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homestuckreplay · 8 days

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Week 1 Retrospective: Who Is John Egbert?

It’s official - Homestuck is one week old today! And while a week is not a long run for a comic, it’s already got more pages than the author’s earlier work Bard Quest, so maybe it’s something worth recognizing. So I wanted to mark a week of Homestuck by doing a deep dive on what we’ve learned about our protagonist John Egbert so far. It’s some fact collection, some wild speculation, and some ongoing questions. It’s over 3000 words, so it’s under a readmore for anyone who’s interested.

If that doesn’t sound like a fun time to you (or even if it does), you can take the John Egbert Big 5 Personality Test to see how you score on John’s five key personality traits. It’s 14 multiple choice questions, so a much quicker read.

We’re introduced to John on page 4, where we’re given five key interests of his: bad movies, programming computers, paranormal lore, amateur magic, and gaming. I’ll take these one by one and use them as a framework for John’s character so far.

“You have a passion for REALLY TERRIBLE MOVIES.”

John has eleven (11) movie posters on his walls. Of these, three star Matthew McConaughey and two star Nicolas Cage. More notably, six have a Rotten Tomatoes rating below 50%, and two of these are below 10%. I haven’t seen any of these movies, but as far as I can tell, here are the one sentence summaries [broad spoilers for all these movies].

Little Monsters: A boy befriends a monster and visits the monster world, where they try to convert him into a monster too.

Con Air: A paroled man disrupts a gang of prisoner’s escape from a prison transport plane.

Deep Impact: Earth tries to prepare for extinction after a comet is found on a collision course with Earth.

Ghostbusters II: After going out of business, the Ghostbusters reunite to combat a negative energy slime monster.

Mac and Me: A boy befriends a young alien who gets separated from his family and lost on Earth.

Contact: An Earth scientist successfully discovers alien life and travels to an alien world.

A Time to Kill: A father is acquitted in court for killing the perpetrators of racial hate crimes against his daughter.

Failure to Launch: A 35 year old man’s parents hire a woman to persuade him to finally move out of their home.

Face/Off: A terrorist and a FBI agent go through facial transplant surgery and temporarily swap identities.

Armageddon: A group of space workmen go on a mission to stop an asteroid from destroying Earth.

Ghost Dad: A man temporarily dies but is able to interact with his children in ghost form.

From this we can see that John really likes science fiction movies related to aliens, ghosts and monsters, as well as action comedy. We also know from page 21: ‘Films about impending apocalypse fascinate you’. A Time to Kill and Failure to Launch are the only ones that don’t fit his taste. The implication here is that John really loved Matthew McConaughey in Contact and so watched his other movies even though they were things he wouldn’t usually watch.

I’m curious if these movies are intended as clues to John’s character, the future of the comic, or both. In terms of his character, they make me see him as someone who’s imaginative and goofy, young and carefree, not concerned with other people’s opinions, more interested in watching movies for their surface meanings and exciting stories, maybe wants to escape to a different world, might be a little bit gay.

In terms of the future of the comic, it could be that we’re going to see literal aliens or monsters - they could even be already here, keeping John ‘homestuck’. Slime monsters are particularly highlighted, with Slimer from Ghostbusters appearing on John’s shirt and computer background, and his chumhandle, ectoBiologist, relating to slime. Slime invasion honestly feels too obvious, and anyway, several of John’s movies are about befriending a more benign supernatural force - could John’s Pesterchum friends be something other than human? Or maybe it’s a more metaphorical meaning, referring to John having a very different life to his friends?

Two of these movies feature Earth extinctions by giant space rocks, but there’s absolutely no indication of this being a real world threat John is dealing with. Again, it could refer more generally to a sudden, life changing event that’s about to happen to disrupt John’s current state, something that would fit thematically with this being John’s 13th birthday, a milestone age.

There’s also a theme of crime and the legal system in several movies, including Con Air, the one that’s been most highlighted. The most obvious interpretation of John’s dad right now is that he’s a clown or performer, but there’s an outside chance he could be in law enforcement, or a criminal. It’s even possible that he’s currently in hiding or some kind of safe house. This would explain John being ‘homestuck’ and sick of spending time with his dad.

Speaking of John’s dad, I’m concerned for him based on the Ghost Dad summary - the comic keeps teasing his presence, but we haven’t actually seen him yet. Could he be a ghost? Or become one at some point? Alternatively, we know John has an already dead relative - could his nanna be a ghost? Did John dropping her ashes release her ghost? Family is a really common theme in movies, so I don’t know if a large number of these movies being about family (especially fathers) is relevant, but I’m noting it all the same.

“You like to program computers but you are NOT VERY GOOD AT IT.”

John claims he ‘likes to program’, but it actually seems to make him angry. We first learn ‘[y]ou were never all that great with data structures and you find the concept [of the stack modus] puzzling and mildly irritating.’ We then see three files on John’s desktop, two in ^CAKE - ‘pff.^CAKE’ and ‘FUCK FUCK FUCK.^CAKE’ and one in ~ATH - ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH.~ATH’. These tell a clear narrative of John trying to work on his programming and getting increasingly more frustrated with his attempts, until inevitably giving up. Both of the programming languages are puns, too. ^ is often called a carat (carrot cake) while ~ is a tilde (til death).

I know this is wild speculation, but… John started off coding in a harmless programming language, was already struggling, then for some reason switched over to the most ominous possible sounding language, screwed it up even worse, and now… he’s constantly haunted by the ghost of failed programming attempts in the form of his sylladex, which he appears to be new to using (he had no prior understanding of it on page 7 - although this could be handwaved due to video game tutorial logic), and which operates similarly to a computer program and seems to cause John endless frustration. He’ll have to figure out how to exploit the inventory system in ways that help him, which involves actually figuring out some stuff about coding, in order to partake in some real life ghostbusting, or monster hunting, or dealing with whatever threat he’ll have to deal with by using inventory hacks.

“You have a fondness for PARANORMAL LORE,” (...)

By far the interest of John’s that we’ve seen the least of so far, John’s love of the paranormal is mostly inferred through his movie preferences, and we don’t see any direct evidence of an interest in lore. However, I can’t stop fixating on John’s chumhandle: ectoBiologist. The comic’s first act was to draw attention to giving John a name, and for many 2009 kids, the names they go by online are more meaningful and representative of them than their real world names.

‘ecto-’ means ‘outer, outside, external’ according to dictionary.com, and it’s actually a common prefix in a variety of fields of biology, but there’s no such thing as ‘ectobiology’ as a field, or an ‘ectobiologist’ - neither term has any search results prior to Homestuck. I think it’s way more likely that this refers to ectoplasm, a term from both cell biology and spiritualism that was popularized by Ghostbusters to mean any substance secreted by a ghost, in practice often manifesting as green slime. Slimer, who we can guess is John’s favorite, is a benign ghost made of pure ectoplasm. I love the idea that John loves this dumb ghost so much that he’s memorized all the lore about them in their appearances throughout the franchise, and devised this username based on being an expert on these ghosts right down to their biology (or at least thinking he is).

The only catch is, ‘fondness for paranormal lore’ is very passive and doesn’t even imply much knowledge, much less action, while ‘biologist’ implies that John has been doing actual experiments. The idea of John trying to create a real life Slimer the same way other kids make slime in their kitchens is really entertaining, if an off the wall theory. Does ‘homestuck’ just mean John is grounded for an unethical science project?

(...) “and are an aspiring AMATEUR MAGICIAN.”

The magic chest is one of the biggest, most eye catching and most colorful objects in John’s room. We see its contents on page 8, which lean more into joke store items than things a magician might use, except for the trick handcuffs and perhaps the collapsible sword. The narration on this page states that John is neither a skilled magician nor a cunning prankster. I’m nitpicking definitions here, but everything John has done so far has been way more about pranks than about magic.

John’s uses of the magic chest to date are…

various putting things into his inventory and removing them (funny, but unintentionally)

combining fake arms with cake (p.36) out of necessity, which ‘makes the cake at least 300% more hilarious’

merging hat with beagle puss to create a clever disguise (p.45) and wearing it for 25+ pages, which he acknowledges is a ‘shitty disguise’

attaching fake arms to harlequin doll (p.65), which makes it ‘AT LEAST a million percent funnier’

All of which are definitely not magic tricks, and honestly not even pranks. Arguably John’s best and most successful prank so far has been when he pretended not to have arms for the first six pages, before revealing his arms after the interface had gone to the trouble of moving the cake off his magic chest to get him some arms.

John keeps thinking about reading Colonel Sassacre’s Guide to Magical Frivolity and Practical Japery, but always finding some excuse not to. He can’t read it until he captchalogues it, but once he does that, it gets buried in his inventory. He assumes that the book can tell him the exact percentage increase of hilarity a prank leads to, but it’s too big for him to actually look anything up.

An outside theory for this that I don’t think is likely simply because it’s so much darker than the comic has been so far, is that John loves this book, but since the incident where his nanna was killed by a copy (perhaps even this copy?) he hasn’t been able to bring himself to read it. A far more likely theory is that while John is an aspiring amateur magician, it’s more of a big idea, and he hasn’t actually done any magic yet. This also tracks with his weaksauce pranks above. And if that’s true, then it says a lot about John that he defines himself by a hobby he aspires to but doesn’t actually practice - he’s someone with big dreams and less motivation, just like his big dream of going to collect the mail from his father despite the lack of motivation that’s kept him messing around for 70 pages.

“You also like to play GAMES sometimes.”

Potentially most important of all is Gamer John. We get a list of games John likes to play from inspecting his CD tower the same way we get a list of movies from looking at his posters.

Bard Quest

The Caper Havers

Problem Sleuth

And It Don’t Stop

What Pumpkin?

Ghostbusters II MMORPG

Little Monsters (for Nintendo)

Harry Anderson: Call My Bluff!

The first five games all reference previous work by the author of Homestuck, and as such probably don’t need in depth analysis. However, the fact that within the world of Homestuck, these are all games (instead of comics) is one of several suggestions that we should think of Homestuck as a game, something that needs further analysis.

The next two games are video game adaptations of movies we know John likes, and the last is a branded video game from Harry Anderson, whose book we’ve already seen in John’s magic chest. Notably, none of these are real video games in our world either. It says a lot that John plays game versions of things he already likes (he’s put ‘countless manhours’ into this assortment of quality titles).

However, it’s undeniable that the most important game in John’s life right now is Sburb. The poster is behind his head in the first panel, placed centrally with one of the only two splashes of color in the panel. The beta release is the only thing marked on his calendar for April besides his birthday, and the Sburb logo is even the picture printed on the calendar - perhaps it’s a calendar themed around new game releases? There’s clear delight on John’s face when he thinks about getting the beta, and his quest to fetch it from the recently delivered mail is the closest thing to a story this comic has so far.

Unfortunately, we know almost nothing about Sburb, so we don’t know what it says about John that he wants to play it. It’s publicized as the Game of the Year, and according to GameBro, the game may be about houses and the player may not get to thrash anything, although these details are provided by someone who hasn’t played the game so I’m not taking them as expert opinion. It might be multiplayer - TT has been pestering TG all day about playing it with her. Maybe John just wants to share a game with his friends.

Speaking of GameBro, John can’t stand the magazine, although he for some reason has a copy on his desk. He describes the publication as ‘a joke’ to TG, and he makes the effort to take it downstairs to the fire and burn it, presumably releasing asbestos fibers into the house and causing serious lung damage to himself and his father. Does he read this because it’s the only games magazine that exists? Or did he like it just fine until now, when it trashed the game he’s excited about, and now he’s furious with it? Either way, it tracks with John’s overall fondness for critically panned media that he would be angry about contrarian critics.

–

All of this has left me with a few questions about John as our main character. These are the things that I’m keeping an eye on and trying to answer as the story continues.

What is John good at?

We hear so much about what John is bad at. He’s explicitly stated to be bad at programming, pranks, and magic. He’s bad at using his sylladex. He’s clumsy and knocked over his nanna’s ashes. He’s got bad taste in media. He’s funny but only when he doesn’t try to be, and even then he’s sometimes the butt of the joke, where the joke is how not funny John’s joke is. He was tempted to squawk like an imbecile and shit on his desk. He has like six different prankster props and he doesn’t even use all of them. I’m saying all this with love and kindness because he also just seems like such a sweet kid, but so far he doesn’t have any defined strengths or skills.

Is he going to turn out to be really good at gaming and kick ass at Sburb? Are we going to get a curveball where it turns out John is an amazing baker, and he hates the cakes in his room and the smell of Betty Crocker because he can do so much better than that packet mix? Or is he starting off from this low point so he can develop skills as time goes on?

What is John’s relationship with his dad really like?

John doesn’t want his dad to monopolize his time and feels trapped in his room, despite his dad baking cakes and leaving notes on gifts telling John he’s proud of him. John’s dad gets his son one great present that John’s really appreciative of, and one terrible present that John immediately hates. All of this feels very reasonable and normal for a teen feeling misunderstood by a parent who’s trying their best.

And then there’s the clowns.

John can excuse magical frivolity and practical japery, but he draws the line at harlequins. He’s an aspiring magician, but his dad’s figurines are ‘fucking garbage’ and his dad ‘sure can be a real cornball’. John seems like somebody who gets angry at ultimately unimportant things, like bad reviews of games, too many cakes, and harlequin figurines, but because of the subject matter it reads like an intense rivalry between two highly specific subcultures that outsiders would group together. John is really making a huge deal of needing to disguise himself and mentally prepare himself to go down and face his dad, and I want to know if there’s any genuine reason behind John’s fear, or if it’s solely the overdramatics I’m starting to think are typical of him.

Is John ‘Homestuck’?

‘Sometimes you feel like you are trapped in this room. Stuck, if you will, in a sense which possibly borders on the titular.’ (p.30)

John clearly feels like he’s stuck at home, but is this the extent of the title’s meaning? His dad has recently returned from getting groceries, so leaving the house is in theory possible. Reasons why John might be homestuck include: he’s not allowed to leave the house (for example, he’s grounded, or his dad is very controlling), he can leave the house but there’s nowhere to go (he lives near major roads, bodies of water, farms, or other obstacles, and there’s no public transport to get anywhere), or he can leave the house but it’s not safe to do so (there’s some sort of external threat, either supernatural like a monster or alien invasion, or mundane like a criminal or bomb threat). Seeing out of John’s window and into his front yard does not provide any clues; it looks like an extremely average front yard with a tree, swing and mailbox, and we know the mail was recently delivered, so there can’t be anything too world-ending happening in the neighborhood. Right now John’s goal (the Sburb Beta disc) is inside the house, so this might not get answered right away - in fact, my running theory is that the game itself might hold the answers, as its logo is a house.

What’s the differentiation between John and the narrator?

My biggest question of all, and one that probably deserves its own essay. I’m fascinated by the lines ‘In a kid's yard, a tree without a tire swing is like a proper gentleman without a monocle.’ (p.27) and ‘In a home, a FIREPLACE needs a fire, because that's what FIREPLACE is for.’ (p.50). These lines carry so much opinion, but because the narrator is constantly addressing John with the second person ‘you’, I don’t think these are John’s opinions. The narrator does have a window into John’s thoughts, so the line between them can be blurred, but there's clearly a distinction somewhere, because there have been pushbacks and disagreements between the two of them.

One theory is that John’s dad is the narrator - John’s at home a lot for whatever reason, and so the constant and overbearing presence of his dad means that he can’t get him out of his head even when he’s alone, the commands at the top of each page reflecting John’s dad’s level of control over his son’s life. But I think this question is open ended enough that I’m not willing to commit to one theory yet. After all, we ‘examine 3rd and 4th walls of [John’s] room’ which is a directly meta allusion to the comic’s audience that only really makes sense if the narrator isn’t a character in the comic itself.

–

I think John Egbert has been really well characterized so far. He feels like a real kid, one who keeps getting off track and forgetting what he should be doing, but one who it’s enough fun to get to know that I don’t really notice. While the main character in media often doesn’t end up being the most interesting character, I do want to keep an eye on John because I think he has a lot going on to analyze. Above the style and the world and the mechanics, John as a character is the aspect of the comic I’m most interested in right now.

#homestuck #john egbert #analysis

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sxs-kav · 2 years

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In defense of Hophie, and how I would improve it

First of all, spoilers ahead, obviously. Secondly, this is a pro-Hophie post. Not to try and convince anyone to change their minds, but because while I love them together, I also recognize that they're relationship buildup was a disaster. But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t have worked at all with some tweaking. Also I just have a lot of thoughts about this series right now so I need to let them out or they'll just keep rattling around in my brain. Sorry this is like another dissertation.

I'll be honest: I may be totally biased towards Hort because I am a sucker for unrequitted love stories. Take my favorite example, Seiya/Usagi. I couldn't help comparing a lot of Hophie's interactions and story beats to them (though I think Seiya/Usagi is a stronger ship). I know a lot of people will say Hort is creepy, and yeah, I remember moments where I was like, okay calm your hormones dude. But just because he was open about his feelings I don't think he was pushy. I see people saying he pushed himself on Sophie, but I didn't see that. He was just there, trying to prove himself over and over, being supportive, protective, and even accepting that things weren't going to happen between them. It's why he was able to try dating Nicola. But just because you try to move on or accept someone's rejection doesn't mean you stop caring. I do wish he was a stronger character on his own. He has potential (I feel like I say that a lot about these books). He can be clever, he’s strong (maybe a bit OP), savage and yet kind-hearted. I would have liked to see him warm up to Tedros more, become unlikely bros. They almost did at the end of the last book. Also would have liked to see more of his motives beyond protecting Sophie, since he already reached his goal of burying his father. Maybe he learns to like teaching history more than he thought or finds some other thing he enjoys while they’re out questing.

Sophie on the other hand...I wish I'd seen more development of her feelings. Not so much in the first trilogy; I think the way it was open-ended with her being single and happy was nice, it left us to our imaginations. But if the end game was Hophie from the start of Camelot Years, then it needed to be better. There were so many missed opportunities to show her growing close to him, seeing him in a different light, questioning her feelings. They happened sparsely, and almost like an afterthought, until the last third of the last book where suddenly she was in love. And as a person who is perfectly comfortable being single, I don't think it ruins her character growth to be in a relationship. But rather than wanting it because she's lonely and misses Agatha, I wish it was because she just happened to fall in love along the way. In fact, that would have been even more compelling: being so happy alone that she wonders if she wants to be in a relationship at all, but unable to help falling for Hort, and realizing it doesn't mean she has to stop being independent and comfortable with herself.

What drives me nuts too is the Handbook. I really enjoyed it as a companion piece for expanding the world and letting us be inside the characters’ heads without narration. But it also heavily implied that there was already something developing between Hophie before the Camelot trilogy (especially the last bit about Sophie whispering something in Hort’s ear). So why did it seem like they were no closer to getting together by the time Camelot started?

I also have to point out Nicola. I hope I don't get hate for this, but she was kind of pointless, and a Mary Sue. She comes in like a self-insert character who read the first trilogy and wants to self-ship with Hort. She's got too much special knowledge that gets them out of trouble when no one else can. She's smarter than a lot of the other first years and there's not a good explanation why she was in Evil and switched to Good. The Storian picked her to go with them, but there was no resolution for why she was so important to be mentioned by name when no one really knew her beforehand. Then suddenly she became a background character because Soman was focused in on Hophie. Not to mention how quickly she went from being infatuated with Hort to being annoyed every time he spoke. Their breakup was so forced, and it only made it clear that Nicola was introduced mostly to create a love triangle, but it wasn't even utilized well to advance Hophie's relationship. It all goes back to Soman's writing in general, which I went on about at length in a different post, so check that out if you want.

For now, may I present to you how I would have written Hophie's love story:

Starting in book 4, since Sophie and Hort have been working closely for the last 6 months, they have gotten to be very close friends. Eating together, doing lesson plans together, etc., and yes, Sophie still has him do things for her because that’s just how she is, but he doesn’t mind because that’s how he is. Sophie hasn't felt this comfortable around another person since Agatha, that she can just be herself and not worry about judgement. Obviously she can tell Hort's feelings haven't changed a bit, and they do have some flirty moments, but she's so at peace with herself in her independence, she doesn't want to disturb that balance and possibly become the old Sophie who felt like all she wanted in life was a boyfriend. So she skirts around any advances or moments where they're on the brink of something, doing her best not to hurt Hort's feelings even more.

In comes Nicola. Things generally play out the same in the books, with Hort feeling like Sophie will just never feel the same, that maybe she only sees him as a friend now that they've gotten to know each other so intimately. So he gives Nicola a chance, and Sophie is jealous. More so than the hinted jealousy we got in the books that lasted like five minutes. This girl just came along and snatched up her bestie (not that she’s replacing Agatha, but how can she not consider Hort a best friend in this scenario?) and she does not want to go through that again. But she's also annoyed with herself for being jealous because she chose this life of being single and she likes it. She's not unhappy, she's not lost and lonely anymore. She shouldn't care that someone else is dating Hort because she already chose not to. She has no claim to him, and he looks happy. So she doesn’t try to break them up (after the first few days) but she keeps her distance.

As for Rhian, Sophie has her doubts still about dating, but now she's wondering if she hasn’t changed as much as she thought. Clearly she still wants love in some capacity if she can get so jealous, and since she missed her chance with Hort she doesn't want to lose another. She also uses Rhian a bit to get back at Hort even though he didn't really do anything wrong (but it's Sophie, she needs to let her anger out somehow). But even as Rhian dotes on her and acts like the prince she'd always dreamed of, she's still not entirely satisfied. She's still jealous. She realizes that it's not that she just wants any old boyfriend so she won’t miss out on love. She only wants Hort, and now it's too late. She plans to dump Rhian but he holds her hostage before she has a chance.

Meanwhile, Nicola is getting to know the real Hort, rather than the storybook one, and she's starting to wonder if maybe she was more attracted to the idea of him than the actual person. There would be a moment when he would do something that she was either disgusted by or showed a side of him she didn't know was there and didn't like. Maybe something Never-ish that bothered her more than she'd thought it would. She starts to rethink her feelings, while also seeing more and more that Hort is not over Sophie.

Hort is basically the same as the books with his protectiveness, but since it would be established that he and Sophie are even closer friends, he would try to talk to her like normal and she would be very distant. He's confused and hurt, but he keeps trying until Rhian comes along. When Sophie rubs him in Hort’s face, he gets angry and puts all his attention on Nicola, rubbing it back in her face, creating a vicious cycle. But Nicola’s fantasy of him is already breaking. I think they would break up sooner in this version of the story, since it’s not really necessary for them still to be together after they are captured by Rhian.

Sophie and Hort’s anger at each other is put aside after Rhian pulls the sword. There would still be the scene where she chooses to take him from the dungeon, and the rescue gone wrong. This whole section of book 5, from Hort trying to kill Rhian through the stymph rescue is one of my favorite parts because you really felt the chemistry between Sophie and Hort, how easy it was for them to plot together without even speaking. I think it would be even more heartbreaking when he leaves without her, because they almost made it out together, but now they’re separated again without having had a chance to apologize to each other, not knowing if they’ll ever see each other again.

The first thing they do when they’re reunited in Gnomeland is apologize, and though it’s a little awkward at first, now that Nicola dumped Hort, they fall right back to where they were before. From here, I think the story would progress pretty similarly to how it does in the books, with the some minor changes. Obviously Sophie and Agatha’s conversation on the camel would be different, with Sophie confessing to her about her feelings and the fact that she held back because she didn’t want to lose her independence. Agatha would urge her to act on her feelings using herself as an example. She still did what she wanted, even when Tedros wanted her to act like a regular princess, and she’s sure Hort would never hold her back from being her own person and doing what made her happy. That’s when Sophie decides that she’s going to make her move the next chance she gets.

The scene in the Mirage would be a little different too. Rather than accidentally insulting Hort, their conversation would just be interrupted by the arrival of the army. And they’d still be interrupted in the Celestium. The scene where Hort ‘dies’ would also be pretty much the same, but I think it would hit harder after all this build up. And their reunion scene would be even more satisfying, but I’d have Sophie run at him and kiss him before they say anything. He would be shocked, but he wouldn’t dare to let her go. They’d both be all teary-eyed as Hort explained how he lived and that the wolf was gone, and she might not like him anymore. She would definitely confess that she’d been in love with him for a while, not for the wolf but for the man. That she wanted to tell him in Shazabah, and how sorry she was for being too stubborn to let herself be happy, independent and in love. He would agree that she was stubborn, but also say he loved her for it.

And that, my friends, is how Hophie should have been written. If it was, I think a lot more people would appreciate it, and I would like it even more than I do. I see so much potential for what could have been, and again I’m left frustrated by how it was actually done. But at least I can finally say one of my ships is actually canon, problematic as it is.

#sge #school for good and evil #hophie #sophie #hort #spoilers #sge spoilers

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weelittleweasley · 3 years

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growing pains (d.m.)

prompt as requested by anon: after the war and settling down with draco, the time comes for your children to attend hogwarts.

pairing: draco malfoy x fem! reader

warnings: recollection of pregnancy, recollection of the war, crying, lots of cute fluff though :)

word count: 3.6k

a/n: i cried writing this. have fun.

Never did you think that you would have a normal life with Draco after everything that happened. The war took so much life away from you both; it showed you how truly ugly and vile the world could be. Especially Draco.

After the war, Draco refused to allow himself and his future family live in a world that was so cruel and unforgiving. Draco wanted to undo all of the wrongdoings he had done and work harder for a better future for himself, for you, and your family; it’s what you deserved, he told you. Draco wanted to give you the world and he would rest at nothing to do so.

Draco left his past behind him and moved from Malfoy Manor to settle somewhere new. A new start, a new life. You two were married immediately after the dust had settled from the war. The ceremony was very private just the two of you, professing your undying love for each other, Draco promising profusely that he would do anything and everything to keep you happy.

Life, for the first time, felt ordinary. And you thanked Godric for that. The two of you worked your jobs, supported yourselves, and were happy. And that’s all you could really ask for. You had everything you needed, a job, a roof over your head, and Draco by your side.

Although life was ordinary for the first time in years, Draco would do special things for you here and there to show you just how much he loved you and adore having you as his wife. During work, he’d send you three dozen roses to your desk, earning you strange glances as you just sat there, smiling like a school girl. Or when he knew you had an awfully long day, he’d draw you a bath and pour you a glass of wine and let you be for a few hours, letting you decompress. Or it could be something as simple as leaving you a love note on your pillow when he woke up before you. Draco was so thoughtful when it came to taking the time to appreciate all that he had. He had taken it for granted so many times in the past and with the war, it was all threatened. Draco learned quickly that he needed to recognize his blessings and take a moment each day to really show you how much he cared.

This was more than enough for you, just you and Draco living your lives together, relishing in this new life you created together.

But soon enough, Draco started casually tossing around the idea of having children. You had been married for a year when it he started toying with the idea of having your own kids. You were in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes from that night’s dinner, Draco wiping down the table.

“(Y/N)?” he spoke from the dining room.

“Yes, my love?” you called back.

Draco walked into the kitchen, leaning on the door frame his arms folded across his chest. “Do you think we should move?” he asked, searching your face for a reaction.

Your eyes furrowed. You had been living in this house for a little over a year and you loved it. It was a symbol of your freedom away from the mess of your pasts and your renewed love and dedication to each other. Why would Draco want to leave this place you so fondly called home? You spoke your thoughts that swirled around your head, “Move? Why would we move?”

He peeled himself off the door frame and took a few steps towards you as you shut off the water and turned towards him to give him your full attention. “I think we’ve out grown this home,” he speaks. “Think about it. With my new business starting and with your promotions at work, we’ll both need a home our own offices. Not to mention, we’ll need a nursery soon and that means we’d have to covert the guest room into one, but where would your parents stay when they visit us. Besides, I want to move somewhere were my commute is shorter to work,” Draco shurgs, dancing around the fact that he just mentioned having a nursery in your home.

You stop him in his tracks, “Hold on there, lover boy,” you tease him with the nickname you’d given him back in your sixth year at Hogwarts. He smiles at the name, lightly laughing. “A nursery? Why would we need one of those?”

Draco inhales a deep breath and takes a step closer to you, placing a hand on your hip, pulling you close to him. “I love you, (Y/N). I always have. You are and will always be the most important thing to me,” he tells you as you smile, him kissing the tip of your nose. “I want to start a family together. We have more than enough money to move into a bigger house,” he refers to his hearty inheritance along with the money he’s made from his booming company, “we are both mature and ready, and don’t try to tell me you wouldn’t want a little Malfoy running around,” he teases.

