#Madam Faux series

[flowerwrites06]

lion and the fox III — jjk

Plot: In a turbulent world of crime and intrigue, a fiery journalist makes an unlikely alliance with one of the country’s most notorious bosses. Pairing(s): Mafia Boss!Jungkook x Journalist!OC (Name: Belle) Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+ Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series Word Count: 7.8k Genre: Mafia AU | Vintage (1940′s vibes) AU Tags & Warnings: crime, violence, sexual content, forced prostitution, mild scenes of harassment, some misogynistic behaviour, mentions of war, heavy mentions of drug use, infidelity. Authors Note: another part out! sorry I didn’t post this at 10 pm like promised, I had a dinner to go to. For some reason, my family suddenly decided to make random plans on saturday the moment I write up a schedule lmaoo hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Please note that while some historical research has been done for this story, the MAJORITY of it has been altered in some way with creative liberties to match the themes and motifs of the plot.

Every assignment, no matter how detached he tried to make it, was a web of connections. The man in the warehouse had grabbed a prostitute in a brothel which was an investment source for Yeou Pa. These webs were what Taehyung considered luxurious information. He could never attached himself to anything but the webs so he held in the corners of his mind with care. It kept him grounded to the world and allowed him to decide how to carry out each assignment.

The man in the warehouse had to be done quick. No questions asked and no need to create any ruse or backstory. However, the prostitute needed explanations. She may be a blank slate for the Madame to dress up how she wanted but there was still weight in her death. People will still request her and ask what happened, friends in the brothel will wonder, the Madame herself might investigate the loss of a high ranking worker.

Cho No Su was also a well-protected establishment. At least the blind-spots where the man was instructed to go only to be thwarted by a third party. Taehyung took a moment of freedom to wonder who the mysterious rescuer was. Even Master Kim couldn’t seem to be identify who must’ve interrupted the kidnapping. No time for freedom.

Taehyung sharpened his gaze, scanning across the red neon displaying Japanese characters that meant Butterfly Nest. Yeou Pa called their spies butterflies. Except no one knew which ones were the real butterflies though. He padded into the building as regular customer, traditional overcoat with his strawberry blond hair glowing in the golden ambience.

It was a simple building. Almost resembling the entrance to a massage parlor with a receptionist desk in the front. Faux forest setting on the right with a waterfall fountain, sounds of birds chirping to possibly hide the sounds coming from inside. A small aquarium on the left as well glowing in blue. Guards standing at attention at least in his line of vision.

Except there won’t be anyone watching the rooms. Anyone who wasn’t a customer or a worker could not be allowed past the receptionist desk. It seemed unsafe but people who attempt to assault a butterfly are legally ‘dehumanized’ therefore can be killed within the walls and their bodies merely burned somewhere. Lucky for him Taehyung had no intention of dragging on an assault. He never liked having to think about it for too long. Quick kills were his forte.

“Here is the pamphlet. Just let me know who you want.” The receptionist smiled, lines on the corners of her eyes crinkling as she did.

Taehyung smiled back and walked to the sitting area as he opened the pamphlet. Master Kim didn’t know what the butterfly’s real name was but they had an alias. That was all he looked for. She was the first name really. But his heart jumped seeing the face. He kept a neutral expression despite the way his stomach kept twisting and lurching like he was going to be sick. The sounds of the birds chirping almost made his ear bleed from how loud it sounded.

It couldn’t be.

Her hair was a wine red and eyes were a sky blue. She looked different but he could never miss that look. The alluring look she’d have on her face without even trying, entrancing anyone who walked her way. Taehyung remembered her saying she wanted to succeed in the city. Before the war, he remembered. No. He can’t remember. He shouldn’t remember anything before he was a Tiger. He was a Tiger. No past. No memories.

Taehyung looked down at the alias to bring himself back to work. Angel. He swallowed down his heart trying to escape through his throat. This was his assignment. Bringing the pamphlet, he placed his index finger on the picture. The receptionist raised her brows clearly shocked by someone paying that much but Master Kim always gave him a large budget for these situations.

He paid the amount and was led into the designated room. It had a traditional Japanese design. Folding screen printed with cherry blossoms on the left, a closed bathroom on the right, floor mattress just near the center and floor table with a tea also printed in pink blossoms.

The door closed behind him. Taehyung watched the butterfly walk out of the folding screen. A modernized kimono loosely hanging off her body, lined with charcoal fur, her hair still as long as it always was but just colored to perfection. Sky blue contacts flickered up to meet his presence. A smile had already been plastered on her rose tinted lips before it faded seeing his face, a sense of recognition across her expression.

Taehyung needed to be quick. No questions asked. He should move his fingers to the weapon and do the deed. But his body froze. Eyes watched the way the wheels in Angels mind began to move, remembering every crevice of his being. Despite the amber eyes and blond hair, she knew exactly who was standing before her.

“Taehyung?” Her voice cracked, meek and sweet. Blue pupils blurred with tears, padding closer to the figure and examining everything that changed about him. “It’s you?”

Say no. Grab the knife. Do something. Taehyung’s lips quivered a little, fingers curling up into fists as she kept moving close until he could smell the vanilla staining her skin. “A—Theia…” He whispered.

Angel let out a small laugh, tears trickling down her cheeks. In a rush of emotions, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his own. “It’s really you.” She sobbed against his shoulder.

Taehyung felt his mind burst in colours he couldn’t even recognize anymore. A sense of warmth travelling through his body, limbs trembling as her embrace tightened around him. He still remembered her name. Her real name. Anantheia Clement. Theia. He called her Theia or Angel. She used Angel. It was too dangerous. She should’ve changed her alias after the attack. His arms still shook but he managed to move them to wrap around her body. A lot more toned than he remembered but warm all the same. “It’s me.”

His name was Kim Taehyung. In this very moment as he answered a question for the first time in years, he wasn’t a Tiger.

-

Contrary to the scars adorning her body and the deep cut in her thigh, Belle did prefer to go out on field trips for the most part. When she wrote stories Hoseok usually had all the credit for it so in a way, she basically never did anything. Out here in the wide world of physical investigation it was just her. People looked at her face and knew her presence. She loved Hoseok but as his shadow grew bigger, she kept dissipating in the line of sight.

Not tonight. In front of an old alcohol factory stood a black van where Jungkook and a few of his guards stood in place. Belle was a little confused as to why Jungkook decided to come for himself.

“I’ve called the police.” Jungkook stated simply. He had his dress shirt sleeves rolled up and burgundy suspenders still in place, fingers brushing against his own lips.

Belle felt her heart jump to her throat only for a moment before she swallowed it down. “You couldn’t tell me this earlier?” Two of the female guards held up a large cloth to hide her naked body. They opted it was best she wore the outfit within the van so no one could spot her coming out of the mansion. A white, diamond encrusted gown with exposed shoulders and a white fur shawl to keep warm.

He kept his eyes wandering around the van. Even though there wasn’t much to look at and the silver pin on her hair kept glimmering at the corner. “This is an opportunity to dissipate suspicion on Yeou Pa for these rings. If I’m found helping you take down the prostitution ring then they’ll understand I’m not part of the culprits scheme.” Jungkook moved his gaze back when the cloth was pulled away to reveal Belles plump curves now hugging by a dress shimmering like stars in the sky. “Since you’re the one with the most information on Yeou Pa, it shouldn’t be hard to ensure my innocence.”

Belle attempted to hold back a clear glare, pouted red lips looking down at the dress to ensure everything was secure. The plan made sense however. Jungkook couldn’t ask the police to give him information on Holangi Pa because it would only arouse suspicion. Planting a mole and starting a raid at the same time on the same night. Confuse and overwhelm.

“Is it comfortable?” Jungkook took a moment of selfishness to rake his gaze up and down her figure. One of her golden calves sticking out from the slit to show off the white heels.

“As comfortable as a fifty pound dress can get.” Belle sighed, draping the fur shawl over her shoulders. “You can stop staring at me now.”

A soft smirk played on his lips, keeping his eyes fixated on the woman more as a challenge than a relish in beauty. “Getting flustered, sweet lioness?”

“Why would a lioness get flustered at a little fox?” She held her smile like her teeth were fangs ready to pierce into his skin at the given chance.

Excitement jolted in Jungkooks belly. “We’ll be watching from the camera stuck on one of your breast cups. It has audio but we need to rely on your memory too just in case it short circuits.” He gestured to her dress, mentally thanking Rosyne for having her special tailors create such an intricate design. “You ready?”

Belle nodded. She still felt an uncomfortable nudging on her thigh but the painkillers managed to soothe anything past her tolerance. Thankfully whoever she had to interrogate had no interest in nudity.

The explanation for the owners behavior was strange. He likes watching a womans body fully clothed. Not even a breast flash. It’s honestly drawling and a little creepy and I’ve had quickies in playgrounds. She remembered one of the prostitutes telling her.

Van doors opened and Belle made her way towards the entrance of the factory.

There was a forged form folded in her white gloved hands as she stood in the bronze, rusted monster of a building that still smelled like decade old whiskey. Hazel orbs flickered down to the guards stationed at the gates. Tall, suited men who stared at her like a statues. “Session for Master Kobayashi.” She handed them the form.

Cho No Su’s Madame was kind enough to stamp the form as a thank you for protecting one of her butterflies. Technically it wasn’t forged if one didn’t know the inside workings.

The guards took another look at her form before pressing some kind of buzzer on the left for the gates to open. Belle walked through the courtyard, fingers curling around her dress fabric. Encrusted diamonds poked into her palms as the smell of alcohol turned into a nasty taste on her tongue. She must’ve looked like some kind of glimmering ghost in the oil lamp and rusted atmosphere.

A few more guards glistened in sweat led her towards some metal stairs. Steam pushing through some of the old machines like the factory was still working. Maybe it was a ruse. However the blankets and sheets forming a maze on the ground floor spoke a different story. Belle tried not to fixated herself on the scenery below too much. She had to stay strong.

Her emotions had to be airtight for this mission to work. Dirty champagne lights shone through the crated path making her grateful that she wore thick heels. Heat condensated on her skin, a layer of shine forming on her chest and cheeks. None of the guards spoke a word to her. This was a business as usual for them.

The top floor seemed to work purely on these metal bridges. A few control rooms here and there with dirty glass windows showing some watching cameras and writing notes. While others drinking from mugs and watching the scene below. Most of them were smiling. Others were calculating almost.

An eerie reminder popped into her head that this was still a business to some people. As much as Belle felt like vomiting right there and then.

Past another bridge, they now stood in front of a metal door. There was a glass window that looked like it could provide an entire view of the whole ring but once again Belle kept her eyes on the door. No label or name. Just a big, crumbled blob of what used to be sturdy iron. A guard knocked on the door and immediately received a response to enter.

Once the door opened, Belle walked into a normal looking office. Almost resembling Hansuke’s office except the window was on the study table’s left rather than right behind him.

Kobayashi was a stumpy looking man. Grey hair neatly combed back with a face that looked like he was good at running away from things. All his wrinkled fingers adorned in gold rings while a cigar was perched in between his chapped lips. A noticeable tattoo of a fox at the back of his hand that started fading from the longevity or the heat in the factory.

The door closed behind her with a clang. Kobayashi raised his head up to see Belle standing in the center and he smiled. “Ah, yes.” He stood up from his chair, padding towards the girl.

Pungent scent of tobacco touched her nostrils but Belle tried not to wince too much. Instead she decorated a smile on her lips. “What did you want to do today, Master Kobayashi?”

Kobayashi chuckled the way a child would when he got the toy he’d been throwing tantrums for. He strode around her, humming in admiration. “You’re a voluptuous one.” He rasped.

Hot air hit her left shoulder blade from the smoke he blew out. Belle tried not to shiver. “Thank you.”

“Call me Master.”

Belle gulped down, fingers digging into the fur shawl. “Master.”

“I assume your Madame has informed you of my…complications.” Kobayashi took another sharp puff of his cigar. “The boss has been grinding on my ass about this stupid ring.” He scoffed which only formed into a rough, wheezing cough. Clearing his throat obnoxiously, Kobayashi brought a brave hand down the curve of her back. “Fuck, you’re a pretty thing. Where’d your Madame find you?”

“It’s confidential, Master.” Belle gave him a pretty smile. “But is there any way I could relax you?”

“Just stand there.” Kobayashi squeezed her bare shoulder, bloodshot eyes moving to the fake tattoo on the back of his hand. “Have to wear this stupid fucking sigil. Yeou Pa. I remember a time when all the gangs would just stick to their own goddamn business. This new Don wants to take over the whole damn country.”

Belle’s façade almost cracked into concentration. Thankfully Kobayashi had his eyes on other places of her body. She couldn’t answer any of his questions, of course. That wasn’t her purpose here. She was an empty vessel. Simply present to be a pretty view for the man. So he could feel like he had some power over the opposite sex even though his dick couldn’t stand to save his life. Belle wondered if it would still hurt if she cut it. Although she really wanted to cut his hands more than anything else.

“My God.” Kobayashi stood in front of her now. Gaze completely glued on her breasts without a care in the world. Admiring the toy he bought as his hand reached out to grope one of her breasts.

