#first time doing art nouveau and it didn’t turn out too bad i think | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thelioncourts · 4 years

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Continue on AO3]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And the clothes?”

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

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

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

Damen cocked his head. The man smiled again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does he fund your adventures across the globe?”

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

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

“I have a proposition for you, Damianos.”

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

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

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

“What?”

Nicaise audibly scoffed.

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

“Sir, I —”

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

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

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

The man smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ll talk after the show tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not making any promises there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nicaise.

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

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

“What?” Nicaise asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you say so,” Laurent said dismissively.

“I do.”

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

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

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

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

“What is it you want with Nicaise?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck.”

No one was around to hear it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

Laurent’s eyes opened instantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine. But just across the street.”

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

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

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

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

And gods forbid Nik had any drama of his own.

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

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cynicalrainbows · 4 years

Text

The Next Best Thing Chapter 12

In which Anne’s parents are Awful Nouveau-Riche and Cathy realises her skill at Scary Stories.

There’s pizza and birthday cake for supper when they’re called downstairs, flushed and ruffled from much entombing and raining down of curses.

(They even managed to include Anne’s birthday present: the doll became the sacrifice, like in the story of Abraham and Isaac that they learned in R.E, except that no one replaces the doll with a sheep at the last minute.

It’s ok. The doll doesn’t seem to mind being a sacrifice. It doesn’t mess up her dress or her ringlets anyway.)

At home and at Catalina’s house at her old house, it’s tea but at Anne’s house, it’s supper. She knows not to call it tea because Anne’s Mum and Dad like to pretend that they don’t understand when people call it tea.

(Once, Anne says, Jane asked what time she should bring Anne and Kitty home for tea and Anne’s Mum made a big show of looking confused and told Jane that Of course they didn’t let the children drink TEA, Jane, oh goodness no…. Oh I’m so sorry, do you mean supper? and Jane had just sighed really big.)

Cathy wonders if she or Anne should have warned Anna about the tea/supper thing in case she gets it wrong and has to listen to Anne’s Mum doing her I’m Very Confused face...but it turns out to be ok because Anna calls it abendessen, and Anne’s Mum gets a funny look on her face, like she isn’t sure whether or not to correct her, and ends up not saying anything at all.

The pizza is delicious- real, proper pizza ordered from a pizza delivery place- not the frozen pizza that Catalina buys or the homemade pizza that they have as a treat sometimes, when she gets to help knead the dough herself and choose her own toppings.

(She always makes her pizza into a face- with olives for eyes and a red pepper smiley mouth and pepperoni cheeks and a button mushroom nose, even though she doesn’t like peppers very much and she doesn’t like olives at all.

She picks those parts off before she eats it.

The very first time, she’d wondered for a moment in Catalina would be cross at the waste but when she’d asked to check, Catalina had just laughed and said that they could probably just about afford it and that if Cathy valued The Aesthetic that much, who was she to stand in the way of art?

Which turned out to be a fancy way of saying that she didn’t mind.)

The birthday cake is even more exciting than the pizza: it has two tiers like a wedding cake, except it’s pink rather than white and there are little pink and white roses on the top rather than a bride and groom and Happy Birthday Ann written around the side.

Mary laughs and asks Anne’s Dad if he noticed that they missed off an E and Anne’s Dad tells her not to look at him, he didn’t order the bloody thing and Anne’s Mum goes pink and quickly says that it must have been a typo and then snaps at them both that it doesn’t matter, isn’t it still a beautiful cake?

(Anne whispers to Cathy that it doesn’t seem fair that grown ups can make all the spelling mistakes they want: why doesn’t it matter that the cake maker spelt her name wrong when she gets told off if she forgets about the secret E in Boleyn?

But she only says it quietly, so no one thinks she’s being Ungrateful.)

She and Anna and Anne’s Mum (who is holding her magazine open with her finger so she doesn’t lose her place) and Anne’s Dad (who is still wearing his suit and is drinking something dark brown from a fancy glass) and Mary (who is home from Group) and Baby Catherine (who is enthusiastically gumming a rusk) sing Happy Birthday to Anne while she blows out her candles and cuts the cake to make a wish.

(She doesn’t get to do more than the first cut though because Anne’s Mum is fussed about mess.)

Cathy makes sure to hold her cake fork in her left rather than her right hand when she’s eating her slice of birthday cake (she’s getting quite good at it now) and feels pleased with herself when she doesn’t drop even a single crumb.

Anne is….less careful, but it’s her birthday, so her Mum only frowns at her a little bit and her Dad doesn’t notice at all because he’s looking at his phone.

Baby Catherine is a lot less careful and drops bits of rusk and crumbs of cake all over the carpet and Anne’s Mum sighs and frowns and then scolds Mary for letting the baby have CAKE and what were you thinking?

Mary tells her it was only a tiny taste and to lay off her, it’s HER daughter, and Anne’s Mum snaps back that if it’s her daughter, maybe Mary should pay for her clothes and toys and nappies and food from her own pocket and how would she like that? and they snap back and forth until Mary crossly whisks Baby Catherine away to clean her up.

Then Anne’s Dad says he needs to make a phone call and Anne’s Mum turns to them and asks if they wouldn’t like to go back upstairs to play now so that the grownups can have some peace and quiet even though they haven’t been downstairs all that long, and that’s it, the cake bit of the party is clearly over.

Anna looks a tiny bit surprised, and Anne looks a tiny bit disappointed (Cathy just feels relieved) …….but it’s alright really.

The pillow fort isn’t going to build itself, after all.

Making the fort is fun.

Climbing into the fort and playing that they’re Arctic Explorers in a blizzard is even more fun (especially when Anna’s Captain Oates decides he wants to come back into the tent after he’s left and she and Anne have to fight really hard to keep him outside in the snow)......and then Anne says they should do scary ghost stories.

Because it’s her sleepover and her birthday and everyone in sleepovers on tv tells ghost stories and so they should too.

This is….sort of a good idea.

It’s a good idea because it’s true that a proper sleepover needs ghost stories- they all agree on that.

It’s less of a good idea because… well, at first she thinks it’s a less-good idea because she doesn’t really know any proper ghost stories.

(Both her parents and Catalina have been very clear in letting her know that Ghosts- and monsters-under-the-bed and Vampires and Witches are all Just In Stories…..but they haven’t supplied her many of the stories themselves. Not ones that are scary enough to make them worthy of a sleepover anyway.)

Not only does she not know any real scary stories though, neither does Anne (as far as she knows) and so it’ll be just boring.

However it soon turns out- once the lights are turned off and they’re sitting in the pillow fort with their torches under their chins to make their faces all spooky- that actually Anne DOES know quite a few ghost stories.

At least, they’re not exactly ghost stories, more plots-of-horror-films-that-Mary-watches-and-Anne-Isn’t-Supposed-To-See….. but they work perfectly well even if they ARE more about zombies and men with chainsaws and big sharks than ghosts (and even though Anne has to make some of it up because she- unluckily for her- never gets to see more than a minute or two before Mary tells her to go and play.)

Anna knows stories too- stories that are old, stories that her Omi learnt from her Omi when she was a little, little girl.

There’s the story of the maid who tricks a princess into being a goose girl and who gets rolled around the city in a spiked barrel as her punishment and now haunts the town every night- which makes them all wince- and the story of the peddler who is given a gun with seven bullets in by a man in a cloak who turns out to be the devil and who ends up shooting his wife by mistake and now haunts the forest- which makes them all sad.

And then Anne says it’s time for Cathy to tell a ghost story and she wonders what she could possibly say.

She has no idea how she’ll be able to match Anna’s devil-with-a-gun story, and certain she won’t be able to top Anne’s man-who-cuts-off-peoples-skin-and-wears-it anecdote.

She hasn’t seen any scary films herself at all- not even a bit of one because Catalina doesn’t watch those sorts of films, just old, old films that are all black and white, or serious grown up films where people do lots of looking out of rainy windows while sad music plays in the background.

Once or twice, out of curiosity, she’s tried picking something that looks scary and grown up from the dvd section of the library to see if she’ll be allowed it but Catalina just makes her put it back and choose something else.

(‘You wouldn’t like it, querida.’

Catalina has barely even looked at the dvd case and it makes her cross.

‘I might. You don’t know I won’t like it.’

Catalina raises her eyebrows. ‘I can make a pretty good guess. Remember the detective program that you didn’t like because of the scary music? Well this would be even scarier than that. It would give you nightmares for sure.’

‘Maybe I LIKE having nightmares.’

‘Maybe you do but I don’t. Just choose something else please.’

‘Well I ONLY want this one.’ It’s a challenge but Catalina looks unimpressed.

‘Well I am more than ok with you getting nothing at all mija if that’s what you’d like.’ Catalina nonchalantly examines the case with a picture of a tiger in a sailboat on the front and puts it back.

Annoyingly, Cathy knows she means it. ‘Now shall I pick out another dvd for myself or would you like to choose a different one?’

‘......A different one.’

‘Ah, I thought so.’

Grudgingly, she lets Catalina put the dvd case back on the shelf but it’s still frustrating.

It’s too hard to explain that what really made her hide her eyes and cover her ears from the detective program wasn’t really the scariness but how normal it was.

Scary films, she thinks, should be Scary. And she doesn’t think she’d mind Scary Scary.

What she doesn’t like are normal things that turn scary and remind you of all the bad things that could happen to you at any time at all.

But explaining that is too hard so she doesn’t even try.)

She wonders if Catalina would have changed her mind about the dvd if she knew she was leaving Cathy in such a position as she is now, the only person at the sleepover without a scary story to tell.

(Maybe she’ll tell her tomorrow. She hopes Catalina feels bad about it when she tells her.)

Anna and Anne are starting to look a bit impatient now so she decides she’s just going to have to make something up.

She takes a deep breath.

‘Once upon a time-’

Anne giggles a bit- maybe because she’s using the fairy story beginning, maybe because she’s making her voice all spooky and different, maybe just from sheer nerves, but Cathy can’t tell which so she throws a stray cushion at Anne to make her be quiet and listen properly.

‘Once upon a time….there was a little girl. She lived with her Godmother in a big, big house. It had hundreds of rooms and ten floors and a big big garden….’

‘Was there a swimming pool?’

She wants to be annoyed at Anne for interrupting but she supposes it’s only fair considering that she interrupted Anne’s story about The Scary Murder Hotel to say that it was really the ladies fault she got stabbed in the shower and why didn’t she lock the door like a normal person?

‘No- Yes.’ She changes her mind. ‘She DID have a pool, and she could do the backstroke and dive and hold her breath underwater-’

Anne scowls (it’s still a point of contention between them that Cathy learned how to do the backstroke in swimming lessons first even though Anne has a nicer swimming costume.)

‘Bet she couldn’t really. Bet the dive was only once and she couldn’t do it again.’

Cathy is on the verge of asking Anne just whose story it is (and possibly adding that maybe the little girl could only manage to dive once but at least she didn’t cry when she got pushed fell off the floaty raft even though all that happened was getting a little bit of water up her nose like some people she could name…) but then Anna interrupts because she wants to hear what happens next.

‘Go on Cathy!’

‘Well, she lived in a big big house, anyway. She was allowed to play in every room except the attic. Every day she asked her Godmother if she could go into the attic and every day, her Godmother would say, maybe when you’re a bit older.

And she would come up with reasons about why the little girl couldn’t go up there, like one day she’d say that the roof was leaking or that there were some presents she wasn’t allowed to see or that it was too cold.

But the little girl didn’t really think that was really why. And every night when she was in bed, she could hear noises coming from the attic. And if she ever asked about it, her Godmother would say that it was the wind.

But it didn’t sound like the wind. It sounded like-’ Cathy drums with the heel of her hand on the carpeted floor a few times and then makes her fingers all witchy and scratches them along the side of the fort.

‘One night, she decided that she couldn’t wait any longer to find out so she got out of bed really quietly and snuck up the stairs to the attic. On the first step, she heard a little voice in her head telling her to go back but she ignored it. When she was half way up, she heard a little voice telling her to go back to bed RIGHT NOW...but she ignored it. And when she got to the top step, she opened the door really slowly….’

Cathy pauses dramatically- she’s not really been paying attention to the other two while she’s been talking but they’re both staring at her, eyes wide. Anna is holding a pillow to her chest and Anne is biting the nail of her littlest finger.

I did that, she thinks. My story did that….

It feels exciting. It feels powerful.

‘She opened the door and saw...nothing.’ She lets her voice drop back to normal and Anna and Anna both relax. ‘It was just an ordinary boring attic….and she thought maybe her Godmother had been telling the truth the whole time, and she was just turning around to go back to bed when she felt….a hand….close around…..her wrist…’

She lets her words fall slowly until she gets to the last part, and then she grabs Anne’s bare wrist as she says it.

Anne gasps and pushes her away and takes back her arm like she’s afraid of what Cathy might do to it; Anna puts the pillow over her face so only her eyes are peeking out.

‘The hand was all cold and thin….and the little girl was too scared to turn around. She heard a voice- just a little girl's voice- in her ear, and it said…’

She makes her voice all scratchy. ‘It’s my turn now. You’ve lived downstairs for all these years and your Godmother promised that one day, we were going to get to swap places and now you’re here so we will.

The little girl tried to run but before she could, the other little girl had pulled off her dressing gown and put it on over her own raggedy dress, and she pushed the little girl down and she took a big needle and she sewed up the little girls mouth so she couldn’t even scream-’

Anne presses her lips together tightly.

‘The little girl lay there with her mouth all sewn up, and she watched as the attic girl escaped out of the door and shut it hard….

And then the little girl heard her go downstairs. And she tried and tried to open the door but she couldn’t, no matter how hard because it was locked up tight.

And after a while, she heard her Godmother coming into the hall and so she banged as hard as she could on the door, hoping she would hear her and come and rescue her and let her out…’

‘And then?’ Anna’s voice is nearly a whisper.

‘And then…’ Cathy took a deep breath. ‘Then she heard the other little attic girl saying What’s that funny noise? Can I go up to the attic today?

And she heard her Godmother say That’s just the wind, come and have breakfast. Maybe you can go to the attic when you’re a little bit older.

And it made her wonder if she’d be able to escape when the attic girl came up to see her….

But then she heard the little girl reply That’s ok. I don’t really want to go up there. I don’t ever want to go up there, not ever!

And the attic girl and her Godmother walked away, and the little girl was left all alone. Forever. The end.’

There’s a long quiet after she finishes and she wonders if maybe she was wrong, if Anne and Anna don’t like her story after all….but then Anna lets out a shaky breath.

‘Wow Cathy, you’re really good at scary stories!’

‘Thank you.’

‘Did Catalina tell you that one?’ Anne asks and Cathy shakes her head. ‘No. I just….made it up.’

‘How? How? Teach me!’

‘I don’t know how-’

‘Please Cathy!’ Anne grips her arm like she wants to shake the stories out of Cathy for herself and Cathy pushes her off, giggling.

‘I don’t know how to!’

Anne subsides reluctantly. ‘It was SO scary! What happened to the little girl?’

‘Yes!’ Anna joins in. ‘What happened to her?’

They’re looking at her expectantly- it’s so strange to think that now, this little girl exists not just in her head but in Anna and Anne’s heads too, she exists now when five minutes ago she was just nothing at all.

She’s made something out of nothing- and although she’s written stories before, in school and just for fun, this feels different. This feels real.

It occurs to her that she could say anything- anything- and that would be The End….so she has to think for a minute before she asks (and this is quite clever she thinks really) if they want a Scary Ending or a Happy Ending.

(It’s like when Catalina asks if she wants truth or lies when she asks what Catalina did at work that day, and sometimes she says lies and sometimes she says truth.

When she says she wants lies, Catalina will tell her about the tiger that got in through the office window and how everybody but her ran away and how she had to fight it off with just the contents of her handbag until it fled, never to be seen again.

Or she’ll talk about how she got lost on the way to work and as she walked and walked, the buildings around her got bigger and bigger and it was only when she came across a dandelion the size of an umbrella that she decided she should maybe turn back….

When she says she wants truth, Catalina will tell her about the new person who made a mistake and tried to blame it on her, and the annoying woman who talks about being on a diet and then goes and takes the last biscuit anyway, and the annoying man who listens to what she says and then repeats it and pretends it’s his idea and how much she’d like to throw something at him but of course I wouldn’t really querida because that would be very bad.

Whether she chooses truth or lies, it’s usually a good story anyway.)

Anne says Happy Ending just as Anna says Scary Ending, which is no help at all.

‘Tell us both!’

‘Yes, tell us both!’

