#if she had won the pinstripes

[clementinechatsshit]

money, power, glory - coriolanus snow x plinth!oc

description: rhea plinth wanted one thing more than anything in this world. power. this is her story of descending into the hunger for power. the addiction to it. and if she can love through this hunger.

tw: 18+ standard hunger games shizzle, strong language, spice, toxic relationships, power hungry bitches, rhea is just as twisted as snow

a/n: hi peeps, this is my first attempt at writing anything ff related, but coryo has been in my brain since i read tbosas. i didnt want to write him ooc but rather embrace the fact that he is bat shit crazy and create a character that also embraces and encourages that side of him. i dont think ive read any ffs that have a reader/oc that is also as fucked up as snow. pls be nice

What is the purpose of the Hunger Games? 

I used to think that they were to bring justice to Panem. To punish the districts for the uprising. We’d always been taught that, and I believed it. Yet, now I see things a little differently. I see things for how they truly are. I was eighteen when I learnt the truth about the Hunger Games. How they are played, and how they are really won.

‘Rhea?’ a voice echoes from behind me. I snap my head around to see my brother leant against the frame of my bedroom door.

‘Sejanus, what have I said about knocking’, he flinches at my response, my tone harsher than intended. 

He lowers his gaze to the blazer in his grip, cowering from the hardened stare I deliver his way. ‘I’m sorry’ weak, ‘we’re going to be late’. 

I turn to fully face him, lifting my face to a content smile. My heels clack on the marble flooring as I cross the room, I pause for a second in front of him, waiting. Sejanus holds his elbow out for me to link my hand through, my gloved hand brushes the soft thread of his shirt as an avox approaches and hands me my purse. 

‘Bye, mother!’, ‘See ya, Ma’ we shout as we leave the penthouse. Sejanus never stopped calling our mother ‘ma’, juvenile if you ask me. Sometimes I think he wants to be back in the districts.

The red silk of my dress grazes the bottoms of my calves as we make our way to the car, another avox our driver. I see avox’s as the perfect company, they know their place in this society, even if they did have to learn it the hard way. They know that they have no power, they have accepted that there are consequences to their actions. They don’t talk back either. 

‘The Academy’ a demand, not a request. 

‘Please.’ Sejanus adds

The Academy. Only the elites have the privilege of attending, and only the greats go on to study at the University. We may not be Capitol born, but we belong there more than anybody else. For ten years, I have been proving my place amongst my fellow students, before I even set foot in the Capitol, I knew I am simply better than them all.

I entered first. Shoulders back, chin up. Make them stare. The first thing I know about power. If you can’t command a room, you have none. I felt the eyes on me as I strode in, then I heard the whispers. I had power, you see, I have their attention when I give them none. I glance around the room attempting to find someone worth a morsel of my time, when I hear his voice.

‘Rhea Plinth’, that is a voice I would never tire of hearing.

‘Coriolanus Snow’ I acknowledge him, giving him a once over. The pinstripes of his dress shirt, dated, yet he made it look like an arising trend in the Capitol. A rose tucked into the formal vest. He was handsome indeed, a shame about the mismatched tesserae buttons. I placed my hand into his outstretched palm, watching him raise it to his lips as he leant down and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it in greeting. 

‘Rhea, can you just get it over and done with, Snow won the Plinth Prize, didn’t he?’ the bratty whine of Arachne Crane interrupted.

‘I can’t confirm anything’, power, ‘however, I can say things will get interesting this year.’ my voice almost sultry as I spoke directly to Coriolanus, not even bothering to turn to Arachne. 

‘Now, Coriolanus, walk with me?’ a huff sounds from beside us as we turn to leave the hall. 

‘Won’t people suspect something?’ I feel his breath on my neck as he hunches down to be level with my ear.

‘They’ll just assume I’m telling you about the prize’, I remain facing ahead, the doors to the adjoining hallway open. A rare smile hooks at the corners of my mouth as we round the corner, a pillar shielding us from the curious eyes of anyone passing. 

‘Ah yes, Miss Plinth doing her duty as the liaison for the prestigious Plinth family.’ His mocking tone forces my eyes to roll, as we slowly step backwards. I may be the representative of the Plinth family for all intents and purposes, but with Coriolanus, I don’t have to be. See, I know who he really is, I know that his family has no money, I’ve seen the apartment they live in. Deep down, I know that all he sees in me is District, but I am the one thing that stands between him and the power he craves. That’s why we have this arrangement. I secure his future in the Capitol, and he makes sure that no one will ever see me as district again. 

I’m drawn from my thoughts as my skin hits the cold wall behind me, a hand snaking its way around my waist. A hooked finger nudges my chin, lifting my gaze to meet the piercing blue eyes looking down at me. The intensity of his stare is almost intimidating. His grip changes as he strokes a fallen piece of hair behind my ear. 

‘You look pretty like this,’ he murmurs, leaning in. His lips graze mine and I feel him inhale. Like he’s breathing in my surrender. I crash my lips against his, our noses bumping against each other, but neither of us minding. His lips are rough against mine, more aggressive. You look pretty like this. I look pretty when you think you have control over me.

I reach my hands around his neck, tangling my fingers into the blond curls. I tug once, he groans, I tug again. Who’s in control now, Coryo. He squeezes my waist and I sigh into the kiss. Our whole exchange is a power play. His tongue slips into my mouth as he reaches his hand lower, and lower. Maybe I could give in this once.

The echo of someone clearing their throat shatters the tension between us. Coriolanus takes a few instinctive steps back as I swing my head around to look at who dared interrupt us. 

Dean Casca Highbottom.

‘Mr Snow, Miss Plinth. I assume you are heading into the hall to hear the announcement?’ He looked disgusted, disappointed. 

‘Yes, of course, Dean Highbottom.’ Coriolanus responded instantly, leaving me standing with the Dean, marching back into the grand hall, his hands reaching up to fix his hair

‘They can’t make the announcement without me, Casca. You know that,’ I give him a knowing look before following Coriolanus’ lead. I look back over my shoulder to see the Dean opening a vial and consuming the contents. 

I found Coriolanus standing with my brother and another girl from our class, Dovecote, Clemensia I believe. I give her a slight nod as a hello, not wanting to waste my breath on her. ‘Hello Sejanus, Coriolanus.’ glancing up at the boys, flashing a quick smirk at them.

‘Rhea, where were you?’ Sejanus queries, his brows furrowed, ‘you’re meant to be naming the winner.’ 

‘Brother mine, you worry too much. Besides, there's been a slight change in plan.’ This is power. Knowledge. Money. 

‘Can everyone take their seats,’ the instructions come from one of the teachers at the Academy.

I leave the group and make my way up to the podium, passing Dean Highbottom on the way. The room silences as I ascend the stairs. As I glance down to the crowd, I catch Coriolanus’ eye, he looks hopeful. He needs this prize. To anyone else, it’s about the title. To him, this is everything. 

‘My father, Strabo Plinth, has been gracious enough, over the years, to provide incentive to those at the Academy in the form of the Plinth Prize. An award bestowed upon the student who excels in every aspect of their education. An honour for any student who wins it.’ my voice strong, conductive, they are hanging on my every word. Power. I see Arachne glare over at the blond boy, they all think they know. They all think he has won. ‘This year, we want to make things harder, create more of a challenge. This year, myself and my mentor, Dr. Ghaul, want you. The top twenty-four. The elite. To become mentors yourselves.’ slight muttering begins to spread around the room. ‘This reaping day, you will be assigned tributes, you will guide them, make spectacles of them, and one of you. You will create a victor.’ 

The voices become louder, anger begins to bubble. Arachne is already complaining, Sejanus looks horrified. But Coriolanus, he is furious. And me, a large grin spreads its way across my face.

Now this. This is power.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #oc #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #lucy gray baird #tom blyth #coryo snow #tigris snow #the hunger games #capitol

[sassykattery]

No Rest for the Wicked, Pt. 1

Welcome back, everyone! I appreciate your patience in me going on this hiatus. I have begun the process of finishing the finale of this series, and it's time we take the construction cones off the road and go! The rest of Season 3 here we come!

CW: MC is afab, uses she/her pronouns. MC is a demon and poly.

Themes: Romance. Adventure. Engagement.

Characters: MC. Diavolo. Lucifer. Barbatos. OC: Vox.

Minors and ageless blogs DNI

18+ only

Masterlist

Enjoy!

"MC, are you ready?" Lucifer called out to you.

"Coming!" You called back out from your ensuite bathroom in the castle. After one last adjustment of your blazer, you took one more look before heading off to the foyer.

It had been several months since you regained your memory.

"Ah, there you are–" Lucifer said, adjusting his cuffs, and then looking up at you to pause. You were wearing a navy-blue power suit with diamond lined pinstripes, but without an undershirt, your cleavage was on display. Your diamond stilettos clicked across the floors, and you were in your demon form. He was wearing an all-black number, from the tie, shirt, to the entire suit.

"My, oh my, MC," Lucifer purred, opening his arms open to you. You gladly accepted the embrace. "I think I discovered a new kink just now," he murmured into your hair. You chuckled in response and pulled away.

"I take it you like it then. I thought for the interview, I should wear something different," you replied sweetly.

"What's different?" Diavolo asked, rounding the corner and stopping short, not bothering to hide where his gaze landed – on your chest.

"My eyes are up here," you commanded, taking your index and middle finger to guide his eyes back up to your face.

"That is different," Diavolo said, approaching you. He was in a white suit with a burgundy undershirt and black tie. Then he smiled, looking you over in your entirety, "I think I rather like it," he stated.

"We should head to the studio, we'll be starting soon," Lucifer said, checking the time.

-

"We'll be live in three... two... one... go."

"Hello! And we're live at Studio 666, with an exclusive interview with our soon-to-be Demon Queen, MC, the Avatar of Vainglory!"

You walked out onto the stage, waving at everyone, smiling as you took your seat next to the show host, Vox. Vox was a male pride demon, known for his interviews with the Devildom's elite, including the brothers, royals, and other aristocrats. He was tall as far as demons went, handsome, and quite the smooth talker. His lavender hair accentuated his grey eyes, and he smiled at you broadly. His hair and eye color stood out against his tawny skin. With a jaw so sharp it could cut and a nose broad and tall, he easily passed for godhood in appearance. This interview was televised live to all three realms as your wedding dates drew closer, as did your eventual coronation date with Diavolo.

"Welcome MC! We are so happy to have you join us today," Vox said. "This is your first ever interview, is that correct?"

"Ah, well, one time I was interviewed for the RAD Newspaper, but I've actually never been on television before. I'm rather excited," you replied smoothly.

"How thrilling! So, if you don't mind, we have some questions that has everyone buzzing to know the answers to, and we'd be most appreciative if you answered a few," Vox said warmly.

"Of course, I would love to answer them! Let's start," you replied.

"Excellent. Our first question is, how did you and Lord Diavolo become an item? Was it love at first sight? How did you win his heart?" Vox asked, reading his cue card and then looking up at you.

"Oh, well, I like to think I won him over by being one of the few people to beat him at chess," you answered with a playful smirk, and the audience laughed. "I'm kidding, but no, we actually became good friends first, and we shared a love for chess, so we often play together."

"That is simply adorable!" Vox beamed.

Diavolo and Lucifer watched you from one of the backrooms that were private for exclusive guests.

"Wait, she actually beat you?" Lucifer smirked, taking a sip of Demonus.

"The one time I didn't let her win, but she did anyway, and it went to her head," Diavolo mumbled, watching the screen.

"Moving on. Our next question, it seems you have not only captured the heart of our Demon Lord, but a certain Avatar of Pride. Many of us thought Lucifer was untouchable, but you seemed to have won him over as well, can you tell us about that?"

You smiled sweetly. "Well, I'll tell you, it wasn't easy, however, we have a lot in common, so we have a deep mutual respect and understanding of one another. But I like to think what won him over was my dedication to RAD, the exchange program, and our family," you stated.

"As a pride demon myself, I can completely see why he would be so smitten with you then! Imagine having someone such as yourself at your side, of course you couldn't help but fall in love!" Vox exclaimed, laying thick on the charm.

"Tch..." Lucifer bristled at how chummy the host was being to you. It was Diavolo's turn to smirk then.

"Alright, one more question from our audience and then I have some of my own. How has your life changed since becoming involved with Lord Diavolo and Lucifer Morningstar?"

"Ah, well, it has in many ways," you started to say. "I knew that becoming involved with Diavolo would bring the public eye onto me, though I had a little bit of that being in the exchange program anyway, but I didn't realize that so many people would be interested in my life, as a human or a demon. When it came to Lucifer, I was often met with the glares of the lower demons who were rather fond of him," you said with a mischievous glimmer in your eyes. "Those are the more interesting aspects that I'm sure the fans want to know about. Of course, there are the less interesting things like learning to become a royal, balancing everyone's schedules, things like that."

"Very good, thank you, I think our fans will appreciate your thorough answer. Now, I have a question of my own. You brought up family earlier when speaking about Lucifer Morningstar's brothers, but I want to know, should we expect any little royals of your own in the future?"

"No no no no no no," Lucifer groaned. Diavolo set his drink down and immediately stormed out of the room and found the producer as he stood next to the cameraman at the back of the studio audience filming the interview.

"You cut that this instant or I'll have every single one of you fired," Diavolo murmured in the producer's ear, but you looked out into the audience and smiled, and by the time Lucifer caught up to the prince, you started to speak.

"That is an interesting question. I guess you'll just have to wait and find out like everyone else," you said with a lower tone, but your face never faltered.

Vox immediately caught on to your slight displeasure, and when he looked over to his producer, he saw the very angry glares of Diavolo and Lucifer.

"We'll see indeed! Thank you. Moving on..."

The rest of the interview went swimmingly, talking about the weddings and coronation, it seemed everyone was very excited and ready for the changes coming to the Devildom with your influence, and by the time it was over, several hours had gone by. The director came by and informed you it was one of their highest rated viewings and highest positivity rating. You nodded and sat back in your chair in your room at the studio, getting your hair and makeup touched up for you to go to your photoshoot with Devil Style.

"Hello darling," Diavolo said, appearing in the mirror behind you. The makeup stylist took their leave, and it was just you two.

"My love," you replied with a small smile. He rested his hands on your shoulders.

"You did very well, I'm proud of you," he stated. You looked at him through the mirror.

"I learned from the best," you replied quietly.

"I'm sorry about Vox... I was very displeased with that segment and told the producer-"

"It's fine, Diavolo. I have to learn how to navigate those sorts of things," you interrupted. Diavolo relaxed a little, smiling at your diplomacy.

"Indeed," he replied, leaning down to kiss the top of your head between your horns.

"MC, Lord Diavolo, it's time for the shoot," an assistant came by and informed you both. You nodded and thanked them.

"You alright, princess?" Diavolo asked quietly.

"I'm fine. Just not used to this level of stardom," you replied. He could tell you were telling the truth, but he couldn't help but feel like there was more.

-

"Alright, MC, you're going to sit in this chair here," the photographer said, leading you to an armchair in the middle of the set, in front of a green screen. It was a high-back chair with a dark burgundy velvet button-tufted back with gold-finished wood, one obviously fit for royalty. They positioned you to sit fully straight up with one leg crossed, arms laid on the arms of the chair.

"And now you two..." the photographer mumbled, positioning Diavolo and Lucifer. Diavolo stood beside you, one arm leaned onto the back of the chair, and Lucifer stood on the other side, arms folded as he leaned against the chair as well.

"Perfect," the photographer said, stepping back. They instructed you all on the different faces and attitudes they wanted. This photo was going to be the cover of next month's magazine, while the next shots were for the printed interview pages with Vox. There were some with you and Diavolo, and then some with just you and Lucifer.

In the final set, it was just you, and one of your stylists came out with a box.

"They want you to wear this for the last set," he said. You nodded and he opened it, revealing a diamond tiara, and your eyes nearly bugged out of your head. You looked up at the assistant and shook your head.

"Surely, you're mistaken," you told him.

"I'm afraid not, princess. The magazine director and I want you to wear it," Diavolo said, walking up to you and your assistant with a broad smile. "It's not your official crown, it's one I had made specifically for this shoot," he informed you. A blush dusted your cheeks as you sat back and allowed your assistant to situate it on your head.

Everyone left you alone, and the photographer then came up to you. "Alright, MC, I want this last set to be all about you, so, tell, how should you pose for this one? I want it to scream your personality or anything special about you."

You thought for a moment, considering their request. After some thought, you whispered to the photographer some of the props you would need, and they instantly smiled, appreciating your vision. Lucifer and Diavolo were ushered out as they changed out the scene, and were only allowed back in when you told them to.

A black lounge chaise was set out, and you had black roses scattered around you, a black side table next to the arm of the chaise, decorated with pomegranates, gold chains, and jewels. As for you, you were stretched out in the chaise, your upper body slightly upright as you leaned against the arm of the chaise, the rest of your body laid out on its side in the rest of the chair. You unbuttoned your blazer, allowing more of your bare torso to show, and in your free hand, you held up a demon skull. Looking at the camera, you gave it a seductive smirk as your vanity shined through your eyes, your body radiating your sin with plumes of midnight blue vapors appeared behind you, still in your demon form of course.

Diavolo and Lucifer were allowed back in after a few of the photos were taken, and they both stopped short at the sight of you.

"I'm so making this into a painting," Diavolo murmured.

Lucifer smirked, but ultimately agreed with the prince's sentiment. Both of them had to go distract themselves as their arousals were getting the better of them.

"MC, you are absolutely stunning. You'll have to come model for us again," the magazine director said to you after the photographer was done.

"You're too kind, but I'd be happy to," you replied hotly.

-

After the shoot was over, you and your fiancés went out to Ristorante Six to celebrate your successful day. Diavolo arranged for the three of you to have a private room in the back, and you were finally able to relax after a few glasses of Demonus.

"Better?" Lucifer asked, noting your state.

"Indeed. Diavolo, I don't know how you do all that," you replied slowly.

The prince chuckled. "I grew up with it, princess. I'm used to it," he replied, smiling brightly. "But I am very proud of you. You were amazing the entire day."

"I know," you said a little arrogantly with a wink.

"The Avatar of Vainglory, in all her glory," Lucifer muttered. You turned to him.

"Jealous?" you asked.

"Not at all. You two can enjoy that to your heart's content," Lucifer replied smoothly.

"So, with the weddings in a couple months, do you think you've done everything you needed to prepare?" Diavolo asked you.

You finished a fourth glass of Demonus and started a fifth, "Yeah, I think I got everything down. I just hope it all goes okay," you said even slower. Immediately, you finished the glass and poured another. Lucifer and Diavolo shared a glance and focused back on you.

"Are you worried about something?" Lucifer probed.

"Yeah, I'm afraid something gonna go wrong," you replied, then finishing that glass and pouring your seventh. "Jus' like it 'lways does," you slurred.

"Why don't you slow down just a touch, dove," Lucifer said, sliding the bottle of Demonus away from you. You pouted and stared at the table ahead of you, the blue liquid in your drink mesmerizing you.

You buried your face in your hands, elbows on the table. "Jus' seems like ev'ry few months, somethin' comes up 'n I get into trouble," you groaned.

"Darling, you know those things aren't your fault, right?" Diavolo said, putting his hand on your shoulder. You hiccupped and nodded.

"But you can't deny it always causes a lot of trouble for ev'rybody," you said tearfully. Very suddenly, you slumped and leaned over on Lucifer's shoulder, drifting in and out of consciousness.

"Well, that went well," Lucifer deadpanned. Diavolo sighed and waved you and Lucifer off to take care of the bill. You didn't even make it to dinner, to their dismay. Lucifer put his arm underneath yours and helped you out of the booth to take you back to the castle. Diavolo caught up not too long after, picking you up and carrying you bridal style until you three reached the castle doors where Barbatos let you all in.

"Went that well, did it?" Barbatos said, deadpanning as well after looking you over. Diavolo continued to carry you to your suite while Lucifer stopped and looked at the butler.

"It seems someone can't handle their Demonus," he stated, slightly miffed.

Barbatos smirked. "She's young, it's not like she does it every weekend like you and the young master," the butler replied hotly. Lucifer bristled and rolled his eyes.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Diavolo laid you back on your bed, taking off your heels and undressing you. Once you were nude, he grabbed a nightshirt. As he tried to wrestle it onto you, you pawed at his face lightly, giggling quietly.

"Darling, it would be easier if you cooperated," he mumbled.

"Mm, but I want you~" you purred, dragging your hands down his chest, trying to fiddle with the buttons of his suit.

"Not tonight, you need to go to sleep," he replied softly. You then blinked a few times, tears shedding and rolling down your cheeks.

"MC..."

"I just want to make you and Luci proud, Dia," you said softly with a crack in your voice. You finally let him put your nightshirt on and then he scooted in close, cupping your face.

"My sweet, sweet princess, you make me proud every day. You demonstrate a strength that I would have never guessed you had, and I never seem to stop being impressed by you," he cooed. He placed a chaste kiss on your forehead.

"Will you stay? Can Luci stay?" you pleaded very sweetly.

"Anything you want, my love. Let me go get him and I'll go change. I'll be right back." You nodded and settled into bed.

By the time the two demons returned to your suite, you were out cold, snoring loudly in the middle of the bed in a starfish position. They thought it was adorable, and they managed to situate you so everyone could fit as you were sandwiched in-between the two.

---

Thanks for reading <3

Post made by sassykattery. Do not repost. Reblogs and comments appreciated.

Tags: @l-d-8 @itsmeninerz @flemmingbamse @loquacious-libra @delphi-dreamin @biteable-pink-pixie @themythicaldisaster @bontensbabygirl @dajitm @marvelous-maniac

(If I tagged you and you no longer wish to be tagged, please let me know in a comment)

#obey me #obey me shall we date #sassywrites #sassystories #obey me fanfic #obey me diavolo #obey me lucifer #love-eternal #lucifer x female reader #diavolo x female reader #obey me barbatos #obey me mc

[quietblueriver]

Still Bright to Me (Kate/Yelena, 1/5)

Rewatched Hawkeye and this happened. I love them so much.

Post canon.

Kate's struggling, so Clint sends some backup in the form of a (former?) black widow assassin, who offers Kate a trade: she'll protect Kate from the tracksuits and Kate will show her the best of New York. Their deal ends, but their friendship doesn't, and suddenly Kate's pretty sure it's becoming something else entirely. Something big and scary and really, really good.

Read below or on AO3.

-

Kate could almost pretend this was a normal Tuesday morning. 

She walked into Bishop Security, tossed her bag behind the front desk, and took a right toward her mom’s office. She could see her through the glass walls, legs crossed as she looked over a set of files spread on the coffee table, a Bishop Security coffee mug waiting near her right hand on a cream coaster. Her suit was familiar, a favorite–navy with white pinstripes, wide legs, a white silk blouse. 

And then, of course, visible between the hem of her pants and the black leather of her heel, the shining black box strapped to her ankle, with its two tiny white lights signaling Eleanor Bishop’s location to the federal government at all times. 

It wasn’t a normal Tuesday morning. 

