#(and nothing else works to get them to back off and stop hurting and goading you)

[faofinn]

25. Confused/Disorientated

READ CAREFULLY - This prompt contains graphic descriptions of self harm and attempted suicide (unsuccessful). Reader discretion advised. Trigger warning for depression, self harm and attempted suicide.

Fao's depression had fluctuated in hospital, as it had his whole life. He’d taken meds for a while in Uni, come off them before he joined the Army, stayed off during his service. The routine, the responsibility, the success he’d had at his job had kept the ‘black dog’ at bay. He’d been clean for years whilst he’d been with Alex - they’d had the world at their fingertips, everything went the way it was supposed to. When the flares had come, when life had felt dark and hard and not worth living, she’d been there for him, to pick him up and urge him to carry on. His family had been too, supporting him and loving him and giving him a reason to keep going.  After Alex had died things had been much, much worse, the harm had started and those thoughts that told him he’d be better off joining her had crept in, but with friends and family around him he’d kept himself safe, kept himself alive, though the scars on his arms that obscured tattoos bore the brunt of it. 

The dark days were more frequent than the light ones in hospital. It was to be expected, he supposed - everyone stuck on the ward was in a bad place - but he’d muddled through as he always did. He spoke to his family, and Harrison, too. They picked each other up, supported each other as family did. 

But today had been the worst day of all. He’d had a shouting match with Harrison overnight, something stupid that neither of them had meant but tensions had been high, tired and in pain, and cross words couldn’t be unsaid. They’d sat in stony silence all morning, staring at each other across the room and neither one wanting to back down. To make matters worse, he was due another surgery, and they came to take him to theatre at around 2. It was due to be complicated, with the agreement he’d be in the HDU overnight post-op, so Fao’s room was empty yet again. He hated staring at the empty bed space, worrying about his friend. Cross words aside, they were friends, Hell more than friends, half the time. 

To make matters worse, the doctor who’d finally come to see him that afternoon had not been helpful in the slightest. He’d not met him before, and it was a good job, really. Fao admitted that his head wasn’t great, and was met with scorn. Apparently he should just stop thinking down, and get over himself. They wanted him out of hospital, he was wasting resources, and apparently they were stopping all of his painkillers too. According to him, he ‘shouldn’t be in pain anymore’ and the painkillers he’d been taking was ‘far too much’. By dinnertime, he was a mess. The pain was overwhelming, he couldn’t think straight. His head grew louder and louder, taunting him with thoughts he’d been successfully evading for days. 

The doctor confirmed that he’d be medically discharged, that they’d started the process, and that his career was essentially over. Fao knew it had been coming, but it hurt, especially on top of everything else. He was in agony, desperately trying not to cry, and as much as he asked the nurses for painkillers, they’d just sadly shake their heads and explain there was nothing on his drugs chart, and they couldn’t get anyone to prescribe anything. He wanted to call Sheila, Fred, anyone, but Sheila hadn’t answered his earlier texts and he’d let his phone die after that. He didn’t even want to move, curled up in bed sobbing. 

Eventually the tears stopped, and the thoughts started again. Goading him, telling him he was better off dead, that nobody cared. They wanted him to suffer, wanted him to be in pain. He deserved to be in pain. He was nothing but a burden. A burden to the staff, a waste of a bed, and when he was home he’d just be a burden to his family. He could barely walk without being in pain, how would he ever work again? 

He stumbled to the toilet later that evening, sore and struggling with his crutches. The little ensuite had stopped working, of course, which meant he had to walk all the way out to the nurse’s station and to the toilet on the ward itself. It made the pain worse, and his breath caught with every step. They were understaffed that night, and the nurses’ station was empty when he walked past. It was on his way back, he noticed the tray that had been left. He had no idea why, but he glanced over it, and caught sight of a scalpel blade that had been discarded haphazardly. Still packaged, obviously it hadn’t been used and had been forgotten about. It was easy enough to lean against the desk and slip it into his hoodie pocket before he carried on back to the room. Still cold, still empty. He hated not knowing - none of the staff had told him how Harrison was getting on, and with no phone to find out from anyone else, he had no idea. He sat back on the bed, breathing heavily from the effort and the pain. 

He slipped back under the blankets and tried to sleep, but it was useless. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could think of was that he was better off dead. His mind goaded him into ways that he could, telling him how his family would be better without him in it. They always had been better without him. They’d only adopted him out of pity, and without him they could focus on Finn,  give him the attention he deserved. He just wanted the pain to end, the thoughts to end. He wanted everything to just stop. If he gave into the thoughts, it would stop. It would all stop. 

The scalpel blade he’d pocketed called to him, and he slipped it from his pocket. The nurses wouldn’t bother him now, his obs were far enough apart, and it was easy to score the blade over his skin. But just to cut wasn’t enough, it wasn’t even close to enough. He needed the noise to stop, needed the pain to stop. 

He found the ecg trace tattoo on his wrist, that he’d gotten for Finn not long after his accident, and dug the blade deep into the flesh. The blood welled quickly in the wound, hot and dark over his skin, obscuring the solid black line of the tattoo. His fingers were slick with blood, but he scored deep across the other wrist. He felt dizzy already, his vision swimming, and he struggled to stay upright. There was so much blood, he felt a flash of fear as he realised just what he’d done. It was harder and harder to stay conscious, the darkness taunting him. It grew on the edges of his vision, and he wanted to give in. He’d get some peace, some rest in the darkness. He knew that. He desperately craved it. Everything in his head told him it was right, that it was better that way. But the flash of fear in his heart said otherwise. 

Slipping into the darkness, he found his call bell in his bed and fumbled to press the button, his fingers slipping. He managed, as the darkness overwhelmed him, pulling him down into unconsciousness. 

His buzzer drew the attention of the staff, of course, and when a nurse came into his room to check on him, she found him in a state, the blood soaking the sheets, everywhere. She pulled the emergency bell, of course, and staff poured into the room. He went straight into theatre in an effort to control the bleeding and stabilise him. It was difficult, he didn’t make their lives easy, but eventually he pulled through and went to recovery, then up to ICU. 

When Sheila was allowed to visit him, the nurse showed him to his bay, where he was laying motionless in the bed, save for the rise and fall of his chest. He was pale, too pale, even for him, oxygen over his face and lines all over the place, the central line obvious where it stuck out, his gown having slipped slightly off of his shoulder. He looked almost worse than when he’d just come back. They’d thought they’d gotten past it, but they were right back there. Blood was hanging along with endless other meds, and under the sheets, both wrists were heavily dressed. Fred had gone decidedly pale, and Sheila pressed her hand to her mouth, stifling a squeak. She forced her feet to move, and tucked his Eeyore under the sheets, resting on his chest. He’d want him, when he woke up. And it looked wrong to seem him without the little toy. 

They kept him sedated for a day or so, for his own sake, and so they could get him stable. They transfused endless units until they were happy with his bloods, that he was healing okay, no infection, and then they started to wean him off the sedation.

Fao had had moments of lucidity, an awareness his parents were there, flares of pain that drew his attention, but it quickly dissipated in a haze of painkillers that helped him drift back into the comforting darkness. When he began to stir a little bit more, he couldn’t work out where he was, why he felt so heavy, why every breath dried his throat, something pressing into his face. Moving was hard, but his fingers found something soft, and his brows pulled together in a frown. He tried to work out what it was, the soft fur under his fingertips, trying to see. His vision was blurry, it was a fight to focus, but he realised it was his eeyore. 

How had he gotten here? He didn’t remember what had happened, but he knew he wasn’t at home, the sheets were too scratchy, and the lights were too bright. It didn’t make sense, nothing did, but he was too hazy to really work it out. As he tried to move his wrist, he was met with a flare of pain that made him whine pathetically. 

The room didn’t make sense, overwhelmingly blue, the lights harsh and unnatural. He couldn’t place it, not at first, but it didn’t frighten him. He didn’t know why, maybe it was the fuzziness in his head, making it feel so distant. 

He must have drifted off into sleep, because when he woke again, everything felt a little clearer. Eeyore was still there, resting on his chest, but he recognised the material underneath him as a hospital gown with it’s distinctive patterning, and as his eyes flicked around the room again, he recognised it as a hospital ward, equipment everywhere. HDU? Intensive care? It was quiet, not loud enough to be a medical ward. His brain couldn’t work it out. 

Eventually, things started to piece back together, his accident, the surgeries, everything, but it hadn’t been that. He’d not been down for any more surgeries, he was done. He tried to clear his throat, forcing another breath as the panic built a little bit. Why didn’t he remember?  And then it all flooded back. It washed over him like a tidal wave, almost pulling the breath from his lungs. The guilt, the pain, the scalpel blade in trembling fingers, the blood. The fear, scrabbling for something, anything to get help, the enormity of what he’d tried to do crashing down on him. Evidently he’d failed, because he was here, but that didn’t stop the guilt. It threatened to choke him, overwhelmed and in pain, as he tried to move onto his side to curl up. He found he couldn’t, everything just too heavy and unco-operative. The tears started then, hot and angry, frustrated too. Everything just felt wrong, unclear and confusing, and he gripped his little Eeyore as he cried, a small flash of comfort amongst it all.

[black-kitties]

Worldheart - Chapter 9

Start Reading from Chapter 1

Jaz woke up to the sound of a body slamming into the forcefield of her cell. Since Jaz’s scan they’d led Green Arrow away to. He’d even managed to overcome them in the lab before the Raptors beat him back down and dragged him back. That was hours ago and now it was Black Canary’s turn. This time the thugs working the lab had Raptor bodyguards to escort them but that hadn’t stopped her from sending both men flying.

The two Raptors surged into the cell. She dodged and danced around them landing strikes with a knife she’d stolen from one of the thugs. She was fast and nimble twisting out of the way of their strikes before using their momentum to knock them off balance. Canary kicked off the wall leaping over the head of one of the Raptors onto the shoulder of the other sinking the knife between the chinks in its armor. Before it hit the ground, she was in the air again slamming the head of final Raptor into the wall it behind it. She ducked as its tail swung harmlessly above her head before lunging forward to sink the knife into a weak spot on its face from where its armor had been damaged. While the fight was happening one of the thugs had called for backup on his radio and by the time the two Raptors had fallen four more were pouring through the door. One had a taser at the end of its tail that it used to try to stab at Canary. She backflipped out of the way landing in front of the the back wall of her cell. She was cornered but no doubt crossed her face.

“I’m waiting boys,” She goaded them. The cell was only large enough for two of them to surge in while the other two crowded the door cutting off Jaz’s view of the fight. They stabbed and slashed into the cell with their tails, especially the one with the taser. Jaz could hear when it managed to finally land a hit. Canary cried out but a moment later Jaz’s hope was rekindled that she could win this fight when one of the Raptors in the cell slammed into the two at the door. Canary vaulted over the three of them but the taster tail grabbed onto her leg mid leap shocking her in the air. She landed in a heap as electricity surged through her body and she grit her teeth trying to get back up.

By now both Jaz and Arrow were at the front of their cells yelling for them to stop. Canary tried to stand back up multiple times, collapsing into a heap on each attempt until she couldn’t lift herself off the floor. Only then did it stop electrocuting her. Two Raptors lifted her by the arms. Jaz watched in horror as they dragged the Black Canary away, her head rolling limply side to side.

Arrow slammed both his fists into the shield so hard it created a massive explosion of kinetic energy that slammed him into back of his cell. The two thugs laughed as they left the room leaving Jaz and him alone together again. Jaz leaned against the wall at the front of her cage burying her head into her elbow. She was to wound up to sit down and she felt sick and weak with hunger. At the very least they were being given water, but she’d had nothing else in her stomach since arriving here.

“Hey.” Jaz remained still, but Arrow kept repeating ‘hey’ until she glanced his way. He was crouching on the floor watching her, “You ok?” Jaz was about to say she was fine and to not worry when tears stung her eyes. “Woah, woah, woah. It’s ok. Hey, look at me.” He kept calling her until she met his gaze again, “We’ll be fine, ok? Canary will be fine, she’s a strong girl.”

“They just dragged her away-“

“I’ve seen her take worse beatings and still land a nasty punch afterwards.” Arrow sounded so confident in Black Canary’s capabilities.

“Why didn’t she use her siren song?” Jaz knew she’d had the perfect moment when the four Raptors and the two thugs were all lined up in the tiny hall in front of her cage.

“Because she didn’t want to hurt us. She told me her song could kill a human at close range and no matter what she did, we would’ve been hit by it.” Jaz slumped her head. She knew the answer, but hearing that she was the reason someone had lost their chance to escape… It didn’t sit right in her gut.

Don’t you worry about Canary. She’s a hero, one of the best. And besides, we’ve already been down here for a while now. I’m sure they’re looking for us as we speak up top. We just need the right opportunity and we’re out of here. Trust me, I’ve got this figured out.”

“You do?” Jaz wiped the tears off her face feeling embarrassed she’d cracked like that.

“I do. Just trust me and be ready for when the time comes.” She searched his face but couldn’t find an ounce of doubt in it. He looked calm and collected despite the bruises and cuts covering his body.

“When we get out we gotta find Timber Wolf, they have him someplace else in this compound.” Jaz sat back down taking deep breaths to quell the panic boiling in her chest. “And Hero. He’s the dog they were searching for.”

“Timber Wolf? Haven’t heard that name, is he your partner?”

“Yeah. You could say that.” Something she’d said made Arrow laugh.

“It’s like that, I see.” He was smiling but his face grew somber as he asked about Hero.

“We hadn’t figured out why they wanted him before they’d attacked the clinic again the next night.” Arrow just nodded thinking to himself. “You like Canary, don’t you.” Jaz’s words caught him off guard. He swiftly stood, shaking his hands out in front of him as if to dispel the idea from hanging around too long.

“Oh! No, no, no. Canary? Nah, she’s a friend- Er. Partner. Yeah, we’re just colleagues. Hardly even know each other.” He kept babbling until Jaz started to laugh.

“Partners, eh?” She smiled. In the real world she knew that they’d become more than just partners in the future. “Well, you two seem to make great partners then. You keep her spirits up and she keeps you grounded.” It wasn’t her place to interfere. This wasn’t her world after all.

“You think so?” He acted flustered, laughing as if he already knew that’s what she meant, “Right, we do make great partners.”

“I’m going to try and rest. The hungers taking it out of me and I’ll need whatever I’ve got left for that plan of yours I bet.”

“Right. Yes. The plan… Get some rest then.” Despite saying that Jaz struggled to sleep on the hard cot. Instead, she stared at the ceiling of her cell dwelling over all the things she’d experienced in this world and whether she’d miss it when the time came to go. She didn’t know how long it had been since they’d dragged Canary away when the door slid open startling Jaz awake from her half-dazed snooze.

Canary was still dazed and stumbling over her feet when they unceremoniously threw her into the back of her cell. She hit the wall and collapsed onto floor not moving. Jaz and Arrow didn’t speak, instead glancing at each other while they waited for the two men to leave. Arrow leaned forward as far as his cell would allow calling to Canary. She didn’t respond. Long arduous moments passed. No matter what Arrow said, she didn’t react.

“Do you think she’s…” Jaz couldn’t finish the sentence.

“No. I think she just needs some rest. They’d already taken her to get… Scanned or whatever they were doing to you and me. This was the second time they’d taken her out of this room. Whatever it is they’ve done, they’ll be able to fix it on the Watch Tower.” He sounded so sure that just hearing that seemed to ease Jaz’s worries.

“We should wait until she’s recovered a bit before we enact your plan.”

“My plan… Right. I’ll… Watch over her. You should go back to sleeping. You were snoring quite loudly.” Jaz’s face contorted in horror while Arrow laughed. “I’m joking.”

Jaz was only just beginning to fall asleep when the two thugs who’d originally scanned her entered the room. This time they were accompanied by two Raptors who quickly seized Jaz’s arms the moment the force field shut down. As they escorted her out Arrow called, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

They led her out of the lab, down some of the same halls they’d taken the second time she’d been captured. This time they passed the hall she’d originally found Hero and Timber Wolf in except this time they walked down the hall they’d come from. At the end of it was an elevator. Jaz was careful to memorize the route to the elevator. Especially since she could tell it would take them out of the facility. They exited only a few floors higher, despite the facility being nearly twenty floors underground.

She found herself in the hall leading towards the glass dome they’d first encounter Maxmellius in overlooking the large room they’d been captured in. The first time she’d entered she was so distracted from the armies of Raptors that she hadn’t noticed the large mechanical equipment lining the walls. Huge mechanical arms were assembling more Raptor men using light and lasers to fabricate them as a spool of metal was fed into the machines.

They reached the midway point of the hall where it forked, on her left was the glass dome and ahead it continued on. This is where her entourage stopped. Jaz felt herself get pushed forward, forced to walked down the hall towards the dome alone. The floor was suspended metal grating with large glass panels encircling it. Inside Maxmellius’s office the floor extended to a circular platform surrounding his desk and large chair that was currently facing away from her.

The leather chair swivelled to face Jaz. Up until that moment her heart had been pounding in her chest but the sight of the middle aged Maxmellius sitting in a chair that was comically oversized for him struck her with how corny the entire scene felt, and she was reminded that she was in the world of a comic book. “Jaz Heller, I’ve been ex-“

“You know, the chair is killing the vibe.” She said dryly.

The man’s eyebrows knit together, caught off guard after she’d so rudely interrupted his monologue, “What are you talking about?”

“The chair. You look so tiny in it so the whole,” She gestured towards his entire dome, “Impact you were going for was killed ‘cus all I could think was how much the chair makes you look small.”

The man’s mouth gaped a few times, stunned. She could see colour fill his face, “What do you mean I look small. I’m five eight, I’m above average height for a man!”

“Wait, are you? Can you stand up?” Jaz folded her arms as the man hopped out of the chair standing at his full height. He was indeed slightly taller than her. “Yeah. It’s the chair then. Lose the puffy leather and the tall back. Something metal will give you that womp you’re going for.” Despite her calm demeanor Jaz’s heart was beating hard. Her palms were sweaty so she’d folded her arms to hide the fact that she felt like shaking. Maxmellius didn’t seem to be doing any better though. His face had flushed, and he sputtered.

“I’ll have you know I was not going for,” He shook his head trying to find the words, “For some sort of dramatized introduction.”

“Ok, but introductions are still really important dude.”

“Exactly.” He glared back at his chair realizing he’d just agreed, his eyes narrowing. “Come with me.” Jaz stepped aside as he brushed past. Up close he didn’t look like such an old man. Maybe in his forties or fifties. He had a combover his bald spot and a noticeable limp to accompany his hunch. Jaz glanced around but it wasn’t like she had any choice. She could maybe overcome him by surprise, but the Raptors were just down the hall putting an end to that thought.

They walked down the hall, past the four guards, this time headed in the direction opposite the one she’d originally came from. The hall lead to another circular room with a glass cylinder in the middle of it that extended down far below two stories. There was no way down from up here. “Look.” Maxmellius pointed to the center of the glass. Hunched on the floor was a furry ball.

“HERO!” Jaz called out, slamming into the railing as she did. Max instinctively reached out grabbing her by the arm in case she’d toppled over before he recovered and let go again, hoping she hadn’t noticed. Hero did though, her heart broke seeing him weakly lift his head and look at her. Instead of springing too his feet like he normally would he stood up on wobbly legs and slammed weakly into the glass. “What did you do to him?” Jaz demanded, turning on Maxmellius.

“Nothing he didn’t do to himself.” Maxmellius’s demeanor shifted. “For all the pain he’s caused, he deserves this fate.”

“He’s a dog, what are you talking about?” Jaz couldn’t keep the anger out of her voice, nor could she stop herself yelling at him.

“A dog?” The mans face contorted in laughter, “Do you here that Hero. She think’s you’re just a dog!”

Jaz’s eyes narrowed, glancing back at Hero who was now staring up at them. “Why are you doing this? You have Green Arrow and Black Canary locked in cages, hundreds of pets stolen across the city and the Justice League is out in force looking for you. Why?” Her voice dropped an octave as she forced herself to control her anger.

“Why? No one has ever asked me why.”

Jaz’s hands balled into fists, “I’m asking. Why are you doing this?”

Maxmellius glared at Hero for a while before speaking, “I’ve spent my entire life living in the shadow of these heroes. Scientific discovery pales in comparison to the eye-catching headlines that fill the newspapers, its all everyone cares about.”

“So, this is about recognition?” Jaz asked incredulously.

“No! See this is why I’m doing this. No one ever understands!”

Realizing she was losing him she spoke, “Then help me understand.”

He ran his hand through what was left of his hair carefully picking his words, “When I was young it didn’t matter what everyone was talking about… But it did matter to my wife. She wanted to make a name for herself, she was onto something!” Shadows spread across his face, “But in order to pursue it she would have to conduct some… creative experiments. The potential of it all! It far outweighed the minor sacrifices she had to make in the name of progress.” He’d become animated, shaking his fist as he said progress. “But when the Justice League got involved, when Superman… Killed my wife. Well, It was all they spoke about. Nothing about the achievements she made, nothing about her discoveries! Do you know that the world still uses her research to this day? The fabricators that make my army of Raptors were brought about in part because of her. They just won’t acknowledge whose corpse the technology upgrading their damned watch tower came from.”

Jaz struggled to find what to say. “So… Why the dog then?”

“Hah. The dog is a lesson. I’ll teach each and every one of them to know their places. Their minds are like animals, and just like animals they are meant to bark and sit at our command.” The cruel smile finally made Jaz clue in.

“Hero is a super… He isn’t just a dog, is he?” The way the mans smile contorted made Jaz want to punch him even more, “Who is he? Turn him back! None of this will undue your wife’s death-“

“Don’t bring her into this!” He cut her off.

“She’s dead Max, and none of this is going to bring her back!” He slapped her. The hit sent Jaz’s weak body slamming into the wall out of sight of Hero.

“Oh yes. I almost forgot,” He stood over Jaz watching her touch her stinging cheek and split lip, “At first I thought you were one of them from the odd scans sent to me by my Raptors.” He kneeled in front of her, “But you’re not. You’re weaker than even a human like me. Your bones are brittle. A good twist of the arm,” He grabbed Jaz’s jaw, “Or the flick of a wrist will snap your neck. I brought you here to ask just what are you, you don’t match the regular variables one would see in a human, yet your DNA says you’re nothing but-“

“Sir.” One of the thugs had approached them, a Raptor at his side. “We’ve got a problem.” After a moment Maxmellius released Jaz. She stood listening to the men speak. Two detectives had raided their final warehouse halting their operations drug production. Jaz watched them argue. The thugs were arguing that their gig was up now, without the drugs they had no hope to overcome the Justice League. Maxmellius wouldn’t listen, going so far as to order his Raptor to slam the man into the wall until he shut up. They were ordered to return Jaz to her cell while he organized a party to recover the missing stock of drugs.

She walked in silence with the two thugs she’d tried to manipulate however many days ago until they reached her cell. Jaz could tell from the look on their faces they weren’t happy, but she didn’t press her luck by saying anything. She waited until she heard the doors to the outer lab close. “Canary awake?”

Arrow shook her head. Jaz explained the situation going on outside, finishing with, “I have a feeling the two thugs you saw, they’re going to betray him.”

[a-libra-writes]

GoT Imagines - When You're Engaged to Someone Else

Woooo this is a doozy and I'm including new characters, mostly book ones! because i both love my followers and have lost my marbles.

In this preference, you'll be pining with: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Mance Rayder, Eddison Tollett, Pre-Reek!Theon, Yara Greyjoy, Victarion Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Missandei, Grey Worm, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Cersei Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn, Jaquen H’Ghar, Petyr Baelish, Robert Baratheon, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Margaery Tyrell, Brynden Tully, Edmure Tully, Brienne of Tarth, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Oberyn Martell, Doran Martell, Arianne Martell, Tyene Sand

Ned Stark

He’s already an expert in suffering in silence, so this should be no different. Although he’s very surprised at the sudden arrangement, and while he isn’t a man to throw his rank around… He wonders if he can’t convince your family to reconsider. If it’s simply impossible, Ned would resign himself to having to stop the relationship. He’s too honorable to ever consider an affair and he’s not a man to start a duel or cause trouble, especially since it would negatively affect your reputation. The heavy combination of missing you, pining after you all over again and feeling like he didn’t do enough is hard. Some days he entertains the idea of still having a friendship, but it doesn’t seem like a good idea. He doesn’t trust himself.

Robb Stark

The young wolf tries to accept it, even if his feelings become more and more angry each day. Robb never threw his name around, but… he was going to be Lord Stark. Wasn't that good enough for your family? For you? He tries to be the bigger man, but if you're miserable with your spouse and they don't treat you well, he can't keep his temper in check. Expect him to have a sudden outburst at a feast and cause a scene. The only thinking keeping him from an outright duel are his parents and his worry about your reputation. But if he was pushed to it….

Sansa Stark

She should've known this would happen. It's the fate of all ladies, yet there's a bitterness that tugs at her when she hears the news. Sansa tries to bury her feelings around others, but she's never done that with you. She expresses her disappointment and sorrow, and swears she'll help if your spouse turns out to be awful. She doesn't want them to be, but she doesn't want you beginning to prefer their company, either. She wonders if her affection for you would wane if she just pined from afar and tried to keep her feelings to herself.

Jon Snow

Ah yes, once again his bastardry is hitting him straight in the gut. Jon knew it was going to happen eventually, he already felt like the relationship was on a timer, and now it’s finally ended. He’s convinced there’s no getting out of it, because even if you did - you’d never be able to be with him in the open. It makes Jon glad he’s going to the Wall; hopefully the distance and cold will dull his feelings. In spite of that, sometimes he’ll tell Sam about you, and he speaks so mournfully it makes Sam think that distance hasn’t done all that much to help Jon’s pining.

Benjen Stark

He should be the bigger person and accept that this is for the best. He’s sworn to the Wall, and you two shouldn’t have been sneaking around. He should be relieved neither of you were caught. None of these thoughts are comforting. Ben tries to cope by making not-so-joking jokes about you running off to the Wall too, or perhaps he should take Yoren’s job and find his way to your court once in a blue moon. Then there’s no joking, and it’s just bitterness. He removes himself from your life after that, not wanting to hurt you with his own negative thoughts. He’d rather you keep the happy memories.

Jory Cassel

He accepts it, not that it brings him any pleasure. Jory's always been proud of his service to the Starks, but he's long understood that his landed seat is not a valuable one. Whenever he married, if he did, it wouldn't be someone as lovely as you. The announcement still hits him in the gut and he dejectedly tries to break it off (though it's easier on him if you do it). If he was in charge of guarding you, he'd switch shifts immediately and begin avoiding you, thinking it'll make things easier.

Eddison Tollett

This relationship already seemed too good to be true, so it’s abrupt end is not surprising. He’s sworn to the Wall and you both were sneaking around to begin with, so this should have been expected, but… it just makes him feel even more tired and dumb. Sam and Jon notice how little he sleeps and that he’s begun to skip meals, and he doesn’t have to explain why. They can do the math. Edd at least doesn’t try to bury any sad feelings or memories. It’s too exhausting to actively try, and it’s something to keep him company while he works. Maybe the feelings will fade… eventually.

Mance Rayder

It's one more reason for him to leave the "South" and go past the Wall. He knew a proper relationship with you wasn't possible because of his vows, but watching you go through this sham of an arranged marriage is just depressing. He'll comfort you best he can until he has to go back to the Wall, though he won't make promises he can't keep. Having to separate from you weighs heavy on him for a long time, and is one of many reasons he abandons the Watch.

