#pardon me for the assault on the eyes but I love busy shit

[are-we-really-doing-this]

Linchpin - Fear Factory

[darylandbethfanforever9]

Devil’s Backbone

Devil’s Backbone

Chapter 2

AN: I hope everyone is enjoying the story so, far and here is chapter 2 :)

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+

Warnings: Smut, violence, flashbacks of past sexual assault, descriptions of torture and racial hate. Tony is not a good guy from chapter 2.

Relationships: Bucky/OC, Steve/Natasha, Billy/Wanda/Grant, Sam/Sharon, Clint/Laura and Yelena/Frank Castle/Karen Page.

Summary: In the aftermath of the Blip, Bucky struggled to find his place among the world and the Avengers. However, when he is sent on a mission to Madripoor to investigate a mysterious woman, he starts to realize maybe his past isn’t too far behind. Co-Written with WalkingPotterGirl14.

Bucky felt stunned at what he was seeing as he saw the young woman break into Natasha's room. She came out freshly showered and wearing Natasha's clothes. He couldn't see her face, as she had back turned to the cameras before walking down the hallway and going into Wanda's bedroom. She came out a few minutes later, with nothing but plenty of bottles of Wanda's shampoo and conditioner. Wanda looked stunned by what she was seeing, watching as she walked further down the hallway. The woman then broke into Yelena's bedroom. She was in there far longer than she had been in Wanda's room, and sooner or later the woman left with a suitcase, before the security camera went fuzzy. "We don't have any security footage of her face, as she kept her back to the cameras. She knew where she was going…but why did she go into Wanda, Yelena and Natasha's bedrooms?" Billy asked wearily. They didn't even know who she was. "Natasha and Yelena believe that someone escaped the HYDRA base in Belarus and hid on the quinjet. I want Romanoff, Russo, Belova, and Stark to check the HYDRA base again to see if we missed something," Fury instructed sternly. Everyone nodded and left to do what the director had instructed. "Where do you want the rest of us, sir?" Steve asked gravely. He knew this was serious. Whoever this woman was, she'd been able to remain undetected by F.R.I.D.A.Y. "I want you, Barnes, Barton, Maximoff, Ward, and Wilson to search the nearby streets for any sign of this woman. Whoever she is, she might be a threat to us," Fury said gravely, and everyone nodded in understanding.

The flight to Madripoor was eight hours. Ana passed the time by catching up with the world events that had occurred when she had been placed in cyro by her handlers. The WHIH news was reporting on a terrorist group called the Flag Smashers being sent to an underwater prison called the Raft, along with their sympathizers. The group had blown up a GRC Supply Depot in Riga, Latvia, killing seventy-nine people and injuring plenty of civilians. Five of the victims had families, with one having just started the job, and was a father of two. She shook her head in disgust. Ana was no saint in any way. She had blood on her hands, but she never deliberately tried to kill civilians during her missions. The faces of the people she had killed in the name of HYDRA or the Red Room cut her deeply. She had never wanted this life when she had lived at the orphanage. All she had dreamed about was of becoming a ballet dancer, like her mother before she had passed away. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to land at Madripoor airport. There will be slight turbulence due to strong winds," the voice of the pilot announced gravely. Everyone fastened their seat-belts, and Ana avoided looking out of the window. She loved the sea, but she had a terrible fear of drowning after one of the girls in the Red Room nearly drowned her at the swimming pool. The plane landed gracefully with people gradually leaving. Ana allowed a couple to leave first before she went to exit. She went into the airport, as she walked to the luggage hold area, and grabbed her suitcase, heading out as quickly as possible. Her next stop was going to High Town and getting settled in. She needed to find information on all these players, including on Peggy Carter's niece who was still living in Madripoor, despite being pardoned by the US government. She put on her dark tinted sunglasses, before going to the garage and found a black Suzuki Ignis in the car park. She smiled slightly before picking up the keys, and saw the car had black tinted windows. She hoped the windows were bulletproof, but she decided not to tempt fate. At least, not yet.

Bucky was in the living room with Steve, Sam, Wanda, Grant, and Clint, reading through the documents about the Black Widow Ops program. It felt like a dead end, until he saw a name on the list of girls in the program. 'Anastasia Liukin.' "Are we sure that Natasha and Yelena were the only two who survived the Red Room Program? What if someone else survived?" Sam was the one who asked question that all of them had been thinking. An uneasy silence fell upon them. Natasha and Yelena were very secretive about their time in the Red Room. Bucky knew both of them due to having trained them in the Red Room, and his past relationship with Natasha. Not that it was something that either he nor Natasha liked to be reminded or think about. He didn't have happy memories of his time in the Red Room. If anything, it was something that gave him nightmares. He was the bogeyman to the girls in the Red Room. A terrifying man who would harshly discipline them if they failed in any of the lessons. Failure in ballet, languages, gymnastics, or espionage was not tolerated by the superiors in the Red Room. Faintly, he remembered a young woman around sixteen being sent to be trained by him. She had been Yelena's age, but the superiors and other girls hadn't liked the fact that she still remained kind, even refusing to kill other girls in the class. He didn't know what had happened to her, but he knew Melina Vostokoff had worked as a trainer in the academy. He hated the cold bitch, and she didn't like him either and neither did her husband. Hmm…he really did wonder what happened to her. Thinking about her more, all he could remember is her refusal every time they tried to trick her into doing something painful. She was so sweet…The Red Room must have ruined her. They never let anyone out who doesn't obey them. Goddamnit…he wished his memory weren’t so damn fuzzy. "This file really says everything we need to know," Steve states quietly, turning the pages. "Anastasia Liukin…a young girl who grew up in an orphanage after her mother died…enhanced physiology, holy shit…Nat might know something seriously about this girl. Yelena too." Sam takes the folder from him, looking over it quickly. "She was abandoned at an orphanage until she was seven and then they took her away to the Red Room under the guise she would be a ballerina…there they trained her." He lowers the file and looks to Steve. "They have to know something about this…but why would they keep it a secret?" "Maybe she's really dangerous?" Wanda suggests. "It's not like them to keep dangerous threats from us," Clint argues quietly. "There has to be another reason why." "Hold on a minute," Steve mutters, getting up and heading over to where the taping was from earlier, playing it back on the screen. He had the file in one hand and looked back and forth as the video played. "What if the possible person that snuck into here was her?" "But they said-" "Wanda, I don't know if you know this, but Nat and Yelena have plenty of secrets from us," Steve says quietly, turning to her. "If this was another one of their secrets, then I wouldn't be surprised. Maybe the moment we got into the HYDRA base, we activated something, and it woke her up if she was in cyro or something, like Buck was. What if the reason she didn't activate F.R.I.D.A.Y. was because she's a spy like them? A soldier?" Steve looks over at Bucky, who was continuously looking at a picture of the girl from before. His brow furrows. "What's up, Bucky?" "I…I think I saw her." Everyone's eyes turn to him, all their attention focused on his one phrase. God, he hated being the center of their eyes. Steve walks over to where he sat, moving to sit next to him. "What do you mean?"

"I…wanted a quick drink of coffee and something sweet…Alpine was resting and I decided to head down to the coffee shop below my place to grab something and there was this girl who…bought two cookies for herself and a coffee…I didn't have enough money to get my own cookie and she overheard so she came over and gave one of hers to me…I felt like she looked familiar, I…I didn't know if it was her or not, I…" He runs his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry, guys." "Bucky, don't apologize. It has nothing to do with you. Not like we knew any better at the time." He looks down at the file. "However, if it was, we might be able to figure out where she is now. Maybe if we confront Nat and Yelena with this information, we can figure out how to find her." Bucky nods quietly. "Okay…okay, yeah, we can do that."

She had to admit, the Power Broker was hard to get by, but after some scrounging around, Ana was able to set up a meeting with the guy, having to stumble into his overtly large and grand apartment. She had to admit, it was quite the nice place. Part of her wished it were hers. "Ah, I see you've finally arrived," a voice called out to her as she walked into a large living room. She raises her brow to see a man come out who honestly didn't look like much, but she knew the power he had. "The woman of the hour. The escaped Red Room agent. The-" "Cut the crap," she states, crossing her arms against her chest. "Let's get down to business. I have a lot of money and I certainly can't use it in the United States. I want to start up here. What are my options?" The man chuckles and shakes his head. "You are assertive, I'll give you that." He grabs a drink for her, but she dismisses it, taking a seat down. She wasn't dumb enough to accept a drink from a stranger. The man shrugs and turns back around. "Having a tough day, huh?" "It's any other day. I just want to make sure I can afford the place I'm staying at, is all," she states lightly, looking up at him. "And I know that you can be the man to do that." The Power Broker snickers and shakes his head, going to sit opposite from her. "You're sweet to think you can suddenly overwhelm me like that, but if work is what you want, it is what you can get. You're a strong little girl, huh?" She feels her hands turn to fists. She hated when people said that. "I can tell from that face you got. There's years of death in those eyes, huh?" "Are you going to give me a job or not?" She asks through gritted teeth. "Isaiah Bradley," he states simply before grabbing a remote from the couch, pulling up a picture on the TV in front of them. "Do you know of him?" "I've…heard of him," she states slowly. "He was a test subject for the Super-Soldier serum years ago, but they really did really bad shit to him. Have no idea where he is now, though." "Well, I do," the Power Broker states, standing. "Isaiah is currently in Baltimore, Maryland, assumingly trying to hide out the rest of his days. But I don't plan for that to happen." Ana stands, her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" "You see, Anastasia-" "Ana," she corrects. "Ana," he answers, with a grim smile. "I'm in the business of power. I give people the power that they want for a price. One of those ways I have done it is through the Super Soldier serum…sadly, those bloody Avengers took out one of my main scientists that was recreating the serum for me…but luckily, when one person falls, two others shall take their place. They have all of the info that they need to continue making the serum and bringing me more power than before, but all I need is Isiah." Ana stares at him in horror. "You're going to make more of those serums that killed so many people? That created those Flag-Smashers? There has to be another way-" "There is no other way for power, my dear," the man states, coming over to her. "You want safety? You want to make sure you're in charge of your life? You capture Isiah for me with your skills, and I'll make sure that money you have will never leave your side, and the power you gain will only grow. It's your choice." Ana didn't even know what to say. She knew what the serum did to people. She knew how terrifying it was. There was no way she was going to let someone like him take that again. Let him control people with that. So, she swallows and takes a step back, before grabbing the drink he had offered her earlier. Fuck it. "You can't find anyone else?" She asks slightly, feeling around her belt for a moment. "To do this dirty work?" "I could, but I'm quite positive that having someone from the Red Room do it for me would be the best option, for you and myself." She nods slightly before turning to face him, swallowing the whole drink in one sitting. It was now or never. "You see…I've always been in favour of getting what I want, so yes, in your eyes, this might be your best option for me…but it's not in my head." She lowers the glass to the table. "For me, the best option IS Madripoor…owning the city as you do. Isaiah Bradley has been through hell and back, and I don't intend to bring him forward to endure more of that pain." The man lowers his glass to the table. "Ana, I-" "I'm going to kill you, Power Broker," she states coldly. "You have five seconds to run." He takes off. She counts to five, and then runs quicker, going directly after him.

She chased him through the apartment, catching sight of him trying to run through the back garden once he exited his place. She caught up to him, just as he was heading out, before grabbing him by the back of his jacket, throwing him into the side of a back entrance door. She glared at him in disgust, before dragging him towards her. "I've seen men like you before who don't give a damn about the people they hurt," she said dangerously. The Power Broker started laughing then at her, causing her to stare at him in confusion. "Do you really think I didn't have a contingency plan in place if you refused to capture Isiah, Ana? I sent a black ops team to capture him. I've known where he lives all this time. And if he dies, then I'll just simply use his grandson," he said smugly. Ana saw red in that moment, and promptly knocked him to the point of being unconscious. She pulled out a disposable cell phone, typing in the number and waited impatiently as the phone rang. Finally, after seven rings, the woman answered. "Sharon Carter of Carter Art speaking. How can I help you?" The woman asked pleasantly. Ana decided that she needed to meet with her face to face. But no way in hell, was she giving her real name. She'd use another name. There were a few names that held deep, fond memories for her. "Hello, Miss Carter. This is Olga Omelianchik speaking. I need to speak with you urgently. Is there a place that we can talk?" She asked calmly. Sharon paused on the line. "We'll meet at my place. I'll send a car to pick you up. What's this about?" She asked wearily, causing Ana to smile slightly. The woman wasn't stupid. Then again, the niece of Peggy Carter wouldn't be stupid. "Isaiah Bradley. And send me the address. I'll drive there," Ana answered firmly. Sharon agreed and texted her the address after hanging up. She looked disdainfully at the Power Broker's unconscious body before tying his hands with vibranium handcuffs. She dragged him to the car, throwing his body in the back of the trunk, before starting up the engine and driving away.

Natasha sighed tiredly as they once again began searching the HYDRA base. There was nothing to see until she found a room that had at least ten cyrostasis chambers. One of them looked like it had been recently used, and she noticed footprints on the dust covered floor. Someone had definitely been here recently, but she had no idea who it was. Her mind then wondered to a young girl with light blonde hair, and hazel eyes but her thoughts were interrupted when a voice spoke out. "Anything?" Yelena asked quietly, as she stepped into the room. Natasha shook her head. There wasn't any sign of the mysterious woman but whoever the woman was, she was dangerous. "Nothing aside from an abandoned cyrostasis chamber. I found this file along with a backpack in a safe, but no dice," she answered wearily, showing Yelena the backpack, along with the files. They were all in Russian, which would be translated once they returned to the compound. Sighing, Natasha was relieved when they left the building and made their way to the jet. She couldn't help but feel like she had seen that woman on the security footage before.

Sharon waited wearily for the mysterious young woman to meet with her, and saw a black Suzuki Ignis parking in the driveway. A young blonde-haired young woman came out of the car, wearing a black leather jacket. She looked at her silently. "Sharon Carter?" She asked wearily, Sharon nodded and shook her hand as they walked to the back of the car. Sharon had a feeling that this woman didn't take anyone's bullshit. "That's me…and you are?" she asked cautiously. The young woman smiled slightly at her question. It didn't look like she smiled a lot. Her eyes were hard and guarded. "Ana Liukin…I have a proposition for you that I believe will benefit both of us, and your friends who happen to be the Avengers? I know you helped them when Zemo killed Dr. Nadler," Ana offered. Sharon stared at her in surprise before nodding and the woman opened the boot of her car to the young woman. Sharon was greeted by the sight of the Power Broker, tied up and unconscious in Ana's car. She stared at Ana in a stunned silence, before regaining her composure. "What do you need my help with?" She asked cautiously as Ana admired the cherry blossom trees that were blooming in her garden. "I need you to send a message to the Avengers about Isaiah Washington. The Power Broker sent a black ops team to capture him and his grandson. He wants to recreate the super-soldier serum," she explained quickly to her, Sharon nodded in understanding, and glanced at the Power Broker. "What are you going to do about him?" She questioned curiously, genuinely interested. "I'll deal with him, don't worry…I think it's time that Madripoor had a new leader, one that cleans up the place," Ana answered smoothly, before getting in her car and driving away. Sharon watched her go, impressed but also stunned by what the younger woman was doing.

Sam felt his phone vibrate before turning it on and seeing a text from Sharon. He frowned. Sharon had been working undercover for Fury but hadn't come back after the Flag Smashers and Karli had been sent to the Raft. 'Isaiah Bradley's been compromised. The Power Broker's sent a black ops team to kidnap him and his grandson. Get them out of there, Sam!' "Steve, Bucky, Clint! Wanda! We need to get to Baltimore NOW!" He shouted urgently. "Whoa, whoa, what's going on?" Bucky asks, running over to him as soon as he heard him yelling. "It's Isaiah. The Power Broker sent a team after him – we need to stop them now!" He urges. "Sharon just let me know!" Steve nods, a determined look on his face. "Then let's get going."

They had raced out to the quinjet as soon as possible, getting on as quickly as they could until they raced off to where Baltimore was. Luckily, the city wasn't too far with their mode of transportation, and within a little bit of time, they had arrived, heading straight to where Isiah's house was. As soon as they did, they could see that there were people trying to break in. But that ended almost as quickly as it began, as Steve had used his shield to knock out several of the guys while the rest of them got to work. Bucky took out a couple with his skills, Sam with his gear, Clint with his arrows and Wanda with her powers. It was times like this that Bucky actually remembered that they worked well as a team most of the time. He wished they were given more things to do like this. Show his worth to more people. Once the threat was taken out, they called the police, getting them, all sent to their cars. Bucky had wiped the blood from his face as he takes a seat down, watching as Isiah talked to Steve quietly, thanking him for coming. Even in his age with the serum, Isiah was still old. He wouldn't have been able to take on all those guys at once. "You doing alright?" He hears from above, seeing Wanda take a seat down next to him. "Seems like you're lost up here." She points to her head. Bucky chuckles a bit and shrugs his shoulders. "Just thinking about everything we do…I feel like Fury doesn't…I don't know, trust me enough yet." He looks over at her. "It's always team missions and it's never really with the ones that work together – all of us work well but then I go on missions with Sam, and we get along fine but Tony is there, or Yelena might come…I just wish more people would trust me, but I know nothing is built overnight." Wanda sighs quietly before gesturing to her. "When I first came here, he didn't trust me either. It takes time to gain the man's trust. You did try to kill him once."

Bucky cringes before rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, you're right about that." At that moment, Clint comes around, his phone in his hands. "Hey, did you ever ask Sharon how she found that out?" "I did but she's being sort of sketchy about it," Sam answers honestly. "She won't tell me. Says there was some deal between her and a girl. Don't know who…but whoever it is, apparently she's taking down the Power Broker." Bucky's brow raises in surprise. "Just like that? She pops up out of nowhere?" "Sometimes that happens. A brand-new enemy comes around and makes the weaker one bite the dust," Clint remarks, sharpening his arrows. "If she is becoming a new Power Broker, we need to keep an eye out then…but if she was like the current one, then why would she warn us?" That was the question everyone was thinking. And no one quite had the answer to it.

As soon as she had dragged the Power Broker out of her car and back into his fancy shmancy apartment, he was practically begging for his life. She had him pinned up to a chair in his kitchen, her knife at his neck. She had told him about how she stopped his plan, how nothing was going to work as he had wanted, and now, he was going to die. He pleaded, screamed, tried to bargain, but in the end, all she wanted was his seat. His place. His power. So, she slits his throat. His blood flies onto her clothes, but she doesn't flinch. It doesn't take long for the life in him to drain out, and she tilts her head, looking at the dead body, all she can think is how aggravating it was going to be cleaning the blood from the floor. She undoes his handcuffs and watches as the body fell. If she had this power…she was surely going to make sure someone else took this damn body away. She was done hiding her sins. "Excuse me?" She calls out to an intercom, which she is met with a surprising "Yes?" She responds "Your little leader is dead. I request you come up and take him before I take you out too." There was silence on the other line for a good couple of seconds before the respond with a "Yes, ma'am." Now THAT sounded good. She took a shower after that, and by the time she had emerged with new clothes, the body was gone, and the blood cleaned. She smiles as she heads into the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of wine from his wine fridge and takes a seat down, glancing outside at the skyline of Madripoor. This whole city would be hers…at a cost. The Power Broker would kill anyone innocent to get what he wants. She drew the line at that…God knows she had done enough of it long ago. Ana sighs as she takes a sip of her wine, remembering her last moments in New York City. Her mind kept going back to the man in the coffee shop she had met not long before her flight. What was it about him? Was it his eyes? His hair? His beard? Why was she spending so much time- She gasps, the drink suddenly dropping from her hand and onto the floor, shattering. A pillar of memories struck her. That man wasn't a stranger. That man was the fucking Winter Soldier. The man that had trained her in the Red Room. "H…holy shit," she whispers, bringing a hand to her mouth in shock. It all made sense now. Why he looked so stressed, why he thought she looked familiar too…he must not have recognized her either. She wondered if he knew now. What a fucking day. She runs her hands through her hair. God…the memories she had with the Winter Soldier.

tag list: @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie @sapphirescrolls @americasass81 @americasasssssssss @james-bucky-barnes-imagines @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @giorno-plays-piano @threeminutesoflife @marvelfansworld @connie326 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @lex-the-flex @queenoftheunderdark @navybrat817 @world-of-aus @the-soulofdevil @gogolucky13 @writersbuck @mypoisonedvine @captain-barnes-writes and @nomadicpixel and @nsfwsebbie 

[ragnarachael]

57, 60 and 72?

i’m going to assume you’re letting me pick the character, and so i’ve decided on tva director!reader x loki from my series “the valiant arsonist”! you can check out/read from HERE!

LOKI TAGLIST: @shiningloki​, @bellesque​, @myraiswack​, @kidney9-9​, @deansblackbeauty​ (if you’d like to be added, just ask!!)

now if it wasn’t obvious: the text after the read more starts out somewhat PG, but progressively gets NSFW! as usual, don’t wanna see it from me, block the NSFT TEXT tag! just a warning, i... i got far too dirty i think. i don’t know how i did it. but i did. this is kinda not proofread, i’m far too tired for that. any mistakes or weirdly written scenes are on me!! i didn’t read this one four or five times to perfect it like everything else. (this is almost 4k. good christ.)

MASTERLIST !    FEEDBACK !   AO3 LINK !

THE VALIANT ARSONIST — ANGER

You and Loki were fighting. It’s plain as day to everyone in the offices when they approach the both of you. You were more of the silent, death glare type. Loki was... well. Loki was also the silent type. But, he just snapped at anyone who tried to talk to him and refused to try and cooperate.

It was Thursday. Meeting day not only for you and the board of directors that are working with the TVA, but also meeting day for Mills and Wilson’s team.

Which meant that Loki would be dressed up in his usual attire for those meetings: neat, crisp button down shirt, corresponding tie to the color of his shirt and more often than not followed by some black slacks.

Thursdays were your favorite days. Especially because of those slacks.

But since you were both still stuck in an argument, you found yourself leaving earlier for work like you had for the past week. Though, you did let yourself wear some flattering business casual clothes to try and convince Loki to break this stupid silence streak.

You wore his favorite pencil skirt—a deep emerald green fabric that nearly matched his favorite color if the fabric wasn’t a shade lighter—that was easily paired with your favorite cream colored blouse that accentuated your chest with the v-neckline. He loved the combo before, and you had no doubt he would try and pounce on you in some form.

But he didn’t. When he came in the office, you noticed he did the same thing as you.

He wore a whole black ensemble. Black shirt, black tie, black everything.

“Fuck,” you mumbled to yourself as you watched him walk through the sea of desks in the main area from your own private office. “That asshole.”

He’s trying to one up you at your own game. You don’t know if he’s read your mind or whatever, but god dammit he’s trying to do what you’re doing. You and your husband really are alike.

Most of your day after your mindless meeting was spent in your office, reading through files for research and answering various emails as well as reconvening with your team for your newest time-clause case. It was a full day. You even tried the new coffee someone brought in and actually had a few more cups of that before calling it quits just as everyone was leaving for the day.

“It looks like we’ll just have to send out some more Chronomonitors to give us more information on this situation,” one of your agents sighed in the seat she dragged in front of your desk. “I know none of us would want to go out into that battle field.”

You groaned as your hands flew to rub at your neck, leaning back to slouch in your office chair. “I hate when you’re right, Maddie.”

“I know you do,” she teased, grabbing her bottle of water to take a drink. “That’s why you made me one of your right hands, ‘member?”

You snorted and rolled your head in a slow circle, some of the tension loosening in your neck.

“I do recall. I’ll get on that order form before leaving tonight, Mads. Thank you for the hard work today, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Maddie laughed and gathered the files in her hands as she made sure to take the rest of her belongings that she had around your office. Your hands started to gently rub down your face before you heard the zip of Maddie’s bag.

Then the door opened, and Loki seemed to willingly walk in. His sleeves were folded up neatly to show off his forearms as his hand that wasn’t resting on the doorknob was tucked neatly into his pocket.

“Maddie,” he greeted evenly, his eyes boring into your general direction as you started to slowly straighten in your seat from the sudden visit.

“Uh,” she started slowly, looking between the two of you as you both stared off. “Mr. Laufeyson—”

“Loki, please.” He kept his eyes on you as the tension grew, moving to open the door wider for Maddie to leave. “I’m merely a man visiting his wife. Not a higher-ranking agent.”

“Okay?” Maddie questioned softly before getting her things in her hands and her bag on her back before giving you one last goodbye before Loki was quick to shut the door behind her and lock it.

“We need to talk.”

“Oh,” you started, snorting as you watched Loki gracefully move to shut your blinds even though you’re more than sure you’re the last two in the office. “Now he wants to talk.”

“Don’t start that,” Loki replied, his head turning from the string to fix your blinds. 

“You and I haven’t talked in two days,” you huffed. “I’ll start whatever the fuck I want, Loki.”

Loki didn’t wince when he finally shut the blinds. He didn’t even retaliate with his down distaste for what you were both about to start.

The making up process.

He walked over to the chair Maddie had left in front of your desk, his large hands moving to rest on the top of the backrest as his eyes found yours again.

“Maybe if you hadn’t tried to get yourself killed, we wouldn’t be in this situation, would we?” Loki said, his voice having a light tone of smug anger.