Belle hoped the camera would stay intact no matter how much he touched it.

“Brothels have some serious goddesses.” Kobayashi chortled. “Too bad I can’t enjoy you the way other man can.” He turned on his heel towards the table, smoke flowing to his side. “I have to stay here in Gyeongseong so the great Master Kim can carry out his major plan. Stupid plan. Hasn’t even been a decade since the war, he wants to brew a new one.”

Stains of the mans’ touch still lingered on her body. Belle reminded herself to scrub hard in the shower once she got home. Hoseok always asked her how she stayed calm and fearless in situations like this while investigating. She always answered that this was just another day at work. By standing here, pretending to be a pretty toy for the impotent pig in front of her, she gets her bills paid and helps people.

Belle had more than enough information. Seokjin wanted to take over the country and he wanted to start with Gyeongseong. There were bits that she could feel were missing but the problem was she couldn’t ask too much. “It must be hard on you, Master. Having to do all the work for them.”

People like Kobayashi didn’t prefer questions. Not from people like her. They liked blind agreements. It made them talk more. “It is a nuisance but the young man has a way of doing things. Fascinating way of doing things to ensure they go his way. He could make an entire city go insane if he wanted to.”

Shivers travelled under her sweat-glistened skin, silver pin feeling a little heavy against her skull. “You admire him.”

“Oh yes.” Kobayashi walked towards the window. Eyes casually looking down at his business, cigar placed back between his chapped lips. “For a Tiger to enter a Fox’s territory without no one so much as batting an eyelash.” He scoffed. “It’s almost laughably clever.”

Belle narrowed her gaze. Metal doors clanged with a slight muffle, coming from outside the office. Eyes flickered to the window and caught a glimpse of the factory entrance doors opening with a few guards frantically trying to fight them off. The door barged open behind her with a heavying guard.

“It’s the police, Master!” He breathed out.

Kobayashi furrowed his brows, trembling as he stamped his cigar into an ashtray.

“Why would the police be here?” Belle tried to look baffled, fiddling with her fingers. “I thought this place was secret.”

“Shut up.” Kobayashi squeaked. In the burst of screaming and yelling from the door, he pushed past her and walked out of the office. “Where’s my fucking car?”

Belle rolled her eyes with a sigh, walking towards the window with a braver face now. She saw the blankets and sheets being ripped and taken down. The victims moved out of the factory in a scurry while the guards were probably trying their best to run towards their Master rather than trying to preserve what was already lost. “He’s going out to a side entrance.” She spoke loud enough for the tiny camera to capture it.

Another day at work done.

-

Reality felt like a bubble he was observing from outside right now. It felt more comfortable that way. Pretending he grew up in a normal way and could talk to her normally. Taehyung sat at the floor table with Angel in front of him. Anantheia to him. No one else must’ve known that name anymore. He always thought she’d end up becoming a famous actress or a singer travelling abroad but their upbringings were not privileged.

“Do you always come to a brothel?” Angel asked, not intending to be judgmental but more curious. She wanted to ask so many questions. Too many swirled in her mind. Instead she poured some tea for the both of them and watched Taehyung think his answer over. “You know I’m in no position to judge.”

“It’s not that, I—” Taehyung chuckled nervously. “It’s actually my first time.” Brothels weren’t really a prime source for his assignments. Especially Cho No Su being the exclusive organization it is, only gathering clientele that could pay the ridiculous prices. “My—friend paid for it. A gift in his own way.”

Angel smiled. “Yes, we have a few of that.” She brought one knee to her chest, the accessories in her hair tinkling as she moved. “You’ve grown taller.” She grinned again. Trying so hard to bring some kind of normalcy with the strange way they’ve reunited. “And your hair…” With a breath of courage, she reached out and touched a strawberry blond strand.

Taehyung forced himself not to flinch. He was too dirty for her to touch him. Like the blood on his hands drenched every inch of his body now, prone to staining her kind hands if she touched him too much. The reality bubble looked severed and he felt as if he was already naked. “You changed your hair too.”

She hummed although not too happily. “Procedure every time Cho No Su is in some kind of danger.” Angel brought her hands back to her own form, squeezing her own arms to forget the heavy breathing against her face from that night.

“Cho No Su is in danger?”

“Not anymore but there was one night…a member was attacked.” Angel rested her chin on her lifted knee, not wanting to receive any questions from Taehyung if she revealed that the member was her. “She’s okay thankfully.”

“That’s good.” Taehyung faced the cup of tea, watching the steam flow up but not drinking it. He wanted his stomach empty during assignments.

Fingers grew courageous again as she moved to trace unintelligible patterns at the veins of Taehyungs hand. “I can still do what you came here for.” Angel muttered. “If you want.”

He gulped, feeling his taint staining her beautiful fingers. “You don’t have to do anything.” Taehyung attempted a smile but his muscles felt overwhelmed by the action. It’s not like Angel would believe such a fake grin anyway. “I’m just glad to see you.”

There were things being left unsaid between them. Angel had been trained long enough to know that this was true. Except she couldn’t read his eyes like a book nor could she ask him extremely personal questions. As far as their friendship is concerned, it was still old and withered. They were different people now. The feeling of softness was only from the remanence of what once was; a nostalgic attraction. “I’m glad to see you too.”

Taehyung left the room after that. If he stayed any longer then Seokjin might have him called over and the whole assignment would lose its edge.

Across the hallway, he kept his ears sharp for a room without moaning or rustling. Palm rested on one of them which only had a female humming on the other side. With a sigh, he opened the door to a slight gap and walked inside.

A woman with green hair and amber eyes looked his way. Half-naked and quick to smile thinking he was a customer. The butterflies must not get warnings of who enters the room. They just have to do their job. Taehyung hoped she understood that he had to do the same.

Padding further into the room, Taehyung reached into his pocket. His traditional cloak flowing through the air he left behind. Steel blade brandished, shining in the golden glow of the room and the smile disappeared. Except she didn’t get the chance to scream.

The prepared tea set left ignored as the blood oozed on the floor mats.

-

“So he wants to take over the entire country’s underworld?” Jungkook muttered solemnly after Rosyne pulled out the tape. Hands gripped at the edge of the dark wooden table, back resting against it as his head remained low to focus on his leather shoes. They kept it a private meeting.

Yoongi sat on the leather couch next to the bookshelf where the entrance door was. Freshly lit cigarette burning in between his lips and a crème dress shirt. Belle was now in more comfortable clothing, a burgundy skirt with a white blouse. Her hair still in the previous style without the heavy pin while her makeup seeped into her skin perfectly, leaving a mild glow. She sat on one of the clientele chairs.

“Seokjin was always the ambitious brother.” Rosyne spoke. The bouncy red curls now relaxed on her head, easy for her to run her fingers through it in slight frustration. “The eldest Kim decided against the exemption, didn’t he?”

Jungkook hummed unable to connect why Rosyne had to ask the question. “Died during combat.”

“That’s not confirmed.”

“Why do you ask, Rosie?” Yoongi rasped, smoke flowing freely from his lips.

“Motives.” Rosyne held onto the tape with care as she usually did with evidence. Placing it in a wooden box on the table and locking it, she walked over to the second clientele chair to relax her aching feet. “Your father started doing deals around the time of the war. Which included selling things to the army. Faulty things.”

Jungkook tried not to wince at the memory too much. There was a time of pure desperation when his father would sell defected weapons and untested ‘pep’ pills to the soldiers. “You think Seokjin’s brother was a victim of it?”

Rosyne shrugged. “A lot of soldiers were. It’s not impossible that he might take it out on you.”

“That doesn’t explain the whole country though.” Belle chipped in with a gentle voice. “If it was just a personal vendetta against Yeou Pa then he would just target you, right?”

Yoongi coughed lightly, cigarette loosely placed between his fingers. “What if he’s trying to eliminate Japanese influence? He can’t take over the government or military base. But if he restores Korean influence in the underworld—”

“It might create a domino effect.” Jungkook nodded, suspenders hanging by the sides of his hips. “But then he’d target Busan first. That’s Takahashi territory, it’s the strongest Japanese influenced base.”

“Maybe it’s all of it put together.” Rosyne rested back against the chair.

The group silenced for a few moments. Jungkook moved his attention towards Belle in his process of thought. Though he knew Hoseok might be better at reading her expression, he could guess that the wheels were turning furiously. Her tinted lips moving to form words but no sound was coming out. Hazel eyes wandering every which way, not looking up but still brimming with questions—and perhaps some answers. “Let’s hear it then.” He spoke softer this time.

Belles gaze flickered up, eyes wider than he’d ever seen them making her look adorable. “What?”

“You have something.” Jungkook folded his arms over his chest.

“It’s—a problematic assumption.” Belle pressed her lips together, trying to quickly come up with a proper way to word her suspicions. “But what if the reason Seokjin isn’t targeting Hebi Pa—is because they already have someone on in the inside?” Her heart started pattering against her ribcages. The last thing she wanted was to start a false rumor but this just felt far too plausible with the information they have. “That means they’ll have to keep away from the gang just in case Takahashi starts an investigation.”

“A spy in Hebi Pa?” Jungkooks’ brows furrowed.

“If Seokjin really wants to take over the entire country then he needs your alliance to–weaken somehow.” Belle waved her hands around, somehow allowing the movements to structure her own thoughts. “He can’t take down two gangs at once. He’s smart, I’m assuming so he must’ve figured that out by now.”

“So let’s say the spy theory is correct…” Yoongi gestured towards Belle. “They would have to plant them high up in the ranks. Extremely high.”

“Does Takahashi have a friend he’s been talking to?” Rosyne added.

Jungkook made a noise of disagreement, shifting from one foot to the other. “He’s horrible at keeping his mouth shut but he actually knows how to keep business things confidential. Even with lovers.”

Belle hesitated for a moment, biting down her bottom lip before sighing. “What if the spy is involved in a more delicate situation?” Her voice was low and perhaps even a little reluctant despite knowing that this might help in narrowing down the investigation.

“Delicate…how?” Jungkook knew where she was heading. Maybe his guess was wrong but he saw the way she tried to hold herself back, fingers fidgeting. Usually Belle would confidently spew facts like all the times before. But this wasn’t a fact. Not in her mind or in his.

“Alliances are hard to break if you have enough to trade links and connections to keep it sturdy. From my research, Hebi and Yeou Pa don’t have much when it comes to trade. You both share one major associate who owns the largest club chain in Gyeongseong. Even then that was by his accord, not you or Takahashis’.” Belle shook her head. “But business wise, that’s pretty much all there is, isn’t it?”

Jungkook attempted a small nod.

“Then you have the second link. Inter-syndicate marriage. Between those two links, the marriage is supposed to be the strongest link because it provides heirs to both fortunes.” Belle felt her thigh prickling again. The pill was slowly being eaten away in the rush of anxiety and the true pains of her wound arising back again. “But you don’t have any heirs…in this specific case, that weakens the alliance.”

“Get to the spy part.” Jungkook spoke through slightly gritted teeth even though he felt a tug in his belly when he did.

“Your marriage is out of convenience. As much as we’d like to think it’s for the good of everything, dubious consent for an arranged marriage creates problems. Especially if your gang’s survival is relying on it.” Belle expected the hardened look on the mans’ face. “Is there any possibility that one of you is having an affair? With someone you don’t completely know anything about?”

Despite knowing that something like this was going explode on his face at some point, Jungkook still felt a burn under his skin. “You just get braver and braver the longer you stay here, don’t you?” He narrowed his gaze. “Went on a couple of missions and now you think you have the right to accuse me and my wife for cheating with a spy?”

Belle tightened her jaw. “I’m only addressing the possibilities.”

“Here’s a possibility.” Jungkook moved forward, grabbing on the arms of the chair Belle was sitting on. Leaning in until the remanence of tobacco on his breath filled her nostrils. “As far information is concerned, you’re the one with the most knowledge on Yeou Pa and who knows even Hebi Pa.” His voice rung low as if he was speaking straight from his gut. “How do I know you’re not just trying to get a few seconds of power from all this? Since petty little Hansuke won’t even allow your name in your own articles—”

“Jungkook—” Yoongi warned but the other didn’t flinch.

Belle kept her posture straight, unwavering as she locked onto Jungkooks rough gaze.

“Hoseoks’ the pillar you always have to rest on…just to feel relevant.” He tilted his head, mocking whisper laced with venom.

“And Gaia’s the pillar you have to stand on.” Belle replied simply causing the death-like silence in the room. “I do want your gang to crumble to pieces, Jeon. I want to take a picture of you holding the broken, pathetic remnants in your sorry hands.” She seethed. “But right now, there’s a man out there who wants to be a single ruler to a whole country’s underworld. There’s a high possibility that either you or Gaia has been giving information to a spy without knowing. For once…you’re the lesser evil.”

Smoke could’ve come out of Jungkooks ears at this point as he closed in on her, noses touching before a harsh grip pulled him away to proper distance. Yoongis’ disappointed face meeting his.