You hated to admit when Draco was right. He saw the way you watched children play in the park around the corner from your home. How children giggled and played, their small feet running around, tiny voices speaking childish phrases, getting excited over new discoveries. Having a child with Draco would be a blessing. But you didn’t know if you were ready to be a mother yet. It was a large step, and one you wanted to take, it was just a matter of if you were ready for it.

Sighing, you brush your fingers through Draco’s blonde hair, a familiar feeling to the both of you. Draco lets his eyes flutter closed as he hums as you do so. “You’re right, Dray,” you admit as he smiles widely. A child. For the both of you. “But,” you interrupt, “I don’t know if I’m ready to be a mother just yet. I’m doing so well in my job and I love working. I’m not ready to give it up. This is only the beginning for me. And it’s not fair to ask you to leave your job to raise a child.”

Draco lets out a breathy laugh as he cups your cheek, rubbing it gently with his thumb as you lean into his touch. “I’m not asking you to drop everything for our child, sunshine,” he tells you. “Besides, we can always take leave from our jobs temporarily on maternity and paternity leave. When you’re ready, you go back. I run my own company, darling. My own. I call the shots. If I need to work from home to raise the child we created, so be it. I’ll enjoy every moment.”

Your heart flutters as Draco speaks. He really was perfect.

And in nine months time, you had created the most perfect thing you could have ever imagined. Celeste Frances Malfoy. Celeste...your star. A gift from the heavens. Your family was as complete as the sky; Draco, the moon, you, the sun, Celeste, your star.

Watching Celeste grow up was like watching a movie unfold before your eyes. Your beautiful baby girl held the universe in her eyes. And boy, oh boy, was she her father’s child. Identical grey eyes and silver hair, but she had your smile and laugh that made Draco’s heart swell with so much love. She had Draco’s love of mischief and often found herself in sticky situations.

Once you had found Celeste sitting quite literally in the toilet, red lipstick from your make up bag smeared across her face and chest, along with the toilet brush. You gasped as you found her and stared in shock. “Cel, what did you do?” you laughed.

She simply smiled, that mischievous smile at the age of two, and spoke, “It’s my wand! Just like mummy and daddy!” She waved the toilet brush around, making small mouth sounds that replicated those of magic and your wand.

You laughed at the antics of your toddler. Instead of getting her out of the toilet bowl, you called out for your husband and called that he get the camera. This would be a memory you would love to keep.

Draco ran in and saw his baby girl in this predicament and burst out laughing. “What mess did you get into, my star!” he laughed as Celeste giggled along with him. “Merlin, I need to tell your Uncle Blaise about this!” he wiped his eyes from laugher.

The years past and Celeste grew and grew before your eyes. The more she grew up, the more she grew into her features. Her long blonde hair grew out and her eyes only grew to look more like Draco’s. But it became evident that your daughter possessed the same ruthless nature as you did. Celeste was bold and clever and wise beyond her years. She really was a perfect blend of you and Draco.

Knowing that you could make such perfect children, that only encouraged Draco and you to have more children. Draco insisted that he wanted five children, but you stared at him with wide eyes. “Do I look like Molly Weasley?” you laughed as he chuckled to himself. “How about three?” you suggested as Draco rolled his eyes.

“I don’t like odd numbers. What if two are very close and the third one feels left out. I can’t do that to our children,” Draco pleaded as you groaned. “Four? Four and I’ll never ask for anything else!” he begs as you roll your eyes, knowing damn well that him not asking for anything else was the biggest lie. “Okay, maybe not that, but four! Four is a great number!”

And in typical Draco fashion, he got what he wanted. Four children. Celeste, your oldest, your leader, your star. Xander, your second, the jokester, the pot-stirrer, but also the empath of the family. Sage, your third, the free spirit, the humble one, Miss Independent. And last, Nicolas, your last, the baby, the soft-spoken one, but incredibly defensive of your family and its honor. Your perfect family.

Each of your children all bore that same striking Malfoy hair, warning children to know who they were messing with. The girls looked much like their father, same hair and eyes, making your heart swell as you looked into their eyes. The boy, on the other hand, had Draco’s platinum hair, but your eyes and smile. The perfect combination.

Having such a large family meant chaos in the house. Celeste would often squeal about how Xander was bothering her while Xander tried to blame Nicolas for his pranks. Sage would quietly sit and observe before telling you the truth about what happened before going back to coloring. You laughed as Xander yelled at Sage for throwing him under the bus, but she just shrugged. The house never being silent always brought you a comfort that you never thought imaginable. The blabbering mouths of your children, the laughter, the fatherly voice of Draco booming over it all, catching your children’s attention.

Draco was a phenomenal father. You didn’t think he could love anything as much as he loved you, but you stood corrected. Draco loved you fiercely, but Draco poured his heart and soul into the needs of his children. Each child had a different relationship with Draco but each so beautiful and lovely. Celeste, being the oldest, idolized her father and how he treated you with such love and compassion. Xander insisted he wanted to be just like his father, smart, funny, and successful. “What more do you need?” Xander would shrug as you laughed. Sage loved Draco something wild, she would draw him little pictures that he’d tape to the walls of his office, she slept with his old quidditch jumper as if it were a blanket. The sight was heart warming. And Nicolas was the baby, Draco’s baby. Nicolas was Draco’s shadow, following him room through room, staring up at him with wide eyes. Your children loved each other and that was all thanks to how you raised them.

From a young age, you told your children that family was everything. You needed to protect and love each other because if you didn’t, who else would. From then on, your children were fiercely close and loyal to each other. You remember clear as day when Xander got into a fight on the playground and word got to Celeste. Celeste then gathered the other siblings and walked up to the child and scared the living shit out of the poor kid who thought to lay a finger on Xander Malfoy.

As your children grew up, you and Draco knew very well that a Hogwarts letter would arrive in the mail soon for Celeste as she approached her eleventh birthday. Your children knew of magic and magical abilities; you wanted them to know the powers that they would posses rather than shield them so they grew to fear it. Each child had a different reaction when they found out about magic, but all fears dissipated when you showed them each your wands and old robes. (Of course, Draco revering his time as a quidditch team member, Xander immediately yelling that he would also be a Seeker like his father.)

Soon enough, the eve of Celeste’s eleventh birthday rolled around and like you expected a letter dashed through the front mailbox and landed perfectly on the breakfast table as you sat down to drink your morning coffee. The pale beige envelope was addressed to Miss Celeste Frances Malfoy. A small smile grew on your lips as you sighed and looked towards your husband. Draco’s eyes laced together in confusion, but soon recognized the slip of paper you had in your hands. The two of you smiled at each other before Draco called out, “Cel! You have an early birthday present!”

Almost immediately footsteps sounded down the staircase before Celeste arrived in the kitchen. “What is it?” the almost eleven year old asked excitedly. You handed her the envelope with a beaming smile as she looked at you quizzically. She tore into the envelope and unfolded it to read the words scribbled onto the parchment. Soon, joy and excitement filled her eyes as she squealed out in excitement. “I’m going to Hogwarts?!” she yelled as you and Draco laughed.

You engulfed your eldest child in a tight hug as happy tears flooded your vision. She was growing up far too fast for your liking.

----------

The start of school eventually rolled around the corner as Celeste happily pushed all of her luggage through the train stations, veering around different platforms. Draco carried Nicolas in his arms as you held Sage’s hand in yours as Celeste walked ahead with Xander, blabbing about Hogwarts, smiles on both you and Draco’s faces.

Your eldest child was about to embark on the greatest journey of her young adult life and you couldn’t be more excited for her. You had no doubt that Celeste would excel at Hogwarts, taking after both you and Draco.

“Mum,” Celeste calls from ahead, “What house do you reckon I’ll be sorted into?” she asks.

You smile and look at your husband speaks before you, “I have my guesses, but I don’t want to influence you in any way, my star.”

Cel groans and speaks, “Come on! You reckon I’ll be a Slytherin like you?”

Draco laughs and tells his oldest child, “It doesn’t matter to me or your mother what house you’ll be sorted into. We know whatever house you are in, you’ll make us proud.”

Celeste smiles wide before looking at her surroundings realizing its come to the part she’s heard so much about. You look to Draco who nods as you sigh. Walking to Celeste, you place your hands on her shoulders. “You ready, star shine?” you ask, giving her shoulders a squeeze. Celeste gulps and looks at you, excitement and fear laced in her eyes. “We’re gonna run through together,” you aim the luggage cart at that all too familiar wall. “On the count of three,” you tell her.

Your daughter takes a deep breath in and huffs, “On three.”

“1, 2, 3,” the two of you speak before running directly at the wall, passing through with ease as another world appears before your eyes.

Multiple wizard families bustle through Platform 9 3/4, mothers calling to their children as fathers carry bags here and there. A smile forms on your face as Draco slides his hand in yours. “Looks familiar, doesn’t it?” he laughs as you roll your eyes teasingly.

You grab Celeste’s hand, “Come on, darling. Xander, push the cart for your sister. Sage, hold Daddy’s hand. She’s got a train to catch!”

Your family starts walking to the platform where the train awaited the loading of multiple new and returning students. Draco loads Celeste’s luggage onto the train with the help of Xander as Nicolas holds onto your leg and sucks on his thumb in wonder at the scene before him.

Turning to Celeste, you see watch her anxiously bite on her lower lip as you did when you were nervous. You place a hand on your daughter’s shoulder. “Cel,” you speak as she turns towards you. “This is going to be the greatest journey ever. Enjoy every minute of it because it goes by in the blink of an eye,” you comfort her as you see tears well up in her eyes. “Oh, sweetheart,” you pull her into a hug, tears forming in your eyes. You hold onto your eldest daughter, pressing kisses onto the top of her head. “I’m so proud of you, star shine. You are going to be incredible. I have no doubt about that.”

Draco places a hand on Celeste’s back and rubs gently. “Your mother is right. When is she ever wrong?” he teases as Cel laughs and hugs Draco’s torso tight. “My star...” he gets choked up before breathing in. He squats to her level and speaks, “Have fun. Make friends. And don’t forget to write us.” Cel giggles as Draco smiles widely at his daughter. “My first born...go kick some ass.”

Cel laughs and hugs you and Draco tightly. You wished you could stay in this moment forever. It was so bittersweet. Watching your baby grow up before your own eyes, but doing everything you’ve ever wanted for her. “Okay, my star,” you pull away, letting her know it was time. “Kids, give Cel a hug goodbye.”

You smile, wiping your tears away as Draco wraps an arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. Your kids embrace in a tight group hug, telling each other how much they will love and miss Celeste. “I’ll be home for Christmas! I love you guys and I’ll see you soon!” Celeste waves as she climbs onto the train.

“Come on, Cel!” a voice calls out that you recognize as Tanner, Pansy Parkinson’s eldest daughter.

She’ll be just fine.

Celeste looks at you and Draco as you both send her a wink, letting her know she’ll be just fine. And there she goes, disappearing into the train car.

Slowly, you watch the train pull away from the station, waving at it, watching Celeste embark on the journey of her life. You turn to Draco, watching him gently wipe away the tears that escape his eyes. “Where did time go?” you whisper to him. “I remember being on that train.”

Draco smiles and looks at you, “I remember flirting with you on that train. And then you stomped on my foot and told me to piss off. Didn’t expect to be by my side years later with four children, did you?”

You roll your eyes, “You really know how to ruin a moment, don’t you, Malfoy?” you laugh. “Alright, my lovelies,” you call to your children. “Reckon we should get some ice cream to celebrate, shouldn’t we?”

Your children all cheer at the prospect of a treat as you scoop Nicolas into your arms, kissing his plump cheeks as he giggles. Sage jumps into Draco’s arms and Xander leads the way out.

With one final look back, you sigh out. This wouldn’t be the last time you did that. You still had three more children. But part of you wished it wouldn’t come as quickly as that just did. “One down, three to go, eh?” you tease Draco who laughs.

“Yeah! I’m next! One more year!” Xander exclaims as Draco tickles his sides.

“Yeah, a whole year! Don’t try and leave us too quickly,” Draco laughs as you join in.

It was almost surreal. The life you and Draco had built with each other. A life of love and beauty; beautiful and healthy children, successful jobs, a beautiful home to call your own, and all your loved ones safe and sound. You thanked your lucky stars that you had this life and that Draco was so adamant on giving it to you.

Draco looked back at you and noticed how deep in thought you were. As you walked through the train station, Draco took one of your hands in his. “I wouldn’t want to go through any of this with anyone else. I love you,” Draco squeezes your hand.

You smile fondly at your husband, brushing his cheek with your thumb. “I love you. Forever and always, my dear,” you whisper before giving him a sweet kiss in the middle of Platform 9 3/4 just like you had done so many times before.

Times flies when you’re having fun.

#Draco Malfoy #Draco #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy smut #draco smut #Draco Malfoy Headcanon #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy oneshot #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco Malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy x slytherin #Harry Potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfic #harry imagine #Harry Potter Smut

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heartofsnark · 3 years

Text

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Seven): Flying Towards An Early Grave

Notes: Still posting my little backlog, I will warn in advanced, the next chapter is the heist (finally) AND IT IS A CHONKER, but for now have a little appetizer with some fun times, smut, and foreshadowing!~

Word Count: 10860

Chapter Warnings: heavy foreshadowing, food, blowjobs, groping, protected vaginal sex, car sex

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V’s body is heavy as she gets to her apartment door, ready to curl up into bed and call it a day. She’s exhausted with adrenaline gone. She presses her thumb to the panel. The little intercom doorbell is also the lock, scanning and searching for SID validation. It takes a moment to scan, it seems to be lagging more lately.

Calling.

The intercom says it’s calling, why is it calling? She can hear the automated ringing and her lights inside are probably flashing. It only does this if the SID doesn’t match the apartment owner’s, assuming them a guest. V presses again.

Calling.

She presses harder.

Calling.

She tries her entire hand.

Calling.

She kicks her door, a heavy sound as her boot collides with it. That doesn’t help with the lock, but it makes her feel a little better. Just what she needs; bloody, sore, and locked out of her apartment for who fucking knows why? Her stomach growls as she pulls up the number for building maintenance.

“Megabuilding Maintenance, how can I help?”

“I’m locked out of my apartment,” V signs, her choker translator on.

“What do you mean?”

“The lock isn’t recognizing my SID.”

“Can I get your name and apartment number?”

V gives them the details and they say they’re sending a maintenance guy. All of the services floor is nearly shut down at the late hour, her stomach growling. No doubt the maintenance guy will take his sweet fucking time, so much for getting some decent sleep. She gets a burrito, a Nicola, and a little thing of ketchup from the machines. Sitting on the ground near her door, dumping ketchup on her burrito as she eats it.

By the time the guy arrives she’s finished eating, drinking, and is a little unsure what’s dried blood versus dried ketchup on her shirt. She hops to her feet when she sees the guy walking up, a massive case of resting bitch face. V doubts he wanted to be dragged out at three am to help unlock a door, but it’s not her fault the tech fucked up.

“You V?” he asks, voice gruff and annoyed.

“Yep.”

“Hard day?” His eyebrow raises, gaze focused on her blood stained flesh and chrome.

“Work.”

“Ah… I see,” he nods, “so, what's the issue with your door?”

Night City is one of the few places where one can just admit to being a mercenary for a living, even if it did earn her an odd look. V presses her hand to the lock button again and it once again initiates a call.

“Doesn’t recognize my SID.”

“Hmm, you are V, right?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Who the fuck else would I be? The building has a picture of me on file for fucks sake.”

“Hey, hey, nowadays with enough eddies anybody can look like anybody.”

“If I had an identity worth stealing, you really think I’d be living here?”

“Fair enough, let’s check something,” he pulls out a holo tablet, jacking it into the bottom of the intercom lock, “this will show what the lock is reading it as, try again.”

V keeps an eye on his tablet as she presses her hand back to the lock and the projected information starts to show. And for a moment she sees herself; her face, her name, her information, and all the shit Vik had to set up for her to have SID. Then in a blink of an eye it glitches out and the information shifts. She watches her nearly mugshot like photo shift into that of a man, with short dark hair and dark eyes. V [REDACTED] becomes Robert John Linder. Birthdate shifting from November 12th, 2056 to November 16, 1988. Birthplace shifting from Seven Devils, North Carolina to College Station, Texas.

Who the hell is this old man?

“Looks like it’s reading your SID chip as someone else's, strange, any chance you’ve been spiked by a ‘runner?”

“No, even if I was, not sure why they’d want to make my SID register to some senior citizen.”

“Weird, can’t think of how else this would happen? Seems like it starts to read your chip and then changes to this guy’s. Do you know him?”

“Don’t hang around old folks homes too much, actually. Just some random dude to me.”

“Hmmm.”

“I can promise you, I’m not a ninety year old cowboy man.”

“Somehow I noticed that, actually… looks like the guy is dead.”

“What?”

“Mmhmm, scroll down a bit and there’s the date his death certificate was issued,” the guy shows her, “you’ll probably need to have your SID looked at, see what’s wrong with it. For now, I can unlock it for you and have them add whoever this guy is to registered owners, so, you won’t be locked out until you fix it.”

“Fine, I guess.”

“But that does mean if this guy’s ghost decides to pop in for a visit, lock won’t stop him,” the man jokes, offering the first smile since he’s been here.

“Somehow I’ll handle it, thanks for the help, and if it’s not too much trouble can you forward me the details of that SID info?”

“Sure, no problem,” the maintenance man’s eyes glow and she can feel the very soft warmth and whirr of her neuroplant as it accepts the file.

She gives one final thanks as he unlocks her apartment and she’s finally able to step foot inside. Thankfully her door locks behind her and she makes a beeline for her shower, scrubbing blood and sweat from her skin; finding bruises, cuts, and flesh wounds she hadn’t noticed in the midst of fighting.

It takes her a little longer than expected to wind down for the night, the merc putting in her optic contacts and playing with the bot. Looking through its eyes, she has it twist and climb all throughout her apartment, making herself dizzy until she falls out of bed and bangs her head against the floor. Finally, putting the cute spider looking tech away when she feels the knot starting to form on her head. Then, setting her alarm and sleeping for the night.

V is still tired when her alarm vibrates beneath her pillow, waking her up as the sunlight streams in from her large window, warming her skin. She checks her phone, double checks the time and that Dex hasn’t sent the car for her yet. The young merc rushes through her morning routine; showering, brushing her teeth, dressing, and taking her medication with some Chromanticore in hopes of getting some energy back.

She’s out the door and has her mask on in a matter of minutes, phone buzzing with the message that Dex’s car is waiting for her. As she comes down the steps of her building she sees the same limousine and bodyguard waiting outside of it. But this time when he opens the door for her, there is no Dex, nobody. Chills creep their way up her spine, but she gets in nonetheless, sinking into the leather backseat as Dex’s guard starts to drive them away.

The guard is quiet, doesn’t explain where they’re going or why, V has a feeling he wouldn’t tell even if she asked. So, she doesn’t. Only the radio drones on, a mixture of news and occasional pop music from bands and singers she doesn’t know or care to know; an anouncer coming over the radio to speak somberly.

“Today marks the fifty-fourth anniversary of the attack on Arasaka Tower. Fifty-four years ago a group of terrorists stormed Arasaka Tower and detonated a bomb, which forever changed the history of our dear city. Devastating the lives of millions; thousands dying in the initial attack and more perishing in the aftermath as well. Today we ask for a moment of silence to remember those who lost their lives in this senseless act of violence so many years ago….:”

A beat of silence, barely a moment, then the high energy voice returns.

“Now, after this short music break, we return with the heartwarming story of Stumpy, the three legged puppy who’s gone viral after the use of veterinary cyberware has given the pup a new lease on life!~”

V rolls her eyes, sounds about right, barely a moment for something so somber. No real grief or empathy, time to move on to a cute puppy because that keeps people happy and listening. She watches the city around her change, spotting the Valentino graffiti starting to cover the buildings and that they’re entering Heywood. She sends a heads up text to Jackie, letting him know they’re not far from his house.

A short moment after, the driver is parking outside Jackie’s garage and she watches the older merc walking out. The guard opens the limousine back door and Jackie relaxes when he sees V, climbing into the seat next to her.

“Hey, V, you figure out what’s going on?”

“Was sort of hoping you had…”

“Asked T-Bug, said it’s a surprise.”

“Not sure I like Bug’s idea of surprises.”

“Hey, hombre,” Jackie calls out to the guard as he starts to drive them away, “mind telling us where we’re headed?”

They’re met with silence, because of they are. V nervously wrings her hands as she watches for signs of where they’re going based on the passing scenery.

“Has to be something to do with prepping for the job, just wish I knew what.”

“Speaking of which, you got the bot on you?”

“Yeah, brought it just in case and if Bug’s there she’ll want to take a look. Wonder if there’s any chance of keeping the Flathead after this?”

She knows Dex said it’s a single use toy, but...who knows, maybe she could somehow keep it afterwards.

“Why’s that?”

“Its cute.”

“You think a military grade combat bot is cute?”

“It's a little spider.”

“You find the weirdest shit cute, I swear.”

“It is cute!”

“It’s-” Jackie looks out the window, “shit are we in Corpo Plaza?”

“Maybe we’re just passing through?”

As if only to prove her wrong, the limousine parks outside a store on Senate Avenue, the bright sign says Jinguji. Even looking through the window, it looks entirely like a place that her and Jackie do not belong. Brightly lit, immaculately clean with fancy designer clothes on display.

“We’re here,” the guard tells them and the doors open with the press of a button.

V and Jackie share a look before getting out of the limousine, standing before the Jinguji store like deers stuck in headlights.

“Dex can’t be serious, Jinguji?” Jackie says, scratching at the shaved underneath of his hair.

“Looks…. Fancy.”

“Corp store, designer; a sock in there will cost you a few thousand eddies.”

“I know he says we need to play corpo, but… I don’t know, it feels weird.”

“I’m sure Dex knows what he’s doing. But, uh, you gotta take off the mask, chica.”

“What, why?”

“‘Cause its fucking Jinguji, they’re not gonna let you through the door looking like that.”

“You’re one to talk, you got a ketchup stain on your shirt.”

“Firstly, that’s blood. Secondly, you’re a wearing a jacket you stole off a dead guy last week.”

“Not like he needs it!”

“Jackie, V!” A voice yells out, drawing the merc’s attention into the doorway of the store, T-Bug in realspace, wearing a black netrunning suit, “would you gonks stop bickering and get in here?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the mercs speak and sign in unison, falling the netrunner into the corp store.

There’s a large lit up advertisement at the back of the store. Gold decor dripping down from the ceiling, plush white couches, and an ice bucket with champagne. To her surprise, there’s no other shoppers within the store. A man in a tailored designer suit sits at the desk, greeting the two mercs as they walk in.

“Welcome to Jinguji, an oasis of elegance!~”

V gives an awkward nod and wave. She’s not sure what else to do. She doesn’t belong here; she knows that much. A dirty black leather jacket under the bright lights and old raggedy boots on shiny polished floors. The merc wants nothing more than to run out of the store, some of the clothes she sees displayed are nice, if she’s being honest. A few bit tacky for her taste, but others are cute or sexy with dramatic flair, but nothing she would ever really have a reason to wear.

“Mind telling us why the fuck we’re here, Bug?” Jackie asks and the netrunner chuckles.

“To get into Konpeki, you two will have to look the part. Rather than blindly guessing what will fit, Dex is flitting the bill and getting you both some corpo threads,” T-Bug explains, taking a seat on on of the couches.

“Where is everyone?”

“Store is rented out for the next couple hours, discretion. V, did you bring the bot?”

“Got it in my bag.”

“Lemme see, got to make sure it’s in working shape.” V puts the bot down on the table, T-Bug opening the case and looking over the bot, running diagnostics that the merc can’t begin to understand,

“Right this way, you two, I’m sure we’ll find something perfect for both of you,” the man who greeted them, grabs their attention again, “but it would be easier, if I have a full idea of your features, miss.”

“Told you,” Jackie taunts and V elbows him in the side, slowly taking off her mask and she feels bare. And she knows people have seen her face before, but this is work and it just feels… wrong.

“Wonderful, so we’ll begin with the gentlemen, I think you’ll find we have a wonderful array of fine suits in our men’s department.”

The man, who’s fancy name tag says Zane, shows them a vast collection of suits. They range from slick classic black ones, deep navy blues, florals, brights, embroidered, and every color she can imagine. Its hard to imagine the big merc in any of them. She’s always seen him in muscle shirts or his favorite red and black jacket. His eyes seem to land on a red suit with gold detailing.

“Well-”

“Point is to blend in, not stand out, Jack,” T-Bug calls out, scolding him without having to even look at him or his choice in suit.

“Just black then.”

“Wise choice, sir, our tailors will get your measurements and get the perfect fit for you.”

Another employee guides Jackie to a fitting room and V feels the sudden urge to sink into the ground, Zane’s attention now solely on her. She scratches at her cheek and flips on her choker translator.

“Now, what about you? We have plenty of formal options in women’s fashion as well. A more androgynous business suit or perhaps a dress?”

She’s shown mannequins dressed in tight body con dresses with various necklines, materials, colors, and a few well fitted pants suits. Her eyes are drawn to the dresses, if she’s being honest. She has a rather small collection of skirts and dresses, for off days, but she never has a chance to wear anything more formal than a sundress or mini skirt over leggings. These dresses are dramatic, gorgeous; some with mesh inlays or cut outs.

But, like Bug said; they’re there to blend in, not stand out. This isn’t an outfit for fun but for work and if something goes wrong, the last thing she needs is this going to shit and having to battle in a tight constricting dress or too high of heels.

“I think a pants suit in black would be best; keep it simple.”

“Understood.”

V taken to a fitting room, given the chance to put on the ready to buy pantsuits in privacy. A stark white button up blouse, black blazer, and black slacks. And she knows immediately it will need to be tailored to suit her; the pants longer than her legs and the shirt loose around her chest. The tailor comes in after a moment and begins measuring, marking where things need to be taken in and raised. V left trying not to get embarrassed each time the measuring tape is wrapped around a part of her.

“Is there a way to make the blazer sleeves easier to roll up?” She signs once her arms are done being measured. The material is stiffer and harder to get tight around her elbows when trying; she wants her Mantis Blades easily used.

“Hmm, lets see, maybe it’d be best to use it more like an accessory rather than wearing it properly?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you could just wear it over your shoulders like a cape,” the woman drapes it that way across V’s shoulders.

“Not my thing.”

“Then you can carry it, like this,” the woman shows holding the jacket back over her shoulder with her fingers hooked in it’s collar. It looks alright, casual enough, though having a jacket and not wearing it still reads as strange to the merc.

“I’ll consider that.”

“It can also help keep you cool. Now, lets talk about makeup, hair, and shoes.”

V listens and nods as the woman gives recommendations; getting V a pair of low heeled black synthetic leather shoes. Then going into advice on hair; recommending french twist, a bun, or a low ponytail depending on how formal V wants to go. The woman recommends simple classic makeup styles and a few other tips for the merc to meet her full corpo potential. Finally, with measurements, adjustments, and everything marked; V is allowed to change back into her street clothes. She leaves the room, seeing Jackie already in his regular clothes again and sitting next to T-Bug.

“We have all the measurements down and will begin altering the clothes immediately.”

“Good,” T-Bug confirms with Zane, “remember we need them finished and delivered to The Afterlife by five.”

“I assure you, our tailors are already on it.”

“V,” T-Bug calls out when she sees the short merc, “got something for you.”

V sits down on the couch, watching as T-Bug sets out a pair of white hearing aids. They’re designed like her normal ones, just more boring.

“Hearing aids? I already have those.”

“These are special, optic camo. No corpo worth their salt has anything less than top of the line phonic implants, with press of a button or a thought, these will go invisible.. They’ll work just like your regular ones, but look like you’re wearing nothing. Try them out.”

She switches her blue hearing aids with the new ones, they fit well and she pushes the thought of turning the camo on. V catches her reflection in a mirror in the store, she can feel them, but see nothing.

“Perfect, no one will be any the wiser. This also means no signing or translator.”

“Oh, I see.”

“I know its not ideal, but it’s just the reality of it. Corpo types like this; lose your hearing, new implants. Vocal chords fried, get a new set in gold. Get paralyzed, new legs or entire nervous system. Go blind, new optics. They see you signing or using hearing aids, you’ll stand out like a sore thumb.”