“My job is dangerous, Loki. We’ve been over this—”

“You’re a director, darling. Directors just have to sit and give their agents direction,” he explained to you, his voice raising slightly. “They don’t willingly go out into the field and just try to get shot at!”

“I owed it to my team—”

“You could have stayed here! Behind a desk! There is no reason to risk your life!”

“Oh don’t go feeding me that shit,” you seethed, starting to stand from your chair. You wanted to pace, but your feet guided you to stand against the front of your desk as your fingers clasped together tightly. “You get to risk your life and I don’t? That’s the biggest load of garbage I’ve heard, coming from you of all people.”

“That’s different,” Loki rebutted. “I have to go into the field. That is my job. That’s what I’ve done since I’ve been incarcerated at this trash heap.”

“You’re no longer wanted across timelines, Loki.” You crossed your arms over your chest then. “You haven’t been for a year and seven months. And I am aware it’s your job, but haven’t you considered that it’s mine—”

“’To protect and guide your agents by example,’” Loki finished for you as his hands flew from the chair to run through his hair as he took a moment to walk away from where you were now standing. “I’m aware. You’ve said the phrase before.”

“Good. Then you’ll understand when I say that you’re blowing this out of proportions.”

His whole body turned to look at you as his hands fell to his sides. “Pardon me?”

“You heard me.” You kept your face neutral at that sentence. It hurt to say, but you couldn’t show that. “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

Now, Loki can be terrifying. He certainly was when he made his way from the middle of the room back to you as you leaned against the edge of your desk, not even flinching when his magic sent the chair flying to the wall.

You wished this scared you. But you’ve known this man since he threatened to burn your place of work. You took what he did, hell even said at times, with a grain of salt.

“I am not—”

“Loki,” you hissed, your hands moving from their place on your chest to grab at his black silk tie, wrapping it around your knuckles before yanking his face close to your own. “You are. Admit it.”

“Make me, little girl.”

You couldn’t take the tension and finally just did what your brain had been screaming at you to do while you talked to Loki.

Kiss him.

So, that’s damn well what you did. Your lips slammed into his instantly, tongue slipping past Loki’s slightly parted lips to take the venomous words he was preparing to say away.

The funny part? Loki kissed back.

So much for being mad with each other.

Loki let everything else in his body resist for a moment before he finally just gave in, his hands cupping your sides almost immediately, starting to dominate your mouth with his tongue as you melted at the feeling of your desk digging into your ass through your clothes for the second time this month.

“You’re—” you breathed out between Loki’s assault “—you’re so fucking hot when you’re mad. You know that?”

The hum of a laugh Loki let out at this confession only made the heat between your legs increase, your heart race and your mind buzz from the sudden concern of someone hearing the two of you.

“Oh, darling. You have no idea what you’ve brought on.”

You wanted to ask what the fuck he was talking about, but you were cut short by his lips again, his hands working on groping your ass through your skirt fabric before lifting you up as if you were nothing before dropping you onto your desktop.

Your hands let go of the tie and the gasp that left your kiss bruised lips as Loki started to nip harshly at your jawline cut into a bit of a squeak as Loki’s fingers started to drag against the outsides of your thighs that were covered by the fabric of your skirt. Your brain made the connection quick. He was looking for the side seams. You just knew it.

“My little girl’s smart, is she?” Loki mused deviously as his lips detached from your skin, his fingers finding just what he was looking for. “She’s only smart when she knows she’s going to get cock, hm?”

Your face heated up instantly as you noted that Loki wasn't hesitating to openly listen to your thoughts. You were... you were speechless. Your hands found their spots on his chest, debating on grabbing his tie again.

“Bold of you to assume you’ll be getting any this evening,” Loki said softly, his eyes scanning your face to see if there was any sign of protest before smoothly grabbing your skirt fabric and ripping it up at the seams.

“Loki!”

“Perhaps a punishment is in order.” Once the fabric was discarded from the tops of your legs, Loki was quick to tug the rest of the poor fabric off your body before ripping your legs open and get a hand under the waistband of your underwear. “You’ve been quite bad, last I checked.”

All you could reply with was stutters. You didn’t plan on this half of the night, but god you didn’t need it to end.

You didn’t want it to end.

Loki cooed as his fingers found your aching clit, applying barely any pressure that was sure to drive you insane. “Look at you, a babbling mess. You thought you had the upper hand, didn’t you?”

“I—” Your words were cut off as two of his thick, long fingers thrusted into your weeping hole, your hands trying to collect fist fulls of Loki’s shirt. “Oh god.”

“Fuck,” Loki started headily, “you’re so tight. No wonder you’re missing my cock.”

You didn’t hesitate to pull your hands from his shirt and lay back on the desk to try enticing Loki to do something other than have his fingers deep inside your pussy, just barely touching your g-spot. “P-Please..”

“Only good girls get what they ask for, princess. And you’ve been everything but that.”

Just after Loki finished speaking, he finally moved his middle and ring fingers slowly. You could feel the gentle, cold scrape of his wedding band against your warm walls as his free hand boldly slid up your stomach and keep you flat against the surface of your desk.

“Making me worry, telling me that I’m in the wrong? No, no, little one. You and I know that’s not true,” Loki said, his hand finally lunging forwards to grab your throat firmly and lift you up to have your faces inches away from each other again. “If I weren’t feeling generous I would just ignore you and those dirty thoughts of yours. You’ve thought about this happening often this week, haven’t you? Taking my thick cock like it’s the first time as I take my anger out on your sweet, sweet body?”

You could only nod frantically in response, the feeling of not being able to get air sending another gush of arousal around the fingers that were starting to prod the soft part of your walls just a tad faster. Loki let out a dark chuckle.

“Dirty, dirty little cockslut, aren’t you? Maybe I should start calling you that. Do you like that name, dove? I do. I feel as if it suits you perfectly,” Loki purred, pressing his lips to yours again as his fingers slipped out of your pussy, tugging at the scrap of underwear to have it snap in his hands before his lips pulled away from your own. “Take my cock out, girl.”

You were quick to rake your hands down from Loki’s wrist from when he grabbed your throat to his slacks, unbuckling his belt and working the button and zipper before being met with his heated skin beneath the fabric.

He planned this.

Loki’s hand loosened its grip on your throat as your fingers brushed against the shaft of his cock. He cleared his throat to gain your attention after you gripped him at the base.

“Is.. Is this alright? I know I'm meant to be mad at you—"

You surged forward and gave Loki a gentle kiss on the lips instantly to quell his sudden worry. "Loki, my love. You're okay. It's okay. We can talk it out properly later."

"Are you okay with that?" Loki questioned, brows raised slightly. It was a complete change from the dominant side he was showing just mere seconds ago. You felt your heart clench as you noticed his genuine concern.

"Yes, absolutely. I'm okay with that." You gave him a wide smile before tugging his cock in your hand suddenly to draw a gasp from his throat. "Now, what was this about me being your cockslut? I quite like the ring to it."

His lips slowly stretched into a smirk once he took a moment to let go of the sudden surge of worry. "Do you?"

"Why would I lie about how much I love your thick cock stretching me open—"

Loki cut you off with a groan, tightening his grip on your neck gently, "if you keep saying things like that, I'll be skipping the punishment. Now shut up and lay on your stomach."

You let out a breathy giggle then, your smile still wide and bright as you were quick to do as Loki told you. You wanted to whine when you felt his hand move from your throat to help you flip over, but you knew better than to do that now.

After all, you were getting punished in some way.

"Why don't you just skip it, agent?" You questioned innocently as you leaned your ass closer to Loki as his hands rubbed at your lower back gently. "We both know I can get punished later."

Loki seemed to actually take your words into consideration as his hands got to your ass, groping the plump flesh tightly before spreading you open to see just how wet you were. His nails dug into your skin slightly which made you mewl in pleasure before Loki let out a harsh sigh.

"You're such a—"

"Cockslut?" You questioned suddenly, flashing your smile over your shoulder as you looked at Loki. "I'm aware."

"Minx," Loki huffed, pulling your hips down so your hips hung over the edge of your desk. "Should have ignored my thoughts for once."

"I like when you tap out," you replied, gasping as Loki manhandled one of your legs to rest up on the desktop. "'S hot."

"Like I said, darling." You weren't sure as to what was happening until you heard some clanking from a belt and felt his searing hot cock thrust into your cunt without giving you a warning. He leaned down where your head rested against the mahogany as you moaned loudly at the sudden intrusion. "Cockslut."

Once he spoke, Loki didn't waste any time to thrust into your pussy that was clenching around his cock like a vice. He made a comment about not even being able to thrust into you from how tight your cunt had a hold on him, and if you were coherent, you'd be blushing from those words and the sounds you were hearing the both of you make alone. But you were enjoying the pleasure that had started to steadily build from the feeling of Loki's cock stretching you open.

You missed fucking Loki. That's what this was.

Loki was nothing less than animalistic, gripping your hips tight enough you knew you'd be bruised by the time you came. You could feel your orgasam creeping up already.

"Look at you," Loki said in between his slowing thrusts to tease you. "Spread out. Willing. You were made for this, darling. Maybe I should keep your cunt filled up more often."

"Please!" You whimpered, your head turning to look over your shoulder to watch Loki's hips slowly thrust against your ass.

"You'd love that, hm? Should I cum in your pussy tonight and let you walk out of here sated with my seed?" 

The both of you froze at that comment.

Well, your bodies froze, for the most part. Your pussy flexed around his cock that twitched with need.

He wasn't too sure what had gotten into him, it might have been from the porn he found himself watching the other night when you didn't come home until late, if he was being honest. But noticing how you writhed and let out a loud moan come out after the initial shock statement, that was all the convincing he needed to finally pull out of you to flip you back over before slamming back into your cunt with the sudden need to actually fulfill that very wish.

Because fuck that turned the both of you on, and he wanted—no, needed to see your pussy dripping with his cum.

Loki's body covered your own as his hips pistoned into your own, his cock hitting all the spots you've missed feeling stimulated as your arms wrapped around his neck to bring him down in a heated kiss. Your lips barely met and you let out a shaky laugh before it was cut out with a loud moan, feeling Loki's cock jab at your g-spot head on.

You wrapped your legs around him the best you could then, moaning his name as your nails started to dig in his dress shirt. "F-Fuck! Loki, p-please!"

"Please what, baby?" He questioned evenly as he pulled away from your neck where his head landed after his lips missed your own. "You want to cum on my cock?"

All you could manage was a nod as Loki's hand slipped between your bodies to start rolling your clit between his fingers. His thrusting seemed to only speed up with his words as you tried to keep your noises down as our mouth dropped open in a perfect 'o' shape. "Cum for me. Let that pretty little pussy cum around my cock and I'll be sure to reward you the way you deserve, sweetheart."

You let yourself go. Literally. Loki's fingers rubbing your clit frantically mixed with his deep, heated thrusts? There was no other choice. Your walls tensed around his cock as your hands grabbed tight handfuls of his shirt, moaning loudly as your orgasam rocked your entire body into ecstasy. Your body twitched with pleasure as Loki kept fucking into you with the same breakneck speed, his fingers slowing down slightly.

"So fucking good," Loki huffed as his hips stuttered with their thrusts, "are you sure we shouldn't invest in our own desk?"

"S-Shut the hell up, Laufeyson," you stuttered suddenly, purposefully gyrating your hips to have your pussy clench around Loki's twitching cock. "Cum inside me, now."

Usually, Loki would laugh at you being demanding, especially in a moment like this, but the hard edge of your voice mixed with the noises his cock was making with every thrust inside of you? He was cumming. Hard. He came with a final deep thrust, groaning your name loudly as his hands grabbed at your body in any way possible to ground him from the sensation. His cum was hot as his hips jerked slightly from the left over sensations. 

You've never felt so full and satisfied after a fuck in your office until tonight. You heard Loki laugh breathlessly and you just knew he heard your thoughts. The two of you took a moment to catch your breath in the positions you were left in after your release, both of your remaining clothes clinging to your sweaty skin.

Eventually, Loki found himself slowly pulling his softened cock from your spent hole, only to watch his cum dribble out slowly. You both groaned. Both from the sight and the sensation when he had finally pulled out. Part of you wanted to keep the mess between your legs, terribly bad. But your rational side and Loki agreed that you should most likely get cleaned up. With a gentle huff you nodded at Loki to magic away the mess.

It was quiet as you both tried to move around your office to clean up the rest of the space properly. The tension was... gone. Not completely, but certainly less taxing than it was earlier. You walking around bottomless around Loki however wasn't helping either of you.

You were the first to speak up as you picked up your shredded skirt and underwear.

"That was—"

"Hot," Loki finished for you immediately. "That was.. so fucking hot."

"Yeah," you said, laughing softly. "It was."

"Listen, darling," Loki started gently, walking away from the chair he placed back in it's rightful spot, "I'm sorry that I've been mad about this. At you."

"You had every right to be, Loki. I didn't tell you the risk I was going to take, I didn't want you to worry all day." You turned to look at him, a small frown on your face. "I kind of broke that agreement. I'm sorry."

Loki's hands were quick to cup your face gently as he shook his head. "What am I to do with you?"

"Well, some pants would be a good start—"

"Shush," Loki snorted, the both of you shaking with laughter. "I'll get there with you, you vixen."

[fortuitous-juxtapositions]

Art of Deception Part 1 (Count Orlo x Female Reader)

Summary: An Orlo x Reader slow burn. You and your uncle have just arrived in Peter III's court from the Colonies. You uncle has warned you of the debauchery of the court and devises a plan to keep you safe, but the Emperor has other ideas. You find yourself thrown to the wolves and you must keep your secret while while fighting the growing feelings you have for the one person in court you who you would tell the secrets of the universe to if he would only ask.

Note: This is my first fanfic on Tumblr though I have written others. I fell in love with this adorable man and had to write this down. Please let me know what you think!

Anything in Italics indicates the characters are speaking English as opposed to Russian

Thank you to @always-a-fairycat for proofreading!

Work can also be found on Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/25566277

…...

“It is a dangerous place, my dear,” your uncle warned as the carriage jostled you from side to side. After traveling so long you hardly noticed the movements any longer.

“If it is so dangerous, then why not leave me back in the Colonies?” you replied in disinterest as you watched the trees float by through the window.

“Because that is no place for a woman to be left on her own,” he sighed and mopped at his head with a silk kerchief. “It is… dangerous.”

“More dangerous than the Russian Court?” you asked with a smirk.

“Insolent child,” your uncle lamented in frustration. “At least with you here, I can watch over you for the short time we are in court.”

“So you teaching me to fight was just for, what? Killing the Emperor?” you joked.

“Shh!” he hissed, “do not say such things… In fact, do not say anything unless you have to!”

You tossed your head back with a frustrated whine.

“Shall I just pretend I do not speak Russian at all then?” you joked, shooting a look over to the elder man.

He groaned, but then a contemplative look fell over his features. His wrinkled hand came up and rubbed the salt and pepper stubble that adorned his chin.

“That’s not a bad idea…”

“You can’t be serious!” you snapped.

“My dear, a woman from the colonies is going to cause quite a stir at court. I expect the Emperor himself will find interest in you, and that you most certainly do not want. But, if he were unable to regale you with his innumerable and glorious attributes, he may lose interest.”

“But-”

“No buts!” He cut you off and you leveled a glare at him. “I have made my decision. We will speak no more on it.” He sat back, a satisfied smile adorning his features.

“Now listen-”

“Ah, ah, ah.” His hand came up to silence you.

“That’s not-”

“Ah, ah!”

You sat back and huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You’re lucky that I love you, old man.” you harrumphed. He grinned knowingly at you and tapped the side of his nose, his bright blue eyes sparkling in the low light.

“English or French only, my dearest.”

“But my French is horrible.”

“Oui, all the better for us!”

……

When you finally arrived at the palace you had yet to sway your uncle’s decision but all arguments to the contrary had died in your throat once you had lain eyes upon the grandiose building that towered high above you and seemed to stretch on endlessly. You looked on, dumbfounded as your uncle chuckled at your awestruck expression.

“I could never have dreamed up such a place!” Your voice was breathy and low.

“Yes, it is a pretty cage.” You turned and were met with a stoic expression, one you had never seen adorn the elder’s face. “But inside it is filthy, covered in a layer of grime set there by the greed and corruption of those who are housed within its walls.”

The near hiss in his voice chilled you and you began to wonder if his overprotection of you was in fact, warranted. He glanced over at your concerned face and forced a smile to his own.

“But never mind that. We will only be here for a short while after all. It is just a formality that we meet with the Emperor and discuss our business in the Colonies. After that we will travel to the estate and spend the rest of our time in the godless country at the only little piece of Heaven that exists in this shit hole.”

“Very… uh… descriptive, Uncle.” You raised an eyebrow and he smirked, The carriage came to a halt and your uncle turned serious once more.

“I know you disagree with me, but please just don’t say anything in Russian. You will understand once you get in there, just please trust me.”

You took a deep breath and nodded to him.

“Of course, I trust you. I promise I will not say a word in Russian... for the time being” you relented and his shoulders relaxed slightly.

With a nod the door of the carriage was pulled open by a gloved servant who bowed in greeting to you uncle as he exited the cab. You swallowed thickly and took your uncle’s hand as he assisted you. Your feet hit the gray stone driveway and you stopped a beat to take in just how large the palace truly was.

“We finished preparing your apartments this morning, Count (Y/L/N),” the man said as he led you into the massive, ornate double doors. “The Emperor wishes to convey his disappointment that he was unable to greet you personally but would like you to attend him in the throne room once you have had a chance to settle in.”

Your uncle was unable to keep his derisive snort at bay as he quickly covered it up with a coughing fit.

“Excuse me, I’m not used to the dust,” he explained. “Please convey my gratitude to the Emperor.”

Your uncle continued to chat with the servant, but all lost on you as you stepped inside the palace. You had never seen such beauty and opulence before. The walls were trimmed in gold filigree, statues and vases lined every nook,  fragrant flowers were placed strategically throughout the halls perfuming the air, serfs and servants clambered through the halls disappearing nearly as quickly as they had appeared. Each hall was a different assault to the senses. It felt as if the very walls were alive, buzzing with the stories of those who lived and worked in this gargantuan edifice.The beauty of it took your  breathe away and you wanted to just stand aside and watch the life of the palace drive on.

The atmosphere changed, however, as you drew closer and closer to the apartments. Men and women lined the hall in various states of dress. Those who were clothed wore the finest silks in rich colors and patterns while those who weren’t still maintained their status by wearing ridiculously complex powdered wigs and ostentatious jewels. An overwhelming smell of alcohol and vomit assaulted your senses so violently that not even the prettiest and most fragrant of flowers could disguise it vile scent. Shouting accompanied by the sound of shattering glass nearly camouflaged the arguments, crying and moans of pleasure that reverberated from nearly every corner and nook. It was overwhelming to someone who had spent the majority of their life away from the crowds, knowing of only their family and those who worked for them as you had. Again your breath was taken from you, but for entirely different reasons. The stench stung your nostrils causing you to flinch as your eyes watered.

You scurried closer to your uncle and he wrapped a protective arm around you, pulling you to his side. He had no need to worry about you speaking Russian. He had no need to worry about you speaking at all. You were struck dumb by blatant and open debauchery that was transpiring around you.

After too long walking through the filthy halls the servant finally reached a set of doors and stopped in front of them. He pushed both doors open with a flourish and stood to one side, allowing you and your uncle to finally escape the madness that was contained withing the palace walls. With a snap, the doors were closed and all you could hear was a faint rumble of voices from beyond. You released a breath and turned, wide-eyed to your uncle.

“I know, my dear.” He spoke in English and patted your arm in reassurance.

“Your luggage arrived yesterday, Count (L/N).” The servant bowed and gestured to the doors that flanked both sides of the receiving room. “Komtesse (L/N)’s things have been unpacked and placed in the room to your right and yours have been unpacked and placed in the room to your left. A serf will be in shortly to assist you with anything else you may need. May I suggest that you and the Komtesse freshen up and make your way to the throne room?”

“Yes, yes. Thank you, Igor,” your uncle dismissed the man who left with a nod.

You removed your muddy travel cloak and took in the room before you. Unlike the rest of the palace that was covered in rich, dark wood that nearly choked out all light, the receiving room was coated in bright white paint that reflected the sunlight pouring from the open windows. The furniture was done in light blues and silvers which added to the open illusory feel of the space. You halted in your assessment as you noticed the familiar paintings of landscapes and flowers that lined the walls adding to the ethereal décor.

“I had a few of my favorites shipped over to help this space feel more alive.” He grinned at your astonished face. “And your paints are in your room. Perhaps you can find enough beauty in this iniquitous hell hole to inspire a new favorite.”

You smiled in gratitude and opened your mouth to speak when the door flew open and a petite maid who looked to be only slightly older than yourself slipped into the room.

“Beg your pardon, Count (L/N).” She slammed the door closed quickly before the world outside could come spilling forth and disturb the sanctuary within. She curtsied deeply to your uncle. “I was sent to help Komtesse (L/N) prepare for meeting the Emperor. Your valet will be in soon to assist you.”

“Yes, of course.” Your uncle nodded in greeting. “This is my niece, (Y/N).”

“Pleasure to meet you, Komtesse,” she curtsied to you “I am Vera, I will be your servant during your stay here.”

You looked at her silently, your face a mask of neutrality with only the barest hint of a confused smile.

“Oh, my niece does not speak Russian, I am afraid” Your uncle cut in. “She only speaks English and a slight bit of French.” He turned to face you. “Well played my dear. Now, keep that up and we may just get out of here unscathed. Act as if I just relayed to you what Vera had said.”

You smiled brightly and turned to Vera nodding your understanding. Vera hesitated before forcing a smile to her kind face and stepping towards you.

“Well, we’ll make do.” She took your hand. “Come. With. Me. Komtesse.”

Her words were spoken louder than necessary and much slower than required. You turned and gave your uncle a look, but he just motioned you to follow, a shit-eating grin plastered to his face.

……

After a quick wash with a cloth and bowl of clean water scented with lilac, Vera dressed you in a simple blue gown (“That. Is. Not. Nice. Enough. To. Wear. To. Meet. The. Emperor.”) and styled your own natural hair as best as she could (“You. Should. Wear. The. Powdered. Wig. It. Is. What. The. Other. Ladies. Will. Be. Wearing.”). She added the final touch, a silver ornate comb with blood red jewels that your father had presented to your mother when he had asked for her hand in marriage (Well, that’s a pretty trinket.”). You nodded in approval and smiled up at Vera.

“It’ll have to do,” she sighed in frustration but smiled back at you nonetheless.

You stood from the vanity and made your way out of the room, Vera following along behind. Your uncle stood freshened up and dressed in a fine suit of deep maroon with golden embellishments embroidered throughout. Vera stepped from behind you as your uncle looked you over.

“I’m sorry, Count (L/N). She wouldn’t let me put her in anything nicer!” she huffed,

“That sounds about right,” your uncle chuckled and nodded to the frazzled maid. “She looks beautiful either way, thank you Vera.”

“Shall we?” he held his arm up to you. “Be sure to pay attention to our path out of these apartments, you will need to know how to safely find your way back.” You nodded as you took the offered arm. With one last tight smile, your uncle led you through the door and out into the madness.

……

“Are all Emperors this rude?” you huffed. You had been standing in the throne room for nearly an hour, waiting for the Emperor to arrive.

“Regardless of if they are or not, it is well within their right to be.” He shrugged. “He answers to no one but God, so who is to tell him otherwise?”

You rolled your eyes before sweeping them over the portraits that hung in the room for what felt like the hundredth time. Their scowling faces silently passing judgment of you with dead oil paint eyes making you wonder if the artists were unable to capture emotion in their paintings or if the subjects were just unable to fake any to capture. Unease crept over you as they continued their soundless assessment of you and surely found you wanting, a wild thing like you dirtying their halls with your very presence. You tore your gaze from a particularly judgy portrait of a man with hair that stood up in all directions and instead stepped behind your uncle too looked to the serfs who stood on either side of a large ornate trunk. Your uncle had brought it over from New York stuffed near to bursting with goods from the Colonies. Neither serf acknowledged your existence but instead stood tall and quiet, their eyes dull and sightless and not unlike the eyes that gazed back at you from the portraits.

You wondered at the life they must lead here, forced to clean the mess the court left for them in the halls with no pay and not a word of thanks. Back in the Colonies, your uncle made sure his own staffers were always well paid for what work they did, but he had warned you that there were very few actual paid workers in the palace and that all duties were carried out almost entirely by serfs. Your uncle was a progressive and ardent admirer of Voltaire, he long ago abandoned the idea of serfdom, instead freeing those in his debt and offering them pay for their work, even going so far as to offering to teach them how to read and write. Being treated as actual humans rather than possessions had inspired happiness, love and loyalty to your uncle over the years, a sentiment that spilled over to you when you came to live with your uncle at a young age.

The sound of doors being thrown open without regard startled you from your musings and you glanced around your uncle to see a young man with brilliant blue eyes that were complimented with the brown of the ornate leather coat that covered his green shirt and black cloth breeches. His gait suggested an air of pompousness and importance as he swaggered into the throne room, followed closely by a crowd of men who seemed to be agreeing as one with something the young man had said prior to stepping into the room. Satisfied, he turned and caught sight of your uncle who bowed deeply.