“Like it or not, Yeou Pa would’ve been done for if Belle decided take her information to the grave.” Yoongi patted Jungkooks chest. “So you can angrily fuck each other later. Right now we have a possible spy leeching out information from a blind-spot.” He sucked in another puff of smoke. “We’ll narrow down the investigation to both Gaia and your whereabouts. I’m not saying you’re easy talkers but in a moment of weakness, you’re still humans. Something can always slip.”

Her fingers ached from gripping onto her skirt too tight, trying to hold in the deeply heavy breaths forcing out of her lungs. Belle didn’t look up at Jungkook after Yoongis’ last word. Even though for a few moments, she could feel his gaze on him. Heat trailed down the back of her neck as the traces of tobacco and cologne still lingered around her personal space. She knew bringing up the subject was going to rip the fabric of civilization even more between them. It couldn’t be helped now.

-

Morning arrived with more trouble that they wanted. Belle had gone back to work with Hoseok in Saja Ilbo when both the gang and media company received troubling news from Cho No Su. Autumn air just barely flowed while the sun increased in its strength. Jungkook and Yoongi opted to be present together in front of the brothel to pay respects to the Madame.

“Quick knife work.” Yoongi said as a body covered in white sheet was being dragged out of the brothel into the ambulance.

Cho No Su seemed to lose the glamour during the day. Most of the butterflies and junior members looked out from the windows with their faces covered, tears glistening in her eyes at least from where Jungkook could see. The brightness of the sky added no soothing to the dreariness of the establishment.

The Madame Kim Hyuna chose to walk out of the brothel. Bone dry eye with her samurai sword attached to her belt, silver vectors on the black sheath shining like her silky orange hair. A symbol. Showcasing that one death isn’t going to scare her off.

“Kind of you to visit, Jeon.” Hyuna flickered her crimson eyes from Jungkook to Yoongi. “Still single, Min dear?” She tilted her head with a mocking smile.

“Still obsessed with me, Kim?” Yoongi smirked.

Jungkook suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as the ambulance slammed shut a distance away from the brothel entrance. “This isn’t the first time something has happened to your members just this year.” He muttered so only the three of them could hear. “Mind explaining why the hell your establishment is being targeted?”

“It’s not my fucking fault.” Hyuna whispered. “Just come in.” She turned on her heel back into the brothel while the ambulance drove away with the body.

Jungkook and Yoongi followed suit. The inside was warmer than expected but he welcomed it. Following the Madame deep into the establishment, past the rooms which were now heavy with silence or crying from the other side. A flight of stairs led to the top level, glowing in red neon even during the day time with no windows. Just the smell of something vanilla.

The Madame’s office oozed in Japanese design. Tapestry on the right of an old painting with naked women with long black hair bathing. Bamboo plants on the left with a stack of samurai swords and red-tinged wood varnished to glow against the warm lamp lights. “Someone is really starting to piss me off.” Hyuna placed the sword back on the rack before making her way to the study table in the center.

Yoongi closed the door behind him while Jungkook sat down on one of the clientele chairs.

“First the missing cases, grabbing right on my perimeter and now fucking this…” She sighed, her body loosening to show off more of her true feelings. Worry and a hint of fear. “No fucking American seller wants to sell this company cameras otherwise the asshole would be on his damn knees right now.”

“Did it look like an accident?” Jungkook asked.

“No. It was too clean.”

“Assassination.” Yoongi sat down on the second clientele chair. “Did the girl make any enemies?”

“It was her first fucking day.” Hyuna whispered mostly to herself, raking her fingers through her orange locks. “Nineteen and a good kid too. Never complained in her training.”

“You train underaged people here?” Yoongi narrowed his gaze.

“For spy training, dipshit I have some humanity.”

Jungkook sighed. “An assassination on a new kid doesn’t make any sense.” He shook his head, more tangles forming in the web of connections. Connections. “The girl…what’s her name? Angel…the one who was grabbed.”

“It’s Diamond now. Had to change all of their looks and names after the death.” Hyuna explained. “What about her?”

“If there was an assassination scare, high chances it’d be towards her.” He dug into his coat pocket to grab a cigar and his lighter. “Something must’ve happened for the assassin to change his target. Maybe it was a rogue decision.” Jungkook placed the cigar between his lips, flicking the lighter and placing the small flame near the end.

“You think this is still connected to Holangi Pa or something else altogether?” Yoongi turned to Jungkook.

“Holangi Pa? The Tiger heads from Busan?” Hyuna tapped her red painted nails on the wooden surface of her table. “What the fuck do they want?”

“Lots of big things apparently.” Jungkook muttered casually. “But from your brothel in particular, I think they want to tie up loose ends. Except the assassin seemed to have other ideas. They could have a connection.”

“Aren’t these assassins supposed to forget about past connections?” She grimaced.

“They’re supposed to distance from them. But you can’t wipe out memories, can you?” Yoongi spoke. “Something must’ve clicked between the two and he decided to get his job done without having to hurt her.”

“Don’t you think it’s too much of a silly mistake?” Hyuna argued. “Of course he should know that someone might be suspicious if he pulled shit like that.”

“Maybe he wasn’t thinking like an assassin at that moment.” Jungkook remembered Belles words for a moment, bringing that tug back in his belly again. “What if he just assumed no one would look into the fate of a prostitute?” He noticed Hyuna’s fingers curl into a fist against the table. “You’d be surprised at how many people make that mistake.”

“We’re not going to make that mistake, are we?” Hyuna spoke through gritted teeth.

“Of course not.”

“Good.” The Madame sighed. “In exchange, I have something that might be of use to you.”

Jungkooks soft expression turned to concentration again. “For me?”

Hyuna rested back on the leather chair, leaving out a small squeak. “I’m going to send it to Rosyne directly so she can confirm everything for sure. But all I can tell you now is to watch Marionette Hotel.” She pointed at the both of them. “You two are getting too soft for the Takahashi. No one who chooses a fucking snake as their sigil is to be trusted blindly.”

His stomach lurched at the Takahashi name, noticing Yoongi shift in his seat, clearly having the same feelings. That name slowly turned into somewhat of an anxiety inducer. Like the very first time they initiated the alliance, diving into desperation to ensure Yeou Pa stayed in its power stance. “Marionette Hotel?” The only building that didn’t have Yeou Pa guards. Fucking stupid.

The Madame held her palm up. “I’m not going to be the one explaining it all to you. It’s too fucking personal even for me and I train spies.”

Jungkook didn’t even have to look at Yoongi to realise what he was thinking too. Belle’s suspicions were right and they may be screwed.

-

Jungkook arrived back home, his clothes pungent from tobacco. He smoked four already after hearing the news on Marionette Hotel. It made sense. If Gaia wanted to go anywhere to unwind, it would be there. But that didn’t confirm that she was liaising with anyone.

Yoongi went back to his estate to take care of putting extra security in Cho No Su. Leaving him to hope for a few more minutes of calm.

If he could somehow avoid his dear wife, Jungkook would breathe a little easier. The one who came into view was Belle. She sat in the center courtyard, surrounded by pages and writing some notes. She wore a pretty dress of soft yellow and peppered with tiny periwinkle flowers. Her face was glowing under the mellow autumn sunlight.

Belle saw him before he could say anything. She quickly stood up. “How did the meeting go?”

“The girl will be buried properly. Hyuna always makes sure of it.” Jungkook waved for a servant to prepare some drinks. “Do you always hand-write your notes?” He gestured.

Belle’s eyes widened again like they always do when she’s confused. It was a rare sight but Jungkook found it ever endearing. “I don’t have a typewriter in my house.” She shook her head. “There’s only so much I can do with the one in Saja Ilbo.”

“Why don’t you have a typewriter?” His brows furrowed.

She lifted her shoulders. “I can’t afford one. Journalists like me get paid half of what journalists like Hoseok would.”

The servants returned with drinks, placing a tray in the centre. Jungkook poured a cup of tea of Belle.

Jungkook blinked softly. He nearly forgot that even talented people like Belle were pushed back due to social standing. “It’s too bad you’re not a journalist for me.” He traced the brim of his cup. “You’d get paid twice as much as your boss.”

“Are you trying to hire me?” Belle smirked. Deep hazel eyes pulled him in like a sailor to a siren.

If he didn’t have the slightest ounce of self-control, an agreement may have escaped him. A smile did escape. “You’ve done pretty good work for me so far.”

Her smirk spread into a proper smile, making her face glow like a pearl. “You can read through my resume later.” She looked down and began to ruffle through papers. “I have something we can work on until the investigation is over.”

Jungkook felt a pull of emptiness when she stopped looking at him. “What is it?”

“I suggest that Saja Ilbo should publish positive reviews and articles in your favor.” Belle gestured to a few papers with her scribbling. Jungkook noticed some of them were drafts of articles regarding Yeou Pa. “Since you have a few dozen charity organizations, you can push more movements and flood the media with your good deeds.”

“Isn’t that pandering a little?”

“It’ll only be Hoseok’s writing.” How easily she was able to name Hoseok when her own words were lovingly scribbled on those papers. “And it’ll be done with control. People get distracted easily and they will be distracted well enough for us to get our bearings.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. Jungkook took a stray thought, pretending that nothing else was happening in his life. There was comfort in watching Belle calmly sip tea, wearing a simple knitted top and floral scarf. Her curls were soft like it was a casual Sunday. Jungkook wished it would last a little longer but he knew work still had to be done.

“Did Hyuna say something else to you?”

Jungkook had so easily forgotten that he had another job which didn’t involve talking and relaxing with Belle. “She said that there was a lead on Marionette Hotel.”

Belle stopped mid-drink. “That’s a Takahashi building.”

“Rosyne’s going to give us a confirmation soon.” Jungkook nodded, attempting to hide his distress somewhere behind a neutral expression. “You don’t want to gloat?” He raised a brow.

“No.” Belle crossed her arms over her chest, relaxing back on the chair. “I needed some confirmation too. Are you prepared for what you might hear?”

“It was inevitable if it is true.” Jungkook waved his hand.

Her expression softened. “Do you also—”

“Once. I saw Gaia with Hebi Pa’s consigliere and I wanted to get even.” Jungkook remembered the girl’s face. She was an heiress of some sort with pretty red hair. She had a slender form and her noises were a little too exaggerated. Jungkook assumed the heiress knew who he was and knew a boss’s mistress got more attention than the wife. “I didn’t even know the girl’s name.”

Curiosity glimmered. “So Gaia has done this before.”

“Of course she has.” Jungkook chuckled. “Why do you think I was being petty?”

Belle gave him that look again. The deepened gaze that stripped him down to his darkest secrets, forcing him to expose his vulnerabilities. “Do you love her?”

“No.” Jungkook knew this for a long time but a part of him still twinged when he said it. The statement reminded him that he was stuck in a marriage that meant little in terms of romance. “It’s—it’s a power struggle rather than love. An affair that’s hidden holds unnecessary power.”

Belle hummed. “It does.” Her voice grew incredibly soft. “Perhaps next time you should have an affair at the ready just in case.”

Jungkook smirked. “Are you volunteering?”

She scoffed. “Like you’d be able to court me.”

“Don’t challenge me.”

-

Seokjin liked drinking gold-speckled rum in autumn evenings. His stone garden had a pretty grey tinge and tree leaves danced. Some gently landed at his feet. It was the only thing that calmed him. The cold air paired perfectly with the dark burn down his throat.

The newspapers for the week had been piled in front of him. Saja Ilbo posted a plethora of articles complimenting Yeou Pa. The people jumped happily on the train to support their beloved figure, Jungkook. Each and every one of their charitable deeds plastered each headline, letting approval bloom to all corners of the city.

“You’ve read the papers then?” Akira muttered, sitting on the arm of his wicker chair. Her blue silk robe were just barely clinging onto her form.

Seokjin outstretched his hand, hooking it around her waist. “Saja Ilbo. Tanaka Hansuke’s company.”

Akira caressed the side of his neck, leaning on his head. If it wasn’t the garden, her small gestures of affection brought a wash of comfort in his belly. “A familiar name.”

“It is.” Seokjin knew Hansuke claimed to be neutral. The man was far too cowardly to expose anything of substance to his public. Was this his pathetic way of pandering to one gang? He must’ve known the tension between the syndicates and hid under the most attractive one. “Might be time to pull up some old files on our mighty Lion.” He stared up at his wife.

She was still glowing from her nightly routine and her smile was tender. Seokjin knew that smile of determination. “It’d be my pleasure.”

The Lion would be done with soon enough.

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[itsnothappening]

classics | jasonette

word count: 2k exactly

summary: judging by the opening of his mouth he wasn't even done yet. "and," he said, looking over her once more. "it does look rather amateur. quite average."

a/n: watch me and my poor attempt at a pride and prejudice au.

@maribat-calendar-events

ao3 | wattpad | series masterlist | masterlist | prompts

part 2

The sun was shining low in the sky, casting dark shadows over where the evening birds were singing above the city of Paris. It was indeed a beautiful day—and Alya Cesaire, if asked, would have agreed, but for a completely different reason. 

Her dress flitting in the wind, Alya barged through the crowds of people on the sidewalk with little regard as to what they thought of her. By the time she arrived at the Dupain-Cheng household, she was out of breath, panting heavily. Nevertheless, she ploughed on, striding into the bakery with an air of something important to say. 