She gives in, and tells them all about how the little girls Godmother noticed that the attic girl wasn’t wearing the same pajamas as her real daughter and went up and rescued her and unstitched her mouth and made the little attic girl say sorry and go and live with her neighbour who was going to have a baby the normal way but then decided that babies were too much trouble but that she’d still quite like a daughter anyway.

‘-and they all lived happily ever after.’

‘Was the little attic girl her sister?’ asks Anna and Cathy shakes her head.

‘She came with the house.’

‘Ohhhh.’ Anna nods understandingly. ‘Yes. The new house has some furniture Mutti didn’t like because it was ugly and Vati said that it came with the house and that we had to put up with it.’ She pauses. ‘I’m glad we didn’t get a creepy little girl too.’

‘You MIGHT have done!’ Anne bursts out. ‘Maybe you did and she’s in the attic and she’s waiting for you to go up-’

Anna shakes her head. ‘We don’t have an attic.’

‘Maybe she’s in the cellar!’

‘We don’t have a cellar either. Vati said houses with cellars and attics were too much trouble and if Mutti wanted either, she could be in charge of sorting them out when something went wrong and Mutti said there was no way she was doing that, so we just got a normal house.’

‘Oh.’ Anne looks stumped. ‘That’s a shame. Nowhere for the little attic girl to live just because your Daddy didn’t want a cellar.’

Anna says if Anne is so sorry for the little attic girl, maybe she can come and live in Anne’s attic instead and Anne squeals and says she better not even try, it’s not her fault Anna doesn’t have an attic.

‘Can we have the scary ending now Cathy?’ Anna asks (possibly to distract Anne from further scrutiny of her father’s potential disregard for the welfare for little attic girls) and Cathy nods.

‘The scary ending…..is that the little girl stayed up in the attic forever. She got hungrier and hungrier but she couldn’t eat anything because her mouth was all sewn up and no one was bringing her food anyway. So she died. All by herself and she never saw her Godmother again and no one noticed or was sad about it because they didn’t know.’

It’s not a very long ending but it’s the saddest, scariest ending Cathy can think of, and the others must agree because they just nod, like it makes sense that of course you can’t eat with a mouth all sewn up.

They’re thinking about it so hard that when there’s knock on the door, they all jump and Anne gives a little scream and Cathy grabs tight onto her hand….but it’s only Mary, telling them that Anne’s Mum says it’s time they went to bed.

Coming out of the pillow fort feels funny after all the stories- especially as the big light is still off and they have to shine their torches so Anne can find the switch by the door.

(She makes it across the room ok, no scary hands reach out to grab her or anything.)

(Not that they can see, anyway.)

At least things feel a bit more normal when the light is on- and finding pajamas and toothbrushes is at least a reassuringly prosaic distraction.

It also helps that she’s excited to show off the new pajamas Catalina brought her as a special treat- her old ones were just pink and purple plaid but her new ones are very cool and blue and have little otters and ‘Otterly Exhausted’ on them.

(Catalina says that’s a pun, which means getting words wrong on purpose to be funny. Cathy decides she likes puns but from the way Catalina rolls her eyes when she’s explaining it, she thinks Catalina might not feel the same way.)

(But it’s ok because Anne says that Jane likes puns a LOT.)

Anne’s pajamas are just plain green (although they’re made of special silky stuff) but Anna has pajamas patterned with little skulls and crossbones like a pirate.

(Anna says they’re from the boys section because why should boys get the cool pajamas and Cathy and Anne agree that’s a very good point.)

The fort gets a bit demolished when they’re getting into bed to sleep because they need the pillows and blankets back, and Anna goes back to her bag for a minute and fishes out a slightly worn grey and white toy fluffy thing.

She tells them her Vati brought one for her and one for her sister when their old dog, Albrecht got put to sleep, even though Amelia was too little at the time to know what Put To Sleep meant. So her dog is Albrecht The Second.

Albrecht The Second barks and lollops around the remains of the fort until Anne’s stuffed dragon blows a plume of smoke and fire and scares him away… and then Anne turns to Cathy and says they need Tarka (who is important enough to have a whole book written about him) to throw water on the fire…

It makes her wish very much that she hadn’t left Tarka under her pillow at home for fear of looking like a baby. When Anne asks why she didn’t bring him, she just shrugs.

‘I forgot.’

‘Oh.’ Anne loses interest and makes Rothko dragon burrow under the duvet.

(Rothko dragon got his name from the big red painting on Anne’s living room wall because Anne’s Mum and Dad were having a fight about it the same day that Anne was trying to think of a name for him: Anne’s Dad kept shouting that it was a completely ridiculous waste of money and Anne’s Mum kept shouting back that it was an original Rothko Thomas, an original Rothko! Anne doesn’t care much about the Rothko painting- she says it’s looks like something someone even younger than Kitty could paint- but she does like Rothko dragon very, very much.)

Cathy tries to remind herself that not bringing Tarkar means she’s obviously very grown up and that’s a good thing….but it’s quite hard to do.

Anne says that one of them can have Kitty’s bed and one of them can have the camp bed and one of them can have Anne’s bed and that her Mum said it was up to them to decide, so she thinks they should draw straws for it like in Oliver Twist.

(This is, Cathy thinks, more that Anne likes the idea of drawing straws than really caring where anyone sleeps.)

In the end, Cathy ends up on the fold up bed, Anne has her own bed and Anna has Kitty’s.

Anna asks, while they’re waiting for their turns in the bathroom, whether Cathy really minds being on the camp bed and does she want to swap and Cathy says it’s ok.

She feels a bit bad when Anna smiles at her like she’s being nice.

She isn’t sure if she should tell her that the real reason she doesn’t mind having the fold-up is because she knows from Anne that Kitty has started wetting her bed again after her visit to Edmund.

(Jane says that it’s nothing to worry about, it’s easily fixed, and it doesn’t matter in the slightest so please don’t cry Kitty-Kat, which is pretty much the opposite of what Anne’s Mum has to say on the subject. But then again, she and Jane often say opposite things and Anne and Kitty are mostly used to it by now.)

She decides not to tell Anna because Anna seems happy to have the proper bed anyway, but she also feels a tiny bit guilty that Anna thinks she’s being more nice than she is, so she lets Anna clean her teeth next.

Which sort of makes it fair.

They get into bed and turn off all the lights, apart from Anne’s lava lamp and their torches. It’s sort of exciting- to be somewhere new, for the real sleepover part to begin….but it’s also, for some reason, suddenly really quite easy to imagine little attic girls and scary hands grabbing at their wrists and people wearing skin and what it must feel like to be rolled around in a spiky barrel…..

When there’s another knock on the door, it makes them all jump….but it’s only Anne’s Mum, checking that they’re really in bed and reminding them to not touch the special soap in the bathroom.

There’s a little uncomfortable silence after she goes: Cathy can still feel her heart beating a bit faster under her pajama top and she can tell that Anne and Anna are feeling the same way (although they at least have a dragon and a dog for protection while Cathy has nothing at all.)

After a bit, Anna says that attic girls probably can’t knock on doors to make it less scary- and they all feel better for a moment.

Then Anne says that little attic girls probably don’t knock because they can just come straight in whenever they want to…...

And they go right back to being scared again.

#six #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #sixfic #six fanfiction #the next best thing

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medeafive · 4 years

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Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov Characters: Natasha Romanov (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes, Clint Barton, Nick Fury, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Sharon Carter (Marvel) Additional Tags: Vampires, I only write AUs now don't ask, Vampire Hunters, Going for dark and gritty here, Set in Prague because I love it, Suicide mentions, Late 90s Summary:

She's good. Really good. She's done this longer than almost anyone else and no one tracks vampires down better than her. That's the only thing that matters. Hunt and kill. He has white eyes and a black cloak. He's either an impostor or, judging by the color of his eyes, the most dangerous vampire she's ever met. And he's not going to leave her alone.

"Are you hurt?" he asks.

She blushes. "No, no. Cut healed cleanly. It's just- that time of the month. I may be sterilized but I still get my period."

They are walking alongside the Vltava in Holešovice. Not a pretty neighborhood if you don't want to get into the parks leading to the Castle. He sniffs. "Wow. I really smell that."

She snorts. "Come on. That's creepy."

"Sorry," he replies. "Can't change it, though. So we should probably get somewhere indoors."

"Don't wanna take on a hunting party?" she asks. "That would be fun. Haven't been in a fight in a while."

"They're allies," he remarks. "I shouldn't bother them more than I have to."

"You're boring," she accuses. "Let's cross over. I know a place."

She always liked Karlín, the old townhouses, streets lined with trees, art nouveau architecture. It would be even prettier without vampires, if the cafés and bars could open longer, people would sit outside more, all that. If everyone didn't look scared.

The apartment is on the highest floor, including a balcony and all. Not very useful now. The couple who lived here moved out quite orderly, leaving the big pieces of furniture behind. It seems a little like they're just on a very long holiday.

"You know, I've been wondering," she remarks, casually placing her guns and knives on the table. "Does Schmidt actually have red skin?"

"Oh yeah." He looks around, the empty nails where photos must have hung, maybe even art. "He does."

"Creepy," she finds. "What about Zola?"

"No." He walks to the window. "It was just the very first version, I think. I don't know."

"Why did they even send you to recruit me?" she asks. "No offense, but you're not exactly convincing."

He snorts. "I'm reliable. I do as I'm told. The- what did you call it- the mind control works better on some than on others. Don't ask me why."

"So they're worried this might go off the rails?" she asks. "Why?"

"Someone else might have already drunk you," he replies. "Everything that's not just murdering people is a delicate mission. Some have less control over their urges."

She snorts. "Oh, great. You were the most boring, controlled, sophisticated vampire they could find."

"I was told not to hurt you," he says, turning around. "And I don't want to. I like you, actually."

"You don't want to drink my blood?" she asks, walking over. "Honestly. Come on, you smell it."

"Wouldn't mind a little sip, to be perfectly honest," he admits. "But I really don't want to hurt you. I promised."

"That wouldn't turn me," she clarifies. "Really? You could stop after just a little?"

He grins, fangs shining golden. "Is that an offer?"

"Fuck off," she returns. "No."

He shrugs, unimpressed. "That's too risky for you suddenly? But injecting vampire blood was totally okay?"

"I stopped," she points out. "And I didn't grow fangs or claws, so what. Though I… I felt like I could smell better. Maybe I was getting some vampire senses."

"Possible," he admits. "After all, nobody knows all of the effects."

"It didn't heal the scars, though," she tells him. "Wounds were gone quickly but the scars stayed."

"The virus doesn't care about scars," he explains. "No impact on function. So no, those never go away."

"You have a lot?" she asks.

He snorts. "Come on. Don't make me take off my shirt."

She steps back and reaches for the biteguard around her neck. "I can go first."

He looks intrigued. "Sure you wanna take off the armor?"

"I won't smell more of blood," she points out, unclasping the biteguard and reaching for the zipper that was underneath. "Deal?"

"Okay," he breathes. "Deal."

She pulls the zipper unceremoniously down to the belt with the red hourglass, pulling the arms from the plated sleeves. She's pale, too. Not like she spends her days lying on the beach. She shows him her forearms, with all the scars. "We didn't have the carbon fibre and the kevlar at the beginning. Got scratched a lot."

"You went out there to fight vampires without proper protection?" he asks, staring at the pale skin and the even paler scars. "You could've died ."

"Yeah, no shit," she returns. "Wasn't fun, bleeding and then having to deal with vampires in a blood frenzy. Yeah, I've really been doing this for a long time. Uh, that one's from when they cut open my belly to take out the ovaries. That one, I actually got shot. Accident."

He unties the black cloak. "You're insane."

"Fuck off," she repeats, uncomfortable feeling broiling in her belly. "Not my fault."

"You could've stopped," he suggests, opening straps on his leather jacket. "Not like you owed anyone anything."

"While the world was going to shit?" she questions. "Hell no."

He pulls the jacket open. She's not prepared for how bad his left arm really looks, the metal forced in, red red lines on white skin. And the red bite. It looks worse than just a scar, somehow alive. He pulls the black shirt over his head, too.

His entire chest is covered in scars, both faint and strong. She takes a deep breath. "What happened to you?"

He doesn't put the shirt down, sort of self-consciously hiding behind it. "We train. Fight. It's brutal."

"I can see that," she mutters, fingers darting forward carefully. "Can I- mind if I-"

"Please," he blurts out, fisting the shirt. "It's- he says he only wants the strong ones to survive. The others are useless."

"Kill or be killed," she mutters, finger tracing over the white cold hard line that gives in under her touch. "I'm sorry. That- he really is a monster."

He snorts softly, pushing the shirt off his wrists. "Thanks. Uh- that kinda tickles."

"Seriously?" she questions, pressing her entire palm to his scarred abs. "You're ticklish?"

"What about it," he replies. "I'm not dead, for the umpteenth time."

"You're cold like it, though," she remarks, pressing her other palm to his cold hard chest. "How does that feel, other than warm?"

"Honestly," he says. "Pretty nice."

His chest has warmed up to her by now. She takes the hand away, then touches again. Still warm. The scars look really fucking bad, though. "So you're one of the strong ones."

"For now," he whispers. "Yeah."

"And the…" She kicks the black cloak on the floor. "That one. That doesn't help?"

"It's just a cloak," he says. "He's trying to develop better vampires, stronger, faster. If I can't keep up, if I'm no longer useful… I guess that would be it."

"He's using you," she whispers, leaning in. "You're just a disposable tool to him."

He doesn't reply before her lips touch his, cold for just a second, she feels the fangs pressing through but it doesn't really bother her, weirdly enough, he kisses her back and she grips his chest, fingers digging in. He's warm now, alive. She opens her mouth, swiping her tongue over his beautiful lips, over the fang, cold and smooth gold, carefully over the tip, his hands come to her hips, very careful. His tongue comes out and tangles with hers. Her fingers dig in even harder, soft skin, but then she pulls back to catch a breath. His eyes flutter open. "What are you doing?" he rasps out.

"Shut up," she whispers, leaning back in and kissing him again. Now he's really warm and soft, she might be mistaken but he smells differently, no more old book, his fingers dig into her hips, release and dig in again, more carefully. She strokes the scars on his chest, finds the warmth has spread out, even where she didn't touch him before. She touches his cheek, warm-

Something buzzes, loud, they both startle, jumping apart, it buzzes again, at her belt, her phone, fucking phone-

"Well," she remarks. "This is awkward."

He clears his throat, lips swollen. "Maybe- maybe you should pick up."

She fumbles around, the top of the suit is hanging over the belt. Buzzes. She gets it out finally, flips it open. "Yes? What the fuck is it?"

"Are you okay?" Bruce's voice asks. "Your pulse literally disappeared."

"My-" The fucking tracker. "Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. Just- just rolled the sleeve up, I guess."

"You what?" Tony asks loudly. "Why? What about the one in the collar?"

She groans quietly, closing her eyes, pinching her nose. "I'm fine. Really."

"What are you doing ," Tony inquires. "Your vitals are doing some weird shit. Are you running?"

The- still no name- he has picked up his shirt and put it on again, though not the jacket. "Get out of my fucking business," she demands. "Okay? Everything's alright. I'll hang up now."

"Okay," Bruce says. "Just get home safely. Stay safe."

She hangs up, rolling her eyes. "Oh man."

"They're monitoring you?" he asks.

"They thought tracking me would make me safer or something," she remarks, fumbling with the sleeves. "Guess I should put that back on."

"Yeah, probably," he agrees. "Uh, not to be awkward, but what was that all about?"

"No, no, no," she interrupts, fiddling into the rigid sleeve. "Don't make me- My pulse will go up again and then I'll get another fucking call."

He grins, picking up the jacket. "Okay. Whatever."

"What do I call you, though?" she asks, zipping the suit up. "Got a name for me?"

He shrugs. "Don't really care. Whatever you want."

"Someone suggested Steve," she offers.

He snorts. "That sounds wrong."

"Well, what doesn't?" she asks.

He studies her, jacket in hand. "James," he offers finally.

"James, then," she decides, fixing her ponytail up again. Why is she so dishevelled? "I guess you already know everything about me, right?"

"Yeah, sure," he replies sarcastically, peeling himself back into the leather jacket. "That you're a really horrible person and all."

"Are you fucking with me?" She snorts, gathering up her guns. "Come on. I've done some shit."

"Not disputing that," he states. "You're leaving?"

"Guess I should," she replies. "Before they get all worked up again."

"Sounds annoying," he remarks. "Yeah, I guess- I don't know what to say. Guess I'll see you around."

"Yeah," she agrees, sheathing her knives as well. "If you keep following me around, sure."

"I still find it creepy," Clint remarks. "I mean, I trust you and I don't think you're dumb or gullible or anything, but it's just… weird."

