestly -- get her some help, stop her wearing hawaiian shirts.

Asks people their fave cryptid on a first date / is really into conspiracy theories.

Excells at repressing emotions and bottling them up into her mediocre artwork and occasional poetry and also kickboxing - healthy coping mechanism? Who needs them.

Kind of a jock but an emo jock who’s also a hipster 

Tells all her secrets to her plants and exposes nothing to anybody else whatsoever

Constantly ?? day dreaming but will pretend they were doing something cool.

Kind of aloof and will not let you know anything concrete about them. ever

Deathly loyal and ridiculously strong moral compass, lawful good to a tee.

She is cactus . . . . prickly … hard 2 open up, but full of life saving liquid in an arid environment.  She’s made herself strong and protected 2 hide any emotion

Will do anything for those she considers her friends but only really considers like 4 people her friend and 1 of them is no longer with us

Used to only care for peaceful protests uwu but now she’s here ready 2 throw hands 24/7

Dog lesbian not a cat lesbian. 

Really into history and linguistics, loves philosophy,

Speaks a speckling of other languages but nowhere near fluent but can say i love girls in 12 languages.

Only can be called Cassie or Cassandra, the only person that called her Sandy was Gwen so now it’s a no-go. Easiest way to piss her off is call her sandy.

hufflepuff seeker ; very fast and good at flying, but known for drifting off and day dreaming instead of spotting the snitch. excels in chasing down the other seeker.

Actual bio!

Being the younger middle child always comes with it’s perks, namely, your parents already know what to expect when they’re expecting.

Brought into the world full of smiles, and she’s never stopped smiling since. 

A quiet, yet content child is how people would always place Cassandra Bones-Jordan. And for that reason, she was always somewhat in the shadow. That’s what everyone always says about middle children, they’re not the eldest, they’re not leading the pack. And they’re not the doted on baby.

They don’t have it harsh, they don’t really face the struggles and tribulations, they’re just part of the learning curve. 

The infamous middle children, the children that time forgot that always end up with some sort of emotional baggage to them.

And so, Cassandra had a happy, uneventful childhood. Her parents loved her, her siblings loved her, and she loved them back equally and wholly with all the love she had to give. Which was a lot. 

It was good for her, to be the quiet wallflower of a girl, she may not be a star actress but she shined in the role she was given to play. So introverted, she much preferred to sit in the back of the car with headphones in and a sketchbook in hand than ever join in the conversation, stand to the side of a photograph with a soft and pleasant smile on her face.

Such a lovely girl, everyone would comment, and leave it at that, sidelined for her extremely impressive bunch of siblings.

Cassandra fitted right into that role and so she never complained,    just kept her head down and nose in her sketchbook and she’d be content and happy as she could be. She didn’t like the attention, she would actively try and avoid family at any and all parties. 

Thus, it wasn’t a surprise that she was eventually sorted into hufflepuff, and she would always fondly remember that moment, writing back home to her mother. She was so proud to be a hufflepuff like her mother. 

Except her sorting wasn’t really all that simple. She had an extremely long hat stall, the kind of hat stall where everyone tries to take bets on where they’re going to end up kind of hat stall. 

Initially, the hat had thought gryffindor. For their was a bravery, a lion, hidden in the lanky but well built frame. Covered in marble that just needed to be sculpted, it was there, but it wouldn’t just bloom like a flower, it would need to be chipped at, destroyed, and the question for the hat was:      would cassandra have trial by fire? Would she be burnt at the stake?  Would Troy burn around her as she screamed into the night ? 

Lucky girls are hardly ever called brave girls. 

So the hat chose hufflepuff, perhaps a hope for the coming generations to be spared from war like its predecessor. 

The wise words she and the hat exchanged didn’t really do much to bolster cassandra’s confidence, and so, she remained as a wallflower for the first half of the first term, learning the ropes of Hogwarts. 

Luckily, she had her two elder siblings there to guide her a little bit, ruffle her hair as she walked past. But she still felt vehemently within their shadows, that her name Cassandra, meant little in comparison to the Bones-Jordan that felt like an anvill on her neck.

Being such a wallflower and a hufflepuff led her to being teased just a bit in her first year - a group of no good slytherins coming over and shoving her sketchbook into a puddle in the courtyard just because.  ( she would later found out ; it was because one of her siblings had annoyed them earlier. ) 

A muggleborn hufflepuff of the same year, gwen mcstevens - scottish, ginger and awfully freckled, came to her defense and told em to fuck off basically in the most explicit way they could manage.

A spitfire, the sun, apollo, all synonyms for gwen mcstevens.

They became close friends- like he kind of attached at the hips, never seen without each other best friends’, it seemed like y/n had finally grown out of her shell a bit. Gwen even encouraged Sandy to dye her hair ginger in their 4th year.

Cassandra was quiet (around people she didn’t like), and gwen was loud. 

They were each others balancing side, whilst gwen campaigned for everything and constantly had a bone to pick with someone, Cassandra would tag along. Because she felt the same way too , she just relied on the presence of Gwen to fully express those feelings.

An emotional crutch, they were completely co-dependant on each other, and at some point in their 6th year, it became like a thing between them. Unspoken, but there was a thing that she only ever told her parents about over christmas that same year in a flood of tears.

And much like her childhood, all they did was shower Cassandra in happiness, and told her to invite Gwen around next year for the holidays

Unfortunately - that christmas never came.

A few days after the news of Harry’s and MCgonnogal’s death came out, the first few muggleborns at Hogwarts began to go missing. Gwen amongst them. It was the 13th of November, a dreery November, when things were confirmed for the worst.

Dead. She could cope with the grief of Shacklebolt, Mcgonnogal, of Harry, but without Gwen -- there was an entire half of Cassandra now missing. 

It was the rug out from under cassandra’s feet, her one support mechanism, the one person who knew everything about her was gone. But not just gone, she’d been murdered. Well, she didn’t know murder, but she could feel the room,   could feel the machinations taking place.

cassandra was . . . .  crushed. Defeated. Numb. she couldn’t feel shit - she was catatonic for a day in her dorm room, everyone edging around her so as to not aggravate the situation. And then she was gone, just like that.

She couldn’t deal with Hogwarts, at looking at Gwen’s bed next to hers, all her stuff left untouched as it had been last week ; her pet tortoise the only movement in that corner of the dorm.

It’s not like hufflepuffs to be rash;  and here it was, the chipping of the marble. 

She shoved a few belongings into her satchel and made a break for it on the 15th in the night -- stowing into the darkness.

However, the destinies, the fates, claimed this story to not be a tragedy - but an epic. Her hairbrain scheme to break free failed pretty badly;   she’s found the next day by [w.c] in the early hours of the 15th on the border of the school grounds - just past the owlery a few hundred metres from the edge of the forbidden forest. 

Disordered eating tw start In reality, it wasn’t fate, it was just the fact that she hadn’t eaten anything in a few days

Disordered eating tw end. 

Cassandra begged for wc as they were fireman lifting them to the hospital wing to not say what actually happened, she didn’t want to deal with the drama without her crutch, nor did she want to worry her parents.

However, sitting in the hospital wing only lasted for a few hours, her desire to not worry her family trumped by the unending beating in her heart, the shaking of her limbs. this , although unknown to cassandra, was just grief. 

But she had never experienced it before, or knew how to deal with it in a proper manner, so she tried to run again.

However, not having fully rested herself, her brain was fogged and her mental map of the school forgotten, and the room of requirement living up to its name, had sense a requirement in the lost bones-jordan child.

Moving through what she thought was just a normal door, Cassandra came face to face with a mirror. What should have been a paled face with sunken eyes and chapped lips, was instead replaced with stout figure with darting green eyes and firey hair.

Surprise ! it’s the mirror of erised ! what a lovely deus ex machina for us all !

And of course, it’s a grieving heart who sees what they long for the most ; gwen. 

On the verge of tears, of running out the door and as far as she could -- ; perhaps it was too soon to see her again, her sun.

And maybe it was the lack of focus she had, or the iron deficiency, but she swears she heard the reflection talk to her. A manifesto to be brave ;      cassandra had always followed gwen rigorously, but she did everything that gwen did. Sure, she needed the encouragement but she could always do it. She just didn’t believe in herself.

It’s the darkest hours of the heroes story ; and it's divine intervention, apollo, or thetis, swooping down from olympia with the words on wings.

It was that inspiration, that internalisation of Gwen that managed to get the courage to use her legs. Put one leg in front of the other and walk back to the hospital room, and sit back down. With no one to notice her second attempt. 

The block of marble had been cut, the statue now revealed, the brave girl, the lioness, now in full force. People don’t call you brave if you’re lucky.

To keep part of Gwen with her  everywhere, she decided to keep herself in everything Gwen had encouraged her to do, rather than become a hermit and avoid everything they ever did.

On a spur of a whim, she had those now, she decided to try out in the snap quidditch tryouts to replace the seeker. She got her best friends former position by some act of god,     Cassandra says she plays with an angel looking over her. 

She also signs up for the M.A the second she has a chance, constantly cementing herself in any role or position they needed to be filled.

Through dealing with her strife, she flourished rather than suffered, desperately trying to fill her time with extracurriculars, helping out the m.a, practising for quidditch matches.

At the same time, whilst keeping her emotions very bottled up, she’s started to act up and act out, her inability to deal with people she doesn’t like reaching sky high peaks. People would perhaps call her somewhat intolerant to blood purity ideas; and suddenly, she’s started to speak up when she hears something she finds dumb, started getting into fights and coming back to her dorm with a black eye or a bruised wrist.

It’s a level of self-preservation that’s gone too, along with any other healthy coping mechanisms. She doesn’t know how to deal with the deep seated grief that’s rooted itself to her bone marrow; but whatever she’s doing right now certainly isn’t helping one bit.  

my wc page is still heavily under wip so i’ll post it in the gc when im done but the few basic ideas we got going on here are;

- the person who found her passed out in the forest ; sworn to absolute secrecy, peak drama and dramatic tension.

- other former friends of gwen who cassandra would have been friends with via proxy.

- people cassandra have absolutely gotten into a fist fight with as of late for whatever anti-muggleborn sentiment they’ve said in her presence

- love a group of people who are ... slowly going to adopt cassie into their friendship group bc she’s a loner and needs love.

- .. girlfriend (future)! crushes! you name it! she was kind of dating gwen so she ... soft angst hours ultimate edition !

- 1 ex / a guy, like the one person u date to try and convince urself your straight and it absolutely doesn’t work out and it’s kind of awkward we love heteronormativity in our kids. 

#iidyintro #death tw #disordered eating tw #the bio is kind of death heavy but the other tw is like 1 line and i've marked it out so !!! stan

[ephrampettaline]

chatzy au log with @cassiegermaine, @ephrampettaline, and @joeyvoeman

Cassie heard the gunshots as she was thrown into a nearby car and she and the Skull Boys Leader were sped away from the scene. Cassie sat almost unmoving the entire trip. She didn’t know what to expect from Petal, but a dress shop wasn’t it. Retrospectively? It was a great cover, and Cassie was grateful she wasn’t dragged into some mucky underground instead. 

She was placed in a chair in the corner of the store floor, one of the burly Skull Boys tying her hands with rope. It wasn’t extra tight or elaborate, and felt more like show than anything. But Cassie was really surprised when they returned with a small plate dived with saltines and rationed out peanut butter. 

“Thanks…for the hospitality?” She squinted, taking the plate and balancing it on her lap.

Petal came over – changed into a different outfit, this time a pastel pink Chanel skirt suit and matching hat – and sat across from Cassie again, hands folded on the skull head of her cane. “We’re not savages, after all,” she said, and the Skull Boy placed a second plate of peanut butter crackers on the small table next to his boss. As well as a bucket of ice and a bottle of champagne, which Petal poured for them both. “Cincin,” she said with a merry laugh, drinking and then selecting a cracker.

Ephram holstered his gun, panting, and hung his hands against his hips as he paced in thought. “There’s only a few dress shops south of the river,” he said, “and most of them let the seamstress girls sleep there. Unwieldy places for holding a captive.” He looked at Joey from below angry, tightly-drawn brows, a spur of searing satisfaction – not enough, not nearly enough – in his belly at the sight of the blood on Voeman’s face. The blow Ephram had dealt him with his gun butt hadn’t been an intense one, but it’d been hard enough to vent frustration.

Joey had taken the hit gladly, honestly feeling as if he deserved it for letting both Ephram and Cassie down. His nose was gushing blood as it sat at an odd angle, but he ignored the tear-bringing pain as he tried his best to formulate a plan with Ephram. “Should we grab backup or try stealth?” he asked. Ephram had been his superior in the war, and he always looked to him for guidance. Joey was very much a follower, and he knew his place. “And the shipment. It’s compromised.”

Ephram turned his head and spat, following it with a string of curses. “Good thing we didn’t pay for those guns, then,” he said, biting off the words. “I’m not about to have tonight be a sweep on Kingfisher losses.” He turned and started back towards Clair de Lune, telling Joey, “Get us a car. I need to make a call.”

Joey nodded, feeling like a little boy in trouble with his Pa. He rushed out of the alley and drove the car with the shipment back to the compound for safe keeping, spending a little time in the bathroom to reset his own nose and apologizing to the maid for getting blood all over the towels before heading back to Clair de Lune with another car, waiting out front for Ephram. God, he’d really fucked up this time. 

He bashed his fist into the steering wheel, the release of rage feeling good for the moment. He imagined it was one of the Skull Boys. Whichever one took Cassie. He punched it more, seeing a face slowly turn to mush under his knuckles in his imagination. Then Cassie being so impressed with him she took him back. He got divorced from his bitch wife and….it was all an illusion. He knew this wouldn’t end well for him, in pretty much any capacity.