"Bonjour, Madame Dupain-Cheng," Alya said quickly, "Do you know where Marinette is?"

Smiling at her, Sabine pointed upwards, adding, "She's busy adding the final touches to that dress she's been working on."

Alya waved at her as she bounded up the stairs to her best friend's room. Knocking impatiently, Alya waited for an appropriate amount of time—that is about two seconds—before pushing the trapdoor open, gasping out her best friend's name. 

"Have you heard?" Alya said excitedly, so excited that she couldn't stand still.

Marinette looked up from whatever she was doing with an amused smile on her face. "What happened now, Alya? Who has gotten married this time? Has Nino finally proposed to you?"

Her cheeks taking on a red hue, Alya squealed loudly, and a few birds startled from their positions. "The Waynes are coming to town!"

Squealing loudly again, Alya tackled Marinette into a bear hug, one the girl awkwardly returned. 

"I apologise," Marinette said, her voice muffled, "But who are the Waynes?"

Alya gasped loudly, scandalised at the fact that her best friend did not know of one of the most influential—and wealthy—families ever. 

"Marinette," Alya grasped her friend's shoulders tightly, "The Waynes? You do not know the Waynes?"

Marinette shrugged uncaringly. "I suppose not. I have not heard the name before."

Alya felt as though she was on the verge of fainting. 

Once Alya felt Marinette knew a sufficient amount of information on the Wayne family, she set about the task she had come to the Dupain-Cheng Bakery for. 

Her gaze catching on the dress Marinette had been working on, Alya felt her eyes widen at its beauty.

"Marinette," she gasped, feeling the soft silk of the dress slide through her fingers. "You should wear this dress to the ball tonight!"

Carefully prying it from Alya's hands, Marinette shook her head in firm refusal. "No. I refuse."

Alya smirked suddenly, and Marinette had to admit, it didn't look very out of place on her.

"Do you want to know what Rose told Juleka who told Mylene who told me?" She asked, whispering conspiratorially. 

Marinette looked at Alya with mild concern. "Even if I do refuse, I doubt that you will listen to me."

Grinning at her, Alya clapped her hands. "Adrien Agreste is coming to the ball and rumour has it that he'll be bringing the Waynes with him!"

Turning her back to Alya to hide the sudden onslaught of red on her cheeks, Marinette hung her dress on her mannequin, rethinking Alya's offer.

"So," Alya elongated the word, asking a silent question.

Marinette sighed, already caving in. "Fine. But only because I want to wear the dress."

Smirking again, Alya shrugged casually. "Of course Mari, whatever makes you feel better."

Marinette shifted uncomfortably in her dress as Alya and the rest of the girls chattered away about the ball. 

"Oh, Marinette," Lila Rossi's saccharine voice ran over Marinette like a snake slithering on grass. Absolutely revolting. "Are you alright?"

The faux concern in her voice suddenly had all of the girls fawning over Marinette, complimenting her dress and encouraging her. 

Assuring them she was fine, Marinette covered her laugh with a discreet gloved hand when she saw Lila's furious expression, her face a mottled shade of red.

"Oh," Mylene said, gasping and pointing in front of them. 

Marinette's gaze moved from the wolf in sheep's clothing to the mansion they were attending the ball for, and she felt her eyes widen slightly. 

The mansion was larger than her own house by a large margin, whispering wealth subtly. Even from the outside, Marinette could see the elegance of it, the intricate, flowery designs that decorated it were a clear giveaway.

As the girls entered the mansion's foyer, Marinette's lips parted into a soft gasp. The inside was even better than the outside.

Soft fairy lights hung across the room, couples swayed and laughter was a clear sound—all in all, it was a warm, beautiful atmosphere, and Marinette couldn't help but let it make her feel good.

"Alya—woah," Nino, Alya's fiance, gaped at Marinette's best friend as his eyes grew wide behind his glasses. "You look—"

Marinette shared a smile with Rose as the girls watched him search for words to flatter his soon-to-be wife. 

"Beautiful?" Marinette offered when it became clear he wasn't about to say anything anytime soon. "Stunning? Jaw-droppingly amazing?"

Nino snapped out of his weirdly stupefied state, and nodded vigorously. "Yes. All of those."

Alya's face resembled a tomato as Nino kissed her gloved hand. "Courtesy of Marinette. Her sewing skills are unmatchable."

"I can agree with that."

Marinette felt the heat filter on her skin as her gaze caught upon Adrien Agreste's formal attire and the way he looked in it. 

"Your skills are amazing Marinette," he said, smiling warmly at her.

Feeling her cheeks turn scarlet at the compliment, Marinette mumbled out a thank you, clutching onto Alya's hand for help.

Quickly seeing it, Alya swooped in to save her, offering Adrien a teasing smile. "Well, well, Agreste. Fancy seeing you here alone."

Adrien blushed a little, shrugging slightly. "Father and Natalie didn't approve of anyone."

"Well," Alya said, a devious glint in her eyes. "Someone in the grapevine told me that your father invited the Waynes to stay with you."

Fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves, Adrien nodded. "It's true. In fact, they will be arriving at the ball—"

He was abruptly cut off when the previously chattering room evolved into a silent hush. 

Marinette directed her gaze to the main entrance as four figures stepped in, each wearing a perfectly tailored suit, fine to the last detail. 

The first man to walk in was tall and seemingly the oldest. Marinette was sure she saw every one of the single women in the room swoon at the sight of him. She couldn't blame them, considering that he was quite striking. Artfully messy hair fell across his face, mischievous blue eyes shining from beneath his hair. 

The next two that walked in were younger than her, Marinette deduced, but equally elegant as their—she was assuming—brother. The smallest one, perhaps one not to conform to society's rules, glared at everyone in the room, green eyes sharp, while the other simply stood there, eyes searching the room as if he was looking for something.

It was the last man who walked into the room that caught Marinette's interest. He, like his older brother, was quite tall and muscular, filling out his suit very nicely. His icy blue eyes scanned the room uninterestedly, lips pulled down into a seemingly uninterested expression. Unlike his siblings, the material of his suit seemed to be impossibly darker, highlighting the pure white streak in his hair even more. 

"That's," Adrien whispered in Marinette's ear, hand on the small of her back, "Those are the Waynes."

Gasping quietly, Marinette turned to him, her crush long forgotten. "Do you not have to greet them?"

Giving her a nervous smile, Adrien said, "I would be more glad to do it with company."

Nodding in answer to his silent question, Marinette noiselessly followed him through the ballroom, eyes firmly fixed upon the lace she had sewed onto her sleeve.

"Good evening," Adrien greeted with a tilt of his head, as soon as he and Marinette approached the Waynes.

The oldest brother peered at Adrien with a quick grin. "Good evening. Mr Agreste, I presume?"

Pasting a polite smile across his face, Adrien said, "Please, call me Adrien."

"Well then, Adrien," the brother said, giving a quick look to Marinette, "Who is this lovely lady with you?"

Marinette curtseyed as per the social customs before answering. "Marinette Dupain-Cheng, sir."

Smiling at her fully now, the brother deemed it was time to introduce himself. "I am Richard Grayson, but since we are to be close, you may call me Dick."

Gesturing to his brothers, Richard introduced them one by one, Damian, and Tim, until he finally came upon the one that had caught Marinette's interest. 

"And this," Dick said, hesitating slightly. "Would you like to introduce yourself?"

Rolling his eyes at his brother—no regard for social politeness it seemed—the man muttered Jason Todd curtly.

Well. He seemed like a bit of a brooder, Marinette had to admit. He also didn't look very pleased to be here if anything was to be judged by the death looks he kept on giving to everyone. 

Adrien gave them all his trademark kind smile. "It's nice to meet all of you. Shall I introduce you around?"

Nodding at him to lead the way, Adrien and Dick fell into step with each other, their seemingly sunny personalities melding well. Damian and Tim seemed to be engaged together, so that left Marinette to walk with the brooding, silent Jason Todd. 

They walked in silence, content to listen to Dick and Adrien chatting until she noticed the glances that Jason seemed to be constantly throwing her way. 

Embarrassingly so, it took Marinette more than a few minutes to gather up the courage to talk to him. 

"Your suit," she managed to say, "Is very well tailored."

Surprise wrote itself across his face before he quickly removed it, eyes emotionless once more. "I could say the same for yours."

Blushing slightly, Marinette allowed herself to bask in the glory of the compliment. "I sewed it myself."

"Well," he said snidely, "Ours was done by a professional tailor."

Marinette's jaw snapped shut as she ground her teeth together. Did he just—

Judging by the opening of his mouth he wasn't even done yet. "And," he said, looking over her once more. "It does look rather amateur. Quite average."

Clenching her fists together, Marinette pinched herself hard in an effort to stop the tears prickling at her eyes.

"Well then," she said, just as icily as him. "Good evening to you and your oh-so-professional suit, Mr Todd. I hope I do not see you any time soon."

With that, she turned on her heel, going to where she could see Alya and the rest of their friends gathered.

As soon as she walked up to them, Marinette grabbed a glass of wine, downing it in one go.

"Oh my," Alya said, watching her with scrutiny. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Marinette said curtly, sipping at her glass. "Everything is fine."

Alya looked at her with a furrow on her brow. "You sound like you're trying to convince yourself that than telling me. What's wrong, Marinette?"

Sighing loudly, Marinette put her glass on the table with a thump. "It's nothing. Really," she added at Alya's concerned look. "I'm just annoyed."

"Well," Alya said suspiciously. "If you say so."

"I do," Marinette said firmly, wishing Alya would drop it already because it was only pouring salt on the wound that Jason Todd had made with him and his cutting words.

"Alright," Alya said, grinning suddenly. "Now, come on! Let's dance!"

Dragging Marinette to the dance floor, the girl finally allowed herself to let the tension slither out from her muscles, letting her body flow with the music. 

For the rest of the ball, if she felt someone's eyes on her back, she ignored it, having realised who it was when she turned around, only to see the second oldest Wayne staring at her with an unreadable emotion in her eyes. 

If he was going to be an egotistical, rude brat, Marinette wanted nothing to do with him. 

#jasonette july 2022 #jasonette #jason x marinette #marinette x jason #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #enemies to lovers #pride and prejudice au #fluff #humour #angst #arguments #maribat #mlb x dc #dc x mlb

[shadowqueen402]

Prim And Proper Origins: Part 24

Part 20 is here:

Part 21 is here:

Part 22 is here:

Part 23 is here:

"Ah, Primrose," The boss spoke on the phone with her. "How wonderful to speak with you. I've heard that you've agreed to work on Project X with us. Listen, I have an idea on how you can test the project."

"Go on," Primrose said on the phone. She was alone in the mansion that she and her 'husband', Roland Carmichael both lived in. Roland was at work and wouldn't be home until the evening. "What do you have in mind?"

"I want to know; have you ever considered building a school?" The boss asked. "One where you will be able to teach unruly children on how to be perfect."

"Me? Build a school?" Primrose was rather taken aback at this.

"Yes," The boss said to Primrose. "You will become the headmistress of the place. You will also be able to make decisions of your choice regarding the dress code, any clubs the students can participate, school rules, you name it. But that school can be the perfect place where you can test the project."

Primrose went silent for a moment. She never omce thought about being a teacher before. But now that it crossed her mind, she started thinking. A school where I can teach children to behave? She thought. How interesting… A new Perfection era will definitely arrive soon.

"I will do it," Primrose said with a proud smile. "I have perfect ideas on how I can run this school. Shall I meet up with you and my 'coworker' so I can discuss them with you?"

"Sounds absolutely perfect," The boss replied. "How does tomorrow sound?"

"I shall meet up with you then," Primrose said. "Where do you wish to meet up?"

"At the cafe." The boss sounded pleased. "Tomorrow morning by 9. Don't be late." He then hung up the phone.

Primrose ended the call. She was so excited to discuss her ideas on running her school. A new idea also crossed her mind. In order for perfection to last forever, I'll need an heiress. She thought. Someone who will make sure everyone is perfect.

Later on, Roland came home from work to greet his wife. "I'm home!" He called.

"Darling, welcome back," Primrose said in a faux-polite tone. "Listen, I was thinking about something important while you were away. You must sit down for this."

"Of course," Roland said as he sat on the couch. "So what was on your mind, my dear?"

And it was at that moment that Primrose said the exact words that would change hers and Roland's lives. "Let's try for a child."

I don't own Madame Prim or Roland.

