#if someone was murdered you wouldn’t say they were forced to retire early from breathing

[mazraluvr]

i know youtube happily demonetises and takes down videos for contenting certain words, but i wish youtubers wouldn’t completely swap out rape with assault. it’s so disrespectful to use assault as a euphemism when a woman was raped- no, she’s wasn’t punched or hit with a bat, she was raped. the severity of the crime is greatly diminished and it makes people ignorant of the magnitude of the violence that women face.

#adding a bleep is a perfectly fine solution #without changing the crime (the facts) completely #if someone was murdered you wouldn’t say they were forced to retire early from breathing #radblr #radfems do touch #radfems please interact #radfem safe

[darkwritingsnshit]

Back Home 6

Warnings: This is a dark fic. Please do not read if you’re under 18, or are uncomfortable with dark characters, noncon, kidnapping, alchol mention, drug mention, death threats, asshole characters.

I absolutely hate the holidays and am not big on my family either so I’ve decided to make that everyone’s problem

That night at dinner, everyone wore smug smiles. You remained in a bad mood all day, their amusement was irritating.

“So, dear, you must be thinking of where in New York you’d like to live, now that you’re back together with Steve.” Your father casually mentioned, as though he were talking about the weather.

You choked on your drink, sending some of it spraying onto the table. Your family looked at you like you had murdered someone.

“Excuse you? I am NOT back together with Steve, is that why you all look so damn smug?” 

The entire family seemed to be in on it, they wore the same expression on their faces and exchanged knowing glances. 

“Well, why not?” Bucky was the one to break the heavy silence.

“We broke up for a reason Bucky, and it’s none of your damn business. Why are you all like this? I don’t want to live here, and I am certainly NOT back together with Steve. Why are you so obsessed with me?” You were exasperated. Your sister and brother laughed at the reference you had accidentally dropped.

“So now it’s a crime to care about your children? Why don’t you call the police then because I’m never going to stop!” Your mother was out of her chair, fuming and pointing at you. You wished her outbursts could at least be predictable. “It’s not our fault you can’t see the life you could have here. It’s like you want yourself to be miserable. We’re trying to give you another option!” 

You had to take a few deep breaths and decide the best way to respond without making things worse. 

“Mom, I love you so much, and I truly appreciate everything you do, dad too.” You really tried to sell the lie, years of lying as a teenager made it a little bit easier. “I promise that if I’m not happy with how my life is going, I’ll come back here to be closer to you, okay?” While that was the farthest thing from the truth, it at least made your mother sit back down. 

“If you really loved or cared about us, you’d do the right thing and stay here. Your niece doesn't even know you.” The look on your father’s face was one you were used to, frustration and distaste evident. 

“That’s not my fault, it’s not like they come visit me, or even accept my calls when I do try to call.” Your sister rarely answered your calls, if she did it was brief and you never got to speak to your niece. Your sister always claimed they were too busy to talk. 

“Please, why in god’s name would we come visit you? Don’t you know how difficult it is to travel with a child, or to even get time off? How expensive it is? Oh that’s right, you wouldn’t, you don’t have a child.” Your sister shook her head at you, Bucky made a noise of disbelief at you.

Your mother put her hand over yours on the table.

“You’re not getting any younger, sweetheart…” she started. You didn’t let her finish.

“Please, stop, okay? I can’t take this anymore.” You closed your eyes to silence around the table.

“You’ve always been so sensitive,” your brother spoke up, “you never could take any kind of joke. We’re trying to be supportive, you can’t even deal with that.” 

Your sister laughed and nodded in agreement, your parents shook their heads in what looked like embarrassment. Thankfully, they took the hint and moved on from terrorizing you. You didn’t say another word to anyone that night. 

-

You got one night off; one night with no parties, no forced socialization, even your sister and Bucky had gone to their own house. Your father was locked away in his study doing work, your brother was with Steve and your mother had “retired early” to take a bath and lay down. You figured she might just be taking xanax and drinking wine but whatever got her out of your hair. 

Realizing that it was your one night of respite, you decided to take advantage of the alone time. You perused your father’s vintage wine collection before deciding on a good year, dug a container of ice cream out of the freezer and went to your room alone, locking the door behind you. You didn’t care if you heard screaming or a murder, there was no way you were leaving your room that night unless the house caught on fire. 

Three quarters of a bottle of wine later, you were drunk and enjoying the tv show far more than sober you would. So far you hadn’t heard anything, no yelling, clangs, bumps or other strange noises, thankful for some down time. Downtime wasn’t always a good thing, because even with the tv in the background you couldn’t stop thinking about what happened with Steve. 

You wanted to blame everything on being drunk, but you weren’t that drunk, were you? It couldn’t entireley be chalked up to that, so why had you been so goddamn stupid? With Steve it was always easier to give in than to argue, you knew that, maybe you were just tired of fighting all the time. But you had kept fighting with him, last night had felt like a fight, and you had the bruises on your legs and arms to prove it. At least, half of last night had been a fight. The other half made you feel so good you wanted to scream. You DID hate Steve, you knew it, so why had you let that happen?

Thinking back on your relationship with Steve made you cringe. You had been so young and dumb and sucked into the lifestyle your family lived that you couldn’t even see how toxic it was. It made you sick to think about how controlling manipulative Steve had always been, but it made you feel worse thinking about how you ate it up. You trusted Steve completely once, and it ended up almost killing you. Every moment you thought had been sweet or cute, was just a huge red flag in hindsight. You wished you could scream at your younger self to run. Steve liked to control you, tell you what to think, who to see, how to dress, he liked to OWN you, and you had been young and dumb enough to believe that was love. Steve still thought it was.

Apparently thinking of the devil could conjure him, your phone lighting up with Steve’s name. With a shriek you threw it across the room, laughing drunkenly when it hit the wall and fell to your bed. It continued to ring, the next caller was your brother, which you ignored. Your brother called again, and you giggled.

“Your call could not be completed as dialed. Goodbye.” You tried to sound like a robot, hanging up on him and laughing. Annoyed, you silenced your phone and crawled into bed, realizing that this was probably the only good night you’d have until you went home. 

-

Christmas day itself was the biggest headache of the year. Your parents put on a play for themselves, in which your family were the actors and you had to pretend to be a happy family. You weren’t sure why you had to act all day long, since there was nobody at your house until the party in the evening, but it was absolutely expected that you play along to make your mother happy. There were even special clothes set out for you to wear, so that you wouldn’t “embarrass” your mother by not looking good. Again, there was no one at the house except your family and their staff. 

You opened presents after a lavish breakfast, your family thanking you for presents you hadn’t bought them. Nobody received anything useful, the lavish gifts were status symbols, instead of something pragmatic. When you opened the small box from your mother you gasped. 

“They belonged to your grandmother, she wore them on her wedding day. She wanted you to do the same.” Your mother informed you. The pearls were beautiful, clearly passed down through generations of women in your family. “They stay here though, you can’t take them back to your place when you leave.” 

None of the gifts you’d ever received had come without contingencies. 

“Thank you mom, it means a lot.” You couldn’t stop looking at the necklace; it matched the photographs of your grandmother in the hall.

“Hopefully you’ll have a use for them sooner, rather than later.” Your father huffed at you, which you ignored. 

You really, really wished that after opening presents the day would end, but you didn’t get what you wanted when it came to family. There were a few hours of respite in the afternoon while your parents rushed around, getting everything in place for the guests that would arrive that evening. You weren’t lucky enough to be spared the thirty minute lecture from your mother about how you had to behave and look appropriate. You had been hearing the same speech since you were a child, you could probably have given the lecture to yourself from memory. 

-

Eventually you stopped asking yourself why your family did the things they did. You wouldn’t get it, probably not ever. Why would they make everything complicated, why would they insist on wearing themselves out for the benefit of other people who didn’t actually care? Considering the short amount of time you had left in the house, you again decided the best course of action was to be quiet and not ask questions that would get you yelled at. You only had a few more days of this. 

By the late afternoon you watched people filter into the house, and heard the noises of a party begin slowly. Groaning, you wondered how much of this you could put up with. Exhausted by the constant expectation of perfection, you decided to forgo your parents wishes, after all it was Christmas.

That’s exactly how you found yourself too drunk. You thought you were pacing yourself but you clearly hadn’t done a good enough job. The sun had set, the house was filled with people you didn’t care about, so you were on the balcony, hiding away in plain sight.

“Gimme one of those,” your hand was shaky as you held it out towards your brother. Surprisingly without a snide remark, he handed over a cigarette.

Steve already had a lighter in his hand, leaning close to light it. You took a few drags until you couldn’t anymore, you hadn’t smoked in years and the whole thing would make you sick, but damn did just enough make you feel better. Steve took it from your fingers and smoked it with you; you let him pass the cigarette back and forth between the two of you until it was gone. 

“You know-” 

“Don’t ruin this.” You waved your hand at him when Steve began to talk, and he miraculously fell silent for a few more minutes.

“I haven’t seen you smoke in years,” Steve tried again.

“I need to brush my teeth,” you walked away, not caring about anything he had to say to you.

After a quick toothbrush and hand wash, you thought about how long you could hide out in your room until someone came looking for you. With a sense of dread you slowly went back downstairs. Maybe you could avoid the rest of your family if you tried hard enough. You laughed at yourself in the mirror at the thought, but you were drunk enough to not care.

-

“Whatever I don’t give a shit.” Your mother was lamenting your intoxicated state. She found you after you came back downstairs, furious at your drunkenness. It was funny how she cared so much about you and your sister getting drunk or tipsy, but didn’t bat an eye when your brother pulled the same stunt.

To prove a point you grabbed the nearest drink, that happened to be in Steve’s hand, and threw it back. You were aware that it was a bad decision but you really, really didn’t care. You were sick of this, it was Christmas and they wouldn’t let you have a minute break from their judgments. 

The amount of liquor you’d had was unreasonable, you eyed the tables in the room looking for carbohydrates to sop up the mess in your stomach. You were starting to feel woozy. 

“I can’t believe my eyes, someone is finally starting to have a good time!” Steve followed you out to the balcony again where you had gone to clear your head.

“I’m not having a good time, I’m miserable.” Why hide how you really felt?

“You seemed happy enough to steal my drink,” Steve countered. 

“I’m not blacking out to have a good time, I’m blacking out to pretend I’m somewhere else.” Steve held up another cigarette which you took and lit, back towards him. 

“Blacking out huh? That’s not like you.” He said with a smile you could hear. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” you gestured behind you towards your family’s house. 

“We can always get out of here,” Steve liked how drunk you were, it made you more compliant. 

“Nah, I’d rather not spend any more time with you,” you let him know. 

“So you’re gonna steal my drinks and my cigarettes and leave me hanging?” 

“My god! I’ll go get you a drink and buy you a pack of cigarettes Steve, why are you like this?”

“Why won’t you come home with me?” He acted like he hadn't heard you.

“Because I hate you!” Your hands were thrown up. 

“Nah, you don’t hate me.” Steve would never let you win any argument. “You proved that the other night.”

“You’re disgusting.” He would never let you live down your mistakes.

“Mmhm, well let me know if you still feel the same way in half an hour.” You could see the smirk on his face when he moved closer.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You weren’t having any more drinks, unsure how half an hour would make you warm up to him.

“That drink was spiked with molly.” Steve nonchalantly threw out.

“What the fuck Steve?” You were suddenly livid.

“It’s Christmas, I’m enjoying myself. And it looks like you will be too.” Steve was all too pleased with himself.

“I need to throw up.” You tried to run to the toilet but Steve stopped you. 

“It’s no use now baby, just relax okay? It’s already in your bloodstream.” He sounded so self assured, so pleased that you had fallen into a trap that he hadn’t even set.

“Goddamn it.” You couldn’t believe yourself. How could you be so stupid?

-

Twenty minutes later, you felt so much better, the people around you were less annoying, the conversations engaging. You surprised yourself with your willingness to talk to people, your leg bouncing the whole time. The people in your house were suddenly far more interesting than before, everyone was so much nicer. 

Approaching you with a smile, Steve sat down beside you and ran his hands up your legs, settling them on your thighs but you didn’t care for once, it felt nice. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” You greeted him, a smile creeping across your face. It didn’t annoy you that he was there, that he was touching you. 

“Feeling better?” A sly look on his face. 

“Yeah, I feel great!” All the animosity had left your voice, you weren’t sure why you had been so upset with Steve. 

“Yeah I thought you might. You wanna get out of here?” 

“Where are we going?” You asked with a giggle. 

“Somewhere more private, somewhere we can talk.” 

Talking didn’t sound so bad, neither did getting away from the crowd of people in the room. 

“Sure, let’s go.” Every part of you felt good, your body was tingling, you couldn't stop smiling. Who would it hurt to go talk with Steve?

Grabbing your hand made you feel an electricity between the two of you, Steve’s skin felt so good on yours. You followed him happily up the stairs into your room.

“What do you wanna talk about?” You were interested in what he had to say, it had been so long since the two of you sat down and had a pleasant conversation.

Hardly letting the words get out of your mouth, Steve had you against the wall, lips on yours, fingers lacing together.

“What are you doing?” Your voice was breathy, but not unhappy.

“Treating you right,” was his reply, whispering into your neck between kisses. 

“Mmmm,” was all you managed, Steve’s touches were incredible. 

You pulled him closer, wanting more of his skin on yours, you pulled his jacket away, started unbuttoning his shirt. 

“You finally want to play?” Steve was grinning, more than happy that you were taking the lead.

“You feel good, you smell good,” you told him, hands still busy taking off his clothes.

“I told you so,” Steve was never one to let you forget it when he was right.

“Shut up and kiss me.” You couldn’t get enough of him. Steve was all too happy to oblige. 

Steve’s lips on yours felt right, felt electric, you wanted more. Pulling him by what little clothing he had left, you pushed him down on your bed before climbing on top of him.

“This, I like,” he let you know, a semi surprised expression covering his face.

“Yeah, me too,” somewhere, some tiny part of your brain was telling you to stop, but you weren’t sure why, so you ignored it. You were happy, Steve felt so good, why would you stop? You didn’t care if Steve was finally getting what he wanted, you were too. 

Steve pulled at your clothes and you let out a happy sigh, leaning into his chest to kiss him. You let him take everything off, tugging at his pants to touch more of his skin. He let out a soft laugh; you weren’t sure if he was laughing at you but you didn’t care. 

Steve flipped you over so you were beneath him, eyes raking over your body, trying to memorize all of it. Humming happily, you ran your hands over his shoulders, his back, his hair. Every inch of him was more amazing than the last. With nothing between you, Steve began to touch you and you couldn’t stop from moaning into him.

“Please Steve?” You didn’t have much control over your body or your voice, your brain cloudy with dopamine. You didn’t want him to stop, you wanted all of him, wanted him to fuck you sensless. Your eyes were half closed in pleasure. 

The second his tongue connected with your clit you screamed, white lights blooming behind your eyes, the way Steve made you feel almost had you blacking out. Grabbing his hair, you rocked yourself into him, not taking much for you to orgasm with a sinful moan. Licking his lips, Steve kissed you deep, both of your faces now wet with your juices. 

“Baby?” you were whining.

“Anything for you doll,” Steve looked ecstatic, loving the sounds you made beneath him, begging for him.

You almost came immediately when Steve pushed his thick cock into you. You didn’t even recognize the noises you were making as your own, completely blinded by pleasure. Even the nasty words he was whispering in your ear made you feel good. Wrapping your legs around him, you pulled Steve closer. You loved his kisses, his lips were always perfect, his tongue felt right against your skin.

You weren’t sure how long Steve fucked you, time didn’t have any meaning to you. Eventually you pulled him off you and began kissing down his chest, his stomach until you reached his cock, humming around it as you began to suck him off. 

“Baby, fuck,” Steve was not expecting this, but molly could have one hell of an effect on the right person.

You had no idea what possessed you to do that, but you didn’t care, you wanted Steve so bad, and his cock down your throat was welcome. You made sure to stop before he came, teasing him before climbing back on top and taking Steve for a ride. You didn’t want to stop, hell you did want to break that bed. What seemed like hours later, you felt Steve cum inside of you, felt his cum drip out of you around his cock. You felt so good, so happy that you made him cum, you still had it. 

“I don’t know if I can sleep,” you admitted into Steve’s chest where you were happily wrapped up in his arms.

“Don’t worry about that baby, give me twenty minutes and I’ll have you screaming my name so loud everyone downstairs will hear it.” He kissed the top of your head.

A small smile crossed your face. If Steve wanted to go all night you were absolutely going to encourage it. 

-

@emberenchanted  @jemimah-b99 @ blithecapricorn  @lovepeaceorelse @aemorr-5885​

#writings #My writing #my works #this is dark #dark writings #Dark fics #dark!captain america #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #dark!captain america x reader #dark!marvel

[carewyncromwell]

“It's just like déjà vu, me standin' here with you, So I'll be holdin' my own breath -- Could this be the end? Is it that moment when I find the one that I'll spend forever with?”

~“Gotta Be Somebody” by Nickelback

x~x~x~x

In 1941, the vampire called Bat Varney was murdered by the dark wizard Grindelwald for aiding the resistance movement organized by Ministries across Europe. Bat left behind many friends, including Danny Gibson @catohphm​​ and the Selwyn-Ellison family @that-ravenpuff-witch​​​​ -- but the person most devastated by Bat’s death was his most constant companion, Atticus “Grim” Grimsley @cursebreakerfarrier​​​. Never in his life had the retired professor considered that he’d be the last one standing, out of the two of them -- and in his last days on earth, just before he died peacefully in his sleep at a ripe old age, all that he wished was that he might see his first true friend again. Little did Atticus know that -- in his last moments alive -- Bat had made a similar wish...praying that maybe he and his mate Grim could meet again someday, somewhere where Bat didn’t have to regulate how much or how long they touched...maybe even with his real face...as Robert.

About a decade after Professor Grimsley’s death, the only son of a well-respected Pureblood family started his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and was Sorted into Ravenclaw house. The boy -- appropriately enough also named Atticus -- wasn’t particularly popular at school, given his hyper-focus on his academics and on satisfying the high standards of his father. Not only was Atticus expected to bring his family honor and esteem, but he also had a rival at Hogwarts who he was expected to “outdo.”

Bartholomew “Barty” Gilbert (pronounced “JO-behr”) was the only son of an up-and-coming Pureblood family who’d just emigrated from France and made a lot of money investing in robe shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade alike. He was also now a Gryffindor in Atticus’s year, and Atticus’s father was very firm that Atticus not let the boy surpass him in anything. Although Atticus normally obeyed his father with a certain degree of reluctance, in this case, he didn’t like the thought of losing to Barty Gilbert either. Not because the Gryffindor wasn’t pleasant -- no, in fact, he was almost too pleasant...too amiable, too inoffensive. And that made it so that even though Barty got away with doing whatever he wanted without worrying about his family’s expectations, it only served to earn him more friends and admirers. Even before that, though, when Atticus had met Barty in passing before school, he still couldn’t help but dislike the other boy. There was just something off about him -- something Atticus could hardly put into words. It was like whenever Barty opened his mouth, he sounded wrong -- whenever he smiled, it looked wrong...even his eyes weren’t as they should be. There was something almost familiar about Barty’s auburn hair, face, and height -- and yet something was wrong. And it just made Atticus upset for a reason he couldn’t really explain. It reminded him of those times, when he was a very small child, when his mother would try to comfort him after he woke up sobbing and could hardly explain why. Something about someone with red eyes squeezing his shoulders, tears streaming down his face and laughing like his heart was breaking...

So Atticus was determined to throw himself into his studies and do everything expected of him. Just because Gryffindor Golden Boy Barty Gilbert refused to do things the right way didn’t mean he shouldn’t -- and Atticus knew karma would eventually go his way in the end, if he put in the proper work. It didn’t mean that he didn’t still sometimes feel somewhat resentful every time Barty Gilbert waved to him in the hall, his two best friends at his side. One of them was the most popular girl in their year (of course), another Pureblood witch named Cecelia “Ceci” Crouch -- the other was one of Atticus’s own dormmates, a poor Muggle-born boy who in third year had become Ravenclaw’s Star Chaser named Robert Bellamy. Despite sleeping in the same dorm for five years, Atticus and Robert had really never talked -- Atticus was focused almost exclusively on his studies, of course, but even Robert seemed actively disinterested in talking to Atticus. Perhaps it was because of how much Atticus kept sticking his nose up at his best friend Barty -- perhaps it was because of how much of a stick-in-the-mud Atticus was -- or perhaps it was for a reason Robert couldn’t quite put into words, the same way Atticus couldn’t completely explain his instant dislike of Barty.

One day at the beginning of fifth year, however, Atticus and Robert were forced to engage with each other when Professor Binns inexplicably decided to actually assign a paired homework assignment. (A possible result of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore casually reminding the History of Magic professor of a similar assignment he’d assigned his OWL class back in the days when he was still alive.) Although Binns of course didn’t remember any of his students’ names, he nonetheless paired Robert with Atticus. Neither of the Ravenclaws was particularly pleased, but none of them was the type to actively argue or complain.

After class, Atticus approached Robert outside the History of Magic classroom. Robert told Barty to go on ahead to the Great Hall and that he’d catch up. Once Barty was gone, Atticus uncomfortably questioned Robert about when they could meet to work on their oral report on the Witch Hunts of the 14th century.

Robert frowned slightly, his well-toned arms crossing casually over his chest.

“Hogsmeade weekend starts tomorrow,” he said placidly. “You occupied then?”

Unlike the rest of his classmates, Robert wore his bronze-trimmed blue Quidditch robes over his disheveled uniform, instead of his usual black school robes. Atticus couldn’t help but wonder if Barty Gilbert’s buddy just liked to remind everyone that he was one of Ravenclaw’s Chasers.

