#ive never done a crime officer in my life i do not know what you are speaking of

[unsupervised-meatsuit]

Inconveniences, Cultists, and the Warehouse of Rejected Toys

Cross posted on AO3!

If there was one thought that Marinette could attribute to describe the entirety of this situation, it would be that Thursdays suck.

It is not the most commonly hated day of the week, since that dubious honor belongs to Monday, for rather obvious reasons. Since it is so universally hated, however, it never comes as a surprise when the bad things come out to play. Oh, there was a fire in the office next door over the weekend, and now the air conditioning smells like burnt rubber and brick dust? That's just Monday for you. A villain attack in the warehouse district caused a shipping delay and that package you ordered got lost somewhere? Disappointing, yet unsurprising. The subway is so packed that a sardine tin would be spacious in comparison? Well, that's the subway every day, so it doesn't really count.

Tuesdays and Wednesdays are just that, days. Nothing exciting, nothing awful. Middle of the line, going through the motions, monotonous. Whether trudging through or in the zone, things get done and nothing exciting happens. Fridays are, of course, celebrated as the finish line, the checkpoint in the marathon of life that says 'you made it! You can take a rest now'. The final stretch before the glorious work-free weekend. The one where you can go home with the comfort of knowing there are no alarms coinciding with dawns break, just waiting to sneak up on you too soon. No annoying coworkers waiting with their metaphorical talons and too-cheerful-to-be-real attitudes, ready to interrupt your flow at the worst possible moment. Fridays are the tantalizing breath of freedom, just awaiting for the clock to strike.

But Thursdays? Thursdays are the worst.

They are the day you always forget. The one that sneaks up on you, where you wake up with the inkling of hope and relief that the end brings, only to have the crushing realization that it is not, in fact, Friday. Like seeing a finish line on the crest of a hill in front of you, only to watch as the closer you get the further away it seems. The one where you cram every ounce of procrastinated effort into the projects you have been putting off until right before the deadline, wishing for nothing more than an IV drip of straight espresso into your veins, followed by a three century long nap.

The day where you get kidnapped by an evil cult and strung up from the ceiling next to an unconscious vigilante, simply for the crime of being a nice person in Gotham.

Or maybe that is just Marinette.

'Embodiment of good luck and creation my ass,' she thought bitterly, rope digging painfully into her elbows and just below her ribs. 'Oh yea, let's go to Gotham. The city is unbalanced and needs a Guardian to fix all of the curses. That is such a great idea. Nothing bad will happen! Well what do you call this then, Tikki?!' Marinette sighed, the feeling of pins and needles creeping down towards her bound wrists as she swung precariously some twenty-five odd feet above the concrete warehouse floor, trying to ignore the worry she felt being separated from the little deity. Beside her was none other than Red Hood; former(maybe? she's not sure) crime lord, gunslinging vigilante, and too freaking heavy for his own good. Seriously, for someone who uses firearms almost exclusively, there is no reason for him to be so damn muscular. Or tall. Completely unfair for someone to hog all the height like that. It's what got them into this whole mess to begin with!

Well- That wasn't entirely true, but still. If he didn't weigh so much, Marinette could have easily grabbed him and run from the masked, potato-sack-wearing, nonsense-spewing, second rate fanatic occultists before they even knew she was there. But no, Red Hood just had to be the size and weight of a small bear, and now they were both in this mess.

"I should have never gotten out of bed this morning..." She muttered despondently, hearing a groan come from the limp figure beside her.

"Son of a bitch..." Red Hood murmured, voice changer in his helmet distorting the words to be near incomprehensible. The following string of curses as he presumably opened his eyes and took in their predicament was much more audible, however. Looking down, Marinette couldn't even begrudge him the swearing.

The two of them were currently hanging from a catwalk suspended in between two of the six total concrete pillars and directly above where the aforementioned potato-sack-wearing cultists were busy drawing out chalk guidelines for some kind of complex ritual circle. She couldn't quite make out what it was meant to be yet, seeing as it was in the early stages, but she could assume that it wasn't anything good for their would-be sacrifices. They were really dedicated, too, not even glancing up at the vigilante that was giving his best impression of an angry drenched cat. One of them even had a protractor and was double checking all of the angles in the twelve pointed star. Clearly, whatever this ritual was meant to be, it was going to take a while to complete.

Red Hood clearly didn't appreciate the attention to detail, which honestly? Fair. But the way he showed his displeasure at the situation involved thrashing around in the cocoon of thick chains wrapped securely around his whole body. (Marinette was only a little bit jealous at the differing treatment, since if she had more than a single rope wrapped around her torso, it wouldn't hurt nearly as much, but also it would make escape harder.) The thrashing wouldn't bother her if it weren't for the fact that A) they were both tied to a rickety catwalk, and B) every time there was movement on said rickety catwalk, it caused Marinette to bounce around and dug into the already forming bruises on her arms and abdomen.

"Hey, could you cut that out?!" She snapped, wincing in pain. Her voice caused Red Hood to whip his head in her direction and freeze, "You aren't the only one here strung up like a pinata, and unlike you, I'm not wearing any armor. I would personally rather not be split in half and spew my intestines all over the place like a macabre birthday celebration, thanks!" There were several long moments of silence while he stared at her and she attempted to alleviate some of the pressure of the rope. She was unsuccessful, sadly, but at least she was no longer bouncing. After a few moments, the swearing started up again, much more vehement than the last time, though without the accompanying thrashing, thankfully.

Marinette huffed, turning her attention to the warehouse below, allowing him to get it out of his system. It was very clearly disused and permeated with the smell of dust, but not quite abandoned as she would expect. Various sizes of wooden crates were scattered and stacked all around the stained brick walls along with stacks of empty pallets and cardboard boxes. The center of the large building was a two stories tall square, held up by four concrete pillars fading into darkness and broken windows. The empty space was only broken by the catwalks that were claustrophobically close to the exposed, rusty rafters, and a disused... crane thingy on an I shaped track above the two truck-sized doors to the right. In front of and behind them were what she guessed to be offices with windows that overlooked the main floor and connected to the catwalks through discrete side doors. The bottom floor continued underneath the offices where there were stairs resting against the back wall, though they were barely visible through the deep shadows and pallets of stacked boxes.

Directly underneath them, the cultists had cleared out a large area and hung up bright florescent floodlights that cast stark shadows pointing down towards their try-hard craft project. They had a cheap table set up to the side covered in candles, chalk, various liquids, jars, and bowls of different white powders, which Marinette guessed was salt or bone dust or something of the sort. Oh, and rumbling minifridge full of blood bags. There was that, too.

"-toe-eyed shit monkey fuck-tard motherfucking piece of-" Red Hood was still going, but seemed to be somewhat running out of steam. Or different ways to say the same swear words. Or maybe breath, Marinette wasn't quite sure yet.

Down below, the cultists remained focused on their ritual. Or, at least most of them did. Only about four total were actually doing any drawing or plotting out, with exactly twelve seated a little ways away from the star's points, all meditating. There were three more that Marinette could see, and from what she could tell, they weren't very focused on anything work related, if the one holding the weird, green-haired doll was any indication.

Marinette squinted in concentration, calling on her connection with the Kwami to sharpen her senses and hear past the still-swearing Red Hood.

"-whole box full of the creepy little things." The one holding the doll said, her voice disdainful. I hereby name you Dolly, Marinette thought, eyes flicking to the medium sized crate she had pulled the doll from. It had some kind of toy company logo on it, though not one that she recognized.

"Why would you even go looking through those?" the other cultist asked, somewhat judgmentally. And I hereby name you Judgy.

"I was bored." Dolly replied flatly, inspecting the green haired doll in her hands.

"Aren't you supposed to be watching the sacrifices?" Marinette squinted, tensing slightly despite the flare of burning pain it caused, but the cultists didn't even bother looking in their direction.

"No, that is Mark and Jacob's job." She waved dismissively, not glancing up from the doll. 

"Ah." He paused for a moment, before letting out an exasperated sigh. "Who thought it was a good idea to put those two together?"

"No clue. Better them than me, though. I hate watching sacrifices. They always cry and yell at me, or try to beg their way out. It is so annoying. I'd rather just be bored." Judgy nodded in agreement, shifting his weight and crossing his arms. Marinette couldn't help but scoff quietly. As if.

"Well, at least you get to look through dusty crates and find creepy dolls this time." They both stared at the doll for a few moments as Dolly scoffed.

"Yeah, and that totally makes up for the fact that we are a day early. I had to call out of work for this shit." She said sending a small glare at the cultist with the red trim decorating their burlap 'robe' before looking back at the doll. Dolly turned the thing over in her hands before finding something on the back of it. "Oh hey, there is a switch here." 

Marinette could barely hear a tiny click as the switch flipped and the two went quiet as they waited for it to do something. Dolly shook it, but got no response aside from the sounds of chalk scraping concrete, plastic rulers clattering, the constant drone of the minifridge, and the sound of moving cultists that overlayed the faraway screeches and honks of the city outside the warehouse walls. The two(plus Marinette) waited to see what the doll would do for several more moments to no avail.

"Does it need batteries or something?" Judgy asked. Dolly opened her mouth to reply, but didn't get the chance as the doll's eyes lit up and laughed, long and loud, to the cadence of Judgy's voice. It was unsettling, and very clearly reminiscent of a certain clown. The way it echoed around the warehouse amplified the creepiness. It was somewhat comical how Dolly jumped and scrambled to flip the switch back off as almost everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their heads towards her in unison, though. Or, well, it would be if it weren't for the fact that these people had strung her from the ceiling up and were waiting to sacrifice her to whatever entity they worshipped.

Marinette was jolted out of her concentration by a throat being cleared, and her head snapped towards the source. Beside her, Red Hood was looking in her direction(or at her, it was hard to tell with the helmet) and very clearly no longer swearing.

"You done, now?" She sassed, glancing back at the cultists she was so rudely interrupted from eavesdropping on. Dolly and Judgy were looking sheepish(as much as one could look sheepish, wearing *that*) as most of the others glared at them(presumably). The one with the red trim on their potato sack seemed to be scolding them, and about half of the ones sitting at the star's points weren't looking, continuing to meditate unbothered after the initial interruption. Interesting.

"Yeah. Sorry about that." Red Hood said, sounding somewhat uncomfortable, though it was difficult to tell through the voice changer. Marinette didn't look back at him, scanning the warehouse for the two that were supposed to be watching them.

"No, it's fine. Not everyone can be cool under pressure." She said smoothly, squinting into the deep shadows on the ground floor, sharpening her vision with as much of her magic as she dared, though there weren't any people hiding that she could see. They will be somewhere that they can easily see us, but won't have to pay much attention...

"Excuse me?" He asked, taken aback. Marinette began scanning the catwalks above them, craning her neck and analyzing them for hiding spots. Or rather, for comfortable areas to hang out and pretend to be working. Clearly, these cultists have gotten too used to their routine. Which is a bad sign for all the previous sacrifices, but good for us.

"I mean, it's not every day that you get kidnapped and hung from the ceiling, so your reaction is understandable." She turned her head to the vigilante after determining that the lookouts were not visible, who was looking at her, the feeling of incredulity coming through loud and clear.  "Though I would have expected you to be a bit more used to this kind of thing." She spoke with a note of scorn in her voice. He was the one to lead the cultists outside her apartment in the first place. She was just trying to take out the trash when he flopped over unconscious right in front of her. And Red Hood was unnecessarily heavy. And muscular. And well proportioned. And tall. Is that a tailored leather jacket? It looks well made, even through the chains. He would make a great model, honestly. Broad shoulders, long legs, nice chest- Gah! No! Focus!

"Wh- it-, no I am not used to waking up chained to the ceiling." He said with a growl in his voice that she could almost feel in her chest. Marinette suppressed a slight shiver. Why do warehouses always have drafts?

"Really? Huh." She said absently, looking around the grimy and broken windows that lined the upper wall above the truck doors. Unloading dock, I think it's called?  "I got the impression that Gothamites were unfazed by stuff like this." Beside her, Red Hood scoffed, head turning to look below them and presumably analyze the cultists.

"Being kidnapped, sure. Happens all the time. Sometimes, it's even on purpose. Being tied to the ceiling, not so much." The obnoxious red helmet ticked to the side, eyeing her presumably. "What, is this normal where you come from?" From the small huff she could tell the question was clearly meant to be rhetorical, but Marinette answered it anyway.

"Eh, it's not my first time." she looked down at the ritual circle and 'bored' cultists who were completely ignoring the two, having opened up another box filled with what seemed to be... bags of gumballs? Interesting..  "At least it's just cultists and there is no swimming pool full of boiling soup." Marinette shifted, attempting to regain feeling in her fingers without putting her full weight on her bruised ribs. She had never wished to be transformed more than she did right now. Heck, she would even take the old onesie she used to call a superhero suit. She really did feel like she was about to be split in half. "Though whoever tied this rope did a much worse job than Kung Food." She said with a grimace, rocking from side to side and scooching the rope downwards a little bit. It stung, and the balance was a little more precarious now, and she just knew it was going to be hell on her back and core muscles, but at least it didn't hurt as much, so she took that as a win.

"... please tell me you are joking." Red Hood asked with a note of desperation in his voice. She grimaced, thinking back to the wafting steam and the smell of the since renamed 'Marinette Soup'.

"I wish I was." Marinette said, resigned. The thought was sweet in theory but thinking back, having a soup that you almost got cooked into renamed after you is pretty morbid.

"Jesus fucking Christ." He muttered with what she could only assume was mild distress. She knew the feeling.

"It's fine." She said, stretching out her fingers that wanted nothing more to curl in on themselves from the lack of blood flow. Marinette twisted her wrists and reached her hands in a way that just barely let her nails latch onto the poorly tied knot of the hemp rope. Seriously? This is just sad. I don't even need help from the Kwami to get out of this.

"It is very much fucking not." Red hood said pointedly while, assumedly, pinning her with a glare. Not that I can exactly go anywhere yet, anyway.

"I would shrug if I could, but as you can see, I am physically disinclined to do so." She looked at him with a sardonic smile, vaguely gesturing with her head at their general predicament. Eyes unfocusing, she concentrated on the feeling of the rope latched underneath her fingernails and started pulling at it.

"Could you be any more nonchalant about this? That is supposed to be my job." The deadpan response so monotone it sounded nearly robotic through the voice changer caused her to let out a small huff of a laugh. Ow, that hurt. Come on, you stupid rope, work with me here!

"Would you rather I be freaking out, screaming and crying about how we are going to die tragically?" She asked, pulling a face as one of her hands started cramping from the curled position. Ow ow ow ow-

"Absolutely not." Hood said without hesitation. So close... YES!

"Then I don't see what you have to be complaining about here." Marinette smiled triumphantly as she finally felt the rope around her wrists loosen, stretching the discomfort away as much as she could. Red Hood was silent for several long moments as she took in a few deep breaths, attempting to shake the few strands of hair that had escaped her high bun out of her face. Okay, wrists are free. Next are the ankles, then I can slip out of the rope and climb up onto the catwalk without falling to my death/serious injury in the process. Easy peasy. I just need to-

"You are something else, you know that?" He said in a tone that she didn't quite know how to name, distorted as it was. Marinette paused before she could start to move onto the next step, looking into the expressionless helmet of Red Hood that somehow still failed to hide that she had his full attention. She blinked several times, confused. "I don't think I have ever seen such a pretty smile, especially not in a situation like this." He clarified. Marinette couldn't stop the pink rising to her cheeks, and she had absolutely no idea what to do about the sudden flutter in her chest, but what she did know was that this hot vigilante/crime-lord had just(maybe?) given her what sounded like a compliment, and she needed to say something.

"Why thank you. You aren't too shabby yourself." Marinette said, realizing as soon as the words left her that her automatic response might have not made sense.

"... Thanks?" Red Hood said, tilting his head slightly. And then Marinette opened her stupid, stupid face hole.

"I mean- you have quite the impressive mouth on you." She said, followed by a long moment of silence as he stared at her. "WAIT- NO! I didn't mean that! I meant- well- I didn't not meant that, I'm sure your mouth is just fine- but not like fine fine, or it could be, I'm not saying it isn't, it's just with the whole bucket-head thing I can't tell either way so like- I'm not commenting on how nice your mouth is- I just- What I am trying to say is that your ability to use your mouth is what is impressive." The vigilante made a faint choking noise, and Marinette had approximately the half a second it took for her to register what she just said before wishing that she could cataclysm herself in the face. "NO! WAIT! NO! That's not what I meant! It was- talking- using mouth, but not like-" she started sputtering, words tumbling out of her without control, and the faint choking noise coming from Red Hood turned into full blown coughing.  "SWEAR WORDS!" She finally shouted, face bright red and a shrill note in her panicked voice echoing faintly through the warehouse. None of the cultists so much as looked up, clearly ignoring them, for which she was thankful. Oh my Kwami, kill me. Please. Right now. Strike me down without remorse.

Red Hood was gasping for air beside her in between wheezing laughter and coughs that rattled the catwalk above. Marinette honestly couldn't remember a time she had ever been more embarrassed. Not even in Lycée. Honestly, if Hawkmoth were still around, she might be in danger of being akumatized out of pure embarrassment. A high pitched whine escaped from the back of her throat as she glared at the vigilante, trying to hide her misery behind anger.

"Don't laugh at me!" She tried to sound intimidating, but it came out more petulant.

"Fuckin'," he said in between wheezes, "swear words!" If he were standing, rather than hanging, Red Hood would undoubtably be doubled over in laughter. As it was, he was curled up in the air in the shape of an unnecessarily beefy shrimp. Marinette was just thankful that he wasn't looking at her, or she might just explode. In an effort to distract herself, she quickly kicked her legs up behind her and began untying the rope around her ankles, putting her focus into remaining balanced rather than the laughter beside her. Unfortunately, it only took a few seconds and a couple precarious wobbles to free her legs, leaving the loop around her torso and the two free strands in her hand. Oh, and the Red Hood who was taking in deep breaths like it was an Olympic sport.

"I will fight you." She said, something burning in her chest as she glared at him.

"You're adorable." he said, getting his laughter under control.

"I will fight you, and I will win." Her scowl deepened as she glared into the lenses of his helmet.

"I appreciate the threat," he quipped back, voice filled with mirth, "but no offense, you look about as dangerous as a feather duster." Face still bright red and heart still pounding painfully, Marinette's eyes narrowed. Then, she smiled sweetly.

"I take full offense and I will make you eat those words." She said with the full confidence of a Ladybug.

"Uh huh. And how exactly are you going to do that?" Hood said teasingly, sounding as if he were just entertaining her. Her only response was to grin toothily, tip forward, and then fall.

Marinette allowed the precarious balance she had carefully kept for the past however-long it had been to fail and slide through the single loop of rope. The friction of the rough hemp fibers burned as it scraped along her arms, but it was worth it to hear his panicked gasp and the rattle of chains as her bent knees caught the rope(ow- that'll bruise), the only thing keeping her from plummeting two stories. She swung back and forth a couple times, building momentum as she allowed her muscles to relax for the first time since she got kidnapped and Red Hood hissed out something unintelligible from above her. With one last swing and a flex of her poor, abused core muscles, she sat up and grabbed the rope, climbing her way onto the catwalk with little trouble. She let out a small sigh of relief at finally having semi-solid ground underneath her feet. She hasn't exactly been afraid of heights since before her time as a superhero, but being in the air for so long get stressful, especially without her transformation.

"What the hell were you thinking- Are you okay?!" He asked somewhat frantically, the catwalk under her feet swaying as he twisted in an attempt to look up at her. No. That fucking hurt. She smiled before replying cheerfully.

"Of course I am! What, worried for my little feather duster arms?" She dropped the two rope pieces on the catwalk and then reached up to undo her bun which had become tragically loose from the kidnapping.

"Oh, ha ha." he muttered with a sigh of mild relief, "Point made. Okay, so it looks like there is an exit near the stairs which you can go through those offices to get to. It is really dark, so if you are careful and stick to the shadows, you should be able to get out and find a way to call Commissioner Gordon and tell him to-"

"Nope." She interrupted curtly, holding her hair-tie in between her teeth and running her fingers through her hair a couple times.

"-What?" Red Hood asked, tensing. Marinette grabbed the hair-tie before responding.

"I said no, I am not going to do that." She took a deep breath, shaking her head side to side to test the security of her new high ponytail. Good enough. "First of all, you weren't awake when they brought us in here, but those doors sound like hell itself trying to escape into the mortal realm via rusty hinges, meaning there is no way that I can get out without being noticed." Hood grunted disgruntledly, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Marinette took the opportunity too look over everything from this new vantage point, now just barely able to see into the dirty windows of the offices behind them, one of which had faint light coming from within.

"There are other doors and windows, you could find a way out." he said pointedly, head turning briefly to glance at the rope she had been hanging from previously. She couldn't quite see any movement in them, but the farthest one had a broken window, so she could only assume that the office with the light was where Jacob and Mark were.

"Second of all," she continued, "there are two cultists who are meant to be watching us, and no matter how negligent they are, they still managed to catch you. From what I have overheard, they have done this enough to have a solid routine, so they can't be all stupid. If I were to leave, we would only have a limited amount of time before they noticed." Down below, Dolly and Judgy seemed to have gotten bored of looking through crates and were both hovering over a phone while leaning against the foldout table, watching something. The third cultist that appeared to be on watch had tucked themself into a dark corner and seemed to be taking a nap against a pillar. Perfect, let's hope they stay like that.

"You would still have time to get away and call for help. The streets are a maze, they wouldn't be able to find you once you got away." Red Hood said with a light growl. Marinette could feel the catwalk move underfoot as he shifted slightly, swaying back and forth like a cranky pendulum. Her eyes flicked to each of the cultists down below, all looking consumed by their respective tasks.

"Yes, however, the chances of them just continuing with their ritual and ignoring the missing sacrifice are not great. They could panic and scatter, rush through and sacrifice you with a half done ritual, or any other not great outcome. So again, a time limit. Which brings me to point number three," She said, holing up three fingers. "We are currently in the warehouse district, which is a forever-and-a-mile walk away from anywhere I could find someone willing to lend me a phone. Even if I were to walk right out of here and they don't notice, they would have plenty of time to finish up their evil scheme and get the heck out of dodge before help arrives."

"Drive, then." Hood shot back. Marinette held back a wince, her eye twitching instead, thinking about the last time she drove a car. Or, tried to drive a car.

Marinette and Grandma Gina looked into the turbulent lake, drenched and covered in mud, listening to the slowly approaching sirens, smelling of burnt rubber and smoke. The previous panic fueled screaming echoed in her ears now that it was silent. Her Nona turned to her, pale and somewhat shaky, but with a smile on her face.

"I won't tell your parents if you don't."

"Deal."

"Do I look like I know how to hotwire a car? Or how to pick pocket someone's keys?" She asked rhetorically, already knowing what he thought she looked like. 'Adorable.' 

I'll show him 'Adorable.'

"Then," he said slowly, posture wary and tone frustrated, "What exactly are you going to do?"

"I already told you." Marinette replied, leaning down and looking directly into the glowing eyes of the Red Hood's helmet with a smile, "I am going to make you eat your words." Marinette didn't allow him to respond, standing in one swift motion and walking quietly across the rickety metal and towards the open archway of the offices behind them. 

Time to get to work.

Marinette was careful to keep her steps light an even, hand ghosting over the steel cable railing that ran along the side as she made her way towards the office with the intact, if filthy, window. She was fairly confident that was where the two cultists that were meant to be watching them, Mark and Jacob from what Dolly said, were hiding based off of process of elimination. Once she took them out, she could take her time with the rest since it will be less likely that they will notice her missing. With how adamant these cultists were about not looking up, she could almost think they were video game characters. The time she had spent hanging from that damn rope wasn't completely wasted, as she was able to put together the beginnings of a plan for how to do that without outing her superhero abilities or skills. Sure, what she had said to Red Hood wasn't *completely* truthful, as she was certain she could find a phone and call for help in ten minutes if she really wanted to, but...

"-no offense, you look about as dangerous as a feather duster."

That's not happening. She had something to prove.

Okay, so steps. She thought as she reached the wall of the office and creeping towards the window in a crouch, trusting the darkness and the cultists inattentiveness to hide her. First, take out the lookouts.

Marinette looked over her shoulder and out into the shadowed building, finding the darkest place from the perspective of the window and shifting herself into that space before slowly lifting her eyes over the dusty window ledge. Her gaze flicked quickly through the room, dimly lit by a small camping lantern on an old desk situated just in front of the door with a chair on either side. On the opposite wall was a couch where the two cultists were-

Marinette jerked downwards, flattening herself against the filthy brick wall with a newly bright red face. That was a lot of- Where did they get the- Okay! Not thinking about that! That's fine. This is fine.

…

"At least they won't notice I'm missing..." She took in several deep breaths, staring intently at the patterns of rust on the catwalk's railing. 

"I am never going to unsee that."

After a few long moments, Marinette crept her way around the edge of the office, through the arch and into the hallway. The door to the office the cultists were in was closed, *thank the Kwami*, but the empty one was cracked open. The stairs downward were straight ahead, swathed in darkness and shadows. There was less echo, and it was in general quieter in the hallway except for faint- not thinking about it. 

"Step one, focus on step one." She whispered to herself, straightening up and slipping through the cracked door into the empty office, careful not to catch her clothes on the door handle. This office wasn't as empty as the other one, and seemed to be much more dusty, though that might be attributed to the broken window more than anything. There was a desk in this one as well, though it was pushed against the wall on the far side with paper scattered all over the floor on front of it. Instead of a couch(Not thinking about it), this one had a stack of chairs, a duffle bag, and a hefty looking toolbox. Dumped dead center in the room was a frankly ridiculous pile of guns, knives, and what looked like a miniature version of a harpoon. In a much smaller pile next to it was her purse.

"Tikki!" She whisper-shouted, diving forward and scooping up the bag.

"Marinette!" the small Kwami excitedly yelled back, muffled through the fabric. Once it was opened, she whizzed through the air to hug her holder's cheek.

"Are you okay? Did anyone see you? It's not another Chloe situation, is it?" She blabbed with worry until the Kwami pulled back and smiled reassuringly.

"No. I'm okay, no one saw me." Marinette let out a sigh of relief, slouching where she stood. "Are you okay, Marinette?"

"A little bruised, but fine." She replied, examining her arms for a moment to see what was going to be a line of ugly bruises and some serious rope burn, before turning back to her friend with manic energy. "But, Tikki, I have been challenged!"

"Challenged?" She echoed with a tilt of her head and a sparkle in her eye.

"Red Hood thinks that I am 'as dangerous as a feather duster' which is frankly ridiculous- just because I am small does not mean I am not mighty!" Marinette said with a pout and a defiantly raised fist, to which Tikki giggled.

"So what are you going to do to meet this challenge?" the little goddess asked, floating higher in excitement. In response, Marinette bounced on the balls of her feet with a near feral grin.

"Here's the plan-!"

"Hey, Oracle, have you heard anything from Hood tonight?" Nightwing asked as he swung between two of Bludhaven's buildings and away from a foiled break-in. He was still catching his breath from the quick but brutal fight. He managed to leave unscathed for the most part, barring one lucky hit the woman with a crowbar managed to get on his bicep that left a shallow, if jagged, gash and was already forming a nasty bruise. It was going to make his night job rather unpleasant the next week or so, which wasn't great, seeing as he and Red Hood were meant to bust up a cult that had had been causing trouble tomorrow.

"Last I herd from him, he was chasing you through the house with a serving plate." Came Oracle's quick reply, the sound of clacking keys hiding under her flippant and amused voice. Nightwing rolled his eyes with a fond smile as he alighted upon the edge of a building, taking a moment to sit down and rest.

"Oh, har har. He was supposed to be doing recon for our bust tomorrow, I want to make sure he hasn't gotten himself in trouble." He said, settling down and kicking a leg out over the edge of the roof.

"From what I heard," Red Robin chimed in, "There was no 'our' about it. Hood made it very clear that he was going to go after them without you."

"Mhm," Oracle hummed in agreement, "I distinctly remember something being said about 'forsaken bonds of siblinghood' and that you are 'beyond dead' to him." Nightwing remembered that. He had been so excited at Jason actually referring to them as family out loud that he hadn't really paid much attention to what was actually said beyond that until afterwards, though.

"Oh, please. He was just cranky because he was too slow and I got the last of Agent A's cookies." Nightwing said with an eye roll. "He wouldn't go after a dangerous cult by himself just because of that."

"Are you sure about that? This is Hood we are talking about." Red Robin said skeptically. Nightwing opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off.

"Chatter on comms." Came Batman's gruff voice, silencing everyone. "Oracle, check in with Hood."

"Already done. His comm is off and all of his trackers are showing that he is in his safehouse on the border of the Narrows." She replied promptly, there was a pause as more keys clacked in the background.

"His security system is armed, too, with a window having been opened and closed at around eight forty-seven pm and no activity since." The silence between them was loud as the vigilantes digested the information.

"I'm on my way." Nightwing said gravely as he sprung up from his spot and shot his grapple gun in the direction of his motorcycle.

"Enroute." Batman grunted over the sound of revving engine.

"I'll try and track down his location." Oracle said, her amusement from before gone.

After a few seconds, Red robin chimed in with a deadpan voice.

"Even after all these years, you still underestimate the pettiness of this family."

Nightwing's sigh was lost to the buffeting wind as he swung down to the streets below.

Locking the two lookouts in the office was probably the easiest step of any plan that Marinette has had in years, being able to check that off after simply sliding a chair underneath the handle in order to lock the two inside. Thank all the Kwami I don't actually have to go in there and interrupt whatever it is they are doing... Still not thinking about it!

The next step, while still relatively simple, wasn't going to be nearly as easy.

