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sky-casino · 10 months

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this love - teenage dad!itoshi sae x fem!reader

pairing: itoshi sae x fem!reader

genre: teenage dad!sae au, fluff, angst, tiny smut

wc: 4,600+

a/n: i started writing this last May, when i was having relentless teenage dad!sae thoughts lol. sae might be OOC in some parts. but honestly, i don't think he's a bad person and i believe that he will mature as he grows old, which is reflected in this story through his character development.

hope you enjoy and feedback/likes/reblogs will be greatly appreciated!

"this love is good this love is bad this love is alive back from the dead these hands had to let it go free and this love came back to me"

you and sae were childhood friends, living close to each other as neighbors for as long as you could remember. you also grew even closer to the entire itoshi family because you lost your parents in a car accident as a kid. and with your parents and sae's parents being family friends, they took care of you as your legal guardians since your parents' deaths.

during your first year in high school, he asked if you could be the soccer team's manager since you were smart, analytical, and organized. you agreed eagerly, excited to be up close to his and rin's exhilarating games that you've always loved.

eventually, the team's captain started making quite aggressive moves on you in secret. and you were getting more and more uncomfortable and afraid. until sae saved you one evening after practice and the both of you reported the captain, resulting to his expulsion.

after he walked you home that night, he made sure that you were feeling better before you parted ways. you were crying not only because the captain scared you, but also because of sae's kindness. you couldn't even imagine what would have happened if sae didn't come to save you.

the fall into sae started getting faster because of that incident. you've always had an inkling that you loved sae ever since you were both young. but you shrugged it off all this time, afraid that acting on it would ruin the friendship.

so you were astounded when sae confessed to you a month after the incident. he said that rin and his friends were so amazed by his courage when he saved you, so they relentlessly encouraged him to finally confess. they believed that if there's one man for you in this world, it's sae, your knight in shining armor, or cleats to be more precise.

after he poured out his feelings, you did the same. and the two of you got together rather pretty quickly, much to the delight of your family and friends.

to be honest, nothing much changed with your daily routine: he still picked you up in the morning so you could walk together to school, eating lunch together, he practices with the club after classes as you watch and take notes as the manager, walking home side-by-side after school. it's mostly the same, except for the hand-holding, the quick kisses, his thumb caressing the back of your hand as you walk together slowly, intending to savor each moment.

but of all the things or changes that happened as a result of being sae's girlfriend, your favorite one takes place every saturday morning. sae goes for a run at 5:30am and at around 7:00am, he quietly enters your home with the key you gave him. he takes a quick shower and gets some clothes from the pile he brought to your home days after becoming official. after he dresses up, he slowly snuggles next to you in bed and spoons you. given how much of a deep sleeper you were, you don't notice him right away until your nose picks up the insane combination of his body wash and shampoo. you're still sleepy but you can't help but turn around and hug him back, basking in his warmth and godly scent. then you two spend a chill and quiet weekend together. cooking, watching shows or movies, napping, and sae even helps you clean your house.

you were very happy together. even though he had to leave after getting scouted by Spain, you were happy and excited for him. but also sad of course because you were gonna miss him for sure. however, you did your best to hide that because if sae aimed to be the best striker in the world, you wanted to be the most supportive girlfriend in the world. you believed that that's what he deserves.

you both managed to do long-distance relationship until he had to return home to renew his passport.

he surprised you and his family, not telling any of you that he's coming home.

you were delighted to see him and spend time with him again.

he was still the same sae you knew, mostly. however, the more you were with him, the more you noticed that something's quite different about him. you didn't think much about it at first because he was still so loving, sweet, and touchy with you. but to others... he has now become rude and disrespectful. he always brought you along to his interviews and other scheduled stuff, and you felt shocked and disappointed by his words, by his answers to the press, and the way he carried himself.

afraid to get into a fight after yearning for his presence but also wanting to say something, you opted to gently reprimand him. sae said yes to your remarks but nothing really changed, which saddened you. the old sae always listened and obliged to you.

eventually, you witnessed his confrontation with rin, whom you have treated as your own younger brother. you were angry and devastated by sae's words to his sibling. you witnessed it from a far and you were on your way to them but your classmates started calling out to you for a project that you had to do together at someone's house, so you had no choice but to leave.

that night, after you left your groupmate's house, you went straight to the itoshi residence. you were fed up with sae and this new person he has become, and his fight with rin was the last straw. the sae you knew would never hurt and speak to his brother like that.

you went to sae's room and said your piece. sae denied to take responsibility for the change he went through, dismissing everything you said with "i'm just being honest. what can I do if I feel that way?"

you couldn't believe that instead of feeling remorsefuland apologizing, sae was being dismissive and even accused you of overreacting, which resulted to you feeling that he's gaslighting you.

you felt completely heartbroken, trembling as you cried. it's like you just got stabbed, and then the knife just keeps turning and turning very slowly. you felt that you had no choice but to break it off with him. his eyes widened and he quickly stopped you from removing the couple ring he gave you to commemorate your first month together. he begged you to stay but at the same time, he still didn't want to take accountability.

you removed the ring and walked out. you even thanked his parents for everything and apologized before leaving.

one night some weeks later, you heard a knock on your door and found sae there with his suitcase. it was a bit surprising to see him, but a part of you expected it. his flight back to Spain is in a few hours and you considered the possibility that despite the messy breakup, he would want to at least say goodbye to you personally. either to just bid farewell, or try to win you back.

you let him in and it was awkward, tension thick as hell in the air. he slowly closed the distance between you and seeing the familiar look in his eyes, you knew what he wanted.

after a short internal battle, you obliged and the two of you made love. sae thought that you've forgiven him and accepted the new him, happy to be back together again. but you clarified everything with a curt, "this is the last time." and with that, sae got his heart broken again. he tried to plead again just like before, but you retorted desperately, "don't make this harder than it already is, please. we're just having the same argument again and again. and it's clear that none of us is gonna let up. i'm tired, sae." and with that, he stared at you for a while with a look of shock, frustration, and pain. he quietly put on his clothes and dragged his suitcase. "goodbye, y/n." he mutters before opening your front door.

a couple of months later, you started having suspicions and went to the doctor. she confirmed that your hunch was correct, you are pregnant.

on your way home after the appointment, you did your best to keep yourself from trembling and crying. you also recalled what happened that night with sae.

sae has always come inside you, always, as the both of you were confident in the pills' effectiveness (and it just feels so much better that way). and so that night, he asked if he could come inside you like usual. you knew that you haven't been taking pills since your breakup with him, but you decided to just buy pills the morning after so you responded to him with a, "yes, you can" because the honest-to-god truth was that you just wanted to feel his warm liquid gush inside you one last time. however, you woke up very late as you didn't hear your alarm. you took your bicycle to rush to the nearby store to buy the pills and took them on the spot after you got out of the store. you had a feeling that it would be ineffective given that it's already past the timeframe, but you were still hoping.

back to the present, you kept reprimanding and blaming yourself over and over again, until you realized that you unconsciously brought yourself to the itoshi residence, which was quite near your own home.

you were about to continue walking home until rin, who was doing his daily jog routine, called out to you. he ran to you and was surprised to see your pale face and how hard you were trembling. he invited you inside their home urgently, but you asked first if his parents are there because you're not yet ready to face them and tell the truth.

rin assured you and said that his mom and dad will come home late. you obliged and went inside to drink some water and rest.

the news of your pregnancy was weighing on you so heavily that you were struggling to breathe. because of this struggle and the panic you've been enduring, you decided to tell rin the truth. he was dumbstruck and speechless as you finally cried.

you poured out all your worries: how would his parents react? how would sae react? would he accept the baby despite the breakup or ask you to get an abortion? how about your studies? your future?

rin suggested for you to tell his parents as soon as possible, as he was certain that they would support and take care of you and the baby. his words brought a sense of relief and you suddenly felt sleepy and exhausted from all the stress. he told you to get some good sleep, and you headed to sae's room because you realized how much you miss him.

you woke up later in the night and sae's parents were in the living room, relaxing after a tiring day of socializing with friends. they happily greeted you, saying that they're happy that you still visit them despite parting ways with their firstborn son.

rin who was sitting on the couch across his parents gave you a knowing yet assuring look, trying to make you remember his suggestion earlier.

you took a deep breath and apologized to them for the sudden news you were about to share. you emphasized your intent to keep the baby, regardless of what they or sae want.

to your surprise, they were happy to hear that they were about to have their first grandchild. sae's mom was even crying tears of joy. his dad said that you and the baby should live in their house and that you don't need to worry about money. they also suggested for you to delay entering college and focus on the pregnancy first. that would be better than entering college and then having to take a break once your tummy grows and labor is coming closer. this way, your entrance will be delayed but you will have an overall smooth college experience without interruption and judgment from others.

just like his mom, you were also shedding tears of joy now as you hear their reassuring words of support. you're lucky to have them as unofficial in-laws.

the next nine months were surreal. you were happy and grateful for all the support from the itoshi family and from your friends. but missing sae and fearing his reaction were constant part of your days, sometimes even causing you to burst in tears.

you asked your friends to absolutely keep the entire ordeal a secret from sae as you intended to tell him yourself at the right time. as much as you hated the fact that he had changed for the worse, you still wanted to support him in his sports career. him suddenly knowing that you're pregnant might derail his focus and entire career. or it might cause a new fight between the two of you. both of those possible scenarios would not be good for anyone.

three years later, sae came home for the first time since the breakup. he's not the type to make a fuss out of his arrival, so he simply arrived home.

his parents were astonished and reprimanded him for not notifying them in advance, but he nonchalantly replied that it's no big deal. he was embarrassed to show it, but he really missed his parents. his contract with Royale Youth mandated him to play for three years uninterrupted, so he couldn't come home until now.

you could hear them outside your and your son's room and you were practically frozen. you had no choice now but to tell sae everything.

they were near your door when his parents slowly told him—for a lack of better word—that they have a surprise for him in the guest room.

you held your son—who by the way is a carbon copy of sae—as the parents slowly opened the door.

before sae could react, your son ran to his grandparents as he squealed, "granma! granpa!"

your heart was palpitating so hard as you watched sae watch your son with wide eyes. you've never seen him this shocked before. he's literally staring at his mini version.

after your son hugged his grandparents, he noticed sae standing tall before him, unmoving and with wide eyes and furrowed brows. your little boy got scared and ran to you yelping, "mama!".

you carried him onto your lap, comforting him as you finally told the truth, "don't worry, sweetie. no need to be afraid... he's your dad."

you were looking at sae rather nervously but also with mild confidence as you said those words.

you didn't know how he would react beyond his confusion, but you were surprised to see tears fall from his eyes and a smile form on his face as he crouched down to be closer to your little boy, who has calmed down a bit now. sae's parents were also crying as they watch their son and his mini-me finally meet.

sae gently opened his arms to invite his son for a hug, and you also encouraged him to go to his dad. your son was obedient as usual, so he quickly ran to his dad to hug him.

as they embraced, sae looked at you and whispered with an amused smile, "we have a son?". you nodded in reply and finally cried too as you could no longer hold back the tears.

"what's your name?" sae asked.

"seikou!" the little boy answered with excitement as he learned to say his name properly just recently.

that night, you and sae put seikou to bed and had a long conversation afterwards in sae's room. it was getting late and you were sitting on sae's bed while he was on his couch.

"so... how have you been?" sae asked cautiously but with a hint of excitement as he finally gets to talk to you again after a long time.

"i'm doing well, i believe? i postponed starting university for a year, but besides that, there hasn't been any issues at school. i will be graduating next year, as expected. your parents have been a great support... they take care of seikou whenever i couldn't. rin has been a good and cool uncle as well." you let our a chuckle as you recall rin playing robots and soccer with your son.

"that's... that's good to hear."

"how about you?" it was your turn to ask, and yet sae seemed to be surprised when he heard you.

"i'm... good. haven't been back here for years, so... it's a bit jarring, but it feels good."

you smiled at him in response, not knowing what else to say.

awkward silence. tension heavy. air thick.

"why didn't you tell me?" sae finally asked the important question, finally addressed the elephant in the room. he sounded like he was suppressing his desperation for your answer.

"i'm sorry, sae. but you know our breakup was bad... it was painful. we didn't really end things on a good note, remember? i was extremely scared when i found out. all i could think of was you, and how you would react. i considered calling you but i wasn't sure if you would even answer. i was afraid that we would just end up fighting again, that i would hear you say the words, 'abort it.', and i knew that would break me even more." you rambled on, ending up in tears. you realized how much you've been holding these words like a burden.

"baby, why would you think that i would want you to abort our child?" sae asks in a demanding tone, quickly kneeling before you and holding your arms gently but firmly.

"i don't know, sae! you were a different person already. damaging your relationship with your family, with me, all because of soccer? i reached out to you several times back then to tell me what happened in Spain that made you change, but you disregarded me. i just felt like i couldn't trust you anymore. that's why i kept it a secret back then. but i was planning all along to tell you, i was just waiting for the right opportunity and time." you explained, not able to look him in the eye.

"alright, i understand. sorry, i'm not mad, okay? i just... wanted to know why." he loosened his grip on you and rubbed your arms soothingly.

"it's okay. i knew you'd have many questions, and rightfully so." you whispered.

it pained sae that you couldn't look him in the eye, all he could do at the moment was gently touch his forehead with yours as the two of you breathed in sync to calm down as he continued to hold your arms. it was extremely quiet, the only thing you could hear was the clock ticking, sae breathing, and his heart beating.

you stayed like that for a minute, until—

"let's start over." sae states firmly.

"what?" you asked in a whisper, breaking the forehead touch, not believing what you just heard.

"let's start over." sae repeats patiently, in a slower and gentler tone, as gentle as his smile. the smile you fell in love with and the last time you saw it has been ages ago.

you were speechless.

"let's start over, with our son."

you finally let your dam of tears break, hiding your face in your hands.

"y/n, listen to me. i have a plan, an actual plan." sae said as he freed your face from your hands. he delivered the latter part of his sentence while laughing, as he knew how much you loved concrete, actionable plans.

"my contract with Royale Youth has expired and they're currently writing up a new one back in Spain. i was supposed to ask my legal team to review it so i can sign it for renewal before flying here, but there were some delays and Royale Youth hasn't submitted the contract yet. but i didn't want to wait for it anymore and so my original plan was to just renew it when i go back there three months from now. but since i learned about our little family, i've been thinking about... not renewing anymore. i... don't want to go back there anymore. i want to live here and be a proper family with you, our baby, my parents, and rin."

sae shared his plan quite quickly, but you were able to understand everything.

"are you sure? but how about your career?"

"i'll join a team here. i've been getting relentless offers from local teams all this time." he said with a smile.