Pushing this faintly condescending thought aside, Atticus shook his head. “No -- I’m available.”

“Good. Meet me at the Three Broomsticks and we can talk there.”

He turned on his heel as if to go. Atticus couldn’t help but sputter and he quickly rushed in front of the other Ravenclaw to stop him from walking away.

“What is there to talk about? We need to get started right away!”

Robert raised his eyebrows. “Tomorrow isn’t soon enough for you?”

“The project’s due on Monday,” said Atticus seriously. “We’ll need to spend a good deal of time at the library, if we want to be prepared -- ”

“No need,” said Robert with a shrug. “I already know everything we need to know.”

Atticus couldn’t keep himself from quirking a disbelieving eyebrow. “Oh really? Robert Bellamy, slacker jock who always dozes off in History of Magic, knows enough about the Witch Hunts of the 14th century to get us an O on our oral report? Somehow I doubt that.”

Amazingly Robert didn’t react with anger -- instead his black eyes turned very cool.

“The Witch Hunts really can’t be narrowed down to just the 14th century,” he said in a very level, matter-of-fact voice appropriate to a professor. “Not only did the ‘witch hysteria’ phenomenon last well into the 18th century, until the Age of Enlightenment, but there was a lot of set-up beforehand that laid the groundwork for it. Witchcraft, specifically black magic, was considered illegal even in ancient times -- the Romans considered it a capital offense. And of course one can’t ignore how early Christians demonized pagan beliefs by associating them with witchcraft, hence why images of the Devil came to embody traits associated with the nature god Pan. The Witch Hunts of the 14th century largely came about because a bunch of Muggles got their knickers in a twist about an increased interest in necromancy and herbal remedies among the poor, spurred on by the printing and circulation of older Islamic texts. The fact that many of those people who had the most use for those herbal remedies were women -- frequently mid-wives -- scared the church as well, of course, given the sexism of the time. And of course when bad things happen and there’s no explanation for it, people love to find a scapegoat. Add a text like the Malleus Malificarum that tells the terrified masses all of their problems are the fault of evil witches to the mix, and Incendio -- you’ve got yourself a bonfire.”

Atticus was completely sideswiped. He caught himself staring with his mouth open, and quickly closed it.

“That...well...”

He felt very sheepish. His ears burned -- his mother would’ve been scolding him if she were there, for jumping to conclusions like that.

“...That’s really impressive,” Atticus said self-consciously. “Forgive me, I...I was very rude, just then.”

He brushed a loose piece of his dark brown bangs out of his eyes.

“...How did you even know all that? I don’t recall Professor Binns ever saying -- ”

“I doubt he did,” said Robert. Once again he didn’t seem the least bit offended by what Atticus had said and was currently grinning cheekily. “I got my hands on the fifth year History of Magic syllabus from an older student before term started. I went to the Muggle library and borrowed a whole stack of books about the Witch Hunts so I could read them over the summer.”

Atticus blinked. “Muggle books? But -- but wouldn’t that information be incomplete?”

“In some ways, yes. But honestly, magical history isn’t much better that way -- it leaves plenty of stuff out.”

“I suppose it does -- but Professor Binns expects you to know what he teaches too. That’s why he does those lectures.”

“And puts the whole class to sleep,” said Robert with a snort of laughter.

“That’s beside the point,” said Atticus firmly. “It’s good that you studied the material so thoroughly -- very admirable, in fact -- but there is a right way to do things, and falling asleep in class when your professor’s trying to teach you will only make it harder for you to get top marks.”

Robert shrugged. “Guess I don’t see the need to regurgitate my professor’s lessons like a parrot. And how do you know I don’t already get top marks? I don’t remember you ever asking to see my grades.”

Atticus faltered. “Well -- it’s just -- I never see you study.”

“Probably because you never leave the library,” said Robert with a rather mischievous smile.

The words were an unpleasant barb in the corner of Atticus’s chest, and his eyes narrowed to hide the slight hurt he felt. Noticing the shift in the other boy’s expression, Robert immediately put down all trace of humor.

“Only joking,” he said defensively. “Crimey...you really are too grim for your own good...”

As soon as the sentence had left Robert’s mouth, there was a strange, silent ping that seemed to ripple through both young men’s ears. The word “grim” had hit Atticus in the heart stronger than anything else Robert had said. The young Pureblood had stiffened sharply, and his expression tensed further when he realized that Robert too seemed to have suddenly gone oddly pale.

Did...did the word affect him too? Did he also find it so strangely, frustratingly, achingly familiar? Why?

The two stared at each other, both looking incredibly disconcerted. Then Robert, stuffing a hand into his pocket, quickly strolled past Atticus.

“...I’d better go catch up with Barty,” he muttered. His voice sounded oddly calm to Atticus’s ears -- almost evasively so. “Is tomorrow at noon okay?”

Atticus glanced over his shoulder to look at Robert’s retreating back.

“...Yes,” he said quietly.

Robert didn’t turn back around.

“Three Broomsticks?”

“All right.”

“Good. ...Bring some books from the library, if you want. I’m sure Madame Pince will have some suggestions I haven’t read yet. Just don’t tell her we’ll be at the Three Broomsticks -- poor thing would probably throw a fit if we spilled butterbeer on her books...”

With that, the Ravenclaw Chaser departed down the hall without looking at Atticus again.

Atticus didn’t move from his spot in the hall for a while afterward, unable to completely shake the heavy, invisible weight that had settled down on top of his heart.

He’dd only ever felt such a strange, irrational kind of déjà vu around Barty Gilbert before, but this kind...this kind was different, somehow. The feeling that accompanied Barty Gilbert made Atticus feel irritated for no reason at all. This one accompanying Robert Bellamy...it was cold, and yet also so soft at the same time -- like the feeling one has when they hear a beautiful, sad song...or when they wake up sobbing from a dream where someone is squeezing their shoulders, while tears stream down their brokenly laughing face...

#golden era #hphl #atticus grimsley #bartholomew varney #my art #my writing #au #reincarnation!au #OH MY GOD #REINCARNATION TIME BABY #let's give grim and bat a real happy ending shall we?! #I mean sure bat had a lot of happiness in his life before he finally died but he only lived a half-life as a vampire #and this way bat can be there for grim when he's younger so grim can live the life at hogwarts he deserved #without his father's influence looming like a shadow over him the entire time #also yay bat can touch! and actually grow up! and actually be a professor! #I see bat and crew being in cedric's year #so they'll be seventh years when cedric dies and just be starting careers when the wizarding war starts #of course we all know bat would join the order of the phoenix because...duh #but yeah so this means bat flies alongside cho chang!! :D #robert hasn't gotten the nickname 'bat' yet but he will #and of course atticus isn't 'grim' yet -- even in his original canon he only ever was okay with bat calling him that </3 #robert's discomfort around atticus really comes back to him seeming famiilar and yet 'off' too #in this case because grim is supposed to be happy!! he's supposed to smile!! he's supposed to dance and have fun!! #and yet he's this huge stick in the mud that has a beef with robert's BFF -- what's up with that?! #he really doesn't *dislike* atticus at this point but he is uncomfortable and unsure and when bat is uncomfortable he tends to disappear #in all universes bat does not like being uncomfortable or talking about things he doesn't want to talk about XD;; #also yeah bat is smart AF but is the type to only express it when his intellect is useful #he doesn't show off his intelligence by answering every question in class or sharing his grades or going to the library constantly #instead he most often expresses it whenever he's tutoring someone in something or when the knowledge solves a problem #so it's no wonder atticus had no clue that robert's not just a dumb jock XDDD

[chilling-in-the-dark]

The Golden Cage Part 3: Post Room

This is a yandere story; it mentions elements of obsession, possessiveness, death, murder, kidnapping, imprisonment, mental and physical abuse. If any of this is triggering for you, I understand, and you don’t have to read it.          

As always feedback is welcomed

Zuko had been right about the lull only being temporary because only about a month had gone by, and now it seemed the world was falling apart at his feet again. The Earth King Kuei had come to visit the Fire Nation Palace, and that had his still very disorganized staff running around like pig chickens with their heads cut off. If this meeting didn’t go well then, the tentative peace with the Earth Kingdom he and the Avatar had worked so hard to maintain could be broken.

Maybe he should have you start looking after the staff and such early, but he also didn’t want to overwhelm you by changing things too fast. He’d just started letting you have limited access to the palace so long as you took your guards. It may have been only to the places that you needed to go in order to oversee the wedding plans, but he hoped one day to give you real freedom to wander the palace and surrounding town as you saw fit.

Zuko had never wanted to cage you, but then you’d tried to leave him and go off wandering the world again. Zuko couldn’t let that happen; he needed you like he needed to breathe, not to mention how unsafe the outside world was, sure the war was over, but the peace had been an uneasy one and most people were still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not to mention the fact that his father still had loyalists, all it would take is one of them killing you to break Zuko.

Now that you were to be his bride, you couldn’t leave him, maybe it was time to start introducing you to the duties of the Fire Lords consort. Zuko smiled at the thought of you being his wife, invitations to the wedding had already been sent, and he was sure that day would be one of the happiest of his life, second only by the birth of your future children.

Still, for now, he needed to greet Kuei, maybe he could have you come with him to do that. It’s what he was supposed to do right, have his future wife greet foreign diplomats. It was hard to say the Fire Nation hadn’t had foreign diplomats in its borders for a very long time, but it seemed like the thing to do.

Besides, maybe meeting someone new would bring out some of that old spark he loved. He found himself longing for the days on his ship when you would call him out on his bullshit, but not in the same way the crew or uncle did, the crew would insult him, uncle would spew proverbs, but you would roll your eyes with an endearing smile and tell him he was being ridiculous.

At first, he hated it, but after a month he came to depend on it, there were no riddles with you. Zuko understood his uncle wanted him to figure things out on his own, and that helped him grow in a lot of ways, but it was also nice having someone who was straight forward and not afraid to speak their mind.

He hadn’t wanted to –

break you, but it’d been necessary, he knew from all the years of tactical school he’d been forced to attend, that it would have been much faster to have someone torture you and then come in and patch you up himself. Zuko had never wanted to hurt you, in fact, the thought of seeing you injured again after you’d taken that lightning strike for him made Zuko sick.

He’d thought you’d died and had nearly gone as psycho as Azula, which had apparently been what allowed him the beat his sister because evidently, all this time, he’d unconsciously been holding back against his little sister. Zuko proved far stronger than anyone had ever thought because he’d had Azula down in under a minute.

Now that you were broken, though, Zuko could start putting you back the way you were, only without the need to wander the world with no roots to ground you.

Dinner with Kuei had been a bit awkward at first. Zuko had never been much good when it came to small talk, and even after being Fire Lord for five years, that hadn’t changed much. What saved him from having to sit there while trying not to be awkward enough to start another war was you.

You came in with the grace and elegance befitting a future queen, your guards, the same ones that got assigned to you after the chopstick incident, were trailing behind you looking ready to tackle someone, most likely you, at the slightest hint of provocation. Few people in the palace knew the truth, everyone had just thought you’d been sick and had finally recovered, but those that did were extremely weary of you.

You smiled as you greeted your guest, well not your guest, he was Zuko’s guest, and you were Zuko’s prisoner, but you knew better than to carry on like that. As much as you wanted to be free, you didn’t want it to come at the price of another war, even now you knew your life wasn’t worth the lives of the thousands of innocent people another one would cost.

“I’m sorry I’m late, but wedding planning is apparently much more work the ether Zuko, and I thought,” You said with an exuberant smile on your face. If it hadn’t been for the years of breath control training he’d received, Zuko would have chocked on air it that moment. Gently you lowered yourself down to the seat on Zuko’s left, the place that would officially be yours in a little over two months.

You banished that thought from your mind; now wasn’t the time to think about the inevitability of your marriage or how at one point in your life, the idea of marring Zuko would have made you smile, but now made you want to cry. It wasn’t the time to think about how with each second you had to spend planning the wedding, you were more and more likely to have a mental break down.

So instead you kept the small talk going with the Earth King, he was a pleasant man if a bit peculiar, you were just glad he’d decided to leave his pet bear in the Earth Kingdom, you didn’t think your nerves could handle that.

You wouldn’t know it because Zuko was doing his best to keep his temper in check, but your fiancé was stewing in jealousy, he couldn’t get you to talk to him, but you’d do it with that cowardly fool of a king. Even after you agreed to be his wife, you still hadn’t told him you loved him, you’d said it to him constantly when you, him, and uncle were pretending to be Earth Kingdom refugees in Ba Sing Se.

After dinner was finished and Kuei retired to his chambers, Zuko found himself leading you into his chambers with a bruising grip on your wrist. “You’ll smile and laugh with that fool but not me, I’ve given you everything, my heart, my soul, my country, a roof over your head, food in your stomach, the list could go on, and this is how you treat me. You’ve agreed to marry me, but you haven’t said you loved me in years,” Zuko hissed, dragging you further into the room until your knees hit the bed.

Then Zuko shoved you down onto his bed and used his weight to pin your body down while holding your wrists above your head with so much force, you’d thought they might break. That wasn’t the worst part though, the worst of it would have to be the heat emanating from his hands, you could feel your skin burning underneath his touch.

Once, years ago, you would have scoffed at anyone who’d have said Zuko would hurt you, but now you’re faced with the stark truth, Zuko was never anything like you thought he was, inside he was just as cruel and mean as his father.

Yet you knew at the same time Zuko wasn’t, he could be kind as he could cruel gentle as he was rough. It didn’t matter though, because Zuko would never let you leave him; you were as trapped now as you had been when you were locked away, all you had was the illusion of freedom, and yet you were so terrified of being in that room again.

“Zuko, you’re hurting me,” You whimpered with tears in your eyes, just like that all of the fire and rage that was in him a second ago is extinguished, and Zuko Jumped backward like you’re the one that burned him. Even though your glad to be released, it worried you how fast he can go from burning hot rage to gut-wrenching guilt. What does this say for your future, you don’t know, maybe he’d let you go, or he might lock you up again. Your life is in his hands, and you hated it

Tags:

@yanderepeterparker @idkmanicantenglish​ @prettyafghan @neon-phosphorecsent​ @phoenixambers​

#yandere #yandere zuko #yandere avatar #dark avatar #yandere x reader #Yandere atla #dark atla #x reader #reader insert #dark reader insert #CITD writes #zuko x reader #dark zuko #atla zuko #zuko is firelord

[crimsonrae]

The Wiles of Men and Women

Chapter Two

Summary: Georgiana Stafford has just become betrothed to a man older than her father. Her last chance to enjoy society on her terms comes the night that court celebrates the birth of Princess Mary. She was prepared for just about anything, but she hadn't been prepared for him. Charles Brandon.

CharlesxOC, 

Rated: Mature

A/N: I have had a fair bit of interest in this story continuing so, I am now working on an outline. Here is Chapter Two in the meantime. Thank you to everyone who liked and showed support on that first chapter. I really appreciate it :) Let me know if you would like to be tagged. 

@wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ @cavillhavoc​ @omgkatinka​ @promptandpros​ @multixwolf​

Little Lamb's Courtly Introduction

She was nervous.

Georgiana hadn't expected to be. Her introduction to court, to the king, was to be brief. An announcement really, before Worcester and her father made the declaration of marriage to the king. She expected to be largely ignored through the whole ordeal. Perhaps a mild curiosity amongst the other members of court for being the new introduction and intended of another, but rather insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

She swallowed against her bitter resentment as anticipation of dismissal began to build. Women weren't interesting unless they were spreading their legs for someone. Something she had learned from her mother which had only been reinforced by every male she had ever met. Part of her still puzzled over why Lord Somerset had agreed to the engagement. He had several sons already, so he had no need for an heir. The only thing she could think of was her dowry, that perhaps Worcester was on the brink of financial ruin. Though if that were the case, she doubted her father would have made the arrangement.

No, her nervousness had little to do with her moment in court, though some part of her did feel sick at being treated as a prized mare. Her nervousness was more basic and, in some respect she knew, more foolish. What was worse she had no one to blame for her anxiety, but herself... and Charles Brandon. Not that he was aware of the damaged his carnal desires had wrought on her body, though she suspected he wouldn't much care. She was in a bit of a plight, however.

Upon returning to her chambers in the wee hours of the morning, Georgiana had quickly placed her gown out of sight and did her best to clean herself without access to a tub. In those late hours, she had been too leery of waking a servant or worse garnering the attention of her father or uncle to light a lamp and had simply done what she could without taking stock of her physical being. She had only received a few hours of sleep, intent to rise before her family, and dress without help. She only realized her mistake in succumbing to lustful games when she had gotten out of bed.

Georgiana had gasped and nearly cried out in pain when she had shifted to sit. Not even stand, but sit. Somehow, she had forgotten about the tanning her behind received in her haste to retire for the night. Fire crackled and stung her backside, but that was almost pleasant when compared to the piercing soreness between her legs. It was almost as if Charles was still inside her... or maybe it was that he was not in her. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes as she forced herself to stand. Every shift and step brought an almost unbearable amount of discomfort.

Her monthly cramps were more tolerable. She tried in vain to relax, hoping mildly that moving would subdue the worse of the hurt. Again, she found herself wondering if sex was always like this. A few hours ago, it had been pleasurable and fun... this? This was not pleasurable or fun. Yet, oddly she had an ache to be filled again. She felt strangely empty now and like her hopes for her pain to subside, she hoped that eventually, this new feeling would too subside if she ignored it long enough.

After a few more tentative steps, Georgiana was before her dressing mirror. The arbitrary thought that she may look different now played at the back of her mind. It was a foolish thought, except it wasn't. Muted horror gleamed in her blue stare as she surveyed the bruises that littered her hips and chest...even her neck was marked. She swore that the heat from her bottom rushed to her cheeks at that moment.

Her gown would cover most of the marks, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember if her dress had a high or low neckline. She prayed it was high because her hair was to be pinned and there was no other way that she could hide the love bites on her neck.

Her father was going to murder her.

She swallowed tightly against the rising panic, turning pale almost as quickly as she had flushed. How could she have let this happen? She knew the importance of today. She knew what type of scrutiny she would be under. Georgiana suddenly cursed herself for giving in to her desires to break the rules last night. She had a month before the wedding, surely another opportunity to rebel would have presented itself before then. Why had she so stupidly chosen last night?

Whining lightly under her breath, she quickly scampered for her trunk and immediately regretted it as hot pain stabbed her core. Oh, she would kill Mr. Brandon if she saw him today, she swore it.

Allowing herself to cringe now while she was alone, her movements became a contrasting juxtaposition of hasty and ginger. She pulled out a new chemise and petticoat before pulling out her gown and nearly sighed in relief as she noted the neckline did have a high collar to it. Her father would want to present her as a modest young virgin – nothing represented that more than clothing that would be suitable in a nunnery. Part of her would enjoy the lie of that image today, even as she tried to figure out how to walk without waddling.

It took her longer than she expected to dress without the help of a servant, but she managed to finish just as the door to her chamber swung open and a young woman and her father entered. She barely spared a glance to the former, her focus firmly on her father.

His eyes were red-rimmed bespoken of a late night drinking, but that would disappear with an indulgent breakfast. Georgianna knew her father's habits well. His gaze glimmered in silent satisfaction at her as he took in her state of dress, "You're awake early. I thought I would need to drag you from the bed with the way you had bemoaned leaving Wiltshire."

Georgiana forced a faint smile to her face, "You know I can't abide being idle."

Henry snorted, "True. I half expected you to sneak into the celebration last night, your uncle had money on it, in fact."

She barely kept from rolling her eyes even as she ignored a wary noxious turn of her stomach, "I'm sure you'd enjoyed gloating over him losing, father."

"I will soon enough." Henry intoned quietly, almost suspiciously as he gestured to the servant, "This is Kitty, she'll see to your needs while we're here. Join your uncle and I for breakfast once you're finished."

"Of course, father." Georgiana murmured.

"My daughter." Her father mused before stepping forward to press a kiss to her forehead. An ominous note lingered in his tone, "You'll do the family proud today."

The silent threat to behave went unacknowledged.

She merely offered another smile as he stepped back and eyed her curiously, "The air must agree with you here. You've a glow about you. Or perhaps you're just excited for your moment to shine."

Another pang of panic made her heart lurch, but she kept her features bland as she shrugged, "Perhaps."

Henry had stopped listening, however, already retreating to the shared common room of their quarters, "Don't tarry, we have much to do today."

Her door was shut before she had a chance to reply. She turned wary eyes onto the servant and was rewarded with a smile reminiscent of the one she had just given her father, "Kitty, was it?"

"Katerina, Milady." Katerina curtsied faintly as she waited for instructions.

Georgiana sighed, "If you'll help me with my hair, I'd be much obliged."

"Of course, milady."

Georgiana slowly made her way to the dressing table, rather too aware of the other woman's eyes on her. A dawning dread burbled in her belly as she realized she would need to sit. The thought almost brought frustrated tears to her eyes as she gazed grudgingly at the stool. The servant must think her mad by the dark glare on her face, but Georgiana bit her tongue and eased herself down. The burn in her backside reignited and she had to swallow her moan.

She wished a long, tormented death on Charles.

Katerina watched her curiously but was of mind enough not to say anything. Instead, she waited until Georgiana was situated and began to gather up her soft tresses to be plaited and pinned. A dark bruise peaked ever so slightly out of the edge of the collar. Katerina pursed her lips at the sight and adjusted her pinning to cover the mark.

"Pardon my frankness, milady, but was it your first time?" Katerina asked in a whisper.

