#I have to work to survive… but work is staring at computer screen reading fancy words

[vulcanette]

when the weather is crazy like this, up and down in temperature, pressure, raining off and on, I get horrible migraines 🫠 I’ve been in the trenches lately guys

EDIT: BLESSED BAJA BLAST ADVIL HAS SAVED ME ONCE AGAIN

#I have to work to survive… but work is staring at computer screen reading fancy words #my head feels like a crushed can #personal #a small diary entry

[factorialsotherfandoms]

(More Lucie lives OPQ au because fuck it I have the best copium.)

The director's computer is easy enough to find, situated at the big fancy desk instead on the rows below. Lucie is not quite sure why it is in the computer room and not his office but, well, the computers are all on an intranet so even if they are wrong, this will work, it will just take a little longer.

Getting in is easy enough - they found his password earlier - but the files they want... Protected, of course, and it needs cracking before she can copy them.

That's what her decryption software is for, at least.

A quick check and, while the employee computers have USB ports in the side of the screens, the main one requires actually accessing the tower.

Annoying, but doable.

She pulls the correct flash drive - orange - from her lanyard, and waves Jeffrey over.

"Plus this in for me?"

"Er, sure, any specific slot?"

"A USB one."

There's a momentary staring match which follows her sass, which she of course wins as Jeffrey ducks down, and plugs it in. The other three are off, somewhere, looking for evidence and making some distraction - the walkie talkie is silent, so they're either dead or safe.

The 'installing device driver software' alert pops up in the corner, and Lucie shakes the thought away.

A few seconds later, it's ready.

"Thanks." She navigates through to the command panel, and boots the hacking software up. As soon as it is going she pulls her arms back, letting her shoulders settle against the back of her wheelchair once more.

"Is it done?" Jeffrey asks, hands fiddling with his knife as he stands watch by the door.

"Ten minutes," Lucie replies. "It does not need me here while it works."

"Right..."

Jeffrey sticks his head into the corridor, looking quickly side to side before ducking back in, "can't see any trouble. We should wait here."

"Oui," Lucie maneuvers over to one of the other computers, wriggling the mouse in the hopes of finding anything interesting.

"Er, Lucie?" Jeffrey asks.

"It's fine," she finds nothing on the first, and moves on to a second. "We should gather information, no?"

"Sure, I guess."

Lucie catches him fiddling with something in his pocket, and can only pray it is not another hamster. How her boys survive these missions without her she honestly has no idea.

She leaves him be, and quickly flicks through the second computer. There are a few research reports and data tables - she grabs a second flash drive, and quickly copies those across - and then... An email alert pops up in the corner.

She would leave it - she should leave it - except that the subject line reads "Situation D'Urgence!" and is marked as important.

The text of the email is all in French. She skims over it quickly, expecting a security notification about a break in, and instead... Something about neonatal specimens escaping confinement, a hunt, all human workers to evacuate immediately as per containment breech protocol.

"Jeffrey?" she asks as she clicks it open. "What did the others say they were doing?"

"Looking for specimens," he replies. "More fetuses in jars. That sort of thing."

A thought occurs, and she starts searching the reports.

"I think they found them," she says. "Emergency all staff alert. Something escaped."

"Escaped? What do you mean escaped? This was supposed to be a safe mission!"

She ignores Jeffrey's panicked screeching, quickly searching the documents for the terms she saw. In one she finds photographs from a dissection of the creatures.

Babies her ass.

"Jeffrey," she cuts across him. "The babies are not babies."

"What do you- Oh."

Labeled as néonatal, the figures are still the size of an adult human. Maybe they were even human once; it is hard to tell, with the leathery skin of their chests pulled aside, so the workers might photograph their organs. The five inch long talons, the extended teeth, the scaled black wings - all of that is labelled in explicate detail, too. Lucie is a little thankful everything is in black and white, but adds the images folder on this computer onto her flash drive just in case the originals are still there. The photos looked old, distorted and grainy, though, so maybe not.

But then why not do better dissections themselves?

"Those? Those are the /babies/?" Jeffrey asks.

Lucie points to the labels, "yes."

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, um," Jeffrey grabs his walkie talkie, clicking it to speak. "Um, guys?"

"Not fucking now, pizza boy," Benito sounds out of breath. "Wait, no, grab Lucie and get out of here."

In the background, Lucie can hear the distorted sounds of a fight.

"Doc?" he asks again.

"Not now!" Benito replies, and someone in the back screams.

Nothing else comes.

Lucie quickly turns back to the reports, skimming through them.

"Lucie? We... We should go," Jeffrey says, glancing at the door.

She turns her wheelchair to glance over at the main computer, checking the processing bar. It's less complete than it should have been. Merde, there must be something complicated about the encryption.

She pulls the flash drive from this computer, clipping it back onto the lanyard under her shirt.

She should go. A fight has broken out, and she is a liability to the team like this.

But, nobody else understands the decryption software - she's tried to teach them, but it just never sticks. And the French, nobody else speaks it, and all the documents here seem written in it. If they need a password finding...

Maybe they should have delayed the investigation until the Order could have found another hacker and another French speaker, leaving Lucie with her usual job as mission control. But... But people had been disappearing, and her boys had traced everything to here, and there /should not have been anything dangerous here at 3am on a Sunday/.

But, she had made her choice a week ago when they denied the assistance and set Emi up as mission control (well, agreed to leave her at their Order-supplied office with a phone, energy drinks, cand the coursework the now teenager has due Monday), and her choice was still her choice.

Lucie snatches Jeffrey's walkie talkie away.

"The software needs more time," she tells the other group. "I'm sending Jeffrey to you. Don't worry about me."

She then pulls the battery pack out of it - not wanting to hear the objections - and shoves both parts back.

"Run," she says. "They need you. I'll hide."

"But-"

Lucie makes sure to run over his toes as she turns and looks for a large enough cupboard.

"Come back here once you're done," she says. "I'll be fine. Don't get bit."

Jeffrey calls for her, but she ignores him. She sees him hesitate, but... Well she pulls open the door to the locker.

It's... Mostly equipment, but on a shelf is a bag of... blood?

The door slams as Jeffrey leaves; Lucie looks at the locker, pulls the blood bag off the shelf, tape and scissors from her bag, and takes a deep breath.

She has to be careful, and no matter how careful she is, it might fucking hurt.

She turns her wheelchair ninety degrees, until it faces another wall, and turns it off. With a huge amount of tape she forces the joystick to forwards, then lifts up the arm.

She undoes her seat-belt, and shifts her weight to the side.

Falling hurts, falling is noisy, she's pretty sure she slams her shoulder on the metal, but it is the best option she has. She drags herself about, cutting open the blood bag and pouring it all over her wheelchair - an obvious suggestion of what might have occurred here. The arm is a little high, but she manages to pull it down. A little more blood is smeared along it, but that is fine; she turns on the power, and lets it go.

Getting a replacement will be an ass, but dying would be worse.

With her wheelchair gone she can pull her remaining, useless leg into the locker with the rest of her.

She gives it one moment, then another, as agony shakes up her injured spine.

And then Lucie reaches out, and pulls shut the doors.

Some of the lab coats in the locker fall on her, but all the better. She curls up at the base as best she can, ear to the wood and one eye squinting through the crack under the door.

She keeps still, she keeps silent, she refuses to die.

It's harder, though, in the dark locker, without a radio or a headset or anyone nearby. Every creak is a monster, every echo is gunfire, every groaning pipe the death of one of her boys.

Every second is a memory of a time she would rather forget, of being hunted, quiet, a child at her side and a monster's claws through her spine.

She breathes only through her nose.

She watches, and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Something drops from the ceiling, and she stifles a gasp. If she moves, if she makes even a sound, she is a sitting duck.

One, two, three of the creatures from the dissection photos are there, but thinner, warped, stretched out. They sniff the air, turning this way and that.

One looks dead at the locker.

Lucie stops breathing.

It turns away.

They are slow, they are smelling, until all at once they leap in to a frenzy. They leap on her wheelchair, ripping it apart with their claws and their teeth, sucking on the foam cushions where the blood has seeped in.

She thinks, somewhat manically, about how they're certainly helping look like she was eaten.

Slowly, slowly, slowly she inches up her hands, covering her ears so she does not have to listen to claws on steel.

Did she get blood on her hands?

Dear god, she hopes she did not get blood on her hands. From the frenzy, from the frenzy she thinks they can smell it..

The monsters howl, and anger seems to shake the very building itself.

She is going to die.

Lucie is absolutely certain that she is going to die as one, two, three monsters turn towards the cupboard.

(She is going to die, and she can only hope that her boys were not stupid enough to come back for her, that they took the paperwork the group found earlier and escaped.)

One steps closer.

(They needed her French and her computer skills, but they could have waited for the Order to send someone else to join the team. They could have waited, they should have waited.)

The others step closer.

(If Lucie dies now, she dies knowing she has saved someone, that her death gets the Order the information they need to save other people from her fate.)

All three move closer.

(It's a better death, she thinks, than the one she should have had in Greenland.)

And closer.

(It's a better death.)

And closer.

(She is still)

And closer.

(fucking)

And closer.

(terrified)

And closer...

One puts its hand on the locker door, and Lucie reminds herself not to breathe. It's the only thing she can think now - don't breathe, don't breathe, don't breathe -

Somewhere else in the facility, another monster screams. The three who remained straighten up, frozen for a moment, before scampering away.

Lucie still holds her breath until her vision turns black, only then letting it out as a slow sigh.

Alive, alive, alive.

Now stay hidden, stay safe, don't cause more problems than you are already being.

She knows, she knows her boys would not agree with that, that bringing someone they didn't know and trust here would have been worse, that if they delayed innocent people - more innocent than she has ever been - will die.

It doesn't stop her feeling like it curled up, and alone, in the bottom of a locker and hunted by monsters.

---

It feels like hours before Lucie hears another noise, though her careful count says only fifteen minutes.

It starts with the door creaking open, and a quiet whisper of "Lucie?"

She would sob in relief to hear Diego, if she was not so terrified, if she was not still waiting to die.

She screws up her eyes, and tries to remember how to breathe.

"Lucie!" Diego's next call is panicked, desperate. "No, no, no, no, Lucie? Lucie!"

He saw her wheelchair.

He must have seen her wheelchair.

How can she...

"Diego?" she manages to whisper.

It doesn't seem enough, and her mouth isn't working, so she slams her hand on the metal door.

It cuts Diego quiet.

"Lucie?" he whispers.

"Here," she whispers back.

She doesn't think he hears her, though, because he still moves carefully towards the locker. He seems hesitant as he opens it, creaking the door open so, so slowly...

Lucie throws off the lab coat she was hidden under, and reaches for him.

Diego kneels, and hugs her, and she clings as tightly back as she possibly can.

They stay like that for a moment, shaking and clinging and revelling in each other's presence, before Diego pulls a little away.

"I can't carry you far," Diego says. "Do you mind if-"

"Just call him," it's still hard to talk, fear still crushes her lungs, but Lucie tries.

Diego scoops her into his arms, and calls for Luis by name.

All three of her other boys poke their head around the door, though Luis is the only one who comes through. Jeffrey gives her a nervous wave, Lucie gives him a thumbs up back. Benito takes Luis' shotgun, and points it down the hallway.

Luis looks from Lucie in Diego's arms, to the wheelchair, and back again.

"You have need of a Super Mexican Lift?" he asks her, words joking but eyes serious.

"I just need my flash drive," she gestures to the main computer, where the software is finally, finally done.

Thank god she wrote it to decrypt then copy everything that had been in encrypted folders, rather than waiting for her to select folders herself. It does mean more shit porn to sort through later, but she doesn't want to wait.

Luis goes to the computer, and looks, "errr..."

"Diego?" Lucie sighs. "Could you-?"

Diego carries her over to the computer, just close enough to lean over and complete the last few operations herself. The twisting hurts, but she would never forgive herself if they failed only /now/.

"Go round the back, and pull out the orange thing," she says, once everything is properly closed.

"Yes, ma'am," Luis half-teases as he does what he's told. It takes him a moment to find the right one, but he unplugs it, flicks the extension back into the case, and hands it over.

Lucie clips it back onto her lanyard, and reaches out.

It's a little complicated to get her from Diego's arms to Luis' back, but together they manage it. She has to cling tight, and Luis has to hold her leg and her stump in place, but they manage.

"Right," Benito sees Lucie is still shaken, and so he takes control. "I want to get the fuck out of here before more of those shits get out. So /I/ am going to open doors for you two and call Emi to get us a cab, while you two can do a final sweep and meet us outside."

"Why us?" Jeffrey pouts as he says it. "You have the shotgun."

"I didn't see you making a plan. Are you going to make Lucie sweep the building?"

"Sure," Lucie leans her head a bit more to the side, just so she can glower at Benito. "Let me just find my legs. Oh, wait, the fuckers ate it."

She earns a small laugh from Diego, at least; it is enough.

Somehow they get outside unaccosted - probably because it is half past three on a Sunday morning, and Luis has already taken out the security team. Benito calls Emi, who they all know won't actually be working on her coursework no matter what she promised. They take burner phones on missions, yes, for emergencies, but cabs want payment details, and it is not worth the risk of their escapades being chased back to them; Emi receives the call on the office landline, then calls them a taxi from her mobile. At least they only need a taxi this time - easy enough to say her parents were out with friends and her mother's wheelchair broke and the repair company will get that in the morning but everyone needs home - not an ambulance.

Lucie remembers calling an ambulance for her boys. She wouldn't wish that fear on anyone, let alone her daughter.

The cab comes, and the driver's questions are easy enough to lie about. Diego ends up napping against the window on the short ride home, while Jeffrey may as well be a skin suit of bees for all his vibrating. It's interesting to see this side, how they stop, how they calm down.

Emi meets them near the Order with a transport chair, and Diego wakes up enough to help Lucie into it. Someone else has to push the stupid thing, but it is cheap, and it gives her a way out of bed until a new one can be delivered.

Luis ends up pushing it on their walk home, as Diego is still mostly asleep.

"What happened to your wheelchair anyway?" Emi asks.

"I used it as bait," Lucie replies, sounding more confident in her plan than she had been at the time. "I meant it to look like the monsters ate me already if they were clever, but maybe I used too much blood as they ate it instead. Oops."

Diego gives a slightly pained whine; Lucie reaches up, and takes one of his hands. She squeezes it, and he squeezes back.

"They ate your wheelchair," Emi frowns. "Gross."

For some reason, the comment makes Lucie giggle. Maybe its how late it is, maybe it's the adrenaline crash, but she giggles none the less.

"I told you throwing blood bags on the wall would work," Jeffrey complains. "But nobody ever listens to me."

"It's fine, nobody died," Benito shrugs. "Pretty sure the worst injury was pizza boy here running into a locked door."

"Hey! You ran into it too!"

"Yes, well, we all know Doc doesn't have a brain to concuss," Lucie offers.

It draws laughter from the rest of the group as well.

Success.

Abuelita is waiting for them at the house, hurrying everyone into the house with hot chocolate and blankets. Lucie is helped onto the significantly more comfortable couch, everyone knowing she will sleep there tonight if she sleeps at all. The boys stay around, in the chairs or on the floor, while Emi is shooed off to her actual bedroom.

Luis gets some hard looks about it, too, but Abuelita softens when Lucie reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder.

"Did you find what you needed?" is all she asks of the group.

They all look to Lucie.

"I'll check in the morning," she yawns, shuffling to find the most comfortable position. "Someone else can write the report."

She doesn't want to think about it just now. All she wants to think about is the sound of Abuelita putting on some late night game show and settling into /her/ armchair, of Emi putting music on upstairs and definitely not sleeping just yet, and of her idiot boys all safe and nearby.

#opq fanfic #opq lucie #opq ensemble #alternate universe #lucie lives au

[fatefulfaerie]

Once Upon A Time

Long one shot under the cut. Every once in a while I obsess over Gelato (Roman x Neo) so...yeah...

Spoilers for RWBY: Roman Holiday (read it if you haven’t it’s so good!!)

He didn’t know how to treat it like anything but a heist.

Roman had definitely kissed a girl before, Bleu Berry at the orphanage when he was twelve, Crimsen Blank when he was fifteen, Verd Webster when he was seventeen, and then of course the off and on thing with Chameleon while he worked for Lil’ Miss.

But something about kissing Neo was special, something not to be messed up or done lightly like every other young woman he had kissed. He had to do it right.

It had seemed like a lifetime ago since Roman had planned a heist without Neo, and he found himself at a loss because of it. She really was the brains of their partnership...and the brawn…

Why was he even here?

Neo gave him a distinct look. She snapped her fingers in front of his face.

“Sorry.”

He was staring again, at her instead of the television. His cover story was that he stared into space when he was really tired.

Lie.

It was really him taking glances from under her nose, like pickpocketing a stranger’s wallet.

Steal.

Cheat.

Survive

Love.

When did that get in there?

Normally when they sat down together to watch the large, holographic screen that emitted from Neo’s facedown scroll -- Roman still hadn’t gotten his hands on a new scroll. He was perfectly able to steal one of course, especially since the Vale City Mall had the most pathetic security. He just kept straight up forgetting -- they were watching themselves on TV, laughing about the coverage of their recent ridiculous robbery and eating spicy hot wings from the Cuckoo Crazy Chicken Shack.

This was the first time that Roman was thinking about someone else while watching his own name flash across the screen.

He was catching feelings for her, and there was no doubt about it. He had been catching feelings ever since she saved his life in the alley where she first showed off her semblance, and then more and more as they spent time together.

Roman pinpointed the moment she showed him the fabulous outfit she had made for him as that oh moment that you read about in romance novels.

Not that he read. He accidentally stole a book once. Once. Neo was the reader. He could hardly summon the patience. When Neo gave him a book to read, he skipped to the end. Roman didn’t see the point in all the rest.

But for some reason with this conundrum, this real-life conundrum, he couldn’t bring himself to skip to the end, to just kiss her like it meant just as much as any other kiss.

He tried to plan it like a heist, watching Neo, memorizing her routine, figuring the best moment of the day to perform the act, but it didn’t work. Neo was too unpredictable. She wasn’t like a bank or a warehouse that had their security guards on the same schedule every day. Her chaos was part of her charm, always doing the unexpected, but Roman was absolutely lost as to when he should make his move, if at all. They had a good thing going here, after all, and for all he knew he could kiss her one second and be knocked out cold the next.

Roman felt a slap on his shoulder and he looked over.

What the hell?

Neo was mute yet Roman could hear her say it. She must have been doing airplane arms before she slapped him.

She pointed at him and then her right ear, her forehead creased with inquisition.

“No, I am not going deaf,” Roman said.

She must have been clapping and snapping to get his attention.

“I’m just thinking,” he explained, the words spilling out just as he realized he might have to come up with an answer for what he was thinking.

But Neo nodded in understanding. What a wonderful human being. She mimed sleep, resting her head on hands that touched palms.

“Yeah,” Roman agreed. “Sleep. Good idea.”

Since his fancy condo was ambushed by Lil’ Miss, the two partners in crime had settled in an abandoned building that had gone from being a restaurant to a convenience store to a nail salon in the span of three months, before being abandoned for a year now. This street was a terrible place for an above-board business and even the Vale Government had let it rot, too small and inconsequential to be made into a factory or a warehouse of any sort.

Neo and Roman found it a week after the skirmish at the Vanille mansion. It was dilapidated and falling apart but it was only as broken as each of them were before they found each other. They quickly saw it as home.

So Roman stood up in order to head towards his bedroll in the corner. Neo watched him with a suspicious eye.

“Now that we’ve done as much damage as we could with the information from Mr. Vanille’s computer…”

Neo had already noticed that Roman never referred to the late Jimmy Vanille as her dad. Biologically he was her dad but he never treated her like a daughter.

“We may as well start on this dust business,” he continued. “Dust Till Dawn seems like the easiest target to me but I’d rather start bigger, something more fun.”

He turned around in case Neo had anything to add but she only stood up and paced towards him, using her semblance to change into Roman Torchwick himself. Roman looked at the mirrored version of himself as Neo made fun of the way he had been acting, staring with a blank expression, losing his train of thought. She then changed back into herself and shrugged her shoulders with her hands up as if to ask him why.

“I…I don’t know.”

He stammered. He rarely stammered.

She crossed her hands over her heart, then offered her hands to him. He knew what that meant.

Can I help?

She was always so thoughtful.

“It, umm…”

He had to be confident about this, he absolutely had to. He was Roman Torchwick, after all, the fabulous, the famous. He was fearless. He was clever and could get any girl he wanted, even the best of the best that stood in front of him. He could do this.

“Roman Torchwick this is the VPD,” a voice bellowed. Roman closed and opened his eyes.

“Why is it never you?” He asked Neo quietly, who was smirking. She stuck out her tongue.

“Come out with your hands up,” the loud voice continued. “We’ve got you surrounded.”

Neo turned back into Roman.

“Meet you at Forever Fall?” He asked.

Neo nodded and ran off to get caught by the police. Roman pocketed Neo’s scroll and grabbed Melodic Cudger and Hush, the two hooks of which clinked in his grasp.

“Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Torchwick,” he heard as he was halfway out the window in the back. Roman froze and listened. He dared to let his vanity doom him. “But I’m afraid it doesn’t do you justice.”

Roman turned his head.

What was that supposed to mean?

He could see the scene barely, through a gap in one of the distant boarded windows. Neo, in his image of course, stood with her hands in surrender.

“A volatile jokester,” the policeman continued, circling around Neo. “Always has something to remark. Doesn’t seem to want to shut up.” He stopped his spherical pacing and turned on his heel. “Do you know where I got these phrases?”

Neo shook her head.

“Vale Police Department records,” he said. “It’s how they describe you, and it’s how I know you aren’t really in front of me right now, are you Torchwick?”

He felt the panic in his heart, he tried to slip out the window but his forehead met a gun as it cocked with a click.

Their strategy had worked twice already, a disguised Neo getting arrested as Roman fled to a rendezvous location. Neo would use her semblance to escape captivity easily and they would have cheated the system. But it seems the police caught on.

Roman was almost impressed as he bumped shoulders with Neo in the back of the cop car, their weapons confiscated and Neo’s scroll slammed in half by the heel of one of the officers. Their hands were literally tied and Roman might have found a way to fight his way out of this but hey, he had never seen the interior of the Vale Police Department before. He figured it was time for a grand tour of the rathole’s rat hole.

“What’s that?” were the next words out of his mouth twenty minutes later. The VPD building was disappointing. Roman regretted wanting a look inside within a couple steps.

“Semblance inhibitor,” the officer replied, latching a second pair of handcuffs onto Neo’s wrists and only Neo’s wrists. “New tech from Atlas. It drains aura.”

Neo looked at Roman with a flash of panic in her eyes. She was always so confident in her chaos that it was a rare sight to see her scared.

“It’s okay,” he managed softly.

“We’re submitting her for questioning,” the officer continued, nearly interrupted as if Roman hadn’t said anything. “And we’re sending you back to Mistral. Lil’ Miss will be elated to learn that you are alive.”

They began to pull them away along two different hallways.

“No,” Roman said, struggling. “No!”

He lurched for Neo with all his might and caught her lips. That one moment of vulnerability where she tried to keep him with her cost him his better sense as he was very nearly yanked away, only seeing Neo’s face in shock.

“She’s mute, you idiots!” Neo heard Roman exclaim. “She couldn’t answer even if she wanted to. You lay a hand on her and so help me gods I’ll--”

A door slammed shut. Neo didn’t get to hear that last bit.

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

Trivia Vanille a.k.a. “Neopolitan”

Height: 4’10”

Age: 19

Prisoner ID Number: 827338

It was the first time in several years that she genuinely smiled in a picture, and it was a mugshot. Although she could see in her file the name that was dead to her, they referred to her verbally only as Neopolitan. The respect made Neo over the moon with happiness, made her almost forget her concern to get out of this without her semblance. The lock on her normal handcuffs were simple enough to pick once she was left alone but the one that shone blue and drained her energy even now would take a bit more creativity.

Roman Torchwick

Height: 5’11”

Age: 27

Prisoner ID Number: 827299

How many times did he have to tell them? He was six foot three. Six. Feet. Three. Inches. They never listened to him and it bothered him that it was on his permanent record that he didn’t measure up to at least six feet. For goodness sake, he was a celebrity. Any dunce on the street knows that he has orange hair, a white jacket, a grey scarf tied around his neck, and dashing emerald eyes. Everyone knows that he gave himself the birthday of October 31st (the mother who abandoned him at the orphanage didn’t care to specify the day that he had an excuse to steal cake) and that he was six foot three. It was on his mugshot and everything. He pleaded until he had two hands on the bars of his temporary holding cell. He was on his knees.

“Lights out.”

He sighed.

“Fine.”

He heard a foot stomp behind him. His cellmate was standing against the barred window that let in only streaks of moonlight, only fractions of nightlife and remnants of an already crumbled world.

He was a quite heavyset man and Roman’s heart skipped a beat. Roman was good in a fight but he wasn’t sure about these odds as he slowly stood up. This guy looked to have the strength of ten men and his arms were crossed.

Descending pink triangles dispelled the illusion and Roman choked a sigh of relief when the burly man turned into the small silhouette of Neo herself. Her hip cocked to the side and Roman knew, although he couldn’t see it, that she was smirking.

Roman rushed forth and hugged her, embraced her desperately like he never had before. He must have really thought they weren’t getting out of this one together.

“How?” he asked when they separated, his eyes searching her moonlit face.

Neo mimed picking a lock but then shook her head. She then mimed smashing her heel into an invisible pair of handcuffs between her two wrists and gave Roman a thumbs up.

“Good to know Atlas technology goes so fancy on design that brute force is the solution to breaking it. Would you like to pick the cell lock or shall I?”

Neo nodded and skipped to do just that, as if that were the easy part. Neo plucked pins from her mess of brown and pink hair and got to work kneeling before the lock and snaking her arms around the other side of the bars. Roman leaned on the bedpost and ignored his actual cellmate, the actual burly, wideset man who was knocked out on the bottom bunk and had a gnarly bruise the resembled Neo’s heeled boots across his face.

“About earlier, I…” Roman hesitated. “I guess I just wanted to apologize if I took you by surprise. It’s something I’ve been wanting to do, don’t get me wrong, I just…”

After several clicks, the door swung open and Neo turned around to face Roman, approaching him. Roman wondered if she had even heard him until she grasped his tied gray scarf and pulled him into her lips. It was all the answer Roman needed as they explored each other’s mouths, Neo slowly backing up and Roman chasing her, walking forward. When she let loose his lips they were out of the cell. She smiled. Roman was absolutely smitten.

She turned into a security guard, one they had seen earlier and she took his hand, Roman giggling under his breath as they fled from the Vale Police Department and into the wild night they had claimed as their own.

