#because NO ONE deserves to be looked down upon cos of their accent and where they’re from whether they happen to be good at school or not

[l35213]

think about this every night to be honest. why did i put up with that as if anyone ever deserves to be told they “don’t understand” certain things or have their accent and language openly mocked by students and teachers just because they’re from like five miles away in the ‘wrong’ direction

[yourcooladdiction]

i didn’t have a back-up plan | bucky barnes

summary: reader x bucky break-up but nothing one of tony’s infamous galas can’t fix ;)

pairings: bucky barnes x female reader

warnings: 18+ only pls!! (smut, unprotected sex, public sex), angsty, little bit of fluff, jealous bucky, cuss words

You’re sitting at the kitchen table with your head cradled in both of your hands. Your cheeks are stained from the hour's worth of tears and for a second you are so glad you didn’t put on any mascara this morning. You hear the screeching sound of a chair pulling out across from you and you refuse to look up. You’ve been going at it for hours now.

He just got back from a three-month-long mission, and everything had been fine until he told you how long he was going to be gone this time. You couldn’t do another three, four, maybe even five months without seeing him. You’ve been together for almost two years, yet it seems like you’ve only physically been with him for maybe 4-5 months. You didn’t expect much from this relationship. You knew when you met him it was going to be hard, and if you’re being honest, you didn’t think it was going to last this long…but there was something about him you couldn’t get over. You fell for him hard and now you are dealing with the consequences. You weren’t accustomed to his lifestyle, and you knew you’d never adapt to it. Being an Avenger isn’t something you just sign up for and it’s certainly not for everyone. He didn’t force the lifestyle upon you, he never forced you to Tony’s lavish parties even though he wanted you to but he knew you’d be too uncomfortable. He loved you. You knew that. You loved him. He knew that. But you knew he deserved more, someone like him, and you deserved someone more like you, with nothing too special about them.

“You want to yell at me some more?” You ask.

“Doll...” His tone is cold and emotionless. You know where this is going. You both have known where this is going.

“Do you think we need to break up?” the words escape his lips, and you finally glance up at him.

“If that’s what you want.” You state.

His shocked response is not what you were expecting.

“What do you want? Do you want this to work? Do you love me?” His tone now filled with sincerity. Where the fuck has this been the past two hours you think to yourself. You could’ve sworn you were taking the words out of his mouth, you wanted to beat him to it. But his puzzled look is telling you otherwise, telling you he doesn’t want this at all.

“Bucky, we haven’t been doing well for so long. It’s just... it’s just not working. Our lives do not mesh together anymore. You are all over the place and I can’t drop everything when convenient for you.” You explain your decision and he sits back in his chair.

“I’ve never once expected you to ‘drop your life for me.’ Jesus fucking Christ.” His tone back to irritated. There he is. There’s the Bucky that you’ve been dealing with for the past few hours and the past few months.

“We fight all the fucking time! That’s all we’ve done for months! When you’re gone it’s over the phone or in text, when you’re here it’s in person. Nothing has changed. Nothing helps. It’s not fucking working.” Your voice cracks and his eyes begin to water.

“I... I love you, I don’t want this to end. We can work on this. I can work on this. I can tell Sam I need a break and take some time off.” He attempts to save himself and you shake your head.

“Buck – I love you but I’m holding you back. You need to be with someone who understands your world and I- I’m just not that person.” You try to fight back the stream of tears and he drops his head in defeat.

He attempts to save himself one more time as his mouth opens but nothing comes out. You stare deeply into his piercing eyes. Trying to memorize his face. Trying to memorize him.

He stands up from the table and stops beside you. He reaches down and squeezes your hand. You squeeze back and glance up at him one last time. His eyes fill with tears once more and he takes off to the door. You sit there and force yourself to stare at the now empty seat across from you. You hear the door shut and the floodgates of emotions hits. You sit there for the longest time. Tears and tears flow down your face. Your heart has found a new home in the pit of your stomach. Your eyes eventually dry up and you know that this was the right decision. It was never going to work…

You are pulled out of your poorly timed reminiscing when your date reaches out and grabs ahold of your hand,

“Ready babe?” He asks.  

You force a smile and step out of the car.

You find it oh so incredibly ironic that your work is co-hosting one of Tony’s infamous charity galas. After you and Bucky broke up you landed a big-time PR job which involved working the one and only…avengers. You haven’t seen Bucky since the breakup but he had to know that you were practically working for the team by now. You had wondered how long you two could avoid each other, it was bound to happen eventually.

Nevertheless, 8 months post break up...here you are. The guy you’ve been seeing, a stockbroker on Wall Street was more than eager to be your date to this event. He wouldn’t shut up about the networking opportunity, and a chance to “meet the avengers.” Eyeroll.

You, on the other hand, didn’t want to go. You’ve been staring at the guestlist for weeks, well, you’ve been staring at one particular name on the guestlist for weeks. You’ve been racking your brain on why he would come to this event. He usually never goes to these stupid gala events, but yet he is attending a random gala…that you are in charge of…come on. You also find it convenient that he had a plus one beside his name. Of course, he does. He’s Bucky Barnes, why wouldn’t he have a date.

You and your date walk the imitation red carpet that’s laid out. You are the chair of this event so you have to pose for pictures and stop for questions. You hated this part of your job, you just wanted to be behind the scenes but unfortunately, people love you and your work, so they want to know all about you at all times.

You make it through the interviews and pull your date inside. He is enjoying this publicity a little too much. You find some co-workers/friends and push him off on them, and quickly head to the bar to get the strongest drink possible.

You order a dry martini with extra gin and take a sip.

“Some things don’t change, hm doll?”  

You stand there frozen. The accent. The beautiful Brooklyn accent that you miss every fucking day. Those six words send chills down your back. The way “doll” flowed off his lips. This fucker. You take a deep breath and pray your makeup has remained in tack and your hair looks good from behind.

You slowly turn around and are met with those deep blue eyes. His hair was much shorter than the last time you saw him, but still so damn handsome. The scruff along his chin almost makes you drool because you miss the feeling of it against your skin. Your eyes make their way back up to him and he is smiling.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” You say back.

“You look...fantastic,” he smirks.

You bought this dress specifically for tonight. For this moment. You got it in his favorite color because you wanted him to see you and admit you looked good. You give yourself an internal high five before responding to him.

“Thank you, so do you.” You gesture at his tux. One of your favorite looks on him.

“I-uh-I hope that it’s not weird that I am here,” he says as he takes a step into you.

“Oh, no. Not at all. I am glad you’re here.”

You quickly realize what you said and try to recover,

“SO you can take part in the donations! The more avengers the merrier!” You laugh nervously  

You idiot.

He chuckles at you and shakes his head.

“Is there somewhere more private we can talk?” He asks.

“Uh-I shouldn’t. I have to-“

“Oh right, yes, of course, you’re working. Well, maybe we can meet up before the night is over? I would love to catch up,” his voice is almost a whisper as he is only a few centimes from you. You can smell his unique scent. You used to joke that if he could bottle it up and sell it he wouldn’t have to run off and save the world every other day.

“Yeah, mhm, enjoy your night!” You respond and walk off.

An hour or so passes as you get caught talking to other donors before you can make your way back to your date. He is completely sloshed and making a fool of himself. Great. You call him an Uber and tell him he has to leave. He doesn’t take this very well and begins yelling at you. You and a few co-workers manage to get him outside as you wait for the Uber but he continues yelling at you.

“You’re just a fucking bitch! Get over your fucking metal-arm freak of an ex and you will be happy! I could make you so happy!” He says as he points a finger in your face.

Before you can respond a man quickly jumps in between the two of you and slams him into a wall

“Call her a bitch again and I will kill you, yeah?”

Your date's eyes go wide, and he runs off to the Uber as it pulls up.

“Bucky, what in the absolute fuck is wrong with you?” You yell and he chuckles.

“Really? I just helped you with that fucking asshole and you want to yell at me?”

Without thinking you take ahold of Bucky’s hand and pull him inside and off to a side room. You slam the door behind them both of you and he takes a few steps inside before turning around to face you. You cross your arms along your chest and tell yourself to be calm, give him a chance to explain himself, but as he opens his mouth you cut him off.

“What the fuck are you doing here, James?” You question

A smile splays across his face as you use his first name. He takes a few steps towards you, attempting to close the gap. You slowly take a step or two back still allowing the distance between the two of you. He smirks as he realizes what you’re doing.  

“Well doll, if you must know. I needed to see you He says. His accent was thicker than before, which is a clear indicator he’s been enjoying the open bar or some Asgardian liquor or both.

“What about your plus one? Where is she, hm?” You question.

“You mean Sam? Yeah, I’m sure he’s having a great time in there.” He chuckles.

Of fucking course it’s Sam.

“Why was Sam not on the – oh forget it, we aren’t together anymore Buck, you don’t get to just show up and call me doll and pretend that everything is normal.” You sigh.

“Why not?” He asks playfully.

“We broke up, Bucky.” You sigh once more.

“Yeah and?”  

“And!? And YOU walked away” You scoff

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me, doll?” His voice irritated.

“No, I’m not fucking kidding ‘you.” You tilt your head and mock his accent. His eyes narrow and the muscles in his jaw clench. You forgot how fucking sexy he is when he’s mad.

You two stare at each other for a few seconds as if you’re having a contest. Your emotions begin to overwhelm you and you feel the tears swelling in your eyes. You look down in defeat and you hear him let out a small sigh.

“Love.” His voice cracks. Fuck. You can’t hold the tears back any longer and you feel them fall down your cheek. You look back up at him and his eyes are bloodshot too.

“I fucked up, doll.” He mutters.  

“Yeah. You did.”  

“I know I did! I know! I should have stayed and fought for you. I know that now. I am sorry. But I’m here now. I’ve been working on this little plan for weeks now, to see you and –“

“No! No, no. You can’t do this. You don’t get to do this.” You interrupt, you wipe a tear away, and turn around to leave.

“It wasn't just me, doll! What about you, huh? You couldn’t adjust to my lifestyle yet you’ve been parading around all the other avengers for the past 8 months. Helping Tony with these bullshit galas!” He challenges.

You spin around and narrow your gaze at him.

“It’s my job.” You defend yourself.

“Yeah? I was your fucking boyfriend, not a lot of effort given there though?”

“Oh, fuck you, Bucky. Fuck. You.” You ridicule.

You both stare at each other down. Waiting for the next one to say something. You are soon questioning why you were so excited to see him tonight. Why you picked out this specific dress. Why you enjoyed it when he defended you against your douchebag date. You feel another tear fall and you quickly wipe it away.

“I should’ve tried harder. I’m sorry. I couldn’t handle the distance and I gave up on us too easily because I was scared and I’m sorry.” You finally confess.  

He stares at you. Contemplating what you just said. His jaw is still clenched, and both of his hands are stuffed into his pockets. The silence is almost deafening, and you turn to leave as your heart can’t take this anymore. 8 months later and you’re still not over him. You’ll never be over him.

Bucky grabs your hand as you begin to turn and spins you back around to face him.  

“Doll, I miss you. God, I fucking miss you.” He croaks.

Before you can speak his lips crash against yours. He quickly has you pushed against the wall as he deepens the kiss. You moan as you feel his tongue enter into your mouth. You wrap your hands in his brown locks and attempt to pull him further into you. He slides a leg in between yours and you moan as he grazes your sweet spot.

“Buck, we’re in public-“ you let out a raspy moan.

“I need you, please.” He groans.  

And with that, you’re gone. You give in to whatever he wants. He slips off the straps of your dress and you step out of it, he takes you in as if it was the very first time seeing you. You attempt to cover yourself up, you haven’t been this exposed since the last time you were together.

“Don’t,” he demands.  

He lifts your chin with his finger and places the sweetest kiss on your lips.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers.

“Buck, I haven’t- I haven’t been with anyone else.” You admit.

“Me either, baby. I couldn’t bring myself to think about anyone but you. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. Let me show you how much I've missed you."

This time the tears swelling in your eyes were happy ones. He smiles as he finally renders you speechless. He wipes the tear away and kisses you once more. The kiss goes back to heated and passionate. You reach for his belt buckle, and he groans as your hands brush up against his erect member. He pulls his bow tie off and quickly unbuttons his shirt. He slips off his pants and underwear and once again has you pushed against the door. He begins kissing down your neck as he slips off your bra. He hooks a finger into your underwear, and you moan as his hands slide down your thighs.

“You ready?” He asks

All you can do is nod as the sight of him is enough to make you come.

He hoists you up against the door and you wrap your legs around him as he slips himself inside of you.

“Fuck, baby girl.” He groans.

“Buck – Jesus.” You cry out as he fills you up. He stills as he thinks he hurts you and pulls away to check on you,  

“Move, please.” You giggle and he nuzzles his head into your neck and begins peppering kisses along your collarbone.

He thrusts himself in and out of you at an unrelenting pace. Anyone else would probably be embarrassed with how quickly you’re about to fall apart but you don’t care. You’ve missed this touch for months. You’ve craved it for months. You knew you needed him again. You just needed to realize it.

“Y-you close baby? I’m so close. Fuck.” He moans.

You attempt to speak but all that comes out is a loud moan of his name. He smiles at how easily you fall apart for him. He’s always loved this effect he’s had on you. Even though you held your own, there was something about Bucky that made you putty in his hands. He knew he had to get that feeling back. He knew the second he walked out he wanted to come back. He almost did. He stood outside your door for the longest time but couldn’t bring himself to knock. He knew you’d come back to him. He knew he’d find you again and you two couldn’t help but get back together. You were meant to be.

“Fuck, I’m-“ is all you get out as your orgasm takes over.

“That’s it, doll. Let go. Fuck. I love you. I love you so much.” He praises you as you clench around his cock.

Your head spins as you see stars. With a few more sloppy thrusts, Bucky is moaning your name as he lets go inside of you. He slowly places you back down on the ground and kisses you all over.  

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“I love you.” You say as you lean up to steal a kiss.  

He smirks against your lips and wraps his arms around your waist. You two stand there in each other’s embrace.  

“Can we make this work? Can you be mine again?” He whispers  

“Yes.” You smile.

“Good, I didn’t have a backup plan if you said no.” He smirks and you laugh.

“Let’s get dressed. I’m sure everyone heard us.” You roll your eyes.

“Hey that’s never bothered you before,” he teases.

[asunshinepuff]

Secrets of the Darkened Seas

🧜🏻‍♀️ Hello! Welcome to chapter five! Please please please give a like and follow to my co-author and best friend Luna ( @epithymiahua ) because this story would not be where it’s at without her help! She’s incredible and deserves so much credit for working on this alongside me cause she works so hard. And I feel horrible that she isn’t getting the credit deserves. Just a small reminder that the next chapter will be posted on Luna’s blog! 

This chapter features a mention of poisoning, it’s quite brief and only about paragraph but nonetheless here’s your warning. Also, if you have any questions about swords and the reasoning behind Min-Jun’s sword having a name, feel free to ask Luna on her blog, she is great at explaining the lore behind it all and very patient to help you understand. 

As always, a reminder that there is some lore included within this, however, it will be explained over time so no worries. There are very subtle mentions of lore within the previous chapters so perhaps read back and see if you can catch it. 

Under the guise of Fantastic Nautical Creatures by Newt Scamander, the included lore on different types of merfolk will as always, be taken from the book “The Secret World of Mermaids” by Francine Rose. We will not take credit for its writing. It’s a childhood book of mine that I adore dearly and sincerely think you should all check out!

Also! Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list so that you don’t miss a new chapter! Anyways, that’s about it. I hope you enjoy!

If you’ve missed any chapters here’s the link to the masterlist for this story Secrets of the Darkened Seas 🧜🏻‍♀️

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Chapter 5: The Sea Serpent’s Venom

Everything happened in a span of mere seconds. Regulus and Tadase both woke up in fear, the crew claimed their weapons, the boys were pulled away by Opal and hidden away, Remus drew his sword, Sirius’ sword clanged against his, and the invading pirates boarded the Dragon’s Pearl. 

Remus glared at the offending man, he stepped back when other pirates began to draw closer. One of the pirates stood next to Sirius Black. He was lean and tall, he wore round spectacles, light skin, the most unruly black hair Remus had ever seen, and a sword at the ready. 

Remus blocked the first to his head, retaliating by swinging his sword. The pirate in spectacles charged at Quinn, who only smirked in response. Easily dancing around the younger pirate, disarming him rather quickly by grabbing the spectacles of the pirate. The man yelled out in surprise, shouting at the unfairness of it all. 

Another pirate, this time a woman with bright green eyes and fiery red hair, charged after Opal. Having just joined the fray, she quickly blocked a blow to her side. She was not amused, nor did she want to deal with practical children, minus Remus of course, trying to steal their ship.

“Where is he?!” Sirius snarled out, his sword pressed against Remus’.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” He snapped in return. Pushing his sword down against the Black.

“Don’t play coy, I know your captain kidnapped my brother!” Sirius pulled his sword free and twirled it with his wrist. “Kidnapped?! My captain practically saved him!” Remus widened his stance, putting the hilt of his sword to his chest.

Sirius didn’t even bother to respond to that, only frowning at the answer Remus gave him. He surged forward again, aiming for Remus’ torso. He blocked and began to advance while Sirius began to retreat to the stairs. He was heading for the Captain’s quarters. In a moment of quick thinking, Remus threw his sword. Sirius found himself pinned to the wall- Remus’ sword piercing his sleeve to the wood of the railing.

Sirius tugged his wrist, trying to pull free, he glared at Remus who only offered a smirk in return. His expression falters at the sight of a young lanky man with dusty blonde hair and grey eyes. The young man’s eyes darted around nervously, he quickly ran towards Sirius, handing the object in his arms to him. 

It was Min-Jun’s sword, the one with a dark green sheath with gold accents. Dú hǎi. Remus paled. The lanky boy had snuck into the Captain’s quarters. Sirius smirked, taking the hilt of the sword.

The crew of the Dragon’s Pearl paused, watching Sirius. With all of the attention on him, Sirius spoke. 

“I’ll be taking over this ship, unless you hand over Regulus Black. If you don’t, I’ll have the Dragon’s Pearl kill you all.” The crew merely looked at the Black in confusion.  

Sirius frowns, he lifts the sword up for the crew to see. “See this! This sword controls the ship, and I hold the sword.” 

Remus looked to Quinn, an intense desire to wring the young Black’s neck was clear upon his face. Quinn merely shook his head, sheathing his sword, and leaned against the railing. Remus only looked at Sirius as if he was watching a child wave a stick and calling it a magic wand.  

Sirius’ brows frowned further into frustration at the lack of a response from the crew, in anger, he pulls the sword from its sheath. Instantly dropping the sword, blood dripping to the deck. Sirius clutched his hand tightly, a tiny metallic gold snake with emerald eyes wrapped its body around Sirius’ wrist, its fangs piercing the skin. 

The metallic gold snake released its fangs, leaving two puncture holes, uncoiling its body, and it fell to the floor. Then slithered its way to the hilt of the sword where it fits perfectly to the deep grooves of the metal hilt that had appeared to have lost a large piece. The snake froze and became inanimate once more. Its emerald eyes shimmering. 

Sirius looked to Remus and Quinn. His vision began to fog up around the edges, his mind felt heavy. “What did you do to me? What is that sword?!”

“Us? We’ve done nothing.” Quinn replied with a shrug.

Remus sheathed his sword and walked forward. His expression was neutral as the crew began to drive out the remaining pirates who had grown in fear at the sight of the sword’s snake coming to life. “That sword, is called Dú hǎi.” 

Sirius fell to his knees, he looked up to Remus. “What the bloody hell does that have to do with anything?!” 

Remus remains passive. “Dú hǎi translates to Venomous Sea.” He crouched down next to the pirate. “You were bitten by the spirit of the sword, and now have its venom running in your veins.” 

The pirate glared at Remus. “Give me the antidote!” 

“I don’t have it, only the White Sea Serpent has it,” Remus answered calmly.  

Sirius froze, he had heard that title before. The White Sea Serpent was a man who had vanquished many pirates and had a magical sword that only served one master. “Who is he?! Where can I find him to give me the antidote!?” 

“He’s my captain,” Remus smirked. “Captain Min-Jun Hua. And I doubt he would give someone like you the antidote. He doesn’t take too kindly to trespassers on his ship.”  

Sirius struggled to keep his eyes open, his heart began to slow, he fell to his side. Quinn walked forward. 

“You got bitten by the White Sea Serpent mate. You’ll become legendary if you survive. Which you won’t since its venom is hell without the antidote.” He leans down to grin at the pirate. “You’d best start praying my captain returns soon, eh?”  

Sirius couldn’t respond, he fell unconscious. Quinn tsks, shaking his head. He stood, “Take him to the infirmary, make sure he stays alive long enough for Min-Jun to arrive.” 

The crew gets to work. Remus watches them drag Sirius away, his arms crossed. “Defeated by the captain’s sword when the captain was nowhere in sight. What a terrible way to die. He doesn’t even have the honor to die with the captain present. How tragic.” 

“Well, now you know how it looks in person. This is why no one has managed to take the ship.” Quinn adds, he grabs the fallen sword, speaking quietly to it. A small hiss answers in return, Quinn resheaths the sword.  

“I’ll go check on the children. They got quite the scare.” Remus offered. He personally wanted to make sure the children weren’t harmed during the fight. 

“Alright, try to get some sleep,” Quinn adds as he looks to the ship that was sailing away. “His own crew left him, not that I blame them. They wouldn’t even be able to help him.” Quinn turned to the infirmary. Dú hǎi in his hand. 

When Remus joined the children, Brielle had taken to hiding Regulus as well. She snarled when the cabin door opened, but stopped when she saw that it was Remus. 

“How are they?” Remus asked softly, kneeling on the ground. The mermaid had not spoken once, but it was clear she could understand them. The mermaid only communicated with Remus telepathically, but even then Remus still struggled to understand the complex mer language. 

Brielle simply looked to her right, the children were huddled under a blanket. She looked back to Remus, her eyes turning silver as she spoke to Remus telepathically.

Remus instantly raised his hands to try to stop her, his head shaking. “Alright, I understand. Please stop doing that, it feels so loud my head might burst.” He looks to Brielle who’s shoulders slumped. He sighs. “At least until I know about your language.” 

Brielle looks away, her hair falling over her shoulder. Remus turned his attention to the blanket, lifting it up a tad to peek at the children underneath. Two pairs of wide eyes stared back at him. Remus couldn’t help but smile. 

“Are you both alright?” The boys nod. Tadase crawls out from the blanket, curling up to the older mer’s side. Purring contentedly. Regulus crawled out as well, hesitantly watching the two mers interact, it looked like he wanted comfort too.  

Without warning, Remus pulled Regulus onto his lap, hugging him tightly. Regulus struggled to pull himself free, but gradually came to a stop. The child’s shoulders began to shake, before he began to sob. 

Remus only rubbed his back in an attempt to soothe him. A sigh leaving his lips, he was angry. Regulus had been so small and thin, he hadn’t spoken a single word for nearly all four days. Only flinching whenever someone mentioned the Blacks. What had they done to him?

“He feels abandoned.” Remus snapped his head up, eyes wide as he looked to the mermaid. She had spoken. In english!

Brielle looked undisturbed with her sudden ability to speak. She watched the boy closely. “I feel, loneliness from him. He feels abandoned.” 

Remus frowned. He wasn’t surprised. The Blacks all but unloved the frail boy in his arms. Regulus was neglected for so long, it must have felt like rejection and abandonment. Brielle tilts her head, the mer child in her arms has fallen asleep. Gently, she places Tadase down beside her. She turns to Remus, her arms stretched, reaching for Regulus. 

“I’ll sing. To help him sleep. No more nightmares.” 

Remus’ eyes widened in surprise. “Mermaid’s can be rid of nightmares?” 

Brielle nodded. “Mothers do, for their babies. I will do it for him.” She pulls the boy into her arms, her clawed hands were so gentle, it amazed Remus how such a fierce creature could become so gentle and tender to others. He had much to learn about his fellow mers it seemed. 

Once settled comfortably upon her lap, Brielle began to sing. And her lullaby soothed out the frown on his face, falling deep into sleep. Tadase curled closer to her. Her lullaby seemed to calm the rage within Remus’ own mind, and all the crew slept well for the first time in days. Even Sirius Black who was fighting for his life, the pain seemed to dull. 

Her song reached everyone aboard the Dragon’s Pearl.

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Tag List: (Let me know if you wish to be added!)

@whataboutmyfries

@sunflowerfox87

@spookypotato

[starkidpotty]

When Will I See You Again? [RBW]

Ron’s favorite summer is the summer he met you. 

Pairing: Ron Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none–it’s absolute, pure, unadulterated fluff.

Word Count: ~5.3k

A/N: finally a fic that isnt harry hsfhasdfa i plan to make this multiple parts but let me know if u guys wud like that aaa i hope u enjoy! <3

“Fred, you are a right foul git!” cursed Ron as he chased after the twin. 

“Ron’s in love!” Fred bellowed as he held a crumpled photograph in his hand. Before Ron carelessly pounced on Fred, the twin passed the photograph to the other half of his whole, George. 

George uncrumpled the photograph to take a good look at it, “In love is Ron!” George recrumpled the photograph into a ball and threw it back at Fred, making Ron the monkey in the middle. 

Ron jumped and jumped, unable to catch the crumpled polaroid as his brothers threw it around. Fred made the mistake of passing it to Ginny, who was caught off-guard, allowing Ron to snatch it from her hands.

“Now, look at it! It’s unsalvageable!” Ron exclaimed at the polaroid. There was a fold right across the center, discoloring that part of the photograph. 

“Are you not a wizard, little brother?” Said Fred.

Ron was, of course, just not adept or knowledgeable enough to fix the muggle object. 

“Does it look like I’d know a spell to fix this? This is the only thing I have to remember her by!” Ron bellowed in anger. Fred and George merely snickered at him. 

“You make very funny faces.” George said to him, mimicking the last conversation Ron had with you. 

The teasing started the first day the Weasleys decided to take a muggle-led tour of the famed pyramids in Egypt at Arthur’s request (demand, actually). The family tried very hard to fit into the muggle-led tour group, which to their credit, they did quite well. Arthur kept his little quips at bay–with much help from Molly and Bill. Percy droned on about his guesses for Head Boy (guesses, meaning reasons as to why he was most deserving of the role) to anyone family member within earshot. Fred and George were accompanied by Charlie, who was better accustomed to muggles due to his time in Romania. Ginny quietly observed her family. While Ron, who was holding Scabbers in his right hand and a handful of wizard sweets in his left, did not notice his untied shoelaces because he tripped over them and took a muggle girl down in the process. It was a scene out of a muggle romantic comedy–13-year-old Ron swore he fell in love the moment he and your eyes met. Scabbers scattered out of his hand at the moment of impact and as he stood up, he offered her his sticky and crumby left hand. You didn’t seem to mind, as you dusted yourself, and thanked Ron for his help. Of course, Fred and George were the primary witnesses of Ron’s unfortunate incident, as they had temporarily escaped Charlie’s watchful eye.

The second day of the muggle-led tour of the pyramids, he saw you again. He tried to steer clear of Fred and George, but he could only do much in the small space in the pyramids. Luckily, Fred and George were on a mission to seal Percy in a mummy tomb and Charlie merely watched, as he was quite amused at the whole scene. As Fred and George shoved Percy into an unknown Pharaoh’s room. Ron took this chance to talk to you as he spotted you at the front of the tour group. He looked left and right, making sure his family did not notice him and he walked to you.

“Hullo,” Ron started. You didn’t notice him, as you were transfixed on the Egyptian tombs.

Ron cleared his throat in an attempt to catch her attention and he repeated, “Hullo.” 

You finally turned to him, “‘Hello,”

Oh merlin, she’s French, Ron thought, as the sound of your accent sounded like harps and the gates of heaven themselves opening. He kept himself grounded as he reminded himself that you were essentially a muggle-girl who could not understand wizard things and should he slip, it’ll be only his mother’s voice he’d have to hear. 

“Er–hullo, I want to apologize, for tripping you yesterday in King Tut’s tomb yesterday.” 

“Oh! There is no–what is the word–problem, thank you again–er–for, for, helping me up.” You said, fishing for the translations of the French words you knew. 