#balan wonderworld #fanfic #ocs

[alwaysinstitchesco]

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It’s important to notice that every time I make recommendations, I need to ensure the bag has 2 things going for it. The first, that it sells for at least 80% on the preloved market. Bags produced earlier than 1990 are completed with one line of sewing on the prime of the tag solely, whereas the tags on newer luggage are stitched all the way around. The prime stitch on very recent luggage ought to be a different colour from the the rest of the stitches across the border of the tag. It’s a long way from the prim black leather and navy satin types favoured by Diana. fake dior bag Instead, it’s a reaffirmation of the Dior’s perennial attraction. And like all nice women – together with Diana herself – tradition is all of the more daring with a stroke of artistic licence. This Dior handbag is made out of coated canvas with leather finishes & options Dior’s monogram print, a leather-based interlaced with steel chain for carry, top flap, an ornamental entrance b... I covet another, but it’s an artist interpretative bag and presently out of my restricted finances. Regardless of the placement, the tag should be rectangular in shape with rounded corners. A leather tag with straight corners will most actually be a faux. In authentic baggage, there must be more than ten or extra stitches on all sides of the square or diamond sample. The stitching additionally won’t run deep as to not damage the leather, whereas fakes typically look virtually embossed onto the bag. We also get your e mail tackle to automatically create an account for you on PurseBlog. Once your account is created, you'll be logged in to this account. The format of the date code is identical as on Louis Vuitton bags because both Dior and Louis Vuitton are part of LVMH. Please reference the LV guide for a letter code chart, however keep in thoughts that you should count on your Lady Dior to have been made in Italy or Spain if the bag was made in 1990 or thereafter. Also, starting from Nineties the tags positioned outdoors of the inner pocket are stitched across the perimeter. The date code tags positioned inside the inner pocket usually are not and weren't stitched round their perimeter. Contrary to well-liked belief the Lady Dior bag wasn’t created for Lady Diana, nonetheless she is the one who put it on the map eternally. In 1995, Princess Diana was given a basic black Lady Dior bag by the French first Lady to hold for the opening of the Cézanne exhibition on the Grand Palais in Paris. Little did she know that she would create historical past that day, putting the Lady Dior bag on the Dior classics listing eternally. The New Look featured a more structured silhouette with a cinched waist and even shorter skirts. Keep in mind that on the time these designs have been revolutionary. A practical and stylish clutch in lovely hues, this one is made from calf hair and leather-based. Harry Archer is the Assistant Fashion Editor at Editorialist, where he works on all things tendencies, the newest designer drops, and investigates the relationship between trend and culture. His work has also featured in the Gay Times and Attitude. When he isn't invested in pop culture, you'll discover him engrossed in a book, running, or doing a purple wine rendition of Can't Fight the Moonlight from the critically acclaimed movie Coyote Ugly.

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[lunding24baldwin]

Here Is How You Can Inform If A Dior Bag Is Faux

Love that Bag is not affiliated with the above-mentioned manufacturers. If you're at an office or shared community, you'll have the ability to ask the community administrator to run a scan across the community in search of misconfigured or infected gadgets. It’s thought of as one other one of her largest accomplishments. With its launch, Dior launched a video of the luxury bag’s crafting process on YouTube. Christian Dior luggage have been carried by everybody from European royalty to Hollywood royalty. When it involves investing in a bag for the long run, Christian Dior is considered one of the finest manufacturers to choose from. There is commonly a lot of comparability of the Montaigne box bag to the Dior Caro bag. For me, I personally prefer the Montaigne box bag over the Caro bag. After all, the bag embodies the exceptional expertise and craftsmanship of Dior. Former French First Lady Madame Bernadette Chirac gave this bag to Princess Diana as a present when the latter visited Paris. The bag became one of the princess’s favorites and she began carrying it round everywhere she went. New arrivalsNew with tagsDepartment storesPattern dressesTops under $20SaleThrift the Look Recreate outfits sustainably. It’s for the one who buys a bag simply because they adore it, and that’s reason sufficient. The Lady Dior is on the market in a number of sizes, from the Mini Lady Dior, by way of to the Large Lady Dior. The mini model comes with a series strap rather than an identical leather one. The Lady Dior bag is considered one of the brand’s best-selling designs and has gone via several re-interpretations over time. We’re taking a deep dive into the brand, its most iconic bags, and all the information you want to learn about shopping for one. It’s important to notice that whenever I make recommendations, I wish to ensure the bag has 2 issues going for it. https://phoenet.tw/dior-replica.html The first, that it sells for at least 80% on the preloved market. Bags produced earlier than 1990 are finished with one line of sewing on the prime of the tag solely, whereas the tags on newer baggage are stitched all the greatest way around. The prime sew on very latest luggage must be a special shade from the rest of the stitches around the border of the tag. It’s a good distance from the prim black leather-based and navy satin types favoured by Diana. Instead, it’s a reaffirmation of the Dior’s perennial appeal. And like all nice women – together with Diana herself – tradition is all of the more daring with a stroke of artistic licence. This Dior purse is made out of coated canvas with leather-based finishes & options Dior’s monogram print, a leather-based interlaced with metal chain for carry, high flap, a decorative front b... I covet another, but it’s an artist interpretative bag and currently out of my restricted budget. Regardless of the placement, the tag have to be rectangular in form with rounded corners. A leather-based tag with straight corners will most definitely be a faux. In authentic luggage, there should be more than ten or more stitches on both sides of the sq. or diamond sample. The stitching additionally won’t run deep as to not damage the leather-based, whereas fakes often look nearly embossed onto the bag. We additionally get your email handle to automatically create an account for you on PurseBlog. Once your account is created, you may be logged in to this account. The format of the date code is identical as on Louis Vuitton luggage because each Dior and Louis Vuitton are a part of LVMH. Please reference the LV information for a letter code chart, however do not neglect that you should count on your Lady Dior to have been made in Italy or Spain if the bag was made in 1990 or thereafter. Also, starting from Nineteen Nineties the tags positioned outside of the interior pocket are stitched across the perimeter. The date code tags located inside of the internal pocket usually are not and weren't stitched around their perimeter. Contrary to popular perception the Lady Dior bag wasn’t created for Lady Diana, however she is the one who put it on the map eternally. In 1995, Princess Diana was given a basic black Lady Dior bag by the French first Lady to carry for the opening of the Cézanne exhibition at the Grand Palais in Paris. Little did she know that she would create historical past that day, placing the Lady Dior bag on the Dior classics listing endlessly. The New Look featured a more structured silhouette with a cinched waist and even shorter skirts. Keep in thoughts that at the time these designs were revolutionary. A practical and stylish clutch in beautiful hues, this one is produced from calf hair and leather-based. Harry Archer is the Assistant Fashion Editor at Editorialist, where he works on all issues trends, the newest designer drops, and investigates the connection between fashion and culture. wikipedia handbags His work has also featured within the Gay Times and Attitude. When he isn't invested in popular culture, you may discover him engrossed in a e-book, operating, or doing a pink wine rendition of Can't Fight the Moonlight from the critically acclaimed film Coyote Ugly.

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[mcleodhyde1]

Here Is How One Can Tell If A Dior Bag Is Fake

Love that Bag is not affiliated with the above-mentioned brands. If you're at an office or shared network, you can ask the community administrator to run a scan across the network in search of misconfigured or infected gadgets. It’s thought-about as another certainly one of her largest accomplishments. With its release, Dior released a video of the luxury bag’s crafting course of on YouTube. Christian Dior luggage have been carried by everyone from European royalty to Hollywood royalty. When it comes to investing in a bag for the lengthy run, Christian Dior is among the finest manufacturers to select from. There is usually plenty of comparability of the Montaigne field bag to the Dior Caro bag. For me, I personally prefer the Montaigne field bag over the Caro bag. After all, the bag embodies the distinctive expertise and craftsmanship of Dior. Former French First Lady Madame Bernadette Chirac gave this bag to Princess Diana as a gift when the latter visited Paris. https://phoenet.tw/dior-replica.html The bag grew to become one of many princess’s favorites and he or she started carrying it around all over the place she went. New arrivalsNew with tagsDepartment storesPattern dressesTops beneath $20SaleThrift the Look Recreate outfits sustainably. It’s for the one who buys a bag simply because they like it, and that’s purpose sufficient. The Lady Dior is on the market in several sizes, from the Mini Lady Dior, by way of to the Large Lady Dior. The mini mannequin comes with a series strap in place of a matching leather one. The Lady Dior bag is among the brand’s best-selling designs and has gone by way of a quantity of re-interpretations over the years. We’re taking a deep dive into the brand, its most iconic bags, and all the knowledge you need to learn about shopping for one. It’s important to notice that each time I make suggestions, I want to ensure the bag has 2 things going for it. The first, that it sells for a minimum of 80% on the preloved market. wikipedia handbags Bags produced before 1990 are finished with one line of stitching at the prime of the tag solely, whereas the tags on more recent luggage are stitched all the means in which round. The top sew on very latest bags must be a special colour from the relaxation of the stitches across the border of the tag. It’s a great distance from the prim black leather and navy satin types favoured by Diana. Instead, it’s a reaffirmation of the Dior’s perennial attraction. And like all nice girls – together with Diana herself – custom is all the more daring with a stroke of inventive licence. This Dior purse is made out of coated canvas with leather-based finishes & options Dior’s monogram print, a leather interlaced with metal chain for carry, high flap, an ornamental front b... I covet another, however it’s an artist interpretative bag and currently out of my restricted finances. Regardless of the placement, the tag should be rectangular in form with rounded corners. A leather tag with straight corners will most certainly be a faux. In authentic bags, there ought to be greater than ten or more stitches on both sides of the sq. or diamond pattern. The stitching additionally won’t run deep as to not damage the leather, whereas fakes typically look nearly embossed onto the bag. We also get your e-mail handle to automatically create an account for you on PurseBlog. Once your account is created, you'll be logged in to this account. The format of the date code is identical as on Louis Vuitton luggage because both Dior and Louis Vuitton are a part of LVMH. Please reference the LV guide for a letter code chart, but keep in thoughts that you need to expect your Lady Dior to have been made in Italy or Spain if the bag was made in 1990 or thereafter. Also, ranging from Nineties the tags positioned outdoors of the inner pocket are stitched around the perimeter. The date code tags situated inside the interior pocket usually are not and weren't stitched around their perimeter. Contrary to popular belief the Lady Dior bag wasn’t created for Lady Diana, nevertheless she is the one who put it on the map eternally. In 1995, Princess Diana was given a classic black Lady Dior bag by the French first Lady to carry for the opening of the Cézanne exhibition on the Grand Palais in Paris. Little did she know that she would create historical past that day, placing the Lady Dior bag on the Dior classics listing eternally. The New Look featured a more structured silhouette with a cinched waist and even shorter skirts. Keep in mind that on the time these designs were revolutionary. A practical and chic clutch in beautiful hues, this one is made from calf hair and leather-based. Harry Archer is the Assistant Fashion Editor at Editorialist, where he works on all issues developments, the latest designer drops, and investigates the relationship between trend and culture. His work has also featured in the Gay Times and Attitude. When he is not invested in popular culture, you'll discover him engrossed in a guide, running, or doing a pink wine rendition of Can't Fight the Moonlight from the critically acclaimed movie Coyote Ugly.

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[aficwhore]

COMING SOON:

Madam Faux

Criminal Minds x John Wick AU(Female OC "Kitty")

Aaron Hotchner x Nameless OC, John Wick x Nameless OC

Summary: An unusual case makes its way onto JJ's desk, leading the team to dig down the rabbit hole of "Kitty's" old life. That's when they discover who they've truly been working with. This blast to the past exposes all the dark things she had wanted to keep hidden. Will 'Kitty' go back to her old ways? Or her even older ones?

Warnings: 18+!!! explicit language, sexual themes, weapons, blood, violence, gruesome scenes, death, strip club/stripping, assassin past life, love triangle, trauma, other adult themes.

A/N: Had this idea for quite a long time, never wrote it out until recently. With the help of this lovely person @ssa-sadboi, I was able to come up with an interesting and hopefully intense story and plot. So sit back, relax, and watch these two worlds collide <3

#john wick x reader #john wick au #john wick #criminal minds au #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #Aaron Hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #john wick fanfiction #criminal minds x John wick #Madam Faux series #Madam Faux #series #nameless oc #angst #John wick angst #aaron hotch angst #criminal minds angst #angst time #assassin au

[comfortwriting]

A Triwizard Baby Part 4 - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompt Masterlist

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Part 4 of my ‘Triwizard Baby’ mini-series, please read Parts 1, 2, and 3 if you haven’t already. Want to be tagged? Let me know!

Warnings: Swearing, Mention vomiting, and food/eating.

"Girls" you sighed, watching them finally stop jumping on their beds and dropping their pillows "There's something I need to tell you."

You and Angelina shared a glance, she knew and so did you - you were finally ready, to tell the truth. Hiding this - hiding the truth about you and Fred had caused you enough pain, and the longer you decided to hide this, the worse the pain would get.

"What is it?" Katie asked, already concerned, no longer giggly or excitable.

Staring and picking at your fingernails, you finally looked each of your friends in the eyes, your heart thumping in your chest with each breath.

"I'm ready to tell you" you sighed again "who the father is."

They all stayed silent except Matt's little sister, "who is it?" she asked quietly.

"Fred," you blurted out, unable to hide his name for much longer "Fred Weasley is the father."

"I've told you" Fred hissed "don't bloody speak to me!" he stormed in front of George, stamping his feet, furious his backstabbing brother would dare to even speak to him.

Fred was exhausted from sleeping in the room of requirement alone and no one to talk to, he was pissed off with his brother, frustrated that you weren't his and that everyone around him avoided him as if he had a curse. For the first time in his life, he left as if he had run out of luck.