“My Emperor.” His low voice rumbled.

“Emperor, Count (L/N) is here to-”

“Dimitri, you old fuck! When did you get back from the colonies?” The Emperor cut off the man, who attempted to announce your uncle, as if he had never spoken at all.

“Arrived just this morning, Emperor.” your uncle replied.

“Did you bring me anything?”

“Yes, Emperor,” your uncle motioned for the serfs to bring the trunk forward. They did so without hesitation and dropped it in front of the Emperor.

“The finest furs and tobacco from the new world,” he revealed as the trunk lid was tossed open. The Emperor raised his brow and motioned for the serfs to bring the first item to him. It was a coat made of the softest beaver fur and lined with golden silk. “That will repel any water so you may wear it even in the rain, your highness.”

“Fucking brilliant!” The Emperor exclaimed, tossing the priceless material over his shoulder. It caught on the edge of a stack of papers that a man beside the Emperor held and sent them scattering to the ground.  The Emperor sighed in annoyance. “Orlo, you useless cunt.”

The man stuttered an apology and bent down to pick up the papers. Without warning the Emperor used his boot to shove the man over, his face met the floor and knocked his eyeglasses askew. The Emperor roared with laughter and the group followed suit as the man painfully pushed himself up to his knees.

Shock and horror filled your heart and without a thought your body began to move of its own accord. You stepped around your uncle where you had been mostly hidden from the crowd and, in only a few hurried steps, you knelt down in front of the man to start gathering the scattered papers from the floor as he regained his composure. His head lifted and you were able to get a good look at his face for the first time. His dark eyes met yours and you saw a profound sadness behind them before it was coated over in shock. His dark skinned drew tight around his jaw, his full lips sputtered and his thick black eyebrows pulled together, rising up towards his coiffed hair.

You silently held the papers out to the man, but it was as if he were blind to your actions. His mouth hung slightly opened and he gazed at you with an unreadable expression. You returned his expression with a gentle smile and gestured to the papers in your hand. He started and blinked a few times as if he was finally able to shake off his bewilderment at anyone coming to his aide.

“Oh... yes.” He gently took the papers from your hand, his fingertips brushing lightly against your own, leaving a ghostly feeling in their wake. “Th-thank you.”

“Christ, Orlo! Did you just cum in your pants?” the Emperor exclaimed before turning to the group men behind him. “Did you hear? I asked if he just came in his pants!”

The men laughed and Orlo’s face turned red in embarrassment as he stood up and clutched the papers to his chest protectively. You stood too, ignoring the laughter that surrounded you as Orlo’s head dropped in shame.

“You, didn’t you hear me?” the Emperor demanded as you turned to him, your face screwed up in a look of confusion. The Emperor looked you over, eyes stopping briefly over your chest before giving you an approving nod. “I don’t think we have met.”

Your uncle’s hand grabbed your arm and tugged you back to his side.

“My niece, (Y/N), Emperor,” he introduced, jaw clenched.

The Emperor hummed in appreciation as you curtsied to him, the act giving him a birds-eye view of your cleavage. You fought to contain the shiver of disgust his unwanted gaze generated in you. He smiled haughtily and moved to step closer you as your body clenched.

“Emperor,” a voice called and all eyes turned towards the dark-haired man, Orlo. “Forgive the interruption but the Empress is expecting you for…”

“Fuck! Yes, yes. Shut up you lobcock,” He turned back towards your uncle. “We will speak more at dinner.”

With one final glance your way he swept out of the room, once again trailed by the group of men. The dark haired man was the last to leave, he opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it and quickly stepped through the door. The hush that fell over the room after the departure of Peter and his men was near deafening. Neither you nor your uncle moved for several moments as you each ran the events over in your mind.

You were the first to break the silence.

“Well... fuck.”

[i-the-hell-is-bvcky]

Summary: Reader is a bounty hunter for SHIELD and Steve is the world’s best mercenary who SHIELD wants to catch. So what happens when she meets him and that plan goes out the window? This is part 7/10

Word count: 1,238

Warnings: Swears, violence, assault mention

*5 Months Later*

“Yn you got eyes on the target?” Rhodey says through the comm in her ear. With no luck gathering enough information on Steve to bring him in, the Italian job was a bust which sent the team back home to NYC to a very grumpy Nick Fury. After a few nights of drinking to drown the team’s collective sorrow, and Yn’s guilt with sleeping with the target numerous times, it was time to get back to work. The new target is a big time investment banker with money and influence in almost everything in the city. For years it was a known-known that he was a sleazy guy, using his money and power to abuse women and some men into doing whatever he wanted. Every time someone tried to speak up about it, they ended up dead or were made to sign a NDA to never speak about it again. Some even had to change their names and move out of the states to even make a living. SHIELD usually handles international criminals but this case was personal to Natasha so Nick let the team have it. The team received a tip that this banker was going to be in town for business and was going to engage in his favorite pastime of getting high on some high grade coke and take out his high on some poor soul. Well the jig is up and Yn was going to make sure of it. Too bad she can’t kill him. 

“Pardon my language director but the fuck do you mean I can’t kill him? He clearly doesn’t deserve to breathe any more oxygen.” Nick just sighs from his desk.

“Trust me, as much as I’d like to see you and Nat beat the ever loving shit out of this guy, we have to bring him in alive so he can get his day in court. We can’t be judge, jury, and executioner...unfortunately.” 

So that leaves her here, in a lookout high above the hotel lobby keeping an eye out for when he walks in and making sure no one tries to get to him before SHIELD does. 

“He just got in,” Bucky says in her ear. He’s outside across the street with his favorite gun ready to go, just in case. “I have a clean and clear shot, just say the word Boss.”

“You know your orders Barnes,” Nat tells him. “Lets just do this and get it over with.” 

“He just checked in and is going to the elevator. I’m following now,” Yn says. 

“Good, be aware of your surroundings, it’s almost the holidays so there are a lot of people around.” 

“I know, I gotta move. It's getting crowded now. Fuck, he’s actually going to the courtyard.” Moving from the balcony, Yn heads down the stairs only to be Shit I’m starting to lose sight of him.” Where the fuck did all these people come from? She thinks to herself. Just as Yn stops, all hell breaks loose. People are screaming and when Yn looks for the target, her heart sinks and anger kicks in. 

“BARNES DID YOU FUCKING—”

“NO, WE HAD EYES ON HIM. HOW IS HE? HOW?” Someone shot the target through the middle of his dumb head and now he’s dead bleeding out on the marble floors. Yn has to keep it together before she punches a hole in the wall. She frantically looks around to see the assailant but there’s too much chaos. 

“FUCK!”

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

The next day Yn wakes up with a headache. All these failures and the stress of it all has finally caught up with her. She’s slow to get out of bed and start the day, not like she has much motivation to do so. Sure she’s happy that that fucker is dead but she still let him get killed. It would’ve been nice to give his victims some proper justice and let them see him rot for hopefully the rest of his miserable life, but death is just as good she supposes. As she sips her tea over some toast, she gets a text message from the last person she wants to think about right now.

Steve: meet me for coffee? Say 2pm at that little shop near your place?

Yn closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

Yn: Of course you would know where I live you creep and no

Steve: Ouch and you’re right, that was weird I apologize

Steve: I also have some info you might be interested in

She thinks it over in her head. Meeting Steve is opening up that can of worms she told herself she was going to leave in Italy and now it has followed her home. What info could he possibly provide? She knows he may have something to do with the event the day before but she feels that that is too coincidental. It doesn’t hurt to ask, right?

Yn: Fine. You have ten minutes to tell me what you know and that is it.

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

When Yn arrives at the coffee shop, Steve is already there and he’s even prettier than she remembered. With his stupidly pretty eyes and well kept hair and his dumb navy sweater hugging his biceps like it was painted on has her dizzy. When he sees her, Steve stands up to greet her as she moves toward him. 

“You look lovely, Yn.” He says before gently kissing her cheek. Yn fidgets under his praise and takes the seat he has pulled out for her.

“I know and you don’t look too bad yourself.” 

“Do you want anything? I can get you something,” Steve says but Yn shakes her head in refusal. She has a feeling why he asked her to meet him and she hopes it isn’t true. The desire to get this meeting over with is strong.

“I’m fine thanks. I just want you to get to the point of this little meetup, Steven.” He blinks in surprise, shocked at her sudden change in mood. 

“Alright. You want to get straight to business. Well, I know who killed your team’s last target,” Steve says with a sly smile. If he wasn’t such a pain in Yn’s ass she would have found it sexy. 

“Lemme guess. You?” Yn answers. Steve’s smile widens as Yn’s feels the anger boil up inside her chest. “How fucking dare you!” Yn exclaims loud enough that some patrons turn to look at her. “How fucking dare you be so cute!” Yn tries to cover her outburst and grabs Steve’s face from across the table to kiss him. This seems to appease everyone and all returns to normal. 

“Quite the show, Yn. I do love how you can’t seem to control your emotions. I can only imagine how pissed you must’ve looked when that scumbag hit the floor. I must say, it felt good to kill him. Was about time,” he says into his coffee before taking a sip. Yn kicks him hard in the shin and Steve nearly spills his drink in his lap. 

“I cannot believe this. Do you just like fucking me over?” Rubbing his sore shin Steve smiles that stupid smile again. “Don’t answer that. And just so you know, I hate you.” Yn’s voice is venomous. “Do not contact me again, the next time we see each other, your ass will be in handcuffs.”

“I might like that,” Steve winks. 

[royalbloodedbastards]

self-para // inconveniences

DATE: Saturday, December 26, 2020 CHARACTERS: Roy, Sefa, and Linnaea ABOUT: Roy meets Linnaea. Sefa is there.

Give me a minute to unburden myself here. It is so damn inconvenient to be the son of a loa.

Even all the way over in New Orleans, I heard all about these demigods living in New Athens, this metropolitan city on Long Island that was built by the gods. Freakin’ nature spirits have been gossiping about it from coast to coast, saying the streets are paved with marble and there are fountains of youth. And you know what? I believe it. The Greek gods love to meddle in the affairs of their children, cause them problems and then make up for it by giving them all these extravagant gifts. Probably makes them feel young again, like they’re more than just pretty figureheads sitting on golden thrones.

But there’s no metropolitan haven like that for the kids of the loa. There aren’t even that many of us to begin with, definitely not enough to stand up to spirits that have way better things to do than spoil their kids. And you know what? It’s better that way. I don’t need a rich god daddy to build cities and subsidize my living for me. Nah. I love living high-flood-risk, mold-infested, landlord-controlled housing.

Freakin’ love it.

The real inconvenience is all the crap I inherited from my dad.

Like, take this guy for instance, the one that’s staring me down from the other side of his blinding headlights. First of all, inconsiderate. Turn off your damn headlights, asshole, you’re gonna give me eye damage. Secondly, why is this guy looking at me like I’m going to kill him? I’m literally standing here in a parking lot, completely unarmed, while he’s staring me down from the driver side of a literal automobile. In terms of danger, I would say the redhead’s got the upper hand. But even so, I can’t totally blame him. I know the look he’s giving me.

My dad—er, sorry. My sperm donor’s got a real intense look about him. Makes sense, with him being the Master of the Dead and whatever, but it’s not really a look I wanted for myself. I try really hard to dress nice and carry myself well, but these freakin’ purple eyes and the comically-on-the-nose skull-shaped vitiligo across my face really don’t help my cause. The kids in middle school used to say that it was a tattoo, that I applied bleach on my skin in the shape of skull to look cool and that it probably messed up my eyes in the process. The rumors got so bad the principal pulled me aside to ask if I was engaging in ‘potentially harmful cosmetic procedures’. I told him to go fuck himself.

Oh, that’s the other thing too. I can’t control what comes out of my mouth sometimes. I’ll be thinking one thing and something completely unrelated, and oftentimes pretty vulgar, will just come flying out. I’m not even much on cursing, it just happens. Another thing I get from my dad, apparently.

“I have her,” the ginger calls out to me from behind the beams of light. “She’s in the backseat.”

It takes a full ten seconds for my eyes to adjust from the vicious assault of his headlights. Then, the shape of a person starts forming through the backseat window. “Holy fuck.” Pardon my French. “You really went for it. I didn’t ask you to break her nose.”

“Yeah, well…” He trails off into a mumble, like he’s embarrassed about it. “She deserved it.”

If this guy didn’t have a chick tied up in the backseat of his car, I would’ve pegged him for a total soft body. One of those only-drinks-bottled-water types.

Eh, I still do.

“Bring her inside,” I instruct. I don’t stick around to see how he’s planning to get her out of the car without looking suspicious. Whatever. Not my job. I key card my way into the motel room and wait for him to bring the girl in. I watch as he slings her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and waddles his way toward the door. “You can set her down on the bed.” He does as he’s told and drops her down onto the nasty bedding. A little blood smears onto the sheets, probably adding another layer to the hooker blood and cum that’s already baked into the bed. “Does she need medical attention?”

“Nah,” the ginger responds. “I mean… Probably not. They’ll just give her some ambrosia back at camp.”

Ambrosia, wow. The literal food of the gods and they just give it out to their kids like cough drops. Freakin’ Greeks.

“Well, I need her awake to talk.”

“She was awake half an hour ago.”

“And now she’s unconscious.”

“Yeah, but she was awake before.”

“And now,” I repeat slowly, “she is un-con-scious.”

Ginger sighs and kneels by the bed. He slaps her unceremoniously across the face a few times. “Be gentle,” I plead in a tone that sounds very unintentionally sarcastic. “You already broke her nose.”

“Hey,” he barks. “Wake up.” Jesus Fictional Christ, this guy is a brute. “Hey, do you hear me? Wake up.”

The girl stirs and pushes his hand away. “What do you want?”

“You’re awake,” I state, reiterating the obvious. “Good. I wasn’t in the mood to dig a grave tonight.”

The girl lifts her head and grimaces at me. “Are you Gabriele?”

“No, you’ve got the wrong number. I’m Roy.” I stick out my hand for her to shake, but hers are tied. “Oh yeah. Sorry.” I drop it.

“What the fuck do you want with me?”

“I heard from a little birdie that you’ve become quite the budding, young necromancer.”

“She’s what?” Ginger looks at me concernedly.

“A necromancer,” I repeat. “Reeling spirits back from the dead like a nasty little fisherman.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she spits.

“Au contraire, I have friends in all sorts of places. Cities, villages, the woods outside of New Athens.” The color drains from her face. Well, all the color except for the crusty red stain around her nose. “Nobody is ever truly alone, you see. Even the most desperate of men, on their last dying breaths, as they succumb to the fear that not even God is watching over them… There is somebody watching. It may not be their god, but someone is watching.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Right to the point, then. Good.” I sit down on the opposite end of the bed, giving enough distance to make sure that none of the blood she’s spitting gets onto my jeans. “The gods are not happy with you.”

“Hades?” Ginger chimes in.

“Yes, that’s one,” I respond with a nod. “And Hel, the Norse goddess. And the Shinigami. Ever heard of them? In fact, Chitragupta, Xipe Totec, King Yama, Xorn—all of the gods are pretty mad.”

“Why are they mad at me?” The girl’s voice cracks as she speaks. I can tell I’m getting into her head. “I I have nothing to do with them.”

“But you do. You see, when you disrespect the laws of one god, you disrespect them all,” I explain. “The laws of life and death are sacred, no matter which theology you subscribe to. The living belong in the land of the living, and the dead belong in the Underworld, the afterlife, Heaven and Hell—whatever you want to call it. But if one underworld starts giving out free passes to the land of the living, then all of the spirits in all those other places I mentioned are going to start to get jealous. Suddenly, you have millions, if not billions, of undead hearing about this one girl who managed to get her brother a second chance, and they all start to think, why shouldn’t I get one too. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

The room is silent for a moment. I think that means my explanation worked.

Thank freakin’ god.

A bit of a sidetrack confession here—I’m totally lying my ass off. All the other gods probably don’t give a shit, it’s not like the dead are going to form an uprising against their literally omnipotent, all-powerful overlords. In fact, one of the gods I mentioned was actually an X-Men and I’m so freakin’ relieved neither of them seemed to pick up on that. If I’m being real here, I’m just doing this because I was hired to.

The third reason it’s inconvenient to be the son of a loa: all the gods suddenly assume that just because I have these powers that I’m entitled to use them to help others.

Look, all I ever wanted to do was listen to classical music and play Animal Crossing in bed, eating Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and Arizona Iced Tea. Hades was the one who sought me out and thought, ‘hey, wouldn’t it be a great idea to ruin this kid’s life by making him into a mercenary for all these tiny deities and death spirits to use at will?’ And, like I said before, spirits and gods love to gossip. One death god heard that there was a mercenary willing to do the dirty, busy work and they recommended him to a friend, who recommended him to another friend, who recommended him to another friend, et cetera and so forth. And all the while, my New Horizons island is in freakin’ shambles because nobody is giving me a free day to clean up all the weeds that have sprouted all over my outdoor-waterfall-patisserie.

“So what do you want from me,” the girl repeats, “if not just to kill me?”

“What I want…” I lean in close so she can see right into the lavender glint of my irises. These eyeballs are a pain in the ass for grocery shopping but for times like this, I swear there’s no better weapon. “Is relief.”

[javathewildone]

Ty Chronicles - A Walk to Remember (Pt. 13)

Summary: Meghan Donovan is a girl no one pays attention to until the day Ty Borden discovers something about her that so closely relates to his own life he finds himself becoming attached to her. But the closer he gets, the worse things become. And no one makes it through unscathed. The first installment of the Ty Chronicles saga. Set pre-Heartland/pre-juvie/pre-group home. Told in first-person through Ty’s point of view. Rating: M for adult themes Author’s Notes: Hey, look! It was exactly one year since I posted a chater for this one. *facepalm* I’ve changed direction with it so many times it amazes me I still remember wtf I was doing. Trigger Warning: adult content including prostitution Parts: P | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8  | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

"You're really not going to tell me how you got Maisie to trust you enough to open up about Meghan?" I asked, discarding a useless three of clubs down on the bench between us. It had been over an hour since we ran into the mysterious Maisie. After a while of me sitting and fidgeting and looking suspiciously like I was jonesing, Seth dug out a deck of cards from his grocery bag and we were now three games into a Gin tournament.

Seth took a moment to move his cards around. "Your tender virginal ears couldn't bear the sensual details." He discarded a six of hearts.

My brow rose. "You used sex in exchange for information?" I almost couldn't believe it.

"See? The very idea makes your head spin, my prudish little friend."

I scowled. "I'm not a prude, Seth. Virgin, maybe, but I've been around the block a time or two. What surprises me is that you're not."

Seth leaned back, aghast. "Beg your pardon, fella; I happen to be very popular with the ladies. Cougars, particularly, like Miss Maisie back there. They just devour my boyish charm." He smiled broadly as if to flaunt said charms.

I snorted. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume the other night wasn't your first time hanging around here."

"And you would be correct," Seth said, lowering his gaze back to his hand. "You gonna make a move, or what?"

I picked up his card, arranging it in my hand. "Well…?"

"Well, what?"

"You and Maisie. What's going on there?"

Seth shrugged, picking up my discarded two of spades. "I'm a refreshing break from the skeevy old men who leave the money on the nightstand on their way out the door."

Never, in a million years, would I ever think to discover this startling revelation about one of my good friends. Then again, we didn't often talk about such things. Meaning relationships. Which, I suppose this would fall into that category. My fraternization with Meghan seemed to be the catalyst to jar that particular topic of interest. Their desire to know the dirty details of our interactions only made their own love interests fair game. Already startling truths were being revealed.

"So, you've actually… with her?"

"Done the dirty? Sure." Seth admitted it so casually, like it was no big deal for a 15-year-old kid to have sex with a lady of the night. Like it wasn't illegal, forget about immoral. But, when put it into the perspective of where we were and why we were there, I really shouldn't be as stunned as I was.

Still, I fell into contemplative silence, mulling over this idea of my friend – who was younger than me – having done more with a grown woman than some guys older than us have done. Than I've done. And I thought I was hot shit for hitting the sexual milestones I had. But my contemplation over Seth's sexual escapades took a dark turn when I considered Meghan being the one subject to those things with the skeevy old men Maisie dealt with. The thought of them touching her in places I never dared sent an explosion of rage through my veins. I couldn't bear being inside my own head anymore with this knowledge of Meghan working this very street. With what little I knew of the situation, I was able to conjure up every filthy scenario of her being groped, abused, assaulted, molested, and even raped. It scared me to death while at the same time fueling my protective instinct that used to be solely reserved for my mother. That uninhibited need to prevent the bad things from happening or to go head to head with them when just stealing her away wasn't an option. I felt that familiar tension building in my shoulders now.

"Ty. Hey, man." Seth nudged my hand. "Your go."

"I'm done playing." I said, my tone implying I didn't just mean our card game.

"Look. I know it's not right, but we're two consenting people and I don't appreciate you judging me for it." Seth said, his voice clipped as he gathered up the cards.

I realized then that he thought my abrupt change in demeanor was because I didn't approve of his lifestyle. "I'm not. It's none of my business. I appreciate you looking into Meghan for me, but now that I know… I just can't stop thinking up all of these terrible things happening to her. She's not like you, or Maisie. I can guarantee her consent is not given freely."

Seth visibly relaxed, his defensive expression softening. "I just hope we can do something to actually help her. "

"Me too." I ran a hand anxiously through my hair. I wasn't sure how much longer I could wait before succumbing to my own imagination and losing it completely.

"Hey, watch this." Shuffling through the cards, Seth selected three then set the rest aside. Settling himself on the edge of the sidewalk he laid the cards out before him. Lifting each in turn he showed them to me. Queen of hearts, five of diamonds, and ten of spades. "Follow the lady." With the dexterity of a casino dealer he shuffled the cards around and around until satisfied then gestured for me to choose.

Huffing a sigh, I humored him and pointed to the center. His mouth quirked as he lifted the card to reveal the ten of spades. "I made two hundred bucks one afternoon playing this game downtown. You'd be amazed how flustered people get when they think they are being clever. They just kept throwing money at me to best themselves." He revealed the Queen then set her back down to shuffle again.

I didn't bother to wager any actual currency, knowing full well I was not in any state of mind to follow a fake lady when my thoughts were reaching toward a real one. My attention wandered to every vehicle and person that came our way. It didn't take Seth long to get bored of my half-hearted guesses.

"You gotta stop looking so suspicious," he commented, picking up the rest of the cards and giving them a hard shuffle.

"Aren't we suspicious enough loitering on this bench at this time of night?" I was waiting for the cops to pull up and ask just that. What answer could we even give them?

Seth shrugged. "No one really asks questions this part of town. But you looking around like that will for sure draw some unwanted attention."

"I can't help it." I leaned back to stare down at my shoes.

"There you go; that's better. Down on our luck and despondent is what we're going for."

I shot my friend a glance in the form of an eye roll. The click of heels drew our attention then as Maisie sauntered up with another young woman – not Meghan, to my dismay. She brushed Seth aside to sit between us, gesturing to her companion. "This is Clara. She's another novitiate." I hoped she meant to use that particular term ironically.

Clara smiled softly at me, not sparing Seth a glance. I smiled back to be polite, but my attention wandered to Maisie. "Have you seen Meghan?"

"You're Ty." It was Clara that spoke, commandeering my focus. I assumed she learned that from Seth, or from Maisie who learned it from Seth.

"Yeah." I curbed the rest of that sentence. They all knew why I was there; it seemed like a waste of breathe to ask again about Meghan. If I took away anything from that evening it was to be as discreet and cryptic as possible. Anyhow, my impatient expression was sure to speak for me well enough.

Clara's smile only widened at the affirmation. "Come with me." She stood, grabbing my hand as she did to pull me up with her.

I threw a confused glance over my shoulder to Seth, allowing myself to be pulled to my feet but no further. My friend only nodded in encouragement and tossed me his deck of cards that I caught against my side. "Follow the lady."

Unsure what to make of his double entendre, I figured I trusted Seth this far, I might as well go all the way. Pocketing the cards, I let Clara pull me down the street.

"Put your arm around me," she insisted when we paused at the corner to cross.

"What?" Startled, I tried to pull my hand from her grasp but she tightened her grip.

She finagled my arm to drape across her shoulders, tugging me closer into her side. She wrapped her arm around my waist as we crossed the street, ducking her head against my chest as she laughed. "Look like you mean to be here. We're going to meet your lady friend, but we can't look conspicuous. Pretend we're headed some place for a good time." Despite the giggle in her voice, her words were firm. Understanding, I let my rigid posture melt, leaning into her a bit and even fabricating a stumble to feign intoxication. This made Clara laugh for real. "That'll do, Pig."

I let her guide me, trying to pry what bit of information I could through slurred murmurs into her ear. But she was hesitant to divulge the plan in open space where anyone could be lurking. The most I got was that we were going to a motel. The sight of it made my stomach clench. I'd been in motels like this one before where nefarious activities were being conducted right beneath the nose of the greasy-palmed night managers.

I watched, eyes wide, as Clara dug into her cleavage to extract a key and unlock one of the rooms. She didn't explain. I didn't ask.