"but you don't like playing for a Japanese team, right?"

"that's not important. i learned today that i'm a dad, do you think anything else is as important? what matters is that the three of us are together." sae says rather enthusiastically, until his smile faded away as he bit his lip, something he does when he's embarrassed.

"and you know... i've been secretly watching rin's soccer career, so i'm also inadvertently updated on the state of Japanese soccer. it's not so... bad after all? at least compared to before." he admitted hesitantly.

wow. you thought. sae really has changed. or more like, he's back to his old self, the version of him that you knew and loved. he wouldn't admit it yet, but he also wants to play with his brother, and the right opportunity has come.

"that's so good to hear, sae. you just made me extremely happy." you tell him with tears of joy as you lightly squish his cheeks, just like how you did before.

"this might be embarrassing but fuck it i'm gonna say it anyway."

"hmm? what is it?"

"before coming here, i told myself that i had two options: when i arrive and you're happily with someone else, then i'll finally let you go and move on. but if you're single, i'll try one more time for the last time, and if you still say no, then i'll finally give up. it was some sort of ultimatum i imposed on myself." he chuckles as he looks away in embarrassment.

"aww, sae-"

"but today, i found out that we have a child together and honestly, i couldn't ask for anything better. this is it, y/n. this is our sign to start over and try again." his voice is full of hope, and you wanted to give that to him.

"okay... okay, sae. let's try this again." you tell him before the two of you kiss with so much longing, as if both of you were trying to make up for lost time.

sae went through with his plan and after discussions and signing of documents, he is now scheduled to debut in rin's team. their dream of being the best duo will finally come to fruition.

while sae was busy with his own affairs, you were focused on finishing university.

fortunately, you and sae seem like proper parents now as you both help each other with childcare. sae brings seikou to the daycare in the morning thrice a week, sometimes he even watches him secretly as he learns new things from the teacher and plays with his friends. sae picks him up in the afternoon and the two of them go to your university to pick you up as well. the three of you enjoy bonding time by eating ice cream and strolling around in the park.

sometime during the start of your last year in college, sae proposed to you. you said yes (duh) and he told you that he wants to get married soon after you graduate. he excitedly albeit shyly told you that he wants to be an official family as soon as possible because he wants to grow said family. you thought he was joking but he was serious when he said he wants a daughter.

just a few months after your graduation, in a small but beautiful wedding with only close friends and family, you married your childhood friend, your best friend. the whole experience was so surreal and you kept thinking to yourself that you and sae withstood not only the distance of living in two different countries, the messy breakup, the sudden pregnancy that he belatedly knew about, but also the test of time. you realized once more that sae is your person, and that you are his, because you grew up together since you were toddlers and now have your own, and because you are now Mrs. Itoshi Sae. it's something you dreamed of for years but at one point had to let go of, but ultimately still ended up becoming a reality.

juggling motherhood and university exhausted you, and so after your wedding and sae's relentless encouragement, you decided to rest for 1-2 years after your graduation. and it was the perfect time for you to try having a second baby, a daughter, as sae wanted.

your first child, seikou, is five years old by the time your newborn daughter, shiori, arrived. and seikou was so delighted to finally hold his little sister.

while you and sae watch your kids, you giggle as you told sae, "she looks like me, but she got your colors. teal eyes and mauve hair." and sae couldn't help but give a proud smile.

a few years later, sae is (still) the top soccer player in Japan (and is also still quite rude to the media lol. you gently reprimanded him but he said this is the best he can do and you just accepted it lol). and you mostly work from your home studio as a children's book writer. seikou is now 10 years old and is following his father's footsteps, and shiori just said that she wanted to be a singer. but you expect to hear a new dream from her in the following days because lately, she wants to be everything. except to be a soccer player, she said she doesn't want that because she hates sweating and being under the sun.

you're both amused and worried whenever you see how much sae spoils your daughter. you kinda expected this because he's the one who requested a daughter years ago, but shiori thinks she's a literal princess because sae says that she is and treats her like one. you remind sae from time to time to tone it down because you don't want your daughter to be a spoiled brat.

"i spoil her so much because i see her as like, the symbol of our new beginning, you know? we had her after we reconciled and reunited, after you agreed to give me a second chance, so she's very special to me, y/n."

"i know, i feel the same way. but the other day she's yelling at her friends to call her 'princess'. she's starting to demand others and that's not good, sae. we should correct it as early as now. okay?"

sae was surprised to hear about that incident and realized that yes, he's gone overboard as a doting dad.

"yes, y/n. i'm sorry, i'll tone it down." he says with an embarrassed smile and you walked over to hug him.

"why are you laughing?" he asks as he rubs your back.

"nothing, i just never thought you'll be the doting dad type."

"ugh. stop it, y/n. you're embarrassing me." he says as he hides his face in the crook of your neck, and you could feel his face burning with embarrassment.

#ivy writes #itoshi sae #itoshi sae fic #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae angst #itoshi sae fluff #itoshi sae x reader fic #itoshi sae x you fic #itoshi sae angst fic #itoshi sae fluff fic #blue lock #blue lock itoshi sae #blue lock fic #blue lock x you fic #sae itoshi #sae itoshi fic #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x you

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m-jelly · 6 months

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Hii Jelly! May I request angsty Levi x Reader where reader gets badly injured while in titan territory and has to have a limb amputated while being awake and without anaesthesia due to them being in the middle of nowhere. Levi could be maybe supporting reader trying to keep them awake.

@kenkopanda-art <3

It changes nothing

Levi x fem!reader

Canon AU, amputation, established couple, pain, blood, established relationship, supportive Levi, emotional support.

Levi holds your hand as Hange quickly removes your damaged leg to save your life. Levi helps you through it and cares for you on the journey back to the base. While recovering you think your man won't want you anymore, but he confirms his love and dedication to you.

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @notgoodforlife @demonsimp6 @nbinairyn

No matter what happened, Levi was going to keep you alive. As soon as he saw you save a scout at the risk of your own well-being, he was a mix of emotions. He was proud of you for being so strong but he was angry that you would get yourself hurt. The anger came from his love for you. The two of you had promised forever to each other.

It was instinct for him to fly in and scoop you up into his arms. He flew as fast as his gear would let him and got back to the command area. Tears filled his eyes as you weakly kept saying how sorry you were. He knew very well your scout instinct had taken over. He just wanted to protect you so badly.

He lay you down on the medical blanket and held your hand tightly. "Stay with me."

You gripped tightly. "I'm sorry."

"Shh, don't say that."

You sobbed as Hange scrambled around you to treat you. "You're mad. I made you mad. I put myself in danger. I got hurt. I love you, Levi. I love you."

He covered your hand in kisses. "I know. I know. I love you too. I love you so much, so please stay awake and focus on me."

Hange gulped hard. "Levi, I need to amputate."

"No, no the shock could kill her!"

"If I don't, and infection could kill her."

You gripped Levi's hand tightly. "I can take it."

He gazed at you, his look pleading. "Please."

"I can take it." You winced a little. "Do it, Hange."

She nodded and got a bundle of fabric. "Bite down on this."

"Okay."

Hange fixed the fabric in your mouth. "Levi, I need you to keep her awake, okay?"

Levi nodded and gazed down at you. "You gotta stay with me, okay?" He shifted a little as Hange tightened a belt around the top of your knee. "Let's think about our future." He blushed. "Like our wedding."

You welled up and smiled as you thought about it. You nodded and hummed in agreement.

"It'll be perfect." He kissed your hands as Hange began cutting. He held back tears as you screamed in agony. "We'll have that cottage by the lake."

You held back vomit and nodded as you tried to focus on the image of living in a cute home with Levi. You listened to his voice as best as you could as Hange cut your left leg off below the knee. The soft and loving gaze of Levi kept you going. The wonderful steel blue eyes soothed you.

Hange finished up and sighed. "It's done."

Levi pulled the fabric from your mouth. "You did so well."

You panted. "I'm tired."

"I know, but you have to stay awake for a bit longer. We need to get you back to the base." He cradled you in his arms. "I'll take you back."

All you could do was gaze at the man you loved as he ran with you to the carts and carriages. The sky was a wonderful blue and the clouds were pretty as you raced along to the base. You turned your head and looked at Levi to see he looked worried.

Levi looked down when he felt a weak touch on his cheek. "Hey."

You smiled at him. "You're showing me so many sides to you today."

He leaned into your touch. "You bring out the best of me. You make me feel safe. I can be myself around you." He leaned down and kissed you. "You can rest soon. We're almost there."

All you could do was gaze at Levi as you were rushed around. When you were placed in bed it was then that you were allowed to sleep. The medication you were given was welcomed. It didn't take long to pass out and it helped that the last thing you saw was your lover.

Over the days you healed up you had many people visit you. It was sweet to see everyone being so kind and wonderful. The gifts were overwhelming to you. Of course, your most dedicated visitor was Levi. Levi was there every single day feeding you food and giving you massages.

It made your heart sink when you looked at yourself. Even though Levi was with you, you couldn't help but worry that his feelings for you might have changed. You were not the soldier he fell in love with. You wouldn't be able to fight like you did before. In fact, Erwin broke the news to you that your time as a scout was over and you were now locked to the base doing paperwork and training.

Levi sliced an apple with his knife and paused when he noticed your look. "Tch, brat you look like you're considering a shit."

You looked over at him. "Levi."

He lowered the apple. "It must be bad because you usually laugh at my jokes." He leaned closer. "Talk to me."

"I'm not the woman you fell in love with anymore. I understand if you want to leave me for another woman."

"Tch, what bullshit is this?" He grabbed your face and kissed you roughly. "Why the fuck would I want anyone else? I didn't fall in love with you because you were a soldier with two legs. I fell in love with you because of who you are. Your injuries change nothing. I want you. I love you."

You sniffed back tears. "Really? But..."

"I'm not the type of weak and pathetic man to leave the woman he loves because she got sick or injured." He caressed your cheek. "I with you until the end, my little songbird." He kissed you and hummed. "Besides, you owe me a cottage by the lake with kisses and cuddles every fucking morning I wake up."

You giggled. "Yes, Levi."

"Good girl."

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ilguna · 10 months

Text

☼ long days (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you weren't sure how the new members of the crew were going to fit in, until one of them saves you.

warnings; swearing, sunstroke.

wc; 4.7k

notes; fisherman au!

–

“It looks like we’ve got a heatwave on our hands!” The Lead Peacekeeper shouts. He’s standing on a box to allow everyone to see him better. There’s a clipboard in one of his gloved hands, a pen in the other. “We were not approved to send everyone home, which means you all must work through it.”

The sun is barely rising, and it already feels like your skin has melted from your body and might slide off onto the ground any minute now. If it’s this bad, you don’t want to know what the temperature is going to be around peak times.

“We suggest you drink lots of water and take breaks frequently in the shade to avoid sunstroke. We will provide one case of water to each crew, ration it wisely to last you the day.” He continues. What he’s saying really is a joke. There’s no shade on your boats unless you go under the deck, and a case of water will only mean two bottles per person, if you’re lucky.

“Please, make yourself familiar with the following symptoms: high body temperature, red and hot skin with no sweat, rapid pulse, vomiting or nausea, and confusion as well as dizziness. If you do not feel well, then take a break. That is an order, not a suggestion.

“We can not afford to send out any rescue boats for those who may pass out today. In the case of your fellow crewmate fainting, move them to the shade, pour cold water along the face and neck, and provide cold water for them to drink. If they seem like they’re in no state to continue to work, then advise them to stay off shift for the rest of the day.”

He sighs. “We’re still aiming to hit the regular quota despite the heat.” He presses his lips together, showing you that he’s not happy with this decision, either. There are times when you hate his guts because he’s a hardass and he makes it impossible to force a smile. Then there’s days like today, where you’re able to tolerate him because he knows that you’re human, and not machines. “We will continue to run on larger crews and fewer boats.”

There are several hands that shoot into the air, waiting to ask a question. The best part about the Lead—his name’s Scout—is that he makes time in the morning to have meetings like this for everyone to air their concerns. He hears you, and most of the time he decides to fulfill the reasonable requests.

He tilts his head, pointing to someone in the crowd. They lower their hand, “If we run with larger crews, we run a higher risk of sunstroke because of the amount of bodies on the boat. We weren’t approved for smaller crews just for the time being?”

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t able to ask.” He shakes his head. “The Mayor didn’t allow me to appeal to him. We were informed we were coming upon a heatwave last week, and as you know, he made the decision to run on fewer boats temporarily just recently, because of budget cuts—”

A few people scoff, not bothering to hide their distaste, or the fact that they know the truth, just like everyone else does. The Mayor cut the boats from twenty to ten because he wants a bigger payout on his end. He doesn’t care that it forces the rest of you to suffer.

Honestly, you’d think that more people on a boat would be better because there’s more hands. The problem is that means that there’s more bodies. No matter how hard you try, people get in the way. And it's worse for your crew in particular because you guys are already one of the bigger groups, a bullet you chose to bite because you weren’t about to start an argument with the nineteen other boats that could afford to take on more people.

Despite this, Scout had chosen your crew to take on four more people, since you’re used to accommodating a large party. While the other nine get to take on two or three people. It’s unfair, but if you argue, then they could decide to pull you off permanently to ‘fix’ the problem.

Scout looks into the crowd, “It was my full intention to ask to reduce the amount of people on boats. He would not entertain my presence. Therefore, we will work under the order that was implemented earlier this week.”

A hand shoots in the air, and they begin speaking without being called on, “Don’t you have the authority to overrule his decisions for the sake of the majority?”

“I can’t.” He tells her, “That only concerns safety.”

“So you admit that it’s not a safety issue?” Someone else shouts.

One of the people in the front raise their hand. He points at them, “What happens when almost an entire crew passes out? Will we bring the boat back or are we going to be forced to continue working for the quota?”

Scout’s face twists, “Enough. I understand your frustration, even if you don’t think I do. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have you out here in the first place. I’d send you home and have you come back when the weather’s returned to normal. To answer your question, I do believe it’s a safety issue, the Mayor wouldn’t agree with me, and that’s where the issue arises. And in the emergency of a whole crew passing out, I would hope that you’d come back to the dock and not continue to work yourselves.

“Any other questions, ladies and gentlemen?” He pauses, and when there are no hands, he nods. “We will run with the crews that we have had for the past couple of days. Let’s get everyone loaded and checked, I want boats leaving in thirty minutes!”

The crowd begins moving forward, heading in the direction of the docks. You don’t go with them right away, instead you head over to the stalls where the boat vendors like to sit. You know full well that your crew is going to go through the District-provided water in the span of a couple hours. You have a long day ahead of you.

Heath sits up from where he’s sitting at his stall. If there’s anyone that you rely on the most to help you, it’s him. “Hello miss (Y/n), what can I do for you today?”