By Merlin’s left tit, Ron swore up and down he was already in love with her. Her hair was shiny and soft, her eyes glittering, and lips so full. It was hard to concentrate, it was almost as though he were in a trance. 

“Is it your first time in Egypt?” Ron continued. Fred and George emerged from the tomb of the unknown pharaoh, unsuccessful in their plight to banish Percy. They did not meddle with Ron’s feeble attempt at female interaction, but instead sniggered at the sight of it. 

Ron himself was quite taken aback with his behavior, as he was talking to a girl–a member of the opposite sex, someone who was not his mother or his sister or Hermione. You were a pretty girl too, and this all the more heightened his nerves. Ron was exercising so much control over his words so as not to spill the secrets of the wizarding world to a 13-year-old girl that his head was spinning. The polite conversation was riddled with small talk, the normal exchanging of basic information such as names, ages, and where  you were from. 

Arthur spotted Ron, eyes wide. His son, his very immature & unaccustomed-to-muggles son (relative to himself, of course), was conversing with a muggle, all while his damned broken wand was poking out of his pocket. Arthur rushed to Ron’s side, and Ron hadn’t seemed to notice–too busy ogling you. Arthur put an arm around Ron, effectively startling him. 

“Good day! Might I borrow my son for a minute?” He says to you. You nod and watch Ron as he gets whisked away by his father. 

Arthur didn’t know whether to scold him or egg him on–it was a muggle he was talking to! Everything he’d want to know about muggles from the perspective of a 13-year-old girl right there. Then Arthur imagined the scolding he’d get from Molly if he chose the former. So, he lectured Ron on the dangers of revealing the secrets of the wizarding world to a muggle, citing an incident he’d had recently at work when a Muggle walked in on he and his fellow co-workers during a raid. 

“The obliviate charm, though quite useful, was a nasty thing to inflict onto somebody and I wouldn’t want  to do that to her.” Arthur told Ron. Ron didn’t care to listen to his father and began to imagine your face on his father’s to make the lecture more bearable. Arthur kept Ron glued to his hip the rest of the tour for the day until they made it back to Bill’s flat.

The third day was the most eventful yet, as the tour group finally had their last group lunch at an authentic Egyptian muggle restaurant. Ron took this as his last opportunity to interact with his muggle-tour-group crush and indiscreetly took a seat next to you. Unfortunately for Ron, Fred and George decided upon the seats across him and you. Ron tried so hard to talk to you, he really did, but he was worse off than yesterday. He was skidding over his words like a car whose tires popped and the steel was grinding itself across the road. Fred and George didn’t even hide the fact they were making fun of him, making kissy noises and drawing hearts in the air with their fingers. It was a miracle you ignored them, and even more of a miracle you paid attention to Ron. Your mother saw the sight and took out her polaroid camera. 

“[Y/N], [Y/N]! Look at me, my love!” Your mom said as she clicked the camera, film printing from the slot. She shook it to make it develop faster. The picture was ghastly–your eyes were half-closed with a forkful of spaghetti in your mouth and Ron’s face was contorted into a cross between a sneeze and anger. 

“How about another one, for good measure? Yes?” Your mother proposed. You shyly inched closer to Ron, and you swear you hear him gulp. You smile and Ron partly does the same (he was never really quite good at modulating his expressions, so now instead of a cross between a sneeze and anger, it was now fear pretending to be happy). 

Your mother hands you both pictures after they’ve fully developed, and you give Ron the second one. 

“I like how silly we look here,” You reasoned to him, beaming. Ron was going to explode. 

“Oh yes, me too.” He replied, shaking his polaroid of the two of you to get it to move, forgetting for a moment it came from a muggle camera. You chuckle at him. 

“You make very funny faces, it’s, uh, very amusing.” You mused. Ron turned red to his ears. 

“You should’ve seen the faces I made when I threw up slugs!” Ron laughed, then his face straightened to a stony expression. 

“Slugs?” You asked. At this point Ron was panicking and he sent a side-eye to Fred & George, who were laughing even harder than before. 

“Candied slugs,” Ron managed to say quickly

“Candied slugs?” You repeated, “That sounds so, er, awful! Disgusting, yes? Why would you eat such an ‘orrible thing?” 

Ron was pink to the ears.

“Well, er, candied slugs….are a delicacy?” Ron could not help but sound confused with the lie he was making up. You furrowed your brows. 

“In England?” You ask. 

“Only up north?” He asks with a very highlighted question mark. 

“Up north?” You couldn’t wrap your head around it, who the hell ate candied slugs in England? 

“It’s quite rare, might I add. Only a few mugg–” Ron stopped himself again, “people, I mean make them.” 

“Really, uh, candied slugs?” 

“Yes. Blimey, the feeling you when they go back up your throat!” Ron laughed, trying to keep his cool. “Well, what do you have in France? I reckon it's much better than slugs.” 

You tell him about the wonders of French culture, especially about food. Ron tries very hard to ask the questions, and you answer them. Lunch ends, signalling the end of the tour. All the members of the tour group finish their food, pay their share of the bills–Arthur took his time with muggle Egyptian money as he’d never see any other muggle currency aside from the British pound. When all was said and done, everyone stood up and went their separate ways. You stood, and so did Ron. 

Turning to him, you say,“It was, uh, nice to have someone my age ‘ere.” You were compelled to hug him, and you do. Ron was flushed, flustered, redder than his family’s signature red hair. His face looked like hues of red at a paint shop. Ron didn’t hug back due to shock, but you paid it no mind. You left as your mother called you to her, you skipped towards her happy to have made a friend in your time in Egypt. Ron stood there, almost in a petrificus-totalus-like state, staring at you as you walked away from him. Fred and George laughed at Ron incessantly. They made fun of him the whole walk back to Bill’s flat. Ron knew that he’d never see you again, but he resigned to replaying the last conversation you and he had. 

Ron’s remaining time in Egypt saw him thinking about you endlessly, it was the most teenageric thing he’d done thus far. The rest of the weeks were spent doing usual Weasley family activities, far away from muggles now, much to Arthur’s dismay. Bill gave them tours of the tombs he’d broken curses at and the satellite Gringotts office. The vacation ended and the Weasleys were well on their way back home with Ron still thinking about you all the way to Burrow. 

At the Leaky Cauldron, he told Hermione and Harry what he could about you. Harry was quite supportive of the whole escapade, while Hermione rolled her eyes and told him off as you were probably just being nice. The initial crush faded as the year progressed, but Ron still thought about you from time to time, wondering if you were enjoying home and if he’d ever run into you should he find himself in muggle France. He’d find you being the topic of conversation when he was alone with Harry–to avoid an earful from Hermione–on days where there would be nothing to talk about. He’d run through hypothetical situations and ask Harry how he should act around a muggle to not scare them off. 

His last conversation with you would occasionally creep up in his mind before he’d go to bed at Gryffindor tower, smiling at the thought of it. 

“Some girls really are something else,” Ron would think before drifting off to sleep, the crumpled polaroid hidden in his sock drawer. 

___ 

Year 3 at Hogwarts came and passed, Ron made it through in one piece, now without a pesky Scabbers by his side as it was revealed to have been Peter Pettigrew. He now had longer hair, more defined features, and grew a few inches taller. Summer was eventful to say the least with his family and his two best friends going to the Quidditch world cup and it being attacked by Death Eaters. He still thought about you from time to time in passing but not as obsessively as in the 3rd year. Yours and his interaction became an anecdote–the time Ron finally talked to a girl who wasn’t family or Hermione and almost slipped the secrets of the wizarding world to. Fred and George would not let him forget. 

“...This year, Hogwarts will play host to a legendary event: the Triwizard Tournament. During which time a single student gets to represent his or her school in a series of magical contests. Eternal glory awaits the student who wins the tournament.” Bellowed Dumbledore from his stand at the front of the hall. Ron was too busy working at his chicken pot pie, but picked up keywords from Dumbledore’s speech in between bites–Triwizard tournament, eternal glory. Dumbledore’s speech was interrupted by a frantic Filch running through the aisle of the Great Hall, clutching Mrs. Norris in his hands. He whispered a few words to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore continued. Ron had moved on from his chicken pot pie to the mashed potatoes drowning in the signature Hogwarts gravy. 

“...For now, please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and their headmistress Madame Maxime!” At once, the doors of the Great Hall burst open, giving sight to the students of Beauxbatons. 

Ron’s head was still down as he was basically breathing in the mashed potatoes, even though he knew that there would be plenty of mashed potatoes to go around. Seamus, sat to his left, accidentally nudged him thinking he was Dean, causing Ron to look up. Ron’s eyes immediately darted to the Beauxbatons girls who made quite an entrance with butterflies erupting from their sides. Ron was ogling them, now ignoring the mashed potatoes in front of him, his chin resting on his hand. He stared at them all, darting from girl to girl, focusing on them a few seconds each. His eyes moved down the line of girls, until he reached the last student–you. 

Ron froze, not out of fear, but out of utter shock. It was you, in the flesh–the muggle girl he had tripped in King Tut’s tomb a year prior to now. Of course now, he realized you were not a muggle, but a wizard like him. You were still gracefully dancing around as rehearsed, your arms extending and flexing forward like a ballerina. Ron was still staring at you. 

Hermione snapped her fingers at his face, “Excuse me! Women aren’t objects!”

“It’s her.” Ron simply stated. Hermione looked at Harry from across the table in confusion. 

“Who?” Harry asked. 

“D’you remember the muggle girl I kept talking about last year? She isn’t a muggle, she’s literally right there, in the flesh, prancing around, butterflies shooting out of her sides! Blimey, she’s a witch!” Ron exclaimed.

His two friends turned their heads to the front of the Great Hall, where you were bowing down. You and your fellow classmates separated among the four tables in the Great Hall, with you to the Gryffindor table. Ron was watching you the whole time until you sat at the table, only a few students away from him. 

Harry was in disbelief, unwilling to believe Ron, “Merlin, Ron, are you sure?”

Fred and George noticed Ron’s awestruck face and shifted around a few fellow Gryffindors to get to their little brother. 

“Georgie, it seems as though Ron has his eye on a certain French lady,” Fred starts. The twins follow Ron’s line of sight, landing on you.

“Blimey, Freddie, she looks familiar does she not?” George notices. 

Fred squints, “Good god, isn’t that girl you couldn’t,” 

George continues, “Wouldn’t” 

Fred says, “Stop talking about?”

George connects, “Every hour,”

“Of every day, last summer to now?” finishes Fred, finally. Fred and George turn to each other in amazement, wondering how they’ll be spending the next year torturing Ron. 

“Why don’t you go up to her and offer her some candied slugs then, little brother? It’s a delicacy in Northern England! Up north, yes!” George says mimicking 13-year-old Ron’s voice.

“Shove off, George,” Ron mutters as he brings his attention back down to his mashed potatoes, trying to calm himself down. He was picking at the plate with his spoon, tossing around the meal carelessly. 

You were enjoying a classic Hogwarts meal of baked chicken and potatoes, while a first-year sat beside you making chit-chat. The student knew just as much as you did about Hogwarts, but you hung onto every word. A girl in front of you at you and back down at her plate. You caught her eye and you both smiled. 

“‘Ello,” You say to her. She seemed to have gone as red as her hair. 

“Hello,” She replied to you shyly. 

“My name is [Y/N],” You say smiling at her. 

The girl paused and smiled back, “I’m Ginny.”

A pause ensues. 

“Sorry for, er, staring, you just seem so familiar,” Ginny says to you. 

“Oh? Sorry, I do not remember you,” You say remorsefully. “It is my first time here at Hogwarts, I’ve never met anyone from here.” “It’s in the face is all,” Ginny smiles at you, before returning to her food. The Durmsrang fellows finished their introduction into the Great Hall, breathing fire and finding their places at different Hogwarts tables. A bulky Durmstrang boy finds a spot next to you, and you both exchange niceties and finish your meals. 

Ron finally clears his plate of the mashed potatoes. Fred and George were recounting the events in Egypt to Lee, who was now laughing at Ron as well. Hermione finished her meal and got up, beckoning Ron to go with them, as they had classes the next day. Harry, however, was looking at Ron and back at you, shooting a look at him–like he was egging him on. Ron instead decides to get up to go back to the common rooms, and Harry, a little disappointed, follows. 

The hall of students seem to finish their meals the same time as you, as one by one they leave their seats. Your fellow Beauxbaton classmates leave their seats as well, as Madame Maxime gave full permission to explore the grounds and fraternize with other Hogwarts students, so as long as they return to her by a certain period. Ginny gets up in front of you to join her other friends, and you contemplate on your next move. You get up from your table and saunter towards her. 

“Uh, Ginny, yes?” You ask her, as she spins around to meet you. 

“Yes, [Y/N]?” she responds neutrally. 

“I would just like to say–ask, I think is a better word–if we could be friends? I know not much about Hogwarts or anything, really,” You question, “You seem very nice,”

Ginny is taken aback, but gladly obliges. She introduces you to her group of friends, and you try to keep their names in mind. 

“Bloody hell,” Ron exclaims.

“What now, Ronald?” Hermione complains. 

“I forgot my bloody wand in the Hall, d’you mind?” He asks her. Without waiting for a response, he runs back to the hall and spots you, Ginny, and her friends stopped to the side while groups of students pour out the hall. He freezes in place foo two reasons: (1) He is absolutely mesmerized by your face, (2) you’re talking to his little sister. He takes a few steps to where he was sat a few minutes ago and grabs his wand. He could do two things right about now–leave or make up some pathetic excuse to talk to Ginny, and by extension talk to you. 

He chose the latter. 

He was rehearsing all kinds of stupid excuses to talk to Ginny and veer the conversation to you.

“Ginny! Mom sent you a howler, telling you off for being annoying, I mean I could tell you that myself.” 

“Ginny! Hermione says your hair looked greasy today, you should probably start a fight.” 

“Ginny! Remember when you poured your heart to a diary and almost got the life sucked out of by You-Know-Who in the flesh?” 

He was distracted and by the time he reaches you and Ginny and her friends, he’s stone-faced. His blood goes cold and a sweat starts to trickle on the nape of his neck.

“Hello, hello, uh,” He stammers. Ginny looks at him, in turn making you look at him. He sees you now, up close. You’ve grown a lot since that summer in Egypt. Your lips fuller, your hair longer, and you’ve grown into your features. You were sporting a paler look than you had last seen him, but he still thought you were glowing. 

“Slugs–” He starts out. Ron didn’t know why he began with slugs. Ginny gives him a bizarre look and your eyes widen. It’s as though your brain was flipping through pages of memories and it finally landed on the page it was looking for–Egypt, 1993.

“It’s you!” You exclaimed. Ginny was now giving you a bizarre look. “You were the boy who ate slugs, correct?” Ron was so nervous, and he felt all his blood pooling in his face. 

“What did you say then, er,– candied, yes?” Ron was silent through this, he was unaware of what to say. 

Ginny’s eyes light up, as she finally put two and two together, “You’re the french muggle girl Ron went on about!”

“He went on about me?” You questioned. Ginny’s friend’s had sensed this was a conversation amongst the three of you, and left, telling her they’d meet her in the common room and left. 

Ginny’s arms were now crossed against her chest, looking between you and Ron. You took off the signature Beauxbaton hat and fixed your hair, now conscious of the way you looked. Ron was too nervous to fix himself. Half his button-up was untucked and peeking from underneath his sweater, his collar was lopsided and his tie was arbitrarily knotted into a poor excuse of a windsor. He was transfixed on you, studying your features as though he were making sure that it was really you he tripped at King Tut’s tomb a year ago. 

Ginny turned to her brother, and their eyes met, gesturing him to talk. Ron opened his mouth but his vocal chords refused him any vibration. You stared at him, as the gears grinded in his head. 

“Er, I wouldn’t say went on about you,” Ron explained

“Wouldn’t say? Don’t lie, Ron.” Ginny said. Ron looked at her annoyedly, and Ginny smiled in return. 

You smile, “Is it true you eat candied slugs here?”

Ginny chortles, “Candied slugs?”

“Is it not, uh, a delicacy? He told me that last year,” You ask, pointing to Ron

“Blimey…” Ron mutters. Ginny laughs. He reasons, “I thought you were a muggle.” You shoot him a puzzled look, “Muggle?”

“Normal, non-magic,” Ginny cuts in. Ron shoots her another look. 

“Oh? Did, uh, I look not magical?” You ask jokingly. 

“You were more than magical,” Ron says in a dream-like tone. 

You fluster at his words and Ginny’s face turns into a disgusted look. 

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Ginny says, turning her heel to exit the hall. Ron pleads at Ginny through his eyes, but she takes no notice and leaves him with you. 

A pause takes you both. You recollect yourself, planning out what you want to say to Ron.

“I still have our, uh, polaroid.” You say warmly at Ron. He feels lighter, more comfortable knowing you kept the little piece of memorabilia from Egypt. 

“So do I!” He exclaims, too enthusiastically. He sinks back down into composure, silently scolding himself for the unwanted burst of energy. “I thought you weren’t a witch, honestly.”

You smile, “I could see your wand.”

Ron blushes fiercely, shades of red slowly taking place on his face, soon it becomes so strong, it’s enough to rival his hair, “I-I’m sorry?”

“Your, uh, wand. It was held together, by, uh, tape.” You declare. 

Ron sighed in relief, “You did?” 

“Yes, it was in your back pocket the whole time, no?” 

“Call me daft, I really thought no one would notice.” 

“It’s why I thought you knew I was a witch,” You say. “I didn’t care to point it, er, out.” 

Ron laughed humorlessly. 

“Would you, er, care to show me around the castle?” You ask him. Ron inhaled deeply and his mouth crunched into himself, a habit that showed when he was nervous. 

He carefully pushed a bang out of his face, before responding, “Uhm, okay.” 

Ron feigns gentlemanliness, gesturing you to the exit of the hall. His feet don’t move in tune with each other, causing him to lose balance. He utters choice words, but you don’t seem to notice. You walk towards the exit and Ron is right behind you, eyeing you up and down, while whispering a strained bloody hell. 

As Harry and Hermione waited for Ron at the hall doors, they were surprised to see you come out first with him on your tail. Hermione’s jaw dropped and Harry’s face lit up in approval. 

“‘Ello!” You greeted them, “My name is [Y/N]!” 

Harry’s eyes were wide, blinking away; Hermione scoffed in Ron’s direction. Ron merely shrugged, one of his bangs falling over his right eye. You looked back at Ron and at them, smiling. You were absolutely oblivious to the unspoken conversation the three were having amongst themselves. Ron’s head tilts in your direction, begging with Harry to say something. 

“I’m Harry, Ron has told us so much about you, this here is Hermione,” Harry says, gesturing to her. Ron panics silently and makes a pained noise, causing you to look back at him. Harry is losing it and trying very hard to stay composed. Hermione is still silent, looking at you and looking back at Ron.

“Has he?” You ask Hermione and Harry. 

“Oh, loads.” Says Harry simply. Ron wants to die. 

“Er, why don’t we walk her around for a bit, yeah?” Ron takes you by the wrist, shuffling between Harry and Hermione. Hermione looks to Harry in disapproval, arms crossed. Harry shrugs and follows Ron. 

Hermione catches up to Harry and whispers angrily, “What? Like she’s a dog?”

Hermione decides to leave the group, taking a right to the moving staircases, and she drags Harry along with her, much to his dismay. Ron was alone with you now. 

The walk around the castle was quiet but you didn’t seem to mind. Ron was looking at you the whole time, looking away when you looked at him. Ron was taken back with how you were willingly donating your time to him, when you could have joined the Durmstrang boy who sat next to you during the feast. He could swear you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Though he was supposed to be leading you around Hogwarts, he was letting you lead and following you like a puppy. 

You two finally stop at the courtyard, taking a seat on the grass. Ron stays standing, hands in pockets, pushing his cloak back. He’s looking around, avoiding your gaze. You catch his eye and pat the grass next to you. He cautiously sits down and assumes a long-sit. It is silent for a while, as you are basking in the moonlight. Ron is holding his breath, trying to emulate your relaxed demeanor but failing miserably. 

“I think it’s important to tell you,” You start, breaking the silence, “I’m part veela.” 

Ron is bewildered, “Veela?” 

“I think it is why you are so nervous around me,” 

“Nervous? Who said I was nervous?” He chuckles humorlessly and boomerangs back to a neutral expression. You laugh in response. 

“It’s not really an, uh, intended effect. It comes with it, like how you are a wizard who does magic. Veelas attract other people very much so.” 

“Oh,” Ron musters as a response. He stays silent, and so do you. It gets dark quickly, and you shoot up immediately. 

“I didn’t realize how late it has gotten!” You exclaim to Ron, who stands quickly. You dust off your uniform, while Ron watches you. You’re quite the sight under the stars and Ron is absolutely lovestruck. “Madame Maxime will, as the English say, have my head.” 

Ron smiles at you, unable to muster an answer as your smile is distracting and mesmerizing and simply put, beautiful. You grab his hand and pull him closer, landing a chaste kiss on his cheek. 

“Thank you for bringing me around,” You whisper in a hug. As you pull away, you continue, “I hope to see you around again Don’t, uh, worry. I think I can find my way back.”

Ron is staring at you, rubbing his palm over his cheek. You giggle and walk back the same route you came. Ron is behind you again, looking you up and down again, while whispering a signature bloody hell again. He sees you walk down the hall until he can no longer see your figure and he makes his way back to the common room. 

Harry is waiting on the sofa, as Hermione tucked herself in an hour before. 

“I’m in love!” exclaims Ron to Harry. “I think I love her. I love her.” 

Harry laughs in response.

“I’m not joking, mate!” Ron says to him in a serious tone. “I have to see her again.”

“Alright, you aren’t joking!” Harry replies back strongly. 

“Harry, I mean it I have to see her again!” Ron says again, with such a remarkable tone of desperation in his voice. His face is so close to Harry’s, Harry wrings his head backward for protection.

“They’ll be here the whole year, Ron. You don’t have to worry.” 

Ron is satisfied with Harry’s answer, and wordlessly climbs up the stairs to his bed. He makes a beeline for his sock drawer, thrashing it open, throwing sock after sock out of it until he finds the polaroid of you two together. He lays it on his bed, photo in hand, resting it on his chest. He repeats your name with a smile on his face. He doesn’t bother to change out of his school clothes, and falls asleep hoping to see you the next day and the day after that and the day after that. 

-- 

part 2? lmk! <3 

masterlist here 

[imnotcameraready]

more than beliefs (5: mother knows best)

A/N: still trying at this ! i still don't own any tables so honestly, writing has been kinda hard :') but i'm still up to a polished chapter 7 and know VERY well what is happening in chapter 8, so we're looking pretty good. i wrote all of chivalry chapter by chapter so.....hoping this goes well :'D

WARNINGS: manipulation, plotting a murder, paranoia description, blunt force trauma, assault, amnesia, blood, graphic description of violence — this chapter’s the first doozy! if i missed anything, please let me know!

Words: 4378

AO3 link!

enjoy!! <3

“Now, this might be a controversial opinion, but the second Little Mermaid movie is a top-tier Disney sequel,” the Director said, idly mixing a teaspoon around in his hot chocolate.

Roman scoffed. He was sitting on the Director’s couch, wrapped in a blanket while they watched 2005’s Just Like Heaven starring Mark Ruffalo and Reese Witherspoon. The Director had suggested they watch something from Disney, but while Roman loved the whole library of Disney movies lining his shelf, he couldn’t choose which one he wanted. To his surprise, the Director didn’t have a favorite, either. He’d said he was fond of the cookie-cutter damsel in distress narrative of older Disney stories, which Roman tried (and failed) to take offense to, but did agree that many modern movies like Big Hero 6 had interestingly complex and developed stories.

“I just prefer the expansion on oceanic lore. And I’m a sucker for a good parental storyline, when the former protag takes on the motherly role.” The Director took a sip of his coffee.

“And here I thought you weren’t one of my creative advisors,” Roman said with a smirk, crossing his arms upon his pillowy throne.

The Director scoffed, and as he rolled his eyes Roman could have sworn that he was blushing. Maybe he was embarrassed. “Just because I’m not David doesn’t mean I can’t have opinions on works of art,” he sounded dejected—Roman guessed that was fair. The Dragon and Damsel and Child, most obviously, had strong opinions on art yet no artistic inclinations.

It was still up in the air if the Thief did. It didn’t seem like he had many opinions on things that weren’t consequential to Roman’s direct safety, but he was very quiet. Roman didn’t rule out the possibility of the Thief just not wanting to share that information with him, which was….well. Unfortunate.

Roman wished he got to know his advisors better. Ever since they were separated from him, Roman feels like he’s been at the grinding stone with them all. The Thief had spent the whole wedding either swearing or screaming suggestions angrily, and when he wasn’t, he was comforting an incredibly distraught Bard. The Damsel and Playwright tried to help the most but... He had barely even seen the Artist outside of their creative sessions. He had barely seen the Dragon or Child, period.

The Director was an interesting one. Roman had everyone’s phone numbers, because, well, he wasn’t about to use carrier pigeons. Though that might be super cool to try one day. But the Director was just about the only advisor to casually reach out to him. He would send Roman memes. How did he even get memes? Roman and Remus had created an Imagination-version of the internet, so it was likely from their co-sponsored Imagination Tumblr or something. The Director putting in the effort and time to think of Roman during such small instances was what made Roman feel more comfortable here, though. That’s what made him trust the Director with these sorts of situations. Almost made them closer...

Was that selfish? To favor one part of oneself over others? Surely not. It was similar to recognizing flaws, or pimples and blemishes. Not to say any of the others were blemishes. Drats, even Roman’s internal monologue was demeaning to himself.

“Do you want any more coffee? I’m going to go refill,” the Director’s voice jolted Roman out of his stupor, and he looked up with wide eyes.

“No, I’m okay,” and after a small beat, he added, “Thank you again for housing me. I can’t imagine what Phillip would want to say after yesterday’s debacle.”

The Director scoffed. Roman snuggled into his blanket more, listening to the Director pour himself another mug and reply. “Anytime, Roman,” he chuckled, then put on one of the most outlandishly fake accents Roman’s ever heard. “I live to serve~”

“Sto-op,” Roman groaned, throwing his head back and shooting the Director a glare—well, glaring at the kitchen door. There were walls around all of the rooms here, unlike the Mind Palace.

The Director laughed even more when he returned, sitting on the couch with his legs crossed on the cushion. He held his mug in his hands for a few seconds before talking, tone much more sober.

“I do have to say. I’m surprised I was the one you came to.” The Director’s voice is a little more quiet. “I thought for sure you would have sought comfort with Cadence or Gavin before me.”

Roman blinks. “I guess….I didn’t want to be judged again.” He looked back down at his lap, at the blankets piled up there and his own coziness. “Every time I come back after an argument, or after making a fool of myself, it seems everyone has an opinion on how poorly I handled a situation. None of them really acknowledge….It must have been….”

He’d been a little confused about it, too. The trust issue.

“Janus has strung my emotions along enough for it to be fair that I don’t trust him,” Roman said, voice soft as he tried to put how he’d been feeling into words. “Right?”

That was as close an explanation as he could get to. Because it all boiled down to the trust issue, in his understanding of the situation. As much as Patton wanted him to let go of the situation, Patton was focusing on the mustache quip rather than the whole trust thing. Janus knew Roman had wanted to go to the callback. But Roman also wanted to be a good person, if that’s what Thomas wanted. Thomas wanted to be a good person so Roman also wanted to be a good person.

But when being a good person directly went against Thomas’ dreams, Janus stepped in. And sure, he argued that they weren’t supposed to be self-sacrificial, but wasn’t that a hero’s job? When did a hero ever get to keep anything before sacrificing everything? Isn’t that what made sense?

Janus didn’t even do a good job at explaining it, not until all the damage had already been done. This was different from just giving Roman the perfect set up for a theater display, this was Janus pretending that he wanted what Roman wanted. This was Janus pretending to be his friend but wanting Thomas to...be a bad person?

He didn’t understand. Maybe Patton was right. Maybe Roman just didn’t understand. And that’s what made his disgruntlement so confusing, because in his heart, Roman knew Janus was trying to help, he knew that, he understood. But then why did it hurt so much?

