#[ she looks up; wistful. and it's still there when the camera focuses on her and she mentions the wish. ]

[peaceoutofthepieces]

this is just a little scene to test out this idea I had a while back and see if I’d actually like to write it and if anyone would like to read it, so please let me know what you think!!

~^~

Robbe stuffs his phone back in the pocket of his slacks and scrubs a hand over his face. He’s only been playing this game for a little over a week and he’s losing. He hadn’t expected this outcome; Noor was only supposed to be playing along. Instead, she seeks Robbe out even in private, she texts him at any hour of the day, and while it’s sweet and he likes Noor, it isn’t what he prepared himself for. It’s a bit overwhelming.

Everything is a bit overwhelming.

He almost wants to change, or at least ditch the blazer, but before he can make up his mind the door opens behind him. He turns around just in time for Noor to pop her head in, and she smiles wide when their gazes catch. She takes a moment to take him in, and Robbe just stands and watches back and does his best not to twitch in discomfort. He’s not a child anymore, and he’s done this plenty of times. Always with perfect composure.

Now would be a terrible time to break.

He fits on a smile as Noor makes her way over to him and runs a hand down the front of his blazer. “Good, you’re already dressed,” she praises, smoothing out a crease. “Very handsome.”

“Thank you,” Robbe says, swaying forward and accepting her quick kiss. “Not as stunning as you, though.”

Noor grins, and Robbe thinks to check what she’s actually wearing. She does look stunning, he assumes. Theoretically, he knows the way the deep-red dress hugs her frame makes a nice picture. Noor always looks beautiful. Robbe isn’t lying when he compliments her.

He isn’t supposed to be lying to Noor about anything. They’re supposed to be on the same page.

He might have been mistaken, somewhere amidst their agreement. Somewhere along the line, at the very least, he must have missed some kind of memo.

“Noor, uh.” He averts his gaze, then allows it to flit back, softening and warming his expression to turn his words into a gentle suggestion. “We don’t have to worry about publicity tonight, okay? I want you to be able to have fun.”

Noor’s brow furrows. “Isn’t this weekend all about the publicity?”

Robbe hesitates, because she’s right and he wishes she wasn’t. He knows exactly what is expected of him tonight, but they have their own say in the matter. If Noor doesn’t want to be glued to his side, she has no real obligation to be. As long as they’re seen once, twice, together in the bar and together by the bedrooms, everyone would eat it up. Playing everything up isn’t a necessity at the moment. Robbe has been hoping for such a break.

“Yeah, but, it’s also for us to enjoy,” he tries.

“And I’ll enjoy it with you.” Noor adjusts his collar again, raising her brows. She laughs then at his hesitant look and links their hands together to begin tugging him towards the door. “Come on, stop fretting. I won’t do anything I don’t want to.”

Robbe wishes he could say the same so easily.

Instead he mostly keeps his mouth shut as he traipses down through the hotel after Noor, letting her lead him to the bar on the main floor. It’s easy to spot his parents, once they’re there, standing at one of the tables surrounded by stares and whispers. The attention of the room shifts to him and Noor as they enter, and Robbe forces himself not to duck away from it. In truth, it’s not the attention or his parents that he notices first.

It’s Sander.

He’s standing at the table next to Robbe’s mother, talking animatedly as he leans his arms on the wood, dressed in a jacket and shirt of his own. A jacket, shirt and jeans. His shirt isn’t even a shirt, but some kind of silky patterned blouse, his jacket is beige and too baggy, and his jeans are plain black and too tight, and he looks stunning.

So annoying.

Robbe lets the frustrated breath out through his nose, ignoring the heat under his collar as Noor leads them right over. It doesn’t help that Sander is the first to notice them, turning his head at the right moment and stopping mid-speech to smile. He doesn’t look at Noor at all, but he moves his gaze over Robbe in one long sweep, flitting slowly back up to his eyes.

Robbe raises a brow, unimpressed. Sander merely lifts his drink in greeting and lets his smile slip into a smirk.

Noor greets his parents enthusiastically, squeezing his dad’s hand and giving his mother a hug. She even grants Sander a kiss on the cheek, which he reciprocates with his eyes still settled on Robbe. He doesn’t take them away until Noor is tucking herself back into Robbe’s side, and then he glances at the space between them—or rather the lack of—before dropping his gaze entirely. He focuses instead on his drink, which he lifts and takes a long slug of. Robbe finds himself watching the parting of his lips, the tilt of his head, the slope of his throat. Then Sander looks at him looking and he snaps his gaze away.

“Don’t you two look lovely,” his mother teases, smiling at him and Noor.

Robbe rolls his eyes good-naturedly and lays his arm over Noor’s shoulders as she laughs and wraps her arm around his waist. “Don’t we always,” he retorts, in the same wistful tone.

Sander hums and draws Robbe’s attention back to him. “Actors,” he says lightly. His smile is teasing, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, which bore into Robbe. “Always camera-ready.”

“This one even more so than me,” Noor agrees, pinching Robbe’s cheek as she grins at him. Robbe huffs a laugh and carefully moves his head away. Noor pays no attention, already roped back into conversation with his father.

“I was telling a few people about you earlier,” the man tells Noor. “There’s a friend or two of mine interested in meeting you to talk about upcoming projects. Why don’t you do a round with me so we can greet some people?”

It’s an act of kindness, Robbe’s sure, but also one of convenience. He’s sure his father would genuinely like to help Noor, but having her involved in some fancy new project, thanks to his guidance, would certainly be a bonus. Robbe’s grip tightens minutely on Noor with the sudden, irrational urge to keep and protect. Just because he isn’t quite as honestly invested doesn’t mean he doesn’t like her. He doesn’t want her to be used.

But Noor has already lit up, and she nods excitedly, giving Robbe’s hand a squeeze. “Of course.”

“While you do that, I’m going to say hi to the Stoffels,” his mother says.

Robbe perks up. “Jens is here?”

“No, just his mother and Lies.” When she sees Robbe deflate, she tuts. “You’ll be alright, Sander already bought you a drink. You’re big boys, you can keep each other company.”

His gaze flits back to Sander, mostly out of surprise, just in time for Sander to slide a tall glass across the table towards him. Robbe eyes it dubiously, wrapping his hand around it but not bothering to take a taste. He’s preoccupied with Noor squeezing his arm and twisting to press a kiss to his cheek before sliding entirely out of his grip.

“I’ll come back to save you soon,” she promises. Robbe thinks if she meant that, she wouldn’t be leaving him with Sander in the first place. But she’s already turning her back, following his father away, and his mother had disappeared instantly, and now it’s just Sander and him and an array of half-empty drinks.

Robbe finally lifts his own glass and takes a sniff.

Sander snorts, and Robbe looks to find him shaking his head. “Serious?” He raises a brow.

Robbe simply shrugs.

“You know, out of the two of us, you’re probably the one more likely to have drugs.”

Robbe flushes. “I didn’t think you drugged it,” he mumbles. “I’m just trying to figure out what it is. Besides, just because you didn’t spike it doesn’t mean no one else did.”

Sander shakes his head again, lips quirked in amusement. “I kept my eyes on it the whole time.”

“Why’d you get me a cocktail?”

“Because,” Sander shrugs. He doesn’t say anything else, and Robbe simply keeps staring at him. Eventually Sander wiggles his brows and nods at the drink. “It’s about time you try something new, Ijzermans.”

Something crawls up into Robbe’s throat and lodges there. He doesn’t have any retort. It sounds too much like a challenge, like it comes with a hidden meaning, and the knowing glint in Sander’s eye as he stares Robbe down only seems to confirm it. There’s suddenly a comfort to be found in the eyes on them, in the fact that even though they’re alone at the table, they aren’t alone. The surroundings, rather than making him itch, suddenly seem safe. It’s only private enough that they can speak without being overheard, but there are other tables all around them, a few feet away in each direction. Robbe can see Noor if he turns his head. He hears Mrs Stoffels’ distinctive laughter in the background as he eyes his drink, swirling the liquid around. It’s a deep, jewel-like blue, that fizzes slightly as he shakes it.

He glances back up at Sander. The other boy is simply staring at him, still with that faint amusement, brows raised expectantly. He nods at the drink once more.

Robbe brings it to his lips and takes a tentative sip. He’s aware of Sander’s eyes on him as a sharp, fruity taste explodes on his tongue, but he can’t quite keep his face under control. It screws up in displeasure, and Sander laughs abruptly, raising a hand to cover his mouth as his shoulders shake.

Robbe swallows the liquid and scowls at him. “What the fuck is this?”

“No idea,” Sander says idly. “Had something with ‘sea breeze’ in the name. Enjoy.” He raises his own beer in a toast, and Robbe’s scowl deepens as he leaves his glass back down on the table.

He drags one of the stools towards himself and climbs up, resting his elbows on the table. He’s still directly across from Sander, but he’s not looking at him. He focuses on his glass instead, tapping his fingers against it in a quick, tinkling rhythm until Sander huffs.

“What,” Robbe says flatly.

“Nothing.” There’s a pause, and then Sander huffs again. “I just find it funny.”

“What?” Robbe repeats, slightly more curious. He even raises his head to look at the younger boy again.

Sander puckers his lips, then shrugs. “How hard you try to pretend you don’t like me. How hard you try to pretend you do like her.” He nods at something behind Robbe.

Robbe doesn’t have to look to know he’s talking about Noor. “I’m not pretending anything.”

“Okay,” Sander rolls his eyes. When Robbe doesn’t respond, Sander gives him a dry look. “Come on, Robbe. I’m giving you a freebie.”

There’s no freedom in what Sander is implying, but Robbe doesn’t bother pointing that out, because it would be too close to admitting Sander is right. Instead he simply stays silent, which is almost as bad.

“You need to stop living your whole life like you’re in front of a camera,” Sander tells him. His tone seems to have softened slightly, and Robbe allows a glance through his lashes to see if his expression matches. It does. Sander’s gently frowning as he takes a sip of his drink. “It sounds fucking exhausting.”

Robbe blinks. It is exhausting, but he hadn’t thought Sander would be the one to point such a thing out. He hadn’t thought Sander would make such a genuine observation in the first place. Even with all those looks, Robbe hadn’t realised how much Sander has actually been watching.

He takes a little sip of his own drink to delay responding and finds it isn’t as bad the second time, so he takes another. Then he makes a quiet admission. “I prefer being behind the camera.”

It doesn’t seem to be the response Sander was expecting, but he also doesn’t look too surprised. “You want to produce like your dad?”

“Not really. I mean actually being behind the camera. Filming itself. Maybe directing. Editing. I don’t know.” He takes another drink and then licks his lips, ignoring how Sander tracks each movement. “I like making things look good and I like creating and watching, but not when it’s myself. It’s never my decision to act.”

This does draw out Sander’s surprise. “Your dad makes you?”

“No,” Robbe quickly denies, shaking his head. “He just asks, and I never know how to say no. Or he asked the first time, and now it’s just how it goes. It’s not like I hate it, it just—sorry, it doesn’t matter.” He remembers who he’s talking to and cuts himself off. It’s not that he’s admitting anything bad, or even that Sander isn’t someone he should be admitting it too—he doesn’t think Sander would betray him to his father, even though that’s who Sander’s working for and the only reason he’s even here. It’s not that he’s being too honest and Sander is untrustworthy; he’s being just honest enough that he might keep going. That’s where the danger creeps in.

This becomes clear when Sander shakes his head and places his hand over Robbe’s, mindless or reckless or both. Sander doesn’t seem to notice the fire that sparks from the touch, setting every inch of Robbe’s skin alight.

“It does matter,” Sander argues, and now he appears unbearably soft. It’s a far cry from his usual aloof, confident persona, but somehow Robbe feels no surprise at the glimpse of tenderness. “I’m sure if you talked to your dad, he’d understand. He’d probably even help you get wherever you actually want to go. He didn’t need to take me on, but he’s understanding.”

Robbe bites back a scoff, but he can’t quite contain the little burst of anger that makes him snatch his hand away. It startles Sander so much, he feels slightly apologetic. “You don’t know anything, Sander.”

Sander purses his lips. The gentle expression has mostly dissipated, but there’s still some lingering determination. Robbe feels a faint thrum of heat in his stomach under Sander’s heavy stare. “Maybe not,” he acquiesces. “But I know it’s not enough to not hate something. You should be allowed to want something. And you deserve whatever that is.”

There’s that lump in his throat again. Sander seems so sincere that Robbe feels shy. It’s ridiculous how much sway Sander has over him when they barely know each other. Robbe can’t figure out what it is, only that there’s an undeniable tug in his gut when he’s in Sander’s orbit, urging him to get closer. Alongside it, there are the warning signals that blare in his head, alarms that tell him he’s in front of a fire or at the edge of a cliff. Pushed too far, he’ll burn and tumble.

“Robbe,” Sander urges, drawing his attention back. Even darkened, his eyes are so green. “You deserve whatever you want out of your life. Direct it on your own.”

That might be the problem—having Robbe in control. He’d always thought his life was for the universe to play with, guided by various twisted strings of fate, split into infinite versions. He’s beginning to dislike the thought. All the happenings that are out of his control are the ones that scare him, that cause real harm. His mother’s illness, his parents’ split, his own fame. Sander Driesen.

He’s beginning to think Sander might be the scariest thing.

It’s terrifying, the intent with which he’s watching Robbe now, scarier than being in front of a camera has ever been. At least there, he can act. It’s Sander who strips him bare. It’s terrifying and liberating.

Robbe takes another sip of the drink Sander had bought him, and finds the fifth time is easier again. It loosens the lump in his throat enough for him to meet Sander’s eye and say, “Maybe I will.”

[mysticpetals]

Farewell, sunshine

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Jake × f!mc (Syianne)

𝙂𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: angst, a sprinkle of fluff

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 4.9k (oof)

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: All Jake ever wanted was to find his sister and protect the person who had helped him more than anyone. Only, he slowly began to realise that bringing Syianne into this had caused more harm than good.

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: mentions of blood, physical attack, violence, hospitals, medical coma, panic attack.

𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙨: Anonymous asked: 5. “Wake up! Please wake up.” MC and Jake finally get to meet for the first time, but everything is heavily dipped in angst. 😂 Also I adore your writing and keep up the good work!

Anonymous asked: Can you give us the most angsty jealous filled over protective short with Jake x MC i want all the ANGST to be seeping out of my screen

@mnrangera asked: Here's a nice angsty scenario for you: MC is in Duskwood continuing their investigation but is caught out in town after dark. They are on the phone with Jake when they are attacked by the Man Without a Face like Jessie was.

𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨: I know this has been LOOOOONG overdue and I apologise for the wait. Thank you to all my followers for being patient, especially those who sent the requests in. I hope the long wait is worth it and you enjoy it. Also, please read the warnings before proceeding, I don't want any of you to be triggered by something I wrote. There may be inaccuracies in how I progressed medical conditions and general working of the hospitals so I apologise for that. Please do not repost or translate this fic anywhere else!! I'm literally begging you, please don't ruin my hard work like this. I would love if I could get some sort of feedback, whether it be reblogs or comments or just anon asks. I've tried to improve my writing and I hope it shows a little in this. This is my Christmas and New Year present all wrapped in one! I hope you all have a great 2021 <3

It was a cold, winter evening with the sky painted in a plethora of warm colors and Jake felt like finally things were going his way.

He, along with Syianne, had been working tirelessly for the past few weeks to find out what happened to Hannah. They had faced a lot of challenges along the way, with cryptic diary entries and threats directed towards them and their loved ones, but still, they'd prevailed and spent every ounce of free time, getting more information about Hannah's perpetrator.

They finally had the facts about what happened the day she was kidnapped and only the identity of the criminal was hidden. Syianne had suggested that she should go to Duskwood to try and find the last puzzle piece, to which Jake had been a little apprehensive. She argued that the rest of the group had already been through enough, with getting stalked and receiving threats and insisted that she should be the one to carry out her search in secret.

She never once asked for him to come along because she knew how dangerous it would be for him and she didn't want him to get caught. Jake was instantly warmed by the thought that someone cared so much about him, to think of his well being first.

So that night, as she called him to update him on her findings and plan after she went to Duskwood, he found himself speaking his thoughts impulsively.

"What if I came too?"

There was silence on the other end and Jake thought he might have overstepped or made it weird but she answered before he could stammer an apology.

"I'd like that. But only if you're comfortable and safe."

She told him to ruminate on it for a while and bid him goodnight. Jake thought about whether it was a logical thing to do. If Syianne planned to go undercover, he couldn't very well let her go into the lion's den alone. So he made up his mind and texted Syianne to let her know.

Jake [10:46 pm]

I'll come to Duskwood too.

Is it okay if we don't meet straight away?

I...I don't think I'm ready yet.

Syianne [10:47 pm]

I was lowkey hoping you'd say that ahaha

And of course! Take as much time as you need :)

That night, he slept with a smile on his face, excitement churning in his stomach.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Syianne was looking forward to her trip to Duskwood.

She knew it was a potentially dangerous situation and she was only going there to investigate but knowing that Jake might be there too, sent a spark of thrill through her body. They had been speaking non-stop for the past few weeks and she really liked talking to him. His answers to questions about him or his life were adorably confusing and Syianne realized that she really wanted to get to know him, be his friend or possibly something more, if their flirty banter was anything to go by.

Her bag contained all the essentials she could need, along with a sketchbook and pencils to use in case of boredom. She couldn't leave Matrix with any of her friends as they were either busy or allergic to cats so her only option was to take her along.

She had never booked a flight so fast. Knowing she would have to take a car from the airport to the rest of the way to Duskwood did nothing to damper her excitement. She couldn't wait to meet everyone once they found Hannah, some more so than the others.

The trip was nothing eventful, just a lot of travelling and it made Syianne a little tired but the idea of meeting her friends and finally putting a stop to all this madness, made her keep going. She wouldn't admit it if you asked her but she was looking forward to possibly seeing Jake as well. She knew he might not be comfortable enough to meet her yet and she completely respected that, but the thought still lingered.

She checked in to the only hotel Duskwood had, not meeting the receptionist's - Lilly's - eyes and was eternally grateful that she had only leaked her number and not her photo in that video. It would have been much more difficult to move about Duskwood, if that were the case.

The room they had was pretty basic, but not too bad for a few nights. Matrix prowled around the room, getting herself comfortable in the new environment while Syianne slowly unpacked the few clothes and necessities she brought.

In the corner of her mind, there was the thought that Jake might be staying at this hotel too and that sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. But she was a woman of her word and would wait until Jake was ready and would not try to look for him.

She had a mission here and she wanted to be damn sure that that's what she would be focusing on and save Hannah.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Jake was supposed to be in Duskwood about two nights ago.

He had encountered some issues with removing his tracks from the internet, as well as trying to find a safe way to drive to Duskwood without exposing himself. Working as a hacker did have some benefits and finally he managed to find a guy who made him three fake number plates that he would interchange every once in a while, so his whereabouts couldn't be traced.

He had let Syianne know of the unexpected delay but to his surprise, she was enjoying herself in Duskwood. She had told him that Jessy gave her a virtual tour of the town once and she was excited to explore all those places in person. She talked to him at night, describing the beauty of the small town and Jake felt himself growing wistful, wondering what they could do together if he had been there. But then again, hadn't he said that he wouldn't show himself right now? He was cautious - just as he had been all his life - but something about Syianne just made him want to let his guard down, to just be selfish for once.

He had no time to think further on it because finally, all the preparations and precautionary measures were done and he could drive to Duskwood. He couldn't leave Glitch at home because he had attachment issues and couldn't go without Jake for a long period of time. So he ushered him into his carrier and told him he could claw all the wood he wanted when they reached their destination and Glitch meowed in agreement. He had always been a smart cat, after all.

Changing the number plates every hour was exhausting, especially when he didn't do much manual work but he endured it, if it meant he was one step closer to finding his sister.

When he finally reached Duskwood, he was in awe of how normal it looked, how silent; how someone who didn't know that a girl had been kidnapped would think of this place as the perfect getaway. But he knew better, didn't he? This town held dark secrets, secrets that people weren't willing to acknowledge and he was going to expose them for what they were, no matter what it took.

Signing into the Duskwood hotel was as awkward as he imagined it to be, his half sister having no idea who he was and looking at his dark, baggy clothes suspiciously. He wasn't blaming her, he would have probably done the same if a strange man came out of nowhere to stay in Duskwood of all places. Lilly gave him a tight smile as he picked up his bag and key and made way to his room.

Syianne had texted him earlier that day that she would be checking out the lake in the evening, where Jessy was attacked. Jake was against it from the start but he should have known how stubborn she could be and eventually, he had to agree but only on the condition that she stays on video call with him the whole time. Syianne was evidently bewildered by his request, judging by the way she kept writing and erasing her reply but after a while, she managed to ask if he would be comfortable with that. Jake's heart warmed at her considerate words, never really having anyone who would care about his emotions, he was always surprised when Syianne said something like that. He replied that he would just turn off his camera or point it at the lamp or something but he had to be sure about her safety.

And that's why, he was sitting with his phone in front of him in the evening, camera turned off as he watched her fondly, pointing out the strange birds she saw.

"Ah, I wish you were here! The lake is so pretty this time and the light from sunset is reflecting off the water and it makes an amazing view," she said, voice breathy with the exertion of walking for a while and a tone of awe towards the scene in front of her.

"That's sufficient sightseeing, don't you think?" Her voice suddenly took a serious note and Jake straightened up in his chair. He was afraid but couldn't say anything. He had already agreed to let her go with a condition and he feared if he asked her to not investigate, she would probably end the call and keep looking for clues by herself. At least on the phone, he could look at her surroundings and made sure no one sneaked up on her.

"If you say so," he said half-heartedly, glancing at the surroundings behind her as she narrowed her eyes at his dismissive tone.

The next twenty minutes were spent with Syianne looking around the lake and Jake looking over her shoulder virtually. She had scouted the edge and went a little deeper into the forest, looking for a car, a boat, a mask - anything, really - but the search had proved to be futile so far. Everything was as peaceful as ever, no signs of any disturbance and it made Jake a little antsy. Nothing was ever this perfect.

"Well, since we can't find anything here, I think you should come back. It's getting late," Jake said, looking at the already darkened sky. It was an ominous red color and Jake was getting more and more worried as people left the lakeside.

Syianne frowned but didn't argue and that made him sigh in relief.

"Yeah, you're right. No use trying to find something that isn't there," she said and started walking again.

"Wait, you walked here? Didn't you bring your car?" Jake asked and she shook her head.

"Nope, I wanted to enjoy Duskwood and being in a car wouldn't have helped," she smiled at the camera and Jake let out an almost inaudible sigh. Why couldn't she care about her safety a little more? She was going to give him grey hair before he reached his thirties, that was for sure.

As he began to reply to her, he caught movement from the left side of the screen and instantly grabbed his phone, expanding the background.

There was a silhouette of a hand.

"Syianne, run!" He shouted, as the figure's arm came into view and she looked back in surprise before starting to sprint, the camera shaking from her movements.

Jake scrambled to get his car keys, not bothering with what he was wearing and ran towards the hotel parking, getting into his car and connecting the GPS to his phone, all the while listening to Syianne's panting breaths as she ran away from the man without a face.

Getting her location was no problem for him and he just hoped he would arrive there on time.

"Jake, I'm scared. I'm hiding behind a big building and I think he went on ahead," she whispered, voice shaky and trembling and Jake's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he glanced over at his phone to watch her looking around herself in a panic.

Five more minutes and he would reach her location. Jake had never been more thankful that Duskwood was a small town and the hotel wasn't so far away from the lake.

"I'm coming, Syianne. Just a little while more and we'll go back together."

"Okay, I think I'm safe for now," she said. There was a sound of slow careful footsteps as Syianne came out from behind the building.

The abrupt sound of a gasp almost made him lose control of the steering wheel and he increased his speed as he heard what sounded like a scuffle. Syianne had probably dropped her phone because it only showed the dark sky and sounds of her struggling against her attacker.

"No! Let–"

Jake let out a harsh breath, jaw tightening as he heard Syianne's scream. He drove straight for a bit and turned the next corner and saw the man trying once again to restrain her. His eyes saw red and he honked and honked like it was nobody's business, speeding towards them.

The man without a face seemed to have realised that someone was coming to help as he pushed Syianne roughly into the wall and ran away towards the forest. As much as Jake wanted to go after him, Syianne was his first priority and he quickly got out of the car, dashing towards her crumpled form, lying on the ground.

He fumbled with his phone, calling the local police and asking for an ambulance, his body shaking all the while, as he knelt down next to Syianne.

He felt tears welling in her eyes as he looked at her battered form and realised that she was bleeding.

"Syianne?" He spoke in a scared voice.

"Syianne!" He said more forcefully, repeatedly patting her face in hope she'll look at him but her eyes were still glassy and unfocused as if she couldn't comprehend anything.

"I'm...so sorry. I…" her voice trailed off as she struggled to breathe and Jake cried, seeing her in so much pain, when he couldn't do anything except wait for the ambulance to arrive.

After a moment, Syianne's eyes fluttered closed and Jake's panic rose to new heights.

"No, no, no! Wake up! Please wake up!" He shouted and begged but she didn't respond to his calls.

His hand was soaked in her blood from where he was applying pressure on the wound at her side. The blood hadn't stopped flowing and Jake was worried that she was losing too much, too soon.

"What do I do? What do I do?" He muttered to himself, adrenaline coursing through his veins, with only one thought in his head – to save her.

He heard sirens in the distance and was relieved to know that help was coming. He pushed up the fallen hood of his jacket up on his head and looked at Syianne for any signs of consciousness. Her breaths were shallow and eyes still closed.

Soon enough, paramedics rushed to the scene and immediately started tending to Syianne's wounds. Jake felt as if he was just a spectator, not being able to do anything but watch. Someone came up to him and started asking him questions, about how he found her, who he was to her and if he knew anything about the attack. He answered all the questions as carefully as he could, giving a fake name, because he still wasn't sure if the police department was in league with the kidnapper or not.

As soon as he was done with the questioning, a paramedic approached him, letting him know that they were taking Syianne to the hospital and he would have to come there for a bit of paperwork. Jake hesitated and said he'd drive there in his own car and the paramedic nodded in response and left.

He got in his car and put his head in his hands, shaking at the unfortunate turn of events. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Syianne was just going to check out the lake and then surprise her friends the next day by telling them she'd be here for a few days and enjoy Duskwood together.

Jake was even thinking of meeting her in person and telling her that she had changed his life for the better. But his cowardice, his meticulous nature to not let anyone know who he was or where he was might have cost Syianne her life tonight. Even thinking about it had tears pooling in his eyes and he took a deep breath to bite back the sobs that were threatening to break once again.

He felt guilty, so so guilty and couldn't bring himself to start the car. He was pretty sure that if – no when – Syianne woke up, she would want nothing to do with the man who put her life in danger. With that thought rooted in his mind, he opened his phone and with trembling hands, sent Jessy a text about Syianne's accident. He received a reply almost immediately.

Jessy [8:46 pm]

What?

How did she come here?

You know what? If she's not okay, I'm going to hunt you down and make you pay.

Jake had no trouble believing she was telling the truth. All he wanted to do was help and now everything was falling apart. Taking a deep but shaky breath, he started the car but instead of going to the hospital, he turned towards the hotel.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Jessy had no trouble believing that the hacker was telling the truth. His texts were frantic and he practically begged her to go to the hospital to see Syianne. She had no idea how she got here, but hearing that she got attacked, just like she was, was enough to make her worry and drive to the hospital, after letting Cleo know. She figured that the rest of them deserved to know too.

She rushed to the front desk, breathless and worried, and one of the nurses told Jessy that the doctors were with Syianne and she'd have to wait until they were done to know how she was.

After some time of relentless pacing, Cleo arrived and Jessy filled her in on everything that the hacker told her, which wasn't much, but it gave them a good idea of what had happened. Cleo said that she hadn't told anyone else yet and that they should do so as soon as the doctors had an update on Syianne's condition.

About an hour later, a nurse came upto Jessy and Cleo, asking if they knew Syianne and upon their confirmation, led them to the room she was kept in. They weren't allowed to enter yet as the doctors were still in the room, but Jessy gasped when she saw Syianne's scratched up face, with bandages covering her head.

"Oh my gosh." Cleo breathed and Jessy felt a rush of sorrow as she averted her eyes.

The doctors after completing their examination, told them that Syianne was stabbed in the side but luckily it didn't puncture anything important and they closed up the wound to allow it to heal. What was more concerning, was the fact that she was hit on the back of her head.

"She most likely suffered from a concussion, in which case, it is of the utmost importance that the patient doesn't fall asleep," the doctor said and Jessy and Cleo looked at each other uneasily.

"But Syianne fell asleep…" Jessy began and the doctor gave her an apologetic smile.

"That's right. She was unconscious when she was brought here. The superficial wounds are taken care of, we just don't know when she'll wake up."

Both of them were too stunned to say anything and a call for the doctor from one of the nurses broke them out of their stupor.

"So, she's in a coma?" Cleo asked.

The doctor hesitated before answering.

"Essentially, yes. But we can't know for sure without further observation. If the injury isn't severe she'll wake up soon, we just have to monitor her constantly and look for any changes." He then walked off when his pager went off, most likely to see another patient.

"Don't worry, Jessy. She'll wake up soon," Cleo said, placing a hand on her shoulder, as they looked into Syianne's room, seeing her sleeping peacefully, as if nothing was wrong and she was just taking a nap.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

As soon as she got home from the hospital, Jessy sent out a row of furious texts to the hacker, clouded by her anger and hopelessness. In her head, it was all his fault that Syianne was twittering between life and death. He was the one who asked her to come to Duskwood without letting any of them know, which caused her to be in such a terrible condition.

Everything was crumbling.

They were a tight knit group, always there for each other but when did it turn into a nightmare, Jessy didn't know. Emotion overtook her and she suddenly collapsed against the wall, keeping a hand on her mouth to muffle her sobs, and cried.

She cried for Hannah, who she had no idea whether she was alive or not. She cried for Syianne, who had become such a great friend to her. Most importantly, she cried for her relationship with everyone, that was slowly but surely, withering away.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

Jake had been pacing in his hotel room ever since getting back, waiting on a word from Jessy. Glitch watched him with big eyes, as he stubbed his on the bedside and cursed. Sighing in defeat, Jake realised that it won't do any good to worry himself to death, but that didn't mean that his mind didn't drift off to the earlier scene.

Syianne lying on the ground. Blood pooled around her.

He shook his head in frustration, trying to get that image out of his head but to no success. Glitch, sensing that something was wrong, strolled towards him, rubbing and purring against his legs. Jake softened at seeing his efforts to calm him and he picked Glitch up, moving to lay down on the bed. He petted him, smiling at the way the cat burrowed himself further against Jake, curling his tail around his wrist.

After a few peaceful moments of cuddling, Jake's phone lit up with a text, which had him scrambling to grab it from the bedside. Glitch meowed in protest but Jake was too wound up to notice.

Jessy [10:25 pm]

She's in a coma

They don't know when she'll wake up

Jake felt all breath leave him as he read Jessy's text. He didn't know what to think, what to do, what he could do. Jessy didn't give him a chance to respond.

Jessy [10:26 pm]

Don't contact any of us ever again

I don't want to find Hannah this way…which leads to everyone else getting hurt

Please leave Syianne out of this

Saying her mind, Jessy went offline again. Jake took a shaky breath, trying to ground himself. Syianne might never make up.

No, he told himself.

He couldn't think like that. He knew she'd wake up, it might take a little time but she will. Because if she didn't, Jake wouldn't be able to live with himself.

He got another text from Lilly, saying she was sorry that it happened but he couldn't bring himself to write back. His mind was empty, body numb to everything around him and he was cursing himself for being so careless.

If he hadn't been so selfish, if only he didn't put all of this on her, if he had just reached on time, if, if, if.

That's all he thought of, as tears continuously trailed down his cheeks, an arm covering his eyes, the only thing on his mind being Syianne, just as it had been ever since he started talking to her.

⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰

The next day, Jake found himself holding a large flower bouquet and walking to Duskwood hospital's reception. He was trembling, scared out of his mind but he just had to see Syianne. So, he had braved his anxiety and was now standing in front of the receptionist, who looked at the abnormally large bouquet in his hands and raised an eyebrow. He cleared his throat.

"I'm here to see Syianne King, she was admitted here yesterday."

The receptionist's gaze sharpened as she looked him over and he partially hid behind the flowers.

"Only family members are allowed to visit," she spoke slowly and Jake bit his lip in frustration.

"I'm her fiance," he said and before the surprised receptionist could say anything, he continued, "I drove here as soon as I got the call but they wouldn't tell me what happened. Only that Syianne had been in an accident and I needed to get here as soon as I could and I—" he cut himself off, shuffling nervously and wiping away the tears that had managed to escape from his eyes.

The receptionist softened, seeing his genuine sorrow and care for his fiance and warmed her voice.

"Of course, I'm sorry for what happened. She's in room 309, third floor. The elevator is down the hall," she pointed and Jake thanked her profusely before walking ahead.

Him being Syianne's fiance might have been fake but everything he had felt was the truth and he felt overwhelmed now that he was here. Should he see her? Did he even deserve to see her after he put her in danger? Thoughts like this plagued his mind all the way to Syianne's room and they only stopped when he saw '309' written in bold letters on a grey coloured door.

His breath stuttered in his chest. He was second guessing his presence in the hospital, thinking whether he shouldn't have come. He stood in front of the door for about ten minutes, contemplating but when the nurses started giving him suspicious looks, he swallowed thickly and with shaky hands, opened the door.

Nothing could have prepared him for the utter despair and helplessness he felt, as he saw Syianne's motionless form on the bed, breathing as if she was just sleeping and would wake up any minute. But he knew that wasn't the truth.

She was here and it was his fault.

For the longest time, he just sat on a chair beside her bed and just looked at her. His eyes traced every injury, every bruise that was visible and he felt sick, blaming himself for letting it happen. She was still sleeping and suddenly, it just got too much.

There was too much light, too much beeping, the walls were too white, the flowers in his hands digging into his skin and he got up hastily, dropping the bouquet and backed into the furthest corner of the room.

His breath was coming in short bursts, it hurt to breath, to think, to stay upright—!

His legs gave from under him and he slid down, back against the wall, shaking hands coming up to wipe the wetness on his face.

He didn't even realise he had been crying.

His vision was a blur of dark shapes and in a distinct corner of his head that was still sane, he thought of what Syianne would have done had she been awake. He was sure she would kneel down in front of him and take his hands, running her thumbs against the back of his hands to calm him.

'Breathe slowly, Jake. Deep breaths with me, come on,' he heard her in his head and tried to slow down, breathing harshly at first but after a few minutes, his vision cleared and his breathing stabled to an acceptable rate.

His whole body shook with the sheer suddenness of the panic attack and he slowly tried to get up, holding onto the wall as a support as his gaze, once again, landed on the bed and it's occupant.

All at once, his head cleared and he knew what to do.

Snatching a sheet of paper from the notepad lying near her chart, Jake penned his thoughts, all his anguish, and his apologies on it. Not once did his hand shake as he wrote the note and not once did his mind waver from the decision he had made. At last, when he had said everything he wanted to, he put the pen down and glanced at Syianne's peaceful face.

His throat closed up but he swallowed once to make sure he didn't cry. No, Jake had no time for tears. It was his fault that this happened in the first place, so it was his responsibility that he would make it right.

He didn't know when she would wake but whenever it might be, Jake had everything he wanted to say, already written for her.

He bent down towards her and placed the softest of kisses against her forehead, knowing that it would be the only time he would ever get to do it.

She did not open her eyes and Jake stepped back with a miniscule tilt of his lips.

Yes, he would make everything right.

[miss-choco-chips]

Love like poison

Soo... I did that, huh. I have no excuses, I was sad, so now you’re all sad with me.

Warnings: angst. Hurt. Hospitals. Puking. Blood. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He can’t breath.

He had always been scarily good at deception, Dick thinks blandly. His heart is screaming, and crying, and being torned apart, but his mind is strangely steady. A calm voice, sounding all too much like Bruce when he just became his ward and was hounded by panic attack after panic attack, reminded him of his- their options. 

But it was hard, to listen to that part of himself. Hard to remember they still had time, Tim wasn’t dead yet, they still could…

Tim coughed again, and a waterfall of belladonnas, nightshades and clematis spilled into the ground.

(Danger, artifice and death. Whoever it was Tim loved, they couldn’t be worth this pain, if those were the flowers they filled him with)

Fully bloomed and bloodstained. This wasn’t a new disease; it had been left to fester inside the young man for too long, and now…

Now Tim couldn't breath.

Everything else took a backseat as he rushed towards him, falling into his knees by his side in the Cave’s cold floor, screaming for Alfred, Bruce… for help. 

-.-.-.-.-.-

He had been forced into bed rest. No one would budge, no matter how much he complained.

Then-

-I’ve been going out with Hanahaki for as long as I’ve been a vigilante; this is nothing.

Alfred had to leave the room. Bruce’s face had spasmed and closed, emotions tightly locked inside. Jason punched a hole through the wall and stormed off after the butler.

Damian had clutched Dick’s hand as he watched his intubated brother. It’d be forever their secret, how the youngest boy’s hands had trembled.

Tim just coughed again, and fell asleep clutching a bouquet of foxgloves and dogbane. Tucked in by insincerity and deception.

Dick could only cry the night away.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

-I refuse.

Those two words stop the word in its axis. Hearts refuse to beat, birds quieten their singing, and it seems the wind itself stops howling, breath held in wait of the punchline. Of the explanation. Of the apology.

Tim offers none. Just looks outside the window and repeats his decision once the doctor enters to check the reason for Jason’s yelling.

Their begs go ignored. Their anger, scoffed at. Their cries produce little more than a sigh.

Tim  asks the nurse for a bucket and pukes a river of deathly flowers, seams and all. She pats his back in comfort and looks at them with pity in her eyes, because Tim is no longer a minor, they can’t force his hand, and the staff are under oath to respect the patient's wishes.

Hyacinths. Please forgive me.

I can’t forgive a corpse, he wants to say. He can’t- it wouldn’t be heard over Jason’s screams, or his own sobs. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.

Tim signs the documents Lucius hands him with trembling hands. Dick has to steady him and hold his body upright, and press a handkerchief to his pale lips when he can’t keep the coughs inside any longer and spills fully bloomed oleander on the fabric. He’s careful that no drop of blood falls in the papers.

Distrust. He’s worried about the future of Wayne Enterprises, now that he’d no longer be at the helm.

Dick wants to shake him, shake him until he coughs out all the flowers, all the love, all the death. Until his lungs are free and his head is set straight. Until his cheeks flush again, his eyes get their shine back, and he’s warm and living once more. 

Wants to shake him as if he could spit his little brother out, along with the plants and blood. The little brother he basically raised, protected, mentored, loved. The one he’s about to lose.

He doesn’t. Wonders when, exactly, did he stop fighting for him.

And when did Tim stop fighting for himself?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Cass and Steph had arrived two weeks after Tim’s hospitalization. They'd been deep undercover, and Bruce’s emergency call hadn’t reached them until just then.

When they stormed into Tim’s private rooms, the Wayne family felt a shadow of hope blossoming in their hearts. Was it Steph? They had been together a while ago, maybe Tim’s feelings had remained and he thought hers were gone. Maybe they weren’t, and they could…

Tim’s face didn’t turn wistful, but guilty.

Cass’s hand took his, and Stephanie’s fingers combed his hair away from his forehead. She retrieved a petal from within the locks; hydrangea. Thank you for understanding.

They knew?

The betrayal stung, but Dick forced himself into calmness before analyzing them better. Cass was the one who looked regretful but resigned. Stephanie, while carefully silent, was still despairing enough that he knew this was news for her as well. Maybe her partner had put her up to speed during their trip here?

And his sister… Tim had backed her up from the beginning, when both he and Batman distrusted her past. He had stood up for her and she had always been careful to repay him in kind. There was no point in getting mad at her now.

Dick just hoped their bond would be enough for her to convince him to take the damned operation now.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Conner Kent arrives one afternoon, grim faced but unsurprised. Dick suspects he’s known for a long time now, and hates him a little for not telling them. Not doing anything before Tim started choking on dangerously full bloomed plants.

Bruce must have been beyond himself with helplessness, if he called him. Dick’s own despair is the only reason he doesn’t punch him in his invulnerable jaw.

They left the room (some of them for the first time in days) when Conner asks, because they are just that desperate.

Tim and Conner talk around the issue, never saying any name, because they aren’t dumb enough to ignore the possibility of microphones and cameras.

They speak for hours. Kon reminds him of the time he has left (not a lot, dude). Tim replies he’s not ready (for what?). He pukes a beautiful, complete wisteria (I cling to thee). Conner takes it with shaking hands and puts it behind Tim’s ear, the purple contrasting with his dark hair and almost bringing life back to his deathly pale face. He nods, says he understands. Dick doesn’t.

The meta says they all miss him, at the tower. They want him back as soon as possible (they are not the only ones), so he better hurry up and get better. Tim pats his hand, whispers something they can’t hear, and then they hug for long minutes, maybe an hour (Dick’s perception of time is meassured by coughs and breaths, these days), until Tim chokes on air and pukes sweetpeas (Departure, remember me, good-bye, tender memory, thank you for a lovely time).

Conner cries a little when he leaves the room. Tim is again looking at his window. All signs of the happiness his friend brought with him, gone again, washed away like his petals on the wind.

Dick goes after him and wants to scream and insult and hit him.

‘Talk  him out of this!’

‘He needs the surgery!’

‘What are you good for, if you don’t convince him to fight for himself?’

‘Your best friend is dying and you’re doing nothing!’

‘Do you even love him? At all?!’

He ends up falling into his chest and crying, instead.

‘My little brother is dying, and I can’t do anything about it’

Conner doesn’t hug him back. Doesn’t even look at him when he dislodges Dick’s arms from his middle and turns away, leaving the hospital and any hope the Wayne family had of saving Tim behind.

There was scorn in his gaze, but he doesn’t need the meta to voice his thoughts, for him to get the message. Unneeded, besides; he already blames himself enough.

-.-.-.-.-.-.

-What are you doing?

For a few minutes, Dick thinks the words escape his own mouth. The question had been bouncing around in his head, but unvoiced; doubting Tim would even answer. He only ever spoke when Alfred or one of his friends came.

But no, it was Damian who asked, and Dick saw the bedridden boy parting his dry, bloodstained lips to answer.

-Thinking. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jason sitting straight in the couch he had claimed for himself a a few day prior. The four of them were alone at the time, and Dick felt a weak throb of hope at the idea that maybe without their Father, Tim would be willing to answer.

-About what? -asked Jay this time, voice rough for all the shouting he’d been doing lately. He was more mellow, today; tired of fighting against Tim’s imperturbable facade.

-About who. The one who planted these seeds in my lungs. Just… reminescenting.

-What the... ? Stop! -Dick’s voice broke- You know it makes the Hanahaki worse! You are just watering those, those… weeds! You are not even ignoring the precipice, you are speeding towards it!

Tim’s face never turned from the window. His hands fiddled with some nerium oleander flowers, a far away look in his eyes.

Distrust. Beware. Caution. What was Tim scared of, that was worse than death?

-I’m almost done, anyway -he sighed, letting the violet and bloody red petals fall to the bed. The white sheets and colorful flower made a sick disparity. 