Georgiana lifted her gaze to the looking glass in a scrutinizing glare, "My first -"

Her voice cut off as Katerina subtly moved her hair and another mark was displayed. A deep blush scoured her cheeks and she held her breath and uttered quietly, "Please don't say anything."

"Of course not, milady." Katerina assured. Georgiana wasn't the first noble lady she had served to have affairs and she knew better than to spread rumors. Gossiping servants didn't last long in the palace, "Was it...?"

There was a brief moment of hesitance before Georgiana nodded.

Katerina hummed understandingly, "It can be painful, especially if the man doesn't have a care. I can get you a warm compress. It'll help, but you should soak tonight, milady."

"...I didn't. I didn't tell him that I was..." Georgiana took a shuddering breath, having trouble admitting to her foolishness, "My intended is older than my father, I just wanted a good first experience."

A sympathetic twinkle entered the other woman's gaze, before she whispered cautiously, "Was it?"

Georgiana couldn't keep the pleased grin from her face and Katerina giggled, "I'm glad, milady. Drink the tea that I'll bring to your breakfast it'll stave off any unwanted surprises."

"Surprises?" Georgiana asked bemused until Katerina made a gesture of a swollen stomach. Suddenly, she felt like a dullard... she had forgotten that aspect of copulation, "Oh...oh, thank you, Katerina."

Katerina nodded and continued her work. Every so often Georgiana worked up the nerve to ask a question. Slowly, she gained her first confidant within the King's Palace.

    ༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺   ༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Charles!"

The sound of the King's voice rang out through the hall, unusually jovial for so early in the day. Charles turned and smiled with a faint bow as his monarch and friend approached him, "Your Majesty, good morning."

"It is a good morning, isn't it?" Henry questioned with a rakish grin. It was all Charles needed to know that the King had his own bedroom delights satisfied the prior night. He playfully nudged Brandon's shoulder as he gestured for them to continue, "You left the festivities early last night."

There was a faint note of accusation in his tone that Charles was hard-pressed to miss. He grimaced internally, he hadn't meant to insult Henry by his departure, "A celebration of a different kind lured me away, I'm afraid."

The King's brow rose as his eyes began to shine with amusement, "This celebration wouldn't happen to be in the shape of a woman, would it? About chin height? Pouty lips? Lovely blue and grey gown that accentuated some even lovelier assets?"

Charles chuckled, knowing he had already been forgiven. Of course, nothing seemed to get passed Harry, even when he had been knee-deep in the cups, "That would be the one, sire."

"Anthony was quite cross with you." Henry murmured with sage pleasure as he recalled the annoyed expression on their friend's face, "I believe he had been trying to lure her away himself when you beat him to it."

A smug smirk twisted at Charles's mouth as he recalled he hadn't done much luring.

His little lamb had wanted to be ensnared; Anthony had merely missed the signs of a good chase. And it had been a very good chase indeed. Charlotte had played the prey to his predator beautifully. Though he silently wished she had mentioned her virginal state to him, while he liked a bit of roughness in his play, he never wanted to cause his partners' unnecessary pain. He would have been gentler with her on that first go, taken his time. Hell, he wished she had stayed for a second round. It had been too long since he had played with someone that satisfactorily.

He pushed back on those insatiable thoughts and turned a curious eye to his king, "And you, your Majesty? I trust that your night ended on a celebratory note, as well?"

"Quite, it ended in a very satisfying bang." Henry replied all too pleased with his lewd pun and the amused snort it pulled from his friend. His smile dimmed faintly and turned more affectionate as they rounded a corner and entered a side room that contained the queen and their newborn daughter, "Good morning, My Queen."

Charles bowed and murmured a quiet, "Majesty."

"Good morning, My King." Katherine returned with a gentle smile as she approached the duo. She nodded to Charles, "Mr. Brandon."

In her arms, the infant princess squirmed and she smiled wider as she offered the child to the King, "She wants her papa."

Henry reached for her instantly and with more gentleness than Charles had ever witnessed from his friend cradled the child in his arms. Pride and delight shined in his icy eyes as Mary settled and cooed quietly at her father. He ran a soft finger over her cheek, "My little pearl. Isn't she beautiful, Charles?"

Katherine looked on lovingly.

"She is." Charles agreed quietly with a faint smile. He knew that his friend was disappointed not to have a son, but he had born witness to the relief the King exuded when news reached him that both his wife and child were hale and whole. The Queen's last few pregnancies had been rough and there had been a real fear that she wouldn't survive her labor this last round. Despite his disappointment, Henry was still basking in the joy that his family was alive and would take what he could for now.

Suddenly feeling like an interloper to an intimate family moment, Charles bowed his head and began to make his excuses to exit, "I'll take my leave of you -"

Henry pinned him with an unimpressed glance, "Nonsense, stay and break your fast with us."

"Your Majesty, I would not want to intrude." Charles begged off and was almost startled when Katherine ganged up on him in turn.

"You're hardly an intruder, Mr. Brandon." Katherine rebuked gently. While she cared little for her husband's friends, Charles and William Compton were among the more tolerable, caring more to make her husband happy than receive any personal gain, "Besides I would like to hear how you enjoyed the celebrations. I'm afraid I was too weary to attend for long."

A mix of horror and hilarity welled up in Charles at the Queen's words and it was only made worse when he caught the mocking gleam in the King's gaze, "Yes, Charles, you must tell us how you enjoyed last night."

If it wouldn't be considered an act of treason, Charles would have punched the King soundly in the face regardless of the fact that he was still holding his daughter. He bit back a sigh and settled for a mild glare that made the King smirk, "The festivities were brilliant, Your Majesty. Though I'm afraid I was not present for much longer after your exit. I too retired early."

"Ah." The Queen muttered sagely with a sly twinkle in her eye, "Then you had a good evening, indeed."

Charles nearly choked on his tongue while the King burst into unexpected laughter. The noise startled the baby, but he was quick to calm her as he continued to chortle. Depositing the child into the arms of a waiting servant, Henry turned and pressed a kiss to his wife's cheek, "Thank you for that, dearest. I don't think I've ever seen Charles look more humbled."

Charles, in fact, had turned a faint red and was avoiding both of his monarch's amused gazes as he endured this teasing humiliation. Henry was lucky that his wife and daughter were present or else he may have made an unsubtle comment about the King's night. However, he actually was rather fond of Queen Katherine and had no desire to cause her such pain. Sighing, he changed the topic, "Light day, today, Your Majesty?"

"Very subtle, Charles." Henry uttered mockingly as he invited his friend to sit and food was dispersed, but he allowed the change, "Unfortunately no. I've been neglecting court matters the last week. I'm told I have a list of issues to address. Border grievances, petty squabbles, a few marriage declarations. Nothing terribly interesting."

Katherine hummed, gaining the attention of both men, "I would like to join you today, My King. If that would be acceptable?"

Henry raised a brow, "I assure you that it will be quite boring. Wouldn't you rather stay with Mary?... I know I would."

That seemed to amuse the Queen as she replied lightly, "You would rather be hunting."

"It's too cold for hunting." Henry rebuked in good humor and he wasn't wrong. A light dusting of snow had covered the ground during the night, "I'd rather play tennis."

Charles chuckled as he watched their byplay, but couldn't help, but ask, "Is there something that interests you in particular about today's agenda, Your Majesty?"

"Yes, actually." The Queen began, noting she had her husband's attention, "The Duchess of Buckingham mentioned that her niece is to be introduced today, Georgiana. Said she's a precocious child. I am curious – I didn't even know the Buckingham's had a niece."

Both Charles and Henry frowned in confusion as they ran over the noble lines in their heads. Henry reached a conclusion first, "The Earl of Wiltshire's daughter?"

"I had forgotten he had a child." Charles murmured as he thought of the arrogant redheaded lord. It was wildly acknowledged that Henry Stafford's marriage to Cecily Bonneville was one of convenience – rumors abounded that his interests were more inclined towards men than women.

"I as well." Henry acknowledged with a bemused frown, "Cecily was a very beautiful woman, I recall. I wonder if the daughter took after her or her father."

"Hopefully, her mother. Lord Stafford's hardly a prize."

Henry sniggered quietly at Charles's words.

"Does this mean you wouldn't mind my intrusion today?" Katherine prodded gently, somewhat proud that she had engaged the men's intrigue.

"Not at all." Henry answered indifferently, his mind already moving on to other things, "I think we're all rather curious about the elusive Lady Stafford."

Charles hummed in agreement but was more interested in spending his day seeking out his elusive Charlotte. He hadn't had his fill of his little lamb yet.

    ༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺   ༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Of course, Henry had other ideas about what Charles would be doing with his day. The King's tediously boring business also became Charles as he stood behind a long table strewn with maps reviewing the boundary lines of two estates. The squabble laid between Lord Byron and Lord Tyrrion, both greedy, petulant arses in Charles's opinion. Lord Tyrrion more so than Byron.

Even Cardinal Wolsey looked tired of the lords' nonsense and he wasn't even present for this issue.

"You've pulled up the stakes on my land so that your bloody sheep have a larger grazing pasture." Byron stated testily for the hundredth time as he pounded a finger on a boundary line, "This map clearly shows where the stakes should be."

"And it's where they are." Tyrrion replied with droll disinterest. He allowed the farmers in their area to let their cattle roam free on his land. He felt it gave healthier livestock and added more flavor to the meat.

"Then explain why the gardens of my estate have been decimated by your bloody roving bushes." Byron demanded.

"That's a poor thing to call your lady wife, sir."

The resulting exclamation made Charles bite back a sigh and long to bury his head in the ground.

At the other end of the room, King Henry entertained issues from other courtiers, looking about as thrilled as a mourner.

"Lord Malbury, you will either forfeit your estate or pay the taxes you owe." Henry droned threateningly as he ignored Katherine's placating hand, "You're two years overdue in your fealty. But in my kindness, I will give you a month to clear your debt. Is that understood, sir?"

Malbury shifted uncomfortably looking like he wanted to protest, but thought better of it as he quietly muttered, "Yes, Your Majesty."

Henry waved a hand dismissing him.

"Your Majesty, the Duke of Buckingham, Edward Stafford and the Earl of Wiltshire, Henry Stafford."

Katherine sat a little straighter in her seat as the two men approached and bowed. A young woman followed several steps behind, but only the Queen took an interest in her.

Henry raised a brow at the two brothers, "What can I do for you?"

"Your Majesty, thank you for seeing us today and may I say congratulations on the birth of Princess Mary." The Earl simpered before stepping aside and gesturing for his daughter to come forward, "I would like to present to you, my daughter, Lady Georgiana."

Henry tilted his head curiously as Georgiana came to the foot of his dais and curtsied gracefully. A simple hood covered her head, but a few purposeful locks were left to frame her face elegantly. She cut a nice figure in the pale green gown she had chosen. She didn't wear much in the way of adornments. Simple, refined, modest...everything a good Christian girl should be.

The King stood from his throne and gently took her hand, allowing her to rise and be viewed fully, "Lady Georgiana."

"Your Majesty." She murmured and he was greeted by a pair of sparkling blue eyes and a placid smile.

Katherine moved to his side, a curious grimace adorning her features as Henry spoke, "You're as enchanting as your mother. A shame that Lady Cecily isn't here to join us."

"Your Majesty is too kind." Georgiana demurred.

Wiltshire stepped forward as he rejoined the conversation, "If I may, Your Majesty."

He rested a light hand on his daughter's elbow while his brother beckoned another forward. Henry watched in keen interest as the Earl of Worcester came to stand between the two brothers. The older gentlemen bowed.

Already, Henry knew where this was going, "Lord Somerset, and what do you have to do with these proceedings?"

"Your Majesty, Lord Stafford and I have entered into an agreement for Lady Georgiana's hand. I would like to make a formal declaration of engagement." Lord Somerset asserted quietly.

Henry shared a glance with Katherine and wasn't surprised to see a faint gleam of disapproval in her gaze. Lord Somerset must have been about forty years the girl's senior, a bit excessive, but not exactly uncommon. His gaze swept back to the lady in question and nearly blinked as he witnessed a flash of annoyance disappear in a flicker as attention fell back on her.

Well, well... It seemed his lady wife was not the only one to disapprove. Henry pursed his lips, "I see... Lady Georgiana, you are amenable to this match?"

Fingers tightened over her elbow and Georgiana fixed a faint smile on her face as she replied, "I trust that my father has chosen well for me, sire."

A very diplomatic answer, if ever he heard one. If he hadn't seen the distaste in her gaze then he would have dismissed her as another mindless noblewoman. Except for her annoyance and the forethought she had displayed to hide behind a rather impressive mask of indifference, bespoke of a sharp intelligence. She would do well in court. Precocious, indeed. It was a pity she had already been promised to another.

"When is the wedding?" Katherine asked abruptly.

Startling the Duke and Earls. Worcester recovered swiftly, "In a month's time. Should there be no objections, Your Majesty?"

"I have none. Though, I do offer my congratulations." Henry stated before he shared another glance with his wife, "However, the Duchess of Buckingham spoke highly of Lady Georgiana and my lady wife has been looking forward to meeting her. I trust that you all will stay for the week to give Lady Georgiana a chance to experience courtly life before whisking her away to the country."

There was a brief chorus of agreements from the gentlemen and again Henry caught that flicker of unimpressed displeasure in her countenance. He nearly smirked, this was bound to be an interesting visit.

His attention wavered a moment as Charles approached from the back, looking harried and annoyed. Henry tried not to laugh. He had purposefully tasked him that particular boundary dispute as punishment for his early departure from the festivities, but also... he had no desire to deal with Lord Tyrrion's dry wit, "Has a solution been reached, Charles?"

Charles bowed and nodded, "Yes, Your Majesty. We just need your final approval."

Henry hummed in acknowledgement before nodding to the group before him, "Charles, I believe you already know the Duke of Buckingham and Earls of Wiltshire and Worcester, respectively?"

"Your Grace, milords." Charles greeted solemnly and with the bare minimum of decorum. Henry had never been able to figure out what the discourse between Charles and the Stafford house was, but he knew it was mutual. Edward Stafford nearly sneered at his friend.

"And this is Lady Georgiana Stafford, soon to be Somerset." Henry introduced lightly as he watched the way his friend studied the woman. A glint of interest sparked in his eye and the King refrained from snorting in amusement. Charles had no boundaries, "Lady Georgiana, may I present my good friend and courtier, Charles Brandon."

Oddly enough, the Lady seemed to stiffen at the sight of Charles before another placid mask befell her. She graced Charles with a nod, "Mr. Brandon."

"My lady." Charles intoned back, though a curious glimmer creased his gaze.

Henry stepped passed the group, now done with the pleasantries, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Georgiana. Now if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend."

He didn't pause to watch their bows or hear their farewells. Charles followed at his heels after a minute and Henry sent him a questioning look when he finally noticed the faint frown on his friend's face, "Charles?"

Charles's mouth moved silently for a moment before he answered, "She seemed...familiar."

"Hopefully, not too familiar." Henry countered drolly as they approached the back table, "Wouldn't want both of the Staffords after your head."

Charles grunted in agreement, but couldn't help to return his gaze to Georgiana's departing form. He swore he knew her.

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#charles brandon #charles brandon fanfiction #charles brandon fic #duke of suffolk #anthony knivert #henry viii #katherine of aragon #tudors fanfic #the tudors #tudors fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #henry cavill #The Wiles of Men and Women

[eponymous-rose]

(For the anon who was wondering, the Vorkosigan Saga is a series of sci-fi books and novellas by Lois McMaster Bujold. The series has won a dozen or so Hugo and Nebula awards, and while sometimes it’s very obvious that the series started in the 1980s, there are some forward-thinking ideas that get beautifully developed. I’d say what makes it stand out among other sci-fi is that the “sci” part is mainly focused on biology rather than physics: there’s a lot of development of what different reproductive and genetic-modification technologies could do to and for a society. There’s also a lot of genre-hopping, depending on where the focus of any given book is: military space opera, sure, but also murder mystery, political thriller, and even rom-com. Good stuff all around.)

Anyway! I finished reading Mirror Dance, which was just as horrifying as I remember, but still so beautifully structured. The shift from the early chapters, with Mark having no sense of identity and Miles storming in to save him, to the later chapters, with Miles not even remembering his own name and Mark storming in to save him, is spectacular. 

I love that Mark’s big, victorious end-of-the-book rescue was never presented as Mark figuring out how to emulate Miles’s Miles-ness, but instead as Mark making a conscious decision about who he was going to be and learning to roll with that. It’s such a weird display of power, because it’s something we almost always see in the villains of stories: the weird kind of charisma that teeters on the edge of bullying and leading by fear. But it works, on him, because people respond to confidence, and once he realizes nobody needs to love him to follow him (and Miles, in contrast, is sure as hell desperate for everyone to love him), that confidence blossoms. And it’s softened by the weird sense of protectiveness underlying it all, a thoroughly Barrayaran-style life-debt: Grunt and Gorge and Howl and Killer kept him alive, and now it’s his turn to take care of them.

And god Cordelia is so good in this book. Talk about an impossible situation: your (previously) only son goes off and gets himself killed, and suddenly you’re face-to-face with his clone-twin, who’s surly and miserable and blames himself and blames him and blames you and hates everything you stand for. She’s so matter-of-fact about everything, it just forces him back on the rails, but there’s still that deep agony just beneath the surface, having to deal with Miles’s death and then Aral’s heart attack and then Mark haring off on another dangerous mission one right after the other.

I love the scene where Cordelia and Aral are in the library and start talking about Mark without realizing he’s in there listening to them: it’s such a common trope in fiction that you’re just cringing in anticipation of all the awful stuff he’s going to hear. And, yeah, they say things they wouldn’t have said around him, not all of it pleasant, but...

He felt as if his skin had gone transparent, and passers-by could look and point to every private organ.

What he did not feel, he realized as he caught his breath again after the coughing jag, was afraid. Not of the Count and Countess, anyway. Their public faces and their private ones were... unexpectedly congruent. It seemed he could trust them, not so much not to hurt him, but to be what they were, what they appeared. He could not at first put a word to it, this sense of personal unity. Then it came to him. Oh. So that’s what integrity looks like. I didn’t know.

She also gives Mark a great talking-to re: Kareen that all sorts of fictional characters wallowing in their own awfulness and the comparative perfection of a love interest would probably do well to listen to:

The Countess smiled wryly. “There are several things wrong with your analogy, Mark. In the first place, I can guarantee you are not subhuman, whatever you think you are. And Kareen is not superhuman, either. Though if you insist on treating her as a prize and not as a person, I can also guarantee you will run yourself into another kind of trouble.” Her raised brows punctuated the point.

Fundamentally, again and again, Cordelia’s words come in just when someone’s hitting the walls of “better not to try” or “easier to do nothing” or “safer to stay here”. I love that about her character: Miles’s famous forward momentum is like a reflex in response to that relentless refrain of “okay, so what are you going to do about it?”

And speaking of momentum! It’s time for Memory, which I remember being my favorite book in the series. These first few chapters hurt, seeing (1) how completely Miles has embraced the Naismith persona, to the point where Miles Vorkosigan is just a stopover on his way to his next grand adventures, and (2) how thoroughly Miles is screwing over his only chance to get to be Naismith ever again. And oh man, that death by a thousand cuts: there’s the big thing, the seizures he’s been concealing resulting in the near-death of the guy they were supposed to rescue, and then the falsified report and all the rest, but there’s also Elena and Baz retiring, the big fight with Elli, the reminder of Taura’s imminent mortality, coming home to an echoing empty house like a weird preview of what life will be like once his parents are gone, and then the icing on the cake: that-idiot-Ivan getting his promotion to captain before Miles. We’re getting to see a really ugly side of Miles---frustrated and terrified and lashing out---and it’s suddenly obvious just how far he feels he’s fallen behind after losing that three months.

Illyan is an incredibly likeable character, especially having just re-read all the books leading up to this point and having just watched him go from the young spy observing the disastrous events Aral and Cordelia were wrestling with to a snarky and sometimes terrifying force of nature (and sarcasm) as Miles’s boss.  The scene where he has to ask Miles for his resignation, knowing exactly how much of a death sentence that will feel like, is brutal. 

Illyan’s hand opened in troubled acquiescence. He walked back around his desk, and pressed the keypad that unlocked his door. He rubbed his hand over his own face, for a moment, as if to wipe away all emotion. And the water standing in his eyes. Miles fancied he could almost feel the coolness of that evaporation, across Illyan’s round cheekbones. When Illyan turned back, his face was as bland and closed as Miles had ever seen it.

God, my heart hurts. And his head. And his stomach. And every other part of him. He climbed to his feet and walked to the door, shrugging away Illyan’s hesitant hand under his elbow.

Also, there’s a cat named Zap so, you know. Good book. Looking forward to getting deeper into this one!

#vorkosigan saga #vorkosigan saga spoilers #long text post

[asktheghosthost]

The winter of 1969...

There came a knock at the attic door, and all three brides--Priscilla, Emily, and Constance--looked up from what they were doing. (Needle point, reading, and solitaire, respectively.) The trio of women glanced at one another in silent debate. It was finally the eldest, Priscilla, who got up to answer it.

Priscilla was one of the key reasons people feared the attic. With her gaunt, skeletal form, she looked more corpse than spirit. Emily and Constance had yet to make their appearances public, at least on the guest tours.

"If it isn't my favorite bevy of brides! Good evening, ladies," Dorian Gracey greeted. "May I come in?"

Priscilla turned to the others. They shrugged, so she stepped aside.

"Thank you, m'dear." He slipped in, giving a grateful bob of his head as he did so.