“Oh, honey, he’s gone way past that. Don’t gaslight yourself into thinking he’s been helpful,” Macbeth’s icy voice cut through the thoughts wrangling Roman’s mind.

The Director was so self-assured. It was comforting. He was sitting on the couch, arms crossed as he explained.

“And Patton, Logan, turning around just to say you should let it go and listen to him after he’s lied nine times out of ten?” the Director threw his head back and let out a sharp “Hah! No, your anger is rational. And defensible.”

“Why won’t any of the others agree with that?”

The Director starred at Roman for a minute. Just a little too long. His eyes seemed to press Roman into a corner, under a box. Scrutinized.

They both knew that “others” wasn’t a reference to the other Sides. The Director kept his distance from Roman’s other advisors, he knew that, but Roman didn’t know how far. The Director wasn’t the kind to just watch them, was he?

“They all have their opinions. About Disney and otherwise.” He took another drink of his coffee then shook his head, standing up, motioning for Roman to follow, “May I show you….something. Without you thinking I’m crazy?”

Now, that’s always a fairly worrying question to hear. “No, no, I trust you,” Roman said with a slight grin.

The Director must have been able to see how it waned, because he chuckled, smiled back. “I think we’re all a little zany. But that’s the charm. Phillip is undoubtedly the scariest, as much as Draco tries. The Prince, Damsel, whichever you want, has a noticeable villain complex.”

Wait, what?

The Director raised his hands in mock defeat. Showing his hands, like he were trying to assure Roman that he wasn’t being suspicious. But the hairs on Roman’s neck rose. He led Roman to the door just besides Roman’s room. When he first started visiting the Director, he explained that this was his study. Roman had never gone in. Because, you know, when you respect someone you also respect their privacy.

“I’ve only ever spoken to Marlowe, but, you know. I’m the Director of players I can never meet. I had to take notes,” he added the final part quietly.

He glanced over the combination button pad on the door. Roman hadn’t noticed that. What room would require a combination lock? And who would be….Was it to keep him out? Or someone else? Maybe the Playwright, the Director mentioned he’d been over before. Keep anyone out, it seemed.

“I….notes?” he was flabbergasted. What the fuck was happening?

“Yeah.” The Director opened the door slowly and motioned for Roman to follow.

Inside were papers. One wall was a large tackboard, photos and sticky notes and papers pinned up, connected with lines of colored yarn. Roman felt his mouth fall open as he inspected it. There were notes on all of his advisors, all seven of the others, even some of people Roman didn’t know. There was someone with four eyes. Someone with antlers. Who were they? How did this all fit together?

Why in Athena’s name did the Director have corkboard notes on the other advisors? That was a lot more than a little weird.

“I...You’re wonderful, Roman. So productive and pristine and princely, as you deserve to be. But there are some areas where you can stand to improve.” Roman was probably only processing some of the Director’s words as he rolled up his sleeves and pulled out a metal stick, one that looked oddly like a wand.

He held it in one hand, and suddenly it extended, until it was a pointer. The Director held both ends of it and watched Roman for a reaction, a response, something.

“I would have to agree,” Roman stumbled over his words a little, eyes still glued to the notes—there were some by the Child that read ‘Naive/Trusting/Problem?’—before he slowly turned back to the Director with a weak grin once again. “I mean, I might be pristinely princely, but those P alliterations don’t include perfect. No one’s perfect.”

“It may be an unattainable dream, but we’re well familiar with those. We can only strive for improvement! And when improving you and yourself, that means making changes to them,” the Director gestured up at the wall of photos, of the parts of Roman’s self, and smacked the Child’s photo with his pointer. “I actually only thought I would be reading these notes, so forgive me for any, er. Sharp language.”

Roman knew that self-improvement meant adopting new mindsets, but he had no idea that putting parts of himself into characters involved changing them as well, though it did make sense. Self-insert characters had to change if you were changing the self that was being inserted. Right?

If he wanted to improve….it made sense. He had to change himself, including the facets of himself.

“That’s fair,” Roman murmured, “Okay. These….You could take these notes to the other advisors. Surely they’d accept it?”

“At this point, I don’t know who would kill me faster,” the Director scoffed, then gestured at the Damsel’s notes, a cluster of sticky notes and drawings and photos of the Damsel at a well enough distance that it was closer to stalker-ish. “Phillip wouldn’t want competition. Marlowe agrees that he can be quite standoffish when threatened, and a newcomer claiming to be one of Roman’s advisors? Someone who doesn’t have his respect in a royal manner?”

The Director pointed to the Thief now, a even more grave expression adorning his face. “And Eric. Tell me you think he would accept a newcomer of any kind. Just tell me. Especially near Gavin. And the Child himself probably wouldn’t like me.”

Well, that sounded off. Roman leaned on the wall besides the door, back against his hands as he continued to inspect the wall. There were notes on the other advisors’ behaviors, their antics.

For some reason, Roman could almost imagine Janus or Logan doing this. It was something close to weird and something else close to endearing. Was that weird?

“Why not? Gavin’s pretty trusting.” Roman didn’t look away from the wall as he replied.

“In fairness, he might like me, but I don’t know if I could ever come around to liking him. He’s the root source of all our issues, especially our present issue with Janus, Patton, Logan. Even past issues with Remus, if I’m remembering them properly. What Gavin represents allows us to be easily swayed.”

That got Roman to look away, look down at the Director. He was glaring up at the Child’s photo with something fierce, which startled Roman enough. I mean, that was a whole child there. What would inspire this much hatred?

“Really now?” Roman wanted to know.

“He gets us to let our guard down. It’s at Gavin’s behest we take chances, but it’s that same honesty that leads us to broken promises, taking in lies like they’re candy. I don’t know what I would do with him,” the Director sounded disappointed.

That was a fair analysis. All of the advisors—the Playwright, the Thief, the Child, Bard, Artist, Dragon, Damsel, Director—they all represented different parts of Roman, similar to how the Sides represented parts of Thomas. In theory, they worked together. In practice, that was far from the truth, but Roman knew for his sake that they were trying their best.

They all oversaw different parts of Roman’s psyche, too. The Playwright, for example, was most similar to Logan in that he represented Roman’s research and organization, on a creative and egotistical level. The Playwright—Marlowe—could be trusted with knowing how many liters of blood were in the human body as well as every one of the Sides’ favorite karaoke songs, even the exact time and date they met Nico.

The Child was Roman’s belief, his ability to dream. It was fair to assume that that made him the most naïve part. Perhaps it was even a fair conclusion that the debacles with Janus were caused by what the Child represented.

Roman hadn’t thought of it like that. The last time he’d talked to the Child, Gavin, about the situation, he had seem incredibly disappointed.

He’d never stopped to ask what the Child was disappointed in, though. Was he disappointed in Roman? Or in himself? Did the Child know he was the one who had pushed Roman to trust Janus? Did….There was no way that this was….the Child’s fault. Was it?

“Huh.” Roman’s voice echoed emptily to himself. A pit opened in his stomach, something difficult to grasp. The root cause of his burdens couldn’t be his ability to dream. His dreams themselves, his hopes, his beliefs. He….he was the daydreamer, the creator. That couldn’t be a flaw, could it?

The Director watched him, but Roman hardly noticed. It was only for a few seconds, too, of stoic silence before the Director interrupted his thoughts with a huff, looked across the board. “This is quite a bit of insight at once. Maybe we should finish the movie.”

“Director?”

Roman and the Director both turned to the open doorway, the later slapping a hand over his own mouth immediately. With a flick of his wrist, the door closed quietly, clicking just loud enough for the both of them to hear. They also heard the Playwright in the living room, footsteps echoing faintly on the stone floor.

“Director?” the Playwright called out again.

“Fuck,” the Director whispered. This must have been an unplanned visit.

“What? We can just go out and say hello,” Roman said back, though his demeanor and body language spoke of worry, almost fear.

The Playwright was well known to be a pacifist. And the Playwright knew about the Director, knew about Roman knowing the Director. He was a little surprised to find that the Playwright didn’t know the Director’s name was Macbeth, but Roman knew the Director to be a man of secrets.

“He doesn’t know I….He doesn’t know you’re here. He barely knows we talk,” the Director looked around the room and pressed a hand to one of the walls, “Fuck. How are we going to get him out?”

The rock beneath the Director’s hand morphs into a doorway and he opens it. The Playwright was standing in the living room, close to the front door to the home. He looked up at them both, eyes widening when he met Roman’s. Before Roman could say anything, even think of something to say, the Playwright spoke with ease.

“Roman’s here? Thank goodness. Virgil’s come looking for him,” he gave Roman a small smile, strained but caring all the same.

“Ah.” Roman stiffened. Virgil came looking for him? In the Imagination? Why? How? He didn’t have his own passage into this space yet, how’d he get here?

He didn’t want to talk to Virgil. As supportive as he’d been, especially when it came to taking care of Thomas, there were still some areas where Roman wanted to be alone, wanted to process his thoughts alone. Virgil was...vindictive. Which was a strong word to use, but an apt one. Virgil’s distaste in Janus made it hard for Roman to form his own thoughts, which was why he often tried away from Virgil as much as Patton.

He wasn’t ready for that kind of confrontation, and the Director must have been able to tell, because he physically looked like he didn’t want Roman to go.

“I actually didn’t expect to find you here, though I’m not entirely surprised,” the Playwright must not have been privy to these feelings, glancing between the Director and Roman, shock still gracing his features.

“Really now,” the Director said, tilting his head, “Why not?”

“I just didn’t know Roman had met you, but of course, even I’m not as omniscient as Creativity himself,” the Playwright stepped closer, reaching toward Roman. “You have to come up, though. Virgil said everyone’s worried.”

Roman starred at the Playwright’s hand, unsure of what to do with the gesture. He knew everyone would be worried, on a baseline. Closed doors didn’t do well around the Mind Palace, especially his, especially after his splitting incident, but that didn’t mean he had to cater to everyone else’s worry. He was allowed privacy.

Before he formulated a response, though, the Director placed a hand in front of Roman. His smile toward the Playwright turned sour, lips pursed in a mix of thought and anger.

“He doesn’t have to go see Virgil if he doesn’t want to.” Roman felt some of the tension in his shoulder alleviate at the Director’s statement, as basic as it was.

The Playwright, on the other hand, didn’t seem to understand. He looked between Roman and the Director again, surprised even further by how familiar they seemed. There had been a fair amount of transparency in Roman’s relationships with all of the other advisors that there must be some dissonance to see him be so familiar with someone he hadn’t even expected Roman to know. Something about that surprise, the bait and switch, the lie, felt fulfilling.

“It wouldn’t be difficult to alleviate Virgil’s worried and tell him to leave again,” the Playwright explained slowly. “I’m sure, if Roman told him he wanted privacy, he would understand.”

“I’m sure, if Virgil could understand that, then he wouldn’t have tread where he shouldn’t. You can’t make him do anything.” The Director’s voice grew darker, hand unwavering.

“Make him?” the Playwright sounded so confused.

Roman was also confused where the Director’s notion came from, but it was validating to hear reminders that Roman’s decisions were his to make. But nothing in the Playwright’s tone was forceful.

For a moment, it seemed as though the Playwright would drop his confusion.

Until he took a step forward, toward the Director and Roman, with one hand outstretched. Roman didn’t know what he’d been planning, but he knew the Playwright wasn’t a sporadic man. He hated adding physicality to situations where debate and discussion could suffice. So, in hindsight, it was likely the Playwright was reaching out to make peace.

The moment passed in mere seconds.

He was taller than the Director by a noticeable few inches, so the Director bent his knees. He pushed Roman behind him with his outstretched arm, acting faster than either Roman or the Playwright could react to. The Director stuck his leg out and grabbed the Playwright by the fabric of his shirt, behind his neck. The Playwright, surprised by the sudden movements, tripped on his leg and let out a sharp gasp of surprise.

Besides them was the living room coffee table. As the Playwright fell, the Director redirected his head toward the table, shoving him away from Roman.

It felt very spur of the moment, and it happened in a true moment. The Playwright let out a scream, sharp and fearful, before his forehead collided with the edge of the metal table. He fell beneath it unconscious. Blood pooled at the Director’s feet as he stood back up.

Roman’s hands shot to his face immediately, as soon as the Playwright started falling, and he could only stare in horror at the scene. The Director, too, seemed shocked at his own reaction. He starred at his blood-stained socks for a little while, breathing heavy enough for Roman to hear. It must be the adrenaline.

“I,” the Director’s voice caught in his throat.

Roman watched. Just watched. The Director swallowed, turning around to face Roman with a mirroring horrified expression, eyes wide with surprise. “You have to make him forget.”

“What?” Roman’s voice was strained, almost a whisper, and he cleared his throat to repeat. “Excuse me?”

What kind of request….?

“If Marlowe remembers this, we’re fucked. He knows you’re here. He’s going to think I attacked him. I-I did attack him,” The Director took a slow breath, turning to look at the body on the ground before shaking his head—unable to look. “David is going to kill me.

“Make him forget. He can stay here. For a bit. We can figure this out,” he put his hands up towards Roman. “We-The other Sides’re gonna follow Virgil. We both know that. And, uh. Only Marlowe knew I was here. So we’ve got time to figure out how to, uh. Play this off.”

Roman starred at him with wide eyes. The past two days had been such a long mess, he didn’t know what to do. Physically, he could remove the Playwright memories. He’d be a blank slate of a character, only backstory. What would that do? The Playwright’s backstory was that he was the Playwright. He didn’t have some elaborate parent-death or chosen-one-esque story that he could fall back on. Poor bastard wasn’t even the one who had Roman’s memories prior.

But the Director was right, in a way. If they wanted more time to think about everything—the other Sides were looking for him? How did Virgil get in here? Why would he be looking for Roman, it wasn’t uncommon for him to stomp away from a verbal duel, why now?—then they couldn’t have the Playwright ratting them out.

When he manipulated the Imagination directly, his powers were red. Remus’ were green. It was distinctive. So when Roman sank down, put a hand on the back of the Playwright’s head, his hand turned red.

It blended in with the blood.

Roman felt vile. He had to do this, or else the others would find him. A quiet, dull part of his mind told him that didn’t matter but….he didn’t want to be found. He didn’t.

He pulled gently, as though tugging the thoughts out, and something glistened red and gold as he did. Then, Roman let it go, and it disappeared. It reminded him a little of Dumbledore pulling his own memories out in Harry Potter. Roman didn’t feel much the chosen one, either, though.

“There,” he said quietly.

The Director let out a soft breath. It didn’t sound like either of them knew what to do, to be fair. Maybe the Director hadn’t even expected this.

“I’ll….here.” The Director looked up and pointed at the wall behind the couch.

The couch scooted forward a little, enough for there to be a walkway behind it, and the room simultaneously pulled away from the couch. Then, a door formed on the wall. It clicked once, then swung open. Another room.

Roman stood still, staring at his hands—was that magic or blood?—while the Director leaned down to pick the Playwright up. The man hadn’t moved since being bludgeoned by the table.

“Under the sink in the bathroom is a first aid kit,” the Director said, voice stoic, taking the reins on the situation, “I’ll make him a bedroom and bandage his head. Then he can stay for a day or two. We must figure out what to do, about the other Sides and about Marlowe.”

That was fair. He’d only stay a little.

Dimly, Roman remembered that this was the Imagination, he mastered this world, so he could technically get rid of the Playwright’s wound. He could get rid of his memory and the wound and send him right back to his home, right back to the Artist, good as normal and none the wiser.

But….something in the back of his head stopped him. And the Director pulled him into the other room faster than Roman could overcome whatever clouded thoughts were plaguing him.

[poepoe-thebunny]

Damien The Littlest Brother

Or: Stuff Damian does with his siblings.

Dick

Dick in some ways was another form of idolization for Damian. Damian was so very young when they first met, younger still when Ra's and the league sunk their teeth into his heart and tried their best to tear it to shreds. Dick's role, part sibling part guardian, was the first major form of stability Damian had. Little Damian had been born with the mythos of The Bat hanging overhead, and the hope of measuring up to first his grandfather's and then his father's standards had nearly broken him.

Like a lot of children Damian didn't necessarily understand or appreciate what Dick was trying to do for him until he was older. But just like other children Damian clung to the emotional support and care Dick gave him, the care he had so often been deprived of.

Damian wasn't necessarily there for the events that shaped Dick and the rest of their family, but he is growing up in the aftereffects of it. Dick chose to give Damian the love he deserved, Dick chose not to punish a child for the situation he was born into. But Dick isn't perfect. He loses his temper, he gets frustrated, he gets things wrong, he makes mistakes, he bleeds. Dick, at least initially, was real and human in a way Bruce wasn't to a little boy who already had his future decided for him.

While he may not admit it, Damian looks up to Dick because in a lot of ways Dick is a better person than most. Dick is a good man, a better man than Bruce in some ways. He shows Damian what a hero actually is, and that the concept of being a hero isn't tied to the suit. Dick shows Damian that he can and is a good person, that he can make those decisions for himself and that his own emotional needs are not anything to be ashamed of. Damian is a boy first, not a weapon.

So Damian leans into his affection. There are shared naps after patrol, and days out getting ice cream or going to the zoo. Damian wakes a tired Dick up with a pillow to the face, and pillow fights and laughter ensues. Dick comes along to the school showcases, where an embarrassed Damian has pictures and paintings of their family up for all to see. He never once mocks Damian's desires, instead listening with seriousness to every moment of Damian's vulnerability.

That's what sticks with Damian the most. That Dick wholeheartedly believes Damian is a good person, that Damian can be good and kind and soft. He sees Damian fumble with his cool demeanor, growing shy and embarrassed when chatting with students his own age. Damian knows the names of most of his classmates, takes down random details that shouldn't be important to a stranger "We're NOT friends Grayson," but Damian talks to the youngest students about animals, and how to properly hold puppies. Damian has lists of underfunded animal shelters and regularly sends them to Bruce and Tim when preparations for the Wayne Foundation charity events come up. Damian knows most of the officers in Bludhaven since he occasionally stops by with something for Dick, a late lunch or hot drink or Dick's spare clothes in case he needs out of his police uniform. After many coos, head pats and cheek pinches, Damian is occasionally "babysat" by some of them while Dick is out on patrol of the police variety. He does not realize how much he has charmed Dick's co-workers, talking about his pets or his brothers.

Dick is the kind of hero, the kind of person, Damian was told wasn't real. That heroes were childish nonsense, that mercy and love were weak. The concept that someone could love him, that he was deserving of love instead of being forced to earn it, was foreign. But Dick Grayson was all of that. So Damian puts up less and less of a fight over the silly pictures they take together. Dick buys books about animals, and Damian grudgingly wears the cute stupid animal ear headbands Dick buys him. While part of Damian knows he won't be, the part that viciously beats "heroes" and "love" and "ice cream" back with a vengeance, another part of Damian, a very small fragile part, thinks that maybe if he grew up becoming like Dick Grayson the Person (TM) it wouldn't be so bad. "Awww thanks Dami!"

Jason:

Next to Tim, the Cain Instincts are strongest with Jason. Jason is constantly ruffling his hair, calling him names, and sitting on him. Jason does not give a single iota of a damn for any sort of authority except Alfred. Jason is not afraid of Damian.

So when Damian latches onto Jason's neck ready to strangle him, he laughs like it's the best thing he's ever seen, and a wrestling match ensues. They bond over it, over the goading and the competition.

They bond over books too, over stories and musicals and words Damian shouldn't care about but he does. Damian says he's too old for fairy tales even though he never had them to begin with, never had stories told when tucked into bed unless it was for a harsh life lesson. And yet Damian will find books as gifts for Jason, and Jason will read them aloud after Damian annoys him by pressing his feet into Jason's side. He swears up and down that the exaggerated voices and accented narration from Jason are done purely to annoy him. Damian constantly interrupts him, always asking questions and Jason tells him to shut up and be patient, "learn to listen demon brat."

They watch Disney and Ghibli, Laika and Illumination, and after a very enlightening conversation with one Tim Drake, Jason introduces Damian to theater. From Antigone to Romeo and Juliet, from West Side Story to Hadestown to Heathers the Musical. Bruce has walked in on them recreating various iconic sword fights too many times to count, quoting lines while dressed in blanket robes and crowns made of craft feathers and stick on jewels. Alfred thorough enjoys their riveting performances.

Like a lion teaching his cubs through play, Jason teaches him that he's never too mature for anything and screw anyone else who doesn't like it. Jason teaches him fun in a way Damian never allowed himself to have before, to look past his mission, and do things for enjoyment. He teaches Damian defiance and rebellion, two very important things for him to learn even if it's only interrupting rude rich people and disagreeing with his father over whether he needs to attend another gala.

Damian and Jason have a strange relationship, and initially aren't quite sure how to act around one another. Such large parts of their identity and experiences were formed by an indirect overlapping influence. Jason's death and the effect it had on the family and how they treat Damian, Jason's time with the league and the lazarus pit. But at the same time they understand each other in a way some of their other siblings don't. The strength and struggle in establishing their independence and identity means that their grudging respect turns into fondness with time.

Tim:

It appears that Cain Instincts don't particularly care if one is related or not, given the sheer amount of times Tim and Damian are at each other's throats initially. But with time they settle and grow more comfortable with each other, the words turn from anger to a grumbly sort of discontent, like irritated puppy's more than anything.

They bond over pride. They bond over failure. The two aren't that different really. They've seen each other at their worst. Missions with too many close calls, where the knife wounds cut too close and the bullets bit to deep, when the snap of Gotham's jaw came to close to closing over them and the only thing saving Gotham's Rogues from the collective wrath of two angry Robin's was the weight of their family's morals.

They had to learn to trust each other. But they do.

The insults are more to fill the silence, partially affection and partially with the need to annoy. They watch reruns of Star Trek and play Legend of Zelda in pajama pants (Tim) and hoody's (Damian), half draped over each other with his feet in Tim's lap. When Damian couldn't find one to his satisfaction, he gifted Tim a new skateboard with his own hand drawn and painted design. He sends a video to the family group chat of him laughing when Tim faceplants.

They are the DEFINITION of annoying to each other. Damian chucks clothes at Tim to make him shower, they get into slap fights over breakfast, they sneer at each other's drinks. "With all the coffee it's no wonder you don't grow Drake," While handing a sick Tim herbal tea for his throat.

It's an underlying trust that rarely needs to be affirmed. But when it does Damian won't hesitate to let his opinion be known. Whether it be high school bullies mocking his gangly brother, reporters trying to pit the "blood son" against the "Boy CEO", or shady members of the Gotham elite with too much interest in his family and his company, Damian's blunt attitude comes back with a vengeance. There will be no Wayne Charm, no shop talk, no backhanded compliments, when Damian Wayne gets between them and his brother. It's "I trust my brother," and "No business with the likes of you," or even "When I said you two weren't on the same level, I meant that you were the incompetent one."

Tim always tries to scold him, tells him he shouldn't be petty, I can protect myself demon, but he smiles while he says it.

Stephanie

She teases him mercilessly, will smile sweetly while "blackmailing" him and challenges him to do things he has never done before. Damian won't admit he enjoys any of it even upon threat of death. She's loud, annoying, and demanding and unapologetically so and Damian is convinced she was dropped on her head as a child. Stephanie is his sister and he loves her as a younger brother would, hurling insults at each other while fighting over french fries drinking smoothies in some fast food restaurant at 2 in the afternoon on a day out.

What strikes him about Stephanie is that she demands respect because she knows on a fundamental level that she deserves it, that all of her hard work was her own and she knew she could do it even when everyone else thought she didn't belong. As he grows Damian comes not only to admire her, but finds this a very important lesson to learn for himself.

Stephanie pushes him, she encourages him even if it's hidden under mutually shared insults. On days where she "babysits him" (she does not, Damian tells himself he doesn't need a babysitter he doesn't) she's perfectly happy to work on their motorcycles together, or have random picnics in the park with bags of fast food, or challenge him to rounds of ping pong. They learn eventually that they make a very good team together. Either destroying Tim and Jason in video games, the occasional local ping pong or DDR tournament when visiting Gotham U, or spur of the moment plans in a night time fight. Stephanie is crazy enough to believe it will work, and Damian is crazy enough to believe Stephanie will follow.

Stephanie understands what it feels like to constantly have to justify yourself, to be told you can't measure up and that you're place isn't here, even though you know it is. To have the weight of your family's decisions hanging overhead for the judgment of others.

So they learn to love each other through healthy competition and teasing remarks. Stephanie shoos him off to "talk to kids your own age, don't be so serious!". It's normal, in some ways the closest to normal Damian has had in a long time. And though they won't say it out loud, it's nice to know someone else agrees that they are entitled to these moments of happiness, these moments they were stripped of and denied for so long. They believe in each other and their right to happiness. Damian will never doubt Stephanie's strength, as spoiler or Batgirl or robin or Stephanie, and in return she will never doubt him or his place in their family.

...

Even if that means trying to escape when she wants to play dress up. "I am not your doll Brown," "Fine fine, whatever you say short stack."

Cass:

The moments between Damian and Cass are silent, but if you believe nothing is said then you are entirely wrong. They speak to each other quite often even if they don't use words.

He watches her dance, and thinks she is so strong. Damian swears she could have been a princess in another life, if life had not sunk its fangs in and poisoned her with pain instead. Just as he would have been a prince. While he initially tried to hide it, Cass always knew he was there. Damian watches her. Damian hears her words, her joy and her tears, and puts it down on to charcoal and paper. I hear you, and he shows them to her, how her form litters his pages as she pats his head. There is, Damian thinks, a poetic irony in seeing something so dangerous create something so beautiful. She is art and deserves to be heard, and Damian is grateful that she hears him too. He lets her look at pages of charcoal and ink, at canvases of paint full of everything Damian can't put into words quite yet, and finds understanding.

But while he is a Wayne, he was an Al Ghul at one point and his mother gave him the training every prince should have, skills beyond his sword. So one day, as she stretches, he brings in a case and sets it down with a clunk. He tunes the strings and plays Tomaso Albinoni's Adagio in G Minor, as she watches him with eyes that understand far too much, eyes that say I know, I hear you baby brother. Damian almost wishes she didn't, partially due to the struggle of his own pride, but also because no one should ever have to understand that kind of pain.

Moments with Cass are quiet, but they are never silent. Cass teaches him understanding, helps teach him empathy. And while Damian knows he can never dance the way she can, he can play and sketch and paint and between them their secrets can no longer be secrets. Cass doesn't teach him how to feel ,no, he's always been too good at that. Instead she teaches him ways to coax them out when the words won't come, to look around him with the wonder he wasn't allowed to have before, to let him be defined by a different set of skills that shows he can create something beautiful too.

Duke:

Damien thinks Duke is "cool", like the kind of cool you see in movies and TV shows, the average teenage boys in jeans and sneakers who fight for the underdog and stand up to bullies in a 3-on-1 fight even if they know they won't win. There is a conviction in Duke that rivals Damian's own, and Damian can't help but admire someone willing to strike out on their own and do something when they felt others were failing.

Duke is "Chill" as Jason likes to say, he's low pressure and not pushy in a way that Damian appreciates. He's calm, not in the stoic way of some of the others, but in a way that doesn't put Damian out of his comfort zone with expectations.

Time spent with Duke often consists of puzzles and card games, or movies. Duke is very good at using Damian's own pride against him to "trick" him into playing, but together they do everything from DnD to Yu-Gi-Oh Duel Monsters. It's relaxing.

Duke tells him about school and if Damian is having trouble with the more normal things of being a tween, like worrying whether other kids like him, or wearing something embarrasing, Duke brings him out of his own head. Duke plays along with his competitive nature, challenging him to races the few times they patrol together. He finds Damian outside drawing, and teaches him soccer. Other times they sit there together, Duke writing whatever comes to mind while Damian sketches. Damian gifts Duke a detailed portrait of himself; standing in the center of the crowded streets, body spliced into neat clockwork-style segments with patches of his Signal uniform, the red jacket from his time in the "We R Robin" crew, his sports uniforms, and casual clothing, the bright light of his powers bursting from within in a halo under the Gotham smog. He is Gotham's daylight protector, unique and gifted, and Damian respects that.

It's not easy, Damian is still young and cocky, still isn't very good at saying what he feels. But Duke sees right through his attempts to play it off, and it's always met with head pats and a "Whatever you say lil' D." Damian won't say it out loud but he thinks that the sheer conviction Duke has for doing what's right bleeds into every aspect of him, and that maybe with time it will do the same for himself. Damian admires his strength of will and determination, and the work Duke is willing to put in to get what he wants.

[eueden]

 ⟨ MAUDE APATOW. CIS FEMALE. SHE/HER. ⟩ though the mist might prevent some from seeing it, EDEN KOPPELMAN is actually a descendent of H E S T I A. it’s still a question of whether or not the TWENTY-THREE year old VETERINARY from CAPE TOWN, SOUTH AFRICA has taken after their godly parent completely, but the demigod is still known to be quite THOUGHTFUL & QUIXOTIC.

hi, hello, allô, hola, ciao, ella here again with another character. okay so there’s not much to say about me that most of you don’t already know, i have no life and i’m always lurking even if i never do replies (don’t tell the admins) hgsghssghs anyway, this is eden and in a shocking turn of events i actually have a good idea of who she is and look i even made a graphic, if that’s ain’t dedication then i don’t what it is.

basic information.

NAME: eden atara koppelman

PRONUNCIATION: EE - d uh n

NICKNAME: E?? idk

GENDER: cis female

PLACE OF BIRTH: brisbane, queensland, australia

HOMETOWN: cape town, south africa

DATE OF BIRTH: june 26, 1997

AGE: twenty-three

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: heterosexual so far but secretly curious

MAJOR: veterinary

EXTRACURRICULARS: president of the jewish student association, vice president of the herpetology club, president of the volunteer service, women in leadership member, student government member

SPORTS: captain of the climbing team and co-captain of the track & field team

character inspo.

Jessica Day (New Girl) ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖

Elliott Reid (Scrubs) ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖

Amy Santiago (Brooklyn 99) ✖ ✖ ✖ ✖

background.

tw: death, infant death, car accident, fire

Eden was born in Brisbane, Australia. She comes from an animal lover family. Her grandparents are very popular down under because they had an animal TV show à la Steve Irwin. Her dad followed their footsteps and it’s a well-known zoologist who also had some TV shows (think of Bear Grylls).

TW: death, infant death, car accident. Matthias Koppelman (her dad) had been previously married but lost his wife and child in a car accident and after that he isolated himself from the public eye and moved to Namibia. 

At twenty-eight, he felt the need to climb Mount Everest as one does, ya know? But ofc this man hadn’t climbed in years (he had experience but he’d been too sad to climb mountains. I mean he could barely leave bed, let alone climb Everest). That didn’t stop him and he did.

He almost d worded there bc as I said he was not ready but that’s when Hestia queen of fire showed up and warmed him (in a non sexual way bc she’s pure okay) and he was like oh that was a near dead experience and didn’t think much.

After he conquered the Everest with the help of Hestia, he moved back to Australia and oh surprise a few months later he opened his door and voilá a bebé was there with a note that said “you deserve to have a family, love hestia” 

He was shocked like “did i just impregnate a fantasy?”  but then Hestia was kind enough to send another and explain everything.

Anyway, Eden lived in Brisbane for four years before her dad took a job in South Africa. They moved to Cape Town (and her grandparents came with them) and pretty much had a happy life surrounded by animals. 

TW: fire. When she was nine, her dad took her to a game reserve in Limpopo and by some reason a fire started endangering animals and flora. Everyone was panicking bc I mean wouldn’t u? But Eden was attracted to the flames like a pyro (the good kind tho) and since everyone had better things to do than taking care of a child, they left her unsupervised and she delved into the fire.

Ofc nothing happened to her because ✨immunity✨ but guess who showed up again? Hestia!!!! Being a great goddess and mom, she taught Eden how to use her powers so she could absorb the fire and save all the animals and people. 

Everyone was like holy shit a miracle and the firefighters were like “the fuck? we did shit but we gonna take the credit lol”

Eden was like “did that just happen?” and yes, it did but she was like “meh that was imagination” and her dad was like *nervous chuckle* “yeah…” because he didn’t want to tell her the truth since that could put her in danger.

At 13, she had her bat mitzvah and it was all fun and games until fire lady showed up aka Hestia. Her dad and Hestia explained everything and Eden was like: 

Hestia claimed her and off to camp she went. For the next few years she went to camps all over the world as a treat.

She never went on a quest bc she was afraid and also because she couldn’t put herself in danger and risk losing her life bc her dad already had lost a child… so yeah

Her dad remarried when she was seventeen and a year later she welcomed a new baby brother and that’s why she decided to take a gap year to be with her bro and also work with her dad in the reserves.

She moved to Athens when she was nineteen and decided to go into veterinary school. So yes Ella will get her dog one way or another idc what the admins say :chaos:

Ahhhh that’s all folks!!! We did it!

FULL BIO (yes, i completed it this time)

personality.

Eden never loses her sense of curiosity. You could say that she sees life through rose colored glasses as if she lived on the edge of a mirror country where worldly objects come to life, where flora and fauna assume almost human qualities.  

She has the ability to see the good in almost anyone or anything and tends to sympathize with even the most unfriendly person. She often hides the extreme depth of feelings from her, even from herself, until circumstances elicit a passionate response. 

She has a deep sense of idealism that comes from a strong personal sense of right and wrong. She sees the world as a place full of possibilities and potentials and is governed by her intuition. She is quite reserved and is not easily manipulated. 

She is a good listener and considerate, they try to care for and understand others in a deep way. She can be very calm and intuitive with the people around her, being able to search for hidden meanings in the actions and words of others.

Of course, all of life is not rosy and Eden is not exempt from suffering the same disappointments and frustrations that are common to others. She tends to be a perfectionist and often strives for personal ideals that can be exhausting or very difficult to obtain.

She also struggles with time management, always leaving everything to the last minute claiming she “works better under pressure” but the truth is she’s just a procrastinator. 

Very sensible, she cries almost every day either because of a commercial or a sweet story she read on Facebook. It doesn’t matter, if it’s slightly emotional she will shed some tears.

powers.

pyrokinesis: This power first manifested when she was nine years old and she helped to save an animal reserve from the flames with the help of Hestia. Since she was claimed when she was thirteen, she’s learned how to use this power. Now she can summon fire without any problem and put it out just as fast. This is very helpful because she loves baking but she’s a bit clumsy so she often burns herself, but thankfully, she’s immune, so no pain. However, Eden has never been able to create a hot wall of flames nor she has ever asked how to do that, she just hopes she never has to use it.

serenity inducement: Eden avoids conflict at all cost, not only it makes her cry but also makes her very uncomfortable and anxious which is why this was the first power she manifested. She was just a child but from what she remembers it was during a class in preschool that a kid started hitting another one. Eden panicked at such an act of violence she went there and touched the bully’s shoulder which immediately calmed him. Back then she didn’t know it was a power but after finding out about her true identity, many other events like this started to make sense. This is the power she uses the most, also with animals which is why she makes such a good veterinarian because she can calm an animal's nerves.

bond manipulation: She wouldn’t say this is one of her weakest powers but it’s one she didn’t use often growing up because she came from such a stable family that it didn’t seem necessary, however, she sometimes catches herself using it in group projects or at her workplace, you know, to keep things healthy and positive.

ability to summon food: By far the one she uses the least (personally speaking), she likes cooking and baking, so she doesn’t see the point but she does use it to feed stray animals.

headcanons.

Eden speaks fluent English, she has a mixed South African and Australian accent but she can switch. At school, half of her classes were in Afrikaans, so she also speaks it fluently. Greek comes from her demigod side, but she also took some classes back in school upon her father’s request. Growing up in a very Jewish family, her grandparents believed it was pretty important that Eden learned Yiddish and Hebrew, she can read it perfectly but struggles speaking it, especially Yiddish because she also attended Hebrew school. As for French, she learned in high school and she still takes lessons at Eonia but she hates it.

Her father started taking her to a climbing gym when she was five and by the time she was ten she was already climbing 6a routes which is pretty much an intermediate level and very impressive for her age. 

She had her own TV show on Discover Kids titled “Eden’s Wildlife Adventure” in which she explained the importance of different types of animals. The first seasons were shot between Australia and South Africa, but in later seasons she traveled across Africa and South America. The show ran from 2005-2011 (which was when she was claimed).

Dreams of climbing Mount Everest before her 30th birthday.

Her father is a classic rock band and so is she. Her animals have been named after influential musicians. Right now she has a cat named Hendrix, a horse named Cobain, a dog named Mick. Growing up her father took care of a baby lion which they named Little Richard because he was smaller than most lion cubs. Over the years, his father and grandparents have fostered several wild animals while they recover or before they are sent to a reserve. Among the animals they have fostered are elephants, giraffes, zebras, cheetahs, leopards, hippos and more.

While she loves rock, she’s also a sucker for 2000s pop. Please don’t ask her about modern artists because she’s clueless. 

She’s fed up with the Mean Girl jokes, we get it she grew up in Africa and she’s white.

She is a proud Jewish girl and follows many traditions. She does attend the local synagogue during Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah. And of course, Hanukkah is her favorite holiday. Her family practices Reform Judaism, so she doesn’t follow a kosher diet.

Eden was raised as a vegan and her whole family is vegan. In the past years, she has been in the process of becoming vegetarian.

Favorites: Anything written by Agatha Christie(book); Say Anything (1989) (movie); Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fear (song); 

Again, no one asked me but I will reply: “Ella, does Eden hate Iker?” “Well, thanks for asking. In a shocking turn of events, no she doesn’t. How come you might ask? Well, she doesn’t hate anyone but if she ever did then yes, she would hate him.”

pinterest | wanted connections

[emybain]

Renegades Titanic AU Part 10

if you asked me what was going on in this fic anymore I couldn't give you an honest answer. 

part 9

    Nova could hear her blood rushing in her ears as she and Adrian escaped down the hallway and into an opened space with a stairwell. She started to head for them when Adrian tugged her hand toward the lifts, one having just opened and loading people. They shoved their way onboard, past the other waiting guests. Nova demanded they go down, just as Adrian said the same. Ingrid caught up to them when the gate was closing. The lift began to lower. Suppressing a smirk, Nova raised her middle finger in defiance. Anger roared in Ingrid’s eyes. Nova gave a tiny wave before the woman disappeared from her sight. Beside her, Adrian was chuckling and shaking his head. Nova gave him a light nudge. 

    “Shut up,” she said. “She deserves it.” 

    “I never said she didn’t.” Adrian reached forward and straightened one of Nova’s locks. She grinned at him. 

    They approached another level, and Nova told the operator to let them off there. Before the lift had even come to a complete halt, the gates still opening, Nova and Adrian hopped out and nearly ran into a passing employee who frowned at them even as they laughed and apologized. Nova quickly took note of the level they were on: E Deck. Hand in hand, they ran down the hallway and down another flight of stairs. Nova had known Ingrid for a decade; she knew they were being hunted. 

    They turned a corner and a laugh burst from Nova’s throat as she watched Adrian stumble into yet another employee, this one with a cart full of dishes. She pulled him along before he could stay and help clean up. They didn’t have time for that. 

    Finally, they came to a halt behind a set of double doors, breathing hard and grinning. They were in the employee side of the ship now, evident by the basic white hallways and lack of people. Good. Maybe they’d be safe here. 

    “Was that-”

    “Ingrid Thompson.” Nova nodded firmly, leaning into Adrian. “She’s kind of pissed off at me right now. I don’t know how she found out where I was.” Adrian’s grip began to tighten on her waist, and she looked up at him, heart skipping a beat despite still trying to calm down. 

    From the small window on the door, Nova saw movement. She turned her full attention to the window and made eye contact with Ingrid, who didn’t waste a second in charging at the doors. 

    “Shit!” Nova leapt out of Adrian’s arms and yanked him down the hall, turning a corner and meeting a dead end. Her stomach just about dropped. 

    “In here!” Adrian pushed her past a door into a tiny room that was screaming with noise. He shut the door behind her and locked it. The deafening noises came from the machines in the room, which could only mean one thing. Under any other circumstance, Nova might have laughed. But they were stuck, their only way out being a ladder that led down to the skies knew where. 

    She covered her ears and looked at Adrian. “Now what?” 

    He seemed to contemplate her question for about five seconds before a smile overcame his face and he went for the ladder. Reluctantly, Nova followed, knowing that that was probably their only way out. 

He helped her hop down from the ladder when she got to the bottom. She looked around at the red hued room and the filthy men hard at work. Those around them stopped what they were doing to gawk at them, especially Nova still in Ruby’s gown. One of the men approached them, scowling and holding a shovel in his hand. 

“Wha’ ‘re you two doin’ down ‘ere!” A cackle erupted from Nova’s lips as she and Adrian ran. Behind them, she heard the man yelling, “Stop! I’ could be dang’rous! Wait!” 

It was a maze getting through the dozens of workers. Nova had to dodge getting hit by something every five seconds. Beside her, Adrian had the audacity to shout out encouraging words to the men, only causing Nova’s laughter to increase. 

“You’re doing great! Keep up the good work!” 

Nova wasn’t sure which was more humorous, that or the looks they got as they tripped and stumbled passed dirty men and machinery. No one stopped them, thankfully, and eventually they ended up in a storage room. The temperature immediately dropped, sending goosebumps down Nova’s arm. Adrian closed the door behind them and they slowed their pace to a steady walk. She looked around at all the crates and cars of the elite. Adrian shot a smile at her and led her over to one of the cars, red with black and gold accents. He opened the door up for her and held out a hand. 

“Thank you,” Nova said in an airish voice, playing along with him. 

    Sitting down on the cushioned seats relaxed Nova, somehow. Adrian got up front and honked the horn twice. She laughed and leaned forward, pushing down the glass divider between them. 

    In a pompous, British accent, Adrian said, “Where to, miss?”

    Nova pretended to ponder it for a moment, hand trailing down his arm. Then, she craned her neck where her lips just brushed his ear. “To the stars.”

    The look he gave her was enough to make her snort and yank on his arm, pulling him rather roughly to join her in the back of the car. He readjusted them until she was comfortably in his arms. She reached for the hand not around her shoulders and started playing with his fingers. Only then did she become aware of the beads of sweat on her forehead from running. Adrian, too, was sweaty. Her heart was still racing, but for different reasons now. 

    “Why was Thompson so adamant about catching you?” He brushed hair back from her face, the slightest of smiles on his lips. “I mean, you’re just a kid. Why are you so important to them?”

    Suddenly, Nova felt cold. She had forgotten that Adrian didn’t know who she truly was. In the events of the past evening, Nova had attempted to forget about her identity. She licked her lips and shrugged sheepishly. “Maybe it’s just because I’ve been with them for so long that they don’t want me to leave.” It was a poor excuse; hopefully he would buy it.

    Adrian hummed in thought. “Well, do you want to leave?”

    Did she? Ingrid and Honey and Leroy were the closest people she had to family. And leaving them meant leaving everything she was brought up to be. She would fail Ace, her only blood family left. All for the son of the people responsible for her family’s death. Her father had trusted them, and they repaid him by sending a hitman to kill him and his family. But Adrian...Adrian was different. He didn’t enjoy his wealth, not like his parents did. Nova could tell he wanted to escape just as much as her. Them being together was a sign that neither were happy with their current situations. But could Nova give up her future, solidified with her non-biological family, for an unknown future with Adrian? Or just leave them behind all together, even if Adrian wasn’t in the picture? 

“I don’t know,” she murmured, eyes dropping to his chin. “Maybe? They’re my only family.” 

One corner of Adrian’s lips turned up. “I know how that feels. After my mom died, my dads took me in immediately. They’ve always been super close with their co workers, so I grew up with multiple parents, essentially. It was just us for a bit until Pops found Max while on his way home one day.” He shook his head. “He couldn’t bear leaving an abandoned baby alone. He’s always been that way.” A pang hit Nova’s chest, and she refrained from retorting. Part of her wanted to tell him the truth, but she also didn’t know how he would react. And she didn’t want to lose him. “Anyway, they’re all I have as well. I don’t know what I would do without them.”

“Where is your brother, anyway?” Nova wanted anything to diverge the conversation from a subject she didn’t have an answer to quite yet. “Is he onboard?”

Adrian shook his head. “He’s in the states. This trip would’ve been too much for him, so he stayed home.”

“Are you excited to see him?” Nova cuddled a bit closer to him, the cold from the outside beginning to drift into their tiny cabin. 

“Very.” Adrian smiled. “This is the longest I’ve been away from him, and I have no doubt he’s bored out of his mind.

She laughed softly. “I really do hope I can meet him one day. If he’s anything like you, I’m sure he’s wonderful.”

Adrian pulled her closer, just slightly. His expression seemed to darken. “I hope so, too. It’s just my fathers…”

“Don’t approve of me?” The look she got made her roll her eyes. “It’s okay, Adrian. I was brought up to hate them, anyway.” He winced at that, and opened his mouth, probably to bombard her with questions, but she beat him to it. “Why are they so against us, other than my past? I mean, surely they understand what it’s like not being accepted for who they are, right?” She thought of the couple, how many no doubt frowned upon the union. Honestly, that one little detail about them made Nova hate them a little less, perhaps because it made them a bit less flawless. 

“They do.” Adrian sighed. “Especially before they came into possession of their money. Back then, they had to hide who they truly were. Somehow, money changed that. They aren’t allowed to legally marry,” his voice seemed to catch, “but people keep their mouths shut because they know how wealthy my fathers are.” He shrugged. “I can’t really explain their prejudice other than your connection with the Anarchists.”

As if from nowhere, Nova got the urge to tell him everything and beg for forgiveness, She bit her tongue to prevent from spilling everything, though. Was he ready for that, yet? Would he ever be ready? Probably not, but she had to tell him. It was only right. 

Nova swallowed, eyes dropping to focus on the seat. “Adrian, there’s something I need to tell you.”

He raised her chin up. “Okay. I’m all ears.” Nova opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. From his charming smile, to the way his fingers traced circles on her back, Nova was speechless. She couldn’t do it. He would turn her away in disgust and never speak to her again. So she did the only thing she could think of and kissed him. 

Adrian drew back in surprise, eyebrows knitted together. “I thought-” But Nova didn’t let him finish the sentence, pulling him closer by his shirt collar. It didn’t take much for him to give in. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, only managing to undo the first few. She felt herself being pushed backward until he hovered over her, cradling her in his arms. When she kissed him harder, he groaned and pulled back, only to press open-mouthed kisses across her throat and collarbone. A tight knot wounded itself in her stomach as he murmured how beautiful she was against her skin. She was just starting to pull his face up, one leg wrapping around his, when she heard footsteps. 

They both froze, exchanging looks full of fear. Nova could discern that it was multiple people. Did Ingrid bring the others with her to search for Nova? A sick feeling entered her gut, replacing the previous pings of pleasure. Quickly, they scrambled out of the car. A flashlight shone in their direction as Nova tried to shut the door softly. She cursed under her breath and reached for Adrian, who already had a hand outstretched. 

It would be too hard to escape without making noise, so Nova pulled Adrian behind a stack of crates. The footsteps grew louder. Nova peered around the corner to see two men, crew members, from the looks of it. One shone their flashlight on the car she had been in with Adrian and beckoned the other closer. Nova bit her lip and glanced at Adrian, who was also watching the men. There was a mischievous, almost smug, glint in his eyes. She rolled her eyes and turned back around. The men were fixated on the handprint that was unmistakably Nova’s, based on its size, that she must have somehow left during her short-lived session with Adrian. Well, what could she say? He had quite the effect on her. 

The crewmen murmured to one another before the one who had identified the handprint opened the door violently, yelling out, “Gotcha!” to an empty cabin. Nova couldn’t help the snicker that escaped her lips. She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, although she couldn’t stop the flood of giggles. Thankfully, the men had already moved on to examine the other side of the storage room. Adrian squeezed her hand, nodding to a stairwell not far from them. Nova followed him, still attempting to suppress the laughs that shook her shoulders. They were led to a door. Only when they were safe, back outside, did she let them loose. 

“Did you see the looks on their faces?” she gasped. The cold air was welcoming. She loved how it sent a chill down her bare arms. “Sweet rot, I thought it was Ingrid.”

She stumbled a bit, taking Adrian with her, and spun around to face him, grinning. A wide smile graced his lips as well. He pulled her closer to wrap his arms around her waist. 

“You almost gave us away,” he said in between laughs. “I knew I couldn’t trust you.” 

“Hey!” She swatted his arm lightly. “I knew what I was doing. Have some faith.” 

After a bit, their laughter died down. Adrian’s smile remained, though it grew soft. He cleared his throat.

“Nova, what were you going to tell me in the car?” Nova tightened her grip around his arms instinctively, but forced herself to relax. Was she going to tell him now? 

Nova inhaled a shaky breath. “I just wanted to tell you that...that...” I’m actually Nova Artino, daughter of the man your precious Council betrayed and niece of their greatest enemy. Oh, and I’m also Nightmare, Europe’s most wanted criminal. “When the ship docks...I’m getting off with you.” She couldn’t. So she searched his face, breathing hard. 

Adrian blinked at her. “This is crazy. You’re...you’re crazy.” Yet he was beaming again.

Nova forced a smile to replicate his. “I know.” She placed a hand on the back of his neck and wrapped her fingers in his curly hair. “It’s crazy, insane, even. But that’s why I trust it.”

This time when they kissed, it was slow, not rushed or desperate like before. Nova allowed herself to be wrapped up in him, wrapped up in the possibility of leaving the past behind and keeping the truth a secret. She could continue her life as Nova McLain and no one would know. She could finally lead the life she wanted. 

An ear piercing crash tore them apart, followed by the sudden trembling of the ship. Nova grasped Adrian tighter, eyes wide. A woman on the other side of the deck cried out in surprise. The entire ship shook. Everyone on board the deck looked around in confusion. Nova’s mouth fell open at the iceberg that loomed over them, getting closer and closer until it struck again right in front of them. 

“Get back!” Nova yanked Adrian back as large chunks of ice tumbled down onto the deck. Just as quickly as it appeared, the iceberg was gone. Yet the ship still shook from its impact. Nova ran forward, hopping over ice, to lean over the railing and look down the side of the ship as they passed the mass of ice. It was still scraping the side of the ship, making a horrible, toe curling sound. Others joined her, including Adrian, who immediately wrapped his arm around her waist. 

And then the ship was still. They had passed the iceberg. All the way down the side of the ship, heads popped out of windows. Nova gulped.

“Will the ship be alright?” Adrian asked, his grip tight on her waist.

Nova peered over the edge, pursing her lips. “There doesn’t seem to be much damage. The hit wasn’t that hard.” Still, a coldness washed over her. 

The other people on the deck seemed to have forgotten all about the berg, as many began horsing around with the chunks of fallen ice, tossing them back and forth and kicking them around. Nova looked back at them, then at Adrian, who had picked up a smaller piece and was about to put it down her back. She wrestled for it with him, managing to pry it out of his hands and force it down his shirt. Though she laughed with him and dodged another piece of ice to her skin, she couldn’t shake this new sense of dread. 

[angst-fairygodmother]

Sing Once Again With Me: Think of Me (The Witcher; A Phantom of the Opera AU)

A/N: Here’s the first real chapter. A word to the wise, anyone who genuinely likes the Phantom and thinks Christine should have ended up with him should probably stop here because I am not pulling any punches. Much like the original story, it’s going to be strangely romantic but its also going to clearly pretty fucked up relationship-wise. Word Count: 870 (I promise these will get longer, and then you’ll be wishing for my short chapters) Content Warnings: None Taglist: @joz-stankovich, @hermeowyn, @sennextheassasinkingoflight​Previous Chapter: Overture Cross-posted to AO3: here

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The showcase would be her greatest moment, a triumphant performance that would solidify her as the single greatest musician and performer that the continent had ever seen. If only these damnable stagehands could get it together. But no, instead they had put the wrong backdrop up; they had nearly dropped it on her; they had had various “accidents”, interrupting her rehearsals, some of them injuring her or her co-performers. After this latest disaster, a spill of lamp oil nearly catching her skirts on fire, she quit. She was The Countess. She did not have to put up with this incompetence.

“No! I have put up with too much in your stupid music hall! I.am.done!” She threw the elaborate hair piece that one of the maids had been trying to pin to her hair at the conductor and stormed away.

Y/N rolled her eyes and pulled a face at her retreating back. “She’s not even that good,” she hissed to Jaskier who giggled beside her. Their noise was met with a half-hearted glare from Yennefer before she swept over to the huddle where the managers fretted over what to do now that their star had departed. As soon as her back was turned, the two musicians crept closer to listen in.

“The seats were filled. The audience was going to be huge!” one manager, Andre, cried, wringing his hands. “We’ll have to refund the pre-sales. All the money we spent advertising, wasted. We’ll be ruined.”

“Surely we can win her back,” Firman said, far more a question than the confident statement it was likely meant to be.

“No, I do not think you can,” the conductor’s thick accent muffled his words. “She is very angry. To quit on such a night.”

Yennefer watched the three men with a raised eyebrow and a condescending smirk.

“She’s not irreplaceable. Jaskier could play the part just as well. Better.” She turned to where the two young musicians were standing, now trying very hard to appear as if they hadn’t been listening.

“But he is just an orchestra member! How could he possibly?” Andre snapped.

At the same time, Y/N had seized Jaskier by the shoulders in a hug and ignoring his wide-eyed look. “You have to! You’ll be amazing! This is your shot!”

“He has been…taking lessons with one of the best tutors. Along with his natural talent, that makes him a sure bet. Let him prove it to you.”

“Yennefer would know,” the conductor added with a respectful nod toward her. “She does not take anything less than sure.”

~

Geralt wasn’t sure what had brought him into the music hall. He had just been passing through the city, not even planning to stop but having no real way around because of the surrounding cliffs. The grand, sweeping building occupied one side of the square that he and Roach rode through, lit by dozens of colored lanterns and the light from them reflecting off the gilded columns and arches so that it glittered like a gem-encrusted crown in the dying of the day. On any other day, his eyes would have swept past it without a second thought.

Instead, he had stabled Roach and used the space to do his best to tidy himself to blend into the crowd. Still, he knew that he looked the part of the common mercenary at best, looked down upon by the well-dressed nobles and merchants who streamed into the building. He considered himself quite lucky that none of the ushers stopped him as he dropped far too much coin on a standing room ticket and slipped into the back of the grand theatre.

The lights were doused so that only the stage could be seen. Soft music floated over the crowd, barely able to be heard over the still chattering men and women. But suddenly, a single voice cut through, accompanied by a lute as the other musicians ceased to play, and the crowd hushed. The high, clear notes of the instrument and the gentle tenor of the singer were captivating. Geralt gasped at the familiar sound.

~

Valdo watched from the shadows of the box, smug. Jaskier was doing excellently. Every note was technically perfect. And more than that, he had seen the way the crowd had stilled. Every eye was on his beautiful flower, as was deserved.

And yet…

He felt a jealous twist in his heart.

Jaskier was his, a beautiful thing for him alone to enjoy, an instrument for him to play, a symphony for him to write. He did not want to share that with the world.

Unless…perhaps it was time to step once more into the light, beside him.

The other bard’s song was indeed enchanting, not nearly complex enough for his gift, but lovely still. Valdo turned his attention back to it, green eyes glinting with pride.

The song’s final notes hung in the air for a long, breathless moment before the audience rose in a cacophony of cheers and applause.

Of course it was a full house standing ovation. Jaskier deserved nothing less.

Blushing, the blue-eyed bard bowed before scurrying off into the wings.

Valdo smiled, wide and serpentine, slipping back through his hidden door to await him.

[megabadbunny]

In Lovers’ Meeting (3/?)

The Doctor glared at her. Rose glared back. Jackie fanned herself as she watched them both, unimpressed.

A rewrite; dedicated to the absolutely wonderful @davinasgirlfriend​ . <3

* * *

- Chapter 3 -

The card-reader denied her ID. Typical; leave it to Oliver to update that sort of thing as soon as humanly possible. It was every bit as impressive as it was infuriating.

Swearing under her breath, Rose shoved the card back in her jacket-pocket and pulled out the sonic screwdriver instead. It felt more than a little wrong, using one of the Doctor’s most trusted implements to take care of this—especially given that it was a dead Doctor’s instrument, even if he technically had never really died, since that universe had technically never existed, or however that worked—but hopefully the Doctor would understand.

(The real Doctor, that was; she didn’t want to think about how the new Doctor would feel.)

A whir of the sonic and the door slid open, revealing a darkened lab filled with dozens upon dozens of projects in various states of assemblage, deconstruction, and dissection; Rose strode past all of them straight to the back room, where the Dimension Cannon sat, exactly as she’d left it days ago. With one last glance around to make absolutely certain no one was watching (no matter how much it felt like it), Rose flipped a few switches and the Cannon powered on, whining to life in the cold, dark room.

Rose entered the initialization sequence with trembling fingers. This would work. It would. It had to.

The Cannon’s whine gave way to a dull groan, flooding the room with sound until the walls and the floors and the soles of Rose’s boots buzzed and hummed with it. If she’d turned on the overhead lights, Rose knew they would be flickering right about now, drained by the massive amount of power required to operate the Cannon. She flipped on the sonic again, this time to bypass Oliver and Christa’s authorization codes and bring the Cannon to full power. The Cannon’s pilot lights glowed an eerie yellow-green in the semi-darkness, blinking here, flashing there. Rose waited and watched it all with breathless anticipation.

Blinking in greeting, the display invited Rose to step into the transportation chamber and enter coordinates. She complied, clambering into the chamber and typing in coordinates, her jaw set and her gaze grim. But she hesitated, after, her fingers hovering over the return key. The moment suspended in time, growing sluggish with each passing tick of the clock.

He would only be upset for a little bit, the nearly-Doctor. Maybe he wouldn’t even have time to notice she was gone—it wasn’t like Rose would leave him waiting for years on end. Rose would hop back as soon as she could—it would be easy enough, with the TARDIS—and she would give him the chance to come with her and the Doctor, if he wanted. Because as angry as she was, at the Doctor, at him, he still deserved a choice. The same choice she had deserved.

She bit her lip. Maybe she should wait, grab him first. Just in case.

(Maybe she shouldn’t do this at all.)

Deep breaths. Rose steadied herself. Reminded herself of the years of work and research, the months of construction, the weeks full of jumps, the hours of post-jumping sickness early in the trials, the late nights and early mornings and lost weekends that followed after. She remembered all of the terrible things she had seen, the things she had done, the people she couldn’t help, the worlds she couldn’t save—

All that time, she could have slid back into a normal life—could have, maybe even should have—and she chose this instead.

Or tried to choose, she thought with a grimace.

Certainty resurged through her veins and she smacked the return key with a vengeance.

 **

 (The Cannon didn’t work. Because of course it didn’t.)

 **

 At least the meltdown was polite enough to wait until she was far away from the expensive lab equipment.

(Why don’t you try counting, Rose? she remembered her first UNIT counselor advising her, along with a host of other exercises designed to dispel negative emotions. Try thinking of your happy place. Try punching a pillow or a punching-bag, and imagine your enemy’s face is there. Try finding your inner peace, he’d say, accompanied by a condescending paternal gaze thrown warmly over his oversized, outdated glasses that looked like something a 70’s serial killer might have worn. Needless to say, it didn’t take Rose long to switch counselors; her current therapist, a brisk and no-nonsense former military surgeon, urged her to find ways to investigate and resolve those negative emotions instead. Cognitive restructuring, she would say sharply, in her thick New Zealand accent. Deep relaxation. Support-network engagement. Open communication. Mindfulness, the counselor would urge, and much to Rose’s surprise, when she tried these techniques, they often helped.)

Approximately .002 seconds into her meditative cooldown, Rose punched through the washroom mirror.

(Why had she expected the Cannon to work? He’d told her he was closing up the last gaps between universes. He’d told her. And that was the one sort of thing he wouldn’t lie about.)

Probably she should stop while she was ahead, or at least not as far behind as she could have been, but instead, Rose drew back her fist and punched again. And again. And again. Tears gummed up her eyelashes and pain screamed at her from far away, punctuated by the sharp screech of shattering glass and cracking tile, but she forced her stiffening fingers to hold their shape and punched her fist into the mirror over and over and over, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, smash, until Rose drew her hand back to find a ragged-edged hole in the glass and her hand glistening with blood.

Rose bit back on a strangled cry, breath escaping her lungs in bursts. Pain blossomed through her hand, bleeding to the forefront of her consciousness, and she doubled over with the intensity of it, gasping as her hand swelled and throbbed with hurt. Idiot, idiot, idiot her pulse shrieked, in time with the lights flickering overhead.

Shaking, Rose flipped on the faucet and forced her hand beneath the cold water. Fresh hurt seared through her hand and she shouted in pain, cursing as she gingerly removed debris from her torn knuckles. Two of her fingers were turning purple already, stiff and swollen and tender to move. Sprained, Rose thought, and cursed herself for her stupidity.

Mouth tensing in pain as she gently dabbed her hand dry, Rose took a few extra moments to calm herself, allowing the pain to wash over her, breathing in and out through quivering lungs. In, out. In, out. Her uninjured hand flew up to her chest, pressing against the key that hung from a chain round her neck; hidden beneath her shirts, it laid heavy and solid and cool against her overheated skin, and she traced her thumb along its jagged-toothed edge, willing herself to calm, to let this moment pass.

In, out. In, and out.

She would get through this. She would.

Glancing up at the mirror, at the disjointed fractures of her reflection spiraling downward into the hollow left by her fist, she thought grimly about how she finally looked every bit as horrible as she felt. Great. Just great.

What the hell was she supposed to do now?

“Probably fix your damn fingers,” Rose muttered to her reflection, which didn’t disagree. All right. So that was step one. She could worry about steps two through forever later.

After a brief detour to the lab’s emergency first-aid cabinet, where she gulped down some paracetamol and grabbed a few key supplies, Rose made her way over to her office, a tiny room tucked away in an unobtrusive corner of the laboratory. Plonking down on her desk amidst a scuffle of loose files and stacks of neglected paperwork, she got to work splinting her fingers, wincing as she wound medical tape over gauze and bruises and blood, forcing herself to remember to breathe.

In, out.

One last circuit of the medical tape and Rose tore the stuff free from the roll with her teeth, tucking it securely in place. She closed her eyes, just breathing.

In, out.

Footsteps sounded gently in the near distance—quiet, but not quiet enough to ping the sense that someone was sneaking up on her, probably some labbie come to chase her off, what with her shiny new persona non grata status and all—but Rose paid the noise little mind.

In, out.

(Idiot.)

“Thought I mind find you in here,” said a familiar voice, slicing through her thoughts, and Rose opened her eyes to find Jackie standing in front of her, hands planted on hips, brow wrinkled in worry. “Or I was afraid of it, more like.”

Jackie flipped the lightswitch behind her and Rose blinked sterile white light out of her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be tucking Tony in bed right about now?” Rose asked tiredly, shifting her injured hand out of sight.

“Pete’s got it sorted. Not that it matters, the nursery let him have soda, so he’ll be up all hours of the night anyway,” Jackie sighed, shaking her head. “But I had a funny little feeling I should turn back round and take care of my other child right about now. Call it a mum’s intuition.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, Mum. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Right, so that’s why you’re hiding in your office in the dark?”

“Yep,” said Rose flatly.

Jacked tutted under her breath. “It’s not gonna do you any good, you know. You can’t avoid things forever.”

“I just needed a moment to myself, that’s all.”

“But you will give him a chance, though? The new Doctor.”

“Yeah,” replied Rose, her voice clipped. “Sure.”

“Don’t suppose it means anything that he gave up so much to be with you.”

Rose chuckled halfheartedly. “You’re taking his side, now? Maybe things have changed after all.”

“Listen, I may not know what a crisis-thing is, but I do know I’m glad he came here and brought you with him,” Jackie told her. “Cos he could’ve stayed over in the other universe, easy as pie, and you’d’ve stayed, too. But he didn’t. You’ve always been so willing to give up everything for him—your family, your friends, your home, your life—”

“That was my choice, Mum—”

“—so really, it’s only fair he’d do the same, ain’t it? High time he gave up everything for you, for a change.”

“It’s not like that.”

Jackie huffed. “Looks an awful lot like that to me. This Doctor, he said goodbye to that magic ship of his and everything, just for you, to stay here with you. Didn’t he?”

“He didn’t, though. He would never.”

“How do you know? Maybe this new one would.”

Rose grunted noncommittally, scrubbing her noninjured hand over her face. Jackie cocked her head, mouth pursed thin as she took a moment to gauge Rose properly. “What’s wrong, love?” she asked, her tone suddenly soft, maternal. “I mean, what’s really wrong?”

Rose shrugged. It doesn’t matter. Maybe if she thought it hard enough, it would become true. How was that for cognitive restructuring?

“You’re acting all angry at that new Doctor, but it’s not him at all, is it?”

Rose did not reply.

With a sigh, Jackie shucked her jacket, setting it aside. “It’s the other him, yeah?” she asked gently. “The one that sent you away.”

Pressure burned in Rose’s sinuses and she twisted her mouth, willing the tears back.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jackie sighed, drawing Rose into a hug. Her embrace was warm, imbued with that special brand of soft maternal warmth, and Rose had to fight harder not to cry because of it. She hugged her mother limply, and Jackie squeezed tighter in response, like she could smoosh all the bad feelings away.

“It’s his loss,” said Jackie, gently. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah.” Rose didn’t have the energy to argue.

“I’m so sorry, Rose,” Jackie said, squeezing again for good measure. The hug was almost unbearably hot, but Rose couldn’t bring herself to pull away. “I really am. I know how hard you worked to get back. And it weren’t right, the way the other Doctor sent you away like that, without even hardly a word from you. I know it hurts. Believe me—I know. But in a way—well, in a way, wasn’t it sort of a good thing?”

“Downright charitable,” Rose muttered.

“This way, you get the best of both worlds. Him, and everything else. Or a version of him, anyway. And isn’t it nice, that you get to keep your family, now? Isn’t it nice that you’ll get to spend more time with your dad, see your brother grow up, keep all your friends, all that?”

Rose couldn’t muster a reply; hot guilt and cold anger and tired resignation all roiled restlessly in her mind and none of them offered anything useful to say.

“I would have missed you horribly,” said Jackie, her voice unusually small. “Wouldn’t you have missed me at all?”

“Of course I would’ve, Mum.”

“Yeah. So why don’t you talk to me about it all, then? Tell Mum what’s eating you, love.”

With a deep breath, Rose stepped back and opened her mouth to reply—she didn’t really feel like talking about it, didn’t really feel like talking at all, but her therapist’s words echoed in her ears (Support-network engagement, Rose. Open communication, Rose) and she knew, however grudgingly, that she should at least try; she owed her mum that much—but her words were cut off by the sudden shrill squeal of an alarm blaring overhead.

“Warning: Code Blue,” a pleasant female voice announced through the intercom as emergency lights flashed from the ceiling. “Code Blue. Status level Four. Please implement standard quarantine protocol. All personnel must proceed in a swift, calm, and orderly manner to their nearest quarantine station. Warning: Code Blue…”

“What’s that?” asked Jackie.

“Code Blue,” Rose echoed. “Something to do with Medical, I think.”

“Oh! Must be the thing upstairs, then.”

“What thing?”

“When I was on my way in, there were all these people crowded round the cafeteria,” Jackie explained. “I just thought it was alcohol poisoning—dunno if you’ve seen the news at all, but the emergency lines are absolutely swamped with reports of it, absolutely everyone’s pissed, s’like the stars came back and no one can hold their liquor anymore...”

She kept talking, but Rose hadn’t registered any of the words that left her mouth after cafeteria. Fog filled her head, obscuring any thoughts of anything that wasn’t her conversation with the Doctor outside the lift, trying to rid herself of him, telling him to do whatever he liked, with the unspoken addendum that as long as it was nowhere near her, he could go wherever he wanted.

Including the cafeteria—

Rose pushed past Jackie, ignoring how her mum shouted after her in confusion. A low whine droned in her ears as she stalked her way to the lab door, growing louder and louder and louder until it drowned out all other sound.

What if—?

Panic seized her and the lab door was sliding open and god, had it always been so interminably slow? Rose slid through the gap and made her way to the lift, striding, jogging, then sprinting as her heart pounded painfully in her throat. She slammed the lift button several times before remembering that, of course, emergency protocol meant lifts were down. She bolted over to the stairwell instead, throwing open the doors and darting up the stairs two and three at a time, shoving past the few personnel she encountered along the way.

“They said to go calmly,” one agent irritably called after her and on any other day she might agree, maybe stop to apologize or at least throw a Sorry! over her shoulder, but her throat was too thick and her chest was too tight and what had happened upstairs, what had happened in the cafeteria, what if he’d been there when it happened, what if it had happened to him, what if his new human body couldn’t handle whatever it was and now he was—what if—what if what if what if what if—

“Rose!” shouted Jackie, chasing after her. “What’s wrong?”

Do what you like, it’s no difference to me.

Rose barreled straight into an abandoned caretaker’s trolley, knocking supplies to the floor in a flurry of mops and spray-bottles. She left them rolling across the floor and kept running. Seconds later, she’d arrived at the lunchroom, and what she saw stole the last of her breath away. A bunch of hastily-installed plastic quarantine sheeting obscured much of the view inside the cafeteria’s glass doors, but the blobs of telltale bright yellow moving slowly round inside told her enough.

Oh, god. Oh god.

Rose flipped out the sonic and unlocked the doors without a second thought, pulling aside the plastic sheeting to see HAZMAT-suited agents covering every inch of the place. Agents with plastic-bagged oversized cameras photographed the scene while others scraped samples off tables and walls and counters and chairs, entering data into their tablets and laptops. Several operatives trawled the area with black light instruments, meticulously searching for any sign of biological fluids; others stood in groups of two and three, talking in low tones, their voices quiet in that special sort of too-casual way that suggests a conversation one doesn’t want attention drawn toward.

But then Rose’s gaze found the far corner of the room, and her stomach lurched awfully at the sight of it. There, nearly hidden by HAZMAT-suited medical officers in a disjointed row of highlighter-neon-yellow, sat a stretcher, a covered body lying still and unmoving atop it. And a memory swam up in Rose’s mind, of another stretcher and another body, in a cold dark room, with the TARDIS dying nearby…

Her blood turned to ice in her veins. All sound filtered from the room, leaving behind a strange buzzing in her ears instead. Rose’s feet carried her forward on impulse, leading her to the body. It wasn’t until one of the HAZMAT suits stepped in her path, blocking her view, that she realized how far she’d made it into the room, how everyone had stopped to stare at her.

“Excuse me,” Rose said in something of a daze, fishing out her now-defunct UNIT ID. “Agent Tyler, Special Sciences Division. I just have to check…”

“Sorry, Agent Tyler,” said the officer, stepping in her path once again as she tried to duck around him. “It’s essential personnel only. I can’t let you through.”

“It’s all right!” Jackie piped up, following after Rose with a hand pressed to her chest, wheezing as if she were winded from the run. “Jackie Tyler here, Director Tyler’s wife. She’s with me—”

“Just tell me if you’ve got an ID on the body,” Rose pleaded.

“That information is classified.”

“Please,” she choked out.

“Agent Tyler—”

“Look, I know you’ve got your protocols, but I’ve got to make sure, I’ve just got to know if it’s—please, I have to know, it’ll only take me a second—please—”

“For Christ’s sake, what are you doing, just letting them stand there?” barked out another HAZMAT suit, gesturing impatiently. “This is an active hazard area. Get them to decontamination! And would someone please lock the bloody lunchroom doors?” he snapped as the officer grabbed Rose and Jackie each by the arm to haul them away.

“No, wait!” cried Rose as the officer dragged them back amidst Jackie’s indignant shouts of “Well, that’s nice!” But the officer only pulled them further and further away from the stretcher and the body atop it. “You don’t understand,” Rose pleaded, “I’ve got to check, I have to make sure it isn’t him, I’ve got to—”

But the agent had already managed to tow them to the storage room at the back of the cafeteria, tossing Rose and hauling Jackie inside. Normally stocked to the brim with canned and packaged foodstuffs and paper goods, the storage room was now empty, save the decontamination station rigged up inside; the portable shower stood dark and ominous next to large dispensers of suspiciously unlabeled chemicals that Rose knew would not be intended to touch human skin under absolutely any other circumstances. Rose briefly wondered what on earth they could be dealing with here, just how terribly bad it must be, but shook her head; she didn’t have time to care about that right now. Right now, she had to make sure that corpse wasn’t the Doctor. Nothing else mattered.

“All right,” the HAZMAT-suited officer huffed, turning round to close the doors. “Now that that’s all out of the way—”

“Out of the way my arse,” shouted Jackie. “We’ve got rights, you know!”

“Oh, believe me, Jackie, I know—”

Rose lunged forward, slamming the agent bodily against the doors as she wrenched his arm up his back. “I need to know if that’s my friend lying dead out there,” she spat out over the sound of the agent hissing in pain. “So you can let me check, or I can break your arm. Which’ll it be?”

“Listen, you’ve got it all wrong—”

“Not what I want to hear,” said Rose, twisting the agent’s arm higher still.

“Doesn’t matter if you want to hear it or not, it’s still—blimey, Rose! Go easy, would you? It’s a brand new arm and I’d like to go more than a day without breaking it!”

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in, but once they did, Rose dropped the officer’s arm, her pulse thundering in her ears. She tore off the HAZMAT helmet and threw it to the floor, grabbing the agent by the shoulder so she could whip him round.

Sure enough, it was the new Doctor staring down at her, his eyes wide in bewilderment and his hair absolutely mussed.

Relief surged through her. He was all right. The Doctor was all right. (Only sort-of the Doctor bubbled up faintly in the back of her head, but she ignored it in favor of springing forward to envelope the Doctor in a bone-squeezing hug.)

“Stupid git,” she said breathlessly.

With a pleased little hum, the Doctor hugged her back. “Nice to see you, too. Well-worth the insults and the dislocated shoulder.”

“Shut up,” said Rose, but she didn’t let go, couldn’t do it quite yet, not until she was absolutely certain this was really him and her stupid imagination wasn’t playing tricks on her again. She resisted the urge to bury her face against his chest while her breathing calmed down, but only just. She settled for hugging him harder, instead.

“So why’re you in a suit?” Jackie demanded.

Rose shook herself, willing herself to calm down. Her mother’s presence and the plastic suit digging uncomfortably into her cheek was a timely reminder that no matter how glad she was that the almost-Doctor was alive and well, ultimately, that’s all he was—the almost-Doctor. Not a Time Lord in a brown suit in the TARDIS, but a human bloke, in a blue suit and yellow HAZMAT gear, squeezing her in a hug that was just a little too tight and a lot too full of stiff pointy plastic. He wasn’t the Doctor, no matter how relieved she was to see him, no matter how much her body wanted to believe it, clinging to him like one magnet drawn to another. This wasn’t exactly right. He wasn’t exactly him.

Rose pried herself away so she could swat him on the arm. “Why’d you scare me like that?” she demanded. “And yeah, why are you wearing a suit? Where’d you even get a suit? What’s going on out there?”

“Well,” said the Doctor, frowning and rubbing his arm where Rose struck it, “In order—it wasn’t intentional, it was the only way to get in, I stole it, and you’ve got a mystery medical hazard on your hands resulting in three dead bodies and no clue on what got them. That answer your questions, or are you going to opt for more surprise violence?”

Jackie’s eyes widened. “Three bodies? We only saw one.”

“She was just the first. There are two other scenes just like this elsewhere in the building.”

Rose swore under her breath. Four years of intensive training, teaching her to spot anything that looked out of the ordinary, even in the most innocuous of ways, yet here she’d been, so wrapped up in her own stupid self-pitying thoughts that she hadn’t even noticed anything was amiss, much less that three people were on the brink of death. And now they were gone, nothing she or anyone else could do about it. Gone, just like that. Forever.

(Was it anyone she knew, she wondered? If she hadn’t allowed herself to drown so completely in her own petty nonsense, would she have spotted the problems in time? Was there a chance she could have done something, anything, to help them…?)

Drinking in deep lungfuls of air, Rose centered herself. This wasn’t about her. It was about the three lives lost, the possibility of losing more. Besides, the Doctor was here, or someone enough like him, anyway. That meant the situation, as horrible as it was, was manageable.

Right?

“What happened?” she asked, her voice hard.

“Near as anyone can tell, we’re dealing with some sort of contagion.”

“Any idea what it is?”

The Doctor shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line. “Could be naturally-occurring, could be a manufactured bioweapon. All I know is that it’s bad. Really, really bad. Fast-acting, fast-spreading, alters the bodily fluids on a molecular level, resulting in suffocation due to fluid-filled lungs and a fever hot enough to cook the victim from the inside out.”

“Oh Jesus,” Jackie breathed, wincing. She fanned herself with her hand, as if the idea was enough to make her faint. “That’s awful.”

“It certainly is. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. And from what I’ve overheard, no one else here has seen anything like it, either—”

“It’s probably got something to do with those labs downstairs,” Jackie sniffed. “Lord knows what you lot get up to in there, making viruses into weapons and things.”

“It doesn’t sound like any UNIT projects I know of,” Rose replied, frowning. “And Pete and I keep a pretty close eye on that sort of thing.”

The Doctor nodded. “We should really look into UNIT’s secure servers just to be certain, in the event that any less-scrupulous employees might be hiding something we should know about. Right now, the prevailing theory amongst the medical team is that we’re dealing with a mutation of the Black Plague, but—”

“Do you think that could be it?” asked Rose.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It just isn’t.”

“Okay, but…” Rose started to say, and stopped.

The Doctor watched her expectantly.

Rose hesitated. She didn’t want to hurt this new Doctor’s feelings just for the hell of it, she really didn’t. But if there was any chance that the UNIT medical team could be right...well, what was more important right now, sparing the sort-of Doctor’s ego, or finding an immediate solution?

(Besides—wouldn’t the real Doctor have figured something out, by now?)

“Is there any chance it could be the Plague, and you’re just overlooking something, or, I don’t know, maybe forgetting?” Rose asked, and the Doctor’s expression cooled. “Maybe all the memories didn’t transfer properly, or—”

“Nope,” the Doctor said cheerfully, his words only a little strained. “Doesn’t work like that. I know everything I knew before and I remember everything I remembered before. Same memories, same knowledge, same reasoning, same feelings, same everything up in the ol’ noodle.”

“Okay, sure, but just—”

“It was me then, and it’s me now,” the Doctor interrupted just a little too brightly, and good grief, even the way his dimple twinged in his cheek was exactly the same as before. “Not a Xerox machine; isn’t as if information was lost in the transfer. I’m not a clone, not a duplicate, not a copy, just me. The only thing that’s changed is the packaging. All right? Does that make sense? Do you understand that?”

Rose laughed nastily. “Well it must be you after all, seeing as you’re still talking to me like I’m some stupid ape too thick to understand anything. At least some things never change, right?”

The Doctor glared at her. Rose glared back. Jackie fanned herself as she watched them both, unimpressed.

He huffed in impatience. “The Black Plague, or Bubonic plague, is an infectious disease caused by the bacterium Yersinia pestis, commonly present in fleas that prey on ground rodents,” he began, his gaze locked on hers. “The most well-known symptom is a series of fluid filled ‘buboes’ located in the neck, the underarms, and the groin, in addition to acute fever, vomiting of blood, and sometimes acral gangrene in the extremities. One can also expect the sudden appearance of a rash, likely caused by the bite of the flea or fleas carrying the Yersinia pestis bacterium. Symptoms typically develop within two to seven days of exposure to the infected rodents, and, if untreated, worsen over time.

“Now,” the Doctor continued, speaking more rapidly the longer he went on despite his chipper tone, “the lack of buboes or rashes present on the victims, in addition to the absence of rodents in the immediately surrounding area, and no reports of rodent outbreaks in the general area, as well as the fact that none of the victims appeared to be presenting symptoms in the two to seven days leading up to their deaths, all suggest that no, this is not, in fact, the Plague, or any permutation thereof. The only symptoms that match are the presence of fever, the vomiting of blood—though it’s worth noting that it appears to be less of a vomiting action, more of an involuntary expulsion post-mortem—and the appearance of black cutaneous and subcutaneous tissues, but anyone with a working set of eyes and nostrils can tell you that the black tissues and disgorged blood are not discolored from the Plague’s trademark necrosis or septicemia, but rather something else altogether. Furthermore, while the Plague has managed to survive in some regions worldwide, its occurrence in this era is quite rare, and its symptoms have barely evolved over time, so unless this universe’s version of the Plague has inexplicably jumped forward a few dozen millennia in its evolutionary timeline apropos of no discernable evolutionary trigger whatsoever, the Plague does not explain the immediate onset of symptoms, nor the total discoloration of the eyes, a symptom present in each victim thus far. Ergo, no, we’re not dealing with the Plague, and just because it’s the most popular theory doesn’t mean it’s correct, and while it’s understandable that your panicking medical team is grasping for a familiar explanation, it’s becoming rapidly apparent that there isn’t one, and just because I don’t know what our mystery contagion is yet, that doesn’t mean I won’t figure it out very shortly. All of which I managed to calculate within precisely 5.26 seconds of hearing the posited diagnosis, precisely the same as I would have done before, in my other body, in the other universe.”

The Doctor drew a deep breath. “Now, does that satisfy your explanatory criteria, or shall I continue wasting time?”

“No, we’re good,” Rose replied. “I appreciate the explanation, though. It’s much better than simply being told to play along, no questions asked.”

“So if it’s not the Plague, then what is it?” asked Jackie before the Doctor had a chance to retort.

He frowned. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “Truthfully, I don’t know much about what our killer is, only what it isn’t. I’d really need the sonic to get a good reading on things—oh, I hadn’t even thought of that yet, the sonic,” the Doctor sighed morosely, scratching the back of his neck. “Suppose I’ll have to build myself a new one. I wonder where a fellow can find a half-decent subminiature electroacoustic transducer in this universe—”

Rose fished the sonic screwdriver out of her jacket and presented it to him.

Eyes landing on the sonic, the Doctor fell silent. His gaze flickered from the screwdriver to Rose’s face, back to the screwdriver and up to her face again. Rose forced herself not to flinch beneath his scrutiny.

“How did you get ahold of that?” the Doctor asked slowly. “And why, for that matter?”

“It’s not what you think it is. Or at least, it’s not whose you think it is.”

The Doctor arched an eyebrow in a way that clearly suggested her remark raised more questions than answers.

“Look, do you want it or not?” Rose asked impatiently.

Still eyeing Rose with a healthy dose of wariness, the Doctor took the sonic from her. “Just how many questions have you dodged today, hm?” he asked. “Have you given a straight answer to anyone, about anything?”

Rose didn’t blink. “That’s sort of rich, coming from you.”

The Doctor looked like he wanted to argue, but if so, he must have thought better of it, because the next thing Rose knew, he was scanning himself with the sonic, guiding it over the lines and planes of his suit and helmet. “Nothing to report here, not yet anyway,” he said, glancing at the readings on the screwdriver. “But even without the sonic, it’s obvious that the contagion is fast-acting. None of the victims reported to sickbay with any symptoms, according to the reports, and Miranda certainly wasn’t presenting any symptoms when I spoke to her, except perhaps a mild fever, maybe a little cough.”

“Miranda?” gasped Jackie. “Oh no, not the nice dinner lady?”

The Doctor nodded.

“Oh, what a shame. She didn’t deserve all that.”

“No, she didn’t.”

Rose watched him curiously. “You knew her?”

“Only barely,” the Doctor murmured, his eyes narrowed in focus. Rose glanced down to see what he was looking at, and—ah. So he’d noticed her hand, then, taking in the splint, the swelling, the bandage-job only just hiding a whole host of bruises and tiny cuts. Leaning forward, the Doctor took her hand in his, inspecting it.

“Oh my god, Rose!” snapped Jackie, aghast, jerking Rose’s hand away from the Doctor (and ignoring Rose’s wince of pain). “When did that happen? What did you do?”

Rose cleared her throat and avoided anyone’s gaze, fidgeting uncomfortably. “So you were saying, erm. Miranda and the others were totally fine, right up until they suddenly died.”

“It would seem that way,” replied the Doctor. He was still looking at her hand, as if maybe he was trying to ascertain, without asking, how her fingers came to be in such a state. He gently eased her hand out of Jackie’s grasp and now her fingers were the subject of the sonic screwdriver’s glare, its light bathing her in a ghostly blue glow. “So we’re either dealing with a totally invisible incubation period, or something that can infect and kill you within moments. Still can’t determine how it’s spreading, though; if it were transmittable via air or food or touch, you’d think we’d have a lot more victims by now, considering how quickly the symptoms seemed to manifest, and how many people our dinner lady would have come into contact with today.”

He gently turned Rose’s hand over, running the sonic over it one last time. “Three small tears in the ligaments of the intermediate phalanges,” he announced. “And for some reason, traces of…”

The Doctor trailed off thoughtfully, glancing up at her. “If I asked you what happened here,” he said, his voice light, “would you tell me?”

Rose thought of the Cannon and swallowed against the lump that had sprung up in her throat. “No.”

Jackie tutted impatiently. “Thought as much,” said the Doctor with a nod, and if Rose didn’t know any better, she’d think his shoulders were slumping a little, as if in resignation. As if that was precisely the answer he’d anticipated.

“So, erm. What else do you know about Miranda, then? Anything relevant?” Rose asked, more to fill the silence than anything.

“Not really. She was nice, though. Gave me some free food. And she’s got a boatload of kids at home, sounded like she was taking care of them all on her own. Does UNIT have anything in place, for stuff like that?”

“Yeah.”

“They’ll be well taken-care-of,” Jackie piped up, coughing into her elbow. “We made sure of it, Rose and me.”

“Sort of feels like the least we can do, considering,” Rose muttered.

“Considering?”

Rose worried the inside of her cheek. “I should’ve known something was off. Should’ve noticed straightaway. But I didn’t.”

“Rose Tyler,” said the Doctor, with a sad but knowing smile, “this is not your fault, in any way, shape, or form. You know that, right?”

Rose shrugged. “I know, but—”

“Nope! No buts,” the Doctor said, cheerful once again as Jackie looped one arm round Rose, rubbing her shoulder supportively. “Even I didn’t pick up on anything, and my senses are considerably more attuned than yours—no offense, that’s just how it is, human body or no—so no one could reasonably expect you to anticipate such an occurrence, much less react in time to prevent it. The whole abysmal business is unfortunate, of course. Horrible, even. But as difficult as it can be to admit it, sometimes bad things just…”

Something to the right of Rose caught his attention and the Doctor trailed off, his brow furrowing in worry. “...happen,” he finished a moment later, the word gone faint at the end.

He cleared his throat. “Jackie,” he said, in a tone that very much suggested he was fighting to stay calm, “I don’t suppose you happened to develop a penchant for black nail polish within the last hour or so, did you?”

“God, no. Why?”

The Doctor gestured to the hand resting on Rose’s shoulder; Rose glanced down at it and frowned. Strange, she didn’t remember her mum complaining of any bruises beneath her fingernails, yet here they were, all of them darkening near the nailbed, almost as if she’d got lazy while painting her nails and abandoned the task halfway through, or a series of blood blisters had erupted beneath the skin and she just hadn’t noticed or said anything. But it must not have hurt, or else Jackie surely would have mentioned it by now. In fact, the only thing Rose really noticed was how warm her mum’s hand felt…

Almost feverish.

“What is that?” Rose asked with a composure she did not feel. “On Mum’s hand, that black stuff—what is it?”

In response, the Doctor nudged Rose aside so he could scan Jackie’s face with the sonic, ignoring her indignant little “Oi!” as he blasted blue-white light directly into her eyes; whatever he read on the sonic caused him to pull back with a look of alarm.

“What’s wrong?” Jackie asked, panicking, glancing over her fingernails. “Have I got the thing? Am I sick?”

“We’ve got to get her to an infirmary,” the Doctor told Rose, and she wondered if she’d ever seen him so pale before. Rose’s blood pressure plummeted like a stone. “Now.”

A knock at the door, loud and violent like a battering-ram, made them all jump. “Stay back!” the Doctor shouted through the door, unzipping his HAZMAT gear to reveal that strange new blue suit of his underneath. Fishing around in his suit-pockets, he pulled out a medical mask, slipping it on over Jackie’s head. “We’ve got infected in here!”

Infected. Rose’s head swam at the word.

No voices replied but a knock sounded again, louder this time, heavier. “Move away from the door!” the Doctor called out, but the knocking only got louder and more insistent. “Not a very good batch of listeners, are they?” the Doctor muttered irritably, securing the medical mask in place; Rose tried to move to help but her earlier panic had returned with a vengeance and her arms were trembly and her legs frozen solid.

Her mother was sick just like the others and the others were dead within moments—

“What about you two, though?” Jackie asked the Doctor. Her voice sounded leathery and strange through the mask. “Are you gonna get sick too?”

“Don’t worry about me—I’m still in the first fifteen hours of my regeneration cycle, bursting with all that residual cellular energy. Remember?” he said, and he flashed his right hand at Rose—his fightin’ hand, Rose recalled. “I only stole the suit in the first place so I could sneak in undetected. Rose, on the other hand...”

He froze, glancing up at her, and swallowed. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Rose nodded dumbly, unable to respond over the rushing in her ears, fear threatening to strangle her. She wasn’t too worried about herself. But her mother...

“All right!” the Doctor shouted over the pound-pound-pounding at the door. “We’re coming out now, give us a moment to collect ourselves, won’t you—?”

He threw open the door to reveal a whole host of HAZMAT-clad operatives waiting outside in the cafeteria. The operatives stared, no longer beating at the doors, but now silent and unmoving, watching Rose and Jackie and the Doctor through dark-fogged visors.

Rose gulped. Maybe it was just the lightheadedness swarming up in her skull, but something about all of this felt very, very strange.

(She couldn’t help but notice the blackish-grey stuff dotting the suits here and there, where she could have sworn it hadn’t, before; she couldn’t stop wondering why they were all so quiet, now, couldn’t stop thinking how much the dark impressions behind each visor loomed like shadowy skulls.)

“Can we help you?” asked the Doctor, nonplussed. “Only we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

“Give it to us,” rasped one of the operatives.

“Right, right, of course,” said the Doctor, glancing from one agent to another to another. “But, erm. Just to make sure we’re on the same page—we’re giving you what, now?”

Wordlessly, one of the agents raised its arm in agonizing slow-motion, pointing inexorably toward Jackie. She shrank back in fear and, unthinking, Rose stepped in front of her.

(But what was wrong with the medical officers? What had happened to them?

They were infected too, weren’t they?

How long did Jackie have, before she became just like them?)

“Interesting,” said the Doctor thoughtfully. “Also, nope!”

With that he seized both women by the hand and yanked them away just as an agent came lumbering towards them, arms slicing through the air where Jackie had stood an instant before. The Doctor sprinted for the lunchroom doors, tugging Rose and Jackie along, but one of the operatives caught Jackie and wrenched her back.

“Rose—!” Jackie cried out and in a blink, all the noise left Rose’s head as her UNIT training screamed in like a freight train. Whipping round, Rose punched the heel of her palm into the agent’s wrist, breaking his arm and his grasp before she shoved her mother away to safety.  The next suit that lunged for Jackie was met with a knee to the groin and an uppercut to the jaw. Swiping a chair, Rose whipped it at another agent, striking him in the face with a satisfying thwack that threw him bodily backward into the rest of his fellows, knocking them all down in a heap of limbs and screeches.

The Doctor looked on in open-mouthed shock. “What the hell was that?” he spluttered as Rose darted back to him, grabbing him by the hand.

“You’re not the only one who’s changed!” she shouted, pulling him and Jackie in a run.

At the lunchroom entrance, Rose threw aside the plastic sheeting and flipped open the lock, pushing the doors open before springing out into the hall. Knowing she had only seconds before the agents caught up to them, Rose cast all about the corridor, searching desperately for anything that would hold them back—

“Here!” called the Doctor, rushing over to the pile of caretaker’s mops and brooms Rose had knocked to the floor in her earlier haste. He tossed a mop her way and she shoved the pole through the door handles just in time for the agents to hurl themselves against the doors with a mighty WHAM. The force of the impact threw Rose and Jackie to the floor, but Rose glanced back to see that even though the doors were bowing outward, the metal-handled mop bucking violently with every hit and slam, the makeshift barricade stayed put.

(But Jackie was trembling and Rose could hear her wheezing now with every breath she took and—)

“Still think it’s the Plague?” asked the Doctor as he helped Jackie off the floor, pulling her toward the lift.

“Were any of the other victims acting like that before they died?” asked Rose, following after them.

“Not that I’m aware of, though it’s worth noting that our friends in there are acting like that after they died.”

“Wait—they’re dead?” asked Jackie weakly. “But how comes they’re moving and talking and everything?”

“Good question! Haven’t got a clue.”

They reached the lift but before Rose had the chance to tell the Doctor it wouldn’t work—emergency protocol—they had to turn round—they had to go back—he whipped out the sonic and the doors split open in front of him, like magic. Wheezing as she hobbled inside, Jackie clutched at her chest, her face pinched in discomfort.

“How do you know they’re dead?” she choked out.

“Fluid in the lungs,” the Doctor explained, sidling in after her and pulling Rose inside. “You could hear it in their voices, I’m sure—I could hear it in their breathing. A ridiculous amount of nonmucosal viscous fluid blocking the primary, secondary, and tertiary bronchii—no human could survive that.”

He punched in the floor command and slammed the doors-close button. “They’re all dead, Jackie. I’m sorry.”

Jackie coughed and winced at the sound of it. Eyes screwed shut, she slumped back against the lift wall, and Rose darted over to her side as she fought for air, forcing it in and out of her lungs with great effort. In, out. In, out. Like she’d done so many times, without even trying, without even thinking. (Like the people out there would never do again. And was it just Rose, or did Jackie’s breathing sound so much wetter than before?)

The lift arrived with a cheerful ding and the next thing Rose knew, Jackie was sliding down the wall with a groan. But she never met the floor; the Doctor stopped her with a hand on each shoulder, looping an arm round her afterward to heave her back upwards. With a grunt, he hauled her out of the lift, half-supporting, half-dragging her toward the infirmary.

“What’s gonna happen to her?” asked Rose, supporting her mother from the other side. “She’s not gonna end up like those others, is she?”

The Doctor glanced at her and his voice was sharp despite his reassuring smile.

“No.”

**********

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

[deadinsidedressage]

Have you watched the great? How "sometimes true" is it?

Hi so first of all I took a muscle relaxer because I've pulled a muscle in my back so this might loose coherence.

Most of what I saw of it in trailers was inaccurate.

It seems they're trying to model Peter III more like the infamous very "Russian" antics of Peter I (Peter the Great) instead of having any accurate portrayal of him.

Peter III did not speak Russian as a first language or even with any fluency at the time Catherine was married to him. His mother was the daughter of Peter the Great but his father was a German duke whose family was ruling Denmark at the time. As such, Peter III was very non-Russian. He self-identified as German and his mother was part of the wave of "Western educated" nobles that greatly destabilized Russia. For one, many Russian nobles such as Catherine Petronova (Peter III's mom) spoke French as a first language, German as a second, and then finally maybe Russian as a third. Peter the Great had sought to bring Western innovations to make Russia a stronger nation but instead the royal families of Western Europe took this invitation to engage with Russia (and literally engage Russian nobles) as a way in which to slowly break the nation down. If you can marry their royals with your royals... well suddenly everyone is a German noble and you can successfully consolidate power under one European empire. Do make note that Peter the Great would have absolutely loathed Peter III and his father Charles Frederick. The entire reason we got Peter III in power in the first place was because while Peter the Great fucked (2 wives, 14 kids) he didn't successfully fuck enough to have a son outlive him to rule--- and precisely that he wasn't dying fast enough was why his eldest son Alexei briefly fucked off to Austria (so I mean no throne for you) before dying (mmmm dying from torture basically at the hands of his dad lol).

Peter the Great's immediate successor was Catherine I (his wife) as Russian has generally always operated under Tsar & Tsarina "co-rule"--- debatable how involves most tsarinas are while their husband lives but does set the precedent that should the Tsar die his wife will rule until the next in succession is old enough to take over. Catherine's death then put into power Empress Elizabeth (Peter I's eldest daughter) who by all historical accounts was a pretty solid Tsarina. Well though some stupid people will tell you Elizabeth had to stage a coup to gain power from 2 month old Ivan VI, son of her uncle Ivan V who had once upon a time co-ruled with Peter the Great before dying (possibly purposefully assassinated by his brother). Ivan V was entirely blind and senile by age 27... It was assumed that either Ivan VI would inherent these traits OR was actually illigitimate--- Ivan V was... Perhaps never all there enough to consummate his marriage. At any rate, Elizabeth had Ivan VI moved to a secure palace where he'd be allowed to live out his life under strict orders for him to be killed should anyone ever try and use him as a tool in a coup. It was the 1700s what do you want from me.

Elizabeth was Peter the Great's eldest daughter and was assumed even before Alexei's death to have some potential as a successor--- as such her education reflected it. It wasn't uncommon at all for the Russian throne to go to the eldest sister of a Tsar if he was childless, so eldest daughters were often given special tutors. She successfully navigated the War of Austrian Succession and the Seven Years War. Unfortunately, her fiancé died before her marriage AND as she was unmarried & at the time childless she could not gain a husband before her mother died and she took the throne. Yeah dudes in 1727 sucked ass and were like lmao an UNMARRIED, CHILDLESS EMPRESS OF RUSSIA??? 0/10 unfuckable her nephew is the heir apparent & there's not a high change to knock her up with a boy before he'd be able to claim the throne. 🙃

WHO WAS ELIZABETH'S NEPHEW? PETER THE FUCKING THIRD! Son of Mr. Exiled to Russia for Trying to Overthrow His Uncle as King of Sweden and Mrs. I Was Never Assumed to Have Any Political Worth By My Father So He Didn't Really Care What I Did.

As I said before, Peter III identified as a German and didn't speak fuck all Russian. He acted like a German prince and really wanted to BE a German prince. Enter Catherine II (Catherine the Great) a Prussian (is she more technically Austrian than German? who fucking remembers) princess. Empress Elizabeth actually was responsible for the matching of Catherine to Peter III. She knew that Russian needed a strong Austrian alliance since Peter III's reign would be highly scrutinized (and exploited) by the still pissed off Swedes. Catherine (then Sophie, nicknamed Fike) came from a reportedly abusive and cold mother to Russian to be wed to a drunken baby bitch boy who played with toys. Princess Joanna (Catherine's mother) immediately became a huge pain in the ass when she recognized that according to Russian custom her daughter could become Empress. Joanna was actually BANNED FROM RUSSIA FOR SPYING IN BEHALF OF THE AUSTRIAN EMPEROR by Empress Elizabeth following Catherine's arrival there. Catherine also was famously deathly ill upon her arrival to Russia and would have continued to worsen if she'd followed the medical advise prescribed by Joanna (who was anti-bloodlettting). Joanna sent a Lutheran pastor to hold a final confession for Catherine assuming she'd die and Catherine famously turned him away in favor of the Orthodox father attending to her. Empress Elizabeth fucking loved that shit. Upon getting well, Caterine converted to Orthodoxy (both her parents where BIG MAD) at which point she took the name Екатерина Алексеевна (Ekaterina Alekseyvna/ Catherine "daughter of Alexei")--- now when non-Russians take fake patronymics it's usually the russified version of their father's name or a variant of Vladimir but I've seen theorized Alexei may have been the Orthodox Father's name and I think that's more fun anyway.

Catherine hated Peter but she loved Elizabeth (mostly because of the fuck your mom be a strong woman like me) and immediately threw herself into becoming deserving of the Russian throne. She practiced her Russian lessons so long and with such frequency that she actually gave herself pneumonia. Peter though did not make the moves to he deserving off the Russian throne. He was a Lutheran, he hardly spoke Russian, and insisted on spending as much time with Germans as possible. Once his rule began he was even devising a way to give as much Russian terrority to the German royal family as possible.

Can you even believe?

Catherine had won the favor of the advisors around her husband quickly as no one loves a weak Tsar and was able to stage a coup and froce Peter III to abdicate about 6 months into Peter's actual reign. Peter III died later... Potentially in an assassination potentially not. Catherine also potentially had Ivan VI assassinated or maybe he died in a failed coup attempt by people who wanted a controllable Tsar who knows 🤷🏻‍♀️.

At any rate, no the show doesn't look accurate. I appreciate that they've taken the stance that it's not supposed to be either. There's a lot about the ways Catherine has been portrayed in media & by historians that smacks of sexism--- you often see her touted as being a huge slut who fucked her way into power but that entirely ignores that fact that she was an extremely well educated woman who got into and held power for so long by her OWN MERITS. She also was extremely dedicated to following in Peter the Great's footsteps in bringing positive aspects of Westernization to Russia without degrading the Russian culture as lesser. She never lost her Austrian accent when she spoken Russian, she was always more comfortable reading in French, and French was often the first language of her children BUT she is essentially responsible for the creation of Russia's art culture and Russian nobility actually being Russian in culture if not through ethnicity/nationality. She also did some of the largest expansions of the empire in her time which you know is good or bad depending which point you're arguing from.

[hostiias]

MENTAL HEALTH WITH NIM: DID

           Hey sweet peas! Nimbus here and I have what’s known as DID!! What is DID you ask? It’s short for Dissociative Identity Disorder !! It was known as multiple personality disorder until the 90′s--when they gained a better understanding and changed the name. You don’t have to read this, but it would mean a whole awful lot to me if you did!

       First a disclaimer! DID is unique to everyone like many disorders and while some core facts are the same, please not I only have one experience and one side of this multi-faceted disorder!

         DID is formed in ages 7-9 and only in this stage of childhood. It is caused by repeated and/or extreme trauma. The person who has developed DID (aka me!!) will have no memory of their childhood. That’s right! I don’t remember anything--and any memories I have are vague and fuzzy, like they happened to someone else. I only have one very clear memory--but I only recovered it fairly recently via therapy.

           That brings us to our next issue--DID causes severe memory loss. I’m not talking a few hours--Im talking losing days, weeks, months, and even years. I’ve had to work very hard with my disorder and therapy to get a better handle on this loss of time--but that’s still fairly recent and I do still lose time. The reason I bring this up is because I might not remember a conversation we had--or something I was supposed to do for you.

            I forget birthdays, anniversaries, important dates, etc so much--like i don’t even remember my mums. Bits and pieces of my life are like shadows in my mind and I have to do some digging and info-seeking to find it out. It’s very difficult and I feel very guilty about it...so please never take it personally if I don’t remember something. It’s not because I don’t care , but because my mind is literally fragmented.

           Expanding on that--DID is a defensive disorder created by your mind to try and protect you from your trauma. So you know how in 7-9 your ‘parts’ of personality are slowly integrating to create you? The trauma disrupts this and your parts stay separate, creating alters. These alters often create their own personas; become their own people. The bugger thing is, once you’ve split--you can do it later again when you’re older. That’s right! If I’m traumatized enough, it could cause me to split again--because now my brain has recognized this ‘split’ as a defensive tactic.

             I’m pretty lucky that because I’ve been getting therapy (and FINALLY got a diagnosis; like I’m medically diagnosed with this disorder) I’ve been able to avoid further splits. At this time I have eight alters I am aware of whom I communicate with almost like a family; this is how I’ve been able to cut down on my memory loss. It’s still a bit like watching myself through tv, but at least I’m more aware of what happened.

              Some quick terminology!!

Protector: an alter who keeps the system safe

Alter: The ‘part’ that split.

System: The name for the collective unit of alters and host/original.

Host: the alter who is living the individuals life most of the time, might not be the original.

Original: the individual who was originally traumatized and ended up with DID. (I am both the host and the original).

Gatekeeper: Someone who monitors what alters are allowed to interact with the rest of the system and what memories are allowed to be accessed. If there are Persecutors in the system, they keep them at bay.

Persecutor: An alter who often exhibits the behavior of the person who was abusive/caused the trauma. Usually only harmful to the system itself. It is rare for persecutors to cause harm to outside individuals, but they may say cruel things.

Internal self-helper: An alter who is mostly on in the system that makes sure everyone is where they need to be; aka sort of like the maintenance guy.

Trauma holder: An alter who holds the memories of the trauma that cause their split.

Little: An alter who maintains the appearance and mindset of a child; usually the result of the initial trauma from ages 7-9.

Non-human: An alter who is not human. Can be a mythical being but is typically an animal presenting alter.

Fictive: An alter who has the ‘memories’ and personality of a fictional person as well as their appearance and name.

Headspace: This is an internal world sort of like Sherlocks ‘mind palace’ from the BBC show where all the alters can interact with each other and ‘live’. How it appears is different for everyone–my headspace is a cabin in the woods.

Age: Alters can be the same age as the orginal or older/younger. They are, essentially, their own people in many ways.

Co-existence: A therapy method in which you learn to live and function with your alters (this is the therapy I use)

Integration: A form of therapy where the original and/or host begins to integrate the alter into their singular personality (aka going through the process that was disrupted in childhood). This can also occur between alters.

      I have a very good relationship with my alters but it wasn’t always this way. I’ve had a lot of issues in the past with varying personality traits, time loss, etc. I’ve even had a few toxic relationships in which I was the toxic party--partly due to not having a good handle on what was going on. Now no one should use this as an excuse! I am as at fault for my alters actions as I would be if they were my own so don’t let anyone excuse bad behavior with ‘my alter did it, not me!’ because they can absolutely work on getting a better handle of them.

        I will say that people with DID who have not gotten a better handle on their alters deserve your grace and patience where you feel you can give it; it’s frightening to know that sometimes there’s basically a whole other person driving your body. You don’t need to, nor are expected to excuse harm--but hopefully you can at least offer some understanding--because that’s all any person suffering from this disorder can ask for. It’s especially hard when you’re undiagnosed and have no idea what’s going on--only that something is wrong (I speak from experience here hhh--)

        You ready for another term? Ok so alters often will ‘front’, this is like to say if you were driving a car--whoever is fronting is driving the car. The car is your body (obviously). So if you’re in the passenger seat, you probably still are aware of what’s going on, even if you’re no longer in control--if you’re in the backseat you have a vague idea of what’s happening, but it’s not really clear to you--you’re there but removed. If you are in the trunk you have no idea what’s going on--you’re completely blind to anything being said or happening. Even when I (Nimbus) am not fronting, I’m typically in the passenger seat anymore--but I used to only be in the back seat or the trunk...so it’s taken a year or so of work to get here.

           This is a disorder that is very important to me to talk about because I don’t wanna feel ashamed or crazy of something my brain did to protect me so I’m gonna be more vocal about it here! You are welcome to ask myself or my alters questions in IM’s or in my ask box! You may not however ask about my trauma, that’s just rude and unkind. I can also send you resources for people who talk about DID that I feel are trustworthy in their info. My disorder is nothing to be ashamed of and I’m happy to share it with you!

          Below is a list of seven of my alters whom you may ask questions as well!

Roxas: Main protector. 26. He/him. True neutral. aro/ace. coffee addict. Teasingly known as ‘sk8r boy’. Not related to the kh roxas. Like sunsets, coffee, snap backs, and hiking. Pitches my voice down a bit.

Dimitri: Physical protector/gatekeepr. He/him. blunt/asshole. some sort of chaotic alignment. 25. Means well but could stand to be a little gentler about things. Likes leather, alcohol, dancing, and fighty-aesthetics. Pitches my voice down a lot.  

Sage: Caretaker. he/him. 31. the mom friend. Will make you tea and listen to all your problems. Will suggest good books. Lawful good. Likes soothing aesthetics, once upon a time, tea, sweaters, leggings, and classical music. Talks in full and VERY formal sentences. Has a softer tone than me.

Salem: Internal self-helper. 21. he/him. really sunny personality. lawful good. genuinely a good person. minor anxiety. likes exercise, healthy foods, and bubbly music. Has a country bumpkin british accent (kind of?). Will call you ‘love’ or ‘lovey’

Koumei: Caretaker. he/him/they/them. 23. genderqueer. “lets talk about how that feels”. Makes sure i’m honest during counseling sessions. Likes crop tops, those cloth elephant pants you see in hipster stores, yoga, tea, east asia aesthetics, and meditative music. Whisper-talks. SHY.

Carter: Gatekeepr. he/him. 18. ace. grumpy/moody teenager. awkward phase. ‘lol bold of you to assume I process anything’. Stays in room almost 24/7. blunt. likes video games, beanies, hoodies, jeans, sneakers, and sleeping during the day. Doesn’t change my voice really.

Bubble: non-human. Some sort of fairy? Genderless but uses he/him. Likes to look like a meow wow cause they make me happy. Age is a mystery. Can appear human and typically chooses a little boy. Lets have a good time everyone!! Like to color, play games, do child-like things/watch child-like shows. ‘reconnect with your inner child nim!’. LOUD and BUBBLY.

Thank you for reading and again if you have any questions for us let me know !! I love you all <3333

[angrylizardjacket]

Run to Paradise {Nikki Sixx} Part 11

11. sure as hell ain’t honest

Chapter Summary: aftermath of the first gig. lola and beth get into an altercation and it turns out vince is into girls who are mean to him. mostly mean to him. sometimes mean to him. sometimes the girls who are mean to him are actually sort of nice to him, and maybe they might be catching feelings. just a little. which terrifies them. her. it’s lola.

Warnings: nsfw subtext/implied, drug use

ragtag bunch of misfits: @starlalove @colsons-crue @marvelismylifffe @lilytalebi @glitterdreamsz @inthebackofmycarlaytheirbodies @dramatique-moi @missqueeniewrites @calspixie @aryssav @catsoo12 @sweetshutter @silvertonguedserpent @shamelessobsessions @lavenderbones22 @keepcalm-and-beyou @scarecrowmax

{masterlist}

Before they're even two steps out of the Starwood, Vince is doubling back, swearing to himself.

"That's Beth's car, when did she get here? Why is she here? How long has she been waiting? Fuck, did I invite her?" He sounds a little panicked, a little unsure, and is stepping back into the bar with Lola on his heels before they get far enough along for Beth to see them where she's parked.

"You must really like her," Lola drawls, smirking at him, her hands stuffed in her pockets as Vince sighs with heavy resignation.

"Have you seen her car?" He asks, and Lola just smiles wider, "she's swimming in daddy's money, and it gets her the best coke on the Strip, too." His tone was rather pointed, which only makes her roll her eyes, stepping up to stand in front of him. With only a slight frown, and the practiced ease of someone who's done this more than once before, she tugs at his shirt so it was sitting straighter, telling him to pull his pants up so they sat a little higher on his hips. After a moment's pause, she reaches out and scrubs at the faint dark mark her lipstick had left on his jaw.

"Go get 'em," Lola smirked, stepping back, and only a shadow of a doubt passed over Vince's face before Lola heaved a sigh, "don't worry, I don't make a point of marking guys with bitchy, jealous-type girlfriends."

"Fuck, you're good," Vince presses a quick to her temple, ignoring her scoff and additional eyeroll before he slips out of the bar with a renewed energy. Surprisingly, Lola takes a moment, steps back until she's leaning against the wall, and lets herself sag against it.

"You do this sort of shit often?" The silence is broken by a bartender giving her a judgemental look as he dries a glass in the now mostly empty bar. Lola's expression twisted into something angry and bitter, before she casts her gaze to the stage, reels her emotions back in and bites her tongue on what she wants to say.

"Thanks for having the band play here, Ricky, always nice to see you," she grumbles through gritted teeth, stalking from the building, down the street, trying to get past Beth and Vince and their gross display of affection without an incident. It doesn't work.

"Wait, isn't that the girl who lives with Nikki? Why was she there?" Beth's accusatory scoff reaches Lola before Lola's even reached the couple.

"It's alright, babe, she's just our roadie," Vince assures the blonde woman, and Lola grits her teeth,  but hunches down a little more, trying to keep walking, even at the sound of Beth's derisive laugh, her sigh of relief.

"Oh, she's the help."

Something inside of Lola snaps, after years of hearing that at her work at the hotel, not being taken seriously along the Strip until she'd proved she could run circles around male roadies who still got paid more than her, of everyone writing her off because she'd put her own enjoyment first, ignoring the scornful remarks from everyone when they thought she wasn't listening.

She stops.

"Fuck." Vince sighs, defeated.

Lola turns; though he's playing at calm, the look in his eyes is terrified. Lola's gaze meets his before she even looks at Beth, a look like 'are you fucking kidding me right now?' Vince just looks like he's saying a final prayer before he loses a cute girl and cool care and high quality cocaine forever. But then she's turning her attention to Beth, who's just waiting, expression cool and unrattled, almost challenging. Lola smiles thin and mean.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" Lola's voice is painfully harmless, sweet and caring, and Beth frowns, confused, "are you getting enough sleep? You look, actually, are you sick? Are you alright?" Lola asks, and Beth's eyes widen. Mouth falling open, she frantically checks her reflection in the car window.

"What? What do you mean?" Beth demands, and Lola pouts, fixing the blonde with a faux apologetic look. Vince looks from Beth to Lola, wearing a frown, confused, but not liking the way Lola's lip is twitching like she's holding back a smile.

"I've been thinking it for about a week now, I've been worried about you; you look so tired." Lola mused, "but if you're fine." She sounds unconvinced, and gives a shrug, before turning and heading towards her apartment, and the party within. Beth calls out after her, confused, worried, checking her own reflection every few moments, with only Vince to reassure her.

When she gets back to the party, Lola's grinning, can't help herself, elated from sating her vindictive nature; it's like she's walking on air. People who know her see her beaming, hug her in greeting; kisses are pressed to her cheek, a few congratulate her on her set-up, and she runs into Tommy leaning against the railing outside her apartment, watching her with surprising amusement.

"That good?" He smirked, and Lola shook her head with a laugh, punching his shoulder lightly, leaning into it as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Don't give Vince too much credit," Lola snickered, actually smiling with her teeth, grin wide enough when she looked up at him that it crinkled the corners of her eyes. He'd never seen her this genuinely happy before; he can't help but smile in return, passing her his cigarette, "you don't see me as just the help, do you?" She asks around the cigarette, still happy-go-lucky, looking up at the stars.

"You? Fuck no; anyone who could beat my ass or haul me around without breaking a sweat like you did tonight is automatically - thanks -" he took the cigarette back, taking a puff before continuing his spiel, "is automatically more than just anything. Lols, you're cool as shit, best roadie this side of LA," he nudges her with his hip, grin turning sly, "hottest, too." He adds, and Lola laughs through the smoke she'd been holding in her lungs as she'd been listening.

"God, you know how to play to a girl's ego, don't you?" Nudging him back, she pauses for a minute before moving out of his grip. Something in her chest has tightened, and she knows if she stays too long she'll end up doing something she'll regret. Actually, she won't regret it, but she's already fucked one of Nikki's bandmates tonight, she shouldn't make that mistake again, especially after how the first one ended.

"Nikki in there?" She nods to the door sitting ajar, and Tommy hesitates.

"Probably," he shrugs, but Lola's made her way inside already, despite the mass of bodies all dancing to the music blaring from the record player, all drinking and smoking and talking, and before she does anything else, she makes a beeline for the fridge, taking a can of something that she doesn't recognise, that probably belongs to one of the other partygoers. People are doing blow on the sofa, and when Lola sits herself on the arm of the sofa, someone rests their hand on her thigh. It's Nikki, grinning at her, content and a little amused.

When she reaches over him to where someone else is offer the plate they're doing coke from, he pulls her into his lap, and she moves without hesitation, shifting a little to get comfortable before accepting the plate and doing a line. And then another. And Nikki's hand is high on her thigh.

"Are you in the band?" Lola, using her most irritating valley girl accent, smirks at Nikki as she passes the plate off to someone else. He gives her thigh a squeeze, rolling his eyes at her, though his good mood doesn't seem to be broken. Lola lowers her voice, leaning against him, "how was your cute little punk girl?"

"I don't know, Lo," Nikki's eyes drifted to her lips and Lola grinned, sharp and amused, "maybe I just expect more from punk girls."

"You just like me 'cos I bite you," Lola murmurs, and she's about to follow through, kiss him hard like she wants to, like it would help her forget or make up for whatever she's already done tonight, but then someone's calling her name over the music; it's Vince, and it's not unexpected. Nikki gives her an amused look in the face of her exasperation.

"Vince's girlfriend is so fucking vain," Lola groans, sitting up and making grabby-hands for the coke, doing a line, "like sorry I hurt her feelings but she was a bitch to me an deserved it," Lola continues flippantly, uncurling herself from Nikki's lap, looking terribly put upon as she looked around the room for an escape route, presumably.

"Is that what'd had you in such a good mood?" Nikki asks, and Lola turns, smiling sweetly.

"That, and seeing my best friend play a stellar gig," she leans in, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth and after a beat, Nikki holds her face, pulls her into an actual kiss. She kisses him back, smiling all the while before she pulls back at the sound of Vince calling her name again. "I gotta take this," she murmurs, stepping away, and disappearing around the corner, towards the bedrooms.

Only a few minutes pass, Lola doesn't have to wait long before Vince joins her, looking annoyed.

"How did you find me? I thought I'd hidden so well." Lola's sarcasm stings, and Vince doesn't look like he's in the mood to play games.

"That was a really shitty thing you said to Beth."

"I was just worried about her," Lola feigns innocence for a moment before her expression turns cruelly amused, "I don't see why you're complaining."

"Because I do care about her, okay? I know what you were trying to do; that's fucking shitty, you know?" He cries, and Lola stands, slowly, fixing him with an unflinching, shallow gaze. It takes him a moment, trying to read her but being mostly unsuccessful; he doesn't know this side of Lola, didn't realise she'd even had it in her, sharp and vindictive, with laser-point focus.

"You should be thanking me," she says coolly, advancing on him, "I didn't tell her that you'd had your dick in me five minutes before you saw her, I didn't touch her despite the fucking nerve she had, but I should have decked her on the spot," and she's close to him now, close enough that he starts to back up as she jabs at his chest, "I let you play prince charming, didn't you assure her that she looked fine, looked gorgeous? When she figured out I was messing with her - or, no, did you tell her?" Lola gasped with mock surprise, sneering, "You agreed when she called me a bitch and a nuisance, didn't you? And I bet she was so grateful she got on her knees for you," he flushed at that, back pressed against the wall, it was all he could do to avoid Lola's gaze, though he couldn't deny it, "and the help," Lola's lip curled in derision at the term, "was so cruel to her that she had to go home," she cooed, "so now you're here, surrounded by groupies, and she's too nervous to come out, won't even realise how unfaithful you really are." She's wearing her snake charmer smile with a hand braced gently on his chest, oozing confidence like she knows every word she's saying is complete fact.

They're basically nose to nose, and Vince can feel his heart hammering against his ribs, but it's not panic; he knew it was a stupid idea to try and pick a fight with Lola, especially since, in hindsight, she is right.

"But I'm the only bad guy here, aren't I?" She asks, voice soft, her gaze finally snapping from his lips to his eyes. He swallows hard. He knows he really shouldn't be into this, he's half convinced she might be threatening him, but he can't help himself.

And then she's gone, leaving him breathless as she steps towards the door, breaking the tension when she turns the handle. Tone much lighter now, she smiles at him, kind and genuine, and he feels like he's getting whiplash.

"You guys played really well tonight," and she says it like it's the first thing she's said to him all night, like he's just jumped off the stage and they're still in the bar. And he reaches out, takes her hand before the door can open. He's still looking straight ahead, but he can see her raise her eyebrow from the corner of his eye, looking at his hand on hers, gently letting go of the door handle. "Yes?"

"Was still a shitty thing to say; she was really worked up about it," at his words, Lola frowned at him, but then his head tipped to the side, smirking gently, "but I should thank you." Lola laughed a little, but obligingly steps closer to him as he pulls her to him.

"Do you just have a thing for girls who are mean to you?" And it's clear she's said her peace, is back to being a more familiar, less vindictive version of Lola, whose teasing is light and friendly, rather than sounding like a thinly veiled threat.

"Come on, babe, I've had enough of your games for tonight; are you gonna kiss me or am I gonna have to find someone else to make use of this bed with me?"

When Lola steps back, eyebrows raised in surprise, Vince steps with her; he's worried he's said the wrong thing, that she's going to call his not-quite-bluff.

"You'd be lucky to fuck me in this apartment, Vince," and there she is again, for just a moment, that dark, confident, mean Lola that had him hard and heart racing just a few minutes ago. Tipping her head to the side, she gives him an evaluative stare, "so if you want me, you're gonna be nice about it." She pauses; there's a glint in her eyes like she knows exactly what she's doing, like she knows how it makes him feel; "say please."

He meets her gaze, gives a soft, smile.

"Fine, please."

He expects Lola to leave when they're done, go back out to the party in the rest of her apartment, hell, he expects himself to go back out there and be with his bandmates, but Lola's breathing hard, her fingers gently carding through his hair where he's up enough to lay beside her, pillowing his head on her stomach. It's quiet between them for a long time, the only sound being Lola's breathing, and some Sex Pistols song filtering in through the door.

"Sorry for being a dick to you," voice gentle, it's the most honest she's sounded since she'd gotten back to her apartment.

"I kinda liked it," he answers without thinking, "but thanks." It takes him a moment to realise what he'd said, but Lola was already laughing, sweet and bright.

"I - yeah I got that," she snorts, "but I meant the stuff that wasn't meant to be sexy -" she paused, shifting, a blush rising on her cheeks and Vince watched with amusement of his own as it travelled down her chest too, "okay, so it was all meant to be sexy, but some of it was just meant to be cruel. I'm sorry about being cruel. Your girlfriend's the worst, I shouldn't take it out on you."

It's now that Vince starts to realise that he doesn't actually know Lola that well; she keeps surprising him tonight with different facets of her personality, and despite everything that had happened, he's starting to think he might actually like her as a person. He's respected her well enough as a booty call and Nikki's friend and their roadie, but he'd never spent enough time with her outside of sex or rehearsals to actually think of her as a friend.

He's not sure what to say, if there is anything he can say. Instead, he moves, presses a kiss to her ribs beneath her boob, and then he's propping himself up by her side, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You should go and celebrate with the others," she tells him gently, giving a fond, if not a little forlorn smile, cupping his jaw.

"I'm right where I want to be."

It's been a long time since Lola's fallen asleep in the arms of someone she knows she'll see again, who isn't Nikki. Vince holds her close in his sleep; his chest pressed to her back; she's never been the little spoon without a shirt on, and she's not sure why but something about how secure and warm she feels almost brings tears to her eyes. She's glad he can't see that. When she wakes up, shifts around, he's yawning and stretching behind her, his sleepy grin fond as he blinks blearily at her.

"'morning," he mumbles after stretching, wrapping her up in an embrace, pulling her close and pressing a grin and a kiss to her shoulder blade as she squirmed and giggled.

It was easy with Vince; they knew what they were, they knew what was at stake.

"You're fucking Vince, aren't you?" Nikki yawns the moment Lola steps in to get herself a change of clothes.

"If I am it's none of your business."

"I don't give a shit if you are; you're an adult," and he rolls over, throwing an arm over the girl Lola doesn't recognise who's sharing the bed.

"What's the difference between him and Tommy?" Lola stops short, frowning. Nikki frowns sleepily over his shoulder at her, half dressed by the wardrobe.

"You're too smart to get your heart broken by Vince, at least I fuckin' hope you are," he scoffs, and Lola's expression sours, but she stays quiet, "but every time Tommy's halfway nice to you you start turning all red; the kid's a hopeless romantic, but you're a disaster, Lo, you get naked for anyone who pays you a compliment."

"Sorry I like it when people are nice to me," Lola snaps, and the girl in the bed yawns.

"Yeah, whatever, fuck Tommy if you want, but don't break up my band over it."

Lola wants to scream, wants to throw shit or break shit; she settles for throwing a lava lamp at the wall by the bed, taking little joy in the way that it splattered it's waxy contents on Nikki and his companion, who both leapt from the bed, all but shrieking, and butt naked.

"I know how much this band means to you, have some goddamn faith in me," it comes out as an angry snarl from Lola, and Nikki, despite how he's absolutely fuming, is at a loss for words, just lets her storm out without even saying a word.

[asunshinepuff]

Secrets of the Darkened Seas

🧜🏻‍♀️ Hello! Welcome to chapter two! Please please please give a like and follow to my co-author and best friend Luna ( @epithymiahua​ ) because this story would not be where it’s at without her help!

She’s incredible and deserves so much credit for working on this alongside me cause she works so hard. And I feel horrible that she isn’t getting the credit deserves. Especially since this chapter includes her own oc! All credit for his creation goes to her because she’s worked so hard to create him!

As always, a reminder that there is some lore included within this, however it will be explained over time so no worries. There’s no mention of lore for right now.

The Included lore on different types of merfolk will be taken from the book “The Secret World of Mermaids” by Francine Rose. I will not take credit for it’s writing. It’s a childhood book of mine that I adore dearly and sincerely think you should all check out!

Also! Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list so that you don’t miss a new chapter!

Anyways, that’s about it. I hope you enjoy! 🧜🏻‍♀️

.

Chapter 2: The Dragon’s Pearl

The man and the young boy made their way to the far side of the docks, the sun was beginning to make it’s descent to the sea. The water rippled below the hull of ships, anchors being lowered or weighing anchors to begin their sails back at sea. Some of the townspeople were making their trek home. Quinn and Remus approach the ship that Remus had seen earlier in the day from a distance. 

But up close, it was truly a sight to behold. The masts that were open, were a starking white, the wooden haul a rich brown mahogany, spotless with not a barnacle in sight. The railings were painted gold like the sun, freshly polished and not a splinter out of place. The bow had a golden nautical figurehead of a creature that Remus had never seen before. With a long serpentine body fully covered in scales, and large horns protruding from its head. A white spherical object clutched in one of its clawed hands. It’s jaws open as if to strike.

Remus’ eyes widened as he gazed upon the ship he had studied earlier. Glancing at Quinn, he couldn’t help but ask, “How has no one tried to steal this ship?”

Quinn chuckles, “Oh they’ve tried, but never got very far. My brother, the captain, is a force of his own that is not to be reckoned with.” He says with a smile. At Remus’ growing concerned face he quickly adds on, “Don’t worry. He might seem a bit… well, rather cold at first. To put it lightly. But he’s not a bad man.”

“How far have they gotten?”

Quinn muses for a moment in silence, as they make their way up the loading dock to the ship’s deck, thinking of the many times pirates - including the Blacks - have tried to take over the ship. “Never past deck.” He smiles at the crewmen preparing to sail as he stands in the middle of all their work. “Anyone seen the Captain?” 

“Last we saw him, he threw Ethan overboard.” A sailor responded courtly. He was dressed in black pants and boots, a white shirt, and a gold sash around his waist. 

Quinn looks to the sailor in bewilderment, “Again? What is that, the fifth time now?”

“Seventh actually, Ethan told the joke about the donkey.” 

“I told him not to do that.” He shakes his head with an exasperated sigh. “Never learns does he?”

A young man with short curly dark brown hair, brown eyes, tanned skin was soaked to the bone in water as he marched back up to the ship. He looks to Quinn.   

“Don’t look at me like that, I told you not to tell that joke. You’ve brought this upon yourself.” The young man rubs his necks as he walks below deck to change. Quinn shakes his head before he turns to Remus as he claps his hands and rubs them together. “It’s harmless really.” The man groans in pain, as if to contradict Quinn. “Eh, mostly.” 

Remus watches the man in pain walk below the deck with widened eyes. He looks back to Quinn and the sailor, “Does that happen often?”

Quinn tilts his head back and forth with his arms crossed, “I’d like to tell you no, to ease you, but that’d be a lie. It happens on more than one occasion, though less often than you’d think.” He chuckles under his breath, “Now come along. I think it’s time to introduce you.” He then turns behind him and just smiles. “Hello, Min-Jun.”

Remus turns to follow, and nearly jumps in surprise. Lo and behold, said Captain was standing right behind them. The Captain was a tall young Asian man, around the age of twenty-one, with an expressionless face, had short straight black hair with part bangs, fair skin, and dark eyes. He was dressed in a well-tailored black coat with a dark forest green vest on top of a white shirt, black pants, and boots. At his hip was a wide sword with a dark forest green sheath with gold accents. 

“Quinn.” He says in a deep monotone. His posture was as straight at a board, his hand at his side, his left hand on the hilt of his sword. His gaze lowers to the boy beside Quinn, narrowing a fraction before he looks to Quinn. “You were at the Taverns again weren’t you?”  

“I will neither confirm nor deny.” 

“So that’s a yes.” A brow rises ever so slightly before it’s gone in the blink of an eye. The captain turned his head slightly to look over the boy. “Apologies for any idiotic schemes my First mate may have dragged you into. He is not the brightest, but his heart is in the right place. Usually. He has the unfortunate ailment of defying gravity. I once caught him upside down on the masts so there’s that.”

“And who put me there Min-Jun? Cause it certainly wasn’t me. I may do many schemes you might consider idiotic-”

“Because they are.”  His head leans to look at Quinn in a bored expression but his eyes held amusement. 

Quinn raises his eyebrows, giving a pointed look before continuing, “But I wouldn’t do that out of my own volition!’

The captain simply looks away, fully content to ignore the auburn-haired man. “I am Min-Jun Hua. The crew calls me Captain Hua. What is your name?” He looks back towards Remus. 

Remus was silent during the whole exchange, internally studying the interaction closely. He was uncertain whether the Captain and First Mate actually got along or if they hated each other, however, he caught the amusement in his eyes within their banter. They did get along. It was as if they were teasing each other. Maybe they actually did consider each other siblings. He noted with his own amusement now that his initial caution has about this new Captain has diminished. They’re so very different. How did they become companions?

“My name is Remus Lupin, Captain,” Remus replies with a curt nod, as he was trying to contain his nerves and seem content in the situation. He was uncertain if it was effective or not, but he seemed to take comfort in the fact that Quinn was so relaxed with the man.

Captain Hua says nothing for a long while as he stares silently at Remus. Completely motionless for what seemed to Remus, eternity, before the Asian finally looked like he took a breath. The Captain turned his gaze to his First mate. “He’ll be under your care for the meantime. Have him bathed, dressed, and fed before you send him to bed for the night. Tomorrow he can begin.” The captain says nothing more before he looks to Remus once again. “Welcome aboard the Dragon’s Pearl.” He gives a curt nod to Remus before he walks away to resume his duties. 

Remus lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding before looking to Quinn in surprise, “Why didn’t he ask any questions? Wouldn’t he want to know more about me before deciding to let me aboard?”

Quinn merely shakes his head before looking to Remus, “The Captain is an incredibly loyal soul, he respects privacy. If you wish to talk about your past then he will listen, and he will never mention it again without your approval.” He says with a smile. “He cares, deeply. He’d rather have you upon this ship then let you be on your own. That’s what happened to Ethan as well, he’s actually not that much older than you, Remus. He’s turning seventeen next moon.” Looking to the ship, he runs a hand upon the railing gently before continuing. “This old vessel has seen many stray boys board her, and she’s seen many of them become family. The captain only asks for loyalty, truthfulness, bravery, and devotion to family.” 

Remus smiles, comforted by his words. There was always more than meets the eye. He looks around the ship in surprise, “This ship looks brand new. How long has it been sailing waters?”

“Quite a long time. Practically hundreds of years. It’s been passed down through the generations of his family.” 

“That’s incredible.”

“It is.” Quinn remarks with a nod in agreement, before looking back to the boy, “Now, we’ll be embarking at dusk. You want to watch the ship be put to sea?”

The two got situated at a good viewing point for the departure after taking care of duties below deck. It felt rather strange, yet refreshing to Remus to dawn a new set of clothes. Yet his scarf stayed tied around his waist, as usual, at least he could take some part of familiarity with him. The Captain began to call out orders to the crew before he took his place behind the keel, the crew lowered the masts, catching the wind. The colors were hanged, where Remus could see the emblem on the masts and flag of the ship. A gold circle and in the center was the same creature that Remus had seen on the bow of the ship, but from the side. Only without the sphere. 

What sort of creature was that? Remus couldn’t help but wonder in curiosity as he watched the emblem upon the masts and flag of the ship.

“It’s a dragon. An eastern dragon.” Quinn says in reply, with a smirk upon his face as he looked to the boy. It seems Remus accidentally spoke aloud, and for once, he was alright with that. 

A loud shout echoed from a grumbling man who was making his way to The Dragon’s Pearl loading dock. Remus flinched as he recognized the voice of the drunken man from earlier, while Quinn moved defensively to shield the fourteen-year-old from sight. 

 “I know he’s up there! Where is he?!” The slurred words from the drunk captain all but screech out. The hooked nose man stumbled his way on board, his eyes locked onto the auburn-haired man who stood defensively in front of the former deck boy. “You!” 

“Me,” Quinn answered easily with a faint smirk. 

“Where’s that deck boy!?” The drunk captain practically roared into Quinn’s face. To which Quinn’s nose simply twitched at the smell of alcohol that reeked off the man. 

“Behind me, though I doubt you’d be able to grab him.” 

“Where’s your captin’, I ought to have a word with him. You goin’ ‘round stealin’ deck boys, ought to be ‘shamed of yeself.” The man nearly tumbled over.   

“Not stealing when he willingly came aboard. If anyone’s to be ashamed it’s you for your actions.” He retorts with a roll of his eyes then simply tilts his head, “You sure you want to have a word with my captain? You can hardly hold a proper conversation in your state. He won’t take too kindly to that factor.” 

“I wan’ see yer captin!” 

Quinn doesn’t respond for a moment, only looks behind the drunken captain with a bored look upon his face. “Turn around mate.”

“Wha’?” The drunk captain frowns with his mouth hanging open before he turns, nearly falling down when he sees someone standing behind him. Remus couldn’t help but hold a snicker back from behind Quinn as the drunk man flinched at the mere sight of the tall and sober captain. 

Captain Hua looked down at the drunk captain with an emotionless stare but his eyes held a look that screamed ‘How dare you bring your drunken arse onto my pristine and clean ship.’

“You wished to speak to me?” Was the leveled voice of Captain Hua. 

“A-aye.”

“You are not qualified to speak to me.”

The drunk captain staggered at the impassive tone. His face grew red. “Ye think you’re bet’er than me?” 

“To ask that question offends me.” Captain Hua raised a brow. 

“Where’s ye captin’s hat?”

“I don’t need one, I do not need to parade my status on my own ship, nor to ensure the respect of my own crew. They know who I am.” The Captain looked to his First mate. “Please escort this, man back to his ship.” Calling the drunk captain a man was incredibly respectful. Remus thought, truly Captain Hua had a class that was, unfortunately, being wasted upon this drunkard. But then again, Captain Hua didn’t acknowledge him as a Captain either. 

“That’d be Captain Barclay ta ye.” He shrugs the hand that grips his arm.

“No. I think the Captain is right. Mr. Barclay.” Quinn contradicts with a smile, “Now, allow me to escort you back to your ship. I’m sure you embark soon.”

“Not without that boy.” The drunk captain glared at the boy.

Captain Hua looked at the drunkard, then at the boy. “First Mate Sandoval, please step aside.” The drunk captain’s eyes widen at the title.

Quinn ignores the surprised look upon the drunkard’s face and instead looks to Remus. Giving him a small smile of comfort and a look that says ‘Trust us. You’ll be alright.’ Then looks back to his Captain, and with a nod, he steps aside. 

Captain Hua looked to the drunk man. “You can take this child to your ship, if you answer one question. If you answer correctly, you’re free to take him. If not,” His dark eyes narrowed, his left hand gripped the hilt of his sword, this sword was red compared to the first one Remus had seen. It was sheathed in a red case with gold accents. A strong pulse emitted from the sword as the pulse rippled through the ship. The ropes freed themselves from their knots, moving very much like serpents slithering up trees. 

The crew has stopped working and watched openly. “I will throw you overboard.”  

The drunk man didn’t notice the pulse of gold energy, nor did he notice the ropes begin to move on their own. Remus’ young eyes watched in amazement at Captain Hua, who’s sheer presence became overpowering, his aura seeming to infect the ship. Stupidly, the drunkard agreed. 

“What is the child’s name?”

“...” The drunkard frowned, Remus could practically see the mental strain on the man’s face. His brain was too far gone from the rum. “... Bernard.” 

Captain Hua did not look impressed. Not at all. He simply raised a brow before he looked to Remus to correct the man’s answer. 

Remus simply smiles and shakes his head. “Wrong.”

What happened next happened rather quickly, it was really a blur to be completely honest. Captain Hua wordlessly grabbed the drunkard by the collar of his shirt, lifted him off the ground and proceeded to walk, not in any hurry, effortlessly to the side of the ship, and threw the man overboard with ease. Remus’ jaw dropped a bit. 

“Why didn’t you just use the ropes?” Remus couldn’t help but ask in curiosity. 

Captain Hua merely gazed down at the swimming crewmembers from the drunk captain’s ship who threw themselves overboard to ensure the man didn’t drown. “And deprive myself of the pleasure of doing it myself? Never.” Captain Hua’s stoic face gave a smirk in delight. “I would never disgrace The Dragon’s Pearl to so much as even touch that drunk. It was painful to watch an alcoholic parade around with a captain’s hat and acting like a child throwing a temper tantrum.”  

“... How did you know he didn’t know my name?” 

Captain Hua looked down at Remus. “I have two answers. One; most people who make port hardly ever ask for a deck-boys name.” The captain began to walk away from the railing, Remus followed. “Two; even if by the off chance he did know your name, he would not have the sentimentality, nor the intellectual capacity to remember your name, especially while drunk.” He turned to look at Remus. “I would not have made that wager had I believed for a second he would be able to say your name. Not when he preferred to think with an organ that he did not have instead of his brain. Not to mention your name is unusual. I am not one to gamble. Especially with someone’s life.” 

Remus pauses for a moment taking in the Captain’s words, before asking the question he was truly reluctant to hear. “... What if he did say my name?”

Captain Hua looked at Remus for a long time before he looked away to the setting sun. “Then he would have won.” Captain Hua looked back to Remus. “It may seem cruel, but I will not lie to you, Remus. I do not break my word.” Captain Hua looked to the sunset once more. “I would have just challenged him to a duel if that was the case. The man couldn’t even walk straight let alone hold a sword.” Without another word, he walked away.  

Remus stood silently as he watched the Captain walk away, and looked out to the sunset once he was out of view. There was no relief of tension like he had initially anticipated when he first heard the words of the wager, as if he already knew he was safe. How exactly he determined that conclusion, he had no clue. But in his heart, he knew that was the case. 

He watched the shoreline of the port town he had always known, grow smaller and smaller with every glide of the ship, until it vanished from view- it was the start of a new life. A new chapter. Like each morning rise and evening set of the sun upon the sea.

.

Tag List: (Let me know if you wish to be added!)

@whataboutmyfries

[chain-unchained]

May 24 (Flower Festival)

(I might have written quite a lot of this story before deciding to post it here >.>’ )

For the story, I’ve been adding in characters that obviously aren’t in the game. I read somewhere that originally ConcernedApe was going to include a rival farmer in the game, a la the older Harvest Moon games (I’m looking at you, Jamie). While I think everyone is glad that he instead chose to put Joja as our ‘goal’ to work towards in the game itself, I felt like having a rival would be an interesting addition to the story. So enter Percy Wellington III, token rich boy and Joja stooge. Obviously there’s more to him than that-- I don’t think there’s anything less satisfying than a one-dimensional bad guy-- but from the get-go, he’s meant to be the kind of guy that you just wanna knock down a peg or two. With that being said, I hope you enjoy the main characters completely ignoring the main event of the Flower Festival. <3

The Flower Festival was… a unique festival, to say the least. Once a year at the end of spring, the town gathered at the festival grounds to celebrate and give thanks to nature—or at least, that’s what it used to be. These days, it was a glorified prom dance for grown adults, complete with the crowning of a King and Queen after a ritualistic dance of sorts.

For Ashe, who missed out on the last two years of high school in order to work at a Joja corporate office, it was a chance to have that experience—and he really had no interest in taking that chance. For all his enthusiasm in making friends with Shane, and his friendliness towards the townsfolk, he was rather on the shy side, with an event like the Flower Dance being way outside of his comfort zone.