They're sitting on a roof again, looking out over the city and the river. "I get that," she replies. "I don't like that he helped start a global vampire outbreak either."

Clint snorts. "Putting it mildly. And then you're just gone, I really thought, when I heard…"

"Not my fault if the suit malfunctions," she returns. "I was safe, really."

"Because of the extension?" Clint asks.

"More than that," she replies. "It's… Fury wants to get him on our side. Don't say Stockholm but… I really think I'm getting somewhere."

He opens his mouth but closes it again carefully. "Are you… sure?"

"He literally said mind control," she tells him. "He told me about Schmidt and the horrible structure, the torture and the experiments. Not in detail but… It really scarred him. I can work with that."

"I mean," Clint acknowledges. "I understand if he wants to get away from the evil vampire overlord. I wouldn't trust him, though."

She snorts. "Why do you trust me, then? Because I kill vampires? He kills vampires too. The ones he's told to kill, but maybe we could get him to kill others, too. Like the ones in the Castle."

Clint grins. "You're insane. That's why I trust you."

"Just imagine," she suggests. "Wiping out the Castle. Battling back the black cloaks and Schmidt's forces. Taking out Schmidt."

"Seems a little too ambitious," Clint remarks. "But alright, your call. It's still creepy to think he might be around right now."

"I don't know how close he is," she says. "Should test that sometime. I mean, I don't like it either but it's helpful."

"Are you sure you don't like it?" Clint asks slowly.

"Yes," she replies perplexed. "Of course. Why?"

"Doesn't always seem like it," he says carefully. "With all your running around alone at night. You kinda like him, don't you."

"Liking him makes it easier," she whispers. "But I don't like everything he does . I don't have to, either."

"Your business," Clint states. "You should just be honest to yourself about what you're doing and why."

"Fair," she acknowledges. "Something else, what do you think about the new girl? I didn't get to go on patrol with her yet, so I don't really know."

"She's good," he admits. "She has a different approach, with a lot of research and all, while you seem to do everything on instinct. Maybe you'd complement each other. Fury just doesn't want to send you out together yet because she doesn't know the city and you're kinda distracted sometimes."

"I've really been doing this forever," she repeats. "There was no research back then. Just a bunch of vets with Kalashnikovs."

"Didn't you have a sword?" Clint asks.

"Yeah," she confirms. "Helped with the beheading part. Knife just isn't heavy enough. That was cool, actually, maybe I should get one again."

"You're really insane," Clint repeats. "God help us all."

"So," Sharon asks. "What's he like ?"

Natasha almost cuts into her finger. Damn carrots. "I don't know. Normal."

"Normal?" Sharon repeats. "In what way?"

This is why she doesn't have friends. She can't cook either. Sam can cook and everyone likes him. "I don't know. I can talk to him normally, I guess. Not like I have to be careful or anything."

"You have weird standards," Sam remarks. "Uh, could you cut them a little smaller?"

"Is he funny?" Sharon inquires.

Weird question. "Annoying, mostly. Kinda smug? I don't know. He's okay."

"Could you wash the coleslaw, Sharon?" Sam asks. "Thanks."

The kitchen is a little small for three people but alright. "Yeah, sure," Sharon agrees. "Sorry. I'm just really curious. Nobody ever had longer encounters with a black cloak and lived to tell the tale."

"He's-" She hesitates but says it anyway. "He's more human than the fresh vampires. More in control. He doesn't just drop into a blood frenzy at the drop of a pin."

"I would certainly hope so," Sam remarks. "Drop of a hat, by the way."

The water is turned on. "Does he like you?" Sharon asks with curiosity.

Natasha snorts. "Guess so. Which is good, I guess."

"If it keeps him from murdering you and us all," Sam states. "Then yeah, definitely."

"I feel like I'm discussing with a teenager," Tony says. "No. Come on, you're breaking Brucey's heart."

"I'm not wearing that thing again," she repeats, arms crossed. "You have no right to stalk me. Also, it clearly gives false alarms all the fucking time."

" Once ," Tony emphasizes. "And I still think that was on you somehow. You always pretend you're that mysterious and interesting but really, you're not. So no need to get on such a high horse about your privacy."

"The tracker would be really helpful," Bruce interjects uncomfortably. "In case… you know. We could put it somewhere else, I guess. If it bothers you in the suit."

"Not going down that road," Tony protests. "No way."

"No more vitals?" she asks. "Just the GPS?"

"Yes," Bruce confirms. "If that's what you want."

She drops her arms. "Okay. Put it in the phone. Can you do that, Stark, or do I have to do it myself?"

"I'll get the suit," Bruce announces, leaving the room.

Tony takes her phone but not his eyes off her. "You're up to something. And I don't like it."

"Fuck off," she returns. "You can't even do the vampire cure."

"Yeah, can you?" he challenges. "Didn't think so. But oh, I forget, you're the Black Widow."

"Do not go there," she hisses. "You don't know shit about that."

"I would never," Tony states provocatively calmly. "Your judgment is clearly impeccable. Undoubtable."

Bruce returns, thankfully, as always completely unaware of the atmosphere in the room. "There's the tracker. I'll take out all the measuring devices now."

"Thanks, boys," she says with a sneering undertone. "I'll grab a beer in the meantime."

"You wanted a fight," he- James states. "I got you a fight."

"Oh, so now we're taking on the hunting party?" she asks. "Where?"

He snorts. "Still no. A nest moved in from South. If we're quick, we'll get them before the Castle does."

"I like that," she admits. "You're gonna jump around like crazy again? I'm in. I saw you on my last patrol, by the way. Don't think I didn't just because I didn't say anything."

"It's quicker," he offers. "If you wanna, you know."

She steps up to him. "Cuddle up to you?"

"I'll literally never get you to do anything, will I," he remarks.

"Hey." She pulls a face. "I stopped taking vampire blood. Not for you, though, I admit."

He rolls his eyes, putting his left hand on her shoulder. "Okay. Hold on. Really hold on, I can't catch you."

She grabs one of the straps of his jacket, wrapping the other arm around his torso. "Okay. Ready."

He jumps and suddenly they're on the roof of the building, just briefly before taking off again, cutting through the cold night air, cloak flaring behind them. She's starting to feel nauseous when another building approaches and they're going down down down, but he barely lands before he drags her up in the air again. It's heady. She turns her head and stares up at the night sky, the moon, the clouds, the few stars.

They land in a more suburban part of the city, rows of houses, big squares, lots of green. Everyone has a garden. Her legs almost give out and she giggles. "Oh. You know, I kinda like that. Flying."

"It's exhausting," he says. "Makes me hungry."

Maybe she could give him a little today. Just a little. "So, how many? Where?"

"Two," he replies. "I don't know. We'll have to track them down. Careful, though, they have UV lights around here."

"I can do that," she says. "Just a second to get used to gravity again."

"Take your time," he states. "Do you have the tracker still? Will they think you're dying again?"

"Got rid of it," she replies. "GPS in my phone, but I can get rid of that if necessary. Oh, I'll put it on silent."

"Okay," he says. "Then we should be good."

"Yeah," she agrees. "Okay, I'm ready. I'll go first."

There's lots of shadows around here, some moving. It's actually less quiet than in the city center, people talking indoors, laughing loudly. Not every window locked with wood. Seems to be a good place for young families. If they stay in at night.

She catches their trail around a park, following it the hill down past a church. Nice place to live. Turn right. Where would vampires hide around here? Turn left. No, that seems wrong. Up the hill again. She almost startles when she notices the black cloak behind her, but she really shouldn't be surprised. She's on edge. Somewhere around-

She takes out the knife, waiting. Here. Somewhere here. She just has to place-

Rustling leaves.

She slips into the abandoned garden, holding her breath. They must smell her. Tries to make out in the dark-

Flashing teeth. She jumps back, barely escaping the woman's claws. Cuts after her with her knife. The vampiress hisses. They clash, knife dropping to the ground.

She's not a young vampire, already in control of her strength, her body. She kicks and claws, bites and hits. Natasha knocks her back, scanning her surroundings. Two. Must be two. The woman grabs her, throwing her against a tree. Natasha twists her hand before she can claw at her, making her howl. Kicks her knee. The woman staggers back, fleeing over the fence.

Knife. She jumps over the fence as well, following, another fence, she can hear her moving- She ducks and the vampire misses her, elbows him, grunt, slashes across his face, arm, bleeding slows them, he catches her arm but she snaps her knee up. The vampiress returns and Natasha shoots at her, missing the heart. The vampire throws her to the ground, kicking, she catches his foot and uses his force to twist him down. She's back up and hits the woman, knife, sinks it into her shoulder. Whips around and kicks the guy in the face. The woman tries to push her away but she gets the garotte around her neck, pulling hard. She struggles to break free, but Natasha's stronger than she looks. When she lets go suddenly, she plunges the silver knife into her heart through until it hits the breastplate of her suit.

The other vampire is gone, fleeing down even more gardens. Natasha runs after him. Fence. Tree. Hedge. Fence. He's too fast. She takes the left, crossing the street, left again, she's faster on pavement, catches sight of him between the houses, little faster, sweeps right-

He's too slow. She knocks him down, takes the gun and shoots him in the head.

She's alone. Wait. Lost. She runs back.

There's a light that went on, movement sensor, he's rolled in on the pavement-

Shit. She skids to a stop, grabbing the black cloak and throwing it over him. His skin is red, blistered, fucking UV light. He groans. "Are you okay? Do you hear me?"

"It burns," he whispers weakly.

"I'll get you out," she promises, pulling him up a little, always making sure she blocks out the light. "Fuck these guys. Let's get you up."

He sits up, barely, another ray of light hits his face and she curses, dragging him up all the way. "Sorry. Just- quick."

It seems forever until they're out of the light. She's not even sure covering him with the black cloak is enough. His face looks really bad. "I'll take care of you," she promises. "Do you- do you have a place? Around here?"

He groans. "Spořilov."

That's not too far. They can walk that, long before the sun goes up. "I'll get you there. Just tell me where exactly. I'll get you to safety."

He really looks bad, though, and she has to steady him. And then he stops replying.

#buckynat #full chapter 6 #because I really like this one #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes #black widow #winter soldier #fanfic #my writing #vampires

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slutsofren · 4 years

Text

Magical Mysteries / Chapter 2: Goodbyes & Promises

Summary: You’re stepping away from your home in London to follow your father on some mysterious assignment from the Ministry. There’s trouble in the air but you and your best friend, Ben Organa can’t put your finger on it. Guess that’ll be a problem for later you.

Read on AO3 here!

“Do you have to leave,” Ben whined. You gave him a short laugh as you packed your suitcase. He had come over when you sent Anubis, your cat, to deliver him a letter, telling him that you and your parents were leaving for Paris for the summer.

Ben sprawled his large body across your bed, looking over the various records you had imported from America- you were currently obsessed with Motown music. Diana Ross’ soulful voice filled your bedroom, singing of love and warm embraces. “Yes, of course I do,” you responded, albeit a little disgruntled seeing him put his feet on your bedsheets.

“Feet. Off. Now,” emphasizing with a lighthearted wack on his nice black boots. Ben let out a loud groan, adjusting his massive body. He had grown so much over the past few years, you had too but not nearly as much as him. Ben liked to joke that you were an entire foot shorter than him but that was further from the truth.

“How long will you be in Paris then?”

You stopped folding the corduroy skirt in your arms, “I’m not sure, truthfully. Father says we should pack for the entire summer just to be safe but I suspect he doesn’t wish to stay so long.”

“Good, because I will apparate there to get you and bring you home,” he lightheartedly admitted.

“Oh, hush Ben, you know you’re not allowed to apparate.”

“Actually, little Miss Fontaine, being the appointed son of the wizarding community, you should be keen on noticing that I can do whatever I want.”

You gave the dense boy a panned look, cocking an eyebrow. “You say that yet you’ve seldom gotten in trouble since I met you!” Ben grabbed one of your plushies from your bed, a black bear that you had since childhood, and tossed it in your general direction. “Hey!”

The laughter that filled your bedroom felt like literal sunlight on a depressing day, you always felt joy being around your one truest friend. “Listen, just be safe okay?” You gave him a soft grin and nodded.

“I’ll try,” you raised your hands innocently, “there’s no guarantee that trouble won’t find me.”

“Remind me why you have to leave again,” Ben whined.

You turned around and had your back to him as you went though your salves and tinctures, thinking of which ones to pack with you. “Apparently the Ministry is sending my father to Paris for some project and he’d be gone too long so my mother and I are going with him.”

“Yeah, but,” he sighed, hugging a pillow close, “Why? My mother has said nothing about sending you guys down there. It doesn’t make sense.”

You turned to face him once again, leaning against your desk. “Then, I don’t know. My father got a parcel the other day and there was a letter and some book. That’s all I know.”

“I wonder why you’re being sent to Paris then. Sounds nice but, not for that long.”

You sat next to him on your bed, your tan wool skirt crinkled around your waist. He rose to sit, facing you. A small frown was setting on his lips, “Promise me you’ll be safe?”

You let out an airy laugh, “I said I’ll try!”

He grabbed your hand. “I’m not playing around. There’s been whispers of something bad happening,” he pauses. “It’s been driving my mother and the rest of the Ministry up the walls. You’re my best friend, if anything happened to you and I couldn’t do anything to help? I’d be devastated.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me. I promise. Besides,” you assured him, “My father is the strongest wizard I know!”

Your father was the head Auror at MACUSA when your family lived in America, but since his transfer due to some unfortunate situations, your family was uprooted and he accepted a lowly title with the Ministry of Magic.

It didn’t mean much to you but you knew how strong and powerful your father was, the only thing wrong with him was loving a no-maj, a muggle. Shame was never in your vocabulary whenever it came to who your parents were, but it was something you weren’t fond of talking about, even to Ben.

“I thought I was the strongest wizard you knew!”

You stuck your tongue at him and jumped up to finish packing. Ben stayed, as he always did. Your home was the one place where he felt safe enough to let his guard down, knowing that you would never sell him out to the Daily Prophet. This was the one place he felt content.

The rest of the day felt more of the same, jovial chatting between the two of you until the moment you had to leave. Ben was given permission to temporarily move into your home while your family was gone, “No, I couldn’t allow that Mr. Fontaine.”

“Enough with the formality, Ben, you’re family to us. You know to call us by our first name. Say it with me now, Atlas and Luna.”

Faintly, you could hear your mother laughing in the next room, preparing the area in the kitchen for your portkey travels.

Ben looked at you, only mildly defeated. “Atlas, I don’t feel entirely too comfortable just moving in.”

Your mother took this to come join you all in the living room, “Here then, take this.” She handed him an old charm of hers that your father, Eric, casted a spell on back in America when the two first began dating.

The charm was in the shape of a small simple silver ring, and would allow Ben entry to their home safely and quietly whenever he pleased. “I- Thank you, Mrs- I mean, Luna. Thank you. I’ll be sure to take care of it.

Your family left, choosing to travel by portkey. As your family arrived in Paris, the sun was kissing the sky goodnight as the moon slowly rose over the eastern horizon.

The summer home was fairly nice, it was located in the Quartier de Purpliers, just off Rue Damesme. The house was two stories and looked like it was pulled out of a French Art Nouveau gallery.

The walls were decorated in dark contrasting colors depicting women of all shapes and sizes, many of which winked at you as you would walk by. You laid a hand on the stairwell railing, giving each magical portrait a polite greeting.

In your temporary bedroom, there was a framed portrait with a small plaque reading: Divan Japonaise, a lithograph by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec raised above the bed.

“Oh, hello,” you put your trunk and enchanted satchel down.

The woman in the painting looked over her shoulder and nodded at you, acknowledging your presence. Her sly smirk kind of irked you, as if she knew what your future held and wanted to bare witness silently. Your mother explained that the house was used for Ministry personnel only and therefore magical friendly so you only hoped that this was her general look, hoping others took notice of her mystery.

There was a tapping on your window, somewhat spooking you. When you approached it, you spotted Athena, Ben’s loving owl, in all her grey glory with a wax sealed letter in her beak. “Come inside, little one.”

She flew into the room and landed on the bare desk in the corner. She dropped the letter as soon as you gave her obligatory head rubs. As soon as she let out a gentle hoot, Anubis came running up the stairs, wanting to greet his dearest friend too.

You gave a small chuckle at the two getting cozy on your bed as you sat at the desk and opened the letter from none other than Ben Organa.