Her mom looked up as she got close, a tight smile working its way onto her face, and Kate felt the warring urges to run, cry, and vomit. Instead of any of that, Eleanor Bishop’s daughter did what she had been taught to do and kept her shit together, her own fake smile glued in place and her hands steady. 

Eleanor stood as Kate pushed open the door, walking around the coffee table and opening her arms. “I’ve missed you.” 

The words rang more than a little hollow in the face of the two sentence email Eleanor sent to set up this meeting and the total radio silence that preceded it. She’d been out on bail within like a day, which Kate knew because she got a Christmas NYT alert with a courthouse shot of her mom looking perfectly put together as she made her way down the steps to the towncar. (Nate won that round of Mario Kart.) 

From her mom? Not a word. Nothing until a week into the new year, when Kate did a double take at the sender on an email notification with the subject line: Meeting Tuesday. 

So yeah, Kate didn’t feel particularly missed. She felt like an hour on Eleanor’s work calendar. 

Still, she wrapped her arms around her mother, a stiff, quiet, awkward hug that she wasn’t sad to break. 

The tension between them hurt in a way Kate couldn’t have prepared herself for, and despite all her Bishop training, it took more than a little effort to hold back the tears pressing at the back of her eyes as she settled in the chair across from Eleanor. Eleanor, who, in addition to being a pretty major player in the organized crime scene in New York and several other major cities, was still her mom. 

It might never have been easy between them the way it had been between her and her dad, but she’d never doubted that her mom loved her. Not really. Not until she looked her in the eye and said, cold and hard and distant enough that Kate wondered if she regretted running that car through the window and into Kingpin, “Is this what heroes do? Arrest their mother on Christmas?” Not until she followed that up with silence loud enough to make Kate wonder if she’d become Hawkeye and lost her second parent on the same day. 

“How are you?” 

The question snapped Kate back to the moment, and she blinked away flashing blue lights and the smell of smoke and the pain of a cracked rib as she sobbed in the shower. 

“Fine,” she said on instinct, twirling the silver ring on her index finger. It was bullshit, but so was the question. Eleanor’s eyes locked on her ring and Kate stopped twisting, stood and got a bottle of water from the fridge under the counter, stared at the marble as she uncapped it and took a slow sip. 

“Kate.” 

Kate took a deep breath and another sip of water before she turned around and met Eleanor’s eyes. 

“Mom.” 

She could see her mom’s jaw grinding, considered very seriously walking out and calling Clint and going back to Iowa for as long as she fucking could. Laura had offered and meant it. Clint had nodded beside her and meant it just as much when he said, “Call anytime.” She’d only been back for like a day anyway; her stuff was still packed and PD would be pumped to be back on the farm. 

She didn’t leave. She sat back down in the chair. She wasn’t even close to sure that was the right decision. 

Her mom grabbed the small remote on the coffee table and hit a button and suddenly the glass behind them was frosted, she and her mother in a more private space. Chest tightening unpleasantly, Kate’s mind ran everything through a new filter. How much of that interaction had been calculated? How much of the hug, of Kate’s presence, of Eleanor’s smile, had been meant for the employees still at Bishop Security? For the attorneys Kate knew were waiting in a conference room just across the hall? For whoever might leak a picture or a quote to one of the reporters hanging around? For whoever her mom might’ve paid to do that? 

She pushed the tears away for another minute, let anger take the lead. It was, after all, much higher on the list of acceptable emotions than hurt. “What am I doing here, mom? What do you need from me?” 

It was hurt, though, that flashed across Eleanor’s face, brief but obvious, and shame bubbled in Kate’s stomach. She didn’t take it back. She didn’t look away either, watched as her mom schooled her features into something neutral and reached for a folder on the table, opening it and turning it toward Kate. 

“This is the information on your trust fund. There are two numbers on the last page, one for my attorney and one for my accountant. I’ve worked with them both for a long time. Call them and they’ll help you get the account handled.”

Kate took the folder and tucked it into the side of the chair. “Thanks.” 

It was a relief. She was, for the first time in her life, worried about money, and it sucked. She’d been working out how long she could make it on what little she had in her own account from her Bishop Security “paychecks” plus an envelope of cash Clint or Laura had snuck into her bag before she left the farm and refused to discuss when Kate found it. 

Her mother nodded. “It’s yours. It has always been yours. Whatever happens with my assets and the company, they can’t touch that. Or the apartment.”

Kate knew, vaguely, that she had a trust fund from her dad’s parents. She was from the kind of money, at least on her dad’s side, that meant her grandparents had set her up from the day she was born. She had never bothered with it before, couldn’t even access it until her last birthday, but she was really fucking glad for it now. 

And for whatever laws stopped her mom (and her dad, maybe, but she really didn’t like thinking about that either) from touching it. 

“Okay.”

Her mom sighed, lips turning down in that way they did when Kate disappointed her. It was a familiar look, and it was how Kate knew the next words from her mouth were the starting point of a negotiation, rather than an end in themselves. 

“I’m sorry, Kate, if what I said that night hurt you. And for taking some time to get in touch. I was angry, which I think is understandable.”

When Kate didn’t immediately respond, Eleanor added, “You obviously weren’t ready to talk either.”

Yeah. There it was. An accusation dressed as an observation. An invitation for Kate to apologize. 

Instead of guilt, Kate felt Laura’s arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders as she cried late on Christmas night, the photo from the Times article shining up at them from Kate’s phone screen on the coffee table. Heard the soft, “Oh, honey,” as Kate whispered her fears aloud, rasped and broken questions about whether her mom would ever want to talk to her again, whether she should call, whether it would hurt worse if she didn’t answer. 

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me. You made it pretty clear on Christmas Eve I’d disappointed you, and then I heard from the Times about your bail before I heard from you. Wasn’t really interested in leaving a voicemail.”

Eleanor’s frown deepened, deepened further when Kate didn’t flinch. Or, Hawkeye didn’t flinch. Kate would cry later, but her mom didn’t need to know that. Didn’t deserve to know that. 

Eleanor sighed, and her words had a resigned quality to them on the surface, but Kate knew veiled anger when she heard it. “I understand you probably didn’t know what you were doing when you made that call to the police. I know you can be rash. Impulsive. That’s my fault. Confidence is one thing, but I clearly should’ve reined you in a long time ago.”

Kate bit her tongue and started thinking about trick arrows, reminded herself that she could leave. 

“But now, Kate.” She gestured at her ankle, in the vague direction of her army of lawyers a few rooms over. “Now we’re all paying for your choices. Don’t you see that?”

Yeah. She could leave. Kate took a deep breath and another sip of water and leaned forward. 

“No. I don’t. I see you paying for the choices you made and trying to blame me for it.” Anger slashed ugly across her mother’s face, eyes sharp and chin jutting out in a way that Kate knew her own did in a challenge. “I don’t regret what I did. I wish I hadn’t had to. I wish you hadn’t…” Kate shook her head and stood. Her mom matched her. 

“Katherine Elizabeth Bishop, you do not walk away from me.” 

Her voice was tight and low and Kate had heard it like this a few times in her life, but it had never scared her before. She fought a sob and squared her shoulders. 

“If you were who I thought you were, and I was alone in a room with someone who had done the things you’ve done, you would tell me to run .” Kate shrugged, bent to take the folder. “Guess I know better now. Thanks for this.” She didn’t have it in her to hold her mom’s eyes but pride and resentment and molten anger at least kept her voice steady as she added, “Merry Christmas, by the way. One for the books.”

She turned to go, made it two steps before she felt the hand on her shoulder. She had broken the hold and turned, hands out and eyes assessing her mom like a threat, before she could stop herself. Her mom understood, if the look in her eyes was real, and she jerked her hand back. Kate wasn’t sure whether Eleanor was ashamed or afraid that Kate might break it, and fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How did they get here.

“Kate. Just…” She stepped back, sat. “I’m sorry. Give me two more minutes. And then,” she swallowed, and Kate saw her mom, just her mom, sad and exhausted, “I promise you can go. It’s important. Please.”

Kate hesitated for a second but walked back to the chair, perched on the edge. 

“Thank you.” 

The relief was genuine, and Kate nodded, gripped at the folder in her hands. Her mom cleared her throat and took another folder but kept it herself, thumbing at the tab. 

“I’m going to go away for a little while.” Kate tensed, eyed the ankle monitor before she could stop herself. Eleanor’s eyes followed hers and she shook her head. “No. No. They’re facilitating it. Fisk…Well, things are complicated right now, but he’s not a forgiving man.”

“I thought he was…out of the picture. For now.” It was one of the only reasons Clint hadn’t pushed harder for her to stay in Iowa. He’d heard through channels that Fisk had been shot. That Maya had shot him. That the whole organization was a mess and Maya was on the run and Fisk might actually be gone, although Clint said not to bank on that. 

Eleanor sighed. “Nobody knows for certain his condition. And it’s true that they appear to be distracted right now, but they won’t forget about me, especially if they think I’m cooperating.” 

Kate sucked in a breath. “Are you? Cooperating?”

Eleanor smiled ruefully. “The case against Fisk is much bigger than me. He…well, I’m honestly surprised there even is one, given the number of people in the city on his payroll or his hit list, but it seems like his influence hasn’t reached certain corners of the federal government.

“In any case, as far as he or anyone else knows, I’m not cooperating, but that doesn’t mean he wants to take chances.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Eleanor shook her head and smiled an almost fond smile, although it had sharper edges than Kate was used to. “No, Hawkeye, I didn’t.” She leaned forward, extended her hand over the table between them. “Kate, these people are dangerous. I’m going away, at least through the trial, and I would ask you to come, but…”

“I won’t.”

“Right.”

Eleanor watched as Kate leaned back, began twirling her ring again. 

“So, I need you to be careful. Call Clint Barton. Call…whoever. I have people from the company who…”

“Mom.”

“Let me finish, Kate. I have people from the company who are and will continue doing minimally invasive work to keep you safe.”

Kate raised her eyebrows and Eleanor ground her teeth but did not snap as Kate said, “I have no interest in anyone from Bishop Security keeping tabs on me. Even minimally invasive ones.”

Unyielding and unapologetic, her mom said, “I didn’t tell you to ask for your permission. I told you so that you wouldn’t shoot Ari or the company SUV he’s driving when you eventually noticed he was keeping track of you.”

At one point, the tone would’ve made her hesitate, but today it just pissed her off. Kate met her mom’s eyes as she responded. “Yeah, okay.” She made a note to look Ari up in the company directory. “I won’t shoot him, but I will lose him, and if he keeps trying, I just made a knockout arrow that works pretty well.”

Her mom rubbed at the spot at the base of her neck that meant she had the beginnings of a tension headache. 

“What do you want me to do here, Kate? This is serious, and whatever you might think of me, I’m still your mother, and I love you. I won’t just leave you.”

What Kate wanted was for her mom to not be facing a list of charges so long and violent that reading it had made Kate dizzy. What Kate wanted was for her mom to have never fucked with Wilson Fisk. For her dad to have never fucked with Wilson Fisk. For the people responsible for taking care of her to have been better and more careful. 

She said, instead, “I’ll install new security at the apartment. Non-Bishop Security stuff.” She clarified, and her mom barely suppressed an eye roll. “It’s all being redone anyway.” Thank fuck for insurance, Laura Barton’s ability to make a checklist, and contractors used to SHIELD’s specific need for quick and secure repairs to explosive damage. “And I will check in once a day with someone from the company to confirm that I’m alright.” 

Eleanor’s sigh could’ve been used as the model for disappointed and exasperated mothers. Sadly for her, her only audience was Kate, who was growing less affected by her mom’s opinion by the minute. (Still affected. Probably always affected. But realizing that her decision not to cover up a murder made her mom more disappointed than, y’know, aiding and abetting would have really did wonders in blunting the effects of maternal guilt.) 

“This is the best I’m going to get, isn’t it?”

Kate leaned back into her chair. “Yes. And if you try anything more, and you know I’ll know if you do, then I’ll stop checking in.” She paused, added even though she was sure her mom already knew, “Also, I’ll take whatever or whoever, wrap them up in a bow, and drop them somewhere super embarrassing for the company.” 

“You’re a shit,” she said, with clear fondness below the frustration. 

Part of Kate resented it. The familiarity. It was fucked, that her mom thought she had the right to act like the last month hadn’t happened. Or worse, that she had fixed everything with a non-apology and a little bit of worry and a cream folder full of financial security that was there despite Eleanor’s best efforts and not because of them. 

Another part of Kate clung to the small piece of evidence that her mom still loved her the way she hoped. Hard not to feel pathetic about that. 

She shrugged, picking at the skin around her thumbnail. “Maybe. But it’s your fault.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said softly. “It is.” She took a pen and legal pad, wrote something quickly on a sheet which she tore and folded in half before brushing nonexistent lint from her pants and standing. “I’ll walk you out.”

She took Kate to the front desk and hugged her. It was still stiff and quiet and awkward, but it made Kate want to cry less. And then that made her want to cry more.  

“Here’s protocol for contact.” She handed Kate the folded piece of legal paper. “I don’t need to tell you to—“

“Destroy it after I read it. Yeah. I got it.” 

“Shit,” her mom said again, and again, Kate shrugged. 

She bit her lip, conflicted, but in the end forced the words past her pride. “Stay safe, mom.”

She didn’t bother trying to decipher the momentary slip of her mom’s mask, what it meant that it was back in place by the time she responded, “You stay safe. I love you.”

The words landed like a thumb on a bruise, the doubt a dull ache sharpened with pressure. 

“I love you too.” It felt more like an admission of weakness than anything else, and god, she needed to get out of here. 

Eleanor raised her hand a fraction but she didn’t reach out, and Kate didn’t either, and then she was gone, heels clicking and back ramrod straight as she made her way to the sea of lawyers waiting for her. 

-

Clint answered on the second ring, just as Kate was turning into the park with PD. 

“How’s it going, Hawkeye?” 

She grinned, even in the midst of her absolutely shit family crisis, because that was still so fucking cool . 

“Not gonna lie, Hawkeye. Hasn’t been the greatest day.” She gave an emotionally abridged rundown of the encounter with her mother, Clint humming and making concerned noises as she glossed over the warning her mom provided about her safety. He didn’t question her decision to decline Bishop Security’s interventions, but she could practically see the crease in his brow through the phone. “Actually,” she said, tugging PD away from a very suspect paper bag covered in grease and…things, “you might be able to help me out. You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who could hook me up with a solid security system?”

Clint laughed. It wasn’t quite his Christmas-with-the-family-in-Iowa laugh, but it was close, which made Kate relax a little. Couldn’t be too bad if Clint wasn’t stuck in Avenger mode. “Yeah. Yeah. I think I’ve got a few people for that. May or may not have already asked some folks. Mind sending me basics on the layout? I’m hoping moldy blown-out hole above a pizza joint doesn’t work anymore.”

“Nah, baby.” Kate kicked at a rock on the path. “I’ve got walls . Windows , even.”

“Livin’ the life,” Clint said seriously. 

“That’s me.” 

-

After a solid but unsuccessful (can’t win ‘em all) attempt to exorcize some trauma with a three hour workout, Kate left messages with the trust fund contacts and then spent the evening in her mostly repaired but also mostly empty apartment watching Wipe Out on the IKEA sofa she and Clint had lugged up before he left. It was fun to viciously critique contestant strategy to PD, who was a good audience and thumped his tail gamely every time Kate looked his way.

At 9:30pm, as promised, she called her designated Bishop Security agent with the safe word. It wasn’t her mom. She hadn’t heard anything more from her mom, and the sting of that was only a little soothed by the fact that she didn’t really want to have to navigate any more awkward and unpleasant conversations with her remaining bio parent. 

In an attempt at productive distraction, she made the mistake of checking her email (she’d turned off notifications after her mom’s request, hadn’t wanted any more surprises in public spaces), where she found a message from the school administration about finding a time to discuss “alternative options” for her final semester. Weirdly, they weren’t falling over themselves to welcome back a property destroying security threat whose well of money, so far as they knew, had dried up. 

Kate wasn’t thrilled at the thought of going back either. There had been plenty of nasty headlines already, and there would only be more. 

When she left campus at the beginning of winter break, she was Kate Bishop: charming archer who won nationals; fun to play beer pong with; a little loud but good on a group project; cocky and sometimes reckless but in the mostly attractive, rugged way. 

Maybe it wasn’t giving her classmates enough credit, but it felt too naive to think that she’d go back and be anything other than Kate Bishop: daughter of a massive criminal; annoyingly vocal in class; unapologetic destroyer of a beloved school landmark and a national seasonal treasure; spoiled rich kid with a massive ego who only got in because of her money. 

Kate was also self-aware enough to know that they wouldn’t be totally wrong on any of those points, including the last one, probably. The Bishop dorm that had been on campus for like a hundred years and an endowed professorship definitely didn’t hurt her application. 

Even though her mom seemed convinced that Kate didn’t realize everything she’d been given, Kate had always tried to be more than a legacy admit and a snotty, old money New Yorker and she thought, hoped, that she had been kind of successful. The last few weeks had definitely undone most of that work. Maybe all of it. 

Anyway, whatever. She’d finish with minimal time on campus her last semester, and that would be fine. Not to sound like a massive dick but Kate had never really had to try that hard to do well so it wasn’t like missing in-person classes would hurt her, and her archery season was basically over anyway. Yeah, it would be a little more lonely, but that was the life of a superhero. She had Clint. Campus was close enough that Franny and Greer could come visit whenever. And she’d make other friends. People made friends after graduation, right? That was a thing? 

She sent an email back confirming a meeting time and slammed her laptop closed a little too forcefully. 

Fighting the temptation to stare at the wall and contemplate her mom’s potential hideout locations while feeling super sorry for herself, she took PD for a last walk around the block before falling asleep to reruns of Community . Not the healthiest of habits but whatever, she needed rest and distractions. She’d worry about sleep hygiene later. (Or never.) 

She made it through three check-ins, seven walks, a depressing call with Clint confirming Fisk was still alive and likely to stay that way, four workouts, a very awkward conversation with the Dean of Students and her academic advisors, three boxes of Junior Mints, zero words from her mother, a sighting of one tracksuit goon, and the delivery and installation of what was 1000% a SHIELD-developed security system before she finally lost it, which, all things considered, was pretty impressive. 

And of course, it was a small thing. That’s how this shit went. She stumbled over one of PD’s rope toys in the kitchen, slammed her hip into the counter, and suddenly she was crying. Like, big crying. The kind of heaving, sobbing crying that hurt . She sank to the floor, where PD came to press against her in a full body lean, and she stayed there, running her fingers through his fluff, until her kitchen timer beeped annoyingly at her seventeen minutes later. 

Thankfully–also a small thing, but one that really, really helped–she had managed to get her pizza into the oven before her breakdown. She pulled it out, contemplated tearing it into pieces (wouldn’t be the first time) but was pretty sure eating hand-ripped frozen pizza over her sink wouldn’t make her feel better , so she grabbed the surprisingly useful pizza cutter gadget thing she got during a freshman year Dirty Santa exchange with the archery team and cut the BBQ chicken into squares on a cutting board, took the whole thing over to her sofa, and turned on Community again.  

She thought she was good, or as good as she could be, but when Clint called, she was back to blubbering within like 30 seconds of his, “Hawkeye,” gross, snotty, embarrassing sobs traveling through the air to Iowa. Nice, Kate. 

“Okay,” he said calmly, in a voice that Kate imagined he might use in a hostage negotiation. “Hold on. I’m getting Laura.” 

Forty-five minutes later, it was just the two of them again, Laura having worked her magic (Kindness. Kate was pretty sure it was kindness, and it was good to know that someone who had definitely been a SHIELD agent could hold on to that.) and gone to handle Nate’s bathtime routine. 

“I really don’t mind coming, Kate. This is big stuff. You don’t need to do it alone, and I don’t like that you saw one of the tracksuits in your neighborhood.” 

“I know. I know. I promise I’ll call you if I need you, but right now I’m okay. I just…it was a rough night. Look, though! I talked about it! Also, like, it definitely could have been a random dude with terrible taste in clothing and a bad haircut, okay?”  

“Mmm.” It was skeptical at best. 

“Trust me, Clint? I’ll feel bad if you come right now. There’s a kickass security system and nobody is throwing molotovs at me or even really paying attention.” This part, at least, was true. The tracksuit she’d seen was at a popular Thai place a few blocks over, seemingly just picking up takeout, and Kate hadn’t noticed any activity closer than that. “I’m a little lonely and sad, yeah, but it’s not, like, a Grey Gardens situation. PD and I are fine and we’re getting out in the world and we’re safe. I’ll SOS if things get dire. Really.” 

He sighed in concession. “Okay. I trust you. But I’m serious, Kate. Even if you’re not in immediate danger. Partners, remember? It means more than just trick arrows and car chases.” 

She’d gotten to know the Bartons over Christmas, which meant she got to know Natasha, too–through photos; Lila’s favorite sleep shirt; a post-it on the fridge saying she’d gone for a run and would be back for lunch; stories, so many stories; a late night of them ended with Nate’s sleepy voice mumbling from Kate’s lap, “I get to have her name.” There was a room upstairs that was the one place Nate didn’t explore during hide and seek, a table in Clint’s workshop that had been painted red, tiny black Barton handprints made to look like little spiders over the top, initials marked in white. Laura took a breath like she’d been punched when a recipe card fell from one of her cookbooks, neat, distinct handwriting with a PS at the bottom: Clint–Add extra cinnamon if you’re making this for Laura. 

More than trick arrows and car chases. 

“Partners. I remember. Thanks, Clint.”

- 

She wouldn’t have been surprised to see Clint on her mopey midday walk, even after their conversation. She hadn’t sounded great last night, and she knew partners also meant sometimes telling the other person to sit down and shut up and take their medicine (or ice their knee with a frozen margarita).   

It wasn’t Clint, though, who was propped casually against a tree on her regular route with PD through the park, familiar black and yellow jacket unbuttoned over a gray t-shirt and high-waisted jeans. It was, instead, the widow who almost killed him, using the combat boot resting against the tree behind her to press forward and toward Kate, grinning big while Kate stared at her like a fucking idiot. 

“Kate Bishop! Look at this coincidence!” 

She bent to greet PD, letting him sniff her hand before going in for pets. He was belly-up within seconds, and Yelena seemed delighted, kneeling to get a better angle and running dark green nails through white fur. 

It gave Kate, who was still feeling sorry for herself and definitely not ready for human interaction, much less human interaction with Yelena Belova , a chance to try to get her shit together. It also gave her a chance to admire Yelena’s hair, which was down and like, glowing, basically. Totally ridiculous, because it was gray as hell and January in New York. 

Kate, who had taken her beanie off like ten minutes ago, was pretty sure she had managed to untangle the worst of the mess before she left the apartment and was suddenly grateful she had bothered to shower, at least. 

Not that Yelena hadn’t seen her looking a lot worse. 

The assassin continued loving on her totally smitten dog, who was going to be fully disgusting from wagging and squirming all over the slushy sidewalk while Yelena praised him in Russian. 

“Yelena.”

The widow grinned up at her, giving PD another scratch before pressing to stand in front of Kate. 

“Coincidence, huh?”