What wasn’t, however, was the company of the grumpy chicken loving Shane, who was perfectly content to spend the festival at the buffet table helping himself to Gus’ cooking. “Aren’t you gonna dance?” He inquired curiously as he came to stand beside Shane, who was in the middle of his second plate of pepper poppers.

The question made Shane snort. “Fuck no, I look like a fucking tool when I dance.” He responded bluntly, glancing over in time to see Emily doing her ‘thing’ where she completely lost herself in the rhythm, or whatever it was, he had no idea. “Gotta admit, I’m surprised you aren’t over there. I figured you’d be all up in this type of shit.”

“Oh, nope. No way.” Ashe held up his arms in an X-shape and shook his head fervently. “I can’t stand being the center of attention like that.”

“That so?” It was a surprising thing to learn for Shane, who had this image in his head of Ashe being the social butterfly because he loved the attention. “And here I thought you liked being in the spotlight.” He bit down on a nice juicy popper and chewed slowly. “Guess that’s one thing we’ve got in common, then—”

He was abruptly cut off by Ashe making the loudest, most exaggerated gasp in the history of the world, like he’d just seen Atlantis in the punch bowl. Actually concerned as to why the kid would make such a noise, he followed Ashe’s line of sight until he spotted the platter of chocolate cornets sitting on the far end of the buffet. “For fuck’s sake, Ashe…” He muttered, watching as Ashe traipsed around the table and began to help himself to them—chocolate cornets were to Ashe what beer was to Shane, so he really couldn’t talk, since he had basically the same reaction to seeing his favorite beer on discount.

“Yay~” Happy as a clam, Ashe piled a plate high with the shell-shaped pastry and came back to Shane’s side, even though there were literally infinite spaces where he could eat instead. He began the ritual of eating them, which to Shane was perhaps the most ridiculous, unintentionally funny thing ever—he’d start eating from the narrow end, instead of at the fat end where there was a big hole for the chocolate cream to ooze out of, and then he’d panic and hastily lick up the cream that had been pushed out before it could spill. Rinse and repeat, until it was gone.

“You know, if you ate it from the other end you wouldn’t have to do that.” Shane pointed out as Ashe did his little panic face.

His comment made the youth pause mid-bite to look at him, surprise written on his face at the comment. “Oh, I know.” He answered, lowering the cornet with that dumb smile of his. “But you know how the first time you do something is the way you always remember how to do it? That’s me and this.”

“Fucking wierdo.” Shane shook his head and turned his attention back to his pepper poppers; he had hoped that Gus would make those special deviled eggs he made for the Egg Festival today, but he’d settle for gourmet poppers too. “Guess that makes two of us, though… if it weren’t for the food and Jas and Marnie I wouldn’t have bothered coming today.”

“Really?” Ashe stopped again to look at him, the smile on his face becoming somewhat muted; he could tell by the tone of Shane’s voice that the latter really did not want to be there.

“What do you fucking think?” Shane sighed and popped another one into his mouth to chew on slowly. That morning had been especially hard for him to get up out of bed; it was only Jas and Marnie’s resulting disappointment if he didn’t show up that eventually made him kick the covers off when all he wanted to do was stay in bed.

Almost as if on cue, he could see Jas break away from where she had been watching the dance with Vincent and start heading his way; as much as he loved the girl to bits, he wasn’t in much of a mood to entertain her, but he did his best to pick himself up as she drew near. “What’s up, squirt?”

“Shane, I wanna dance!” She announced, her hair buns bobbing up and down with each step she took; she came to stand before her godfather, looking up at him with the most hopeful expression on her face. “Can we? Please?”

It was the question Shane was desperately hoping she wouldn’t ask, even though she asked it every year without fail. And every year, his answer was the same. “Sorry, kiddo… I’m not really feeling up to dancing.” He felt like shit as the words left him, and he could see the letdown clear on her innocent little face as she quietly accepted his response and made her way back to Vincent.

“Wow, talk about cold.”

As soon as the little girl was out of earshot, the snide voice spoke out; both Shane and Ashe glanced over their shoulders to see the snooty face of Percy sneering at the pair. Like Ashe, Percy was a newcomer to Pelican Town, having arrived just before Ashe did—and having claimed squatters’ rights on his grandfather’s farm, intending to clear it out to build a Joja Co. factory. Suffice it to say, Percy was not a very well liked person in town, even though the whole story with him and Ashe was only known by Lewis and Robin.

“Nobody asked for your fucking opinion.” Shane muttered with another quiet snort as he turned his attention once more to his poppers. Of course this asshole was going to try and start shit today of all days.

“Oh, but I just couldn’t keep my mouth shut after seeing such an atrocious display.” Percy sighed and shook his head dramatically, speaking with a faux posh accent that really made Shane want to punch him in his smug face. “Honestly, the poor girl—she really deserves better, don’t you think? Perhaps I shall go over and offer to dance with her in your place. I can’t help but pity her, having to be stuck with such a pathetic godfather—”

               Shane bristled, opening his mouth to tear into him. There was a blur of movement in the corner of his eye, and before Percy could finish his insult, Ashe was upon him, both hands clutching fistfuls of Percy’s shirt as he glared up at him with genuine, raw fury. “Don’t you dare, you lowlife.” He growled, with no trace of his happy go lucky persona to be found. “You shut your mouth, right now.”

He didn’t care what Percy said about him—the jerk could call him every name under the sun, belittle and berate him, attempt to sabotage him, whatever he wanted, it didn’t matter. But Ashe wasn’t going to stand by and let him spew that same vitriol towards his friend. He already didn’t like Percy for what he and Morris were trying to pull with his grandfather’s farm, and for what they did to his mother, so this was just another reason to dislike them.

For a moment, Percy didn’t react; seeming to regain his composure, however, he laughed condescendingly, sneering down at the diminutive farmer with contempt and derision written clear on his face. He leaned down close to Ashe’s ear, speaking quietly so that only he could hear. “If I were you, I’d be a little more careful. I can easily call our little bet off and our lawyers will have you in court faster than you can say ‘crop rotation’.”

“Kkh…” Ashe’s hands were shaking slightly as he loosened his grip on Percy’s shirt; annoyed, Percy smacked his hands off and fixed his now wrinkled shirt.

“There’s a good little farmer boy.” The man’s face split into a smirk as he settled back into his skin.

“Listen asshole.” Shane gave Percy a cold glare as Ashe stepped back. “Say whatever shit you want about me, but go near Jas or Marnie and I’ll put you six feet underground.” Yeah, he was a worthless squishy shitbag, but there was no way in hell he was going to let anyone touch his family.

“Oh don’t get your boxers in a bunch, bumpkin.” Percy scoffed, puffing his chest out as his air of superiority returned. “I wouldn’t bother with any of you inbred savages anyway.” Seeming to have his dignity still in tact, the man stalked off, with Shane and Ashe both silently staring daggers into his back.

With a quiet huff, Shane bit down vehemently on a popper, imagining for just a moment that it was a miniature version of Percy screaming in pain as his guts squirted everywhere. It was a nasty image, to be sure, but it gave him some satisfaction at least. “Fucking smug ass Joja prick… I didn’t expect you to lose your shit like that, though.”

“Huh?” Ashe looked to him cluelessly, having returned to his usual cheery self. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Shane’s brow cocked doubtfully. “You were pretty damn close to socking the guy. Not that I’m against the idea, I fucking hate him, but I’ve never seen you freak like that. Why’d you get so worked up when he was talking shit to me?”

“Because you’re my friend.” The answer was given so simply, so plainly, that it made Shane falter. “I won’t let anyone ever talk about my friends like that.”

For a long minute, Shane couldn’t think of what to say to that. “… Dammit, why are you so determined to make friends with me? I’ve done nothing but be rude and awful to you since you got here.”

“Hmm….” Ashe knelt down to pick up the plate he’d dropped, and the now dirty chocolate cornets that would have to be thrown away. “I needed a reason? I just wanted to be friends.” He straightened up and looked to Shane with a carefree smile, as the gentlest of breezes brushed through the festival grounds. “I guess out of everyone in town, I just… relate to you the most.”

“…. Fucking weirdo.” For some reason, the kid was really good at saying shit that tripped Shane up. And it was all sincere, too, which made it even more confusing. “… I appreciate you standing up for me. Yoba knows I won’t stand up for myself.”

There was a part of Shane that hated how Ashe was wearing him down; it scared him shitless that he was letting someone past the barrier he’d erected around himself. And yet, at the same time, he couldn’t keep himself from letting it happen, however reluctantly it was.

[byuneebuns]

Attribution (Part 2)

Doyoung x Reader Hacker/Secret Agent AU

Rated: M for Violence and Eventual Smut

Tags: Violence, Smut (eventual), Hacker AU, Secret Agent AU, Political Intrigue

Author’s Note: I’m truly sorry for how long this has taken. I’ve had a lot going on and I honestly really struggled with what direction to take this in and I still have no idea what I’m even doing so hopefully it’s not awful!!!!!!! (it is sorry). Also 20 Yen is about 0.20 cents in USD just fyi 

Part 1

Part 3

“So, what you’re telling me is that you have no plan.”

Doyoung shrugged, choosing to ignore you for the endless strings of code scrolling down his monitor. You clenched your fists, trying to keep your temper under control. 

You’d been Doyoung’s captive for a week now, and it had been almost astonishing how uneventful it was. Zero progress was being made on anything, at least as far as you could tell. Granted, you weren’t privy to whatever the hell he did on his computer all hours of the day, but the most excitement you’d endured all week was when you woke up one morning to his face buried in your chest. You clenched your fist tighter at the recollection.

“How am I supposed to help you when you can’t even help yourself? You antagonized entire countries without so much as an idea for how to get out of this alive?” You tried to keep your voice calm but you could hear the exasperation seeping through.

“That isn’t very fair. I’m a genius hacker, not a genius strategist. My first and primary concern was trying to ascertain our country’s stance on the matter, but seeing as they didn’t deem you worth sharing it with before they all but dumped you in my lap, I’m kind of at a loss for the moment.”

You winced at Doyoung’s cold words. You had already started to become accustomed to his condescending attitude but it still stung to be looked down on, even if it wasn’t always entirely intentional on his part.

“Besides, aren’t you supposed to be skilled in problem-solving and getting out of messes like this? Where are your suggestions?” He continued, still not taking his eyes off of the screens flashing before him.

“You honestly want my opinion?”

He turned to face you at last, the backlighting from his monitor giving him an ethereal glow that made you uneasy for reasons you couldn’t quite place.

“Of course I do. You’re a secret agent. A highly trained specialist. You’re obviously very capable. If I wasn’t infinitely more intelligent than you I have every confidence that you would have murdered me at least twice already. I highly doubt you would have been assigned to my pursuit if you were incompetent.” He said matter-of-factly. You couldn’t help but swell a little at the praise, even amidst the biting sarcasm that you were used to from him.

“Well, as underwhelming as it may sound, I think our best chance of success starts with staying right where we are. You’ve insisted that it’s impossible for us to be located here, so it’s an optimal base of operations. We need to gather more information about what we’re up against and what they know before we risk making any moves. The only information I was privy to was that your freedom was a risk to national security and that because the threat extended to other nations that we would be cooperating with the units they sent here, but only to an extent, they would primarily operate independently and intelligence sharing would be limited.” You tapped your finger to your chin thoughtfully, trying to recall any other pertinent information.

Doyoung blinked at you slowly, his face neutral.

“So what you’re saying, in so many words, is that you have no helpful suggestions and intend to rely on my information gathering skills.” He said with a flat tone.

“Don’t disappoint me, genius hacker,” You said shrugging. You had no desire to open more doors for him to decimate your ego. To your mild surprise, he smiled, his bunny teeth gleaming in the artificial lighting.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

He swiveled back around, typing with a renewed fervor. You smiled at his back before turning on your heel to meander off and find some way to be useful while he worked.

“Wait.”

You looked over your shoulder at Doyoung, who was rigid in his seat and leaned close to his screen, so close his nose was almost touching.

“Come look at this. Now.”

You obeyed, your curiosity outweighing your disdain for being bossed around, and peered over his shoulder at the screen, stiffening when your eyes registered what he was trying to show to you.

“Where did you find this?”

“I’ve been data mining your agency and this came up. What does this mean to you?” He stared at you expectantly, his eyes piercing.

Your eyes drank in the familiar code that had become like your native tongue in your time undercover. A screen that was blank save for several lines of what would have appeared to be nonsense to most. This was a message. To you.

“It’s a riddle.” You plopped on to the floor, crossing your legs and massaging your temples as you stared holes into the carpet beneath you, mind racing.

“What does it say? Something about an eye?” Doyoung’s eyes narrowed. You were impressed that he knew that much of your code already, he was definitely not someone to underestimate.

“It says ‘I have a single eye, but cannot see. What am I?’.” You said, still distracted by the racing of your mind.

“That’s easy. It’s a needle. I don’t understand the context, so please enlighten me.” Doyoung said, growing impatient with your lack of explanation.

“Yes. A needle. It’s referring to Seoul Tower, actually. The numbers throughout are a date and time if you unscramble them, tomorrow night. It’s a meeting request.”

Doyoung stared at you, his expression unreadable.

“How do you know that?”

You scoffed.

“You mean aside from being a trained code breaker? What happened to thinking that I was a, how did you put it, ‘highly trained specialist’? This wasn’t exactly difficult. It helps that I know exactly who sent this though, it isn’t the first time he’s used this stupid riddle to tell me to meet him there. The more important question here is the one you haven’t gotten to yet: whether or not we should go.” You said bitterly, growing more uneasy by the second.

“Who sent this? One of your co-workers?”

You grimaced.

“Not quite. His name is Yuta Nakamoto. He’s a Japanese information broker that I’ve worked with on occasion. He’s a little shady and that probably isn’t even his real name but he’s never done me any harm.”

“Why the hell is a Japanese information broker trying to meet up with you? And why did he ask you to meet at Seoul Tower before?”

Your face colored at Doyoung’s questions.

“Well, I’m not too sure what the reason is this time, but we can probably assume that it has something to do with you. Information on you would probably be worth a lot right about now.”

Doyoung glared.

“And the second half of my question?”

“It’s how he asked me out on a date once. That’s so humiliating to say out loud, so please never make me do it again.” You moaned hiding your face in your hands.

“So, your ex-lover. The shady Japanese Information Broker. Wants to ask you on a second date. And this is how he chose to do it.” Doyoung said, his voice monotonous to further emphasize his disbelief.

“He’s not my ex, stop it.” You whined, swatting at Doyoung’s arm.

“Oh, sorry, I meant your CURRENT lover-”

Doyoung was cut off by you landing a well-placed kick at his ankle, causing him to yelp in pain in between his raucous laughter.

You knew you would probably never been lucky enough to catch the attention of a smart (albeit sassy beyond belief), capable, and gorgeous man like Doyoung but you still didn’t want him thinking you were a woman spoken for, just in case he had a taste for mediocrity.

“Well, I think you’ve been fairly well-behaved lately, you’ve toned down the attempted murder quite a bit, so you deserve a fun night out.” Doyoung grinned mischievously before spinning back around in his chair again and resuming his frantic typing, waving one hand to dismiss you before you could respond. You gritted your teeth. There was no point in arguing with him, but you had a bad feeling about this.

The sky was clear, not a single cloud to obscure the heavens. You fidgeted a little in your heels, shaking the silver clutch in your hand nervously. You smoothed down the hem of your short, maybe too short, black dress and glanced around. You were surrounded by couples, their faces blurry in the dim light of street lamps.

Doyoung had insisted that you dress to the nines, taking it upon himself to special order a short black cocktail dress with silver accents and matching accessories. You had begrudgingly loosely curled your hair and done your makeup, feeling like you had little choice but to when you were being forced to dress up anyways, and you had to admit to yourself that you looked good. Doyoung, to your ego’s dismay, had made no comment.

You snapped your clutch open and fished a small pocket mirror out, examining your eyeshadow and sighing with relief that it was still intact. Doyoung had been insistent on blindfolding you once again for your excursion and hadn’t even so much as let you see him when he dropped you off, still blindfolded and a little annoyed at him practically shoving you out of the passenger seat in his haste to be on his way.

The sound of your name brought you back to reality and you whirled around, blushing a little as your dress fluttered flirtatiously around the tops of your thighs.

“Ah, Yuta! I was wondering if you would ever show up.” Your face lit up at the sight of an old colleague. It had been so long and frankly you’d forgotten how attractive he was. His hair was medium brown and a little longer than you remembered, lightly parted and teased back from his forehead. He was dressed simply in a large cream colored sweater and jeans but he still managed to look breathtaking.

“I feel so underdressed. You should have let me know you were going to show up looking like a supermodel.” He teased, his eyes raking your figure as he let out a low whistle, earning a wack on the shoulder with your clutch.

“You can stop flirting with your boyfriend whenever you’re ready, this is nauseating.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Doyoung’s voice whispered so closely to your ear, like he could have been standing right behind you.

“Everything alright…?” Yuta’s voice was laced with bemusement rather than concern as he eyed you curiously. He doesn’t miss a thing, too sharp for his own good.

You shook your head, smiling reassuringly.

“I’m fine. Maybe I’m the one underdressed though, it’s a little colder out than I expected.”

Doyoung’s voice scoffed in your ear.

You resisted the urge to look for him. You knew he was somewhere nearby, but he had refused to disclose where, choosing to watch the two of you from the shadows instead and transmitting all of his snarky comments through a pair of large stud earrings that he had created himself for the sole purpose of spying on you tonight. You had to admit that you were impressed with his creations, not only were they functional but they didn’t look half bad either (although you weren’t typically one for jewelry).

Yuta wrapped a strong arm around your waist, nearly blinding you with his smile as he pulled you flush against him.

“I didn’t bring an extra jacket, so this will have to suffice.” He said, smiling wider as you two started aimlessly strolling through the park.

Doyoung made a noise that sounded suspiciously like he’d thrown up in his mouth.

“So, Yuta, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Ah, always right to business as always. How can you even say the world pleasure with a straight face?”

“I manage. Explain yourself, please.” You fixed him with a tight smile, hoping to emphasize that you didn’t have time for unnecessary pleasantries.

Yuta sighed, his smile fading and leaving him looking like a completely different person.

“I know you were looking for Kim Doyoung. I also know that you found him and he captured you. What I’d like to know is how you managed to escape him for a date night with me and how much of this he can hear.” He said nonchalantly, as if he was merely inquiring after your family’s health.

“Tell him that I can hear enough to know that he’s stalling and I don’t like it.”

Yuta shook with earnest laughter when you repeated Doyoung’s message, his hand sliding south to cup your hip as he pressed himself into you, leaned into your ear and whispered, sending shivers down your spine.

“Tell him that it was foolish to let you out in public, especially looking so scandalous. We are being followed. Keep your eyes forward.” He smiled into your cheek, keeping you close against him and looking ever the affectionate couple.

“If it was so foolish then why did you invite me here?” You asked coyly, leaning your head on his shoulder, careful not to put your weight on your ear as you played along with him.

“Sweetheart, did you forget my line of work? I could have made a fortune sending someone else to meet you here in place of me. I haven’t forgotten all the favors you’ve done for me, or how cute you are, so consider this a token of my affection. Leave the country as soon as you can and let Hackerman fend for himself. Getting yourself involved is only going to invite disaster. I have a passport under a new name and plane tickets to Japan here for you if you’ll take them.”

You picked your head up, locking your eyes with his and searching them for any sign of insincerity. Yuta was always smiling and joking around, but when he was serious you knew that he meant it. Playful as he may be, he didn’t like to mince words when it came to business. Your heart sank. He really must have thought it was impossible to make a difference if that was what he wanted to meet you for.

“I can’t just walk away from this, Yuta. I can’t do nothing, not guilt-free. Instead of telling me to be a coward, please, help me.” You could hear the pleading in your voice. You wouldn’t normally take a weak stance like this, especially during a bargain with an associate, but you were truly desperate. You knew Yuta was well-connected and he could get exactly what you needed if he didn’t have it already, even if you weren’t sure what it was that you needed in the first place.

“Ah, abominable justice. How often it stands in the way of wisdom.” He said, almost to himself as he avoided your gaze, instead casting a forlorn look skyward.

You had finally stopped walking and had found yourself at the entrance of a large, ornately decorated hotel.

“We should talk about this inside.” He said, squeezing your hip and looking at you meaningfully.

In your peripheral you could see the shadowy figures that had been tailing you for the duration of your romantic evening stroll and your breath caught. This was dangerous. As much as you wanted to trust Yuta you knew it would be incredibly stupid, for lack of a fancier word, to enter an enclosed space with him. You were already in his territory, the only comfort at your disposal being whatever Doyoung knew that inspired him to insist that this entire ordeal had been a smart move. 

Unfortunately staying outside with your uninvited guests wasn’t a very appealing option either.

Your fingers twitched reflexively towards your hip in annoyance, wishing that he had at least allowed you to equip yourself with a weapon, while still understanding why he didn’t. Your chances of being able to best Yuta in hand to hand combat were limited, from what little amount of information about his personal life you had managed to dig up you knew that he was, well, dangerous to put it simply.

He seemed to have some sort of gang affiliation but every lead was a dead end. It was like he didn’t even exist. A phantom. He had made it clear in all of your interactions that as long as you were an asset to him that he would mutually protect you, but you weren’t sure that would still ring true if the right price was offered.

As if in answer to some unspoken prayer, Doyoung’s voice breathed relief in your ear.

“It’s alright. Go with him. I’ve already infiltrated the hotel’s surveillance system, it looks clean. I have a .30 caliber rifle round with his name on it if he tries anything.”

You fought to keep your face neutral at the discovery that Doyoung was positioned somewhere with a sniper rifle. You guessed that was probably a very large part of why he kept you in the dark on the way here…literally.

You nodded once, allowing Yuta to steer you through the automatic doors and into the lobby. Neither of you spoke as he pressed the call elevator button. Your arms were crossed across your chest, your nails digging crescent moons into your triceps. Each floor the elevator fell towards the lobby where you were waiting seemed to raise your anxiety, making you hyper aware of your surroundings.

You knew this feeling too well. Everything was in slow motion but moving too fast at the same time. Colors felt too bright, noises were loud and yet muffled. Everything looked too sharp.

A chime sounded from somewhere that sounded too far away to be meant for you and the elevator doors slid open, inviting you inside.

You stepped into the elevator with Yuta and watched him press the button for the top floor followed by a series of other buttons. As the doors shut you could see Yuta watching you intently in the highly polished gold surface.

You turned to face him and there was something unfamiliar in his face. You stared at each other for a few moments before you looked away, somehow shy, turning to face forward again. You wanted to ask what was on his mind, but you felt like if you broke the silence it would make things stranger in some way or another, so you opted to stare at your distorted likeness in the door in silence as the lift slowly ascended to the top floor.

Another distant chime announced your arrival and you watched your and Yuta’s reflections retreat from one another as the elevator doors opened, revealing a very large and extravagant penthouse suite. 

The ceilings were impossibly high and most of the suite seemed to be constructed with either glass or highly polished silver metal, the furnishings almost exclusively in black leather. It was very minimalistic, yet modern, and it reminded you of Doyoung’s apartment which lightened the weight in your stomach just a bit. There were ceiling to floor windows lining the wall opposite the door with a gorgeous and expansive view of the skyline.  You sheepishly thought to yourself that the suite matched your outfit uncannily well, and couldn’t help wondering if Doyoung had intended it to.

Yuta sighed, bee-lining for the miniature bar and pouring himself a glass of amber liquid. He silently raised it to you in offering but you declined, shaking your head.

“Don’t know why I bothered, but I always hope that one day I’ll spend the evening with the beautiful woman I met years ago instead of the secret agent I always seem to see instead.” He laughed, almost bitterly, before draining the glass and setting it back on the counter with a distinct echo of glass striking marble.  He made his way to the black leather sofa that was facing the skyline, motioning for you to join him.

You sat next to him and watched him expectantly, waiting impatiently for him to speak.

“Yuta…” You started, but he held up one hand to silence you, still staring resolutely at the night sky.

“You won’t go to Japan.” 

It was more a statement than a question but you nodded in confirmation all the same.

“And you want me to help you do…whatever it is you hope to accomplish in some other way?”

You nodded again. He sighed again, finally turning to face you, expressionless.

“What do I hope to gain from risking my life for this? I’ve already put myself in danger just being here with you, but I did it with the expectation that you would be leaving with me and we could wash our hands of this.”

“And what, exactly, did you hope to gain from that?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Yuta smirked, turning to face you, resting his hand on your thigh, just below the hem of your dress.

“Only everything that I’ve ever wanted.”

You inhaled sharply, your shock written all over your face. His words weren’t much but his body language communicated everything as clear as day. Your leg where Yuta’s large hand was resting felt like it was on fire and you could feel heat radiating from your face.

Yuta was always flirtatious but you always took it with a grain of salt, assuming that was just his personality. You’d never even considered the possibility that he could actually be interested in you and you were too taken aback by this new information that you couldn’t even properly consider it.

Before you could collect yourself enough to respond the familiar chime of the elevator echoed through the room. Yuta threw himself on the floor, pulling you with him, and groped around under the sofa finally extracting two 9MM pistols that were concealed there, handing one to you as he cocked the other.

You nodded, cocking yours as well, crawling to the opposite side of the couch but keeping your eyes on Yuta, waiting for his signal.

He raised one finger and pointed towards the door, both of you springing into action simultaneously. You leaped forward, landing onto your stomach and rolling back onto your side, your pistol aimed at whoever was dumb enough to try and take the two of you on and walk through the front door. It was a tall man, dressed entirely in black with his face covered by a black scarf. Only his eyes were visible but it was too far off for them to tell you much about his identity.

Why the fuck hadn’t Doyoung warned you about this? Now that you thought about it he had been oddly silent for some time now, you hoped he was okay….

“Any weapons on the ground and hands where we can see them if you value your fucking life. If I have to fire a single shot know that your death will not come swiftly.” Yuta shouted, but the intruder remained undeterred.

The stranger raised his arms and placed them on his face instead of his head, tugging at the fabric that obscured his identity.

You gaped, dumb-founded, as the scarf fell away and revealed an absolutely furious Doyoung.

“If you don’t lower your gun now I will rip your entire shitty operation apart from the seams and collectively fuck you and each one of your affiliates in ways you’ve only dreamed of late at night when you’re alone.” Doyoung hissed, glaring directly at Yuta and ignoring both you and your stunned silence.

“Would now be a good time to mention that I’ve cracked all of your off-shore accounts wide open and started siphoning money out of them as soon as I saw your message? You’re losing an average of 20 Yen every second that you waste staring at me and trying to get the three brain cells you have left to do some actual work, in addition to the 2.8 million Yen you’ve already lost.”

Yuta looked like he was being strangled. He placed his pistol on the floor in front of him, sliding it across the smooth marble floor to Doyoung, placing his hands above his head and lowering his eyes in deference.

“Oh, and don’t bother waiting up for your lackeys, they’ve long since been disposed of.” Doyoung sneered, picking up Yuta’s discarded pistol and stalking towards him.

“I have to admit, I was sincerely impressed with your daring. Execution, not so much. Very sloppy. Hacking a government database and betting that we would see it? Banking on no one else knowing about your cute date night all that time ago or figuring out your riddle? Better lucky than good, I suppose.” Doyoung’s smile stretched wider with every cutting word that left his lips while Yuta’s scowl only deepened.

“Fuck you.” Yuta spat, his eyes reduced to slits, teeming with hatred as Doyoung loomed over him.

Doyoung laughed, if you could call it that. It was a harsh sound, like a bark.

“That’s not what you really want, we both know that now.” He said, crouching down and ruffling Yuta’s hair, antagonizing him further. You finally found your voice.

“Doyoung, what the hell is going on?” Your voice sounded foreign, hollow, like it belonged to someone else. Doyoung finally turned to face you, his face impassive.

“Be quiet for now, please. I’m handling this. I’ll explain later.”

Fury coursed through your veins as you raised the pistol Yuta had given you, pointing it directly between Doyoung’s eyes. 

“Explanations happen right now. From both of you.”