Over the last few months since the Haunted Mansion's opening, the young master of the house was slowly becoming less of an enigma. It was no secret he wasn't overly fond of the mortals "traipsing about his ancestral home," but he was becoming used to the idea. He'd appointed himself an ambassador, not only around the Mansion, but with the other denizens of Disneyland as well.

Emily stood up, putting aside her novel. "What brings you here, Master Gracey?"

"Dorian, please," he corrected with a smile. Then he reached into his jacket, pulled out some envelopes, and began to hand them out. "I'm inviting everyone to The Haunted Mansion's first Solstice Shindig! I know it's been a rough start these last few months, putting on a show for people, sharing a home with so... so many ... complete, utter strangers, and... ugh. Anyway! I thought this would be a great way to get to know one another. We'll have party games, dancing, story telling..."

Trailing off, he watched Constance, who was reading her invitation with a frown.

"I'm... I'm actually wanted?" she asked. She knew her reputation around the house. Most had heard of her murderous past, or caught the whispers of hearsay. The Ghost Host was adamant she not be visible to guests, and she was to be on her best behavior, lest she be given the boot.

"Of course, m'dear. You're a member of this household, after all." His smile twitched. "Um, I wasn't sure about them, though..." He gestured to a quintet of wedding photos, all of which were of her and her various grooms. "I mean, I wasn't sure if they're actually here, or if those are just photographs..."

A groom turned his face to look at him.

"Oh, hi." Dorian waggled a finger gun at him and clicked his tongue. "How's it going?"

As the other two brides giggled and started planning their night, Constance sat back down on her trunk, staring at the invitation, chin in her hand, and debated going.

She didn't like leaving the attic, cramped as it was; too much judgment to be found downstairs. She got along well enough with the other two women, she supposed. If anything, there was a quiet tolerance, but there wasn't a strong sense of friendship. Maybe she would have fun, and make a friend or two.

A new year to make a new start.

One of her former husbands was sticking his tongue out at her. She put his picture face down.

***

The ballroom was full of ghosts laughing and dancing and conversing. No one was talking to her, though, but she'd expected that. So she sat at the table, empty seats on either side of her. There weren't many spirits like her in the mansion, none with such a checkered past, save for maybe Bluebeard and Captain Gore. No one had ever seen them, however, and she wouldn't engage women-hating pirates in a conversation, anyway.

She gazed down into her glass of punch, still not drinking any after twenty minutes of holding it. A piece of lemon was bobbing on the surface, like a dismembered appendage in a pool of blood...

See, this is why no one talks to you! Psychopath!

She shook her head, mind made up she'd retire early, when someone plopped down next to her. Constance turned to see big, blue eyes, and an even bigger smile. They were framed by loosely wound buns, one on each side of the woman's oval face and one on top of her head. An... interesting hairstyle, to say the least.

"Hi! I haven't seen you around." She held out a gloved hand to shake. Constance hesitantly took it. Her grip was stronger than it seemed.

"I'm Sarah Slater, but everyone calls me Sally."

"Constance... Hatchaway."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Hatchaway!'

"You can... You can call me Connie." Her cheeks burned. No one called her "Connie." She'd never once suggested it before. Maybe it was Sally's melodic southern twang, or that pretty smile, but she wanted this conversation to keep going. "I stay up in the attic. With the other brides." She ventured a sip of her punch. It wasn't bad.

"Oh. I know how that is. I'm in the portrait gallery, the little round one..." She deepened her voice. "With no windows and no doors, ha ha ha!" In her normal voice, she added, "I'm usually..." She struck a pose, lips tight, eyelids drooped, and hands held as if she clutched something, (a parasol, Constance quickly realized). "All day, in my painting. Just me and Nathaniel."

Constance tried to hide the twinge of disappointment she suddenly felt. "Nathaniel?"

"He's my pet alligator. I didn't bring him tonight. Scares the others too much."

Constance let out a tiny sigh of relief. "They're just cowards. Not everyone can have a dog, you know."

Sally giggled at that. "And especially not a dog that ate them. He didn't mean it, though. I shouldn't have set up that flimsy rope over his pond."

Chatter and cheers caused both women to turn and look at the center of the ballroom. There stood Dorian with a spotlight shining on him. On top of his head, he was balancing a pyramid of three full martini glasses. A row of a half-dozen lined each arm from shoulder to wrist, and he was trying to sip out of one while not spilling any of the others.

Sally rolled her eyes. "To think I was once engaged to that."

"Ew," Constance teased. "Why?"

Sally gave her shoulder a playful push with her fingertips. "It was this... sham thing we agreed upon, to keep our families from bothering us. You know how it was back then."

Constance nodded. Forced courtships, arranged marriages, not knowing what kind of man your husband was until the honeymoon... It was part and parcel to being a woman, especially in those days. She tried not to ponder how much the mortal world had changed since her death. Maybe if she were alive now, she wouldn't have done what she did...

"He's a sweetheart, really," Sally continued.

They were interrupted by applause and saw that not only had he finished his drink, he was going to try to down the others.

"But lordy is he an idiot." The two shared a laugh at that.

Suddenly, the spotlight-- its origins still supernatural and unknown-- was on Sally.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," the Ghost Host's voice flowed through the ballroom, "our own bewitching ballerina, Miss Sally Slater, will dazzle us with a dance from 'The Nutcracker Suite.'"

"Oop, I'm up." Sally sprang from her chair. "Wish me luck, darlin'!"

Constance gave a tiny wave. "Break a leg."

The music started, courtesy of the graveyard minstrels and the organist. Sally was practically glowing, not only from the reflections of sparkling tinsel and candles, but an inner joy that poured outward from her as she twirled and leapt and twisted.

Being what and who they were, it was still a macabre presentation, but an eerily beautiful one. Her torso, which had been separated from her hips at death, spun independently, so her top half went clockwise while her legs went counter. Arms could spin all the way around at the shoulder, as if she really were a windup toy princess.

Constance didn't want to take her eyes off her. It was the most gorgeous display she'd ever seen.

Gorgeous... Dismembered parts. What is wrong with you?!

Shoving herself up out of her chair, she excused herself and bolted past the applauding ghosts. She didn't catch the whispered, "Connie?" as she raced past the bowing Sally.

Tears blurred her vision. Not knowing where she was going, she went down one hall and then the next.

"Constance!"

Ignore it. Keep going.

When she finally stopped, she found herself surrounded by towering, wooden walls. And above...

Above was that mesmerizing ballerina, her face solemn as she held her parasol aloft.

She's a princess. And I'm a monster.

"Connie!"

Constance turned to see Sally come through the wall towards her. She froze, too ashamed to run.

"What happened?" Sally put a hand on her arm. "You took off like you had a wasp in your veil."

Shaking her head, Constance struggled to say something coherent. Her thoughts were racing. "I'm... I'm not... You're--"

Sally's eyes locked onto hers. "Just breathe, darlin'."

"I don't belong here!"

"What? Now why on earth would you say that?"

"I don't! I-- I'm a monster! I murdered men, and you... you're a graceful, innocent... beautiful woman. They won't even trust me to be part of the tours."

Sally blinked, but only paused for a beat to digest this. "Well, you wouldn't hurt anyone now, would you?"

"No. I mean, why would I? I'm dead. I can't buy anything anymore. I can't get married anymore. My collection is nice to look at, but all it can do is collect dust."

Sally took Constance's hands in hers. "We can't change our pasts, we can only fix the now to make a better future. And call me sentimental, but I think we're all here in this weird, creepy place for a reason. You'll get your chance to prove yourself."

"I wish I could do that now."

At that moment, Sally happened to catch a sprig of green above them. Dangling from a gargoyle sconce's foot was mistletoe. She blushed and started to giggle, causing Constance to roll her eyes upwards to see it, too.

Her own face tinted pink, she quickly kissed Sally's cheek.

"If that was, um, unwanted, I'm... I probably shouldn't have--"

She was interrupted with a soft kiss on the lips. Wrapping their arms around one around, they held each other in the deepening kiss, not caring about the party continuing without them.

This would be a new beginning after all.

#drabble #fan fic #short story #sally #Constance

[rcsegrden]

& .   ✧   ›   MEETING MACE !

✦ ▓ AND WHO GOES THERE? oh, it’s just [ MACE TYRELL ]. some say [ HIS ] resemblance to [ ANDRE BRAUGHER ] is almost uncanny, but the [ FIFTY-FOUR ] year old has been in the capital for [ TWENTY YEARS ]. many suspect that they are the notorious [ ASSOCIATE ] of the [ TYRELL ] family: perhaps that has made them [ DENSE ] && [ CREDULOUS ] of late, when they used to be so [ JOVIAL ] && [ COMMITTED ]. during the daylight hours, [ MACE ] can be found working as a [ PRESIDENT OF TYRELL AND ASSOCIATES ], but when night falls over king’s landing, they are best remembered listening to [ KISS FROM A ROSE BY SEAL ]. may the gods be with them in these dark streets.

it’s attina and i’m back, back again. this time with meme daddy. read more under the read more xox. also heads up, im more than likely not going to use gifs or use them sparsely due to a lot of cop gifs and how things currently are / not even having a lot of gifs in the first place ajklf;asd. just know that this image embodies how mace looks 24/7.  

& .   ✧   ›  I. THE BASICS !

full name › mace tyrell.

nickname(s) › oaf by his mother, just mace.

age › fifty-four ( 54 ).

d.o.b. › april 20, 1966

gender › cis-male.

pronouns › he/him.

allegiance › the tyrells.

occupation › president of tyrell and associates. 

current location › king’s landing.

& .   ✧   ›  II. THE BIOGRAPHY !

you were born in a family that climbed through the thorns to find roses at the end. your mother took a dying business and made it into what it is today and as a young boy, you found yourself intrigued by the business, but as a toddler there wasn’t much you can do but poke at buttons that weren’t meant for poking and running down the halls butt naked. you were definitely a goofy child, one who would laugh at the littlest things, you were never found with a frown on your face even as you grow into your teens.

you followed you parents footsteps every moment of your life, looking up at them with doe orbs eyes. there was no doubt in your mind what you were going to be doing as you grew up, considering all the time you spent at the business office. there was once a time that you ran around there, chasing after your sisters while your parents worked that would soon turn into you knowing every bit of the place.

taking over this business was always something you were meant to do, and something you wanted to do. you weren’t into politics like the rest of your family, you liked how much there was to the business --- it couldn’t be written off as one thing, not when your family had their hand in so much. if you were to take over it one day, you had to start young with learning the business. your first job in your early teens was in one of the lowest positions inside tyrell and associates, you learned by doing. every job in every department you oversee, you have done before countless times and you would do it again if needed. you never ask your employees to do something you wouldn’t do yourself which is why it was so important for you to know how everything worked. no matter what exactly it was.

which was another reason for your focus to be on the business, you spent your entire teen years and into your early adulthood working the ropes, learning everything you possibly could before going to college for business. taking over the business meant you needed to be qualified for it, and hell, you’re going to make sure that you are. business school seemed to fly by and you continued to work. it wouldn’t be long before your hard work would pay off and soon you found yourself at the top of tyrell and associates.

but that wouldn’t be for a while, during the stages of you working under your father at t&a, you would fall in love with alerie hightower. once she entered your life, you were done for. head over heels and while you were certain she was out of your league, somehow you caught her eye and you knew that there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do for her and soon enough, you had a bouncy baby to look after and that was the moment that you would feel prouder than anything you have done throughout your work. 

your children would become the pride and joy and in your defense, the business would become second in your importance. your family will always be first and when you started raising your kids, you stopped seeing whatever plans you had for tyrell and associates even after you became president. it was on the backburner and now your energy became on your family, raising kind and beautiful children and you are certain that you succeed. 

there is no one you are more proud of than your kids, carrying their photos around every where you go. you hope willas takes the business and continues doing what is working, you know margaery is going to do great things for the family --- proud when her name was announced to be taking over the citadel. loras could never do any harm in your eyes and garlan always succeeds in what they do. your pride and joy is in your children and you could always go on about them in any conversation --- most of the time, you’re the one who brings them up.

family means a lot to you. you can recall your childhood filled with playing with your sisters, looking after them, staying up late to play games with them. you never saw a world without your siblings at your side but eventually, that world would come to light. your younger sister, mina, you can remember her so clearly and you wish that you could turn back time. take her place so she would be the one still alive. when the news of her murder came to your ears, you vanished within your office for a week. not coming out the entire time. words cannot explain the loss you felt with the absence of your younger sister.

growing up, you spent most of your time inside your office but now? you’ve grown tired of such a thing. you prefer spending that time outside, either taking a walk or going golfing. you know your business is going to do just fine. it’s only a matter of time before you announce your retirement and your eldest finally takes over. you just aren’t there quite yet.

& .   ✧   ›  III. THE FACTS !

one thing that mace has done since becoming president is  hosting community events. he’s a social butterfly and loves interacting with other people which is why he spends quite some time getting to know his friends, enemies, neighbors. if he just so happens to stumble into some information, he is certain to pass it along to his mother. 

at the end of the day, he’s a good son and still wants to make his mother proud even if she looks like he’s a buffoon ( she’s not completely wrong ). 

he has, at the very least, two full wallets that don’t have anything but pictures of his kids and he will actively pull them out when talking to someone. 

meme dad! will say random memes to seem “cool” and “hip”. he’s neither cool nor hip and never has been.

out of both his parents, he’s a lot more like his father than his mother, however, he really does look up to his mother more --- heeding her advice.

the only reason why he hasn’t retired yet is because he wants to be certain that his eldest, willas, actually wants to take over the business. he’s wanting for willas to ask him to step down as that will be the point where he would be certain that this is something his eldest actually wants and not something they feel forced into. if willas never asks, he’s worried that perhaps his kid wants something else out of life and that, is far more important than a business. 

WILL ALWAYS SUPPORT HIS CHILDREN NO MATTER WHAT !!

he typically doesn’t have anything to do with the mafia side of business, nor does he want to. he’s okay with not knowing what’s going on with the family in that aspect but regardless, he’ll defend his family until his dying breath ( which may or may not be soon ).

& .   ✧   ›  IV. THE CONNECTIONS !

everyone is welcome’d › positive; this is someone who attends or attended his public community events and they have strikes up a conversation with mace whenever they get a chance. more than likely, they’ve become good friends and mace has certainly talked their eye off about nothing in particular. i’ll talk while you listen › negative; mace is, someone who’s not particularly distrusting of people. ultimately, someone could see that as a way to easily manipulate him. the problem is, the information that they’re seeking, mace wouldn’t know a thing about so instead mace has been talking their ear off about his children’s accomplishments that aren’t exactly secrets to the world.

i legit can’t think of anything else but i’m done for nearly everything.

#vixere:intro #how long shall he liveeee #who knows : )

[ajoy3fanfics]

Missing pt.VII

Also found on FF.NET

Hope everyone enjoys the chapter! 

~.~

There wasn’t many things Inuyasha was sure of anymore, but there were a few key things he would stake his life on; First, he had screwed up, in some majorly colossal way, and now he and Kagome were not together anymore. Second, he was lucky as hell to have the employees he did in his company, who kept it up and running when he was in the hospital; Third, and most importantly (he couldn’t stress this enough)- he was going to murder Miroku.

No, it hadn’t always been that way. Before the capricious man used to hold the title as his best friend! He hadn’t always wanted to strangle the life out of him and watch as the smirk faded away from his lips; but as Miroku sat by his side at the table, a smug look of satisfaction on his face as he nudged him playfully with his shoulder, Inuyasha was sure that by the night was over, he was going to kill him.

“See?” He whispered, low enough so that only the hanyou could hear, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I told you didn’t I? Yukka is great!” He raised his brows suggestively, indicating that he was referring to more than her personality. “This is exactly what you need.”

Miroku had set him up on a damn blind date. The bastard had to die.

Funny, he always assumed his best friend would have been done in by an angry ex-lover; angry ex-best friend had to hold some merit, right?

It had been a month since he had left the hospital and came home to Miroku’s one bed, one bath apartment. It was cramped, sure, and not ideal to be spending his lonesome nights on the leather couch instead of snuggled behind Kagome, the sweet smell of her soft scent lulling him to sleep. It wasn’t perfect, but it was bearable. He was happy to be with a friend than utterly alone going through this alone.

Small mercies, right?

Living with together with Miroku was nostalgic; They settled into a routine fairly quickly, already knowing each other’s likes and dislikes, not having changed much since their roommate days in college. Inuyasha was still sensitive to noises early in the morning and Miroku still hated it when Inuyasha left a dirty dish in the sink. Spending time apart and growing up had made the transition a much easier one than when they were still in their teens. A little care and consideration, and a lot of maturity made the whole thing a lot easier; except for the no Kagome thing. That was rather annoying.

Once the initial shock of Kagome dating had worn off it was replace with anger, so strong it was borderline blinding. When he stood up, ready to beat his competition bloody, Miroku had talked him down. Why not wait? He had asked. Inuyasha had difficulty controlling himself when he barked out his response. She was dating! There was already too much time wasted! Any second he spent talking it over with him was another second she was in the arms of someone else.

Had she kissed him? Have they fucked? Did she love this guy? Did she love him?Dangerous questions raced through his mind making him dizzy. He had to sit down on the bed, head in hands while he breathed deeply.

Miroku patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Why not wait until your memory returns? Then you can go forward with all the facts. If you go now, in this state, you could say or do something to make things worse and she might never forgive you. Just wait, my friend.”

Is what the bastard said.

But what he meant was “it’s time to get over her.”

That was never more clear than it was now, with a leggy brunet sitting across from him, biting her lip as she shyly stole a glance at him. His ear twitched as he picked up her hushed whisper “He’s really cute.” To the friend at her side.

It was obvious that Miroku had very little faith in his ability to get Kagome back, and this was probably an act of kindness in his fucked up mind. Who the hell sets an engaged man up on a blind date?

Sort of engaged, that is. Miroku never failed to remind him of that

Kagome talk was strictly off limits.

Miroku had insisted that it wasn’t fair, and down right creepy to stalk her. Inuyasha, on the other hand, disagreed. What was wrong with keeping tabs on her? She was always so clumsy, constantly tripping into things. And so bad with directions! What if she got lost and needed him? Apparently, he was “obsessive” and maybe that’s why “she left his crazy ass.”

Miroku had gotten a black eye from that one. He wasn’t even that upset; he knew it was crossing the line, and it made him look ‘tough’.

Or that’s what he told him when Yuri walked over to them, wearing a slim, low cut black dress that left little to the imagination. On her arm was a stunning woman, the type that could have stepped out of a magazine. She was tall and sexy, with long brown hair that fell around her shoulders in soft waves. When the pair sat down at the table, Yuri leaning over to give Miroku a kiss on the cheek and then introduce Yukka, Inuyasha felt his world turn red. His traitorous ex best friend was going to pay.When he had figured out what was going on, albeit a little too slowly, he immediately stood up, ready to walk away. Miroku tugged on his wrist, doing his best to pull the hanyou down toward his seat. “You owe me.” He said under hushed breath, loud enough so that only he could hear. “No.” His stern voice left no room for argument, but Miroku was relentless. “Yes.Give it a shot and I wont bug you about it again. If you leave so will my date. You oweme, man.” He stood up to greet the guests, introducing the two women; Inuyasha gave little more than a grunt of acknowledgement as they sat down.

His plan was to get the night over with as fast as possible. Then he could go back to discussing his Kagome related theories out loud and Miroku wouldn’t be able to say a damn thing.

“It’s so awesome you own your own business.” Yukka said after taking a sip of her drink. “My father used to run a convince store. My brother took it over after he retired. It’s so much work when you’re the boss. I basically spent my childhood stocking shelves.” She laughed at her memory and Inuyasha smiled, trying to be polite. He could relate to that; he had worked at his father’s company from infancy, his mother answering the phones while he napped in the play pen. Clients used to remark how family oriented the business was, and it would keep their business.

But he told her none of that, of course. That was information he didn’t need to share, not with Yukka anyway. He pressed his lips together in a thin smile and nodded, a look of clear disinterest on his face as he took a sip of his beer, thinking of all the ways he was going to maim Miroku when they returned home.

Although from the way Yuri had her hands all over him, whispering things in his ear that make even Miroku blush, he doubted his roommate was leaving with him.

When he got home from his escapades thenhe would kill him. Who the hell did he think he was, trying to set him up? He wasn’t looking for some one night stand, or a something that could turn serious. He was interested in Kagome.

“We’re going to go order some more drinks at the bar.” Miroku suddenly said, after grasping Yuri’s hand and leading her away. Somehow, Inuyasha doubted it; if he was a betting man, he would put money on the pair finding an empty bathroom stall and Yuri on her knees.

“This is pretty awkward, isn’t it?” Yukka said, idly pushing around the noodles on her plate. “I really don’t like blind dates.”

“I didn’t even know I was going on a date.” He supplied rather bitterly.

“Sounds like an ambush.” She gave him a half smile as she leaned in closer, resting her head on her hands. “How terrible for you.”

Inuyasha shrugged. “It’s always terrible when Miroku is around a woman. Its unpleasant for everyone involved.”

She laughed and Inuyasha felt awkward. He hadn’t meant to be funny, people in general didn’t find his wit amusing. He knew his humor was often dry and lacking, finding that it grew on people over time. Either Yukka was being polite or she had some odd tastes. “He seems alright.” She said. “I mean, clearly he’s a flirt and is just looking for a good time, but hey, that’s Yuri’s type.” She sighed before she continued, a kind smile gracing her lips. “You don’t have to stay, you know. I mean, I don’t want you to feel obligated to sit and have dinner with me because your friend forced you to. Like I said, blind dates suck, so I wouldn’t be offended. I totally get it.”