The memory became foggy, as it always did. It turned into a million other nights of chaos with him, all melding into a single lifetime that was now deceased. Trivia Vanille once died in the burning rubble of the Vanille Estate and left Neopolitan in her stead, but the moment Neo saw a blinding “X” over Roman’s aura gage a different Neopolitan had emerged. This one wasn’t languishing in her new sense of identity, wasn’t happy beyond belief in her friendship with this Torchwick guy. No, this Neopolitan was in pain, deep soulful, cutthroat, bleeding pain. When she threw a parasol and made her dad bleed she felt nothing. When her parents died because of the dust her dad harbored, she felt free. But when Roman died, she felt grief for the very first time, felt loss and lost in this world that didn’t understand her, would never understand her like he did.

Neo blinked her eyes open.

She liked when her dreams dipped into her memories up until the point where she woke up, where reality reminded her what was past and what was present.

It smelled like blood here. Neo had started to wonder if this is what it was like to be in the womb, gestating, trapped, waiting to be reborn in Salem’s image. The thought made Neo gag. This was the last place she wanted to be, seen as a mere chess piece in Salem’s game. She grew up as a chess piece that had been discarded, then used, then discarded again, like a dirty towel her parents kept forgetting about. What once liberated her was her newfound knowledge that her decisions could be her own but now she was CInder’s helper? beneficiary?

She would have to stomach it until Cinder upheld her end of the deal and got her to Ruby Rose.

Neo pushed against the bed she was assigned and sat up, although she would use the term bed extremely loosely. It was a hunk of red rock and the small room looked like the maw of a Grimm more than anything else. Neo would quantify it to a torture chamber if there wasn’t a small young man literally being tortured a few rooms over. She at least had it better off than him, but that didn’t say much.

Neo steadied her breath and closed her eyes. She thought of him, not the boy who screamed in anguish down the hallway but him. Roman. She thought of his brown, leather slip-on shoes and how much he hated the hassle of tying laces. She thought of his dark grey pants and how they collected around his ankles. She thought of his white coat and remembered tailoring it to his size, remembered thinking of the moment she would surprise him with it. She remembered his gloves and how it felt to be held by those hands. She remember his grey scarf and tried not to think about how it was on her neck instead of his. She tried to think of his piercing green eyes and his pumpkin orange hair, his bowler hat that had a red ribbon and a grey feather. She tried to remember his voice.

She opened her eyes and stood up slowly, pacing towards the illusion she had created, feeling tears sting in her eyes, feeling her heart beat with relief she tried to subdue.

“Neo,” he said softly.

She bawled, tears streaming down her face. She took the hat off her head and put it on her doll. She cupped his face with her hands and found herself missing having to go on her tippy toes like this.

Neo thought she could hold the illusion long enough to at least hug him, to at least derive some comfort from her memories and what her semblance was able to do with them. Yet, the illusion just as soon shattered, crumbling into shards of glass. Neo’s gasp was shaky as she looked down into her palms. Her breaths matched no rhythm and her soul bled as if she had lost him all over again. She looked up.

Cinder.

Her lip quivered. Neo couldn’t help it. Her brow furrowed in anger despite her sadness. The pink and the brown were like flames. And yet Cinder couldn’t even see her hate. No one could see anything of her.

“Salem wants everyone on the bridge,” Cinder said. “Welcome to reality.”

She walked off without a care and Neo fell to her knees, gathering the glass shards. She seethed with anger as she held them delicately in her hands. Her panting increased as balled her hands into fists, not caring in the slightest the sharp pain in her palms or the blood staining her white gloves.

She made a silent promise to Roman then, not to live for herself like she once did but to survive long enough to give Ruby Rose everything she deserved.

#gelato #neo x roman #roman holiday #rwby roman holiday #rwby #rwby fanfiction #roman torchwick #neopolitan #trivia vanille #neo my beloved #am I ec Myers yet?

[destielhasmedead]

this is the first part to a story i started - thoughts?

It had been two hours in the Impala for Cas to suddenly crack, he cleared his throat,

“Uh, Sam.”

“Yeah?” Sam turned around to see the angel. Cas made a head-nodding motion towards Dean and pointed to his ears.

“What y’all playing charades now? What is it Cas?” Dean laughed and took his eyes off the road for a minute to look at the two passengers,

“What…..”

“Dude, we’ve been listening to the same song for the past hour, and the same album for the past two, even Metallica isn’t that good,” Sam said.

“You watch your mouth Sammy, I'm the one driving here!” 

“Dean, I do too thoroughly enjoy the melody, but perhaps we could hear something else?” Cas piped in from the backseat nervously. Dean moved his attention to the rearview mirror, took a good look at Castiel, then back to his brother, and with a deep sigh begrudgingly agreed. Sam grabbed something from his feet,

“An aux cord? You have to be kidding me”.

“Dean, unlike you I enjoy living in the 21st century. You should try it, upgrade from your cassette tapes.” Sam scoffed, but let out a soft chuckle. 

“Fine let’s see what garbage you listen to.” Said Dean annoyed and skeptical. Cas moved eagerly towards the space between the two front seats to get a good look at all the commotion. Sam plugged the wire into his cell and proceeded to scroll through till he found the playlist he was looking for.

Sam had always been a soft rock, jazz, and even pop kind of guy. Though, he was sure to always have a playlist that wouldn’t get him kicked out onto the side of the road. Soon, Lodi by Creedence Clearwater Revival came on through the speakers. Dean's face fell flat but remained silent. They were on their way to the beach, so Sam knew he had some leeway and extra room to play with, and Dean was fully aware of the opportunities Sam had. It had been years, decades even since they had a proper visit to the beach. The only times they’ve been there was on a case. Sure, when the boys were younger John had let them stay a couple of days afterward from time to time, but even then it was stress-filled and tense. 

A few songs in, Cas reached, sitting up higher, and pointed out the sign that read of the hotel they had booked. Cas had all the windows of the Impala opened, his hair flopped about as the salty air flowed around him. The hotel was located on a quiet street, just a short walk from the shore. It was nicer than the places they typically stayed at. 

Sam helped his brother find a parking spot, and closed the doors almost simultaneously. Sam stayed back for a minute grabbing their bags, while Dean and Cas ventured inside. It was quaint, a typical beach hotel. Whiffs of sunblock, the squeaking of damp flip flops, bright lights, and inspirational signs filled their senses. 

“Hi, we have three rooms booked.” Dean leaned on the counter and put down a credit card that wasn’t his.

“I see only two on the reservation list..” the clerk said clicking on his computer. Dean looked at Cas nervously, searching for a response to give to the man. Sam strolled in with their bags.

“What’s going on?” Sam butted in on the conversation.

“You only booked two rooms,” Dean said, glaring at his brother. Sam shrugged and turned back to the desk for answers.

“I’m sorry there’s nothing I can do, there aren’t any extra rooms” 

“We could stay somewhere else..” Sam started to say but was interrupted.

“No! The reviews said this joint has great water pressure in the shower and I’m not giving that up!” Dean exclaimed passionately. Suddenly Cas cleared his throat,

“Well, I could um share a room with Dean. I don’t sleep anyway.” Cas’s face grew flushed and he shifted his weight on his feet. 

“Ok, that works for me. I’m sick of sharing with you anyway, you snore real loudly.” Sam commented about Dean. Though Dean didn’t respond. His eyes had glazed over, staring at the wall deep in thought. He felt his heart in his throat as if he had been chasing a vamp. He gulped it down and felt a soft palm on his shoulder that pulled him away from his thoughts. 

“Are you ok?” Cas looked him in the eyes.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine just thinking” Dean gave him a smile, and Cas’s head straightened once again out of its tilt. Both of the men were visibly flustered from the string of events that just occurred. Sam cleared his throat,

“Ok, wanna find our rooms and get some rest, I for one would appreciate getting more than four hours of sleep for once in my life.” The guys nodded, now aware of the time. Dean bunched up his sleeves till they reached his elbows, and looked at his watch. It was eleven pm, which in hindsight made sense since they had arrived when the sky was darkening. 

They started towards the elevator and to the 4th floor. Dean had been iffy about not getting their usual spot in the corner on the base level. But Sam just poked fun at him saying,

“Dude quit overreacting, we aren’t on a hunt, and we’ve saved the world like 12 times. We can survive two nights in a room that doesn’t look at a parking lot.” But Dean had just rolled his eyes. Soon, he found himself following Cas into their room, and Sam walked down the other end of the hallway to his.

“Have fun you two!” Sam teased. The new roommates' faces reddened. Cas swiped the key card over the black square and pushed the door open.

“You have to be kidding me,” Dean said under his breath, yet still audible for Cas to hear. He tossed his duffel bag a few feet away from him and rubbed his hands through his hair until his nails dug into his neck. Before them, they saw a couch, a TV, other typical Hotel amenities (bathroom, mini-fridge), and one queen-sized bed. But, looking back on it, the man at the front desk hadn’t said there would be a second bed in that room. 

“Dean, I don’t sleep much anyway, you have the bed and I can hang out on the couch.”

“You sure Cas?”, Cas nodded. Dean felt his eyes getting heavy, he tugged at his duffel and got out his Men Of Letters robe, Led Zeppelin T-Shirt, and his hotdog pajama pants. Meanwhile, Cas had found the TV remote and started channel surfing. He paused it on a show called Lucifer, which he had found very amusing. Dean walked back in to find Cas hunched over in front of the screen pointing at the different characters and saying how inaccurate they are.

“You having fun over there?” Dean said through a smirk as he drew the blanket toward him.

“Though it’s ridiculous, it’s also very comical!” Cas nodded to himself with a smile, maintaining his focus. 

“Alright, well you two have fun, just turn the volume down a bit so I can sleep? We’ll come up with a plan for tomorrow in the morning.” Dean kindly shook his head.

“Alright goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Buddy.”

--------

chapt 2 (not completed?)

It’s 9 am and Dean awakes to Castiel pulling the curtains open, letting the effulgent sunlight bounce around the room, filling Dean’s face with the brightness. He cups his hands by his eyebrows, grabbing at the covers while doing so. Once Dean’s eyes stopped ping-ponging and the static washed over, he grumbled “good mornin.'' and tossed around the clothes in his bag till he found what he called his “summer flannel” and shorts. Cas moved out from by the windows and shuffled over to Dean’s ill-made bed and began to meticulously tidy it up. 

“Alright, you ready? Sam’s meeting us downstairs for bacon. Well, he’ll probably have some fancy-schmancy healthy smoothie, but I’m having bacon.” Cas turned towards the bathroom doorway where Dean was still a few feet away from, nodded to Dean in agreement, and walked towards their room’s door.

“Wow wow wow there champ, you’re wearing that?” Dean held out his hand in a stop motion, running over to block the door from him.

“Y- Yes?” Cas replied, unsure of the question.

“Okay, I know it’s your outfit and stuff, but it's the beach! it’s hot outside!”

“But, you’re wearing your summer flannel, and this is all I have.” Cas gestured to Dean’s extra layer and then proceeded to look down at his overcoat.

“Well, that’s different.” Dean said, slightly defensive, and followed up with “We’ll ask Sam downstairs, but I for one am starving”. Dean swiveled, now facing the door holding onto the round silver knob, letting Cas walk through first.

Once the two arrive in the food court, they find Sam already set up with, as his brother had predicted, a bottled smoothie and eggs.

“Hey! Bacon’s over there, Dean.” Sam’s head tilted in the direction of the food. There were lifted metal container-looking platters lined up each with lids to keep what was inside warm. Excitedly, he grabbed a plate and piled on his food.

Castiel joined Sam at the circular table.

“So, how was last night?” Sam asked, showing genuine curiosity.

“It was fine. I did what Dean refers to as channel surfing, and I read all of the brochures on the table.”

“Oh yeah? Find anything interesting?”

“Not particularly, I saw a couple of different restaurants, there is an ice cream place down the street though.” Yes, Cas didn’t need to eat, but recently Rowena cast a spell for him so that he could at least taste it without feeling every single molecule. He hadn’t gotten around to trying Ice Cream yet though, he was still getting used to the sensations.

“What’d I miss? Oh, Sam! Cas refuses to change his clothes. The son of a bitch wouldn’t listen to me.” He had put emphasis on the word “refuses” to get his point across. Cas rolled his eyes at him, recalling the interaction and being fully aware that there hadn’t been anything he would refer to as a refusal.

“Cas only ever wears that trench coat though. And you on the other hand,” Sam turned to Dean,

“Are wearing your summer flannel which by the way does not exist.” Sam lightly laughed as Dean bites dramatically into his bacon.

“Well, this is a vacation, remember? So, if I even see your asses walking to the beach without wearing bathing suits, or at least not long sleeves, I swear I will shoot you.” He waved his fork in the air as he spoke. The men in question, who had been sitting next to each other, locked eyes. The two, without talking seemed to come to the consensus that Sam would in fact shoot them in the leg. Sam himself had been wearing dark purple swim trunks and a T-shirt. Having spent part of the night reading about the town, Cas mentioned a nearby store for him and Dean to walk down to. 

#original writing #deancas fic #mine #spn #work in progress so please don't hate me #deancas #destiel

[devilbat]

Quarantine Online

A/N: sorry I have been MIA for months now. A lot has going on in my life and Depression sucks, making it hard to write, so forgive me.

Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Warnings: Just fluff

Summery: dating is hard it's even harder when a Pandemic happens.. 

     The picture you stared at only showed a well-toned lean body in a well-tailored suit. Most of the photographs showed the same, never his face. His name was Tom 39 years old, living in London. Though he dose travels a lot for work. Shakespeare fanatic, runner, enjoys cooking, long walks with his dog when he's not running and lots and lots of dancing. Six foot one, six foot two on a good day. Who was testing the waters out there, but will be the perfect gentleman and very respectful.

        His profile stated as you looked through it. He had messaged you right as you thought about giving up once again. Everyone on these dating apps only wanted one of two things. Nudes or sex nothing more. No connection, no relationship, not even a friendship. Sure, you were offered friends with benefits.

That was something you were not looking for. Did it not state in your profile that you weren't going to do any of that. Do men even read?

       The few dates you have gone on all ended up a bust. Then the quarantine happened right as you were getting yourself out there. So it was conversations via text. But soon you were ghosted far too many times because you wouldn't send nude.

        You were all about to shut down your account when this man named Thomas H. sent you a message. You weren't even sure why you click on the email from this man without a face. Here you were reading what he had to say.

       Y/n,

           My name is Thomas, but naturally, I go by Tom. I'm sure you might not even respond to this as there is no face to this profile. With my job and for my privacy would be one of many reasons why. But I thought I might give it a shot. And I have to say I'm quite mesmerized by your beauty. You are quite lovely, and I'm sure you get that a lot. But I genuinely mean it. I was a bit fascinated by your profile as I read it, might have had chucked at a few bits of it. I would like to know more about you.

       Like what type of nerd are you? Marvel or DC?

Star Wars or Star Trek? And of course, I'll answer any questions you might have for me. As well I would not ask for any pictures of you clothed or nude as I would like to get to know you as I'm hoping you wouldn't mind getting to know me without the nudes as you put it. Ehehe.

     I genuinely hope to hear from you. But understand if I don't.

Sincerely, Tom.

    Ps, I do hope this quarantine hasn't made you gone completely bonkers.

       Usually, you wouldn't have responded, but something about him told you not to pass this up. What was the worst that could happen that already hasn't happened on an online dating app? Well, there was always the fact he could be a serial killer.

       Hello Tom,

    You may have messaged me in time I was about to give up on this site and return to my habit.  Marvel all the way. I would hope you would agree or we can't continue talking. Though, I can't deny that DC needs to just stop with Batman movies. The should have stopped before George Clooney. Though I will give Christian Bale props, he did a better job than Clooney.

         As for Star Wars and Star Trek? That is a tough one, so I'm just going to say both are good. But let's face it. Captain Kirk is the better star fleet Captain. Sure Picard is excellent as well. But anyone after them just doesn't do it for me. Ha ha..

     And it's all about Baby Yoda. If you are not a baby Yoda fan, you're just wrong. Yes, I'm one of "those" girls.

Coffee or Energy drinks? I would say I dabbled in both. Pancakes or waffles? Yes, there is a difference. I'm a waffle girl myself. Well, that is all I can think of right now.

Y/n.

You hit send before setting your phone down on the table next to you as you yawned. Maybe it was an early bedtime, not like you had anything better to do. You puddled around your usual routine before bed. A loud ding brought you back to your phone.

"That was quick." Recognizing the chim of the app all too well. Grebing your phone, forgetting your face cream as you were curious about what he had to say—settling into bed, getting comfortable before you opened your phone.

Y/n,

I'm delighted to hear from you. If I'm quite bold, and for starters, its tea for me. With two sugars and a splash of cream. As for waffles or pancakes, I'm French toast kind of man, duh. Lol. Though you can't beat a good old fashion English Breakfast and a side of Earl gray. Eheh.

I'm quite a fan of marvel though it is a rather vast universe. What movies/comics praytell do you prefer?

Sorry love to disappoint, but I'm going to say Doctor Who I am British. The tenth and the eleventh doctor. I do hope you've seen the show. I used to watch the reruns of the original with my father when I was a young wide eye lad. I am a fan of both Star Wars and Star Trek. And there is nothing wrong with liking a baby Yoda. He is exceedingly loveable.

          It says your new to England, where are you from originally? How long have you've been here? Seen any of the sights England has to offer?

       That's all for now.

Sincerely, Tom.

          Emails went on for weeks talking back and forth first on the dating app than via text. You were the one to leap by giving him your number. After hitting send your phone vibrated with a text.

         Unknown number: Hello love, this is Tom. I'm delighted to receive your text.

        More weeks had passed. Still, you had yet to see his face though he did send you photos of random things during the day. You did the same as your toes sticking out from the bubble bath. Then you got a text of his toes sticking out from under the blankets. The two of you would watch a movie together. The quarantine was still in effect. Each of you would pick a film out every other weekend and sit back and watch it—text throughout the movie.

          Y/n: Omg did she just run up the stairs like a dumb big boobed bimbo!!! She makes the rest of us look bad.

Tom: Eheh, you said it darling, not me. Though I think she might survive this.

Y/n: Wanna make a beat? I think she will die within the next few minutes.

Tom: Oh, it's on. Now, what do I get if I win?

Y/n: Whatever it is you want cause mister you are going to lose.

You both patiently wanted to see what happens next. The movie ended, and you waited in annoyance for Tom to respond to gloat about being right. And to see what he desired for his spoils of war.

Tom: Well, Love, it looks like I have won this round.

Y/n: It seems you have butthead. What is it that the winner wishes for?

Tom: Did you just call me a butthead? Eheh. Hmm, let's see. How about a Skype date? I figured it was about time to reveal myself.

Y/n: Tom, I just meet you. I'm not sure I'm ready to see your eggplant. Haha.

Tom: I probably should have rephrased that better. My face love, my face. Eheh. Tomorrow at 7 pm?

Nervous was an understatement. You had cleaned your whole flat even if you were going to stay on the couch, laptop resting on a large pillow setting on your coffee table. You sat playing with your hair, unsure if you wanted it up or down. A chim from your computer startled you from straightening out your dress you finally had settled on. Soon a well-tailored suited chest came on screen.

       "Hold on, darling, trying to adjust this blood screen." The deep British, very attractive yet somehow familiar voice rang through the computer speakers. You only assumed it belongs to Tom.

           You watched the man attempting to fiddle with the view, cursing ever so quietly. Making you giggle relaxing a little bit more. Your laughing came to an abrupt halt when Tom's face came into Focus. Your jaw dropped. And now the unmistakable "ehehe" came in to play as you stared at none other the most eligible bachelor in England none other than loki himself Tom Hiddleston.

           "Darling, I think your drooling." Tom teased point to the side of his clean, shaved face. Tom fidgeted with his now raven-colored hair.

          "Oh, I-I," You stammered out, trying to compose yourself.

           "Didn't see this coming did you?" Tom smiled, wetting his lips with that blasted tongue of his.

           "Well, no. I wasn't expecting Tom

Hiddleston."

           "Is that a bad thing?" Tom spoke up.

           "Oh, no, no. I would be an idiot to say it was. Hey, wait a minute. I've told you that, that, that. Shit." You muttered.

          "That I was your hall pass if given a chance. Eheh. Well, it looks like you'll have had wasted your hall pass privileges. You only get one and can't use it on someone if you are already seeing them."

        "You know, sir, you are still a butthead." You stuck out your tongue at the man.

        "You do like calling me that. Why are you calling me a butthead this time?" Tom grinned.

              Your time with Tom was extraordinary, the two of you talked throughout most of the night. He told you things you never knew about the actor every woman pined over. Here you were, the one woman out of a billion he seems to fancy.

           "Well, love." Tom cooed as he watched you try not to nod off to sleep. "I should let you sleep."

         "I'm sorry." You muttered sleepily.

          "Do not apologize, my dear. I should be the one to apologize I've kept you up most of the night.” Tom smiled softly. He watched as you rub your eyes, a shy smile softly graced your lips. Making Tom’s heart flutter.

”Perhaps, my dear, would you like to meet for coffee at the cafe that opened back up?” Tom hummed in high hopes.

”Hmm, I don't know.” You smiled, trying hard to look like you were contemplating though you were going to say yes. To hell with this virus, it was Tom Hiddleston asking you to coffee.

”I mean, I'll wear a mask and stay six feet if needed.” Tom added quickly.

”No, no, there is no need for that. I don't mind unless you feel like it's needed.” You pipped up—Tom grind like a fool shaking his head no.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston one shot #fluff #quarantine online

[re-diesirae]

12. Claire

She had never felt so happy to wake up with the sunlight hitting at her face the way it did that morning. They didn't dare to leave the storage house until the first rays of light hadn't come out from the horizon. In part, because they had wanted a little more rest and in part because they didn't want to risk the chance of meeting another of those horrible creatures.

With the light, they could finally see what was inside the storage room, and after checking the contents of the boxes, they had come across some supplies that included more weapons, ammo, a first aid kit, and flashlights. The weaponry was quite old, and Claire knew they probably weren't as fancy as the ones Leon usually used, but it was better than nothing. They also found some cans of food and water that weren't yet due in the boxes. It wasn't a fancy meal, but the canned fruits provided the needed carbohydrates that their bodies required for energy. Claire had instantly felt a little more energetic after the small and humble meal, and she had to admit that compared to other times, she appreciated the locals for storing the food in that place. She would have thanked them if they hadn't turned into parasite controlled zombies, of course.

With their new gear, stock, and a full stomach, the duo had started their walk to the mysterious manor. So far, the way had been calm: only interrupted by a couple of the unfriendly locals that they defeated without problems.

Claire noticed that the closer they got to the manor, the quieter the forest became. Somehow that made her uncomfortable. The lack of sound was antinatural, and maybe it was her paranoia, but she felt observed, and she was half expecting another sudden monster to jump over them. She could tell Leon's thoughts weren't too far from her own as the man moved stealthily and alert at all times.

Nobody would think that, some years ago, this same man was a scared rookie cop trying to survive a city filled with zombies.

The thought of how much he had grown and become better drew a smile on Claire's face.

Just what are you feeling so proud about when this is all a mess?

She often felt proud of others, even if it wasn't something she was supposed to do. She was proud of her brother. Like hell, how wouldn't she? The man had saved many lives in the last few years. She was also proud of Moira; the girl had gotten over her fear of guns and trained under her father's eye. She was also proud of Natalia. She had a normal life now, making it through all the horrors of her past. Claire was very proud of Sherry. She had heard from Chris that the girl had become an agent like Leon, and even though Claire would have wished for the girl to live a quiet life, she respected her decision. Of course, she was proud of Leon's successful career as an agent.

"There it is." Leon's voice broke into her thoughts, and Claire stopped dryly, staring at the manor ahead, "It certainly gives me bad vibes..."

An unpleasant flashback ran through her head as she remembered the Ashford's Residence, but as she watched the house more carefully, she realized that the place was different. This house looked older, and the gray walls, covered by ivy and moss. More than a manor, it looked more like a castle. A quick scan around convinced them that there was no one around the area.

"Guess our friends from Neo-Umbrella didn't wait for us..." Leon whispered.

"Well, knowing their sense of hospitality, they probably left some of their pets behind to receive us, though."

"Most likely. That sounds like something terrorists would do," Leon sighed, "We'll have to take a look and find out. I think the thing jamming the sign of my phone is in there. If we can deactivate it, I can contact Hunnigan, and maybe, we can figure out something about what they were doing in here."

"All right, let's take a look. What could go wrong, right?"

A lot of things. The annoying little voice in her head muttered.

The duo made their way to the house with extreme caution. The place seemed deserted. The only evidence of people ever being in there was the mess inside: furniture was turned over or broken, papers scattered all over the floor along with other decor accessories. Claire found bloodstains in some of the walls, and she shuddered. Maybe their "friends" hadn't left after all, but something had gotten them before they arrived.

"Now, this looks ominous. Why are there so many papers in here?"

"They seem like medical records, but the papers are too dirty to read them," she said, picking some of the scattered sheets. The pages looked blurred with humidity, and some had red stains that covered half of the text.

"Knowing these guys, there's probably an electronic record somewhere. We need to find a computer." Leon replied, looking around the rooms with his gun raised, "There are signs of struggle. I guess they didn't leave on good terms…"

That if they had made it out alive.

"There's too much blood. Do you think one of their pets went through havoc?"

"Most likely, maybe it was the one that attacked us last night."

Claire picked a folder that was over a table. The yellowish surface had dried stains of blood, but she ignored it and flipped through its contents. Her face tensed as her eyes traveled over the printed letters.

"They were making a new virus, " she said with anger, "These people don't ever learn that you shouldn't mess up with nature."

"Any idea of what sort of virus that is?"

"No...this seems more like genetic blueprints," Claire replied, "RNA virus sequences and possible recombinations with other viral agents. I'm taking these. it might be useful later. I can look into it when we get back to TerraSave.."

"Didn't know you had a liking for this sort of mad scientist stuff. Didn't picture you like a science girl..."

"You know, I did finish college before I joined TerraSave," Claire laughed.

"So I heard, but I never asked what you majored in, now that I think about it."

"Oh, so you didn't check my background?" Claire replied, surprised.

"I don't do that with friends. It's easier to ask, so what did you major in?"

"Biology and life sciences. Did a specialization in virology after joining TerraSave," she replied, checking another pile of folders, "I never thought I'd get so much into viruses. You would be amazed by how many outbreaks TerraSave attends, and for worse or better, not all of them involve zombies. Going into virology sounded reasonable, logical, and useful. "

Claire's crescent interest in viruses had to lead to her choosing a virology specialization. She had thought that it would come in handy while working in TerraSave. The organization was founded as a countermeasure to terrorist attacks. However, as time went by, TerraSave began attending other cases, including viral outbreaks in affected zones and as they worked with WHO. As an active agent at the time, Claire had participated in many operatives. That made her interested in the subject. After thirteen years of working in the organization, Claire was a pretty respectable professional. She wasn't as prodigy as Saya or Rebecca, but her observations and criticisms were valuable, and she had permission to work on her own projects.