Dick wanted to scream- What? Your life?

Jason and Damian flinched at his words. Tim smiled without humor.

-My resistance.

He sighed again, and didn’t speak for a long while. His eyes left the window to look at Dick, and they stayed like that for what seemed like hours, eyes locked, Tim’s unreadable icy blues against Dick’s sky ones.

When he finally did, it was to ask for a doctor.

-.-.-.-.-.-.

They were kicked out of the room. All of them, even Bruce. No matter how much money he offered, or how he reminded the hospital staff of their debt to his family; apparently, Tim had chosen the most morally upright doctors in the whole city to treat him. That, or he’d threaten them worse than even the Batman could. 

Both are equally plausible, coming from his scheming, cunning little brother.

Dick can’t breath, is holding all his air and emotions tight in his chest from the moment they are given the boot until a nurse approaches, face a blank mask but eyes betraying her relief.

Tim had agreed to the surgery.

He would live.

Dick is more focused on the colchicum she’s twisting in her hands.

My best days fled.

For a moment, he’s not sure who was the intended recipient of the message. Nor why his throat hurts so bad.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

There was going to be a long recovery time, they are told. Tim’s flowers were left free to fester and grow and twist inside of him for too long. A lot of tissue had to be removed along with the roots, the stems had scratched along his esophagus and…

And there was something else. Something the doctor refrained from telling them. Something that turned Tim’s smile empty when they visited him after the procedure, lying still in the too big bed. Had made his voice devoid of any feeling as he told them he’d be having his rehabilitation in San Francisco’s General Hospital. He had a house there, he informed them, and his own company, that he apparently had been preparing for a long time now.  He wouldn’t be opposed to future contracts with WE, but now was time for him to spread out his wings and fly. The Titans would look over him during his recovery, after all, and Gotham was no place for a bedridden vigilante anyway.

Dick felt cold all over.

A bouquet in Tim’s hands, gift from his friends, told them what they needed to know about his decision. 

Lantana. Unyielding. 

Pasque flower. You have no claim.

Azalea. Take care of yourself for me.

The operation should have gotten rid of Tim’ feelings towards the one he loved. Why was he leaving the entire family behind, instead?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Alfred wasn’t there when Tim was discharged. He had decided to go back to the mannor first, with both Cassandra and Stephanie, to ready everything for the family’s return. For those who were coming back, at least. Tim had said goodbye to him in private, Dick thinks. He doesn’t understand.

Bruce goes next, and he leaves the room shortly after, confusion as clear in his face as when he went in.

Jason and Damian entered together, neither trusting the other with their bedridden, weakened brother. Dick thinks, if there was something positive to take out of Tim’s suffering, was the cementing of his bond with both his predecessor and successor. They left with twin paper slips and a direction scratched on them. An invitation for the future.

As requested, Dick was the last one. He had to stop at the threshold and just relish in the image his brother gave. Healthier than he had been in weeks (maybe months, even), rosy cheeks, no sign of shadows under his eyes, easy smile stretching lazy lips. Hair a mess, but when wasn’t it? Still underweight, the days leading to the surgery, specially hard on his body, had prevented him from eating much of anything, but that was nothing a lot of care wouldn't solve. Care that would be provided by his friends, apparently. 

His heart throbs.

They hadn’t been alone in a room together in quite a long time. When Tim succumbed to Hanahaki and collapsed in the Cave, maybe? And before that? At least a year and a half, maybe two, before he gave Robin to Damian.

Tim is lounging by the window, travel backpack at his feet. Conner would be picking him up from the hospital’s rooftop any minute now, and the rest of their team had already went to the mannor for the rest of his luggage. 

One last goodbye, and Tim would be gone. 

(Better in San Francisco than dead, he thinks)

-Why? -he asks, unable to stop himself. The question had burned at his throat for too long now, and he wanted to cough to get rid of the feeling. He refrained; weary of anything that could delay his answers.

Tim, so tight lipped he had been lately on the subject, let his smile stretch an inch wider.

-I’ve been in love with you for as long as memory serves, Dick. 

Easy, voice almost breezy. As if had not completely turned Dick’s world over.

Unperturbed by Dick’s gasp and his sudden need to grasp the wall for support, Tim continued.

-My feelings for the rest of the family were built over that, and now that they are gone… well. I still care for them, the small part of me that wasn’t consumed by love grew to like them besides what I felt for you, but the feeling is… a lot smaller than it was before.

A small shrug, he looked at his wristwatch and bent to pick his backpack up. Apparently they were running out of time for their goodbye.

Dick had believed Tim had saved him for last because there were many things he needed to tell him. Turns out that he just didn’t care enough. Didn’t care anymore.

-You know how it is, when you stack everything over one little, unstable piece of yourself? When it collapses, it takes everything away. My life as a vigilante was spurred from meeting you so long ago. I came to be Bruce’s partner and later his son because of you. I made up with Jason and Damian because you edged us on. I guess Alfie, Cass and Steph are the most detached from that, so I’m cool with them now as well. The rest… I’ll guess we’ll see, from now on, how it goes. Fresh starts and all that.

He approaches Dick, still smiling. Dick has to force himself not to shiver. There’s nothing scary in Tim’s eyes, nothing dark; just lightness and calmness. 

He’d never noticed, how charged those eyes were when they looked at him. Now, they barely held anything. 

And that by itself was terrifying.

-I still care about you, don’t make that face -he laughs, but it’s… it’s not the laugh he’s used to. Not the one that screams so many feelings. Not the one that always made him felt like he was on top of the world just from earning it-. You are part of the Waynes. We’ll see each other soon enough, and I’m sure we’ll be able to built a new relationship that’s not linked with my hopeless love. It’ll probably take time, I’m bound to be very busy with my new company and my team, but hey, we’re young, there’s time.

Dick feels sick. His chest is so tight, he can’t breath.

-Don’t look so grim -Tim whispers, a hand careful on Dick’s shoulders-. You were right, the operation was for the best. I was just… desperate and lost, you know? I felt that way for so long, I didn’t knew how to be anything else than in love with you. Wasn’t sure how much of me would remain after getting rid of that part. Apparently -he waves at himself- enough. 

Another step, Tim was just by his side, still touching him but now closer. Another step, and he’d be out of the room.

-After everything went wrong between us… the flowers I used to have were prettier. Both in meaning and… well. Do you know what belladonnas, nightshades, clematis and every other flower I coughed had in common?

He shakes his head. Isn’t sure if Tim can see it over how hard he’s shaking.

-They are all poisonous. That’s what my love for you was in the end, Dick. It was poison, and it was killing me inside faster than even the Hanahaki, but I still nurtured it. Them. Those flowers were killing me, and I still cared for them, watered them with my tears and memories. I know, it was silly, but… Well, you know how people say ‘pick your poison’? I picked you. I hanged on until I couldn't anymore. Letting the flowers go was the hardest choice I ever made -he laughs, a little incredulous- and now that they are gone, I can’t even understand why. I guess only those in love can.

He’s still smiling when he lets go of Dick’s shoulder and steps out into the hallway. 

-Bye, Dick. See you soon, okay? Take care.

Dick stays there, frozen in the door, for a long time. Thinking of Tim, of the years spent together, the pain and the happiness they shared.

He remembers the kid he was, bright eyed. Always following him around when he had the chance, hanging out to Dick’s every word. Always kind, good beyond belief. Too much, for the life they lead. Too bright for all the darkness surrounding the Bat.

Until everything started crumbling. Until the weight of duty drove Dick into distrust. Into choosing. Into abandoning.

Until all those sweet memories turned into even sweeter poison.

The happy but naive kid, turned ruthless but righteous teen, turned dangerous and kind hearted young man. The kind of man who receives a vial of toxics from a loved one, and still drinks it with a smile. Still fights to do good. Still tries to keep his feelings, as hurtful as they turned to be, close to his heart.

He was heartbreakingly beautiful in his sadness when he decided to let go, and now in the lightheadedness of finally being able to breath.

Dick falls to his knees. Emotions too deep, too complicated, swim around his head.

He feels like he lost something invaluable. He’s not sure what: Tim is still there, alive and happy. And they’d have to rebuild their bridges, but that was possible as long as he was there.

So why…?

All comes crashing around him, and he allows himself to cough, trying to get the heaviness off his airways. To breath again, after Tim took all the air with him when he left.

He coughs, and coughs and coughs.

Ranunculus petals come out. I’m dazzled by your charms.

He coughs, heaves and pukes. Crawls into the room and closes the door behind him. No one can see.

Lilies of the valley, fully bloomed. Sweetness. Happiness through the ages. You’ve made my life complete.

Gasping for air, he drags himself to the nearest wall, back resting against it as he hides his face in knees drawn up against his chest.

A hemlock, bloodstained. You will cause my death.

A shadow passes by the window. It’s dark and blue and a little red; Superboy, taking Tim to San Francisco and away from him. From the man who almost killed him.

He cries in between coughs, as the garden of lost chances, poisonous flowers and blood grow around him. It’s grimly beautiful; no wonder Tim was hesitant of getting rid of it.

He can’t breath.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

[starshine583]

Le Paon Part 10

(Hello all! This is part 10, two weeks later, but I have to admit it’s slightly shorter than usual. The next chapter will be the same. I hope you enjoy reading nonetheless!)

Part 1 / Part 9 / Part 11

Allegra couldn’t help the ear-piercing squeal that escaped her lips as she stared at Marinette’s picture of Le Paon. Finally! After weeks of chasing that man’s tail around the city, they finally got a good- no, not just good, a great picture! This was incredible! She felt like bouncing around the room from pure joy, which she did, along with singing a happy little ‘victory tune’. It wasn’t appropriate for the school classroom, but dash it all if she cared what her teacher might think. They were on their routine break between classes anyway.

“I can’t believe you got this!” She exclaimed after a good few moments of staring at it. She wanted to memorize every detail. “I mean, how did you get it? The picture seems so close! It’s like he’s standing right next to you!”

Allegra was too excited to notice Marinette shifting uncomfortably next to her.

“W-Well, I was out on the balcony and.. and I saw him on one of the rooftops across the street. My phone just happened to have a good focusing feature.” The ravenette explained. 

Allegra’s features twisted into a scowl, though it wasn’t necessarily directed towards Marinette. “I wish I could get that lucky. You’d think after months of waiting, he might show up on my doorstep every-”

Her miniature rant was cut off by the vibration of Marinette’s phone. Someone had texted her, and from the pop-up notification at the top of the screen, it appeared to be.. Felix? Since when did he get her number? Since when did they text?

~My Father’s at home today, so you should be able to visit this afternoon after school hours. Does that work for you?~

Allegra squinted at the text. He was inviting her over to his house? 

“That’s scroundal.” She muttered. 

“What?”

Allegra snapped back to reality at Marinette’s voice. “Hm? Oh, nothing.”

She handed Marinette’s phone back, subtly checking the time as she did. It was important that no one- especially Felix -interrupt. “Do you like greenhouses?”

Marinette blinked. “Greenhouses?”

“Yeah! Claude and the rest of us are going to visit a greenhouse tomorrow, and I was wondering if you’d like to join us.” She requested, making sure to keep a light and sweet tone. Hopefully, Marinette wouldn’t remember the last time she asked her to go somewhere, not that the girl seemed to mind running into Felix so often.

Marinette hummed. “I think that should work. I don’t remember having anything else to do tomorrow besides school.”

Allegra clapped her hands together as the bell rang above them. “Wonderful! I’ll tell the boys.”

Marinette nodded and gave a quick goodbye as she left to go back to class. Conveniently, Felix walked in right after her exit.

“Felix!” Allegra nearly cooed. “How do you feel about greenhouses?”

Felix paused at his desk and rose a brow at her. “I’d say that I liked them until you asked that question.”

Allegra only smiled. “Why don’t you join us this fine Thursday on our trip to the greenhouse?”

Felix sat down, pulling his bag onto his lap to rummage through it. “As fun as that sounds, I’ll have to refuse.” 

She let out a long, wistful sigh as she sat down next to him. Claude wouldn’t mind sharing his seat with her for a minute. “What a shame. I’ll tell Marinette you couldn’t come then.”

Felix twitched next to her, and she felt her smile widen. Checkmate. 

Unfortunately, she had to go back to her seat after that, but Allegra still counted it as a success. Felix didn’t agree to go with them out loud, but somehow, she knew he would be there. 

~~~~~~

Marinette clutched her sketchbook to her chest as she stared up at the large, metal gates of the Agreste Mansion. Despite it being the middle of the day, she couldn’t help finding the sight a bit eerie. Normally, one would find gates like this outside an abandoned house on the outskirts of town, not in the middle of Paris as if it were as natural as a mailbox.

A compartment opened to her right, and Marinette jumped back with a slight squeal when a silver bulb shot out at her. Something red in the middle of the bulb seemed to shrink and expand a few times as it circled her. A camera, she realized. It had to be one of those built-in cameras that she’d heard about.

~Name?~

Marinette faltered at the sharp tone. “Ah, u-um..”

The camera inched closer, somehow appearing to glare at her. ~Name?~

She swallowed. “M-Marinette.”

A pause. 

~You are not on our schedule for-~

~Oh, cut it out, will you?~

Marinette blinked. Was that Felix?

~Apologies, Marinette. Our secretary’s not that bright.~

A click emitted from the metal gates, and they swung open, allowing her to enter. Marinette spared the camera one last glance as it retreated to its compartment in the wall before starting forward. 

Felix greeted her at the entrance. “Sorry about the camera. Father can get a bit carried away when it comes to security. ‘Overprotective’, if you will.”

Marinette gave a tight smile. This whole situation didn’t sit well with her. She didn’t remember the security being this overbearing last time she visited for her and Adrien’s history report. Paris had some criminal activity, yes, but surely cameras and two-story sized walls weren’t necessary. Who was M. Agreste trying to keep out?

Or keep in? She thought, her gaze flicking to Felix as he closed the front door behind them. He mentioned a few weeks ago the lengths that M. Agreste would go to keep them at home. Marinette can understand wanting to keep one’s children close, but this is a little.. excessive, especially considering the fact that she’s barely seen their father around the house as it is.

Felix showed her to his father’s office, and Marinette briefly noticed a woman sitting at a desk not too far away, the barest hint of a scowl adorning her lips as she typed away on her computer. That, Marinette assumed, must be the secretary that had talked to her over the camera earlier. 

Her attention was turned back to Felix when he pushed open the office door. It wasn’t until they were inside that Marinette realized she was holding her breath. This was M. Agreste, after all. He was known world wide for his fashion achievements, and his company was one to be coveted. Honestly, she could only ever dream of reaching his level of success, and here she was, about to meet him face to face for the first time. 

“Father, this is Marinette, the one I told you about.” Felix introduced. 

A slight blush brushed Marinette’s cheeks at the thought of Felix talking about her, but she tried to push the feeling aside. Right now, she needed to focus on making a good first impression. 

Gabriel’s gaze flicked to her briefly, but he kept his main focus on his screen. “Ah, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng. Of course.”

Marinette rose a brow. “Of course”? That’s it? She didn’t expect any sort of special treatment, but she liked to have some common courtesy. He could have at least put a light note into his tone instead of sounding as enthusiastic as a rock. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, M. Agreste.” She finally said, an equally cold tone of her own. Two could play at this game.

She caught Felix giving her a surprised look out of the corner of her eye, which was understandable. Marinette didn’t tend to hold a sharp tongue, but sometimes, exceptions needed to be made.

Gabriel looked up at her as well, and that’s when she stiffened. In hindsight, this was his mansion that she was standing in. If anyone had a right to practically ignore her, it would be him. Nevertheless, Marinette had already made her position clear, and she wasn’t going to back down now. 

Her shoulders straightened as M. Agreste’s hollow, grey eyes assessed her. “You’re from the Dupain-Cheng Bakery, correct?”

Marinette forced a neutral expression. How did he know that? She supposed her last name made it obvious, but still. “Y-Yes, sir.”

He nodded. “Your designs are impressive, albeit a bit rough. With guidance and practice, I’m sure you can inspire a new era of fashion. Have you anything else to show me?”

Marinette took a step forward, offering him her notebook. The tense silence that followed had her fidgeting with her hands as he flips through her designs. His expression didn’t even change while he studied the pages. What kind of robot of a man was he, anyway? Or were her designs just not good enough?

Finally, Gabriel nodded again and handed the notebook back to her. “Splendid. I appreciate the visit.” 

Something about his tone- or lack thereof- made her more irritated than pleased about the compliment. They’d barely said two words to each other. Was this his way of blowing her off? She simply couldn’t tell. 

Felix, obviously used to this behavior, nodded as well and lightly grabbed her arm for them to leave.

“Felix, next time you intend to bring someone new to my mansion, I’d prefer to look into it myself first.” Gabriel remarked as they reached the door.

“Of course, Father.” Felix said, opening the door for them to make a quiet exit. 

Marinette, however, didn’t move. She couldn’t. She was too bewildered to do anything other than stare at Gabriel with a quizzical expression. “Look into it myself first”? “My mansion”? She could explain away his need to look into visitors, controlling as that may be, but for him to act like he alone owned everything here was outrageous. Whether he bought the place himself or not, Felix and Adrien were his sons, and this was their home too. Let’s not even mention that she was not, in fact, “new to his mansion”.

Actually, no. Marinette thought. Let’s mention that.

She turned away from Felix, ignoring his panicked expression, and smiled a nice, sweet, sugary smile. “With all due respect, M. Agreste, I’ve visited this mansion before. Adrien and I worked on a history project together.”

Gabriel rose a brow. “What history project?”

Marinette barely held back a scoff, though her smile remained. “You didn’t know about your own son’s history project?”

Admittedly, her tone was harsher than she had meant it to be, but that didn’t mean she regretted what she said. Her parents knew her entire schedule, all of her interests, and they certainly knew about her visit to the Agreste’s to work on their group history project.

Gabriel, however, narrowed his eyes at the confrontation. “I have Nathalie and Gorilla to keep track of that for me.”

It took every ounce of self control she had not to snap at him right then.

“I don’t mean to argue,” She began calmly, “But is it really wise to hire someone to care for your own children?”

Gabriel shot her a full-fledged glare. “Felix and Adrien are my children. I am their father, and I will decide what’s best for them.”

Marinette huffed. She tried being polite, tried helping him see reason. The boys may not be her responsibility, but she wasn’t going to stand back and watch them be mistreated like this. “A father doesn’t lock his children up in a mansion and leave employees to care for them.”

“They have everything they need here!” He yelled.

“Except a loving parent who cares for them!” Marinette spat back. “The only way you haven’t abandoned them is by physically leaving. But you’re practically there by holding yourself up in your office all day.”

Gabriel scoffed. “You best mind your tone, Mademoiselle. I don’t have to explain myself to you nor anyone else. Now take your leave before my patience runs dry.”

Marinette’s fists clenched at her sides. How could someone be so stubborn and so arrogant? Why did this man even decide to have kids in the first place?

A light touch on her wrist brought her gaze back to Felix. He didn’t say anything, and his expression didn’t change, but she could see the pleading in his eyes. 

A sigh passed her lips, and she shot one last look at Gabriel before marching through the office doors. 

Another time. She promised herself as Felix trailed behind her. Another time.

~~~~~~

Felix quietly closed the office door behind him, not wanting to disturb Father any more than they already had.

"Well, that didn't go as planned." He muttered to himself. Inviting Marinette over was supposed to impress his Father, not twist his candy-cane tie into a knot. Though, in all honesty, Felix couldn't say he was disappointed. He'd never seen Marinette so utterly enraged before. That girl had turned to ice faster than he could blink, and Felix would be lying if he said he wasn't just a tad love-struck. For someone who usually stumbled over a simple "hello", her tonguelashing towards his Father could be considered quite a feat. Truly magnificent. 

Felix turned around to tell her this himself, but stopped short when he saw her. She was standing in front of him, a dazed look in her eyes as she clutched her shirt, almost like she was trying to hold her own heart. 

Cautiously, he stepped forward. “Marinette? Are you alright?” 

No response.

“Marinette?” He tried again, starting to get worried.

“I yelled at him.”

“Pardon?”

Finally, she looked at him, and he immediately wished that she hadn’t. Her beautiful blue eyes were hollow, haunted. It made his blood run cold. 

“I yelled at him.” She repeated. “I yelled at your Father. What was I thinking? What if he calls security? I’ll never be allowed to talk to you again. My fashion dream is probably ruined-”

“Woah, hey, hey-” Felix tried to sooth, taking her by the shoulders. (Gently, of course) “It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Father’s not going to call security.”

Marinette dug her hands through her hair. “But what if he does? What if I just got you into huge trouble? What if he pulls you and Adrien out of school?”

He pulled her hands out of her hair. “Can I hug you?”

“I- what?” 

“Can I hug you?” Felix said slowly.

She stared at him for a minute, a little confused, but nodded. 

Felix sighed and pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her back. “Just take a deep breath. I promise you that everything’s going to be okay.”

She buried her face into his shirt and sniffled, and he reached up to gently stroke her hair as he felt the wetness of her tears sink into his shoulders. 

“I actually wanted to thank you.” 

Her head jerked back a bit from shock. “Thank me? For what?”

“For sticking up for me and Adrien. Not many people have the courage to stand up to my Father like that, but I’m glad you did.”

Marinette sniffed again and wiped away a stray tear. “I’d do it again if you asked.”

Felix smiled, pulling her back into another hug. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but he did know one thing: he loved Marinette, and he would do everything he could to keep her from crying like this again.

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[shijiujun]

May I please request a fic where LY realises that he is in love with QCS but then agonizes, really agonizes, over it as QCS is a ladies man? I kinda just want LY to suffer a bit while realizing that he took QCS for granted before he gets his happy ending. LY did say he cherished QCS but I wish the series showed more QCS cherishing by him. Thank you and looking much forward to your green dragon gang LY fic!! *__*

sad, hungry, angry and lonely

Jealousy is an ugly thing, and Lu Yao knows he’s the furthest thing from Chusheng’s ideal type. He’s not a nice person, for one. He’s not mature at all and ends up getting into trouble more often than not. He rarely goes out of his way to make someone else happy without something in return.

Most importantly, he’s no woman, and Chusheng is a ladies man.

—

5

Unlike what he’s read in romance novels and heard from some of his friends, no fireworks go off when he realizes that he’s in love with Chusheng.

It’s not something to celebrate about, Lu Yao thinks, a heavy weight settling into his abdomen as he tries to wrap his head around the fact that he prefers Qiao Chusheng to any of the women he’s ever dated in the past few years. That he wants Chusheng more than he has ever wanted anyone else.

He wants Chusheng to have eyes only for him, to reserve all his affection and adoration for him.

Lu Yao watches as Chusheng leaves his car, looking all dapper in a fresh suit. A different outfit from when he was at the station earlier with Lu Yao, and he must’ve gone home to change before picking his date up.

A long, slender leg is revealed from the other side of the car, and as Chusheng helps the woman — his date for the night — out like the gentleman is he is, he doesn’t notice Lu Yao standing there at the entrance to Bai Le Men.

It’s only when the couple turns around, ready to head inside the club that Chusheng’s eyes land on him, and surprise floods him.

“San Tu, what are you doing here?” Chusheng asks. “Did something happen? There isn’t a case, is there?”

I wanted to see you, Lu Yao thinks.

Lu Yao can’t really explain why he’s here either. Realizing that he is in love with Chusheng, the first thing he did was to find him, to take a look at the man he loves. His eyes rove over the features on that lovely, handsome face. From Chusheng’s brows, to his eyes, his nose, his lips, his neck… all the way to his toes.

A man that Lu Yao cannot help but love, and cannot have.

“Nothing much,” Lu Yao says, trying to sound nonchalant even as the pain in his chest burns on. “You’ve never brought me here to have fun even once, just felt like coming over.”

“I-“ Chusheng blinks, then looking between him and his date, he seems a little conflicted, put on the spot. “If you wanted me to bring you, I’ll bring you next time-“

“It’s alright,” the woman hanging on Chusheng’s arm says with a lovely smile, and Lu Yao feels the urge to snatch Chusheng over from her, “Qiao-ge, I’ll get us a table for three and wait for you inside.”

Then charmingly, she turns to Lu Yao and goes, “Detective Lu, I’ve heard a lot about you from Qiao-ge. It’s nice to have you join us today.”

Before Chusheng or Lu Yao can reply, she saunters into the club.

Chusheng sighs, but now that it’s just him and Lu Yao, it’s easier for him to talk.

Stepping forward until he’s right in front of Lu Yao, he says, “Look at how understanding she is. You, on the other hand… I did tell you I had a date tonight, didn’t I?”

And yet, because it’s Lu Yao, because he’s used to Lu Yao being ridiculous and childish, Chusheng’s voice softens as he asks, “Have you eaten dinner? Bai Le Men has excellent snacks on Thursdays-“

Look at how understanding she is.

“I forgot,” Lu Yao interrupts Chusheng, straightening his back. “I’m going home.”

He moves past Chusheng without another look, biting at his lips. Lu Yao is feeling all hot over and a little nauseous, but he doesn’t want to be here for a moment longer. Ignoring Chusheng’s call, Lu Yao walks in the direction of his home quickly, his mind focused on putting one foot after the other, the gravel on the road crunching loudly under his shoes.

Look at how understanding she is.

Of course, Lu Yao laughs, the sound hollow and wistful.

He’s not the least bit understanding.

It hurts like a jagged knife carving away at his flesh bit by bit, knowing that Chusheng is nice to him not because Lu Yao is special to him, but because he needs Lu Yao around to help him solve cases and along the way, he got used to Lu Yao being demanding and unreasonable.

Jealousy is an ugly thing, and Lu Yao knows he’s the furthest thing from Chusheng’s ideal type. He’s not a nice person, for one. He’s not mature at all and ends up getting into trouble more often than not. He rarely goes out of his way to make someone else happy without something in return.

Most importantly, he’s no woman, and Chusheng is a ladies man.

===

4

Lu Yao likes it when Chusheng’s hands are on his skin — wiping at his mouth, grabbing at this wrist, pulling him in around his shoulders — and it’s something that Chusheng continues to do without much thought. If Lu Yao enjoys the attention more than he should, no one is any the wiser.

He should have known that he is anything but special to Chusheng.

Chusheng brings him to Bai Le Men for a night out as promised a few weeks later, and as much as he resents having to spend the next few hours watching Chusheng flirt with other women, it’s more time he has with Chusheng and he’s all the more greedy for it.

Almost fifteen minutes in, Lu Yao is pissed off enough to regret it.

Right in front of him, three women surround Chusheng on both sides, all speaking in sickeningly sweet tones. Lu Yao’s mood darkens for the rest of the night, but he keeps quiet. After all, the food here is good as promised, and as much as he felt the momentary loss of his appetite, Lu Yao reasons that there is no need for him to punish his stomach too. So he buries his head in the dishes and finishes it all.

Halfway through, when Lu Yao looks up, the first thing he sees is Chusheng’s arm is around Mei Xiang’s shoulders, drawing her into his embrace.

The sight makes his blood boil, and if Lu Yao sits here for any longer, he’s afraid he’s going to cause a scene.

“I’m done,” he says, wiping at his own mouth with the napkin on the table and getting to his feet almost petulantly.

“… San Tu?” asks Chusheng, bewildered. “What-“

It’s hardly the gracious thing to do, Lu Yao knows, but he still turns on his heel and leaves the private room Chusheng reserved. He doesn’t stop even after Chusheng calls out for him one more time.

Lu Yao doesn’t know how if he’s disappointed or relieved that Chusheng doesn’t chase after him.

===

3

He doesn’t even make it into the room this time. Chusheng headed straight to Chang San Tang earlier to meet Yao Qin, who may have some leads on the new case they’re on at present. He sent Ah Dou to pick Lu Yao up in the morning and by the time he turns up, he hears soft, melodious laughter coming from the room both of them are in, the door open wide.

Lu Yao pauses in his footsteps before he reaches the door. From where he’s standing, he can see Yao Qin in a fitting, gorgeous green cheongsam, her long hair coiffed to perfection and her makeup accentuating the loveliest features on her face. Out of all the women that Chusheng knows, Lu Yao has to say he actually likes Yao Qin to some degree.

The last time they were here, Lu Yao remembers wolfing down some pastries, the same ones that are sitting on the table in the room right now. Chusheng’s thumb was gentle then, brushing away the crumbs stuck to the side of his mouth.

Today, it seems Yao Qin has that honour instead.

His breath catches in his throat, his eyes wide as he watches Chusheng’s hand reach for Yao Qin’s beautiful face. He forces himself to keep his eyes open as Chusheng’s movements mirror what he did for Lu Yao that afternoon.

She’s like my sister, he said then.

He wonders if he’s like a brother to Chusheng in this case.

It’s Yao Qin who realizes he’s standing frozen outside the door, and the warmth that surfaces on her features eases the tightness in his chest slightly. Lu Yao wants to run, but they have a case to solve.

“I’m hungry,” Lu Yao says instead, schooling his expression and walking in.

“What do you want to eat?” asks Yao Qin, her eyes brightening. “Lu Yao, didn’t you like those dumplings I made the other time? I’ll get the kitchens to send a set up.”

Before Lu Yao can say anything, she’s on her feet and out the door.

“You’re such a glutton,” Chusheng sighs, exasperation obvious as he pats at the seat next to him. “You didn’t even say hello.”

Before his epiphany, Lu Yao might have found Chusheng’s comment fond, but all he hears now is rebuke and disapproval. He picks up the last pastry sitting on the plate in front of him.

It tastes like ashes on his tongue.

===

2

Who was the one who said he would be my wallet, seethes Lu Yao.

His anger simmers like the pot of stew sitting on the stove before him as he tries to tune out what Youning and her new friend, the latest addition to the tabloids that Youning works at are chattering on about. Seated opposite them at the dining table waiting for dinner to be done is Chusheng, who is listening to both women intently, unaware of Lu Yao’s change in mood.

“… Chusheng-ge, I saw this camera at the store on Fu Lu street last week, but… it’s really expensive,” Youning whines. “Chusheng-ge, can you…”

In the span of half an hour, Youning has managed to coax a promise out of Chusheng to buy her an imported dress, and also to bring Youning and her friend out to one of the classy restaurants near Bai Le Men. Xiao Xu came to Shanghai all on her own, leaving her parents behind in Nanjing to better provide for them, and Chusheng-ge, let’s welcome her to the city, what do you say?

Lu Yao looks up, turning around for a peek when he hears the sound of a loud thud. There lying on the table between Chusheng and the two women is his leather wallet.

“Just take my wallet and go, I don’t want to hear any more about this,” sighs Chusheng. “You’re no longer a kid, Youning.”

“Aiya, Ge I know you dote on me the most! Even more than my silly father-“

“Youning, you’re so lucky to have such a doting brother,” Xiao Xu exclaims.

“If you need anything,” Chusheng adds kindly, speaking to Xiao Xu, “Feel free to look me up at the station. It’s tough being in Shanghai alone, without friends and family.”

You’re not that special, Lu Yao bites at his lips as he quickly returns his attention to the pot.

Chusheng has so much money and he never promised that he would be Lu Yao’s exclusive source of money. He has no right to be jealous, he knows that. Furthermore, this is Bai Youning! It’s his sister, and is Lu Yao going to go green with envy over Chusheng’s annoying sister?

Even so, miserable thoughts swirl in his head — Chusheng declared that he would be his wallet, but he refused to pay for Lu Yao’s baguettes a few times too. When Lu Yao asked for Chusheng’s money to buy that claypot over from the kitchen help a few cases ago, the inspector’s unamused glare almost made Lu Yao back down, despite eventually handing over his wallet.

It was simply a few pieces of bread and a pot then, and here Chusheng is at present, easily giving up his actual wallet to Youning to buy a dress and a camera at exorbitant prices.

It’s not that Lu Yao is greedy for the money itself, he has to admit. More than that, he yearns for the attention Chusheng seems to give him, that fond roll of his eyes, that wide, doting smile, whenever he ends up paying for Lu Yao’s meal or shopping. He wants it all to himself.

What if… what if Chusheng stops treating him to things altogether?

Chusheng peels the hard-boiled eggs Lu Yao made during the dinner a little later. He drops one in Lu Yao’s bowl first and Lu Yao should be happy about that, but he can’t find it in himself to be truly delighted when Chusheng drops the second and third eggs into Youning and Xiao Xu’s bowls too.

For the first time in a long while, Lu Yao finds his appetite entirely absent during a meal.

===

1

“She’s someone I might have considered marrying,” says Chusheng wistfully on a Wednesday evening.

They both watch as one of the suspects in the case, now cleared of all charges, walks away, and if Lu Yao wasn’t so in love with Chusheng, he might find himself agreeing to that.

It feels like Tong Li all over again. Seeing Chusheng’s dreamy smiles and that faraway look whenever he thought of the woman, sitting there quietly as support when she turned out to be a murderer and tear drops trickled down Chusheng’s cheek in a rare show of vulnerability, being with him as both their hearts broke for different reasons.

And here this womanizer is all over again, falling in love with another mysterious, intriguing and intelligent woman.

Qiao Chusheng has a type, and Lu Yao is once again reminded of how impossible it is to have his feelings returned.

Lu Yao wants to try. Right this moment, he wants to tell Chusheng just how much he feels, how much he thinks about Chusheng all the time.

How he wants to spend the rest of his life with him.

He knows it’s a lost cause, however. This was a battle lost even before Lu Yao had a chance to fight it and he knew it all along, through every instance of burning jealousy, his eyes green with envy as they tried to devour a man who would never be his.

Chusheng saying this is the last nail on the coffin. As much as Lu Yao wants to ignore the jagged knife digging into his heart, he knows he has no way to tie Chusheng to him.

“Mnn,” he responds, his voice uncharacteristically soft, “You could, if you wanted to.”

“… San Tu-“

“Inspector!” Salim marches into the interrogation cell, saluting Chusheng firmly. “The Commissioner is here in your office looking to speak with you.”

Chusheng’s eyes snap to Lu Yao, and then for some reason, he’s frowning as he grabs onto Lu Yao’s hand. He says, “San Tu, wait for me. I’ll be done in a bit, I have something to say, okay?”

What else is there to talk about?

He doesn’t reply or look at Chusheng, and in the end the man lets him go.

It’s an escape for Lu Yao and he takes it, walking away without another word.

===

0He knows he’s being petulant, but Lu Yao doesn’t have the slightest bit of energy to move. All Lu Yao feels is exhaustion and grief, his limbs leaden with weight as he hides under the covers on his bed. How long has it been? Two days, or three?

Not even Youning has dared to come and disturb him these few days. As much as they don’t get along, Youning can sometimes be terribly attuned to his moods when they’re at extremes. She tried coaxing him out once the first day, and when Lu Yao continued to lie in his bed unmoving, his head covered by the blanket, she left him to it.

He’ll be better once there’s a case. Before that, he’s entitled to a dramatic, ridiculous bout of self-pity as he wallows in utter misery.

Chusheng said he wanted to talk to him, but Lu Yao doesn’t want to hear any of it. He doesn’t want to listen to Chusheng drawing lines and distancing himself away from Lu Yao deliberately because he knows how Lu Yao feels about him. He has to know.

So wrapped up he is in his thoughts that he misses the sound of soft footsteps approaching, and it’s not until the bed dips that Lu Yao realizes there’s someone here in the room with him.

Judging from the lack of noise, it’s probably not Youning.

“You didn’t listen to me finish,” Chusheng’s low voice sounds.

“I wanted to say that she’s someone I might have considered marrying,” he continues with a soft sigh when there’s no response from Lu Yao still. “Before I fell in love with you, stupid.”

At that, Lu Yao finally sits up, the blankets falling from him. Before he can even accuse Chusheng of being a bastard and lying to him right now, the inspector snags Lu Yao’s arm with a firm hand, and Lu Yao almost yelps as he falls right against Chusheng.

He’s too stunned to say anything else.

“I’m sorry it took me a while to notice,” Chusheng murmurs in his ear, his arms tightening around Lu Yao, as if scared that he might run away again. “You must’ve waited for me for quite a while, huh?”

Lu Yao swallows with difficulty, torn between pushing Chusheng away and staying right here where he wants to be.

“You like… women,” he stammers.

“I do,” Chusheng agrees. “But I love you. I don’t care about anyone else.”

“Well I couldn’t tell at all-“

“I haven’t been to Chang San Tang and Bai Le Men in months,” Chusheng interrupts, pressing a kiss behind Lu Yao’s ear and as expected, the action makes Lu Yao weak as he melts entirely against Chusheng now. “I know you don’t like it when I get too close to others. And… I’ll leave my wallet for Youning, but you can have everything else I own.”

After months, months of having to quietly deal with his feelings for Chusheng, this seems too good to be true.

Lu Yao can’t bring himself to pull away, even if this turns out to be a lie.

Gosh, he would give anything for this to not be a lie.

“Why did it take you so long, you bastard,” he chides instead, one hand hitting at Chusheng’s back. “Do you know how long I waited-“

“I know,” Chusheng replies, sounding helpless. “I’m sorry I hurt you. And… thank you for waiting for me. I wanted to tell you for a long time now, but I couldn’t quite figure out where to begin.”

His thumbs carry away the tears on Lu Yao’s face, and his heart breaks at the dark eye circles under those bright eyes.

Chusheng leans forward and kisses Lu Yao sweetly.

When he pulls away later, Lu Yao is smiling a little, and Chusheng finds his own lips curving upwards in answer to that.

“I’ll do everything I can to make you happy, Lu Yao,” he promises, pressing their foreheads together.

“Everything?”

“Everything,” Chusheng agrees with a laugh.

===

There’s a lot Chusheng has to make up for, but here is where he wants to start.

***

[comfy-whumpee]

Dinner And A Show

Part of the Ellis AU. @lonesome--hunter, @iaminamoodymoodtoday, @wildfaewhump, @ishouldblogmore, @lektricwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi.

He was wearing an emerald-green silk shirt and black slacks. His shoes were polished and his hair was brushed and tied back. The ponytail was a little off centre, so that it lay over one shoulder and made a striking contrast with the shirt. He looked amazing – and the button-up sleeves hid all of his scars.

“You’re going to ace it,” Nic said as they fastened his cufflinks. “Just be confident, and don’t hesitate. Remember, this is work, not a real date. You just have to seem genuine.”

“Not a problem,” Ellis said. He briefly flashed a look of wide-eyed, guileless innocence, and Nic laughed. They laughed even as they remembered just how Ellis had come to possess that skill.

“Yeah, like that. You’ll be in control the whole time, honey.”

Ellis nodded, consulting his file one last time before setting it down on the floor. Alistair knelt there, hands holding the chain in his lap, head bent. He would be reading the file, Ellis’s strategy guide, the whole way through the outing, providing Ellis with the ability to check any detail he’d forgotten. No information would escape him. No surprises. He would be in control.

Nic kissed his cheek, and smiled. “Perfect. Go on, taxi’s waiting.”

They watched him go with a wistful smile. His back was straight and his head held high as he descended the stairs to leave. He’d never used to walk like that. He’d never been comfortable as the centre of attention. But then, they were starting to understand. The person he was day to day...wasn’t really him. He only came back to them in those private moments alone.

They hated what he was doing. They hated why he was doing it even more. He’d come out of it, one day.

For Ellis’s part, he was too busy thinking about the meeting. When he arrived, he was still thinking through information he could use. When he greeted her, he made sure his handshake was one she liked.

Handshake: Like she’s trying to crush your fingers and she wants you to do it back.

“Mr Engels,” she said, seeming impressed. “In the flesh.”

Ellis smiled sweetly. “That’s me. Pleasure, Ms Farringdon.”

She allowed him to lead her into the restaurant, and didn’t speak until they were seated. Only once the waiters were at a distance did she say, “I have heard rumours about you. You are... Different to the image I had.”

Ellis smiled a little less warmly now. He knew what the rumours about him were. Some of them, he had planted. “Let me guess. A terrifying crime lord, or Alistair’s sugar baby.”

“The latter,” she acknowledged. “They said you were... Pretty.”

He smiled again. Self-effacing, a touch embarrassed. “I’m glad you think so. But back to the pertinent topic. Why did you agree to meet me? I know you’re not on best terms with the original Engels.”

She looked to the side, prefacing her avoidance of the question. “I don’t recall any significant animosity between us.” Then her eyes returned to him and she smiled. “I was curious, of course. Alistair has worked alone for so long.”

“He has,” Ellis agreed neutrally. He looked down at the menu, considering.

Food: Hates seafood of all kinds. Hates hot food. Subtle flavours.

“I recommend the risotto,” he offered, as he selected the vegetarian ravioli for himself. “Mild flavour, delicate seasoning.”

She raised a sardonic eyebrow. “No starter?”

“Oh, naturally,” he said smoothly. “But the main course should be accounted for, when ordering the first.”

She hummed a brief chuckle. One slip, navigated successfully. He returned to looking at the drinks, until she spoke again.

“Why didn’t he come himself?”

Her tone was hardened around the edges, marked by her suspicion. There were rumours about him, yes, but she didn’t know that this was the person she’d expected to meet. He could have sent a decoy. He could be the decoy, for Alistair.

“Indisposed,” he said simply. None of her doubt was being expressed aloud, and he didn’t need to address it yet. “He sends his regards.”

She rolled her eyes. “Unlikely. He doesn’t like me.”

Alistair: ‘She’s a ruthless egomaniac who would kill her own mother for a tactical advantage.’

“He respects you,” he replied, setting his menu aside for the sake of signalling to their waiter that they were ready. “He did not think you should be subjected to dinner with him. Colleagues you may be, but friends, you are not.”

She considered that for a moment. He sat still under her blue eyes, reading his expression as best she could. He made sure to look simple, pleasant and honest, and while she wouldn’t truly believe that, the plausible deniability was useful.

She looked all the way to his shirt cuffs before looking back up. “Nice cufflinks.”

The formality was eroding. Ellis smiled, touching one. “Thank you. I hope you find dinner with me tolerable, if not pleasant.”

She propped her elbow on the table, chin resting across the back of her hand as she regarded him more intensely. Under his shirt the scars hid, and itched, and she kept looking.

Farringdon shook her head. “You don’t have to try so hard, cherub. Your partner and I have worked together enough in the past that you have some goodwill. Let’s just try to have fun.”

Ellis smiled properly, eyes bright with perfectly practised sincerity. “Let’s.”

-

Ellis closes his eyes with his hands poised over the keyboard.

Absolute silence in his home. Alistair is by the desk, waiting for an order. Nic is outside in the garden, reading under the porch. It’s raining, but Ellis had the office soundproofed a while ago. No sound in. No sound out.

He reaches for her.

Vision. Hearing. He connects himself up to her, taking in everything that she does. His hands start to move on the keyboard.

Computer, OS, email client, email address, every one that he can read down the side of her screen. Subject titles, as fast as he can type them, before she clicks off.

Email drafting. He transcribes in synchronicity with her, a second behind the movements of her body. He follows her pauses, her typos, her corrections, her edits. He is exactly as focused as she is, her words flowing onto her page and onto his without pause.

Email sent. Closed. More subject titles for what’s in her inbox. More in her sent items.

A video of horses. Even professional murderers have hobbies.

Then she checks it. Finally, she opens her phone and checks it, and he sees clearly the little GPS tracker she put on his bag when she thought he wasn’t looking - and he wasn’t, not with his own eyes, he practically handed her the opportunity. The bag is on a bus right now, and she closes the app, returning her attention to the computer.