Step One: Take out the lookouts, Check. Step Two: Gather Supplies.

Which means finding supplies, which means sneaking past the 19 remaining cultists on the main floor without being caught or seen. Simple as can be, but not exactly easy. Add in pilfering through and opening the many crates, some right next to the main area for the cultists? Not easy in the slightest. Thankfully, Marinette wasn't exactly someone to give up that quickly, and she wasn't alone.

There was a quick glimmer of light that burst through the dim room and a tingling feeling in her fingers as the summoning spell completed, burning up the small sticky note she had drawn on and replacing it with the inert foxtail pendant, dark orange fading to a white tip separated by five segments, hanging off of a delicate gold chain. As she pulled on the necklace however, its appearance changed to be purely silver with the segments disappearing, the bright glow of another Kwami appearing before her flashing through the shadows.

"Guardian." the Kwami greeted, bowing respectfully in the air before looking around with his bright purple eyes, taking in the dirty office.

"Hello Trixx." Marinette responded with a smirk, "Ready to cause some mischief?" The Kwami's ears perked up as he smiled brightly.

"I always am, Guardian! What did you have in mind?" He responded eagerly, following Marinette as she crept to the cracked office window.

"Okay, down there are nineteen cultists who we need to take down before they manage to activate their ritual and sacrifice the vigilante who I got captured with." she began, pointing out the shifting shapes moving through the harsh brightness of the floodlights and Red Hood, who was mostly obscured by the rusty catwalks and shadows. "We are going to need to get them all at once, or else we will be caught, and I can't transform without revealing my identity."

"I am happy to lend my Illusions to keep you hidden from their senses until it is time to pounce!" Trixx said eagerly, twirling around in the air, illusory sparks dancing in between his paws.

"Thanks Trixx, but I will be channeling your magic this time, we don't want another dancing Eifel Tower incident." The Kwami pouted, but agreed, diving into the inside of her jacket and joining Tikki in the small pocket dimension sewn in there. Marinette took in a fortifying breath, strengthening her connection to the two Kwami and feeling the magic course through her. She *probably* pull this off without it, but there was no way that she was going to let any opportunity pass her by. She promised Red Hood that he would eat his words, and she was going to serve them to him on a silver platter. With a final exhale, she turned away from the window and went to examine what she had in the room that she could use.

The first thing she checked were the drawers of the desk, pulling them open slowly to make as little noise as possible, despite the rusty ball bearings. It was well worth it too, for the sight that greeted her.

"Yes!" she exclaimed in a whisper, pulling out one of the three and a half rolls of duct tape and an unopened reel of fishing line, ideas already springing to mind. "This couldn't be more perfect!" she whispered with a grin, looking in the remaining drawers. Aside from the various bits of paper, she pulled out a container of thumbtacks and paperclips, six carabiner clips(two of them being broken), an unopened packet of yellow sticky-notes(she already had some light pink ones in her purse, but she wasn't going to pass up more), and an oily can of WD-40.

At the opposite end of the room, were the duffle bag and the toolbox, which aside from the pile of weapons that she assumed to be Red Hood's, seemed to be the only other potentially useful things here. Marinette started with the toolbox, finding a couple of hammers, a mallet, a huge red monkey wrench, some screwdrivers, a jar of assorted rusty screws and nails, and a thing of Allen wrenches. Out of everything, she only took the monkey wrench and set it with the other useful objects on the desk. Next was the duffle bag, which when she opened it, revealed itself to be full of a bunch of other duffle bags.

"Huh..." she muttered, staring at it and running her fingers along the hefty cloth. It's a good thing that it is cloth, and not plastic. Though this does feel like polyester, it won't have that crinkly sound whenever it is moved, so I can use it to transport things from the crates downstairs. With a definitive nod to herself she stood, dumping the extra bags on the desk and pulling the now empty bag's strap over her shoulder.

"Okay, here we go!" she whispered to herself before slipping out of the room and towards the dark stairs.

Jason didn't know whether to be amused, pissed, or suspicious, so for the moment he was settled decidedly on 'bewildered'.

The cult had been somewhat out of the ordinary from the beginning. The string of disappearances that led to him finding them were, sadly, not too uncommon. The cult aspect of it however, was a bit of a shakeup from the usual human trafficking, territory disputes, or straight up murder cases they normally take on. Just different enough to make it interesting. What *hadn't* been ordinary was the glowing tranquilizer darts that could go through his Bat-approved armor. Bruce was not going to be happy about that when he found out. Hell, Jason wasn't happy about it now.

All of his memories from that point on were fuzzy in that familiar way that could only be caused by drugs, but he remembers getting away. At least, he thinks he remembers getting away, but clearly he didn't seeing as he woke up dangling from the ceiling next to some tiny, blue-haired French woman.

A tiny, blue-haired French woman who Jason was stuck watching sneak around the shadowed edges of some warehouse with a duffle bag slung over her shoulder and a smile on her face, surrounded by murderous cultists.

He was surprised with the skill she moved around with. Despite her confidence, he had expected her to get caught near immediately, and was mentally preparing himself for a whole slew of situations that could arise from that inevitability. But, much to his chagrin, she practically waltzed right past the cultists without so much as a curious head turn in her direction. Her style of stealth was much different than what he was accustomed to. She didn't meld into the shadows like the bats did, but she moved silently and with a confident sort of grace, using her surroundings to their fullest. Her path around the edges were calculated, he could tell, keeping obstructions in between her and the cultists as much as possible. She even climbed over and across a few crates to stay out of the peripheral of the two occupied with their phones, keeping her weight on the corners and junctions to avoid making noise or breaking the old wooden boards. It was something that Jason himself wouldn't have been able to do(not that he would need to in the first place), and it spoke of either years of practice sneaking around, or a lot of talent. All in all, he couldn't help but be grudgingly impressed. Not to mention suspicious.

She was clearly more experienced in these situations than he first thought, even including that concerning comment about some ridiculous food based(and possibly cannibalistic, which is a red flag for multiple reasons) villain she mentioned, and the damn Bat Patented Paranoia that Bruce managed to instill in every one of his wards was coming to light. Who was she? Is she a threat? An ally? Or just some random girl with more skills than sense? He didn't know and that was bothering him, so he watched.

It's not like I can do much else.

And he had tried. Despite how easily she had slipped through the rope they tied her with and climbed up with a strength and fluidity unexpected from her tiny frame, Jason remained stuck in his swaddle of chains. After searching for his hidden weapons when he had first woke up and finding them missing, he had reluctantly reached for his backup comm, before remembering the small argument with Dick he had that led him to stupidly spitefully take on this cult by himself in the first place, as well as leaving his comm and trackers in a safehouse along with a rather heartfelt 'fuck you' note. So, there was no way for him to get out, no way to call for his fam- the bats. His whole escape rested on the shoulders of the four-foot-tall-at-best, blue-haired girl with a smile too carefree for Gotham's rough edges and baked-in soot. The girl who was currently carrying around an empty duffle bag doing god knows what as she somehow silently pried open a large crate with confident motions and said mischievous grin, as if there wasn't a cult of psychos one mistake away from catching her.

No, he wasn't worried about her. He was frustrated that he was currently damseled. There is a difference, Dick.

"I already told you. I am going to make you eat your words." 

And... maybe a little intrigued.

Though, despite his years of vigilante experience, time on the streets, growing up in Wayne manor, and his training with the League of Assassins, he had absolutely no fucking idea what she was going to do with a duffle bag full of Harley Quinn inspired rubber chickens.

It took nearly all of Marinette's willpower not to giggle with glee when she found the crates of rubber chickens in her search for the Joker-inspired dolls(Which, seriously, who's idea even was that??). They were about three crates full that she could identify, all with the same logo as the boxes full of creepy-laughing-fake-clown-things and they were all fortunately placed near-ish to the opposite staircase that she came down from. This side of the warehouse was more crowded, mostly covered in pallets of cardboard boxes and some crates interspersed throughout.

This is perfect!

It took her a few trips and a couple close calls to get enough of the rubber chickens up to the office without accidentally setting them off, but thankfully she didn't have to sneak around the main floor for it, using the catwalks above instead. Admittedly, she used a bit of Luck to avoid the overly creaky paths and get away with it, but no one else needs to know that. Gathering up the neon-green-haired-monstrosities was quicker since she already knew where they were, but a tad more difficult seeing as the boxes were just behind and to the side of Judgy and Dolly(She could practically feel Red Hood's stress while she was doing that). For that, she called on more of Trixx's power to stay as silent as possible. Next, she went though the boxes farthest from the cultists, sifting through them quickly and making several trips up to her designated storage office.

Step four of The Plan had gained some wonderful additions in the form of metal BB-gun pellets, jacks, bouncy balls, and the gumballs that she had seen the cultists looking at as well, but she was getting ahead of herself.

There was one thing that she almost passed up, though, but the smallest of tugs from her Luck caused her to take a second look.

And by the Kwami, is she glad she did.

If the abundance of warnings on the package hadn't peaked her interest, the bold lettered label she read afterward sure did.

'FAST ACTING, WATER ACTIVATED SUPER GLUE POWDER'

"Hehehehehehe" Marinette couldn't help but giggle near breathlessly from where she crouched, shrouded in the darkness of the stairs, holding onto the sturdy plastic container with an evil grin.

Bruce loved his kids, he really did.

If he for some reason, in some way, ever lost all of his memories or sense of self, he would remember that. If there were nothing else left of him, be it from mind control, magic, head trauma, or for whatever reason, having to sell his soul to some malicious entity, all it would take is just looking at one of them and he would know.

Bruce loved his kids.

He loved them when it wasn't easy. Through all the fights, be them together against criminals and supervillains, or against each other with harsh words and silent treatments. Through moral differences, his failures and communication issues. He loved them when it was stressful. Through all the injuries and sickness, tough nights on patrol, prank wars that cost him thousands of dollars in repairs or teasing that ends in brawls over the dining table. He loved them when it was easy, too. Family dinners, game nights, public outings, or just working quietly in the same space.

Bruce loved his kids, and wouldn't trade them for anything.

But sometimes?

Sometimes he really wished he could give them back.

"This is Red Hood speaking, bringing you your top of the hour weather report," came the all too glib sounding voice from the speakers mounted in the corners of the warmly lit room. "Be careful out there tonight folks, because it looks like the clouds are heavy with betrayal and the threat of tyrannical and patronizing vigilantes!" The fake newscaster voice called out, echoing around the bare off-white walls that were splashed with black paint. Some were splotches or droplets, abstract Rorschach-esque compositions surrounded by messy and dripping quotes. The section directly opposite the window where he stood read 'Et tu, brute?', surrounded by twenty-seven kitchen knives, stabbed into the drywall.

"Condescension is an epidemic, easily spread through contact of those near you, so he careful to keep limited contact as to not fall prey to it's effects," Hood's voice spoke, glee very clear in his tone. Next to the circle of knives there were two more quotes on either side; 'Stab the body and it heals, but injure the heart and the wound lasts a lifetime', and 'For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first.' The second quote he recognized to be from the hunger games, though Bruce couldn't quite pinpoint the origins of first.

"If you are hearing this, you clearly didn't take my message to leave well enough alone seriously," the newscaster voice dropped, leaving Red Hood's sounding all too proud of himself. "To whom it may concern; consider all future collaborations null and voided, you are all dead to me, I never had a family, yada yada, etcetera etcetera. Any who enter my territory are personally liable for any and all actions or damages against them, including but not limited to inconveniences and humiliation via glitter, slime, paint, and dye. Please vacate the premises or suffer the consequences. Have a pleasant day."

"Oh, and tell Nightwing that he is a little bitch."

Bruce spent several moments to just stand in the empty apartment, staring at the pile of trackers on the table laid out in the shape of a middle finger. He sighed.

I love my kids.

Step two of Marinette's plan was coming together well, and she was close to moving on to the next phase.

The good part of hanging from the ceiling for longer than was even mildly comfortable was that she could see a lot with the bird's eye view. Many parts of her plan had gaps when she first started out, since she didn't know all of the materials available to her, but step two fixed that quite easily.

If there was one thing that Marinette had learned from her years as a Superheroine, especially one who fought a villain that preyed on people's emotions, it was how people reacted to sudden danger. Adrenaline does funny things to a person, taking perfectly rational thought and turning it into blind action. Fight or flight is a strong, instinctual reaction for all kinds of creatures, not just humans. When there is nowhere to run? You fight. When there is nothing to fight? You run. And when you run, what is it that you look for?

Step One: Neutralize Lookouts, Check. Step Two: Gather Supplies, Check(mostly). Step Three: The Path of Least Resistance.

There are four main exits and nineteen total cultists on the main floor. Two normal doors on each side underneath the offices that lead out of the building, and two large truck doors. With no real way to predict exactly who would go where, she has to assume that the best case scenario is each door having four or five cultists exit through them, and her traps being able to take out all of them at that number. Realistically, that isn't feasible. It could be all of them go through the same path, and most escape, or it could be that they scatter so far, they bypass the majority of her traps, leaving all of her work to be for naught. With how things were now, there were too many variables, too many obstacles, and too many unknowns. 

But this was Marinette. This was Ladybug. And it was time to do what a Ladybug does best; even the odds.

Marinette crouched on one of the catwalks that was hung in the direct center of the warehouse, just to the side of the cultists' ritual, her small travel sketchbook in hand. She was drawing out her plan and doing her best to ignore the prickling feeling of Red Hood's eyes on her as she marked out the best way to do this.

Two pillars on either side of the circle with the table and minifridge set nearest to the one towards the back side of the warehouse. The other one is down and to the side of the right most truck door, giving the least amount of room for error. To the left, further out and underneath the offices is the door we came in from, and it is the most likely exit that they would choose, seeing as it is at least marginally familiar, easier to open than the truck doors, and second closest. On the opposite side of the warehouse is the other normal door, which has the benefit of being in the darkest section of the warehouse and having a much longer path to set traps up on, but less likely to be chosen...

She leaned forward against the thin railing of the catwalk, staring down at the activity below and tapping her pencil against her chin as she thought. She heard a rattle of chains and couldn't help but lift her gaze to look at the source. The faintly glowing eyes of Red Hood's helmet stared at her intently from where he hung. She smirked at him, giving a little wave with her fingers, before an idea came to her and she looked back to the rightmost truck door.

If I block that one off and make a longer curved path from the side of the circle, it gives more of a chance to take out a few on the path. I could... Yes, that'll work.

Marinette quickly doodled a whole bunch of little boxes on her paper.

Then I could use the fishing line here and here, then all of the jacks, pellets, gum and bouncy balls on this side, then- hmm...

She looked up with narrowed eyes, examining all of the rafters and catwalks above where she was planning for the paths to go. Then smiled. That would work perfectly. Within another minute or so her sketches were finished and she stood, feeling giddy to see the end results of her plan. Before turning back to head down she looked again at Red Hood's intense stare, and gave him a wink.

Marinette spent the next half an hour moving boxes from one pile to another, shifting crates, and pushing pallets to create solid looking barriers, all while trying to remain as silent as possible, and there had only been a couple hiccups along the way. Along with a couple interesting discoveries. The first had been while she was creating the longest path, creating a good number of empty pallets for one of her planned traps.

Marinette had stopped as she brushed up against a solid feeling thing wrapped in plastic, and took a moment to examine the pallet next to her. It was hard to see in the dark and with the little light there was reflecting harshly off of the plastic wrap, so it took her a few seconds to figure out what it was she was looking at. Two adjacent pallets stacked taller than she was(Not that that was difficult, but good luck to whomever mentioned it cough cough Red Hood), completely made up of heavy paint cans. Marinette looked around, noticing that the path she had been making came directly toward the paint can pallets. There was no way in hell that she would be able to move them out of the way, let alone without being noticed, but... She looked up at the catwalk directly above, to the sides where she could curve the path around the bend and at the conveniently placed pillar, and back at the straight stretch of space she had been making. She smiled as another trap added itself to her list.

The second discovery was while she was clearing the shorter pathway towards rightmost door. To counteract the small amount of distance she had to work with, she decided to split this one in half with what was essentially an island of boxes that tapered off just before the doors. She was doing the shorter path first, despite it being closer to the cultists, because where the longer path was meant to go was filled with heavy crates of what she thinks are car parts which, for some reason, smelled faintly like smoke. Add the fact that Nappy was napping against the pillar over there, she didn't want to risk getting found this early. Needless to say, she was working extra hard to make as little sound as possible.

Marinette's heart had leapt into her throat when something shifted under her foot with a faint metal clank sound, very clearly not the solid concrete ground she had been expecting. Her head snapped up as she froze, straining her ears and glancing around her hidden spot in the shadows to determine if anyone heard. She was still for several long moments, sounds of the cultists washing over her, before determining that it was safe. With careful movements and a momentarily stronger draw on Trixx's power, she moved back slowly. Looking down, she found a slightly warped metal plate that was about the same size as her with a handle in one side. Curiously, she shifted the box she had been moving out of the way and gently pulled the metal plate up.

A shadowed abyss. An all consuming void. A dark, dank hole.

It was a maintenance tunnel, right in the middle of her path.

Marinette gently set the metal covering back down, mind racing. What could she do with this? It was much too good of an opportunity to pass up, and thankfully, she had an idea. Near the back of the warehouse, she could remember seeing a pile of cloth tarps. She could use those if she could just find something stronger than the fishing line...

An idea popped into her head. Very likely a bad idea but... well, she's sure Red Hood couldn't be too mad about her taking apart his weird harpoon-gun if it is to save him from being sacrificed, right? He probably has extras anyway.

She glanced up at the vigilante, then went back to moving boxes with a quiet snicker.

Jason still had no fucking idea what this woman was doing, and it was stressing him the fuck out. His escape rested solely on the shoulders of a woman playing high stakes ring-around-the-cultist instead of calling the cops like any sane person would do!

Jason wasn't as stupid to think that she couldn't have found a phone like she claimed. In face, he was certain she already had one in her purse, which, had to be some kind of pocket dimension to fit all that shit inside of it. Why would someone carry around a whole ass sketchbook and unopened roll of fishing line of all things?

(Jason was ignoring the fact that he knew several people who would, could, and have carried around that and much weirder. In all honesty, he just wanted something to be annoyed about. It was cathartic.)

It had been about an hour or so since she practically skipped her way out of being kidnapped like it was no big deal, and he had spent it with nothing to do but become more appalled and concerned by the second. If it weren't for the fact that he was watching this happen live and in the flesh, he wouldn't believe some of the stuff she managed to get away with. 

The blue-haired woman(he really needed to find out her name) had nearly gotten herself caught already. Not by climbing up one of the support pillars like a spider which the ones on watch missed by conveniently turning away from at the right moment, or making a frankly ridiculously sized pile of boxes in front of the truck door which the sound of was drowned out by the fridge seemingly having a mechanical seizure, or even moving a crate right fucking behind two of the cultists who somehow didn't notice because of a supposedly funny video on their phones! No, she almost got caught by a fucking sneeze.

She had been picking up some pile of cloth from a dark corner that she was undoubtedly going to use for some weird-ass thing that would make perfect sense well after he finally managed to finally get the fuck down and out of this god damned warehouse. But, from his vantage point, Jason could see that in getting so comfortable moving around in enemy territory(helped by the fact that she must be the luckiest person in Gotham. Seriously, share some of that with the rest of us, would ya?) the blue-haired woman had gotten complacent.

He winced as the fabric slipped from her fingers and sent a massive cloud of dust right into her face. Both he and the woman tensed as a long moment passed, Jason in anxiousness, while the woman seemed to be winding up, holding her hands tightly over her face. Then, she sneezed, full body convulsing and letting out a squeak that even he could hear from his vantage point.

…that was adorable.

One of the cultists blow looked of from their phone and looked in the direction of the noise, then asked their partner something.

Oh shit-

"Hey, did you hear squeaking?" Dolly asked, head raising from where she was hunched over her phone. Marinette felt panic rising as she dropped into a crouch as fast as she could, pressing her side into the heavy crate beside her, holding her nose and blinking through watery eyes, the dust making her entire face feel as if it were being attacked by tiny, sword-wielding specks.

"No? What are you talking about?" Judgy responded, looking up from his phone, pausing some video that she could faintly hear playing through their earbuds. Marinette's sinuses stung and eyes watered as she took deep breaths through her mouth, full body seizing several times with the force of holding back the sneezes. She made as little noise as possible, slowly crawling around the edge of a box to be out of sight of the cultists. Owowowow, my everything-

"Dude, are you deaf? That sounded like a mouse getting stepped on."

"Why do you even know what that sounds like?"

"I had cats as a kid."

Taking one hand away from her face, she pressed it to the ground to help her do an awkward crab walk further down the line of pallets to a mostly empty one that lead to an enclosed area where she could die in peace.

"So you've stepped on a mouse before?"

"No I- just- shut up and come check it out with me."

"Hell no, I don't want to see any mice. They're like, the size of rabbits in this city."

"Those are rats you fucking dumbass-"

Marinette crouched next to the pallet, taking more careful deep breaths and wiping the tears from her eyes. She watched carefully from her place in the shadows until they were both fully turned away. She was mostly obstructed by boxes but not willing to risk it. After what felt like an eternity, but was likely just twenty seconds or so, her chance came in the form of Dolly opening a box. She practically dove through the gap left for her and curled up on the floor for a while, recovering her senses as Dolly and Judgy talked. Marinette was only half paying attention, lamenting the existence of dust and wallowing until her half-formed bruises stopped stinging, when the shifting of cardboard and something Judgy said caught her attention.

"That is an unholy amount of glitter."

Marinette paused, a grin pressing against her hands.

I take it back. Worth it.

Marinette can't say that she had ever been particularly talented at sneaking around. It just never came naturally to her. Disguises and hiding in plain sight? That's just like an extension of sewing or acting, easy peasy. Hiding? Sure, she's great at picking the right spot and fitting in tiny spaces, it's just an extension of luck and strategy. Sneaking? That's a different story all together.

That isn't to say that she is bad at sneaking, she's just not talented at it. It means that every bit of skill she has was hard earned through extreme situations and years of practice. Being a superhero made her learn a lot of things, sink or swim style, with no safety net to fall back on. So, despite how... unusual and high stakes this situation is, Marinette isn't quite out of her depth yet.

That's what she told herself at least, standing fully upright with a wooden pallet hanging from her shoulders as she walked with it to a dark corner of the warehouse where another fifteen wooden pallets lay stacked, silently begging the universe that none of the cultists look over at this exact spot. Of course, she planned for this particular trap to be set up just before the leftmost exit, meaning she was as far from the cultists as she could be and had many obstacles in between them, making it very unlikely to be seen, but still. The chance was there.

Luckily, this was the last pallet she needed to set up this trap in particular, so she didn't need to haul any more all across the place. And extra luckily(Thanks to the magic she borrowed from Tikki and Trixx, no doubt), no one saw her walk around the edges of their circle and through the now complete pathways. Well, no one except Red Hood, who had been staring so hard at her this entire time, she wondered if he was trying to spontaneously develop the ability to shoot lasers from his eyes. Or maybe telepathy so he could yell at her for 'unnecessary' risk taking, she could only guess.(Well, he may have a point about the risk taking, but there is no way in hell she would ever say that. She was doing this to prove a point, practicality be damned.) She ignored him, as she had been doing since the beginning, setting the pallet down as quietly as she could despite the two stacks both reaching above her head. After a moment to breathe and admire her hard work, she pulled out the roll of fishing line and her extra pair scissors, tying the two stacks of pallets together and then working her way back through the slightly curved path until she reached the pillar.

Trap list;  Web of Ouch, Check.  Series of Unfortunate Tripwires(1), Check.

Onto the next!

Time flew by as Marinette gleefully set up the rest of her planned traps. A grapple gun, disassembled for its wire, and a cloth tarp carefully placed in front of a slick patch of WD-40. A block of wood suck in the opening mechanism of the truck door and a huge, precarious pile of various sized wooden crates that really tested the limits of her Tetris skills. A person-sized mat of duct tape woven together and placed sticky side up after another Series of Unfortunate Tripwires along the winding path to the leftmost door. A wooden wedge carefully positioned underneath the back edge of the two huge pallets of paint cans to slightly tilt them forward, and another paint can tied to the I-beam above and held to the underside of the catwalk by a thin string. Boxes filled to the brim with bouncy balls, gum balls, BB gun pellets, and metal jacks tied above two of the four exit pathways, a stolen steel-toed boot filled with rocks ready to swing at the turn of a handle. And, her personal favorite so far, a wooden plank positioned just above the cultists' plastic table and mini-fridge, piled with the superglue powder and the wonderful addition of rainbow glitter.

She had managed to test the superglue powder on Nappy, using it to fuse his clothes to the concrete he was resting on, and it was wonderful. There is no way that he is getting up with his clothes still intact. She kind of felt a little bad for the ones who are going to get this dumped on them, but oh well. She's sure the hospital will take care of it.

Probably.

She had managed to find a working water spout and long hose, complete with attached nozzle, that would reach all the way to where Red Hood was hanging, so that was one less thing for her to worry about doing herself. The last thing she set up was the discount Joker Dolls and the Rubber chickens while sitting in one of the disused offices. The whole room had become a sort of base of operations, and looked just about as chaotic as the end product of her plan was going to, but Marinette didn't care all that much. To get the effect she was going for just right, she had to be very careful in how she went about it. Packing in the rubber chickens at the bottom of the crate as precisely as possible then slowly lowering heavy bags of all the black and red glitter she could find to make the chickens stay in their deflated state. She carefully poked holes in the tops of the bags with one of the thumb tacks she had found, before carefully switching on all the joker dolls and placing them in the box.

Marinette will admit to using a lot of magic to make sure this step didn't go wrong, but once the four boxes were attached at their points on the catwalk and connected to her activation pull cord, she couldn't help the little giddy happy dance. It was ready!! The only thing left was letting Red Hood know his part, then the trap is set!

Jason wanted to throw his previous resolve to just wait and see how things turn out through the fucking window, because this was getting ridiculous. Patience has never really been his thing, which is becoming more and more apparent to him the longer he is forced to watch the sheer, unadulterated audacity on display.

He will admit to being mildly entertained in the beginning, watching the woman doing whatever the hell it is that she's doing like it was some kind of soap opera. When The Sneeze(TM) happened, he had been near certain she was caught, but seeing as she somehow had to be the luckiest person in the whole god damn world, she got away scot-free as the two cultists with the same skill level and attention span as low level videogame characters got distracted by industrial sized bags of glitter.

Which of course she later took to use for whatever unholy Rube Goldberg Machine she was making, alongside with a mysterious white powder that came from boxes absolutely covered in warning labels.

But the craft herpes and unprecedented luck were not what made him want to scream at her from two stories up and eighty feet away, cultists be damned. No, that urge came from the very familiar line of cordage she had looped through some kind of tarp and tied in knots, knots!! She took apart his grapple gun and used it for some kind of dirty picnic blanket! HIS FUCKING GRAPPLE GUN! The AUDACITY! He was fuming, glaring as she wrapped a hose over her shoulder and started trekking up the stairs and over the catwalks towards him. 

Finally!

"My fucking grapple gun?!" Red Hood hissed with indignation as soon as she was withing earshot, if barely. Marinette huffed and rolled her eyes, adjusting the hose wrapped around her shoulder to let more slack down.

"Well hello to you too." She said, tone filled with sarcasm and sass in equal measure, but internally she was beaming. He's not ruining her good mood when she is so close to success. She gently laid the hose wrapped around her shoulder down onto the catwalk as she crouched, careful not to make any suspicious noise. Not that the cultists would be likely to look up even if they heard it(After being subjected to the eye-searing glare of the floodlights herself, Marinette didn't exactly blame them, though still...), but it doesn't hurt to be careful.

"You took apart my fucking grapple gun?!" He repeated, voice inching higher. Clearly, some people don't think the phrase 'better safe than sorry' applies to them. She looked up at the rafters, rolling her head back in mild annoyance, as she drew on more of Trixx's power to muffle their conversation before taking a dramatic pose and poorly mimicking Hood's voice.

"'Oh, hi Marinette, thank you for risking your life to save me from being sacrificed by these scary cultists, I really owe you one.'" She shifted her stance and changed back to her own voice. "'No problem, Red Hood, I'm glad you understand that sometimes sacrifices must be made for the continued freedom of the innocent.'" She crossed her arms and looked pointedly in the faintly glowing eye of the Vigilante's helmet with a slight pout. She couldn't see it, but Marinette imagined that he took a split second to blink.

"Was that a pun?" Marinette tilted her head, thinking back over her words before silently grinning. "So not only do you take apart my god damned grapple gun, you fucking pun at me about it?!" Marinette chuckled, uncrossing her arms and going back to carefully untangling the hose.

"You can get another one, cant you?" She asked flippantly, Red Hood grunted in displeasure.

"Ugh... Yeah, but that is so inconvenient." If it weren't for the voice modulator, Marinette would *almost* call his tone petulant, but for now she simply thought of it as pouty.

"Welcome to the club." She responded, to which he huffed.

"What, the club for inconveniences and cultists?" She could hear the smirk in his voice, and had to hold back her own.

"Yep." She responded cheerfully instead, "Meetings every Thursday in the warehouse of rejected toys."

"Why Thursdays?"

"Because Thursdays are the worst day of the week." She said with certainty, staring off into the middle distance as she remembered all the bad things that happen on Thursdays.

Well, at the end of it all, this might not end up being one of the bad things after all...

"Isn't that supposed to be Monday?" Marinette rolled her eyes and huffed in exasperation before shaking her head.

"I'm not going over this again." Red Hood leaned his head back, seemingly nonplused.

"Again?"

