#has to wear suit tie business formal to the letter

[madtomedgar]

My personal Modern Take On The Hat is an extremely boring and conservative necktie but, and this is crucial, the rest of the jin family dresses like kendall and roman roy.

#untamed stuff #theres a Thing in certain settings where like #if you are Real Rich People or the owner or #like. a board member #you can forego the professional trappings #within limits #because you are above the professional class #meanwhile the person presenting to the board meeting #has to wear suit tie business formal to the letter #theres also the thing of like #what dressing nice means to class jumpers #vs what it means to real rich ppl #and the difference in when each thinks dress nice #is required #so like. jgy absolutely wears a tie to Fancy Family Dinner #and gets clowned on by open collar jzx #for looking like a waiter

[tb-gerschutz]

Chapter One

Word Count: 7,373

Trigger Warning(s): Foul language, possible depictions of violence

Summary: A rookie agent pairs up with the Statesman's highest-ranked agents for an extremely dangerous mission.

**********

I found myself sitting patiently in an empty, quiet waiting room, waiting for my interview to begin. Wanting to impress the person interviewing me, I followed the requested dress, which was fairly clear and not specific. Having some freedom with the dress code, I decided to dress in dark blue denim jeans, a gray button-up shirt, and a black denim jacket. In addition, I wore a beautiful black-and-gold watch on my right wrist, admiring a possession of mine that I had bought with my own money. Everytime I look at that watch, I think about what happens when I follow my daddy's advice.

If you want something, you have to work for it.

My daddy always gave me and my siblings some reliable words to live by, but I just seemed to take them more to heart than they did. I looked up to my daddy, who perfectly balanced his work, social, and family lives as if it was too easy. He never showed fear, even though I knew he was scared out of his mind, and that's why I admire him. My momma said that I was always a "daddy's girl" since day one, and it definitely showed. Despite her also saying that I looked a lot like him, I see myself as the perfect blend of my mother and father.

My patience paid off when the person interviewing me stepped into the room. He was a fairly elderly gentleman who looked to be in his mid-forties. He was wearing a formal suit and tie, with a golden Amuda watch gracing his left wrist. I could tell right away that he was a man of business who disliked injustice in the world of politics.

"Are you my ten o'clock interview?" he asked.

"Yes I am," I answered, rising from my seat quickly to face him. "Pleasure to meet you face-to-face, Mr. President."

"It's a pleasure to meet you. What is your name?" he asked.

"Veronica. Veronica Crawford," I stated. "But everyone calls me Rocky."

"Nice to meet you, Veronica. Welcome to the Statesman Agency. This is just the main headquarters, and there's a lot more secret headquarters all across the United States. Now tell me, for secret agent purposes, what is your codename?" he asked.

"Agent Blackjack."

"Agent Blackjack, huh? I like that. Has a nice ring to it," he said, gesturing for me to come with him. "Now, come. Let's go get you set up."

I was confused because this wasn't a typical job interview. "Don't you need my resume and reference letters?" I asked.

"Those aren't required, but I'll take them for future reference," the president said. "I can use these when I'm looking for agents to go on dangerous missions."

There was a short silence that cut through the air faster than a hot knife through butter. I panicked on what to say next because I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of the most revered person in the country. One slip-up in words, and I risk losing any future jobs I have the chance at getting in the future. Only if that happens will my world start to crumble down. I don't want that to happen.

"When can I start?" I asked. "I'm available right now if you need me."

The president then beamed with great joy and hope. "I'm glad you asked, Agent. We've got a mission on our hands that I think will establish you as a Statesman."

"What does this entail?"

"You'll be paired with a higher-ranked agent to accomplish this mission. That way, you can learn what being a part of the Statesman Agency is like," the president said.

We arrived at a large conference room that looked as though it was from a movie. With beautiful mahogany walls and low, calming lighting, my feeling of uneasiness and debilitating anxiety went away as fast as they came. Only the president and I were the ones in there, but that changed rather quickly. As I stood frozen in front of the large rectangular table, the president went to the farthest head on the table and pressed a button to project a live, holographic image of a fellow agent. Apparently, he's the agent I would be paired up with for this mission. Keeping true to myself, I crossed my arms across my chest with confidence, showing that I was confident and tough-looking. No, I wasn't trying to intimidate the agent whom I'd be paired with. I was just trying to show this agent that I am a tough, hardworking individual, and that I was ready for whatever came my way.

"We have quite the dangerous mission on our hands, so we paired you up with the highest ranked agent in the Statesman Agency. Right now, he's at the headquarters in Lynchburg. Blackjack, meet Agent Whiskey," the president said, directing me to the live, holographic image.

The agent saluted a two-finger salute at me, to which I acknowledged with a simple nod. I do have to say that it was a pretty damn good holographic call. From what I was seeing, I could tell that Agent Whiskey was definitely the western cowboy type, which apparently is typical for the Statesman Agency. He looked like a refined gentleman, with brown eyes, which were covered by thin, rectangular, gold-rimmed glasses, black hair, and a black mustache just below his nose. He was wearing a black cowboy hat and a black suit and tie, with a pristine white dress shirt to complement it. However, I cannot confirm this appearance because his image had a blue tint. I guess that's typical for a holographic conference call.

"Kid, this mission we're on is a dangerous one. More dangerous than a thousand poisonous snakes waiting to pounce on ya. It's also so complex that the higher-ups won't get all of the information until a couple hours from now. There's a lot of information to take in in regards to this mission," he said coolly yet seriously in a southern accent.

I nodded and allowed Agent Whiskey to continue on because he clearly had more to say. "I suggest that we meet up at a rendezvous point to try and earn each other's trust before going head-on into this dangerous mission. If we're going to be working together, I might as well build a connection with the agent I'll be partnered with. How about, say, we meet up at the local distillery here in Lynchburg. It's a perfect time for you to get adjusted to the headquarters and to get to know how I operate this headquarter office here. What do you say?" he asked.

I nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me."

"I'm sending a ride to come pick you up. It shouldn't take too long. Only twenty minutes should be the wait," Whiskey said, informing me of the new development.

"Great. I shall see you soon. Until soon, Agent Whiskey," I said.

"I'll see you shortly, Agent Blackjack," Whiskey said, signing off.

I acknowledged Whiskey signing off and turned my attention back to the president. "Agent Whiskey is a great agent to learn under. I have faith in you two. If this mission doesn't get accomplished, then the world will be no more. It's up to you two agents to make sure that the world stays intact."

"You can count on us, Mr. President," I confidently declared, saluting him.

"The whole world is counting on you two," the president said confidently.

Not too long after, I ventured out to the exterior of the headquarters, where the driver that Agent Whiskey sent to pick me up patiently waited for me. Seeing me, he immediately made no hesitation to open the back passenger door, enhancing his gentleman qualities. It saved me some hassle of opening the door myself, but it definitely was nice of him to do that. I have to appreciate him for that.

"Thank you so much," I said to him as I slid inside the back seat of the black 2023 Chevy Escapade.

"No problem, Agent Blackjack," said the driver as he made haste in hopping into the driver's seat and driving away.

Whiskey was right. It was only about a twenty-minute drive from the main headquarters to the Statesman Agency headquarters in Lynchburg. My patience paid off throughout that entire ride, but did I really have to exercise that much patience for such a short ride? No. No, I did not. I mainly kept to myself and kept fantasizing about this mission I got roped into with Agent Whiskey. I knew it was considered extremely dangerous, but was it so dangerous that I sacrificed my chance of living a full life? Was it so dangerous that I risked dying? I wasn't old enough, nor was I ready, to join my twin brother in heaven since I hadn't left my mark on the world yet. I have to establish my legacy and live a great life first before even thinking about joining God and my twin brother.

I arrived at the rendezvous point after just a little while. Looking out the window and trying to take in my surroundings, I immediately became shocked at how large and modern this headquarters was. The exterior had a taste of rustic and modern chic, which I found quite appealing to my eyes. It made me wonder what the inside of this facility looked like.

"Thank you," I said to the driver, as he opened the door and allowed me to slide out.

"Of course, Agent Blackjack," the driver responded, shutting the door and pressing a button on his watch. "I alerted Agent Whiskey and told him that you arrived. He should be out to greet you shortly."

"Thank you," I said, thanking the driver graciously.

As the driver drove off, I decided to take action into my own hands and walk inside the facility. Of course, I was scared out of my mind, but I knew that I had to have courage. If I didn't march into that facility with bold pride and confidence strapped onto my shoulders, then I'd be a wuss for the rest of my life. If I didn't march into that facility and decided to turn back, then I wouldn't have come face-to-face with the man I'd be tied to for the rest of my life.

I entered the facility and shut the door behind me, exercising my habit of politeness that I've had ever since I could walk and talk. It wasn't even five seconds after I shut that door when Agent Whiskey appeared in front of me. He was exactly how I thought he'd look if I met him in person; he was a charming, gentleman cowboy whose eyes and smirk brought a sense of warm-

ness to my heart.

"Hello, gorgeous," he coolly said, trying to charm me under his spell. "I'm Jack. What's your name?"

I remained silent, as I quietly tried to suppress my feelings for him. I resisted his urges because there was a bigger mission on our hands that needed to be handled first. I felt that the bigger problem in my work should be handled before I even think about having feelings for someone.

"How would you like to ride home on a real cowboy? I got a six-pack of cold ones in there all nice, and my roomie'll be out all night. So you can scream my name as long as ya need to, sugar," he said loudly, trying to seduce me.

That didn't work for him, now did it? I'm too strong-minded to be seduced easily. Plus, there's a bigger mission on our hands that needs to be dealt with first before I think about having a relationship with anyone.

"Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast, cowboy," I said in a playfully defiant tone, raising my hand and stopping him from getting any closer into my personal bubble.

I guess you can say that he was quite shocked with my reaction. Perhaps he's always used to charming women under his spell right away. Not me, buddy. I'm much more tough-minded like that. You'll have to work for it in order to get me.

"I got a few ground rules for the both of us to follow," I declared. "They're fairly simple to follow, but they're complicated if you break them."

"Run 'em down, sugar. Whatcha got?" he questioned, eagerly awaiting for what these rules were.

"Ground Rule Number One: If we decide that we're going to sleep with each other, then we have to make damn sure that we won't be interrupted. I don't want to have to stop a pleasurable—and hopefully, decently long—experience with something that requires more of my attention. Ground Rule Number Two: If we, at one point during this mission, fall in love with one another, then we have to keep our cover in the public eye. Once we're in private and are damn sure that no one will find out, then we can act on our feelings. Only after the mission is done will we be able to allow our feelings to show, no matter the environment we're in," I explained. "And last but not least, Ground Rule Number Three. Please treat me with some respect. This is my first mission, and I'm just trying to learn the ropes of the Statesman. I can guarantee that I'll treat you with the highest respect, so there's nothing wrong with anything on my end. You treat me right, I'll treat you right. Then, everything will be fine. Any questions?"

"Is Ground Rule Number Three based on how you were raised? Just curious," Whiskey asked, being genuinely curious about the background of my third ground rule.

"Yeah. My momma and daddy raised me well, but I mainly stuck to my daddy. He had some wise words that I generally followed. What can I say? I was always a daddy's girl," I explained to Whiskey, who carefully listened along.

"All right, sugar. I dig that," he said. "Come. Let me show you around the headquarters here. It's a lotta land to cover, lotta land to get used to."

I then followed Whiskey around as he showed me every square inch of the facility, making sure that I know my way around. I mainly kept to myself and actively listened to Whiskey describing to me the different places at this facility, so I could get around relatively easily.

"Come on, sugar. Let me treat ya to a drink," he offered graciously, leading me to a bar where he's able to create several cocktails and alcoholic beverages. "Important question for you, though. Are you the legal age to be drinking legally?"

"Yeah. I just turned twenty-one in August," I confirmed.

He ventured behind the bar and prepared to make up some drinks for the both of us. "Have you started drinking yet?"

"No," I said simply.

"I got ya, sugar. I'll start ya with somethin' easy first. Whatcha thirsting for?" he asked.

I had to think about the answer to that question for quite some time. I hadn't started drinking yet, mainly because I hadn't found the time, and I also followed the laws as a true goody-two-shoes. I was initially afraid of breaking the rules, but since I turned twenty-one, I realized that some of the laws I avoided breaking in my youth did not apply to an adult like me.

"How about some of your finest whiskey?" I suggested.

"You got it," Whiskey said, winking and immediately making up a drink for me.

I sat at the bar, patiently waiting for my drink to appear in front of me. I kept thinking to myself about Whiskey and his undiscovered habits. Was he secretly a bad guy? Was he trying to use me for his dastardly scheme I knew nothing about? He has yet to earn my trust as a person, but as an agent...he's got very little time to do so.

"So, Rocky. A little birdy told me that you're from the Tennessee area," Whiskey said, finishing up the drinks and taking a seat on the barstool next to me.

"I sure am. Born in Nashville, raised in Chattanooga," I confirmed. "Pretty great western life, if I do say so myself."

"And I assume you didn't get into a farm lifestyle," Whiskey asked.

"Nope. Never got into it."

"Kept a pretty quiet life, huh?" Whiskey asked.

"Kept busy with school and my part-time job," I answered. "Wanted to earn my own way through life. Plus, I had a gym membership that I had to pay for."

"Part-time job? What was that, sugar?"

"At the police station in Chattanooga," I answered. "Mainly worked right alongside the officers to learn how to keep the peace and protect the people. Paid great money, though."

"And what's your actual name, then? I kinda told ya mine. Never got to learn yours," Whiskey commented.

"Veronica."

"Veronica," Whiskey repeated. "Nice name. Hadn't heard one like that in a while."

"Don't ya need to know my last name? In order to find out more about me?" I asked in confusion.

"Nah, sugar. I'll find out eventually," Whiskey answered boldly.

A short silence cut through the air, and all that was heard was the sound of me and Whiskey regularly breathing. I struggled with trying to find the next bit of facts about myself so I could push the conversation forward. I figured that by showing Whiskey the tattoos I possessed, then he'd finally see how I stay motivated to keep going.

"You wanna see my tattoos?" I asked him.

"You have tattoos?" he asked in disbelief. "To be honest, I didn't see you as a girl who would get tattoos."

"Only two. They're decently sized. Not full-sleeved."

"Can I see them?" Whiskey asked, seeming very interested in what my tattoos looked like.

"Of course," I answered, hopping off my barstool quickly.

I proceeded to take off my left boot, using my right leg to balance effortlessly. I wanted to show Whiskey the tattoos that are part of my personality, as well personal motivators for me. Every time I look down on them, it's a reminder for me to keep going. The tattoo dedicated to my brother, especially, is a reminder for me to keep pushing forward and to never give up. It's like having my twin brother right there with me.

I kicked my leg up onto the counter, hopping on my right leg to keep my balance. I showed Whiskey my ankle after rolling up my left pant leg, showing off my decent-sized tattoo. It was four cards—all aces, all are the different suits—on top of one another, showing their suit. It was outlined in black ink, which made it have a cartoon look to it; personally, I loved it because it paid homage to my code name: Agent Blackjack.

"That's nice. Looks almost realistic," Whiskey commented. "Why the cards?"

"Pays homage to my codename Blackjack," I added, rolling my pant leg back down. "I have another tattoo, as well."

"Another one? Damn, sugar. You surprise me every day," Whiskey exclaimed. "Where is it?"

"On my right forearm," I replied simply. "This one, though. It hits closest to home for me. It carries an emotional meaning for me."

I then removed my leg from the counter and resumed my position on the barstool next to Whiskey. Thinking about the best way to show my special tattoo, I decided to remove my jacket so I could display my forearm tattoo in its full glory. Whiskey, in my effort to show him the tattoo, seemed extra quiet. Maybe that was because he was being extra patient and taking me in in my full glory.

"See it?" I asked.

"You said it had an emotional meaning behind it. Who's it dedicated to?" Whiskey asked. "Is it a boyfriend or something?"

I chuckled. "God no! Never had a relationship before. I've just been busy with school and work. Paid off because I graduated from both high school and college with honors."

I paused for a moment, trying to gather the strength to talk about this tattoo I dedicated to my deceased twin brother. "It's for my twin brother. See?" I said, showing Whiskey every component of the tattoo.

"Here's his full name, his birthday, his death date, a couple crosses, and a couple baseballs, since he loved baseball. He got a full-ride to the University of Tennessee to play it, too. I was there for every one of his games, supporting him in the stands. Now, I can't do that anymore. Granted, it's only been a year, but it still hurts me."

"What happened to him?" Whiskey asked.

"Well, to put it bluntly, he died. He was murdered by members of a mafia known as the Petronella family. He was twenty years old," I answered somberly, trying to wipe away the tears that were slowly welling in my eyes. "Sorry."

"Sugar, don't be sorry for expressing your emotions. It's a tough experience to handle," Whiskey said. "I'm glad that you're handling it like a soldier."

"Thanks," I said somberly.

I felt sorry for Whiskey. He was listening to my sad sob-story about the meaning behind my forearm tattoo and didn't even ask for it. I barely know Whiskey, and it seems like I'm laying all my cards—no pun intended—on the table. That act is usually reserved for those who are in a solid, romantic relationship, and I'm not sure if I'm even fully ready to be in a relationship. There's a bigger mission on our hands, one that has the fate of the world hanging by a small thread. I want to be able to focus on that first rather than my feelings.

"Come on, sugar. We got the mission briefing," Whiskey said, helping me down off the barstool by grabbing my hand.

I followed Whiskey to the wooden wall closest to us. It was the wall that we faced when we sat down at the counter. As Whiskey moved to the shelf, I became confused. How the hell does he suppose we get through the wall?

"How the hell do you suppose we're getting through?" I asked Whiskey.

"Simple, sugar," Whiskey confidently answered. "There's a camera at the top of this wall. All you gotta do is stare at it for five seconds, and it'll do a face recognition and ring you in."

Whiskey stared into the camera's soul for about five seconds, allowing it to see his eyes and facial features clearly. The camera, recognizing Whiskey's face almost immediately, apparently approved of his appearance.

"Welcome, Agent Whiskey," the camera's voice said out loud in an almost monotone voice.

"See?" Whiskey said. "I'm sorry. I might not have you into the system yet. I'll have to program you in whenever I get the chance."

I remained silent as Whiskey and I ventured into a secret conference room, with the intention of getting all the information we needed for the mission briefing. Being the determined person that I was, I wanted to get all of the information I could in order to get this mission done as soon as possible. This extremely dangerous mission had the fate of the world in the balance, and if I mess up, then everything goes to shit. I don't want that. That's not going to happen on my watch.

I watched as Whiskey pressed a button, and the president came online in a holographic video call. It was like Whiskey was when I first met him. The secret room, in observation, looked very modern and high-tech, making me think that I was in an actual movie. It felt weird, but I had to suppress these feelings. I had to deal with a bigger mission on our hands.

"Here we are, sugar," Whiskey said. "Our secret conference room."

I took a few moments to stay silent and take in my surroundings. "I guess this is where we get all of our mission briefings."

"Mostly," Whiskey answered. "Whenever we're here at this headquarters, this room is where we get our missions. It gives us agents a sense of security that no rats or spies from enemy lines are gonna find out about our plans to ruin them. You get what I'm saying?"

"I sure do."

Agent Whiskey and I turned our attention to the president, waiting for the mission briefing. I knew that this mission would be dangerous, but how dangerous was this mission in de-

tail? How much risk will I have to put up with when I go through with this mission? Of course, I intend on going through with this mission. There ain't no turnin' back for me. I intend on staying with this as long as I'm needed, and I'm keeping to my word. I'm a woman of my word. Agent Whiskey can count on me for that.

The president then started on his mission briefing, as I crossed my arms across my chest and paid attention to all the information Whiskey and I were being given.

"Here it is, agents. There's a new terrorist empire that has risen in prominence again. There are many divisions of this empire, all of which are based on different crimes. One division, the Hellhound Corps, is the division that poses the biggest threat. They're the reason behind several deaths and terrorist attacks so far, and they don't plan on stopping there. Nipping this threat in the butt will most undoubtedly help us neutralize future threats to our country and the world. Their latest threat, however, is endangering the entire world. This organization is threatening to destroy the entire world with a weapon in order to achieve their ultimate goal of world domination and genocide on the global level. Your goal, agents, is to destroy this weapon and take down the Hellhound Corps. Good luck."

The president signed off from the call, leaving me and Whiskey to decide how to successfully accomplish this mission. What was the first step? How are we going to successfully take down this insolent jackass trying to take the world down? It was a difficult process to comb through, and with one wrong move...our entire plan, everything we fought for, goes to shit. I don't want to be the reason the world dies. I wouldn't be able to live with myself after that.

"So what's the first step?" Whiskey asked.

I covered my hand with my mouth to try and think of a logical first approach. The silence was deafening between Whiskey and I, making the atmosphere all the more awkward. This killed me. The whole point of me being paired up with Agent Whiskey on this mission was to learn the ropes of the Statesman Agency and make a future connection to him as a mentor and close friend, and staying silent as I thought up a logical approach to a dangerous mission definitely contradicts to what I've been trying to do.

"If we're going to take down one dangerous division out of several in a crime empire, I think we go straight at the leader. Take him down, then it's a domino effect from there. He goes down, everything and everyone else that were associated with him goes down as well."

"That's awfully risky, sugar," Whiskey commented.

"I know," I added, "but it seems logical. We find the leader, we take him down first. Going at the head of an empire is always dangerous, but if we take him down, anything below him goes down after him. You have to take risks in life, no matter if they're dangerous or not, and if we don't go after this guy, then...we might as well kiss our asses goodbye because they're making it sound like he's extremely dangerous."

"We have to be damn sure, sugar, that what we're doing is the right choice for us in this mission. Remember, the fate of the world is in our hands. One slip-up, and we might as well dig our own graves," Whiskey said.

"Don't remind me," I said to him, rubbing the front of my head. "I think—I think it's the right choice. It's risky and dangerous, but it's the most logical."

Whiskey ultimately agreed on the decision to go straight at the leader, but deep down, I knew he had hesitations with it. He probably thought that I was a psychopath with the way I wanted to go straight at the leader. "We have to find him out almost immediately, though. Who knows if and when he'll run again."

After debating it for only a short bit, I then got an idea. What if I can find his profile on the internet? Surely, a terrorist responsible for multiple attacks and deaths has to be somewhere on the news and all over the internet. "I mean, I may or may not be able to hack into the government's secret database that has tabs on the world's most wanted criminals."

"You're good at that?" Whiskey asked.

"Course I am! I'm good at that type of shit," I said boldly. "Where's the closest and most powerful computer?"

"This way," Whiskey said, showing me a whole computer room where its purpose is for secret intelligence and spying on the federal government level.

Once I entered the room, I immediately got onto the closest computer I saw and started frantically and intensely hacking into the secret government database. I was like a cheetah on speed, going as fast as I could to get into the database as quickly as possible. The quicker I got in there and found information on the leader, the quicker Whiskey and I could nab him. As I continued to scour, I noticed Whiskey started pacing back and forth in front of the giant screen at the front of the room while talking on the phone with the president. My gut instinct told me that he was anxious about getting the information needed, but once again, I had to have the power to suppress it. There were bigger problems that had to be handled first.

"If he's plannin' to go on the run, then we have to be able to track him. Mr. President, it's gonna take us some time to find him. We need his name and stuff. That's gonna take some time when we go through the endless database of wanted criminals," Whiskey said.

I clicked the enter key on the keyboard in heroic fashion. "Done!"

Whiskey whipped around to face me, who was beaming with pride. I had just managed to hack into a top-secret government database with ease, so I was rightfully proud of this accomplishment, despite the action possibly being considered a crime. But at this point, I didn't care. Whiskey and I were facing a bigger problem. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and in this case, it was committing a crime to get information on a bigger threat.

"You got it?" Whiskey asked, finishing his call with the president.

"Yep," I said, as Whiskey looked over my shoulder with intent.

That's when I started on giving the rundown of the threat Whiskey and I were facing. "His name is Balor Devlin. He's thirty-seven years old and was born in Monroe, Louisiana, one of the most dangerous cities in America. Mom was Hispanic, Dad was Irish. However, he looks more like Italy and Spain had a baby. He doesn't exhibit any Irish qualities at all, other than his last name. Both of his parents are deceased, and so are his nine other siblings. Two older brothers, seven younger siblings. Not sure how many total brothers and sisters he has, since they have such fucked-up names, but I do know that he had a lot."

"How did his parents and siblings die?" Whiskey asked.

"Not sure. Government prolly wants to keep that under wraps. I'll find that out eventually. Don't you worry."

I continued looking at the information the database provided. "Looks like he also has a big influence in The Secret Ring, another division within the Rings of Hellfire. That's the empire the government is concerned with. However, we're most concerned with the Hellhound Corps, the most dangerous division out of all of them."

"The Secret Ring?" Whiskey asked.

"Yeah. That's the empire's drug division. It deals with all crimes that are drug-related. They sell, consume, make, and ship all types of drugs to all types of places. Looks like their only purpose of existing is to serve as a distraction to what Balor is actually doing behind the scenes," I added.

"Lordie! He's a bad one, ain't he, sugar?' Whiskey exclaimed.

"He sure is," I sighed. "What's the next step?"

"Well, we don't know where he is, sugar. Going after him right now will be like going into a wild goose chase with no goose to chase. It's a lost cause, and we can't afford lost causes right now, sugar," Whiskey said.

"So we have to track his location somehow," I assumed, getting a rough idea of how we can manage to tag this terrorist's location. "If these drug shipments are shipped to almost everywhere across the world, that will most likely include Balor's main headquarters. What if we manage to tag one of those drug shipments that are going directly to him? That way, we can get his confirmed location, which makes it easier for us to nip him right then and there."

"Yeah, sugar. That sounds like a good idea. But where is this drug shipment line?" Whiskey asked.

I then went back to the computer and pulled up a map that showed the drug shipment lines that The Secret Ring had. It was a map of the United States that showed the different road routes for drug shipping by this drug division. Bright white dots were scattered all over the map, which made me think that they were shipping hubs.

"These lines? These are all the shipping routes that the division has in the United States. They cover every single state. Might as well be almost every square inch of every state. Look how much these routes cover," I explained.

"What are all these dots?" Whiskey asked.

"These are shipping hubs. The main ones are near the big cities, but there are others scattered all over the place," I explained, pointing to some of the dots. "See? Some of them are located not too far from major cities. Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, DC...you get the idea."

Whiskey pondered for just a bit, trying to find out what words he would say next. He had to think of our next set of action steps in our plan. It was a tedious process to comb through. A dangerous one, indeed. He had to think of an action that would be the best to push this crusade forward, since I don't have enough experience to even logically establish plans.

"What do you think our next plan is?"

"You're asking me that?" I asked in disbelief.

"Well, yeah, sugar. The whole point of you being on this mission is to establish yourself as a Statesman Agent. Gotta get your input once in a while," Whiskey answered with reassurance slipping from his tongue.

I inhaled sharply and prepared myself to give an opinion on the next action phase. "If we're gonna find this guy, we have to confirm his location. If we go and tag some shipments that are going directly to Balor, that's our best bet in finding him."

"And while we're at it, we can raid and take down a hub," Whiskey said.

"Exactly!" I exclaimed. "The problem is...which hub should we shake down?"

"The one in Kentucky seems the most logical," Whiskey suggested.

I looked back over my shoulder to look at him straight in his eyes. "You talkin' 'bout the one in Harlan? Just outside of Middlesboro?"

"Yes, ma'am. I am," Whiskey confirmed. "Close to my home roots, and it's a hub close to the Tennessee border."

"Perfect for them, I guess. You can smuggle drugs very easily over state lines nowadays, unfortunately," I said. "Raiding that hub disrupts the route that runs to Tennessee and any other border states in Kentucky."

I nodded my head. It was a very well thought-up plan by Whiskey, not gonna lie, and I was willing to follow up with that plan. It seemed like the most logical. "So we're going to Harlan to raid a drug shipping hub?"

"We sure are," Whiskey confirmed, giving me his hand. "Come on, sugar. Can't waste no time, can we?"

"Are we gonna suit up with weapons? Maybe I can change?" I asked.

"Of course, sugar. I got some weapons in my hoop-ty," Whiskey replied.

"Might I suggest driving to Chattanooga, so I can quickly stop at my parents' place and snatch up some of my clothes?" I asked.

"Sure. We can do that," Whiskey answered.

"You can be my getaway driver. I'll only be about five minutes," I said.

"Sugar! It's fine. Sure, it's about an hour-and-a-half away, but it's not a problem for me. I got you!" Whiskey reassured.

I was shocked by Whiskey willing to do that for me. Driving an hour-and-a-half to my hometown, just to turn around and get to Harlan is quite the haul. For Whiskey to do that, it shows how much he cares.

"Now, come on, sugar. We gotta refuel and hit the road. A little birdy is telling me that the hub is about five hours out from the hub in Harlan," Whiskey said. "Gotta get movin' if we're gonna slow down the shipping right away."

Whiskey and I packed up the essential resources needed and ventured off to my hometown of Chattanooga. Of course, I was designated to be the passenger princess, despite my constant attempts to persuade Whiskey to let me drive. I didn't mind being the passenger princess, but it would be nice to drive around once in a while. Maybe I'll do just that on the mission. Do I care that I'm taking the reins, even though the higher-ranked Agent Whiskey should? 

Absolutely not! 

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I fully intend to do anything humanly possible to prove myself as a well-established Statesman agent. At least Whiskey might appreciate that I'm taking action as an independent individual.

We drove along the road for about ten minutes to visit a gas station and refuel Whiskey's "hoop-ty" before the long trip to Chattanooga, then Harlan, Kentucky. We might have to refuel once or twice during the trip, but lucky for us, gas prices are low as hell at this time. Then again, it all depends on where you go, and as far as I know, the Tennessee gas average is about a dollar-twenty-five, if we're lucky. It might not be a big deal now, but it is considered expensive over a long period of time.

Whiskey refueled his ride at a gas station about twenty miles outside of the agency, and I sat in the passenger seat, keeping to my "passenger princess" title in an adamant manner. With my sunglasses on, I basked in the warm Tennessee light as it showed from high above. After filling up his ride on gas, Whiskey jumped into the truck and started it up.

"Before we go any further, sugar, take a look in the glove box," he said.

I opened up the glove box to find a small, black, high-tech earpiece, and I examined it carefully out of fear that I'd break it. "What's this?" I asked.

"It's an earpiece. It allows you to communicate with me, and I can communicate with you. Those who are manning the computers back home also have the ability to talk to you," Whiskey explained.

"So it's like a Bluetooth earpiece?"

"More or less," Whiskey answered simply. "Keep it in your ear. It's very important. Otherwise, who knows what could happen."

"Every wrong thing, I guess," I answered. "We don't want that to happen while we're on this mission."

"Exactly," Whiskey said. "No room to make a mistake while on this mission. It's too high-risk and dangerous. One fuck-up, and we might just bite the dust."

After what seemed like an eternity of traveling, Whiskey and I had finally arrived safely to Chattanooga, specifically in the suburbs where I lived. As we passed the "Welcome to Chattanooga" sign, I couldn't help but develop a new feeling of guilt and anxiety. No, I wasn't guilty about coming back here to grab a few resources, but I did feel guilty when I remembered that horrid night of when my twin brother was murdered. I felt like I could've done something to prevent it. 

Maybe if I responded to the commotion sooner, then my brother might be alive today. I'll never get rid of that guilt that's been residing in the depths of my heart for the longest time, but I just might keep it under control if I had someone who helped me suppress it...and so far, the one I trust with that high duty the most is Agent Whiskey.

He pulled up along the curb that was in front of my house and parked, waiting patiently for me to do what I needed to do and get out.

"I won't be long. I promise," I said.

"Take your time, sugar," Whiskey responded. "Make damn sure you have everything 'cause we ain't turnin' back."

"Trust me. I will," I said, slamming the door shut and dashing up to the house.

I got out our "emergency key" from underneath the doormat and let myself into the house. My parents and siblings weren't home at the time, but they said that I could enter whenever I wanted; I just had to make sure I knew where the emergency key was and put it back once I was done with it. Continuing on to my room upstairs, I only was able to catch small glimpses of the rest of the house, remembering the memories that happened here in the past. 

Still, that persistent feeling of guilt and shame riddled me, but I didn't let it break me down then and there.

Going into my room, I took one quick glance around, trying so damn hard to fight off the guilt that had the great power of making me emotionally vulnerable. I marched toward my closet, where I kept one of my most prized possessions that I received as a gift on my twenty-first birthday. A gift that was presented to me by my father, who knew very much that I always wanted such a gift. Desperately needing this gift for the mission, I grabbed it tightly within my hand, being careful that I don't use it to hurt anyone, including myself. I also grabbed clothes to change into, some food, and some other essentials—including cash—that were necessary to survive on this mission.

Trust me. It's better if I have more resources to stay prepared rather than less.

Once I got all of my resources, I got out of the house, making sure that the mess I left behind was carefully cleaned up. I locked the door calmly and then made a mad dash out to Whiskey's hoop-ty with my prized possession in tow. I could tell by Whiskey's terrified look that he was afraid that I'd hurt him. I knew how to handle my prized possession very well—my very own sniper rifle—and knew that I needed to be careful in order to keep myself and everyone around me safe.

"Whoa there, sugar. Please tell me that thing ain't loaded," he shouted.

I gave him a stupid look. "Does it look like it's loaded? Trust me, Whiskey. I ain't that stupid to run with a loaded gun unless I was in pursuit of a criminal."

"Well, okay then," he said, starting up the truck again. "Toss it in the back, and then, we'll hit the road again."

Like he said, I carefully set my sniper rifle and large bags in the back of the vehicle and hopped into the passenger seat. Whiskey hit the road again as he put the car in drive, while I finished fastening my seatbelt. From that point on, I sat prettily in the seat, once again embracing the "passenger princess" title that I'll hold onto so dearly. 

#agent whiskey #creative writing #pedro pascal #writers on tumblr #pedro pascal fanfiction #writerscommunity #fanfiction

[jackmfvegas777]

Trans Guy Tips #5; Dressing Good

Today, we're going to talk about basic fashion, and some things trans guys specifically need to know when buying a new wardrobe.

Some of these rules can always be broken, it's your body and your choice what to put on it!

However, this is a guide for passing better, so feminine and androgynous looks will not be covered here, only the traditional masculine. I will most likely make a guide out on dressing that way later.

1. Match colors, but don't be afraid to throw in some accent detail colors! Usually when you think of fashion, you think of making everything match, however some things will go better with some contrast rather than plainly matching!

As long as it still has some similarity, it doesn't have to be the same.

The most basic rule you need to learn dressing as a man, is that you wear your belt to your shoes.

If your belt is brown, so should your shoes be.

If your belt is black, they should be black.

Usually most fashion rules can be broken, but this one seems to be very important, as it can throw off the whole appearance of an outfit to have mismatching shoes and belt.

2. Use what I call the finger trick.

When selecting a shirt, specifically a dress shirt, put your fingers in the collar between your neck and the collar.

If you can comfortably fit two or even maybe barely three fingers in there, then that's a perfect fit shirt around your neck.

If you can fit four or more fingers, it's loose and will make you look baggy and overweight.

If you can fit only one, or feel any pressure on your throat, you need a looser shirt because it's too tight.

3. Somewhat similar, but when buying pants, this may be the most important thing of all.

If you get the right set of pants, it can disguise even the biggest of curves.

You want to get what's known as a straight-leg jean pant, you can make it a cargo pant if you wish, either one looks very masculine and good.

I would usually recommend bootcut pants if you wear longer shoes, like boots, or combat boots, or anything you need to tuck the jeans into.

Always get pants that don't feel constricting, and always get them where they fit comfortably with a belt, but don't need a belt due to fitting good already.

But straight-leg type is so important to go for, it's one of the things that makes a boxy figure like a cis man's.

4. I'm not sure if this is obvious or may come as a surprise to some people, but even if you like dressing femininely, if you wish to pass, I would suggest always shopping in the men's section.

They have shirts and pants and everything else under the sun that shaped specifically for men's bodies, making yours look even more like a cis man's, which is very gender affirming. Also women's jeans are made to support the butt and make you look feminine and curvy, while men's are designed to be straight, boxy, and comfortable, usually with deep pockets too!

5. Similar to the matching rule before, you can match a busy pattern shirt with a plain pair of pants, or busy pattern and pants with a plain shirt. However if you put too many busy patterns, or too much plainness, either way makes you look not as good.

Try to balance the detail with the simplicity.

6. Overall the most masculine thing you can wear especially pre-t, is either a formal or casual suit.

You can even wear just a dress shirt with a tie or bow tie, with some dress shoes and pants, and you're good!

This just generally makes you look super masculine and it's hard to mistake.

7. if you're like me, where you like to dress flamboyantly, but you're also super dysphoric about it, wait until you get testosterone therapy.

If you end up having it and you start seeing positive effects before dressing femininely, it's great!

I did this and now I feel totally comfortable with it, as no one ever misunderstands me even if I wear the most feminine things ever.

So if you're going on t, feel free to dress more extravagantly during because you will pass even so!

8. Another way to check shirts that are long sleeved, particularly dress shirts, is to tuck it in like usual, and then lift up your arms really high like you're reaching for something.

If it untucks or lifts the fabric in an unflattering way where your armpits look huge, it's cut wrong and is not something you should buy.

9. This may be surprising to some, but yes, cis men will wear feminine designs on masculine outfits.

I can't count the number of times I've seen men wearing bright pink suits. Other times there's been crop tops, painted nails, hair done, everything.

So if you really like that button up with the flowers on it, but are feeling hesitant due to the feeling that people might judge you, don't worry!

Maybe some will, but a lot of people wear unique clothing, and no one will be as bad as what your thoughts say to you.

10. I have somewhat of a warning, as good and fun they are, t-shirts can be very revealing when it comes to showing your chest, even through your binder! Something about them isn't cut quite right, even if they come from the manliest man's site or store.

If you still wish to wear t-shirts like I do, I would recommend getting a short-sleeved or long-sleeved Dickies button up jacket/shirt that you wear open over it. Or any jacket thing, really. This covers your chest completely and negates that effect.

11. This is sort of more hygiene base but still has to do with getting dressed. Always use men's soap, and men's cologne, and men's essential oils, and men's lotion, if you have them.

Also use some aftershave, it's helpful if it has lotion mixed in and moisturizes as well.

You can even shave even if you're pre-t, due to it making a clean feeling due to there being no feminine peach fuzz on it. This can help support dysphoria relief, as well because it feels like you're shaving a beard, at least until it comes in.

When your moustache and beard do come in from testosterone, if you take it, make sure to oil it lightly with natural oils like argan oil or coconut oil, the stimulates hair growth and follicle health.

And I would recommend shaving just once as it starts developing, so it develops thicker, stronger, and more handsome.

12. If you're planning on going on t, buy at least some of your clothing a size or a few sizes up, or getting a duplicate that's larger.

You will grow, so if you buy all your clothing in a smaller size, you'll probably end up unable to use any of it.

13. Always position your belt buckle in the center of your stomach, the way you can tell if it's positioned right is if it lines up with the buttons of your button up perfectly.

14. When wearing a suit try to always keep the bottomless button unbuttoned. That button isn't actually there to be used, it's meant to be unbuttoned and it makes it look so much better.

The reason it looks so much better is because it makes it flattering and thinning. If you button all the buttons, it will make you look heavy due to it tightening around your waist and stomach.

15. You should always have at least two pairs of dress shoes. one pair that's black, and one pair that's brown. Same with belts. It's also recommended for summer that you keep one pair of masculine flip flops or sandals or sneakers around.

16. This is more of a suggestion than anything, however it's manly as fuck, and people love it.

If you carry a work knife, a pocket watch, a small portable multitool, and a handkerchief.

Possibly even a pen and small notepad with you at all times.

This may seem odd at first, but it's what men used to do constantly in the older days.

These items can come in very useful. A work knife can open packages, open letters, be used in place of scissors occasionally, and even used to defend yourself and others.

A pocket watch is just fancy and shows you're always trying to be on time.

A multi-tool shows you're ready for any task, and it can be a lifesaver in many situations!

Meanwhile a handkerchief is important, because if you ever come across someone crying, or someone wounded, you can lend them or give them your handkerchief, which is a very gentlemanly thing to do, and it can help you pass better, as well as it just being a kind thing to do for someone.

The pen and small notepad is always good to carry on you regardless of any gender, due to you needing to write things down often.

17. Ironically, although socks with sandals seems to be a fashion 'no-no' to most people, I quite like them, and it seems like I pass better with them.

Men tend to wear those slip-on flip flop things, and when you wear socks with it it makes you look very masculine, even if it may look silly to some.

Personally I like it a lot.

18. If you do wish to do makeup & nails, I would suggest doing it as black and gothic as possible, as that's the most common style guys do it as, and if you do it in a certain way, it can come out looking way masculine.

And that concludes my fifth part of this Trans Guy Tips series!

Thank you for reading, and I hope anything I said helped!

#trans man #trans boy #transguy #trans male #transmasculine #ftm trans #ftm #ftm guide #ftm tips #transgender #trans #trans guy tips #trans guy guide #transgender tips #trans tips #lgbtqa #lgbtq #lgbt #queer #trans ftm #transgender guide #trans guide #fashion #lgbt fashion #trans rights

[burnedbyshoto]

hole in the wall

In a party for the ages, Shouto comes across a room with hole in the wall that has him coming back for more.

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pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, PWP, cult activity, drug mention, alcohol consumption, glory hole, cursing, degradation, praise, possessive jealous!shouto, stuck in the wall, spanking, overstim, bruising, bleeding, breeding

word count: 7,831

a/n: read the fucking warnings bro, im tired, I hate formatting, here’s to finally writing what I wanna write! also, this is for a lovely bnharem collab that kept getting pushed back... make sure to read the intro to understand my story! anyways, gloryholes is peak anonymous sex and I just,,, if thats the only way imma get to suck shoutos cock, I will. I had something else to say... I forgot. oH THIS IS WRITTEN IN A NEW STLYE-ISH??? porn from shoutos pov!!!

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Traditionally, when people think of the connection between heroes and cults, they expect that the heroes eradicate the cults, not that the heroes are a part of a cult.