A file. Title, date, last modified, author, and the content as fast as he can type it, which is faster than she can read it. Some distant thought recognises that the file is about him. He doesn’t pause. He will have her knowledge, all of her knowledge, and then he will know exactly what she thinks of him.

A notification on her phone pings and she looks down at it. Payment confirmation. He catches the banking app, the mobile network, the amount. She checks the GPS again, and sees its location.

She looks back at the profile of him and he types out the details of his own weekly routine without stopping to think about what it might mean until she gets up, and picks up a pre-packed bag, and takes one last look at her file and his photo and he watches her read the line about where he will be at this time of day, which he isn’t, because he’s watching her, and she heads out of the house.

She gets into her car, license plate noted, make, model, colour, landmarks around where she is driving from, street names, he can work out where she’s based later, and then she drives to his gym.

Before she gets out of the car, she checks her bag. He’s not surprised to see what’s inside.

In the pause as she looks, he writes a note to himself. Cancel gym membership.

He watches her move through the rooms in search of him. He watches her circle the property. He takes notes on how she enters and exits, how she avoids notice, the way she glances for cameras and speaks to those she passes as though she were a normal patron. He will learn from her, as he has learned from everyone in his life.

She leaves after half an hour of looking for him, bag still slung over her shoulder. She gets back into her car and pulls out a different phone. Dials a contact, and Ellis’s fingers fly to record the number.

“Hello.”

Ellis’s fingers stop.

“He wasn’t there.”

“Well, keep trying. You only have to find him once. I’m a patient man.”

The line disconnects.

Ellis opens his eyes. At the bottom of his garbled, rushed, typo-ridden document, there is a single word spelt with precision.

Harvey.

He takes a deep breath, and rests his wrists on the desk as the assassin drives home.

Harvey is trying to kill him.

[firebrands]

a catalog of non-definitive acts | steve/tony

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark (mention of Bruce Wayne/Tony Stark), mature, 3.5k, jealousy at the gala or: panic, at the disco | previous ||  on ao3 

Tony adjusts his tie for the third time that night as he waits for Steve in the living room. Steve had drawn the short straw to accompany Tony to a charity gala—this time, for upgrading a hospital.

Tony hasn’t spoken to him much since he’d snuck out of the clinic and developed a new design for a jet. He tries not to read into the fact that Steve hasn’t tried to speak to him either. In any case, this song and dance isn’t anything new; they’ve been assigned to attend fancy dinners together, and tonight doesn’t strike Tony as anything different.

Except when the elevator doors open, Steve is standing inside wearing a deliciously cut suit, dark blue silk with black satin lapels. For a second, Tony is speechless, then he says: “Is that Ferragamo?”

Steve ducks his head. “Natasha helped,” he says, sounding sheepish.

“It looks good,” Tony says, trusting that he sounds offhand about it, trusting that his voice doesn’t betray the split second choice to say it not you. Steve holds the door open for Tony, and they settle into a calm silence as the elevator whizzes down to the building lobby. Happy’s waiting for them, a loan from Pepper that only ever happens for big galas like this one.

The silence continues in the Rolls, and for a brief moment Tony considers resting his hand on the seat, just to see what Steve would do. But it strikes him too much as a move meant for prom night, and they’re way past acting like teenagers. He wants to know where Steve went, why he didn’t come back, why he hasn’t sought out Tony since. He wants to know where he stands in all of this.

He wants to know if he means anything. If he could ever mean anything.

But he only has enough emotional bandwidth for about two hours at the gala tonight, and they have to present a united front. It’s no use getting into a discussion now, he tells himself. He won’t admit that he’s more afraid to find out the answers.

He and Steve stand side by side for photos at the entrance, then are hustled inside by an organizer. She tries to go through the main guests of the night (code for the largest potential donors), but Tony waves her away. It’s almost rude, that they don’t think he’d know. Steve, meanwhile, stays for the quick briefing, and Tony leaves them to begin mingling.

It’s from this brief act of hubris that Tony is greeted by the sight of guests crowding around a billionaire that is decidedly not him. Tony frowns, and then realization dawns on him.

“Brucie, baby,” he cries out, and the aforementioned billionaire turns to look at Tony, along with his gaggle of onlookers. Bruce looks immaculate, as always, and he pulls Tony into a tight hug.

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” he mutters, his breath hot against Tony’s ear.

“But you let everyone call you Brucie,” Tony whines as he pulls away and gives Bruce a once over.

Bruce rolls his eyes fondly and begins to steer Tony away from the crowd and towards the bar. If Tony knows Bruce Wayne (and he does, biblically) he knows too that Bruce was just as aware of the cameras raised up to document their greeting and wanted a brief moment of privacy.

“So where’s your date?” Bruce asks as he makes eye contact with the bartender and throws up two fingers.

Tony shakes his head in response. “No date, just Captain America.”

Bruce barks out a laugh. “Then you should’ve had a grander entrance.”

Tony frowns, because he’s right—in another world, a topsy turvy absurd universe, they could’ve walked into the gala hand in hand. They’d smile for the cameras, and Steve would duck his head down to whisper in Tony’s ear about how he was looking forward to going home already, and Tony would laugh, and lean even closer and Steve would reward him with a small kiss, in front of everyone, and—

“Well, where’s your date, then?” Tony snaps.

Bruce shrugs, and for a wild moment Tony is distracted by how broad his shoulders are. “Maybe I came to New York to find a date,” he says, nonchalant. Then he angles his body closer towards Tony. “Maybe I came to see my old friend,” he purrs.

Tony makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Fuck you, Wayne.”

“That an offer I hear?” Bruce’s grin is sharp as a knife’s edge, and Tony is briefly transported to his earlier days, wild and exuberant, hand in hand with Bruce as they partied like the world was ending.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Could you at least let me go through the room and secure some donations before you proposition me?”

Bruce sighs, exasperated. “Fine. Find me if you want to talk.” He winks at Tony then saunters away, almost immediately swallowed up by a new crowd of hangers-on.

Tony steels himself, finishes his drink, and steps into the crowd. His gaze is drawn to Steve, already mid-conversation, eyebrows drawn together in an earnest expression as he undoubtedly discusses the importance of their cause.

As the night drones on, Tony finds himself drawn more and more back to Bruce, who’s rested his hand just above Tony’s elbow and plied him with little plates of food for the third time now. It’s nice, to be doted on, and to be doted on publicly to boot. Tony’s in the middle of discussing the recent merger when he feels Bruce stand beside him, hors d'oeuvres in hand.

Tony turns and smiles, accepts the plate without any comment, and lets Bruce take the lead; the oil heiress Tony was speaking to moments prior is enamored by Bruce, and is evidently overjoyed at having both billionaire bachelors at her attention.

He focuses on chewing his food, watching Bruce in the corner of his eye. Again, he finds himself considering this option: it would be complicated, surely, but every relationship that involved Tony was invariably so. It could be easy, too, though. Somehow. As Tony licks sauce off his fingers, he thinks, well—maybe. It’s been years since he and Bruce had really spent time together, and then Bruce had disappeared and reappeared and Tony had done the same.

Donation secured, Bruce excuses himself and Tony from the conversation. “Smoke breakCigarette?” he asks, and Tony nods. They head out to the balcony slowly, stopping every few steps to greet someone or other. As Tony’s about to cross the threshold of the room, he feels like he’s being watched—not a new feeling, or an unwelcome one, but intense enough to give Tony pause. He turns, doing a quick survey of the room. He catches sight of Steve, surprisingly only a few feet away from him. Steve’s looking at a painting, his neck craned up to examine the work.

Tony furrows his brow and finally follows Bruce out into the cold night. “I thought you quit smoking,” Tony says, walking up to Bruce, who’s resting his forearms against the railing of the balcony.

“I did,” Bruce answers, casting a glance over his shoulder to meet Tony’s eyes. He jerks his head forward, beckoning Tony closer. “What would you say if I said that I just wanted to get you out here alone?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “I’d say that we’re above using cheap lines like that,” he says, bumping Bruce’s shoulder with his as he too surveys the city. “It’s a nice night out.”

“It is,” Bruce answers. There’s a bit of wistfulness to his voice, and if Tony didn’t know him better, he’d leave the observation at that. But there’s something else, underneath it all, and ain’t that a kick in the head? He wonders if he’s telegraphing the same things to Bruce. If, after all these years, they still know each other.

Bruce turns to Tony, a soft smile forming on his lips as Tony mirrors his movement. “So?” he says, running his hand down the lapel of Tony’s jacket.

“So,” Tony repeats, taking a step forward.

“You’re sure you don’t have a date tonight?” Bruce asks, fingers ghosting over the thin fabric above the arc reactor in Tony’s chest.

Tony shakes his head. “No.”

Bruce leans closer, his breath sending tingles down Tony’s spine. “Because tall, blonde, and buff over there seems to think otherwise,” he whispers.

Tony looks up with a start and turns to where Bruce has cocked his head. True enough, there’s Steve, and Tony catches the exact moment when his expression shifts from irritation to surprise.

Steve’s gaze meets his, and it should be comical, the way he looks like a deer in the headlights as he registers Tony’s gaze, but Tony’s too perplexed by that look Steve was giving Bruce to laugh.

Bruce, however, chortles.

At this, Steve turns abruptly and makes his way back inside.

A strange feeling roils in Tony’s belly, and he takes a step forward, intent on following after Steve. He catches himself and looks back at Bruce.

“Go on,” Bruce says. “I don’t think I can take him in a fight, anyway.”

“What do you mean you—“ Tony stops as realization dawns on him. “You!”

“He’s been staring at you half the night,” Bruce says, “Figured you both needed a push in the right direction.”

“Bruce Wayne I am forty years old. I don’t need you meddling—” Tony begins, upset at the feeling of his face heating with embarrassment.

Bruce shushes him, rests his hand on Tony’s back and begins to push him toward the door. “Just go, Tony,” he says.

So Tony does.

Just as the door to the balcony is about to close, Bruce yells after him: “And if it doesn’t work out, you have my number!”

Tony rolls his eyes and walks past all the onlookers. If he didn’t know better he’d think Bruce wasn’t just teasing him. But he does know, even if only a little bit, that this is all an act. They’re both too old to be playing each other like this and meaning it.

Tony finds Steve standing by the bar, two empty glasses in front of him and his phone screen lighting up his face. He’s looking intently at whatever’s on his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen.

“Nothing’s gonna happen if you don’t move your fingers,” Tony says, waggling his eyebrows a little as Steve looks up at him.

Steve smiles, or tries to: his eyebrows raise and his lips are tight as they curl up.

They stare at each other for a moment, and then Steve clears his throat. “Well. I’m going to go get a glass of water,” he says.

Tony nods pointedly at the glass in Steve’s hand, still half-full.

Steve’s smile tightens (and Tony didn’t think that would be possible), but then Tony’s gaze is drawn back to Steve’s hand when he hears a strange crunching sound. The next thing he knows, the glass is in fragments on the floor, the water pooled around it making everything glimmer.

“Oh,” Steve says, very softly, and then once again leaves Tony.

Tony turns to the onlookers, sheepish smile on his face, before he makes his own exit.

  The lobby of the hotel is mercifully empty at this hour, and Tony situates himself a few seats away from the exit. There are a few paps still around, sure, but he knows them and they know him and there isn’t really anything newsworthy anymore about Tony Stark hunkering down in a hotel lobby. Still, there’s the cursory stolen shot. Tony doesn’t even flip them off this time.

He’s typing out his message to Happy about swinging ‘round when he hears familiar laughter—

And there’s Bruce Wayne, his arm around the waist of what Tony the oil heiress he was speaking to earlier. At this, the photographers take notice and stand, crowding around them for what’ll inevitably be another tired headline about who Bruce is bringing home.

Still, Bruce manages to catch Tony’s eye, and Tony knows—he knows how it goes. There’s a look Bruce gives him that won’t telegraph the same emotion in photos, a small turn down his lips: What happened?

Tony sighs, shrugs, and turns back to his phone. Happy’s ETA is in two minutes, and his phone buzzes again with a message from Bruce: Ok so maybe i can take him. U need me to? A small smile forms on Tony’s lips, affection warming him up from the inside.

Nah. can fight my own battles now. I am iron man, u know

Bruce replies almost immediately, which makes Tony feel a little guilty for the woman ostensibly sharing the back seat with Bruce.

You’ll always be Tony to me.

Tony’s about to let his sentimentality get the best of him when he feels a presence by his side. He glances over and sees Steve, hands in his pockets, looking at the decor of the lobby like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

Annoyance surges inside Tony so quickly that he suddenly has half a mind to ask Bruce to swing back and pick him up, maybe the three of them can have fun and Steve can go fuck himself—but, as if on cue, Happy arrives.

Tony closes his eyes and counts to ten. He’s never had to do this before, hold himself back, keep quiet, but he knows he has to this time. When Tony finally opens his eyes he’s marginally calmer, but the feeling evaporates at the sight of Steve holding the door open for him.

“I can do it myself,” he snaps, and for a second he and Steve share a shocked silence at his tone. Then Tony gets inside the car and slams the door shut, and turns to look out the window once Steve settles in beside him.

They’re quiet in the car, something jangly playing on the radio as they move through traffic. Tony focuses his attention on every single shop sign they pass.

He startles when he feels Steve’s hand on his knee, and Tony turns as Steve reaches out to clasp Tony’s hand in his. He hadn’t noticed that Steve had put the privacy screen up, and he lets out a breath he’d sucked in when he’s looked to check—and isn’t it absolutely insane that now he’s the one worried about who’ll see?

Tony’s thoughts snap back to Steve when he tightens his grip on Tony’s hand, as if asking for his attention. He looks up at Steve, who looks at him so earnestly it makes Tony want to scream, makes him want to tear out his hair, because he looks so fond.

Steve smiles, small and shy, then bites his lip, and Tony watches all of these emotions cross Steve’s face hungrily, the feeling informed by a strange fear that tomorrow he might not be allowed to do this. Maybe that’s it—he’s afraid of losing whatever tenuous hold he has on Steve, is afraid of Steve tiring of him, the way everyone has. The way they always will.

Steve stops chewing on his lip and it’s pretty and pink now, so Tony can’t help but stare. The shy smile returns to Steve’s lips, and he tugs at Tony’s hand, pulling him closer.

Tony follows, and lets out a small sigh when Steve finally kisses him.

Steve deepens the kiss almost immediately, hand sliding up Tony’s thigh then gripping his hip, and next thing Tony knows he’s on Steve’s lap, grinding down on him, and god he’s never been so thankful to have top of the line as his standard, because this car’s got to have some kind of noise cancelling feature or something and then Steve grinds up against him, their cocks sliding together through their pants, and Tony thinks, half-hysterically, is a car really top of the line if there’s no lube compartment?

Tony’s so busy kissing Steve that he doesn’t register the car slowing down, but apparently Steve does, because all of the sudden he’s deposited back to his side of the seat, tie only a little askew.

Steve’s in the middle of tucking his shirt back into his pants when Happy knocks on the screen, sounding a bit tentative when he says, “you alright back there boss?”

“All good,” Tony croaks, throwing another cursory glance back at Steve, who pulls angrily at his bowtie and stuffs it into his pocket as he exits the car. His cheeks are flushed, and there’s a frown that starts in his eyebrows and ends at the pinch of his lips.

Ask anyone and he’d probably just told Tony off; they’d probably just shouted at each other in the back of the car.

“Thanks, Happy,” Tony says, waving as he walks backward towards the elevator. It’s a good thing his pants are dark, and Steve keeps his head down as they walk toward the elevator.

They’re so silent, Tony fights back the urge to whistle as they wait for the elevator.

Once they’re inside the elevator, though, all bets are off; Steve pushes him flush against the wall and kisses him hungrily, again, as if no time had passed between them.

Tony’s about to shove his hand down Steve’s pants when the door dings open. Steve straightens up, and Tony’s about to kiss him again, keep things going into his penthouse, except—it’s not his penthouse.

It’s Steve’s floor.

Tony’s stomach sinks with understanding, and he tries valiantly not to slouch into himself. How could this be happening? Why was Steve doing this? No one had seen them, and no one would know if Steve spent a few more hours with him in the penthouse; god knows they’ve done it before.

Steve leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Tony’s cheek. “Good night, Tony,” he says, and there’s a strange, sad look in his eye that makes Tony grab Steve’s hand.

Steve looks down at Tony’s fist. He doesn’t say anything. So Tony lets go, swallows down all his questions as he lets the doors slide shut, gaze never leaving the sight of Steve’s retreating back.

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 22 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Thank you for being patient with our slower posting schedule. We love you so much and we’re so grateful for any feedback! Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Everyone survived the Galactica runway show.  

This Chapter: Time for the afterparty! (And after-afterparty, in the case of one couple.)

***

“The Grand Hotel, please.”

“Right away ma’am.”

Katya checked her bag, just to make sure that she had the paper invitation to the Galactica afterparty that Trixie had given her. The Galactica parties were legendary and Trixie’s phone had been ringing off the hook since Pearl had announced on her twitter that the location had been booked.

Galactica had rented out the entire hotel for the party, and they had even booked a selected amount of hotel rooms for VIP guests if anyone ended up partying too hard. By the time that Katya’s taxi pulled up to the curb of the hotel, the paparazzi was there, their flashes and cameras going off again and again as they took pictures of the designers, bloggers, socialites, models and fashion editors who were arriving. Katya took a deep breath, but thankfully no one noticed her.

“Hey sugarbutt.” Trixie smiled brightly as he spotted Katya making her way towards him. She was beautiful as always, but tonight it was like she was glowing, a sight for sore eyes after Trixie had spent three days looking at angry, moody models who never smiled.

The two kissed, and Trixie held out a glass for Katya.

“It’s sparkling cider. Violet found one in the exact same shade as the champagne.” Katya smiled, thankful for the fact that she wouldn’t have to explain herself all night.

“She thinks of everything, doesn’t she?”

“It’s almost freaky.”

Katya giggled and took a small sip of her drink, before flagging down a waiter who was carrying around a tray of canapés.

“So how has your day been?” Trixie had found a bench for them to sit at, so he was now tucked into Katya’s side, occasionally getting a bite or two from the food Katya had collected along with sips of her drink which Trixie liked a lot more than the champagne he had gotten himself.

“Pretty good. One of the kids offered me a cigarette from his locker stash, and said he had more if I agreed to go on a date with him behind the bike shed. Unfortunately he was seven, so I had to confiscate everything; imagine the great romance I killed.” Katya laughed and gave Trixie one of the salmon hors d'oeuvres from her plate.

“Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova, destroyer of hearts.”

***

Courtney stood with Adore and Tati, telling them all about her encounter that morning with Willam. She still didn’t know quite what to make of the boy. It wasn’t the first time she’d been on the receiving end of such eager advances, but there was something a bit off about it. Courtney couldn’t exactly put her finger on it.

“I mean, the roses were really sweet, you know?” she said. “And anyone who likes Sólseturstríðsmenn has to be at least a little awesome, right?”

“Totally!” Adore enthused.

“Eh, I don’t know.” Tati sipped her cocktail. “He sounds pretty creepy to me.”

“He doesn’t feel creepy. Just a bit…” Courtney searched for the right word, but found herself at a loss. “He’s just really different from all the guys I’ve dated before. But like, considering my history, maybe that’s a good thing.”

“I’ll say! Remember we used to call you the Douche Magnet?” Adore laughed.

“Yeah, I loved that,” Courtney told her, grimacing. “And one date can’t hurt, right?”

“Carpe diem, bitch!” Adore agreed, then began waving excitedly to someone over Courtney’s shoulder. “B!”

Courtney turned to see Adore’s sister, Bianca, approaching them. She’d only met Bianca twice before, but of course she knew all about her: how she was one of the most powerful women in New York, how she took care of Adore, basically like a second mother. And how, in spite of being siblings, she was as unlike Adore as night and day.

Adore was tall and lanky, with an easy laugh and charmingly youthful demeanor. She managed to look cool with randomly thrown-together outfits and messy hair that told the world she didn’t give a fuck.

Bianca, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more of a perfectionist. Every detail of her appearance was intentional, from her elaborate updo with not a hair out of place, to the pressed seams on her perfectly tailored designer clothes, the blue dress she was wearing today fitting her like a glove, hugging every curve--another difference from Adore. As she wrapped her arm around her little sister’s waist, Courtney saw clearly just how different they looked, Bianca smaller and curvier, with rounded hips, a tiny waist, and a bigger chest than Adore’s. Much bigger, Courtney couldn’t help but notice, accentuated by her low neckline.

It wasn’t until Adore spoke next that Courtney caught herself staring, a blush rising to her cheeks as she looked up quickly to Bianca’s face, brown eyes staring directly into hers, dimples appearing in her cheeks as she smiled.

“B, you remember my friends, Tatianna…”

Tati grinned, sticking out her hand, thrilled to be meeting the famous editor-in-chief.

“Hi! Omigod, it’s such an honor to finally meet you-”

“Yeah, hi,” Bianca said, giving her a cursory pat on the shoulder, her eyes never leaving Courtney’s.

“...and Courtney.”

“Hey.” Courtney managed a smile in spite of her painfully hot cheeks, praying that she didn’t embarrass herself in front of this important woman.  

“Hi there. I hear you’re working at Galactica,” Bianca said.

“Yeah, about a month now.”

“Impressive.”

“Thank you.” A thrill rippled down Courtney’s spine. That was the first time anyone who meant anything had implied that what she was doing was something to be proud of. Knowing that she’d made even the slightest impression on Bianca made her feel invincible.  

“You’re in Fame’s office, right?” Bianca’s head cocked slightly to the side, and Courtney felt a little bit of that familiar dread creep into her stomach, praying that she didn’t seem anything other than grateful to be working for Miss Fame.

“Yes. I’m her second assistant.” She forced another smile.  

“In that case, I think we better get you a stronger drink,” Bianca said, with a conspiratorial wink and another flash of those dimples.

Courtney bit her lip. The light shade at her boss made her feel special, almost like they had a secret between them. Bianca was one of Fame’s best friends, but unlike Adore, she was also a work colleague. So it made sense that she had a bit more insight into the way she ran her office. Of course, if Courtney agreed too enthusiastically, there was a chance that she’d ruin this very tentative new alliance, so instead she just giggled charmingly and shook her head.

“That’s okay. I’m still technically on the clock, and I have to work tomorrow, so...better stick with this thimbleful of champagne.” She held up her glass, lashes fluttering.  

“Very responsible,” Bianca said, then turned to Adore and asked, “How is she your friend?”  

“Opposites attract?” Adore guessed.

“Humanity is a rich tapestry,” Courtney added, taking a delicate sip of her champagne as Bianca cackled gleefully.

“That it is.” She held Courtney’s gaze for a few more moments, before noticing someone nearby flagging her and sighing slightly, turning to Adore with an eye roll. “I guess I better go work the room some more. We still on for Saturday?” she asked, giving Adore another squeeze.

“If you’re paying, I’m there!” Adore agreed cheerfully, accepting a kiss on the cheek.

“Perfect.” Bianca turned back to Courtney. “Nice seeing you again.”

“Yeah, you too,” Courtney said, swallowing. All this focused attention was making her feel a bit lightheaded.

“Bye kiddos, have fun. But not too much!”

“No promises!” called Adore.

“Byee,” Courtney breathed, watching her leave, a strangely wistful feeling curling in her stomach. She took another sip of her drink, wondering what it was she was feeling...she supposed it was mostly envy, which made her a bit ashamed. As much as she loved her best friend, she had to admit that right now, she couldn’t help but be jealous that she had Bianca in her life, a constant and reassuring presence supporting everything she did. After all, how different would Courtney’s life be if her brother had even a tenth of the influence or respect (or money) that Bianca had? She shook the thought out of her mind, sighing slightly. It was no use wishing for something that wasn’t possible.

She was so buried in her own thoughts that she completely missed the pointed look that Adore and Tati exchanged over her head, nodding distractedly when Tati announced that she was getting another drink.

***

The party was going well. Very well. Violet was leaning against a wall, an empty and clean champagne glass in her hand. She had nicked it from one of the party planners, the women out mingling with the party guests, the only thing singling them out the clear plastic earpieces all of them wore.

Violet was keeping an eye on Fame, her boss looking like a vision in white. On anyone else, it would have looked bridal, but Fame always managed to carry herself with grace, wisdom and dignity like an aura around her.

Violet felt a presence besides her, someone sliding in right next to her, the scent of tobacco and cedarwood catching her nose.

“Hello lovely eyes.”

“Hey,” Violet turned her head, unable to help the smile blooming on her lips, and the sense of pride that settled in the bottom of her stomach.

He leaned in for a kiss, and even though Violet hesitated for just a second, she couldn’t resist the siren call, the fact that she was in public be damned.

“Mmh-” Sutan broke their kiss, a smirk on his lips. Violet smiled, and turned her head. “You look gorgeous.”

Violet had gotten dressed in the bathroom, changing from her daytime look and into something appropriate for a night out. It had been a bit of a struggle, but she had managed, her hair twirled into a French twist that she hoped suited the soft lilac of her dress.

“I could say the same to you.” The praise was an absolute understatement, Sutan looking downright hot in a perfectly fitted suit, an ochre shirt causing his skin to practically glow.

“So-” Sutan leaned back against the wall, apparently more than content to hang out on the edge of the party, no one looking their way. “Have you had a good day?”

Viole wasn’t sure if it was good, trying to predict Fame’s mood when she was outside of the office even harder than normal, but it was Fashion Week, and that meant she could withstand any challenge.

“Yeah, and you?”

“No major emergencies.” Sutan pushed a gentle elbow into her side, and Violet could see the smile on his face. He was obviously teasing her, mischief in his eyes, but Violet also knew how fast things could go sour when models were involved, the girl who had torn a dress thankfully not one of Sutan’s hires.

“Really all we can aim for.”

Sutan chuckled, and Violet felt that heat return, her stomach doing a pleasant flop.

“Can I get you a drink?” Sutan nodded to Violet’s empty glass. She shot a quick glance at Fame, her boss completely caught up in conversation, a bright smile on her face, Patrick at her side, and Violet decided to take the chance, to actually give in to Sutan’s temptations for once.

“I’d like that.”

***

“Well, we’ve done it again!” Raja exclaimed, one arm tight around Raven’s waist as she toasted her friends.

“Cheers!” Raven cried, clinging to her fiancée as everyone clinked their glasses, her hair still smelling like the spray the makeup team always preferred.

It had taken forever to get everyone together in the bar, to take a moment with her nearest and dearest, but as Raja looked around, the hassle had been absolutely worth it.

“Cheers indeed.” Fame giggled, already adorably tipsy on champagne and adrenaline.  “Thank you so much for all of your support...”

Raja took a moment, a little afraid that Fame would start crying, finishing a collection always exhausting her, but she didn’t have to worry.

“Like we have a choice, Blondie,” Bianca joked as she joined the group, tugging lightly on Fame’s hair.

“On a personal note, I’m a little sad that no models fell off the runway or tripped on their hems where we could see them,” said Detox, earning some side-eye from his wife, Juju giving him that warning look before he quickly added, “But I’m super proud of you. Great show.”

Raja smiled, looking around at her friend’s gorgeous faces, before realizing that her brother was nowhere to be found.

Where was Sutan?

***

“Nh-” Violet bit her lip, swallowing a moan as Sutan placed a kiss against her neck, his stumble scratching her in the most delicious way.

She hadn’t seen Sutan all week, his touch just as good as she remembered it, the temptation to fall into him and disappear almost too great to withstand.

If you asked Violet how she had ended up tucked away in a dark corner on the building's patio, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to answer. Sutan had asked if she wanted to go outside, his hand in hers before she had made up her mind. There were people up there, the faint sound of chatter almost reaching her ears, but it didn’t feel like it mattered, Violet completely lost to the world.

“Ah” Violet gasped, her fingers desperately tightening, grabbing the fabric of Sutan’s jacket. “Please-”

“Mmh?”

Violet could practically feel the smirk, Sutan humming against her skin.

“Feels good?”

It felt good, very, very good.

Violet was practically in a daze, Sutan’s touch so very pleasant, but then, she felt fingers on her neck, fingertips brushing her skin as Sutan reached up, up, up.

“No-” Violet grabbed Sutan’s wrist, stopping him inches from her head. “Don’t touch my hair.”

There was still a chance she’d have to be presentable, still a risk Fame would call on her. She had reacted without thinking, Sutan looking at her, and for a minute, Violet worried if he would get mad, but then, he chuckled, his face breaking into a smile.

“Of course, lovely eyes.”

***

Pearl strolled through the party, wondering how much longer she had to walk around engaging in small talk and sipping on weak cocktails before she could leave. One of her friends had tweeted about a new club in Queens and she was hoping to check it out, but she really wanted to go home and change first.

Pearl knew she looked good in her skin tight black dress, but she knew that she’d look even better in the slutty cropped number she had at home.

She glanced at the exit.

Would Fame get upset if she left? She had made an appearance, so what more could she be expected to do?

Pearl made her way towards the door, giving the cursory smiles and waves as she went, when someone caught her eye. Adore Delano was standing with a couple of girls at a cocktail table, gazing at her longingly, cheeks immediately turning a deep red when Pearl gave her a smile in return.

When Pearl first met Adore, she’d seemed so young, and it was easy to dismiss her as a sweet kid. Sure, she flirted harmlessly with her, but nothing ever went beyond that. But the way she was eyeing her up at the moment, Pearl couldn’t help thinking what a fun little adventure she’d be. For all her bravado and tough girl front, Pearl had a sneaking suspicion that she could quite easily be reduced to a whimpering, needy mess.

She approached the group, slipping in beside Adore to say hello.

“Hi, Pearl!” Courtney said cheerfully.

“Hey, Courtney.” Pearl could feel Adore shift beside her, but decided to hold off on giving her any attention for a moment, concentrating on her friend. “People are totally obsessed with that picture of you from Monday.”

“Really?!” Courtney squealed, her eyes lighting up.

“It was cute,” Pearl said, amused by how easily excitable her young coworker was. “We should do it again some time.”

Courtney’s mouth dropped open.

“Sure!” she said.

Pearl then shifted her gaze to Adore, touching her wrist lightly.

“Hi, Adore.”

“Hiii,” Adore breathed. “Um...can I buy you a drink?”

“It’s an open bar,” Courtney pointed out, and Adore elbowed her in the ribs. Seeming to catch on to the situation, Courtney cleared her throat and grabbed the hand of their other friend, saying, “You know what? I need to go introduce Tati to...uh...Max!”

She yanked the girl away, leaving Pearl alone with Adore, fingers still lingering on her wrist.

“So, um…” Adore swallowed. “Drink?”

“I have a better idea,” Pearl said, leaning in close to say, “My friend just told me about a party in Queens, and I was gonna head there now. Wanna join?”

Adore nodded, hypnotized. She threw back the rest of her drink and slung her mini-backpack over her shoulder.

“Thanks for the invite,” she said, lashes fluttering.

Pearl grinned, telling her, “You can thank me later,” and tossing in a wink for good measure.

Adore opened her mouth, but nothing came out except the cutest little sigh. Oh yeah. She was going to be fun.

***

“Max!”

Max turned around, a plate of finger foods in hand. He spotted Courtney, the girl bouncing as she came towards him, her blonde hair now a candy floss pink.

“Hello Courtney.”

“This is my friend-” Courtney pulled someone forward, “Tatianna Santolini. She’s a model.”

Max wasn’t surprised in the least. Tatianna was the perfect height, slim, but not unhealthy, the slight muscles in her arms promising a hidden strength. Her skin was a wonderful caramel, her eyes a lovely hazel.

“Courtney!” Tatianna pushed her friend, a smile on her lips, and Max saw that her teeth checked out too, her smile bright and perfectly in place. “I’m not a model.”

“You’re not?” Max was confused, a girl that was that pretty and apparently also humble in Manhattan a rare occurrence.

“Yet!” Courtney held up a finger. “She just moved here.”

“Ah.” That made a lot more sense. “Do you have any potentials?”

“Potentials?” Tatianna looked like she didn’t understand him, and Max realised that she was really and truly not a model.

“Know what?” Max looked at her. “Let me take your picture. I know someone who’d be very interested.”

***

Adore was in absolute heaven, pressed up against Pearl on the dance floor, the crush of bodies around them forcing them to stay close. They’d taken some Molly when they arrived, and were now blissfully rolling, the electricity of the music pumping through Adore’s blood.

Pearl’s breath against her cheek felt amazing, and Adore rubbed against her, face seeking out the warmth of her neck. When they finally kissed, Adore thought she might swoon, her entire body tingling with pleasure.

“You’re so fucking hot…” Adore said, and Pearl laughed, taking Adore’s face in her hands and looking her up and down.

“Look who’s talking,” said Pearl, and Adore pressed in closer, feeling her knees start to buckle.

What little that remained of Adore’s self-control had dissolved by now, and she gripped Pearl’s waist tightly, hips rutting against her.

“I need you,” she whimpered.

Pearl smiled--a slow, lazy smirk spreading across her face like the cat that caught the canary. “Oh yeah? Then I guess we should get out of here…”

***

Fame bit her lip. Her feet ached, her dress was uncomfortable, her hairstyle hurt and even though she was tipsy, she was cold.

The only thing that made the wait bearable was the fact that Patrick was with her, both Violet and Courtney gone when Fame had felt ready to call for a car.

The Galactica party had gone well, the night living up to her expectations, but Fame was tired, and she wanted to go home.

“Uh! Taxi-” Fame held out her hand, but the yellow car went right by her, causing her to swear loudly.

Before she had realized what she was doing, her Louboutin was already off, Fame’s brain more than ready to throw the shoe after the car, but Patrick wrapped his arms around her.

“Hey, hey, calm down.” Patrick laughed and took the shoe from her. Fame blushed, holding onto Patrick so her stocking wouldn’t get soiled on the pavement. “We’ll get the next one.”

***

The way Adore’s breath hitched in her throat as Pearl leaned in to kiss her neck was adorable.

Adore was all puffy lips, heavy eyes and the most buttery soft skin Pearl had felt in a long time. What began as a fun little experiment--how quickly could she reduce her to a whimpering mess--quickly became an even more exciting challenge.

How long could she keep her on the edge, clawing desperately at Pearl’s shoulders, moaning in blissful agony? The way she begged shamelessly, dripping wet all over Pearl’s fingers, was so sexy that Pearl could have come herself.

“Please, please, Pearl…”

Pearl silenced her with a kiss, biting gently on her perfect upper lip, tongue teasing her mouth open.

“Careful, baby...don’t come until I say so.”

Pearl’s fingers slowed, thumb first brushing lightly against her clit, then pressing down on it, making her cry out, hips desperately rocking back onto Pearl’s hand.

“Please, oh God, please.”

“Not yet.”

Pearl smiled and twisted her fingers, working even faster.

Adore was gasping now, little tits bouncing with each breath, purple hair fanned out over the pillow, skin glistening with sweat, and it made Pearl want to lick her all over.

“Hold on, honey,” she whispered into Adore’s neck, “Just a bit longer. You can do it for me.”

Pearl laughed as Adore whined; she loved the power she had when a girl was breaking apart in her hands, even if her arm was cramping and her jaw ached from the two orgasms she had already wrung out of her. Pearl might not be a saint, but she never left a girl unsatisfied.

Adore, bless her, was not going to last much longer. She was tense and rolling her hips to meet every thrust of Pearl’s hand. Her nails raked down Pearl’s back, fingers digging into her ass, panting. As Pearl looked into her desperate, unfocused eyes, she decided to have mercy on her.

“Okay.”

Pearl curled her fingers forward, stroking her g spot, thumb rubbing her clit in vigorous circles.

Adore groaned as she came, hips pumping frantically before slumping against her, still gasping for air.

Pearl eased her fingers out, stroking her gently as she came down, finding the bruises she’d left on her neck and licking them softly.

“Good girl,” she said, chuckling against her skin, damp with sweat.

“Fuuuuuck…” Adore sighed, and Pearl laughed some more, nuzzling into her neck.

Not normally much of a cuddler, Pearl would usually leave right after fucking a girl, but there was something charming about the way Adore immediately wrapped her long arms and legs around Pearl’s body. As she tangled their limbs together, her purple hair tickling Pearl’s nose, Pearl found herself relaxing into the younger girl’s soft flannel sheets. One night wouldn’t kill her.

[my-brothers-corrupted]

My Brothers, Corrupted

Chapter 1 : Section 3 : Oh Happy Day

We’re at the end of a difficult day. After his first real round of hypnosis, Marvin – or Blue, perhaps – became hysteric and had to be restrained by Red when his magic ran amok and flowers began growing up through the floorboards. Doktor, triggered when Trick grabbed him by the back of the throat, went into a state of confusion and ended up throttling Trick in return, but they’re doing their best to make up. As for Dapper, the youngest sits alone in the attic, staring up at the Northern Lights, and you see the lines between who he is and who he was blur gently, for a time traveler’s amnesia is never quite as strong as Anti would like it to be.

Trigger warnings: (not necessarily a complete list! Please tell me if you need others added up here because I’m just trying to remember what’s in here) blood, mentions of alcoholism, grief, hypnosis, discussion of psychosis, and abuse, including infantilization of a disabled character and abuse between brothers.

The masterlist for this chapter is linked at the bottom because I can’t get it to link here for whatever reason.

 Part Three of Chapter One: Oh Happy Day

loganandoli asked: Carver, is that Poe? Is she finally back?

Carver darts out from underneath the bed, uncurling, a light returned to his eyes. “My bird!” he signs, clapping his hands together. “My Poe!”

There’s a huge black raven in the windowsill, her wings spread wide. Dapper leaps up onto the bed beside her, nearly weeping for joy, and she lets him stroke her beak, cawing softly in the evening light.

“There’s my good girl,” he signs, delighted. “Oh, oh, my good girl. Here to keep me company? Not alone. Not alone. Here’s my bird, my bird, my friend.”

optimistic-violinist asked: This is probably a dangerous question.... but could Dapper go back before they were all Anti's?

Dapper blinks. “I need frames of reference. I can’t remember the time before we were Anti’s, so I can’t go back to it. Even if I could, I’ve never turned back farther than a week. And that nearly… that almost… it wasn’t good for me. Anti says time travel is bad for the baby, and I am the baby.”

He rubs Poe’s head, considering.

“Not that I would go back so far, of course,” he adds quickly. “I’m quite happy with Anti, thank you very much.”

Anonymous asked: Maybe a little out of left field, but does Marvin still have his mask?

Marvin’s mouth pales and he turns away from you, touching his face, patterned in scars. “No,” he whispers. “Anti tore it off as he dragged me back to the house. I suppose it’s been thrown away now… I had that mask for years… I was born with it. The last little piece of Ja - of my old master that I had left.”

He stares down at his hands, then up at you, teary-eyed.

“But don’t worry about it,” he whispers, trying to smile. “We have bigger problems right now, don’t we?”

Anonymous asked: Who wants to hear a song?

Dapper frowns at you, confused. “A song?”

Anonymous asked: 🎵 Look to the stars my darling wonderful boys. Life is strange and vast, filled with wonders and joys! Face each new sun with eyes clear and true! Unafraid of the unknown, because I'll face it all with you! 🎵

Dapper melts onto the windowsill, putting his chin down. “Oh… pretty, thank you. You’re too sweet.” His cheeks are rosy red and he smiles easily, letting his contented eyes slip shut.

musical-in-theory asked: Ope, would you look at the time? It’s time for Anti’s daily reminder that he can kindly go fuck right off.

Anti ignores you. He’s got three laptops open around him and he’s so focused he’s lost most of his opalescence. The screens flash with color and letters, though you don’t see his fingers typing. He wears an old form he’s fond of, a younger Jack dressed all in black, with a lot of light green hair and big black eyes.

Anonymous asked: anti, do you know your carver is making friends with wild animals? i though he was being kept alone as a punishment

Anti glances up, frowning. “Wild animals? What’s he playing with now? I thought I got rid of his fucking mice. Filthy little things. He’ll make himself sick.”

Anti rises to his feet, glancing towards Dapper’s room. “And he’s not there for punishment. He’s just a little fragile. Needs more careful care than the others. I made sure they all keep plenty of distance from him. But thank you for letting me know.”

Anonymous asked: for anti. why did you tie him up? he could just untie it right?

“He could! He could, he certainly could. But he doesn’t.” Anti glances at you. “I mean, it’s tied up a little too tall for him and the rope is quite thick, so it wouldn’t be easy. But I’ll tell you a secret - it’s not about keeping him there. It’s about the shame.”

Anti stares out the window, his eyes momentarily clouded. “He was the first one I trained,” he tells you, almost wistful. “And back then I used real chains and kept him strung up for days on end, until he was crying to be allowed to move. To have the awful chains off his throat. To not be tied up like a dog, licking food off his plate when I gave it to him, whimpering for affection. I don’t know how much of that he remembers - but enough. Enough. It’s an awful humiliation for him. He hated it more than being tortured, even when he still belonged to his last master. So he knows, if the rope is there, that he has been a bad dog, and that, if he wants to be free, he must show me he can obey. So, you see, he doesn’t try to take it off. He remembers who his master is, and makes better choices in the future.”

He returns his focus to you, blinking. “Well! Should we go check on the little puppy? Sounds like my stupid little pet found himself a stupid little pet. Dogs shouldn’t play with nasty things.”

Anonymous asked: Why don’t you let him see the others or let the others see him?

Anti stares at you, considering.

“The boys downstairs need each other,” he tells you, carefully picking his words. “And so I allow them to have each other, because I do not have time to care for each one of them myself. They wouldn’t get enough attention, enough affection. But there are dangers to that too… an independence and a sense of self-worth that come along with it. So I decided from the start that the most precious one - the one I cannot lose - he must stay close, and I will care for him myself. That way he will never slip through my fingers.”

He smiles coldly, his eyes flashing with victory pride. “Dapper will never slip through my fingers.

“Beside, you’ve seen how rough the boys downstairs are with each other. Even twins will strike and bite. Why would I subject my powerful little Dapper to that? He gets preferential treatment and they all know it. He has proven time and time again to be the most valuable, the most vicious of all his family. The others are all so jealous, it makes me laugh so much! The hierarchy is good for them. It makes them work to be more like him. Gives them a little ferocity of their own. Nothing to match my Carver… my mean little Carver, with those cold sharp teeth… of all of them, he is the most like me. Shouldn’t he deserve the best for that?”

musical-in-theory asked: Is Marvin back to being Marvin again?

You find him lying on the island, sitting across from Red. They’re watching each other with a cool wariness, unsure of where they stand.

“I’m not sure who I am,” says Red’s brother finally, glancing over at you with a grimace on his exhausted mouth. A cut on his forehead drips a little blood as he turns. Red moves forward, as though to brush it away, on instinct - but before his twin even notices the movement, he has drawn his hand back and recoiled on himself, crossing his arms over his chest, blushing in the low light. He has re-bandaged his head himself.

musical-in-theory asked: You are Marvin the Magnificent. A smart man with a deeper understanding of things. A man who carved out his own place in the world. A man who never needed a master.

Marvin blinks, looking up. “Hey!” he laughs. “Who told you that? I’ve heard those words before! Someone who loved me - ”

The camera is snatched off its spot on the ground and thrown several feet off, leaving your view crooked and fizzing.