Cassie carefully balanced her glass of champagne as well, returning the toast and only taking a sip because Petal had done so before her. “If you wanted in with the Kingfisher’s – you didn’t have to orchestrate something this elaborate.” Cassie commented coolly, leaving her crackers untouched. She still hadn’t gotten a straight answer with Skull Boys, but the obvious was this, Petal wanted to lure them away from safe ground. Which could be more disastrous than Cassie initially gave them credit for. 

“Where are my children Petal?” She asked, trying to remain placid and calm, but her knuckles tightened around the glass. “That’s something I’m going to have to take personal.” There were guidelines, at the very least, and the Skull Boys seemingly trampled over that one.

Ephram swung himself into the car without greeting, merely barking out, “Larkspur and Camden. There’s a Russian dress shop there." 

He’d been damn lucky to get Freddie on the line at all, this random time at night; not lucky enough to avoid having to talk to Wawelski, but that was beside the point. And Freddie’d ponied up a possible location with a minimum of hornpipe dancing required, for which Ephram had the nagging feeling he’d owe his … fuck, his friend and business partner something later. "Do I need to tell you to drive up on it from the back roads, or can you figure that one out yourself?” It was an unkind and cutting comment, since Ephram well knew Joey’s capacity in a tense situation, but he didn’t feel like being kind.

Joey had thankfully gotten all his anger and frustration out before Ephram got into the car, because the last thing he need was the man thinking he’d not only lost his sister, but his own marbles. He didn’t respond to Ephram’s biting comments, simply grunting in understanding as he shifted into gear and headed off. It wasn’t too far a drive from where they were, but long enough for the tense silence to weigh down heavy on Joey’s mind and body, his shoulders hunching with every moment of Ephram’s seething sitting next to him. Finally, they made it to the dress shop, approaching inconspicuously from the back. He parked and turned to Ephram for orders.

Petal leaned forward, flashing a brilliant, pearly smile. “Oh, Cassie! I don’t have your children. I imagine they’re safe as plums in a cake, tucked away in their little cradles.” She sipped her champagne, still smiling. “That was only to get your attention and let you know we mean business. That’s what we’re all here for, right? Business.” She reached out and patted Cassie’s knee, a marquise-cut pink diamond ring sparkling on one elegant, waxen finger. “Yours, mine … ours.”

Cassie knew it could have been a ploy, but she wanted to take it more seriously than not, play on the safe side just in case The Skull Boys had reached out for her kids. They were watching them though. Close enough to be lurking around Addie’s birthday. Cassie tucked the information away for later, ego only slightly bruised that Petal could toy so easily with her. It was the cost of family. “My brother, or any of the Slap Jacks won’t take this as a business venture when they show up.” Cassie warned her. “If you have anything of real importance, you better clear it up fast.”

Petal kept on smiling at Cassie, although it curled a little more at the corners of her mouth. She toyed with the stem of her champagne glass, but then Bosco appeared looming up from the wooden stairs at the back of the room they were in, and Petal nodded. “It seems they’ve arrived,” she said, smoothing her skirt over her knees. “I think given your brother’s proclivities, I might just be able to … wriggle my way out of any sour mood he might be in, hmmmm?” Petal winked at Cassie and put her glass down so she could snug her hands under her Chanel-covered breasts and give them a primping heft.

Ephram had spent the drive sorting out the possible angles of approach, the possible outcomes, the possible pitfalls. But when the engine turned off and Joey looked at him expectantly, he found himself defaulting to what he’d always gone with when he was pressed down to the wire: what felt right in the moment. “Keep your jacket open,” Ephram said, his voice calm despite the low grate of its register. “Let them see what you’re carryin’. We’ll walk up to the back door. I’m sure they’re expecting us, anyhow." 

He got out of the car, unbuttoning his own suit jacket so the leather of his shoulder holster was obvious, and waited for Joey so they could walk abreast of each other instead of Ephram in front.

Joey did as he was cold, opening his bomber jacket to show the revolver tucked in his waistband. The same revolver that had killed one of the other Skull Boys only an hour or so before. "What’s the plan if it goes sideways. Gun’s blazin’?” he asked. Usually they weren’t keen on making so much noise if it was uncalled for, but this was Cassie they were talking about. He was sure the two of them would do just about anything to make sure she came back safe.

Ephram muttered, “We don’t have a whole lot of options here, Voeman. We’ll just have to make sure it don’t go sideways." 

Two block-shouldered Skull Boys eyefucked them as they approached, but once the Jacks were in hailing distance, one of them said, "Boss lady says you’re to go on up and meet her. Your sister too.” He pointed at Joey. “This hump better not go trigger-happy like he did back at Clair.”

Joey held his gaze with the Skull Boys that greeted them with a stern brow, trying his best not to clench his fists. “Don’t give me a reason and I won’t,” he said, like it was a generous offer.

Ephram let Joey go through the door first, following behind with their boots thumping thread dust from the wooden stairs as they mounted them. “Steady on, Sergeant,” Ephram said sotto voce to Joey’s broad back, once they got a glimpse of Cassie tied up to a chair and the extravagant Petal Popovitch sitting across from her for all the world like the two women had been discussing corsetry and ribbons.

Petal raked an avaricious, somewhat hungry gaze over the two men as they filled up the staircase, giving a pleased hum and folding her be-ringed hands over her knee as she crossed her legs. “Verrrrry nice,” she said. “I’ve seen you before, of course, my dear Kingfisher, but you–” Petal made a little claw gesture at Joey. “Rrrwowr.”

Joey simply glared at Petal as she lewdly ogled him. If it hadn’t been for Ephram’s quiet reminder, Joey would have been liable to pop off at any moment, seeing Cassie tied up like that. At least she didn’t look hurt in any way. “Keep your claws to yourself,” he muttered quietly.

“Ephram.” Cassie greeted the familiar face of her brother in a calm tone, her gaze falling to Joey next. The dimple in her cheek appeared as she smothered the tiniest grin. Mostly because she was laughing at herself, at the whole situation. “Joey.” She tilted her head back at Petal’s more enthusiastic greeting and added sarcastically, “Sorry about my friend. I guess not even all the meatheads on her payroll can keep her satisfied.”

Ephram scanned Cassie quickly before nodding at her, then greeting the Skull Boys boss. “Miss Popovitch,” he said. “This ain’t much of a friendly parlay, now, is it? At this hour of the night and with only crackers and champagne and ropes and abduction to smooth the way.” Very deliberately, Ephram told Joey, “Untie my sister, please, Joey.”

Joey nodded curtly, happy to stride over and do just that. He knelt down in front of Cassie, easily undoing the knot that kept her hands together. It wasn’t a very good knot at that. Joey had tied plenty of people up in his day, and this wasn’t how you did it. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” he asked in a hushed voice, not able to help himself.

“Don’t worry about me.” Cassie shook her head, brushing off the rope and standing stiffly by her chair still. “Keep wise Joey.” She muttered even softer than before, her head only slightly tilting towards Ephram and the Skull Boy leader. “We’re not out of here yet.”

The cold shoulder from Joey and subsequent scold from Cassie brought a pout to Petal’s face, and she sniffed, rubbing some imaginary smudge from her pink diamond and holding it up to admire as it sparkled even in the low light. “Yes, fine, untie her,” Petal said, “we weren’t intending to keep her, heavens to betsy. This was only a shot across the bow, Mr. Kingfisher. After all, the Skull Boys are capable of also flying governmental colours, if we get the chance.” She kept Joey and Cassie in the periphery of her vision, but Petal’s attention was chiefly on Ephram and the look of sudden understanding that crossed his face at her comment.

Petal leaned back in her chair, settling her shoulders from side to side and causing her bosom to move in all sorts of ways. “So about that parlay, Mr. Kingfisher,” she said. “If you’ve got a moment to spare….”

Ephram met her eyes for a long beat, then turned to Joey. “Take Cassie,” he said, putting one hand on Joey’s shoulder, “and wait in the car for me. They won’t try to stop you. I’ll be along directly. Don’t come back inside, just wait till I come out.” Ephram gave Joey a searching look, willing the man to listen to him and follow his instructions, no matter what other impulses Joey might have. “You hear me? Take Cassie with you and keep her safe in the car. I’ll be along.”

Joey didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all. Leaving Ephram here by himself rubbed him the wrong way, but at least he was still trusting Joey with his sister, so that was a good sign. He just nodded at the order, guiding Cassie back to the car with no resistance from the Skull Boys, just as he’d said. “What does she want?” he asked once they were out of earshot. “What happened?”

Cassie eyes widened, “What? No!” It was the first time she’d raised her voice throughout the entire ordeal. She didn’t trust Petal, a part of her didn’t trust Ephram’s judgement which spelled nothing but a recipe for disaster. “Don’t touch me. Damn it Ephram, don’t be stupid.” She was glaring daggers at him, they were supposed to handle things jointly. 

But Joey guided her out of the room. Cassie smacked him when they were back at the car, and hit his broad chest again for good measure. “Hell if I know.” She grumbled. “She seemed interested in Freddie Watts. My role with Slap Jacks. But she just did a lot of fancy blathering too.”

Joey took his licks from the other Kingfisher this time, his cheek stinging as he listened to her. “I didn’t like leaving him in there either, but what was I suppose to do, Cassie? I already killed two of their goons to find out where they took you.” He’d thought for a moment he’d lost her and his life in well fell swoop. At least he was sure one of those things was safe now. “She’s either dumb as a sack of bricks or she’s got an ace up her sleeve. Either way, I don’t trust her far as I can throw her.” He ran a hand through his short, crop of hair. “Your kids are safe, by the way. I checked on ‘em before we came over…”

Since Joey had posed it as a question, Cassie answered him unflinching, “You do as I say, no matter what.” Being taken off the streets had shaken her just a little deep down, and she was taking her frustration out on Joey, because she could. “Ephram makes the decisions but someone’s gotta be there for checks and balances. That’s me.” 

She kicked the tire of the car lightly, glancing back over her shoulder to squint at the upper story window of the dress shop. “They’ve been watching the kids. Who knows how long the Skull Boys have been skulking around for a chance.”

Joey crossed his arms. “And what is it you’d have me do then?” He sighed in frustration. He knew how their partnership worked, but Ephram wasn’t really one to respect it, and it always put Joey in a hard position. He was horrified when she informed him they’d been watching the kids. “I’ll fucking kill 'em if I see them around your kids.”

Cassie huffed, knowing at this point her complaints and demands didn’t mean much of anything. They were outside on the sidewalk and Ephram was indoors with Petal doing god knows what. “I don’t know. But at least I’d get to tell Ephram he was being a fucking idiot to his face.” She grumbled again. Cassie waved Joey off, “Yeah, don’t get me wrong I appreciate the offer-“ She looked back to Joey and his busted up face again, “But let’s keep the bloodshed to a minimum for now. My brother can’t be losing a loyal Jack and starting a war all at the same time.”

“Right. I’ll keep it professional,” he said curtly, slightly mirroring their earlier conversation. He was a bit tired of being kicked around in the moment, even by Cassie, and so he just leaned against the car, striking up a cigarette as he waited for Ephram to return. He looked at his watch, ready to give it about ten more minutes before he charged in there. He tapped Cassie on the shoulder and offered her a cigarette between his fingers.

Cassie rolled her eyes slightly at him, hearing the irritation in his voice. “Take it easy.” Cassie sighed. “You know that’s not what I meant.” She started to tap her heel in an anxious manner as they stood there continuing to wait, and took the cigarette when it was offered. “If Skull Boys really wanna patch it up, Ephram’s clearly listening.” She motioned to the window, before turning so that Joey could light the cigarette for her. After a drag she added, “If it didn’t touch business? I’d let you kill Petal. And if your nose wasn’t all broken and crooked-“ Cassie smirked slightly, “I’d even give you a thank you kiss.”

“Do I?” Joey asked. Cassie, like her brother, was notoriously hard to read. But he let himself relax a bit, the tenseness in his shoulders slouching as Cassie spoke. At the mention of a kiss, he felt himself perk up on instinct, but then he smirked a smirk that didn’t quite make it up to his eyes. Sadness filled his eyes. Longing. Loss. “Don’t tease me, Cassie.”

Cassie shook her head at Joey’s puppy dog like look. Then that plea. The sad thing was, she did like Joey quite a bit. But it would never work. She could steel herself to that fact, but he just couldn’t. “I would kiss you, you lug.” Cassie insisted, taking another puff from her cigarette, “If you didn’t get lost in your fantasies. I wonder how you ever made it to work with the Slap Jacks at all aside from being war buddies with my brother.” She squinted up at him, waving some of the access smoke away, “Kingfisher’s can’t let business and love intertwine. It’s a dangerous disaster.”

“You didn’t have a problem with my fantasies when they involved you laid out under me,” Joey whispered, approaching her from behind and laying his hands on her shoulders, letting them trail down her arms slowly. But just as quickly, he pulled away, knowing what he was doing to himself. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” He took another drag from his cigarette. “You’re always right…”

Cassie scowled at the whisper. It was an overly cocky comment coming from him, but before Cassie even got the chance to retort or deflect Joey backed down again. It was only slightly pathetic. If he hadn’t gotten wrapped up with the Slap Jacks, he probably could have made something more out of himself than a trailing heavy hitter. “Well, at least someone has that figured out.”