The silence felt heavy when he finished talking, like he needed to fill it. It wasn’t like he could come out and tell her that he needed to stay for the duration in order to rub it in Mirokus face.  He watched as she sat back a little, absent-mindedly rubbing her hand over her arm, clearly chilly. He would have offered his hoodie, if it was Kagome. Then again, if it was Kagome shewould have forced him to bring one, always fearful he would get sick despite his far superior immune system. She liked to care for him in those small ways, even if it didn’t make a difference. She treated him like anyone else. Inuyasha swallowed hard, needing to change the subject. It was hard to think of her without wanting to cry and fling the heavy ceramic plate across the room at the same time.

“I’m-I don’t mind staying, but I have to let you know… I’m not interested in dating, or hooking up or anything like that.” He stated bluntly.

She nodded, her hair bouncing. “Good, neither am I.” Inuyasha scoffed, clearly not buying her story.

“So why did you agree to come? If you don’t like blind dates, and you’re not looking for a relationship or getting laid.”

Yukka smiled. “Have you metYuri? She gets herself into bad situations all the time. Part of me wanted to go just to make sure she wasn’t seeing some creep and would make it back alive. But, the other part of me was interested.” She smiled as leaned forward a bit. “It’s been a while since I dated. I got out of a long term relationship and just dove into work. It’s hard to meet people, you know? Even if we don’t have a love connection, its fun to get out, isn’t it?”

“Haven’t you heard of dating apps?” He scoffed. “They’re literally made for that. Plenty of fish, tinder, any of that ring a bell?” Not that he ever used them, but he’d heard of them at least.

She laughed, soft and full at the same time. “How long have you been out of the dating scene? Those are for hook ups, buddy. The last guy I met on tinder was a doctor. He liked to ski in the winter and go out on his boat in the summer and volunteered at an animal shelter on the weekends.”

Inuyasha narrowed his brows. “That doesn’t sound too bad.” He said. Did this woman have incredibly high standards or what? “So why aren’t you out on the doctors boat instead of having cheap beers with me?”

“Yeah, all good in theory. Except do you know who actuallyshowed up?”

“Who?” He asked, and before he even realized it, he was engaged and enjoying her conversation. She was easy to talk to. His jaw actually dropped when she told her story, and before he knew it, he found himself chatting back. It wasn’t an unpleasant way to spend the night.

Miroku and Yuri returned later, looking disheveled and flushed, only to find the table missing one key player. “Where’s Inuyasha?” Mirkou asked, raking a hand through his black hair.

Yukka shrugged. “He said he had to go. I- I thought we were having a good time, then he just stood up and left.” She pouted a bit, making her lips look even puffier. Yuri rushed to her side and somehow Miroku knew he was going home alone tonight.

Mirkou frowned as he looked at the half eaten plate of chicken and the bills thrown down on the table to cover his fare. It was a bold move, trying to set Inuyasha up; back in their college days the man was a literal dog. He could smooth talk any woman he wanted, although it didn’t seem to take much back then. He had no interest in relationships, no interest in settling down in any way, shape or form.

But then he met Kagome.

It was like he did a complete 180 overnight. He met her and came back to their dorm starry eyed. He took her out for a date, and actual date, and barely managed to kiss her he was so nervous. From the moment he first spoke about her, he knew his best friend was ruined.

Really, he should have known better trying to set him up, but the man was so heart broken he thought a distraction woud do him some good. Once he had Kagome, there was no one else for him; When he heard the news that he and Kagome broke up he easily brushed it off as bullshit. There was no way he would have broken up with her, no way he would have found someone else.

Honestly, he wasn’t surprised Inuyasha fled. Without being told, he knew where he had gone, and for his sake, he hoped he wouldn’t screw this up.

~.~

He found himself outside of their door - herdoor now. Just hers. He didn’t live there anymore. It was a shot in the dark, checking their old apartment to try and find her, but for once, the Gods were on his side. She hadn’t moved, the scent wafting from the doorframe told him that.

It also told him she wasn’t home.

It had been so long since he saw her, so long since he spoke to her. It was nice, talking to Yukka. She was pretty and fun and a great story teller. It was easy to spend time with someone like that.

But it didn’t matter.

She wasn’t Kagome.

It wasn’t that he forgot about her when they started to talk; Kagome wasn’t the only thing that raced through his mind. It was true, at first, that he compared her to his fiancé. Kagome was prettier, her curves more his taste and her darker hair gave her pale skin a beautiful contrast. Yukka was taller, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing; He liked that Kagome was short, liked to watch her stand on her tippy toes as she stretched to get the rice from the second shelve in the cupboard.

But as the date wore on, he found himself comparing less and just enjoying the company. She was interesting and had some crazy stories to share. And he just kept thinking ‘I’ve got to tell Kagome about this. She would eat this shit up.’ His thoughts always came back to her. He was sitting across from a great woman, really- she was a catch- but it never crossed his mind. What he did think about his how Kagome would react when he retold her escapades- about the surprise ending and how she would sit on the edge of her seat as he delivered the punch line, leaning in closer to him like she always did when she was invested in a story, how she would playfully hit his shoulder in excitement, no doubt because she would have ‘called it’ earlier. There was no way he could move on; in his mind, he was still dating Kagome. He wanted that, wanted her and no one else;  He could have easily bedded Yukka, could have easily found a dozen women to take her place. But if it wasn’t Kagome, it didn’t matter, tonight’s debacle proved that. He wanted to see her again, wanted to wrap himself around her and find the comfort he was so sorely lacking. He wanted to go home.

So he did; the ache in his chest was painful, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He knew that the only way he would find an ounce of relief was with her,not a substitute. He apologized and placed some bills on the table before he bolted out of the door, heading in the direction his heart told him he should’ve gone weeks ago. Maybe Miroku was right; maybe he should wait until his memory returned, maybe he would make things worse by showing up at her doorstep, fresh from a date.

But he didn’t care.

He wasn’t sure what he would find when he ran down the same street he used to walk, climbed the steps two at a time, gripping the rail more out of nerves than for support. Once he was sure that she still lived in their building he breathed a sigh of relief; but it was short lived- the next hurdle was what or whowould he find when he got there? He was ready to fight for her, that wasn’t the issue. The real problem would be holding back and not actually killing the bastard who dared to take his place. He had waited too long, allowed another to take his spot like a fool. Not any longer.

Well, a little longer. He was amped up and full of nerves and she wasn’t home. The tension eased, a little, as he slid to the floor, back against the white door. Where was she? Out with that Koga guy? Taking the pictures heshould’ve taken? Were they eating together, having a date much like he was just minutes earlier? Was he about to take her home? Was she thinking about him, feeling the same pain he did? Or was it all too late?

He decided he would sit there and wait; Best case, she came alone. Worse case, she didn’t come at all…. Or came with him. And that just wasn’t acceptable, not anymore. He wouldn’t lose his nerve, wouldn’t budge until he saw her, would be leave until she heard him out. He-

Her scent came to him, crisp and refreshing. His heart was beating double speed, he was sure she could heart its anxious sound from the stair well. When he heard her voice, his breath hitched in his throat, nerves strained as he opened and clenched his fists as her figure came into full view, a bags of groceries in her hand, and thankfully, no one by her side. Her blue eyes were wide with shock as she let out a small gasp of surprise.

“Inuyasha?”

#inuyasha #inufanfic #inukag #missing #ajoy3

[kitsune-translates]

SCI 谜案集 English Translation Case 1: Number Killer

Previous  

Number Killer 01 Mouse and Cat

It’s still early in the morning, but the police headquarter at city S has already been buzzing with discussions. Everyone is standing in groups whispering to each other, gossiping about the newly formed S.C.I.

The moment Wang Chao and Zhang Long walk into the building, they feel that something is wrong with the atmosphere, what’s everyone doing?

The two of them were just up all night yesterday wrapping up a big case, as a result are sporting huge black circles. Scrolling to the lift, the two of them notice a white flyer sticking to the wall. Zhang Long rips the paper off and scolds, ‘which brave idiot has the guts to stick flyers into police station?’

Wang Chao takes a look from the side, ‘It doesn’t look like advertisement… Hmmm, the commissioner issued it?’

As they enter the lift, the two of them begin to study the piece of paper more closely.　　

Ten seconds later, two yells resonate from the lift, scaring the crowd waiting for the lift outside to step backwards.

Ding. The lift door opens at level 7.

Zhang Long and Wang Chao dash out like animals, yelling ‘Holy crap!’ They head straight for the criminal police office, causing the surrounding officers to stare.

The office door slams open from the two’s kick, and causing the officers inside to scramble behind the tables for cover.

The two do not even bother to spare a glance for the scrambling officers, and went straight for the captain’s office.

The office door opens at the moment of impact. As a result, the two of them couldn’t stop themselves in time and fall straight in and onto the floor.

Thud.

Someone from downstairs screams, ‘can’t you criminal investigation people give it a rest for one day? At this rate, if earthquakes really happen one day, the whole building wouldn’t know to evacuate!’

Zhang Long and Wang Chao pick themselves up from the floor, and notice that Bai Yutang is holding a cup of coffee, standing next to his working desk and looking at them with a an almost smile.

‘Captain, is it true?!’ Zhang Long asks, holding up the piece of paper.

‘What do you think?’ Bai Yutang takes a sip of coffee, sounding rather unconcerned.

‘So… it is true?’ Wang Chao confirms carefully.

Nodding, Bai Yutang continues to drink his coffee.

After a few moment of silence, the entire criminal police office is rocked by wailing.

‘Captain, you can’t leave us.’

‘Captain, you can’t go just like this.’

‘Wang Chao, Zhang Long, you guys can’t go.’

‘What will the rest of us do if you guys left?’　　

The other departments look in curiously.

Vice division: ‘What happened to criminal investigation unit? Did their captain Bai got killed in the line of duty?’

Economic division: ‘Impossible? I just saw him this morning, still lively as ever.’

Narcotics division: ‘you wish, as if the lord of underworld wants to receive their captain Bai.’

Bai Yutang finishes the last sip of his coffee and told Zhang Long and Wang Chao, ‘Pack your stuff. We are moving upstairs to level 11.’

At exactly 10 minutes before one, Bai Yutang, flanked by Zhang Long and Wang Chao steps into the lift and press for level 11, surrounded by the wailing of criminal investigation unit and the cheer of the rest of the officers at level 7.

The moment the lift door opens, they are greeted by the sight of a brand new office. The glass door was already printed with the word S.C.I. It really somewhat has the feel of FBI. Just as they are stepping out of the lift, they hear the adjacent lift door opening. Turning around, someone with one hand in his suit’s pocket, the other holding a file, walks out of the lift gracefully.

Zhang Long and Wang Chao tense up immediately, looks around at Bai Yutang careful. Just as they thought, their captain’s face hardens for a second.　　

Gongsun scrolls in from afar and sees Zhan Zhao and Bai Yutang staring each other down in front of the lift. He smirks to himself, thinking, ‘there they go again.’

‘Xiao Zhan, Xiao Bai…(1) why didn’t you guys go inside?’

Wang Chao and Zhang Long swallow their spit, ‘more trouble incoming!’

The three of them are not your average Joe, they are considered to be the three geniuses of the police force, the crème de la crème of City S’s police force.

Bai Yutang, those who are close to him call him Bai five. It is not because he is the number fifth kid in the family, but because he is the fifth generation police in the family

Bai family has always been famous for great detectives; Bai Yutang’s grandfather, father and uncle are all famous criminal police. Even now they still hold positions in the police and armed force. And Bai Yutang himself has all the good genes from the previous generations. After graduating from the army academy, he joined the air force and received special trainings. After retirement from the air force, he returned to City S as the captain of criminal investigation unit. This few years has been good to him, having solved numerous major cases.

Bai Yutang is extremely daring and has the physical combat skill to match, but his temper is rather odd. Under his lead the whole criminal investigation unit has been extremely dominating. No one dares to mess with them in the entire police force. When the others walk past the criminal investigation division’s front door, they don’t even dare to breathe.

On the topic of Bai Yutang, the other genius, Zhan Zhao must also be mentioned.

Or the graceful man who just walked out of the lift. The three geniuses are famous, not just because of their exceptional ability. But also due to another important reason, that is they are all extremely good looking. This has made so many other police officers resentful. Especially Zhan Zhao, his refined looks combined with his lean figure and a well-fitted navy suits, will attract the attention of females from 80 years to 8 years old. When he smiles at you softly, to quote mama Bai, it’s an instant kill.

Zhan Zhao is a world-renowned criminal psychology doctor, young but already an authority in the field.

Zhan Zhao has an exceptional high IQ. During his school days, he skipped many grades. But he is not good at physical combat, so he usually provides consulting services to the police force to help with cases.

Zhan Zhao and Bai Yutang in fact go way back, to quote mama Zhan, the two of them didn’t like each other the moment they were born.

Why is mama Bai and mama Zhan always mentioned? Well, because Zhan family and Bai family are actually neighbours. The mums have been good friends since primary school. In addition, the two boys were born together, just that Zhan Zhao was born an hour earlier than Bai Yutang. Because of this one hour gap, Bai Yutang was forced to call Zhan Zhao, Xiao Zhan Ge Ge (2). That was a grudge Bai Yutang has been holding.

So the two of them are really childhood best friends, but why do they dislike each other so much? Well, it has been like this since kindergarten, the two of them were both very competitive since young. When they eat, they would try to steal each other’s food. When they sleep, they would try to snatch each other’s pillow. Later, it escalated into that they fought for number one in exams, and who can skip more grades in school. Xiao Bai won the champion for Sanda (3), Xiao Zhan got the distinctive achievement scholarship. The two of them have been at it, until one of them went into the army, and the other went out of the country. However, the two of them still come back full circle in the police bureau, isn’t it just the case of enemies meet more often than they wish.

In Bai Yutang’s eyes, Zhan Zhao is not as well-mannered as everyone thinks, he is a devious cat!

In Zhan Zhao’s eyes, Bai Yutang is not as capable as he appears, he is an annoying white mouse (4)!

In his white lab coat, looking cultured and intelligent with a pair of frameless glasses, is Gongsun Ce.

Gongsun is a bit of a legend of forensic pathologist. He is a famous Anthropologist. He taught Zhan Zhao and Bai Yutang when they were still in university. But in their eyes, this man who goes everywhere with his scalpel, has the face of a psycho murderer.

The three of them stand outside of S.C.I. staring at each other, until Commissioner Bao finally had enough and roared, ‘what are you all standing outside for? Come in! Time for meeting!’

Translator’s Footnote:

(1)    Xiao = small, a common prefix used in Chinese to address each other informally

(2)    Xiao Zhan Ge Ge: Ge Ge means older brother. Usually if people say Ge Ge, I guess it sounds quite cute (?)

(3)    Sanda: also known as Sanshou, Chinese kickboxing. Chinese self-defense system and combat sport.

(4)    White mouse: In Chinese, the word for white mouse is the same as lab rat. Zhan Zhao will call Bai Yutang white mouse/lab rat quite a few times throughout the whole novel. Depends on the context I will try to use the more fitting translation.

Next

#sci mianji #SCI 谜案集 #sci谜案集

[arncis]

                             ❛ 𝕮𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖓’ 𝕺𝖚𝖙 𝕸𝖞 𝕮𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖙

“ι goт ѕoмe ѕĸeleтonѕ ιn мy cloѕeт and ι don'т ĸnow ιғ no one ĸnowѕ ιт ѕo вeғore тнey тнrown мe ιnѕιde мy coғғιn and cloѕe ιт, ι'ммa eхpoѕe it.”

“ι ѕaιd ι'м ѕorry мoммa! ι never мeanт тo нυrт yoυ! ι never мeanт тo мaĸe yoυ cry, вυт тonιgнт ι'м cleanιng oυт мy cloѕeт”

The formal dining area was in silence; neither Arnais nor the rest of his family members gathered at the table for breakfast felt the need to converse since the anniversary of Desmond’s death was looming over them greater than an incoming tsunami. Dessalina and her boyfriend Tristian had flown in for moral support for the upcoming week, but his sister’s presence only seemed to irk a grief-stricken Arnais even more. He used the silver fork to stabbed at the untouched ackee and saltfish before Dessalina decided to break the painful silence. “Papa Tommy has decided to retire.” Arnais posture straightened as his ears perked up. He knew one day it would be his turn to claim the Kelly’s throne but he didn’t think that day would come so soon. He hadn’t even made it to his eighteenth birthday yet. His lips parted but Dessalina continued with her short speech. “And he is passing the business down to Tristian and I.” Arnais fork dropped as his mother cast her eyes down to her plate. Ava had stopped trying to steer her children away from that dangerous lifestyle a long time ago.  There was no use in fighting with their destiny but it didn’t stop her shoulders from slumping in defeat as she forced a quick congratulations to the couple before focusing back on her dinner. Arnais, on the other hand, was livid. His thoughts flashed back to the body he caught at fifteen, that Dessalina had promised would secure his future in the empire.  

                                        𝕷𝖔𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖓 𝕰𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖉

“ιт'ѕ мy lιғe, ι'd lιĸe тo welcoмe y'all тo "тнe arnaιѕ ѕнow"

Arnais could still taste metallic on the tip of his tongue as his eyes drifted to the middle-aged man formerly known as Connor spread out on a plastic tarp, naked as the day he was born. “You did what you had to do to protect our family and our legacy.” His grandfather, Papa Tommy, thick Dublin’s accent haven’t reached Arnais’ ear but the sound of a powerful electric chainsaw coming to life did. Nevertheless,his glazed browns eyes stared straight ahead, frozen on the corpse. Arnais was in a state of shock,not because he had just taken a life, but because how easy it came to him. He was numb as he plunged the machete into Connor’s skull with so much force that the blade split his head open, exposing brain matter. He had almost let out a sardonic chuckle once Connor took his last breath before clasping onto the tarp. 

Arnais didn’t enjoy the act of killing but the rush was intoxicating. It was like chasing the white horse for the first time and he’d gotten a blissful high. But like every drug, that adrenaline had ran out sending him crashing down as he watched his grandfather starting to rip away the flesh of Conner’s neck as the saw tore at his hyoid bone. For once he had felt in control, but that was short-lived as the male’s head started to detach from his shoulder. The reality of what he had done punched him right in the gut. He dropped to all fours, spewing up the bangers and mash he eaten for dinner. He could feel someone’s stare burning a hole in the back of his head. He slightly turned, connecting with his sister’s disgusted gaze. She looked at him like he was the weakest thing to cross her path. Any sympathy Arnais had for the dead associate vanished. Vacancy consumed his features as he stood back to feet, wiping the sick away from the corner of his lips. Some part of him had hoped his sister would comfort him but she was cold as always. 

It still angered him because he had committed the deadly sin in her honor.  Connor was a thieving mole who had been caught red-handed by Dessalina. He threatened to go to the authorities on her and the rest of the Kelly family and soon he found himself in one of the many infamous slaughterhouses Papa Tommy had across Europe. Dessalina was the one to put the machete in Arnais’ hand before urging him on. When he resisted, she started to belittle him making Arnais act out of rage. Now Connor was dead. “Stop being such a bitch, Arnais! His death was his own fault!” That’s what Arnais’ sister would tell him when he couldn’t sleep that night. That’s what he continues to tell himself to this present day.

“reмeмвer wнen daddy dιed and yoυ ѕaιd yoυ wιѕнed ιт waѕ мe? well gυeѕѕ wнaт, ι aм dead, dead тo yoυ aѕ can вe!” 

Arnais was seeing red. He had sacrificed his soul just to get on his grandfather’s good side after the burning of his grandparent’s estate only for the son of a bitch to give his position to somebody else who didn’t even belong to their bloodline. Suddenly, Arnais fist slammed against the glass table causing everyone to tense. He stood to his feet, wide eyes reflected everything and saw nothing. Behind them was something more intense than normal. His defined jawline clenched which everyone knew wasn’t a good sign. “The arms business is my fucking birthright! It’s always been run by the firstborn son and it will continue to be run by the firstborn son! Ya think cause Desmond’s punk ass decided to kick the bucket early, we gonna throw away a tradition that goes back to the eighteenth century?” Both women were appalled at how Arnais addressed his deceased father but Dessalina was the first to react.

“ Yuh nuh dare chat bout fi wi fadda like that!” Dessalina growled with fire in her eyes as she rose from her chair, ready to take on her deranged brother for his blatant disrespect.  

“Shut the hell up, Lina!” Arnais snapped as he charged at his sister but her boyfriend bolted out of his seat, capturing him by both of his forearms. Being restrained didn’t stop Arnais from trying to get to Dessalina. He fought against Tristian as his sharp tongue continued to cut at his sister. “I can talk about him however I want because I was there! Yall got the news over the phone but I saw it all! I didn’t get a heads up that my fadda’s guts would be spilling out that day!”