"Anyway," Marinette continued, cutting him off from speaking further. "I have everything ready except for this one last thing, which I will need your help for." Hood straightened(as much as he could anyway), as if remembering something and his voice pitched slightly deeper in a commanding kind of way. As a former superhero herself, she was very familiar with it.

"Yeah, actually, I'm going to need you to exp-"

"Shush shh shh." Marinette said, waving a hand at him while distracted with straightening the rest of the hose and turning the nozzle to 'shower' mode in preparation to lower it to him. Despite this, she could feel the affront radiating off of the vigilante. She fought down a smile as she continued. "Don't interrupt people, its rude."

Red Hood made a strangled noise, like he was trying to start several different sentences at once but nothing managed to make it past the first syllable, very effectively cutting off his demand for explanations she absolutely wasn't going to give him. She wished that she could see what his expression looked like right now, it would keep her giggling for weeks.

"Okay, so I don't know how much you were paying attention-" That's a lie, she knew he has been watching her like a hawk this whole time, "but you see the boards I set up with the piles of white powder and glitter above their supply table?" she asked, pivoting on the balls of her feet to look at him, wrapped in chains and hanging above a half done ritual circle.

"Yeah?" The word sounded like he wanted to growl it, but was too off kilter to fully manage. She held back a laugh, but couldn't help the smirk that slipped through.

"Well." She said, holding up the hose next to her head for him to see, "What I need you to do, is spray water on the cultists that powder drops on." She finished with a sunny grin. There was silence for several long moments as they stared at each other, sounds outside their little bubble left ignored. Marinette didn't falter, expression as solid as Hood's helmet. When he finally spoke, it was loaded and laced with emotion and demand.

"Why."

Marinette blinked and tilted her head. There were a lot of ways that she could answer him, ways to interpret what exactly he was asking about. Why the water, why him. It could be why she insisted on being so... Cavalier about this whole situation, or why she stuck around to help instead of running. Or, most likely, it could be why go through all this trouble? Why spend hours setting all this up when a single phone call would have gotten them out of this mess in minutes? And yet...

She felt the magic in her chest swirling, Luck and Misfortune dancing across her shoulders. Creation and Destruction chasing each other through the blurry seams of the world around her. Her connection to the Kwami hummed in her ears, and she felt the Balance on the verge of a Shift. Her words here could change the Fate of this city. A small action could tip the scales of Order and Chaos.

No pressure.

"Because," she said slowly, earnestness in her eyes as she stared through Red Hood and into the Destruction and Misfortune clinging to him like leaches, tainting and feeding on the Hope and Safety in his Soul. Magic seeped into her voice, spreading through her like invisible veins of sunlight and guiding her words. "When life takes you down a path that gives nothing but blood and darkness, the only way to make it to the other side is to create your own light."

She got no response, the vigilante seeming frozen by her words, staring intently from behind glowing lenses. She herself took a few moments to collect her thoughts as the Magic dissipated, the feeling of Balance fading to the background, leaving behind no indication on if she said the right thing. 

But she did, she knew she did.

With a comforting smile loaded with memories of long nights, suppressed feelings and more responsibility than any child should ever have to shoulder, she reached down and handed him the hose. He took it automatically, still processing her words. Marinette stood to leave, before looking over her shoulder and saying,

"Enjoy the show, Hood." She smirked at him, turning and walking away. "Maybe you'll learn a thing or two about how dangerous 'feather dusters' can be."

"I got something." Oracle's spoke suddenly through the uncharacteristic silence of the coms.

"Report." Batman ordered, the speed of his reply being the only indicator of his worry, but after knowing him for so long Oracle could read it very easily. Keys clacked rapidly under her fingers as she hacked into phone satellites and pulled up tracking software.

"A phone call, asking specifically for Commissioner Gordon." She paused for a moment, skimming over the auto-generated transcript from the audio file.

"Hn." Batman grunted impatiently. She could almost feel his signature stare through the computer.

"Hold your horses." She muttered quietly, speaking up again shortly after as several blue dots started appearing and disappearing on the map of the warehouse district on her other screen. "Someone called in to report cult activity and kidnapping approximately two minutes ago."

"Is it Hood?" Red Robin asked, voice calm if slightly winded. A quick glance at his body cam footage showed him finishing up a fight with a couple muggers.

"It seems likely," she said, refocusing. "The video feeds I managed to find earlier put him near the reconnaissance point N gave me before he disappeared, and the call claims two people were kidnapped." Her eyes narrowed at the screen, the tracking software taking somewhat longer to pinpoint the origin of the call than normal, only giving her the general area, but...

"But?" Nightwing interrupted, much more subdued than earlier in the night. Barbara smirked a little at his words aligning with her thoughts. She started combing through traffic camera feeds from the estimated time of the kidnapping to pinpoint the location manually as she spoke.

"It was a woman with a French accent who called it in, and from the sound of the audio, she was suspiciously calm. Almost excited sounding, even." Barbara frowned, finding a suspicious looking beat-up brown van and several cars all driving to one warehouse approximately 3 hours and 28 minutes ago. "There was no mention or description of who exactly the kidnapped people were, though the caller implied she was one of them." There were no cameras pointing towards where they parked, and any security the disused warehouse had was either completely broken on or a closed circuit. She started back tracking the path of the van while she ran the license plates she managed to get from one of the higher quality traffic cams.

"Think it's a trap?" Red Robin asked. She hummed, chewing on the inside of her cheek for a moment. She started looking into the warehouse's utilities, searching for any any weirdly high power draws that would indicate a villain lair, but didn't find anything on that scale.

"I'm sending you the address, B." She said quickly, inputting it to the Batmobile's navigation system before answering Red. "There's not enough evidence to say, but I don't think it is a trap, exactly. All the information we have about the cult from previous reconnaissance doesn't indicate them being a setup, and the call, despite specifically mentioning the Commissioner, was for the police, not us." She checked the rout on the Batmobile's map against hers, looking it over for roadblocks.

"But it is suspicious." Red Robin replied, a calculating edge to his voice.

"But it is suspicious." She confirmed. Construction blocked off the block with the most direct route from Batman to the warehouse, looks like a fire in a machinery overlay facility that took out a corner of the building. The traffic cones and interspersed equipment would be little obstacle for Bruce the Broody Dad-Bat, though.

"Enroute, eleven minutes." Said the aforementioned Overprotective Flying Marsupial. Oracle looked at his tracker.

"Take a left in two blocks and you'll be there in eight." She typed in several commands and a new path showed up on his map. "Careful for the piles of bricks." A flash from another screen caught her attention and she turned her head.

Ah, good.

"Red, I'm sending you the address of where it looks like Hood was taken from. N, I'm sending you files for the owners of the cars that the cultists used. None of them have been reported stolen, so see if you can confirm or find anything incriminating we can give to the police." From their body cam footage, she could see Red pulling out his grapple gun and shooting off while Nightwing quickly looked through his wrist computer.

"What would we ever do without you, O?" Nightwing asked with a laugh, the first one since Hood turned up missing.

"Die, probably." Red Robin responded as he leapt off of a building. Oracle snorted.

"Probably." She agreed

Marinette was in position, crouched behind the cultists' table of junk and fridge of dubiously sourced blood. All of her traps were set and ready to go, the few she needed to activate all connected back to this one spot. She went over her mental checklist with a feeling of satisfaction.

Step One: Neutralize Lookouts, Check. Step Two: Gather Supplies, Check. Step Three: The Path of Least Resistance, Check. Step Four: Traps, Check.

It was a simple plan, though by no means easy. The bruises and rope burn had made friends with the muscle fatigue and aching joints from all the crawling, climbing, and carrying that she had done to get to this point. The close calls that made her heart race with adrenaline bled into giddy anticipation for the payoff. Finally, the culmination of all of her hard work was here.

Step Five: It All Falls Down.

She looked up, past the eye watering glare of the floodlight and directly at Red Hood. With squinting eyes and a toothy grin, she shot him a thumbs up. After a moment, he responded in kind, holding up the hose. Marinette looked back down, blinking a few times to clear the spots from her vision and then steeling herself with a deep breath.

Go time.

Creeping forward, Marinette reached the extension cord that powered the mini-fridge. The very same mini-fridge that filled the warehouse with the constant gurgling drone of an appliance on the edge of complete and utter non-function. With a quick and simple yank and a careful dive back behind cover, the warehouse suddenly descended into silence.

"... The hell?" One of the cultists that had been drawing runes into the edge of the circle muttered, looking up at the sudden quiet, quickly followed by the other three.

"What happened?" Dolly called from the other side of the circle, voice echoing as she stood up from where she rested against a large crate with Judgy.

"The fridge just turned off." Drawing Cultist number two said, setting down her protractor.

"Well no shit-" the third one said, before being cut off by the one in the red-trimmed potato sack.

"Figure it out without disrupting meditation, lest our hard work go to waste." He said in an excessively haughty voice that gave her flashbacks of a certain blond. Marinette couldn't see their faces, but from their posture she could deduce that the four drawing cultists and Dolly weren't too happy about this guy. If she had to guess, it would probably be because his version of 'hard work' consisted of sitting with his eyes closed and bossing people around.

Oh well, that's what you get for being in a cult that kidnapped people, I guess.

The four Drawing Cultists made their way over, two stopping next to the table, one going directly to the fridge, and the last hung back with their arms crossed, just beside one of the meditating cultists. Marinette shifted, hand wrapping around the first fishing line, pulling it until it was just taught.

"Hey, who unplugged-" the cultist never got to finish their sentence, as Marinette *yanked* the fishing line and four crates balanced on top of the catwalks above tipped. Then spilled...

Then it all fell down.

----

Jason had never been big on the Internet. Sure, it was beyond useful for investigative work, but from growing up poor, to living on the streets, to being dead, there wasn't much time for him to get immersed in 'internet culture', as Tim called it. But, he did remember one of Dick's attempts at 'brotherly bonding night' where he spent several hours putting up with far too many compilation videos meant to 'catch him up on what he missed while dead'. He remembered them, at this one very specific moment, because of the one 'Vine' Dick showed them of a rubber chicken falling off a roof. It had been mildly amusing at the time, enough keep him around longer than he otherwise would have stayed. He had even laughed a little, and made a joke about it being accurate to what Dick sounded like when pushed off of high places. The responding squawk from his adoptive brother proved his point perfectly, to the amusement of the rest of the room.

Jason was not laughing now.

If he had been asked before to imagine the bone chilling sound of hundreds of screaming rubber chickens falling through a warehouse like an unholy rain, nothing would have come close to the reality. He doubted anything could come close to reality; the single most unsettling sound he had ever heard freezing everyone in place with held breath as the screaming and thwaps of rubber hitting concrete stopped. That was, until the dolls activated.

From inside the dispersed mounds of toys and clouds of glitter slowly spreading over the floor in a way that reminded him of fear gas, more pairs of red eyes than he could count lit up like beacons, followed by laughter.

Screaming laughter.

Jason knows that if he wasn't hanging from chains at this moment, he would either be running or shooting. His fist clenched around the hose in his hand, and water started raining down below him. At the same time, he heard two separate thunks, followed by what sounded like a rain of vaguely spherical objects and confused screaming from below him.

White powder fell in a heap, coating the cultists and spreading over the floor near the table they had set up, and he remembered what the woman- Marinette- told him. Swallowing down the adrenaline induced haze, he aimed the water as the cultists scattered.

It was chaos.

The three cultists closest to the table had the most powder on them, and when they ran directly under the path of the water, something unexpected happened. The first one fell, foot stuck to the ground, and the other two tripped over them and didn't get back up again, writhing where they had ragdolled against the floor, stuck to it like a glue trap. The white powder got on two more, one of the people who were meditating and the person standing next to them. They ran, only getting partially soaked before they were out of range. They ran for the door behind Jason, clothes becoming stiff and sticky with glue, but not managing to fully stop them. They didn't get far, because as soon as they got to the border of the boxes they tripped over the balls of various sizes scattered over the floor. One fell to the side, catching themselves on a heavy crate while the other fell face first into the floor. Neither got back up, despite how much they struggled.

On the path next to them, two more cultists had tried to escape, but instead of sticking to the floor like the others, they slid on it. Crashing into each other, they both fell head first into a dusty tarp that seemed to swallow them whole as they fell into a pit. The cord of his mutilated grapple gun pulled taught, closing around the edges of the tarp, leaving only a single flailing leg sticking out of the top.

Across from him, on the longest and darkest path, the two cultists who were meant to be on watch followed behind a third at a dead sprint. They gained speed unhindered, until they were around twenty feet away from the door when the one in front hit a tripwire, stumbling but keeping momentum. But then they hit another tripwire.

And another tripwire.

And then another tripwire.

They managed to dodge by jumping over the last tripwire, only to miss the clothesline that hit them directly at neck height. The cultist fell, slamming their head on the ground, knocked out cold with a muted thud.

The two behind didn't stop for their friend, simply jumping over the prone form and ducking past the clothesline, speeding up for the last stretch to the door. They almost made it, but we're stopped dead by the web of fishing line and stacks of pallets that collapsed around the two, trapping them in a tangle of limbs and splinters.

Just behind them, almost at the same time another cultists barely dodged a paint can swinging down from the rafters, only to be buried under the resulting cascade of paint cans that spilled from two huge pallets. The one behind skid to a stop and backpedaled, watching four of their companions go down trying to get out that way. They then turned around, seeing a fifth person groaning on the ground stuck to a mat of tape they fell on after running through another series of tripwires and singular clothesline. In a panicked haze, they looked around until spotting a couple of others at the truck door that wasn't blocked off, trying to open it. The panicking cultist rushed over just as they managed to crack it open, incidentally causing a veritable avalanche of boxes and crates to fall on all three.

There were three left standing. The one with red trim, who was yelling obscenities while standing in the middle of their half done ritual, and the two who were walking through the minefield of tripping hazards that got the ones half-covered in glue. They reached the other side without falling within just a few seconds of each other, the one who got there first sprinting forwards and throwing open the door with a screech of rusted hinges.

Then was promptly knocked the fuck out by a boot to the face.

The last one made it out the door, then screamed. Their footsteps fell silent.

Jason was gaping.

Holy... Fucking... Shit...

Below him, he heard cackling. Not the unsettling, mechanical and screaming laughter of the joker dolls, but the nearly evil delighted glee coming from the small blue-haired woman dancing around with a monkey wrench the size of her arm held in one hand. Her high ponytail bounced behind her, covered in cobwebs and dust. Her clothes were rumpled and dirty, and even from this distance her arms looked like she went ten rounds with an octopus and lost. But despite this, she was practically glowing.

"IT WORKED, YES!!! HAHA!" She shouted out, twirling out from behind her wall of boxes, head whipping around in every direction, taking it all in. The lead cultist whirled around, gaze locking onto her.

"YOU!" He shouted in outrage, immediately charging at the much smaller woman. Jason sucked in a breath, whether to warn her or just shout, he is not sure, but the sound never left his throat.

Marinette turned her feral grin on the charging cultist, and when he was in range, swung her heavy monkey wrench and hit him right in the shoulder. Jason could hear the bone snap. She hit him again, this time in the stomach with a forwards jab, then another swing to the knee with a sickening crunch, taking him down completely and then stepping far enough away he couldn't reach her, just in case. She spun, turning to look directly at him.

"You still think I'm adorable and harmless, Hood?!" She shouted up at him, dropping the wrench with a heavy thunk. "I told you that you would eat your words," she threw her arms out wide "Now eat them and weep!" She cackled madly, not waiting for an answer as she turned and skipped away. Skipped.

Jason was left speechless, open mouthed and hanging above the groaning and unconscious cultists who had kidnapped and were prepared to sacrifice him with only one thought.

I think I might be in love.

The Batmobile skid to a stop in front of the warehouse and he practically flew out of it. The outside was dark, but he could see light seeping out through broken and dirty windows and hear a commotion coming from the inside. He ran towards the closest door, only to be mildly surprised as it was thrown open with a near deafening screech of the hinges when he was still a few paces away. The surprise didn't stop, because even as he was getting into a fighting stance, the person(whom he identified as one of the cultists his sons were investigating) was knocked out by a boot swinging down from the crude mechanism he only barely had time to noticed before it activated.

… What?

Pushing his confusion and surprise away, he focused on the second cultist that came running through the loudly closing door. They made it a few steps out before noticing him in the dim lighting. Expression already contorted in fear and panic, the shock of seeing Batman standing in their way was too much, and they screamed.

Bruce punched them in the face, then spent a few precious seconds zip tying their hands and feet so they couldn't escape when they woke up. Creeping forward to the door that was held open by the unconscious body of the first cultist, he peered inside to where he could hear a woman's manic laughter. Once he did, he stopped to take it all in.

His son, in full gear, was hanging from the ceiling, wrapped in chains and holding a leaking garden hose. Below him was a small woman covered in dirt and injuries, laughing maniacally as she stood above an even more injured cultist who was trying to crawl away with one arm, and another pile of people somehow stuck to the ground. He could see a hole of some kind to the left with a single still-moving leg sticking upwards, and to the right two people splayed out like ragdolls. He could hear muffled arguing and curses from the other side of the warehouse, along with creaks of pallets and groaning from underneath piles of boxes. Bruce felt a very familiar feeling creeping over him, one his kids loved to induce for the sole purpose of causing grey hairs.

What the hell happened?

But this time, it wasn't one of his kids who were responsible. He watched as the woman turned, looking directly at Jason and yelling up at him.

"You still think I'm adorable and harmless, Hood?! I told you that you would eat your words, now eat them and weep!" Then she cackled madly, turned, and skipped through to the opposite side of the building.

Well, Bruce thought with a restrained sigh, maybe he was at least a little responsible.

Bruce slid through the door, creeping around the edges of the circle before emerging from the shadows in front of his son. Hood jerked, whipping his head from where he was staring after the woman to Batman. He grunted, clearing his throat before speaking.

"Uh, hi- hey." Jason cleared his throat again, attempting for casual and failing miserably. "How's- uh, how's it goin'?" he stammered, glancing back to where the woman disappeared. Stammered. Bruce didn't answer, tilting his head and scanning the carnage again, before spotting the loop of rope hanging next to his son.

"...How long have you been here?" His tone was harder to decipher with the voice modulator, but Bruce would recognize it easily from any one of his children. Jason was flustered.

"B?" Hood asked, unsettled as a small grin grew on The Batman's face. Whoever that woman was, whatever Jason said to her to cause this reaction, Bruce would likely thank her for the opportunity to get back at one of his children for all the grief they cause him. Uncrossing his arms, Bruce pulled a phone out of his belt pouch. "B? B don't you fucking dare-" He still didn't respond, holding up the device with one hand, and snapping a picture. Ignoring his son's vehement protests, he sent the photo to Alfred with the attached message:

B: please print and frame this for display in the cave.

A: Of course, Sir. I suppose the bulletproof frames will come in useful after all.

Red Hood continued to swear, attempting to spray him with water from the hose he still held tightly in hand. Bruce just put the phone away and reached up to tap his comm with his small smile still in place.

"Oracle, please send Nightwing and Red Robin to my location." He said calmly, concerned exclamations immediately coming through only to be drowned out by Hood's booming voice.

"B, DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!"

[angelblueberri]

MARRY MY DEAD BODY MOVIE REVIEW

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So I finished watching the movie MARRY MY DEAD BODY,and I'm writing a movie review of it cause why not. I i went into it thinking it was a korean movie, but it was a cmovie and I was like cool cause I have a goal to watch atleast over 50 cmovies and that would be my first one. And I have never watched or read anything bl not because I hate the thought of reading bl, I actually want to enter the world of boy love but I'm quite hesitant on whether I'll like it cause I do like the ol' boy×girl trope cause it appeals to me the most since I am heterosexual but for the sake of seeing what I'm missing out, I am going to venture into the world of boy love and I think I'll start with killing stalking even tho I'm not sure if it's boy love ive just been interested in it depite what other people have said about it, but anyways it's a starting point.

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Now that im done with my little rant, I'm now going to give my review on the Cmovie MARRY MY DEAD BODY. I watched it on Netflix, BTW.

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PLOT:

So the movie's plot is essentially about a straight man named Wu Ming-Han whose a police officer that specialises in the crime department under the law enforcement ( I don't know how to word this any better than I did) and his team are investigating a drug case and are trying to bring down the drug lord before he escapes out of the country. In the beginning of the movie, he pretends to be gay at a gym to try and lure his suspect so that he can investigate him. The guy obviously falls for Ming-han's charm and goes into the shower expecting some sexy time, but Ming-han asks for his id. From this point on his other partner (a chubby gay man) comes in and tries to search the suspects locker but said suspect says they can't search him without having a warrent and starts recording the both of them. Ming-han loses it and tackles the guy to the floor and makes a comment like ' it's people like you that are blah blah blah' and obviously the suspect finds. it offensive and says he'll regret it. But they do manage to find the drugs he had been hiding.

Back at the police station he's scolded for being rude and mean to the suspect because he was gay and at that same time there was a report of some guy that was speeding like crazy and was also a suspect of the drug investigation. Long story short him and his partner caught up to the guy but since his door was blocked, his partner( who was a woman forgot her name) went after the guy whilst he had to pick up the litter that the criminal threw out the window. As he was picking up the litter he ended up picking a red envelope and the grannies that were doing yoga and what not celebrated cause he had picked up the envelope. The granny that had placed the envelope there told him that he was now bound to marry the ghost of her grandson and he was pissed saying he wasn't going to marry a ghost late alone a gay man. The granny told him that if he did not marry her grandson then a trail of bad luck would follow him and he ignored her and walked away not believing any of the madness.

And then the bad luck followed him as promised. He ended up being hit by a car, getting demoted to a police officer at a police station and nearly shooting his penis off. Then he decided to go back and get married to the ghost against his will.

From then on the ghost of the dead man (Mao Pang-yu) toyed around with him and the only way for Ming-han to get rid of him was to fulfill his dying wishes.

And that's how everything in his life went into a turmoil of madness as he tried his best to fulfil the wishes of the dead whilst trying to keep his life intact.

N.B I realised I was getting alittle too detailed in the beginning but I don't want to spoil the whole movie you could go watch it for you self.

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CHARACTERS:

All the characters were well written, and the actors fit the role of each character perfectly. I'm definitely not disappointed at the choice of actors cause they really aced their roles in the movies.

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MOVIE PRODUCTION:

The scenery and locations of the place where perfect but the only problem I had was with the cgi that was being used. I don't know if it's because of being budget conscious or they had no choice but to use that type of chi but they could have done better. It ruined the flow for me cause it litrally looked like a blend of bad animation in a real life movie.

╰┈ ⋆｡˚ ❀ *· 🌬 ࿐ ࿔ ˚:⋆ ✧･ﾟ.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡ଘ( ᐛ ) ଓ+..｡*ﾟ+

OVERALL THOUGHTS AND RATINGS:

This movie was definitely something new for me and I loved it. It wasn't boring and it has an interesting plot line and good amount of humor in it. I did end up crying in the end but the movie does have a good ending. On a scale of 1 to 10 with one being absolutely trashy and ten being God tier. I'm going to give the move a 7. And this is just because of the cgi, it had better cgi I would have given it a 10.

Out of 5 starts it's definitely getting a 4 star rating from me.

★★★★☆

╰┈ ⋆｡˚ ❀ *· 🌬 ࿐ ࿔ ˚:⋆ ✧･ﾟ.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡ଘ( ᐛ ) ଓ+..｡*ﾟ+

Anyways, this is the end of my first ever movie review on here and I just wanted to get my thoughts out there. I will be doing more reviews on other things, cause having a platform where i can express my thoughts is very exciting for me.

If you reached the end of this thanks for reading and definitely give the movie a chance and watch it.

Signing out.

-ᏰᏝᏬᏋ

[podcastwizard]

I don't know if this is against your morals but does anyone have any torrent links for fantasy high? I'm not in a position to pay a subscription (but anons talking about it made me curious)

i know there might be......someone out there......potentially willing to help

[bitchassbucky]

.exe

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning/s: stalkers, bucky being a creepo, reader being a creepo. dark!IT!bucky x dark!reader :-) female & male masturbation, voyeurism (i think), cyber crimes being committed.

A/N: this is my birthday gift to @babyboibucky <3 to my boo, I love you and you have a special place in my heart. this is gonna be a multi-part thing, it's too long to be considered as a one-shot, oops.

please enjoy! :D

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

CTRL playlist

CTRL moodboard

4:49 PM

Just 11 more minutes until he can pack his bags up for the weekend.

One new ticket - URGENT

Goddamn it.

Bucky pulled his earphones out in annoyance, just another office idiot who doesn’t know how to print A4 sheets. If the office were to be held hostage and printing out was the only thing that can save them, half of the floor would be dead.

The new name caught his eye, Y/N Y/L. A new hire, it seems like.

Subject: One new ticket - URGENT

Hi, this is Y/N, employee number 0008675309. I’m new here and was told to send a ticket for the equipment request.

Thank you and have a great weekend!

Oh, Bucky’s gonna have a great weekend indeed. Out of pure curiosity, he’s already pulled up your employee file. A cute smile to a cute name. His annoyance dispersing already, just by thinking of ways how he can spend time with you.

Hey, Y/N! Bucky types into the text field, Welcome to the company. I’m Bucky and I got assigned to help you get settled. Do you prefer having a desktop or a laptop? I’ve attached a form in this thread, send it to me once you’re done.

Have an awesome weekend too!

As much as he hates sending out chirpy emails, he can’t help but to smile when you immediately send a reply back.

Thanks, Bucky! So sorry for sending in the request super late. Got caught up with the onboarding. Is it okay if I use my laptop until we can get a unit to my place? PC or laptop is fine with me.

Best,

Y/N

Bucky fights off another smile, rubbing his hand over his stubbled cheek as he carefully types out a reply. Unlike other days, he doesn’t mind staying beyond 5 PM today. It’s not like he has other plans for his Friday night.

No worries, Y/N. He’s already loving your name. Happy to help!

Do you have your laptop with you? I can set it up before you go home for the weekend. I can probably send in the ticket to the guys so you can have your work equipment next week.

His deft fingers are dancing over his mechanical keyboard, clacking away while the clock ticks closer to the weekend.

A ping, another reply from you. You’re new, you’re still excited to make friends in the office. If you only knew how stupid they are, though.

Yeah! I have it on me right now. I actually work on the same floor, I can drop it off there right now.

Bucky glances around his office, looking for any reflective surface he can check himself on. He runs his hand through his hair, taming any stubborn locks that fell out of his low bun. His shirt hangs just right against his huge frame, his pants hugging his figure, accentuating his silhouette even more.

Just as the clock ticks 5:00, a soft knock raps against his door, “come in!”

You are cuter, prettier in person. Your perfume hits his nose and he’s floored—metaphorically.

“Mr. Barnes,” you say, your demeanor somewhat meek and shy. Well, of course, you are. Your frame is nothing against the hunk of the man who just stood up to greet you.

“Bucky.” He prompts, smiling. You reciprocated the smile, but you really weren’t sure what to expect. Maybe a scrawny little dude mousing away on a keyboard?

“Bucky, thank you so much for doing this. I know you’d rather get off of work since it’s Friday and all.”

He hums, taking your laptop in his hands. You notice the rings adorning his fingers—complementing his tanned skin tone and—it’s not appropriate to stare at a stranger’s hand.

Heat creeps up your face as he turns to look at the stickers stuck to your laptop, “you know, I like this band.” Bucky says, pointing to an old sticker, he carefully sets down your laptop on his workstation.

“They’re great,” you muse, taking a seat on a plastic chair by the door.

You take a gander around his small office. There was nothing out of the ordinary but the big black server blinking at the back, so why do you feel trapped?

“Sorry about the temp, we have to keep the room cold for the server in the back,” Bucky explains, noticing how your arms are crossed over your chest. The skirt you’re wearing isn’t doing you any better too.

You stammer out an it’s okay with a small smile.

Bucky worked on your computer quietly, using a USB stick to load all the applications you need to set up a temporary work account on your laptop. After a few minutes, he beckoned you to come here. You scoot over to his desk, rolling the chair forward and beside him. Not too close though.

“So, this note has all your generated passwords. Type those into the app when you first log in, then you can change it if you want to.” Bucky explains, the cursor idles on the screen. He tries not to get too close to you, to give you personal space. It’s a professional workplace after all.

“This app,” he drags a window, pulling up an application, “tracks your hours and your keystrokes. It’s company-mandated because managers want to micro-manage their people, I guess.” Bucky shrugs, his disdain showing through his voice. His tone shifting lower than what you’d expected.

“Sorry, I just hate their new protocol,” his face and voice softening as he looks at you, “it’s a total privacy breach if you ask me.”

You’d normally disagree but something tells you that maybe he’s got a point. Your breath hitched in your throat as he leans closer as if to whisper something, “this note right here? It’s a nifty thing, a little script so your computer doesn’t go to sleep when you’re away. It enables and disables your numlock pad so it counts as a keystroke.”

A smirk finds its place on your face, “well, that’s…something, isn’t it?”

Never in your life would you find yourself flirting with a co-worker but there’s something about Bucky that made you excited. Interested. Intrigued.

Bucky nods, rolling his chair away to fetch a pad of sticky notes. “Another thing from your friendly neighborhood IT guy,” he peels off a leaf and sticks it on your laptop’s built-in camera, “keep your cam covered.”

You give him a chuckle and a playful salute, “yes, sir.”

Bucky’s a modern man. He sees a pretty girl and he gets giddy. He talks to a pretty girl and he gets flustered. But you—you make him feel more than giddy and flustered. There was something familiar about you, and your eyes. Has he seen you before? Met you, even? No, that’s impossible—if he had met you before, he’d surely remember you.