The back door to the dress shop opened and shut with a bang that could be heard all the way to the two waiting by the car, the noise heralding the appearance of Ephram’s tall frame long-legging it towards them at a rushed clip that showed the slight limp the war had left him with. “Let’s go,” he said tightly when he reached them, his face drawn and pale, beads of sweat standing out across his brow and down the line of his nose. He huddled in his seat, arms folded tight and tucked in around himself, and when one of the Skull Boys appeared unexpectedly out of the darkness Ephram looked like he might be violently sick. 

“Boss said you forgot something,” the Skull Boy said, handing Cassie a lace-edged handkerchief and sauntering off back to his post. The fine, soft cloth fell delicately open when she took it; nestled there in the pretty folds of fabric was Ephram’s neatly excised, bloodstained left ring finger.

#au:gangster #alternate ephram #cassiegermaine #joeyvoeman

[words-writ-in-starlight]

I did send you another ask - I was wondering if it was too soon still for you to have headcanons about The Thief, but if it is, then how about Animorphs! How about some headcanons about Rachel & Cassie, and of course Rachel & Tobias

YO SO FUN FACT: @executeness BOUGHT ME THE REST OF BOOKS 2-5, I’M GONNA GET THEM THE START OF NEXT WEEK OR SO, STAY TUNED FOR THE #FEELINGS.  (I usually try to hoard my emotions until I have the whole picture, at which point I can sic my full knowledge of the thing on the issue.)  For the moment, some Rachel-centric Rachel/Tobias headcanons for this headcanon meme!

HeadcanonI know I’ve talked about this before, bUT.

Rachel and Tobias do homework together sometimes.  Her homework, obviously. This is how Tobias knows things like geometry, and how Rachel knows things like obscure factotum about sci fi novels.  Rachel has stellar grades but has trouble with homework, because she can’t stand sitting still, and honestly it really fucking helps to have a hawk idly peering at her notes on Romeo and Juliet and making suggestions for the subject of her essay.  He keeps her focused when he can, and when he can’t, when she’s so frustrated and frantic that it burns under her skin like fire ants, she can jump to her feet and morph and fly away with him.

Usually, she’s figured out how to do the assignment by the time she comes home.

HeartcanonSo, uh, first off: Rachel is the first person Tobias tells about Elfangor, this is just facts.

Second off, Rachel harbors a secret love for Xena and all related B-movie-level action-girl content that frankly she would die rather than admit to Marco.  Cassie knows, because Cassie knows everything about her.  Tobias, however, Tobias she tells, because he’s quiet and lonely for those first awful months, and they’re flying together, trying to identify a Yeerk pool entrance on the south side of town because there’s a teaching seminar at school and this is what having a day off means for Rachel now.  Tobias puts up a good front, Rachel will give him that, he tells her about how he’s been narrowing things down and makes a few jokes about sending Ax in on reconnaissance, since there’s no food court to distract him, but...he just seems lonely.

Rachel says abruptly, cutting him off, and Tobias circles closer above her, using the motion to glance down at her without getting too close. 

he says, seeming taken aback. 

Rachel says. 

Tobias says, and there’s something bright and uncomplicated in his voice, and Rachel tries not to think about how having nothing to do for even just five minutes feels like being skinned alive, and about how Tobias has nothing to do for days and days on end, all the time. 

she warns, and he laughs, still sounding surprised and happy in her head, and circles again, dipping toward her like an aerial nod.  Rachel says. 

Tobias says.  She can hear the smile in his voice, even though his face can’t show it anymore. 

GutcanonGod, I hate this, but:

There are very few people, after the war, who have seen Tobias in human form. Well--that’s not true.  There are plenty.  He’s not as recognizable as some--ironically, not even as recognizable as Rachel--but he did still save the world, so when he wanders, people snap subtle pictures and take them home to compare, just in case it’s really him.  But he doesn’t talk to people unless he absolutely has to, and there’s something about his face that means people don’t talk to him.

Rachel’s sister Jordan is the exception.

Sometimes she finds him at Rachel’s memorial, when the sun is going down, sitting with his back to the marble base and a lost expression on his too-young face.  She’s the only one who ever hears him talk about her sister.  He’s the only one who understands why she cut her long, blonde hair.  

JunkcanonThey’re at war.  Even if they weren’t at war, this is Rachel.  Live fast, die young, screech into your grave sideways and six minutes late.

They’ve slept together, is my point here.

More specifically, Tobias has picked up a real fascination with hands since he was trapped as a hawk, and while his associations with being human are mostly unpleasant, being human with Rachel is decidedly Good.  When he has the right body for it, he likes to hold Rachel’s hand, feel her hands on him, let her nails scratch across his skin.  He spends nearly an hour, once, a rare moment of peace, their hands laced together and his lips pressing idly to her knuckles while she rocks lazily in his lap.

Spleencanon...when the camera crews rush the Bug fighter, it’s four exhausted teenagers and a reeling Andalite cadet who stumble off.  Marco does the initial talking and Jake says his piece as the accidental leader of the successful revolution, and Tobias stands off to the side looking too young and too old to fit in all at once, with the thousand-yard stare of someone seeing something already past.  In the distance, the wreckage of the mothership and Tom’s stolen ship are burning up in the atmosphere--not entirely, they’ll still do damage when they hit, but enough to look like shooting stars in midday.

Tobias is watching them fall with his weak human eyes and trying not to think.  

He’s the first one, therefore, to see a shape break away from the ruins of the stolen ship and begin to shrink.

Terminal velocity for a human teenager is a lot higher than what an eagle’s body is designed to withstand, and the bird barely manages to get below the threshold of a potentially fatal fall before its wings fold up and it tumbles to the ground in a shattered heap--torn muscles in the breast, a broken wing, a tendon that snapped outright under the sudden velocity change.  Only someone used to fighting through the bloody haze of fatal wounds could have withstood it for long enough to reach the ground.

Tobias is already running when Rachel regains her feet.  For a moment, as he sees her see him, he thinks she’s going to laugh, or scream her survival to the sky like something feral, but instead, when they crash together, they’re both crying.  

There are a lot of pictures from that day, pictures that make it into the history books, but one photographer captures the moment they reach each other--Tobias’ hands cradling Rachel’s face like she’s about to disappear, Rachel’s hands clutching his shoulders, both of them smiling as tears run down their cheeks and sparkle like diamonds in the light.

It replaces the V Day Kiss as the crowning image of victory.

#animorphs #rachel berenson #tobias #rachel x tobias #otp: way past romeo and juliet #headcanon meme #ask meme #LISTEN: WE DON'T ACCEPT CANON WE LIVE AND DIE IN THE RIVER OF DENIAL #don't get me wrong #from a strictly objective point of view i can wax poetic about how rachel's narrative ends #and i can really applaud what ka applegate was gunning for with the animorphs book as the finest anti-war piece i've ever read #but NOPE #rachel lives and she and tobias go down in history as a great love story THANKS #also i've heard people say that they don't think they'd make it after the war #and like #first off: bold of you to imagine that ANY of the animorphs are getting along for that first year or two post-war #but i think they'd sort it out #mostly just 'cause...these books are BRUTAL let me have this #queue deeper than the sea of stars #aethersea #asked and answered

[alien-origins]

get to know me

i was tagged by @xiuminscheeks to do this tag and i knwo you tagged me in another one with pics of your bias but i forget things i’m sorry !! but thank you for tagging me!

Rules: Answer these 92 statements and tag 10 people.

THE LAST:

1. Drink: green tea 2. Phone call: my mom 3. Text message: my sis 4. Song you listened to: machine with exo  5. Time you cried: two days ago?????

HAVE YOU:

6. Dated someone twice: nope 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: yeah 8. Been cheated on: no 9. Lost someone special: yes 10. Been depressed: since 2007 lol 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: no

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS:

12-14: red/oink/white

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU:

15. Made new friends: yea 16. Fallen out of love: yea 17. Laughed until you cried: yea 18. Found out someone was talking about you: yea 19. Met someone who changed you: yea 20. Found out who your friends are: yea 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: yea

GENERAL:

22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: i’ve at least met everyone or now who they are 23. Do you have any pets: no but GOD i want a puppy 24. Do you want to change your name: yes and no 25. What did you do for your last Birthday: ok this is gonna be long bc it’s a lot, i was on my internship and we were a lot of people at the studio ( i was at bea szenfeld’s studio) and we ate watermelon that was my cake and listened to fun stories bea told us while we were on fika break! my whole family was sick so we only got some sushi and ate at home it was ok! 26. What time did you wake up: 6am 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: looking up pics of yifan on pinterest 28. Name something you can’t wait for: cut my dad out of my life 29. When was the last time you saw your mom: 1min ago 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: i wish i was fucking rich af 31. What are you listening right now: jenna marbles talking 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: i don’t think so 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: that summer will be over in like 2 months and i will be hella depressed again 34. Most visited Website: tumblr

LOST QUESTIONS.

35. Mole/s: hella on my arms, i got a lil triangle on my left hip and one on the side of my right boob i love them 36. Mark/s: like i got a scar on my left(???) shoulder blade from a birthmark i removed and a scar on my knee from tripping 37. Childhood dream: i honestly don’t know maybe to be a princess 39. Long or short hair: long 40. Do you have a crush on someone: daddy kris oooh bebi 41. What do you like about yourself: i’m cute af and i’m a mom 42. Piercings: 1 on my tongue and 4 on my ears (2 on each) 43. Blood type: ??????? 44. Nickname: mom, krys, krystal, bitch 45. Relationship status: single 46. Zodiac: aquarius  47. Pronouns: she/her 48. Favorite TV Show: 72 floors of mystery  49. Tattoos: not yet 50. Right or left hand: right 51. Surgery: no 52. Hair dyed in different color: many, browns and blondes mostly but i’ve had black and pink 53. Sport: i wanna play badminton again but i currently don’t do any sports 55. Vacation: literally just a nice warm sunny beach where i can pick up cute seashells and dink some fruity cocktails and LIVE 56. Pair of trainers: trainers???like shoes???? 2???

MORE GENERAL:

57. Eating Currently: cha siu bao 58. Drinking currently: water 59. I’m about to: mc freaking loose it 61. Waiting for: my period to fucking S TO P my uterus hurts so much  62. Want: money and to get fucked into the bed 63. Get married: some day 64. Career: if i’m lucky, a fashion designer

WHICH IS BETTER

65. Hugs or kisses: lazy tired make out sessions are amazing fight meee 66. Lips or eyes:   lips???? 67. Shorter or taller: taller, i like size differences but i get kinda happy when people are shorter than me 68. Older or younger: older 70. Nice arms or nice stomach: idk honestly, nice hair i’d say 71. Sensitive or loud: a mix of both 72. Hook up or relationship: hook up but it’d be neat to be in a relationship even th OU G H ROMANTIC LOVE IS A CONSPIRACY  73. Troublemaker or hesitant: neither idk i’m the hesitant bitch in this relationship 

HAVE YOU EVER:

74. Kissed a stranger: no 75. Drank hard liquor: i’m so fucking lightweight hard liqour’d kill me 76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: i have neither  77. Turned someone down: yea?? 78. Sex in the first date: yea lol 79. Broken someone’s heart: yes 80. Had your heart broken: not sure i’m pretty emotionally dead 81. Been arrested: won’t say but maybe 82. Cried when someone died: mhm 83. Fallen for a friend: yea

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:

84. Yourself: sometimes, it goes up and down 85. Miracles: where from? you sexy thing, you sexy thing! sexy!  86. Love at first sight: sure thing 87. Santa Claus: nope 88. Kiss in the first date: if it’s right 89. Angels: yea kim junmyeon exists

OTHER:

90. Current best friends’ names: cassie 91. Eyecolor: grey/blue 92. Favorite movie: devil wears prada

imma tag @1adyluck @swaggyt-enthusiast @@kai-aaah  @bulba-suho-r @ohunshine @chogiwapark @crownkingzyx @bright-black-blunder @bunmyun @04gf

empty answers to copy paste under the cut

THE LAST:

1. Drink: 2. Phone call: 3. Text message: 4. Song you listened to: 5. Time you cried:

HAVE YOU:

6. Dated someone twice: 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: 8. Been cheated on: 9. Lost someone special: 10. Been depressed: 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up:

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS:

12-14:

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU:

15. Made new friends: 16. Fallen out of love: 17. Laughed until you cried: 18. Found out someone was talking about you: 19. Met someone who changed you: 20. Found out who your friends are: 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list:

GENERAL:

22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: 23. Do you have any pets: 24. Do you want to change your name: 25. What did you do for your last Birthday: 26. What time did you wake up: 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: 28. Name something you can’t wait for:   29. When was the last time you saw your mom: 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: 31. What are you listening right now: 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: 34. Most visited Website:

LOST QUESTIONS.

35. Mole/s: 36. Mark/s: 37. Childhood dream: 38. Hair Colour: 39. Long or short hair: 40. Do you have a crush on someone: 41. What do you like about yourself: 42. Piercings: 43. Blood type: 44. Nickname: 45. Relationship status: 46. Zodiac: 47. Pronouns: 48. Favorite TV Show: 49. Tattoos: 50. Right or left hand: 51. Surgery: 52. Hair dyed in different color: 53. Sport: 55. Vacation: 56. Pair of trainers:

MORE GENERAL:

57. Eating Currently: 58. Drinking currently: 59. I’m about to: 61. Waiting for: 62. Want: 63. Get married: 64. Career:

WHICH IS BETTER

65. Hugs or kisses: 66. Lips or eyes:   67. Shorter or taller: 68. Older or younger: 70. Nice arms or nice stomach: 71. Sensitive or loud: 72. Hook up or relationship: 73. Troublemaker or hesitant:

HAVE YOU EVER:

74. Kissed a stranger: 75. Drank hard liquor: 76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: 77. Turned someone down: 78. Sex in the first date: 79. Broken someone’s heart: 80. Had your heart broken: 81. Been arrested: 82. Cried when someone died: 83. Fallen for a friend:

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:

84. Yourself: 85. Miracles: 86. Love at first sight: 87. Santa Claus: 88. Kiss in the first date: 89. Angels:

OTHER:

90. Current best friends’ names: 91. Eyecolor: 92. Favorite movie:

#tag #!!!!!!

[whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname]

Acceptance

Characters: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2315

Summary: Dean finds the reader with the Supernatural books.

Warnings: Smut, Slight Angst, Some Fluff, Unprotected Sex, Slight Pain!kink, Angry!Dean, Swearing

A/N: This is the last installment for this series, Jealousy/Acceptance.  Hope it isn’t too strange or preachy.  Thank you so much for all the awesome feed back I received from Jealousy.  I’m really blown away.  Special thanks to @notnaturalanahi and @justanotherwaywarddaughter, for helping me get over my writers block for this story.

Jealousy 

You took another sip of coffee and turned the page.

The boys were out. They’d finished a hunt and were on their way home.  Presumably you had a few more hours to yourself.  You were content with waiting, curled up on the bed in Dean’s room.

Dean had been almost resistant to leaving you.  Since the night you’d first slept together, he’d hardly let you out of his sight, even in the bunker.  Not that he’d discuss why with you.

You smiled distractedly, turning another page.  It was Dean and you knew his aversions to vocalizing his feelings.  He opted for a more physical approach.  

You shivered.  Not that you minded.

He hadn’t sad it in so many words, or put voice to the relationship between you two, but he held you tightly each night in his sleep and filled you in way that left your body pleasantly aching from being loved too hard.

You squeezed your muscles tightly, trying to recapture the faded echo of Dean’s touch, dimmed somewhat from the days he’d been gone.

It didn’t matter what you were, or even how long it would last.  You just enjoyed the time you spent with him.

You turned to the next page, skimming over the chapter.  Your heart clenched.  Years passed or not, it still made you ache to think of him suffering.  

Warm arms wrapped around your shoulders, that familiar smell of hotel shampoo and something undeniably Dean, filling your senses.  You turned, pressing a kiss to his cheek.  

He was home early.

“What are you-,” Dean asked, snatching the tablet from your fingers.  You turned, watching him calmly as he read, and waited.  “What is this,” he asked, nervous anger not far beneath the surface.

“The Supernatural books,” you said evenly, holding out your hand for the tablet.

“Wh-what?  Why?” His face darkened, his brows furrowing, anger gathering around him like a thundercloud.  You waited for the rain to fall.

You shrugged again.

“Why not?”

Dean couldn’t look at you. He was staring at the page like you’d caught him in a lie.  You could understand way.  On the page he was tonsils deep into Cassie, delving into her with the same intensity and devotion he showed you.

“Doesn’t it bother you,” he finally asked.  You took the tablet from him, gently urging it from his frozen fingers.

“It doesn’t bother me.”

Dean’s eyes snapped up to yours, and you could see flames there, threatening to burn him if not contained.  

“So, it doesn’t make you jealous at all?”  There was a thinly veiled edge to his voice. You furrowed your brows, tilting your head to the side.  Did he want you to be jealous?

“No.”

“Oh,” Dean sighed, looking away.  The fire was replaced by hurt.  You struggled to think of something to say before he finished erecting a wall between himself and what hurt him, currently: you.

“I like seeing you happy.”

“What?”  He was urging you to go on, needing an explanation, needing your reassurance.  You thought maybe you understood.

“I want you to have love in your life, Dean.  I want you to be happy.”  He refused to look at you, still eying the tablet as if it might bite him.  “Even if I’m not the one giving it.  All those women, all those past relationships, I’m not jealous of them.  I’m thankful. They took care of you, they gave you what you needed when you needed it.”

He was silent for a long while.

You waited.  Not rushing him, giving him the time he needed.  He opened his mouth several times to speak. When he finally spoke he was in short bursts, like rapid, clustered gunfire.

“I’m not grateful to the men you’ve been with.”  His jaw flexed, but as he spoke he gathered more momentum, words coming until they were an avalanche.  “I’m not. I hate them.  I hate them so much.  I hate the thought of them touching you.  I hate thinking of you with them.  I can’t – even just thinking about it makes me feel sick.”

He was unable to meet your eyes, his hands twitching, drawn between reaching out for comfort and twisting into self-deprecating fists.  

You slid into his lap, nudging his chin with your thumbs, urging him to look up at you.

“I chose you, Dean,” you murmured against his lips.  You kissed him gently, urging the curdling anger from him with soft kisses.  “So, don’t compare yourself to ghosts.”  

You kissed him again, more firmly this time, but his mouth was still a stoic wall.  “You think my feelings are a commodity and that you’ll starve if you can’t have them all.”  

You kissed him again, and still he was impassive.  “But, you don’t have to take me.  I’m giving myself to you.”

Suddenly you were on your back on the mattress, Dean’s solid frame pressing you into the duvet.  Dean’s eyes were so hungry, his kiss to urgent, it left you hollow with want.  

There was no pretense, not build up.  You needed him inside you.  You needed the worry, that inevitable festered when he was gone, to be fucked away.  You needed reassurance that could only come from your coupling.  What was more, you needed Dean to feel it, too.  

You let him undress you, ripping at your shirt and pants, leaving your skin singing in anticipation.

As he shucked his cloths, you stared at him, clenching your thighs together at the immediate response to seeing him bared for you.  There was a band around his upper arms, a line dividing sun-kissed tanned skin from the creamy white flesh perpetually obscured by his shirt.  You longed to drag your tongue across those converging boundaries.  

Your gaze dragged down his chest, speckled with hair.  Biting your lips, you anticipated the gentle burn of his chest hair rubbing against you, leaving curly remnants across your body like abstract tattoos.

Once naked, Dean paused to stare at you, his chest already heaving from the arousal you’d sparked in him. Gently, he knelt between your legs with the coiling energy of a predator.

Spread out beneath him, legs spread wide, his ravenous eyes drinking in your slick pussy, should have left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, but instead it made you squirm in your own skin, finding a sensuality in the act of being seen.  

He nudged your neck with his nose, before sucking at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, leaving a greedy bite mark and a purple, marbled bruise.

“Dean,” you screamed, rubbing your chest to his, rolling your hips in the vain hope of slipping his cock where you needed it most.  Dean held resolute, his will iron.

“Say it,” Dean demanded, his fingers tightening in your hair.  His eyes were wild, saturated with a wanton, pleading hunger.  “I need to hear you say it.”

“Fuck me,” you whispered, your words followed swiftly by a strained groan as his fingers twisted in your hair.  

His chest was heaving, but otherwise he was still above you.

“Again,” he said hardly, color rising in his cheeks, his eyes growing more and more desperate.  

“Fuck me, please,” you shouted, thrusting your hips against his again.  If he didn’t move you were going to go mad.

He pushed inside you with one single, brutal thrust.  His face was a ragged tapestry of want, driven by an uncontrollable urge to mark and consume you.  

Your breath caught in your throat at the sensation of being suddenly filled, his length and girth stretching your walls, making you feel so full, so complete.  A shriek slipped from your lips belatedly, your mind finally catching up with the primal sensations of your coupling.

He paused then, watching as you heaved, adjusting to his cock.  

“God, the way you feel,” you hissed through gritted teeth.  “Feeling you stretching me.  I’ll never get tired of this.”

“Christ, Y/N,” he grunted at the sensation.  He rocked his hips forward and you gasped at the shallow thrust, seeking more.  Dean leaned down, lips ghosting over your neck, his hot breath and ragged stubble tickling your skin, the heightened sensitivity leaving you a trembling mess beneath him.  

He rocked forward again, another brutal thrust that send your fingernails digging into his back, head thrown back.

“Please, Dean,” you gasped, not sure what you were begging for.  But you needed to give him what he needed, whatever it was.  You needed him to use your body for his own release, a coupling that would undoubtedly end in your own completion.  

Dean’s control snapped.  He thrust into you in earnest, splitting you open like a man possessed.  You were lost to the sensation, momentarily unable to move as he fucked you.  

“So good,” Dean purred, his praise drawing a strangled groan from your throat.  His words ran over you like silk.  “That’s right.  Take it, take my cock.”  

You clenched your inner walls around him, his words sending a shiver of desire down your spine.

Your fingers scrabbled across his back, trying to find purchase, trying to scream and scratch the growing pressure from your body.  It was too much, too intense, too perfect.  When you came it was going to be an avalanche.

But you let him hold your squirming body, legs already shaking, as he plowed into you, his cock bottoming out in your body with a precision and stretch that promised lingering soreness.  His cock dragged against the mouth of your cervix, letting the bitter edge of pain mingle with the sheer intensity of his movements.

“Shit, Y/N, the sight of you,” Dean grunted, his green eyes almost black.  

He was lost in you.  You could see it burning in his eyes.  It wasn’t just sex; with each thrust he was reaffirming your relationship, reminding himself that you were here, that you’d chosen him, that you were allowing him inside your body; with each eager snap of his hips he was proving himself to you.

“Come for me, Y/N,” he groaned into your ear.  “Please, I need to feel it.  Need to make you come.”  He was holding back, warding off his own release until you’d finished.  The thought fizzled through your brain like an electrical short, sending shocks of want to your core.

“Come on my cock, Y/N,” he practically begged.  “I need it.”

Your release was explosive, dragging through your limbs.  You opened your mouth to scream, but were suspended in the sensation.  The intensity grew, bottled inside your shaking body, with no release.  It echoed and amplified, rattling inside your brain, curling inside your toes, singing like a live wire in your core.  

When you did cry out, you screamed, convulsing, pressing into the feeling that burned through your nerves like wildfire. Dean continued to rock into you.  

When your eyes slipped open you almost came again from the sight of him, teeth bared, driven by a feral, ravenous urge to consume you.  

It wasn’t about jealousy or possession.  It was bonding, primal, unadulterated, brutal bonding.  It was an inexorable connection that erupted from the depths of your mingled need, leaving you shaken in its wake.

You felt him trembling above you, every nerve alive with the feel of you.  The oversensitivity of clit and pussy, still recovering from you orgasm, left you high on lingering bliss.  You stared up at Dean with lazy, unfocused eyes,

The reality of it would never fail to astound you.  After so many years of watching him, wanting him, he was finally here, sliding into your cunt so smoothly you could cry.  It was so much better than your fantasies, so much better than the men you’d slept with because they merely resembled him.  

But here he was, hips slamming into yours, the slick pull of his cock through your wet channel ringing like music in the thick air, enunciated by his guttural thrusts.  He was chasing his orgasm, slamming into your body as if it was his last for deliverance.

You slipped your fingers into his short hair, pulling him down towards you.  Whimpering, you licked the shell of his ear, tasting the bitter, salty flavor of his sweat.  You sank your teeth into his ear with no warning, feeling him shudder from the pain.

“You’re mine,” you whispered harshly, lips moving around his ear, teeth still embedded into his flesh.

His release was immediate. He grunted, thrusting once more before he came.  

You felt his cock swell in your oversensitive cunt, feeling the hot ropes of cum that flooded into you. Dean heaved, hips spasming as he spilled his seed into the hidden depths of your cunt, fingers leaving divots in your skin that would fade into purple, inky marks by the next morning.  You would run your fingers over them in the shower, feeling the ache and remembering this moment.  

But for now you held him as he lost himself in your body, drinking in your comfort and the feeling of your soft, sweat drenched skin.  You basked in the realness of this moment.  

His cock twitched inside of you.  You shuddered.  

Dean Winchester’s cock buried in your cunt, his sated weight pressing you into the mattress, was a prayer incarnate.

He rolled off you with a reluctant grunt, and you sighed at the soft drag off his cock as it slipped out of your body.  You were careless to the mixture of his seed and your wetness that ran down your thighs to dirty the sheets.  Instead your rolled over, pillowing your head on his shoulder.

“I trust you,” you whispered, kissing the flaming pentagram over his heart.  

You wondered if his jealousy had abated, if it ever would.  It was a beast that would not be tamed easily.  It was ritual and comfort, both prison and guard.  It was fire and destruction.  

“I trust you,” Dean murmured.  Your heart swelled, leaping giddily in your chest.  “I trust you.”