It was somewhat ironic that a group of people who advocated for public safety, for the wellbeing of every citizen of the country - the world - would demand compensation in areas that didn't involve financial compensation. Heroes saved the day countless amounts of times, but when they needed... help at night because they've been so busy saving the world, there needed to be compensation.

It had shocked nearly everyone within the hero community when none other than Yaoyorozu Momo brought them a solution. For nothing more than loyalty to saving the day, all heroes granted the benefit of joining the Savior of Eight Million, an… organization brought forth by the prodigious hero. It had shocked the hero community at first that the once thought of a modern-day princess, putting together a wicked group that served the beastly needs of heroes, was almost laughable. But as time passed, as trials tested the organization (cult), the more heroes realized how lucky they were that it was Yaoyorozu who created this.

The Yaoyorozus, in all their riches and connections, made this group untouchable.

Police were bought off, apprehended, silenced.

Heroes with the savior complex were put down.

Villains were never believed.

The Savior of Eight Million held ties with the greatest, the most esteemed people in the world. The parties were unworldly, dripping with diamonds and gold, the sweet smell of champagne barely drowning out the bitter acidic and burning plastic smell of the drugs used vicariously at their gatherings. All heroes joined, politicians and celebrities fought to get in, and commoners wished they could be the servants of the night, whether that meant they would be serving food, drinks, or drugs, or allowing the heroes to do what this was all started for: to fuck them.

Of course, it didn't help that each commoner was paid for their service, discretion, and loyalty. Those who attempted to give away the secrets of the nights were always taken care of, and every gathering after someone tried to snitch, there was always a complaint that a sex slave just wasn't good enough.

Yaoyorozu Momo was a sweet girl, a helpful woman. She was a hero.

Heroes far and wide grovel at her feet in thanks, and even more surprisingly, even her old class supported this. Oh, how great life was when you were the most significant, greatest, and most untouchable cult in history.

To Todoroki Shouto, well, he didn't really have an opinion on this all, not really at least.

The cult - the organization, was created to help out heroes such as himself live comfortably while having such a busy lifestyle. His sex drive had never been that high, with his twenty-fifth birthday approaching, he could count on his two hands the number of times he'd been attended to with the help of the organization within the past five years.

Yes, two years after debuting as heroes, Momo had approached the graduate class with her plan. Todoroki Shouto could never deny a friend, especially not someone as smart and intentional as Yaoyorozu Momo. He had been one of the first - if not the first - voice to approve of her project.

However, the fifth-anniversary gathering (it was not a party) was finally here. Two months ago, the first round of reminders came around in the form of a beautifully handwritten card by their fearless yet kind leader. Shouto wondered if she really had handwritten each and every card, or if she had created it with her quirk - while he wasn't that heavily involved, he was not ignorant to the numbers of the cult, group, organization.

TO TODOROKI SHOUTO,

I WRITE THIS LETTER TO ASK IF YOU WILL BE JOINING US IN TWO MONTHS FOR ONE OF THE MANY GREATEST CELEBRATIONS WE - THE MEMBERS OF THE SAVIOR OF EIGHT MILLION - WILL HAVE FOR OUR FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF BEING SUCH A WELL RECEIVED AND INFLUENTIAL ORGANIZATION. I AM GRATEFUL TO RELAY THAT OUR ESTEEMED MEMBERS BAKUGOU-SAN AND MIDORIYA-SAN WILL BE HOSTING OUR EVENT!

I FEEL AS IF WE HAVE NOT SEEN EACH OTHER IN SO LONG, TODOROKI-SAN, AND I MISS YOU SO DEARLY. I HOPE THINGS IN YOUR LIFE HAVE BEEN FINE AND THAT WE SHOULD MEET UP AS SOON AS POSSIBLE! PLEASE MAKE SURE TO RESPOND TO THE RSVP TO EITHER JIROU-SAN, KAMINARI-SAN, OR ME!

UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN, YAOYOROZU MOMO

The letter had been kind, inviting, and so fleeting it made Shouto feel like he needed more from one of his most missed and trusted friend. Still, there would be time to catch up with everyone, no use in pushing now.

Grabbing his phone, Shouto typed in Momo's contact name into the search bar, tongue swiping his lower lip while he typed in his message and sent it. He had never been one for these parties. Too often, there were just too over-the-top. The festivities and friends were fun, but having to fight the impossible crowds for a moment of peace kept him from attending.

A truly mundane member.

But this was different after all, it wasn't every day that they celebrated five great years of service.

I'll be going, Yayorozu.

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Two months went by before Shouto had even realized it.

In those two months, he had received a formal invitation with a day and time. 

2X28, OCTOBER 23

STARTING FROM 20:00

Of course, the lack of an address is a precaution for keeping their organization out of the limelight should they be betrayed. Events of all shapes and sizes were always planned by the upper board of the organization. Only a specific few knew the place where the night would befall, and the rest of the members would be brought to the festivities by a chauffeur provided by the Yaoyorozu's. Getting to and from the party was always stressfree, no matter what befell that night, their safety of getting home was still safe.

The invitation was tucked away into the inside pocket of his jacket, it was his ticket to getting into the party, and it was best to not leave it behind. 

With the invitation now securely placed into his jacket, the smooth inflexible material stiff against his chest, Shouto stared into the mirror he stood before.

An elegant full-length mirror reflected his image to him, and truth be told, he was impressed with his presentation.

A charcoal grey Italian suit trimmed glinting silver nearly gleamed against the white light; the jacket was undone, exposing the white-collared long-sleeved shirt underneath. Typically, Shouto was a tie man, but the sleek black tie he was to wear lay hanging on the hanger, the first few buttons of the shirt undone. It highlighted his toned chest, the few pale scars on his chest just visible enough on his exposed skin to look like it was intensional. He looked good.

His fingers touched his hair, the once long style had been cut in a recent fight with a villain. It hadn't mattered much to Shouto, and in fact, the sudden haircut had spiked his overall ratings. It was short now, just long enough for his fingers to graze through the locks. It was slicked back, the swirl of red and white mixing and strands of red falling into his sight.

“Todoroki-sama, the car is here.”

Shouto didn't bother turning to the attendee, his gaze taking him in one last time.

"I'll be there."

His footsteps were quiet in the hallway, his waxed shiny black shoes gleaming in his hands as he walked to the front room. He slipped on the tight shoes and looked up to his servant, who stood at the front door with a patterned, black mask.

Nodding, he grabbed the mask and slipped it inside of his jacket as well.

A kitsune.

"Safe journey."

"I'll be back tonight."

And into the car, he went, the warm smell of leather and spices filling the backseat of the self-driving car. Shouto relaxed against the black leather, his eyes staring at the road while he slipped the mask out from his jacket. There was no reason to don the mask while stepping out of the house, being caught with it at his home always smelled trouble. 

In the car's silence, his fingers rested onto his lap, his lips set into a firm line while his thoughts lingered to what was to come at this party. 

The last time Bakugou and Midoriya hosted anything, it had ended with an overall disaster. Thankfully then it had been for their agency's founding party and not something dealing with the organization. But before he could muster the will to seek out further information on the private event, he realized that the car was already pulling into the large mansion where the event was being held.

People emerged from the cars before his own, the sleek masks donning on their faces, keeping their identities from unwanted eyes. The covers were specially made by none other than Yaoyorozu with the assistance of Hatsume Mei to ensure that those who wore it would be unrecognizable unless they were within a certain radius.

A small puff of air escaped Shouto's lips as his car pulled up to the unloading zone, and his strong fingers slipped on the mask before the car door opened. With the confidence and power, only those who worked as a top-ranked hero had Shouto emerged from the car immediately greeted by the entrance staff. 

With his hands moving to button his jacket, he nodded his head when receiving information on what to expect upon entering. Shouto felt like he nodded forever while making his way up the entrance of the event, his hand reluctantly offering his phone and wallet over and receiving a ticket for retrieving it. Of course, the ticket came the bundle of condoms.

An eyebrow arched under the mask, and Shouto couldn't help the amused smirk that befell his lips as he pocketed the condoms.

The fuckers made this a sex party.

Why they even bothered to deny that they were a cult was beyond him at this point.

But as the grand doors opened, Shouto couldn't help but tense at the room's mixing aroma.

The sweet smell of champagne bubbled in his nose, wafting in powerfully with the perfumes secreting from every person in the room. If it had been his first time at an event like this, Shouto would have missed the undertone of burning plastic in the air. His eyes followed a civilian dressed up in a zebra zentai bodysuit holding a silver powder with most definitely not cocaine to who looked like the Prime Minister since he had his mask on.

Rolling his eyes, Shouto walked further into the room, ignoring the offers of drugs and alcohol as he carried on. 

"Todoroki, my man! You made it!" came the loud and energetic voice of Kaminari Denki.

It shouldn't have shocked Shouto to immediately be swarmed with who looked like Kirishima (who wore a mask resembling a bear) and Kaminari (who had his mouse resembling mask resting on around his neck), who by the smell at least, were not sober.

"You're the last one to show up, dude! We almost thought you were gonna flake!" Kirishima added, his hand coming to land on Shouto's shoulder, his lips perked into a broad smile. "Everyone else decided to join the orgy room a few minutes ago, but this guy here—" he made a pointed jab at Kaminari's chest. "Was causing a large enough disturbance that we were kicked out."

"Bro, it's not my fault that those dummy civilians can't handle a few jolts of pain!"

"You literally electrocuted everyone in that orgy and left everyone unable to speak for a solid minute, bro!"

"Everyone else is here?" Shouto interrupted rather impressed to here that even Mineta was invited to this party - or maybe he had snuck in - choosing to ignore the mention of an orgy room.

Typical cult things, he reminded himself.

"Yeah, Denki and I don't have to go in tomorrow, so we pre-gamed at his place before coming. Sero did too, but after a few minutes of talking with some trapeze girl, they went into a room and well…" Kirishima trailed off, letting Shouto put two and two together. "Mina is flirting with the crown prince, Yaomomo and Jirou are in the orgy room, Bakugou and Midoriya seem to be micromanaging everything—"

"Those two need sex the most out of the entire class! Have you ever seen a bigger work pole up anyone's asses than in those two?!" Kaminari groaned, his fingers roughly rubbing the skin of his face, and Shouto laughed softly in agreement. It was somewhat ironic that their virgin classmates were the ones who organized and put together a sex party.

"I can't begin to imagine Midoriya having sex. Although that man is basically becoming sex on legs," Kaminari continued to gripe, Shouto grunting softly in thanks when Kirishima handed him a cup filled to the near brim with a copper liquid that burned smoothly down his throat. Shouto grimaced as he managed to down the entire thing. "I can see Bakugou just blowing a hole into the wall and fucking it and considering that sex. Ain't nobody normal who can — OH MY GOD!"

Shouto looked at his friend with nearing annoyance; however, the alcohol already taking a humming effect over his body made the annoyance slip easily.

"Bro, you're gonna get us kicked out of this party, and that's gonna be the shittiest thing!" Kirishima groaned while Kaminari spazzed with what seemed to be the biggest lightbulb of an idea.

"The hoes — the holes! For the glory!" Kaminari slurred with how fast he was speaking, his hands fisting into both Shouto's and Kirishima's jackets, his yellow eyes burning bright in his excitement.

Shouto tried to keep his annoyance down, and the itch to rip Kaminari's iron grip from his shoulder.

"I don't know what you're talking about—" Kirishima tried again, his hand resting on Kaminari's ribcage to steady him. 

"Ei, the gloryholes!"

Gloryholes? 

Shouto numbing mind searched the banks of his memory to figure out where that word came from and why it sounded vaguely familiar.

"Oh, fuck," came Kirishima's strained approval, and Shouto looked at his two friends who were grinning pervertedly at each other.

"What's that?" Shouto asked, his lips buzzing slightly as the alcohol was fully absorbed into his bloodstream, and somehow the smell of sex filled his nose, and the noises of unadulterated carnal lust filled his ears.

"Oh man, Todoroki, if you don't know," Kaminari trailed off, his lips pinched into an elfish smirk, and electricity coming off his hair in his evident excitement. "Just trust me, you gotta experience this shit!"

Shouto wasn't sure if it was the alcohol that thrummed merrily in his veins or the knowing glint in his friend's eyes that whispered to him to find out just what it was, but he felt his head nod without his full awareness. The feeling of their hands on his upper shoulder felt fuzzy as they took him away, intent heavy in every step they took.

He could barely take in the passing rooms as they went, the aerial artists, the sex rooms, the orgy rooms. There were so many rooms designated for just about every kink imaginable that even the stoic Shouto felt his cheeks flaring in embarrassment. With each passing step and opened room, the smell of sex, pheromones, and lust grew in Shouto's nose; the more the sticky sweet moans and screams of the cult members clung to his skin.

For a hero that was never too hot or too cold without his own ministrations, his skin was feeling feverishly hot with cold feet when they finally stopped in front of the only closed door in the hallway.

"Welcome!" came a cheery voice, Shouto blinked, and a woman appeared from nowhere.

She wore a powder blue ava tea dress; it was elegant, sleek, yet too old-school for an event such as this one. Shouto immediately assumed that she was not partaking in the sexual activities, but was instead acting as a hostess of sorts.

"Just you three patrons tonight?" she asked, her head tilting to the side and Kirishima speaking up in agreement for the group of three. "Good, good. We do have enough openings for the three of you, most people haven't found our little… hole in the wall, if you would," she took a moment to giggle joyfully, her gloved fingers pressing to her ruby red lips and Shouto fought the urge to walk away. "So please, feel free to look around and stay as long as you want!"

Her words were light and breezy, but still, there was rising suspicion and tension in Shouto's spine at her small quip.

With an innocuous smile and a glint in her eyes, she opened the door with a gentle, "have fun," and Shouto's friends ushered him in.

His initial reaction? What. The. Fuck?!

The room they entered was large and spacious, or well, at the very least, Shouto assumed it would have been if it wasn't for the obviously installed maze of walls. But with every wall, there was a collage of pictures. Faces of women, men, humans, mutants, everything you could think of plastered above a hole. Curiously enough, the images above one hole were of the same person.

His eyes swept the room, and he saw a few spots already taken, men with their pants and underwear dropped to their knees pressing up against the wall so that their noses were smushed to the makeshift walls.

Shouto blinked.

Gloryholes? Pictures of random people?

Were they fucking ghosts?

"This is paradise!" Kaminari groaned in pleasure, his arms spacing out as if he had come with fantastic news. "These normies always look at you so weirdly when you fuck at orgies, here… you get the nut and don't have to have them staring at you!"

Paradise?!

Shouto stared as his electricity wielding friend approached a hole that adorned photos of a girl with hooded eyes and a tongue piercing. He dropped his bottoms before sticking his hardening cock into the waiting hole with two raps of his fist. At this point, Shouto wasn't sure if what he had drunk was actually alcohol now. 

"These aren't dead people, are they?" Shouto couldn't keep himself from asking, his palms sweating while Kirishima laughed deeply in his chest.

"Not at all, man, it's real people, I promise! Pick your hole and have fun!" Kirishima encouraged, placing a solid pat on Shouto's shoulder before approaching a hole with a picture of a girl with bright eyes and a bright smile.

Nodding numbly to himself at this point, Shouto meandered the different walls, his eyes absorbing the various pictures on the walls.

But he fell on the spot with a picture so vivating that drew him in. The chasms of your eyes defiant yet shy, a smile that called him in, and lips that looked supple and strong.

He stood no chance in defying the itching, burning need to follow suit of every other person in this room. Shouto approached the hole, his fingers pulling at his belt, quickly lowering his charcoal grey slacks and black boxer briefs. He stared into your pictured eyes, mesmerized by them, and grasped onto his hardening cock.

A soft shudder invaded his skin as he pressed his cock through the awaiting hole, the skin of his heated cock scraping against the hole, making him strangle a grunt in his throat. But when the wet heat of your mouth enveloped his cock past the hole in the wall, Shouto's face nearly crashed against the wall.

Shouto wasn't sure what to have expected, but he had summed up that this was some over-glorified handjob, a vigorous clumsy jackoff he could have done himself. But he did not expect, in any sense of what this was, to be met with warm, wet lips and a tongue that pressed underneath the head of his cock.

A guttural noise slipped past his lips, and Shouto's palms pressed against the wall, his head spinning dizzyingly from the sensation.

Shouto's breathing was erratic, his cock hardening more, twitching within your mouth as he felt your head begin to bob against his length at a slow, leisurely pace. 

His hips thrust toward the wall, his vision spinning from what this heightened sensation of what he always thought to be a mundane act. Shouto's slacks were too far up his thighs; however, the fabric spread to his max despite his attempt to lower down. He wanted to get closer to the wall, get whoever you were past this wall to take in his entire cock without an issue, so mindlessly, instinctively, he shoved the slacks further down, grunting with relieved pleasure at being able to spread out further, at getting closer to you.

"Holy shit," Shouto grunted, his forehead pressing against the cold wall, undoubtedly crinkling the paper of your photos. His hips came forward, hitting the wall dividing him and you with low, vibrating thuds, and you let him, allowed him to keep his rutting hips at the pace they were. You took him in as if it was nothing, the smooth skin of your lips gliding against his throbbing length, your tongue running alongside the bottom of his cock, tracing the veins of his skin, twisting against the sensitive skin, providing new sensations and shivers.

Shouto knew immediately that you were letting him fuck your mouth however he saw fit.

He felt you moan around him, a long, deep, undeniable noise that somehow drifted through the hole, vibrated against his cock, and could be felt against his curling toes. The sound and sensations were proving to be effective, a pooling heat building in his balls, simmering up and down his spine and neck. How he wished to grab you by the back of your head and drive his cock down your throat without mercy.

Snarling in the back of his throat, suddenly fueled by the image of fucking you, the thought of you on your knees, tears built in your bright eyes and tears rolling down your cheeks feeding him. And as if you knew what he wanted, Shouto's knees near bucked out when your mouth took him in even further, the soft choking noise, the feeling of his cock pressing against the back of your throat sending his fingers digging into the wall.

He drilled in faster, grateful for your ability to keep up, the feeling of his cock pressing down the back of your throat sending his jaw flying open, curses and praises spilling past his lips with every inch you took him further down your throat. The area of his cock unable to be taken in your mouth was surrounded by your fingers — by god, what fucking fingers you had — warm and robust, they held his skin, sliding effortlessly against the spit lubricated skin.

"You can hear me right, whore?" Shouto growled against the wall, the hot air of his breath almost fogging the area he was standing in. Somehow, he heard the choked noise of agreement, the bobbing head vigorously nodding, sending you into a sputtering choke from the awkward angle. But Shouto liked hearing you choke, liked hearing the needy tone in your whining agreement, and he swore he was feeling his heartbeat in his balls. "You're not here entirely on your own will, are you? Came here for money, to suck some rich mans' cock?" His hips stammered when you sucked your cheeks in around his length, his eyes rolling in the break of his concentration, his blood pumping in his hormone pumped euphoria. "I want you to fucking choke on my cock, you hear that? Take me all the way in, don't be scared, I know you probably don't see much cock, but I promise if you can handle me, you'll never want other cock, slut. Take me all, and I promise you, you won't regret it."

A hiccuped breath came from your side of the wall, and Shouto almost wanted to simply burn the wall down to claim you for all his need and glory, someone with a mouth as gifted as yours definitely needed to be fucked correctly. Still, his hips reigned down, slamming against the wall so that the thuds of his impeding hips were heard softly in the other areas. 

And you? Behind the wall?

He could feel the weight of your head pressing forward, the feeling of his length sliding further and further down your throat. The pulsing of his cock ridiculously stilled with the restrained muscles of your throat, and the almost excessive drool and spit that dripped from his length with your choking movements.

More, he wanted more, he needed more.

"Fuck, slut, you're taking me so fucking well. You almost have me entirely in your mouth," Shouto growled, an inch or so of his cock still not entirely in your mouth, but not letting your tight fist work his cock. "Don't give up, take me all, I know a whore like you who shows up to be a sex slave can take my cock."

A whine (was that a horny or a frustrated whine?) emitted from the wall, and with a strained noise, Shouto felt your wet, hot lips make contact with the base of his cock as he continued to drill into you. Spluttering groans poured from his throat, the feeling of your hot cavern and resisting throat, sending him over the edge.

"Yes," Shouto gasped, the smell of sex, electricity, and barely burning walls simmering in his nose. "Fuck, yes, just like that."

Shouto could feel his nerves being shot out, the feeling of the compliant mouth keeping him pumping into the hole, his fingers digging further and further into the wall into it cracked and crumbled, his grip trying to keep his shaking legs from giving out, to break through the wall to get to you. He was almost there, so close, but needed to get over the hill. And then Shouto was swallowed completely when his slamming his stopped, he could feel your lip press to his skin hidden by the hole. He had no doubt that it must have been sorely uncomfortable for you, yet you were doing it to the point where he was fumbling for words, fumbling to keep his head on straight as your tongue wrapped around his cock, massaging the skin. Fuck, fuck, "Fuck!"

His head dropped back with the shooting electricity in his blood, sweat dripping from his temple and you, the stranger behind the wall, gave one vicious, strong suck, your mouth only surrounding the head of his cock, your wet tongue flicking the slit on his head, and he was spilling over.

Hot, thick, heavy ropes of white cum spurted from his cock and Shouto shuddered, his shaking breath echoing in his ears, and he could still feel your tongue moving, coaxing out the finality of his orgasm, teeth scraping against his sensitive cock just enough to have him seeing stars.

But the giggle that erupted in your throat was well noticed by Shouto, and he grunted in slight annoyance. Pulling away, a soft, almost unwanted pop echoed on the other side of the wall.

Shouto watched as his spit and cum covered cock pulled back to his side of the wall, and he grunted unwillingly. His forehead still rested against the wall, and he looked up to his left side with a disgruntled noise to see that he did, in fact, scorch his fingertips into the wall.

As he tucked himself back into his underwear and slacks, Shouto's blissed-out eyes fell onto the hole where your hand was perched out of it, your pinky the only finger visible.

"Pinky promise you'll come back later?" your raspy voice asked, and Shouto wondered if that was how you usually sounded or if it was from what happened.

"As long as you promise to do something like that again," Shouto smirked, his pink taking yours anyways.

He could promise that to the hole in the wall.

Shouto slips out the door and is immediately greeted with a bummed out Kaminari and a profusely apologizing Kirishima. He later finds out that Kaminari let out yet another round of voltage of electricity (he's banned from fucking anyone that can't absorb his quirk without damaging themselves), and that Kirishima in his blissed-out state accidentally went into his unbreakable mode and tore a hole into the wall. Shouto didn't bother telling them of the scorched walls and left with his friends.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

It only felt like a few minutes before Shouto found himself outside the same closed door of the room with gloryholes. The alcohol had long since been burned from his system, he is practically positive that you managed to suck it out from his bloodstream.

For the past two hours, he had been around the mansion, aiding Kirishima in his objective to keep Kaminari from accidentally killing a sexual partner. It had been for the best, Shouto believed. He was no prude and definitely didn't hate indulging in the occasional orgies - especially at parties like this. But for some reason, as strangers attempted to shed him from his clothes, lips, and fingers roaming his scarred, heated skin, he thought of you and only you.

Your tantalizing mouth and fingers.

He had exited the orgy room faster than All Might at his peak. 

He was strangely obsessed with a stranger, a person who was no more than someone past a hole in the wall. Who knew if your picture was what you looked like, but he sure hoped it was.

But when Mina had appeared out of nowhere, her perfectly manicured fingers pressing against Kirishima's chest as she emerged from behind him. She was, obviously, one of the few easily discernable members of the cult. 

"So, the crown prince does not know how to use his dick, and I am disappointed in men all over again!" Mina pouted, but her usual sly grin was back on her face before Shouto could ask if she needed help scouting potential 'dick appointments' as she so fondly calls them.

This was where things got strange in that Kirishima pointed out that Mina should just fuck a woman to teach men how to fuck women properly. Kaminari filled Shouto in with a horribly done stage whisper that the two of them had fucked before and that despite the experience of any man, Mina was never truly satisfied. 

"Alright, student Kirishima," Mina had thrust her finger into Kirishima's chest. "Follow me to the hole-y wall and watch the master do her job!"

Once more, Shouto was outside the door, the woman seemingly materialized from thin air in her same powder blue ava tea party dress and ruby red smile. 

"Welcome back! For four patrons this time?" the woman gleefully smiled, her gloved fingers clasping below her chin.

"For one, actually," Mina spoke up first, "I'm teaching these boys—"

"I've actually never had a problem," Shouto spoke up, his calm and collected gaze unwaveringly met the hostess despite the chilling horror and embarrassment of his words that crawled up his spine. At the same time, Mina looked up him and down with a small, small smirk. "I'll be taking a spot."

"Ho ho, well, excuse me," Mina giggled, turning back to the hostess with a brightness to her stance. "Two spots then. I have boys to teach!"

"Of course!" the hostess spoke unaffectedly by the group's dynamics. "Please enjoy yourselves! This part is a special treat for you lovely patrons, don't forget to be mindful of our poor angels stuck in the wall!"

The door opened, and in the group of four walked in.

If Shouto had been taken by surprise the first time, he was beyond belief the second time he entered this same room. His first time coming, there had only been those beautiful glory holes, but this time? There were no material holes.

Where the holes used to be, there were only large holes where the person assigned to the area was now presented to the public.

Asses curved to the sky, asses pointed to the ground. Cocks leaking, limp, and red with overstimulation, cunts soaked, throbbing, and swollen with overuse. It was indeed as if these individuals had been stuck in a wall, and Shouto already felt his cock twitch in his carnal lust and need to see just how you were positioned. How he prayed that you were at your spot, laying on your stomach, ass hanging out to the world waiting for his cock to claim you, waiting for him to ruin you. He wanted to feel your liquid lust drip from your cunt, splashing and trailing down your inner thigh.

Shouto didn't bother saying goodbye to his friends, the smell of sex, and his own lust switching his brain onto a one-track mindset with the growing need to get to you immediately. 

And almost to his raging hormonal anger, he came to the aisle where you were parked, and while his heart hammered with the growing pleasure to see your ass hanging in the air, your thighs pressed to the wall, his vision turned red at the sight of some no-named man rutting his ugly cock between your dry folds.

In no time flat, Shouto was behind the man, his hand fisting into the collar of the man's shirt and tearing him away from him.

"Mine." he all but growled, his aura darkening while he glared at the red-faced idiot who attempted to cover himself up in the act of running away.

It didn't matter that what Shouto did was probably entirely rude and could result in him getting thrown out, you were his, and no way was someone going to fuck you when he was there. The weirded out gazes that fell upon him temporarily did nothing to Shouto, his focus back onto your squirming bottom, no doubt weirded out by the sudden lack of contact.

But with a sigh, his fingers combing the few falling free strands of hair out of his face, Shouto stood centimeters from your shifting thighs, watching you continue squirming until he finally moved. His hands pressed against your supple, smooth ass, enjoying the way you fit against his hands perfectly. 

He stepped forward, allowing the bulge of his strained cock to press against the top of your ass — the perfect height for him. Shouto leaned forward, his forehead once more pressing against the cold wall, his eyes taking in the still visible scorch marks he had left behind and chuckled deep in his throat.

"I'm back, my precious whore, I bet you missed me," Shouto spoke through the wall, hoping that you would respond back to him. He thought he could hear an agreeing sound on the other side of the wall, another layer of muffled, and he wondered if maybe you had been gagged. The thought made him exhale slowly, his hips strained from rutting against you, but against his belief, your ass ground against his hardening cock, sending waves of pleasure through him. "You did miss me, huh?"

His calloused fingers moved from your supple ass to the outsides of your thighs, feather-soft touches skimming your skin, leaving behind trails of goosebumps and twitching nerves. Shouto's gaze remained hard on your body, watching how you completely stilled when he found his fingers against the inner part of your thigh and just shy of the excessive heat that was radiating from your cunt.

And he leaned down, his lips pressing against the curve of your ass, his eyes partially hooded when he felt you relax against his hold. But the relaxed position you held quickly erased the moment his teeth sunk into your skin, and his finger pressed against your swollen clit. 

Immediately, your body arched, a weak attempt to buck out of his hold while he heard a muffled cry from the other end of the wall. But Shouto was a hero, he was some with extreme control over his body, and as his tongue moved to soothe your throbbing ass, one finger continued to delicately dance against your clit, while the other shifted over to your softly beating cunt. 

Shouto groaned against your skin, his pants feeling too tight, the material of his underwear too hot and stiff for how strained his cock was right now, yet it was nothing to the feeling of your tight, wet, hot cunt. In and out, he pumped his finger, curling the long digit against your puffy spongey walls, the thumb on your clit circulating in slow, intentional figure-eights until you were pathetically rising and falling against his finger, a garbled whine for more barely audible through the wall. He chuckled at the feeling of your inner walls forcible clenching against his intruding finger, and he rewarded you with a second finger.

"Doesn't this feel good?" Shouto groaned, his body straightening back up so that he was flushed against your ass, his forehead resting on the wall, and his now free hand slowly grinding your ass against his crotch.

He watched you with the intensity of a predator stalking their prey, his mouth twitching into a smirk when your toes curled with a sudden drag of his fingers over a ribbed area of your core. Growling in need, Shouto's hips slammed into you, mindlessly fucking you even with his clothes on. His fingers doubled in speed and intensity until the rapid clenching of your walls was unignorable around his fingers.

His forearms ached slightly with his continued fingering, his thumb almost stiff as he continued to assault your clit, but with the arching of your back, the stuttering of your hips as an impeding orgasm was growing bigger and stronger. Shouto barely registered the sight of his own hand rising and falling heavily onto your ass, the sound of the spank echoing loudly, but that had pushed you over the edge.

A loud mewl sounded from the wall, your legs trembling entirely uncontrollably against Shouto, who still drove his hard crotch into your soaked cunt. He didn't care if you were to wet the expensive suit, his mind now solely on the fact that he needs to claim you, needs to sink his cock all the way in, and make sure you were bruised for days to come. 

Wasting no time, Shouto sheds off his pants and his underwear, letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud before aligning his already hard and swollen cock head to your clenching, sopping cunt. Shouto nearly shivers as he grips his fingers into your ass, his eyes mesmerized with how your flesh molds to his grasp, moving and shifting accordingly. With only a moan as a warning, Shouto wasted no time in pressing his cock to your cunt, and thrusting in with a single, sharp thrust.

If he had thought your cunt was tight with just your fingers, if he had thought the instance where you had vacuumed your mouth while sucking him off was tight, he was in a world of surprises when he came through from entering you. Your cunt was hot and oh so fucking tight around him, milking him dry of all and any precum that he had gathered at his swollen slit. Your inner walls flutter around him, intensely and quickly trying to adjust to the monstrous thickness that he was, and he could hear the pained panting pleasure of you through the wall, and he almost lost it at the keen whine on your tongue.

He shifted, moving his hips just so slight as to regain what little sanity he had left to ensure that you were thoroughly and roughly fucked. 

"Fuck," Shouto moaned, his fingers digging bruises into your skin, his skin feeling sticky and sweaty as he felt you continue trembling beneath him. "For a fucking whore, you have a really tight cunt. I bet you wished I had used fucking lube, huh?"

Shouto took a tentative thrust into you, his legs quivering at the feeling of the way your cunt gripped his cock, making it almost impossible for him to move as he did. "Should've made your pussy wetter then," he spoke in a near whisper to the wall, unsure if you had heard him as he began his conquest in fucking you.

With his fingers gripping your hips, he enjoys the way you bruise against his hold, almost as much as he enjoys the way the wall rocks with every slam of his brutal hips.

The sounds of his cock slamming into your sopping cunt send loud, wet noises ringing in his ears, sending a few other nearby patrons to turn their heads to look at him - to look at him in his conquest of claiming you as his. It only fueled him on, and he picked up his pace until there was a medley of sounds: his thighs crashing against your ass, the squelching of your wet cunt against his thick cock, and your thighs slapping the wall. 

Shouto growled at the feeling of your cunt stretching for him, the tremble of your legs, the way your feet twisted and curled against his knees, almost as if in a silent beg to get him impossibly closer, to make him fuck you impossibly faster, harder. 

His gorging fingers break your skin, and Shouto delights in the painful, garbled scream from your side of the wall. Your body is weak against him, yet he can still feel your hips jutting against his rutting hips, your body desperately trying to keep up with his insane speed and lust.

And when his hand presses to your lower back and the other right above your crotch so that he can raise you higher, the new angle of penetration sends Shouto fumbling for strength. It's then he can feel the head of his cock pressing against your cervix, your toes digging into his skin as he continues to pound away at your cervix, and he takes the rolling shrieks and moans from your mouth like a good thing. 

"Such a good fucking whore, I never found many of you who enjoyed when I literally rearranged their guts," Shouto huffed, his fingers tweaking and yanking at your clit until you were shaking in his arms. "You're enjoying this so much, I bet you wanted this the entire time after I left, didn't you? You wanted my cock in your pussy, I wanted to have my seed pumped into you until everyone knows that you're mine. You'd look so pretty pregnant with my babies, your stomach swollen, and your tits just fucking leaking milk for our children, huh?"

It's then that your cunt around his cock becomes a vice grip, and Shouto shudders at the feeling of your orgasm rocking through you, your pathetic keens barely audible in his blood rushing ears. And he continues, Shouto could feel the familiar sensation of his nerves being shot out, the feeling of your cunt desperately trying to milk him of his seed and worth as you grew limper in his arms, his fingers raking raised lines against your ass, forever marking himself against you, his grip trying to keep his shaking legs from giving out, his mind solidifying over the need to somehow appear where you were now so he could fuck you with no restraint. He thought of your crossed eye gaze, the possible spit pouring from your mouth as you took his every drop of seed greedily into your cunt. He imagined seeing your eyes spilling with tears, seeing your fingers rip into the fabric as he fucked you with no restraint, and with his imagination, he lost himself.

Shouto continued to blindly ram his cock into your cunt, a savage, insane last attempt to spill himself into you, fumbling to keep his head on straight as your cunt pathetically clenched against his hammering cock, finally sending his left hand to the wall, fire bursting from his palm as finally his orgasm tears through him. Shit, shit, "Shit!"

Shouto's temples are damp with sweat, and his vision swims with his overwhelming desire for you and the need to get to your room without destroying the wall to completion.

He picks up his pants and underwear, quickly fixing himself up so that he's almost remorse in the way that he can't appreciate watching his cum spill from your cunt, but the lack of you on his cock is enough to have him zipping up his pants and racing to where the hostess appears.

She doesn't stand a chance when both fire and ice bite against her neck.

"How do I get into the rooms?"

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After being caught flirting with whoever you had pinky promised, you had been gagged. It wasn't a bad thing per se, that man had been the last person to visit you when the room was still functioning as glory holes. With the new stuck in the wall theme, it only invited men and women to be aggressive, and a part of you guiltily and ashamedly enjoyed how rough they would get in there attempt to hear you against the gag.

But you couldn't help the flutter in your cunt and in your heart when the familiar voice of the pinky promise man sounded through the wall. Right now, however, your body felt wholly and thoroughly used. Every inch of your asscheeks and cunt was abused, but the orgasm that came with his fucking was otherwordly. 

There was still nothing to prevent the shameful clog in your throat when he abandoned you after a single orgasm, but then again, you didn't expect the door to your cubicle to be thrown open, and a man stood there with a black kitsune mask. You wondered who it was, but there was the distinctive, infamous red and split white hair behind the cover, and you whimpered at the sudden shame at being caught like this by a Pro Hero you absolutely adored. 

The mask was torn from his face, the door closing behind him, and you were ripped back into the tight cubicle, pressed flush against his chest as he sealed off the hole with his ice. You were speechless as his obviously hard cock pressed against your diaphragm, and you trembled upon hearing the zipper of his pants coming down.

And the voice of one Todoroki Shouto sent shivers down your spine, reigniting the flame in your cunt.

"I got to fuck your mouth and your cunt through other people's rules, I think it's about time I get to fuck you however I see fit."

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha

[in-slytherin-we-trust]

Another Time, Another Life (Draco Malfoy x Reader) Part 3/4

-> A ball, a revelation, and a confrontation... Will it be a happily ever after or a tragic love story that had run its course?

Click here for Part 1 and Part 2

*Y/N/N = Your nickname

“You’re positive that there is no dress code for this pretentious ball?” Y/N asked him again, her head tilted to one side, clamping the muggle phone that Harry gave her as a birthday present between one ear and her shoulder.

“Apparently so at least from the letters that they sent us, there’s no mention of any dress code. Only that we have to wear formal attire.” Harry replied, “I have no complaints though, makes it easier for us.”

Y/N groaned, “Ughh tell me about it. Even without dress code I still don’t own anything appropriate enough for a ball of this scale. Godric knows how many people the Malfoys have invited.”

She stared at her reflection on the cheval glass mirror in front of her, biting her lip in frustration, tossing yet another dress that she deemed not up to standards to the mounting pile on her bed.

“Just pick a random one, *Y/N/N. I’m sure you’d still look lovely either way.” Harry said again, she can picture him shrugging on the other side while saying this.

“Alright.. I’ll figure something out. You’ll come here by 7 right?” Her eyes drifted towards the wall clock, showing the time, 6:15 p.m.

“7 on the dot, just as how we planned. I’ll see you.” Harry said, ending the call.

“Right, see you then.”

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed as she looked at her now half empty wardrobe. Why am I even thinking this hard about what to wear? It’s just a ball, I wouldn’t even stay there long.

Earlier, Harry told her that he’ll be wearing a crimson tie. Should she just match him?

Y/N walked towards the other side of her flat where a small wardrobe stands, this is where she keeps all the clothes that she rarely wears for whatever reason. There’s bound to be a red dress in there somewhere, between all the crammed raiment.

A shimmer of glittering fabric caught her attention, her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes scanned the forgotten dress. She carefully grabbed it by the hanger, the dress twinkling even more as the light from the lamps hit it.

This is it, this is the dress.

The dress fits her like a glove, Y/N wondered how in the world she has never worn this beauty before. She grabbed her wand and utter a spell to do her hair into an elegant updo, leaving some loose curled tendrils hanging down to frame her face.

She finished just in time when she heard a ‘pop’ and the Boy Who Lived appears in her living room.

Harry’s mouth formed a brilliant smile as he took her appearance in. “See what I mean when I said you could wear absolutely anything? You look stunning, *Y/N/N.”

Y/N returned his grin, “Glad I got your stamp of approval, you’re looking rather dashing yourself. Shall we?”

Harry nodded as he offers her his hand to link with hers, then they apparated together to Malfoy Manor.

———————————————————————

Both Y/N and Harry cannot recognize this new version of Malfoy Manor in front of them. The sprawling mansion that used to has doom and gloom written all over it has been renovated inside out.

The large hallways are still sumptuously decorated but now brightly lit, rococo style lamps in gold and silver lined the walls, casting a warm glow.

A steward welcomed them when they entered the front door and acts as their guide, navigating the otherwise labyrinth like hallways towards the ballroom.

Finally they came upon a towering gilded door, the soft sound of classical music coming from behind it.

“Here you are, sir and madame. Please enjoy your evening.” The steward said with a low bow.

“Thank you for the assistance.” Y/N replied, giving him a gracious smile.

Harry reached a hand towards the door and push it open, the door swung easily despite how heavy it looks.

The grand ballroom is crawling with revelers wearing suits and dresses in all shades of colors. A live orchestra is playing on the very center of the room, buzz of chatter and laughter can be heard from every corner.

“Wow... they sure spared no expense.” Y/N said breathlessly.

“That is an understatement.” Harry replied, voicing his agreement.

Feeling like a fish out of water, Y/N grimaced, “What are we supposed to do while in here again?”

“Beats me, *Y/N/N. I guess we can just go straight for the food and drinks?” He said as he shoved both hands in his trouser’s pockets.

“Brilliant idea, I’m way too sober for this.”

So that’s where the two of them stayed for some duration of the ball, in the back of the room near the refreshment tables. Gobbling down their shares of grilled oysters, lobster toasts, caviar, and champagne. Minding their own business away from prying eyes.

They were in the middle of a rather interesting chat about some gentleman in a hilarious looking lemon colored suit, when they were interrupted.

“Mr. Potter and Miss Y/L/N.... what a delight it is to have you here, I’m honored that the both of you decided to accept our invitations.” Lucius Malfoy said coldly, Narcissa Malfoy in tow.

They donned themselves in all black suit and dress, looking regal yet very much intimidating as always. Regardless, Y/N can feel that something is off about them, the air of haughtiness that they used to carry themselves with now seems rather.... faux. In fact if she might say so herself, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy looked rather timorous and on guard.

“Thank you for the invitation, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy.” Y/N answered in a noncommittal tone, masking her face into one of civility. “I really enjoyed the food, it was exquisite.”

“What she said.” Harry spoke, giving them a slight nod. Y/N had to resist the urge to smile at her friend’s behavior.

Narcissa smiled, “I’m glad you think so, I arranged it all myself. Have you had the chance to dance? We hired the orchestra all the way from Vienna.”

“No we haven’t yet, we were too busy munching the hors d'oeuvres.” Harry replied with a polite smile. After all he kinda owed his life to her.

Narcissa nodded understandingly, “Please do take yourselves for a dance or two if you’re up for it, the guests are eager to catch a glimpse of our celebrated war heroines.”

She then turned her eyes towards Y/N, “And of course it would be a waste of such beautiful dress if you stay in the shadow, Miss Y/L/N. You are a vision in red.”

Before any of them could answer again, Lucius Malfoy tugged his wife away and they continued on their rounds, playing the perfect hostess.

A rather upbeat sonata started playing, sending flocks of excited people gravitating towards the dance floor. Even Harry bobbed his head and tapped his feet along to the tune.

“Wanna go for a dance? This one seems fun.” Y/N asked, offering him an outstreched hand.

“I would love to my lady, be my guest.” Harry take hold of her hand and lead her to an empty spot on the dance floor.

Despite them not knowing what kind of dance they’re supposed to do since this tune is not exactly for ballroom dancing, they decided to just roll with it and made up the moves as they go. Swaying and taking turns in twirling each other. Laughter bubbling in her throat, feeling much more relaxed than before.