Immediately, I scanned the room hoping the door would open to Meghan sitting on the bed waiting for me but the room was empty. Clara tugged me in, roughly shoving me down on the bed with a giggle and nudged the door closed with her foot. Utterly stunned, I caught her at arm's length before she could dive on top of me. If this was Seth's way of trying to make me get over Meghan, I was going to be sincerely pissed off. But Clara was pulling out of my grasp to approach a door within the room I initially assumed was the closet. She knocked twice with her ear pressed to it before there was a click and it opened a crack. I jumped up, craning to see who she was speaking to in hushed tones when the door opened wider and she stepped through. My heart jumped into my throat when Meghan came from the other side, her back to me as she eased the door quietly shut and locked it.

I stood frozen, staring at her back. I refused to allow my eyes to trail away from the bare skin of her shoulders. She was wearing a halter top and a skirt so short I was frantically trying to erase the slight curves of her ass cheeks peeking through the bottom of my vision. That same male part of me I was loath to admit reacted to such atrocities came to life as it had before. I swallowed hard, wishing for once I wasn't such a hormonal teenager and willing it away before Meghan could turn around.

Too late.

I stood straighter, clasping my hands in front of me to try and hide my shame as not to make her feel any worse about herself than she surely did. My eyes widened at the sight of her. I'd never seen her in make up before, except for concealer. But even that couldn't cover the black and blue painting the side of her jaw.

"What do you want?" Her voice shook and just like that I had nothing left to hide as I let my hands fall to my sides.

"You look…" I wasn't sure how to finish that sentence without sounding like an asshole. She didn't look like the Meghan I remember. Not just the skimpy attire but her hair so tightly curled and half knotted onto her head while the rest brushed her bare shoulders. Gold hoops hung from her ears, but it was the purple smoky eye shadow that drew my attention to her light eyes. I had to choke down the word "hot" pretty hard when Meghan's expression steeled.

"Like a floozy," she finished.

I blinked. "Um. I was going to say older."

"Same difference." She crossed her arms, waiting for me to answer her initial question.

I moved closer, pausing when she stiffened. My heart sank. Were we back to that now? "I was worried about you. I came to make sure you were okay."

Meghan's jaw popped. "Does it look like I'm okay?" She snapped, making me wince. Of course she wasn't okay. I knew even before seeing her she wasn't going to be okay. Nothing about this was okay.

"I needed to see you," I continued, desperate to find some bit of the relationship we tried so hard to hold together. "I was scared when I hadn't heard from you for so long and I knew better than to try to make direct contact after what happened last time."

"Okay. You've seen me. Now, if you'll excuse me I have a client." She turned to go and in a burst of panic I lunged for her arm to prevent her from doing so. Unfortunately, I hadn't thought about what I was doing until it was too late and Meghan was wrenching herself from my grasp, reeling away from me in utter fear.

I let her go, throwing my hands in the air. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. Just, please, don't leave."

Folding her hands around her arms, Meghan closed in around herself, breathing heavily and not meeting my eye. "Please. I-If you're afraid of losing money I'll pay for your time."

Once again I realized my error too late as Meghan flashed me a scathing look. "Fuck you, Ty."

I didn't think my heart could sink lower, but was still insulted she would even consider I thought that way. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

She breathed out a sigh. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just if I don't leave this motel with payment this time Daddy will turn my whole face purple."

"Daddy?" I asked, assuming she meant her stepfather but still finding the new title for him rather disturbing.

Meghan's face reddened as she dropped her gaze and shifted uncomfortably. "That's what he demanded I call him when I'm... working."

I tried not to let my nausea show too plainly as I reached for my wallet, pulling it out along with the deck of cards. Digging through the folds I took out all the cash I had, counting it quickly. "I've got thirty-six dollars." I glanced up cautiously to meet her dismayed expression.

"That won't be enough." She shook her head, glancing toward the door where clearly a bigger pay day awaited her. Or rather Daddy.

Suddenly, Seth's parting "follow the lady" popped back into my head as I fingered the deck of cards. Flipping open the top I pulled them out to find two hundred dollar bills next to the Queen of hearts.

I held up the cash, silently thanking Seth for his master planning. "How about two hundred and thirty-six dollars?"

Slowly, a small, dare I say relieved, smile crept across Meghan's blood red lips.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Throw Your Love Away

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure

Pairing: Robert E. O. Speedwagon/OFC

Rating: Holy shit M

AN: I don't know what even happened here. This AU (or maybe just a prelude to his run-in with Jonathan Joestar?) burst into life yesterday morning and now, dare I say, it's finished. I don't know whether I've ever written that much that quickly, and it's all for the Speedwagon. Also! If anyone feels the urge to look at the most beautiful Speedwagon that I've ever seen, I will invite you to take a gander at suzannart's Tumblr. Because holy moly. Holy Moly. Enjoy!

[!WARNING!: For my abysmal attempt at writing a Cockney accent and 'historical' things in general. I'm so, so sorry.]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: For brief attempted sexual assault and canon-typical violence. Stay safe!]

Speedwagon couldn't have told a soul why he lingered where he did on that particular evening. He still couldn't quite parse it out to himself, so he had precious little hope explaining it to anyone else.

Ogre Street was relatively quiet that night. Things tended to get pinched and shallow during the winter, folks conserving their energy by huddling up to the nearest heat source and biding their time until Lady Spring graced them with her presence once again. But Speedwagon had never paid much mind to the cold, just flipping the lapels of his coat up against the chill wind while he made his rounds.

He had stopped for shelter in a small alcove midway through his jaunt, the wind threatening to sweep the hat clean off his head. Speedwagon heard some muffled grunting in the pitch black of the alley to his left, but he paid it no mind. Probably some drunk fumbling around in the dark.

“Please don't touch me-!”

Speedwagon's shoulders shot up around his ears. That was a woman's voice, high and cracking like she wanted to scream but couldn't draw the breath. The women of Ogre Street were just as ornery as the men, if not more so, so she couldn't be a resident.

“C'mon sweeting, let me see what's under that fancy party dress of yours…” came the slurring reply. “It’ll only hurt a little, I promise.”

“Get away from me!”

Speedwagon had heard more than enough, his jaw set in a grim line as he stormed further into the sheltered alcove. “Oi! What're you playing at there lad?” He shouted, probably louder than he needed to.

As his eyes adjusted to the significantly dimmer light, he could barely make out a lighter-colored mass on the ground. Something brushed past his arm and on instinct he grabbed, snatching a handful of homespun wool. The man squealed in surprise at being caught, twisting wildly this way and that to try and get out of Speedwagon's grip. “Mercy, Speedwagon! I-I didn't know she was yours! I wouldn't have-”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have your guts for garters right here an’ now.” Speedwagon snarled, his face inches away from the other man's.

“Ah, I might have...er, my hand slipped a bit…” The man hemmed and hawed, holding up his hands and a bloodied knife as if to appease Speedwagon. “Honest, it were an accident!”

“Get out of my sight.” Speedwagon tossed the man a good three feet, not turning until he had bolted back out into the street. “Oi, girl! You alright then?” He asked sharply, getting no reply.

She was lying limp on the ground in the snow, blood slowly pooling at her side. Speedwagon swore a blue streak and clapped a hand over her hip, feeling the frayed material of her flimsy party dress beneath his fingers and the slick heat of injured flesh.

“Easy now love, Speedwagon's got you.” He muttered mainly for his own benefit, taking the worn scarf off his neck and folding it to press onto the wound. “Easy, easy.”

She seemed to have lost consciousness and Speedwagon thanked his stars for that. Hopefully she wouldn't feel him jostling her as he picked her up.

“You are a proper lady. Wonder how you ended up here.” Speedwagon mused once he got a good look at her in the guttering light of the street lamps, perplexed. “No matter, ol’ Rob will have you right as rain in no time.”

She still hadn't roused herself after Robert had bound her wounds and wrapped her in the meager blankets he could scrounge up. He sat beside the pallet on the floor and took her hand. He wasn't sure why, but he'd seen doctors do it a few times so it invited imitating. Speedwagon realized after a minute that he could feel her pulse under his thumb, and he started absently counting the beats in time with his breathing. It was fast, almost made him lightheaded. That can't be good. Speedwagon frowned, brushing the hair off her forehead. He was no doctor, was Speedwagon, and they were hard to come by without the coin.

So he sighed and resigned himself to a sleepless night of watching her like a hawk.

…

He awoke to screaming and, still half asleep, Robert had his gun drawn and cocked before he realized what was happening. She was cowering on the pallet, blankets still wrapped around her as she flailed her leg out at--

A mouse, questing curiously up the worn bedding with little regard for her. Speedwagon didn't mean to chuckle, holstering his pistol and carefully shooing the vermin off the bed. “Go on lad, go on.” He murmured.

“Where am I?” She demanded after a momentary stunned silence.

“My sleeping quarters.”

“I mean where! I can see that I'm in some flea-ridden excuse for a bed!” She snapped at his glibness, clutching the blankets even tighter.

“Lord, you're lively compared to the gel that was all aswoon last night.” Speedwagon couldn't resist teasing a bit. “I'm glad that your side's not painin’ you overmuch, love.”

“My side? My…” She trailed off, her eyes half-lidding. “What happened?”

“One of the guttersnipes was tryin’ to...get to know ya’ a bit better. I warned him off, but not before he made to see the color of your insides.” Speedwagon winced inwardly, knowing that his language was rough.

She paled immediately, one hand vanishing beneath the blanket. “What am I wearing?”

“One of my shirts. I had to...you were bleeding.” Robert didn't know why he was fumbling. “Why weren't you wearing a corset? Whalebone or metal ribs might have stopped that blade before it did harm.”

“It's none of your business what undergarments I do or do not wear.” She replied primly.

“Fair enough and true that may be. Would you at least tell me what you were doing down in my slums then? I doubt you were here on purpose, out and about dressed like that.” Speedwagon tipped his hat back on his head, tugging thoughtfully at his forelock. “Though you rich folks seem awful poor when it comes to common sense.”

“I was...at a party.”

Speedwagon waited a moment, expecting more and huffing, “Well? That's it then?” when it didn't come.

“Why would I tell you more? I don't even know who you are!”

“Look here love, I'm of a right mind to stove in a head or two. If someone dropped you down here for a laugh, I'll march to his doorstep and give him a good drubbing. If someone made you leave your home in the dead of night dressed like that, I'll thrash him. I'm in no mood for japes that put young ladies in harm's way.” Speedwagon announced firmly, “The name's Robert E. O. Speedwagon, my lady.”

“Well. That was a lot of information.” She said weakly. “I'm afraid you'll have to drub me though, since I'm the one who put myself in that alley. I-I'm not familiar with this city. I came out to visit my fiance, you see, and…” She paused and Speedwagon spotted the sheen of tears before she blinked them away. “Pardon, I suppose I should not refer to him as such anymore.”

“Did he die then?” Speedwagon wished he could take the words back as soon as they left his mouth, cringing.

“Oh it's a terrible thing to say, Mr. Speedwagon, but I almost wish he had!” She cried. “That wretch has been stringing me along, stringing along my whole family! All his heartfelt platitudes and lovely poetic letters, just a means to an end! I caught him in such a compromising position with another woman and I couldn't bear to be in his presence one more second, I simply ran out of the house.”

“No doubt the side lover that a good married woman wouldn't know about.” Robert said darkly. “Well my lady, you're wrong on one account. Sounds like this betrothed of yours is the one what needs a straightening out.”

“He didn't force me to leave, Mr. Speedwagon. I was a coward and fled.” She wrung her hands in obvious distress. “A stronger woman would have confronted him.”

“Aye, and withstood the hellfire that was sure to come. I mean no disrespect love, but your frame doesn't strike much fear.” Speedwagon got to his feet, donning his coat and tossing her flimsy dress to her. He gestured at the battered washstand in the corner. “Scrub yourself in the basin, loving. Then, old Speedwagon will be your bloodhound.”

Her face hardened and she wiped away her tears, nodding jerkily.

Speedwagon leaned against the wall outside the door, doing his best to give her the privacy of a good cry and wash. Though she may be full up on weeping, judging from her resolved expression. He sighed and tugged at his lapels. A fine mess you're getting into, Speedwagon. You know these rich folks love to have pissing matches with one another.

…

She clung to his arm, shivering even under the extra layers of his shirt and jacket over her dress. “M-M-M-Mr. Speedwagon, are you not chilled?” She stuttered through her chattering teeth.

“When you been sleepin’ rough as long as me, loving, you tend to get used to the cold.” Speedwagon tossed her a grin. “Besides, if your description an’ memory is correct, we’re almost there! How's the side?”

“It stings a bit, but I'll manage. It was barely a graze.” She replied bravely. “Still, I'm glad you found me. In such a state, I don't know how long I would have lasted.”

“Think nothing of it, my lady. I come across helpless damsels in the gutter all the time. A regular Prince Charming am I, you might say!” Speedwagon said cockily, chuckling when she elbowed him in the ribs.

“You say such silly things, Mr. Speedwagon.”

“Darling?”

Speedwagon felt her jerk at the sound of the male voice, her grip on his arm threatening to bruise. And he was no small man! “Mr. Speedwagon, I'd like to introduce you to my former fiance, Lambert Coverdale.” Her tone was as cold as the weather and Speedwagon glared down at the well-dressed man who had called her ‘darling’.

“Darling, your family has been worried sick! You ran out so quickly last night, you didn't even give me the chance to explain!” The man was dressed like he was headed for a ride, tall boots on and riding crop at his side. “I was about to go and search for you again!”

“As you can see, darling, I'm quite fine. A little chilled, but none the worse for the wear. Don't let me stop you from going a-calling.”

“And who is this...er…” Speedwagon got an insane surge of glee from watching the Coverdale heir try and come up with a non-offensive term to use when addressing him, a man so clearly below his caste that he may as well be subterranean.

“Speedwagon.” Robert intoned, not offering his hand in a plain show of disdain. The man snapped the riding crop down into his palm, obviously agitated by Speedwagon's rudeness. “I've come to bring this gel safely back to her parents. Lead the way, love.” Robert made certain to keep his body between her and her former fiance as they brushed past him, his shoulder bumping the other man's a bit harder than necessary. “I'd advise you and your lot to leave as soon as things are sorted. That man is not to be trusted.” He whispered to her once they were safely out of earshot. “I'll wager he means to lay claim to you since he's gone this far. He may have even spent the night weaving a story for your parents.”

She had gone pale again. “You think he would try to force himself on me?”

“I can't tell for certain, love. All I know is that animals are dangerous when cornered, and that man's as slippery as a viper.” Speedwagon growled.

The door to the large townhouse burst open before they could reach the steps, and an older gentleman came storming down to greet them. Speedwagon was reaching for the brim of his hat before he could think about it, hastily turning it into a doffing gesture. That was close.

“Emma! You've returned to us!” The older man (Speedwagon could only assume her father) said gladly, entirely ignoring Robert and catching his daughter up in his arms like she was a wee child. She had started sniffling at the sight of him and simply nodded against his shoulder, throwing her arms around his neck and clinging tight. “When Lambert told us about your quarrel, we had feared the worst. Thank heavens you're safe.”

“Our quarrel?” Emma asked in confusion, raising her face.

“Oh yes my dear, he said you two had a terrible argument and that you left in tears! You were so distraught you even ignored his pleas to stay.”

“He said all that, did he.” Emma's eyes had gone hard again. “Papa, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Robert Speedwagon. He is a true gentleman and he saved my life last night.”

Speedwagon went bright red at the praise, stammering awkwardly and adjusting the collar of his shirt. Emma's father grabbed Robert's hand and pumped it vigorously. “I don't know whether we can ever repay you. Won't you come inside, Mr. Speedwagon?”

He hadn't actually stopped shaking his hand. Robert was afraid his shoulder would drop off at this rate. Damn these rich folk and their gratitude! He thought ruefully. “Oh no, uh, I wouldn't want to impose on your hospitality.” Next to the older man's cultured tones, his rough Cockney accent seemed all the thicker.

“Emma's mother was just getting ready to have tea. Please Mr. Speedwagon, I insist!”

And so Robert E. O. Speedwagon found himself seated on a filigree chair that he fairly dwarfed, fumbling his way through the niceties of tea. Emma kept shooting him grateful looks and he wasn't entirely sure if it made up for the trouble he had been put through, but it was a start.

“Listen.” The blond man said finally, his saucer clattering too loudly on the slender side table for the umpteenth time. Christ, if he ever lost his temper surrounded by furniture like this it would be reduced to naught but matchsticks! “I don't care much for beatin’ round the bush. Lo-er, Lady Emma, you ought to explain the situation.”

“Situation?” Emma's mother appeared to be a little more grounded than her father, the older woman sipping her tea and giving Robert an inquisitive look over the cup.

“I did not leave last night because of a quarrel.” Emma had been put into a different dress, still free of corset, Robert noted. It would be difficult for her to wear one with the wound on her side, he theorized, and he had to admit he hardly minded the view her lack of corset provided. She dug into the ruffles of her skirt, her fingers picking at unseen seams. “It would seem that I am not Lambert’s first choice.”

“Not his first…” Her father trailed off, stunned. Her mother just looked pained. Clearly the other woman had suspected as much. “Emma, have you any proof?”

“I found him in his study last night, wrapped around another woman. I...I'm afraid I lost my senses.”

Aye, and more besides I'll wager! Speedwagon thought wryly.

“I demanded an explanation and when none was forthcoming, I simply...walked out the door. I don't recall much, I ran for what seemed an eternity. I didn't feel the cold at all.” Emma tilted her chin towards Robert, indicating that it was his time to butt in.

“My residence is Ogre Street, sir. I make my rounds as usual on cold nights or warm. I had stopped for a moment in a small alley to wait out the wind, wherein I stumbled across Lady Emma and another miscreant. I regret to say I am a bit on the slower side, I didn't manage to keep him from slittin’ her. You'll want a doctor to have a look at the wound, I'd imagine.” He had gotten to his feet, beginning to pace. “I wrapped it as best as I could, she slept through the night. On waking and hearing the sad tale of her exodus, I decided that someone so churlish as that man's shown himself to be ought to get his jaw knocked.” Robert realized he'd gone on a bit of a tirade and he grimaced, tugging at his forelock. “Ah, I mean no disrespect, of course. And if it's all a misunderstanding, I'll be on my way without so much as a sneeze in the cur's direction.”

“Mr. Speedwagon, please sit back down.” Emma's mother said firmly. “There'll be no jaw knocking until we have a proper idea of the situation.”

“What exactly did you see Lambert doing, Emma?” Her father asked gently.

Emma flinched. “Father, I…” She trailed off, flushing. Robert felt a weird protective squeeze in his chest and he cleared his throat. “It's not something that I would care to repeat in polite company.” She said faintly.

“Lucky for you, Lady Emma, I weren't exactly raised a choir boy.” Speedwagon joked, trying to give her the courage to continue.

“True enough, Mr. Speedwagon. Father, Mother, Lambert was in his study very busily ravishing another woman who I know lives nearby.” Emma said all in a rush, her face wholly crimson. “I was so shocked, I couldn't even move for a moment. I stood there in the doorway and so complete was his focus on her, he didn't even notice me until I was beside him.”

Emma's father sputtered wildly. In a moment of fancy Speedwagon would have sworn the older man's mustache bristled with rage.

“I asked him to explain himself. He said he didn't have to, that this was the way things were.” Emma twisted her fingers. “I didn't understand, I was just so startled and hurt that I...I simply left.” She looked up at her father and oddly enough, at Speedwagon as well. “Am I wrong to be upset? Is this how things are?” She asked, her voice tremulous. “Am I simply naive, thinking that I would be enough?”

“Lady Emma…” Robert was at a loss for words, the blatant pain in her eyes catching him off-guard.

“Emma, my dear sweet Emma.” Her father held open his arms again and Emma all but collapsed into them, crying softly while he stroked her hair. “You are worth so much more love than that man's fickle heart could have ever given you.”

“Mr. Speedwagon, might I speak with you privately for a moment?” Emma's mother asked. Despite it being phrased as a question, Robert knew there was no refusing.

“‘Course, my lady.” He was relatively certain he was about to get his ears boxed by this prim and proper old woman, following her out of the sitting room and into the hallway.

“I will need your assistance in this matter, Mr. Speedwagon.” Robert blinked down at her. “Don’t look at me like you're some sort of buffoon! You brought our daughter home safe and from what I can gather unmolested, but I must ask more of you.”

“Me? But what could I possibly do for y'ladyship?” Speedwagon queried, more than a little startled. “I'm just a thug from Ogre Street.”

“True. Yet you obviously hold yourself to a higher standard than the ruffians you're surrounded by. Clearly higher than the scoundrel we promised our only daughter to. My husband, God bless him, is not getting any younger. If Lambert sees fit to lash out, I doubt the authorities would arrive in time to stop a tragic incident from occurring.” She raised an eyebrow at Speedwagon. “We are on Coverdale familial grounds and can do very little while we are here. I would be much obliged if you could maintain a presence here for a few more hours. If you would be so kind.”

“I...ma'am, what you're askin’ of me is a bit of a strange tint, make no mistake. I am...I will, then. Until you lot are safe back on your way, consider Mr. Speedwagon part of your merry band!” She seemed amused by the way he extended a hand to shake, humoring him by doing so.

“We need to get everything packed back up. This was to be the first trip of many, and these things take time. If you would just settle back in the drawing room, I'm certain we can be on our way in a few hours.”

Six hours later, Speedwagon was so bored he was considering trying to filch the entire tea set, tray and all. The fancy gold scrollwork on the ceramic would fetch a fair price, he was certain of that, and the spoons and tray could be melted down to a silversmith’s liking. As he pondered, he was vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps coming ever closer.

The far door to the sitting room flew open and in strode Lambert, looking like he had just fucked the handsiest whore in London. His clothes were askew, his hair was thoroughly mussed, and overall he radiated a smug air that made Speedwagon want to drag him back outside by his collar and introduce his face to the cobblestones. It seemed Lambert didn't notice him in the now dim room, as the man took a moment to preen at himself in the looking glass by the door before turning on his heel and heading across the room.

“Got anything stronger than tea for your courage, Coverdale?” Speedwagon drawled, making Lambert squeak. “I'm about full up of this weak pekoe brew.”

The other man whirled, eyes narrowing when they landed on Speedwagon. Robert simply looked up at him, deliberately keeping his face neutral. “You're still here then?” Lambert finally asked rudely.

“Why, where else would I have gone? What with my betrothed on her way back to me, all's well in the world.” Lambert visibly stiffened and Robert prayed he hadn't played his hand too early.

“Your betrothed? Certainly, there must be a misunderstanding.”

“Oh aye, she came tumbling into the rough streets late last night, sobbing her eyes out over some chap that done her wrong. I couldn't let that go on, so I told her I'd marry her instead of that jackanapes.” The large blond offered Lambert an infuriating grin. “She's enthusiastically accepted my gracious offer, so you're free to do as you wish with your other woman. I'd say I've done you quite the favor by taking the gel off your hands.”

“You...you cannot be serious.”

“On the contrary, lordship, I'm very serious.” Robert's grin didn't waver. He took sadistic delight in calling the gentry by the wrong titles, whether too high or too low was anyone's guess.

“Stop this ridiculous farce at once!” Lambert yelled, the butt of his riding crop nervously slapping at his thigh. “I'll have you brought before the assizes, you miserable wretch!”

“Why, whatever for?” Speedwagon rose to his full height, straightening his threadbare waistcoat. “And here I thought you'd be thrilled! Rich folk are so odd, you've got everything you could ever want and yet you bluster at me like a spring storm! I've half a mind to drub you anyway, no man ought to be breaking his vows ‘fore they're even spoken!” Robert growled.

He was a full head and shoulders taller than Lambert and he made that abundantly clear, glaring down at the fop until Lambert looked away with a huff of, “Where is Emma, you brute?”

“Ah, none of that. You can guess well enough where she is, but I won't be letting someone like you get anywhere near Lady Emma.”

Lambert scoffed loudly. “Lady Emma, she's a common-”

“I'll offer you the courtesy of shutting your mouth for you if I don't care for the words that come out it, Lam my lad.” Robert snarled. “I don't give a toss what comes of you after Lady Emma departs this house, but I expect you to behave as the gentleman you pretended to be during your courtship while she's still here. If you can't muster up that level of propriety, I'm not afraid to get into a dustup with the likes of you.”

“You will not threaten me in my own house!”

“I threaten you no more than the average schoolmarm, sirrah.” Speedwagon knew it was probably mean of him to take joy in this, but he recalled the fact that an innocent girl, barely a woman, could have very well died due to this man's indiscretion and his guilt withered away. “You seem as though someone ought to have given you stricter teaching. Not much one for catechism then?”

“You're one to talk, street trash!” Lambert seemed to be on the verge of losing his temper and Robert dropped a heavy arm around his shoulders.

“I meant no disrespect, y'lordship. I merely say as I see fit. You must understand, I'm just a thug from Ogre Street.” Speedwagon sighed mournfully. “Hopefully with this marriage, my fortunes will improve a bit.”

Coverdale appeared to have been struck dumb by Speedwagon's bold assumption, the young man sputtering while Robert gently steered him towards a chair. “You overreach your place, gutter vermin.” Lambert finally seethed once he was seated.