Dessalina eyes flashed with horror before the fire in them died, roaming all over Arnais agony-stricken features that were contorted with anger. She realized this wasn’t just about the family’s business, her little brother was reliving everything at once. Their father’s death and all the well-kept secret between the two of them. “Arnais don-” 

 "No Lina! No! I watched the flames lick his skin as he laid there motionless. I watched him scream my name just before his entire left side was crushed into nothing but flesh, blood, and metal! I watched it all Lina, every single moment so don’t sit here and tell me what I can and cannot say about my goddamn father! He didn’t even try to fight death, he let me watch him burn!“ He let out a bitter laugh, hollow like the hole in his heart. "I watched our fada burn to death and with that haunting me, you decided to coach me into becoming a murderer just like you coached me into burning down our grandparent’s house because you blamed them for his death! I-" 

“Enough!” Ava screamed out as tears rapidly pooled around the rims of her eyes as her entire body shook. Immediately, an overwhelming sense of remorse made Arnais clamp his mouth shut. He’d never spoken to his mother about how her husband had perished, always choosing to spare her the gruesome memory that he relived in every nightmare. But it had to come out someday just like the truth about Dessalina. Arnais was, in fact, a pyromaniac with borderline personality disorder, but his actions weren’t always because of his impulses. Dessalina had a way of manipulating him; she knew Arnais could be vulnerable and she took advantage of that every chance she got, making him do her dirty work. Everyone thought he was the second coming of the anti-christ, including his own mother, when really it was his sister who was the deadly sociopath. She had been mentally and sometimes physically abusing Arnais throughout their childhood. The random burn marks, bruises, and cuts people use to discover across his body wasn’t from self-harm, but the doing of his own biological sister.  She’d even gone as far as stuffing half a bottle of pills down his throat days after Desmond’s funeral, which was labeled his first suicide attempt at the age of nine. Years and Years he endured her torture without saying a word because all he wanted was for Dessalina to love him as much as he loved her, but finding out that she had snatched his heir from beneath his feet was the last straw. He wanted to kill her right where she stood, but Arnais couldn’t focus on his hatred for his sister when their mother was crumbling right before their eyes. 

"Ma?” He whispered hoarsely but she wasn’t listening. A suffocating moment of silences went by before dead and dulled hazel eyes filled with grief meet with the three people watching her. “G-get o-out” Ava managed to stutter in a low whisper.

“ “Mummy, we need to talk about-" 

 She cut Dessalina off “I said get the fuck out of my house! All of you need to leave now!”  Her mother’s voice made Dessalina think again about approaching her. Ava’s entire face had shut down, devoid of all emotions but grief as her bottom lip quivered.

Defeated, Arnais ripped himself from Tristian’s hold and retreated out the door and to his car, mentally beating myself up for lashing out while his mother was present. He started driving aimlessly around Beverly Hills. His breathing was erratic and forceful, filling the silence in the car with whimpers that slowly turned into sobs. He pulled into a random parking lot before he held a hand over his mouth, trying to stop his tears by blinking but it was no use. He wanted so badly to blame Dessalina for pushing him into the hole he was in, but somehow his father face clouding his vision was the burning in his veins at the moment. If Desmond hadn’t died, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did for The Kelly Family. Maybe Dessalina’s abuse wouldn’t have escalated. Maybe Arnais wouldn’t be the empty shell he was now. 

#❛ 「 𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔦𝔰 」⇄ 𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖚𝖊𝖉 𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖙 #❛ 「 𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔦𝔰 」⇄ 𝖉𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖕𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 #tw: murder/violence #tw: mention of child abuse #tw: gore #probably some more tws because I was watchin killer kids #I get off early today #so I might be on after 9

[xxbyimm]

THORIN OAKENSHIELD - 30 days writing challenge - Day 14 - A day off

Day 14 of @deepestfirefun’s challenge. A turtle writer is never late, nor does the arrives early. She arrives precisely when she means to. Haha, life happens and suddenly I was a lot behind schedule. But hey... I’m gonna catch up :)  For the whole collection of my challenge: Thorin Oakenshield Drabbles

This is a Thorin x Enya. I regret nothing. (For more Thorin x Enya: Enya’s unexpected journey)

A day off

There was a pile of letters laying before him, and they all had to be signed before he got ready for the day. Balin couldn’t stop stressing yesterday about the fact that he needed them from Thorin before noon. Thorin sat at his writing desk, his face resting in one hand palm. He could barely keep his eyes open. Maybe he would feel better if he just closed them for one second…

‘My king?!’

Enya’s voice pulled him from his short slumber. Thorin immediately shot up, trying to hide the fact that he had been sleeping again. He groaned and rubbed in his eyes. He tried to retire to his quarters early every night, but there was always someone who needed his help or his opinion. That, combined with the fact that he wanted to keep his queen (and himself, for that matter) happy, meant that he often had to pass the day with a serious lack of sleep.

‘Thorin…’ Enya purred. She was standing behind him and bent forward to kiss his temple. ‘You really should tell the nobles to go fuck themselves when they bother you at unreasonable hours.’ A smile crossed Thorin’s face. Enya always knew how to phrase things in her own special way. That specific part reminded him of Dolvira, another warrior dwarrowdam with a mouth without a filter.. And also his ex, with whom he wasn’t on speaking terms any more. Enya probably would kill him with her fire if he would ever dared to compare her with the dam she hated. He cleared his throat. No, that probably would be a secret that he would carry into his grave.

‘It’s fine, my queen.’ ‘Or…’ Enya mused, unaware of his ponderings. ‘You could tell ME to fuck off once in a while. I’m sorry I’ve been depriving you from your sleep.’ Thorin stood up, his arms sliding around her waist. ‘You may disturb me anytime, my queen. Especially for a rendezvous like last night.’ Enya winked, a bright smile plastered on her face. ‘I must confess I enjoyed that too.’ ‘You did?’ He teased while stealing a kiss from her. ‘I barely noticed, since you were screaming my name for all Erebor to hear.’ ‘It’s your fault!’ She squealed, wriggling away from his grip. ‘I don’t…’ She heaved a sigh and narrowed her eyes. ‘You do this on purpose, Oakenshield.’ ‘It’s your mouth...’ Thorin smirked. ‘And I can’t control what comes out of it. I keep telling you that.’ ‘Oh! I hate you!’ She exclaimed as she strode into the direction of the bathroom. ‘You’re insufferable!’

Thorin followed her. The memory of last night… let’s just say he suddenly felt wide-awake, resisting the urge to postpone their daily duties. He watched his queen as she rummaged through her beauty products, probably looking for charcoal to draw her signature winged eyeliner look with.

‘Are you going to bother me the whole time?’ Enya said while shooting an unpleasant glance at him through the mirror. Thorin shrugged. ‘Probably.’ ‘Sometimes, I just…’ she began, but trailed off when she found the piece of charcoal. ‘You what?’ ‘SSSH!! You’re annoying as fuck, but at least be quiet please!’ she hushed while supporting with her right hand her left arm. She then carefully started to draw a line next to her eye.

She was irresistible when her face displayed that utmost concentration. Her dark wavy locks were flowing over her back and the fact that she wore nothing more than a simple black bra and panties wasn’t helpful. Thorin decided right on the spot that he wanted to spent the morning with her and extend the events of last night. Indeed, all the nobles could wait a little longer. He would just say he had more pressing matters to deal with.

Making love to his wife, for example.

He bumped his hand against her elbow, the movement causing her hand to jerk out of its intended direction and leaving her previously perfectly drawn line as a blotted mess. 

‘THORIN!’ she cried out. ‘JESUS CHRIST!’ She lunged at him, but he had expected her to do that anyway and jumped out of the way before she even got near. ‘I HAVE A MEETING IN AN HOUR!’ Enya shrieked. Thorin ran into the bedroom and quickly blocked the door with a heavy chair. Enya was just behind him, and Thorin grinned as he sunk down on it, casually leaning into the seat. Oh, she wasn’t going anywhere for quite some time and she knew it. She also wouldn’t give up basically anything without a fight, another thing he loved about her. ‘You are locking me up?’ she inquired. ‘Because I’m warning you, I’ll scream bloody murder.’ ‘I would like to see you try, my queen.’ Thorin challenged her. ‘I bet after last night, no one will take such noises seriously.’

She hissed and threw a pillow directly in his face. Thorin laughed and jumped up, charging at his queen and with one swift move taking her down on the bed. Enya giggled while grabbing another pillow, attacking him with full force and smashing it against him. Thorin tried to dodge her moves and take the cushion for himself, but the fabric gave up and set loose the feathers it contained. Enya tried to wave them away, but quickly gave up. She threw the now empty pillow away and got another, but Thorin used this moment to wrestle himself into freedom and pinning her under him instead. Enya sniggered, holding up her hands in surrender. Her pale blue eyes sparkled with mischief. Thorin smiled, plucking a single feather from her hair and tossing it on the bed.

He actually couldn’t care less if everyone Erebor knew what they were doing. Maybe it was a good thing, since all the males in the lonely mountain were staring at his One shamelessly whenever she passed them.

‘We made a mess…’ Enya breathed, gesturing at the bed. ‘That we did…’ Thorin husked. ‘But the real question is: do I have your permission to make sweet love to you in these feathery conditions?’ Enya cocked a brow and her sassy reply made him chuckle. ‘Only if I’m allowed to scream.’ ‘Oh, but I’m counting on that, my queen.’ He purred. ‘Or I’ll make you…’

#30 days writing challenge by deepestfirefun #deepestfirefun #Thorin Oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x oc #thorin oakenshield x enya blueheart #thorin oakenshield drabble #the hobbit #writing challenge #day 14

[just-saoto]

Well, are we?

Fandom: Critical Role, Campaign 2

Ship: Fjorester / Fjord x Jester

Everyone knows they're together - except for them. So when Fjord is asked about his relationship with Jester... he doesn't know how to reply. Yet.

(On AO3)

Some things are just natural, like running and walking. You could always run, you could always walk, without spending a moment to think about it.

And then someone comes along and asks a simple question: “How do you walk?” And while you’re trying to find an answer, you begin to trip over your own feet, you stumble, and you are forced to stop and stare. Suddenly, you start thinking about things you have always taken for granted, things that never occurred to you. In the twinkling of an eye they are all you can think about, and it’s a mess. You can’t walk in a straight line anymore; you can’t walk without calculating every single step you take. You are needlessly aware of it – and all because of a single, simple, silly question.

Except… this wasn’t about walking.

 It had probably started that one night, not too long ago, when Fjord had taken the first watch again. It was chilly, but not yet cold, like it used to be on early autumn nights. He was sitting alone by the fire, watching the flames bite their way through a dry log, listening to the soft crackling of the burning branches. Then suddenly one of the sleeping bags on his left started moving and shifting, until the messy blue hair of Jester popped out from underneath the blanket. He watched the Tiefling roll around for a few minutes, her eyes closed, until she woke with a wince and slowly opened her eyes. She seemed to contemplate something, then she got up on her feet and sluggishly shuffled over to his side.

“The donut fairy was trying to braid my hair,” she muttered, matter-of-factly, and slumped down on the ground next to Fjord.

“She did?” he asked, not even daring to question whatever Jester meant by it. He knew her well enough to know that there was no way to understand what was going on in her pretty little head.

“Yeah,” Jester mumbled and laid her head on his lap, using him as a pillow without a second thought. “Her hands were sticky,” she added with a shiver in her voice, as if this would explain everything, from the creation of the world through to her far more cryptic words right now.

“And that’s what woke you up?”

“Yes,” she replied, pulling her blanket up to her face and snuggling into it, “and I’m cold.”

Fjord raised an eyebrow. “Don’t yer always say you’re warm-blooded and never get cold?”

“Yes,” she said and fell asleep again.

When Caleb woke up for the second watch and found Fjord sitting there, unable to move without fearing to wake the Tiefling resting her head on his lap, all the Half-Orc earned from him was a raised brow.

 The next time was probably when they had visited a tavern a few nights later, having secured a few rooms for themselves, even with the inn being almost full to the brim with visitors – all of them in town for a local festival Fjord hadn’t caught the name of. They were sitting there, drinking, and watched Jester teach Nott how to draw. While Caleb was observing Nott like a proud parent, and Beau and Yasha were too busy staring into each other’s eyes, it had been Molly who had turned to Fjord and pulled out his deck of cards.

“Do you want a reading? I’m bored, with all the others being so engaged with… whatever they are doing.” He grimaced and tilted his head in the direction of Yasha and Beau sitting next to him, who had just started making out… very awkwardly.

“Sure,” Fjord said, trying to ignore the slobbering next to Molly, “what kinds of readings do you do?”

“Well, general readings, past and future, health, career, love …”

“Uuuh, gimme a love reading!”

Both of their heads turned to Jester, who was now leaning over the table, staring at Molly with sparkling eyes. Fjord could feel her shoulders pressed against his arms as she reached out to Molly and pointed at the cards in his hands. “Pleeease?”

“Alright…?” Molly said, more a question than a reply, and looked directly at Fjord with a raised eyebrow.

The eyebrow thing was quickly becoming the general reaction to everything regarding the two of them, now that he thought about it… He hastily nodded at Molly and tried to ignore the heat rushing up to his face.

Molly shuffled his cards and held them out to Jester, who eagerly grabbed one and turned it around to show the other Tiefling. Fjord could hardly catch a glimpse of it – all he could see was a woman, probably, wearing a crown.

“Good news,” Mollymauk said in a sing-song voice with a smirk, “the Empress symbolises romance and fertility; you have good prospects for your future.”

Fjord could have sworn Molly’s eyes had darted to him for half a second.

 The final straw had apparently been the festival they could hardly avoid, with the whole city being busy preparing market stalls in the streets, decorating houses and putting colourful, shining lights in their windows. It was rather beautiful, Fjord thought, and he couldn’t deny he was looking forward to seeing all of this by night.

For most of the day, Jester had been braiding flowers into the hair of an excited Nott and a surprisingly enthusiastic Beau – and, after some persuading, even Yasha, who had insisted that she did not want to be a burden and keep Jester away from the pastries being sold all over the market place. So, in her stead, Fjord had been sent to buy some sweets for the Tiefling –  and who was he to say no when she looked at him with those puppy eyes? But returning to the inn proved far more difficult than he’d imagined, as the streets were filling with more and more people walking to the market square where most of the celebrating and dancing would begin soon. Fjord had to fight his way back against the current and through the less busy alleyways, taking a wrong turn or two in the process.

When he reached the inn again, Yasha, Beau, Nott and Molly had already left, and Caleb had stayed behind to read, while Jester had waited for her pastries to arrive. Yet when Fjord entered the tavern, she jumped from her seat, grabbed the bag of sweets and put them aside.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” she urged him excitedly and grabbed his arm, the pastries already forgotten. Caleb, sitting in the corner with a Zemnian book in his hands, just weakly waved his hand to acknowledge that they were leaving, but then raised his head… and there was the eyebrow thing again. Fjord could hardly register it as Jester was forcefully and enthusiastically dragging him out of the inn, her arm tightly wrapped around his own.

 It was the same evening, after the girls had retired to their own rooms, that Caleb pulled Fjord aside the moment Molly had disappeared into the bathroom.

“I’m usually not the one to pry into someone else’s affairs… but, say, are you and Jester together?”

Fjord, who had just started to take off his armour, stopped in his tracks.

“What?”

That simple question had stirred up his thoughts, set the cogs in his head in motion – until they wouldn’t stop anymore to leave him a second to breathe. It started slowly, but the moment this train of thought had left the station, there was no way to stop it anymore. Like walking by intuition, thinking about Jester without this question in the back of his mind would suddenly become impossible.

He had been friends with her for quite some time – long enough, at least, to find her presence completely natural. She was a good friend to him, a cheerful person who always managed to get a smile on his face. He liked having her around, and she stuck to him whenever she could. She would randomly grab his arm when she was sitting next to him and keep talking to someone else, no big deal. She would lean against him and start snoring whenever she was tired. Heck, sometimes she would even try to feed him pastries like a baby. They were together in a way.

But together together? He had never thought about it. And now it wouldn’t leave his mind.

Were they?

He didn’t think so, but you could never be sure with Jester. Maybe all she did was just normal for her; the way she treated any friend. But then again, she didn’t try to slip under Molly’s blanket when she was feeling too lonely to sleep or rest her head on Beau’s lap; she didn’t try to hold someone else’s hand just because she wanted to (except, maybe, Nott’s, but that was a completely different story). She only acted like this with the friend she knew for the longest time in this group of lovable misfits and weirdos.

That still didn’t imply she meant something by it. Heck, even Fjord himself hadn’t considered it before this moment. Before Caleb asked that simple question and threw his thoughts into complete disarray.

“Nah,” Fjord eventually mumbled when Caleb’s stares and raised brow began to speak volumes. “I don’t think so. I don’t know. Do you think so?”

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” Caleb returned, the sceptical look turning into the rather rare mischievous grin Fjord hadn’t seen in weeks – the last time being Nott’s successful prank on Mollymauk, which had left the Tiefling hissing and cursing and ignoring the goblin for two full days. “But excuse my curiosity. I shouldn’t have asked. Auch wenn es völlig offensichtlich ist…”

Now it was Fjord’s turn to raise an eyebrow, not getting a single word from that last sentence. But he knew well enough not to ask, reading the look on Caleb’s face when he turned around with his usual, weak smile and went to bed to rest for the night.

 “Okay, listen, dude, if you keep staring at her like this, she’s gonna think you’re planning to murder her. Either that, or do her in the next alley we come across, and I’m pretty sure I know which one you’re thinking of.”

Fjord nearly jumped when Beau whispered directly into his ear. He had completely spaced out, staring at Jester’s wide smile as she and Yasha (to his own surprise) examined the pretty little trinkets laid out in a shop window.

“…who?” he asked, trying his best not to stutter. He was quite aware Beau knew just as well that he knew the answer. Didn’t mean he couldn’t try though.

“My girlfriend, obviously,” she mumbled, her ruff voice oozing with sarcasm. “You know exactly who I mean, and it clearly isn’t my girl, or else you’d have a black eye in that handsome face of yours.” The way she rolled her eyes, Fjord was almost surprised they didn’t get stuck in the back of her head.

“I just thought she’d look good with that… necklace?” he muttered, trying to hide the fact that he had no idea what Jester and Yasha were eyeing with so much enthusiasm.

Beau’s face told him he was wrong with his guess. “It’s a choker, if that’s what you mean,” she drawled, nodding her head in the other girls’ direction. “You should buy it for her, if you’d like to see her in it.” That grin, right there, told him that the phrase “and only in it” was hidden somewhere between the lines.

He liked Beau, he really did, but she wasn’t helping right now.

“Sure,” he muttered and walked over to Molly, who was too busy standing by and not saying a word to bother Fjord as well.

 Hearing the same implications twice was one thing, but the third time’s the charm. He had managed to keep his eyes to himself most of the time, and when he caught himself staring again, she luckily never seemed to notice. But somehow, even though Jester didn’t treat him differently than every other day, now even the people outside of their small circle of friends started seeing them in a different light. Or maybe it had always been like this, and he just hadn’t noticed before – which was more likely.

But the next time they had reached an inn, Fjord had been tasked to get them some rooms while the others were drinking their ale at a table close to the fireplace. The bored innkeeper looked at him, then at the rest of the group, and didn’t even think twice about the room arrangements when she eventually said: “So, a room for the good sir and his daughter, the ladies, that ostentatious guy in the corner, and one for you and your wife?”

Fjord nearly choked on that one, which the innkeeper luckily didn’t notice – or at least didn’t comment on.

“Just… give us four rooms and we’ll somehow manage the rest,” he said and avoided the woman’s eyes as she pressed four cold, rusty keys into the palm of his hand.

He hadn’t even reached the table yet when Jester jumped from her seat, grabbed Fjord’s arm and pulled him down on the bench next to her.

“Ayy, Fjord!” she said, her violet eyes sparkling like amethysts in the light. “Nott just said she spotted a shop that was selling a lot of cool maps of the area! Let’s go there tomorrow and buy one before we leave the city, ‘kay?”

Fjord didn’t even dare to meet anyone’s gaze except hers at this moment. “Sure thing,” he replied and returned that smile she was gracing him with. “…you’re low on money, right?”

“Yeaaah.” She grinned sheepishly as she scratched her cheek and turned her head back towards the others, resuming their discussion on whether or not the Crownsguard had noticed Nott stealing a bag of herbs and a healing potion from the market that afternoon (Jester was proudly declaring that Nott was definitely skilful enough to avoid being caught by anyone).

 They wouldn’t share a room that night. Fjord was almost glad no one had even suggested it. Beau and Yasha shared one, like always, and so did Caleb and Nott. He shared his own room with Molly – and Jester, to her own disappointment, had a twin room to herself. Fjord was glad when he finally fell into bed, drugged with fatigue and the effects of the beer he’d drank (he really, really wasn’t a fan of alcohol). At least now his thoughts would leave him alone.

Or… maybe not.

It was one thing to feel so strongly connected to a person that they could be your best friend or spouse or both, and it wouldn’t change a thing for you. But it was a completely different thing when the thought of being together with that person suddenly took over your whole life. Didn’t that usually mean there was something more to it? And yet, if that meant their wonderful dynamic, their friendship, could change, he didn’t necessarily want an answer to the question he had been asking himself nonstop. There was always the fear she would stare at him with unblinking eyes, a look of horror on her face; or laugh at the audacity that he would even entertain the idea; or ignore him from that moment on, an awkward silence surrounding them.

Yeah. No. That did not sound like Jester at all, not in a million years. Fjord frowned, eyes closed, and tried to push these sleep-stealing thoughts aside.

Even if he dared to ask her about it, she would either laugh it off, clutching his arm like she did so often, and continue to treat him the exact same, friendly way she always did. Or, in the not-so-far-fetched case she actually felt that same, intimate bond between the two of them, she would answer in the affirmative and carry on with whatever she did that moment. Either way, it would hardly change anything for them. That’s just how Jester was, and that’s the way he felt about her. It did not necessarily need a label.

Not that he would mind one, to be fair.

 A tug on his sleeve roused him from sleep. The gentle poke of a finger against his cheek made him open his eyes. He turned his head, vaguely making out the slender shape of a girl in the darkness. When she gently whispered his name, he forced his eyes wide open and propped himself up on his elbows. In front of his bed stood Jester, dressed in her white nightgown, and not moving a muscle. For a moment he wondered if she was sleepwalking.

“I can’t sleep,” she whispered, sounding wide awake. “I don’t like being alone.”