“Water.” You say, reaching for your wallet, “How much for a case?”

He blinks, “You do realize that they provide that for you?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, “Yes, and I’ve got ten other people working with me, that’s four more than normal.” You raise an eyebrow, “How long do you think a case of water’s going to last between the eleven of us?”

He sucks in air between his teeth, making a hissing sound, “I’ll sell you three for seven.”

“Bulk price.” You say, pulling out the cash, “How much more for a cooler and ice?”

He shakes his head, “I can’t provide a cooler, and ice won’t make it very long in the weather they’re predicting.”

“Who says no cooler?” You watch him, “Scout?”

He presses his lips together, nodding. “I’m sorry, (Y/n), but unless he appealed it, I can’t.”

You look behind you to see Scout, where he’s standing in a half-circle of people that must be asking him questions. It’s not too many people, it should be a quick conversation. When you turn to face Heath, you lean forward, “Will you hold onto the water?”

“Yes, of course.” He nods, and then turns around to stack three cases of water on top of one another. He writes ‘SOLD’ across the top one in bold, black marker.

“Thank you.” You begin to walk away. The moment you turn around, you can see that you weren’t the only one to think of this idea, there’s a line that’s formed behind you. It’ll be a matter of time before the water’s gone.

You join the circle of people that stand before Scout, but none of them are saying anything. He looks up from his clipboard briefly, “If any of you are here to demand a smaller crew, you can leave.”

A few people walk away, but not everyone. You wait for someone to say something, anything. When no one speaks, you clear your throat, catching his attention. “What can I do to get a cooler and ice on my boat?”

“Your boat?” He asks with raised eyebrows.

“The boat.” You correct. “If it’s as hot as they’re all saying, we do need cold water. We can’t do that without a cooler and ice. I was told that the cooler can’t go on boats.”

“It’s to prevent stealing.” He tells you, “People would catch fish with our equipment, and hide them in the coolers that were supposed to be used to keep their lunch cold. I made it a rule a few years back. It’s too much paperwork.”

“So what can I do?”

“Nothing.” He tells you, face screwing. “Who else has a question?”

You shake your head, refusing to let him move on to someone else, “If you made the rule, then that means you can sign off on exceptions.”

His eyes land on you, no longer tolerant, “You should get onto the boat now, miss.”

“Can I take full responsibility of any fish that get stolen?” You ask, not budging, “Please? I’m just trying to avoid any of us getting sick. Doesn’t that require paperwork, too?”

Scout narrows his eyes, clearly not happy with your persistence despite being threatened. It isn’t the first time either of you have had a conversation like this. It’s why you know you can push his limit without being suspended. You’re fairly certain that he even knows your name, but refusing to show any signs of acknowledgement.

He sighs, “What will the cooler be used for?”

“Four cases of water and a bag of ice to keep the water cold.” You say, “We will empty the cooler when it’s done being used, and I’ll show it to you personally when the shift’s over.”

“Fine.” He prepares the pen in his hand, “What boat are you assigned to?”

“Seven.”

He goes down the paper to find the boat, flipping the page over the top when he can’t find you. He reads for a moment, and then nods. “I see, you’re running with eleven people. That would make more sense.” He looks at you. “I’ll write it in the notes, inform the peacekeepers as you get onto the docks that I’ve given you special permission and to come see me. I expect to hear from you tonight.”

“Thank you, sir.” You smile, backing away.

You hurry back to Heath’s stall. He shifts his attention to you the moment you’re close enough, putting the next person in line on hold.

“Let me find you someone to help you carry them.”

You grin, “I got approved.”

“Really?” He smiles, too, “For everyone or just you?”

“Just me, Heath.”

“I’ll pack it up for you.” He turns around.

He’s careful with the way he loads the cooler, which is thankfully on wheels. He places all three cases of water inside, and two bags of ice. He doesn’t empty the bags inside, telling you to do that on your own time. You pay him what you owe, before beginning to drag it through the dirt and rocks to bring to the boat.

The second you get to the dock that holds boats seven and eight, you’re stopped by two peacekeepers. They take attendance to make sure everyone’s shown up to their shift, and make sure that no one leaves once they’re on the boat.

“You can’t take that up to the boat.” The first one tells you.

“I got permission from Scout, he told me to send one of you to him when I got here.” You stop, “I’ll wait.”

The second one walks away, going in the direction you just came.

“Name?” The first one asks.

“(Y/n) (L/n), boat seven.”

He makes a noise, it sounds like a scoff, “So you think because you run a larger crew that you deserve special privileges?”

“For the record, I asked permission.” You sit on top of the cooler, crossing your legs.

You watch as eight’s crew come up to the dock, get their name checked, and go to the boat. It doesn’t take long before the second peacekeeper’s back, “Let her pass.”

“Finally.” You breathe, starting your way down the dock. You’d thank him, if he weren’t such a dick. You steer the cooler off to the left to drag up the cargo ramp.

“You need help with that?” Atlas asks, he’s hanging over the side of the boat to watch you. You’ve been working with him since you signed up when you turned eighteen. You two started as regular friends, but as time’s gone on, you two are more like siblings than friends with the way you act.

“Nope, I drug it this far, might as well be the one to get it on the boat.” You grin back at him.

The moment you're on, it’s like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You receive a few looks, especially from the four new people that still haven’t gotten used to the original crew yet. You’ve all done your part to try and make them feel welcome, but sometimes change is hard to accept.

You know how to work with your original crew. You read their actions without asking a single question. You can tell what they need just by the way they look at you. You can’t imagine how difficult it is for the new people, trying to learn your behavior, probably feeling like they’re being shut out.

It’s not intentional. You try to have conversations with them—they’ll try for the first few minutes, but you can tell when they’re irritated. Which in turn makes you a little annoyed. How can you expect to get to know them and their mannerisms the same way when they won’t even give you a chance? It’s exhausting.

“A cooler? I thought they banned those a few years back.” River says, arm’s crossed over his chest.

“What’s inside, (Y/n)?”

You pop the open open, revealing the bags of ice. The crew presses forward, watching as you push the ice to the side, revealing the water. “Three cases—four if you count the one they gave us.”

“How’d you manage that?” The voice comes from the back. You look up to see who it is, and you find that it’s one of the guys that came from boat fourteen.

His name’s Finnick, bronze hair and green eyes. He’s one of the types that tan instead of burn. He’s also quiet, which means you’ve only spoken to him a few times in passing, mostly information.

“I bought them from Heath.” You shut the lid on the cooler, pressing down to make sure it’s shut tight. “The cooler, the ice, the water. It’s for everyone, of course. I don’t want anyone passing out in the heat.”

“Nice of you.” Poppy smiles.

“I try.” You smile, “If anyone thinks of smuggling fish back through this, I’ll kill you. We’re getting inspected at the end of the day, and if we’re caught, it’s my neck.”

Everyone moves away to go stand or sit on the boat to wait before the boat heads out into the water. You drag the cooler to the one shaded part of the boat, which happens to be a small patch that falls on the one block in the ground that’s built for coolers. You use the corner of your shirt to lift the metal lid, because you’ve given yourself burns before from the temperature.

Atlas comes over to help you lower the cooler into the floor. You open the lid, and the two of you work together to get the fourth case of water to fit, as well as the two bags of opened ice. It takes some adjustment, but sure enough, most of the bottles should be cold by the time you need to grab them. You slam the metal lid down when you’re done.

“I thought I told you to stop spending money on us.” Atlas gives you a look.

“We’re going to get irritable from the heat, moron. And the chances of a few of us getting sick are higher than you think.” You cross your arms, watching the people on boat eight move around to prepare for departure. “We can’t hide from the sun, unless we go below deck, and that’s where we keep the fish.” You meet his eyes, “I want to keep the arguments close to zero.”

—

“Feye, move that rope.” You tell her, motioning to Finnick’s foot.

You turn back to the railing, stepping onto the ledge to lean over the side of the boat to reach for the cage. Atlas is standing on the other side, he’s already secured his handle, and he’s waiting for you to get your hand looped in so that you two can properly pull it in from each side.

From there, all you’ll have to do is motion to Bodhi, who’s sitting in the machinery, and he’ll pull the lever that’ll pull up the cage of fish.

There’s an unsettling feeling in your chest, you briefly look over your shoulder, and find that Feye hasn’t done what you asked. Your heart drops from your chest into your stomach, as you let go of the handle and fly down the step to get to Finnick in time.

You manage to grab a hold of his upper arm, yanking him toward you. His planted feet budge, making him stumble in your direction. His foot is clear from the looped rope that was snaked on the ground. A second later, that same loop has gone rigid because the pair on the other side have thrown their cage back over.

Finnick almost just lost his leg.

“Sorry.” You let go of him, letting out a breath, “Fuck.”

“Thank you.” He murmurs, waiting for you to look him in the eye, before he moves on. He goes right back to what he was doing before with checking the fish to see which ones should be sent back into the water.

You turn back to the side of the boat, shaking your head.

“Ready now?” Atlas asks.

“Yes.” You step on the ledge again, leaning over the side. You get a good hand on the loop, and motion for Bodhi to pull his lever.

Usually, the machine should be able to lift this weight by itself. Except, the first ten boats that were provided to District Four are the ones that have been in use the longest. They’ve gotten worn down, which means that they’re slow and weak. You wish that they’d retire the old boats and invest in the newer ones.

They haven’t yet, because the amount of fuel that pours into the new boats is almost five times what you use now. It’s cheaper to continue to run on the boats that are barely holding on right now. It’s the same reason why the Mayor has cut the boats, they’re more expensive than what he’s used to.

If he was smart, then he’d realize that those boats can carry more than the old ones.

Atlas counts back from three to when you two haul together. You grit your teeth as you pull, trying to give as big of a boost as possible. The moment that it starts building momentum, you and Atlas let go, not wanting to get your fingers caught in the holes.

You back off the ledge, giving a look to him. “I wish I was born into a rich family.” You whine.

“Don’t we all?” He laughs, the two of you move to help guide the cage above the mass pit, where Finnick is standing with one other to sort through the fish and get them into bins. You wave your hand to Bodhi to get him to lower the cage. “What would you want to work as if you were born into a rich family?”

You scoff, “I wouldn’t even work, Atlas. I’d sit around on my ass.”

“I should’ve guessed that.”

You reach up to unhook one side of the case, while he does the same. “Fine, what would you do?”

“I’d have to think about it.” He says, trying to keep a neutral expression.

“Oh, sure.” You laugh, “That’s bullshit. You and me are in the same boat.” You pause to see his face, his jaw is slack, and he’s glaring at you, “Get it?”

“Shut up.”

The two of you work in a long silence. You see him so often that conversations are sparse, but hilarious if timed properly. Atlas is one of those people that you can sit in silence with, and doesn’t feel an urge to fill it. It’s nice once in a while.

“I’m going to take a break.” Atlas says, stopping by Finnick, “Will you cover me?”

Finnick nods, not saying anything.

In the meantime, you hook the cage doors back properly, pulling on them, and then checking Atlas’ side to ensure that there’s no mistakes. When Finnick passes by to get to the other side of the pit, he double checks what you’ve done. After no complaints, Bodhi brings the cage over the side of the ledge, releases the rope, and then he turns the machine to face the other side of the boat.

You find Atlas trying to stay in the small patch of shade as best as he can, a cold water in his hand. It was a good idea to invest in the cooler, it’s saved a lot of you already. You can’t imagine how bad the other boats are suffering without them, you can’t imagine that Scout agreed to let everyone take a cooler. Or that Heath had enough on hand.

You continue to work without Atlas, checking your station, helping Finnick finish the last of his fish. When he’s done, the two of you loop rope around Bodhi’s machine to grab a different cage than the one you just threw in. The machine winds it in, bringing the new cage to the top.

You hop on the ledge of the boat, leaning over the side, hand hooked in the handle, the two of you pull together, and repeat the process. It’s tedious work, but once you get a hang of it, it’s basically autopilot. You can’t remember the amount of times you were working and found yourself completely zoned out. You suppose that’s not exactly safe, because you stop paying attention to your surroundings to a certain extent, but it hasn’t killed you… yet.

You pause next to the wall, using it to prop you up as you rub the back of your neck. It’s fucking torture being out here. You don’t think there was a single heatwave last year, or the one before that. Then again, there’s a good chance you blocked it from memory. The first couple years on the fishing boats are hell.

You tilt your head back, feeling the sea breeze against your skin.

The boat jolts from a wave, you stumble a few steps, but catch yourself before you fall. You really hate that they make you work long hours, too. It’s easier for them to make you work during the daytime, rather than overnight. Mostly because Scout and the other peacekeepers haven’t agreed to do something like that.

It’d be terrifying, being out here in the middle of the night, pitch black. If you had the option, you think you’d opt for overnight, anyway. At least the weather’s cooler by then.

A hand on your arm makes you jump. When you open your eyes, you see that it’s Feye. She’s got her head tilted slightly, “(Y/n).”

“What?” Your eyebrows twitch together.

“I asked if you were alright.” She removes her hand.

You blink, face twisting briefly. You shrug, “I uh—I was just feeling the air. This heat’s killing me.”

“Maybe you should take a break with Atlas, the two of you work like machines to meet the quota.” She takes a few steps back.

You press the back of your hand to your forehead, letting out a sigh.

You step onto the ledge to prepare to grab the next cage with Finnick, he’s already waiting for you two steps away. You turn to face the water, and the entire world spins in a way that it’s not supposed to. You sway, hands reaching for the railing to steady you, but you miss.

A strangled noise leaves your throat as your hands are met with the open air, static-like stars eating away at your vision without a sign of stopping.

—

A cool summer’s breeze blows on your neck, relieving the burn that you must have on your skin from being in the sweltering sun. It’s nice and shaded here, you think you could lay here forever while the others do the work, if it weren’t for the fact that you can still feel the baking heat through your clothes, acting as a constant reminder that you haven’t escaped it.

Either way, that won’t prevent you from trying.

“(Y/n)?” A drowned voice asks, laced with worry.

You can’t imagine why, you’re just taking a quick break. You told the crew that you were going to need a power nap at some point in the day. It’s just what happens when they force you to be up so early and expect you to work well into the night. The only way you can keep going is to sleep, and then you get right back to it.

“Is she even breathing?”

There’s a pause, “Yes.”

“Then why don’t we leave her?” An impatient voice asks.

“She needs to be awake, that’s why.”

You feel your body get jerked, and manage to twitch your face in reason to how harshly they moved you to prop you upright. There’s something solid that’s holding you up by your back to keep you from collapsing on the ground. You try to open your eyes, curious to see what it is, and find that your eyelids are heavier than normal, refusing to cooperate.