Forever Tags: @thereaderoffanfics, @notnaturalanahi, @thegreatficmaster, @feelmyroarrrr, @nicmob, @arryn-nyx, @the-fandom-took-over-my-life, @jessiedangerous, @smoothdogsgirl, @panther-and-peacock, @savage-pineapples, @asifbyblackmagic, @mu-alpha, @catackles16, @legitgirl15 @the-winchester-pack, @docharleythegeekqueen, @captainjmarvel, @freaksforthewin @ millaraysuyai @anokhi07 @mrsbatesmotel53 @adaliamalfoy  @brooke-supernatural16 @demonic-meatball  @amyapathetic @just-a-touch-of-crowley @fabulouslyboredeveryday @missdestiel67 @eileenlikesyou-maybe

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#spn #supernatural #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #smut #dean smut #dean winchester smut #spn fic #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn imagine #spn oneshot #spn smut #spn fluff #spn angst #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural oneshot #supernatural imagine #supernatural smut #supernatural fluff #supernatural angst

[viking-raider]

Silver and Magic - Chapter 9

Summary: You and Geralt investigate the catacombs in Dilosmund for the Dragon Head key. But, you don’t leave the Catacombs the same person you went in as.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 3,703

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Rating: M - Cursing 

Inspiration: What the dragon’s head necklace looks like (x) This is sorta what I picture reader’s sword to look like (x) and how I picture the reader’s eyes (x)

Author’s Note: I’m pulling shit out of my muse’s ass for this chapter, and probably future ones. Tell me what you think!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie​, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @heelsamizayn, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @katiebriggs004-blog, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming​, @thisisntmyrightera​, @michelle-1185, @winchwm, @royallylazy​, @sofiebstar​, @worldicreate​, @agniavateira​, @fantasygirlsuniverse​, @witches-of-discovery-a​, @xuxszx​, @ayamenimthiriel​, @keiva1000​, @klaine-92​, @itsreigns​, @constip8merm8​, @scorpionchild81​, @mylifefallingupthestairs​, @onlyhenrys​, @luclittlepond​, @ellixthea​, @lebguardians​, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier​, @cherrybloomn​, @p3nny4urth0ught5​, @iloveyouyen​, @hollydaisy23​

Despite being abandoned for so long, the Dilosmund catacombs were still in reasonable shape, especially compared to Midmaw's. You followed behind Geralt, glancing at the artwork decorating the walls, some were carvings in the natural limestone, others were made out of the bones of the dead.

“Do you have any clue, where in this place, we're supposed to be looking for the necklace?” Geralt asked you over his shoulder.

“Sadly, no.” You sighed, stopping to examine one of the open corpses, and saw nothing. “But, if the Dragary revered their mine supervisors so much, that they only entrusted them with the keys, then they'll more than likely be buried in the wealthier section of the Catacombs.” You explained. “That's if they're anything like how other societies that bury their dead.” You added, sounding a bit skeptical.

“And how do we identify that?” Geralt asked, stopping and turning sideways to look at you.

“Well,” You pressed your lips together. “In Kovir, for instance, they bury their dead in open marble caskets. Cintra buries theirs in Quartzite, and Nilfgaard buries theirs in red Sandstone. All based on what the precious stone is, in their region.”

“What stone would that be for the Dragary?” Geralt pondered, glancing around.

“Limestone.” You said, touching the wall beside you. “and Granite.” You added, picking a small chunk of it off the floor, at your feet, and showed it to him.

“So, we're looking for a level that's largely Limestone and Granite.” He said, letting out a hard breath.

“Yep.” You nodded, rubbing your face.

You and Geralt carried on into the bowels and recesses of the catacombs, stopping to check every coffin or corpse that seemed of interest, but had still found nothing of promise. Going deeper, you hit a snag, when you found a large Granite slab, blocking the doorway into the lower levels. Geralt made you take several steps back, then used his Aard to break it down, the noise thundering through the narrow hallway, spewing dust and rock everywhere. Smirking and rolling your eyes at him, you stepped through the opening and took several steps, before slipping down a steep decline, and splashing into a stagnate body of water.

“Ugh, fucking fabulous.” You grunted and stood up, the water reaching your knees. “Watch the way down!” You called up to Geralt. “Aine.” You whispered, illuminating the room and saw that the walkway had collapsed at some point.

“You all right?” Geralt asked, carefully coming down.

“Other than being drenched in foul dead people water, I'm great.” You deadpanned, making Geralt smirk.

“Seems an aquifer burst through the wall over there.” He pointed to the crumbled section of wall to the left.

“That's comforting.” You replied and trudged through the water, the small orb of light you summoned follow you, over the surface of the water. “I think, we're close.” You called out to him, seeing damaged coffins made of rough stone, limestone and granite.

You searched the open coffins, while Geralt pushed open the lids of the closed ones. You moved to a room adjacent, the water going up to your mid thighs, as you moved through it and started searching through the coffins in there. The lid of one coffin was pushed almost sideways, and you peaked inside, catching the flickering glint of metal from your weakening orb of light. You squeezed your hand into the small gap and grabbed it, your fingers closed around it, feeling the outline of it.

“Geralt, I got it!” You yelled out to him, trying to tug the braided leather strap free. “Shit!” You barked, feeling something inside of the coffin grasp your wrist.

“Y/n?” Geralt's voice echoed back to you, the quick splashing of him moving as fast as he could to reach you.

“Something has my fucking hand!” You told him, struggling against it.

Geralt hadn't made it halfway to you, when a, nails on a chalkboard, wail reverberated through the air, making your vision swim and your skull feel like it was being crushed. The Wolf medallion swaying around your neck started to really vibrate on its chain. You looked up at Geralt with wide eyes, both of you silently communicating with each other. Wraith. He waded the rest of the way to you, planted his hands on the lid of the coffin and pushed it open more, allowing the reanimated corpse to sit up some. Geralt wasted no time, as another of the Wraith's screams reached you, closer this time, grabbing the corpse's head and twisting it around so far, it ripped off, making it go slack and dropped back to the bottom of the coffin. With it's head gone, it was easier for you to removed the necklace and pry its mummified hand from around your wrist. You dropped the necklace around your neck and twisted around, just as the Wraith breezed into the room, floating over the surface of the water, making it gently ripple.

“Shall we leave before we become the next set of corpses in this place?” You asked, eyes never leaving Wraith's.

“It would be rather nice.” Geralt agreed, his stance already in anticipation of a fight.

“One portal to the surface, at your service, Sir Witcher.” You said and grabbed a hold of Geralt's arm, focusing, and portalled you both out of the catacombs. “Undead and Wraiths, how exciting.” You panted, out of breath from your Magic use.

“Just another day as Witcher.” Geralt retorted, tugging his boots off and draining the water out of them. “You get use to it.” He added, giving you a playful smirk.

“I'm sure.” You chuckled back, removing the necklace from around your neck. “At least, we found what we were looking for.” You said, holding the necklace out to Geralt.

He took the necklace from you and examined it. “It always amazes me, how the smallest and simplest of things, cause the greatest of problems.” He said, weighing it in the palm of his hand.

“Well, the smallest of thing can throw off the whole balance of the world, especially if it's the right type of small thing.” You concurred, taking it back from him and putting it back around your neck. “Now, where did I port us too?” You sighed, looking around for anything familiar that could distinguish where you and Geralt were.

Geralt glanced around, then let out a loud whistle, and a minute or two later, Roach appeared to the east of you. “Not far, it would seem.” He said, grabbing the Bay's reins.

“That's convenient.” You laughed, getting up on Roach behind him.

“I've lost sight of my horses more than once, in my lifetime.” He replied, turning Roach the way she approached. “So, I make a point to teach each of them to come to me with a whistle. Though, it only works if they're close enough to hear it.” He added.

“I should teach Shadow that.” You said, resting forward against Geralt's back. “I don't really lose sight of him, but sometimes the little cur runs off.”

“He spook easy?” Geralt asked.

“No, he's just a drama queen.” You huffed, amused. “He can stand and behave as if a monster isn't right next to him, but the second he thinks something is going to get that luxurious coat of his dirty, he'll run right off; complaining and protesting the whole time.”

Geralt laughed, shaking his head. “Roach doesn't much care for being bothered with such trivial things herself. But, Shadow is a Friesian horse, so it doesn't surprise me, he gets upset about his looks. Though, Shadow is still a very friendly and stoic.”

“I am aware, the two of you get on rather well.” You smiled at him over his shoulder, you'd caught the Witcher more than once admiring Shadow and talking to him, sneaking him an apple or two. “I'm surprised Roach isn't jealous.”

“Oh, she's made her disapproval of it known, many times.” Geralt laughed, patting the side of Roach's neck. “It's getting a bit dark.” He said, looking up at the sky. “We'll keep on for a while, then make camp.”

“All right.” You nodded, resting your cheek against the back of his shoulder.

You traveled for an hour, before dismounting Roach and making camp. Geralt build a fire and you pulled out the bit of food you had packed for the journey, then unrolled a blanket and spread it over the ground, giving you and Geralt somewhere comfortable and clean to sleep. For whatever reason, you couldn't keep yourself from touching the dragon's head as it rested against the fabric of your shirt, like touching it gave you some kind of reassurance, feeling drawn to it. But, you fell asleep spooned into Geralt, enveloped by the intense heat of his big body, blanketing you against the chilled winter air. Geralt woke with a loud snort from Roach, the Bay stomping and pawing at the frozen ground. He rolled onto his back, but didn't see you on the blanket beside him and sat up, scanning the surrounding area. He caught a glimpse of your white shirt and got up to follow you, confused on what you were doing. You walked through the trees, like a beautiful ghost, unaware of Geralt's presence following close behind you, and stopped suddenly, just before you stepped off the edge of a very steep cliff.

“Y/n?” Geralt called your name, softly, not wanting to startle you and have you fall, frowning as he heard you speaking in some strange language. “Y/n.” He repeated your name, stepping closer to you and carefully grabbing the back of your arm and pulling you away from the edge. “What's going on with you?” He asked, turning you around and took a sharp breath, seeing your eyes.

Your normal silver colored eyes had morphed, shining like highly polished silver, but your round pupils were slits, like that of a cat's. He looked down at your hand, seeing it wrapped around the dragon's head pendant and looked back up into your eyes. Your pupils weren't narrow like a cat's, they were narrow like a Dragon's. Geralt yanked the necklace from around your neck and out of your hand, making you waver for a moment and blink rapidly, before your eyes returned to normal and you snapped out of whatever trance or state you were in.

“Geralt?” You frowned, looking around and realizing neither of you were at camp. “What are we doing out here?”

“You were sleepwalking.”Geralt answered. “With this.” He held up the necklace. “You were speaking in some strange language as well, and your eyes and pupils were like a Dragon's.”

“What?” You snapped, stunned and confused.

“There's something about this pendant that changed you.” He said, studying it. “It's quite strange. Would your friend, Aero, know anything about this?” He asked, concerned.

“He might.” You answered, quietly, feeling strange.

“We should see him in the morning.” Geralt replied, lifting a brow at you and pocketed the pendant, he didn't feel easy about giving it back to you, and could plainly see that it bothered you that he didn't. “Come, let's rest some more.” He said, gently taking your hand and leading you back to the bed roll.

You let him guide you back to camp and laid down with him again, bothered by the incident. 

In the morning, you and Geralt traveled to Pont Vanis, and visited Aero at his home.

“Ah!” Aero grinned. “I'm glad to see you taking my advice on not being a stranger, and this must be your Witcher.” He greeted Geralt, warmly.

“I have an issue, Aero.” You told him, getting to the point.

“Oh?” The Elf frowned, tilting his head at you. “What issue would that be?”

“This.” Geralt said, holding up the pendant. “We found it in the Dilosmund Catacomb, where you suggested it could be. But, the issue is, it changed y/n.”

Aero fixed his eyes on you and blinked. “She seems the same to me.”

“Minus the fact, I want to snatch it from him and horde it for myself.” You elaborated, eyes on the dragon's head.

“And it changed her eyes.” Geralt added.

“Changed her eyes, how?”

“They were the same color, but her pupils were slits, like a Dragon's would be.” Geralt explained, letting the Elf take the necklace from him. “She nearly sleep walked off the edge of a cliff, in the process.”

Aero frowned, studying the pendant, then handed it to you. You felt an odd relief getting it back, squeezing your hand around it, hugging it against your chest. It wasn't long afterwards, that your pupils grew incredibly small, like a pinpoint, then extended into a thin line slit, startling Aero. He managed to take it back from you, and your eyes returned to normal.

“Oh, dear.” He mewled, eyes wide.

“What is it?” Geralt demanded, not liking his expression.

“I didn't-It can't be.” Aero mumbled to himself. “But, it has to be.”

“Aero, mumbling.” You snapped, softly.

Aero put up a finger. “I think...No, let me make sure.” He turned on his heels and went upstairs to his library.

“Is that normal?” Geralt asked you, following him up.

“He's a scholar.” You replied, like it answered Geralt's question.

You made it into Aero's study, to find him pushing books and scrolls around his messy desk, pausing long enough, every now and then, to skim through a scroll or flip through a book. It was several minutes until he seemed to find whatever it was he was looking for. He scoured through the book and mumbled more to himself, picked up another book and kept going back and forth between the two. You and Geralt stood impatiently beside his desk, watching him the whole time.

“It is what I feared, well, not feared, per-say.” He finally addressed the two of you. “It's rather thrilling and incredible.”

“That's easy for you to say.” You huffed, shaking your head.

“What did you find?” Geralt added, annoyed.

“It seems, y/n here, is a Dragarian.” Aero, finally, announced.

“What!?” You shouted, resting your palms against his desk. “You said, all of them either died in that dragon attack, or killed themselves! How the hell am I one of them, if that's the case?” You demanded, flabbergasted at the news.

“According to this account.” Aero explained, tapping his finger against the page. “Only a Dragarian, can be affected by this.” He held up the necklace. “It's imbued the Dragarian Magic, magic only the Dragary are capable of, and affected by. Well, Dragary Magic affects anyone, like any normal Magic. But, the type of Magic in this, only affects a Dragarian, the way it affects you. As you can see, Geralt and I can openly hold it in our bare hands, and it doesn't affect us at all. But, the moment you touched it, that change comes over you.”

“Why?” You demanded, feeling dizzy. “Why, does it affect me like that? I get the Magic, but, to that specific affect.”

“There's a myth, legend or fable, what have you. That says, that Dragarians were once actually dragons.” He replied, sitting down. “The story goes; that a male dragon made a deal with Dilos, to be allowed to have a human-like body, after having seen humans and being curious to what it would be like. He kept almost all of his abilities he had as a dragon and went about the Continent, experiencing life as would a human.”