"Never pictured you like a bookworm, but it seems I was mistaken."

"Another con on my side, I guess. Relationship wise..."

"I doubt it. Nothing wrong with a smart woman. I find it much more appealing. So, does your scientific vision give you a lead to what we have here?"

"Unfortunately, nothing clear. There's a lot of things you can do with genomes and some genetic engineering. I am not a biosynthetic engineer, but this looks like design proposals? We have someone in HQ who could see through it or maybe in B.S.A.A. I want to look at the digital records; if we are lucky, there might be something left in there. What about your signal jam?"

"I think I might have found the cause. Up there in the tower, there seems to be an antenna of some 's a good lead..."

"Guess we found our next stop. Let's go. I've got the feeling that I don't want to be around when the night falls."

"Always trust a female's sixth sense."

Claire followed Leon through the house. The absence of hostiles was welcome, but at the same time made her wonder what could have happened to them. They found more papers on their way, but nothing that could give them a clue of what had taken place in that place. After a while, they finally arrived at the tower.

The room seemed to be the security command center as there were several screens and computers. Leon got himself busy as he started to work on the antenna right away. Without much else to do, Claire decided to take a look at the server and see if she could get her hands on any interesting data while Leon tried to fix his communication line.

Well, let's see what you kept in here.

Claire began typing. She wasn't a techie like Wallace, so her skills as a hacker were terrible, but to her surprise, the security around the server was much laxer than she would have imagined. Or maybe she was too used to her overestimated security system in TerraSave.

Sadly, the computers had no access to the research datalog. However, it gave Claire information about the facility, and just as expected, there was a large underground structure underneath the mansion; the security system provided a clean 3D blueprint of the facility, showing research rooms, animal essays rooms, and laboratories. Everything pinpointed on the screen.

What the hell were they researching here?

Claire checked the security protocols, which seemed typical procedures designed for facilities handling potentially pandemic agents. She was familiar to them as a few years before she had adapted to those same protocols to propose an effective plan of contention in case of bioterrorist attacks. There was nothing that could be useful to find out what she wanted, but she did find something that caught her attention.

Damn, if only Wallace were here. He could probably hack into the central system and get me that information.

"I think I got it." Leon's voice made her look away from the screen, "I have the signal back. I'll try to contact Hunningan."

"That's great news…!"

"What about you? Did you find anything?"

"No, and yes. I managed to hack into the security system, but the servers aren't linked, so I have no access to research data from here. I did get a nice blueprint of the facility, though. Just look at this, the main research area is right underneath us, which is not surprising at all. I also checked the security protocols, and from that, I can say they were doing in vivo essays. I found something alarming and unexpected."

"How come?"

"They have a viral repository here. It is curious because, with the T-virus, C-virus, and all those new strains that Umbrella had been spreading, most bioterrorists had dropped the use of traditional pathogenic weapons."

"By traditional you mean…?"

"Regular viral agents: influenza, Nipah Virus, chickenpox, ebola… Ring a bell? They have a bacteria stock, too. Anthrax, Tuberculosis, MRSA," she said, scrolling down the screen, " Basically Level 3 and 4 pathogens. Just what the hell were they doing here?"

" If you don't know, neither do I. Can you get the information from here?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I am a virologist, not a hacker. The information should have a back up in the central server, but I am not skilled enough to break through their encryption to get it. We would need a vicious hacker for that, and the only one I know is somewhere in Hughesville."

"So, in other words, if we want that data, we'll need to go down there."

"Very sharp, Kennedy."

"Well, I guess we should bring some company down there," Leon commented, pulling his mobile to his ear. "Hunnigan… I need a favor."

NOTE: if you guys want to come and chat about the fic, or just about CLEON in general. Feel free to drop by the discord and say hi! JOIN SERVER

#my fanfiction #my fanfic writing #Cleon #claire redfield #claire resident evil #leon x claire #leon kennedy #Resident Evil

[nalgenewhore]

A rogue storm had her presumed dead and stranded on the red planet. Left on her own, astronaut Aelin Galathynius has four years to make it to the next drop-site, some two thousand miles. Armed with her smarts and dwindling supplies, Aelin attempts to survive on an inhospitable planet, when the nearest help is only millions of miles away. 

masterlist - ao3 - next chapter

Fuck this entire planet, Aelin Galathynius thought to herself as yet another bead of sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades. She wished she could wipe her brow, the stupid cooling system in her space suit was nothing in comparison to the blazing sun. Stupid planet, stupid planet with no atmosphere. 

It wasn’t just the sun, the piece of machinery she held was worth more than her entire life and with Fenrys Marama cracking jokes over the comms, she was not paying as much attention as she should. “I really hope that penetration test goes well for you, Ace. Is the core still soft?”

Despite herself, she huffed a laugh, “I’ll have you know that the CPT is no joke and this is serious science.”

“Oh, please,” his cocky voice crackled through the headset, “you’re a dirt engineer.”

Lorcan Salvaterre, from where he was helping Aelin steady the drill for the core penetration test, rolled his eyes but stayed silent, wanting to know where the argument was leading. The blonde astronaut was quick to reply, “Geotechnical and it’s soil, Mr. Fancy Aerospace Engineer. Isn’t your job today confirming that the FAV is still upright?”

Dry laughter was heard from their other crew members and Fenrys bit back, “Actually, it’s visual inspection of mission vehicles.” He paused for a second, “I’m very happy to report that on base inspection, the FAV is in good shape and yes, it’s still upright, dipshit.”

Before Aelin could speak, their commander cut in, “If you guys stopped leaving your comms open, we could all be exempt from the truly witty commentary.”

She frowned down at Lorcan Salvaterre, the mission leader and mechanical engineer, sticking her tongue out at her friend who smirked in response. A gentle, cool voice spoke up, “Happy to shut them off from here, Salvaterre.”

The golden-haired man child squawked in protest, “Hey! Radios are our only way of communication on this inhospitable planet-“

“Shut them off, Faliq.” The next thing Aelin heard was a slight static and then complete silence. “Oh, this is nice,” Lorcan said, the only person who could speak now. “We need fifty samples, G, one hundred grams each.”

Since her radio had been cut, she could only give him a thumbs up and focused on the task at hand. After a few minutes, the radio crackled back to life, Nesryn’s voice tight with worry, “Commander… you’re gonna want to see this.”

Lorcan’s head lifted up and he turned to look at the surface habitat, like their mission’s system operator could see him, “What is it, Faliq?”

A shiver of nervous energy straightened Aelin’s spine and she stopped the drill, her brow furrowing and her hands becoming clammy.

“Mission update. Storm warning.”

“I saw that on this morning’s briefing, we’ll be inside before it hits.”

“Storm’s gonna be a lot worse, estimate says to prepare for emergency departure.” Aelin breathed sharply as Lorcan exhaled, turning to look over her head at the horizon, his dark eyes calculating. “Commander?”

When his eyes slid to Aelin’s, she felt her heart drop. They were fucked. “Everyone inside the hab. Now.”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

All crowded around Nesryn’s computer, staring at the screen where the words, ‘Abort mission’ flashed across it underneath the storm estimate, tension was high. Hardly anybody dared to breathe as the dark-haired computer engineer read the update, “…eleven-hundred kilometres in diameter…”

“That’s heading straight for us,” said Rowan Whitethorn, the mission doctor, tapping his finger on the screen and tracing the trajectory. “What’s the estimate force, Nes?”

The beginnings of the storm shook the structure and Aelin saw Elide Lochan’s - resident chemist - eyes narrow for a second before a mask of indifference settled over her features, even as she hooked her pinky around Lorcan’s, the black diamond ring on her left-hand glinting. They shared a small smile that made Aelin’s heart ache, but now wasn’t the time to be thinking of such things. They had a mission to worry about, she could fret over her aching soul later, Aelin chastised herself as her gaze flicked to the green-eyed man across the desk from her.

“Ninety-two thousand Newtons,” Nesryn all but whispered, her voice aghast.

Lorcan swore, tangling the remainder of his fingers with Elide’s and squeezing, “What’s the abort force?”

“Seventy-five thousand,” Fenrys read, his brows wrinkled with worry as he ran his hand over his short hair, brushing it forward into the wave pattern like he did when he was stressed, “any higher and the FAV will tip.”

“We’re scrubbed?” asked Aelin, worrying her bottom lip, the voice of her mother telling her not to do that sounding in her mind. All her life’s work, the whole crew’s life’s work just gone. The mission they’d worked themselves ragged for, over. Just like that. She wasn’t ashamed of the tears that pricked her eyes.

Red letters flashed across the screen, Prepare for emergency departure.

Elide’s calming voice brought the crew back, as she stepped away from Lorcan and leaned over the computer, analyzing what was on the screen, “Maybe it won’t be as bad as they say, they’re estimating a significant margin of error.”

Everyone turned to Lorcan, in the end – it was his call to make. Aelin nodded in agreement with Elide’s words, “Let’s wait it out.” His face was emotionless as his eyes shuttered, that mind of his running through each scenario he could think of. “Let’s wait it out,” she repeated.

They waited with bated breath until Lorcan shook his head once, “Prepare for emergency departure.”

“But-“

“That’s an order, G.” No one commented on the barely heard words, a look of mourning on Lorcan’s face. “We’re scrubbed.”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Debris struck the sides of the airlock tunnel as Nesryn pulled down the latch of the door, “Ready, Commander.”

Everyone turned to Lorcan, their suits and headlamps on. “Visibility is almost zero, stay together and if you get lost, follow my suit’s telemetry,” he indicated the bio-monitor on his arm with which they could home in on each other’s location and other various functions, “Wind picks up further from the hab, so be prepared.”

The airlock door opened and the six astronauts struggled further into the sandstorm, each step requiring full body effort. The three women tucked behind the men, keeping close, hands on oxygen regulators.

Through the screaming sound of the storm, they heard metal creaking – the Farnor Ascent Vehicle. Aelin stepped out from behind Lorcan, barely able to see her fellow crew members. “We need to shore up the FAV,” she yelled, hardly able to hear her own voice. If it somehow tipped, without them in it to launch, they would never get it up again.

“How,” Fenrys asked, his voice straining above the storm as he pushed along, Elide close behind him.

“We can-“ Aelin screamed as something ripped free from the habitat structure and crashed into her, lifting her off the ground and throwing her out of sight.

“Aelin!” Elide’s scream pierced the monotony of the whirling debris. Everyone froze, looking to where they had last seen her.

“What happened?”

“Something hit her and she was just gone, she flew west,” Elide cried, her voice shaking. That was her oldest friend, her sister-

“Galathynius, report.”

Nothing but static. Nesryn looked down at her bio-monitor, pressing on Aelin’s suit button. “Her suit’s offline, I don’t know-“

“Galathynius, report,” Lorcan’s voice broke and again, nobody answered him.

“Her decompression alarm went off,” Rowan said, “she has less than a minute.”

Lorcan’s stomach dropped, “Shit, ok, ok, Marama, get to the FAV and prepare for launch, everyone else, home in on Lochan.”

As Fenrys took off to the rocket, leaving Elide to face the storm herself, she stumbled, “I can’t see anything.” Slowly, too slowly, the remaining crew members struggled their way to her and huddled together.

“We’re gonna line up and walk west. Small steps, she’s probably prone and we don’t want to step on her,” said Lorcan, his voice raised. They nodded, confirming the plan and set out, eyes wide open, hands out as precaution in case… they tripped over her body. “Doc, report on Galathynius.”

Rowan read the information on his suit’s computer, “Faliq, her bio-monitor sent something, a ‘raw packet’-“

“Yeah, I got that,” Nesryn confirmed, reading what the others couldn’t. “BP 0, PR 0, TP 36.2.”

“Copy. Blood pressure, 0, pulse rate, 0, temperature, 32.6.”

“Temp’s normal,” Elide commented, confusion clouding her mind, “why is her temp normal.” It wasn’t a question.

As realization set in, Rowan paled, “It takes a while for, it takes a while for the body to… cool. Blood’s still hot.” At that, everyone stopped, whirling to Rowan where he flanked Nesryn and Elide.

“Commander,” Fenrys’ voice crackled over the radio, “we’re tilting to nine degrees, with wind pushing to eleven. It’ll tip at twelve.”

“If it tips, can you launch before it hits the ground?”

The pilot hesitated, “Uh… yes, sir, I can take manual control.”

“Copy that, everyone, get to Marama. Prepare for launch.”

Nesryn started, “What about you, Commander?”

“I’m going to keep looking, get to the FAV.” Nobody moved, Elide’s eyes wider than ever before and filled with tears. “Now.”

“You really think I’m leaving you behind,” Fenrys asked, his voice breaking. “Lor-“

“I just ordered you to, now get moving,” Lorcan said, in a tone that brook no arguments. When they still didn’t move, he cursed, “Fucking hell, I said go.”

With that, Nesryn and Elide tucked behind Rowan as they made their way to the FAV.

Once they were in the airlock and had pressurized the vehicle, Elide swore, low and in Blackbeak, “Dilo, what is he doing.” She was the first up into the cabin next to Fenrys, eyes on her fiancé’s telemetry, “He’s going too slow, he won’t be able to find her in time.” Nesryn and Rowan climbed up into the cabin and the silver-haired man was nearly shaking, eyes wide.

“Commander, we’re at 11.5 degrees, you need to get back here-“

“Faliq, can you use the proximity radar to find her?”

“It only works for metal, there’s not a single piece of metal on any of our suits.” Defeat bled through her voice.

“Copy. Give it a try,” Lorcan told her, still determined to leave no being behind.

“Lorcan, I know you don’t want to hear this,” said Elide, “but Galathy… Aelin’s dead.”

“Try the fucking radar.”

Fenrys shot Elide a look, “The fuck is wrong with you, Lochan?”

Her dark eyes were unreadable and she strapped herself into her acceleration seat, “My sister is dead, I don’t want my fiancé dead too.”

Their pilot went silent at that and turned his eyes back to the controls, “Negative on the radar, Commander.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Lorcan muttered, groaning in frustration and desperation. He was grasping at straws; they all knew it. “Nothing?”

Rowan had gone silent in his seat next to Elide and he offered her a bleak look, tight-lipped, when she reached over and squeezed his hand, no words to say. Everyone knew what had been between Aelin and Rowan, except for maybe themselves. Nesryn shook her head, “It can barely see the hab, there’s not enough-“

The FAV let out a screeching sound as it tipped more and Fenrys barked out, “Commander, you need to get back to the ship now. I got one more trick and then we’re fucked.”

Silence on the comms. Fenrys tried again, “Commander-“

“Copy that,” Lorcan bit out. “How far?”

“11.9”

Elide spoke, “Salvaterre, Galathynius is gone. We need to get out of here.”

Lorcan said not a word. Finally, Nesryn pleaded, “Lorcan, she’s gone, ok? We need you here.”

“Roger that,” his voice was defeated, “on my way.”

Despite themselves, they all let out a relieved sigh, breath they didn’t know they were holding. Maybe a minute later, the airlock whooshed and Lorcan appeared, staying dead silent and not meeting anyone’s eyes as he strapped himself in next to Fenrys. “Prepared for launch.”

“Roger that, Commander.”

The ship began to shake as Fenrys blasted the jets, pulling them up and out of the storm. The only words spoken were from the control system, marking every one-hundred metre mark they reached.

Half an hour later, they were docking on their rocket station, named The Lani, after the goddess of dreams – their expedition The Matron , phase two of a three-part mission. Once they had completed the post-boarding instructions, Lorcan spoke, rubbing his eyes as his shoulders slumped, “We’re done for the day, don’t worry about logs or the mission. I’ll, um, I’ll send a report.”

Everyone nodded and dispersed, grim looks on their faces. Lorcan stayed behind, leaning against the wall of the airlock. Elide waited by him, cupping the side of his neck and stroking her thumb over his jaw as it feathered and he dragged his eyes to hers. “I’m sorry.”

She just shook her head, indicating she wouldn’t speak of it now, “Not now, love.” Her lip trembled, her face crumpling before Lorcan tugged her against him and cradled the back of her head. She cried silently into his chest, her tears soaking through his shirt. All he could do was bury his face in her hair and whisper his apology, his heart splintering in his chest.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

It was late. The other crew members were in their sleep-cabins, mourning the loss of their friend, no. Not friend, family. Their family was broken now. Lorcan was still up, sitting in the central area, staring at the blinking cursor on the computer.

With a heavy sigh, he began to type the report to the flight and crew director, Manon Blackbeak.

Blackbeak,

Mission Specialist Aelin Galathynius is presumed dead after being struck by debris during the storm late this afternoon on Farnor, day 18 of our 31-day stay. The remaining crewmembers were forced to abort the mission. Awaiting mission directions.

Commander Salvaterre

After sending it, anger sparked in his chest, indignation of the fucking unfairness of it. With a snarl, he slammed the laptop shut and stalked to the window, looking down at the planet until his eyes blurred and stung but still he watched, eyes roving over the red dirt as if he would be able to spot her body.

@mythicaitt​ @kandasboi​ @schmlip-scribble​ @the-regal-warrior​ @westofmoon​ @empire-of-wildfire​ @rhysands-highlady​ @city-of-fae​ @shyvioletcat​ @alifletcher2012​ @tangledraysofsunshine​ @ttakeitbacknoww​ @tswaney17​ @ourbooksuniverse​ @flora-and-fae​ @that-other-pineapple​ @sleeping-and-books​ 

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#supernova #supernova chapter one #the martian au #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan whitethorn #elorcan #elide x lorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #fenrys moonbeam #nesryn faliq #isa writes #nalgenewhore

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 90

Chapter Summary -  Tom and Danielle spend some time in London before the Kong, Skull Island tour starts, but Danielle runs into a slight hiccup.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​​ @jessibelle-nerdy-mum​​ @nonsensicalobsessions​​ @damalseer​​ @hiddlesbitch1​​ @winterisakiller​​ @fairlightswiftly​​ @salempoe​​​ @wolfsmom1​​​

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Tom woke in the morning, tired from the late night the night before, a smile on his face as he felt Danielle move slightly beside him. Turning slightly, he urged her around in her sleep so that she would be against him. He had a few days before the movie tour and though the days would be busy, he wanted to spend as much time as possible with her, not to mention find out what the American wanted to speak to her about, hoping it was something that would further her own career. As he felt her sigh against him, he smiled. "Morning." "Hey." Danielle stretched a little. "When did I wind up here, I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, I must confess I may have woken you urging you here to me." He grinned.

"Oh, well, that's okay then. How are you feeling after last night, happy?"

"Well, yes, I never imagined you doing that." Tom kissed her. "I am so glad you did though. I encourage you to do so whenever you see fit."

Danielle laughed slightly. "No, though I am glad you were pleased and did not think I was just tagging along for some weird reason, I meant the movie, it seems well-received."

"It does, and why would I think such a thing as you being weird, other than the fact you are a tad quirky anyway?" "I dunno, I was worried you'd think that I was checking up on you."

Tom pulled her closer to him. "Darling, I know you, you don't think like that."

"I just didn't want you to think that." Tom pulled her to him and kissed her again before manoeuvring himself so that he was above her, kissing her all the time. "Are you still…?" "Yes," Danielle groaned, feeling his boxers against her thigh, a very stiff yet damp part of it making itself very known. "It's nearly done, a day more maybe." she tried to shirk down a little. "If you want…"

Tom groaned as he felt her hand snake down his body, but pulled away. "No, not just me." Danielle frowned. "We haven't done anything since the fight, I want to wait until I can be in you again." he kissed her once more. "Regardless of his thoughts on the situation." Danielle smirked. "He seems a little adamant." "Darling, you cannot refer to him and use the word little in the same sentence," he warned.

"No, that is a slight injustice to him."

Tom was about to joke about her use of the word 'slight' too when Danielle's phone beeped to signify she had a text. She turned to the bedside locker and reached for it, taking a moment to unlock the screen before reading what it said, her face unreadable for a moment before her eyes widened. "Everything alright?"

"Um, that guy, the American, I am to meet him at twelve in The Wolseley, where is that?" "Piccadilly."

"Right…it's fancy, isn't it?" "Yes." "Damn." Danielle groaned. "I need to get up and get sorted so."

Tom rolled to the side to allow her out of bed. "Will I drive you?" For a moment Danielle was going to decline, worrying who would see them as they drove through the streets, but she stopped herself. "If you're not busy."

Tom, having seen her conflict, smiled and sat up in the bed. "I'm never too busy to offer such to you." he kissed her shoulder.

"Well, stop now before we are late then." she smiled, kissing him again.

Tom pulled her back into the bed, kissing her again and again as he did so. "Can't help it." "How are we supposed to get anything done?" "You need to stop being so sexy and alluring," Tom explained.

"Right, so Bridget Jones' nanny knickers it is then." Danielle giggled. Tom could only chuckle in reply.

* Danielle's hands were still shaking as she got out of the taxi in Belsize. She could not recall even getting in the cab as she made her way up the front steps. Tom had gone to get the altered schedule for the following few days of promoting in London, so she had not asked him to collect her again, though he had insisted he would.

The meeting had gone well, the man from America was actually Australian working in Hollywood and had other business to attend to in Europe, but on being given her exam answer by his friend, he insisted on meeting with her on his travels. The system she had accurately critiqued was his and she had found a fault no other had ever even thought of. The discussion only took a short while, but Lucas had spent the following time asking her all about herself and talking to her regarding different matters in general.

Danielle changed out of her clothes and got into her normal attire, the dress she had chosen was one she had brought from her house in Suffolk for if she and Tom were having friends over again, nothing fancy, but classy, but it was not appropriate for the afternoon's work. She got a cup of tea before heading to collect Mac from the kennels, the dog ecstatic to have his owner back. Since he was so hyper, she decided it was only fair to bring him for a walk to burn the energy before bringing him back to the house.

They walked through the park at a swift pace, Danielle paying little attention to her surrounds as again and again, Lucas' words spun round in her head. It wasn't until a man with a camera stood right in front of her, causing Mac to bark did she startle enough to focus again. "That's Tom Hiddleston's dog, isn't it?" Danielle was about to say that Mac was hers, not Tom's, but she stopped herself, her focus going to the man's American accent and the camera clearly primed in his hand, so she walked around him and continued on the pathway saying nothing and not acknowledging him in any way, Mac looking back at the man every few steps. Danielle's focus was on the sound of a camera clicking again and again as she did so, but she did not react to it in any manner, instead willing the path to turn enough for her to call Luke. As soon as she got back to the car, she put Mac in the back seat and got in, her hands reaching for her phone and pressed the dial button once she found Luke's number. "Ms Hughes." Luke's voice was calm and friendly on the other end of the phone. "I am glad to see that you survived another public event." "No one knew I was there with him," Danielle commented. "That's not the reason for my calling, I have been spotted." There was silence for a moment. "Spotted how? Tom is here looking at me, actually quite worriedly now." "I was in the park, walking Mac, and a photographer came up asking was he Tom's dog and took photos." "What did you say back?" "Nothing, I ignored him and kept walking." "The best action plan really," Luke noted, typing on his computer. "Yes, you're here online."

"What?" Tom's voice was in the background. "What is it?" Danielle asked fearfully.

"Hey!" Luke sounded peeved on the other end of the phone.

"Darling." "Tom!" Danielle smiled in relief.

"You're alright love, he is saying that Mac is mine, but he is referencing you as my hot petite dog walker."

"Could be worse, wait, did he actually say hot, because he was creepy?" "It says 'petite and attractive'," Tom informed her.

"Could be worse," Danielle acknowledged.

"Are you okay?" "Yeah, I mean, it was weird, and he was in my face, and it was creepy the way he was staring at me as though I was going to just openly admit to everything if he did it long enough, but overall, fine." She answered honestly. "Good, I'm sorry you had to deal with that when all you wanted was a walk, Elle." "It's fine, besides, after the tour…"

"Yes, Luke and I were talking about that earlier, we'll make sure it is nice and smooth, well we'll try for that on our side, obviously other people might have other ideas, you know." "Yeah, but we'll be sorted." "You never text to tell me how today went." "I'll talk to you about that later." "Good or bad?" Tom asked. "I'll talk to you about it later."

"Elle?" Tom pleaded. "Good, I think."

Tom chuckled at her tone. "What does that mean?" "I am being offered some amazing work." "But…?" Tom asked worriedly.

"I have to talk to you about it." "How long will you be gone?" "Only a week, maybe two every so often, about once every two months or so." "So what is the issue?" Tom asked curiously.

"I am not sure." "Elle, what is wrong darling?" Tom noted a small shake in her voice.

"I didn’t think…"

"You are incredible and so amazing, how could you think you would not succeed at this?"

"It fast tracks things."

"How do you mean?" "I thought it could take years, like five years minimum, this…this could make it two at a stretch since I'll be working too." Tom felt his chest swell with pride on her behalf. "Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?" "I have no idea, I mean, I cannot take it in. I…wait, I said we'd talk about this later." "Well, it appears we are talking about it now." Tom chuckled.

"Isn't this Luke's phone?" Tom looked to Luke who was looking at him in utter bemusement. "Yes, it is. Which reminds me, why did you ring him and not me?" "Because he said to ring if I was spotted, and I was. I was going to text you when I got off the phone."

"I am still hurt." Tom feigned. "No you are not, you are relieved she took it so well and thought to contact me, now give me back my phone and finish talking to one another face to face, later, after I get this sorted." Luke's voice was echoing in the background before it came close again, signifying he had commandeered his phone back from Tom. "Danielle, thank you for reacting as you did and for having the sense to contact me. They are running with the dog walker angle for now, but obviously, that will change in the near future when the announcement is made; though I should tell you, you are dressed like someone would do on the first of March, which of course they will criticise, these are going to be some of the first photos used of you, so be ready for that, as the only other ones they have are from that dinner in October with Diana and if they are very observant, they may figure out it was you in the shot with Emma and Tom at the New Years party and in the background of some Skull Island shot." "Okay."

"I know they are not ideal, most people want to look as though they expected it." "No, they are going to be fine I think, besides, I am not overly bothered. They will only use them as a starter. The more boring I look, the faster they will look elsewhere for their stories, I am sure a Kardashian will do something to get their focus again soon." "Exactly." She could hear the smile on Luke's face. "Keep your nose clean and that is exactly what will happen."

"I will be home in an hour or so Elle," Tom shouted from the background. "I'll bring dinner." "No, you need to keep trim for the suits for the tour." "One night won't hurt, we are celebrating," Tom argued. "We'll have some fun." "I am sitting right here and I do not need to hear any of this." Luke groaned, putting his head in his hands.

"Fine to the food," Danielle put her key in the ignition of the car. "I actually have to rush now, I forgot I had to go somewhere." "Elle?" Tom's voice was worried again.