“I get it.”

“No sweat, I’ll do the talking, V,” Jackie comforts her and then turns his attention to Bug, “So, what now?”

“We’ll go over the full plan this evening at The Afterlife, you two need to be there by five. We’ll talk with Dex and you’ll be in Konpeki by eight tonight, relic in hand before midnight strikes.”

“So we get to kick back and relax until five?”

“As long as you’re there by five and ready to go, I couldn’t care less what you do, Jack.”

“Said this place was rented out, right?” V asks, noticing a dramatic purple dress that reminds her of a certain tarot card reader’s favorite color.

“Yeah, why?”

“How much longer is this place reserved?”

“Another hour, maybe two and again, I ask why?”

“Ow, hell that for, chica?” Jackie looks up when V kicks him in the shin.

“Call Misty, dumbass. Buy her something nice, make a date out of it before we go on the job.” V tells him, remembering Misty’s concerns from the other night. It might ease her mind a bit to have a nice afternoon with Jackie, dress shopping and a fancy lunch in City Center. Just a chance to enjoy themselves.

“Dex is nice V, but sincerely doubt he wants to pay for Misty a new dress.”

“Oh no, if only one of us had scammed ten grand off of Militech, oh wait,” V says, pulling the Militech credchip from her bag and sees the twinkle in Jackie’s eyes.

“You serious, V?”

“Should get her a hell of a nice dress, maybe you a suit, and a nice fancy lunch; play corpo for an afternoon.”

“Shit, V,” he takes the credchip from her fingers, “what’d I do without you?”

“You two are going to make me puke,” T-Bug says, rolling her eyes while Jackie is already calling up Misty.

“Just wait until Misty gets here and the constant pet names start, you’ll really lose your lunch.”

“Ugh, more reason to get out of here, I’ll be taking the Flathead with me to keep in working shape.”

“Can I ask you something before you go?”

“Got more code you need me to check?”

“Not quite, had an issue with my SID chip last night, was wondering if there was a chance I was hacked?”

“You get spiked, jaina?” Jackie asks when he finishes chatting with Misty.

“Don’t know, couldn’t unlock my door last night, reader thought I was some old dude.”

“Hmm, SID hacks are tricky, we’re going to be using one for your covers in Konpeki. But they usually only alter your ID a bit and die after so many hours. Thing is, that wouldn’t really benefit anyone.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, I don’t think anyone would get much out of pretending I’m some ninety year old dead fuck.”

“I can jack in, see if I find anything in your soft.”

“Sure, if you don’t mind.”

V shifts her back to T-Bug, sweeping her hair off the nape of her neck and showing her neuroports. The netrunner pushes some loose strands out of the way and slots her personal jack into V’s biomon. A few moments pass and V can feel her cheeks flushing a bit, a weird feeling to having T-Bug directly touch her and jack in to her tech. This is the first time they’ve met in person, may even be the first time Bug has seen her face.

“Everything looks clear to me, SID is registering as yours, no signs of a hack,” Bug explains, jacking out.

“Weird, maintenance guy showed last night it was showing as some dead guy.”

“Strange, must be some sort of glitch.”

“Or you’re being haunted.”

“Haha, very funny, Jackie.”

“Hello… “

A soft voice calls out and V lights up seeing Misty poking her head into the fancy luxury store, looking every bit as nervous as V had been. Jackie is up and rushing towards Misty in a heart beat, pulling her into a hug and twirling her around, kissing her head.

“You’re here, mi carina.”

“Babe,” Misty says, giggiling as she’s put back down on her feet, then steps up on her tip toes to kiss Jackie’s lips.

“Gonna puke,” T-Bug comments low under her breath and V tries not to laugh.

“V, Bug,” Misty smiles at the two, “glad I got here before you two left out.”

“What’s up?”

Jackie walks Misty over closer to them, large hand on her hip as she rummage through her purse. After a moment, she pulls out three beaded bracelets. A mixture of beads in black, gold, and blue mottled with gold. T-Bug is already raising her eyebrow and V’s not sure how well Misty’s spiritualism will go over with the runner.

“These are protection bracelets. Lapis lazuli, black tourmaline, and gold sheen obsidian. They’re all meant to help with creating a protective spiritual barrier, it should keep you all safe from negative energies and frequencies.”

“Ay, you still in knots over this, mi alma?”

“It would just make me feel better knowing you have a little more protection, babe.”

Misty slides the biggest of the bracelets onto Jackie’s wrist and he gives her a soft smile, kissing her temple before starts to give the others to V and Bug. The young merc slides it on with a smile and T-Bug takes it in hand, with a less enthusiasm.

“Thanks, Misty, I appreciate it,” V tells her and elbows T-Bug in the side, earning her a glare, but the netrunner plays nice.

“Thanks…”

“I know it’s not much, but a little protection is better than none and should keep energies bright.”

“Right….”

“Well,” V cuts in before Bug can say anything else, “we’ll be getting out of your hair, have fun you two!~”

“Thanks again, V, see you two at The Afterlife.”

Jackie waves them off, Bug packing up and V putting her usual hearing aids in their case, away in her pocket. The runner and young merc leave the store, Dex’s guard already left a while ago, so V will have to either call her car or use the public transit. Come to think of it, she’s not sure how she’s going to kill time until its game time.

“V,” Bug stops her outside Jinguji before they go their separate ways for now, “gotta ask, you really believe in that spiritual crap?”

“No, but she does and it makes her happy, so, why not?”

“I guess, if she really thinks a bracelet is going to save us from Arasaka.”

“Won’t kill you to accessorize a little, Bug.”

“Whatever you say.”

They say their goodbyes and V is left thinking again about what she wants to do to pass the time. She could do a few short gigs, but her mind is preoccupied with the heist. Ultimately, V finds herself taking the NCART to El Coyote Cojo. Mostly just because she’s bored and maybe something or someone there will occupy her time. The bar isn’t too active at the early hour and she doesn’t see Mama Welles around.

“V!” Pepe greets her when she walks through.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Same old, same old. Jaquito is still out, Senora Welles is out shopping, but Jake is taking out the trash in the back if you want to say hi.”

“I think I might go and do just that.”

Playing grab ass with one of her go to lays seems like a solid way to waste her time. V walks through the bar and out one of the backdoors that open to the alley with the dumpster. Sure enough, Jake is there tossing away a trash bag. He’s around 6’5 about as tall as Jackie, muscular, with a head of ginger hair shaved down on the shades and a thick beard.

She throws her arms around his waist, feeling the muscle underneath his shirt. He teases his fingers over her forearms, the chrome of his Gorilla Fingers cyberware sending a soft chill through her skin.

“Hey, V, new chrome?” He runs over the chrome patterns in her arms.

She hums against his back in response, not wanting to move. But, he twists in her arms. He cups her face in chromed fingers, for a moment, his browns furrow in confusion.

“No hearing aids?”

She pulls away, enough space for her to sign.

“Camouflage ones, it and the blades are necessary for the gig.”

“Oh yeah, Jackie’s been talking everyone to death about this heist you two got planned. He better be damn glad no one here’s got loose lips.” His hands drop from her face and loosely wrap around her waist, fingers starting to graze over her ass.

“Can’t blame him for being excited.”

“Hmmm and you?”

“Nervous.”

“Figured as much,” he squeezes her ass, “you looking for a distraction?”

“If I wasn’t I wouldn’t be letting you grope my ass in broad daylight, now would I?”

A low dry chuckle echoes in his chest and he dives in for a kiss. It’s quick and rough, his beard scratching over her skin before he pulls away. She can’t help but giggle as he pulls her back into the bar, hand still shamelessly on her ass.

“Pepe! I’m going on lunch break!”

“Yeah yeah, go on.”

“C’mon,” Jake guides her out of the bar, “lemme at least buy you lunch first.”

“You actually trying to be nice today?”

“Something like that.”

V settles into his passenger side seat as Jake climbs behind the wheel. They pull away from El Coyote Cojo, driving around Heywood and finding a drive in to go through, Burgers, fries, and pop bought; Jake finds a relatively empty place to park meanwhile V has already begun taking the pickles off her burgers.

“So, you wanna actually talk about it?” Jake asks, taking a bite of his burger.

“Not much to talk about,” she signs with salt covered fingers and a mouthful of fries, “biggest job of our career. Nerves are natural.”

Not to mention the shady client, the fact they’re robbing Arasaka, the fact they’re robbing Yorinobu specifically, the fact they have to play corpo, that V will have to force herself not to sign, and that every fiber of her being is screaming that something is going to go wrong. Then she has the weirdness of her SID chip fucking up on her mind as well.

“Yeah, but you overthink, so I know that little brain of yours is spinning in a billion directions.”

V shrugs, “No more than usual, so, what’s been going on with you?”

“Not much, been thinking of quitting the bar.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, get to work the day shift so I can pick the twins up from school and spend some time with them. But, day shift in a bar basically means staring at a wall and waiting for Senora Welles to cut me a paycheck.”

“You don’t like getting paid to sit around and look pretty?”

“Not gonna lie, it’d be hard to find a boss as forgiving as Senora Welles.”

“Not every boss would let you take an hour or longer lunch just to play grab ass with me?”

“Eh, pretty sure if she knew what I was doing with her precious adopted daughter, she’d already have me fired.”

“Oh please, she’s known you longer than me.”

“Yeah, but she likes you more, you’re basically her kid and I’m her employee,” he pauses watching V roll her eyes, “you know, she’s been worrying a lot about you and Jackie, lately. She knows things are getting riskier with the merc work and-”

V quiets him with a kiss, not wanting to hear another word of this. She comes to him for a distraction. The kiss is messy and he tastes like greasy fast food, but she’s sure she’s not any better, pushing her tongue into his mouth. She cups his jaw with one hand, scratching over his beard and as he deepens the kiss, she drops her other hand into his lap. He’s already half hard in his jeans, pressing into her touch as she gropes him through the denim. Jake curses against her lips, breaking their kiss.

“You talk too much, honey,” she chastises him, a soft smile on her lips as she undoes his belt buckle, he lifts his hips, allowing space to pull his pants and boxer down just enough to get his cock out.

She pulls her legs up into her seat, on her knees so she can fully lean over the center console into his lap. V pushes hair back behind her ear and takes his dick into her mouth; not bothering to tease, swallowing around him. The taste of him on her tongue causes a heat in her center to stir, getting slick between her thighs as she bobs her head up and down. He groans as she strokes and sucks him, teasing her tongue ring along the head of his cock. The bitterness of his precum and the salt of his skin making her dizzy with need.

His chrome fingers slide across the expanse of her back, reaching out to grab her ass. He gropes and fondles her through her pants, the rough feeling of her jeans and panties being pressed against her sensitive wet folds. Jake curses as V alternates between sucking, licking, and taking him as deep into her throat as she can.

He tugs on her hair, bleached strands wrapped around chrome, pulling her mouth off him. Drool covering his cock and her lips. She pouts at him for stopping her, cheeks flushed and breathing heavy. He gives her a swat on the ass, barely hard enough to sting.

“Want inside of you.”

That’s all the explanation he gives and she pulls away, thankful that the windows of his car have steamed from body heat, she begins to quickly strip off her clothes. Its clumsy as she tries to strip down in a car seat, throwing her jacket off into the back, kicking off her boots, before yanking her pants and panties down in one fluid movement. She curses herself for not wearing a skirt or something with easier access. A part of her mind recognizes how stupid she must look, still in her shirt, bra, and her socks staying on after tugging off her pants. But lust has killed her ability to think, just wanting him inside of her. Jake has rolled a condom on, but otherwise has simply watched the flustered merc strip down.

V’s easily able to jump into his lap, straddling him and having her back to the steering wheel. She steadies herself with one hand on his shoulder, the other lining his cock up with her entrance, sinking herself down onto his dick. She’s slick enough that she takes him all in one movement, both cursing out at the feeling. The stretch of his cock inside of her and the tightness of her cunt around him. Jake digs his nails into her hips and bounces her on his cock, fucking up into her. He takes complete control, setting a brutal pace that leaves V reeling with every thrust. All she can do is wrap her arms around his neck and moan against his sweaty skin, accepting each harsh movement of him inside of her.

The tension inside of her grows tighter with every thrust, every smack of skin against skin like a strike of a match trying to grow a larger flame. She can’t think, can’t focus, every thought consumed with pleasure and a desire to be pushed over the edge. Bruises form on her hips where he hold her, where he uses her for pleasure. The chair of his cheap car creaks with each bounce and a few thrusts slams her lower back into the steering wheel, but she doesn’t care, couldn’t if she tried. She whines and whimpers against his skin, feeling her end nearing.

And then the tension snaps, orgasm hitting her fast and hard, she digs her nails into his skin, squirming and writhing as she moans out her pleasure. Mind a haze as she’s overwhelmed with her pleasure. He thrusts a few more times and she nearly chokes at the continued stimulation, the feeling of him fucking into her already sensitive cunt. Then he curses, bringing her hips down fully to meet his own one last time before he cums, spilling his seed inside the condom.

V rolls off of him and back into the passenger seat, hating the empty feeling Her skin is sweaty and flushed, as much she hates it, she needs to get her clothes back on. Fumbling to get her pants and panties out of the passenger side floorboard. Pulling them on and shoving her feet in her boots. V waits as Jake ties off the condom and adjusts his jeans, opening the car door and tossing the condom away into a nearby dumpster.

The Night City air feels cool compared to the heat of the car after fucking, she watches him light up a cigarette outside of the car and grimaces. He climbs back into the driver's seat, keeping the window rolled down and she makes a gagging sound as the smoke hits her nose.

“You coming back to the bar with me?” He asks, blowing smoke out of the window.

“No,” she signs, thankful the choker translator can survive sweat, “I’ll catch the train back to Watson.”

“Let strangers see you sweaty and fuck-dazed?”

“Well, it’s a good look for me.”

“Can’t really deny that, now can I.”

She rolls her eyes and grabs her jacket getting out of the car, walking away on still slightly wobbly legs. V takes the train back to Watson, fiddling with her holophone the entire way. The merc gets off at the stop closest to her megabuilding and makes her way to her apartment; lock recognizing her on the first try.

V checks the time and decides to get ready to go to The Afterlife. Those nerves she had managed to fuck away for a moment creep up on her all over again. She shakes her head not wanting to focus on her anxieties, she strips down and grabs a shower, cleaning off the sweat from her liaison.

The merc pulls her hair back in a small low-set ponytail and does her makeup to the recommendations of the stylist. She gets dressed and uses the new camouflaged hearing aids, she takes her mask with her too. Though she knows she can’t wear it into Konpeki, she’ll still be walking into The Afterlife. That thought alone twists her guts into nervous knots.

The Afterlife is the go to bar for the top of their game, Major Leagues mercs and fixers. It’s where the biggest deals are made, the easiest place to catch a drink and a job, but only mercs or fixers of a certain standard are allowed through its doors. Jackie brags about the place like it’s heaven for mercenaries. If they’re going to become regular fixtures of the bar after this, then she’d prefer to maintain her usual level of anonymity for fixers moving forward. She’ll drop the mask when they’re finally in corpo threads.

V slides on Misty’s bracelet as well, fiddling with the beads meant to provide some form of protection. Her mind goes back to Misty’s tarot card reading, while she doesn’t put much weight on it, her friend’s fortune telling often sticks with her. The Wheel of Fortune is sticking out to her; she could care less if the cards thinks she’s stupid or if she’s about to fall in love, the latter of which so ridiculous she can’t help but dismiss it. But the idea of conflict sticks out, fear of the heist going wrong has been heavy on her mind. Something always goes slightly wrong, no job is perfect. But this has the highest stakes she’s ever encountered.

V has new cyberware, the best possible tech and upgrades from Vik. She has Jackie, her best choom and partner in crime who’s never let her down. There’s T-Bug, her friend and brilliant netrunner who could bring half of Night City down if she wished. Their fixer is Dex, one of the best in regards to his job, he has everything to gain by having their backs covered. They have military grade tech and an inside look into Konpeki. They are going in under the best possible circumstances.

She has to remind herself, review this again and again, that if something goes wrong someone there should be able to take care of it. But, those nerves don’t fade even as she leaves her apartment.

The Afterlife isn’t far from V’s apartment, practically a hop and skip downtown. Barely five minutes pass before she’s under the roofed alley, nearing the club. Vivid cyan and purple graffiti across the wall, trash along the way.

“Porque ya tengo planes para esta noche!"

The voice is familiar, Jackie’s and V pressed her back to the side of the vending machine, he’s telling someone he already has plans for tonight. He sounds frustrated, like he’s on the verge of pulling his hair out.

“Virgen Santsima, ma! Te vas a enterar mañana,” a beat of silence, “también te quiero, ma."

The conversation ways on her, he’s talking to Senora Welles. Remembering Jake talking about her feelings, that the matriarch has been worrying herself half to death. And it sounds like Jackie has been on the receiving end of that worry for a while. V pulls her mask on and rounds the corner past the vending machine, stepping in front of the main entrance of The Afterlife. Her friend standing in the doorway under the harsh green light.

“Heh, about time, chica,” he greets, tucking his phone into his pocket, she catches the blue of Misty’s bracelet mingled with his usual gold ones.

“What’s going on?”

“Ehhh, y'know. She's worried about me - whatever. Can't help herself, y'know - checkin’ to see if I'm not rottin' in some dumpster… like most of the Welles boys. Been worse lately.”

“Why’s that?”

“Started climbin' our way up. Got more an' more knives out there, waitin' to stab us in the back. Higher stakes, higher risk. She can see that.”

“Look like you’re about to keel over.” V reaches out, touching the red blotches on his skin, stress and sweat inflaming his skin.

“Years of merc work, and yet, still sweat like a roasted pig when I talk to my ma. It's really startin' to wear on me. More tell her everythin's OK, more I feel like I'm straight-up lyin’.”

“Well, hopefully you had a nice date with Misty at least.”

“Went about as well as talking to my ma right now,” he scratches at the back of his neck, “for two women who don’t get along, they sure agree when it comes to worrying about me.”

“They worry because they love you, worse things in life than people giving a damn about you.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t matter none. Not anymore, Afterlife, here we come, baby!”

Jackie changes the topic and she can’t really blame him for it, rubbing his hands together and practically cheering in excitement. This is everything they’ve talked about, everything they’ve said they want. So, why does she still have a lump in her throat?

“Afterlife… we’re really here.”

“Does not get any higher, choom. And you know somethin' else? We fuckin' earned it, chica!”

“No point in standing around then, is there?’

“Ready to get your cherry popped?” he laughs leading her into the club, “Yeeeah! Come on!”

“Little late for that one, Jack,” she teases as they make their way down the stairs, a pair of double doors opening up for them. A short step down into a small hallway with mercs and fixers alike talking under the green glow of a sign bearing the club’s name.

“Place used to be a morgue - you believe that?”

“Really?”

“I know, right? Way before our time, that. When proper burials were still a thing.”

They come to another set of doors, through the small window V can see the true club main room beyond them. But a man stands guarding them, around Jackie’s height and a similar bulky build. Cyberware indented along his jawline and nose. His face is stony, eyes sharp when Jackie and V stop before him, then he puts a large hand out in front of him.

“And who might you clowns be?”

“Jackie and V,” the taller of the mercs says with a grin, “Dexter Deshawn is waitin’ on us.”

The bouncer gives them a look and V is glad for her mask helping hide her emotions. His expression is dismissive, looking down on them, making her feel all at once that she has not earned her place in this club. A baby merc, new to the city, barely six months under her belt and she’s standing at the Afterlife. How the fuck did she get here?

“Yo, Dex. Got two live ones sayin' they're here to see ya,” his optics glow as he calls Dex, “Yeah? All right, then. Says he needs a second or two. Go get yourselves drinks or somethin'.”

The doors open to a green and cyan lit club. Music louder as the barrier breaks away, people fill the room. Some sipping on alcohol and other’s puffing away on cigarettes; the smell of nicotine and booze wafting from the bar.

“Way ahead o' you, viejo,” Jackie laughs and leads the way in.

V follows him around the corner; the large bar coming into full view. It’s lit green, the same neon sign reading Afterlife at the top of it. A bartender in a blue button up slings drinks to the patrons. Floor to ceiling columns, like tubes, are places around the club each filled with water with a dancer twirling around inside with strategically place chrome clothing covering the most private parts of them. Everything is basked in that green neon light, despite being surrounded by mercs like her, she feels so completely out of place.

Jackie marches proudly across the bar floor, stride confident and unwavering.

“This is it… The heart o' Night City! That's it right there - beating. Hear it?” he proclaims as they pass by rows of half closed off booths, “Can you imagine? Susan Forrest, Boa Boa, maybe even Morgan Blackhand… All sat on those stools, fell asleep on that same bar.”

Jackie sits in one of the barstools, beaming and brimming with excitement. His eyes wide as he takes it all in, the place he’s dreamed of for all his years. V climbs into the seat next to him, placing an elbow on the bar, leaning her head onto her hand, as she shifts to face him.

“Doubt that puts us in the same league as them,” V teases, Morgan Blackhand brought down Arasaka Tower. They’re stealing a biochip, hardly the same thing.

“Oh, but we are. They just don't know it yet,” Jackie tells her with a wink and she can’t help but roll her eyes.

“We-”

V drops her hand when she realizes Jackie’s attention has gone elsewhere, an older woman walking past the two. She’s nothing unusual, older looking than most of the crowd here, sure but nothing immediately stands out to V. An older woman with long gray hair shaved on one side and a bright yellow cropped sweater, She marches her way across the bar and into a blue lit booth, moving past a guard.

“'Ey. See that old lady there?”

“Yeah, didn’t know grannies were your type,” V taunts him again, he’s always given her shit for her taste in older people, yet he’s ogling some grandma?

“Fuck off,” he playfully smacks her, but nearly knocks her from her chair, “that’s fuckin’ Rogue, best fixer in all o' Night City.”

“Thought Dex was the best?”

“Pff… Rogue was linin' up jobs when Dex was still shittin' in diapers, heh. Place belongs to her.”

“What can I getcha?” The bartender cuts in, hands down on the bar in front of them. She’s a woman with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and a soft round face.

V doesn’t drink on the job, something she’s always stuck to. But, this is Jackie’s dream and she knows how he likes to celebrate. If nothing else, their banter has failed to undo her nerves, maybe booze will do the trick.

“You order,” she signs to Jackie and he grins.

“You drinkin’?”

“Special night, pick me something nice.”

“Two Tequila Old Fashioneds with a splash of cerveza and a chili garnish.”

“A duo of Johnny Silverhands, comin' up,” the bartender starts to put the drinks together, “somebody did their homework.”

“Guessing the dog ate mine,” V signs, confused because what the fuck is a silver hand?

“Age-old tradition. Drinks're named after our regulars,” she explains, putting the drinks down in front of the mercs.

“What’d I have to do to get a drink named after me?”

“Snuff it,” she grins, “ In mind-blowingly spectacular fashion, Mid-op'd be best.”

“Aah, what a beaut of a tradition!”

“Steep price for a drink, not going to lie,” V signs, letting her nerves speak for her, if only for a moment. Her guts are in knots, she can only hope the alcohol will untangle. All of the merc’s usual stress relieving tactics other than a weed brownie, have failed to do much of anything.

“Hey, everyone's gotta go sometime, right? Why not in style? Death’s nothing but the final flourish!”

“To hitting the major leagues,” she signs, holding her shot in the other hand.

“To becoming legends.”

She pushes her mask just up above her mouth, careful not to smudge her lipstick and they throw back their shots. Smooth but strong booze with a kick of spice from the garnish, a burn in her throat. Not her style, but she’s had worse. She pushes her mask back down, regarding the bartender, her nametag says Claire.

“So, who else can I drink here?” She still has no idea who Silverhand is, but maybe there’s a name she does recognize, reading the posted drink menu.

“All on the menu…”

“'Cept there's a spot missing. Morgan Blackhand, right?”

“Heh, true. Morgan's yet to make up his mind he's dead or still kickin',” Claire tells Jackie and V rolls her eyes.

“Think he’s still alive? It’s been years,” Jackie asks Claire.

“No way he’s still alive,.” The radio was just talking about the devastation of the tower going down, if that many folks were killed who were just near it, then there’s no way someone who was in the tower survived.

“Why not? Look at Rogue. Peeps from that era - a species unto themselves.”

“And one day we’re gonna be there too,” Jackie probably proclaims, “speaking of which, name’s Jackie Welles if you want to write down my recipe.”

“Sure.” There’s a playfulness in her tone, just going along with Jackie’s whims.

“Shot of vodka on the rocks, lime juice, ginger beer… oh, and most importantly - a splash of love.”

“Haha, I'll remember that.”

“Gag,” V signs just to see the glare Jackie levels her way, the playful smack of her arm.

“Okay, what’s your drink then?”

“Literally, the only thing I drink is like cherry cola with a splash of bourbon.”

“You know those are usually supposed to be reversed, the bourbon and coke.”

“Maybe so, but, and hear me out… cherry cola tastes better.”

“Heard you were Dex’s latest finds,” Claire tells them.

“Just biz, no big deal.”

“How'd you know?” V raises an eyebrow behind her mask.

“My job to know. Look around - how do you think meres earn their reps? Through gossip rivaling that of schoolgirls, that's how.”

“Mr. DeShawn see you now,” a booming voice rings out behind the mercs, turning around she sees Dex’s bodyguard. The first time she’s heard his voice.

“Love to hang, imbibe the vibe, but we got an important meeting,” Jackie tells Claire, getting up from his seat and V following suit, throwing some cash down on the bar.

“Break a leg.”

“This way,” the bodyguard tells them and the mercs falls in line behind him. He leads them around the bar, past the crowd and through a door towards the back of the club. The lighting shifting, more blue than green as they walk past another vending machine.

“Damn, holmes, you're huge... Work out?” Jackie asks, unable to stand the silence.

“Hmm.” A vague grunt as they pass through another door, the music fading as they get further from the main bar. But V can just hear the starting beat of some old dad rock, something about losing another day to pointless drudgery.

“Same here, y'know, in the ring. You do some kinda exotic shit? Kempo? Ninjitsu?”

Nothing as they turn another corner.

“Think you could take me, drop me?”

“Jackie…” Why must he sound like he’s picking a fight with the guy?

“In here,” the guard says, stopping and standing in front of another door.

"Este pinche tipo..."

The door opens and they’re greeted to the first room with warm lighting, though it just seems to be a storage corner. With a cabinet and vending machine. But to the left are barely see through walls of a booth that takes up half the room, through them V can just see T-Bug’s outline and leather couches.

They walk around, the front of the booth opened. A wrap around black leather couch goes around the back wall and left side of the booth. Dex sat on the back portion, talking into a holo about Excelsior and cold hard eddies. T-Bug sat to side, a table in the center of the room with the Flathead, Jinguji boxes, and shards placed on neat little index cards. There’s a small disconnect leather seat in the right corner, next to the door.

“Gotta bounce,” Dex hangs up, “well, if it ain’t Miss V.”

“Whole family in one place! Hah! Finally!”

“That’s one way to put it,” T-Bug teases and a shine of blue catches V’s eye, the netrunner wearing Misty’s bracelet. She can’t help but smile.

“A’ight, then… Set your butts down comfy,” Dex tells them. Jackie plops himself onto the larger couch next to T-Bug, comfortably spreading his arms over the back of it while V takes the smaller seat, putting her at an angle to see everyone. She stifles a laugh, seeing Jackie’s leg excitedly bounce up and down.

“Sweet booth, is it soundproof?”

“Jackie…” T-Bug scolds and V stifles a laugh.

“Now, now, Mr. Welles is right. We gon' be goin' over some sensitive material. But if it's all right with y'all, I'd like to start with a question for Miss V… Evelyn Parker - how'd you fare?”

All eyes on her, stomach still twisted in a vise, this is her chance. She’s got to tell him, but she doesn’t want Evelyn hurt. Some fixers will go to any length to get revenge on a client or merc who does them dirty. But, he’s got a right to know the shit she pulled.

“Intel was good, brain dance was exactly what we needed….”

“So, she just wanna see wha'ss good, or was there somethin' else?”

“Honestly?”

“Wouldn’t ask for anything else, Miss V.”

“She’s high risk as far as clients go. Shady as fuck, naïve as all hell, and genuinely thought she could make me another offer.”

“Another offer?” Dex’s brow raises about his sunglasses.