Robert shrugged, digging in his ear and then uncouthly flicking his findings onto the no-doubt costly rug. “I've not much an issue with that, sirrah. When your place has always been under the heel of someone else's boot, you get to longin’ for the sunlight.” He folded his arms across his chest and leveled the man in the chair with a stern look. It had quelled the rowdiest of his compatriots and it appeared to work quite well on the Coverdale heir. “I'll not lay a hand on you with ill intent if you behave agreeable toward the gel and her family. You and I will sit right here and wait until they're all packed, you'll see them off and that'll be the end of it.”

“I will not be ordered around by some-”

“I've been awful lenient with you, lordship. I'd hate to damage that winning smile you use to tup the ladies.” Speedwagon clenched his fists. “I would ask what your plan was with Lady Emma, but I'll wager a guess it had something to do with family land or money.” He fought the urge to spit on the rug.

“Oh very good, I'm incredibly impressed by your display of logic.” Lambert replied sarcastically.

Speedwagon leaned forward and was gratified when Coverdale shrank back from him. “If you would just stay in that bloody chair and keep your trap shut, I'd be much obliged.”

“Unbelievable.” Lambert sneered, folding his arms and hoisting his nose into the air. “Very well, you churl.”

“You honor me, your grace.”

Robert didn't take his eyes off the man sulking across from him for the next half hour, toying absently with the brim of his hat. A sudden bang! from the stairwell and a loud series of thuds heralded the approach of Emma and her parents, each one dragging a trunk. Speedwagon rushed forward, easily hefting the one Emma's mother had been saddled with.

“Are they all this light, my lady?” He jibed, making the older woman hide a smile behind her hand. “If you just leave those two on the landing, ol’ Speedwagon can take care of the rest. Strapping fella’ that I am!”

“Uncultured oaf.” Lambert muttered from his chair.

“You offerin’ to help, Coverdale?” Speedwagon asked, his smile wide with false cheer.

“I am not some manservant.” Lambert snorted.

“Well that's plain enough to see.” Speedwagon snarked back, strolling down the ridiculously wide staircase without so much as a glance backwards. Rich folk are impossible! He thought with a huff after he settled the first trunk onto Emma's family carriage. The second and third followed suit with little incident, Emma's father ensuring they were safely lashed to the rack of the carriage.

As Robert strode back into the townhouse for what he hoped was the final time, he heard a ruckus from upstairs. He sighed heavily and started up the stairs, rolling his sleeves to the elbow as he did.

Throwing open the drawing room door, he found himself faced with a sight he didn't care for in the slightest.

Lambert had Emma by the arm, his face purpling magnificently as he raised his riding crop with a self-righteous, “I'll teach you respect!”

“You spoilt, pampered ponce!” Speedwagon shouted, “Harm that woman and I'll separate the hand from your body with nothin’ but a tip of the hat!” He gestured to his chapeaux and the color left Coverdale's cheeks when he caught the glint of steel in the brim. “I didn't survive as long as I have on Ogre Street without pickin’ up a few tricks.” Speedwagon continued, easing forward to help Emma off the floor and usher the shocked young woman into her mother's waiting arms. “I'll be down to see you off in a minute, Lady Emma. Just as soon as I finish my conversation with this fine gentleman.”

Again, Robert felt a twinge of guilt at the way he was enjoying himself. And again, his mind reminded him of the abuse that surely would have taken place had he not been present.

Lambert brandished the riding crop at him, holding it like a fencer's rapier. “Do your worst, you baseborn scum!” He hissed.

Speedwagon simply knocked the crop aside with his free hand and then stepped into reach, his right fist lashing out for a furious blow to the chin that landed Lambert prone. “You couldn't handle my worst, sirrah, and that's an ironclad truth it is. You'd best keep your nose clean. If I hear of you sniffing about from any of my lads, I'll have to show off my parlor tricks. And I assure you, it'll be far less enjoyable than that love tap I gave you a moment ago.” Robert straightened his waistcoat, turned on his heel and left Lambert in a pile on the landing.

…

Emma wrote to him after spring had come, inviting him to call at their estate in the country. How she had gotten hold of his address, Speedwagon would never know. He debated on writing back. Ink and parchment were a bit more precious than he would care for, so Robert ended up returning her missive via the back of some receipts picked up at the local butcher. His handwriting was untidy at best, but he tried to even out his scrawl to the point of vague legibility.

Course I'll visit. Have to find a work crew headed your way though. Travel by train is murder on the pocket.

Speedwagon expected that to be the end of it, so when the damn woman herself showed up at his door he was a tad perplexed. He actually ended up rubbing his eyes a few times, not believing that she was standing on the worn stairs next to his humble abode. “Lady Emma! Is that you? My stars, a better sight for sore eyes I haven't seen!” He greeted her in his usual enthusiastic fashion, a little startled to find that the words were entirely true. “You're just as lovely as the first time I laid eyes on you!” She had grown worryingly pale, if memory served him proper.

“Ah yes, bleeding in an alley as I recall.” She quipped, smiling up at him.

Robert coughed awkwardly, toying with his forelock. “Well, er, perhaps a bit more lovely than that. I meant no disrespect, my lady.”

“Not at all! Are you ready?”

“Ready?” Speedwagon asked in confusion.

“I'm here to fetch you, Mr. Speedwagon.” She actually pulled at his arm like he was a small boy. “Hurry and get your things, otherwise we'll be late for the train!”

“Train?! Stars, you shouldn't tease a man so!” He scolded her, bewildered when she frowned fiercely. “You...surely you haven't.”

“Hurry!” Emma repeated.

Robert grabbed his hat and jacket, wet his thick hair down and hurriedly rinsed the dried blood off his wounded knuckles (he had been taking care of business directly before receiving word that a young lady was on his stoop). He dashed back out of his lodgings, twirling his hat before placing it on his head at a jaunty angle. Speedwagon then offered Emma his arm and a rakish grin, feeling like a mischievous boy once more. “How am I to repay you and yours for such a luxury, Lady Emma?” He bemoaned as they walked. “I'm none too influential, but I've a few favors I can call in.”

“Nonsense! Your company is more than sufficient.” Emma waved off his offer, going so far as to rest her free hand on top of his elbow.

Speedwagon flushed and found himself a bit teary at her offhanded admission of affection. Damn rich folk, their glibness will be the death of me for certain!

…

The Halford estate was modest in size by estate standards (so enormous by Speedwagon's standards), set on sprawling lands and bordered by thick copses of silver birch.

It was like a dream, being surrounded by greenery in its natural and uncultivated state. Robert took a deep breath in of the bracing air, dawdling as Emma pointed out the vinca that grew in the underbrush alongside the road. She bent down and picked one of the purple blossoms, then reached up to put it in the band of his hat.

Speedwagon blushed and obligingly removed his hat so she could place the bloom, laughing self-consciously when she worriedly pointed out how red his cheeks were. “It's just the fresh air turnin’ me ruddy, Lady Emma! No need for concern.” She could never be happy with the likes of you, and you're a damn fool for entertaining the notion. Speedwagon scolded himself.

“What's got you so pensive, Mr. Speedwagon? Surely you can't be worried about seeing my parents again? After all your heroics last time!” Emma chided him, misinterpreting his gloomy expression.

“Heroics?! Now love, I don't know what you recall me doing,” Robert began to protest, “Ol’ Speedwagon was simply doing the gentlemanly thing is all, nothing heroic about it, and you can't say the lad didn't have it coming what with his infidelity and brazen behavior, I was-”

“Mama will surely call a doctor for your hands.” Emma interrupted his ramble, frowning down at the scabbing skin on his knuckles. “Maybe I can say you had a tussle with the rose bush.”

“Unless your rose bush is over six foot tall and answers to the name Eurich, I'm not sure if your story will hold water.” Speedwagon smiled once more, a bit on the rueful side. He was caught off guard by her laughter and he relished the happy sound (coupled with the way her hold on his arm tightened). “You've got a lovely laugh, Lady Emma!” He complimented her, “Ought to do it more often.”

“I am certain I sound like a gaggle of hungry geese, but it's very kind of you to preserve my vanity.”

Speedwagon's reply was an over-loud honk! and that set her off again, the two of them laughing their way up the front steps of the Halford estate.

…

Speedwagon bedded down for the night in a guest room that was three times the size of his lodgings on Ogre Street. The bed felt gargantuan and too soft, like it was fit to swallow him whole. He stared up at the ceiling, raising a bandaged hand and wriggling his fingers.

“What are you playing at, Speedwagon?” He sighed. “These folk have no business harboring a gutter rat like you at their country estate. Especially with their lovely daughter around! Rich folk and their gratitude will be the death of me, sure as the sunrise.” Robert muttered. A knock on the door startled him and Speedwagon hurriedly fumbled to right himself in the too-giving bed, awkwardly asking who it was.

“It's just Emma, Mr. Speedwagon.”

“Ah.” Panic flooded him, certainly this was some sort of breach in propriety?! She couldn't possibly be this dense. Unsure of what to actually do, he did the only thing he could think of. “Uh, c-come in!”

She was wearing a simple nightgown that buttoned at the throat (Speedwagon was struck with the sudden urge to run his fingers over the smooth column of her neck), and she wasted no time clambering up onto the huge bed like that was where she belonged. Robert clutched the coverlet to his bare chest, feeling oddly exposed.

She had a thick book with her, he noticed dimly, the spine of it emblazoned with some incomprehensible gibberish of branded letters. “Look here, Mr. Speedwagon! Tomorrow, if it's alright with you, I'd love to show you some of my favorite flora on our estate!”

Speedwagon blinked at her owlishly. He had thought for certain that when she crawled into his bed…

Relief and disappointment settled over him in equal measure while she flipped through the pages of sketched plant life and pointed out the ones they would be seeing on the morrow. She really was just this sweet, this lovely. What an angel! Emotion tugged at his heart and Robert found himself leaning closer, blond hair falling into his eyes as he listened intently without hearing a damn word.

A gentle rap on the ajar door interrupted her excited tangent and Robert looked up guiltily, seeing her mother in the doorway. “Emma love, it's time for bed.”

“But Mama, I was…” Emma trailed off and sighed, almost pouting.

“Mr. Speedwagon will be here for you to bend his ear in the morning, I'm fairly certain. Come along now.” Her mother's tone was full of fond steel. Clearly she knew her daughter well, and loved her despite it all.

Robert fidgeted with the covers, flushing scarlet when Emma hugged him and then bounded off the bed with her book in tow. “I-I look forward to the stroll tomorrow, Lady Emma!” He said belatedly, tugging at his forelock in that nervous gesture.

Emma's mother lingered in the doorway after the younger woman had left, her expression thoughtful. “Mr. Speedwagon, Robert, if I may be frank with you for a moment?” She asked finally.

Robert's heart sank and he nodded mutely, certain that this was where he would be given a stern warning against familiarity with the gentry.

“My daughter is...she's a bit simple, Robert.” The older woman sighed. “She doesn't understand what suitors are actually interested in hearing about. All she cares for is her plants. And ever since what happened with Lambert, it's as though she's given up entirely on even feigning interest in polite conversation.”

“I'm not certain I grasp what y’ mean, my lady.”

The confusion must have been plain on his face because the older woman’s expression softened a bit. “Robert, my daughter has displayed an enthusiasm around you that I haven't seen from her in months. I had feared she would fall into poor health and entirely withdraw from society. But with you here, it's almost as if she's come back to life again, so to speak. I...thank you, Robert. Be delicate with her.”

Speedwagon barely slept that night. Be delicate with her. Was the mother giving her approval?! Surely not. That couldn't be it. Maybe she just assumed that their friendship might be beneficial in keeping her daughter's spirits up. That must be it. The rich folk certainly did seem to love having a token lower class in their midst, if only for the rough accent or entertaining idioms. The court jester to their kings and queens.

Robert groaned and buried his face in the pillow. That was all he was, so he may as well get used to it.

…

He didn't count on falling in love with his Lady Emma. Rather, he hadn't intended on it. But as spring turned to summer and summer to fall, he found himself a semi-frequent caller at the Halford estate. Emma was always delighted to meet him at the train station and he knew people must gossip about them. They made quite the pair after all, the rough-talking plug ugly from Ogre Street and the jilted Halford daughter who had nearly faded away like her beloved flowers at the first frost.

“What could she possibly see in him?”

“I bet this is some kind of gamble to trick her into signing the estate over to him! He's a con man through and through!”

“They just don't understand. And they don't care to.” Emma replied simply after Robert had voiced his concerns about the terrible things people said. It was less for his own comfort and more for hers, of course, he didn't give a damn what anyone called him. “You, Mr. Speedwagon, are my dear friend. If they cannot accept that, then I cannot accept them.”

With the chill of fall in the air, Ogre Street grew more frenzied. Winter was around the corner and Speedwagon found himself in the middle of more brouhahas than he would like as tempers thinned.

He stopped replying to Emma's letters, his focus wholly on survival, so it should come as no surprise to him that she popped up on his doorstep once again.

Speedwagon had been involved in a thunderous row with another upstart gang on Ogre Street and he could feel regret in his bones as he slowly dragged himself up the stairs to his lodgings shortly after sunrise. When he raised his eyes and spotted a lacy hemline, he stopped where he was. His brain sluggishly reminded him that it was rude to stare at a woman's ankles and so he tilted his head back. “Ah.” He rasped.

“Robert E. O. Speedwagon, what on earth has happened to you?!” Emma sounded distressed and Robert cursed himself roundly for concerning her. “You haven't replied to any of my letters, I feared the absolute worst!”

“I apologize for that, Lady Emma, I've been a bit...preoccupied.” Robert tried for a smile. “Had a run-in with a few boys from across the way. Am I to come a-callin’ to the Halford estate then?”

She stomped down the steps and threw her arms around him, startling him into silence. “You stupid man.” She muttered against his waistcoat, her voice thick. The feeling of her body against his sent shudders down his spine and Speedwagon was ashamed to admit that his greed got the better of him for a few moments. His arm wrapped around her and he cradled her head to his chest, murmuring nonsense into those thick raven curls. “Absolutely stupid.” She repeated shakily. “I have been worried sick, Mr. Speedwagon.”

“You were afeared for me, Lady Emma? Your kindness knows no bounds.” Speedwagon attempted to joke, his poor heart taking more of a beating than his body had. She had no business saying things like that to him, no business at all. “It's been a hard time of it here, I'm about ready to be whisked away to the country I'd say.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we, my dear Lady Emma?”

She stared up at him for a moment and Robert was instantly self conscious, mind running from the scar on the left side of his face to the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his somewhat-crooked nose. Truly he had a wide variety of unflattering features to peruse!

“What?” He asked finally.

“There's…” Emma fumbled with her sleeve for a moment, retrieving her handkerchief and daubing gingerly at his mouth. “You've got a little...something.” She said faintly. Robert licked the corner of his mouth on instinct and she flinched the tiniest bit, as if the sight of his tongue had startled her, before returning to her task of patting over his bottom lip.

“Easy Lady Emma, you'll take it clean off!” Speedwagon teased, trying to hide the tremor in his voice from the tender attentions she was paying to his split lip. His heart was being crushed to powder in his chest, ash that scattered to the wind every time he sternly reminded himself of their differences. “Much as I would like to sit here and have you doctor me, love, I'm certain we'll miss your train if we linger.”

…

Speedwagon cursed his infernal bad luck for the tenth time that morning, a violent sneeze rattling his whole body. It would seem that getting into tussles in the brisk fall weather had landed him in bed with a fever. He couldn't even recall the last time he had been ill! What damnable timing it was, to be bedridden while at the Halford's!

Though…

He cast his gaze upon the young woman who had firmly declared she was his nurse, watching the way her lips curved around words as she read aloud to him from yet another one of her favorite books. Perhaps it wasn't such a terrible thing to be nursed back to health by his dear Lady Emma, he admitted to himself. Though it pained his heart, at least for this pitifully short time he could play at being the one she gave her affections to.

And such affections! She alternated between fond exasperation and gut-wrenching tenderness, the combination often enough to have Robert pressing his reddened face to the pillow after she would depart. At least that he could blame on the ague, thank his stars for small favors.

It was havoc on his body, so starved for gentleness that he found himself helplessly coloring at every careful touch on his forehead. It didn't make matters easier that he was already so fair, a flush rising at the slightest change in his temperature.

The way his bones ached from the fever had him curled up in a miserable ball, still shivering under the heavy blankets. “Thank you, Lady Emma.” He managed to say when she brought him some water. “Afraid I'm none too formidable at the moment. Imagine what your town folk would say if they saw me lyin’ here, the meddlesome and dangerous thug from Ogre Street.” He grinned weakly and she gave him a light bop on the head.

“You're so much more than that, Mr. Speedwagon.” Emma huffed. “Don't forget, you fought for the honor of a woman you barely knew.”

“And I'd do it again in a flash! Let that bastard come!” Speedwagon boasted, his heart speeding up a bit when she fixed him with an unimpressed look. “Er, once I'm well, of course. But with your doctoring I'm sure I'll be back to the old Speedwagon in no time!”

“Mm, more’s the pity. I've rather enjoyed having you at my mercy.” Emma actually perched on the edge of the bed and leaned in, as if to kiss him. Robert was frozen stiff in disbelief, unsure if he should push her away or simply pull back or--

She brushed her nose against the tip of his own with a childish giggle and Robert couldn't help his startled laughter, a little overwhelmed by the panic that had flooded his body. “You shouldn't tease your poor Speedwagon, Lady Emma!” He protested after a moment, probably sounding just a touch hysterical. “A gel like you with a man such as myself, it’s unthinkable!”

“Is it though?” Emma asked flippantly before she flounced from the room.

Is it though?

Speedwagon's heart plummeted to the floorboards. “It absolutely is.” He muttered, clenching and unclenching his fists in his lap.

…

“I haven't got anything to give her, Master Halford. I can't offer her safety or wealth or anything but a hard life. This is what I'm...this is why I'm leaving. I don't intend to hurt the gel like that other cur and as such, it's for the best that I leave immediately.” Robert focused on the mantle, the young man unable to meet the eyes of Emma's father.

“You think that leaving without saying a word won't harm her, Robert?” The older man asked quietly.

“I know it will and damn my eyes for it, I just don't know what else to do!” Speedwagon cried, covering his face with his hands. The idea of leaving her filled his stomach with lead, but what other choice did he have? He could provide so little! She would probably say it didn't matter. It did matter though!

“You're avoiding another possibility, Robert. Stop wallowing in self-loathing and listen to me.” Speedwagon looked up through a haze of tears and found that Mr. Halford had moved to stand beside him, the mustachioed man's expression thoughtful. “My daughter cares deeply for you. I daresay, far more than she cared for Lambert. The union of Coverdale and Halford was one of convenience for both families, but my wife and I had also believed Lambert's intentions much more honorable than they were. Maybe we were blinded by pedigree.” He sighed. “You are...a strange exception, Robert.”

“Saints preserve me Master Halford, my heart is all a-pieces from her.” Speedwagon admitted. “Leaving her would be like tearing off my arm, but I've got no choice in the matter. She's a finely-bred lady and deserves a man that can improve her status, not one what makes the neighbors count their silverware after every time he comes callin’.” He continued with a dejected air, raking the hair back from his face in a fierce bid to regain his composure.

“Robert, do you really think that matters to her?” The elder Halford gave him a rueful smile. “All she seems to care for in life is her flowers and a certain rapscallion from Ogre Street.”

“Master Halford, I-”

Speedwagon's reply was cut short by the door of the study flying open and hitting the wall. Emma stood there, her skirts gathered up in one hand while she caught her breath. Robert was struck dumb by the magnificent picture she painted, all flushed from whatever mad dash she'd taken to arrive at that spot. “You cannot leave.” She ordered sharply. “Not until I have said my piece.”

“Lady Emma,” Robert began to protest, nervously glancing at her father.

“Just! Let me talk, Mr. Speedwagon.” Emma strode into the study, stalking back and forth in front of the two men like a caged tiger. “Mr. Speedwagon, did you not save my life in that alley?” Robert sputtered in confusion. “I could have very well died that evening and yet you stepped in and prevented such a tragedy from occurring.”

“Lady Emma, that's not-”

“You also handled young Coverdale for me, a feat that would not have been nearly so simple for anyone else in my family.” She talked over him, waving a finger. “You have been gracious and kind to me at every turn. You suffer from the admirable and woefully stupid condition of not reaching beyond your so-called place, convincing yourself that we should be nothing more than dear friends.” Emma placed her hands on her hips and glared up at the speechless blond. “I will have you know that I've been courting you for months, Mr. Speedwagon, and I refuse to let all the time we've spent strolling in my gardens go to waste!” She announced with authority. “That is why you cannot leave!”

“L…” The words died in his throat. She had been courting...so she wanted…? “Are you absolutely certain of this, Lady Emma?” He questioned her finally. “I am no fine gentleman. I won't be able to shower you with gifts for a good while. You would take me, even as low as I am now?”

“How can you say such things about yourself, Robert?” His name from her mouth had his body aflame. He had waited so long to hear her say it. “I would rather someone honest and kind than someone who can throw trinkets at me. I've had more than my fill of empty words and pointless flirtations. I want you, Robert.”

“Oh Lady Emma, you...stars, I could just about burst with joy right now!” Speedwagon sniffled, doing his best to dash the tears away. “This must be a dream. I've still got that damn ague, no doubt.” She hugged him tight enough to steal his breath and Speedwagon covered the crown of her head in kisses, too overwhelmed to think of doing anything else. “The best dream I've ever had.”

…

Their wedding was in the spring, to Robert's panic-stricken delight. And certainly, members of nearby estates could mewl and huff over the impropriety of it all, but Speedwagon tossed his care to the wind. His Lady Emma had chosen him, found him worthy instead of wanting. The sensation was so unfamiliar he could scarcely fathom it and he took every chance he got to display the affection he held for her.

She was no Ogre Street woman for all her ferocity and many were the times that Speedwagon reined himself in for her, terrified of accidentally going too far or making her uncomfortable.

Indeed, he was more of a blushing bride than she was on their wedding night, covering his red face with his hands while she straddled his hips. “Stars, I love you so much.” He sighed as she undid his suspenders and fought with the buttons on his placket. “You're an angel, you know that?”

His hands found their way to her hair after she settled into an age-old rhythm, carefully removing every pin that he could find. Robert stroked his fingers through her tangled tresses, luxuriating in the exquisite greed of being able to touch his wife, his wife. To think a man like him had a wife!

“I'm a husband now.” He murmured to her after they had finished and she had collapsed in his arms.

“That you are, Robert. My husband.” She mumbled against his chest.

“And you are my precious wife, Lady Emma.”

“You don't have to call me Lady-”

“Hush, I want to and I will.” Robert clenched his fist over his heart. “My dearest Lady Emma, I pledged myself to you before the clergy and all our guests earlier, swore that I would be the best husband a gel could ask for. But now...I swear to you, Lady Emma, you alone, that I will work as hard as I must and then some to become a husband you can be proud of! If...if it makes it easier for the time being, you can continue to be a Halford! I understand that the Speedwagon name is not exactly brag worthy and I-!” A messy kiss silenced his post-coitus rambling and Robert tensed.

“I am happy to be Mrs. Speedwagon, Robert.” She whispered when they parted, her eyes searching his own. “Truthfully, nothing would make me happier.” Robert’s eyes filled with tears and she wiped them away, smiling at him. “The news can't be that repulsive, can it?”

“No! ‘Course not, Lady Emma! I am quite...I am just a bit...er, flummoxed is all!” He floundered, cradling her to his chest once more and stroking her hair. “You're such an angel to me, my love.” He breathed when he was certain she was asleep, fondness making his voice catch. “An honest-to-stars angel.”

Live every moment, love every day, because if you don't, you might just throw your love away...

[manifestoonmoralmanlove]

Help I’m being harassed by the #1 sexeist man! Review

Sorry I had this mostly finished on the backburner for awhile but Soulless grabbed my attention pretty hard.  BUT NOW THIS IS FINISHED! I hope you enjoy!

Summarize

So the story is as follows…Takato is an actor who was voted Japan’s sexiest man for a few years in a row. However his title is usurped by this dude named Junta that he’s working on a new movie with.  Takato is salty about this but is professional about it and just kinda harbors secret bitter feelings.  He is polite to and gives advice to Junta when asked.  Junta invites him out to drinks, Takato doesn’t want to but everyone within a 5 mile radius swoops in to pressure him into it so he caves.

GOD WHY IS THAT A THING? That for sure happened in Love Stage and I’m sure I’ve seen that trope elsewhere.  Where not just a 3rd party will pressure a reluctant uke but like a fucking horde of strangers with nothing to gain from it just crawl out from under the fucking floor boards like little hack-handy roaches to advance this shitty plot.

ANYWAY!

Junta gets Takato drunk, films embarrassing stuff that he threatens to blackmail him with, and a fucking horror scene of a rape ensues.  Like, not dissimilar from Junjou in the fact that the atmosphere is drawn as oppressive, the uke is riddled with very palatable fear, the seme wears crazed expressions, and behaves violently.  Hell, Takato manages to shove him off and tries to lock himself in the bathroom for his own safety but Junta rips the door off its fucking hinges. Takato PLEADS like BEGS for him not to but he is violently raped against the wall while Takato cries saying OUT LOUD that THIS IS RAPE!  Afterwards he’s crying and shaking, talking out loud about how he’s frightened if others find out and feeling humiliated.