It was 5:34 PM when he gave you your laptop back and sent in an urgent request for your equipment. While taking down the elevator to the lobby, Bucky gave you a few tips on how to ‘survive’ working in the office. According to him, as far as you go in on time and kept your head above the rumors, you’d do fine.

He asked about your first week and he told you about this joint near the building that serves the best burgers and fries.

You’ve got a good feeling that you just made your first friend.

—

The sun was already setting down when you pulled into your apartment’s parking lot. At the very last minute, you turned into a drive-through and got some food on the go. The side trip took out 10 minutes of your time but at least you dodged the awful traffic that was building up by the highway.

Along with your laptop bag and your food, you trudge up to your third-floor apartment. It wasn’t what you wanted—the windows faced the street, the screen door doesn’t lock all the way—but it’s the one you got. As long as it’s got four walls and a roof, right?

You slip out of your work clothes and into some comfy jammies after a rewarding shower; the sooner you can get your food heat up, the sooner you can eat, and drink and then go to sleep.

So while waiting for the microwave to beep, you pry open your laptop. You told Bucky not to shut it down after he worked on it as to not lose your work on another profile, which he understood.

The work account he set up greeted you, along with the bright pink sticky note he stuck to your webcam. That wasn’t real, was it? All those cautionary tales of hackers using webcams to peep on you. Maybe he’s just trying to scare you, like some kind of initiation. Without a second thought, you took off the sticky note. It was kinda annoying anyway.

Clicking the Log Out Work button, your personal account popped into the frame. Your opened apps and documents displaying themselves for you to use. You pulled up Spotify and clicked on the first playlist you saw—which happened to be your intimate playlist.

Sure, the Pavlov reaction is real because halfway through the first song, you already found yourself getting all hot and bothered. This one’s your favorite song too.

You groan in annoyance, your food’s no longer a priority.

Picking up the laptop from the table, you walk to your bedroom, not bothering to shut the door. You live alone, it’s fine. You put the laptop on its loudest setting, setting it on your desk and you plopped down on your bed, the pillows and the comforter pooling on one side.

Your room is illuminated by a streak of light from the street. Your curtains flowing softly with the breeze that just came in.

Glancing at your laptop, you remembered Bucky. How his office smelled when you first walked in. How he stood tall when he greeted you. How he smiled. Those goddamn rings of his.

Before you caught yourself thinking rationally, your fingers are already splayed even over your thighs, caressing the soft flesh of your legs.

Bucky’s smirk and his cologne finding purchase in your fogged brain. Thoughts of him pulling you aside into his office to fool around—voices above hushed whispers as your skin erupts in goosebumps, the chilled air of his office finding its way up to your spine.

Oh, fuck it.

You undress fast, flinging your shirt over your head, dropping it somewhere below the bed. The air in your room making your nipples hard and erect as you pinch them. You breathe out a sigh, the heat of the moment creeping up your torso.

The material of your panties dampening as you imagine yourself bent over his desk, your skirt bunched over your hips as he laps your sopping cunt. Bucky’s tongue exploring your folds up and over until your pussy’s a quivering mess of drool and spit.

Your fingers slip past the band of your underwear. Even you surprised yourself by how wet you are.

God, you met him once and he’s already inching his way into your mind.

But who could blame you? You’ve been all over his Facebook profile when you learned his name via the office’s organizational chart. The first time you saw him, walking around the office with a laptop in his hands, you already knew you wanted to at least formally meet him. A scroll on his page, you found a band that you could tolerate listening to. (They’re okay, just not your taste in music.)

A plan came to mind when your department head told the team that you can work from home from time to time—only if you agreed to use a work laptop, a company-owned one. Your manager advised you to put in the request as soon as you can, for you to secure a unit before the on-hand supplies dwindle.

Deliberately sending in the request late—way, way later—than what your manager told you just so you could pull up the ‘new hire’ card and act dumb.

And it looked like he bought it too.

The image of him fucking you quiet while he grabs you from behind played inside your mind like a memory—a vision. Of how his thick cock would fill you up until your pussy is clenching around him. Would he pinch your throbbing clit, making you squirm and cream around him?

Your fingers are compared nothing to his, that’s for sure. But it does the work for now.

A breathy moan comes out of your mouth as you play with your clit, your cunt dripping down wetness as you continue to fondle your tits.

His hands would make a great addition to your chokers.

Your toes curl and your breath quickens, the coil in the pit of your stomach tightening—white-hot heat creeping up your limbs.

Oh, fuck, Bucky!

—

His ears perked up as he heard you moaning his name.

Bucky was busy watching you enjoy yourself when he got caught in the moment and decided to enjoy himself too.

He was barely keeping himself behaved when you first walked into the floor wearing a button-up and slacks that accentuated your backside. Bucky wished he was the one who gave you the tour and know your name for the first time, but that was impossible—he was in the IT department.

So when he got the news that new hires will be given the chance to work from home, he hoped that he gets to be the one to help you set up.

He was losing hope by the time he got your request, he thought that you opt not to work at home but then there you were, sending him an apologetic email on a late Friday afternoon.

Of course, he happily obliged. He even set up himself a little virtual camp in the background of your computer just so he can continue spending time with you.

Just thinking about you is already making him hard again. Bucky already came in hot spurts of white as he watched you desperately undress earlier. What can he say—he was waiting for you to show your tits already. As such, he correctly guessed that you’d be annoyed with the glaringly bright sticky note he used to ‘cover’ your webcam with.

But seeing you fingerfuck yourself all alone just wasn’t enough for him, he has to have you all by yourself.

[broiunno]

License to Steal - Act IV

License to Steal

ACT IV

Act I // Act II // Act III // Act IV

---

summary: Min Yoongi is your new protection detail upon your return to your father's side after being sent away during a bloody gang war. Now the dust has settled, you've been called back to your old controlled life, and leaving you an unwilling participant in your family's plans. You don't know what they are but you are no longer willing to be the obedient, protected daughter. You don't really care in the least of it makes Yoongi's new assignment hell on earth- So you'll carve your own life out back home on your own terms.

-rating: 18+

-pairing: min yoongi x reader

-word count: 5.8k

-warnings: swearing, gang activities includes drug mention and eventual drug use, the slowest of burns, organized crime, toxic af family dynamics, BEWARE IN THIS ACT: graphic family abuse (father initiated verbal and physical assault- does not fade to black), violence, blood, graphic descriptions of torture, and graphic sex scenes will be included in this work.

-authors note: @chelsea-chee leading the au as usual. I love her the appreciate her as my love, writer, and my beta. Her works are *chefs kiss* Thank you again beautiful <3 PLEASE NOTE: I AM REALLY NOT EXCITED TO POST THE NEXT FEW ACTS. They deal with heavy subject matter and I don't fade to black at any point so please note my works are for mature audiences, warnings are there for a reason and in bold. You are an adult if you are reading this work (per the warnings) and you are responsible for the content you consume. Thank you. ILY all and I love asks about the characters. And that's all I have to say about that...I'm sorry for the wait. I've had covid. I'm back on a better schedule now.

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

You fumbled with your hair as you tried to rip your fingers through the still damp strands to assemble it back into a semi-presentable pony tail as the door slid open to your father’s office. You really did wish that you had been able to go upstairs and shower. Or at least change your clothes from the workout gear you currently felt sticking to your skin from the cooling sweat. As a breeze drifted from the vent as the air kicked on, you shivered violently, shaking your head and shooting a hateful stare in Yoongi’s direction as you stepped into the office. Appearances were everything in your family. They were the first level of protection to ensure threats stayed at a minimum. A show of strength and cohesiveness discouraged any hair-brained ideas from a weaker or less organized opposition.

Your father raised a dark, thick brow, turning from the man was speaking quietly to, his expression unreadable as you inclined your head slightly in greeting. “You asked to see me?” you said quietly, keeping your eyes downcast. Since Yoongi had mentioned your father was summoning you, you knew it couldn’t be anything positive. This soon after your arrival? Nothing good would come of this. You had just grabbed onto the distraction of Yoongi until you both stood in the office, feeling stripped bare, awaiting whatever admonishment was about to be delivered.

“You couldn’t make it a full forty-eight hours without causing me a migraine,” your father said sharply and you kept your eyes trained on the floor, as you replayed yesterday in your mind.

“Father, I don’t know what you-”

“Y/N, you weren’t even back a day and you spent how much?” he said, aggravation lacing his tone. “I had to call in Kim to look at your accounts immediately. You’re a fucking hassle.” He huffed and your eyes finally lifted to the stranger that stood next to your father, noting that he stepped away from your father and bowed quickly.

“Nice to meet you, miss. I’m Kim Namjoon. I’ve been handling your accounts and will continue to do so.” You felt your lips part in a soft ‘oh’ as you studied the broad planes of his face, full lips and intense eyes. You felt like he was picking you apart in that moment as you took your time to absorb his ash blond hair in a relaxed, but carefully crafted style. His skin tone was golden; a contrast to Yoongi’s milk-like skin. He glowed, and you couldn’t tell if it from his melanin or the fact that he was radiating intelligence.

“N-Nice to meet you too,” you stammered and managed to close your mouth as he pushed up the rolled sleeves of his white button-down shirt. You swallowed hard and tried to claw through the mental fog that had overcome you. With the teasing from both Jungkook and Yoongi, being presented with another god-like man was the last thing you needed. “I will admit I’m a little confused; my spending was never a problem when I was away? I mean, it’s not like I bought a car.”

Your father barked a laugh and threw up his hands. “You have no grasp on what I do to make this money that you just piss away Y/N! And you COULD have bought a car with the amount you spent yesterday! Like I said: a god damn burden!” he hissed and you flushed slightly, taking a step back unconsciously as you watched his neck flush. Yoongi hadn’t said a word, but you knew you could still sense his dark presence in the corner of the room, not looking at him to notice his eyes narrowed slightly as the scene unfolded.

“Y/N, I’ve had an idea. You’re a daughter. I can’t do much with you. Your brother who I could actually have used is dead. Your mother-” He stopped as he watched your eyes bulge and he shook his head. “I can’t have more children. I’d consider it disrespectful to her memory,” he mused, a hand running along his chin and you couldn’t help the scoff that escaped you, but your jaw snapped shut audibly as your teeth clacked together after the noise passed your lips.

Your father’s eyes flared to life in challenge and he glanced at Namjoon, lip curling. “Did you calculate her estimated cost of living and monthly expenditures? Do you have solid numbers?” he said shortly and Namjoon just nodded, eyes flicking between the family members silently. “And did you adjust for a profit at the margin we discussed?”

“Yes sir,” came the deep steady voice, Namjoon’s eyes traveling your figure, his gaze not heavy with lust or desire, but full of curiosity. “The monthly amount that you should request for that profit is in the proposal if you would like to review it.” He finished and cleared his throat. “I can return if you want me to look over the contract,” he said softly, clearing fishing for a dismissal and your father granted it, offering his hand and you felt your mouth tighten in confusion.

“What contract?”

Namjoon grabbed a briefcase and inclined his head to you stiffly in farewell before his long legs carried him out the doorway. Your father’s gaze didn’t leave your eyes as he spoke. “Yoongi, see him out.” Yoongi nodded and started after the tall man in silence, not sparing you a second glance on his way out.

“I asked you what contract?” you said softly, struggling to keep your voice even as your father stepped closer to you.

“Well, you went out. Spent a lot of money that you’ve done nothing to earn, and caught someone’s eye in the process. Someone worth a lot of money and who would be an asset to have closer to the family at this point in his career.” Your father clasped his hands behind his back as he continued to close the distance between you, each step he made, you felt your heart plummet further.

“Father… what exactly are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything, Y/N. I’m telling you. Someone’s made a bid for your hand, and it’s the only thing you’ll be good for at this point. The shopping sprees, your lifestyle. I can maintain them, but if someone else is willing to do so, and the marriage benefits me in my business, I’d be stupid not to pursue it. Do you think I’m stupid, Y/N?” he said, voice getting dangerously quiet as he reached out to tuck a piece of hair that had escaped the rapidly put-up ponytail behind your ear.

“You can’t sell me off like fucking cattle!-” you said, flinching away from his touch, and his large, calloused hand shot out to grab your chin tightly. He forced your face back towards his as you tried to jerk away, squeezing hard enough to make your eyes begin to water. Your heart thudded out a dangerous irregular rhythm as you breathed hard through your nose.

“I can’t? Y/N, you seem to be under the delusion that you are free from the responsibilities that come with being in this family. I suppose that may be my fault. I was too soft on you, pitied the losses I caused you to have. I always had your brother anyway; there was no harm in indulging you. But now, you’re the only one with my blood in your veins. You’re home to do a service for this family. Everyone else has given their lives in some way. Did you think you were special?” His words were measured and cold as he studied you, grip not loosening on your face. You would be bruised tomorrow as you felt the throb set in from the pressure he was applying.

“You may order me to do it, but I don’t have to go along with this,” you hissed, barely able to open your jaw, but clenching your teeth to get your words out, rage licking up and down your body. He had taken your entire life as a child, as an adolescent. Did he really think giving you a few years of freedom put you back in his debt so far that you owed him the rest of your life?!

No sooner than the words were out of your mouth you heard the sharp crack, and felt yourself stumbling backwards into the wall. You blinked quickly as you registered the pain in your head, immediately starting to pound as the metallic taste of blood filled your mouth. You barely had time to regain a semblance of your bearings before your father was upon you again, face chillingly blank as his ringed fingers gripped the base of your ponytail, ripping your head back at an awkward angle, a scream breaching your bloody lips. The noise was cut short by another blow, snapping your head to the side before he jerked your face back to center.

“Who do you think you are, you little bitch?” he said with a lilt to his tone as you choked out a sob, unable to keep it from escaping your lips. “You really thought you weren’t going to do shit to replace that money you spent?” When he finished speaking he gave your head a violent shake, as if to scramble your thoughts further. It was completely unnecessary, as your head felt as if it was splitting with the pain he had rocked through you with his blows and harsh grip. You felt the start of a purely hysterical giggle break through, spitting out the fresh rush of blood that ran in your mouth due to the cuts in your cheek from your teeth. You noticed a piece of the skin from inside your mouth flapping loosely that made you nauseated if you dwelled on it.

The laugh was probably the worst response you could have had.

You heard a soft hiss, and your father stepped into your space further, hands darting from your head to wrap themselves around your throat and squeezing. As your hands scrambled to scratch at his hand, his arm, his face, anything, you wished you were surprised at this. You wished you were hurt because you were shocked, but you weren’t. There was blood in the water and he was a shark. He built his life this way.

“You don’t have to go along with this…” he said softly, voice void of emotion, “but you also don’t have to keep living here either. How long will you make it without this family? You’d never make it out of the city.” He mused and continued to squeeze, your vision starting to spot as you tried to draw in any bit of air within the hold he had, the choking heaves under the weight of him making the blood that had pooled in your mouth from his blows spill over your chin grotesquely as it began to stream onto his hand. “So will you behave for once in your fucking life?”

You were hyper aware of the tears streaming down your face as you managed the smallest of nods. You supposed he was right; you had never imagined you would be used in the family in any way. Your entire life had been lonely, and even though you hated it, you had resigned yourself to it. His hands unwrapped themselves from your neck, letting you inhale a burning gasp of air as you slid down the wall, and onto the floor. You coughed and rocked forward onto all fours as the shaking of your body didn’t allow for much more than consciousness.

Your father pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the crimson of your blood off his hand before tossing it to you on the floor. You could barely recognize the quick but unhurried footsteps coming back down the hallway to the office before they stopped short.

“Yoongi, take her upstairs.”

==

The flush from hustling back to his boss’s office drained from Yoongi’s face as his eyes widened at your figure hunched forward onto your elbows on the floor. He watched you hack as your body tried to clear your airway. Yoongi stayed silent as he reached down, crouching next to you and attempting to offer you a hand so you could stand on your own, for which you were thankful. You felt the physical pain, but no emotions as your mind sluggishly screamed at you to just accept his hand and stand. You needed to walk out of here on your own. You knew you wouldn’t make it all the way to your room after the assault, but you didn’t need to. Just to the elevator.

You reached out your hand, shaking hard, as you clasped at his large palm and hoisted yourself up, letting him pull lightly as he stood with you, noting that he was still silent. You tried to ignore how your vision swam before you, willing your knees not to buckle. You couldn’t pinpoint if the unsteadiness was from the blows to your face, the lack of oxygen, or the tears that had thankfully stopped streaming down your face but still filled your eyes.

Yoongi seemed to read your mind, shifting his grip from your hand to your upper arm, nestling in your underarm and gently steered you to the door, but let you support most of your weight on the way out. You walked in silence as he didn’t rush you down the hallway, both of your eyes trained on the lift door as he typed in the code. As you waited for the door to open you felt your shaking legs betray you and start to bend. You glanced away from him, the movement of your eyes causing a piercing pain to shoot through your head. “Please,” was all you rasped wetly as you put more weight and started to sink, but the pressure holding you up immediately doubled, Yoongi’s support forcing you upright, even if it made your shoulder raise. It would be almost imperceptible from your father’s office if he was still looking in your direction, but you doubted he would. He had already received your submission; he didn’t need you for anything else.

Yoongi didn’t seem to want to take the chance that he was still watching, stepping into the elevator and continuing to only hold you in one place. His grip was still disguised as if he was walking you out in the same way he may escort an associate who was no longer welcome - in such a manner that would deter any further escalation. No one would be able to tell he was the only thing keeping you upright.

As the door slid shut to the elevator the facade crumbled, you lurching forward and gasping out a sob of pain, tilting your head down to let the blood that had been collecting in your mouth pour out onto the floor. You forgot how much mouth wounds bled. Yoongi was not bothered with the grotesque display as he swiftly adjusted his grip to wrap around your shoulders, his other arm sweeping at your feet as he lifted you with apparent ease. You shut your eyes as the tears began to flow once more, unable to restrain the moans and whimpers of pain that escaped between gasps as you cried. He still hadn’t said a word, even as you turned your face into his suit jacket, inhaling jaggedly as you tried to focus on the scent permeating from him, trying to place it through your snot-filled nose. The only thing you could recognize was the warm, woodsy scent of patchouli as you reached a shaking hand up to hold onto his jacket tightly. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, but it grounded you all the same.

You tried to slow your breathing, but failed as the elevator door opened and Yoongi strode quickly to your bedroom door, bending at the knees and somehow using his crook of his elbow and his body to turn the door knob, the only change in your positioning being that you tilted slightly as he spun it. He kicked the door with his foot gently as he stepped in, by-passing your bed as he carried you into your bathroom, carefully getting on his knees as he lowered you into your large bathtub as he placed you there. You continued to breath quickly, your gasps becoming sharper as your gentle shaking soon became uncontrollable. You released his jacket as he stood and you pulled your knees to your chest, shutting your eyes finally as you heard the tap briefly run before a cool rag brushed your chin, eyes flying open as you flinched away.

“Shh, I need to see your face. I have to get the blood off,” Yoongi whispered, and you finally looked at him, noting his face was still paler than normal. “Princess, I need you to take a slow, deep breath okay? Can you do that? Your lips are turning blue; you’re hyperventilating. You’re safe,” he murmured, brows pinching together in a pained expression you had never seen on his face as you tried to nod, attempting to take a long breath in but ended up gulping in air multiple times on the way, the blurring of your vision worsening as Yoongi grimaced, your breathing speeding up again, your shoulders shrugging with the effort to take in air. The last thing you heard was Yoongi’s tense exclamation of “Shit!” before you blacked out.

==

When you awoke, you were under the covers of your large bed. You sat up quickly before groaning from the ache in your head, then realizing that opening your mouth made you want to scream from pain. Between the squeeze on your jaw and the cuts inside your mouth, it was safe to say you would be saying very little for a while. You glanced towards the window, noting it was inky black outside.

“How long has he hit you?” came a cool voice from beside your bedside and you turned to face the source, seeing a figure standing beside the small table, casting a shadow with the aid of a lamp. Had he even left? Yoongi had shed his stained suit jacket, but still wore the white shirt and same suit pants. You only knew it was the same shirt due to the blood stain from where your mouth must have painted him. Instead of attempting to speak, you shrugged in an attempt to get his gaze off of you. It was piercing and unnerving. You felt as if this was the beginning of an interrogation, and you didn’t fail to notice the color had still not returned to his normally pale face. Now that your mind was a bit clearer you were able to recognize why it registered so deeply with you. He was the embodiment of white with fury. “How. Long?” he said again with such harshness you swallowed hard, ignoring the fire that licked down your throat as you did so.

“That’s a joke right? He’s always been like that. I just normally am better at avoiding it,” you forced out; your words were almost incoherent as you tried to move your jaw as little as possible as you spoke. That was bearable. Good. Not that you had expected it to be, but at least your jaw wasn’t broken; that would have been a pain in the ass. “What time is it?”

“It’s three am,” Yoongi hissed as his eyes glimmered in the near darkness, pushing off the wall and grabbing a glass of water off the table and sweeping a few pills into his hand. “Take these.” You took his offering and a small sip of the water before carefully throwing the pills to the back of your throat and washing them down, sighing softly. “They’re pain pills. They’ll help and you’ll be able to go back to sleep in a bit.”

You didn’t answer but pulled back the cover of your bed and slid out, noting that your bloody shirt had been changed but you still had on your sports bra and leggings. And your ponytail had been taken down, which was probably a good thing since your scalp was still aching from the hold your father had you in.

“Y/N… don’t.” Came Yoongi’s voice, still unemotional but a bit gentler than his earlier tone. You didn’t turn back to him but stopped your path to your vanity, obviously trying to look at your reflection in the mirror to assess the damage.

“Is it that bad?” you grumbled, turning to him and you watched him shrug.

“It’s not good. Don’t worry about it tonight. No bones are broken from what I can tell. I wiped you down the best I could. Just change once I leave and get back into bed.”

You let out a deep breath but finally stepped towards your closet instead to grab an oversized t-shirt. You could work the bra off under it and slip your pants off once you had it on. “Why did you even stay?” you said softly as you set to work, your muscles aching as you attempted to change modestly. You don’t know why it even mattered, but in this moment it did.

“I needed to know if he had done this before. I needed to know if this was the first time. When we were kids, you weren’t around all the time. Sometimes, I’d go months without seeing you. I didn’t know if this was a part of it,” he spat out, visibly tensing as he took a loud steadying breath.

You shrugged as you pulled off your leggings, successful in stripping your bra off under the shirt, and padded back to your bed. “There were a few reasons he kept me separated from everyone. It wasn’t all because he thought I was too precious to see any of this.” You climbed back into bed and tried to settle back into the plushness. Yoongi took a step closer to you, his mouth slightly open as he watched you try to get comfortable, seemingly unable to stop himself.

“Y/N…” he said softly and reached a hand towards you and you stiffened, eyes narrowing, and he took note, dropping his hand slowly.

“Yoongi, I never asked for your fucking pity.”

“I know, and it makes me want to help you even more.”

You blinked and tried to register what he was implying. “Help me?” you repeated, shaking your head as you felt the same hysterical laugh bubble up that had made your assault that much worse in your father’s office. “No one can help me!” You laughed, eyes widening as the smile twisted your features. “This is my life, this is what I was born into. This is what all those shiny things cost, Yoongi! I always knew it but I forgot.” You watched as the pained expression from earlier slid back over his features, and you raised your eyebrows in response. “I appreciate it, but unless you’re willing to put a bullet in my fucking head there’s no saving anything.”

“Who says it has to be your head, Princess?” he said gently and you swear you felt the world stop.

“Don’t say shit like that Min,” you hissed, baring your teeth and shaking your head. “Even if we don’t always get along, I don’t want you dead too.”

“Whatever you say Princess,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips as he cocked his head to the side. “Are you alright to sleep? You don’t feel like you’re going to vomit?” he asked seriously, watching as you shook your head.

“I don’t have a concussion,” you grumbled but as you watched him smirk and go to grab his jacket you felt your heart speed up. “Yoongi- w-wait.” He immediately stopped, as if he was anticipating your words. “Can you stay here the rest of the night? I know he won’t do anything but I-”

“Let me go change my clothes. Is that okay Princess?”

“Yeah… I just don’t want to be-”

“It’s fine Y/N. I’ll be right back.” You stayed sitting up, watching him as he dismissed your attempts at explanations and justification as he walked out.

You sighed, leaning against the leather headboard and let your breathing even out, even as your heart still raced. The pain began to slowly ebb as the medication took effect; what had you even taken? It had to be something strong as a comfortable fog began to cloud your thoughts.

You didn’t know why you felt the need to have him here. Did you even need to explain? He was technically your bodyguard. You had known each other most of your lives. You had just suffered through an assault; staying with you was reasonable. Even if the assailant wasn’t unknown, nor were the motives. At the end of the day, Yoongi’s presence made breathing a bit easier. His presence made you feel safe.

The door opened again and you sucked in a breath as Yoongi re-entered your bedroom, one hand carrying his gun and holster, the other a hanger with a clean pressed suit. “I’ll wake up before you,” was all he said in response to your surprised expression as he studied you. He mistook the shock on your face as being accredited to the suit. He was an idiot if he thought you cared about the fact he would dress here. You were too busy drinking in the sight of his lean figure in low-slung grey sweatpants. You tried to rip your gaze back to his face but you got caught on the black ribbed tank top and the swirling black tattoos covering his shoulder and chest before disappearing under the material.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos,” you choked out, feeling your face flush and mentally slapping yourself. He may look like sex on legs, but you looked like you just had the shit beat out of you. Which to be fair to yourself, you actually just had the shit beat out of you.

“Oh, I forgot,” he said, a small smirk tilting his lip up but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He draped his suit over the chair to your vanity and carried his gun with him towards the plush armchair in the corner of the room.

“The bed is big enough Min. I won’t touch you,” you said breathlessly, trying to force away the blush that was deepening across your face. He seemed to freeze and take a few steadying breaths.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea Princess.” His voice was controlled but quiet.

“Please Yoongi…” you said just as quietly. “It’s just for tonight. I won’t feel safe if you’re all the way over there.”

It was definitely an over exaggeration. You hadn’t really expected him to even agree to stay in your room with you. The chair was the reasonable option. You knew you were pushing it.

“Princess, I-” He breathed, the airiness of his tone making your belly somersault and it gave you a tiny shiver.

“Yoongi, please. I need you next to me. Just tonight.” You shouldn’t be so worried about getting this man into bed with you, but now that he was here in front of you and it was so close to happening, you felt you might cry if he denied you.

You watched his back muscles rippled as he tensed and tried to relax. He turned wordlessly and walked to the opposite side of the bed, setting his holster down and climbing into the king-sized bed with you. “Go to sleep Princess.”

The drugs had to be prescriptions, not that you really expected a member of an organized crime family to just take a regular aspirin when they were in pain. “Is the oxy working yet? It should start soon if it hasn’t.” You hummed your assent as you squirmed down into the bed and tried to keep the smile from your face as you reached over and turned out the lamp. You took a deep breath and shut your eyes, savoring the heat that quickly built from having two bodies under the covers of your bed, ignoring the slightly annoyed sigh from the other side of the bed.

“Be quiet Min, I’m trying to rest,” you said softly and a soft dry chuckle cut through the silence as you let sleep take you.

==

Yoongi’s POV

Yoongi listened to the soft sounds of your breathing as they lengthened and deepened, the pain pills having done their job perfectly. If only he could have done his job in such a manner. He had been given a job: to keep you safe, and he took it seriously. Even if the one assigning his work was an abusive piece of shit. Yoongi let out a sigh, glancing over at your figure in the dark to make sure his huff hadn’t disturbed your slumber. It didn’t. You were still laying there, eyes closed and unaware, your face turned towards him to afford him a view of what exactly your father had done in his absence.

He felt his teeth grind against each other as even in the dark, he could make out the near black bruises covering your neck in the clear shape of hands, a bloom crossing your smooth cheek as well. Even your chin and jaw were dark from bruising; evidence that your father had held your face to force submission. It had worked. He opened his mouth and stretched his own jaw to try and stop himself from continuing to grind his molars down to nothing in rage. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to forget how you looked and how he felt when he entered the office, watching the blood drip onto the floor. How he wanted nothing more than to simply pull out his gun and lodge a bullet into your father’s knee before proceeding to swing the butt of his gun down onto him until he shattered every bone in the pig’s disgusting face.

Until he begged him to stop. Until he begged his daughter to tell Yoongi to stop.

The daydream made Yoongi smile a full gummy smile and chuckle for the first time today. He would stop when you told him to. If you told him to. Now that he knew your father had put his hands on you before this, he wondered if you would just let him continue until his mania at seeing what had been done to you was sated. He knew it wouldn’t be until he heard your father’s death rattle, knowing it had been at his own hands.

You stirred slightly to readjust in your sleep, drawing his attention back to the present as you moved closer to him in the bed and he sucked in a breath. Even beaten and bruised you affected him. Even carrying you in that elevator down the hall as you clutched onto him. He had been spiraling down into violence but as soon as you grabbed his jacket, he knew you wouldn’t withstand even him raising his voice to anyone without shattering. You were normally so fierce and seeing you broken made him want to tear apart this entire society you both lived in, even if it was all either of you had ever known.

It was then he had decided he would be what you were asking of him with your sobs and how you clutched onto him; he would be as gentle as could be and give you whatever you needed tonight. Tomorrow he would begin the undertaking of dismantling your father piece by fucking piece.

He had watched over you after you passed out; you had woken up briefly for him to get you to take pain medicine once before you actually were able to speak to him. Before you asked him to stay with you. He wanted to pretend it didn’t make his icy heart crack, the way you tried to explain and justify his presence. He would never ask you to in this kind of situation. When Yoongi returned to his room, he attempted to steel himself for a night of sitting in that uncomfortable chair, and a sleepless day tomorrow. He had gone more than twenty-four hours without sleep before.