"I'll text it to you." She promised. "Please do." Luke pleaded before hanging up after saying goodbye to Danielle. "I am glad things are going well for you Tom I really am but short of engagements, marriages and pregnancy announcements that I genuinely hope I will get to do for you in the future, please don’t make me a first-hand witness to your plans for the evening that involves you and your girlfriend doing…" Luke made general incoherent hand gestures. "Please."

"You're a prude Luke." Tom laughed, grabbing the paperwork Luke had for him before heading for the door. "And you're an exhibitionist." Luke retorted. "What's this of Danielle's day?" "She met with some big-wig from the US regarding a course she did recently, she flew through it and also found some major flaw so he was anxious to meet her about it, it was today." "It sounds like it went well." Luke smiled before his face fell slightly. "If not challenging." "She needs to move around for work, as do I, we just need to work with that. Same with several of my friends in the industry, we can work at it as they do." "Good plan." Luke agreed. "Now, please leave so I can try and forget what I was forced to endure a moment ago." "Lighten up Luke, you will age yourself. You stress so much." "I did not need to hear that." "I know, but be honest, me making plans with my girlfriend is better than me having a sex tape and talking to some call girl, right?" "Definitely." "So, see it as a glass half full so," Tom beamed going out the door.

#I Hate You I Love You #chapter 90 #tom hiddleston #Tom hiddleston fic #wolfpawn

[starkerforlife6969]

Starker, Hacker Peter part 2

Read part 1 here. 

Peter takes another huge bite of the fluffy scrambled eggs and the buttery toast and thinks, as far as interrogations go, this isn’t too bad.

He’s good, but he’s not brilliant, and there have been a few close shaves. Definitely a few kidnappings which led to interrogations which are nothing like this sunny breakfast at Tony Stark’s marble-top kitchen counter.

Those interrogations had involved steel chairs and tight ropes and a lot of bruises.

This involves pure deliciousness.

It occurs to him, on the fourth gulpful of OJ, that Tony is watching him with unmasked interest.

Peter licks the crumbs from his lips and pauses. “Uh…”

“No, no,” Tony chuckles, “keep eating, please.”

Peter does, because survival outweighs embarrassment and you can never be one hundred percent sure of where your next hot meal is coming from. He mops the plate clean with extra helpings of hash browns, all the while surreptitiously casting his gaze around Stark’s apartment.

It’s nicer than Osbourne’s by a straight up mile. Easily the tallest building in New York, it looks down over the city and sparkles with light as it catches on the surfaces. There’s inbuilt tech everywhere, and it looks so advanced that Peter can’t help but puff out his chest a little at the fact that he hacked it.

Sure, his code wasn’t perfect, or he wouldn’t have been traced. But still. He hacked it!

He finishes his orange juice and smacks his lips together gracelessly, trying to ignore the lingering heat of Tony’s gaze, as he wipes his hand on his jeans. His whole outfit had been provided by Mr Stark, and Peter had hesitantly accepted because being in just his underwear had really imbalanced the playing field.

“So,” Tony murmurs, resting against the counter, arms crossed and looking very at-ease. “A good nights sleep, a nice hot meal, clean clothes. Things sure do look different the morning after the storm, don’t they, kid?”

Peter frowns. “Was last night supposed to be the storm? Because you don’t have anything on me-“

“Hey, hey,” Tony shoots him a look, “C’mon. I know you said you wouldn’t rat, but all you have to do is give me a name. Someone paid you to hack me, didn’t they? You tell me who that is, and you’re off scot-free.”

“I’m already free,” Peter insists, “you haven’t got any proof that I’m ‘The Spider’, okay?”

Tony’s eyebrows knit together and he purses his lips in mild irritation. Peter wonders how far confidence-intimidation tactics have gotten him so far. “Your apartment was crammed full of computers-“

“I like to game.”

“MIT said they only had one student capable of coding like that, and he dropped out two years ago and-“

“That’s what you’re going to use in a court of law?” Peter scoffs, ignoring the sting of hurt at the mention of MIT. He’d loved that school so much- “Wow. I may not have a law degree, but I can promise that’s going to raise some reasonable doubt-“

“Cut the crap, Parker.” Tony snaps, voice thick with irritation. “I know it was you-“

“Billionaire, tech-giant, philanthropist, and omniscient. Quite the résumé, Mr Stark.”

“Little shit-“

“I’m gonna head home, then,” Peter beams, slipping off the stool and heading for the door. “This was really fun, though-“

The doors slide open before he can walk out, and it’s the man who was driving the taxi from last night. Mr Strange. “Peter,” he grins, looking ridiculously put together for so early in the morning. “Are you leaving already?” Strange turns to sigh at Tony. “You’ve already upset him? I thought I told you to play nice.”

“I was playing nice.” Tony huffs, “he’s a little shit.”

“Goodbye, Mr Kidnapper,” Peter waves cheerily, hopping into the elevator, only for Strange to place his hand firmly against the door to stop it from closing.

“Peter,” he murmurs, voice low and pleading, “I seem to remember you saying you were amiable to a trade.”

Tony nods eagerly. “Yeah. You’re saying you won’t give me the name, but you haven’t even seen what I could offer.”

Peter wavers. The smart thing would be to go home, but home to what? All his tech is destroyed and he’ll have to tell Norman and then Norman will know that Tony knows and Peter could be out of a job and-

He sighs, rubbing his hand over his face and gesturing for them to lead the way.  

____

The look on Peter’s face at the sight of the newly-installed computer lab is enough to make Tony’s dick throb with arousal.

His eyes go obscenely wide, and they flicker over every monitor and wire, and his feet seem to carry him without consent over to processors and ergonomic keyboards. He looks like a kid in a candy shop. It’s the same look Tony gets when his lab’s been re-stocked and he’s itching to try to make something new.

Goddamn. It’s just another quality to add to the list of Peter Parker traits that Tony has found to be completely addictive.

The boy’s young. 22 and almost completely off the grid. He’s got no family, no on-the-grid friends, but ‘The Spider’ is infamous, and Tony can’t believe that it’s a pale, bambi-eyed boy from Queens.

“This set up is so much nicer than-“ he cuts himself off, and Tony looks up with a grin.

“Nicer than..?”

Peter glares at him, but the heat of his stare doesn’t last, because he catches sight of some fancy retina display and is immediately distracted.

His youth is his weak spot.

He’s good, really good, and clearly talented, but he doesn’t have the wisdom that only age will bring.

Because he’s just left his backpack in the guest bedroom, and Strange is looking through it right now. There has to be something incriminating in it. It’s the one thing Peter had taken with him when he’d run, his go bag, there has to be.

Tony doesn’t want to blackmail him. He’d much rather have a nice fair trade, because he’s unreasonably attracted to the spunky little kid, but still. A little insurance is always nice.

“If you gave me the name,” Tony croons, not wanting to startle Peter out of his appreciation, “you could work for me. Someone of your skill-set, nice high pay, regular hours, this would be your base of operations. Anything you needed…”

Peter narrows his eyes. “Would there be a contract?”

Tony smiles, pleased. “Yeah, all legal. No unlawful termination. How long’s it been since you’ve had a steady income? A job you could be proud of?”

There’s wavering in Peter’s eyes, and Tony thinks he might actually have him and the blackmail isn’t needed- when Strange walks in, clearing his throat and gesturing to Tony with a subtle nod of his head.

Tony heads over to him, and Strange bows his head and drops something into Tony’s hand.

“There was nothing in his bag but clothes and a passport. A real passport,” Strange whispers, and Tony grits his teeth a little, but it’s not the end of the world. Parker may actually accept his deal- “But I did find this.”

Tony looks into his hand to find a gorgeous pearl necklace.

It’s antique and expensive and there is no way Peter acquired it legally. It’s gotta be his safety nest for if he’s on the run. A quick pawn and some money to get away. Someone is surely looking for this baby.

“Good,” Tony mutters, trying to keep his voice down, “but we may not need it-“

There’s a sharp, audible gasp, and both men look up to see Peter staring at one of the reflective monitors.

From the way it’s angled, he can see the pearls in Tony’s hands.

“Well, nice timing,” Tony snarls at Stephen, who has the sense to look a little bashful. “Listen, kid, we weren’t gonna-“

“You went through my stuff?” Peter demands, face lovely and flushed and furious. He holds his hand out. “Give it back.”

Tony holds onto the pearls because it looks like a fair deal’s off the cards now. He and Stephen are both in front of the door, but Peter doesn’t look boxed in. He looks angry. “Where’d you get these, Parker? I thought your skillset stopped at hacking, but do you have a knack for stealing too?”

“Those aren’t yours!” Peter cries, and lunges forward clumsily to try to grab them. He misses, and Tony tuts.

“Calm down. I want to give them back to you, but I have to know who hired you. Was it Carlton Drake? The Life Foundation? Was it fucking Wayne Enterprises? Oscorp? Lexcorp? Roxxon?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “This city has a few too many tech companies. And like I said already, no.”

Tony shrugs. “Then you don’t get this necklace back.”

Peter curls his dainty hands into fists, before fishing out his phone. “I don’t wanna have to do this,” he warns, as he lights up the screen with his thumb. Tony frowns as Peter waggles it. “One press of a button and all SI users information is leaked. That sort of personal data loss…” he shakes his head and whistles in mock-empathy. “That’d be awful. I can’t imagine the way stocks would plummet. Can you, Mr Stark? I seem to remember something similar happening to LoweTube. But then The Spider hacked it and now- it doesn’t exist, does it?” 

“When the fuck did you hack my systems again?” Tony gapes, “we removed all trace of your coding-“

“I was on your wifi last night in the guest room, old man,” Peter snorts, rolling his eyes. “Do you know how easy it was to get past your firewalls from inside your ip address? I mean, I was half asleep.”

His thumb hovers over the button and Tony tosses him the pearls.

Peter catches them with a gentleness that makes Tony think they’re more sentimental than monetary.

“Well,” Stephen croaks, face still wary as Peter holds the phone in his hand. “I’m hoping you can forgive us, Mr Parker. We’re still clearly underestimating you.”

Tony cottons on. “He’s right, Peter. I’m sorry. We’re- we’re useless when it comes to hacking defences. We need you on our side.”

Peter looks between them, jaw clenched but eyes softer now that he has his pearls back. “Your systems were pretty shit.”

Tony refuses to snark back a rebuttal, and instead nods. “My offer still stands.”

Peter is silent for a long time, before he speaks. “I’m not going to tell you who hired me to hack you, but I will toughen up your whole system to be pretty much impervious to attacks again. For a price, of course.”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose, but he can already feel himself agreeing. This is the second best scenario. Obviously, with Peter strengthening his walls it means the kid’s going to be able to build himself a way in to hack Tony whenever he wants- but he can’t see another way. It just irks Tony that he can’t go after whoever it was. He has a niggling feeling it might be Lex but he just can’t picture him actually having the balls. “I’m going to guess your price is fairly high?”

“Don’t worry, Mr Stark,” Peter grins, cocky and far too pretty for his own good, “I only want to be paid in stock.”

___

@darker-soft-starker for being the inspiration and @starkerchemistryy for being my friendship soulmate.

@stark-stark-baby @sbiderslut @lilsoshie @harmonystarker  @lurafita @awesomeimportantfan @the-mad-starker @meymourwhysstarker

#starker #peter x tony #hacker peter #rich tony #age difference #college drop out peter #bamf peter #snarky peter #protective tony #snarky tony #peter is a little shit #and we all love it #part 2

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

Hard to be a Stark

I’ve learned that some of these are going to be mini series things within the overall world. I’m thinking Steve’s will have one more part. I have songs for Loki, and Bucky around the corner so keep a look out for those! And the sequels to Sam’s and Steve’s. :)

Also shout out to my beta, @songforherma. They are awesome and handle my crazy very well. XD

Summary: Various Avenger x Reader one-shots with songs from musicals. In this one — Tony Stark has been doing the Ironman for a while now. Kissing babies, shaking hands, still flirting all the live long day, but it’s getting harder and harder to put up the facade. So what happens when his new assistant, you, see him having a drunken heart to heart? Song is “Hard to be the Bard” from Something Rotten! 

Honestly - this one is a bit more platonic. If I write a sequel, the romance stuff will show up there.

Warnings: Angst, Drunk Tony, bit of fluff, confessions, cussing, reference to violence

Word Count: 3477 words

Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my permission. :)

Stark. The name in itself held…

Power.

Money.

Authority.

Respect.

But with all those things came…

Assumptions.

Expectations.

Anxiety.

Mockery.

Hostility.

Ignorance.

And understandable sorts of coping mechanisms.

Then came the day he declared himself the Ironman - a superhero meant to protect civilians when no one else could. Gone were the weapons of probable mass destruction his company had become so well known for. Now they were replaced by one. A suit of armor in the hands of one man who could only do his best to protect his country. He wanted to believe he was doing the right thing, taking the suit, doing something with it that helped create peace.

Then New York happened. The Avengers.

Everything shifted. Assumptions and expectations skyrocketed. Anxiety twisted its gnarly claws around his heart, opening the door and introducing a new friend — Post-traumatic stress disorder. He could act like it wasn’t there and that it didn’t exist, but then came the outside opinions. It was easier to ignore them when he was just a Stark. He could put up a facade, act like it didn’t bother him because no one knew what was going on underneath.

You’re not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you.

Steve had cut him deep with that one. Mister Cap-sicle over here acting as he knew him. So what did he do?

I think I would just cut the wire. 

Of course, after Tony risked his life with that stupid nuke, Steve realized he wasn’t as correct in his assumptions as he first thought. Tony snorted, taking a swig of Scotch before setting it on the counter. “You know what they say,” he spoke to himself. “Just makes an ass of you and me.”

But he couldn’t hold it against the old man after all Steve was dealing with a  level of ignorance that came from being under the ice. His defense mechanism was mockery and hostility. Sitting in a chair, Tony stared stoically at the ironsuits across the room. They all looked like tin cans really, something made as a means for survival and turned into something greater. Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms. There was always some new hostile just around the corner. That didn’t go away with the suits. If anything, he and the Avengers were greeted by more of them every day which included all of the superhuman threats that the world suddenly kept on facing.

And that was where the coping mechanisms took a turn from understandable to downright unhealthy. Pepper had told him that, commented on it and voiced her concerns like Pepper always does. She needed to work on her timing. That night he’d been black-out drunk and didn’t remember anything. JARVIS had to show him the footage the next day. Guilt wracked his body because he didn’t remember. He didn’t remember screaming at her or throwing the bottle. He didn’t remember telling her to get the fuck out or the fact that he fired her. No, he didn’t remember. And when he watched the video, watched his drunken self shoot a repulser blast to shatter the glass next to her? It was like he felt his heart shatter with it because he knew he didn’t remember that. He knew if he had been any soberer he wouldn’t have done it. He would’ve called Rhodey or Happy to get her out of there before he did something stupid.

However, that was a couple of months ago and now he had a new assistant. Some girl named Y/F/N Y/L/N. She was good at her job and Pepper made sure to find someone that could handle his narcissism and ridiculous schedule, somehow someone of that nature managed to fit the bill. Still - she wasn’t Pepper. He appreciated that she acknowledged that. She never tried to be anything other than herself and it quickly earned his respect.

Ding!

Tony shifted his gaze to the computer when the email popped up. Y/N had sent him his schedule for tomorrow. Brushing it with his pinky, he watched as it popped out of the tiny screen and presented itself as a hologram before him. He couldn’t hide the annoyed huff that escaped his lungs even if he wanted to. “My days are too busy for this,” he muttered, knowing everything was back to back with barely a moment to breathe. It wasn’t Y/N’s fault. She was trying to catch him up on the reality outside. “It’s making me dizzy, there’s so much I gotta do.” Standing up, he walked closer to the schedule and his face scrunched in distaste. “JARVIS, there’s lunches and meetings and poetry readings and great, more interviews.”

“Sir, it’s about learning to combine your roles as a Stark and Avenger in a more efficient manner.”

Tony grimaced. “Traitor,” he told the AI before seeing the photoshoot he had to get up far too early for. If he even went to bed for that matter. “Gotta pose for some photos and how I deplore sitting there for eternity. Then it’s off to the bar where my bartender friend wants to name another drink after me?”

“Would you like for me to call Y/N, sir?”

At this point, Tony had stopped listening to the AI. No, his mind was far too focused on this schedule. “Then it’s back to my room, where I resume my attempt to fix this shit.” At least she knew to give him time in the shop so he could work on the suits.

“Just you and your beer?”

Of course, JARVIS would have a witty retort for that. He always did. Sitting on the edge of his desk, he felt a cold wash over him as he admitted, “And the terrible fear that I might be losing it.” Staring at the bright hologram, the grim reminders, he shook his head and swiped it away. He could think about that later. I mean, it’s not that important.

—

Hiss…

The sound was what woke him from his uncomfortable slumber. He stretched, his spine and shoulders cracking from the effort before he realized he’d fallen asleep with an iron arm in his lap. No wonder his legs were tingly. A lack of blood flow did that. Shaking his head in a futile attempt to rouse himself further, his bleary eyes and yawn signaled that he wasn’t quite there yet. His gaze ran along the lab floor, making sure he hadn’t left a random weapon lying around and it was there his gaze found your little black heels on the floor, tapping patiently. Or was it impatiently? Eh, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Instead, he stood and set the arm on the counter, sending one of his infamous “Stark smiles” your way.

It was met with the most patient look he had ever seen.

You weren’t irritated?

Tony wholeheartedly meant that today’s events weren’t important. However, that was when we initially thought it. Seeing your face? Seeing the way your brow furrowed not in annoyance, but concern? Yeah, maybe he should’ve put a little more effort into going to sleep.

“Coffee?”

His gaze shifted to the steaming cup that was outstretched in your hand. He took it, mumbling a barely coherent ‘thanks’ before taking in your appearance. Pepper always wore skirts. You wore pants. She always wore blouses. You were what looked to be a simple tank top or t-shirt underneath a blazer. It reminded him of his look. Maybe Pep warned you that the skirts and fancy clothes wouldn’t survive around an Avenger?

“Did Jarvis let you down here?”

“Nope.”

Now he was confused. “Then how —“

“Ms. Potts thought it’d be beneficial to your habits if you had someone capable of hacking.”

“Wait,” Tony gaped, eyeing you with more interest than a curiosity now. “You-You're a —“ You smile and it knocks the wind out of him. Grumbling to himself, he takes a sip of coffee. Tony didn’t really like being bested. “I want to say I’m impressed, but also that means you hacked into advanced tech when you could have knocked.”

“Would you have opened the door?”

“She has a point, sir.”

Tony looked up at the ceiling, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t get an opinion.” He knew they were both right, but did that mean he had to admit it? Really? Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tony walked back to the bottle that had been carelessly left behind on the table. He poured some of it into his coffee before drinking most of the hot, bitter, and now strong liquid. “Seriously, you’re a hacker?”

“Just for fun.” You shrugged and he snickered. You reminded him of when he first got into tech and making new things. It was just for fun then. His gaze shifted to the lab and he knew that wasn’t the case anymore. Meanwhile, you had turned to the iPad tucked into your arm, scrolling through it. “So first on the agenda —“

“Nothing.” You looked up, the puzzled expression enough to make him feel satisfied. He missed being able to stoop an assistant, confuse them and leave them floundering. If that was how it was going to be, he was sure you wouldn’t last long.

Recovering from your confusion, you tucked your hair behind your ear and shook your head. “No, Mr. Stark, there won’t be any cancellations today. You need to get back into the world. Everyone wants to hear from —“

“I don’t care what everyone wants. I’m Tony fuckin’ Stark. When have I ever cared about what other people want?”

“When your mother asked you to say goodbye to her and your father for a holiday, but you didn’t.” There was a brief moment of silence as the matter-of-fact tone shifted to a much softer one and you added, “They passed away that weekend in a car accident.”

Tony froze, his back to you. He would’ve expected some assumption that he cared when he cut off weapons production for Stark Industries. He would’ve expected some ignorant comment that he cared when he took that nuke into space. Apparently, between the two of you, he had been the one to slip up. He’d been the one to assume. Trying to recover, a wry smile curved his lips as he asked, “Figure that out in your time hacking my software?”

“No, sir. Happy told me. After…After the incident with Ms. Potts, he felt that I needed a little preparation as to the job I was being hired for.”

Happy. Yeah, Tony would remember to talk with the man at a later time. Turning to face you, he downed the rest of his coffee before dropping it in the bin next to his desk. “You know, it’s hard. It’s really hard.”

Confusion. Again. “I don’t understand.”

He grinned and gestured to everything, a perfected swagger in his step as he told you, “I make it look easy, but honey, believe me. It’s hard.”

“Yes, I gathered that from the hangover and the crutch you’ve developed for alcohol in the morning.”

Ah, you had bit more bite than he expected. Looping an arm around your shoulder, he was surprised that you refused to tense under his touch. They did prepare you for the mess that was Tony Stark. Waving his hand, holograms of videos on youtube, news articles, and various photographs appeared to surround you two. You took it all in, more curious than confused now that you started piecing together what he was getting at. “It’s so incredibly hard, so inconceivably, unbelievably hard.”

He was whining, throwing a tantrum because he wanted his way. You both knew it, but he didn’t know the assistant he had. “It’s hard to be a Stark?” you asked, a hint of sympathy in your voice as you stepped out from under his touch. Your eyes studied everything. These weren’t just something randomly picked. He had these saved. He studied everything that was said about him and, judging by the negative articles, he believed more of the bad than the good.

“Honestly? I don’t know how I do it.” You looked at him, but he no longer studied you. Instead, he was staring at the images just above. His voice was soft as he admitted, “There’s only so much of me to go around.” Seeing him like this, open and vulnerable, you weren’t sure what to expect. Perhaps it was the booze that made him act like this? No, you’d seen the footage. Pepper was completely open about Tony’s faults and wanted you to be prepared. On booze, he was angry. He wasn’t vulnerable, but far from it. But as soon as you blinked, just once, just a brief moment, that vulnerability was gone. It was replaced by that Stark smile that graced all the tabloids and interviews. “I’ve got so many fans with so many demands.” He looked at you, smirking. “I can hardly go take a piss.”

“Can’t even pee? I can schedule a bathroom break if you’d like.”

Tony snorted. Alright, he knew he was going to like you. “Be it a hero-freak or another autograph seeker, they all want a piece of this.”

“It happens when one is in the spotlight as much as you are,” you told him honestly. Walking to the desk, you took a seat and looked over the schedule, deleting a couple of things here and there. He spun around, distracted and looking at everything. Tony was doing everything he could to look like he was okay, but just watching him showed you that he was fragile. Instead of a whole man, he’d had pieces of himself chipped away over the years and it seemed his kidnapping had taken out a huge piece. Now he was struggling to glue together what was left.

“It’s a cross that I bear,” he agreed. “I’m like Jesus, I swear!” You rolled your eyes and he pointed at you, reminding you that, “It’s a burden, but I suffer through it.”

“He is suffering,” came JARVIS’s voice, a somehow mocking tone preprogrammed into the AI.

It made you laugh, but the sound died on your lips when Tony sat on the edge of the desk, his leg bumping your knee. “It’s all part of the game, the trappings of fame, but somebody’s gotta do it.” You looked up from your schedule, tucking it into your chest as you eyed him cautiously. He seemed to be tipping on an edge of sorts. Wasn’t this the sort of thing someone discussed with a therapist? Not their newest assistant? “And I know,” he mumbled, shifting his gaze from the floor to you. He leaned forward, nodding to himself as if he were trying to convince his brain. “I know I gotta go and get back to the fans and fame.”

“Yeah, you do.”

He rubbed his temples, huffing as he pleaded, “Don’t make me do it. Don’t make me go through it.”

“Mr. Stark —“

“Oh, I need to get me a drink.” He rose, moving faster than you could have anticipated. Colliding with the chair, he sent you rolling a few feet as he grabbed the bottle he’d been nursing. Taking a few good swigs of the burning liquid, he exhaled slowly. “It’s hard.”

“You’ve said that a few times, Mr. Stark.”

“Well, it’s true!” His shout made you jump though he didn’t seem to notice. No, he was long gone in his drunken stupor. Part of you was starting to wonder if he was even sober when he first woke. Sitting on the floor, he stretched his legs out and rest his head against the desk. He looked spent. “I know being a Stark made me famous,” he whispered. “But being famous is just so not fun.” Waving his hand again, the images of Ironman vanished. Instead, it was replaced by trashy tabloids and photos of himself and news articles with various women, at random parties, creating an image that he’d forced himself to maintain. The hologram divided you two, creating a wall it felt you had to break through if you had any hope of surviving this job. Picking up the bottle, he pointed to one of the older photos before taking another swig. “What people just don’t understand is that fame is demanding. It’s mentally challenging and it’s a bore, jeez, it’s such a chore.”

“To sit in a room full of people?”

To prove yourself to a room full of people

He shifted his gaze, meeting your eyes. There was a fog over the welcoming brown of his irises. Tony was drunk. Truthfully, he admitted, “I hate it.” He exhaled, his shoulders slumping. Would he continue? You weren’t sure.

“You know, you’re trying to find some short line or an innovative idea and you’re pacing the floor and hoping for…Hell, maybe just a bit of divine intervention?”

“Is that what happened with the suit?” You were curious, your tech-savvy brain aching to understand how he created something so brilliant. You were a hacker, sure, but that was nothing like being an inventor.

Upon mentioning the suit, he offered the faintest of smiles. It seemed it might be one of the better topics for him to discuss. “That was the one little nugget. That one little spark. I was ready to die and then eureka, I found it and I was ready to start.”

Silence fell between you two and you allowed yourself to smile, to feel at ease. If he remembered this, it might help him adjust to working with you. There’d be a level of trust. If not, then you could work with the information you’ve learned and slowly gain some level of traction with him. Everything took time and patience and the man sitting across from you was no different.

Not even close.

“It’s hard,” you finally agreed, earning his concentration once more.

“Wouldn’t it be hard to do something as good as the last thing you did?”

“It was already great.”

Tony shook his head and you felt like you took two steps back. He didn’t see it that way. He didn’t see himself or any of his accomplishments that way. “It’s totally hard. I’ve got fortune and fame. Everyone knows my name.”

“Can’t help it.”

“But it’s still freakin’ hard.”

You watched him carefully. He was so fragile at the moment, unlike you’d ever seen. You never would have thought of an Avenger as frail. That was your mistake. That was everyone’s mistake. The world had come to put these guys on pedestals with no concern for the fact that they were still human and broken. They all had scars and emotions to process so that they could form some semblance of a less than shattered individual. It hurt having to see it first hand, but you knew that if you hadn’t, you’d never believe it.