Junta picks him up and is like, “Man I guess I got carried away, but like REAL TALK I have a crush on you. The rape was kinda bad I guess, but it’s not my fault cause I literally cannot control any of my actions. I can prove I like you by having gentle sex with you in the bed.”

Takato agrees to this.

I BEG YOUR FUCKING PARDON?!

The implication here is that Junta just looked SO SWEET! But like also it wasn’t gentle sex at all and Junta is going to continue to blackmail him. HAR HAR!

Like here is a hot fucking take authors and fans of this particular type of garbage… that kind of writing does not make this more consensual and okay.

Like if you threw a dude in a pit full of scorpions, and he is being stung by a thousand stingers and the poison is slowly and painfully shutting down all of his bodily functions and it’s all really gruesome…but then someone asks if he wants to be saved and the dude in the pit goes from screaming in agony to saying, “Actually I like it down here.”

Does that mean being pushed into that pit, and what he went through in that pit is okay? NO

What does him suddenly wanting to marry all of those 1000 scorpions mean?

IT MEANS YOU’RE A FUCKING HACK WRITER WILLFULLY CONTRIBUTING TO RAPE CULTURE FOR A QUICK BUCK YOU HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

Like you can have your stories where a rapist is redeemed from his awful actions, but more often than not I see these fucking outrageous hairpin fucking turns in writing.  

I mean, Junta does apologize?  Which is better than some semes but honestly I’d rather him not even bother because he’s not sincere.  He apologizes all the time for the sex acts he puts Takato through but goes on to blackmail him, hurts him, abducts him, and threatens him to his face with more rape. LIKE NOT EXACTLY FEELING AS IF YOU TOTES CARE ABOUT HOW HE FEELS ABOUT ALL THIS, BOYO!

The next chapter while they’re being filmed for the show Takato throws him against the wall and hijacks the dialog to make it sound sexually threatening.  Takato IN HIS MIND ADMITS “DAMN HE’S ACTUALLY USING ENOUGH FORCE TO HURT ME!!!!”  So after this shot, Takato gives Junta some advice and makes no shit, this fucking face…                        

And that…face, (improperly attached to what I presume is a series of straws coated in plaster masquerading as a neck)  gives Junta that GOTTA RAPE NOW BONER!

So that’s what happens, he just violently drags off a kicking and screaming Takato in the middle of shooting and no one bats a fucking eye. SEEMS LEGIT!  What’s baffling to me is they don’t even draw a sex scene for this.

MY BRO, WHAT IS EVEN THE FUCKING POINT THAN OF ALL THESE RAPE SCENERIOS IF THERE AREN’T HIDEOUS MELTING FACES AND WACKY INFLATABLE TUBE MAN BODIES TO GO WITH IT!?

But afterwards Junta says the classic creepy shit, “Give up already and become mine. I have no intention of giving you to someone else.” WE KNOW THE DRILL!

Takato looks up at Junta and goes, “Yeah guess I love this dude.”

AND LIKE FOR WHAT? FOR HUH? WHAT’S GOING ON HERE!?!!??!?!?!?!?

But also, are you fucking joking here? Like I’m not into the 10 volumes of “Am I gay or not?” bullshit we get in yaoi. But, depending on the pace and characterization, there’s nothing wrong with dragging out the love being 100% mutual. Here’s it’s in chapter fucking 2.  Even Junjou went at a slower pace than that.  When I read that I couldn’t help feeling like, “WELL WHAT’S THE CONFLICT IN THE NEXT 3 AND A HALF VOLUMES GOING TO BE?”

Which, admittedly is unfair, there can be lots of relationship conflict outside of mutually expressed love…However for a rapist/tsundere dynamic? That’s usually at least 75% of the conflict.  But oh, maybe this means we’re going to get different kinds of drama!  So even while it’s not good, we’re going to get something different!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

It’s utter NOT-CONFLICT is what we end up with.  3 different chapters are, “I haven’t seen much of him, that must mean he’s bored of me. Wah! Oh it turns out he was just busy. Oh that’s good.”  PAGING FUCKING JUNJOU WITH THAT SUPER FUN, ENGAGING, AND INTERESTING CONFLICT HARDY FUCKING HAR!

Then we take a hard right into sorta worst rapist territory.  What do you mean by SORTA worst rapist Faps?

Well……

There’s a new actor Takato is working with and this new actor, and the new actor’s coding as a bad guy is about as subtle as a punch to the mouth. So new actor gets Takato drunk enough for him to pass out, gives him a hickey and ????????????

2 things happen in these situations in yaoi typically

1.)    SOMEHOW the seme MAGICS his way there beats up the worst rapist

2.)    This happens after the uke and seme have a fight. So uke realizes how mean he was for not being 100% down with all the seme’s shitty behavior cause there is a worst rapist out there. He runs crying to the seme apologizing and conflict solved.

We sorta get the 2nd here…but not in a straight-forward way.  For one there is no fight beforehand to set up any kind of relationship development.  What happens is that Takato wakes up mortified at the possibility he was raped while he was asleep.  He staggers around both in denial and utter shame.  Seme shows up and like only adds to this panic by yanking him around, forcefully washing his body, and screaming that his SLUTTY, SLUTTY FACE MANIPULATES MEN into raping him.  The seme tells him that they don’t have to have sex.  Which good, but I mean the scene is not framed as if Takato is doing this out of kindness but almost as a dare. The implication being if Takato doesn’t consent that he is the OTHER MAN’S BOY NOW and they should just break up. So there is implicit pressure there, but he does seem to initial consent.  Yet during the sex Takato internally cries about how much he hates it because his boyfriend is hate fucking him but he can’t say NO because than his boyfriend will hate him more.

LIKE FUCKING BIG YIKES MY FRIEND! IT’S SUPER UNCOMFORTABLE!

Which like, I could see a post-assault sex scene full of the emotional intensity of the anger, guilt, shame, fear all intermingling within both of them working well. (Not that post assault consensual sex is much of a thing.)  That they’re trying not to think of what Takato went through but it’s eating at both of them.  THAT COULD BE A REALLY INTENSE, WELL DONE SCENE!  However this is framed like seme ~taking back what’s his~ in a really cold, pissed-off way that’s AT BEST really insensitive to what the uke just went through and his current emotional state.  While Takato ~letting him~ cause he’s afraid his bf hates him for getting raped by someone not him.  Junta also disappears without a word, making Takato fear that YEP HIS BF DON’T WANT HIM CAUSE HE’S DAMAGED GOODS NOW!

But who has to apologize? THE UKE!

Also it turns out Takato was not raped cause worst rapist couldn’t get it up after Takato said his bf’s name in his sleep.  This is framed as better not cause of what the uke went through, but he didn’t really CHEAT so Junta can forgive him.

LIKE REALLY MY DUDE? YOU STARTED THIS OFF WRITTEN TAKATO MORE REALISTICALLY DEALING WITH THE DENIAL, DISGUST, AND SHAME OF ASSUALT AND INSTEAD JUST DEGRADED INTO THE SAME VICTIM-BLAMING HORSESHIT! GET FUCKED!

So the resolution is that the relationship is fixed and Junta threatens and blackmails the rapist. Which, I’m glad he didn’t get off scot-free but those interactions felt less like protecting the safety of Takato and more like, HE’S MY PROPERTY NO TOUCHY!

So from here we take a big turn.

Most of the 3rd volume is a big back-track to the beginning of their relationship before it was romantic or sexual.  And boy howdy it feels like a retcon for the fuck awful pace of the 1st volume.

Basically it’s about how Junta became obsessed with Takato while working on a movie cause idk he’s pretty and he accidently heard Takato say something shitty about him once. While I wouldn’t call this good the fact that they actually let this blooming of affection take place makes it the best chapters so far.

Like at the end Junta resolves himself to let his feelings be known and to start a romantic relationship with Takato.  Without the context, that felt like almost sweet? That he’s accepted his gay feelings and wants to share his life with Takato.  However if you REMEMBER THE CONEXT it means that Junta planned to drug, blackmail, and rape Takato WHICH YANNO REALLY TAKES A SHIT ON YOUR CUTE LITTLE FEATHERS BLOWING IN A BREEZE TO GO WITH HIS CUTSY MONOLOG YOU SHIT-SUCKER!

But lordy the next chapter comes along which is a retelling of this prequel from Takato perspective. The only saving grace here is that it’s not nearly as long as Junta’s.  Basically Takato realizes that Junta is OUT for him, and has a fucking frightened panic attack in his car afterwards. He’s literally shaking and monologing about how scary the situation and Junta are.  And this isn’t me even inferring words in Takato’s head, he repeats scary over and over.  Takato even decides to over book himself so he’ll have fewer chances to interact with Junta. So he does the classic ~pass-out from overwork~ thing so Junta can save him and from here we immediately transition to,

Oh now it’s modern day and they’re banging…..okay????? VOLUME ENDS

The next plot point comes down to this:

Paparazzi are OUT TO GET THEM! There is a photo leaked that isn’t really suggestive at all and Takato pretty much loses his job for it. However Takato finds out there is a much more damning picture of him and Junta, so he decides to break up with Junta, and like…just literally do whatever the paparazzi wants in order to protect Junta. But like, what’s the point of hiding it from Junta? And if this dude is going to blackmail you, what are you going to do to make sure their demands end or don’t get to the point that they’re unfeasible to continue giving in to them?

HAHA OH WELL!

Takato doesn’t even get to see the paparazzi again, his producer finds out and sexually assaults him to PROVE A POINT!

AND BOY HOWDY I’M WAY INTO THAT TROPE! LOOKING AT YOU OURAN HOST CLUB!

Cause HAHA nobody could literally want anything out of a wealthy, well-connected actor other than gay rape amirite?

Meanwhile Junta is cultivating a rumor that he’s having an affair with an actress.  Cause of fucking course Junta figured that the only reason his boyfriend (whom is often upset at how shitty he gets treated by him) is an elaborate ploy to protect him from the paparazzi.  But you know OF COURSE we see the actress and Junta flirting a bunch to stir the pot in a private setting but like…they only need to be seen on an outside date once.  This means that he’s fucking lying if he says that he only did it to SAVE BOTH OF THEM FROM THE PAPARAZZI.  He was getting a kick out of it, which I think you could argue that he was being unfaithful or in the very least being a fucking dick about it.

But, Junta goes on TV and says that he’s not having an affair with the actress or with Takato but he is moving in with Takato.

Yeah nothing dispels rumors of an intimate relationship like the announcement that they’re MOVING IN TOGETHER!  Now, as I understand it, the housing market is very different in Japan from the west and therefore it’s less of a huge TELL of an intimate relationship if two people move in together.  But even if that’s the case, saying you’re moving in with someone you’re accused of having an affair with…is not helping my friend.

However it is phrased this way, and immediately the entirety of the media believes this whole-heartedly, and the paparazzi guy (despite having a much more damning picture he hasn’t released) is like, “Wowzers he’s so smart, he has BEAT ME! I’m giving up being paparazzi.  That man CHANGED MY LIFE FOR THE BETTER! HOW COULD I EVER THANK HIM!?”  Even the fucking company that hired this paparazzi guy is like, “WELL I’M TAKING MY BUSINESS IN A NEW BETTER DIRECTION! THAT JUNTA GUY SURE, SHOWED ME!!!!”

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING!? You might as well have every criminal in Japan throw their hands up going, “WELL GOLLY!  DID YOU SEE HOW GREAT THE ACTUAL RAPIST AND ABUSER JUNTA IS? BEST NEVER DO A BAD THING EVER AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

GO EAT EVERY DICK!!!!

That’s pretty much the end up to this point.  I mean, there are some odds and ends chapters here and there but they’re pretty much excuses for sex chapters. And like, even though those are pretty rapey, I kinda respect them more than when you attempts to interject some semblance of relationship drama, cause holy hell that paparazzi shit ugh.

Though if you’ll allow a side rant from me about how the story treats sexual assault. According to the author it comes in a lot of flavors and most of them are awful.

For one: if it’s a hunky guy who loves you: Rape is great.

For two: if it’s a hunky guy but you already have a rapist errr boyfriend: You’re cheating.

For three: if you’re being obnoxiously sexually harassed by your superior….BUT YOUR PRODUCER IS AN OLDER EFFEMINATE GAY MAN: It’s hilarious and harmless and helps cement your Marty-stuness.

For four: if a woman is being groomed by a superior: It’s a bad thing that should be stopped.

3 and 4 happen within the same chapter but the author is so oblivious at the hypocrisy of the framing it’s absurd.

Story

Okay so the story is a mess. The relationship progression goes way too fast for it to make sense, and negates a lot of the drama you could have had.  It’s possible that the editors wanted sex ASAP for some kinda quota, and that’s not necessarily bad. But it really burns my biscuits when people think, “Oh that means lead with rape and that they’ll be in mutual love by chapter 2.”  

Sure most tsundere stories have a bit more lead up until the uke can confess he likes the seme back but this is not the right way to break that mold. The hairpin turn makes no sense and neuters a lot of potential conflict.

It puts the comic in a pacing hole to start and the rest of the story does little to mitigate this. I think there was an attempt to rectify this by going back to the story BEFORE they were a couple.  However that was horrible botched as well.  It brings the pacing to a screeching halt with a volume of Junta being like “OH NO HE’S HOTTTTTTTTTTT” despite the time devoted they do very little to give them an actual relationship or investment in his personality. It’s all a one-sided pining boner for hideous wiggle mouth.

The content of the writing is just embarrassing too.  I can be a more forgiving in the sex-excuse side chapters.  But like there’s a side chapter when Junta is magiked into a child and for like what? So we can coo, that the author drawing a small snowman with a poorly defined face and pretending it’s a child is super adorable?

So we can excuse the shitty way Junta behaves?  Is anybody weirded out that 3 year old Junta is more thoughtful and respectful than his adult-self?  YOU CAN’T EVEN WRITE HOW CHILDREN BEHAVE YOU STUPID SIMP! UGH!!!!

But also the arc on the paparazzi just ended in a total train-wreck of awful writing no question.

Sexual politics:

They’re fucking atrocious here.

1.)    The first scene is framed as a brutal rape but 30 seconds later its fine and they’re in love.

2.)    The handling of the ~worst rapist~ trope with big buckets of victim blaming and as if Takato was ~cheating~ is horrendous.

3.)    The worst rapist is also a sex worker.  So we’re framing sex workers as bad people and sex work as a bad thing. BUT GOLLY KEEP DRAWING GRAPHIC SEX SCENCES!

4.)    The sexually predator producer of Junta being framed as harmless cause he’s effeminate is god fucking awful.  It’s also this bizarre homophobic double standard that this man (and by extension his gay brother) are a joke because they behave stereotypically gay and aren’t ashamed of being effeminate.  MEN ARE ONLY HOT IF THEY ACT LIKE PREDATORS IN A MANLY WAY, OR ARE ASHAMED OF ANY SEXUAL SUBMISSIVE OR EFFEMINATE TRAITS THEY HAVE! I LOVE WATCHING MAN ON MAN SEX BUT SO HELP ME GOD IF THEY’RE ~GAY ABOUT IT!~

5.)    They ~sorta~ take sexual harassment seriously when a female actor is being groomed. Like they joke about it but also DO SOMETHING TO STOP IT really fucking muddles what we’re supposed to think about sexual abuse at all here.

6.)    Takato’s producer sexually assaults him to ~prove a point~ that Takato is putting himself in situations where rape COULD happen.  The fuck is this horseshit! “These men could do the very bad thing of raping you. Let me demonstrate what that bad thing looks like cause I’m sure you’re UNAWARE!” THE FUCK!?  Also this sexual assault is framed more seriously than Junta’s producer because this producer is coded as MORE ATTRACTIVE and less openly QUEER! ONCE AGAIN I EXCLAIM! THE FUCK!?

7.)    Takato OPENLY describes Junta as scary and calls his acts stalking, kidnapping, bullying, blackmail, threats, and rape.  He also tries to actively avoid his boyfriend at times, yet are we not to take ANY of this seriously?  Are we not to take this seriously cause this behavior is acceptable when the one dolling it out is attractive and charming?  Are we not to take it seriously because we can’t except Takato to be honest about how he feels about any of this?  I don’t believe in given a blanket free-pass when Takato doesn’t consistently express desire in Junta’s abusive tendencies.  Like maybe you can argue some of the sex is consensual but can you argue that Takato is into the blackmail, when he never mentions he likes it? Can you argue he’s into the non-stop attention when he SOMETIMES BEGRUDINGLY admits he enjoys it?  If so does just that get a blanket pass?

JUST UGH! YOU’VE GUYS HAVE PROBABLY HEARD THIS RANT FROM ME BEFORE I FUCKING HATE TSUNDERE SEXUAL POLITICS!

 Characters

Takato

Okay so Takato. What’s this dude’s deal?  

Okay let’s start with some boring basics:  He’s a hard-working actor who strives to be professional.  He’s a perfectionist, who seems to easily and joyfully take on the role of mentor/protector. He does seem to take himself too seriously at times. He appears to subtly prod at people who have wronged him or others rather than confront them directly. He’s also shown to be a tsundere with a submissive streak.

There’s nothing bad on its face about this characterization.  However Takato is described as an intelligent professional actor, with years of experience.  Yet his handling of the paparazzi thing is pretty much he goes to shit and opens him up to more rape cause lol hot.  I could maybe understand this characterization if the paparazzi thing really hit Takato on a personal level and he made some irrational choices due to feeling as if he was being attacked or that he was going to permanently lose his job.

However he is shown as calm, as he’s making these choices and openly states that he will gladly give up a career he worked so hard for if it would save Junta’s career. Did he not, even for a second consider he could save both of them?  This is not consistent with his characterization and it exists to put Junta on a pedestal he does not deserve.

SPEAKING OF…

Junta

So…this fucking guy. Junta is a young up and coming actor with early success.  He’s shown to be an impulsive, passionate person who relies heavily on an ~angelic charm.~  He has no shame in using calculated, underhanded methods in order to achieve his goals.  He is shown as impatient, has a temper, and is openly disrespectful to his partner.

Yet the world fawns over him with praise for how attractive, charming, and ~resourceful~ he is.  He is described as having a few low wage jobs out of high school and therefore he’s an expert in EVERYTHING FOREVER!

I believe they were trying to humorously contrast Junta having a sweet, innocent angelic charm, with the reality of him being an aggressive a-hole.  However they do not frame the aggressive a-hole side of him as bad but rather as HOT.  Like I GET THAT on some level but since he’s a manipulative, abusive, rapist, it just reminds me of all the REAL LIFE INDIVIDUALS who put on a good face for the public but to their partner they’re monsters.

Art

I legit hate this fucking art. Like straight up and down, I have a hard time even reading it on a visual level.  Like the anatomy is OKAY and the backgrounds are OKAY but a lot of it is less than okay. The worst culprits are the character designs, the necks, and the expressions.  

I am so done with mediocre artists churning out, not only same-faced characters compared to their own art, but characters that are basically same-faced compared to the main-stream.  The only thing unique here is that Junta has dark hair underneath his lighter brown hair. OH GOLLY!  It’s so fucking bland and Junta’s got best seme in the Chil Chil awards and I’m so salty about that I could give the dead sea a run for its money. UGH!

The necks are super long, thin, twisty, sharp angels, and with her sad attempts at tendons it looks as if they’re constantly tense.  And in worst case scenarios they don’t look as if they’re attached to even half of the chin. Yeesh!

The expressions…fucking lord.  In the best of times, the facial spacing is just bad, with eyes and mouths off center, and ears too low.  The author has no concept of how lips/faces work so all the kisses are REAL BAD. It’s either just like…triangles smashed at each other, no lips involved, or they’re like 1 foot apart layering their tongues on each other like they’re building a fucking sandwich.

The worst of times is Takato’s sex faces.  THEY MAKE ME WANT TO VOMIT-SCREAM!

Basically he squints and his eyes get so watery it looks as if they replaced his eyeballs with just well…water.  You can’t make out pupils, irises, NOTHING!  But the mouths are the pinnacle of puke-inducing.  They’re these enormous squigglies with no rhyme or reason, just oozing saliva like a breach in a dam. At best they’re cartoonish in an unerotic way. THESE SQUIGGLES! I CAN’T STAND THEM!  YUCK!

TL;DR

Poorly drawn and written Rapist/Tsundere garbage.  While it doesn’t hit EVERY little overplayed trope, it’s still pretty cliché.  Just, it’s similar and up there with Junjou in the shitty department if you ask me.

[gutterdreams]

Like Lions, Like Lambs

As all of you know by now, I’m fully obsessed with @stevesharrlngtons. I asked her to pick a prompt because I love her. She chose “I don’t like your friends” and “She’s moving further away from you”. This was supposed to be drabble, but it’s not. So I hope you enjoy. There’s some language. It’s 1.7k. I don’t own the GIF. 

THIS IS FOR MY WIFE.

Frustrated, Billy hung up the phone by crushing it against the receiver on the kitchen counter. He grumbled an inaudible string of curses under his breath and started to leave back to the living room where the television was on the channel he left it. On the floor, taking off her shoes after skating around the neighborhood, Maxine also mumbled quietly to herself.

“What was that?” Curtly, Billy stopped in his tracks and attacked.

Max held her breath in her throat for a moment. She debated whether or not to say anything, but she knew she couldn't back down around her bully of an older brother. So, she fixed a look of courage on her face and raised her eyes to him, “I said...of course, she didn't pick up.”

“You know something I don't?” After asking, his mouth hung open as he awaited for her to say something that he assumed would be stupid. Billy gripped the counter and stood impatiently as Max picked herself up off the welcome mat by the front door.

“I know you don't see the look on her face every time you pick a fight.” Max mused before trying to move past him. He turned as she headed to her room though, following her slowly, but surely. His footsteps were firm and wouldn't let her go away after a comment like that.

“She say something to you?” Privately, Billy quite liked that you and Max got along well. He didn't trust Susan to keep a shrub alive, let alone guide Max through the inevitable hardships that high school would bring her. He thought it was better that Max go to you with any questions or problems she had. He knew he didn't want to hear any of it.

“No.” Max shook her head, her squinting eyes suggesting his question was stupid. “While you were busy knocking that kid's teeth out in the parking lot today, I was watching [Y/N]. I saw her give up on you and start walking away.” Max had been in the backseat of the Camaro at the time. She assumed you would be with them on the way home, but before Mitchell Durtiz's first tooth had fallen in front of Billy's boots, you started walking away.

Billy looked like he was about to charge at Max for what she said, but she kept talking and held him in his place.

“She's moving further away from you because you're a psychopath.” It wasn't unlike anything she had said before. She had told him once when he lost his temper and picked a fight with you about how much time you spent with your friends over him that he would lose you. Max always stood by her opinion that Billy was all the worst parts of his dad, but with thirty more pounds of monster on him.

With that said though, Max slammed her door and pushed a chair up against it so that he couldn't cross the threshold and continue to bother her. She left Billy alone in the rest of the house to be the grump that he usually was.

Billy went back to the couch, groaning to himself about what a stupid little sister his dad had forced him to have, but he couldn't concentrate on the girls washing cars on TV. Max's words were taunting him in his head and his eyes kept looking to the phone, wishing you would just call him already. He wanted you to say that she was wrong. He wanted you to beg to see him and tell him how much you needed him now. The phone didn't ring once though. Billy sat on the couch until Susan came home, a whole forty five minutes, and drove himself crazy.

As soon as Susan was in the house with her grocery bags on the kitchen counter, Billy was out of the house. He didn't have to watch Max any longer, so he climbed behind the wheel of his car and took off to where he assumed you were. You had told him that morning that you needed to study after bombing a science pop quiz and that the only way you would be able to do that was by being on your own in the library.

Billy stormed through the place as if it wasn't universally known for being quiet. He scanned the small library twice before catching you in the very back, head in your hands, and staring frustrated at your notebook in front of you.

“Why didn't you let me drive you home today?” Billy didn't waste any time. He pulled up a plastic blue chair right beside you, his knee knocked against yours, and asked. His eyes quickly checked your notebook over to make sure it was chemistry notes and not ideas on how to dump him.

“Pardon me?” Blinking rapidly, you breathed out. Billy had completely caught you off guard and made your heart flutter.

“I couldn't find you after school. Max said you walked home.”

“You looked busy.” Remembering coming out of the front doors of Hawkins High to see your boyfriend tossing a kid from his gym class around like a tether-ball was enough to change your demeanor. You returned your focus back to the notebook and acted as if he hadn't interrupted.

“You don't like when I fight, huh?” With Max's thirteen year old wisdom ripe in his mind, Billy continued to press.

“I've told you that before.” There was a time where it felt like you were harping on him. It was every other day where you would sigh as he washed blood (his or someone else's) off his shirt in the sink, recalling what a pussy the other guy was, and you were hurting your voice telling him to be the bigger person and just walk away.

“Mitchell was talking shit, saying I'm California trash, so - “

“So, you had to punch out his teeth?”