You’re just so tired, and it’s so nice here.

An icy feeling—almost burning—comes into contact with your throat, like a shot to the heart. You jolt, eyes fluttering, grabbing the hand that’s dumping the frigid liquid over your chest.

“She’s awake!” A voice triumphantly shouts, there’s a few audible sighs of relief.

You blink, eyebrows drawing in as you try to get used to the sun. When you relax your face, you take your time to go from person to person. Atlas is crouched in front of you, a boyish smile on his face, “I guess we need to keep a better eye on you.”

You glare at him, turning your head to see what has you upright. You’re met face to face with a familiar set of green eyes that are watching your expression very closely.

“Are you feeling alright?” Finnick asks, face screwed. He doesn’t wait for you to answer before he’s pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. It’s cold, feels just like an ice pack.

“Yeah,” You murmur, “I’m sorry, I don’t even know what happened.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” He says, capping the water bottle in his hand before setting it next to your thigh. His hand leaves your middle back as he gets back onto his feet. “You fainted, and nearly dove headfirst into the water. I grabbed you.”

“I felt fine one second…” You trail off, meeting his eyes, “Thank you, Finnick.”

He presses his lips together into a smile, “You take care of us, it’s only fair we return the favor.”

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lets-try-some-writing · 8 months

Text

Small Mercies

An alternate take on the Artificial Prime AU where instead of Orion Pax dying and being replaced, he does indeed gain the Matrix and lead the Autobots. However Bumblebee is not so fortunate and does not survive his run in with Megatron. The loss is devastating and very nearly kills Optimus from grief. So in desperation Ratchet builds a different set of lies and gives his Prime back his sparkling... albeit not the same one he lost.

Link to Artificial Prime AU here.

Fake Bumblebee au where he is an AI and knows he is an AI, totally devoted to his duty. He doesn't care what happens to him, only that he must keep Optimus happy. With time he gains feelings and emotions and genuinely cares, problems come with it. Optimus knows he is an AI and loves him all the same, teaching B-127 what it means to be alive.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

The battle for Tyger Pax was brutal, so much so that Optimus had even forbidden Bumblebee from being anywhere near the center of the battlefield. It was selfish, but the Prime refused to risk losing his only sparkling. Unfortunately Bumblebee saw a chance to try and end Megatron before it was too late, and he took that change with little regard for his own safety.

It was his last mistake.

Megatron showed no mercy, and before anyone could stop it, the warlord tore out Bumblebee's throat, leaving him to bleed out on the battlefield. By the time Optimus felt his bond to his one and only sparkling shatter, it was far too late to do anything. All the Prime could do was rage and curse the stars as he tore through his foes with wild abandon, desperate to bring down the wrath of Primus upon the one who slaughtered his little warrior. Megatron had not and never will feel the amount of terror he did that grim cycle when Optimus was willing to harm his own allies just to get to him with the intent of tearing him apart piece by agonizing piece. He retreated without a second thought and Optimus clutched the body of his dear sparkling to his chassis, silent tears falling from his optics as his systems heaved and tried to cool but to no avail.

What remained of Bumblebee was swiftly brought to Ratchet who did not even need to run a scan to know that the scout was deceased. What little, albeit vain hope Optimus had of somehow having his son restored to him was destroyed, and in that moment, he lost a part of himself along with it. Bumblebee's death was known amongst the Autobots, but not a spark spoke of the loss anywhere near Optimus. The Prime spiraled and threw himself into his war, his plans swiftly becoming more brutal and his efforts targeted more so at making Megatron hurt rather than their actual goal of victory. Ultra Magnus, Prowl, Jazz, and Ironhide did what they could to course correct and keep things running properly. But with the loss of Bumblebee burning so hotly in Optimus's processors and spark, if he wasn't attempting to find the most brutal way to obtain victory for the Autobots on the battlefield, he was grieving alone in his quarters.

It wasn't healthy, and in less than a stellar cycle Optimus was already looking weaker and wearier from long cycles without recharge and a general apathy towards fueling. The Autobots did what they could to try and help him, but he wasn't listening. Without Bumblebee he was absolutely spark broken and none could do a thing to assist. It couldn't go on, Optimus would perish if it was allowed to continue. Ratchet couldn't stand to watch his friend fall so far, nor could he endure seeing the Autobots begin to falter. Thus after much moral consideration, Ratchet began to plan and prepare a way to save his friend and leader's life before the Autobots crumbled alongside him.

It was taboo in every sense of the word. Constructing sentient AI out of a cold construct was the sort of thing the Quintessons did, but there was simply no other choice. Optimus needed his sparkling back and collecting a proper spark to put into a protoform for him would only lead to unneeded variables. Even if the newspark was given Bumblebee's memory, it was simply cruel at that point to both the grieving Sire and the newspark with the burden of another identity on their shoulders. It was kinder to make something fake, something that could be programmed and controlled until Optimus was well enough for the machine to be shut down. A fake could be managed, manipulated, and handled to perform perfectly. A real living Cybertronian was dangerous for Optimus's already very fragile state.

There was no other choice, or so Ratchet told himself.

It was a slow work, one that Ratchet took his time completing simply because he needed it to be perfect. Optimus led the Autobots ever onward even as he deteriorated and while they had success, the moment the Prime fell, so would their momentum. All the while Ratchet worked dutifully, first crafting a protoform from Bumblebee's CNA and making adjustments as needed. His creation was not allowed to fall as Bumblebee had. The machine needed to be hardy and unlikely to falter, and thus it was crafted specifically to self repair and continue to function so long as its power core remained undamaged. It was a perfect machine, one Ratchet crafted for war but modeled to be able to receive care since Optimus so desperately wanted to continue to play the role of Sire.

A gentle and delicate face only barely hinting at maturity, a sturdy and armored frame designed specifically to show as a youngling, wide optics made to help induce parental protocols with faux innocence, and so much more. All subtle methods to ensure that the fake was as close to Bumblebee as possible while still fulfilling its purpose. The frame took a vorn to perfect and to instill the proper hardware, but once it was prepared, Ratchet began the second part of the process in the creation of an AI. It was a delicate process that took a great deal of time due to all the programming involved. The most difficult part was uploading Bumblebee's memory files which by that point had begun to corrupt. Ratchet had to fill in blanks in some places and took great care to instill in the AI its design.

Its sole goal was to keep Optimus safe and happy. That was its function. It was to listen to him in all things save for when Optimus's safety came first and was to replicate Bumblebee's behavior to the best of its ability. It was to know what it was and act accordingly. The AI was going to be well aware of the fact that it was not living and would therefore assess its situation with that knowledge. Better that it be damaged than a real Cybertronian. It had a mission, it had memory, and with some additional work from Ratchet, it had combat and spy protocols installed alongside some datapacks with information on effective acting. It was going to be perfect, especially since it would not have the inhibitions of an actual newspark when it came to its identity. It would be what Optimus wanted and needed, and to Ratchet, that was all it was required to do.

As such, two vorns after Bumblebee was killed and laid to rest, Ratchet turned on B-127's power core and uploaded its AI to its frame. The AI uploaded seamlessly and within mere Kliks, the replacement for Bumblebee was ready and prepared to act. It quickly put on a pleasant smile, and walking beside Ratchet down the halls, it was brought before the war room. Upon entry, all within froze at the familiar face and the distinct lack of a spark signature from the being that took the form of Bumblebee. All were horrified, all that is save for Optimus who merely seemed hopeful, no matter the truth of the situation.

Ratchet: This is B-127, a cold constructed sentient AI assistant I designed to aid you, Optimus.

B-127: It is good to see you, Optimus! I am sorry I could not come to you sooner! It took time for my creation process to be completed!

Ratchet: It has Bumblebee's likeness and memory. It is my hope that it will bring you comfort until this grief passes.

Jazz: You made a sentient AI...

Prowl: Have you lost your processors Ratchet!? This is against all protocols and could even warrant being brought before a court-!

Optimus: What is your name little one?

B-127: My numerical designation is B-127 in order to not impose on the memory of my predecessor, but you can call me whatever you would like!

Optimus: I understand. I am glad you have come to me Bee.

Not a spark dared to so much as twitch as Optimus drew the young machine in for a hug that was quickly returned. There was no real emotion from B-127, but Optimus looked somewhat at peace. Both knew what they had was fake, but neither noted it. B-127 had a mission to complete, and Optimus had someone to care for again, a youngling who looked like the son he lost.

The introduction of B-127 to the Autobots went... poorly to say the least. Ratchet being his creator was kept secret for his own safety and B-127 remained by Optimus's side at all times when physically possible. Ratchet quickly came to keep to himself, no longer well liked amongst those who knew he was B-127's maker. The troops were not told everything, only that B-127 was a sentient AI created to assist Optimus and stabilize him. He was treated as a tool by most, usually pushed aside and mocked the odd times he was away from Optimus. That did not bother B-127 in the slightest, not even when he was hit hard enough to kill an average mech by other soldiers under the guise of an 'accident' during training. Jazz avoided him like the plague, as did many of the other members of Optimus's inner circle. None wanted to associate with the thing that was a haunting reminder of what the Quintessons attempted to turn Cybertronians into through indoctrination and physical alteration.

Against the better judgement of everyone else, Optimus did not just tolerate B-127 or treat him as a unique walking memorial to his son, nor was he even upset about the whole thing. Bumblebee was dead, that much was certain and Optimus could accept that even if it destroyed him. B-127 was NOT Bumblebee, but he didn't need to be. B-127 was in Optimus's mind, not a replacement, but rather a legacy. He had not ordered B-127 to be created, nor was he happy about Ratchet doing so simply because of the ramifications, but he was pleased to have something left of what he held most dear. B-127 was a gift from Primus, a sparkling that had yet to learn what it meant to be one. Thus Optimus took it upon himself to care for B-127 as he would any well forged Cybertronian, much to the distress of every Autobot who was certain he was losing his mind.

Whatever the case, B-127 was tolerated and Optimus continued leading the war effort. Ratchet kept to himself and performed maintenance when required but otherwise tried to ensure his interactions with B-127 were kept to a minimum.

Bit by bit Optimus grew more stable and slowly through care, B-127 changed. His mission was simple, his duty was meant to be without complication. He was to protect Optimus, a part of his function he completed by fighting alongside the Prime on the battlefield, much to Megatron's horror the first time they met. The first time B-127 felt much of anything beyond the preprogrammed duty he was instilled with was during that meeting. Bumblebee's memories gave him fear, but also anger and sorrow. Megatron killed the one who B-127 was based upon, and for whatever strange reason he could not comprehend, he fought more aggressively that cycle and did not understand why until that same aggression toward those who tried to harm him in training. Just because he was hardier than the average mech did not make him a training dummy. He served Optimus Prime, he could not afford to be damaged beyond what was required to protect the one he was assigned to.

He only continued to change from that point onward as Optimus made it a point to teach him things and speak to him as if he were a living being. The Prime would ask his opinions, to which B-127 would shoot back a response Bumblebee would have presented. Often Optimus smiled somewhat sadly but nodded at his offered words. Optimus also took the time to show B-127 things that he might find to be of interest, usually leading B-127 to contemplate whether or not it matched one of Bumblebee's fascinations and work from there. He was meant to make Optimus happy, so if he found a response to be the most likely to create that outcome, that is what he gave. But even still, slowly he changed. His responses grew less stale and he started to expand his opinions on things, even offering tactical advice when brought in alongside Optimus in meetings. His efforts were usually met with apprehension, but he was intelligent and learned more with every passing cycle.

B-127 was unsure when he began to feel genuine affection toward Optimus or when emotions began to be part of his existence. However by the time the Allspark was sent away, he came to adore the hugs he received from Optimus, he loved to watch the stars, he learned to see past the prejudice his fellow Autobots had toward him and even found himself feeling as though he were one of them. He never forgot what he was or what his purpose was, but when with those he trusted, B-127 found it easier to be something akin to a living being. Optimus treated him well, Ratchet was kind enough, and the others treated him as a fellow soldier after the shock of his existence wore off.

He was a machine with no spark or even Cybertronian biology. He was a lookalike, a fake, and yet he enjoyed living and he was fond of those he fought alongside. He was not real, merely a mess of code and mixed metal, despite that, he wanted to and often found himself musing on what it would be like if he were naturally forged. It wasn't right, he knew in his code he was supposed to be loyal and focused, but the thoughts came all the same, and when voiced, Optimus encouraged them.

B-127 was meant to be a small mercy, a way to soften the blow of Bumblebee's death and to be deactivated once Optimus was himself again.

He dreaded that cycle more with every passing vorn.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #bumblebee #ratchet #optimus prime #autobots #war time cybertron #megatron #alternate universe #AI Bumblebee #secret identities #(not so secret but still-)

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kiwanopie · 1 year

Note

reader in the crime lord kiyoomi au who's kinda like csm's kobeni

she can get twitchy (minus the bawling) when she gets a front seat of "business" but...BUT...

when the situation calls, she can brandish out a knife and kill if she needs to

then switches back to neurotic once it's over but she doesnt have to worry. kiyoomi is there btw

He knew you were a scout, knew you had the reputation to back it up.

But he thought you just were hard to catch.

“We had a deal.”

Kiyoomi crosses his arms from where he’s standing at the head of his office, back perched against the ledge of his desk as his former associate stands opposed before him - along with his fleet.

He should be scared. He is scared. A man of Ichiro’s stature, with a reputation like his. A fleet of six men that produce a mountain of bodies collectively, the unbeatables. Men like him who promise pain and suffering in the wake of death, now double-crossing him with the intentions of taking everything he has or to die trying. To be on the wrong side of this man is to be marked for death - or worse. His hands are in charged fists resting at his sides, with the full intent of using them. And whatever fate is meant for Kiyoomi and his men, has been so promised to be worse than death.

He’s petrified. But he’s more proud than to show it, vexed then to show it. And his expression twists sourly as he stares at the man smirking before him.

“And I did what you wanted, didn’t I?” Ichiro shrugs. “I helped you get your money, you helped me get my guys out of the pen.”

“Then what’s the big fuckin’ show about?” Atsumu scoffs beside him.

Ichiro glances at the young woman perched securely behind Kiyoomi’s desk, hair curled and pretty as you look upon the crowd with curious alarm. Pretty fucking thing puts the cherry on top of all the cushy shit this tall bastard’s got. Riches and power, control over the most valuable assets in Japan and now this pretty fucking dame? It’s been too long he’s spent looking at this mean mugging bastard and seeing him have all the things that he wants - all the things that should belong to him. And now that he’s got his boys?

Kiyoomi’s scowl deepens when he follows the man’s gaze, as if some ugly freak should have the audacity to stare at his angel like that.

He plants his hands on his desk, leaning forward a bit as if it’ll make him bigger.