“Didn’t think I’d write so soon? Of course I did. Well, I forgot to mention when I left that mother dearest has to attend another gala later this summer in London. She’s bringing me along but I wanted to know if you’d want to go- as friends, you know? I’ll let you know when the date of the gala is later and you don’t have to worry about a dress or anything. I’m sure mother will have something with her people set up. Anyways, let me know, we miss you already here. Ben.”

You laughed out loud at his letter, he writes like he talks sometimes. You turned to the two furry friends on your bed, “Athena, would you mind if I sent a letter back with you? You can rest here for tonight.”

The great horned owl gave you another hoot and tucked herself back into the snuggle pile with Anubis, graciously accepting the rest period. You would send a reply with nothing short of the same humor and lightheartedness as his, accepting the invitation and looking forward to going back to London for a few days as you were positive you would be a little homesick for the city.

The letter set you brought with you contained your favorite seal, a soft purple wax and your stamp marked with a bushel of lavender. Ben gifted you this set for your first winter celebration as friends six years ago, he even got the wax enchanted so it would never run out. He always knew how to give the best gifts, they were always well thought out and items that could be useful and practical. This warmed your heart very much.

Grabbing one of your spare pens you wrote back, “I’m glad to hear from you so soon. Athena stayed the night so I hope you won’t be too worried for her, she’s enjoying some time with Anubis on the bed. To answer your question though, yes! I think it’ll be fun, just keep me informed, I’ll let my parents know. I think I have some floo powder somewhere, if not maybe see if I can get special permission from Madam Minister to apparate back home. Hint hint. Anubis and I miss you dearly. XO, Little Miss Fontaine.”

You slowly folded the letter together into a pocket, making sure to add a small snippet of lavender under the seal. It was always fun being a little extra with your snail mail. Behind you, you could hear both yours and Ben's companions resting peacefully but as for you, there was something that gnawed on the back of your mind, filling this night with restlessness.

If there was only an answer to your worries, you felt there might have been a small reprieve.

#asher's writing #magical mysteries #wizarding world au #kylo ren #kylo x y/n #kylo x you #kylo x reader #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren/you #kylo ren reader insert #star wars sequel trilogy #star wars smut #star wars reader insert #harry potter au #kylo ren / you

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chronicbatfictioner · 5 years

Text

Exchanges and Compromises - Chapter 6

The fact that Tim Drake was only 16 when she first met him did not surprise Barbara much. Granted, her network of informants came from all ages, but most of them were those under the age of 18 who could come and go and be somewhat 'safe'. Yes, Gotham's idea of 'safe' might cause other cities' parents to throw a conniption. Or have a coronary, depending on how much they love their children. But in the case of Tim, Barbara understood that there was no parent that would have any kind of hissy fit at the fact that Tim was walking outside of his manor's gates in the dead of night.

She learned quickly that he had run into Catwoman nearly 5 years ago - he was barely even 12 years old then and had just lost his parents. He was out and about at Gotham's 'better' neighborhoods where the rich people live; determined to find pieces of evidence that would nail his parents' murderer, when Catwoman was looting the home of the said murderer. He had made a deal with Catwoman that he would keep the evidentiary items - including his mother's earrings - and Catwoman can keep the rest.

In the next years, he would often ask for Catwoman's help to find evidence of other crimes; and by the time he met Barbara, he was loaded with information on at least a dozen corrupt politicians that Barbara could not have acquired otherwise.

Plus, Timothy Drake, the rich boy, has a unique insight into the mind of 'the nouveau riche'. "They liked their valuables to be in one place so that they could take them out from time to time to admire them." Tim had explained. "The old rich, however, prefer it the other way around. They prefer their new valuables near, old valuables - like family heirlooms - safely tucked away. They're superstitious like that. And they would usually keep secrets with the heirlooms out of superstition: they think their forefathers would guard the secret or something."

"I... actually don't know what to think of on that," Barbara admitted. "But it makes sense, considering." Considering the fact that her dad had often commented on how there seemed to be only a small amount of valuables in the homes of the 'old families' of Gotham. Tim had come bearing gifts, too, a piece of evidence to the murder of a union representative. The photos clearly depicted the representative as being murdered by a third party, who had accidentally exposed a significant tattoo on his arm. The name of the mastermind was printed on the envelope it was sealed in; Barbara would have had no problem in delivering the envelope to now-Captain Gordon's Homicide unit. Said mastermind had just reported his home broken into by Catwoman a few days ago.

"Shouldn't Catwoman worry that she could be linked to these?" Barbara wanted to know, pointing to the photos.

"Sure, if they can find Catwoman," Tim smirked. "She likes it, though. The mob people are freaking out and trying to dump their evidence out of their safety deposit boxes - but they'll get the bling stolen; save their bling - got the evidence stolen."

Barbara also learned that Catwoman had taught Tim martial arts and evasive techniques, as well as lockpicking because he was nearly caught once. "She didn't care who I was. I would give her one 'shiny' every other month, Tim Drake the executive boy is said to be hoarding pieces of jewelry for a future wife." Tim explained, grinning sweetly.

"Any lady you court would have been... impressed, I'd say," Barbara commented, and then realized something else. "The guys, however, might need something else to impress them."

"Like 2nd-century arrowheads, full set, not stolen?" Tim pointed out. "Or a classic Bhutan Royal Armor made to order?"

"Damn, boy," Barbara exclaimed and laughed. "You got them both figured out."

Tim shrugged. "Mother taught me to always be prepared for all and any scenario of life, business and force Majeure included. She had all these documents prepared for if she and dad were to be incapacitated or... well... dead. And hence my ability to escape the foster care stuff. They legally couldn't make me." he explained. There was something in his voice and reaction that tugged... something in Barbara's mind.

She had chalked it up to his nervousness of talking about his mother. It took nearly a year for Barbara to find the confirmation that Tim had lied to her then. His mother might have taught him to be always prepared for anything, but the documents he'd mentioned were forged by him. And if she hadn't recruited another adult for her crime-fighting team, she might not have found or got a confirmation out of Tim.

Dinah Drake, better known as Black Canary, was an orphan who had had her taste of Gotham City's foster care system. She had run away at age ten and saved by a former Navy SEALS who ended up being her teacher, sensei, big brother, father, everything. After his death, Dinah had a stint at the DEO - Department of Extranormal Operations, where she had gotten hurt and decided to go back to Gotham to restart her life.

Who was Barbara to know that Dinah Drake would be related to Timothy Drake? Dinah has never met Tim - the son of a cousin of hers, apparently. Tim has never heard of Dinah from his father. Both of them - albeit at different times - have lost contact with their extended families, as living in Gotham is wont to make happen.

The one thing that made Dinah realized who Tim was, was literally Tim's eye colors. "Those are definitely Jack's eyes. They have this little defect that makes it turn silver and nearly transparent in spite of them being dark blue colored." Dinah explained. "I remember meeting Jack and was very mesmerized. I was pretty young, too. I knew I'd asked my mom if I could have eyes like that, and she said I can't."

Tim glared at her, a little amused. "Well, cousin Dinah, you're not here to adopt me or lay claim to Drake Industries' wealth, are you?"

Dinah's open bark of laughter sounded nice, Barbara thought. Of all the times she has known Dinah, the only laughter she would hear is if Dinah was 'having fun' beating up bad guys.

But no, Dinah has never had intentions to adopt Tim, "while that part I can be persuaded, the 'wealth' part I can't care less." she said. As Barbara suspected, the two orphans got along like house on fire. Selina Kyle - Catwoman - still often eyed Dinah warily, as if fearing that the blonde would take away her kitten. But otherwise, her small band of misfits seemed to be growing up and growing strong, and Barbara was happy.

Cautiously happy - Gotham has a way to extinguish all and any kind of positivity, and Barbara was far too pragmatic to let serotonin and dopamine overrule her brain. Even as she watched the others bickering and snickering good-naturedly through the reflections on her monitors, Barbara was already creating contingency plans after contingency plans in her mind.

She caught Tim's wistful smile from the reflection, and there was no mistake that he was smiling at her. "Need something, Tim?" she half-demanded, her cheek burned a little even after her mind reminded her that Tim was not a mind-reader.

"Contingency plans," Tim replied, shrugging. Barbara managed not to blink or flinch. "I have a good lot of them, and none of them actually put me in this kind of situation: new actual family member, Birds of Prey, and so on. I don't know how to proceed from here."

"Keep up whatever you're doing, don't hurt anybody that don't deserve it, you're good to go," Dinah remarked from the other side of the room.

Barbara bit back a grin. "Nutshell version: as your cousin Dinah has said. Tl:dr version: while we're here to right the wrongs that the world has inflicted upon our townsfolk and keep crimes off the street, we cannot deny that we, too, are walking outside the perimeter of laws. We do try to keep within the perimeters, but there are times that we might need... assistance, I should say, from what you do." she turned toward Catwoman, including her in the conversation. So..."

"See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil," Dinah quipped.

"Plausible deniability, I get it," Tim smirked. "As far as you're concerned, you don't know us,"

"I can work with that," Catwoman snorted haughtily. "I have my street-cred to maintain, you know."

"I think your street-cred is kind of wonky now that you have a kitten," Dinah retorted.

"He's a protegé!" Catwoman snapped back. "A protegé adds to my street-cred!"

"Ladies!" Barbara barked. "This is not high school. Stop behaving like you're in it. Now, plans. We keep going, we'll cross-check necessities with the two of you, we shall keep all of our cases in the open and you can contribute when or if you have knowledge thereof. We have briefings every other week, location and time to be informed later. We don't want to know how you get things done or where or when, and will provide necessary back up - e.g. alibi or support, if necessary. You two will provide us with methods to contact you at any time-- or else the deal is off." she promptly concluded before Catwoman could protest.

"I still don't see how this benefits us," Catwoman argued. "We've been doing-- whatever it is we're doing that you don't need to know - for years. We don't need your help."

"Times are a-changin', ma," Tim said softly. "There are new people nowadays who brought in strange and dangerous people. We'll need help, one of these days, and I would rather the help came from Oracle and her team." He then turned to Barbara. "I'll be keeping in touch with you since mamaCat won't want you to know where she is at all times. I have nothing to hide."

"Right," Barbara sighed. "As long as we keep off from each other's throat, we good."

#Tim Drake #Catlad!Tim #Barbara Gordon #Dinah Drake #Catwoman #Batless!AU #Black Canary #Birds of Prey

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verai-marcel · 5 years

Text

The Man Next Door (RDR2 Fanfic, 18+, Part 2A)

Tags: fluff, modern AU, romance, oral sex, missionary, smut with feelings

Part 1: Beginnings

Find it on AO3 here.

Side A: High Honor

WC: 1875

“Hey.”

“Welcome back.”

“Sorry-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you interrupted. He was always so apologetic with you. Smiling at your kind words delivered in a not-so-kind way, he walked inside and plopped down on the couch next to you. Lifting up his hip to pull out his wallet, you had a sudden image flash in your head, of you riding him, his hips lifting to thrust harder into you. You quickly had to look down at your phone, and then quickly closed your ebook. Dammit, reading erotica was not the right choice for tonight.

“Here, the usual, plus extra because I was late.” He handed you $100. You felt a little bad, knowing that he wasn’t exactly pulling in a lot of money either, but he always insisted on being fair for using up your time.

“I’ve given up arguing with you on this point, so thank you,” you said, putting the cash into your laptop bag.

“Thank you, darlin’. Always savin’ me, I might as well call you my angel.”

You looked up to find him staring at you with a warm look, like he truly cared about you, like maybe you meant more to him than just a neighbor. The two of you stayed like that, looking into each other’s eyes for a moment before you looked away.

“Well, if you need anything else, anything at all, let me know,” you said shyly as you got up.

“Anything?”

You looked back at him, and he looked hopeful for a split second before turning away.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Er, nothing,” he said too quickly as he got up to walk you to the door.

But you didn’t move. Turning to face him, you took a step closer to him. “Tell me, Arthur. What do you need?”

You caught his eyes glancing down at your body again, and he licked his lower lip unconsciously as he looked away from you again.

You reached up and touched his cheek softly, turning his head back to you. You gave him a hard stare. The man was reticent, and you knew he would always put others first before his own needs.

You were silently hoping that you were one of his needs tonight.

He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut as he just breathed, relishing your soft skin against him. Then he opened his eyes, the heat in his gaze warming your body.

“I need you. Stay with me tonight, please.”

You didn’t actually expect him to say that, to be honest. You had hoped. But now that you were faced with the reality of his words, you didn’t know what to say. The consequences were almost too much to think about. Was it worth it?

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve said that.” Arthur stepped away from you, taking your hand from his face, but he kept your hands in his. “You should probably go.”

You looked at his remorseful mien, the aura of defeat just engulfing this good man.

He was worth it. He was worth everything.

You tightened your grip on his hand and stepped closer to him. Without giving him a chance to react, you grabbed the back of his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him.

His reaction was delayed, but after a surprised grunt, he closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around you, and kissed you passionately in return. His lips were surprisingly soft as he melded with you, gently nipping your lower lip as he broke free for air.

“Let me shower first, get the grime offa me.”

You nodded, and he took your hand and led you to his bedroom. You sat on his bed, watching him he open the closet to grab some sweatpants; you noticed that all of his clothing was tossed in a bit haphazardly.

“Be right back. Make yourself comfy,” he said, kissing you on the cheek before leaving the room.

As he showered, you looked around. You had never been in here before, but it looked like the rest of the apartment. There was a simple full sized bed, a desk, and rolling chair. You wondered if you should take off all your clothing, or let him watch you do it. You grew wet at the thought, so you decided to stay clothed for now. Laying back on the bed, you turned your head and spotted his journal, open to an empty page, on his desk. Feeling restless, you got up and walked over to it, you grabbed the pencil and started doodling an art nouveau heart in the corner of the page.

You heard him come in, the sound of the door locking behind him. Quickly dropping the pencil, you turned to look at him as walked over to you. He glanced down at the journal.

“Cute,” he said, kissing your cheek. You realized that he was only in sweatpants, and you could see his bulge. Your mind broke a little as you imagined how big he could be. Arthur pulled you back from your thoughts as he tipped your chin up, forcing you to look up at him.

“You sure you want this?”

“I’m absolutely sure.”

He smiled before dipping his head down to kiss you again, reaching up to the straps of your tank top, slowly sliding them off your shoulders, his fingers skimming over your skin as he pulled your top down, exposing your breasts. He let out a shaky breath, bending down so he could trail kisses down your neck and chest, finally licking your sensitive nipple while thumbing the other one. He palmed your breasts and squeezed you gently.

“I love the way you feel in my hands,” he murmured as he stood back up to kiss you again. “So soft.” He stepped back and pulled the drawstring of his sweatpants, letting them slide off his hips. Your mouth watered as his cock sprung free, and you immediately went to your knees. You were so ready to worship his shaft; you had been thinking about it for far too long.

“Darlin’, what are you-” his words abruptly stopped when you engulfed him in your mouth, wrapping your lips around him and looking upwards at him lustfully. He just moaned as you worked your tongue around the tip of him, then started bobbing your head back and forth.

“Fuck,” he groaned as you reached up to fondle his balls, caressing his inner thigh with your other hand. He rested one hand on your head, petting you gently as he gripped the chair nearby to stay standing.

Soon you felt his hand take a fistful of your hair and pull you off his cock. “Gotta stop, I can’t take much more of your sweet mouth,” he rasped. Pulling you back to your feet, he pulled your top off and picked you up, tossing you onto the bed. You let out a soft squeak when you bounced onto the mattress.

Arthur crawled up onto the bed, prowling towards you like a wolf after its prey. You squeezed your legs together, your core pulsing with need. You could hear him letting out a low growl as he reached for your shorts and pulled them off with your panties in one movement. Now you were completely bare to him.

Gripping your knees, he spread you open and bent down, kissing a line up your thigh until he reached your slit. He licked along your opening, and flicked your clit. You gasped and pushed your hips towards him. Chuckling, he changed his grasp, holding you down by your thighs as he started sucking and licking your clit in earnest, drawing out all kinds of moans from you. Bringing your hand up to your mouth, you bit your knuckle in attempt to stay quiet. Your legs trembled, your body shook, and when he reached up to hold your other hand, entwining his fingers with yours, you couldn’t take it anymore. You came, sobbing into your hand as your hips twitched and your legs tightened around Arthur’s head. When you finally came down from your high, you fell limp to the bed, letting Arthur out from between your thighs.

“Sorry,” you breathed.

He smiled as he wiped your juices from his chin. “Don’t be sorry, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “I enjoyed it.” Moving back up your body to kiss you on the lips, he slipped two fingers inside of you, slowly stretching you as his kisses traveled down your neck to your nipples, where he stopped to tease them with his tongue and his other hand, building up your desire once more. He curled his fingers up into you, and you lifted your hips slightly, spreading your legs more.

“Please, I need you inside me,” you begged.

“Patience,” he chided, pushing a third finger inside of you. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m ready now,” you pleaded. You just wanted him inside you; you didn’t want to wait any longer.

Arthur laughed softly as he pulled his fingers out, using your juices to lube up his cock. “Alright, anything you want, angel.” He got up on his knees, gripped his shaft, and nudged your opening. You were slick and he easily went in at first, but then as his girth started to stretch you deeper inside, you writhed, your muscles not quite ready for his thickness.

“You alright? Should I stop?” he asked as he froze, stock still when you let out a barely audible cry.

“Yes, yes, please keep going,” you gasped. You wanted that sweet pain-pleasure; you wanted this moment to be burned into your sense-memory, never to be forgotten. Watching you for a few moments, he finally kept going, ever so slowly pushing inside of you until he was fully hilted between your legs. You wrapped your ankles behind his back, trapping him there. Feeling him twitch inside you, you smiled; he must like having your legs around him.

“You ready? I can’t be gentle after this. I need you too much,” he whispered in your ear.

“Fuck me,” you urged. “Give it to me any way you like.”

You didn’t need to ask him twice. Arthur’s hips moved with the strength of a bull, each thrust hitting deep and just right. His movements became faster as he lost control of himself, pounding you into the mattress as he buried his face in your neck. You could hear his low moans, his heavy breaths, and the best part, his murmurs of how good you were, how perfect you felt around him, how he never, ever, wanted to let you go.

“I’m gonna come,” he said softly, trying to pull away from you. You wrapped your arms around him and held him close.

“It’s safe, just fill me up,” you said.

Arthur just moaned in response and fucked you harder and faster until he suddenly let out a soft curse, thrusting twice more before crushing you to the mattress, unloading into you.

“Oh lord,” he mumbled after a few moments before rolling off you, taking you into his arms. “You are somethin’ else, angel.”

You turned in his arms, kissing him tenderly. “And you were wonderful.”

The two of you smiled at each other, and with each passing moment, you felt yourself falling more in love.

And you didn’t regret a single thing.

End Notes: Part 2B right here, starring low honor Arthur. Hope y’all enjoyed this!

#rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #lemon fanfic #nsft #smutty fanfic #arthur morgan #modern arthur morgan #arthur x reader #fanfic #writing #high honor arthur #neighbor AU #modern AU

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todorokiaimee · 5 years

Text

Blues In The Night 18. Edith and The Kingpin

Previous Chapter | Chapter Song

In the wee hours of the morning, a tall lanky man walked the empty streets of Tokyo’s red-light district. No one else was out at this time of night besides drunks and prostitutes so he could roam freely. Lighting up a menthol cigarette, his face illuminated to show is dark purple scars and bright blue eyes.

Dabi had been keeping a fairly low profile, distancing himself from the League of Villains. The older he got, the more he couldn't be bothered with villain work, especially Shigaraki. That crusty bastard was so full of himself. He only joined because he thought he held Stain’s philosophy, but that proved to be all talk. All that said, he couldn’t exactly just go straight. He’s still a wanted villain and prison stripes didn’t fit his aesthetic.

What should I do for dinner? I guess I can dine and dash that Hot Pot place. Tossing his cigarette butt on the ground, he sauntered into an alley hoping to cut across to the next street. Before he reached the other side, suddenly his wrist was captured in a grey scarf. Reflexively, he activated his quirk to burn the cloth, only his flames didn’t emerge. Huh? His brows furrowed as he tugged against the cloth, a strange voice coming from the darkness.

“Damn, you look like burnt toast.”

“What the--”

Dabi’s mind went blank, his body growing stiff as another grey scarf wrapped around him, effectively pinning his arms down. A low chuckle could be heard before two men appeared from the darkness. The purple-haired hero pulled his mask from his face to reveal a shit-eating grin.

“Gotcha. Now tell me where we can find Lafayette Dubois.”

“I don’t know who that is…” Dabi said in a dazed voice without hesitation.

Eraserhead let out an annoyed sigh, as he pulled out his eye drops, putting some in each eye. “You have to ask him the right questions, Shinsou.”

“The shady dude that’s been kidnapping people with powerful or useful quirks, where is he?” Shinsou asked again.

“I don’t know where that ghetto son of a bitch is,” Dabi said, still under his control. “Besides he’s just the muscle.”

“The muscle?” Aizawa quirked a brow before they were interrupted by a few rocks hitting them in the back of the head. Turning around, they saw a clearly drunk elderly man, tossing more rocks and trash toward them.

“Hey! Leave that guy alone you crooks!”

“What the hell! We’re Heroes, he’s the bad guy here!” Shinsou yelled back, still dodging the objects being thrown at them.

“How unfortunate.” Dabi sneered from behind the heroes.

Turning back around, the pair found that Dabi no longer had the dazed look of Shinsou’s brain control. He must have been justled awake from the rocks being thrown. A bright smirk pulled at Dabi’s lips as Eraserhead pulled Shinsou back and away from the villain, “Look out!”

Searing hot blue flames shot from the villain as they released their capture weapons just in time, narrowly avoiding the flames. “You still don’t look the part of a hero, Shinsou,” Dabi taunted from behind his fire. By the time the flames had died down, he was gone, vanished into the night once more.

“Let’s get him!” Shinsou growled only to have his collar pulled back by Aizawa. He turned to his mentor, a quizzical look on his face.

“Let him go. We got all we can from him. We’re better off looking for someone else. Intel is our main mission,” Aizawa mumbled as he put his goggles over his tired eyes.

“Fine,” the purple-haired hero sighed, adjusting his mask. I still feel like he knows more though.”

______________________________________________________________________

Earlier that night, on the other side of town, Todoroki parked his Tesla behind a building before stepping out of the car. Under the protection of nightfall, he silently made his way toward the building. He was dressed in disguise, his peppermint hair covered by a baseball cap, his trademark scar concealed with large sunglasses.

Shifting his eyes towards some movement, he noticed another burly man awkwardly shifting his weight by the building entrance. Even though the popped collar of his jacket hid the man’s face, his fluffy green hair let Shoto know it was his long-time friend Midoriya. Walking up to him, Shoto gave his friend a nod as he pulled Aimee’s gifted scarf over his nose, shielding himself further.

After looking over their shoulders, making sure they weren’t followed, the pair quietly entered the building. They stalked quietly in the dark, making their way to the front before Izuku tapped his friend’s shoulder, whispering, “Are you sure they know we’re coming?”

Shoto nodded, “Yes, I arranged the meeting myself--”

“What took you so long?”

The two heroes jumped, both falling into a fighting stance before they registered who was in front of them. It was no other than Todoroki’s sister Fuyumi. She stood before them with her hands on her hips as she quirked a white brow. “And why do you look like you’re gonna rob the place?”

Shoto let out a sigh of relief before removing his sunglasses. “I couldn’t risk getting seen by paparazzi. The last thing I need is this in the news before I get a chance to ask her.” The three walked to the front of a building, a jewelry store. All sorts of glittering jewels were in the glass cases of the showroom as they walked around, browsing.

Coming out of the back office, the owner of the shop walked into the showroom before stepping behind the counter. “Welcome! I hope using the back entrance worked out for you. No one is usually back there except for deliveries.”

Todoroki nodded, approaching the man. “Yes and thank you for agreeing to see us after closing.”

“It’s no problem at all. I owe you after you caught that jewel thief last summer,” the owner smiled. “What are you shopping for today?”

“An engagement ring,” Shoto said with a warm smile.

“Oh, congratulations! Our most popular engagement rings are over here.”

Shoto followed the owner to a glass case filled with dazzling diamond rings of all shapes and sizes, Fuyumi and Izuku walking close behind. They all browsed the rings for a moment until Midoriya broke the silence, “Wow, look at that big one there!”

The owner of the store nodded, opening the glass to take out a 10-carat emerald cut diamond ring in a platinum setting. Fuyumi whistled at the sheer size of the massive ring, earning a chuckle from the owner. He smiled as he handed the extravagant ring to the duel quirked hero, “This one does make a statement.”

Shoto studied the ring for a moment before shaking his head, handing it back to the owner. “It’s too big. Although Aimee deserves every carat, she has small dainty hands. That ring would look gaudy on her. Plus she would never wear it. Having that much money on her finger would give her anxiety.”

“I agree it’s a bit much,” Fuyumi nodded. “How about this one here? Simple with a healthy amount of bling,” she suggested, pointing to a different ring in the glass display.

Putting away the 10-carat ring, the owner then pulled out Fuyumi’s conservative pick, handing it to Shoto. It was a simple 1-carat diamond ring in a gold setting. “This style is a classic.”

Shoto looked over his sister’s pick, shaking his head once again. “Hmm… it feels too generic,” he hummed, giving it back to the owner. “It’s not Aimee.”

A gentle knowing smile pulled on the owner’s lips as he put the ring back in the glass display. “Mr. Todoroki,” he paused, resting his hands on top of the display. “Why don’t you tell me what would be the perfect ring for her? What would best suit the future Mrs. Todoroki?”

A pink blush warmed Shoto’s cheeks as he took in the thought. What would Mrs. Aimee Todoroki wear? He held his chin, deep in thought before a soft smile grew across his face, a loving look in his eyes. “Something timeless, but unique. Lots of sparkle but delicate. If it’s too big, she’d be too nervous to wear it. Something with color perhaps?”

The owner nodded thoughtfully before stepping out from behind the counter. “I think you would be interested in our collection of vintage and estate rings.” The man walked over to another glass display case on the other side of the room, the heroes and Fuyumi following close behind. “All of these pieces are one of a kind.”

Shoto looked over the glittering display of vintage jewelry. Any of these pieces would be very Aimee. That’s when he saw it. The ring.

“May I see this one here?” Shoto asked, pointing at the ring over the glass.

“Of course.”

Reaching into the glass display, the owner handed him his pick. The exquisite ring featured a 2-carat pear shaped sapphire. It also had shimmering pavé diamonds that lined a white gold chevron-shaped band. “A great choice. This piece is from the Art Nouveau era and is dated around 1914.”

Shoto held the ring up to the light, watching it sparkle and shine. “The design reminds me of the Fleur-de-lis.”

“What’s that?” His green haired friend questioned.

“It’s a French stylized lily. It’s used a lot in New Orleans.” Shoto hummed, still studying the ring.

“Oh, well It sure is pretty.” Izuku gushed.

“It’s beautiful Shoto,” Fuyumi sighed with a smile as she laid her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “I can totally see Aimee sporting that rock around town as well as her classroom.”

“Do you really think she’ll like it?” Shoto almost whispered. This was probably the single most important gift he would ever give the life of his life. He didn’t want to disappoint her.

“Aimee is so sweet, she’d love it if you gave her a ring out of a cereal box,” his sister giggled.

“I’d agree with that too,” Midoriya shrugged, a bright smile on his face. “But it is a great pick.”

After pausing a moment, he imagined Aimee’s expressive eyes, taking in the ring for the first time, her dazzling smile. It wasn’t long before his own warm smile formed on his lips, nodding his head. “I’ll take it.”

“Excellent choice,” the owner smiled as he took back the ring to place in a small velvet box.

______________________________________________________________________

Later that night, Shoto silently unlocked the door to Aimee’s small apartment. Walking inside he saw Aimee curled up on the couch with Mochi, half asleep.

“You should be in bed. It’s a school night.” Shoto said softly, walking over to her.

“You were out so late with no call, I was starting to get worried,” Aimee yawned. She could barely keep her eyes open.

“My apologies, my love,” Shoto hummed. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Pulling her into his arms, Shoto gently lifted Aimee bridal style, carrying her to her bedroom. Aimee snuggled her face into the crock of his neck, taking in his scent of cedarwood and peppermint. She sighed softly as she gripped his shirt in her hand, happy to finally have him home, “I love you so much. You know that right?”

Shoto smiled, holding her tighter in his arms before gently laying her down on her bed. She looked so beautiful laying there, fighting sleep. The small velvet box he acquired was now burning a hole in his pocket. Taking a deep breath, Shoto leaned over to place a soft kiss to her forehead before pulling the blankets up to cover her body. “I do. I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.”

_______________________________________________________________________

The next morning, Shoto pulled into the Yoyogi Middle School parking lot, falling in line behind cars of students being dropped off for school. Turning his head, he smiled at Aimee sitting in the passenger’s seat, giving her hand a squeeze. “Have a good day at work. Don’t be too tough on the kids.”

“Too bad, they’re getting a pop quiz,” Aimee wiggled her eyebrows menacingly.

“Oh, lookout. Miss Faurie is out for blood,” he smirked.

Aimee giggled, giving her beau a playful shove on the shoulder. “I’m not actually going to record the grades, I just need to scare a few into paying attention.”

“Ah, a logical ruse.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

Shoto chuckled, thinking of this every first day of high school. “UA was not for the faint of heart.”

As they continued to inch their way closer to the school entrance, Shoto looked over to Aimee. The diamond necklace he gave her for Christmas was still around her neck. She hadn’t taken it off since he placed it on her Christmas morning. It glittered and gleamed as the sunlight caught it just right, Shoto reaching out to touch it. “Your gift really suits you.”

“Thank you, mon cher,” Aimee smiled back at him. “I could say the same about you.” She giggled as she lightly tugged on Shoto’s scarf around his neck.

“Anyway, I better get going. We’re holding up the drop off line,” She said as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “I packed you a bento for lunch in your satchel. I love you.” Leaning over she placed a chaste kiss to Shoto’s lips which he happily returned.

“Thank you, I love you too,” he said as Aimee turned to exit his Tesla, only to have Shoto reach out to grab her hand. “Wait, one more.”

“Last one,” Aimee sighed with a smile before leaning in again to press her lips to his. Shoto then gently placed his hand to the back of her head, effectively holding her in place so he could take his time, molding his lips to hers. She giggled against his lips before giving his chest a light slap. “Shoto! I’m at work, Casanova.”

He smirked as he finally released her, watching her exit the car. “See you tonight, my love.”

Aimee waved at Shoto as he pulled away before walking into the school building. Walking up the stairs she reached her classroom, room 204. She set up as usual, preparing her lessons as her students started to trickle in. She smiled as they greeted her, still typing away at her laptop until the school bell rang, marking the start of the first period. Standing from her seat, she made her way to the front of the classroom addressing her students, “Okay my lovelies, clear your desks of just a sheet of paper and a pencil. Pop quiz time.”

She was only met with a chorus of whines and complaints, to which she chuckled lightly. “Oh yes, children’s tears to flavor my coffee! Muahaha.” She smiled, shaking her head. “But for real kids, this should be easy if you were paying attention yesterday. Which all of you were right?” She eyed her class suspiciously.

“Yes, Miss Faurie!” the class responded in unison.

“Excellent, first question: What is the figurative meaning of the English idiom ‘It’s raining cats and dogs’?” Just as they began the quiz, the power went out in the classroom, leaving them in the dark, a few students screaming in surprise. “Calm down. I’m sure it will be back on soon.”

Looking out of the small window of her classroom door, she could see that the hallway outside had also grown dark. So it’s not just my classroom. Walking back over to her desk, Aimee then dialed the extension of the front desk, hoping to get an explanation. Bringing the phone to her ear, her plump lips pressed into a thin line. The phone line was dead. Remembering news story after story of school attacks in America, Aimee’s heart began to race in her chest. Fearing the worst, she sprung into action.

“Okay friends, I need your attention. We are going to quietly and calmly assume our lockdown positions until the power comes back on or I receive contact from the front desk.”

“Is everything ok Miss Faurie?” One of her students asked, fear beginning to cloud her eyes.

“I’m sure it’s fine but it’s better safe than sorry. Everyone in the corner of the room.”

As the students began to quietly move to the corner of the room away from the door, Aimee made sure the door was locked and all the window blinds where drawn closed. She then returned to the children’s side as they waited in silence.

Not long later, they watched in horror as the classroom door handle began to rattle. A few of the children gasped as they huddled together in the dark. Aimee could only hold her finger to her lips in an attempt to keep them silent, praying that the mystery person would simply move on.

The ravenette’s eyes grew wide as she saw a black shadow form under the door, slowly seeping its way inside the classroom. Her heart dropped into her stomach as the shadow then grew upwards, forming into the shape of a man. He gave her a wicked smile as she threw her arms out wide in an effort to shield her students.

“There you are, Cher,” Lafayette said in a gravelly voice. “It took me a minute to find you.”

“Kids get behind me,” Aimee commanded, her voice wavering as she never look her eyes off of the man in front of her. “Take whatever you want but leave the kids alone. My purse is behind the desk and there are nice laptops in that cart over there.”

“But my dear, it’s you that I want.”

“No!” One of Aimee’s students, the same spunky blonde boy who had tried to woo her months before, jumped in front of his teacher. He had tears in his eyes, but his hands were raised, a weak purple mist growing around them. “You can’t have Miss Faurie!”

Lafayette chuckled darkly at the scene before him. “Can’t I?”

“Get behind me!” Aimee pulled the boy back, her own hand darting for her throat as she activated her quirk.

“Oh and don’t think of using that little quirk of yours,” the villain hummed, watching her carefully. “We wouldn’t want you scaring the kiddos right? Also, I’ll kill them if you try.”

Aimee’s hand hovered over her throat as she rattled her brain. How could this stranger know about her quirk? No one knows she even has a quirk, not even the school. Did he look her up? Was he really targeting just her? “How do you know about that?”

The man before her scoffed, activating his quirk as long black shadow tendrils emerged from his body. “Because I’ve seen it in action.”

“You…” Aimee whispered breathless, instantly recognizing the tendrils that attacked her beau months ago.

“Come willingly like a good girl, and I won’t hurt the rugrats.”

Aimee bit her bottom lip as she stared at the man, weighing her options. She couldn’t risk calling his bluff. She was responsible for the 25 young lives in the room. She couldn’t jeopardize their safety, no matter how scared she was. Slowly, she touched the necklace around her neck with shaky fingers, saying a silent prayer as she took a deep breath. I’m sorry, Shoto.

“Fine,” Aimee whispered as she slowly stepped towards the villain.

“Don’t do it, Miss Faurie!” The blonde boy cried, grabbing her hand.

Aimee stopped to look at the boy, her own tears threatening to fall from her eyes. “Hey now. My job is to keep you safe. Let me do my job.”

After she pried the boys hand from hers, she made her slow approach to the villain. Once she was within arm’s reach, he snached her arm, pulling her forward. With her back to his chest, he wrapped his hand tightly around her throat. Aimee winced in pain but she tried her hardest to put on a brave face for her students. She wouldn’t frighten them further.

With a wicked crooked smile, Lafayette crudely smelled Aimee’s curls, making her shudder. He laughed at her reaction before turning to face the students. “Stay in school kids.”

With his last faint at a positive message, he activated his quirk. Both he and Aimee then began to turn into a black shadow, their silhouettes melting into the floor before slipping out the other side of the classroom door.

The students remained inside the dark classroom in a silent shock. After a few moments, the blonde boy rushed to the door, throwing it open. Through streams of tears, he looked up and down the hallway, searching for any sign of his beloved teacher to no avail.

Miss Faurie was gone.

Chapter 19

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david-watts · 5 years

Text

another tag from @salty-mccoy - thanks again!!

answer 21 questions and tag people you’d like to get to know

nickname: redboots is like. my official nickname. other ones are just variants on my name like geo or keith. even geography has been used I’ve seen

sign: libra sun aries moon

what I’m wearing: school uniform but like. mentally I’m wearing a black velvet jacket

dream job: like. dream dream job is an astrophysicist and I know for a fact that isn’t happening because since I decided I wanted to be one I’ve gotten very unsmart. second dream job is a musician or something

favourite quotes: ‘we piss anywhere, man’ (in my defense this is really fucken funny) ‘we tried to be rebellious’ (harry vanda), literally anything from doctor who

favourite food: sushi, mainly because it’s one of the few foods I can eat and not feel sick immediately after. also like. chips

favourite movie: don’t ask me this!! I spend my time watching the same television shows over and over again!! but the titfield thunderbolt and a hard days night, I guess

favourite sport: I play hockey. don’t particularly care about it though

dream trip: the sixties europe and the uk... also japan

languages: english, the remnants of japanese I learnt in high school, I can understand some german but don’t ask me to say anything I can just about grasp what I overhear from people I know who actually speak it, also three phrases in french (one of which is rude) and I really want to learn dutch but can I keep up with that now? not likely

favourite song: hhhHHH NEVER ASK ME THIS!!! I don’t have a favourite favourite song!!! top five are down among the dead men by flash and the pan, turn! turn! turn! by the byrds, rock n roll fantasy by the kinks, mr soul by buffalo springfield and jumpin jack flash by the rolling stones. bonus mentions to shangri-la by the kinks the beginning of that song always makes me feel things, to st louis by the easybeats, and to route 66 by the pretty things live in 1973. that one’s a complete rocker

favourite book: hitchhiker’s trilogy of five by douglas adams, the invasion of the moon 1969, and laura jackson’s biography of brian jones. they’re the only things I’ve actually read recently because reading is too hard for me nowadays

what do I hate: are we talkin deep hatreds with moral issues because I can go very deep and this would literally turn from an ask game to a therapy session (but my tumblr’s like that anyway) but really I hate Bad Textures™ which my fellow autistics would understand. on the deeper side of things I hate bigots. though that should go without saying at this point

random fact: the first one I thought of is like. unconfirmed. I can’t go around claiming that for it to turn out untrue. second fact is I didn’t know how to cross my eyes until I was thirteen

describe yourself as aesthetic things: old hardcover books, vinyl records, black-and-white psychedelic artwork, art nouveau, space age graphic design and smoke

do I get asks: used to, now I don’t wouldn’t mind a few

other blogs: this’ll be ones I actually use and want to advertise as existing - @redbootsthetimetraveller which is my art blog. please follow and reblog my stuff it’d be very appreciated. self art plug over I also have @some-other-number which is Hell™

hogwarts house: ravenclaw!! got sorted in sydney, 2012. also saw harry vanda’s guitar and picasso’s artworks that day and I think that’s the excitement I felt in order from most to least over those things

patronus: weasel. does this mean I’m a weasley now

favourite characters: ford prefect, the doctor, jamie mccrimmon, bill potts, and anyone else I’ve either had a questionable attraction to or has attracted my attention

any updates on a new fic: been trying to work on the rolling stones/doctor who crossover but I have schoolwork to do. also let me know if you would want to read a crossover between hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy and doctor who because I have four thousand words of that. I want to know if I should continue it. so I like crossovers now huh. weird turn

tagging: @nezclaw @dandylion1966 @piecesofmybackpages @raedioh @l0w-budget and @gimmeeshelter (and of course you don’t have to if you don’t want to)

#I am so sorry to everyone who has to read my ramblings... damn #also I'm posting this like... two days after I actually did this #spacing things out y'know

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goddessofgamma · 6 years

Note

Can you write #7 and #12 with ironstrange please?

This is wayy longer than I meant it to be but I love this combo of prompts and pairing. Thank you anon!! This is my first Ironstrange thing I’ve written, and my first prompt I’ve even been asked so thanks and pls be kind :) also I’m sorry I had to fit Thorbruce into here somewhere.

Prompts were Florist AU and “How did you do that?” from this prompt list.

Build a Bouquet,

Summary: Tony’s in a rush and pops into a very unusual flower show with an even more unusual florist.

Tony’s morning could have gone better. He’d managed a grand total of two hours ofsleep the night before and somehow was still late for meeting Rhodey, hisfriend who only just got back from a five-month military tour. Thankfully, Rhodey knew him well enough thathe’d anticipated Tony’s inability to stick to his schedule and he hadn’tminded, but it still left him starting out on the wrong foot.

This afternoon he was heading Bruce’s engagementdinner. His best partner in science hadfinally found someone to care about him and treat him right. The way that Bruce and Thor were together wasso sweet it verged on nauseating, but if pushed, Tony would have admitted hewas happy for them.

Rushing down the street on the way Thor’s enormousapartment, Tony’s eye was caught by a wide, circular window, embellished with asymbol that looked like a diagonal ‘H’, with a view to the wildest and mostoutlandish display of plants Tony had seen in years. Flowers. That’s something you’re supposed to give toengaged people.

He turned into the door, reading the art-nouveau sign thatread ‘The Sanctum’ overhead. Some chimeslightly shuffled as the door creaked open. A man was over by the window display with sleek black hair and severelycut beard to match. Tony had maybe lethis gaze rest over the man’s cheekbones a little too long when he was addressedwith the clearing of his throat.

“Welcome to the Sanctum, is there anything I could help youwith?” The man looked Tony up and down, as if assessing him. Tony was struck by his voice; it wasn’t acustomer service, put-on voice, he sounded commanding even though he was offeringhelp.

“’The Sanctum’? Isn’t that a bit more Wizarding World thanflower shop?”

“This shop has existed for over a century, so I can assureyou that any resemblance to more recent popular culture is purelyco-incidental.” Quick wit, Tony thought. Hecouldn’t decide if he found it annoying or intriguing.

“Your whole look is very…” He gestured to the man trying tothink of the word. “Like a magician I’dbook for my niece’s birthday. If I had aniece.” The florist had an odd way ofdressing, all silks and odd collars, but Tony would be lying if he said hedisliked it. He’d be lying if he said hehadn’t noticed that the colour of his silk shirt matched his eyes exactly. Tony hadn’t thought wizard-looking men wassomething he was into but judging by the way he found himself getting a littlehot just talking to this man, he thought it may be something he shouldexplore.

Turning so he could look an array of mix-and-match flowers,Tony tried to regain his focus on the task at hand.

“Not that that’s a bad thing,” Tony continued. “I’m sure if you keep up with the latestissues of ‘Witch Weekly’ your fashion sense will be better than mine.”

“Better fashion sense than your two-hundred-dollar tracksuitlook?” He looked Tony up and down as hesaid it, and Tony could have sworn his eyes lingered on his ass. “Not sure that’s possible.” He walked over to stand next to Tony and the build-your-own-bouquetdisplay. “Would you like any help pickingthe flowers?”

Tony dismissed him with the wave of his hand and picked upone of the disposable vases by the side of the display. He stuffed a few different types of flowersin, whatever took his fancy. Some purpleflowers, because Thor always said that green and purple looked good together, asunflower, because Bruce always compared Thor to the sun. He stuck some orange blossom because its signsaid it was supposed to represent purity, and, until the wedding night, Tonywould absolutely maintain that Bruce was a pure, unsoiled maiden.

By the time Tony had filled the vase it was filled withevery type, every colour and shape of flower under the sun. And it was a mess. The colours clashed, the flowers were facingdifferent directions, some of the leaves were obscuring the view of someflowers, some had stalks that were too short or too long. He looked down, a bit despondent.

“I think I’m gonna have to buy some of the pre-prepared bouquets. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for this mess as well.”

He went to hand the florist the failed bouquet, but noticed hishands were shaking, and that there were scar lines tracing his bones. Instead, he placed the vase on the shopcounter, not wanting to hand something over directly to him without knowing whetherthe florist would be comfortably able to do that.

The florist walked over to the counter, and Tony walked overto the display of ready-made bouquets. Tonycould hear some rustling behind him and assumed the florist was sorting outsome things behind the counter.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Err, some friends of mine just got engaged. I’ve known one of them since forever, and hisboyfriend –“ He corrected himself, andcould hear the florist stop, his attention piqued as he paused. “His fiancé is a nice guy too. A little brawny for my tastes, but hey, eachto their own.”

“And what is to your taste?” The florist was almost smooth enough that it hid the genuine interest inhis voice. Time to make him blush, Tony thought.

“Oh, you know,” He began. “I like tall guys, dark hair. Nottoo muscly, lean figure but with enough strength that they can pin me againstthe wall.” Tony heard that the floristhad stopped whatever he’d been doing now, focusing only on Tony’s words. “Facial hair’s a plus, quick witted andpiercing eyes. And then there’s myliking for guys who have an out-of-the-box sense of style.”

“Sounds like you have something very specific you’re lookingfor.” Tony turned back around to facehim, and when their eyes met he could swear he could feel heat radiatingbetween them. They held their gaze for afew seconds, before Tony’s eye was caught by the bouquet on the counter.

It was made with all the flowers he’d picked up, a jumble ofdifferent colours and shapes and sizes, but somehow, the florist had made itlook beautiful. Instead of having the coloursmismatched, he’d organised them, so the colours were grouped to form a rainbow.

“How did you do that?” Tony asked, dumbfounded.

“Magic,” the florist replied, a subtle, smug smile on hisface.

Tony paid and was thinking about how he really should rushoff if he didn’t want to be late, but he had to ask.

“What’s your name?”

“Stephen. StephenStrange,” he replied. “You?”

“Tony Stark.” Hepicked up the bag with the flowers in it as he made to leave the shop. “Good to meet you, Strange.”

“And you.” There wassomething in Stephen’s voice that almost said it wouldn’t be the last time theywould see each other.

Tony was halfway to Thor’s apartment when he noticed a notewritten on the paper bag.

It was a phone number, captioned with the message: For if you really want to see if I’m your type,and signed with his name.

Tony felt his heart beat just a little faster.

#ironstrange #tony stark #stephen strange #thorbruce #my fic #if y'all want some fic of your own drop me a prompt

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tfloosh · 6 years

Text

Directions

Modern AU, let’s go!! Linkle and Zelda have fun at the club. Can you guess who they run into?

“Are you sure you know where we’re going?” Zelda asked.

“Of course I do,” Linkle rolled her eyes. “I have my compass app. We’re not going to get lost this time; I promise.”

“But you said this club was uptown,” Zelda frowned. “We’re close to Old Castletown.”

“Oh,” Linkle paused and looked at her phone. “Does it matter if you put north or south in the address?”

“Yes,” Zelda sighed. “It’s almost eleven, we’re not going to get there in time to get in now.”

“Well,” Linkle puffed her lip out. “We’ll just have to find a club in Old Castletown.”

“What?” Zelda had to hurry to catch up to Linkle, who had started walking determinedly in the wrong direction. “First of all, Old Castletown is this way.” Zelda steered her friend to the left. “And secondly, Old Castletown is, like, the sketchiest place to be on a Friday night.”

“We’ll be fine,” Linkle smiled, not letting Zelda’s logic dampen her optimism. “We have each other.”

“Maybe we should just go home,” Zelda glanced around. The street was far from empty, but the people walking them were a little older and a bit more eccentric looking than they were.

“We spent far too much time getting ready to just give up and go home,” Linkle protested. “All we have to do is go to the club playing the loudest music and dance. Now, come on.” She grabbed Zelda’s hand and started running toward Old Castletown, and Zelda couldn’t help but laugh along.

They finally ended up being let into a club that had a huge art nouveau style mural of the ancient Golden Goddesses on an outside wall. The Goron bouncer let them right in, saying there weren’t enough girls in the club already. Zelda had rolled her eyes at the excuse, but the line out front had been filled predominately with guys.

The inside wasn’t as packed as Zelda feared. There was plenty of room on the dance floor that Linkle immediately dragged her towards. They danced to a few song they couldn’t distinguish over the bombing bass before Zelda insisted she needed a gin and tonic.

A few men approached them at the bar, and the girls made game out of how creatively they could shoot them down. Bonus points were given for turning their pick-up line against them, and double points were awarded if the guy left after one rejection.

“Look at that guy over there,” Linkle yelled in Zelda’s ear over the loud music.

Zelda followed Linkle’s direction and noticed two very handsome men sitting at a table close to the dancefloor. The blond was laughing at something his dark-haired friend had said, and Zelda couldn’t help but be drawn into his smile.

“He’s really cute,” she said without realizing.

“Oh my gosh, which one?” Linkle smiled.

Zelda blushed, “The blond one.”

“Good,” a new voice said. “’Cause the other one’s taken.”

“I’m sorry,” Zelda turned to see who had spoken. A woman standing on the other side of Linkle smiled.

“Don’t be,” she waved her hand dismissively. “We brought Link out hoping he would meet some girls.”

“Wait, that’s Link?” Linkle said excitedly. “No way, we have to go talk to him!”

“What?” Zelda asked confused.

“Link is my cousin,” Linkle explained, grabbing Zelda’s hands in her excitement. “He must be back from college.”

“Yes,” the woman at the bar said. “My boyfriend and I decided to treat him to a night out. I’m Hilda by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Hilda,” Zelda reached over to shake Hilda’s hand while Linkle bounded over to ambush her cousin. “Do you need help with those drinks?”

“Yes, thank you,” she handed Zelda one of the beers she had ordered, and they headed toward the table. Zelda watched as Hilda sat next to her boyfriend and handed him the extra drink she was holding, and Zelda realized with a jolt that she must be holding Link’s drink. Hilda’s red eyes sparkled mischievously, and Zelda blushed as she sat next to Link and handed him his beer.

“And this is my roommate, Zelda,” Linkle added to her babbling. “I wouldn’t have survived freshman year without her.”

“I’m surprised you could keep your own head on straight, let alone Linkle’s,” Link chuckled as he glanced at Zelda. “I’m sorry you had to suffer through that for two semesters.”

“Hey!” Linkle frowned and started swatting at Link across the table.

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughed, and Zelda thought she liked the sound more than was normal. “It’s nice to meet you Zelda.”

“You too, Link.” She hid her blush by taking a drink.

“Ravio, I want to dance,” Hilda said suddenly, grabbing her boyfriend’s hand and pulling him out of his seat.

“Ooo, me too,” Linkle jumped out of her chair. “I love this song.”

They quickly disappeared in the crowd on the dance floor, leaving Link and Zelda alone.

“So, Linkle said you were away for college?” Zelda asked hoping a conversation would make the encounter less awkward.”

“Yeah, I go to Kakariko Tech,” he said.

Zelda shook her head, “To think I’m fraternizing with the enemy. It’s a good thing you’re cute.” She didn’t know what made her say that. Stupid gin and tonic.

“Hyrule U?” he asked.

“Sworn defender,” she mimicked one of the university traditions with a mock salute.

“Yeah, I needed to get out of the city after high school,” he explained. “Luckily, Ravio was going to come with me so I wouldn’t be all on my own.”

“I would have loved to leave the city,” Zelda smiled wistfully. “My parents smother me a bit too much, only child and all that. But Hyrule U has the better law school, so I thought it would look better if I got all my pre-reqs here.”

“Understandable,” Link nodded and took a drink. “K Tech has the better architecture program, so I get it. It also helped that it was a touch cheaper. I have a younger sister that’s going to graduate from high school next year, so my parents are happy to save money wherever they can.”

“So what are you planning to do with architecture?” Zelda asked, leaning closer without realizing.

“Everyone expects me to say churches or museums,” Link rolled his eyes. “But there’s real money in designing affordable and efficient starter homes for first-time home owners.”

“That is very true,” Zelda nodded. “People like to say that our generation won’t be able to afford a home like our parents did. Yours is a noble pursuit to me.”

“Plus I like designing houses,” he smiled back. “There’s something about all the possibilities, you know, all the different ways you can make a house a home that I just love. So win-win.”

Zelda loved the look Link had in his eye. It was always amazing to watch someone speak about something they were passionate about.

“Do you want to go somewhere we can talk without yelling?” she asked on a whim. She was never this forward, but there was something about Link that made her want to talk to him for hours.

“Yeah,” Link immediately stood and held out his hand to help Zelda do the same. “I know this great twenty-four hour diner not too far from here.” He sent a quick text to Hilda and Linkle to let them know where they were going before leading her out of the club. He didn’t let go of her hand until they reached the diner, much to Zelda’s delight.

“So what do you want to do with a law degree?” Link asked as they slid themselves into a booth by the window.

“I want to work in a district attorney’s office,” she said cupping her hands around the warm coffee mug in front of her. “When a defendant can’t afford their own attorney, the court provides one for them, free of charge, and I thought, why can’t that be me? It’s not the most high paying job for a lawyer, but my parents are loaded, so that wouldn’t matter to me, and I would be helping people who really need it.”

Link nodded as food appeared before them, “I thought you would say something like that. You seem like someone who wouldn’t stand by when they saw injustices happening to others.”

“Yup,” she smiled and picked up some of the fries she didn’t remember ordering. “Combine that with a high school obsession with CSI and courtroom TV dramas, and you get pre-law Zelda.”

“Well I’m glad to have met pre-law Zelda,” Link held up his drink in a toast.

“Likewise, future architect Link,” she raised her glass to clink them together just as her phone started buzzing.

“It’s Linkle,” she told Link before answering it.

“Zelda, where are you?!” Linkle yelled from the other end of the line.

“I’m with Link at a twenty-four hour diner a couple of blocks away,” she said, holding the phone a good six inches away from her ear.

“HA!” Linkle cheered. “And you wanted to go home early. How bad is my sense of direction now?”

“I’ll see you at home, Linkle,” Zelda chuckled and hung up the phone.

#zelink #zelink month #zelink month 2018 #hw zelink #hyrule warriors #loz #flooshfics

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sorrelvervain · 6 years

Note

I feel very curious today, please bear with me. Aptitude for Floren this time and Decoration. And cause I still stan Bertrand, Maternal and Heat. (I might go over the whole alphabet for everyone if I keep this up, huh? janjsnjsnjsj) That aside, if Bertrand ever discover the internet, I hope to meet him (I shouldn't push my luck so much lmao)

pshh no problem i love answering these jsdkfkdjshf

Floren

Aptitude

you know what? Floren’s always had an eye for interior design. like he was born with a sixth sense and that sense was design sense. he singlehandedly saved a failing business by making it look nice. iconic. also he started playing the piano at age 4 so like. there’s that i guess lmao

between music lessons, school, and running The Brumal Badger, he didn’t really have time for much else. unless you wanna count the time he worked as a courtesan. does that count as an activity?

oh, like, everything. piano skills, business management, diplomacy, bedroom skills, synthesizing blood…

HA HA WHAT THINGS IS HE BAD AT ISN’T THAT A GOOD QUESTION. kjsdhfkjdsf well, for starters,,,,,, art. dude can’t draw. he’s doodled Once in his life and it looked like. uh. it looked unpolished, we’ll say. he’s also not good at any sort of magic, which is unfortunate since he’s practically made of magic. and he CANNOT swim. exercise in general is a no from him, but if u put him in water he’ll sink like a stone.

Sakana says it’s the business management. i mean, agreed. crazy how he owns every hotel in Heronrose, right? Floren himself thinks it’s a tie between the business management and the bedroom skills, though. that was Sakana’s second choice anyway

Decoration

i swear i’ve mapped out Floren��s house before dsfkjsdfh but like. imagine Baroque-inspired Art Nouveau decor. like that.

simple but elegant. and you KNOW he’d go and baby-proof everything. no sharp edges anywhere to be found. everything is squishy. but everything is also still very fancy.

i guess his own room is also simple but elegant, since he doesn’t spend much time there except to like,,sleep? much less squishy than his child’s room would be, though. also, there are family portraits all over the walls, and then of course the obligatory portrait of Jasmin Ellery that hangs up in every good Ellery child’s home–that’s in his room too. his bed is enormous, btw. just a big ol king-sized bed that’s really fuckin comfy.

Floren’s got like two closets and both of them are full. one of them is full of formal suits and vests and whatnot (yes, he wears these every day), and the other one is full of dresses, skirts, gowns, blouses, all that jazz. basically he dresses like every event is a black tie event, and his idea of “casual” is more of a business casual than anything. then, of course, he’s got his three rings with very strong meaning to him: his wedding ring and his two gender indicator rings.

mmm i wouldn’t say he keeps up with beauty trends, but he does love doing his makeup! he’s honestly too busy and immortal to worry about current trends, so he just does his own little minimalistic look, and no one notices. i mean, especially since no one’s really seen him without makeup in the first place. i don’t think even i’ve seen him without makeup. ridonk.

Bertrand

Maternal

i mean, yeah. he loves kids. or, at the very least, he has a soft spot for them. he did have a son named Davet, and like…he turned out okay. for some reason Bertrand can’t remember what it was like to raise him, though.

Bertrand honestly didn’t really want any kids. he’d help raise the village children, sure, but he didn’t really want any of his own. the only reason Davet was born was because, well…he was Deyrifea’s kid.

sort of? i don’t think he really has the energy or the patience to be a full-time parent. and i’m guessing since he decided to block out Davet’s whole childhood, he doesn’t think he was good at it, either.

well, Davet for a son, obviously. and…probably Danielle for a daughter.

depends on the reason. to give a needy child a home? absolutely, no doubt about it. that’s why Watts works for him now.

Heat

oh, he definitely prefers a hot room. for some goddamn reason he NEVER gets hot. i mean, same.

thus…he prefers the summer. he likes the summer solstice better than the winter solstice, anyway, since the winter solstice celebrates Deyrifea, and he’s still a little upset at Deyrifea for ditching him.

nope. hates the snow. he’ll get frostbite in 0.2 seconds. he’ll wear ten layers and fifteen scarves before walking outside in the winter.

the summer solstice! that’s his time to decorate and do the ritual bonfire and eat those tasty festival foods the Cloudheartians are so proud of.

his favorite winter activity is called staying inside until it gets warmer, dammit.

#floren #bertrand #sdlkfkdsljflsk thanks again

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hysteriamodes · 6 years

Text

Coloring in grey scale

So, hey, this is somewhat of a tutorial for those curious about some of my coloring and blending. I made this especially for anyone younger than me and is exploring digital art, but this is also for others who are curious about what I do. I love reading other artist’s comments and looking at their WIPs, so why not.

Another reminder: if you’re looking for my artwork, please follow @rainbow-illness and not this blog. All of my finished stuff goes there; usually, my works in progress (WIPs) or Angry Doodle Corner go here. Sometimes I use this blog to repost my art, but that is my official art blog, no this one. Not unless you like nonsensical posting and metal, then have at it. If you have any questions, don’t be afraid to hit me up, I love talking about art.

So I can’t always sit down and talk about my processes and how I go about doing them, but I was able to sit down and take some screencaps while I was working on my iPad Pro. Using the iPad is actually my first choice to draw on because of the convenience of carrying it around like a sketchbook, whereas my laptop isn’t always easy to carry around--it’s a big laptop. While I use my iPad, I also like to go back and correct things, recolor, re-proportion, or spend more time privately working on a drawing. I have my iPad with me, all the time, so I’m out in places usually like Starbucks doing this. I also struggle with pretty bad PTSD and agoraphobia, so having my iPad out with my headphones on gives me an excuse to put my mind elsewhere to calm down. My family just usually looks at me and goes “oh, she’s working on her art again”; I did this as a kid, too, only with sketchbooks.

I do not have a Cintiq either, though I would absolutely love one. This laptop is capable of using a stylus, but I think I need a better one to do it with. All I’m using is a cheap Wacom Bamboo tablet that I’ve had for five years, that’s it. Everything I’ve done on this blog has been on a small surface. So if you’re just dabbling into art, don’t beat yourself up for having the small stuff, I’ve worked with small stuff and still do. The only thing I have that’s not small is, well, the space and processor on my laptop are much faster than any other laptop I’ve owned, bought especially for graphic design classes and my artwork.

So, that being said lemme just forewarn some of you guys. My artwork is all done in two to three layers! Yes, you read that right! Why? When I was 16, I didn’t have a Wacom tablet to mess with, so I had to use a mouse and learned from there. When I turned 18, I got my first Wacom tablet while working my first official job and the family computer didn’t have a good processor. So when I got my first official laptop, it was basic and not made to run anything beyond the web browser and such, it could barely handle Photoshop. It did, however, run Paint Tool SAI with no issue (which is why I still prefer it over anything I use), it just couldn’t handle more than five layers. After losing my drawings constantly and not being able to do anything in the prized software I’ve been eyeing since my Sophmore year of high school, I found a workaround with it.

And that’s what I’m going to write about here. With that in mind, no, you do not have to limit your layers! I’ve taken traditional art classes so my first instinct is to literally paint over my stuff like I would on a canvas. If you don’t want to do that, you don’t have to! Yes, I am nuts.

That being said, let's do this.

If you haven’t taken traditional art classes, that’s cool! I’m going to be using some art terms you haven’t heard of, but you definitely will when you take your first ever drawing class. These terms are foreground, value, negative space, contour, and weighted line (I’ve seen it called line weight too). For the more experienced art students who are likely groaning over that stupid contour practice from that book “Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain”, I’m sorry, guys. Newbies, you are going to know this.

And you are going to hate it. While I still hate it and, yeah, my eyes are rolling into my skull right now just even talking about it, there are some useful practices in here that I... actually use. Who would have thought? At least we’re not talking about still lives.

Anyway, here’s what I’M going to say that some art teachers will not tell you but I want anyone to read this to know:

- Do not obsess over your drawing to look exactly like your reference. Just don’t. Forget this completely, worry about it later or don’t even worry about it at all. This is your style, your interpretation.

- Digital art is hard. Art is hard! Practice makes perfect and you learn over time just by studying (looking at) other pieces of art. It took me like well over 10 years to find my own little niche and I’m still playing around with coloring styles. I have a lot.

- If you’re just starting to draw with a tablet of any kind, play around with it. My first official program was a cheaper version of Paint Shop Pro and when I first got it when I was 14, I sat around and experimented on layers to see what it would look like. Explore!

- When you start drawing figures or faces, try not to think of it as, well, face or a figure. Reduce it to basic shapes, like squares, triangles, and circles.

Greyscale can establish light source, value, scale, and negative space.

I don’t always use greyscale for my art, but when I do, I appreciate it because it makes my life easier. For example, Alphonse Mucha’s pieces here from his “Slav Epic”.

Chances are, you’ve seen Mucha’s art nouveau on prints, fanart, fabrics, and all of that. But Mucha did so much more and he is a huge influence on me for a reason. By the greyscale we see here, we can see foreground/subject with each illustration. Mucha is using value (that’s shadow) to emphasize this, in addition to negative space (background) to draw you in, just by using black and white. Notice how the other subjects don’t have such a powerful contrast and light source versus the other, especially the woman on the left. Mucha made his art pop by his understanding of contrast.

For this first part of this entry, I’m going to be using Papa Emeritus II from “Ghost”... who is a good example of how to draw faces, too. Huh. Regardless of what drawing program you’re using, keep your opacity low, at 50%.

Simplicity at its finest

Instead of focusing a lot on Emeritus’ face, I’m going to focus on the negative space behind him. I’m using this to define his figure. This is a good picture because of the stark contrast, though, it’s a little tricky because it is really contrasted and you can’t see where the light source really is. But that is okay! I am going in and just using this negative space, the contour of his head and torso. Before I even think of a face, I want to softly go in and use black (or grey) to fill up that negative space. Keep it simple and work your way up.

After I lightly fill in the negative space around him, I can start lightly going in and establish his face by blocks of shadow. And this is why Emeritus II is such a good example for this kind of work. I don’t usually start going in and drawing eyes, I rely on the shadows of the face to see where their eyes, ears, lips, and such lie.

Here’s another example (though, it’s old):

This is in my maroon style underpaint, which is what I post most of the time. For their faces, I just used basically eye sockets to start working on their faces, like Papa Emeritus II down below. Again, this dude is a great example.

Here is where it may get a little funky. I created a new layer and set that layer to Multiply, still keeping that opacity low. Since I have no light source and I just want to create a really dramatic lighting, I made a vignette with a simple airbrush tool.

With that little vignette, you can create a new layer (unless you’re me, I just merge it down because of that constant fear of nonexistent software crashing) and I’m using the color pick tool to go back and forth to start using greys to really get into Emeritus’ face, especially his wrinkles. I’m painting over it constantly, switching back and forth between a paintbrush tool and color pick tool to blend. Again, keep your opacity low... unless you’re me and you’re feeling adventurous. You’ll also notice here that I have more than one photo reference. I use several for a lot of my art, so I encourage you to do the same. I had no idea what his jaw looked like, so I grabbed a second photo. Now that I have a better idea of where his hat ends on his forehead and how his nose looks, I start doing a weighted line.

Weighted line and Contour

Now is the dreaded talk. Of contour.

Welcome to Drawing I hell. This cursed image is from the book “How to Draw on the Right Side of the Brain” and if your teacher does not talk about this in your first drawing class, I am going to eat my hat... I have a hat lying around here somewhere. ANYWAY, the contour line exercise is basically you just using a neverending line for a drawing. I don’t know who drew this (and tbh, thanks a lot for every single boring assignment I’ve done in drawing classes), but this guy used contour lines for his drawing. I’m having war flashbacks over here, but I managed to find an art teacher’s page talking about different types of contour. My god, they are evolving.

Going back to our dear friend Papa Emeritus II, I used weighted line to start adding in little shadows to his face. Weighted line goes hand in hand with contour; it is a great technique to not only add details, but add little bits of shadows.

This is a simple example; the thicker line is adding to the shadow of the apple, giving it value!

Papa Emeritus II is such a good reference... I used him as inspiration for King Melwas here.

Gwenhwyfar is also a good example of weighted line. Gwen is essentially a very, very pale character. In contrast to Melwas, who is in darker clothing, Gwen is soft, she is the focal point in this drawing. For the little pieces of her hair, the corner of her lips, eyelashes, and her fingertips, I used a weighted line to establish these things, otherwise, Gwen is so pale, she’ll easily be washed out completely.

This drawing of Alice, which I’m still messing around with, is another example of how effective a weighted line can be with depth. The lines I added into her face, eyelashes, creases, hair, and fingers add those little details since everything I’ve done before like Papa Emeritus II was so soft with a low opacity on the brush settings.

Layer masks and curves

There are two ways you can color greyscale images.

You can do this by going into Layer > Adjustment Layer > Curves (this is how it looks like in Procreate).

This gives you a neat ol’ base color! I am playing around in the blues, adding soft hues of blue in their figures and the white in this picture can either turn blue, cream, or even green. You don’t have to use Blue, you can use any of the other colors. For me, I’m always drawn to blues. Another cool thing to play around with is Color Balance, which is underneath the same function as Curves.

But if you don’t have any of these, you can add a new layer, and do Multiply.

The only drawback to this, of course, is how destaturated (the lack of color) it looks. And yes, that’s an issue you will have and I did run into this while doing this. How I combat this is using additional layer masks. Believe it or not, Alice here was once at a grey scale, looking even more desaturated than Gwen.

For Alice’s face, I went in and use:

- Soft Light because she needed more peach and roses in her skin. Omri’s original drawing gave her a light rose blush so I wanted to do the same.

- Overlay to mask out the black lines from the greyscale I had.

- Lighten which I used to make her lips pinker, her apron’s shadows lighter, and parts of her hair brown.

The same went for Gwen, who is, again, very pale. But while she’s supposed to be pale, I didn’t wash her out completely. To add more saturation, I used a combination of Soft Light over my Multiply layer and Overlay to start working at the highlights on her hair, nose, and shoulder.

This little walkthrough isn’t as visual as I like, but with limited software like Fire Alpaca, GIMP, or Paint Tool SAI that don’t have the abilities of Photoshop in terms of color correction and playing around with colors, I really encourage you, readers, to play around with these tools. Using the color picker back and forth, especially after using layer masks, gives you an ability to mix and blend colors. The reason why I work with greyscale or a maroon under paint is that you can create brilliant colors and make a new palette; the trick is to constantly mess around with them. I never go in and flat out color anything, with the exception of things like “angry doodle corner” which is basically what I call my lazy drawings, drawings where I’m just honestly goofing off with.

So in summation...! Or me trying to summarize this.

Experiment and explore with layer masks and adjustments. Whoever says that using these tools isn’t real art, they’re wrong. And please don’t ever be afraid of using references of any sort! Alphonse Mucha is saved ten times over on this computer.

#my art #tutorial #i think #an attempt was made #digital art #procreate #ipad drawing #ipad pro #Alice madness returns #alice liddell #american mcgee's alice #alice asylum

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d-noona · 6 years

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AERO

SUMMARY: In a future of political, economic and moral collapse, a genetically enhanced superhuman prototype named Y/N escapes from military confines and dwells amidst the decadent underground street life of *Seoul* to avoid government agents who want to bring her back into the fold.

WORDS: 2943

Jeon Jungkook x Reader

M.LIST | CH. 10

CHAPTER 09 - THE VISITOR

After getting extremely annoyed coming back home empty handed once again in search of Taehyung and Hoseok, Y/N enters her shared apartment. She calls out for her best friend "Choon, are you home?" But to her dismay she realizes that her best friend is working late shifts at the hospital. Y/N pulls off her leather jacket, drops it on the floor. She kicks off one boot, then the other, then peels off her black turtleneck revealing a black lacy bra underneath, she dives onto her futon and sighs. Not out of fatigue, more like the weight of the world weighing on her tonight. Reminiscing on her two lost friends. She lies there beat, then she senses something. Call it vibration, intuition. She sits up suddenly and is very still, like deer in the forest listening for a predator's approach, then she turns and look behind her and sees the Gold Statue on a milk crate bookshelf against the wall.

Y/N gets up, crosses to the statue, picks up the item and look at it a long moment trying to run the math. Then, impetuously she heads out of the room colleting her just doffed clothes as she goes.

She rides her rice-burner without any helmet, flaring through the night to a familiar alley way as she jumps up the tall building. She steps over the ledge and sees the very familiar building across. The apartment that she once attempted to rob.

The luxurious apartment, subdued lighting. Y/N drops down from the familiar skylight landing in a crouch. She sees Jungkook, standing in the dining room, just lighting a candle at the long table. There are two place settings. He looks at Y/N and blows out the match. "Have you ever noticed how cats always seem to turn up around dinner time?" he smirks at Y/N as he continues to fix the table with food and drinks for his astute guest. Y/N giving Jungkook an icy glare responds "I won't be staying"

"I'm not a half bad cook" he smiles at his guest. The tastefully arrayed table suggests this is an understatement. Wary of her surroundings Y/N paces slowly towards the living room "Like following me around and pestering the people I work with wasn't bad enough, but breaking into my apartment?" Jungkook tilts his head to the side, seemingly like a bad habit. "It was open"

"You got a lotta nerve" Y/N responds in anger. "Me? You're the one who tried to rip off this place." Jungkook continues to put the salad on the table for his guest, not paying much attention to Y/N as she glares at him. She spat in irritation "Completely different situation. I steal things in order to sell them. For money. It's called commerce, but some stranger sneaking into a girl's bedroom is bent."

"Bent?" amused Jungkook raises his eyebrow with a smirk on his face. "Bent. How am I supposed to ever sleep there again knowing some pervert probably touched everything I owned?" as Y/N paces left to right in a slow sultry manner, just like a cat would. Jungkook gave out a naughty laugh and smiled "If you're that nervous, you're welcome to stay here."

Y/N feigns complete revulsion at the thought as Ruben the security guard enters in a rush, drawing his gun menacingly, some ace wrapping on his wrist and a bandage on the bridge of his nose. "Whoa there boy, we've been through all this." As Y/N raises both hands in order for Ruben to see that she is no way going the let the man touch a single hair of hers. "It's okay Ruben, we're fine" says Jungkook as he sits at the chair nearby. Y/N raises an eyebrow at Jungkook "We are not fine"

Ruben lowers the gun but continues to watch Y/N suspiciously. "This is a tactical exposure which I go on record as not liking" says the muscle man. "Noted, Ruben do me a favor and look in on Janna and Juliette." Replied the walking hot stick with a mole right below his luscious lips.

Ruben grudgingly exits and Y/N circles the table. She idly kicks the plywood which has been fastened over the window she broke the last time she was there. Jungkook sighs at his failed plan. "Look, Y/N if I made you feel uncomfortable or creeped out. I am truly sorry. It wasn't my intention, but I had to see you."

Y/N doesn't know what came over her, perhaps the heat is coming on as she looks at the man in front of her she feels the sickening grudge pulling her from below. She attempts to stay away to avoid his eyes and his touch. She turns slightly looking at Jungkook briefly "You'd think a guy who's taken on the job of saving the world would have a few more important things to do than traipse around after some girl."

Following on the lead of flirting which Jungkook knows all too well, he rides on "I haven't been able to get you out of my mind" he says. He reaches out for Y/N's hand "Come here. I want to show you something." Putting a hand on each shoulder, he steers her over to an ornate mirror hanging above the sideboard. "Tell me what you see." As Jungkook point out to the mirror.

"Gold leaf, art nouveau, French, early nineteen hundreds. I could probably fence this for about three or four grand easy." Y/N says while observing the piece of art hanging. However Jungkook points to her reflection in the mirror. "No, I mean this" as Jungkook gently places his hand on Y/N's chin. "Probably the most singularly beautiful face I've ever seen."

Y/N was caught off guard and was embarrassed, face turned red as she looks down "Expensive gifts, surprise late night visits, over the top flattery. You really always come on this strong?" as she questions, looking up at Jungkook. He gently massages Y/n's nape, as he brushes his hair from behind "Only when I meet someone I have to know everything about." He continues to lean in giving soft kisses and licks on her ear. Y/N doesn't resist feeling a tying knot forming below her pelvic line, she heaves and inhales him drunken at the arousal building up. He brushes Y/N's hair more revealing a bar code on her neck. "And now I think I know pretty much about everything." He abruptly pulls away, leaving Y/N standing there hot, bothered and confused by the interruption.

"Suppose I can help you locate the other ones." Jungkook says as he moves towards the living room of the apartment. Y/N follows him with a confused look on her face then realizes the predicament she's in. Turning pale and wary of the man opposite of her. She plays dumb "The other ones?" she asks. "You lost me" she continues.

"Come on Y/N. first I watch you dive headfirst out the window fifteen stories up like you're Super woman. Then, I found this in your apartment." Jungkook continues as he pulls a vial of pills out his pocket. Y/N registers outrage, however this doesn't stop Jungkook "L-Triptophane. A neurotransmitter sometimes used in homeopathy to control seizures. Then the light bulb went off." He smirks at Y/N since he knows he got her good.

"You did go through my stuff" Y/N states in horror. As Jungkook turns and head into his study, Y/N follows him, Jungkook starts typing information on the computer keyboard. "I got an anonymous report years ago from a guy who was a lab technician at a covert genetics lab in Daegu Mountains." Jungkook blabbers on as he continues to pull out a file labelled Project Aero. The same file fills the computer screen.

"I don't know what you're on about but I'm out coz you're fucking insane" says Y/N as she starts to back away. However Jungkook didn't acknowledge her as he continues to speak "He said they were working on something called Project Aero, which was using recombinant DNA to produce a superior human. A warrior, an advance infantry soldier. Apparently these soldiers have special abilities. Super strength, speed, endurance, and who knows what else they might've cooked up in your genes" as he stares at Y/N.

Y/N stops at her tracks and turns in anguish "Not that I don't enjoy a good urban legend but what does any of this have to with me?" Jungkook looks up at Y/N. "The barcode on your neck Y/N. I know who you are and what you're running from." The revelation freezes Y/N in her tracks, she suddenly bolts but Jungkook rushes to her, catching her, and looks up her eyes with utmost concern. "There were two other transgenic males captured from the initial escape, and in 2020 a few months after the pulse, they escaped. There were only 3 of you left that were successful to this project Y/N. Only 3 out of hundreds genetically enhanced hybrids. The rest died during experimentation."

Y/N struggles and loses her balance. Her brain goes out of her wits when she hears this. "Taehyung and Hoseok?" The emotion is plainly evident in her eyes. "You're one of those transgenics Y/N. Now you'd be called a hybrid." Jungkook attempts to steady Y/N as she starts to fade and bend over to peer at her eyes. "Look at me. Listen, I am not your enemy. You are safe with me. Trust me." As Jungkook gently massages Y/N's arms as she looks straight into his eyes, for some reason unknown reason this man knows a part of her life, he may use her, and he just be the death of her, but no matter because she for some reason trusts him. Y/N sits on a couch relating the specifics of her history to Jungkook.

"We got separated right away. I never knew if they made it." As tears fall from Y/N's eyes. "How old are you exactly?" Jungkook's curiosity got the best of him. Y/n gave Jungkook a small smile "Well I was 33 when they took me in way back 2017, whatever they injected seems to make my aging stop, also allowing me to look younger than my normal years." Y/N shrugs off the surprise look on Jungkook's face.

"How well do you remember the lab?" He trails on question after question. "I remember fine after the lab and the plane crash. We and several other survivors were dragged into the lab. We could've been declared dead by the government, however anything prior to the crash is just a blur. None of us remembers our previous lives prior to being dragged in, when we got to the lab there were prior experiments. Hoseok and Taehyung were one of those in vitro babies, they were already living in the facility before we got dragged in, they were the younger yet earlier generations, Taehyung was 14 and Hoseok was 15. The rest were plane crash survivors. Ages ranging from 9 to atleast 50's. As far as I can recall we all had a normal life before all this, though most of our memories have already been erased. I was the only survivor left in the crash that was successful to the project. My DNA structure was changed after birth as compared to Tae and Hoseok, their DNA has been etched since birth. I just didn't understand what was going on during the time. They held the survivors for months, did experiments, we never questioned anyone. We we're all too scared. They never told us anything except what to do. I was in a cell block with Hoseok and Taehyung and the others. Then slowly as months pass by it was just down to five. There were two other girls with us from the escape but they were in such bad shape before we bolted. I'm not sure if Jondy or Max survived. They were younger than I was at least."

"How much do you know?" as Jungkook continues to question Y/N which she obliges to answer seriously. She felt good having to share such valuable information of her life with someone after many years of trying to hide what she is. "I know they made me. Got the branding on my neck to prove it. Whoever I was prior to the accident was no longer existent." She sighs.

"Yeah, the technical term for you is a Chimera." Jungkook adds. Y/N stares blankly into Jungkooks eyes. "Yep, a made-up creature. Like in mythology, head of a lion, body of a goat and a tail..." Jungkook cuts Y/N "Of a girl" he says and gave her a weak smile.

Y/n chuckles in Jungkook's attempt to stop her from describing the monster she sees her to be "Your basic freak" Y/N adds in. Jungkook stares at her in amusement "Hardly. I meant what I said earlier, you truly are beautiful" Y/N acknowledges the compliment with a brief glance, then looks out the city lights as her cheeks reddened. Then she speaks "Christmas is a snap when you've been kidnapped from your family, no parents, and no relatives. Just a bunch of gene sequences from probably twenty different people and animals." She smirks at Jungkook. He laughs "Like extra virgin olive oil, the best of the best" he says.

"You know the weird thing is Taehyung and Hoseok lived in the lab for years, prior to us being put in together. I guess the Corporation was testing out possible outcomes of having to recombinant DNA on both in vitro babies and after birth. We got the short of the stick. They saw the opportunity and took us from our families. Prior to us being joined in the barracks with these kids. They were so different. Taehyung and Hoseok, they knew nothing but training. Nothing from the outside world. It's like they have no emotions. At all. But I guess that's where Aero messed up. They mixed us over with this kids and ended up confusing the kids, confirming true emotions. I owe my life to them you know." As Y/N blabbers away, tears fall from her eyes. Jungkook leans in and wipes her tears with his thumb. Y/n snaps out of it.

Turning from the window to face the young man "You said you could help." Jungkook got up from his seat approached Y/N, "I could search for your friends, since considering the predicament you're in they're the only family you have at this point in time. I can ask for my informant to gather information about the old lab you were held in and see what side effects their studies may have for you and your peers, maybe we can also find out more about your family and get you back." Jungkook holds Y/N's hand and rubs his thumb across it, she stares at the young man "I prefer not to find them, my family I mean. While I have the corporation following my ass, I don't want to endanger them. Though I would love to see and be with Hoseok and Taehyung again." Y/N stops for a brief second and turns to Jungkook again "What's in it for you?" He stands up and looks out the window "Your help."

Y/N stands up abruptly "I already don't like the sound of this."Jungkook acknowledges the threat and danger that he is asking of the girl but he has no choice in order to survive this he needs Y/N. "The woman you met. Janna, she supervised workers removing cortodiazapine from gel caps by hand and replacing it with powdered sugar. The real drug was being shipped out of the country to be sold to the highest bidder at the black market. The placebos were distributed to County VA Hospital and six veterans' clinics in the area. Janna Reid is prepared to testify that was instructed to this by one of Sonrisa's men. You know who Edgar Sonrisa is?

Y/N turns to look at Jungkook "Yeah, I caught one of your hacks. He's Satan's spawn or something." Jungkook attempts to reach out for Y/N's hand "So you know the lengths he'll go to keep Janna from going public. I'm turning Janna over for a witness protection but if you're with her the risk of her safety goes way down."

Y/N avoids Jungkook's gaze afraid for what may happen. "I didn't make it this far by attracting a lot of attention Jungkook. I am still on the run. They want me bad, I have people on my ass either wanting to put me back in a lab to do weird experiments on me or worse have me killed." Jungkook sees the fear in her eyes. A flash of the scared innocent by stander once shown. Wondering who Y/N was prior to all this mess she's in as of the present.

"They've lost track of me and I intend to keep it that way." Y/N stands up ready to leave as Jungkook attempts to stop her "You're a soldier Y/N. That's what you were put here for. But soldiers need a mission otherwise they tear themselves up." He says in desperation.

Y/N huffs at Jungkook "That's deep. But before you lecture me about the meaning of life, maybe think about my family who's been missing me, thinking that I died along that place crash years ago. Think about how I came to be, how this special abilities were made, you want a lesson in life? Maybe you oughta start getting one. Ta ta!" Then, Y/N leaps up and grabs the combing of the skylight. She pikes sharply, like a gymnast and pulls herself up though the opening, and just like that she's gone.

#BTS #JEON JUNGKOOK X READER #JEON JUNGKOOK #KIM TAEHYUNG #JUNG HOSEOK #PARK JIMIN #MIN YOONGI #KIM SEOKJIN #KIM NAMJOON #BANGTAN SONYEANDAN #ACTION #FAN FIC

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medeafive · 4 years

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Blood and Stone -06

Masterpost