You and Geralt both seated yourselves across from him. “And?” You asked.

“Well, the tale continues.” He continued. “Dragons are known for their hording tendencies, so he horded a large portion of gold, and built a home close to where he originally lived as a Dragon, near the Dragon Mountains. But, as time grew on, he became lonely, and went looking for a mate. He met a female dragon, they fell in love and she asked Dilos to do for her, what he had done for the male, and he granted it for her. They married and established themselves.” He rubbed his chin. “Several other dragons, seeing the life they lived, asked Dilos to change them, and over time the changed Dragons had families and the kingdom of Dragary was created.”

“So, they're the descendants of Dragons.” You summed up, finding it hard to believe, but everything you had been going through lately, it didn't seem as far fetched as it should have. “How does that explain, me being affected, if there aren't supposed to be any left?”

“Well, perhaps the account of them all committing suicide was wrong.” Aero replied, frowning. “Your parents could have been Dragarian, decided to leave the kingdom to live elsewhere, for some reason, so they survived the attack and didn't kill themselves, but they covered up what they were, for whatever reason.” He sighed, looking at you, softly. “or the people you considered your parents, weren't.”

That hit you like a boulder to the chest, either your parents lied to you about your heritage, or they lied to you about your parentage, and you'd never figure out which, since they were both dead. Geralt frowned, worried and sympathetic, resting his hand on your leg.

“So, I'm possibly, the last of my kind.” It felt so beyond strange to say it, then you looked up at Aero. “Do you think this creature could have something to do with the Dragary? It has to have a pendant to get into the mine, it could be affected by it as well.”

“It is possible.” He agreed. “But, whatever it is, its not a humanoid, or at least, it isn't a humanoid any longer.” He clarified.

“So, I'm the descendant of Dragons.” You sighed, shaking your head and sarcastic. “Fucking lovely.”

“It could explain your unique capabilities with Magic.” Aero replied, he'd always found your ability to wield and control Magic strange, many had; it came much more naturally, and almost effortless to you, you could maintain and sustain your Chaos better than nearly every Mage you had met.

“Did the Dragary have their own language?” Geralt asked, still curious about the strange language you'd spoken in, the night before, and was now much more interested in knowing, if that's what you'd been speaking.

“Quite.” Aero nodded, picking up a scroll on his desk and handing it to Geralt.

“Can you read this?” Geralt asked you, unrolling it and handing it to you.

“I doubt it.” You replied, taking it from him and looking it over. At first, it seemed like a bunch of jumbled marks, but they quickly made sense to you, startling you even farther. “The place between then and now; is that now is happening, and then is out of our reach...” You read the top line of it, making Aero's mouth drop open.

“It took me nearly three decades to translate that, and you did it in five seconds.” He said, sounding jealous and surprised, at the same time. “This only reaffirms my belief of your heritage, y/n.”

“How would I not know, I knew this language?” You asked, carefully setting the scroll down at the edge of his desk.

“You could have known it at a much younger age, and as time went by, you used it so little, you consciously forgot about it, but subconsciously you still remember.” Geralt replied, a deep crease between his brows.

“I agree.” Aero nodded.

“I don't know, if I like this.” You sighed, rubbing your face, it was a lot to process.

“Well, it's not like your any different than you have been.” Aero tried to soothe you. “You've just been unaware of your full potential and nature. We all have something inside of us, we are unaware is there, until the right circumstances happen. Trying to defeat this creature, is just yours.”

“So, what do I do?” You asked him, tired. “If I touch the thing, I apparently go all dragonkin about it.”

“I believe, the episode you had last night, was a simple combination of your genetic reaction and being asleep. When you did it downstairs you were perfectly fine, mostly. So, as long as you don't touch it in a sleep state, you'll be able to control it.”

“We don't even know what all of it is.” Geralt pointed out. “We both took it from her, before we could discover the full affect of it.”

“That is also true.” Aero conceded, biting his lip.

“I don't feel like finding out.” You cut Aero off, seeing the expression on his face and in his eyes. “All I need is to turn into a full blown dragon in the middle of Kovir. People can't stand what they don't get already, and a person turning into a Dragon, is the very last thing they'll understand.”

“Again, also true.” the Elf nodded, conflicted. “It's all very new and strange, to be put simply.”

“At least, you two woke up knowing who you are.” You sighed. “I get to fall asleep, wondering who I am.”

“You're still you, y/n.” Geralt told you, squeezing your thigh. “Finding all this out, isn't going to change any of that. People find out about their heritage everyday and are still the same as they were before.”

“I doubt any of them found out they could be related to Dragons, or a society that's supposed to be extinct.” You deadpanned, looking him in the eye. “But, you are still right. I still feel, more or less, myself.” You sighed, leaning back against your chair. “We still need to investigate that mine and learn more about that creature, though.”

“And now that we have the pendant, it'll be a sight easier.” Geralt agreed with you.

#Henry Cavill #HenryCavill #Geralt #Geralt of Rivia #Geralt/You #Geralt/Reader #Geralt of Rivia/You #Geralt of Rivia/Reader #The Witcher #Witcher #Witcher Neflix #White Wolf #Silver and Magic *fic* #Viking-Raider Fics #Napoleon Solo #Clark Kent #captain syverson #Syverson #Theseus #Marshall #Evan Marshall #Walter Marshell #sherlock holmes #albert mondego #dragons #fluff #Language #lore

[ephrampettaline]

au chatzy with @alessafalling, @cassiegermaine, @ephrampettaline, @freddiewatts, and @ianncardero

Ephram felt the trickle of the light rain streaming down the back of his collar and gave his shoulders a quick shrug, hiking his big black coat up higher. Not that it made much difference. The rain in Soapham was notorious for getting in where it shouldn’t be, leaving the entire town in a constant state of needling dampness that was there even in the dead of summer. Ephram supposed it had been one of the reasons he’d weathered the trenches on the Front better than many other soldiers, his being used to that damp, but still. 

He looked upwards, scanning the roofs of the buildings in the distance, the carvings on the taller gravestones, as rain ran down his face and the dirt on his father’s fresh grave ran into mud over the toes of his shoes. A black umbrella big as a moon lifted up, wobbly, and he had to duck slightly so it didn’t hit the side of his head. “Cassie,” Ephram murmured, taking the umbrella handle from her so he could hold it better over the two of them. “It’s just us now. The old man’s gone.” He bowed his head, breathing in deep and rattly. And then said, “…the old-timers will have their hands out, while his body’s still cooling, every one of em who can claim he owed em while he was alive and we owe em now he’s dead.”

Cassie stood and stared quietly down at the gravestone, listening to the rain pattering gently against the umbrella. It was a powerful silence, and Cassie swiped away a stray drop of water from her face. Whether it was rain or a tear, she’d never tell but she turned slightly giving the umbrella up to Ephram when he reached for it. Her shoulders tensed at his words, because it was true, now that Harlan was in the ground all hell could break lose. “You can’t stop that.” Cassie shrugged, voice just a little calmer than she felt. It was something she was good at. “But we’ll handle it. It’s not like you were left completely unprepared.”

Ephram transferred the umbrella to his other hand and wrapped his arm around Cassie, her smart dark coat dry under his rain-soaked sleeve. “We’ll handle it, yeah,” he said. “You ‘n me, just like always. Nobody else ever could figure us out.” He was silent for a moment, then asked, “Where’s the kids? With their nanny? I’m glad you brought em. It’s good to get used to paying your respects even when you ain’t lost your milk teeth yet. God knows we seen our share of these burials.”

“You’ll have to make some pretty big decisions.” Decisions that meant either keeping the status quo or changing the game a bit, but either way Cassie knew the transition wasn’t going to be seamless. They had seen the business since they were kids, sure. But she was realistic about these things. She glanced over her shoulder at the mention of her children and nodded, “Yeah. I figured a graveyard was big enough to swallow at their age.” No use in toting them up to Harlan’s final resting space, it was close enough. “So.” Cassie side glanced at Ephram, “What are you going to do first?”

“Hmmm.” Ephram smiled down at Cassie, his typically dark blue eyes softening as they alit on the familiar rich, glossy brown of her hair beneath her best mourning cap, the soft roundedness of her features, her small and sturdy frame. “Reckon I’m gonna drink a gallon of tea so hot it’ll chase this chill out my bones before them vultures come–" 

He didn’t get any further than that. They heard the zzzpp in the air, and then the flat ping of stone being struck, and when Ephram turned his face, there was blood streaking high on one cheek. "Fucking hell,” he swore viciously, as bullets put holes in their umbrella and the shoulder of Cassie’s coat. His grip on Cassie tightening, Ephram crouched down with her and hustled them around the back of their father’s broad, looming tombstone, using the rapidly unraveling umbrella to obscure them as targets as much as he could. “Stay down!” he snapped, pushing Cassie against the cold marble with his body as he took out his pistol, firing a couple of quick shots around the stone. “We’re fine here. The Jacks’ll take whoever it is in a few minutes. Just stay out of sight.”

Cassie rolled her eyes at Ephram’s answer, opening her mouth to only slightly berate him. As nice as a cup of tea sounded, she was being completely serious. But before Cassie got the chance to say anything bullets rang through the air and she screamed instead when a bullet grazed her shoulder. She grasped at it in shock, falling easily with Ephram and keeping against the gravestone back as instructed. After all, Ephram was the one who was armed, she never had been. 

“Christ almighty.” Cassie grumbled pulling her hand away to look at the blood before it was washed away by the rain. “A graveyard is a new low for sure.” Her mind only went to the kids for a few moments, another reason she left them with the nanny. Unconnected and completely civilian, they’d be fine. But there were other mourners in the graveyard too. “Someone might pull the police.” She breathed, still sitting on the damp ground behind Ephram, “God that was desperate.”

Ephram grunted, glancing back in time to see the blood thinning and disappearing under the rain hitting Cassie’s fingers. “You’re fine, right?” he asked, but his attention was drawn by a bright three-blast birdwhistle that cut through the muggy air, the sound of bullets gone. “There, that’s it – the boys’ve gotten em.” Ephram stood and tugged Cassie up easily, folding the ruined umbrella and hanging it off the side of the tombstone. “Not hurt, eh? Nothing serious.” He didn’t wait for her answer, lifting his chin in greeting as McGee, one of their trusted Jacks, came over. 

McGee reported, “It was old Herschel, your father’s partner from that horse-doping scheme. Come sniffing for the two thousand dollarpound he thinks – thought – you owe him.” The small man squinted as Ephram nodded, tucking Cassie against his side as other mourners, other people in the graveyard started to gather round closer. 

“My father’s partner from days back,” Ephram repeated, a little loudly. “On the day when my sister and me lay the man to rest, with his own lil grandchildren only just having left the grave by the Lord’s mercy.” He covered his face with his hand as the gathered people murmured, some shaking their heads in commisseration and indignation, some crossing themselves. “Desperate,” Ephram intoned, the blood smeared livid on his face when he took his hand away and turned Cassie so they could head to their company car. “You’ve got the right of it, Cassie. That was desperate.”

As other’s gathered, Cassie held herself upright, biting back the sharp pain in her shoulder. No use in causing more of a scene than there already was. Besides, McGee and the others had made short work of the interference. A slight disadvantage, Cassie thought to herself. Just what sort of logic ran through Hershel’s mind that led to an assassination getting him his two thousand dollarpounds? As it was, Cassie walked back with Ephram to the car gathering the kids with their nanny along the way. “I’ll be fine.” She murmured, shedding her coat once settled in her seat. “Bad news about tea time though.” She spoke again, “I don’t think the other gangs will give you that break.”

Cassie’s stoic demeanour about her shoulder wound was for nothing, though; as they left, McGee announced to the crowd, “–even took a piece out of Miss Cassie with his bullet, with her father only just buried, saints preserve us!” The sounds of the group in the cemetary shut out beyond the car door, Ephram took out his cigarette case, one of the few concessions he made to an outward show of the Kingfishers’ growing wealth; it was silver and mahogany, polished, monogrammed. He looked out the window in a plume of acrid smoke, gaze dotting along chimneys and windows. 

“Nobody will give us a break come a month from now,” Ephram agreed, “but until then they might think twice. Not wanting to come off as disrespectful shitbirds like ol’ Herschel lying in the boneyard back there, himself a low enough snake to even take a potshot at sweet Miss Cassie.” He imitated McGee’s broad accent on her name, it becoming obvious that none of this – the shots they’d ducked from, the news of Herschel’s execution, the touch of speechifying McGee was giving in their wake – was a surprise to Ephram. He tapped his ash in the car ashtray, mouth twisting but gaze level. “I reckon we could still get some tea. We’ve got plans to shore up, now that we got a couple weeks’ respite.”

Cassie grumbled slightly as she watched Ephram pull out the cigarette case and light the end of the one he chose. “The theatrics. Still It was probably best to get Hershel out of the way first. He really was just a pest. Just mark that as the only bullet I take.” She shifted in her seat, frowning in thought at Ephram’s read of the situation. “Sure, the smart one’s will give us a break. But some might see it as a better opportunity just-“ She raised a hand, “Let’s keep a low profile. You keep a low profile. At least until Harlan’s death isn’t such a brand new idea. You’re still vulnerable.” She raised a brow, “That means everything. Weapons and business connections can wait. Piece it together over tea first.” Cassie sat back, “My two cents.” Ephram might think the other gangs didn’t want to appear as pathetic as Hershel, but she wasn’t so sure.