“You’re making a big fucking mistake.”

Ichiro snorts. “You think you can scare me? There’s not a single ounce of me that doesn’t see you as the conniving little mouse you are.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t flinch when he inches forward, barely reacts when his men reach for their guns.

“I’m gonna take what belongs to me.”

“You’re gonna come up empty handed.” Kiyoomi replies firmly. Something clicks behind him, one of his men mumbles something under their breath, but whatever should come his way is sullied by something that remains sure.

“I have contingencies.” It won’t save him but it’s the truth. “You kill me and you lose any chance at getting what you want.”

“Then I won’t kill you.” Ichiro shrugs. “There’s worse things I could do anyway.”

“Oh, I bet. That’s why I’m not worried.”

Kiyoomi huffs as he leans into his desk, eyes gazing lowly at Ichiro from where he stands above him. There’s a snark in his grimace, a smugness that pinkens the morale of the men who surround him. He keeps his face in his truths and puffs out his chest a little. - Even as his number two glances at him like he knows it’s hollow.

“Because a meathead like you could never fit in a position like this.” He crosses his arms again. “You’re not careful, you can’t manage deals. You think all of your problems can be solved with brute force.”

Ichiro scowls as he continues. “You wanna know how I got as far as I have? Why I have all the things you think belong to you? Because I’m not just some sadistic freak, I’m a businessman. I know how to carry a conversation, I know how to follow basic fucking directions. I would’ve at least had the two cents to make my foe an ally before double crossing him. - But you’re a stranger.”

“You’re a pig that shit his way into my office, too focused on the smell of his own ass to realize he’s like every other hog who thinks he’s special,”

“You’re filth.” Kiyoomi shakes his head. “And you’re out of your fucking mind if you think anyone’s gonna see you as anything else besides that.“

Ichiro glares blankly at Kiyoomi as the room falls into a tense silence. There’s a taut pull in the air that becomes ear popping as the feelings linger. Every man in this office has become so fraught with alarm that they’ve all frozen in place, breaths now so shallowed that they’ve become restricted. Everyone’s waiting on the other to make the first move, and with Ichiro so locked up like he is, Kiyoomi can’t make heads or tails of who it’s gonna be.

Maybe that’s the point.

Because Ichiro’s arm comes up so fast that Kiyoomi barely sees him do it. Distended veins stress as he distributes the weight into the single arm, and steps forward like he’s putting his all into it.

Ichiro is known for being strong, he’s known for being the bull of underground Japan. They say there’s nothing he hasn’t put a hole in by now, nothing his fists can’t chew through like construction paper. It’s why he never gets caught, you’d be out of your fucking mind to stop a wrecking ball like that with your bare hands.

Which is why Kiyoomi’s surprised when he’s not immediately grated into ground beef when the punch lands, when it never lands. - Closing his eyes at that hard gust of wind that follows after a loud crack! So forceful that it rushes into his nose and takes his breath away.

When his eyes flutter open he’s nearly so taken aback that he gasps. His arms unfold and he’s suddenly placing all of his weight on his feet.

Your arms are bruised already, from the ridges of your wrist to the low of your elbow. Crossed arms blocked in a shielded maneuver that reflects the soft lights of his office. You stopped his punch. All but materialized in front of him and stopped The Bull’s punch. Not even Bokuto had the means to do something like that.

And from the looks of it everyone’s too shocked by it to do anything, even Ichiro freezes in place.

Your face scrunches somewhat painfully as you look upon his offender, eyes still lit in evening light as you keep your arms held securely in front of you.

Kiyoomi opens his mouth and then closes it again, leans forward to reach for you as he gathers himself in awe.

And then freezes when Ichiro starts to move again.

He’s quick. “..You think you can-“

You’re quicker.

The sound of his fingers breaking is less alarming than the sound of meat tearing, than the look on his face when he hunches and his knife - Kiyoomi’s knife that you must have swiped from his desk without him knowing - is keeping him from doubling forward. His blood stains the carpet.

Your expression remains unchanged as his eyes well up with tears. You're an unstoppable force as you raise the other hand up high and his coughed out plea comes out gurgled.

It takes one swipe to have him pouring out before you.

There’s a bubbled out giggle of disbelief that Atsumu doesn’t even notice he’s let out as his blood stains the office floors. Flesh and meat fall with a hiss as it lands on the carpet and he’s gone like he never existed.

Kiyoomi chokes out bewilderedly. “Wha-… Baby-“

One of his men charges forward.

He barely even gets the chance to step forward when the sharp sound of a moving blade cuts through the room. You’re so fast that he barely sees you touch him. But he knows you have when he stops in place.

He stumbles back from the lack of air as the members of his fleet look on in muted horror, reaches for his neck and panics when his fingers come back wet. I mean he knows you’re fast, everyone does. It’s half the reason you made elite quotas. That’s not surprising.

No, the surprise comes - and what he assumes is the other half of what graduated you to elite status - is when he finally falls to his knees. Blood pooling as he gushes and steaming in the conditioned air.

You all but decapitated him.

Kiyoomi takes a few disbelieving steps back as Atsumu literally gasps this time, smiling with his mouth open like an excited fanboy as you look upon the dying man with indifference - and watches his body limply drop to the ground.

The five opposing men freeze in place as his body meets the same fate as their leader.

You’re soft as cotton when you look up at Kiyoomi. “Are you okay?”

He blows a raspberry.

“Am I-… Angel you-… Your arms,” Kiyoomi worriedly reaches for you. “Oh my god, your arms. Let me see. How much do they hurt-“

Atsumu kisses his teeth at the five shaken men now standing still at the door. “Does anyone else wanna die?”

He glances at his boss, currently fitted into the role of a worried husband in front of all these dangerous men. This guy really doesn’t have any shame.

“Any of you idiots still ready to go against us step forward.” He scowls. “You see what happens!”

No one speaks up.

“Then get the fuck outta here!”

#crime lord!sakusa kiyoomi #ending it there cause it’s hard to look cool when both of your arms are broken lmao #Atsumu just put you on his top three of all time list like clearly he’s telling his brother that this happened #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu x reader #hq sakusa #haikyuu!!#sakusa kiyoomi x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu scenarios #sakusa fluff #crime au!kiyioomi #crime au

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toh-tagteam-au · 1 year

Text

Tag Team AU Synopsis – Lost in Language + Once Upon a Swap

Synopsis Masterpost Link

Previous [Hooty's Moving Hassle]

Next Part [Something Ventured + Escape of the Palisman] [coming soon]

WOO first double episode post! I'm going to double-up on certain episodes since some are too short/don't have a lot of substance to justify having their own posts/are too much like canon. So, let's vibe. Library time.

Lost in Language

Eda gets the bat baby again. Hunter shows up to tell Eda that he’s going to the library to research and he’ll take her books back for her.

(lmao it’s because he’s helping the palisman eater)

Once he gets to the library, he researches for the whole day until the Blight twins start talking to him, saying they were impressed by how he made a quick negative first impression on Amity at the covention. He doesn’t like them immediately, but Edric invites him to come to the library at night.

So they do the wishing star stuff and Hunter actually ends up having fun. Montage Moment. Eventually, they take him to Amity’s study room and reveal their plan, which Hunter HATES.

He leaves the study room, but not before stealing Amity’s diary without the twins noticing.

He then literally runs into Amity, who overheard the twins inviting Hunter to the library earlier that day. Hunter gives her the diary, saying that even she doesn’t deserve to be screwed over by family.

Otabin suddenly attacks, and Amity and Hunter have to save the twins from their own creation. Everyone sticks around to clean up the damages, and Hunter encourages the twins to apologize to Amity.

Oh and also

Once Upon a Swap

Episode opens up at the market, with each character having the same gripes as canon except instead of Luz’s problem with Eda not wanting her name in lights, Hunter has a problem with Eda not explaining how her human stuff works to her customers. Body swap is the same, Hunter in Eda’s body and King in Hunter’s body.

The narrative sticks with Hunter pretty much the whole time, who tries explaining how human things work to customers. Eventually, people stop coming to his stall because there’s no mysticism surrounding the human stuff now that they know they’re just normal objects. He gets caught by coven scouts at some point during this, and Lilith visits her “sister” similar to canon.

Hunter explains to Lilith in VERY detailed terms that Eda does not want to be part of the Emperor’s coven.

Basically, Hunter’s “lesson” that he learns is that people will not always listen to you, regardless of how many facts your side is based on.

Cut to King, who is doing teen stuff in Hunter’s body, when he’s pulled into an alleyway by Luz the Golden Guard, who tells him that Eda was arrested and they have to bail her out.

So King knows now.

Cut back to Lilith and Hunter when the Golden Guards arrive. Hunter is understandably terrified seeing King there while Luz smooth-talks Lilith. Luz gets into a stalemate with Lilith before King speaks up, to the confusion of Luz. Apparently, the Owl Lady performed a body swap spell in the market today, so even if they DO put a sigil on her, it won't stick! (He is lying about the sigil thing).

The bodyswap spell is backed up by a few other scouts, who mention they did hear “bodyswap” be yelled earlier, and eventually by Hunter, who says that he is in fact Eda’s new apprentice. Lilith says that Eda did mention him at the covention.

Luz, quickly using the excuse that this isn’t Eda and thus a false arrest, escorts King and Hunter out of the station and drags them into town before Lilith can wisen up.

Eventually, Luz and Hunter beg King to not tell Eda that Hunter is a Golden Guard, saying that they’re trying to help someone with knowledge of wild magic, and Eda is their last shot. King tentatively agrees, as long as they keep Eda safe and don’t hurt her.

Eventually, they all converge together so King, Eda, and Hunter can end the bodyswap spell and get away like in canon.

Previous Part [Hooty's Moving Hassle]

Next Part [Something Ventured + Escape of the Palisman]

Synopsis Masterpost Link

#Tag Team Synopsis #toh #the owl house #toh tagteam au

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i3utterflyeffect · 17 days

Text

anyway! a few thoughts on dark color gang:

all of them have virabands and they also have friendship accessories of varying types. not sure for all of them but i do think both Red and SC use hair ties

also i don't feel like pulling up my hollowhead sheet but they do have hair in this au like dark and chosen! i think it's a way that they try to make being a hollowhead less obvious at first glance (maybe i'll talk about it later)

red is actually considered the most intimidating because they seem like the nicest one because they're more social than the others (save maybe SC) but really they will get super intense on you if they don't like you. they are very nice but that's not a good thing when they don't like you

also red begged to have a pet virabot. they have one now ofc

yellow is still blind

glasses do actually make dark and chosen a little nervous though, and they're very self-conscious so they prefer contact lens(??????) if possible

they're VERY good at coding, and picked up a lot of things from Dark that sometimes Dark didn't even show them

they take a lack of validation very poorly

they definitely look for Dark's approval the most

blue keeps exploding the house

they love chemicals!!!! unfortunately this means that blue makes a lot of dangerous things!!!!

blue and the older siblings agreed on having a specific time for blue's experiments because once blue accidentally made a chemical reaction that made flammable gas and you can imagine how that went

blue really isn't too different they're just a mad scientist now

they still like to cook! they also like to experiment with drinks. they're too young to make anything alcoholic but they'd probably be very good at it

they're as much as a goofball as usual

they may or may not have exploded a part of town once by accident and they got lectured by chosen for needless destruction. they did cry so chosen just sighs and tells them to be more careful next time

green is normal

not even kidding. they just like music. they're just chilling. dark and chosen were surprised by the innocuous hobby but they were like hell yeah go for it

half the time just sitting in their corner and zoning out

whenever they get in on schemes they're always the planner and/or the one executing the plan

their ability to be exceedingly average can make them the stealthiest so they use this to be the so-to-speak 'scout' of the group

has probably been taken for witness reports whenever the authority is looking for the hollowheads and just shrugs and goes 'i didn't see anything sorry officers :('

Innocuous Person autism in general. like. masking so hard that you don't even notice they exist. 🤝

SC still LOVES humans

loves computers too! they like exploring computers and sometimes they steal things but they feel bad about it.

really mad that people assume that they're a bad person just because they're a hollowhead

becomes friends with Alan after the group accidentally stumbles into his computer!!!!

he ends up trapping the bunch of them rather than killing any of them, probably because the viraband protects them from being force quit

SC steals from his art program and everything just. kind of stops when they find out they have powers with the pen? sc is yelling in excitement and alan is like 'oh crap they can talk', and everything goes from murder to 'actually this is really cool can we hang out?' and surprisingly things worked out

Dark and Chosen actually didn't realize SC's interest in humans went beyond just studying them! they absolutely panicked when they realized they were not only being friends with humans but FRIENDS. WITH ALAN NOOGAI BECKER. (probably the startup for whatever the showdown equivalent is)

ALSO. sc is likely unable to use their powers still...... the others have been really supportive and encouraging, and they're aware that they HAVE powers, but anything involving their powers was basically only ever a spark at best! it's very scary for everyone when they use their abilities beyond that!

#pitch posts #tommy's stickmen tag #dark color gang au #tommy's au #ava aus #ava #ava/m

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safarigirlsp · 1 year

Text

Satan Wears Burberry

Modern Jacques Le Gris x Reader

Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Humor. Romance. Enemies to Lovers. Fur.

AO3 Link

Author’s Note: For a Valentine's Day special, and as a gift for the lovely and wonderfully talented @kyloremus , here is a fun bitchy Fashion AU inspired by Cruella DeVille and The Devil Wears Prada! This is only the intro, if it is well received, I'll do more with it. There’s not even any murder or mayhem! What’s wrong with me?

Fashion is a viciously cutthroat industry where appearance and manipulation often win over sincerity and benevolence. Weapons of choice are razored nails, deadly heels, and backstabbing smiles. Everyone who is anyone and all the someones aspiring to be something in the fashion industry know there is no event more seminal than Paris Fashion Week. Statuesque models strutting runways, aggressive designers gauging their competition, and hawkish agents scouting new talent can all be found amid the crowds and press.

As the Editor in Chief of Annees Folles Magazine, your front row seat at every event was reserved. This season, Annees Folles had even surpassed Vogue in sales and influence. Before anything became fashion, it had to receive your stamp of approval and be featured in the pages of your magazine. Brands rose and fell pursuant to your approval or condemnation just like a gladiator’s life dependent upon the tilt of an emperor’s thumb. Among the other more illustrious attendees, were the heads of the most preeminent fashion lines in the world, the CEOs and moguls whose names had forged the foundation of modern fashion.