“Wanted me to cut you out for more cash, told her no, of course. But, wouldn’t do business with her again, if I were you.”

“Cut me out… shiiiit, now that’s rich,” Dex laughs, Jackie nervously laughing along, “Clients... never learn, do they?”

“You’re not pissed?”

“Lived in NC too long to blow my top every time some amateur thinks they can take me for a ride. Parker ain't the first and sure as hell won't be the last.”

“Fair enough,” V lets out a sigh, thankful if nothing else that Dex doesn’t seem prone to getting too mad at Evelyn. Maybe she’s being too kind, but she can’t help but think Evelyn is more naive than malicious when it comes to the offer. A stranger to the merc world.

“I do appreciate you sharin' this info, though, Miss V. You see, trust… …is essential in any partnership that's to be long-lasting and fruitful.”

“Figured you had a right to know, so, what’s the plan?”

“This.”

Dex gestures towards the shards on the table, V takes the one in front of her and slides it into her shard slot. UI and graphics lighting up her mask, a map pulling up on the tech.

“Me and Dex've already covered the fine detes. Ops wise, should be a stroll on the beach.”

“Elaborate, I wanna hear it.”

“A Delamain'll drop your asses at the front door of Konpeki Plaza,” a picture of the hotel shows, then two names, “You'll stroll right in thanks to your false identities. Then, with Bug's help, you'll breach the hotel's subnet…”

“Mine and the Flathead's help.” Images of the hotel’s interior and the bot flash by.

“Last but not least, you slip into Yorinobu's penthouse and klep the Relic,” his words bring up images of the heir and his suite.

“Goes without sayin' we do this on the hush - ideally no bodies, not a one.” The shard shows them The Relic and then blips out.

“You'll have T-Bug on comms for the duration. Time for your burnin' questions.”

“What’s our cover?” V asks, they’ve been told a thousand times they’ll be acting like corpos, but that’d be hard to do if they have no idea what their story is suppose to be.

“Hello, Ramón Victorino,” T-Bug looks at Jackie and then to V, “and you’re Hannah Conwell.”

“Ramón - yeah, OK. What do we say we're there for?”

“Biz as usual. Corpo arms deal. Case anyone asks, you there for a bogus meetin' with Arasaka's defense rep - Hajime Taki. Anything else?”

“How do we get in the penthouse?”

“Yorinobu's got barely any muscle. Hardest part'll be penthouse security. If we wanna disable, we'll need to neutralize Konpeki's dweller - elite ‘runner monitoring the hotel's subnet twenty-four seven. Only catch is there's no way to get in the dweller's den from the outside.”

“Hold on, how you want us to get inside a room you can't get into?”

“Trust me when I say whatever hitch you think up. T-Bug's solved it already”

“This is where the Flathead comes in. You'll have to get him in the ventilation shafts, guide him to the dweller and force the dweller to… take a break. Flathead'll stay there, jacked into the dweller, but thanks to that I’ll be able to roll out your red carpet into the penthouse.”

“Anything else?”

“Transports a Delamain?” She has no idea if the company has an ASL sign like most other corporations and doesn’t have time to think of one on the fly.

“Preemest cab company in all Night City… Nada mal,” hackie tells her.

“DeShawn don't ever work with anyone but the best. I consider Delamain just that.”

“Yeah, who needs creepy, nosy cab drivers when you've got a clean AI to get you from point A to point B in style?”

“And how he bags a permit to operate every year's still a mystery.”

“If everythin' goes as planned, Delamain'll drop you back here. If things get sticky, he'll head for the safe house.”

“Which is?”

“The No-Tell Motel. Quiet, no questions asked. Make our next move from there. But I'm flat certain that won't be necessary. Though, there is one more consideration for if it does.”

“What’s that?”

“Hate to put you on the spot, Miss V,” Dex explains, “but if shit goes sour, I’m gonna need to know who I’m letting into the hotel. Mask can’t go with to Konpeki, so I’d sure feel a hell of a lot better if I knew what was hiding behind that thing.”

“Oh… yeah, that makes sense.”

Even if she’d have Jackie with her when shit goes down, Dex is trusting her with this heist. The least she can do is trust him to see her face and not write her off or sell her out to The Herd if the chance arised. Not that she can see that happening anyway…

“Don’t even know why you wore the thing in, V,” Jackie teases.

“Well, there are other fixers here, didn’t want to give away my face…”

V carefully pulls off her mask, feeling exposed all over again, a new set of eyes on her face. The merc knows how she looks; five feet with a head of bleach blonde hair and big gray eyes. Not the picture one conjures in their mind when they think of a capable, strong, badass merc. Sprinkle in her disability and the reactions to her deafness; most people think she’s not a threat, weak.

“That what you’ve been hiding behind that mask? All that fuss, for what?” Dex laughs.

“Hard to take,” she stumbles over her English trying to sign at the same time, “be taken- seriously sometimes when you’re five foot nothing, deaf, and look like…”

“Gutterpunk Barbie,” Jackie cuts in to tease, earning him a sharp kick to the shin.

“Fuck off.”

“Trust me, Miss V, you pull off this job; ain’t nobody in their right mind gonna underestimate you”

“That’s the hope...”

“Any other questions?”

“I got a question. When do we get to the real reason we're all here?” Jackie asks, shooting a wink V’s way.

“Now's a good a time as any. Fresh talent gets thirty percent always, but I'm willin' to make an exception in your case. I'ma cut you a nice, juicy forty as a bonus for your honesty, V.”

“Much appreciated.”

“Ka-ching baby!~”

“Last thing, Konpeki's got a strict no-iron policy. Security gates, the works. So you dawgs'll leave your lead-spitters in the ride, take the Flathead inside in its case.”

“Got your suits from Jinguji on the table.”

“¡Chido!”

“Thanks, Bug.”

“So, not to count chickens, but when'll we see our eddies?”

“All depends how Ms. Parker unrolls herself or her role, but a week, two tops is my guess.”

“And what do we do in the mean time?”

“You sit tight, heads down, 'cause ol' uncle Arasaka be watching. Now, as that ol’ Greek dawg says, life's a banquet - so don't go thirsty, but don't get drunk, either,” he tells them as he leaves the booth, “Your chariot awaits outside.”

“My cue to delta, too. Gotta prep to jack in, be there when you come on comms. Any other issues, now's your chance,” T-Bug tells them, shifting her feet and something catches V’s eye. Delta V emblazoned on the netrunner’s boots, was that there before?

“Plan - your take?” V shakes the thought from her head, must be a brand or a runner thing V doesn’t know.

“Enough, I hope, to put me in a luxury Creton Villa from which I'll never set foot in cyberspace again.”

“Send me a postcard?”

“No offense, but I'm gonna burn any and all bridges - need a clean break.”

“Gonna take Misty’s bracelet with you?” Jackie teases, grinning because he caught it too.

“Shut up,” she tells him, rolling her eyes.

“Uh, just realized something, what’s gonna happen to our clothes? I don’t want to lose my mask…”

“No worries, put them in the boxes, we’ll have ‘em sent back to your places.”

“Alright then, lets get this show on the road.”

“Let's get to work, go ahead and get changed, Delamain is parked out front, uh, okay-”Bug starts to trip over her words when the two mercs start taking off their jackets, “you can use the bathrooms.”

“Eh,”

Jackie and V shrug their shoulders, the outfits are right there. Not much point in dragging them out to the bathroom. The pair shared a bedroom for the better half of six months, a room with one bed. They’ve seen each other naked plenty, boundaries destroyed a long while back.

“Why do I bother,” T-Bug rolls her eyes and leaves the booth, letting the pair change.

V kicks off her boots and takes off her socks, Jackie tugging off his jewelry first.

“So, you’re nerves still going crazy?” Jackie asks her as she tugs off her shirt, his own tossed off.

“What do you mean?” She tugs off her pants, both mercs soon standing around in their underwear.

“Can’t hide that shit from me, chica, been giving me twice as much hell as usual. You’re freaking out.”

“High stakes, Jack, of course I’m a nervous mess. Means I give a shit.”

She pulls the slack on and tugs on the white blouse, buttoning it up. The two of them putting on the corpo clothes, similar in look. Black slacks, white button up tops, black suit jackets, and Misty’s beaded bracelets for protection. Each perfectly tailored for their body types.

“Don’t sweat it so much, V, we got this.” He sticks his fist out.

“Sure fuckin’ hope so.” She bumps her fist to his.

Their street clothes are packed away in the boxes, V puts in her optic contacts and slide on her heels, then they start to make their way out of the booth. But, Jackie stops her with a hand on her shoulder and he taps his throat. She catches on taking off her choker translator, neck feeling bare and odd without the tech. With that they leave out through the club, Jackie carrying the Flathead case and the smaller merc keeps her head down as best she can. Her stomach still in knots as they spot the Delamain in the parking lot.

Her life is about to change forever; hopefully for the best. She’s on the cusp of having everything she’s wanted since she’s come to the city. The verge of earning the respect of everyone in this city and finally feeling like she’s someone, like she’s done something.

So, why does she feel like she’s about to puke?

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #jackie welles #t-bug #dexter deshawn #female v #aidan v becker #aidan becker #original female v

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subiysu · 3 years

Text

The curious situation of the Sanson Fourth generation

There is a lot of strange behavior in this tangled family tree. I’ll go sibling by sibling, eldest to youngest

Madeleine-Claude-Gabrielle Sanson,

Eldest child of Charles-Jean-Baptiste Sanson and his first wife Madeleine Transon. We know very little of her, but the few details we have are...Interesting. She was born in circa 1738 and married Pierre Hérisson in 1754, at the young age of fifteen. Now, here is the interesting part. This probably was not a love marriage, since he was at least 10 years older than her and lived in another city (which ment they had even less opportunity to let them know each other). 10 years isn’t a huge age gap for an adult, but she was only sixteen. Also, it is important to note that the average age of marriage at the time was not so different from today. But, for an arranged marriage, it didn’t really benefit her family that much. He was poorer than the Sanson family, and he took none of her brothers as apprentices. They had one daughter: Marie-Madeleine Geneviève Hérisson, born in 1762, when her mother was 24 years old. She herself married in 1779 to her own uncle Louis-Cyr-Charlemagne Sanson. Now, why Madeleine was married to this Pierre Hérisson, the most likely explanation to me was that her family wanted to put her out of the reach of her father’s rivals (who was handicapped at the time), who may or may not be the most scrupulous in the means to achieve their end. They were a case were the rival of an executioner beat his rival’s children in an attempt to provoque them into doing something illegal. She died in 1779, age 41.

The second child of Charles-Jean-Baptiste Sanson and his first wife Madeleine Transon was Charles-Henri Sanson, born in Febuary 1739. He and he sister lost their mother the following year. At around age of 10, he was sent to a boarding school in Rouen. The boy seemed to enjoy himself there (I do have my doubts on the subject) until in 1753, his identity was recognized. He was expelled. His father tried to sent him to another school, but it didn’t last long (maximum a few months). Then, he studied at home under an certain abbé Grisel as a tutor. He also began to assist his father full time as oposed to seasonally and very occasionally. He quickly gained the reputation for being extremely clumsy on the scaffold. In winter 1754/1755 , his father was hit by a stroke, leaving his clumsy 15 year old son as his replacement. To be fair, the techniques taught by Jean-Baptiste required a lot of cordination, which his eldest son lacked. It went...not this well. In 1757, he proceeded to the quartering of Damien. He was still kind of clumsy on the job until his fourties. In the mean-time, in 1766, he married Marie-Anne Jugier after a history of scandalous affairs with loose women and men, for that matter. There was also rumors about him continuing to have affairs with aristocrates even after his marriage. He officially became executioner in 1778, a few weeks before the death of his father. (Mind you, at the time, Jean-Baptiste was severely handicapped and couldn’t harm a fly.) His wife gave him two sons (Henri, born in 1767 and Gabriel born in 1769) (the existance of the second is debated by historians), and potencially a daughter (who may or may not have existed, simply was not his daughter). When the Revolution hit, Charles-Henri was an advocate of the guillotine, for practical and humanitarian reasons. In 1792, a tragedy hit the family: the accidental death of Gabriel by a particularly clumsy incident. The Revolution had slowly eaten away at M. Sanson’s sanity, due to the sheer number of executions (the Royal family, the Terreur and many victims of political intrigue, including one of his ex-lovers, Madame Dubarry). The execution of a certain Cécile Renault, along with fiftie other people (chosen specifically for their innocence), for attempted murder of Robespierre, in an attempt to descridit him, really drived Sanson over the edge. Cécile Renault was very child-like, both in terms of looks, intellect and personality, which could have struck his more parental cord. He eventually quitted his job in 1795, due to a nephretic colic. He died in 1806, after seeing his two grand-children and spending the last decade of his life in physical and mental .

The third child of Charles-Jean-Baptiste Sanson and the first child of his second wife Jeanne Gabrielle Berger was Louis-Charles-Martin Sanson, born in 1744. He is in my eyes, the least sympathetic of this brotherhood. Little is known about his youth exept that he served as an assistant to his half-brother until 1768, were he became executioner of Tour, and later Auxerre. He married his second wife in 1787, who was quite an agressive woman and the brother of an volunteering executioner. Unlike his brothers, Louis-Martin led a politically active career were he joined an extremist revolutionary tribunal in Tour, at the expense of his primary duties, causing a lot of butched executions. When he was (finally) arrested for his professional faillings and his sympathy for Hébert, his wife defended him quite wildly, and ended up reclaiming the head of a high placed man named Chalmel. He also got a post somewere in the South of France. It didn’t turn too well for him, since the prejudice against his profession was much stronger in the Midi. Instead of telling like an intelligent problem that he had trouble getting in and out of his house, he invented some story about being alergic to the Meditteranian climate. Naturally, it wasn’t believed. He died in 1817, leaving behind his wife and his adult son.

The fourth child of Charles-Jean-Baptiste Sanson and the second child of his second wife Jeanne Gabrielle Berger was Nicolas-Charles-Gabriel Sanson II (he had an uncle of the same name), born in 1745. He became an assistant to his brother until 1765, were he became executioner of Versailles as a replacement of his uncle of the same name. He gave this office to his older brother Charles-Henri in 1778, to take the post of questionnaire of Paris, in succession to a mysterious, not quite alive Jean-Baptiste Barré. He remained in this place until the abolition of judicial torture by Louis XVI in 1780. He kept assisting his older brother until he obtained the post of Blois in 1795, then Montpellier. He married during this year a certain Anne Françoise, devoid of surname, widow of François Fromentut. Nicolas-Charles was unable to keep any post long due to his love of the bottle. He died in 1800, of one too many alcohol poisonings.

The fifth child of Charles-Jean-Baptiste Sanson and third child of his second wife, Jeanne Gabrielle Berger was Louis-Cyr-Charlemagne Sanson, born in 1748. He was famous in his life for two things, one being the husband of his own niece and two, his diplomatic activities during the French Revolution. He began assisting his older brother Charles-Henri in 1760 at the age of 12. Although, how and why he was kept around his incompetent's older brother who routinely faced the risk of being lynched is frankly beyond me, especially given the fact he had a competant and adult brother-in-law. He became executioner of Provins in 1768, age of 20. In 1779, he married his own niece, who was 17 at the time, maybe during his sister’s funeral, at age 37. He became a widower in 1784, and eventually remarried a certain Marie Fare Gendron in 1792. It is more towards the Revolution that his life became...interesting. And by interesting, I mean dangerous. He became executioner of Versailles in 1790, after his post was abolished. Fearing for the future of his profession, he along with his half-brother, became the representatives of their social class, constantly doing a moutain of paper work to insure the future of themselves and their colleagues, and preferably, prevent the nomination of sadistic individuals. In the 10th of August 1792, he was imprisonned as a suspected royalist, along with two of his brothers. They were all released but he was imprisonned again at the prison of Abbaye, only to get out two days before the Septembre Massacres. After his release, he was buzier than ever before. He died in 1794, leaving behind his adult son and grand-children in abject poverty, without saving their reputation.

The sixth child of Charles-Jean-Baptiste Sanson and fourth child of his second wife Jeanne Gabrielle Berger was Marie-Josephe Sanson, born in 1751. In 1773, she married her first cousin Jean-Louis Sanson at the age of 22, who was competant on the scaffold but bad at paper work. She became a widow in 1794 and became a washer woman until her death in 1813. She would be one of the rare members of the family to eventually get out of infamy on her own merits.

The seventh child of Charles-Jean-Baptiste Sanson and fifth child of his second wife Jeanne Gabrielle Berger was Pierre-Charles, born in 1753. We don’t know when he died. He assisted his older brother Charles-Henri, then went to live in Eastern France as a riffleur, leading a discreet, lonely and honest life until his death.

The eighth child of Charles-Jean-Baptiste Sanson and sixth his second wife Jeanne-Gabriel Berger was Pierre-Jean-Baptiste Sanson, born in 1754 and who died young.

The nineth child of Charles-Jean-Baptiste Sanson and seventh his second wife was Joseph-Claude Sanson, born in 1757 and who died at the young age of 22 in 1779, age 22, no spouse, no children, no charge.

Gabrielle Sanson, youngest of the bunch, was born probably a year later. She probably died as an infant.

Sources:

DESMOREST, Michel et Danielle, “Dictionnaire historique et philosophique des bourreaux”

DELARUE, Jacques, “Le métier de bourreau, du Moyen Âge à aujourd’hui”

ARMAND, Frédéric, “Les bourreaux de France, du Moyen Âge à l’abolition de la peine de mort.”

MARCHAL, Gilles, “Bourreaux de Travail”

http://racineshistoire.free.fr/DOC/PDF/Dynasties-de-Bourreaux.pdf

My history of the Renaissance course

The channel “Revue du monde”, a historical vulgarisation channel.

Also, this family tree website: https://gw.geneanet.org/geneavendeemili?lang=en&n=sanson&oc=0&p=madeleine+claude+gabrielle

https://gw.geneanet.org/antistar?lang=en&n=herisson&oc=0&p=marie+madeleine+genevieve

https://books.google.ca/books?id=6wdYK4KpO04C&pg=PA149&lpg=PA149&dq=charles-henri+sanson+n%C3%A9phr%C3%A9tique&source=bl&ots=bT6lYyNh1Z&sig=ACfU3U0WSOnLIzxAmaggCtG1J7ZNHtnDcg&hl=fr&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjGz7-RjezvAhUIQ80KHdG4AsMQ6AEwD3oECAUQAw#v=onepage&q=charles-henri%20sanson%20n%C3%A9phr%C3%A9tique&f=false

#Sanson family

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notgonnarememberthis · 3 years

Text

Through the Valley - Chapter 3

Hello!!! So how are we feeling after that finale hm?? I couldn't help myself and threw this chapter together as soon as it ended. Sorry this update took so long! Between graduation and moving I've been super busy. But I am home now and hopefully I can get the next one out soon! Enjoy!!

The woman looks absolutely grief stricken. Almost unrecognizable from the socialite with the biting comebacks and haughty smile, with perfectly coiffed curls she loved to throw over her shoulder when she knew she landed a punch in a sensitive spot.

God she loathed this woman.

But this, this isn’t that woman.

Jessica pulls Cricket by the shoulders, being sure to avoid the crimson stain. It’s not hers, with that much on her she’d be unconscious if not dead. “Did anyone see you?” Her voice comes out thicker than she intends, though how the hell is she supposed to explain a bloody woman showing up at her door to Gil? Least of all when she knows nothing about the situation herself.

“What? No. No, I didn’t see anyone.” Jessica breathes a little easier then. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“What happened?”

“Robert, he-”

“Robert?” She remembers her husband, but only in passing. The man liked to smoke cigars and drink with the men. The ones that were gruff and brutal and reminded her too much of her father that it often left a sour taste in her mouth when one would saunter over, pretending to be interested in anything but her money. Well, before Martin at least. She shakes his name out of her mind. “Is he hurt?”

“No!” Jessica bites her tongue at the growing frustration. “He-” And then it clicks for her. The wild, frightened look in her eyes. The desperation, begging to be told it wasn’t true, that this was just a dream. The shaking fingers, clutching to anything solid enough to hold her upright, that just happened to be Jessica’s blouse.

“Did he hurt someone?”

Cricket swallows but nods. “He didn’t, or I don’t think he knew I was home. There was supposed to be a gala. He was yelling. And the man he begged him- And then he shot him. He didn’t even stay to see if he- I tried to stop the bleeding. I tried.”

“Why did you come here? Why not go to the police?”

“Robert… He has this book. He’s always guarded it with everything he has. I thought it was a call book, god forbid. It had names, but not just women.”

“I’m confused.”

“He had Nicolas Endicott scratched out. I thought, maybe he was a business partner is all, but with what he had done coming all out now I thought-” She shakes her head. “And then I saw Martin Whitly. And I knew.”

“Martin?”

“His name was in the book. The names, I think they’re all killers.”

The thought sounds absurd at first, then she remembers John Watkins. His taunts of how long he’d known her son. How long this man, this killer, had been in their lives and she’d never even known. She thought he was some imaginary friend. He’d hardly be the only one. A network of killers.

All tied to Martin.

All tied to them.

She swallows the bile that builds in the back of her throat. “You can stay here tonight.”

“That’s it?”

“Hardly.” She huffs. “Go to the guest bedroom, second door on the left and take a shower. Throw your shirt in the trash. I’ll take care of it. I will bring you clothes, I should have something of Ainsley’s old clothes that would fit. I have some calls to make.” Once the woman’s off her hands hover over the call button. Her mind wracks for a few seconds. If she calls Gil, this could go horribly. That book would be destroyed long before the police could even touch it. All the names would be gone. Burned up with smoke.

Just like-

No.

She dials a different number. “Hello, it’s Jessica Whitly. I need a favor.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jessica paces back and forth in the living room. Cricket’s eyes follow her with every anxious step. She should have gotten something, anything an hour ago. At least the news should have hit by now. All they needed was a tip of where the body was, a description of Robert Van de Camp being the last one at the scene. It would be enough for a warrant. Enough to find-

A pounding on the door makes her jump, that knock signifies one person. She shoves Cricket into the next room shutting the door behind her just as Malcolm strides in. “Mother, I have a question for you.”

“Good morning!” She mocks in a gruff tone, “Oh good morning to you too Sunshine, I do hope you slept well last night.” She throws her head to the side in the same evasive way she’s seen him do hundreds of times. “Oh, you know. Night terror here, waking up screaming there. The usual.” “Please tell me you’re talking about your night terrors to Gabrielle, she’s supposed to help you know.”

“Mother-”

“Mother-” They speak at the same time and she just tilts her head at him and he sighs with defeat.

“Good morning. Happy?”

“Quite. Now, what did you need?”

“Do you remember Robert Van de Camp?” Her hand slips on the glass she was cradling making it land with a loud clang, tipping precariously before she carefully balances it on the table again.

“Sorry, slipped.” She clears her throat. “Yes, I remember him.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Did something happen?” Her eyes flutter to the door where Cricket is no doubt listening. She just hopes she has some sense and stays put. “What happened?”

“An employee of his turned up dead this morning. Van de Camp was the last one to see him alive.” Accurate, but wrong one. Relief floods her chest that the plan had gone well. All he needs now is a warrant. “We spoke to Cricket this morning and-”

Her head peaks up at that. “You spoke to Cricket?” Where the hell did the woman get a phone? She didn’t even see her carry it in.

“Yeah?” He shrugs off the outburst but continues. “She didn’t know anything. Claimed she was at a gala all night.”

“The Johnson foundation?”

“I think. But it doesn’t matter, the others aren’t convinced he had anything to do with it. Even if he did, he’s completely fallen off the grid. There’s no call logs, no money trail, it’s like he fell off the earth.”

“Well that’s not shocking in the slightest. Any bad press sends cowards running.” Malcolm rolls his eyes but she watches his lip twitch. Good, she’s keeping up appearances then. “Even if you find him, he’ll have the best lawyers in New York on his side. You’ll need more than my opinion on the man.”

“That’s why I was hoping you’d give me something more concrete.”

“I’m sorry, I only knew him in passing. He seemed like any other rich man. Cigars, cocaine, and younger women. That’s all I’ve heard him talk about.” Malcolm sighs.

“I just.” She watches as his hand shakes and she reaches for him, but he snatches himself away. “Sorry.” He winces recognizing the hurt in her expression before she can say anything. “I have a bad feeling about this. If we can’t get him quick-”

“You think he’ll get away with this?” Jessica leans against the bar cart, intentionally pushing a little too hard so it scrapes noisily against the floor. The sound covers up any potential noise coming from the other side of the door. A gasp, a sob. Anything small, Malcolm would pick it up. Thankfully he just nods in confirmation.

“I’m afraid so. I’m not going to let it happen though, not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Malcolm. You can’t do anything rash. They’ll latch onto that in a trial and the entire case could fall apart. This needs to go completely by the book. No surprises.”

“Have you been hanging out with Gil lately?” It’s her turn to tilt her head disapprovingly. “Fine, no surprises. I’ll just have to pull some strings, call in some favors.”

“Be careful.” She grabs his hand squeezing it gently. “Love you.”

“Love you too. Thanks for the help.”

“Any time.”

She watches until he’s well out the door and waits even longer until after she is certain his cab has driven away before she opens the door where Cricket is. Her eyes are red rimmed and she looks disheveled, like she’d been panicking.

“You need to get that book.”

#prodigal son #gilica #gil arroyo x jessica whitly #jessica whitly x gil arroyo #jessica whitly #another chapter down #murder family #murder family AU #prodigal son AU #through the valley #through the valley chapter 3 #through the valley chapter three #notgonnarememberthis fics #fanfic

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thelioncourts · 4 years

Text

title: the mannequin gallery fandom: captive prince pairing: damen/laurent rating: mature words: 9758 for chapter eight (8/?); 51050 all together

Damen was good at keeping himself busy, and that was a great thing because he liked being busy.

It turned out, however, that it was a little more difficult to accomplish a nonstop business, especially for almost an entire week, without Nik. It wasn’t impossible by any means, but it was more difficult. After all, Nik was a constant presence, had been since they were school children playing kings and knights on the sand while Damen’s stepmother watched on. Him not being around felt different.

Still, Damen had plenty to do while Nik was off attending photography sessions, lunches that were more planning than eating, and dealing with the multitude of models that would be walking the runway tomorrow. There were photos to be edited and posted from their time in Cortina and their brief week in Berlin, there were longtime sponsors to be called, such as Damen’s favorite supplement company over in New York that truly had the best tasting protein powders, EAAs, and pre-workout on the planet (rumor was they were coming out with collagen peptides soon too and Damen couldn’t wait to get his hands on those), or the company they got their luggage from; and there were potential sponsors to email to see if a partnership could be worked out on terms preferable to both parties. It was a full-time thing, truth be told, especially navigating the time zone differences Damen did his best to be cognizant of.

So yeah, Nik wasn’t around, but Damen was good at keeping himself busy.

It wasn’t going to be necessary after tonight though. Today at three on the dot was the dress rehearsal for the show, scheduled so they had plenty of time to fix anything gone wrong with enough time for the models and crew to get home and rest before the big day tomorrow. Damen, of course, was going to both the rehearsal tonight and the show tomorrow. He had been told that Charls had yet one more suit for him to wear that the man was ecstatic about getting around Damen’s shoulders. It all meant that Damen’s next two days were packed and, after those days were said and done, Nik would be back on his side and they could leave Paris.

And as much as Damen was enjoying Paris and all its sights, he was ready for new scenery. After the show tomorrow it would be time to start planning their next place. Damen was already thinking about Spain and then maybe a trip across the ocean to Canada. It’d been a while since they’d had a chance to really go on an adventure.

With a click, he sent out one last email to a wireless headphone company that had contacted them last week and then he leaned back in the chair he was sitting on and took in the view.

He had decided to do work out on the balcony of their hotel room. Part of him had wanted to go out, settle in at a cafe somewhere, and pretend to be Parisian for a few hours, and the other part of him knew that, had he done that, he would have been too distracted by everything around him. But here on the balcony wasn’t such a bad deal. He had the sounds of car horns, engines, murmurs— and sometimes yells — in a variety of languages, and the gentle rustling of the air to be a sort of white noise that kept him grounded and focused.

But now his work was done and he could look, could take in the sky that was a blank slate of gray, could take in the people cautiously walking around with umbrellas already out in case it rained, could take in the insane increase in traffic on the road leading into Paris Fashion Week.