Ephram smiled at Cassie at her scolding over the shot she’d taken, relief through the expression. He hadn’t really thought she’d be angry with him for putting her in the (manufactured) line of fire – since neither of them had ever really been in danger – but it always sat better with Ephram when the two of them were of a mind when it came to these things. “Duly noted,” he said, leaning over to peck a kiss against her cheek. “And I’ll do my best on the low profile. Although you know with the old man gone now and me publicly taking over Kingfisher, we’re going to need to have a meeting. With the Slap Jacks, of course, but …" 

Ephram crossed his legs, his body shifting so he faced his sister and not the window. "You reckon we should call in some others? That girl gun-runner, maybe, might be good to get hold of her now before anybody else does. And Freddie Watts. He’d come, if for nothin’ else than to satisfy his curiosity.” Ephram gave a dry chuckle and faint cough on his cigarette smoke, crushing it out. “The blighter sent me a bloody Mass card for the old man. As if him or me or you or hell, Harlan believe in the afterlife and peace everlasting.”

“The Slap Jacks of course.” Cassie nodded, head bobbing for a few extra moments as she reached over and pulled the little red head onto her lap. The blood on her shoulder had already mostly staunched in bleeding, and anyways the toddler was more preoccupied with her toy doll. “I can see about the arms dealer.” Cassie agreed, it would be better to have her on their side then risking any of the other gangs getting the majority of her fire power. Chances were if that was the case, it’d be turned against the Slapjacks anyways. Until Ephram made a statement about his take over, boundaries would be pushed. She chewed her thumbnail and inquired, “You trust Watts? The card sounds cheeky to me.”

Ephram curled his fingers around his cigarette case, but refrained from lighting up again – they were almost at the house, and now he wanted a drink. Or two or three. “When it comes to Watts, trust isn’t a word that settles easy,” he acknowledged. “But right now, and in the face of new business that’s sure to arise from what other gangs are gonna see as a power vacuum with the old man’s death? He’ll want to wet his beak. And Freddie and me always been able to make good money together.” That wasn’t the only thing they’d done well together, but those days – both of them hungry young men lusting for everything they could get their hands on including and up to each other – were long past. Plastered over by years and yellow trench mud and plenty of spilled blood.

“Reach out to him after tea then.” If Ephram had an interest in a business partner, Cassie wasn’t going to contradict him. “It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere anytime soon. But I need tea. And you need a drink.” Eprham could fib he wanted, but Cassie caught the particular tenseness in his jaw and hands. She tilted her head down to look at Addie and jostled her slightly on her lap, “Ah, we’re tired of all this rain aren’t we?” The car pulled up the driveway to the house and Cassie exited, speaking quietly with the nanny only breaking off from the children as she turned towards the parlor with Ephram.

Ephram watched as the nanny called Cassie back for some sort of further question, about to continue on through to the kitchen when the housekeeper tugged him aside. “There’s a young Miss Caird waiting in the parlour for you,” Mrs. Hudson said with clear disapproval, “as well as–" 

She blinked and stepped back slightly when Ephram cut her off with a nod, screwing a cigarette into his mouth and stepping forward to the man in the foyer whose coat was being hung up. "Freddie,” Ephram said, clapping the other man on the shoulder and holding out his hand, before retracting it and crossing himself piously. “Peace be with you, brother.”

“And with you, darling,” Freddie said, a faint smile tugging the corner of his mouth, in spite of the solemn occasion. “So sorry to hear about Harlan - what was it he used to call me? That little pet name; you remember…” Freddie did smile now, not caring to stand on ceremony anymore, “The limey nancyboy, I think it was. Warms the cockles of my heart even now to think on it." 

Freddie stepped closer and extended his own hand. "So how are you holding up, love?” He rolled his eyes slightly, tsking, “I heard about that terrible business at the graveside. Honestly,” he looked Ephram in the eye, letting him know that he knew precisely what the bigger man had been up to, “-some people have no shame.”

Ephram grasped Freddie’s hand tight, meeting his old … friend? partner? associate? … with a steady gaze. “The old man never did have a gentle word where a rough one fit better,” he said, teeth clenched on his unlit cigarette. “Reckon it was only fitting that there was gunplay to go along with the grief when we planted 'im. Don’t you think?” Freddie, after all, had known Harlan well – not as much as Ephram and Cassie, of course, but enough to know that the man in that grave would go unwatered by Kingfisher tears. He let go of Freddie’s hand and dug out his lighter, drawing in a deep breath of smoke. 

“You’ve heard of this Caird girl by now, I hope,” Ephram said as he waved Mrs. Hudson off and the two men began to amble towards the parlour. “Mighty serendipitous you paying your respects while she’s sat in the parlour waitin’ for an audience.”

“Isn’t it though?” Freddie said, the very picture of innocence - or he would have been, if it hadn’t been for the steely gleam of calculation in his eye. “As it happens, an old associate of mine was singing her praises just the other day, so I’m chuffed to get to meet her at last. I assume,” he went on, smirking slightly, “-that she’s here to offer condolences as well? Given your recent attack, sweetie, I can’t imagine you’re much up to doing business.”

Alessa is simply sat, ankles crossed, stirring sugar into the cup of tea she’d been offered. She could hear two voices drawing closer but paid no attention until the door opened. Once it did she stood, abandoning her cup to greet the new faces. Taking their features in carefully and politely waiting for one of them to introduce themselves so she knew who to offer her sympathies to. A soft “Hello gentlemen.” leaving her lips to spur them on.

Ephram dabbed his ring finger against the small drip of blood, the scabbing graze on his cheekbone from one of the bullets aimed at him and Cassie. “Blood dries fast,” he said laconically. “And nobody holds week-long wakes anymore. People need to offer their condolences in person, it seems – nothing like doing things with your own two hands, eh, Freddie?" 

The tall man was still giving a wry, sideways smile when he pushed open the doors to the parlour, striding towards the young woman inside who offered them a greeting. "Essie Caird, this is Freddie Watts, an associate of Kingfisher & Co, come to pay his respects. I’m Ephram Kingfisher but you know that. Whiskey?” Ephram had already moved to the bar cart, pouring three whiskey-and-sodas and handing them around.

Freddie took his drink, then turned his attention to the young woman in front of them. “Miss Caird,” he said, “It’s a pleasure. Your reputation precedes you, and it has nothing but good things to say.” He took her hand and dropped a light kiss on her knuckles, giving her a wink. “The deceased was a hateful old bastard, by the way, so don’t feel as though you’ve missed much.”

Ephram gave Freddie a flat look at his comment about the dead man, but didn’t say anything. It was true, after all.

Freddie shot an amused look back at Ephram, daring him to contradict him. Almost disappointed when he held his tongue.

Alessa watches one man greet her abruptly before going to pour out drinks, even without an introduction she could take a pretty accurate guess at who had just been shot at graveside. Taking the offered drink with an appreciative thanks before being greeted by the other. “I’m glad to hear it’s a positive review.” she doesn’t comment on the deceased, but a small flicker of her eyes pass over the two men as they share competing looks.

Freddie sat down in a nearby chair and crossed one leg over the other, sipping his drink and taking a moment to observe the other two; happy to wait and see how they approached one another from here on out so that he might be better able to assess his own position.

Ephram gestured for the other two to sit (finding that Freddie, of course, had already made himself comfortable), taking up a place himself leaning against the mantle of the fireplace. “We’ve heard a bit about you, Miss Caird,” he said, flashing a polite if not terribly warm smile. “Quite an enterprising young woman, is the story among those in the know. I’d say if it’s business you’ve come to talk then you’ve been lucky in pulling two big fish at once.” He took a swallow of his drink, swirling it in the glass. “Eh, small fry? Are you that ambitious?”

Cassie returned to the parlor only to be surprised by two more guests. She raised brows at the additions before settling back on one of the couches to overlook them as they chatted with Ephram. She had taken the extra moment to collect a tea cup from the kitchen and watched the door for when one of the staff might come along with the fresh pot. “Good news always travels fast.” She murmured, standing to retrieve the tea from the gentle knock at the door.

Freddie turned to Ms. Caird, curious to hear her response and actively resisting the urge to turn ‘big fish’ into something filthy for his own amusement. Ephram, after all, did look darling when he flushed. He stood again though when Cassie came into the room, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Hello, Cass; how are you?”

Alessa elected not to sit, to sit would be to put herself below both men and as such she stayed standing, to be at least somewhat of a more serious player. She spares a small glance to the other woman in the room before shifting to stand a touch taller. “I offer first condolences for your loss, but time is fickle and unfortunately in the wake of such big life changes it’s also of the essence. Word of what has occurred today is already spreading, and when I left my home a detour felt in order I approach in the wake of an attack to offer my services.”

Ephram spanned his fingers over his eyebrows, giving them a quick, hard rub. “And we – my sister Cassandra and I – we thank you for your condolences, but you’ll find it’s the nature of your services that I’m more interested in.” He finished his drink, abandoning his glass on the mantlepiece. “What are you offering, exactly? And is it to Kingfisher,” he jerked his thumb at himself, “or to Slap Jacks, or,” Ephram pointed at Freddie, who was looking as innocent as he was able (which was to say his eyes were round and that was about it), “to Watts and what his coffers can pay? You can’t serve that many masters in this line of work, you’ll find, Miss Caird.”

Cassie gave little indication towards Freddie Watts as he kissed her cheek and asked after her. In the parlor with an arms dealer and the new reigning leader of Slap Jacks, this was strictly business. She was glad Ephram reminded them to stay on task. Cassie poured her tea unbothered, also trying to bite back a smirk at he other woman who seemed concerned with posturing. Maybe if Cassie had been concerned in her position, she would have followed suit. But technically, her hands were clean of this business. She was just here to offer advice when it was applicable. She sipped from her cup, crossing her ankles carefully and looking pointedly over at the two visitors, curious of their offers.

“Ah, but you and I are capable of playing rather nicely together when we try, Ephram love,” Freddie said, “So perhaps Miss Caird wouldn’t have to have so many masters after all. Especially as Kingfisher and the Jacks are fundamentally one and the same.”

Alessa looks back at the man unconcerned. “I might be younger, but I’m not a novice by any means. I know the capabilities of my operation and it’s already been suggested that my name proceeds me in a positive light. I /have/ found what I can and cannot manage in this line of work already Mr. Kingfisher make no mistakes. I simply come offering the openings of a deal to be struck at a later date. You know what work I deal in, you can likely deduce for yourself my wares.” She turns her head towards the seated man as he speaks up and then looks back to Ephram curious as to what he has to say to that.

Ephram finished his cigarette, pinching it out and throwing the extinguished bit into the grate. “Right,” he said brusquely, unamused by Freddie’s pointing out that the Slap Jacks served Kingfisher purposes but resigning himself to that fact – unarguable, it was true – becoming more and more common knowledge. Especially as Ephram and Cassie intended to bolster the ranks of the Jacks substantially now that they had full control of Kingfisher & Co. “And assuming that Kingfisher and Watts are going to be tied to the same interests down the road, a joint business deal would work. But that’s one hell of an assumption, ain’t it?" 

He moved over to Cassie, waiting for her to pour him a cup of tea before saying, "Three cases of rifles and three dozen pistols, with ammunition enough to fill a man’s pockets. That’s twelve rifles, three times that in handguns, and Mr. Watts and I will divide them amongst our people. If we like what you give us, we’ll buy more.” He drank his tea, setting the cup down with a clink that echoed through the parlour. “Not a penny for these ones. A show of good will on all sides, Miss Caird, and steady customers to be had to make up for it – if we’re satisfied.”

“You and I can talk assumptions later, darling,” Freddie said, his gaze cool and steady as he looked at Ephram, before swinging back to Essie Caird. “But that sounds reasonable, doesn’t it, love? Ephram and I do both have rather deep pockets when we find something we like.” Freddie smiled. “Well. Mine are just a bit deeper… but that’s neither here nor there for the moment. Do we have a deal?”

Alessa nods slowly as a list of munitions is given to her. Her face doesn’t change but her eyes narrow ever so slightly at the insinuation that her wares wouldn’t be up to standard enough to satisfy a gangster of all people. She was a dealer, not a manufacturer, but she knew what quality looked like. And she was only interested in quality, this was likely why she had such good standing in this sort of business. She also prided herself on always being able to deliver, she was good at her job and her operation was second to none even if it was only more recently falling into the spotlight. “I’ll need a drop off location, and access if it falls in somewhere on your private property but it sounds fair. It’s a deal gentlemen.”

“How long?” Freddie asked her seriously, his cheekiness having fallen away for the moment, now that the deal was done. “That will rather dictate the delivery location.”

Ephram spat in his hand and held it out to Essie. “Shake on it,” he said, and without looking over at Freddie as the other man made his inquiry, continued, “Mr. Watts and I will be on hand to take possession of the shipment. He’ll give you the location.” If Freddie wanted them to make this deal on a joint basis – and on Ephram’s negotiating them getting the arms at no charge, at that – then he’d have to pony up his warehouse for the dropoff point. “Make a note of it,” Ephram said in a low aside to Cassie. He kept a running tally in his head, it was true, but his sister’s ledgers were the real site and record of the movement of their funds.

“Ahead of you on that.” Cassie murmured back to Ephram, taking another sip from her tea cup. She didn’t have her ledger on hand, but all she had to do was retrieve it from underneath the bar across the room. She didn’t like to have it out in the open with others around, but similar to Ephram had already been keeping a mental tally. When the teapot was a little past half empty she stood from the couch, walking over to the bar cart and perching herself there to watch the proceedings. Her lips a little thin in thought. Could they really afford to be generous with the upper hand here? Either way, she was quickly rolling through Slap Jacks that could help guard the warehouse for a special drop off.