“You’re going to get him killed!” cries Red, and his voice breaks right down the middle. He could scream for the pain of his own weakness. “Stop, stop! Can’t you just let him go, and then things will be easier on him! What, you’re crying out now, trying to stop this now? It’s too late, don’t you understand? Where were you when I was shattering, huh? You call out for him! You don’t know anything! I can’t - ”

He stops himself short, startled by the look of fear in Marvin’s eyes.

“Jackie,” he whispers.

“I - ” Red’s voice shakes, he retreats to his corner. “Don’t goddamn say that name. Fuck, I wish you had never come here. I wish you had gone free, I don’t care if we spent the rest of our lives searching without ever finding you. I don’t need you, you know… Anti acts like I do, but I don’t. I don’t want you.”

He curls in on himself, panting; his body hurts him, his body always hurts him and he’s tired. He wishes hatred hurt less. Breathless, he turns to look at Trick and Doktor, curled up side by side, crying softly in the darkness. He does not know why and he does not care. He sees them cry often, and chances are only one of them was hurting - or only one of them would be hurting, if he didn’t care about the other.

“Twins are just weakness,” he cries, reaching up to grip at his hair. “I don’t want to feel sorry for you! I don’t want to feel scared and miserable for you! I don’t need another person to feed, I don’t need someone to be reliant on! I’m stronger alone! And if you’re not careful, I’m going to have to watch you die. I don’t want your pain! I wish you had never come here!”

Marvin has edged in close to him, calling “Red, Red,” and maybe there’s some truth to his words, because the truth is seeing him in pain makes him feel like his own chest is on fire. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“Not okay,” whispers Red, sinking down against his cupboards. “Don’t touch me, no - don’t touch me, I don’t want you, I don’t need you…”

“We were brothers once already,” chokes Marvin. “And, fuck, there were times that it hurt, but I can promise you - I swear to you, I swear - it was always, always, always worth it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you’ve been alone so long. But, I mean - you’re not now. I don’t plan to stay, but… I don’t plan to leave you, either. I promise that. I promise. And this brotherhood is always worth it.”

Red sits in silence for a long time, his eyes closed, his head on his knees, hiding his face.

“Life is different here, Marvin,” he whispers. “Stop believing in anything that ever made you happy. There’s only Anti now.”

Marvin puts a hand on his knee. Red takes his wrist, gentle, gentle in his cold scarred hand, and he pushes him away.

“There’s only Anti now.”

They fall asleep pressed against opposite sides of the island, huddled in on themselves, silent.

loganandoli asked: Carver. You need to trust me. Push Poe out, now. I know you won’t want to, but please. Please. For her and your safety, push her out and close the window. They told him.

Carver turns to you, stunned. “Push Poe out? Push her - told him! Who would tell him, they wouldn’t tell - ”

His head whips around at the familiar sound of Anti’s static growing in volume. He stares between you and the bird, who picks playfully at his ear, cawing. “I don’t - I don’t want her to go,” he stammers out, tears rising hot in his eyes. “I don’t want to lose my bird, my bird. What if she never comes back? She’ll be like my brothers and hate me. What if I never see her again? What if I’m just up here alone forever? Why won’t master let me keep anyone?”

Anonymous asked: It's all right, Carver, we'll keep you company!!! Now let the bird go!!!

You don’t know if he trusts you enough or if he’s just that afraid of Anti, but one way or another, he stands up on his bed and reaches up to close the window, shoving Poe out into the air. She gives an indignant cry, harsh and berating, and tries to land again, but there isn’t enough space to her feet. She wings away.

Carver stands on his bed, panting, staring out into the air after her.

“Hey, little man, what’re you up to?”

Anti stands in the doorway, his hand shoved into hoodie pockets. Flushed red, Carver turns to him with a trembling mouth, his eyes full of tears.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” murmurs Anti, instantly a picture of concern, moving forward to grab his hands and pull him to sit down on the bed beside him. He plays anxiously with a strand of Carver’s hair, touching his face gently. He glances around the room, but doesn’t see anything moving around. If Dapper has an animal here, he’ll find it and kill it violently enough that he’ll regret hiding it. If not, then he’s distressed enough already for one night. “Hey, hey, look at me. What’s wrong? You feel okay?”

Sniffling, Carver glances over at him, then up at the window, and then - exhausted, exhausted, exhausted, he tumbles against Anti’s chest and begins to cry in earnest, clutching onto Anti.

Clutching onto the only person he is ever allowed to hold on to.

 Posted the next morning:

Dawn breaks cold over Doktor and Trick, wrapped up in blankets. It’s getting too late in the season for them to keep warm with their nest and jackets alone, but at least Trick has fallen asleep curled in Doktor’s lap, keeping him warm after their fight.

Red and Blue sleep across from each other, neither making use of the sleeping bag, a tension fallen between them. Red’s bandages have begun bleeding again during the night and he will have a pounding headache when he wakes.

Upstairs, Dapper has not slept. He lies in his bed in Anti’s arms, staring quietly at the wall. Today is one of his confusion days, which might come out as anger, grief, or a desperate, slightly insane sort of boredom.

Anti wakes up and kisses the side of his head, noticing his mood immediately and leaving him to his distress. He takes the rope off his throat and leaves a clean outfit - sweatpants and a t-shirt with a big black coat - on the bed. Moving downstairs, he greets Dok with a cluck of his chin and then shakes his twin awake.

“Want you to go into town today,” he says.

Trick sits up straight, wide-eyed, disoriented from sleep. “M-me? I thought I was only allowed to go to the laundromat - Red is usually the one who goes to the store, I - ”

Anti puts a finger on his mouth, silencing him, and then digs into his pocket, pulling out a huge wad of cash. He shoves it into Trick’s coat. “Red’s still not well. You go. Get food. And something nice, pick out something nice for all your brothers. Or Red and Dok and Dap and yourself, at least. I’ll get Blue what he needs on my own. Spend it all, Trick, I don’t want to carry it around anymore. Understand?”

Trick’s eyes are alight with joy. He nods enthusiastically, his mouth shaking around the words “are you sure?” just to double check.

Anti hums and runs a hand through his hair, brushing a curl out of his eyes. “Course, Stammer, I know you’ll do well. You’ve been good lately.”

“Can I bring Dok?”

“Sure, just don’t draw attention to yourselves. No names, no nationalities, no talk of home where anyone can hear it.”

Trick is panting slightly with relief. He nods, and for a second he reaches out, as though to touch Anti in return, maybe looking for a hug or at least to brush his hand along his sleeve, but he thinks better of it, his hand falling fearfully. Anti gives him affection anyway, leaning in to kiss his cheek and ruffling his hair playfully. “We’ll have a quiet day today, Alright? Okay, be good. Bye, Trick.”

“Bye, Anti,” whisper Trick, with reverence, watching as his brother disappears.

There’s a long silence.

“Fuck yeah!” cries Doktor, and Trick lets out a loud, bursting laugh, and tumbles back onto his brother’s lap, holding up the cash, delighted.

Anonymous asked: well little stammer, what are you going to do with all that? (theres no record with cash, so you could even get stuff anti doesn't want you to have :0)

Trick flushes slightly at the nickname and you see Doktor’s eyes narrow, but Trick is already sorting through the cash again. “Well, first - first priority is food, yeah? And the first aid kit - Dok, will you go see what we need? What else, um… is there anything else we need? Maybe new clothes, if anything’s left over? More soap, we’re getting low…”

He pauses, seeming to register the second half of your question, his cheeks reddening. He glances up at you and down at the cash several times, but doesn’t say anything, memories of hunger and cold stirring in the back of his head.

loganandoli asked: Trick!! What do you think you’ll get everyone? And what are your favorite foods? :)

“Um, um, what will I get everyone?”

He’s more excited than you’ve ever seen him, pacing around his nest, combing his hair with his fingers. “I have to pick things out, don’t I? I’ll have to see what’s in town, um. Oh, I could get Dok a whole coat, a whole winter coat… and gloves, maybe, for when he has to do his - for when Anti needs him. A book! Holy shit, a book, he hasn’t had a new one in weeks!”

He grins, fantasizing. “My favorite foods, wow… I like, um, those chocolate granola bars and mandarin oranges and… well, a bunch of junk food, we don’t need all that… and nothing that we’ll have to cook, really. But I can get maybe some chips or good bread. Could really go for a drink, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. What else?”

He glances over at the island and up at the ceiling. “Fuck, I have no idea what they want,” he frowns. He turns to you. “Any ideas for Red and Dapper?”

immabethehero asked: If Dapper still has his moustache, what about a moustache grooming set? For Red, a new red hoodie for the winter! For Blue, magic cards!

“Haha, okay, that’s pretty good! We have knives for shaving but I like the new hood!”

loganandoli asked: Oh!! Get dapper some markers or charcoals! Or even a stuffed animal! (maybe a bird? He seems to like those)

“A stuffed animal for the baby!” teases Trick, grinning to himself. “Spoiled pet. You’re right, though, he likes animals.”

He pauses for a second, the smirk fading from his mouth. For a second, he almost looks like he’s in pain.

“I think he always liked animals… I think we used to… no, I don’t remember…”

oasisofgalaxies asked: Dapper may really love a sketchbook and pencil set! Don’t forget a sharpener and eraser! Anon added: you could get dap some new chalks/colored pencils! I’m sure he’d love that

“Oh, okay, yeah! Sounds like he’s kind of an artist, fuck. I guess that’s what he’s doing up there all day, huh? Okay, art shit for Dapper, that’s good. Thank you.”

Anonymous asked: dapper wants pens and charcoal to keep him busy. anything you can get red for his pain would help too

“Hmm,” nods Trick, thinking. “Something for his pain, shit, yeah. Okay, I’ll look!”

Anonymous asked: Are you going to have enough money to buy all you want/need? I don't know, this seems a little bit too easy...

“I’ve got…” Trick flips through his cash. “2,400 krone.” He bites his lip and looks up at you, slightly stressed. “I don’t know how many pounds that is. It seems like a lot. I need - I need to make sure I get everything Anti wants, or I could get in trouble. Red usually does this. Food, presents, soap, clothes - is there anything else we need? I need to get everything.”

Anonymous asked: Do you look presentable enough to be in public? Wouldn't want to catch too much attention, now do we?

“Good point,” agrees Doktor, returning to his brother. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

They don’t have mirrors, but they do have twins. Trick needs to shave, so they go outside and Doktor pulls a long sharp knife out of his coat, holding it up to his face. For a second, Trick can’t help but flinch, reaching up to grab his brother’s wrist. Doktor stops immediately. They meet each other’s eyes.

“Is okay,” mumbles Dok, using his spare hand to touch his shoulder. Just gentle.

Trick swallows the sensation of tears, nodding, letting his wrist go. He knows the difference between the brother who loves him and the one who can’t recognize him as anything other than one of his victims.

Doktor’s eyes are sorry. They talked about what happened. He wishes he could say yesterday was the first time he has looked around him and seen nothing but violence, the first time he has woken up holding a knife or a scalpel or a syringe that he doesn’t remember grabbing, but the truth is he’s often confused, and more than once he’s hurt himself or somebody he shouldn’t have. It haunts him. He doesn’t like to admit that it happens. Sometimes he doesn’t tell Trick, and sometimes he forgets the episodes once they’ve happened, but one way or another, he is cognizant of the fact that there’s something wrong with him, and the fact that that something could be harmful to his brother is a nightmare becoming a reality for him.

He shaves Trick’s beard down carefully, carefully, holding his chin in his hands. Trick closes his eyes.

They wash their faces with washcloths and water and change clothes - somewhere in their blanket huddle, there are t-shirts and pants, which they share indiscriminately, most of their personal style having blurred into necessity and apathy a long time ago. Dok puts a bandage over a particularly nasty scar on Trick’s hand, they both tug on their jackets, Dok pulls a scarf out of his pocket, they tuck weapons safely away, push their trackers beneath their sleeves, brush through their hair, and finally turn to look at each other, checking that they could pass for normal in the city.

“We’re okay?” asks Trick without words.

“We’re okay,” answers Dok with a smile.

“Okay,” sighs Trick, grinning and shoving the cash in his pockets. “Anything else, or are we ready to go?”

There is a low thumping coming from upstairs. Red and Blue are still asleep. Anti is nowhere you can see him.

spicydanhowell asked: carver? you okay up there?

The connection’s still up, but he hasn’t touched the camera. You can only see the empty bed, the clean clothes still draped over the unmade sheets.

loganandoli asked: Carver? Are you ok??

There’s no movement on the video feed, just the thumping noise, steady, steady. Downstairs, you see Doktor glance up, a frown twisting his mouth.

“Okay, ready to head out?” asks Trick, throwing his backpack over his shoulder and holding a second one out for Dok.

“Umm.” Dok accepts the backpack without looking, listening for the thumping noise. It’s clearly not the sound of him fainting. Should be okay…

loganandoli asked: Doktor, Carver isn’t answering us. I know you are not aloud to go up to check on him, so should we ask Anti to check on him?

“Oh, I - I am allowed up there. Only to check on him, but I am allowed. He’s not answering? I should go check on him.”

Trick whines, reaching out to grab his brother’s sleeve. “Dok, no! I hate it when you go up there! Anti might get angry anyway, if it turns out that he’s fine, that you went up there for nothing. Besides, Anti’s home, or at least he didn’t tell us he was leaving. Let him handle his little pet, don’t go up there. This is supposed to be a day out, when was the last time we were allowed to go into town? Come on, bro.”

“Trick,” sighs Dok, stepping back from him. “Just real quick, alright? It’s my job to look after everyone in the house.”

Gritting his teeth, Trick shakes his head, snatching his sleeve again, a sort of desperation in his eyes. Frustrated now, Doktor pulls away. “What, you want me to just leave him? He could be hurting!”

“That brat has everything he wants up there!”

“You don’t know that! When was the last time you even saw him, Trick?”

“Just the other day!”

“Yes, when Anti was dragging him into the goddamn basement! Is that what spoiled looks like to you, or are you just jealous that Anti hasn’t let you sleep in the same bed as him since the first time you called him your master? Why do you hate the little one so much? Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you should give a fuck about anyone other than yourself and me?”

He doesn’t realize his voice has risen to a shout until he’s stopped yelling. Trick stares at him, wide-eyed, mouth trembling. Blinking, Dok sees Blue’s head rising above the island, his eyes wide and confused. “Why are you fighting?” he asks, sleepy and confused. “What’s that thumping?”

Flushed, Doktor turns away from his twin and heads towards the stairs. “Deutsch!” cries Trick, remembering all too vividly Blue’s body crashing down those stairs.

“Enough, Trick.” Doktor makes his way up the stairs, taking a steadying breath at the top, but nothing comes to drag him away. Turning the corner, he enters Dapper and Anti’s room.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He steps gently in, looking around, glancing under the bed, opening the door to the bathroom -

“Oh, darling, stop, stop,” he whispers, rushing in to grab Dapper off the floor, dragging his head away from the leg of a broken claw-foot tub, where he has been striking his forehead hard enough to dampen his hair red. “Oh, poor thing, poor thing.”

All his anger, all his caution, all his resentment for the boy is gone. He holds him in his arms and tries to get him to respond, staring down at the glassy grey eyes as his head goes thump, thump, thump against the doctor’s arm.

Anonymous asked: carver stop hitting your head please? you're okay. everything's going to be okay

Carver whimpers wearily, curling in slightly on Doktor, seeming to register the presence of another living thing. He waits for the shock and the heat of Anti’s flesh, but… it never comes.

“You’re okay,” whispers Dok, rocking him gently. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Dapper stares numbly up at him, trying to understand.

“It’s me, it’s Dok,” he murmurs, suddenly very aware of just how long it’s been since they interacted while the little one was conscious. Fuck, he remembers so little about him. He could have sworn there was more, but, now, Dapper is hardly more than the noises in the attic and the safety net that Anti returns to at the end of every day. “I’m your big brother.”

Dapper breathes stickily, knocking his head against his knee. “Stop this, now,” murmurs Dok, taking his head in his hands. “You’re okay. Just a little out of sorts, huh? Sometimes I get like that too… sometimes I lose track of everything.”

Carver nods, processing slowly the shared sentiment. He speaks so softly, with that nice warm accent. Carver can’t remember the last time anyone but Anti spoke to him - let alone touched him.

Wait, no, he can… there was a boy with charcoal and long hair, reaching out to him, smiling on the stairs…

“Did you take your medicine this morning?” asks Doktor gently, brushing the hair from his eyes. Swallowing, Dapper shakes his head no.

Leaving him on his side on the bathroom floor, Doktor gets up to get his prescription out of the bedside drawer, pouring two tiny white pills into his hand and returning to him. Carver instantly curls back up against him, gripping plaintively at his hands.

“Here, here,” murmurs Dok, helping him sit up. He presses the medicine to his mouth and Dapper takes them in his mouth with a groan, knowing better than to refuse his pills.

“What’s going on here?”

Doktor’s head jerks up, his body suddenly shaking as he registers Anti’s presence behind him, peering over his shoulder. “Master,” he gasps. “Scared me, Anti. He was hitting his poor head, look.”

Anti blinks, disconcerted, reaching down to brush his hand over his youngest boy’s hair. Dapper stares wearily up at him, expecting little pity, but, whether it be the blood on his head or the attempts Anti is making to keep them all happy as he breaks in Blue, he seems concerned. “Poor thing,” he murmurs, stroking his eyelids with his thumb. Dapper closes his eyes obediently. “Dok, what’s wrong? His medicine isn’t working.”

“I don’t think it’s that, Anti,” sighs Doktor, leaning back against his chest as his big brother sinks to his knees beside him. He takes any chance at comfort he can get. “He’s just…”

Doktor trails off, biting his lip.

“What?”

Doktor winces, trying to pick safe words.

“Deutsch,” mumbles Anti, putting an arm around him to rub his shoulder. “Sprich mit mir.”

“Anti, he’s bored. He doesn’t have enough to do up here.”

“Aren’t you and Trick going to get him some pencils and things?”

“Yes, we - ” Doktor blinks, trying to remember when he told Anti that. “We are, but he’s still stuck in this room all day, and he - I don’t know how often you’re here but - he’s lonely, Anti.”

Dapper hides his face against his stomach. Words like these he does not dare speak aloud.

Anti stares down at his little one, stroking his hair. His face is quiet and thoughtful.

“You’ve been good lately,” he murmurs.

“Yes, Anti,” replies Dok softly.

“You’re steady. Reliable. You do as I tell you. Take care of Trick. Keep the others functioning.”

“Yes, Anti, I do.”

Anti looks up at him. Brushes a strand of hair away from his broken glasses.

“Take Dap with you,” he says. “Take Dap with you into town. I won’t risk him snapping again.”

Anonymous asked: Aight, nobody get separated! Buddy system plus one!

Doktor watches Anti go, biting his lip. Once he’s disappeared, he turns to you with a deep exasperation in his eyes. “Trick will not like this,” he groans, running a hand over his face.

Someone squeezing his other hand brings him back to Dapper, who is staring up at him with a cautious, hopeful sort of confusion in his eyes. He’s not sure he heard Anti right…

Doktor sighs and gets up, reaching down to help the boy to his feet. He’s shaky and still a little distant, but he’s responding better and better with every moment that passes. “Well… Dapper.” Feels weird to call him by his name. “Would you like to go into town?”

Dapper stares at him.

“To town?” he signs.

“Yes.”

“Downstairs?”

“Yeah.”

“Outside?”

“Mostly, yeah.”

“And Anti said… that… I could?”

“You heard him as well as I did. You just have to stay close to me.”

Dapper stares at him.

“Dapper,” says Doktor flatly, frowning.

“Anti said I could go?”

“Yeah!”

“To town? Downstairs? Out - ”

Doktor sighs and grabs his wrist, leading him towards the door. “Put your clothes on and let’s go,” he says, turning around.

Confused, Dapper obeys, checking to make sure Doktor doesn’t turn to look at him, his hands scrabbling at his scars. He tugs on his pants and the t-shirt Anti got him - oh, it was a Shiba Inu on it! - and then throws on the coat, hurrying to follow Doktor into the hall.

“Doktor!” cries Trick, pacing anxiously at the bottom of the stairs. “Dok, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, um. Just - we’re, um. Trick, we’re taking Dapper into town.”

And with those words, it somehow becomes true in Dapper’s head. Panting with relief, he sets foot on the stairs -

And then he’s running.

Down the stairs, past the other boys, through the door, outside.

Outside, outside, outside!

He begins to laugh, kicking leaves into the air. What does it matter that the other puppets stare at him, that Trick and Dok are arguing behind him?

It’s been two months since he left the house.

Anonymous asked: What did you do the last time you were out of the house, Dapper?

Dapper grins up at you, his eyes almost wildly bright. He processes your question and his face twists up slightly with fear. “Anti didn’t come home,” he says. “First try or second try or third try, Anti didn’t come home. I went after him. Made sure he came home. And before that - the plane, and the running, the running away. But then we were here. Now we are here. Right? This is now? I’m outside? We’re going to town!”

He flips a cartwheel like a kid and laughs as he makes the birds fly up into the air. “Hopefully today is a better day than those days were.”

Anonymous asked: trick, you better not argue. it's what anti wants. but doktor you should probably hold onto him tight so he doesn't run off or get hurt

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” whimpers Trick, turning to you, chewing on the nail of his thumb. “I don’t understand, I don’t understand. He never lets Dapper go.”

“Trick,” sighs Dok, grabbing his sleeve and leading him towards the door. “Come on, don’t be so stressed! It will still be fun, yes? Come on, brother mine.”

“This is a trap!” shrieks Trick, yanking against his grip. “This is a trap! This - this isn’t right!”

Red sits upright, startling them all with the realization that he’s awake.

“Here’s something that’s not a trap,” he shouts. “If you don’t shut the hell up and get out of the house so I can fucking sleep, I’m going to dump your body in the ocean. Got me, Trickshot?”

Trick flushes red, his mouth open but no words coming out. Then he flees out the door, Doktor following quick behind him.

“This is fine,” he mumbles. “This is fine. Okay, okay. You’re right. I have to look after him. I have to keep them functioning. I should hold onto him, I - Dap?”

Dapper turns towards him, beaming. Doktor snatches his hand and pulls him closer, and Dapper is happy to go, squeezing his fingers tightly. Trick is hurrying along the path before them, panting.

“Let’s just calm down,” calls Dok, coming carefully after him with Dapper beside him. “Let’s stay calm, you know how you get when you’re too stressed. Come on, Trick! Nice calm walk, okay? Nice calm walk.”

Anonymous asked: Damn it, what did I just say? Dapper, I know you're excited but be mindful of the others okay? Stay close!

Dapper flushes, flinching slightly away from you, clinging to Dok’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he signs, moving closer to his brother. “Okay, yes. I will stay close, I can be good. Will you tell Anti if I’m good? So I can go out again?”

Anonymous asked: does... does anti purposefully lead you into situations where you're forced to disobey him and be punished? is that why you're afraid, trick?

“He wouldn’t do that to me,” sobs Trick. “No, no, no, that’s not what that was! I must have heard him wrong that day! And then - then Dapper couldn’t redo it, or - It’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault! He wouldn’t - he wouldn’t trick me… he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t…. I just heard him wrong. I just heard him wrong. It’s my fault. Why would he punish me if I didn’t do anything wrong? So I must have done something wrong. I must have, I must have. It’s my fault. Don’t say things like that, no, no.”

He grips at the bandage over the scar on his hand, trembling. “No, no, no… I didn’t mean to be bad…”

“Trick!” Doktor calls on the path behind him. “Stop, dammit! Can you slow down?”

Flinching, Trick stops short, like his obedience is a tangible thing holding him to his older brother. Doktor catches up to him with the boy holding onto his hand, and a rush of jealousy cuts through Trick’s distress.

“He shouldn’t have come,” he cries, whirling on them. “He shouldn’t - ”

“Trick!”

Doktor’s hand is on his shoulder. “Trick, Trick. Just… just breathe.”

He pulls Trick under his shoulder. For a second, he feels no different from Anti - but Doktor, unlike Anti, is not laughing at him.

“It’s okay,” murmurs Doktor, knocking their heads gently together. “It’s okay. Nice calm walk, right? Nice calm walk. Don’t think about that night.”

Trick stares at the forest floor, crying quietly, ashamed and angry. But at least he’s with Doktor.

“And we’re going into town,” soothes Dok. “You were excited just a few minutes ago. Yes? So let’s go back to that. No stress right now. Just going to town. Nice, slow, quiet walk. Okay?”

Trick swallows hard. He’s right, really. He doesn’t want to ruin this for Doktor. He’s going to get him a coat and maybe new glasses… something for Red, so he gets off his back… and even the kid doesn’t seem so scary now, staring in awe at the world around him, clinging to Deutsch’s hand…

“Okay,” he whispers, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

It takes forty minutes to walk to town.

It’s pretty out and the leaves are falling in red and gold around the trees. The town is an old town, a small town, a quiet town, with cobbled streets and tiny shops with foreign writing on top.

“There’s the shop,” says Dok, letting Trick out from under his arm. “You know what you need to get?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Okay then,” grins Dok, stepping back behind his little brother. “Lead the way, my friend.”

And Trick, gripping the cash in his hands, smiles right back.

spicydanhowell asked: (psst dok. wipe the blood off his head before you go into the store)

“Oh, scheisse! Good point.” Dok turns to Dap and pulls out a smaller canteen from his pocket, tugging Dapper’s head slightly down and washing out his hair. “I should have bandaged this, I’m sorry.”

But Dapper just has his eyes closed, enjoying having his hair touched.

Truth be told, Doktor’s surprised to find him so gentle. Most of his memories of Carver are stained heavily in blood.

“How did you manage to hit your head so hard?” asks Doktor, trying to sound nonchalant. “You were doing it because you wanted to hurt yourself, or just bored?”

Dapper looks up, his eyes cloudy. He reaches up softly to touch his head.

“Did I do that to myself?”

Trick is waiting for them expectantly by the door. Doktor sighs and takes Dap’s hand, heading after him. “We don’t have to worry about that right now.”

Anonymous asked: whiskey? cigarettes? do you need infant formula or- oops, forget i said that :)

Trick blinks as he enters the store, his mouth falling slightly open. “Why would I need that?” he mumbles, trying to keep from looking like he’s talking to himself. “Oh, I get it, you’re teasing Dap? That’s funny.”

He gets a basket and starts picking up the things they need - food, soap, cough drops, gauze, vitamins, iodine. Turning around, he always finds Dap and Dok close to hand, and makes sure to shoot Dapper a few warning glares, hating the sight of his hand in Doktor’s and his kiddish delight with everything in the store. Dapper always cowers away from his looks, but Trick’s not about to fall into his sweet, innocent little kid trap. He scowls and turns back to his shopping.

“Look at this,” Doktor laughs, examining some foreign cookies with funny faces on them. Dapper grins and pulls away from him, wandering the aisle with a soft smile on his face. Trick’s relieved. He turns back to his basket, trying to focus.

And he’s still thinking about those fucking words.

Whiskey, why would he need whiskey? Henrik has disinfectant. He’s not allowed to drink. No one asked for it. He doesn’t need it.

Cigarettes, as if. He hates those fucking things - the nasty smell of the cancerous smoke, the taste of a kiss coated in tar, still sweet despite the poison, because it was her mouth and he loved her -

He bites down hard on his lip, staring at the shelves in the aisle before him, surrounding him with baby supplies.

Sippy cups. Pacifiers with monkeys or bears in tutus on them. Shampoo, sweet-smelling baby shampoo, warm and familiar, wafting. Rows of diapers with chubby, smiling infants patterned along the green boxes. Tiny outfits, tiny shoes, tiny socks in different patterns. Monitors, tubs, hygiene products, wipes, toys -

He’s stopped in front of the toys, shaking.

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He’s just standing here, motionless in aisle six, staring at the toddler toys.

This feeling is familiar to him, though he wishes it wasn’t. The feeling that his heart is trying to benchpress a lot more weight than it can carry, that his lungs have gotten a fight with his ribs and made friends with his backbone instead, that his whole body is one great vessel of this terrible, terrible agony - the feeling that something is gone from him that he loved more than anything else that has ever drawn breath on the face of the earth.

He chokes. Sobs. Puts a shaking hand on his chest. No, no, why is he always so weak? He has to keep it together. He can’t keep crying so much. Everyone must think he’s so pathetic. No matter what he does, so pathetic. He’s never enough to earn any love. Never enough to have back what he wants, what he wants, this terrible ghost of a love he can’t remember, the wonderful warmth in his arms -

A hand touches his.

He jolts hard, recoiling.

Dapper falls back too, his hand drawing away.

His eyes are large and worried. His eyes are intelligent. Trick feels that he is staring a fox in the face.

“Why upset?” signs Dapper, tilting his head at him.

Trick backs off, panting, and lets out a sharp snapping scoff, turning his teary eyes away, fixating again on the toys in front of him. His eyes lock on a little sheet of crinkle paper and he sticks with it, trying not to cry. He won’t cry in front of Dapper. Won’t prove to him that he is better than Trick in every way.

Dapper reaches slowly forward and pulls the crinkle paper off the shelf. He holds it out to Trick.

Biting his lip to blood, Trick accepts it.

“It’s okay,” signs Dapper gently. “I think little kid stuff is really cute too.”

“Yeah,” chokes Trick, squeezing the paper in his hands. It has whales on it. “Yeah, cute.”

Dapper smiles and steps back, turning around to go find Doktor again. It is only after he is out of sight that Trick realizes he knew he was not crying because of the cuteness of the baby aisle. He gave him a chance to save face.

He should be grateful, but he’s mostly ashamed.

With shaking hands, he sets the crinkle paper in his basket.

There’s my gift for myself, he reasons, rubbing at his eyes. Now I need to get things for my brothers.

florenceisfalling asked: chase, why aren't you allowed to drink? and oh- what's doktor looking at now?

“Well, it’s not good for you to drink, you get sick and addicted and then you can’t function and shit - fuck, what is he looking at?”

Trick moves forward again and looks back at the last aisle, managing a grin at the sight of Dok happily shuffling through a bin of discount books. “How about this one?” asks Doktor, wheeling on him.

“What is it?”

“Thornton Wilder.”

“Am I supposed to know who that is?”

“I don’t know. I’ve heard the name so he’s probably famous. It’s 10 krone.”

“Fucking bargain. Get it.”

Dok beams, hurrying forward with the book clutched under one arm. He grabs Trick’s free hand and Trick tries to smile back at him, without much success.

“How about a coat for you?” suggests Trick.

“Oh, I’d rather get a coat for you.”

“My jacket is thicker than yours. We’ll get you one.”

“Gloves, at least, for you.”

“If we have money.”

“Red said I could get you gloves. That means you have to.”

Trick sighs, a small smile flickering over his mouth. “Okay, fine. Dapper, stay with us, we’re moving. Just a few more things before we head home.”

Anonymous asked: Dapper, how are you enjoying being outside the house! What's your favorite part? How's seeing your brothers again?

“I like it, I like it, I like it! I am a little scared because I don’t understand why Anti said I can go and usually only lets me out of the house for my chore, and he didn’t tell me if I need to do my chore today or not.” You notice that his hands, and even his smiling mouth, are trembling, but he still looks happy and bright-eyed. “My favorite part is probably when we were walking around, because I haven’t seen any trees but the ones right outside my window for a long time, and there were different trees today, and I liked them. I hope we will see a dog today! And seeing my brothers is - ”

He glances up at Trick and Dok, walking hand-in-hand in front of him.

“Well, Trick is not different from what I expected, but Doktor - ”

Dapper is suddenly wiping miserably at his eyes, a darkness returned to his face. “Well, Doktor doesn’t actively hate me, so… better than I thought. I really like having someone to touch other than Anti… I know that sounds stupid.”

“Hey, Carver,” calls Doktor, and Dapper hurries after him, reaching his side to find him standing in the school supplies section, complete with notebooks, pencils, and art supplies. “You want to pick something out?”

Dapper’s eyes widen. He stares at the pencils and paper for a long time. Doktor waits patiently, watching him with analysis in physician’s eyes, concerned with the boy’s erraticism. Finally, Dapper reaches out with shaky hands to take a small pack of charcoals and a big sketchbook with a windmill on the cover. 200 krone total. Not bad, Doktor figures, for a man trapped in a single room all day, every day.

“Come on, then,” says Doktor, reaching out a hand, and Dapper, smiling sweetly, reaches out to take it.

spicydanhowell asked: hey if you guys bought a coat for one of you, the other could wear both jackets at once? then you'll both be warm. (but also dok... why do you cover the scar on trick's hand? what happened to him?)

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” admits Trick, picking a pack of nice black gloves off a rack near the back of the store. “Sometimes Anti takes clothes away if we’re not using them enough or he gets tired of them, but maybe we could. That would be warmer, especially at night. It’s getting so cold.”

He blinks down at his hand as Doktor comes up behind him, adding neosporin to the basket. “We cover that up because, um… people have noticed it before.”

“It’s ugly,” Trick snaps, tired of mincing words. “Looks like my skin’s fucking tree bark. Disgusting-ass burn.”

“Hey,” snaps Dok, snatching his hand out of the air. “What have I told you about putting yourself down like that?”

“What, like it matters?” growls Trick, gripping at his hair. Doktor recognizes anguish in his movements and frowns, reaching out to touch his face, but Trick only shoves away from him, clutching at his crinkle paper, reassuring under his fingers.

“You want to hear about that night, do you?” he snaps, glaring at his scar. “I was just trying to keep us warm! It’s not my fault! Anti said to look after them while he was away and they - they were so cold!”

Tears spark in his eyes and he backs away.

“Enough,” demands Doktor, shoving the camera away from him. “Enough, let’s speak no more of this.”

“I didn’t mean to disobey,” whispers Trick, holding his own burned, scarred fingers in his hand. “I just didn’t want you to freeze… he told me to look after you…”

Anonymous asked: anti burned you? that doesn't sound like a loving brother

Trick flushes bright red, staring at you.

He glances down at his hand. Back up again. Down at his hand.

“Well,” he whispers, curling his hand into his chest. “Maybe that’s because Anti doesn’t love me.”

Uncurls his hand. Curls his hand. Stares at his hand.

“Not like he loves the others.”

His fingers were so burned he couldn’t move the hand at all for three weeks. Try handling a sniper like that. He earned plenty of abuse for his inability to do what he was supposed to, too, and every time, he faced it with more confusion, more distress. He was trying his best, he promised, he promised.

“Anti’s too good for me, really… I’m just the little fuck-up of the family. I know he doesn’t love me like the others, but… at least he keeps me, right?”

His hand opens, trembling.

“I started a fire,” he whispers. “To keep Doktor and Dapper warm, while Red and Anti were away on a mission. We were staying in this warehouse… it was January and freezing. Anti didn’t like the smoke. When he got back, he told me to put it out with my bare hands… so I did. Better a burn than what he would have done to me otherwise. And I was such a baby about it too. Couldn’t s-stop crying. He was so - he was so - so angry - so - so - ”

Trick snarls and backs away, angered by his own stammer. Ashamed. Clutching his hand to his chest.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he chokes out. “As long as Anti keeps me. I don’t think that I’ll ever earn his love. But at least he hasn’t thrown me out and taken my brothers away from me. I wouldn’t survive it.”

spicydanhowell asked: is red going to like what you all picked out? if i know him, he'd probably be mad if you forgot something... (also i think he has a thing for peanut butter so that might sate his rage a bit. ;) he seemed angry this morning.)

“Oh, peanut butter!” Doktor’s glancing around the store, trying to figure out if they forgot something. “Good idea, good protein! Let’s put one of these fruit cans back and get that instead. And I think he’ll like these?”

Doktor holds up a pair of good running sneakers, cheap but stylish, with blue laces and a white-grey pattern. “Not too expensive, either. They’re off-brand of course.”

“Not like Trick’s,” he adds, puffing up a little, grinning proudly at you. “He’s got real Converse. He loves those things. But Red, I suppose, needs some running shoes too.” He shrugs with fake modesty, grinning,

“Having money for once is going to your head,” grumbles Trick from an aisle away, and Doktor laughs.

immabethehero asked: Hey Anti! 🖕 Bitch. 🖕

Your cameras back home have lost connection, but the boys at the store hear you. Trick sighs and rolls his eyes, rubbing at his face. He wishes he could keep it together for a single day, but here they are. “They don’t have anything to say, let’s go,” he grumbles, heading towards the register, where a portly, cheerful-looking old woman is offering a smaller child a coloring book to play with on the counter.

“We got everything?” asks Dok.

“Present for me, present for Dap, present for Red. Food, all the medicine stuff you asked for. Got your coat?”

Doktor holds it up proudly. It’s green and thick, with faux fur on the big comfy hood, good for sleeping on. It’ll fall all the way to the backs of his knees. 370 krone. The most expensive thing they’re buying, by far, but worth it. Trick feels a rush of pride. It’s been a long time since he was able to get anything for anyone, let alone something nice for the person he loves more than anyone he remembers in the whole world.

Well, not more than Anti, obviously. “Let’s just check out,” he says, flustered.

The child on the counter ignores them as they unload their basket, cheerfully coloring in a picture of a storm trooper. Trick gazes at the gun in its hand while Doktor tries clumsily to make conversation with the woman at the counter. They usually pretend to be German when they’re out, so Doktor’s doing his best to make himself understood, while she only speaks a few words. She’s polite, though - interested, patient, friendly. She gives Dapper a big smile and he gives her a big smile back. Trick wonders idly if his little brother is always this friendly, even with the people he’s sent after - until, of course, he pulls out a knife. He’s a good little actor, he thinks, glaring over at him. Dapper blushes and looks away, scooting a little closer to Doktor.

Their total is close to 2000 krone, and Trick is so flooded with relief he almost faints. He’d been keeping track of the cost, of course, but he can’t help but always expect that something will go wrong. He counts out the cash quickly, smiling at the woman, who looks a little concerned at his enthusiasm. She pats his hand when he’s given it over with a comforting little smile and he tries not to flinch away, his burned fingers coiling up in his palm.

“Takk,” he says, grinning as he and his brothers scoop up their groceries and start shoving things in their backpacks. Doktor pulls the coat on and Trick beams.

“Takk,” answer the cashier and her grandchild, and then laugh at their synchronization, waving them goodbye. Trick is warmed by the fondness between them, by the presence of his brother, by the bags full of food and medicine and everything they need.

“That is everything we need, right?” he asks as they get outside.

“Umm,” says Doktor, thinking. Glancing around, he spots a pharmacy, a little tourist shop, a boat rental place, a fish and chips place, and a playground. “I think so? Is it?”

“We can’t forget something, Dok. Anti won’t like it.”

“I know. But I can’t remember if we need something else?”

“Well, we’ve still got like… 400 krone. Anti told us to spend it…”

Trick crinkles the cash in his hands, biting his lip. “So we…. could do that.”

Doktor glances at him, surprised, but he doesn’t say anything.

“We could… spend it if we wanted. Or… well, we could spend it. On something we need, if we can think of anything. Or, well. It’s midday, we haven’t eaten yet.” He glances over at the restaurant.

“Can’t remember the last time I ate something fried up,” he sighs, wistful. “Homemade. You think it’s normal fish and chips or something local? I guess it wouldn’t matter. Still be tasty.”

“So - lunch, something we need or save it,” Dok summarizes, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

“Shh,” hisses Trick, glaring over at Dapper. “But… yeah. Yeah. What do you think?”

“I’m not sure. I almost feel like we’re missing something. But I’d really like something to eat. Or it could be safer to… not spend it.”

Trick sighs and glances over at the camera. “Well, what do you think?”

Anonymous asked: Did you get something for Blue?

Trick glances up. “That’s a really good note, but Anti said he’d get what he needed for Blue. Thanks for reminding us anyway, we would have been in trouble if we forgot something for him otherwise. We’ll share food and stuff with him, of course, but I guess Anti has his own plans for the other stuff he needs. New pets sometimes get… different treatment than the rest of us.”

Anonymous asked: dapper keeps secrets from anti too. he likes to keep little animals as pets, so as long as you don't tell anti about his raven, he definitely won't tell anti about you stashing the extra 400 for an emergency... orrr you can buy yourselves a luxury haha

Dapper flushes white and staggers away from his brothers, his hands rising up in front of his chest. He shakes his head hard, trying to stay steady through the rising rhythm of his heart, shaking his whole body.

“You keep secrets from Anti?” hisses Trick.

“You keep a raven?” asks Doktor, bewildered.

“No, no, no!” Dapper’s back slams against the wall of the store and he shakes his head. “No, no, no, she’s gone now!”

“Oh, this is too fucking rich,” laughs Trick. His voice is bitter as rhubarb. “You’re Anti’s spoiled little brat and even then it’s too hard for you to follow his orders? Oh, wait til he fucking hears about this.”

Carver gives a little croaking gasp, his hands finding the knife in his coat pocket.

“Trick!” snarls Doktor, grabbing him and yanking him towards him. “Stop, now. Drop it.”

“What? You just think we should let him get away with - ”

“I don’t fucking care if Anti knows or not,” snaps Doktor. “It doesn’t concern me. But how about this hypothetical, Trick - Anti finds out you threatened his little one. How do you think he’d take that, huh? Or better put, how do you think you’d take another beating?”

Trick’s gone almost as white as Dapper. “Okay. Okay.”

“I don’t care if you tell Anti. But don’t threaten the boy. I don’t want to get my ass beat because of the stupid decisions that my little brothers make. Understood?”

Trick nods. “Yes, Doktor.”

Dapper stares at the ground, his mouth trembling.

“Okay,” says Doktor, releasing Trick. “So that’s one in favor of saving the cash… provided we don’t all snitch.”

Anonymous asked: Wouldn’t Anti be mad if you saved it? I feel like that’s the best option but I’m worried that he’d get mad and punish you if he found out you had some money left.

“Yeah,” sighs Trick, staring down at the krone. “He would be. It’s just… well, never mind. Okay. That’s one for spend it.”

Anonymous asked: Well, Anti did say specifically to spend it all. So at the very least, if you want to save it, don't give it back to him because he doesn't want it. Do you ever go into town and have not enough money so savings would be helpful, or would it be better to have something you can use? Or food, now?

“Yeah, sometimes we don’t have enough for anything,” murmurs Trick. “Red never says it, but I can tell, because he stops eating. So that’s two for savings.”

florenceisfalling asked: maybe you could get a gift for anti? he didn't tell you to, but he might appreciate it. that could help you out, trick.

“Oh, interesting.” Trick blinks up at you, thinking. “Guess I’m not sure what I’d get him, though. All he likes are knives and computers. If someone has an idea, let me know.”

loganandoli asked: Anti said to spend all the money and to get food and gifts! You said before you needed a first aid kit and some soap too, so if you got all that then I think you’re good! :)

“He did say to spend it all.” Trick sighs out a deep breath. “And we got all that… And I’m really hungry right now. I don’t think we forgot anything… did we?”

immabethehero asked: Get Anti one of those toy phones. They're cheap. Or a black scarf.

“Haha, that’s pretty good really! A black scarf, I bet he’d like that. He has a red one he wears a lot when he’s out in public. Well, maybe I’ll think about that. I guess I’m not sure how he’d take it. I don’t want him to think I’m wasteful.”

Anonymous asked: I don't know what 400 krone can but, but maybe a space heater?