La Maison Gris, a relatively new brand from an old and noble French family, had made a meteoric rise to the very summit of the industry. Helmed by its formidable and charismatic CEO, Jacques Le Gris, La Maison Gris had firmly secured a position high among the most distinguished names in fashion. Le Gris had fast become synonymous with Chanel, Versace, Lagerfeld, Gucci, Valentino, Tom Ford, Dior, Dolce and Gabbana. Aided in his ascension by his calculating mind, his almost irresistible charm, his devilish good looks and imposing size, Jacques had steamrolled his competition like a tank over protestors.

Jacques Le Gris always dressed to the nines and was dashingly groomed and coiffed, his image immaculately maintained. From a finely tailored bespoke suit that flattered his impressive and athletic 6’4” physique, enhancing the breadth of his great shoulders and the taper of his fit waist, to a simple signet ring bearing his century’s old family crest that drew attention to his enormous hands, he used fashion to emphasize his towering size and noble bearing. He wore a neatly trimmed van dyke, and his thick black hair down to his shoulders. An intentional streak of silver shot through his glossy ebony mane like the milky way shimmering across the night sky, giving him the regal air of a melanistic lion. He was dressed now in pieces from his own line, a charcoal suit with a chic glen plaid pattern, black shirt, unbuttoned down two buttons from his throat, and a black overcoat with a subtle flair of silver Persian lamb around the collar.

Notably broader without exception than everyone in attendance and standing a head taller than most, save for the willowy models, some of whom hoovered near his airspace when in heels, Jacques cut an impressive and unmistakable figure where he stood next to the runway in the dimly lit audience. The room was filled to capacity with the crème de la crème of fashion, interspersed with the journalists and photographers who would relay their chosen highlights to the public. While he waited for the show to begin and the first model to strut down the runway, Jacques discussed his line with anyone who would listen, showcasing his renowned affability. He was cordial where others were aloof, a trait that had helped spur his rise to the top.

Jacques was confident that his spring line that was to be revealed at this show would impress all those in attendance, but still, it never hurt to grease the wheels with a few dashing smiles. He could charm almost anyone into submission, a talent that cut across many different lines of social interaction. Only one major player had remained staunchly immune from his allure, and she unfortunately wielded one of the most important opinions. In fact, it was as though the Editor in Chief of Annees Folles Magazine took pride, a morbid relish even, in eviscerating the designs of La Maison Gris. With each scathing article, La Maison Gris and its profits took a hit and took months to reclimb the ladder from several rungs below. To say Jacques was ruffled by it was an understatement, he was mad as hell. He had yet to meet the woman in person, which he assured himself was the reason he had so far been unable to exert the full magnitude of his charm and magnetism.

The lights dimmed and the music picked up tempo, indicating the show would soon be starting. Jacques was focused on the runway, and didn’t see you approach and squeeze in beside him for a place at the head of the runway. The room was packed as tightly as a nightclub, but filled with an exponentially more beautiful crowd. Jacques recognized you with a visible start, his affable manner momentarily dampened with worry, fear even, at being in the presence of the one woman with the power to unseat him from his high horse. The pen was indeed mightier than the sword when it was you who wielded it, writing the destinies of every hopeful designer in the pages of your magazine.

You were dressed in a Dolce & Gabbana dress of ebony lace that hugged and flattered your shapely curves to perfection paired with a charcoal gray double-breasted Burberry Prorsum coat with military-style epaulets and cuffs. You wore five-inch Burberry heels that, although pointed-toe stilettos, they were fitted with Burberry’s signature lug sole, adding to your combative appearance and reputation. Although it was dark in the room, you wore a pair of aviator sunglasses by Maybach, also in gradients of carbon, that concealed your infamously ferocious eyes. Your hair was elegantly styled and your bearing was as proud as any model on a runway, but your presence was of a military general standing on a battlefield.

The sight of you took Jacques’s breath away. He had never been so taken aback by a woman, so instantly devastated by beauty.

With a deep steadying breath and a visible effort, Jacques composed himself. It was absurd, he reasoned, to be so unnerved by a woman. He was a master at seduction, and what was business but a different kind of seduction? Both involved a degree of manipulation and power plays. Even if Jacques didn’t know how to deal with you as a cutthroat editor who struck fear into the hearts of men, he knew how to deal with a red-blooded woman.

“I think you’ll find the florals are luscious,” he whispered with a smokey depth to his voice. He moved closer beside you until your shoulders brushed, perfectly acceptable in the crowded room.

“Florals? For Spring?” you scoffed. “Groundbreaking.”

“Well… Florals are classics for a reason,” he stumbled at the sharp rebuff. “Spring lines always have florals. It’s what you do with them that matters, is it not?”

“Have you sustained a head injury?” you derided haughtily, turning to look at him briefly over the rims of your sunglasses. “Yes, follow like the little lemmings toward the cliff of the cliché and the mediocre. The market – that is, sellers who have already made you rich -- want to get their winter fashions off the racks. Something inventive, something charming and clean, for example, would sell regardless of the season. Are you marketing to the likes of Kohl’s or Target?” You dismissively returned your attention to the runaway. “Dolce & Gabbana is the only designer who has any business at all dabbling in seasonal florals. Perhaps, an honorable mention to Dior.” Jacques tried to retort, but you steamrolled over him. “But not La Maison Gris, I assure you, and my assurance is the only one that will ever matter.”

This silenced him as he looked away, a strange and foreign mixture of rejection and embarrassment mingling inside him with an all-too familiar anger. He then looked back at you tentatively, feeling hesitant to challenge you.

“Just last spring Vogue raged over my florals,” he stated with a confidence that for once he didn’t feel, his deep voice undercut by an undertone of fear. Because of his size and physicality, deep voice, and wealth, he often unwittingly intimidated people. He was unused to being on the other side of that scale, and he couldn’t recall being so as a grown man. It was a challenge, he realized, and he savored challenges.

“Then, they were novel. Now, they are tired and uninspired,” you sighed as if bored by his simpleness. “Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative -- that’s Oscar Wilde, mind you – and I do believe he had a sense of fashion. He even went to prison for his fashion genius, among other proclivities.”

Jacques’s handsome features broadcast he was ready to retort but thought better of it, chewing his lip instead to bite back the argument that wanted to leap from his tongue. As the first model made her appearance on the runway, the audience applauded, approving of her floral dress with fox trim. He puffed his chest and looked at you as if to say he told you so. The next model wore a lynx shawl over a dress of gold floral brocade.

“Mixing fur and floral, are we? I always thought fur looked best on its original owner.” You studied each ensemble carefully with the eye of a critic. “Models should be comfortable in their own skin, not someone else’s, don’t you think?”

“This line is novel, sleek and vivacious. If you wish to stand out and feel good about yourself, my line is for you,” he huffed and retorted as another model stalked toward you wearing a beautiful lavender dress trimmed with tasteful sable fur in a complimentary dusky hue. The crowd roared in approval. “Nature has evolved to flatter animals of every shape and size. Do you argue that natural evolution shouldn’t be used when one is designing clothes to flatter women?”

You paused at the audience’s enchantment with Jacques’s line. He, too, saw it was a hit and raised one eyebrow at you. The next model wore a sleek aviator jacket with a collar of sheared beaver dyed in a subtle chevron pattern. The crowd actually clapped at that one.

No matter, people often didn’t know what they really liked until you told them.

You gestured for him to lean closer and whispered conspiratorially, “Like I said, the unimaginative masses are easily impressed. They can’t do what I can do: convince the biggest retailers in the world to market your line, and the populace to buy it.”

Jacques took a deep breath, gathered his courage, smiled mischievously, and said with a seductive tenor, “Well, there is more than one way to skin a cat.”

“I suppose you would know,” you quipped as another lynx trimmed ensemble walked past. “Regardless, the details of your incompetence do not interest me.”

“My incompetence?” Jacques huffed. No one else in the world would dare to call him incompetent. But arguing the point with you would get him nowhere. He decided to try a different tactic. “Let us continue this tete-a-tete somewhere more private, and I’ll try to find something about myself that does interest you.”

“Bold of you to assume a ridiculous man like you could please me in any venue. Be assured, I am demanding in my personal life as well as my professional one.” You let your appraising gaze rake over his body. “I want the best. I deserve the best. And I demand the best. In all things and in all ways.”

“My fashion lines may bore you, belle comandante.” Jacques grinned and asserted boldly, “Trust me, as a man, I would make you purr.”

“I have no commitments and I find myself rather bored by Paris, but I’m sure you have a parade of floral harlots vying to charm you into letting them walk your next runway. Who would I be to deprive them of the valuable life lesson in regret they would learn from a night with you?” You eyed another fur-trimmed model skeptically. “Dear God, you’re not into furries are you?”

He said nothing more until the show was over, but a sly lupine smile played on his plush lips. When all the models had walked the runway and the din of conversation filled the room, he made you a darkly illicit offer. “I’ll make a bet with you. If I can make you purr for me, then you will write a splendid review of tonight’s show.”

Removing your sunglasses, you eyed him with unveiled skepticism. “And if I find you are not up to the task of pleasing me?”

“You won’t.” He winked at you.

“Graduating from fashion to prostitution, are you?” You raised a judgmental eyebrow. “I can’t deny it’s a better fit for you.”

“Not publicly.” He grinned at you, flashing a predatory glint of white teeth. “But for you, I will make a one-night-only exception. I’m a gambling man, and what higher stakes could I play with? If I can wring a good review out of you between the sheets, you will write a nice review for my fashion line on the pages of Annees Folles. We’ll enjoy ourselves in the process, that I promise you, cherie.”

“It is an interesting thought.” You smiled. “To wonder what I will find worthy of review. The before or the after?”

“Yes, I agree,” he boomed loud enough for everyone to hear. You had heard he was a showman and viciously sarcastic. “You know why failed designers become harping editors of fashion magazines? It’s a petty facet of human nature that we feel the need to tear apart others who have talents one does not.”

“Is that what you think?” you laughed at the absurdity, meeting his challenge and projecting your voice. “Designers are many. On the other hand, people who dictate the tides of fashion and control the very destinies of men like you are few. The truth is, no one can do what I can do.”

“It must be lonely at the top for a maneater like you,” Jacques teased, his voice low again. “Who keeps you warm at night?”

“Renew your offer at the end of the evening,” you replied coyly. “And I’ll decide who’s keeping me warm tonight.”

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

Nearly as important as the fashion show itself was the afterparty. This was where most of the schmoozing and deal-making were conducted, where connections were made and alliances were formed. Swanky upscale clubs were privately rented for these glamorous soirees. The afterparty for La Maison Gris was celebrated at L’Arc, the highly exclusive nightclub at the top of the Champs Elysees. Jacques had rented the club for the night, open only to those on his well-pruned guest list. The neon strobes of the club ordinarily played across a beautiful crowd but during Fashion Week, its lights never fell on someone who wasn’t either rich, famous, beautiful, or otherwise extraordinary.

Jacques was the man of the hour and had to make himself seen at his own party. You, of course, were on every guest list of every afterparty, but only an elite few were deserving of your attendance. After making your rounds at parties hosted by Dolce & Gabbana, Burberry, Dior, and Tom Ford, you decided to make an appearance at the La Maison Gris party and see if Jacques’s bet still intrigued you. Your arrival was just late enough to be aptly fashionable.

A redwood of a doorman recognized you and ushered you in ahead of a winding line of at least one-hundred hopeful partygoers, much to their displeasure. The floor of the club writhed and undulated with women in chic dresses and men in suits dancing in time with heavy driving bass. You would have been hard-pressed to squeeze up to the bar that was so tightly packed that even the attempts of waifish models were foiled by the mass of humanity.

The freshly bleached smiles of several of the biggest names in Hollywood caught your eye from various corners of the room. One perfect smile belonged to the actor who had just landed his big break in being cast in the newest reboot of the Superman franchise. Clark Kent du jour had the build of a linebacker, a square jaw to match, cerulean blue eyes, and jet back hair, complete with a Superman curl he had cultivated since landing the part. He had also been pursuing you since you had toured the set for a piece on the costumes, most of which had been crafted by Zegna. He wore a suit by La Maison Gris, complete with a dyed sable pocket square instead of the usual silk. Tragically, he had both buttons done on his jacket, a glaring faux pas that required all of your limited reserve to overlook. You could take the man off the farm, but you couldn’t dress the farm out of the man.

Aspiring models stalked through the crowd on mile-high legs like otherworldly creatures, eager to impress designers for a chance to walk down their runways. And there was Jacques Le Gris, standing in the middle of an entire harem of them. A flock of scantily and colorfully dressed models surrounded him like birds at a feeder, some batting their eyelashes, others stroking his body, others still giggling vapidly, all desperate for any crumb of attention he deigned to toss their way. Though you couldn’t hear what he was saying, he was gesturing magnanimously, smiling and laughing at his own infectious humor, and very much enjoying the attention.

The spectacle of the fawning models was enough to make you return Clark Kent’s smile just long enough to encourage him to make an approach. Your timing was perfect; like all the best predators, you had the gift of precision. Jacques noticed you just as the handsome actor made a beeline for you and procured a flute of champagne from the tray of an obliging waitress who flitted by on his way. The actor was only the first to approach you. Within moments, you too were encircled by a mass of noisome people, even larger than the group that surrounded Jacques. Everyone wanted your attention, your approval.

At the sight of Clark Kent sidling up to you, a dark veil passed over Jacques’s dashing features, turning them murderous for the breadth of a second. It went unnoticed by most if not all, but you saw it and you smirked. Clenching his jaw, Jacques pushed through the throng of humanity and shooed away the plumage of women, heading not toward you but to the bar.

You smiled as the actor handed you the champagne, trying not to dwell on the state of his tackily buttoned jacket. But you drew the line at champagne, telling him with your usual stridence, “Oh, you can keep that for yourself. I don’t drink champagne, but I’m sure a large country boy like you can handle mine and yours and many more after.”

The poor pretty idiot didn’t know if you were serious or teasing, but since he had no basis in experience dealing with such a direct and assertive woman, he took your harshness for humor and laughed. He would be so easy to rip to shreds, which could be a fun passing amusement. He was exceedingly lucky you were in a good mood tonight. Adding to your relative levity was the towering figure of the CEO of La Maison Gris striding purposefully toward you and fighting to keep his composure and grin through his jealous anger. He held a drink in each hand, filled with amber and ice.

“This is my party,” he said by way of greeting you, making his voice notably deeper than the actor’s. Jacques was taller, but only just, which added to your amusement when he tried to look down his charmingly hooked nose at his more classically handsome opponent. “How is it that you just waltz in here and everybody gravitates toward you like you are the sun.”

“I’ve found that Nietzsche’s herd concept applies in a variety of ways.” You smiled icily back. “The human herd often has a collective sense of who’s the most important person in the room.”

Still looking at the actor, Jacques wordlessly handed you one of the two drinks he carried. You accepted it with a raised eyebrow and lifted it to inhale its aroma. Then, you gifted him with a genuine smile. “You’ve done your homework.”