George grabbed him by the arm "Freddie, please-"

"No!" Fred shoved George's grip off him "You're jealous, you always have been."

George opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't get a word in.

"You always have been, every girl I've been with, you've chased after when I'm done with them. You can't stand the fact I fucked her, and you've rubbed it in my face that you've knocked her up!" Fred's voice cracked "And I told you, I loved her!"

"Fred, I-"

"Do me a favour, Georgie, don't speak a word to me at the baby shower, unless you want a crib smashed against your stupid head!"

"Keep those eyes closed!" Angelina grinned, her hands covering your eyes as she walked you through the rented restaurant covered in banners, balloons, a buffet table and presents.

"I am!" you smirked, feeling slightly nervous, smelling the mouth-watering fruit juices and pies.

"Okay," Angelina smiled, removing her hands "open in three, two, one!"

Opening your eyes you looked across the huge room, your friends were all huddled together with party poppers, yelling "Surprise!" and pulling the string, confetti shooting across the room, Fred sat alone across the room, trying his hardest to show support and be happy for you, but his heartbreak was breaking through his persona better than he thought.

You were bombarded with presents for you and the baby: the new crib, clothes, socks, bottles, nappies, monitors, teddy bears, and blankets - you unwrapped everything which brought the biggest smile to your face and tears of happiness to your eyes.

Everyone made bets on whether you would have a girl or a boy, what time and day they would be born on, and how long the labour would be. Even you had to admit, you were having a good time and for the first time in a while, the smile on your face was genuine, not forced.

After hours of present opening, games, bets, and food, you and the girls cleaned up the confetti, empty plates and scrunched up wrapping paper. Fred slowly approached you and tapped you on the shoulder, turning around to look at him, your heart pained.

Tell him, everyone knows but him, just tell him!

"Freddie-"

"Y/N, can I have a moment?" he murmured.

The girls looked at the two of you standing in the middle of the room, they exchanged looks and nodded, leaving to give you both some privacy.

"I wanted to give this to you in private," Fred said softly, handing you a large faux dragon scale photo album "I ran out of time to wrap it, was up all night finishing it."

You stared down at the photo album and opened it, your heartbreaking with each turn of the page. Pictures of you and Fred throughout the years, followed by his little notes of when and where the picture was taken until you flicked to the empty pages, you stared up at him.

Tell him, now is a perfect time-

"Fred, please-"

"The blank pages are to fill with pictures of us and the baby," he said softly "that's if the father won't mind."

George entered the room again, not knowing his brother was still there.

"Y/N, I was thinking-" he stopped in his tracks, looking at his brother's face dropping.

"Congratulations, again." Fred walked away, pushing past his brother and out the door.

"They are Braxton Hicks, my dear." Madame Pomfrey waved her hand, helping you to your feet in the hospital wing.

Your hand rested on your bump "I'm sorry, what?"

After your little moment with Fred, your womb contracted and relaxed, disturbing your baby, causing it to lash out and kick against your tummy in discomfort from the contractions. You were frightened and sure you were going into labour and George rushed you to the hospital wing.

"Is she going to be okay?" George asked nervously.

"False labour pains" she replied "and if you go to the tournament tonight you'll be experiencing more of them!" she stressed.

"I can assure you I won't be doing backflips," you grumbled, "surely it will be safer for me if I sit down."

Madame Pomfrey held her nose up in the air, feeling slightly defeated "I can't stop you from going, but as long as you're sitting down and surrounded by a responsible group of friends, I don't see why you can't go."

"I'll take good care of her, I swear."

"Your brother couldn't!" Madame Pomfrey hissed "she's in this mess because of him, and I better not see you two back in here until that baby is ready!"

The loud band played along as everyone got seated high up in the stands, the girls on your left, and George on your right, you held onto his hand, still on edge from the sudden Braxton Hicks. You rested your head against his shoulder, Fred stared at the back of your head, his hands bunched into fists, regretting his decision to sit towards the back.

Everyone was on the edge of their seats, Fleur had failed, Krum evidently had too - now - it was between Cedric and Harry, the champion being a Hogwarts student was certain, but still, undecided whether that champion would belong to Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, like many others in the stands, your fingers and toes were crossed for Harry taking the win.

Out of nowhere, Cedric came stumbling out of the maze, covered in dirt, sweat, and blood, his shirt sticking to him and his hair ruffled, scratches across his delicate face. He crouched down, clearly out of breath, but so startled and shaken up that he was shaking and green in the face.

The crowd jumped to their feet, cheering for Harry and Gryffindor, holding their red banners and waving their flags in the air whilst Syltherin scowled and hid their faces in their hands.

"We need to go and see if he's alright!" Angelina panicked hearing Cho shriek, the girls got on their feet and hurried down the stairs, running out to Cedric who was now on his hands and knees on the grass, throwing up.

"Well, are you coming!?" Angelina asked George, holding out her hand.

George looked at you, he didn't want to leave you on your own and you knew it.

"Go," you reassured him "I'll be okay."

You watched Cedric gain the courage to speak, you tried to lip read but he was too far away for you to even make out a single word, but whatever he had said panicked the cheering girls and proud lads because now they were muttering, whispering and all appeared to be frightened and anxious, no longer in the mood to celebrate Harry's win.

Katie who didn't leave you behind shot a scowl at Fred who continued to stare at you, she moved closer to you whilst Angelina and George hurried back, horror across their faces.

"What's happened?" you panicked.

"It's Harry" George frowned "The cup, it was a portkey and he's gone, Cedric said-"

Angelina nudged George with her elbow, glaring at him and shaking her head "not now, George."

"No, what is it?" you demanded.

Just as George announced the news that the dark lord had returned, you felt major discomfort and a dull ache in your back and lower abdomen, along with the pressure that increased in your pelvic, you gripped onto your bump and winced.

"George!" you panicked "It's happening!"

The father of your baby watched as you went into labour, Katie and Angelina helped you to your feet as George hurried over to Madame Pomfrey, everyone around you started to panic and gave you all the room you needed to evacuate safely back into the hospital wing - the one place you didn't want to end up twice in one day.

Leaving you behind, George stared up at Fred who was sat as still as a statute, if you weren't going to tell him, George had to, he wouldn't allow his brother to miss the birth of his child.

George stumbled over to his brother and shook him angrily "I don't want to bloody argue but listen to me!"

"George, I told you-"

"You're the dad, alright!" George yelled, "She's having your baby, you need to get to the hospital wing now!"

"What are you on about?" Fred argued, not believing the word "are you seriously-"

"Think back to the party when you played truth or dare! Think for Merlin's sake!"

Fred shut his mouth and suddenly, his world began to spin so fast his heart could've stopped.

“I want you.” you breathed, pulling away from the kiss “I want you to fuck me like you do everyone else.”

“I want you too” Fred replied, taking your hand and fleeing from the party.

“Are you ready, Y/N?” Fred asked, pulling away from your breasts.

“Yes,” you breathed out, slurring slightly “I’m ready Freddie.”

The memories suddenly flashed before his eyes, the sight of your naked body beneath his, the two of you climaxing, Fred pulling out and falling into your arms, only to wake up the next morning in an empty bed that smelled of your hair and perfume. It reminded Fred that he had forgotten to put a condom on, George wasn't lying, he is the father of your child.

Fred's eye widened and he bolted from his brother, shoving everyone aside and sprinting for his life to the hospital wing, no one and nothing could stop him now.

The doors of the hospital wing swung open, laying in your bed, tears rolled down your face as the contractions worsened, Madame Pomfrey urging you to keep pushing. Fred pulls out a chair and sits beside you, holding your hand, comforting you, kissing your forehead and encouraging you.

You opened your mouth to speak: you wanted to say sorry, to tell him you loved him, you wanted to explain everything all at once, but you were unable to - the pain increasing, causing you to scream out, tears rolling down your face.

"Almost there Y/N, you're crowning!" Madame Pomfrey announced.

Fred planted another kiss on your sweaty forehead "keep pushing sweetheart," he said softly "you're doing so bloody well!"

Within a few moments, the sound of your babies cries rang out through the hospital wing, Madame Pomfrey placed the baby in your arms, encouraging you to sit back and relax - but you couldn't you still had the urge to push.

"I need to push again, "you cried, gritting your teeth "I'm not done!"

Madame Pomfrey's mouth dropped, causing her to take the baby from your arms and handing the newborn to Fred.

"What's going on?" Fred panicked, gripping onto his child, already feeling the protectiveness kick in.

"There's another baby..."

"She's having twins?!"

Fred held the elder newborn in his arms whilst the younger and smaller newborn rested in yours, both of them just like their father; a full head of ginger hair.

"They're yours." you croaked, your. throat sore from all the screaming and crying.

Fred smiled, tears forming in his eyes as he rocked the baby in his arms "I know, they look just like me... their hairs..."

"I'm so sorry, Freddie, I didn't tell you because... because I didn't know what to do, you're my best friend and I've had feelings for you since the beginning and I felt as if you didn't feel the same, I thought that me forcing a child upon you would... would ruin what we had."

"Of course I feel the same," Fred replied "I just didn't know if you did."

The two of you went silent for a moment, the twins sleeping -  they were exhausted from being brought into the world earlier than expected.

"Do you still feel the same?" you asked Fred, staring into his pride-filled brown eyes.

He nodded "Yeah, do you?"

Everything you had ever wanted finally arrived, the children you were carrying - so eager and excited to meet, and the man of your dreams, finally on the same page as you - who had been in love with you for all this time.

You looked down at the baby in your arms and then back up at Fred, "I do too."

"Shall we have a fresh start?" Fred smiled "As parents and that."

You broke out into a light laugh and smiled "I'd like that, Freddie. I'd like that a lot."

There was another silence, it felt as if the world was sleeping.

"So, when can we make another one?" Fred winked.

"When we graduate from Hogwarts!-"

"Next year?" he raised an eyebrow.

"You didn't let me finish! We need to graduate, get stable jobs and have a house with enough room!"

"So next year then?" Fred smirked, still cradling the baby.

Your furrowed your brows, unsure whether or not he was bluffing.

"Okay then, since you're all confident, let's make a bet." You smirked back.

"If I win, we make another baby, if you win... we get married," Fred said softly as the baby opened his eyes and let out a cry.

"Alright," you agreed, taking your baby from Fred, trying to breastfeed "but what is your obsession with making another one?" you asked, "we've just had twins!"

Mr and Mrs Weasley were slowly approaching the hospital wing, George following not far behind.

"Yeah, which I've only just found out are mine!"

The hospital wing doors opened, Molly and Arthur standing in the doorway, staring at you, their son, and their grandchildren.

taglist: Taglist: @amourtentiaa @horrorxweasley @alwaysnforeverfangirl@reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @sebby-staan @onlyfreds@pandaxnienke @xmalfoyweasleyx @manuosorioh@cosmiccomicloverqueen @the-romanian-is-bae @fhhsposts@cavalinhox @purple-vodka-99 @simpforweasleys2@dracoismybabey @statellitespidey @xuminghaosworld @michael-loves-chickens @simpforweasleys2 @freddie-weaselbee @itsnottlilly

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[popolitiko]

'War Drags You Out,' Saint Hoax Series, Showcases World Leaders In Drag James Nichols - Updated February 2, 2016

Artist Saint Hoax made waves across the Internet this week with a project as unique as it is culturally relevant. Called "War Drags You Out," the project consists of a series of digital illustrations that depict prominent world leaders in drag.

However, these aren't just easy targets like George W. Bush. Saint Hoax, whose identity is unknown, has taken on figures in the vein of the King of Saudi Arabia and Vladimir Putin -- and subsequently received death threats. HuffPost Gay Voices chatted with Saint Hoax today in order to better understand the "War Drags You Out" series and the politics of this work. 📷 "Madame O' Sane" "I began working on the "War Drags You Out" series last June. Initially, I was painting the drag queens on canvases. I began with the infamous Bin Laden. I completed the painting last November and I got in touch with a curator that asked me to anonymously display the painting in Zarnegar Park (Kabul, Afghanistan). As risky as it sounded, I agreed to his request. I then announced that the art show will take place on the Feb. 11 via YouTube." "I received over 70 [death] threats in my inbox deterring me from showcasing the [original] U.S.A.M.A [Osama Bin Laden] painting. Quite frankly, I got worried. Luckily, instead of shipping the original painting I sent the curator a faux painting and it got lost. The curator emailed me saying that it was destroyed in the Kabul International Airport." 📷 "Hitleria Hysteria" "I never heard from him after that, and the art show failed to happen. I then decided to digitally illustrate the W.D.Y.O series.The digital process took less time than painting." 📷 "Georgia Buchette" "The 'War Drags You Out' project is a mere reflection of the current political situation that has taken its toll not only on the Arab region, but also on the entire world." 📷 "Vladdy Pushin'" "I perceive the idolized political/religious leaders as performers, and quite frankly, they're no longer entertaining. I got the idea to draw a comparison between leaders and drag queens after attending a drag show for the first time in May 2013." "I want my artwork to become a constant reminder that the idolized leaders are merely performers in drag -- My art is purely 'POPlitical' rather than political." 📷 "Baricka O'Bisha"

For more information on Saint Hoax, head here to visit the artist's website.

https://www.huffpost.com/entry/war-drags-you-out_n_4855535

#Photoshop

[orojuice]

Black Night Direction: Alternate Mix

Another comic by me and Sha-Y.