“You’ve taught me a lot, Mr. Stark,” you whispered, looking down at the tablet and clearing the schedule. There was always tomorrow, but today… You looked back at him. Today wasn’t the day. “I’ve cleared your schedule and will leave you to the rest of your day.” The surprise on his face made you smile. You had been a couple of steps ahead of the genius. “On two conditions.”

“Name them.”

“One, no more alcohol. Spend the day tinkering on something.” You shrugged as you stood up, waving one hand through the air to clear away the mess of history between you two. “Maybe create something new or go for a drive — something you want to do. And two, get some sleep tonight. I’ll be back tomorrow morning and we’ll try again.”

His eyes studied you as if trying to find the sneaky detail you were hiding from him. All his friends did that. Instead of being upfront, they hid a detail that would later be used to help him in some sort of way. That wasn’t the case with you. No, you were nothing but honest. No secrets. No ploys. “No alcohol and get some sleep.” Tony chuckled, holding up the bottle to you before dropping it in the bin to his right. “You got a deal.”

Progress. That was what you felt when you saw him willingly take you up on your offer. There was hope for a structured, professional relationship. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Stark.”

Turning on your heel, you made your way to the door to give the man some peace and quiet.

“Tony.”

You paused, looking at him over your shoulder. “Sir?”

“Call me Tony.”

All you could do was nod before you left, closing the door behind you. Looking down at the schedule, you clicked on the title and slowly backspaced on the name “Mr. Stark”, replacing it with “Tony”. Well, surely it’d be a mostly professional relationship.

#ironman #iron man #marvel #mcu imagine #mcu #tony #tony stark #tony stank #angst #you #y/n #imagine #songfic #hard to be the bard #fluff #confession #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x you #reader #weakmoment #assistant reader #fanfic #drunktony #robert downey junior #robert downy jr #rdj #stark #avengers

[demaury]

the best of me (chap.1)

“If anything bad happens I flush the rings, I leave my bestman spot to Baz, and I fly back to Paris.“

OR. Eliott and Lucas have never worked up the courage to actually make a move, and thus spent years dancing around each other without ever acknowledging their feelings. However, an engagement party gone a little too wild, an hotel room and a very bad idea might be all it takes to make everything blow up. (read on ao3)

Lucas had never truly believed that marriage would be something that could happen to him.

Or to any of his friends, for that matter.

It was something vaguely intimidating, that they occasionally joked about but never took seriously enough to consider it. It’s not like we’re gonna get married, he would scoff whenever his friends showed any interest in the new protagonist of his dating life — who never stuck around long enough to even think about it anyway. Marriage wasn’t real. They were still in their twenties, they were still meeting up for predrinks and playing video games until ungodly hours.

Lucas often forgot to lock the door before going to sleep. He sometimes considered candies, potato chips or spoonful of Nutella to be actual meals. He had no idea what was a tax stamp, what was his social security number, who the hell was his emergency contact (did he even have one?), and on the last round of the Presidential Elections the weather was just too good to bother waiting in line to vote for people he didn’t even know — nor cared about. He hated wine, even the fancy ones, didn’t like Champagne, and sitting on a chair was a challenge in itself at work because his first instinct was always to twist his legs at weird angles. He had been gifted a Pikachu Onesie a couple of years ago as a joke present for his birthday and he sometimes liked to wear it during winter because it was warm and comfy and nobody had to know about it. He still cart-surfed down the empty aisle at the supermarket, still felt like the cashier judged him whenever he bought condoms, and he had survived a running nose for a full year because he had dragged taking a doctor appointment.

Marriage? No, not happening.

So there was really no logical reason as to why he would find himself buckling up, in a plane, on the way to Barcelona, one fine July morning. Well, at least he didn’t have any a week ago.

It was precisely two days after a wave of heat had fallen upon Paris. In the span of twenty-four hours, the thermometers had reached well over 30°C, and effectively turned Lucas’ flat, along all the other buildings in the city, in some sort of furnace where you had trouble breathing at all. He should have known that it was the sign that something very weird would happen. Last time there had been seven centimeters of snow was the same day he had found out one of his now-exes was sending nudes to someone else, and one particularly rainy evening, while the Seine was already overflowing its banks, his dad had called to tell him that he wanted him to meet his new girlfriend.

So technically, yes, he should have known something weird would happen, the very moment he had exited his air-conditioned office at 5 in the afternoon, only for the dry summer heat to hit him with the strength of a sledgehammer. Yet, it wasn’t until three hours later, when his best friend called him via Skype all the way from Barcelona, that Lucas started thinking something fishy was happening. And definitely, marriage was not on the shortlist of things he’d have thought about.

“You did what?” he had blurted out, nearly dropping the plastic spaghetti jar he had just picked up from the kitchen elements, spinning around to face his best friend through the screen with wide eyes.

“I proposed,” Yann had repeated diligently, very proud of the emotion he had just caused. “And Nola said yes.”

On the moment, Lucas hadn’t been sure of what to say.

A week later, he still had no idea.

Apparently, though, he was the only one, if everyone else’s reaction had been any indication. Ever since the others had received the news, boys and girls had all been literally buzzing. Basile and Arthur had created a groupchat five minutes after Yann had called them, to gather as many embarrassing material as it was possible to dig for whatever thing he had planned for the weeding, while Daphné had taken over the organization of the trip with Nola, since they had all been invited to celebrate with them in Barcelona for a three-day weekend.

Don’t get him wrong, Lucas would have been thrilled to get an opportunity like this one, considering the fact that you could make fried-eggs on the sidewalks and that he hadn’t had a proper night of sleep in days because he felt like he was suffocating whenever he laid down. But apparently the stars had aligned to mess it all up, and that was the exact reason why he was forced to fly on Saturday morning, an entire day after everyone else had already flocked in Barcelona — save for Emma.

“Dude, I had to literally fight to get this weekend off, don’t even get me started,” she had groaned while they were taking possession of their seats. “Emilie was a total bitch, like apparently it’s rude to ask her to switch shifts when her kid is sick. What do I know? How am I supposed to know that her stupid kid’s got fever? I’m not a psychic.”

Lucas snorted, leaning back against the backrest of his seat. “Maybe she dropped clues and you didn’t hear. Not the first time it’d happen.”

Emma pulled a face. “Rude.”

Lucas shook his head a little. The plane was filling itself with other passengers surely taking off for weeks, instead of a short weekend. Until the middle of the week, he had been set to fly on Friday morning, and he had already made plans to meet up with everyone else at the gate in Orly Airport. But on Wednesday, his boss, Julie, had barreled into the small office he was sharing with an intern to inform him that she had an emergency situation and wouldn’t be available on Friday.

“I’ll need you to cancel your plans that day, I need someone to keep the firm open,” she had said, and Lucas had almost started complaining out loud.

“What about Bérénice?”, he had tried, helplessly gesturing at the empty desk of the intern.

Julie had grimaced. “I’m sorry but I don’t trust her enough to give her full authority. Clients will come to retrieve contracts and she’s not familiar with the whole process. I’m sorry.”

Before he could even protest she had disappeared through the door to her own office, and Lucas had been left to stare begrudgingly at his computer screen with the feeling of having been betrayed on a deep, deep level. He had always gotten along rather well with Julie, ever since he had started working in that architect firm, but right now he wanted to murder her with his bare hands. Or maybe just set the firm on fire. In the end, Alexia, who had managed to score her day off last minute had exchanged her plane ticket with him, so at least he didn’t have to pay another 145€ for nothing, which was probably still better a consolation that nothing.

Still.

“Don’t you find it weird that Yann’s getting married?”, he said after a while.

Emma turned a blank look on him as she glanced up from her phone. She pondered the question. “Dunno. I mean, if he feels like it…”

Lucas gave her a face. “C’mon. We both know he’s not exactly… eh, the best at relationships,” he said emphasizing the two words with a pointed look.

Emma shrugged, waving slightly. “It’s one of those things you never know if you’re good at until you tried. Frankly, what’s the worst that could happen? A divorce never killed anybody.” She widened her eyes slightly then winced when she looked up at Lucas’ clearly annoyed face. “I mean, it’s not that big of a deal until kids come around and-”

“Whatever,” he huffed. His parents had divorced years ago. In the meantime he had grown up and mostly gotten his shit together, so it was safe to say he was mostly over it. “He’s your ex. How many times did you guys start it all over? I’ve lost count.”

“Are you trying to make me freak out to hide the fact that you’re freaking out?” she snickered.

“I’m just saying that three years ago no one would have bet a penny on the two of you waving hello.” And certainly not more than that, he added to himself. It was frankly the understatement of the year. Not only Emma and Yann had started talking again, but Lucas had stumbled on them with their pants down during a particularly memorable New Year’s Eve party, where he had to eventually find an alibi for Yann’s girlfriend.

“Look, it’s not the same,” Emma rolled her eyes. “He wasn’t happy with Marion and we just had comfort sex.”

“That stretched out for weeks.”

“Do you know the very concept of fuck buddies?”

“I’m not sure that fuck buddies usually attend their booty-call’s engagement party,” Lucas observed, fishing his phone in his pocket.

“You know we stopped this months ago. It’s really no big deal and Nola’s okay with it.”

Lucas cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed, before nonchalantly unlocking his phone. “Does she know about the fuck buddies part?”

Emma opened her mouth, then seemed to think about her answer before shrugging one more time. “If Yann came clean about it then yeah, I bet she does,” she eventually said.

Lucas’ eyes snapped up and he stared at Emma, eyes bulging. “Oh, man, this is gonna be a mess,” he huffed, shaking his head. “You do know Basile’s already there, right? Basile and his big fat mouth? Basile no-filter Savary?”

“So is Eliott,” Emma bit back.

It was his turn to open and close his mouth, without being able to get a word out. “What the fuck does it have to do with Yann getting married?”, he asked haughtily.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly, “I’m just saying that while we’re talking about weird as shit relationships you need to take full responsibility of your own mess.”

He scoffed, but his eyes were glaring holes. “It’s gonna be easy then because there’s nothing weird about Eliott and me.”

“Right,” Emma drawled. He almost thought that was it. That she would gracefully drop the topic, a topic that was not even a topic in the first place, let alone her business. But instead, she pretended to give it a thought before she turned to him. “You know what? You’re right. After all ten years might not be enough for it to become weirdly comical. Because, y’know, the first five years it was fun to see you both dancing around each other, then the last five years it was just, well, plain depressing. Maybe in, like, five years, it’s gonna be fun again.”

“Just fuck off,” he gritted. “Eliott is my friend, and he was always there for me just like I’ve always been there for him. I don’t see how that can compare with the weird shit you and Yann keep pulling every three years or so,” he retorted dryly. And with that he grabbed his earbuds, put them on, and ostensibly turned his head the other way.

*

Okay, here was the thing.

When Lucas was young, he had started believing in alternate universes. Parallel worlds never really colliding, but with another Lucas in every single one of them, experiencing different lives and various fates. There was something comforting to it, to simply think about all the roads he hadn’t taken, the choices he hadn’t made, that other Lucases got to experience for him.

It had been comforting, really. To a certain point, at least.

He hadn’t exactly seen the biggest downside of it all until he was 16, and until he met Eliott. The guy had barged into his life during his second year of high school, after Christmas Break. Lucas could still remember the way the walls had seemed to collapse when he had entered the common room meeting — the way his eyes had travelled up all the way to him as if he was a magnet, and the way his breath had caught in his throat, lungs crumpling in his chest. Eliott was beautiful, with his crinkly eyes and his disarming smile, but he was also insanely hot. Hotter than anyone Lucas had ever met. Prettier than anyone he had ever seen. And, well. That’s exactly where the problem had been since the beginning, since the first time they had met, since the moment they had hit it off at that vending machine, right after the common room meeting.

Lucas Lallemant wasn’t a match for Eliott Demaury and would never be.

It had been mostly fine until the night Eliott had told him bluntly, on the way back from a short-lived party on the school grounds, that he wasn’t necessarily looking for a girl to date. A straight guy was just a straight guy until he wasn’t anymore. But still, for better or for worse Eliott was still dating his long-time girlfriend, Lucille — it wasn’t like he was on the market.

It had become much more complicated when, a month or two after starting uni, Eliott had eventually dumped Lucille for Julien. An asshole, if you asked Lucas. Ridiculously good-looking for a philosophy major, and overly confident at that. He was tall and slightly lanky, about the same frame as Eliott — in short, the perfect size not to make hands holding or kissing awkward. Lucas had been on the shortlist of people who had gotten to meet him first (a privilege he’d have been fine not having), and when everyone had bombarded him with questions about Julien, all he had found to answer was 'they look good together’. It wasn’t a lie; they really did look good together. And frankly, it was the only thing Lucas had allowed himself to say about it, because he just couldn’t bring himself to lie.

What was the problem with the parallel universes, you’d ask?

Well, it was the very night Eliott had come out to him that Lucas faced the bitter truth. He was lying in his bed, wide awake, eyes fixated on the ceiling when it hit him like a truck: somewhere, in another universe, Lucas n°99942 was hot enough to be considered a match for Eliott Demaury. You’d think it’d be more complicated to go on from there, to keep being friends with Eliott, to keep seeing him dating other people, but it wasn’t really that complicated. There was just nothing Lucas n°1 could do about it and water had flowed under that bridge. He had found cute guys for himself, not as hot as Eliott, and sometimes not nearly as caring as him, but that was just how it was.

For the most part, Lucas had made peace with it. Well, key words being ‘for the most part’. There was just no point in pretending that he wasn’t feeling his heartbeat rise up suddenly whenever Eliott’s face would brighten up at the sight of him during a party, or the way he’d always make sure that Lucas had a spot next to him whenever everyone would gather at a random bar. There was also no point in denying that a pair of stormy grey eyes sometimes popped up in his brain at… well, odd times. Nevertheless he’d blamed it on Eliott, and Eliott’s personality altogether. Everyone had feelings for him to a certain degree, even the straightest of their friends. Even Basile, Arthur and Yann had already put Eliott at the top of their list if they ever were to switch sides. Sure, for the past few years Lucas and Eliott had gotten even closer, but it wasn’t anywhere like Emma made it sound. It wasn’t odd and it wasn’t toxic. Maybe he hadn’t been fond of all of Eliott’s relationships. Maybe he hadn’t been thrilled to see Eliott get himself into a polyamory thing with a guy and a girl, particularly because he was afraid Eliott would end up hurting. Maybe he had told Macha, Eliott’s most recent ex to this day, to fuck off once. He wasn’t proud of himself but he had always made amends afterwards and Eliott had always told him it wasn’t the end of the world.

They were glad to have each other, and it didn’t make it any more awkward between them that it did with Yann, plain and simple. It was nearly 11 when they made it to the hotel and he just couldn’t wait to let the pressure out and see everyone, he thought as he pushed open the door to the hotel’s lobby.

“Hey, don’t we know these two?” Emma asked, smirking as she gestured from her chin.

Yann and Eliott were chatting by the counter of the concierge. Eliott flashed them a smile, interrupting whatever he was saying, and Yann spun around to grin brightly at them. Hugs were in order and Lucas was soon wrapped in the arms of his longtime best friend. “Bro, congrats for Nola and you,” Lucas said, hugging him back. “You’ll make her super happy.”

No matter what he thought about the whole ordeal — he had figured it was the best to say. Right?

“Thanks Lulu,” Yann replied, still grinning broadly, then he went on to hug Emma. “Fuck I’m so glad to have you guys here. It’s gonna be awesome, everyone’s waiting for you!”

Eliott crossed his arms over his chest, and the loose tank-top he was wearing did a lot in favor of his biceps. “Don’t I get a hug or what?”

“Fuck you’re so needy, we’ve seen each other three days ago,” Lucas snorted, but he still went for a hug nonetheless.

Eliott chuckled, pulling him close. “It’s just nice to have you around.” He ruffled his hair a little as Emma and Yann were talking close by.

Lucas smiled and parted from him with the feeling of not having had nearly enough. “You too,” he smiled, looking up. 

Eliott slid an arm behind his neck, just like he casually did so often, making them both turn around toward Yann and Emma.

Lucas voluntarily ignored the pointed look she gave him as the four of them made their way to the elevator.

#eluficrecs #skam france #elu fic #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #elu #mine #* #*tbom

[raendown]

Tagging the @madakaka blog ‘cause they gave me shit last time xD

Pairing: MadaraKakashi Word count: 2013 Soulmate au: The one where you hear bells playing the wedding march when you touch your soulmate for the first time

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 195: Madara/Kakashi

For the seventh time in the past hour Madara paused in his work to pinch at the bridge of his nose, telling himself very firmly that to scream at the boss's son where everyone else in the office could hear him would very quickly end with unemployment. With as much of his frayed self-control as he could muster he turned around to glare at the back of Hashirama's head. He’d already been warned twice to stop throwing things but oh how he wanted to throw his entire computer monitor at the idiot in the cubicle across from his.

"Psst. Hey!" After a moment of looking around Hashirama peeked over one shoulder at him and Madara's scowl deepened. "Would you stop with the fucking humming? You're driving me insane."

"Oh! I'm really sorry!" His best friend gave him a sheepish smile of apology but Madara only scoffed.

Working in a room with twenty other cubicles and having to listen to all of them breathing and coughing and generally making too much noise was already bad enough. He didn't need Hashirama and his stupid humming on top of all that, not today. The paper he was working on needed to be done by the end of the week and he was not at all interested in what Butsuma would do to him if he handed it in late.

So of course today was the day his ancient computer decided it had lived a long enough life and turned off right in the middle of him typing a sentence. Madara sat very still and stared at the screen with his entire life flashing before his eyes. A low whine escaped him, drawing the attention of the other cubicles nearby, but he didn't care. This was it, this was how he died. Butsuma was going to fire him and he would end up on the streets as a poor beggar terrifying strangers in to giving him a pity dollar so he could survive on corner store scraps. Or worse: he would have to move in with Hashirama.

"Are you alright?" His best friend and his worst enemy all in one, Hashirama appeared at his shoulder like a dark cloud bringing a ray of light.

"You know about computers right?" Madara asked him desperately. His heart sank to see the man shrug.

"Not really."

"Doesn't your brother teach you any of this shit? Isn't he supposed to be some kind of genius at this?"

With a wry laugh Hashirama rubbed at the back of his neck and said, "I mean he tries but I don't understand most of what he's talking about."

Madara could only stare at him with defeat pulling him down in his seat. His paper was toast. He was pretty sure someone has told him something about the settings saving his work every few minutes but even if that was true it wouldn't mean anything if the computer was dead, all that hard work trapped inside and unreachable.

Almost lethargic with his own little cloud of doom gathering around his head, he jammed a finger in to the power button a few times and clicked the mouse button once or twice as though that might magically get things back online. He looked around but no one else seemed to be having the same problem so it probably didn't have anything to do with the network, whatever that meant. Computers really weren't his thing. He came to work and he typed at the keys and as long as he didn't do anything fancy he got along with the machine just fine. Mostly.

"Have you called IT?" the woman in the cubicle next to him asked. Both Madara and Hashirama stared at her until she sighed and rolled her eyes, reaching for her desk phone.

Madara ducked his chin to let the massive waves of unruly hair around him hide his face from view as he listened to Konan call for help from the IT department. He shooed Hashirama back to his desk with one hand and used to other to fiddle with his mouse, clicking the button a few more times just for something to do with his hands. Why did he never think of the logical thing to do when stuff went wrong?

It didn't take very long for IT to send someone up but he spent the whole time avoiding Konan's judgmental eyes. His panic was none of her business! She had no right to be so helpful!

When the tech did arrive he was a young looking man with hair so tall and fluffy it looked like a cloud bursting up and out of his head like a cartoon, definitely ready for a trim. Most of his face was obscured by the thick green scarf wound around his neck but the rest of him was displayed quite nicely by fitted jeans and a thin t-shirt. From what was visible he looked like the sort of person Madara tripped over his words for, generally making a fool of himself and ruining any chances for a date.

"Cubicle 4B. You're the one that needed some help with an unresponsive unit?" Even his voice was attractive, quiet and lazy, almost whispery in a way that made you want to listen closer. Madara nodded and firmly told himself to behave.

"It just turned off in the middle of me typing something, it's stupid!"

"Well that's not good," the man said. Even without his face visible it was obvious that he was smiling with amusement. "Let's get that checked out for you."

Madara snapped his mouth shut before his could embarrass himself with any 'helpful' comments and pushed his chair back to let the tech in to his spot. As a reward for good behavior he allowed his eyes to slither down for a quick glance as the tech flopped in to his chair, admiring the shapely bottom filling out those jeans. If not for the work environment he knew he would have already shamed himself thrice over for that butt. Works of art deserved to be appreciated. He was the wrong person for the job, usually, but such things hadn't stopped him from throwing around his opinions yet.

Since he wouldn't be able to help in any way he made sure to stand clear and watch from afar while the tech inspected the station and looked at a few different things on the computer tower tucked away under his desk. Other people close by peeked over to see what the commotion was but Madara glared at all of them one by one until they turned their nosey faces back to their own work.

He expected to be waiting a long time or at least be told that repairing whatever he had broken would take a few days, rendering him effectively useless without the computer he needed to do his job, but it was only a few minutes before the tech stood up with his cheeks pink above the edges of his loosely wound scarf. It wasn't until he spoke that Madara realized the pink was from muffled laughter and that he had managed to make a fool of himself yet again, this time without even speaking.

"Found the problem," the tech said. "You should be all set." As he finished speaking he reached down to press the power button on the computer. It came whirring to life immediately.

"What did you fix?" Madara asked, more than a bit awed that it had taken so little time.

"Maa, you kicked out the power cord and unplugged it."

"…oh." Despite the many times he had prayed for the same and received no answer, once more Madara asked the universe to open a hole in the ground and swallow him, face burning with embarrassment. Of course the problem had been something that stupid and that simple. He could have fixed that himself if he'd thought to check.

Visibly trying not to laugh out loud, the tech cleared his throat and nodded slowly. "You're good to go now but if you need anything else just call down to us again and ask for me."

"Right," Madara said with every intention of never seeing this man again lest he burst in to flames. The tech held out a polite hand.

"Kakashi," he said. "Just ask for Kakashi."

Madara took the hand and shook it, of course, because he did understand basic social protocol no matter what his brother claimed. As soon as he did the sound of a half-familiar tune filled his head and he scowled, barely paying any attention to the look of stunned disbelief on Kakashi's face as he whipped around to glare at Hashirama behind them.

"Didn't I tell you to quit it with the humming?"

"I'm not!" Hashirama insisted, twisting to look up at him with innocent protest.

"Don't lie I can hear- why can I still hear you? Are you still humming? What tune is that, it feels so familiar." He frowned to himself, trying to figure out why those notes sounded like an old tune he should know.

Or for that matter why the humming sounded more like bells.

"That's a wedding march," Kakashi whispered. He sounded oddly breathless. Madara lifted a brow at his best friend with judgment in his eyes.

"Why are you humming the wedding march?"

"I'm not humming! But you heard it when you touched - oh! Oh congratulations! Madara, you found your soulmate!"

Trying to process those words while also processing the fact that he was still holding Kakashi's hand proved too much. Breathing out a quiet sound one might easily mistake for dismay, Madara slid down on to his desk chair, retrieved his hand, and then curled both arms on the desk to bury his face. Voices murmured around him and he ignored them all in favor of closing his eyes to blot out the world.

"Maa, should I leave?" Kakashi could be heard asking hesitantly.

"No, no!" Hashirama insisted. "He's alright, Madara just gets a little overwhelmed by his feelings sometimes. He just needs a minute."

"I don't have feelings!" Madara shouted in to the protective cocoon of his arms. To his mortification he felt Hashirama patting him on the head in a consoling manner.

"Of course not."

Before he could decide if he wanted to scream in rage or not a second, paler hand appeared on his wrist, drawing his attention up to where he found Kakashi looking down at him with a smile pretty enough to stop the beating of his heart, chin untucked to reveal his new favorite face in the world.

And here he'd spent the last two and a half decades thinking no one could ever possibly be cuter than his baby brother Izuna.

"It's a pleasure to meet you...Madara." Kakashi said, bringing a flush to his cheeks as it truly hit home that he had found his soulmate, a rare phenomenon despite the many services claiming they could help you find your match with a simple compatibility test.

"We'll see about that," he mumbled in return. Kakashi's startled expression had him spinning around in the chair and immediately backtracking. "No I didn't mean it like that! I meant we'll see if you still think that once you get to know me! I'm…"

Hashirama jumped in helpfully. "He's very unique!"

"Difficult," Konan put in her two cents.

"Both of you can shut the hell up!"

"From what I've seen I think we'll be just fine," Kakashi said, heading off any more explosions.

Madara blinked up at him, helplessly enamored and entirely unsure of what to do with that. How could someone so pretty also be so kind? Especially after witnessing him make a fool of himself several times already in the ten or so minutes they had known each other.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, for once thanking the gods for the blessings they had given him, Madara nodded very slowly. "Okay. Yeah. Maybe...maybe we'll be just fine."

He needed only one look up at Kakashi's pretty gray eyes to believe it.

#rae writes #soulmate collection #madakaka #madara #kakashi #hashirama #fanfiction

[hannahmcne]

Her Royal Highness - Chapter 8

The leaves in Auradon frosted into a golden and scarlet pointillism masterpiece. Mal quit her morning climbs to the roof because the frost would stick to the bricks and make them slippery. Instead she and Ben went out for short drives and Mal locked herself in her room to pour over her plans for the Isle of the Lost.

September turned into October.

Mal's things slowly vanished from her room. Not everything, but outfits and toiletries and books gradually disappeared. Pictures from the walls, her favorite blanket from her bed, and finally her phone charger. Mal didn't panic much, because she knew where she'd find everything. The same thing was happening to Ben's room. All their things were being moved into a suite with an attached living room and a large bathroom fitted with a jet tub. King Adam and Queen Belle had vacated the Master Suite and downsized to something closer to the front of the castle. Adam's office had been emptied except for a couple of important copies of legislature and things Ben had put there himself. Doug had been at the castle for a solid eight hours on September thirtieth scanning everything in Adam's office into his computer and sorting it all into usable formats.

Still, it was awkward for Mal when she walked into their room to plug her phone in and found Ben muttering under his breath as he tried to hunt down a pair of socks. She wasn't ready to be sharing her living space.

The last night she spent in her own room passed in the blink of an eye. She laid down to close her eyes, and then woke up to Belle and Sophia shaking her gently. The room wasn't even light yet. It was the sort of hour that Mal usually woke up to climb the palace roof, except now the time was spent cramming as many energy drinks as possible into her and scrubbing all the dirt out from under her fingernails. Sophia and Belle teamed up to help Mal wash up, paint her nails a nude color, and braid her hair up. Sophia spent a half hour on her curls alone.

Her eyeliner was so thin it was almost invisible. They used white eyeshadow and brushed delicate sparkles across her nose and cheekbones. A pretty rose color was applied to her mouth, and more red was added to her cheek color so that no matter how pale she was underneath all that makeup, the audience wouldn't be able to tell.