Theon Greyjoy

What the hell is this? Hearing the news ruins his whole day, worse if he wasn’t able to hear it directly from you. He’s the heir to the Iron Islands, and his interest in you was clear as day! No, he hadn’t proposed yet… but he was getting to it! Now some mainlander beat him to it? Theon is absolutely seething. He’d prefer to duel your spouse to teach them a lesson in front of everyone, but he’s open to more boring methods like reasoning with your family. If he wasn’t able to change the engagement, he’d be bitter, and more than willing to carry on an affair behind your spouse’s back. He ought to just go the Ironborn route and kidnap you for himself.

Asha (Yara) Greyjoy

When you give her the news and you’re clearly distraught about it, Yara considers carrying you off to her ship right there. If you’re non-Ironborn, you’ll be her saltwife -- and if you’re Ironborn, she wants to have a discussion with whoever the hell planned this when everyone KNOWS you belong with her. You hadn’t expected this possessive behavior, but now you know Yara’s willing to fight for you as soon as someone takes you. No surprise, she’s more than willing to sneak around with you behind your husband’s back - maybe she can goad him into a duel. That would certainly solve a problem, wouldn’t it?

Victarion Greyjoy

He doesn’t understand at first. Victarion had made it clear that you were his, hadn’t everyone known that? No, he never made any sort of formal marriage, but not because he didn’t care. He felt like there was no need, hadn’t everyone known? If your family and spouse are Ironborn, he’ll immediately sail to their keep and raise all seven hells, and marry you right there in front of them. If you were sent away to the green lands, it would take the combined power of Balon, Yara and Aeron to keep him from sailing off immediately and just kidnapping you - preferably after killing your spouse. Victarion is pissed. Someone is going to pay for this.

Daenerys Targaryen

She’s just as mad at you as she is with whoever arranged this ridiculous match. Daenerys doesn’t often entertain arrogant thoughts, but… How could anyone think to match you with someone else, knowing your relationship with her? She feels she ought to be offended, though Daenerys knows this is hard on you as well, and you didn’t ask for it. She’ll think of some clever way to get you out of the arrangement, no way is this person getting away from stealing from her. And yes, that might as well be what it is! While she’s working out what to do, if she so much as hears murmurs of the possibility of your spouse hurting you… all bets are off. She’s taking you back with her, alliance be damned.

Jorah Mormont

The announcement of your engagement is a punch to his gut and a shock to his system. Jorah knew he wasn’t the best husband material, but he was planning to ask for your hand himself - then this happened. What’s worse, he knows as far as practical marriage goes, he has little to offer. He goes into a bit of a panic as he tries to think of what to do. There’s sensible choices, like trying to talk to your family with you. Then there’s not so sensible ones… Maybe running off, maybe just continuing the relationship behind your new spouse’s back, maybe dueling them… While Jorah is in emotional turmoil, he’d do anything for you. Even if you wanted to break off the relationship… or had a plan for him to follow. He’s nothing if not hopelessly devoted.

Missandei

… Oh. Maybe she shouldn’t have expected you to stick around for so long. As close as she is to Daenerys, she really has no fancy titles or things to offer. She understood why your family chose the match, it was a good one, politically speaking… but that does little to soothe her. Quite the opposite, a strong, desolate feeling overcomes her, one she hasn’t felt in a long time. She isn’t sure what to do, if it’s her place to stop the process. Perhaps if you asked her, she could try to make plans. Daenerys would help as well, considering how fond she is of you two, and how much she despises women being forced into arrangements.

Grey Worm

The sudden news takes him off guard, and sends him into a bit of an existential crisis. He was starting to see himself as a person, with his own name and a path he chose to follow… then this arrangement happens, and he’s forced to face what the rest of the world sees him as. It’s not that Grey Worm has a sense of ownership over you, but for once he was allowing himself all these happy feelings and memories with you, and now it’s gone. Of course he wants you back, but he feels paralyzed. What if he makes it worse? Does this have to happen? He starts to become even more withdrawn and distant, worrying Missandei until she decides to help. Grey Worm finally returns to his old self when he has you in his arms again.

Tywin Lannister

His steady composure is hit with such a rage at the news, the servant delivering it goes into a panic. His interest in you was obvious, so anyone doing this was trying to spite him. He doesn’t take the insult well. Perhaps before you’re even able to tell him the news yourself, threats will be delivered to both the spouse’s family and your own - Tywin is especially furious towards them, and won’t forget this - and incidents will be arranged. He refuses to be a man who pines after someone or covets another one’s wife, nor will he allow some lesser lord to take what he perceives as ‘his’.

Tyrion Lannister

The angst hits him like a ton of bricks, and it’s even worse if this came out of left field. It hurts less if he hears it from you, but only just. He should have known your family wouldn’t have accept any proposal he made - and gods know he was ready to do it - it’s just one more log to fuel his self-loathing and bitterness toward this world. But if you knock some sense into him, he’ll snap out of that spiral and begin to plan with you. There’s plenty of choices before the two of you - scandal? Running off? - but rest assured, Tyrion is going to investigate the hell out of this person. He’d never forgive himself if you got stuck with a brute.

Jaime Lannister

The fact he knew this was inevitable doesn't help Jaime's irritation. He can't believe your family arranged for that person to marry you. Seriously? You'd better keep Jaime at a distance from your spouse, because he can't help himself from making snide remarks and sarcastic comments. If he riles up the guy into a duel, all the better. He'll do all sorts of reckless things to begin with, and it's only worse when he's upset. He's also very willing to have an affair behind your spouse's back - you were with him first. You’ll probably have to scold Jaime about you two almost getting caught, but he’s above reproach. His stubbornness and jealousy gets worse the closer you two are.

Cersei Lannister

She’s absolutely infuriated with your family. You were her handmaiden, someone whose been with her for years - and they have the nerve to go behind her back like this?! It smells like a scheme of Tyrion’s, or perhaps Varys, but she’ll deal with them in time. For now, she’ll work out what to do about your spouse. She’ll try to keep you around as much as possible, and her possessiveness comes out in full. You can’t possibly be interested in such a worthless man.

Sandor Clegane

When you tell Sandor, he’s quiet for a discerningly long time before the anger and arguments come out. And then the quiet bitterness. The thing is, he knew this was coming for a while. He knew your time together was limited, he shouldn’t have things like hopes and happiness because it’ll just get taken away. And it is. Even if you explain you’ll try to break off the arrangement, that there’s still a way to get out, he has trouble believing it. He’s seen enough ladies get chained to useless fucking lords, he’d rather not see it happen to someone he cares about, thanks. Sandor will push you away as much as he can, but you could still attempt to convince him to have an affair… or perhaps leave King’s Landing entirely.

Ser Bronn of the Blackwater

He’s only mildly annoyed at the inconvenience. It’ll be a lot harder for you both to sneak around now, and forget about it if you’re having to move somewhere far away. Guess that’s the end of that ‘relationship’ - he should’ve expected it. Bronn is way more willing to stay close if you remain in King’s Landing, and he expects you both to keep fooling around. Now, if he’s actually started to develop feelings about you… he’ll start to act differently. You don’t actually like your spouse, do you? Wasn’t that just some arranged bullshit? He’ll throw smirks and subtle insults your spouse’s way, as if trying to goad them into a fight. More then once you two will almost get caught because he decides waltzing up to your window is totally acceptable, or trying to have a quickie in the middle of the day. A surprisingly jealous side will come out and he’s in total denial about any feelings he might have.

Jacquen H’ghar

This isn’t alarming to Jacquen at first. He knew he could never have such a union with you, and since this Westerosi society is so insistent on marriage, it would happen eventually. Still, your pain hurts him as well. Jacquen would have a variety of plans … anywhere from easily disguising as a guard or servant so he’s always beside you, or perhaps whisking you away somewhere. This isn’t the end of your relationship for him - it’s just a challenge to overcome. He assumes you won’t send him away or break it off.

Petyr Baelish

You being someone else’s wife makes no difference to Petyr, though he’s surprised in himself. Usually he stays out of such affairs, it only causes trouble… But he’s been intrigued by you, and quite frankly, he’s offended that this Lord Whoever from Wherever didn’t take his interest into account. No matter. Petyr has plenty of plans to deal with this pest, though he’s annoyed at his own jealousy whenever he sees you together with your spouse, even if you’re miserable. While he doesn’t want you unhappy, it certainly makes starting an affair and/or disposing of your spouse much easier.

Robert Baratheon

He’s furious and everyone is going to know about it. Robert will complain endlessly to Ned and Lord Arryn about how he found you first, how that useless shit of a husband won’t know what to do with you. Since he does little to hide his disgust, rumors will spread all over court. Hell, he’ll probably say even stupider things when he’s drunk, or he’ll do something stupider, like actually try to aggravate the guy into a fight or a duel. If you’re actually able to get him under control, he has no qualms about having an affair with you… but he may not be subtle about it. So that’s another thing to keep in mind.

Stannis Baratheon

It’s depressingly impressive how willing Stannis is to bury and deny his feelings once he hears you’re promised to someone else. He’ll try to extinguish all the happiness he had with you, bottle up all the memories and feelings that went along with it. This will be fine. He’ll be fine. This iron resolve is easy to maintain if Stannis rarely sees you. If you both are forced to interact even semi-often, it chips away at him, and he can’t help himself from making biting remarks about your spouse when you both visit. He hates feeling this way, he’s never felt it before, and he carries a deep grudge against your spouse and family for making it happen. It’s easier if you write to him, but then Stannis starts keeping those letters and punishing himself by reading them over and over. Eventually he stops entirely, deeming it inappropriate, even if that feels like cutting off one of his limbs.

Davos Seaworth

The old knight is understandably saddened by news of your betrothal and marriage, but it makes sense. Politics-wise, Davos believes he isn’t much of a prize, even when he’s risen to Lord. He should’ve expected this would happen. He’d wish you genuine happiness… But if you were miserable, Davos would feel awful and powerless. If you truly wanted to continue the relationship behind your spouse’s back, his biggest worry would be the secret getting out and your reputation being ruined. He wouldn’t be able to resist forever, but he’d still try to talk you out of it and try to convince you to forget about him.

Margaery Tyrell

She seeks you out the moment she finds out - and that was quickly, because she often keeps tabs on you. Her grandmother warned her about getting so close to her favorite, but it still comes as a terrible shock. Margaery holds you close and promises she’ll make it better, somehow. Maybe she and her grandmother can reason with her family, perhaps you can marry into the Tyrell family, so you both can be together. She’ll fix it, she swears. The thought of someone else being with you is terrible enough, she’ll be even more worried if the person is abusive. Margaery won’t stand for it, and might take a few rare risks for your sake.

Brynden Tully

This stirs up a lot of complicated feelings in the old knight. He knew his relationship with you wouldn’t last forever, that you’d have to marry eventually, and he never wanted to marry…. But he feels like this is his fault, especially if you’re miserable. He could’ve prevented this. Brynden knows he ought to break off the relationship, and he won’t blame you if you do… but he’ll also consider the idea of continuing the relationship. And if you have to go somewhere far away, he’ll still appreciate you sending letters and having a correspondence. The relationship may not be the same long-distance, but he cares a lot about you, and it hurts having you cut from his life.

Edmure Tully

Woe and misery. How much wine is in Riverrun’s stores? He may end up drinking a dent in it by the time the month is out. He almost didn’t believe the news until he heard it from several people, or just you directly. How could this happen? Wasn’t he courting you properly, taking all the steps just the right way? Wasn’t his interest obvious to anyone with eyes? Edmure approaches your family with a bit of a hot head, almost demanding an answer for why they chose whoever over … whoever your spouse is. Edmure doesn’t even care who it is, he hates their guts immediately. More likely than not, he’ll do something foolish, like start a duel. If all else fails, he’ll make sad eyes at you at all the feasts and galas and go into a bit of a depression.

Brienne of Tarth

Brienne is immediately distraught, but also believes she deserves it somehow. This happy relationship just had to come to an end, didn’t it? Well, you two had to be discreet about it to begin with, which didn’t please her … but this alternative feels worse. Brienne switches between trying to stay frosty to make it easier for you two to part, and being unable to hold back her affection and sadness. The best solution she can think of is to stay as your sworn sword, independent of your new husband’s house guards. And gods know, she will come at him with a vengeance if he even dares upset you or lay an unwanted hand on you. That means the relationship could continue, but she dislikes the secrecy even more when you’re married. While she doesn’t like the idea of running away from problems, maybe in certain circumstances, she’d be open to the idea…

Ramsay Bolton

Ramsay is irate, to say the least. Even if you don’t actually know him, you’ve just caught his eye, he’ll become possessive. If you both were romantic before the engagement news, his anger and possessiveness would be even more dangerous. Woe to your spouse if he lives close to the Dreadfort - leave it to Ramsay to think up some “accident” for them to be involved in. And if he finds out they’re involved in some sort of treason or crime, that’s all the better, no matter how flimsy the “crime” is. If he’s feeling especially reckless, he’ll just arrange their murder and take you back right away. Ramsay is a terrible loser, doubly so if it involves one of the few things he actually cares about.

Roose Bolton

On the outside he doesn’t react to the news beyond a silent glare. On the inside, Roose is furious. He had plans for you, plans that may have taken quite a while to get to this point, and now it’s been ruined by someone whose actively working against him… or too stupid to realize what a massive mistake they just made. Roose thinks up various ways to circumvent this and have you to himself. In the meantime, he’ll gladly continue an affair behind your spouse’s back, but that won’t necessarily save them from death. You’ll notice him become increasingly possessive and jealous, even if you have zero interest in your spouse, and you can sense he’ll be holding a deep grudge against whoever arranged this in the first place.

Oberyn Martell

As soon as he hears about the news, Doran has to talk him down from dueling the man…Half his daughters support it, the other half suggest something more subtle. Overyn feels insulted, for one - your affection for each other was obvious, yet your family still made this arrangement. And if he doesn’t get his duel, he will spread all sorts of unsavory, salacious rumors about your spouse, in hopes of creating a scandal that makes your family break the union. Or better, lead to the man dueling Oberyn directly! Oberyn doesn’t even consider continuing your relationship with him an “affair”. You both were together first, and a farce of a marriage you didn’t agree to won’t change that. You just have to make sure he can be discreet.

Doran Martell

While the news of your engagement is depressing, it isn't surprising. He's quite aware of the politics of Westeros, even if his own family doesn't believe it, and he had wind of this engagement. He just thought he could stop it in time. He hides his disappointment, but his family can tell he's withdrawing. Oberyn argues with his brother to go get you and fight, but Doran is a man of silent plans. He'll still love to correspond with you, and you can tell by his letters that he seems hopeful. Maybe he's thought of a way to break it off …

Arianne Martell

Well, isn’t this irksome? Arianne loved having you in her palace and keeping you all to herself, but then this foolish arranged marriage happened… She doesn’t hide her disdain, and she’s annoyed at herself for not doing more to stop it. The princess will spend no small amount of time being angry at the unfairness of it. Once she’s calmed, she doesn’t see why you both can’t continue the relationship behind closed doors. You’re both used to sneaking around, anyway. And Arianne can’t resist ferreting around for some salacious rumors about your spouse… Wouldn’t it be a shame if she found out something that led you to your family cutting the betrothal off?

Tyene Sand

She’s beyond annoyed at this outcome. You were her favorite, in more ways than one, and while she didn’t delude herself into thinking you’d be together forever… well, couldn’t you both have spent your days in court in service to the Martells, or perhaps left forever on a boat to Essos? Why did this have to happen so soon? She’s despondent, much as she tries to hide it, even with her sisters trying to comfort her. She begins to think of plans, just little things … a rumor here, a scheme there. She’ll feel much better if you remain in the Sunspear court, so she can stay close and your relationship can continue.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Hi! First of all, your writing is ASTOUNDING. I adore how you characterize. Secondly, I have a prompt idea:

A Villain who is falling in love with a Hero, but won’t admit it to themself. They stop being able to effectively fight Hero because they don’t want to hurt them. But Supervillain notices, so they capture Hero and use them to lure Villain in.

-Wicky

🥺🥺🥺 Thank you so very much! You just made my day. I thank you for the compliment and the prompt! I sure hope I did it justice, and I hope you enjoy!

CW//Injuries, threats, implied torture

Villain’s world spun as their skull cracked against the rough concrete of the roof. Opening their eyes, their field of vision was filled with only an array of stars.

Everything hurt.

They were convinced, in that moment, that there was not an inch of their flesh that was left unbruised, not a rib left unfractured. Breathing on its own was an ordeal, an ordeal that they endured only out of pure necessity.

Pain rippled through the stocks of jelly they had once called limbs as the villain scrambled first to hands and knees, and finally to their feet, even as unsteady as they were. They could do nothing but gasp as they faced down their opponent.

There was something in Hero’s eyes. Something that even their nemesis, their sworn, life-long foe could not quite name. It was not quite sympathy, no, but it was not quite pity, either. Something inbetween, perhaps, with only the slightest garnishing of regret.

“Come on, Villain.” It was with a pleading tone that the hero spoke, as though attempting to coax a frightened cat down from the top branches of a Redwood tree. “Just stand down! You can’t win this. We have you surrounded. No harm will come to you- No more harm.”

Yet, the villain only shook their head.

For any outsider, the matchup would have looked more like a massacre, waiting to happen. Villain themself was perhaps not the picture of musculature, but what villain was? No, they may not have been the strongest. But everyone knew what power they held in their palms, the lightning they could unleash at will. Enough to topple the building upon which they stood. Enough to topple the whole city, perhaps. The city had yet to so much as see their full potential.

But it was their potential that the villain now refused to use.

Hero, on the other hand, was... well, they weren’t much. As strong as they were, as clever, as smart, superstrength could only do one so much good. Villain could have destroyed them in passing, with the snap of a finger!

Why wasn’t the hero in the nearest emergency room? Even Villain themself wasn’t entirely sure.

“I’m not giving up, asshole!” They snarled, balling their hands to fists. It would be so easy. So very simple to send a torrent of lightning forth, to shock Hero within an inch of their life. Hell, Villain used their powers to make popcorn on the weekends!

But, they couldn’t. They couldn’t imagine Hero, the poor thing, the pitiful little fool, fallen to the ground. The very thought of using their powers against their opponent made them feel sick.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Hero spoke, eyes wide and glimmering with that same mix of sympathy and regret.

“Too bad.”

And, with that, the rooftop once more became a battleground. Villain surged forward, met in the center by their nemesis. A blow to the side of their head sent them stumbling.

They couldn’t go on like this, they knew as their vision clouded once more with stars. Another hit and they would be unconscious, in the custody of the so-called good guys. They couldn’t do that.

They had two choices.

Three. Three choices.

The first? To take the hit. To bite the bullet, to find themself behind bars.

The second? To hurt Hero. To wipe that oh-so-innocent quiver from their lips. To destroy-

No. They had two options. That wasn’t even on the table. Villain could be beaten, or they could flee.

It was with a shivering gasp that they chose the second.

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Sidekick placed down their fork with a resounding clack. In the silent room, the sound resembled the ring of a gong.

“Are you absolutely certain you’re alright?” They asked with a quirked brow. With the day turning to evening, they had left their sidekick’s uniform behind, replaced now with a casual set of garments. After all, the restaurant at which they were eating was far from fancy. That wasn’t the type of villain that their mentor was.

“Of course I’m alright. Do I look like some kind of ailing senior citizen?” Villain muttered under their breath as they looked over in displeasure at their sidekick. For someone so young, they certainly had a mouth.

“Not now. But on the battlefield last night-”

“I’m fine. I’m up and walking, aren’t I?”

“It’s not about that.” Sidekick shook their head. “It was in the battle. You could’ve taken out Hero easy-”

“Keep your voice down, we’re in public.”

“Sorry.” They lowered their tone. “But, I’ve seen you take Hero out dozens of times. Recently, though, you’ve been all over the place. You can’t even land a single hit! I’m worried. You’ve lost your edge. Up on that rooftop, it was like you were somewhere else entirely.”

Villain had been somewhere else entirely, not that they would ever dare to admit it. They had been lost, hopelessly lost- Lost in the eyes of their damn nemesis.

“I just wasn’t on the ball. Everyone has off days.” They grumbled, turning their embarrassed gaze away.

“Everyone has off days. But you’ve been having an off month! Don’t think I haven’t noticed that it’s just them. Just Hero.”

“They’re getting better.”

“So are you.”

“Really, I’m fine.”

Sidekick reached across the table, placing their palm upon the back of their mentor’s hand, which had unconsciously been balled into a fist.

“You nearly got captured, last night. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Villain. If you’re sick, if something’s wrong, anything at all, you need to tell me.”

Villain suddenly spotted something very interesting on their shoes, and kept their gaze fixed there.

“It’s stupid.”

“Are you sick? Everyone gets sick sometimes, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Not sick.”

“Then what?”

Villain gritted their teeth.

“Lovesick.”

Sidekick withdrew their hand in shock.

“What?”

“Look, it’s stupid! I don’t know. I shouldn’t be feeling that way about a hero, but- They’re a good person, I swear it. They want to help, and they’re kind, and I just can’t bear the thought of hurting them. What if I changed them? What if I hurt them, and that was what made them lose hope, lose faith? Then that’d be on my shoulders!”

“You’re saying...” Sidekick’s jaw was still ajar in shock. “You’re saying that you can’t fight Hero, because you’re in love with them?”

Villain looked up with a sigh.

“To put it shortly, I suppose.”

The both of them were shocked as a figure appeared next to their table. A sharply-dressed figure with a notepad.

“Are you two ready to order?”

“Yes, my apologies.” Villain cleared their throat. They and their sidekick presented their orders, which the waiter scrawled down with a series of understanding nods.

It was not until that particular waiter disappeared from the dining room that they slipped out of their disguise, and dialed a number into their phone.

“Hey, Boss? You might wanna hear about this.”

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To say Villain was in a bad mood would have been an understatement.

The injuries covering every last inch of their body, too, ached with every step they took. Bruises and beatings rippled, forcing them nearly to limp. Yet, they forced their gait to remain normal, even if it meant pain.

They couldn’t call attention to themself. Not when they were in civilian clothes like this, and not when they were on the streets. Still, they kept their head low and their sweatshirt hoodie up as they went along. No need to stick out in the crowd.

This was the only solace they ever got, after all. When some got frustrated, they would go for a drive in the night. But their vehicle was distinctive enough that that wasn’t an option for the villain.

Instead? They walked, moving along with the crowd as though they were a single fish in a school. Usually, this helped them calm down. Now, however, every step they took only made their thoughts spin more wildly.

First, it was Hero. Hero and their stupid eyes. Then it was Sidekick. It wasn’t that Sidekick had confronted them that made them so worried, it was that they’d noticed at all.

That meant that other people out there might spot their weakness. Might use it as an advantage. Who would it be, though? Hero themself? Or, even-

A gasp rippled through the crowd around them in a wave. Voices shouted and fingers pointed, all in the same direction. Villain wiggled their way out of the crowd in order to see what had caused such fuss.

A billboard. An electronic billboard.

An electronic billboard that no longer housed an advertisement for the latest cellphone or insurance scam. No. Upon the massive thing, multiple stories in height, surely, was broadcasted a video.

“Good evening, and I do apologize for interrupting. But I just had to get my friend’s attention.”

Villain’s breath caught in their throat. They would know that voice even if they had to pick it out of a crowd of thousands.

Most would have expected that two people so similar as Villain and Supervillain would get along, but the reality was just the opposite. Villain couldn’t call themself a good guy, no, but they had ethics. Morals. Real aims to work towards, rather than burning the city down and laughing among the flames.

Supervillain, on the other hand? There was a reason that they were so feared. Their goals were far grander than Villain’s.

To say that they had never been very good friends would be an understatement.

And, now? Now they were enemies. The video projected upon that billboard made that fact certain.

Supervillain themself was not visible in frame-- Perhaps that was lucky for Villain. Seeing that stupid face would have certainly goaded them into destroying the projection outright. Instead, the video displayed a room.

A concrete room, with a chair in the center. A chair that was far from empty.

It was always Hero’s eyes that they could not help but get lost in. Now, that wasn’t a factor. Not when the hero was so tightly blindfolded. Their soothing, calming voice, too, had been eliminated-- the cloth gag in their mouth was already soaked-through with spittle.

Tied to the chair, bound, gagged, and blinded, sat Hero.

“Now, I don’t want a ransom. No, no. I only want to see a dear friend of mine. And it has been oh, so hard to track them down.

So, Villain, dear?”

They shivered at the sound of their name. Their name.

“How about you come to my base, and pick up your little friend, here. Or else, I might just have to do something drastic.”

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For six hours, Villain did not move.

As soon as the broadcast had left the billboard, it had repeated itself upon every news channel that gave half a crap about the metropolis. National news, even international, with subtitles in two dozen languages telling of Supervillain’s threat.

They’d found out. Of course they’d found out.

Villain knew they  should have been furious. They should have strangled Supervillain, strangled Hero, strangled themself! After all, this was all their fault. Falling for a hero, how could they have possibly been so stupid?

Now, they stared. Hands balled to fists in their lap as yet another newscaster explained the same events, over and over again.

“Boss?” Sidekick’s voice was soft, nothing like their usual, nosy self. They sat in a chair behind their mentor, who was seated criss-cross on the floor.

There was no answer.

“Boss... What are you going to do?”

“I can’t leave them.”

“Leave who?”

“Leave Hero. You know what Supervillain is like! They’ll destroy them. Destroy the last good hero in the city.”

“You didn’t want to hurt them.”

“And I don’t want to see them hurt, either.”

“I know you don’t. But it’s all Supervillain has over you. You can just... Leave them, right? It’s not like Hero has any real power over you.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I have to.”

“You don’t!”

Villain stood.

“Yes, I do.” They spun around, stalking towards the room that held their costume. “And I need to wipe that damn smile off Supervillain’s face.”

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Guest Side Story

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Sarah Wilson Rating: T Word Count: 3214

Summary: Sam told Bucky not to flirt with Sarah. But this is her house, so Bucky's pretty sure she makes the rules.

Bucky’s missed white lies. Ones that don’t hurt anybody.

“Is that cigarette smoke I smell on your coat, James Barnes?” “No, Ma. ’Course not.”

“And you’re sure this dame knows it’s my arm she’ll be on?” “Sure, Steve. She’s been after me to fix the two of you up for weeks.”

Stuff like that.

Past few years, Bucky’s either been transparent or a brick wall, all lies or all truth. Which one he loses more sleep over just depended on the day. The most human thing, he’s learning, is to work with a little of both: fact and fiction. Give something here, hold something back there. Lying doesn’t have to be mean-spirited and telling the truth doesn’t have to make him feel hollow and guilty. Maybe you can only realize this kinda thing when you find your way home, even if the home isn’t yours.

Bucky’s standing in the kitchen listening to Cass teach him how to fish. It’s purely theoretical, no gear involved, just the overexaggerated motion of Cass’s arm as he mimes casting. Laughing, Bucky lightly grabs the boy’s elbow before it can collide with the refrigerator on an especially big swing. Cass downsizes his demonstration without pausing the excited flow of his instructions.

AJ catches Bucky’s eye; from the look on his face, he’s beginning to suspect that Bucky might already know how to fish. While Cass is focused hard on his hands pretending to show how to fit live bait onto a hook, Bucky smiles at AJ over the smaller boy’s head and raises a finger to his lips. White lies. Let Cass believe he’s the expert.

When Cass is winding down, Bucky moves around him with a grin, carrying an empty plate to the sink.

“I got it!” AJ declares, whisking it from Bucky’s hand and pumping a squirt of dish soap in the center while his other hand runs the hot water.

Cass slotted the Pop-Tarts the plate lately held into the toaster for him (no better end-of-the-day snack, Bucky was told) and now AJ’s cleaning up. They’re a hospitable family, all day long. No phoniness, no insincere offers of help that they’re hoping Bucky won’t take them up on. He actually had to race the kids to the shed to store a toolbox earlier. On the boat, Bucky has room to put in the effort for the Wilsons, but inside the walls of their home he’s not allowed to do a damn thing because he’s a guest. Per square foot of property, he doesn’t think he’s ever been treated this well in someone else’s house.

“Fine,” Bucky concedes, “but I’m doing all the dishes tomorrow—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And don’t get up early to drink a glass of orange juice and try to wash it before I’m awake, ’cause I’ll be listening.”

The boys giggle and Bucky leans against the counter, hovering while AJ hands the plate off for Cass to wipe dry and pretending not to listen to Sam and Sarah talking in the next room.

…But there isn’t a full wall separating the kitchen from the living room and Sam knows Bucky’s hearing’s good, right? He doesn’t think they’re discussing anything that private and if Sam’s annoyed with him later for what he supposes Bucky might’ve heard, Bucky’ll just offer up another white lie and swear he couldn’t hear a thing. And Sarah… Sarah wouldn’t think any worse of him if she knew. Bucky imagines she’d have a lot of compassion for his frequent urge to give Sam a hard time just for the hell of it. He flicks a quick glance over his shoulder, just to see her, and concentrates on what they’re saying, giving himself vague permission because he overheard his name.

“This was your idea,” Sarah’s saying. “You brought the stray cat home, just like when we were kids.”

“Don’t compare him to something cute,” Sam complains. Bucky’s mouth tenses to keep his smile from spreading too far.

“He is a guest in my home, Sam, and he’s more than earned it after the work he’s been putting in with the boat.”

“And what about the work you’ve been putting in watching him do that work?”

“Sam. Grow up.” Sarah’s voice is playful and Bucky almost turns, wondering what her expression looks like.

“So you’ve just been appreciating his skill with a wrench and some sandpaper,” Sam says skeptically.

“If I’m also appreciating his shoulders in that shirt— if—” she emphasizes when Sam tries to interrupt, “—it’s nobody’s business but mine.”

“Ok, you definitely can’t have him sleeping on the couch.”

“What do you think I’m gonna do? Try to sneak him to my bedroom after lights out? With you listening, trying to catch us? Uh uh. Your sister is a grown woman with two children, a home, and a boat she couldn’t manage to sell, and she can lust where she damn well pleases.”

Bucky snorts out a laugh and AJ gives him a funny look. Kid’s too perceptive.

“He’s tricky,” Sam lectures. “You can’t see it, but I do. I’ve been around him a hell of a lot more. You think he smiles like that at everybody? If he smiles at me at all, I gotta assume he just looked up and saw a meteor hurtling towards where we’re standing and is only smiling because we’ve got seconds to live and I won’t be able to tell anybody.”

“You are hilarious.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re telling me your friend is charming. That’s what you’re describing. Don’t I deserve to be charmed? Where else is he gonna sleep, huh? With you? In one of the boys’ little beds while they share the other one? Because I know you’re not suggesting we skip the pretense and put him right in with me.”

Sam lets out a noise of obvious frustration.

“Time to intervene,” Bucky tells Cass and AJ, leaving them to swap confused shrugs in the kitchen as he saunters into the living room.

“Hey,” Sam greets stonily, arms crossed over his chest.

Just for fun, Bucky decides to be all the friendlier.

“It’s so great of you to put me up. Thanks, Sarah. This beats a hotel by a mile.”

“Our gourmet kitchen does offer an impressive range of sugary cereal,” she jokes. “I might even cook you boys a special breakfast tomorrow before you head back to the dock.”

Bucky’s grin widens.

“Oh yeah? I wouldn’t wanna—”

“No, it’s no trouble—”

“Well, that would be—”

“Both of you stop it,” Sam orders.

“Sam, go outside,” Sarah orders right back. “Play some tag with your nephews.”

“Sarah, I’m beat. We’ve been working on that boat all day.”

“Mhmm, you and the rest of the neighbourhood. You worked all day and you come home and there’s still two kids to entertain. But guess what?” She smiles deviously at her brother and throws a few fake punches at his stomach. “You’re Sam Wilson, the Falcon! Looks like you’re special after all. Me and Bucky here know you’ve still got some gas in the tank. Go on.”

Sam looks fairly planted to the spot as he glares from his sister to Bucky, but he eventually moves with a lurching step.

“I’m gonna be right outside,” he warns.

Bucky sidesteps out of his path and says nothing, though it’s hard to resist the instinct to egg him on.

“We’re gonna have a super-secret discussion about which towels he can use,” Sarah goads at her brother’s back.

Sam ignores her, corralling his nephews in the kitchen and guiding them out the door into the fading daylight with a hand on each of their narrow backs.

“Great kids,” Bucky observes.

Sarah nods, watching her family disappear, then turns to him.

“We’re not really gonna talk about towels.”

“No?”

Bucky’s eyebrows rise in surprise and delighted anticipation until Sarah grabs a folded blanket off the back of the couch and passes it to him.

“We’re making up the couch.”

“Oh.”

This is ok too. Actually, really nice, standing next to Sarah and unfolding the blanket as she stuffs a pillow into a clean case. Her eyes find his already on her and he swears he almost blushes; he’s been smoothing out the same crease in this blanket for a good thirty seconds with no result, just watching her easy movements, the way she flips her braids back when they fall forward over her shoulder.

“I hope you’re comfortable,” she says, lingering once they’re done.

“I woulda slept on the floor. A closet, even, like Harry Potter.”

“You read Harry Potter? Don’t tell the boys—they’ll be bugging you to play wizards with them.”

Bucky laughs and shakes his head.

“Nah, I just watched the movie.”

“Which one?”

“There’s more than one?”

“You really better not bring it up then,” Sarah advises. “They’d try to tell you everything at once.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to get in out of my depth.”

It feels like a significant look they exchange after his words. Bucky wants it to be—he thinks he does—but he feels awkward, romantically clumsy. Heartstrings tied together like shoelaces, waiting to trip him up. He’s been telling himself she’s only being kind, but after eavesdropping on her conversation with Sam, he knows she’s interested. In his shoulders at the very minimum. Was that right? His shoulders? Just in case, Bucky does his best to square them. Can’t hurt.

He’s fucking ecstatic when Sarah does glance down briefly, her gaze returning to his face with something flustered in it. Sure, she’s a mom and she runs a business, but it’s like she told Sam: she deserves to be charmed. Bucky’s not entirely sure he’s doing it right though.

“So,” she says, “Sam was just being a pain when he tried to convince me you can’t sleep on the couch because you’ve got a bad back, right?”

Bucky sighs but keeps smiling. It’s natural in her presence.

“I’d say that’s him making old-man jokes about me.”

���I apologize for my brother and his bad manners.”

“Ah, he’s not totally wrong,” he concedes, perching on the arm of the couch. “These last few birthdays have required more candles than you could fit on a cake.”

“Then you just have to get yourself a bigger cake.”

Bucky laughs.

“I guess optimism’s pretty much a family trait?”

“We work at it. They say you need to take the good with the bad, but they don’t tell you that means creating the good out of nothing a lot of the time, if you want any at all. The Wilsons worked that out some time ago, so we mostly do alright.”

“It’s a good feeling to be around,” he tells Sarah earnestly. Clearing his throat, he gets to his feet. “Feels good, being around you.”

“We’re… I’m happy you could stay with us.”

The light’s softened in the room and her voice has gone with it. Bucky shifts on his feet.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he assures her.

Sarah’s eyelashes flutter when she looks from his mouth to his eyes. Probably too try-hard to bite his lip now. God, Sam thinks Bucky’s so suave with Sarah, but it feels like he’s only got one move and it’s fucking smiling. Some Casanova he is. Sarah, meanwhile, is beautiful and authoritative and generous and moving closer to toss the pillow he’ll rest his head on tonight onto the couch.

“Anything else you need to be comfortable?” she asks, gaze slipping from one of his eyes to the other. “Another pillow? Pajamas?”

“I’ve got some, but…”

“But?”

Sarah gives him a questioning look and Bucky starts summoning the courage to make a move. He’ll touch her waist—no, take her hand. He’ll cup her sweet face so there’s no doubt what he means.

“But,” he picks up, “if I get cold in the night…”

There’s longing in her eyes, Bucky knows it, but Sam bangs in the screen door right then, one nephew squealing where he’s been slung over Sam’s shoulder.

“Well,” Sam announces loudly to the house at large, “that’s it! No more gas in the tank! Everybody get to bed!”

Sarah appears sorry as she steps back. Bucky almost reaches out to pull her in, to take another shot with another lousy line. Shit, he’s bad at this.

“There are more blankets in the hall closet,” she says, and slips away.

“Thank you,” he calls after her.

Sam walks past, Cass still dangling upside-down over his back while AJ runs ahead, and watches Bucky like a hawk (or some other bird of prey) as he digs through his overnight bag. What’s Sam expecting him to pull out? A strip of condoms? Bucky extracts a green toothbrush and holds it up with an expression of fake wonder. Sam rolls his eyes and heads off down the hall.

They are going to bed early, barely 9pm. That’s probably late for the kids though. Bucky’s pleasantly weary after a day outdoors, more working than talking, feeling like part of something as the Wilsons’ community came together to repair the boat. Seeing Sarah throughout. Flashing Bucky a smile while she spoke to a neighbour, grasping his outstretched hand to let him help her aboard so she could see their progress, checking Sam’s work like she’s his foreman while Bucky grinned and watched the siblings good-naturedly pick at each other. Sam was probably out like a light and Bucky should be too.

He’s not.

He can’t get to sleep right away, but it’s peaceful to lie here on the couch, on his back, while the house gets dark and darker. Sarah left the nearest window cracked for him and a gentle breeze washes in with the chirp of insects. Bucky’s already looking forward to being woken by the sun streaming through in the morning. It’d be good to get from now to daylight in a single stretch of sleep; that’s what he fantasizes about while he lies on his back: no nightmares. His head’s propped up by the pillow he tells himself smells like Sarah, though it probably just smells like her laundry soap.

It’s hard to put his finger on what’s missing, why he can’t fall asleep, until he hears the soft shuffle of footsteps on carpet. They’re too close together to be Sam’s—either hesitant or made by child-sized feet. Bucky cranes his neck around, expecting to see someone walk past on their way to the kitchen for a glass of water. His gaze roams over nothing for a minute, then he slumps back as the footsteps retreat. Maybe it was Sam after all, getting up to look in on his nephews or something. It’s the sorta thing Bucky would do if he were an uncle; he’d treasure the time with those kids, try to remember everything about his visit so he could hang on to it when he found himself half a world away, in Berlin or Riga or Madripoor.

He’s settling, trapping the blanket against his chest with a heavy hand, when he hears the footsteps approach again. Then back away seconds later. Slowly, Bucky starts to smile to himself. It’s Sarah. Can only be her. She’s either trying to psych herself up to come in here and talk to him and failing, or trying to resist venturing down the hall and succeeding.

On her next attempt, she gets closer, and Bucky sits up, kicking the blanket aside, and drops his feet to the floor in anticipation of her rounding the corner. He’s nervously gripping the couch cushion on either side of his knees when she does.

“You sneaking past Sam?” he asks quietly.

Sarah jumps, pressing a hand to her chest.

“You scared me. I wasn’t sure you’d be awake.”

Bucky shrugs, dreamily fixated on her smile. One of her neighbours turns on their porchlight and now Sarah can probably see his smile too.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says.

“Shoot. Did you need something else?”

Kinda funny how she’s pretending she was coming out here for another reason and is just making a detour for him. He knows better, but he’s got enough remnants of being a gentleman not to call her out on it.

“Nah. It’s nothing to do with you.” Bucky stares at her a few seconds and changes his mind. “You know what? Actually, it is you.”

“What is?” Sarah asks with a hushed, confused laugh.

“The reason I can’t get to sleep. Sarah…”

But she smiles and does what he did to the boys earlier—holds a finger to her lips.

With the confidence of a woman at ease in her own home and her own body, she steps forward. She wore a yellow t-shirt today, but the one she wears now is pale pink. It’s loose and worn and reveals the strong, elegant curve of her shoulder when she moves and it slips. Gazing up at her, Bucky shifts until he feels the back of the couch. His hands hover in the air as Sarah digs one knee, then the other, into the cushion on either side of him. She lowers herself onto his thighs.

Moving slow like the hour, deep like the black sky, Bucky runs his hands up her back.

Sarah’s palms land on his shoulders and, smiling, she confesses to him, “I like these.”

He’s smirking when she ducks her head to kiss him.

Now that he has her here—on his lap, in his arms—Bucky forgets every way he wanted to touch her earlier. How he was gonna woo her with tender contact applied just right. Well, thank god for Sarah. She sets the pace of the kiss and, when his hands go still at her upper back, reaches around to bring one of them back down to her waist. He can feel that there’s no bra beneath her shirt.

“Rusty,” he breathes when their mouths slide apart.

“You were on that old boat all day,” she reminds him. “You know I’ve got patience for rusty.”

Still, Bucky wants to do a little better, prove that maybe he’s what she had in mind when she decided he was worth smiling at. He cradles Sarah closer, pulling her in, dipping his fingers into the valley of her spine when she arches into him. They kiss firmer, then faster. At her quick nod of encouragement, he moves his hands to her hips. Lower.

“Sarah?” Sam slurs sleepily from down the hall. “You outta bed?”

Sarah presses a hand to Bucky’s chest and pushes off his lap, other hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. He chuckles too.

“As the Falcon, timing is one of his greatest strengths.”

“And as his sister,” Sarah counters, “it gets on my last nerve.”

“Well, I didn’t wanna say that, but…” Bucky grins.

“Sarah?” Sam calls out again.

She sighs.

“Is he trying to wake the boys?” She takes a step away from the couch, wearing a regretful smile. “I better go.”

Bucky catches himself before he can blurt out I’ll miss you. Overeager fool.

“See you in the morning?” Sarah checks, something shy about her now, but not in a bad way. Cautiously hopeful, Bucky thinks. He’s been feeling that way himself.

He gives her one more smile for the road.

“You bet.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 23 - ao3 -

Lan Qiren woke with a start at the sound of something slamming to the point of cracking – a door thrown too hard, perhaps, or the shattering of a piece of furniture under the strength of a powerful cultivator.

Dazed at having been woken so abruptly at such a late hour, he at first thought that the sound was an aberration of some sort, someone making too much noise by mistake, even some cultivation maniac doing exercises in the middle of the night that had briefly lost control, but then the sounds continued, crashing and slamming and even indistinct shouting.

Indistinct, and unfamiliar, but still recognizable – that was Wen Ruohan’s voice.

Lan Qiren had never heard him shout before.

He stood up, instinctively checking over his clothing and fixing his forehead ribbon, and padded out towards the door to the hallway. The array used to create enough silence to let him sleep was glowing faintly, doing its work against overwhelming odds, but Lan Qiren didn’t hesitate to dismiss it and pull open the door, poking his head out to see what was going on.

“ – what use are you?” Wen Ruohan was shouting, some distance down the hall. “Good-for-nothing bitch! What do you think I got you for in the first place?”

He was standing outside his wife’s door.

Lan Qiren had not seen Madame Wen on this visit, other than in passing. He’d been relieved to discover that he had heard accurately and that she had not suffered on account of what she had done, except perhaps as a result of her husband making clear that he would give her exactly what he had promised her out of their marriage and nothing more. Despite that, every time she saw him, she generally had an expression that resembled smelling something bad, and he didn’t especially want to deal with her irrational jealousy. 

(Lan Qiren could understand and even appreciate the truth that she had shown him, but it didn’t mean he appreciated the reasoning behind her actions - just as Wen Ruohan might appreciate the cunning and ambition demonstrated by her actions, and begrudgingly acknowledge that the real fault for their divide was his own actions, but not feel any more inclined to her as a result.)

Lan Qiren thought he might have to deal with her more, particularly on the few times he had visited little Wen Xu, who was already a size or two larger than he’d started out – it was simply shocking in terms of how much time had passed since he’d had his argument with Wen Ruohan – but he found that the child was largely being watched by servants, not the Madame, who was busy ruling the social scene of the Nightless City. Whether that was true or merely an excuse, by now it was clear that they were in mutual agreement that they did not want to spend any time in each other’s presence.

She was also, very clearly, refusing to let Wen Ruohan into her bedroom.

Lan Qiren couldn’t blame her: he’d never seen Wen Ruohan in a state like this. His clothing was mussed up, his hands clenched, his face red, his aura frighteningly strong and overwhelming, his monstrously powerful qi roiling the air in the hallway into an incipient storm – and even from the distance he was standing, Lan Qiren could smell the distinct odor of strong liquor, suggesting that Wen Ruohan had overindulged in alcohol at some point after Lan Qiren had gone to sleep. Based on casual mentions in prior conversation, Lan Qiren knew that Wen Ruohan’s cultivation level was so high as to render him largely unaffected even by significant drinking, but the fact that he had bothered to try to seek solace in the wine jar suggested that there was something incredibly wrong with his mental state. 

It wasn’t a qi deviation - the violent emanations were unsettled, but not distorted - but it wasn’t good, either.

Wisdom would counsel that Lan Qiren keep back and not get in Wen Ruohan’s way.

Righteousness, on the other hand…

Anyway, Wen Ruohan was his sworn brother. What sort of brother would Lan Qiren be if he took only the good and not the bad?

“Da-ge?” he called, stepping out into the hallway. “Da-ge, come away from there.”

Wen Ruohan turned to him, and his expression was frightening. “Fine. You’ll do,” he growled, and it was only because Lan Qiren had grown wiser and stronger that he realized what was about to happen and dodged before Wen Ruohan could grab him, darting back into his room.

Wen Ruohan followed him in.

“What happened?” Lan Qiren asked, still backing away. “You were fine at dinner – what happened since then?”

For some reason, that set Wen Ruohan off again, turning his attention away from Lan Qiren, and he grabbed the table and threw it into the wall, smashing it all to pieces. 

“That fucker,” he snarled, his eyes blank and distant. He wasn’t angry at Lan Qiren, that much was clear, but he was filled with ceaseless rage, and he was taking it out on everything around him. “That fucker got married! He’s got a son!”

Lan Qiren blinked. “…what?”

Smash went the cabinet, and all the various things on it. At least Wen Ruohan hadn’t started in on the paintings, which were the only aspect of the room Lan Qiren actually cared or worried about.

“Who got married and had a son?” Lan Qiren asked, even though he knew it would only inflame Wen Ruohan further. At this point, it was clear that Wen Ruohan’s had gotten stuck in his chest, like black blood that needed to be coughed; he needed to vent his anger or else it would curdle within him and he would suffer. “Normally that’s a good thing, a cause for celebration. Why is it bad here?”

“Because it’s Lao Nie!” Wen Ruohan burst out, and Lan Qiren rocked back on his heels in shock.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t known that Lao Nie had been unusually distracted these past few months, even most of a year – the way he’d ignored or disregarded Lan Qiren’s letters about the situation with He Kexin, the breezy and almost manic tone of his replies to Lan Qiren’s brother, which Lan Qiren had seen, it all spoke of distraction and carelessness, all typical of Lao Nie, albeit of far greater severity than usual.

Nor was it truly a surprise that none of them had been informed: the Qinghe Nie had always been idiosyncratic about their personal details, unusually secretive and fiercely proud of it. They did not share their birth date or even year, other than for arranging a marriage. If Lan Qiren had thought about it, he wouldn’t have been at all surprised to find out that Lao Nie would have married and had a child all without having shared any information on the subject until afterwards.

Only…

“But aren’t you – with him?” he asked, and knew immediately that he had asked the wrong question.

Wen Ruohan roared and smashed yet another thing, sending a palm strike through a dresser and denting the stone wall with the power of it. “He’s mine,” he spat. His eyes were even redder than usual, the sclera becoming red alongside the iris; it made him look almost possessed, almost as if he really were having some sort of qi deviation. “He’s mine, damn it! Who is he to give himself to another? And he didn’t even tell me…!”

They were definitely in a relationship, Lan Qiren confirmed to himself. His guess had been right. There could be no doubt about it. And yet, despite it all, Lao Nie had –

No, he couldn’t even express surprise. Lan Qiren knew Lao Nie, knew what he valued and how he valued it: Lao Nie had always been passionate and powerful, strong and superior, friendly and often kind, and yet at his core he was ruthless, careless, and selfish, just like Wen Ruohan was so often selfish. He did not concern himself overmuch with questions of righteousness, other than to the degree necessary to win glory to his sect as one on the righteous path. After his sect, which he valued most of all, he was an indolent pleasure-seeker, with terrible taste in partners, the more dangerous the better; Lan Qiren had seen him flirting with people left and right long after he’d concluded that he’d entered into a relationship with Wen Ruohan.

In the past, Wen Ruohan hadn’t seemed to mind. If anything, he’d even encouraged him, looking smug and amused by the flirtations, taking the other man’s victories as his own; during one incident that Lan Qiren could recall, he’d all but applauded when Lao Nie had successfully wooed some rogue cultivator and taken her back to his bed, turning instead to his own separate amusements after.

Then again, that wasn’t a marriage.

(Of course, Wen Ruohan himself had also gotten married…)

“How dare he,” Wen Ruohan said, panting a little from his own exertion, clearly more moved by the feelings raging within him than any type of physical exhaustion. “How dare he – does he think I’m desperate? Pathetic? Does he think I’d run after him, begging and humiliating myself..? I don’t need him at all!”

He turned once more, and this time his gaze focused on Lan Qiren.

“I have something of my own already,” he murmured, and this time Lan Qiren wasn’t fast enough to stop him as he caught him up in his arms, slamming his back against the wall.

Lan Qiren tensed, suddenly for a moment back in his rooms in the Cloud Recesses, looking up at a different brother who wanted to hurt him – but no, Wen Ruohan wasn’t the same, Wen Ruohan liked him. He was acting out of fury, not malice; there was no He Kexin here to goad him on, nothing like that.

Even the force of being pushed against the wall hadn’t actually hurt – Wen Ruohan had been careful even in his mindless rage, making sure that any impact was cushioned by his own arms rather than Lan Qiren’s back; Lan Qiren hadn’t even had the breath knocked out of him.

“Da-ge…!”

Wen Ruohan didn’t want to hear him. He put his hand on Lan Qiren’s mouth and pressed down, cutting off speech at once. They were pressed together so closely that the movement inadvertently dragged his sleeve onto Lan Qiren’s throat, almost making him gag, and he instinctively tried futilely to kick his way out – it didn’t work, of course.

Wen Ruohan pressed up against him, the front of his body burning like flame against Lan Qiren.

“You’re mine,” he said, reaching in to nuzzle the side of Lan Qiren’s head with his cheek. “My blood brother, bound by oath and blood; my shining pearl, untouched by the world. All good things should belong to me.”

Lan Qiren reached up to try to push away the hand at this mouth, wanting to speak even though he did not know what he would say, and at first he thought he’d done it. But then suddenly he was in motion, his back landing hard on the bed he’d been given, the impact softened by the blanket Wen Ruohan had wrapped around him when he’d brought him back to the Nightless City from the Cloud Recesses. Shocked by the unexpectedness of the abrupt movement, he gasped, a wordless inhale rather than any coherent words.

Less than a heartbeat, and Wen Ruohan was on top of him, pressing him down. His body seemed even hotter than usual, as if his whole spirit were aflame, his qi boiling in the air around them until Lan Qiren had the impression as though he ought to be able to see steam; his hands were hot where they pressed down on Lan Qiren’s shoulders, his lips burning as they pressed against his collarbone, and between his legs there was something hot pressing against him, too.

And still, Lan Qiren – was not afraid.

He wasn’t sure why. He’d been terrified when it had been his brother who had stood against him, disgusted when it had been He Kexin pawing at him in ways he did not and had never wanted, but Wen Ruohan, who was bound to him through nothing but a tricked oath…

“Da-ge,” he whispered. “Please stop.”

Wen Ruohan stilled. He didn’t get up or pull away, but he didn’t make any further movements.

“Please let me go.”

Wen Ruohan’s breathing was harsh in his ear. “You, too, little Lan?” he asked. “Just like him, making me think – don’t you like me?”

“I do,” Lan Qiren admitted. He might be stupid when it came to social interactions, might be slow and miss things that were obvious, but even he could figure out what Wen Ruohan meant, with his confession of how Lan Qiren lingered in his thoughts and in pressing him down on the bed like this while mourning the loss of Lao Nie, his lover. And maybe sometimes he needed Cangse Sanren to point things out to him, but most of the time he knew himself. This past week had made clear enough that he enjoyed Wen Ruohan’s endless indulgences in a spirit that was more than just pure brotherhood. “I do like you. But I don’t like – this.”

Wen Ruohan was silent for a long moment.

“Not this, with me,” he finally said. “Or not – at all?”

“At all,” Lan Qiren said. He had thought when he was younger that he might change, but he was increasingly sure that he wouldn’t, that this was just what he was like. “I was never like the others my age. Even Yueheng-xiong, who I would’ve thought loved nothing but mathematics and explosions, has found himself distracted by the shape of the one he likes. But not me. I don’t yearn the way they do. I can love a person’s spirit, but I never much cared for the flesh.”

“Love,” Wen Ruohan echoed, his voice oddly uneven. “You speak of - love?”

“…isn’t that what we’re talking about?”

Wen Ruohan laughed, a jagged and choked up thing, and then he pulled away, letting Lan Qiren go, sitting up on the bed and burying his face in his hands. The qi around him was still too-hot, overwhelming, pulsing with his feelings, even as his shoulders shook and he stared blankly at the wall; any other man, and Lan Qiren might think he was crying, but he could see Wen Ruohan’s face through his fingers, and there were no tears there.

Perhaps he’d forgotten how.

Lan Qiren slowly sat up himself.

He could still feel the mild stiffness of old healing injuries, but he ignored them and got up off the bed, going to the one side table that had yet to be destroyed – the one where he’d laid his guqin to rest. It turned out that Wen Ruohan had only destroyed the things he himself had put into the room; he hadn’t touched anything of Lan Qiren’s.

Lan Qiren settled in front of his guqin and began to play.

Out of all the compositions he had created, his favorite was the one he had first created at the Nightless City, that strange hypnotic melody that brought to mind spilled pearls, but unlike some of the others he’d worked on, it had never felt fully completed. The music wrapped itself around the listener, at first intimate and then oppressive, a heavy stone in their chest and pressure on their skull, growing darker and darker, just as he’d written it – but now he played onwards, elaborating on the theme in ways he hadn’t planned or expected, letting the solemn notes brighten, the overwhelming pressure turning from suffocating into safe as it became clear that it would cause no harm, the storm passing by overhead and leaving things clean and clear and better, the lingering euphoria of finding oneself supported, rather than alone.

When his fingers finally stilled, Lan Qiren looked up and saw Wen Ruohan sitting there with his back straight again, hands resting gently in his lap, eyes closed as if in meditation and face calm once more. His qi no longer coiled around him, lashing out; it had settled once more.

“You will,” Wen Ruohan said without opening his eyes, “be an excellent traveling musician, little Lan. People will fight for the right to hear you, and you will never go without an audience.”

Lan Qiren hesitated, not sure what to make of such a compliment, or what Wen Ruohan meant by it. He’d only intended to play something to help him settle his qi and soothe his rage, which he’d clearly accomplished. He hadn’t even meant to play that particular song, other than in the way that he tended to default to it when he had nothing else specific in mind. It had always been unsatisfying, like an itch, but now it finally felt complete.

“Da-ge –” he started to say, not knowing what he would say next, but at any rate he never had the chance to continue.

“When you do finally go to fulfill your dreams, leaving the dust of the world behind you, I hope that you visit the Nightless City often,” Wen Ruohan said. His tone was still calm, settled, but not, Lan Qiren observed, peaceful: there were all sorts of seething emotions underneath it. “But for the moment, I think it is better if you return to the Cloud Recesses.”

Lan Qiren hesitated once again, this time feeling a little hurt. “You don’t want me here?”

“I do,” Wen Ruohan said, and his lips curved into something that was not a smile; it seemed almost painful a shape to contort into, and his eyes reflected no humor at all when he opened them. “Very much. Ah, little Lan, if only you knew…despite that, I would still have you go. Having made my views on you clear to your brother, it should be safe, and I do not want you to see what beast I make of myself when I am denied.”

Lan Qiren bowed his head a little. “About Lao Nie…”

“I know what he’s like,” Wen Ruohan said. “I’ve always known, from the start. If you had asked me a few days ago, I would have said that I did not have any illusions…”

He smiled bitterly.

“It seems that I misjudged myself.”

“I’ll go,” Lan Qiren said. He didn’t especially want to, but Wen Ruohan wasn’t in a rage, nor lashing out unthinkingly. To refuse him would be to deny him, to treat him as if he could not make his own decisions, and that, he thought, would be worse. “If you want me to, I’ll go, and later, I’ll return.”

Wen Ruohan said nothing, but he watched as Lan Qiren pulled on some more clothing, not caring which one it was, and did his hair back up in the simplest style, favoring speed over substance; he packed away his guqin and his sword and one of the paintings that he had liked best, but took nothing else – after all, it wasn’t as if he were going away for good.

He made it to the door before hesitating, then turned back to look at Wen Ruohan, who was still watching him.

“Is there anything…?” he asked haltingly. “Something I can get you…?”

“Send one of the maids to me,” Wen Ruohan said. “Any of them, it doesn’t matter which. If they’re still hanging around in the family quarters after an eruption like that, it can be seen that their ambition has overcome their good sense, making them a perfect match for me. It would be a shame to deny them the fruits of their victory.”

Lan Qiren didn’t quite understand, but he knew enough to get the gist; he felt his cheeks and ears go hot. Still, he had offered, and it wasn’t something he was willing to do himself, so there was really no basis for refusing to pass along the request. He nodded and slipped out – as Wen Ruohan predicted, there was one of the maids lingering at the far corner, looking around in blatant curiosity. She was pretty enough, Lan Qiren supposed, with an upturned nose and a slightly arrogant air, her clothing carefully arranged to be just a little mussed in a way that Lan Qiren understood most men to find attractive.

“Your sect leader is in my room,” he told her, and she blinked at him. “If you go to him now, he’d probably accept. Up to you, though.”

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. He left, his head held high; when he glanced back anyway, he saw her going into his room, hair patted down and clothing even more carefully arranged – Wen Ruohan hadn’t been wrong when he speculated as to her ambitions. The life of a powerful sect leader, Lan Qiren supposed: desired but never known, as distant from those around him as Lan Qiren but as a consequence of his position rather than his inclination.  

He would definitely return, Lan Qiren decided. Perhaps he would even make the Nightless City the first destination on his travels. After all, why should he not? Was Wen Ruohan not his sworn brother, too?

Yes, Lan Qiren thought. That was right.

Wen Ruohan deserved to have someone possess him as he longed to possess others.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Persephone’s Symphony | Prologue | Hades

Hey lovelies— this will either be a long fic or a short series, depending on how it best plays out. I decided to upload a sneak peak— let me know what y’all think and do enjoy!!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: Mentions of death, at times semi-graphic, eventual smut

Word count: 2.5k (and counting)

Next

Master List

“Barnes, you’re on protection detail.”

He must be dreaming— he must have fallen asleep with the tv on again. That’s been happening a lot lately; he’s trying to catch up on normal life. On all the shows and movies and music he’s missed throughout the years. He’s trying to catch up. Or maybe he’s just trying to drown out the silence. It doesn’t matter why, to be honest, all that matters is that he is asleep and what he is hearing and seeing are the workings of a bad dream. There was a marathon last night. Yeah, there was. Movies— a few of them. Something about bodyguards. He’s just dreaming about the movies.

Right?

Wrong.

“You’re to make sure she is secured at all times during the next three days— do not leave Miss Y/l/n’s side under any circumstances. Understood?”

Bucky blinks twice, his brows creasing as he stares down his commander, a stubby, burly man with beady eyes. It’s a trial run— he can’t say no. He wants to, he just can’t afford to. Not if he wants a job. Still, he sees no reason for this to be on him. He’s a soldier— a good one. A dangerous one. Watching over little girls isn’t in his job description. He’s a fighter— a monster.

“I need an affirmative, Barnes.”

He bites back a scowl. He’s not trying to get demoted, he knows he’s on thin ice. But, like, isn’t there anyone else? Hell— Wilson is right next to him! Surely he’s better. He’s charming, at least. A flirt. He would be perfect! Wilson would keep her safe. So would he— maybe. Definitely from the threat. From himself, though— well, three days is a long time to avoid sleeping. Even for him.

“Barnes!”

Damnit.

“Understood, sir.”

Wilson’s amused chuckles sound from beside him, his hand landing like a ton of bricks on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky contemplates the repercussions of punching the smug bastard in the middle of a briefing. It can’t be more than a pay dock. He isn’t making that much anyway, it wouldn’t be a huge loss. It would be worth it to wipe that grin off his face. But, no, he can’t. He’ll have to do it later.

“Someone’s on babysitting duty.” Wilson snickers, pressing his fist to his mouth to hide his goading from the commander. “Remember Barnes; no candy after seven.”

“Shut up, Wilson.” He grunts back, just barely stopping his metal arm from flying out and smacking him— from squashing him like the bug he is.

“Think she has a bedtime?”

“Think you could shut up?”

Wilson flexes his fingers, holding them up slightly. Just enough as to not get caught ignoring the briefing but also enough to make sure Bucky notices. “Woah—” he says under his breath, that stupid smirk still heavy in his tone— “someone’s touchy today.”

“It’s a bad decision and you know it.” He says it simply— gruffly— it is the truth after all. He’s dangerous.

Wilson’s face softens, the glee filtering from his tone. “You’ll be fine, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t answer, he just clenches his jaw. He doesn’t want to have another conversation about this. You’re a good person. You didn’t mean to do it. It’s not your fault. It might not be his fault but he still did it. He still feels it. That makes him bad— if not morally than at least physically. He’s a liability.

“Y/n Y/l/n—” Bucky focuses back on the commander; he may as well learn what he needs to do— “the twenty-five year old heir to the biggest communications technology manufacturing companies in the world. They do dealings with a range of chief institutions including our own White House—”

If Bucky’s teeth weren’t pressed together hard enough to make him wonder if they’re going to disintegrate, then his jaw would be on the floor right now. She’s the what? Did he just say twenty-five? He can’t even remember what he was doing at twenty-five— whatever he was doing it certainly wasn’t that. Granted, he probably doesn’t really want to remember what he was doing. Soldier things. Dangerous things. He shakes his head, huffing out a breath of air.

“Her immediate family have all turned up dead within the last six months—”

Bucky flinches— this time his jaw does drop.

“Holy shit.” Wilson mutters from next to him— Bucky can only nod. No more jokes about babysitting then.

Some pictures appear on the screen behind the commander, each one more gruesome than the last. It is nothing overtly sinister— nothing he hasn’t seen before— nothing worse than anything he’s seen before. Or worse than what he, himself, has done. He shivers, staring at the photos. Two men and a woman, each with a scarlet circle blown through their foreheads. What the fuck.

“Other executives have been found dead as well—” more pictures, more bullet holes— “She is the last one. We don’t know who or why— our mission is to find out, execute, and above all keep Miss Y/l/n alive—”

The pictures change, finally showing the woman who is to be in the soldier’s care, and his heart stops. Not for any normal reason, though— not because of how obscenely beautiful she is or because of the way her eyes pierce through the junky projector as though she were actually in the room with him. Not because of how soft she looks or how he can see the pink sheen of her lip gloss or the way those glossy lips are curved into an open mouth smile— like the picture had been taken mid laugh. No. His heart stops because of how god damn fragile she looks.

In the picture she seems to be at a University with some friends of hers. They’re backed against a brick facade, shoulder to shoulder like some sort of preppy mugshot. It’s probably supposed to be comical— Wilson lets out a hmph next to him, clearly seeing it as well— but Bucky can’t find it in himself to laugh. Not given the circumstances. Regardless though the picture gives him the information he needs to know; that she is a head shorter than the males in the picture. That seems normal— a head isn’t much in the scheme of things. The size difference is nothing.

Nothing unless, of course, you’re a giant super soldier whose genetically modified to be larger, stronger, and faster than the average man. Deadlier than the average man. He won’t be just a head taller than her— he’ll be at least two. Maybe more. And that’s just the height— he doesn’t even want to think about the rest. He is going to be stuck for three days, in what will most likely be a cramped safe house, with a girl who he could potentially break by bumping into her too hard. He can see it now: he takes the corner too fast and the next thing he knows she’s sprawled at his feet, her limbs bent at grotesque angles and her glossy lips flattened. All because he didn’t think to check.

This is going to be a long three days.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As it turns out, there are no safe houses— not legitimate ones at least. What there is, however, is the Wilson’s old family home in Delacroix, Louisiana— a semi falling apart, two-story build with robin's egg blue, fading paint. It is nestled deep into the bayou, hidden meticulously between towering trees. It is miles from any main roads and on the bank of a mostly dead river. Foot traffic is scarce and boats rarely pass on sunny days, let alone during the rainy season— the season it just so happens to be. Perfect.

Well, the location is perfect. The rest is a god damn shit show.

“You ready?” Sam doesn’t look at him— he knows better than that, opting instead to continue staring out at the bayou from behind the wheel.

Bucky, hunched over in the passenger seat, eyes also locked on the blue home, shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Sam sighs and Bucky tries not to tense at the sound. Please, not another lecture— not right now. He tries to ignore the man, gaze pouring over what he assumes is supposed to be a charming porch. Under a dim but sturdy awning there waits a white swing with a long bench seat and some floral pillows. Across from it are two rocking chairs swaying softly in the Louisiana breeze. One has a matching blanket draped over the back. It is supposed to look cozy— he knows it’s supposed to and he is sure to everyone but him that it is cozy. To him, though, it looks like everything he doesn’t have. Like warmth and sunny days and peace. Things he wants and things that make his skin crawl because of how foreign they are to him.

“You’re not going to hurt her.” Sam taps his hand on the wheel, sounding out a pattern that plays more like bullets ricocheting through the cab of the truck than whatever melody it actually is.

Bucky grinds his teeth together. Now he’s looking at the window beside the porch. Is it a kitchen? A mudroom? A den? He isn’t sure, there’s a white curtain pulled across the frame, blocking his vision from whatever waits for him on the inside. Blocking his vision from her. For a moment he thinks he sees the curtain move— a shadow of a hand passing along the edge. He turns away— he doesn’t want to scare her if she’s trying to size him up before they meet. It’s the least he can do. God only knows how terrified she already is.

His stare lands on Sam— an invitation for the soldier to finally look away from the bayou. “But I could, right? That’s what matters here— I could hurt her.”

“No, Buck, you couldn’t— you wouldn’t. You aren’t evil or whatever it is you think you are.” Sam raises a brow and Bucky scowls— it always feels like he’s in his head.

Of course he would never tell Sam Wilson that— like a dog left to fend for himself, he would rather fight.

“Don’t pretend like you have any idea what I think.” He can’t find it in himself to feel guilty for snapping— isn’t that what wild animals do?

Ever the patient animal rescuer, Sam rolls his eyes at the bite. “You’re a good man, Barnes.”

Bucky stares back for a minute, not sure how to even broach an answer, before breaking, snapping his gaze back to the inviting home— his kennel for the next three days. He clenches his jaw, trying not to slam his head against the dashboard for being an idiot. Even Bucky understands that it’s bad when he breaks the stare first— he’s been told before that he has a staring problem. He just doesn’t want to look Wilson in his eyes and explain to him exactly why he’s wrong. Maybe it’s just easier to let him think what he wants.

“Whatever.”

Maybe he wants just one person to truly believe that he isn’t the bad guy— even if he doesn’t believe it himself.

“I thought old people were supposed to be mature.”

Bucky flashes him a forced grin, one that tastes like the three hours of sleep he got last night and the five hours of self-loathing, shoving open his door and following it with his foot. “That’s me— the mature one.”

Sam barks out a laugh; either Bucky’s grimace— grin— worked or Sam is choosing to ignore it. “You’re old, not mature— there’s a difference, pal.”

“Hmph.” Bucky jumps out of the truck, yanking the duffle bag over his shoulder as his boots sink into the spongy grass.

His skin dampens immediately, a combination of the marshy climate and the grey clouds hanging above his head. A few droplets fall against his face and he slings a hand over his brows, turning towards his fate for the next three days. Without the barrier of the truck between him and the house, he almost feels like a normal man again. The weak, destructible kind. Theoretically, if the house were to fall on top of him right now he would survive. He would be pinned under the rubble, yes, but alive. It just doesn’t feel like it— it feels like he would be crushed. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end— his hackles rising as he tries not to bare his teeth— or fangs— at this new kind of threat. If only people could see him now; The White Wolf afraid of a charming, bayou home.

What a joke.

He shakes his head, pushing the passenger door shut with a sharp clang. Of course he isn’t afraid of a house— then he really would be an idiot. No, he is afraid of something else entirely— something much more sinister. Bucky is afraid of suburbia; of normalcy. What, with a metal arm and a brain hardwired to kill— it only makes sense he would also be programmed to steer clear of anything half-way decent. Especially pretty, fragile girls with glossy lips. Fuck. He squeezes his eyes closed, his vibranium fingers clenching around the strap of his bag. What is he even doing here?

A familiar, mechanical buzz fills the air and he cracks an eye back open in time to see Wilson leaning his head out of the passenger window. “Look, man— it’s three days. The fridge is full, the wifi is on, and it’ll rain so much she’ll probably nap the entire time. Pretend you’re at home doing whatever it is you would normally do. You’ll be fine.”

Bucky nods, sticking to his guns and letting the soldier believe what he wants. He tells himself again that it is because it is easier that way. “I gotta go, Wilson.”

With that he pushes his way to the door. His feet sink further into the grass with every step, curling around his ankles as though trying to warn him against entering the house— or trying to save the poor girl inside. He can’t decide. Warning or trap. Both. A warning for her— the princess; the little girl in the forest— and a trap for him— the rabid wolf. He steps onto the porch, his boots echoing off the concrete. To him it’s booming. He doesn’t want to think about what it must sound like to her, especially with everything the commander said she’s been through. A giant coming to kill her is his guess. Movement to the left catches his eye, the curtains shifting again, and his neck flushes.

“Hey Buck?”

He sighs— again— and turns over his shoulder for what he hopes is the last time— he just wants to get this over with. “What, Wilson?”

He knows before the man speaks that the cheshire grin on his face can mean nothing good— still he waits for the answer.

“Remember to tiptoe.”

[jgoose13]

Chenford + “If you think I don’t feel anything for you, then you’re terribly mistaken.”

Send me a ship + a sentence and I’ll write the next 5 [or more] sentences.

If you think I don’t feel anything for you, then you’re terribly mistaken.

Lucy blinks, shaken to her core.

They'd been arguing again. About something completely innocuous, and somehow it had morphed into a shouting match about the way Tim had looked at some woman at Pandora's, and the way that Lucy had batted her eyelashes at some guy at work.

What both failed to realize is that neither of those things had actually happened.

"What did you just say?" Lucy chokes out.

Tim grinds his teeth, causing the muscles of his jaw to tighten and release. "You heard what I said," he replies, his voice pitched low to something dangerous. Almost predatory.

Lucy's lips purse, and she's angry. She's so fucking angry, because she wants him too and he couldn't have just said something before now? Never mind that she could have said something. "What did you just fucking say?" She hisses.

And then she's pressed against the sturdy wood of Tim's office door, their lips mashed together in a punishing kiss that's more teeth than finesse, but Lucy moans because it's so good. Her hands grasp on to him, clawing at him, because she can't get close enough, never close enough. She fists her hands into his hair and yanks, pleased as punch at the deep groan that rumbles in his chest. They devour each other, hips slotting together, hands grasping at Hugo Boss and wrinkling the material, biting and tugging at lips. It's animal, it's desperate, and Lucy doesn't want it to stop.

But Tim freezes, as though he suddenly realized what was happening. He's back across the room, behind his desk, in a flash, swiping his fingers at his lips as if to either chase the taste of her or erase it.

Lucy is left reeling, relying on the door to keep her upright.

"Shit..." Tim hisses, raking his palm across his face.

Lucy's still trying to catch her breath, but she's angry all over again. "Why the hell did you stop?" She almost doesn't recognize her own voice. It's needy and thick with want.

"I had to," he says.

"Like hell," Lucy clenches.

"Lucy..." Tim says, a warning.

"You can't just say you feel something for me, kiss me like that, and then stop."

"I can... and I just did."

"Asshole."

"I had to stop myself, Lucy. Because if I didn't stop myself, I don't know what I would've done."

Lucy swallows, pressing her palms flat against the door behind her like it was a lifeline now. She clears her throat. "You know what you would've done..." She tries to speak confidently, but the words come out as more of a whisper, almost vulnerable. "Tell me."

Tim finally looks her in the eye, and Lucy whimpers because even from across the room his eyes are black, pupils dilated, damn near encompassing the blue she loved so much. "It's not for polite company."

She can't help the snort of laughter, looking around pointedly. It's late, they're the only ones still in the offices of Bradford Shipping, and she'd hardly say she's polite company. "Tell. Me," she repeats.

Lucy watches, mesmerized, as his throat bobs from his own nervous swallowing. She wants to press her lips to the fluttering pulse point there. He looks annoyed, but not at her, at himself. But why? Does he think himself weak for what he feels for her? She knows he keeps his heart close, but surely feeling something for her couldn't be... bad?

"I don't want to scare you." He says, voice husky and words strangled.

"I've seen and done a lot of things..." Lucy replies. "... and there's nothing you could do that would scare me. I know you'll never hurt me."

Tim looks stricken, like he can't believe she would place such trust in him.

"Please," she speaks again. "Tell me, Tim. I want to know... what would you have done to me?" Lucy holds her breath in anticipation, and is floored at the way he levels that intense gaze at her.

Tim doesn't immediately respond. He sighs, and leans over, bracing his palms on top of his desk. He takes a deep breath. "I would have kissed you until you couldn't breathe. I would have sunk my teeth into that spot on your neck I think about too much. I would have dropped to my knees and shoved up your skirt to see what color your panties are, because I'm a lech and can't help but always wonder if they'd be lacy or simple. I'd mouth at your pussy through the cloth until you're begging me for more, and I'd give it to you. Fuck, I'd give it to you, because there's nothing I wouldn't give you. I'd put your leg over my shoulder and I'd feast on you like you're my last meal. I'd make you come on my tongue so many times, it's a miracle you'd still be standing. And then, I'd lay you out on my desk and fuck you so hard there's a hitch in your step the next day. And every time, you'd think of me and the way I made your body come like no man has ever done before."

He pauses, and Lucy parts her lips to protest, but he continues. His gaze is glued to her, holding her against that door.

"I want to do every little depraved thing I can think of to that beautiful fucking body. But I... I want to cook for you, even though I can't cook anything worth a damn. I want to fall asleep with you in my arms and wake up to you in my bed with your hair on my pillow. I want to buy you anything you want. I want to make you so fucking happy so you'll never leave me. I want you next to me, helping me rule my fucking kingdom -- our fucking kingdom -- as equals."

Lucy locks her knees, because she could feel them buckling. Those panties he's so curious about are damp, and her pussy aches for him to make good on those promises. Or threats. She didn't care which they were. Her heart also aches for something else entirely. For soft mornings where she wakes up to his warmth. To lazy mornings where she cooks him breakfast, because it's about the only thing she can cook.

Tim waits.

He's holding his breath, giving her the out. Giving her plenty of opportunity to leave and forget this ever happened.

But like hell she'd ever forget the deep purr of his words as he told her how he wanted them to rule together over their kingdom.

Steeling her shoulders, Lucy pushes herself off the door. Surreptitiously, using the length of her skirt to her advantage, she reaches beneath the soft material to ruck down her panties. When she steps out of them, she holds out the plain, white cotton, the cloth dangling from her finger.

She smirks, feeling some kind of bravery she's never felt before. Like the kind you have as a death wish, goading the beast.

"Today, it's white cotton. Yesterday, I wasn't wearing any."

Tim chokes, and his fingers curl against his desk.

"Now... about those depraved things..."

[feelin-woozy]

Title: With Teeth Word Count: 1852 Pairing: Bo Sinclair / Reader Warnings: Gender-neutral reader

[ Ao3 Link | Previous ] 1997

The sound of some soft rock ballad fills the air around you, the bass gently thrumming through the marred wooden bartop. The waitress comes and sets the beer you ordered down in front of you. She doesn’t bother with a coaster, not when the bar is already littered with water rings. You express your thanks just loud enough to be heard over the music before you let your mind begin to wander once more.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Your ears instantly perk up at the sound of that voice. It’s a sound so familiar to you yet equally as foreign after years of not hearing it. It’s better than you remember; it fills you with the warmth of memories of your misspent youth. But guilt swiftly taints the softness shifting into something jagged and painful as it settles.

Turning your head, your eyes are met with a familiar face. He looks older but close enough to what you recall a seventeen year-old Bo Sinclair to look like. You catch the faint white lines of scars against his skin, and you wonder what he did to get those. You wonder if he let his brothers patch him back up. His eyes are that familiar crystalline blue, the anger is still there, but you can tell that he’s learned to hide it better. Even after all these years, you can see past his facade. He smells similar to how you remember, too, the stench of cigarettes heavy in his clothing, but there’s something new to his scent. You think it might be motor oil.

“Bo?” You say dumbly, staring at him with an almost starstruck expression. Your cheeks flush a soft pink when you realize that perhaps you had been staring at him for too long as you gathered your thoughts.

It wasn’t as if you hadn’t intended to return to Ambrose; you did, but every time you thought about it, something would come up. Your parents’ divorce had been the first reason that you hadn’t returned, though in hindsight, going then would’ve been perfect for escaping their drama. And then you got a promotion at work, and it was hard to find time off. Then there were the partners that came and went in your life. And as time ticked on, the idea of going back felt awkward; after all, by then, well over six years had passed.

Ambrose had become your own Garden of Eden, the whimsical youth that contorts your memories of the town, making it seem closer to paradise than the concrete jungle you found yourself in these days. It was a town you were tossed out of, albeit unwillingly, but it always felt that there was no going back. Ambrose had become nothing more than a footnote in your life.

You weren’t even sure if Ambrose was still there. Last you heard, the Sugarmill had shut down, and that was the only thing there that breathed life into the town. A part of you hoped it was lost to changing times, nothing but a ghost town filled with memories of better days and dark secrets. You hoped that Bo really did get out like he said he would.

“One an’ only.” Bo slots himself onto the stool next to you; the worn vinyl creaks beneath his weight. A hand curled around his glass of beer. It was already half empty. You wonder how you hadn’t noticed him when you had first entered the bar. “How ya been? It’s been what? Ten years?”

The way he says it makes the already sown guilt bloom into something plentiful. You can’t help but frown.

“Hey now,” Bo leans forward, lips twisting just slightly. The look he gives you sparks a familiar in the pit of your stomach, and you know he’s toying with you. He’s testing you and seeing how much you’ve changed. “I get it, shits different out here than back home. So tell me, how has it been?”

You eye him carefully for a moment before you let out a small huff of air and a bitter laugh. “Can I be honest with you, Bo? Shit fuckin’ sucks.”

He takes a slow drink from the glass, staring at you with a raised brow. “City life not all it’s cracked up to be?”

“It’s not, but I’m a contributing member to society now so I have that going for me. Guess you weren’t as bad as my mom thought you were.” You flash him a smirk, and he returns it with a slight curve at the corner of his lips. “Are you living in the city now too?”

“No. Vin, Lester an’ I are still in Ambrose.” He shrugs his shoulders before his eyes dart off to the clock on the far side of the wall before they meet yours again. “Was just about to start headin’ back home, then I heard your pretty little voice.”

“Really?” You kick yourself for the way your words drip with disappointment. It was at that moment you realized just how much you had missed Bo. The thought of leaving him once more made knots form in your stomach. You shift on the barstool, fingers drumming along the countertop before you swallow the lump in your throat and speak, “Shame. Think I could convince you to come back to my place tonight?”

“Mm.” Something flickers within Bo’s eyes at your words, and the curve of his lips transforms into something more wolfish. It’s a look that you know your mother would disapprove of. “You in the habit of pickin’ strangers up from bars often?”

“No, so consider yourself special.”

_____

It’s strange yet familiar having Bo Sinclair in your tiny little apartment. It reminds you of the times that he had snuck in through the window when you were teenagers. Where you would lay together on the small twin mattress, legs dangling off the side of the bed while listening to whatever music he decided to show you next.

With arms crossed over your chest, you watch as Bo’s eyes dart around your living room, his eyes moving over every last detail of your place. As if he was trying to relearn who you were through the possessions that you kept. You move past him and into your kitchen. You grab two glasses from the cabinet before setting them down next to the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the counter.

“So, what do you do, Bo? Last I heard Ambrose dried right up.” You ask, grabbing the liquor and pouring a moderate amount into each glass. His eyes turn to you, away from the collection of CDs that rest neatly on a shelf, and he smiles. A smile that leaves the hairs on the back of your neck to rise and gooseflesh to rise along your skin. It doesn’t help when he moves towards the edge of the counter opposite to you, reaching over and grabbing the glass. You watch the amber liquid squish as he brings it up to his lips.

“I kill people.” It’s said like a joke, but with the look in his eyes and that damn smile, you know that it’s far from it. It’s not a very funny joke either. You’re almost relieved to have the counter separating the two of you, but you know that if he were going to do something, that wouldn’t stop him.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” You ask, watching his adam’s apple bob as he drinks. You mirror the movement, taking a sip of your own and nearly draining the half-filled glass in one go. It burns on the way down.

“That scare you?” He asks with a quirked brow as he sets the glass down.

You think for a moment as you stare at him unblinking. You would be lying if you said it didn’t, but at the same time, there’s something about it that just makes sense. It’s like all the warning signs were there from the start, he had always been a recipe for disaster, and this was the outcome. Your mother warned you that there was something wicked about him. You finish the rest of your whiskey before slamming the glass down against the granite countertop. “No.”

“You’ve always been stupid, know that? Since we were fuckin’ kids. It should scare you.” He rests his palms on the counter, the top half of his body overtaking the counter and encroaching on your space. You fight the urge to recoil. You notice the way his eyes sparkle, that mean look that never scared you as a child, suddenly making your blood run cold. But you steel your nerves, and just like when you were a child, you decide to sink to his level and lean in with a mean look of your own.

Bo laughs, the sound rumbling somewhere deep within his chest and bouncing off walls that box you in. His eyes narrow, and his lips curl up in the faintest of snarls. “You’re fucked up, real fucked in the head.” He spits the words at you, the top of his lips baring his teeth as spittle flies, and you can’t help but smile at him. You know Bo’s goading you, trying to make you see him for the monster he thinks he is, for you to think twice and back down, so he has an excuse to bash your head in against the countertop.

Bo wants to watch you bleed as you slip up and cut yourself on his edges. He’s waiting for the moment he can remind you just how mean he can be.

“And you love it.” You’ve said a lot of stupid things over your life, but you think this might be your magnum opus. It makes Bo’s face falter, eyes widening just a bit as his jaw goes slack. The gears are turning in his head; you can see the way he tries to process what you’ve said.

Bo Sinclair has his edges sharpened through years of hurt and trauma. You can only imagine they’ve gotten more jagged since the time you’ve last seen him, especially if what he said was true. But even now, even after all these years, you still manage to shock him with your unconditional positive regard. Your willingness to hit a home run every time he throws a curveball at you.

You’re banking on the fact that you have history to keep you safe because if you were anyone else, if you hadn’t known each other since you were eating bugs or using sticks as swords or sharing a drunken kiss just to see what it was like, you would be bleeding out over the cold off white linoleum. In some fucked up way, you think that maybe, just maybe, the two of you were made for each other.

His mouth opens and closes like a fish as he stares at you. With each passing second, the smile on your face twists and contorts a little, and for the first time in nearly ten years, you feel closer to yourself than you have since you left Ambrose.

“Yeah, I do.”

[datawyrms]

Ectober Day 3: Mutant

heads up for some mild body horror today. And AO3 crosspostin!

Phantom was a constant, frustrating presence. Sam could feel the demon when it chose to lurk closer to her instead of keeping after Tucker, a low whining sound that settled at the back of her jaw and refused to leave. It made it hard to focus on schoolwork, let alone figuring out how to deal with the monster that literally stole half of her soul. She might have enjoyed strange tomes and tales of demons, but she never really thought they actually existed. Half remembered facts and possibilities could make things worse, and the awful hum had her doubting a large portion of what she remembered.

It might be less annoying if Tucker had to suffer this toothache in her brain too, but apparently he didn’t hear the creature that had wrapped itself around them- to them, really. Not unless it spoke. Well, it was more her fault than his. Maybe it was just punishing her for trying a silly prank on her friend that ended up being more real than it should have.

“Hey. You really don’t like that blonde guy in the jacket, huh.”

Great. Think of the devil and it pipes up. “I thought I told you not to talk to me”

“You might have. You don’t like em though, right? How he shoves the smaller kids around and no one cares. Or is it the girl you don’t like, since he’s showing off for her? While she doesn’t even tell him off for picking on weaklings?” The demon’s words invaded her skull, effectively drowning out anything her teacher was saying, barely able to keep a grip on her own train of thought.

Just ignore the thing talking right in your head. Was the class over yet? Tucker being around felt like it helped, a little. Distracted the presence that she couldn’t completely ignore. Her notebook remains completely blank, unable to even distractedly doodle in the margins with the combined forces of the headache and demonic chattering.

“I could give him that telling off, you know. Just a little thing. They’ll never know it was you. It wouldn’t even hurt him.”

The only upside was no matter how quietly she muttered, she had a feeling Phantom could hear just fine. “I’m not setting a demon on Dash. Just give up already.”

“So letting him keep hurting others is better? It could just be an illusion, a temporary little chastising! It’s what I’m good at.”

Sam did not appreciate the fact Phantom apparently was getting better at the whole goading thing, even if it had not even been a full day. She had seen how her and Tucker’s shadow would sometimes linger, but she hadn’t really considered why the demon had been doing that. To watch people? To learn about targets it wanted to attack? She might not be a huge fan of Paulina and her clique, but she didn’t want some monster devouring them. Or whatever Phantom wanted to do to them, it was frustratingly vague about what it even did. All she knew is it could look like a shadow, make things cold, and mimic a human before pulling out too long claws. She just needed time to actually look at the book they used, learn what a demon actually was, seeing as Phantom would keep existing no matter how much she used to believe they didn’t. Was messing with her head something it could do to other people too? Or was that just a special ‘gift’ for herself and Tucker?

“Or maybe you do like watching the others suffer, at least you aren’t the target anymore, right?”

Clutching at her hair did nothing but wrinkle her brow at the slight pain, the voice as loud and insidious as ever. “I don’t care, just be quiet.”

“I can do quiet.” It was snickering again as the pain in her jaw eased, her shadow looking less ominous when caught out of the corner of her eye.

Shit. A demon would be all over word semantics, wouldn’t it. Was that close enough to a ‘yes’ for it to go after Dash? Lousy cheating demon-cat-thing. She didn’t care that it looked strange to sprint out of class the moment the bell rang, she had to find Tucker and track down the demon before it did something.

Phantom moved quickly. Too quickly. Intentionally getting clear before she could call him off. Stupid of her to say anything, she warned Tucker and then just did it herself.

“Sam? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Tucker stopped looking at his PDA as his friend ran up, adjusting his glasses to look over her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Opposite problem, I don’t know where it’s gotten off to.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? He’s decided to just go back where he came from for a bit?”

“Not if I might have accidentally set it on Dash.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Still not seeing the problem here.”

“Tucker!”

“What? He’s a jerk! Phantom was entertained by erasers, I don’t think he’s gonna do much to Dash.”

“Or it’s just been playing you and might kill him? It’s a demon Tucker!”

“Still kinda think he’s a cat.”

The goth groaned, grabbing her friend by the wrist as she set off down the fall. “Well then we’re herding cats.”

“Okay, okay um. If he’s after Dash I think they have practice today” he struggled to navigate his PDA with only his thumb, eyes darting to the clock and back. “They’re probably on the field by now?”

Sam picked up speed, ignoring Tucker’s cry to slow down. He could have time to collapse after there wasn’t a demon problem.

The football team was scattered on the grassy field, loud discussions just a reminder of how much the sports teams could get away with thanks to earning awards for the school. She wouldn’t dream of going near such a cringe worthy testosterone zone, certainly not without gagging, but gleaming green eyes lurking under bleachers forced her to ignore her preferences.

“See. A cat.” Tucker commented with a wheeze, pointing out the same eyes Sam had noticed. “Just get him a box or something. Probably...behave…”

Maybe they’d been fast enough? Dash didn’t look too bothered, running down the pitch. The buzzing wasn’t back, and much as she hated it, the fact it wasn’t gave her the unpleasant suspicion the demon was still busy imposing on someone else. “Try calling it back or something if you think that’ll work.”

“Don’t have to bite my head off.” Tucker rolled his eyes, trying to edge closer without attracting too much attention, apparently more wary of jocks than actual hellspawn.

Then Dash failed a catch, earning jeers and other comments. Normal, everyday macho bull. The stumbling after a heavy shoulder check was not.

“Woah! I get you too hard there Dash?” Kwan had his head half down in apology, reaching out to steady their star quarterback.

“Just tripped over a stupid rock or something, forget it.” Dash seemed to shrug it off, unaware of how his shadow twisted, ankles at a horrid misshapen angle. He went down hard after taking a step, yelping from apparently nothing but his own careless step.

“He didn’t actually break his ankles, did he?” Tucker said with a dry swallow, caution thrown to the wind.

“He looks okay?” Not that it meant much. “Phantom’s just a shadow right now, isn’t he?”

“W-What’s going on?” Dash sounded wrong, sputtering and afraid instead of the cocky confidence he normally had.

Kwan was already bending down to help him out, but jerked back. “Dash, what happened to your hand?”

“I don’t know!”

He took another step back, half covering his face. “It looks contagious man- hey coach!”

Sam couldn’t blame him- Dash’s hand looked twisted and grey even from this distance, and it only seemed to get worse, more withered and ashen every time he moved, a foul pallor crawling up his skin in a grotesque creeping advance. He was just wasting away while his friends watched, as he teared up in panic but seemed unable to get back to his feet- not that he would be able to get away from his own body weakening and fading.

“Phantom, get over here and stop that, now.” The words felt heavy in her mouth, admitting that any of this was her fault triggered an awful pain in her heart. “Stop tormenting him.”

“Holy shit.” Tucker moved closer to Sam, looking away from the mess of terror unfolding. Not that it could keep the terrified cries from reaching his ears.

“He’s not even bone yet, such a baby.” His voice came from behind them, the teenager-looking monster taking half a step back as Sam tried to slug him. “Hey, I just did what you wanted!” His green eyes were almost as mocking as the hint of fangs showing in his grin. “Thanks for letting me have my own body though.”

“Nuh uh, Sam wouldn’t want you to kill someone! Not even Dash.” Tucker tried to come to her defense. “You did that on your own.”

“I didn’t kill him. It’s illusion. A fake. Just an hour feeling like his helpless victims.” Phantom snorted, pushing some of his white hair clear of his face. “It’s like that ‘karma’ stuff you guys like so much, but actually effective. Mutate his worldview a little.”

It took a moment to realize the demon was speaking out loud, and not in her head now that he was masquerading as an incredibly weird looking human again. “I don’t care, stop it now.”

“Okay, okay. You’re such a killjoy Sam.” He cracked his knuckles. “One boring big guy back to seeing reality. Happy?”

The panicked chatter had fewer screams, but still plenty of confusion. She only lingered a moment to make sure Dash wasn’t a mockery of a slowly decaying corpse before dragging Tucker and the monster away before there could be any new trouble.

[collecting-stories]

Invisible - Luke Patterson

Summary: You and Luke finally admit your feelings to each other.

A/N: My first time writing JATP...

Julie and the Phantoms Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

The piano was more of a prop at this point than anything, practically holding you up as you leaned against it, tapping at the same key over and over, the pout playing on your lips unmistakable. Mrs. Harrison had given out instructions at the beginning of the month that she wanted an original composition by each student in the class. It was a simple enough assignment and honestly, you’d been finished for weeks now but there was no way you get up in front of the class and perform the song you had written.  

When Flynn had badgered you last week you had sworn that you didn’t have a crush on Luke. He was just Julie’s bandmate and, of course, a ghost. “You always want what you can’t have, I was worried that included him.”

Luke, you were beyond positive, did not feel the same way about you. He was focused on the band and, possibly, figuring out what they needed to eventually crossover. Besides, you were pretty sure that he liked Julie. Their chemistry together on stage was undeniable and maybe it was just for show, but you doubted there was a chance with him at all. So, you lied and told Flynn that you didn’t like him but then every song you wrote lately was about him and you knew you could sing any of them in front of the class.  

“Hey!”  

“Crap!” You jumped, almost falling off the piano bench. You looked over to your bed where Luke was laying, sprawled across the comforter, smiling innocently at you. “You have got to stop doing that!”

Whatever had happened when the club stamps disappeared from their wrists, you couldn’t be entirely sure. All you knew was that you could actually hug them now, high five, fist bump, hold hands with. Alex had even attempted to give you a piggyback that had ended in a mess of limbs on the ground. But they were still ghosts. Cute, talented, way more attractive in a cut off shirt than he should be, ghosts.

“Sorry,” He sat up, swinging his legs around to hang off the side of the bed, “thought you were coming over to Julie’s?”

You cringed. You had promised to go to Julie’s to play them the song before Friday but you had chickened out. Maybe it wouldn’t be obvious to Luke or the guys but there was no tricking Julie or Flynn, they would know immediately that any song you sang was about Luke. You had essentially laid all your feelings out there for him and there was no way you could perform something so personal in front of him.  

“I was...I’m just still...ironing out some kinks.” You shrugged, running your fingers over the keys experimentally.  

You had spent plenty of late nights with Luke, in your room writing music, cataloging snippets of lyrics that you pretended weren’t about him but the truth was that he was all you could think about. The change they’d gone through after the Orpheum had only made it harder to deny how you felt.  

“I thought you were finished your song,” Luke said, coming around the piano. He reached for the sheet music on the stand but you grabbed it first, shoving it back into your bag.  

The look of hurt that flickered was quickly replaced by curiosity as Luke took a seat beside you on the bench. “It just needs some work.”

“What have ya got so far?” He asked, not letting up. Luke was nothing if not persistent, especially when he thought someone was holding out on telling him something and you definitely were. He leaned close to you, trying to goad you into showing him the sheet music.  

“Nothing worth showing off, which is why I didn’t go to Julie’s,” you admitted, “I’m supposed to have a song by tomorrow and so far...I’ve got nothing.” Not entirely true but you couldn’t tell him the real reason you were avoiding Julie’s house.  

Before Luke could answer you, your mom called up the stairs for dinner. It was a welcomed distraction, an excuse to leave the room and hopefully the conversation behind. Maybe you could write a song about your mom’s lasagna or going to the mall with friends once you were done dinner. Something superficial and dumb. You left Luke in your room and headed downstairs to eat.  

That, of course, was your first mistake. Trusting Luke not to snoop was always a risk, he was a naturally inquisitive person, to put it nicely. The moment you left your room he was pulling your sheet music and your notebook out to see if the song you had written was as bad as you claimed it was. He skimmed the first two lines, smiling when he recognized the hook that he’d helped you with three nights ago when you couldn’t sleep and he was annoyed with Alex and Reggie.  

He hummed along to the chords as he read the lyrics, not even realizing, as he went, that he was frowning. This song that you said wasn’t very good was fantastic but that’s not why he was upset. Whoever you had written about, it was obvious that you liked them, a lot. Thinking that he’d helped you write a love song for someone else stung more than he thought it would. He knew what Alex would say, that if anyone shouldn’t get together it was a ghost and a lifer but he couldn’t help the crush he had on you.  

“Hey!” It was your turn to spook him, Luke’s head snapping up to look at you, eyes wide for a second before he grinned sheepishly.

“Sorry, just thought maybe a second set of eyes might help.”

“Luke,” you sighed, incapable of actually being upset with him, “I told you it wasn’t done.”

“It definitely is. It’s great, honestly.” He replied. He might not love that you were writing some guy a love song but he wasn’t gonna lie about your talent.

“Oh, uh, thanks.” You replied, standing on the other side of the piano, taking the first few pages to look them over.

“So, who’s the guy?” He asked. Luke’s inquisitiveness got the best of him every time...he couldn’t help wondering who had stolen your attention so much that you wrote about them.

“What?” You asked, looking up at him as if you were surprised by the question. You weren’t, you didn’t want him seeing the song because you knew that he would ask about the subject and you couldn’t lie to Luke. You wished you could, it would make things a whole lot easier if you could pretend like the song was about some guy from school but you hadn’t really ever liked anyone the way you liked Luke.  

“The song...come on, who did you write it about?” He asked.

“No one,” you replied too quickly, “just, you know...a song. About, just like...made up stuff.”  

“Made up stuff? I know you...I know that’s real emotion on the page and not some ‘made up stuff’. So...who?” He pushed.

“Like I said, no one.”  

Luke nodded slowly, appraising the few pages that he still had in his hands, “okay, okay...I don’t believe you.”

“Well, you don’t have to but it’s true.”  

“This is way too-”

“Luke!” You stressed, “just drop it.”

“Why?”  

You groaned, sitting down on your bed and flopping onto you back, now he was going to antagonize you about why you didn’t want him to know who the person you liked was. And if he knew that, if he knew anything, you were positive that he would put two and two together and figure out that it was him. Luke called your name and you groaned again.

“Look I wrote the song about a guy that I really, really like who totally doesn’t even like me and like, I might as well be a ghost like you guys because I’m totally invisible to him and it’s so frustrating because...ugh.” You covered your face with your hands, mumbling through them, “I want him to like me but it’s never gonna happen.”  

“Maybe just, tell this guy you like him...show him this song or something?” Luke suggested, every word feeling heavy on his tongue. The last thing he wanted to tell you was to go ahead and pursue this guy. “I mean, you’re you, who wouldn’t notice you or like you?” He certainly had and did.

“No way Luke,” you huffed, “that is like the last thing I wanna do...I do not need rejection right now.”  

“Come on,” Luke got up from the piano and came over to sit with you on the bed. He grabbed your arms, pulling you to sit up with him. “No one in their right mind is gonna reject you.”  

“I appreciate the confidence.”

“Doesn’t sound like it,” he laughed, prodding your sides with his fingers in an effort to make you laugh.  

“Stop!” You pushed his hands away but he was already smiling.  

“Look, I’ll even help you,” he offered, “tell me who you like and I’ll help you, ya know, tell ‘em.”

“How will you help me tell them?” You asked, skeptically.

“I’ll help you with the song.”  

You bit your bottom lip, thinking over what he had said about you telling your crush and what he said about helping you. “Okay, will you play the guitar part for it? I think the piano is nice but I kinda wanna hear it with the guitar.”  

“Yeah, totally.” He nodded, gulping down the feeling of dread that settled over him. He could just see it, this song going well and you landing this guy you were clearly crazy about. All those sappy lyrics you wrote about love and longing were all for someone else.  

He grabbed the guitar from its stand as you made room on the bed for him to actually play. You listened to him play the opening chords, missing your que the first time and then stopping him before he could get to it the second time. You reached out and grabbed his hand.  

“What’s up?” He asked, thinking he had played something wrong.  

You knew this was a massive risk, one you could potentially regret forever. One you were certain you would regret forever. But you took the chance anyway. “I just, I have to be honest with you about the song...” you trailed off.

“What about it?”

“The guy I wrote it for...it was you.”  

Time felt frozen for a moment as Luke sat there, taking in this new piece of information. “Me?” He finally said.  

“Yeah...I really like you. I know it’s super crazy cause, ya know...but I can’t help it.” You explained. “So?”

A smile crossed Luke’s face, “how could you ever think that I wouldn’t like you back?” He asked, “I’m crazy about you.”

“Seriously?” You knew you must’ve looked completely shell-shocked but you couldn’t help it. You had written off your crush as one side for a while now and hearing him tell you that it wasn’t felt infinitely better than you could describe.  

“Yeah, of course.” He nodded. He pushed the guitar away so that he could scoot closer to you, his hand reaching up to lay on your cheek, pulling you into a kiss. You couldn’t even begin to describe what it felt like, oddly warm, completely perfect, as if the two of you were meant to fit together like this. Luke pulled away first, eyes meeting yours as he licked his lips. “God, this feels so surreal.”

“Well, you are a ghost.” You joked, stealing another quick kiss.

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicMas Day 11: AU Shadow to Light

Tonight's offering is an AU to STL that I've been playing with - if Mary-Alice had fled the army when she was assaulted, rather than stayed. This will absolutely be a one-shot piece, just an exploration of exactly how close Mary-Alice was that day to a very different future.

I hope everyone is staying safe these holidays - it looks like my sister won't be home for Christmas because she's come in contact with COVID which is really scary. Be smart, get vaccinated, and wear a mask <3

tw: rape/assault mentioned, not graphically.

There’s a girl in the tree outside the kitchen window.

Esme notices her early in the day, when the dew is still sitting on the lawn. She’s small and pale and ragged, and she’s half-lying over a branch, her chin on her hands as she watches the Cullen house. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. Just watches.

It might be one of Carlisle’s friends, but the boys have all gone hunting and she cannot ask. They won’t be back for four days - another bonding trip; Jasper has been doing so well with the family, but they are all careful to reinforce the familial bond, to remind them all of the affection, respect, and enjoyment they get from being apart of a family. It sounds mercenary, calculated, but it works for them. The same way she and Rosalie prize their time together.

Esme thinks about calling Rose but she doesn’t. Instead, she goes outside, smiling as she walks towards the little mite in the tree. She’s not a newborn - her eyes are black, and she’s so still. Her eyes meet Esme’s, and the woman thinks of animals. Animals dying slowly, in pain, hoping for some kind of divine intervention.

“Hello,” Esme smiles up at her, seven feet in the air. “I’m Esme Cullen.”

There is no response. The girl jerks backwards to flatten herself against the trunk, her limbs pulled tight against herself. And without breaking Esme’s gaze, she ascends higher up into the branches. Putting more distance between herself and Esme.

“I’m not going to hurt you?” Esme offers, suddenly concerned. Perhaps she’s not a friend of Carlisle’s, but some nomadic little waif, seeking out her own kind but too fearful to engage them.

The girl turns her head away to the house, and no matter what Esme says to her, does not say a word.

She stays in the tree.

—

It is only a month or two after their arrival, Maria begins to rebuild the army. She is cautious in her selection of soldiers. The first few are harmless – Reina is the vainest creature on the planet, and Felipe is strong but as dumb as a brick. They are both obedient, respectful, and learn their roles quickly.

It is Derrick she does not like. He looks innocuous, baby-faced, but there’s something foul about him. His sly smirks and calculating gazes do not put anyone else on edge, but she stays away as best she can. The newborns are kept in the cellar, but she is finally granted a reprieve from the ‘barracks’, and shares a tiny room with Ariana in the farmhouse proper.

For a little while, she thinks that is enough to protect her from a nebulous threat she doesn’t entirely comprehend.

He finally corners her in the barn, after training. It happens so quickly, and he is so strong, then he has her pinned, his arm around her throat. She cannot move, and she isn’t stupid – so much as a murmur, and he will take her head clean off.

There is nothing she can do.

The things he whispers in her ear are vile, but she is silent, trying to still her unnecessary breathing.

Fear creates predatory behaviour. The Major taught her that.

But it doesn’t help her now; it doesn’t stop him in his assault, his arm still tight and unrelenting. He goads her, clearly eager for her to provoke him into beheading her.

This is not how she dies.

She is rage wrapped in ice and stone. Instead of crawling into a corner of her mind, she tries to drag a vision upon herself so she can figure out what she does next.

But she doesn’t know, so she cannot make that choice, and when he finally releases her, she runs. She runs and runs, until she can see the ocean and there is sand underneath her bare feet. It is there that her rage burns out, and she just feels hollowed out and dirty.

She can still smell that bastard on her. That is easily fixed; the heavy, salt water of the Gulf of Mexico wash away his scent, and leaves her hair gritty and her dress stiff. But the feeling of him pressed up against her, of his arm around her throat, the scent of his hot breath, his mocking words…

She wants to be sick. She wants to vomit up her last meal into the sand. She wants to rip and tear and destroy. She wants to scream and cry, cry real human tears. And she knows if she goes back to the house, goes back and tells Maria what Derrick did to her, she probably wouldn’t care. It’s the flip of a coin whether Maria would raise her eyebrow as if she was whining about the weather, or if she’d destroy Derrick. And even then, it would be more about putting Derrick in his rightful place than what he’d done to her.

If she wanted something done about him, wanted him destroyed, she’d have to do it herself. That’s the truth.

No one has ever protected her for her sake. No one has ever comforted her, ever defended her, ever protected her. In battle, she was the shield that protected the Major and Peter and Maria and Charlotte… She’s always been the one on the frontline, the one that is expendable.

And she’s so very, very tired. She wants…

She wants…

She wants the Major.

She wants the Major who once beheaded a newborn for arguing with her on matters of battle strategy. Who brought her back a dress from a hunt in town one night, because they hadn’t found anything to fit her half-decently in months. She wants the Major, who always made sure there was paper for her to fold, waiting for her on the window ledge.

She wants the Major. He’d tear Derrick apart, slowly and painfully and not just because Mary-Alice was the Major’s property. It would be a lie not to acknowledge it. But because she was distressed. Because she wanted to feel safe. He’d let her light up the body as well, fold her against him and stroke her hair.

Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

Except… it doesn’t have to be.

She’s already wading out to the water before she can wrap her head around what she’s doing. There’s nothing she’s really leaving behind - the Major’s dog-tags are safe around her neck, the only thing in her quarters are a ragged dress, a book she cannot read, and dozens of folded animals and flowers. Nothing worth staying for.

Swimming isn’t something she’s ever done before, but she’s going to try. She’s going to try her goddamn hardest and maybe by the time she’s finished, the only thing she’ll smell on herself is sand and salt and sea.

—

Rosalie is less worried about the girl, and more irritated. “She needs to leave,” Rose says between gritted teeth as she paces in front of the window. “What does she want?”

“I don’t know,” Esme sighs. It’s been a debate since she told Rosalie about her. “She hasn’t tried to hunt, and she looks thirsty. She won’t speak to me… she looks so sad, Rosalie. I just want to help.”

“If she wants help, she has to ask for it,” Rosalie snapped and turned on her heal to march out the back door.

The girl looks at her curiously, but does not leave her perch.

“What do you want?” Rosalie half-yells, and the girl says nothing.

“If you aren’t going to talk to us like a human, you need to leave!” Rosalie insists. “We don’t want you here!”

The girl shrinks into herself, somehow getting smaller, her chin resting on her knees. But she doesn’t budge.

“Rosalie,” Esme sighs but Rosalie already regrets her words, at the way the stranger seemed to shrink away.

//

It’s not an easy escape.

But it was never destined to be.

She is awkward in the water, but fast, keeping as deep as she can because she’s scared she will be caught out by someone. Not just Maria, but Valeria’s people or Emile’s. The fear is like a live-wire in her head, on her skin. It’s all she’s known for days.

The visions hit her lazily. Maria had assumed that Derrick had destroyed her after his assault, and he had been executed without ceremony - he was too dangerous to keep, in a myriad of ways. She was assumed to be dead, but despite two nights of searches, no one had found evidence of a pyre.

That should be a comfort.

Emile is prowling further up the coastline and that is powerfully inconvenient - she wanted to leave the water as close to Alabama as possible. Instead, she’ll go as far as Florida - no matter how good and terrible and vicious Emile is, even if he ever managed to claim Georgia, Florida is a land unto itself.

If Florida ever falls, the South is lost.

Valeria is still hovering around California and that’s good, even if Valeria puts Mary-Alice’s teeth on edge; the woman makes her feel like a trigger about to be pulled. And she hates that. She hates things she can not tease apart and understand - that’s the only reason she got that far in this life, after all.

She swims with panicked urgency, as if she can outrun all the horrors she has left behind. And maybe being so deep in the water, having the grim and blood washed off her, should feel like some kind of baptism. But instead, it feels heavy, it feels dangerous, it feels like something she wants to be rid of immediately.

But the feeling doesn’t ebb when she finally makes it to Florida in the dead of night. She’s shaking for some reason, and her hair and dress feel horrible against her skin and she doesn’t feel better at all. She still feels like a rabbit in the underbrush, trying to dark and scurry to safety.

But her safety is not easy coming. Is anywhere safe?

What will the Major say or do when he sees her?

What if… what if he tells her she’s being silly? A bad soldier. That she was wrong to leave Maria over something so petty. She could have destroyed the newborn herself.

She can’t stop shaking.

It takes another day to get a clear vision of the Major, she’s too jumbled up to focus enough. She’s tucked herself up on the underside of a bridge, her knees tight to her chest as she waits and she finds herself rocking. There is no calm to be found, not in a million different stimulants, in the scent of people and the sounds and the pounding fear in her head. She’s thirsty again but she doesn’t want to hunt. Doesn’t want to leave her ledge. Just wants someone to turn the word right-side-up again.

After hours of waiting, she finally has her vision. He’s in Wisconsin. With the Cullens. In a house with a blue door, surrounded by trees. He’s laughing in the vision, with the Cullen men. He’s clean and he’s more relaxed than she’s ever seen him.

Wisconsin. It’s further than she’s ever run in her whole life, and she’s not entirely sure how to get there, but she’ll figure it out.

She leaves Florida as soon as it gets dark.

—

[justasimptm]

The Bride C9

The next week goes by in a flurry, from random house calls from Mother Miranda, my sisters goading over me, and my mother watching every single one of my movements I hardly have a second to breathe. I managed to get one of the maids to help me repair my corsets, knowing full well that if my mother found out that I had done that she would not have been pleased. The whole time we’re sewing I can feel her stare at me, tense. The scars on her arms and face tells me exactly why she’s so nervous. Any one who’s had the pleasure of being alone with my sisters knows exactly why. They definitely set the precedent for crazy in my family, and I unfortunately do get looped in with them.

With my mother watching my every breath I find myself taking to her favorites as a way to appease her. Her favorite clothing, hair styles, her favorite ways to torture, to eat, anything I possibly can to convey that I’m not a threat. She grows further from me, despite my efforts, and my sisters move in closer. They’re in her company more often than not, whispering to her, watching me with dark looks in their eyes. I actually find myself around the maids more often. Like they knew something was happening and that they could get away from my sisters if they were near me. Their company is quiet, they work like ants, bustling in and out and around so softly if you weren’t looking you wouldn’t notice they were there at all. I get so used to them, that when they stop coming I noticeably feel a difference. The change is so swift it catches me off guard.

I can’t help but feel the stab of rejection when they start darting from the room when I enter it. It’s not entirely unfounded, afterall I know they whisper about what happens to them when we bring them to the basement. It doesn’t take long for me to realize why, after catching a glimpse of Cassandra standing over one of the girls dauntingly. I faintly hear her threatening the girl that if she doesn’t stop ‘bothering’ me, that I’ll do to her what they did to her sister. She makes it sound like friendly advice while also implying I’ll hurt her.

What’s even funnier to me is that I recognize the girl. Her name is Claire, her older sister, Janette worked for us for a few months before she started here, and Cassandra was the one who killed the poor thing. She had essentially made ribbons out of her skin. All the girl had done was open a window, which seemed harmless enough especially considering she didn’t know any better, but my sisters were furious, as was Mother. The girl didn’t make it past lights out, my sisters had dragged her from her room, silently weeping as she followed them down the stairs to the fate she knew was waiting for her. I’m convinced I could hear her screams from my room.

When I asked Cassandra why she had done it she simply smiled at me innocently and shrugged her shoulders, before stepping back and walking out of my sight. Small things like this happen for the next couple of days, I catch them saying something and then they laugh and walk off like it was nothing. I know we never really got along but honestly, this is a whole different level of obnoxious I wasn’t ready to deal with yet, but I do. Meeting each of their smirks with a snarl, each airy laugh with a growl. If they want to play that game, so be it. I was the first daughter and I will be damned if I let them run me out of my home.

My brilliant revenge plan consists of opening the windows of their favorite rooms, telling the maids if they shut it I would make their life hell. Being turned into the scary one had its perks, and so as I would listen to the enraged yells of my siblings I would smile, knowing it would take them ages to get someone to close the windows. Mother never stepped in, mostly resigned herself to watching us, and doing special tasks for Miranda.

I don’t see or hear from Heisenberg until Mother Miranda invites my mother and I to Donna’s house for the next meeting. My mother, of course, was disgusted by the idea of going there, but she was never one to deny Miranda, so she had a few of the maids hitch up our carriage for her to ride in, she was never one to walk, but allowed me to take my own horse and ride alongside. It was so refreshing to be back outside, especially riding. For ages I was too sick, and then she didn’t want me going out in case something might happen. After our transformations she became more paranoid than before, and that’s saying something.

The ride up to her home wasn’t very long, but it was still nice. Donna was welcoming as always, even though her doll was...odd. I could tell mother wasn’t thrilled to be there by the way she scrunched up her nose as she skimmed the room. Moreau had occupied himself in the corner, muttering to himself about something while occasionally glancing up at mother and I. Donna was skittering around, clearly not used to company as her passages kept making her other creations jolt slightly. Heisenberg was sprawled on her stairs, back leant against a post, one leg bent up on the landing he was sitting on, another a few steps down, looking comfortable as all hell. He made a clear effort in avoiding looking at me, issuing a wave at my mother when she cleared her throat impatiently. I try not to take the change personally, knowing I should be relieved, after all with his attention fixed elsewhere, it’s one less thing my mother will be looking for.

Mother Miranda arrives not too long later, and the meeting concludes nearly as soon as it begins. She only called us together to let us know of an incident she felt through the Metamycite that included a clone of her daughter. Simply warning us to be prepared because apparently someone was strong enough to defeat another family like ours, and deal with the clone. The news of this made my mother visibly tense, everyone seemed uncertain of how to process that. I could tell just by the look on Miranda’s face she’s already planning something, and judging by how vague she is I sincerely doubt I’ll like it.

Mother is relieved when the meeting concludes, all but pushing me out the door. I can tell she doesn’t want me to ride back, that she’d prefer I sit in the carriage with her, but there’s nobody else with us to bring my horse back. We make it back faster than we got there, the gates hardly closing behind us before she orders me off and back inside. The second her feet cross the threshold she’s bellowing for my sisters who rush into the foyer, never ones to keep her waiting.

She tells them there’s a threat and they need to start behaving better, training more. The urgency in her voice, the clear distress, is new to me, she typically sounds so put together. Not even in our other life did I ever hear her speak like this. She dismisses them moments later before whirling at me, her hands shaking. She makes me promise not to go outside without telling her, makes me swear if something happens to leave and get away. Her concern is touching, reminding me of when I was young and started showing symptoms. I very distinctly remember the first time I coughed up specks of blood into my handkerchief, the look of despair on her face as she dabbed the corner of my mouth.

I was 12 at the time. My life was ending and it had hardly begun. I can see in her eyes she thinks of this in the same way she thought of that, this time however, she thinks I can survive it.

@foggyturtleknightangel @beingviolentlyhappy

[missyasf]

Game Of Hearts

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↳ Summary: Your life is in monotonous tones of grey, day in, day out. Nothing matters besides your sister, the only thing you remember is seeing fireworks before waking up to Tokyo abandoned . Soon enough you are properly introduced to the deadly Borderlands where you must fight for your life in Games to survive. When things can’t possibly get worse soon division arises and rivalries are made. No matter what though, you are constantly plagued by a blonde who, no matter how hard you try, just can’t seem to go too far without.

↳ Pairing: Chishiya/Reader

↳ Genre: Angst, smut, thriller

Word Count: 9.5k

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Trigger Warning: ⚠️ much like the manga/Netflix adaptation this will be a dark fic which includes mentions of prostitution, attempted murder, child ab*se, sexual harassment, heavy grief and attempted suic*de among other things. Additional warnings will be added for chapters when triggers are brought up. Please read with caution if these are triggers for you or just skip all together! 

3rd Day Sojourn 

“Looks like we got a smartass here don’t we?” 

You felt torn on whether to intervene or not. Chishiya, was by no means a hero or a prince charming. You didn’t need to know him to know he was going to be the last person to save you out of good will. Not like you needed saving regardless but you couldn’t help but wonder what his motive was. 

Chishiya still had that cold smirk on his face, as if extremely amused at the furious Niragi you had held him up by the jacket, even face to face he not once had a change in expression, as if he just genuinely didn’t care about whatever Niragi felt. 

“Probably because I am smarter than you.” Chishiya lifted his chin a little a devious icy smile on his lips like he was getting a rise out of the way Niragi simmered and growled at him, his hands tightening around his jacket and you were briefly worried if Chishiya didn’t shut up that he was going to be beat into a pulp. No matter how smart he was, he couldn’t outwit his way from getting throat punched. Although...you wouldn’t deny a secret part of you would find that mildly funny. You also wanted to throat punch him on certain occasions. 

“I believe that’s enough Niragi.” Everyone paused at the sight of someone new arriving, Ryu had gotten out of the pool to stand next to you and Hiroko as he whispered, “That’s number three, Kuzuryuu. He often keeps everyone in their place when Hatter isn’t around.” 

Niragi stuck his tongue as he began to cackle, letting go of Chishiya. Breathing in relief you relaxed a little as everyone did the same. Just within a split second though you could hardly comprehend the sight of Niragi immediately decking Chishiya right across the jaw who was knocked off balance. People were already intervening as you stood there gaping. You didn’t think Niragi would actually punch him. 

You had thought Chishiya’s expression would’ve changed but much to your disbelief it was as if he was even more settled into his resolve, grabbing his jaw as a viscous smile appeared on his lips, spitting out blood as he goaded, “So you agree then? Anyone with half a brain would be able to reply instead of resort to violence.” 

Did this man really wanna die on his first day in the Beach? 

Niragi was pulled away and back to his group with steam practically pouring out of his ears, attempting to get back to Chishiya before he was yanked back by perhaps the most physically intimidating man you had ever seen, “That’s number 2, Agni, the leader of the militant sect.” Hiroko clarified to you but it fell on deaf ears as you hurried over to Chishiya, now feeling immensely bad that regardless of his intentions he was hurt for what? Gloating? Was his ego truly that big, “God are you insane!?” You cried out in a whisper kneeling down, your maternal instincts on overdrive as you grabbed his face immediately checking for any bruising. 

Chishiya almost like a cat that didn’t want to be touched pulled away from your grip unappreciative, “I don’t like annoying or stupid people.” He replied immediately, his eyes leering ungratefully, “And he was ruining a perfectly good day for me. If you think I’d care for someone like you then you’re more delusional then you look. Besides it’s just blood, it’ll go stop.” 

Ouch.

You rolled your eyes at him deciding to not take his words to heart though a tiny part of you wondered if he only said that due to the conversation you both had last night. Or maybe he just really didn’t care. Regardless it didn’t matter, “He had a fucking rifle!” You whispered angrily, “I get it, we aren’t best friends but I don’t wanna see you get shot you asshole.” 

“We aren’t friends at all,” Chishiya replied coolly, his eyes analytical and calculating, his gaze like ice that glared you down as if you were his new target for a reason unknown, “We aren’t even acquaintances. We’re just strangers and I’d prefer to keep it that way. I don’t need your concern or care, so stay out of my way.” 

You felt thoroughly indignant at his words as you clenched your jaw, “You know what? I doubt you’ve ever had anyone care for you and I can see why. I hope he hits you harder next time you jerk.” This man drove you utterly insane! And you couldn’t even understand why. Chishiya was so cold and for no reason…! 

Walking back to your pool chair you snatched your shorts, “Y/n…! Y/n! Are you okay!?” Nanami hurried to your side, you had forgotten all about your sister being in full range of the horror show she had just finished watching between you and Niragi. Probably too scared to try and intervene and you didn’t blame her. Had it been anyone else besides your sister in your shoes you would’ve kept to yourself as well. 

“I’m fine, I’d say you should check on Chishiya but apparently he doesn’t need anybody!” You flailed your arms before plopping down on the seat still mad, “What a…! A…! Pathetic, bitter way to live! He’s so conceited!” You curled your fists as you pulled your shorts up before buttoning them as you grabbed your sheer cover up jacket. 

Nanami frowned as she grabbed her hands, “Well…” You whipped around in anger, silently staring at her, just daring her to try and come up with some excuse for this guy. Nanami, was a soft hearted person, she never wanted to judge a book by it’s cover and always gave the benefit of the doubt. You admired that about her, but you sometimes wished she was a bit more….realistic with people, “I’m sure he’ll come around.” She decided to not pursue her original words as she offered a weak smile. 

“You can deal with that if you want, but I’m done with him. Anytime I try to be relatively nice, I just get spit in the face.” Huffing you crossed your arms, “I’m going on a walk.” And true to your words you did, you needed to be by yourself for a while to clear your head after what had all transpired just minutes ago. 

“Originally I helped run a ranch but I wanted to see all the sights so I moved out of my pops and came here to the city!” The music was loud in here and so many people were dancing, makeshift stripper poles had been made and honestly. You understood the Beach was supposed to be an escape, but that didn’t make it a bit of a pathetic sight to see people attempting to swing around and accidentally break it. Multiple times. 

You were currently sat at the table with Akari, Hiroko and Ryu everyone having a fairly good time and the longer you talked to Hiroko the less intimidating she became, “I don’t really remember much to be honest,” Akari scratched her head as she hummed, “Just that after I finished putting groceries up I saw fireworks out of my window.”

You straightened up in curiosity, you had seen the same thing! “Yeah we all did,” You slumped at Ryu’s words as he frowned, “Nobody can remember anything after seeing them except waking up here in the Borderlands.”

“What were you guys before this…?” You asked, not wanting to linger for long on just where you were, in a city that was a replica of Tokyo with only a handful of what? A hundred people, maybe a little more? You didn’t have the mindset right now to even try and grasp what was going on or what had happened. 

“I was a lawyer,” Hiroko answered first, her expression clearly proud and you’d imagine why, this meant she was older than you! “I did quite a bit of traveling around and dabbled in attorney work for awhile...That’s what my dad wanted me to go in as,” She rolled her eyes, “But I found I’m better at building a case.” 

Somehow...you weren’t surprised, you smiled regardless wrapping your arms around yourself, the more you talked to them the more comfortable you began to feel, “One morning I was late to getting to the courthouse and this idiot ended up spilling coffee on me,” Hiroko’s words may have been harsh but she looked Ryu with the softest expression you had ever seen her wear.

Obvious fondness in her eyes, “It was by chance he did that I like to think it was by fate I ended up meeting him again except he was behind the counter at the coffeeshop I always went too.” 

Ryu’s cheeks dusted pink as he gave an awkward smile, “I worked evening shifts but got switched over to mornings, best decision I ever made! I’m currently in my last year of college for being an art curator!” 

“A cure what now?” Akari cocked her head to the side and for some reason the three of you busted out laughing at her as she parted her lips, “Hey don’t laugh! I’m being serious! Is that some kind of professional coffee maker?” 

You closed your eyes giggling as you shook your head, “What about you Y/n? What were you before all of this?” You paused for a second at Hiroko’s question as the table quieted down, suddenly your memory swiped back to the night of the fireworks. What happened at work, how you were supposed to go to class the next day. How your night ended early.

“Ah…” You rubbed the back of your neck as you sheepishly smiled, unsure of where to even begin. It wasn’t that...you were ashamed of your work you just- felt often misunderstood by people. Anytime you said you were a sex worker you either recieved wild looks and suddenly you were treated lowly or people- men in particular would begin to send you uncomfortable innuendo’s. 

 “Ah…! Y/n!” You straightened up at the muffled screech that sounded like your sister as your eyes shot around the room only to find Nanami fumbling towards you with a whine, suddenly hiding behind you as you frowned standing up, “Good! Good! I’m glad you’re here!” She chuckled nervously as your expression contorted. 

“Where is that bitch!?” 

Oh...why did this seem vaguely familiar, “What did you do?” You hissed as you turned to Nanami as she rubbed her neck sheepishly only for you to whirl back around again at the sight of a raging woman, the most notable feature her breasts nearly spilling from her loose bikini top as she pointed an accusing finger at your sister, “Why don’t you stop being a slut trying to get with MY boyfriend and take it up with me!” 

“Nanami!” You hissed as she cowered behind you, her lips tugging into a pout as she poked both her pointer fingers together with a frown. You had an obligation as a big sister to at least try to defend her before feeding her to the wolves, “Maybe you should give that energy to your boyfriend...Wasn’t he the one supposed to stay loyal?” You raised your brows as you spoke. 

You shrieked as you ducked down, a beer bottle flying above you as the girl raged on. 

“That’s Kokona, resident miss possessive.” Hiroko leaned back in her seat as she sipped her drink, obviously this wasn’t too odd of a sight as she shrugged, “You might wanna run.” 

You brows raised at her words only to see Kokona gathering three other men around as Hiroko snorted, “She’s got a whole pack of guys willing to do her bidding.” 

“Y/n…!” Nanami whined, grabbing your arm as you watched the three men approach, you looked between Nanami and them as your lips parted in a half sincere apology. 

“...Sorry Nami that's what happens when you try to sleep with someone's boyfriend!” You shoved past her as you heard her yelling at you as she split off on the other side of the room. People did nothing to effort to try and move out of your way as you shoved between them, ducking down as weaved through the crowd in hopes of attempting to lose them, you really didn’t want this to become a reputation for you and your sister. 

Diving into a booth seat you felt the stares of two men as you offered an awkward smile, “Don’t mind me, I’m just trying to not get killed…” You offered a quirked smile as you grabbed the long island tea off the table, tipping it towards them as they all bubbled out cheers as you took a long sip, your eyes carefully watching over the crowd as you spot the one guy that must’ve been sent after you. 

After all you weren’t the one that Kokona wanted to kill, it was a pretty common occurrence you had experienced except...at least the woman before wasn't psychotic enough to actually try to kill you. You supposed the Borderlands were different. Very different. 

“Hey you should totally hang with us! We got your back babe.” You looked up at the dorky grin of the man you had sat next to your lying figure, which you were trying to use the table as coverage, “No extra cost needed beside a good laugh!”

You offered a weak smile, “I’m Y/n!” You introduced, endeared at the oddly innocent smile on his face as you awkwardly shifted, “My sister tried to sleep with someone's boyfriend and I somehow got dragged into it.” 

“Kokona’s a mean one,” The guy across the table hiccuped as he lifted his glass, “I’d stay away from her if I were.” You lifted up onto your elbows as you glanced up at him, his eyes heavily dilated before you realized he had obviously been as high as a kite and drinking...No wonder they looked so out of it. 

Watching the three men rally back together you quickly pressed back against the seats as you closed your eyes, “Yeah, I can tell...Is she like this with everyone....?” You grabbed the glass once more for another sip, needing something to take the edge off of this whole day. If your sister wasn’t so horny you wouldn’t be in this position right now!

“Nah, mainly girls.” The one beside you waved a hand, “She’s pretty cool otherwise, a little ruthless though. She gloats about her speciality being hearts a lot so she thinks it makes her automatically superior since most of us are spades or clubs players.” 

Sitting up a little you tilted your head in confusion, holding the drink you now claimed as yours as you drank it once more, “Specialty? Are venues specified towards…? What? A certain type of suit?” 

“No! No! Nothing like that, specialty just means what you naturally have a knack for! All games are still random at each venue,” The guy beside you sloshed his drink, obviously semi drunk himself as he explained, “That's why Hatter sends a team of four or three where each person has a specialty in each suit- except there isn’t a lot of hearts player, because we haven’t really encountered any…” 

Jiggling your drink you looked down at the ice that was slowly melting as you hummed, “Okay that makes sense.” You nodded remembering Hatter mentioning this was well, it would only be natural that the longer you survived you’d have a preference for a suit. 

“Hey aren’t you new?” The guy across the table pointed a sluggish finger at you, “Shouldn’t you be a little more...freaked out…?” 

You offered a weak smile as you glanced away, “Oftentimes in traumatic situations hysteria doesn’t always hit first, it’s likely that my psyche is still in shock and hasn’t fully processed what I’ve seen the past day…” The guy across the table squinted his eyes as he nodded with his lips parted as if in awe at your words, “It’s a mental thing,” You waved at your head, “To try and keep the psychological state of my mind in one piece.” 

You wouldn’t deny, there was a certain part of you that felt numb to everything and a smaller part of yourself wondered how you could intake all this information without going hysterical. But...the way you saw it was if this was your reality now, there was nothing you could do to change it. It was better you just got as much information as you could and try your best to adapt if you were going to live on. 

Glancing out over the crowd you noticed the men had disappeared once again as you offered both the guys a smile, “Thanks for letting me stay! But I’d better get going.” You gave a small nod, getting up as you held the glass, looking down at it as you frowned...You really hoped this wasn’t laced with anything or else it was going to be a very long night. 

Pushing through the crowd you couldn’t find Nanami anywhere but you did spot the girl you had sent three guys after you both like a fucking dog. Squeezing the glass you took a long drink as you approached her, “Kokona,” You called out with a smile as you waved, her eyes sharp as she immediately glared you down, “Listen…” You approached her with an easy smile, “I’m not here to make enemies, my sister is young and she probably didn’t realize it was your boyfriend…But like I said, you don’t really want a guy like that around…”

“Listen here you walmart knock off barbie,” Kokona pointed a sharp nail at you making your lips part a little in surprise at just how aggressive she was, “I don’t give a fuck. I don’t have the time or patience, here of all places. I’m sure you understand right?” She offered a gritty smile, “So tell that bitchy little sister of yours to stay out of my sight if she doesn’t want her hair ripped out.” 

Pressing your tongue to your cheek you looked away for a second before down at your drink...Well, she asked for it. 

You without a second thought held the drink up before splashing it all over her, “Say what you want about me I don’t give a fuck,” You stepped closer to her as you offered a gritty smile of your own, “But don’t ever say anything about my sister. I’m sure I’ll see you later.” You waved a hand as you turned around, walking back to the table where Akari, Ryu and Hiroko looked like they were all preparing to duck for cover at the show Kokona had put on for them unknowingly.

Setting the glass down at the table you collapsed in your chair as you whined, “Why are women so unfriendly here!?” 

Hiroko snorted as she shrugged, obviously not bugged like you were about it, “In this world it’s either kill or be killed, a lot of people don’t have time for niceties anymore. You’ll get used to it. Besides, Kokona is just a bitch to everyone. Don’t take it so personal.” She shrugged, “While you and Nanami were getting chased down we were talking…” 

You frowned as you looked up at all three of them as Akari smacked the table, “We should all go out for a game tonight! I know! I know, counterproductive especially with our visa’s stocked for the next few days but I think it’d be fun!” 

“Fun!?” The three of them paused as you sat up in your seat, looking at them all like they were insane because they obviously had to be, “Fun!?” You repeated again with even more emphasis, “Guys…! You- you could die!” 

“We could die just trying to breath here,” Hiroko scoffed as she shrugged, nonpulsed at your reaction as she picked her nails, ‘Besides you don’t have to go, I get it. We were all like this when we were new too. But I figured we’d make a good team logically. My speciality is diamond, Ryu’s is clubs and we just found out Akari is spades. And we have you, our wild card to figure out what you’re good at. It’s unlikely we’d die. By statistics at least.” 

You rubbed your neck, feeling a little more at ease with Hiroko’s rationality as you mumbled, “Well what about Nanami…?” Your eyes washed over the crowd, finally spotting your sister against the wall sipping something trying to act like there weren't three guys after her. 

“I doubt you’d want her to go?” Hiroko raised her brows, “Besides she still has three days left on her visa, she’ll be fine. Again, I’m not gonna pressure you into going, if all you’re gonna do is panic you probably will get lynched.” 

Her words made you puff your chest a little as you looked back to Nanami before back to the table, well...if they all had a strong suit then why not? “Alright, I’m in!” Who knows when you’d get the opportunity again to get more days on your visa in a considerably safe group. 

“I get it you’re like a walking model but seriously?” Hiroko leaned against the bathroom wall as she sighed picking at her nails, “You weren’t even in a full bikini.” 

“This has nothing to do with vanity and everything to do with comfort!” You called back, pulling up the loose sweatpants, “I’m not going to possibly go into a game that makes me run while wearing swimwear, I don’t hate myself that much!” You pulled the loose t-shirt over your head before pulling out the maroon jacket as you walked out, stuffing your swim attire in the bag. You had been at the venue for the past five minutes now, having not crossed the threshold but you still have time before it closed. 

“How many people have showed up?” You asked as you stood next to Hiroko who dropped her hand as she looked at you rolling her eyes as she sighed, standing up as you both walked to where Akari and Ryu were discussing the possibilities of what the game would be tonight. 

“Eh, like four? Maybe? I think that guy you know is in there.” Hiroko shrugged casually, “Looks like a good setup for a spades game, they typically have a bigger group number.” 

“What?” Your brows furrowed, what guy? Your mind drew a blank briefly as Ryu stretched out with a nod.

“Well if we’re all ready to go then let's head inside it’s almost six.” Ryu nodded once more as everyone followed behind him, you tossed your bag against the wall, it’s not like you had to be worried about anyone stealing in this climate. Your heartbeat picked up as you crossed the threshold. 

Noticing indeed four other people here before your lips parted and your face screwed into irritation, “Really!?” You muttered under your breath, immediately turning away from the familiar white hood as you stubbornly crossed your arms, “Hiroko why didn’t you say it was him!?” You hissed a whisper to her. 

Hiroko looked between you and Chishiya who was on his phone, earbuds in and ignoring the outside world before she tried to hold a laugh, “Did you two fuck or something?” You immediately flailed at her words making both her and Akari start laughing at both your misery and anger as you glared at her in unappreciation. 

“You think i’d fuck someone like him!?” You hissed out, “No, he's a total jerk! I…! Why can’t I go anywhere without him showing up!” You groaned as you crossed your arms, “Whatever, maybe he’ll get his guts ripped out tonight.” 

“Ouch, that’s a little harsh.” Ryu frowned, innocent as ever as he held his hands together, before offering a cute smile, “I’m sure he’ll come around, we’re all a part of the beach after all.” You sourly crossed your arms as you looked at the clock, striking six just in time for you to get tonight started with whatever death trap awaited.” 

Somehow, you doubt Chishiya held any loyalty to any of you at all just because you all slept in the same hotel…

The TV on the wall lit up as everyone's attention turned to it, obviously nobody was new here tonight as no one spoke to each other.

Game

Difficulty: 3♡ 

“A heart's game?” Ryu mumbled, his brows furrowed as he looked between you all as you gave a little shrug, your face twisted in concern as you wrapped your arms around yourself, “Well at least it’s a low difficulty! I’m sure it won’t be too hard to solve!” 

“The game you will be participating in is Blind Man's Bluff. Everyone will be required to wear a blindfold for one minute where the tagger will pass their tag off,” The screen depicted a faceless man passing quite literally a name tag off to one sitting down “Tags pertain to who is a player and who is the tagger. You will have twenty minutes to complete the game. It’s a Game ‘Clear’ if the tagger is discovered before the end of the last round, it’s a Game Over for the players if the tagger remains undiscovered.” 

Rules:

After each tagging sequence players will remain seated to take off their blindfold and find out if they have been selected as the tagger.

Blindfolds must be worn and kept on for the whole minute during the tagging sequence or it’s a Game Over.

Violence against other players is strictly prohibited and will result in a Game Over.

Players must remain seated for the whole time period of the tagging sequence or it’s a Game Over.

Game Clear conditions: If the players find out who the tagger is before the time runs out or it’s a Game Over for all players.

Tension had risen in the air a little as you felt your throat become dry, everyone immediately looked at each other somewhat suspiciously as the doors opened to the school gym, it was dark and empty outside of eleven chairs lined in a circle, all backs facing each other. 

“It could be worse.” Hiroko whispered to you as everyone grabbed a blindfold off the table that stood off in the distance, “As long as we just keep passing the tagger off to someone else we should be fine.” 

“Unless one of us gets picked by the end?” You quirked a brow as you rubbed the back of your neck, chances of that happening was one in ten but still, “I don’t like those odds Hiroko.” 

Hiroko only snorted as you both walked up, grabbing a blindfold as your eyes darted to the tags that laid out. Your brows furrowed at the stuffed bear with a blindfold on, his name tag ‘Rikku’ that took up his whole stomach, grabbing a tag as you turned back to face Hiroko.

“All we have to do is get a confession out of the tagger, it can’t be that hard.” Hiroko shrugged as she grabbed her blindfold as you puffed a breath of air, you hadn’t known her for long and despite knowing she was a lawyer before all of this...it was just still hard to imagine unless she was pressuring. Not exactly your method of going about stuff like this. 

Walking to a chair towards the left side of the room you sat down, crossing your legs as you looked up at the two clocks, one at twenty minutes that began ticking away and another holding at one minute. 

Looking towards your left your gaze immediately snapped back forward as your lips curled a little at the insufferable sight of blonde hair who made no effort to try and speak to you. 

Was he just sitting here purposely to annoy you? Because if you got tagger you would most definitely put it on him next. 

“The one minute for the tagging sequence getting ready to begin, blindfolds on.” 

Putting on your blindfold you tied it in a loose knot as you relaxed back into your chair, not being the tagger was perhaps the boring part of this game, the whole minute passed by and you briefly felt something press against your blindfold before it left. 

“Blinds off. Ten second cool down starts now.” Taking off your blindfold you flipped it over only to find the tag player stuck on it, attached magnetically as you pulled it off, proceeding to wait the ten seconds before the scoreboard went off and everyone stood up. 

“Maybe we should start easy and just show who has a name tag?” Ryu coughed a little as he scuffed his shoe against the ground, rubbing his neck as he frowned, everyone, as if it was possible, became all the more tense. 

You looked around at all the blindfolds that were being held, “I don’t think that will work, we've most likely all been provided a nametag, the only odd man out is the one with tagger. But they’ve most likely hidden it. All we can do is just take a guess of who it could be.” 

Nobody spoke for a moment making Hiroko heave a sigh as she cracked her neck, “Alright I’ll do it, I’m used to this in court. What about you!” She suddenly pointed to a shorter girl who had been fiddling with her skirt, suddenly jumping at the accusation. 

“What!? I’m- I’m not the tagger!” She squeaked out, nervousness suddenly on her expression and many of the wolves of the group were definitely preying on her right now as Hiroko puffed a breath crossing her arms. 

“Then why do you look so nervous?” She raised an accusing brow, making you shift in your spot, crossing your arms, you couldn’t agree with Hiroko’s approach to this that was just stoking fire to an already stressful atmosphere where everyone was quickly beginning to pin the blame on each other. 

You could only stand there and watch as everyone began to argue as you pinched the bridge of your nose, “We’re never gonna get anything solved if we go about it like this.” You muttered to yourself as you sighed.

“If you’re that confident in doing better then you should assert yourself more.” 

You turned to Chishiya who was also standing not quite close enough for you to say he was next to you, but close enough. Your eyes squinted into a glare as you spoke, “Right and how do I know you’re not the tagger?” 

“Because I would’ve tagged you next if I was.” Chishiya shrugged casually making you clench your fists as you let out a noise of irritation, you hated that…! Annoying smirk of his! Despite not knowing him for long you could get the idea he obviously got off on annoying you and it only fueled your irritation that much more. 

“The feelings are mutual, stranger.” You hissed as you crossed your arms, “And I’ll have you know I am not going to insert myself into...that!” You waved your hand at the sight of two of the men now shouting at each other, the taller one immediately grabbing the other by the shirt, “Because at that point you’ll just be accused with any sort of logic.” 

You puffed a breath as you wrapped your jacket around yourself, “And besides, this chaos is a great scapegoat for the real tagger to just sit back and watch everyone pick each other off-” You paused as you turned to Chishiya as you silently berated yourself, why were you even rambling to this guy!? He was a total jerk and you were not about to let go of this morning where you were only trying to help, “Why are you even talking to me? Didn’t you want us to...what? Stay strangers?” 

“I’m...not talking to you?” He raised his brows, his lips quirking into an infuriating half smile as if he had a point making your lips pucker together and your jaw clench in effort to try and keep your obvious anger to a minimum, “It’s not my fault you won’t shut up.” He had the audacity to shrug. 

You couldn’t help but stomp your foot as you glared at him, “You know what!? I get the feeling if you didn’t care you would’ve gone and sulked in the corner the whole game. In fact, I bet you like listening to me ramble. After all the whole day and a half I’ve known you that's all you do other than instigate unnecessary fights!” 

Chishiya’s gaze narrowed a little and you watched his body coil a little away from you at your words, “In what world would you think I care to listen to you?” His lips twitched into cruel smirk as he spoke, “Besides your irrational anger and blabbering, you don’t have an ounce of sense or logic in your body. You're probably best suited for hearts because all you do is spill emotion.” 

“That is not what hearts are about!” You retaliated as you threw your hands even more frustrated, “Why are you so defensive the moment I say anything in relation to you possibly not being some emotionless humanoid!? I get it,” You flailed your arms as you spoke louder, “I was a total dick for comparing you to a sociopath! Okay? I can admit that, and usually I can understand where people are coming from but- but you!? I genuinely don’t get you! At all! One moment you wanna pretend like everything's cool between us and then the next you wanna act like a total asshole! And that’s not cool!” 

Chishiya had looked away from you heaving a loud sigh making you stomp your foot again, here you were exerting all of your emotion into him and he really…! 

Your fists curling only to realize just how silent it was...you turned to look at the crowd of people who all had stopped fighting and...Oh...you felt your face become hot as you wrapped your arms around yourself in embarrassment...Were you really that loud…

“If you and your boyfriend are done arguing we have more important things to solve!” A man pointed a finger at you with a hiss making you curl away, your ears burning at his words as you snapped back, “He is not my boyfriend! Besides you aren’t getting anything done just yelling at each other,” You turned away from Chishiya now unable to even look him in the eyes at the moment, “The real question is who has been silent up until now? The tagger would obviously sit back and watch because why would they insert themselves when you’re doing a great job at killing time.” 

“The one minute for the tagging sequence getting ready to begin, blindfolds on.” 

Clenching your jaw you sat in your chair as everyone proceeded to do the same, it was now silent as you put on your blindfold, now angry and not even at the game. You wasted your whole time, not even arguing with Chishiya which somehow made you feel even more angry. 

It was like talking to a wall.

Crossing your legs you curled up against yourself, mad just...Why were you even mad? You shouldn’t be letting someone like this get under your skin. You briefly wondered why it bothered you so much. Come to think of it, you supposed it was for the exact reason you said. 

Chishiya, puzzled you to no end and you had never experienced that with someone, ever. You couldn’t figure out what he was thinking nor find an understanding as to why he was so back and forth with you. Maybe it was your misinterpretation? But...You shook your head a little despite your gaze darkened from the blindfold, it wasn’t that. 

It was obvious, for whatever reason, he was holding himself back, From what? You didn’t know, but for now…

“Blinds off. Ten second cool down starts now.” 

Pulling off your blindfold you looked at it, the same tag remaining of Player on it. You needed to focus on finding out who the tagger was, really this was like a game of hot potato, chances of the tagger getting killed was just as high as all the players dying, and who would want to take that chance? 

Maybe some, you stood up after the scoreboard went off and the original clock resumed as you turned around facing everyone to judge their reactions, Hiroko and Ryu were the same and so was Akari to your knowledge. Your eyes briefly flickered to Chishiya who had remained seated, his hands in his pockets, he also...You doubted yourself briefly, you couldn’t rule him out. 

“Who here wasn’t talking last round?” You asked, looking around at everyone, who obviously everyone immediately began speaking much to your frustration, you couldn’t expect someone to answer honestly which only meant...Puffing a breath, “Alright, how about this, let’s all trace a conversation with one person we talked too last round.” 

...You’d just have to manipulate the tagger into confessing

First you’d need to trace who was absolutely not the tagger and narrow it from there, “I’ll go first as an example since everyone seemed to hear last round,” You looked away briefly, a somewhat awkward smile on your lips, “I was talking to Chishiya about why he’s such an asshole. You don’t need his confirmation given everyone saw it, but typically you’d need someone to vouch for you in order to confirm you were talking. Now to those that didn’t talk, it doesn’t make them guilty, just more suspect.” 

“Me and Ryu were talking to each other about who the possible tagger was.” Hiroko spoke up, pulling a hand around Ryu’s waist who looked a little flush as he nodded, semi shy as you nodded yourself. That answer wasn’t too surprising. 

“Well I was talkin’ to this fine gentleman here about how I wasn’t the tagger.” Akari waved a hand to the guy beside her, who still leered but nodded in confirmation which cleared the both of them. You had hoped...this would keep civil, but as everyone went around, there was bound to be some who just genuinely didn’t remember because they were arguing with everyone, and those who were lying…

Which meant by this deduction things were narrowed down, for most people the chance of being found out you were the tagger is too stressful to be worth possibly being the only one to live in the end, thus handing it off, which meant there was...what? One in third chance each round the tagger was someone new? There were a few people you had to suspect that could have held the tagger without giving it up. 

The guy towards the middle who was very strangely calm during all of this with very empty looking eyes, and then there was the other man more towards you left who had been calmly de-escalating the situation but you didn’t miss the undertones of manipulation. It was one in third chance they could be holding it. Which meant you’d need to make sure they weren’t.

Walking over you stood more near Hiroko and Ryu as you watched two guys begin arguing again, “Every time I think we’ve made progress, it always ends up getting disturbed.” 

“Well that is the way of the world.” You kept a straight expression at the man who offered a smile that looked so unnatural to his empty eyes, you couldn’t help but feel a bit creeped out at how...insanely calm he was. You could get a sense of tension from at least Chishiya, granted it was most likely from you. 

“I’m Y/n,” You introduced, “Sense we should all be working together I figured it’d be best we at least learn each other's names.” You offered a sweet smile as you wrapped your jacket around yourself in effort to try and look unsuspecting. 

“I see how much anger you have inside you know? It’s quite obvious, from the way you lash out at others when you don’t get the response you want to the way you feel entitled to everyone's feelings, that’s not good for your health you know?” Your lips parted a little at his words, not even offended because...while he was right in some ways...he was very wrong in others, “But I understand your nature is tedious and complex, for all we not the same way?” Okay...this guy was definitely a psychopath, “I’m Sunato Banda, pleased to meet you.” He offered another smile. 

Empty eyes, disturbingly calm demeanor, even with your lives on the line he wasn’t disturbed at all, it wasn’t that he didn’t care. He just wasn’t affected, at all, like this could be a walk in the park for him. 

Psychopath, definitely. 

You’d need to be careful if tagger got in his possession otherwise he’d lie straight through his teeth and he’d never blink twice about it and you and everyone else would be unsuspecting about it.

“Well, us humans are very complex,” You nodded offering yet another smile making effort to look almost starstruck at his very poor deduction skills, again, somewhat correct, otherwise wrong. Afterall, how could someone who feels no remorse, truly understand the complexity of human nature? “Do you by any chance know who the tagger would be?” 

You’d need to make yourself look weak, pliable, if you were to get any use out of this guy, all he knew was how to do was take advantage of people, obviously, Banda offered a sly smile as he looked out over the room, his eyes washing over everyone, “Him,” He pointed a finger, “He keeps adjusting his coat as if he has something placed in there that’s uncomfortable.” 

You followed his line of sight to what looked like a business man in a suit and bowler hat, he did in fact, look quite nervous, “And why not call him out?” You asked, tilting your head exaggerated as you brimmed with curiosity. 

Banda turned to face you, a bright smile on his face as he closed his eyes, “Well I personally hope he’ll tag me next, I quite enjoy seeing a large build up in bodies.” 

..Oh...oh wow…

You gave a small nod, forcing a smile as you held yourself before excusing yourself from him, well, at least it definitely wasn’t him for now. Otherwise you’d be in trouble right now. And now you had a prime suspect. Some could overthink that and argue that perhaps he was lying just to get you off his trail. But personally? There was no way it’d be him, he wouldn’t do something like that. You got the feeling Banda, was a simple man. 

You turned to find the two guys from before who were tussling suddenly growl, one throwing a punch and before he could even fully hit the guy a deep red laser broke through the ceiling, you were frozen for a half a second at the sight of it shooting through the top of his head. Everyone was quiet as they looked down at the sight of a now dead body. 

Right...that was a rule, violence was prohibited. 

“The one minute for the tagging sequence getting ready to begin, blindfolds on.” 

You scurried back to your seat, sitting down as you pulled up your blindfold, “It’s that guy wearing the dumb bowler hat.” Your head looked towards you left despite not being able to see, Chishiya’s voice was quiet as he spoke, “While you were busy wasting time, I watched the real tagger- that school girl place it in his back pocket.” 

“The tagger can do that during the round?” You whispered back perplexed at the idea, how could you have missed that? Unless...she placed it right as you approached Banda? Thus him seeing the man realize he had been tagged and now nervously adjusting himself?

“There aren't any rules stating otherwise, makes it fair game.” Chishiya replied, he immediately quieted at the sound of footsteps tapping on the floor, they were definitely on your side of the ring. Your breath hitched a little at feeling something press against your forehead. Oh shit before the sound of footsteps walked away. 

“We just need to watch for him next round.” Chishiya spoke once more as you leaned back in your seat, trying to find a reason for why you just felt what you did. 

“Blinds off. Ten second cool down starts now. Final round will be next round” 

You hurriedly took yours off as you flipped it over looking down at it, 

Tagger

Motherfucker. 

You quickly grabbed it off, at first trying to push it into your pocket only to realize they were fake. God you hated women’s clothing, your eyes shot to the clock that only had five seconds left, with nowhere to put it you shoved it down your bra as you collected yourself. Okay you...you could make this work. 

But now you were presented with a plethora of options. You honestly didn’t think it would be passed off to you. But now...you...you could keep it...You stood up as the scoreboard went off, but...Everyone else would die. Or...you could confess and you’d die. These options were not great. Next round was the last round, so if you gave it up...you’d be reassuring someone’s victory. 

You stood next to Chishiya as his eyes kept with the man from before with the bowler hat, “He might have gotten it passed back to him.” His eyes narrowed a little onto the guy. 

Do you find a way to discreetly tell him? Or would that also count as a confession…? It wouldn’t be a confession if you made yourself suspect. But...you couldn’t honestly trust Chishiya, not after his unstable display of distrust in you. 

“He could be,” You replied, leaning in a little as you watched him, he appeared relieved once more, he was the one freaked out about this after all...you felt a brief wave of guilt inside you at what your mind had suddenly come up with. 

With Chishiya’s suspect still on the man, all you needed to do was plant it back on him and pressure a confession out of him next round. 

You were very much going to hell after this. 

“He was the one that started accusing last round too and made someone die,” You hummed as you stuffed your hands in your pocket, “That guy also thought it was him. He’s definitely good at reading people,” You thought back to the way he tried to read you, which was somewhat accurate, but people like you and him, you couldn’t always accurately read each other. Except you weren’t insane like him, “At this point we don’t have much to lose.” 

You could see the cogs turning in Chishiya’s head as he stared menacingly at the man who looked at him and jolted a little at such an intense stare, “If I were the tagger by this point,” You were treading on very thin ice at the moment, “I’d keep it just for myself, instead passing it off. He’s gone this far without anyone really pressuring him. It’d be the smartest move by now.” 

“Then we’ll settle on him.” Chishiya replied, his gaze cold as he glared down at the man who mindlessly fixed his tie, trying to look cool despite being intimidated, clearly. He had a weak mentality, if you couldn’t break him next round, Chishiya most definitely would. 

“The one minute for the tagging sequence getting ready to begin, blindfolds on.” 

You supposed he was good for something even when you couldn’t trust him. 

Sitting down in your chair you put your blindfold on and waited a second before taking it back off, standing back up as you carefully stepped as quietly as you could, pulling the Tagger out of your bra before you walked over to the man who had just tagged you before pressing it against his blindfold, you watched his lips quiver as he let out a quiet, “Please…!” 

Your expression went cold as you turned around, glancing at the clock before you walked away and sat back down in your chair, putting your blindfold back on as you waited for the announcer once more. 

“Blinds off. Ten second cool down starts now. Final round.” 

You took the blindfold off, looking down feeling content at the Player tag as you stood up along with Chishiya who’s eyes went between you and the man before he pushed his hands back into his pockets, “If you’re all done pointing fingers and wasting time,” His gaze became a little more cool as he spoke, “Then we should go ahead and show who the real tagger is.” 

Both you and Chishiya glanced at the man who was now looking insanely nervous, sweat dripping down his neck and if this wasn’t life or death, you would’ve felt a little bad...Some parts of you still did, but it was either all of you or just him. 

“He does look pretty nervous.” Hiroko narrowed her eyes on him and from this moment forward you knew it was game over for him, quite literally. With all three of you there was no way he’d survive, crossing your arms you lifted your chin a little, “Say, weren’t you the one who got really defensive when the finger got pointed at you last round?” 

“I’m…!” He flailed a little, wiping his brow with his hand as he suddenly pointed an accusing finger at you, “It’s her you want! She’s a manipulative bitch!” You pressed your hand against your chest in fake hurt as you raised your brows, “She’s the one pitting everyone against me when she’s really the tagger. She’s going to leave you all to die.” 

The majority of eyes fled to you as you shrugged, “Why would I do that when I could just give it to you?” You gave a wickedly sweet smile as you giggled a little, “And watch it all go down. I mean, you must be agreeing now?” You raised your brows as you goaded, “About being the tagger?” 

“I…!” He struggled with his words, now glaring at you as you raised your brows once more as you shook your head, “I…! Now you’re just doing this on purpose! Trying to get into everyone's head and make everyone die! Can’t- can’t you see what she’s doing!” He cried out as he backed away from everyone. 

“I dunno’ you seem pretty guilty to me.” Akari shrugged as she poked her tongue into her cheek, not looking the least bit remorseful for the guy as she leaned her weight onto one side. 

“I get it,” You shrugged as you laughed a little, “You’re probably that kinda guy who’s never really stood up for himself, you probably got bullied as a kid and let yourself get run over by people all the time, even now, and now in desperation you attempt to hold your own and yet...” You tilted your head with a frown as you mocked, “You still can’t do anything right. I guess that goes to show, that people like you just never have a spine. If you can’t assert yourself now with your life on the line, you might as well die now. Because let’s face it, people like you only end in two ways, either spineless pathetic existence or you become the abuser out of a sick need to regain what you lost as a kid.” 

Reverse psychology, worked in the most simplistic ways. 

That seemed to get him to snap, you watched his eyes dilate and pure unfurled rage cross his expression as he shrieked, “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! You know nothing about my life! You know nothing about me! And because I’m the tagger I’ll get to watch all you pathetic people die! Who’s in control now!?” 

It’s a shame he couldn’t take control of his life in any other circumstance. 

Everyone paused and even he himself paused at the realization, his eyes welled with tears that made something deep in your heart lurch, your eyes squinting a little as your expression wilted a little as the red laser broke through the roof shooting him straight through the top of his head. His body crumpling to the ground. 

‘Game Cleared’

Everyone was still for a moment before you looked down at the blindfold and then to your hands, the memory hazy yet the memory of red staining them still so clear as you felt ringing in your ears and your vision blur for a moment as you let the fabric slip through your fingers. Running a hand through your hair you wrapped your arms around your jacket as you walked past the body, briefly looking at the once timid man who obviously let others run his life.

“Sorry.” You whispered quietly as you stepped over the corpse, “Come on, let’s go. I don’t wanna stay around here.” You looked towards the other three who nodded, also looking semi apprehensive as well. 

Now that the moment was over, the cruel reality was back to remind you that you just gaslit someone into admitting their own suicide. It was hard to not feel innately disgusted with yourself despite your reasoning that you and all of your friends would’ve died if you had. Still, what you did was okay. You were supposed to help people like him, not encourage them to snap. 

If you didn’t feel conflicted before you certainly felt conflicted now, looking at the register you ignored the visa print as you grabbed the playing card off the table. 

And as if mocking, this was only a three of hearts. You couldn’t imagine what higher level games looked like with this. You’d definitely need to be careful in the future, “Y/n! Come on, let’s go!” You looked behind at Hiroko nodding towards the exit. 

“You guys go on, I’ll catch up later.” You looked down at the card again, Hiroko frowned at your figure, wanting to say something but she understood, the first few days of the Borderlands were never easy. With that, she left. Besides you needed to get changed before you headed for the beach again. 

Walking out of the exit you grabbed your bag that was, just as you anticipated, still against the wall, leaning down you opened it up as you began digging through to try and find your bathing suit top. Stuffing the card inside you furrowed your brows, why did the electricity have to go out so soon? 

“You could’ve kept the tagger and won but you didn’t. Why?” 

You paused your search at the sound of Chishiya’s voice, sounding like he was- not interrogating you but definitely investigating. You resumed once more as you shrugged, “I could’ve.” You agreed, and it did cross your mind after all, “I thought about it,” You admitted right after as you pulled out the swimsuit top, “But maybe to some degree you were right,” You stood up as you turned to face him, “I am spilling emotion constantly. And if there was a chance I could’ve saved all of us in turn for one? It didn’t seem like that big of a reach to do really…” You looked away from him as you grabbed your neck, feeling a bit sheepish, “It was by chance you had spotted him before and it was by luck that I was given tagger for the last round. I knew all you needed was just mutual confirmation in your assessment before initiating the end.” 

You sighed as you looked down at the elastic material in your hand as you frowned, “For what it’s worth, I would’ve probably done it to him regardless of whether he had been the tagger or not. It doesn’t take much to break the weakest link. That’s probably the saddest part to be honest.” 

You grabbed your backpack off the ground as you looked up at Chishiya before back towards the entrance where others slowly began to filter out, “I doubt he even realized the trap I set him up for,” You smiled wryly as you shook your head, “People are so easy to mislead, I forget sometimes, the power that can hold.” 

You turned around, intending to go change, “What were you before all of this?” You looked back at Chishiya, his gaze cool as ever and his eyes scanning over you as if in search for an answer that didn’t exist. Briefly your heart jumped in nervousness, did you dare tell the truth? 

Laughing you let out a sigh what was the use in hiding in this world? There were no laws and honestly, who could judge you? “I was a prostitute.” You looked away, feeling somewhat bashful as you awkwardly rubbed your neck, you could tell that was not what Chishiya had been expecting you to say.

 “Oh…!” Your lips parted suddenly feeling even more stupid at the realization that was not what he meant by his question, “You...You probably meant what I’m majoring in...sorry. Uh-” You gave him an apologetic smile that was more out of your sake of humiliation as assuming. Clearing your throat you turned back over your shoulder as you gave him one last look, holding up the three of hearts as you answered, “I’m a major in psychology ♡ ” 

[deniigi]

To carry on the MCU Peter anon: would you ever write a multiverse / blend where your Peter meets a more MCU Peter (actual MCU Peter not the fanon created one)? And/or initimable Peter meeting another version you’ve created?

Also, would you ever write a MJ (my beloved) POV fic?

Hey boo

So Question 1: I did a little piece with a MCU/Inimitable crossover here

It’s not quite the same, since it’s from the pov of MCU Peter.

The idea of young Inimitable Peter meeting someone who he could have so easily been if he’d not gotten involved with Team Red and had instead stuck closer to Stark would be an interesting thought, I must say. Not so interesting that I’d write it, but I’d def have half a drink and then a muse on the idea and how it would unfold.

For MJ, I have written some stuff from her POV! ( See just roll with it from the Dumpster Fires Verse)

I also wrote a terrifying piece a long ass time about about some non-NYC vigilantes trying to step in and overthrow the vigilante/Superpeople order of things by trying to goad Peter, Matt, Wade, etc into a fight. MJ narrates it and it’s sort of dark so I’m putting it under the cut here.

trigger warnings for violence (like Netflix DD and Punisher levels), violence against minors at school, and some pretty heavy injuries.

-------

“Michelle?” a voice she’d never heard in her life rasped into the classroom door. The smell of iron and smoke and god, blood—that was blood she was smelling—it was all suffocating.

“Michelle, honey, c’mon, sweetheart. We ain’t got time for being scared right now,” the voice said.

She’d never thought that she’d have to consider the fact that those were boots coming towards her, not sneakers, not shoes.

The butt of a rifle swung down into her view. Joined the boots right in front of her. Bones popped as the Punisher knelt down.

She knew him by the skull on his vest.

She knew him as a monster. Not a hero.

He held out a hand to her.

“I got you, baby girl,” he promised, “Ain’t no one gonna touch you.”

His hands were smeared in some kind of grease. Gun oil? Soot? It didn’t matter. He stayed crouching low. He didn’t wear a mask.

His nose was kind of crooked. And his eyes were deep set.

They were brown.

He said nothing, just held out his big, greasy hand.

She took it.

 --

 The Punisher’s grip was calloused and firm and he kept her behind him at all times. He was even bigger than she’d ever imagined; bigger than Mr. Murdock. Bigger than her dad. Maybe the around the same size and build as Wade.

He didn’t explain things; he used his hands to talk.

Stay behind me, said the press of his rough palm. Don’t let go, stay behind me.

Out front, the fingers said later, now curled over the tops of her own. Walk, walk fast. Out front.

Stay behind.

Out font.

Down.

He made her kneel with him and peeled off his vest. He didn’t give her a choice.

It was heavy. So heavy. He strapped it onto her as tight as it would go.

“Home stretch, darlin’,” he finally said with words, the noise of bullets and panic around them seemed quieter with him talking. She found that she didn’t want to leave him. “You go when I say, alright? You go when I say and you don’t look back, alright?”

No.

No, he would die if she left. He needed to wear the vest.

“Look at me, Michelle.” She did, through the tears. “You don’t look back.”

She nodded.

 --

 He said go.

She didn’t look back.

Not until Mr. Murdock was pulling her away, shouting at the top of his voice for an ambulance. She’d never heard that gravel in his tone before.

“Michelle, look at me,” Mr. Murdock told her, grabbing her cheeks and pulling her gaze away from the classroom where the Punisher was dying.

“Look at me, honey, look.”

There wasn’t much to look at, she couldn’t see his eyes through his mask.

“Are you hurt? Where are you hurt? Show me where you’re hurt.”

It didn’t matter, she couldn’t feel it anymore. The Punisher was dying in there, he needed his vest.

“Frank’s fine,” Mr. Murdock told her. He pulled her head back to face him, but he wasn’t looking at her at all. It was like he was looking down at the space between them. One of her hands felt warm on top, cold at the fingers. It didn’t want to cooperate as she pulled at the vest. “He’s fine, he’s gonna be fine. Fuck. Fuck. Put your arms around my neck, honey, c’mon. There you go, good girl. Alright, up you go. No, one more time. There you go, I got you. It’s okay, I got you.”

Mr. Murdock was stronger than he looked and he didn’t seem to mind that the vest was digging into his chest. His voice didn’t seem as loud, even though her head was right next to his throat.

She couldn’t tell if he was talking to her anymore.

 --

 She woke up.

There was white and blue and gray everywhere.

Her mom was burgundy. Her sweater was. Then she was tears, tears pouring out of her eyes, down over her lips. Her eyes weren’t burgundy, they were neon. Neon pink.

 --

 Her mom held her hand while the doctors explained to her that she’d have a lot of scarring, but she would be okay. She’d need some physical therapy to make the wrist do what it was supposed to again, but the bullet hadn’t caused irreparable damage.

The same for the wound in her ankle.

She’d be okay.

So why did she want to cry so bad?

 --

 She remembered why.

 --

 Peter was okay. He was in the room one over, attached to a lot of machines, but he was okay. His face wasn’t as clean as hers, the doctors and nurses hadn’t had the same kind of time to wash him down, they’d been busy trying to save his life.

His aunt had stepped out to go get things to wash his face for him. She was still wearing her scrubs. She worked in the ICU upstairs.

 --

 Ned was okay, he had a row of stitches from the bump in his wrist to his elbow. He told her tiredly that once he turned eighteen, he’d get a tattoo to cover the mark. Maybe laces, like sneaker, he told her.

Maybe stitches again, to remind himself what he’d almost lost.

 --

 Flash was okay. Abe was okay. Melanie and Gabriella were okay.

They were all okay.

Including the Punisher.

 --

 He came to see her in the hospital, he’d swiped a staff ID to do it. She thought that that was maybe overkill, but this was the man who’d offered his life for hers.

He was startled and went wide-eyed and stiff when she threw her arms around his broad chest and started crying. But he loosened up and told her that she shouldn’t be putting weight on her ankle. He let her hug him sitting on the bed instead.

He didn’t say things were okay like the others did. He grabbed her chin and shook it a little and said, “You’re fucking brave, girl. You’re so fucking brave.”

She didn’t believe him.

She’d just gone and hadn’t looked back.

“Sweetheart, there are times when you think, and times when you move. And both of them are different kinds of bravery,” he told her.

Different kinds of bravery.

“Do you mean courage?” she asked him.

He cocked his head. He had stitches of his own at the top of his cheekbone. Bruises from his temple to his chin.

“No, courage, that’s something else,” he said, “I’m talking about bravery.”

She didn’t understand. He said that he didn’t have a better way of explaining it. He smoothed her hair back and said that he was glad that she was alive and that she was going to get better.

He’d been the one who’d carried Peter out. He’d had to send her out first because he couldn’t carry both of them.

Mr. Murdock’s voice was raw and hoarse because he’d come running from the fire in the classroom next door and he’d been trying to find Peter. He was the only one who could hear Frank Castle through the fire and the bullets and the creak of the burning building. And Mr. Castle had told him that he couldn’t take both Peter and Michelle.

She remembered now.

Mr. Castle had been talking to himself the whole time they’d been running and hiding through that building. He’d been talking to himself, but he’d really been talking to Mr. Murdock who was trying to find a way in and a way out that wouldn’t get him killed.

There hadn’t been one, there were too many guns. The second she’d started running, Frank Castle had whistled, hard and loud and piercing and all the guns had turned on him.

She didn’t look back.

She thought that he hadn’t either.

“Thank you for saving us,” she told him.

He shook his head.

“Red’s your man, he called me screaming. Man never calls nobody in that tone of voice. You’d have thought y’all were his babies dying in there.”

Okay.

Okay, so was Mr. Murdock okay?

“Nah, girl. I don’t think he is. But I think he’ll get there.”

 --

 Mr. Murdock pretended like he was okay, but the way he wrapped his arms around both Michelle and Peter when they came to his office said that he was very much not. It wasn’t an awkward hug, even though there were two of them.

It was firm.

It was tight.

And Peter started crying and it was hard, really really hard not to join him.

Mr. Murdock let them go and pressed his forehead to Peter’s and said nothing. He just held Peter’s shoulder with one hand and smoothed a hand through his hair with the other. Peter wasn’t making words so much as he was making distressed sounds, but Matt understood him.

“He’s alright, Pete,” he said. “He’s alright.”

Who?

 --

 Wade was fine, somehow. There wasn’t a bullet hole in him. There wasn’t a scratch on him, he claimed, trying to smile and make Peter stop sobbing his heart out.

Matt told him that he wasn’t fucking helping and to just be fucking honest for once in his goddamn life.

Matt’s hands shook a little at his sides. His cuticles were still stained gray from the soot.

Wade looked from him to Peter a little helplessly and then at Michelle and he sobered. He held out an arm for her to come closer.

He was big, too. His ribs felt different from Mr. Castle’s.

“Where’s Ned?” he asked, pressing a hand on the back of Peter’s head to encourage him to direct his upset into his chest.

Ned was at home. Ned’s mom and dad were too upset to let him out of their sight for now.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Wade said. He didn’t hug her as tight as Matt had, he more laid a heavy arm across her shoulders and pulled a bit.

 --

 They weren’t allowed to go back to school. The whole campus was closed, there’d been significant damage to the south side and there were too many photos and crime scenes that needed to be documented.

Peter’s wounds were already mostly healed, while hers ached and burned with every movement.

He apologized for not getting to the room she’d been in faster.

That was some dumbass shit, that was.

“Who did it?” she asked him.

Peter set his jaw.

“We don’t know. Wade and Mr. Castle said they’re finding out. They aren’t letting me or Matt in on it.”

What did that mean?

“I think it means that it’s something bigger than us.”

And what did that mean?

“Uh, maybe bigger isn’t the right word. Lower.”

Lower. Like?

“Someone underground. Deeper in than me and Double D. We’re—we’re mostly surface level. Wade and Mr. Castle, they’re deep under there.”

“Were they trying to kill you, Peter?” she asked him.

He took a long shaky breath.

“I really hope not.”

 ---

 They weren’t trying to kill Peter, Mr. Murdock eventually told them, having had them come to his home for this news. He had them sit on his faux leather couch as he said this.

He was trying to say something without words, Michelle thought.

She thought she was reading it right.

It was personal. This was personal.

“Were they trying to kill you, Matt?” she asked. He shook his head.

No.

They weren’t trying to kill anyone, they’d been trying to draw them out. As many of them as possible.

“They’re taking stock of us,” Matt said to his fists. His knuckles never seemed to heal. “Making lists. They knew a school would bring everyone out and we fell for it like fucking chumps.”

What did that mean?

“Means there’s something big brewing, and I want nothing to do with it.”

That’s not what his knuckles said.

“Peter,” Matt said, “Whoever they are, they’re going to target you. You’re young, that makes you an easy mark. Do not engage, do you understand?”

Peter understood.

 ---

 Peter was hurt. He was hurt every day over the next few weeks. He had bullet wounds and knife wounds and it got to the point where, even after school reopened, he didn’t come back. It wasn’t suspicious, a lot of kids didn’t. Their parents were still terrified, maybe looking into other academies.

Peter was just sleeping. He had to sleep to heal and he had to heal because the second he set foot out the door there was someone there waiting for him and he couldn’t engage. He just had to take it. Suit or no suit.

MJ would have hit back by now, she was amazed that he hadn’t.

“The second I hit back, they’ll take that as permission,” Peter told her quietly at his desk in his room. May had bandaged his arm for him. She wasn’t concerned about school, she didn’t want Peter to even leave the house.

“Permission to do what?” she asked.

“To engage,” Peter said.

What did that mean, though?

“They’ll kill me.”

He couldn’t know that. He couldn’t—

“They don’t care who I am. It’ll be a message. As soon as I hit back, that makes whatever happens next fair game, so I can’t do anything.”

“Can’t Stark help you?” she asked. He sighed and looked at his bandaged wrist.

“If it gets any worse, he and May said I’ll stay with him for a while. But they’ll just move onto the next guy, and then the next guy, until someone engages. We can’t avoid them forever.”

‘We,’ Peter said. That meant that this was beyond him. This was everyone on that list those guys had shot her, stabbed Ned, scared everyone to make. The list that had set their school on fire.

 ---

It got worse.

Peter didn’t come to school.

He couldn’t breathe very well. He slept even more, but not at home. He slept at Stark Tower, where Tony Stark could guard him, because no one else could at the minute.

 ---

 It got worse because they started picking on Matt.

Matt as Mr. Murdock most certainly would not have engaged, but Matt as Matt was struggling. He was very obviously struggling.

Just sit back and take it, was what he had to do. Unlike Peter, who slept and had somewhere to go when things got too bad, Matt didn’t heal and Matt didn’t have anyone to lean on.

He stopped showing up to work.

Neither Foggy or Karen said anything about it. They carried on with the cases and the work and the filing as if nothing was wrong, as if nothing happened. As if they weren’t both suffocating, trying to carry their friend’s pain with their own.

Michelle went to see him and Foggy told her to be as quiet as she could be.

He slept with a broken arm laid up on his chest. He shivered in his sleep. His knuckles weren’t bruised, but his neck was and he didn’t acknowledge anyone who spoke to him.

There was a woman there with him, she was his sister, MJ remembered her. Elektra was watching him with silent, stoic fury in her eyes. It showed nowhere else on her.

“She’s protecting him,” Foggy explained as he made them all tea. “Well, maybe not protecting, but guarding him so he feels like he can sleep.”

There wasn’t anything to say to that, not when Spiderman and Daredevil could only rest in unconsciousness.

“Why are they doing this?” she asked him. Foggy sighed and set the kettle down.

“Because they’re cruel and they’re jealous and they think that this will get them respect,” he said.

Respect.

Psh.

All it did was make her mad.

“If you show them that you’re angry, Michelle, that’s as good as engaging. We can’t let them know that they’re getting to any of us.”

This was bullshit.

 ---

 Bullshit because Matt went to get groceries and didn’t come home and Wade had to go find him. They wouldn’t let Michelle see him, but she heard his sister screaming. She screamed at anyone who touched him, swore that she’d put the lights out of the next person who tried.

Foggy didn’t stop her.

Matt didn’t say anything.

He didn’t come to work and Foggy kept his office door closed.

Karen told Michelle that Elektra had taken Matt somewhere with her, where he would be safe. He wasn’t in Hell’s Kitchen. Elektra wouldn’t say where they’d gone, but she’d sent Foggy pictures so that he knew Matt was safe.

 ---

 It was bullshit because they were too scared to fuck with Wade or Castle, so instead they attacked Hawkeye the younger and Michelle heard through Wade that Hawkguy had nearly exploded in his anger. He couldn’t do anything, of course he couldn’t, that was how this game worked.

But he’d swapped his easy-going persona for the one he used when he worked with the Black Widow.

Wade said it was eerie to see him so quiet and focused. Locked onto his target.

The people trying to pick a fight, well, they were scared of Hawkeye.

 ---

 Not for long. They went in on both of Hawkeyes at the same time and soon Hawkeye the elder reached breaking point and called in the Widow so that he and his partner could get two minutes of peace. Just two.

 ---

 It was interesting how the second the Widow got involved, everything went topsy turvy.

Michelle had passed by the place where Wade had told her the Widow was standing guard and saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Then she realized that whoever these guys were, they were really, really scared of the Widow.

Not so high and mighty now, huh, boys?

They abandoned the Hawkeyes and went after Jessica Jones.

 ---

 It went on and on like this for two, three, maybe even four weeks. People took as much as they could. They picked themselves up. Some limped into the offices of Nelson, Murdock and Page. Some limped, watched carefully by people, in the street.

They were stopped at all hours by guys in plain clothes who struck out without warning. Threw fists. Feet. Spat on people. And instead of fighting back, local bodies threw them off and ran away. Avoided confrontation. Put walls and doors and fences between themselves and the others as much as they could.

It was, in a way, amazing.

The level of restraint was super human.

 ---

 Then the new kids got cocky and shoved the Winter Soldier.

They were in for a lesson.

Michelle saw the conflict on the news. Five guys throwing themselves at Bucky Barnes, who was trying to buy a bottle of whiskey in peace.

He ignored them, counted out exact change.

He walked right through their group on the way out the door and they parted around him, then followed him out of the convenience store.

Camera phone footage showed him walking home, being heckled by these creeps. A few blocks, presumably, from his home he stopped walking and the gang of people drew in close around him.

And then they all leapt back.

The Winter Soldier wasn’t taking their shit, he’d apparently decided. Loud enough to be heard from the cameraman’s place across the street, he shouted, “Y’all have one more chance to get the fuck out of my way.”

Let no one say he didn’t warn them.

They went down hard and they went down fast and they all went down within a minute of each other.

Bucky Barnes held a guy by his throat and told them to call their motherfucking leader, he wanted to have a chat.

It was the beginning of the end.

 ---

 Do not engage went right out the window and MJ woke up to her phone sending her six thousand alerts not to take such-and-such road or to approach such-and-such area.

The news showed her Peter slamming his fist into a man’s face like he was born to do it.

The Man in the Mask was out in broad daylight, stalking towards those people who were suddenly trying to escape him. He picked them up and dropped them without so much as breaking the rhythm of his pace.

Ironman beat the shit out of twelve people in the company courtyard.

Hawkeye had switched his bow for a rifle.

The general advice from all city personnel was to stay the fuck inside.

This was war.

 ---

 And then it was over.

And everything was cleaned up and bodies were carted off if they were found.

Peter arrived to school.

Matt reappeared in his office.

They carried on like nothing had happened. But there was something about the aftermath of silence that made the day of brutality so much more violent.

Neither of them were smiling. They were cold, thawing slowly.

Michelle thought of all the things they weren’t saying.

She thought she heard their combined bodies whisper, this is my city. This is our city. Get with it or go the fuck home.

She didn’t know if it made her feel better, but it certainly made her feel safe.

 --------

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH15

This section has a lot of moving parts, and a few surprises in store for our resident mean girls ;)

Previous     First      Next     AO3

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Chapter 15: Irresistible

Marinette stared across the street with a pensive frown, arms crossed, fingers tapping. She couldn’t bring herself to do it last night, partially because she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. Even now, she still didn’t believe it was real, but as Gabrielle served coffee and sweets to patrons in broad daylight, there was no mistaking it.

Gabrielle had a job.

None of it made sense. Why was someone like her working at a café? Was it punishment? Did her parents want her to get the sense of what the “commoners” had to put up with to keep her humble? HA! As if. Maybe it was a publicity stunt. Rich heiress works relatable day job. Rich people were always trying to seem relatable.

Marinette pursed her lips, equally as confused as she was when her old classmates believed every word out of Lila’s mouth. Something else was going on. Gabrielle wore a polite smile for customers, but it didn’t touch her eyes. She looked… tired. It was the same look on every businessman’s face when they came into the bakery before work—exhaustion from the persistent grind of a monotonous routine. Whatever the reason was, Gabrielle had been there a while.

Mustering up her courage, Marinette took a deep breath and cautiously approached the café. She slipped through the front door, peering around at the other patrons, though Gabrielle was nowhere in sight. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? No, she’d definitely seen her. She was probably in the back. Should Marinette wait? What was she even going to say?

“Can I help you?” a stern-looking man behind the counter asked.

Marinette jumped. “Uh, I was just looking for someone…”

“If you’re not ordering, then get out.” He looked every bit as capable of throwing her out if necessary. Marinette understood why Gabrielle looked so exhausted with a manager this mean.

“I-I’ll have a coffee, please. Two creams, one sugar.” She dug out the correct amount of change and dumped it into his hand.

The man grunted in response before turning over his shoulder. “One up!”

Marinette flicked her gaze to the back door, but it remained shut. The manager sighed, stalking to the back with his hands on his hips.

“I’m just gonna go sit…” Marinette gestured to a table with her thumb.

A few moments later the door opened, and a tall girl slinked over to the coffee machine. Her hair was tucked inside of her cap, pulled low over her face. Marinette craned her neck to watch, but Gabrielle turned her back purposefully to hide her face. When the drink was finished, she placed it on the front counter and attempted to retreat to the back, but the manager cleared his throat, pointing to the table where Marinette sat. She let out a sigh before retrieving the drink from the counter and walking it over herself.

“One coffee.” She set it on the table with more force than necessary and turned over her shoulder quickly. “Enjoy.”

“Wait.” Marinette held out a hand. “Can I get an extra packet of sugar?”

Gabrielle’s shoulders stiffened, hands clenching into fists. She pointed to the supply stand across the room before retreating to the back, mumbling to her manager that she was going to take her break.

It seemed as though she wouldn’t be resurfacing any time soon, so Marinette pulled out her sketchbook and headphones, occasionally sipping her drink. She wasn’t going to let Gabrielle get away without explaining herself, especially after what happened last week. There was more to her than met the eye, and Marinette was going to get to the bottom of it. Gabrielle knew she wasn’t fooling anyone, so it was only a matter of time before she fessed up.

After a while, a green apron appeared at her table, and a perfectly manicured hand refilled her cup from the kettle.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.

Murderous green eyes glared through Marinette, but she sipped her coffee calmly.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Gabrielle’s grip tightened on the handle, and Marinette had no doubt that it was taking all of her willpower to remain professional, lest she incur the wrath of her surly manager.

“Fine. You caught me. I… work here.” She cringed at the word as if it were painful to say.  “Congrats, you want a picture so you can show everyone at school?”

“No.” Marinette shook her head. “I want to know why.”

“None of your business.” Gabrielle snapped. Marinette shrugged, taking a sip of her drink while Gabrielle tapped her foot contemplatively. “Fine, but not out here.”

Marinette yelped when Gabrielle pulled her up, scrambling to grab her things as she was dragged to the back. Kicking open the door to the small employee bathroom, Gabrielle shoved her inside and pulled the door shut behind them. She covered her face, taking a few deep breaths before lowering her hands to glare at Marinette.

“I work here because my family is bankrupt.” She choked on the word, covering her mouth. “My dad’s an idiot, and now his businesses are failing, investors are pulling out. Three generations of wealth is drying up. They told the manager I was 16, so I can help pay for school.”

Marinette’s eyebrows raised in shock, and she gaped in silence as Gabrielle took deep breaths. “How long have you been here?”

“Since the summer.” Gabrielle leaned against the sink. “And I’m probably going to die here one day. Once news gets out, we’re going to be the laughingstock of the town. No one in their right mind will hire me to do anything worthwhile. I’m gonna be stuck serving coffee to poor people forever.”

Marinette almost pointed out that Gabrielle was one of those “poor people” now, but it didn’t seem like the time. Besides, she stood between Marinette and the exit, so goading her wasn’t in Marinette’s best interest if she hoped to get out of there alive.

Even still, seeing how broken and miserable Gabrielle was… Marinette couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. Just because she picked on everyone at school didn’t mean Marinette wished the worst for her. She couldn’t imagine having everything ripped away from her and being forced to work a job she hated. For the first time since moving to her new school, Marinette was the most fortunate one in the room.

Reaching out a reluctant hand, Marinette attempted to touch her shoulder, but Gabrielle shook her off. “I don’t need your pity!” she growled. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. You’re just gonna go run and tell your little do-gooder squad and spread it around school.”

“I won’t,” Marinette promised, and when Gabrielle glared again, she added, “Not if you don’t want me to.”

“Why? I more than deserve it after how I’ve treated you and your stupid little friends,” she said.

“It’s not my secret to tell.” Marinette shrugged.

“Wow, you really are stupid.” Gabrielle rolled her eyes, the hints of a smile tugging the corners of her mouth. “Thanks, I guess. I really don’t deserve that from you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Gabrielle pursed her lips before reaching out to pat Marinette’s shoulder awkwardly. She averted her gaze and turned to the door, though her hand hesitated on the handle.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I come from a very messed up world, and up until a few months ago, I thought that it would always be my world. It’s been hard.” She paused for a moment, then continued, “Ya know, sometimes when I see people like you, I wish it were me. I wish I knew how to be nice.” She opened the door and stalked out, leaving Marinette alone in stunned silence.

“Whoa,” Marinette said. “I thought she was being punished by her parents, but bankrupt.”

“That explains why she backed down so easily whenever you challenged her,” Tikki piped up from her bag.

“I guess it is true when they say that you don’t really know someone.” Marinette winced.

“Maybe you can become her friend and teach her how to be nice. That way she can make new friends in the future,” Tikki suggested, but Marinette let out a mocking laugh.

“Oh no, I got my answer, so I’m going to forget this ever happened. I think it’s what Gabrielle wants. Besides, it’s not my job to go around fixing every broken person I come across. Look how well that went with Lila,” Marinette said pointedly.

“I think you’re wrong about what Gabrielle wants, and while it might not be your job, I think you can’t help yourself,” Tikki said.

“Of course I can. Watch.” Marinette gently pushed her back down with one finger before strutting out of the bathroom and all the way out the front door, though her bravado was short-lived when another familiar set of green eyes flashed her a taunting grin.

Lila.

Marinette froze in her tracks, heart taking off into a sprint. A range of emotions bubbled in her core—anger, fear, sorrow, regret. It had been over a month since Marinette left, and despite her best efforts to move on from her old life, Lila could dig up all of her past hurt with one sinister smile.  

She sat at an outside table, patiently sipping her drink. Her posture was relaxed, purposeful, and a bit too smug for Marinette’s liking. This was no coincidence. Lila had been waiting.

“Marinette, it’s good to see you,” she said with a sugary sweet lilt.

“That’s the worst lie you’ve ever told.” Marinette’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

“Enjoying some coffee.” She lifted her cup as proof. “Now, did I stop here because I saw you walk in? Well, that’s debatable.”

“What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing,” Lila said innocently. “I was just taking a break from a long day with my best friends. They all just love me, especially Alya.”

“Good for you,” Marinette said. She brushed past her, but Lila wasn’t finished.

“Even Adrien has been paying attention to me lately. He’s like a strand of pasta, you know? He thinks he’s so tough when in reality he breaks so easily,” she cooed. “If you put a little heat on him, he’ll bend to your will in minutes.”

Marinette stopped in her tracks, hands clenching into fists. “Adrien knows you’re a liar,” she said. “If you push him, he’ll tell everyone the truth.”

“Maybe, but no one else will believe him if he tries to out me. I think he realizes that. It won’t be long before he gives up and conforms. He really can’t stand to lose all of his friends like you did.” She leaned against her fist with a smirk. “It won’t be long before I take him from you too, Marinette.”

Marinette spun around, angry tears welling in her eyes and a sharp retort on her lips, but Gabrielle appeared to refill Lila’s cup. She surveyed Marinette’s tortured expression before trailing the coffee stream across the table into Lila’s lap.

“Hey, watch it!” Lila shrieked, jumping up.

“Oops!” Gabrielle pressed a hand to her lips as Lila wiped at her romper. “Sorry I’m a little clumsy. I’m still training.”

“Ugh, you’re lucky this time, Marinette, but don’t think that this is over!” Lila growled. She grabbed her bag and stalked off.

Marinette and Gabrielle stood together in silence before one of them inevitably cracked, and they both threw their heads back with laughter.

“Thank you,” Marinette said. “That was… nice of you.”

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Don’t get any ideas. That was for your discretion,” she said.

She turned her head, but not in time to hide her flushed cheeks. Marinette hated to admit it, but Tikki was right. Sometimes she couldn’t help herself.

♪♫♪ Turn Off the Lights ♪♫♪

“Have you thought about what I asked last time?” Adrien asked.

Chloe chewed her sushi slowly, purposefully leaving him in anticipation. He really hated how sadistic she was, especially when it wasted his time. Consorting with Chloe made his skin crawl, but after Marinette called to tell him about her encounter that afternoon, he couldn’t wait any longer. If he knew anything about Chloe, it was that she’d do anything for expensive sushi.

“You really have fallen down quite the rabbit hole, Adrikins,” she said, sounding impressed. “First you threaten to blackmail me if I don’t help you, now you’re bribing me. I always knew I’d rub off on you eventually.”

“Look, this isn’t about petty revenge or whatever you normally do,” he said. “Lila is dangerous, and she needs to be stopped.”

“I seem to recall a time when I asked for your help, and you didn’t come through for me.” Chloe examined another piece of sushi thoughtfully. “If it were anyone else in the world, I’d have laughed in their face when they asked for help. You’re lucky we’ve been friends since we were in diapers, Adrikins.”

“I know I messed up. I’m sorry.” He lowered his gaze. “I learned my lesson.”

“Good. With your silly little conscience out of the way, we can actually get some real work done,” Chloe said. “I do have a few ideas for you, but…”

“But what?”

Chloe leaned against her fist with a wicked grin. “I need to test your loyalty. If you’re going to lie down with the dogs, you can’t be afraid to get dirty, so I need to know you’re capable of breaking the rules.”

A chill prickled his spine, and Adrien shifted in his seat. “What kind of rules?”

“See? This is why I have trust issues, Adrikins.”

He sighed, squaring his shoulders and facing her head-on. “Okay, fine. I’m in.”

“Excellent.” Chloe clapped for her butler, then pulled Adrien to his feet. “Your father thinks you’re helping me with my science homework tonight, but you and I both know Sabrina has already done it. I threatened my way into a party uptown, and you’re coming with me.”

“But-”

“Ah, ah!” Chloe held up a finger. “Prove to me you have what it takes. Break the rules.”

Adrien’s stomach churned as Chloe dragged him down to her waiting limo. When he’d come to her for help, he anticipated having to push his conscience aside to get what he wanted. To make a deal with the devil, he had to be willing to sell his soul, and sneaking out to a party across town was page one of their contract. It would all be worth it in the end. For Marinette’s happiness, he’d sell his soul a thousand times. He was already clutching the pen—Chloe just needed to show him where to sign.

♪♫♪ Pretty Places ♪♫♪

“Marinette! There’s someone here to see you!” Her mother called up the stairs that evening.

Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed. Who would visit at this hour? She wasn’t expecting anyone. Adrien had piano practice. Macy had vocal lessons. Eliott and Martin were having some “guy time” whatever that meant. All of her friends were previously engaged, so who was waiting for her downstairs?

She set aside her knitting and slowly made her way to the living room. Whoever she expected to find didn’t compare at all to the tall red-head standing in the doorway.

“Gabrielle?” Her jaw dropped. “What are-”

“Is your room up here?” She pointed, quirking a perfectly-plucked brow. When Marinette nodded, Gabrielle took her wrist and dragged her back up the stairs.

“What-” Marinette gaped as Gabrielle shut the trap door and dusted her hands. “What is happening?”

“Get dressed.” Gabrielle ordered, but when Marinette remained frozen, she rolled her eyes and added, “We’re going to a party. Get dressed.”

“We’re what?” Marinette asked as Gabrielle threw her closet open and began digging through the rack.

“The son of one of my dad’s golfing buddies is throwing a party at their mansion tonight, and we’re going,” Gabrielle said. She sifted through hangers until she found a shirt and tossed it at Marinette. “Put that on.”

“Wh-”

“Do you know how to put on a shirt? Or does your mom dress you every morning?” Gabrielle looked her up and down.

“I know how to put on a shirt,” Marinette replied matter-of-factly. “I’m just confused. Are we friends now or-?”

“Gross, no.” Gabrielle wrinkled her nose and moved over to the dresser as Marinette turned her back to change.

“So, if we’re not friends, then what are we?” she asked as Gabrielle examined a pair of black jeans.

She lowered them, a thoughtful expression on her face before she shrugged and tossed them at Marinette too. “I can’t party with my old crew without risking them finding out my secret, but you on the other hand are stupid enough not to tell anyone despite how delicious it would be to watch my world crumble after I was so mean to you,” she explained while rummaging through Marinette’s shoes. “So, I’m settling for you tonight.”

“Thanks?” Marinette tilted her head to the side. “I think.”

“Where’s your makeup?” Gabrielle asked. When Marinette retrieved a small pouch from her vanity, Gabrielle’s eyes narrowed. “Ugh, this is all you have?”

“I don’t wear a lot of makeup,” Marinette said defensively.

“If I weren’t broke, I’d buy you a proper makeup collection, but we’ll work with what we have for now.” She tucked it under her arm. “Come on. We’ll do your makeup in the car.”

“We- wait!” Marinette called as Gabrielle descended the stairs.

“Hi, sweetie, is this one of your new friends?” her mom asked as Marinette scrambled after Gabrielle. They exchanged glances, and Gabrielle gave her a stern look.

“Uh, yeah. She’s one of my classmates,” Marinette said.

“Gabrielle Burton, it’s nice to meet you, madame,” she said in the politest tone Marinette had ever heard from her. “We’re meeting up with a group of friends to see a movie. Do you mind if I steal her for the evening? My driver will bring her home afterward.”

“Of course, you girls go have fun,” her mom said.

Gabrielle didn’t wait for Marinette to respond before taking her wrist.

“Uh, bye, mom!” Marinette called over her shoulder.

Marinette blinked a few times as Gabrielle shoved her into the back of a town car, and the driver headed uptown. Gabrielle turned her chin with one finger, shaking the foundation bottle in the other hand.

“Close your eyes,” she ordered. When Marinette hesitated, she added, “Relax, I’m not going to make you look ugly. I’d never be seen arriving with someone who looks like a wannabe beauty guru.”

Marinette pursed her lips but relented, allowing Gabrielle to make her over on the drive. Several times Gabrielle grumbled about her limited options, stating several expensive products that would have worked better. Nevertheless, she attained some level of satisfaction because she instructed Marinette to open her eyes and look in the mirror.

“Wow.” Marinette’s eyebrows raised. Her makeup never looked half this good when she did it herself—a skilled hand made all the difference. She peeked up at Gabrielle applying her own lip gloss and pursed her lips. “So, what kind of party is this?”

“Relax, goody-two-shoes, the most exciting thing at this party is wine. My parents don’t let me go to trashy parties.” Gabrielle rolled her eyes, removing her large trench coat to reveal a sparkly black dress with mesh cutouts along the waist. “Just try not to act too lowbrow, okay? Don’t embarrass me.”

“I’ll do my best?” Marinette said as they pulled up to the front steps.

“Great.” Gabrielle tossed her compact into her purse and kicked open the door. “Oh, and just because we’re arriving together does not mean you are allowed to socialize with me here. Don’t hang off me like a sad little koala. Go dance and have fun with other people.”

“Right. Wouldn’t want anyone to think we’re friends,” Marinette said.

“Exactly. I’m so glad you understand.”

Marinette took in the towering mansion with wide eyes, twirling around in the foyer to catch all of the detail work. She’d been hanging out with her new friends for almost a month, but she still wasn’t quite used to such luxurious mansions.

“Cut it out! You act like you’ve never seen crown molding before,” Gabrielle hissed. She closed Marinette’s jaw with her finger. “Just be normal.”

“Yes, because this is so normal.” Marinette gestured to the marble statue fountain in the middle of the foyer, and Gabrielle rolled her eyes.

“It is for these people. Now get away from me.” She spun Marinette around and pushed her toward the sitting room where various groups of people were chatting over hor d’oeurves before retreating to the living room dancefloor.

Marinette stumbled several feet, bumping into someone’s back and falling onto her butt.

“Sorry!” She rubbed her head, but the warm green eyes staring down at her held no contempt. “Adrien?”