A pure Batman parody intermixed with a callback to Travis’ faux-pas against the CIA in Travis Strikes Again.

Luckily for Travis, while the CIA has updated its firmware so it can never be hacked again like it were in TSA, Black Night Direction hasn’t; something Juvenile’s AI makes clear to Travis’ captors before she hacks into Black Night Direction’s teleportation harness and transports him, Travis, and the Colonel way, way up in the sky.

Travis is able to break out of his bonds, grab his Beam Katana, and the Death Glove before latching onto BND before he recovers, which results in the both of them being teleported to safety. The Colonel isn’t so lucky and he winds up impaled on the top of the Thunderdome tower.

Once they’re back where they started, Black Night Direction tries to high road Travis, citing that his refusal to cooperate has probably set back diplomatic relations between the American Government and FU’s forces quite a ways. Travis retorts that FU executing the President of the USA on live television (and his Madame VP on FikFok) is going to be much harder for the aliens to walk back from. Sure, he didn’t vote for them, but that was still pretty rude to those that did.

Recovering Badman’s ashes is a secondary objective of Travis’. Which is rendered both tragic and absurd by how he’s pointedly unable to save any of the still alive civilians that Black Night Direction weaponizes.

Black Night Direction “dropping” people to death has been seen in superhero stuff before like X-Men: First Class, The Flying Man, and Brightburn. But I can’t recall it being a video game boss attack, so let’s put the Unreal 4 Engine to good and gruesome use! Litter the battlefield with collateral damage to distract and horrify assassin and player alike!

Native Dancer still plays a role in the actual boss fight, but it’s as a lead-up to the one you can actually replay in the Time Machine as he gives Travis new Death Glove Skills to counter a bunch of unfair tactics that Black Night Direction has at his disposal. These same principles can be used during his proper boss fight.

Death Force: Used to pull BND down while he’s hovering in the air and dropping “abducted” things on Travis.

Death Slow: Used to counter BND as he dashes around the battlefield with his trident, giving Travis an opportunity to lay the hurt on him.

Death Rain: Used to counter a numerous amounts of 1HP after-images that BND sends after Travis. Him getting hit by either Travis or the shower will call off the clone barrage completely.

The fight is meant to teach the player how to use the Death Glove Skills intelligently as they counter certain moved by BND, but there are always “outs” they can take (i.e. dodging and running away) if the proper skill isn’t charged. it’s just a less frustrating fight if you don’t recklessly spam these abilities.

Native Dancer’s boss fight can still be in the story as an unlockable secret boss fight if Travis follows a certain quest line (Syliva implies this post-fight whilst also chiding Travis for outdoing himself on collateral damage in battling Black Night Direction). Like Ryuichi but better programmed.

Travis’ shirt here is of Chicken Police, a fully-voiced and exquisitely acted noir fiction Visual Novel starring anthropomorphic animals in the style of Blacksad and Zootopia. Highly recommended.

The BND title cards are based on both Batman: The Animated Series and the character's various movies. I set the BND logo amidst a red leather backdrop to hint at BND's macabre combat tactics, echo his vaguely vampiric appearance, and to link him to Travis' own jacket in a kind of deconstructed version of the Batman v. Superman logo's compactness.

Incidentally, Joy Division's Shadowplay fits both Black Night Direction and Travis really well. Give that a listen if you have a couple of minutes to spare.

#no more heroes #travis touchdown #black night direction #batman #commissioner gordon #travis strikes again #nmh3 #nmh3alternate #badman #dr. juvenile #chicken police

[xtrash-writing-trashx420]

Cheeky Minx || John Shelby x OC

//Welcoming the New Recruit//

"Makenna Aoife MacTavish, A.K.A. Makenna Muldoon; Duchess of Glenbrook, Aged 23

Served at the Somme as a field nurse and,"

The man before me takes a pause and looks up at me in faux surprise, as if the information on the paper he's gawking at isn't exactly why he's come seeking me out, and then continues in an almost condescending manner;

"Hm... and soforth was awarded title as Duchess and Sole Proprietor of Glenbrook Estates and Enterprises in Boston for her acts of valor.," He pauses again to throw down the file he was reading and light himself a cigarette.

I take in every detail, knowing that this meeting can end up only one of two ways, and assess the scenario. Tilting my head slightly and leaning back into the armchair in front of his desk, I cross my legs; his eyes glance from his ministrations with the box of matches he's holding and zip down to my left thigh where one strip of honeyed milk lies perfectly exposed between my black leather garter holster and my thigh-high nylon stockings.

I see the slight glint of mirth cross his steel blue eyes as he catches my not-so-subtle warning and continues to light his cigarette. I watch as he pulls his drag, the way his fingers just barely drape the stick of tobacco between them without effort, the way his eyes study mine, the way his free hand keeps switching between his knee and the top of the desk.

'A gangster like this doesn't get nervous over one woman with a snubnose purse pistol... Who is he waiting for?'

"I'll take one, while your at it." He smirks at this, and goes to hand me the one he's smoking. It's my turn to smirk, as I nod to his pack.

"A new one, if you don't mind." He raises his eyebrow, but nevertheless, complies. As I lean forward to take the cigarette, he lights another match and lights it for me, leaning over his desk so I don't have to.

'A gentlemanly gangster, not too hard on the eyes either.,' I admit to myself, studying his sharp features and piercing eyes.

Finally, after what seems like ages of simply sitting across and analyzing eachother, he continues.

"You're titled Duchess of Glenbrook but the common people call you Miss Kenna. You have 15 bars, 2 breeders farms, a horse track and 27 plots of real estate, and that's just in London alone. Glenbrook Estates is what, a mansion? And it says here you have 3 vacation homes as well." He scoffs and throws the file down on his desk.

"Well, let's get on with it, Mr. Shelby, as you well know, I'm a busy woman.," My voice is far too suave for my liking, but the situation calls for a little theater. "I would assume you called me here for a reason, this is hardly the place for a business meeting with someone of my status."

I sound like a proper posh cunt, and it seems as if he's taking the bait as he groans out a sigh and leans back into his chair. He lifts a hand to rub his temples, and then slams his fist on his desk in a motion so fast and loud, I was almost startled.

Almost.

He seems unfazed my lack of reaction, and continues on.

"Let's not pretend like you don't know what I want. You have influence all over, spies everywhere, and a very high standing. Everyone knows who you are. Nothing happens without you knowing about it.-"

"-As if I don't already know that-" I snappily interject.

"And I want your men, and your cooperation when we take over London. You're the most untouchable woman in all of North America. If you tell someone not to fuck with us, they won't. And those that do, you have ways of making it so they never existed."

I frown, sinking into the armchair infront of his desk once more and taking a long drag of my smoke.

"I see."

For the next few minutes we simply stare at eachother while we finish off our smokes, picking, analyzing, contemplating. Finally, after he offers me the crystal ashtray to put out, I appraise him and ask one simple question.