Belle had offered Mal her own wedding gown. It was cinched at the hips and stopped above her ankles because Belle had been afraid of tripping back when she'd been a bride. Mal was only a few inches shorter, so Sophia hemmed up the base as Belle helped Mal into the white satin slippers they'd found. Mal was just grateful she wouldn't have to wear any sort of killer heels during this ordeal.

The sun climbed higher. An hour before the carriage was to pick them up and take them to the coronation hall, Sophia and Belle laid a thin line of white stones across Mal's neck and helped her glue on little diamonds for earrings since she didn't have holes in her ears. They moved the mirror and helped Mal sit down on the edge of her bed to examine her reflection before they left her alone to think.

Mal felt a little numb. Her fingers were chilly. She stared at her reflection and realized the sight didn't mean all that much to her. She could have been dressed in street clothes and not have cared.

She fumbled with her numb hands and then managed to locate her cell phone on the bed beside her. Sophia had brought it down from the Master Suite so that Mal could watch videos and listen to music while they worked on her.

'Are you ready?' She texted Ben.

A small notification popped up that the message delivered, and then that it had been read. 'Are you talking ready-to-leave or emotionally prepared for this?' He asked.

Mal's fingers hovered over the screen before she wrote: 'I meant ready to leave.'

Ben replied: 'Yeah, I am. I'm just sitting and waiting for everyone.'

'Sooo,' Mal started. 'Are you ready for this?'

'I don't know. Are you?' He asked.

She imagined Ben sitting on the side of his bed just like she was, drumming his fingers on his screen while his expression remained numb. The thought made her heart feel a little warmer. She sent back a message she hadn't yet admitted to herself: 'I don't know yet. But I have a feeling that things will work out.'

'Even for a daughter of Maleficent?" Ben asked.

Several conflicting feelings poked up in Mal's chest, and she wondered if it was too late to call everything off, do everything in secret, and never become a queen at all. 'Well, happily-ever-after is supposed to be a thing, yeah?' She responded.

'It is.' Ben confirmed. 'And we'll get there one day. The curse will be broken, and you won't have to put up with me.'

'You make it sound like you're the worst person in Auradon to get along with.' Mal pondered. 'Just being around you and your family is really making up for this awful deal.'

Three grey thinking dots appeared from Ben before a new message downloaded. 'It could be a lot worse. I could be getting hitched to a vile, controlling daughter of a villainess who is actively seeking to get her hands on the crown, so she can bring her mother over, murder me, and unleash evil on my kingdom.'

She bit back a smile. 'Aren't you?' She asked. Then, before he could respond, she said: "I agree though. I mean, I could have been married in secret three months ago, before being assassinated by the Auradonian guards, and maybe been assaulted several times and tortured brutally before my entrails were left to dry out in a museum.'

'You know Auradon doesn't do that, right?' She pictured Ben rolling his eyes and chuckled.

'I will gladly fight you on this argument on any day that is not our wedding day/your coronation day.' She reprimanded him. 'Which reminds me, are you ready to be King?'

'Are you ready to be queen?' He returned.

A knock echoed at Mal's door. Sophia poked her head in. She was wearing a blue long-sleeved dress and had braided her black hair. "Are you ready to go?" She asked Mal.

"Yes," Mal answered. She looked back down at her screen. 'I'll have to be – Sophia's here now. See you there?'

'I'll look for the vision in white.'

'That sounds like a vision of death.'

______________________________________________________________

Of all the things Mal had to do that morning, getting into the carriage was one of the hardest.

Auradon had this thing for open carriages and convertible cars. Mal personally saw it as a massive safety hazard, but it was fun for the people to throw flowers and other things at them as they came, which sounded like a second, more versatile hazard. Currently, the danger was trying to navigate the dress so a) she didn't fall on her freshly done-up face and b) So that there'd still be room for Ben.

The extra few inches off the ground didn't help much on the stairs, and the layers of fabric made it hard to lift on the first try. The dress had a natural twirl to it that made it billow out when she sat down. After she survived the climb up into the carriage, she struggled to move the fabric to her liking. She growled in frustration at the outfit.

"If I ever have to attend a fancy thing like this again," She told Sophia, "Remind me to get a dress like Queen Elsa's, with the slit. No more poof."

"No more poof." Sophia agreed with a smile. Mal felt more like her friend was teasing her than supporting her.

Sophia hopped down and went to stand by Belle. They began to talk animatedly. Mal quietly looked down at her hands and tuned them out. Not for the first time, Mal thought of her friends. It baffled her how she'd never once called them friends when she'd lived on the Isle, and then suddenly they'd appeared in her vocabulary as friends the moment she'd left the Isle behind in her heart.

She missed them. There was no way around it. And she was feeling their absence more than ever. Today, if they hadn't already, they'd learn of her treason to her mom. Hopefully, they'd forgive her if she ever managed to contact them through her plans with the Isle.

Across the courtyard, Ben walked in. He took a few solemn steps forward and smiled up at her. He sure looked a lot more confident than she felt. He was dressed in his very best, brand-new dark suit with a grey tie and a gold earpiece clipped onto the top of his ear.

He climbed the stairs with ease and sat next to her. "Hey." He said.

"Hey." She said. There was nothing more to say.

Adam, who had escorted Ben, went to stand by Belle. Sophia left the Queen's side and went to the side of the carriage. "You'll have to help Mal down," Sophia told Ben. "She had a little trouble getting up with the dress. Hopefully going down will be easier." She gave Mal a smile.

"Thanks, Sophia," Ben said, nodding to Mal. "How much longer?" He asked.

"Not long." Sophia pointed across the courtyard to where the driver was walking towards them. "They're about to open the doors."

She hopped off the stairs and Mal swallowed nervously. It was okay. Okay? Okay.

She turned to Ben. It felt like someone was pulling her ribcage apart. The lights seemed bright again. "Ben." She whisper-gasped.

He examined her in concern and put a hand on her cheek. "Are you okay?" He asked.

She shook her head, feeling a bit like a fish gasping for breath. "I- I'm not ready. Ben, I don't want to marry you yet." Her lower lip wobbled and she forced her mouth shut.

It wasn't a call to cancel the coronation. It wasn't even her quitting. If anything, it was a subtle acceptance of something she hadn't ever stopped to consider before. She and Ben were in this together, for better or for worse. And if things had been different and she had a true choice in the matter, she might have chosen him anyway. The world would never know.

"I mean, what I'm trying to say-" She tried to fix it, but he held a hand up.

"I know." He interrupted. "I'm not ready either. I lied. I don't want to marry you yet either."

His honesty brought tears to her eyes. They were just kids, her especially. Their hands fumbled in their laps for a second, then they reached out to grab onto each other. Both of their hands were cold and clammy. "We're going to go through with this?" She asked him.

"Last chance." He responded.

"I'm okay." She lied.

"Me too." He lied.

"Let's do this, then." She sighed. He smiled, used her hand to pull her against him, and put an arm around her shoulder. She leaned against him as the driver climbed up, waved, and the carriage began to move forward.

"This is the first time Auradon will see you." He muttered in her ear as they waved to Belle, Adam, Sophia, and Lumiere down on the sidewalk. Lumiere had appeared behind Adam a few seconds after she and Ben had started talking.

"I hope I make a good impression," Mal muttered back. He chuckled. She felt their fingers moving against each other, intertwining. The contact helped her feel steadier. She took several deep breaths.

"You'll be great." He assured her.

The route was quiet for the first few minutes. Then, Mal heard a low roar begin. It continued to get louder, and after a few blocks, Mal realized it was the crowd. Her breath caught in her throat.

They went under an archway and into a wide expanse of color and light and sound. People cheered as they went by. White petals rained down from the sky. Mal sat, stunned, as she watched people wave enthusiastically and cheer. Children squealed as they saw the royal carriage coming. Older women and mothers stood in groups with wide-brimmed sunhats to smile at her and Ben as they passed.

"Smile." Ben prompted, squeezing her hand.

She did and waved shyly to a group of kids in blue shirts and tan pants and skirts as the carriage rolled past. They gasped in excitement and began to tug on their mother's skirts as they exclaimed: "She waved at me! The new queen, she just waved!"

"She has purple hair!" A small child screamed, running ahead of them in the crowd while his mother yelled behind him. "Just like they said! I want purple hair too!"

There was a crash and Mal's head snapped up. The driver flicked the reins a little and began to quickly move past a commotion on the left. Mal leaned forward to see what had happened. A large group on Ben's side was yelling far louder and more insistently than anyone else. They had flung a sign underneath the carriage's wheels, where it splintered and broke. More people held large signs and some were shouting so hard some of their faces were turning purple. Mal glimpsed one sign that read: "The villains will destroy us!" Another read: "Go home, demon spawn!"

Ben pulled her back as people shook their fists at the carriage. Mal pushed him away. "Who are they?" She whispered as her eyes skimmed the signs.

Ben grimaced. "Protestors." He grumbled. The carriage rattled on past the end of the group. Mal spotted Auradon guards marching through the crowds, presumably to tell them off. The last sign Mal saw as the group was ushered away had a picture of Maleficent with an angry red 'x' through her face. Mal swallowed. Protestors. Against her. She looked away.

The carriage came to a halt at the base of the Auradon Cathedral. Mal tried to not groan as she looked up the staircase that she'd have to climb. Ben tucked her arm into his elbow. "I'll help you." He promised.

A footman opened the carriage door for her, and then Ben stepped out. He immediately helped her step down and took her arm up again. Mal gathered up as many of her skirts as she could and walked up with Ben, hoping the multitudinous layers and the slow speed would help hide every time her foot missed the next step.

There were cameras everywhere. She could tell many were zooming in on her face as bright lights flashed around them. The downside of not joining Ben for his interview was that everyone was anxious to see what she looked like. Reporters were talking aloud as she walked past. "Slim... short, striking purple hair and piercing green eyes." She heard one mumble as he scribbled. She swallowed.

Near the top, a little princess in red tripped out into the Isle as she lost her balance, crowded among the adults on the stairs. Mal narrowly avoided tripping over her as the girl scrambled to get up. Ben paused as both Mal and the small child regained their footing. Mal let go of him to bend down and help her up. "Are you alright?" She asked.

The poor thing looked like she'd seen a ghost. She nodded numbly. Mal's eyes flickered up and down from the ground to her eyes. She tried to summon that confidence that Ben always seemed to have when talking to people. She cleared her throat and said: "Those are pretty earrings you have."

The girl reached up to feel her earlobes. She was wearing little birds with tiny red glass wings. Mal smiled. "Do you like birds?" She asked.

The child stared for a few seconds, then nodded. Mal reached behind the little girl's hair and brushed her fingers against one of the earrings. The birds wiggled a little, and their mouths began to move. Sweet birdsong emitted from them. The girl's face twisted into shock. Mal smiled, shook her hand, and stood back up. Ben took her arm with a palpable aura of pride, and together they walked towards the doors of the cathedral. There, a waiting footman offered his arm to Mal. Mal glanced nervously at the crowd behind them, leaned up to kiss Ben's cheek, and then took her leave. Ben, meanwhile, would wait outside to walk down the aisle to his destiny.

They led her through a series of back hallways and to the coronation room. They entered from the back. When she entered, the room hushed for a few seconds and then began to buzz. She was led to sit beside the King during the ceremony. Adam smiled and patted her hand when she sat down. "It's okay to breathe." He told her.

The hall was incredible. The cathedral was hundreds of years old and had been partially destroyed during the war twenty-five years ago. King Adam had requested it be renovated before he'd even become King. It was made of speckled grey stone and large glass windows fragmented the light streaming inside.

For several long minutes, there was nothing for Mal to do but fiddle with the skirts of her dress. She tried to sit up tall – it didn't work. She imagined her mom sitting, staring intently at the home screen, shouting for silence.

The trumpets began to pick up a different tune, and the doors opened. Ben was almost so far away she couldn't see him take a deep breath. Almost. King Adam and Queen Belle stood up and the entire hall was silenced. Mal stood up hastily. Someone laughed to her right. Mal bit her cheek and steeled her gaze, but Adam put a hand on her shoulder.

"Ease up." He whispered. "It's his coronation day. You could look a little happier."

"I know." She muttered. "Just… nerves."

King Adam nodded in understanding.

People bowed and curtseyed as he passed. There were smiles. As Ben passed, people looked excitedly to one another. He looked tall, elegant, and kingly. It made her twist her hands and think about herself, climbing the walls of the castle and meeting princesses with dirt on her face. If only Evie's mother had enchanted her instead. That seemed like the kind of thing Evie's mom would do. Then, Evie would be the gorgeous queen who took everyone's breath away and who participated in royal conversation without a hitch.

She stood taller and glanced to the side. She saw several people she recognized, one of which was sadly Audrey. But there was also Doug and Sophia. Beside Sophia stood an erect woman in forest green, with golden eyes and naturally white hair. She smiled at Mal, and something warm unlocked in Mal's chest.

An enchantress. How interesting.

Ben began to ascend the low stairs to the pedestal, paused halfway up, and knelt. Fairy Godmother turned to Adam with a joyous smile. He bowed, and she curtseyed. Then he bent down, and she lifted the crown, which had been resized and no longer fit him, off his head. This she put on Ben's head as Belle lifted the glass jar off of the wand, which stood upright in a cushioned pad in the center of the raised platform the royal party stood on. Fairy Godmother took it and held it out in both hands as she spoke.

"Do you solemnly swear to protect and guide the peoples of Auradon, for as long as you shall reign?" Fairy Godmother asked. She sounded like she was about to burst with excitement. Ben lifted his head a little, and he and Mal locked eyes. She made a gesture with her head to get on with the show.

After all, she wasn't sacrificing herself to this cause for nothing.

"I so swear," Ben said with resounding fervor.

"Then it is my honor and my joy to bless our new king." The Fairy Godmother said, tapping the wand once on his right shoulder, once on his left, and then gingerly touching the crown on his head. "Long shall he reign!" The crown lit for half a second, and then it was over. A… magic filled the room. Nothing seen, nothing heard, but it was clear everyone felt it. Auradon yielded to her new ruler, and the magics of the crown sealed upon Ben's head. He stood up, looking stunned. Belle and Adam embraced him. Mal felt an ache in her cheeks. She brushed her finger against the corners of her mouth and discovered a smile was imprinted on her mouth.

A hand wrapped around Mal's bicep and began to lead her back through the back. It was Sophia, with tears on her cheeks. Mal's smile dropped. Of course, now it was her turn.

Mal hadn't given the actual marriage much thought since Belle and Sophia had taken over and assured her it'd be great. Now she wished she'd had them define 'great'.

Sophia led her out the way she'd come and took her back around to the front so Mal could walk down the aisle. She slung an arm around the shorter girl's shoulder. "You deserve this, you know?" She said with shining eyes. "The party and the people. You deserve an event like this."

Mal shrugged. She personally didn't think anyone deserved what she was going through.

At the front doors, a man wearing wire-rim reflective glasses stood with his hands behind his back in front of the door. Mal gasped. "Stewart?" She asked.

Stewart turned around and smiled at her. "Miss Mal!" He said and removed his sunglasses. He reached out for her hand and shook it. "Or, is it Queen Mal, now?"

"Not yet," Mal said softly. "Soon though."

"Good, good." Stewart winked at Sophia, who blushed a little. "I didn't miss it then."

"Well, you missed the coronation, but if you care to, I'm about to walk out," Mal explained.

"Oh, I wasn't here for the coronation," Stewart informed her with a smirk. He held out his arm, much like Ben did sometimes when they went for walks around the castle. Mal stared at him questioningly. Stewart continued to smile as he began to explain: "Ben asked me if I'd escort you down the aisle and give you away. He said I was the one who brought you here to him in the first place and said it felt fitting."

Mal felt something in her heart that initially hurt, but then it became an overwhelmingly warm and bright feeling. Her vision felt blurry. She smiled and threaded her arm through his. He squeezed it to his side and patted her fingers.

"Are we good to go, Sophia?" He asked.

Sophia smiled. The pink tones hadn't left her cheeks yet. She nodded, wiped her tear-filled eyes, and stepped back as two footmen appeared to open the doors.

Mal looked up and met the eyes of many in the crowd. Her legs turned to jelly. They stood for a few seconds as everyone in the room turned to face them.

"Ready?" Stewart whispered.

She nodded, and he led her down the aisle.

The room was a much different view coming into it. Mal hadn't realized exactly how many people there were. She had to stop herself from gaping at all the eyes that were on her. Garlands of blue and white flowers had been hung from the sides of the cathedral, and the stained-glass windows reflected pretty patterns across the walls. Mal could see Ariel, Jasmine, Pocahontas, Merida, and Moana in some of the intricate window impressions.

Stewart kept Mal at a decent pace between rushing because she was so anxious to sit down and have this over with and going too slow because she was still taking in the whole thing.

"Penny for your thoughts, princess?" He muttered, really, really quietly into her ear.

"I'm not a princess," Mal muttered.

"No, you're not." Stewart agreed with a tone of reverence. "You're a queen."

"Not yet." Mal shook her head. Not yet; not now; not ever.

"The crown will be a nice accessory," Stewart whispered in her ear. "I've known since I first saw you that you are a strong, independent leader. You choose to walk with the war-weary and work for the better of all. You, madam, are a queen." She and Stewart leveled their eyes and came to an understanding of each other.

When Ben had walked down, people had bowed and smiled. But as she passed, people only dipped their heads in acceptance, with only the youngest who did not understand why everyone was cautious about the new queen bowing. One man with a bristly beard's head went down, and a glob of spit appeared on the carpet as Mal passed. Mal ignored him.

Ben reached for her hand as she neared him. She and Stewart met eyes one last time, and he took her hand in his rough, calloused one. Then he gave her away to Ben with a smile and stepped back. As it were, Stewart had now brought Mal to Ben twice.

Fairy Godmother married them. She started to cry as she got to the lines 'in sickness and in health, for better or worse, till death do we part.' Mal felt her throat go tight, and that was before she looked at Ben.

He looked proud, kingly, and stern. He smiled as bright as he could every time she met his eyes. She started to blush after the third time when she looked back, and he hadn't stopped looking at her.

"Are you two, uh, exchanging vows?" Fairy Godmother asked with a flashy smile.

Mal started to say no when Ben suddenly let go of her hands and reached into his pocket. She stared at him in horror. He pulled a little piece of palace stationery all folded-up out of his pocket and smiled confidently at her.

"I have a few things. Some of them I spent the last few days thinking of, and others my Mom said I better promise you so that you don't have to worry about it." Ben said. The audience laughed at his quip towards his Mom. "Mal, I promise you safety. You will never have to worry about whether or not you'll be safe with us again. If you are hurt, it will never be by my hand. And I will protect you if you decide you need protecting, though I doubt you'll ever want it. I promise you your place in a partnership. You are a ruler and an innovator both like and unlike me. I recognize your strengths and vow never to stifle you. You will always have a place in the palace as long as I am king. You will always have a say over your homeland and yourself. You will have opportunity to display your talents, and you will always have a place of comfort in me." He smiled shyly at her, and she felt a little smile stretch across her own face. "These things I promise you, Mal, Queen of the Isle and of Auradon."

He folded his paper up and took her hands again. Mal ran her thumb over his knuckles. Before the Fairy Godmother could open her mouth to continue, she began to speak.

"I'm always going to help you about." She told him. "And I'm always going to challenge you. I know I'm not going to stay the same person for you, but I swear there won't be a day I'm not working to be a better friend and confidante. We're never going to be like anyone else, but that's okay. We may come from different worlds, but we're still a team." Mal swallowed. "I'm your shield. I'm your sword. I'm going to protect you and I'm going to fight for you. Above that, I'm going to cherish, honor, and change you through this life…" She trailed off. "And into the next."

Ben started to cry. It must have been the nerves or the stress or something. She chuckled at him as he took one of his hands back to scrub at his eyes. "May God go with you and bless you." He mumbled, which was the beginning of a Celtic wedding vow that Mal knew from when Evie had recited them in her sleep a few years ago. "May you see your children's children."

Mal started speaking with him as if they had planned this. It was practically the only line she really knew."May you be poor in misfortune and rich in blessings."

And Belle, Adam, Stewart, Sophia, and the Fairy Godmother took up the chant: "May you know nothing but happiness from this day forward."

Gradually, the word spread, until everyone in the hall was repeating the mantra with them. "May joy and peace surround you both, contentment latch your door. Happiness be with you now, and God bless you evermore. May you live with trust, and nurture lifelong affection. May your lifelong dreams come true for you; move ever in that direction."

When it was over, there were only the sounds of general sniffles around the room. Fairy Godmother, Ben, Adam, Sophia, and Belle were all crying openly, which made Mal feel very awkward for not being so emotionally overtaken until she glanced toward Stewart behind her and saw him looking as awkward as she felt.

After long last, Fairy Godmother cleared her throat. "We wish you two the absolute best." She hiccupped. "You may kiss the bride."

Ben put a hand along her jaw and drew her attention back to him. They kissed quickly, and she tasted salt from his tears. Yeah, it was a little weird. They made it as short as possible. Fairy Godmother held out two rings when they finished. As Mal and Ben retreated half a step and put their rings on, a new person got up onto the stand. It was Doug, looking very unsure of himself. He sat down in one of the chairs on the stand, and Fairy Godmother replaced the wand and Ben moved to stand in front of the wand case as the glass was lowered. Then he turned back towards the audience and knelt. Mal got the distinct feeling she should get out of the way. She went to sit in her seat beside Doug, but before she could ask him anything, Adam and the Fairy Godmother put their hands atop Ben's head.

Oh, of course. They were giving the King a verbal blessing.

Auradon had started a tradition with King Adam where the Fairy Godmother would allow someone else to hold her wand for a short period of time with a spell on it. They'd receive several short, spontaneous visions of the future of the kingdom, and then give the king a verbal blessing before they'd forget it all. Adam and Belle had given each other their blessings when they'd first been crowned. Mal guessed that they'd cast the spell before she'd arrived.

Adam swallowed and looked at Belle. Belle smiled and wiped some tears off her cheeks. Something told Mal this was officially Adam's last act as King; ordaining his son to the post. Adam cleared his throat.

"Benjamin Florian Benson, as former king of Auradon, it was my pleasure to hold the Fairy Godmother's wand to receive prophecy of your future. I have seen many great and marvelous things, which I will henceforth forget. I would like you to know that while you are not, and never have considered yourself, the hero of your own tale, I wish to inform you your name will be blotted down as the greatest king in Auradonian history. I have built the kingdom, but you will cause it to flourish and grow like never before. In fact, there will come a period of time where there will be no suffering upon the face of the land for a time, including in the parts you have abdicated unto your new wife. You and Mal will build up an empire unto your kingdom and unto yourselves. Your home will be a place of refuge, and your family tight-knit. You have no need to fear for the future, not even in times of danger and war. Do your best and all things will work for your favor. My dear boy, it has been a pleasure to watch you grow."

Former King Adam removed his hands from his son's head and helped him to his feet. They embraced, and after a while, turned to Mal. Doug stood up nervously beside her. "They, ahem, asked me to give you your blessing. Hope that's okay with you, and-"

"It's fine." Mal interrupted him with a smile. "Shall we?" She stood up.

"Okay." He said. "Let's do this, then." He lent her his arm for the short seven-step walk. Ben and Adam moved out of the way as they approached. Adam went to go sit by Belle, who leaned into his shoulder and began to bawl. Mal felt bad. She and Ben were kind of ruining their reign. But there was happiness in how the king and queen looked at their son. She could only hope that what Adam had said was true, and they'd be able to live up to their predecessors.

Mal carefully knelt down in her vast array of skirts. The Fairy Godmother took the crown from Belle's head and carried it to Mal. They had refinished the crown with silver instead of gold, so it looked immaculate atop her head in the midst of all the striking purple. Doug and the Fairy Godmother put their hands on Mal's head. Doug's hands were much shakier than Fairy Godmother's, Mal noticed. After a few seconds, Doug began to speak:

"Mal Bertha Maleficent, by the power invested in me as an authority in the kingdom of Auradon, I hereby anoint you as Queen of Auradon and recognize your explicit worthiness to rule this kingdom. From thenceforth, you will be known as Her Majesty, Queen Mal of the Isle and of Auradon." Doug said. His hands settled and became less quaky on her head.

"Queen Mal, a normal queen would rule the lands jointly with her husband, but you are not a normal queen. You have agreed to work with and to support the King, but you have relinquished your commanding power over the states of Auradon of your own free will. Your sole kingdom, at this time, is that of The Isle of The Lost, which the king has seen fit to sever from Auradon and give to you, in the hopes you will repair that land.

"Mal, at this time I am entitled to tell you about portions of your life and future." Doug paused. "I have seen it all. It is glorious. I promise that you will be the cause of happiness throughout the kingdom at many points in your life, and you will bring about the unification of the people. You are entering this marriage full of sorrows and fears, but I promise you now that your marriage and your strong relationship with your husband will one day be your greatest achievement. You will be tried and strengthened together. Your fondest memories will be forged with your new family in Auradon."

Doug sniffled. "Fear not about never seeing those you have left behind and whom you miss." He said. "You will have the opportunity to reconnect and rebuild and to forge new paths the likes of which Auradon does not yet understand. You will also have the opportunity to correct many of the grievances caused by your mother, Maleficent, and the heroes of Auradon, as well as villains that you have never heard of and that you have not considered. We eagerly await your wisdom."

When he removed his hands, Mal didn't move. She sat still, trying to process all that he had proclaimed. She only moved when Doug offered her his hand, and when she took it, he helped her to his feet. On newly-found instinct, she turned to find Ben. He stood from where he had sat beside his parents, and she reached for his hand. They stood as one unit together for a moment and then turned to face all of Auradon. No words were said, and all Mal could hear in the wake of the applause were the whispers with her name attached.

______________________________________________________________

It wasn't entirely clear what the reception was celebrating. Originally, it had been planned as the coronation after-party, but then revamped by Belle and Sophia to include Mal. The result was a somewhat awkward climate as guests shuffled past to give congratulations for the two events. Many people avoided Mal out of principle - don't go too close to the daughter of Maleficent.

Mal and Ben split up upon arrival. Many of the guests followed him, meaning that so long as she stayed away, she was left mostly alone. As he shook hands and talked with his parents and people around him, she slipped off her shoes in a quiet corner and fished the crown out of her curls, feeling absolutely miserable. She glanced up to make sure Ben was still where she'd last seen him, and glimpsed Audrey standing with a tall, dark-skinned older woman. Both were watching Mal with looks of contempt frozen on their faces as she removed her earrings and other jewelry and put them in her shoes for safekeeping. The only thing she kept on was the ring, which she'd take off when they got back to the palace later that night.

"Queen Mal." Someone greeted her in a somewhat wary tone. Mal looked up and saw a woman with short black hair with a feminine, yet somewhat prudish dress. She recognized her immediately from all the nights she'd heard the Evil Queen ranting and raving.