The couples around them seemed to be doing the same, no one moves in sync, but still they all managed to make quite the crowd.

“Switch it up, ladies and gentleman! Partner up with someone else.” Someone from the orchestra spoke.

Harry and Y/N look towards one another, “Would anyone even notice if we just stay together for the rest of the dance?” He asked.

“With the state that we’re all in right now? Doubt it.” Y/N said as she made no move to look for another dance partner.

Someone tapped Harry on his right shoulder, “May I cut in?” A smooth voice said, making the both of them stop and turn to see the intruder.

Draco Malfoy stood in all his glory, looking sinfully handsome in his black suit and crisp white shirt. Not a single hair out of place. A far cry from how he looked when Y/N last saw him in the trial chamber.

“Beg your pardon? What exactly are you trying to do, Malfoy?” Harry said defensively, putting a hand on her lower back as he tugged her closer to him. The motion didn’t go unnoticed, something flashed briefly in Draco’s eyes before he maintained his cool.

“I was just asking Y/L/N to dance with me, didn’t you hear that we are supposed to find a new partner?” Draco fired back aloofly.

“What is your game here? You could have just asked one of your friends like Parkinson or Greengrass over there, they too are short of partners.” Harry continued.

“Well I found myself rather fancying for Y/L/N’s company, it’s not as if she’s your girlfriend, Potter. She is allowed to dance with whomever she likes.” Draco retorted, not backing down. In fact he is fuelling the fire.

“See that’s the thing! How could you even think that Y/N would like to dance with you of all people?” Harry said with a scoff. “Right, *Y/N/N?”

Y/N noticed that they’re starting to create a commotion and some closest to them have even stopped dancing to watch what exactly is going on.

Not wanting to have a fight on hand, she cleared her throat, “It’s okay, Harry. Just one dance, people are starting to look, leave it be.”

Harry still looked unconvinced but she gave him a reassuring nod, then he nods back. “I’ll be around if you need anything.”

Y/N refocused her attention towards Draco, “Let’s dance then if you so insist.”

Draco throw her a charming grin that would’ve knocked other girls from their feet, but not her. “Indulge me, Y/L/N. I have been waiting to dance with you for hours.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Have it your way, Malfoy. Let’s make it clear that I’m only saying yes because I don’t want to cause a scene at your parents’s party.” But still she accepted his outstretched hand and let him pulls them closer together.

———————————————————————

Draco Malfoy turned out to be an excellent dance partner, not that it surprised her, his parents probably made him took ballroom dancing classes the moment that he could walk. Purebloods and their propriety, it’s rather old fashioned really.

“This feels rather nice, doesn’t it?” Draco said, breaking the silence between them.

As much as she wants to deny that, there’s something about being this close to him as his arms wrap around her that feels just... right.

“Only because you’re being a decent human being for once, Malfoy.” Y/N replied nonchalantly.

“That has some truth in it, I do apologize for all the times when I’ve been an arse to you and your friends.”

Y/N sniggered, “Draco Malfoy can actually apologize, huh? What has the world come to. Your poor pride must be in shambles now.”

Instead of throwing back a remark, she’s surprise to see him giving her an earnest smile. “I found that when it comes to you, Y/L/N.. I tend to forget all my principles.”

“Is this your attempt at being charming?” She said teasingly.

“That depends, is it working?” He asked with a curious tilt to his head.

“Perhaps.” She answered smoothly.

“Perhaps.” He echoed back.

They were silent for a moment as the dance demanded for a twirl, carefully spinning her around and ensuring he’s not stepping down on her dress.

“The decoration is magnificent, it kind off reminds me of the Yule Ball.” Y/N said, stirring them into another conversation.

Draco almost froze in his tracks and cautiously approached the subject, “What do you remember about it?”

Y/N gave him a weird look as in, “Do you think I got too drunk back then that I didn’t remember a thing?” but decided to comply.

“I went with Oliver Wood and I wore a jade colored dress, definitely a good night for me.” She said as she smiles at the memory that resurfaces. “Your date was Pansy Parkinson right?”

“Yes... but I didn’t exactly dance the night away with her.” He said quietly.

Y/N raised an eyebrow his way, “Oh? What happened?”

She can see the look of hesitation on his face and in the way that his mouth keeps on opening and closing as if weighing the words that’s on the tip of his tongue carefully. “I was with you.. that night I ditched her to accompany you instead.”

Y/N jaw dropped open, “How hilarious, Malfoy.”

“No, Y/N. I’m being serious.” And the look on his face tells her enough that he is indeed not joking, that it compelled her to shut her mouth.

“Wood left you to talk with a quidditch scout who also attended the Yule Ball. Probably lost track of time while trying to butter that person up.”

Y/N felt her head getting heavier and a migraine starting to throb her skull. “I don’t remember any of that.... you’re lying. I was with him the whole night and we even walked back together to the common room.”

“Y/N/N...” Draco whispered out her nickname, “It was me who walked you back.”

She broke away from him, earning a few curious glances from the surrounding couples.

“I’m sorry but you must excuse me.” She said, not even bothering to look up at him as she left in a hurry.

No matter how big this ballroom is, she still feels suffocated.

———————————————————————

Y/N escaped the confines of the ballroom and wander aimlessly, not even paying attention to where she’s headed. Her whole body feels feverish. She just knows that she needs to find some fresh air to breathe in.

With some luck she founds herself in front of a glass door that leads to a small balcony. She muttered a silent prayer and let out a relieved sigh as the door swung open.

She closed her eyes, deeply breathing in and out in a controlled motion to calm her erratic heart. What was it about his words that bothered her so? For Godric’s sake this is Malfoy that we’re talking about! He loves twisting other people’s mind.

Y/N slumped against the railing, settling her burning cheek on the cold granite. She probably looks real pathetic if anyone happen to pass by.

She doesn’t know how much time has passed since then, but her body tensed at the sound of the balcony door behind her opening. A soft pitter patter of steps slowly making its way to her.

“You really should come with a warning label or an instruction manual, Y/N.” Draco Malfoy’s voice broke the silent night. Even the noises from the party doesn’t reach this part of the manor.

“That’s rich coming from you, Malfoy. Honestly why do you constantly feel the need to be soo bloody annoying.” She shot back weekly.

“Is it okay if I join you?” He asked.

“A bit late for asking don’t you think? But please don’t mind me, it’s your house after all and I’m just a guest.” She answered, gesturing with her hand for him to come and stand beside her.

“What was that back inside, Malfoy?” Y/N internally chastised herself for the tremble in her voice.

“There is something that you have to know, Y/N. Something about us.” He replied just as quietly.

“I—I don’t get it, there was never an ‘us’ so what are you talking about?” Her hands started shaking again but she forced it into a fist to steady herself. It takes an awful lot of effort for her to believe her own words because somehow, she knows that there is something more to this situation and she’s about to find out.

“I have to do something first but I need you to trust me, can you do that?” He asked.

Despite her common sense that is screaming at her to just turn around and get as far away as she can from there, her body betrayed her and she founds herself nodding.

Her eyes followed his every movement as she watches Draco slowly pulls out his wand from the inner pocket of his suit. He lift both hands up, his wand still tightly clutched in his right hand, but he’s trying to convey that he means her no harm.

“Ready?” He asked, once again asking for her permission.

“Ready.” She replied while steeling herself for whatever is about to come.

And then she felt as if her body is flung into another dimension.

White erupts all around her, scenes flashing by soo fast. Faces.... soo many faces. She almost drop to her knees, most likely from motion sickness, but then it all stopped.

And then she sees it. Her memories of Draco. Him stealing her for a dance in the Yule Ball when she thought she would spend the rest of the night sulking in some abandoned corridor after Oliver left her. Draco who insisted on being her partner in Potions and kicking Seamus out of his seat beside her, saying that it’s for her own good unless she wants to risk being exposed to frequent explosion. Draco who discreetly lended her his sweater when he saw her shivering during Care for Magical Creatures class. Draco who erased himself out of her memories and out of her life.

Y/N gasped in pain, feeling as if she just got stabbed over and over again as the hurt comes rolling in waves.

“YOU HAD NO RIGHT, DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY!!!” She screamed in agony, throwing herself his way, pinning him to the ground as she shakes him by his shoulders.

Tears blurred her vision as her body shook with violent sobs. She felt broken in soo many ways that she has to fight hard just to anchor herself at the thread of reality.

“I’m so sorry, love. I’m soo fucking sorry.” She felt him crying too beneath her.

He tug at her arms, silently asking for permission to pull her into his arms. Having no fight left in her, she allowed herself this sliver of comfort. Although in this very moment, she wants nothing more than to hurt him as bad as he had hurt her.

“Why, Draco? How could you do that to me? To us?” Y/N asked, barely above a whisper. Her voice sounds soo devastated, it pains him to no end to see her this way.

“I had no other choice, Y/N/N. I can’t let Voldemort use you against me, I can’t put you in danger just because I’d love nothing more than to have you by my side forever. Believe me, love. I did it all for you.” He croaked.

“I just don’t get it.... how could someone care for another and still take so much from them?”

“But it saved you a great deal of trouble! Like back at my trial when they asked you whether or not we were involved. Had I not taken your memories away, you wouldn’t be able to lie your way out under the veritaserum.” Draco retorted, clearly frustrated.

“Still, Draco..... Believe me if our situation were reversed, you’d be as angry as I am. Having your memories taken away from you like that is horrifying, I feel soo violated.”

Slowly she untangled himself from him and sits up, despite everything that has happened, she could still feel her heart reaching out for him. It still craves him and she doesn’t think that there would ever come a time when it won’t.

Draco followed her lead and sat himself, leaning his body against the railing. “I’m so sorry for all the pain that I’ve caused you, for all the pain that I’m still causing.”

Y/N stares at his face, the person that she once loved with all her being. “I don’t know what to say, Draco... I don’t even know if we can go back to how we were before all this.”

She watched as his face fell but there’s understanding in his eyes, “I know, starlight. I just want you to be happy.”

Y/N stood and clean the invisible dust from her dress, not that it makes it appear better, the skirt is all rumpled now.

“I... have to go. Thank you for the invitation.” She said, putting on a mask of cool indifference even though under all that, a violent storm is tearing at her very soul, but she has to be strong, for herself.

“Thank you for coming... Be safe, Y/N.” He replied meekly, but he managed to give her a small smile.

Y/N nodded and just like that history is repeating itself, but this time it’s her turn to walk away from him.

———————————————————————

Y/N made her way back to the ballroom, her eyes frantically scanning the room for Harry.

She saw him standing at the other side of the room and she walked briskly towards him.

Harry immediately noticed that something’s off, “Are you okay, Y/N/N? Do I need to fight anyone?”

Y/N smiled at her bestfriend, “That would be one hell of an entertainment to see but not tonight, buddy. Can we leave now?”

“Absolutely.” He said as he offered her his arm and they walked together towards the exit.

Turned out that it is actually quite late and some people have decided to call it a day too thus why Lucius and Narcissa are standing near the door to say their farewell to the returning guests.

When it is Harry and Y/N’s turn, Narcissa suddenly laid a hand on Y/N’s shoulder, “May I have a moment, dear?”

“Of course, Mrs. Malfoy.”

———————————————————————

Narcissa leads her to a parlor room not too far from there and offer her a seat at one of the plush settee.

“I would like to apologize for every wrong that I and my family have done to you, Miss Y/L/N. Our list of misdeeds are long and unforgiveable but all of us are paying for our sins. I wish you nothing but all the best that life could offer and Merlin knows how much you and your friends deserve it.” She said in a soft voice, shame painted her face.

“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. I couldn’t speak for all of them but I know that me and Harry share the same sentiment especially towards you. I’d also like to thank you for sparing Harry’s life back then, if it weren’t for you, we would never be here.” Y/N replied, giving her a warm smile.

“You’re too kind, dear. We deserve far less than that but still I thank you for your clemency, but I’m afraid there is something else that I would like to talk to you about.”

“What about?”

“My son.” Narcissa said.

Y/N unconsciously gripped the edge of the settee as her thought floated back to the moment at the balcony.

“You know?” Y/N asked.

“You’ll find that rarely anything ever escaped a mother’s eye, Y/N.” Narcissa answered, “I know that what he did is wrong and it is yours to decide whether or not you will let him in your life again, but there is something that I’d like to give to you first.”

Narcissa walked towards a drawer and pull something out, a parchment.

“Draco wrote this sometime ago, it is for you.”

Y/N took the letter with shaky hands, “Why are you giving me this?”

“Draco might be a very difficult person, Y/N, but if there is one thing that I know for sure is the fact that my boy is completely in love with you.” Narcissa said as she smiles her way, “And I believe that he has chosen the right woman to anchored his heart to, you are a formidable force, dear. And I admire you for that.”

———————————————————————

———————————————————————

A/N : WHEW okay I think this was rather intense, what do you think?

Taglist : @chaoticgirl04 @accioxdracox @randomsingingkoala @ivarlothbroks @sycathorn-slush @thescarletknight2014 @irritantive @vaeonshi

#draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy drabble #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy oneshot #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco malfoy oneshots #draco malfoy prompt #draco malfoy smut #harry potter imagine #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #harry potter oneshot #harry potter fluff #harry potter drabble #harry potter angst #harry potter x reader #harry potter oneshots

[rosy-cheekx]

I Want To Be A Real Fake

@kaiserkorresponds said: Black and White + "I want to be a real fake" + formal clothing <3

Prompted fic that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since I received it! Hope you like it, Kaiser!

-

Jon would not consider himself fashionable. He has a distinct sense of style, yes, but that style lately has been Tired-Academic-Works-in-a-Cold-Office,-Steals-Sweaters-When-Necessary-core. Not exactly suitable for the business casual dress code The Magnus Institute “requires” (no one seemed to pay attention to the Archive staff’s choices of attire), but certainly not suitable for the small rectangle of cardstock Elias Bouchard hands him, on a quiet spring morning in the Archive.

“What’s…what’s this?” Jon asked, staring at the neat, printed text as if it was Greek. (If it were Greek, at least, he could decipher parts of it. He was an English Lit student, after all, and he had really enjoyed etymology.) The card was a stiff black and white, with the black owl logo, the symbol of the Magnus Institute, printed in the top middle. Glancing down at it, he saw a date, and the words: “black-tie.” Shit.

“My apologies, I forgot how tired your position tends to leave you.” Elias’s voice was prim and polite, but Jon still winced inwardly. “As a head of a department, you are now strongly encouraged to attend the fundraiser I host in April each year. Our donors are fascinated by our departments, and especially the Archives. Gertrude’s disappearance has raised questions as to her successor, and I trust you can assuage the concerns of our donors at your accomplishments in the position.” Jon chose to believe that Elias’s keen eye didn’t sweep the mountains of paperwork that surrounded his desk as he surveyed the small, poorly lit office. “I’m certain you’ll be able to find appropriate attire for the occasion.”

He turned on a heel, halfway to the door before seemingly considering something. “Ah, and Jon, one more thing. Gertrude always requested she bring an assistant. Would you like to do the same? I am happy to accommodate one more for the catering count.”

Jon snapped his mouth shut, utterly dumbfounded by the responsibility just thrust upon him, and nodded mutely, before clearing his throat. “Ah-um, yes, I would appreciate that. Does it matter which one?”

“Someone who can make a pleasant impression, please.” Elias raised an eyebrow, nodded almost imperceptibly, like he had made a decision, and rapped his knuckles on the doorframe on the way out. “I trust your judgement.”

Jon counted to thirty, to be certain Elias wasn’t coming back, and slouched into his office chair, scanning the save-the-date again, without the immense pressure of Elias’s eyes on him.

“The Magnus Institute Fundraiser Gala,” it read below the embossed owl, within a thin black border. “23 April, 7-10 pm. Black tie. Catered.” Jon traced the owl with the pad of his finger, flipping the card over to see, in Elias’s thin cursive: Make a good impression, Jon.

God, this is going to suck.

-

“Sasha, come on.” Jon wasn’t one to beg, but desperate times and all that. He had cornered her in the breakroom, while Martin was on a research trip and Tim was getting takeaway from the chippie down the street. “It’s only three weeks away, and you’re the one I trust the most. Please.”

“Jon,” Sasha sighed, smoothing her skirt patiently. “I would if I could, I swear to you. But my sister’s wedding has been planned for months, I’ve already requested time off, and I can’t undo all that for a work party.”

“Fundraiser,” Jon corrected instinctively, even as he signed in resignation. “Fine. I just really didn’t want to go alone.”

Sasha scoffed, shaking her head to herself as she opened the fridge and pulled out her bagged lunch. “You have two other assistants you know. What about Tim? Or Martin?”

Jon wrinkled his nose at the thought of bringing nervous, rambling, doe-eyed Martin to the gala. “God no. Martin would be too much; I need someone who can handle themselves and hold a decent conversation. I need someone who can attend a black-tie gala and look more at-home than me.” A withering look from Sasha.

“So why not Tim, then? He can do all those things.”

“Do all what things?” Jon jumped and spun around to see Tim, carrying a grease-spotted bag in one hand and a paper soda cup in the other. He surveyed Tim in a moment: the button-up shirt, red and printed with tiny black balloons, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, dark black hair artfully mussed. High cheekbones dotted with freckles, and what Jon swore could be the faintest bit of eyeliner.

“Tim, would you like to go to a fashionable, catered work party with me?”

“Boss,” Tim lowered himself to a knee and held out his soda solemnly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Tim, that’s backwards. The kneeler isn’t the one who accepts,” Sasha chuckles helpfully.

“You’re just jealous of our love, Sash!”

Good Lord.

-

Jon was really hoping the food would be good. He was in Tim’s flat, in the toilet, checking himself in the mirror one final time. His hair was carefully braided, courtesy of Tim’s deft hands and coiled into a thick bun at the base of his skull, gold and emerald hairpin snugly in place. His suit was nice: a respectable white shirt, dotted with tiny lime-colored flowers he had to strain his eyes to see, under a dark green suit jacket and matching trousers. The suit itself was cut in a rather androgynous style, pulling tight at Jon’s waist in a way he rather liked, and contrasted beautifully, he thought, with the smooth brown of his skin. He flicked an invisible piece of lint from his thigh and, satisfied, stepped into the hall to tell Tim he was ready to go.

“Tim, I’m all-woah,” the exhale was accidental. Tim’s suit was certainly not subtle. He was wearing a deep blue turtleneck, hair perfectly coiffed. Over the turtleneck, the suit jacket was white, a spray of water-color flowers in all shades of blue and purple shifting with every movement. The navy blue heeled suede boots on his feet accentuated his already-tall frame “Tim, you look good,” Jon breathed.

“Ouch. No need to sound all surprised. I know I clean up well; I dirty pretty damn good too.” Tim chuckled and adjusted his sleeves. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. ‘I don’t want anything too crazy.’”

Jon grinned shyly, rocking on his heels of his own, less intimidating dress shoes. “I like it, I think. It feels nice.” The excitement over how good he felt in the clothes had, all too briefly, suppressed the impending doom he was feeling about the evening’s events. “Are you ready for tonight?” he asked for what must have been the fiftieth time, spinning the solid black ring he wore around his finger.

“Yes, Jon. Talk about the reorganization process as a structural renovation, converting files to audio formatting for future accessibility, don’t talk about artefact storage even a little, don’t get caught up with anyone too pretty, I get it.” His voice was flat, bored by the repetition. “This is going to be fine.”

“What-what if it isn’t, though, Tim? What if they ask about Gertrude or how their money is being used, o-or how the restructuring is going? I can’t bloody well tell them I’m using a tape recorder that’s probably older than I am.”

“Jon,” Tim’s well-manicured hand was on his shoulder, nails the same blue of his turtleneck. “Take a deep breath. For Gertrude: be honest. It was a tragedy, and you hope she’s found, but until then you’re doing your best to act on her wishes as her replacement. And for the rest, be vague. Restructuring is going ‘as well as can be expected’ or ‘is running quite smoothly with the help of your three wonderful assistants.’” He winked. “And tell them you’re using a multimedia system, that’ll confuse those old boomers enough to move topics. And it is technically true. Laptops and a tape recorder are multiple medias. Anything else we can riff, you know? I can talk with the best of them.” He eyed Jon meaningfully. “This will be fine. It’s one night. And we’ll get chips after. Promise.”

Jon nodded and closed his eyes, breathing steadying. He was grateful Tim had been available. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

-

“So, how did you know what black tie meant?” Jon asked, eyeing Tim across the seat of the cab. They’re on their way now and Jon’s hands are steepled tightly, pressing his fingertips against each other until it hurts to do so. “I had to Google it last week when I went shopping, in case we had to wear literal black ties.” He needed to talk about anything, anything but this stupid fundraiser they drove steadily towards.

Tim grew silent for a moment, considering his words. “My brother was an extra in a movie once and started dating a stylist for one of the leads. He fibbed his way into getting us tickets for premieres, so I’ve made my way through a few high-fashion events.” He shrugged, fiddling with a thin silver bracelet along his wrist, were Jon knew the letter D was carved in delicate cursive. “I like it, too, you know? Dressing up for events. It makes me feel debonaire, like a spy.”

Jon shook his head in disagreement. “Makes me feel fake,” he mumbled, eyeing the lorry floor beneath them. “Like everyone knows I don’t belong. I hate having their eyes on me and knowing they’re better than me.”

Tim prodded Jon with his elbow gently, raising his eyebrows in a comforting manner. “That’s it though, isn’t it? We aren’t fake. We worked our way here. Hell, you’re the boss of an entire department, Jon. We’ve gotten to where we are in the Institute because we deserve to be here. And anyways, everyone at that party next week is gonna be fake. They’re pretending to care about our jobs, and we pretend to care about their money, and they pretend they’re even the ones who write the checks and not some snooty financial advisor in Wales.”

Jon shrugged, trying to keep himself from biting back that he wasn’t enough, didn’t earn this spot, that Sasha deserved it more than he did and was doing nothing to prove to Elias he was up to the monumental task of being the Head Archivist. He didn’t, though, and instead took a steadying breath, nodding to Tim’s comforting words.

“And anyways,” Tim continued, shrugging. “Even if we have to be fake for a night, it’ll be fun. We get to be a part of ‘the queen’s high society,’” he added in a high-pitched, overly fake RP accent, eliciting a chuckle from Jon. “And Rosie said the catering Elias orders is divine. Apparently we should keep an eye out for tiny samosas?”

As if on cue, the cab shuddered to a stop. Jon thanked the driver, paid, and followed Tim out.

-

The Institute looked different under the pretense of wealth and success. It was still the same building of course, but the floor was clear of the rain mats and the smooth marble floor paved the way to the library, the main sitting room of which had been cleared as a rather respectable grand hall to host a party. Tables lined the cordoned off books, hot plates and silver trays steaming slightly. Bottles of wine lined a bar, behind which a vested individual with slicked-back hair was pouring small glasses and taking orders. A quiet orchestra completed the scene, cello and piano in a delicate duet. Before tonight, Jon couldn’t have imagined this many people in the Institute alone, least of all the library. Not that it’s packed. There’s maybe thirty or so well-dressed individuals milling about, the din of conversation white noise in comparison to the floating of the music.

Tim’s hand is on his back, pressing kindly into his spine. Oh yes, he remembers dimly, and nods, allowing Tim to guide him into the library and hand him a glass of wine. They stand out a little, two beacons of color around what is a pretty drab spectrum of black and grey, save for a few spectacular dresses in the crowd. Jon finds he doesn’t mind it, except that it may lead to unwanted conversation. It’s not his looks he fears being judged on, but that he be found wanting when it came to his capabilities. He was always selectively self-conscious like that, some things utterly meaningless, others inexplicably important.

Jon isn’t a huge fan of wine, but he finds himself clinging to the glass as a lifeline as he and Tim meander through the crowds, largely ignored. The music is intoxicatingly simple; he finds himself caught up in the deep reverberations of the cello as they walk, feeling it deep in his chest. There were, in fact, samosas, as well as small cannoli, and he and Tim piled plates as high as they could without garnering stares.

There weren’t many people Jon recognized; he didn’t even see Elias as he scanned the crowd for faces. Wine in one hand, a plate in the other, he thought maybe the night wouldn’t be too bad.

Jon shivered, the sensation of being stared at prickling the back of his neck. He spun around, trying to appear casual, and spotted Elias at last. He was standing with a large man, broad and wearing a deep blue suit, scruffy beard a mix of tawny and white. Elias crooked his finger, smiling primly. As Jon made his way over to the pair-who he could’ve sworn he hadn’t seen previously, he was intercepted by a short bald man in a plum velour suit, leaning heavily on a cane.

“Ah, Archivist,” he smiled warmly, extending a hand to shake before seeing Jon’s hands were full, and nodding his head instead. “Congratulations on your promotion. Elias has told me he expects great things from you.”

Jon smiled politely, glancing over to see Elias and the other man gone again. Regretfully, he turned his attention back to the man. “It’s a shame about Gertrude, yes, but I’m hoping I can do her proud,” he said in a practiced tone. He glanced over his shoulder. Where was Tim? He was just with him.

“Of course, of course. I was hoping I could have a word?”

“W-with me?”

“Yes, you see, I was rather concerned when I heard Gertrude’s position had been left open. When Elias said you yourself where at the junction to take over, I wanted to meet you for myself. I worry about the Archivists in your institute, so many of you do such monumental work for so little recognition. Do you worry your work to be meaningless?  Your name insignificant when it is all said and done?”

(It is this conversation he remembers, months later, when he demands to record Prentiss’ attack. He refuses to be another mystery, a name on a placard to be wondered about.)

“I-ah, yes? No?” What was the right answer here? Jon stammered out a half-assed reply about doing his best, midway through when he felt a hand firmly on his shoulder, where his neck and collarbone met. Glancing to his peripheral, he saw a golden ring, an eye, and was frustratingly grateful to hear the cool tones of Elias Bouchard over his shoulder.

“Now Simon,” he said, voice even, “you aren’t trying to scare my dear Archivist, are you?” He gave the shoulder a squeeze but remained put. “Jon, I believe you’ve heard of Simon Fairchild, a significant donor to our establishment.”

Jon nodded wordlessly, not really listening to the two bureaucrats delve off into some topic or other, craning his neck to look for Tim. The music had picked up, he registered dimly, a orchestral melody led by a violin, sharp and whimsical.

“Jon?” Another squeeze to his neck, and Jon tried not to wince. “Wouldn’t you agree,” Elias asked, voice patient at surface level. “That the best way to move forward is to restructure the Archive?”

Jon nodded, trying to recall the answer he had rehearsed. “Yes, ah—my team and I have worked quite hard at recording the statements a-and organizing them in a way that will last long-term.”

“Ah, what a delight,” Simon—Mr. Fairchild—said warmly. Jon was reminded of the voices adults would use when they spoke to him as a child, when his inane facts about space or etymology had moved from endearing to obnoxious.

The conversation lasted for what felt like days, Jon feeling rather like Mr. Fairchild’s cane: a statement piece, contributing nothing to the conversation but unable to find a smooth exit. Leading questions from Elias led to thankfully rehearsed answers before Simon found his own exit and walked away smoothly, eyes wide and taking the room in.

“I-I really should find Tim,” Jon muttered, glancing around the room anxiously.

“Nonsense. He’ll be back,” Elias said, releasing Jon’s shoulder and taking his elbow in turn, “I would like to introduce you to a few dear friends of mine. I believe Tim is keeping one occupied at present.” Jon sighed inwardly (and maybe outwardly as well) and allowed himself to be led around the room. His wine glass was empty, as was his plate and he found it snatched away by a member of catering. He had nothing to cling to, to keep his hands busy, and was struggling not to pull out his delicately-placed hair pin just so he could fiddle with something.

Jon was taken on a tour of old rich people of England. Names flew past him, conversation buzzed around him, and still Jon felt like nothing more than a well-dressed trophy to be ogled at. Did Gertrude do this every year, he wondered dimly. No wonder she disappeared. He fiddled with the ring on his finger, nodding and smiling at the appropriate times, speaking when needed, and feeling the swirl of the orchestra build up in pressure behind his eyes. The music was beautiful but hard to listen to. Something about it was ugly, hiding a dark secret behind the innocent melodies.

Eventually, the evening was so much of a blur that he couldn’t even begin to fathom how much time had passed. It may have been weeks, may have been merely twenty minutes. Jon glanced down for his watch before realizing he had taken it off at Tim’s flat and never strapped it back on. Pity. It only added to the dreamscape reality he seemed to be participating in.

At last, Elias led him towards the large burly man that was suddenly in view (hadn’t he always been? Jon wasn’t quite sure. The wine must have affected him more than he thought with the nerves) and Jon saw Tim, similarly trapped in conversation as he had been. He smiled apologetically as Jon and Elias approached and the larger man smiled warmly at the newcomers.

“Ah, Archivist. I hope you don’t mind I stole your companion away briefly. I was curious about the nitty-gritty of your Archive. Timothy here was very informative.” Tim winced at the use of his full name and a part of Jon smirked, relating to the sentiment of being called Jonathan or worse, John.

“I’m glad he can answer your questions.” Elias spoke before Jon could open his mouth. “I’m quite proud of the Archive staff. Jon chose well and I am sure the four of them are going to do great things together. Jon, you remember the Lukas family?”

Jon nodded, confused for a second before the man in front of him extended his hand. “Peter Lukas, at your service.” The hand was cold, and a feeling of dismay washed over Jon as he shook it. He couldn’t help the feeling that the shake of that hand was a seal of his fate.

The orchestral music had picked up, a swirl of strings and piano, ascending in pitch until it grated at Jon’s ears. No one else seemed to react to it, however, as the manic notes pulling at something inside Jon’s brain, something he couldn’t explain. It was almost like a migraine, but sharper and deep in his spine and in his ears. Elias let go of Jon’s arm at some point during the conversation with Peter Lukas, a discussion about boats, maybe? Travel? This was the conversation Elias was so keen on Jon being a part of?

As Jon felt that grip relax, the glint of the ring on Elias’ finger seeming to wink at him, Jon took a staggered step backwards. “Mr. Lukas, ah-Peter, it’s been a pleasure. Elias, ex-excuse me.”

Jon turned and dashed out of the library, feet carrying him on instinct through the winding halls and down the stairs of the institute, deep into the Archives. He stopped when he felt his feet echo against the cold, solid lino of the archival storage and bent over, hand on the wall, gasping in shallow, rapid bursts. It was too much, it was too much, he thought he could do this but it was too much and he wasn’t enough for them-

“Woah-boss.” Tim was there. When did Tim get here? Was he speaking out loud? Shit. “Jon, yeah-hey, Jon. I’m here. You’re okay. Take some deep breaths, okay? You’re going to black out if you’re not careful.”

Jon felt his suit jacket being shrugged off of him and the newly allowed freedom of his shoulder helped. He took a deep, sputtering breath, the sweet oxygen flooding his system and sharpening his thoughts.

“The-the music and the talking,” he said under his breath, Tim craning to listen without infringing on his personal space. “Too-too much.”

“The music? Jon, hey, hey, just focus on calming down, okay? That was a dick move of Elias to separate us immediately. I was talking to that Lukas guy for way too long. Not even sure what we talked about. I think he’s just one of those guys.” Jon smirked to himself as he focused on the floor beneath his feet, breathing slowly until his heart rate had resumed a normal rhythm.

“Says you,” he mumbled, eyes closing as he pressed his warm cheek to the cold wall.

“You bastard!” Jon felt a light swat on his shoulder. “I listen to people! I have meaningful conversation; just ask Martin and Sasha and Alexa from Library and Calvin from Artefact Storage. I am practically a professional listener.”

Jon smirked, satisfied with his jab and turned around, now pressing his back to the wall. “God, Tim, I do not want to go back in there.” It was hard to admit out loud, even if the evidence was written all over his face.

“Okay. So, we won’t.”

“What?” the answer was so mind-bogglingly simple, Jon reeled.

“We don’t want to be here. We’ve talked, we’ve eaten. Let’s just leave. I can tell Elias I had an emergency and you had to escort me home, like a true gentleman.”

“Lie to Elias? I feel like that cant end well.” The offer was tempting, Jon hadf to admit.

“I mean, Sasha has keys to my flat. I could ask her to start a fire, if you think that’s sufficient?”

Jon barked out a laugh at that. “Ah, no, lets save a fire for something big. Yes. Let’s-let’s go, Tim. And-er, I suppose I should thank you. For coming tonight. I know its not an ideal way to spend an evening.”

“Are you kidding?” Tim did a twirl, Jon’s own jacket slung over his shoulder. “I look hot. You think I’d pass up an opportunity to dress up like this? You’re dreaming.” He smirked and took Jon’s arm, leading him back up the stairwell. It felt different than Elias’s touch. That had been a cold tug, directional and leashed. This felt…snug, more like a link in a chain than anything else. Comforting, reassuring.

(Luckily, they weren’t laughed out of the Nando’s they popped into late at night. Lemon and herb and spices covered their hands, but they were careful to keep their jackets clean. Jon, when looking back on the evening; remembers this moment, talking and laughing and letting the fresh night air was over them. Elias, Lukas, and Fairchild be damned. He’d deal with that tomorrow.)

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fanfic #fanfic to a tea #jonathan sims #tim stoker #prompt fic #black-tie #elias bouchard #still a dick #peter lukas #simon fairchild #sasha james #me? write everyone BUT martin> #amazing

[hualianff]

Mi Amor(tentia)

A Window To The Past – John Williams

Harry Potter AU. In his final year at Hogwarts, headboy and Hufflepuff quidditch team captain XL is caught up in a scandal where he performed magic in front of muggles to protect them from dangerous, dark sorcerers who had escaped Azkaban.

After the crucial incident ends with minor injuries to the muggles and XL’s miraculous defeat of all five dark wizards–though only one of them was successfully captured–the ministry expels him from Hogwarts due to his hasty and rash decision to duel without calling for backup, exposing hundreds of muggles to magic. The normalization of advanced technology had led to an alarming spread of awareness of the wizarding world. A messy clean-up indeed.

XL’s family’s name was dragged through the mud, the once appraised pure-blooded lineage honored no more. In addition to being estranged from his parents, XL’s so-called friends left him alone. He also lost a lot of who he was in his early adolescence. Since then, he has learned that even when his intentions are good, the end result isn’t always favorable.

After being expelled, disowned, and alienated from the wizarding world at age eighteen, XL traveled the world completing various bizarre jobs in order to get by and keep busy. Over a decade later, XL chooses to take the base exam equivalent to graduating from a magic school. With this requirement completed, and his years’ worth of experience under his belt, XL is qualified to teach as a professor at a magic school.

XL is lucky that JW, as the new headmaster, decided to hire XL onto the staff, as the new herbology professor. Herbology was always XL’s favorite subject. He’s in the middle of writing a massive index of new species he observed during his twenties!

It’s been so long since XL stepped foot in Hogwarts. Funnily enough, it feels a lot like coming home, a feeling XL hasn’t had in many years. He has a week to re-familiarize himself with the school grounds and meet the other professors before the students are scheduled to arrive for the new year.

One of the tasks XL is assigned as the herbology professor is to supply the potions professor with special plants and ingredients he has access to. The potions professor is named Hua Cheng, an intriguing name if XL says so himself. Though the first two times XL searches HC out to figure out which ingredients were needed most, HC isn’t in the room.

XL ponders if he should put together a basket of goods based on his own memory of which ingredients are popular in potions and see if HC has other suggestions afterward. Instead, XL decides to leave a letter arranging a meet-up time in hopes he can converse with the potions professor in person.

The next day XL enters the potions room, a tall youth stands over a cauldron while glancing down at a thick, opened book. He wears the standard black robes, the emerald green collar symbolizing he is part of Slytherin’s house. His hair is tied up in a high ponytail. XL wonders how a student is allowed to brew potions in the classroom a few days before all the other students return to Hogwarts.

He must be a prefect, or even headboy, to gain this privilege, XL decides.

XL shuffles around a bit until the youth notices his presence.

“Hello! So sorry to interrupt. I’m looking for Hua Lao Shi,” XL greets politely with a nod of his head. The youth merely straightens up. He tilts his head without saying anything. XL figures he must be a bit confused. XL quickly introduces himself, “I’m Xie Lao Shi, your new herbology instructor.”

The Slytherin student blinks. “Nice to meet your acquaintance, Xie Lao Shi. May I ask what the subject of your meeting with Hua Lao Shi entails?”

“Ah, I simply need to discuss the supplies Hua Lao Shi needs for the start of the school year.”

“Oh, that’s very considerate of Xie Lao Shi to ask beforehand. None of the previous herbology professors did so,” the youth comments idly. He steps away from the cauldron, waving his hand over it to temporarily seal the potion. XL’s eyebrows raise, impressed at the casual display of finesse. “But it’s nearly the start of the school year. Am I correct in my assumption that Hua Lao Shi hasn’t made himself readily available for a meeting?”

XL hums good-naturedly. “I’m sure he has his reasons. He must be quite busy these days leading up to classes starting.”

The Slytherin student lifts his hands in a playful shrug, a gesture implying, “As if.” He must be really close to the potions professor to act like this behind his back.

“Do you, by chance, know where Hua Lao Shi is at the moment?” XL asks, approaching the youth.

“Probably in Slytherin’s common room. At the beginning of each year, Hua Lao Shi performs numerous charms to prevent it from being ruined by whatever disastrous activities students engage in throughout the year,” the youth answers. He gathers up a bundle of scrolls to the left of the potions book, walking around the table to stand next to XL. “I can lead Xie Lao Shi to our common room, if he wishes.”

“Yes. That would be wonderful,” XL confirms with a smile. They begin exiting the potions room. “Thank you…?”

“Xie Lao Shi can call me San Lang.”

“San Lang seems very knowledgeable and mature for his age. Am I correct in my assumption that you are headboy?” XL questions, eager to know more about this charming youth who has given him the warmest welcome to Hogwarts yet.

SL lets out a throaty chuckle, eyes briefly closing as he laughs. Next, he sets those dark eyes on XL, shining with mirth. They maintain a steady pace of winding down staircases and corridors that eventually lead down to the dungeons.

“I’m afraid Xie Lao Shi is incorrect in his assumption this time. Headboy does not suit me.”

“Hmm, I beg to differ, based on the conversations I have had with you thus far,” XL disagrees lightly. Without thinking about his next words, XL continues teasingly, “San Lang seems like the perfect character to be in charge and order others around.”

This emits another loud laugh from SL. A hint of satisfaction bubbles in XL’s chest.

When they finally arrive at their destination, SL doesn’t even need to utter a password for the passage to open up. Strange, XL thinks. SL truly must be a figure to be reckoned with.

They enter an empty common room, spotless of any disorganization. Yet, no Hua Lao Shi in sight. XL follows SL who places the scrolls on the largest table in the room, which is already packed with inked parchment.

XL’s eyes flit over the pieces of parchments, belatedly making out class instructions, plans, and assignments written out.

Wait a second…

XL snaps his eyes back to SL, who turns around while pulling out the hair tie. Long, thick waves of raven hair spill over his shoulders; a black eyepatch now covers his right eye.

“Welcome, Xie Lao Shi,” Hua Cheng says knowingly, voice notably deeper. “Shall we start our discussion about the supplies?”

***

Potions professor HC is also the head of Slytherin. He is considered a prodigy who has published five potion manuals that are highly regarded among the wizarding world. HC is very intimidating and direct with his words; strict with his instruction but gives credit where credit is due. And he certainly doesn’t hesitate to take away house points!

He is known to wear an eyepatch but no one knows the reason why.

To put it shortly, many of the students and staff fear him.

Because XL hasn’t kept up with the wizarding world’s gossip, he didn’t know about HC’s reputation, even less about his physical appearance! It took HC revealing his true identity with the eyepatch for XL to recognize he had been talking to the potions professor all along!

***

“How very sly of Hua Lao Shi to masquerade as a student this entire time,” XL says with disbelief. He is incredibly close to dissipating right then and there from the sheer embarrassment of not realizing his mistake. Perhaps the Slytherin common room has a mysterious hole that can swallow him out of sight.

“I apologize if I have offended Xie Lao Shi in any way. However, he is the one who sees me as young enough to be a student. How could I do anything but indulge him?” HC replies, not unkindly.

“Hua Cheng is indeed...shameless,” XL breathes out. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, mind and body telling him to find a place to hide!

He settles for taking a seat at the table.

“Please, continue to call me San Lang,” HC requests gently. He takes a seat next to XL, rolling out a blank piece of parchment to write out the ingredients he’ll need from XL. “‘Hua Cheng’ is too formal.”

The explanation is surely a bit faulty? Why have XL call him ‘San Lang’ when his name is actually ‘Hua Cheng?’ Do the other professors call HC ‘San Lang?’

XL clasps his hands together on the table.

“Very well. I will address you as San Lang, but only when we’re alone,” XL says, determined to remain professional in front of the students.

Wait, that was very suggestive, wasn’t it-?

“When we’re alone, may I call you Gege?” HC adds on, interrupting XL’s internal panic. The younger man pins XL with a curious gaze, staring in a way XL is not used to being stared at. XL clears his throat while looking away.

“I will allow it.”

(Brainchild w/ @no-one-says-hi) 

《II》

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #hualian #hualian au #HP au #xie lian #hua cheng #first meeting well more like reuniting but #XL has been through a lot #HC has too #hey they are meant to be #I love them so much #THEY WILL DO A LOT OF FLIRTING OKAY #hush I'm proud of the tittle #no I don’t support JKR

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Twenty | Ooo I Ooo I Ooo I Ooo I (Part 2 of 2 | His POV) [First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Song Referenced

• • •

did he give you an exact date?

Unfortunately, no.

At first, I had at least until the end of the year, but…

CPS wants this resolved quicker than he thought.

guessin' you need to finish tourin' the underground first then, right?

Yes.

Would it be possible the day after tomorrow?

Or just… sometime this weekend?

I can go by myself, but…

Asgore won't allow that unless I'm with someone else.

Says I shouldn't be walking so far and so long alone if I haven't recovered yet.

you don't need to go alone, either way.

be it my job or not, I still wanna help out.

so the day after tomorrow's fine with me, bud.

we can discuss those details better when we drive over to tori's school tomorrow.

Are you sure?

And…

Does that 'we' imply you'll be picking us up?

100%

but yeah, i'll drive you guys there.

and pick up paps on the way, too.

it's easier for all four of us.

Mhm.

don't believe me?

Oh, I believe you.

I just don't think that's the only reason why you're picking us up, when I already have the address.

so what's the other one?

Don't get cocky, Serif.

I'm not gonna type that out.

It's a godsend Frisk will be with us, too.

'Cause I sure don't trust being alone with you anymore.

inna bad way?

Nah.

niiice.

pick you guys up tomorrow, then?

Yes.

We'll see you tomorrow.

And thank you in advance.

∆ Sticker | Happy Cartoon Bunny™ waving goodbye ∆

"You've changed, Sans."

He ignores that comment to view (Y/N)'s last two messages again.

While he doesn't know why that particular sticker bothers his mind so much, a few scrolls up to revise his chat history with the human reveal this is the first time they've shown any sort of informality or spontaneity in their typing. (Y/N) came off cold in their texts, though -- based on how they acted outside of a chat app -- that wasn't their intention, but more of an automatic way for them to talk with someone they didn't exactly deem trustworthy enough yet. He grins at that thought and feels his face warm up, something he confirms when touching his cheekbone, cold palm contrasting with that heat.

"You're wasting your time with that human," Drunk Bun says, snapping him out of his daydreaming.

They've sat themselves on the bar stool next to him and slam what looks like their tenth can of cheap, off-brand beer against the counter, crunching it down into more than half its size. He doesn't know how long they've stood there or why he's lost this much awareness of his surroundings. The bar's practically empty and calm now compared to before, though there's loud music blaring from the jukebox, playing an already overplayed song on repeat. There's no excuse for his distracted mind other than having lost himself while texting with the human, so he admits that fault with partial sourness, against accepting he's that smitten with them.

"You're changing for the worse," his company adds, narrowing their eyes at him. "Every time we come here to catch up, you mention something stupid about that (L/N) person, or just text the whole evening away with them. I... I've never seen you worry so much about someone so inconsequential." They scoff and cross their arms tight. "I may understand you caring after Frisk as a way to repay them for rescuing us, but (L/N) is completely useless. They've done absolutely nothing remarkable beyond creating a huge scene at that bus you were both on."

"Being harassed by a rando and faintin' after's them causin' a scene?" Sans asks, quirking an eye socket.

"Oh, screw off, bone boy -- You know what I mean. They've brought you nothing but trouble and needless responsibilities!" The bunny grits their teeth and slams their hand over the table, dragging eyes to their side. "I'm betting you can't go a day without texting them or without you doing something for them."

"You need to-"

Beep-beep.

The phone is snatched from his hands just as quick as that noise rings.

"Give that back."

"No." They keep the phone right above him, taking advantage of his shorter height. "Your fault for not putting a lock on it."

Drunk Bun scoots away and holds the phone tight as they fumble with it. Then, they stop to look at what he assumes is another text message from the human. A grimace shows on their face and they grasp the device tight, enough to make the screen complain and warn them over the pressure they're exerting against it. "Now this is beyond pathetic, Sans," they comment, letting out a loud, burst laugh. "Is this seriously the one you're sacrificing your entire personality for?" They give him his phone back, though not before hesitating when it's time to let go. "That human is-"

"Gimme a sec."

His attention falls on the picture displayed on screen, revealing (Y/N) and Frisk posing in it. The adult wears a suit and tie while the child has Toriel's school uniform on. The former's pose appears forced and awkward while the latter seems to be the reason the picture was taken with how excited they seem about their outfit.

Frisk wanted me to show you this.

It's what we'll be wearing for tomorrow!

There's a three-minute interval between that and the next message.

I know classes still haven't started there, but… They wanted to wear it, so I joined them by trying on something special for, well…

That job offer you told me about.

I don't know if I'll accept or not yet, but…

Thank you for the opportunity, and for believing in me.

∆ Sticker | Happy Cartoon Bunny™ giving a thumbs-up ∆

"You're grossing me out, honestly. What kind of look is that?"

It takes him a while to react, focus glued on (Y/N)'s messages.

"What look?"

"That lovesick look on your face." Tears form on their eyes -- almost abruptly, hadn't their voice shaken right before that. "I- I've been flirting with you for years, and yet you've never once looked at me like that before." They stand up straight, stare down at him, and rest their hands on the table, blinking their tears away throughout. "I've known you for so damn long, and yet you fall for the first human you see up here? I-"

"So that's what this's about," he says, chuckling. "You're-"

"Don't you dare brush everything off as me having a crush on you, Sans." They hiss. "You're not the same as before, and that's as clear as day. You worry a lot more now, and… And you actually seem to care more about other stuff beyond your job and sleeping on it. Y- You-"

"Aren't those good things?"

"Maybe, but your entire personality changing isn't. I liked you better when you were less worked up with stuff that's none of your business." They stop to grab his phone again; a grin breaks the sorrow on their face. "But hey, y- you're just doing your job, aren't you? You should set things straight with that human and remind them you're only with them because Asgore told you to in that agreement letter you gave them."

"Won't work if I flirted with 'em first. Pretty sure they'll see right through my lies."

"Y- You flirted with them first?!"

"Yeah."

He dodges a punch aimed right at his face.

"Wait-"

They throw a second punch -- this one turning out to be a spoof -- and laugh at the sight of him falling for it; they then toss the phone high over his head after he's finished dodging that fake attack, and aim yet another punch right after.

He salvages the device, though at the cost of taking the blow right on his left eye socket.

"How can you admit that so easily? You're awful!"

"'Cause you're only a close friend. I don't owe you an explanation about who I'm dating, and even less if you're gonna be actin' this way."

Drunk Bun springs at him, only to be held back by the rest of the regulars sitting near the scene, sufficiently fast enough for them not to wrangle Sans in anything major. They struggle and thrash at everyone around, trying to break free, but failing each time. It takes a fully-armored guard dog and a buff bear for them to be fought back into their rightful place, and yet another strong monster for them to let go of a wine bottle they insist on downing when seated.

Grillby intervenes as well by warning them to calm down, unless they want to be kicked out. Meanwhile, Sans turns on the camera and looks at his reflection through it, revealing a faint soreness already forming around his eye socket -- right where his companion had punched at. Being primarily made out of bones brought advantages, but having magical properties often led to him bruising easily.

Another regular approaches him and offers him a first aid kit, one he brings back to his seat to heal himself there.

While he takes out an antibiotic and some cotton pads with one hand, he uses the other to busy himself with (L/N)'s messages, against leaving them on read for so long.

no probs.

here at your service.

frisk looks great, btw.

and you? hot. 😘🔥

awkwardly hot.

hotwkward.

Frisk is reading the replies, you know?

damn.

i mean…

darn.

don't tell 'em i said that.

∆ Audio | 0:46 ∆

He clicks on it to hear Frisk giggling along with (Y/N) commenting they won't. It later continues with them asking if he's alright, specifying what they mean by highlighting a picture, this one sent by him. Blurriness makes up most of it when he clicks on it and zooms in, yet he can identify what looks like his companion from earlier, who'd apparently snapped and sent the human a photo by accident.

that's a friend o' mine.

they're, uh, kinda tipsy, so they got inna fight with me.

Really?

Are you okay?

yeah, just a lil' sore where they punched at.

What?!

i'm fine, puddin'.

dw about it.

Where's that bar at?

I'm near the mall, so I can drop by if you need anything.

aren't you still shoppin'?

take it easy.

I'm almost done.

Just trying out one more outfit.

can I see?

👀

Sure.

∆ Attachment | 2 images ∆

To his surprise, they're not only posing much more freely now, but they've also made the effort to strike another pose from a different angle. The human's outfit is composed of a dark green, semi-formal (suit/dress), fit for a night out. They've gone as far as to edit a wink emoji and some hearts at the corner of one -- the most flirty of the two.

So...

What do you think?

*jaw drops to floor, irises pop out of sockets accompanied by trumpets, soul beats out of rib cage, awooga awooga sound effect, pulls chain on train whistle that has appeared next to head as steam blows out, slams fists on table, rattling any plates, bowls or silverware, whistles loudly, fireworks shoot from top of head, pants loudly as tongue hangs out of teeth, wipes comically large bead of sweat from forehead, clears throat, straightens jacket, combs skull* ahem, you look real lovely.

*bwushes* Thank uwu kindwy, handswome. I'm vewy fwattewed.

...frisk ain't there anymore, right?

If they wewe, duwu uwu twhink I'd be twyping wike thiws?

faiw poiwnt.

Anyway…

I noticed the changes you made in that copy-paste, and…

You didn't edit the tongue part out.

So…

What that tongue do, baby?

😳

…lick…

...ice cream.

🔥🔥🔥

Ah, that's hot.

Or should I say cold?

And speaking of cold…

I'm gonna get you an ice pack or something.

You should take care of where it's sore, if you don't want it to bruise more.

whatta way to change the subject away from our moment, puddin'.

but uh, thanks in advance.

Anytime, teddy bear.

uwu

owo

• • •

"Am I really changin', Grillbs?" Sans asks, emptying his beer in three long gulps. "Be honest with me."

The one questioned takes the empty can from his hands and shakes his head in what looks more like disapproval rather than him answering that question. He first warns the skeleton about getting drunk, and reminds him to stay sober if he wants an answer as well as prevent himself from drunk-texting the source of his lovelorn self. When receiving a promise from him in response, he later answers with a 'no' and that he's still the same whenever he came to visit the bar.

"So I'm only different when I'm talkin' about 'em?"

Grillby nods.

"Inna bad way?"

He shakes his head.

"Then…"

Sans is stopped with a hand over his and faced with a stern look, despite the owner of it having no eyes or mouth.

"If they make you happy, then it's alright for you to show it," a regular states, intervening in the conversation. "You're not a lifeless machine. And nobody's one-dimensional either, so you shouldn't force yourself to act the same, strict way all the time. If you want to be all mushy with that human, then so be it. Aren't you the one who always says stuff like 'nothing really matters; in the end, we'll all die'? What's stopping you now of all times? Where's that hardcore nihilist I've known since years ago?

Sans rubs the back of his neck and huffs.

Clearly, neither the regular nor Grillby understood what he truly meant to say with his questions. He didn't mind his relationship with the human, but he also didn't want his old self to be replaced by someone he wasn't, as a result. There were things he didn't want to change about his old self -- things he feared would fade away now that he seemed to be getting into something as complex as a romantic relationship. There were parts of him he needed to keep in case the world were to start over again -- in case something went wrong. He couldn't allow himself to grow soft.

A pat on his shoulder lets him know he's lost himself in those thoughts.

"It's alright to fear change, but don't let that hold you back. If you like that human and they do, too -- Then what's there keeping you from going for it?"

It's not that easy.

Still, he keeps that thought quiet and replies with, "Thanks, but I'll probably have to give that more ti-"

The door of the bar opens to reveal someone new to it, but not so much unknown to Sans, who already finds himself distracted by them. (Y/N) stands in front of the entrance, looking this way and that. Frisk holds on to their hand, while a reusable shopping bag's hung over their parent's arm; a pharmacy's logo and name can be seen stamped on it. The eldest human approaches the area with caution, until their child assures them -- once, twice, and then thrice -- they've been to this place before and that it serves other purposes beyond that of providing alcohol and provoking fights. When they look forward, he meets their eyes and tries to glance away quickly, only to be called out by them soon after. They don't take long to smile wide and bright, wave, and -- finally -- approach his side after he waves back at them.

Rather than giving him whatever's in the bag, they instead let go of Frisk's hand, ask them if they want anything to eat, and give them some money when they sign the word 'fries'. Then, they sit on the stool next to his and settle the bag on their lap. "Come closer, and close your eye sockets," they say, still smiling. "It's your left one, right? It looks really sore already."

He nods and tries to ignore the warmth in his soul when they place a hand over his.

In his favour, they let go of him not long after to disinfect their hands and slip some gloves on when these dry out.

"I-"

"Shh."

(Y/N) holds his chin with their hand and grazes their fingers against his injury, their touch slow and careful as they apply some antibiotic over and around it. They then slide an eye patch on him and assumedly check around for any more bruises, based on the feeling of their hands grazing against his torso, arms, and neck. "The ice pack's in the bag -- Remember to throw it in the freezer when you get home." They touch his chest again, even more gentle this time. "So..." He notices some hesitance when they pull their hand back. "You're not hurt anywhere else?"

He shakes his head, words caught in his throat.

"Alright, but don't look yet."

Doing as told, Sans waits for whatever comes next. He stays still and stiff, until he feels their lips brush close to his eye socket, where they lay a soft, ticklish kiss at. They do the same with his other one and finish it off by kissing his nose cavity.

"Now you can."

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

...

......

🌋🔥💥 ANNOYING NOTICE TIME 💥🔥🌋

So, here's a summary of all the events happening this month, which will affect Fairytale Complex's update schedule in various ways:

1. I will be rewriting all my other fics that aren't FaiCom, since I'm pretty darn happy and proud of the new writing style I've developed with this fanfic, and so I want to implement it into my older stories (with the exception of the Tom Nook x Reader one -- I'm rewriting that one despite being recent because it started off as a wild, 3 am energy project after finishing with finals, but then I actually had way more fun than I originally anticipated, so I'll be turning it into a long fic just like this one, lol). This means FaiCom will be taking a short, 1 to 2 week break after Arc 2 (Chapter 25) ends, to dedicate some time to all 4 of these stories.

2. I'm taking extracurricular classes/hobby workshops this summer, so I need to tweak my schedule again. This means FaiCom will be changing its schedule back to the old one, composed of weekly updates on Mondays, Wednesdays, and/or Fridays.

3. As mentioned previously, Pride Month is here, so I'll be making some one-shots and drabbles related to it, meaning updates might be slightly less frequent this month. BUT, a good majority of them are FaiCom related ones (and they will be posted on a different book to avoid conflicting with regular updates, too). More on that later on!

• • •

Tag List (Comment or message me if you want to be added to [or removed from] it!)

@the-simp-express

@nektotersh

@disastrous-l0vebug

@therealchickenjoe

@mintyflakes025

@pandaquick

@timelock97

@candle-creeps

@paperb9gs

@merak0

#sans x reader #undertale x reader #lgbt #lgbt themes #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #mother reader #father reader #parent reader #chubby reader #long fic #romcom #adventure #mystery #platonic relationships #slow burn

[ayellowbirds]

33 Usher Street chapter one script, First Draft

I’m planning to go back and do a major revision on this, but i wanted to share what i have for the time being! This was part of last years NaNoWriMo project, about Jewish (and otherwise) vampire hunters in an alternate history 1920s, including a transgender golem and an intersex dhampir as the joint protagonists.

What follows is an unfinished draft of a comic script intended for my own reference as the artist. Some art directions are absent, intended to be filled in later; or reflected a lack of a particular concern about how the panel looked.

Questions and comments are welcome! I’d love to get some other folks’ ideas about what needs changing. Please excuse any formatting issues! This didn’t copy-paste so well.

Italics outside of quotation marks indicate art directions and page layout.

[Square brackets] indicate sound effects (SFX), signage, captions, or other non-bubbled matters of lettering.

“Quotation marks” indicate speech bubbles.

1. Three panel page.

1.1. Full-width view of a bus (reference 1920s buses) puttering along beneath and above autumn leaves.

[CAPTION: September 24, 1923]

1.2. A thick black full-width border. Repeated on the following pages at full-width size, same height, to be indicated as BORDER

[BORDER: SFX: Bus engine chugging]

1.3. Interior of bus. Driver, assorted passengers, and towards the rear, SOLOMON “SOL” SZOMBATHY. He is a slight young man in a jacket and oversized “Oxford bags”,. His hair is thick, black, and curly (3B type); his features Ashkenazic but on the darker side. He holds a plain-looking wooden cane. Behind him, occupying the last row of seats, is a long, coffin-like box or chest, sealed with rope or cord.

2. Six panels.

2.1. A close-up of Solomon. He seems lost in thought, leaning against the bus window.

2.2. [BORDER: SFX: THUMP!]

2.3. The bus bumps, Sol is jolted upwards.

2.4. Sol settles, squeans emanating. 

2.5 Sol looks out the window.

2.6 Exterior, the wooded roadside. A sign reads: [WELCOME TO Jackson, Mass. EST. 1842]. Perhaps the bus is visible here, chugging past the sign.

3. Six panels.

3.1. The bus stop. Perhaps a sign indicating that’s what it is. The bus has stopped.

Driver: “JaaaAAACKson station!”

3.2. A tail extends from the speech bubble from the previous panel, to overlay the BORDER. Driver: “Last stop!”

3.3. Passengers exiting the bus. Sol is lifting the box.

3.4. Same as 3.3, with more movement ahead of Sol. He is pulling the box, struggling. 

3.5. Same as 3.3, the bus now empty of other passengers. The driver is standing, impatiently watching Sol. Sol is half-way down the aisle, perspiring with effort.

3.6. Same as 3.3, Sol finally exiting the bus, with his box.

Driver: “That everything?”

4. Two panels

4.1. Sol, wiping sweat with a kerchief.

SOL: “Yes, thank you. And—”

4.2. As in 3.2, a tail extends from the previous bubble into the BORDER, which fades from black to white.

SOL, stylized as the chapter title : “Can You Tell Me The Way To Usher Street?”

[Credits:

A 33 Usher Street story

Written and Illustrated by K.P.S. Roman Religious Consultation by Quell Nessuno]

5. Six panels. Wide, double, double, border.

5.1. Sol, walking along a Jackson street, dragging the box behind him on wheels and hoisting his cane over his shoulder. The city is sparsely populated in spite of its size; apartment buildings and businesses line the streets, but there are few people visible. The buildings have the sagging, unsettled look of those built on swampland.

5.2. More of Sol, rounding a corner and excusing himself past some locals, including ADRIAEN TEN BOOM, a stogie between his lips.

Sol: “Pardon me!”

5.3. Sol, looking up at a street sign for the corner of [MARSH ST] and [WASHINGTON ST]. A car putters past. WILHEMINA FAWKES is in the driver’s seat.

5.4. Sol continues past some kids playing marbles. He’s starting to visibly sweat. An older black man [ALEISTER JONES] watches the game from a stoop, his gloved hand resting on his cheek.

5.5. Sol, stopping at another corner. A conspicuously incognito figure [CONSTANCE WRIGHT] watches from behind a newspaper. A sledgehammer leans against her side.

Sol: “Ah!”

5.6. BORDER, Sol’s speech bubble extends from 5.5.

Sol: “Here we are!”

6. 

6.1. The sign for the corner of [WASHINGTON ST] and [USHER ST]

6.2. Sol moves a bit more speedily down the street, indicated by hites. PLUTON, a large black cat with only one eye watches.

6.3. Sol, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, exhaling a panting puff. Pluton is visible following behind at a distance.

Sol: “Let’s see…”

6.4. Sol looks up at the numbers of the buildings. He passes the unremarkable numbers twenty-one and twenty-three. Pluton cocks his head.

6.5. BORDER. Sol’s speech bubble tails from 6.3. 

Sol: “Number... Thirty-Three?”

6.6. Sol stops before a row of thorny bushes. The speech bubble trails from 6.5. Pluton is posed as if looking around the tail of the speech bubble, to see Sol.

Sol: “Oh!”

7. 

7.1. Sol, standing before 33 Usher Street. The building is assembled from a mix of newer construction and old ruins with the masonry at diagonals to each other, as if someone happened upon the leaning remains of a graystone castle and chose to join it together in red brick. The 33 is quite large and visible on the exterior of the building, and a less-legible sign hangs beneath it.

7.2: BORDER, a caption (Sol): “There it is.”

8.

8.1. A close-up of the sign beneath the 33 from 7.1. It now more clearly reads: [USHER STREET HOUSE OF ANTIQUITIES AND CURIOS]

8.2. BORDER. A speech bubble trails down to 8.3.

Sol: “That wasn’t... so hard to find... after all.”

8.3. Sol walks up the path, while Pluton, indicated by tracing lines, bounds up into the building out of Sol’s view and onto a windowsill. He has set down the box.

9.

9.1. Pluton, pausing at an open window, looks out imperiously at the approaching Sol. 

9.2. Interior of the room from 9.1. A view from the back of JAMES “JIM” CULLOCK III. The room is full of talismans, wards, and assorted scraps of paper framed upon the walls.

Jim: “Yes, that would be him.”

9.3. A hand [that of MARIE BOSLEY] sets a Victrola to play.

Marie: “I’ll leave the interview to you, then.”

9.4. A partial view. Pluton bounds down into the room. Enough of Marie is visible that she can be seen cranking the Victrola. Jim appears to be fussing at something invisible on his sleeve.

Jim: “If you’re certain.”

9.5. [BORDER: SFX: the opening lyrics of Marion Harris’s “After You’re Gone”]

9.6. Jim’s feet descending the stairs.

10.

10.1. Deliberate parallel to 9.6. Sol coming up to the front door. The lyrics of the music continue from 9.5, and there on until otherwise indicated.

10.2. Sol’s hand raised, to the door, there is a simple bronze door knocker.

 10.3. [BORDER: SFX: KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.]

10.4. Sol waits at the door.

10.5. Same framing as 10.4; Sol looks back at the box.

10.6. Sol looks back at the door, anxious, patting his head with his kerchief. 

11.

11.1. The door swings open. Inside stands Jim. A tall, older white man with the slender yet solid look of a longtime dancer or a runner, clad in two parts of a mismatched three-piece suit: striped trousers under a diamond-patterned vest, with bow tie. His hair is close-cropped, styled fashionably, and streaked with gray.

Jim: “Good afternoon...”

11.2. BORDER. A trailing tail from Jim’s line in 11.1.

Jim: “...young man.”

11.3. Sol holds out a crumpled envelope.

Sol: “The Rev. Dr. Hammer sent me, sir?”

11.4. Jim takes the letter in his left hand.

11.5. Jim looks at the letter.

11.6. Jim tosses the letter over his shoulder, smiling.

Jim: “James Cullock III, son.”

12.

12.1. Jim, extending his right hand to shake.

Jim: “But, call me Jim.”

12.2. Sol, returning the handshake.

Sol: “Sir, my name’s Solomon.” 

12.3. BORDER. 

Jim: “Mr. Grundy, then?”

12.4. Sol looks tired of this joke already.

Sol: “No, sir. I was born on a Saturday.”

12.5. Jim laughs

Jim: “You’re the right one, alright!”

12.6. Jim motions Solomon in.

Jim: “Come in, Mr. Szombathy, and have a seat.”

13. Three panels, the top full-width but narrow, as is the border: the main action is 13.2.

13.1. The foyer of 33 Usher St. The room is set up for greeting visitors and entertaining, and Sol is already seated opposite Jim. 

13.2. Full view of Solomon, seated and without his coat. He is wearing a tight-fitting sweater, giving him the silhouette of a paintbrush when paired with his trousers.

NOTE: Use the antiquated “Rumania” spelling whenever it appears on the page.

[CAPTION: Solomon “Sol” Szombathy Age: 20

Born: 10/31/1903

Hometown: Pittsburgh, Vandalia

Background: Hungarian/Rumanian Jewish, First Generation American

Likes: Science Fiction & Fantasy Magazines, spicy foods, cooking. 

Dislikes: Running, swimming, high noon.]

13.3. BORDER. 

Jim: “So, Solomon Szombathy. I understand from my old friend Matteus—he wired me here before you arrived—that you have had quite a remarkable encounter, of late.”

14. Reversal of 13.

14.1. BORDER.

Sol: “Just so, sir. I am told it is within your area of expertise?”

14.2. Full view of James, seated and with his legs crossed.

[CAPTION: James “Jim” Cullock III

Age: 56

Born: 2/18/1867

Hometown: Roan Mountain, Nickajack.

Background: Scottish-American

Hobbies: Gardening, Morning Constitutionals

Profession: Antiques, Estate Management, ???]

Jim: “By which you mean…”

14.3. Pluton enters the room.

Pluton: “Miaou.”

15.

15.1. Sol watches as Pluton approaches.

Sol: “Vampires, sir. A vampire. Just the one.”

15.2. Pluton inspects Sol, who is now focused on Jim.

Jim: “You have no need to worry about being doubted on that subject here, Mr. Szombathy.”

15.3. BORDER.

Sol: “Ah, yes. Dr. Hammer told me that you are in the business of…?”

15.4.

Jim: “Formally, the Usher Street House of Antiques and Curios is in the business of the management of estates belonging to those who passed without clearly defined wills, or without leaving behind heirs to manage their estates.”

15.5. Pluton approaches Jim.

Jim: “Informally, better say genuinely, we are in the business of public health. To deal with the threat of vampires to the general public.”

16.

16.1. Pluton settles down at Jim’s feet.

Jim: “Tell me, what are your opinions on the morality and ethics of vampirism?”

16.2

Sol: “Well, in my father’s collection, there was a commentary on the Sefer Hasidim, which says that a person who must consume the blood of another human being… should be pitied, for it is in her nature and her needs to survive, and if she should make recompense to her victim, should be treated with compassion as a member of the community.”

16.3 BORDER

Sol: “But that’s regarding a living vampire, what some call an estrie, and the exceptions made for one who must violate kashrus for the sake of pikuach nefesh. And Eleazar Rokeach said that one should stop up the mouth of a deceased estrie, to prevent her from feasting on the living, after death.”

16.4

Sol: “From a strictly Halakhic standing, it is permissible for the living to eat as they must to remain living, but the deceased are deceased, and are forbidden to do so.”

16.5 

Sol: “So, I think that, ultimately, it depends on the circumstances, case by case. It requires careful but decisive investigation.”

16.6. Jim, close-up, a scrutinizing gaze.

Jim: “But Mr. Szombathy, you are not solely the books you read.”

17.

17.1. BORDER.

Jim: “What was your experience with a vampire? How do you feel about the morals and ethics?”

17.2.

Sol: “I… my family lived in Pittsburgh, you see. Since I was born.”

17.3. 

Sol: “My mother had been pregnant, just newly so, when they came here, from the old country.”

Jim: “Which…?”

Sol: “Transyvlania. In Rumania.”

17.4. Sol is in silhouette in the foreground. We see KÁLMAN SZOMBATHY, a Hungarian Jewish man nearing middle age. 

Sol: “My father—he was always very learned. In many ways. And he had acquaintances, friends, contacts? Who knew….”

17.5. Sol, younger, looking out the window at his father, who is outside with a candle in hand at night.

Sol: “Strange things. Secrets. Mysticism.”

17.6. Sol, a bit older, looking at his father examining a book. A diagram of the sefirot is visible—ish-style, or yosher?

Sol: “I saw so much of it, growing up. I didn’t think it was strange.”

18.

18.1. Sol, almost his present age, sitting by the window with a book, while his father talks with some baalei shem.

Sol: “Just… another thing we didn’t talk about with go—gentiles.”

Jim: “Like this… golem?”

18.2. The golem, standing with toddler Sol. It looks more lumpy and vaguely defined than when we see it later.

Sol: “Yes. It was around before I was born. Like a caretaker or guardian. A nanny.”

18.3. Sol sitting, reading a book aloud. His narration is not bubbled, but bleeds into the scenery.

Sol: “I would talk to it. Just… talk to it. My parents, my father only told it what to do.”

18.4. Sol looking up at the golem.

Sol: “And you may think it silly, sir, but sometimes, I thought that it spoke back.”

18.5. The golem looking down at Sol.

Jim: “Golems are said to be mute, are they not?”

18.6.

Sol: “So I am told.”

19.

19.1. A bedridden person.

Sol: “This summer, people started taking ill. A doctor came to visit, every one. But people just got worse. Wasting away.”

19.2. A doctor at the door, tipping his hat. He looks flushed, and has a distant expression.

Sol: “My parents had boarders. Renting rooms. And the doctor, the physician, came to call on one.”

19.3. Kálman stopping the golem, which seems determined to approach the “doctor” and has an upset expression.

Sol: “The golem kept… my parents said it was menacing him.”

19.4. Sol’s mother, DOINA URS-SZOMBATHY, shooing the golem from a door. Doina is about the same age as Kálman, with darker features.

Sol: “And it happened, the same day, that the Reverend Doctor Hammer was visiting. Resting, from traveling. He knew my father, somehow. The golem had been bothering him, too. Trying to push him around.”

Jim: “Hm.”

19.5. Sol, looking down.

Sol: “Which I guess is why he didn’t notice the physician was actually undead.”

19.6. Sol’s parents, reclining on a couch, resting their heads against one another. The shadow of the vampire looms over them.

Sol: “Which was why my parents thought it safe to rest, as well.”

20.

20.1.

Sol: “My parents—they were in the other room, you see. They had left the golem with me. Because it kept bothering everyone. Getting in the way.”

20.2.

Sol: “I guess the vampire got greedy, though. It came into my room. I was reading.”

20.3. The vampire reaching for Sol, who looks shocked. It is an upiór type, with a sharp, barbed tongue instead of fangs.

Sol: “I only realized what it was, up close. Too late for my parents.”

20.4. The golem’s clay fist swings at the vampire, sending it sprawling.

Sol: “But not too late for me.”

20.5. The vampire is sent flying across the room, slamming into the wall.

20.6. The Rev. Dr. MATTEUS HAMMER, a wild-eyed trans man of mixed Scandanavian and indigenous heritage, with a shock of white hair, in his pajamas and brandishing a sword and pistol.

Sol: “The fight woke up Dr. Hammer.”

21.

21.1. Splash of Hammer shooting the vampire in the heart. 

[CAPTION: THE REVEREND DOCTOR MATTEUS J. HAMMER

Age: Like, So Old

Born: A Man, In Spite Of What The Nurse Said Hometown: Tarrytown, NY

Background: Finnish/Swedish-American and Lenape, He’s Pretty Sure Fears: God And Nawt Else, Also Centipedes

Enjoys: Fresh-Baked Bread]

21.2. The golem stands between Hammer and Sol, protecting Sol.

22.

22.1.  Hammer looking over Sol.

Sol: “The Reverend Doctor, he checked me over. Asked me a lot of questions about what happened. About me.”

22.2. 

Sol: “Checked everyone else, too. Everyone who... survived.”

22.3. 

Sol: “And he told me… all things considered, I should come here.”

22.4. Jim, pensive.

Jim: “To report on your experiences? I’m sorry for what you’ve gone through, your loss, but….”

22.5. Sol, surprised.

Sol: “No, sir. He sent me here for me to seek employment.”

22.6. BORDER.

Sol: “As stated in the letter you dropped upon the ground.”

23.

23.1. Jim, flushed, looks at the envelope.

23.2. Jim, bends over to pick up the letter.

23.3. He dusts it off.

23.4. He opens the envelope.

23.5. He begins to read.

23.6. BORDER Hammer: “Dear Jim. Give the lad a job. Do something about the golem. Remember: that matter in Chattanooga. Or I will tell Marie. Sinc. The Rev. Dr. Matteus J. Hammer.”

24.

24.1.

Jim: “Well, then I suppose that this is an employment interview, although....”

24.2. Jim sighs through his nose.

24.3. BORDER.

Jim: “Chattanooga, eh?”

24.4. Jim: “In that case, we had best find the best place for you.”

24.5.

Jim: “Let me explain a bit more about what we do here.”

24.6.

Jim: “Through a number of agents, contacts, and former customers, we are apprised of events that may require our attention. Our more ordinary business provides both cover and funding for this.”

25.

25.1. Jim, facing Sol, sidelong view.

Jim: “We employ both in-office experts, and traveling agents who visit locations where vampirism is believed to be at play.”

25.2. Sol, headlong view.

Jim: “What qualifies you to act in the field, rather than from behind a desk?”

25.3. BORDER. Sol’s speech trails to .4.

Sol: “Well, sir, as a dhampir,”

25.4. Jim, headlong view. Two ghosts are visible, framing him: RODERICK and MADELINE USHER. They are the spirits of two young WASPs nearly identical in appearance, with large eyes, wild fine hair, and aquiline noses, clad in shrouds.

Sol: “I can see the dead.”

26.1. Roderick and Madeline notice Sol is looking at them.

Jim: “...”

26.2. Roderick waves coyly at Sol. Madeline seems disinterested.

Jim: “You would be far from the first to claim that you are able to see the unseen. Do you have any proof?”

26.3. 

Sol: “Outside of the word of Dr. Hammer…?”

Jim: “If you please.”

26.4. Jim, an eyebrow cocked.

Sol: “I don’t suppose you know that you have twin siblings hovering in the air around your study?”

26.5. Jim looks up at Roderick.

26.6. Jim looks up at Madeline.

27.1. 

Jim: “You will, I trust, forgive my skepticism. Even in this trade, there is always room for incredulity.”

27.2. Jim lets out a puff of a sigh.

27.3.

Jim: “I myself have found that what one sees is not always what is.”

27.4. A view of Sol, from Jim’s perspective. Sol and the room are crawling with transparent insects of imaginative and unnatural anatomy. Take care to note that they are only visible on surfaces of a solid, continuous color.

27.5. BORDER.

Sol: “Do you find that very often?”

27.6. Jim, looking weary, dusts one ‘bug’ off the table.

Jim: “For many a year.”

28.

28.1.

Jim: “But, here, you said that you were a dhampir! How comes that to happen?”

28.2. Sol, obviously embarrassed.

Sol: “In the usual manner, sir.”

28.3. BORDER.

Jim: “Which is to say, one of your parents—your birth parents—was a vampire?”

28.4.

Sol: “My mother’s first husband. After his death. My father, I suppose, my stepfather, was his brother.”

28.5.

Jim: “My condolences.”

28.6. Sol, holding the cane tightly.

Sol: “I don’t think of it much. It wasn't his fault.”

29.

29.1. Jim stands up abruptly.

Jim: “Quite! Not his fault. Not his fault. The majority of vampires—people want someone to blame, you know?”

29.2. Jim begins to walk out the door, motioning ‘come here’ to Sol. Pluton perks up.

Jim: “But a vampire—follow after, won’t you?—is not really a someone. It’s a something.”

29.3. Jim walks outside towards the box, Sol and Pluton following.

Jim: “Are you familiar with the association of vampirism with cases of tubercular consumption in Connecticut?”

29.4. Jim has reached the box and is inspecting it, leaning over it.

Sol: “That there was some similarity, but that the word ‘vampire’ was not used?”

29.5. Jim circles the box. 

Jim: “Well, the papers used it—here, how do we open this—though the locals did not.”

29.6. BORDER.

Sol: “Open it, sir?”

30.

30.1. Jim, gesturing at the box. 

Jim: “This is the golem in here, is it not?”

30.2. Sol, hesitant. In the background, RANDOLPH CARTER appears in the doorway, startled. Reference HP Lovecraft, naturally.

Sol: “Yes, but—” 30.3. Carter rushes up, waving the letter from Hammer in his hand.

Randolph: “Mister Cullock! James! I can see what you mean to do and—this is folly of unfathomably cyclopean proportions!”

30.4. BORDER.

Randolph: “The letter from Matteus Hammer is entirely explicit in its brevity, this container is as an inscrutable Hebraic box of Pandora!”

30.5. Jim, gesturing bemusedly to Randolph.

Jim: “Ah, Mr. Szombathy. Allow me to introduce our Rare Books Expert, Mr. Randolph Carter.”

31.

31.1. Carter looks down at Sol.

[CAPTION: RANDOLPH CARTER Age: Younger than he looks, really.

Born: 8/20/1874

Hometown: Some Nameless New England Town

Expertise: Ancient Tomes, Forgotten Lore, Adjectives

Hangups: Xenophobia, Icthyophobia, Anglophilia]

31.2. Carter nods at Sol in greeting, ignoring Sol’s offered handshake.

Randolph: “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Szombathy.”

31.3. Carter whips his head around (speed lines!) back to Jim.

Randolph: “I really must protest, James!”

31.4. BORDER Randolph: “The golem acted without instruction, in a violent and destructive manner according to its inhuman whims!”

31.5. BORDER, again. The text is less contained within the bubble.

Randolph: “It is a lifeless husk animated by eldritch secrets, which has demonstrated a readiness to cause harm!”

31.6. BORDER, once more. The text is almost overtaking the space, no longer contained in a bubble.

Randolph: “It is every bit the arcane monstrosity that we are employed to eliminate, an idiot half-form!”

32. The thickest BORDER panel so far, over a three panel of one full width over two half-widths.

32.1. BORDER. A single, solid, centered speech bubble, trailing down.

Jim: “Enough.”

32.2. Jim, over the box, holding a pair of gardening shears to the ropes binding it.

32.3. The severed ropes falling, in view of Sol.

Jim: “Mr. Szombathy; I should like to employ you. But after hearing your story, I suspect that you are but one part of what the stores would call a ‘package deal’.”

32.4. Jim opening the box, viewed from as if within.

Jim: “Would you mind if I were to awaken it?”

33.

33.1. Sol, looking resolute, with Carter looking horrified behind.

33.2. Repeat of 33.1, but with Sol nodding, Carter faint with terror.

Sol: “Please do, Mr. Cullock.”

33.3. A full view from above of the golem in the box. It is squared and inanimate, eyes shut and form even more vague than in the flashback. Pluton bounds into panel.

33.4. BORDER, more gray than black, now.

Jim: “Please, call me Jim.”

34.

34.1. Jim reaches into his pocket and pulls out a strip of paper. Pluton appears in the corner.

Jim: “Matteus had sent this ahead, as well.”

34.2. He holds it up for Sol and Carter to see. An א is visible, but the rest is concealed by the curl of the paper.

Jim: “I take it this is the ‘sacred words under the tongue’ type of golem, rather than the ‘אמת’ variety?”

34.3. Sol, confused.

Sol: “Yes, s—Jim.”

34.4. Jim, looking contemplative and holding the strip absently.

Jim: “I wonder. Was the golem silent for fear of spitting out the paper?”

Sol: “Eh?” 34.5. BORDER. Still gray.

Jim: “I would keep mum, myself, if my continued animation depended upon something held under my tongue.”

34.6. Jim’s hand pressing a tiny hole into the clay. Pluton is looking over the edge of the box.

Jim: “Just like planting a seed, hm?”

35.

35.1. Jim’s hand swipes over the hole, sealing it by pushing clay back over.

Jim: “There, now—”

35.2. BORDER, but with the image of ‘eyes opening’, slightly, in white.

35.3. BORDER as 35.2, but wider. Jim, Sol, Pluton, and Carter coming into view.

35.4. BORDER as 35.3, wider. Jim, Sol, Pluton, and Carter in full view.

35.5. Same panel width as 35.2-4, but a full, unshaded panel of Jim, Sol, Pluton, and Carter.

36.

36.1. The golem sits up, form still vague, androgynous. Carter shocks, Jim smiles, Sol looks nervous, Pluton is deadpan and does not move from looking over the edge of the box.

Jim: “How is that?”

36.2. The golem looks at Jim. Everyone’s expressions are the same as 36.1.

Jim: “Can you try speaking, now?”

36.3. The golem, closeup, mouth open slightly.

36.4. Same as 36.3.

Golem: “C’n try… speaking.”

36.5. Now Sol is shocked, too.

36.6. Same as 36.5.

Sol: “He can talk?”

37.

37.1. The golem, frowning.

Golem: “...can.”

37.2. Sol and Carter, even more shocked. 

Randolph: “M-mimicry?”

37.3. The golem gives a headshake.

Golem: “Nuh-uh.”

37.4. The golem’s gaze shifts in the direction of Sol.

Golem: “Why… c-call me….”

37.5. The golem, looking down.

Golem: “He?”

37.6. Sol looks as though he has realized; unlit lightbulb? Carter is fizzling smoke from his noggin.

38.

38.1. Repeat of 37.6. More smoke from Carter, lit lightbulb on Sol.

Sol: “You’re a girl!”

38.2. The golem nods.

38.3.

Sol: “I’m so sorry, I never realized—you looked like a boy, so?”

38.4. The golem, puzzled.

Golem: “...looked?”

38.5. The golem starts to push out of the box.

Sol: “Of course, I should know, appearances and all, but—”

39. 

39.1. The golem starts to rise from the box, form changed towards a more definite shape.

39.2. Continuing from 39.1, more and more defined, more and more upright. 

39.3. Fully upright, fully defined as feminine. Dotty as per concept art.

39.4. The golem, in full view, looking down at herself while Jim, Sol, Pluton, and Carter are gathered around.

Golem: “Be...tter?”

40. Four quarter-width panels, one full, two half-width.

40.1. Jim, smiling.

Jim: “Quite so.”

40.2. Sol, beaming.

Sol: “Amazing!”

40.3. Pluton, feline.

Pluton: “Miau.”

40.4. Carter, stunned.

Randolph: “Transmogrification!?”

40.5. The golem, smiling.

40.6. Jim, Sol, Pluton, Carter.

Jim: “And how should we call you, Miss…”

40.7. The golem, thinking.

Golem: “D…”

41.

41.1. The golem, DOROTHEEA “DOTTY” SZOMBATHY, smiling, her speech bubble forming the CAPTION:

[Dorotheea Szombathy But you c’n call me Dotty!

Age: I dunno, like eight’r nine months older’n Sol?

Birthdate: I guess February of 1903? It was Tu B’shvat, I think.

I love helpin’ Sol, and all kinds of toys and games! My clay came from Horezu, but I was born in Bran! That’s in Transylvania, you know? The one in Rumania, not Usonia]

41.2. A view from behind Dotty as she continues talking. Jim and Sol look dumbfounded, Carter is letting out smoke from both ears and his eyes have rolled all the way back in his head.

Dotty: “I was asleep on the boat to Usonia, but someday I wanna try riding it while I’m awake….”

Jim: “Oh, she certainly can talk.”

Sol: “יא”

42. END page of “Can You Tell Me The Way To Usher St?”

42.1. CAPTION: 

[סוף.]

42.2. A bubble of Dotty.

Dotty: “Say, c’n I wear clothes now?”

#33 usher street #my writing

[voltagesmutter]

Love Letter From The Baddest Bidder

Crossover between Love Letter From Thief X and Kissed By The Baddest Bidder - Mitsu x OC

Originated from a request about OC falling for a bidder, who also falls her and how OC gets jealous from him going on a date with another. Flicking from different POV’s and first to third person.

Pairing - Mitsunari Baba x OC (Bella)

Warning: Strong language, NSFW And Smut, 

Word count: 8.5K

Mitsunari Baba:

Womanizer

Noun: A man who engages in numerous casual sexual affairs with women.

If you looked up womanizer in the dictionary, an image of Mitsunari Baba would appear next to it.

Mitsunari Baba was a world class thief, not only at stealing paintings and valuable items but also at the hearts of women. His cheeky grin, the tip of fedora and a smooth flirtatious line and he would have you buckling at the knees. His charming charisma, his light hazel eyes you often found yourself getting lost in, the teasing lines he would chuckle just to watch your cheeks flush. Everything about him was perfect, it was soon clear to you why he was such a hit with the ladies, flirtatious words rolled off his tongue like a fluent first language. He could charm the pants of anyone. And that is why you kicked yourself for falling for the devilish gentleman. 

You're doing it again, your inner voice scolding you as you found yourself once again watching the brunette as you lingered at the bar.

“Stare anymore and you’ll go blind,” A friendly voice, a familiar scent lingered beside you, Riki taking the free seat next to you.

“I’m not staring!” You poured, turning your attention from the back of the man, twirling the tumbler in your hand, eyes now focusing on the clear liquid in front of you, gin was always your go to. 

“Really? Because all night I’ve seen you gawping at that brute and after what I just witnessed...” Riki smirked, causing you to roll your eyes. 

“He’s not a brute!” You protested, watching as the ice in your drink began to melt away, “You only say because you don’t like him”. Riki scoffed at your words.

“I don’t trust him, there’s a difference, I don’t trust anyone of them, that no good thief or that mafia guy, especially not Eisuke,” You missed the glare in Riki’s eyes. 

“Then why are we even here Riki?” You questioned, picking up your glass and knocking back the remains of your drink.

“Business is business darlin, regardless if we get along or not,” He hummed in response, following your actions and throwing back the single finger measurement of whisky in his glass. Your eyes lingered the back to the brown hair, watching as he leaned forward and whispered something into the petite, jade-eye girl, her head thrown back in fits of laughter. Wishing it was you in her place.

You and your merry band of thieves were currently residing in ‘The Tres Spades’ hotel for the evening as part of a mission collaboration with another set of men who called themselves ‘The Bidders’. That was due to the set of five men being part of the black market which was held at the hotel, the events happening unknown to the outside world. This wasn’t your first encounter with the bidders, no that had happened many months ago, you had collaborated with them many times co-siding on missions together. The group bore a striking resemblance to your thieving gang:

You had Eisuke Ichinomiya, often referred to as the king, who was their leader or boss as they called him. Soryu Oh, a leader of the mafia who had a dis-liking for anything feminine of female. Mitsunari Baba, a reckless flirt who was the definition of a womaniser. Ota Kisaki, an artistic prodigy with the traits of the devil. And finally, Mamoru Kishi, a crooked cop although you never actually saw him do any work. 

Each member of your gang resembled one from the bidders: Riki and Eisuke being the leaders, Kenshi and Soryu having a hard time in engaging with conversation especially when it came to women, Atsumu and Mitsunari being the older ‘more mature’ men with a hobby for star signs and fortune telling,  Hiro and Ota being the youngest with playboy attitudes and finally Takuto and Mamoru being the slackers who only found interest in eating and sleeping. The striking resemblance of personalities often clashed causing chaos and arguments amongst the men. 

The glimmer red of your dress coordinated perfectly with his contrasting crimson tie, the shared moment you had not-long ago as the ghosting tease of his lips against yours made your fingertips run over your bottom lip. There was no negotiation, he was going to kiss you outside, the spark you felt with him was purely undeniable, on your half anyway. And yet, he sat only meters away from you, his charming ability working on the next thing he saw with a pulse. You completely forgot about.

The man with the Red Fedora:

Your first time meeting the bidders was… eventful to say the least. It was normal Tuesday night, the gang and you sat around Le Renard Noir, discussing the newest mission.

“So the painting is hanging in the main art gallery of the city, it was stolen from another group of associates, more specifically from Mr.Ichinomiya so we have to work fast to get this back,” Riki stated, pointing to a painting, an image of a man and the art gallery. You watched as they went into intricate details about security and such, Takuto already pulling out his laptop and scanning across a screen of encrypted numbers. Being as helpful as you could be in that moment of time, Takuto practically barked at you when you offered any help, you took the bins from behind the bar and exited the building. Throwing them into the bin, you saw as two cars pulled up, calling out ‘Riki’, no-one came to the bar at this time of night. Watching as the head beams turned off, 3 men emerging from one car as 2 others left the other one.

“Sorry men, but we’re closed,” You yell, standing in the doorway of the bar, all 5 of them sharing a look before walking to you.

“You need to leave,” A harsh voice, followed by a glinting in the moonlight, a pistol being held to you by one of the strangers. He was tall, his hair slicked back and his eyes like cold steel.

“Excuse me?” You hold your hand up to bat away the gun, you work with thieves, you were used to having a gun or two thrown in your face to the point it no longer frightened you.

“Oh this little Koro has balls,” A young man, heavily resembling Hiro only less red and more auburn, laughed as he took a step towards you.

“Sor! Lower the damn weapon,” A friendly voice of the man who you would later come to be infatuated with, “Sorry about him pretty lady, I hope he didn’t scare you,”. The man speaking the words with the fedora took a bold step forward and wrapped an arm around your shoulder as the gun was lowered. 

“Bella is everything okay, Riki sent me out here and I-” Kenshi came bursting out the front door, his eyes narrowing as he saw the group of men, “Oh, it’s you”. Kenshi came outside, pushed the man's arm off of you and pulled you close, “Come on”. He guided you back inside, the men following him. Formal introductions were made to you by the thief's, the bidders here to give an insight into the mission, one of the men amongst them was Eisuke, you recognised his face from the photo Riki had pointed to earlier

“So this is the black fox lady,” Eisuke smirked, as he sat back on the leather sofa as if he owned it, “Quite impressive for your tastes Riki,”. You blinked a few times, wanting to knock that smug-smirk off of his face.

“Don’t be staring at my princess!” Hiro pouted, the redhead coming to your defence as if you were a helpless princess.

“I’m nobodies nothing,” You responded, seeking a safe place to stand behind the bar, “This ‘quite impressive’ lady actually has brains”.

“Hate to admit it but the kids right, she’s got some smartness behind them bambi eyes,” Takuto backs you up before he starts choking on his pork noodles, his face flushing red with embarrassment. Your heart almost stopped at the back-handed compliment, Takuto was never nice to you. 

You poured yourself a drink as the bidders and thieves conversed, your eyes meeting with the gaze of Mitsunari's as he gave a cheeky wink before turning back to the conversation at hand. 

“So the plan is, Bella your our lead, you enter the event of the gala with Ota, Hiro and Mitsu you both act as security guards, Hiro your on the left wing whilst Mitsu you stand guard in the back entrance, Takuto will sort the systems, when the lights go down, I’ll swap the paintings, Bella you secure the real one and leave through the back entrance with Mitsu, Hiro you reassure the room before leaving out this exit here, I’ll follow suit with Hiro, Kenny you bring the van to the back for Bella and Mitsu to jump in, then we’ll meet back here, all clear?” Riki’s voice in a formative tone as he explained the mission in depth. A reassuring nod and murmur from you all follows. 

“So my Koro,” Ota taking your hand in his as he pulls you to the side, “Send me a photo of your dress so we can coordinate, and if you feel like showing me what you’ll be wearing underneath I won’t mind either,”. He throws you a wink and you pull your hand quickly away. One, who or what the fuck is a Koro? Two, another version of Hiro, brilliant, bloody brilliant. A tut from the men behind him, the one named Soryu who pointed the gun at you burned holes into his head with his glare.

“Ota leave the lovely lady alone, I’m so sorry princess,” Mitsunari chuckled, bowing in an apologetic form as Ota left. 

“I’m used to it with Hiro and all, I’m a big girl. I can handle myself Mr.Baba,” You rolling your eyes.

“That I bet you can,” His eyes giving you a glance up and down with a wolfish grin, “Mitsu please”.

“Well Mitsu, it appears your friends are leaving,” Your eyes guesting to the group of bidders now leaving LRN. 

“Alas, until next time my princess,” He pressed a small kiss to your wrist, a blushing form of redness graces your cheeks before he follows the others who left him. 

The night of the mission soon came quickly dressed in your finest evening gowns, you had come to acquire a few due to the nature of your role in the black foxes, hair pinned back in an elegant up do. Ota had matched you with colour down to the tiniest of detail, the grey suit with a lavender tie to match your dress, the same coloured handkerchief folded in his top pocket.  He escorted you with him inside, your arm threaded through his as you held the crook of his elbow, a fake-smile gracing your lips. You were used to doing missions alone, why this annoying brat had to accompany you, you’d never know. He spent the whole evening filled with lewd comments, nicknames referring to Koro, at one point he even joked about having you on all fours and having you follow him around like a master. 

“Bella, 2 minutes to shut off,” Takuto mumbled through the transmitter. 

“You know Koro, that dress looks so good on you, I bet it will look so much better on my bedroom floor,” Ota leaning into whisper in your ear, his breath tickling against your neck.

“Right! A, my name is Bella, not Kiro, B, back the fuck off and C-” You hiss but are cut off from the lights in the building shutting off. 

“Show time,” Riki’s voice flooding your ear piece. You let go of Ota’s arms and make a dash to the area of where the painting you was after was hung. You had exactly 40 seconds for Riki to change the painting and get out to the second exit before the alarms would ring, time was of the essence. It was all going so smoothly, Riki managed to swap them as Hiro distracted the guests, passing you the real painting as you crept to the back exit where Mitsu met you. 

“10 seconds, Bella you need to hurry,”.

Mitsu holding the door open hurriedly tugging you into the abandoned staircase, shutting the door quietly behind you just as the alarms began to sound. The pair of you bolted down the stairs but Mitsu was faster, you tottered behind him in your stilettos, a very poor choice of footwear for a mission. 

“Come on princess,” He stopped, scooped you up in his arms and ran as the sound of the door you had fled from burst open. He held you tight as if you were completely weightless, kicking open the emergency exit and sprinting to the white van where Kenshi and Takuto were waiting. You both scrambled in, Kenny flooring the van as he sped off, the painting secure in your arms. Everything went off without a hitch. 

“To another successful mission,” Riki toasted, each of you joined by the bidders raised a glass in celebration. Ota and Hiro’s glasses both clinked against yours and you shot them both a glare that made them retreat.

“She’s just as feisty as you Sor,” Mitsu chuckled with a hearty laugh, a blush forming on the mobsters face as he tried to brush off the comment. 

As the night went on, you excused yourself to get some fresh air, lighting up a cigarette as you did but a flame of another's got their first, Mamoru's. 

“Thanks,” You say as you inhaled, the smoke sending wafts of relaxation throughout your body, nothing felt better than smoking after a mission. 

“Gotta say kid, the way you put Ota in his place, you know how to stand your ground,” The cop chuckled lightly, smoking exhaling out of his nose.

“You heard?”.

“We all heard, Baba won’t shut up about it, nice to see someone putting the brat in his place,”. You spent longer than you thought outside, engaging in an actual adult conversation with him, it was pleasant to actually have a conversation rather than just being flirted with or teased at. Mamoru looked the same age as Atsumu and so did Mitsu, Mitsu passing as slightly younger. It wasn’t until Mitsu came out, the outline of fedora clear in the shadows that you realised how long you had been gone.

“Princess, there you are!” He chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder like he had done the first night he met you, “Come back inside it’s no fun with just a bunch of guys, I miss your pretty face,”. A blush formed on your cheeks as you let him guide you back inside, you found yourself lowering your guard with him, you always had a thing for men who were older, more mature. You found the rest of your evening heavily gravitated to him, much to the disapproval of the others, the conversation between the pair of you naturally flowing. 

“I must say princess, I don’t understand the whole mission when the true beauty of the evening is sitting right in front of me,” Your eyes falling to meet his gaze, feeling yourself being pulled into that gleaming smile. You knew his type far too well, the womanising flirt but there was something about him, a subtle softness behind it all that kept pulling you back to him. Just as he was about to say something, a whining Riki pulled you away, the strong scent of whisky heavy on his breath.

“She’s miiine,” He whined, rubbing his cheek against your palm as he so often did when he was drunk. 

“Riki, god not again!” You tried to pull your hand away but Riki kept a tight grip on you. 

“No, all of you eyes off her,” He continued to pout, a smirking laughter coming from Eisuke who was clearly enjoying the show. 

“If you ever need a real man, you know where to find me,” Eisuke tilting your chin with his sleek fingertips, dropping a wink to you before pulling back. In all honesty, the only man you could think about was the one you had been previously speaking to, the man with the red fedora. In the end you sat on the sofa, Riki’s head in your lap as you played with his hair with a sigh, every time he drank he became a clinging mess. He had confessed his true feelings to you the last time he was drunk, a slight shock on your behalf as you never imagined Riki would feel something towards you but you were unable to reciprocate his feelings, you wanted a man. You needed a real man. 

Weeks had passed after your mission with the bidders but you still unable to shake the Mitsu from your head, even looking at Atsumu who resembled a close resemblance, brought back the flood of emotions you felt when he had been flirting with you. The gang had tried to warn you of his womanising ways, Kenshi calling him, ‘The older version of Hiro’, but for some ungodly reason that didn’t faze you. No in-fact you saw it as a challenge, you wanted him, you wanted Mitsunari Baba. 

Late Night Texts:

“Are you awake?”.

“Mitsu… it’s 1 a.m.”.

“I just wanted to check you was okay princess,”. 

The smile spread across your face as you re-read the message several times before reminding yourself who exactly was texting you. The others had tried to steer you clear but you found yourself drawn like a magnet to him. A slight fit of laughter as you remembered the first time he messaged you.

“Hey princess!”.

“Hello…?” You hesitantly responded.

“Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten who I am, my heart breaks,”. You couldn’t deny, your first thought went to Ota.

“Please do enlighten me,”. The next text to follow was a red fedora and your heart raced.

“Mitsu, how did you even get my number?”.

“A gentleman never tells,”.

“A gentleman also doesn’t text without asking for a lady's number,”. 

“You got me there princess,” You could almost hear his laughter through the text. 

“But I am also a thief, so that cancels out the gentleman part,”. 

An array of messages were exchanged, subtle flirting and hints could be read between the messages, a flood of excitement coursed through you. 

“Well yes, I got home safe so thank you,” You responded, kicking off your heels and settling down into bed. Another meeting mission with the bidders, this time something to do with a bunch of items being stolen and sold at the black market in “The Tres Spades’. 

“Was really nice to see you again, next time don’t leave it so long,”. You were just about to respond with a goodnight when another message came through, double texting so needy.

“Did you know, Leo and Capricorns make for an interesting match,”.

“Really now?”.

“Really, it’s almost like the stars are aligned,”. 

No stop, you thought to yourself to not reply, he was a womaniser, all these smooth lines were just part of his game to get you into bed. But what if there not? What if the man is generally interested in you? But before you could reply another message came through. 

“Goodnight princess x”. 

“Goodnight Mitsu”.

----

“Do we have to go?” Takuto groaned, his head pressed against the wooden table.

“Mr.Ichinomiya invited us as guests, we can’t just not go,” Riki tutted, “Besides we need to scout out the investors who got ahold of the Da Vinci painting,”. This was to do with the meeting from a few days ago, the plan for tonight was to mingle with other bidders from the black market, trying to suss out who stole and brought the painting to the market. 

“Come on it won’t be that bad,” You smiled, running your hands down to flatten the dress you had chosen to wear. It was red, the same red Mitsu wore, a plunging neckline and clung to every curve of your body. 

Leo:

Mitsu was a man of many words, he knew the words of ‘love’ better than English. Only he thought he did, until he met her. Bella, an enchantress, a siren, a beautiful woman who made him lose all his cool. Sure he got about, abit, at one point he had a different lady on his arm every night. But what's the harm in having a bit of fun? Especially since he’ll never love again, no love was out of the question, love got him burned in the past and he would be damned if it ever happened again. But for one night with her, even if it was purely talking, he would throw his new-day-new-fling attitude away forever. She was different, there something about her that purely intrigued him: was it that she blushed at his subtle flirting instead of throwing herself at him like every other woman, was it her dont-fuck-with-me attitude like how she had dealt with Ota, was it that when he had an actual conversation with her she had gotten so last in her passionate talks that she spoke for a solid 30 minutes on art and it’s beauty, was it that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen; a pocketful of sunshine bursting with personality, or was it purely because she was a woman, not a young model who he always lusted after. Yes whilst clearly a young woman, the young age of 24, she wasn't an ‘aspiring actress’ with daddy issues he always found himself with. No, Bella, she was a lady and Mitsu wanted to make her his lady.

The text that sent between him, the hinting flirts from both sides, he found himself feeling like a school-boy with a crush, checking his phone every couple of minutes. He found himself no-longer caring for the young scarlets that pounced on him wherever he went, leaching on to the next innocent fool, his mind wandering back off to the blonde he met at LRN. It almost felt like… fate, dare he say it. His horoscope had told him that a new interest would enter his life this month, maybe she was it? It was true, all he needed was a sign. 

The night the black foxes came to the penthouse for a meeting, all wanted to know if she was coming, even being in the same room as him made a light buzz tingle across his body. Was he nervous? No, surely not, Mitsunari did not get nervous. But then his mind wandered to how delicate she really was, that slight vulnerability as she let her guard down with him, no-harsh pretences or words, just rays of that spellbinding laugh that enticed him even future. Secretly praying she would come, he put on his finest fedora, just in-case. 

He felt himself smile when he saw her follow the others in, but it dropped when he saw Riki’s arm gently holding over her forearm in a reassuring manner. He disliked the boy, partially because he saw his younger self in him, he definitely dis-liked the way he caught him looking at her. The night after the mission, Riki pulled her away from his gaze, he had believed the two were a couple from the words of claim but her every eye roll, the batting off his words followed by a soft response of ‘Just friends, Riki,’ the meek smile she would throw at him every-time he caught her gaze, told him otherwise. 

She held her confidence as she began to relax, putting tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum in their rightful places once more, power almost radiating off her at her every word. Her aura was a mixture of beautiful colours: fluorescent yellows, illuminating shades of green, deep blues and purples like the ocean and his favourite colour of all, red. After time passed, she joined him in the kitchen as she offered to make coffees, a putting-others above her own needs attitude. 

“Look at us twinning,” She laughed, pointing to her white belt, which was holding her thin black jumper into her jeans. It took a moment for him to release before she gestured to his hat, his white hat. A sign, the sign. That was it, Mitsunari had a full blown crush. 

When they had all left all he wanted to do was ring her to check she got home okay, but he couldn’t do it, it would be too needy he thought. Instead a simple text. ‘The stars aligning’ were not meant to be sent, he typed it before quickly releasing what he was saying and hit send by mistake, god-damn young people technology. 

-----

He physically felt the air from with his lungs being sucked out when she entered Eisuke’s event, the red dress that accentuated every inch of her pale skin, she literally took his breath away. He found himself drawn like a magnet to her throughout the night, like the moon to the earth, finding himself pulled to her. He asserted himself into the conversation when he felt men had been staring too long or getting a bit too close, listening sharply for words for only an adult audience before making his presence known. He wanted to protect her, knowing the real natures and intentions of half the men in the room, but she wasn���t his to protect. His eyes darted across the room when he lost track of her, before the glinting of a red bottomed heel flickered as the owners stepped outside. Red, the colour of his tie, fedora and boxers. 

“Everything alright?” He called out to her, leaning against the doorframe as she rested against the balcony rail, her figure and skin glowing in the basking moonlight. She hummed lightly in response before stretching, turning around to face him across the chiseled-slate floor. 

“Just get a bit tiring, the whole charade,” Her voice soft but changing into an attitude, “And I swear, if I get one more sleaze-ball talking to my breasts I will be kicking some ass”. He chuckled, taking a step towards her, his hands tucking into his slacks pockets.  

“The dress is very… nice,” He choked half-way through his sentence, shit he actually was nervous. Never had he fumbled a flirt, a pick up line or a smooth recovery, his cheeks raging pink with embarrassment and he turned his head slightly to hide it. 

“Thank you, it was a present,” She gave a light twirl with a laugh that sent his knees weak and a pit of happiness inside his stomach. 

“You know we have to stop meeting like this,” He chuckled, her face responded with a quizzical expression, “The colours, the dress, the tie, the hat,”. She let out another laugh and shook her head. 

“You know what they say about two people who wear the same matching colour twice in a row,” She took a step towards him, a small gap now between him, his heart racing slightly as he stared down into her pooling blue eyes.

“And what’s that?” He wanted nothing more than to bring his hand up and rest it against her supple cheek.

“That they have the best fashion,” She teased, bringing her face close to his before tapping his nose and pulling away. “So come on,” She tugged his arm and pulled him to the balcony edge with her, “I have some questions for you on stars”. He answered everything she asked him, his face turned to her as the corner of his lips jerked up whilst he watched her eyes widen at the glistening stars above. 

“And if you look just there,” He pointed up, her eyes squinting and a ‘where’ fell from her lips. He stood behind her, wrapping both arms around hers, using his right to point up, leaning his head on her shoulder so they was eye level, “There”. He felt her shudder slightly as his breath caught against her neck, the rapid beating of her heartbeat against his chest, the crinkling of her eyes as she focused before letting out the purest of gasps. 

“Them aligning stars are the ones that make the Leo symbol,” He softness in his voice as he traced the shape with her hand. 

“It’s beautiful,” She breathless whispered at the constellations above.

“You really are,” His voice in a whisper as she turned to face him, eyes meeting a gaze as their breaths mingled from the closeness, her thick eyelashes closing her blue eyes as she hesitated for a second before leaning in. Mitsu found himself replicating her actions, knees almost giving way as the distance between their lips grew shorter. Just as her flushed lips brushed over his, a cough from behind jerked them both apart, Mitsu turning to see their rude interrupter, Riki. 

The gaze he gave her, she lowered her head before retreating indoors alone, Riki took bounding steps towards him. 

“Why can’t you leave her alone,” He hissed, a slight glare of possession in his eyes.

“She’s a woman, not an object,” Mitsu stood up fully, towering slightly over him.

“And you’ll just use her like one!” Riki retaliated, a growing battle between them. His words stung, like a venomous wound but he knew why the younger male had said it. It was true, Mitsu did often use women for his own pleasure before discarding them, but her, Bella was different. She had a hold on him. His heart that stopped beating so long ago, began to tremble and tighten when he saw her, a racing rhythm he had forgotten the beat off. He wouldn’t say it was love, but it was very close to the feeling. 

“Why are you so jealous of her? Is it because she’s rejected you and you can’t bear to stand the fact she will feel something for someone?” Mitsu knew he struck a nerve when Riki’s jaw twitched and his fists balled.

“She’s too pure for you Mitsunari,” Is where the young politician left the conversation, his words hanging heavy over Mitsu. He knew they were true, he also knew he never stood a chance with her. 

He tried to shake her from his head, the softness of her skin still lingered against his hands where he had held her, her eyes like a galaxy allowing him to get lost. The softness of her lips being the stars, the brief touch that had sent shocks across his spine, the smallest taste of heaven. He watched sitting at the bar in the penthouse, him trying to pull his attention to someone else to try to forget about her, the black-haired scarlet fawning over him as he sat on the sofa. It was a distraction that was barely successful, the flirtatious words rolled off his tongue as he spoke so softly to be met with over-exaggerated laughing and a hand placed on his thigh. He caught the reflection of the woman he wished was next to him in the glass window, Riki once more latched to her side, Mitsu knowing he stood no chance with him around. Before he met her, he would have taken the girl sat next to him straight to his room but now all he could think of was pushing her away and holding the woman he longed for in his arms. 

“So how about it?” The green eyes now in a close proximity bringing him back from his thoughts.

“Hm?”.

“Dinner, tomorrow, I’ve heard so much about you Mitsunari, I’m just dying to hear if the rumours are true,” She purred, running a finger down his chest. He turned to meet Bella’s gaze, but she was no wear to be seen, sneaking out with the faintest of tears after seeing the actions between Mitsu and the girl. His heart dropped to release she had gone, a scowl on Riki’s face as he ran out of the penthouse to follow her. 

“Sure,” He said with a hopeless smile. 

A playboy, a seducer:

“Bella stop,” Sweeping his bangs out of his face as he chased after her. 

“Riki please, just go away,” She yelled back for the seventh time, breath hitching as she had tried to flee so silently.

“Is it because of him,” His words make her stop in her track, turning as the moonlight shined off her pale skin, illuminating her in his path. 

“What if it is Riki?” The glistening tear glinted as it rolled down her cheek.

“He’s not good enough for you,” Riki holding out a hand to stroke her cheek as he stepped forward, she batting his hand away.

“And what? You are? Riki, we’ve been over this again and again, I’m sorry but I don’t the same way,” A plea in her voice that made his heart clench.

“He’s a playboy, a seducer, he doesn’t deserve you,”.

“Maybe I want that!” Her voice was a little louder than she had hoped, “I’m not a child Riki, I know how to handle myself,”. There was a lingering pause of silence between them before Riki finally broke it.

“If he hurts you…” He started but she reached forward and squeezed his hand with a faint smile, a ‘thank you’ gracing her lips. Riki kept his strong poker face as he felt the woman whose smile made his day, slip away from his grasp and longed to be in the arms of another. 

Yellow Ties and Underwear:

You found your feet unable to stop themselves, walking into ‘The Tres Spaces’ the following evening after the party. You could use the excuse that you left something here from last night, but who was you kidding, you were here to see Mitsu. 

“Hi, I wanted to visit the penthouse?” You smiled at the young girl on reception who raised an eyebrow at you, “Tell Mr.Ichinomiya, it’s Bella”. The ring of a phone and a conversation between the girl and who you presumed to be Eisuke, a ‘Yes sir,’ following her voice.

“Here,” She smiled, passing a slicked gold card across the desk and gestured to the lifts. Your knees trembled as you leaned back against the railing as the elevator took you up over 50 flights of stairs, boy did you feel sorry for a maid who worked her. What were you even doing here? What did you think would happen? That’d you just waltz in, see Mitsu sitting on the sofa, stroll over and say “Hey, I really fucking fancy you to the point I can’t get you out of my head”. Brilliant ideas as always Bella. 

Only when the steel-doors opened, there was only one person in the room, Eisuke who was sat crossed legged in a leather arm chair, arms folded with his signature smirk on his face.

“Well, it’s this a nice surprise,” His crisp voice ringing against the marbled walls, making no effort to stand as he beckoned you towards him, “Are you finally here to take up my offer, I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist”. He stood up as you got closer, tracing a fingertip over your arm, “I knew you were trying to get my attention last night and let me tell you,”. His warm hand caressed your shoulder, “You certainly got it,”. He leaned forward, you pushed him back and took a pace backwards, face flushed red.

“M-Mr.Ichinomiya! I apologise if I gave you the wrong impression but I-” You stuttered, flustered as one of the wealthiest men in the city had just made a pass at you, unsure what to say next. He tutted and removed his hand from you, rolling his eyes.

“If you're not here for me, why are you here?” His voice dropping to his normal sternness, eyes heavily watching you as you began to buckle under his gaze. 

“I-I’m here… I’m here to see Mitsu,” You finally blurted after a few moments of silence, Eisuke cocking an eyebrow at your words, the corners of his lips twitching slightly.

“Hey boss, is the yellow too much or is it-” The voice of Mitsu came bursting out of one of the bedroom doors, he came into the room in a navy blue suit, holding up a yellow tie. He stopped in his tracks when he saw you, eyes wandering between you and Eisuke before he mumbled an apology of interrupting you. 

“It's not.. Mitsu I-” Your face was blushing heavily as you stood a step towards him before realising where you were. Eisuke scoffed, held up a hand and retreated into one of the other rooms, leaving you both alone in the silence. 

“Snap?” He chuckled, holding up his tie as he nodded to the yellow bra strap from under your off the shoulder top, laughter knowing replacing the lingering silence. 

“Are you going somewhere?” Your heart slightly pounding at the sheer handsomeness of the man who stood before you.

“Oh, I… kinda… date,” He mumbled off, your heart sinking as you felt a fool, of course he wouldn’t have been interested in you. He played you like a fiddle before moving onto the next woman, whatever strange connection you felt towards him was just part of his womanising persona and you had fallen for it. 

“I should go,” You quickly turned on your heels, feeling like a raging idiot, making a hurried escape but the softness of his voice that called for you, stopped you in your tracks. Turning to face him, the slight ruggedness of his face with a mixture of suppleness, the warming smile that lifted the corners of his mouth, the hazel eyes that peeked with a treacle of honey, the features you found you self gazing at made it feel as if time had stopped. The distance between you feeling a mile apart, silence held between the still of the room as your eyes met. 

“Don’t go on your date,” You meekly whispered, the words falling before you could think about what you said.

“Bella…” His voice low, taking a bounding strike towards you.

“Mitsu…” Your feet moving before you could stop them, finding yourself running almost into his arms, each other's hands placed on the side of your faces as your lips met in a passionate frenzy. Lips working against each other, your bottom lip being sucked against his as heat within you rose, a knotted ball of worry unraveling in your stomach. 

---

“Are you sure about this?” He breathlessly whispered between kisses against your lips, your hands quickly working at shedding his jacket, throwing it into the pit of his room. 

“God yes,” You responded, lips never parting afterwards, no rush, only sweet savouring kisses. Both of you remove articles of clothes in a slow, sensual manner until you both stand in only underwear in-front of each other. Hands running over crescent and dip, burning his touch into your brain as his lips found their way to your neck. Even if you only shared this moment, you wanted it, you needed him. You wanted to experience the epitome of pleasure with him, the desire to be with someone you found yourself unable to shake from your mind, the only thing being on your mind for the past weeks was him, and here he stood, wanting you just as much back. 

Running a hand down his chest, it wasn’t heavily toned but he was in great shape for his age, your fingers fluttering on the edge of his boxers, the press of his hard arousal against your thigh.  Dipping a hand below, wrapping your fingers around his heated length as his voice hitched, revealing to you the length thickness of him. Cascading kisses of soft lips against your neck fell to your collarbones, the warmth of his hands around your back as he tried to remove your bra, your hand working over his length.

“The front,” You moan, using your free hand to cover bring his hands to rest over your breasts, the clasp lying between the valley of your breasts. His wet tongue dives down to lick against your breast, sucking over your hardening nipple before moving to the other, the material of your bra lost amongst the pile of clothes that lay at your feet. The flat of his tongue ran against your sensitive nipples, flickering until they peddled with soft moans falling from your mouth, the hand between you beginning to pump his faster. Your underwear was peeled slowly from your body, hitting the floor with a light flood, wetness and arousal pooling between your thighs. With a struggled groan, a wrist wraps around your stilling your jerking movements as his breath becomes ragged.

“I want to indulge in you princess,” His soft words matched his tone of voice, eyes half-lidded with pure lust as he held your waist and guided you backwards to the bed. Feeling your knees hit the end of it, toppling backwards with a light fall, Mitsu dropping to his knees and spreading your thighs apart, “I’ve wanted to taste you since the minute I saw you,”. The pink flesh of his tongue ran alongside his bottom lip, eyes burning at your glistening as he pressed kisses up your thighs, leaving a blossoming mark where your thighs met your lower half. His breath was hot against your burning core, the suspense for him to touch encouraged by pleads and begs trickling from your mouth. The sensation of his flat tongue  in a sweeping movement against your damp folds in enough to make fireworks explode, each flicker of his tongue making you cry out for me. Hips raise to push yourself against him as he begins to devour you with his mouth, your hands push off his fedora and get tangled in his soft locks. The silent cries fall from your mouth, head thrown back against the mattress, back rising as his tongue brought you to a higher pleasure. The words ‘so sweet’ murmured against your flesh, the vibrations sending heavy tingles inside you. Thighs trembling around his head, fingers twisted in his hair and the soft cry of ‘Mitsu… I need you’ as he pressed a final kiss to your clit before pulling away.

Climbing above you and reaching into the bedside draw, pulling out a foil wrapper as he positioned himself above you. Holding his shoulders you pushed him back, rolling him onto his back as you straddled him, taking the foil and ripping it open with your teeth. Leaning down you spread the condom over his thickness, raising yourself before lowering onto his head. A strangled groan came from his throat, hands pressing into the side of your behind to help guide you down, a crying moan as you felt him stretch your walls until he was fully hilted inside. Everything about it felt right, like a perfect fit. Resting your hands on his chest you began to rock back and forth, falling into a steady rhythm as each time he hit the perfect spot inside you that made the pit of your stomach ignite with flame. The smoothness of his hands caressed your waist and behind, mesmerised as he watched your face throw back in pleasure, the gentle pace letting you be in-control as you brought yourself close. 

“Mitsu,” You repeated like a manta, gasping breaths as your mind began to haze over, your muscles began to tighten as you felt the rapid heat began to spread across your body. 

“That’s it princess,” He groaned, rolling his hips to meet your rocking movements, a heavy groan as your muscles spasmed around him. Fingertips leaving crescent moons markings on his chest, the tightness in your stomach snapping as you pulsed over him, the warmth flooding your body. Riding yourself down, stilling for a moment as you shut your eyes with a few light breaths, letting the wave of your orgasm die down before moving once more. Sensing your slight exhortation, he wrapped his hands under your knees and began to push you back until you felt your back hit the soft mattress below, still buried inside you. He held your trembling legs over his shoulder, leaning down to press hot kisses against you as he began to thrust into you. It didn’t take long for him to bring you close once more, your second release triggering his own, hands firmly on your waist as he held you tight against him, throbbing and releasing into the rubber inside you. Your name on his lips.

Pulling out, he threw it in the bin before pulling you close to him and letting you rest against his chest as you both regained your breath. Holding you tight to him, something Mitsunari never did. 

---

The rising and lowering of a chest against your cheek woke you, slightly dazed as you awoke, finding yourself still in the arms of Mitsu who was peacefully sleeping under you. You felt the smile tug at your lips, resting your chin on his chest and admiring the sight in-front of you.

“You okay princess?” He chuckled with a light yawn, hazel eyes meeting yours as they opened from beneath his thick lashes.

“Very,” You laugh back, your smile brings a smile to his face as he brings a hand up to run against your cheek, you nuzzling straight against it like a kitten. You embellish in the silence for a few moments, an intimate moment shared between the two of you before it finally broke by a phone buzzing on the floor. 

“Shit,” Mitsu groaned, bolting up to retrieve his phone before swiping it off. Both of you had forgotten he was getting ready to go on a date, the shared look between you as you gave him a soft smile. 

“It’s fine… I’ll- I’ll go,” You meekly whispered, pulling yourself away from him and off the bed but you don’t make it that, the faintest words of, ‘don’t go’ were repeated back to you from earlier. You were pulled back down, his strong arms wrapping around you as he held you to him. 

“Our evening together has been so unforgettable to me… I don’t want it to end,” The whisper of his voice into the shell of your ear, tremors pulsing over your heart. 

“Mitsu-”.

“Please, stay,” It was a plea, leaning over you and sharing an almost loving gaze. You brought a hand up to cup his cheek, pulling him down slowly, a kiss shared between you full of promises and hope. Neither of you wanted to be the first to pull back until you had to for air. 

Stars Aligned:

“Mitsu stop it!” Her squealing giggle filled the penthouse as he wrapped a strong pair of arms around her from behind, hoisting up as he spun around. The smile on her face was one Mitsu would cherish forever, it was the first thing he thought about when he woke up and the last thing on his mind before he fell asleep. It was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes, the smile on his lovers face as she slept peacefully against his chest, her blonde hair draping behind her shoulders. He would sit for hours watching her sleep so blissfully, stirring slightly as she nuzzled into the planes of his chest, whispering sweet good mornings as he stroked her hair. Everything about her was perfect, feeling the stars aligning each time he looked at her. He thanked them everyday for bringing her into his life, his own piece of tranquil heaven held in his arms. 

“Sorry princess, no can do,” He chuckled, holding her tight still as he set her down. A vast array of vomiting noises came from the others in the room. 

“Can you please stop it’s revolting to watch,” Soryu groaned, turning his head away, Takuto groaning with agreement. Even since the pair of you became a couple, the bidders and black foxes became even tighter. 

“Your luckily they don’t live with you, it’s revolting to hear,” Mamoru mumbled lying on the sofa, newspaper sprawled across his face to block out the sun. 

“We’re not that bad!” Mitsu chuckled, although the blush across his and her cheeks said otherwise, “Anyway you filthy perverts probably enjoy listening,”.

“Mitsu!” She hissed, jabbing her elbow back to playfully nudge him ribs, a sign to shut up. The couple had been together for a good few months after their first physical encounter together, ravishing each other physically and emotionally, the ways of Baba’s past forgotten about. All he wanted in life was her; he lived to make her happy, never straying or turning an eye, he devoted himself to her as she did him.

Everything had fallen into place within the universe to Mitsu. The stolen paintings were recovered, the bidders and black foxes joining fully in forces, the woman he cherished held tight by his side every minute of the day.

“Come on princess,” He picked her up once more, carrying her bridal style outside to the balcony for some alone time. He propped her up against the railing, where they almost shared a kiss at Eisukes event, wrapping his arms around her behind. He held her for a moment, inhaling her heavenly scent of strawberries and vanilla, his head buried against her hair. There was no words to describe how content Mitsu felt, well maybe three words. His heart raced as he held her close, the smile plastered from ear to ear, a warm fuzz spreading across his body as he realised how he felt. A feeling he never expected to experience again in his time but somehow the universe smiled down on him and granted the best gift of all, her. 

“I love you,” The words spoken in an above whisper, without fearing the consequence, the only words he could form. She relaxed against him, turning her head to face him, slight tears in her eyes.

“I love you too,”.

Both leaning in to their embrace, lips pressing together to share a tender kiss over their exchange of words. Mitsu held close his most valuable, stolen treasure in his arms. 

#kbtbb #kbtbb mitsunari #mitsunari baba #kbtbb smut #voltage kbtbb #kbtbb eisuke #kbtbb soryu #kbtbb ota #kbtbb mamoru #llftx #llftx riki #llftx takuto #llftx kenshi #llftx hiro #llftx atsumu #llftx smut #voltage inc #voltage smut #voltage fanfic #love 365 #love letter from thief x #love 365 smut #love 365 kbtbb #kbtbb mitsu #kbtbb mitsu smut #voltage crossover

[expelliarmusmyass]

the potter twins, a series

a/u // no voldemort, slytherin!fem!reader

warnings // light cursing, mentions of fighting, anxiety disorder, anxiety attack depiction

series summary // y/n and harry potter are twins where the world doesn't feel wide enough for the both of them.

chapter summary // y/n and harry are forced to have dinner with the malfoys.

a/n // haii peeps so this is officially my first fic and i wanted to let y'all know that it has been very poorly edited so if there are grammar/spelling mistakes, i'm vv sorry !! this chapter was mainly setting up the story for the upcoming chapters so just expect more angst as the fic goes on :)

tag list: @whitewineandpizzapuffs

"okay, i know it looks bad," was all harry could muster out without laughing. "but on the bright side, it could be worse, y/n." he continued. harry had dim-wittedly opened a package from fred and george's joke shop he received in your room without your permission and without taking any proper damage control precautions. y/n liked keeping her room in somewhat of a clean fashion, sure, maybe to some people it looked unclean or a mess as others would put it, but it was a fairly organized mess. you could tell y/n tried.

but harry's idiotic self decided that his twin sister's room was the best place to open a mystery box the weasley twins had sent, the possible factor they might have sent something explosive or colorful completely blowing over his head. harry tore through the brown parcel and opened the box without thinking and explosions of colorful powders and assortments of what might have been fireworks flew out of the box, causing harry to drop it on the wood floor. a loud thud sounded and your head shot up, watching your brother shocked and partially scared expression making you laugh.

but the powders and fireworks flew around your room, knocking everything over and staining your sheets and carpets. after about thirty seconds, it had finally stopped and you let out a relieved sigh.

"heavens, harry, if i still didn't have the trace on me, you'd be blasted out of the side of my wall. help me clean this up right now and maybe i won't dye all of your whites bright pink with a red sock next time i do laundry." y/n said sternly, finally getting up from your bed to face your brother. he laughed quietly and the pair spent the next few minutes picking up what they could , y/n looking rather disappointed when she found a her last batch of laundry covered in pink and blue pigment. harry walked over to y/n's bed and pointed out the green and purple all over her white sheets.

"well, at least now you have an excuse to give to mum when you ask her for those new beddings you've been wanting," harry joked, turning to you to see your reaction. he honestly didn't know if you'd be mad at him for cracking jokes right now or be willing to laugh it off. you chose the latter.

"yeah, i guess you're right." y/n chuckled lightly. nothing important had broken, and you knew the weasley twins wouldn't have put pigment in there to stain anything permanently, so there wasn't a reason to be too mad. plus, y/n always was a fan of jokes and would typically never take them too personally. you were known for being able to take a joke, and you got along with everyone you met easily. it was sort of a knack you had, being naturally good with not only people, but most living things. you did very well in herbology and were exceptionally compatible with creatures of any sort. hagrid trusted you with any creatures he had and you visited frequently to take short trips to the forbidden forest to feed and take care of other animals and such. you sympathized with neglected creatures and were a great second mother to anything you met.

harry started walking towards the door as you both had finished cleaning up what you could, and he quickly turned around to tell you something your parents had sent him to come up to say. "sirius, remus, and peter are coming for dinner and mum and dad told me to tell you to wear something nice. apparently we all started caring about our appearances in front of family we see nearly every day, but mum insisted." harry's eyes were trying extremely hard not to roll to the back of his head, you knowing how much he despised wearing formal clothing.

"are you serious? okay, when she said that, did it sound like she wanted me to wear like, clean jeans, or," you paused while trying to hide the disgusted expression creeping up on you, "a dress?" you finally said, unable to control the sour face your muscles were contracting to make. you hated wearing dresses. something about them just made you hate the way you looked. it didn't feel like you. you begged your parents more often than not whenever you went out to just let you wear anything else, but you almost never won that argument.

harry only let out a sigh through a smile. "they're making me wear a tie. you take a guess." you let out an exasperated groan and dramatically dropped onto your bed. "dad said he would give you five galleons if you did it." you sat up in your spot and darted your eyes to him and shot him a glance as if to say really?? to which he replied with a nod.

"fine," you said after a short moment of thought. "but i'm not going to enjoy it one bit." he gave you a sarcastic smile, walked out your door, gently shutting it on his way out. you turned to scream into your pillow, but it was covered in yellow powder from fred and george's box, and you had just showered, so why ruin that?

you walked over to your closet a few feet from your bed, past the sofa chair your slytherin robes had been thrown on. you were sorted into slytherin in your first year, being separated from harry for the first time in eleven years, insecure about being in the house of mean, vicious people as others had described it. harry was quite shocked at first, but saw your anxiety and got over it as quickly as he could manage. you and harry still did almost everything together in your first year and became close friends with the weasleys and hermione. your parents were immensely proud of their son being sorted into the same house as them, and hardly did anything to cover it up. it sometimes felt as if your whole purpose in life was to be a gryffindor alongside your family, but you were in slytherin no less, feeling like a disappointment to everyone you grew up with. while your parents may not have been as enthusiastic of your sorting, sirius, remus, and peter could not have been more supportive. you felt better about your house after being able to talk to them about it, sirius knowing what it felt like to betray what you thought was your destined life.

you turned to see the pile of unopened letters that were delivered to you this morning by hedwig. you had an owl of your own, with dark brown, almost black feathers, currently unnamed, that you found in an alley with part of his wing severed and you took him home to help him, your father scared and mother quite proud of your instinct to take care of a harmed animal. he eventually took a liking to you, and your brother for that matter, and became your owl after that. he was still working on his flying skills, but he had improved massively all things considered. you looked back at the untapped letters and immediately promised yourself you would open them in the morning.

you snapped out of whatever trance you were in and kept walking to your closet, now only five steps away and opened it, looking for a dress to wear. your mother always urged you to keep your eye out for dresses, since she knew you would never voluntarily buy one, she always made sure you told her which ones you liked so she wouldn't get you something you didn't. she was the one that always brought home dresses in your size and ones you liked so that wearing them wasn't as bad as it already was. you settled on a slip dress patterned with constellations that went just to your knees. this was probably the one you liked the best. it hugged you in all the right places and you thought you didn't look that bad in it. you slipped on some black, worn converse so at least something wasn't uncomfortable the whole night. if you couldn't control the dress, at least you could control the shoes.

you faced your mirror, brushing out your hair that had been up in an effortless bun all day, and put in some earring your father had gifted to you for your birthday last year. you took a deep breath and finally worked up the nerve to walk out your door to the new, talking voices in your house you could only guess were your guests. as soon as you saw your uncles, you immediately felt relieved and rushed down the stairs to greet them. you pushed past harry, ignoring his annoyed comments along the lines of "you really don't have to push" or "that hurt and you know it, y/n," you honestly weren't paying attention enough and were to busy hugging the three men that had walked through the door.

"there's my favorite gryffindor and slytherin" remus said, after hugging the two of you. both your father and sirius shot him dramatic looks of shock and offense, surely they were remus's favorite gryffindor's, but remus shooed them away and gave them you two are really doing this right now? looks. you and harry laughed, while your mother had to hold back your father from slapping remus right across the face. you noticed sirius, remus, and peter as well as your father were all wearing suits of different colors, remus in a maroon one, sirius in a pinstripe black one, your father in a deep, navy blue one and peter in a flattering dark green suit. your mother wore a beautiful navy dress to match your father, and you finally couldn't keep it in any longer.

"will someone please explain to me why everyone is wearing nice clothes? last time i checked, i was allowed to wear sweatpants while enjoying dinner in the comfort of my own home." you said, confused, and very over your dress after being in it maybe five minutes. harry agreed with you and turned to your mother, a questioning look in his eyes.

peter gave your parents a concerned look. "james, lily? you seriously haven't told them yet?"

"told us what, exactly?" harry said through raised eyebrows, turning to my father.

lily finally worked up the courage to say something since apparently your father couldn't. "y/n, harry, we're not eating at home." you looked at them, unsatisfied with the answer your mother had just given you.

"so, what, we're getting food at a restaurant, i still don't see why you want me to wear a dress and harry a tie." you questioned, still gravely confused.

sirius stiffened a little, and after a while, finally said, "james, if you won't tell them, i will."

"tell us what, dad?" harry asked.

james stiffened and let out an exasperated sigh. "okay, uh, here we go." he seemed the most uncomfortable he'd ever been until lily grabbed his hand to let him know he wasn't alone and she was right there. he looked over at her calm face and instantly relaxed. "we're having dinner with some people at the ministry."

harry still wasn't fully convinced that was all it was. "if we're just having dinner with some people at the ministry, why is peter looking like he might piss himself from pure fear?" you turned to take a quick glance over at peter, who was aggressively trying to hide his shaking, thin body. james finally gave up trying to ease his children into what he was about to say.

"the malfoy's. we are having dinner at the malfoy's." both harry and y/n started shouting protests, most in between the categories of "WHAT IN MERLINS NAME ARE YOU THINKING YOU MUST BE BLOODY JOKING" and "I REFUSE TO GO YOU CANNOT MAKE ME DO THIS", with the occasional "YOU MUST BE NEW HERE".

lily finally snapped and sternly said, "i don't want to hear anything else out of the two of you. i raised you to be better than this. you can and will be better than this."

the next thing you and harry knew, you were standing outside the malfoy manor, the breeze barely blowing in the mid july air. your parents and co. were a few feet in front of you, waiting for the door to open up to let them inside the dark house. you and harry quickly looked over with each other and had a two second conversation with your eyes. wonder twin power, as dad called it.

harry did nothing to hide his annoyance. we are not doing this, y/n.

you looked back at him, begging for him to show some sign of maturity. you were going into your fourth year, after all. come on harry, i don't want to do this any more than you do.

great! i don't see the issue here.

look at them, harry. they want us to try. can we just try?

no. not with malfoy. come on, y/n it's malfoy, for merlin's sake.

harry, stop being a baby. if you can't be the bigger person here, at least pretend like you're not going to strangle him when we walk into that door.

harry finally dropped it, and nodded, letting you know he wouldn't drop kick malfoy. at least immediately.

the ten foot oak door opened wide with narcissa and lucious malfoy there to welcome the guests into their house. draco walked into the room, the most unenthusiastic smile plastered across his face as he eyed you and your brother. he looked at you with less hatred than he did your brother. you had to take a step in front of harry to stop him from launching himself at the blonde haired twig, and grabbed his hand without thinking. he looked back at you confused, but found his sister's hand in his calming and comforting. he relaxed a small bit after that, but kept his guard up in case the family of rats decided to pull anything with his family, especially his sister.

"hello, draco." you said after a minute of silence between the three of you, the adults still involved in meaningless conversation.

he replied only with an obnoxiously fake smile, and turned to your brother, who was still clutching your hand.

"you know, potter's, my parents say this dinner is going to be the joining of the two of our families. wouldn't be a bad idea. your parents certainly need the help." harry was about the jump on the tall boy and let go of your hand but you refused to get in trouble this early into the night and grabbed his wrist, making him turn to face you.

"hey," you muttered under your breath only loud enough for him to hear, "calm down. you can do this." you rethought what you had just said. "okay, just, give it a minute." he relaxed his tense shoulders and looked back at draco with a convincing, small smile.

"thanks for the insight, malfoy." harry dryly responded.

draco returned him that stupid smirk he always had. merlin, he annoyed harry. "i'm just saying, your parents could work so high up in the ministry if they had the help of mine. the money you'd make. surely, neither of you haven't seen more than a hundred galleons at a time." draco laughed at his own rude, ignorant joke while harry waited for you to loosen your grip on his wrist and prepared to tackle draco with his entire body weight behind him. this time, you had to get across to your brother in a harsher way or the both of you would end up grounded for two weeks.

"harry! stop it!" you pleaded loud enough for draco to hear. sometimes, you hated draco so much and you would love nothing more than to see your brother beat the living shit out of him, but you knew there was no way you would hear the end of it from your mother if you let harry hurt someone.

harry pulled you away from the blonde git, still giggling like a four-year-old at his own stupid joke, and stood in front of you, forcing his hands out of yours. "why can't i hit him? just one, really, really good one? not one? once, okay?" you looked at him angrily.

"come on, harry. at least wait until you have a justifiable reason to hit him." he looked at you, convinced you were rethinking the words you just said after the conversation you just had. "okay, you know what i meant. please promise me you'll at least try to act like someone with half a brain and don't go jumping stupid blondes who just don't have it in them to shut their mouths." harry wanted to roll his eyes at your insistence of not beating up the one person he thought you two could not stand, but he laughed at your snide comment. he liked having a funny sister.

he took a deep breath and you both entered the dining room where the adults and draco were gathering to sit around a deep brown, wood table. you watched as the seats filled up and, against your will, you sat in between harry and draco, in some attempt to separate them. lucius sat at the head of the table, your father on the opposite head, harry on his left and your mother on his right. you sat next to harry and draco directly to your left and his mother beside him. remus, sirius, and peter all sat across from you, sirius directly next to lucious (protective measures, you thought) and remus next to lily. peter looked utterly terrified, but felt safer in between two very capable wizards. a plate of salad was placed cleanly and neatly in front of every guest, but no one seem inclined to eat right away. finally, your mum took a bite of a salad, eyes widening slightly as she went in for another bite.

"this salad is delicious, narcissa." narcissa nodded her head in thanks and tasted it herself. sirius and remus started to help themselves to their plate, clearly hungry but not wanting to be rude. draco didn't touch anything, nor did harry, still eyeing draco, making sure he didn't do anything to his sister, sitting quite literally six inches away from him. you ate your food quietly, nodding along with the boring conversation about ministry business and such. you continued dinner, unable to stand the dreadful conversation that seemed to engulf the adults around you. you stole some quick glances from a clearly uninterested draco, and found yourself being able to have your eye conversations with harry most of the night. it kept harry from having to think of thirty different ways to murder malfoy and make it seem like an accident. although it didn't mean you couldn't.

dinner dragged on, and you had finally mustered up the courage to ask where the nearest bathroom was. you got up from the table and walked down the hall to the extravagant bathroom that had no business being as expensive as it seemed.

as you made your way back, you discovered everyone had gotten up from the table and moved into the sitting room a few doors away.

you saw a pair of glass doors leading outside to a beautiful garden you couldn't help but want to sit in. you need the peace and the quiet. this was a lot.

there were many things in the world you liked doing. at the top of the list, it might be something along the lines of making people laugh, playing quidditch with your family and uncles, making friends with both people and magical creatures. but the first thing on that list, the one thing you loved most in the world, was sitting alone and observing. you felt the most yourself when you didn't have to say or do anything for anyone. after a while, you would get exhausted being around too many people, and being the only one in your family to have clinical anxiety wasn't helpful. harry didn't really understand why you felt so nervous to do so many ordinary, every day things, but he supported you anyway and taught himself how to be helpful should an anxiety attack present itself. your mother and father on the other hand, felt guilty, thinking that your anxiety was something that was their fault. you tried for years to explain to them that it was nothing they did and they pretended to understand, but were terrible at hiding it and you and harry both knew they were lying every time you told them not to worry and they replied with "i know's" and "we wont's." being alone allowed you to let go of everything that seemed to bother you, even for a short second. it was nice. freeing, almost.

you pushed open the glass doors, not forgetting to shut them gently and completely, and made your way through a knee high maze of flower beds and magical plants. the sun had just begun to set, the sky a piercing orange with scattered streaks of red, not a cloud in sight. it's perfect, you thought to yourself. absolutely perfect. there was something about a cloudless sky that made your heart melt. you walked through the fairly large maze, recognizing a handful of plants and not hesitating to tend to plants in need of weeding. you heard a few footsteps from behind as you were weeding a bed of flowers, your hands covered in dirt and soot, a pile of weeds you picked to your right.

harry crouched down beside you, watching sweat dripping down the side of your forehead, heavily concentrated on getting rid of the numerous weeds growing all over this beautiful garden. harry couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"y/n, really? now you're weeding their garden?" harry mocked.

you turned to face him, drops of sweat trickling down your cheeks now. "shut it." you said, amused. you stood up and both you and harry made your way over to a fountain a few steps from where you two had just been. you rinsed your hands and splashed your face, harry leaning against the fountain, looking off into the direction of the sun. he finally understood why you liked going outside as the sun set so much, it really was beautiful.

"what'd i miss inside? i got a bit carried away weeding out here, it's just calm today. needed to get away and get my mind away from whatever that train wreck was." harry dissolved into giggles at your taunting remark.

"you didn't miss anything worth watching. just malfoy being an ass. i am lucky i have you to restrain me from smacking the guy right atop the head every time i see him. although i can't blame him completely, have you met lucius?" you liked when harry made jokes. he was funny when he wanted to be. usually it would be you making the rude comment and harry being the one to laugh, but today, harry was different. he seemed easier to talk to today. harry was always naturally more kept to himself, and you the more outgoing type. you brought out the best in each other. he didn't feel as distant today. it was nice. you leaned back against the stone fountain and looked back towards the malfoy manor. it looked gorgeous in the scarlet light beaming from the sun, and you noticed the reflections of yellow and white off the windows.

harry noticed you distracted expression and "you know, i finally realized why you like coming outside as much as you do. it's peaceful here. something nice about a cloudless day." that caught your attention and your head whipped around to face him.

"what did you say?" you asked, trying to hold back your complete shock and partial excitement.

harry met your eyes and then looked back at the sky. "what, about the clouds? i don't know, i see so many clouds all the time, something about seeing a beautiful sky without any clouds kind of, i don't know, makes me feel...good. in a way. i guess. i don't know, you're the twin that got the better vocabulary." it meant the world to you that harry said that. you didn't know why, it just felt like you weren't alone, in some weird way. you smiled at your brother.

"how are you holding up, harry? must be hard, having to contain yourself the entire dinner without using your salad fork to commit first degree murder," you joked, standing upright, moving your body from off the stone fountain. you noticed the carefully carved floral patterns and depictions of all sorts of animals and plants.

he only chuckled at your question, shifting his body weight, his side now leaning against the fountain and facing you. "i'm not going to lie, it's been hard. he was right there, and after a while, i had to distract myself from throwing myself over the table and putting my fork in his eye." he said through a grin. i gave him a sarcastic look and lowered my head before asking a question.

"what do you think they're talking about? i mean, it's odd how mum and dad are willingly having dinner and being, well, friendly, with the malfoy's. i don't like it. peter looks horrified, i don't know how well he's doing, and remus and sirius look like they might hurt someone who looks at them wrong. i don't know, it's just... weird." you said, kicking a few rocks that were at your feet. harry didn't exactly know how to respond.

"i don't know," he said after a minute of thought, "but i bet they're being smart. i trust mum and dad, at least enough to be confident in their decisions." harry always knew what to say when he saw you anxious. it wasn't super obvious right now, but he'd spent almost fourteen years with you and could read you like an open book. he knew you would start getting lost in your own thoughts if he didn't say anything and he knew how bad it could get. he decided to stop it while he was ahead and try to do what he could in advance.

you liked when he tried to get your mind off of getting lost in your own thoughts. he was pretty good at it, and even when he didn't say exactly what you needed, you knew he only wanted to help. your brother was kind and thoughtful when he wanted to be.

"thanks harry." you nodded and harry walked off to rejoin his mother in the sitting room. you went back to weeding as it was nice for you to do something familiar. you felt a pretense behind you that you knew wasn't harry and your face became bright red.

"are you weeding my garden?" draco said confused from behind you. you sprung up, and turned around, trying your best to conceal the fact your dirt-ridden hands were slightly shaking and sweat dripped down the side of your face for the second time today. you and draco shared the same house and most of your classes, and for whatever strange, odd reason became good friends, bonding over the fact you felt like you disappointed your parents at times. he was, to your complete and utter surprise, a good person to talk to and joke about your problems when you felt your family wouldn't be able to understand. but you took the liberty of convincing draco to keep your friendship a secret, not wanting bad blood between your families because of draco's and harry's petty feud. you felt you two hid your friendship well, him tossing the occasional harmless insult your way in public and you always having a response at the ready. you two would laugh about it later in the common rooms when no one was there, or sometimes you would joke and write fake letters to each other, pretending you were relatives or friends from back home as to not look too sketchy in front of others.

it really started first year when draco found you in moaning myrtle's bathroom first year, the first week of school, when you had finally been able to get away from everyone while they were at dinner and be alone with your own thoughts.

your anxiety was through the roof. you hated being in slytherin, dirty looks from other house as you wore your green tie walking around with harry and his red one. everyone knew you two, your parents were quidditch legends and went on to work great positions in the ministry. everyone knew what house they were sorted in. you didn't care much until your second day when other students started asking you how it felt to disgrace your family name by being slytherin. it hurt you, the pressure of feeling like you would never be able to live up to your family's expectations of you. your brother was perfect, a golden boy as of the first day in your parents eyes. you felt like you had to work harder to even match harry and his effortless greatness.

you were in the courtyard, sitting with harry and ron, discussing potions class that had ended just fifteen minutes ago.

"i mean, seriously, what is up with that snape?! why would he become a teacher if he seemingly hates children so much?!" ron cried, the confusion most clearly showing in his voice. harry bellowed with laughter and you chuckled convincingly enough as to not draw attention to your shaking hands and racing heart. you let your hair fall in front of your face as you told the two boys you needed to go to the bathroom, neither of them noticing your flushed face as you sprinted across the halls and down to steps to the bathroom you knew you wouldn't be interrupted in.

you flung open the door, running across the dim lit and stone washroom with your heart leaping out of your chest, your air seemingly escaping your lungs with every breath you took. you couldn't stand being alone when you were forced to face your own anxiety, but you couldn't bring yourself to drag your brother into this one. your back against the cold wall, slowly sliding down until you were slumping on the floor, you let the tears stream down your face, allowing yourself to be feel the anxiety that had been in building up inside you for hours.

as the minutes passed by, your breathing got worse and your shaking intensified, causing you to fall onto your side, not enough strength in you to pick yourself up. you laid there for a moment, finding the floor comforting, but you heard footsteps just outside the bathroom and instantly attempted to hide the mess you had just become. you were unsuccessful.

"y/n? y/n potter?" draco malfoy said, shocked at the state you were in. he didn't have a clue what to do; should he try and help you?

"hi," you said weakly. "draco, right?" draco looked back at you, unfamiliar with the idea of being called by his first name rather than his last. he wasn't used to hearing his first name without his last name following it, let alone by itself and by someone in his own year. he quickly pushed the idea to the back of his brain.

"yeah," he replied, confusion visibly plastered on his face. he had no idea how to react to any part of this situation. after a short beat, he finally worked up the nerve to suggest the only idea that came to his head. "do you want me to get your brother?"

"no!" you exclaimed, draco slightly taken aback.

"okay, i won't, merlin." draco said, more sarcastically than promisingly. you wiped away the tears you could and did your best to hide the obvious shaking in your shoulders and legs.

you looked at the gel-haired blonde with puffy eyes and sighed. "i'm sorry if i said that more alarmingly than needed. i didn't meant to scare you or offend you. i just get anxious and had a bit of an episode, and sometimes i'm easy to anger during them, but i promise i'm nice otherwise." you took a deep breath. "it's just, everyone knows my parents and knows they were gryffindor's and i feel like such a failure when they have this amazing, perfect, gryffindor son and then a slytherin daughter. do you have any idea what that feels like?" you looked at him, and widened your eyes. "sorry. i know you don't care." you looked away, embarrassed. what you didn't know was that he knew exactly what it felt like to be a disappointment to people you looked up to. he sympathized with you.

draco stared at you and the only thing he could think of to do in the moment was something y/n wasn't prepared to hear.

"i can stay here. with you. if you'd like." he was even surprised at the sentence that formed in his mouth. you looked at him, not convinced he wasn't joking, but nodded anyway. he put his arm around you awkwardly, but instantly relaxed as he felt your shaking come to a slow stop. from that moment on, you knew you had someone who could understand what you felt when you thought no one else did. you came to each other about your parents and became each other's best friend in the next three years, cleverly hiding your friendship in any measure necessary. you thought it was fun, but always hated the fact you hid something so important to you from one of the people you were closest to: harry.

"y/n?" draco repeated, forcing you to snap back to reality. you hadn't realized you had been standing in front of draco lost in thought not saying a word.

"sorry," you replied, "zoned out." draco only laughed.

"okay, y/n." he turned to look down at the pile of weeds by your side. "having fun, at least? you know, with all your...weeding?"

you looked back at him with a half-hearted smile. "shut it." you only said, turning back to your weeding as not to arise any suspicions of your close bond.

"alright then," he continued anyway, his head now looking up towards the piercing scarlet sky, never really taking in the beautiful view until you had pointed it out to him while you two were in the common room one night at hogwarts. you told draco that the skies are always the most eye-catching at sunset and not to let anyone tell him different. he liked to argue it was at the sunrise, but he knew you were right. "do you think harry suspects anything?" he asked hushed, a sliver of worry in his voice.

you let go of trying to be subtle and stood up facing him. "let me tell you from the girl who has to share his dna, for a very bright guy, harry is stupid when it comes to noticing his own surroundings. he's clueless. not just to us, but to everything. he's always off in his own world, oblivious to everything around him, so we shouldn't worry about him finding out unless someone sees us together and finds a way to make it into every day conversation. are we good now?" you responded, trying your best to convince your dear friend your twin brother was as dull as you knew he was. draco's pouted lips curled into a smile as he still faced the setting sun in the distance. you rolled your eyes at your idiotic best friend and leaned against the stone fountain you were talking to harry at just moments prior.

"yeah. we're good. i'm glad i have an over thinker like you for a friend. if i didn't, i'm convinced our allyship would have been outed by now," draco laughed to himself. "but you're a cunning slytherin, y/n." you turned to look at him, eyes narrowing as he looked at you with a look you knew he meant.

your hair blew in the gentle breeze again, the july evening finally creeping up on you as you rinsed your hands yet again in the fountain. "are you done?" you said after a moment, looking back at draco with a sarcastic smirk. he tried his best not to look amused by your comment, but couldn't hide his emitting snicker.

"no, no, please continue with your sappy and cheesy and other food related adjectives to describe your gratefulness for our friendship, i want to hear it, draco. it really interests me, i find it fundamental for my survival." you joked. he elbowed you in the shoulder, you pushing him back, and after a moment, you heard angry footsteps behind you.

"don't touch my sister, malfoy." harry said, no desperate measures taken to hide his rage. you eyed him angrily, the obvious displeasure on your expression as you two had another one of you split second eye conversations.

did he hurt you?

i'm fine, harry. let it go.

no. he's not allowed to touch you. you're my sister.

harry, get off your high horse. i can take care of myself. he didn't do anything and i would have asked for you if i needed you. i can make my own decisions, and i trust you to be confident in mine the way i support yours. are we understood?

harry's eyes burned into yours, but you had played this game before. you glared at him, and he finally dropped his gaze from you and turned back to malfoy.

"you stay away from her, malfoy, you hear me?" harry bellowed, bitterness riddled within his words.

draco opened his mouth to say the million rude things that had popped into his head but you turned your head to him, your lips scowled and eyes pleading for him to just drop it. he read your face and sacrificed his moment to tell your brother off, leaving him with a glower and a slow walk in direction towards the house.

after draco was out of earshot, harry turned to you, concern building in his eyes.

"are you okay? did he hurt you?"

you pulled away from your overprotective brother. "i'm fine harry, no need for your distress. he wasn't doing anything, were just joking around. he's not that bad if you actually get to talk to him for once, harry."

harry only let out a contemptuous laugh as his head wrapped around the thought of draco malfoy being able to hold a conversation without smacking him atop the head. "y/n, you must be joking." you rethought what you had just said and dropped it.

"harry, can we just ask mum and dad to go back home now? i'm tired and i'm going to start saying things i don't mean if i stay at this house for a minute longer." you said, trying to reason with your more than aggravated brother. he nodded, putting a hand behind your back as you both made you way back to the manor. harry was officially done with his act of being polite for the night. he couldn't stand draco malfoy and hated him even more after he witnessed him talk to his sister.

you and the rest of your party bid your goodbyes to the rest of the malfoy family and were home sooner than you thought. you took off your uncomfortable dress and showered, changed into sweats, and flipped onto your bed all in what felt like one swift movement. it felt good, being in the comfort of your room, something familiar and constant in your life. this night turned into something you wouldn't want to relive again. you were tired and your last thought before you drifted off the sleep were of how good your soft pajamas felt on your skin, completely ignoring the pigment from hours ago that still stained your pillow cases.

you were awoken by a loud noise outside your window as you shot up to find an owl fluttering against the window pane. what in the world- you thought to yourself as you opened the window to let in the owl and let it rest. you untied the letter from the owls leg and check to see who the letter was from. from aunt pamela the cover of the letter read. you knew who it was from instantly: draco. he often used this ploy when he wrote letters to you and wanted to keep it disguised. you tore through the top of the letter and began to read what it had said-

"my dearest y/n,

i hope this letter finds you in good health as my owl is quite fearless and will not hesitate to fly through a storm or rough wind of some sort.

the last time i saw you, i believe we were interrupted during our last conversation. i was in the middle of telling you all the sappy and cheesy and other food related adjectives to describe my gratefulness for our friendship, more relationship as i am most definitely your aunt.

but returning to our conversation, i really do love having you as a friend niece. it's nice to have someone i can talk to that knows exactly how i feel.

i hope to see you again soon before your classes restart. i would like to discuss your upcoming year before you're off. in private, preferably, we don't want anyone like your brother listening in on our talk.

i'll see you soon.

aunt pamela"

you tried to keep in your laughter. so much for subtlety on draco's end. you found a quill and ink and some loose parchment and began to write him back, completely ignoring your insistence on hiding your friendship.

"draco,

your letter was stupid and you could have done better. i expect more from you, malfoy. so much for subtlety.

i'm joking. although i will admit you do need some work when it comes to being vague.

to answer your question, i would like to see you at least one more time before the school year begins, possibly to discuss upcoming events. i heard the ministry is conducting some sort of big event this year that involves the participation of other schools. i wonder what that's all about.

anyway, maybe we can go for tea one day. write back soon.

love,

your dearest y/n"

after you felt confident in the owl's ability to travel safely back to malfoy manor, you knotted the letter to its leg and quietly opened your window to let it out. the next day, you and your family were visiting hogsmeade and diagon alley with your uncles again. you looked forward to it, saving some money to visit some shops you missed. you turned your lamp back off and fell sound asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. tomorrow would be a good day.

at least, you hoped.

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Her Majesty. || 5

Against All Odds.

The morning of the Royal Ascot has been nothing short of chaotic, between dress changes and carriage rotations, everyone has been a mess, especially Harry. Every year, the Royal Ascot tests his abilities and how well he can handle change. He hates the Royal Ascot, and he has reason to hate it so much. With every public outing there are revised plans that he has to go through, he has to know every entry, every exit, every underground area, he has to know every plan like the back of his hand. He has to be on high alert and if one plan changes even slightly, they all change and it sends security into a whirlwind of anxiousness. Every minute of the event is generally planned, from when and where the carriages arrive, to how long we spend greeting people. 

Over 300,000 people make the annual visit to Berkshire during Royal Ascot week, that is over 300,000 people Harry has the privilege of scanning and observing, it is much harder to take note of things when there are too many people to have to notice. But, every year, Harry manages and the rest of security manage to make things work. 

I shuffle out of my bedroom and I glance to my left where Harry is standing, like he always is, his hands behind his back, his lips pressed into a fine line, and his clothing attire being of which he always sports to events— suit and tie. 

He stares at me and smirks softly, “You look beautiful, as always,” He whispers sweetly, causing the butterflies in the pit of my stomach to arise. “Absolutely beautiful,” He adds, his hand grazing the edge of my white Reiss Peacock dress.

I nod my head, giving him a meagre smile as my maids step out of my bedroom, not giving me a chance to speak to Harry or to steal a kiss from him. 

Harry escorts me down the stairs and when I reach the bottom. I frown for a moment, unsure of why my Prince is not waiting for me. I gaze over at Harry and he smirks, continuing to walk with me across the marble flooring and through the palace to the exit door. 

Harry and I step outside into the cool air of the morning summer, there’s barely a cloud in the sky, the birds are chirping—  it is the perfect day for the Royal Ascot. “Why are you smirking? Where is Henry?” I softly question, curious as to where my fake boyfriend is. A real gentleman and Prince would have been waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs instead of having my bodyguard escort me down. 

Harry holds his composure, continuing to silently escort me along the path of the gardens before we stop in the private driveway. I stand for a minute, my head cocking to the side as I stand before Henry, my Father and what I presume to be a thoroughbred. 

Harry unlinks his arm from mine and resumes his position behind me. “Good morning, Princess,” Henry greets, his hand holding a lead rope as the horse stands tall, not moving in the slightest. 

“Good morning,” I respond, “Why is there a horse right here?” I challenge my Father. I don’t suspect that now is the perfect time to want to play with horses. 

My father smiles broadly and places his hand gingerly on the horse, petting it ever so delicately, “Prince Henry bought you a horse, how thoughtful.” 

“You bought me a horse?” I question, gazing towards the prince. 

I hear Harry stifle a laugh from behind me, “How thoughtful,” Harry pipes in as I stare at the two men in front of me, hopeful this is a joke. 

I may be royal, but I do not do horses. I am not an equestrian. It is a royal tradition for royals to learn how to ride, however, I am the exception to the rule. Growing up, my parents’ would put me on horses, I could ride around accompanied by a parent, but to ride alone, I could never do it. I never trusted the horses enough to be able to saddle one up and go for a leisurely ride on my own. After the first few panic attacks and fits, my mother convinced my father to let it go and to allow me to stick to things that were more up my alley. I am the only royal who cannot ride a horse, everyone else is well trained, which means I tend to watch the polo matches from the sidelines while my father participates. Every now and again, the King and Queen will ride around Windsor Castle estate, but I do not participate in their morning rides. 

My mother loves horses, when she does not have royal duties, she can usually be found at the stables watching her horses train or she is participating in the training herself. 

“Father, you know I do not ride,” I inform my father who is conscious of my lack of riding abilities. 

“You will have to learn, a Queen must know how to ride, come here and take the lead rope, we can walk her to the stables.” 

My heart begins to beat fast at the simple idea of stepping any closer to the horse who is far from a Shetland pony. 

“Your Royal Highness, Princess Anastasia needs to be heading towards the procession, as do you, you are presenting the winning trophies in the King's Stand Stakes, don’t forget,” Harry informs the King of the fact he is currently cutting that fine line and about to ruin the schedules that have been set. 

For once, Harry’s set times are a blessing in disguise. 

My Father looks down at his watch and nods his head, “Take Anastasia and Henry,” My father instructs, taking the lead rope from Henry and beginning to walk the horse himself. 

Henry steps closer to me with a bright smile, he takes my hand as he glares towards Harry. For a moment, I hold my breath, feeling the overpowering testosterone rising between the three of us. Harry doesn’t say a word, instead, he gestures his hand for us to walk in front of him.

My heels sound against the concrete as we make our way towards the white horses and carriages that will accompany us to the track promptly by 2 pm. Each day of the week begins with the Royal Procession, when The King, Queen and accompanying Members of the Royal Family arrive along the track in horse-drawn landaus. We then spend the day watching the races from the Royal Enclosure. It’s always intriguing to walk alongside the carriages and to see who is riding with who. Most of the time, the lineup is picked for media attention, hence why my father ordered for Henry to be in the carriage with me, usually, I sit alone and across from me is usually a royal couple. 

I mentally roll my eyes when we stop at the second Royal Carriage that is accompanied by Annabel, Duchess of Wessex, and Prince Louis. 

Prince Louis and I grew up together, we always played on the grounds of the palace and we’d spend hours chasing each other around the gardens. We always kept security on their toes, and things didn’t change until he met his duchess. She holds no high title by blood but she tries to act like her title is rightfully hers. She’s what I like to call a stuck up royal. She and I have never seen eye to eye since the moment we met, and we probably never will see eye to eye until the day we die. 

I stand politely, awaiting for Prince Henry to assist me with stepping up into the carriage, but he forgets his manners and etiquette and instead hops up himself, taking a seat as if I am not standing here. Without sounding too much like a princess, I am baffled and quite appalled by his lack of nobility. The lady ALWAYS enters the carriage first, there is no exception, it is common cutesy. 

“Princess,” Harry offers his hand, offering me a sweet smile. I press my hand in his and he assists with getting me in the carriage, of course, without the help of Henry who is too busy adjusting his tophat. Harry nods his head towards Louis and his partner before he impolitely places an umbrella in the lap of Henry, “Hold this for Princess Anastasia.” Harry instructs before closing the carriage door, leaving Henry irritated. 

Prince Louis is kind enough to introduce himself to Henry, taking control of the situation and calming Henry by taking the Umbrella and placing it to rest against the carriage door.

♔

I’m not much of a fan of the horse races in the aspect of having to be a Royal and treat this as an event, there are eyes always on me and I still have to act in a certain manner. I can thank Queen Anne for turning horse races into a royal activity. Ascot Racecourse was founded in 1711 by Queen Anne and ever since has been a major event that royals attend. 

The Royal enclosure, however, is quite lovely. The Royal Enclosure was built in 1822 when King George IV commissioned a two-storey stand to be built with the surrounding lawn. This was designated an exclusive area with access strictly by invitation of the King. To this day, membership to the Royal Enclosure continues to be by invitation only. Every individual who has a membership and will be in the Enclosure is monitored and a background check is thoroughly run. Harry knows of every person who will be in the enclosure and he has to watch their behaviour. He hates it just as much as he hates being out in the public areas, but the good thing is that being invited to the Royal Enclosure is hard. To get in without a direct invitation, one must sign up, which is easy, but what the hard part is providing letters of recommendation from two existing Royal Enclosure members who have themselves been members in good standing for a minimum of four years— this is where Harry’s job gets a little easier, for the most part, new entries don’t happen often. The only thing Harry enjoys about this event has nothing to do with the horses, he isn’t formally allowed to bet since he is on duty, but he likes to bet on the colour of Her Majesty’s hat. It is a tradition that people bet on what colour they believe my mother will wear, and it is such a big deal that not even I know what colour my mother’s hat is until I see her in the morning and sometimes she will change hats before arriving at the venue. 

Henry stands beside me, rambling on about his knowledge of horses and trainers, and I cock my head to the side with a meagre smirk, keen to put his expertise to the test. “Well, bet on a horse,” I motion towards the betting stations set up. If he is so great with horses and knows the trainers, he will be able to pick a winning horse. 

Henry nods his head and lifts his shoulders into a shrug confidentially, almost as if he is shrugging me off, “How much are you betting?” 

I grow withdrawn for a moment, unsure of how much to bet, I am not much of a better, to be quite honest, Harry and I place very diminutive bets between us just as jokes, we tend to bet on the horse with the least odds and chuckle to ourselves when they are the last to finish— we like to take a chance on the least favourite of odds. “What? Too scared to bet? I’ll give you money to bet.” Henry nudges me and I find him to be a bit arrogant and not playful. 

I offer him a polite smile, “Two-thousand,” I respond, “How about you?” I challenge. 

Henry adjusts his suit jacket and scoffs, “Twenty-thousand, go big or go home, sweetheart,” Henry uses a condescending and impudent tone with me. I don’t need to turn around to know Harry is far from impressed and more than likely has his fist curled into a ball, angered by the tone that has been used on me. 

I gesture towards the betting station and I allow Henry to wander off while I stand in the same position. I clear my throat as Harry steps closer, closing the small gap behind me. “Are you betting?” I question softly as I glance over my shoulder. 

“Mhm,” Harry hums, “I love you,” he manages to whisper just for us to hear as nobody is around us. 

I smile to myself and I turn around to face him and I mouth I love you back to him as I point towards the betting station. We both walk towards the betting station and Henry steps closer to me with a smug grin, his ticket in his hand. “So, which horse are you betting on?” 

I shrug my shoulders, unsure of which horse to pick as I have said, I have always betted for the fun of it and chosen the least likely to win horse. As Henry continues to stare at me with that self-righteous grin that irritates me, I turn to Harry, “Suggestions?” 

Harry narrows his eyes on me and I bite my lip— I have stepped out of line— I was not meant to turn to him and bring him into this. Harry shakes his head, “I cannot participate.” His participation in betting is meant to be kept between him and me. 

“Of course you can, mate, it’s jus’ for fun,” Henry pipes in, pressing his hand to Harry’s shoulder as if they are best mates. 

Harry eyes Henry, his jaw clenching at the touch of Henry but Harry holds his composure and forces a small smile as he clears his throat, “If I was to bet, I would try my luck with horse number eight.” Harry informs me. 

I glance at the odds and I take a chance on what Harry suggests, Afterall, it doesn’t really matter if I win or lose, this is all for entertainment and an endeavour to hopefully kill Henry’s ego. 

“Well, place yourself a bet,” Henry signals between Harry and the betting station as I step to the side, managing to take Harry’s side. 

“Put me down for one-hundred pounds on horse eight, please,” Harry instructs as he continues to keep his eyes shifting, still doing his job and not letting his guard down. 

Henry laughs, “That all? The Palace not pay you well?” Henry questions and I shake my head at him, disappointed. 

A prince should not act in such manner nor should a prince ever speak down to someone, especially when it comes to wealth. It is none of Henry’s business how much Harry earns or cares to spend. I am not sure what has gotten into Henry, but he is lacking royal etiquette and he is lacking human decency. My Father would be appalled to know the man he chose to be my boyfriend, the man he wants to see as the King beside me, is currently being condescending not just to myself but to others as well. 

Harry clears his throat before raising a brow, “Make that ten-thousand,” Harry ups his bet, taking us all by surprise, especially me. 

The lady holds the ticket out and Harry gestures for me to take it, he can’t step any closer than he already is, if he does, he breaches his defences and he puts me at risk because his back will be entirely turned and he no longer has a view of everyone. I take the ticket between my fingers and I smile towards Henry, “Well, may the best horse win, let’s go get our spot,” I smile, ready to finally take a moment to sit down for a moment while they prepare for the last race of the day. 

I sit and watch as the horses are walked along the track, making their way to the gates where they will be tested with how well they handle the commotion of everything. 

Moments later, all horses are situated and the gates open; the horses are off and the crowd cheers.

The horses reach the last three- hundred meters and I watch in awe as the horses compete, two of them neck and neck as the finish line gets closer and closer. I bite my lip nervously, my foot tapping as the excitement and joy flow through my veins, I can hear the enthusiasm of others getting louder, cheers exasperating as the horses continue to run. 

I glance over at Harry as he is standing beside me, his lips curving up into a grin as he takes a moment to watch the race, catching the last few moments. I look back to the track and I am left stunned, jaw-dropped, you could say. The two horses that were neck and neck have fallen behind and a new leader takes over the position of first place. I gasp, my heart beats faster while the horse Harry and I picked takes the lead and puts a fair distance between the other horses. 

“Oh, my,” I breathe out while Henry attempts to cheer his horse that is struggling to keep its position of fourth place. 

I do my best to hold my composure as our horse reaches the finish line.

Harry picked the winning horse, he put Henry to shame and managed to kill his high strung ego. 

“You won,” I happily exclaim, nudging Harry as he stands, looking unamused due to his job, but deep down, I know very well and good he is pleased with himself. 

Harry shakes his head, “I believe it is you who won, you have the ticket,” Harry winks just as Henry throws his ticket up in the air dramatically. 

“Bloody horse,” Henry utters with a huff. “And it was a Filly I lost to.”

I smile graciously and tenderly nudge Henry in a playful manner, “Look’s like the best horse won, huh,” I chuckle, “It’s okay, what happens on the track, stays on the track. Even if you did lose to a girl.” 

Henry glares at me and I notice his jaw clench, and it is in this moment I realise he isn’t being playful and that he is taking this seriously. He shakes his head at me and steps away, “Henry,” I call but he ignores me, he hurries away and loses himself in the crowd of others before I can manage to bat an eye. 

I look towards Harry, unsure of what just happened. Harry doesn’t say a word, instead, he stays in bodyguard mode, simply watching the people around us and keeping a close eye on the particular small crowd in front of us on the track. 

I am unsure whether I am meant to chase after Henry or whether I am meant to let him go. I am not one to chase, especially when I am not in love with the man and by the looks of things and by how he is acting today, he isn’t remotely in love nor interested in me. He is self-absorbed and he has shone an unsatisfactory light on himself in public. With so many eyes being on us, there has to be at least one person who saw what happened and is willing to report it to the media. This isn’t the kind of publicity that we want or need. 

I gaze towards Harry, looking for some sort of guidance. I see Harry roll his eyes before he sighs heavily, “Do I really have to do damage control?” He questions and I nod my head, narrowing my eyes onto him. I can tell he doesn’t want to do damage control, he couldn’t care less about Henry and he hates the fact that Henry is currently on his service as well. Harry tilts his head to his left shoulder slightly, “Horse Boy has galloped off, trotting south of my location.”

I raise a brow at the code-name selected for Henry, I am well-aware Harry had to have chosen it. The alternative names given are used over secure networks so that bodyguards can ensure that he will be able to move the royal family members in and out of specific locations. Code-names change on a basis so that nobody catches who is linked to each name. “Horse boy, really?” I challenge Harry.

Harry lifts his shoulders into a small shrug, doing his best to conceal the smirk painting across his lips, “Let’s go. He is heading to the stables.” Harry instructs, gesturing for me to head in the same direction that Henry took off running in. I pick up the umbrella that we have been carrying around all day before I make my way along the path of Harry’s directions. 

Harry and I attempt to locate Henry, but it is a struggle when I am stopped every few steps to talk to other royals on their way out or to simply smile for a camera. The last race has ended, which means everyone is beginning to make their way out, just as I should be, but instead, Harry and I are trying to get to the stables to where Harry assumes Henry has run off too. 

It is beyond me on how my father managed to pick such an ill-fitting prince to be my partner. I am starting to wish I had of had my say and picked myself, better still, I should have come clean about the relationship between Harry and I. But, at the end of the day, I know that our relationship will not be accepted. If only people placed their bets on us, even with the odds against us, instead, people prefer to place their bets on the more superior. I always go against the odds but right now, the odds are against me, therefore, I am against myself. 

I feel a droplet of rain grace my skin, I look up and notice the ominous clouds forming over us, making their way across the sky in a swift manner. I open my umbrella and I step off the gravel path. I walk along the grass, attempting to reach the very edge of the fence where horses are just now starting to make their way to the stables. 

I carry the umbrella over my head, the rain coming down heavily, patting the umbrella brutally but creating a moderately calming tone. If I had been told that my day would have ended in a Prince acting like a child and running off, leaving me in the rain unsure of where he is, I would have laughed. I never expected to see a grown man throw a temper tantrum, especially in public. 

I welcome a hand press over mine, “Allow me,” Harry instructs, taking the umbrella from my hand. Harry holds the umbrella over me while he stands in the rain and the umbrella shields me from the intense rain.

I turn to face him, “Stand under it with me.”

Harry shakes his head, “I’m not allowed. I will hold the umbrella. A Princess does not hold her own umbrella… Your Prince should be holding it.” 

“He is,” I respond with a small wink before I turn back around and continue walking, the rain coming down heavily on us while we make our way closer to where the horses are stationed and unwinding before they will be transported to their stables.

I glance around, disappointed that the man who is intended to be my boyfriend appears to have disappeared and left me in the downpour to combat the media and the crowds on my own. He was here to serve as a purpose, not only to show his presence as my boyfriend to everyone who wasn’t at the garden party but to also draw attention to a new budding romance that could turn into more. My father needs the media to spark its attention towards us— the monarch is ready to change— my father wants to hand over the reins and pass down the crown but he can’t do so unless the public is on his side and approve of not only me as the queen but my partner. 

“I’m sorry, Anastasia,” Harry distracts me from my thoughts as I observe the horses from a distance being walked around.

I turn to gaze at Harry, facing him as he continues to keep me dry from the rain, meanwhile, he’s wholly soaked. “Why are you sorry?” 

“I’m sorry your Prince left you.” Harry appears sincere and genuine with his apology. 

He and I both know that I am the one who will have to deal with the backlash of whatever Henry has caused on today’s outing. 

I lift my shoulders into a shrug. I don’t have words to say. This isn’t Harry’s fault. This is all my fault. I truly have nobody to blame besides myself. I am the one who is being held to high standards thanks to a monarchy. 

“Why do you look so sad?” 

I look at Harry as he continues to stand in the pouring rain while holding an umbrella over me like a true gentleman, “The odds are against me; the odds are against us, Harry.” 

“It will be okay, Anna.” 

I shake my head, “This is my fault. We don’t know where he went, he could be doing more damage. I-I, I am sorry I didn’t just tell everyone about us.”

“Shh,” Harry hushes me immediately, “We will figure it out. Henry will be fine, right now isn’t the place for this discussion, we are being watched.” Harry informs me and I heavily sigh. 

The worst thing about having my boyfriend as my bodyguard is that sometimes when he is on duty he has to stay strictly as my bodyguard and can’t step into boyfriend mode. 

“I’d like to go home, please,” I inform Harry and he nods his head. 

Harry takes his phone out and makes the calls he needs to in order to assure everything is in order for me to leave promptly and without issues.

Harry escorts me to a blacked-out car with his head of security waiting by the car with an umbrella. Whenever the head of security is waiting for me, it means Harry is handing me off.  

“Matthew will take you to the Palace,” Harry informs me as I step under the head of security’s umbrella, allowing Harry to finally hold the umbrella over his own head despite the fact he is already soaked, his hair is damp and droplets are falling from his soft curls, his white shirt has become slightly see-through I can see the slight outline of his abs as the shirt clings to his body. 

“Why?” 

“You’re right, she does ask a lot of questions,” Matthew chuckles, “He needs to go find Henry, Plus, you said you preferred my service better, I am not as stiff as Harry,” Matthew lightens the mood with a small joke, finally forcing a small chuckle to escape my lips. 

“Finally, she smiles,” Harry grins, “I will come past your wing when I get done.”

I nod my head and I quickly look around to make sure nobody is around to be able to hear me speak. “I love you,” I softly whisper.

“I love you, too,” Harry responds before pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Get in the car. Let’s get you home safely and without a big exit like the garden party.” Harry opens the door, returning to bodyguard mode and gesturing for me to get in the car. 

I get into the car with ease and I rest back against the leather seats, glad to finally be closer to getting home. Today has been long and tiring. 

I view Harry and Matthew talk outside and I watch them intently for a moment, curious as to what they are discussing. I can only assume most of their conversation right now will be revolved around finding Henry. Having a Royal on the loose is not something anybody wants. What I don’t understand is why Henry is so short-fused and why he felt the need to run off like a child who was told he couldn’t have the last slice of pizza. 

As Matthew gets in the driver’s seat of the car, I watch Harry walk off into the distance before the car begins to move. I stare out the window, watching the droplets of rain slide down. 

I lean my head against the window and close my eyes for a moment but I am quickly distracted by the sound of Matthew’s voice. “He loves you, you know?” 

“Harry?” I question, “Did he put you up to this conversation that is about to take place?” 

Matthew chuckles as he looks in his rearview mirror at me, “Am I talking to the Princess or?”

“This is off the record. I am off royal duty.” I respond, assuring Matthew that whatever is said in the car will stay in the car. 

For the most part, conversations between Harry and Matthew are generally off the record. Sometimes they are the only times I get to feel the sense of normality. Everyone else treats me like a princess and always wants to discuss politics, royal duties etc. 

“He’d do anything for you, all you have to do is say the word.” 

“I know,” I nod, “I didn’t think the first public outing would turn out like this. I thought it would be easy to have a fake boyfriend and to let this ride out until I can figure things out. This will be my Dad’s last year as King, what am I meant to do?”

Matthew clears his throat and grows quiet for a moment, his eyes focusing on the wet road as he again begins to drive. “Would you like my honest response?” 

“Have you ever known me to want you to sugarcoat?”

“Anastasia, he wants to marry you, you know that, right?” 

I roll my eyes and scoff, “Yeah, okay.” I know Harry has mentioned it before, but that is only because we learned of the news that they want me to be married before taking over the throne.

“I am serious, he genuinely wants to marry you.”

“Well, he has yet to get on one knee with a ring,” I respond, “I wish things were easier.” 

“Well, things could be easier if you would let Harry handle it. He knows what he is doing, Annastasia, he can handle what he is getting into.” Matthew responds and before I can respond, the phone rings and he answers it, leaving me in the backseat while he drives and continues his phone call. 

♔

The moment I enter the palace, my world is turned upside down and my Father pounces on me like a lion on its weak prey. I can only thank Henry for this. That asshole. 

My father is a great man, for the most part, but when he is angry, he is furious. He can’t always control his temper and that is something the public does not know. The public only see the lower side of his temper, they see the relatively calm and collected King. Me, on the other hand, I get to witness the King at his full capacity of anger and it is far from fun. My father can be relentless, he is like a dog with a bone, which is why he is so good at making foreign deals and running a monarchy, he does not take no for an answer, nor does he take shit from people. Of course, he handles himself in a royal matter but with a hint of dominance. 

My father wastes no time with laying into me, “How many stunts do you anticipate to pull off?” My father questions, his eyes narrowed to crinkled slits, his crimson with fury as he stares me down.

My lips screw into irritation and I take a moment to come to terms with the fact that the King is yelling at me in front of the staff just as I have managed to walk into the palace. “What?” 

“First your stunt at the garden party and now this? Anastasia, I expected more from you.”

“Excuse me? My stunt at the garden party?” I challenge with a raised brow. 

Surely my father cannot be serious right now. 

“You had to be rushed away from fainting at the announcement, I had to do damage control. Then today Henry pulls this stunt all because of you? Why were you so rude to him? He bought you a horse and you thank him by being rude? I raised you better.” 

My brows bump together in a scowl, my body stiffening at the words my father speaks. 

Me? Rude? I think he has me mistaken for Henry. 

I would like to know how this has become my fault. I never wanted Henry as my boyfriend, to begin with, and I never wanted to parade him in public. 

“Do you think I faked fainting, Father? Have you scooped that low? Is the monarch rules so important to you that you are willing to accuse me of such a thing?

“You’re the one who has forced me to this extent. You wouldn’t pick a partner.” 

“Well, you picked an utter asshole to be a partner. Excuse me, I am going to bed before this turns into more of an argument.” I step around my father and begin to make my way to the staircase. 

“We will finish this in the morning,” My Father sneers, “What are you all staring at? Get to work,” He grumbles towards the staff that has gathered near and around us. 

I ignore everything and I make my way up the stairs and to my wing where I shut the door and ignore all the commotion of what is going on. 

♔

I hear the sound of the secret door rattling while I am half asleep, and for a split second, I panic, but quickly come to the realisation it is likely Harry. 

I hold my breath as the door opens and he steps into my room. He is still in his damp clothes, his hair is a mess and I can see he is exhausted. I sit upon my elbows and take a better look at him. His pant legs have grass stains and his button-up is ripped on one of the sleeves. 

Harry shakes his head instantly, “Don’t ask,” Harry mutters, stepping closer and leaning down to kiss my cheek. “Jus’ came to check on you. Heard your Father was quite angry.”

“You already heard about that?” I softly ask.

Harry nods, “The Palace talks quickly, it was the first thing I heard about when I got in the car.”

“Well, I am glad to have amused you and the palace staff.”

Harry sighs, “I didn’t mean it like that. I have some work to do, I will see you in the morning.”

“You’re not staying?” I question. 

Harry shakes his head, “I have more work to do, I am soaked and need to change. Goodnight,” he leans down and kisses my forehead.

Harry walks towards the secret door and I stop him for a moment, “Harry, can I ask something personal?” 

Harry hums his response and turns to look at me, awaiting my question. “Why were you so confident in betting so much money on a horse?” 

Harry grins for a moment and he lifts his shoulders into a meagre shrug, “Sometimes it is good to go against the odds, my darling.”

“I don’t understand.” 

“It is my horse. The odds were mostly against her, but I had faith in her and the jokey, sometimes all it takes is a little faith. I knew what my horse was capable of, others didn’t.” Harry informs me, “Just like I know what we are capable of, others aren’t. I need to go, I love you.” Harry leaves before I can muster up the right words to say. 

The odds are against us but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s willing to take a chance on us, so why can’t I swallow everything and take a chance, too? 

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[yutaya]

Iron Fist Rewatch 1x04: Eight Diagram Dragon Palm

Danny, struggling to pull himself onto that light post thing with his probably now bruised chest: "I dedicate myself to the service of all beings of K'un Lun-" *falls* So is this a recitation they do in training - is he trying to use that mindset to help him climb this beam? Is he doing some sort of traditional ask-the-gods-to-bless-me-with-strength thing?

Lol somehow I had remembered it as Danny crawling up again anyway after the initial push. I forgot they actually went and collected him. Guess that makes them look more favorable to him than my own recall though...

On the coffee table directly facing Danny when he wakes up, probably meant to be a sign to him about where he is and who has so kindly rescued and tended to him after his unfortunate tumble off a building: the formal pic of Harold and children, another photo hard to make out - my first thought was the vacation photo of the 6 of them but it's very sepia, could be something else. Maybe if I look back at other photos we've seen before I could match it.

Danny: "What happened to me? Last I remember I was climbing up-" Ward: "Yeah, like goddamn Daredevil." LOL

UGH THIS WHOLE HAROLD INTRO SCENE UGH Danny mad at Ward one second and then Harold appears and it's like the breath is punched out of him. Looking at Ward and Ward just calmly looking back because he clearly knows what's going on and Danny doesn't - it's as if they're bringing him into their confidence on something. This is a form of offering Danny something he wants - to be a part of something with the only family he thought he had left, not to mention the miracle of one of his parent-figures being alive again. (Wow, what a journey. From finding out Harold is dead and then Ward and Joy both quite clearly rejecting him and denying him a place in their lives to Joy actually doing something to indicate maybe at least she still wants him around after all? To wait, Ward and Harold bringing me in on something too? It's like the dream he clung to in K'un Lun got snatched away and now seems to be trickling back, and - UGH.) "You see him too?" because Danny thought he was seeing things that night at the hospital but this- this is real? Ward's sad, small nod because he knows so much more about Harold than Danny does, and he's seeing this innocent joy (word choice intended) while knowing himself to be wary and that this is almost definitely another manipulation (but what if it's not? What if-? But Harold is still dangerous, he can't help it, there's a reason Ward wants to protect Joy from him even while knowing that Harold favors her so dearly, because there are other ways to hurt your children-)

Harold calmly walking forward while wearing a black suit and confirming "I did die," followed by Danny's "You look the same age as when I last saw you..." - Vampire AU??? (Ugh but why did it have to be Harold? Not a fan of monsters as the bad guys.... need a non-evil vamp to balance him out....)

The way Ward just keeps looking silently between the both of them, like a witness, like - UGH.

"You're home now," GOD DAMMIT and Danny's relief and gratitude and Ward's somber look down I -

Cancer lasted 3 years

Ward: "Dad, are you sure you should be saying this?" Harold: "It's ok. Danny needs to know this." Casting Ward in the opposition role

Ward sits down in the chair adjacent to the couch Danny is on. Harold crosses over from where he was standing near the left side of the couch to sit on the farther right side instead - specifically sitting in between Danny and Ward.

Harold: "I still remember my last breath. Scariest shit I've ever experienced." Ward looks up and away, taking a breath, before turning back again. Combo of eye-roll at dramatics and genuine pain at the thought because that's his dad and Ward remembers those years of pain and decay and - ?

I forgot Danny originally thought of the Hand more like a fable than a reality - and finding out they're a real, present threat combines with being told it's not K'un Lun that they're threatening, but that this whole time, they've actually been digging their claws into his home?

Ward rolling his eyes with his whole body when Harold encourages Danny to think about this as ~embracing his destiny~ hahaha

Ward: No offense, but Danny has zero idea how to do business and therefore maybe shouldn't be running a company with again, absolutely zero training??? Harold: Don't mind Ward being a petulant brat who wants to keep you from your rightful place in our family, Danny. I need you. :)

Harold to Danny: "We've needed a fighter like you back in the family." - right in front of Ward, yet another small "unlike you, who are weak" jab. In line with the whole "Joy can close the deal, you, Ward, can not do anything" lines in the previous episode.

Ward warning Danny about Harold!! But not really doing it great so it could be taken as another 'othering' where Danny could hear 'Harold's not YOUR dad' instead of Ward's intended 'Harold's not your DAD' - made much better by his clarification that Harold only cares about Harold and helping to show he meant 'not a good supportive dad you can lean blindly on' than if he had just. left it at that. I'm glad for Ward's continuing with that line and for Danny's long, considering look at nothing afterward. Gives the sense that Danny feels that something is off, even if he's not sure what.

Colleeeeeeeeeeeeen and her shame and her truly believing in honoring the code of bushido and her teaching these children to get them "the scholarship" to help them in a legitimate, meaningful, honorable way (SOB) and believing that their skills should be about the code and not be about flashiness or showing off or being able to lord their power and ability over others or money -

Code of Bushido (Includes eight virtues, and this episode title is Eight Diagram Dragon Palm. Coincidence???)

1. Rectitude or Justice (refers to PERSONAL rectitude - “one’s power to decide upon a course of conduct in accordance with reason, without wavering” “the bone that gives firmness and stature...without Rectitude neither talent nor learning can make the human frame into a samurai.”)

2. Courage (Bushido distinguishes between bravery and courage - “Courage is doing what is right”)

3. Benevolence or Mercy (“Love, magnanimity, affection for others, sympathy and pity, are traits of Benevolence, the highest attribute of the human soul”)

4. Politeness (Courtesy is rooted in benevolence - “Politeness should be the expression of a benevolent regard for the feelings of others; it’s a poor virtue if it’s motivated only by a fear of offending good taste. In its highest form Politeness approaches love”)

5. Honesty and Sincerity (interestingly, rather than what *I* personally think of when I hear the words “honesty and sincerity”, the info in the Bushido code text about this virtue mostly centers around the idea of disdaining money and riches - probably what Colleen is talking about with her whole “fighting for money breaks the bushido code” thing)

6. Honor (referring to non-martial behavior)

7. Loyalty (bushido text about this seems mostly in context of loyalty to a superior, to your leader, to people you are indebted to. Applies tragically to Colleen and her personal experience with Hand culture. To me, of course, I am more interested in the idea of those leaders deserving your love and your loyalty hand-in-hand with it. Given the other virtues, this IS probably what the code meant to include, but from a modern standpoint it seems like one of those things where especially paramilitary organizations or cults like the Hand could twist the letter of it into an expectation of blindly following orders, even perhaps against your personal devotion to the other virtues)

8. Character and Self-Control (“Bushido teaches that men should behave according to an absolute moral standard, one that transcends logic. What’s right is right, and what’s wrong is wrong. The difference between good and bad and between right and wrong are givens, not arguments subject to discussion or justification, and a man should know the difference.” I get the ideal of this, but something about the wording sits weirdly with me... maybe the implication that they can’t make a mistake?)

Ageless qualities of manliness: choosing compassion over confrontation, and benevolence over belligerence <3

“The tie might be a touch effeminate” Shut UP Ward

Danny, at a press conference: *waves at Jeri* “Hey.” Jeri: *shakes her head*

Danny: “Yes, I was in a mental hospital.” Joy, despairingly: “Oh, Danny”

Jeri smiling. Maybe she worked with Danny on how to handle the press conference and likely questions he would face? My headcanon from this anyway. Ward and Joy looking at each other, seems like in surprise at Danny’s answers and spin?

“Kindness is the eternal law”

The way Danny slips in to this conversation with Joy about the Red Hook property for his Hand investigation is very well done. Reminds me of watching the Netflix trailer and thinking that it made IF look like a show where Danny was some form of government agent going undercover as himself for an investigation.

SO CUTE how Danny goes “woah, I have a first appointment of the day? Who is it?” and then he turns around and it’s his friend Jeri! Hahaha. Danny: “J-money!!” *goes in for a hug* Jeri: “Woah, we don’t do that.”

Jeri: “Your father’s office. Even found his old desk.” Meaning she was the one working on this - Ward is the one who had to set Danny up there after his sarcastic remarks in the penthouse, but Jeri brought in the sentimentality. (Jeri, directly after basically admitting to putting a bunch of effort into a very sentimental gesture here: “Now don’t get all weepy on me.”) Jeri in IF is so soft I love it

Danny: “I pretty much had to raise the dead.” *smirks to himself at his own inside joke*

Jeri, trying to give Danny advice: “For most of these people, you are a hostile takeover.” Me: JERI, HE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND THE NUANCES OF YOUR CORPORATE SPEAK.

Jeri asks if Danny wants the door open or closed. He chooses open. Open to Megan, open to all his new coworkers and employees. Danny is, at his core, for people.

LOL Did Danny just steal Ward’s chair?

Danny: *forces half the board to move so he can sit next to Joy* Me: DANNY

If these guys really wanted to persuade Danny to their point of view on the sell-at-cost thing, they should have emphasized the “funding new research” part of it instead of just repeating “this is just business” ad nauseam. Obviously Ward is actually trying to do the opposite right now and get Danny driven out, but idk what the rest of these people are thinking. Danny acknowledges that they can still make profits elsewhere, which is his side offering a dialogue to meet them. Their counter is that the WHO will be buying it from them and subsidizing it from other people. If they wanted to meet or even just appear to be meeting Danny partway, they could have suggested an initiative to work with the WHO on a program for that? Although since none of them want to actually do that and don’t really care what Danny thinks about it, I know why they didn’t.

Joy raising her eyebrow at Ward’s declaring that they’ll go to market at cost like “I see you Ward and how many times have I told you to leave the maneuvering to me you are unsubtle and unskilled”

Danny looking back at Ward significantly on his way to his discussion with Joy about the pier deal

Ward taking The Drugs before he has to answer Harold’s late night phone call

Harold: You did a great job today. Ward: *baffled expression* Harold: Now, son, this isn’t the time to point fingers, it’s the time for solutions. Ward: There it is. Harold: Also, you screwed up in the meeting and you need to make it up. Ward: *sigh*

Danny: white sneakers with the suit

Joy casually placing the monks and their traditional robes in a lower class position to them and their white collar formal business attire

Time for Joy to play the angle on Danny, curb his at-cost behavior for the future

The ringmaster choosing the second fighter for Colleen followed by that “look, you guys know all the rules” line - I like this guy. He probably remembers how the last dude Colleen fought was a rule-breaker and wants to keep all his fighters safe as possible in an already dangerous 2-on-1 fight like this.

Again with the camera slowing and the noise fading and the blood splattering camera work giving the “losing control” vibe

“The problem was, I never thought through WHY I wanted this job. I mistook my stubborn will for a sense of... destiny, or something.” (Danny, earlier: “My shifu would have called this destiny.”)

“Every moment was a struggle. Failure... led to a beating. Victory... led to another fighting style. To the next lesson.”

Joy flat out calls it abuse and Danny doesn’t deny it.

Vodka and tonic, light on the tonic.

Danny clearly still shaken by the borderline flashbacks to his life at K’un Lun.

Is this the first time the Hatchets appear? Just storming the apartment and punching Joy in the face? Danny and Joy must both be like “WHAT IS HAPPENING”

Joy tries punching one of them. Good for you, Joy.

Ah yes, Ward flat out telling one of the more shark-like reporters that the drug is a huge deal that would save millions of lives and that Rand was of course planning to really boost the price to make a “huge” profit. “That is a loss of hundreds of millions of dollars [that our one company wanted to make off of the millions of people who needed this drug to save their lives]. He’s worse than those bleeding-heart-liberal-trust-fund hipsters wandering around Williamsburg.” (Note: Williamsburg: hip neighborhood that draws the young and fashionable. Boutiques, cafes, street art, outdoor concerts and food markets. Dance clubs, bars, music halls. East Williamsburg is ranked one of the 5 most LGBTQ+ friendly neighborhoods in Brooklyn.)

“Ellison, don’t give the front page to Karen”

Ward just looks at her retreating back and rubs his hands together like “Ah yes, a job well done.” Biggest question for the viewers in this scene is probably: Did Ward tank this on purpose or is he really that far removed from the reality of the non-Elite?

Colleen: still bloody from her illegal cage fighting and hears noise outside her door. Last time she heard noise, it was attackers breaking in for what probably seemed to her like retaliation. Then it’s Danny and she has the relieved exasperation, but - oh ho, Joy Meachum?

“Wasn’t he stalking you?” “It was a misunderstanding.” “Right. I guess being a millionaire covers a multitude of sins.” (Danny: “Billionaire.” Colleen in the background: *disbelieving huff+head shake*)

TRIADS. Time for my triad rant: Every drama show ever to involve Asian-Americans - even just in one-episode specials - includes triads. I’m so sick of it. I know organized crime is a real problem that actually exists, but - why are the Asians always evil? It’s like having the mafia be a plotline every time an Italian character exists on screen. Plz diversify. Media colors perception.

Danny: literally just walks into a restaurant and says he needs to speak to the head of the crime gang. AND THEN NONE OF THEM EVEN BOTHER TRYING TO DENY IT. The Hatchets literally just open the door to their backroom where you can clearly see their illegal activity and come out to talk to Danny. What if he was working with the cops, guys?

It’s so scary how the Yangshi Gonsi react to the mention of the Hand. Well done, IF.

“Joke around the house was that Danny and I were pledged to be married.” (“In another life, this would have been romantic.”) (THIS CREEPS ME OUT THOUGH in a very personally specific triggering way as someone who spent their childhood running around with a boy that I found out later people thought was gonna “knock me up someday.” #BARF)

Colleen has a billionaire in her dojo learning how to punch on a dummy held together with duct tape because she can’t afford to fix it. (Also: Colleen's dojo is also for self-defense classes. Joy was just attacked by hatchet-wielders.)

Danny: "The hatchets won’t be a problem anymore." and then doesn’t elaborate. DANNY THAT SOUNDS SO SHADY. YOU LOOK SO SHADY RIGHT NOW.

Danny: *reaches out and touches Colleen’s hand* Colleen: *flinches back* What are you doing? DANNY. DANNY, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. You seriously have no idea how you come across. Joy is watching all this like “wow....ok.”

Danny used to fight in illegal fight clubs on his way back from K’un Lun. Along with his obtaining an illegal fake ID. New headcanon: Danny is actually super connected to the criminal underground worldwide. Mob bosses everywhere have a soft spot for him. He’s somewhere on a mission with Ward/Colleen/Defenders/HfH and acting like he knows the area, someone recognizes him and he starts chatting cheerfully with them, suddenly they’re being greeted and helped out by people deep in the black market scene while Danny bear hugs someone that most people clearly fear and his companions look on with wide eyes.

Danny, a literal billionaire: Remember how I offered to pay you six months rent for helping me out? Colleen, broke as hell: My denial stands.

Danny: So how are we gonna tell Ward? (framing them - all three of them - as a team) Joy: lmao, are we thinking about the same Ward? You want to tell the most overprotective big brother in the world that men with hatchets attacked his sister? Do you remember what he did to those bullies when we were 8?

Gao: *black bags Harold, refuses to tell him where they’re taking him, doesn’t reveal that this particular instance is him landing on the ‘good’ side of the scale until the last possible second.*

Ugh, he just puts that sword back in the scabbard with all the blood still on it? Improper blade care

Oh yeah, I guess this is the audience’s first scene showing that Harold is capable of cold-blooded murder

I notice that this article may be the front page of the business section, but is NOT the front of the newspaper. Sorry, Jennifer.

[I had initially transcribed the article here, but have made it it's own post which can be found here. Notes on the article, though: Jennifer was very kind to the Meachums in it, given what Ward was actually saying. Also, which Bulletin employee fell down on grammar checking that thing?]

Danny’s Jeri-given apartment doesn’t have a number on the door, but does have some sort of cherry blossom branches etching in the plate?

The Hatchet box!!! (congrats again @Sholio LOL) Yang Hai-Qing wants Danny to get rid of the Hand too. He wasn’t gonna mess with them, explained they didn’t know about the Hand's involvement when they went after Joy, and apologized, but then the Hand came to his restaurant and killed one of his men anyway.

Ah yes, the great tattoo reveal. Also, is that a bullet’s pucker scar on Danny’s left shoulder?

#Iron Fist #iron fist rewatch #eight diagram dragon palm #my stuff #the immortal iron fist #i am lagging so badly on this rewatch!! #but this episode literally took me all day

[lizzybeth1986]

Quick Thoughts on TRH Book 1 Chapter 4

• Hello guys! I’m trying to finish this early because I’m shifting house (not too far from where I’m already living, and closer to kiddo’s nursery! 😁). Fingers crossed I can finish it prior to us shifting.

• Before I begin, I feel I must apologize for neglecting to place a trigger warning for discussing infertility, considering I posted screenshots of Hana’s scene referencing that last chapter and spoke at length about it. The people who have discussed it on my posts have been unfailingly kind and sensitive in their approach to speaking about it, and I failed to display the same sensitivity. I will make sure I don’t repeat that mistake in the future.

Content Warning: The end of this QT will feature a discussion on last week’s Hana scene in the doctor’s office, so TW for discussions on infertility.

• Screenshot Credits:

@pixieferry for Hana + the Abhirio YouTube channel

@thefirstcourtesan + the BizzysChoices YouTube channel for Drake

@boneandfur + Abhirio YouTube channel for Maxwell

• I’m also halfway through a QT for Book 1 Chapter 5. Thought I’d revisit the original series while I was at it. What do you guys think?? If you’re interested do mention if you want to be tagged! You can check out my QTs for the first four chapters from my Masterlist, linked on my bio 😀

• Short chapter, this. I’m pretty sure all the deep digging into history etc will happen idk in Texas. Coz Texas is where Drake’s maternal home is and this entire series - TRR Book 2 onwards - has just been a massive Drake’s-ass-kissing exercise for the writers, let’s be honest. But at least right now, we will get a feel of what the rivals who want to corner us into an alliance look like, sound like, and want.

• Title: Courting Crowns

Does this chapter alone need an alternative title? Does it really?? You might as well rename the entire series no, since just one LI seems to matter. Call it The Grumpy Commoner’s Pub Trail instead (@callmetippytumbles came up with this phrase in an ask on Lily Spencer once).

• I know I sound bitter but how else do you expect me to sound when the writers are THIS blatant about their favouritism. And tbh they’ve been doing that Book 2 onwards.

• So the chapter begins where we left off - the MC meets up with all the LIs in the solarium. They confirm that the people responsible were the paparazzi, and the angle they’re trying to spin is that the Queen of Cordonia/Duchess of Valtoria is an irresponsible woman who is somehow magically pregnant (even in a Hana playthrough!) AND being careless. Thank you Cordonian paps, I’m sure you know my body better than I do.

• Madeleine speaks of doing “damage control” while Bertrand “gallavants away” to Texas as if we were never busy doing damage control for her during the Unity Tour.

• LMAO @ all the responses to “I’ll show them how serious I am about producing an heir”. Especially the Maxwell MC 😅

(Screenshots: @pixieferry for Hana, @boneandfur for Maxwell and BizzysChoices YouTube channel for Drake)

• Liam we know that shy retiring gentleman act is the biggest sham there is. I’ve read your diamond scene.

• Alright so now we prep for the Ball. MC will oversee party arrangements, Drake will check with Mara on security, Hana will help with decor, and Maxwell will make sure there is plenty of bubblyyyy, wiggly letters and all. No idea what Liam is doing. Mysterious King things, I suppose.

• It’s now the night of the Ball and Hana (thank God) is helping us get ready, having already gotten ready herself first. What’s interesting (and not in a good way) is WHAT she’s wearing:

To your left is a screenshot from my playthrough, where Hana is wearing her beloved handmade traditional outfit. To your right is a screenshot from a playthrough @thefirstcourtesan did, in which Hana wears the understated LBD she wore for the MC’s bachelorette in Vegas (whether she was the bride or not). The interesting bit is that I bought the scene where Hana got her outfit back, and @thefirstcourtesan didn’t do it for that particular playthrough.

What’s more, is that I noticed in the previous book…that while the outfit on the left was an option during her wedding, it definitely wasn’t an option for the final ball in Book 3 if you didn’t pay to secretly take it from Lorelei - Hana pretty much chooses her costume gala flower gown in that case.

Are you telling me that if I don’t buy to get her own handmade outfit back, you’ve basically taken it out of her hands???

I’ll get into why this could actually be so messed up later.

• Even if Hana doesn’t have this particular outfit, why does she have to go for something so toned-down?? This is something she last wore (by default) to a bachelorette party! Why couldn’t they choose to put her in her Costume Gala gown instead? That would have worked for such a huge formal ball. At the very least it would have worked better than her LBD.

•

Not gonna lie, this annoyed me a fair bit. One, could it really have been that hard to do some of the work for this, MC? Like I said in my previous QT, the MC still doesn’t seem to take much effort to read up or ask questions about what’s going on, however powerful a figure she is. Two, I am done, done, with how much work Hana has to be doing on the MC’s behalf without getting much credit in return. She’s been doing this since Book 1. In the first two books I could somewhat understand - the MC was new, she had no idea where to begin looking, Bertrand and Maxwell weren’t exactly the most efficient support system to integrating into Cordonian society, everything was unfamiliar. That’s now not the case. She is a powerful, influential figure who has all the resources possible to understand the situation if she really wanted to. But she is still waiting on people to spoonfeed the information to her, and a friend like Hana tends to get very, very little in return.

• When I first saw this scene on my Liam playthrough, I was wondering how the Hana equivalent would look. I mean, she was dealt with a pretty heavy emotional blow the previous day. Would it still weigh on her? Would the MC check in to find out how she was doing?

Nothing of the sort happened. It was the same scene, except perhaps for a reference to Hana being a duchess. So I thought, well, maybe since it’s a heavy conversation, they’ll probably integrate it into the diamond scene, right? After all, I’d just seen a Drake scene that dealt with his reasons for agreeing to Liam’s request. Surely Hana would be given a similar courtesy?

• Okay so Hana’s research yields these results regarding our guests:

- King Bradshaw and Queen Isabella of Auvernal: Bradshaw is the kind who likes to get his way, apparently, and Isabella likes people with a sense of humour.

- Queen Amalas of Monterisso: is mysterious. That is all.

- Other Leaders: from distant countries, basically just coming to the part to have a good time.

• I think this is interesting in terms of the sheer variety of people we’re needing to handle in one party alone. All of them with different personalities, aims and agendas. Unlike Cordonia, which operates on particular codes of conduct that we are now used to, we have to pick up the subtle cues Hana gives us to figure out what works for which royal. We’re definitely being kept on our toes this chapter, and I like when that happens.

•

Ooo blingy. Very nice. Green and gold is an amazing combination, the applique on the gown is beautiful, the illusion neckline is nice, and I like seeing small pearls weaved into such a fancy outfit! Honestly we should have had something similar to this in Fydelia last book, rather than being expected to waltz in that green minidress. The only downer is that Hana’s free outfit COULD have been just as opulent but they opted to dress her down instead. And that’s not the first time they force her to dress down for occasions where she could dress like a star.

• The guys are dressed up for the occasion too. Liam in his official outfit with the medals and sash, Drake in his grey suit, Maxwell in his formal black suit sans tie. Only if you’re with Hana, do you not see your LI in their full regalia at the stairs (since we already took a good look at her at the boutique). Whichever LI you are married to (if male), you will greet at the stairs, entering the hall with them.

• Following your entry, you and your LI split up to meet and talk to your guests separately. There’s not a lot we see of our LIs’ interactions, as this chapter is mostly focussed on the MC’s first impression of these royals.

•

So you have three characters established as the most powerful (Bradshaw and Isabella, and Amalas. I recognize the sprite for Amalas as being similar-ish to Vasquez’s girlfriend in The Senior, but with different hair and styling. I read somewhere that Bradshaw’s sprite is also from another character in another series?), one character that’s there as a nod to another series (Princess Marguerite from The Heist: Monaco, who I like to believe is living her best life and happily romancing Miranda), and the other ‘distant kingdom’ characters for which they used sprites from other books (Erin from HSS, Khaan from PM, and Scarlett from VoS).

• Rather than going chronologically, I’m going to first go from the royals that were added more for extra flavour and a party atmosphere, to the royals the narrative actually focuses on:

- King Eirik: Very easily to please. Just remember the guy’s name. I’m not exactly sure he’s used to that (or Khaan Mousavi is on the run from Eros again and wants to make sure the MC won’t suss out who he really is).

- Lerato and Lesidi: So you can choose to please either sister, because each of them have different opinions on what matters. (I’m guessing Scarlett decided to give her brother in Washington some tough competition. “You’re contesting for a Senate seat? Well sucks to be you because I’m going make myself a goddamn princess!!” At the very least I know she upgraded from Tanner). Lerato can’t stand Constantine (like normal people), and is appreciative of efforts that better the lives of Cordonians. Lesidi is younger (you’re supposed to be in school Erin!!) and really just loves a good party. So as long as you move away from the chest-beating “Cordonia’s strength” response, and opt for either a noble cause or just plain good fun, your royal reputation will be fine.

(Honestly the least PB can do is replace Scarlett’s S necklace with something else if she’s just going to be a convenient sprite. Or give all her doppelgangers S names, idk).

- Marguerite: She is an out-and-out romantic and that’s definitely the vibe they’re going for here. She’s also amazing and sweet with the MC, unconditionally offering friendship and advice. You don’t get reputation points with her since she’s lovely to you anyway, but you do get to ask her what her opinion is on either Bradshaw and Isabella, you and your LI as a couple, or the other royals. The answer to the first question seems the most important, hinting at a future role perhaps. She warns us to be careful around them.

- Bradshaw and Isabella: The approach for these two is interesting. I hated the characters (esp Bradshaw, which I’m sure was what the narrative wants me to be doing) and their acting like I’m PANTING to marry off my unborn child to one of their twins - but the overall scene with them I found interesting. Bradshaw seems to operate on extremes - either you grovel in front of him or you aggressively push back, he likes both approaches. He doesn’t seem to have an appreciation for diplomacy and would you fight with him rather than give him a neutral response. Isabella likes seeing a sense of humour in people, and seems to enjoy it if you tell her that “when no one’s trying to kill me, this place isn’t so bad”. In any case, the only way to keep up with both is to take turns choosing answers that will interest them. I found the guessing quite challenging and fun, not so much the insinuations that I would arrange my child’s marriage before they’re even conceived.

- Amalas: Perhaps the most intriguing, and that’s probably on purpose. They’re clearly highlighting her as the underdog in this court, the mysterious Queen no one knows about (although the Black Widow reference does hint at her at least being suspected of killing her husband? Since the female black widow spider is famous for eating the male after mating). She makes a persuasive case about how Monterisso and Cordonia are “cut from the same cloth”, are both small (how many climates and landscapes does Monterisso have) countries with amazing wealth, that Auvernal wants to push into an unequal alliance with the promise of their military prowess. Amalas’ suggestion is to join hands so they can find strength together and push back against the kind of intimidation Bradshaw is showing them.

• Queen Eleanor was from Auvernal? So Liam is half-Cordonian and half-Auvernese? That must be interesting. I wonder if we will possibly see more about these foreign relations during Constantine’s time and what it must have been like. Also why do I hear practically nothing about Constantine from this exchange? They mention Eleanor, but refer to only her - especially when they’re talking about her hospitality and treating them with respect. There’s nothing much to make out of it yet (though you have at least one other person openly expressing a negative view of him), but it’s an interesting point to note nonetheless.

• QUEEN ESTHER NOW HAS A NEW CORGI!!! Since the first was named Joy, I thought I’d name the lady corgi Hope xD

• I know the narrative is writing Amalas as this mysterious, seductive figure (it’s working on me, okay! 🙈) the underdog and the cool person that everyone wants to know and be friends with - but all said and done, she advocates these bizarre ideas to make kids have betrothals on their cribs too. She’s just a little more persuasive and a little less heavy-handed about it. So I have my doubts still.

• It’s also kind of interesting that there is no specified sex given for Amalas’ child? Is customization possible for both her child and ours?

•

(Screenshots: Abhirio’s YouTube channel for Hana and Maxwell, BizzysChoices YouTube channel for Drake)

Aww @ all the LIs’ reactions to the new corgi!

• So…the MC comes out of these interactions with multiple nobles and royals either exhausted, frustrated or worried, and the LI comforts her in whatever way they can, reassuring her that things will go well. She can either feel majorly annoyed about having to deal with so much royalty, be weirded out by the kind of attention the baby she hasn’t even (possibly) conceived yet is getting, or she’s afraid the alliances won’t happen. Either way, the LI is there to help her, and suggests they sneak out and spend a little time together before dealing with the guests again.

• The basic format for this scene is very, very similar for three LIs: Liam, Hana and Maxwell. The MC agrees to sneak out, the LI takes her to the bedroom (or in Liam’s case, they have an tiny extra scene where Princess Marguerite is passing them while they’re making out in the corridor). They begin a fun, sexy game of their choosing, which the MC enjoys and which eventually leads to them sleeping together. This is followed by a short conversation after which the LI and MC go back to the hall.

This is the breakdown for each LI:

- Liam: After almost being caught red-handed making out in the corridor by Princess Marguerite, Liam and his wife make it to the bedroom. Liam plays Twenty Questions with her, quizzing her on details about the rulers she met. For each answer she gets right, he gives her a kiss (well…he kisses her even otherwise because she is impossible to resist). Once they’ve slept together, the couple then briefly discuss both their honeymoon period and then the decision they will need to make regarding alliances. The last bit is spoken about in an extremely vague manner.

- Maxwell: Immediately after the MC accepts, the two enter their bedroom and begin to do a little roleplay. Maxwell pretends he came into the bar where the MC worked alone, and that she isn’t a waitress (the player gets to choose her role: a spy, a museum curator or a jewel thief). Once they’ve slept together, they chat a little before going back to the guests, and one of the things the MC can opt to mention is that Maxwell “will be a great dad” even if he’s a fun uncle type. Oh, like that conversation Maxwell and his MC never got to have back on their honeymoon? 🤔

- Hana: Immediately after the MC accepts, the two enter their bedroom and do what the MC calls “an ice-cream strip game”. Either one has to taste an ice cream and correctly guess the flavour, and if they don’t get it right, they have to shed an item of their clothing. This includes fun flavours like bubblegum, rum-and-raisin and lemon sorbet. Hana then heats things up by running a little ice cream down the MC’s neck instead of letting her taste. Once they’ve slept together, the couple chat for a bit, after which the MC thanks Hana for everything she’s been doing for her. Hana is sweet and humble and the MC can optionally tell her how incredible she is but somehow the events of the previous day never come up (again, more on this later).

(Screenshots: @pixieferry for Hana and @boneandfur for Maxwell)

• HOWEVER, not only is the format of Drake’s diamond scene different, but so is the location! Drake’s diamond scene begins with the couple wanting a moment alone - the MC even takes a bottle along and there is some light hearted teasing about how he isn’t the only person in the relationship who drinks. This is followed by a four minute long makeout scene somewhere in the foyer (to give you an idea of how much time that took - Liam’s corresponding makeout scene lasts barely a minute), and the MC - to get them real privacy - takes him to that HUGE kinda dilapidated area that we once took Hana to, in Book 3…presumably to ravish each other and then watch the sunset. Which is exactly what they do.

Shortly after this, Drake and the MC enjoy the sight of the sun setting, and then discuss their future and one important aspect of Drake’s past - his changing attitudes towards nobility. The MC at this point gets to ASK him why he agreed to Liam’s proposal. He has this to say:

(Screenshot from @thefirstcourtesan)

I mean…that moment wasn’t exactly OOC only for Drake. Hana and Maxwell pretty much would have had the same questions too, but there hardly are even given the space to ask those questions. Yet somehow the team had the time and the energy to delve into just one character?

Drake gets to expand on what seeing Savannah’s family makes him feel. Drake gets to speak about his loyalty to his friend and his changing attitude to the nobility. He is lauded by the public and the press for doing and saying the bare minimum. And now, he gets an LI scene that allows him to speak at length, while the other LIs are restricted to maybe a few lines.

• I really do feel conflicted about Drake’s big scene about his loyalty to his best friend,and his issues about nobility, happening in an undercroft where Hana was once supposed to have her own big scene about family and selfhood, last book - one that we never got. Because the writers didn’t care enough.

• We now return to the Ball, and after mingling for a while, the MC gets to see what almost everyone else is doing.

King Bradshaw is bemused by Maxwell’s love for dance offs and desire to be a court jester (I know Brad but that’s basically what the writers reduced him to).

Kiara LOVES Queen Amalas’ pantsuit because it is “elegant, yet bold” and a pleased Amalas tells Kiara she should try wearing one (I’d love to see how that looks honestly 😃).

Marguerite is talking to Drake and Hana. Drake isn’t very happy that someone besides him is monopolizing this conversation and Hana is LOVING IT (same, sis, saaaaame).

•

@ Drake: This is literally your life now. You knew you would have to deal with a press meet last chapter and you knew there would be a goddamned ball where you’d have to do networking this chapter. Be prepared from now on and stop complaining, Jesus.

@ Hana: I love it when Hana trolls people, and I feel it she doesn’t get to do it often enough. Remember her impressions of Drake in Fydelia during Unity Tour. They should let her do one for everyone in the group. Please let Hana troll people more. Let her troll all of Cordonia!!

• The night winds down, and we get to see who we have impressed and who we haven’t. As I’ve mentioned earlier, Isabella’s attitude towards you hinges on your sense of humour, Bradshaw on your ability to push back and fight for what you want. Amalas on your uniqueness and that je ne sais quoi feel that seems to set you apart from the others. The other royals on different aspects: either your ambition and desire to serve the people, or the ability to let loose and have a good time! We get to know all of this on their way to the door.

• I’m glad Olivia didn’t show up here. Can you imagine just how mad she’d get if she heard all this nonsense about having marriage alliances done before these children were even born?? She’d suffered in a situation very much like that, and I think she’d be damned to let what happened to her happen to another kid. You’d need to hold her back from using an axe against these people.

• Whatever the outcome is, the MC expresses her worries to the LI, the LI comforts her and then suggests they make a road trip to America since Savannah and Bertrand are getting married there (another trip…seriously??? Please for the love of God just stay in the country/duchy and properly RULE it for once!!).

• Next set of chapters is clearly going to be taken over by the Walker family, and we’ll talk and hear about nothing else for the next couple of weeks.

General Thoughts:

• …why is no one asking where the paparazzi came from? Our paps? Their paps? Which magazine was it. Why are you so intent on making your characters look so stupid PB. They’re so stupid. My head hurts.

• Why are they saying I was in a hot tub I never saw a hot tub in that villa.

• I know some questions should be unanswered for future plot…but…you don’t think a SINGLE person would be wondering who sent them in the first place? Considering the last time photos of us were taken without our consent it was pretty much from someone who had an agenda?

• So…over the weekend I tried to do a fail playthrough of my own for Book 1 (I was dying guys I was dying. So much secondhand embarrassment. How did I survive that 😭). And since I was doing this so soon after I finished this chapter, I kinda ended up making parallels between Queen Regina’s first meeting with the suitors in Chapter 5 there, and how especially the Bradshaw/Isabella/Amalas meetings went here.

I remember distinctively that displaying a “sense of humour” was actively discouraged (Regina even says “fools use laughter to cover up their own ignorance” in the same tea party), and how highly qualities like stoicism and diplomacy are held in esteem. Bradshaw and Isabella are the antithesis to that (Bradshaw also shows slight similarities with Regina in terms of liking a challenge. During the croquet game in Book 1, Regina makes it clear that she “detests those who don’t have the stomach to stand up to me”. Bradshaw, too, seems to have more respect for an MC who stands up to him…but in perhaps a more patronizing way)

Interestingly, if the press has labelled you “Mystery Woman” in Book 1, Regina points out that “no one can remain a mystery long when they’re a public servant and must attend to the people”. Yet it is almost impossible for Hana - whose research skills are clearly on another level - to find any information about Queen Amalas.

• Tbh I kinda love that shift. By branching out and navigating through the landscape not just in but around Cordonia, the MC gets a broader view of what politics is like around this area. She gets to read the other person’s cues and behaviour, compare it with the information she has been given, and make an informed decision on what would work right with them. I hated the overall presumptuousness from the main players, but I definitely enjoyed the dynamics.

• I wonder if we will see Regina again at some point! I'm doing my Book 1 playthrough and she's kinda growing on me this time.

• The diamond scene was good on its own…until I started checking the other routes. And that’s been the case more and more often with TRR. You start out thinking “great, a nice love scene with teasing and seduction and your LI showing you just how good they are in bed, with some tender moments afterwards”. Then you look at other playthroughs and realize (if you’re a Liam stan) that their scenes were shorter and there was less to talk about. THEN you look at a playthrough like Drake’s…and find a completely different backdrop, a completely different format and an issue that his fans were complaining about being addressed. In detail. I’m a Liam stan, there is at least a little more I know I’m going to get (besides my LI being happy and not making stupid decisions in a playthrough where he is single). Hana and Maxwell get practically nothing, the writers aren’t even pretending to scrape the bottom of the barrel to give them content.

• If they’d really bothered to even this out, they could have used the end of these scenes to answer important questions. Liam could maybe tell us exactly what his experience of dealing with these kings and queens have been like, since he has had more experience with them in terms of diplomatic relations. He could speak about how it feels to have these sort of powerful, invasive figures make constant demands on him, and how that would weigh on him. After all these are the kinds of people he might have had to work with ever since Leo abdicated. Or what about Maxwell? In the livestream the writers claimed that he “grew into fatherhood”…How? Where? Why was this journey not worth showing? This diamond scene could have focused on what his turning point into that growth was, especially since Drake got that space to talk about it.

• I got two very, very bitter reminders of that horrid scene they gave Hana in Book 3 Chapter 15, in this chapter itself. One was - as I told you - the fact that if you didn’t buy this scene (that wasn’t even worth TWO diamonds, much less the 15 you could spend on it), her handmade outfit disappears after the wedding. She doesn’t have it as an option for the ball in the finale, she can’t wear it this chapter and is instead made to dress herself in a very muted style (which honestly kind of reminds me of how she was constantly treated like the “wedding planner” or “bridesmaid” rather than the bride, at her own damn wedding).

I assumed, this entire time, that even if you didn’t get the outfit in Book 3…the improved relationship with Lorelei shortly after would mean she’d get her dress back (since the reason she had to take away Hana’s clothes from her didn’t even exist anymore). Why would a Hana who HAS this outfit (at least up until the wedding) be coded as no longer owning it or considering to wear it if you didn’t buy that scene? I see no reason why it would be around and she’d not want to wear it. Her love for that outfit wouldn’t lessen just because she wasn’t running all around Valtoria to retrieve it.

So what should I assume? That Hana and her parents maybe made peace with each other but Lorelei still took her most precious item of clothing anyway? And now Hana doesn’t even get to wear it now for special occasions to represent her other home? She has to opt for an outfit she wore for a bachelorette while her wife/friend is (optionally) dressed to the nines? Just so you can stroke your ego about how this shitty diamond scene from the last book will now be of some use?

I mean…just the fact that getting back together with her parents but not getting stuff that is HERS back…I don’t even know what to say.

• TW: I speak about Hana’s scene with the doctor from last chapter again here.

• The other reminder of what a trainwreck that scene was, was definitely Drake’s diamond scene, which takes place in the same secret spot. If you didn’t buy the scene, then this was a place the MC just discovered, and if you did, she mentions seeing this place with Hana. I recall, while buying this scene, waiting and waiting for Hana to say more about that grandmother who made her dress with her, or about how her views on her parents have changed…or literally anything. But nothing much actually happened rather than a very shallow conversation and a kiss if you were her fiancée. Now in the same spot, I see Drake get a special scene with special dialogues exploring facets of his journey (and by now I’ve completely lost count of the number of times I’ve seen this happen). In the meantime, Hana gets a scene where her MC does the barest minimum - saying ‘thank you’ for all the preparations Hana’s been making the last few days. Which brings me to my next point.

• You can’t expect me to believe that two women who love each other, and who are supposed to have supported each other through difficult situations (this is true for Hana, and for the MC on the few occasions the story allowed her to)…would simply return to normal? After receiving the kind of news Hana got in the previous chapter??? That the woman going through this painful experience wouldn’t struggle with it? That her partner would not bother to check on her? (and at no point does the MC do so in this chapter). One could always argue that perhaps they could leave such a discussion for future chapters…but, as I said in detail the previous QT, the writing team has had a track record of choosing to never address very serious issues related to Hana’s own story, to the point where they were on the verge of encouraging a possible romance with someone who harmed her in her single playthroughs. If they were able to make Drake’s scene so different, why couldn’t they do the same to Hana considering her own, self-confessed, emotional state last chapter in her playthrough? Instead in that particular scene, she thanks her for everything, even referencing the same doctor’s appointment where they got this news - and it sounds patronizing considering the fact that Hana’s pain is (again!!) seen as not important even to speak about. Why couldn’t the MC at least ask after her and see how she’s feeling, and comfort her in this scene?

And if that wasn’t going to happen - why force that situation on Hana at all??

• One thing we need to keep in mind is that even when one DOES NOT want children, being told that you don’t even have that choice, or option, can be painful and in many cases traumatizing as well. I had two incredible reblogs last chapter that spoke about this in detail, from people who experienced similar situations, and I feel that unless a writer is ready to commit to that storyline and route, unless they’re prepared to write it sensitively rather than brush it under the carpet, they should not place that character in that situation. This is extremely offensive given their track record.

• This is why, when they say bullshit like “oh we would have preferred to do separate books for each LI but ended up with no choice but one book” (I’m paraphrasing), I find it so hard to believe the team. No one was forcing them to create the issues for Hana that they did. Those were narrative choices they made…and when you make such choices it’s YOUR responsibility to resolve them properly, otherwise don’t go there! Don’t have Madeleine bully her - or Olivia still mock her after they’ve become friends - if you’re simply going to allow these white (let’s never forget this. The white women in this book get away with all kinds of bullshit) women to get away with it with little-to-no pushback from Hana herself. Don’t force her into an emotionally abusive parent-child relationship if your only resolution for that is they say sorry a couple times and still have the same toxic expectations of her. Don’t rob her of her choice to physically carry a child if in the next chapter you will force her to act like nothing happened. I doubt ANY of these writers would care enough to actually write separate routes/books for anyone other than the LI they’ve always been pandering to.

• Apparently 3 writers in the team claim they would date Hana. Mmhmm. Sure. I can so see that in the way you write her, team TRH, I can so see that.

• I…love some of the characters in this series, and they’re the reason I’m still sticking around and trying to make these write-ups. But I won’t lie that it is exhausting, and frustrating, to keep highlighting these issues and barely be heard - and if the series keeps this up…I might not be able tho sustain the energy to keep writing these. I hope that doesn’t happen…but it is a very real possibility and I think I should let you guys know in case things do go that way.

• Fingers crossed that doesn’t happen - but if it does, I’ll still be working on my Book 1 QTs (my failplay brought up some insights that I found interesting!) and there’s plenty of fanfic ideas that I’d love to get back into. Let’s see how things turn out!

#long post #the royal heir #anti the royal heir #trh quick thoughts #trh qts #infertility tw #bullying tw

[helpinghanikan]

Mistress in Green, Ch 2

Loki X reader

Sum: Having someone above your station as a lover is one thing. Marrying someone above the first’s is a whole other. 

Part 1

Part 3

Part 4

                                                Get the braids right   

          Supposedly the forge wouldn’t cause a sunburn. Although, based on the fine layer of sweat covering most of your body, your eyebrows are going to be slightly singed. The only part that wasn’t wet had to be your hands closest to the forge. Wearing gloves that can only be described as magic, they weren’t even toasty.

           It was supposed to be a family sword you’d exchange. A fake raid made on your families crypt to find the greatest warrior’s blade. You’d walk out from the stone and dirt carrying the rusted thing under a blanket, no one would see it until the wedding day. No one else in your family had reached this status. You never weld a sword or fought in a real battle. You were never a warrior, but you were the greatest.

           Days following your promotion became both busy yet incredibly simple. Your men and ladies given direction and sent on their way:

           “Make sure the guards have sharpened spears and tell them to stop poking everything.”

           “Anyone with less than a years’ experience has to have padded weapons,”

           “Thank you, thank you for the congratulations now go do your jobs.”

           Your designs now meant more then ever before. Men and women not so subtly leaning over your shoulder to get a look. Finishing each piece one at a time and sending them out to be created by your people. A nice pile of blue prints left int eh center for any to look at and give their opinions on.

           Leaving the blue prints for the sword out was a dumb thing to do. It just so happened that a little section of the forgery was curtained off. You would have your own space anyway, why not make it now? That there’s sample metal and an outline for varying sizes means nothing.

           Your men and women are laughing and talking like children beyond your curtain. Hushing each other when your shadow turns towards them. Some part of them probably thought your hammering was enough to drown out their laughing.

           Asgardians never need a reason to throw a celebration. Stopping for a drink on a regular Tuesday night and the next thing you’re swept up in a rowdy group. Men and women that suddenly storm the doors after a new son or daughter or a “yes” to a proposal. You’d have to really work to escape the wave taking everyone into its heart.

           Now take an event that has an actual reason, and everything is revved to eleven. Bridal mead was being made, a good gap would be in the live stock to make enough food and there was a constant argument about where the ceremony would actually be held. The assumed place would be in the castle. With all the guests (I.E all of Asgard) that would be unlikely. Possibly on the rainbow bridge, it was big enough and it was pretty enough. Not that your opinion mattered, this was a wedding for Asgard, not you.

           Most that you’ve done for the wedding is write letters and make this sword.

           You were even kept out of the actual date. Not knowing when it was going to take place before Lady Sif catches you one morning.

           Morning might have been a stretch; the moon wasn’t even gone from the sky yet. Sending white sheet light from the window over the floor your walk across. It was likely you had a little spy in your smithy. Someone you once called loyal spreading word that the sword was finished just the other day.

           Lady Sif was the one sent to “retrieve” you. Someone you considered a friend commit the slightest betrayal with her smile. The ‘I’m sorry about this but I’m trying to sugar coat it’ smile.

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            “A man shouldn’t be in here right now.” One of the several ladies said.

           She says this in a whisper, as if the smaller room didn’t carry voices like the wind. She wasn’t even whispering this to you, leaning over your back and talking to another lady on the other side.

           He wasn’t technically inside the room. Just standing outside the door, leaning against the wall, book in hand. Through the mirror you could see the book and his hand. The angle hiding the rest of him, although the ladies could obviously tell who it was.

           “This is no place for him, can we ask him to leave?” The other lady asked, agreeing with her friend.

           They were both whispering over your back. Two other ladies were nodding in the background, all this shown in the mirror. Loki’s book and stance in the hallway never changed, he was frozen, he was listening.

           It took a few of them to get the dress right. Thick white and cream fabric, skirt so long and fluffed it hid the pedestal you stood on. Sleeves were just as long, hiding your hands and the heaviest part. It took two of the ladies to get the knots right, more complicated the better for a event like this.

           It began to be slightly painful towards the hour mark. Ladies doing their best to hurry as an absolutely army of voices and laughs could be heard through the castle. More likely then not they had volunteered to help you dress and were now regretting it. Being able to brag that you dressed the future Queen would mean nothing if you there’s no one to brag to. The lady behind you taking her anger out on the strings, ripping the air from your lungs with each pull.

           “Don’t fidget and it won’t loosen.” The lady behind you. This blonde-haired eldest daughter who probably could have been in your place had things been different. “The knots need to be right or everything will just fall apart.”

           It seemed to be her final plan. This incredibly childish idea that if the knots were tight enough then the dress couldn’t be removed and then the marriage would be voided. The childish idea that that was how wedding nights worked.

           “How long will the hair take?” The youngest of the women asks somewhere behind you.

           “If we’re quick enough it should only take a few minutes. Tie some ribbons, little braids and-.” It’s amazing the vanity mirror didn’t shatter at her scream. Top of the wooden hitting the ground lost underfoot when she backs up.

           It’s a chaos of fabric and running ladies. The first setting off the others, a mother’s instinct takes control. Grabbing the youngest’s arm and pushing her from the room first. Others following at the bright scales that slide from the wooden box. Snakes were nothing new on Asgard, darker the colors the safer they are. Bright red and green would be raw poison in a living creature.

           Worst part of the entire situation was how they just left you. As pretty as the dress was, it wasn’t made for combat or for any type of survival. Best it would do is act as camouflage in a snow storm.

           “They won’t come back for you,” He’s in the same formal armor as he was before. Leaving the helmet behind and walking much easier. “But that can be punished later.”

           “Are they real?” You ask, taking his outstretched hand, stepping down from the podium.

           “No, just a bit of fun before the big event.” He says, lifting the bright green and yellow ribbon for emphasis. “I refuse to let them destroy the hair, sit down.”

           Hair was one, if not the, most important part of the bride’s aspect of the wedding. Usually an intimate ceremony between the bride, closets friends and family. Rest of your family either couldn’t or wouldn’t make it, any friends you had were more suited in a smith then around a vanity and a hair brush.

           Whether your hair was long, short or even bald, something had to be done to your head. Loki, both your savior and new hairdresser, runs a dominate hand through the hair. Catching on a few knots, touching and playing with whatever curls might be there. His head tilts side to side during the exploration. Watching him through the mirror was the only thing to do. His head tilting side to side, moving locks out of the way of your ears and neck. Seeing how they look and putting them back in its natural place.

           Flashbacks to being braided to a chair rushes from its hiding place. He’d be staring at you through the mirror if he went to that. Staring to make sure you didn’t realize the prank he would be trying to pull for the literal thousandths time. Instead he continues to stare at your hair, braiding and any tugs that come are accidental.

           Looking down from the mirror doesn’t give any respite. Multi-colored ribbons just slightly out of sorts from wiggling around the box. They had stopped being snakes just before you sat down. One green and yellow dotted lays half way out from the box. You’ve never been bitten by one of his pranks, but it’s a wonder if it’s poison or not.

           It felt like only a few minutes, when likely it took almost an hour. Long stems slide across your scalp. The end bent and turned upwards to hold on the small braids. Copper colored daisies rounding into a tiara, leaning forward towards the mirror and the details are minimal. Most import was etched in the highest petal; two curved horns curving with the petals tilting back. They matched his helm through the years, even into adulthood and now.

            “Don’t shake your head too much,” He says.

           With the hair done he traces your ears with soft touches. Barely any contact on the shell, a little more pressure massaging the lobes. One small strand on either side gently touched, as if an excuse to trace over your jaw.

           “Then they can just follow the flowers to find me,” You say, head turning side to side.

           “I will track you down myself if you do that.” It’s a warning but said with a joke. Kneeling next to the chair and turning your head towards him. A firm grip on your jaw to stay still.

           Any make up was light; a little eye-shadow and bright pink blush. Lip stick was red, rusted, like dried blood. Other weddings it would have been pink, like the blush, childish. Usually the make up is done to give an illusion of innocents families prioritized. Like said before, you weren’t a regular bride.

           He’s as focused on the make up as he was on your hair. You weren’t a person anymore, you were a canvas. A canvas he wanted to touch, a gentle thumb smudging the pink blush.

           He doesn’t want to ruin your make up. Grabbing your hand, kissing the pulse point as though he was burning without it’s contact.

           “How much time…” Kisses on the wrist are rapid. Your other hand cupping his cheek, he kisses that one too. “How much do we have?” You ask, breathless from your hands alone.

           “Not enough, hush now.” He says. Gently, perfectly gently, sliding the shoulder sleeve to the side.

           Over the few months between the engagement and this day Loki had been lost in fantasy. It was a juvenile fantasy, taking a ‘rivals’ bride on the day of their wedding. Laying awake in bed, visions of smeared lipstick and rolled back eyes going straight towards his groin. In those fantasies the dress was simpler, undergarments the regular cotton instead of leggings and straps. Not that it deterred his wondering hand.

           The shoulder was the second safest place next to the hands. Some cover with foundation and a pulled-up sleeve would hide any evidence. It was also the most annoying in a confined dress, where the bodice was refusing to budge and any loose enough fabric presses into your throat.

           That stupid bodice was too thick to get a real hold of your breasts. His hand covering the mound, dull nails digging into the fabric keeping him from the prize.

           Cheers are started from the hallway, a sudden slam of noise that can only say the groom had made an appearance. He’d get slaps on the back and be presented with the family sword in preparation for the final ceremony. First time you see him that day will be at the end of the isle.

           “Loki, Loki I have to get ready.” You say. Your hand over his, prying the desperate man from your breast. “My prince,” his teeth leave a ring around your shoulder, excited kisses turning into bites you hadn’t even noticed. “We’re not that rude.”

           Going to your husband with another man’s bite marks is one thing. Going to a newly wed bed with another man running down your thighs is a whole other. 

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           It’s a long walk down the aisle. Starting by yourself outside the throne room, a guard on either side for both decoration and security.

           Only a lucky few hundred citizens got to see you. Several waking before dawn to see the black smith bride dressed up like the other nobles. Left, right and behind the people waved and tried to make eye contact. Getting back the genuine smile you could match giving to the best of friends.

           The aisle ended at the same spot your promotion took place. Your Queen Frigga stands at the very end before the throne. She and All-father Odin stood side by side in front of the throne, even so, All-father might as well be a decoration. Marriage was Frigga’s area, she was the guide for couples moving forward together. It’s honestly hurt a little that her proud smile was given to every couple and not just her son and his wife.

           Thor stood a step down from his parents. Leaving any form of armor away, instead in a cream-colored tunic, dark brown belt and similar colored boots thick enough to make sound when they walk.

           On either side of the stairs there was a decoration of formal dressed guards. Standing tall with a spear pointed towards the ceiling. The last few days suddenly made sense with all the recent calls for new guard uniforms. Had you known you were helping with the decor of the wedding there would have been more white involved.

           Closer to the throne the smaller the crowd became. Nobles and the rich pushed or bribed their way into the best spots. The rest filled by the common who cared more about the Forge Queen then how their dirt was ruining the ends of some gown. There was some murmurs and a few bits of applause somewhere deep in the crowd. A little boy and girl each sit on their father’s shoulders. Hanging onto his head and waving aggressively when you made eye contact.

           Now, standing face-to-face, you see the details of Thor. It’s a safe bet to say that his hair had more braids then yours. Pulled back into a pony tail, a red ribbon hanging onto his shoulders, maybe starting with a bow that was corrected so he wouldn’t come off as so feminine.

           The entire world goes silent when Asgard’s mother raises her arms.

           “Thank you, thank you all for coming to this day.” She says, holding her hands together against her front. “This day will be no more important then anyone else’s. Begin by joining the families and bring the couple together. Continue with the exchange of the family’s swords.”

           Another murmur goes through the crowd when you unsheathe your “family” sword. Sounds of awe going through the crowd at the craftsmanship, the perfect light hitting off the virgin metal. Yet anther little fact to send the tongues wagging, this one for the men.

           Unlike you Thor had an armies worth of ancestors to pick their weapon from. That Odin had pre-selected a weapon for each of his children’s wedding day would be no one’s surprise. Any children you had with Thor would likely give their future partner the spear Odin currently grips.  

           Thor’s weapon was handed to him by his father himself, who was handed to him by an assistant smaller then any other person on the stairs. Their sword couldn’t be held by the handle, instead with both hands holding it gently. It’s blade was rusted to the point of the smallest holes showing in what should be the thickest part of the metal. It’s a fifty-fifty guess whether the color and damage came from bad maintenance or left-over blood.

           Red sprinkles touched on your skirt when you took the blade. Holding it out with both hands in the same delicate way the last three men had. A maid was waiting behind you, her arms out in the same position, taking it with her head bowed.

           She’d wrap and package the weapon, try and keep it from any more damage from the outside world. It was still up in the air where you’d send it after all this was over. Either back toy our blood family who was no doubt gushing about their little girl or to the dwarves who had helped create the woman in white that stands today.

           Between the light clapping that always followed the first bit you both joined hands. Thor looked down at your hands, thumb gently rubbing over yours. Looking up for the briefest of seconds and you grab his eye. Giving a slight look, as though to say, ‘can you believe this?’. He smiles back, before turning to look back to his mother.

           “-is a wonderful event, one that should never be squandered, for any reason.” Was that a side eye Queen Frigga just gave? Had you been paying attention maybe you would have known.

           It’s never the actual ceremony that anybody cares about. After the exchange of weapons everybody is just waiting for the short speech to finish, the couple to kiss and then the race towards the reception. Slowest family has to serve the fastest, it’s gonna be a quiet a shock when they realize there is only one contestant.

           Queen Frigga’s speech goes on for about fifteen minutes at the most. Mentions of dedication and royal duty expected on the couple. It’s more business then love like the others she had done. A hint of sympathy coming from somewhere in the speech the rest of the crowd wouldn’t have noticed. She looks to you when it finally comes to an end.

           She says your name with the newest title, another slight murmur of appreciation goes through the crowd. “Do you swear to stand by your husband? That the bond may be upheld as priority as your other duties?” She asks.

           “I will.” You swore, that you didn’t kneel out of habit was miracle.

           “Prince Thor Odinson, do you swear to honor your wife? That she may come to no harm and that be upheld as any of your other duties?” She asks, one of the few recent times she could look down to her eldest son.

           Being royalty came with many privileges. The privilege of marriage for love wasn’t on that list. The ceremony was different for a wedding for love, more about dedication and maintaining the love then about the duties and honor. Very few of these happen, and even less in front of such a massive crowd. For a wedding of this caliber it’s assumed you’d learn to love one another and keep fingers crossed that the marriage becomes more then that of duty.

           “I will.” Thor finally says, looking up from your hands.

           “Then you may come together.” She says this with an open gesture.

           The crowd had been silently building since the beginning of the wedding. Completely exploding the closer your faces got. When the kiss finally came there was nothing but applause and cheer. All of that background noise to the tickle of the beard and the cupping of your face by massive hands.

#reader insert #loki #loki x reader #pre-thor #slight thor x reader #Badass reader #asgardian reader #arranged marriage #marriage #I don't know weddings #all info came from google

[choiceswhodunnit]

A Night To Remember...

A cold breeze blows through the middle of a small neighborhood in New York, hours away from the main city. The moon is hidden behind several clouds that threaten rain, the sound of thunder just a small crackle in the air. The orange, crunchy leaves rustle across the brick walkway as a long limo pulls up to the gates of a home. The driver stops and rolls his window down before he leans out and types in a code he received earlier that evening. The receiver chimes a happy tune and welcomes the sleek, black car onto the property. He drives to the front of the home and before he stops the car and kills the engine. He gets out and hurries to the back of the limo where he opens the door for his passenger. 

Matt Rodriquez steps out, wearing a maroon suit with a black tie and a pair of shiny black dress shoes to match. He adjusts the gold cufflinks on his dress shirt and looks around the manor before him.

“Sir,” The driver says as he tips his hat to Mr. Rodriguez. He hands him his suitcase that’s stored in the trunk.

“Thank you, Bryan. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Matt waves him off as he begins to walk up the steps to the manor.

Ivy grows on the side of the dirty grey stone on the side of the house. The red brick around the mansion is in desperate need of a power wash and couple of the bricks are loose from their homes, threatening any clumsy person to trip. Moss grows in between the lines of brick and weeds are everywhere across the gardens in the front. All the lights seem to be off inside, with the exception of the ground floor. But even then, they’re so dim it’s nearly impossible to tell there’s any light at all.

Another clap of thunder shutters through the air and the hairs on the back of Matt’s neck stand up. He clears his throat as he reaches the main doors. A pair of steel doors towers over him and he reaches up to grab the knocker, in the shape of a bat. He bangs three times and he hears the echoes of each bang inside the house. He stands back and waits for the doors to be opened. When they do, a maid answers the door, a pale expression on her face.

“Hello,” Matt begins, he reaches into his jacket pocket and retrieves the invitation he received weeks ago.

Hello my dear friend, the letter begins. I’m Kamilah Sayeed and you may be wondering why I’m reaching out to you. You may be an old friend of mine, or I admire your line of work, or I may have possibly heard about you through networking or because of your heroic efforts. Whatever the case, I wanted to extend an invitation to you to join me in my manor in October. We’ll wine and dine and at the end of the night, you may all stay in a room within the home. I’m well aware you may be traveling from out of town, with all of my guests staying over, you won’t have to worry about catching a flight late at night or trying to book a hotel room. You may also want to get to know each other well into the night, and maybe even into the morning. I hope you can join me in October for this little get together. Please bring yourself and anything you may need for the night and next morning. Bring this invitation and show it at the door, and remember that all over plus ones will be turned away. Enclosed is the rest of the details you’ll need to know for that night.

Farewell for now, Kamilah Sayeed

“I’m here for the… dinner party.”

The maid glances at the invite and ushers him inside. The main foyer features a long staircase leading upstairs with a giant chandelier and a balcony that overlooks the foyer and front door. It’s dim, with little candles smoking through the air, the yellow hue from the flames gives the manor a homey feeling. All of which is unsettling and comforting at once.

The maid takes Matt’s suitcase and leads him to the formal living room. A bartender stands in the corner of the room with a bar standing before him. Glasses of deep red wine and dark and stormies are lined up on the bar’s counter. An arrangement of cheeses, fruits, and different artisan pastries filled with different meats, cheeses, and herbs are in the middle of the room on the ancient coffee table that is surrounded by more modern couches and chairs, ready for people to sit and mingle around it.

In desperate need of something strong, Matt ignores the first course of the meal and heads straight for the bar. He picks up his own dark and stormy and gives a silent nod to the bartender who refuses to make eye contact with the famous actor. Matt wonders into the middle of the room, the sound of the vinyl in the corner gives off an old timey feeling. The candles in the room flicker as rain begins to pat against the side of the windows, the curtains drawn so no one can see in or out. He waits by himself for a few long minutes, he begins to believe he’s the only one invited to this strange dinner party right before there is another knock on the door.

He hears a woman’s voice flow in from outside and through the crack in the formal living room doors, he can see a flash of lightning come from outside and disappear as the front door is closed once more. The clicking of heels makes him stand up straight and a young woman with bright red hair enters the room. She wears a floral halter-top dress with a faux turtleneck and nude pumps to match. The dress hits right above her knee as she walks into the room.

“Hi, I’m Kate O’Malley,” she says, her face lights up as she realizes she isn’t the first one to arrive. “Wait, are you… Matt Rodriguez? Oh my gosh, I’m a huge fan! I can’t believe my favorite actor is attending the same dinner party as me!”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Matt says as they shake hands. “O’Malley… that name sounds familiar. Do you happen to be…”

“The one who left Tanner Sterling at the altar only for her fiance to be found dead a few hours later? That I am,” she gives him a nervous chuckle as she quickly gets herself a dark and stormy before she returns and stands in front of him once more.

“Sorry, I just always wanted to meet the woman who left one the richest families sons in the world at the altar,” he admits.

“Oh don’t worry about it,” she tells him after taking a swing of her drink. “The Sterling name has served me well.” She throws him a quick, seductive wink and before Matt can respond, there’s another knock on the door.

The two of them look over and hear some hushed voices in the hallway before a woman walks in wearing a more traditional, Victorian—yet modern—black dress with lace detailing. She adjusts her glasses on top of her face and spots the two of the guests in the middle of the room. She makes her way over and sticks her hand out and shakes Kate’s hand and then Matt’s.

“Lily Spencer, it’s a pleasure to meet yo—wait Matt Rodriguez? The actor? I didn’t think you would be here,” Lily says as she makes eye contact with the young actor.

“Who were you expecting to be here?” Kate asks as she frowns, two hands rest on her half full glass.

“Oh well I’m actually friends with Kamilah,” Lily tells them. “I kind of had an idea of who would be here tonight, I really wasn’t expecting a well known actor to be at this dinner party. Or a young and pretty white girl.”

“Wait you know the host?” Matt asks as Kate blushes and tucks a strain of hair behind her ear.

“Oh… yeah,” Lily quickly walks over to the bar as she spots it over Kate’s shoulder. She whispers something to the bartender and he reaches under the bar and hands her a mysterious drink, a darker red than the wine that’s already been placed out. She returns a moment later to continue the conversation. “My best friend actually works directly with Adrian Raines. And Adrian and Kamilah are kind of besties so I see her a lot.”

“You mentioned something about who you expected to be here,” Kate says. “Who were you expecting exactly?”

“Just… other business people,” Lily says as she takes a sip of her drink. “I, for some reason, thought this was more of a work party.”

Before anyone can say anything else, there’s another hard knock on the door. Two men are heard as the maid opens the door and they rush inside from the rain. They walk into the formal living room the first man has long hair that’s been slicked back for the event. He wears a grey suit with the first couple of buttons open on his white business shirt underneath. He sports a pair of rustic looking brown boots that have clearly been worn several times over, or were purchased to look like they were. The second one walks in right behind him wearing a royal blue suit with black shiny shoes, a white button down, and black bow tie to match. They head to the bar quickly before they join the other three.

“Diego Soto,” the second man says and shakes Lily’s hand and then Kate’s, and finally Matt’s.

“Jake McKenzie,” the first one says right after and follows Diego’s lead by shaking everyone’s hands. The three other guests introduce themselves as well before they dive into the small talk.

“So, do you guys know each other?” Kate asks as she raises her elbow slightly so her drink is near her face.

“We do,” Diego replies as Jake and him give each other a look. “We met on… a vacation.”

“Wait are you guys apart of the group that went missing in La Huerta?” Lily bursts out, she had been trying to figure out why their faces looked familiar.

“Actually, we are,” Jake lets out a nervous chuckle and takes a quick sip of his drink. “Do you guys know each other?”

“No we all just met,” Kate responds. “And we don’t know the host either.”

“Well, Lily does,” Matt tells the group and all eyes fall to Lily.

“Okay yeah I do,” Lily huffs. “My best friend works with Kamilah’s best friend, so I see her a lot. We’ve hung out a few times, gotten dinner—”

“Sounds like you and the host are besties,” Jake jokes right as there is another knock on the door.

The sound of the rain rushes in as the maid quickly opens the door and barely looks at the invitation in the new arrival hand. She quickly shows her the living room and the new girl files in. She’s wearing a black punk rock dress with combat boots to match. She blushes slightly but doesn’t let her confidence fall as she walks in and walks over to where the group stands.

“Hi, I’m Kaitlyn Liao!” Her voice is quite peppy and she rubs her hands along her dress to get rid of any rain before she shakes everyone’s hands and gathers their names.

“Did you want a drink, Kaitlyn?” Jake asks her and points over to the bar.

“Um, just a water is fine,” she tells Jake with a smile. He excuses himself and makes his way over.

“So, any idea why we’re all here?” Kaitlyn asks nervously. She had always wanted to be in a spooky horror like movie but she’s beginning to think maybe something not this realistic.

“No clue,” Diego says and Kate gives Kaitlyn a tight smile.

“I thought it was going to be a business meeting,” Lily confesses. “But, I guess not.”

“You wear that to a business meeting?” Jake asks as he hands Kaitlyn her water and she thanks him.

“The invite did say it was a dinner party,” Lily points out. “So yes I would wear this to a dinner… business party.”

“How many people do we think are going to be here?” Diego asks. “We can’t be the only ones who are here, this seems a little… small for a dinner party. I mean, we are partially in a mansion.”

Before anyone can add anything there’s another knock on the door and a hush falls over them. They listen for any hushed voices, maybe someone they know has been invited. The maid let’s the poor guest in and out of the rain and another guest is heard running up the steps before the door can close. Matt’s eyes light up as the first guest enters the room.

“Teja!” He says as he rushes over to greet her. She wears a skin tight silver dress with black heels, her hair is let down without a stuffy baseball cap covering it. Her eyes light up when she spots him and they greet each other in a hug, happy to see a familiar face.

“Do you have any idea as to what is going on?” Teja whispers to him as they rejoin the group, the second guest already introducing himself to the rest of the group.

“I really have no clue,” Matt tells her. “We’re all trying to figure it out.”

He excuses himself to get another drink and one for Teja. Meanwhile, Teja turns to the guests who walked in behind her. He wears a classic black tux with a bow tie and shiny shoes. She sticks her hand out and introduces herself, “Teja Desai.”

“Maxwell Beaumont!” he says with a cheerful smile and lots of energy. He seems to be the only one that isn’t really concerned with what’s happening.

Teja introduces herself to the rest of the group and Matt returns shortly with his drink in hand and gives one drink to Teja.

“So Teja,” Kaitlyn says. “Any ideas as to what is going on?”

Teja shrugs. “My guess is as good as any.”

“Well I know this isn’t a business meeting anymore,” Lily speaks up. “I could have sworn it was going to be something of that nature.”

“Maybe there’s something we’re missing,” Kate suggests.

“Like what, red?” Jake asks, sipping his drink.

“I don’t know. Maybe we all have something in common?”

The group looks around at each other. College students, movie stars, and royalty the like but nothing that really defines the group as a whole.

“Kamilah will have to explain at dinner, right?” Maxwell says after a few seconds of silence. “Or maybe we’ll get more ideas as more guests come in!”

“If there are any more guests,” Kaitlyn reminds him.

In that moment, there’s another knock on the door. The guests go silent as they wait for the next mystery to arrive and enter the room. A moment after the main opens the door, a young woman wearing a green dress walks in with her hair tied up, and a long scar down her face. Diego and Jake exchange glances before Diego waves her over. Her confidence changes as she spots her friends and makes her way over. She hugs Jake and Diego before she turns to the rest of the strangers.

“I’m Estela Montoya, nice to meet you all,” she says and shakes everyone’s hands.

“I didn’t know you were coming to this,” Diego says as she grabs a quick glass of wine before she returns to the party.

“You guys never told me you were coming,” she points out and then takes a sip of her drink. “So I’m guessing this isn’t a La Huerta reunion?”

“Doesn’t look like it, Katniss,” Jake jokes with her.

“So you were in the island of La Huerta, too?” Lily asks, throwing herself into the conversation.

Diego opens his mouth to speak but another knock is heard and suddenly everyone forgets what he or she are talking about. Two voices are heard followed by the sounds of suitcase wheels rolling on the floor. The two guests enter, the first a man wearing a navy suit and classic brown shoes. The second a woman, her hair done up, wearing a muted red dress with sleeves and black flats. They clearly know each other, their body language suggesting they’ve been friends for a little while. They approach the group and the man speaks first.

“Damien Nazario.”

“Sloane Washington,” the woman pipes up, her voice high pitched and nervous.

Everyone else welcomes them and introduces themselves. Damien points to the bar and asks Sloane if she wants anything and she nods. He hurries back with two drinks in his hands and gives one to Sloane as the conversations begin to start up again.

“We were all just talking about why we’re all here,” Teja informs them. “We can’t quite figure out what we all have in common.”

“No one else a PI?” Damien throws out, no one says anything and just respond with head shakes.

“There’s not really a reason why or how we’re all connected,” Estela mentions and another knock comes from the foyer.

“Like clockwork,” Lily sighs and everyone turns to wait for the next guest.

A man wearing a bright red suit with a black tie and matching black dress shoes enters. He smiles with confidence as he comes into the formal living room, a large smile on his face and each step is with purpose. He sticks his hand out to Sloane and she shakes it nervously.

“Kenji Katasaros! Nice to meet you!”

The others greet him and he bounces over to the bar to grab himself a drink as the others whisper among themselves.

“We all do kind of have a big name somehow,” Sloane points out and everyone looks at her. “Well, I’m a scientist—or was a scientist—for Eros, a well known company. Matt is obviously a well known movie star. Jake, Diego, and Estela were all on La Huerta, which was a huge event that happened recently. Damien used to be a PI that worked with a lot of buisnessy types of people. Teja is a famous director that worked on one of the biggest movies of the year. Kaitlyn, it sounds like your band is really well known. And Kate you left a man at the altar and he wound up dead a day later and you were involved with the murders of the Sterlings. Lily, you know Ms. Sayeed personally. Kenji… your mom is a well known attorney isn’t she? And Maxwell, you’re well known from House Beaumont. I think this could just be some networking thing.”

“Well it’s some weird networking get together,” Kaitlyn replies. “I mean I know it’s great to meet new people and to get your name out there, but I’m not sure Kamilah Sayeed is my kind of demographic for my band.”

“We don’t know what kind of music Kamilah likes,” Maxwell chimes in. “She could be a huge punk fan.”

Kaitlyn shrugs as everyone begins to accept that maybe it is just a weird network get together.

“Well we only need one more guest,” Estela says after a few long and silent moments.

“Until what?” Kenji asks, one of his hands in his pockets.

“We have the infamous unlucky thirteen.”

Before anyone can respond to Estela’s somewhat joke, the doorbell rings. The loud sound echoes through the mansion, the uneasy feeling crawling up everyone’s spines. The door opens and a loud voice is heard before the man enters the living room. He wears a light tan suit with a sleazy smirk on his face. He puts his arms out to his side as he looks at the guests in front of him.

“Hello my dear friends,” his eyes seem to glow a faint red as he greets the group. “My name is Lester Castellanos! I’m sure you are all happy that I’m here! Ah Lily! A pleasure to see you!”

Everyone looks over at Lily who turns red and refuses to move from her spot to greet him. Kenji nudges her as everyone returns their eyes to Lester.

“You know this creep?” he whispers to Lily.

“She’s a business partner of Kamilah’s,” she informs Kenji. “Not exactly the nicest person around.”

“Where is our host?” Lester almost shouts, more to the servants than to the group of uneasy guests.

“I’m right behind you, Lester,” all eyes fall behind Lester and they finally see her. “Hello my dear guests, I’m Kamilah Sayeed, and welcome to Osiris Manor!”

Welcome to Osiris Manor everyone! Guests, a cast list will go up ASAP where you can contact each other and begin to form alliances! The first murder will go live October 3rd at 5pm Arizona Time! Please let me know if you have any questions! 

#choices whodunnit #choices whodunnit season 2 #long post #introduction #playchoices