"What do you want from me?"

~~~~~~~

It's been 2 months since my meeting with Thomas Shelby at his gambling den, and 6 days since our last correspondence.

"Pack what you can in a suitcase and my men will come to collect you on Thursday. You're not safe."

No explanation, no reasoning, just that little tidbit over the phone while gunshots rang true and the sounds of men fighting grumbled in the background before he abruptly hung up. And since Thursday had come and gone the day after the call, I had resorted to relieving all of my staff save for my most trusted.

The only ones left on premises were my gate guards, my doormen, and my butler amd personal guard Carleton, who had only worked for me for 2 years but I was rather well aquanted with. We had hit it off rather well, and I considered him more friend than staff. He was a tall, broad shouldered Jewish man with a scruffy, large beard and bright eyes that reminded me of a child's, with a contradictory scowl that would make a grizzly piss himself.

Initially after receiving the warning, I had brushed it off without care. Being hunted was nothing new to me after all, being a woman who had served in the war and in other more internal battles of politics. But this was different.

I remember after the call I had snorted in laughter, summing it up as a joke and continuing on with my day. I had been untouchable, faceless and anonymous since the war. Only the most internal government files and most skilled intelligence organizations even knew what I looked like, let alone my real name. That was what had led me to agree to take up business with Thomas in the first place. But 2 months into business with the bloke and I show up to my race track to find every single one of my employees and horses shot and beat to hell.

Since then, I had taken to locking myself in my art studio with my easels and paints to distract myself; though it did little to nothing to soothe my racing mind. For the millionth time in just that day, I wondered why I wasn't safe, I wondered if Thomas and his Blinders had been picked off by their enemies, I wondered if my name had been let slip by one of his lackies in a braw deal that ended badly. I couldn't understand how I had gone from being untouchable, to going into hiding.

The only constant in each equation was none other than Thomas Shelby, and I made a mental note to tear him a new asshole when I got the chance.

I gave a start, knocked from my thoughts as Carleton entered with my afternoon tea, and my paintbrush skewed off stroke.

"Oh, fuck." I swore crassly, looking around my desk to find the paint I had used on the background to cover my mistake; not noticing my butler's sarcastic and smug grin over my classless use of vulgarity.

"Your tea, and lunch, Miss Muldoon." He presented my tray with grandiose show of putting it on my desk and lifting the cover to reveal my tea and what looked to be ladyfingers and some sort of meat sandwich. I didn't care, I was starving and anxious, so I sat and ate, thankful for the distraction.

"Don't be so smug, Carleton, I'm going mad up here." I complained as I ate, gesturing around me. "That smug bastard Shelby is going to pay for this. I've lived so comfortably until now."

"Speaking of, madam, you received a telegram."

"Oh bother, burn it."

"It seems important, ma'am. It mentions the race track."

At this I lean back to look over at him, he's moved clear halfway across the room to speak, and he's shifting his weight and wringing his hands. I sigh, and wave him on. He reads it out slowly, and I "tsk" in disappointment.

"You haven't been practicing," I chastise him, pulling a "give it here" motion with my fingers and taking the telegraph from him as soon as he's close enough. "Have you even read any of the practice books I've given you?"

"...No, ma'am, it's more difficult when you're not helping."

I glance at him with an incredulous look.

"That's no excuse, and you know it." I say, finally taking a moment to look at and read the telegraph in my hands, but it doesn't matter, because as soon as I go to focus, a gunshot resounds from outside the estate by the gates.

With a start, I get up and run to the window, moving the curtains to get a better view. I hear Carleton move the opposite way, closing the doors behind him as he leaves.

I continue to watch out the window, trying to see whats happening, though not to much success. The large fountain in my front garden is centre view from this room and all I can see behind it is a motorcar at my gate and my gatemen pointing their rifles at it. As I walk along the windows to try to catch a better view, I just barely see an arm come out the window of the motorcar with a piece of paper clutched in their outstretched hand before my gatemen move to unlock the gate and let the car through.

That's all I need to see to know.

The Peaky Blinders are outside my house.

(SO this will be a series based off of a slightly Mary-Sue character but it just is part of the story, please don't hate me for it lol. It'll make sense as to why she's this massive standing character later on. She's still a normal ass broad with hormones and issues so its okay lmfao. But anywhoooo, this is basically just a filler character intro to explain why Kenna is around and stuff. John will be in the next chapter, don't worry 😉 also my dumbass didn't proof-read this because its 6:00am and I NEED sleep. )

#john shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #thomas shelby #john shelby #arthur shelby #polly shelby #michael shelby #michael gray #peaky blinders imagine #peaky fucking blinders

[thecowardwrites]

Fifty Shades of Gwaine Part Three

Part Three: The Feast

One more part uploaded! I know it doesn’t take long to transfer one piece at a time, but linking everything takes some time (and I don’t want to overwhelm peoples notifications or dashboard with a shit ton of random writing)

| Series Masterlist | Ao3 | Previous Part | Support me | 

Summary: It’s finally time for the feast, and once again Sir Gwaine is slinking his way into your thoughts.

Warnings: None

Words: 3.2k

<><><><>

In escaping Sir Gwaine and the butterflies, which happened to invade your stomach the two times you seemed to meet him, you were left wandering around the corridors and guessing at which direction to take. Usually, you were never left without a “guide” when you were commissioned for noble families. You did suspect, though, that was more for their comfort than yours. In other words, they wanted to make sure you didn’t have sticky fingers and steal something from them.

“I should’ve asked him where to go,” You mumbled to yourself after taking another wrong turn, leading you back to the entrance of your room. “I’m such an absolute imbecile.”

“That seems rather harsh,” A familiar voice piped up. You glanced over to where Merlin was leaning against your bedroom door, apparently you hadn’t noticed him standing there. Probably too distraught at having gone around in a giant circle to take notice of the serving boy waiting for you.

“Oh, thank goodness,” You breathed a sigh of relief, “Can you tell me how to get to the banquet hall, I had to have been wandering around for hours. How late am I?”

“You’ve only been walking around for the last forty-five minutes according to the guards that saw you leave,” He chuckled, “And, consequently, you’re only about ten minutes late.”

You cringed, realizing you could have just asked the guards stationed in every hallway where to go. “I gather that this won’t be a very good first impression, will it?”

Merlin pretended to think about it for a moment, tapping a finger on his chin in faux thought. “I’d say it makes you more fashionably late.” He grinned at you after making his decision on what to say.

“Well then, good sir,” You exaggerated your voice into an overdramatic, posh accent, “Would you do me the absolute honor of being my escort to such a prestigious event?”

“Of course, Madam,” Merlin attempted a deep bow but wavered, making it look more like he was stumbling. When he arose, his face was plastered with a lopsided, goofy grin, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

After taking a moment to compose yourselves, he juts out his elbow for you to take. Which you accepted by linking your arm through his. It wasn’t so much of a dainty hold, rather than having your arms hooked together by the elbows. It was friendlier that way, you thought, made it feel more equal.

“Who all will be there again?” You asked him as you approached a grand door that you could only assume was where the feast would be held.

“Just the king, the queen, the five knights of the round table, my mentor Gaius, and your favorite person in the world and savior. Just a hint that’s me, Merlin.”

“I’m so glad you’ve claimed that title for yourself, Merlin.” You grin, “Without that clue I would have never known who my favorite person in the world is.”

“All in a day’s work, my fair lady.” The two of you stopped in front of the ornate doors of the throne room, turned banquet hall, and waited for the guards to allow you to enter.

“Before we go in, I must ask,” You tugged on his arm slightly, “If you’re my favorite, then am I yours?”

“Well,” He sucked in a breath and cocked his head to the side, “I’m afraid that has to go to Gwaine right now, I promised him  he would be for the week.”

“Next week then?”

“No good, reserved for Leon.” The guards had started to open the doors for you now.

“Put me at the next available week and then let me know,” You chuckled before the two of you were finally entering the room you had searched an eternity for. Okay, it wasn’t really an eternity – it wasn’t even an  hour, but it was long enough to make you elated to finally be inside.

“Ah, finally Merlin has finally done something useful,” King Arthur exclaims, standing as he sees the both of you, “Welcome, again, Lady Y/N, to Camelot. We are excited to have you here.” The rest of the room following suit to stand as their king did.

“I am very excited to be here,” You announce with a grin as you approach the open seat next to the queen that King Arthur had gestured to. As delicately as you could, you took to your seat while the rest of the room took theirs as well.

“I hope your room is to your satisfaction.” King Arthur spoke as Merlin bounced over to fill his goblet.

“It is amazing, your majesty. I thank you for accommodating me so well.”

The queen, Gwen, responded while Arthur was taking a sip of the wine that was just poured. “It’s no problem. We have more than enough space.”

“Plus,” King Arthur added after, “You are forced to look at my men’s mangey faces for months on end. I feel as though I should be apologizing for asking you to do this.”

You simply laugh at his words along with the few surrounding you, as you take a chance to look over the men that were sharing the banquet with you.

The seven men (including Merlin and Gaius) that the king trusted the most were in this room. It sounded like so few people to trust fully as a ruler, but at the same time the knights made the grand room feel full. Their laughter echoing off the walls, the way they threw themselves around while telling stories and joking about. It seemed like they were more like a family than just a king and his knights.

Glancing around, you took notice of one closest to you who seemed a little less comfortable than the others. The boy was quite a bit younger than the rest of them, and you even. He had dark, wavy hair and the brightest blue eyes you’d ever seen. He wore the same chainmail and cape as the knights - he wore the uniform well. Yet, you could tell he felt slightly left out. Maybe he was the last to join their circle, maybe his age made him somehow separate from them. Maybe he was a secret agent that works for the moon, you never know.

Next to the boy, was an extremely tall man. His arms, apparently too large for the chainmail, were bare and looked like they could tear boulders in half. His hair was cropped close to his scalp, and his face looked as though it was sculpted of stone. If you hadn’t seen him here, smiling and laughing boisterously with the others, you would think him a brutal, frightening man.

You continued observing each of the men in the room. The knight with a mop of curly hair, the one who struck a striking resemblance to Gwen, the old man with locks of white hair and eyes that drooped, and, finally, your eyes fell to Gwaine. The way he threw his head back when he laughed, and how his hair seemed to blow in some imaginary wind. Funnily enough you also heard angels singing which was weird?

As if Gwaine sensed your eyes on him, he stifled his laughter and looked in your direction. He had no shocked reaction to finding your gaze already lingering on him, in fact, he seemed pleased to know that he had drawn your attention. You were sitting almost directly across the table from him, so it was an easy enough excuse to say you had zoned out and your eyes happened to rest on him. But the excuse was (already) futile, especially when you had no way to explain yourself in the loud room.

“He has been looking at you all night,” Gwen leaned over and whispered to you.

“Who?” You tore your eyes away from Gwaine to look over at the queen.

“Sir Gwaine,” She stated, “I think he’s been showing off a bit more than usual, too. Perhaps he has a little crush on our lovely painter.”

Your cheeks flamed up at her words, “Surely not. We’ve barely met.”

“But you have met?” She took a sly sip at her own wine and looked at you from the corner of her eyes. You could tell by the way her lips quirked into a small grin that she was enjoying teasing you. You, in a less dignified manner, began opening and closing your mouth like a fish choking on air.

“He saw… saw me in the town square. We just kind of introduced ourselves from there.” Your neck and ears began heating up with your words. They weren’t lies, but it wasn’t the full truth. It’s not even like you had met in a scandalous way, either. You – for whatever reason – just couldn’t seem to bring up exactly how you had met. Maybe the embarrassment of how you’d wrongfully accused him of trying to arrest a child had been more brutal than you thought, or maybe it was the way he shamelessly flirted with you and how that made you run away. Who knows?

The queen just let out a knowing hum before her focus was drawn away by King Arthur starting a conversation about something that seemed important. You drowned out their words, and once again, looked back towards Sir Gwaine’s, now empty, chair.

Puzzled, you looked up and down the long table, wondering where he might have moved but he was nowhere in sight. You grumbled to yourself, trying to balance the disappointment of his disappearance with logic. The logical side of you was telling you to stop fawning over a man you had seen maybe four times, while the part of you that was fed way too many love stories wanted to believe that he did have a crush on you. Though, as adults a crush seems like a silly thing to get excited for.

Brushing away thoughts of the dark-haired knight, you turn towards… another dark-haired knight.

“Hello,” You interrupted the boy’s thoughts, “I’m Y/N.”

“Mordred.” The boy gave you a small smile, “I’ve seen some of your work in another kingdom we had to visit a few months back.”

“Oh?” A wave of calm washed over you. You knew how to talk about work and if that’s what Mordred wanted to talk about, then you were more than pleased to oblige. “How’d you like it? Be honest.”

“I’ve never really had an eye for anything like that, but you’re pretty good.” His cheeks tinted pink a little as he spoke. Assuming it had to do with not talking to people very often, you continued on.

“Thank you, I think. I’ll take it as a compliment even if it wasn’t.” Your light laughter filled the space between you and Mordred’s tension began to melt away slightly.

The rest of your dinner was spent in between conversations with Mordred and Gwen. It was a relief to have a few people by your side that you felt at ease with, and, as Merlin eventually joined the three of you, your brain was completely void of a certain knight that had seemed to be your subject of infatuation for the day. Perhaps tomorrow you would have forgotten all about him.

<><><> 

The following morning, you awoke to the bright sun pouring in from an open window and the sounds of birds chirping happily in the trees. Had it not been for your wine-induced headache and the incessant clanging of metal that accompanied the sun and the birds, you might have had a truly peaceful lie in. However, that’s not what the gods had planned for you that day.

Rolling out of your (extravagant) bed, you place a thin robe over your nightgown and move towards the window that was somehow opened now. Even though, you were sure it was closed the night before.

Leaning against the rock window frame, you glance down at an open, green arena. It was lined with wooden dummies with armor placed haphazardly on them, and various weapons resting along the fence. Upon further observation, you also noticed a dozen or so men sparring in one section of the grassy area.

They were obviously Knights of Camelot, that much your hungover brain could put together, but why they were up so early and disturbing your sleep was something that could hardly be forgiven. But, standing by the window had let the sun melt across your cheeks, and the warmth that followed it was so welcoming, you couldn’t bring yourself to move from your position.

With a satisfied sigh, you slowly dropped into a chair by the window, lay your head in your arms on the frame, and watch the knights as they did their early morning training. Perhaps you had been too quick to mentally snap at the way they trained first thing. It provided you with entertainment while your face basked in the sun on an early summer’s day.

You had dozed in and out during your morning show. Sometimes waking up just enough to catch a glimpse at a shiny knight win his spar, and other times completely imagining an entirely different world as you once again lost consciousness.

“Y/n!” The voice was distant, and you assumed it was another dream. So, you let the voice lull you back to sleep. Afterall, it was just as warm and smooth as the sun felt dancing upon your skin. It must’ve been a dream.

You heard it again, “Y/n!” The voice just begging you to stay asleep for five more minutes. Just a few more moments before reality came crashing in.

The third time your name was called, however, is what drew you out of your slumber. Because you knew that voice. That wasn’t the sultry sound of a fantasy. That was reality.

Picking your head up from its position on the windowsill, you glanced down where the voice was coming from. There, below you, stood Sir Gwaine. He had on a white cotton shirt that clung to his shoulders and his abdomen with sweat. You could tell that his hair was curling with moisture, and he was heaving from the morning workout.

“Enjoying the show?” He shot up at you, a lazy smile transfixed on his face.

“I was,” You yelled down to him, stifling a yawn, “But it seems it’s all over now.” The rest of the knight were not to be seen, as you assumed they went back to do some knightly duties of some sort. You weren’t really sure what they did during the day whenever they weren’t training.

“How did you sleep?”

“Oh, just fine,” Your voice quipped with sarcasm, “Until these rowdy boys and their metal swords woke me up.”

“I wish I could do something to fix your burden,” He shifted from one leg to the other as he spoke, looking strangely energized for someone who should be ready to drop with exhaustion, “Alas, I am but a simple man with so little control over the king’s schedule.”

“A schedule you don’t seem to follow regularly.” You added.

“What do you mean?”

“I know for a fact you weren’t there first thing this morning when training started,” Your face held a smug smile, happy that you had caught him slacking off and giving you something to tease him about.

“And how would you know that, Lady Y/n? Were you,” He paused to purse his lips, “Were you looking for me?”

Your lazy demeanor had completely vanished. Previously, he was the one at fault. Albeit it was just because he was late to a sparring session, but he was the one under the spotlight. But, as he looked up at you with an innocent pout adorning his face, claiming that you were the one that had their hand in the cookie jar, you wished you had never crawled out of bed.

“I – I was not!” You claimed, but it was too late. “Not looking for you, specifically.”

“Oh?” Gwaine placed his hand on his heart, “Then who were you looking for?”

“I… I wanted to see if Mordred was down there. I think I’m going to sketch out his portrait first today.” You silently praised yourself for a quick (though not smooth) save, “I just happened to notice you were not among the original men I saw.”

You could tell he didn’t believe you; even from twenty feet in the air, you could see the disbelief painted across his face. Though, it didn’t matter as he dropped the subject.

“I’ll let him know you’re looking for him,” He turned around to head back into the castle, before shooting one more phrase your way. “While I like your hair like that, if I were you, I’d check to make sure an animal didn’t nest in it while you were sleeping.”

With a disgruntled squeak, you slam your window shut and rush over to the mirror to check how bad your bed head truly was. It was pretty bad, and you swore you could hear Gwaine cackling from outside.

It took the better part of an hour to detangle and plait your hair, get dressed, and head off in search of Mordred with your sketchbook. It wasn’t an extravagant book: loosely bound with twine and leather, some pages were stained a dark yellow from wear, and it was only half full. But it was a gift and you cherished it deeply.

Just as you had opened your door, you were almost hit in the face with a fist. Basically, throwing yourself back, you look at the person standing in front of your door absolutely horrified.

“I am so sorry,” Mordred gushed, “Gwaine told me you wanted to talk to me. I didn’t realize you were opening your door-“

“It’s okay,” You reassured, letting out a breathy laugh, “I wanted to know if you were free so I could get some sketching done for your portrait.”

“I’m sure I can spare an afternoon.” He grinned.

“Perfect! I just want to get a few angles of your face drawn and planned out so I can see what the best pose for your portrait would be.”

“It sounds like a good plan, where should we go?” Mordred followed you as you strolled out of your room and down the stairs that you learned lead outside.

“Anywhere that has good lighting at this hour,” You skipped down the stairs, excited to get to know more of a Camelot while also learning about Mordred. You’d hoped he would become a friend during your stay here. If anything, your conversations from last night seemed like a good starting point.

“I think I know just the place then,” Mordred gave you a small smile before throwing open a side door and leading you through the courtyard of the palace.

You followed him between a few shops in town and through a bit of shrubbery until he stopped. Using an arm to sweep a tree branch obscuring your view of the spot, Mordred let out a “Here it is.”

You could only say one thing:

“Wow.”

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