"Snow White." Mal nodded, letting her eyes close for more than a few seconds as her head spun. This was an anchorwoman. She was also a famous Auradonian figure. Lovely.

Snow White stuck out her hand. "It's lovely to meet you, finally. You looked very nice today in your dress. Wasn't it Belle's?"

Mal nodded with a forced smile. "Thank you, and yes, it is Belle's. It's nice to meet you as well. I've heard lots about you."

Snow White smiled uneasily. "Oh? I can't imagine what you might have heard."

Mal swallowed. "My best friend on the Isle take a lot of your advice in making and designing clothes. She runs her own little fashion line."

"Really?" Snow White's eyes sparkled. "I'd love to see some of the things she's made."

"I brought things she made for me," Mal recalled, stifling a yawn. "They're at the palace at the moment. I think they were put in my closet, but I haven't had much time to investigate."

"What's her name?" Snow White asked.

Mal winced. "Evie." She said and watched Snow's reaction as the older woman raked her brain for anything the name sounded like.

"Evie... is she the daughter of..." Snow White trailed off with a furrowed brow.

"The Evil Queen." Mal sighed. Snow White's face crumpled in realization.

"Oh!" She exclaimed. "Oh, well, that's very interesting. I hadn't realized that Aunt Grimhilde had... oh." Poor Snow looked extremely uncomfortable.

"Yes." Mal sighed, feeling even more down than before. "Anyways. I'm glad to have met you. I hope you have a nice time here tonight."

"T-thank you." Snow stammered, taking a few steps backward. "It was nice to meet you as well. Congratulations on your-"

"Thanks." Mal interrupted with a sigh. She began to rake her fingers through her hair, messing up her hairspray as Snow White vanished away into the crowd. She scrubbed a little at her eyeliner and picked off a few bits of mascara as she pulled her skirts up to get at the odd little bracelet Belle and Sophia had put underneath her knee.

"I don't think that's for you to take off." A cool voice stopped her. Mal looked up, slightly annoyed at being spoken to again, and was astonished to see the enchantress she'd noticed earlier in the day staring at her. She was still wearing green, though her dress had changed to a long, smooth cocktail dress. She put a chair beside Mal and sat down as Mal released her skirts and let them fall back down to her ankles. The woman gestured to her knee. "It's a garter belt. Very symbolic to Auradon. It's for luck. Ben will take it off of you later in the evening before you toss flowers to the single girls."

Mal frowned. "But it's up by my knee." She protested.

The enchantress leveled her gaze with Mal's. "They know." She told her.

Mal's cheeks suddenly erupted into bright red. "Oh." She said.

"If it's any comfort, it's supposed to be higher. Whoever helped you put it low on purpose. Usually, it goes above the knee or by your thigh." The enchantress explained. "And, usually, the groom takes it off with his teeth."

"With his teeth?" Mal repeated in a high-pitched, scandelized tone. Some nearby guests shot her confused looks as her cheeks flushed scarlet. Horrible images filled her mind.

"Don't worry." The enchantress shook her head. "The idea doesn't appeal to him either."

Mal sighed, pushing her shoes with their contents under her chair and setting her head on her hands. She was still imagining him trying to wrestle it off while guests laughed at them. The idea brought prickling tears to her eyes, but she refused to cry. "They didn't really explain all this to me." She shrugged. "What else do I need to be prepared for? The cavalry and desecration?"

"No." The enchantress disagreed. "You don't need to worry about that at all - ever. Besides, there will come a day very soon a greater army than Auradon's will answer to you." Mal's head shot up and she stared into the woman's deep, illusioned eyes. Her mouth suddenly felt very dry. The enchantress cracked a smile. "There will be a dance." She told Mal. "For you and he. And afterward, the floor will be open to everyone. And you'll have to stand so everyone can get a good look at you when they announce the Royals. They're doing dinner buffet style, so there'll be no toasts, and after dinner, you get to cut cake and throw it at Ben."

Mal's mouth fell open. "No way." She smiled. "That sounds like fun. Can we skip to that part?"

The enchantress laughed. "You have to eat a piece of it first, and so does he, but yes, then there's a cake fight." Mal hung her head back and laughed as she imagined Ben scowling at her. What were the chances she could get away with blowing the cake up in his face, just like the glitter can? As if the woman could read her mind, the enchantress shook her head. "Save some for everyone, though." She cautioned. "And, afterward, they'll have you throw a bouquet of flowers over your head, just like I told you. And Ben will take the garter off your knee and throw that. It's supposed to be good luck to the two that catch them. And normally, people would throw rice or glitter at you as you leave the party, but I have a feeling that Belle and Adam are going to have you sneak away instead. They're getting concerned you're reaching your wit's end, and there's only so much cake you can throw to let your frustration out."

Mal laughed despite the fact her head had started spinning again. So many traditions... so many details. She started rubbing her leg together to edge the itchy garter down onto her calf muscle instead of under her knee, where it itched.

The enchantress reached forward suddenly and pulled Mal's face back to her. Her eyes lit up with naturous magic as she carefully examined Mal's face. Mal shrunk back from her deep gaze as the woman kept a firm hold on her face. "You're still quite young." The enchantress whispered, sounding fascinated.

Mal swallowed. "Don't we all know it." She gasped.

"Quite young." The enchantress repeated in a whisper. "You're not of age on the Isle, or in Auradon, or by Fae law, or even in the Ancient Lands."

"Ancient Lands?" Mal gasped.

"They didn't tell you much, either." The enchantress continued in an increasingly soft whisper. "The palace. Either because you didn't want to hear, or they didn't know, or they didn't know how to tell you, I don't know." She hesitated. "You have such interesting stories." She complimented Mal. "I'm surprised they didn't mention these in your blessing." On her words, dozens of vivid, intense images blinded Mal. She saw swords clanging against each other, and thick black sands, and purple lizard scales, and churning green flames. There was a sound like bones shattering and a sword snapping, and she felt intense heat and palpable exhaustion. Other sensations filled her. She could feel herself draining what felt like(she could be wrong) magic out of her body and she could feel betrayal, sharp and clear. She watched an entire desert melt into a lake of glass and an entire city burn in green flames as black horses ran through the wreckage. She saw the Jolly Roger ship flying again as it had years ago, and saw large buildings stretching towards the sky on the Isle of the Lost. Dark laughter echoed in her ears, pain filled her body, something unbelievably strong and powerful settled on her chest and suddenly it was all over and she was left staring into the enchantress's eyes as she gasped for breath.

"What?" She panted as she caught her breath.

"Nothing, dear." The enchantress released her chin. "I was only wondering whether they'd let you have champagne at your own reception since you're not of age yet."

"That's a no." Someone interrupted the two, appearing out of nowhere. It was Sophia, who handed Mal a tall flute glass filled with sparkling liquid. "Sparkling water." She whispered in Mal's ear. "You let me know if you want any more. You can't have the champagne till you're eighteen."

Mal scowled as she took a sip. It tasted just like water with a hint of something lemony. "I can get married, have my own country, and sword-fight Ben but I can't drink champagne?" She asked.

"Exactly." Sophia gave her a sympathetic look. "Of course, it's not all that. Belle and Adam are especially concerned about how you would... control yourself with alcohol?"

Mal furrowed her brow. "What, do they think I'd start performing magic and screaming at everyone about the Isle of the Lost?" She snorted as she took another sip from her specialized drink. Sophia said nothing, and Mal's heart sank. "Yeah, okay, that makes sense." She grumbled. She looked across the room and saw Ben take a glass from the bar area that had been set up. His glass looked much different from hers. It was smaller with a wide bottom and narrow top, made to fit in his hand, and filled with a honey-colored drink. "What's Ben getting?" She asked Sophia.

"Ben is of drinking age, so he can have whatever he wants," Sophia explained as she pulled up another chair by the Enchantress and Mal. "If I had to guess, I'd say that's a brandy. Ben isn't a huge fan of hard liquor, or drinking in general, but that's usually what he goes for when he does have a glass. I've also seen him and his dad with armagnac and scotch, but he likes the brandy because it doesn't burn your throat going down."

"I didn't realize you were such an expert on alcohol," Mal commented, watching as Ben shook hands with a king in a black suit.

"My mother worked in the palace with King Stefan," Sophia said shortly. "You know, Aurora's father? Queen Leah's husband. He used to drink a lot to drive the demons out of his mind." Sophia pointed across the room to where Audrey and the older woman sat together, speaking with very cross looks on their faces. "By the way, I'd avoid them tonight. Queen Leah can be very cruel when she gets going."

"Oh," Mal commented. "Okay." She kept her eyes on Ben, who spared a glance at her, mostly alone in the corner, and then turned to bow to a queen who wanted to speak with him. He took another drink as the woman began speaking.

The enchantress hummed. "Guilt." She decided aloud. "He's done that twice now. I suppose he's trying to keep the edge off the guilt."

"Guilt?" Mal asked.

"Don't worry about it." Sophia patted her shoulder. "He's a strong man. People just haven't been saying the nicest things to him about you."

"About me?" Mal frowned and knit her eyebrows together. Sophia's lower lip wobbled a little.

"Everyone wishes you were a bit older than you are." The enchantress hummed. "Especially Ben. See the way he's refusing to look at you now?"

Sophia frowned at the older woman, but it was too late to stop her. Mal frowned as she noticed how Ben had turned his back towards her and was quickly draining his glass. Trying to fight guilt. "Does he do that often?" Mal asked Sophia. "With the drinks? You must know since you work for him too."

Sophia looked a little frustrated, assumedly with the enchantress, who observed all with a careless expression. "Only lately. And he's not a drunkard." Sophia forced out. "And never will be because he doesn't respect that kind of a lifestyle. It's only been a glass each night since you two went out driving. He's just trying to numb it - the guilt - a bit. His parents have already spoken with him about bad habits though, so don't worry in the slightest." She stood up. "You'll be needed soon. You're supposed to share the first dance with him. And then there'll be a couple of other things - I'll explain them to you as we walk."

"Now?" Mal asked.

"Now," Sophia repeated firmly. She offered Mal her hand and pulled her up. "Where are your shoes?" She asked.

Mal took a little half-step to hide the satin slippers underneath her skirts and shrugged. "I don't know." She lied. "I kicked them off somewhere." She couldn't understand why Sophia was suddenly acting so hostile. She was usually so nice.

Sophia let out an exasperated sigh, though she smiled a little at Mal's antics. "Fine, fine. Anyways, it was nice to speak with you, madam." She curtseyed to the enchantress a little.

The enchantress reached out and took Mal's hand. More vivid images raced past her eyes, though they were much more comforting than the first wave of prophecies. Feelings of power and warmth raced through her. She glimpsed people she'd known on the Isle smiling, saw her friends momentarily, saw a world covered with white as she raced through it, and saw dozens of people she'd never met before. Two, in particular, took her breath away. One was of a dirty child on the Isle of the Lost, a brand-new baby that she was taking into the city. The other was of Belle taking a small child away into another room. It all happened so fast Mal couldn't tell whether the child was the same one, or which villain was their parent. The entire experience left her breathless. The enchantress smiled and patted her hand. "Good luck, Mal of the Isle, of Auradon, Exanton, and the Ancient Lands." She whispered. She released Mal's hand and returned to stare off at the party. Sophia put both hands on Mal's shoulders and marched her away quickly.

"What'd she say to you?" Sophia whispered as she hurried Mal along the back wall towards where Belle and Adam were speaking together. "I hurried over when I saw her but what did she say?"

"Nothing." Mal lied. "Or, at least, I couldn't make sense of it." She looked back over her shoulder, and to her surprise, the woman had vanished. "Where'd she go?" She gasped.

Sophia glanced over her shoulder, biting her lip. "She's gone. She tends to do that. Her name is Agathe Hattie Morahan. She's the enchantress who cursed Adam and the castle forty years ago. By god, that woman scares me."

"Scares you?" Mal asked, confused.

"Of course!" Sophia turned back around with wide eyes. "She turned everyone in the palace into live collectibles! I work in that same palace with some of the people from that story!" Sophia shivered. "She gives me the creeps. But she didn't say anything to you? About curses or the likes?"

"N-no." Mal stuttered, remembering the images of swords and what had appeared to be a very real, very intense war. "She was actually very nice. And if you're all so afraid of her, why did you invite her here?"

Sophia let out a dry laugh. "You really think that Belle and Adam wouldn't invite the enchantress who already cursed them once to a very important royal function that involves Maleficent's daughter? Maleficent, as in the evil fairy who cursed Stephan and Leah's kingdom for not inviting her to a very important royal function? If there's one thing Auradon does very well, it's that we learn from our mistakes. That woman has already done us over once, we don't want to cross her again." Sophia ran a hand through her hair and tried to calm down. "But she really didn't say anything to you?"

"She explained some wedding traditions to me." Mal started slowly. "And she showed me things - people on the Isle and buildings being built there."

"Good things?" Sophia asked, shifting her weight and twisting her hands.

"Yes," Mal confirmed after a hesitation. Sophia relaxed immediately and took a steadying breath.

"She's a prophetess," Sophia explained. "She can see the future in degrees, similar to when Fairy Godmother gives her wand for prophecies. I'm glad it was all good things because that means good things are coming." She began to walk Mal towards Belle and Adam.

"But... it wasn't all good things." Mal furrowed her brow. "There was fire and swords and war."

Sophia stopped and stared at Mal with a worried, heartbroken expression falling over her face. "Then..." She trailed off. "I hope it doesn't happen anytime soon." A horrible feeling wrenched Mal's gut as she stared at Sophia. Sophia's expression changed as she thought, and she looked up to Mal in confusion. "What did she say to you about the ancient lands? And, that other place, I can't remember...?"

"Exanton," Mal answered easily, surprised she'd remembered. "I don't know. I've never heard of them before."

"The Ancient Lands is a term the old Fae folk use to refer to the Moorlands," Sophia informed her. "Maleficent and the Fairy Godmother call it the Moorlands, so you wouldn't know the term. But no one except Sleeping Beauty has been able to cross over since the death of Stephan. The lands are sealed off and the barrier to Auradon ends where their magical protection barrier starts. It's on the far west side of Auradon." Sophia pointed to a wall, and Mal took her word that it was west.

Mal shrugged and swallowed. "I don't know." She answered honestly. "I couldn't really understand a lot of what she said to me."

A hand landed on Mal's shoulder and turned her around a bit. It was Ben, who had lost his glass at some point. "Hi." He whispered. "You and I are supposed to share a dance. Are you ready?"

"Ready?" Mal repeated, looking back at Sophia, who had closed off a bit as she tried to calm down. "I, um, don't dance."

"I'll lead you," Ben whispered, taking her hand. Sophia backed a step away. "It'll be okay." He whispered.

Everything was happening so fast, Mal wasn't sure what to do. Sophia took the glass from Mal's hand and vanished. Somewhere, whoever was controlling the music announced that the couple's first dance was happening. Her mouth felt dry as Ben led her to the middle of the floor, where everyone left a wide-open space for them. Quickly, Ben helped show her where her hands went, and they began to softly spin.

"Are you okay?" Ben whispered in her ear.

Mal swallowed. She saw a flash of green out of the corner of her eye and tripped a little before she regained her footing. She stepped on Ben's toes as she tried to figure out what her feet were supposed to do. "I had a meeting with your family enchantress." She whispered back.

Ben went a bit stiff. "What'd she say?" He asked.

"Lots," Mal whispered. "What's so important about the Moorlands?"

Ben let go of Mal's hands and took her waist instead. She put her arms around his neck as they continued spinning in circles. "I'll tell you later." He murmured. "Anything else?"

"You guys didn't tell me about the garter tradition." Mal reprimanded softly with a stern look.

Ben winced, and then hastily schooled his expression. "I'll talk to you about that later too." He assured her. "But don't worry about anything." He took her hand from behind his head and spun her out before bringing her back in. Mal fumbled her feet. It was turning out to be a good thing her dress was a bit long - no one could tell she was fudging her footwork.

They did a few spins, took a turn or two, and the song ended. Immediately, people flooded the floor and began to dance. Mal took Ben's arm and the two walked off the floor towards where Belle was waiting. Ben released her as Belle stepped forward to take Mal's hand. "I'm getting another drink." Ben murmured softly. Mal could tell he was resisting the urge to mess up his hair. Her skin felt cold.

"How many is that?" Belle frowned, patting Mal's cheeks.

"I've only had two snifters." Ben sighed. "Three isn't enough to do me in, mom."

"Brandy?" Mal asked softly, testing Sophia's theory.

An irate, yet amused look passed over his face. "Did Sophia tell you that?" He asked, holding up a finger like he was about to deliver a thesis. "Because it's not a brandy; it's a cognac, and I will fight her on that term any day other than today."

Mal snorted, which only drove him onwards. "Just because it's called a brandy literally everywhere else doesn't mean it's correct. She's German, I'm French, and Cognac is French. I don't even know what the heck a Brandy is."

"Okay, Ben." Mal chuckled. "Whatever you say. Go enjoy your brandy." Ben waved his finger at her threateningly in response.

"Not too many." Belle reprimanded with a hard look. She examined Mal's pale face. "You smudged your makeup." She sighed. "Where are all your things? And your shoes? Do you need something to drink?"

"I-I just need to sit down," Mal mumbled. The smile dropped off of her face. Ben examined her and turned away. She caught the red tones rising into his neck and saw the way he instinctively ducked his head. He headed towards the bar area, and the bartender pulled a bottle out as he approached.

"It's not too much longer, and we'll head back to the palace." Belle murmured. "We're going to sneak you guys out so we don't have to clean glitter or rice or anything off you two in the car unless you want things thrown at you?"

Mal winced. "Hard pass." She murmured as she took a chair and sat down.

"We're going to bring out the cake soon," Belle whispered as she crouched down at Mal's side. "Do you know of that tradition?"

Mal waved a general hand in the direction of her shoes. "Your enchantress explained it all to me." She whispered. She rubbed her forehead. "I'm fine. Just... give me a moment to myself, please."

Belle stood up, looking worried, and left Mal to her thoughts. Mal looked around the room. Audrey and Queen Leah were still sending her vindictive looks, and Ben was rubbing his forehead, looking equally miserable as he sipped his drink slowly, keeping close to the bar. In a far corner, she spotted Sophia and Stewart talking to each other. A light blush dusted her cheeks. She was holding Mal's refilled glass but didn't seem to be moving anywhere anytime soon. Mal sighed and buried her face from the lights.

The night dragged on slowly. Try though the palace might have to make the cake fight seem interesting, it ended up being pretty painstakingly dull in comparison to the glitter and the dust incidents. It was pretty interesting to smear frosting down Ben's cheek before placing an icing rose on his nose, but the two didn't exactly try very hard to get to other dirty. Ben did lick a bit of frosting off of Mal's cheek in a moment of silliness in front of the crowd, but that was one of the most interesting things that ended up happening. His breath smelled like alcohol.

Near the end, they pulled out a chair and sat it in the center of the room before Ben took her hand and guided her to it. By this time, he was definitely going numb to the world around him, which was probably a good thing. Mal wished that Belle and Sophia would let her join him at the bar, because she'd give anything to not be able to remember this night. The room stilled. Mal sat down with her cheeks burning, refusing to look at anyone as Ben got to his knees, still holding her hand. "Which leg?" He whispered, meeting her eyes for a brief second.

Mal swallowed. "The right one." She informed him, crossing her legs so that the leg in question was on top. "It's just on my calf." She focused on some leftover white icing on his hairline as he listened.

Ben nodded and let go of her hand. His hands were shaking. He picked up her foot and his fingers began trailing up her leg, carefully searching for the garter. Mal took her skirts and tried to lift them a little, but it didn't do much good. He still had to battle the layers of fabric aside. Nevertheless, Ben quickly found the odd scrunchie-bracelet and pulled it down, off her leg and bypassing her bare foot. Mal couldn't stand it anymore. She covered her face as a horrible blush burned her eyes, and the entire room gave a chuckle as Ben quickly stood up and helped her up. He gave a nervous laugh as Mal took several deep breaths, trying to get the blush to fade. "Okay?" He whispered, setting a hand on her waist to steady her.

"I'm okay, I'm okay." She breathed. Sophia walked towards them with a large bouquet that contained begonias, striped carnations, marigolds, monkshood and foxglove. She wondered if there were any unique meanings attached to the flowers. "So, I just throw these over my head?" Mal asked as she took the large bouquet from Sophia.

Sophia nodded. "We invite all the single women to come up first, so wait just a second." She turned around and began to address the crowd. Mal shared a nervous glance with Ben, who was still holding her garter as he waited for his turn.

When the girls had all gathered in a group, Sophia turned Mal around so she couldn't see who she was throwing to. Then, with a gentle breath and a simple count-back from three, she launched it over her head. There was a shout and a scramble and one wail of despair before she turned around to see – Audrey had caught it.

Ben made a little sound of exasperation as Audrey carefully cradled the bouquet in her arms, looking absolutely stunned. Audrey looked up at Mal, and then her eyes flickered over to Ben.

"Well, that's certainly insulting." Ben murmured.

"What?" Mal asked.

"Superstition." Ben groaned. "The girl who catches the bride's bouquet is the next to be married. And Audrey caught it. Oh dear." He rubbed his forehead.

Audrey looked down at the bouquet with a bright smile and carefully rearranged a few stems. Mal snorted and began to laugh as Ben looked scandalized. She patted Ben on the shoulder and switched spots with him as the single boys began to replace the single girls. A few more minutes, she told herself. A few more minutes and it would be over.

Ben threw the garter over his head. Mal watched the garter fly through the air almost carelessly. Someone jumped up to grab it and missed. The garter fell to the floor. No one had caught it. "Recall!" Sophia yelled. Ben rolled his eyes as someone brought it back to him. Mal wondered what the superstition meant if no one caught it. Luckily, they didn't have to throw it again because someone caught it the second time around, but Mal still wasn't sure what it meant if the superstition went both ways.

Ben heaved a sigh of relief as the crowd went wild. He turned and held out a hand for Mal to take a hold of as the men congratulated the receiver with lots of slaps on the back and funny comments. Ben looked off-balance for a second, but he quickly regained his posture. Mal laughed at him as he pulled her a little closer to him and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. All of the guests clapped politely as they settled down. King Adam stood up and began tapping a spoon against a glass. Ben took Mal's hand and led her off the floor and towards the back of the building as Adam began to thank everyone for coming. Sophia and Belle joined them as they slipped out the back. Stewart was waiting for them beside one of the royal limos, which he opened with a smile and a flourish as they approached.

"Oh!" Mal exclaimed suddenly with a frown. "I forgot my shoes."

Sophia pinched her lips together and pulled the satin slippers out from inside the car. "Yeah, I found where you 'kicked them off' to." She rolled her eyes with a good-natured smile and handed Mal back her crown, which she didn't particularly want, but whatever. "Let's head out before you're mobbed." She suggested.

"What about Adam?" Mal asked.

"Dad's staying behind to sort out everything and say goodbye for us." Ben explained as he helped his mom into the car. Stewart opened the passenger side door to the front seat for Sophia to climb into and watched as Ben held out his hand for Mal. She hesitated, and then took his hand.

"Okay." She whispered. "I guess that's all then."

Ben nodded. "That's all." He agreed. He helped her climb inside, still maneuvering her dress, and Stewart closed the door behind all of them. Soon, the car began to move. Mal thought, for a second, that she saw a woman in a forest-green dress watching them leave outside, but she blinked and there was nothing but people walking outside as the car drove away.

#ben #mal #ben and mal #ben florian #mal bertha #disney #descendants #descendants 3 #descendants 2 #disney descendants #fanfic #wedding #marriage

[frozs]

Hidan gives a heart to Kakuzu as a get well soon gift because he’s a fucking dickhead  - Part  2out of 2

Part 9 of the Kakuzu and Hidan are very Australian dickheads series. Thank you to @thatshipcat for taking some of her time to edit for me so its all neat and professional 

Read the rest of the shitty fics on tumblr or AO3.

Warnings: hidan calls kakuzu a bitch, hidan steals a heart and puts it in a minced garlic jar 

“Wake up bitch. I forgot you were immortal. Heh, Jashin definitely wasn’t on your side last night. Look at that cast. Wakey-wakey, Kakuzu.”

Kakuzu blinked blearily, at the stretched out leg cast in front of him. On the right side, was a massive drawing of a dick done in black marker, the phallus going up to Kakuzu’s thigh and on the other side, drawings of Deidara’s strange-looking clay animals. Hidan’s face was back to normal, and was sneering at some nurse who had come by to check Kakuzu’s vitals.

“You have private health insurance, look at this fancy room,” Hidan pointed at the large, unwieldy TV in the corner of the room, which appeared to be from 1992. “Vintage.”

The nurse smiled at them both, then her eyes wandered to their hands. No doubtedly she was looking for rings. Kakuzu felt very drowsy, after being out for several hours.

“How long was I out?”

“Hmm,” said Hidan. “I was planning to have a beard when you wake up.” He scratched his well-shaven chin with one hand, texting on his cracked phone with a fast thumb. “And to tell ya’ it’s 2064, but you’ve only been out twelve hours. I’ve been here like… half an hour myself. Deidara just fucked off. I went and got Zambrero.” He picked up the tight foil wrapper from the burrito and threw it at Kakuzu’s head. It bounced off him.

“I will leave you two in peace.” The nurse giggled, before exiting the room.

“Just letting you know… I brought you back to life.” Hidan started humming to Evanescence’s Bring Me to Life, but stopped when he realised Kakuzu didn’t know anything about music at all and so singing it made no sense. “As a servant of God, I made a promise,” Hidan took out his cracked phone. “That I’m the one to kill you, remember?”

“...”

“But here, check out your skull, it’s fucking epic!” Hidan shoved his phone in front of Kakuzu’s face to show him a picture. Kakuzu’s skull had been entirely crushed, brains leaking out like someone threw cooked pasta on the asphalt. “I’m gonna fucking frame it.”

“I can’t even see it?” Kakuzu didn’t have his reading glasses with him, and Hidan’s cracked phone was unintelligible.

There was a few silent minutes as Hidan grabbed Kakuzu’s phone to send over the picture. When he was done, Kakuzu looked at the unrecognisable flash photo Hidan had taken. The pink rubbery flesh of his brain had splattered on the cement, a piece of red brick embedded in his eye, the other eye hanging down his cheek. It was gory and looked like something out of a horror movie. It was definitely Kakuzu - the blood soaked scarf, scars and coat gave it away. No way would anyone would be able to survive those injuries. He looked back up at Hidan, and almost said thank you, but decided against it, as it was not in his personality to do so.

“How did you bring me back to life?”