“I have. Your drink of choice is an old fashioned made with Midleton Single Pot Irish Whiskey and garnished with an orange peel.” He took a sip of his own drink, the same as yours, closing his eyes briefly to savor the taste. “But I think you’ll like this better. I prefer Redbreast twenty-seven year old Irish Whiskey.”

You took a skeptical drink, your eyes not leaving Jacques’s. The old fashioned was remarkably flavorful. “It’s tolerable, I suppose.”

“I better get a nicer review than that from you after I’ve given you a taste of something else that’s full-bodied and old fashioned.” Jacques winked at you as he took another drink.

“I’ve already been here fifteen minutes, and already this is growing dull.” You pointedly looked at the Breitling watch strapped to Jacques’s thick wrist. “When are you going to make it worth my while to have come at all?”

“Finish your drink,” he challenged and downed the better part of his own. He gave the actor a dangerous glare, but the other man was too focused on you to notice, still standing beside you, hopeful and oblivious.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said to Clark Kent with unveiled sarcasm, the man was utterly clueless. “I forgot you were there. You may go now.”

“I may actually grow to like you.” Jacques grinned and took your elbow, his large hand squeezing you for emphasis.

“I would expect so,” you replied haughtily. “It is a sentiment I acquire often but return sparingly.”

“Carpe nocturne, ma jolie fille,” he growled as he pulled you through the crowd and out of L’Arc to his waiting car.

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

Enroute to a more comfortable and conducive location, you and Jacques each downed two more old fashioneds as his driver maneuvered through the labyrinthian Parisian streets, overfull with tourists for Fashion Week. With his drinks, Jacques smoked a thick cigar on the drive, billowing smoke from his nose like a regal dragon through a cracked window. It came as no surprise you were both staying at the Ritz Paris, after all, it was the finest luxury hotel in Paris and some say in the world. You discovered it had been Jacques who had sniped the Suite Imperiale, the finest suite in the opulent hotel, out from under you, leaving you to book the only slightly less decadent Suite Windsor for yourself.

Jacques strode with you proudly through the lavish hotel, past numerous celebrities and icons. His hand rested possessively on the small of your back, leaving no doubt as to the nature of your evening.

“People are staring,” you said without a trace of shyness, relishing the attention.

“Let’s make it worth their while.” Jacques took your hand and twirled you like he was dancing with you and then dipped you for a passionate kiss in full view of the bustling lobby.

People indeed stared, their captivated gazes following as he then led you to the bank of elevators. Inside the elevator, he pushed you against the wall and propped his hands on either side of your head, caging you inside his arms as he loomed over you.

“Want me to say goodnight, jolie fille?” he asked, his voice dripping with husky desire.

Biting your lip as you paused to consider his words, you looked up at him. “Not for a few more hours.”

A broad toothy smile broke across Jacques’s features as the elevator chimed and you stepped out of his arms, enroute to his suite.

Jacques walked so closely behind you as you approached the door to the Suite Imperiale that you could feel the heat radiating off his massive body. Hot breath huffed on the back of your neck, raising goosebumps and sending electric currents down your spine. At his door, he handed you his room key and let you fumble with the lock while he trailed his hands down over your hips and then back up your thighs. Hooking his fingers in the hem of your dress, he pulled it up over your ass, the cool air on your skin a stark contrast to his hot hands. His broad chest pressed into your back and his head fell to your neck. His lips teased at you tantalizingly as he dug his thick fingers into your soft hips, pulling your ass back into the massive bulge in his pants.

“I knew you had a luscious ass,” he growled into your neck. He teased you with the scratch of his beard near your ear and smiled against your skin when he dipped his hand between your thighs and felt the moist heat of your arousal. “It would be a shame to ruin your lovely clothes. We need to get you out of them before they get too wet.”

You laughed breathily as you opened the door and stumbled inside with Jacques still pressed to your back. He kicked the door shut and spun you to face him, crashing his lips to yours as you each clawed at each other’s clothing. His jacket and shirt were the first to be discarded. You wanted to see his body before revealing yours, and you were not disappointed when he peeled his shirt away. His chest was larger and more impressive than you had guessed and his arms more thickly muscled. He had the finely sculpted look of a performance horse, massive, sleek, and powerful all at once.

Backing away from him sultrily, you slowly unzipped your dress as you angled toward the bedroom. Inspired by the Chateau de Versailles, the living room of the Suite Imperiale was done in burgundy and cream, with vaulted ceilings and enormous airy windows. The burgundy and gold drapes were open, letting the lights of Paris glimmer into the otherwise darkened room.

Before you could step out of your dress that had fallen to your feet, Jacques lifted you up into his arms, all but yanking you off the ground in his fervor. He was so powerful and solid that he made you feel weightless in his arms, a feeling that heightened your anticipation as much as his expert touch.

Jacques twirled once inside the suite’s bedroom with you still in his arms, taking every advantage to show off. This room was decorated in cream and mint with a green and mint brocade canopy enshrouding the lavish bed. Jacques laid you gently down onto the plush bedding and traced hot kisses down your throat and chest as he rose back to brusquely discard the rest of his clothing. You eyed his body shamelessly, very pleased by every magnificent part of him. His aurous eyes were even hungrier than yours as they devoured the sight of you.

“I’ve never seen true beauty before tonight,” he said reverently in a voice that was all smoke and darkness.

Jacques crawled over you, a predator over his prey, caging you beneath him with his impressive arms on either side of your body. When you put your hands on him, you could feel his heavy muscles tense and flex as he moved. The feel of him alone was a potent aphrodisiac. He could read all the signs of your body, the way you moved and sighed and responded to his touch. He knew you wanted him, and wanted him now. But Jacques wanted to savor you, to spend as long as he could possibly stand it, to sear every moment of this night into his memory like a firebrand.

Agonizingly slow, he returned his lips to your skin, kissing and teasing every part of your flesh he could cover. He knew he would have you several times tonight, and he decided he wanted to make you moan with his tongue before he made you scream with his cock. It was quick work for him once he settled between your legs and hooked your thighs over his shoulders. He had barely traced his name into you a handful of times when he felt the shuddering rush of your ecstasy.

Positioning himself above you, he captured your lips as he thrust into you, fast and fluid but gentle too. Slow at first, he followed the pace you set as your pleasure deepened. He was a consummate lover, and he shifted his hips until he knew his angle was perfect, like a marksman hitting the bullseye. He saw your features rendered beautifully distraught by pleasure, and he thought that he had never seen anything so lovely in the world of fashion and art as the sight of you beneath him.

Your arousal mounted as vigorously as he pistoned into you. Everything faded from your world until there was only the handsome man above you and the pleasure that flooded you until you were bursting with it. Jacques crested with you when a powerful orgasm throbbed through you and he carried you through every delicious shudder until you were both delirious with exhausted bliss. He kissed you with a slow lingering passion and when he pulled back, it was to look at you with adoration. His gaze was brief, but the emotion was unmistakable.

In the sultry minutes between your first session together and the next of the evening, you lay across Jacques’s chest, listening to his steadying heartbeat and the resonant timbre of his voice that sounded much like a contented purr beneath your ear. His hair was tangled and wild, and his chest glistened with a light sheen of sweat. His arms were strong around you and his hands huge and comforting on your skin. The man was an absolute fever dream.

“This is only the beginning, ma belle amour,” Jacques whispered much later that night, careful not to wake you. Even in sleep, he dreamed of you and of the bright and glamorous future you would forge together.

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

Jacques prided himself on being part of the 5am Club, but this morning he felt that he had earned some extra rest after his robust performance the night before. You told him that he was incredible, and he couldn’t disagree with you. He was an exceptional lover – he made a point of excelling in all areas of importance to him – and he knew it. He had pulled out all the stops for you. He wanted you not only pleasured but impressed; hooked, and wanting more and more. He grinned sleepily at the realization that, perhaps for the first time in his life, he was just as hooked after this first time as you were sure to be.

An obnoxious beam of sunlight soldiered through a gap in the curtains to shine on Jacques’s face, forcing him to blink into consciousness. Groaning at the light, he rolled over to curl into you and pull you close to him, and maybe have you again for breakfast. But his hand fell on a vacant sheet, cool to the touch. That brought him into full alertness like a bucket of ice water dosed over his head. He propped himself up on an elbow and brushed the hair out his eyes as he looked around the room. All of your things had been collected and were gone, and no sound emanated from the open door of the adjoining bathroom.

Jacques was alone.

No woman had ever sneaked out on him before the dawn. Of course, he had done so countless times to countless women, the number of which he couldn’t have remembered or even closely estimated with a gun to his head. But no woman had ever given him the same treatment. It was unthinkable! Jacques had only ever slipped away from women he considered unimportant, disposable – which, admittedly, were most of them – but he would never have ducked out on you, not after the night the two of you had shared.

Last night was only the beginning, he told himself, knowing it must be true. Anything that felt that good, that right, had to be only the start of something great.

A bitter thought slithered into his mind, worse than the gravelly morning-after taste on his tongue. Surely, he wasn’t a disposable fling to you. He couldn’t be. He was more than a one night stand, when he wanted more, anyway. It was unfathomable to think a woman, any woman, wouldn’t want more with him. It was blasphemous, even.

No, that couldn’t be it. Jacques knew you were a busy woman, you must have had things to do and places to be. He too was in demand and could hardly begrudge you the same. Throwing the covers aside, he stood and proceeded to walk around the room naked, looking for anything you may have left behind. He was sure he would find a letter or just a brief note, but there was nothing. He even fogged the bathroom mirror in the chance you were prone to mystery and had left a message on the glass that only mist would reveal. He called your suite, received no answer, and had no better luck calling reception. When he checked his phone to see if there were any messages from you, he realized with a sinking feeling that you had not exchanged numbers.

The room was as though you had never been inside it at all. Only the smell of your perfume on his sheets and the scratches you had traced across his skin were proof that last night had not been only a fantasy.

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

Never before had Jacques felt so compelled to chase after a woman, but he restrained himself. The rules of a burgeoning relationship were new to Jacques -- not that he ever played by the rules at anything -- but he thought it only fair that since you had been the one to leave, that the burden was on you to make the first contact. He waited for days for a call or email or text, at first angry and then despondent when nothing came.

Jacques Le Gris, the CEO of La Maison Gris, would not chase after a woman. But for this woman, this one singular woman, he consented to casually saunter in her direction. And he was not pleased about having to do so.

It was Friday morning, nearly a week after your evening together, when Jacques relented. He stood restless in his luxurious office, surrounded by walnut paneling, rich colors, and oil paintings. His office had a regal ambience reminiscent of a Victorian study but with a decidedly masculine touch. Every appliance was ultra-modern and colored in sleek carbon, contrasting chicly with the otherwise vintage style. Floor to ceiling windows looked out over the city of Paris, offering an unobstructed view of the Champs Elysees.

Being at the tops in your respective industries made you each easy to track down, even if then making contact was exponentially more difficult. Jacques called the main branch of Annees Folles Magazine in Manhattan and was given the runaround for the better part of an hour. Christ, it was worse than dealing with an airline. He wondered if he would have to fax a copy of his ID just to speak to a living human who had any authority at all. He was near the limits of his temper, his notorious good humor completely expended, by the time he was put through to your office.

“Editor in Chief’s office.” A curt nasally male voice answered Jacques’s call with a note of disinterest. “Armitage Hux speaking.”

“I’m calling to speak to the Editor in Chief directly, please,” Jacques said in his most diplomatic tone. He added his name, which alone opened most doors for him. “This is Jacques Le Gris.”

“The Editor is not to be disturbed. Furthermore, she only takes calls from those listed on her approved call list.” Came the snide reply. “There’ s no Jack.”

“Jacques,” he enunciated more clearly, adding more force to his voice. “Jacques Le Gris.”

“There is no le Grease on the list either.” A withering sneer could almost be heard through the phone.

“Le Gris,” Jacques corrected, fighting to keep from losing his temper.

“My apologies,” Hux answered without the barest hint of contrition. “Regardless, you are not on the list, Mr. le Grease.”

A frustrated growl slipped out before Jacques could stop it. “For fuck’s sake, ask her about me!”

“There’s really no need for profanity. I’ve already told you, she is not to be disturbed,” Hux continued in a tone that was now verging on bored. “Certainly not by people who aren’t important enough to be on her approved call list, Mr. le Grease.”

“Important?” Jacques laughed at the absurdity. “Do you know who I am? I’m the CEO of La Maison Gris!”

“I’m legally required to say that my opinion does not in any way reflect the views of Annees Folles Magazine, but I have always preferred Gucci,” Hux lilted in his superior manner.

“If Le Grease doesn’t spur her memory, tell her I’m the man she spent last Saturday night with!” Now, Jacques was pissed. Comparing his distinguished line to that family of garish Italians was like slapping a glove across his cheek. “She knew my name then because she was fucking screaming it!”

“Ah, maybe you’re on that list.” Hux smiled deviously, which could be heard on his voice.

Jacques ground his teeth until he thought they would surely crack while he listened to the other man’s unhurried keystrokes as he pulled up that list. Jacques made a mental note to clear that fucking list out for you real fast.

“Barber… McHenry… — forgive me, I’m skimming here — Mills… Ren… Zimmerman…” Hux read through each name with relish. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid that this list is Grease-free as well.”

“Listen, you trumped up little shit.” Jacques finally lost control of his temper. “If I have to get on a fucking plane, walk right in there, and kick the door down to her office —“

“Hold please,” Hux intoned, utterly unconcerned. Music only slightly trendier than elevator music assaulted Jacques across the line.

Jacques punched the end button with as much force as he could muster with his finger on the button that was too small for his thick digit. He caught himself just before he threw his phone across the room, and instead turned and swung a savagely powerful punch into the wall, slamming his fist straight through the plaster.

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

Bright and early the following Monday a fresh copy of the American edition of Annees Folles Magazine was delivered by courier to Jacques’s office. There was no accompanying note, but the magazine smelled of the sultry exotic perfume he remembered so well. Jacques knew with absolute certainty who it was from. It was longer than he wanted to wait for an overture from you, but at least it was something.

One of the subheadings on the cover read, A Special Editorial and Behind the Scenes Look into the New Fashion Line of La Maison Gris. Jacques seated himself behind his imposing desk, leaned back in his tufted leather chair, and propped his long legs on his desk, crossing his feet at the ankles. He intended to savor your special editorial on him and his fashion line, expecting to fall even deeper and more hopelessly into the abyss of his feelings for you, into this new and uncharted territory.