Yelena shrugged, and it was annoyingly charming, her whole deal. Deadly charming. 

She wasn’t afraid, a little bit because yeah, if Yelena wanted Kate dead, she’d be dead already, but mostly because she knew more now. Clint had told her, over beer and gingerbread and conversation about Natasha, some things about his fight with Yelena, who she was to Natasha and what that meant to him. He told her a little less about the Red Room and less than that about what it was to be a widow. He told her nothing about the call he made a few days after Christmas, stepping outside speaking Russian, but Kate didn’t ask. She didn’t need to. So yeah, deadly charming but also no longer trying to murder her or her mentor.

Apparently so much in the not-murdering lane that Clint had sent Yelena to check in on her, which, weird choice, but maybe they were talking in a real way now. Clint seemed pretty hellbent on at least trying with the person who had meant so much to his person. Maybe Yelena felt the same. 

As if she were reading Kate’s mind, Yelena said, cheery as ever, “Don’t worry. Barton and I are okay. We are not best friends,” she snorted at herself, somehow making it attractive, “but we have an understanding, and I am no longer going to kill him.” 

It was nice of Yelena, not to mention why she had been out to kill Clint in the first place. Someone has hired a black widow assassin . Yeah. Someone. Kate sagged a little. God, she was tired. 

Yelena said, tilting her head down the path, “Let’s walk and talk?”

Kate couldn’t take her anger out on her mom, but Yelena was right there, so Kate, who had never been accused of not being a brat, frowned a little and took a step back. Yelena definitely noticed, because she was a fucking super spy and Kate wasn’t subtle, but she acted like she didn’t, patting PD’s head gently where he was pressing into her thigh, smile still firmly in place. 

“I…” 

“Barton sent me, if that helps.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

Yelena pointedly eyed the new distance between them with a raised brow but waited, silent and steady, for Kate to make a move. 

She could have argued. She could totally have argued. She had plenty of reasons to say no.  A few good ones, even. But she was tired and she was lonely and she had just enough sense in her to overwhelm the stubbornness and brattiness and consider what pushing away the person her friend had sent to check on her would get her. The answer was a pretty swift nothing. She already had a lot of nothing. She didn’t love it. 

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s walk and talk.” 

Yelena’s smile grew, and Kate offered one in return, a little less than full Bishop charm but more real for it. Yelena clapped her hands in front of her and turned with purpose down the path to their left, PD sticking happily by her side. 

“So what did Clint tell you?”

Yelena eyed her. “Straight to business then. Fair enough.” 

“Did you have…non…business…things you wanted to talk about?”

The quirk of Yelena’s lips made Kate’s cheeks heat. So she wasn’t the most articulate right now. Whatever. 

“Well, last time I was here, you said something about a drink.” Her lips turned down slightly. “But I think maybe you were not serious, which I have to say, is a little disappointing. I thought we had fun.” 

“Fun?” Kate said, tone disbelieving and eyebrows raised. “The part where you broke into my apartment and threatened me over mac and cheese?” Yelena made a noise of protest, which Kate ignored. “Or the part where you kicked my ass on the way to kill my mentor?” 

“Still so defensive.” Yelena tsked at her. “So for you, maybe not so much the girls’ night.” Kate snorted, which Yelena ignored. “Okay. But the sparring was fun. And you said you liked me!”

Kate shook her head but was smiling despite herself. “Sparring. That was sparring for you. God, how fast could you have kicked my ass with a little effort?” Yelena shrugged, unconcerned. “Okay well belated thanks for not breaking me in half, or whatever.”

“Removing an obstacle,” Yelena said. “I was a little annoyed, but I had a good time, in the end. I am learning to be more flexible.”

Kate’s smile widened. “Glad I could help. I meant it, about liking you. Only because you didn’t actually kill Clint, though. We would not be chill if you’d gone through with that.”

“But now we are chill?” She was definitely teasing, but it was soft, friendly, and Kate was grateful for it.

“Yeah. We’re chill. And, uh,” the calculation of her pride to loneliness ratio was depressingly quick, “I’d be down for a drink. Or food. Whatever. If you want.”

“See? Non…business…things,” Yelena drawled, imitating Kate’s accent perfectly. 

“Okay, I take it back. Drink invitation revoked.”

Yelena laughed, low and loud, eyes crinkling as she ruffled PD’s fur when he yelped a half-bark in happy solidarity. 

“So I have lost my drink privilege because I am funny. This seems unfair, but I notice you said nothing about food. That is still on the table?”

“Cute,” Kate blurted before her brain could stop her mouth, and at Yelena’s confused expression she added, a little flustered, “The pun, I mean.”

Yelena winked at her, all signs of confusion gone, and Kate rolled her eyes and ignored the uptick in her heartbeat at Yelena’s smile because not right now, Kate .

“Clint sent you?” Kate shot for exasperated but in, like, a friendly way, and it seemed to be fine, if Yelena’s nod was anything to go by. 

“Yes, yes. Barton said you’re having a bit of a shit time. I told him yes of course she’s having a shit time because her mother hired me to kill you and she also killed that rich white man who shares his name with twenty other people and then did many many other illegal things and now she is arrested.”

It was a tone Kate herself used, often in back and forth with Lila, when Clint was being dense. The hand not occasionally patting PD waved in the air in a series of gestures indicating both that Clint was an idiot and that her point was obvious. 

Kate grimaced. “Well. You’re not wrong.”

One side of Yelena’s face scrunched apologetically. “Sorry. Possibly I was too blunt?”

“Nah, it’s nice, honestly. No use dancing around it.”

“Hmm.” She continued, “Well, Barton was worried and wanted me to come see you. To make sure you are okay, which I told him was stupid for all of those reasons but also, to make sure you are safe from those idiots in bad workout clothes and whoever else, which is less stupid and is something I can actually do.”

“He…hired you?”

Yelena laughed and shook her head. “No. No. He could not afford me. But like I said, we have an understanding, and you are important to him. I was already in New York for work, and I will be here for some time, I think. So. Easy enough to find you.” Her brow furrowed slightly as she added, “We should probably work on that.”

“We?” Kate breathed to herself. 

“We,” Yelena confirmed. “I have a proposal, if you are interested.” 

PD’s tail thwacked against Kate’s leg, Yelena’s hand scratching behind his ear where he had moved to walk between them. 

“Yes, for you, too, хороший мальчик.” 

“His name’s PD, by the way,” Kate offered absently. “Short for Pizza Dog. Or Lucky.” 

Speaking down to PD, Yelena murmured something in Russian, that, based on vibes alone, was, “ Your mother has given you a series of stupid names ,” and then brought her eyes, a little judgmental, back to Kate’s. “I have been told by an associate that I need to take a vacation.” 

Her lips pulled down into a pout, and Kate tried very hard not to focus on her mouth. She was only halfway successful. 

“She was very rude about it, but also, probably, she was right. So, I finished the job that brought me back to New York and I am not taking another one right now. I want to see the city. And Clint Barton does not want to see you die.” 

“Um,” Kate said lamely. 

Yelena plowed on. “Clearly, you are not very good at self-preservation.” “Hey, that’s not…” 

She might as well not have been talking. “For example, I told you to stay out of my way and you decided to do the opposite of that.” Yelena looked at her the way Lila looked at Clint after he spent a solid minute trying to figure out how to get the Switch on. Idiot , her face said. “In fact, you slapped me in an elevator. Now. You are still alive, but that is because I like you.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“You are welcome.” So now Yelena heard her. “But the tracksuit idiots will not be so nice, I don’t think. This brings me to my proposal. I will help you to stay alive, and you will show me New York.” 

Well, that was an easy yes. 

Option A: hang out and eat with Yelena and PD, watch Yelena enjoy tourist shit, and maybe, hopefully, learn some black-widow-y things from her while also not dying embarrassingly at the hands of a bunch of Grand Theft Auto rejects. 

Option B: continue to do everything she had been doing for the past five days, plus work super hard not to die embarrassingly at the hands of a bunch of Grand Theft Auto rejects. 

As much as Kate loved crying over her frozen dinner for one while her dog tried to comfort her, she was willing to try something new, even if it hurt her pride a little. 

And it did. 

She was Hawkeye. It didn’t feel great, needing protection, but something about the offer coming from an assassin skilled enough to kill a literal Avenger took the sting out of it. Also, the help came from Clint and Yelena, not her mom, which was pretty key right now. Plus it was a trade, even if Yelena was only making it feel that way to preserve a little of Kate’s dignity, a kindness that Kate didn’t know if she deserved but really appreciated. 

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, okay.” 

“Excellent!” Yelena stopped and bent to PD, who immediately flopped onto his back again. Kate watched the brown, icy water move under his tail and winced preemptively at the inevitable state of her bathroom post-dog bath. He was gonna look so sad in the tub. She was gonna be so sad trying to get him there. “Do you hear that? We are going to spend lots more time together.” 

When she stood again, her eyes wandered and caught eagerly on an ice cream cart. 

A list started forming in Kate’s mind, food and drinks and cute neighborhood walks, options for a good first Broadway show. The trade wasn’t exactly equal–Yelena protecting Kate in exchange for Kate acting as a glorified tour guide/personal Yelp–but Kate could still hold up her end of the bargain and do it well. She was a New Yorker, and she had opinions about most things in the city and those opinions were, of course, right. 

“There’s an ice cream shop six blocks away. Best waffle cones in the city. And I can recommend like 15 flavors. Good place to start?” 

It had been obvious to Kate, that first time in her apartment, that Yelena was performing–her eagerness about New York, the invitation to share food, her laughter and openness. Kate felt it again in their fight. Stop making me like you . Because she had been, and even though Kate knew who she was dealing with, she couldn’t help but be drawn in.

Yelena was beautiful and magnetic and god, so dangerous. Deadly in her charm. Deadly in her ability to disarm. Kate knew. She knew. 

Still, as Yelena’s face lit up at the prospect of ice cream, eyes defiantly bright against the gloom of the day, she found herself drawn in again, and more, something in her pushed back hard against the idea that being a widow meant Yelena wasn’t also a person. A weird, funny, vibrant person. 

“How many flavors will fit in a waffle cone?” She asked, gesturing for Kate to lead the way. She continued before Kate could answer. “We must try some other places to compare. Not to get us off on the wrong leg. It is not that I do not trust you, Kate Bishop the New Yorker, but I would like to learn what makes a waffle cone good. It is important to understand why the best is the best.” 

There was something about the tilt of her lips that made Kate say with confidence, “You 100% know it’s the wrong foot.” 

Yelena looked down at her feet, brow furrowing and head tilting as she considered. Kate’s momentary panic that she’d been a whole ass already dissipated as Yelena winked at her, and she shoved her with her shoulder on instinct, like she would have done with Franny or Greer or Clint. 

It was gone almost as soon as it appeared, but there was real surprise on Yelena’s face as she braced against the contact, obvious enough for Kate to follow up. “Sorry, was that okay?” She waved a hand between them. “The shoulder thing, I mean. I didn’t think about it but I know not everyone likes to be touched casually like that. I know we’ve fought, or whatever, but that’s different. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“It’s okay,” she said. After a beat, she added, “Thank you for asking me.” 

“For sure.” Yelena was holding herself tightly, and Kate was pretty sure she got it, not being a huge fan of vulnerability herself, so she rerouted. “Back to the art of waffle cones. The question is really how many flavors do you want to combine? Because creating a complementary situation is essential to cone enjoyment.

“And yes, you’re totally right. We’ve gotta try at least a few other places so you can form your own opinion.” Yelena’s shoulders relaxed minutely, and Kate would probably spend a lot of time later thinking about how much of their interaction was organic and how much was Yelena carefully crafting, but for now, she took the win. “To be clear, though, I’m right about this. PD agrees.” 

Yelena offered her an incredibly unimpressed look. “I hope you are joking.” As Kate’s lips pressed into a line, Yelena sighed. “Kate Bishop. This is not for dogs. You know this.” 

“Hey! They have a pup cup!” 

“Pup cup,” Yelena mocked in an American accent, rolling her eyes. “Is the waffle cone part of this?” 

“I mean…” 

“Mmm.” Yelena nodded and hummed through pursed lips. “That is what I thought.” 

“Careful, PD,” Kate stage whispered. “Your new best friend is gonna take your treats away.” 

Yelena tsked at her with a shake of her head before ruffling the hair behind PD’s ears. “Do not try to turn him against me. He is too smart for that.” 

Kate watched as PD turned his little eye up at Yelena, tongue lolling and tail going hard. Smart wasn’t the word she’d use, but she wasn’t out here trying to shoot arrows in a glass house. She and PD clearly shared a deficient interest in self-preservation when it came to Yelena, both of them a little desperate and belly-up with trust, weak in the face of a beautiful, lethal weirdo. 

Kate really, really wanted to believe it wouldn’t turn out to be a mistake. 

#kate x yelena #bishova #bishova fic #hawkeye series

[raddocwrites]

Do you even lift, Bro Una

Una carries this crew. Literally.

“This really isn’t necessary,” la’an informed una as the commander approached.

“Of course, it is,” chapel contradicted her cheerfully from across the room. “You won the bet, didn’t you?”

La’ans eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember any bet.“

 “I also do not remember committing to a wager-“ spock started.

Ortegas loud sigh cut him off. She rolled her eyes as she took a sip of her drink. “Whoever won the captains murder mystery dinner party, was to be carried in victory while the rest of us mere mortals cheered her name.” She shot them an impatient look. “It was in the invites.”

“It most certainly was not,” spock corrected her.

Uhura rolled her eyes and leaned towards him. “Just be glad we talked her out of insisting we call the winner the Supreme Investigative Detecting Queen of the Enterprise, for a week.”

Spocks eyebrow arched impressively. “Indeed. That would have been worse.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the captain mused. “It might have been fun.” The scowl la’an sent him made him grin even more. He leaned casually into his counter with one hand tucked into the pocket of his 1920s style trousers, the arm holding back the large, beige coat and his other rested on a thin strip of elastic that held up his pants, cleverly called-suspenders.

“What I want to know,” Dr Mbenga started, tilting the fedora he wore so it sat more roguishly, “Is how you figured out who the killer was?”

“Yeah,” uhura added. Her shimmery white dress was full of fringe and sparkles. It seemed to flap and dance every time she moved. She had a white headband that complimented the outfit perfectly. “How did you know?”

La’an just tilted her head. She was in black trousers, a dark blue button-up shirt with a black vest. Una had tried to convince her to wear a black fedora with it, but la’an hadn’t been sold on it. Though, looking at Mbenga now using the hat to such effect, made her wish she had. “I AM chief of security.”

Una rolled her eyes. “Yes. But the captain has been working on this for WEEKS. Getting the scenarios and the clues just right. How did you figure it out so quickly?” She wore a dark blue gown that was the same color of a midnight sky during a meteor shower, with a large, feathery contraption draped around her neck and shoulders. The feathers were silver and she had on matching long, silver gloves that went up to her elbows.

La’an raised an eyebrow then opened her mouth.”

“Wait!” ortegas cut in. “Don’t tell us.” The pilot had on a slightly oversized suit, hat and tie, which she assured them all was ‘peak gangster attire’.

“What do you mean, don’t tell?” chapel asked, confused. The nurse wore dark slacks, a white button up shirt only half buttoned and black suspenders. She had shiny black cufflinks that gleamed and caught the light as she moved her hands and matched her shining black shoes.

“Well, I think she should tell us. Because I, for one, would love to know how miss smarty pants figured it out so quickly,” pelia remarked over the drink she held in both hands. The diminutive blonde wore pinstriped trousers and matching vest over a red long-sleeved shirt. She also had a confusing amount of paraphernalia with her costume-pocket watch, several broaches, embroidered pocket square, jewelry and neck scarf. Everyone had the sneaky suspicion they were all genuine, but no one wanted to ask where/how/when pelia had acquired them. They all knew how the louvre was still calling about some painting…

“But if she tells us, it will ruin it for next time,” ortegas protested. The others thought about this.

“There will be a next time?” spock asked, slightly alarmed. He wore dark trousers with a dark blue button-up shirt, light blue suspenders and a matching blue bowtie. A grey, wool cap sat awkwardly on his head, but only because Christine had insisted he wear it.

“Of course there will be!” the captain exclaimed excitedly. “Next month im thinking of…”

But la’an couldn’t hear what the captain was planning for the next obligatory staff bonding session since una stood right in front of her and motioned for la’an to stand up.

La’an raised her eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Una just smirked. “Its this or,” she made a small mock bow. “Supreme Investigative Detecting Quee-“

La’an held up her hands with an eye roll. “Fine,” she agreed and stood up. At least this way it would be over quickly.

Una grinned. She stood next to her friend, bent slightly, and grabbed la’an around the waist. She straightened and easily lifted the Lt to her shoulder, holding la’an in place with a steady grip on her legs. The room erupted into delirious cheers. Una carried la’an three times around the captains quarters on her shoulder, with the others roaring their approval.

By the end, even though she still felt a little self-conscious, la’an grinned giddily. She laughed and looked down at una. The sight of her friend, who normally towered over la’an, shorter than her made la’an laugh even harder.

Una grinned at the sparkle in her friends eyes. She winked and la’an squeezed her shoulder. Her friend leaned over and shouted, “Who was going to carry you, if you’d won?” she asked breathlessly.

Una looked over to spock who cheered somewhat stiffly, lifting the hat off his head and waving it methodically in the air. “I believe mr spock would have been called to fulfill that duty.”

La’an and una shared a look then they both burst out laughing. Finally, only somewhat regretfully, una set la’an carefully back on the deck. She kept a hold of la’ans shoulders in case her friend stumbled, but of course la’an was as steady as a rock.

La’an shot her that side eyed smile. “Thanks chief,” she said softly.  

Una smiled equally as soft and couldn’t stop herself from pulling la’an into a crushing embrace. Her friend hesitated only a moment before she returned it, then stood back.

“Come on,” una said conspiratorially. “Lets get out of here before the captain sets us to doing the dishes.”

La’an grinned and headed for the doors, not needing to be told twice.

#star trek strange new worlds #una chin riley #number one #una is insanely strong #being illyrian has its advantages #la'an noonien singh #drabbles

[dragonmuse]

I'd love to see a date to the ballet enough on its own - but a date to the ballet where Izzy has to be civil to Stede? Double yes!

(you were not alone anon! Here is the ballet date)

Izzy bought new clothes for the ballet. 

Sometimes, one needs armor to go into battle and he didn’t think his court suit was going to cut it. Generally, Lucius helped him pick out clothes, but they were years deep in this now and Izzy had actually listened most of the time they were shopping. He knew what Lucius liked him in, and the stores where the salespeople were helpful without being irritating. 

He got dressed before Lucius got there. If Lucius didn’t like any of it, than he could easily change. Or just strip as a last ditch effort to avoid this entire exercise. A nice thought. Except yesterday Read had bounded up to him with even more than her usual enthusiasm. 

“You’re coming to see the show with us tomorrow?” Her eyes had been wide and bright. “Really? I thought you guys were just flirting or something weird.” 

“I’m coming.” he sighed. 

“Oh my god, it’s such a good one. Have you ever been before?” She didn’t wait for him to say no. “Okay, so I’m going to send you a summary of the plot. Stede usually does one for me, so I’ll just forward it on to you because it helps a lot and the one in the playbill is usually okay, but not detailed enough.” 

“Read-” 

“It’s really beautiful,” she went on, practically spinning in place and Jesus fuck, what was he supposed to do with that. “I hope you like it!” 

“I’ll give it a shot,” he gritted out because that was as generous as he could be. 

“Awesome!” 

So no. He was probably not even going to try to seduce his way out of this which was probably for the best. Wiles were not his strong point. 

The suit was a deep green verging on black, the vest only a shade or two lighter. Wearing a vest feels odd these days, an affectation cast aside along with the ascots Lucius had worn daily when they met. Izzy wasn’t sure when he’d stopped entirely, but they had mostly drifted out of his wardrobe now.  

“Goblin!” Lucius called as he came in. “Are you hiding under the bed because that would be hysterical?” 

“I’m here,” he stepped out of the bedroom. 

Lucius was in his ‘theater outfit’.  Slate gray pants with a faint pink pinstripe, pink button down. The tie was diagonally pink, gray and gold striped, the tiepin Izzy had bought him complimenting it well.  His hair was done up though, slicked to one side in an attempt to lay it flat. The wave was already re-emerging. There was the artful scruff that he’d been experimenting with lately and combined with the pressed shirt.  

“Mm, so you are,” Lucius gave him a once over, a smile slowly forming, tip of his tongue caught between his teeth. 

“All right?” Izzy checked.

“Yeah. Good lord. More than all right. Where’d this come from?” 

“Usual place.” 

“Mm,” Lucius reached for him, fisting a hand around Izzy’s black and gold tie, using it to draw him close. “We should get dressed up more often.” 

“Why?” Izzy’s concentration had narrowed considerably, words barely penetrating. 

“Anticipation,” Lucius grinned and leaned down to just barely kiss him, a brush of lips. “Behave tonight?” 

“Promised already,” he reminded him with a shiver. 

“Mm, I know. I like to hear it though.” 

“Yes, I promise to be nice to your horrible boss,” he muttered. 

“Mhm, good,” he could practically taste Lucius’ smile. “I won after all.”

“You did,” Izzy smiled right back. It had been something to see that pile of goods.  

Read knocked on the door. “Ready?” 

Lucius sighed, planted a slightly firmer kiss on Izzy’s lips, then took a step back. “Ready!” 

The theater was exactly what Izzy had been picturing, austere and old filled to the brim with people stuffed into formal wear though there was mixed in some younger faces in more casual gear. 

Bonnet was standing among them and somehow the man didn’t even fit in here. There was something just slightly off about the way he wore formal clothes or maybe it was that the colors were hair to bright, a little too bold in the face of a sea of sober grays and black. Even Lucius’ faded pink or Read’s sky blues seemed to jump out like Bonnet’s fuschia did. There was just something painfully obnoxious about the man that gritted against reality. 

It was, Izzy could admit if only to himself, admirable in a way. 

“Hello!” Stede waved. He had a fistful of programs which he fanned out to them. “Lucius, I’m so glad you came!” 

“Don’t get used to it,” Lucius plucked two of the programs, handing Izzy one. Read took hers, already paging through it. “I said I would for your birthday and here I am.” 

“I think you’ll find it’s really a present for you! I’ve always said if you’d just give it a good try, you’d really enjoy it.” 

“Sure,” Lucius said dully. 

Izzy, in what he hoped looked like a very normal manner, reached down and took Lucius’ hand. This was not a thing he did with any regularity or really ever with this many people around,  but Lucius accepted with a grateful squeeze. 

Everything had just snapped into focus. In the back of his mind, Izzy had known that Lucius didn’t actually enjoy ballet particularly. He liked musicals and he loved plays, but he had mentioned not being particularly ‘attuned to dance’ which meant he didn’t get it (something Lucius hated admitting about the arts and was happy to say about virtually anything else). Pete might’ve agreed to come, but there was no way he’d stay awake or if he did, stay in his seat the whole time. 

So rather than being a normal human about it and jus task, Lucius had schemed his way into having a date, who was now obligated to sit there and not be an asshole about it. Izzy fought down a hysterical laugh. 

Sometimes, the gulf between them was so wide that Izzy had no idea how he and Lucius even spoke the same language. And sometimes, he was suddenly and viciously reminded that they were very much alike. 

“Spartucus, huh?” Izzy asked to fill the sudden expectant silence. Bonnet blinked and changed focus. 

“It’s not my personal favorite,” Bonnet gave him a speculative look. “Have you gone to much ballet?” 

“None,” Izzy shrugged. “But hey, new things. Right?” 

“Right,” Bonnet narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. Izzy looked back at him with even blankness.  “Well. I hope you find it enlightening.” 

“It’s a good show,” Read said, apparently oblivious to the tension. Izzy knew she wasn’t, but as long as it wasn’t directed at her, she’d let it roll off her back. “Lots of dance fighting.” 

“Yes, I suspect you’ll get a few ideas,” Bonnet favored her with an indulgent smile. Ugh. Read smiled back at him.  “Perhaps you’ll eventually do a little bit of ballet for us?” 

“Yeah,” she said readily. “But not yet. It’s a work in progress, you know?” 

“Isn’t it always,” Bonnet agreed. “We might as well get to our seats.” 

Lucius, wisely, put himself between Bonnet and Izzy, but otherwise offered nothing substantive as Bonnet prattled on about production and costumes to a willing audience of Read and a bored one of Izzy. He didn’t interrupt though or offer up prodding comments. Everytime an obvious place for a remark went unfilled, Bonnet shot him a look. 

Expectant. And maybe a little disappointed when nothing came up. 

Oh for fuck’s sake. 

The lights went down before Izzy could consider how to deal with that. The ballet was...certainly something that was happening. There was a lot of moving around and while it was impressive what the human body was capable of, it did leave Izzy feeling a little numb. When he glanced across the row, he could see Read elbows on knees, leaning forward as if she could consume the entire thing with her eyes alone. Bonnet seemed if not equally enrapture, certainly very taken. 

Lucius had a glazed expression and when he caught Izzy looking, he rolled his eyes expressively.  Izzy offered up his hand and Lucius took advantage, making a slow perusal of digits as he often did when they were watching something. It was lulling and familiar and if Izzy also wound up with a glazed expression, it wasn’t due to any failure of the performers. 

At intermission, the lights jumped on and Lucius shoved up. “I’m getting a drink. Iz?” 

“Just water.” He stayed behind while Lucius left. Read got to her feet, heading for the bathroom. 

Bonnet rattled his playbill ominously. 

“Why did you ask him here if you knew he’d hate it?” He asked. That was civil, right? No swearing, tone even and not abrupt. 

“I didn’t know,” Bonnet shrugged. “I thought perhaps he hadn’t given it a fair shot. He can be very stubborn. I’m not sure you’ve noticed.” 

“It’s come up,” Izzy shook his head. “Read seems happy.” 

“She does, doesn’t she? Lovely girl.”  And...she was. What was Izzy going to do with that? Argue? “You know if she keeps taking lessons, there will likely be a recital.” 

A recital. Jesus fuck.  Obviously Izzy would go. He’d have to find some words to shove into his mouth so she’d known she’d done well. She took his compliments seriously even when they barely broke two words. 

“What the fuck does pas de deux mean?” He asked reluctantly. She’d said that a few times. 

“Oh...do you actually want to know?” 

“No,” he said bluntly. “But apparently I fucking should so tell me.” 

“Well really, I don’t-” 

“...please,” Izzy gritted out. Civil. He was going to be civil. 

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Bonnet wrinkled up his nose. 

“So do I, but I made a promise and I’m not breaking it because you can’t handle the results,” he informed him smoothly. Lucius could show at any second and he was not going to be caught out speaking in anger even if the words were fine.

Civil. Fucking. Civil. 

So Lucius came back with two bottles of water to find Bonnet animatedly explaining the art of the duet in dance while Izzy listened, blank face, and actually absorbing the damn lesson. 

“Okay then,” Lucius handed Izzy his water, sat down and listened too until the lights flickered and Read hustled into her seat. 

“The bathroom line is always so long,” she bemoaned. 

The second half was also fine. Izzy caught more of the story now, but he didn’t think he’d ever be great at following things. Lucius had gotten ahold of Izzy’s cuff by the end, smoothing the skin beneath leather over and over and clearly half out of head with boredom. 

By the end, even Stede seemed grateful it was over. 

“I did not expect it to run so long,” he admitted. “I’ll owe you a drink, Luc. Tomorrow night?” 

“Sure,” Lucius agreed. “Read?” 

“I’m going to Anne’s for a bit,” she checked her phone. “I’ll see you both later.” 

They cleared out into the open night air. Bonnet hestated, coming alongside Izzy for an instant.  Did this still count as the ballet? Probably. 

“Yes?” He asked patiently. 

“It’s admirable. How well you perform for him,” Bonnet said lightly. “Considering you’re not much of an actor.” 

“This ends the second you leave my sight,” Izzy returned in the same voice. “And I will not be tricked into the same stakes again. Get in whatever grand insult you want, it’s your moment.” 

“Quite the contrary,” Bonnet’s gaze flickered to Lucius, who was a bare few feet away, saying his good nights to Read. “I was going to say thank you. As it happens. For bringing her into our lives. And..well. For a lot of other things.” 

Izzy stared at him, Bonnet gave him a strange half-smile. Sincere as anything. The man was a mystery that was also definitely a bomb. A glitter one, but a bomb nonetheless. 

“Start walking,” Izzy advised. “Maybe don’t stop until you get into the middle of traffic, then hang there for a bit.” 

Bonnet barked a laugh, the smile blossoming into something more familiar. “Good night, Iggy.” 

“Fuck. Off. Bonnet.” 

“Iz?” Lucius glanced up. 

“Yeah?” 

Bonnet was laughing as he walked away and that seemed to offer enough of a cover. Damn the man. He’d bet that was even intentional. 

As they walked to the subway, finally alone, Izzy had to tell him, 

“I would’ve come if you’d just asked, pup.” 

“Would you?” Lucius frowned. “And been nice?” 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Not a lot of things I wouldn’t do.” 

“But then I would’ve been forcing you, basically.” 

“What did you think this was? A pleasure cruise?” 

“No...I know. But you agreed and it was a probability thing.” Lucius frowned. “Ah, fuck. I messed up, didn’t I? ” 

“Not with me. Bet was fair,” Izzy assured him. “But you should’ve just told him no.” 

“I tell him no a lot. Saying yes is basically a birthday present and that guy is hard to shop for.” 

“All right. But you know. Next time.” 

“Thanks,” Lucius hesitated, then took his hand. “Good?” 

“Yeah,” Izzy allowed. He’d started it after all. 

And maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to twine his fingers with Lucius’ and head back home together. Who cared if they were pastel and inky puddles of color? They didn’t have to match to hold hands. They just had to stand against the world at the same angle.

#leda house and the kraken verse #ficlet #goblin king and the pup #izzy hands #lucius black #mary read #stede teach bonnet

[fatalezr]

The Final Takeover - Part Six

Virginia gave the punchbag another few slugs with her fists, finishing her workout with a final flurry. She wiped the sweat from her brow with a towel and went to sit down. She was feeling good and fresh after her victory the previous week against another opponent in an underground club belonging to her new boss, Helen Monroe. She hadn’t been asked to take a fall in a certain round, and her opponent gave her as much as she could. It was the kind of sporting moment she relished.

She put the towel down and looked up as she heard the heels of Bessie walking over to her in the gym. Her ‘manager’ was wearing a tailored pinstriped suit, white shirt and black tie and had a pinstriped fedora on her head. “Hey” Virginia said, greeting her.

“How you doin’?” Bessie asked her as she approached.

“Good” Virginia said truthfully, “I’m feeling good, I want to get another match organised”.

“Already working on it” Bessie said, “but first I wondered if we could use some of your other talents tonight for a job. Helen personally wants you involved”.

That piqued Virginia’s interest. “Sure” she said. She had no problem with killing some of Capone’s men, and had been practicing with using the Tommy gun ever since she and Bessie met. “What does she want us to do?”

“Well you know we’ve been going after all the signs of Capone’s power in the city, but there’s one we haven’t touched yet until now. It’s his…favourite sporting interest”. Virginia was puzzled by that until Bessie started whistling a tune. It sounded like ‘Take me out to the ball game’ and Virginia suddenly understood.

“Holy shit” she said, “you want to take out the Whitehawks?”. Cicero’s premier baseball franchise had always been under mob control and it was an open secret, no more so than when they won the World Series the previous year. Their opponents had apparently been taking bribes to throw the game. The idea that Capone had paid off the opponents would not be hard to imagine. Between the team and the bookmakers he ran underground, he would fleecing Cicero sports fans all the time.

“Whitehawks? More like dirty cheating hawks” Bessie corrected, and then chuckled. “We’re going to give them a seventh innings to remember” she said, “but we need help getting into position. That’s where you can come in. You ready?”

“Sure thing” Virginia said. She couldn’t wait to get started and followed Bessie outside immediately.

—---

Virginia could hear the shouts of the crowd and the occasional playing of the stadium organ from outside Revolution Park. She sat in a black car next to Bessie, with two other women called Linda and Suzy in the front.

She had changed into what had been one of Bessie’s first gifts to her - a tailored pinstriped suit that marked her out as being a member of Helen’s mafia gang. She wore the suit with a white shirt and black tie, just like Bessie and had put on leather gloves like the other women in the car. Bessie had explained the plan to her. They would sneak into the stadium and when the Whitehawks were in the field in the seventh innings, they would take them out. The issue would be getting past security. They needed to be quiet and spring their trap at the right time and with Virginia’s strength, she could help snap some necks and take guards out quietly and allow the rest of the gang to sleep in.

They were sitting a way outside one of the entranceways to the stadium, looking at two Cicero PD cops who stood with arms folded, looking bored. In the front seat, Virginia could see Linda, a shorter, blonde woman, fiddling with what looked to be a large tube and putting it onto the end of a rifle.

“What is that thing?” Virginia asked Bessie.

“It’s a suppressor” Bessie told her. “Linda here has done a lot of experimenting for us and coming up with better weapons to use them with”.

“I’m trying to” Linda said from the front seat, “it’s not perfect, and I think this suppressor on a rifle could be refined but it’ll work for now.

“I’ve got one on my M1911” Bessie said, and Virginia looked as she undid her jacket and showed the pistol with the long tube inside her shoulder holster, “as does Suzy. We’ve used them on Tommy guns in the past but Helen wants to keep this real hush-hush. Can’t risk alerting the team and the VIPs too early”.

Virginia nodded. The VIPs were also an important part of the plan. They sat in a box close to the field and included the stooges of the team ownership and tonight, Cicero Mayor Howard Hancock, a known crooked politician. They could take him out as well as the team in one evening, showing Capone his hold on the city was well and truly broken. It was only a shame the don himself would not be attending the game, preferring instead to send his lackeys in his place.

One of the guards by the entryway took out a cigarette. “Heads up, this is our chance” Bessie said, and Linda opened the window on the car. She put the rifle with the suppressor to rest on it and took aim. The cop with the cigarette lit it and moved to the side, facing away from his partner.

“Do it Linda” Suzy said from the front seat. Virginia watched as the rifle fired -pap- a strange quieter sound and the guard who was not smoking went down. Linda was already loading another bullet and Virginia saw the smoking cop turn to look towards his partner. He looked alarmed but then -pap- another shot from Linda made him crumple.

“OK, let’s go” Bessie said and Virginia, her and Suzy got out of the car and hurried towards the ballpark, Tommy guns on their backs, Suzy and Bessie drawing their suppressed pistols. Virginia looked at the two bodies and saw Linda had shot each man in the head with impressive accuracy. “She’ll keep us covered” Bessie said, “all we have to do is make sure the rest can follow us”.

They entered the stadium and went down some stairs towards the locker rooms of the players and officials, moving slowly and quietly. When they reached the bottom, Virginia poked her head around a corner. There was a man whistling with his back to her, pushing a linen basket for spare uniforms. There was no other person in sight.

Virginia took her chance, creeping up behind the man before wrapping her hands around the top of his head and the bottom of his neck. She jerked his head violently and heard his neck snap, his body going limp in her gloved hands.

“Nice work” Bessie said, joining her. She pointed further down the corridor. “Let’s keep going”. Above them, Virginia heard cheers and cries from the fans in the stadium watching the game. She flattened herself as they approached the next corner and she could hear two men talking to one another. Their voices got louder as they approached.

Bessie gave Virginia a nod and she spun from the corner as the men reached it, grabbing a man in overalls and muffling his screams with her hand. She gave him a gut punch to take his wind away then grabbed his neck under her arms and used her strength to crush it. The other man received two suppressed bullets into his chest from Bessie’s M1911.

Virginia could see the two changing rooms of the teams. She looked into the visitors room but it was empty. Bessie beckoned her towards the home room and Virginia heard voices inside. It sounded like a player and a coach chatting. She pushed the door open to see both men. One wore the white uniform of the Whitehawks and was carrying a baseball bat whereas the coach was an older man whose uniform fit poorly. The player lifted his bat towards Virginia but she ducked as he swung it and retaliated with her fist into his face. He dropped the bat as he fell to the ground and Virginia picked it up. She raised the bat and crashed it down into his skull, blood spurting to the side from the giant wound she created.

The older coach had surrendered, putting his hands up as Bessie pointed her M1911 towards him. “No, no please…” he said, but as he opened his mouth again Bessie pushed the long suppressor on the end of the gun into his mouth. The man’s eyes widened but then Bessie pulled the trigger. Pap. The man’s head exploded against the wall behind him, spraying blood over the home dressing room. Bessie grinned and Virginia could see how much she had enjoyed the kill.

“Let’s wait here” Bessie advised. Virginia nodded and together they both took the Tommy guns off their back and made sure they were loaded with a 100-bullet magazine. They each had plenty of spares in their suit pockets, as would all the rest of the women involved in the hit. Within a minute, the door to the changing room opened and Suzy led the way in for Helen Monroe and another two dozen of the gang members, all carrying Tommy guns in their gloved hands, all looking powerful, feminine and deadly.

Helen Monroe surveyed the women in the room quietly before taking out a cigar from her pocket. “Ladies” she said, “remember our objective is the team and the VIPs. Now there will be cops in the stadium. Find them and shoot them. And if you get any heroes in the crowd, slaughter them and anyone around them. They call this place ‘Revolution Park’, let it be a symbol of the real revolution happening in this city. Let’s stain the grass and seats with so much blood that they’ll need to demolish the stands just to get rid of it all”.

Virginia smiled. Helen had a masterful way of inspiring her troops. She was looking forward to seeing the faces of the players as she mowed them down. It would be the perfect message for their don, and for anyone else in the country who thought that it was OK to lie, cheat and steal your way to a championship.

The crowd clapped in the bleachers above them and Helen looked around. “That’s our cue” she said, “the seventh innings. The Whitehawks will be in the field but make sure you take out the bench too”. She led the way out of the dressing room like a captain of a sports team would be, the women filing in behind her. Virginia was near the front and ready. Helen’s words had fired her up and she just wanted to be putting players into her sights and ripping their bodies with her bullets.

A cop looked in their direction as they began to climb the steps to the field. Virginia could see the horror in his face as he realised the group he was looking at. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. Helen gave him a quick volley without even glancing in his direction and he went down.

The sound of the gunfire made some in the crowd scream but a second later, Virginia was on the field of play, and the women were fanning out in multiple directions. Virginia walked towards the diamond as more in the crowd started to scream. She saw the third baseman looking at her dumbfounded, perhaps unable to comprehend what was happening. She pointed the gun at him from her hips. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. Her gun exploded into life, as did those of the women around her. The third baseman was lit up by her shots, his white uniform turning crimson as the bullets ripped through his chest.

There were more screams and shouts from the crowd but Virginia paid them no attention. She looked towards the pitcher. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. A long volley of bullets brought him down. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. All around her became chaos and confusion as the women fired. She glanced at Bessie firing into the Whitehawks dugout. In front of her, players started to run, dropping their gloves and trying to sprint away. Virginia was determined to let none escape. She fired low and arched her fire around them all. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. She saw other women doing the same and the players getting cut down, falling and tripping, throwing their hands up in pain as they were killed.

To her left, Virginia saw Helen and Suzy both massacring the individuals in the VIP boxes, their Tommy guns sweeping over the Mayor and the team ownership, turning their suits into nothing more than split fabric. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM.

Virginia reloaded her gun and looked around. She saw two cops running onto the field from the bleachers and shot towards them. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. She took them out. People were screaming behind them and trying to get out of the stadium. There was panic everywhere. Virginia raised her gun higher towards groups of men and started firing. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM, BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM, BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. Bodies started to fall from side to side in the crowd. Anyone who turned in her direction made themselves a target. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. She took out a man who held a glass bottle in his hand and looked to be about to throw it. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. Next it was a man who looked to be going to pick up one of the dead cops' guns.

BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. The ballpark had been turned into a cathedral of submachine gun fire. She chuckled as she reloaded again and went around the players on the field. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. She fired a slew of bullets into the head of her first victim, the third baseman, pulverising his face at close distance. An umpire near him had also been shot. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. She took his head too and walked around other players and officials too. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM, BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM, BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM, BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. Her gunshots into their faces would mean it would take the players jersey numbers to be able to identify them.

Eventually the shooting and screaming stopped. Virginia looked around Revolution Park. It was deserted apart from the women and hundreds of bodies, either on the pitch or in the bleachers. She could hear confusion outside the stadium. There was also the sound of sirens and Virginia suddenly realised that there would be a large number of officers heading towards the ballpark. She looked around, unsure of the next moves but heard Helen shouting “Open those gates” at her and a couple of other women. Virginia looked where she was pointing. There were large gates to the outside in the side of the ballpark and Virginia sprinted to them. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. She shot the padlock on them and heaved one open, two other women doing the same for the other.

Two large military style trucks entered the stadium, both being driven by women in pinstriped suits. “Get in!” Bessie said, pointing at the closest one to Virginia. She did so, being followed in by more women. They sat along the edges. “Face your guns out!” Bessie shouted to the other women and Virginia did so, reloading it and then facing it out of the truck. In the centre was a giant machine gun and Helen Monroe sat behind that, pointing it out of the back of the truck.

“OK ladies, hit it!” Helen said. The truck rumbled into life and they made their way out of the ballpark. There were already a multitude of cops outside. As soon as Virginia saw them, she knew what she had to do. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. She opened fire. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. The rest of the women did the same before Helen joined in with her giant machine gun. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. Cop cars exploded from the onslaught of bullets, officers were cut down and the truck made its way through the mini blockade that the Cicero PD had been attempting to set up.

BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. Virginia kept firing until all her bullets were spent, seeing men cry out in pain or attempt to run as they were fired upon. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. For a few more seconds the onslaught continued until the truck was out on the open road and making its way out of the city.

“Woohoo!” Bessie shouted. “Amazing!” Around the truck, the women congratulated one another and even Helen shouted before firing up her cigar. Virginia knew that once again the women had made history, rewriting the fabric of the city of Cicero with a message so powerful it would make global headlines for sure. The sporting side of the city would be theirs now and the trap for Capone and his allies would be closing in.

#thefinaltakeover #thetakeover #hitwoman #female assassin #killer woman #mafia story #femme fatale

[inlocusmads]

The Case of the Cursed Captain

Nora and Trystan, while out in Brighton Beach, investigate a supernatural occurrence in the high seas and come face to face with an old enemy.

Featuring: Nora Rose, Trystan Thorne from Crimes of Passion

Word Count: 2.1k | No Warnings/Teen | References to Crimes, Book 1. Mild spoilers ahead!

A/N: Another case fic! Based on @choicesficwriterscreations's "Beach" prompt for their "Naughty or Nice" event. This prompt was too good and also because I had this nautical mystery idea in my head and put it to some *good* use. Is it good? Depends.

🎵 Listen to Decrypting as heard on The Imitation Game.

The Atlantic ocean had a rather cerulean tinge to it. “Cerulean” was one of the most prominent colours, commonly seen in a romantic context and according to dating-a-new-yorker dot com, blue won over pink roses, pink bouquets, pink dresses any day, around 60% of the time. Accompanied by such statistics, Trystan Thorne predicted a beach date would do them both some good. Drakovia, being a winter/storm haven three-sixty-five days in a row, had infamous beaches because they were, actually, wicked. The sea was often violent, its waves slamming into the nearby askew boulders, and it was no fun sitting in the storm's eye and sharing a picnic basket wasn’t the most romantic thing.

Granted, Drakovian culture hardly saw the difference between “romantic” and “beheadings”, so Trystan’s opinions on romantic dates might be a little skewed to say the least.

But fortunately, he didn’t have to mind that because Nora didn’t mind that. She’d been on the detective job for many years now, and it didn’t matter to her if the date involved murderous blacksmiths or light-haired women in pinstripe suits. She also didn’t mind running into fires, getting her hands sliced open and ending up with a bullet in her head, because her estimation of danger was also very skewed. 

“Two fisher-boats.” Nora drew two circles in the sand. “Them — around thirty kilometres away from each other in the evening; sometime around four. Boat A ended up drowning and used their torch to signal a SOS message. Boat B ended up further away, possibly because of the weather, but it was just in the afternoon!”

“Is he here somewhere?”

“Right there. Talking to --” Nora swallowed, as if she had accidentally tasted some nasty poison. “Officer Dave.”

“Dave. I hate Dave.”

“You haven’t even met him yet.”

“I hold grudges well and on the fly. That’s the scoundrel who sent us the Partners in Crime necklace, correct?”

“Him and his band of clowning, scheming scoundrels.”

Officer Dave of the NYPD was one of those detestable creatures who masqueraded as a humanitarian. He noticed the two and with a big broad smirk as he usually had, akin to a blobfish that approached its prey, drew near the pair; hands in pockets and his police badge flashing under the stark sunlight.

“Well, well — if it isn’t Holmes and Watson. Lady Holmes.” he kindly regarded. “The case’s out of our jurisdiction, detective. Especially out of your hands.” - he pointed a fat index finger at Nora. “So go home. Enjoy your date someplace else. Don’t bring the city into this and get into trouble like you — children often do.”

“We need to talk to Boat B’s Boatman. And might I so carefully remind you that, Officer, if it wasn’t for us, you’d still have a murderer about on the loose, recklessly killing women of power and a frankly, very dangerous cult operating in the shadows without your knowledge. And that’s shameful for a reputable “humanitarian” organisation, and I can’t imagine the embarrassment the Head Office faced.” Trystan took a step forth, without a care for anything. He didn’t even have his glasses and scarf on, which meant he was dangerous and a danger to everyone else on the road. Not to mention the reporters who’d have a field day, with headlines running amok: FORMER DRAKOVIAN PRINCE, TRYSTAN THORNE THREATENS NYPD OFFICER! IS THIS A CALL TO WAR? SHOULD HOMELAND SECURITY INTERVENE?

“All right.” Dave appraised. “Rose, if something goes wrong, I’m putting your John Watson on a boat and sending him home. Capeesh? And I believe you’re going to need luck.”

“Tell me what happened from the beginning.”

The boatman, Daniel, had a certain tremor in his left hand as he slowly began his story. 

“It was four in the afternoon. Not too bright, not too dark. One of those “dark and stormy” days..”

He peered at Trystan for a split second before turning back to the Detective, his expressions flaring up with a sense of recognition. Recognition of high strangeness, specifically, because never had it occurred to him that the man from the tabloids, often with a crown over his head, would work with a woman from a detective shop. Then again, he’d seen far worse things to comprehend everyday oddities like this one.

“Anyway--” he shook his head in disbelief. “Calypso was going through some rough patching-up, so I took her out for a little test run; near the coastline and not too deep in. Then, I see those — blinks.”

“Blinks?”

“I kept telling myself, don’t blink. Don’t ever blink because I’ll miss the signal otherwise. And I was trying to go over there, but then I saw the signals from elsewhere and then.. I turn. A ghost boat.”

“A ghost — boat?” Trystan asked.

“I’m new to the job, sir, but I know a bit of Morse code here and there, and I know when a boat calls for help. I didn’t know how to work the radio yet. The thing is — it was a ghost boat. I swear, it floated, and it was blinking. I knew more than enough to get out of there. There’s this legend going around. 4PM. October the 13th. That’s when Captain Dowd’s vessel sank. It’s been haunting Brighton Beach ever since. Captain Dowd was a cursed man because he killed people. He was out for blood and now — he’s killed The Ulysses fellow.”

“Boat A.” Nora confirmed.

“I had to get out of there! It’s a cursed place now!”

“Oh. So that’s what — erm — Dave meant by out of our hands.” Trystan deduced.

“I’m not lying! I’m not stupid!” Daniel yelled. “One of our brothers at sea sank! And it is thanks to Dowd’s curse! I’m fortunate to get out of there alive to tell the story! Nobody ever believes me! My wife, that wretched police officer and now you. Detective Rose- I’ve heard of your wonderful work. You have to help me out. Prove I didn’t purposefully ignore the call. Because you know what they do to new people on the job. They’ll look for nitty-gritty laws and throw us away. And I don’t have a job besides the sea. No fancy-schmancy college certificate. Nothing.”

Nora paced on the sand, shielding her eyes away from the morning sun. She recalled the repercussions Daniel would face. By law, a vessel on the high seas is required to answer to a distress signal and poor Daniel had already admitted to guilt by confirming, yes, Boat A sent out a SOS message as a series of torchlight blinks and Boat B was still within range to see the signal clearly on calm waters. It wouldn’t take long for a quick phone call to the meteorological department to check in with the weather and throw Daniel out of his job and take away his fishing licence. With everyone now in lieu of Daniel’s blames on a “sea legend”, it would be more than enough for everyone to prove he wasn’t of a “sound mind” or that, “he’d rather believe in a meaningless old wives’ tale and avoid the distress call.”

“Tell me about The Ulysses.”

“We were twins. Twin boats. Brother Larry and I went to the same guy.”

“It’s always the twins.” Nora sighed. “So — your boat was just repaired, wasn’t it?”

“There was a leak. The dock boys fixed it.”

“And the NYPD didn’t bother asking you exactly that?”

Daniel shrugged. “They said they ought to have a word with my Head Office first.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Nora said, a slow grin on her face. “I’ve solved the case.”

“There’s been a mix-up. Clearly.” Nora pointed at Daniel’s boat. “This boat is old. No leaks. Nothing. Old, but strong. Can stand the waves.” - she knocked on the floorboard and by Newton’s law, it knocked back. “Stuffed with a bit of grime here. And no signs of patchwork. It’s all an immaculate job. Dock boys are hardly ever like that. When did you get Calypso repaired?”

“Well- ah — it was just over two days ago. Before Brother Larry--”

“I need the time.”

“Sometime around at night?”

“Why at night?”

“I was busy in the street market with the produce. I spotted the leak as I was climbing to the shore and I had it in my head going, Get it repaired now! And then I couldn’t. I spent the day at the market and by night, rushed the boat to the dock workers and asked them to do a good job and paid them extra for their troubles.” 

“They would’ve used cheap wood.”

“But I haven’t had a problem with it!”

“Because--” Nora grabbed Daniel’s shoulders and steered his head to meet her eyes, as if they were having some sort of knight standoff battle. “This is Ulysses. Calypso’s the one that drowned.”

“No!”

“Yes! It is extremely plausible! Now, what happened yesterday?” She released him.

“For God’s sake! I told the same thing to that cop!” Daniel massaged his shoulders. “Got out of bed from my afternoon nap. Saw Brother Larry take his boat and I soon followed later.”

“Whose boat was it? Think!” Nora rubbed her palms together. “Even identical twins have discernible features that set them apart from each other. The answer — is right here. On the floorboards. Do you see? It is hard to get wood that matches the exact saturation of the rest of the floor. The crack was — somewhere here, wasn't it? Near that corner. Now, Daniel, tell me. Do you see any patchwork out there? Like a quilt, for instance.”

“No. I would know! I just thought they did that good of a job! But it — it can’t be--”

“It’s always like that.” Nora gave him a defeated pat on the shoulder. “And it is always twins, Daniel. Even the best anglers are deceived and that too, by their own vessel. I’m truly sorry about Calypso. You must’ve spent all that money on getting her fixed, and now she’s spending the rest of her life at the bottom of the ocean. Well — until the rescue team comes by, but that takes a couple of hours.”

“But what about that absurd Captain Dowd myth he was gushing on about?” Trystan quipped.

“A Fata Morgana. A mirage in the sea. You said you spotted another ship? Surprised they didn’t teach you. Fata Morgana is — well, uncommon, but plausible.”

 “Just like how a mirage in say, the Sahara Desert, for example, works, a Fata Morgana relies on cold and warm layers of air and what you see is just refracted light. Personally, I haven’t heard of them happening over the Atlantic Ocean, but when the weather is just right and there’s enough sunlight, things are afoot.” Trystan continued on. “How on earth did you know that?”

“The Master and the Commander led me down a rabbit hole full of seafaring adventures.”

Trystan gave her the slightest smile. He was immensely proud. But it was honestly a case of bad timing to admit that and celebrate their special “Eureka!” moment, not when Daniel was busy wallowing in his sorrows, clutching the boat’s sides until his knuckles turned pale and controlling his sobs. 

“We’ll report our findings to your Head Office. Here’s hoping they let you off with a warning. Until then, get some rest, my good fellow.” Trystan shook the boatman’s hand. “Fret not. Right, Detective?”

But Nora had already left, missioned to phone up Daniel’s boss and free him off of unnecessary charges for things he couldn’t control. 

“The Ulysses. Wonderful name.” he examined the boat. “You don’t paint your names on the hull?”

Daniel wasn’t listening. He turned to the sea, processing all the information as slowly and steadily as he could. It was a thing at this point. Nora would do her part and leave, but the people involved were left in shambles with the revelations she concluded to. It took them a minute to process, before taking several days to completely understand it. And Trystan had seen it all. Wives crying upon hearing their husbands’ cases of infidelity. Families processing the passing of a loved one. And each time it was woefully heartbreaking.

Trystan let out a brief exhale, watching Nora speak over the phone, and turned his attention back to a logo stamped along the edges of the boat with a subtitle underneath; possibly the only thing drawn and painted, besides the stark red-and-white hull. 

His eyes widened with a sense of forthcoming dread as he read the name again and again:

“You said you read about us. Where was it, Daniel?” Trystan asked. “Daniel?-- DANIEL! No!”

A Contribution By The Blake Hill Preservation Society.

Hail Mahra!

A/N: And that's it! Not addressing it any further!

Spoilers: If you're unfamiliar with "The Blake Hill Preservation Society", they're the well, "bad guys". If you have played Crimes, you'd know exactly what I'm talking about. If you haven't, go play now. This is an order from Cap'n Mads!

I'll promise to write more case-fics that don't reference Crimes Book 1 in the future, to avoid spoiling things for people.

This is how a Fata Morgana looks like.

My research for this project took a couple of days, but I still could be very wrong, so if you're a nautical expert or someone who's studied refraction in depth, please let me know if I've gotten anything wrong, so I can add/correct more details.

Tag List:

Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged for my works. Since I lost a majority of my works & my tag list in my "reboot", I have a hard time recalling things. You can always DM me, send an ask, reblog or comment or get the info to me any way you like. Currently there are 4 lists: Perma, Crimes of Passion only, Open Heart only & Wake the Dead only.

Perma: @ofmischiefandmedicine, @quixoticdreamer16 @tessa-liam

Crimes only: @aallotarenunelma @ao719 @trappedinfanfiction

#trystan thorne x nora rose #crimes of passion choices #trystan thorne #nora rose #w:inlocusmads #cfwc naughty or nice

[thefamilyeldritchabomination]

Chapter Fourteen: Mr. Pinstripe Suit Pt. 7

 “Envy, just how fast can you run?” Freddy looked at Envy as they made a massive progress on the monster proportioned parfait.

 “Oh Face Fur, I can easily outrun you if you tried to run from me with plenty more of asskicking in store should that be the case.” Envy glared at Freddy, thinking Freddy was about to dine and dash on them.

 “Bitch that’s not it, I’m asking cause when you have to pose as me, you are going to want to run fast when my rage filled Lobster Man Father comes to town, he’s going to break out the damn pinchers.” Freddy's voice shook in fear for Envy’s own wellbeing at this point as he tried to convey JUST how bad the situation was. 

 “What exactly do you mean the pinchers are coming out?” Envy for a change didn’t attempt to attack Freddy for calling them a ‘bitch’ as they monitored their favorite Face Fur to torment.

 “Fun fact, Joel can break a tree in half with his bare hands alone, that’s why we call them Joel’s pinchers. Thankfully you’ll be disguised as Freddy, so it’ll likely be a shrill screaming fit and possibly getting cut off from the family account for a few months. However, if you’re in this disguise or come in front of him as yourself, you’re going to want to run. He’ll come at you with something worse than the lamp post.” Dolly explained calmly as she shared her peppermint stick sundae with Dorian.

 “The hell did you do to these humans to make them so insane?” Envy nearly choked on their parfait after being given that explanation of what to expect should Joel show up. “The Witch Hunts back in the day traumatized everyone, so I think that was the main culprit. Though, it would be very KIND of you if you’d just tell my Dad you were the one to order that travesty of a dessert so I won’t lose my access to the family account.” Freddy chimed in as he ate his strawberry ice cream slowly as he hoped Envy would be in their horrid gremlin form just so he can see Envy run from a Lobster Man.

 “Okay Face Fur, have it your way, I’ll be myself and tell your mutant father that I ordered the parfait. I’m not afraid of some little human that happens to turn red when angry.” Envy glowered from their half way devoured parfait. 

 “Lust, I’m hungry, when can I go get something to eat?” Gluttony asked before resorting to his coping mechanism of chewing on his knuckles.

 “Aww don’t fret buddy, I’ll be taking you to the morgue after this. It’ll be like an all you can eat buffet there!” Envy had a smug look to their face after fully recovering from their moment of shock. 

 “I’ll be sure to distract Joel then to give you a proper running head start then Envy.” Dolly offered as she enjoyed her sundae with Dorian. “Whatever, at least my blood isn’t going to be the flavor of marzipan from the sugar intake you’re having.” Envy smirked as they finished the parfait of forlorn and sat back to relax. “I dunno, I think I’ve flown past the marzipan flavoring and straight into the buttercream instead.” Dolly mused a bit, causing Envy to chuckle at the comeback that was given.

 “Envy, you’re one to talk with that beastly sized parfait you demolished in one sitting.” Freddy rolled his eyes a bit at Envy’s little commentary.

 “Shapeshifting burns a lot of calories, you really need to keep up with the details there Face Fur.”  Envy retorted with a snort before just relaxing, not even taking the horrors of Joel seriously.

 Sitting smugly and content, Envy felt like they had won. Sure they didn’t get to murder their bastard father and would have to face some supposed lobster-human hybrid, but that didn’t matter to Envy. They got Dolly and Dorian back without having to spend a lot of energy or man power, that was the two only things that mattered to Envy. Around the table, Lust had been comforting a hungry Gluttony while Hughes had returned to his normal skin tone, enjoying some ice cream to cool his body down. Freddy, smug about throwing Envy under the tracks, was giving concern looks from Dolly, still very much worried about the potential fallout that’ll likely come after the parfait. It was just a silly little matter in Envy’s eyes, a human couldn’t possibly be a threat to a mighty homunculus like Envy, so why even worry? Though Envy wouldn’t admit it, at that moment, they wondered if this was what it was like having a family to call their own. Though, Freddy was basically the annoying family pet in the whole hierarchy in Envy’s mind for this family dynamic. The good feeling didn’t last though as the odd yet painful feeling returned when they looked at Hughes who had joined Lust in comforting Gluttony. If having a group to call their family was supposed to feel good, then why did it hurt so badly when Hughes was there? 

=======================================================================

 It had been a week since the survivors of Tir Na Nog had settled living in a cave after arriving in Xing. To them, the thought of having to pay to live in a house was an absolutely dystopian nightmare in their eyes after being brought up in a free housing society. The soft hums and twirls of the salvaged equipment sang inside of the cave as Tinne clanked his forging hammer against the heated metal. They were orders by Cuilleann, who sat by the campfire with Muin as a bodyguard outside of the cave, displeased with the entire scenario that had befallen her kind. Victoria, Gef, and Ngetal had gone to scavenge for food sources since like the housing, these madmen humans had too expected payment for it as well. Duir and Ruis had been at work maintaining the equipment and monitoring for any signatures from the lost Gort. Cuilleann let out a soft growl of annoyance as there were no signatures of Gort whatsoever and she was growing tired of this waiting game. What sort of queen goes about existing without using magic at all? It angered Cuilleann as she gripped her sword tightly, tempted to heat the metal up to go slash at the waters close by. Muin quietly watched the designated leader with caution, mentally preparing herself to take down Cuilleann if she posed a threat to everyone in the group. 

 “Cuilleann, I’m almost done with the forging the claymore. I don’t understand why that was even necessary in the first place.” Tinne held the in process claymore for Cuilleann to inspect.

 “Any Queen let alone another Dullahan isn’t worth their weight in salt if she can’t fight me in Queen’s combat. I will accept Gort as our Queen if she can best me in combat.” Cuilleann snarled as she twisted her sword in the ground.

“Wait, you think Gort is a Dullahan because of Victoria? Gort’s a Dobhar Chu like Duir and I.” Tinne raised an eyebrow as he checked the sword for the length.

 “Damn it! Is that sword even going to be big enough for Gort to handle then?” Cuilleann looked at the claymore to make sure it’ll be of massive size suitable for a Dobhar Chu.

“This should be the right size, Gort was always on the small side for a Dobhar Chu.” Tinne felt satisfied with the length of the claymore as he went back to the makeshift forge.

 “So I’ll be expecting a six foot tall Dobhar Chu, close to my height then.” Cuilleann felt a bit relieved that the fight will be evenly matched now that the claymore was confirmed to be the correct height for the intended wielder. 

 Tinne shook his head a bit at the response as he went back to work on the claymore. A part of Tinne had hoped that Gort had reached at least the normal short height of six feet rather than the strongly possible fact of Gort being smaller than that. Gort was after all the runt of the entire batch for the Autumn Mist District and was an abnormality for a Dobhar Chu to be so small. Muin lifted her head up as she saw movement in the distance, standing up to get a better view of the returning food scavenging party. Cuilleann let loose a soured face when she noticed that the protein they were to have was just a mere small rabbit. It was completely pitiful to be dining on berries and a small rabbit when Muin took up arms when she noticed a small figure following behind the party. Gef, Victoria, and Ngetal stood still when they saw Muin come charging with the intent of apprehending the threat. It wasn’t much of a fight as Muin, disappointedly lifted up a small human child who was flailing about at suddenly being picked up like that. 

 “Great, we got a larval stage human.” Muin grimaced at the sight of the child who had stopped flailing and started trying to get kicks in before getting held arms length away.

 “Woah, so that’s what a mini human looks like?” Ngetal asked as they looked at the small apprehended human.

 “Muin, we don’t have to hold the human like that, it's rude.” Gef went to take over handling the child from Muin who was more than happy to hand over the little bundle of adolescent rage. 

 “So…Gef you’re better at language, you talk to the little larval human.” Muin decided to leave the handling of the human to Gef, heading back to the campfire, a very alarmed Cuilleann being present at the sudden human intrusion.

 “Fine, but my Xingese is rather rusty.” Gef went to attempt to speak to the child who scrunched his nose up at the really old Xingese being used.

“Do you speak Amestrian? I’m fluent in the Amestrian language.” The child responded, catching everyone off guard with the surprisingly adult vocabulary that came out of his mouth.

 “How delightful, yes, we can speak Amestrian.” Gef switched over to Amestrian, glad that one thing was going to be made easy for him.

 “Gef, I thought it was called English?” Victoria whispered, being caught off guard.

 “Not in this plane of existence it is.” Gef whispered right back.

 “So..are you like the secret band of cannibals that live in the cave?” The child began to ask, eying the cave home situation everyone was living in.

 “No? What gave you the idea about us being cannibals?” Ngetal gave a bit of a perplexed look upon hearing the little accusation. 

 “Cause you have a scary looking lady by the fire.” The child pointed out Cuilleann who was now making her way over to the group.

 “Who is the little meat bag larva you brought into the Liberation Cave of Freedom?” Cuilleann interrogated right away.

 “Lady, that’s a really lame name for a cave.” The child responded, earning an offended gasp by Cuilleann.

 “I’ll have you know that the Liberation Cave of Freedom is a very suitable name compared to your weird human custom of paying to live in a house. We don’t have to pay a dime to exist here and we’re proud of our arrangements.” Cuilleann held her nose up proudly at her supposedly better living situation over the humans.

“If you say so lady, but you do realize that the cave gets flooded during this time of year, right?” The child gives the group of weirdos a look of pity of living in the very easily flooded cave of forlorn.

 “You’re lying, right? All you humans ever do is lie…right?” Cuilleann was taken aback by the revelation that floods were indeed a very real thing and not some boogeyman story told to young aslings into behaving better.

 “Fine by me if you want to live in the cave, but my entire clan has lived here for many centuries and knows what the rain cycle is like here. I can promise you as a fact that the cave is going to flood and it’ll be a spectacularly flooded disaster if you don’t move to higher grounds. If you don’t want to be flooded, I can offer you a place at my home, but you’ll have to serve my family from now on and be part of the Yao Clan.” The child gave off a smile that resembled a smug cat after eating the beloved pet goldfish.

 “Cuilleann, we need the equipment to be undamaged by flood water if we’re to find Gort.” Muin said in a harsh whisper to Cuilleann who was getting hot with anger.

 “You expect me, your acting queen, to lower my standards to serve humans? Are you breathing in the gas fumes?!” Cuilleann shouted in their native language, not thrilled with that prospect.

“Damn it Cuilleann, we are getting offered a proper shelter and better quality food.” Tinne finally put his foot down from within the cave after working at the forge all day.

 “You know what Cuilleann, since you named this stupid cave the Liberation Cave of Freedom, we’re gonna act on that one. Everyone, let’s take a vote!” Ruis threw her arms up after having to listen to Cuilleann’s nonsense for far too long in the week. 

 “I’ll have you know I’ll consider this a mutiny!” Cuilleann protested as the others started to cast their votes.

 “Right, everyone, for leaving the cave to live in a proper house, raise your hands now!” Ruis yelled as she along with the seven others raised their hands to cast their vote.

“Now for Anyone who wants to live in an easily floodable cave, raise your hand!” Ruis smirked as the only hand to be raised was Cuilleann who had a look of displeasure.

 “Alright Cuilleann, the votes are clearly in favor of moving out of the cave. Let’s get the equipment out and ready to move into the new location.” Gef sighed as he ran a hand through his hair.

 “Damn it, where is your pride in being a Fae?! We’re going to be serving this meatbag larva rather than the other way around! This is indignity and disgrace!” Cuilleann protested, but the others brushed her off as they started getting set up for the move.

 “That’s enough Cuilleann! We can’t go back to living like we once used to, we’re going to have to adapt and change accordingly to our new situation. Now, are you going to come with us or stubbornly stay at this cave?” Duir pinched between the bridge of his nose as he felt the migraine coming in from the rather stressful week he had living in a cave.

 “Duir, just so you know, I will be considering this an act of mutiny for a long time, but fine, I’ll come along since you’re my mutinous crew and I have a responsibility for all of you now.” Cuilleann grumbled in frustration from everyone betraying her perceived notion of what dignity they had left.

 “Then I take it you’re all going to join the Yao clan?” The child smiled at the small victory he made that very day and the bettering odds for his clan.

 “Yes my precocious little meat bag larva, we are going to join this clan of yours, HOWEVER, this contract agreement will be terminated once we are able to locate our Queen. Then your clan will be on their own, do we have a contract?” Cuilleann held her hand out to shake upon the arrangement, taking some control back from this unprecedented situation.

 “That’s fine by me, it just means my clan has service for the foreseeable future. However, I’ll be requiring everyone to study the current Xingese language, yours was incredibly outdated.” The child shrugged as they got what he had wanted beforehand and felt rather proud of himself. “You certainly have a lot of cheek from someone so young.” Cuilleann remarked as she glowered at the smug child. “Thanks, I have a very expensive education and private tutors, I get to lay my rights to be as cheeky as I want to be.” The young child just simply grinned as he started leading everyone off to his home.

#The Wayfarer #Fullmetal Alchemist #FMA 03 #Fan Fiction #FMA Fan Fiction #Writing #Envy the Jealous #Envy #Lust the Lascivious #Lust #Gluttony the Voracious #Gluttony #Maes Hughes #OCs #Homunculus #Homunculi

[tigers-eyes-26]

I Don't Need Saving Chpt 6

TW: harassment, sexism, a little fighting violence no gore, no death, but heads will get smacked.

Chpt 6: The Brawl

Just as the sun set a booming voice echoed across the empty town. “Welcome Ladies and Gents to the Wario Staduim Brawl!”

The stadium’s dirt track had been flattened out. In the center of the dirt oval was a huge wrestling ring. Wario was in the center of the ring with a mic rallying the crowd. He was dressed to the nines. A white suit coat with pink accents and pink cummerbund, white boaters’ hat, yellow bowtie, and nice blue slacks. Several Lakitus with cameras floated around on their clouds capturing the action. Huge screens around the Stadium showed off their cinematography. One Screen had a bracket of contestants.

“Participants will fight in hand-to-hand combat until a K.O.! This will be a one v. one fight. Winner of the fight will move on until there is one champion left standing!” The rowdy crowd cheered.

Some of the notable contestants were. A Goomba with a helmet. A Toad with an eyepatch. A Pianta in a suit. A Koopa Football player named Chuck, A shy guy with a cowboy hat, A Sumo wrestler. And a large magenta shelled Koopa with sunglasses. His name was Roy, he was a leader of some of Bowsers Armed Forces. That was a surprise. The town was strictly not a part of any kingdom not even Bowsers. But Wario didn’t care as long as it brought him money.

Daisy stretched and warmed up on the side lines. She wished Luigi could be with her on the sidelines but that would draw unwanted attention to him. She wondered if he was in the audience. She wouldn’t be able to see if he was, the blaring lights just made the audience look like a dark blur. They had planned to meet up at the garage after she had won. They would take her motorcycle and her backpack filled with supplies and drive away. Daisy reached down to touch her toes. She couldn’t think about that right now. Now it was just time to enjoy the show and wait for her time to shine. She figured Luigi would show up after her victory.

*******************************

The brawl was a great romp. Hard hits and slams. The crowd ate it all up. As the contestants narrowed down Daisy got more and more excited.

Unsurprising Roy Koopa was winning. He had only to defeat Chuck and a Sumo Bro. Nervous butterflies flitted in Daisy’s stomach. She took some deep breaths.

“Enjoying the show princess?” Daisy jumped, Waluigi appeared out of nowhere and was suddenly behind her.

She glared at him. “Didn’t you ever learn it is rude to sneak up on people?”

“Before you go out there, I have a good luck gift for you.” He twisted his thin mustache. He felt quite dashing. He had on his best purple vest, a nice pinstripe shirt and a fedora with a red rose in the brim.

She turned her shoulder away from him. “Better give it to me afterwards I need to study this fight.”

“Come on princess! I know you will like it.” He grabbed her arm with is long hand.

She tried to wiggle her arm out of his grip, but he held fast. “Don’t Touch ME!”

WHAM the two were distracted by what was going on up on the stage. Roy had defeated the Sumo. He was shaking his fists to the crowd. It now was just Chuck and Roy left. Wario waddled to the center of the ring with his microphone.

“We have a last-minute adjustment!” There was a wave of ‘what’s and ‘huh’s throughout the stadium.  “The Princess is undisposed at the moment. but fear not! Your new prize is revenge on the Mario Brothers!” A Lakitu soared into the center of the arena he was dangling a small cage attached to a chain. He let the cage down in one of the corners of the ring. All the spotlights turned to the prisoner. It was Luigi! His green hankie was still gaging him, his jacket was gone exposing his green shirt underneath. His hands were bound behind his back. The cage was so small he couldn’t stand up. he was on his knees and looked terrified.

“That’s right folks! The last two are fighting for Luigi! You can sell him to Bowser for a price or beat him to a pulp for all I care just get him out of my Stadium! Now who is ready to Rrrrrruuuuumblllllllle!”

Cheers erupted. Daisy struggled even harder against Waluigi. “Let go of me!” He did and she landed on her face. He jumped on her and twisted her hands behind her back. Click! Handcuffs closed around her wrists “You Monsters!” No one could hear her over the ruckus of the audience.

He lifted her up wrapped an arm around her waist. He took his other hand and clamped it down over her mouth. He carried her writhing into the shadows and into the empty hallways. They ended up outside of Wario’s office. It was the securest room in the whole stadium as it was where all the money was kept.

Waluigi kicked the door open and threw her onto the floor. He turned his back to her to lock the door. Wham! Daisy had jumped up and body slammed the tall man into the door as hard as she could. she had hoped she could slam his head into the door to knock him out, but it didn’t work.

“Why you….!” He pushed himself off of the door and turned slapping her across the face hard. It stung so bad she crouched down tears streaming down her face. He took a step towards her. Big mistake. Her leg shot out and swiped his foot. He came crashing down. She stood over him.  He looked up at Daisy only to get a swift kick in the head.

Finally, he was out cold. Daisy took a deep breath of relief. Now she needed to help Luigi. She searched Waluigi’s purple pockets the best she could while her hands were handcuffed behind her back. The first pocket she reached into had her picture in it. EWWW! She ripped that up right away. The other had a key to the handcuffs. It took a couple of tries to get herself unlocked but she finally managed it. She rummaged through the office to see if she could find any other keys especially to Luigi’s cage. NONE! They must be on Wario. She pocketed some coin that was on the desk as a little revenge. She swung open the door smacking Waluigi in the head again and ran out.

*****************

Chuck looked pretty dumb maybe Luigi could talk his way out of the cage if he won. Roy though he wouldn’t be easy to escape from. Luigi watched the fight thinking.

He heard jingling of metal on metal. He shuffled around. Daisy! She had a bobby pin and was trying to pick the lock of the cage. Luigi gave a worried look and let out some strange muffling. Daisy looked up at Luigi, but it was too late to see his warning. A meaty hand grasped her shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” it was Wario. She immediately sent a fist to his chin. Wario caught her fist in his large hand. He swung her into the side of the raised fighting ring. Twisting her arm hard behind her back.

“Waluigi was supposed to be taking care of you!” Daisy used her other arm to push away from the wall. She kicked behind her hard. Jackpot! Wario stumbled back, hunched over holding his groin. Daisy sent a swift upper kick contacting with is jaw. He landed on his back unconscious. She dug in his pockets and found a large key ring hooked to his belt look. There was probably a key for every room in the Stadium. She got to the cage and tried several keys. This would take a while.

Smack! The Crowd cheered. Oh no! she looked up to see Roy with his foot on the back of his opponent. he was shaking his fists in the air. She thew the keys into the cage and jumped into the ring. Luigi started to use the keys to saw at the ropes that bound his hands.

“Hold it right there Roy!” the audience gasped. “You are going to have to get through me if you want Luigi.” She pointed her thumb into her chest.

Roy kicked his downed opponent off the stage and started stalking toward her. “So be it princess.”

He swiped his claws at her. She ducked and kicked at his legs. They were too stable! He took a stomp at her. She rolled out of the way. He was too protected! She ran to the edge of the ring to get her time to think. Roy Charged. She jumped to avoid his attack she landed on the back of his head. There was a clattering sound. Daisy rolled into the landing.

“OH MAN! MY SUNGLASSES!” Roy gently picked up the pink sunglasses he had sported. He put them up to the light to see if there were any scratches. This was Daisy’s time. She jumped on to his shoulders and held his head tight while she used her other hand to punch him in the head several times. Roy dropped the glasses and struggled.

“Pass out pass out pass out!” she hoped. Her fist was throbbing.

Eventually he grabbed hold of her head and slung her off of his shoulders. He rubbed his head and glared at her. She got up from the ground. Roy ran at her again she slipped to the side. One of his claws caught her arm. She scrambled to the other side of the ring. Instead of turning around normally he got into his shell and used his momentum to bounce off the ropes. Sending his spiked shell hurling toward her. She ducked. The bottom of his shell hit her shoulder and hands that she had up to protect her head. He's shell skidded and stopped at the ropes in front of her. Daisy was on the floor she was running out of energy. She needed to get up and far away from her opponent. On the other side of the ring, she saw the pink sunglasses laying abandoned.

She scooped up the glasses and hopped onto the corner of the ropes. “Oh Roy!” She sung out. He had popped out of his shell and was rubbing his head “lookie at what I got!”

Roy turned to glare at her. “Hand them over or you’ll Die!”

“Catch!” She tossed them just short. Causing Roy to dive forward to catch them before they hit the ground. Daisy jumped off the corner post. Her heel collided with the back of his head. SMACK! His head slammed into the ground. Daisy hopped off of the large turtle. He was out cold. The glasses shattered on the ground.

Cheers rung out. What a twist! Everyone was entertained! Daisy celebrated her victory with woops and jumps. There was a clunk. Luigi had found the right key. He ran up to her and lifted her on his shoulder in celebration.

When he dropped her down, a Lakitu handed her the mic. “That’s right! Daisy of Sarasaland is your winner! If anyone wants to mess with me or my country, you will get my fist!” she raised her fist to the air. “As winner of this Brawl, I’ll let you all on a little secret.” She reached for the keys in Luigi’s hand. “These keys are to the Stadium, Wario and Waluigi are knocked out and their stash of coin is unguarded.”

She saw the green Toad chief he was looking down at Wario. He had a drink that Wario had requested before the commotion. Daisy tossed the keys to him. “Have fun.” The drink spilled as he caught the keys. A stampede of ‘employees’, and locals came after the Toad. He jumped and ran as fast as he could to get to the office before them.

Daisy felt someone take her hand gently. She looked over to Luigi, he was looking worryingly at the cut on her arm. He untied the green handkerchief from off his neck and tied it around her arm. He was so soft and gentle and calm in the craziness that stormed around them. She caught his hands “Let’s get out of here.” He nodded vigorously.

***********************

First Chapter:

Next Chapter:

Last Chapter:

#I Don't Need Saving #I Don't Need Saving Chpt 6 #fanfic #fanfiction #nintendo #luigi nintendo #daisy x luigi #luigi #luigi x daisy #luaisy #princess daisy #mario kart #mario land #super mario #wario #waluigi #waluigi is a creep #super mario bros #toad mario #roy koopa #super smash brawl #super smash bros #mr. l #Wario's Stadium

[fashioneditswebsite]

13 top looks from the 2024 Vanity Fair Oscars after-party

Kerry Washington, Kendall Jenner, and Jennifer Lawrence were some of the celebrities in attendance. Celebrities from music, fashion, and entertainment, including Kim Kardashian, Usher, and Kylie Minogue, stepped outside the box for the 2024 Vanity Fair Oscars after-party. In celebration of awards season, the publication hosts its annual star-studded party in Los Angeles yearly, where bold and extravagant fashion choices are made. Kim Kardashian American reality TV star and entrepreneur Kim Kardashian chose a structured lilac bodycon Balenciaga floor-length dress with an exaggerated spiked bust area. Kerry Washington American actress and producer known for her role as Olivia Pope in Shonda Rhimes's hit political drama Scandal graced the carpet in a black Giambattista Valli 2024 couture gown from the spring/summer collection. It featured a frilled off-the-shoulder and crosshatch sequin detailing. Usher American pop and R&B singer-songwriter Usher, fresh off smashing his extended Superbowl half-time show, attended the after party in a deep plunge silver sequinned top with white detailing around the neckline. He paired it with white trousers and white shoes. Donald Glover Actor and writer Donald Glover, who recently starred in the classic Mr. and Mrs. Smith remake, debuted a new high-top haircut for the 2024 Oscars Vanity Fair after-party in a dark red Amiri suit with black detailing on the collar and pocket. He paired it with an unbuttoned Spanish pink shirt, a white vest top, and pointed white and black loafers. Kylie Minogue Australian singer-songwriter and actress Kylie Minogue, who won the Global Icon Award at the Brits this year, dazzled in a green and blue sequinned spaghetti strap gown. Barry Keoghan Irish actor Barry Keoghan, who received plaudits for his lead role in Saltburn, wore a textured black and white bright jacket with baggy black trousers and a white vest underneath. Kris Jenner American entrepreneur and 'momager' Kris Jenner wore a long-sleeved, bedazzled Oscar de la Renta gown. It featured extra sparkles around the neckline and longer sequin fringes towards the bottom of the dress and sleeves. Kendall Jenner Model and reality TV star Kendall Jenner arrived at the 2024 Oscars Vanity Fair after-party in an elegant black lace dress. She was also spotted at the Maison Margiela spring/summer 2024 couture show. Furthermore, the dress had a high-neck design and a flowy silhouette that added to its overall elegance. The floral pattern across the chest seamlessly transitioned into cloud-shaped cutouts further down, creating a whimsical and dreamy effect. Kylie Jenner (Alamy/PA)Reality TV star Kylie Jenner donned a burgundy Ludovic de Saint Sernin sequin dress with a flowering branch detailing at the center from the 2024 autumn/winter ready-to-wear collection. America Ferrera American actress America Ferrera, nominated for Best Supporting Actress in Barbie, wore a blood-red bedazzled suit jacket. She paired it with a diamond statement necklace, black tights, and platform heels. Florence Pugh British actress Florence Pugh, whose recent films include Oppenheimer and Dune: Part Two, opted for a white mesh dress with embroidered designs featuring a peplum detail and trail. She paired it with sparkly court heels and a messy updo. Jennifer Lawrence American actress Jennifer Lawrence wore a white lace Givenchy gown from the 1996 autumn/winter collection. The gown featured an ultra-cropped jacket with a tall collar. Billie Eilish Oscar-winning singer Billie Eilish, who won the best original songBarbie'sr Barbie's song What Was I Made For? alongside her brotheO'Connell O’Connell, wore a black tuxedo-inspired pinstriped oversized suit with a white pinstriped shirt underneath. Read the full article

[hopelesscatdad]

The Crown Vic story.

There's families where a car is passed down, or held onto forever and everyone loves it but gets their own. My family, we now own 3 of the same car.

I don't mean same maker. I MEAN same car.

It started in the 90s. My great grandpa bought a mid 90 Crown Victoria that was a gorgeous deep blue green metal flake. He loved it and took care of that car, and when he passed, my grandparents gifted the cat to my mom. My mom proceeded to also fall in love with it. By now I was around, a toddler. But my first memory is in that car. Most of my memories are of that car. I loved riding in that car where I hated riding in others. I remember being awed by its looks every time we approached it.

Lack of money meant it couldn't be cared for, and a few years later we lost it.

I never forgot it, even though I forgot every other car we went through(my dad is notorious for killing cars).

Apparently my mom never forgot it either. Years later, I'm now 11. My parents are split, and my mom had to sell her van(tranny blew). We knew she'd been looking for a new car, but it was still a shock to come home from a weekend at dad's to a 2008 Crown Victoria Police Interceptor in the driveway.

Of course, these weren't the aero model, so it was visibly different in that it was a little boxier, like a modern half way between the aero of the 90s and the Ltd of the 80s. But it was familiar enough I still realized what it was.

I was ecstatic. I lost it. This one was white with a Ford blue hood and trunk. It had utilitarian steel wheels, plastic grill instead of chrome, in fact, almost all the chrome trim was gone except for the window frame. The inside had no carpet, but heavy duty plastic flooring, and none of the nice decorative trim for interior. The roof light had a red light option, and you couldn't open the back doors from within.

It was still the same car to me.

We went on a drive in it. It drove rougher. It had heavy duty shocks and suspension, a rear sway bar. It didn't feel like the cloud the last one felt like, but as a trade-off, you could feel the strength. You knew rolling this one would be hard, you knew a curb or bad pot hole wasn't the end of the world. Immediately, I fell in love with this ugly duckling iteration even more than its fancy civilian counterpart of yesteryear.

3 years later, I learned to drive in that car. I had my learning permit. I had 900 bucks from working at McDonald's. My mom said she would pay half the cost for my first car, but the max she will give is 3,000.

And there, found online at a local auction, was my car. A 2011 crown Victoria Police Interceptor. This one was all white except for a blue pinstripe along each side exclusive to its police department. It had two searchlights, a black panel on the trunk, and the steel mounts for the pushbar sticking out like evil teeth. And they were evil. They shredded and or gauged the legs of me and everyone in my family at one point. We learned quickly to be very careful not to touch those fuckers.

It needed new back seats, a front seat(100 bucks for those), and a new battery(another 100), but we won it for 1,300 bucks.

The rest is history for me and that car. I'm glued to that thing. I still have it. I'll have it for long after hopefully.

5 years later. My sister is learning to drive. She already has a nice Saab gifted from one of our many grandparents. But it's manual, and she's learning automatic. She's learning in my car and my moms car. Lo and behold, she's fallen into the same trap as the rest of us. Lo and behold, out of curiosity, they find a CVPI in real good condition again in a local auction.

As the bidding went on, it went past what my sister was willing to pay. My mom likes these cars too much though, and knows my sister wanted it. So even though my sister technically had her first car, my mom bought the thing. Paid the second half like with mine, and gave it to my sister for her 18th birthday.

We are slowly building a family fleet of cop cars. My brother, whose even younger, has already shown interest in these things.

One day we'll go cruising in an inane amount of these fuckers. And it will likely confuse the fuck out of passerby.

And we'll all be absurdly happy.

#cars #crown victoria #car appreciation #multigenerational #car curse #but it's a good curse. #does that make it a blessing?

[thenewblackcanvas]

reconciliation in currency 1 l kth

one: the man in the pinstripe suit

pairing: Sugar Daddy!Taehyung x Reader

genre: best friends to strangers, sugar daddy/sugar baby, best friends to lovers(i guess?), angst

summary:  After leaving for “better opportunities”, you come back home six years later to see the main person you left behind isn’t quite the same person and the only way to know him again is through sex and money. word count: 2539

A/N: Sugar Daddy!Taehyung is back aka this is a reupload from my original blog, not plagiarism

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay with me?” 

Your friend’s worry was evident over the phone. “Su Na, I’ll be fine. Joey is letting me stay with her until get on my feet.”

She hummed in disapproval. 

“Flight 301 to South Korea, section B, now boarding.”

“Unnie, I will be fine.” You stand, lifting your carry on bag onto your shoulder. “You’re still picking me up from the airport right?”

“Of course! After so many years away I know there are things you haven’t told me. You are spilling everything!”

“I would love to hear you rant some more but I’m boarding the plane.”

Normally, you would sleep through most of your flights but returning to Korea was making you restless. Unable to sleep, listen to music, read, or focus on a movie, you were almost out of options. Thankfully, you were right at the beginning of coach which was the perfect area to listen to the flight attendants. “My section is amazing! There is a man who gave me 60,000 won just for getting him a drink.” She was hidden by the crevasse of the cabin where they resided that separated business class from the rest of you but you could hear her clearly.

“Really? Why is someone like that flying commercial?”

“He said he was having trouble with his private plane.”

The other woman opened her mouth again but the wall behind her dinged signaling someone was calling for her. The first class stewardess walked back to her section with a dark colored drink.

Your curiosity made you tilt your head to see into first class. The stewardess handed the man his drink but all you could see was a hand, an expensive looking watch and the sleeve of a grey pinstripe suit jacket. 

The moment the plane arrives at the gate everyone stands as if it won’t take 20 minutes to get even half the passengers off the plane.

You move your legs to allow the impatient older woman next to you to push her way onto the aisle. You busy yourself texting Su Na and Joey that you have landed and checking emails.

When you look back up almost everyone has cleared. You make your way off the plane 

“That Kim takes my breath away.”

The same attendants.

“I finally saw him when he was exiting the plane.” the second says. “I have never seen someone so perfect.”

They go on gushing on the perfect businessman who apparently gave the first attendant his business card.

When they split for another flight you finally laugh at their teenaged ramblings.

 “_____!!” Su Na’s voice covers the baggage arrival announcement you were calmly waiting for.

An embarrassed wave is all you can give before she is pinching your cheeks and fawning over how much prettier you have become.

“Unnie, we’re in public.” You say, pushing away her grabby hands. Though you’re more than mortified it’s nice to see a familiar face.

She gushed over you for hours, asking if you had eaten then taking you to stuff your face at your favorite restaurant you were happy was still there. She took you to refill your t-money card which you were also grateful for but the line was drawn at the fifth outfit she made you try on for your interview. As grateful as you were you were also slightly jetlagged and had yet to see Joey.

When she finally dropped you off, you were greeted by a message from Joey. She’d texted you the house code as she was going to be late.

You helped yourself to the food she bought for your arrival. When she arrived there was a hug that you were pretty sure would leave a bruise.

The two of you talked as if no time had passed.

“Yeah, I have a job interview in the morning. It isn’t the best and It isn’t what I got my certification for but it’s something.” The defeat in your voice couldn’t be masked.

“A step in any direction is progress.”

True enough but it didn’t help your mood. You said your goodnights and laid down for a restless sleep. Sleeping with a weight on your mind was always hard, you couldn’t help but think back to the one person who could lift it.

“Taehyung.”

He heard the quiver in your voice right away. “______, what happened.”

“I can’t do it.” You sobbed into the receiver. “I can’t do it.”

“Aegya, I know you are nervous and scared but you can do this. You have done it before and you can do it again.”

You lean your head back against the wall. “Tae, if I don’t pass this test all my credit hours will have been for nothing!”

“But that wouldn’t happen anyway. All I am saying is I believe in you. You have the potential for greatness no matter what.”

It got quiet and you knew what he was thinking. “And you’ll be right there with me right?”

He chuckled lowly with what sounded like a sniffle. “Of course. There’s nowhere else I would rather be.”

A comfortable silence fell over the conversation as you calmed down and finally felt fatigue. 

“TaeTae, can you sing to me?”

He was quiet for a moment before he began to sing. Slowed down version nobody by Wonder Girls in his soothing tenor. 

There was no better sleep than sleep aided by Taehyung.

You didn’t have that anymore but you needed it right now.

Seoul sparkled like a diamond in the dirt at night.

It’s beauty served as the backdrop to many fantasies. A hand came to undo the expensive watch from the wrist of the man that loved to admire such a view.

He didn’t care for the price as he threw it on his nightstand, his pinstripe suit jacket joining it. All his attention was on the view. It made him think of her. The pain in his heart had subsided over the years but would he ever feel ok?

His mind drifted as it often did to a thousand what-ifs.

He urged himself to stop as his jetlag became more apparent. He needed a drink.

You stared at the search engine homepage with fingers slightly shaking. You wanted more than anything to look him up. You wanted to reach out and hopefully get a warm response. You wanted to tell him all about your time away and be filled in on everything you knew the extraordinary man accomplished in the years apart.

But the last interaction came to mind.

His handsome face scowling in betrayal. The same feeling of guilt from the day returned at the dismay in knowing you caused that scowl.

You closed your laptop quickly. ‘Not tonight.’ You thought with a sorrowful heart.

Morning came far too quickly. 

As you awoke, a fresh wave of nerves hit you like a truck. The thought of waiting until you found a better job crossed your mind as you disapprovingly examined your dark circles but your resolve strengthed when you saw the makeup to hide such bags was running low.

You weren’t sure how to dress for the interview as the listing was vague but it was clear on the payment. It seemed as though it would be clerical work or assistant- type tasks.

As long as it paid, it was currently good enough for you.

You were early arriving at the building that stood tall in the heart of Seoul. Everything about being there made you nostalgic. You breathed in familiar air with a content smile. As you entered the building your awareness of the oh so familiar city put you in a melancholy state. The heels you willed yourself into wearing took you almost on autopilot to where you were told in the interview announcement email. The elevator ride even sparked a memory that sat on the tip of your subconscious. There was no time to try and reach for it as the doors opened to reveal the most beautiful area you ever set eyes on. The beauty and meticulous detail applied to the whole of the area reminded you of him. It brought a smile to your face. An olive colored desk with white trim that swirled downwards at the end was the first thing you focused on. The words ‘Welcome to Kkangji’ were written beautifully on the front.

The name made you smile, mind drifting to the snow white kitten from times past.

“Ma’am.”

You looked up to see a woman smiling from behind the desk. “Are you here for the interview?” You nodded, a little embarrassed at the first impression you must have been making. “Ah, he will be pleased you are early.”

She picked up the phone and said a few quick words in the receiver before placing it back down. “Follow me please.”

You followed behind her quietly. The hall was as beautifully done as the waiting area. Expensive looking art pieces and their almost as equally as expensive frames were gorgeous. “He made most of these himself.” the receptionist leaned over and whispered with a smile. She must have noticed you looking. “He designed this whole floor of the building.” There was something deeper in all of it that warmed your heart now. His artistic soul was poured into everything.

Finally, she stopped in front of a large white door. It was simple yet powerful for some reason.

She opened the door to reveal the lavish office. You stepped in, eyes landing on a large desk. The chair behind it, obviously occupied, was spun facing the large window.

“Sir, here she is. Ms. ____________ ,  this is Mr. Kim Taehyung.”

Three things happened simultaneously. First. The receptionist left the room almost as quickly as she dropped you off.  Second, the memories from minutes before hit you full force. The company name. The building. The outstanding art. All linked to the man you knew better than anyone in this building.

And third, he spun in his chair to look at you. “________?” “Taehyung??”

You had to be dreaming. It felt impossible that your Taehyung could be the man running all of this. The first instinct was to run and hug* him but there was something about his blank expression. The picture of him dressed impeccably, sat behind that desk radiated a kind of power you were unfamiliar with. Only when his gaze traveled down to his phone had you noticed how long you had been stood there.

You cleared your throat and approached. The glare of his unreadable face now off of you made you confident enough to move. Right in front of him now, you picked up his name placard.

Kim Taehyung, CEO and Director of Art

“This explains the waiting area. It looks like something from your wettest art hoe dreams.” you tried to joke.

“You don’t know about my wet dreams, _______.” His tone was sharp and cold, like a knife cutting through the friendly air of your comment. He reached out as he stood to take the placard from your hands.

“I-I- uh”

“As articulate as ever I see.” Your mouth clamped shut like an offended child at the comment. “I won’t waste your time, Ms. _______. Do you have your resume’?”

His stoic demeanor shocked you but you nodded. You handed him the professional looking paper, complete with your most recent sources from the past few years. You smiled proudly trying to regain any confidence you had before you saw him.

He quietly looked over it. A hum here, a raised eyebrow there. It was painfully quiet. “I can answer any questions you may-” your sentence stopped short as he tore the paper in half then again.

“Tae what the hell?!” formalities were dropped as he must be out of his mind.

“There must have been a disconnect. This job isn’t one you would require this kind of experience for. I am already aware of your experience to some degree though.”

“Tae, what are you talking about?”

“I need someone.”

“I have always been here for you.”

There was brief silence before he scoffed ‘Have you?’ more to himself than you. “I refuse to stoop as low as some in my business so I’ve decided to opt for something mutually beneficial.”

You sighed, still very confused. “Use simple words, Taehyung.”

He leaned from where he sat on his desk to get close to your face with a smirk that told you he knew his next words would floor you. “I want to fuck you, wreck you whenever I fucking feel like it, and give you money for it.”

Your mouth hung open like a dead fish now. You stared at that familar face to see nothing you recognized. His boyish charm and triangular face shape now switch for a mature charm* and square jaw. His unique eyes that once were so playful now sinful and taunting. Even his dark locks were now a long greyish brown. This was not your TaeTae. This was CEO Kim Taehyung.

“H-How are you like this. I can’t believe that came from your mouth.”

“Because you don’t know me anymore.”

“I haven’t been gone that long.”

 He straightened up, now glaring coldly. “Years, _______. Years.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I have to though.” This had been a common back and forth for weeks now. Though before where it was playful now it was desperate, pleading, and very much hurt. The chance to volunteer in your field was too much of a miracle to pass up. Only it meant traveling out of the country. Away from Taehyung. You were almost at the point where you had to say your goodbyes but he was making it difficult.

“Aren’t I important to you?”

You stop, your mouth opening some in shock. You wanted to believe it was a joke but his face held the betrayal he clearly felt. “Of course, why would you ask that?”

“Because it doesn't’ seem like it!”

“I can’t stay here for someone else. There is nothing here for me.”

“I’m nothing?!”

You open your mouth to tell him no, that he is wrong so you want to shout until your voice is gone but instead you turn to go through security.

“Looks like there were opportunities here.” An unreadable look with a tone of smug disgust.

“For YOU, Taehyung. You still aren’t getting it.” You shake your head incredulously as you pick up the remains of your torn resume.

“My success could have been yours too.”

“I wanted my own path not to crowd yours.”

“So you left me?”

“I obviously wasn’t gone forever!”

“How was I supposed to know that?!”

At this point you were so frustrated you had to take some deep breaths. “You were supposed to trust me.” You turned around to see him taking off his belt, jacket already off and tie loosened.

“What are you doing?”

“You still want the job right?”

You were silent not wanting to admit you need the job despite what it was. With much hesitation, you nodded. “Yes.”

He walked up to you, getting close to your face again as he slid off his belt with a snap. “Then strip, it’s time for your interview.”

#taehyung smut #taehyung angst #bts angst #sugar daddy!taehyung #taehyung fanfic #bts fanfic

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Hello Wendy! Hope you’re doing good 💕

Can I make a request, a smut with Ran? Like you 2 are dating for 3-4 years but even if y/n loves him you know he’s been cheating occasionally. So one night after a pretty bad argument you take your stuff and decide to leave him but the man is too proud to even think y/n is dead serious as he’s the one providing for you. But once you’re out of his life there is no going back and you change your phone number and move out of the city.

And finally 3 years after, y/n’s working as a receptionist in a luxurious hotel and Ran is coming with his newly wife for their honeymoon and when he sees you he’s like lightning-struck but can’t say anything since is wife is here. And y/n is doing everything to act like you don’t remember him but when he calls his wife babe you lift your head as he used to call you like this too. And he knows that you’re still in love with him and he ends up cheating on his wife with the only one he ever really loved even if he’s mad at you for leaving him and pretending not to know him.

The end is up to you, you can make it a one night stand where you leave him again or both of you get back together because you never really stopped loving each other.

Feel free to ignore if you’re not interested.

I've been sitting on this one, but it came to me while I was making breakfast-dinner.

I know what we're going to write today.

Splinters: Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader

wc: 830

tw: angst, NSFW if you squint

masterlist

song recommendation:

Sounds of life are no longer present in the house Ran used to share with you.

He's been staring at his phone for a few hours, willing it to ring with your signature tone - an old bell chime that you specially programmed in - but it never does. Nothing new ever shows up in his messages. Nothing brightens his screen with any hint of you.

You changed your relationship status on social media.

You'd wiped all of the photos of you and Ran on vacation, smiling in the line for ice cream, on his brand new yacht, in his bed...

You'd even gotten rid of your promise ring, leaving it behind in the aftermath of the argument he'd won. And lost.

Within the first few hours of you storming out, Ran told his brother that you'd be back. You always came back. Whether it was under the guise of needing a hoodie or comfortable sheets, he'd never failed to lure you back into the charade of your relationship with a bottle of wine, a nice blanket, a new hoodie with his scent on it.

But this time--

Ran's phone buzzes sharply, and for a second, his heart leaps into his throat. Could it be--

But the name that pops up on the screen is that of his recent mistress, someone he didn't even save in his contacts.

Hey, haven't heard from you, the message reads. Are we still on for dinner tonight?

Ran tosses the phone at the wall, leaving a massive dent in the structure and another bill to pay. The phone doesn't even break; it just bounces off the sheetrock and onto the floor, where it flips face-up, still displaying that stupid message.

If he had any presence of mind, Ran would tell her to fuck off.

_____________________________________________________________

The lobby of the hotel is nice enough, you think as fingers slide across the hotel keyboard while you make sure your newest guest is all set to enter their room.

"Enjoy your stay, Mr. Hanagaki."

And when your next guest steps up to the desk, you smile brightly, noting the woman's fancy dress and necklace of freshwater pearls.

"Checking in for Mr. and Mrs. Haitani." Your fingers hover over the keys as you look at the woman, unsure if you heard her correctly.

"I'm sorry?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Haitani," she repeats, pursing her pink lips at you. "Do you need an ID?"

"A passport," you state shakily, and the woman calls out to her husband over her shoulder.

"Ran, I need your passport." You hardly even recognize the man in the pinstripe suit approaching you, his hair much shorter than it used to be and lines on his face slightly deeper.

"Coming, babe." It's obvious that the years haven't been too kind to Ran, but when he looks at you while he's on his phone, you see the flicker of recognition. The hand that's fumbling for his ID is now still, and his mouth parts slowly.

"I'll call you back later, Rin." You're not surprised to hear that Rindou's still around, but when Ran places his ID on the counter, you're surprised to see his hands shaking. "Sorry for the wait."

"It's no problem."

The rest of the check-in is quick, but it feels like eons before you can actually click "done" on the page, thus rendering their cards active and your job done. You hand over the ID, the cards, and their pass for the elevators before whispering,

"En-enjoy your stay, Mr. and Mrs. Haitani."

As they walk away, you realize that you could've been that woman on his arm - you could've been Mrs. Haitani.

If only you stayed.

_____________________________________________________________

Ran's fingers wipe at your tears, much like they used to before you got into this whole mess of being apart from him.

"Don't cry, babe... don't cry." Kisses rain down on your face as he rocks into you neatly, fitting every curve and dip of flesh as if he was made for you. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

"You're married," you hiccup, sniffling. "And you haven't changed."

"I've changed a lot," he chuckles, moving your hands from your face and pressing your fingers to his lips. "Really. I have." When you don't open your eyes, Ran murmurs, "Look at me, sweetheart."

You don't. You can't.

"I had to pretend not to know you," you answer, turning your head away. "This is wrong."

"An annulment can be produced," Ran counters quickly. "I can have it drafted tomorrow."

"You'd divorce her?" The whole suggestion sounds wrong, but you look into Ran's eyes, which are as hopeful as ever.

"If you'll agree to marry me." You swallow hard, holding your hands against his chest as he hovers over you. He hasn't stopped thrusting - not at all - but he has slowed his pulses down a bit, stroking your core with all of his modes of persuasion. "Tell me you'll say yes."

Tell me you'll say yes.

#tokyo revengers ran #ran haitani x reader #ran haitani smut #ran haitani #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers

[juliusschmidt]

Snippet Medley: Promo Edition

a bachelor au

Producer Niall shoots Harry a frown. "You've got one more limo."

"One more limo? Or one more person?"

“C’mon,” says Niall, motioning out of the room and into the front hall.

Harry follows, but his legs are heavy as lead and his jaw is clenched so tight it aches. He's so done with meeting people.

Harry assumes his spot at the head of the driveway. He tries to paste on a smile, but it probably comes off as more of a grimace.

Niall knocks his shoulder. “You’ll be glad I made you come out here, promise.”

Something inside Harry twists and bares its teeth. Niall’s likely right; whoever this is probably checks every single one of Harry’s goddamn boxes-- that's surely why they're billed last. But he’s pissed at Niall for tricking him into thinking the meet and greet portion of the night was over, and so he sets his mind to hate, or at least outright reject, whoever steps out.

One brown dress shoe and then another, dark blue pinstripe suit, and bright blue eyes.

Harry’s heart stops.

It’s not a new contestant. It’s not a stranger, at all.

It’s Louis Tomlinson.

Harry begins to laugh, Niall and his machinations completely forgotten.

He runs toward Louis and Louis breaks into a smile and opens his arms.

~

Harry waggles his eyebrows. "Come on, Lou. I know you're good for a filthy limerick."

Louis tucks the journal under his ass and rubs his hands together. Then he sits up just a little straighter and says,

"There once was a boy named Harry. He wanted me to pop his cherry. He told me "I'm horny." I put on some porn-y. Cause sex is for those who marry."

He beams at Harry.

Harry smiles back and then, quicker this time, jerks the blue notebook free, jarring Louis enough that he's off balance for a moment.

Harry flips through to find the most recent entry.

It's filled with sex words. He picks out a few, "cock," and "naked" and "lips," before Louis grabs the journal back and snaps it closed.

~

"I just want to go home," Louis says. When he'd stalked over here, he had meant to demand more time with Harry. But he could see now that doing so would play right into the story the producers are trying to tell.

And what he wants more than anything else was to stick their storyline straight up their ass.

"You can't go home without saying goodbye. Or, you could, but it wouldn't be a good look."

Louis shakes his head. "You've won. I get it. But I won't be your fucking pawn anymore." Louis pushes around them and towards the line of SUVs.

Producer Kayla wraps a hand around his arm. "Say goodbye. For Harry. He deserves that." He can feel the blunt ends of her nails through the fabric of his jacket. This is why she's known as the closer.

"You all just said it, Harry knows the game."

"He loves you. You love him. Say goodbye," Kayla presses.

~

Louis leans down to capture Harry's mouth in a deep, thorough kiss and when he lets up they're both panting.

Harry turns his head to side. He'd be looking directly into the camera, except that his eyes are closed.

Louis nips, gentle and sweet, along his throat.

"Babe," he says, leaving the imprint of the word right at the juncture of Harry's neck and shoulder.

"Lou, please," Harry says.

Louis opens his mouth to kiss his bare skin, wet and rough. Harry squirms beneath him, hips canting up. The length and shape of his desire press against Louis' thigh and hip.

Louis wants him naked. Now. Cameras be damned.

~

Tears stream down Harry's face as he watches the SUV drive away. "I hope I haven't made a mistake," he says.

He wipes at his cheeks, eyes on still on the taillights of what should have been.

"Harry," Niall calls.

He's standing in the midst of the set-up they'd used for the pre-dumping interview.

Harry makes his way over and steps into place. The way it's arranged, he's looking out at the city, with endless desert behind him.

Niall says, "Sorry bud, I know this isn't the way you meant for this to go."

#okay its over the top to post this #maybe probably #maybe i'm giving too much away #but the pre-fic hype #is part of the experience so ride it with me #bachelor fic #Christmas day #i'll release the cast bios #and then it'll be almost time to post!!!!

[garblegox]

• Humpty Dumpty Elegy 6 | five books on 🎩INFLUENCE🗝 •

who does Malchrome Gladwell work for?

I have a boring life goal: Become a stone mason.

My far-fetched fantasy goal is to join a gang of psychic criminals in New Orleans. A chiseler either way, I guess.

What? Magical scofflaws, tip-toeing through cobblestone creeks of beerpiss? I seen it with my own eyes!

If you've been to Jackson Square on a busy day, you've seen them. By the paintings on the fence, across the park from the silver guy pop-locking around a hat, Jackson Square Allstars playing somewhere within earshot. Doreen Ketchens, a block upriver with a licorice stick. They're the people at the tables, with the umbrellas, between the benches.

They don't look like a gang of any sort. They range widely, in terms of hosts and décor. Hosts vary from homeless looking, to Dr. John, to kindergarten teachers with glittery scarfs. Tables can be either wagoned-in backyard furniture with sturdy parasols, or a couple of milk crates with a beach towel thrown overtop. Décor is just an eye-spy cluster of magic knickknacks; pebbles, bones, geodes, pentacles, lacquered lockboxes, candles, feathers etc.

My brother and I were sitting under the sign in front of Pere Antoine alley, watching them grift. When suddenly, a tall slim man, with shark eyes, in a bespoke burgundy pinstripe suit, came out of the alley behind us, with two plainer looking men. The three closed in on a table that had been left unattended for only a couple seconds.

The psychics recognized Skinny, and exchanged knowing looks. Nobody looked threatened, but they knew he had a grave intentions. The three walked up to the table, gathered the four corners of the table cloth, bindled it all up, and walked away in front of at least a hundred people.

The psychic returned to her empty table, furious but unsurprised. Her neighbors just ghosted her. She didn't waste time pondering the fix, she started shouting over the horizon at everyone in the square. She wasn't just shouting for Skinny's sake, she was aiming at the anonymous eyes and ears that worked for him in the square. Screaming about the betrayal, cowardice, and evil among the tables.

"WELL, MERRY CHRISTMAS MOTHERFUCKERS! I GOT A STORAGE CONTAINER FULLA THAT SHIT ANYWAY!" She retched out, as she stormed down the alley behind us, sobbing.

Once she was out of sight, a new psychic came from the corner of Chartres and St Anne. He redecorated the table in minutes, sat down, and opened for business. The customers and neighbors didn't blink. It seemed the only people in the square to notice anything were my brother and I.

We learned in one quick instant that these people have a boss, this territory is protected, and that woman wasn't just being robbed, she was being fired. We felt the magnitude of a shadowy network around us. A psychic union.

It captured my imagination, and I've wanted inside this network for years now. But if I wanna be an underground Derren Brown, and not have my business bindled by a burgundy burglar, I better be binging beneficial books.

Humpty Dumpty shouldn't be too much of a punching bag this time. These are just tools, there's little to moralize about. Only my usual frustration, that he believes he's too autistic to grasp anything in these books. But we'll pick that apart as we go along.

Here are five outstanding books on influence. Whether you wanna be a psychic, or psychic-proof; On Skinny's good side, or Skinny himself; or whether you wanna just be friendly and earnest without being a stupid mark. These are some essentials.

• #1 Influence by Robert Cialdini •

Props to my brother for finding this one. He won friends and influenced all the way to a fancy job, as a slave, on top of a mountain, making omelets for rich helicopter-snowboarders.

He quickly started to sense the ways his workplace had employed influence traps, or straight up coercion to get backbreaking work out of people. So he looked for a book on the topic, and jumped straight into this baby right here.

He was able to break down, step by step, all the tricks used to punk and exploit him. His fancy job was a set of golden shackles. So he timed his plane ticket to come when his bosses needed him most, then that morning just casually climbed into an uber with his luggage, smiled and waved goodbye from a distance, to his coworkers on their way into work, and let them wrap their heads around the fact that he 86'd that bitch on their busiest day. They called, he ignored them, and rejoiced all the way home.

Now, my brother is a former school bully, and a real con artist. As kids, his favorite thing to do was lie to me to get me to perform whatever terrible idea he imagined. But eventually my lie-spotting skills caught up, and he had to start training on others. Since then I just watch him fuck with people now, highly amused.

Point is, even experienced con artists can be influenced into pitfalls. Influence techniques exploit automatic biological functions in our head. Functions that otherwise play extremely helpful roles, and make our life 100x more efficient. This book is similar to You Are Not So Smart in that it emphasizes the usefulness of things that also trip us up every day.

Cialdini writes from the point of view of a former all-day sucker. His goal is to free the reader from that automaticity. Certain stimuli can trigger us, like hitting play on a cassette tape. "Click, whirr" as he puts it. The key is to hear the clicks, and chose for yourself whether you let things whirr.

He also highlights many schemes in the world designed to exploit our whirrs. Most commonly, they're designed to get you to buy things. This pandemic, for example, has just been a food fight of people flinging influence techniques back and forth at one another, for a myriad of reasons. This was a tad mind-blowing to reread, after almost two years of this lockdown quagmire.

Humpty, as a recluse, is really only exposed to the influence of salespeople. Jesus fucking murphy have salespeople ever run a train on that egg. He thinks because he's not a hypebeast, that somehow means he's not a brainless consumer. Like all his escapism and dopamine fetishes are a reflection of refined taste, and none are a form of mental enslavement.

Keep in mind, I'm all for playtime. But remember, Humpty complains about how constantly bored and disappointed he is by the games and toys he buys. He considers every day wasted, on repetitive trash. Then describes in absolute terms how he must buy more. I lost track of how many remastered/rereleased games he was so excited to buy, only to get upset that it's basically the exact same game he owned already, just with negligibly better graphics. He's the stupidest fuck on the whole everywhere.

The info definitely can be used either way, offensively or defensively. But nothing about it is unfair or shady. No more than the average salesperson. Everyone has their own grasp of concepts like: reciprocity, social proof, authority, scarcity, etc. But for most people it's just an intuitive grasp. Which makes them vulnerable to people who have studied it deliberately.

Of course, Dump thinks he's off the hook, here. He says there's no way to sharpen his social skills. But like I discussed in my entry on The Science Of Evil, Humpty is just a systematizer, as opposed to an empathizer. Empathizers learn intuitively, face-to-face with peers. Whereas systematizers are better with an objective, structured, systematic approach, i.e. they learn from books.

• #2 The Like Switch by Jack Schafer and Marvin Karlins •

Humpty believes people are naturally biased against him. But I doubt he'd say he has it as hard as an FBI agent, trying to befriend a guilty criminal, that he's obviously hoping to throw in jail.

Honestly, I just thought FBI agents growled at you and pointed low hanging lamps in your face. I didn't know good rapport was something they had any conscious control of.

I think Humpty has been hoping his whole life that the charisma of TV, movie, and videogame characters would rub off on him. Sadly, research is starting to show that people who model their personalities based on modern popular media have the worst relationships and mental health. Most notably, people trying to learn romance from romance fiction, and action from action movies. It's disastrous, that shit is designed to be sensational and fun, not informative.

The books in this post, and much of this series, have one pesky habit, and that's how self-conscious they can make you after reading them. Which is discussed in this one. It's the "spotlight effect", where the more you know about psychology, the more self-aware you get, which can make you anxious in the moment, and awkward. You begin to worry that people are tracking your moves, and the intentions in your head, and that you'll be seen as manipulative for even knowing these techniques.

I find myself still succumbing to the spotlight effect. I wonder sometimes if I'm overusing people's names, like in hellos or goodbyes, and whether they'll recognize I'm a Dale Carnegie fan, and find that insincere or glib. But they just smile more. Some things are simply pleasant.

Nobody can read your mind, there's nothing wrong with putting forethought into your actions and other people's reactions, and at the end of the day the result of all this scheming is that people enjoy your company more. There's an aches-and-pains period in the beginning, as you put these ideas into practice, because the Dunning-Krueger effect applies as always.

The advice is similar to Atomic Habits, in that they're tiny improvements you can work into your life, that make you more pleasant in self-compounding ways.

I'm talking things as simple as letting yourself make trivial mistakes, so people can correct them, and give you the opportunity to graciously accept their criticism. Doing that just once can blow a person's mind, and improve rapport.

Negative self disclosure normally goes a long way too, but only up to a certain point. Admitting you're too dumb to hold a list in your head if it exceeds two items, or read an analogue clock, can be highly endearing. Repeating every 10-60 minutes that you want to kill yourself or others is not so productive.

A lot of it is about vulnerability and reciprocity. When dogs become friends, they bow, and show their bellies and necks. We do that in the form of being honest about our shadows.

Schaffer discusses the idea of a "friend-stranger-foe" continuum, between animals. A major part of Humpty's anxiety is from the fact that any time he's perceived as a stranger, he automatically thinks he's perceived as a foe. Since he puts in no effort to socialize with new people, he's perpetually a stranger.

But the stranger zone is a perfectly comfortable place to start from. And honestly, only assholes expect to be treated like friends immediately. Being likeable isn't fate, you can cultivate it. No matter how crazy you might think you are.

• #3 Pimp by Iceberg Slim •

Whoever told you this is a glorification of pimping, I want you to flick imaginary water from your hand in their face a bunch of times, so they blink wildly, and say, "get outta here, you fibber!" 👋💦

It only glorifies cocaine. But hey, who doesn't? Nothing misogynistic about good ol Lady Caine.

Full disclaimer, I didn't bother rereading this one. When I got it, after I heard Dave Chapelle talking about it, I made it almost half way through and put it down for more than a year. I think it was after he busted out a wire hanger. I just decided I wasn't having fun and fucked off for a sec.

Second time around I completed it, and got to enjoy the redemptive side of the book, where Slim explores his regrets, and discusses psychology. It's a one-of-a-kind book, and as time goes by, I think it'll become an increasingly sought-after piece of reading for future economic historians, criminologists, and linguists.

I'm not afraid of Humpty becoming a violent pimp or anything. He's not going from wet toilet paper, to a state-of-the-art plastic prison shank in one book. And it won't hurt his non-existent game. He's better off seeing dating as a matter of strategy, rather than seeing it as a swordfight against a fart. Though I'll stress, this is not a book on dating.

There's a great number of lessons about acting like you're someone of value, and what happens to those who don't. Lessons about standing up for yourself, and conditions you must NOT accept from others. It's a book about boundaries from a master of dissolving them.

This book instantly came in handy at work. My current job, where I've been since 2019, is so under control I finally started getting coworkers telling me they're jealous and impressed.

I've been throwing around pimp analogies from day one, talking about how, bitch, I give handjobs for a handjob wage. You ain't gonna sidle up next to me like "Psst, hey if you also gave blowjobs for the same fee, you'd be everyone's favorite ho." Motherfucker if you want a blowjob, you better peel me off some head scratch, UP FRONT.

In this case, I'm talking about how I'm a fry cook, and I won't cross train till they say the word "money". Which they won't. So while the other cooks on line get to spend the day pissed off and burnt out, trying to run 2-3 other stations, while the kitchen managers loiter in the office and ponder trivial emails, I'm by my fryers, making tendies and fries, like an angel. I could do it in my sleep. Meanwhile we all get paid the same handjob wage, except for the salaried pigs sitting up stairs, staying cool and unstained, pretending like they're the ones getting airtighted every day.

My fellow cooks are mystified by how little this workplace dicks with my free time. I'm now officially the least exploited human in the building. Not the richest guy, I'll admit. But I value my time more than my money. And I get my time. Plus consistency at one job makes holding a second one easier, should I suddenly value my money more than my time.

Fundamentally this is a general workplace manual. Whether you're the boss, the employees, or the customer; The pimp, the ho, or the trick. It may sound silly for a creamy white boy to break the world down into a glossary of Pimpanese, but what can I say, it's a clarifying lens. Marx broke down capitalism from inside factories. Slim breaks it down from Gropecunt Lane.

Courage, vulnerability, shame, and worthiness are the primary topics of all of Slim's work. He's just the pimp version of Brené Brown.

Spotting a fellow reader of this book is exciting. Part of it is from how taboo it is, like you both read from the same spooky grimoire. Another part is from knowing it's not as evil as its reputation suggests. It's graphic, but not corrupt. I read more violent things in 6th grade.

One of my supervisors has read this, and he's the best supervisor I've ever had. I think he's just naturally a great guy, but he sees eye to eye with me on all this stuff, and I think Pimp has helped him be an anti-pimp. Where he treats people with an abundance of dignity, rather than a pure lack of it.

People have credited Iceberg Slim for having gotten young men involved in pimping. But I believe for every one pimp this book creates, it keeps at least a thousand people safe from pimps, and all other long-legged mackdaddies tryna georgia your square ass out of time and money.

If I wanna work for a guy like Skinny, I better keep my head on straight. But I mean what's the worst that can happen? It's just palm reading. Simple handiwork.

p.s. the whole ass book is free on audible, or YouTube. Enjoy!

• #4 How To Win Friends And Influence People by Dale Carnegie •

How could I not include this? The OG modern self-help book.

One day Dale was like "Jeez, a lot of these businessfolk working at this company are complete assholes. Lemme just grab a book on not being an asshole real qui-- wait nobody wrote a book on that yet? How? Why? Fuck? Shit."

So he wrote this. He beat everyone to the best points a book on personality could make, and wound up surpassing nearly all of his successors.

It's safe to say this series takes the exact opposite of Dale's approach, towards Humpty. The days of me using these tricks to leverage against Humpty's bullshit are over. He will not be sweettalked out of his mud puddle. Believe me I tried.

Here's how you know this book nails it, you just want to be Dale's friend by the end. Man sounds like an absolute sweetie pie. 11/10. I know Humpty would find Carnegie's words touching, knowing how inconsiderately he says everyone treats him.

It's full of advice you already knew was lovely, but maybe you never consciously made a rule out of it. Like never scold people, expect 99% of people to never self criticize, appeal to people's self importance, never get caught flattering like a sneaky pimp, treat people's names with great significance, ask tons of questions, admit your faults before people spot them, be like a dog, the list goes on. And most importantly they're all things any high functioning autist can master. I guarantee.

This book helped put an end to my internet arguing. That, and the fact that it's a pastime that can get you shamed off of the internet, if you have too much fun doing it. I still think there should be safe places on the internet for people to consensually let their memes mosh about violently. But knowing that it doesn't convince anyone, the fun kinda vanished.

I tried changing strangers through comment sections, nothing made a difference. Then I tried hunkering down and changing a friend, face to face, still no luck. Either I'm a shit teacher, or we can only teach ourselves.

I even tried the "make a suggestion, let them mull it over in their head, then let the seed grow till they think they came up with the idea themselves" trick. Problem was, Humpty never mulled over ideas, or repeated anything back to you, unless it was sarcastic.

These books also told me if I listen intensely to Humpty, he'll feel compelled to reciprocate and listen back.... nope.... just a fucking ne'er-do-well.

Now, Christopher Lasch in The Culture Of Narcissism partially blames books like these for our society's increasing narcissism. But I don't know if I can fully agree. The emphasis on giving a shit about other people in this book is enormous. The real magic happens when you care about your fellow man, not just pretend to. Granted, this book is a philistine masterpiece. It's not about being an ethical person per se, just a damn charming one, and a successful capitalist; Ivan Ilyich virtues.

As The Gift Of Fear puts it, "charming" is a verb, not an adjective. Charming is not something you are, but something you do. Doesn't make you good, just makes you lovely. It's compatible with any moral system you want, unless you think it's immoral to have charisma.

There's a lot of cool similarities between Carnegie's advice and ancient Egyptian religion. Like the idea that the most powerful thing a being has is its own ability to pay attention, and give things its awareness; the eye. And that your power over the gods depends on your ability to speak their name correctly. It's timeless wisdom.

• #5 The Prince by Nicolo Machiavelli •

This has been a very red topic. Influence is a red thing, I guess. Lets take a sec and enjoy some other colours:

nice

Machiavelli's got an unfairly bad reputation. "Machiavellian" is fancy booktalk for "a manipulative, amoral piece of shit." In psychology, it's known as a "dark triad" trait, alongside narcissism and psychopathy; a pathological will to power. In politics, it means cynicism, heartless realism, and the pursuit of power for power's sake.

But Machiavelli was a cool dude, and y'all better quit talkin shit. It's all catholic propaganda. Before him, political philosophers and theologians were the same thing. I'm talking baldy-headed monk looking dicks like Thomas Aquinas.

Then Nicolo came along, and told everyone that politics is in fact not informed by god, but by mundane humans, with mundane forms of power and influence. Always has been, always will be. No more mysterious or esoteric than a game of poker.

Odious thing to say, from the church's point of view. They were the Google of the renaissance, and wanted a monopoly on control over the creation and elimination of princes. They also, most importantly, wanted it all done in secret.

Nico's goal wasn't to blow the lid off of their scheme, his goal was to kiss one guy's ass, land a sweet gig in his court, and enjoy a wealthy life. Son of a lawyer, shooting for an advisor's position. What's new?

As Gladwell might put it, he wrote the first book on the political full-court press. Books on leadership back then just listed off moral ideals, and stories of virtue from history. Instead of flowery aikido poses and chakra alignment, Machiavelli gave instructions for making molotov cocktails and Millwall bricks.

It takes some deciphering, however. Everything he talks about requires a sense of analogy, since it's 500 years old, and he most definitely wasn't talking to you. Nobody's becoming a prince nowadays, so who gives a fuck? Well a "prince" is just a boss, and a "principality" is just a corporation of any kind; a body, a super organism. It's a book on group behavior. Skinny was the prince of the Jackson Square psychics.

Don't get me wrong, the more openly Machiavellian a leader is, the more terribly they seem to act. But I don't value this book as a wannabe prince. I wanna be prince-proof. And a book like this helps put you in the mind of the people in charge of you. They have weaknesses, and they're predictable. It's all poker, and Machiavelli irreversibly exposed cards in every boss's hand. And not just what's in their hand, but what their tells are. Should be considered a must-read by all political journalists who consider themselves "watchdogs".

He uses an analogy that I love: the idea that any painter knows, if he wants a good look at the plains, he should view from a mountain, and if he wants a good look at a mountain, he should view from the plains.

From the mountain side of the equation, where power lives, this book didn't fundamentally change much (unlike Nicolo's Discourses on Livy, which hugely influenced republicanism). Up there, they were always Machiavellian. But down here on the plains, it gave us telescopes, topographic maps, geological charts, and seismography.

You don't want Machiavelli in your leadership, you want him in your populace. Nicolo brought down fire from the gods, and he was punished by both parties. The gods for theft, and man for illuminating bad news. He was all light, without any sweetness.

Humpty is no idealist. And he's Machiavellian in only the colloquial sense; he's cynical, secular, and pessimistic. But he'd be way better off being so in the direct sense, in line with the man's actual sound advice. Because the real deal isn't nihilistic, it's empowering.

• End Bit •

Each of these books are spotlight-effect-inducing pieces of work. There's a fine line between conscientious and insecure. I hesitate to tell people how much I read about psychology, because I don't want Machiavelli's bad name to rub off on me. I constantly interrogate myself as to whether this journey is about truth, or manipulating others.

My brother and I have, since we were kids, recognized the manipulative power of comedy. How you could disarm, hypnotize, distract, or humiliate people. We wonder how much our sense of humor is a martial art we picked up along the way. As opposed to some beautiful generous impulse, from the muses. All I know is it has kept me out of fights with perfect reliability, despite how many ass beatings I truly deserved.

Humpty's pretty funny, by the way. When he's not Eeyore, and he forgets he's autistic, he's as witty as the best of them. Wednesday didn't only bring him into the group because he was pitiful. It's not like there's no prince in this frog, he just won't kiss back. The motherfucker.

It's hard to say exactly how much these books improved my personality or behavior. I know I learned a lot of these techniques independently, and I wonder how much I chose books just to hear my own thoughts reflected back at me. To feel vindicated, like "Aooh! I knew that was a good idea!"

But I also know when I started reading about this topic in the 10th grade, a therapist of mine had me written down as "extremely pessimistic, rudderless, and angry." By the 12th grade, though I was fully intent on dropping out of highschool, I seemed to have otherwise made a mental flip. Wednesday was 10x worse, and took longer to flip. But now he's actively working in a homeless shelter, becoming a therapist himself, filling his life with meaning, and helping people who actually need it.

All the shit I said in earlier entries, about morality and meaning, those are lovely, but they are slow goals; eulogy stuff. In the meantime, he can get his charisma under control in a fraction of the time. He's better off being scrumptiously unscrupulous, than scrupulously unscrumptious. He's not looking to get into heaven, just invited back to hang out.

#influence #the like switch #pimp #how to win friends and influence people #the prince #robert cialdini #jack schaffer #marvin karlins #iceberg slim #dale carnegie #niccolo machiavelli #psychology #philosophy #self help #book club #mental health #charisma #autism #manipulation #persuasion #books #advertising #deception #social proof #exploitation #introspection #humpty dumpty #incels #humpty dumpty elegy #GARBLEGOX

[mimisempai]

While Thor was sleeping - Chapter 1/12

Summary:

Mobius, a forty-year-old bachelor, finds his life very boring. He works in the New York subway. And every morning he sees Thor, a very handsome lawyer, pass by. On Christmas Day, his life changes when Thor falls on the tracks after being mugged. He runs to his rescue, takes him to the hospital and gets involved in a terrible misunderstanding. Everyone takes him for Thor's fiancée. With the exception of Loki, his brother who who remains on his guard but quickly finds himself under Mobius' spell. And when Thor comes out of his coma, everything collapses...

While you were sleeping - Movie - AU

Notes:

I saw that someone also started an AU of this movie, but I decided to release my story too, because it's probably my favorite romcom, and also because Natendo made this beautiful fanart based on the movie poster for me when I started working on this project.Check Natendo's awesome art here https://archiveofourown.org/works/36644743/chapters/91405744

Rating G

My father was a liar.

Well, I guess that's a little strong. He was in the door-to-door sales business. His maxim was to never leave the customer's house without selling them something. So he specialized in sales pitching.

He would do the same thing with me, he would tell me stories. Sometimes they were about all the places we were going to visit. Exotic places, white sandy beaches, sea and oceans. The Poconos weren't good enough for us.

But most of the stories he told me were about my mother. He said they met at a jetskiing demonstration on a beach in 1964. There was a contest to win an hour on a jet ski. My father won. When he saw my mother's disappointment, he offered to spend the hour with him. It seems they had a magical day together.

At sunset, she gave him her phone number and told him that if he didn't call her the next morning, she would know that he didn't really love her. He put the number in his wallet and on the train home...a pickpocket stole his wallet. A less loving man would have despaired, but not him. He remembered that she was a schoolteacher and the next morning he searched every school in New York until he found her. I asked my father once how I could know when I was in love and he said, "The day I met your mother, I heard For once in my life."

For once in my life, I won't let sorrow hurt me

Not like it's hurt me before

For once, I have something I know won't desert me

I'm not alone anymore

For once I can say, "This is mine, you can't take it"

As long as I know I have love, I can make it

For once in my life, I have someone who needs me

Mobius, 40, was sitting in his cubicle, giving out tokens to people who wanted to ride the subway, thinking about his past.

He still hadn't heard For once in my life , but when he saw this man, he thought at first that maybe this might be the kind of person who would let him hear this music. .

He, this was the breathtakingly handsome man who came down the subway stairs with a confident step. He wore a cashmere overcoat over an Armani pinstripe suit and carried his briefcase with panache. He had strong, chiseled features, a square jaw and eyes that any movie star would envy. But it was all a little too much for Mobius, too blond, too strong, too bright. But his smile... maybe he had a brother? In any case, there was something about this man that made him want to get to know him.

He had started passing by Mobius' subway booth in September. Monday to Friday, between 8:00 and 8:20.

One Monday he didn't show up and Mobius was worried. But it was a holiday and he returned the next morning.

He approached the booth and slipped $1.25 into the slot.

Mobius smiled and slipped him a token. He picked it up, didn't look at it, and walked through the turnstile. He hadn't really talked to him, but Mobius knew that one day he would. If only to hear the sound of his voice.

He got on the train. Mobius followed him with his eyes until the subway pulled out of the station.

Mobius sighed, "He's just too perfect."

**********

That evening, at the end of his workday, Mobius was painfully pulling a Christmas tree hanging on the end of a rope out of his living room window. He started talking to himself, "$45 for a Christmas tree and they don't deliver. You order $10 worth of Chow mein from Twin Dragons and they deliver it to your door."

Mobius pulled the rope as Croki, his tame dwarf alligator, looked on curiously. The Christmas tree swayed as it rose into the air.

"I should have gotten blue spruce, they're lighter."

Mobius huffed and exhaled as he pulled on the rope. The tree moved closer to the fire escape. Suddenly, Croki slid between his feet, tripping him.

Mobius shouted, "Croki!"

Croki bolted through the half-open door. With Mobius off balance, the tree swung wildly back and forth. Mobius struggled to hold the rope.

He spoke again, "Don't look down! Don't look down!"

Mobius tried to pull the rope down. The tree swayed again and under the weight, Mobius had no choice but to let go. He closed his eyes as he heard the sound of breaking glass as the tree smashed against the window of the ground floor apartment.

"Mobiuuuuus!"

*********

A little later, Mobius was in the apartment of its landlord, Casey Senior. Croki was hiding behind his legs. The landlord had covered the broken window with plastic and was sitting at his desk filling out complaint forms. He was reading aloud, "Nature of the damage, Christmas tree went through the window. How am I going to describe this to my insurance?"

Mobius looked down, embarrassed.

The landlord continued, "They're still pissed about that arson I did on Staten Island."

Mobius replied softly, "I'll pay for the damage, sir."

"Why didn't you bring it up the stairs?

Mobius shrugged, "I couldn't carry it myself and you don't like pine needles in the hallway. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Mobius."Mister Casey patted him on the shoulder and added, "My brother is in the window and door business."

Mobius headed for the door and as he was leaving turned around, "I almost forgot." he pulled a small gift from his pocket, "Merry Christmas ."

Mister Casey patted him on the shoulder and added, "My brother is in the window and door business."

Mobius headed for the door and as he was leaving turned around, "I almost forgot." he pulled a small gift from his pocket, "Merry Christmas Sir."

The owner looked surprised, "Mobius, you didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to."

Casey Senior, embarrassed replied, "I haven't done my Christmas shopping yet.  What-"

"Hey, Dad, can I give the bottle of gin your cousin gave you to my probation officer?"

That was Casey Junior, the landlord's son.

"Junior, can't you see I'm talking here?"

Mobius opened the door to leave.

"You know Mobius, you're a nice person, Casey too is... well like you and he's still single."

Mobius looked at Casey Jr. He was bending over and looking into the refrigerator. His low-rise pants showed the beginning of his butt crack.

Mobius commented with a wry smile on his lips, "Yeah, well, that's surprising. Okay, I'm going to go now. Good night."

"Good night Mobius."

Mobius smiled and the door closed. The hall was empty. Mobius took Croki who had followed him in his arms.

"Next time you try to set me up with Casey Jr, I'm getting a cat."

Croki grunted in protest and jumped out of his arms. Arriving at his apartment, Mobius looked at his mail. A Christmas card. He opened it. It was stamped "Happy Holidays from your mailman." Mobius carefully placed it on his bookshelf next to Christmas cards from the garbage man, the phone company and the florist. He found a Christmas record and put it on the stereo, then opened a box of Christmas ornaments and began decorating his battered tree.

*********

The next day, Mobius was having his daily lunch in the same small restaurant where he went every day. A waitress walked through the busy restaurant and past him. Mobius opened his wallet and pulled out a stack of travel brochures. The colorful flyers advertised everything from castles in Europe to sandy beaches in the Caribbean. He carefully spreads them out on the table.

"Have you picked?" the waitress asked.

"The usual," Mobius replied.

" Which is?"

Mobius sighed, "A tuna sandwich and a can of Josta."

The waitress scribbled on her notepad and left. A slight noise caught Mobius' attention and he turned to the window. It was his boss, Ravonna Renslayer, knocking on the bay window.

Mobius quickly gathered his travel brochures and put them in his wallet. Ravonna had entered, and was blowing on her hands to warm them.

She sat down across from Mobius and said, "I expected to find you here."

Mobius shrugged and retorted, "And I expected you to find me on a beach in Bermuda jetskiing."

Ravonna leaned a little closer to Mobius and said with an engaging smile on her lips, "I recommended you for employee of the month."

Mobius, smiled, surprised, "I didn't even know there was a reward for that."

The waitress came over to them and Ravonna said immediately, "The usual."

The waitress nodded and left. Mobius frowned. Ravonna pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and began to read aloud, "Supervisor Ravonna Renslayer appoints Mobius Mr. Mobius as employee of the month. Mobius is never late and always works on holidays, even if he worked the previous holiday. Because he worked on Thanksgiving, Mobius is willing to work on Christmas too.

Mobius interrupted Ravonna, "I don't work on Christmas."

"They give you a plate with the mayor's signature."

"I didn't vote for him."

"More paid vacations."

Mobius was not impressed.

Ravonna said encouragingly, "And you get a day off for your birthday."

"My birthday is at Christmas."

Ravonna folded the paper, slipped it back into her pocket, and said in a sincere tone, "Look, I know you worked on Thanksgiving. But I have been invited to my mother's house. Bee can't change because she has a big family party and I promised the kids I would be there for them this year."

"Ravonna, that's not cool!"

"I know, I know Mobius," Ravonna replied, patting his arm, "It's not fair and I can't make you, but... you're the only one who..."

Ravonna paused before finishing her sentence, looking embarrassed.

Mobius finished it for her, "I'm the only one who doesn't have a family."

*********

On Christmas Day, Mobius thought gloomily about this conversation while in the booth.

A train entered the station with a dull thud. The doors opened. A young couple got off, laughing and carrying Christmas presents.

A family emerged from another car and pushed open the swinging exit doors.

Mobius sat forlornly in the booth. Andy Williams' song "I'll Be Home for Christmas" was playing on the radio.

Mobius couldn't stop his throat from tightening, everything around him was screaming about the joy of spending Christmas with his family and his loneliness hit him even harder. He sighed and lowered his head when he saw a hand slide the money before his eyes. He reflexively swiped a token.

"Merry Christmas."

Mobius looked up because this was the first person to say those words to him since he had taken his shift

It was Mister Handsome in a cashmere coat standing on the other side of the glass. He smiled at him. The whole station seemed to light up.

Mobius was so amazed that he just stayed there with his mouth open.

Mister Handsome took his token and in an instant he was gone.

Mobius banged his head against the glass and felt like pulling his hair out.

"Four months, four months I've been waiting for this moment, I haven't taken a sick day. I could have said, Merry Christmas to you, You're really handsome, Don't you have a brother? But I didn't say anything!"

He banged his head against the glass again.

"Idiot, idiot, idiot!"

Suddenly he heard a scream. He looked through the glass and saw that the man in the cashmere coat was being assaulted by two men. Mobius reached for the phone when he saw that the man lost his balance and fell backwards off the platform.

"Oh my God!"

Mobius dropped the phone and stormed out of the booth. He ran through the turnstile and along the tracks.

Suddenly, he saw the lights of a train appear in the tunnel.

"A train is coming! Get up!" Mobius sped up again.

The man did not move. Mobius got close to him, got down on all fours on the edge of the platform and held out his hands to the man on the ground.

The train horn sounded.

"Sir! Can you hear me?! A... a train is coming!"

The man opened his eyes, obviously dazed, looked at Mobius and fainted.

Mobius got up and shouted, "Help! Help!"

The train was still coming closer. Mobius swung over the edge of the tracks and reached even farther. The train horn sounded again.

Mobius looked at the speeding train and then at the helpless man. He breathed in, closed his eyes, and jumped off. He fell next to the unconscious man, got up and tried to lift him. But his coat was caught.

Mobius pulled on the coat and tore it.

Then he decided to lie on top of the man, wrapped his arms around him and rolled with him just in time to the side into the notch that the workers use to let the trains pass. He just felt the wind from the passing train and opened his eyes. They were both safe and sound.

Mr. Handsome was unconscious but even more breathtaking.  Mobius stared at him. He really was perfect, too perfect.

He sighed with relief and said to the unconscious man, "You better have a brother and he better be hot!" All chapters

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Lokius masterlist : here

#lokius fics #lokius #loki series #loki #mobius m. mobius #moki #wowki #lokius rights #lokius forever #loki x mobius #fluff #mobius m mobius #tooth rotting fluff #thor #getting together #while you were sleeping AU