“Took some of your blood and killed myself, cause you were already dead,” said Hidan, spinning around in a wheelchair that must have been supplied to Kakuzu while he was unconscious. “Well, I think you were. Brain splatter everywhere. Like my ritual but in reverse. Didn’t think it would work. I suppose like, I killed myself to revive you? I dunno. Magic. And no, I didn’t do that fucking disney shit where they slobber each other on the lips.” He did a complete 360, and wheeled himself back to the bed.

“What about that… liquid… Orochimaru gave me? The vial?”

Hidan stared. “...You mean the stuff that killed me for two weeks years back in Croatia? I don’t think dying for two weeks would be a wise decision for my stupid fucking husband. Anyway, here’s your get well soon gift.” He got out a large jar, which had a label saying Woolworths Select Minced Garlic half ripped off. “I got you a heart. A real one, mind you.”

“...Where?” Kakuzu was going to ask if it was his own, looking down at the jar which had a gift wrap bow jammed on the top and flattened.

“That guy who rammed into you died on impact and his chest was like… hanging everywhere. So I just took it, you know - and guess who it was that rammed you down?”

“...Pain?”

“Nah, it was Asuma. Well, it was. He’s dead now. But his heart was on the road before I did anything. Anyway - so you’ve still got a bit of a broken leg, that’s how Itachicunt and Kisamecunt found you.” Hidan grinned and flicked the cast. Kakuzu was waiting for his leg to shoot up in agony, but he felt nothing.

Slowly, he wriggled his toes. No pain. “I think my leg is healed.” he said to Hidan.

“Excellent, we can go home then. Or just pretend to be sick and all that shit. Get money for being off work, y’know. That’s why I got this wheelchair here. Gotta pretend you’re fucking normal, somehow.”

***

At the Police Station, on-duty officers Itachi and Kisame were called in to see their supervisor, who was currently reviewing security footage of the car accident they had responded to the night before. “Hidan is well known in the area to local police, and Kakuzu is acquainted with Hidan, Deidara and Sasori. It is said Asuma passed away, too. The footage we have obtained from the incident is very… strange.”

The two sat down at a desk to watch the footage with their supervisor, and Kisame attempted to make small talk. It failed spectacularly. “I remember Asuma,” said Kisame. “Sarutobi’s son.”

The supervisor, looking somewhat frustrated, did not respond, but rewinded the video on his computer again and again..

“Kisame,” Itachi nodded towards the screen. The footage had seemed to be blacked out, though there had been no reports of anyone tampering with the cameras.

“There’s another security footage, near Woolworths.” It was the same thing again. The two videos showed the same thing: Hidan and Kakuzu having an argument after leaving Rain Real Estate, Hidan walking into traffic….

They decided to replay all of the footage, but could not see anything. “Literally nothing,” said the Supervisor. “We can’t do anything about this. I’m sure the Sarutobi’s will be shocked and disheartened.”

***

Hidan decided to keep the wheelchair. When Kakuzu finally got home, his broken leg healed from Hidan’s crazy Jashinist powers, he noticed several moving boxes on the lawn and two bicycles out the front.

“No, no, no,” Kakuzu limped up to Sasori who was holding a box of wood, took him by the scruff of his neck and deposited him by the letterbox, which was on the footpath. Sasori was tiny and according to Hidan, was in his early thirties. He didn’t look older than fifteen.

“What are you doing to Master Sasori?” Deidara poked his head around the front door.

“What are you two doing in my house!?” Kakuzu refrained from twisting Sasori’s head so it would snap like a doll’s.

“There’s a rat in the toilet,” Deidara pointed out.

“Again? Get rid of it yourself.”

“Well, our old place is nearly fixed,” Deidara shrugged. “So I’ll be on the couch, yeah.”

***

With Deidara on the couch and Sasori… well Kakuzu wasn’t exactly sure where Sasori slept. He never really saw him except for several cacti being constantly moved everywhere. The point was, it was crowded and it made Kakuzu edgy.

A doctor came, recognised Kakuzu from his surgery days, shook hands with him and declared Kakuzu was in a full fit of health to go back to work. Hidan then pressured him to extend his sick leave certificate for another week, so Kakuzu could help them move their stuff back into the unit - which, of course, they couldn’t do, as Kakuzu’s car had been taken out of a river, and he was given money straight away for another one by his insurance.

“The heart in the fridge is going moldy, yeah,” Deidara poked his head in the fridge for the fifth time in an hour. The three of them had already eaten everything in Kakuzu’s pantry except for a tin of sardines and milk powder. “Is it a real human heart?”

“Yep, my stupid fucking housemate,” Hidan said, moving a box of heavy clay but the door to be moved back to the old place. “I may as well put it in the freezer… your arm was there for a week, after all.”

Before Hidan got to the door, it rang, so he kicked the door open with his foot. “Ah, fuck,” he said when he looked up at Itachi and Kisame in their dark blue uniform. “I didn’t do nothing wrong this time.”

“We just want to ask you and Kakuzu a few questions. At the station,” said Kisame.

“He’s out looking for a new car. I’m not going to the fucking station. What do you want?”

“So we have concluded that the car accident between you two and Asuma Sarutobi was a complete accident,” said Itachi, looking through his clipboard he had with him, “However…”

“Did you take the heart of Asuma after the impact of your car collision?” asked Kisame, completing Itachi’s sentence. At this, Deidara moved past him, with a supermarket bag of clothes.

“Yeah,” said Deidara to the officers. “It’s in the fridge.”

“Well… he took half my ear, so I took his heart,” Hidan said as his (pathetic) excuse to Itachi and Kisame. “Last Christmas, I gave you my heart… the very next day…”

“Stop singing. Just give it back. Withholding evidence.”

“Say please.”  

“Please, can we have it back for evidence?” asked Itachi.

“Ugh, fine.” Hidan rubbed his head, and put the box down and turned back to go to the fridge. “Wait... do I have to go to jail?” He called from Kakuzu’s kitchen.

“You took evidence from a crime scene,” Kisame pointed out. “We need it back.”

“I ain’t gonna get in fucking trouble just for taking his heart? It was on the fucking ground.” Itachi and Kisame stayed put while Hidan went into the fridge to retrieve the garlic jar full of heart, opening the jar and ignoring the putrid smell and threw it in Kisame’s face.

The heart went thrupp with a cold, wet splash.

“And that,” said Itachi softly, low enough for Hidan to barely hear, “Is what I call a heart attack.”

END

#australian dickheads au #hidan and kakuzu as australian dickheads #hidan #kakuzu #itachi #kisame #my fic

[fangirlfiles1]

Making Contact Part 2

Summary: Humans!AU. Roman and Logan are professional ghost hunters. They get a call from Patton and Virgil about a ghost problem but it may turn out to be more than they can handle. There’s something weird about this Virgil kid, and will Roman even survive this?

Honestly it’s better than it sounds, please give it a chance. If you read any of my writing, let it be this!

Warnings: This gets pretty intense and dark. A lot of blood, wounds, trauma, abuse of many kinds, guns, etc. If I need to tag anything else let me know. Basically if you’re looking to be stressed and enjoy some angst, here you go!

Part one is here

Roman woke up slowly. His neck was stiff and his back ached. He forced one of his heavy eyelids open halfway and looked around. He had somehow fallen asleep at the desk with his arms crossed and his chin tucked into his chest. Logan sat next to him, putting the finishing touches on their computer setup for the night. They had made the guest room into their base camp, where Logan would monitor the cameras while Roman went through every room with his EVP recorder.

Logan smirked when he saw Roman awake. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“Very funny.” Roman stretched, feeling his neck and spine pop as he moved. He checked the time, almost eight in the evening. “Why did you let me fall asleep?”

“You hadn’t slept for over twenty-four hours, which is detrimental to your health. I figured you could use the rest before our investigation.” Logan clicked a button that tested all of their cameras, sending live footage of every room in the house across their three monitors. “You snore, you know.”

“Yeah well, not all of us can be Sleeping Beauty,” Roman huffed as he watched the screen. Patton was in the living room keeping himself busy with a book. He looked so tired when he thought no one was looking. Virgil was lounging on his bed, but all they could see from the poor angle was his bent knees swaying back and forth.

“All of the cameras are in working order. We should get them out of the house now, before night falls,” Logan said, referring to their customers. They always worked alone. Other people hanging around would get in the way, or worse, get themselves killed.

“About that...” Roman sighed. “There is no way that Virgil is going to leave us alone here and Patton refuses to leave if Virgil won’t.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, closing his eyes. “Did you tell them that it was dangerous?”

“Of course I did. I don’t want them here any more than you do, but it can’t be helped. I told Patton to join us here later so that we could keep an eye on him. I know they’ll be in the way, but it’s the best that I could do.”

“Fine.”

As if on cue, Patton came strolling into the room. He looked much more put together than he had when he was alone, Roman noticed. “Hey guys! How’s it going in here? You’ve got such fancy computers!”

Logan seemed to sit up a little straighter at the praise. He would enjoy having someone to over explain all of his equipment to as the night went on, though he wouldn’t admit it. Roman stood and began collecting the equipment that he would be needing and Patton instantly took over his chair, asking Logan questions about everything on the screens. It was amusing to see someone so enthusiastic over what they did on a regular basis. Roman had to admit that it made him proud of what they had become.

When they first started out they only had a night vision camera and some flashlights. They were just investigating then, trying to capture real footage of the supernatural to share with the world. Now they had about twenty different cameras and other devices as well as the weapons that Logan had modified to work on ghosts. He was a genius when it came to that kind of stuff. Roman didn’t know how it all worked, something about electromagnetics, but he definitely knew how to use it. They had come a long way. They spent most of their money on new tech but it was a life that they were proud of.

“That’s strange,” Logan mumbled to himself. Roman clipped his walkie talkie onto his belt and turned to look. The feed from Virgil’s room had been put to full screen, but there was something off about it. It was flickering, the image distorting in strange waves. Logan was messing with the settings, trying to find the problem. “What camera did you put in there? I’ve never seen this happen before.”

“It was just one of our regular ones, I don’t know. You’re the tech guy,” Roman muttered as he watched the feed. He had a sinking feeling churning in his gut. Something was wrong. Virgil had sat up on his bed, arms and legs crossed. He was talking but there was no audio to know what he was saying. Roman glanced at Patton. His eyes were wide, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. He had no idea what was happening.

When he looked back at the screen, Virgil was standing. He was practically curling in on himself, his shoulders hunched over his crossed arms and his head bowed, his hair falling to shield his face. It was a protective stance. Roman grabbed the nearest weapon, keeping his eyes on the screen. Suddenly Virgil lurched like he was pushed and the screen went black.

“Go,” Logan said, but Roman was already running. It wasn’t far from the guest room to Virgil’s, but it felt like too long. He didn’t know what he would find when he got there and he prepared himself for the worst as he ran. They should have forced them out of the house, whether they wanted to go or not. They had been lazy and complacent. They had been overly confident.

He threw open the door and froze.

Virgil was not alone. A man stood behind him with one hand wrapped around his shoulders, resting on his throat. The other hand pressed into his back, claw-like nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. He was too clean, wearing a perfectly pressed black suit and a tie. His face was shaven. The man stared over Virgil’s shoulder at Roman. “Oh, hello.”

Virgil’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He stood perfectly still, like he had already accepted what was happening to him. It was like it had happened before. Roman’s stomach twisted as he realized that this was how Virgil had gotten those wounds on his back. This man had done that to him. He lifted the gun that he had grabbed. “Who are you?”

“Does it matter?” The man grinned a toothy grin. It was too big, too unnatural. It wasn’t human and it didn’t reach his hard, lifeless eyes. Roman felt his entire body go cold. This wasn’t an ordinary ghost, if it was even a ghost at all. He didn’t know how to deal with this. The fear seeped into his pores and he could feel it sinking down further and further into his core. His hands shook. “You and your friend should really leave, you know. This house is full enough as it is.”

“No,” Roman spat. He didn’t have a clear shot. His mind was racing, trying to figure out what to do. He had never been in this situation before. It was always just him and Logan, never anyone else. No one else had ever gotten in the way. No one else had ever gotten hurt. He took a small step to the side in hopes of getting a better angle, but he heard the ripping of fabric as the claws sunk deeper. A small, choked whimper escaped from Virgil and Roman froze again.

“Roman?” The walkie talkie buzzed from in his pocket. “What’s going on? I don’t have visual.”

He ignored it, not willing to risk any movement.

“Put the gun down, Roman,” the man purred. He wrapped his hand tighter around Virgil’s throat, not choking him but threatening to. “I just want to play a little game. Put the gun down and I will let go.”

Roman didn’t move. He didn’t know what to do.

The man rolled his eyes and sighed. “Alright. If you don’t put the gun down, I’ll tear our little Virgil apart piece by bloody piece.” He accentuated the threat by dragging his claws down further and further into his back. Virgil whimpered, shaking. The scent of blood filled the air.

Roman dropped the gun and stepped back, hanging his head in shame. He couldn’t bear to hear the kid’s pain. He should have just taken his chances and shot. Now they were both going to be dead. He had made the wrong choice, he was sure of it.

Virgil fell to his knees as he was let go, scrambling away until he bumped into his closet doors. He wrapped his arms around himself, not looking at Roman once. The man sauntered toward Roman, bending down to pick up the gun.

“Very interesting,” he said, twisting the gun around in his hands, examining it closely. “Virgil, come here.”

To Roman’s misery, the kid instantly picked himself off the ground and did as he was told. “Stop it, you don’t have to listen to him!”

“Oh calm yourself. You did your part, I’m not going to hurt him.” The man handed Virgil the gun and patted him on the shoulder. “Kill him, and our deal will remain the same as it always has. Don’t, and you know what will happen.”

The man vanished and silence fell over the room. Virgil held the gun at his side, his head lowered. Roman didn’t move, watching the other warily. He breathed deeply, heart pounding against his ribcage. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, making everything seem muffled, like he was under water. “Virgil, he’s gone.”

Virgil’s knuckles were white as he gripped the gun. He slowly lifted his head. His eyes flitted around the room, flashing between Roman’s face and anywhere else. It was like he was trying to look at a hundred things at once. He was breathing heavy and fast, panic finally setting in. Suddenly his hands flew to press hard against his ears, gun still held tightly.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re going to help you--” He had made the mistake of taking a step forward, and now he was staring down the barrel of his own gun. He stepped back again, raising his hands in defense, but the gun didn’t move. “Let’s just hold on for a second…”

“You don’t understand.” Virgil whispered. “I tried. I told you to leave. I said you should go. You didn’t listen.”

“We can help--”

“Quiet!” He shouted, recoiling as soon as he said it. “I’m… I’m talking now.”

Roman kept his mouth shut. He felt like he was going to throw up. Everything was hot, like his entire body was on fire. He was going to die, and it was going to be at the hands of another human. Where was Logan? Was he okay? He couldn’t hear anything outside of the room.

“I didn’t try hard enough. I was stupid and I had hoped… I was an idiot.” Virgil was pacing now, waving the gun wildly as he rambled. “I thought that maybe you could help us--help them. But you were stupid, and you were careless.”

If he didn’t say anything he was going to get shot. On the flipside, if he spoke he was going to get shot, unless he could find the right words. He had to try. He took a deep breath and his voice shook. “Virgil, look at me.”

Virgil pointed the gun at him once more. There was fire in his eyes. He was a completely different person from the one that had stood frozen in that monster’s grasp. He had come alive, and it was terrifying. “You don’t understand. He’s going to hurt Patton. He’s going to hurt all of them. My friends... “

“Who is he going to hurt? Tell me, please.” Roman took a step forward, trying to radiate safety and reassurance with everything that he had.

“The others. You wouldn’t understand. You don’t get it.” Tears had started to fall from his eyes now. He wasn’t so hollow after all. He was shouting now, the fire inside of him growing. He was practically snarling every word. “You don’t understand!”

“Just try to explain. Please, I want to help you.” He was so close now. He could reach out and grab the gun if he was fast enough. But was he?

“Stop, okay? Just stop! You don’t know anything!” Sobs wracked his body and he was hyperventilating. He was inhaling without exhaling, his chest looked like it was about to explode. He was going to shoot no matter what Roman did.

He had never moved so fast. His hands shot forward and reached for the gun. He grabbed Virgil’s hands and tried to rip it from his grasp, but his vision exploded with light. For a second everything went hot white before it cooled to a dark grey. He looked around, there were faces everywhere. People surrounded them, some reaching out towards them and others just standing there staring. Their eyes were dead. “What the--”

The gun went off.

Virgil scrambled backwards until his back hit the wall, causing him to cry out in pain. The gun had fallen somewhere and his hands had flown to cover his mouth. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit”

The horrified mantra echoed in Roman’s ears as everything went black.

#Sanders Sides #Humans!AU #Virgil Sanders #Roman Sanders #Patton Sanders #Logan Sanders #Sanders Sides Fanfiction #Sanders Sides Fanfic #Fanfiction #Supernatural!AU #Mandas Writings #Making Contact

[luciferneedsconsent-blog]

Cookies

Destiel Christmas AU

Characters: [Dean Winchester, Castiel Novak, Sam Winchester {mentioned}]

Word Count: 1971

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: PG

Type: Fluff//Drabble

Read on AO3

So Castiel wasn't the cleanest roommate. But he was small and cute, and he easily had Dean wrapped around his little finger. It was almost as if he had ‘SUCKER' written on his forehead, and in the fine print it would read ‘for Castiel Novak only.’

Castiel's name was a household term to the Winchester brothers. His infamous ideas constantly got them into trouble. Sam would always raise his eyebrows towards Dean when Cass would visit with him and have “An epiphany, Dean!” And all it would take to make the older Winchester give in would be the famous grin and bug eyes from the smaller male. It drove Dean insane. Cass knew he was cute. It wasn't a secret. And more importantly, he could read the fine print of Dean's invisible SUCKER tattoo on his forehead.

To be fair, however, Dean wasn't the best at keeping his crush a secret. He would always steal glances at Castiel and get caught in some sort of trance. His heart would freeze and go a thousand miles an hour whenever Cass would hold his gaze. And the way Cass would lick his lips and look Dean's body over slowly-well, that was cruel. Not to mention all of the ‘accidental' touches Castiel would just-so-happen to graze across Dean's skin whenever he walked by. And yes, it was always on skin. Cass made sure of it. Even the ghosting of Castiel's movements around Dean's body was enough to send shivers down his spine, and fire coursing through his bones.

Enter now, a crisp December evening, while gentle snowflakes floated against the windowsill. Dean and Castiel were intertwined on their sofa underneath a thick, wool blanket. Castiel was positioned between Dean's legs with his back pressing against Dean's chest. Dean was propped against the armrest of the sofa, his arms lazily wrapped around Castiel's waist while his face was nuzzled into the smaller man's neck. Somehow, Castiel had managed to get Dean to wear an ugly Christmas sweater. It was red with a white and grey etched Grumpy Cat in the middle. It had ‘Meowy Christmas' stitched in white, and Castiel decided to add his own ‘personal touch' by stitching a Rudolph nose over Grumpy Cat’s and some Christmas lights. Needless to say, Dean would be caught dead wearing it in public. On the other hand, Castiel was wearing a ridiculously bright green Christmas sweater. It had red reindeer lining it, with snowflakes separating each row of the deer. Some white and silver pom poms were placed around the sweater as well, possibly supposed to be snowballs. Dean didn't know. Not to mention, Cass had on an elf hat (complete with the ears), and managed to get Dean to wear a Santa one. They were cuddled in front of the television, watching a rerun of It's Christmas Charlie Brown! while a fire cracked beneath the screen. The room smelled of fresh pine, since Castiel insisted that they have a tree in their small room. It had been decorated in blue and silver tinsel with an assortment of glass ornaments. It also had rainbow lights since, “Rainbows make everything better, Dean. It's been scientifically proven!”

“Yeah? By who?”

“By me.”

“Well then, guess I can't argue with that logic.”

“You really can't!”

Dean was listening to the movie while it played on the screen. He was much too focused on taking in Castiel's scent of gingerbread cologne. He didn't even know gingerbread cologne existed. Regardless, the scene might have seen a bit too intimate, but the heater was broken (it really wasn't, Dean just turned the dial all the way down and insisted they cuddle “For survival , Cass”). It was the least they could do, right? Whilst Dean accidentally-on-purpose lightly left kisses on Castiel's neck, Castiel was editing on his computer. He had gotten Dean to film ‘ A Night Before Christmas ' with him so he could send it to his family as a Christmas gift. They made a rather incredible acting duo. If however, incredible meant disastrous. The pair had printed out copies of the story and made their own cardboard set to act around. Since they couldn't quite remember everything, they made cue cards to help them with their stage directions so they would know where to be when said line was read. Which, of course, explains the fancy sweaters. They needed costumes, and it was as close as they could get. Dean wouldn't have done it if it weren't for the asker being Castiel; but at the end of it all, he thought he was a kick-ass Saint Nicholas (and about eight cardboard reindeer-what? Cass gave him puppy-dog eyes and a lip quiver. What was he supposed to do? Turn him down!? Absolutely not). During the middle of Castiel's editing process, his stomach had emitted a low growl. Dean smiled into Cass' neck when he heard it, the vibrations had rattled against his own body as well.

“I think someone's hungry.” Dean teased, lifting his nose from Castiel's gingerbread skin.

Cass saved his document and closed the lid to his laptop. He removed his headphones from his ears and shifted the machine to rest on the coffee table. “I can't work on an empty stomach.” he stated. Why couldn't he just say he was hungry? Don't dodge the statement, gosh. Castiel pulled the blanket off of their bodies, making them shiver. He slipped his feet into a pair of bee slippers while Dean stood up. Dean wasn't going to just bare the cold. And he especially was not going to let Castiel do it either. Being the noble Winchester, he tugged Cass back by his wrist and wrapped the blanket around their cold bodies. They weren't wearing pants, only fuzzy socks to keep their toes warm. The blanket was needed.

“Dean…” Castiel hummed. Dean had wrapped an arm around his waist as they carefully sauntered into the kitchen.

“Mhm?” Dean responded, hot breath panting onto Cass' rosy cheek.

“What're you doing?”

“Keeping you warm.”

“It's not that cold.”

“Baby, it's cold outside.”

“We can use the oven to heat the kitchen.”

“Baby, it's cold outside.”

“That's why I'm staying in.”

“Mind if I move in closer?”

“You're already in my personal space.”

“At least I can say that I tried.”

“Are you hitting on me?”

“What's the sense in hurting my pride?”

“Well if you don't ask, there's no way of getting an answer.” Castiel pointed out with a smirk. Dean froze, figuratively of course, and Castiel stepped into the kitchen. After he recomposed himself, he followed into the kitchen after Castiel, who was pulling numerous bags and packages out of the pantry and refrigerator. Dean leaned against the doorframe as he watched Castiel finish putting everything on the counter.

“Heya!” Cass grinned.

“That's it?” Dean questioned. Castiel ripped open a bag of flour and poured some into a bowl.

“That's what?” He asked innocently, cracking two eggs in the bowl as well.

“‘ If you don't ask there's no way of getting an answer .’” Dean mimicked, watching Castiel with a raised eyebrow.

Cass poured some milk and sugar into the bowl and grabbed a whisk with a blush. “It's not like what I said was a lie.”

Dean took a step closer. Cass blushed harder and looked away as he ripped open a bag of chocolate chips.

“Cass?”

“Hmm?”

Dean was now standing right next to him. “What did you mean by that?” his voice was low.

Castiel squirmed beneath his breath. Dean took this as his chance to put an arm around him. “C-ould you whisk the chocolate chips in? I'm not strong enough to mix it all in completely.”

Dean didn't hesitate to push Castiel into a corner. “What did you mean by that?” he repeated.

Castiel bowed his head sheepishly, trying to hide the profound blush that had now spread from his cheeks to his entire face. “I just-uhm…” Cass paused to clear his throat. Dean's eyes scanned over Castiel's movements carefully. “I've been waiting for you to ask me out.” He barely managed to squeak. Dean froze once more. His eyes darted to anywhere besides Castiel, who was now scratching the back of his neck nervously. “Oh..” was all that Dean could conjure to speak. He definitely didn't expect to hear that. Castiel bit his lip. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything I thought you were-” Cass' sentence was cut short by Dean's index finger tilting his chin up so they could stare into each other's eyes. Now it was Dean's turn to smirk. Castiel squirmed underneath his now loving gaze. “I am.” Dean responded, answering the question. Castiel smiled in relief, standing up on the tips of his toes to lean in and close the gap between them.

“So would you like-”

Dean nodded, leaning his head in to be closer to Cass'. Their noses were just barely touching. Cass decided that he should make the final move, and was met by a snowball of flour being squished against his mouth and a smirk to rival his own.

“Dean!”

Dean giggled and pulled apart from him.

“We were having a moment!”

More giggles.

Castiel stomped over to Dean, who was now mixing the ingredients in the bowl.

“That wasn't fair!” he argued.

“Neither was leading me on for months and months knowing damn well that I liked you.” Castiel blushed profoundly.

“I didn't.” he bowed his head.

“And by the way your head moved like that, I know that that's a damn lie.”

Castiel blushed more and Dean grabbed a cookie sheet and spread some aluminum foil over it. Cass rolled the dough into balls and placed them evenly onto the sheet before slipping them into the already preheated oven.

“Soooo..” Castiel hummed once they were in, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“So.” Dean repeated, stretching his arms so that his palms rested on the counter. Castiel took a cautious step towards him, an innocent smile on his lips. Dean watched Castiel step towards him, and smiled down at his roommate, who was now wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist.

“So I was thinking…”

“-Well that’s not a good thing.” Dean joked, earning a nudge.

“I was thinking that since we already like each other we should probably-”

“-Be boyfriends? I agree.” Dean smiled down at Castiel, who was returning the same smile, cheeks rosy as ever.

“I was going to suggest going on a date.”

“Dude, we were just cuddling on the sofa. I think we’re way past dating.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Well if this makes us boyfriends, I think we should seal our relationship with a kiss.”

Dean pursed his lips as he pretended to consider the option. When he deemed it a good idea, he grinned. “Come here then.” He blushed.

Castiel leaned into Dean, and soon threw a flour snowball against his lips just as he had done previously.

“Cass! -oh you’re definitely getting it!” Castiel tried to run away, but Dean had quickly grabbed him by the waist and spun him around so that his back was pressed against the wall.

Castiel squirmed beneath him, but Dean didn’t let him go. He kept Cass in the corner while he grabbed the bag of flour and poured it over Castiel’s head.

A few minutes later, and both of the men were covered head to foot in flour. Along with their skin, the cupboards, floor, and practically the whole entire kitchen was now decorated in flour. Dean was now laying on the floor with Castiel on top of him, almost as if he were a mattress. Cass had his arms wrapped around Dean’s neck, and Dean had his hands resting softly on Castiel’s sides. Their eyes were closed, and their lips were moving softly against each other. Christmas was pretty good with Cass

#luciferneedsconsentfanfics #Destiel #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural