#every time I see a stock photo of generic man in suit I have to draw a blorbo it’s

[ornitharts]

Quick little vent sketch because it’s

✨finals week✨

[dcxdpdabbles]

Any ideas for Phantom's number 1 fan? I'm so excited to see Tim and Danny run into each other and figure out OH, so this is what's going on. And also being gay cuz would either of them mind too much about being married? Hey- wait- what's this about a child-

Cut to the watchtower just freaking out full panic. Oh God, the world is gonna end. How do we fix this so the ghost king doesn't kill us all???

John Constantine would go bald from how much stress hair-pulling he was doing. They have been searching for a solid week and have yet to find out where Batman's third son went.

He left a very tiny trail across Europe, seemingly as an art thief and hired assassin. It broke Batman's eldest son's heart whenever a new clue was phoned into the Watchtower, which did not make John feel better about placing a bounty on the kid's head.

It was a neceasery but with each passing day it became clear that no one truly understod the Young Justice Robin. He seemed to always be one step ahead of everyone, and covered his tracks so well that it would have taken them months, maybe even years to follow if they hadn't been looking.

But oh, were they bloody looking.

The entire league had come together to trace Young Justice Robin's path, turning two of the main conference rooms into the center hub for comparing and connecting clues.

It looks like a conspiracy theorist's wet dream in there.

Colored yarn strung around the room, screens displaying messages and photos of cities, and multiple tired-looking league members scrambling to make heads or tails of the new personality that YJ Robin had created in every new country.

Frankl, John was slightly impressed by how much work the kid was giving them. Even the tracking spells that should have pointed in his general direction failed because his soul was not being picked up on a global search whenever they cast it.

It was almost as if the kid had left their world. John wanted to hope that it meant he went to a different planet, but he never betted on a horse with a broken leg.

YJ Robin was trying to kill the Ghost King's fiancee, and despite the guards they placed around known stationed natural portals, he managed to slip through.

It was the only thing that made sense, but it also meant they were running out of time. His contacts on the other side had caught multiple whispers that the Ghost King's army was gathering and would be ready for combat any day now.

At this point, he wasn't even sure the King would listen, even if they did manage to stop YJ Robin. Higher beings took a insult far more serious then humans did.

"Well?" He asks just to be a ass when Batman son teleports in. He gone to speak to some Ghost hunter specilists. Not that John put much stock in thier ecto-research. He perfected magic through hard work and numours deals. The thought the scientist thought they could us maths to build similar defenses were laughable.

But the league was desperate for any form of defense against the army in case they could not please the King in time.

Nightwing—even in the Batman suit, John could only see the young man in Blue struggling to keep everything together—pulled a face. "The Fenton's technology is impressive but....they seemed to really empthis that they no longer build weapons. That it wouldn't work."

"I could you that. At the most, they could detect a ghost but that's only a few second before a deadful shiver ran down your spin anyway." John huffs rolling his eyes.

"No. I think they were lying. They seemed really determined to make me believe they had no real means of harming a ghost. And get this: The Fentons dismantled the ghost portal they claimed allowed them to enter a death dimension only two days before we arrived."

Nightwing says with a tone that would have sounded strange in his blue suit. On Batman, it's just the right amount of emotionless that John has to bite his lip to stop him from reaching out and yanking the kid into a hug.

The world was too unfair to the kind-hearted folk like Nightwing.

The boy dressed as a Bat continues, blissfully unaware of how much he breaks John's heart. "They claimed it never worked and were embarrassed they kept it up for so long. I asked Oracle to check their online presence, and they read a lot of articles that speculated what the Justice League was up to days before they tore it down."

Now, John frowned in thought instead of disapproval. He highly doubted those hacks had made an actual portal to the Infinite Realms but they had boasted about it for three full years on their website.

It was the reason the Justice League even bothered to approach them. So why now, did they suddenly tear it down?

"They're trying to cover something up." John concludes watching the other nod in agreement.

The other man's jaw tightens for just a second before he adds "Or they are coving for someone."

Shit.

"Kid made it to the ghost zone, didn't he?" John swears feeling his heart drop down to his knees.

"We can gather that Young Justice Robin has made his way to the Realms and is now an active threat to humankind's survival. He needs to be taken down by any means possible," Batman declares, his voice like breaking glass. It's sharp and cutting, like the shreds of whatever heart was left in Richard Grayson.

John wonders if Bruce knows his son has broken from wherever his soul rests.

"That would explain the army that has gathered under the Ghost King banner," John grumbles, hands twitching for nicotine. "My sources said they are all gathered and practically ready to march."

"Do you know how long we have before they are here?" Batman asks walking into the conference room and grabbing the attention of every gathered hero with one hand motion.

Everyone tenses in a way that could make the weakest of them choke. They know what it means.

A level ten threat will arrive.

They failed to stop the Third Robin. He managed to spend months doing whatever he pleased, and now that the League was paying attention, it was far too late.

Many of them would not survive the upcoming battle. Many of them who did would lose so many loved ones that it would be hard to decide if they should spend the last few hours on the battlefield or in the arms of their families.

Life, as they know, may come to an end. They could become the next Krypton. Somewhere in the crowd, Kara falls to her knees, sobbing and babbling to Roa, begging for her not to live through her planet's destruction again.

A few of the youngest members start to sob along side her.

Wonder Woman, who was standing next to Superman and Martian man hunter, clears her throat. Her eyes are as hard as steel, her stance unwavering under the pressure of hundreds of pairs of eyes that land on her, and when she speaks, it's like the banging of a drum.

"Warriors prepare for combat. We are at War."

__________________________________________________________

Tim doesn't think when he lands.

He scrambles to his feet, and rushes away from the portal as fast as he can, hoping to put as much distance as possible between himself and the Yetis.

His feet fall into the mud, splashing and nearly tripping him over. It darkens out, and there are no cars in sight, but the smell is familiar, and the feeling of the air is welcome.

Before Gotham stands in all her grey dangerous glory, just over a few hills. He is far from the city, on the outside of Crime Alley, he thinks, but he can see the Bat symbol flowing proudly in the sky, can make out Wayne Headquarters, his Nest, and Babs' Clocktower, and it's so amazing to finally be home.

He pushes his legs to go faster, climbing up the hills into the highway. The streetlight flicker as he rushes by, unafriad of coming trafic. No one goes this way anymore. Not since they turned it into a dead end long before Bruce's parents died.

There are patches of broken road pieces where grass and weeds are growing through, his feet slap against the multiple holes, ruining his momentum but Tim can hardly care.

Tim knows how to find Bruce now.

He can help bring him back from the timeline through the various clues his father figure has been able to leave over his adventures. Tim is so close now, he can actually see the finish line.

He just needs to get to the Cave- when Jason and the Demon are not there, preferably. Maybe Alfred would let him in. The old man had always had a soft spot for Tim- and he could build the machine he needed.

That's if he doesn't build it in his Nest.

Tim runs faster, feeling his lungs and legs burn. He doesn't pay it any mind. The time with the Yeti has made him stronger, likely due to the hours of soaking in some private reserve of Lazarus Pit, so he is going at a faster speed.

One that he had never been able to reach before. He was nothing like a speedster or even on his Red Bird, but damn if it isn't exciting to think he may be able to outpace Jason now.

As he approaches, the city becomes more prominent, shimmering in a faint green glow, as if welcoming him home. Tim's face breaks into a smile when he enters Crime Alley, passing the city limits. In Bruce's city, he is safe from Ra because even without Batman, the city has always shielded them from the Ghuls.

Bruce will be back tomorrow, here in the shadows of Gotham's darkness, protecting everyone, and Tim will finally be able to rest. Months of invading the Justice League, working with the League of Assiasn, the Spiders, and his own doubts were finally going to be behind him.

So close. So very close he could taste it.

A scream cuts through the air.

Tim slides to a stop, feet splashing against the puddles of dirty water he hadn't noticed, swinging his head in the direction it came from. Every part of him wants to ignore it because he has to focus on getting Bruce. He does, but the fear in that woman's voice is too thick to ignore.

He glances back to his Nest, torn between his duty and his heart, biting his lip, but a young whimper- a child likely- makes the choice for him. Tim changes directions, going into the alley and coming across a family of three in the middle of being mugged.

It's quick work to get behind the man waving the gun, silent as the shadows, he blends in to mask his presense. He stricks just as the fool pulls the triger, the loud bang echoing in the small space.

The woman screams again, this time louder, with far more fright in her voice, as the boy bursts into tears.

Thankfully, Tim had knocked off his aim, and the bullet bounced off the brick near the man- likely the father- who was standing in front of a frightened woman and small child in what could only be an attempt to protect them.

The brick shatters to peices as Tim reels back his fists, bringing them down in three swift but brutal punches and the gunman hits the ground with a loud thump.

He hadn't even had time to scream.

Tim huffs above him, and the large amount of running finally catches up to him. It's been a long time since he was so out of breath, though sprinting at full force for a solid nearly fifty minutes was a good enough reason.

"Is everyone alright?" Tim pants out, shaking out his hand in a showy way. After all, he wasn't wearing a mask, and right now, this needed to look like Timothy Drake got a lucky burst of adrenaline.

"Yes." The man breathes, sounding shocked. "Yes, we're fine. Thanks to you. Thank you so much, you saved our lives."

"Don't mention it. I'm glad I was in the right place at the right time." Tim looks up at him, twisting his face into the perfect meek civilian persona Timothy Drake is known for, and then feels all the blood drain from his face.

At that moment, he realizes two things.

One, Gotham was many shades of depressing but it was never green. Espcailly glowing green but while he had been runing he had swon he saw it shifted to sit behind a filter that made it appear as such.

And Two, Bruce looked a aweful lot like his father.

"Oh my boy." Thomas Wayne says, wrapping his arm around Martha and little Bruce Wayne's. He sends Tim another grateful warm smile. "I don't think you understand just what you've done here."

No, Tim thinks faintly I really don't think I do.

_____________________________________________________________

Somewhere in the far future, Danny Fenton wonders why his portal-making skill has stopped working. He used it regularly as his search and rescue means but ever since Robin fell into his arms half dead he had not been able to activeate it.

It was almost like it was stolen from him.

If only his parents hadn't dismantled the portal. He could ask Frostbite to check him over.

[marktuansvevo]

got7 reacts to something theyve never experienced before in a relationship

warning(s); slight cursing, sexual content in bam’s part

mark; being jealous

mark understood why his past partners could be jealous of him in his line of work. as long as it didn’t get out of hand, he thought it was cute. he was never the jealous one in the relationship. he didn’t even know what jealousy felt like....

....until tonight.

you were mark’s entire world. you excited him, you built him up like no other. never before could he see himself spending his life with someone before you came along. you made the world brighter to him.

but now he was only seeing red. 

you had been a trainee and never debuted, which you weren’t too upset about, you had a boyfriend you loved and a career with less physical and time demands than being in the entertainment industry. this meant that you knew a lot of other bands, stray kids being one of them. chan was, quite frankly, your best friend during your trainee days, so when you saw him at this afterparty you were attending with mark, you threw yourself into his arms.

mark just watched you from afar.

and his blood boiled.

chan spun you around in his arms, the biggest smile on his stupid, handsome face. “yah!! y/n! mark didn’t say you’d be here.”

you giggled, trying to keep your tears at bay. you put your hands on his face, poking his dimples. mark scoffed at the blush that was forming on his friend’s face. “god, chan i missed you so much.”

“bro, you look constipated,” bam snuck up behind him. “dude, your face is so red right now.”

mark rolled his eyes. “these parties are so annoying.” he didn’t take his eyes off of you as you caught up with chan, who still had his hand around your waist.

bam followed his line of vision. “shit, you’re not constipated, you’re jealous. yugyeom, come look at him!”

mark walked away from his intoxicated friends and up to you. you smiled at him before returning to your conversation with chan. 

“y/n, we have to go,” mark said lowly, smiling a sickly fake smile at chan, who immediately dropped his hand from your waist. 

“why, baby, we just got here? are you not feeling good?” you asked. he wanted to feel bad, your voice was laced with concern.

“something like that. see you, chan.”

as you got in the car, you smiled at him, poking his cheek. “somebody’s jealous, huh?”

“huh? of chan? i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he clenched his jaw, not making eye contact with you as he steered his car out of the parking lot. you were giggling now.

“you’re cute when you’re jealous. maybe i should make more time for chan.”

“y/n!!!”

jaebeom; wearing disguises in public

jaebeom never thought he would have to dress up in a disguise to go out in public. and jae would never want to put you in such a position. it was draining, and you, as his girlfriend knew that he despised it.

but you wanted to go to a concert with him.

and you wanted to stand in the pit with him and be part of it. don’t get you wrong, you loved when he bought you suite seats or could watch his shows from backstage, but you wanted to sway to ariana grande in th pit with your boyfriend.

“cmon, jae, i think everyone is going to be paying attention to ari. we can skip the opening act?” you suggested.

“y/n, i don’t want to take a chance...im sorry,” he pouted at you. you sighed, trying to figure out what to do.

“what about disguises?” he said. “like, we could wear our halloween costumes?” you were giggling to yourself, but your boyfriend seemed like the idea.

“i could wear my jesus wig and you could paint a beard on me?” he said with serious eyes.

“jae, you hate going out in disguises.”

“true...but, babe, this will be fun. you could wear your sailor mars wig, it’d be cute,”

okay, this was a really cute idea and you were warming up to it...if it made your boyfriend more comfortable to be out in a crowd of so many people, you were down to try it out.

“this really feels like halloween in july,” you giggled as you used mascara to draw a beard on his chin.

“do I look like jesus??” he asked childishly.

“well, you don’t look like im jaebeom of got7, that’s for sure,”

“you look like an egirl,” he laughed at himself. “don’t hate, you know you love it,” you said. “we look so cute, let’s take a mirror selfie and post in later,”

“no, then people will be on to us,” your boyfriend sent a pout in your direction as he looked at his makeshift beard in the mirror. “I look sexy as fuck in a beard,”

“super sexy aegyo please?”

the two of you arrived at the arena, not be noticed by anyone, but jae was still on edge, so you held his hand tight as you made your way into the pit.

“im so excited!!” you shouted over the noise. he shook his head before leaning in to kiss you. the two of you danced the whole night away to arianas crooning, his arms around you as you swayed to her pretty, soothing voice. the two of you let the world fade away while ariana sang honeymoon ave in the background.

jackson; his significant other saying ily first.

it was no secret that jackson was stock full of love and kindness. he had had other partners before you, all with him ending up getting too attached, or scaring them away when he said “I love you” too early.

he did not want to scare you away, and honestly, he had known he loved you two months into dating, but he didn’t want to scare you away, so he never outwardly said those three little words to you.

he wasn’t expecting you to say it, first though.

you had invited him over for dinner and a movie, just wanting a chill night in with your boyfriend. he brought the wine and promised to give you a back massage, so really, what more could you want on this chilly thursday night?

“what’s been going on, honey? you know you can tell me anything,” jackson whispered into your ear as he helped you out of your clothes.

“I feel like I deserve to oversee my department at work. i have the most education of all of them, more experience than them, and generally, I am more optimistic than my superiors….,” you sighed, letting him rub just under your shoulder blades, which had been itching all week.

“mmm?”

“i think they might be scared of powerful women who like to wear hot pink fendi suits to work,” you smiled, knowing he would be offended at your joke. you could almost feel him pouting.

“so the reason you can’t get the job is because your superiors don’t like the suits your boyfriend buys you? wow, what a way to hurt a guy’s pride…,” he followed your lead on the joke, trying to make you laugh because he knew this was really getting to you. “baby, I think you should go to their boss and see if you can get a promotion…tell them everything you told me, okay? i know you’re not only the best woman for the job, but the best person for the job…period,” he said, making you feel so overwhelmed with emotion. none of your previous partners had ever revered you the way jackson had. you felt so incredibly blessed and in love, you couldn’t help yourself.

“god, jackson, I love you so much,” you whispered.

the movement of his soft hands on your back stopped abruptly at your words. ‘oh god, was it too early to say that?’

“j-jackson…im sorry-“

“ive been waiting to say that to you,” he breathed against your lips, closing the distance that was between them.

“jackson wang….you love me?” you could feel the tears building. the man of your dreams was in love with you, too.

“i love you,” he whispered reverently.

“say it again,” you begged. he said it like a mantra.

“i love you, i love you….i love you..”

jinyoung; moving in together

jinyoung thought you were so cute. you were ecstatic to move with jinyoung. you had been living in your shared apartment with your mom your whole life and we’re excited to start a new chapter of your life. jinyoung didn’t think you were taking in the fact that moving is one of the most stressful things a person can go through.

he didn’t want to rain on your parade, though.

the two of you got settled into your new apartment after a long day of unpacking. jinyoung kissed you as you laid onto your new king sized bed. “im gonna grab takeout, you want your usual?” he asked sweetly, squeezing your hand. you just nodded, squeezing his hand back.

you watched as jinyoung walked out of your shared bedroom. that’s when the dam broke. you were so overwhelmed. you didn’t know how to make warm water happen in your shower, you didn’t have your wifi set up, and you forgot your favorite teddy bear at your moms. you missed teddy and your wifi and your mom.

“hey, i ordered you two egg rolls and they gave us three - hey, baby, are you crying?”

“no,” you replied lamely. “I miss teddy,” you wailed miserably.

“teddy...the...stuffed bear?” he asked.

“i slept with him every night for the past 20 something years.”

“baby...we can get your bear in the morning...,”

“we don’t have netflix set up so how am i supposed to sleep tonight?”

“y/n...,” he chuckled. you frowned harder now that he was laughing at you. “moving isn’t as exciting as it looks. tomorrow, we will fix the wifi, okay? and we can visit your mom and rescue teddy.”

“okay...okay. im sorry, im just a bit overwhelmed,” you confessed.

“its gonna be okay, honey. it’s a lot to take in, i know. but you can hold me instead of teddy, and ill sing you to sleep,” he whispered, the takeout now long forgotten. before you could fall asleep, he pulled his iphone out of his back pocket and pulled you into his chest to take a selfie. “there. now we have a picture of us in our bed for the first time.”

“i love you, you sap.”

even though you called him the sap, the next day you went to the pharmacy to get the photo printed and frame it. when jinyoung came home from the market that day, he eyed the frame on your bed stand, smirking at you.

“oh, so im the sap, hmm?”

youngjae; picking up the tab

it was the first date the two of you had been on since youngjae had been on tour. he told you to get dressed up and that the two of you would go out for a fancy dinner and catch up on everything. this is why you loved him, because while you wanted to hear all about his stories of life and tour abroad, he always wanted to hear about everything that was going at home, to see if you were alright.

youngjae looked dazzling in a black checked suit, while you matched him with a little black dress that made him groan when you stepped out of the bathroom. “can we skip dinner?” he’d ask cheekily. you rolled your eyes at him before kissing him on the cheek. “we aren’t skipping dinner, and we definitely won’t be skipping dessert,” you winked before leading him to the car.

the two of you ate dinner together, him holding your hand and looking at you with stars in his eyes as you told him stories that had happened while he was away. you ordered appetizers, drinks, shared an entrée, and youngjae even ordered you a slice of apple pie for the two of you to share.

“baby, I’m going to go use the restroom,” youngjae said before kissing your hand. “’kay, don’t get mugged, please,” you teased him. he shook his head at your playfulness. you watched as he left before frantically waving your arms at your waitress. she ran over to you, checking if you were alright.

“I just wanted to wonder if I can pick up the cheque really quick? I wanted to pick it up for my boyfriend as a surprise,” you spoke in a hushed tone, making the waitress giggle. she nodded her head before handing it to her. you handed her your credit card, thanking her before your boyfriend had any suspicions of what you were up to.

youngjae came out of the bathroom as soon as the waitress set the cheque down. you were applying your lipstick so you couldn’t snatch it in time. you watched as his pretty brown eyes scanned the receipt, looking confused as ever. “is this a joke? what kind of waitress lets the girlfriend pay?”

“jae,” you giggled. “you don’t always have to pay for dinner. I wanted to treat you…I missed you so much,” you confided, watching his expression from anger into warmth.

“oh, thank you honey, you are so sweet and thoughtful, I love you so much,” you let him wrap his suit jacket around your arms before planting a kiss to your forehead. “but that will be the last time you ever do that.”

“shut up, i like doing nice things for you,” you pouted.

“since you paid for dinner tonight, i have to put out, right?”

he ran to the car before you could slap him in the chest.

bam; his s/o borrowing his clothes

remember how joey never shared his food? well that’s how bam was with his wardrobe. he was very particular about his clothing, not letting people borrow them at all. yugyeom used to steal his clothes just to be petty and piss his best friend off. he had never let past partners borrow his clothes, and nothing was going to change, it wasn’t his fault, it was an obsession. if you were sure of one thing, it was to not steal your boyfriends clothes.

but one day, while he was gone from work, you thought you would take pictures of yourself in only one of his blazers to tease him.

you weren’t expecting him to walk through the door while you were trying to take self timer pictures of yourself.

“baby? what are you doing?” bam asked, laughing as you let out a squeal of surprise.

“i..i wanted to surprise you...,” he tsked, pulling away to look at his blazer. “i know you don’t like me wearing your things..,” you stammered as he circled you.

“you have such pretty things, though, bam,”

“you look so sexy in this,” he purred. “you were trying to get me worked up while im trying to work?”

“u...uhhh,” you couldn’t think coherently with you boyfriend acting so domineering. you gasped as he slid his hand up to your cunt, rubbing your clit in little circles. “bam...please...,” you groaned. 

“keep the blazer on,” he said as you writhed in his grip.

“its gonna get all sweaty though and then you’ll yell at me,” you teased him as you followed him to the bed. 

bam just groaned. “baby, im sorry I haven’t let you borrow my clothes before but you look better in them than me. now, let me fuck you and i promise you can have anything you want in that closet.”

he knew exactly how to shut you up.

yugyeom; his s/o buying him flowers

yugyeom was always so stressed during comeback season. you always scolded him when he forgot to eat, or wasn’t staying hydrated enough, but you were so proud of him. seeing the smile on his face and the way he walked a little taller was so worth it.

he was still busy during comeback season, coming home late after all the videos he had to shoot for publicity.

one night, yugyeom had gotten home around midnight to a bouquet of pink roses and a handwritten note from you. it read; “I am so proud of you, my love. congrats on breath… I can always feel your love,” he blushed and giggled to himself, thinking, “isn’t the guy supposed to buy the girlfriend the flowers?” he wandered into your shared bedroom to see you sprawled into his side, with your book in your hands, a soft snore leaving your lips. he nudged you, not intending to wake you up, he could thank you in the morning. but he did accidentally. “yeom?” you whispered. 

“shh, baby go back to sleep,” he shushed, changing into his pjs. 

“did you like the flowers?” you asked, suddenly awake now. 

“theyre really pretty, baby, but aren’t I supposed to buy you the flowers?” 

you narrowed your eyes at him. “not my boyfriend being a sexist,” 

“yah! y/n stop it, I didn’t mean it that way!! I love them, you remembered I said I love roses,” he was pouting now, pulling you into his chest to spoon you. his voice got quieter now. “no one’s ever remembered my favorite flowers…much less bought them for me,” he paused, kissing the back of your neck before closing his eyes and falling fast asleep.

he was whipped.

[brywrites]

Partners in Crime

A/N: This is one of the earliest Reid x Reader stories I wrote and never published, and I figured, why not? Reid and the Reader often go undercover as a couple to bait an unsub, and this time things don’t quite go as planned.  CW: for non-consensual behavior, mild physical abuse, reference to rape

-

It’s always the two of them. She figures it’s because they’re so close in age, and such good friends. After months of working together, and plenty of free time spent hanging out, the chemistry comes naturally. Whenever there’s a case involving couples, and the profile alone isn’t enough, she and Reid end up masquerading as boyfriend and girlfriend, husband and wife, all varieties of people madly in love with each other. Sometimes it’s enough to just lure out an unsub, twice they’ve been kidnapped, but never for long. They do good work together. Garcia has even taking to calling them Partners in Crime, or The Dream Team.

Deep down she knows it’s not just her profiling abilities or friendship with Spencer that allows her to play the part so well. That chemistry has become absolutely natural, too much so. Long after the game is done, she finds herself stealing glances at him, staying up late at night wondering what it would be like to really be in love with him. It’s an impossible dream. Reid is brilliant, handsome, and her co-worker. Strictly off limits. And yet those fantasies continue with every smile he gives her, and a part of her hopes that maybe, maybe…

“Baltimore PD have requested our help with a serial killer,” Hotch announces in the conference room. “Over the last six months, six people have kidnapped and murdered. There’s evidence of torture and sexual sadism, though preliminary ME reports don’t indicate any sign of rape.”

“Why would they think it’s consensual?” JJ asks, skeptical. They’ve encountered incompetent medical examiners before.

“Because of the victims he chooses,” the unit chief says, nodding at Garcia to move to the next slide. Six photos pop up on screen, in groups of two. “Jeremy and Renee Lagher, Tyrone and Nina Davenport, and Louisa and Ryan Sheffield.”

From across the room, Y/N catches Reid’s eye, the two of them realizing where this is likely headed. “He’s using married couples,” Rossi observes. “Is there any indication to how he finds his victims?”

“Social networking,” Garcia chimes in. The internet has made it all too easy for predators to hunt. Oversharing can be fatal. “The couples all used Instagram, had no privacy settings, and shared photos that made it clear they were married. Their last posts were just before they went missing, and all of them used the location feature to check-in at a local restaurant.” The team throws out ideas and questions, possibilities about how he finds them and why he chooses them. It seems to be the general consensus that he must stake out the restaurant, and wait for the couple to leave after dinner.

Y/N is distracted through the discussion, unable to ignore the feeling that there’s something Hotch is keeping from them. Sure enough, the chief has one last thing to add before they get ready to head out. “Given the lack of evidence and how this unsub targets his victims, I’ve spoken with the Baltimore PD and we’ve come to the conclusion that the best way to find him is bait him. Reid, Y/L/N, are you up for this?”

The question is less of a request, more rhetorical in nature. What choice do they have? It’s their job to hunt down criminals, no matter what it takes to find them. And so they agree. On the plane, once the briefing is complete, the go about preparing for the undercover work. Garcia has worked some Photoshop magic, pulling stock photos and personal pictures alike to create two different accounts for Spencer and Y/N Fitzgerald. Over time they’ve gotten into the habit of choosing last names inspired by famous literary and scientific couples. Scrolling through the one created for her, she tries to memorize the details. They’ve been married for two years, they live just west of Baltimore in a studio apartment, they have a cat. She is a librarian, he’s a high school chemistry teacher.

Since no other couples have been reported missing, the police want them to get to work as soon as possible. That evening, she slips on a black dress and a pair of heels, her hair and makeup done much nicer than she would typically take the time for. If this is going to work, she needs to look the part. Reid is waiting for her in the lobby of their hotel, wearing a simple suit and a smile that widens at the sight of her. “You look beautiful,” he tells her.

“Thanks.” She can feel herself blushing, and reminds herself that this is all a part of the game, of the job. None of this is real. Still, when he holds out his hand for her to take, she can’t push back the happiness that bursts in her chest. They walk the few blocks to the restaurant that way, close enough that their shoulders touch. Once he’s put in a reservation, they stand in the dim light of the waiting area to take a photo. Reid wraps his arm around her, holding her close to his side. At the last second, he presses a kiss to her temple just as she snaps a photo on her phone.

“How was that?” he asks. Too good, she thinks. In the picture they look just like a couple, very much in love. It’s soon posted to Instagram, documented along with the rest of their fake relationship. She adds their location just as a waiter comes to whisk them away to a table. Dinner is wonderful, filled with long gazes and laughter and moments where his knee will bump hers, or her fingers will rest over his hand just a little too long. This is just a show, just in case the unsub is lying in wait somewhere inside. It’s a damn good performance, more convincing than it needs to be. Does she really need to look at him that way? Does he really need to give her that devastating grin? They steal all these small moments for themselves, lingering in a soft state of bliss.

It’s only temporary, and soon enough they’re on their way out the door once more. “I’m surprised you weren’t able to meet with your friend,” he says, trying to sound casual. Every so often his eyes dart along the sidewalk, trying to check their surroundings without making it obvious he’s looking.

“Me too, but I suppose plans can always change.”

Reid starts to respond, but the words never come. Instead, a hand clamps over her mouth, and something cold presses hard against her head. Metal, round. The barrel of a gun. “Do what I say,” a voice growls. “Or she dies.” Neither of them are armed, and he has no choice but to comply. A man in a ski mask leads them to a dark colored sedan, yanking open the door of the backseat. Before shoving them inside, he reaches into the pocket of Reid’s suit jacket to extract his cell phone. The device, along with her purse, is tossed onto the sidewalk, leaving them no way to contact the team as the car speeds away.

-

It’s hard to say for sure how much time has passed since they’ve arrived in the dingy cellar. Hours at least, though not a whole day. The room is dirty and cold, and Reid insists on giving her his jacket. He holds her hand still, and that small amount of physical contact is a silent promise between them that everything is going to be okay. They haven’t heard from their captor since the abduction. Does the team know they’re missing? Is Garcia trying to track them down? What’s going to happen to them?

The metal door swings open, and the man enters. His mask is gone, revealing a middle-aged white man. He is balding with a cruel sneer and empty eyes. One hand holds a gun, the other a bag surely full of the tools he tortures his victims with. Their profile was spot on. “Here’s how this is going to go,” he says. “I’m going to give you instructions. You will comply exactly. If you refuse, or mess up, I’ll kill you. If you try to escape, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?” They both nod. “Good. Kiss your husband, Mrs. Fitzgerald.”

“How do you know our name?” Reid demands, though they already know the answer. It’s like chess, all about making the right moves.

“No questions,” the man growls. “Do as I say.” Tentatively, Y/N stands on her toes to close the distance between them, kissing him gently. Chaste, soft, nothing that requires too much of either of them. But that isn’t good enough for their abductor. “Do it like you mean it.”

So she kisses him harder, deeper. If she closes her eyes, it’s easy to pretend that they aren’t here at gunpoint, that it’s just the two of them, that this kiss really does mean something. That this is the moment she’s been imagining a thousand times. He returns it, his hands settling on the small of her back in order to pull her closer. “Now, hit her.” At the sound of the bald man’s voice, Reid freezes, then pulls away. An apology is written on his face, and she braces herself for the slap that stings her cheek and sends her stumbling backwards a few steps. This isn’t going to be a romantic fantasy, apparently.

“Take off her dress, Mr. Fitzgerald.” On his tongue, their names are taunts and not identifiers.

Reid hesitates, but she gives him the slightest of nods. If they’re going to get out of this, they have to play along. It’s their only hope of staying alive long enough for the team to find them. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. His hands reach up her back, unzipping her dress in one fluid motion before easing it down her body. The black fabric falls in a pile at her feet, and she shivers. Standing in only her bra and underwear, the air is colder on her skin now, but it’s terribly unnerving for him to see her so exposed like this.

It isn’t supposed to be like this. This isn’t supposed to be the first time he kisses her or sees her undress. This isn’t the fantasy she replays on the jet each time they close a case and stop pretending to be a couple.

“Touch her,” the man commands, pointing at her chest. This is easily the most humiliating experience they’ve been put through since Hotch first started pairing them up for assignments like this, and it’s quickly devolving into the most humiliating thing they’ve been through, period. Any chance she has hoped for at some future relationship is dashed away. After something like this, how will they ever be able to look at each other the same way?

She sends a silent prayer to the team to find them soon, then meets Reid’s eyes. “It’s okay,” she says quietly. “Spencer, it’s okay.”

The pained look on his face cuts her deep. Is he repulsed by the situation? Or by her? She tries to keep as still as she can, tense under the scrutiny of the bald man. Reid’s hand covers her breast and she oscillates between trying to pretend she’s not in this body, and trying to pretend that she is but it’s just the two of them here. Every so often they are directed in new ways, as if this is just a play and they’ve become actors in some sort of twisted production. It’s quite possible this is reminiscent of an event that occurred in the unsub’s life at some point. Reid is instructed to nibble her ear, she to grope at his backside. Every so often an interruption demanding a hit or a punch. His commands become increasingly more rough, Y/N receiving most of the abuse while Reid tries to be as careful as he can with her, touching her gently, trying to make it look like a slap is harder than it is.

“Remove her bra, then take off your pants.” No no no no no. She knows where this is going. She knows how this scene is supposed to end. They both balk for a brief moment, until the click of the gun cocking jolts them back to their senses.

Reid is shaking his head, but she squeezes his hand. He can feel how badly she’s trembling. This isn’t pleasant for either of them, but her voice is firm. “Do what he says. Just do what he says Spencer. We’re going to get out of here.”

Just as he reaches towards her, there’s a loud bang from somewhere beyond the open door. “Ronald Horton, FBI!” Morgan’s voice echoes down to them. As the man – Horton – turns away to see what’s happening, Y/N bends down to pull her dress back on, Reid pulling his jacket back over her shoulders so she won’t have to waste time fiddling with the zipper. She’s grateful that he’s looking out for her, trying to save her any embarrassment. It’s hard to recall if she has ever been more relieved to see her team storming down a flight of stairs.

Hotch and Morgan drag Horton away in handcuffs, and Rossi turns to the couple who stand together, visibly shaken by the turn of events. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“It is now,” Y/N sighs.

-

Ronald Horton is violent sociopath whose marriage broke apart two months before the killings began. Oddly enough, his ex-wife was the more dominant one in the relationship. To keep up appearances, he relented to her physicality, though didn’t spare her the emotional abuse he was so apt at causing. The murders were a fantasy of his, using surrogates the enact the revenge he never had the chance to. He is booked downtown, and after a long day all of the agents are relieved when Hotch informs them they’ll be staying in Baltimore one more night to catch up on sleep.

She tosses and turns in her bed. Her mind races through everything that happened, and everything that could’ve. If the team hadn’t arrived then, what was he going to force them to do? How far would they have to go? She tries to untangle the violation, the awfulness of it, from the fact that the romantic actions were things she had wanted from Reid. But not like that. Never like that.

Her skin doesn’t feel like her own. She still feels exposed, wrapped under two blankets. She wants to forget it, but she doesn’t want to forget him.  

There is a knock on the door late that night. At this hotel, sets of two rooms are connected by a door in the wall, and she knows who is on the other side before she opens it. “Hi,” Reid says softly. “Did I wake you up?”

“Not at all,” she replies. “I couldn’t sleep.” She motions for him to come in, and he does so somewhat reluctantly.

“Um, listen, Y/L/N, I just wanted to apologize for everything that happened before. That must’ve been… uncomfortable for you, and I’m really sorry.” His pause makes it clear that uncomfortable is an understatement, but neither of them knows what word to place there.

She tries to brush it off. “It’s fine, Reid. Really, it is. This isn’t the first time we’ve done something like this.” It is however, the first time they’ve had to be quite so physical with each other. There’s no reason for him to come apologizing though, it wasn’t his fault. The blame belongs solely to Ronald Horton.

“It’s not fine, though. What happened wasn’t okay. And I am so sorry for hurting you.”

“I had to hurt you too,” she says. Not as much. But neither of them were able to consent to what was done to them.

“I just… I feel bad.” He sighs and looks down at the floor. Conversation between them has never felt so strained. “Doing this, it’s embarrassing,” Reid mumbles.

The awkwardness she feels turns to anger, to hurt. Perhaps it was her that he had a problem with before, not the situation itself. After months of friendship, the idea of being with her is somehow abhorrent to him, and when she likes him so much, that knowledge is like a punch to the face. “If you’re so embarrassed by me, maybe you should stop agreeing to go undercover with me,” she retorts, starting to storm away from him. She’s too tired to deal with this.

“Y/L/N!” he cries. When she doesn’t stop, a strong hand grabs her wrist, pulling her back. “Y/N. Please, wait. That’s not what I meant. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s me. You always have to pair up with me, and I don’t want to embarrass you. I’m sorry I-” He’s cut off by her mouth on his, kissing him hard. Like she means it. Because she does.

“That’s how you think I feel about you?” she gasps, when he pulls away. “Why do you think it’s so easy for me to pretend? Why do you think I never complain about the assignment? I like being with you. And I really like you.”

“You do?” Positively astonished, he is.

“Spencer, I love you. God, I love you so much. How can you not see that? If anything, you should be the one embarrassed by me.” He’s so smart, so good-looking.

“That would be impossible,” he says. Reid takes her hands in his, taking half a step towards her. He’s so tall, looming over practically, but his eyes are kind. Then he leans down to kiss her again. The depth of it surprises her, when he slips his tongue into her mouth. In response she bites his bottom lip gently, enticing a sigh from him.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

“I want to feel like I have a choice again in who touches me and how,” she answers. “And I want it to be you.”

It occurs to her they could be moving too fast, but when he moves his hands to her hips and she tangles her fingers in his hair, she decides she doesn’t care. After all, they’ve been dating for months. Fake-dating albeit, but every lie has a bit of the truth in it. And besides, it just feels too good to stop.

“I don’t think it’s quite fair,” she manages to find the air to say, “that you’ve seen me undress, but I haven’t seen you.” Her words give him pause, and Y/N reaches up to loosen his tie, pulling it away before starting on his shirt. The row of buttons is slowly undone, slower than is necessary. She wants to savor this, steadily revealing more of him as she goes. Reid shrugs out of his shirt, and she trails a hand down his torso, his skin warm beneath her fingertips. Feeling a little bolder, she places her lips on his neck, working her way down to his collarbone. Every soft moan spurs her on, until he captures her lips once more. It’s so good to finally touch him this way, to be touched by him. No instructions or unsubs or commands here. There’s only a warm room, dim light, and movements making up for lost time.

He’s pressed so close to her, close enough that she can feel him, hard against her. This has been so long in the making, she’s not surprised it doesn’t take long before he’s aroused. Especially not after all of the early physical stimulation between them. She’s feeling quite excited herself, the room too warm, her heart beating too fast, falling faster than she can keep up with. This man before her is like no one she’s ever met before, and she can’t remember loving someone as much as him. Needing someone as much as him. Reid’s hands slide up her sides until they find hold on the zipper of her dress. “Let’s get you out of that dress,” he murmurs.

This is how it was always supposed to be. Nothing about this is rough or difficult. In this hotel room, he is incredibly gentle with her, though his previous hesitation is gone. He knows what he wants now, they both do, and they’ve both given permission for it to happen. In a way, it’s like they are reclaiming every gesture they were forced to perform. These touches, theses feelings don’t belong to Ronald Horton. They belong to the two of them, tangled up together as they slowly explore the geography of the body. The fear is gone, wholly absent from their frantic exchanges. Love, desire, need, fills the place of that uncertainty and awkwardness.

He hurries to undo his belt, step out of his trousers. Taking full advantage of the opportunity, she teases the bulge in his boxers as he continues to find new places on her skin to place his lips, his tongue, his teeth. She tries to bite back a groan, knowing that walls are never quite as thick as they appear. Eventually she pulls him down the bed with her, and it takes only seconds before there’s no layers left between them. Just him, just her, just now.

It is even better than she’d imagined it would be. Spencer proves that he excels in every endeavor, this being no exception to the rule. It’s beautiful, the way he looks at her. How she wishes she had his eidetic memory, so as not to forget a single sensation. And when she calls out his name, when he answers with her own, nothing in the world has ever sounded so right. It seems over too soon, but they find themselves both breathless between the sheets, utterly delirious with joy. His hair is messier than usual, her face is flushed, but neither can stop staring at the other. Like stars in the night sky, it’s so hard to look away from something so wonderful.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he tells her. “I have been since the day it snowed in October, and you started a snowball fight with me on our way out of the office.”

“You lost horribly,” she says, laughing at the memory. Reid had been stunned by the unseasonably cold weather, and after hearing that he’d never had snow days growing up in Vegas, she promptly lobbed a snowball at his back. The ensuing war had been short, marked by short ceasefires so she could attempt to demonstrate proper snow packing techniques. As a term of surrender, he’d bought her hot chocolate, and the day was among her favorite memories of their friendship. This night would certainly have its own place in the rankings.

Spencer simply brushes her hair back, smiling at her. “I think I won, in the end.”

“Isn’t this technically against the rules?” she asks, thinking she should’ve read those fraternization policies a bit more closely.

“Mmm, probably. I suppose that makes us… what is it Garcia always calls us?”

“Partners in crime,” Y/N laughs. “I never thought that would be so true.” It’s absolutely worth it, she decides, because, “I love you, too.”

-

At breakfast the next day, Spencer seems visibly happier, and she can’t help but feel delighted at well. Once or twice she swears she catches Morgan looking at them funny, but she brushes it off. The older agent walks over to Reid and whispers something to him that makes their resident genius turn as pink as a pair of Garcia’s heels. Y/N is hoping things are still okay, until Morgan catches her on her way out the SUVs.

“Congratulations on finally breaking all that sexual tension. I thought you two were never going to get a clue. But hey, I guess life imitates art?” She’s tempted to slap the smirk off his face, but then Derek adds, “Thin walls, Y/L/N. But don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

[identybeautynet]

Black In Fashion 2021

Black In Fashion Only black is the new black: a cultural history of fashion’s favorite shade When the group Time’s Up encouraged all actresses and actors who would walk the Golden Globes red carpet to dress in a show of solidarity against sexual harassment of women in Hollywood and other workplaces, the color it asked them to wear was black. On Jan. 30, a group of women in the US congress followed their lead, donning black for the first state of the union address by president Trump, who has himself been accused by numerous women of sexual misconduct. There is nothing about black that inherently signifies protest, but really no other shade would have sent so clear a message. There’s a reason country legend Johnny Cash also chose to wear black as a reminder to Americans of the everyday injustices in their midst. Black clothing has an undeniable power. Unlike red or green, which represent specific wavelengths of light, black isn’t exactly a color; it’s what we see when an object absorbs all visible wavelengths, putting it in a category by itself. Its singular darkness has a unique visual potency, and its adaptability has long made it open to interpretation by the numerous groups that have adopted it. Black connotes seriousness and diligence, as in the black worn by religious orders. It can be sinister or rebellious, like the black cloaks of witches or the black leather jackets worn by biker gangs. In many cultures, it’s the color of mourning. But it can simultaneously be the epitome of chic and sophistication, yet charged with eroticism. All these qualities have given black a distinctive position in fashion enjoyed by no other color. The Little Purple Dress is not famous. “Yellow tie” is not a recognized dress code. Only black will ever be the new black. Black is in Among the endless variety of colors and combinations that fashion retailers stock, black is a perennially popular choice. In a recent analysis of more than 183,000 dresses retailing online in the US, retail technology firm Edited found that about 38.5% were some shade of black, making it by far the most common color available. Only about 10.7% of dresses came in the second-most popular shade, white. EDITED Edited’s representation of the dress colors currently retailing online in the US. At the moment, black’s popularity also appears to be surging. According to Edited’s data, black dresses sold out in far greater numbers in the first few weeks of January 2018 than during the same period last year. Edited did point to Time’s Up having an effect, though it’s difficult to pinpoint exactly what’s fueling the trend, since an increase in the availability of black clothing online predates the movement. From the third quarter of 2014 to the same time in 2017, Edited found that black clothing for women grew substantially at a number of fast-fashion brands—by 269% at Boohoo, 145% at Zara, 114% at H&M, and 89% at Forever 21. Katie Smith, the firm’s retail analysis & insights director, attributed it to the brands “using black to try and establish longevity of their ranges, and appeal to a wider customer base.” The numbers speak to the breadth and endurance of black’s appeal. It works with every skin tone, every body type, and is generally a safe choice for a purchase—because even if demand for it ebbs, it never goes out of style. AP PHOTO/FRANCOIS MORI Naomi Campbell in classic black on the Louis Vuitton fall-winter 2018 runway. A cultural history There’s no official start to the modern popularity of black in European and American women’s fashion. Historically it’s been a signifier of grief, dating back to at least the ancient Greeks. But it has also been widely coveted for its appearance. In his book The Story of Black, critic John Harvey notes that, though the Romans principally dyed clothing black for mourning, there are indications they prized it for its stylishness. In the 16th century, there was a vogue for black clothing—then notoriously expensive (pdf)—among Europe’s wealthy, from Spanish nobility in the south to Dutch merchants in the north. But a convenient turning point in black’s more recent reign arrived around the early 20th century. That, Harvey writes, is when black “came to centre stage.” The spotlight fell squarely on it in 1926, with the introduction of Chanel’s famed little black dress. THE MUSEUM OF MODERN ART/MARTIN SECK An array of Little Black Dresses from the Museum of Modern Art’s “Items: Is Fashion Modern?” exhibit. Just prior to that period, black was the standard uniform color for domestic servants and the “shopgirls” who staffed retail shop floors. Social norms, however, were losing their trappings of formality. Sportswear was beginning its rise, and hemlines already climbing higher, as young society women moved away from eras of lavish, restrictive gowns. Shelley Puhak describes in The Atlantic how the upper classes co-opted the easy, modern shopgirl style for themselves. “By the early 1900s, socialites who wanted to appear especially youthful and edgy donned little black dresses,” she writes. When Vogue put a sketch of Chanel’s simple, practical black dress on its cover in 1926, calling it “The Ford” of a woman’s wardrobe, it seemed to make official a new era in women’s clothing. It also promoted black as smart, elegant, attractive. AFP/GETTY IMAGES Coco Chanel lounging in black in 1944. In addition to fashion, black had another powerful force helping it to stand out: film. “The other great promoter of the Little Black Dress was the camera, especially the movie camera,” art and costume historian Anne Hollander wrote in her excellent 1984 essay (pdf). A novel world of entertainment, romance, and movie stars was opening up to an eager public—all in black-and-white. The brilliance of black Black’s effect on the eye gives it an irresistible visual appeal. “A black dress seems to make the body neater and smaller and to unify the parts,” Hollander declares. “Since many bodies are not slim and lack either perfect harmony or absolute coordination, a black dress can help give them that delicious resemblance to a stretch limousine that seems so desirable in the present fashion climate.” Yet black has a remarkable tendency to be distinctive without overshadowing the wearer, in a sense amplifying the person. Hollander points to a scene in Anna Karenina, where Anna attends a ball. Tolstoy describes another woman, Kitty, remarking on her black gown. She realizes that Anna could not have worn lilac, that she was most alluring when she stood out from her clothing. “And the black dress with luxurious lace was not seen on her;” Tolstoy writes, “it was just a frame, and only was she seen.” While it’s not exactly analogous, a recent study of male birds-of-paradise reveals an intriguingly similar power in their black plumage. The birds are well-known for their bobbing courtship dance, but according to the researchers, it’s actually their coloring that determines their success in mating. The mostly black birds raise their wings to form a light-absorbing field, causing their other colors to appear all the more brilliant. “The juxtaposition of darkest black and colors create to bird and human eyes what is essentially an evolved optical illusion,” explained Harvard University evolutionary biologist Dakota McCoy. “This study shows us that black makes us glow.” On male humans, black is often seen as dignified and levelheaded. In his Book of the Courtier, a sort of guide to life in the aristocratic courts of Renaissance Italy, Count Baldassare Castiglione states that black is the preferred color for a man, or at least something dark. Harvey points out in The Story of Black that black has been the standard for men’s evening wear since the 1810s, in large part thanks to the advocacy of Beau Brummell. The name may be familiar to some men. He’s widely considered the inventor of the modern men’s suit and a sort of founding father of contemporary menswear. AP PHOTO Sean Connery on the set of the James Bond movie “You Only Live Twice” in 1966. Black’s hold on high-fashion AP PHOTO A black chiffon cocktail dress from Balenciaga shown in 1957. In the decades since Chanel’s compact black number graced Vogue‘s cover, numerous designers have adopted and elevated black for their own purposes. Cristóbal Balenciaga used it for his elegant, architectural silhouettes, and Yves Saint Laurent for his androgynous “le smoking” women’s tuxedo. In the latter half of the 20th century, it became closely linked to fringe groups and rebellion. Bikers and beatniks donned black. Then, the Japanese design wave of Issey Miyake, Yohji Yamamoto, and Rei Kawakubo of Comme des Garçons made a new art form of the black look. Fashion journalist Suzy Menkes asked Yamamoto what was behind his well-known predilection for black in a 2000 interview for the International Herald Tribune. Yamamoto’s response has evidently summed up the feelings of black’s devotees so well that it has circulated for some time on social networks such as Tumblr and Instagram. ”Black is modest and arrogant at the same time,” he said. “Black is lazy and easy — but mysterious….Black can swallow light, or make things look sharp. But above all black says this: ‘I don’t bother you — don’t bother me!'” Given black’s adaptability and allure, it’s little wonder it remains a popular choice for all sorts of styles today. Black-obsessed artisanal menswear designers deploy it for their exquisite leather jackets. Designers such as Ann Demeulemeester have gravitated toward its romanticism, others like Balmain’s Olivier Rousteing to its sleekness. Black colors fancy cocktail parties, and goth kids match their clothes to their black eyeliner as readily as socialites thrown on black for a night out. By all indications, its attraction isn’t diminishing. We’ll be flying the black flag for years to come. Black In Fashion, Black In Fashion, Black In Fashion, Black In Fashion, Black In Fashion, Black In Fashion, Black In Fashion Read the full article

[imaginesmai]

Tony Stark-Feeling old

Requested by anon. I know your request was a little bit different (they are already together), but I just got carried away with this idea, I hope you don’t mind!

Plot: you say something that tiggers Tony’s inners insecurities and doubts. 

“Oh, daddy” you cried out, arching off the bed and squeezing Tony’s dick inside you. You bit your lip and let your cheeks be flushed while you came down from your orgasm; and when you looked up to Tony, your eyes were half lidded and dreamy.

Tony wasn’t smiling. At all.

He was frozen in place above you, on arm braced against the headboard of his bed, the other hand still loosely wrapped around your neck. His own dick was rapidly softening inside you, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull out, or even move at all.

Your smiled faltered, and the last few moments seemed to catch up with you all at once.

“Oh my god” you gasped, and pushed him off of you quickly, scrambling out of the bed and frantically trying to look for you panties between the clothes on the ground. “I – fuck, can we… forget this? I’m, fuck, sorry Tony – I didn’t , I wasn’t –“

You groaned and hopped up and down as you shimmied down your way into the tight skinny jeans, not being able to look at Tony. You just wanted to get out of there, as soon as possible and forget what you had said to the man you had been sleeping with for almost four months then. Screwing everything up was a good definition for what had just happened.

“Um, I think, I have things – yeah, you don’t… I –“ Tony flinched at his own choice of words. “I’ll get FRIDAY to call you a car”

When you looked back, Tony had the heels of his hands on his eyes, rubbing at them and laying on his back. The AI replied softly, unaware of the situation inside the room. You winced at the word ‘taxi’, as Tony would always drive you back to your apartment once you had finished; if you didn’t stay the night. Which, lately, was becoming an habit.

“Thanks” you muttered, pulling your hoodie on over what appeared to be Tony’s Metallica old shirt, yours then. “I’ll call you. Or text you, yeah”

You stepped into your sneakers and ran a hand through your hair in a half hearted attempt to settle it into place. Looking at him once more, Tony hadn’t changed positions, and didn’t make any attempt to stop you. So, a few seconds later, you took your backpack and bolted from the room, whispering a quick goodbye.

The door slammed shut, Tony sat up and then fell back onto the mattress. Curses and shouts left his mouth when he heard the front door shutting too. He grumbled and rolled over a few times, until he buried his face in his sheets. They still smelt like sex, and you. Sweat, his Axe deodorant, and coconut shampoo.

“She called me daddy” he grabbed one of the pillow above his head and threw it across the room, knocking over a pile of science journals he had been meaning to look over.

“She did indeed, sir” FRIDAY answered, robotic voice completely neutral.

“I’m not her father’s age” he moaned. “Am I?”

“You are, in fact, two years older than Mr. Y/L/N father” FRIDAY supplied helpfully. Tony was sure he could hear an attitude in her voice, probably a few lines of code he needed to adjust.

Tony grabbed another pillow and put it over his head, drowning out the AI’s voice trying to fix it saying that he wasn’t as old as your granddad. If he couldn’t hear the damned thing, he didn’t have to think about the fact he was much older than you, older than your actual ‘daddy’. He burrowed into the mattress and tried not to think about it, but it was impossible.

Yes, he knew he was older than you. It was all legal, you were a student from college that he had interned a while ago. And yeah, he was aware that the more he thought about that, the more he was thrusting idly against the silk sheets beneath him.

He hadn’t had a chance to cum, and he was hard again. Hard over the same girl who had called him ‘daddy’. Which actually daddy was younger than him

Rolling out of bed, he headed into the bathroom, opened the shower and twisted the knob on the shower to a temp just above freezing.

Once there, he started thinking. He had met you when he had been forced by Pepper to give a presentation to college students, something about looking forward to the future and search for every opportunity that comes your way. Honestly, Tony had been too busy staring at you to focus on what he was saying. While his mind went on autopilot and he told all those old jokes and motivational advices he knew by heart, he sneaked glances at you; and at the end of the day, he had managed to invite you to his pent house to take a look at his lab.

Tony had never met anyone as passionate in their hobbies as you, and the idea of getting into your pants quickly became an offer of interning with him. He ended up destroying two prototypes of his newest job the next week, when he fucked you against the desk. And he had enjoyed every second of it, from the late nights talks about nanotechnology to the arguments about Star Wars. The age difference hadn’t bothered him, until that day.

Stepping out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and checked for messages; none new, no missed calls. Just a notification from your name appearing recently in one of the newspapers that usually gave Tony problems. Frowning, he clicked on the pop up and swiped his thumb around the screen.

“The fuck?” Tony jabbed at the screen and zoomed in as much as he could without the photo going blurry.

You were sitting at a coffee shop, hunched over a mug with a boy next to you. He had his arm wrapped around your shoulders and was leaning in close. Now, he wasn’t the jealous type, because he trusted you, and he vaguely remembered the guy from one of the your classes.

It didn’t stop the annoyance as he read through the screen the comments about a possible break up or another fail from his part. His heart clenched painfully on his chest when he suddenly was surprised by a hand on his shoulder.

Tony grabbed a half busted gauntlet he had been tweaking from his bedside table and whipped around, training the pulse cannon at the intruder. Once he saw the annoyed chocolate eyes, he sighed and slumped down, dropping the weapon.

“You think it’s funny? Scaring me like this?” he scoffed, glaring at Rhodey. “I have a heart condition, don’t make it worse”

“I’ve been calling you for a while now” he shrugged. Rhodey wasn’t wearing his normal suit for meetings, instead dressed down in soft grey joggers and a black hoodie. “I thought Y/N was spending the night in?”

“You have just missed her” Tony snorted and headed into his closet to put on some clothes. He wasn’t worried about Rhodey watching him; his friend had seen much worse. “She left before I went into the shower”

“You never let her leave alone” Rhodey clucked his tongue. “Trouble in paradise?”

Tony felt his stomach clench. He hadn’t thought until that moment that, maybe, you were upset about it. Maybe he had been a little bit rough; he was a hard man to love, he knew, and he had hoped to control himself for your sake.  

“We didn’t fight” Tony argued weakly, pulling on an old shirt worn so thin it barely felt like wearing a shirt at all. “We just had a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding? About what?” Rhodey changed his weight from one feet from another, and crossed his arms.

“None of your business” Tony tugged an oil stained pair of sweats and balled up his towel, throwing it in his friends general direction.

“What, couldn’t get it up?” Rhodey sniggered. “I mean, really, at your age it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re old enough to be her father, she should understand.

Tony’s stomach fell farther at his friend’s remark. Usually, Rhodey joked about the age gap with him on multiple occasions, and it hadn’t bothered him before. The mechanic busied himself with stripping the sweat soaked sheets off of the bed, turning his back on Rhodey so he couldn’t see the hurt on his eyes.

“Oh god, really?” he gaped at Tony, and then laughed. “That’s it, you don’t have like, stock in a company that makes little blue pills?”

“What? I don’t have one of those, and you know it.”

“You’re a billionaire, I’m sure you can afford to buy it” Rhodey walked behind him as Tony rounded the bed. “Listen, at your age is completely normal that your-“

“Listen, it’s not cause I’m old” Tony snapped, facing Rhodey. “Well, I guess it sort of its”

Rhodey blinked at him and nodded, waiting for Tony to continue.

“It’s because she called me daddy” he sighed.

“And?”

“And nothing!” Tony twisted the sheets in his hands. “Y/N called me that and I freaked out, so she ran out of here”

“I gotta say, you’re kind of surprising me here. I thought you were some kind of millionaire playboy”

“Billionaire, playboy philanthropist” Tony corrected automatically. “What does that have to do with my problem?”

“You never did any roleplay?” Rhodey picked up a small glass seal that rested on the shelf and inspected it, as if he wasn’t talking about sex with his best friend. “The whole daddy thing isn’t even that odd”

“It’s not the same! I am old enough to be her dad!”

Through the years, Tony had seen every and each kid of kink. He had been asked to tie someone to bed until the ropes left bruises, had seen some weird toys, and had done it in the weirdest places. With you, he had felt the need to be extra careful, and many times had put your needs before his own; just showing you the worlds of pleasure was enough for him.

If it was true the ‘daddy kink’ was one of the thing that turned you on, he couldn’t help but feel even more turned on.

“It’s not like her calling you daddy changes any of that” Rhodey pointed out. “You want my impartial opinion? As if I hadn’t seen you having sex on the roof while I landed with the helicopter?”

“Not really”

“Talk to her” Rhodey waggled his phone at Tony. “I’ve seen the article, and I’m sure she’s upset. Go there and comfort her. And if she wants to go with whole daddy kink, well, just jump on the boat. You’ve done worse”

Rhodey exited the room between laughs just as Tony threw his knotted up sheets at him, missing by inches.

For once, Tony Stark put his pride and opened your chat.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One talk later, thirty minutes of ride back to his place, and scattered clothes around the place, you could say Tony and you had worked out your differences.

“You want to be a good girl for daddy?”

You sucked in a harsh breath, and nodded eagerly. The hard mattress was starting to feel uncomfortable under your naked front, and you swore you were getting bruises just for how hard Tony was driving inside of you. But you couldn’t, or didn’t want, to stop him just yet, so you moaned instead of complaining.

With a pitiful cry, you half begged Tony to move a little bit faster; because even if his trust were powerful, he was pulling in and out really slow.

“Do you want me to move faster?” he breathed against your ear, and pressed his body against your back. “You know how sorry I am for earlier. Just ask me what you want, baby”

“Daddy” you bit your lip, and caught his brown lust-clouded eyes over your shoulder. “Please, daddy, move faster”

Beads of sweat were running down his forehead. His arms hurt from being up so much time, and his legs cracked awkwardly each time he made some weird movement. Complying, Tony moved his hips faster and accommodated his arm so that it was under your waist.

He tugged you upwards, and soon you were meeting each other in the middle. With one final cry, your walls clenched around him and he spilled himself inside you. His weight fell to your right, and you had to take a few seconds to catch your breath before even moving your face to look at him.

When you did, he was already doing so. His fingers had travelled to your hand, and were intertwining themselves little by little.

“I’m sorry about earlier” Tony whispered. “I just – well, I guess I freaked out. With the whole age thing”

“I don’t think daddy has anything to do with age” you chuckled and finished linking your hands. “I’m sorry if it bothered you, it wasn’t-“

“Hey, none of that” Tony frowned. “Now that we’ve done it, I wish you had told me sooner. This is… amazing. Best sex I’ve ever had”

You laughed, and Tony’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much. When he was with you, he felt as young as ever. He was happy, without worries, and felt as if he had the world between his arms. While you talked about everything and anything, he couldn’t help but to admire you.

The little dimple on your cheek. That wild strand of hair that framed your face. The excited eyes that brightened up his life. The way your voice rose when you talked about something funny. He didn’t have to look down to your naked body to know he was in love with you.

“I like the way our hands fit perfectly” Tony blurted out, interrupting you mid-sentence. “I like the way we fit together, actually. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere apart from here”

The look on your face at his words could have been frozen and stared at for all the years to come, according to him. Inching closer, you leaned into his side until your noses were touching, your breathes mixed and your sight was blurry with each other.

“I love you” you pecked his lips once. “and I” twice “don’t care” another time “about the age difference” one more “or about what some newspapers say”

“I know” he chuckled, and pulled you close for a full kiss. “And if I’m to say, I feel honoured to be your daddy”

“I think I love hearing you say it” you purred, and moved your hand up to his arm.

“And I think I love you more”

That night, Tony Stark felt anything but old.

Slow sex/love making & “I like the way our hands fit perfectly ” From my prompt list  Smut and Fluff

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[prolestariwrites]

The Wish [2]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Vergil, Nero, V, Lady, Eva, Sparda, OC Rating: General Tags: Family, Humor, Fluff, Angst, Typical demon hunting violence

Summary: A demon gives Dante the chance to have his greatest desires made real. When he finds himself in a seemingly idyllic life, all seems well until it starts to unravel. Will he sacrifice himself to save the family he lost, or will he choose to give them up for the truth?

Now Posted: Chapter 2, in which Dante hunts for clues and to who he is, and where he is, when he reconnects with a long-lost relative.

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Chapter 2: Pictures and Clues

Dante spends a full ten minutes just sitting on the bed in his underwear. He reviews every step of the night before: Nero texting him about this job, catching the train to Fortuna, the two of them driving out to the warehouse with the radio blaring and picking up burgers on the way. Then the demons, dozens upon dozens, that weren't difficult but packed to the brim so that when they pried open the front door of the building they swarmed like roaches.

He had found the queen at the top, but there it gets fuzzy. It talked to him, but about what? Something about his family? Every time he gets to that part, his headache turns a little sharper, so Dante decides to give thinking a rest so he can figure out where the hell he actually is.

His jeans are slung over a chair so he grabs them and fishes inside for his cell phone. It's different from the one he normally has, and he frowns as he turns it on and finds a passcode. He tries the first thing he can think of—1, 2, 3, 4, easy enough—and luckily it works. Quickly he dials Nero's number, but isn't really surprised when the automated voice comes on the line to tell him that number is not in service.

Dante scratches the back of his head. He's here, in a strange house with a woman who knows his parents, and Nero is… somewhere. Got it.

But then he wonders if something might have happened to Nero. What if he needs his help? Then this has got to be a dream, right? So how does he wake up?

Once he pulls his jeans on and finds a t-shirt in the other set of drawers, he tries the door. Cautiously he opens it, but the house is quiet, so Dante slips into the hallway. There are two other bedrooms and a bathroom which look suspiciously normal. Even the closets are tidy, and Dante snorts when he gets to the linen closet. This must be a dream. Who owns so many towels?

Next, he heads downstairs to the main floor. At the bottom is a living room, complete with a comfortable-looking sofa and a big-screen television. Dante stands in front of it and admires it for a minute before grabbing the remote control. He lets out a low whistle when he sees the picture quality, thinking if this is a dream, he's got good taste.

That demon's got good taste.

Dante shakes his head and continues his search. A small dining room is to the left, and to the right is a hallway leading to another half bath. The kitchen is nice too, the dishwasher humming and a pot of coffee warm on the counter. Even the refrigerator is stocked, and Dante helps himself to a piece of chicken he finds in a plastic container, figuring he can eat whatever he wants in a dream.

Out the kitchen window he can see a little backyard, and Dante sighs as he leans against the counter and chews thoughtfully. It's a nice enough house, something any ordinary couple might buy for a starter home. He glances down at the gold band on his finger, holding it up so he can examine it closely. Setting the chicken down, he wipes his hand on his jeans and slips it off, turning it over until he notices an inscription on the inside: Dante and Lir Forever.

He pictures the cute blonde who was half his size but acted more than familiar. "Lir," he murmurs out loud, slipping the ring back on as he looks around.

Wandering back through the house, Dante notices some pictures sitting on the windowsill in the living room. He walks over and picks up the first one, his face going a bit pale. He is in a suit, and that woman‚ Lir, is in a wedding dress. They are posed and smiling in front of a cake, holding a knife together as if to cut it. He turns it over but there's nothing out of the ordinary about it, and Dante snorts as he sets it back down again.

The next few are of them as well: a selfie in winter gear, posing in what Patty would call "Sunday attire", in bathing suits at a beach, arms around each other and grinning at the camera. He's gotta admit, they look pretty good together. His brain did a good job dreaming this girl up.

The next photo, however, feels like a punch to the gut. It's a double-sided frame on a hinge, and on one side it's him and a man who looks exactly like him, only his hair is slicked back instead of hanging in fringes around his face. In fact, he looks exactly like what Vergil would look like. If he was still alive.

Dante's hand shakes as he examines the picture. It is Vergil, it's got to be, the same slightly slimmer build and the half-inch in height that made it possible to tell them apart. The only thing that shocks him more than seeing this picture is the one opposite. Across from Dante and Vergil posed with small smiles is Vergil and Lady, her hand in his arm as they smile into the camera.

Gripping the picture frame, he grabs the next one and braces himself. Staring up at him are two people he somewhat recognizes, as if he had seen them in a dream. They are older, in their 60s maybe, the man grinning with his arm around his wife, sitting together on a couch. He has longish silver hair, not unlike Dante's, a pair of glasses hanging around his neck. Her blonde hair is swept up into a bun, streaks of white only making her more dignified, her hand on the man's knee. Dante brings the picture up so close his nose nearly touches it, and that's when he realizes that the woman is a dead ringer for Trish, if Trish was about 40 years older.

His cell phone rings in his pocket, startling him out of his examination. Dante fumbles for the phone but freezes when he sees the name Vergil appear on the screen. It takes another three rings before he gets the courage to answer. "Yeah?"

"Did I wake you or something?"

Dante staggers to the couch and sits heavily, still clutching the two pictures in his hands. He knew what to expect, but nothing could have prepared him for hearing that voice on the other end. "Dante," it says again. "You there?"

"Y-yeah," he stammers, his voice cracking around a dry throat. "Verge, is that you?"

"Of course it's me. I want to talk about tonight." Dante's eyes close as he listens, trying not to freak out. Even Vergil's exasperation for him is the same. "I'm paying for dinner, and I don't want to hear anything about it. We need to settle this now so we don't argue at the restaurant."

"What uh…" Dante's mind is spinning and he shakes his head to clear it. "Yeah uh, Lir mentioned something about a dinner. Do you know Lir?"

"I'm surprised you forgot, Dante. Usually you remember these sorts of things." Dante leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he tries to breathe. "This dinner tonight is important and I don't want a scene. Just let me pay for it, and afterward we can agree on how you'll pay me back your half. Agreed?"

Dante swallows thickly. "Yeah, yeah that's fine. Vergil. Vergil."

Even saying his name gives Dante the shivers. "Well I expected more of an argument. Glad you're going to listen to reason. Don't be late."

"Wait, Verge?" Dante looks down at the picture in his hand, something hot and tight tickling his throat. "Can I see you? Can you come over?"

"What for? I'll be seeing you tonight, and I have the kids. Are you sick? Where's Lir?"

"She covered a shift," Dante replies. "Please, Verge, I got… I need to say some things."

"Well say it tonight. I'm not driving all the way over there when I'll see you in a few hours."

Dante chuckles, swallowing tears as his breath escapes in a laugh. "Okay. Yeah. Hey uh, is mom and dad… they really gonna be there? At this dinner thing?"

There is a long pause, and then Vergil huffs, "Don't be stupid," before hanging up on him.

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The rest of the afternoon Dante spends figuring out his life. He finds photo albums in the closet, handmade scrapbooks that Lir definitely made. They chronicle some of their vacations, and he smiles as he turns the pages to see them camping, at the beach, at Disneyworld. The wedding one makes him wince a bit, the smiling faces of his brother and his parents making something in his chest tight. The date on the preserved invitation tells him they've been married about ten years, which is pretty funny since the longest relationship he's ever had was about ten minutes after getting dressed.

He looks weird in a suit, and Dante snorts to think what Lady or Trish would say if they saw him. But Lady is there, on Vergil's arm, and that is a mystery he can't wait to solve. And Trish kind of is there, in the form of his mother, looking slightly older but just as lovely.

There is a drawer in the desk in the office that has some bills, and he boots up the computer to take a look through. The email is pretty normal, receipts from online orders and utility companies, messages from the family and people he doesn't know. There is a link to a bank account and Dante's brows lift to see the balance. Compared to his normal finances, the amount seems like a small fortune.

There must be something a god of fortune can give you.

A cat appears suddenly, jumping onto the desk and stalking across the keyboard to plop across his arms. Dante pulls back in reaction, which earns him a very annoyed look from the cat. "Hey uh, there," he says, tentatively reaching out to pat its head.

The cat snaps at him, and Dante rolls his eyes. He never got along with animals as a rule. "So you want to sit on my computer as I'm using it but I can't pet you, hm?" he grumbles. The cat yawns in response, so he decides to go find lunch instead.

There's not much more to discover after having a sandwich. His life seems completely ordinary, although he doesn't know exactly what he does or even if he's still in Red Grave City. The other question still to solve is Nero. If Vergil is alive and married to Lady, then does Nero even exist? His face goes a bit hot to think of the kid not being around. But Vergil had mentioned kids on the phone… is it possible?

He is dozing on the couch and watching television when the door bursts open. Dante is on his feet and reaching for his guns that aren't there when Lir hurries in, her arms filled with dry cleaning as she comes like a whirlwind into the living room. "I'm so sorry I'm late! I can't believe I got stuck there! I told them I couldn't stay, and now look at the time!"

She pushes the clothes and plastic into his arms and pulls her cell phone from her purse. "Did you take a shower yet? You still need to shave. You are going to shave, right? You can't look like a sasquatch at the party."

Lir looks up at him expectantly, and Dante shrugs. "Yeah, I guess?"

"Good. Wait. Are you okay?" She steps up and presses a hand to his forehead. "You were sick this morning. How do you feel?"

"I'm okay," he assures her. "I had a weird dream."

She smiles, and his heart actually skips a beat. His brain is good. "Good. Did you feed Claudius?"

"Claudius?"

"Yes. The cat." Lir laughs and pats his chest. "Was he a problem today?"

Dante thinks about the cat that interrupted his computer search. "No. And no, I didn't feed him."

"Okay. I'll take care of it. You go shower and get dressed. And don't take too much off, you know I prefer a bit of facial hair." She takes the dry cleaning from his arms and pulls one of the hangers to hand back to him. "Here's your shirt and pants. I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Yeah." He watches her step around him, draping the rest of the clothes over the back of a chair before disappearing into the kitchen. If this is a dream, it's more vivid than any he can remember.

The shower feels good, even if Dante is amazed by how many things are on the shelves. He's never lived with a girl but is there anything needed really other than a bar of soap? In one of the drawers under the sink he finds a shaving kit and goes to work before the shower fixing up his face just like she asked. It occurs to Dante that this is his dream and he can do whatever he wants, but something makes him not want to disappoint her, so he makes sure to leave a nicely trimmed beard while removing the rest from his cheeks and neck. Once the shower is hot, he goes for the least-strange sounding soaps before finishing up and drying off with a nice fluffy towel.

He peeks into the bedroom and finds it empty. Quickly he hurries over to the bureau and opens the top drawer, rummaging around for some underwear. Dante just has his first foot in when Lir enters, and he yelps when he sees her. "Hey! I'm getting dressed!" he protests.

She freezes and looks at him in surprise as he pulls his boxer briefs up. "Yeah. I see that." With a laugh she moves to the closet and hangs the rest of the dry cleaning up before disappearing into the bathroom.

Dante frowns before he remembers, they are married. He rubs his hand on his face with an internal groan. He is going to have to get used to this as long as this dream or whatever lasted, including being half-dressed in front of her. While she's gone he quickly pulls on the dark slacks and gray dress shirt before heading to the closet. He finds some black dress shoes he figures Lir will like, and once he's all ready he stands and looks at himself in the full-length mirror that is propped against the wall.

Dante barely recognizes himself without the low-slung denim and some red leather, but he figures he still looks pretty good. As long as he looks better than Vergil, he'll be satisfied, chuckling to himself at the thought. But then he sobers a bit as his stomach turns, wondering what it will be like to see Vergil again. The last time was on Mallet Island, and before that, watching him fall off the Temen-ni-gru. Did that even happen in this place? There had to be a Temen-ni-gru if Lady was here, right? He shakes his head, confused as ever. He needs to figure this out, and fast.

Lir steps past him, again dressed in only a bra and panties, and Dante quickly looks the other way as she pulls her dress over her head. "Will you get this zipper?" she asks as she steps into a pair of heels.

Clearing his throat, he steps up behind her and carefully pulls the zipper up as she smooths her hands down the front. It's a sleeveless blue little number that fits her just right, and when she turns around to fix his collar he admires how nice she looks. "Okay," Lir smiles. "You ready to go? Dinner with the family is always interesting."

Dinner with the family. "Yeah, I'm ready," he grins. Maybe the mystery-solving can wait until after seeing them again at least. Couldn't hurt, right?

[dragonshoard]

Don’t Leave Me (With a Smile) Chapter 1

Charlastor 1920s AU AO3 Link

Summary: New Orleans, 1926. Charlie Magne was the daughter of old money. From the city to the stock market her family had their hands in every pot. In her parent’s ideal world, she was to marry into a wealthy family for connections and continue her mother’s work with the city’s richest, but Charlie never wanted that. Her father was a reasonable man, she could make him see things her way... maybe (though her time was ticking).  

Alistair was a coincidence, a happy happenstance. And her way out. She shouldn’t have been surprised when she fell in love with him. Before, it had been enough to know that he had loved her. 

(If you could call the dark, twisted thing in his chest love)

i’m sorry for any typos ahh

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From the glittering skyline to the bustling streets, New Orleans was truly the place to be if you were anybody. Jazz was the city’s lifeblood and the nightlife was flooded with the clarinets and trumpets playing in tune, drawing in people from miles away. 

Men and women dressed to the nines walked the streets, laughing and sometimes dancing their way to their destinations whether it be to another club or the coffee shop still open down the block. 

Similarly, a small group consisting of one man and two women, just at the start of adulthood, barely squeezed their way past the door of a small cafe into the winter air, clutching onto their hats and fur coats respectively. 

“I don’t know why we don’t do this more often!” The blonde with a brilliantly powdered face smiled through the cold, viciously happy to be surrounded by friends and free of the demands of her parents, however temporary it may have been. 

Her clothing was, perhaps, slightly too conservative to have someone call her a “flapper”, but was well within the style. She was fitted in a gorgeous black dress with golden accents and embroidery in a geometric pattern that shimmered in the streetlight. It covered her arms with sheer golden lace and came up to cover her collar bone. The signature sequin tassels swayed at the cut off just below her knees. Covering it was a beige fur coat that screamed wealth. 

Perhaps she was a bit sheltered, but it had yet to cause any issues. Well, besides the teasing from her friends that ranged from funny to rather ruthless at times. 

“You want me to answer that or ya wanna keep walking, Charlie?” The laugh that followed was loud enough to turn heads. 

The young man in question was visibly taller than most people, in general. He was roughly a head taller than his companions. White hairs artfully laced through his slicked back brown hair despite his obvious youth. His eyes were a warm brown, complementing the slightly tanned skin. 

“I know I don’t get out a lot, but things are changin’, Angel! Daddy’s been getting more clients downtown, so he doesn’t come home as much as he used to… Mama’s been really busy too but she’s also willing to give me some leeway…” The girl directed her beaming smile at him as she hurried along down the sidewalk, nearly running into a pole when she turned back around. 

“Careful! You don’t need a bump on the head to ruin your night! And, honestly, do we have to call you that Martin?” 

‘Angel’ gave her a sharp smile, looking every bit the shark that many had claimed him to be. Charlie was, of course, aware but chose to redirect the two of them to other topics. Even if it meant drawing attention back to herself. 

“I’m fine, Vaggie! You worry too much!” Charlie smiled down brightly at the dark haired woman who had pulled her away from what may have resulted in a very tedious evening. Vaggie had sun-kissed skin with dark eyes that looked nearly black in the low lighting. She had been her first (and at times her only) friend that her father had approved of. 

“Says the one who tried to slip in past the broads that you know you couldn’t have fit a quarter in between the three they were so close together.” Angel smiled even wider, before looking over to the side and waving at a group of people across the street.

Charlie’s smile dimmed to a more mute, yet still appropriately impish, grin before she tucked into Vaggie’s side. “It’s just - I’m so excited! Can you blame me?” 

The answer differed from the faces her two friends made at her. One entirely endearing while the other was more… over it, for lack of better words. Charlie frowned a bit, mostly for show. 

She tried to justify herself. “Lights, crowds of dancers, and all the latest music.” She popped up, almost twirling in place. “It’s just so glamorous, and Daddy has been home for days now, and you know how he is,” she drawled, smirking almost innocently up at the tall “Angel”.  

When “Lucifer” (as many of his business partners had taken to calling him) was home, he preferred older tunes that practically put Charlie to sleep. She could barely find moments where she could put in her records or turn on the radio to listen in without her Daddy hollering for her to turn that trash off. 

Charlie’s father was a charming and charismatic man, when he wanted to be. He treated his daughter as if she was the most precious object in the entire universe. The amount of photos stuffed in nearly ten photo albums from ages zero to three showed the dedication he had towards his little girl. 

And perhaps that was the reason it had become a problem, especially as of lately. The only good thing that came out of the attention these days was that it extended the time she spent in the house and not out finding a husband. Even now, he was hesitant about giving her away and having her no longer in his sights (perhaps that was why he was looking so meticulously, to find someone that may easily fit under his thumb). 

“If you ask me, your pops has got a few screws loose up in his noggin. I mean, come on, you’re twenty-one! Practically an old maid, and he hasn’t even let you go out on a date!” He laughed, hand casually hooking her away from Vaggie and into his side, squashing her into his fashionably striped suit. 

They were nearing the club, the music growing audibly louder from the sidewalk. 

“I’ve been on dates before!” 

“Honey, being chaperoned by Daddy dearest who makes it a point to play with the steak knife ain’t exactly what I would call a date.” He flipped his hair up, tilting his head down so Charlie could see the near mocking grin painted across his features. 

“Lay off her, Angel. I don’t see anyone coming to ask to date you.” Vaggie put a protective hand on Charlie’s shoulder and practically yanked her away from him. 

“Aw come on; don’t be such a tart, I didn’t mean any harm by it! I’m just saying that’s it’s not natural. She should be goin’ out! Having the time of her life! Not sitting home all day doin’ whatever her ‘daddy’ wants her doin’,” he made a derisive hand motion, rolling his eyes.

A sly grin took over and Charlie knew exactly what he was going to say. 

“If you’d just let me introduce you to some of my friends - “ 

“You mean some of your family, Matra - “ 

“Shhush!” He nearly jumped over them to cover both of their mouths, regardless of the fact that Charlie wasn’t even saying anything to begin with. It drew a few lingering eyes to their party. “You want me to get ganked? You can’t say that type of shit in these parts.” 

Vaggie didn’t look particularly apologetic and simply shrugged him off, opting to pull Charlie along with her. She gave him a smug look as they stepped up to doors that barely seemed to contain the music inside. 

“‘K, but seriously toots. I got a cousin that goes by Arlo. He’s a bit of a sap, but he’d treat you right.” 

“None of you would get Daddy’s money if he didn’t approve, and I’m not so sure he’d be happy getting involved with your family.” 

New Orleans wasn’t as bad as, say, Chicago or New York when it came to gang or mafioso violence, but it wasn’t the cleanest either. A politician had been mysteriously “removed” when he’d attempted to go after one of the organized crime rings. 

Angel pouted at that, “Come on, you’ve known me for ages! You think I’d set you up just for the money?” 

They both looked at him with the most unimpressed face they could individually pull. Charlie was the first to let up and laughed as she waited for the entryway to clear. 

A man smoking against the wall gave Charlie a second glance, confused but with a look of vague recognition crossing his features. He opened his mouth, likely to ask if they’d met before, only to be cut off by the tall mafioso whose eyes felt like daggers going into his skin. 

The man quickly turned away and Angel seemed to do a one-eighty, once again smiling at his friends as they were finally able to push open the doors. 

“Welcome to the Lodge! It’s been open for a few years but they added a few ah features that made it more popular over the last couple months.” 

Charlie’s eyes seemed to glimmer as she took in the large space, absentmindedly taking off her coat and hanging it to the side. The Lodge was absolutely luxurious, from the wallpaper to the nearly reflective wood flooring. The band was booming, but not loud enough to drown out the laughter and chatter that was a testament to the hall’s popularity.  

“Oh my - “ Charlie was practically hopping in place, excitement practically vibrating off of her. 

“Hey! Careful, lets not get separated, okay?” Vaggie, being the voice of reason and caution, was quick to hook elbows with Charlie, the only thing that had kept the girl from shooting off into the crowd. 

“Aw, come on, there’s a ton of people here! Not to mention the bulls in literally every corner.” Angel discreetly let his eyes wander around the room as he leaned against a pillar. 

If anyone were to pay close attention, they would notice the men in unremarkable suits lingering near the bar and every little hideyhole you could think of. It made Charlie shift, unsure of how to feel about the knowledge and and slightly concerned. If any of them were in her father’s pockets she was so dead. She ducked her head at the thought, almost attempting to hide via Vaggie despite their height difference. 

“Speaking of the ‘bulls’, should we be concerned,” Vaggie questioned. “I’d rather not get arrested or hauled away in a cab tonight.” 

“Don’t worry about it! They’re the reason the club gets to keep their juice.” Angel was quick to get distracted by a handsome fellow on the other side of the club. “I hate to cut this gaggle short, but I got some tail to catch, if you get my drift. See ya ladies later!” And with that he was off in the other direction. 

Vaggie was thoroughly unimpressed and neither of them looked surprised. Charlie couldn’t help but shake her head. It was a common trick he pulled after they’d all been to a few places; always looking for a guy to end the night with. Charlie admired his boldness; however, couldn’t imagine herself dating so many men, much less having sex with them. 

And it wasn’t like she was there for any of that nonsense to begin with. She was there to dance.

“Come on, Vaggie!” 

The look of sheer panic on her friends face was telling, but it didn’t stop Charlie from dragging her to the packed dance floor. Charlie knew that her dancing was a bit intense for her friend’s (most people, really) liking, which is why she usually ended up dancing solo, but it didn’t mean that she couldn’t make them try for a while before they wore out. 

Charlie tapped her slight heels to the dance floor, tuning into the beat and began shimmying sideways until her hip bumped Vaggie’s. Her glittering smile almost effortlessly brought her friend out of the doom and gloom the thought of dancing with Charlie had put Vaggie in. There was some exasperation, but it was mostly fond. Charlie would take what she got.  

Giggling, she did a small spin. Her feet followed the basic steps of the Charleston to warm up, surprisingly considerate of her reluctant dance partner. Charlie gave Vaggie a mischievous smile that Vaggie had come to know as the turning of the tide against her favor. 

Heart pounding already as Charlie began to speed up, smiling so wide that her face was beginning to hurt: one foot to the side, back and forward. The music seemed louder like this, as if it had drowned out everything else: from the slight static of the stereo someone seemed to be playing in the background to the dancers who seemed to have begun to back away. 

So engrossed in her own movements, she didn’t notice when Vaggie tapped out, unwilling to try and compete with her. And even had she been paying attention, she wouldn’t have noticed that she had caught someone’s eye in a unique way. 

A man, who had taken the invitation for a night on the town by a fellow colleague and had been regretting it deeply, was watching her with the hungriest gaze anyone on that side of New Orleans had ever seen. A tall man with slicked back dark brown hair in a fairly tailored pinstripe suit with a burgundy tie to match similarly colored dress pants. His eyes looked nearly red in a certain light, pulling the look together flawlessly. 

A few years ago, no one would have noticed him, but these days he was too public for at least a few people to recognize the voice of the Alistair Trahan. 

He watched as she pulled up her dress every now and then to perform a kick or jump. His grin grew in glee as she practically leaped across the dance floor, feigning falling a few times only to skip and tap away unscathed. The grace in her movements was uncanny. 

She teetered in between stages of nearly falling and stability so often, he wondered how she hadn’t become dizzy from the whiplash. Perhaps it was the danger that bid her to prefer the dance style (or maybe she just enjoyed it). 

Her energy was something he had rarely seen before. What made it even more energizing was how she never stopped smiling no matter how her dress clung from the sweat that must have been pouring off her in waves or how those heels must have been a pain to dance in. 

She caught his gaze for a split second and those eyes. Dark and piercing as they were compared to his own dreadful gaze. He imagined what it would be like to have those eyes on him and only him. 

He raised a hand to his face, surprising himself when he noticed how flushed he was. He was brought back to reality when he noticed that the band had stopped playing. She was practically glowing as she panted, looking victorious in her stance (and a part of him imagined it as a form of armor, and he wondered what she would look like bound in steel). 

It would be a pleasure to pull apart that cheerful manner and see what was underneath it; see if she was just as golden inside as she was out. 

His mood dimmed slightly (though his smile didn’t show it) when he noticed that another woman had tucked herself into the personified sunshine’s side. 

It seemed there were obstacles that needed to be removed.

[wordywarriorwrites]

Chapter 16: Exsanguinate

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn  A03 Story Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites​ Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration with the prompt, “Why did you do it?” & @sherrybaby14 Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge with the prompt, “Show me. Prove that you can handle me.” Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities. *Re-blogs are welcome. Plagiarism isn’t. *

It had been five months since the sit down in Bermuda.

Twenty-three uneventful weeks since Fury said his goodbyes. 155 days since the leadership restructure was cemented. 3,720 profitable, peaceful hours, and Steve hadn’t been required to do anything more than provide status updates to Natasha.  

But the respite ended via a hand-delivered missive he’d hoped -- in vain -- not to receive.

An envelope made from heavy paper stock; his name etched in calligraphy across the front; a wax seal with a bygone coat of arms for the Families on the back; and inside, a hand-carved announcement that displayed birthday celebration details for James Buchanan “JB” Barnes. As a standing member of the Families, Steve was required to make an appearance and pay homage. He couldn’t ignore or decline it, because if he did, it would be an insult, and he had no desire to deal with the fallout or consequences of issuing a mere -- albeit well-deserved -- snub.

All arrangements had been made in advance, and the only thing Steve had to do was arrive on time, and comport himself appropriately. Seventy-two hours later, he was off to New York, and during the five-hour flight, he meticulously planned and timed everything. Get there at nine; shake hands and make nice with the appropriate people; appear in a few photos to prove he’d been in attendance; duck out before they cut the cake; and be back in the West Indies before anyone noticed he’d left.

It should’ve been that simple, but as with all things concerning the Families, it wasn’t.

Thor hemmed-and-hawed and attempted to push one of his less-than-stellar newbies off on him. Tony wanted his opinion about the cops they had on their payroll and whether or not they should be compensated even more because of the additional heat the expansion brought on. Clint needed to know if there was a more expedient and cost-efficient route for shipments, and if he had a preferred contact at the Port Authority out his way. Wanda insisted on going over the quarterly financials, and wanted to introduce him to a man she guaranteed would be a perfect match for him professionally and personally.  

By the time he’d extracted himself from the Families and their nonsense, Rhodey, Carol, and Scott had arrived. They weren’t obligated to make an appearance, but they’d surprisingly showed up, which meant his escape timeline got thrown off even more. It was his duty to make appropriate introductions on their behalf, and those presentations had to be finessed and unhurried. Sam had also tracked him down, and though Steve enjoyed catching up with him, he really just wanted to leave.

“He wants to see you,” Natasha informed as they posed for the photographer. “Privately.”

“Not going to happen,” Steve bit out through his faux-smile.

As soon as the camera stopped flashing, Steve dropped his arm from around Natasha’s waist, and placed his untouched champagne flute on a nearby table. He eyeballed the nearest exit and checked the time on his phone; it was fifteen-minutes to midnight, which meant the guest of honor would arrive soon, and he needed to get gone.

“Don’t even think about it,” Natasha warned.

Her veiled threat was easily ignored, but he wasn’t able to disregard the arrival of two, fully-armed security guards. Whether Steve liked it or not, they would fulfill their orders, and he knew they had no qualms about using force. Since it was neither the time nor the place to cause a scene, Steve chose to go quietly, and followed them to the elevator. The three of them flanked him all the way up to the penthouse suite and announced their arrival by two-way radio. Another bodyguard opened the door and patted him down before they were ushered inside.  

The entryway opened up to an expansive room with tasteful artwork, expensive furnishings, and floor-to-ceiling windows. A flat-screen television was mounted above the fireplace with a built-in wet bar on one side and a chaise lounge on the other. A glass-top desk was situated to the left of the sofa. To the right was a set of stairs, tucked behind a half-wall that separated the bedroom from the rest of the space.

A muffled rush of water; a turn of a doorknob; a heavy footfall. Bucky was heard before he was seen, and when he stepped out of the bathroom, Steve pointedly kept his eyes focused on the skyline view.  

“Anything else you need, Boss?” one of the guards asked.

The dismissal must’ve been a silent one, because a few moments later, all three hired guns left the room. Natasha stayed behind only long enough to remark that she’d left the paperwork on the desk, and then, promptly departed. As soon as the door was closed and they were alone, Bucky poured himself a drink, took a seat, and picked up the folder.  

“I want you to take a look at this,” he ordered.  

Steve sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, “What is it?”

Bucky’s clipped response of, “Take a seat and see for yourself,” set off all sorts of warning bells in his head. The glare he received when he impolitely snatched the file out of Bucky’s hands didn’t bode well, either, and Steve barely got through the first two pages of the dossier before his knocking knees forced him to sit down hard in a chair on the opposite side of the desk.

With the death of the betrayers and Fury’s departure, the entire matter should’ve been put to rest, but Bucky apparently had an axe to grind, and hadn’t let it go. Based on what Steve had reviewed, he knew the additional skeletons in the closet had been uncovered on Bucky’s order, and as he continued to read, he learned the Families had been exceptionally and dangerously thorough.

They’d found Steve’s connection to Phil and paid both him and Bruce to go down the rabbit hole. The two of them had pulled on every, single thread until the entire web unraveled. Every misdeed and act of duplicity had been unearthed, and it showed that at one time or another, each member of his own crew had either sold out, overthrown, or was somehow indirectly or even outright directly responsible for the death of their previous Bosses.

The only person Rhodey, Carol, and Scott hadn’t betrayed was Fury, but that didn’t matter, because their past transgressions were being seen as a preview of things to come. They’d been in the game awhile, but didn’t have generations upon generations of history and convention and blood keeping them loyal. And the Families – well, they believed one bad apple could spoil the whole bunch, and given what Maria had done, they weren’t going to allow anyone else the chance to stab one of their own in the back again.

It was the reason for the pre-arranged travel. It explained why Thor, Tony, Clint, Wanda, and Sam had monopolized him from the moment he’d arrived. It clarified why everyone Steve had introduced his people to had been curt or downright indifferent. Natasha had purposefully extracted him so he couldn’t save them, and under the guise of protecting the Families interests, Bucky had them wiped out.

People had been informed. Funds had been re-distributed. Contracts had been drawn up. Sam, Bruce, and Natasha would be sent to the West Indies as replacements. The only thing left to do was ensure Steve signed off on the already-completed execution orders.

He couldn’t say he was surprised by the turn of events, but the last few pages did shock him, and the formal verbiage in the declaration was clear. Should Steve wish it, he could vacate his seat without penalty, keep what he’d amassed, and receive an even better retirement package than what Fury had been given. If he didn’t fight it – if he kept his mouth shut and put ink to paper – he would be free.

“You’re going to let me go?” Steve wondered incredulously.  

Bucky retrieved a pen from his pocket and placed it on the desk, “Don’t mistake this for anything other than what it is.”

“Then, why?” Steve demanded lowly. “Why did you do it?”

“Because you’re mine,” Bucky asserted as he polished off his drink. “And I don’t let people fuck with what’s mine.”

Steve closed his eyes and shook his head. Those words would have made him drop to his knees five years ago, but now? Now, those words didn’t mean shit to him, because they didn’t come from a place where statements like that should come from. It wasn’t primal instinct, passion, or hell, even affection that made him say it.

The man sitting across from him wasn’t Bucky anymore – he was JB – Boss of bosses.

And this was just business.

He nodded his head toward the contract, “You said you were ready. So, show me. Prove that you can handle me.”

“No,” Steve bit out as he tossed the paperwork down on the desk and got to his feet. “Not this way. Not like this – not now, not ever.”

Bucky stood up, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he retorted. “And on top of that – go fuck yourself.”

When the gun was unholstered, Steve didn’t even flinch; instead, he made himself an easy target, extended his arms, and tauntingly jutted his chin.

“We’re not friends and I sure as hell do not belong to you. So, come on, JB, do it – pull the trigger.”

Bucky’s three-piece suit, Steve’s faded jeans, and two pairs of unflinching, narrowed blue eyes. An opus of bitterness; a symphony of raging regret; a sonata of past sorrows; a melody of carnality atop silk sheets. The tick, tick, tick of the miniature grandfather clock on the desk and a hiss as the air conditioner kicked on. The faint scent of cigars from a previous sit down mixed with a hint of bourbon.

“I think you should reconsider the offer,” Bucky equivocated. “And how you speak to me. I’m not a man to be trifled with.”

“If you were any kind of man at all, you wouldn’t have even put that piece of shit contract in front of me,” he fumed. “It’s an insult and you know it.”

“You never could separate business from pleasure.”

Steve pressed his lips together and swallowed hard. It was a sucker punch and he refused to react to it. With nothing more to say, he headed for the door, but before he left, he paused at the threshold. If he walked out, there would be no turning back, but before he resigned himself to that cold fate, Steve looked over his shoulder at Bucky one, final time.

“You’re right, I never could separate it,” he acknowledged quietly. “But at least I would’ve put you first.”

What the slack-jawed, wide-eyed expression on Bucky’s face meant, Steve would never know, because with those parting words, he opened the door, and walked out.

Chapter 17: Deliverance 

Everything: @jennmurawski13​​​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth​ The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety​ @captain-rogers-beard​ @lilliannaansalla @captain-s-rogers​

[virtual-lara]

Irish Times - Cyberbabe Gets Real

Article appeared on the Irish Times website, dated to 23rd June 2001, and was written by Steven Poole, author of 'Trigger Happy: The Inner Life of Videogames'. Article features a look into the history of Lara and what she is as a character.

It's Valentine's Day, 1968. In a hospital in the south London neighbourhood of Wimbledon, a daughter is born to Lord and Lady Henshingly-Croft. The girl has a drawerful of silver spoons in her mouth. Between the ages of three and 11, she is privately tutored at home; she then attends Wimbledon High School for Girls and Gordonstoun.

At the latter, she discovers a passion for rock climbing in the mountains of Scotland. (She also takes up shooting, but is soon banned for showing "too keen an interest".) By the time she is 18, everyone can see she has a wild streak, but her parents believe she can be thoroughly civilised - and eventually married off to the Earl of Farringdon - after three years at a Swiss finishing school.

While in Switzerland, however, the young woman takes to extreme skiing and spends a holiday pursuing the sport in the Himalayas.

On the return journey, her plane crashes deep in the mountains, and she is the only passenger left alive. Somehow she survives and, two weeks later, staggers into a mountain village. By this time, the course of her life has changed. She feels truly alive only when travelling alone. Lara Croft has decided to become an adventurer.

Or you could look at it this way: Lara Croft was born on the screen of a computer in an English video-game studio in 1995. First, she was a pencil sketch on paper, then a series of more detailed illustrations. Next, her vital statistics were plotted on a VDU screen. Thousands of triangles meshed together to build a computerised outline of a female form.

At this stage, Lara would have looked like a sculpture in chicken wire. Then the figure was "skinned" - wrapped in shaded, coloured surfaces to approximate a clothed human being. Lastly, she was animated: taught to walk, somersault, run and pull herself up on rocky ledges. Virtual worlds were also built around her to test her physical abilities to the limit.

Lara Croft and the Tomb Raider franchise are the products of Core Design - the game-development studio where Lara was born - and Eidos Interactive, its British parent. The man who fathered her was an artist in his early 20s called Toby Gard.

"When I came up with the idea for Tomb Raider," he says, "it wasn't necessarily going to be a female character. We wanted a real-time cinematic game, and I designed a couple of characters; one was a girl, one was a bloke. Eventually, we realised there was going to be a lot of story element in the game and we couldn't keep both the characters, so it was back down to one." So which should they choose? At the time, a female lead in a game was almost unheard of, Gard says. "There was resistance from marketing quarters, saying that female characters never sold."

Eventually, Core chose Lara as a refreshing antidote to the muscled meatheads that usually populated video games. And boy, did she sell: 26 million units, and counting, earning about $1 billion gross in retail sales.

Having turned her back on the upper-class society of her parents, who terminated her monthly allowance in disgust, Lara metamorphosed into a modern-day Indiana Jones.

For her first commission as a professional tomb raider, she was hired to retrieve the three parts of a mysterious artefact known as the Atlantean Scion. Hurtling through Peru, Rome and the lost city of Atlantis (well, it wasn't lost any more), Lara negotiated booby traps and shot a variety of wildlife, including rats, tigers and, alarmingly, a tyrannosaur.

In later quests, she travelled to Venice, Tibet and the Great Wall of China, snuck around the US military institute Area 51 and battled goons in the London Underground. Along the way, Lara was constantly learning. On the trail of a weird dagger that could turn you into a dragon, Lara discovered that she could climb walls, flip through 180 degrees while jumping or swimming, and wade into shallow pools of water.

By the time of her next adventure she could even get down on her hands and knees - in order to negotiate low tunnels and ventilation ducts - as well as monkey-swing from walkways and run much faster than she ever had. She could even blink. The programmers at Core extended Lara's capabilities with each new game, exploiting the fact that she had become a star.

Every year, another sequel popped up just before Christmas and went straight to the top of the video-game charts. Meanwhile, Eidos, Lara's parent company, was becoming a stock-market darling. In 1998, the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, named the British firm the world's fastest-growing company, and in the summer of 1999 Eidos's share price was trading at a delirious high of $18.20.

Lara Croft, we must note, has brains as well as beauty. She is said by her biographers to have penned several travel books, including A Tyrannosaurus Is Jawing At My Head and the follow-up, Slaying Bigfoot. But she clearly does not read the newspapers or watch television, for in none of her adventures do we see any awareness on Lara's part that she has become an international media darling.

The first wave of Lara coverage came shortly after the game's 1996 release, with David James, the Liverpool goalkeeper, explaining to the London Times that he was playing badly because he had been staying up late playing Tomb Raider. In 1997, U2 used specially commissioned digital footage of Lara in action on their Popmart tour.

Lara appeared in comics, and plastic action figures of Lara sold like hot cakes. The original game had appeared on both the Sega Saturn and Sony PlayStation consoles, but Sony soon signed an exclusivity deal that meant episodes two and three would appear only on PlayStation.

Then came the acme of media acceptance: Lara on the cover of the Face in June 1997. Not only was this the first time the style magazine had used a digital person on its cover, it was the first time it had allowed an image to interrupt its red masthead. Newsweek, Rolling Stone and Time soon followed suit, and a video for the German pop outfit Die Artze, featuring Lara fighting with members of the band, went heavy-rotation on MTV.

Marks & Spencer produced a range of Tomb Raider III merchandise. Douglas Coupland, the writer of Generation X, contributed to a fey devotional tome entitled Lara's Book. In November, 1998, Tomb Raider and its first sequel were awarded Millennium Product status by the British Design Council.

In 1999, Lara - or rather Core Design, won a BAFTA for her "outstanding contribution to the interactive industry". In 2000, filming began in England on the imminent Tomb Raider feature film, budgeted at $100 million and starring Angelina Jolie. You can now, if you wish, clothe your children in nattily miniature Tomb Raider threads.

Perhaps the cleverest marketing coup was the association, begun in 1999, between Lara Croft and Lucozade, the orange liquid that used to be thought of as medicine for the sick but reinvented itself through the 1990s as a sports drink.

The latest advert has Lara pausing for a friendly Lucozade with her enemies while the player's back is turned. This summer, in order to tie in with the feature film's release, Lucozade will be labelled "Larazade".

They probably call this "synergy", but it works because Lucozade is a product one can imagine Lara using, even if it is unclear where she might find a bottle in a dusty tomb. Jeremy Heath-Smith, the managing director of Core Design and head of global development at Eidos - who, despite Eidos's financial difficulties, was last year paid $3.5 million thanks to a long-standing royalty agreement - says: "The fact that it's a health-giving energy drink matched Lara's profile exactly. I'm not sure Irn-Bru could have the same effect, as nice as Irn-Bru is."

Lara is careful about who she's seen with, for obvious reasons. We can be confident that she would never endorse fruit-flavoured alco-pops, or depilatory creams. But the Lucozade partnership is a marvel of mutual reinforcement: association with Tomb Raider and Lara helps to sell Lucozade.

In his novel Idoru, cyberpunk writer William Gibson imagines Rei Toei, a Japanese-engineered virtual celebrity who rebels against her makers and plots to find herself a physical body. In fact, the Japanese did have a virtual media star in 1997. Software programmers collaborating with Japan's leading modelling agency, Horipro, created Kyoko Date, the world's first digital pop singer. But sales of her debut CD did not live up to expectations. Why? Her face was a combination of features mapped from photographs of famous models; her singing voice was taken from one woman, her speaking voice from another; and her dance moves were digitised from the performances of real dancers. She was far more detailed and "realistic" than Lara Croft was at the time - but in a sense, Kyoko Date looked too real.

Our idoru does not fall into this trap. Lara Croft is attractive because of, not despite, her glossy blankness - that hyper-perfect, shiny computer look. She is an abstraction, an animated conglomeration of sexual and attitudinal signs - breasts, hot pants, shades, thigh holsters - whose blankness encourages the viewer's psychological projection.

Beyond the bare facts of her biography, her perfect vacuity means we can make Lara Croft into whoever we want her to be. If the computer-generated Lara Croft ever became too photo-realistic, too much like an individual woman, says Heath-Smith, "you'd lose some of that feel for her". The plans to finesse the character design for the next-generation Tomb Raider game, coming to Sony's far more visually powerful PlayStation2 some time next year, are "to smooth her off without changing the aesthetics that work".

But will these aesthetics be influenced by the performance of Angelina Jolie in the Tomb Raider film? Lara's creator, Toby Gard, rather approves of the casting. "Yeah, Angelina Jolie certainly looks the part," he says. "She has that certain wild quality which is important - that's what I had in mind." Jolie, we are told, performed most of her stunts; emulating the acrobatic, gravity-defying grace of her digital counterpart in the unforgiving real world resulted in injuries to her knee and shoulder and torn ligaments in her foot.

Bear in mind Lara has already been impersonated by several flesh-and-blood women without danger to her virtual hegemony - the models and actresses Rhona Mitra, Nell McAndrew, Lara Weller, Lucy Clarkson and Vanessa Demouy have all stepped into the boots for promotional appearances. Lara Croft, the virtual character, is the Platonic ideal: a human actress can give a better or worse account of that ideal, but she can never embody it fully, still less outstrip it. In that sense Lara is more like a creature of time-fogged legend than a contemporary "personality".

The rise to ubiquity of Lara Croft came as a surprise to her digital dad. "I never expected to have that happen," Gard says. "You know, as a designer, I'd gone through my life making sketches for these characters, and you think they're yours - then you realise they're not yours at all."

It was the massive success of Lara, in fact, that prompted Gard to leave Core Design and set up his own company, Confounding Factor, before the second Tomb Raider game appeared. "Other people were just doing things with her I didn't agree with," he says, guardedly.

He is working on Galleon, a game he promises "will have the same effect as Tomb Raider had in terms of how far ahead of everything else it's going to be".

It will be interesting to observe how Lara Croft ages. If the franchise is still going in 2020, will she be raiding tombs at the age of 42? There seems no reason why not. What allowed Lara's extraordinary success, after all, was the fact that Gard had created not a singular female character but a new archetype: an image so fluid and malleable that she can cross media barriers without appearing to whore herself.

Odd as it may seem, Lara has never been a primarily sexual being. In the immature world of video games, Lara was a revelation. In contrast to the standard near-pornographic portrayal of helpless women characters, Lara was a Germaine Greer of video games. Sure, she showed some skin, but her wardrobe was practical, rock-climbing, tomb-raiding stuff: shorts, hiking boots, vest, backpack. Gard says this was a deliberate reaction to the digital representations of women around him at the time, which persist today: spangly thongs, S&M corsets, strange spirally metal bras.

"I wanted to make sure it wasn't the thigh-length boot-style stuff," he says. "You can't get emotionally involved with a character like that because it has been objectified. Lara, I felt, had more dignity." It wouldn't make any sense, you understand, to describe the dignified Lara as a sex symbol.

Because "sex symbol", if that overused phrase means anything at all, must mean a person with whom you can imagine having sex - however improbable that may be. Angelina Jolie may be a sex symbol. But Lara can't be. It is in principle impossible to have sex with Lara Croft: she is always and forever unattainable.

And, as we have seen, there are far more overtly sexual depictions of women in video games. So all the prurient fans' artwork - the notorious "Nude Raider" images created by boys disturbingly skilled in computer-aided imaging and posted on the net, and all the leering over Croft's breasts in the chat rooms - these are incidental, a predictably perverse subculture of the fan base, not its raison d'etre.

It seems probable that men who like Lara don't want to have her; they want to be her. That's why they play the game. Lara is a symbol, if anything, of aspirational gender reassignment. In both directions. Men who like trying on a female persona, or women, such as Jolie, who like doing what is usually thought to be men's stuff. To paraphrase Damon Albarn of Blur, Lara works for boys who do girls, or boys who like girls who do boys, or girls who do boys.

And perhaps it is this all-things-to-all-people, don't-you-dare-try-to-pin-me-down quality that has ensured her longevity. For it is axiomatic that the jumping, rolling, sprinting Lara Croft is physically inexhaustible. What is surprising is that over the five years of her career so far, she has also proven inexhaustible as an icon.

All rights belong to Irish Times and/or their affiliated companies. I only intend to introduce people to old articles and preserve them before they are lost.

[absentlyabbie]

a family and (mis)fortune fic

on ao3

moments growing up in the life of tommy merlyn, part-time wayne foster child. (two)

—————

January 1993

It had been years since Bruce had seen Rebecca.

The last time he’d seen her face to face had been her wedding reception, and even after years of marriage to Malcolm Merlyn and the birth of their son, Bruce’s first instinct was to think of her as Rebecca Carlisle. She had been more than a decade older than Bruce, but he had only fond memories of her, one of the few old family friends who remained in contact with him after his parents’ deaths. His father, she had told him once, had been the reason she decided to go into medicine.

And now Bruce was in her home, a stone in a sea of black mourners’ suits, searching the tastefully appointed great room’s decor for echoes of the woman whom he had called a friend.

Aside from the photos placed here and there of the small Merlyn family, Bruce found the room empty of her presence, dressed in the coolly impersonal style of a well-paid interior designer, catering to the tastes of someone far less warm and vivid than Rebecca Merlyn.

Someone Bruce would have been unable to pick out of a lineup approached to gladhand him, his name already far too familiar on their lips. Sensing an imminent overture about stocks and mergers, Bruce smiled politely and made slick, quick excuses, slipping away through the crowd of Starling’s richest and most fashionably sad. He picked up a glass of scotch from the tray of a passing waiter, more for something to be seen doing than any desire to drink.

He carried the crystal tumbler like a shield, navigating the gossiping, murmuring crowd less with the aim of getting anywhere particular than being a more difficult moving target. Since pulling into the graveled drive in front of the ostentatiously modern Merlyn Manor, he had begun to wonder if flying out to Starling had been a mistake. There was little here in the way of honoring or grieving Rebecca, most of the attendees seeming to see the occasion as an excuse to socialize with members of their preferred class and goggle over the spectacle of tragedy amidst wealth.

Bruce’s distracted, evasive path took him through an open door and he found himself in a sitting room only a little smaller than the great room. It was less densely populated, mostly by the constraints of the room’s dimensions. By the windows, a circle of black-clad men gathered, all with their own glasses of expensively terrible alcohol in hand.

As Bruce drifted closer, hoping to take camouflage among the flock, he discovered Malcolm Merlyn holding court before them all.

Bruce’s mood soured even further almost instantly, though he tried to stifle it with a healthy dose of shame. The man had just lost his wife, but it was still too much effort to muster a charitable thought about Malcolm, even with Alfred’s chiding voice in the back of his head. On the one occasion they had met, at his and Rebecca’s wedding, Malcolm had made Bruce’s skin crawl in a way unmatched even by some of the nastiest criminals Bruce tangled with at night. There was just something contemptuous and cold blooded about Malcolm Merlyn that not even the most charming smile could disguise.

Bruce would never understand what Rebecca had seen in him.

Now, Malcolm leaned against a wall table like a king slouched on his throne, commanding the attention of his peers with eyes bloodshot and burning hot as coals, the skin of his lips twitching towards a sneer as he expounded on some point or other. Bruce hovered at the edge of the group, eyes narrowing as Malcolm’s words caught his attention.

“—the real problem. Nothing will change, no part of this city can be lifted for the better, until that shithole district is raised from the level of its lowest gutters. Those people live like animals, and they treat each other like animals. They die like animals.” Malcolm’s hand tightened around his whiskey til the crystal squeaked, his voice thickening, darkening as he went on, “They let my wife die like an animal. Like she was no better than the trash they come from.”

The hair on the back of Bruce’s neck raised at the rage running like a riptide under Malcolm’s words, and at the murmurs of agreement rippling through the men around him.

The sandy-haired man standing at Malcolm’s elbow, Robert Queen if Bruce recalled correctly, hummed thoughtfully, eyes on the amber liquid swirling in his own glass. “The city has neglected the Glades for nearly a generation, and I hate to see that this is the results of that neglect. We all throw money at the problem through our foundations and our companies’ charitable arms, but there’s been so little improvement. Even Rebecca’s clinic—”

Malcolm cut him off with a grim laugh. “Her clinic. She dedicated her goddamn life to helping these fucking people, gave up a top rate medical career to treat addicts and whores and help them pump out the next generation of gang bangers and criminals,” he snarled, “for practically nothing. And that’s how they thanked her in the end. With nothing. Like she was nothing.”

More rumblings of concurrence rippled through the men around Bruce, making him take a cool and assessing glance at each face, reach to recall each name.

“As far as I’m concerned, every one of them is as responsible for Rebecca’s murder as the thug who pulled the trigger,” Malcolm went on, all but growling. “Some ills run in the blood, and criminality and apathy is in the breeding, the culture of every part of the Glades. They don’t want to be helped, or bettered. They don’t want to be saved.”

He paused to toss back a slug of whiskey, in the motion catching sight of Bruce out of the corner of his eye. He turned the crowd’s attention with his, gesturing widely in Bruce’s direction with his drink. “You’d know, wouldn’t you, Wayne? Gotham is practically overrun in every corner with this trash, and I’d run out of fingers on both hands before I could stop naming ineffective and corrupt mayors, every one of them promising social change, every one of them steering their city deeper into the shit. Gotham doesn’t want to be saved, either.”

Bruce carefully unwound the tension in his shoulders and put on the affable, friendly mask he’d cultivated for his daytime persona, if a shade more somber. Around the bitterness on his tongue, he answered, “I don’t know that I’d agree to that. I’ve never seen that there’s a one-size-fits-all cure-all to such a complex problem, and I have to admit. It’s always struck me as reductive the way we view that stratum of society from on high and diagnose their problems without ever lowering ourselves to hear about the nuances and possible solutions from the actual people living those lives.” 

Malcolm’s expression got colder and sharper with every word, but Bruce was being as restrained as he could be; after all, the fist in his pocket had not yet introduced itself to Malcolm’s face. Refusing to break from Malcolm’s scalding stare, Bruce went on, “I think Gotham wants to be listened to about what they actually need and who they are, rather than ‘saved’ from themselves. I’d imagine your Glades aren’t any different.”

The sneer that had been twitching at Malcolm’s lips since Bruce arrived finally pulled across his mouth, baring his teeth even as he scoffed. “You make it so painfully obvious how young you are, kid. Shouldn’t have bothered to speak to you like a grown man who knows anything about the world. You better divest yourself of that naive optimism before the world rips it out of your hide, mark my words.”

A scattering of uncomfortable chuckles followed as Malcolm tossed back the rest of his drink, and the fist in Bruce’s pocket tightened so hard he felt his bones creak. Malcolm knew damn well who he was, and there wasn’t anyone who knew who he was who didn’t also know how much younger he’d been when life had killed any naivete he might have possessed.

Before Bruce could swallow his loathing and anger to formulate a response—or better, an excuse to leave—something bumped by his leg and a young child squeezed through the crowd to catch at Malcolm’s sleeve.

“Dad—”

“Not now, Tommy,” Malcolm dismissed irritably, pulling his arm away from the dark-haired little boy. “Go play with Oliver.”

The boy—Tommy—stuck his chin out stubbornly despite the flush of embarrassment in his cheeks and the tears that so obviously spiked his lashes. He reached for his father’s arm again. “But Dad—”

 Malcolm slammed his glass down on the table, making more than just Tommy flinch. “I said not now, Tommy. Do not make me repeat myself again.”

Bruce’s nostrils flared, his throat closing with fury at Malcolm’s display of temper towards his son. Bruce had seen Tommy at the funeral, small and miserable with tear-streaked cheeks as he stood alone in the cold wind through the eulogy and burial. It had pained Bruce to see him so abandoned, with not even a kind butler to hold his hand as his mother was lowered into the ground. It was too easy to see his own heartbroken face overlaid on Tommy’s, or Dick Grayson’s, the boy Bruce had felt for so keenly he’d taken him into his home only months ago.

Bruce took an ill-considered step forward, but at the same moment Robert Queen stepped aside to let a lovely blonde woman, his wife Moira, enter the circle and reach a hand towards Tommy.

“Tommy, dear, Oliver is looking for you. Come with me.” Moira waited until Tommy reluctantly took his hand, and she turned a sympathetic look to Malcolm.

Malcolm visibly swallowed his anger, showing a little of the grief he had buried underneath it. He reached out and squeezed Moira’s arm. “Thank you, Moira. Tommy forgets sometimes that he is not to interrupt when adults are talking.”

Tommy shrank under the warning glance his father cut at him, eyes lowering to the floor before Moira tugged him through the crowd and away.

Bruce’s gaze trailed after them as they exited the room, his disgust for Malcolm roiling nauseatingly with concern for Tommy. Now that he had seen more of the man Rebecca had married, he worried deeply for how the child she left behind would fare alone with his father.

His concern had apparently not gone unnoticed.

“Just wait, Wayne.” Malcolm recaptured his attention with his acerbic tone. “I heard you took in a foster kid recently. You’ll learn about that,” he gestured after Tommy with a roll of his wrist, “too.”

With those dismissive, mocking words, Bruce’s disdain for Malcolm crystallized, his anger going icy. When Malcolm got no answer from him, he returned to sharing his revelations about the poor with his wealthy friends, and Bruce waited only moments longer before he made a careful and quiet escape.

—————

@memcjo @klaus-hargreeves-katz @its-a-pygmy-puffle @keabbs @princesssarcastia @obscure-sentimentalist @icannotbelieveiamhere @p0cketw0tch @andyouweremine @storiesofimagination @acheaptrickandacheesyoneline @cronusamporaofficial @batsonthebrain @adeusminhacolombina @relevanttosomeone

[prettywordsyouleft]

The Only Choice

Summary: As the son of the opposition, you had been raised to hate Kim Jongdae. You had never expected to actually marry him one day though.

Pairing: Kim Jongdae x reader

Genre: arranged marriage au / enemies to lovers au

A/N: thank you @trishmarieco for requesting this! I admittedly had a few ideas for how this could go, and in the end this is the idea that won. I’m hopeful you enjoy it!

Word count: 6553

Your marriage was the event of the year. Not only was it glamorous in every way, boasting a large A-list of affluent attendees and the most expensive designer labelled clothing, you had all the press lined up just trying to catch a glimpse of what they could write or snap photos of that would end up on the front page of every newspaper and magazine cover tomorrow morning. Everything had gone so well, from the I do’s to the reception speeches. Everyone who was anyone would have tales to share about this wedding for weeks on end. You were the faces of the merger between two super companies that shook the entire nation by storm.

By morning, everyone would be talking positively about how your parents had gained the upper hand by joining forces with Kim Industries. There would be no opposition worth fighting now, as they had single-handedly taken that away with your union to the youngest Kim son, Jongdae. Everything was so picture perfect that no one would be talking about how long at war your family had been with the Kim’s anymore. Instead of the headlines wondering who would take out the top spot for the most innovative design of the year, they would now proclaim how much money this marriage has accumulated for both families so far, and how stocks will continue to soar.

In theory, this was the best move for everyone. Even you had to admit it was a well-played card no one had ever considered until three months ago. But your life wasn’t theory based. You had to live it, and well, the last person you wanted to be married to was Kim Jongdae.

From when you were born until that fateful moment three months ago, the only thing you had heard from your father was how much he hated the CEO of Kim Industries. You had grown up with the belief their family was your rival in every way, and you had been a pawn in continuing this trend, competing against Jongdae your entire life. You went to the same schools, you studied at the same university upon graduation, and you shared similar skills in sport. You were on par with him in every way, and now he was your husband. Any other girl would kill for your spot with the handsome man. You half hoped they would just so you could escape this newly made hell. There was no way you were a perfect match for Jongdae and even he had voiced multiple times now that you would never be his first choice as a wife. Yet just as you had, he had put on the best performance of his life at your side tonight. Actually, since the beginning of this scheme, Jongdae had done his part exceptionally well in fooling the nation that you had both fallen madly in love with each other, enabling your parents to push their decades of a feud aside to support your blossoming love. They would merge the companies together instead of battling it out in every aspect. The media had eaten it up and even those in the circles around you had stopped being suspicious of this being a plan all along. It was so well executed that had you not been aware of how fake and awkward the intimacy between you was all along, you would believe that in the pictures snapped of you on all your outlandishly public dates were coming from real passion and not perfect acting.

How long should you both have to act though? The elders in this scheme had gotten what they wanted. The attention of the nation and complete control of the industry. Money would pile up so much that you wouldn’t know what to do with it. You didn’t care for money, for fame, for stability in business anymore though. You held the same dream as most people – to marry for love, to raise children that bore yours and your husband’s resemblance and live the rest of your time on Earth happy and fulfilled by what you could achieve as a person. The scheme had robbed you of such pleasures. The idea of having children with Jongdae was laughable, considering how being physically close to him made you tense and irritable. You might now be his wife, but there was no inclination for you to consummate this marriage. Your parents had sold you off to the highest bidder, however, they had no say on what you did or didn’t do with your womb. You would draw the line there indefinitely.

Besides, Jongdae seemed to share the same thought process. “Ah good, this suite has two bedrooms. I’ll take the master and you have the spare. There’s no way I’m sharing with you.”

“Why do you get the master?” you asked, heading towards the door of the largest room in the plush hotel suite you had just arrived at. Jongdae blocked you from entering. “Move, today has been the most stressful and exhausting day of my life and I want to rest.”

“So do I, and I said I would have this room first,” he mentioned pettily, folding his arms firmly across his chest.

“You’re an adult, there is no such thing as calling shotgun between respectable human beings.” You rolled your eyes. “Ah, I made a mistake, where would I find anything worthy of respect within you?”

“I’ve had more than enough of you today, wife.”

“Don’t insult me with that title,” you spat and Jongdae smirked. “We are merely the receipt of a transaction made by our parents. There’s no need to believe in anything we uttered today.”

“At least we can agree there,” Jongdae said and then smiled firmly. “But because you took my last name, and this hotel belongs to my family, you’ll just have to toddle on off that way to the other bedroom.”

Before you could refute anything, Jongdae was firmly enclosed behind the door of the bedroom, locking it for effect. You groaned and stomped over to the spare room, and threw yourself down on the bed in frustration.

Just how on earth could you get used to being married to your enemy?

You blinked several times, trying to decipher what your father had just said to you. He had called you into his office, almost bouncing off the walls with excitement. He was always like this when something big was happening at work and you had been waiting in anticipation for what he had to say. As someone working your way up the ranks within the company your father owned on your own merits, you had a great deal of interest in how things were run. One day it would be yours to oversee, after all.

But what he had just spoken of had you seriously reconsidering everything you had been working towards. “What did you just say?”

“Kim Industries and our company will become one in just over three month’s time. And you will be the reason we can do so!” he told you again, smiling generously.

“H-how? I’m only a mere member of staff here-”

“Y/N, you know you’re expected for greater things than that office job, right? You are barely tolerated by the other staff there because they don’t want to get fired if they upset you. It’s time for you to play within the big leagues where you belong. And I’ve found you the best partner to do so.”

The information he had given you about your role stung, but you were too confused by what your father was talking about to really allow it to settle within your mind. “W-who?”

“Kim Jongdae, of course.” Your father rounded his large oak desk and came over to the plush chair across from where you sat. He grinned again. It was unfathomable; you had only ever seen this man scowl in disgust at mentioning such a name. Had you stepped into another universe when you came into this room? Or perhaps you had fallen ill. They were much more plausible options than the spectacle before you.

“Dad, are you feeling well?” you asked weakly and he chuckled.

“Never been better, baby girl! Why hadn’t I thought of this earlier when we started looking at suitors for you, I’m not sure. But I’m glad we have now! This is perfect.”

“Suitors? For me?” Your mind was reeling. You were a smart woman, and your brain was already lining up his words effortlessly inside your brain. But you wanted to refuse them immensely. This was your sworn enemy he was talking of! It all sounded nonsensical and your head began to pound with the effort.

“You can’t expect to remain single for the rest of your life. You knew your mother and I were looking at marriage for you this year. And now we’ll have one.”

“Dad,” you said weakly, your eyes wide with fear. “Can you hear yourself? You just said Kim Jongdae is a perfect match for me. We’ve hated each other since kindergarten. You were the happiest person on the planet when I accidentally lobbied a tennis ball right into his face and he sported a bruised eye for two weeks. Surely, you’ve gone mad.”

“Maybe I have, but there’s no better acquisition for this company than Kim Industries.”

“So you’ll sell me off to the highest buyer, is that what this is?!”

“Y/N, can’t you see the good in this?! Business wise this is the best thing that could happen to us. Your life would be set for the rest of your days!”

“My life was already set. And what about what I want? I don’t want to marry Jongdae. Heck, I’d rather marry a monkey before I marry him!”

“From what I read about him before, he’s actually a monkey in the zodiac sign, so maybe you can marry both.”

“This isn’t time for joking around,” you huffed and the smile faltered from your father’s face. Instead, it was replaced by a look you knew all too well, his business face. You shook your head incredulously. “I won’t marry him. Everyone knows how much we hate the Kim’s. Don’t you think the reporters will see right through this scheme of yours? And it is so unlikely that your opposition would even agree-”

“We’ve been in discussions all week long about it. For the first time in thirty-seven years, we actually agreed on something. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Nightmarish,” you corrected.

“Y/N, I know you feel vindicated. I am sure you want to fight this completely. But the adults have agreed here and you will be married with or without your say in it. I must say, it would be far easier for you to just go along with the plan. Refusing this will only make you miserable.”

You stared at the man you had believed to be fair and honest your entire life. Whilst he was being honest with you right now about what he wanted, you felt as if you didn’t know your father at all anymore.

Despite your constant refusal, plans were made and expectations were high of your first performance. You had always been a filial daughter and your public image was a positive one. If you played up now, there would be a lot of damage to your career. More than you’d like to endure. Your goals as a businesswoman relied on your reputation to remain intact.

Even if everything surrounding you was putting you to the greatest test yet.

“Do you honestly believe anyone is going to see this as fact?” you scoffed as your mother flitted around you, smoothing out your outfit. You rolled your eyes at her efforts, soon swatting her away. The buzzing in your head was more than enough to deal with, let alone her hovering. “Everyone in this nation knows Jongdae and I are rivals. No one will believe we are in love.”

“On this first outing together, of course not sweetie,” your mother agreed, smiling at you through the reflection of the mirror. “It will spark curiosity for what you are both doing together though, and that’s what we need. For people to show interest.”

“This all seems ridiculous, why can’t you just merge the companies without needing a marriage to do so?!”

“Enemies don’t just join hands without a sacrifice in between,” the older woman said with a sigh, her eyes for the first time showing signs of sympathy. Towards the daughter she had raised so lovingly to be bold and courageous. The emotions dispersed quickly and you could see now that she viewed you as a necessary evil for the greater good.

You still couldn’t accept this was what you needed to do with your life.

“Well, are you ready for the next two hours of being completely sickened to your stomach?” Jongdae greeted with a forced smile and you swallowed roughly as he sat down at the table in the middle of the bustling restaurant. You had hoped for something more natural for your first date, but the longer you sat across from Jongdae in such a public setting, you realised it was a good idea. That way, you could both sabotage this plan from going any further.

“In your company, anything is possible.”

“I’m surprised you turned up, I heard you were throwing the biggest toddler tantrum over this,” he mused as he picked up the menu casually, and you rolled your eyes dramatically. “What did Daddy promise you today? A new pony? A shopping spree? A trip to Paris?”

“This is why I really didn’t want to sit here tonight. You have no idea about what excites me. Further, I wasn’t bribed to come here, I know that new sports car out there though was the prize for you turning up,” you mentioned sweetly and Jongdae grunted, not denying your claim either. For a moment, you both focused on perusing the menu and ordering with smiles on your faces when the server came over to your table.

Once your meals were in front of you both, you looked quickly over at Jongdae as he cut his steak into small bite-sized portions. It irked you that he had chosen the same meal as you had. Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders. “Want to break free?”

“Why? The food here is delicious,” he said, his hands moving too quickly for you to keep up. The plate that was in front of you that you had barely touched was soon whisked away and replaced with his one, the cut steak now mocking you much like his gaze was. Jongdae smiled in pleasure. “Look, I even helped you and your juvenile self out by cutting it nice and small. Try not to choke on my efforts.”

You could think of many things to choke and your eyes narrowed on his neck for a split second. What kind of game was he playing at? Looking around yourself, you became aware of the further attention your table now held, the women at a table nearby all swooning at how Jongdae had cut up your meat for you. It irked you greatly; you didn’t need help with such a thing. Your hands that had fallen to your lap when he moved suddenly before now clenched up in fists.

“So you have no interest in stopping this ludicrous plan. You actually want to marry me?”

Jongdae’s gaze snapped to yours. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“So we can agree neither of us wants this. So, why don’t we-”

“All the same, my goal isn’t our parents,” he mentioned airily as he cut his steak neatly. He smiled down at his efforts. “It’s to see just how far I can push you.”

“What?”

“I don’t need to worry about the wedding, Y/N. We won’t make it that far because you find the idea of being near me so impossible to endure. I am rather relaxed about this all.”

“You’re bluffing,” you stated and Jongdae arched an eyebrow at you. You blinked a couple of times. “Are you challenging me?”

“Why would I need to? You won’t cope with any of this. You’re barely eating a meal with me. The press will need more than that; they’ll need physical interaction and adoration from us both. You cannot act in my presence so how will you even stand a chance, hm?”

“Are you done yet?” You folded your arms across your chest and smirked. Jongdae shrugged as he continued to eat. “Your lack of faith in my abilities is truly tragic.”

“Says the one who can’t even share a simple meal with me without fussing,” he pointed out and you glanced down at the food you hadn’t touched yet. You speared a piece of the meat he had cut for you and smiled.

You wouldn’t allow him to gloat for long. It would be him running to his father to cancel the wedding first.

Over the next month, you met with Jongdae often. You had been on a variety of dates, each one more intense than the previous one. When Jongdae had first grabbed your hand as you strolled in a park together, you had to resist the knee-jerk reaction to shove him off for touching you without permission to do so. On the next date, it was you pushing his boundaries by snuggling into his side as you watched the ballet. He had taken it too far on the last date by pecking your hand as he dropped you off at work after sharing sushi for lunch. It left you fuming and you were determined to end him today. You couldn’t take any more of being in his company.

And the longer your museum date progressed, the further convinced you were to end this fake relationship. His smarminess had reached an all-time high and every gentle touch along the small of your back grated you further. When you got back into his car, you wound down your window and glanced out irritably. “You’re feisty today, Y/N.”

“Wouldn’t you be too if you were stuck with the most obnoxious person on Earth?” you muttered and Jongdae chuckled.

“Well, do I seem feisty to you? Since the same could be said about you.”

You spotted a familiar sighting from what you had gotten used to on these dates and smiled to yourself, your idea would finally come into fruition today. Turning to Jongdae, you grabbed at his face hurriedly. He jerked back at your advance “What are you doing?!”

“Are you afraid?” you wondered, knowing you had the most opportune angle for a perfect photo. Leaning in so close that your lips were almost flush with his, you tilted your head to the side. With you up this close, Jongdae froze. You smirked triumphantly. “Seems like you are.”

“Are you attempting to kiss me right now? Because you’ve missed my actual lips.”

“I don’t need to kiss you for this to be snapped as one.”

Jongdae’s eyes were dark when you pulled back and sat in your seat with ease. He rushed to wind up the window before continuing. “Was that meant to scare me off?”

“I’m over this game with you, let’s just give up.”

“You just gave the press more than we ever have. It was you who leaned over and fake kissed me. I’m impressed; you’ve clearly wasted so many years watching all those silly dramas on TV to think of pretending to kiss someone.”

“I guess I have put you in a bind, Kim Jongdae,” you agreed, still content with your decision. He had been the one pointing to various sculptures and paintings proclaiming they all looked better than you did. He had even joked about marrying a plump statue over you since you lacked in the chest department. With how much he wanted to escape you, he sure hadn’t done anything about it yet. You had seen the fear in his dark gaze though, and it made you feel at ease. He would end this tonight with his parents.

Instead, he rang to plan your next date. You blinked. “Our what?”

“Did you really think I would be put out, Y/N? You surprised me, I’ll give you that.”

“You don’t want to marry me, Jongdae!”

“You’re not my first choice for a wife, you’re right.”

“So then end it.”

“And be the one who has to deal with both our parents? No thanks.”

You groaned unattractively. “You coward.”

“At least if I was to ever think of using kissing as a publicity stunt, I’d go through with the actual thing.”

“Don’t you dare think of doing such a thing!” you hissed and his hearty laughter filled the receiver. You hung up on him, frustrated that he was holding out just to see you crumble.

Dates continued in the same masochistic manner, both not wanting to be at the other’s side but unable to not be there either. Jongdae hadn’t kissed you, thank goodness, but he had definitely increased his skinship and it was making you very uncomfortable. Your skin would burn from where he held you and you constantly felt on edge whenever you were with him, wondering what he’d do next. You had been so confident with the fake kiss scene in the car, but it had gotten you nowhere. You were already in your final fitting for your custom made wedding dress and a cocktail dress for the reception. Everything you tried to stop seemed to roll ahead with everyone not listening to you. Eventually, you were left standing in a dress that was far too beautiful for such an event. Something as gorgeous as this should only be worn when you could walk down the aisle to someone you actually loved.

“Oh the groom is here!” the designer crooned and tried to usher you behind the large velvet curtain so your dress would be unseen to him. You rushed behind there, panting heavily as you dropped the yards of gorgeous fabric back down so you could balance yourself. Then you frowned. Why had you done such a thing? The jinx of seeing the dress before the wedding might work in your favour. You went to move out again but flinched when someone joined you behind the curtain instead.

“What are you doing?!” you whispered sternly and Jongdae merely eyed you from head to toe. You blushed, not understanding why he was paying so much attention to you right now. A small part of you hoped he liked what he saw. You squashed the mindless thought immediately.

“Don’t stress, I’m only meant to not see the dress if we’re hoping for a positive union, right? I thought of all people you would have stood proudly before me to put as many omens on this gorgeous gown as you could.”

You couldn’t help but bite your lip when he used the word gorgeous. Was your mind weak today because of the magical feeling of being in such a dress? Clearing your throat, you placed your hands on your waist. “All the same, I find it hard enough to be in this dress, let alone be with you whilst I’m in it.”

“Call it a rehearsal.” Jongdae continued to look at the details intently. “You’ll have to do the real thing very soon.”

“Don’t remind me.”

He smirked when his gaze finally lifted up to your face. “We need to rehearse a lot of things for this to be the best performance of our life, right?”

“Because we’re totally going through with this,” you refuted weakly and Jongdae chuckled.

“You look every part of a blushing bride. I think you’re ready to marry me more than you admit.”

“Honestly,” you said dryly and turned away from the mischief within his gaze.

This was your first mistake. Before you realised it, his arms had slipped through yours still poised on your hips and you snapped your face towards his right as his lips found yours. Your eyes grew wide and you didn’t know what to do for a moment.

Jongdae pulled away and licked at his lips. “There, we even practised that.”

“You had no need to kiss me! We’re not in public at all and you have zero permission to do such a thing to me!”

“What about at our wedding?” he wondered, his gaze lingering over the detailed bodice of the dress. “Should I just kiss you on the cheek and call it a day?”

“If we get married.”

Jongdae sighed. “When.”

And it really had happened. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, you both ran out of time and excuses. You had tried to run away pathetically the night before the wedding, yet you were there bright and early for your salon appointment. Somehow you had lost your voice that you had been so loudly using in the beginning of this scheme. Now, you just sat there and did everything that was asked of you.

And when Jongdae was signalled to kiss you, it felt like it went on forever. With your eyes closed, and focusing just on kissing him back, you felt the build up in the back of your throat. Every sensation in your body was awakened with the kiss and it took you immense effort not to ball your hands up in fists as you locked lips with Jongdae for too long. When he pulled away and smiled at you generously, you were stunned. He looked so happy to finally have you as his wife and for a moment you almost believed he truly felt that way.

Almost.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t that hard to get used to living with your husband. Maybe it was because your newlywed home that your parents had organised was just so large that you didn’t have much reason to cross paths. You had your own chambers and he had his. Of course, you couldn’t avoid him most days. After all, there were endless interviews, events, and work to do. But at least when at home, you could relax a little bit.

Most of the time.

“Eat with me.”

You looked up from your computer and rolled your eyes, going back to the project you were in charge of. Although you weren’t happy with how you had gotten to this point in your career, having more of a voice in the workplace actually fulfilled you more than you had expected. You really liked going to work these days.

“Y/N,” he whined and you continued to ignore him. Jongdae stepped over to your desk and sighed heavily. “I don’t want to eat another meal alone.”

“So eat with one of the in-house helpers.”

“I’ve been doing that for two weeks now!”

You smiled. “Then you’re not eating alone. They are people, just like you and I.”

“They have no idea about the new spring collection launch I’m working on. You do.”

“So you don’t want to eat with me, you want to pick my brain,” you concluded, finally looking up from your computer. You bridged your fingers together on your desk and smiled again. “Oh dear, what to do? I have no interest in sharing my plans with you to steal.”

“Why would I steal something we’re both working on?”

He had you there and you groaned. Glancing down at the proposal again, you relented. You had questions for him yourself that you could get to over dinner.

And this trend continued. Most nights you shared dinner whilst discussing plans and changes that were needed for your first project to run smoothly. You had to admit, majoring from the same degree in business administration meant you did have a balanced work ethic together. It became more evident to you when you were at work, seeking him out after meetings to discuss the happenings together. Everyone surrounding you claimed your marital harmony at home had to be the spark behind this amazing collaboration.

You just knew how his mind worked in a business setting and yours complimented his. That was all.

But you had to admit, some days it felt like the lines were blurring. You would smile at him without any forced nature behind it, and when one of his projects took a major production stumble, you had genuinely been supportive for Jongdae. He had worked so hard and you knew how important it was to him to succeed.

When the launch was finally released and sold out within a day, you had rushed into his office, positively beaming. “We did it!”

“It’s all sold out, already?!” he asked excitedly and you nodded earnestly, Jongdae rounding his table so fast and hugging you tightly. You clung to him for a moment, your elation clouding your mind. And when you finally realised where you were, you didn’t get much chance to pull away, Jongdae’s mouth crashing down on yours.

You could have pushed him off, reminding him that this was a marriage of convenience. But the spark of arousal was instantaneous and you leaned into the heated embrace, Jongdae spinning you around and pressing you up against his desk as his lips hungrily explored your neck, his hand slipping down your body and hiking one of your legs up around him. You moaned in pleasure and then a knock on the door broke the spell immediately.

You stared back at Jongdae, wondering just how such an embrace had occurred between you. And why it didn’t feel as bad as you had thought it always would.

You were on edge with each other respectively for a week after the office incident and your mind wouldn’t stop taking you back to that moment in time frequently. Why had he kissed you? His grip on your body felt like he wanted to have you. Yet you were someone he had always claimed he’d never crave in that way. You were so confused that you went into his study after work, too wound up and needing answers.

“Y/N,” he said tenderly and you blinked, wondering why your name sounded so good falling from his lips. He smiled weakly. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh.” Jongdae nodded softly and closed the lid on his laptop. “What’s wrong?”

“Why did you kiss me last week? Why did you have to take me in your arms like that and, and…” you trailed off, feeling your cheeks grow hot. “We don’t have that kind of relationship. We hate each other.”

Jongdae was silent for a moment, staring at nothing in particular. You were irked by his lack of a response until he gazed back at you. The power within his umber eyes almost made you lose your footing. “I don’t hate you.”

“What?”

“I’ve never hated you,” he mentioned and you gaped at your husband.

“Yes, we’ve always hated each other for as long as I can remember.”

“No, you hated me. You’ve always hated me. I never understood why.”

You shook your head slowly. “Because our families are rivals.”

“Is that it? I can’t hate someone because my parents are competitive towards their opposition.”

“You can too; you were competitive towards everything I did!”

Jongdae nodded. “Some things yeah, because you rubbed me the wrong way. But never because I hated you. Don’t confuse competitive with hatred, it’s two very different emotions.”

You looked around the room, trying to decipher what he was planning now. There had to be a catch, he was never this honest with you outside of work. Was there a hidden camera somewhere? Recording you so he could catch something to hold over you in the future? You were decidedly cautious but listened to his words all the same.

“Look at you, even now you’re uncomfortable with me.”

“Can you blame me? We went from being enemies to a married couple who now share a department in the office. I don’t know what to think of you.”

“Without what your parents have influenced you to do, what do you think of me?” You blinked rapidly. Jongdae sighed heavily. “Have you ever once thought of me as someone with the same goals as you? As someone who matches you as opposed to being someone you need to outdo?”

You didn’t answer, your mind racing to figure out what he meant.

Jongdae groaned. “I have. I noticed your ambitions. I realised how level-headed you are in a situation of crisis. You’re intelligent. You treat everyone as equals, apart from me, of course. You have compassion for bettering this world we live in. It touches me knowing you’re such an amazing person.”

“I made you think all those things?” you asked and he nodded. You didn’t buy it entirely. “Then why did you always tease me? Why did you make things harder for me every step along the way?”

“You wouldn’t allow me to be anything but your rival, so I admit, I played the role well. I told you I was excellent at acting, you just never wanted to believe me.”

“So you’ve been actively seeking out my company and not because you want to annoy me?” Jongdae nodded again. You shook your head. “Unbelievable.”

“Can I tell you my biggest secret yet?” he asked and you eyed him warily. He gestured to the chair you held the back of for support. “You might want to sit down.”

“This doesn’t sound safe.”

Jongdae leaned back in his own seat and took a steadying breath. “It wasn’t our parents.”

“What wasn’t our parents?” He raised an eyebrow at you and your eyes widened. “This whole thing?!”

“I’ll admit I didn’t want to marry you in the beginning. When I realised just how talented you were with business strategies during university, I knew I wanted to work with you. I was certain we could create something amazing together. When I loosely mentioned it to my Father, he laughed in my face. That your parents wouldn’t dream of letting you work with me and that he wouldn’t allow me to approach you either. There was too much of a risk if we simply combined our talents together.”

You nodded slowly, agreeing that despite your differences, you had a formidable balance in the workplace that had led to great success already. Your mind wandered back to the passionate moment in his office last week and you narrowed your gaze on his. “Then how did we end up like this?”

“In every transaction weighed with a lot of risks, giving the opponent something worthy to hold onto in case it sours is the best option, don’t you agree? You cannot have something without giving back just as much.”

“That is usual etiquette,” you mentioned and then sighed. “If your father had me as his daughter in law, my Dad couldn’t act rash and overtake your company.”

“Exactly, so I suggested it to him in a way that made him unable to refute it. And by the time it was murmured into your father’s ears, he felt as if he had come up with the idea himself. Our parents agreed with it and thus, everything else you already know about.”

You raised your hand in objection. “Wait, you got a brand new car. Why should I believe you actually wanted to marry me?”

“I had to make it seem like I didn’t actually want to marry you. I needed them to think I was against it in every way possible but for the sake of good business I would be bribed.”

“You played your own parents?” you uttered and Jongdae grimaced.

“It wasn’t that cruel. Besides, they didn’t want to listen to your objections and forced you into this. I figure they are just as guilty as I am for imposing this on you.”

“I just… this is all so much to take on,” you admitted and Jongdae smiled weakly. You then stared at him. “Wait, I’m confused. You said you didn’t want to marry me in the beginning, but then you actually did want to marry me. You claimed I wasn’t your first choice every time I argued with you. Who is your first choice? Why would you go this far just for harmony in making more money? We’re rich enough not to have joined as business partners, Jongdae.”

He didn’t answer, rubbing at his neck awkwardly instead. Your eyebrows shot up and you leaned forward in your seat. “You wanted to marry me?!”

“Well, did you not hear all the things I complimented you over?” he answered meekly, diverting his gaze. “I didn’t have a first choice. You were my only choice.”

“I was what?”

“I didn’t want to marry anyone else. Okay so I wasn’t completely sure from the beginning, but as we started dating and you kept trying to outdo me, I found you really adorable. I didn’t want to end it. And then when I saw you in your dress…” He smiled to himself and you were certain he was revisiting the day behind the velvet curtain in the dressmaker’s studio. “I knew then.”

“Knew what?”

“That I loved you,” he confessed. “That I had loved you for some time too.”

“You really mean that?” you questioned, feeling yourself grow anxious. “I’m asking you if you honestly believe you love me.”

“Being your husband is something I’m happy to be. I love you, Y/N.”

You shifted across to Jongdae faster than your mind was working and kissed him passionately, surprising you both. He pulled you onto his lap and held you close, his mouth hotly exploring yours. The kiss melded from one into the next until you were utterly breathless. When you finally pulled back, you stared into his eyes carefully. Had they always been this warm? Had Jongdae always been looking at you like this? It made you feel so feeble to think whilst you had followed the trend of your parents, Jongdae had given you the chance to be yourself in his eyes. He didn’t judge you as part of the opposition. He searched for ways to separate you from the feud. You felt guilty for only coming to realise his strengths recently. Although, when you looked back over the years, there had been reason for your jealousy – Jongdae was a talented person.

And he was your husband now.

“Do you kiss everyone who admits they love you like that?” he teased and you grinned, shrugging lightly. “Hey! You can’t act like that to me. Not after how much I’ve done to get us to this point.”

“Which is what?”

“You not looking at me like an enemy,” he answered and you nodded softly. “To actually see me apart from our families, and to work alongside me on the first project at work. You don’t know how happy I am right now.”

“Do you think you could show me how much?” you wondered airily and Jongdae smirked, suddenly hoisting you up as he stood up.

“Are you sure you want to challenge me with this? I mean, you tried to take me on in the past and look where we ended up. We’re married and you didn’t want that.”

You kissed his lips before slinging your arms around his neck and smiled down at him. “Well, this is something I might be able to excel in. Let’s see who can outdo who now.”

_________________

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[heartofsnark]

Black Market Wonderland (Chapter One): Down The Rabbit Hole

Notes:  This has been a long time coming, I never shut up about my oc and this idea. But, I’m finally posting this damn thing. This is gonna be pretty episodic and not have a lot of overarching plots, I’m gonna be stealing canon stories and adding my own spin to them as well as adding my own stories. It’s a shitshow and I hope you’ll come along for the ride.  

Special thanks to @catoinette, @otomemonogatari , @d-om , @enchantedbythebidders , @voltage-fanfictions , and @piplup235  for not only reading through and giving me feedback but also being the incentive I needed to actually write and post this. Without you all, this would still be rotting on my computer. 

 Summary:  Almost a year ago Tsuneko managed to destroy her entire life and she’s been stuck ever since. She works as a maid at the Tres Spades in Tokyo; it’s not her dream job, but it pays the bills and puts a roof over her head. Her days are spent peacefully enough cleaning hotel rooms, that is until she stumbles into Wonderland and discovers the secrets lurking within the hotel. Will this turning point be exactly what she needed or a tragedy in the making?

Word Count: 10196

Warnings:  Some blood and violence, people being bought and sold (it’s kbtbb my dudes)

The colors of the sky outside her window are just beginning to shift, soft pinks and purple coming in as the sun starts to set. Tsuneko lets out a sigh and checks her phone again, still no response from Shinobu. While not surprising, disappointment settle in her chest. It’s stupid to be upset, she shouldn’t be so emotional. She scolds herself, setting her phone down a little harder than necessary. Her desk chair creaks as she leans back and lets out another heavy sigh.

Kiyohito is curled up on her bed in a position that doesn’t look comfortable. The dark sable ferret is in a dead sleep with his tongue peeking out, any hope of him being a distraction are dashed. It’s her day off from work and she’s desperate to keep herself preoccupied. Her thoughts wandering is always a danger when she has down time, more dangerous when she’s left to ruminate on the shit show that is her life at the moment.

It’s been almost a year since her life officially went to shit and she started working at the Tres Spades hotel. It’s a glitzy place, the first legal casino in Japan. She’s a maid, spending all of her days cleaning up after people richer and more important than her. And that’s the highlight of her days, besides Kiyo, because otherwise she’s in her apartment just trying to distract herself.

The job itself is fine, given her situation, she’s damn lucky to have it. Good pay, plenty of hours, employee housing, her coworkers are mostly nice, and she even has lots of chances for overtime. But, she can’t say this is what she wanted her life to be. Being a maid isn’t exactly what she dreamed of for herself. Disappointment seems to be the theme of the day and her life.

She’s done her best to be a busy bee throughout the day; her dorm is cleaned, she’s baked, done her laundry, played with Kiyo until he passed out, messed with every entertaining app on her phone, watched any video on Youtube that caught her interest, and messaged Shinobu. Maybe she could try getting in contact with Runa? Not that she thinks it will do her a lot of good, but even getting told to fuck off is more fun than staring out the window.  

Tsuneko stands up from her chair, stretching her joints as she meanders into her kitchenette area. The dorms are nice, like one bedroom apartments essentially. Given how much she likes baking and cooking, a bigger kitchen area would do her some good, but beggars can’t be choosers. She grabs one of the cookies she baked and crams it into her mouth as she begins looking through her fridge. The sweet vanilla calms her nerves, if only marginally. But, she knows what will relax her most.

She groans, she’s out of booze. Of course. Her rum supply ran out last week and she downed her last bit of vodka yesterday. Looks like she’s gotta put on real clothes and stock up. A walk through the city might be nice to clear her mind anyway.

Her work ringtone echoes through the room just as she’s tucked Kiyo into his cage. She scrambles over to desk, stumbling over her own feet to do so.

“Tomori speaking,” she answers, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder so she can pick out a change of clothes.

“Yes, this is Kenzaki, I’m sorry to bother you on your day off. But, we’re short staffed for this evening, between the I.V.C and some people calling off sick. Is there anyway you could come in? You’d be given over time pay, of course.”

“I can be there shortly.” She throws on a tee and shorts, sliding on her shoes.

“Please report to Matsuda when you come in, she’ll give you a work schedule.” She rolls her eyes at the mention of Erika, the head maid has always had an issue with her, what that issue is remains a mystery. There’s still a huge pile of cookies on the counter, her coworkers might appreciate a snack, especially with such a busy day. And eating all of the cookies herself is kind of sad, something she’s done before, but still sad.

She says her goodbyes to Kenzaki as she starts packing the treats away into tupperware, stuffing one more in her mouth. Tsuneko picks out a sticky note, jotting down what’s in them in case of any allergies or dietary issues. Content, she grabs them and heads out the door, double checking her dorm is locked before she leaves.

Working during the I.V.C is like a double edged sword. On one hand, she’s extremely busy which she likes. She loves being able to bustle around and always having something to do. The International V.I.P Convention is a huge ordeal for the Tres Spades, a giant party held at seemingly random intervals where the rich and famous gather to stroke each other’s egos. Tsuneko has the lowest seniority of the maids, so she doesn’t have to deal with the V.I.P’s directly. But, it stretches the entire hotel staff thinner and the worse part is dealing with the V.I.P’s in passing. It may seem minor, but those kind of people seem to take even the smallest opportunity to be a pain in her ass. The last time she worked some man in a suit worth more money than she’s ever seen flagged her down to ask a question, then mocked her for her dialect, acting like she was stupid. And that was after some snooty woman grabbed her in the lobby to scream about the toilet paper in her suite. Looking back, that might have been the only time Erika was nice to her.

The evening air is cool on her skin as she leaves the dormitories, the Tres Spades looming just a short walk away. It stands out even in Tokyo among all the other huge buildings. She remembers seeing it when she first visited Tokyo, thinking how over the top it was with its giant impractical spade shaped cut out. Her feelings haven’t really changed, it’s just more relevant to her life now, fortunately or unfortunately depending on the day.

Her nose wrinkles, the acrid stink of smoke hitting her nose as she nears the back entrance. An older schlubby man is lighting a cigarette near the dumpsters. There are stomped out cigarette butts around his feet; has he been out here chain smoking all day? The stench of smoke seems to drift off of him in waves, like the man sweats nicotine. Who even is he? He’s definitely not a worker and guests at the hotel generally don’t come by the back entrance. And, as judgemental a thought as it may be, he doesn’t look like the kind of person who’d stay at the Tres Spades.

He starts to look up from his cigarette and Tsuneko ducks her head down to make a beeline for the door, just avoiding eye contact with the stranger. If he caught her staring, he’s kind enough not to say anything as she darts through the door.

She drops the cookies off in a thankfully empty staff room, she doesn’t wanna deal with any hassles or questions. She’ll just have to pick up her tupperware at the end of her shift, hopefully no one tries to take it, the cute Pokemon designs makes it a favorite of hers. .

The employee locker room is just as empty, so no one will question why the stink of cigarette smoke is now clinging to her clothes. She’s never been so happy to change into her uniform. Just a touch of perfume for extra measure then she ties her hair up in the neatest ponytail she can manage. She makes sure she has everything she needs for the work day on her, before taking a deep breath and venturing into the hotel lobby.

To the surprise of absolutely no one, the lobby is packed tight with people. Tailored suits and slinky gowns as far as the eye can see. The V.I.P’s bustle around and chatter, their words all blending into a cacophony of unintelligible noise. A select few members of the press are allowed in to snap photos and get quotes about the event. The party should be getting ready to move down to the ballroom, so with any luck this should be her only encounter with the V.I.P’s. Erika should be around here somewhere, given her seniority, plus she never misses an opportunity to kiss ass.

Tsuneko searches through the crowd for the familiar head of maroon hair. She carefully moves around people, muttering ‘excuse me’s as she goes, not letting her customer service smile and tone falter. Where the hell is Erika? She always seems to pop up when Tsuneko messes up, it figures, she’s nowhere to be found when she’s actually wanted.

Something warm and solid slams into her side, she’s knocked to the ground with a thud. A man looms over her with a scowl, she can feel the contempt emanating off of him. He’d be attractive, if he didn’t look like such an asshole. He’s tall, especially from her current vantage point, with layered oak brown hair and hazel eyes. Silence falls over the lobby, like the world’s been stopped. Everyone’s eyes focus  on them, expressions of abject horror. Hushed whispers start to fill the eerie quiet, something about ‘the king’, but she can’t make out anything more. This guy is important; she’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to realize that. Thankfully, she’s only one of the three.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she apologizes, customer service smile in place as she get back up to her feet. This doesn’t seem to appease him, he glares  at her like she’s garbage. Which while not inaccurate, is still rude.

“Get out of my way,” he demands with a sneer and brushes off the front of his suit, like he’s come into contact with something vile. Tsuneko takes a tentative step to the side and the man storms past her up the stairs. What a bitch. This is why she hates rich people.

A few people stare at the man’s retreating back, but once he’s out of sight, it’s like the whole thing never happened. The world starts spinning again and the lobby returns to its former state. She shakes her head, it’s not worth another thought, she doubts she’ll ever see him again.

“Are you okay?” A familiar kind voice asks, it’s Chisato, another maid at the hotel. She’s always been nice to Tsuneko and is among her favorite coworkers.

“I’m fine, that guy was just a dick.” Tsuneko says with a shrug, the crowd is loud enough she can get away with talking shit.

”Uh,” Chisato sucks in a deep breath, brown eyes soft with worry, “do you know who that was?”

“Should I?” Tsuneko doesn’t really pay attention to celebrities or the elite types, it’s all nonsense to her.

“Just what were you thinking making an idiot out of yourself!?” Erika’s harpy screech rises above every noise in the lobby. Her hands are on her hips and her glare is trained on Tsuneko.

“What were you thinking?” The twins, Rina and Kana, chime in from behind Erika with similar expressions, contributing nothing to the conversation.

“It was an accident,” she answers honestly, she was so focused on finding Erika she forgot to keep an eye out for where she was going. These things happen, all she can do is apologize and move on.

“It was your fault, you should pay attention to where you’re going!”

”I apologized, unless you have a time machine, there’s not much else I can do.”

”You have no business even being around V.I.P’s, especially if you’re gonna get in their way!”

”Oh, cause I’m sure your banshee screeches just make them feel oh so special.” Tsuneko and Erika glare at each other, she may be the head maid, but Tsuneko has never been one to bite her tongue.

“Go drop off all the special boxes in the basement storage room for the guests staying for the spa package, everyone else is too busy.” Her sharp gaze drifts over to Chisato at the last part, making it clear she shouldn’t offer any help. The task isn’t particularly difficult, just tedious and will take the rest of the day.

“Of course,” Tsuneko forces a bright smile and makes her voice sugary sweet, “maybe we should offer them some complementary ear plugs, as well.”

She scurries off before Erika can say another word, the head maid can screech into the void for all she cares,  she got her work for the evening and that’s all that matters. It’s a couple flights of stairs to make it to the basement, so the elevator is best, whoever decided maids should wear heels is an asshole.

“I can’t take it anymore! It’s over, you cheater!” A woman screams as Tsuneko rounds the corner. A couple is standing outside the elevator, the woman throws a small mask at a man in a tacky red suit and storms off past Tsuneko.

The mask bounces off his face and onto the ground, it’s  small and silver with intricate details. Judging by the man’s suit and the woman’s gown, they’re here for the I.V.C, which she doesn’t recall being masquerade theme. The man picks up the mask and tucks it into his jacket with a heavy sigh.

“Now I don’t have a date,” he murmurs then looks up, his gaze meeting Tsuneko’s.

“Excuse me, sir, I needed the elevator.” She points over his shoulder.

“You just saw the whole thing, didn’t you?”

“Ah, uh, yes. Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll just take the stairs actually.” She turns around, content to evade the awkward situation, then a hand wraps around her wrist and tugs her back. He’s  pulling her towards the elevator, she instinctively tries to get out of his grip, but he’s stronger than her.

“Aw, c’mon, no reason to run away. I’ll explain everything when we get there.” He continues pulling her away, he doesn’t seem to notice or care about her trying to evade him. A part of her wants to deck him, but that will get her fired in a heartbeat.

‘Sir, leave me alone.” She keep her tone even and stern, hoping something will make it through his thick skull. One more strong pull and he yanks her right into the elevator, making her yelp. She’s met with the sight of broad back, blocking the elevator doors and button panel. He jabs a button, the doors slide close, what the hell is this guy’s problem?

“Whew, I’m lucky I found another date. There’s no way I could go to the party without a beautiful woman on my arm.” He turns to face her, entirely too close, with a smile that would be charming in another situation. He’s trying to take her to the I.V.C, the ballroom is on the basement level, so that’s not that big of a deal. She just needs to get away from him once the elevator stops.

“Sir, I am not your date, I suggest you find someone else to accompany you.” She maintains her cool, taking a step back  as the weirdo inches closer. He’s acting like a desperate romantic, though he seems a little old for that kind of thing.

“What are you talking about? I was so lucky to meet a pretty girl like you.” Her back hits the wall of the elevator, he’s closed in on her completely. His hand cups her face, his breath fansn across her skin. Her cheeks feel warm, whether from anger or embarrassment she’s not sure. He’s not unattractive, an older man with shoulder length light maple brown hair. But, regardless of looks, he’s being completely inappropriate.

“Sir, I’m working, I don’t have time for this nonsense.” Her words don’t seem to have any impact, caramel brown eyes  busy taking in every detail of her face.

“Yeah, you’re just my type. This is fate.”

”I’d would hope fate wouldn’t be so cruel to me, sir.”

The elevator comes to a stop and the doors open behind him with a ding.

“Let’s go, princess!” His hand is back around her wrist and he pulls her out before she has a chance to fight. She tries to step back and pull, or twist her wrist out of his grip, but she can’t manage. Punching him still might get her fired, but they can’t expect her to just let a guest do whatever he wants. Why the hell is he so strong?!

“Let go of me, now!”   

The noise of the ballroom drowns out her demand. She’s never been in the ballroom. She’s definitely never been in the midst of the I.V.C like this. The carpeting is a plush red, the walls have gold etchings, and white marble pillars are throughout the room. Everyone is dressed beautifully, perfectly tailored suits and designer gowns. They talk and sip from champagne flutes as they all bustle around. Spread of gourmet food are laid out, servers intermingle with the crowd, never letting a glass go empty for too long. An aquarium at the back of the room catches her eye, colorful fish swimming through crystal clear water, a dolphin passes through. The hotel owns a dolphin? She would have liked to know that. If the whole ordeal wasn’t a pretentious rich nightmare, she’d be into it. If only for the booze, food, and dolphin.

“Micchy!” A woman yells out and Tsuneko nearly slams into Stranger Danger’s back when he stops.. He lets go of her wrist and goes off towards the woman. All of this hullabaloo just to run off,  he seems more like a hormone driven teenager than a grown man.

“Hey, do you have any champagne?” A voice asks just by her ear, their breath tickles and makes Tsuneko jolt. Her face feels hot as she turns to find the source; a man around her age with strawberry blonde hair and amber eyes. She’s clearly wearing a maid uniform, not a server’s.

“I do not.”

“You do work here, right? You’re looking around like Alice at the Mad Hatter’s tea party.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, he’s cute, but something is off about him.

“I’m going to level with you, sir. I’m not suppose to be here right now, sorry.”

“That’s fine, hope you make it out of Wonderland, Alice.” His fake smile turns into a genuine smirk right as he leaves. Yeah, he’s definitely off. Still, cute though. She decides to shake it off and starts on her way out of the ballroom. It’s gonna take her forever to deliver those packages at this rate.

A sweaty hand grabs her wrist, bringing her to a halt, what the fuck now? The world is truly testing her today. It’s a stocky man in a garish green suit, he leers and looks her up and down, her stomach churns.

“Mhmm, I love girls like you. You wanna come with me to give me some special room service? I’ll make sure to tip you for the extra work."

“Gross.”

“What was that?”

“This is a hotel, not a brothel, sir." She’s able to break away from him much easier and starts towards the door again, he’s not deterred.

“You’re pretty lucky you met me. My net worth is 500 million,” he tells her, reaching out to touch her, she dodges him.

“Not enough for my dignity, sir." Her blood boils, at least Stranger Danger had the decency not to treat her like a prostitute. Does he really think her and the rest of the girls here are so beneath him and desperate for cash?Her hands clench into tight fists, she’s not allowed to punch guests. An unfortunate fact at the moment.

“C'mon, everyone has a price.” His hand presses against her hips, fuck this guy. She spins to face him, she needs to stop this, if she doesn't he's just going to hound every other female employee, until he finds someone he can bully into it. She’s not letting that happen.

“Look here, sir! I don't have the time, energy, or desire to deal with you disrespecting me and the hotel. I assure you, there’s not enough money in the world to convince anyone here to touch your pathetic excuse for a dick. Now, get your disgusting grubby hands off of me!” The color drains from the man’s face, when did the ballroom get so quiet? Just a few whispers, it’s like when she bumped into-

“This party is getting trashy,” a deep and sadly familiar voice rings out over her shoulder, making her jump. The asshole from the lobby was behind her, a group of women cling to and hover around him. They glare at Tsuneko, but asshole is glaring at the pervert. The look he gave her in the lobby seems downright kind in comparison.

“Uh, I'm so sorry Mr. Ichinomiya,” the pervert apologizes and runs off. Ichinomiya, that sounds familiar, but she can't place it. She rattles her brain for a moment, but she can’t seem to find it. The headache she has coming on isn’t helping. His eyes find hers, now that the pervert’s gone, the contempt has waned. It feels more like he’s looking at a fly under a microscope, like he’s trying to dissect and understand her.

“You again.”

“You again,” she mimics without thinking, her patience with the day is gone. His expression grows angrier, same for his groupies. She bites her lip to hold back laughter, normally she’d be more polite, but she just called a guest’s dick pathetic, so she might as well mock Ichinomiya, whoever he is.

“Get out of my way.” This seems to be his favorite phrase.

”Happily.”

“I hate when people don't know there place,” one of the women says as they move past Tsuneko. She forces a smile, but rolls her eyes once they’re gone and starts another attempt to leave this god forsaken party.

Her shoulder knocks into someone, making them both stumble.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he assures her before going on about his business, as small as the exchange is, a friendly normal person feels like a breath of fresh air. Something on the ground catches her eye, a small good luck talisman. The cloth it’s in is a bit worn, black with small white rabbits. He must have dropped it when she bumped into him.

She tucks the charm into her pocket and finds his back in the crowd, she jogs after him. Calling after him does nothing, he either doesn’t hear her or doesn’t realize he’s who she means by ‘Sir’. His long legs take him further away quicker than her stubbier ones and she sees him go out door towards the back of the room. She manages to get through the door a few moments after.

The hall that greets her is absolutely empty, her heart sinks, he’s nowhere to be seen. Doors line the hallway, did he go into one of those rooms? She’d hate it if she wasn’t able to get it back to him. It’s clear he’s had it for a while, it must mean a lot to him. If push comes to shove, she may just have to put it in lost and found, but then there’s no way of knowing if he gets it back. She walks down the hallway, the dead silence is eerie after being surrounded by so much noise.

A few moments pass and she hears soft murmurs, they seem louder in the quiet hallway. There’s a door ajar, maybe that’s where he is, there’s a bounce in her step as she nears it. She peeks into the room; gunmetal glints in the low-light of the room. Suitcases filled with cash and guns are strewn across a table. Men in suits are standing around, speaking in a language she doesn’t understand. This is illegal, this is definitely illegal.  Her breath catches in her throat, she’s seriously watching an arms deal right now.

The world goes out from under her feet and she’s spun around, her back slams against the wall. She’s at least a foot off of the ground, large hands pin her in place and sharp blue gray eyes glare at her. Her heart hammers in her chest, like it’s trying to escape her rib cage.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is harsh and demanding. A part of her wants to fight, but if he’s involved with what she just saw…. There’s no guarantee he’s not armed. She’s not keen on being murdered.

“I got lost looking for someone, sorry sir.” She doesn’t let her voice break and maintains eye contact. Showing her fear won’t help anything.  He lets go of her and she falls to the ground, not too gracefully.

“You have five seconds to get out of here and forget everything you saw. Otherwise, you’ll be wiped off the face of the earth.”

“Understood.” She walks away, ignoring the impulse to run. Muscle memory leads her through the floor, the storage room shouldn’t be far away.

She steps inside, closing the heavy door behind her before she sits down on the floor. Her breath is shaky and she clutches her head in her hands, nails digging into the skin of her temples. What the hell is she suppose to do now?

She’s been threatened and there’s apparently gun deals going on in the hotel. People are getting hurt, there’s no way they aren’t if guns are involved. She can’t be certain how serious that man was about killing her. But, she doesn’t wanna test it and he didn’t seem like the kind of person to speak lightly.

Reporting it isn’t really an option; she has no evidence and there’s the whole being killed thing. Even if she is believed, if the hotel gets shut down, her and all her coworkers would be left without a job or home. Is the hotel even aware of this? Does Kenzaki or the owner know what’s going on here? Who even owns the hotel again? Some sort of CEO who’s head of a conglomerate group. What was it called again? Ugh, she can’t think straight.

She jolts to her feet, she needs to focus and get her shit together. Freaking out isn’t going to help anything. She needs to deliver those packages and go on with her work day, then she’ll drop the charm off in the lost and found. Work now, panic attacks later.

Tsuneko starts stacking up packages in her arms, her movements frantic and she nearly drops a few.. Her brain is a scrambled mess, she needs a dolly, she should have brought one over before stacking them in her arms. She’ll just carry the packages to the dolley, wherever the damn thing is. She can’t even see over the pile of boxes, she tries to look around them as she moves.

Something slams into her and knocks her back, the packages fall to the ground. A heavy thud rings out through the room, the sound of shattering follows. Her ass hurts and she can already feel the bruises forming. She’s spent the majority of this day on her ass.

“Fucking hell!” There are two men, they’re frenetic as they try to pry the lid off of a crate that’s fallen. She doesn’t recognize them, they’re not in any sort of Tres Spades uniform. Maybe they’re just here to move stuff?

The lid hits the floor with a clatter and she peeks inside, it’s filled with shards of what looks like broken glass. She can tell how high quality whatever the original object was from the quality of the material. It’s pristine and the light it catches reflects back iridescent.

“The statue's been smashed to pieces!” One of the men yells, his face turning red with rage.

“I’m sorry,” she struggles to keep her tone even, “I’ll talk to the manager, we’ll get it figured out.”

This entire day has been a mess, but if the worse thing to come out of it is having her pay docked for a decoration, she’ll be okay. It may be high quality, but she doubts a statue is worth too much. It’s just nice glass.

“This was the showcase piece for the auction! How are you going to pay for it!?”

“Look, I’m sorry,” she says again, but what do they mean by an auction? The men glare at her and creep closer, she takes a step back as chills run up her spine.

“You think an apology is going to cut it? You owe us?”

One of the men makes a grab at her and she throws a punch. Her fist connects with his nose in a spray of blood. The man staggers back and she makes a run for the door. His cohort gets in the way and pushes her back, knocking her flat on her ass.

“You really think you’re gonna get out of here that easy,” he taunts, standing over her.

The crate brushes against her as she scrambles away, she grabs a large shard of glass from it and buries it deep into the man’s thigh. He screams out and a gush of blood spurts out as she twists the shard out of his flesh. She clambers back up on her feet and makes another run for the door.

A weight slams into her back, her face smashes into the ground, her scream muffled. He presses his knee down on her back, his nails dig into the cuts on her hand as he rips the glass out of her grasp. One hand keeps her wrist pinned behind her, the other searches her pockets. She writhes and twists, trying to get out from under him, but it does nothing. He tugs her phone from her pocket and throws it across the room.

“I got an idea of how we can make our money back,” the other man says.

Wheels roll across the floor, stopping in front of her. She can’t wrench her neck up enough to see anything else. The man yanks her up on her feet and her heart sinks. A large golden bird cage glimmers on top of a dolly. Her throat tightens and her stomach churns.

“Do you just have this shit on stand by!?”

“Shut up.” The man in front of her opens the cage door, the other pushes her forward. She jerks back;  kicks and stomps at the man’s feet. He digs his fingers into her hand again, pain jolts through her and her scream reverberate through the room. Taking advantage, he shoves her forward into the cage. Her hand sting as she catches herself, her head nearly smacking into the bars. They lock the door behind her, tears sting at the back of her eyes.

“She’s a little damaged, but she should still be worth something.” The men share a laugh at her expense, they can’t be serious. They can’t sell her, that’s ridiculous. She can’t get a deep enough breath, her lungs burn. She can hear the pounding of her heart, feel the thump of it against her ribs.

They roll her out of the room, slowly taking her through the halls of the hotel. It’s mostly empty at first, but slowly more people start to appear, moving random things. From art to what looks like a baby leopard, it’s a mishmash of things being carried through the halls. But, no one seems to care about her. It’s like this is just a normal everyday occurrence. She shakes the bars of the cage, they don’t budge at all, she yells out for help. Nothing. No one bats an eye.

“Hey, where’s the final item?!” A young man yells from beside a pair of double doors, inside it seems to be a backstage area. Her kidnappers start explaining that there’s been a change in item.

She pries a bobby pin out of her hair, it’s mostly lose already, her ponytail coming undone in the entire struggle. Taking advantage of  her kidnappers distraction, she snaps the pin into two pieces and starts trying to pick at the lock. Her hand stings with every movement and she can’t clearly see the lock, but she’s desperate. If she can get it undone, she can make a break for it.

“What the hell-” His words are drowned out by Tsuneko’s howls of pain, his blunt nails dig into her open cuts pressing into tender skin and making more blood flow. The two broken pieces fall to the ground, he lets go after what feels like hours and she yanks her hand back, holding it close to her as she presses against the other side of the cage.

Her eyes sting, a few tears stream down her face. The men only laugh at her pain, she focuses on their injuries, the man’s broken nose and the steadily bleeding wound on the others thigh. It’s a small comfort to know at the very least, she gave as good as she got.

She’s rolled through the double door and her suspicions are confirmed, it’s definitely backstage of this auction, she presumes. As pointless as it is, a part of her is still hoping that’s a joke. It seems so unbelievable, like something out of a horror movie or a nightmare. She’s tries to steady her breathing, to calm down even a little bit. But, it’s all in vain. Her heart beat is frantic,  she struggles to breath, her throat feels tight, and she struggles to keep more tears from falling.

The backstage is a bustle of activity as she’s taken to just beside the stage, still concealed from the audience, but she can look out and see what’s taking place. It’s a huge crowd of people,  they watch the stage with rapt attention, faces concealed by masquerade masks. A man on stage talks and moves dramatically, dressed in what appears to be a mad hatter costume. His face painted a stark white and his eyes an unnaturally electric shade of blue.

A small clang catches her attention, she looks up and one of the men attaches a hanging chain to the top of the cage. Someone starts pulling somewhere and the chain starts to lift the cage off the dolly. Tsuneko yelps, if she’s suspended, her chances of escape become slimmer. It ascends higher and higher, until she knows that even if she could manage to shake the bars lose or bust the cage open, she’d fall and break something or bust her head open. The latter doesn’t seem like a bad option at the moment, at least it might kill her.

Slowly her cage is pulled to the side, taking her to center stage. Bright lights and eyes all trained on her. She’s really being auctioned off, someone is going to buy her.

“I present to you, our showcase item of the evening! A healthy young Japanese woman. Yes, that’s you!” The hatter gestures towards her with a flourish and bile rises in the back of her throat.

“Yeah, I caught that,” she screams back at him, kicking the cage. The bars still don’t budge, the gilded cage is firm and shows no sign of busting open.

“I’ll start the bidding at one million!”

Even if she managed to escape the cage and managed not to hurt herself in the fall, she’s surrounded by the crowd. There’s no way she can avoid being grabbed.

“Keep her as your slave, keep her as a toy! Do whatever you please with her, it’s truly up to you!” The hatter continues, not caring about her distress. She kicks and shakes the bars, at this point more an explosion of anger than a genuine attempt to escape, she screams in frustration. Tears prick at the back of her eyes and she doesn’t care enough to stop them anymore.

In the front row of the audience is a stocky man in a garish green suit, the masquerade mask does nothing to hide the pervert from the I.V.C. He grins and bids on her.  She looks behind her and sees a screen just above her cage, a number on it rising more and more. More money than she’s ever seen. Her stomach churns and she kicks the cage again, no budging. The most she can do is make the cage sway back and forth, nothing shows any signs of breaking.

“She is a feisty one, all the more fun to break her,” the auctioneer taunts, all his actions colored with the flamboyance of a true showman.

“If I could reach you, I’d wring your fucking neck,” she screams, her throat raw from the force of it.

“Going once, going twice, sold to seat one hundred for twenty-million!” The hatter says as a bell dings, the number on the screen behind her has stopped. She can’t make out what seats are what numbers past the first couple rows. It’s not the pervert, he’s seat number five. But that doesn’t mean it’s anyone better.

The hatter closes out the auction; the lights die down and the curtains close. Tsuneko sits and pulls her knees to her chest, her cage lowers down. It’s settles back down on the stage with a small sound, it makes her feel just a tiny bit better, slightly less helpless than she was before. Someone is still staring at her, she can feel it, even while she’s curled up against herself. Peeking up, it’s the hatter. His harlequin style hatter costume is slightly unnerving, his unnaturally blue eyes are trained on her, his expressions seemingly curious. There’s something child like to it. Someone yells out and he jolts, like being woken up from a trance and goes scurrying off.

Her owner, her stomach churns at the the word, should be coming to collect her. Maybe, this will be a chance to escape. She’s not in the best state to fight, but maybe, just maybe, she’ll be able to take them down. She kicks again, a dull ache pulsing in her toes. She wipes away at tears, holding back sobs.

 Footsteps echo out, growing closer and closer. Two men make their way to her cage, the small silver masks do nothing to hide their identities. At this point she has to wonder if they truly serve a purpose beyond aesthetic. She can tell right away it’s Stranger Danger in his bright red suit and the cute but off guy from the party. If it was just the latter, she’d be able to take him. He doesn’t seem particularly strong, shorter and thinner than Stranger Danger.  But, she knows that the taller of the two was able to drag her around like a rag doll.

“This way.” Stranger Danger unlocks the cage door. She gives them wary glares  as she stands on shaky legs and steps out of the cage. Tsuneko hides her injured hand in her pocket, not wanting to give them an easy target if they decide to hurt her.

The men stay quiet as they lead her to an elevator, the only one that goes to the penthouse. Sure enough, once they’ve stepped inside Stranger Danger pulls the penthouse elevator key from his pocket. The doors close and the carriage lurches into movement. She knew they were V.I.P’s, but not very many people have access to the penthouse. Sakiko has mentioned some people who stay their. An artist, who’s name escapes her, and the owner of the hotel. Who the hell owns this hotel again? She’s trying to rack her brain for that name again, Ishi, something? Her brain is fuzzy from everything going on. But, if she’s being taken to the penthouse, surely the owner is aware of what’s going on. It would be hard to hide the auctions, especially at that scale, from the person who owns the damn place.

It’s a silent tense elevator ride, Tsuneko racking her brain for an escape strategy. She already knows she can’t fight Stranger Danger, but maybe she could make a run for it when the elevator opens, go for the stairs. But, if the owner is involved, she wouldn’t get far. She doesn’t exactly have anywhere to go other than the employee dorms. Waiting for a better chance might be the best idea.

The elevator dings and stops, doors sliding open. She’s never seen the penthouse suites before. They step into the hallway, red carpeting and doors along the walls. A huge pair of double doors standing out among them. The only employee she knows of that has access here is Kenzaki, even Erika isn’t allowed in the penthouse.

The pair push open the double doors and Tsuneko follows, it’s a lounge. Lavish, with plush chairs and couches. A large set of of red carpeted stairs lead up to another level, a large window covers almost the entire expanse of a wall, showing a view of the Tokyo Bay. There’s an extravagant high tech television mounted on one of the walls. Two men are in the center of the lounge; both of which she recognizes.  And there appears to be man passed out on one of the couches, he could be dead, she can’t be sure. The man who threatened to wipe her off the face of the earth and the asshole from the lobby, Ichinomiya, are in the center.

Ichinomiya. He’s the owner of the hotel. It hits her as hard as she hit the floor earlier. She sassed her boss. Prior to this auction nonsense, she’d be panicking, but the fear of upsetting her boss pales in comparison to the terror of being sold. 

“We’ve brought her,” the cute but off guy announces, he doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. She’d like to punch him.

Ichinomiya sits on the red couch at the center of the lounge, crossing his legs as he looks her over. Him and the man who pinned her to the wall have intense stares, but she meets their gaze with the same ferocity. She’s not backing down. 

“We bought you,” Ichinomiya states.

“I noticed.” Her response seems to amuse him, a smirk plays on his lips. She’s just happy her voice didn’t crack.

“So, we ended up catching you after all,” the tall man who pinned her comments, his dark hair is slicked back and his eyes are sharp. Even without him having her against a wall, he’s kind of intimidating, or perhaps it’s just the situation making him seem that way.

“You know this woman, Soryu?” Ichinomiya asks.

“You could say that.”

“He threatened to kill me.”

“Yeah, sounds like Sor,” Stranger Danger says with a laugh, pulling off his mask and adjusting his fedora. Cute but off guy pulls off his mask as well, both completely nonchalant..

“Look, you can’t actually buy me, this is stupid,” she decides to keep talking, maybe the more she talks the more it will all make sense and she’ll be able to get out of this.

“Anything and everything’s for sale at the auctions. If there’s someone out there to buy it, you can sell it. There are no rules,” Stranger Danger boasts, no one here seems to care about the abject horror she’s been through.

“Yep, you can get stolen art, secret information about politicians, even hire a hitman,” Cute but off guy adds.

“This is actually the first time a person’s ever been auctioned off, though,” Stranger Danger’s eyes seem to soften a bit as he looks over at her, a shred of empathy seeming to make its way through.

“You must have done something pretty bad, huh?” Followed by the apathetic question of cute but off guy.

“I accidentally broke some statue, that was apparently expensive, or whatever.”

“The statue of Venus. If it’s worth anything, it’s here,” Ichinomiya states with confidence.

“You’re reckless as always. This woman isn’t worth anything,” Soryu tells him.

“I agree, let me go home.”

“But, it’ll be fun thinking up ways to use her.” Cute but off guy is smirking, he’s a shit head it seems.

“No, it will not.”

“Who gave you permission to speak? Don’t open your mouth unless I say so,” Ichinomiya demands; she bites her lip and keeps her glare. She wants to strangle him, she wants to actually murder her boss. This fuckwit puts her through hell and doesn’t even wanna let her talk.

“If you got a problem with it, would you rather go back to number five?” Soryu asks with a smirk, at least none of them seem keen on violating her in that way, but she just glares at him. She needs to stay calm, as difficult as that is.

“C’mon now, Boss…Sor. You should be nice to girls,” Stranger Danger talks again, he’s calling Ichinomiya boss, too. He’s really the one she needs to get convince to let her go.

“Listen,” she starts, no one stops her, “there no reason to keep me. My existence does not benefit any of you in any way, shape, or form.”

“You’re just trying to lower your value,” cute but off dude chimes in, he’s getting less cute and more gremliny with every annoying word.

“Besides, a cute girl has plenty of benefits.” Any brownie points Stranger Danger earned have vanished, his comment and wink makes her grimace.

“I sincerely hope you aren’t desperate enough to waste twenty-million on getting your dick wet.” She levels a glare at him.

“Looks like she already has you figured out, Baba,” Gremlin, as he’s now being dubbed, says through a laugh.

“You wound me, princess.” Stranger Danger, Baba apparently, responds with a dramatic sorrowful expression.

“You know about the auctions,” Soryu takes back control of the conversation, “we can’t have you running off and telling someone.”

“No worries, I haven’t suffered recent brain damage.” Though her face feels significantly bruised after being slammed against the floor, Soryu raises an eyebrow at her, “Worst case scenario, you kill me and best case scenario I end up unemployed and homeless. I have no proof, police wouldn’t believe me and you’d kill me for talking. Even if they did, if the owner of the hotel goes to jail then the hotel goes under and I’m out of my job and housing. I’m not stupid enough to bite the hand that feeds me.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Ichinomiya smirks “you didn’t seem too friendly earlier.”

“To be fair, I didn’t know who you were, so,” his glare harshens, but she’s not done talking, “look, I don’t even have a phone to call the police. I’ll sign an NDA, confidentiality agreement or whatever, I’ll give you the legal right to screw me over if I even think about telling people about the auctions. There’s no reason to keep me, I’m not worth twenty-million, I assure you.”

Soryu looks to Ichinomiya, he almost seems to be on board with her idea. Maybe he’s not that awful, if he supports getting her out of here.

“Boring!” Gremlin complains, she could wring his fucking neck, but she keeps her eyes focused on Ichinomiya. He makes the decisions here, that’s painfully clear.

“No,” Ichinomiya says as he gets up from the couch, “I determine your worth.”

“What!?” Her voice breaks more than she’d like it to, indignancy ruining her composure.

“We bought you, you belong to us. End of story. You’ll be staying in Soryu’s suite for the night, he’ll assure you don’t go running off.” He’s still smirking, despite the fact that Soryu looks absolutely pained. Ichinomiya leaves up the twisted staircase, pulling out his phone as he does so.

“Man, Soryu gets to play with Koro first, not fair,” Gremlin pretends to whine, but he’s smirking; who the fuck is Koro?

“Time for introductions,” Baba winks at her, “what’s your name princess?”

“.…Tomori Tsuneko,” she murmurs, she feels completed defeated, there has to be a way out of this mess.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl. I’m Baba Mitsunari. I’m a thief, 35, single and ready to mingle. You can call me Micchan, Micchy, whatever you want.”

“Baba it is.”

“Pfftt, rejected. I’m Kisaki Ota, people call me the angelic artist,” Gremlin introduces himself.

“You already know Boss, so it’s Sor and Mamo’s turn,” Baba says, looking at the far less enthusiastic men.

“Kishi Mamoru,” The apparently not dead guy finally sits up and lights a cigarette.

“He’s a cop or unemployed, who knows?” Baba grins, “And the tall quiet guy is Oh Soryu, leader of the Ice Dragons.” Soryu looks so pained, you’d think he was the one who was just bought.

“Ice Dragons…?”

“Mafia,” Kisaki explains, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Enough of this,” Oh says curtly, “follow me, since I’m stuck babysitting you.” He strides out of the lounge without giving her another look.

“Sor’s kinda shy. You better go after him before he locks the door on you,” Baba tells her and she scurries off after Oh, who leads her down the halls towards one of the suites. She has to speed walk to keep up with his pace.

He’s stiff and rude, but if she’s being entirely honest, he’s pretty low of her current shit list. At the very least, he seems just as keen on getting her out of here as she is. His biggest concern seems to be keeping the auctions secret; she already told them she wouldn’t blab, but she gets the feeling if she steps out of line he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. And the fact he still seems like one of the lesser evils here despite that, really says something.

She’s follows him into his suite, it’s easily five times the size of her dorm. They step into the living room, more than likely where she’ll be sleeping. The couch looks comfy, she’ll manage for the night. Oh starts pulling off his jacket, then unbuttoning his shirt. She catches a glimpse of bare muscles before she turns around, offering him something resembling privacy. It might seem naive, but she doesn’t think he gonna try anything, he seems pained by her presence let alone trying to touch her. Footsteps ring out, Oh walking past her shirtless. He’s in really good shape.

“Don’t get any weird ideas.” He steps into another room, a moment passes and then running water. Sounds like a shower, couldn’t he have started stripping down in the bathroom? She doesn’t really understand the point of the peepshow, she decides not to ponder on it too long and instead lets out a heavy breath.

She slumps onto the couch, exhaustion settling in to take the place of her anxiety. Running away isn’t an option, despite how tempting it is, the Ichinomiya Group has the power and money to find her anywhere. She’s not sure how far reaching the mafia is and she doesn’t want to find out. Even so, she has no intention of giving up. She’s got to convince Ichinomiya to let her leave. Though, clearly it isn’t happening tonight.

Tsuneko looks at her hand, surveying the damage done by the glass. It’s starting to throb and ache more. The largest mark is a nasty gash across her palm, then smaller cuts around her fingers. It hurts more when she bends or flexes them, but the slash across her palm is more concerning. She doesn’t think it needs stitches, but she isn’t a doctor, so who knows.

Something glints and catches her eye, from under the chair. She leans over to get a closer peek and her blood runs cold, it’s a gun. It’s not shocking, he was the one who threatened her after she saw the gun deal. But, she still can’t help being afraid. The potential of him killing her seems even more viable.

The water stops, doesn’t seem like a long shower, a minute or two tops. She tucks her hand back in her pocket and presses her back closer against the couch as the bathroom door opens. His hair is no longer slicked back, soft around his face, but it doesn’t look wet.

“You didn’t try to run away.” He was just testing her.

“I’m not stupid.” She can’t help the vitriol in her tone.

“That remains to be seen,” that earns him a glare, “As long as you keep behaving, I won’t do anything bad to you.”

“Got it.”

He walks around the couch to stand in front of her, she presses further into the back of the couch, he’s in her space. Oh cages her in, arms on each side of her head and hands on the top of the couch, he leans in until they’re almost nose to nose. She bites her lip and meets his glare, her face feels hot.

“I have no idea what Eisuke’s thinking, but let's make this clear. You better not tell anyone what you saw today. No matter what. Telling anyone else is the same as signing your own death warrant. Yours, your friend’s, and your family’s.”

“Got it.”

“You can use the living room and bathroom, just don’t come near my bedroom,” he tells her as he pulls away, gathering his discarded shirt and jacket.

”Understood. What about work? If I’m not there tomorrow people will get suspicious.” She’s not sure if they actually would, if any of them would care enough to notice, but any excuse to leave in the morning sounds good.

“You work as a maid here, right?”

“Yes.”

“As long as you remember to keep your mouth shut and don’t go running off, it’ll be fine. Understood?”

She nods as Oh leaves into another room, she assumes the bedroom. Tsuneko pulls off her shoes, her feet ache just a bit. He told her she could use the bathroom and a shower sounds nice, but she doesn’t have anything to change into. Plus showering in an unfamiliar place doesn’t sound too pleasant. There’s a shower in the employee locker room, she’ll wait til morning.

She curls up on the couch, carefully finding a position that won’t hurt her hand. A yawn escapes her, she needs to think of ways to get out of this, but she’s too exhausted to think straight. The whole ordeal has drained every last bit of energy she has. She closes her eyes and slowly drifts off to sleep.

[365daysofmchart]

Reflecting on McHart: 3x08

The One Where Kurt Saves Diane, the title alone had me swooning about my favorite couple and my God, they did not disappoint! My reflection on McHart in 3x08 of The Good Fight can be found below the read more ‘cause my God, so long. Apologies for the delay!

1. “Sweetheart, have you seen my bag?” “Check the other closet.”

Sweetheart. Oh, my heart! And the other closet, implying that there is another closet, but also, after them showing us more of the layout of their home in this episode it actually makes less sense that they have a large walk-in closet in the vicinity of their bedroom. In fact, what we saw of the layout made no sense whatsoever! There’s a window in the foyer that indicates the end of the house on that side while their bedroom indicates the same on the other side, but then it’s just wall at the end of the hall and WHERE IS THE REST OF THEIR HOUSE??? Honestly though, they’ve got so much in that bedroom that I guess who needs a rest of the house? Also that’s just a generally odd location for a bedroom. Just saying.

...Look, I know I should be grateful that we’re getting Diane’s home/McHart home life at all, and I am. I promise, I am! ...But there’s so much thought that seems to go into the tiniest of details decor-wise, why can’t the same be done for something AS BASIC AS A LAYOUT AND A CLOSET FOR A WOMAN WHO HAS THE WARDROBE OF A QUEEN?!?! A CLOSET FOR A WOMAN/CHARACTER WHO IS KNOWN FOR HER FASHION?!?!!?!?! Sigh. Anyway. Yeah... I’m still not quite over the closet thing in case you haven’t noticed. But onto other things now...

2. “That reminds me, we’re invited to Mar a Lago for the weekend. ...That was a joke.” “Oh, God, you have to give me more of a signal when you’re joking or I’ll end up with a heart attack!”

Apparently Kurt still hasn’t learned that he can’t use the same expression for everything... and apparently Diane still believes that repeatedly swatting at him is effective punishment. Ah, so much has changed for the better since Landing, but I’m glad that this aspect of their relationship has not! Haha!

3. That whole goodbye! The kiss that lingers just a second longer than it has to, her sing-songed “I love you!” and his “Love you, too.” Oh, and... “All I know is they don’t deserve you.” Happy sigh.

4. Honestly just that whole. fucking. opening. scene. It was just SO DOMESTIC. The news, asking where something is, clothes slung on chairs, just that little bit of disarray of a typical morning and them weaving in and out of each other’s routines in the most natural way, them meeting and sharing a little moment before they part for the day with I love you’s. Oh, my McHart! And I know we’ve been blessed with that domesticity all season and I know I’ve mentioned it in every reflection I’ve done on them, but much like the closet situation, I’m STILL NOT OVER IT. I will NEVER be over domestic McHart!

5. Okay. Confession time. When I saw Christine wearing that cream/gold suit in interviews, there was a wee little part of me that felt hopeful that it could be a vow renewal outfit. (Not that I thought it was going to happen, but the image came and it was quite lovely and wouldn’t it have been nice???) It was not. But she looked beautiful just the same!

6. “Hello, handsome.”

FUCK. ME. UP. That is all.

7. “You told me I was bad at lying, and it’s true. But you’re bad at it too.”

Okay, but she’s not bad at lying. She’s actually really good at it. Like really good. ...She’s just bad at lying to him, and that’s actually like the sweetest thing??? ...Pretty sure Kurt is just bad at lying in general though, haha.

8. “We’re in this together now. So if you’re in danger, I need to know.”

That whole little speech of his... They truly are married, a family, one unit. One’s problems are the other’s. They are so fucking in this, and it’s taken so long but they’re here and so entirely committed and in love!

9. “Kurt, there are certain work things touching on politics that you can’t tell me, and there are certain things touching on politics that I can’t tell you. We have found a way to bifurcate our lives and make it work. So trust me when I say I can’t tell you.” I actually love that this was acknowledged--both by the writers for our benefit as well as by Diane in this conversation. Their contrasting politics have always been an aspect of their relationship but we’ve rarely seen the effect they’ve had on them (aside from the way they get them all hot and bothered) or how they manage them within their relationship. Politics are hard. Harder yet for two who are so passionate and even more so in this current political climate. And while they accept the other for who they are and their beliefs, they do know it’s a delicate dance and this is one of the ways that they work to care for their marriage. They protect themselves by keeping elements separate from their marriage, and yet... “I will overlook politics to help.”

...when it comes down to it, they are still on the same team and their partner’s needs and safety will always come first.

And that hug right there. ...It’s like a hug for my soul.

10. I just... I really don’t understand the purpose of these closets??? (Yes, I’m on about the damned closets again.) Diane has a small selection of clothes/shoes/bags in hers, Kurt has shoes, multiple umbrellas, a toolbox, and... a hamper maybe?, and who knows what else above, all rather random. Again, they must have a walk-in but these also don’t seem to be coat closets either, EVEN THOUGH they also don’t have a closet or any kind of hooks in the foyer (why???). IT JUST DOESN’T MAKE SENSE. AND MY FAVE CHARACTER (who is also the main character!) DESERVES A HOME SET THAT MAKES SENSE!!! ...Alright, I’m done for real now.

11. I feel like there are home cameras that already send you notifications when they sense movement, so I think all of that electric work and the lasers were a little extra (not to mention getting the stickiness of duct tape on the woodwork... Diane may not be pleased), but I like the spirit, Kurt! LOL!

12. Awww... Kurt’s lil office! But I spent so much time pausing and analyzing each and every photo in there... and they’re all just like military-related stock photos? LOL! ...And then there’s his mug that has a flag on it and text that suspiciously ends in “... AGAIN” Can Diane go and visit him soon please and “accidentally” knock it off his desk? It can be during an act of seduction!

13. They haaaaaad to bring in a perky young blond, didn’t they. Really? Reeeally??? Perhaps the point was to show us that he hardly paid any attention to her, that there was no flirtation whatsoever... or perhaps it was in fact to stir up the memories of his past indiscretion. Either way, definitely could’ve done without. Thanks though, TGF!

14. Wait, does Diane have two home phones (given the one he called was a line dedicated to her, given the recorded message), and her cell phone??? I mean they must have a joint home phone... unless they just kept their numbers and have two lines?

15. Not gonna lie, kinda mad that NSA guy 1) didn’t know who Kurt was like right away and 2) wasn’t fanboying over over him/them. I mean he’s in on her every call and text but out of the loop on Kurt and Diane? I. Think. Not. (Also NSA guys fanboyed over Alicia so I think a part of me is like SO WHERE’S THE INTEREST IN DIANE?!?! ...Also, also throwback to “I think Will and Diane get it on.”)

16. That look on his face when he finds out. And while I kept faith in him, that face was striking and certainly speaks volumes regarding what is to come.

17. And Kurt-Fucking-McVeigh saves the day. Saves Diane.

18. So it’s all over and done with, Diane is in the clear... and all she wants is to go home and find solace in the arms of the man she loves.

19.  The way she pulls his arm around her as she settles herself beside him, nuzzling in, the two snuggled up there on the sofa at the end of the day. It’s all positively adorable and this is everything I’ve wanted in McHart!

20. The thing about the hacking is that is wasn’t just a politics thing with Kurt, it was a morality thing, too. It was wrong and we know how high his ethical and moral standards stand. And yet, he fixed it, and it wasn’t for glory or points (as he doesn’t even tell her!) or anything but pure love. And honestly, I was afraid that, even though he did in fact quietly fix it, he might still harbor resentment toward her for being involved with such a thing. But with the way he accepted her into his arms then going beyond the bare minimum nothing-is-amiss response by pressing a kiss to her forehead and rubbing her arm, it’s clear that he’s accepted it, accepted her for who she is, flaws and all, and is moving forward. As she has before. Honestly, the love these two have for one other!

And just a few other things...

Kurt is so clever!

I feel like Diane must own about as many umbrellas as she does fabulous coats.

I will never tire of seeing Kurt all spiffed up for his new job! ...Of course I’ll also never tire of seeing him in plaid and jeans, either. (Why do I have a feeling that Diane had a field day getting him outfitted for the position? Haha!)

“I took care of it.” “I’m glad.”

*Cough* Closets *cough*

This episode was so entirely lovely and had my heart positively swelling! And maybe the’ve been so nice to us this season simply to throw us off of the scent for the finale... but no matter the reason, I’m grateful to have had all of these beautiful domestic and loving scenes! Here’s to many more!

-E

[nancypullen]

Lighthouses and Lobster

I mean, really, isn’t that what you think about when you think of Maine?  It’s not just me, right?  Either way, that pretty much sums up our Wednesday and I couldn’t be happier. We started our morning by looking for a particular spot. It’s just a little trail off the side of a road and it’s marked by a handmade sign nailed to a tree.  We found it!

After pulling off the road we followed the short path to a rocky ledge and the mister was a happy camper.  The plan was to launch his drone from this location and BOY was it a good plan!  As soon as he sends me the video I’ll post it here, but it’s gorgeous.  You see, this spot overlooks Curtis Island Light and Camden’s harbor.  I snapped this photo while he was doing drone stuff.

My photo doesn’t show the beautiful harbor behind the lighthouse.  I snapped away and eventually moved on to other subjects.

That guy stood as still as a statue for the longest time, and of course as soon as I tucked my camera into my pocket he snatched up a fish and gobbled it.

After getting our fill of this view, 

we eased on down the road to Owls Head  and this beauty.

This is Owls Head State Park, and it’s really lovely.  You can tour the old keeper’s house and there’s a wonderful informational gift shop with displays about the history of the lighthouse and its keepers.  I purchased an interesting book and had a great conversation with the young man staffing the shop. 

 We roamed the grounds, stopped to ohh and ahh over some of the views, and then onward we went.

We found treasure in Port Clyde, what a pretty little town!  It’s also home to Marshall Point Light.

We tromped all over this spot. Both sides, front and back, and the mister even sent his drone up again.  I wish I’d snapped a closer pic of the house, it had the prettiest and sweetest smelling gardens!

By this time we’d worked up an appetite and stopped at the Port Clyde General Store - it’s really more of an emporium, they have everything you could need and then some.  Fresh baked goods, a lunch counter, groceries of every kid, a deli,sweatshirts and tees, candy by the pound, liquor, and even fuel for your vehicle. They also had butterflies in the geraniums that edged their parking lot. Seriously, what else do you need?

We’d spent all morning exploring light houses and then filled our bellies in Port Clyde, and walked around a bit it was 1:30-ish.  We hit the road again and pointed the car toward Belfast.   We had fun walking around downtown Belfast and admiring the yachts docked at their harbor.  My favorite was named Water Witch.  It suits my love of all things spooky.  We popped in and out of the unique shops lining Main Street and I only snapped two photos.  They’re not even good ones! This one I took just because I love old buildings and really appreciate towns that embrace filling downtown spaces with flowers and plants.  I love it when every available space is green!

This little garden is barely hanging on this late in the season, but it’s still pretty.

The other photo that I took was outside the door of The Green Store.  Their window says “A general store for the 21st century” and it truly was.  I could have stayed all day.  So many locally sourced items from soap to door mats made from lobster ropes.  The store was stocked with artsy items, practical items, toys, clothes, and a million other things that I’m forgetting - each more interesting than the last.  The gentleman at the register was so friendly and so much fun to talk to - again, I could have stayed for hours. Loved the sign.

  Speaking of change, the weather is supposed to take a very nasty turn tomorrow.  A big nor’easter is due to blow in around midnight and hang around for the morning hours - high winds and pounding rain.  Our plan is to just stay cozy tomorrow morning and wait it out.  If it clears  like they’re predicting we’ll have some fun - if not, we’ll relax, read, and have some hot chocolate.  Still not a bad day.  After that storm blasts the area the forecast is bright for the duration of our visit.   Yippee! This girl is ready for a hot bath and her jammies, so I’ll catch you again tomorrow if we’re not blown away tonight. Sending love from beautiful Maine!

[likethetailofacomet]

Viewing Party

So the other night @ooo-barff-ooo and I were talking about how much we loved our TRR MCs, Claire Berkley and Joanna Malone, and how it would be cool if they were friends and I was like well what if they were and then this happened. 

Without further ado, I give you the ultimate friendship of C and J, getting drunk together and watching everyone’s favorite fairy tale on live television: The Royal Romance- Liam and Riley’s wedding. 

FEATURING: JOANNA MALONE, CLAIRE BERKLEY, AND DAN DAN THE BARTENDER MAN. 

“See you tomorrow, Dan,” Claire called from behind the bar.  “Same bat time, same bat place.” He said over his shoulder. He gave a one handed wave and strode toward the front door and sweet freedom. He’d been there since 11 am and it was approaching midnight- the joys of working a double shift- and he was due for another one in the morning, so he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Claire had come in at 5pm, and would sling drinks until last call at 4am, when the shift workers and doctors and construction guys and fisherman had had either thier first or last drinks of the night. Joanna would open, Dan would pull the double, and Claire would close. That was the general flow.

Tonight, though, was not a general night. At roughly 5 am EST the most anticipated marriage of the year would be televised live- the Cordonian Royal Wedding-New York bartender Riley Brooks was rising to the rank of queen as she married future king Liam Rys after falling in love with him in the most modern of Cinderella stories: she took out the trash at his bachelor bash and ended up stealing his heart and his hand.

Claire checked on her ten or so customers, making sure that all of their glasses were full before slipping into the closet they called a kitchen. There was a single basket fryer, a flat top that could fit no more than four frozen burger patties, and a coffee maker. She reached for the can of Folger's on the top shelf and scooped some of it into the brew basket before jamming it into the machine and pressing "start". She leaned against the counter ledge as she waited for the deep brown liquid to fill the little clear pot, pulling her phone from her apron to text Joanna.

-Hey girl, you're stopping for snacks right? I'm starving. 

Jo had been off from work since 5pm when Claire got in. She'd gone home and taken a nap before running a few errands for the viewing party they'd been planning ever since they saw that first tabloid article about the Prince choosing his bride. Claire and Jo were not the type of girls who would normally get so involved in the billion dollar weddings of fancy rich nobles and dignitaries around the world- hell they had been invited to Steve's wedding- a guy they used to work with and actually knew without the need for magazine or television coverage- and despite their manager saying that they could close the bar for a night so everyone could go to the wedding, Claire and Jo declined, not really liking Steve...or weddings. "I have a school thing that night...um...presentation. Of my...thesis," Jo had said. She was working on her Master's degree while slaving at Keagan's, so her excuse seemed to work, even though it was a summer course and she wouldn't actually be working on her thesis for another five months.  "And um, I have an...appointment that afternoon that....I can't reschedule..." Claire chimed in her thinly veiled excuse. She did have an appointment...for hair color...and she'd really rather not reschedule it just to go sit at Steve's wedding. But this wedding, dubbed "The Royal Romance" by the media, was a different story, namely for who would be standing next to the Prince as he said his "I do's".

-Um, did you see the pictures of the Prince's friend? The dude with the hair and the eyebrows and the denim? He's all the snack we need, C. (but yes I also got snacks for eating) 

Claire laughed at Jo's response, typed out a quick one back saying how excited she was, and then poured herself a large black coffee before heading back to the bar to finish up her shift. As the last patron stumbled out the door and it shut with a tingling of bells, she flipped the sign to the closed side, locked the door and turned off the neon lights in the windows. She went back to the bar cooler and took a tray of jello shots out, setting them on the freshly cleaned bar top. She then went to her bag and took two brightly colored headbands that she’d attached lace and tooling and feathers and beads to, and set them next to the shots. Changing the channels on all the televisions to various news stations, she sat back and enjoyed the “pregame coverage” of the wedding while she waited for Joanna. Just as she finished the last of the coffee she’d brewed hours earlier, she heard a tapping at the window and looked over to see her friend waving excitedly and holding up a bag. Claire set her empty coffee mug down and crossed the bar to open the door and let Jo in.

“Welcome to the wedding of the century, Madame,” Claire greeted her with a flourish and a funny bow.

Jo did an awkward curtsy. “Why thank you Madame, so pleased I could join you.” The two dissolved into laughter and headed over to the bar. Joanna hopped up onto a stool and took stock of the things Claire had laid out while adding the bag she’d brought with her. She picked up one of the headbands and laughed. “Oh my god, Claire, did you really make us fascinators?”

Claire raised her eyebrows. “Um, yeah I made us fascinators! Riley has been obsessed with fancy hats throughout the whole social season! Homegirl would not shut up about them- like, every chance she could get to wear one she did and she even brought them up in interviews… I thought it would be weirder if I didn’t make us fascinators.”

“Good point. I really don’t know how Prince Liam is looking past that. He must really love that dizzball.” Joanna plopped the colorful headpiece on top of her noggin and Claire took the other one and shoved it into her frizzy hair. Next Joanna picked up one of the shots Claire had made. “Ew, Jell-o shots?” she made a face, pulling one half of her mouth up to show her disgust.

“Caramel apple jell-o shots, to be exact. You know, because Cordonia’s obsessed with apples? And caramel because I’m obsessed with caramel.” She shrugged. “Once we’re a few drinks in we won’t care if they’re gross.”

“So true my friend. So,” she opened the shopping bag she’d had with her and pulled out several small plastic containers. “We’ve got…olives…stuffed grape leaves…and, drum roll,” Claire obliged, rapping her pointer fingers on the bar top. “Baklava! You know cause,” Jo shrugged, “Cordonia, Greece…they’re sorta the same right?”

“Sure. Probably not but sure.” Claire laughed and Joanna tossed an olive at her.

“Okay well they are tonight. Also,” next she pulled out a sheet of paper. “I made up a drinking game for this here wedding.” On the screen they were showing a photo montage of Riley and Liam from all the different events from the social season. “Okay, rules- If anyone mentions apples, or there’s a flag with apples or we see an apple tree or they say “Cordonian Ruby”, we take one of these gross shots here,” she pointed to Claire’s Jell-o shots. “Any time we see fancy hats, or some noble lady curtsies or some dude in a suit bows, we take a sip of our ciders. If they call Riley “The American” we finish ‘em.”

“Wait, let me get this straight. You made up a drinking game with no whiskey involved?” Claire asked, skeptically narrowing her eyes at Joanna.

“I wasn’t done, C! Okay, so any time Mr. broody Mc Brooderson Drake Walker, love of our lives and real reason that we are watching this ridiculous wedding at 5am, is shown looking like he wants to kiss Riley, we do a shot of whiskey in his angsty honor. I was going to suggest Fireball but-“

“But you remember the holiday party from last year. Yeah, everyone does,” Claire hid her face in her hands embarrassed, preferring to forget that night and the drunken mess she’d been.

“Right. I remembered the holiday party and how Fireball turns you into a demon. So, I figured SoCo would do.”

“Yeah, that’s never made me dance on the bar while trying to fight Steve, so good call.”

Joanna nodded. “Any rules you want to add?”

Claire thought for a moment and then something blue and…unique…caught her eye on the screen. They were talking about Maxwell Beaumont again, and his propensity to wear themed suits. He had this hilarious blue suit with a squid on it; even the bow-tie was a tiny cephalopod. “Oh! Yes! Every time they have to pan away from that,” she pointed to Maxwell in the suit, “so as not to ruin a picture or a shot, we take a cider sip.”

Joanna laughed. “Deal. Oh! Its starting!!” She spun her stool so she could lean back against the bar to watch. Claire poured them each a cider and they clinked them together before taking a sip, pinkies out. “Ugh, and to think, this girl worked right down the street from us. Like, this coulda been us, C!”

Claire blinked before they both burst into laughter. “Yeah we’d both make excellent queens, I’m sure.”

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

Dan unlocked the bar door and opened it, setting the bells jingling. Before he had even set one foot inside, he heard the raucous laughter of his two best friends, and shook his head wondering what he was about to walk into. “Is it just me, Jo, or does the Queen Mother look like a Royal Ducking Bitch?” Claire’s voice was sing songy and full of laughter.

Joanna was laying her arms and top half on the bar top, laughing hysterically, almost to the point where she couldn’t get her words out. She managed to respond, “Quack, mother ducker!!” before giggles swallowed her ability to speak further.

“Did…did you two really just autocorrect yourselves?” Dan called, hands on his hips taking in the scene in front of him. They each had a funny looking headband dangling from their heads, empty jello glasses littered the bar, and at least three shots of whiskey each sat next to them. If only Drake hadn’t been pining for Riley The American Queen so badly, they wouldn’t have had to nearly finish the bottle of SoCo.

“Yes, Dan, we are at a fancy ducking event here.” Claire pointed to her fascinator, to how it was barely staying together after she and Jo had danced and drank and laughed and flopped against the bar top.

“Yeah, and we can’t be ducking rude and curse like sailors, Dan!” Joanna chimed in. “The Queen would not allow it!”

“She would not!” they had put on silly accents by now, not coming anywhere close to the Cordonian accent…or any accent in the world, really, but forcing so much laughter from one another that they cried.

“Okay tweedles C and J,” Dan clapped them both on the back. “Outta my bar, you drunkards. Go sleep off the wedding, I’ll see you back for your shifts in a few hours.” Now it was his turn to laugh almost to the point of tears, as they both groaned thinking about bartending while hungover at 3 in the afternoon.

“Worth it,” Jo said to Claire, high fiving her sloppily.

“Totally.” Claire answered.

tagging people who i think might find this funny even though its really the most gratuitous thing i’ve ever posted: @ooo-barff-ooo @sleepwalkingelite @brightpinkpeppercorn @zaffrenotes @endlessly-searching-for-you @mind-reader1 @andy-loves-corgis @agent-bossypants