Damen was in the middle of keeping a mental tally of every person he saw pulling luggage out of a car to stay in the very hotel they were staying at when the door opened.

The first thing Damen was hit with was a sense of déjà vu. Over his shoulders, Nik had two black garment bags that Damen could only assume had each of their names written in gold upon. The second thing Damen was hit with was one of the said garment bags as Nik threw it and it landed on his face.

“What’s this?” Damen asked, holding the bag at an arm’s length. It was heavy, the fabric inside a kind with a weight to it that Damen immediately was worried of getting hot while wearing.

“Your outfit for tomorrow. Beware, it’s just as gaudy as the one last week,” Nik said. He hung his own bag on a hanging attachment between the two closets in the room.

Damen snorted. “At least it should be our last gaudy outfit while we’re here.”

“Oh, mine isn’t gaudy, just yours,” Nik said. “I have to be inconspicuous as I’ll be up around the stage. My outfit is just a black suit with a black undershirt.”

“What? And I’m getting stuck with some atrocity that’ll make me wish I couldn’t see in color at all?”

[Continue on AO3]

There hardly was time to dwell on his new Charls’ creation, however. Now that Nik was back, Damen’s busy two days finally began. They had early lunch plans at Massale and it was going to be a sprint to get from there to the space where the show was being held for rehearsal at three. Only the gods knew how long the rehearsal would be, but at a minimum it was going to take near three hours.

“Does the rehearsal have a dress-code?” Damen asked as they exited the hotel. He looked down pointedly at his outfit which consisted of the black joggers he’d been lounging in all morning, a crisp white tee, and a zip-up black jacket with white stripes down the arms and circling his shoulders. Nik looked him up and down and then made a face.

“They didn’t say anything. I’m wearing this,” he said, motioning to his own outfit of light wash jeans and a dark blue tee. “Besides, I don’t think they’re going to care at the rehearsal. You’re not exactly who they’re focused on today.”

Unsurprisingly, lunch was delicious, but some of the enjoyment of its deliciousness was lost as they truly did have to sprint from the restaurant to a cab that got stuck in actual lunchtime traffic for so long that they put a handful of bills on the center console and, once more, sprinted. This time they sprinted all the way to the Grand Palais, the stage for the show tomorrow. They made it on time though, walking in with Nik’s photography pass and its fine print stating that he would have a manager with him, and they even appeared to beat Charls who wasn’t flitting around in an anxious tizzy quite yet.

The Grand Palais des Champs-Élysées, commonly known as the Grand Palais, was an immaculate building located in the 8th arrondissement of Paris and could be seen from the Eiffel Tower. Built at the end of the 19th century, the building was a masterpiece of classicism and art nouveau. Its classicism could be seen in its stone facades, columns, and friezes, and it was the intricate metalwork that structured the famous glass ceiling that showcased its art nouveau touches. It was a stunning building, its attraction as a tourist sight obvious, and Damen smiled at how fitting it was for Etoile to have their show here.

But the Grand Palais’ artistry was almost a second thought when the set for the show came into view. Neither Damen or Nik had known that fashion shows created entire sets, like a stage production, for their shows. It made sense, Damen thought later. Oftentimes, these fashion lines had tangible themes to them. The set designer for Etoile had told Nik and the other photographers about several of their past shows, some of which included fashion lines centered around clothes inspired by Itay’s romantic rues, clothes inspired by Riviera cruises, and clothes inspired by the alpine winters. The set for the alpine winters had been covered in something to give the appearance of snow, that’s how much work was put into an Etoile show. But even knowing that, Damen and Nik were taken aback by the extravagance of the scene underneath the glass ceiling.

They recognized what it was an imitation of right away. After all, it was one of the few places they had traveled to here in Paris in those earliest days of getting to the city. In front of them was the Palace of Versailles’ Hall of Mirrors.

Chandeliers had been assembled to hang, each one an endless shimmering of crystal and gold and light, and their light glinted off of all the gilded gold statues and reliefs adorning the walls. Marble columns lined the Grand Palais, making it appear like a hall, and between each column was a golden arch. In the true Hall of Mirrors, there were seventeen of these arches. On one side of the hall were arched windows that overlooked the gardens below. Across from these windows were mirrors, the very mirrors this hall received its name from. For Etoile’s show, every archway held only a mirror.

It was beautiful and something worthy of royalty to be seen within. And it wasn’t done. There were men hanging paintings from the ceiling, hanging them in the way the chandeliers were, but they were not centered; the paintings were being hung over the archways as though they were lining the walls, and Damen recognized they were paintings like what decorated the ceiling in the Hall of Mirrors. Paintings of Louis XIV’s greatest early triumphs.

“They don’t play around do they?” Nik asked rhetorically, his eyes scanning the hall in disbelief.

“Haven’t you been practicing with this all week?” Damen asked back, his voice holding the same kind of disbelief Nik’s eyes held.

“In separate pieces. I mean, they’ve had us practicing shooting in front of mirrors, in front of reflective surfaces, in front of light backgrounds, and then all of that combined. But I didn’t expect it to be this,” he paused, “extra.”

Damen laughed and put a hand on Nik’s shoulder. “Really? After two weeks of being around Etoile and you weren’t expecting something this extra?”

“Nicolas, there you are,” said an older man suddenly -- an older man who was definitely flitting around in a tizzy while Charls was absent to do so — with a thick French accent. “The photographers are meeting in the dressing rooms alongside the models. You will need to be practicing how you will move from there to the stage as unobtrusively as possible.”

“His name’s Nik,” Damen said even though it wasn’t him who had been addressed. He was smiling, but anyone that knew him, Nik as a prime example, would be able to see the way his shoulders had tensed, would be able to see the way the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Nik reciprocated Damen from moment’s ago and put a hand on Damen’s shoulder instead.

“I’m sorry?” the man — Audin, one of the other designers, though Damen couldn’t remember if he designed set or clothing — asked, sounding anything but sorry.

“His name’s Nik. It’s not short for Nicolas, but Nikandros. It’s a Greek name.”

“Of course,” Audin continued. Damen didn’t miss the way the man looked at Damen’s clothes with distaste. Then he was gone, walking as though knowing with utter certainty Nik would follow. Damen made a sound.

“It’s fine, Damen,” Nik said, his hand still on Damen’s shoulder. “You settle in to watch, I’ll go do what I need to do, and then we’ll be done for the day.”

“I can’t wait to get back on the road,” Damen said. His shoulders were still raised.

“Me too. It’ll be nice for some normalcy.” Nik paused for a moment, and then said quieter, “I’m sorry for throwing this on us.”

“Hey, no,” Damen started, pulling back. “This is incredible for you. I just wish it wasn’t like —” Damen used both hands to motion at the everything around them.

“It really hasn’t been that bad. Sure, some of the older guys aren’t the nicest, but no one has been outright cruel. Yet.”

“Not even Laurent?” Damen asked, eyebrows raised.

“Laurent has been completely professional. The biggest issue with the models has been Ancel. And he’s just inappropriate,” Nik said, mouth twisting. Damen’s shoulders fell back to their normal hold after a second.

“I think a redhead might be good for you,” Damen said.

“Hell no,” Nik laughed, and he was walking too, following the direction Audin had just left. “I’ll catch up with you after.”

Damen spent a few minutes walking around and taking in the art that transformed the Grand Palais into the Hall of Mirrors, but after some walking he found a seat and sat down in it to wait for the show to begin. He waited, and he waited, and he waited, and nearly drained his phone battery in the process. There weren’t many people out near the front where the show would be, mostly a few assistants given tasks of perfecting every minute detail. Damen was beginning to fear that something had gone horribly wrong and they wouldn’t be able to get out of here for some time, but just as that worry was festering, the lighting changed and a voice rang out over the Grand Palais.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice started, its pitch low and breathy, its French accented heavily. “The French Revolution began in 1789. We, the people of France, had grown tired of the disparages between our King and ourselves. There was struggle, and pain, but we emerged victorious from the battles and slowly began to make our country what it is today through hard work and dedicated leadership that focused on bettering each citizen. Now, the great places, like Versailles, are for the people, just as they were always by the people. Though we relish each day in our freedom, we keep the beauty of the past alive by embracing it through every step we take in our great country. Today, we bring the beauty and elegance of that timet to you. Please welcome Etoile and its spring line entitled The Regency.”

There was a lot Damen could have said about the show. In the grandeur of this mock Hall of Mirrors, the clothing on the models truly appeared to be something made for the kings and queens of the days of a monarchy, where royalty was more than a symbol of the past, a romanticized view of history, but true rulers that relished in their greatness. Like the hall, many of the models were wearing golds and whites that were both glamorous and yet a camouflage, making them appear as glittering decorations that walked center until filing back against the mirrored ‘walls.’ Damen was struck by the interesting lines of the shoulders on many of the outfits, half of which were straight and wide, almost reminiscent of the 1980s shoulder-pad fad, and the other half of which were puffed and large, like a woman’s dress may have boasted in popular fashion in the past centuries. But then, at the end, were the stars of Etoile’s show.

Draped in blood reds, these models were clearly meant to be the kings, the queens, the princes and princesses of King Louis XIV’s rule. They stood out amongst the hall, amongst the other models, each dressed in the same color of the very throne that sat in the very same palace miles away. The first person that came out was Aimeric in a chunky red sweater that made him appear daintier than he was. Deep red velvet pants complimented it, especially as they ended just below his knees in a loose fit, bringing it together as a modest outfit worthy of all its attention. Then came Ancel, who stood out with his hair to match, in a red dress littered with cutouts that showcased freckled skin in all different places. Most prominent was the bearing of his sternum that begged for all eyes to look center. And lastly, Etoile’s face, was Laurent DeVere dressed in an outfit for a prince. Covered neck to toe, it was tame and utterly sensual all at once, no doubt due to the golden corset that cinched in his waist to almost nothing, that gave him such an untouchable look, that matched the crown upon his head dripping in rubies that brushed his forehead.

His crown was the only crown in the show. Etoile knew what they were doing. His beauty was unmatched.

Laurent walked like he’d been born on the runway. His footsteps fell to the barely-there beat of the music playing over the Grand Palais, his strides were long and they accentuated the length of his legs. His back was straight, his core tight, and it made him look taller. His shoulders were back and down in a way that took the attention away from any breadth and instead put the attention on the elegance of his neck and all the way to his face that was beautiful and the ultimate eye-catcher of the entire show. The jewels embedded into his crown were nothing in comparison to his eyes.

But beyond that actual magic of the show, of how beautifully it all came together, Damen was struck by how short it was. For some reason, he had assumed this show would be a long event, something to take up the entire day. Only fifteen minutes after the voice first rang out to introduce The Regency did the show come to a close, each model strutting to the front of the set, smiling instead of holding their faces in that high fashion seriousness as they brought up Laurent’s uncle for his own recognition. He was, after all, their boss, creator, and the genius behind the line.

The music died off and the lights came back on, blinding after the subtle lighting, to bring attention to the final product that was the show. Laurent’s uncle clapped his hands together once, the sound reverberating off of all the surfaces in the room to provide a near echo, and then he began to speak.

“Charls,” he started, voice loud and face relaxed. He looked ginormous on stage next to all these models, many of whom were so young they hadn’t grown into who they would be. “How were things on your end? Any complications?”

For the first time since Damen got to the Grand Palais nearing two hours ago, he finally got to set eyes on Charls who had apparently been peering at the show from one of the marble pillars nearest to the front of the mock Hall of Mirrors. He was physically flabbergasted, his hand at his heart as though begging it to stay in place, his eyes brimming underneath all the lights.

“Oh,” he said, and then he stopped to compose himself. “Oh, everything was perfect! You’re all perfect, your outfits were perfect, this set — !” He stopped again, taking in a deep breath. “This is, by far, the best show Etoile has ever done, and our past shows have been tremendous feats of beauty. Sir, you have truly outdone yourself. Your vision remains unparalleled.”

Charls was bowing at the man that was center stage. It was quite a sight, the man surrounded by models he had honed, all wearing clothes he had brought to life. Everyone began clapping, and Laurent’s uncle took the praise humbly, his smile small and his acknowledgment gracious.

“I believe that, since we have plenty of time given the perfection of everyone here today, we should celebrate. Dinner tonight at Restaurant Le Meurice Alain Ducasse. On me, of course. We’ll begin soon, say no later than seven, so our lovely models can be well-rested and beautiful come tomorrow’s show.”

As the man went to leave, clearly still having much work to do for tomorrow’s event, he was followed by more applause. Some of the models even cried out lilting thank yous at his exiting frame. Charls took his place center stage, his eyes still adoringly fixed on where Laurent’s uncle had disappeared, and then he began giving out a list of times that needed to be remembered by all parties involved for tonight and tomorrow morning.

“As we have just been told, dinner will be an early event tonight. Models, if you are not out of the restaurant come after nine, I will delicately throw you all out myself as I need you all in your rooms and resting! Regarding tomorrow, our show will begin at 10:30. Yes, we did, in fact, get Chanel’s envied time slot given their grievances of last year. As we are the first show of tomorrow, we need to make a lasting impression to last attendees through the other eight shows they will be viewing throughout the day. That means I need everyone, and I do mean everyone, here no later than 7:30. Does everyone understand?”

There were murmurs of agreement, a few excited squeaks from gods-know-who, and then the crowd of models, photographers, makeup artists, hairstylists, set designers, clothing designers, assemblers, assistants, and all others involved in creating such an elaborate show dispersed. The only two left on stage were Charls and Laurent, Charls’ hands unable to stop touching the crown on Laurent’s head, the fabric at his wrists, the stitching at the hem.

Damen was just getting ready to find where Nik and the other photographers had disappeared off to, assumingly back to the dressing rooms, when he felt a hand tug at the arm of his jacket, not kindly whatsoever. He turned, unsure of what to expect, but what he found was definitely not anything that would have come to mind.

“For reasons that don’t make any sense to me,” began the child from Etoile’s office — Nicaise, Damen remembered Laurent saying — without preamble, “you are wanted.”

“What?” Damen asked with an aborted and incredulous sort of laugh. “What for?”

“I’m not your fucking errand boy,” Nicaise said, spat, “Go find out or don’t, I don’t care.”

Damen was so taken aback by the language from someone, something, so delicate and small that it took him a moment to get his feet underneath him to follow Nicaise’s already moving feet. He gave one last sparing look to the set with its mirrors and marble pillars as though he could will Nik’s presence from where he was still meeting with the photographers, but Nik didn’t appear and Damen was off following where Nicaise had disappeared to, out a set of double-doors with large, flat golden handles.

The Grand Palais consisted of three separate areas: the Galeries Nationales, the Palais de la Découverte, and the Nave. The Nave was where the famous glass ceiling was, was where Damen had been since he had arrived earlier in the afternoon, and Nicaise had disappeared into the Galeries Nationales, located in the east wing of the building. The Galeries Nationales was often the sight of major art exhibitions and even when there was no exhibition it was brimming with all kinds of artistry. Today was no exception. The art was similar to the art that made up the entirety of the building, a display of classicism and art nouvea. But Damen didn’t have time to focus on that, not when Nicaise’s curled head was twenty yards ahead and showing no signs of slowing down.

Eventually, however, Damen’s long legs and his full grown height put him at the advantage to catch up, and he was right at Nicaise’s heels just as the boy began to slow his pace. It was right in front of a painting that Damen couldn’t see due to it being blocked by Laurent’s uncle.

“Damen,” he began as a greeting, not bothering to turn and face Damen as he came to a stop just a few steps behind him. “Or do you prefer Damianos?”

“Damen is fine, sir,” Damen said. His thumb hooked into the soft fabric of his joggers’ pocket in an attempt to stand casually.

“Damen it is. How did you enjoy the show?”

“I enjoyed it very much,” Damen said, mind whirring. “I was floored by the set design. It truly brought a line titled The Regency to a different level.”

“And the clothes?”

“Stunning as well.” Damen hesitated for only a brief moment. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about fashion, sir, so I hope you can forgive me for being at a loss as to what I could say. It’s not my area of expertise at all.”

The man finally looked away from the painting on the wall, a classicist painting that looked almost like a Poussin, and he smiled at Damen as though utterly amused and appreciative of Damen’s honesty. Then he said just that.

“It is refreshing having a person admit such a thing. Too often do I have men attempt to talk in circles in order to appear as though they know what they’re talking about.” He was making intent eye contact when he changed the topic and it was as though the change twisted his face into something different. Damen didn’t know what to make of it. “But there are several areas you do have expertise in.”

Damen cocked his head. The man smiled again.

“I must confess,” he started, “that I was curious about you and your friend, Nikandros. Of course, we as a company had done basic research on him during his application process, but given the influx of applications we receive there simply isn’t time to do an in-depth look at each candidate. But, as I said, I was curious after meeting you both that first day. You were both quite unlike anyone that has been involved with us here at Etoile.”

At a loss, Damen didn’t say anything in response. He didn’t know what to say. Luckily the only person who seemed to be making a big deal out of it was Nicaise who rolled his big blue eyes with the force of his entire little body.

“Your father owns a business in Greece. Akielon Tech. It’s a billion dollar company, Damianos. And not just any company, but an arms-producing company. According to several articles dug up in our search, you were the preferred heir to take over the company one day. Yet,” the man trailed, still looking at Damen with an intensity, “you’re here in Paris as your friend photographs a fashion show. How is that?”

To say that this was an unexpected conversation would be an understatement. Damen knew that a basic search of his name would bring up, nowadays, his Instagram and Youtube accounts, and no doubt the other social media accounts he held, all alongside some articles he and Nik had been featured in regarding their travels. He also knew, however, that searching his name would lead to Akielon Tech and all that it was — which was more complicated than just an arms-producing company as its focus could be found in the specific area of cybersecurity and other technological aspects of military weaponry. It wasn’t a secret, but it also wasn’t something he brought up in casual conversation and, when one was only in places for a week at most, almost all conversations were casual.

“I wasn’t ready to settle into an office for eight hour days the rest of my life,” Damen said slowly. “Not then. Not yet. I took a gap year, as expected, and things got away from me. From us. I thrilled in discovering new places, in revisiting places and finding beauty in the familiarity, in meeting new people and experiencing things I would have never experienced in a boardroom. And I still thrill in those things. Until that thrill begins to fade, I don’t see why I should change what’s working.”

“I assume your father is displeased by this,” Laurent’s uncle said, turning to face the painting once more.

“He’s not ecstatic with the decision, no,” Damen admitted, “but he’s gotten better with it. Or he’s completely resigned to it. I’m not actually sure on which of the two it is and I’d rather not know if I’m being honest.”

“Does he fund your adventures across the globe?”

“No. He helped pay for my gap year as a sort of graduation gift, but it was made quite clear if I wished to continue traveling it would be up to me. Nik and I have made it work. Those earliest years were a little rough, but we really have lucked out with sponsorships turned partnerships.”

Just as Nicaise had tugged on Damen’s sleeve without preamble did the man begin walking, motioning with his heavily ringed hand for Nicaise to follow. The boy plastered himself at the man’s side, his own glittering rings shimmering as his arms swung at his sides. Damen looked around once, twice, as if waiting for a sign as to if he was to follow or now.

“I have a proposition for you, Damianos.”

Damen followed. Nicaise turned around to watch him as he caught up with the two of them, and when Damen was back in step, Nicaise faced forward once more, his tiny jaw clenching.

“Etoile is quite a successful company. Globally, we’re renowned for our clothing, and our models are some of the most sought after in the business. But, like all successful companies, we’re looking to expand. In today’s day and age, the best way to enhance one’s self is to expand social media presence. That won’t always be the case, but it is right now.” He was still walking, the exit from the Galeries Nationales and back outside just ahead, but he was walking slowly. Damen was grateful for it as it allowed him to try and process the meaning of the conversation. “Though we have a wondrous team, we do not have the social media expertise that we should. Yes, we have all the accounts that are expected, and yes, there are posts on plenty of those accounts, but we lack the experience to make it what it needs to be. I would like for you to join Etoile as a social media manager.”

They had just reached the doors and were pushing them open when the man said that last sentence and Damen almost tripped at the threshold at the unexpectedness of it all.

“What?”

Nicaise audibly scoffed.

“I would like for you to join Etoile as a social media manager,” the man repeated. “You would be in charge of running what is and isn’t posted on our social media accounts, you would analyze daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly statistics, you would assist in navigating partnerships with other brands, you would help us script videos for any and all occasions, whether it be photoshoots with magazines, interviews during fashion week,” he motioned around them, “and, eventually, as Etoile grows, you would be one of the many needed voices as we begin our own magazine. But keep that last part under wraps for now.”

“Sir, I —”

“You would be based here in Paris, of course, but traveling is part of what makes this industry so desired. There are the Big Four cities that host two fashion weeks every year, those cities being Paris, New York, London, and Milan, but there is also a growing fashion scene in a dozen other cities. Those cities, ones like Shanghai, São Paulo, Sydney, Dubai, Tokyo, and many others, are hosting their own fashion weeks now, and Etoile is itching at the chance to attend those as well. And if any of our models are to be in a magazine, you could be needed anywhere in the world. Last year, my nephew was in Vogue’s September issue and the press surrounding that was enormous. He was in six different cities in just one month.”

As he had talked, he had kept moving towards a sleek black Rolls-Royce whose back passenger door was being held open by a stoic man that definitely wasn’t Jord. Damen had followed until his toes were at the curb of the street.

“You’ll have to forgive me again, sir, for not knowing what to say,” Damen started after it became evident the man was done speaking. “I didn’t expect this. My mind is still trying to process it all.”

The man smiled.

“I don’t need an answer today. We haven’t even begun to talk compensation, though I can assure you the number will be higher than whatever you’re currently thinking of. But I want you to think about it. You would still be able to do what you do in any spare time, you would have the means to travel on your own when nothing was scheduled, and you would be a wonderful asset to Etoile while doing so.” The man nodded once at the stoic driver holding his door open before sliding into the seat. Nicaise boosted himself into the car and slid in as well. His feet were a foot above the car floor.

“I will think about it.” Damen paused again. “I’ll have to tell Nik we’ll both be employed. He won’t know what to think about that.”

“Oh,” the man said, his voice almost sad. “I’m afraid this deal is only for you, Damianos.”

And just like that, all mind whirring and processing came to a sudden halt. Like he’d been for most of this conversation, Damen was speechless, entirely unsure of what to say besides ‘What?’ or ‘Excuse me?’ or —

“Nikandros is a talented photographer, I don’t want you to mistake my intentions there,” he said. “But Etoile has plenty of photographers ready for work who are specialized in high fashion photography. I don’t think that’s any reason to fret, however. You’ll make plenty of money working for us that neither of you will know what to think, and he will have opportunity to expand his work with the constant events occurring here in Paris. Think of how that will grow his own resume into something even more impressive.”

It was clear the conversation was over as the driver was slowly beginning to shut the door. Damen got one last view of Nicaise’s dangling feet and glittering rings as the boy waved in the rudest way Damen had ever seen anyone wave. Then the man said six words just as the door was closing, his voice prompting.

“We’ll talk after the show tomorrow.”

Damen watched the car drive away, its windows darkened so it was impossible to see the figures inside, and he took in a deep breath that had his chest rising so high that his sweatshirt pulled tightly, if only for a moment. Then he retraced his walk from the Galeries Nationales back to the Nave, all in a near daze, and he found Nik waiting for him with a questioning expression on his face and his camera hanging at his hip.

“Where’d you disappear off to?” Nik asked.

“It’s a long story,” Damen said, shaking his head slightly in disbelief at what the last twenty minutes or so had brought on. “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. I don’t even know how I’d begin talking about it right now. Let’s talk about this instead.”

“This is starting to feel overwhelming again,” Nik said. He wasn’t pressing Damen’s disappearance and Damen was grateful. He had a lot more processing to do, a different kind of processing than what he had thought he would be doing, and he didn’t want to ruin Nik’s mood before the show tomorrow. This wasn’t the time for that.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’ve been watching the floods of people coming here all for fashion week and it’s as though it’s finally becoming obvious to me just how big this all is. These events are immortalized through their pictures, Damen,” Nik said and he pushed his hair back.

“Nik,” Damen smiled, easing back into something he did know the answers to, “I don’t know what else I could say to tell you how great you are and how great this is all going to be, so I’m just going to ask you to focus on enjoying dinner tonight and trying to remember everything about tomorrow. This really is a once in a lifetime kind of thing and no one is going to be there to immortalize it for you except you.”

Nik didn’t say anything else, just let out a whistle of air that lessened the tension of his body, even just a little bit.

“Are we going to have to dress up again tonight? I’m so tired of suits.”

They did, in fact, have to dress up again tonight. A quick search of Restaurant Le Meurice Alain Ducasse showed them two things; the first thing was that the restaurant was, quite literally, just three buildings down from their hotel, and the second thing was that it was a two Michelin-starred restaurant. Damen dramatically groaned before he pulled his own suit — the only one he actually owned — out of the room’s closet where it had been hanging since they unloaded their bags. As he tugged it on, he suddenly heard Laurent’s voice in his head saying “My uncle hates black suits. He says it’s the most boring color of suit a man could wear and, as you know by now, Etoile is anything but boring.” He smiled, and he smiled even wider when Nik came out wearing a classic black suit as well.

“We can survive one more dinner,” Nik said.

“We can,” Damen said, though his statement sounded less convincing.

“No fighting any old French men that mispronounce my name.”

“I’m not making any promises there.”

“I know you think stuff like that is a big deal,” Nik said, adjusting his tie so the knot was a little looser, “but it’s not. A lot of the people at Etoile are like that, and they’re like that to everyone. Even each other.”

“Just because they’re like that to everyone doesn’t make it okay.” Damen opened the door for the both of them. “If you’re working, you’re part of what keeps everything turning the way it should. The least they can do is learn your name for that.”

“At least he didn’t call me Nikki,” Nik grimaced. A flood of memories came to them both at the name and Damen grimaced as well.

“Kyra was the worst. Nikki!” Damen imitated in a high voice, the hard ‘k’ sound clicking in a purposeful manner. “She tried all sorts of weird nicknames on me too. Dami, ‘Nos. She even tried to call me Big D one time and I shut that down real fast.”

“I think Vannes might start calling you that if you’re not careful around her,” Nik said with warning.

“Let’s hope we can live the rest of our lives without that ever happening again.”

Restaurant Le Meurice Alain was the most Etoile appropriate restaurant Damen could have imagined. Its interior was almost reminiscent of the set design for the show tomorrow, like a tamer Hall of Mirrors with similar white and gold walls, chandeliers, crystal, and grandiose paintings on the walls. It turns out, Damen wasn’t far off at all in that comparison as he quickly found out upon running into Estienne , alone, that this restaurant was inspired by the Salon de la Paix in Versailles. He found out a lot more he truly wasn’t interested in, such as the man that had interpreted and designed the restaurant, the restaurant owner’s philosophy, and the way in which Restaurant Le Meurice Alain truly embodied classic French cuisine. But Damen eventually got away, only to find the restaurant flooded with the very same people from the rehearsal, all of which cleaned up quickly and quite nicely.

Nik had been swept away by a group of antsy people the moment they had been escorted into the room with the white table cloth covered tables and crystal glasses upon every surface, and Damen gave him a wave before he found his attention diverted once again by a hand tugging at the arm of his jacket.

Nicaise.

“That suit is hideous,” Nicaise said, that very unpleasant sneer on his face.

“At least I don’t have to click my heels three times to go home,” Damen said, not missing a beat as he pointedly took in Nicaise’s glittering white dress that complimented the glittering jewels in his hair, all pulled together by rubied shoes that had laced up straps at the beginning of his tiny ankles.

“What?” Nicaise asked.

Damen had no idea how a face so young could look so haughty.

“The Wizard of Oz? No? You’ve never seen The Wizard of Oz?” Damen asked incredulously.

“If you’ve watched it, that means it’s probably made for toddlers. My tastes are more sophisticated than that.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Damen said honestly. “But you should check it out. It’s a classic.”

“No, a little black dress is a classic.”

Damen couldn’t help the laugh that exited at that. Nicaise didn’t seem amused at all and actually appeared to get almost angry that Damen was. “What are you laughing at?”

“You. Who taught you to talk the way that you do?”

Before even Nicaise’s quick wit could respond, Laurent’s voice said, “That would be me.” Nicaise visibly seethed.

“That would not be you,” Nicaise said. “I don’t take after anyone but myself.”

Laurent was dressed in a suit that almost matched Damen and Nik’s own. It was a classic black suit with a white undershirt and black shoes. There were a few notable differences though, namely the silk of the lapels and the lack of tie given that the white undershirt was left unbuttoned just enough to be considered a tease with the skin that it revealed. Nicaise clearly wasn’t a fan of the suit. He had the exact same unpleasant sneer on his face looking at it as he had Damen’s suit.

“If you say so,” Laurent said dismissively.

“I do.”

Nicaise’s arms crossed over his chest in a display of defiance, though Damen didn’t truly know what the boy was being defiant about. But then he turned his head to look at somebody or something across the way and it made the jewels in his hair sparkle like rain landing on dark asphalt underneath the lights of a city at night.

“I can’t be seen with you two and your horrid excuses for formal wear,” Nicaise said after a moment. “I’m going.”

“I bet if you ask nicely tonight, someone would let you sip from their wine. You’re almost old enough now, aren’t you?” Laurent asked.

If a look could kill, Damen was certain Laurent would have fallen over dead on the spot. But Laurent was unfazed, staring back with a deadly and steady stare of his own until Nicaise clenched his fists and stormed off to do whatever it was that fourteen year olds did at events such as this one.

“What is it you want with Nicaise?”

Immediately Damen felt ten steps behind in this conversation. There was something in Laurent’s tone as he asked the question, something that would have scared a man that wasn’t Damen.

“Excuse me?” Damen asked, unsure if he had heard correctly.

“What is it you want with Nicaise?” Laurent asked again, his accent coming out heavily on Nicaise’s name.

“I think it’s more what is it he wants with me, and I’m fairly certain the answer to that is merely to insult,” Damen said. Confusion was evident in his voice. “He came over here to tell me how hideous he found my suit.”

Laurent didn’t say anything, but the way he was scanning Damen’s face made Damen feel as though he was being interrogated for something he hadn’t even done. But after a moment, Laurent seemed to relent, settling back on his heels. A server walked by with a tray full of glasses of deep red wine and Laurent grabbed one. Damen didn’t know why exactly, but he was surprised when Laurent took a long, deep drink from it.

“What did you think of the show?” he asked Damen, any and all malice from his previous question dissipated, and then he took another drink.

“It was beautiful,” Damen said, trying to keep up with today’s continued whiplash. “Your uncle has quite an eye for beauty.”

Laurent took another drink after Damen said that. “Indeed. But did you really like it?”

“I was telling your uncle today that I don’t know much about high fashion,” Damen admitted for the second time that day. Laurent finished the wine with one last final long and deep drink. His lips were tinged red close to the seam of his mouth.

“I don’t think anyone thought you knew much about high fashion to begin with. I don’t mean that as an insult either, but merely an observation of your repetitious fashion habits yourself.”

“What do you mean then?” Damen asked. He silently quirked an eyebrow when Laurent grabbed a second glass of wine from another server’s tray as they passed, leaving his old one in its place.

“I heard what you and your friend wore to your first meeting with my uncle. It’s all anyone at Etoile could talk about for days upon your arrival. Then today you wore,” Laurent paused as if trying to remember and he took another drink from his glass then. “You wore joggers. You wore black sweatpants to an Etoile dress rehearsal.”

Unlike when Nicaise spoke, Laurent didn’t necessarily sound offensive. He sounded more like his uncle here, amused by what Damen was saying even if Damen wasn’t trying to be funny. Damen almost preferred Nicaise’s tone.

“Wait, you saw what I was wearing today?” Damen asked instead of letting whatever else Laurent was saying get into his head. He asked it lowly, smiling with a flirtatious smile that came without thought, but Laurent’s blue eyes only flicked away.

“It’s a little difficult to miss the singular person wearing sweatpants while everyone else is dressed for the runway. Quite literally, I might add.”

“I’ll pretend it’s because you couldn’t take your eyes off of me.”

“You pretend that to be truth and I’ll pretend like I can actually eat any of this food tonight. Deal?”

“What do you mean you’ll pretend you can actually eat any of this food tonight?” All casual flirting — the kind that came naturally to Damen’s charm — died at Laurent’s sardonic tone as he struck their imaginary deal.

“Look around you,” Laurent said, lifting one elegant finger to circle the room. “The only people you’ll see eating tonight will be those who work behind the scenes. Everyone else will nitpick at their meal, pretend to eat whilst they prattle on about how overrated Prada’s show will be, and the models won’t eat a thing.”

“Why?”

“To be thin for all the cameras tomorrow. Haven’t you ever seen photos after the Victoria’s Secret show where all the models are picking up In-and-Out the second the show has ended? You seem like a guy that would be familiar with at least that. I haven’t eaten since yesterday. No water either. It makes my collarbones sharp and my cheekbones sharper. All the things the critics will care about beyond the clothes themselves.” Laurent was nearing the end of his second glass. “Thus explaining my diet of alcohol.”

“You’re just going to feel like shit tomorrow though,” Damen said, a worried furrow between his brows at, well, everything Laurent had just said.

“Mmm, no doubt. But after tomorrow I can sleep for the rest of the week if I choose and I very much might choose.”

Damen opened his mouth to respond, to ask about something, or comment on something, but there was an occurrence across the room that had clearly captured Laurent’s attention. From the side, his eyelashes were endless.

“I’m off to placate a fourteen year old before he stabs someone with a fork. I’ll probably grab more wine on my way.” Laurent handed Damen his current wine glass and said over his shoulder, “Enjoy your meal,” before he faded into the throng of people, leaving Damen’s head absolutely spinning.

“What the fuck.”

No one was around to hear it.

“Dude,” Damen started, aware of the crowd now all around him, when he found Nik again. “I can’t wait to get out of here and tell you about my day. You won’t even believe half of the shit that’s gone on.”

Nik looked up at him from the table he was seated at alongside Jeurre and Charls who were having a horribly deep conversation in slurred French. “What the hell could have happened today? We’ve been together half the day. In fact, today’s the first day we haven’t been in separate places all day since last week.”

“I know, but it’s been,” Damen huffed, “a day. I didn’t know I’d be getting stressed out while you were doing the work.”

“Well, dinner is supposed to start in about five minutes if my shoddy French is correct. We’ll talk later about whatever has you all frazzled.”

“We might want to snag a bottle of wine or five before I go into it because it’s seriously that kind of day.”

Nik’s shoddy French was correct though and they were once more treated by courses of food being set in front of them, all delicately plated and each one more delicious than the next. Impossibly, Damen found himself looking for Laurent in the crowds of tables. When he found him, he watched as Laurent did exactly what he said everyone would do. Damen watched as Laurent’s fork moved his food around on his plate, but never once left its surface to his mouth. Damen watched as he drank more wine. Looking around at others, Damen found none of Laurent’s fellow models eating either. It was unnerving, and by the third course Damen found his own appetite had dwindled into almost nothing.

After the entré of silk grain veal, Jeruselum artichokes, and ceps, people began to get up and wander again. Damen caught sight of Nicaise’s sparkling curls as he talked to Laurent’s uncle and received a gentle pat on the cheek before he was herded out the doors by the same stoic man that had driven the two earlier. It made sense as it was nearing nine.

Nik seemed to get along with Talik and her manager especially well and the three were in a conversation that was far over Damen’s head. It was something about lighting, coloring, and the disgrace of it all in regard to those with warm undertoned skin, so Damen skirted around the perimeter of the restaurant hoping to run into Jord. His no-nonsense attitude Damen had had the pleasure of meeting on a few occasions was something he thought would allow him to end his day on a semi-decent, non-dramatic note. But then he saw Laurent and all ideas of that vanished.

Laurent was in the place Nicaise had just been minutes before, talking to his uncle in a way that looked extremely calm and collected. But Damen could see he wasn’t quite as put together as he appeared, could see the way his finger kept tapping at his own leg incessantly, could see the flush of alcohol or anger or both across his ears, face, even the top of his chest underneath his white shirt. Laurent’s uncle did appear extremely calm and collected, however, and there were no signs he was anything but. He was regarding his nephew with patience, listening to whatever Laurent was saying, but Laurent was clearly displeased by the responses he was getting. Then, like it was in slow motion, Damen watched as Laurent turned on his heel and headed determinedly to the door to leave.

Damen saw him stumble. It was just a wiggle really. But Damen saw him stumble, and it was enough to have Damen following.

He cast one last look back at Nik, hoping Nik had seen, hoping Nik would at least see him so he could signal some kind of ‘I’ll be back’, but Nik was listening to Talik who talked louder with her hands than her voice.

Out the doors and on the sidewalk, Damen looked around once, twice, ignoring the welcomeness of the cool air, before he found Laurent leaning against a one-way street sign at the corner. Laurent’s eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the dark metal, and his chest was rising and falling just fast enough that it didn’t look quite natural. Those eyelashes Damen had briefly admired earlier were swooped against the apples of his cheeks.

“Hey.”

Laurent’s eyes opened instantly.

It was more obvious up close how drunk he was. There was a flush to his cheeks, to his ears, to the top of his chest that was most definitely alcohol, and there was a something unfocused in his gaze, as though finding Damen with his eyes required too much effort. Damen wondered how he had kept his balance so well on his own.

“Let me walk you home,” Damen said, taking another step closer.

Head still tilted back against the street sign, Laurent smiled. It wasn’t the small smile Damen had seen on him exactly twice in the few times they had met, but a full smile that reached all the way up to his eyes. Had this been almost any other circumstance, Damen would have told Laurent with all the genuineness in the world that his smile was truly the most beautiful smile Damen had ever seen in his life. But there was something unsettling about it with how today had gone, with how Laurent had just been before he had left the restaurant, with how he had been in his conversation with Damen before that.

“If I wanted someone to take advantage of me drunk, I would go off to one of the hundred parties being held tonight to kick off fashion week,” Laurent said.

Revulsion was like a punch in the gut, quite literally so like one that Damen took a physical step back. “What? No, Laurent, I just want to walk you to your apartment.”

Said apartment was across the street and three buildings down to the right. It would take five minutes, and that would mostly be due to Laurent’s expected stumbling. Still, Laurent made no effort to move, choosing to stay and watch Damen with a wary eye.

“One doesn’t leave the world of silks and bared skin unscathed. Chivalry, my dear brute in shining armor, is but a mask.”

Damen wondered, only for a moment, how Laurent was talking like that in his drunken state, but the deep-seated revulsion that Laurent thought Damen might do something awful to him was heavy. Looking around at the throngs of people still about and the cars still driving on the road, Damen couldn’t let his offer go untaken.

“Let me at least help you cross the street and watch you get into your building.” He put both hands up in a display of surrender. “I won’t follow, I’ll stay right here, but let me watch.”

Laurent’s gaze was still wary and a bit unfocused. “Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful and drunk and people are awful sometimes.” It was another heavy thing. “Plus, if anything happened to you I bet it’d be a nightmare for tomorrow’s show and Nik’s worked too hard for that.”

It took a moment, a moment in which Damen started pulling reasonable arguments to the front of his thoughts in case Laurent continued to be against such a simple request, but Laurent pushed himself away from the sign and swayed ever so slightly before settling.

“Fine. But just across the street.”

“You have my word,” Damen said, making a show of crossing over his heart.

Cast-iron will alone seemed to fuel Laurent into a briefly sober mindset, just long enough for them to cross the street without any issues. Damen knew better than to touch him given how the conversation had been going, but he kept one hand lifted and ready just in case Laurent actually fell. Once on the other side, the side of Laurent’s building, Laurent seemed to be entirely done with talking. He looked at Damen, sweeping over him as though he would find an answer to something, and then he left without so much as a wave or nod or goodbye, goodnight.

As Damen promised, he stayed put on the sidewalk and only watched as Laurent headed toward his apartment so steadily that Damen wondered exactly what Laurent’s alcohol tolerance was. It was only when Laurent reached the entrance that he looked back at Damen. It was one last look, maybe to see if Damen had kept his word, and it lasted only a second. Then he was gone, into the building and, assumingly, up the elevator to his apartment.

Crossing the street once more, Damen stopped at the same one-way street sign Laurent had been at and leaned against it, head tilted back in the same fashion to breathe in the chilled Parisian air. He was tired of trying to think, to make sense of a damn thing that had happened today. All he could think about was how there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world that would get him and Nik both through explaining today’s events.

And gods forbid Nik had any drama of his own.

#captive prince #captive prince fanfiction #the mannequin gallery #mannequin gallery 'verse #laurent of vere #damen of akielos #my writing

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sabineelectricheart · 3 years

Text

Overcast Day

Summary: Dante had not spoken to Nicola in months, but when he receives a damning call, he rushes to his aid.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 2000

Notes: I’m back on Piofiore. I still have some stuff backlogged, I hope I can post those during the coming months.

He is surprised when the telephone he keeps on his desk, that is usually kept silent, rings sharply, disturbing his concentration on his reviewing of the dry balance sheets in front of him. A grey cloud chooses exactly that moment to pass through the sun, making the noise that much more mysterious.

He is even more taken aback when a familiar voice comes out of the contraption, echoing with a pleading voice.

"Dante…You've…You've got to help me. It's Lili… Something happened… It was an accident, a terrible… We're at the hospital in Bari, on the fourth floor. Please, please, help me."

The line goes silent before he can manage to respond to anything it was said, and Dante stares at the telephone in shock, demanding it to ring again.

That was his cousin. That was Nicola. That was the one person he had not spoken to in months, all because of a stupid argument, and now, his cousin's fiancée was in trouble. Hurt, it seemed.

Dante does not know what to do for a second, just sits in his chair, staring at the dust floating on the claustrophobic air of his office. Suddenly, he jolts to his feet and then he feels himself grab his hat and coat, jumping into the automobile and ordering the driver to speed his way to Bari.

When he gets there to the first floor, he walks straight ahead to the receptionist desk, coming out of his daze.

"Excuse me, my…" Dante pauses for a millisecond.

He does not know how to word it, because she is not exactly family. A girl he knows from church? His God-inducted duty? The person he is in love with? The girl he thought he would marry ever since he was six?

"My… Sister-in-law is here, fourth floor I'm told, but I don't know what room. Could you help me?" He asks the wavy-haired woman with glasses falling off her long nose.

"What's her name?" She asks, popping her tongue.

"Liliana Adornato."

The receptionist looks at the constantly-changing patient log for the fourth floor. "Ah, Adornato. Fourth floor, room twelve."

Dante takes off, thanking the receptionist, and heads to the fourth floor. Once there, he looks up and down the halls, before finding room number twelve. A young man, with dirty blond hair, sits in a chair outside, hunched over, pressing a hand to his head.

Dante approaches with caution, before recognizing the face. "Nicola?"

"Dante! Oh, thank God!” The usually undevout man seemed to be falling back into old religious habits.

“Nicola.” Dante acknowledge, not quite sure how to proceed. “What happened? Why is Lili in there?”

“She was going out for the market, she wanted to bake some stupid pastry.” He spats the word. “A driver didn’t see her when she was crossing the street and ran over. She’s hurt, and in so much pain! They say… T-they say it's l-life-threatening."

Dante does not know what to say as a thought to mention their argument leaves him with shame burning on his face and disgust in his mind.

Don't talk about that here, it's not right.

He murmurs out, then, a timid 'sorry'.

"I'm terrified, Dante. I…I don't even know why I told you about this…hell, how am I going to tell Elena? Sister Sofia? The damn Church?"

Dante does not even know why he came. Maybe it is just for Lili. Maybe he is evil, and wants the assurance that this would not have happened if she had stayed with him. Maybe he is just human, and is saddened and scared for two people he loved more than life itself.

"This is of no concern now.” The younger man said, even-voiced. “It's best to wait for the final results before you panic."

"Right… Yes, you’re right. I knew that." Nicola sighs deeply, in a frantic mood his cousin did not remember he ever having. "They won't let me in… I don't know how long…"

The door opens as if on cue, and a man with shadowy stubble and square glasses steps out, wiping his brow.

"Mr. Francesca?" He asks for Nicola as Dante watches.

Nicola perks his head up and stands to his feet quickly. "Yes? How is she?"

"She's awake and talking a bit. She wants to see you." The medical doctor says.

Nicola nearly barrels him over and enters the room, leaving his cousin and the medic alone. Dante wanders over to the medic, peering into the room to see his underling kneeling down by Lili's bedside.

"How bad is it?" Dante asks him in a hushed tone, looking at the medic in full concern and seriousness.

"Wherever she got hit, it did some major damage to her internal organs.” The man explains with cold detachment. “If you want my honest opinion, I'm surprised she's even lasted this long. Many don't."

"So…” He stutters. “So how long do you give her?"

"Not long. Even less if the surgery was unsuccessful."

She is on borrowed time. Lili is going to die soon. Soon, Nicola's heart will be dead, too. Dread stirs in his body.

"Thank you." The medic leaves and Dante stands, hovering at the frame of the door. Should I tell him? It'll just hurt him more, right?

The argument comes back, nagging at his brain. He's right, you know he was right. You just didn't want to believe it.

"H-hi Dante."

The high, weak voice brings him out his thoughts and he found himself staring at the bed-ridden blonde girl with a smile. She looks absolutely dreadful and Dante feels positively awful, but seeing her still alive brightens his heart.

"Hi, Lili. How do you feel?" Dante tries to manage a soothing expression.

"As if… As if I am dying.” Her breath was wheezing. “I…I could be better."

"You're going get better though, right, Lili? You're going get better and then you'll get out of here and then you'll marry Nicola, and we'll finally have another member in the family." Dante tells her, trying to reassure not only her, but himself also. She'll overcome this, right?

"That's the plan." Nicola responds as Lili nods a bit.

"Great. I just wanted to see you, I'll be outside. See you around, Lili." Dante leaves the room, leaving the two alone.

"Nicola." Lili addresses, with a hint of seriousness. "I…I have to tell you… Something… That I heard."

"Yes?"

"T-they said… I only have… I am not going to make it, Nicola." Lili is on the cusp of bursting into tears.

"You’re not going to? To…to live?" He asks tentatively.

Lili nods her head.

Nicola is speechless, tears brushing the corner of his eyes. "You'll prove them wrong. I know you can!"

"Yes." Lili suddenly coughs and blanches, the small freckles on the bridge of her nose standing out in stark comparison.

"Lili?" Nicola asks, panicking inside. "What's wrong?"

"I-I don't feel good…"

"Do you want me to get someone?"

"No. I'll be…" She coughs. "F-fine. Believe me."

The blond man stands up. "I'll believe you when you get out of here. I'm going to go get someone."

"If it's time, it's time, Nicola. God waits for no one.” The blonde pointed out, as she was used to hear such things on the services held for the departed during the time she lived at church. “I've…I've thought about it all my life, especially with the way my parents were taken away from me, how we have lived our lives, so… S-so there's no way changing it! You can't have life without d-death, just like you can't have day without… N-night."

The colour in her lips suddenly leaves just as quickly as the colour in her face did. Death is just steps away.

If this was going to happen, if this was really near, reality seeping in, then Nicola decides he is going to tell her exactly how he feels.

"A day without sunshine is like, you know, night." Nicola says quickly and perfectly before losing it. "And… A-and you're the… The… S-sunshine to my… Day… To my life. Please, please, Liliana Adornato, don't leave me. I love you."

"I-I… Love you… Too." She smiles, the colour in her lips still fading fast, with a sad look in her eyes.

Her hand reaches out slowly to him and she takes his hand in hers, raising it to her shaking lips. She presses her lips to the back of his pale hand and she smiles again.

"I…I heard that… That your dreams came true… Did they r-really?" She asks, weakly.

"Yes, of course, love. They…"

Nicola stops and looks at her, realizes it is too late. He searches her face with his eyes and finds no life there.

"No, no, no, no, no! This… It… Can't… Come back! Come back!"

His throat is tightening and it's making it harder to breathe. He gulps for air, tears pooling in his eyes and spilling over, squeezing the hand holding his and he screams.

Outside in the hallway, Dante hears it. His heart pounds in his chest and he almost panics. To anyone else, it could sound like his cousin is being murdered, but Dante knows what it is.

It is the sound of a heart shattering into a million pieces.

He races into the room, and stops halfway when he realizes completely what has happened. His eyes look between his cousin's sobbing face to his was-to-be fiancée's, her pale face still with the etch of a smile on it. Dante thinks she looks just as pretty in death as in life.

"Nicola, I…"

"Just go away, will you?"

"Let me…"

"I said go away!" Anger is taking him over, before it was sorrow, grief, worry. His cousin's different emotions are now like an invisible animal farm, multiple feelings penned up in a corral deep in his mind.

"No." Dante takes a deep breath and blurts, "You were right. I spent too much time on work, and I screwed up every relationship I ever had. I'm sorry."

Dante knows this is the most inappropriate time he could ever say this, but now he cannot take it back.

He breathed out, trying to recompose himself into an indoor voice. "And sorry about your loss. Our loss. The family's loss."

There is a silence between them, with only Nicola's sobs echoing in the air and then there are rushed footsteps. The nurses arrive to take away the body, as Giulia, Leo and some other members of the Family come into the room, having rushed from Burlone, too. The matron wails stridently, and the medical professionals try to contain her.

As the nurses are preoccupied with their other duties, Nicola is still in his kneeled position, and Dante knows he will not let them take him away under no pretence whatsoever.

He walks over cautiously and says in a quiet, soothing voice. "Hey… It's time to go."

His cousin does not say anything, as Dante lays a hand on his shoulder gently, bending down slightly and gripping his arm, pulling him up from the ground. Nicola lets Dante guide him up, clinging onto his cousin's shirt, as Dante is half supporting Nicola's grief-stricken body.

"I-I… I told you… I was right." Nicola says quietly.

"Shh…" Dante replies, drawing his family member closer to him. "Not here. We'll talk about this later, okay?"

Nicola falls silent again, snuffling a few times, sobbing freshly. "My… S-sunshine's gone…"

Dante feels tears well up in his own eyes, as he and his twin step into the hallway filled with sobbing Family members. She is gone for all of us, he thinks. It is like the sun is covered with clouds and cannot break from the darkness. It leaves everyone down and heartbroken.

He is smart, and he knows his place. He knows what he has to do, and he will perform it famously. No one will ever know that it shatters his own heart to millions of pieces.

No one will know that his sunshine is gone, too.

*_*_*_*_*

Piofiore Masterlist

#piofiore #nicola francesca #dante falzone

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colony22graphics · 4 years

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❝Shine on, diamond.❞

◆ member since: nov. 22, 2013 ◆ longest character: alexander donovan ◆

@alexander-donovan, Well, here we go.

Rory, there's no way on earth I could possibly describe what you've done for this community. Aside from making it all in the first place, constructing the post-apocalyptic sandbox we all hold so dear, you also pay attention to how it's executed---from basic principles of operation and how we ought to respect each other as players, down to the smallest, weirdest headcanon. It matters to you---which I think is probably the best way to summarize your energy and wisdom, the Rory-ness of it all:

Things matter. People matter. Caring matters.

In a world where we're pretty damn used to moving from one diversion to the next at a moment's notice, you make something that's absolutely set apart by saying, resolutely and passionately, that what we do here really matters.

And you're right, to think that. If you need any further proof that you---Rory---matter, you can look at me writing this damn letter (and swearing every three sentences, sorry). But you in your extremely Ro way, said hey, six years fucking matters, and so do all the people we play with, so let’s get mushy on the main and tell them. And I can tell you to your face you're right and this was a stellar idea because... I do that now. Because of your influence, I'm a better person, one who does actually try and tell people what I think.

You challenge people to care, and to translate their caring into something others can recognize, and reciprocate. You’re never afraid to point out the importance of saying things and leaving a meaningful mark, becoming an active part of our community instead of staying in our own heads (as introverts on the internet are prone to doing).

You're also a hell of a writer, which is inspirational in itself, and I can’t leave that out of it. Your dedication to your characters, to their motivations and struggles, shines through in every post you make, and you don't let fear or insecurity take root or stop you from doing what you love. You know it's not about achieving perfection, but about collaboration and growth. The way we write is an exercise in discipline and embracing the joys of language, it's not meant to be fine art (though a lot of the stuff you come up with off the cuff blurs the line between the two on a regular basis.) It's really very rude how talented you are.

I won't talk too much more about you and me personally because you already know it pretty well, but I will mention that when I offered to help out with tech stuff, you don't even know how impossible being a full mod felt for me, at the time. I'd just come out of some rough experiences and was ready to never do that again. But over the years, you gave me steps that I could take only when I felt comfortable, and let me accept only the responsibility that I thought I could manage (though you always told me you knew I was more than capable of handling it). In a very real way, with your patience and understanding, you gave me back my confidence, and my willingness to be vulnerable. That's something I won't ever forget.

You have my respect and my friendship, always.

And dear lord, if Tumblr has managed not to self-destruct in the next five or ten years, I really hope we're still around doing this shit. No place I'd rather be.

Love you, Ro.

<3 Lottie.

(Oh, by the way, I took the liberty of adding something else, under the cut. I knew that I would never be able to cover everything, and that I’d run out of words, so I turned to others to fill in the gaps and maybe it’ll help convey it all a little more properly. Many thanks to everyone.) ❤

—- Happy Colony 6th Anniversary —-

RO, YOU ARE AN ABSOLUTE GIFT. I’m incredibly grateful all those years ago I saw that Bones bio and decided to join this crazy little family because that is exactly what you have created with the Colony: You have made a family. You have always been a pleasure to write with, a hard-working and careful admin, and now this second go-round I'm happy to call you a good friend. I wanted to mirror your sentiment on my anniversary post, it is amazing how time rewards our patience with this second meeting! I owe you a very real debt because thanks to this group when a friend let me down whilst I was on a different goddamn continent, thanks to you, I found Cassie there to help me out! The group is an extension of you: thoughtful, kind, emotional, and funny as hell. - Nicola

Rory, your dedication to the Colony (and previously Belvedere) astounds me every day. Writing with you is an absolute joy, thank you for all that you do for us!! - Cassie

RO HOLY COW!! It's insane to think of being part of something so wonderful for so long, I can't imagine how proud you must be to call this place home. I absolutely love writing with every character I've gotten to interact with, you approach your characters and this RPG with such a passion, it's always made getting to be part of it all the more special to me! To many years to come! - Molly

The things I admire most about you are your kindness, your compassion, your understanding and the way you always make the best of a situation. You've been nothing but welcoming and kind to me since I've had the privilege of joining this insanely talented and incredible group, and every day I am in awe of the love and care and detail you pour into the rpg. You have been so supportive over these past few months, every day I consider myself insanely lucky to have met you. I adore you and I'm so happy for you that you've come so far in your own personal journey, you truly do deserve all the happiness in the world. - Lou

Ro, you’re an absolutely wonderful mod and person. I’ve never met a more dedicated and creative mod in all my years on this website. You’re an astounding writer and creator who leaves me wanting to be better. You’re a wonderful person to write with and an even better friend. I love you and all the work you do for everyone in this group. Thank you for creating this fantastic place and starting this wonderful family. - Lee

Thanks for always being so open and welcoming! It's been such a blast writing with you. - Ren

Your commitment to this game and its players is absolutely next level, and it shines through in literally everything you do for us. I haven’t felt so at home and so comfortable in an RP in such a long time, possibly ever, and I know so much of that has to do with the amazing environment (both IC and OOC) you’ve spent such a long time painstakingly and lovingly cultivating. This RP wouldn't be the incredible space it is without such an incredible and dedicated team of mods. I hope you know how much I appreciate all you do, and how much I flippin' love ya! - Alex

Rory, you're a perfect admin and an amazing friend! You've always made me feel so welcome here, from day one, and my heart feels warm and fuzzy when I think of you. I utterly adore all your characters and your writing is just brilliant, it's always so much fun to brainstorm and write and plot with you. Thank you, thank you, thank you! - Ellie

When an rp has a lifespan of not just a year or two, but SIX FREAKIN YEARS, you must look to your leader. Ships don’t sail without a captain, and you have been the most loyal, loving, and adventurous captain to your crew. Congratulations on this amazing accomplishment, love. xoxo. - Amy

Rory, I just wanted to thank you for how welcome you've made me feel since I joined the group. It takes a special person to be an admin (dedicated, patient, and just a little bit weird), and the six years you've been running this group is a testament to how well you do it. You've got incredible creativity and passion, and I know I'm not the only one that feels so lucky to write with you in this world you've built. Congratulations on six years! Here's to many more. - Nick

RORUUUUU. I literally have no idea where my life would be now if I'd never met you. I've said it before and I'll say it again, you inspire me to be braver and stronger and more self-loving. Thank you for being my friend even after all these years. - Mika

I don’t think I can concisely put into words how much you mean to me, but I’ll try: we first met in 2012 and through all these years you’ve continually inspired me with your talent and hard work. You’re more than just an incredible friend, you’re an ICONIC leader that has the determination and talent to keep this group running for six amazing years (with the help of your equally talented and wonderful co-mod, naturally, wink wonk). The Colony is a family to me, and I think to all of us, even before it’s a writing group. It couldn’t be what it is today without someone as tirelessly understanding and creative at its helm. You’re an absolute gift, you’ve been there for me through thick and thin, and I’m grateful every day that I get to call you a friend. - Maddie

Ro, you have been so kind and amazing since day one! You have this astonishing energy and a kindness that honestly makes the colony feel like another home. You’re such a phenomenal writer, and have made this rp a community like no other. I can’t quite put into words how much I appreciate you, and how much effort you put into everything you do. You’re so talented and I feel incredibly lucky to say I’m a part of this community. Thank you for being you. xxx. - El

The Colony has been a living, breathing world in which to create, and the key piece - creativity - is embedded in your DNA. You aren't just an enthusiastic mod. In some aspects you are the Col. I know you want everyone to feel included and allowed to be inspired by the writing of others rather than hemmed in by rules and egos so many other groups have. Thank you for throwing all your characters at me when one of mine has some wild scheme. I've said before your writing is cinematic in its expression and it always challenges me to want to (try to) write on a higher level. I'm grateful to have you as a sounding board when I get stuck in the mud of my own self-doubt with writing. Thank you for just being a friend as well and letting me ramble too. It is impossible to sum up this wildest of rides out of all my writing adventures so, much love, as always. xx. - Cat

#col22graphics #alexander donovan #corbin ealy #teilo aisling #adrien bennett #felix turner #orson hurst #cr: lottie #cr: rory #6th year anniversary

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fanatic1997 · 5 years

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Agent 6 [1]

Summary: You wanted out of the CIA. The only thing, or better yet, person standing between you and your freedom was the CIA’s most wanted man and London’s youngest business mongrel. All of your colleagues had stayed clear of this mission but you had no choice, you had to kill Tom Holland.

Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: some adult language

Word Count: 3,265

Part 1 out 2 maybe 3

I promised this weeks ago. I’m sorry about the late upload but I’ve been experiencing a bit of a block. Also pics are not mine.

Part 1

“Mum, really. I have enough on my plate tonight,” Tom ran a hand through his hair frustrated. He looked down at the list his mother had drawn up of eligible women that would be in attendance tonight.

Nicola Holland was persistent. “Promise me you will at least make an attempt at a conversation with some of these women,” Nicola’s tone was final. She wasn’t asking. “I want grandkids Thomas, maybe they won’t ignore me like my children like to do.” The matron shuttered and Tom rolled his eyes. His mother could be quiet dramatic sometimes but he had no other option but to agree to his mother’s requests.

Tom nodded reluctantly at his mother and his mother smiled hugely. “You look dashing tonight Thomas, I’m sure I’ll have my grandbabies by the end of the year.” Nicola adjusted Tom’s tie before kissing him on the cheek and leaving his study. She still had some preparations left for the gala tonight.

Tom looked down at the list of names. He recognized one of your alias’ immediately and he grimaced. So the anonymous tip he had received was right. He hadn’t mentioned it to anybody else. All he had done was tighten up his security.

His growing anticipation made him wonder if that would be enough. But it wouldn’t be the first attempt on his life and he couldn’t bring himself to worry his mother, not when she was finally returning to her old self from before his father had passed away.

_____________

You bit your cheek slightly watching the guard at the gate run your invite. It was almost cynical how nervous you were now on your last mission when you had trained countlessly to wipe out all emotions.

You knew it was going to be a stiff price to pay for you to get out. But you would never have expected for your boss to ask for the impossible.

Your ticket out was Tom Holland, London’s youngest CEO and the CIA’s most wanted.

You weren’t even sure what had secured the young tycoon the lucrative spot. That had been classified, even to his assassin.

Your agency had secured an invite to the Holland’s annual auction on behalf of Tom’s birthday. It was to be a ball for England’s upper crust.

Your months of training, of preparing and running through different scenarios had all come down to a single night, a small, three-hour window.

After the guard at the gate handed your chauffer back the invite, the massive gates to the Holland estate opened to allow your limo entrance. You counted the minutes that it took for the chauffer to drive up the large mansion, estimating a rough mile from the gates to the oversized home. You should be able run that in about 6 minutes, factoring in the night’s crisp air into your calculations. You stored that information away, adding to your plan B if things went south.

When your chauffer pulled up to the entrance, you waited for him to walk around and open your door. Meanwhile, you scanned the building in front of you, taking in the security measures that had been put in place. You internally groaned at the sheer amount of guards positioned 10 meters apart from each other around the building and on the rooftop. “Lets hope we don’t have fireworks tonight,” you grumble under your breath.

When your chauffer reached your door and slid it open, youquickly wipe away any emotion on your face. You took your chauffer’s hand and allowed him to help you out. It was a particularly cool night and the fur coat you had on was more for show than for actual warmth. You looked around seeing more people getting out limos, all dressed in top dollar outfits no doubt. The dress you wore was from evidence, no doubt seized from an asset forfeiture from an heiress in a CIA raid.

By the time you entered the ballroom, the party was in full swing. Waiters passed with hors d’oeuvres and wine.

You could feel quiet a few pair of eyes staring in your direction as you floated throughout the party to count the exits and the amount of guards. It wasn’t unusual at lucrative events like these for people to stare at any new comer; they were all trying to figure out what heiress you were or what millionaire you were accompanying.

As far as you could tell, the guard posted at the western exit was new. He was shifty and looked all too paranoid, keeping a hand on his gun at all times. He was smaller too so he would make a good exit strategy for Plan C.

You grimaced when you noticed a familiar KGB agent in the making her rounds of the room as well. She hadn’t seen you but you would recognize her anywhere. You weren’t surprised, Tom was sure to be a wanted man in multiple countries seeing how he was already a wanted man in the US, foreign soil to London. This was also the exact reason nobody at the compound had wanted to take on this particular mission.

You noticed a blonde head chatting up a pretty girl in a corner of the ballroom. You had studied Tom’s best mate for months now and you could spot him in a crowd. Harrison Osterfield would bring you close enough to Tom to lay your poison.

You adjusted your wig. Your contacts irritated your eyes but you needed them. Your whole appearance mocked all the women that Harrison loved to carry on his arm. The color of your dress, the risqué cut of your dress and even the very perfume you wore was all to lure in Harrison.

You had done your homework right because after you brushed past Harrison and his bird to get to the bar, his eyes had landed on you. You had recognized the pretty face of the Czech agent and you bit your cheek hard seeing her recognize your face as well. She was a B level spy with hardly enough experience to really pose as a threat to you. So you ignored her and continued on your path to the bar, sashaying your hips a little more to ensure Harrison’s attention.

Through the reflection of your wine glass, you spotted Harrison approaching you slowly. You smiled to yourself, he had taken the bait.

“I make it my personal mission to know all the pretty girls attending the party. And you happen to be the only one I don’t know,” Harrison’s voice was flirtatious and would have probably made any other girl swoon on her feet.

You laid on your most charming smile. You unabashedly roamed your eyes over Harrison’s fit physique. When your eyes landed back on him, Harrison threw you a wide smirk. “Like what you see darling?” he asked.

“Maybe, but I might be more willing to share my opinion after a drink,” you raised an eyebrow and Harrison only smiled. He turned to grab the bartender’s attention. Of course the bar was an open bar, the Holland’s would never charge their guests. However, they would reduce the selection of wines to certain guests.

“She’s with me, please get the lady a glass of our top shelf selection,” Harrison nodded to the bartender that immediately filled your glass with a much pricier wine. You felt Harrison slide a hand to the small of your back that happened to be bare thanks to the cut of your dress. You resisted your urge to grimace.

Don’t get me wrong, Harrison was definitely handsome, and under any other circumstance, you would take advantage of this perk of the job but you tried to not make it habit to mix business with pleasure.

“Thank you Mr. …” you smiled, taking a sip of your drink, gesturing for him to introduce himself.

“Osterfield, Harrison Osterfield. You can call me Haz. It’s a pleasure to meet you Ms. …” Harrison took a hold of your hand and placed a chaste kiss on your fingers before looking up expectantly waiting for you to reply.

You gave Harrison your alias for the night and he smiled brightly at you. He was quiet the charmer.

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of brown orbs followed your and Harrison’s movements. You had caught his attention the moment you had walked in. He had read your file and he had memorized your face already. He knew you were going to be attending the ball tonight, he had been warned. You were pretty in the pictures but they hadn’t quiet captured how breathtaking you really were. What a shame.

He had nudged Harrison in your direction when you had first strutted into the ballroom. He had meant for Harrison to keep an eye on you, willingly or not. A single person was slippery but a couple would be easily spotted. And Harrison was doing a bang up job chatting you up. Harrison, of course, thought you and Tom would be lovely together.

The last couple of months he had set up Tom with multiple women of his own choosing. All in the name of Nicola Holland who had tasked Harrison with the job of getting her son hitched; well not hitched per se, but settled down and producing babies for her to spoil. Nicola was an open minded woman, grandkids didn’t necessarily have to be paired with marriage and Harrison had only chuckled when she had stated this modern opinion.

Harrison loved Nicola like a mother and when she had asked him to help her son, he couldn’t exactly say no. No matter how annoyed his best mate would become.

Harrison had offered you his arm after your drink and he had every intention of sliding you up with Tom and returning to his date that waited for him in the corner of the room. In the process, he made a show of showing you around the room, introducing you to guests in order for you to not be suspicious when he introduced you to his single mate, Tom.

However, he didn’t anticipate to be pleasantly surprised by your wit or your impeccable knowledge of artwork and artifacts that littered the Holland ballroom. Nor did he anticipate for you to hit it off so well with some of his diplomatic friends. He had slid his arm around your waist almost possessively when some of the business men gawked at you or made lewd comments. And all he could think about now was forgetting his promise to Nicola and instead, dancing with you because he wanted you for himself. He had never thought to settle down but he couldn’t think of you as one of his many one night stands either.

Harrison was in trouble and you recognized the emotion swirling in his eyes and you planned on absolutely exploiting it.

Before he could ask you to dance with him, a voice interrupted the both of you. “Mind if I ask your charming date for a dance?” You didn’t miss the slight tensing of Harrison’s jaw before you turned to meet the chocolate orbs of the all too familiar face.

The same face you’ve been researching for months. The reason for this mission. Your ticket out.

Tom Holland was asking to dance with you.

“Sadly, she’s not my date,” Harrison took a sip of his drink and as much as he wanted to hide his disappointment for the interruption, you recognized the emotion in his eyes.

It was your job to read people after all. He was basically leaving it up to you if you wanted to accept Tom’s proposal.

You turned to look at the handsome brunette. His expensive suit fit him like a glove which accentuated his fit physique much like Harrison’s.

You accepted Tom’s outstretched hand and smiled, “How can I say no to the birthday boy,” you smiled, not missing the grimace on Harrison’s face.

Tom hadn’t paid much attention to his best mate’s reaction. In actuality, he wanted to get his assigned assassin far away from his best friend as possible.

Tom lead you to the middle of the ballroom. He then wrapped his arm around your waist and laid his hand between your shoulder’s, much higher than where Harrison had placed his hand earlier. It was still skin to skin contact much to your chagrin. He took your other hand in his while you rested your free hand on his shoulder.

“I think a Happy Birthday is in order,” you looked up to Tom, trying to string up a conversation.

Tom’s eyes sparkled, “thank you. I think I’m spending my birthday pretty well, dancing with a beautiful woman that has already charmed my best mate,” Tom whispered into your ear. You smiled tight lipped, not really understanding where this was going.

Tom spun you effortlessly and that’s when you recognized a familiar face across the room. And the German assassin was staring back at you. You tried to keep your surprise at bay but your mind was firing thoughts a mile of a minute. You had only met with this particular BND agent a few times before and they were never pleasant experiences. If the bullet wound in your shoulder was any indication. Of course, she had a bullet wound on her hip to rival yours.

There was only one reason she was here and you swallowed thickly. This was going to complicate your mission.

“So tell me, how did you manage to get your hands on The Macallan,” Tom raised an eyebrow questioningly.

The gift you had brought to auction off on behalf of Tom’s birthday was definitely a lucrative item. You had meant to get his attention and you had researched Tom’s fascination of whiskeys and bourbons. Stealing the bottle was street level work, nothing too difficult to attain from a museum with basic level security measures.

“It was willed to me by my grandfather,” you say simply and you shiver as you feel Tom’s chest vibrate with laughter.

“I’ve seen a bottle identical to it in a museum in Scotland, so tell me again how you managed to attain it,” Tom raised an eyebrow challengingly before pulling you in closer.

You felt your heart pick up for a second but you only smiled. “I can promise you that I am the rightful owner, if the museum wants to honor that or not, that’s not my problem. Maybe they should tighten up security,” you smile coyly and you can see an impressed smile form on Tom’s lips with your answer. It’s not exactly a lie, you were the rightful owner, just not this alias.

“Well I don’t think we will be auctioning off stolen merchandise but it will make a great addition to my personal malt collection,” Tom smirked.

“And maybe I should tighten security here as well,” he added as an after thought. He had whispered this into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Trust me Mr. Holland, I’m not here to steal anything,” you say honestly and Tom’s eyes flash with an emotion you recognize as suspicion.

Your gut rushes with paranoia. It was a bit odd how smoothly things were heading. In all your missions, you had never tried to make direct contact with the target. You were being brazen and you weren’t sure yet if this was going to bite you in the ass later.

The music picked up to a melody you recognized as a tango. You were just about to step away from Tom, your one dance was over but he tightened his hold on you more firmly, “I would think a woman of your pedigree would know how to tango,” Tom raised an eyebrow challengingly.

He had seen his mother eyeing the two of you from across the room. And he was not surprised in the least when the music started to play. It was his mother meddling by requesting the obvious change in genre of music.

Nicola Holland would be damned if she missed the only opportunity she had to pair off her eldest son. She had seen how close the two of you were and you were the only woman he had asked to dance all night.

You took the challenge and slid your arm to around his neck and straightened your arm to fit the dance.

Tom was a great dancer and you matched his moves perfectly. You two weren’t the only ones on the dance floor but nobody had tried the challenging moves the two of you were expertly pulling off. The sensual dance had aroused lots of attention and you knew this meant this alias was burned. But this was your in and you knew it.

Tom roamed his hands expertly down the curve of your bare back and dipped you smoothly. You hitched a leg over his back to catch yourself even though Tom’s strong hold supported you, it was just insurance.

You didn’t miss the pair of blue eyes that stared intently at you and Tom, seeing them from your dipped position. Harrison had watched you and Tom flirt shamelessly during the whole dance.

You weren’t his date but he still had to fight the raging jealousy that had pitted into his gut.

“I’m impressed Mrs. y/l/n” Tom breathed heavily after finishing the dance. He held you close and you heard an applause erupt from the crowd, (no doubt initiated by the Matriarch of the Holland’s). Tom only smiled, holding eye contact with you.

“I don’t remember telling you my name,” you quirked your head to the side, giving Tom a smirk.

“Harrison isn’t the only one who keeps track of all the beautiful women attending the auction,” Tom smiled cheekily before leaning into you.

“Meet me in my study, I would like a moment alone away from all the staring eyes,” Tom whispers into your ear. You see Tom looking in Harrison’s direction who had yet to take his eyes off the pair of you.

You only nodded and Tom called for a guard to show you to his study. This was your chance. You looked over your shoulder to see the German assassin make a bee line for the door. You tracked her movements before looking around the rest of the room and you noticed a few more competitors from across the world eyeing you back. You bit your cheek. You weren’t the only one here for Tom and you would be damned if they got to him before you cashed in your ticket to freedom.

___________

You knew you should have ran after pouring the poison into Tom’s bourbon. Nothing would have prepared you for this.

You were currently staring down at a list of all your alias’ from across the world. All alias’ you had employed since you first started at the CIA.

You were burned. And the list sat completely open on Tom Holland’s desktop. He knew you were coming and now you could distinctly here the rapid footsteps of bodyguards approaching Tom’s study where you were currently standing in. You had wasted too much time scrolling through all the CIA files on you.

This whole mission was a set up. You should have seen all the red flags; things had gone too smoothly.

You unstrapped the gun from the inside of your thigh. You had one more thing you could leverage.

Call it a wild hunch, but the number of assassins waiting for you to fail, biting their time to kill Tom was your leverage.

They wouldn’t try anything with you, which was also the reason they hadn’t interfered yet.

____________________

@imnotuglyimjustpredebut @fandom-princess-stuff @casualprincess77 @mayakblack

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #Avengers #spiderman #Spider-Man: Homecoming #spiderman far from home

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ssunveinsarchive · 4 years

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gage had been sitting in front of nicola’s apartment complex for what felt like hours now, anxiously playing out every possible scenario in his head as to how this would go. he was only there to pick up his stuff, something that he had begged every single one of his friends to do for him, but they all led busy lives, or so they said. gage couldn’t help but feel like they had grown tired of his constant state of brokenness –– insecurity nearly eating him alive. seeing her for the first time since they broke up would hurt enough, but having to pick up his stuff, too? that thought alone made his knees too weak to get out of his car, hence why he had been stuck there for so long. he couldn’t accept the fact that they were over, that his own stupid actions had ruined what they had –– what they could’ve had. his feelings didn’t seem to matter much anymore, though, if she was already willing to give him his things back. they weren’t together for long, but there were still plenty of memories that he considered too precious to delegate to a cardboard box that he would push to the back of his closet. it was clear they were both hurting, both heartbroken over what they lost. he sighs softly, still fighting with himself in his head about whether or not to get out just yet. he glances up to look in the rear view mirror, catching sight of the blankets folded up in his back seat. not too long ago, they had those seats down, with blankets spread out in the trunk as they talked and watched the stars; a first date he would seemingly never forget. that stung, almost, as his gaze moved from the blankets back to the sight of her apartment complex looming in front of him, knowing exactly what was on the other side.

finally, his hand reached for the handle, pushing the door open without much thought. he couldn’t keep sitting there and weighing every outcome, or else he would drive himself even more insane. heading up the stairs to her door, he pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath before knocking quietly. he didn’t know if he was prepared to see her, or talk to her, but it seemed too late to worry about that, now. waiting somewhat patiently for her to answer the door, his nose wrinkled as he inhales the familiar whiff of something burning –– hearing the light sound of voices on the other side of the wall. he could recognize her cadence, soft and sweet; something he missed, yet he didn’t recognize the other voice. it sounded deeper, insincere; or maybe that was his mind playing tricks on him once he realized it was the voice of someone else –– someone that wasn’t him. he only faltered for half a second after he realized the door was unlocked, pushing it open slowly, wanting to alert her before he just bounded in. “hey, nicola, it’s me. is everything––” he couldn’t finish that sentence, however, the moment he finally opened the door all the way, watching in horror as his eyes settled upon her, locked in an embrace with someone else. maybe they both weren’t hurting –– maybe she had moved on. the hurt was clearly written all over his features, mouth dropping open in no attempt to conceal his surprise. “what–– what the hell?” he sounds exasperated, like all the breath had been knocked out of his chest. the burning smell was intensified once inside, glancing over at the state of the kitchen. were they cooking together? that felt like another kick straight to his gut, his knees even weaker. “really? already?” his insecurity was rearing its ugly head, fists clenching at his sides as tears threaten to form behind his eyes. he was never violent, not with other people, but right now his entire body felt so tense, he was sure the only way to relieve it would be to scream at the top of my lungs. “i’m just here for my stuff. once i get it, i’ll leave and you’ll never have to see me again. and you guys can–– finish what you were doing,” he says bitterly, turning slightly towards the hallway to conceal the tear running down his cheek. // @synosures.

#i.... am calling the police #on myself #╰ * . ｡ * ✰ gage speaking. ❜#synosures

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scrapyardboyfriends · 4 years

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Jenny’s Belated Live Blogging - 30th October 2019

- see this is why I don’t always watch the previews because half the time that’s one of the only two scenes we get. Oh well. It was still cute the 15th time I saw it and Aaron introducing Seb to Eve was adorable. And the little thing with the coaster.

- I do kind of wish Liv would shut up with the “you’re not alone” stuff even though I do get it. She is still a kid and she doesn’t quite get it that Robert and her are not the same in Aaron’s life but she still wants to feel like she’s enough to keep him from spiraling. Does’t mean it doesn’t annoy me though.

- At least Chas was almost trying to make an effort today with Aaron.

- Aaron’s hanging on right now because he still hasn’t seen him yet but he’s already like “how do I cope with only seeing him a few times a month?” Who knows how he’ll cope getting to the prison and seeing him there for an hour with a table between them and not being able to touch him and hug him the way he wants to. I know of course that he’s going to lose him completely too when Robert gets moved and cuts off contact but I feel like it would still be impossible for him as it is anyway. Doesn’t mean he’s not fully prepared to do this for the next 14 years but I still think it would be a struggle. I do like that it hasn’t even crossed his mind that he’s not going to wait for him though. They didn’t have to do that for us.

- The rest of the episode....meh

- I’m glad we’re getting the teens again. Nice to see that Gabby and Noah are alive again. I did not even recognize Noah with that hat on. Haha. I mean their story is super basic and I wish they’d do more issue stuff with the teens but sometimes they need a little classic ‘let’s throw a party’ kind of stories. I just want the show to utilize them more in general because they could be good characters for them. And Rosie and Jack and Katie Hill are decent actors if given the material.

- I literally cannot believe this weed story is still going on. How?? Is this finally going to be the end of it? Will Doug come clean? Will Nicola figure it out? What will even be the outcome at this point. Everyone else who was involved has moved on to other things. What was once a very amusing little side plot has just been dragged out way too long. I mean, it’s still mildly amusing but I don’t really see the point of it at this stage. I think it’s time to move on if they’re never going to do much more with it.

- The Mandy and the Dingles stuff is entertaining for the most part but I still fail to see the point of that either. I mean, I know it’s going to blow up in Charity’s face (probably for an episode at most) and eventually they’ll have to discover that Vinny isn’t Mandy’s kid. I have to assume he’s somehow Lydia’s or something or what the hell was the point??? If Lydia gave the money away, why are they still trying to find out who the mystery benefactor is next week? Does it matter? It all just feels very convoluted to me. At least Sam threatening Terry with a shovel was amusing and Lydia’s belated little ‘get out’. Also again, Charity with the Dingles and away from Vanessa is far preferable to me. So things could be worse here.

- The Kim/Graham/Al/Rhona thing is just ridiculous. They’ve just never even attempted to define Kim and Graham’s relationship in any kind of rational manner so the fact that she’s all jealous now just feels silly and random. Because they’re like so casual that they’re barely even anything??? It’s really just like any time she needs him to do something, they have sex, or any time he shows the slightest interest in someone else, like with Megan, Kim reels him back in with sex. But then she refuses to acknowledge that they’re anything other than him being her employee the rest of the time and it’s just too weird to really be the basis of this story. And if she had ever really been shown to have proper feelings for him before, then...maybe?? But she never seems to care unless he strays minutely. It’s just...dumb. Also if Graham could stop saying things like “Invite me in and I’ll show you”, that would be great.

- It’s also a waste of Al. I know they lost Ellis but he’s kind of adrift right now. I feel like a Kim and Al relationship could have maybe worked but now that anything that happens would be born out of this nonsensical Graham stuff, I just don’t think it would be good at all. The most actual passion Kim as a character has ever had was for her horses and Rhona. They’ve got to figure out something to do with her at some point because I really don’t think she works very well on the show at this point.

- Also Jamie can go.

#belated live blogging #emmerdale

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mayareth · 5 years

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RAY APPRECIATION WEEK 2019

”You have no idea how cute you look right now.”

Pairing: Ray x Margareth

Type: Fluffy fluff

Warnings: None apart from some mistakes in grammar (please let me know if you spot one)

DAY 3

SPELLBOUND

This one includes my Cradlesona, Margareth. I thought it would be great to write about their love at first sight romance. Ray POV for this one! Enjoy! This is the last fic I’ll post for this very special week @ikerev-appreciation

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She is perfect.

I was supposed to work but I couldn't detach my eyes from her. Her dress was simple but brought to light her waist. She was so much more concentrated than me, trying to understand everything she was typing on her typewriter. Finally, she noticed I was staring and her eyes fell on me. We awkwardly looked away from each other.

I have to finish this otherwise Sirius will scold me again.

I looked at the clock hanging on the other side of the wall. 3.04 pm. Suddenly, an idea came to my mind. As my personal assistant gave me the files she had just finished typing, I stopped her.

”Margareth? Have you heard about the new literary gathering cafe? It has opened last week and I really wanted to try it but I never found time to go out. Would you mind going there with me for tea time today?”

She smiled, one of her rare and precious smiles.

”Why not? We’ve worked all day long, after all, we deserve a break. One of my clients told me yesterday at the book shop that they are making the most delicious mint green tea in all Cradle. I can't wait to try it!”

”Perfect, we’ll get there for 5 pm, if not earlier so we can also enjoy Luka’s cooking tonight. The cafe is near the cats' street so we could also stop there on our way back! I mean, if it's alright with you...”

Margareth sat back on her chair, an adorable grin plastered on her face.

”I would love to, Ray. I hope Melusine is no longer bullied by the other cats or I would have to adopt her!”

That was my turn to smile. As I began to read the latest reports from my officers, I couldn't help but remember the day I had first met her. It was on the 6th of December, about seven years ago now. Wait, today is the 6th of December! I’ve well-chosen the moment to invite her to go on a date. This day, she arrived at school with Fenrir, who introduced her as the niece of the tenants of the Godspeed’s favourite bookshop. She was so shy at that time. I can still picture her, her arms full of books and her serious expression. The other students found her cold but I was seeing something else in those brown eyes. I wanted to know more about her. We started to study together at the bookshop, Fenrir was joining us sometimes. Before I realized it, I had fallen head over heel in love with her. Margareth was an intellectual, like me, an introvert who wasn't afraid to express her opinions, often unpopular. We get separated by our destiny when we left the school, me joining the Black Army, her continuing her studies at the Cradle Central University. I’ve heard stories about her having an affair with the King of Hearts but, somehow, I didn't really mind it. What really made me sad was to learn her family had been killed by those bloody Disciples, the same that caused The Day That Went Dark. They broke her dreams as well as my life and I had had murder desire. Fenrir had stopped me, saying that she would be ok and was now working at the bookshop. I hadn't the time to think about her since then because my duty as the King of Spades didn't allow me to get a lot of free time but when Sirius came with the idea of hiring an assistant for me, she was the first person who popped in my mind. A simple look at Fenrir was enough for him to understand and to introduce her to Sirius, who immediately appointed her. That was six months ago. We were now really close, even more than we were before. And I’ve never been so happy.

At 4.30 pm, I signed the last sheet of paper. Finally! Margareth has finished to type about half an hour ago and told me that she was changing into warmer clothes since it was now snowing outside. I did the same before running into her in the hallway.

”Ray! I was worried you were still buried in your paperwork, I was going to fetch you in your office. Are you ready to go? We can delay our tea time to another day if it's not ok for you.”

Better dying than to stay here! If Sirius find me, he might just give me more things to do.

”Certainly not! I promised we would go there today and I never go back on my word! Shall we?”

I opened the door before her and bowed graciously. She looked delighted.

”Fine, fine, noble gentleman, let's go to our tea party before we get caught by a snowstorm or worse, by the workaholic old man who is roaming in those headquarters!”

She laughed softly, snowflakes covering her sandy-blonde curls in white. As we were about to cross the Black Bridge, a cheerful voice called us.

”Hey, blue coat team, over there!”

I just had the time to turn my head before a snowball hit me right in the chest.

Fenrir, no doubt about it. He certainly returns from his round.

”Where are ya going like this, buddy? Oh, and I see you’re not alone!”

My best friend wore a mischievous grin. He surely doesn't need any explanation from me. Even if we’ve never really talked about my crush on my assistant, I’m pretty sure he already knows.

”We’re heading off to the cats’ headquarters. Wanna come with us maybe?”

I replied, making sure to copy his smiling face, perfectly knowing that he would never accompany us.

”Thanks but no thanks buddy, ya know, cats aren't my favourite creatures. Have fun though!”

”Thank you Fenrir, see you tonight! Oh, and don't forget to buy tomatoes on your way back, Luka asked me to tell you he will need some for this supper!”

Margareth replied for me, enjoying as much as I did the disgusted expression appearing on the Ace’s face.

”Yeah, sure...”

When we finally arrived at the cafe, the clock’s bell rang five times.

”What for perfect timing! Oh, look over there Ray, these are books from the Land of Reason!”

I smiled at Margareth delighted face, taking books after books before heading over a free table to finally removed her covered in snow coat. I ordered a mint tea for her and a chaï tea for me. To accompany our drinks, the waitress offered us some dried fruits covered in marzipan.

”Oh my God, I haven't eaten marzipan since my arrival here! Did you know that is my guilty pleasure? That's the best thing on the whole earth!”

I took one from the plate and had a bite.

Wow, I must recognize that’s really good! I’m going to ask Luka to cook some for Christmas this year.

”Can I ask you something Margareth?”

My tone became serious and she immediately closed her book to look only at me. I wanted to talk to her about this for so long and what she had just said reminds me of this.

”Go on, you know you can ask me anything.”

She encouraged me with a discrete smile.

”Well... Where were you living before arriving in Cradle? I have the feeling you’re hiding something, not only from me but also from all the others here.”

Margareth averted her gaze, her eyes filled with a sudden sadness but also a guilty feeling.

Maybe it would have been better for me to keep my question for myself. I should have known that it was difficult for her to talk about it since she never brought that subject before.

”I’m sorry, forget what I said and let’s...”

”No, it's fine. I would have had to approach this one day or another and if there is one person who can understand me, it's you, Ray.”

She stopped me, looking me right in the eyes. The determination was now reflecting in her gaze as she began to narrate her story.

”I’m not from this world. I was never born here and I never had family here. All of this is a lie. The place I really belong to is the Land of Reason.”

I was now listening closely to her as I saw her hands gripping tightly her blue skirt to prevent her from spilling any tears. I wasn't really surprised by this revelation, I always had the feeling that she came from another universe.

”It was one week before the 6th of December. Where I come from, a country called Belgium, it’s an important day. We celebrate Saint Nicolas, the children receive presents from their so-called ”protector” and we gather all the family around the table for a big feast. It's like a pre-Christmas. I had saved money for months to get the chance to visit London with a friend for a weekend. My family paid for the rest on my birthday. My friend and I decided that taking three days time holiday right before our exams was a pretty good idea. On our first day, we decided to visit Saint James Park. Once there, I saw a man who dropped his watch. We ran to give it back to him but he suddenly had disappeared. Not paying much attention to the ground, I fell into a hole. I think my friend fell with me but I’m not sure. All turned dark and when I woke up, I was on a bed in a small house, the one from my new family. I had learned later on that the man I saw back in London was Blanc and that he was the one who saved me. I had always been well-treated by my ”aunt” and my ”uncle” as if I was their own daughter. However, the first few days were really tough. I missed my family and I was worried. Then, I understood I had no other choice than staying here. That’s when I met Fenrir. He really helped me to adapt to my new life before I joined the school here in Cradle and met you all. I’m happy now but I sometimes still miss my real family, my brother and his twin sister, my friends, ...”

She had been suffering so much during those years, carrying her secret alone. And after the attack of the Disciples, it must have been awful for her.

I couldn't help but hug her and let her sob on my shoulder. I heard her murmured how she was sorry to bother me with her problems, sorry to have lied to everyone. I patted her head, telling her I would always be here for her and that everything was ok. When she finished crying, Margareth looked at my face. She seemed lost but what I saw was a relief. She finally smiled.

”Thank you, Ray. Now that you know, do you want to see something?”

I nodded as she took one book from her pile. The title was written in a foreign language ”Atlas du Monde” on the cover.

”It’s in French, my native language.”

Margareth explained when she saw my quizzical look.

”It’s a book full of maps. Look, that's Europe, here is the United Kingdom, whose capital is London, and here you have Belgium, my homeland.”

She began to explain how her world was, how it works, how she worked hard to earn some money on the weekends, the poverty of the lower classes, the indifference from the nobles and the bourgeoisie when they see the people in the streets. She told me she was lucky that her father was a lawyer who could afford her education. The more she told me about her life, the more I wanted to know about her culture. We talked a lot and when we decided to go back to the headquarters, we were both smiling, just happy to be together.

With this wonderful smile on her face, she could ask me to jump into the river, I would gladly accept if it pleases her.

Suddenly, her foot slipped on the icy ground.

”Watch out!”

I caught her in my arms and pulled her close to me. My heart was hammering in my chest and I could feel hers being in the same state as mine through her thick coat.

”Try to be more careful, I know you survived when you fell from the sky but I can't be here all the time to catch you!”

I said, grinning at her blushing face, though I certainly wasn't looking any better. I pulled away from her, offering my arm to help her to stay on her feet. As soon as I had finished my sentence, I lost my balance and it was my turn to find myself on the ground, Margareth right beside me. We looked at each other, pity written all across my face before bursting out laughing when a cat jumped on me.

”Meow there! How are you doing Matcha? Still full of energy as I can see!”

As I greeted the white cat, Margareth caressed the fluffy fur and we were soon surrounded by a crowd of cats in search of affection. After we checked on Melusine, Margareth’s favourite cat, as black as the night with a single white mark on its back, we decided to head back to the headquarters as snow started to fall again. We were about to cross the Black Bridge when Margareth stopped and turned to face me.

”Thank you for everything Ray, I think that’s the most beautiful afternoon I’ve spent for a long time. I feel much better now I talked with you. You’re the best.”

She looked so sweet at this moment, a single snowflake lingering on her cold cheek. I cupped her face in my hand, removing the little white point from her fair skin, now slightly tainted in pink.

”What are you doing?”

She murmured as I was desperately lost in her almond-shaped eyes.

”You have no idea how cute you look right now.”

The words slipped out of my mouth before I had realized what I was saying, as if I was hypnotized.

”Then enlighten me.”

Margareth replied, sparks of desire now burning in her eyes.

I gave in to temptation and finally claimed her lips as mine. It was a gentle kiss, the kind I had reserved only for her during all those years. I had a girlfriend before meeting Margareth. Only one, just to see how it was to be in a couple. I never felt something like this with her. I pulled away from my assistant.

”You...”

She began.

”I’m sorry, I shouldn't have done that, I got carried away”

As I averted my gaze from her, trying to concentrate on the cloudy sky above us, feeling as my cheeks were on fire, she cupped my face in her hands, forcing me to look at her.

”Never apologize for doing something I’ve wanted you to do for so long”

It was like I was under a spell. Love maybe?

”You have no idea about how you make me feel... Are you sure?”

”Shhh... No more talking”

Margareth put a finger on my lips to prevent me from saying anything more.

I put an arm around her waist and claimed her lips again, hungrily this time. The chocolate lip balm she applied when we got out of the cafe gave a sweet taste to every kiss we shared. It was like we were making up for all the time we had lost. Every kiss was more ambitious than the last, lightly biting on her lower lip before letting our tongues playing with each other. We only stopped when our lungs reclaimed some air and that our lips weren't hot enough to prevent our teeth from shattering.

”We really should go now”

She said, looking kinda disappointed to stop here.

”When are we going to tell the others?”

”I don't know, we will see later...”

I replied, having absolutely no clue about it.

I will be the first of the Chosen Thirteen to officially have a girlfriend. What do we do in this situation?

As soon as we reached the headquarters, Seth greeted us.

”What were you doing, you two? It's nearly 8.30 pm, Luka would be mad at you if he hadn't prepared just a simple soup!”

Suddenly, the 10 of Spades stopped scolding us and took Margareth’s chin in his hand.

”My, my, would you tell me what happened to those sweet lips of yours, darling?”

I felt my cheeks burning as well as the ones of my newly appointed girlfriend.

”Hum... I burnt them drinking a too hot cup of tea. I applied some balm but it did nothing to soothe the pain, as you can see by yourself”

Seth looked at her dubiously then his gaze fell on me.

”Well Ray, I will have to teach you how to properly kiss a girl!”

I felt a hand on my shoulder as I turned around, only to find amethyst eyes fixing us.

”WHAAAAT? Sirius, do you mean they...? Oh my God, Ray, you and I are going to have a long conversation on how to treat the lady you love correctly!”

I sighed and looked at Margareth, blushing and laughing softly all at once when I felt a hand ruffling my hair.

”Hey, congrats buddy! So, Margareth, is the King of Spades a good kisser? It's still time to change your mind and choose me instead of a man who prefers cats over ladies!”

Fenrir was joking, as usual, but I could see he was a bit sad.

I’ve always known he appreciated Margareth a lot but I didn't suspect that he might have a crush on her. We really share everything. But I’m sure he will soon find someone who will make him as ecstatic as I’m right now.

I took Margareth’s hand and went to the dining room, where Luka was dressing the table.

”You’re finally here! I thought you ate too many sweets and were hiding to avoid having something healthy in your plates”

We both smiled at the clueless Jack of Spades. Fenrir lightly tapped his empty glass with the back of his spoon.

”My dear colleagues, I have something important to announce to you tonight! My best buddy isn't a single man anymore! He and his adorable assistant finally confessed their feelings to each other. I’m glad to know that Ray will now have something else to cherish than his bloody cat. I also officially appoint Margareth as my second best buddy! The Black Army wish you to enjoy a long and happy life together!”

Everyone applause, even Luka, who was still wearing a surprised look on his face.

”Fenrir, don't you think it was a bit too much? We aren't getting married, we’ve been barely exchanged our first kiss an hour ago!”

”Well Ray, excepting sweet angel Luka, all the members of this army had shipped you a long way ago! Didn't you notice the soldiers making bets on when and who will confess? It was worthy of a little speech!”

I looked at Margareth, who was trying not to die from embarrassment.

”Well my darling, now we haven't to look for a way to announce our status to this bunch of idiots”

As everyone was sharing a drink in our honour, it was her turn to whisper to me.

”Well, sweetheart, may I remind you that you are the king of this bunch of idiots?”

We both grinned at each other, knowing that it was only the beginning of an eternal love story.

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This is the second fic I share but the very first IkeRev fic I’ve written and my personal favourite! I only have these two fics for the Ray Appreciation Week but maybe I’ll write another later this month. Hope you’ve enjoyed this one!

Tagging @alloveroliver @kiarigirl @muggzc @saphyhowl @lovingikesen @theundyingskeleton @yanshalia @spades-and-hearts since they appreciated the first one.

@lovingsiriusoswald mother of all Cradlesonas

@lil-creatorwritings since I forgot to tag her last time and this is about our favourite King 💙

Please tell me if you want/don’t want to be tagged

#rayxappreciationweek2019 #don’t really know if it fit the theme of the day #I needed to include some cats in this one #ray blackwell #margareth #day 3 #my cradlesona #fluff

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thebeethathums · 5 years

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Observers - 62

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: graphic injury and abuse. Please use your best discretion when deciding to read.

221 Baker Street. You just looked up at it for moment contently, remembering when John had first brought you here. It had turned out to be better than you’d ever expected and though you often missed Paris, you wouldn’t give up London or your new life for anything in the world. Quickly mounting the steps, you made your way inside a little cautiously before finding that both Mrs. Hudson and the boys were out- a fact that you were going to take advantage of by getting in and out as quickly as possible. You swung open the door to your flat, finding it unlocked, and made a mental note to scold Sherlock for breaking in later as you stepped in and shut it behind you with a sigh. You were pulled from your thoughts when a voice made your blood run cold and your entire form freeze, “Welcome home, angel.”

It seemed like you were moving through molasses as you turned to find its source sitting on your couch, one of your old sketchbooks open on his lap, “How-what- w-what are you d-doing here, Nicolas?” “Just reliving some fond memories,” he said nonchalantly, holding up the sketchbook that you now recognized as the main one from when you were with him, “You are very skilled at recording things- I’ll give you that.” You couldn’t move, just staring at him as you tried to snap yourself out of it, and he got up to wrap an arm around your shoulders as he showed you the page he was on, “I like this one in particular… you even kept the police report and hospital discharge. So cute.” Nicolas kissed your temple as you looked at it in silent horror, eyes scanning what you knew to be a record of how you’d learned to draw with your other hand. You hadn’t looked at this sketchbook since you’d finished it- afraid of the memories it might bring back- but kept it because you felt it was something you couldn’t afford to forget. He snapped it shut and tossed it across the room, “You were very rude before, angel… while I think this new spirit could be so delightfully fun, you left before we had a chance to talk. To have a little heart to heart... if you will.” “H-How did you g-get here?” you breathed and the response was a hand forcefully colliding with your cheek as he snapped, “Did I say you could speak?” You shook your head, tears rising up in your eyes, and he laughed before continuing, “Your little friends did their best but I’ve got a few friends of my own now… one in particular with a lot of power and you know what he tells me, angel?” He gave you an expectant look and you quickly shook your head so he would continue, “He tells me you need to be punished for meddling in his business.” There was a sharp crack as his hand connected with your face again and this time you moved to retaliate, having recovered from the initial shock, but stopped short at the sound of the front door opening. You could hear faint humming as Mrs. Hudson went to her apartment and opened your mouth to yell only to have him pin you to the wall, his hand over your mouth, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you… wouldn’t want her to come join the party, now would we?” Your eyes widened and you shook your head vigorously as he sneered, “Then I suggest you keep quiet.” Going over your options in your head as he removed the hand from your mouth to roughly caress from your cheek down to your breasts, you did the only thing you could think of and brought your knee up straight into his crotch. It didn’t have the intended effect, his grip on your wrist only tightened as he gave a pained snarl, “Try that again and I might decide it’s time for me to meet that brother of yours.” Your heart stopped for a moment and he could see he’d hit a nerve, “Awww look at that. Maybe I should have led with what I’ll do to him should you pull another stunt like that… you ever wondered what his insides look like?” That clinched it, you knew you should have kept a calm but that image in your head pushed you over the edge you’d been desperately avoiding, sending you into a full blown panic attack. Nicolas just laughed, “That’s more like it. Now let’s have a little talk about what a naughty little angel you’ve been… starting with you breaking my nose.” His fist collided with your side and there was a sickening crunch as a least one of the ribs went from fractured to broken, causing you to double over in pain. He yanked you back up and you found that not only could you not breathe from panic but the few gasping breaths you did get out sent searing pain through your side, “Now about your little sociopath friend, seems the two of you have been getting cozy. You know how much I hate you giving attention to other men.” You whimpered, waiting for the inevitable, but to your surprise, he pulled you across the flat and pushed you up against an open space of wall that was covered with drawings. He ripped one of Sherlock off the wall, looking at it with an expression of disgust, “So many drawings of him… You never drew me. Why is that?” All you could do was blink at him through the tears as you desperately tried to calm yourself and he ripped the drawing in half before turning back to you, yanking your arm out of its socket as he traced a finger down your cheek with his other hand, “It’s not entirely your fault… I should have permanently marked you as mine. I just thought it would be such a shame to mar that beautiful skin of yours beyond those burns.”

Pausing his torment, he pulled out a knife, “It’s your fault I have to do this now… but I suppose it’s about time I signed my precious work of art, isn’t it?” You pushed yourself as far against the wall as you could, shaking your head as your eyes locked on the knife, but there wasn’t any way for you to escape him. Tearing off the sleeve to your shirt, he gripped the upper part of your dislocated arm roughly as he sneered, “Remember what happens if you scream, angel,” and then dug the blade in your skin.

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umbrahighpriestofgiratina · 5 years

Text

Heroes After All Chapter 9

AT LAST. I have been wanting to get to this chapter for a LONG time for REASONS and now it's finally here, so please, enjoy:

Chapter 9: Separation Anxiety

A few months had passed. Aaron was slowly starting to get more adjusted to life at the Time Flower Abbey.

There was just one problem.

"What do you mean you still don't have a Pokemon partner?" said Louis incredulously at the lunch table.

"I... I..." said Aaron.

"At this point, everyone but you has one..." said Atta.

"D-don't rub it in!"

"Hard not to when it's true," said Eve.

"You should make a sacrifice to Necrozma so they can send you one!" said Callie. "Light for the light god! Crystals for the crystal throne!"

"...No thanks," said Aaron.

"I guess you could, you know," said Eve, "try harder to find one?"

"Er, yes, I will do exactly that!" said Aaron, rushing off.

"...He didn't finish his lunch," said Louis.

"More for me then," said Atta, shoveling it all into her mouth.

--------

Aaron was just outside Time Flower Abbey, looking around. He knew any Pokemon he found inside probably was the partner of someone already, so out here was his best bet of finding one for him.

Then, he spotted one. A Wynaut, foraging for Berries - Aaron still didn't understand the difference between them and regular fruit even in class - and blissfully unaware of his presence. This small creature would do.

"Hey there?"

The Wynaut froze, then turned toward him.

"Do you want to be my friend?" said Aaron.

"Wynaut!"

"Really?! Oh this is great, I finally have a Pokemon par-"

"Wynaut." The Wynaut followed this up with a wobbling noise.

"...Wait, right, that's part of your name. Do you still want to be my partner?"

The Wynaut made another wobbling noise as it waved their headfeelers in Aaron's direction.

"Do you still want to be my partner?" said Aaron. Wait. He'd already said that. "Do you still want to be my partner?" Oh no, not again. And he was frozen in place too. Aaron realized he had been hit with the Wynaut's Encore.

The Wynaut snickered and headed off. Aaron was stuck in place parroting himself for a few minutes before it wore off and he collapsed with a moan.

-------

Aaron had since moved into the forest, where he was looking around wildly at any noise. Then, in the dappled sunlight of the treetops, he saw it: A Weepinbel, curled around a tree branch and swaying in the breeze.

"H-hey!" Aaron shouted up at it. "Do you want to be my partner?"

The Weepinbel glared at Aaron and pointed their leaf toward some rustling in a nearby tree.

"Uh..." said Aaron. "Is that food?"

The Weepinbel nodded.

"Uh, I guess... No, Metagross says all Pokemon are intelligent like people," said Aaron. "I can't help you."

The Weepinbell just rolled their eyes and kept staring.

Aaron looked at the Weepinbell. Then at the rustling. Maybe if he helped the Pokemon the Weepinbel was trying to eat then they'd help him?

He concentrated, sending an Aura blast at the other tree, knocking him back. There was a crack, then splinters everywhere, before a swarm of angry Beedrill emerged and headed straight for Aaron. His eyes widened.

"Oh no."

He exited, pursued by Beedril.

------

A few stings later, Aaron stumbled back toward Time Flower Abbey, rubbing himself. It was then he noticed a sleeping Munchlax.

"Maybe them..."

He approached the Munchlax and poked it. "Hey! You want to be my friend?"

The Munchlax kept snoring.

"Hello?"

The Munchlax rolled over. Aaron scowled and pushed the Munchlax, attempting to move them. The Munchlax raised a finger and waggled it, resulting in a wave of sludge that promptly washed Aaron away.

-------

Now sore, stung, and with sludge stains in his clothes, Aaron stumbled to a patch of grass a bit away from Time Flower Abbey. It was then he saw a Mareep. Aaron thought to himself for a bit. If asking directly didn't work maybe he could catch it...

He snuck closer to the Mareep. They kept grazing. He leapt to tackle them, and immediately got shocked, stumbling back. Aaron was now staring down a very angry Mareep.

"Uh, hey, hehe, I just wanted to be friends..."

He bolted, the Mareep chasing after back to the monastery.

----------

Several other children were hanging out, chatting and playing, in the courtyard, when a screaming Aaron burst in pursued by an angry Mareep. Aaron tripped and fell, and the Mareep zapped him one last time and stormed off in a huff.

Aaron slowly got up, sore, covered in stings, sludge, and electrical burns, and noticed the other kids were staring at him.

"Uh... Hi?"

The other kids started laughing, and pointing.

"Wait, no, please, stop," said Aaron, cowering and hiding his face. "I just wanted to- "

They kept laughing. Aaron ducked and cowered.

"Hey! Leave him alone! Shoo, shoo!"

Things got quiet. Aaron looked up and saw the other kids were gone and Hanna was standing over him. "You OK?" she asked.

"...No."

"Aw, come here," said Hannah, pulling Aaron into a hug. Aaron yelped and squirmed.

"Ow, that hurts!" Aaron said.

"Oops, sorry," said Hannah, putting him down.

"What's going on?" said a voice. "I heard a commotion..."

A strange blue-haired man in glasses approached. Aaron recognized him as the man who had been hanging around Time Flower Abbey for quite some time but had never gotten the name of.

"Oh, Terrence!" said Hannah, solving Aaron's problem in that department, "Poor Aaron here was being teased by the other kids for... What was it again?"

"I tried to befriend a bunch of Pokemon but they all attacked me."

Terrence leaned down to inspect Aaron, looking him up, down, left, and sideways, before standing back up and nodding.

"Yep, he got fucked up pretty bad."

Hannah gasped and covered her mouth. "Watch your language around the children!"

"I think what's important here is he gets medical attention," said Terrence.

Hannah nodded and picked Aaron up, causing Aaron to yelp in pain.

"...We need to get it to him carefully," said Terrence.

Hannah put Aaron down, and the two led him off to the infirmary.

----

Aaron's injuries had been patched up. His wounds bandaged. But his feelings still hurt.

He wandered around outside Time Flower Abbey, not wanting to be in contact with anything or anyone. He thought to himself.

He had come to Time Flower Abby as an escape. But it had changed nothing. He was still unwanted. Still singled out.

He let out a scream of frustration, sending a blast of Aura at the ground. It kicked up a lot of dirt and dust, and made a loud bang as bird and bug Pokemon scattered. Aaron panted from the exertion in the aftermath, hunched over.

Eventually, he stood up. And that's when he saw something approach.

--------

The Fighting Thieves were all gathered together in their, Koba standing on a platform a bit taller than all of them.

"Friends, partners," he said, "I have a lead... on the ultimate heist."

There were gasps and murmurs among the group, except Riolu, who kind of just raised an eyebrow, and Vallant, who scoffed.

"Ultimate heist? This oughta be good," said Shifty.

"Ooh! Ooh! What are we stealing?" said Grog.

"Is it a fun thing?" said Nicolas.

"Please don't let it be something stupid," said Vallant.

"Easy, easy," said Koba. "As for what it is... I have located a monastery to the north of here, up the mountain, known as Time Flower Abbey. There is a stash of strange crystals there that the Aura Guardians there use to transport their Pokemon servants. Those crystals are worth quite a lot of human money."

"So we break into the monastery, grab the crystals, then sell them to some other humans for a wagonload of cash?" said Vallant. "I like the sound of that!"

"We'll never go hungry again!" said Grog.

"What about security?" said Shifty

"It's... Tighter than usual. But I know a workaround. Follow me."

"Let's do this!" said Nicolas.

The group headed out of the hut. Riolu remained silent the whole time. Yes, this would be good for him and his friends, but... he had a bad feeling about this.

----------

Eventually, after traversing a forested mountain outside the village, the group came to Time Flower Abbey. It was huge, built into the mountain, forested and grassy plateaus extending from the parts that weren't, its spires stretching up into the sky, its structures laid out like a miniature city, decorated with stone sculptures of time flowers. The group looked on in awe.

"Damn." said Shifty. "How the hell are we gonna break in there?"

"I'll show you," said Koba.

He led the group around the side of the monastery across one of the forested plateaus until they found a series of bushes nestled around one of the walls. Koba parted the bushes to reveal a tunnel.

"A secret entrance," said Vallant. "Of course."

"Hey if it works it works!" said Nicolas. "I knew Dad would figure something out."

"Well..." said Riolu. "I guess we're going in."

"Of course, Captain Obvious!" said Shifty.

They entered.

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

It was dark in the tunnels, but not completely dark due to the fire on Koba's head and Nicolas' tail. The two of them lead the others through the winding cave. Riolu kept eyes and Aura feelers out for hostile Pokemon.

Finally, they emerged in an empty room, filled with boxes of food, including a bag of apples that had been recently ripped into, a sticky glue-like substance left behind.

"Look at all this food!" said Grog.

"If we stole this too we could eat like kings!" said Vallant.

"We need to keep our priorities straight," said Koba." The coast is clear... For now. We need to hurry."

The group grabbed some sacks from the room and hurried through dark stone back hallways, hiding at any peep of human and Pokemon activity. Eventually, they got to a large, vault-like door.

"This is it," said Koba with visible excitement. "This is the place!"

"Shiny." said Grog.

"Sounds great," said Shifty. "But how do we even get in?"

"Simple, we break it open," said Vallant.

"And make noise? That tells peoplemons we're here?" said Nicolas.

"Wait," said Riolu. "I have an idea."

He moved his Aura senses over the structure of the door until he found the gears and mechanisms inside. Carefully, he placed a paw on them and then Force Palmed what he saw as a weak point.

The door creaked, murmured. Koba pushed it. It opened.

"All right! Nice lockpicking Riolu," said Shifty.

The Fighting Thieves headed inside, and within were exactly what they came for - a veritable pile of the strange crystals, and other gems. Atop the pile, however, was something Riolu noticed was different from the others - a strange, pulsating crystal orb that Riolu could sort of feel was alive.

"Take as many as you can carry, but be careful - they can suck unwary Pokemon inside of them," said Koba.

The others started gathering up gems carefully, placing them gently in the sacks. Koba grabbed the orb, treating it extra-carefully. The sacks started bulging with loot.

Then they all heard a voice mentally sigh in their heads.

~I don't know how the hell you got in here, but you need to put those back please or there will be consequences.~

Everyone turned to see a Musharna floating in the doorway.

"Oh no, the living bong is here to stop us, I'm so scared," said Vallant.

The Musharna sighed again. ~Your funeral.~

He telekinetically flung one of the staff gems at Vallant. He yelped as he was sucked inside and the gem was pulled to the Musharna's side as it shook wildly.

"Oh shi-" said Shifty before the same to him. Grog screamed loudly as he was also ensnared. The Musharna threw another at Koba, but he threw up a Protect, shielding himself, Riolu, and Polly.

"Nicolas! Riolu! Go!"

Nicolas paused. Riolu promptly grabbed him and bolted out of there. The two ran and ran down seemingly endless stone hallways until-

"Hey, watch it!"

Riolu tripped over the Aura Guardian's shoe, sending him and Nicolas sprawling. In confusion and panic the two ran in separate directions until they lost track of each other completely.

-----------

Shifty, Vallant, Grog, and Koba were all restrained in a dungeon cell as Nightjar and her Musharna companion looked them over.

"Raiding a vault full of gems? Thankfully for you our penalty for petty thievery isn't death or tourture or anything, but you're still staying her a long while." Nightjar turned to the Musharna. "Thank you for apprehending them, Lazy Bones."

~Not a problem, miss Nightjar,~ said Lazy Bones.

"Anyway," said Nightjar, "I will be reporting this to Ryan. Don't get too comfy."

She and Lazy Bones headed off.

"What are we going to do?!" said Grog, rattling his Aura-reinforced chains.

"Simple!" said Vallant. "We escape and blow this joint!"

"Not just that..." said Koba. "Nicolas and Riolu are still out there..."

"Yeah! We can't leave without either of them!" said Shifty. "Not on my watch!"

------

Eventually, Riolu made it outside, through the courtyard, out the front gate until he was a fair distance away from Time Flower Abbey. He gasped and panted before turning back to the massive building, panicking.

He had only had a short time with the Fighting Thieves, and they had already been torn away from him. Flashbacks to his parents, his father, filled his mine. Everything happy in his short life felt ephemeral, meaningless... He...

No. He would not accept this. He would free them. But how?

Then he heard a noise. A flash of bright light he recognised as Auric out of the corner of his eye.

He turned. A human boy had kicked up a cloud of dust with that display. That human had done it? Riolu's Aura feelers flared - indeed, that human had a rare spark of Aura that he rarely saw away from here.

Then he had an idea. Humans were the masters and Pokemon were the servants. But humans were willing to work with Pokemon. Could this human... help him find his friends? If he made a pact? It was risky but...

Riolu approached the human. The human slowly looked up from his lurching position and his expression turned from one of anger to one of wonder and curiosity. Riolu gulped. He should probably keep this formal...

~...I ask of you. Will you be my master?~

***

#pokemon #fanfiction #sir aaron #riolu #heroes after all

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