“A space heater, holy shit,” groans Trick. “Can you imagine? That would be fucking incredible. But there’s no electricity back at the house. Plus I don’t think we’d have enough. I’m sorry, I’d like that too.”

immabethehero asked: Use Anti as your electricity

Trick laughs. “You think he’d waste energy on keeping us warm?”

Anonymous asked: More ammo for your gun perhaps?

“Anti gets that for me! I never have to worry about that.”

Anonymous asked: Hmm. I read that you can use things like duct tape and plastic wrap or towels along windows and doors to prevent drafts, maybe?

“Oh, yeah! I think we have duct tape still in the med kit, right, Dok?”

“Yeah, from that time we ran out of gauze.”

“And we do have blankets.”

“Yep, yep.”

“We should try that, though.”

“Yeah, might help. House is drafty.”

immabethehero asked: If he wants you, he should. Give it a shot

Trick grins a little sadly. “I’m sorry, but Anti just doesn’t have time to fuel a fucking space heater for us. It’s a nice idea, though. Thank you.”

spicydanhowell asked: trick! be fucking nice! he's your brother and he loves you. he wants to love you but you treat him like shit because you're jealous of him. there's nothing spoiled about how carver has to live. he gets left alone all day and he's not allowed to touch or talk to anyone but anti, and anti hurts him and ties him up and you think that's special treatment? that's fucked up.

“Well, at least Anti fucking loves him!” shouts Trick, whirling on you. “At least he gets held and coddled and told he’s wanted and shit! Maybe that’s not spoiled to normal people, but my family’s not normal! At least he - at least he - at least - ”

Trick screams his frustration, only to find himself yanked towards Doktor and pressed against his brother’s side. “Calm down, Trick, goddammit! Calm down, they’re right! He’s your little brother too, you know.”

“He’s my only little brother,” snarls Trick, hiding his face in his hands. “And I never, never, never even get to see him!”

His voice shatters and he slumps against Doktor’s shoulder.

“Never get to see him,” whispers Dok, confused, brushing patiently at his hair. “Why does that upset you?”

Against the store wall, Dapper watches wearily, exhaustion in every line of his face - but a certain curiosity too.

“It doesn’t!” cries Trick, gripping Doktor’s shirt. “It doesn’t, it doesn’t! It - I don’t know! I don’t know! If I’m not supposed to remember anything why do I still miss him? I’m so angry! I’m so fucking angry all the time! I’m so fucking tired!”

“Okay, okay,” murmurs Dok, leading him to a bench on the playground and sitting them both down. “Okay, calm down. Let’s just breathe.”

For a few minutes, they sit in silence. Doktor rubs his brother’s back. Dapper watches, something hungry in his eyes.

After a little while, Trick lets out a soft laugh.

“Maybe they’re right,” he murmurs, pressed to Doktor’s chest. “Maybe his life isn’t any easier than this, up there all day, all alone. Cause much as I’d like Anti to want me more…”

He looks up. The earnestness in his eyes surprises Doktor. “Much as I want that,” says Chase. “I think, at the end of the day, I’d rather have you.”

Warmth blooms in Doktor’s chest like a rising tide. His cheeks fill in rosy red.

“Little sap,” he whispers, shoving their foreheads together. “I’m going to punch you in the arm for that one.”

Trick laughs, hiding his face in his shoulder.

“Don’t you go saying anything like that around Anti,” murmurs Doktor.

“Okay, Doktor, I won’t.”

“I love you too, Trick.”

“I love you, Dok.”

“Feeling calmer?”

“A little. Yeah. Calmer.”

“Well, let’s just… let’s just calm down. Let’s just - Trick, let’s get some lunch.”

Trick draws slowly back from him, hope in his eyes. “Really?”

Anonymous asked: Anti said to spend it ALL and I think he meant it...

Trick nods slowly, counting through his cash a second time. Swallowing, he looks up to meet Doktor’s eyes.

“So… spend it?”

Doktor grins slowly. “You want fish and chips?”

Trick shifts, smiling. “Haha, really? Really really? I was sort of kidding… it’s been forever since we had anything cooked.”

“Yeah. It has. We deserve a treat, huh?”

Trick grins dopily, like a little kid. “A treat, wow… um, maybe… I don’t know, Dok…”

spicydanhowell asked: if y'all are already hungry... you've got a long walk back, just buy some lunch and stop worrying :/

“That’s a good point,” giggles Trick. “We do have a long walk. We do need something to eat. We are supposed to spend it all.”

He stares down at the cash. Up at Dok.

“We’re getting fish and chips.”

“We’re getting lunch?”

“Dude. Dude. We’re getting lunch.”

They’re both laughing now. Trick feels a little overwhelmed. This is the fucking best.

“Okay, well, come on, then!”

“Okay, man, okay! Haha. Let’s get food!”

Doktor calls Dapper over to him - pausing gently to push a strand of hair out of his eyes before taking his hand - and they head past the pharmacy, over to the restaurant. There are other people milling around and the sun has risen cool and cheerful, sending wind brushing through their hair. They can smell the sea from here, crisp salt making the air clean.

The restaurant is more like a bar than anything else, and there are local workers off for lunch crowded around the bar, talking and laughing and chatting. After so long cooped up in that little house, Trick finds there’s something very comforting about the old, familiar feeling of other people being happy and safe around him. He squeezes Doktor’s hand and then asks for a table from a nice teenage waitress, who, luckily, seems to speak good English.

They end up in the corner, exactly where they’d prefer. Dapper presses up against the wall, looking tired.

“You want fish too or what?” asks Trick, avoiding his eyes.

Dapper sits up uncertainly, wondering if he’s being made fun of. He glances at Doktor, who shrugs and smiles.

“Yes?” knocks Dapper, frowning.

“Okay,” says Trick, checking prices. “We can get fizzy drinks too and then we should be close enough to spending it all. Safely close. Sound good?”

Dapper stares at him. “Yes,” he says finally. Sounds really good. He’s not sure he’s allowed to eat anything without Anti’s permission, but… Trick’s in charge right now, so he’ll go with it.

He glances over at Doktor again. Doktor smiles back. Trick looks cheerful, bouncing a little in his seat. The sun shines through the window.

Dapper giggles and sinks down in his seat, resting his head on Doktor’s shoulder, and he isn’t pushed away or even glared at by Trick.

Today’s a good day.

Anonymous asked: Eat out and save your goods for later!

“True!” grins Trick, setting his backpack down beside him and looking down at all of his stuff, proud of everything he’s secured for his family. “Saving more food for later!”

musical-in-theory asked: To quote my favorite show: “Love, hate, they’re so close. It’s easy to mistake one for the other.” Trickshot. Hate is easy, but it’s wrong. Hate is easy, but it’s not the only option. Hate is easy, but that’s not what this is. You get a choice. He’s not your twin, but he is your little brother. He’s your family.

Trick and Dapper exchange uncomfortable looks and turn back to their food, gone quiet. Trick and Doktor are mostly done, but Dapper has only picked at his food, though he has looked pretty happy, if a little tuckered out.

nikkilbook asked: This has to be the most physical activity Dap’s had in... what did he say, two months? Given how small that room is and how often he ends up tied up or restricted, I wouldn’t be surprised if he ended with muscle atrophy. How’s he doing? He’s gotta be exhausted, especially with how out of it he was this morning.

Dapper giggles. “Anti and I tussle a lot, he doesn’t want me to get too out of shape. I roll around a lot and stuff. Sometimes Anti even dances with me.”

He puts his chin in his hand and stares dreamily out the window. “That’s the most fun, when he does things with me. But I am a little tired… I haven’t been sleeping well. Or I don’t think I have. Have I? I can’t remember what time we’re in. Is it still today?”

Doktor and Trick exchange quizzical looks over the table.

Anonymous asked: You know, Dap. You have the ability to keep reliving this day. This one good day. Anti wouldn’t have to know.

Dapper sinks down in his seat, avoiding his brother’s eyes.

“The thing is, he often knows,” he sighs. “I get tired within a couple tries and he sees… my eyes change and I wear down… and if I ever used too much power and then wasn’t able to reverse things later…”

Dapper pauses, clutching his shaking hands together, biting down on his lip. Trick frowns. He never noticed they shared that tic before.

“I think he would just kill me,” admits Dapper. “I wouldn’t be of any use to him then.”

Trick and Doktor have gone quiet.

“But, if I could pick a day to relive…” Dapper grins and takes a sip from his drink. “It might be a day like today.”

musical-in-theory asked: Oh and Anti. My “fuck you” alarm just went off. You know what that means! Damn you, you absolute pecan. You three-month-old stale potato chip.

Your connection back home fizzles. You catch sight of Dapper’s room. There is something red drizzling across the floor of the bathroom.

musical-in-theory asked: Wait, wait. Hold the fuck up. What?

“I’m the fuck up,” whispers Trick. “Hold me.”

He and Doktor dissolve into giggles over their fish. Dapper tilts his head at you, confused.

florenceisfalling asked: well, maybe look for some hand warmer packs? they might be hard to find, especially if you don't know the language, but they heat up really fast without electricity (they're just lil chemical things in a bag). i dunno, we use them for hunting and hiking here. irrelevant but how's blue doing? or have the cameras lost connection still?

“Hand warmer packs,” repeats Trick, popping his last chip in his mouth. “That’s a really good idea! Fuck, I gotta tell Red that. They don’t use electricity? That could be really good, especially if - ”

“Wait, hold on,” protests Doktor, sitting forward. “The cameras lost connection?”

Trick blinks and sits up, looking at you. Dapper reaches quietly into his vest.

“The ones back at the house?” asks Doktor. “All of them? Entirely?”

He turns to look at Trick.

“I think we should go home. Cameras being disrupted could mean Anti’s in danger.”

“If Blue got loose…” murmurs Trick, remembering flowers bursting up through concrete.

“Blue didn’t get loose,” snaps Doktor. “Nobody ever gets loose from Anti. Come on, let’s just - I think we should just get home.”

“Okay, shit - I - okay.” Trick leaves the cash on the table and slings his backpack over his shoulder. Doktor grabs Dap’s hand and they head out together. The sky is beginning to cloud over.

Anonymous asked: Red? Blue?? ... Someone there?

Your downstairs camera flickers, trying to answer you. You’re fairly sure there is a body at the bottom of the stairs. Nothing is moving. The camera screen is glitching heavily. There is a soft but painful whining in the air - and maybe, if you listen, someone singing.

musical-in-theory asked: Guys hurry up!! Something bad went down back at the house and we can’t make out what happened!

“Fucking hell,” whispers Trick, picking up his pace along the trail. Dapper, on the other hand, is slowing down, his face dark with concern.

“I can feel his power,” he tells you, but his brothers are not looking at him. “He is dangerous when he uses this much.”

nikkilbook asked: Boys, I’m not sure what, but something’s gone sideways back at the house. I’d suggest you hurry, but be on your guard.

“We do need to be on our guard,” groans Dok, growing closer to the house. “Trick, maybe we should - maybe we should stay away.”

“The others could be in trouble, are you sure?”

“No, I’m not sure! We’re just not exactly the fighters of the house, are we?”

Trick pants, biting down on his lip. “Got your gun?” he asks.

Dok’s face steadies and he pulls from beneath his jacket a beautiful silver handgun.

“Well, there’s something, isn’t there?”

Doktor nods, face white. “Get your knives out. Both of you. Trick, you’re sure about this?”

“No,” answers Trick, grinning. “But I don’t think we have much choice, do we?”

“Well,” sighs Dok, resuming his march. “When do we ever, my friend?”

Anonymous asked: Goddamnit.... Anti, anything you can tell us?? (Two others asking after Anti were added)

The screens flicker as one.

“What,” read green words glitching across the screen. “Are you so afraid of?”

The body at the bottom of the stairs is not moving. From Dapper’s room, something blue has joined the red on the floor of the bathroom. There is movement inside, and then quiet laughter.

The screen steadies.

Anti steps out of the bathroom.

There’s a towel, stained red and blue, wrapped around his throat. He approaches carefully, leans down to the floor, and scoops the camera up.

He looks exhausted.

But proud.

“Well, hey there, puppets,” he purrs. “How was your day out on the town, huh? Do you want to see what I’ve been working on? Huh? Or are you too scared to see what’s happened to your favorite boy?”

musical-in-theory asked: We are not puppets!! Just fucking show us the damage!! FUCK YOU

Anti drops the camera on the floor, sniffing. “Well, you can wait for the other boys to get home and hope they have the courage to investigate if you want.”

ari-trash asked: I'm a bit scared of what we'll see but I do wanna see the boy

“Now there’s a politer way to ask,” purrs Anti, scooping up the camera. “Or at least the bare minimum. Of course you want to see him! He’s a good boy! He’s wonderful, he’s mine. I’ll consider it.”

nikkilbook asked: Is it too much to hope that they had a roaring good time and Good Boy A is just taking a snooze downstairs and Good Boy B is getting his hair dyed in the bathroom. Cuz like. What the frick else is that blue stuff.

Anti laughs aloud. “You guessed it, Nikki, good job! Hahaha! That’s too funny. Good job, you must be the smart one. I’m not sure Red’s sleeping, but, hey, he’s quiet, isn’t he?”

nikkilbook asked: Not sure how I feel about Concerningly Amoral Boy calling me the smart one, but okay.

“Concerningly Amoral should be the name of a band. I like that.”

Anonymous asked: Ooh, our favorite puppetmaster's been busy? Well, if you'd let us see, we'd be glad to see your latest project :)

Anti giggles. “Okay, someone knows how to have fun. Come here, I want you to see.” He carries you back towards the bathroom and knocks gently on the door. “Blue? I’m bringing someone in to see you, okay?”

A pause. Soft breathing in heavy air. Then, shakily: “Okay.”

Anti carries you into the room.

Blue is stretched across the floor, shirtless.

His long, neatly-kept hair is gone, or at least it is lying on the floor of the bathroom instead of clipped up on the back of his head. Anti cut it off with warm hands, shaving the sides, leaving it longer on the top, which is soaked in a fine blue dye.

Blue’s eyes are dazed and empty. He stares blankly up at you, shaking a little from the cold. He moves, but only very slowly. Anti crouches down and puts a hand on his shoulder, rubbing his bare skin gently. “That looks good, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, playing with a lock of his hair, leaving blue on the ends of his reddened fingers. “That looks nice. How are you feeling?”

Blue blinks and swallows. “F-feel sick, Anti.”

“Poor thing,” whispers Anti. “It’s okay. I told you I’d look after you, wouldn’t I?”

Blue nods slowly, tears in his eyes. Anti brushes them away and leans in to kiss the side of his mouth. “You’re okay. It’s okay. Hey, tell them you’re name.”

Blue stares up at the camera, his face very pale. “It’s Blue,” he says. “That’s what Anti told me.”

“Right,” murmurs Anti, stroking his shoulder. “Right.”

Anonymous asked: Wait, really? Why would you dye his hair?

“Oh, simple,” says Anti, standing up. “I fucking love character design.

“Isn’t it fitting that a new man should have a new haircut? New clothes? A new name? You know, in the Bible, when God would give a mission to someone he loved, a new purpose for living, he would rename them and send them away from the places they grew up. Simon becomes Peter, Abram Abraham, and so on. You have to destroy the old person to make way for the new.”

Anti pauses, tapping his lip. “Jack told me I was misunderstanding those stories, once,” he admits. “But I like to think my point stands. This is my new pet. He is no longer the man you knew. And he does not look it. You will see soon enough that nothing at all is left of your precious boy.”

Anonymous asked oh god, what have you done? What did you do, what did you do to them Anti? Was sending them out just a distraction? What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?

Anti smiles. “Hey, Blue,” he calls. “How long have you been with me, darling?”

Blue looks up, his eyes bewildered. He rubs dully at his face. “Don’t… don’t remember…”

“No? Can you tell me how many brothers you have?”

Blue frowns, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “You,” he stammers out, trying hard to think. “And… the other boy… Red… right?”

Anti simpers, smirking at you.

“Anti, my head hurts,” whines Blue, sinking down against the bathroom floor.

Anti reaches down to help him up again, rubbing his back. “Let’s get you downstairs, huh? Twin’s going to look after you. Okay? Let’s get you down for some sleep.”

nikkilbook asked: While I agree that Biblically, the new name is associated with laying aside your old life, I think the real misunderstanding here is yOU AREN’T GOD.

“No one is,” sighs Anti, sounding disappointed. He helps Blue get to his feet, stroking the back of his head, and his little brother leans in to rest against his shoulder.

musical-in-theory asked: Fine. A punishment, slight or harsh, is far better than a reward in this case. To do right by you is to give in to evil.

“Evil,” sighs Anti, and then, distantly, “What is truth?”

Anonymous asked: Anti, I hope you realize that when karma comes back around, shes going to make you pay dearly for what you have done here

“She better hurry up, then, I’m tired of waiting for her. No one ever makes me pay for anything. Being unequaled can be boring, you know.”

musical-in-theory asked: Okay Anti. I knew you were a damn psychopath, but why did you have to cut the hair? His gorgeous hair! Imma start calling you Telly the Barber for this

Anti giggles and there is a flicker in his audio. A second later, his mouth is moving, but out comes the voice of Cecil Palmer, intoning, “He talks with an accent and sneers. Telly the Barber cut Carlos’s beautiful hair. According to reports. Telly. Now, while I gather myself, let’s have a look at traffic. Oh, wow! Well, that looks pretty good. Yup.”

Anti sneezes and cuts himself off, laughing, his voice returned to normal. Blue, close at hand, looks vaguely unnerved.

musical-in-theory asked: Nope you don’t get to wax poetic here with philosophical questions. You’re a damn brainwasher and torturer.

To your credit, Anti is in fact beginning to look tired of talking. He heaves Marvin closer to hand and strokes along his stomach, glaring at you.

ari-trash asked: Is the new look the "gift" you mentioned giving to blue or do you still have something left for him?

“Ah, there’s a good question,” purrs Anti, helping Blue to sit on Dapper’s bed. “In fact that was only the first part of the gift. I got him a lot of presents. It’s his birthday, after all! His and Red’s.” He leans down to kiss Blue again, self-satisfied to the extreme, and Blue doesn’t flinch away. “Stay here for a second, kitten.”

Anti leaves the camera with Blue, who stares blankly down at you.

Anonymous asked: Marvin....? Are you still there? I said once that I wouldn't let your forget who you were and I am desperately hoping I haven't failed you. please, Marvin, you have to remember! You cant let him brand you!

Blue flinches every time you try to say the name, rubbing at his ears as a sharp shrieking noise reaches him again and again. “That’s awful, please stop,” he murmurs. “I have such a headache. You’re going to help me? I could really use that, I - ”

Tears spark in his eyes and his mouth quivers. He turns away, angry for crying in front of strangers. “I can’t remember who I am and Anti - well, he’s not very good at explaining…”

Anonymous asked: My, my, what a thorough job. That’s honestly impressive :P What happened to the little redbird, if we may ask?

“Thank you,” hums Anti, sorting through his closet. “And good question. My little cardinal has been so anxious lately. I noticed he was having trouble getting on with his twin. And that won’t do. I made it easier on both of them. You’ll see.”

spicydanhowell asked: could you put some clothes on him!? it's fucking freezing

“Good idea! I sure can.” Anti slings a bag over his shoulders and hurries back to Blue, setting it down beside him. “You must be freezing, Blue.”

“Yeah, it’s cold…”

“Here, get dressed, and then we’ll get you downstairs to lie down with twin. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Anti pauses, tilting his head. “Okay?”

Blue blinks, swallows, remembers. “Okay, Anti,” he manages. “Yes, sir.”

Anti laughs, hard, stroking his cheek. “There’s a good boy. There’s a really good cat. Everything’s going to be okay. Get changed, now.”

Anonymous asked: Ah. Right. He can't be disagreeable if he's not conscious. A-plus logic in peace building there.

“Oh, no, no, nothing so shallow as that.” Anti shakes his head, tsking his tongue against his teeth. “What do you take me for? No, something more permanent for my red dog.”

nikkilbook asked: I take you for a toddler with very few positive conflict resolution skills.

Anti pauses, considers, shrugs. “I’m five, so. It is what it is. PMA, right, guys?”

Anonymous asked: Tenacity, maybe. But not pma sorry.

“Yeah, well, I never understood that saying anyway.”

Anonymous asked: Boy howdy am I afraid for what's gonna happen next :D

Anti giggles and looks at you, giving you a huge smile in mimicry of the emoji. A second later a “:D” flickers across the screen and Anti bursts into laughter, turning away. “Okay, enough, enough! You’re all fucking comedians tonight, huh?”

Anonymous asked: what the fuck have you done to red? specifically what.

“Check him out for yourself, fuck, I’m exhausted,” snaps Anti, suddenly irritable. “When are my boys coming home? I’m tired, I want Monochroma, the bed is cold.”

Anonymous asked: Red? Can you hear me?

On the stairs, a soft whimper. The body stirs, turning slightly on its side.

Anonymous asked: Are trick and doktor still far away from the house?

Doktor approaches the house with the others close beside him. He keeps them at his back - he’s the older brother and he understands that, despite the benefits of his birth order, this also means his job is to protect the younger ones.

The door to house is shut, or as shut as it ever is, missing its topmost hinge. As they get closer, Dapper begins to gag, shaking his head hard, yanking back against Doktor’s grip.

“Hey, hey,” hisses Doktor, turning to him. “What’s wrong, the hell are you doing?”

“Power, power,” signs Dapper, shaking. “Bad, bad.”

“Blue’s power?” asks Trick, clutching his knife tighter. “Did he hurt Anti?”

“No, no, Anti power.”

“Well, then, what’s the matter?” sighs Doktor.

“Bad, bad,” whines Dapper, tears filling up his eyes. “Don’t want, don’t want go. Hurt me too.”

“No, no,” murmurs Doktor, turning back to soothe him. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

loganandoli asked: Hey Trick, Doktor, Carver, you’re all good. Anti was just dying Blues hair. He did do something to them both though, so be careful.

“There, there, see?” Doktor hushes Dap, reaching out to squeeze his shoulders gently. “Just hair dye! Just silly, fun stuff, yes? It’s okay.”

“Power, power, power,” signs Dapper, gagging, pulling away. It’s pretty clear that Doktor isn’t enough to reassure him.

Anonymous asked: Trickshot? You guys close yet? Where are you? We only have a vague idea of what's going on but I think the danger's passed for now.

Trick glances at you, nods, and stands up. There is a sudden light returned to his eyes, one you have never seen before. He turns to Dapper, hiding his face in his hands, and then reaches out, just gentle, to take his hand.

Dapper flinches at first, staring up at him with fear in his eyes, but a second passes, and Trickshot doesn’t hurt him. He’s finding it difficult to even meet his eyes, but he doesn’t pull away.

“I get it, okay?” he whispers. “It’s scary even when it shouldn’t be scary.”

Dapper stares, his face loosening slightly.

“But we can’t not go in. Right? It would be worse to try and run away than to stay and risk it.”

Dapper nods slightly, considering.

“If something goes really bad, you can reverse it, can’t you?”

Dapper looks exhausted. But he nods again, reaching out to touch Trick’s cheek.

Trick sighs but allows it, taking Dap’s hand in his own.

“And they say the danger’s past, don’t they?”

Dapper scowls, turning his face away. “Don’t trust them,” he snaps, baring his teeth. “Snitches!”

Trick can’t help it. He’s laughing.

“Okay, you’re right.”

“Told on me!”

“They did.”

“Twice!”

“I know, Dap,” sighs Trick. “I know. And yet…”

And yet, they have to go in. And yet, they have to trust you. And yet, Trick does not plan to tell Anti.

“We gotta go in there,” says Trick. “Don’t we?”

Dapper sighs and steadies himself, standing up straight. “What if I don’t get to leave again? For months, maybe?”

Trick bites his lip. Dapper copies him. Trick smiles, suddenly weighed down heavy by all the bullshit sorrow in his bullshit life.

“Well,” he says. “At least we had one day of freedom, didn’t we?”

Dapper’s mouth flickers in a smile. He reaches out to touch Trick’s cheek again, and this time, Trick takes his hand in his own, and squeezes it tight, staring him right in the eyes.

“Okay,” say Dapper’s exhausted hands. “Okay. Let’s go in. Come what may.”

loganandoli asked: Red? Can you hear us? Are you ok? What did he do?

The body turns over, revealing open blue eyes, staring right at you. A look of confusion on his face, a slight tremor on his mouth, red dye in his hair, cut short at the sides, left longer on top, just like Blue upstairs.

“Red,” he repeats wearily, his voice frail, and shaking, and very, very confused.

Anonymous asked: Red, are you alright? Can you move, buddy?

He blinks, swallows, and tries his best to sit up, managing to slump against the wall next to the stairs, panting hard. His head is unwrapped and he clutches at it, groaning. “I can move,” he manages thickly. “I can… Red…what’s…”

musical-in-theory asked: Wait, Jackie? Is that you?

“Ow, fuck,” he moans, clutching his head at the screeching. “Please…”

Anonymous asked: Dok, get your medkit ready. There's gonna be blood...

Dok rummages in his backpack to draw out gauze and disinfectant, so he at least has something ready. In his other hand, he holds the gun out.

“On three, okay?” he whispers, nodding at his brothers. “One, two…”

He shoves open the door and points his gun, staring around. Near the bottom of the stairs, Red jolts up, staring back at him, letting out a quick, panicked shout. Above him, on the stairs, a second man has gone still, frozen by the gun in his hand.

“Umm,” says Doktor, fixated on him. “What… uh…”

“What the fuck?” gasps Trick. “Blue?”

Blue stares back at them, his mouth slightly open.

He wears a long black coat, thin but sturdy, with sleeves drawn up to his elbows and the tail hanging at the back of his knees. His hands are coated in rings and bracelets, his ears glimmer with silver, his shirt depicts the turning cycles of the moon, he wears blue jeans and soft black boots.

“Um,” he chokes, backing up. “I think so?”

Dapper, Doktor, and Trick exchange glances.

Red staggers to his feet, pointing at the his brothers in the doorway, paranoid. “Okay,” he barks, panic in his voice. “I’m going to ask this once and once only - who the fuck are you?”

nikkilbook asked: Okay, this may sound horrible, but are we ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN which boy is which? Like, is the boy we’re calling Red the same boy we were calling Red this morning?

Anti laughs, his form flickering as he steps down the stairs, until he just ends up looking like a fanged Jack with his hood pulled up. “Haha, can you imagine? I just lose track of which is which? They lose track of which of which? So fucking lost in their heads they can’t tell where the old breaks and the new begins? Mind you, I might have with Trick and Doktor if not for the accents… needy, clingy little boys they were, pressed side-to-side in their little collars and chains, crying for Red to remember them… Funny. You’re funny.”

He staggers slightly and catches himself, anger flashing across his face. Straightening up again, he sets his feet down on the bottom step of the stairs, looking around at his puppets.

Red has pressed Blue protectively against the wall. He looks shaky and terrified - Blue just looks exhausted, his fingers curling around his twin’s hoodie. Doktor and Dapper and Trick stand in the doorway, staring at their brothers. Anti sees horror, grief, and confusion in their faces.

“Alright, everybody chill out,” he sighs, heading over to Trick and unzipping his backpack, pulling out a bag full of groceries. He walks over to the cabinets and begins putting food away, stacking peanut butter and canned fruit while his toys readjust to the situation. They’re so fucking slow sometimes. Not his Dapper though. His Dapper is already resigned, avoiding Red and Blue’s eyes, playing with the fringe of his coat. Sometimes Anti thinks he remembers more than the others. He is lucky to have not been in the house while Anti played with Red and Blue. He is lucky you sent Doktor to look after him.

“Anti, what’s happening?” pants Red. Doktor has lowered his gun, but he doesn’t look any more at ease.

“I told you,” sighs Anti. “You hit your little heads, you don’t seem to remember much.”

Doktor’s mouth tightens with a quick flash of anger, but he schools his face again immediately, drawing Trick closer.

“You know your twin. These are your little brothers, Doktor and Trickshot. They won’t hurt you. You need anything, you tell them, and they’ll do it. Right, boys?”

“Yes, Anti,” they promise in sync, twin faces white.

“And this is my Carver,” he adds, nodding to Dapper. “You leave him alone upstairs, he’s violent for such a tiny puppy.”

Carver blushes but offers no protest, staring at Red with sunken eyes.

What does it matter? He won’t see any of them again. What’s to say they’ll even remember him if he does? What’s to say any of this will still be real tomorrow?

Anti hums and closes the cabinets again, fighting off a wash of exhaustion to make his steps unsteady. Leaning slightly against the island, he glances over at you, considering turning you off, but another look at the confusion in Red’s face makes him smile again, and he decides to let you watch.

He yawns, licking his canines, and reaches out a hand. Dapper responds immediately, hurrying over to him to take his hand in his own.

“I need to sleep,” he admits, rubbing at his face as he turns back towards the stairs. He takes Red’s chin in his free hand and examines his frightened face apathetically.

“Keep your brothers in line tonight,” he says.

And Red, never washed clean enough to forget his training, responds: “Yes, Anti,” in a small, steady voice, the emotion draining from his face as he pulls himself back together.

Anti smiles.

The others watch him and Dapper walk upstairs, the shutting of the bedroom door leaving them alone and staring, confused and afraid, from opposite sides of the room.

Trick thinks Doktor is crying.

 End Section 3 of Chapter One.

Find this chapter’s masterlist here.

[shreddedparchment]

Man and Wife Pt.05

The Two Lives

04/14/2019

Pairing: Bucky x Reader          Word Count: 11,536

*Masterpost in Notes     Warnings: angst, smut, language, jealousy, love triangles

A/N: I’m not going to make this long. I hope you enjoy this one. Things kinda blow up. Also, this story is becoming much longer than I anticipated. Damn. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

“You want some help?” Henry sidles up beside you, staring down at the box of manuscripts. There has to be at least thirty to forty stories, all of them riding on the hope that you might like one of them and then the process will commence.

Only one of the authors in this box will be picked for next year’s Spring publishing cycle and though normally this weight would be heavy on your shoulders, a different sort of worry weighs you down.

In this moment, standing in the small two-story office in town in front of your very plain wooden desk, the only thing you can think about is whether Bucky has gone back to the apartment yet.

Had he shown up and seen you gone? Would he have waited for you? Is he still waiting if he’d decided to? It’s a Saturday but you’d come in knowing that Henry would be here. He’s always here, working too hard.

You’d asked him once if he didn’t have a girlfriend or wife at home angry at him for coming into work on a day he could be spending with her, but he’d assured you that he was very single.

Although you and Henry have been coworkers—technically he's your boss—for a long time, the two of you have always avoided conversations about each other's love lives. For good reason.

However, today…today, you can't seem to control your mouth.

“If you were married…would you be here? At work?” You wonder, staring at the loaded box with dazed eyes.

“Me?” Henry reaches up and scratches the coarse hair on his scruffy chin. He shoves his left hand into the pocket of his gray slacks, the sleeves of his white button up rolled up around his muscular forearms, the dark blue vest stretched taut with very little wiggle room along his sculpted body. “Well, first off, it would take an amazing woman to get me to walk down the aisle.”

He lets that sit in the air between you. You’re not sure why, as out of it as you are. When you don’t respond to the comment, he turns around to semi-sit and lean against the edge of your desk. He reaches out towards you and wraps his hand around your wrist to get your attention.

“Y/N? Did something happen at home?” Of course, Henry knows all about Bucky. The fact that you have a husband is no secret.

Your phone flashes—almost as if on cue—with a new text alert and the picture of you kissing Bucky’s cheek is nice and visible for a second across the shattered glass.

Proof of your marriage is not only on your phone’s lock screen, but there’s a framed picture of you and Bucky at your wedding on your desk, and you’d also sent in a change of name email to Sana—who by herself represents the entirety of the HR department—so that everyone would know to call you Mrs. Barnes if they were going to refer to you by name. Your desk plaque was changed too and the Y/N Barnes, etched in steel, glints up at you as the sun from the open window hits it.

Of course, calling you Mrs. Barnes doesn't apply to Henry. He’s your boss. He can call you whatever he wants, within reason.

You look at him, away from the box and force a small smile. It's tight, disingenuous, and it makes the worried pucker between Henry's eyes more pronounced.

“When you get married, don’t leave your wife alone often. It’s important to make her feel like she matters.” You nod, agreeing with yourself.

“Did Bucky leave again?” Henry asks.

You give him a real smile this time, and shake your head. “I don’t know. He usually wakes me up when he has to go for a few days. I think he just went to work out with Steve. He wouldn’t leave on mission without telling me.”

Of this you are certain.

You reach for the box’s lid, pulling your arm out of Henry’s gentle grip and slide it onto the box.

You look up at Henry and see his eyes flit to your left hand. Your smile vanishes and with a small ache in your chest you pull that left hand up towards your chest where you place it and then cover it with your right hand.

“He still hasn’t bought your wedding bands?” Henry wonders.

“He’s been so busy.” The wedding had been so hastily planned that wedding rings, which should have been your first priority when planning, had slipped your mind.

You should have just gone out and bought the rings yourself but you've been wanting to go with Bucky to choose them.

“Too busy to go out and get your rings?”

“Henry, he was gone for a week. He just got back and-”

“And he’s already left you alone to go work out with his friends? People he just spent seven days with?”

Henry criticizing Bucky is pissing you off. You know that he’s right because you’ve been telling yourself these exact things since you and Bucky had that first discussion about calling when he got home so you wouldn’t worry.

“They’re more than just friends, Henry. They’re like brothers.” You protest, defending Bucky fiercely.

Silence fills the large space, but Henry doesn’t stop staring at you.

“No.” He says.

You’re so confused by the word that you look up to find his dark eyes. “What?”

“If I were married…No. I wouldn’t be here. I’d be taking my wife to the beach since this is probably the last we’ll see of some good warm sun. Cold front’s supposed to roll in the next couple days.”

Oh, that’s what he’s talking about. You'd already forgotten you asked him that. You shouldn't have asked him that question.

“The beach sounds nice.” You reply, suddenly distracted.

You smile, picturing Bucky and yourself having a picnic on the beach, the loud soothing roar of the ever crashing waves lulling you into a nap as you sit with your head on Bucky's stomach. He’s stroking your hair and you’re in heaven. He’s laying back, his metal hand under his head as he stares up at the sky and you stare out towards the ocean.

Your smile slowly shifts into a sad frown because while the daydream is nice, it fades and you’re pulled back to reality.

“So…let’s go? Right now.” Henry offers and he sounds serious, almost wistful.

You look up at him and can see the hope in his eyes.