“I had to let him know.” Billy leaned in, trying to bring your face back to him, but you were glaring at your notebook with fire in your eyes that stemmed from your heart. Studying had been a good distraction until Billy came along. It had calmed you down after being ready to dump Billy in front of the whole school in the parking lot.

“Well, I think you made your point.” Uninterested, you told him and picked up your pencil to underline a few main points on your paper.

“Can you stop studying for a second?” His voice was a sharp snap and it gave him the attention he wanted, your eyes widening over his face. You weren't smiling or soft, you weren't the girl who saw stars when she saw him. You were pissed. “What do I do? I feel like you're a million miles away.” He could see it now when you looked at him with so much disappointment. Maxine was right. You were moving away from him.

“I don't like your friends.” Tommy, Carol, Craig, and Mandy. “You try to impress them, they egg you on, they rile you up, and tell you bullshit so you perform for them. You think you're their king, but they play you. You're the jester.” It was a dangerous thing to say, but watching Mitchell bleed out while Carol and Tommy laughed against Billy's car had completely shot your composure. Billy was a monster in that moment and not the boy that promised you he would work on his temper.

“I don't like them either.” Defensively, Billy assured you. He didn't like being lonely and he liked attention, but it wasn't as if he actually cared about them. They were means for survival in Hawkins.

“I can't be with you anymore if you are going to be crazy. I can't go away to college and spend all my time wondering if I won't see you on break because you're in jail for assaulting someone.”

“I'm going wherever you go. You wouldn't be visiting me on break.” Billy ignored the hisses to be quiet from other studiers and readers in the library. He was fighting for you even if he didn't even realize it yet.

“I don't want to go with you if this is how you handle things. What happens when I piss you off?”

“Don't say that.” Billy put up both his hands, finally putting space between you both.

“What happens when you shoot first and ask questions after, but I'm the target?”

“You think I'd knock your fucking teeth out? I love you!”

Three simple words that Billy had never told anyone since hitting puberty. You had told him that you loved him once, in passing, as you two walked from Tommy's house to his parked car. In response, he squeezed your hand and kissed you with relish. Since Billy wasn't terribly romantic, it didn't hurt like your friends thought it should.

Much to the other library patrons, silence took over between the two of you. Your heart was beating rapidly underneath your sweater and making it challenging to focus on your notes. Billy was searching the side of your face as you had returned to looking at  your homework over him again. His knees were shaking under the table with his hands clutching his knees. They were all he could hold onto at the moment.

“I have to study.” As if he hadn't just admitted his feelings or you hadn't just dug into him, you clearly and casually said.

“Fuck studying. I'm talking to you.” Billy put his palm on top of your notes and pushed the book away.

“I don't want to talk right now.” You tried pulling it back by the corner.

“[Y/N].” Teeth together, Billy growled your name and held the paper down.

“I have to study.”

“Too bad.” Billy was refusing to give up. He could be like a dog with a bone at the best of times. “We're figuring this out.”

“You fucking scare me, Billy!” Screaming for the whole library to hear, you stunned him silent. “I’m scared of you.” Like you should have said the other words, you whispered so softly the words were cotton on your tongue. 

His bicep weakened and Billy let you take your notebook back. You swore you could hear pain as it grew from his stomach deeper into the rest of his body. The words had come out by accident, waiting inside to be properly repressed. You clutched your science notebook to your chest and started grabbing your pencils off the table. Once every writing utensil was in your bag, you grabbed it from the floor and rushed by Billy, leaving him in one of his least favorite places with an emotion he didn't know how to handle properly.

[freakandgeekuniverse]

Trouble in the Family pt. 2

Warning: Death, torture, blood, murder, language, and a lot more. Sorry peaches this is a mafia au and it gets pretty dark...

Authors Note: Things are getting started. I’m kinda hesitant to continue because it literally only gets darker from here.

Summary: JYJ & TVXQ are finally dealing with blip on their radar and everyone should get out the way because there will be blood in the water.

Pairing: N/a It ain't that type of fic love!

Word Count: 700+ depending on how the flow goes 

    “Boss,” Junsu coughed, mouth filling rapidly with more and more blood, head hanging limply to the side. “I only did what I thought was best.”

     “Well, I never asked you to do that, now did I,” Jaejoong questioned rhetorically, fist colliding with Junsu’s cheek as means of emphasis. After one more cough from Junsu, Jaejoong released the younger from his grip. Readjusting his suit jacket, Jaejoong turned to his audience, a young man by the name of Bang Yongguk. “Gukkie, pardon my barbarism, but I believe you and I had something to discuss.”

     Yongguk said nothing, only following after the JYJ Head towards a more private room. Once the door was closed, another from the other end of the room opened. Yoochun walked in carrying a squirming man by his hair, face emotionless and stoic. Jaejoong looked at the squirming man with something akin to sick pleasure. “Well, if it isn’t little Johnny,” Jaejoong mock chirped as he squatted to eye level with the aforementioned, “We’ve got business to discuss.”

     Yongguk and Johnny stood next to each other with silent eyes focused solely on Jaejoong as he stood in front of them. “As I’m sure you both may know, there’s been some upset on JYJ territory. This kind of upset has leaked over into TVXQ’s territory as well, so Yunho and I have decided to join forces to quiet that upset. As to why this concerns you, I would like to simply remind you of who’s side of the river you live on. Your respective affiliations thrive only because I allow. Now, Yunho has just given me word that he knows the name of these upstarts, and your job is to eliminate them at all costs. Are we clear,” there was no room for disagreement in his words. With a smirk, Jaejoong left them each to think over their objective.

     “Yoochun, this is bullshit,” Yongguk spoke up, his baritone voice echoing through the otherwise silent room. “How does he expect us to find and kill these guys if he doesn’t even give us a name?”

     “Don’t worry,” Yoochun smirked, “while Jaejoong spoke to you, Junsu supplied your guys with the proper information. You heard the Hero, and he doesn’t take well to failure.”

     Johnny stormed from the room with more annoyance in his stature than necessary. Yongguk and Yoochun were left to only watch as he walked out. “Who pissed in his rice this morning?”

    “Channie,” Yongguk called into their apartment. As he walked in, he sidestepped empty chip bags and other assorted trash. “Hero gave us an assignment.”

     At the name of their benefactor, five men charged towards the leader as one. “Yongguk,” the second oldest of the group called as he was the first to reach the oldest. “Junsu came by earlier. He told us about some kids named Winner that we had to play exterminator for.”

     “That’s about right. We have to get them before Johnny does,” Yongguk warned.

     Johnny walked into his shared apartment with the other eight members of his association. He picked up an empty glass bottle which used to hold soju and threw it against the furthest wall. At the sound, eight heads peeked around two doors, younger eyes more fearful than those of the older eyes. “Fuck Hero,” Johnny growled, chest heaving heavily.

     “Hey, Johnny, calm down,” an older member by the nickname of Ten soothed, hands reaching to place a calming effect on the older. “Xiah told us about this group we have to play exterminator for; does that have anything to do with what Hero told you?”

     “It has everything to do with it,” Johnny sighed, running a hand across his face tiredly. Standing amongst the eight he calls friends sapped him of his anger only to replace it with exhaustion. “I’m just tired of playing the part of Hero’s errand boy.”

     “Well, I mean, we’re not at BAP’s level yet, so maybe we run a few errands, he’ll finally see us as worthy allies,” Ten tried to placate. “This just means we have to beat BAP to the prize.”

    “Yoon, they’re here,” a man called from his place by the obscured window. The sight of multiple headlight s shook him to his core. “Shit, man, they’re coming for us,” he panicked as he ditched his position.

     Another man walked through the area with an assault rifle slung over his shoulder with a face of utmost aloofness. “Calm down, Hoon. We planned it that way, remember,” to punctuate his words, the former knocked his knuckles against the latter’s head.

     “Shut up, Mino,” Hoon grumbled as he picked up a 9mm pistol. The fact that this was the plan did little to soothe his panicking mind. “This still could go south very quickly.”

     “It won’t,” another, more authoritative, voice called from the doorway. “Not if we all stick to the plan; we’ll have our revenge.”

••

prev - next 

[geminimoonbeamx]

Sweet Tooth: Part Three

A/N: I’m a little addicted to writing this and while I have the time to update frequently, I will. Don’t get too used to it though, my sweet babies. I’m about to be really busy coming up here soon. Oh and I forgot to mention this last time, but I actually got the name of Lance’s sister from a fic I read a while ago! Brooklyn just fits so perfectly, I feel like it should be cannon! So kudos to that author because I now think of Brooklyn Tucker as a real character lol.

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: All the cursing and Yonce listening in this one.

Summary: Lance Tucker has come back to his hometown with his ego bruised and his look on life more tainted then ever. When he runs into Y/N; a vibrant plus size woman he went to high school with at her bakery ‘Cake Faced’, he leaves the shop with the taste of sugar on his lips and a hunger that has nothing to do with the cupcakes.

💘💘💘💘

You wake up the next morning, still fuming.

A bottle of wine, six hours of sleep and a scalding hot shower later and you still feel like you could swing on that mother Tucker.

You try to push it our of your mind as you brew a pot of coffee and prepare for work but you just cant. You cant stop the thoughts that are sharp and assaultive.

How dare he?

Who did he think he was?

Who the hell did he think you we’re?

Some sad pathetic fat girl, an easy fuck? That he could ask you, rudely, to drink with him and you would just accept because, what? He was the only man who ever made any advances, and you should take his pity attention. You audibly scoff as you slide into a pair of pointed toe loafers and shrug into your camel coat, flicking your hair out of the collar as you do, assessing your appearance in the mirror by the front door mindlessly.

Yeah, you weren’t a supermodel. Yeah, you we’re over weight. But you actually liked your self, something that had come with years on years of hard work. You liked your fat ass and your curvy waist. You liked the way your eyes looked when you lined them with sharp eyeliner and the way your hair tumbled after you doused it in smoothing oil.

You stomp down your porch steps, irately slamming the door of your jeep after you get in. As you make the drive to the shop, you have to remind yourself that life is short. And you’re not going to let an asshole like Lance ruin you entire day. Because yeah, you liked all of those physical aspects of yourself, but what you liked most about your life; is that you had worked damn fucking hard. You owned your own business. You we’re your own boss.

Boss ass bitch.

So you crank up your Beyoncé playlist and let Queen Bey serenade your morning drive. By the time you get to work, belting out the lyrics of ‘Flawless’ you feel better, and you unlock the store and start morning prep- the stones in your stomach all but gone.

“You look good today Mrs. Thang” Shane, whose opening with you comments as he enters and you just hum and lick a bit of frosting from your knuckle.

“Why thank you, kind sir. You’re looking good today, too. I like the new hair” gone was the beach blond and in was a pretty lavender shade that highlighted his cheekbones. It was almost sad to think that it probably wouldn’t last long. Shane went through hair colors faster then the then the changing seasons, never keeping the same tone for more then a month at a time.

You loved it. Encouraged it. Because you weren’t one of those cunt-y bosses. Yeah, you had rules but mostly they we’re enforced with friendship and mutual respect. Not fearmongering and superiority.

You think that’s why most of your employee’s had worked for you for so long. A couple, like Shane, had been with you from the very start.

“Really, it was an accident” Shane shrugs, running a hand through the fluffy purple locks as he does the chores, straightens and preps before flipping the open sign over just as Ashleigh, one of your girls runs in- whimpering “sorry’s” as she hurriedly grabs her apron from the back and clocks in. You make her explain it to you, obviously, why she was a half an hour late and she goes into a frantic story about having to drop off a sister somewhere.

“Ash, it’s okay” You place your hands on her shoulders, placatingly “Just give me a call next time”

Your firm, and warm at the same time. She wasn’t known for being a flake, and everyone deserved a break sometimes. You weren’t going to bust her balls for her first offence. She looks so grateful it’s almost comical.

“Thank you, I love you, thank you”

“Bitch, go set up the display up front. I’ve done everything else this morning” Shane snaps playfully at her and you chuckle, clucking about language(even though you had the WORST mouth) before going to check on your cinnamon rolls.

It was going to be a good day, you encourage yourself…

And it was.

Even through the intensely busy hours that came with breakfast and lunch, your shop frequented at least thirty-forty people at any given moment at those times. But you couldn’t complain, how could you? Your business was booming. So you were on your feet all day. Boo hoo, the price of success was never promised to be cheap. Luckily you have a near full staff today so you can focus on things behind the counter.

Which def isn’t as much fun. You’d rather be baking, or working the register, but the books aren’t going to balance themselves and you have some business calls to get done. You also may or may not text Courtney and bitch about the night befores endeavors.

-I told you, he’s total piece of shit. Fucking dick-

She messages you about Lance and your nose crinkled. Yeah, he was. Which is sad, because you hadn’t always believed that.

“Hey, Y/N” Your head rises to look at one of your girls, she’s peeking her head into your office “There’s a problem with the corner mixer again”

You sigh through your nose, you’d just had maintenance in a couple weeks ago “Okay, I’ll be right out”

Still, you think, it had been a decent day.

Even when you get splattered with batter as you help fix the mixer. You agree to take Shane’s place at the front counter because he’s better at tinkering with the machine then you are and your only there for what seems like five minutes when your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. There’s a tall head of dark hair, and broad shoulders that have just walked in.

And bright blue eyes that meet yours.

You feel a flash of heat spread through your body and you probably would have told him to get the hell out- but of course Lance Tucker never played fair.

At his sides are two young girls, who you know are his nieces because you’d seen Brooklyn around with her kids before.

You meet his stare, determined not to back down. Your eyes are scowling harshly at him as he approaches you, and really, you wished you hadn’t left your office.

As much as you dislike Lance in that moment, those girls didn’t do anything to you and their giggling excitedly as they get up to the glass, looking at the extensive display of sweets with eyes bigger then their stomach’s.

“Hi” You grin at them, genuinely. Brooklyn Tucker really had reproduce well because her two daughters are gorgeous, some of the prettiest children you’ve ever laid eyes on. The younger one even has those hypnotic baby blues you figured must run in their family line.

They both chime their hello’s at you, the older girl holding the youngers hand in a way that makes you ache- missing your own sister dearly at that moment in time.

“Hi” That’s from Lance, but you don’t even acknowledge him.

“Do you guys see anything you like? Just point out anything you want to taste, okay?”

Both girls press even closer to the glass at that, their foreheads all but plastered to it. The little one seems to be having trouble though, she’s on the very tips of her toes and she’s still not quite tall enough to see all of her options. Lance doesn’t warn her, he just scoops her up in his arms and she squeals as he lean’s her down haphazardly so she can get a peek at all of the pastries.

“Thanks, Uncle Lance”

Your eyes meet his, just for a moment before you quickly divert them again.

So he did one cute(ass motherfucking) thing?

That didn’t pardon last night’s…and all the nights before that’s sin’s.

“I never know what to get when we come in here there’s just soooo many options. I’m going to have a mental break” The older girl blabbers and you chuckle. How old was she? Ten? Oh, sweet child, you want to tell her. You don’t know anything about mental breaks yet.

“Why don’t you ask, Y/N. She really knows her stuff” Lance chances a peek at you, but your still refusing to look at him.

“Really? Please halp me” The young girl balks and you laugh out loud.

“Okay, kiddo. what do you like? Are you into fruity flavors or are you more of a chocolate girl?” you start the process of helping her choose, one you’re well acquainted with.

“Give me all of the chocolate”

“A girl after my own heart, I like you” You smile as you start collecting samples for her to try.

The Mud Slide, the Dirty Old Man, and finally the Cookie Monster.

You knew she’d like that one, it was a hit with kids.

“What about you, sweet pea?” You ask the little one in Lances arms.

“Well I was thinking I would just take another one of those one’s I got last time” Lance answers you cockily, with a playful glint in his eyes.

“I wasn’t talking to you” you say at the same time that his older niece says “She was talking to Lula!”

Lance’s gives her a pointed look “Don’t team up on me now. You’re supposed to be on my side”

Again, ignoring him you ask “Lula, do you see anything you want to try”

You can tell she’s quieter- maybe not as bold as the other Tucker’s in the shop and you don’t want her to feel left out. When she points to the Strawberry Crunch Bar you smile and give her the little tester spoonful, your eye brows wiggling friskily at her. She giggles and tells you that, that’s the one she wants.

“Well I’ll try it too then” Lance decides and you hand him a tester, not nearly as nicely. He wraps his lips around it, his eyes glued to yours and smiles.

Fuck.

Why is his smile still so gorgeous?

“Mmm- it’s okay”

You glare at him and he chuckles and holds his hand that’s not occupied by holding the child up “I’m kidding, jeeze”

“Will that be all for you guys?” you’re not trying to rush them- but you really are. He was already getting on your nerves.

Lance wants to sigh, and reach over the counter and shake you because obviously he was throwing up a white flag, couldn’t you give him a break? He’d spent the entire morning, with a gnarly head ache(because he, in fact, had finished that case of beer) and an itch he couldn’t scratch. An annoying one that had led him back to this shop. Luckily, he was babysitting the girls while Brooke was at work so he knew you wouldn’t turn him away.

But that didn’t stop you from being really damn difficult.

“No, actually. It wont. Le'mme try that one” He points to a swirling green cupcake with chocolate sprinkles. And then five more after that. It get’s a little ridiculous because you can tell he’s not even really into it. He’s just doing it to annoy you.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” You ask tensely after his sixth taster, your really trying to be professional but he’s really getting under your skin.

“I don’t know you tell me”

You huff at his answer. Why was he tormenting you?

“Uncle Lance I want to eat my cupcake!” The older girl pulls on his arm, hurrying him.

“And you can, when my friend here tells me that she’ll join us”

Has he lost his damn mind?

“I’m working” you instantly snap.

“Well isn’t one of the perks of being your own boss being able to take breaks when you want to?” Lance pushes “Just a quick one, we’ll eat in the store”

“No”

“Come on”

“Please miss- it’ll be really fast I promise” The older girl begs and you could hit him for doing this to you. The store was quiet enough that you couldn’t use that for an excuse…and really, you owned the place. You had no superior to look out for.

“Fine. But I cant hang out for long, It’s almost four, it’ll start to pick up again” You bend with a sigh as you ring them up and Lance stands a little straighter. The shit eating look on his face makes you want to puke. You sit at one of the tables with them and watch with fond amusement as the girls begin feasting on their cupcakes animatedly.

You learn that while Lula isn’t much of a talker, her older sister Zoey is. The girl, who tells you that she’s nine and a quarter, is maybe the most talkative child you’ve ever met. You cant even really absorb all that she’s giving you.

“Jesus, Zo. Give the woman a chance to breathe” Lance teases her, wiping a stray bit of frosting away from her cheek with his thumb.

“You don’t mind, do you Y/N?” Zoey asks around a bite “We’re friends now”

You smile widely at that but very seriously tell her “Of course we are”

“See?” Zoey shoots at Lance “You’re just mad because she’s my friend and not yours”

Lance covers his grimace with a smirk as he looks down. The kid’s not wrong.

“Maybe your on to something”

“Don’t be weird” Zoey alerts at the sound of his gruff voice “We can all be friends, right?”

She looks at you with a child like innocence that renders you speechless for a moment, grasping for the right words.

This was so unfair,

“I don’t make friend with boy’s. Their gross” Lula is a godsend you decide as she breaks the silence with her comment.

“Live your entire life by those words” You advise the younger girl and Lance chortles.

“That’s a little sexist” Zoey is something else. The girl spoke like she was far older then her nine years.

“I promise that when you get to be my age you’ll understand”

She just goes back to her cupcake and idle chatter after you tell her that.

“What if the boy really wanted to be your friend?” Lance asks lowly as his nieces debate something between themselves, not paying attention to the two of you.

He’s leaning into you a little bit, his shoulder is nearly touching yours and his knee brushes your thigh.

You knew what he was doing. And you weren’t amused in the least.

“I don’t think the boy knows what friendship is”

“C'mon Y/N. Don’t be like that”

You snap your eyes in his direction warningly.

“I’m not being like anything. Like I told you last night-”

“You don’t give a shit about me. Yeah, I remember”

You chew on his words, they taste sharp and bitter and ugly.

“I didn’t mean it like that” your voice is softer, softer then you’d meant it to be.

“Then be my friend”

The way friend rolls off his tongue is suggestive and almost sinful and even though you refuse to look at him, his eyes bore into the side of your face and you attempt not to squirm in your seat. Hating that he was getting this kind of reaction out of you.

“Y/N!” Saved, once again by the bell. Or fate. Or Shane. You scoot out the chair to stand instantly, extremely relieved to have an out.

“It was really nice to meet you guys, I hope you liked your cupcakes” You bid fare well to the girls.

“It was nice meeting you too. We’re friends now, so I’ll be back” Zoey informs you, matter of factly and you bite a laugh.

“I’ll be waiting” you salute her as you prepare to leave.

Your not expecting Lance to be so…bold. Which is stupid. Because bold is pretty much who he is. He reaches out to block your path with his long, toned arm and your thighs bump into it.

You look down at him, irate.

“Thank you” He looks up at you, that insanely pretty jaw tensing and his eyes literally cutting holes into you.

You shake your head, trying to banish the feeling.

Really, it just looks like your shaking your head at him being a total ass hat.

“Your welcome” You mutter, but his arm doesn’t drop. He’s still caging you in, in a way that’s making your chest flutter uncomfortably. It’s like he can sense it, because he grins and his voice comes out smooth as butter.

“It really was delicious”

Was he fucking with you?

He had to be fucking with you.

“Yup. It’s my job, now move” if the children weren’t there you would have been a little more…colorful, but the way you say move is enough for his arm to retreat.

He cant decide whether he wants to smile, or glare. Whether you’re actually annoying him by being so stubborn or turning him on. As he watches your hips sway he thinks it might be the latter.

“I like her” Lula announces, as she licks at the cupcake wrapper for any remaints of icing and Lance’s mouth twitches as you toss your head back and laugh at something someone said to you. He did too. He thinks he always had.

Part Four

——————–

@huntressxtimelady @i-had-a-life-once @zombiewerewolfqueen @spookyscaryscully @adyseesbeauty @geekyweed @peacefulwriter88 @pegasusdragontiger @yslbucky @iamwarrenspeace @maximum-effort-minimum-life @booklover2929 @ultrafangirl000 @sophiealiice

Okay, what did we think about this one? I know their relationship is slow burning and for all intents and purposes Y/N still isn’t his biggest fan but isn’t that realistic? Lol he’s sooooo full of shit and I think the woman that finally caught Lance Tucker would def know that. Please leave me some comments, some feedback about what you think. Even if it’s constructive criticism. I really like this story and I want to know if you guys do too!😭💛

[drunklander]

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 310

♫ side-quest ep! side-quest ep! totally worthwhile side-quest ep! ♫

(Being mostly sarcastic there, but ffs I’ve been singing it to the tune of the Spider-Man song since Saturday night and how do I make it stop...)

As a standalone thing, this was an entertaining hour of television. I’m always here to watch Claire go full Beauchamp and be badass. (I am hardcore just leeching on to the parts of this episode that I liked because dammit I’m sick of not liking most things.) As part of the season as a whole though, I have a lot of similar issues as I had last week. Except this time instead of the characters acting like they’d skipped an episode’s worth of development, it’s like why are we spending an episode this close to the end of the season on a side-quest where the only important thing that happens is finding out that Jamie’s two identities have been connected. (Yes, I know that the answer is “the book” but *puts on broken record* it’s an adaptation, they can change things.)

But whatever. I need to just proactively keep my expectations low and just enjoy episodes as individual units because apparently thinking of them as a whole season makes me roll my eyes.

Fergus with his gift for Marsali is adorable. But why does Jamie need to come off like such a dick when he asks Fergus what his business is with the cook? I’d really like to like Jamie again, show. Just sayin’.

For real though, smitten!Fergus is my favorite.

Why does Jamie act surprised that Claire is still on the Porpoise? Like he’d know if she was back on the Artemis. So where else would she be?

Where was all this passion and need to protect Claire when she’d actually been attacked in ep. 307? Because in the aftermath of that he was just a dick and didn’t bother to ask if she was ok. Cool that Jamie only acts like he gives a shit about Claire’s well-being when she’s not there.

Midshipman Fetus standing up for Claire is my everything. And Claire scolding him for licking his finger is also my everything. Basically everything with Claire and Midshipman Fetus is my everything.

Ok but the kid who plays Midshipman Fetus is named Albie and that is the most adorable name for the most adorable kid. And for real, bless the casting wizards because this dude is like a little heart-eyed puppy who follows Claire around like “don’t you dare mess with my mom.” He’s perfect.

For real though, Claire’s face when she’s like owning Mr. Overholt. Like I don’t have time for your shit, rando. Just do what I tell you. #BAMF But then her face when she’s looking over the deck of sick men and is like fuck, I can’t save all of them and is very much aware of the limits of what she can do. Basically 90% of my thoughts while watching this episode were just “omg look at Claire’s face.” I’m *rull* eloquent like that.

*throws awards at said face, just for good measure*

Seriously though. It’s so nice to finally see Claire being like listen up fives, a 10 is talking. Like yaaas queen.