Alessa looks around. She levels him with a serious stare in return. “Paying custom usually comes first. I run a business gentlemen, I am required to turn up a profit at the end of the day. I am however willing to participate to this show of faith.” Although in her mind she wonders what kind of faith /they/ are showing to her in this situation. She will be the one with the loss at the end of the day, and they are the ones benefiting, but she does accept that to take leaps forward in this game sometimes it was built on loyalty and trust. Something she’d have to build rather than buy. She reaches out and shakes Ephrams hand, unflinching at the squelch of his spit between them. “It won’t be more than a day to collect the assets and deliver them.”

Ephram shook Essie’s hand firmly, then rubbed his palms together, going to the door and opening it to shout, “Mrs. Hudson, bring us more tea and a plate of sandwiches! Enough for–” He stopped, looking around at the little gathered group, and shouted again to the still-unseen Mrs. Hudson, “–never you mind, we’ll head down to the Fox and Fern instead.” The pub seemed like a better option than staying in the stuffy parlour, now that business was drawing to a close. And Ephram had built up a thirst with the day’s work.

“In that case,” Freddie said, moving closer to offer his hand as well, “-you’d best bring everything round my place. By way of the river though, yeah? That way we can set our own schedules.” He rattled off the address, told her midnight or thereabouts would likely be their best window, then glanced over his shoulder at Ephram as his old… whatever-they-were began to shout at his housekeeper, making Freddie’s ears ring a bit. But he smiled all the same, giving Caird’s hand a shake. “Lovely,” he said, “I could use a proper drink.”

Cassie narrowed her eyes slightly when Freddie moved to change the route of the weapon shipment. She was cautious, but there was a particular suspicion she held for Freddie Watts. He could attach himself to any gang in Soapham. Was Kingfisher the best business decision? Cassie wasn’t so sure. Regardless, she didn’t speak out, letting her shoulders drop as she rearranged some of the crystal on the bar cart, and bent slightly to get her ledger now that Ephram was moving people out of the house. “I can handle things back here.” She called out to him, “If you can handle your liquor.” Worse came to worst, she could step into the pub at a later time, but she was gonna send out some muscle men anyways.

Alessa offered Freddie the same hand without blinking. If she was to endure the spit handshake then so should the third member of this deal. Taking in the details of the drop off with only a split second startled glance spared for the sudden yelling occurring. Hands twitching but making no serious sudden movement in reaction all the same, returning to her composed state. “I think I’ll beg off a trip to the pub. I have a shipment to audit.” Nodding at Cassie politely she makes her way over to lift her bag. Tucking the strap into the crook of one arm. “Lovely doing business with you gentlemen. Have a pleasant afternoon. I’ll be in touch.”

Ephram had chosen the Fox and Fern because it was a five-minute walk from the house, and because it was one of the very few pubs in Soapham that wasn’t affiliated with one of the local gangs. Everyone respected the truce once they were in those dark wood-paneled walls, and as Ephram found the two of them a high table in a dark corner (he wasn’t above pettily forcing short-arsed Freddie Watts to perch on a stool), he felt the tensions of the day start to drain from his muscles. “You’re buying, love,” Ephram grunted, folding his arms on the table with a smirk. “I’m the bereaved party, after all.”

Freddie gave Ephram a filthy look for the stools, then headed to the bar to collect their drinks, coming back only a few minutes later with gin for himself and whisky for Ephram, setting them both down on the table and then climbing up into his seat - with markedly less grace than he normally cared for. “Right, sunshine,” he said, “There’s your bloody bereavement - but the next shout is yours. You did miss my birthday, after all.”

Ephram picked up his drink, clinking his glass against Freddie’s. “You don’t have a birthday,” he murmured against the rim, letting the whiskey warm his tongue before swallowing. “You invented yourself out of whole cloth and we both know it.”

Freddie laughed. “That’s true,” he said, “I did. But that means that my birthday is whenever I bloody well say it is, and I say you missed it, love. So you’ll have to make it up to me if we’re going to be partners again.” He took a sip of his drink and gave Ephram a smirk. “It wouldn’t do to start things out on the wrong foot.”

Ephram leaned back a little, fixing Freddie with a considering look. “Well, Freddie,” he said, “I’m not entirely sure what would be the right foot for us. To be partners. Again.” He let each word get progressively heavier, years’ worth of joint jobs and circling each other and outright competition underlining them. “Don’t tell me this death in the family’s got you nostalgic.”

“Not nostalgic exactly, no,” Freddie said, chuckling, “-more like… taking stock of our options moving forward, and wondering whether history is worth repeating with a few improvements, now that we’re older, richer, and wiser.” Freddie met Ephram’s eyes knowingly, unruffled by the other man’s considerations, knowing that he couldn’t be found wanting by any measurement. “Go on then,” he said, inscrutable and insouciant, “-don’t tell me you never think about me, Ephram. I’ll know you’re lying if you do - and I’d hate to have to scold you on the day you’ve buried your father.”

Ephram grunted at Freddie’s challenge. One of the pitfalls of having known people who watched you grow from being a neophyte in the business was that they’d also watched you refine your skills at lying and dissembling; Freddie knew all of Ephram’s tells and possibly a few that Ephram wasn’t aware of. His warning that he’d recognize a lie was no idle claim. 

“I always keep you in mind, Watts,” he said easily. “We could hardly pretend the other doesn’t exist, in the circles we run. And I’m more aware than most of what you’re capable of.” The other part of their history? Ephram didn’t bring up. If Freddie wanted to push that aspect of it, he’d have to come out and say it directly. For Ephram, it was all a long, long time ago. And he’d done his best to curb not only that appetite, but any and all of them.

Freddie watched, one beat passing, and then two, and then finally he rolled his eyes, taking up his drink again. “Do you know your trouble, Ephram?” he said, “You don’t enjoy anything properly anymore. And that’s the difference between you and me.” The gangster smiled, raising his glass a hair. “I love my work.” He downed the rest of the gin, then slid the glass closer to Ephram to remind the other man that the next round was his. “So who are you having join us tomorrow evening then?”he asked, all business now, “Because there’s a few of your Jacks that I won’t be having on my premises, mate. I don’t bloody trust them.”

Iann half-staggered into the Fox and Fern, casting a glower around at the patrons, most of whom glanced at the door, saw it was Iann Cardero, and quickly looked away. No one invited him to their table, or hailed him. He didn’t care, he told himself; he was used to it by now. But he spotted Kingfisher where the Slap Jack guy said the man would be, dressed in all-blacks. Iann had considered wearing a arm band, but figured that would be a little too…noticable. And the last thing he wanted was to be noticed for a mourning band. 

Spitting blood and snot, Iann made his way over to Kingfisher, edging in between Mr Watts and the other and interrupting whatever business they were conducting. “It’s done, Miss'r Kingfisher,” Iann muttered, sniffing hard before holding out his hand expectantly.

Ephram had shifted on his stool, disgruntled to find himself relieved and aggravated in equal parts by Freddie’s comments and about to list the Jacks he was intending to bring to the warehouse, when of all the ignominious fucklehead fools in town, Iann Cardero had to reel up to the table. Trailing mad badness behind him visibly in a pub where business was best conducted sotto voce and civilized. “Sit the fuck down before I knock you down, Christ,” Ephram hissed. “Are you drunk? Why would you come here to be paid?”

“Because I want to get drunk,” Iann snapped back, glaring at the Kingfisher, then at Mr Watts. He snorted, but stopped himself before it became a laugh; Iann knew better than that. He took a step back, and gave them each a bow as if they were royals, but Iann still kept his hand out towards Ephram. “What I’m owed, sir.”

Freddie raised an imperious eyebrow at Cardero, then looked back to Ephram. “You see,” he said, “now this, darling,” he gestured at Iann carefully, not wanting anything sticking to the drunken man - either literal or figurative - sticking to him in turn, “-doesn’t bode well for our nascent little business venture. When did you start employing this sort of dreck?”

Ephram rubbed at his chin, prickly mood spiking. “We all need to go outside of the pack for certain jobs now and again,” he said tersely in answer to Freddie’s question, then gave a sudden, loud laugh chock-full of somewhat forced bonhomie. “I thank you for the condolences, Cardero,” Ephram said, “and that story about the old man, I don’t reckon I ever heard that one. Good to remember him that way, eh? Here–” Ephram took out a reasonably thick fold of dollarpounds from his vest pocket, taking Iann’s hand and slapping the money into his palm, “–get us in another round, there’s a good man.” The sidelong looks from other tables eased slightly, and Ephram kept the smile on his face. 

Even though it twitched at one side the longer he held it.

“Darling, there’s outside the pack, and then outside the realm of the reasonable…” Freddie murmured, beginning to wonder if Ephram had begun to entertain fantasies of becoming an actor, given that this was his second dramatic performance of the day.

Iann was immediately placated by the sight of the money; he knew how to adopt obeisance when it was needed; but of course he did just come into the pub, spattered in blood and grime. “The Slap Jack’s favoured son always had manners, inne,” Iann said, curling his lip to show his teeth in the form of some sort of gratitude. Mr Watts, he gave a wry wink, but didn’t dare respond directly to the other man. Watts was the only faction who had never requested Iann’s services. His was a group of airs and graces. Iann paid the insults no mind; he currently had enough in his palm to keep him lubricated so it would do him fine. Maybe hand a couple dollars over to Ruby, do the girls (a vain plan that never happened). He went to the bar and got himself a beer. “And drinks for the Kingfisher,” Iann added grudingly, because it had to be done to keep the peace.

Ephram let the act drop immediately once Iann removed himself to the bar, all scowls again. “It seemed like a sensible plan at the time,” he groused. “But now I’m starting to think you’ve got a point. Rest assured–” Ephram paused as the barmaid brought over their next set of drinks, idly watching the movement of her wide hips as she made her way back to the bar, “–Cardero won’t be among the men I’m bringing to your warehouse. Maybe Voeman. He’s loyal enough and I think he might be sweet on my sister.” Ephram gave a not-entirely-kind chuckle, lifting his drink. “He’ll have his great noble heart smashed once he finds out the sort of woman she really is. But that’s for him to learn in his own time.” Lubricated with more liquor, Ephram rubbed his nose with a glance at Freddie and murmured, “…we all learn in time, don’t we, Freddie. Who we really are.”

“We all learn,” Freddie agreed, reaching for his own fresh glass and casting an unimpressed look at what he considered the departing barmaid’s unimpressive figure, “-but only some of us really embrace it, love. The rest of us never have the balls.”

Ephram slapped the table to draw Freddie’s attention back. “Look,” he said, bordering on fed up, “my balls have never been in fucking question, awright? I can’t afford to spend my time dicking around with every half-wit who’s got something big down his trousers.”

Startled by the slapping of the table, Freddie’s head snapped back and he raised an eyebrow at Ephram, his gaze caught somewhere between triumph at having finally rattled him, and an affronted disapproval of such an unprofessional outburst. “Touch a nerve, did I, sweetie?” he asked. “Only I hear that you’re more than happy to waste your time with every half-wit who’s got a bit extra in her blouse.”

Ephram stared at Freddie, anger ringing the blue of his eyes in pale grey – and then he said, “Not only the blouse. A lot extra in the skirt, too.” He took a drink. “Sweetie.”

Freddie ’s jaw clenched. “Of course,” he said tightly, “However could I forget?”

Ephram spun his glass in his hands, tcching through his teeth, then grabbed it to halt its spinning. “What d'you want, Freddie?” he asked, voice congenial enough though his face was stony. “You want me to say you were a good fuck? You were. I’m sure you still are. And I’m sure you have piles of disposable bedmates willing to tell you so without the trouble of drinks and rifle shipments. So what is this, eh?” Ephram spread his hands. “You want to know if I can keep my head and keep on pulling through whatever comes up? I can.”

Freddie looked coldly across the table at Ephram, angry, but unruffled save for the slight gritting of his teeth. “Oh, I don’t want a sodding thing from you, mate,” Freddie said, his voice low, “Don’t flatter yourself. And don’t think for a moment that this looks anything like ‘pulling through’ to me, alright? What you did is blink, love - and we can’t have that.”

Ephram half-leaned across the table, glaring hotly as he growled, “Blinked? I blinked? I’ve been holding Kingfisher together with spit and baling wire since I got back from the fucking Front while you were still hot-dogging with your fellow flyboys. I’ve been ferreting out the weak links in the Slap Jacks and getting them shipped out of Soapham. I’ve been–” Drawing in a fast breath, Ephram sat straight again and threw back the rest of his drink. “Fucking bastard. You fucking, insufferable bastard.”

Freddie stared back, unmoved, the ghost of a smile alighting on his lips. “And now you’re sat in a pub throwing a tantrum.” He clucked his tongue. “Whatever would Daddy say, Ephram? I don’t think he’d be best pleased, do you?”

Ephram wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then pointed to the front door of the pub. “Walk on, Watts,” he said, teeth held tight. “My eyes are wide open. And you best pray they stay that way for when we get that shipment of handguns and rifles tomorrow night.”

Freddie waited for a moment, coolly staring Ephram down, then picked up his drink and finished it, pushing the glass away before standing up, and huffing out a small laugh at even the idea of prayer. “I wouldn’t waste my time, love,” he said, “See you tomorrow night then.” And then he was gone, striding confidently out into the evening, a man without a care in the world.

#au:gangster #alternate ephram #cassiegermaine #freddiewatts #alessafalling #ianncardero