Something in her voice made his heart ache; they had been traveling together for so long, and since they’d met Jester had always shared a room or fireplace with someone – either the other girls, or, before that, Fjord himself. She didn’t like being alone. Why had he not thought about this? He had been too busy with his own, silly thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered back, sitting up in his bed and glancing worriedly at Mollymauk. The other Tiefling hadn’t stirred once since Jester entered the room, so they probably were okay. “Do you want to sleep here?”

“No,” she replied, her gaze following his towards Molly, whose chest was slowly rising and falling in a steady rhythm. “I wanna sleep in my own room.”

“Should I come with you?”

“Yes, please.”

Oh, the rumours that would start the next morning! But Fjord couldn’t care less at this moment. He was tired, and Jester looked exhausted, and he was in no mood to argue against her. Heck, he didn’t even want to object to her request. He got out of his bed, tried to find his balance, and then followed Jester to her room at the end of the hall.

 The next morning – or so he was told by Nott – Molly, still half asleep, had tried to wake his roommate up and found his bed empty. When neither Caleb nor Yasha could tell him where Fjord was, they had immediately thought the worst: that Fjord had taken a walk and had been kidnapped; that he had run away for unknown reasons; or that one of his strange dreams had let him outside, where he had drowned himself in the ocean (they were, in fact, not even close to any body of water). All theories proved to be false when Beau had finally decided to wake Jester and ask her if she knew anything about it. They had found Fjord in the second bed of the room, and Jester – who was not lying in her own – cuddled up to his side underneath the thin blanket.

It was then, that very same evening, that Nott had turned to Jester and Fjord, a familiar sparkle in her big, yellow eyes.

“So, does that mean you two are an item after all?”

To Fjord this sounded like it had not been the first time Nott had asked Jester that question. He turned his head towards the Tiefling and watched as Jester pursed her lips in deep thought before returning his gaze.

“Are we an item?”

Fjord just shrugged his shoulders, smiling. “I don’t know. Are we?”

Jester seemed to contemplate that for a second, then she nodded her head and turned back to Nott.

“Yeah, I guess we are.”

He had been correct. Nothing had changed. Nothing would change. And, after having lost more than just a few nights’ sleep over these thoughts, Fjord was actually glad Jester had finally resolved that mystery for him in such a quick and simple way. And the solution had been: With or without the label of being “a couple”, their relationship was the same. It didn’t change a thing.

Okay, maybe a few things will change, he thought and smiled as Jester planted a kiss on his cheek, right before she leaned back over the table to show Nott her latest drawings – as if nothing had happened at all.

And from the other end of the table Fjord could only hear a triumphant voice, almost drowned out by the noise in the tavern: “Ich hab’s euch doch gesagt!”

#critical role #cr2 #fjorester #fjord x jester #jester x fjord #with some Beauyasha on the side #jester #fjord #my writing

[kindofchaoticgood]

Let Me Tell You a Tale where Justice Does Not Prevail

“You can’t do this.”

“I already have, Mr. Hook,” Fairy Godmother says firmly, though she’s starting to get unnerved by how murderous Harry looks. “The schedules have already been set—”

“Fuck that!” Harry snarls, slamming his hands down on her desk. “You told me I couldn’t wear my hook in class, I accepted that. But making sure that Uma and I don’t have any classes together? That’s low, even for your lot.” A dark sneer curls his lips. “What, are ye worried that we’re plotting against the kingdom or something?”

“No, that is not the reason that we decided to separate you two,” Fairy Godmother retorts, trying to keep her voice calm and measured. Though that was most of the teachers concerns . . . “I already told you, the school psychologist thinks that you and Miss Triskelion have an unhealthy co-dependence upon each other—”

“I don’t give a damn about your psycho-babble,” Harry hisses so venomously, that Fairy Godmother instinctively leans back. “And I especially don’t give a rats arse what anybody else thinks is best. Put us together.”

Fairy Godmother gives up on trying to have a neutral expression and scowls at him. “I’m sorry, but we’ve made our decision, and you’ll just have to accept that.”

Harry glares at her so darkly that it makes her itch to have her wand in her hand, but the boy merely warns, “You’ll regret this,” before storming out of the room, red coat billowing behind him.

“I’m sure I won’t,” Fairy Godmother mutters as soon as he’s out of earshot. A flicker of unease lights up in her stomach, but she dismisses it. Harry Hook is just a teenage boy with a crush. She has dealt with them before, and he is no different.

This will all be fine.

***

It’s not fine.

Harry insists on walking Uma to every class, and so each morning, Auradon Prep is treated to the sight of Harry carrying his bag and Uma’s while Uma launches into a speech about feminism and how chivalry is just an idea invented by the patriarchy, so put down her bags, Harry, or else.

Usually, this ends up with Uma chasing Harry and trying to get her bag back while he races ahead of her and taunts her.

“Come on, darling, you don’t want to be late to class!”

“Your class is literally on the other side of the school, you idiot.”

All of this results in Harry strolling into class five minutes late every morning, and then bolting from the room five minutes early so he can sprint across the quad and meet Uma as her class ends.

The first time he does this, Uma walks out the door and sees Harry trying to lean casually against the wall to disguise his ragged breathing.

She gives him a disapproving look as he grins brightly at her. “Walk you to class, love?”

Uma sighs, pulls out her water bottle, and tosses it at him. “You’re such a moron,” she complains as Harry immediately downs half the contents of the bottle.

“Mr. Hook, please just step into class,” Professor Selwyn says tiredly, eyeing them wearily from behind her desk.

“No can do, teach,” Harry replies indifferently, slinging his arm around Uma’s shoulders. “I’m putting all of that chivalry bullshit to work – we can’t let young ladies walk all by themselves across the quad, can we?”

Selwyn rolls her eyes. “I’m sure Miss Triskelion is more than capable of walking across the quad by herself without your assistance.”

“I have been told I have weak ankles,” Uma says with an evil smile. “I might trip and fall, and then where would I be?” she casts a mock-sad glance down at her heels, which elevate her off the ground by at least five inches.

Harry shakes his head solemnly. “Miss, I cannot in good conscience let her risk herself so recklessly.”

Uma gives him a surprised grin. “You’ve been studying the vocab?”

“Doug made me flashcards,” Harry admits, and then snatches Uma’s bag out of her hands. “Just let me get that for you—”

“Give me my bag!” Uma protests, grabbing for the strap of her messenger bag, but Harry shakes his head.

“No way, you might break your fragile arms or something—”

“You little bitch—” Uma yanks the bag out of Harry’s hands and takes off with surprising speed for someone wearing heels. Harry chases after her, yelling, “This is not what chivalry is about!”

Selwyn thinks longingly of winter break and the ski trip that her wife Diana is always insisting that they should take, and briefly considers locking the door so the irritating boy won’t be able to get in when he comes back. Gods knew he wouldn’t care.

When Fairy Godmother calls Uma to her office to ask her to encourage Harry to stop walking her to class, the girl fixes her with a cool stare and reminds her that it was their decision to not let Harry in any of her classes, and that she cannot control him. She concludes this by telling her coldly that even if she could control him, she would never do it for something as sweet as this.

“Him walking me to class is one of the only nice acts that has happened to me in my life, are you really going to take that away from me?”

So she is forced to let the walking to class continue, but tells the teachers that they should not refrain from any sort of punishment, since he is breaking the rules, after all.

Harry racks up ten detentions over the course of the week due to his tardiness and leaving early, and he pins the angry pink slips to the door of the room that he shares with Doug. The dwarf’s son sighs when he sees it, but doesn’t do anything else. Harry might leave his clothes everywhere and snore all night long, but he once threatened to punch Chad after he had mocked Doug’s short stature, so the pirate is alright in his book.

Fairy Godmother is convinced that detention will be enough of a threat to make Harry behave, because if even Mal tries to stay on the straight and narrow to avoid detention, baking with Merryweather will break his spirit into small pieces and leave it whimpering sadly on the floor. (Dear Gods, she has been hanging around too many villain children.)

However, baking obviously doesn’t scare Harry as much as it does Mal. He slips marijuana into the batch of cupcakes that he and Merryweather bake, and no one finds out until it is much too late, and Merryweather has released a stampede of unicorns into the school.

(Trying to take away unicorns from a group of twelve year olds led by Dizzy Tremaine had not been fun.)

(Nor had the situation been made any better when Uma started insisting that the place where they were sending the unicorns was known for animal experimentation.)

(She has never seen Chad Charming so passionate about anything in his life than when he was arguing with her about animal experimentation and threatening to call his lawyers if she didn’t send the unicorns to good homes.)

Harry has to sweep up all of the glitter and rainbow dust, but even that punishment backfires because the next day, two of Uma’s crew, Ashe and Sierra, are selling objects covered in rainbow glitter that they claim have been blessed by unicorns.

So that has to be stopped immediately, because the children end up throwing the glitter-covered rocks at each other in order to activate their 'unicorn powers’.

It frustrates her that Harry isn't at all fazed by their punishments. When she orders him to assist the surly art professor in cleaning up the art wing, she is sure that this will make him compliant. Professor de Villiers has been known to make students cry with his scathing critiques and sharp comments, so she is sure that he will be significantly less trusting of Harry than Merryweather.

But when Fairy Godmother goes down to the art wing to see how they're progressing, she sees Harry painting a giant silver skull on the wall and she cannot repress a shriek of horror.

“What are you doing?”

Harry spins around, a smirk fixed on his face, but then a deep voice booms out, “Verity! I didn't know you would be joining us.”

The professor is walking towards them, holding a bucket of water and a huge paintbrush, and he walks over next to Fairy Godmother.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He muses to Fairy Godmother, while she tries not to gape at him. “With a bit of refining, he could be almost as good as the princess of Corona.”

Harry scoffs. “Refining? Old man, this is street art, it doesn’t need to meet your approval,”

She half-expects de Villiers to open his mouth and swallow Harry whole, but he just laughs. “Ah, to be young and arrogant again, eh, Verity?”

Harry makes a rude gesture at de Villiers, and then they both grin at each other, which just seems to make the pounding in her head even stronger.

“B-but the w-walls -”

“Yes, it's wonderful, isn’t it? Instead of just hanging artwork on the walls, it would save paper and materials to simply just paint on the wall.”

Fairy Godmother can feel her magic fluttering nervously under her skin, but she makes sure to keep her voice strong when she says, “But a skull, Byron? I'm just not sure -”

“Nonsense,” de Villiers replies dismissively. “The students could stand to benefit from being exposed to different art styles, and Mr. Hook’s art is a prime example of that! In fact, I was thinking of taking him on as my apprentice for the year . . .”

As de Villiers continues to rave about Harry, Fairy Godmother looks at the boy. Harry raises an eyebrow at her smugly, as if to say see, I told you that you would regret this.

For the first time since she's started teaching at the school, Fairy Godmother seriously considers retirement.

It's going to be a long year . . .

#harry x uma #harry hook x uma #uma x harry hook #huma #uma daughter of ursula #uma descendants #harry hook #uma's crew #fairy godmother #doug descendants #chad charming #chad descendants #dizzy tremaine #auradon prep #descendants 2 #disney descendants #creature feature lyrics

[xxxprettydeadgirlxxx]

One step forward, three steps back.

Summary: You wake up one night to strangers kidnapping you. When Loki finds out it was The Avengers that took you, he wastes no time in getting you back. When the Avengers realize there is more than meets the eye, they are determined to get to the bottom of it. What they discover will force them to change the way they think about the harsh, coldhearted God of Lies. Rating- M Warnings- Violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of sexual assault, mentions of torture <—-(Later chapters)  [Reader has a very dark, painful past] —-You have been warned.  Relationships- Loki/Reader

                                           CHAPTER ONE- MINE They were coming for you, but fast asleep, you didn’t hear them. Not until it was too late. You scream, kick, punch, you claw and use teeth. Anything to get away from your kidnappers, but to no avail, they manage to subdue you.

What you couldn’t figure out is why they kept acting as if they were rescuing you. They had just stolen you from your home, everything you knew. Ripped you out of your warm bed and now you were in the back of a van with a bunch of strangers going god knows where.

You were terrified. Flash’s of old memories begin to flood through your mind in waves and all you can do is tremble. You’re too afraid to cry. What if they got off on crying like the last ones? No, you wouldn’t cry. At least not yet.

They took you to a large tower in New York and you mindlessly take in your surroundings as they lead you through the doors straight into an elevator to another floor. Down a hallway. Another door, another elevator. You were sure by this point you were lost and would never find your way out.

Perhaps that was the goal.

They put you in a large, white, bright room that contained a bed, a nightstand, and a door you assumed to be the bathroom. A woman tells you everything is going to be alright now, that he can’t hurt you anymore. You don’t understand. You had already been rescued from that hell, and they just stripped you away from it. You say nothing back. It isn’t like you could if you wanted to anyway. She began searching your body for… Bruises? Marks?

Did they think he was hurting you!?

When she finally leaves, you curled into the fetal position on the bed finally allowing yourself to break down. What did these people want with you? Why had they taken you away?

Then it hits you that once he arrives home he will come looking for you. You want to call out to him, but you have no idea how. He had always been the first to reach out if you were separated, otherwise, you had to think to him directly. That way he couldn’t invade every thought and vise-versa. You’d never been this far away from him since he found you. You’d never been apart this long. It was unnerving. You wanted to panic, only stopping yourself so you didn’t go three steps backward, though, you knew it was coming.

Always one step forward, three steps back.

You can already feel the anxiety creeping up into your chest, the cold sweats, rapid breathing; heart pounding so hard you were sure it was going to explode out of your chest. You couldn’t go through this again. You wouldn’t survive it. Hell, you weren’t sure how you got through it the first time. Well, that was a lie- You did know.

He saved you.

Thinking back, you wish now you would have agreed he stay at home just as he had offered, but you weren’t a selfish person and you knew he was getting restless. You didn’t want to go out, so you let him go without you. It was the first time he’d left you home alone for longer than thirty minutes. He’d only been gone a little over an hour before you retired to bed, knowing he would wake you once he got home. You were sure once this was over and he found you, you’d be lucky if he ever left your side again. That wouldn’t bother you in the slightest, unsure if you would even be able to stay at home alone now even for just a few minutes.

When Loki arrived home to find his door broken in and you gone, he panicked for a moment before it turned into pure irate, irrational fury. Had they come back for you? Surely not, he was sure he had murdered them all. Watching those men choke on their own blood had been very satisfying for Loki after he’d found you and the state you were in.

Broken, bruised, bloody, half-starved, and mute from having your vocal cords ripped out. Loki had seen horrible things, he’d been through worse, but that day he couldn’t bring himself to leave you. He knew about torture; perhaps that’s why he saved you. Loki couldn’t even recall how he had arrived at the club they were keeping you. Everything looked innocent on the outside world, but he could feel the power surging from downstairs.

Power he wanted.

After he’d gotten the crystal, which he realized held a lot of black magic he turned to leave and heard your soft cries. That’s when he found you. He hadn’t fully processed the thought to take you; to save you. Loki reacted; he reacted by ripping everyone who worked there to pieces. You were terrified of him when he approached you, but Loki used a soft, silky tone to talk you into going with him. He would have taken you anyway but wanted to offer you a choice. You chose him; almost three years ago.

He hadn’t intended on caring for you, falling for you. He had only planned to get you better and stronger than let you live your own life, but you had refused to leave him. It took him only a few days after you were ready to go out on your own for him to realize you were too terrified to leave the house without him; be without him. So he stayed around, annoyed by the fact at first. But as time went by he grew to know you and even figured out a way to communicate with you without using sign language (which he learned early on, just for you). He hadn’t done that lightly since he had to link you to him in order to do so. So far, he hadn’t come to regret it. But he would never tell anyone that. No one could know that he cared for you, for he fears someone will try to use you as leverage against him.

It would work.

Loki didn’t like having weaknesses, and you were it.

‘Where are you?!’

'Loki! I don’t know, a tower in New York I think. I was asleep and they came for me-’

“Who?’ As soon as you said New York, Loki’s fists clenched and he was shaking with rage. It couldn’t be...

'I don’t know. Loki, I’m scared…’

'Have they hurt you…’

'No, not yet. I don’t know what they want from me.’

'Is there a red-haired woman?’

'Yes.’

'Do they wear uniforms; all different types? One made of Iron even.’

Come to think about it… 'Yes, actually. Loki, do you know them?’

'Don’t worry, I know exactly where you are and I’m coming.’

Loki was angry, you could tell. You really hadn’t expected any less, knowing he cared for you just as much as you cared for him. You almost felt bad for your kidnappers, seeing as they were probably about to be ripped to pieces pretty soon. It didn’t bother you, not anymore. Not after what you’d been through.

You watched Loki kill the men who had been keeping you, terrified of him at first for the act. Now it was nothing. It was only this past year you started going out and it seemed no matter where you went, someone had to approach you, hit on you, or tease you. Loki didn’t like that.

Not one bit.

He despised when people looked, talked, or touched his things. Maybe it was because you were just as damaged as he was; he had told you a few stories, but you are sure there are more; a lot more, but you didn’t care how many broken bodies he left behind. It was always to protect or defend you.

Hard to be mad at someone who loves you.

He’s never told you he loves you, but you knew he did just as he knew you loved him. You didn’t have to say it. His actions and other words spoke louder than an 'I love you’ ever could. It didn’t feel like enough. It felt cheap and overused. Perhaps that’s why neither of you has ever said it. Maybe he felt the same way; that the words were not enough. It was hard to tell with Loki.

You were relieved he’d contacted you settling your nerves some, but you knew the moment you got to Loki you’d fall to pieces. You were surprised to have held up as long as you had.

"Did she say anything?” Tony questioned Natasha, who was walking out of the elevator to join the rest of them; sitting on the couch. He was worried for you, knowing Loki had been keeping you for who knows how long. He would be surprised if you came out of this mentally and physically undamaged.

“Not yet. She looks fine, outer appearance wise. I couldn’t find any bruises or anything.”

“Huh.” Clint figured you’d be hurt. “So she isn’t hurt?”

“Not physically, but her mental state, I can tell she’s not all there. She was terrified of me and acted as if I was the bad guy.”

“I’m sure he tormented her mentally.” Clint mused to himself. “Wonder how long she’s been with him?”

“I wasn’t aware my brother even lived, not to mention how he got ahold of a mortal girl and no one noticed until now.”

A SHIELD agent had recognized Loki at a bar one evening, with you. He had alerted Nick Fury and it had taken weeks to track him down, but they managed. SHIELD was mostly a ghost nowadays, but they were still around when it counted the most. They hadn’t expected to find you home alone, asleep in a comfortable bed none the less.

“Do you think he’ll show up here for her? Nah, he’ll probably just go find himself a new girl to torment.” Tony took a sip of his drink. “Feel sorry for whoever’s next.”

“We need to find Loki,” Natasha stressed. “Find out what he’s up to, what he’s planning and then finish him off for good.”

“You realize you are speaking of my brother.” Thor’s warning was clear in his tone. “He saved Jane and me, helped save the world. I cannot just ignore that.”

“You also can’t ignore that he destroyed Manhattan.”

“Do you think we’ll need…Steve?” Tony was not in the mood to deal with the Soldier, but he couldn’t deny they may need him. “While I’m thinking about it, anyone heard from Bruce?”

They all shook their head.

“I’m guessing Vision and Wanda are out as well?”

Clint nodded. “She left a note. They went to see a movie.”

“We’ll call Steve as a last resort,” Natasha told Tony. “You two need to get over this and make-up. It’s too dangerous to have you two at war with one another.”

“Well, when he dumps that bastard that killed my parents and apologizes I may forgive him.” Or not.

“We are getting off topic.” Clint rubbed his temple. He hated this conversation and it was always brought up one way or another. “I think we should all just call it a night.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that just yet.” Came a voice from behind them. The Avengers stood up and turned to find a very angry looking Loki staring back at them. “Brother.”

“Loki. How do you live?” Thor knew he was alive, but to see him standing in front of him was surreal. His brother lives and he didn’t tell him?

“None of your concern, Thor.” He averted his gaze towards the other Avengers. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Give her back to me and you all will live through this. I will take what belongs to me and take my leave.”

“Don’t think so, that poor girl is traumatized. You really think she would go with you?!”

“Because you stole her away from her home, from me, assassin!” he roared, green sparks flying from his fingertips. “She’s mine. Of course, she would come with me!”

“Right.” Tony laughed. “Sure, we’ll just go get her and give you back your slave.”

“If you know what is good for you, you will. You are ruining all my progress, everything I have been working so hard to fix! For the record, she is no slave!” he yelled, fists clenched. He was sick of this, the Avengers. They had more than likely ruined everything. All that hard work just flushed down the drain in one night. The ONE NIGHT he decides he had to go out, letting you talk him into leaving you home alone. Lesson learned.

“Loki, what do you mean, what are you fixing?” Thor could tell this wasn’t just Loki trying to get his way. There was something else hidden in his intentions, but Thor couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

“Ignore him, Thor. Leave the girl alone, she’s safe with us. You come quietly and you may live tonight.” Clint challenged, taking a step towards Loki.

Loki threw his head back and laughed. “Seriously? You think you can beat me, have you forgotten what I’m capable of?”

“We’ve beaten you before.”

“Yes, but you are also a Soldier and a Hulk short, and you only defeated me because I wanted to fail. I could have killed you all, ever wondered why I didn’t? You ever wonder why I didn’t go for your family, Clint Barton?”

Clint stiffened. Loki knew? He KNEW!

“They weren’t part of the plan. I don’t care for them. You are all alive because I kept you alive, end of story. Now, I am through playing these games. Bring her to me, or I will destroy you all to get to her.”

“You would take a girl against her will?” Thor spoke up, trying to figure his brother out.

“You took her against her will.”

“Wow, he really is delusional.”