And in things that aren’t shocking, it took her being away from certain dudes and their manpain for her to finally get to Kool Aid Man-style bust through the wall she built around herself and be like I’m Claire Elizabeth Motherfucking Beauchamp and I’m here to save your asses. *aggressively side-eyes a certain producer who keeps claiming that Claire needs to be defined by the men in her life*

“Just because it’s beyond *our* comprehension, Cosworth, doesn’t make it less voracious. We must believe her.” Yaaas, Captain Babyface. Am always here for people who respect Claire’s skill and knowledge.

“There’s more than disease aboard that ship, lad. There are 300 men.” Cool that Jamie understands that *men* are the source of the of sexual violence women face when Claire’s on the Porpoise, but when she was nearly raped all of three episodes ago, he was like meh, screw comforting my wife, I’m just going to tell Claire how everyone will just blame her and then go about my business.

“What good are you, you damn fool? I see I was right to withhold my blessing from you. Proves ye dinna ken what love is.” Ok, yes. Jamie is like freaking the fuck out. But jfc, you can freak the fuck out and not be a complete piece of shit to Fergus. Someone text me when Jamie isn’t a fucking asshole anymore because I’m *rull* over this.

“You would move heaven and earth. You would risk arrest and death. Even hell.” More big dramatic speeches for Jamie because clearly that’s all you need to redeem a character who was a dick for a few episodes but sorry, dude, you can speechify all you want, but your idea is still dumb and eventually your rational thought needs to come back and you need to fucking realize that. Like I get it. He’s desperate. He probably can’t survive losing Claire again. He definitely thinks that’s the case, anyway. But he’s also smart. He and Claire have been alternating rescuing each other for basically the entire series. So like dude. Stop. Take a fucking breath. Think about this for a second. Fergus is fucking right.

Although his face when he says “even hell” is so good because yeah, we all remember the way too unnecessarily graphic Wentworth episodes, dude.

“Until ye risk all, ye canna speak of love.” Nah, bro. That’s not how it works. Not every couple has to go through all the shit you and Claire went through so they can “earn” being able to say they love each other. (I don’t know why Jamie bugs me so much this half of the season that I’m like incapable of just going along with dialogue like this. Because like the show clearly wants me to think it’s all dramatic and romantic and shit. I’m apparently “watching it wrong” or something. Lol, no. Jamie’s just a fucking asshole. *eye roll at the thought that there’s a right or wrong way to watch something*)

Fergus, my dude, if Jamie’s going to say shit like this to you, maybe you should just say fuck his blessing and live your own damn life.

Midshipman Fetus’ face during the burial at sea. Omg I just want to give him a hug.

I love that Claire can’t even be bothered to tell Cosworth to fuck off. Like bro she’s so far out of your league she doesn’t even need to deign to acknowledge your bullshit with a response. Just the arms crossed lean on the rail with her face like broseph I know my value, who the fuck are you. You go, Peggy Carter Claire.

Oh the layers of Claire explaining what compartmentalizing is. Girl, you have a PhD in compartmentalizing...

“Begging your pardon, madam, but after three days of watching you at your work, I do not think much of it will come down to luck.” Midshipman Fetus is officially a member of the Claire Beauchamp Fan Club along with Ned, Fergus, Young Ian and YTC.

I’m over the rabbit shit, tbh. Like they’re trying too hard at this point. But it’s a super sweet gesture by Midshipman Fetus to give Claire the lucky charm his mom gave him.

Here for Claire dropping f-bombs and for Midshipman Fetus to just be like *heart eyes* about it. Right there with you, sir.

“Seamen will drink almost anything.” Same, tbh.

Cosworth is like the *one* antagonist dude in the series who doesn’t threaten Claire with sexual assault. All for there being conflict, but thanks for finally not making the threat of rape part of it, show. No brownie points for you for finally doing something you should have realized ages ago.

Like for real though. The bar is that low that in a crap scene that I’m still like omg but he didn’t try to rape her so they made progress and I should just move on. I don’t know why I bother with you sometimes, show.

Also seriously I keep typing Cogsworth and I’d like to apologize to the clock from Beauty and the Beast for that.

Oh so it’s Marsali helping Fergus in the credits. RIP hopes for a nice Claire and Fergus scene. Haven’t had one except the meeting on the street, have we? Le sigh. Maybe at the wedding? *lowers expectations because why should we have meaningful moments between characters we care about when we can have a whole episode about saving randos*

I really love Marsali. She reminds me a bit of Claire and I’d be so down if Fergus like told Jamie and Claire at some point that that’s part of why he likes her so much. Like not in a creepy way, obvi. *side-eyes some of Roger’s thoughts about Claire from the books* But like that she has the same strength and spirit.

Oh but then of course we get the Artemis’ crew talking about wanting to rape Marsali. Couldn’t make it through one episode, could you, show. Of course you couldn’t. Le sigh.

STOP SAYING MIDSHIPMAN FETUS LOOKS TIRED. HE’S FINE. HE’S TOTALLY OK AND WILL MAKE IT TO JAMAICA AND YOU WILL ADOPT HIM AND TELL JAMIE THAT HE GOT TO BRING HOME FERGUS SO YOU GET TO BRING HOME THIS FETUS CHILD AND EVERYONE WILL LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER.

Claire in a bandana, threatening a man with a comically large knife is my aesthetic.

For real though. Claire is just as desperate to save Jamie here as Jamie was to save her. The difference is, Claire takes a fucking minute, thinks about it and is like nope. Killing this dude is not a good idea. Need to think of another plan. Take note, Jamie.

Claire’s face when she says Jamie didn’t kill the minty fresh corpse. [insert Mentos joke here] Although Claire, it’s not your fault. Like she’s clearly thinking omg I did the thing that Jamie might hang for and there’s a sense of guilt there. But Claire. You didn’t kill the guy. You tried to save him. It was Jamie who put him in the cask. It was Jamie’s smuggling that brought the dude to the brothel in the first place. It. Is. Not. Your. Fault.

Since we’re side-questing, because lol why not, I want a whole spinoff about Annekje and her goats shenaniganing their way around the world on ships.

Like her smile though when she’s like “my goats need grass” like she knows she has a good escape plan and the language barrier is not going to put her down. She’s fucking adorable and I heart her.

Fergus is so great in this episode. You’re a better man than Jamie, dude.

The scene when Elias dies kills me. Just Claire giving him that bit of comfort in thinking his mother is there. And her face because she couldn’t save him. And he’s just so young. And guys why is my face wet.

AND SHE GIVES HIM BACK HIS RABBIT FOOT AND WHY DO I HAVE FEELINGS.

Oh man, the shot of just his single body going into the sea is so much more powerful than the shot of the multiple ones from earlier.

Bless for Captain Babyface trying to comfort Claire and give her due credit while recognizing her loss. The Babyfaces on this show, both Lt. and Capt., are so great.

Sort of side-eyeing Claire for not getting what Annekje meant earlier, but whatever. Also why so many VOs in this ep. Stahp. For real though, the way she reassures Claire that she’ll care for the sick when Claire leaves is so good. So like Claire leaves knowing she’s not breaking her oath.

Speaking of oaths...they are pesky little things, aren’t they. For real, I love Capt. Babyface. Like even when he’s a threat to Jamie, and therefore my girl Claire’s happiness, I can’t help but like him.

Oh look. Jamie’s looking at the pictures of Bree. Cool that he thinks of her when he’s by himself but when he’s with Claire all he does is insult Bree, use her to hurt Claire like a certain other doucherocket did and acknowledge that Claire misses her but doesn’t offer any similar sentiments of his own so Claire’s basically feeling like she’s going through missing Bree alone. (A hug is nice, but not the same as a comforting word to Claire about your daughter, dude. Since you have yet to say basically anything nice about Bree that you didn’t then immediately contradict when you were in a pissy mood.)

“What Fergus did, he did for you.” “If you believe that, you dinna deserve to be let out of here.” PREACH, MARSALI. FUCKING PREACH.

I love Marsali so much. I love Fergus so much. I am Fersali trash and I am 1000% ok with that.

For real though, Jamie, I get you were desperate and shit, but you’re also not an idiot. Fucking take a minute and realize that Fergus basically saved your ass from your damn self. The guy is fucking great and you are a fucking asshole. #SorryNotSorry

“You’ll need to prove yourself to her as much as to me.” Jamie. Wtaf is wrong with you. Fergus is a fucking good dude. Marsali is a good woman. They fucking love each other and each fucking know how much the other loves them. There was never any reason why they shouldn’t have gotten your blessing except that you were being a twat. Not that they even need your blessing. It’s a gesture of respect that I’m honestly not sure you’re worthy of at the moment. But wait, I forgot that you’re not a dick anymore apparently and everything’s fine, it’s all forgotten and totally ok now. (For real, I really want to like Jamie again. I’m just...struggling.)

Lol, Jamie calling Fergus “mon fils” is like the equivalent of saying a romantic book line to Claire in that it seems like the show thinks that makes everything he’s done ok.

Ok but for serious. Give Annekje her own show. She’s like so self-assured and like yeah, I totally know that this ridic thing will work because I *actually know shit about the sea*. SHE’S SO COOL AND I WANT TO BE FRIENDS WITH HER.

The JHRC’s always sound so forced. This one is no exception.

And we end on a cliffhanger. Again. Because of course we do.

But whatever. Next week we get tan, sea soaked Claire. Which does things for me. So since I’m basically just here for Claire at this point, bring on jungle shenanigans and here’s hoping the crazy fucking priest is slightly less crazy than he was in the book and they cut a bunch of the random shit when Claire’s at his house... Because fuck it, if I’m drunk enough the ridiculousness is silly enough to justify watching. I guess.

[selenelavellan]

Era’harel

Concert AU

Some backstory that’s unlikely to come up naturally so I’m putting it out here. I actually wanted to do more bits, leading up to how Selene lost her  teaching job but this seemed long enough on its own, so that’ll likely be up tomorrow.

TW for Sexual Assault, Death, Violence, Rape, and Shitty Parenting

tagging @feynites for reasons

Era'harel joins clan Ralaferin when he is still a toddler.

His name was different before then. Sweeter, like music when it rolled off of his parents tongues.

But he can't remember it, when he is found. He tries to, tries to remember the way his parents smiled at him, and held him, and how they would call for him near cobbled stones and ratted ceilings. He recalls the warmth, and the love, and the way the sunlight streamed through endless branches of a giant tree in a courtyard. But no matter how he tries, he can not recall the words, in the end.

As he grows, he doesn't think it matters anymore.

“Era'harel,” They call him, as he is taught to string a bow and clean a corpse and sit quietly for a hunt. Something to make him useful, something so he can earn his keep in the clan with no parents and no family to care for him. Some of the members are kind, and he bounces from aravel to aravel wherever room can be spared. Wherever there is a spare bit of love he can snag, or warmth he can gather and tuck away for later.

He is thirteen when he goes to his first Arlathvhen.

It is loud, and raucous and he loves it.

There are so many other elven children to run with and dance with and kiss with, and he discovers that he really, really likes kissing behind the closed flap of a tent.

Or what he thought was a closed flap, until he hears the giggling, and spies several sets of eyes peeking through the cloth like sunlight through branches.

It doesn't bother him, but the other boy blushes and giggles and runs back to the main events with a quick pardon.

He frowns, left alone again and not quite sure where he went wrong, but doesn't think anything more of it.

By the end of the Arlathvhen, he has been traded to the other boys clan, anyways.

“Alaris, First of Clan Lavellan,” he reintroduces himself, as though his tongue had not been down his throat a few days prior.

Era'harel nods, and introduces himself again as Alaris takes him on a tour of the clan site. Lavellan is more centralized than Ralaferin had been. More of its members are reliant on crops and trade than hunts and livestock.

It's nice, but it's also much, much more boring.

The hunting team is smaller, so his workload increases substantially despite it being a less necessary trade here. Hunting becomes a daily ritual, rather than a weekly one. He hates it, really. No time to do anything else, just a repetitive, monotonous list of daily tasks. Wake up too early, fletch some arrows for the following day, inspect the ones from the day before, hunt, clean the kill, eat, sleep, repeat.

Ugh.

At least his dreams are vivid. Parties and people and never having to touch another bow in his life. Visions of massive trees in courtyards, music, laughter. Freedom.

He's grateful that he's been taken in by the Dalish, really. They could have left him to die, and there's always one or two members that won't let him forget it. But he watches the ink on the faces of the other hunters, the bow permanently scrawled over the features, and feels sick at the permanence of it. At being permanently tied some predetermined role that he hates. Life is meant to be enjoyed.

No one else seems to get that.

And then the wyverns come. A small grouping wanders too close to the camp, picking off their usual prey and the hunters all have to scare them off, or hunt them down.

Arrows whiz past his ears, long dark hair blowing past his peripheral vision in the aftermath. The wyverns remain, screeching, and dart towards the group. The hunters leap, climb into the trees effortlessly, as they have done countless times before.

Era'harel stumbles, and falls back onto solid ground. Three scaled down dragons barrel towards him and he panics. He stands, and looses a fireball, managing to strike one right in the eye as it lets out an ear-splitting shriek.

The other two don't even pause, and one slams straight into his ribs before he can run, knocking him flat on his back. The other hunters call for him, and the wyvern rears its head up, teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he prepares for his death.

Several arrows thunk into it before it can tear out his throat, and the beast collapses, dead, on top of him.

Which would be less of an issue, he thinks, if they were not so heavy.

Another hunter slashes the throat of the already blinded wyvern, and the last is taken care of in short order before they are able to pull the carcass off of him. His ribs are crushed, he feels as though his entire body has been flattened out like jerky, and every step he tries to take sends another shot of pain straight through his body. The hunters that are not busy bundling up the wyverns help carry Era'harel back into the clan, and into the healers aravel. They dump him (rather roughly, if you ask him) into the empty patients hammock before leaving to finish the hunt.

Alone again, he sighs. Immediately, he wishes he hadn't as his ribs press painfully back into him with the deep breath.

“You look like hell,” comes a soft voice from behind a shelving unit full of salves and potions. “What did you do?”

“I killed a dragon.” Era'harel lies with a smug grin.

The girl doesn't seem to believe him, on any account. White hair braided down her back, a small curl wisping over her forehead as she strides towards him in traditional healers garb.

She pokes and prods and hems and haws at him, and he relaxes at the attention, until he realizes something odd.

“You look like you're my age.”

“Well, how old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“Then I'd say that makes sense, since we are the same age.” she quips.

“Why haven't I seen you before?”

“I'm not always around. The last few years my time has been split between the trade routes and, well,” she gestures to the space around them “being locked away in here.”

Era'harel blinks “They let you go on the trade expeditions?”

“Mm-hm,” the girl grins “I'm good with numbers, and Keeper agrees that I need to get out of my fathers shadow from time to time.”

“Do you get to go into the cities?”

“Sure do.”

Era'harel thinks of giant trees and laughter and ratted roofs, and how much he misses these things he scarcely remembers.

“Could you take me with you?”

She blinks.

“I...don't know. We need the hunters here, for food. There's only about six of you.”

“Well there's only two healers, and they let you go.” he points out.

“That's...” she frowns. “I mean, you're right, but I don't know...”

“What don't you know?”

“You, for starters.”

Era'harel thinks that's probably fair, and gives her the best semblance of a wave and a charming smile as he can manage in his current situation, and introduces himself.

“That's a weird name.” she comments. “They named you 'demon mage'?”

“It's not like I picked it,” he gripes. “So what's your name then, Ms.-hyper-critical-of-naming-customs?”

“...Sulvuna.”

“Oh, 'alive'. That's much better.” He snickers.

Sulvuna turns red beneath the strands of her hair that have come loose in the humidity of the aravel before she pokes him harder than is necessary for her inspection in the ribs. He yelps in pain, and notes the flat 'oops' she gives him in lieu of an actual apology.

She does end up asking if he can go along on the trade routes though. She even goes so far as to lie for him, claiming that his injuries will require more recovery time before he can shoot an arrow or cast a spell correctly. Her father scoffs and derides her for it, and Era'harel pretends not to hear him calling her a disgrace, or notice that it's the first thing he's said to her in the week he's spent resting in their hammock.

Still.

She was willing to stick her neck out for him. He should do something in return, probably.

They're on the road with another elf, a slightly older one who is far taller than any elf really has the right to be with bright orange hair, (“His name's Haleir,” Sulvuna informs him from beneath rosy cheeks and eyes that are trying to act like they aren't focused on him for half their trip) who is in charge of the actual trades. Lots of exchanges made over the years, and Era'harel notices the gifts Haleir buys for Sulvuna on their trips. Nothing extravagant, some clothes and foods and most notably a smooth stone in the shape of a crescent moon that she keeps tucked away on her person, even when they are back at camp.

He also notices Haleir giving gifts to several other members of the clan, when Sulvuna isn't looking.

When they are eighteen and he and Sulvuna consider each other best friends even in the daylight, they go into town with Haleir for the umpteenth time. But their first night, Haleir sends him away. Some errand he says needs to be double checked, and Era'harel goes without question.

When he returns, he finds Haleir asleep beneath the covers of the bed, and Selene with tear streaks down her face, her dress torn and shredded and hanging off her shoulders.

He's frozen in the doorway, her gaze going right through him. Empty, hollow.

Hurt.

And then he is angry. He doesn't ask what happened, doesn't need to, doesn't want to make her say it when he's seen the looks and he's seen the signs and he still trusted them here alone together and he was wrong, he was so wrong, he should have been looking out for her, he's supposed to be her friend damn it.

Era'harel drags Haleir out of bed, slamming him to the floor and shocking him awake.

“What the fuck-” Haleir screams.

“How dare you!” Era'harel interrupts “How dare you, she trusted you, the clan trusted you and then you turn around and pull this sort of shit, you fucking monster-!”

“Era-” Sulvuna whispers, moving to stand from the bed. Haleir speaks again and she winces, immediately sitting down as he starts yelling excuses to Era'harel about how it wasn't his fault, and of course she wanted it too, she just doesn't know how to have a good time, and it's right around this time that he stops listening and smashes his fist into the side of Haleirs jaw, instead.

Sulvuna freezes, stunned, still caught trying to figure out what the best course of action might be. Haleir, clearly unused to being held accountable for his own actions, is momentarily stunned as well before he pulls back and strikes at Era'harel, who narrowly ducks out of the way and uses the momentum to slam Haleir face down onto the bed, twisting his arms painfully behind his back until he's screaming in pain instead of anger, and pleading to be let go.

“Apologize.” Era'harel grits out.

Haleir is silent, until his arm is twisted tighter behind him, and he yells once more before finally saying “Fine, fine!” he turns his head slightly, to look at Sulvuna “Sorry for giving exactly what you wanted you fuckin-”

“That is not an apology!” Era'harel roars, before kneeing him as hard as he can in the groin and slamming the taller elf back into the wall. Haleir crumples to the floor, unconscious, while Sulvuna stares uncertainly back at Era'harel.

“I...thank...thank you?” She manages, voice scratchy and raw enough to break on the higher tones.

He sighs, and pulls her tightly into his arms. Tries to emulate what he knows is supposed to be reassuring. “I'm sorry,” he mumbles into her hair. “I shouldn't have left.”

“It wasn't your fault...” She whispers back, arms awkwardly coming up to wrap back around him. “You didn't know. I didn't know. These things happen.”

“That's not- That's not true, Sulvuna. The world doesn't have to be like this. Not everyone is like him, I've slept with plenty of people, and none of them were-none of them did anything like this! You're not supposed to!”

“It doesn't matter.” she whispers back with a shake of her head “It doesn't-I don't..It doesn't matter. It happened, and nothing I do will change that. I just...can we...can we go for a walk or something? I'd really like to...to not be here, right now.”

“Yeah,” Era'harel swallows, handing her his traveling cloak. “Yeah, wherever you want to go.”

She nods, and thanks him as she dons his cloak, and they step back out into the hallway.

They end up walking all the way back to the clan, without Haleir, and without going back.

Era'harel confronts her father first. He's a healer, and he's her father, and that means he should be the one to help her here, right? You're supposed to see a doctor after stuff like this, he's pretty sure.

But it becomes clear early into the conversation, Sulvuna thankfully still outside, that Elrogathe has no desire to try to fix the situation.

“I don't see the problem.” He shrugs without even looking up from his work.

“You're shitting me, right? Haleir raped your daughter, and you 'don't see the problem'?”

“Haleir is going to be bonded to Sulvuna soon, and then she will be expected to have relations with him regularly so that they can have children and strengthen the clan.”

“And if he knocked her up already?” Era'harel manages through grit teeth.

“Then for once in her life, my daughter will be ahead of the curve.”

The nonchalance grates at him. He should care, he should love her, parents are supposed to love their children. Era'harel can not even remember his parents faces, but even he knows that. Purple flames lick at his arm, and Elrogathe finally glances up from his work table when he smells the smoke.

“Please do not set the aravel on fire. It would set me back by months on work.”

“What is wrong with you? Doesn't Sulvuna matter to you at all?! Isn't her well-being important to you?”

“Sulvuna is important to the clan. Her mother and I are both from long lines of Dalish blood, as are Haleir and his parents. I wouldn't expect a shemlen like you to understand.”

“Excuse you?”

“Do you prefer demon spawn, then? I assumed Shemlen was the polite thing to call you.”

“I am not-my parents were-”

“Your mother was a whore from the city, who ran away when your father was slaughtered by templars. Keeper Ralaferin found her standing over you, already a demon, an abomination given in to her sin entirely. Ralaferin has always been a soft clan. They slew her to save her, and took you in in the hopes that a proper upbringing could make you better. An offering of repentance to the gods, to show that even the doomed could be saved.” Elrogathe leans back in his chair, raising one eyebrow.  “They were wrong, of course. We took you in, because we needed more hunters. But a demon dressed as an elf is still a demon in the end. You are still not one of us, nor will you ever be. And the next time you fall ill, do not expect me to save you. It is not worth wasting the resources anymore.”

“That's enough.” Sulvuna insists from the doorway, fists tight at her sides. “You are being needlessly cruel. Era'harel is a good person-”

“We call him demon for a reason, Sulvuna-”

“And yet his heart is kinder than yours.”

Elrogathe tsks, and returns to his work as Sulvuna snags Era'harel hand in hers and drags him out of the aravel.

“I'm sorry, for what he said.” she apologizes. “He was out of line.”

“Is it true?”

Sulvuna blinks.

“Is it true?” Era'harel repeats, more insistently.

“I...I don't know,” she admits. “I've never known him to lie, though.”

It stings. It stings, the only thing anyone has told him about his parents in years, and it's this. Slaughtered, given in to temptation. Temptation he's been eyeing himself, in dreams. Memories tainted, smiles and warmth and love all ended with blades.

His end too, probably.

Sulvuna hugs him.

She doesn't say anything, usually not one to initiate physical contact, especially given recent events, but she steps in and wraps her arms around him and pulls him into her until his head is on her shoulder and he returns the embrace.

And then he cries. He cries, and he howls for the first time in his memory as she holds him and hums old songs into his ear, and takes him to one of their more secluded spaces in the woods, one of their bottles of alcohol still hidden in the trunk of the tree.

They stay there like that until the sun begins to set. Sulvuna still stroking his back gently, soothingly. 

Lovingly.

“We should leave.” She muses.

He scoffs.

“I'm serious.” she says.

He lifts his head, pulling back from her and wiping at his face  as he makes eye contact. 

She certainly seems serious.

“Where would we go?” He asks, warming up the the idea the more he considers it.

“Anywhere,” Sulvuna shrugs “Anywhere we wanted, that's the point. We could go somewhere no one knows us. Reinvent ourselves, start from scratch. I've got some things we could sell, and we both know how much things are worth, and we could go. We could go anywhere.”

“Let's do it.”

She nods. “Pack a bag. We'll head out in...an hour?”

Era'harel grins. “I love you.”

She snorts. “Oh, shut up.”

–

They leave that night, and travel to the nearest city to find a bus. They take the bus for a few days, until nothing is familiar anymore, until no one's heard of their clans, or anyone linked to their clans. Until Era'harel is sure he's too far for it to be where he was born.

“We should rename ourselves.” he decides over a burger and fries at a small diner. And gods, he is not going to miss having to kill something to eat meat.

“You think so?”

He nods. “We hate these names anyways. Why drag them into our new life? If we're gonna start over, let's go full balls to the wall.”

Sulvuna laughs. Light and easy, and more freely than he thinks he's ever seen her laugh back with the clan. “Ok, sure. What do you want me to call you?”

He ponders it for a moment, before the perfect name hits him, and his face splits into a grin. “Desire.”

Sulvuna almost chokes on her milkshake. “Oh, surely something more modest and subtle for someone like you would be better.” she teases.

“Nah, I like Desire. Des, in fact. Des has a nice ring to it.” 

Like reclaiming the very thing they tried to condemn him for, he thinks. Fuck them. They want to keep it hidden behind closed doors, like some shameful secret? He'll wear it as a badge of pride, instead.

And besides, he knows he looks good. No one would argue it.

“What about you?” he asks.

Sulvuna ponders the question for a moment, nodding decisively and declaring “Selene. I like Selene.”

“That's like a moon thing, right?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Suits you. Hair like moonlight. People will write poetry about you.” He teases with a waggle of his eyebrows.

She laughs again. “I doubt that.”

“You never know,” Des smirks “Our future looks bright, after all.”