So much has changed for you in so little time. As he searches your eyes, his brow still puckered and his gaze intense, you flash back to the day after your wedding when you’d come back to work.

~~~~~~~~~~

You'd left work a single woman. Having chosen to take two weeks paid time off for a long overdue staycation. When you returned, you were Mrs. Y/N Barnes.

The first thing you do when you sit down at your desk is power on your computer, sign in to your work email, and quickly shoot Sana a letter explaining how you are now a married woman and will be going by Y/N Barnes from now on.

As expected, because Sana tells Kim everything and Kim tells everyone everything, the word of your marriage spreads quickly.

Happy flutters fill your tummy all day as you receive well wishes and congratulations from your coworkers. Almost all of them seem genuinely happy for you.

Only Lyla, a fellow editor, seems almost smug and sarcastic in her congratulations. She walks up to your desk and drops a large marked up manuscript so that it falls with a loud heavy thud.

You jump, wrapped up in your own work, and when she speaks she speaks loudly. Everyone in the large room will be able to hear her.

How does she do that? How does she speak loud enough for everyone to hear but not make it a shout? Weirdo.

Maybe it's only weird because you can be so soft spoken? You should learn to project.

“So, I hear you got married? Congratulations, Y/N. I’m surprised you found someone who-" Suddenly Lyla stops in the middle of her insult as she spots the photo on your desk.

A beautiful silver frame, a picture of you and Bucky looking at the camera within. Bucky looks dapper in his black formal wear, his hair pulled back into a loose bun but carefully styled. His blue eyes are so bright that they aren’t steel blue but aquamarine, small flecks of green towards the center. Made more prominent thanks to the flash of the camera. His full beard, excited pearly white smile, and nervously flushed cheeks complete the breathtaking beauty that is James Buchanan Barnes.

You aren’t so bad either in your white, shiny satin dress, the lace on the bodice handmade according to Tony. However, Lyla doesn’t have eyes for you. She's looking at the handsome man beside you.

She grabs the frame and holds it closer to get a better look. She's going to smudge it!

“This is him? This is your husband?” You can see the disbelief in her eyes as she can’t fathom how anyone who looks like Bucky could want you.

You reach out and take the frame back, yanking it rudely out of her hands. You don’t care for the judgment and sheer shock on her face.

Bucky loves you! Although, you’re still kind of confused as to why.

“Yes.” You snap.

“How? Isn't he an Avenger? I’ve seen him before. On the news.”

“Can I help you with anything, Lyla? I really need to get back to work.”

Lyla opens her mouth to retort but just as she places her perfectly manicured left hand on your desk and leans in close enough to spit vile venom at you, Henry moves into his doorway. A large imposing figure with a scowl that contorts his usually bright expression.

“Y/N? In my office.”

You turn your chair, swiveling to look at Henry while Lyla shoots up, standing straight and at attention. She fiddles with her dark hair nervously and adjusts her pants.

“Lyla, don't you have work to do?” He's curt and hard with his words, focusing most of his scowl on Lyla but at the last second, as he turns to disappear back into his office, he turns it on you.

“Y-Yes, Henry. Sorry.” Lyla sputters, her disappointment is clear in the careful downturn of her lips.

You’re not sure what look she gives you as she turns to head back to her desk because you’re staring at the now empty doorway to Henry's office.

Had you fucked up already? You just got back. You hadn’t done much work yet. What could you have possibly ruined that he's mad at you? Damn. So much for a good first day back.

Afraid you’ve ruined something for a client you get to your feet.

With a shaking hand you carefully put the picture of you and Bucky back in its spot. You run your finger along the curve of his jaw as you sigh, terrified of a reprimand, and silently plead with him for courage.

You grab your little brown leather book, a journal where you keep notes during meetings, and proceed into Henry's office holding the journal against the black fabric of your pencil skirt on your lap.

Henry's office is sparsely decorated. There’s a large ficus by the window where the sun streams in, a picture frame of his favorite book, American Gods on the wall behind his desk, and two large red leather arm chairs in front of his modern maple wood desk provide one of the only splashes of color in the office.

Aside from those small touches, there's a computer on his desk. The wall beside his window is covered in filing cabinets, and there's a set of weights and a weight bench behind you.

You swallow hard, watching as Henry keeps his back to you, both hands in his pockets. He stares at the framed poster.

“Shut the door, please.”

Shit. You definitely fucked something up.

You do as he says.

“Have a seat.”

You do, choosing the red chair on the right as you worry your lower lip. You don’t dare look away from Henry. There’s a slump of disappointment in his shoulders and as he moves around his desk, his eyes dart to your hands. You’re still clutching your journal to your lap but now sitting, you realize how nervous it makes you look to hold it so tightly.

Trying to relax, you release a breath you weren't aware you’d been holding.

“You’re not in trouble.” Henry assures you and you wonder how he knows that's what you’re thinking.

He stops at the exact center of his desk then seems to change his mind about something. He turns towards the other red chair to your left and angles it to face you. He sits on the edge, then reaches out and takes hold of the arms of your own chair and turns it until you’re facing him too.

It surprises you but you keep your mouth shut and observe.

Henry is leaning forward, his shoulders still hunched so that he's right at eye level. He's still scowling but there's something else to his expression. Something like sadness.

There’s a question in his eyes but you can’t read what it is. In your alert curiosity, you sit up straighter.

“If I’m not in trouble then why the intrigue?” Four years of working with Henry come crashing down. Four years of late nights. Four years of laughter and long conversations about books and movies and anything and everything.

You smile, still nervous but relaxed.

“You’re kinda scaring me.”

“Is it true?” He asks, his hands still resting on the top edge of your seat's arms.

“What?” You ask, your smile vanishing in your befuddlement.

His eyes flit to your left hand on your lap then back up to your eyes and the same moment he speaks, you understand what he's asking.

“Are you really married? Did-did you get married while you were on vacation?”

He's breathless and your heart is hammering in your chest. Your mind isn’t sure why but your body is already panicking, clammy hands, shortness of breath, and a turmoil of tumbles in your stomach.

“Um…yeah.” You say, unsure.

Henry's hands grip the arms of your seat more tightly as he drops his head and looks down at his feet.

“Sorry I didn’t invite you. It was all short notice.” You laugh once. “It all happened so quickly I-"

“No.” He groans.

“Henry?”

“No. No. This-this can’t be happening. You weren’t even dating anyone before you left!” He looks back at you and you’re startled by the intensity of his eyes. You know that look because over the last two weeks, you’ve seen Bucky give you that look.

Fuck. You weren’t expecting this. Not after four years. Why now? Four years! Shit, Henry!

“You can’t be married yet, Y/N. I haven't even had a chance to-to tell you yet.” His voice is strained, pained, but there are no tears in his voice. It's more of a lamentation than a sobbing.

It still hurts to hear. Henry's your friend. Why does he choose to do this now when he had so much time before?

You don’t ask what he wants to tell you. You know very well what he's referring to so you turn your eyes down to his knees to hopefully deter what's coming.

“Y/N?” He's leaning down more, trying to catch your eyes to read you, to see you.

“Henry, please don’t do this.”

“I love you. I-I have for a long time. You can’t be married before I’ve even had the chance to try.”

You look up to meet his gaze, feeling upset now that he's said the words. Those words. Those three stupid words that mean everything when Bucky says them and now mean pain when Henry does.

There’s a small hint of pining in your chest as you consider Henry's confession.

Once upon a time, during your second year working here, Henry had caught your eye. You'd been like all the other girls in the office. Completely smitten by the six foot-one tall man, his dark skin supple against his tight muscles, his laugh easy and free.

In some ways, if you think about it, Bucky reminds you of Henry. Bucky's more serious but when it's just the two of you, he's like Henry. He makes you laugh and he's free with his smiles.

His beautiful smiles, only meant for you.

At the time, when Henry had been all you wanted, he'd been dating a beautiful model.

A literal model. He'd met her at a photoshoot for one of the raunchy romance books the company had published. What chance had you had against a perfect body and an endearingly demanding personality?

When she'd cheated on him and they'd broken up, you comforted him, as any good friend would. Secretly hoping that maybe now that he was single he might see you.

He never did. Or if what he says now is true and he has loved you for a long time, he let you torture yourself. He said nothing then so he shouldn’t get to do this.

No. He doesn’t get to do this to you now that you’re happy.

“Henry, I don’t want to hear that right now.” You assure him. “Why would you do this right now?”

“Y/N…?”

“No, Henry.”

“Please?” He reaches out and places his hand over yours.

“No!” You reply loudly, yanking your hand away from him and getting to your feet. “How dare you do this to me now.”

You drop your voice so that the gossips that linger by doors to listen can’t hear you.

“After all this time? Years! I have known you for years and not once have you even indicated that you wanted to see me outside of work.

“Bucky knew me for only two hours and he asked me to marry him." Okay, that sounded more romantic in your head. “You’ve known me for four years and you have said nothing!”

Henry stands, hands clenched into tight fists.

“What did you just say? Two hours?! You married someone who asked you to marry him after two hours?!”

“Yes!” You turn your chin up defiantly because although your voice is full of strength and passion, it’s still on the softer side. You don’t raise your voice often if ever. “Bucky is my husband now. And I’m happy. I’m so fucking happy and I will not let you ruin it for me. I love him-"

“Love him? How can you love him? You barely know him!”

“Keep your voice down.” You growl quietly, looking towards the door.

“You know me and I know you. I know how we work, Y/N. Us. We'd be great together! I know everything about you. Does Bucky know about how you say you don't have a favorite ice cream flavor but you always seem to go back to vanilla?”

You turn away from him, reaching up to press your hand to your mouth as you try to contain the sorrow and anger all at once.

“Stop.” You whisper. You had yearned for this man. You'd imagined what it would be like to kiss him, to have him hold you, to have him get down on one knee and ask you to marry him. It hurts.

“Does he know how you like your coffee? Your favorite pizza toppings? How old you were when you lost your parents and your grandpa?”

You shake your head, your anger growing. “Stop, Henry.”

“What about when you lost your virginity? Does he know you held out for so long?”

Fuck! “That's enough, Henry. Stop it!”

You turn to look at him, fuming because the ache in your chest has no right to be there. You'd given up this hope. The stern quality of your voice prompts Henry to listen and he stops talking, his mouth open as he breathes hard with emotion.

“You don’t get to do this to me. You don’t get to throw our friendship in my face and use it as justification for you thinking I shouldn’t have married Bucky. I love him.”

Henry begins to open his mouth to argue.

“I said, I love him, Henry. And nothing you say is going to change that. I…”

You see the sorrow in his eyes and guilt begins to gnaw at your chest.

“I'm sorry that this hurts you but you never said anything. If you really loved me, anywhere close to how I love Bucky then you would not have been able to stand being quiet.”

“I was waiting for the right time.” Henry explains, sadly.

“And when would that be? After I got back from vacation? Six months after that? Next summer? Fall? Winter? I waited for two years. You never said or did anything. How long was I supposed to wait for you to finally notice me? I liked you so much but I knew that you could never-”

Henry's eyes flash with hope. “You like me?”

“Liked. Two years ago after you and Iko broke up. Past tense, Henry. I liked you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He takes a step towards you and you take a step back, on the defensive.

“Why didn't you?! Why am I the one that has to put myself out there to be broken and trampled on? Why do I need to take that first step? You should have said something. You.” You shake your head, recalling your anger. “Look, I…I don’t want to fight. What's done is done and I’m happy. I love my husband and I’m sorry that hurts you and that you don’t understand that I feel closer to Bucky after knowing him only two weeks than I have to anyone else I’ve ever met—save for Casey. And if you’re my friend, then you’ll tell me congratulations and never bring this up again.”

Cruel? You feel like it a little. Henry is trying so desperately to understand what went wrong for him.

He's quiet for so long, staring at your face as you fix him with a determined gaze.

“Henry?”

He seems to snap out of his daze but his sorrow doesn’t relent.

After a moment of consideration and knowing you need to get out of this office, you offer him your left hand. “Congratulate me, Henry, and wish me good luck.”

He looks down at your hand and then takes it. He turns it over so that he can look at the back of it, searching.

“No ring?”

You yank your hand away angrily. “Ugh, I’m going back home for a few days. Paid. I don’t think my vacation was long enough.”

You march around him and the chairs, then move back towards the door. A few more days away from the office will be perfect. After today's shocking confessions, you need distance.

“Y/N?” You stop and look back at him, feeling worse. “Congratulations.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Henry,” You chastise him, and he caves immediately, relaxing his shoulders and turning that pleading gaze normal again.

As you shift uncomfortably, he sighs. “Sorry.”

You don’t want to deal with this on top of how shitty you’re already feeling at how Bucky left you alone again.

“I should go.” You make to lift the box but it's heavy and although you lift it well enough, you’re struggling.

Henry hurries forward, placing his hands on the handles of the cardboard box over yours.

“I’ll help you carry it home.”

“No, I’m alright. It's only two blocks.” A short walk and you’re home. A short walk and you’re at work.

It was one of the reasons Bucky chose this neighborhood. For you.

“It's heavy. Let me help.”

“No, I said I’ve got it.” You insist, trying to pull the box out of his grip. His hands are really hot over yours.

“Y/N,” The firm way he says your name halts your resistance. “I know you’re refusing to let it show how upset you are, for his benefit. I can see you're hurt. I don’t know what he did but, I can’t let you walk home alone while you have that look on your face.”

Startled by your inability to hide how you feel, you drop your hands and he easily takes up the weight.

“Besides, this box is heavy. Are you gonna let me feel like a douche? Or can I walk you home?”

You worry your bottom lip, hating the temptation of having him help you. You don’t see anything in the escort but Henry? He might think it means more than one friend helping another.

“I don’t know…”

He tilts his head, frowning at you as if to say, Come on. Stop being stubborn. You give in.

“Okay.” You still feel weird about it, but Henry walks you home, holding your box casually.

He walks you into your building. Up the stairs. And all the way to your door. You stop there, staring at the wood, wondering if Bucky is inside.

What are you gonna say? You really don’t want to fight but this isn’t okay. You can’t keep letting him think that leaving you alone as he has is alright. Because it isn’t. And it’s piling up into a mountainous problem. What if one of these days it gets so big that you can’t get over it?

“Y/N?” Henry gently urges.

You swallow hard then fish out your keys and unlock the door. He’s still not home. It wouldn’t have been locked if he were home. He never locks the door.

Your heart drops as you open the door into the empty apartment. Moving inside you move past the kitchen, into the large open room that makes up your living room and your dining room. You gesture Henry towards the large table with six chairs behind the sofa.

“Just drop it there.”

“Wow.” Henry moves in admiring the architecture of your home. “This place is nice.”

It really is beautiful. Art Deco curves and angles, swift sharp edges and then softly curved accents. The furniture is equally beautiful, and the only modern touches came from the items that you bought. The yellow throw pillows on the couch, the blue dishes sitting dirty in the sink.

Shit…you need to wash those. Bucky hates that.

As you’re caught up staring at the dirty dishes, you reach up and scratch the back of your neck.

“Thanks.” You say absentmindedly.

Suddenly, your attention is pulled to Henry, his large imposing form beside you. He’s not looking at the dirty dishes though. You find him looking at the large wedding photo of you and Bucky hung on the other side of the dining table.

“You looked beautiful, Y/N.” He says softly.

You don’t like the way his compliment makes your stomach shift.

There are more photos of you and Bucky on the end tables by the couch, on the empty shelves of the bookcase by the TV, there’s even one of you two cooking in the kitchen.

There is your life laid bare for Henry to see. You could show him your bedroom. There’s more in there. And then maybe if he saw the bed where Bucky fucks you, he might finally abandon his apparent love for you. You don’t need the reminder of it every time you go to work.

“You looked happy in those pictures.” Henry gestures only at the one in the kitchen sitting between two cabinets underneath the smoke detector and over the coffee maker.

Looked happy. You caught that.

“I am happy.” You insist.

“Right.”

“You should go.” You tell him and move towards the front door to open it up for him again.

He follows and stops just outside the doorway as you occupy the space in front of him, arms wrapped over your chest as you lean against the jamb.

Henry turns, shoving his hands into his pockets where he must be clenching them because you can see the strain of his veins on his forearms as he looks at you.

“I don’t know what’s upset you. And I know you won’t tell me. I…I took that away from you. Our friendship.” Henry sighs.

“Henry…please don’t.” You beg, you don’t want these words in your head when things are already so difficult.

“I need to say this.” He moves towards you, reaching to take hold of your arms just above the elbow. “I’m here, Y/N. I know that it might not be what it was but if you need to talk, or vent, or just not talk and spend a few hours doing something to get your mind off of whatever it is that’s bothering you—I’m here. I will always be here for you. As your friend…or…whatever you might need?”

The hopeful tone in his voice as he finishes what had begun as a comforting notion of having someone less aggressive than Casey to talk to, drives all the pleasantness of his words away.

You pull your arms away and he drops his hold on you.

“Thanks.” You tell him. “But I’m fine.”

Henry watches you for so long, you begin to feel exposed. He can see through you and you don’t like that or the ache that renews in your chest.

You’re slightly startled when you feel a warm flutter on your cheek as he presses a soft kiss to your skin. You freeze.

“I mean it. I’m here.” He pulls back and leaves.

You don’t watch him go. You stare at the spot he’d just been in, confusion washing over you in waves as you go back inside and shut the door. As if you’re on autopilot you wander into the kitchen, pull on your apron—a gag gift from Steve that looks like his Captain America uniform—and settle in front of the sink to wash the dishes.

You’re only at it for a few minutes. Enough time to get three plates washed, before the front door opens and shuts.

Your hands freeze for a moment, but you go back to washing when you feel eyes on you. You scrub hard. Too hard. You don’t care. You’re not really seeing the dishes. You’re gauging the room. You’re listening for his feet. You’re waiting for his words. Instead you smell soft soap and blue water musk as a warmth curls around your back.

He’s so fucking silent sometimes!

Shining metal reaches out and shuts off the sink leaving your hands soapy and wet. The hand retreats to the edge of the sink and holds the counter firmly.

“Where’d you go?” He asks and you see red. You’re so angry at him!

“Where did you?!” Not a shout. Never a shout. You don’t scream often. But your soft voice is stern. Hurt.

A heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I…I’m an idiot.”

“You keep telling me that, Bucky but it doesn’t seem to change anything.” You turn to look at him, but he doesn’t adjust his distance. He keeps you there in the tight circle of his arms as you meet his eyes.

There’s guilt in his expression. Good. At least he really means it.

“Why did you leave this morning?”

“I didn’t think.”

“I waited for you last night, Bucky. I-I cancelled plans with Casey and Jess because I wanted to see you. Because I was worried about you. And then I wake up this morning and you’re gone?” Now that you’ve let it all tumble out, it’s flowing quickly.

You’re not afraid of him getting angry because you’re so upset that you don’t care.

“I wasn’t thinking.” He admits, dropping his eyes to your neck and away from the hurt in your eyes. “I-I don’t even know what else to say. I’m an idiot.”

“Don’t you want to spend time with me?” You ask him, more hurt than anything else now.

“Of course! Of course, I do, Y/N. How could you think that I don’t-?”

“Because you’re never here!” Okay, this time you’re loud. You push him away and move towards the cabinets with the picture of you and Bucky cooking. You glare at the picture for a second then turn to look at him again, accusation and uncertainty flooding towards him. “You leave and you come back, and you don’t come home. I know that your job is demanding. I get that. That’s what you do, and I don’t want you to stop doing it because it’s who you are but when you’re not working at least for one day after you get back why can’t you just stay here? With me? I wake up and you’re gone. Sometimes I go to bed and you’re still not home. We go out and then we come back home, you leave again. You say that you want to be with me but everything that you do tells me that you don’t.”

He’s silent, staring at you with a wrinkled brow, that adorable pucker between his eyes not so adorable as you rage at him because of how you’ve been feeling. You need him to understand. Can you just say it? Maybe you should just say it?

“Sometimes…” You hesitate. You shake your head and convince yourself to not say it.

“What?” Bucky asks, closing the space between you again, and wraps his arms around your waist.

“No.” You pull away, but he tightens his hold and he keeps you facing him.

“Tell me. Please?”

“I-”

He pulls you closer and his body reminds you of what you’ve been missing and unfortunately what you’ve also been suspecting.

“Sometimes I think that maybe all I am to you is a guaranteed lay.” Your voice is almost dead as you say the words aloud. You never wanted to speak these words out and much less to Bucky himself. What if he confirms them? “You go away, and you come home, and you sleep with me and then you leave. Maybe I’m stupid for thinking it could be anything more than that since that’s how we started? Right? Sex in public before you even knew my name.

“That must be all I am. Spread legs whenever you need them and complacent silence when you leave?”

“No.” Bucky growls, suddenly pulling you into a crushing embrace. He reaches up and holds your head tenderly with his right hand while his left pulls you tight against his chest. “No, never think that, Y/N.”

The quiet that fills the apartment is deafening and you don’t wrap your arms around him. He holds you tighter, maybe feeling the distance you’re feeling because he’s almost desperate in how he clings to you.

“You’re more than a lay. Shit, Y/N, you’re all I think about when I’m gone.” He assures you and pulls back to cradle your face in his hands.

You look for the lie in his eyes but don’t find one. It brings you back to the pain you’ve been feeling, shoving the numbness away.

“Then, why?” You reach up and grab hold of his wrists as he holds your face. “Why do you always leave me? We could have done so much today. We could have gone to the park. Or the movies? Or the beach?”

A slight sting of guilt cuts you as you remember Henry’s offer but that memory sprinkles through your mind and vanishes quickly because Bucky is here, right in front of you, desperately clinging to what he thinks is a wife slipping through his fingers.

“I-I don’t know.” Bucky admits. “Yesterday I just…I-”

“You forgot about me?”

“No!” He says loud, deep booming voice starling you into jumping slightly. “I did not forget you, Y/N, I just forgot to look at the time. And last night you were so upset with me that when I woke up, I thought maybe you might not want to see me?”

“I always want to see you, Bucky. I don’t see you enough. Even when I’m angry at you I need to see you.” You sigh, frustrated with him. “Don’t you understand that when you aren’t with me all I can do is worry about you? I miss you. I want to be with you. You’re all I think about and for you to just leave me by myself especially when you’re here and you can choose to be with me but you don’t-?”

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else I can say except that I’m so, so sorry. I’m not setting out to make you feel like you’re not important. You are so important to me. Ask Steve! I’m day dreaming about being back here with you-”

“But you keep leaving!”

“I know!”

Now you’re both shouting.

You push his hands away and move around him, but he catches your wrist and pulls you back into the circle of his arms. You try to push him away, but he doesn’t let you go.

“My job-” He begins quietly.

“It’s not your job I’m talking about, Bucky.” You pull away from him and he lets you this time because you’re still shouting. “I already told you that I know your work is going to take you away from me. I’m not complaining about your work, I’m trying to understand why it is that when you aren’t on mission, you don’t seem to include me in your life? Maybe we did this too soon?”

“Did what?” He asks, anger flashing in his steel blue eyes turning them into ice.

“This. Us. Maybe we shouldn’t have gotten married so quickly?”

“How can you say that?” Bucky growls moving towards you, his hands cradling your face once more so that you can’t look away from him as he looks into your eyes, searching for the regret of marrying him.

He doesn’t find it. He won’t. No matter how much he searches because you will never regret telling him, ‘I do.’

“You don’t know how to fit me into your life, Bucky. And I can’t keep waiting for you in this apartment until you’re ready to see me. I feel like you don’t want me in your life, and you take absolutely no interest in mine. Is this what a marriage is supposed to be?”

Bucky sees that you’re right. He’s created this line in his life and kept you on one side of it and his Avenging and his friends on the other. Why did he do that? Why hasn’t he tried to take you and mingle you with the other half of his life? He’d been doing it a bit before the wedding but after the wedding it all just fell into two parts.

You were here, his perfect, beautiful, wife. You gave him a home and a family of the like he’d never expected to have. He loves you and he loves that you gave this life to him but how does he pair it with the one he leads at the compound?

He can’t see you around Sam’s snarky teasing or Steve’s serious focus when it comes to missions. He doesn’t want you to deal with Nat and her harsh observances or Vision’s lack of tact. He doesn’t want you exposed to anything that might hurt you but here he is, hurting you himself.

Then there’s your life. It’s true, Bucky doesn’t know what you do when he’s not home. He’s never thought about it because who cares? As long as you’re with him when he’s here, what does it matter what you do?

At least, it didn’t matter before today. Then he saw just how dangerous not only leaving you alone is but also how unexpectedly dumb he is to the possibilities of what your life might offer away from him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Who the fuck-?

Bucky slides back behind the wall into the doorway of the stairwell and hides, grabbing the knob to stop the door from shutting loudly. He peeks out and stares down the hall at a tall black man. He’s built like a house and he’s good looking. What the hell is he doing coming out of Bucky’s house?!

Then you appear in the doorway and Bucky’s mouth falls open because you know this guy. It’s so clear in the way you look at him that you know him. You’re also defensive, with your arms crossed tight across your chest. Did this guy hurt you? Bucky’ll kill him!

Instead he watches as the man turns to you with softness in his eyes. Fondness. What the hell is going on here?

“I don’t know what’s upset you. And I know you won’t tell me. I…I took that away from you. Our friendship.” Friendship? You’ve never told Bucky you have a friend who looks like that. What the hell?

“Henry…please don’t.” That tone…why are you so upset? Bucky doesn’t like that tone. It reminds him of…

“I need to say this.” The black man moves towards you, reaching to take hold of your arms just above the elbow. Bucky grits his teeth, squeezing his jaw so tight that his teeth creak and groan as he fights the urge to rush over to you and cut the man’s arms at the wrist so that he can never touch you again.

“I’m here, Y/N. I know that it might not be what it was but if you need to talk, or vent, or just not talk and spend a few hours doing something to get your mind off of whatever it is that’s bothering you—I’m here.”

Like fuck he is! Bucky thinks. What the hell would you two do for a few hours that would silence your mind?

Sex of course pops into Bucky’s head and he grabs the handle so tight with his left hand that it curves to the shape of his fingers.

“I will always be here for you. As your friend…or…whatever you might need?”

Bucky sees red and this time he takes a step out towards the hallway, intent on killing this guy because there was no question in what he meant. He’s offering you sex. Definitely. And from the hopeful tone he uses, love? Does that guy love you? Why? Who the hell is he? Why do you know him so well? Since when did you have a friend who looks like that?!

“Thanks.” Your voice stops Bucky and he quickly hides again. “But I’m fine.”

Bucky can hear it in just your voice that you aren’t okay. What has he done? Why would he leave you alone after what happened last night? He’s an idiot. He deserves to have you stolen from him for the way he’s been treating you.

The man—Henry?—seems to see this too because he just stares at you as you continue to look more and more uncomfortable.

Then he kisses your cheek and Bucky just about blacks out. Several scenarios play out in Bucky’s head. He could follow the man and pull him into an alleyway and strangle him to death. But that would be too quick.

Better to kidnap him, take him into that abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. Then he can starve him and cut at him for several hours. Maybe even days? Then he’ll sew his lips shut and slice them off just when he thinks that it can’t get any worse.

The violence of the images that flash through Bucky’s mind pull him from the haze. He hasn’t felt this way since his brainwashing, and he’s startled by the intensity of the emotions that brought it forth.

There is no doubt in Bucky’s mind—and there never has been but it’s so certain in him now—that he loves you more than even he might understand.

“I mean it. I’m here.” Bucky thanks God that this Henry leaves.

When you shut the door and go back inside, Bucky moves out and walks down the hall towards home.

As he passes him, he sees that Henry recognizes him, probably from the pictures in the apartment, and as much as Bucky wants to reach out and squeeze this Henry guy’s windpipe to crush it, he walks past him with his chest puffed and his eyes glaring death. It’s only when he knows that he’s gone that he shrinks and stares at the doorway for a few minutes hoping that he hasn’t done any kind of irreversible damage to your marriage.

~~~~~~~~~~

Unable to help himself any longer and since you’re the one that brought it up, he asks.

“Who was that guy I saw leaving?” He’s as gentle as he can be in his question. He doesn’t want you to see or hear the anger he felt when that idiot kissed you.

Your face loses all color and you look away from him to the curve of his neck.

“Henry. My boss.”

“That’s your boss?” Bucky demands, surprised and now cursing himself for never showing an interest in your work before today. He’s an idiot not only because now he knows there’s this dude, so clearly wanting you every day that he can’t be around, reminding you that if Bucky’s not there, then this guy surely is, but also because it took this kind of jealousy to make Bucky realize how little he knows about your life.

He understands what you’re saying now. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. The two of you should be living a life together. Not apart. How has he not seen this until now? Stupid hot Henry guy making Bucky all jealous.

It’s quiet between the two of you for several minutes. Bucky drops his hands, trailing them down the sides of your neck, along your shoulders, and then finally stops them on the sides of your arms. He squeezes them, relishing in the softness of your body.

So much of his life has been hard, cold, rough, sharp, and painful. You give him everything opposite; soft, warm, smooth, gentle, and love. So much love. Bucky needs to make this up to you, and he knows what the first step must be.

Bucky pulls you closer, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours as your hands trace the shape of his shoulder blades, straining and tense on his gray t-shirt.

“You’re right.” Bucky admits and your breath catches. “You’re so fucking right, and I’ve been so blind. I’m sorry. I haven’t been trying hard enough to build us a life together. I’m sorry I haven’t shown any interest in your work and the things that you do. This isn’t how it should be. You’re…you’re right, Y/N.”

You don’t want to hear that you’re right. That’s not why you’re angry.

“I don’t want to be right, Bucky. I just want you and me to be happy.”

You can see the pain flit through Bucky’s eyes at the implication that the two of you haven’t been happy.

Since that first problem you two faced with him calling you when he got home, small things have cropped up. Nothing serious. Small marks of irritation or annoyance as you two learn to live together. Bucky hates that you leave the dishes unwashed for a while. You hate how he doesn’t pick up his towels after he showers.

He complains about how you leave clean clothes piled on the chair in your bedroom instead of putting it up right away. Bucky doesn’t clean up his hair from the sink after he trims his beard. You don’t pick up your hair from the drain in the shower. Bucky forgets to put the toilet seat back down. You put your feet up on the coffee table. Bucky drinks straight from the carton of milk.

Small things piling up and making life just a little less easy.

But these aren’t the things that have made you unhappy. Though life is more real for the two of you now, the fact that you still feel like you’re living two lives is why you’re unhappy.

“I’ll do better. Next time we have a mission, I want you to come with me to the dinner we have afterwards.” Bucky promises and you feel bad because he’s not the only one that’s been messing up. Sure, he’s the one that’s been leaving you alone, but you should have spoken up much sooner.

“Really?” You ask, surprised and excited suddenly.

“Of course.”

“I’ll try harder too, baby. I’ll do better, too.”

“You’re perfect, Y/N.” Bucky insists, but you’re not.

“We’ve both been messing up. We’ll both do better. I love you. I don’t want to lose you.” You sigh, eager for this fight to be over. It does finally seem like Bucky gets it and that more than anything softens your anger.

“You won’t lose me, kitten. I’m not going anywhere.”

You lean up to kiss him because you need to feel his lips, but he pulls back and your heart clenches painfully.

“Hold that thought.” He smiles down at you and hurries back towards the door. When he comes back, he’s holding a bouquet of y/f/f.

You smile, heart fluttering. You really are too easy to woo. Some reassurance and an offering of flowers and you’re putty in his hands.

“I’d been waiting for a bit and I thought maybe I’d need some backup to apologize so I went out and got you these. Should I have got you a necklace instead?”

You laugh lightly and nod. “They’re beautiful, Bucky. This is perfect.”

When he offers them, you take them, and smell them before leaning back up towards his lips. Bucky pulls back again and this time you frown.

“Bucky…”

“It’s just, what you said-I don’t only want you for sex, Y/N. I need you to know that.”

“Ugh, that’s why I didn’t want to tell you about that. It was a fleeting thought after we had sex and you left the next morning to workout with Sam and Steve. It was a flash of a worry and then it was gone.”

“But it was still there. I love you, so much. Not just your body.”

You reach over and put your flowers on the counter as you move in close to press your body against Bucky’s. He looks down at you, intense and confused.

“But you do love my body, right?” You slide your hands up under his shirt, tracing your hands along the hot skin of his sides.

His eyebrows twitch upwards at your touch.

“Of course, I love your body.” He assures you. “But I love you too.”

“Okay. I get that, but right now, I need you to show me how much you love my body.” You explain. “It’s been a week, Bucky. I’ve missed you so much.”

There’s a groan in your voice as your hands move up along his bare back. They go about hallway up before they drop down to the small of his back and you slip the tips of your fingers down into the waistband of his jeans.

The curve of his bum is sudden and deep. He has a really nice butt. You trace it down, touching him with desire.

“You’re not angry anymore?” He asks, but his hands are already on your waist, slipping the strings of the apron you’re wearing off. He reaches under your puffed sleeve yellow top and traces the skin of your back, all the way up to the center drawing you closer.

You shake your head slow and mid-shake, Bucky dives down to meet your lips.

He swallows your sigh and you inhale his groan. Both of you melting into the other after such an exhausting fight. He pushes you back until you hit the counter and then he reaches down to lift you up by your waist and sit you on the cold tile.

He undoes the buttons of your dark gray; lace tiered shorts and you lift your butt as he tugs them down and off. He tosses them over the counter and into the dining room quickly followed by your underwear. He nudges your legs open and settles between them, with his right hand searching your folds for your nub.

You’re already dripping wet, having missed him in his absence and wanting nothing more than to have him touch you.

You shudder at his prodding and when he slips two fingers into you, you gasp and lean forward towards him. He wraps his left arm around you, catching you in a kiss as he pumps his fingers in and out while his palm presses hard against your nub.

His kiss slowly shifts and somewhere between finger pumps, he deepens it with feeling rather than lust.

You pull back, surprised and breathless by the shift because you can feel it in your chest. You can feel the ache of confusion and he doesn’t let you get far. He pulls his fingers from your core and lifts you from the counter.

He stares into your eyes as he carries you to the bedroom then lowers you onto the bed. You fall with a small bounce, but you watch as Bucky strips himself naked. There are bruises on his torso and you sit up, startled by the wounds you hadn’t found yesterday because you hadn’t been looking for them. You’d been so wrapped up in your feelings of neglect that you hadn’t noticed his hurt.

“Oh, Bucky…” There’s a gash along his left side, a faded pink puckered line. You know it’ll be gone by tomorrow but the thought of the cut that had been there before it sealed. The blood he must have lost and the sharp pain he must have felt?

“I’m okay.” He assures you then as you look up at him, still tracing the scar, he kisses you breathing you in as he opens his mouth to deepen it.

You shut your eyes as he hooks his hands into the bottom of your shirt, and he relieves you of it. Your breasts are freed shortly after and Bucky pushes you back to crawl over you. He reaches down to pull your legs apart, settling between them once more but this time sliding into you without warning.

You go still beneath him, your mouth open in a silent gasp as he stretches you. He watches you, enjoying the expression of surprise, pleasure, relief, and love you’re giving him.

Pushing your hair back, he bites his bottom lip as he begins to pump in and out of you, burying himself as deeply as he can. He blinks slowly, never breaking eye contact.

You see what he’s doing. What he’s saying. As your body jerks upwards, bouncing against the bed, he’s telling you that he loves you.

You don’t know why it happens now, maybe it’s because of the fight? Or the sheer intensity of his gaze? Maybe it’s because he’s still cradling your face, staring at you as if he’s already lost you and he’s just now realizing how much he loves you, but you start to cry.

“Oh, Y/N…” Bucky sighs, leaning down to lay on you completely as he wraps you up in his arms and his lips find yours to kiss you with feeling.

He moves slowly, his hips moving in soft waves as he pushes himself into you. Every time he bottoms out, his pelvis rubs against yours, pressing your button just right to draw a small moan from your lips. He’s like water in his movements, smooth and flowing.

This isn’t the sex that you two have when it’s lust that drives you forward. You had never been able to really tell the difference between making love and having sex. Not until you met Bucky. The first time this had happened after your fight about calling home, it had been similar but nothing like this.

The way he’s holding you against himself, clinging to you as he marks you as his, something’s changed.

He pulls up, tracing kisses along your jaw and neck before stopping beside your ear. “I love you.”

His whisper is warm and smooth. The flutter in your heart and the stretch of his cock war for dominance in importance. Together, they make your body hum.

“Bucky…Bucky…” You moan, sweet whispers as he takes you closer and closer to ecstasy.

His hips begin to move faster, he groans, pushing himself up as he angles himself to pound into you a bit more roughly. Despite the pace, his hands are soft, feather touches against your skin as he traces the shape of your breasts and then your ribs with the tender tips of his fingers.

His touch raises goosebumps and you whimper raising your knees and reaching down to grab handfuls of his bum to press him down harder against you.

“Tell me, baby.” He coaxes your desires forth, wanting to hear how much you want him just as much as you want to feel it. “Say it.”

“Harder, Bucky.” You plead, begging for contact. “I want you in deep.”

Your words make him growl and he leans down on his forearm as his metal hand reaches down to take hold of the right side of your ass. He holds it still as he shoves himself into you, roughly pounding into your nub.

You shut your eyes, your hands wandering up to his lower back as his movements become quick and wild.

“I love you so much.” Bucky gushes. “Come for me, kitten.”

You’re not sure whether it’s his declaration of love or the way he’s talking dirty—well, dirty for you, but your legs suddenly wrap around his waist and you pull him flush against your core as it explodes with fire and sparks.

Your head goes dizzy, whirling the world around you into fog.

Bucky keeps thrusting. Just a few more times before he groans and drops his head to your neck. He bites down, making you purr, as he erupts within you.

Ragged breathing, musty sex, and the fresh scent of soap fill the room. Sweating together, you cling to each other, desperate to hold on to this moment of bliss after the terrible low of your fight in the kitchen.

But reality comes crashing down as you wonder if you both forgot or just you? How could you let all the emotions get in the way of this one thing that you had sworn to keep in mind before you and Bucky had sex each time?

Bucky pulls out of you reluctantly and slides to the edge of the bed. You see him fumble between his legs as he pulls off the condom and tosses it into the wastebasket by his bedside table and a wave of relief washes over you.

For a moment you’d thought both of you had forgotten protection. Relaxed, you sigh. “Bucky?”

You reach for him, your fingers sliding along his lower back. He looks back at you and lays back down, turning to hover half over you and half on the bed. He kisses you lazily, still wrapped in the warm glow of his orgasm like you are.

“Tell me about your day.” Bucky says. “Why did your boss come here?”

You smile because you know he’s doing what he promised. It’s easy to do it right away, just after you had a fight about it. He’s taking interest in your life. Hopefully he’ll continue to do it when things are busier and time has passed.

“He was helping me carry the box on the dining room table home. It was heavy.”

“You should have called me.” Bucky argues lightly.

“I should have.” Yes. You really should have.

“What’s in the box?”

“Manuscripts. People send them in for publishing and I have to pick one to publish for the next Spring release. I’ll choose one in the next few weeks and then we’ll have the author come in to do edits. Then eventually we’ll publish it.” Bucky’s eyes sparkle with interest.

“Don’t agents have to send the manuscripts in? Or can anyone send them in?”

“Normally yeah, it’s agents. But we’re still a growing publisher so we take what we can get. If we ever get really big then maybe we’ll start to do it that way but if I’m honest, I like it this way.”

“Why?”

You shrug. “Because this way, I get to truly know the author. I call them. I talk to them. I set everything up. I get to see why they’re writing. What they want from it. I see the passion for what they do or lack thereof. It’s eye opening. Some people do it for the money which almost always means a shallow story. Some people do it because they really enjoy writing. Fusing words together in unique and beautiful ways. And others…my favorites…are the ones that like to tell stories.

“They’re not weighed down by the idea of perfect grammar or amazing prose.”

“Isn’t that important though?” Bucky wonders, relaxing beside you. You turn to look at him as he settles in, head on his pillow.

“Of course, you want to see that a writer has taken time to go back and fix things. Misspelled words are okay and sentence structure has always been flexible for me so long as it benefits the story, but when I read that first manuscript, I’m looking for a spark. A good story. Something people want to read. I’ve read some stories that are beautifully written that aren’t very interesting. Every once in a while, I find someone who’s good at what makes the writing pretty and also good at telling the story. But it doesn’t happen often.”

“Sounds like you love your job.” Bucky realizes, a small worry in his eyes.

“I really do.”

Speaking of jobs. On your bedside table, where Bucky’s phone is charging, it suddenly begins to ring.

You know that ringtone.

Bucky pushes himself up and rolls over you to reach for his phone. As he stretches towards it, you quickly react, and grab hold of his right wrist.

He looks down at you, slightly startled by your hold.

“Bucky,” You start, chewing your bottom lip. “Don’t answer it.”

Bucky stares at you then looks up towards his phone as it stops ringing and then shuts off. He meets your eyes again and slides his hand down until he can intertwine your hands together. He pulls both of your arms up over your head as he dips down to meet your lips in a clearly lustful kiss.

He reaches over, closer to his side of the bed than yours, and takes another metallic silver package in hand so that he can pound you into the bed once more.

You’d fallen asleep in Bucky’s arms, clinging to his strong torso, nestled in the nook between his metal arm and his side. He’s breathing heavily, fast asleep, and you’re only awake because you swear you just heard knocking.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

There it is again. Your eyes open a bit wider as you look up towards your bedroom door.

No. You think because you know what that is.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

Bucky shifts beside you, sitting upright, startled by the knocking. You’re already awake and you sit up with him.

He looks down at you, sleepy but happy to see you there.

Like instinct he leans down to kiss you, forgetting the knocking on the door, as if he needs to make sure you’re really there.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! “Buck!”

You groan and when Bucky pulls back, you whine. “No.”

Bucky sighs, hating to leave the bed but he does get up. He pulls on a pair of sweats then makes for the door. You rush to get to your feet, pulling your gray robe on. You quickly fasten it as you follow him but stop at the mouth of the hallway to glance towards the front door as Bucky pulls it open.

Sure enough, just as you’d first suspected the day after your wedding, if Bucky didn’t answer the phone then Steve would surely come and get him.

Here’s the proof that you were right. There’s Steve, looking serious, in full uniform.

“What is it, Steve?”

“We found him. I think we finally found him, Buck.”

Bucky’s relaxed body quickly shifts into mission mode and though you would normally admire the tight pull of his back muscles, the tension there means he’s already decided.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. We need you.”

“Give me five minutes.” Bucky leaves the door open for Steve to come in as he moves back towards you.

As he passes you, he gives you a quick look of apology as he caresses the right side of your face with his metal hand. You reach up to clutch it there but there is no holding him back when he’s decided to go.

He disappears back into your bedroom and you turn to give Steve a nice hateful glare.

How surprised had your neighbors been to spot Captain America walking up the stairs?

“Sorry, Y/N.” Steve apologizes, and it sounds like he means it.

You continue to frown as you move after Bucky and find him already dressed in his black Avengers garb. The spare that he keeps in the closet in case he should need it. It makes you feel better to see him at least appropriately armored but at the same time, you just want to keep him here with you.

He shoves a few more things into his duffel bag, reaches up to tie his hair up into a loose low bun, then after a minute he reaches into his duffel and pulls out a handgun. He places it on your bedside table.

You know that handgun. It’s the one he cleans on the dining room table. It’s got his name, Barnes, etched into the grip. It’s his favorite handgun.

“You keep that there. Steve is such an idiot, coming here wearing full uniform.” And you’re surprised at how angry Bucky sounds as he says Steve’s name.

“Why is he-?”

“Anyone who saw him walk in here will know that someone important lives here now. And when they see me walk out with him, it won’t be hard to guess who.”

You think back to the first week after you were married. News and internet articles had sprung up with stories about Bucky getting married. Everyone knew that he had a wife though no one knew who it was. They didn’t know where you lived with him, but they knew that somewhere out in the world there was a woman who’d married James Buchanan Barnes. Someone he loved.

Although the public still avoided Bucky, they gave him his space because he was—to some of them—still the Winter Soldier, they feared him. But Captain America? There would be pictures of him surfacing from this building within the hour.

“Why do I need the gun though?” You look at it, uncomfortable and worried about having to use it.

“I’ve been an idiot for not getting you ready for this possibility before. When I get back you and I are going to start training a bit. I’ll show you how to fight and how to shoot.” Bucky closes his duffel bag and throws it over his shoulder.

You’re too busy staring at the gun, suddenly terrified about someone showing up here to pick a fight with Bucky to find you alone.

Bucky’s in front of you, arms wrapped around you as he pulls you close. “You’re safe, here, Y/N. I’ll ask Tony if he can send someone to tighten up the security. Make it harder for someone to break in. The gun is just in case someone happens to get in. You point, hold the gun with both hands, Y/N, and squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull it. And don’t you dare close your eyes. You keep them wide open when you fire. Aim and shoot.”

“Bucky…” You’re suddenly scared of being here without him.

“I’m sorry I have to go so soon.” He sighs and pulls you into a mind-numbing kiss. When he pulls back, you’re breathless but your mind is alert and worried.

“Please be safe.” You beg. “I need you to come back to me, Bucky.”

“How can I do anything but come back to you when I’ve got such a beautiful and loving woman waiting for me?”

He hugs you, holding you tenderly to his chest as he tells you without words how much he doesn’t want to go either.

“I love you. And I’m so sorry I’ve been such an ass.”

“I love you.” You whisper back at him.

Bucky pulls away but takes your hand and walks with you into the living room. Steve gets to his feet and moves for the door.

“Sorry this is such a quick visit, Y/N.” Steve says.

“I hate you.” You tell him and Bucky smiles while Steve turns around just outside the door and looks offended.

“What did I do?”

You ignore him as Bucky stops at the door and turns to give you one last kiss. “Lock the door.”

After he and Steve are out of sight you shut the door and do it.

Thanks for reading!

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[dragonrajafanfiction]

Lady’s Almanac

When Ru’Yi entered the offices for Lady’s Almanac she couldn’t believe her eyes.

Tiled floors, a professional reception area, and enlarged covers with famous Cassell women on the walls. It looked more like Vogue magazine than a humble college publication.

“Smells good in here.” Tom mumbled. It took some convincing to get him to come. He wasn’t sure what popularity would mean for him. Ru’Yi just wanted people to say hi to him on the street. He was worried about people finding out about his past history and avoiding him.

“Chu Ru’Yi? Thomas Allman?” A tall woman in high high heels, a short-skirted business suit clutched a clipboard and held out her hand. “I’m Maria Hernandez. Welcome to Lady’s Almanac. We’re running on a bit tight schedule so let’s get you back into hair and make up.”

“Uhh.. make up?” Tom asked.

“Yes, every interview comes with a photoshoot.” She frowned slightly when she looked at him, but didn’t comment.

Ru’Yi thought she probably was wondering how a photoshoot with a blind person would go. But if the professional nature of the office space was any indication, the photographers should be top notch and able to work with him. Still, she reassured him. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay nearby.”

The makeup room was amazingly crowded. Every seat was filled save two and staff wandered about like cattle milling in a pen. “Just take a seat here and we’ll get started.”

“Don’t worry, there’s no one here but professional people. It looks way nicer than I expected!” Ru’Yi said, sensing Tom’s nervousness. “It’s not like a doctor’s office at all.”

She looked to the cosmetologists. “Do you guys mind introducing yourselves first?”

These poor people looked a little amazed to be working on someone who couldn’t see. She imagined they just worked on head after head and face after face and may not have even been aware that they were coming.

“I’m Richard. I’ll be your hair dresser and this is Monica...”

Tom wasn’t sure where Monica was but she just stood there, arms crossed frowning. 

“She’ll be doing your face...” Richard finished the sentence. 

Ru’Yi swallowed.

“You’ll have to trust me, I guess?” Monica said with an incredulous laugh in her voice.

Ru’Yi’s hackles rose. She addressed Tom. “Don’t worry, Tom. I’ll be next to you in the chair to your right! Let me know if you need any help!”

Already, she was starting to doubt her decision. Not everyone was nice or discreet. She tried to cut ‘Monica’ some slack. Maybe she was having a rough day.

Under the bright lights and the noise of the makeup room, she had her hair washed, dried and styled. Even though she took care of it well enough, the quality of the products and the expertise of the staff made it shine and gave it bounce. Each dark curl was gloriously defined! 

While her make up was being applied, she glanced over at what they were doing to Tom. Her eyelids flew open. He was just sitting still. He couldn’t see himself in the mirror. He was completely expressionless. They had swept his black hair to one side, expertly gelled it there. That removed the shadow of his bangs from his face and let the violet hue of his eyes shine even more! 

They applied a little highlighter to even out his skin tone.  Other than that, only moisturizer was needed. She always thought he was nice looking enough, but now?

He looked amazing!

Once they were done with hair and makeup, they were led to wardrobe. Tom was fitted with a button down shirt, slacks and a sports jacket. Ru’Yi got a summery yellow cotton dress. “Weird. It’s so cold outside...”

“This is for our Spring Issue.” The Wardrobe lady commented, not even glancing at her.

On set, they were on a backdrop of a greenscreen. Their pictures would be taken and set electronically on the page later. they had to wait for everything to get set up. Meanwhile, they to sit in a chair and eat snacks.

“You look really good.” Ru’Yi said.

“Is it just me? Or is everyone here miserable?” Tom asked quietly.

Ru’Yi looked up at him. He wouldn’t be fooled by the glitz and the glamour of the place. She turned and looked and she didn’t see a single smiling face. Everyone looked incredibly stressed out. No one was laughing.

“You’re right.” She murmured. She let out a little sigh. “The job seems... hectic and there’s a lot of pressure. But no one is looking at us like we’re a problem. We’re just one more in a parade of people.”

“I see. Well, I guess that’s comforting. It’s not like we’re going to ruin anyone’s day.” He bit into a potato chip.

“Oh! Haha. You’ve got a little on your face.”

“Huh?” He looked in her direction.

“Here let me...” She reached up to wipe it off.

“Oh that’s perfect!”

Ru’Yi froze. A photographer had snapped their picture! “I love it.” She said.

“Um... did we start?”

“No. But I’m your photographer and I’ve been wracking my brain for ideas. I’ve never photographed a blind person before. I wasn’t sure how to give direction, but the truth is, you two look so good together, I figured I’d get some candid shots just in case the actual shoot didn’t work out.”

She laughed when we both sat up, overwhelmed with nerves. “It’s too late now! It’s your turn on set! Tom, I’ll let you go first!”

“Oh boy...” He groaned. 

“Hey at least you get it over with.” Ru’Yi walked to him on set standing him where there was an X on the floor and then turning him to the myriad of cameras. She gave his hand a squeeze. “Just do your best and focus on the here and now! I’ll be rooting for you!”

She let him go and walked off to watch.

“Try to visualize in your head the pleasantness of spring, waiting for your favorite person to meet you under the cherry blossoms...”

Interesting way to do it. He couldn’t see the studio, or the people around him, so visualizing in his head would allow the photographer to paint any picture she wanted. Ru’Yi watched as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

When he opened them again, she could almost see the bright pink flower petals swirling around him, feel the gentle spring sun, and smell the freshly mown grass. A man on the phone talking about some sort of deadline, paused midsentence and focused his attention on what was happening in the studio.

That distant, subtle looking of longing. The poignant wistfulness of his smile. He was in the background all the time. But now he was front and center and everyone else had faded into the scenery.

“Hmph... incredible.”

In her daze, Ru’Yi hadn’t notice anyone come to stand beside her and was shocked to see Grant Baldwin, the head of the Executive Department! What was he doing  at the Lady’s Almanac studio?

“It’s nice seeing you’re doing alright since your ordeal yesterday.” He said, his brown eyes casting down at her, flashing a bit of a smile. “Your report was impressive.”

“Oh... uh... thanks. Are you here for the magazine?” She asked, confused.

“No. I’m actually here to check up on our rising ‘campus star.’“

Ru’Yi gave a little gasp. “Are you listening in on me?”

Baldwin endured her fierce glare with an air of weary boredom. “Hybrids over fifty percent dragonblood purity can lose control at the drop of a hat and require constant monitoring. Yesterday was stressful on him. That’s why I sent agents to watch him for any signs that he was turning servitor.”

Ru’Yi’s heart dropped in her chest. She chewed her lip.

“Hmph.” He gave an amused snort. “I’m glad you finally appreciate the gravity of his situation. Fortunately for him, the minute you showed up he immediately relaxed and calmed down. And... now this. Who would have thought that a simple makeover and pleasant visualization could create such a change in a person? At this rate, he might actually survive.”

Ru’Yi could feel her emotions rising in her chest and her eyes started burning as she watched him continue to pose for the shoot. She brought him here in hopes to get him more friends, to cope with living without her. However, he couldn’t escape his unfortunate genetics. It was just like David said. The cruel world of hybrids lay just underneath the peaceful surface.

“I also came here to ask you to send me reports on his mental state. You have a knack for seeing people in a positive light.” Baldwin was also watching him, his expression calm.

She looked up at him. “Wouldn’t that make me the worst person to report to you?”

“I have my agents to give me bad news. I need someone to balance that out.” He handed her a piece of folded paper. “Shred that when you get that in your phone. It’s my personal contact.”

She accepted the piece of paper, reverently.

“You told me I’d regret expelling him. You were right.” Baldwin turned on his heel and headed for the exit.

Ru’Yi watched him leave, jaw dropped in amazement.

[justimajin]

A Wilting Rose╰ Part 3 ╮

➺ Pairing: Jimin x Reader

➺ Genre: Angst & Fluff

↳ (4.3k) Actor and Actress AU

➺ Summary: The world of acting can be best described with three words - dark, invasive and inhumane. Talent, although heavily required, isn’t focused upon in comparison to the juicy gossip and various rumors that can be spread. This is why even you - an extremely talented actress - fall prey to the chops of the acting world and find yourself in a down whirling spiral with no escape. Desperately needing to get back up on your two feet once again, it seems like your best bet is a newcomer to the industry, who has yet to understand the ways of your fallen world.

➺ Warnings: some swearing

➺ Moodboard Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

You actually hate mornings. 

Despise, detest and certaintly hate the stupid shining sun that wrenches your eyelids open, the annoying birds that seem to love perching on your balconey to plunge your ears into another eardrum exploding song and the fact that you wake up semi-dead - looking like a disaster just hit you in the face. 

Kim Namjoon loves mornings. 

The shining sun feels warm to him, encasing around him like a comfortable blanket and keeping him snug. The song the birds sing is sweet and gentle, making him pluck pieces of bread for them and encouraging them to sing more often. He looks refreshed and rejuvenated, prepared for whatever the day throws at him. 

Min Yoongi is a mix. 

He wants work to be done accordingly and on time but cannot wrap his mind around having to lose precious hours of sleep. He views the sun as being a potential prop for his sets, birds accompanying them to create a perfect illusion of atmosphere and he most certainly wants everything to look specifically detailed without any flaws. 

Pairing a person that loves mornings and a person that will use everything in his capability to get the correct atmosphere to manage a semi-dead person that hates mornings is a horrible idea. 

You are woken up at six (YES SIX) in the morning and told to head to the dressing room immediately to be styled. You protest and complain, whining when Jungkook has to drag you outside and then shield you away from reporters, they’re absurd flashes only blinding your freshly awakened eyes. You frown when Namjoon greets you, a knowing smile on his lips when he shifts food towards you and you grumble while grabbing a sandwich, stuffing your face immediately. You glare at Yoongi who only smirks when he sees you walk in, keeping himself awake with an iced americano but getting amused with having you arrive on time. 

You can’t wait for this day to be over. 

“Y/N! Hold still!” The words tug you out instantly and you raise your arms, groaning. 

“I have been standing here for an hour. Can’t you hurry up?!” You glare at the stylist and her eyes waver, attempting to tie the pink ribbon around your waist faster. 

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Min has given me specific instructions for the costume and I’m required to follow them.” She stretches out a sheet of light blue silk, draping it over your shoulders until it flows all the way down to your feet. 

“Of course he has.” You audibly exhale, still keeping your arms raised. The stylist hurriedly secures the long delicate skirt around your waist and tugs on it to ensure it wasn’t difficult to walk in. 

A knock resonates on the door, “How much longer?” His voice is rough and irritated, patience running out thin. 

“Almost done Sir! Just doing some adjustments!” The stylist replies, struggling to put the pearl beads in your curled hair. 

“Get a chair, will you?” You say, causing her to reply with a soft “oh!” before quickly grabbing one and threading the remaining beads into your hair. 

“Just one more…” She whispers, before quickly climbing down. “You’re all set Y/N! Have a look!” She gestures you towards the mirror and you wave her off, struggling to move with the sheer weight following you as you make your way over. Your tired eyes land on the reflection before you and they immediately freeze, glancing at who exactly was before you. 

Your entire body is adorned in a simple white dress, layers and layers of blue silk wrapping around your arms and torso until they drape down to your similar white coloured skirt. Bright pink ribbons cover the majority of your torso and fall down delicately at the seams of your dress near where your blue gloved hands are. Your hair has been stretched out into curls, reaching out all the way to your knees and acts like a cape behind your back. Your face isn’t caked up in make-up like it usually is, instead a minimal amount is used to make you seem almost like a younger version of yourself. 

You don’t recognize yourself. 

But then it hits you. 

You’re not Y/N. 

You’re the princess. 

“This...this is the costume?” You quietly whisper but the stylist hears you, nodding with a bright smile. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? You look so pretty Y/N!” 

You’re still staring at the person looking back at you in the mirror with pursed lips, her youthful features and innocent eyes making you believe her ghost had actually come back from the dead. 

“The main set is almost done! Bring the actors out!” You hear Yoongi’s voice from outside the dressing room walls and the stylist carefully places her hands on your arms. 

“Y/N, we need to get going.” She says softly and instantly your eyes flicker, feet slowly backing away from the mirror until you completely turn away. 

You shrug her hands off, “Don’t touch me.” 

Turning towards the door, you latch onto the handle, not even turning back once. 

You had forgotten the amount of chaos that takes place through filming a single scene. People are running around and yelling at the top of their lungs, rushing to either set up props or to prep actors before a scene. Yoongi is moving promptly through all these sections, ensuring everyone is on track and that the scene can be captured without any mistakes. 

You’re greeted to Namjoon waiting for you with a script, already going through the details of the first scene. “It serves as the introduction of the princess, she’s freely walking through the gates singing a sweet song and heads towards the palace. Once she enters, the discussion of her becoming queen of the kingdom is done by the council but she constantly gets undermined about her ability.” 

“Look like I’m in the shower singing. Listen to a bunch of old geezers chat. Got it.” You retort and Namjoon chuckles at your translation. 

Your eyes roam around, “Is Jimin not in this scene?” 

“Oh he comes during the palace meeting as one of the guards. I think…” Namjoon flips through the script quickly, pointing to one line, “Ah! You don’t know each other yet but interest sparks!” 

“What kind of interest?” 

“Just like you noticing him because you haven’t seen him before. He turns out to be the General of the army and one of the kingdom’s best warriors!”

“Ugh, so predictable.” 

Namjoon suddenly closes the script, suddenly looking at you intensely, “Look Y/N, I know it’s been a while since you’ve acted but just take it easy an-” 

“I know how to act Namjoon.” You hiss, “This is my profession for god’s sake. I know what I’m doing.”

Namjoon frowns, looking away from you with a sigh, “Alright then. Good luck.” 

You head towards the front of the stage and position yourself in the middle of the long hallway - the very one that leads up to the princess’s corridors. The walls have been painted with a mercury white, gold specks and swirls on the nearby pillars to show the elegance of the kingdom. 

You look up to see Yoongi smirking at you, clearly satisfied with how you look and then telling his cameraman to get the film rolling, “Remember to act like a kid. I want to a pretty and nice princess alright?”

You roll your eyes, humming as you carefully pick up your skirt in your hands, preparing to walk. The background music soon plays and you hear a huge “Action!” which propels you to thread through the hallway gracefully, pretending like the song was captivating you. 

It looks spectacular - the grand set behind you, the enchanting dress moving along the hallway and the song portraying your character's sweet exterior perfectly. 

“CUT!” 

You blink your eyes, looking up from the ground to see an absolutely pissed off Min Yoongi, “Does this look like nap time to you? Why do you look so fucking disinterested?!” 

You frown, looking at him like he was insane. 

Disinterested? 

Your expressions were completely on point, you even batted your lashes at one point to look like the idiotic princess! 

“ROLL AGAIN!” Yoongi shouts, causing you to walk over to the same spot again with a huff. 

The set is ready, the song plays and you move. 

It’s breathtaking, the song tunes pulling you around as you even add in a twirl this time, batting your lashes more and slowly walki-

“CUT!” 

What? 

“Are you even listening to what I’m saying?! You look like someone’s forcing you to walk!” 

You furrow your brows, “What do you mean?! I’m doing it perfectly, I’m walking around like a princess and making the scene look like a masterpiece!” 

Yoongi shakes his head and laughs to himself, “A masterpiece, you say? You’re making my eyes bleed out.” He turns to the camera man, “Roll again!” 

You attempt again, adding a wistful smile and squinting your eyes dramatically in order to satisfy the demonic director currently watching you. It looks good, you appear to be caught up in a daze, subtle expressions slowly coming out and you just know that you can do thi-

“CUT!”

You drop your arms down, clenching your fists as you glare at your director who doesn’t even say anything. He just stares at you for a minute, before shaking his head and letting out a huge sigh. His assistant promptly leans over and whispers closely in his ear, causing his eyes to flash and soon he’s once more guiding the entire ensemble of crew members with his authoritative tone, “The actors for the next scene are ready! Let’s move onto the next set.” His team nods and quickly gets into action, lining everyone’s into their correct positions as you simply stand there with your glare still latched onto the director. 

You march over to him, not really caring if you end up stepping on your own dress, “Did you get my shot?” 

“No.” He states, flipping through the pages of the next scene’s script, “Prepare yourself for the next scene, then we’ll get back to shooting your solo scene once you can actually put some effort into it.” 

Your jaw drops, reading to let out a stream of colorful words for the man but a warm hand suddenly lands on your shoulder, “Y/N? They’re waiting for you.” 

Your eyes land onto Namjoon, who gives you a gentle smile but you just shrug his hand off your shoulder and walk to the next set on your own. 

You’ve been in this industry for years. This is the work you do best and the work no one else can vouch for. 

You’re one of the finest actors this generation has ever seen and they’re lucky enough to be watching you act. 

Gritting your teeth, you try to focus again. After all, the princess is supposed to be listening in on the conversation and thankfully you don’t have any dialogue for this scene, but that doesn’t mean she should look like she’s on the verge of murdering someone. 

Looking around you, you see various men dressed in clothing similar to yours - colors of blue and white as a way to represent the royal guards and the army. The set is designed to be like a giant throne room, with sparkling diamonds, gold crafted walls and a long red carpet leading to the golden throne at the end of the room. There’s an old man seated on it, looking quite heavy and stroking his long grey beard, who is to play your father as you stand next to the actor playing your mother. 

The camera gets ready and you try to conceal the tiredness already reigning through your shoulders and arms thanks to the weight of your dress. Your ‘mother’ smiles at you and you nod, having worked with her in a previous movie and discovering she wasn’t as unpleasant as some actors would turn out to be. 

The guards all huddle up into a single line before your father and they look extremely ordinary in the least - typical royal uniforms paired with the stiff smiles at being in the mere presence of your father. However, that’s when the last guard arrives and suddenly all of the boredom is being sucked out of your eyes. 

He’s not dressed like the rest of them, but rather he wears a wolf’s skin over his shoulders and it covers the dark blue royal clothing he wears underneath. A bronze sword is sealed away and tightly knitted to the side of his hip, the same intricate details your kingdom was designed with being present onto it. His hair is a bright blue shade, parted to the side when you can see his intense eyes locked onto the throne - black and cold. 

Your mother speaks up, snapping you out of your trained gaze on him with her words, “Looks like the lead actor has arrived.” 

You widen your eyes, turning your head abruptly to look at him once more, “That’s Jimin?” 

“Of course, didn’t you meet him already Y/N?” 

“I did…” You did meet him, however the Park Jimin you met was the newbie - an innocent and naive boy who looked like he was going to disappear underneath your rader if you stared at him any longer, his questions seeming more like common sense to you and his willingness to agree with everyone making you want to roll your eyes. 

But this. 

This isn’t Park Jimin. 

His gaze is fixated on the throne, staring at the King with his head held up high and his stance excluding power. 

This is the General. 

“ACTION!” 

Your eyes flutter, sinking back into your character when you stop letting your thoughts run loose. “Princess! Come forth.” 

You walk closer to the throne, your mother keeping a hand on you as your father grins, “As you all know my daughter will be coming of age soon and it is important to find a suitable man for her hand in marriage.” 

Your mother steps forward, “I would like to speak on behalf of my daughter.” 

The King nods and your mother continues, “The princess wishes to learn the way of the kingdom so she may take over your throne one day, Your Majesty.” 

The King frowns, “Why would she desire such a thing?” 

“The princess is the heir to the throne and therefore has the direct right to rule as Queen one day. Her future husband will become the new King, so she will bestow the knowledge she learns onto her husband so he may become a suitable ruler by her side just as his Majesty is.” 

“Hmm.” The King strokes his long curly beard, glancing at his Queen before looking back to his own council. 

“What is the verdict on such a matter?” 

One man walks out from beside the throne, having a grey beard and matching cloak just like the King, “The princess’s desire is foolish, your Majesty, she is incapable of handling this kingdom as graciously as you have done so.” 

“She will be denied the right, if this kingdom is to prosper.” Another man says, stepping ahead as well. 

“It is best to bestow the honor on a noble man.” 

Your furrow your brows, wondering how the princess can simply sit back and listen to all these complaints about herself. 

The King sits there, stroking his beard as he listens to his council’s opinion before his eyes move back to his Queen. 

The Queen does not back down, “The princess can be a capable ruler contrary to your beliefs council, she is in need of a mentor who can help perfect those skills.”

The King contemplates for a moment, before he clears his throat, “Listening to all these thoughts, my final decision has been made.” The King stands up, facing his men, “The princess must be granted with a mentor. If she can prove herself to be a noble ruler, then my throne will be passed down onto her instead of her future husband.” 

“I would like one of my guards to teach her of the kingdom and become her mentor.” He stands up, “Who shall it be?” 

Immediately all the guards roar, “Me, your Majesty!” “I will!” “I can honor this wish, my King!” 

You roll your eyes, cringing at how much wonderful liberty the princess gets - choosing from a sea of men that just want to satisfy her King. 

Heavy footsteps move forward. 

“Bestow this responsibility on me, your Majesty.” 

The voices all die out when the King’s best man steps up to the task, whispers echoing through as he kneels down before the throne. 

“General Park wants the honor?” “The general is never interested in such things!” “Is he trying to get in more favor of the King?” 

The King smiles to the point of smirking, a dark glint in his eyes, “Then so be it. General Park shall do the honor of teaching my daughter!” 

Although disheartened, the men cheer for their General who bows down in front of his King. 

That’s when his eyes meet yours. 

It’s borderline cheesy - he declares he wants to train you in front of your father and then searches for your eyes. However, in that single second that Jimin glances over to you, you can read hundreds of messages coming across from his eyes. It isn’t just simple interest, it’s so much more and as the princess, you’re required to show the same feeling back with your eyes. 

But you can’t seem to muster anything up. 

“CUT!” 

The scene stops as murmurs echo through among the fellow actors, Yoongi’s glare coming right at you and Jimin. He walks over to you, a dark seething aura following alongside him. From the corner of your eye, you can see that Jimin doesn’t have the same powerful stance anymore, but rather it deflates back into his naive self. 

“Alright, listen up you two.” He turns to Jimin first, “You’re doing a great job newbie, I want to see more of your stuff but keep it toned down and don’t exaggerate too much.” Yoongi says the words with barely an ounce of emotion and yet Jimin instantly beams at it, a huge relieved smile on his face that you would have never witnessed if you were still acting in the same scene. 

“And you.” He suddenly turns to you, a fiery glare in his eyes, “You’re doing everything wrong, the emotion isn’t right and the innocence the princess has is coming off as too stiff. You seriously have to work on this otherwise I won’t hesitate to have you replaced.” Your brows furrow and you’re instantly ready to give Yoongi a piece of your mind after such remarks, but the words don’t get to leave your mouth. 

“She’ll get it right, we just need to reshoot the scene again.” You immediately glance at Jimin, who blurted out the words without giving much thought into what exactly he was asking. 

Re-shooting an entire scene like that again, with a huge ensemble cast and preparation having to be re-done.

Yoongi stares at him for a second, a huge frown on his lips before he sighs, “Alright.” 

He looks back you again, gritting out the words, “Get it right this time.” 

The scene gets set-up as before, the King discussing your role in the kingdom with the Queen and the council and then choosing a specific guard. It’s exactly the same however it’s also incredibly daunting at the same time. 

The only sole thought on your mind is how ridiculous this all is - the princess being rendered silent as her fate is being discussed before her eyes, having her own mother speak on her behalf and then not even being able to choose who her mentor is. She has to follow the King’s annoying words and act like some sort of puppet. 

Her character is unbelievably stupid. 

Which is why everytime Yoongi looks to you, for anything really - gentle eyes listening into the conversation, doubts surfacing on your face at the mention of becoming Queen and surprise washing over you when the General takes on the task, he’s infuriated at the blank disinterested expression that keeps emerging from your own incompetence. 

Yoongi has a vision, a very solid one being a well known director, and he can’t stand it when his actors refuse the effort of making that vision a reality. 

“Y/N!” He yells, the entire cast jolting from his loud tone, “It’s be great if you throw out your stuck up attitude of creating ‘masterpieces’ and give me a decent expression!” 

“Being an experienced actor doesn’t mean anything here if a newcomer is doing better than you!” 

Your cheeks instantly turn red when the scene goes silent, Yoongi boiling up to the point where saying ‘cut’ wasn’t even necessary to stop the scene. However, if Yoongi is boiling on the inside, then you are raging. 

“You know what Mr. Min?” Your words cut through the silence like a knife, “If a newcomer is doing better than me, then I guess I’m not even needed here then!” You take out the pins and pearls holding up your hair, “I QUIT!” 

Shock flashes on Yoongi for a split second until his expression turns stone cold.

“Then leave already.” 

Gritting your teeth, you stomp down the stairs leading up to the scene and walk away. 

Not even noticing the light footsteps trailing after you. 

“Y/N!” 

You direct a glare at him when he grabs onto your wrist, “Y/N, don’t leave...we can try again!” 

“Let go of me!” You snap his hand away infuriated, seeing the crease in his brows and his hands dropping to his side when he falters.

The longer you stare at him, the more it dawns in that he’s more than his doll-like features. He was able to transform into the role of the General flawlessly, executing every single expression with perfection despite being a newcomer with zero experience compared to you. 

He knows how to act. 

And you can’t. 

Clenching your fists, you turn away from him, continuing to walk even as he calls after you again.

“Why did you leave?” His words come out almost exhausted, like he was so over with trying to be understanding and considerate when you simply refuse to listen to him, “Y/N! I’m trying to talk to you!” 

You sit before him, still adorned in the princess’s dress with the skirt pooling in between your feet and the ribbons starting to become loose. The carefully placed hairstyle on your hair has come undone, pearls occasionally dropping down as you cross your arms; not even moving to pick them up. 

“I’m not going back.” 

Your plain answer just continues to spur more questions from him. “But why? I know the role of the princess is challenging however you just need to work on it. It’ll take time an-” 

A chord snaps, the weight on your delicate shoulders increasing its fury, “I am not going back. I can’t play the role of the princess, she’s too much of an idiot and doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing.” You grit your teeth, “I am a capable actor but I can’t play the role of someone sostupid!” 

“Y/N!”

Your eyes falter at Namjoon’s raised tone, “You can’t play a character you haven’t understood yet. You keep saying you’re so capable, but that actor in you hasn’t even come out…”

You were expecting a lot of things from Namjoon - anger, resentment, frustration. 

However, all you see is disappointment in his eyes. 

You look away, pulling your crossed arms closer to yourself as you bite down on your bottom lip. Namjoon slowly approaches you, very aware of the sheer amount of turmoil radiating off of you when he makes his proposal. 

“You need time Y/N.” He whispers and you glance at him, the smallest amount of tension sparking in your eyes. 

“I don’t have time.”

“I know, which is why I have an idea.” You raise an eyebrow at that, “Why don’t you talk to Jimin? He’s pretty much nailed down his character and could help you.” 

You scoff, “A newbie? Helping me?” 

“Try Y/N. Try.” Namjoon sighs, “If Yoongi was complimenting him, then there has to be something he’s doing right.” 

You frown, pursuing your lips when the idea is not settling down well with you, “I’ll give you his manager’s number.” Namjoon takes out a notepad and a pen, scratching down some numbers, “Try talking to him and see how things go. It’s better than not having anyone to turn to for help.” Namjoon extends his arm, the number clearly written on the piece of paper. 

You stare at it for a mere second, narrowing your eyes and pursuing your lips. 

You snatch the paper away with a sigh.

“Fine.” 

[12freddofrogs]

An episode of a Batfam TV Show

A while back I started wondering how I would design the Batfamily for their own TV. It started as a quick exercise, just considering ‘Season one would be Dick as Robin, and maybe he and Babs would do this, and then in S2 Jason would turn up’... and then it got detailed to the point I was working out individual episodes, character arcs, and themes.

This is an extract from Season Three, aka, Tim’s Robin run (pt1). The full chapter includes bright eyed Tim Drake nearly getting himself run over by the Batmobile so he can make his case why Batman needs a Robin, a minor cameo by the giant penny in the Cave, an adaptation of The Killing Joke, a driving lesson that technically involves Nightwing stealing the Batmobile, the Spoiler setting up in purple, a Wayne Gala or two, much mourning for what happened in the S2 finale, and Cassandra Cain rejecting her blood family for one that actually cares.

And, of course, this musical episode.

Full fic on Ao3  -Chapter 3 here. It’s much easier to read, especially on mobile.

Chapter 1 here.

Season Three, Episode Twenty - Songbird

A Pied Piper themed villain comes to Gotham. 

He has nothing to do with the Central City villain.

His powers work on children. Specifically, anyone under the age of about eighteen. It’s never made entirely clear what the cut-off age is, just that Cass is immune. 

Of course, no-one really knows how old Cass is, either, considering her lack of birth certificate.

 Tim is having an ordinary day at school, calmly walking past a couple having a break-up in the cafeteria, when the dramatic screaming match switches into a Broadway musical.

Tim is alarmed, and as he continues through the school, other people are bursting into song. Music is playing, and from the way he turns it’s obvious he can hear it and can’t figure out from where.

 “I need to finish my assignment for mathematics / but I can’t find the time without skipping football practise,” one boy tells his friends, then claps a hand against his throat.

“I’ve spent so much time working on Miss Greene’s essay / that I completely forgot about the science test today!” a girl sings, her voice calm despite the fact she’s frantically flipping through a textbook.

“He’s so handsome, he’d never notice me / what would I have to do to make him see?” another girl sings from her locker, glancing at a boy several doors away. He notices her singing, and she yelps, hiding behind her locker door.

Everyone is growing frantically confused by the music.

It eventually turns into a school wide song with everyone, including Tim, singing the same lyrics about “What’s going on? Why are we bursting into song?”

The song finishes and all the students stare at each other, wide-eyed.

“What was--”

“How--”

“I don’t--”

While everyone is still panicking, Tim slips out the school doors.

He heads straight to the Manor.

When Bruce opens the door, it’s to find a bundle of nervous energy fidgeting on his threshold.

“B, we - oh, no, it’s happening again.” Tim claps a hand over his mouth.

“What’s happening?” Bruce steps aside immediately to let his panicked third Robin into the house. 

It takes a moment as Tim scrambles inside, dropping his school backpack on the ground and turning to Bruce with a panicked expression, but finally he lowers his hand.

As expected, out comes another song.

“Bruce, we really need to talk because / there’s something in my voice. / Everything comes out as song / and I don’t have a choice. I don’t have a plan for this / so I kinda hope you do. / Otherwise get ready for Gotham’s musical debut. ”

"...I see.”

It’s not that Tim’s constantly speaking in song.

He still talks normally most of the time.

It’s just that whenever he feels something particularly strongly, he has an automatic performance about it.

He’s very concerned that when he sings, it’s always the absolute truth about how he feels.

“I have a secret identity! I can’t go to school if I’m going to sing about wearing a cape!”

Dick finds it hilarious

When he hears about the situation he comes up from Bludhaven immediately.

He’s trying to be sympathetic, but it comes across as insincere when he’s filming the whole thing.

“Come on, just one little song for the camera?”

“Mmm-fff!” Tim shakes his head, hands clapped over his mouth defensively.

Babs tells Dick not to worry, she caught Tim’s last performance on security cameras. Tim looks offended.

Meanwhile, Cass is jealous she’s too old.

“This is not a good thing, Cass,” Tim complains.

“Looks fun.”

“It is not.”

“Sourpuss.”

Tim has a song about being insecure in his place as Robin

Batman informs him that he is not to get involved in the case.

Tim grumpily agrees, and stays alone in the Cave while everyone leaves.

He starts on the obstacle course, swinging up and down on the wires as he begins to sing.

“Batman needs a Robin / That much is plain to see / The question that I’m asking / Is the Robin he needs me?”

He’s not insecure about being kept off this particular case, understanding if not liking it, but in general not sure about his ability to live up to the name.

 It finishes with a more triumphant declaration that he can do this. He’s Robin, he’s earned his cape, watch him go.

Steph is equally affected by the curse.

It’s the first time she’s turned up at the Cave, but she figured this was probably a big enough situation to be worth knocking.

She’s trying to make the most of it, and turns it into a game.

She acts like she’s finding it enjoyable. It’s almost believable until she does get a moment alone with Tim to confess that it’s creepy.

Steph and Tim have a duet.

Dick’s attempt at provoking them into singing finally works.

The song starts with Tim being annoyed at Dick, and quickly fades into both of them admitting they’re annoyed with the situation. It’s a very fast-paced cheer about how they can’t stop singing, when they find out who’s responsible that person will find out just what Robin and Spoiler can do.

They’re dancing around, jumping on and off the equipment, and performing perfect choreography.

Dick and Cass applaud.

It finishes with Tim dipping Steph, her balancing with one leg in the air, when they both react in terror. Tim drops her.

“I didn’t want — we didn’t want to do that,” Tim blurts out.

“You don’t understand, it made us move. It’s never done that before. It actually controlled what we did.” Steph’s breathing heavily, still sitting on the ground.

It’s discovered that the musical magic is not only growing, and is turning into a more complete form of mind control.

Dick and Cass suddenly no longer find it funny.

Within days, maybe even hours, the Pied Piper villain is likely to have an entire army of Gothamite children for choreographed villainy.

So, of course, the Bats push this situation up several rungs of the priorities.

Tim and Steph were already off the case, but now they are banned from leaving the Cave until they know exactly what this song can do.

They each call their parents to inform them they’re staying at the other’s house. Steph swears up and down that she’s just studying with Tim, seriously, she’ll bring home the flashcards as proof if she has to.

The two of them then actually end up making flashcards, because they no longer trust their bodies enough to train.

For a while everything is calm.

Batman, Batgirl, Nightwing, and Oracle are all focused intently on the case.

Alfred is watching the two youngest.

It’s not a joke anymore, but with Tim and Steph sitting casually on the ground, talking together completely normally and checking in via coms, the situation doesn’t seem red alert urgent.

No-one notices how Tim starts humming as he cuts out the next flashcard, or that Steph takes up the tune while she coats one in glitter.

The scenes of them humming along together is intercut along with moments of the others working the case. The audience is very aware — Tim and Steph’s song has no diegetic soundtrack, so all the audience can hear in the Cave scenes are Alfred’s footsteps, the scratch of pen and paper, and two teenagers humming too quietly for anyone else.

Up until the point where they actually start singing.

Steph and Tim’s humming gradually changes into a song.

“Cut and paste and listen,” they murmer in unison, wistful and fanciful, still working on the flashcards. “Cut and paste and listen to the magic sound. Cut and paste and listen. The Piper is coming to town.”

Alfred is no longer dusting the computer. Instead, he clicks on the communicator so Batman can hear the chant, and carefully approaches.

Tim and Steph insist that they’re fine. They don’t speak in unison for it, but it does come out as more of a duet.

“Don’t worry, Alfred, we feel fine,” Steph insists.

“Absolutely marvellous,” Tim chimes in.

“Completely sublime.”

Tim gets to his feet with an encouraging smile, scissors dangling in his fingertips. “We’ve just got a song stuck in our heads.”

“There’s no need to worry.”

“And no need to fret.”

“It’s just a shame you can’t hear that sound.” Steph tugs at her ear, grinning.

 “It sinks to your bones and makes you feel like dancing around.”

 Alfred cuts off the song to assure them that the Pied Piper will soon be defeated. This whole nonsense will be finished with by tomorrow, and by this point even Dick will be grateful for it.

The songbirds are oddly upset about that idea.

“You’re getting him chased down by the Big Bad Bat?” Steph asks.

“That shouldn’t happen. The Piper won’t like that,” Tim says.

“No,” Alfred says slowly, warily. “I suppose he wouldn’t.”

The argument culminates when Tim nearly stabs Alfred with the scissors.

 Alfred dodges the blow on instinct, sidestepping the blade aimed at his head.

Tim freezes, his arm outstretched.

For a moment all three of them are still, Alfred watching the scissors over his shoulder and Tim’s eyes wide. Steph’s mouth hangs open.

The scissors clatter on the floor as Tim steps back.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry Alfred—” Tim nearly hyperventilates.

“Master Tim,” Alfred says after a moment, almost resting his hand on Tim’s shoulders but deciding against it. “I assure you I’m fine, but perhaps at the moment we should consider using the restraints.”

“Yes. Yes, we should do that.”

Tim practically bolts himself in to the medbay stretcher, and only allows Alfred to help because it’s not designed to be tightened by the patient.

Steph is slightly more reluctant, and has to force herself to take each step. She notably bites down on her lip, bunching her fingers into a fist while Alfred secures her to the other bay, but she allows it to happen.

 The urgency is immediately upped.

“Do you need someone to watch them with you?” Batman asks, pausing on a rooftop to talk into his comm.

“No. They’re quite lucid at the moment,” Alfred says, watching Tim and Steph talking nervously. “The best thing for everyone is for you to stay on the case.”

“I can come,” Oracle suggests. “The Cave has all the same tech so I can stay on the job, and if the kids are getting stabby you will need backup.”

It’s decided that is a good idea, especially as Steph starts humming again before slamming her head facedown into the pillow.

 Batman successfully tracks down the location of the Piper.

The three field vigilantes burst in, much to Piper’s horror.

They find him building a giant radio transmitter, and immediately start trying to shatter it.

Piper flees the room, carrying a small cassette player with him. Nightwing stays to make sure the transmitter is utterly broken. Batgirl and Batman split up to track the villain.

The Piper is caught by Batman, lifted off the ground by the scruff of his neck, when a dozen children come barrelling into the room to rescue him.

The idea of punching hypnotised kids makes Batman hesitate, and Piper manages to get away.

Worse still is that breaking the transmitter didn’t fix the problem. The kids are still hypnotised, and Nightwing reports that it wasn’t even finished. Piper had been making it for something, but it wasn’t the cause of the problem.

They search through Piper’s files, and track down that it was the cassette player that influences the children.

Steph and Tim are drifting back into their musical hypnosis.

 “Don’t listen to them,” Steph murmurs, pulling her face out of the bed. Her voice is too quiet for anyone but Tim to hear. “Hold yourself steady.”

“It’s time for a fight so you better get ready.” Tim holds up one hand. The picked restraints drop silently onto the mattress.

When Oracle arrives, Robin and Spoiler take the distraction and attack.

When Alfred and Oracle return to the room, it’s to find the two youngest have gotten into their uniforms and are swinging down from the ceiling at them.

 It’s not a real fight. The hypnosis is just telling them to go. It’s an escape attempt more than anything else.

Oracle is able to handle herself when Spoiler leaps at her, boot flying towards her face. A quick movement and Steph is thrown over Oracle’s shoulder, wincing.

But they don’t need to beat her, just outrace her. Spoiler jams a batarang into one of Oracle’s wheels while Robin locks Alfred in the cupboard, and by the time Babs can move again — it couldn’t have taken more than thirty seconds to untangle the batarang — they’re gone.

Fortunately, Batman already has a lead on where they must be going.

Over two hundred children — some as young as ten, most closer to fifteen or sixteen — have converged on a Gotham news channel’s office.

It’s a very convenient way for a villain’s exposition to be told to the audience. The children are singing about Pied Piper’s plan to broadcast his song to every child in the country as they forcibly drag the communication workers out of their offices. The Piper himself is walking through the chaos with a self-satisfied smile.

The song seems like a normal triumphant villain song, with a hint of creepiness when every once in a while, someone will say that they don’t like what they’re doing, they’re so sorry, can’t anyone help them?

Piper locks himself in the CEO office.

He’s humming to himself as he pulls out his cassette player. When he opens the case, an array of buttons that would look advanced on a phone blink back at him.

He begins to tap in a command when the window shatters.

Batman swings into the room.

Batgirl and Nightwing are close behind.

When Piper tries to run, he doesn’t get five steps. Batman throws him against the wall.

Piper glances at the door.

In an instant Batgirl vaults over the desk to reach it, turning the lock with time to spare before teenagers start banging on it. “Nightwing. Help… ballaracade?”

Nightwing is already pushing the desk aside it.

Once they’ve successfully ensured no-one’s getting in Nightwing informs her the word is ‘barricade’. Batgirl nods, pleased.

“Where are they?” Batman growls, looming over the terrified Piper.

“Where are who? The children? They’re all outside, or at least the ones I called are—”

“Don’t play games with me.”

“How do we fix it?” Nightwing demands.

“You can’t. It’s unstoppab—”

 “Lying,” Batgirl says sharply.

At that point Robin and Spoiler shatter a second window.

They land between Batman and the Piper, standing protectively over the villain. Robin has his staff at the ready while Spoiler’s cloak flutters.

They’re also humming.

It takes a moment for Piper’s shock to fade, but then his lips twitch in a smile.

There’s a fight.

Batman, Nightwing, and Batgirl hold back.

Robin and Spoiler don’t, which means that the hypnotised fighters are actually able to gain ground.

And of course, Robin and Spoiler are singing all the while. By now that’s not the focus of the scene, feeling more like background music with lyrics than a Broadway fight scene. Potentially, the TV audience can’t even hear the music, just watches the singing characters.

The lyrics don’t really delve into anyone’s interiority (mainly). It’s just a fast-paced song about fighting.

Every once in a while, though there’s a line like “Of course I know I can’t win, but that’s never stopped me before.” “Of course I’ll try my best, but I’ve never wanted to lose more.”

Just enough to indicate that some part of Tim and Steph know what they’re doing.

Piper takes the distraction.

He gets the barricade open and a hundred mind-controlled teenagers pour in, and suddenly the Bats have a much bigger disadvantage.

Piper escapes. Nightwing follows.

There’s a chase as Piper rushes towards the ground floor.

A dozen children are thrown at Nightwing, diving in his way.

But a former Boy Wonder doesn’t get taken down by a thirteen-year-old attempting a tackle, not when he can bounce off the walls to somersault over their heads.

Piper goes for the elevator. Nightwing is delayed to the point that he misses the doors by centimetres.

He pushes off the eleven-year-old girl clinging to his back and rushes to the fire stairs. His grappling hook connect with the handrail as he leaps over the edge.

Freefalling down the spiral staircase centre gets him to the ground with time to spare. He bursts out of the door and is able to throw his bolos at the fleeing Piper, tripping the supervillain up.

Within seconds Nightwing’s on him, scrambling through his pockets. He finds the cassette player.

Before the children can converge again, Nightwing leaps up with his grappling hook, holding himself on the high ceiling and resting one foot on the top of a window.

He flips open the cassette player.

“Oh, look at that. A labelled ‘off’ switch.” Nightwing grins at Piper, who’s just managing to pull himself free from the bolos. “So if I flick it, will it do anything to inspire me to kick your teeth in?”

“No, no, please—”

“Begging sounds promising.” His fingers hover over the button. Below him, the children are swarming, trying to figure out how to climb the wall. “If this hurts anyone, I am going to break every bone in your body. So is there anything you want to tell me?” Nightwing pauses for an answer, but Piper doesn’t give one. The children are starting to create pyramids. “Alright. Here goes.”

 He flicks the switch.

Immediately, the music turns off.

The children stop pressing up against the wall and back away immediately.

“Is it over?”

Upstairs, the same happens.

Everyone freezes in their attack on Batman and Batgirl.

Robin drops his staff and retreats several steps.

“Fixed?” Batgirl asks.

Spoiler touches her head. “I think so.”

Of course, this means the Piper just got himself trapped.

He’s now surrounded by a sea of students who had been at least eighty-per-cent aware of what happened.

Nightwing swoops down and pulls him out before anyone can catch him, but waits just long enough for Piper to realise the danger he’s in.

Nightwing ties him up, and waits patiently for the others to come downstairs.

He hands over the cassette player to Batman and goes to hug the now-coherent younger two, but Spoiler brushes off the affection onto Robin. Instead, she walks up to Piper and punches him in the face.

“Feel better now?” Nightwing asks.

 “Yeah.” Spoiler steps back and allows Nightwing to reassure himself that she’s okay, letting him wrap her in a short hug. “Much better.”

So the day is saved, everything neatly finished.

Piper is arrested, the children/teenagers that hadn’t already dispersed are collected by the police to be taken home.

Later, everyone is back in the Batcave, exhausted. They’ve changed back into their civilian clothes.

“So I guess I am never going to another karaoke night ever again,” Steph mumbles.

“Karey-oakey?” Cass repeats.

“It’s like a place where you sing. You choose a song, and they’ll play the music for you so you can yell out the actual lyrics as badly as you like.”

“Oh.” Cass mulls that over. “The singing did look fun. Before the dancing started.”

“Are you seriously still upset you’re too old for mind-control?” Dick asks.

Cass shrugs.

There’s silence for a moment.

Tim groans. “Fine, I’ll come with you, but I’m not singing anything else today.”

“I know a great karaoke bar.” Dick picks up his jacket from over the chair. “They sell amazing nachos.”

“I could go for nachos.” Steph stands up.

“Already booking us a private room,” Babs says.

“I’ll prepare the car,” Alfred says.

Dick grins. “B, you coming?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“You won’t have to sing,” Tim adds. “Sit with me and Steph and watch while the rest of these losers get up on stage.”

“I assure you, Master Tim, I will not be singing.”

“Sit with me, Steph, and Alfred,” Tim corrects.

Bruce groans, but reluctantly gets up.

Dick leans over to Cass where Bruce can’t hear him. “Bet you five bucks I can convince him to get on stage.”

“Deal.”

End episode.

Available on AO3.

S1 episode extract here. (17 year old Dick gets kidnapped for ransom, is very bored.)

S2 episode extract here (Robin-Jason goes up against Two-Face, trades himself for a hostage, proceeds to be as sarcastic as possible).

S4 episode extract here (in which Tim gets a dose of fear gas, Spoiler confronts her inner child in an alarmingly literal way, and Cass is awful at baking cookies).

[trndsttr0961]

Rogue - Chapter Three

“Where did Captain America learn how to steal a car?” I asked Cap, finally breaking the silence.

“Nazi Germany.” Cap answered. “And we’re borrowing, take your feet off the dash.”

A smug look on my face, I took my feet off, reveling in getting under Cap’s skin.

There was yet again an awkward silence between the three of us as we continued driving.

“Alright I have a question for you Steve,” Natasha asked leaning forward. “Have you kissed anyone since 1945? I mean, you looked pretty uncomfortable when O’ and I kissed.” She smirked.

“Yeah, you should’ve seen his face, he looked like a fuckin’ tomato.” I said, a laugh in my voice.

“Shut it Romanov. I’ll have you know that it’s a little difficult to find someone with shared life experience when you’re 95 years old. Also watch your damn mouth, St- I mean Rogue.” He scolded.

“Well that’s alright. Just make something up.” I shrugged, glancing towards Cap.

“What, like you?” Cap looked pointedly at me, as if he’d won our battle of wits.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged once again. “The truth is a matter of circumstance. It’s not all things to all people, all the time.” I tell him. Getting a wistful look in my eyes, I stare out of the window and mutter under my breath.

“And neither am I.”

“That’s a tough way to live.” Cap says, feeling sympathetic for someone so young to live such a way.

“It’s a good way not to die though.” I fire directly back at him.

It’s silent for a moment, and the only noise is the steady hum of the engine and the cars passing by.

“You know it’s kind of hard to trust someone, when you don’t know who that someone is.” He tells me softly.

Looking straight into his eyes, I can’t help but agree with him.

“Yeah,” I breathe. “Who do you want me to be?” I ask him.

He pauses for a moment, thinking. “How about a friend.”

I laugh and look away. “Well there’s a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers.” I say, not looking at him.

He just gives me a knowing look, and continues driving. But now I have a strange feeling in my heart. For the first time in years, I have a friend. For as long as I can remember, I never had any trustworthy friends besides Nat, all of them were friendly to me because of my name. Because of who my father was.

It’s silent for a few minutes and nobody utters a word. Not even Nat whose been silent for a while now.

“Well look at that, we’re there.” Nat states pointing straight ahead at a wire fence surrounded by a field of tall grass. I spoke thought too soon, I guess.

Steve stops the car and we all climb out. I pull out the flash drive and take a look at the tracing program I was running.

“Nat’s right. The file came from these coordinates.” I state, walking towards the fence.

“So did I.” a soft voice comes from behind me. I whip around and see Steve staring at the building behind the fence with a nostalgic look on his face.

We walked for a bit before Nat broke the silence.

“Steve, is this where you were trained?” She asked him, tentatively. Which was rare for the spy.

He gave a stiff nod as we continued on our trek through the base.

“Change much?” I asked him, holding up the flash drive and trying to pinpoint the exact origin point of the file.

“A little.” He says, staring into space, seeming to get lost in his memories.

I hand the flash drive to Natasha and walk back over to him, looking at the field of grass he’s staring at.

“Hello? Earth to Captain Rogers? You there?” I ask him, waving my hand in front of his face.

He blinks a few times before responding. “Just taking a little trip down memory lane.”

“This is a dead end.” Natasha’s voice echoes between the walls of the buildings. “Zero heat signatures, zero waves, not even radio.” She says, a hint of dejection in her voice.

“Whoever wrote the file must’ve used a router to throw people off.” I conclude, taking the flash drive from Nat. I look up at Steve, about to tell him we should get back in the car and continue trying to hack the file, when I notice a look of realization spread across his face. “What is it?” I ask him, confused for a moment.

He starts walking towards a dark metal building surrounded by green grass. Nat and I just look at each other before shrugging and jogging to catch up to the super soldier. I just walked.

“Army regulations forbid storing munitions within 500 yards of the barracks.” He states, quickly walking towards the metal door of the building. I quickly catch on to what he is saying and look up at him.

“This building is in the wrong place.” I realize.

When we get to the door, Cap slams the lock with his shield, effectively breaking it. And with that, we all step inside.

As we walked down the creaking stairs, I can barely make out anything in front of me. I brush a couple of stray cobwebs off of my shoulders and only hope that there aren’t any spiders in them. I shudder at the thought. Finally, Nat finds a light switch and one by one, the lights in the storage bunker flicker on.

“This is S.H.I.E.L.D.” Natasha notes, seeing the agency’s logo on the far wall.

“Maybe where it started.” Cap tells her.

It’s silent as we walk down the dusty hallways, filled with ghosts of the past. Steve carefully opens a creaky door we see, leading to a dusty office.

We looked around the room for any source of where the file came from, when a painting caught my eye. I felt my breath catch and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. For I was staring straight at a man who resembled my father so closely, I could’ve mistaken him for, well, him.

I was frozen at the spot, and I could practically feel Natasha’s concern as she followed my gaze and came to the conclusion of why I was dumbstruck. I saw Cap turn his gaze to the painting of Howard Stark and his brow furrow.

“There’s Stark’s father.” Steve observes, not thinking about the person standing right next to him.

Natasha’s head whipped towards him and she gave him a taste of her emerald glare. If looks could kill, he’d be dead many times over. She looked as if she was about to give Steve a piece of her mind, but thought better of it, seeing as it might make things worse since I was still there.

Steve at least had the nerve to look apologetic for upsetting his newfound friend and was about to stammer out an apology when I cut him off.

“Howard.” I say stiffly.

“Who’s the girl?” Nat asked Steve, changing the subject.

Steve stares at the framed photo of the young brunette for a moment, before walking away with a dejected look on his face. I guess we both had ghosts haunting our pasts.

The golden trio The three of us continue walking around, not seeing anything except empty shelves, filled with cobwebs and dust. Something about this doesn’t seem quite right. I held up the flash drive, and the tracing program showed that we were getting close. I moved forward even more, and I could see that we were very hot figuratively and literally.

“This can’t be right.” Natasha mutters under her breath, scanning her surroundings.

But it seemed like the infamous Black Widow had lost her touch.

“If you’re already working in a secret office,” I vaguely say, unaware of Steve and Natasha’s curious glance to each other. “Why do you need to hide the elevator?” I finish with dramatic effect as I push the old shelf aside to reveal a hidden elevator behind.

I take out my password scanner, and type in the password it reveals. When I finish typing in the code, the elevator bell dings and the doors slowly open. The ride down is quiet, none of us daring to speak a word or make a noise. When the doors open, we’re met with, yet another, dark and dusty room.

As the three of us walk in, it’s dead silent. All of the sudden, the doors slam shut behind us, like something out of a horror movie. Instinctively, I grab Nat’s hand, and it seems like she had the same idea in mind. She gives me a knowing look, as if she can read my mind and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

As we walk further into the room, we can make out the glowing buttons and switches of computers and machines all around us in the dark. As we continue walking towards the end of the large room, the overhead lights flicker on with a loud clanking sound. The three of us spot what seems to be the files origin point.

There are multiple computers, all from the mid 1900s, covered in dust and god knows what along with a desk and a chair. I can feel Nat and Steve’s confusion as well as mine while we examine the file’s origin point.

“This can’t be the data point,” Nat says, confusion laced in her voice. “This technology is ancient.” She scoffs.

I’m about to agree with her, when I notice a USB port, glowing a dim blue. Curious, I walk closer towards it and notice several places to insert the flash drive. From the corner of my eye, I see Steve and Natasha following my gaze and examining the USB port.

“Is that- ” Steve starts.

“Here goes nothing.” I cut him off, not wanting to delay our findings anymore.

I carefully insert the flash drive into the USB port, and instantly, a whole bunch of switches, buttons, and circuits light up and turn on. The discs that were previously still, now spun around in certain patterns. We all looked up to see a security camera lift its camera up, almost as if scanning us. We could still hear the whir and buzz of the newfound machines, but our attention was primarily focused on the camera.

All of the sudden, a strange electronic voice spoke, coming from one of the computers. “Initiate system?” It asked in its really fucking sketchy voice.

Coming to my senses, I tentatively walked forward towards the computer that was just sketchily talking.

“Y-E-S spells yes.” I say, typing in my simple command that would ultimately change our lives.

I could hear the machines powering up even more, and making that soft electronic hum that I’d learned to love, growing up.

“Shall we play a game?” I say, referencing one of my dad’s favorite movies. I glanced over at Nat, smirking.

“I’d love to.” She smirks back (understanding my reference;)

The computer beeps, and a strange, electronic face appears. We instantly fall silent, all trace of humor gone from our faces. To our astonishment, the sketchy green man in the computer starts to speak.

“Rogers, Steven,” It states, scanning Steve. “Born 1918.” It finishes.

“Romanov, Natalia Alianovna,” It states once again, this time scanning Nat. Her head whips around to stare at the camera in shock. “Born 1987.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed at the camera. Her D.O.B. was classified information, and only a handful of people knew her full name.

In shock of how the voice in the computer knew Nat’s full name and D.O.B, I didn’t notice the camera turn towards me until it was too late.

“Stark, Octavia.” It said in its creepy robotic voice. I groaned, I hated my last name and my father. “Born 1989.” It finished scanning me.

“It’s some kind of recording.” Natasha stated, trying to find an explanation for how it knew such classified information about her.

“I am not a recording fräulein!” It angrily said, if computers could be angry?? nothing made sense anymore.

Confusion etched all over Nat’s face, and I reached over to give her hand a comforting squeeze. She gave me a fleeting look of appreciation before turning her attention back to the computer.

“I may not be the man I was when the captain took me prisoner in 1945,” It continued. “But I am.” It vaguely finished, earning a spooked look from Cap.

“You know this thing?” Natasha stiffly asked Steve, not making eye contact with him.

He looks around for a moment, thinking to himself. Then he remembers.

“Arnim Zola was a German scientist who worked for the Red Skull.” He said, anxiously pacing the floor. Steve looked up at Natasha. “He’s been dead for years.” He finishes.

“First correction,” Zola interupts, causing us all to look at him, startled. “I am Swiss. Second, look around you. I have never been more alive.” He mysteriously finishes.

“In 1972, I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body. My mind, however was worth saving. On 200,000 feet of databanks. You are standing in my brain.” Zola informed us. Just lovely.

“How did you get here?” The Captain demanded.

“Invited.” Zola mysteriously answers.

I looked over at Nat to see what she thought, but I noticed that she had a look of realization etched in her features. I was about to ask her what she was thinking about, when she answered my unasked question.

“It was Operation Paperclip after World War II,” she informed us. Steve and I looked at each other, confused. “S.H.I.E.L.D. recruited German scientists with strategic value.” She told us, sensing our confusion.

“They thought I could help their cause,” Zola tells us. “I also helped my own.” He sketchily finishes.

“HYDRA died with the Red Skull.” Steve stubbornly says, refusing to believe the German, excuse me, Swiss scientist.

I scoff, I mean just how naive was the golden boy of America?

“Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.” Zola scolds us, as the HYDRA symbol appears on the screen.

“Prove it.” Cap challenges him.

“Accessing archive,” Zola starts. “HYDRA was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom. What we did not realize, was that if you try to take that freedom, they resist. The war taught us much. Humanity needed to surrender its freedom willingly. After the war, S.H.I.E.L.D. was founded and I was recruited. The new HYDRA grew. A beautiful parasite inside S.H.I.E.L.D. For seventy years HYDRA has been secretly feeding crisis, reaping war. And when history did not cooperate, history was changed.

“That’s impossible, S.H.I.E.L.D. would’ve stopped you.” Natasha states, refusing to believe that she was living inside of a lie.

“Accidents will happen.” Zola tells her, as old news clippings and photos of my grandfather, Howard Stark dying appear. Fury’s death certificate also is shown on the screen, mocking us.

“HYDRA created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security. Once the purification process is complete, HYDRA's new world order will arise. We won, Captain. Your death amounts to the same as your Life; a zero sum.”

In blind fury, Steve punches the computer screen, cracking the glass beyond repair. “What’s on this drive?” He demands.

“Project Insight requires insight. So I wrote an algorithm.” He vaguely answers Steve.

“What kind of algorithm? What does it do?” I inquire, keeping my “mission face” on.

“The answer to your question is fascinating. Unfortunately, you shall be too dead to hear it.” He tells me.

In shock I turn to Natasha and is about to tell her to run, but the metal doors bang shut, locking us in. Cap tries to throw his shield to prop it open, but he’s too late. My thoughts are interrupted by the phone I used to hack my way in here alerting me.

“Guys, we got a bogey,” I say, dread filling my voice. I can feel my heart rate rise slightly and my pulse quicken. I look up at them. “Short range ballistic. 30 seconds tops.” I finish, internally cringing at their facial expressions.

“Who fired it?” Steve once again demands.

“S.H.E.I.L.D.” I slowly say, scared of Natasha’s reaction. She’s quiet, but I can tell that underneath she’s having an internal crisis about her life being a lie.

“I am afraid I have been stalling, Captain.” Zola says once again in his annoying Swiss accent that really sounds german.

At this, I quickly yank the flash drive out of the USB port and put it in my pocket as Cap rips an air vent out of its hinges so we can hide inside of it.

“Out of time.” Zola finishes with dramatic effect.

The three of us jump inside the DIY military trench, with Cap’s shield above our heads, protecting us.

The building begins to cave in, and rubble starts to fall from the ceiling and into our trench thing. Quickly I realize that Cap’s shield can’t protect all three of us effectively, and I’d never live with myself if I let one of them get hurt because I was taking up too much space.

“NAT!” I scream, over the sound of rubble and debris falling. “Nat, no matter what happens, I love you, I will always love you.” I finish, tears welling up in my eyes.

Her eyes widen as she realizes what I’m about to do. “NO!” She screams at me, pulling me closer to her. She looks me in the eye, and I frantically scan her face, etching every single detail into my memory. “Please, O’! I love you too, you can’t- ” I cut her off by pushing myself away from them and into the falling debris.

I can hear Steve’s yells and Nat’s frantic screams as the rubble begins to pile up around me. Well, here goes nothing. I thought as I close my eyes and prepare myself for the worst. I can sense the huge piece of concrete ceiling falling towards me, fast. I close my eyes and concentrate on the thing that calms me the most. Natasha’s voice. I focus on her silky and smooth voice saying my name over and over again. I remember her piercing green eyes staring into my soul, and her fiery locks falling through my fingers as I kiss her. I think about all the times she healed my cuts and bruises after training, and all the times I stitched her back up. I take a deep breath as I feel time seemingly slow around me and brace myself for the impact that never came. 

I open my eyes, and I’m not in Arnim Zola’s hidden bunker anymore. I’m in an empty yet full void with nothing but white seeming to stretch miles and miles around me. The only way I could tell the difference between up and down was, well, because I was standing. 

I look down at my hands, and I can see my hands glowing a dim silvery white, which was slowly fading away. I looked around my Void, and a sense of familiarity washed around me. I hadn’t been here for years, ever since then. I shake my head, clearing all thoughts of the incident, and instead I focus on getting back to Natasha. 

The funny thing is that time passes by the same in the Void. It may not seem like it, but since everything is just white, it’s hard to tell how long it’s been. 

Seconds? Minutes? Days? Years? 

It really just depends. 

Clocks also don’t work in the Void, so there’s no way in telling what time it is besides counting.

1. 2. 3.

I count to myself in my head, but I soon lose track of that. How long until it’s safe to go back? If I go back to early, I could get crushed by a bigass piece of debris. If I wait too long, well I could end up in the hands of HYDRA. 

Taking a deep breath, I give in to the temptation to go back. I don’t even know how I’m going to begin to explain this to Nat. She’s probably gonna kick my ass

In the blink of an eye, I appeared back where I was standing before the entire fucking ceiling collapsed. I looked around, trying to see if Nat or Steve was nearby. I slowly dug my way through the rubble to get to Natasha and Steve. 

“NAT! STEVE! I’m here!” I shouted, frantic to get to them. I grunted and groaned, trying to push rubble out of the way when I heard it. I turned and saw the headlights of a S.H.E.I.L.D, or should I say HYDRA plane with agents on it coming straight towards me. Instinctively, I ducked and ran, narrowly avoiding the bullets their snipers shot at me. 

Realizing that I wasn’t going to be able to get back to Steve and Nat, I wished them good luck and goodbye. I’d come to the conclusion that they’d upped and ran at the first sign of S.H.I.E.L.D. HYDRA so the car was gone. I sighed, this was going to be a very long day (it already was lol)

I decided I needed to surprise them and wait for them to come onto the ground, when they *cough* thought *cough* it was safe for them (it really wasn’t)

A few minutes later, I heard the sound of the plane’s back deck opening, and the sound of engines coming out. Great. Motorcycles. I thought. A Lambo or an Audi would’ve been much better for a getaway vehicle. I crouch behind a large piece of fallen rubble, waiting for my chance to strike. 

Bingo.

“Thermal vision and heat sensors are picking up a signature over here.” A voice calls out.

A S.H.I.E.L.D. HYDRA motorcycle speeds towards the piece of rubble that I’m hiding behind. As soon as he’s close enough, I leap out of my hiding place, whip out my gun, and shoot him point blank in the head, killing him instantly. 

I push his dead body off the motorcycle and swing my leg onto it. I can hear the steady hum of the engine and and softly stroke the shiny black metal. I rip the yank the license plate off the back so they can’t track me, and check for any other trackers.

“Adios.” I smirk, looking back at the approaching HYDRA agents.

And with that, I grip the throttle and speed away, leaving the HYDRA agents in my dust. 

Now I just gotta find the love of my life Natasha and Steve. Yay.

[justlookfrightened]

Houston Chronicles, Part 11

Read the beginning here. Read the last installment here. 

 Jack slung his camera strap around his neck and set off after Bitty towards what Bitty promised was a park a couple of blocks over.

He caught up within a stride, and focused on matching his pace to Bitty’s. Bitty might be shorter, but he moved quickly and with purpose.

“You’ve been here like a month?” Bitty said as they walked. “How are you liking it? What do you do when you’re not at the rink?”

“Um, I’ve been hanging out at this cool bakery,” Jack said.

“Today was the second time you’ve been in,” Bitty said. “Believe me, I would have heard from the staff if you’d come in another time.”l

“I played golf a couple of times. Explored a couple of state parks, took some pictures to send to Maman and Papa. They said to say hello, by the way.”

“They must hate me.”

“No, they don’t,” Jack said. “They were confused and upset --”

“Jack, they love you more than anything,” Bitty said. “They’d kill for you. And I know I hurt you, and I know they probably felt betrayed. They were counting on me to be there for you, and I wasn’t.”

“That’s really not their call,” Jack said. “I think they get that.”

Bitty just looked at him.

“It may have taken them a little time to get that,” Jack acknowledged. “Maybe they had to see I wouldn’t self-destruct without you.”

“I knew you would be okay,” Bitty said.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Jack said, aiming for a light tone.

“Jack, look at you,” Bitty said. “Playing your tenth year in the league, aiming for the playoffs for tenth time.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t be able to play hockey,” Jack said.

“No, but if you can play hockey, you can get through anything else,” Bitty said. “Hockey’s always been your life.”

They turned into the park, and Jack was taken back to his last semester at Samwell, when he and Bitty had wandered the campus while he took photos for his class. They hadn’t been dating yet, but Bitty was already the most important person in his life.

Too many of the pictures he took on those rambles were of Bitty, and they ended up figuring significantly in his final portfolio. It was a wonder Lardo hadn’t said anything when he asked her to look it over.

“No,” Jack said, as though there had been no pause. “Hockey maybe used to be my life, and it’s important to me, but it’s not my life.”

He didn’t say, “You were my life, and I’ve been missing you since you left.” Or, “You showed me that there was more to life than hockey.”

Instead he continued the conversation with, “Your employees seem to like you.”

“I think so,” Bitty said. “The baking help I have -- they’re only there in the mornings -- they’re older, but they’ve really helped me with figuring out what will sell. The ones who work the counter are good kids. I could wish they’d be a little less familiar.”

“How so?”

“You heard Denise when she left,” Bitty said. “She’s got us involved in some grand romance in her head.”

“She knows about us? You told her?”

“Yes and no,” Bitty said. “She knows -- Quinn told her. I made the mistake of telling him we had a history, and he went looking. Apparently read some stuff from after we broke up, and came to the conclusion that you dumped me. Which, I mean, seems totally reasonable. Anyway, I told him that wasn’t how it happened, but he still seems to have taken against you.”

“He probably has a crush on you.”

Bitty snorted. “I doubt that very much.”

“The other night, he only had eyes for you,” Jack said. “You’re older, and successful, and you take an interest in him. That’s not even mentioning that you’re just as attractive as you were when you were twenty.”

“Hush, you,” Bitty said, but he was blushing. “God, if you’re right … I’m going to have to be more careful to keep it professional around him, aren’t I?”

Jack shrugged. “I think crushes are pretty common in the mentor/mentee relationship. Both ways.”

“I most definitely am not crushing on Quinn,” Bitty said. “Wait — is that what you think happened with us?”

Jack shrugged.

“Maybe that’s how it started?” he said. “At least a little? But not for five years.”

“What was it you wanted to talk about? Not Quinn,” Bitty said.

“No,” Jack said. “How would you feel about meeting the team?”

“The Aeros? Why do you want me to do that?” Bitty said.

“Because I’m hoping to stick here for a while,” Jack said. “And I think you’re going to be important to me, and I hope I’m going to be important to you. In whatever capacity. And I don’t want to be hiding anything.”

“How do you think the team will take it? You talked to Fox?”

“He’s worried that it’ll be a distraction,” Jack said. “He laid into me when I suggested his problem might be that we were in a same-sex relationship. You know hockey players -- not always the most sensitive in their means of expression, but they seem like a good group.”

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course,” Jack said.

He paused and fiddled with his camera, stopping to photograph a small lizard on a rock. He turned to see Bitty looking at him, a wistful expression on his face. The sun was behind him, and his hair glowed like a halo.

Jack raised his camera and took a shot.

“Just like old times,” he said.

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

Read the next installment

[angrylizardjacket]

And All The Queen’s Men {Roger Taylor}

A/N: 5486 words. Okay wow. Please bare with me, this is a long one and also a bit of a different one. Written in the style of a Rolling Stone article. Finished it at 7am. Prompt & support from the lovely @ginghampearlsnsweettea

[And All The Queen’s Men ‘verse masterpost]

Warning: Minor character death, in both senses, it’s a baby, it’s not graphic it’s just mentioned, but just thought I should let you know.

And All The Queen’s Men: how the lines blurred between Queen and and the Queen of Jazz Rock.

An article almost two years in the making, after their last tour, which I was invited along to in order to write the initial article, the rock sensation Queen split, a decision, I am lead to be believe, was instigated by front man Freddie Mercury, and though Giselle Jones had continued to make music, even before her very public, on-stage breakdown, her lawyers had me keep the article to myself. Now, with the band’s reunion, and Live Aid having been a massive success with both powerhouse musical names coming back into the public eye, I’ve invited them back to my office for one last interview, but mostly to beg them to let me publish this article.

Which, obviously, they allowed.

It’s 1985, and with them all sitting in front of me, I feel a sense of deja vu. There are some changes, of course, Roger Taylor’s hair is shorter, Giselle Jones is wearing jeans and a sweater rather than her well-known cocktail dress, but John Deacon’s still smiling at me, Brian’s looking about the room, perhaps seeing if anything’s changed, and Freddie Mercury’s draped casually on the left of the only non-Queen member of the bunch. 

But before I get into the past two years, maybe I should take you back a bit, to when Giselle and Queen began collaborating.

Giselle Jones began in the late sixties as the front-woman of a swing band in a thirties theme pub known as Modern Glamour. Tall, elegant, with a voice like honey, she had a small following of regulars that frequented the pub, but had kept her passion from music from her family, claiming she was merely a waitress at the establishment, since her father was an executive at EMI, and she didn’t want to seem like the subject of nepotism.

However, one fateful day, her father brings music industry giant to the pub for lunch, hoping to catch Giselle at work and introduce her, but as you know, they both got a lot more than they bargained for. Foster sees potential in her, and offers her a contract if she’s willing to modernise her act, and as we all know, she does.

When Giselle releases her first album in 1970, Velvet Roses, which would be the first and only “Jazz” record to hit the Top 40 charts for that year, Queen are still playing pub gigs around London, though they’re looking at recording their first album, which would eventually get EMI’s attention, but that’s still not for a while. At this point, they’re the biggest fish in a very small uni-pub pond, and they need the means to grow. So out goes the band’s van, for one night in a recording studio.

“Like, in retrospect, of course it was the right decision.” Taylor leans against the back of the sofa he’s sitting on in my office in 1982, voice contemplative and fingers locked together as he looks into the past. “But I was twenty-two at the time, selling my van was a big deal.”

“A big enough deal that you wrote a song about it.” Giselle adds, sitting beside him in the middle of the sofa. Deacon hides a smile though May doesn’t hide his snort of laughter. 

The smirked remark is at odds with her look. While the boys are all in various states of brightly patterned shirts and jeans, looking casual and comfortable; Giselle wears white, sequinned, off-the-shoulder gown that hugs her figure and hits the floor, a slit in the thigh where her leg crosses, dark skin a stunning contrast to both the white fabric of her dress, and the leather of my sofa. Hands folded in over her knee, there’s not a singular hair out of place where she’s got it slicked back; I can’t look at her directly, she’s so focused and well put-together that it’s like staring at the sun.

The contrast has always been apparent in their various works, though Mercury has, in the past, cited her as an early inspiration for his desire to add a certain classical gravitas to rock and roll, and though she hasn’t publicly stated anything, the amount of covers Giselle has performed lived could fill an album. And now, here they are, about leave for a double-billed tour of the US, which I have been asked to join.

But their connection goes back much further than this, all the way back to 1975, to the release of the smash-hit single Bohemian Rhapsody That very same year, Giselle releases her fifth single, Dinner and a Show, a lyrically dissonant, heart pumping anthem that’s a metaphor for the way any type of review fuelled her, since it meant people were talking about her work. 

You serve yourself on a platter; your putrid delights, / yet how can I refrain? / You don’t come to flatter, you don’t want to go / so come on baby, / don’t you know? / You’re treating me to dinner and a show.

Giselle’s usually silky performance is turned into a masterclass of vocal gymnastics as she slides easily from the rough intensity of rock and roll, to the smooth purr of jazz as she sings about eating critics for breakfast.

They say a free mind makes the meat so tender / now you’re on the menu and I’m a big spender

The song itself comes as a response to her former manager about how her “aggressive” move to music that more stylistically rock and roll was alienating older audiences, though Foster, still her producer at the time, was pushing for her to skew to a younger audience, and it seemed as though he had gotten his way.

The real change, however, was the B-Side of the record. After speaking to Jim “Miami” Beach, Queen’s lawyer, regarding potentially covering one of the band’s songs, Giselle reveals that she was eventually told to just ask them directly.

“I gave Miami a letter that basically explained that I’d like to cover one of their songs for my new album,” Giselle gives me a thin smile, and I feel like I’ve done something wrong, even though I’m assured by Brian that her public persona “is just like that sometimes”. 

“- and I thought it was a joke! I said ‘yeah, sure, what’s the worst that could happen’.” Mercury laughs, leaning forward elbows on his knees and eyes shinning with amusement. “I did not believe for one second that Giselle, Giselle-” repeating her name for emphasis, his hand comes to quickly rest on hers where she still has them perfectly still on her knee, a moment of solidarity, “wanted anything to do with us. Hand Held Heart had been at the top of the US charts for almost three whole weeks the year before.” Letting out a long, wistful sigh, Mercury sits back, still grinning, though he’s got this far away look on his face now. 

“So we’d been stuck on a farm, recording A Night At The Opera for weeks with no outside communications, ” May fills in where Mercury’s faded into his own memories, and Taylor slings arm around Giselle where she’s actually relaxed somewhat, hands now in her lap. Curiously, she doesn’t shrug him off. “And when we get back, it turns out that she’s put a jazz cover of Jesus, yeah, that song from our first album, on the B-Side of her newest single.”

“Freddie practically had a heart attack.” Deacon adds, patting Mercury’s shoulder fondly.

In her own way, she was continuing the trend that Dinner and a Show had started, and that seven-inch single would bestow upon Giselle the title of Queen of Jazz Rock. It hadn’t been the first time she had acknowledged the band publicly, by the time she had released the single, her public persona had gained enough traction that, a few months prior to her recording of the cover, a reporter had asked if Killer Queen, Queen’s biggest hit at the time, had been written about her. The question had been caught on camera by the reporter after one of her tour stops in the Midwest of America; the footage is a favourite of fans, including myself, of the way she doesn’t even turn, simply calls over her shoulder, ‘they should be so lucky’, and she gets into her waiting car.

“I never took offence,” Mercury tells me, both in 1982, and 1985, as I bring it up both times to consolidate the origins of their musical partnership.

“You wouldn’t, you were all starry-eyed for her back then.” Taylor leans back to address Mercury behind Giselle’s head, but only when he says it the first time, in 1982. 

“It was a bit of a dig at us,” Deacon agrees with the drummer, nodding before shrugging. “A lot of good came out of it, though.” The others seem to agree, but Giselle herself has stayed quiet. For the first time since the interview started, she looks away from me, gaze dipping as she seems inclined to speak, though she takes her time to weigh up her words before she says them, wondering exactly what will and will not be printed.

“It was a bit of s**t thing to say. I was twenty-four and I panicked, I had to keep up my... this persona.” She gestures now to herself, breaking the entire physicality as she lets herself lean back, and I feel like I can breathe, seeing her act so human. Adjusting, she lets herself rest of the slightest of diagonals, shoulder to shoulder with Taylor’s arm still around her, now with Mercury petting her knee in solidarity.

Once in the tour bus, the difference between Giselle Jones, the woman, and Giselle, the singer and personality, becomes almost jarring to see. As soon as we get into the bus, she strips off the gown she was wearing, I turn away, though the others don’t seem to be bothered by it, May takes the dress to a waiting assistant by the door, and when I turn back, she’s in a pair of sweat pants and Taylor is tossing her shirt several sizes too big for her. For the first time since I’ve learned about her, Giselle looks comfortable, looks approachable and, for lack of a better word, non-robotic, taking a hairbrush from a drawer and flopping onto one of the beds as she brushes out the gel, apparently not bothering with a shower just yet.

“I showered this morning.” She seems to have caught my confused look, and explains herself. With her guard lowered in the familiar situation, her natural voice shines through, a rich, yet feminine alto, reminiscent of her singing voice. It adds to the list of things that add character to her beyond what her “persona” could ever convey. Or perhaps that’s the point.

The bus itself is almost too small for the five performers, and I’m certain it won’t fit me, but Giselle and I watch as they cram a blow up bed onto the kitchen table. It looks stable, and for the opportunity to experience living in such close quarters with such big names, I’d take anything.

“Sorry, darling, Paul takes the only spare bed.” Mercury informs me as I shimmy up onto the bed to test if it would hold. I had thought that the vehicle was at capacity, though it does make sense that the band’s day-to-day manager, Paul Prenter, would be travelling with them. That being said, I hadn’t realised there was even a spare bed, there was only five, perhaps none of them had wanted to be subjected to the blow up bed and decided to share instead.

When we finally get on the road, I get to finally see their true dynamics emerge. We all know the Queen dynamics by now, brotherly yet volatile, at times. I had worried for Giselle at times, the concept of living with four men (five if you count Prenter, who Giselle does not seem to, when I ask her about it, though I don’t think that’s a subject I should pry about, judging by the look on Taylor’s face where I can see him lounging at the back of the bus). However, I should have not have been worried; first of all, despite the youthfulness of their appearances, performances, and spirit, these are all men in their 30s, Giselle herself being 31 at the time of writing (1982), and they all have experience living with women, and with each other.

“First tour was a nightmare.” Deacon’s joined me on the blowup bed, is sipping tea as we travel along. “We learned real quick how disgusting close quarters can be.” He’s a quiet soul, but observant, and honestly I really enjoy his company. Anyone who can weather over a decade of rock and roll and come out as calm as him deserves some sort of recognition. “It’s much better now. Mostly.” He smiles like it’s an inside joke, but won’t elaborate. Giselle and Taylor refuse to clarify what he means by that, May just laughs when I ask him, directing me back to ask Taylor and Giselle, and Mercury calls them all gossips.

It’s something about the tour lifestyle that must bring out the childishness in them all, which comes out strongly during dinner. They shove my blowup bed into the sleeping quarters when dinner is served, and the five of us manage to cram into the tiny booth the bus allows. May, Deacon and Giselle are in charge of cooking dinner, sausages, potatoes, and peas, since apparently Prenter and Mercury have taken lunch duties, and Roger has put himself in charge of getting coffee and tea for everyone in the morning.

“We should really eat breakfast.” Giselle muses through half a mouthful of food.

“I do!” Deacon, next to me, comes back with, pouring some more peas onto his plate.

“You just eat cereal from the box, Deaky, that’s not breakfast.” Taylor counters him, which just causes the rest of the table to devolve into an argument about what counts as breakfast. Prenter, who has joined us for the meal, looks like he’d rather be napping or still driving, and makes quiet work of his meal.

Roger Taylor goes to sleep after me, and wakes up before I do, and I’m not sure how he does it. Or where he sleeps, the other beds seem taken. He wakes me up on the first morning by shoving my bed, which slides a few centimeters, but isn’t about to fall off it’s perch.

“You want coffee?” I’m barely functioning at this point, and his question baffles me. “Tea? Coffee? Deaky’s cereal? We got some left over sausages.” He lists off, probably due to my clear confusion, he seems exasperated, even though he’s definitely wearing pyjamas too. He’s still scowling a little when I tell him how I like my coffee, but he doesn’t complain, and it tastes exactly like I like it when he hands it over. The bus is stationary, so he can put the cups by the bedsides of those they are for, but interestingly enough he joins me on the table/bed. 

I know the origin story of Queen, I think everyone does at this point, so I ask him instead about the subject of my article; how Queen got involved with Giselle.

“You wanna know how I met Giselle?” It’s not exactly what I asked, but he’s already thinking about it, looking past me to the sleeping quarters with a frown. He plays absent-mindedly with the chain around his neck, and with the ring attached to it. “I thought everyone knew about that, the whole thing where we hated each other from the start?” When I ask if it was true, he actually laughs, though it’s more a snort of derision, if I’m being honest. “Of course not. Mostly.” They all seem to like that word, I hadn’t taken them all to be vague.

“I told him to take a long walk off a short pier.” Giselle will clarify for me later that day, joining me as I take a smoke break at one of our bathroom stops, not that there isn’t a toilet on the bus, they just try to avoid using it as much as possible. She doesn’t smoke, claims she never has, but enjoys the company, while the boys are buying snacks at the gas station. I ask when it was, she gives me another thin smile, but not like it had been in the office. Here it’s the punctuation to an earlier joke rather than a judgement.

She tells me about how she actually met them all, recording her second album, after her 1972 performance on Top of the Pops, you know the one. It had cemented Giselle’s now iconic aesthetic of an off the shoulder, floor length sequinned gown, silk gloves, and bold red lipstick, dark hair falling victory curls, the whole look reminiscent of an old Hollywood star, though there was red glitter trailing from her lips, and on her gloves in a theatrical fabrication of blood. It had been a look inspired by her musical roots, and the theatricality of the then-popular glam rock, a movement which would inspire many of Mercury’s tour looks also.

She was twenty-one at the time, still “developing her persona”, when she found that the in-house recording equipment at EMI was being used by the then-still quite unknown Queen. Or rather, according to Giselle, just Taylor.

“He was packing up the last of his equipment, and he makes a pass at me, thinks I’m an intern.” We can see the boys leaving the gas station, Taylor himself heading the pack. “So yeah, told him to take a long walk off a short pier.” She laughs, seems to hold the memory quite dear. “That b******d has the gall to look me in the eyes and ask who I am.”

“Did he know who you were?” When I look at her, she’s still smiling, tipping her head to the side as the boys draw close. She seems to be paying attention to me, but not a lot.

“Yeah, told me later he was just pissed I didn’t throw myself at him. That’s why I said that, ‘they should be so lucky’ thing, actually, that motherf****r right there.” The way she says it, raising her finger to point at him, makes me think it’s a story she’s told before, one that he knows about.

“You talking about me?” Taylor yells, and Giselle is quick to answer that she is. “Don’t spill all my secrets.” It sounds like an order, but his smile says it’s not, it’s weirdly playful, a dynamic I didn’t expect from them, especially considering their history. I raise the point. She laughs at me.

“You’re kidding, right?” 

Prenter calls for everyone on the bus, and Giselle doesn’t think to clarify once we’re back on board. 

The tour, I should have mentioned earlier, is a double feature; Queen is promoting their album Hot Space, while Giselle is promoting her own, The Bend Before the Break. When I ask her about the album itself, she talks happily about a few of the songs, however when I bring up my personal favourites, Ache and Heaven Sent, she turns very quiet.

I will end up watching most of her performances, and to this day, I have never seen something as raw and spiritual as Giselle performing Ache.

The lights dim as the joyful Meant to Be finishes. On the studio recording, a double bass starts the song, long, grieving and angry notes that pick up in tempo as it’s joined by drums and a piano, and finally, her voice, low, bitter and seductive in equal measure. Here, there’s silence, as she gently croons the open lines, face illuminated by only a single gold light, as swirling red and purple lights move about the stage. 

While saying you were sorry, / you burned me from the outside, in. / Now I’m calloused all over, / And too tired to feel the sting. / But I feel the ache, / feel the ache / feel the ache. / I’ll still let you back in.

She plays the piano herself for this song, a skill, I later learn Mercury had taught her many years ago. It’s a song that tugs at your gut, gets you thinking about how you keep people in your life who aren’t the best for you. She ends the last chorus with a long, mournful wail that you feel in your bones. 

I’ve never heard a crowd so quiet as when she finishes Ache, the penultimate song of her set list, unless you count encores.

The final song of the night is always Heaven Sent, a bright, headbanging anthem with the musical gravitas of a full jazz band. It was her single from the album, it topped most charts. You know the one. The radio won’t stop playing it.

Divinity with a neon glow / it hung above his head, / promoting his next show. / Didn’t even try to find my light, / just the darkness he’d bestow. / Heaven sent me the Morningstar.

“I was cheated on.” Was all she will say about the songs.

The others steer clear of those songs as well, when talking about the album, as well as the titular song, The Bend Before the Break, though Giselle claims she has moved on from the feelings associated in all three songs.

“I wrote them first on the album, I’ve moved on.”

Each of the boys seems very protective of Giselle at times, though Taylor is by far the worst. If I’m being honest, was weird to me, they’d been at each other’s throats publicly and professionally for almost a full decade after Giselle’s initial comment, however the vitriol had died down in the past few years, so I enquire about that about halfway through the six week tour. 

“We set them up.” May is the first to answer, sipping tea with myself, Deacon and Mercury. Since both Giselle and Taylor adjourned to the sleeping quarters. I ask him what he means.

“They tell it better.” Mercury interjects, but May argues that they’re asleep anyways so it’s not like it matters. Deacon agrees with Mercury, but quiet enough that May ignores him.

“So by ‘79, we’ve collaborated together, us and ‘Zelle, I mean,” the nickname is mostly used by May and Taylor, though Deacon uses it on occasion, “a couple of times, and we love her, right boys? We love her-” looking around, both Mercury and Deacon are nodding along, responding to a story they’d both heard before, though it was interesting for my first time hearing it, “but Rog is about ready to stab her with his drumsticks, but that’s just how he is.”

“Threatened to stab me once.” Deacon adds the unnerving information with complete serenity, focused on his cup.

“Me a couple of times.” Mercury shakes his head, as if it were some schoolboy prank rather than a stabbing threat.

“Like I said, just how he is. So we decide to send them to a place where they can bond over complaining about everything else, apart from each other.” I asked how it worked out for them and I watch as their faces fall. This terrible blind date idea must have gone horribly. “They hate the restaurant, which is good, but he goes to leave and bumps the table, spilling beer all over her dress, which is bad,” well, obviously. He pays me no mind, “and she elbows him in the face when she’s putting her jacket on - still don’t know how that one happened - but he still says he’ll take her home because it’s late, except-”

“To preface,” Deacon jumps in here, adding a little more milk to his tea, “she hates I’m In Love With My Car.” The song? Deacon nods. “Rog wrote it.” I can connect the dots, but I’m still confused as to how that lead to them being friends.

“Friends.” Mercury actually laughs into his cup.

“He takes her home anyways, she tells him the song’s s**t bu the sentiment wasn’t far off.” May finishes, shrugging.

“It was a real nice car.” Deacon shrugged, before looking straight at me. “And she still hates the song to this day.” There’s an air of finality to his words that is entirely unwarranted. That isn’t the point of the story; how are they friends now? Did they hook up in his car? Is that what they’re implying, I feel like such a gossip asking these questions.

“Did they ho- ? Yeah, of course.” May laughs, and though it clears some things up, I’m still rather confused. It’s probably reading on my face, because it looks like something else is dawning on him. “You know they’re married, right?”

No. No I did not know. Now I feel like an idiot.

I wonder if The Bend Before the Break is about Taylor? I can sense I’ve touched a nerve when I ask, and Mercury abruptly changes the subject, though the air still doesn’t feel right. When I head back through the sleeping area to get a new pen from my luggage, I catch a glimpse of Giselle napping in her bunk, Taylor too, asleep with his arm around her. She’s even wearing a wedding ring. I’m kicking myself for not noticing sooner. The chain with the ring around Taylor’s neck makes sense now. A lot of things make sense now.

For the next four days I feel like I’m being shunned, I’m the last to be told about dinner and have to eat the leftovers, Giselle barely says two words to me, Taylor just keeps glowering, and someone let the air out of my bed on the second night. It’s childish, but it’s in line with what I expect from them, regarding this sort of issue, I’m just glad Taylor hasn’t poured my coffee on me in my sleep, or spat in it. He just didn’t make it, which I suppose is probably the safest option for me.

The only apology I can think of is to offer to buy them all drinks, but it works well enough, and the next morning I wake to a fresh cup of coffee, and a very hungover Taylor. At least he’s dedicated to his job.

The rest of the tour passes without further incident. I still stand by Ache as one of my favourite musical performances of the decade, though I don’t mention it to Giselle, and now that I know the dynamic between her and Taylor, I can’t stop seeing it. Honestly, readers, they’re all over each other, which is expected from a man of Taylor’s reputation, but it’s still a little jarring to see the two of them so cozy. I must have been blind not to see it before.

When we part ways, Giselle is a little stiff with me.

“You brought up some feelings that I just... hadn’t actually dealt with at the time, which f******d me up.” She tells me in retrospect, sitting in my office with the rest of the boys in 1985. Live Aid was a few weeks ago, and since they all returned to the spotlight, I asked if they wanted to come and reflect on the past few years. The one thing that hasn’t changed is the fact that Giselle still swears like a sailor.

“A lot’s happened in the past few years.” Taylor’s still very protective of her, and after everything that’s conspired, at least from what I know, it’s warranted. We talk about the band splitting, how it had hurt the band as a whole, and even Giselle, who was at the time seeing a counsellor with Taylor. I’m hesitant to broach the topic of their relationship, though they seem like a solid until now, sitting before me, holding hands and leaning against one another.

I ask if Giselle’s breakdown was due to the band splitting, though I’m hesitant if I’ll get a response. Her smile is sad, which is mirrored by the rest of the band. I can guess her response before she says it.

“No.”

You all know the moment I’m talking about, the last concert for her last album, as of this publication, Finally, Sunlight where she had receive pleas from the audience for an encore. When she came back out, part of her makeup had been smudged around her eyes, and you can hear her sniffle over the microphone. (”I’m so sorry, I lost someone close to me, I thought I could keep it together for one night.” Dabbing at her eyes, she sits at the piano and laughs, but there’s no heart in it. “But I’ve got five more minutes left in me, let’s go, Atlanta.”) The song she plays is Somebody to Love, a slow, soulful cover, and the audience is almost unanimous in their raised lighters and slow swaying. As she goes on, she just starts crying harder, missing notes, hands shaking; the extended ‘Looooord’ before the chanting becomes a desperate wail, a plea to the heavens, and she collapses onto the piano, sobbing audibly as the instruments all come to uncertain halt and lighters go down in confusion.

From the crowd, a single voice begins to chant ‘Find me somebody to love. / Find me somebody to love.’ and a single voice turns to a theatre, full to the brim, as they sing when she can’t, still crying against the piano. Lighters go up, and together the audience and the band finishes the song where words have failed her. It was televised locally on the night, and still brings me to tears when I watch it now.

“We lost our daughter.” 

For those of you reading this who are shocked, I am too. Sitting there like a fool, not saying anything. 

“I was on tour, and Rog was at home with her,” even now, Giselle is getting a little teary-eyed, not that I blame her. Both Taylor and Mercury have an arm around her, and May has a hand on her shoulder, Deacon sitting on the back of the sofa right behind her. A unit. A family. “I wanted to go home, she was getting really sick, and I know he was doing everything he could, but I just- I wanted to be there... but my label threatened to sue me for... millions.” It sounds like it’s hard to say, and she’s wiping a tear from her eyes. I offer her the tissues on my desk. “But I should have gone home. I should have been there by her side, I should have done more.” Taylor whispers something to her and she leans against him, taking comfort in him.

“I had to call her, tell her that... that she’d passed. The day of the show. She’d been so upset for week, ‘Zelle that is, and everything just-” Taylor manages to get a great handle on his emotions, despite his misty eyes and shaking hands. “We’re alright now though, see? Nothing can tear us apart.” Though his voice does drop, so I think he’s saying it more for Giselle’s benefit. I give them all time to collect themselves, stop to get hot drinks for everyone, and everyone finally seems happy enough to answer when I ask what’s next for them.

“Music, of course.” Mercury says, now holding what was Giselle’s free hand. The rest of the gathered musicians agree. I ask if we’ll be hearing any sort of collaboration between Queen and the Queen of Jazz Rock. Taylor snickers, pulling Giselle close.

“Yeah, but not in the way you mean.” He ignores the rest of the men’s shouts of disgust, as well as his wife’s own gagging noise, which I can see on her face she regrets as she covers her mouth with caution, before giving the okay. 

“No, we’re okay, we’re good.” She assures everyone, before looking at me. “What he meant to say is that I’m pregnant.” She clarifies. Taylor is still grinning. 

“Don’t be gross, Rog.” May calls from the other side of the sofa, and Taylor has the gall to look accosted.

“What’s next for me, after everything that’s happened, is family.” Giselle says over the sounds of her husband’s indignant huffs, though his expression turns soft at her words, and they ignore the ‘boo’s of everyone else as they kiss.

“Could you be less gross around company?” Deacon asks, still mild-mannered as ever. This seems to be the cue for the interview to end, as Taylor of Giselle-

“It’s Giselle Taylor, by the way, I’m sorry I hadn’t corrected you earlier.” She corrects me now, as [Roger] Taylor leads her out of the door. The rest of the band seem mildly exasperated at their antics, but still ready to answer my questions. After everything that’s happened, I’m a little overwhelmed, I’m not sure where to go from here.

Perhaps my next article will be on Live Aid.