Loki grinned at the Man of Iron. “Bring her to me, and I’ll show you who is delusional. Here’s a hint, it isn’t me.”

“So you’re saying if we brought her downstairs, she would run straight to you?”

“Precisely.”

“Fine.” Tony shrugged. “Tasha, get the girl. I want to see what happens.”

“Tony!”

“Just do it. You don’t have to throw her at him. If she runs away screaming we’ll know he’s lying.”

“And if he isn’t?” Thor turned to Tony, talking quietly. “What if he isn’t lying.”

“That’s what we are going to find out. Tasha!” The assassin rolled her eyes and headed to the elevator.

'The redhead comes for you. Go with her. I’m here.’

'Thank you.’

'No need to thank me, darling. You’re mine and they will soon discover that.’

'What if they don’t let me go willingly? I can’t stay here with them, Loki. I am falling apart already.’

'I know sweet girl, just hold on. If they won’t give you back to me, I’ll kill them.

All of them.’

#lokific #reader #loki fanfiction #reader fanfiction #mute reader #abused reader #sweet loki #Unless you mess with reader #Then you're in trouble #iplaydeadAO3 #xxxprettydeadgirlxxx #marvel loki #trigger warnings #figured id post it here #just to see how it does #I don't usually do readers #So #ehhh #okay! #one step forward three steps back

[dj-syrup]

The Unnamed, Episode 01x05: The Bachelorina

"Thank you for calling SJSF, this is Rhiannon speaking, how can I help you?"

It was just another day at the reception desk. Rhi was on their third cup of tea and it wasn't even lunchtime yet.

"Hi, Rhiannon. I'm Angela. I was hoping to speak to The Unnamed."

That was a new request. Most of the calls that Rhiannon took were fan calls for Mr. Stewart, which she redirected to his massive PR team, headquartered a few miles away.

"Hmmm... I could redirect you to Ms. Port. She runs the show around here."

"That works. What are her pronouns?"

"She, her and hers."

"Thank you."

"Do you mind if I ask what this about?"

"Not at all. I'm single, and I don't want to be single anymore. I read about The Unnamed in the papers and I thought they might be able to help."

"She wants us to do what?" Ling was not enthused by this idea.

"You heard me, Ling," said Port. "She wants us to find her a date. More specifically, she wants us to find her a significant other."

"Why? Why can't she just do that herself?" Ling was not interested.

"Well, she's pansexual."

"Doesn't that mean that she has twice as many options?" asked Thomas.

"No, it doesn't," said Port. "At least, not twice as many options.She's looking at men who are into women, women who are into women, and a wide array of nonbinary people. Most certainly not twice as many options."

"So why would we do this?" Donnelly was weighing in.

"Do you have anything better to do?" asked Port.

"Not really," Donnelly replied. "I just finished sharpening every pencil in the Nest, and before that, I was categorizing the dishes in the break room by color, size, and microwavability."

Port looked around the room. No-one looked back at her. No-one was willing to say it, but they were bored. The hubbub of their success against the Knights had worn off in the last couple of weeks, and everyone was looking for their next big project.

"We can do it, from a technical perspective," said Winn. "We've proven to be fairly skillful at finding people. It would be nice to look for a nice person for once, instead of a murderer or a drug dealer."

"I agree," said Donnelly. "Let's get started."

Angela showed up at SJSF the next day, after school. She was about 17 years old, dirty blond, with a purple streak in her hair running from the part in her ear-length hair across to her left eyebrow. Her blue eyes shone out from beneath hair that was constantly in the way.

Angela sat, sitting up perfectly straight, in her chair. Ms. Port was facing her, cutting an imposing figure, in a perfectly ironed floral print dress and solid knit top. The effect was a bit overwhelming; she was the queen in this castle.

"So... what are you looking for?" asked Winn.

"Well, I'm pansexual," she replied, "so I'm looking for a gay woman, or a straight man, or some non-binary person. I've never been very comfortable with the idea of dating non-binary people, though, and I've never been able to put a finger on why. I might just not be romantically interested in them generally. I don't know"

"That's okay. This is about what you want, what you're comfortable with. Don't worry about that. We'll find you someone. Are you picky about looks?"

"No, not really. I'm partial to chocolate brown hair, on both men and women. The effect of chocolate hair framing green eyes is really striking, too, so that would be nice. I would want a woman about my height, but a man a bit taller than I. Not a lot, mind you, otherwise kissing is tricky, but an inch or two."

"K. I get that. I remember when my husband was still around..." and Port lost her focus for a second, before regaining it. "But that was a while ago. Anyway. What do you like between the ears?"

"Between the ears?"

"In their brains. How they talk, what they say, how they act. Do you like cocky guys? Shy?"

What Port had said finally registered with Angela. "I like people who are kind. There are far too many people out there who just don't think about what they say, what they do, and they don't ever understand the damage they do."

"K. What else?"

"I like people who are smart, but who aren't cocky. Some people... geez. You work with smart people. You know how it is sometimes." Port nodded. "Otherwise... I don't know. There are some people I just click with. I need someone that I click with."

Ms. Port was talking to herself as she took notes. "Clicks... with. K. Anything else?"

"Nope. Not really."

Angela thanked Ms. Port and went home. What she didn't know was that by the time she got back to her house, the information that Ms. Port had gathered would be spread across the Social Justice Special Forces Headquarters. The physical descriptions were on their way to a sketch artist, the psychological stuff was on the way to a psychologist, and the whole set was getting passed to Winn, Thomas, and their crews. This girl was going to get a date.

"We got you a date." Port was calling Angela to give her the good news.

"Really? When?"

"Well, it would be more accurate to say that we found you someone to go on a date with. You still have to call him and set it up. It looks weird if we do it."

"Yeah, I guess it would. How did you find this guy?"

"He goes to the same school as my son. My son doesn't get along with him too well, but he's a match for what you gave us, so we'll help set you up."

"That makes it sound like you found me an organ donor."

"Believe me, I could find you a kidney much easier than I can find you a boyfriend or a girlfriend for that matter. There are lists and registries for stuff like that. Anyway. I'm sending you an email with the information you need. Let me know what you end up planning and I'll have my team there to back you up."

"And... that makes me sound like an operative on a dangerous mission to a gala or something." She paused. "I'm sorry. Having a bit of a rough day. I really do appreciate all the help."

"You're welcome. Don't make me sorry, alright?"

"I won't."

With Port's help, Angela set up a date with Charlie. They found a coffee shop that did wood-fired pizza and stand-up comedy on Friday nights. Of course, the coffee shop did beers on tap, but both Angela and Charlie were too young for that sort of thing, so they were just going to watch all the adults get drunk and do stupid stuff.

The coffee shop had a building under construction next door, which meant that having a utility truck parked next door wouldn't have looked out of place, and it didn't. Thomas, Port, and Donnelly stayed in the truck, while Winn monitored from headquarters. Ling was on the roof of the building with a pair of binoculars and a sniper rifle that she insisted she needed. Kira and Sergeant Foster were in the building itself, having a daddy-daughter date that neither of them was quite comfortable with.

"I'm telling you, Ling, you don't need that rifle." Donnelly was trying to talk down Ling.

"Can you conclusively prove that I will not need my rifle?"

"You know how hard it is to prove a negative."

"Well, that's your problem, not mine, isn't it?"

Donnelly sighed and gave up. As long as Ling didn't shoot anyone everything should be fine.

"Foster, how are things looking?" Port was checking in on everyone, making sure that they were all in place.

"Things are fine here, for the most part. Have you seen the prices they're charging for food? I haven't paid nine bucks for a slice of pizza since I went to the Yankees versus the Red Sox last year."

"We're covering your expenses, remember?"

"Still."

"Ling, how are things looking?" Port moved on.

"Things are looking good up here. The construction workers seemed a little surprised to see me, but with the size of rifle I'm carrying, I think they decided to leave me alone."

Port shook her head sadly. "We told you, you don't need that rifle. Besides, it will make people nervous."

"Nonsense. I have permission to be here, I have permission to carry this gun. Where's the issue?"

Winn cut in from headquarters. "Hey, guys, can we cut the chit-chat, please? We can fight about Ling's rifle later."

There was silence for a minute, until Ling chimed back in. "Angela's Porsche just pulled in."

Donnelly turned to Thomas. "Where did she get a Porsche from?"

"Mr. Stewart's personal lot," said Thomas. "It was his idea."

"Any sign of the boy yet?" asked Foster.

"No, no sign. Angela is a few minutes early."

"Can you guys hear me alright?" Angela was in the loop now.

"Yes, you're coming through loud and clear," Thomas replied. "You're go for entry, whenever you're ready."

"You guys make it sound so formal. You all need to loosen up a bit. Port, are you sure my microphone won't show?"

"Are you wearing the outfit we discussed?" asked Port.

"Yes."

"Then you're fine. Just don't make out with him too hard and you'll be fine."

"On a first date? I don't think that will be an issue." She paused. "Any tips, from any of you, about how to stop my heart racing? I haven't been on a date in a long time."

"Just breathe deeply," suggested Port, "and keep in mind that this guy is probably nervous too."

"And keep your finger off of the trigger until you're ready to fire." added Ling.

"There's not a gun involved here," said Port.

"Oh, right." There was an embarrassed silence. "Sorry."

"I'm going in," said Angela. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," said Port. "We don't plan on needing it though."

Angela went in.

The appointed time for her date to arrive came and went.

And he didn't show up.

There was a sniper in the building next door. There was a retired Army sergeant in the building, an ex-Navy SEAL across the street, and a battery of analysts watching video feeds.

And the whole thing didn't work.

Because the boy didn't show up.

"Angela?" Mr. Stewart was looking for Angela. He found her, crying in his Porsche 911 GT3.

"I'm sorry for messing up the seats in here," said Angela. "I know this is a really expensive car."

"No, you're fine," said Mr. Stewart. "If you're going to cry in a car, a Porsche is a nice car to cry in. I was going to have my car detailed tomorrow anyway." It was a lie, and they both knew it, but it was a kind thing to say, and so Angela didn't call him on it.

Mr. Stewart climbed in on the passenger side.

"I heard that your date stood you up."

"Yeah, he did."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I mean, why? Why would someone do something like that? I go out of my way, out on a limb, to see if this person is worth having around me, and he can't even be bothered to show up."

"Sometimes, people are cruel, and sometimes people make mistakes. It happens."

"But why does it keep happening to me? Why does no-one want me?"

"Can I present a different point of view?"

"Sure."

"If you already had somebody, someone special in your life, would you keep looking for someone better?"

"Not really."

"Even if he wasn't what you wanted? Would your fear of being alone, of being lonely, keep you from moving on because something bad is better than nothing?"

"I might look at better people with longing, and if it got bad enough, of course, I would leave."

"But trading up would be tricky, right?"

"Yeah, it would be. Messy too."

"And that's the thing with dating a lot of people until you find the right one. Trading up is easier. And I know that it's hard, feeling like you're not wanted, but the day will come when you find the right person, and all of this will be worth it."

"Jean-Luc-" Angela cut herself short, and her cheeks flushed a bright red. "Sorry. I'm a huge Star Trek fan."

"No need to worry, I know many of your kind."

"Do you remember when you recited love poetry, to try and get Lwaxana Troi back?"

"Yes. I've never forgotten the time that the show's creator told me to hit on his wife."

"That was his wife?"

"Yup."

"I always thought it was funny." She laughed an awkward, coughing kind of laugh, and then wiped a tear from her cheek.

"I thought it was funny too, a gay man hitting on his boss's wife at his insistence. Lwaxana never found love, did she?"

"No, and I thought it was one of the saddest parts of Star Trek."

"Don't worry, Angela. If there's someone for you, we'll find him. Or her."

And pulling the pocket square from his suit pocket, he wiped the tears from her cheek, handed her the pocket square, and stepped out of his car.

The pocket square was monogrammed.

A week later, Angela was on another date, and Donnelly was sitting in the truck listening in horror.

"Did she really just say that?" asked Donnelly.

"Yes, Angela's stupid date did just say that," retorted Ling. "Why do you ask?"

"Sorry, Winn, forgot I had my mic on," said Donnelly. "At what point do we pull her out of there, gracefully or otherwise?"

"There's a key phrase, and we'll pull her out once she uses it," replied Winn.

"Or if her life is in danger," added Ling.

"I don't think her life will be in danger," stated Port. "This is a coffee shop, and we have Foster and Kira in there again if something goes wrong."

The team had decided, as a group, to use the same mission format for all of the dates that they were assisting Angela with. Mr. Stewart had tried, unsuccessfully, to talk Ling out of her sniper rifle. He ended up bowing to her superior tactical knowledge.

"That's it," said Donnelly. "I'm not going to listen to some punk treat Angela like this. I'm going in."

"Sit down, Donnelly," said Port. "She hasn't asked us to pull her out, so we're not going to."

They waited. Finally, with a hint of animosity, Angela bid her date a good night and fairly ran for the door.

"Why didn't you ask us to pull you out of there?" asked Port. "We had people who could have done it without making a huge deal out of it. What was up?"

"I didn't want to make a scene," she replied, "and that girl was really hot. I didn't want to piss her off."

"I don't care how hot she is," stated Ling. "That doesn't give her a reason to walk on you."

Angela ignored Ling. "Do we have another date lined up?"

"I've got someone else for you to try," said Winn. "I'm texting you his name and number."

Angela's phone went off. She unlocked it, read the text, and put her phone back in the back pocket of her jeans. "Let's get going," she said. "I want to be far away from here when that girl finds the sign I put on her back."

Donnelly had gotten bored in the truck during the third date, and so he had started making video logs.

"Date three," he started. "Things are going well, but Angela's date is an entitled piece of snot instead of the obscene piece of snot we dealt with last time."

Donnelly's radio squawked in the background, and he picked it up. "Say again?"

Winn's voice was distinct this time. "You were getting a rare apology from me," she said. "The line 'if you can't handle me at my worst, you don't deserve me at my best' should have been a red flag when we were vetting this girl."

Donnelly paused his video log and turned to Port. "How are things going with our friend?"

Winn shook her head sadly and handed Donnelly a headset. Angela's mic was picking up her voice fine, but her date's voice was a bit fainter.

"You know I'm a ballerina," said Angela. "I was one of the principal dancers in my company's production of Swan Lake."

Christina's voice was faint but distinct. Donnelly didn't need to look at the video feed to see the sneer on Christina's voice. "I was cast in the lead role when my company did it last year," she asserted. "We're getting ready for The Nutcracker this Christmas, and I've already been cast as Clara. The boy playing the Nutcracker is so dreamy... I might actually kiss him at the end. I haven't decided yet."

Donnelly turned towards Port again. "And she hasn't asked us to get her out of there?"

"Not yet," replied Port.

Winn's voice squawked from the radio again. "She said the key phrase. Kira, Foster, move now. And Ling, hold your fire. She's not in danger."

Kira walked over to Angela, with her father walking behind her and a bit to her right.

Angela fixed Christina with her gaze. "You have done an excellent job convincing me that you are better than me in every conceivable way. I see no reason to continue this date. Have a nice night."

Christina looked up in shock as Angela stood up. "And what about your bill?"

"Well," said Angela, "as you are better than me in every way, I assume that included being better off than me financially. You can cover it."

"You can't-" Christina had spotted Foster staring her down. Angela walked away.

Christina shouted across the coffee house. "Hey, blondie!"

Kira turned around.

"Yes, you. You single?"

Kira considered what to do for a second.

"Nope," she said. "Got a boyfriend." And Kira flipped her off.

That was the end of that.

There were a number of other dates that Angela went on. Every time, something went wrong. She was stood up twice more. One of her dates was obsessed with anime and spent the entire time talking about it. One of the guys wouldn't stop flirting with the waitress.

But every time the team failed, they learned something. Winn and Thomas honed their research skills and algorithms. Donnelly got really good at sitting in the truck and doing nothing. Kira and Sergeant Foster grew closer to each other, and Ling finally traded her sniper rifle for a shotgun mic.

There was a slight hiccup with Kira, Zach, and Christina, but that was solved with a staged, but very loud and public, breakup.

Time passed.

Donnelly, with nothing else to do, was making video logs again. "Date number 13," he started yet again. "We still haven't succeeded in finding a guy or a girl for Angela. Things are starting to get tense."

"Would you shut up, Donnelly?" asked Port. "You're really not helping anything."

Donnelly turned back to the webcam on his laptop. "Like I said, things are a little tense. For what it's worth, though, this date is going well. The guy is kind, sensitive, a bit funny; if I were a bit older, and not currently dating someone, I would date him."

"Sorry to interrupt, Donnelly," said Ling, "but we have a problem. You know how this building is supposed to be empty?"

"Yes?"

"And you know how there's a bank across the street from me, to the west of the coffee shop?"

"What are you saying, Zhi?"

"Well, I think I finally figured out what's going on. There's a bank robbery in progress right now. A couple of guys just took a case of gelignite into the basement of the building. I think all of the dirt that they've been trucking out of here has been for a tunnel under the bank."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Nope. You know what I really wish I had right now? A sniper rifle. I could have dropped those guys before this became an issue. But no, I didn't need one, did I?"

Ling had been talking on the main radio loop, which meant that everyone, including both Fosters and Angela, had heard the news. Port stepped in to do damage control.

"Angela, stay put. Don't say anything. You're safe. Kira, Foster, that goes for you too. Donnelly. Take a pair of assault rifles and sidearms -- whatever you want -- from the truck's armory and meet Ling on the ground floor. Investigate those robbers."

Angela nodded, and Kira passed on her agreement to the rest of the team. Donnelly grabbed the weapons and ran into the building, finally glad to be doing something useful.

While Ling and Donnelly entered the tunnel to stop the bank robbery, Angela was struggling to maintain appearances with her date.

"So... funny bit of weather we've been having," she said.

Dale laughed. "Yes, it is a funny bit of weather we've been having." He paused. "You don't get out much, do you?"

Angela laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah... I don't like the sun. It's too bright. Makes me sweaty."

"You're sure you're not a vampire?"

She laughed again. "Yes, I'm sure. I can see myself in mirrors, even though I don't want to sometimes."

"You know," he said, looking right into her eyes, "You're awkward. You're kind of a clutz. You've obviously cleaned yourself up for this date, but this doesn't seem like your normal state."

"Thanks."

"No, no, hear me out." He continued. "But at the same time, you're real. I'm so tired of fake people. I ask a customer at work how their day is going, and every time, it's the same answer. 'It's going fine,' they say. The nice ones ask me about my day. And every time, because this is how it works, I say the same thing.

"But you... You're different. If I asked you, you would actually tell me. You would say, 'Oh, today has kind of sucked. My mom got mad at me.' Or you would say 'My friend's goldfish died today, and she's really sad, but I don't really care even though I should.'

"You are beautiful, Angela, both in body and in heart. Shall I compare you to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely, and more temperate..."

Angela, looking both nervous and excited, looked back at Dale. "Shakespeare? I had no idea you were so well read."

"Uh, no, not Shakespeare. Star Trek."

And Angela's expression melted. She had found the right one.

And then it was Kira, at her side again. "I hate to break this up," she said, "but we need to get this place empty. Can you give me a hand?"

The robbers were on the ground, clutching the knees where they had been shot by the rifles of Donnelly and Ling. Donnelly walked over to the bottom of the concrete pad that the vault was sitting on and looked at the explosives so carefully laid across it.

Something wasn't right.

He took a look at the labels. The explosives were labeled as gelignite, just like Ling had said, but they smelled wrong.

He smelled it again.

"Ling, we need to evacuate the coffee shop. These idiots used the wrong explosives."

"I thought that was gelignite."

"That's what it's labeled as, but it's actually C-4. We need to go. Now."

"Can't you disarm it? Can't I disarm it?"

"No. There's not time. These people are idiots. We need to get out of here. Take one of the robbers, I'll take the other one. Winn?"

"Heard you. How much TNT?" asked Winn.

"Probably several hundred pounds. And this tunnel is unstable as is."

"Okay. Get them out. I'll have Kira and Foster evacuate the place."

Everyone was in a mad rush to get out of the coffee shop. Saying there was a bomb next door, while not the most tactful approach, certainly worked.

"Go! Go! GO!!" shouted Kira, trying to push everyone out.

Angela and Dale were in the back of the line to get out of the door. The panic spurred by Sergeant Foster's announcement was making exiting the building difficult.

And then there was a boom and a roar, and the building quivered and shook.

Pieces of the ceiling started falling in.

And then, with a great rush, the rest of the crowd got outside just as the building started to collapse. The tunnel had gone under the coffee house and had collapsed when the explosives went off.

Angela and Dale hit the ground, knocked over by the force of the blast.

"You know," gasped Angela, as they lay on the ground with their breaths knocked out of them, "I think I like you."

"I think I like you too," replied Dale. "The next time we go out, though, can we leave the bank robbers out of it?"

They both laughed.

"So... mission accomplished?" Port asked Angela after she had taken Dale home for the night.

"Yep. He's a really nice guy. I will let you know if things don't work out, though."

"Please do. This was fun."

"Do you have anyone in your life right now, Ms. Port?"

"Not really. It's been a low priority. I have to take care of my kid."

"Fair enough." Angela paused. "Thank you, again, for the help. Send my regards to Mr. Stewart?"

"Will do."

As Angela got out of the car, she was elated. She and Dale had planned another date, this time to a ballet performance of Swan Lake. Donnelly had agreed to run security, and she was borrowing Mr. Stewart's Porsche again.

Tonight was a good night. All was well.

#action #this is probably never going to happen #but it would be nice #gay #lesbian #bisexual #transgender #intersex #asexual #pansexual #everything else #the unnamed #social justice special forces #tv #movie