But when your eyes, even if they had started to become glossy and dilated from the drugs, began to run over him, he had to try and think of every unsexy thing he could fathom. You had just been fucking violated and just with one look he felt the blood travel away from his brain and pool below his waist. Why did he think he would be able to wear sweatpants while staying with you? You destroyed every semblance of self control he had. He still hadn’t forgotten your teasing in the elevator prior to this shit show.

Then your soft drowsy voice had called out to him just as he had regained his mental fortitude and continued to the chair. You would be the fucking death of him and he didn’t think he would really mind. Now, as he laid here in bed with you trying to ignore the fact that you were shifting closer to him in your sleep, seeking his warmth, he closed his eyes. He had anticipated the pure fury of tonight keeping him awake, but instead it was the fact that he could feel your breath on his neck, that if he turned his head back to you he could still make out your absolutely gorgeous feminine form from under the blankets. The dip in your waist and the curve of your hips, sloping into your soft thigh. Yoongi’s eyes shot open as he let out a soft hiss as he felt his member stiffen in his sweats, one large hand reaching down to palm himself, and he willed his hard-on to disappear.

He dropped his eyes again, confident he would get his bulge to go down without waking you, and as he tended to it, a soft small hand reached across his middle, making his forehead furrow. He tried to take a steadying breath, and tried to not imagine that the events of last night weren’t the reason he was in your bed. That you had just invited him to bed because you wanted him there, not for security but because you wanted him as a man to share your bed and body. That he could roll over to face you, slip his own hand up that oversized shirt and rub soft circles into your skin before slipping his hand down in-between your thighs.

Yoongi felt his cock twitch and himself harden further, forcing another deep breath in and out as he circled back to try and think of grotesque things to make his longing subside. You at least had stopped wriggling in the bed in an attempt to get closer; he was thankful for that. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and tried to calm his heart and regulate his breath to make it possible for him to drift off.

This was going to be a long night.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twelve

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: this took so long bc ive been reading chain of iron and in general agonizing over things i cant control instead of being productive 🥴 that being said, absolutely none of the events in this chapter were planned in my outline, but here we are with something new!

***

December brings more snow and bone chilling weather, to the point where Cassian has to drag Nesta out of bed, either physically or by phone call, to get her to therapy appointments on time. 

She’s in the waiting room one freezing morning when, in her utter boredom, she musters up the nerve to turn to the girl sitting next to her. “What are you in here for?”

The girl blinks her large blue eyes, taking notice of Nesta for the first time. Nesta uses the opportunity to take in her freckle-painted face, a little wan but beautiful. Reddish brown hair hangs around her face and shoulders, creating a thick curtain from the rest of the world, and Nesta’s curiosity piques like she’s just found a shiny new toy.

It probably isn’t right to compare people to toys, but then the girl says, “This isn’t prison, you know.” Her voice is deep, almost sultry— completely at odds from her huddled-in posture and sickened expression. “I didn’t commit a crime to have to be here.”

Is she insulted by Nesta’s question, or is she poking a joke? Nesta decides to play it safe by murmuring, “Sorry, never mind.”

She starts to turn away when the girl says, “We’re trying a new type of trauma therapy today. I had to get here half an hour early because I couldn’t swallow my nerves.”

Nesta might lack many social skills, but she isn’t stupid enough to ask what kind of trauma the girl is being treated for. Instead, she nods casually as if she understands the struggle. “I’ve been coming here for weeks now and I’ve barely discussed shit. That’s mostly on me, but you know…” She actually doesn’t know where she’s going with her train of thought. “It sounds brave to do whatever you're doing,” she states finally. “I don’t think I’ll be able to open up that much about myself, ever.” 

The girl gives Nesta a weird look that she immediately recognizes. Nesta uses it every time she doesn’t know how to respond to someone who takes her by surprise.

The door to Lana’s office clicks open, and the woman herself pokes her head out with a plain smile. “Ready, Nesta?”

Nesta bites down on her frown. She has a feeling today won’t be as easy as her past sessions.

She’s about to leave without another glance at the girl beside her when that low voice speaks up. “I’m Gwyn.”

Nesta looks back at her as she gets up from her chair, and says the first reply that comes to mind: “Good to know.”

***

Nesta is contemplative hours after she gets back from her therapy session, bundled up in her bed with a coloring book. The repetitive motion of filling in the mandala drawing lets her mind wander, picking up and dropping different thoughts like she’s inspecting stones. 

She keeps her wrist light as she colors in with red. She finally said Tomas’s name in therapy today, though the action left a slimy feeling in Nesta’s stomach that lingers even now. She also spoke about her sisters, which somehow ended up leading to a discussion of her uterus. 

“How have you been dealing with the endometriosis news?”

Nesta shrugged. “I’m getting treated, and my last period was more bearable than usual—”

“I mean mentally, how are you doing? With how your condition could affect your future?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “Affect me how?”

“Have you never considered the impact it could have on your ability to bear children?”

“Not everything in life is about bearing children, you know.”

“We’re humans. It’s definitely something to consider.”

“Not for me. I’ve never wanted kids.” A mistruth at best. “I don’t care what endo does or doesn’t do to me on those grounds.”

In a way, Nesta told herself, the health risks were actually for the best. If she ever did, by some stupid loss of sanity, try to have children, then her body would act as a safety net from her decisions.

Lana only said, “You’ll never know how much you care or don’t care until you talk out your feelings.”

“Then I guess we’ll never know.”

Nesta lets the memory of that conversation drop like a stone on a shore. That’s not something she has to face for a good long while. No, right now she has to face her past. 

Her sisters, and her ex, and even her father— 

I wonder if I came off too strong with Gwyn today. 

Her hand stops drawing, and she switches out her red marker for an orange one. This thought she doesn’t mind inspecting for a little longer: she and Gwyn ended up leaving their sessions at the same time, which meant they were forced into stilted conversation on the way down to the parking lot. 

Not forced, Nesta self-corrects. She willingly initiated a conversation, and it didn’t go terribly. She wonders if making friends in therapy waiting rooms is a real thing.

Her phone vibrates beside her, breaking her hours-long mental bubble. Blinking dazedly, she answers the phone call.

“How are you?” is the first thing Cassian says to her. He makes sure to ask her that at least twice a day, like a gauging of her temperature. It makes Nesta wonder what she’s ever done in her life to call for such… attention to her well-being. 

“I’m good,” she answers honestly. “My head’s a little loud right now, but I don’t mind it.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No, I’d rather hear you talk.” She slumps back against her pillows, coloring book forgotten. “What’s up?”

“Ah...” Cassian sounds hesitant for the first time since their relationship started. “It’s just that I haven’t gotten my Christmas decorations up yet, and I was going to ask if you wanted to help.”

Nesta takes a moment to absorb his words. “It’s December fifth,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“You just seem like somebody who does their decorations the day after Thanksgiving.”

“Well, this year is a little different, with you moving out and being busy with school…” He pauses. “I was waiting to do it with you.”

When she doesn’t reply, Cassian adds, “I don’t even know if you care about Christmas. I know you and your family sort of ignored holidays. It’s fine if you don’t want to—”

“I’ll be over right now,” Nesta blurts. 

Half an hour later, Cassian swings open his door with a smug grin on his face; a vast difference from the stammering hesitance he displayed over the phone earlier. Nesta’s own lips want to pull up into a smile just at the sight of him, but she holds back and narrows her eyes instead. “What’s got you so worked up?” she questions as she steps into the warmth of the cabin and out of the freezing cold.

“The way you ran over here as soon as I asked.” He looks her up and down, still amused. “You didn’t even bother to change, did you?”

It’s true: she’s in the same sweatpants and long sleeved tee she wore around home, and her socked feet are shoved into slippers. 

“Get that smirk off your face.” Nesta flicks his nose before tossing her coat off. “If this is a competition about who’s got a bigger puppy-crush for whom, you already won when you delayed putting up your Christmas decorations for me.”

“Fair enough,” he grins. The words send an unexpected pang through Nesta, because it’s partly true, isn’t it? He cares more openly for her than she does for him. 

She looks away in guilt, not knowing how to fix the imbalance. Her eyes land on the living room coffee table, where their half-finished jigsaw puzzle sits. It’s been stored under the couch for the past few weeks, forgotten by Nesta and Cassian alike as they moved on with their lives, but now it’s sitting out again.

“Have you been working on the puzzle without me?” She raises an inquisitive brow, about to feel— hurt.

“Never,” Cassian promises, saving her from that irrational hurt. “I just brought it out because I figured we should get to finishing it one day.”

She pads over to the table, picking up a puzzle piece and turning it over in her hand. “I don’t know if you remember, but we had a terrible time working on this,” she scoffs lightly.

“Oh, I remember,” he says, coming up behind her and stealing the piece from her grasp. “I think it’s safe to say those evenings were the worst fights we’ll ever have together.”

Nesta leans back against Cassian’s chest and hums. “It made us a stronger couple, don’t you think?” She turns her head up and back to meet Cassian’s eyes, finding that he’s already looking down at her.

Hypnotized, she leans into his warmth. She only manages to land the smallest kiss against his lips when his hand squeezes her ass cheek. “You’re here for a job, remember?” He taps her butt before pulling away, gesturing to the Christmas tree in the corner of the living area with his chin. It stands bare. “You do tinsel, I’ll do lights.”

Tinsel is harder to work with than Nesta remembers. She only manages to get half the tree done before plopping onto the Persian rug, exhausted and covered in silvery material. She doesn’t mind laying there while Cassian continues working; it’s her revenge for when he napped on her bed while she moved in.

“You know the stair railings still need to be wreathed, Archeron.”

Nesta declines to respond, tilting her head on the carpet for a better view of her boyfriend’s ass instead. “All this decorating,” she starts. “Is it just for you?”

Cassian turns to her, surprised. “Well…”

She pushes up onto her elbows, catching her mistake. “Are we doing Christmas together? Or are your friends coming over?” She hasn’t bothered to celebrate Christmas in years now, and she doesn’t care much what Cassian’s plans are either way.

“I was hoping for both?” He sounds hesitant. “Christmas Eve is all the way over in Velaris, but I was thinking we could go together, open some presents, and come back and spend Christmas here.”

Nesta purses her lips. She doesn’t actually hate that plan. Both Feyre and Elain have been pestering her with the annual texts asking her to visit for Christmas, and for once, she feels like responding to them. The invitation is more of a formality than an actual request at this point; she doubts her sisters want her there after years of rejections, but… what’s the harm?

“Is that a yes?” Cassian asks at her unreadable face.

“Yes,” she states unflinchingly. She refuses to overthink the possible consequences of this choice and chooses to focus on the broad grin overtaking Cassian’s face. “Really?” he says.

“But there has to be rules.” Nesta sits up fully now. “No one can know we’re together, no matter how much you trust or love them.”

“We already agreed to that, baby.”

Yes, but Nesta knows the secret weighs on him heavier than he shows— even if he agrees with her that it's for the best. “It’ll be different when we’re together in the same room as everyone else,” she says. Cassian wears his beating heart on his sleeve, and she doesn’t think he’s ever had to hide it before.

“You’ll also be different,” she adds. “It’s a huge change of pace.”

Cassian drops the remaining strand of lights and smiles confusedly down at her. “What do you mean, I’ll be different?” He sits across from her, before the blazing fire. 

“You know how you get around your friends.” Nesta shrugs without a thought. “Like your personality readjusts to mirror the people around you. I used to find it a mix of sad and adorable, like a neglected puppy desperate for love, but now I— okay, I still feel the same way.” She waves a hand in a dismissive gesture.

By the look on Cassian’s face, he does not find her words so easily dismissed. 

Coldness curdles in the pit of Nesta’s stomach, the realization that she’s said something wrong. She can’t fix it until she knows where she fucked up, though.

“Is that what you think of me?” Cassian finally says lowly. His usually expressive mouth is drawn tight and narrow. 

“Um… What would you rather I think of you?”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “Seriously, Nesta?”

Nesta’s back stiffens, refusing to cower. “I only described what I’ve observed in the past.”

“And what you observed was a desperate puppy?” His voice is cold in a way she’s never heard before.

Okay, she’s starting to see how that might be offensive. She forges onward, “Tell me what you think about yourself in the presence of your family, then.” It’s a private victory that she says family instead of clown circus. But she’s not trying to turn this into a fight.

Cassian is silent, but his stare continues to rage at her.

“Tell me,” Nesta repeats.

His hands curl into fists on the rug. “I think I’m empathetic, easy to talk to, and easier to be around. Is it a problem if I’m likable?” Unlike you are the unsaid words.

Nesta inspects the space between them like it’s a chessboard. “And what part of yourself are you giving up to be so likable, Cassian?” she says quietly.

“Nothing.”

Nesta disagrees, if only because she’s been watching him out of the corner of her eye for years. “I think you base your personality off of those you love, and you lose a little bit of your true self every time you put others’ needs before your own.” 

She shuts her mouth, not having expected such honesty to come out of it. Cassian is taken aback, too, she can tell.

“And I guess it’s natural that you’d see all of that as a bad thing, considering your history of being closed off and self-serving to a fault,” he fires back with the flatness Nesta utilizes so often.

One for one. Fair enough. “We’re both right then,” Nesta says. “You work for your best friend because you have no ambition beyond serving your family, and I have no such family because I can’t bring myself to care about those things. Are we even now?”

Cassian furrows his brows, those defensive walls melting away as he realizes she’s completely serious. “What? No, Nes—” He shakes his head. “Okay, so maybe you’re right about me. Maybe I agree with you a little bit, but… If we see flaws in each other, then we should be working to overcome them instead of weaponizing them.”

Now Nesta’s the one shaking her head, quickly lifting a hand to stop him. “Relax there, sweetheart. I have no expectations from you or myself to go on some self-improvement journey now that we’re together. Talking about my feelings with a professional every week is hard enough.” Yes, agreeing to go to Feyre’s Christmas party is improvement. Slow, barely there improvement, but enough to wear her out for the rest of the month. For Nesta to fully let people into her life, to treat them as lovingly as she treats Cassian— that’s a long way away. She can’t envision it, doesn’t even know if she wants it.

Cassian must understand some of what she’s thinking, because he nods and backs off. He gets back up and returns to stringing lights, tossing a handful of tinsel at Nesta as if to say Get back to work. 

She stands and obeys, thinking their not-argument is officially over when Cassian says, “You’re wrong about one thing.”

She looks up from where she threads tinsel through fir leaves. He doesn’t take his eyes off his work as he says, “You do have a family. And deep, deep down, you care about them as much as I care about mine.”

***

Nesta catches Emerie’s eye as the dark-haired beauty walks into the pub. Raising a hand and waving, she gestures Emerie over to the booth she’s sitting in. 

“Look what I found,” Nesta says with a hint of pride, pointing to the redhead sitting beside her. “A third girl for girl’s night!”

“I was kidnapped,” Gwyn speaks up. “Jumped on the way to my car.” She’s out of her usual hoodie and in a tight-fitting blouse, looking stunning even while seeming out of place in the dim bar.

“She came here consensually,” Nesta retorts. “Emerie, this is Gwyn. We met at therapy.”

Gwyn offers Emerie an awkward smile.

Emerie slides into the booth across from them with raised brows. She looks between Nesta and the new girl and back again. “You invited her here? All by yourself?” she asks.

Nesta nods firmly.

Emerie breaks into a wide grin and reaches over the table to grab Nesta’s hand. “I’m so proud of you!” If Emerie were anyone else, she’d be squealing in excitement, but Emerie does not squeal.

Nesta waves off her friend’s praise, though a part of her wants to beam at it, too.

Gwyn glances between the two of them with slight amusement. “I mean, it’s not that impressive,” she says. “She came on a bit too strong, probably a five out of ten on the asking-someone-out scale.”

“‘A bit too strong’ is all you’re gonna get with Nesta,” Emerie says, lifting her hand to order drinks. “She’s all-or-nothing, and most people would pray she doesn’t give them her nothing.”

Nesta doesn’t know if that’s a compliment, but she supposes there are worse things that could be said about her.

“So, Gwyn, what do you do?” Emerie leans forward. “All our friends are law students and it’s starting to get boring.”

Gwyn goes off about her librarian job as Nesta orders their drinks, and Emerie rests her chin in her hand and listens eagerly. Christmas music plays softly in the background and snow flurries gently outside. Nesta thinks she can’t be doing that bad in life, if she’s managed to carve out this little slice of happiness for herself.

***

a/n: i promise shit actually happens next chapter! we're getting christmas with nessian and the ic in the same room for the first time

taglist: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson

[gale-gentlepenguin]

ML Fic: Nathalie’s Gift Part 1

She sat up in the middle of the night.

She took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. She knew it was late, likely an hour or two away from sunrise.

She examined her surroundings until she saw him. There he was, sleeping in the chair at the end of the room. Gabriel Agreste, her boss, her ally, and the one she had fallen for, was asleep in a chair several feet away.

Ever since the defeat of the guardian and the plan to use Chloé to get the miraculous, she had been far too weak to be as mobile as she was in the past. Gabriel had set her up in his quarters, despite the mansion having dozens of rooms. He had reasoned that Adrien would never walk into his room without permission, so that it would never become apparent how her condition was deteriorating.

His logic wasn't entirely unfounded. She was constantly teetering towards the brink. Overuse of the once broken peacock miraculous has left her bedridden most days. Despite the miraculous no longer having such a negative effect now, she knew the damage was already done. 

Yet he hasn't discarded her, was it out of loyalty that he felt the need to care for her despite being more of a burden? Did he perhaps start to feel something more for her as this whole debacle went on.

The later of which was unlikely, she knew better than anyone that Gabriel was far too loyal to his wife to entertain such a notion. So long as he believed there was a chance of bringing her back, he wont stop. She could never be Emilie Agreste, the love of his life and mother of Adrien. She was Nathalie Sancoeur, trusted assistant, and partner in crime. 

She forced herself out of bed. Moving quietly as to not awaken the sleeping mogul.

She snagged her tablet, and the peacock miraculous that was next to it.

She moved to the office and sat in the office chair. Perhaps she could get some work done while she was awake. And should she feel the need to speak to someone, the blue bird Kwami would be a fitting companion.

She started looking through work but her mind kept wandering to one thought

So long as Emilie could be brought back, he could never love me. I could never replace her.

She coughed.

“Not that it matters, I am on borrowed time as it is.” She commented to herself.

She stopped herself as she let her own comment sink in.

She was on borrowed time.

With how she was now, how much time did she have, a few months? A year? Maybe a decade if she really tried to take care of herself. But it wasn't like she was sick with a normal illness. But would Gabriel be able to get the miraculous? Even with everything they had, Ladybug and Chat noir always seemed to best them at every turn. At the rate things were going, she would likely end up in a glass coffin as well, and if Gabriel fails...

In that moment of worry. An idea that could fix everything slipped into her brain.

It was a long shot sure, there was a possibility that everything will backfire. But she needed to do it.

She exited out of her work and went into the security feed using her tablet. She disabled the secret camera hidden in the lair below.

She started making a few preparations.

_______________________________________________________________________

Gabriel awoke to his phone’s sudden vibrating.

He quickly shook himself and looked at his phone.

“The alarm was tripped. Someone damaged Emilie’s chamber!”

The fashion mogul rushed out of the room. His thoughts were firing through his brain a mile a minute.

Who found the lair? Was it one of the heroes? A spy? Who would dare desecrate my beloved wife’s container?

The fashion mogul made his way to the secret elevator.

A purple Kwami emerged from the pocket of the rushing fashion designer.

“Is something wrong master?”

“It appears there is an intruder in the secret sanctum.”

“What are you planning to do?”

“Im going to show them the error of their ways. Nooru, Dark wings rise.”

Gabriel transformed into the villainous hawkmoth, His face covered by a silver mask, and is candy cane color scheme replaced with a purple suit. 

He was armed and ready to fight should. 

As the elevator reaches the bottom. Hawkmoth dashes out as soon as it opens.

He would strike quick, and take care of the intruder before they realized who they were facing.

As he approached, he stopped dead in his tracks. As he noticed someone standing infront of the Glass container.

“Hello?” The figure called out. Her voice having a familiar tone that caught the butterfly villain off guard.

As his rage diminished, he felt his vision clear and noticed the shattered glass on the floor, along with the glass container that was now broken.

“It... It can't be...” Hawkmoth’s words escaped as he realized who was standing in front of him.

“Can you tell me where I am? I woke up in this... thing over hear. Im not entirely sure what’s going on.”

“Emilie... is that you?” Hawkmoth questioned, unsure if this was a dream, or if by some miracle the love of his life was indeed back from the abyss.

“How do you know my name Mr. Masked man?”

“Nooru, dark wings fall.”

The blond woman watched as the costumed stranger revealed himself.

“Gabriel? Is that you?”

A tear spilled from his eyes as he rushed to her. 

“You're here. How is... How is this possible?”

“I... I dont...” She started to stumble as she walked towards him. Her vision was starting to fade and the world was spinning.  

Gabriel quickly moved to catch her as she suddenly fell.

He felt his heart panic, but he could hear her breathing. She was simply sleeping.

“Perhaps it would be best to take her out of her.”

Gabriel walked to the elevator, his wife in his arms, asleep yet very alive. 

His mind had 1000 questions, but in this moment, he didn't care. He was holding the woman he loved in his arms again, and thats all that mattered.

___________________________________________________________________

“Gabriel!” She cried out as she woke up.

Sunlight was beaming from the window, it was clear it had been bright out for sometime.

She felt sheets underneath her. What she expected was a hard floor in a weird sanctum but now she felt the comfort of a room that felt familiar.

She heard the door open and looked to see her husband carrying a tray.

“Oh good, you're awake.” He spoke with soft relief.

She looked at the tray.

“Are those.”

“Lemon tea cookies. Your favorite.”

She smiled at him as he brought the tray to her bedside. Allowing her to snag a bite of one of them.

“So good!” She said as she finished her first cookie. “I feel like I haven't eaten in years!”

Gabriel’s expression faltered. She could see the pained expression as she said that.

“Gabriel... how long was I gone?” Her question verbally stabbed him.

He took a moment to process the curious expression on his wife’s face as she continued eating the tray of treats.

He looked down at his hands.

“A year and 6 months.”

She gulped down her cookie hard at the revelation.

“Wow... I've been gone for so long... Adrien must be taller then... ADRIEN!”

Emilie grabbed her husband by the collar.

“Where is Adrien?!”

“He’s at school” Gabriel answered.

Emilie blinked.

“School? You mean he is no longer being homeschooled?”

“He still has some lessons, but he was insistent on trying to go to school like other children his age. It was more ideal for him to go out than for him to be stuck here most hours of the day.”

Emilie processed that information.

“I see, I am surprised you said yes. You always said you hated public schooling.”

“I still believe the school systems are... inferior, but Adrien’s grades haven't faltered according to Nathalie. So I don't bother intervening.”

“My boy has grown up so much since Ive been gone. Wait, is he dating yet? Please tell me I didn’t miss his first crush!”

“Emilie, I am sure that you didnt miss anything. You and Adrien can catch up once you are rested and he is back from school.”

Emilie took a deep breathe.

“Okay, You're right. It will be nice to hear everything from him.”

She looked around the room a bit and noticed the vase full of roses.

“Oh, fresh roses. Gabe-y you cheesy romantic.”

Gabriel felt his cheeks go pink.

“It was... the room needed some color in it.”

“Much like those red pants you insist on wearing.”

“They are fashionable.”

“If you were in charge of candyland perhaps.”

Emilie loved to tease him about is fashion calls.

“Who is the fashion designer here?” He said with a mock stern tone.

“Speaking of fashion, that costume that you were wearing. That didn’t look like the peacock miraculous.”

Gabriel’s tone shifted to genuinely serious. He figured the time would come to answer that question.

“It is the butterfly miraculous. After your...departure. Nathalie and I investigated the temple where you and I had found the peacock miraculous. We discovered a new miraculous, one that wasn't damaged.”

Gabriel felt a twinge mentioning Nathalie. When he had rushed to bring Emilie up here, he felt guilt and relief that his assistant wasn't in the bed. He would have quite a difficult time explaining that one, even if nothing happened.

“So with that miraculous you were trying to find a way to bring me back.”

“It was a means to an end.”

Emilie processed the information she was told.

“Gabriel, I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“No more miraculous. None.”

Gabriel blinked.

“But...”

“Those jewels are nothing but trouble. It has only caused our family suffering and pain.”

Gabriel was surprised by the claim, but he knew she was correct. The miraculous have been quite the curse on the family, despite the powers they gave.

“It will take time for me to stop using it outright, there is a... situation with how I’ve been using it. Your sudden appearance and the disappearance of Hawkmoth might be suspicious.”

Emilie looked at Gabriel intensely.

“Hawkmoth? Gabriel what did you do?”

“Well... in order to try an bring you back, the butterfly miraculous wasn't going to be able to accomplish that goal. So the only way I could bring you back with certainty was to attain the ladybug and Cat miraculous.”

The former actress listened as her husband explained how he became a super villain for the sake of getting the jewels.

“Unbelievable.”

“I admit, explaining it makes it sound a lot worse than it actually is. I planned to fix any damage caused once I got the jewels”

“And what if people found out your identity!? You would have been thrown in prison and left our son an Orphan!” Emilie pointed her finger in his chest.

“It was the only way I could think of to attain the miraculous. How else would I have been able to confirm the miraculous were in Paris?”

Emilie was ready to let him have it. But she felt herself calm down. She had to admit, in a weird way, it was quite romantic. Something out of a tragic romance novel.

“I should be angrier with you, but I know if the situation was reversed and I had a way of bringing you back, I would have likely tried the same thing, albeit in a smarter way.”

Gabriel felt a bit of relief seeing his wife not so cross with him.

“So we figure out how to orchestrate your ‘Defeat’ and then we say good bye to the miraculous for good.”

“We will plan it out when you are completely better. Though this does raise the question. How are you back?”

Emilie pauses, she tries to think back.

Protect the Agreste family... no matter what.

She heard that phrase echoing in her head. But she couldn't figure out why. Who said that to her. Why is everything so fuzzy?

“I don't know... I remember hearing glass shatter, and a flash of blue. But the next thing I remember was... seeing you.

Gabriel looks at her, he could tell from her eyes she was telling the truth.

“I will look into that later. In the meantime, you should rest. I will check on you in a few hours.”

He moves the empty tray from the bed.

“Wait.”

Gabriel stopped.

“Get Adrien here. I want to see him now.”

“Dear, he is in school. It will dismiss in a few hours. Besides you should rest.”

Emilie got up from the bed.

“Nonsense. Ive been resting long enough. I am sure Adrien can miss a few hours of school. I want to see my baby boy.”

Gabriel wanted to find some way to dismiss her request, but he knew he couldn't say no to her. She was far to headstrong and determined... and man did he miss her.

“Okay, I will have his driver go an pick him up.”

“You aren't going to pick him up yourself?”

“Emilie I have work to do. Besides that is why we have...”

“You can take some time off to bond with your son. Seriously, you need to stop putting up walls Gabe-y.”

Gabriel took a calming breath to compose himself.

“Very well. But do use this time to rest.”

She moves to kiss her husband.

“I promise.”

Gabriel’s expression turned into a soft smile.

“I will be back with our son shortly.”

Gabriel left the room to go pick up Adrien.

Emilie smiled as she moved to vase of roses. She picked on up and sniffed it.

The rose in her hand began wilting and shriveled up.

She looked in the mirror.

“Everything went perfectly.”

______________________________________________________________________

End of part one

(Should I continue? Let me know your thoughts)

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part I

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.9k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

A deafening blast jolted me out of my slumber. I snapped upright.

As a member of law enforcement, I was painfully familiar with the sound of a gunshot, and that was exactly what I’d just heard.

I strained my ears with bated breath, trying to hear over my own thundering heartbeat.

Loud, frantic footsteps raced down creaky, wooden stairs. Then a terrified scream filled the halls of my childhood home.

I tore away the sheets and rushed to where the scream seemed to have come from. When I reached the parlour was when I stumbled upon the scene. There, right at the foot of my mother’s memorial, was my godmother’s cold, lifeless corpse. Kneeling beside her was her granddaughter, Paya, weeping into her open palms in shock.

Only a minute or two had passed since I’d awoken at the sound of gunfire. “Wait here,” I ordered, then made a break for the front entrance, the nearest and most instinctual escape route.

But when I threw the doors open, there wasn’t a soul to be found.

I returned to the parlour with my tail between my legs. Then my toe hit something heavy and metallic that clacked underfoot. When I looked down and saw what it was, I froze. With caution, I ever so slowly stepped away from the weapon.

“Great...” I muttered, seeing as now it would have my toe prints on it. But the longer I looked at it, I realized I’d seen this revolver somewhere before.

Then it hit me. It hit me like a two-ton train car.

I quickly made sure Paya’s head was turned. Then with terribly trembling hands, I did what I had to do and carefully tucked it away in my nightgown.

I’d feared the precinct wouldn’t allow me to participate in the investigation seeing as I’d been on the scene at the time of the crime. However, it seemed they trusted me enough to even appoint me as the lead investigator. Granted, I had done a lot to earn their trust over the past three years, but this was unheard of.

Nevertheless, I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. The next morning, at seven o’clock sharp, I returned to the scene of the crime equipped with all the necessary tools of my trade.

I looked out the window of the cramped police buggy at our destination in utter astoundment. There were already droves of officers there, awaiting the arrival of me and my partner. The sight of the place I’d once called home being chained off and hidden from the public like this was jarring, to say the least. Of all the strange crime scenes I’d seen, this was the strangest. I never could’ve imagined I’d be returning here, not to eat Auntie Impa’s delicious pork buns or to hear Auntie Purah talk about her latest technological endeavours, but for work. How could I have?

“Zelda! Good—good morning!” greeted a rather skittish Paya when she opened the door for us.

“Good morning, Paya.”

She nearly lost her smile when she noticed Constable Fyori standing beside me. “Please, come in.” She stepped aside, and he and I entered into the low-ceilinged yet stately vestibule, removing our shoes and leaving them by the door. “Can I get either of you anything? Some tea, maybe?”

My assistant opened his mouth, but I raised a hand, silencing him. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. We have important business to take care of.”

“Oh, yes, of course! Silly me,” she chortled. “I’ll let you get to it, then.”

The first order of business was to examine the body. In most cases, a specialist would be needed to perform an autopsy, but unlike most inspectors, I had the forensic knowhow to take care of it myself. One might have said this was a side effect of my hobbies and my avid interest in all things related to science that I’d harboured since grade school. However, a full autopsy complete with the weighing of the body and the removal of the organs would come later. For now, it would suffice to determine two simple things: the time of death and the cause of death.

But before I could even get close to the body, I was stopped by my assistant, who grabbed me gently by the arm.

“You don’t have to do this,” he uttered in his typical, mousy tone. “I can call for someone else to come and take care of it for you.”

The look of real and profound concern seated deep in his aquamarine eyes pulled at my heartstrings. It had been a year, roughly, since he’d first begun working under me. He was always so worried for me, and I always felt terrible because of it. I unhooked his hand from my arm, putting on a warm smile. “I’ll be okay, Link.”

He looked at me as if to ask, “Are you sure?”

“Really, it’s fine. Don’t worry,” I insisted. “Thank you, though.” This finally got him to return my smile, albeit only briefly.

I already had a decent estimate of the time of death. The period we were looking at was between half ten at night, when the last person awake (which had just so happened to be me) had gone to bed, and three in the morning, when the gunshot had given me that rude awakening. Really I should have examined the body as soon as I’d discovered it. In most other cases I worked on, I even wished I’d been the first on the scene, before the stiff had yet to even go stiff. Of course, the one time I happened to be one of the first to discover a murder, it had to be like this.

And yet, until I knew who was responsible for this atrocity, grieving could wait.

Right off the bat, I could tell that this had been a homicide. This may have seemed obvious to someone like Paya, but as a detective, I’d had to forcefully train myself to assume nothing and question everything. Based on the characteristics of the hole running straight through her neck, however, I determined that the gun had been shot from too far a distance for it to have been suicidal. Auntie Impa’s arms simply weren’t long enough.

But for a death caused by hemorrhage from a severed jugular vein, there was a shockingly small amount of blood. The rush-woven mat beneath her was nearly spotless, and I knew from experience how difficult it was to get stains out of these mats. Even when I checked underneath the mat, there was still nothing. No blood, and no bullet.

With a final nod, I stood up and signalled the other officers to take the body away.

“Now, let’s see here...” I said to myself, scanning the area immediately surrounding the corpse before approaching my mother’s altar. But when I laid eyes on the damage it had sustained, I stumbled back.

Though she hadn’t been a follower of the same faith held by the Sheikahs, my mother’s memory had been enshrined here because, like myself, they’d been like a second family to her.

With all due caution, I picked up what remained of her photograph. The glass was shattered, and a bullet had completely erased her face.

If this wasn’t a sign of the Yiga organization, I didn’t have a clue what was. Who else would’ve borne such ill will toward Hilda Hyrule, the town’s beloved last mayor who’d been dead ever since the tragic “accident” at City Hall eighteen years prior? That massacre had been what had ushered in their age of power, and with no one left to stand in their way, they’d been terrorizing the city ever since.

Before I’d even had the chance to begin my analysis, I heard Paya’s timid footsteps shuffling up to me. “Zelda?” she whispered, obnoxiously tapping her finger on my shoulder. “Excuse me...”

I turned my head and forced a grin. “What is it?”

“Umh, I didn’t know he’d be accompanying you today.” I didn’t even have to follow her gaze to know who she was eyeing.

I suppressed a sigh. “Constable Fyori is my partner,” I reminded her politely. “I take him with me on all of my investigations.”

“Yes, I know, but...” Now her gaze was nervously flitting back and forth between me and Link. “I-I wasn’t prepared to see him again after so long. What if—what if he says something to me?”

“He won’t,” I huffed. “Now, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh my, I’m so sorry,” she fretted. “I’ll get out of your hair.” I gave her a nod of the head in thanks, and she kindly stepped back and out of my space. But even after that, I could still feel her intense stare from across the room. I let out the sigh I’d been holding in. Sure, Paya was irritating, and I was going on maybe four or five hours of sleep at most, but there was no excuse for me to be irrational, especially since it would get me nowhere in my line of thinking. What I wouldn’t have done for a nice, hot cup of chamomile at that moment.

Based on the extreme angle of the bullet’s trajectory, one could tell at a glance where the shooter had to have been positioned. They’d have been standing above the altar with very little space between the two—definitely not enough for an entire person. Therefore the bullet that had taken the victim’s life had to have been a different one. This was backed up by the absence of any blood around the hole or anywhere else on the shrine. So why had I only heard one gunshot that night? And where in the world was the bullet responsible for Auntie Impa’s death if not on the scene of the crime?

After photographing the hole and scribbling my thoughts and observations down in my notebook, I began the procedure of extracting the bullet from the altar. This was a delicate task, one that I admittedly had a hard time trusting anyone else in the force with. Once I’d succeeded in retrieving the bullet, I determined it was of the same calibre as the one that had passed through the victim’s throat, meaning it was likely that it had been fired from the same gun. Unfortunately, all these facts corresponded with the weapon I’d found on the scene mere hours ago, two chambers of which were empty. There may have been no prints left on the trigger, but even so, I simply didn’t have it in me to run a striation comparison.

Standing up straight and taking a quick, deep breath, I turned to my assistant, who seemed to be investigating the mantelpiece. “Right, then, Fyori.” He turned his head as I approached him. “Anything to report?”

“No, madam,” he replied solemnly, avoiding my gaze and peering straight ahead over the top of my head.

“Is that so...?” I tapped the end of my pen against my chin habitually. “We seem to have a dreadfully diligent killer on our hands.” I gave the room another once-over from where I stood beside him. “You’ve been thorough in your search as always, I presume?”

“Of course.”

“And you found nothing? Not even a fingerprint?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Then let’s move on,” I sighed, turning toward the doorway leading out into one of the building’s many corridors. He followed, just a few paces behind me. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to check since we got here.”

“That’s strange...” muttered Auntie Purah as she jumped through the footage captured by the front entrance’s security camera. “Symin, did I miss something?”

The Sheikah estate’s security supervisor shook his head. “Not that I could see.”

“Let me check it again.”

But even when she rewound and skipped through it a second time, the only person to appear was still myself on my initial search for the killer. Link gave me a furtive glance. I smiled at him in reassurance.

“Perhaps the other cameras caught something,” I suggested. “It would make sense that the culprit wouldn’t want to simply waltz right in through the front door.”

Auntie Purah looked to Symin. “Well, there are three other cameras, but two of them are so far removed from the scene that I doubt they’d be of much help.”

“And the third?” I asked, reaching for my notebook and something to write with.

“That would be the courtyard camera.”

“Ah, perfect!” The courtyard was located at the very centre of the property and served as an intersection between the four main hallways. “That one’s bound to have caught something. Let’s see.”

But this, too, would turn out fruitless. Throughout the night, there wasn’t even the shadow of a clue as to the killer’s movements.

“This...” I gaped. “This is impossible.” I knew for a fact that this particular model of camera was designed for the very purpose of protecting its footage from being altered or obstructed. Could the killer have made themselves invisible somehow?

“I don’t believe it.” Auntie Purah shook her head creakily. “Our company takes great pride in the reliability of our security cameras!”

Enraged, the tiny, old lady tried to stand up from her seat. Then a loud crack resounded throughout the cramped surveillance office. She screamed.

“Miss Purah, please calm down,” urged the kindly Symin, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she seethed, adjusting her glasses. “Thank you.” I didn’t know the man as well as I did the rest of the family as he had become a part of it a few years after I’d left the nest. However, it seemed like he would make a fine successor to Auntie Impa’s role of keeping her elder sister’s enduring impulsivity in check.

“There’s no reason to worry, Auntie. This is no fault of yours or your company’s,” I said, hoping to ease her pain a little. She’d suffered a terrible loss, and it was taking a great toll on her. It was difficult to watch such a brilliant mind come undone because of something like this. But after hearing my words, she looked up at me with a wrinkly smile. “My partner and I will just have to do an even more thorough inspection of the property tomorrow.”

The ride back to the precinct wasn’t a pleasant one. By the end of the day, my own mind had deteriorated into a swirling whirlpool of confusion, resentment, and woe. The investigation so far had borne so little results, it was hard to imagine that tomorrow’s search would be that much more successful. Of course there was still so much more that needed to be looked into, but right now, I just couldn’t see this turning out well. I still hadn’t solved the mystery behind my mother’s death in eighteen long years. Why, in this case, would I prove to be any less of a failure?

I curled my fists against my legs, trying my hardest to forget about the empty feeling in my stomach. Despite this, I knew I didn’t have the energy to do much more rational thinking today, if any at all.

Then my colleague broke the silence. “She was important to you, wasn’t she?” he asked, but such a personal question was strangely out of character for him.

“Yes.” I smiled sorrowfully into my lap. “I never really thought of her as a mother figure,” I admitted, “but she did put a lot of time and effort into raising me, in my actual mother’s stead.”

“She must’ve been a wonderful person.”

This made me laugh, to both his and my surprise. “Well, she would often scold me and Paya with the strictest attitude you can imagine, but I suppose she always had our best interests at heart.”

The longer I thought about Auntie Impa, the more I mulled over who could possibly have wanted her dead. She had already been getting on in age. Had the perpetrator’s need to kill her really been that dire? The only time people ever went that far was when their victim’s life would’ve put them in danger somehow if they’d have allowed them to go on living. But then again, there was the Yiga organization. They went around committing murders a couple times every week for seemingly no reason other than to flaunt their power. Perhaps Auntie Impa really had been just another one of their prey. Even so, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that there was more to it than that.

“Don’t you think it’s strange?”

The constable cocked his head, but kept his eyes on the road.

But then I stopped myself. There was still no proof of the Yiga’s involvement, so there was no point in bringing it up now. “Well, all of it is quite strange, frankly,” I amended. “The lack of blood, the missing bullet...”

“Could the killer have moved the body from somewhere else, perhaps?” he tentatively suggested.

“Very good, Link. That’s exactly what I’ve been theorizing.” The tips of his ears flushed, and he seemed to shrink back into his seat a little. “Oh, but then...wouldn’t that make it more likely for the cameras to have caught something?”

“That is true,” he concurred. “And there’s still been no sign of the murder weapon?”

I swallowed hard. “No...” My eyes flickered down toward my briefcase. “None.”

[clonecaptains]

PAPERCLIPS | a Javi Peña x reader fic

rating: T for dramatic elements; will change to M in future parts

summary: You think your crush on Javi goes unnoticed - until Steve and Connie take matters into their own hands. 

a/n: ive had this story idea in my head for months and im so glad it’s finally out of my head and actually WRITTEN!! there will be a part two for sure, and others if i feel inspired!!

Paperclips

Being Javier Peña’s neighbor isn’t the worst thing to happen to you. Being a secretary at the DEA office is. Seeing Agent Javier Fucking Peña every day of the week is slowing killing you. His cute little ass in those tight ass jeans. He knows what he’s doing, and you hate him for it. The suits are just as bad. Displaying his broad shoulders, showing off his sharp jaw. You want nothing more than to yank him to your level by one of his ties and kiss him harshly. Yeah. You hate him.

But you won’t do anything about this hopeless crush. You haven’t done anything for weeks.

Your desk sits up higher, you look down at the boys from your perch. Javi’s desk faces away from you, which allows you to stare at the back of his head (and ass) all day. Every once and a while you get lucky and see his face when he leaves his desk to go out in the field, or when he comes into work in the mornings. He’ll turn and offer a nod or a simple wave good morning.

You are friendly acquaintances. You’ve spoken on occasion at the dreaded office parties. The only reason you ever have gone to those are the free food and the small chance to see him.

Your staring at the back of his head is the most you do lately, your crush too strong to get up the nerve to ask him for coffee. Luckily, he can’t see you pine away for him.

But unbeknownst to you, there’s a watchful pair of eyes that have seen your longing gazes at the back of Javi’s head.

One Steve Murphy.

He’s seen every glance. Every flustered look cross your face. He doesn’t want to pry, not at first. But then he remembers how his buddies set him up with Connie. And hell, Javi could use someone nice like you in his life. Someone less dangerous to get involved with than communist informants.

Steve’s told Connie every detail, it’s much more entertaining to discuss then the heavy topic of death and drug lords. Connie’s only concern is the office romance drama, but she’s your friend. And she wants the same thing for you – Javi is a good man. And being neighbors with you, she’s also seen the looks you’ve given as Javi walks down the hallway.

They are planning more on how to get you with Javi than you are.

So far, your plan is hoping he’ll need a paperclip and will come ask you for one. And then suddenly ask you to coffee and then take you back to his place and-

Oh shit.

Javi’s wearing a blue shirt today, your favorite. And you might have let your eyes linger a little too long. And you’ve just made eye contact with Steve. He quirks a brow at you, and a small smirk appears on his lips. His piercing gaze just past Javi makes his partner curious, and the object of your affections turns his head in your direction.

When Javi’s eyes meet yours, you quickly avert your gaze. Trying to busy yourself with something important. Which consists mainly of organizing your already organized desk.

Javi is none the wiser, he shrugs and goes back to work. But Steve, he saw all that he needed to see.

You spend the rest of the day with your head down. You’ve had enough embarrassment for one day. It pains you that you’re missing out on the blue shirt though.

Normally after work you come up with some excuse to try and say hi and bye to Javi on his way out. He almost never goes straight to his apartment after office hours because he’s typically working out in streets. It’s your small chance to get some form of interaction with him.

Tonight though, you get out of there as soon as possible. It kills you to leave, you can hear Javi and Steve laughing at their desks. You want to turn around and see that smile you dream of.

So instead, you get out and head home.

You look forward to a quiet evening. You need a distraction. Something, anything to keep your mind off of him. Which only seems to make you think about him even more.

It’s getting later and the wine in your system has you feeling warm. There’s a warm buzzed feeling that spreads over your body and settles between your legs.

Maybe the wine wasn’t such a good idea. And you’re being ridiculous. So, Steve saw you looking at Javi. Is that a crime? Javi is handsome. Most women in the office notice him, even the married ones get a little smile on their face when he walks by.

It’s more than that. Having your crush discovered isn’t the end of the world.

Maybe you know that if Javi was interested he would have done something by now. Maybe you know that if Steve tells Javi about your crush that something will happen. Or that something won’t.

You want to get over this crush, but all you can think about is the arousal between your legs. You’ve seen him bring women home, but it’s been some time. That’s given you a false hope you think. Regardless, you know he’s a good lover. Thin walls.

You ache.

Those nights when he’s brought a woman home have been awful. You don’t listen on purpose, and more often than not you wish you couldn’t hear. Couldn’t hear women scream out his name, wishing it were you crying out his name into the dark.

On top of all that, you know that most times when he brings someone home, it’s been a bad day for him. He brings a prostitute home to ease his sorrows with the high of a release. You want to be there for him not just sexually, but emotionally. Living next to him isn’t the worst thing, but not being able to help him when you’ve seen the weight he carries is.

You’ll see him at work the next morning and try not to pretend you didn’t hear the headboard thwacking and how much you wish it were you.

Yeah. That wine wasn’t a good idea.

You’ve created a fantasy which you entertain, maybe it’s wrong but right now the wine is talking. Your fingers tease yourself and you’re close to the edge when you hear a rapid knock on the door.

Feeling flushed and disoriented, you quickly tug your pants back on and hurry to open your door.

You’re met with the sight of a woman, obviously drunk.

“Is Javi here?” she laughs twirling her hair with her fingers. You feel sick.

“You have the wrong apartment,” you tell her and point to Javi’s front door across the hall.

Disrupted by the noise, Javi’s door opens. His eyes widen in slight shock at seeing the two of you talking. He pushes his door open, and this other woman walks past him into his place. His eyes flick up to you in a silent apology and he closes the door behind him with a click.

The silence in the hallway is deafening. You stand in your doorway in disbelief. You can hear muffled voices across the hall, and you slam your door behind you in anger. You wince at the slam, then you sink down to the floor. Tears fall from your eyes, who were you kidding?

You get no sleep that night, and every sound that drifts over from his apartment to yours fills you with dread. You’ve heard nothing sexual in nature, but that doesn’t make you feel any better.

You don’t even want to go to work. You don’t want to see him. You’re mad at him, even though you’re actually mad at yourself.

Most of the day goes by before you really get a chance to see him. And for that you are grateful.

You smell his cologne before you see him, and his tall frame hovers by your desk. His voice comes out gentle and raspy.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he starts. A small part of you hopes he’ll apologize for what it looked like, apologize for hurting you. “I’m sorry she disrupted your night.”

Oh.

“Thanks,” is your weak reply. You can’t even bear to look up at him. Shit, he smells really good too. He almost never comes up to your desk. And now that he’s here, you just want him to go away.

“Javi, I-“ you manage to look up at him. And you don’t have a clue what you’re gonna say. His eyebrows raise as he’s ready to listen to what you have to say.

“Great!” You hear Steve’s voice cut through. “I’m glad I got you both together!” he claps his hand on Javi’s shoulder. “Connie and I are having a little get together tonight, and we want you both to come! Be there at 7!” he squeezes Javi’s shoulder and gives you a nod and leave before you can tell him no.

Javi shakes his head but gives you a soft smile. “Connie’s cooking isn’t that bad,” he jokes getting a laugh from you. Even though you curse yourself for laughing, you’re still mad. But when you see him smile at your laugh, you’re not….completely mad.

You spend the rest of the day and afternoon panicking about what to wear. Who else was going to be at this “get together”?

You can only assume it’s a casual thing, but still. Knowing Javi will be there has your insides churning.

You arrive early to help Connie, and to compose yourself. You’re helping her to set the table when Javi walks in. He gives a polite nod, and Steve is quick to greet him with a beer.

You flush, and Connie sees you actively trying to avoid any looks. She gives you a gentle nudge with her elbow, getting you to look up at her.

“It’s alright,” she whispers. “He’s into you.” She looks over at the boys in the small living area. Javi’s shrugged his jacket and is sitting with Steve, one of them laughs at a joke.

You nod your head ‘no.’

“He isn’t,” you tell her with a small shrug. “Is this all that’s coming?” you ask trying to change the subject. It dawns on you then that this is a setup, a double date. You start to panic.

“Hey,” Connie’s words are soft but firm, “it’s just dinner.”

She’s right, and you know she is. But you’re not sure if you can handle looking at him. All you can think about is the woman who came knocking on your door last night and him taking her in. What else would she have been there for other than to get a little taste of Javier Peña?

It’s hard to avoid those big brown eyes when he’s sitting directly across from you at the table. The conversation is light and humorous. But the way Javi is looking at you, it’s as if he knows something. Like he can read your mind.

“Dessert?” Connie’s cheery voice tears you from your thoughts.

“I’ll help,” you tell her. You need air, you feel like you’re suffocating under his glances.

“I’d say it’s going well!” she giggles once the two of you are out of earshot in the kitchen.

“How can you even tell?” you groan. “He’s not into me Connie.”

“I don’t know, he’s been making eyes at you across the table.”

“Connie,” you hiss. “He is not into me. He brought home some woman last night. Why the hell would he be into me?”

“How do you know-“

“I know. I know!” you hiss sharply trying to keep your voice down. “He brings those women home for a fuck, I know I’ve heard! And I will NEVER be one of those women.”

And not that you want to necessarily be one of them, that he fucks only – but-

“He doesn’t want me.”

“Who said that?” Javi’s voice has you turn in the little kitchen. You almost drop the plate in your hands. Connie and Steve exchange a look. Your eyes are fixed on Javi. You wish the earth would swallow you whole.

Embarrassed and upset, tears start to well up in your eyes.

“C’mon,” Javi offers you his hand. Your arms are crossed tight against your chest, but at the softness of his voice you relax and take his hand. He guides you out of the apartment, and you turn to Connie – she gives you a smile and a nod saying, “it’s ok.”

So, you follow Javi. He guides you down the hall to his apartment. He pats his pocket but doesn’t feel his keys.

“Shit,” he laughs, “they’re in my jacket pocket-“

“We can go in mine,” you reply pulling out your keys and open your apartment door.

You’re not entirely sure what is happening, but you open the door and he follows behind.

“I didn’t bring her home for sex,” Javi tells you the moment the door closes behind him. “She’s an informant, she only pretended to be drunk so no one would be suspicious. Her idea, not mine.”

“So, you know?” your voice hesitant.

“Know what?” he leans against your kitchen counter. Your arms have crossed against your chest again.

“Know how I feel?” your face heats up.

“Yeah,” he chuckles softly. “I could feel your eyes burning the back of my head, and my ass,” he says out of the corner of his mouth. He gives a gentle wink, his eyes bright and eyebrows lifted.

You bury your face in your hands, “was I that obvious?”

“Honestly, I thought you were checking out Steve at first,” he laughs. Your laugh joins his, and you feel more relaxed. “The only reason I never said anything was-“ he nibbles on his lower lip trying to think of what he wants to say. “I thought you wouldn’t want me.”

“What?” you gasp. “How could you think that?”

“My life is fucked up baby, why would you want in the mess?” He takes a step closer.

“All I wanted was to be there for you,” you admit, fiddling with the hem of your jacket.

“That’s all you wanted?” he takes another step closer. You can feel the heat of him. You look up at his face, he’s standing so close. His brow is raised. “That’s all you wanted?” he repeats in a whisper.

“Javi,” you whisper and melt into him as he closes the gap between you with his lips. His mustache tickles your upper lip in the way you hoped it would.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your lips and kisses the corner of your mouth.

“You don’t have to explain,” you cling to his shirt. You start to laugh and press your forehead against his solid warm chest.

“What’s so funny?” he laughs.

“This isn’t how I thought this would happen.”

“Oh?” he raises that eyebrow again.

“I thought-“

“What?” he kisses your forehead and cheeks.

“I just thought you’d come up to my desk and ask me for a paperclip or something and then ask me for coffee.”

“Baby, I will ask you for a fucking paperclip if that’s what you want.”

You snort out a laugh and he squeezes you tight. He kisses you again, and you feel dizzy.

“I don’t do this. Ever,” you flush.

“It’s ok,” he whispers kissing you again, “all I came over for was a paperclip.”

//

MASTERLIST

[jemej3m]

hi i love love love your writing! sorry if people have been asking this but ive been looking for a part three of your lawyer!andrew and neil is on trial for killing his father and I wasnt sure if I missed it or if you haven’t continued it. Just wondering thank you ❤️

well GUEsS WHAT MY FRIEND 

its here!!!

(p1 / p2)

*

Andrew didn’t like to drag things out, but the prosecution did. They always did. It was their only joy in life, especially in appeals: tease every possible fraying strand of a case till they were three weeks into the trial and the jury was dead on their feet. 

And yet, here he was, on the second day of his closing. He’d never made it to a second day: once he’d finished a closing in five minutes. 

Neil had grown progressively more antsy over the three weeks, desperate for a resolution. Every time he was scanned into court, Andrew took his favourite key and slipped it into his pocket. Every time he left to be escorted back to his temporary holding cell in Baltimore’s central policing station, he gave it back for safekeeping. Andrew would hold it, the metal still warm to the touch, the teeth of the key worn with how many times Neil would run the tips of his fingers over it. 

Professionalism, Betsy had warned him. 

But damn it all to hell: Andrew was gone. 

“Mr Minyard, if you would continue where we left off last night?” the judge drawled. Andrew could read people better than books: it wasn’t looking good. This was his last chance.

He stood up, shoved down the strange anger that had simmered beneath his skin every time the prosecution slid their pompous gazes over him, and closed his laptop. His briefcase. Put away his notes and hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his slacks. 

“Your honour,” he said, with as much grace as his perpetually bored tone allowed. “This case is beyond that of my client. That much we can all agree upon.”

He waited for an answer. 

The judge cocked her head. “Yes, Minyard.” 

“It is a gruesome story of a luckless, loveless marriage, made for the sakes of alliances and blood money. Mary Wesninski paid that price with her life, when her husband took his favourite weapon - a cleaver - to her throat. My client was 17 when that happened. He was a minor. A child.” 

He turned to the jury. “Over and over, I have rebutted the prosecution’s solitary and feeble argument that my client is Nathan Wesninski’s son. The very Nathan Wesninski who earned his name, the Butcher, through bloody campaigns and fearmongering. That Nathaniel Wesninski was destined to follow his father’s path and continue his legacy.” 

“If it weren’t for his mother, perhaps he would have,” Andrew said, rocking back on his heels. “Without intervention, there’s no doubt that Nathaniel Wesninski would have been a carbon copy of his predecessor, and just as bloodthirsty. But that man -” he pointed at Neil. “That man is not Nathaniel Wesninski. Not in the way his father wanted him to be.”

“We’ve seen the pictures of my client’s torso. The bullet wounds and gruesome knifings that he earned whilst clawing desperately to free himself from his father’s iron grasp. Worse still: we’ve seen the proof of a tormented childhood, skin torn off by a hot iron, stitches from misplaced butter knives at the dinner table when Junior, seven years old, didn’t sit still enough. A crooked nose, broken three times before he managed to escape.”

He looked to the one woman who he knew would recognise this pain, this trauma. 

“You should have no doubt in your minds that this man here, my client,” Andrew said, voice lowered down. “This man was simply fighting for his life. He was running from his worst nightmare, clawing desperately for freedom when all he’d known was pain, chains and despair. He fought against what his father wished for him, every step of the way. In self-defence, he rid the world a serial killer. A rapist. A man who had committed every atrocity known to humankind. If anything, we should be thanking him.”

The room had gone deathly quiet. 

“Ask yourselves,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Is purging the world of a monster that monstrous of a thing to do?”

He turned back to the judge. 

“My client has served his time. He’s done twice as long as he should have for manslaughter, which is the true nature of this crime. Repeatedly, my client has expressed his willingness to comply with parole measures and prove himself a functioning member of our society. If you have any humanity left within you,” 

He looked over his shoulder at Neil. The man held his gaze, blue eyes so intense that Andrew nearly lost his train of thought. 

“Any humanity at all,” he continued. The judge looked down at him, face blank. “You would grant his mother her dying wish, and finally let this injustice rest.” 

He returned to his desk. “That’s all, your honour.” 

It took her a few moments to clear her throat and call: “Court adjourned.”

Two policemen came and cuffed Neil’s hands behind his back. Andrew had done everything he could: it was out of his hands now. He mightn’t ever see Neil again, if by the afternoon the jury had decided Neil’s pleas were worthless and had him sent him right back to maximum security. 

“Thank you,” the man said, just before he was turned away. “You were amazing.” 

Andrew remained very still until the courtroom was empty. 

Now all he could do was wait.

*

“The ‘dying wish’ thing was intense,” Matt commented around a mouthful of falafel. Dan flicked a crumb off his tie, looking at him with an irritated fondness. Both of them -  Wymack too - had sat in for both days of his closing. Dan because she pretended she had any sense of authority over Andrew, Wymack because he was Andrew’s boss, and Matt because he was fatally friendly and had never missed a closing of any of his coworkers, even Andrew. 

“The whole thing was intense,” Dan grumbled. 

“I bet the sexual tension was off the charts,” Allison called out, kicked up her feet onto her desk as she ignored Renee’s unsubtle shushing. 

Andrew ignored them all. 

“We’re just waiting for the verdict?”

“We’ll be called in when the jury’s ready.” 

“It’s been two days. They’ve dragged this on long enough.” 

The phone on his desk started ringing. He shoved it against his ear and said “What.”

“Mr Minyard? This is Amy Johnston from the Post, I was just wondering if you wanted to comment on the outcome of your most recent case -”

He slammed the phone back down onto the receiver, jolting his coworkers out of their idle chatter. He was going to kill Nicky for letting the press through. His cousin was useless, and the press were even worse: there was no outcome. The jury had been silent for 2 days, and at this rate, it’d probably go into three. 

Wymack texted him. I know you’re still at the office. Go home. 

 Andrew didn’t need to be told twice. 

He careened his ludicrously expensive car into the driveway of his small home. Being a lawyer did have its perks, even if his fellows were curious busybodies and he got attached to impossible cases. He’d crack a better whisky tonight and herald in the news of him impending failure half drunk. 

He was never taking a case like this again. Of course, there was no case quite like Nathaniel Wesninski’s, but the point still remained.  

He unlocked his front door, stepped inside, and immediately stilled. 

The heater was on. 

His briefcase, blazer and tie came off, thrown haphazardly in the general direction of Andrew’s study. When he entered his kitchen, he skidded to a stop. 

“Hi,” Neil said, skin far more bronze without the gaudy orange jumpsuit. Andrew just stared. The man ducked his head down, lacing his fingers behind his back. “I - uh, I got Wymack to call you in sick for the verdict. Wanted to surprise you.” 

“You knew,” Andrew said. “You knew the outcome?”

“Of course,” Neil snorted. “Had to do something with the bloodmoney. Don’t worry, it was only two of them. The rest you had hooked.”

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Andrew said flatly. Neil’s grin flashed, but he was clearly way out of his depth here. Free and nervous about it. Here, because he thought that Andrew would be the only one that cared. 

And he did. For the first time, he did. 

The man gestured at his ankle. “18 months parole. It’s a bit heavy but I’ll get used to it with time, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck, curls bouncing. “Gotta find somewhere to live, I suppose. Figure out how normal life works. I’m applying for a name change: the first random name generator on Google gave me Josten, so that’s probably what I’ll go with.”

“You’re a disaster,” Andrew managed, fighting every urge not to reach out and comb his fingers through the man’s hair. 

“What else is new?” Neil joked. 

“You said you’d go to law school.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You’re holding me to that?” 

Andrew shrugged. “It’s your life.”

“I suppose you’ll regret taking me on when I end up stealing your cases,” Neil teased, leaning a little closer. 

Andrew reached up and tugged on Neil’s collar. “I don’t believe in regret. But I sure as hell will give you the challenge.”

Neil’s lips quirked up at the side, warping his scars and making Andrew’s chest ache.

“Stay,” Andrew said, softer than he intended. 

And, now that he could choose to, Neil Josten, freshly minted and definitely real, whispered: “Okay.”

*

wow only months later did i finally figure out what i wanted from this 

srry its so short!!

[writesowhatnext]

easier done than said // poe dameron

Summary: Poe does love you - he’s shown that, but can he tell you?

Request: non

A/N: I’ve seen this type of thing around before so I was hoping I could do something cute with it.

Reader: female

Warnings: swearing, injury, hospital

There are many different ways to say I love you without actually saying it: a kiss goodnight; an ‘I hate you’ between laughter; a heartfelt ‘stay safe’. Before Poe said it to you the first time, he’d said it four times in ways you barely understood until much, much later.

I:

The first time Poe had said it, you were sure that he’d been joking; he didn’t really trust you with BB-8, surely.

You stormed towards him, rushing to catch up as he walked towards his x-wing. He was risking his life, again, for the stupidest reason, trying to be the Resistance’s single-handed salvation. You knew that if anyone could do it, it would be Poe, but that didn’t mean you were happy to risk it.

“What the hell are you thinking, Poe?” you hissed, matching his pace. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

His expression was deadpan as you reached the ship, crossing your arms and watching him pick BB-8 up.

“I’m not gonna get myself killed.”

You raised your eyebrow, pointing at the orange and white droid.

“Oh yeah? Who’s gonna look after BB-8  after we fish his little droid body from the wreckage of your x-wing?”

With BB-8 now in place, he turned to face you, placing a gentle hand on your elbow. He stared at you, rubbing his thumb up and down. You were partially taken back but how gentle and sincere he seemed. His eyes were full of emotion, shining in the sunlight.

“First of all,” his voice was soft. “Don’t objectify him.”

You scoffed, shoving his arm off of you as his face broke into a smile. Nerf herder.

“Second, I can trust you to look after him if anything goes wrong, which it won’t.” He began to climb into the ship, shooting you a bright grin.

“Bullshit: you don’t trust anyone to take care of him.”

Poe rocked his head to the side, conceding your point with a shrug. You rolled your eyes, huffing as he continued to prepare himself for the flight.

“You better not get yourself killed today, Dameron. Or this little droid will be an orphan.”

Taking that as a sign of you surrendering, his smile widened. You rolled your eyes, beginning to walk away from him to go monitor the mission with the General. At least there you could keep an eye on him.

“I do trust you!” he yelled from behind you, enjoying the teasing far too much. You didn’t reply, only throwing your hand behind you to send him an obscene hand gesture. You couldn’t help but smile at the loud laughter that followed.

II:

The second time Poe said it had been in thanks to one of the kindest gestures you had ever performed. It was only because of that, you told yourself, that he’d said anything at all.

The night before had been a rough one; you and Poe had spent the night going through battle procedures and ship renovation plans to try and preserve the fleet. Your discussions ran into the early hours of the morning and the next day, he had an early meeting with the General, one you knew he wouldn’t make if you didn’t wake him up. And so, there you stood, at Poe’s door, with a freshly brewed coffee in hand; to make the whole process easier, of course. When he opened the door, he looked like death, and you couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t say anything, just send you an appreciative glance, took the coffee and retreated back into his room like some caffeine-addicted Gollum. You followed him in, smiling as he sat on his bed, smelling the coffee.

“You brought me coffee.”

“I brought you coffee.”

He stared at you for a moment before nodding.

“You know what? We should get married - I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, it’s the perfect solution.”

You raised your eyebrow, sitting down leisurely in the chair opposite him.

“I can understand why you want to marry me but I don’t see what I’m getting out of the whole deal.”

His eyes left his coffee for you for the second time that morning. This time, his gaze held absolutely no emotion, something he’d no doubt practised. After a moment, he pursed his lips and pointed at you.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Oh really?” you asked as he drank some coffee, still nodding.

“Yeah, I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that for the sanctity of our future marriage-”

“How generous of you.”

“And for the sake of our poor, unborn, future children.”

“We’re having kids now?” you asked, watching him finish off his coffee and throw the empty cup into the bin. He frowned at you.

“Of course, we are.” He jutted his hip out, resting his hand on it. “It would be a crime not to pass these genes on.”

You snorted a laugh, pushing on your knees to stand up. You looked at the clock on his wall and smirked.

“Hopefully they don’t inherit your punctuality.”

He followed your gaze, swearing under his breath. As he began to whip his shirt off, changing the clothes he’d slept in from the day before, you took your cue to leave. Before the door shut behind you, his voice made you chuckle.

“That’s why they have you, Darling.”

III:

The third time Poe said it, he hadn’t meant for you to hear it, really. He thought you were unconscious – that’s what the Chief Medical Officer had told him anyway.

“Y/N, please,” he said gently, holding your hand tightly between both of his. You couldn’t see him, but you could hear that he’d been crying; his voice was croaky and sore. “I really need you to pull through this. I really need this.”

You’d been on a mission when a First Order glider had followed you close to the base. Desperate to not give away the location of the resistance, you’d engaged in a one-on-one shooting match with the other ship. Whilst they didn’t make the surface, you certainly did.  Your ship has sustained a lot of damage and you’d crashed to the ground, only narrowly missing the Falcon. Poe had pulled you from the wreckage and all but dragged you to the infirmary.

And that’s where he’d stayed. For three days.

“You always say I’m the reckless one and then you go on this one recon mission and here you are and-“ he clenched his jaw. “Sweetheart, I just need you to wake up.”

He had dark stubble on his cheeks and heavy bags under his eyes and he knew if you could see him, you’d chew him out. But you weren’t there and that was entirely the problem.

“Can you just wake up to spite me, please?”

He lifted your hand to his lips, his other hand running over the stitches on your forehead. He hated to see the scrapes on your skin, hated that he couldn’t protect you. The General had been by a few times trying to convince Poe to get some rest, but he never would. His lack of sleep was getting to him, though.

Somewhere around the seventieth hour he spent sat next to you, he fell asleep on your bed, arms crossed and head resting on them.  He needed the sleep so badly he almost didn’t feel your hand in his unruly hair. He thought he’d imagined it at first and when he lifted his face, he thought he dreamt your open eyes and small smile. He couldn’t even speak as you pulled at one of his curls. He just watched with wide eyes as the corner of your mouth twitched and your hand dragged down his face to cup his jaw.

“Someone’s prickly.”

Tears filled Poe’s eyes as he licked at his lip, top lip folding down. His hand circled your wrist, rubbing up and down with his thumb. He nodded, tilting his head to the side.

“Well,” his voice was gravelly. “It’s a new look I’m trying.”

IV:

The fourth time, you were almost sure Poe had meant it.

“How many galaxies do you think there are out there?” he asked, staring up at the sky as you lay shoulder to shoulder.

“At least twelve.”

He nodded, enjoying the mock seriousness of your teasing.

“You think?”

“Oh yeah, I bet.”

“I bet you can’t name them.”

“I also bet I can’t name them.”

Poe snorted, nodding.

You were both lying on the damp grass of D’Qar with your shoulders touching and the back of your hands pressed together. His other hand was tucked underneath his head.

“I’m gonna go to all of them.” Poe said, seriously.

“All twelve?”

“All twelve.” He hummed. “I wanna see all of it; everything the universe has to offer.”

“You’re not gonna get lonely?”

“Who says I’ll be exploring the universe by myself?”

“Anyone that’s ever spent any time with you.”

He turned to face you then, resting the side of his head on the palm of his hand. You copied him, feeling the grass press against your cheek. Your noses were centimetres apart.

“I’m hurt.”

“Aw, did that hurt your feelings?”

“I’m deeply, deeply hurt. Everyone loves spending time with me. You’re just jealous.”

“Only because you’re so modest.” He exhaled out of his nose and turned back to look at the sky. You trailed your eyes down his side-profile, biting your lip before looking at the stars again. “I’m sure Finn would go with you – you’re basically married anyway.”

He hummed again before making a noise of protest.

“Not Finn.”

“BB-8 is a given.”

“And you, I hope?”

You frowned, turning to look at him again. He must’ve felt his eyes on you, but he just carried on looking at the empty expanse of sky above.

“You want me to explore all twelve galaxies with you?”

“I know you think there are twelve, and you think you’re always right, but I’m not so sure.”

You didn’t ignore that he avoided the question. You dropped it anyway, though, and brought your attention back to the stars.

“What? You think there’s thirteen?”

He hummed again and you felt his little finger touch yours softly.

“I don’t pretend to know the secrets of the universe.”

You lifted your little finger and he looped his around it. And so, technically, you were holding hands.

“You didn’t guess because you knew you’d be wrong.”

“I’ve never been wrong in my life.”

“What about when you bet you could eat more pudding than Chewie?”

“That-“

“I recall you spent three months emptying the squadron toilets for that.”

He pursed his lips, shifting his jaw from side to side.

“What?  The great Poe Dameron has nothing to say?”

“No.” he said stubbornly. “I just know how much you like to be right; I’m doing you a favour.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re obnoxious.”

And whilst you argued until the sun rose, your little fingers still clung to each other.

V:

When Poe actually said it, neither of you had expected it.

“Why did you do that?” Poe yelled as you lifted the cover of your x-wing. You groaned, standing up as technicians swarmed the ship, putting out the fires and getting ready to fix it.

“Poe-“

“No! I’m the one talking right now.”

You sighed, jumping down from the cockpit, brushing your hands on your knees.

“Did you think at all before you did that?” he pinched the bridge of his nose with a hand on his hip. “Because it doesn’t look like you considered it at all! You just flew in there and what? Started shooting?”

“Oh, come on-“

“I’m not finished-“

“I don’t care; you’re being unfair.”

“What? That’s not the point!”

“The point is that you do reckless shit all the time and suddenly if I do something necessary-“

“Necessary? You could’ve been killed.”

“And that’s the risk we take, Poe, you know that. All of the crew-“

“You’re not like the others!”

“I fucking knew it!” you erupted, poking at his chest. “I knew you treated me differently to the others: less hours, less dangerous missions. What are you playing at, Poe? Am I not good enough to be part of your squadron? Why won’t you treat me like-“

“Because I’m not in love with the others!”

You shut your mouth quickly, your retort locked in your throat. You leant back, blinking at Poe who seemed just as shocked as you were.

“I love you.” He said, much softer. He swallowed, as if realising what he’d said. He clenched his jaw, hands on his hips as he bent his head downwards. Then, he turned away from you. “I love you, Y/N, I just need you to be safe because I couldn’t- I couldn’t cope if you weren’t.”

The silence between you was louder than anything else in that moment. Poe, with tears in his eyes, nodded, accepting rejection.

“That’s alright.”

He turned around and began to walk away before you caught his arm with your hand. He spun him round to face you.

“Always with the dramatics, Dameron.”

And then you were kissing him. And he couldn’t think of anything but the fact that you were kissing him. And it was everything he never knew he wanted, saying everything he never knew he meant.

[ronsenburg]

i saw this post and IMMEDIATELY started writing an essay, so I moved it here so as not to clutter up someone else’s post...........

it absolutely blows my mind that, today in 2021, i honestly can’t remember what’s canon from the turnabout serenade case, what i read in a fanficition, and what is my own personal HC. like, it’s been more than a decade since i played the case for the first time and it’s probably been 5ish years since the last time i played AJ (definitely forgot to play it again before writing youngblood which is.... contributing to this) so i really don’t know if what goes on in my head is accurate, but, over the years, i’ve come up with a Lot of Thoughts, which i’ll discuss below. 

tldr; it’s all about power (the desire for, the subversion of, the need to maintain), but if you’d like the specifics, here you go:

daryan: i think the explanation that he did it for “the money” is a line. please don’t mistake me, daryan is an asshole and a murderer, im not discounting that, but in court ive always thought that he was playing the part that everyone- especially klavier- is expecting of him. he’s the bad guy. might as well make it a finale for the books.

i’ve always seen daryan and klavier as opposite sides of the same coin when it comes to family and career aspirations. where i imagine klavier came from a well off and well loved family before his parents died, i see daryan from a working class, difficult upbringing. i read a few papers on the psychology of children/parenting style of police officers and decided early on that daryan’s dad was also a cop. his mother is either dead or (more likely) left them early on. dad coped by working a little too hard, gambling/drinking a little too much, and was overall not around a lot and kind of an authoritarian/controller when he was. it left daryan with a lot of anger he had to cope with, about what it means to be a cop, the idea of a “just cause” and the ends justifying the means, and an issue with authority (which is laughable, considering what a bully he turned out to be. sometimes we emulate our parents unintentionally; it’s the only thing we have to model our behavior on). so daryan started off at a disadvantage. klavier started off loved and supported and surrounded by expensive belongings, but the death of his parents and the subsequent emotional and financial abuse by his newly appointed guardian/brother left him in a similar place by the time he and daryan met. i think it was probably the foundation for their bond, and i think it’s why klavier decided to become a prosecutor instead of following in his brother’s footsteps and why daryan ultimately decided to enter law enforcement as well. i think they had a lot of optimistic, idealistic thoughts on being better than the people that hurt them, on utilizing the law to make the world a better place. i don’t think klavier ever conceived that kristoph could have wanted him in the prosecutors office as another pawn to play, and i don’t think he realized how fluid daryan’s morality could be.

shipping alert—you guys know me, im crazy for the idea of a “best friends to on again off again lovers to tenuous coworkers to bitterly disappointed in but still harboring feelings for the other person despite being on opposite sides” dynamic between daryan and klavier. i honestly can’t separate the ship from the case and im sorry about it. if you read youngblood you know that i think daryan started to resent klavier pretty early on, when they were still together, when the band was still successful, because klavier was able to move forward and work through the issues of his past while daryan was seemingly stuck. yes, daryan had made detective and the gavinners were a hit, he’d risen above his initial social standing and thrown off the control his father, he had money and fame and a future. but everything he had was because of klavier. daryan needed klavier, emotionally, morally, financially. but even when klavier was professing his love for daryan, both privately and in the form of chart topping songs, he didn’t need daryan. it was obvious (and of course, healthy, but how do children of abuse learn what a healthy relationship looks like without help? especially when the only relationships you’ve ever had are codependent and, in some ways, just as toxic?) and so things spiraled. daryan got possessive and angry again and klavier got distant and they broke up and got back together and broke up and didn’t get back together but kept ending up back in each other’s arms for comfort and for support and because how the hell do you move on when the person you’ve been in love with since you were 15 is sitting next to you on a tour bus and is also your partner in a homicide case and singing songs he wrote about you on stage in front of thousands of screaming fans?

okay, shipping glasses off, sorry. but no matter how you look at their relationship, daryan’s promotion out of homicide was probably the most distance they’d had from each other in years, as it removed a large chunk of the daily “working relationship” aspect. and without klavier there to act as a moral compass, it was likely easier to slip back into his earlier thoughts about what constitutes justice and his intense hatred of being pushed around by someone who has more power than you. so enter the chief justice with a son who is sick, dying even, but can’t get the medicine he needs because there’s a government out there telling them no. The reasons are arbitrary: the medicine could be used as a poison and can’t be found anywhere else so it might come back to bite the country in the ass if it’s misused by criminals. newsflash: pretty much all medicine is poisonous if it isn’t used correctly, should we stop using penicillin entirely because some people might be allergic to it? they’ve essentially condemned a whole bunch of people to death because they’re worried about their reputation. and that doesn’t sit well with daryan, who is caught up remembering the bullshit justifications his dad would spout when he knocked him around, that kristoph would give when withholding every single penny of money klavier was entitled to until he agreed to do what kristoph wanted. it isn’t right, it isn’t fair and unfair laws shouldn’t have to be upheld, especially when they’re the unfair laws of a country you most definitely did not swear to uphold and protect. it was never about money, though daryan agrees to take it when the chief offers it to him, more for his comfort level than for daryan’s need or desire. it’s about justice and putting a bully in it’s place with a (seemingly) victimless crime that should be so easy given his role in the international division of criminal affairs and klavier’s sudden hard on for the country of borginia. seriously, how could this have been any more straightforward? daryan is capable of murder, though. all cops are. and if it came down to a “them or me” shootout, of course he’d pull the trigger. 

machi: when you come from nothing, the desire to have something of your own is overwhelming. the idea that machi is famous and financially set is disingenuous; he is not individually famous, he is Lamiroir’s “blind” pianist. yes, she views him as a son and seems to care deeply for him, but his main purpose in her life is to perpetuate a lie. machi has been abandoned before; what will happen to him if lamiroir suddenly remembers who she was in the past? what if she has a family and a true son of her own and has no use for him? what if their secret is found out and the public rejects him for his role in it? he is 14. what does he know about being provided for? about contracts and trust funds and royalties? he ended up in an orphanage originally because he was unwanted, and that led to a life of poverty and hardship. abandonment issues are rooted in fear and are rarely logical. i find it far easier to believe that machi did it for the money, but more for the power money might have given him towards independence in an unfeeling and capitalist world.

kristoph: i won’t get into this, because this is supposed to be about daryan and machi and the guitar’s serenade, and kristoph is not really involved in that at all. but i think everything that kristoph has ever done in the game, good or bad, is rooted in a pathological need to constantly be in control. i think that kristoph and klavier both have very intense personalities that they have sought to control over the course of their lives for the sake of their careers. kristoph believes that to be a good lawyer, you need to play your cards close to your chest, that to show your hand is to expose a weakness that the enemy can exploit, that to show no weaknesses at all places you in a position of power. klavier believes that to show his true self, to display his weaknesses and fears to the public, would result only in their rejection. as such, they both wear masks of their own creation even under the most intense of pressures: kristoph as pleasant and calm, klavier as magnetic and dynamic. note the primary difference in their rational? klavier wants to be wanted, while kristoph wants power. and power corrupts, after all. once you have it, what could be more overwhelming than the idea that you might lose it all? it can drive even the most rational people to commit acts of passionate irrationality in the name of holding on to that power. and kristoph has so many pieces involved in his strategy to maintain.  

[cryptidax]

Kazuomi: Voice lines

Voice Claim: Atsushi Tamaru

Note: the lower the voice line is, the higher your friendship with Kazuomi needs to be to view it.

Added to team: Oh? What task do you have to interest me today?

Hello: Kazuomi, Captain of the knight of Favonuis's Strike team, The little party you formed has caught my attention for a while now. Do allow me to join your journey. Traveling with you sounds more appealing than handling the slackers of the knights.

Chat: Training : You want to join me for training?... You have no sense of self-preservation, Do you?

Chat: Height : It is cute how short you are, traveler.

Chat: Trivial Requests : As much as I know that a knight must help those who ask for it. I can't help but be irritated when a person requests assistance because they are too lazy to do it themselves. Take this as a warning if you ever slack off, traveler.

When It Rains: A little rain won’t stop us. Let us continue on.

Good Night: Tired? Take a rest traveler, If you wish to continue your journey with me tomorrow. Then do call me.

Good Morning: Good morning little traveler, let us make this day one worth our time.

Good Evening: Night has fallen. If you are scared of the creatures in the shadows, then leave. I will handle them.

When It Snows: Cold : Cold? Take my coat, I won’t be needing it.

When It Snows: Thoughts : How annoying.

When It's Windy: Knowing a certain redhead, he must be saying some climactic line about crime right now.

Good Afternoon: Want to stop for a meal? I know a good place to dine if you wish to join me.

About Us: Requests : If you ever need something, call me. I am willing to pull some strings for you.

About Us: Competency : It seems like I have underestimated how capable you are. Good. At least you are not incompetent. 

Interesting Things: I don’t drink. Drinking dulls my senses and frankly. I do not see how invigorating others make it to be.

About Kazuomi: My title? It’s just another name dramatic folks want to call me by.

About the Vision: Visions are said to be gifts to those who are worthy. The cryo archon has a funny way of making people worthy of these “gifts”.

Something to Share : Ever since we were young, Jean and I have a little game where I steal her slices of pizza, and she has to catch me. Don't worry. I always buy her another serving after I do successfully do it.

About Jean: Jean is worthy of her title as acting grandmaster. Honestly, I do hope she gets to keep the title. She deserves it after all her hard work.

About Kaeya: *Sigh* What has Kaeya done this time? Oh? you're just curious? Well then, As a co-worker Kaeya is a capable captain when he wants to. As a friend, Kaeya is my ever-appearing headache.

About Diluc: You want to know about Master Diluc? Well... I can say that he is a responsible citizen of Mondstadt. That is all that I can say without Diluc appearing out of nowhere and sending a flaming phoenix towards me. Honestly, I wonder if Diluc has some sort of tracker attached to me in case I say something embarrassing about him.

About Diona: The little munchkin is so young yet so ambitious. I see her as my younger sibling. Whenever I have free time, I try to spend it playing with her and sometimes teaching her new techniques.

About Sucrose: Her shy attitude is so entertaining. The embarrassed expression on her face whenever I tease her about it is gold. Albedo always calls on her whenever I try to tease her even more though.

About Eula: Topics: She always talks about Revenge, Revenge, Revenge. It is quite a show to see her try to continue on with her speech whenever Amber pops up to invite her to another of their outings.

About Eula: Skills: I get assigned to patrol with Spindrift Knight quite often. It is almost funny how well we fight together. I once heard a guarding knight that they pitied the monsters that we will come across on our patrol. It gave me a good laugh that day.

About Albedo: Have you met the little prince before? He's such fine company. One time when I was able to put a flower crown on him, He threw his paintbrush at me. It was worth it though, He did look cute when I put a flower crown on his hair.

About Kazuomi: I : What's next?

About Kazuomi: II : Want to join me for a round of chess? Don't worry, I'll go easy on you.

About Kazuomi: III : It seems like I won. You put up a good challenge traveler.

About Kazuomi: IV : Ready for a rematch? *laugh* Don't sulk, I'll teach you how to get better if you want to.

About Kazuomi: V : I enjoy the challenges, you present traveler. I do hope you will never cease entertaining me. Though, with your attitude, it seems like it will not be that hard for you.

Kazuomi's Hobbies: I enjoy taking care of my cat, Ombre. It pains me whenever I have to leave her alone during missions, but the knights always feed her when I'm gone. Whenever I do stay within the city, I make sure to spend time with her. Sometimes I even let Ombre join me at a patrol around Mondstadt. On one particular patrol, I was able to teach her how to claw a Treasure Hoarder's face.

Kazuomi's Troubles: I can feel the paperwork of irresponsible knights stacking up at my office as we speak. Honestly, Sometimes I think of just freezing and shattering the papers themselves. Maybe I should disappear for a week to teach them a lesson...

Favorite Food: I enjoy Sautéed Matsutake for a dish. The flavors of the Matsutake, spices, and butter come together so wonderfully. If only I can keep some of it wherever I go...

Least Favorite Food: Seafood would be my least favorite dish. I know knights must not be picky eaters, but I cannot stomach the taste and texture of seafood. I can tolerate fish, but shrimps, octopuses, and crabs are a big no in my book.

Birthday: Happy Birthday, my favorite traveler. If you have any tasks to do for today, then tell me. I will willingly do them in your stead instead. After all, you do deserve a rest on your special day.

Feelings About Ascension: Intro : Well this is a surprise.

Feelings About Ascension: Building Up : Things are about to get a lot more interesting...

Feelings About Ascension: Climax : I thought my life was just a form of entertainment for those above. Yet, it seems like you were able to show me another view of it. Thank you, Partner, for doing that. *laugh* Don't act so surprised. I apologize if I had not shown my thankfulness to you sooner.

[barnesandrogersfanfics]

Rose Coloured Glasses - Part 2

Summary: Starting a 'friends with benefits' relationship with Frank is something new and exciting.... even if your boss Andy has warned you against getting involved with the towns bad boy. But has your boss got other reasons for the warning.... either way you cant seem to stay away from Frank.

When Andy's son is suddenly prime suspect in a murder and his marriage is struggling he turns to you for comfort... or at least his trying to.

A/N- Warning! Poorly written smut happens! 🙈 💕

After calling the tow company and arranging for them to collect my car and take it to their repair shop, i finally got stuck into work. Around lunch time the phone rang interrupting my archiving of Andy's last case.

"Good Afternoon, Andrew Barbers office" i answered as Andy had instructed me on the first day.

"Hey, is this Y/N?"

"It is, who's this?"

"Its Frank" he replied with a chuckle that was way sexier than it should've been!

"Oh... hi, why are you calling Frank? Do you need some legal advise?" I asked in a teasing tone.

"Ha! No actually im good"

"Then why are you calling the assistant DA's office in the middle of the afternoon?"

"Well it occurred to me that i didn't get your number this morning"

"No you didn't"

"Well im gonna need it so we can arrange that drink you owe me"

"Oh i see" i smiled shaking my head "nice play"

"Thank you! So can i have your number?"

I looked up and saw Andy collecting his jacket and heading my way.

"How about you give me yours real quick and i'll text you. My boss is on his way out"

"Sure".

Frank gave me his number and we said a quick goodbye, i ended the call by the time Andy reached my desk.

"Im just going to grab some lunch, can i get you something?" He offered.

"Oh, shouldn't i be the one getting your lunch?"

"You don't have your car remember" he smiled

"Right! In that case i would love to take you up on your offer"

The day had flown by and before i realised it was nearly 5pm, i usually finished at 5pm but i thought id stick around a little longer to make up my time from this morning.

Frank: So what time do u get off?

Y/N: Usually 5, but i guess i'll stay a while longer to make up my hours.

Frank: Meet me for that drink?

Y/N: Sure. Where abouts?

Frank: There's a bar not far from ur office, i can swing by and pick u up....

Y/N: Sounds good, say 6pm?

Frank: c u then 😉

I put my phone face down on my desk and dropped my head into my hands.

"Hey, you okay?" Andy asked looking concerned as he came out his office holding his coffee mug, he was obviously on his way for a refill. I looked up and smiled before nodding my head.

"yeah i'm fine, just been one of those days"

"Why are you still here? You were meant to finish a while ago"

"Thought id make up my time, don't want you thinking i'm not pulling my weight"

"Don't be silly, your car broke down that can't be helped. You want a coffee?"

"Actually i'm good, i'm just gonna finish this up and i'll head out"

"You need a ride home or anything?"

"No its fine, i'll just get a taxi home and hopefully my car will be ready tomorrow"

"Okay..... the offer stands if you need it though"

"Thank you" i smiled before carrying on with the email i was writing.

Around 5:30 i was done with work and decided to quickly go freshen up a bit before meeting Frank. After checking my hair wasn't a mess and putting on some fresh makeup i headed back out saying a quick goodbye to Andy as i passed his office, and went outside to wait for Frank. I was surprised to find him already parked outside waiting, he was stood leaning against his car smoking. When he saw me he smiled instantly making me blush, i still couldn't believe he was interested in me!

"Hey"

"Hey, did your day get better?" He asked smirking.

"Well it didn't get worse, maybe its about to get better now?" I found myself saying, it was so unlike me but Frank seemed to bring it out of me.

"I think i can help with that" he nodded opening up the car door for me to get in.

Little did i know my boss was watching me leave with Frank and he was not happy!

Frank led me into a bar he was obviously a regular at, he greeted so many different people on the way in, introducing me along the way.

"Do you know everyone?" I asked as we took a seat at the bar.

"Small town remember" he gave me that smirk again as he looked me up and down.

"Right" i chuckled as the barman came over to take our order. Frank ordered a Whisky and a Vodka tonic for me, then he was looking at me again with a hunger in his eyes.

"What?" I asked feeling the nerves overtake me "do i have something on my face...."

"No, i just.... your so fucking pretty"

"You say that to all the girls Frank?" I asked in a teasing tone.

"Only when i mean it....." Frank looked up at the barman and nodded as the drinks were placed in front of us "I'm gonna be honest with you Y/N, i haven't been able to stop thinking about you all day its been driving me crazy" he carried on saying once we were alone again. I picked up my drink taking a large mouthful as i processed what he was saying.

"I've been thinking about you too Frank but....." i shook my head as i remembered Andy's warning.

"But?"

"Ive been warned to stay away from you" i admitted just so i could see his reaction "apparently your the towns 'bad boy' who sleeps his way around all the women in town" i finished saying and raised my eyebrows at him. I watched as Franks eyebrows shot up at this news, he nodded before locking his eyes on me again "wow, let me guess... Andy?"

"Yep"

"The guy really doesn't like me" Frank chuckled "i don't know what his problem is to be honest...."

"So his lying?"

"No" he shook his head laughing "i enjoy sex, i didn't know that was a crime. Im a single guy why shouldn't i have some fun?" he shrugged casually.

"Oh...."

"Im not a bad guy though i promise you"

"So why does he think you are?

"Maybe his jealous, Ive heard his marriage isn't great..... maybe his jealous that I've taken a liking to you?"

I couldnt help the laugh that escaped me at that idea "You think thats funny? Ive seen the way he looks at you, and hey, i cant blame him"

"Frank stop, Andy doesn't look at me like that at all. His my boss"

"Doesn't mean his blind though does it" Frank asked leaning toward me.

"You didn't try to seduce his wife did you?" I asked trying to steer the conversation away from me.

"No! I promise" he laughed as i downed the rest of my drink "You want another?" He asked looking at my now empty glass, i nodded quickly.

"One more then i have to go, i still need to work out how I'm getting home"

"I could take you....."

The way he was looking at me right now made me clench my thighs together. The man just radiated sex! There was no way i was going to listen to Andy's warning, if i went into this knowing Frank was only interested in sex it should be fine.... right???

"Okay".

When Frank parked up outside my house i turned to him and invited him in for a drink to which he accepted. Now he was sat on my sofa waiting for me to get the drinks, i was stood in the kitchen filling two glasses with ice and whisky feeling my hands shaking slightly with nerves.

I wasn't the type of girl to casually hook up! What was i doing?? I only met Frank this morning...... but shit, the thought of him was driving me wild.

As i turned to head into the living room Frank was stood there watching me.

"Here you go" i smiled and handed him the glass of whisky, he thanked me and took a mouthful before placing it on the side and walking over to me, backing me up against the kitchen table. His hand came up and caressed my face, his thumb tracing my bottom lip as he looked into my eyes, his gaze then lowered to my mouth before he kissed me. His hands cupping my face as he deepened the kiss and my god.... this man knew what he was doing! I couldnt help but kiss him back with everything i had. Frank lifted me onto the table and stood between my thighs as he made quick work of removing my shirt, he slipped down my bra straps before discarding it completely. His hands pushing up my skirt.... i reached down and grabbed his hand pushing it between my legs where i needed him the most. His hand slipped inside my panties and i let out a moan as he started rubbing my clit, his fingers sliding through my folds easily from how wet i was already. Frank pushed two fingers inside me, his mouth never leaving mine  as he worked me over.

"Fuck...." i moaned gasping for air and throwing my head back. Frank smirked as he knelt down infront of me.... he pulled off my panties leaving my skirt bunched around my waist, he pressed kisses to the inside of ankle trailing up my leg before burying his face in my cunt. I was soon a writhing mess laying back on the kitchen table as he licked and sucked at me like his life depended on it. I cried out when my first orgasm hit, my hands buried in his hair. I pulled him back up and kissed him hard tasting myself on his tongue.

"I need you inside me now...." i said breathlessly between heated kisses. Frank just reached down and quickly released his cock from his jeans and then he was pushing inside me.

"Ah fuck your tight" he groaned as he started working himself in and out of me gradually picking up speed. Before i knew it i was coming again, Frank reaching his end and emptying himself inside me.

I was laying back on the table trying to catch my breath after the best sex of my life, Frank was resting over me looking up at me.

"Are you okay?" He asked reaching his hand up to rest against my neck.

"Yeah i'm great" i nodded quickly smiling down at him as my hands run through his hair "how about you?"

"Im amazing" he chuckled.

"Yes you are!" I agreed and laughed with him "i don't think i can feel my legs".

Frank dropped his head face down into my chest and let out a groan.

"I wanna know why im the only one naked here though" i added when i noticed he was still wearing his shirt, his jeans only low enough to free his cock.

"Im sorry...." he lifted his head to look at me "there wasn't time for that, i needed you too bad" he smiled.

I had expected Frank to get up and leave but when i came out the bathroom he was stood in the kitchen looking through takeout menu's.

"You wanna order some takeout? i don't know about you but i'm starving"

"You read my mind!" I smiled walking over to grab my phone from my bag to call in the order. When i looked i had a missed call and a message from an unknown number, i unlocked my phone and opened the message.

Unknown: Hey Y/N, its Andy. I got your number from your file hope you dont mind. Just wanted to ask if you needed a ride into the office tomorrow? I pass you on my way so i can pick you up if your still without a car. Let me know.

Y/N: Hi Andy, that would be great actually.

Andy: I'll be by around 8am :)

Y/N: Great! See you tomorrow.

Everything taglist: @jesseswartzwelder @dumblani @barnesandrogersworld @patzammit

Rose Coloured Glasses taglist: @readermia @princess-evans-addict

[veiledpeaches]

chance encounters | part iii: what i mean when i say

Summary: Between pages of meddling friends and societal expectations, all she actually wants is to find a happily ever after with Doyoung, even if it feels like that is no longer possible.

part i x part ii x part iii x part iv x part v x part vi

word count: 4k

GIF originally posted by @lukhei​

Haewon’s day starts briefly like this – a backache verging on cataclysmic, a phone that is ringing off the hook and a thunderous sizzle from the kitchen that could be an auditory representation of Johnny cooking up a storm for no particular reason on a Saturday morning.

“Johnny Suh, you know you’re not allowed to touch the kitchen as long as I am in the house.” She gripes as she walks out of her bedroom upon washing up.

“It’s my house,” Johnny argues, just as he places a fork and knife on either side of the dish he has prepared for her. “And - you’re welcome. Johnny’s homemade blueberry pancakes.”

“Please, you should be thanking me,” she says, sliding all her hair across one shoulder and digging into the pancakes. “Plus, what if I wanted waffles? That would void your compensation.”

“I can make you waffles later if you want,” Johnny winks. “Although, we can argue that pancakes really don’t deserve such discrimination if waffles aren’t accorded the same breakfast ghettoization - they’re practically made of the same ingredients.”

Haewon studies him with narrowed eyes. “That good, huh?”

“Whaddya mean?” Johnny’s expression turns sheepish.

“Ghettoization?” She returns the question, moving her hair behind her shoulder and smirking, “you’re rambling, it’s written all over your face, you sad sad man-child.”

He jauntily sits himself on the chair in front of her, the grin on his face too pleased to be contrite. “It was good.”

“We really ought to soundproof your room, she literally woke me up-”

The lady in question chooses this opportune moment to make her presence known, sauntering up to Haewon and Johnny as she buckles her watch to her wrist. Haewon’s head whips towards Johnny with glaring eyes, while Johnny discreetly mouths an apology back to her. They had laid down the quintessential rule (the rule that makes all ground rules obsolete) when Haewon had moved in in early 2017 - staying over’s only okay after the fifth date; if you want to have a one-night stand, book yourself a hotel. This is Johnny’s second infraction of the year (not that Haewon is counting, she has too much of a life for that). She hears Johnny’s date of four times stop short in front of them.

“Youngho-ah, who’s this lady and what’s she doing eating your pancakes in her underwear?”

Haewon drops her gaze onto herself as Johnny stands to give the accuser a kiss on the temple. It’s clearly just a camisole that’s in question, though given what Johnny’s lover is planning to wear out of the apartment, it’s sort of audacious of her to bring this up when she’s really giving Haewon a run for her money.

“This is Haewon, baby, my roommate. I grew up with her back in the U.S.”

“Ah,” Said lover reaches her hand out to shake Haewon’s in an oddly formal manner, her coffin nails digging slightly into the back of her hand. Haewon guesses the sigh that emits from her lips right after she studies her has more to do with relief than recognition.

Shrugging internally, Haewon sits back down to finish her breakfast as she hears Johnny and his partner-she-can’t-give-a-name-to-‘cause-Johnny-said-no-labels kiss noisily and bid goodbye, as she eyes said partner’s figure. Yeap, Johnny’s definitely a titties man.

“It was a crime of passion, your honor!” Johnny dramatically pleads once the door shuts as Haewon shakes her head vigorously and mutters, “that’s not how you use it”.

“You’re cleaning the apartment the whole of next month,” Haewon insists, before her eyes widen as a thought flits into her head, “oh my God, you guys didn’t do it on the couch, did you-”

“Of course not! I’m not an animal!” Johnny pretends to be scandalized, “and, come on. It was 2am. I couldn’t kick her out of bed - what can I say, I’m a gentleman. A modern romantic.”

“I think you catastrophically misinterpret the word ‘romantic’.”

Despite the inflection, Johnny is, one-hundred percent, a hopeless romantic - something Haewon quickly learnt after witnessing the poor man get dumped over the phone a while after she had relocated to Seoul. Johnny believes in the concept of soulmates, the proverbial ‘one’, and an ancient concept that most people would currently refer to as ‘destiny’. The manifestation of his soulmate pursuit is countless dates and relationships, grandiose expressions of love and a penchant for serenading his lovers with roses from their windows - a gesture not every Korean woman appreciates especially at 11pm on a Thursday night.

“I think I’m gonna marry her, Haewon,” Johnny tells her now, with a sparkle in his eye, “I think she's the one.”

Haewon looks at him disbelievingly. “You’ve been on four dates, John.”

“I know, but it feels so right, you know?” He smiles softly in a moment of clairvoyance, standing up to clear their plates. “Speaking of marrying someone, isn’t there something you need to do on Monday?”

Haewon rolls her eyes. Subtlety has never been his strong suit.

There’s a reason Johnny has been calling Monday D-day for the past week, and repeatedly using phrases that border on annoying such as ‘it’s go time’ and ‘let’s get it’. Monday would mark the return of a highly anticipated Kim Doyoung, and Johnny is adamant that Haewon should tell Doyoung, especially since Inhee has not confessed about what she's done.

“Isn’t it possible that she might want to tell him face-to-face?”

“If it was me,” Johnny straddles the chair in mock confrontation, balancing his arms on the seat. “If this was me, would you be saying something so naïve?”

“But it’s not you-”

“If the conditions were the same, but it was me instead of Doyoung, you know you would tell me in a heartbeat. And I would appreciate it, Haewon, just as he would.”

“You’re not doing this for yourself,” he looks at Haewon with a seriousness that silences her. “Don’t beat yourself up over something you have no reason to. You’re doing it for Doyoung.”

“The moment he reaches work, you march into his office, and you tell him truthfully what you saw. No one can accuse you of anything when you’re just being truthful.”

There’s a sign on the wall at the far right corner of the office that says “There’s no room for losers”. It’s a signature Fulworth saying, especially when things get tough at work. 

Haewon has never felt particularly perturbed by it until now. She can almost hear the enunciation of the word ‘losers’ in his low, gruff voice.

Unlike Johnny’s prediction, Haewon’s will isn’t the only thing stopping her from talking to Doyoung about his fiancée when Monday comes. The issue turns out to be a lot less 1980s-movie-dramatic than they had expected – a case of timing.

Doyoung has been in and out of meetings since he entered the office after lunch.

It’s not even like Haewon has been systematically avoiding him. Doyoung barely had a chance to say hi to her and update her about the situation at Bertsman when he had been whisked away by a very anxious Lee Donghyuck, who had been held in trepidation for the last two weeks due to the declining sales figures. Haewon had laughed, gotten back to the copy she had been working on for Cho Young Jun’s book press release, her stomach lurching at the thought of what she had to do later.

There's no room for losers, the neat cursive print stares back at her from the wall.

It’s only hours later, when the sky has turned pitch black and the hour hand on the clock has pointed to ten, that Haewon begrudgingly creaked her joints into motion as she made her way to the Managing Editor’s office, cursing Johnny and all that he stood for as a person.

“Haewon!” Doyoung’s lips breaks into a smile and stands up suddenly, with only the harsh light from the desk lamp illuminating his face. “I thought I told you to leave at six, I don’t even know when I can leave the office…”

“Doyoung works late every night. We hardly spend much time in the same room anymore. We don’t even talk anymore, about our lives and our work.”

“Boss, you just got back late last night. You should rest.” She tries, “and, well, your fiancée might be waiting up…”

“It’s okay, Inhee understands,” Doyoung laughs, “besides, I sort of have to undo literally everything the Bertsman employees have done. That’s what I’ve been saying, you can’t trust any one of their employees, they don’t do things the way we do,” he smirks.

Haewon smiles softly at him, even if he cannot see, his eyes trailing after the lines on the paper in front of him.

“Ah, but what can I do? I’m just a worker ant.” He flops his arms around, as if mimicking an actual worker ant.

This action doesn’t bring Haewon laughter as she had expected. Instead, her heart feels like it’s been wrung, the sudden tightening in her chest inexplicable. She doesn’t know if it’s a biological reaction, but tears have started to fill her eyes, and there seems to be nothing else she can do but blink them back.

This is the Doyoung that Haewon has fallen in love with, all five foot ten of him, gummy smile and square shoulders, a kind boss and a workaholic - but how real her feelings are doesn’t and cannot negate how ill-placed the same feelings are in their situation. Here he is, looking at her, grinning at her, as her vision blurs. In that moment, she swears she hears something in her break; a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower’s stem.

“Oh by the way, you really need to get back to me on the wedding,” he laughs breathily, “I really need that RSVP-”

“I can’t go.” The words leave her before she realizes, breath seeming to return to her lungs temporarily. “I… I can’t attend your wedding.”

His face falls.

“Oh, you have something that day?” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“No, I…” She looks down, licking her lips and inhaling shakily. “I can't attend your wedding, because…”

“Haewon.”

“Because… Because I like you.”

She hears more than sees his reaction, the pen in his hand slipping through his fingers and thudding gently onto the carpeted floor. “Haewon.”

“Because I like you,” her voice is still shaky, but there’s a part of her that’s calmer than ever before. “I can’t attend your wedding.”

She lifts her gaze to meet his, but Doyoung’s expression remains unreadable. She feels her jaw start to quiver, and clenches down on it.

“I like you, Doyoung. I like you so much that I can’t sleep, can’t think. I like you, I want to be with you, but you know what I also want?” She lets out a shaky breath, “I want you to be happy…”

It’s not like a leaky faucet, or a dam breaking. Instead, it’s like the little Dutch boy had pulled his finger out of her chest, because suddenly everything inside her is spilling out at once.

“But I see you everyday,” she shuts her eyes, and the tears flow at their will, “I don’t… know… what to do. Believe me, if I could will these feelings away, I would. I don’t want to feel so pathetic, I don’t want to like you like this.

“But I’ve also realized that I can’t be that… person, who stands on the sidelines and watches as you marry someone else - I can’t, I couldn’t do that to myself. I’m sorry. This is so out of line and you probably don’t want to hear this.” She inhales shakily, shutting her eyes as she pauses. “I’m sorry for telling you this… I just… I just needed you to know.”

Doyoung looks at her as if in a daze, his own lips quivering, until almost immediately, his head falls and he inhales sharply, as if giant invisible scissors had cut off his marionette strings.

“Why… Why now.”

Her eyes widen. “What do you-”

“Why are you telling me this, Haewon?” Doyoung looks at her like she’s missing a point, like she’s the most breakable thing in the world. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Her eyes sting with fresh tears. She can feel something rising in her throat - a sob, a scream - but she bites it back, shutting her eyes so tightly there are almost tears that refuse to escape. She hates herself for crying, for showing any weakness here, for thinking she ever had a shot with someone like him.

There's no room for losers, but in that moment, she can’t help but feel like she has become one.

It’s Friday, finally the end of the week.

She softly clicks the pen in her hand open and close, drifting in and out as Huang Renjun drones on and on about the press kits they are planning to prepare for the media and why the Marketing Department needed more of the budget to be allocated to them.

This meeting has lasted way too long, and it feels even longer with Doyoung right next to her, the sleeve of his jacket inches away from hers. He's scribbling down notes diligently, making her existence in the meeting obsolete - it’s been like this the whole week, and Haewon is exhausted. She knows what Doyoung is doing, how he’s taking meeting minutes down like someone who doesn’t have an assistant so he doesn’t have to ask her for them later. Despite the promise of putting what happened behind them on Monday, she’s entirely aware that things will never be the same again.

The envelope sitting in her bag is still warm, its contents only freshly printed this morning. She vaguely hears Kim Jungwoo asking a question before all eyes are suddenly turned towards her.

All, but Doyoung's.

She looks around the room, befuddled, while feeling Yuta’s foot nudge hers gently, presumably to get her to speak.

“I’m so sorry,” she finally says.

“Manager Kim asked if you had too much on your plate,” the timid intern next to Kim Jungwoo speaks up, “and if you were willing to undertake more of the comms with Cho Young Jun himself.”

She opens her mouth, surprised, and turns to Kim Jungwoo.

“As we were saying, before you spaced out on us,” he laughs good-naturedly, “we let him read the copy you wrote and he likes it. He specified that he wants to work with you.”

Haewon’s gaze drops to her notebook, where a messily scrawled question blinks back at her. Today or next week? She blinks, momentarily realizing that the decision presented to her now accounted for more in the future than she had thought.

“I… That would be a great opportunity for me, thank you.”

Kim Jungwoo grins. “Don’t thank me, your boss told the boy that you were highly supportive of his work. Of course he would be excited to work with you.”

She turns towards Doyoung, a wide-eyed Doyoung, a Doyoung who only looks back at her now, his eyes not betraying any emotion.

There’s something about placing the envelope on his desk that makes it so official, a breath of fresh air that comes from a gesture that’s so unabashedly melodramatic and passé. Doyoung eyes the envelope warily, clearly this was not something he had imagined.

“Why is it… addressed to me? Why isn’t it in an email?” Doyoung drops his glasses onto his desk, pressing his fingers gently against his eyelids. “Why… What is this, Haewon?”

“I just…” She licks her lips. “I just wanted to make sure you received it, is all.”

Doyoung looks at her for a moment, then gets up and shuts the door of his office, before clicking on the button below his desk, rendering the glass office translucent.

“Tell me, Haewon, what is this about? Is it because of Monday?”

She winces, remembering the state of mess she had reduced herself to that night. The only thing more pathetic than confessing to someone who’s engaged, is confessing to someone who’s engaged while crying.

“No, boss, of course not. I thought we agreed to put it behind us.”

“I thought we did too,” he says, sighing and standing with his hands on his waist. “Then what’s this about? I mean, do you want… a raise? What can I-”

“No no no, please don’t think that way. I applied for a Literary Arts Masters’ at Brown University,” Doyoung’s remains bewildered. “I want to be a writer, and, I want to study for it.”

Doyoung inhales shakily. “I mean, I know you wanted to write, but… You should have told me about this. I would’ve written you a letter of recommendation…”

“Well I got in,” she shrugs and smiles, “and… I want to do it. I’ll be admitted in the fall, so I’m moving soon.”

It’s almost like she can see the gears shifting in Doyoung’s head, the mental calculations as apparent. “Is that what you wanted to tell me on Monday? When you came into my office, is that the, well,” he licks his lips, “more technical reason why you can’t come to my wedding?”

Not entirely, she thinks. “Well, it’s one of them.”

Doyoung settles himself back into his chair, absentmindedly rearranging the stationery on his desk. “I don’t want a new assistant.”

Her heart sinks. “I know you’re stressed. I’m sorry, and… this feels irresponsible, that I didn’t tell you this earlier. Thing is, I didn’t really believe I would get in, and I got my letter so late, so now I only have the next three months…” She pauses, realizing that none of this should be important in the discussion. “That’s why I’m giving you a month’s notice instead of the required two weeks, I’m sorry that this is what I can only leave you with, but I want to help as much as I can. I swear, boss, I’ll get handovers done as best as I can, whether the recruitment is internal or external, I’ll make sure the transition is as smooth as possible for you-”

“No, I mean…” Doyoung stands up, the pinstripes of his suit bouncing against the light as he does, and walks slowly towards Haewon, standing right in front of her.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

If there's anything she'll miss, it's how Doyoung always leaves her breathless. The sincerity in his eyes twinkling like unshed tears, the way he just looks softly at her like this, his lips pursed tightly and making the small, almost unnoticeable scar by the corner of his lips more prominent. This is the Doyoung that makes her heart soar, an unspoken tenderness dancing across his features. But with this Doyoung also comes an unmistakable truth glaring right back at her.

“No one is irreplaceable, Doyoung,” she starts, a lump rising in her throat, “especially not me. And I think it’s clear that this week has proven that we are no longer able to work together properly because of my feelings and the awkwardness that it has caused.”

“I was trying to give you space-”

“I don’t need space, Doyoung!”

“What was I supposed to say? What am I supposed to say, Haewon? I’m engaged!”

He looks at her for a long time, then sighs and turns away exasperatedly, tears darting in his eyes.

And there it is - the bubble that has popped, the pink elephant in the room. Because the truth is, from start to finish, as selfish and morally repugnant as it is, Haewon had foolishly hoped for a future with this man somehow in some way, even when it had never been possible.

“You’re right,” Haewon feels her eyes sting, but she has promised herself that she is not going to cry in front of Doyoung ever again. They aren’t close enough for that.

“No, you’re right, I’m sorry, I don't know what I was expecting, why I said what I said.” She shakes her head, attempting to breathe again.

“Besides, your engagement isn’t the only thing standing in the way of anything happening between us.”

Doyoung looks up immediately. “What do you mean by that?”

Haewon winces and swallows, unwilling to spell it out. “I mean, you don’t… feel the same way, at all.”

There comes a point when things are undeniable and can't be hidden any longer, even from yourself.

“I never should have told you about it,” her voice comes out as a whisper this time, unintentionally intimate.

“I’m sorry - even with everything that I said that day, it only occurred to me after, how truly stupid and inappropriate it was… in the office, no less.” Doyoung begins to shake his head, but she continues. “I don't have an excuse for it, I’m sorry - but I swear I’m not… for the lack of a better word, punishing you or anyone else with my resignation. Even before telling you, I was bent on moving overseas for the degree. So Doyoung, you really don’t have to feel guilty or anything - you don’t owe me anything, I shouldn’t have said anything.

“At the same time… The chance for me to pursue my dream is too rare to give up on.

“You’ve done so well before I came into your life, you’re gonna be okay.”

Doyoung averts his gaze away once again, putting his hands into his pockets, and alternating between resting his weight on his left and right foot.

“You’re wrong, you know, you’ve never been more wrong.”

“I’m sorry?”

He finally looks up, his eyes filled with sadness enough to keep Haewon from taking a step out of his office. Outside, phones are ringing and people are talking, noisy and continuous and completely unaware. But here, there is a Doyoung who looks at her like she could break easily, as he contemplates whether or not the next words have to be said, if at all.

“You said no one is irreplaceable, but you’re irreplaceable to me.”

It’s finally down to the last week of her work - and a part of Haewon feels guilty to admit that it is a relief.

This is what Doyoung and Haewon has been reduced to - two people who would rather send each other emails than talk face-to-face, even if it’s about work. On the bright side - if there is one - the diminished duties mean that Haewon has been given ample time to interview, recruit and train Doyoung’s new assistant - a dogged 25-year-old fresh graduate with a double major in Journalism and Communications who has an unhealthy obsession with cars, whom the younger estrogen-infused female interns label “daddy material”.

“Ready?” Johnny smiles as he shoves his keys in his pants pocket.

She slides her bag across her shoulder and looks at him up and down. “Johnny, you’re not ready.”

“Oh right! Shit,” Johnny mumbles to himself, rushing to his room to get his shirt.

It’s 8.25am, which means that Johnny’s definitely going to be late, since he’ll drop Haewon off at her office first, but Johnny doesn’t really seem to care. She laughs to herself, picking up her phone just as a message notification chimes.

Haewon, I’m so sorry I can’t tell you this myself, but I will be on personal leave for the entire week. I know you’re mostly done with handovers and training Jeno, but I’ll need you to hold the fort for this last week - just check your email, you’ll understand everything. I’m so sorry I can’t be here for your last week. Thank you.

Personal leave? What kind of emergency would-

“Haewon!” Johnny jogs out of his room, his phone and shirt in his hands. “Did you know?”

His eyes are wide with shock, his mouth open. He swallows, taking in Haewon’s equally baffled expression.

“I just got a call from my Mom. The wedding’s off…”

xx

w/n: dear friends, please do not zone out in meetings. it doth not helpeth thee.

also, johnny is a giant teddy bear

come scream at me!! here :-)

[unluckyadept]

Flare of the Morning Star

<<—Previous——————Flare of the Morning Star——————Next—>>

PART IV: LAST STAND

“I’d never seen anything quite like it—a single phrase and the front twenty of a hundred men in formation taking aim in unison with one, fluid motion…”

Be aware that the following themes are present in the text below.

Last Stand

Defiant to the End

Famous Last Words

{December 14th, 2020T}

[He hadn’t planned for this. He hadn’t planned for this. What was he thinking? He should have seen this coming! In fact, he had seen this coming, hadn’t he?! He should have KNOWN the recurring dream was akin to a vision!]

-=-=- Round 1: Felix uses Granite; 851/851 and 202 Def Tolbi archers fire (front and back), 9 hit: 151 HP; 700/851 HP Petra returns Felix’s HP: 719/870 HP, 206 Def =-=-=

“{LOOSE!}”

[A rain of arrows struck him, converted into Death energy upon contact.]

({Hhhh—! Well THAT hurt.})

[A lot more than he thought it would. He didn’t want to think about how much worse it would have been if he hadn’t shielded himself against most of the damage.]

“{Feel THAT? There’s a LOT more where that came from, with you name on it.}”

({This… this can’t. No… can’t surrender. Never… never will be fewer men. Would… would take away the rest of my armor, too, if I surrendered.})

[Such things probably would have felled other men instantly, but not Felix; he could take a lot more punishment than most.

But even as the arrows disintegrated into dark Venus energy, leaving him pressing against the wound, he knew that he couldn’t take this forever. Especially the more Djinn he used.

But what choice did he have? He could only surrender or fight.

And he had to fight. Even if no one would ever know, even if it wouldn’t save him—he couldn’t just grovel before tyrants and let them have their way.

He couldn’t just give up on everything that mattered.

And oh, how he wished he had time to daydream, to draw strength in this final hour! But no—they wouldn’t let him.]

=-=- Round 2: Felix uses Mud; HP drops to 709/853 Tolbi Archers fire (sides), 4 hit: 126 HP Felix’s HP: 578/863 Bane returns =-=-=

[It was a mockery at how few of them fired; they were toying with him, trying to whittle him away.

Well, if they thought that it would take so little effort to fell him, then they were sorely mistaken.]

({Can’t… can’t give up now. Need… might survive. Need to see you. Still… still a chance.})

[He didn’t have very many options. He had to prioritize survival. If he could just live long enough to Summon the wrath of the end of days, then perhaps—]

({Still… still a chance…!})

-=-=- Round 3: Felix uses Crystal 573/858 —> 830/858 HP, Defense is 206 Tolbi archers fire (all sides), 12 hit; 378 HP Felix’s HP: 452/858 (406 HP of damage) =-=-=

[He staggered at the intensity of the dozen arrows that pierced his body, seeing bright white for a moment. That had more or less reversed the healing he had just done; he could probably take another hit like that, but not too much more.

He wasn’t sure Cybele would be enough. These men were a lot stronger than he thought; if the Mighty Numbers could survive a hit from that Summon, they probably could, too. And if they survived the hit, then he was probably done for, as he wouldn’t have enough time to build up something strong enough a second time.

No, he—he was going to have to endure, and use the power at his disposal to do so just long enough…!]

-=-=- Round 4: Felix is ordered to surrender. He refuses. Felix uses Iron 452/858 —> 333/739, defense is 232 Tolbi archers (all fire); 370 HP damage -37/739 HP, Game Over =-=-=

[He held his ground, waiting for the silence to break, the next man to strike.

A voice called out in an authoritative manner from somewhere deeper in the crowd, using the language of the Tolbi empire.]

“{Drop your sword!}”

[Felix only gripped his sword tighter in defiance, bracing himself to continue.]

“{You’re surrounded by a hundred men!}”

[They’d literally boxed him in, yes, so he could see that it was true. Five rows of five on each side of him…. Even with the dozens he had injured in the course of the battle, they still had so many at their disposal.]

“{Drop your weapon, you villain! You will answer for your crimes against the empire!}”

[He called out to the crowd, his heart racing as he spoke with a bold sense of confidence that did not seem to be his own.]

“{Then strike, if it’s my death you’re looking for!}”

[He could not even see the commanding officer who was pacing between the ranks.]

“{Nobody’s impressed by your attempt to be a martyr! Submit to justice!}”

[He gritted his teeth at that, feeling bitter for the first time in the whole surreal throb. Justice? They DARED lecture him on justice?

No. He would not submit to them, to their tyranny and vices. He refused to die a miserable slave, dragged before the public to be put on trial, and then tormented in the sands for sport.]

“{If I am to die, I die a free man!}”

[There was an almost mechanical noise as the rank and file in front of him raised their bows yet again, all in unison. He now found himself staring down the arrow shafts of all twenty archers.

And as he looked—exhausted, feeling cold and somewhat lightheaded at his current piercing wounds, all 25 of them—at the row of arrows staring him down, he felt his heart falter.

An overwhelming sense of innate understanding gripped him to the core.

Here. Here is where it would end. He couldn’t dodge them all, and—and that meant he wouldn’t make it.]

“{There is no escape for you, Felix of Prox! Surrender immediately!}”

[He bared his teeth, his heart pounding again.]

“{Death first!}”

[He was suddenly blinded by pain. Intense pain that made him fall to his knees.]

[Tick. Tick. Tick.

Drip.]

[Too much—he was losing too much blood—

He could only huff in short, erratic gasps as he immediately began feeling lightheaded, feeling the rising grasp of engulfing darkness—

He could feel his life fading as he finally succumbed to his injuries.

There wasn’t much noise as he collapsed to the ground.]

({Have to stay…})

[It was so familiar. The overpowering sensation of being lightheaded, his vision dimming while blood pooled beneath him.]

({Stay awake…})

[He coughed weakly, quietly gasping for air.]

“{He’s still breathing!?}”

[His vision was growing very dim. Darkness was closing in, despite his desire to hang on.]

(Sheba…)

[There were shapes moving, but he was sinking fast. He couldn’t even see anything anymore.]

“… … …”

[Voices. They were too faint.

Everything…

Everything was…

…dark…]

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