Jacques rustled through the pages, eager to find your editorial. Splashed across the page was an extra treat – a startlingly high-quality photograph of his runway with a model in a floral dress with fur cuffs, and front in center silhouetted by the runway lights, the pair of you stood side-by-side in the crowd watching the show. He decided to have it framed for his office, a memento of the night your relationship began. He imagined your smile when he showed it off to you in person.

Below the photograph, the article was not what he expected. It was five-hundred words of honeyed vitriol.

La Maison Gris, with CEO Jacques Le Gris at its helm, has been the rising star in the fashion industry and with good reason. His designs mix ultra-modern chic with the classiest and the most decadent styles history has ever seen. From Victorian era draping and corsets to Regency-esque frocks and slippers to beading and sequins that would flatter the most exuberant 1920’s flapper, Le Gris’s inspiration is regal and refined and imbued with his own signature twist and flourish.

Ascensions, however, are precarious. Climbing to the top in fashion is just as perilous as climbing Mount Everest. One misstep can cost one his career.

Confident in his own grandeur, Le Gris opened his show at Paris Fashion Week with a new line featuring a daring use of fur on every piece. Icarus, too, was daring in his flight toward the blazing Sun. Just like Icarus, Le Gris has reached beyond his capacity and will soon find himself plummeting back to Earth to crash and burn with so many other has-beens whose names are not worth remembering.

Swept up in his penchant for melding modern with iconic, Le Gris does not consider the advances that we as a society have made. No longer do we need to resort to the barbarism of the fur trade to clothe ourselves. Nor do we, as Le Gris would have us believe, need to resort to fur to dress ourselves in the finest fashion and haute couture. Rest assured, dear readers, La Maison Gris is not in the upper echelon of fine fashion and haute couture.

In addition to the heinous and overdone use of fur, Le Gris has the tastelessness to cobble together a kaleidoscope of florals ranging from pastel to electric. His florid color palette can best be described as ‘A Murder of Unicorns,’ as painted by Monet. It reminds one of a cheerily painted playroom inside a children’s mental institution. A more cultured eye will gravitate to Dolce & Gabbana for florals, to Burberry for iconic; and if one is looking for fur, a vintage fox, mink, or sable from a boutique will always carry the day.

Le Gris’s approach to fashion seems to be that a lack of quality can be disguised by flair and concealed with fur. This mirrors the man’s approach to life. A boisterous grandstander, Le Gris tries to project a distinguished air. However, like a magician’s trick revealed, all his flash and charm are little more than smoke and mirrors with no real substance.

A little fur here and there can make a girl purr, but an overuse, such as the spring line of La Maison Gris, is barbarous at best and utterly gauche at worst.

One wonders if Le Gris has the capacity to bear a defeat with dignity, but the smart money will bet on the negative. Like a scavenging hound, Le Gris will likely refurbish his failed spring line for another runway this coming fall or winter. He will certainly gain no traction on any runway of repute. With his brash sensationalism and garish taste, perhaps he shall find his true calling outfitting cosplayers or larpers.

Jacques crumpled the offending magazine in his fist as if he could choke the life from its Editor in Chief through the abused pages. He viciously ripped it in half, throwing each segment across the room in different directions. He wanted to punch another hole in his wall, but his knuckles were still scabbed and bruised from his recent outburst. Not for the first time, he decided to hang a heavyweight punching bag in his office. He glared around his office, looking for something to break. Why the fuck was everything his decorators chose some one-of-a-kind antique?

Sparing his knuckles further damage, he let out a savage growl like a wounded lion. Jacques was breathing as hard as if he had run a mile, his huge chest straining the buttons on his tailored shirt. As he tried ineffectively to calm himself, his shrewd mind began to calculate and strategize. After a few moments of huffing, he decided on his course of action. If you wanted to play dirty, he could roll in the mud with the best of them. Retrieving his phone, he dialed a familiar number.

“Jacques!” Pierre D’Alencon, the Creative Director of La Maison Gris, answered with friendly ebullience. “I was just going to call you. Drinks this weekend? I happened upon a gorgeous set of twins -- redheads, no less -- and of course I’m willing to share with my closest friend.”

“Put the twins on ice for now,” Jacques grumbled gruffly. “This is business. Did you see the editorial in Annees Folles?”

“I did, indeed,” Pierre’s voice lost a hint of its buoyancy. “Hence my offer of drinks and women to lift your spirits.”

“I’ve made a decision, and it involves you. If that glorified tabloid wants to blast me for using fur in my line, I’m going to single-handedly revive the fur-in-fashion trend! We’ll see who holds more power in this little game.” Jacques grinned devilishly at his own newly formed plan of attack like a knight finding a chink in his opponent’s armor. “Which is where you come in. I want to see designs for an entire line with fur on every piece by the end of the month. Get on it, Pierre! Give me your best.”

“Do you not think it best to respond with more dignity and sweep all this unpleasantness under the rug?” Pierre asked with a heavy sigh. “This is why you have PR people.”

“Who was it that said any publicity is good publicity?” Jacques asked, unphased.

“That would be the American spectacle, P.T. Barnum,” Pierre replied with resignation.

“Smart man. I always admired his joie de vivre.” Jacques smirked as he paced across his vast office. “That’s exactly what I want. I want a spectacle. I want a public circus. I want a showdown. We’re going to revive the fur trend, you and I, and I’m going to rub it in that demoness’s face!”

“Ah, so this is all motivated by astute business acumen and professionalism, is it?” Pierre gave a laugh that was ignored.

“Use every kind of fur you can get your hands on. The crueler the fucking better! Lynx, fox, sable, Persian lamb – all the cutest and cuddliest animals. Are chinchillas still a thing? Those too. Can we still get leopard? If you can design a full-length coat made of puppies, do it! Dalmatian with a lynx collar, how about that?” Jacques ran a hand along the shimmering silver streak in his black hair, thinking. “And I don’t want faux anything in sight. I want it all real, all genuine fur.”

Pierre confirmed his understanding of his marching orders and signed off. For so long as their mission remained retaliation and war, anyway. He also decided on a side-quest of sorts, to put his second greatest talent to work while he created a runway line trimmed in fur. He would try his best at figuring out his friend and boss’s quarry, and aid him in hunting the most dangerous game of all, a powerful woman. Perhaps if Jacques could seduce her personally, there would be no need to batter her into submission professionally, and Pierre knew he was just the man for both jobs.

Jacques was still wound up after the call, but now he had a course of action, a focal point, a target at which to channel his anger and frustration. The embers of rage still alighted Jacques’s nerves and the sting of betrayal still burned in his chest. He still wanted to punch something, to find a release. It was a poor substitute, but he ranted and bellowed instead.

“That frigid bitch!” Jacques snarled, glaring out of his window over the streets of Paris. “That shrew. That succubus. Satan. That woman is fucking Satan!”

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

To be continued…

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Tagging some fashionistas:

@in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather @babbushka @mrs-gucci @mrs-zimmerman @iamburdened @gabesprincess @reborn-rekall @maybe-your-left @rynwritesstuff @candycanes19 @caillea @cas-backwards-tie @queeniebee @mythrielofsolitude @ghoulian13 @icarusinthesea @darkhairedmenrule @reyloaddict55 @fizzywoohoo @heartlight-starlight @richbrittstein @clydesfavoritegirl @bensolodyad @thepalaceofmelanie @celiholland @durangoninetyfive @reveluving @vedavan @fax4life27 @lumberjack00fantasies @kyloremus

#my stuff!#my writing #best #fic #valentine #jacques le gris x reader #jacques le gris x you #jacques

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ericaportfolio · 1 year

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Okay, the last post of the day since I completed this sketch dump to practice my comic skills. So I made an AU where the show didn't get canceled, no possessed murder puppets happened, and instead, everyone came together to throw their ideas onto the idea board. Everyone's ideas, even Owen's, wasn't working, but then Scout Harper came up with the idea that Mortimer decides to foster a child/teenager. Everyone, even Owen, loved the idea that Harper, and all the studio assistants, were put in charge of creating the character, they got a talented puppeteer named Kelly to play the role, and Scout Prime was born. Long story short, the character saved the show, and Scout became a household name. People still debate whose better; Riley or Scout. Maybe in this AU, they used the fire chat episode for Mortimer to realize he wanted to foster a child. Later in the show's season finale's ending, Mortimer gets a call from a nervous social worker saying they might have a young teen for Mortimer to foster. The first season episode later, Riley, Nick, Daisy, Owen, and the film crew have a bad feeling about Mortimer's decision. Please tell me this happened instead of the murder puppets, Right! right? I got Scout's last name, Prime, from the Hello Puppets Wiki. Also, a little something for @dreamland-creations of Scout with those boots. This art style was inspired by the game posters and art.

#hello puppets #hello puppets midnightshow #hello puppets au #Scout Saves the Show AU #hello puppets fanart #hello puppets scout #hello puppets mortimer #hello puppets mortimer handee #mortimer's handeemen #mortimer handee #hello puppets riley #hello puppets riley ruckus #riley ruckus #hello puppets nick nack #nick nack #hello puppets daisy danger #daisy danger #gremlin scout

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toomanybrainrots · 9 months

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Got random ideas for a shattered glass au for TFP and RB and im sharing them here

Starting with TFP, Optimus would definitely be in the place of Megatron, as Autobots are evil here. SG!Optimus is a ruthless and cold tyrant that shows zero mercy towards anyone, not even his fellow Autobots. He sees the Autobots as minions and pawns he could dispose of ay any minute, he only keeps the useful ones.

SG!Ratchet is a cold-sparked and cynical medic, who is willing to use his fellow Autobots to get the results he wants. He may be a medic, but he's not afraid to get his servos dirty to get his results.

SG!Bulkhead is a wrecker who is always angry, always snapping or lashing out at something or someone. He doesn't care one bit about anything or anyone he breaks, as he enjoys the feeling of wrecking and the destruction that he intentionally causes, having a cruel and arrogant demeanor. Due to that, he has broken many of Ratchet's gadgets, causing the two to despise each other and willing to sacrifice the other.

SG!Arcee is a sly and cowardly femme, willing to scarifice anyone that is in her way as long as she gets out alive in the end, having a cold-sparked and cruel demeanor. She has plans to overthrow Optimus, as she sees herself to be more of a fit to be the leader of the Autobots. She and SG!Airachnid have quiet a history together, considering she had killed her previous partner before her very optics, and was the reason her partner, Skyquake, had fallen.

SG!Bumblebee is a loyal and silent scout, as his voicebox had been ripped out by Optimus himself as a punishment for disobeying him and a warning for the others, yet he sees that he deserved the punishment. He has eyes everywhere on the Ark, always knowing what is happening and relaying to Optimus. He is merciless on the battlefield and will not hesitate to off his opponents if necessary.

SG!Wheeljack is a cold and calculating scientist wrecker, who's experiments are bizzare and almost inhumane. He is a servant of logic first and foremost rather than a servant of Optimus. He does not care for anyone, simply seeing all of them as tools to further his experiments, which perfectly describes his relationship with Bulkhead.

SG!Ultra Magnus is a wrecker commander who is loyal to Optimus and the Autobots, but rarely does he take anything seriously. Yes, he gets the job done but he is, what Bulkhead and Wheeljack describe, a fool who does not deserve his title or his respect, a sentiment that is shared by everyone but Optimus, as the Prime doesn't care if Ultra Magnus is annoying or not, simply seeing him as a useful pawn he can manipulate and use.

SG!Smokescreen is mature and calculating, despite his young age. The rookie takes everything seriously, never joking around at all. Smokescreen is one of the only two bots that Bumblebee seems to have taken a liking to, often seen with him or nearby when a bot seeks one of the two out.

Now Recue Bots, who aren't exactly Rescue Bots.

In this SG universe, they are a faction that was founded by the Autobots and full of gladiators, wreckers and criminals, to cause disasters for the Autobots to come and swoop in and "save the day", to be the knights in shining armors and deceive the rest of Cybertron. But, the Rescue bots had defected, refusing to cause these disasters no more, which angered Optimus, a lot. SG!Heatwave and his team had managed to escape Optimus in their spaceship, having to go in stasis to hide their life signals away from the Autobots, the others were not as lucky.

I still don't know what to do for the Rescue Bots, i have ideas but I'm still working on them so yeah

I just wanted to ramble about this

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wayfayrr · 9 months

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Cannibros the interlude with cal and wild

this was written with my lovely wives @angry-trashcan and @neverchecking <333 It's a continuation of these two fics! It was so stupidly fun to write - like anything working with my wives <3 - and this time no one gets eaten! It's about 4.5k words of househusband au world building and is just <33

“Wild was gonna light someone on fire. No, not quite a someone. That would infer they were little more than a pest he was gonna squash between his toes. Little more than a dead cockroach walking. Wild would show that little shit what was coming to him. It was just a matter of time before he slipped up and Wild could pin him in a corner and give him the worst wedgie he’s ever received-

“Woah there, champ-” Twilight quickly grasped his arm, slowing the stewing teen down to a halt. “What’s got your britches in a bunch?”

“That little, no good, down right awful, bottom feeding, waste of a good set of lungs-”

Twilight raised a brow. “...Are-...Are you talking about Wind?”

Wild fought the urge to hiss at the name of ‘He-who-Shall-Not-be-Named’. “Don’t say his name.”

“...Enil-?”

This time Wild did hiss, throwing up his hands with his fingers curled into claws.”DON’T-”

“DAD! DAD WILD WON’T STOP CALLING ME INSULTS!”

“Mother fucker…”

“Great, you see what you did Twi, you encouraged him”

Nursing the fresh bite on his arm that he got as wind struggled out of his hold that he barely managed to get him into, barely, barely getting him and twilight interfered. Now all he has to show for it is the growing bruise on his forearm.

“GET BACK HERE YOU LIL’ SHIT!”

“You two need to cut the shit.” Twilight hissed, grabbing at Wild’s arm.

“He need to leave me alone!” Wind cried out, running around Sage’s back and hiding behind it.

“I need to eat you fuckin’ alive.” Wild yelled lunging towards Wind. Wind cried out, hiding behind Sage completely. Sage rolled his eyes, laughing a bit. Twilight did the same.

“I think you two need to go to bed is what needs to happen.” Sage pulled Wind around to the front of him before pushing him in the direction of his room.

“Dad he’s going to kill me!”

“He ain’t gonna kill ya.” Twilight laughed, doing the same to Wild with a small huff.

“You don’t KNOW that, though!” The kid retaliated, turning to watch Wild snarl at him like some form of predator. He wasn’t scared of Wild, oh no, but he did want to save his poor ego the blow once Wind kicked his butt.

“You have my scout’s honor, pup.” Twilight winked. It did not reassure Wind. Twilight was not, was never, and probably would be a Scout.

He was going to die. And they were going to let it happen. He knew he should’ve donated Wild to the local animal rescue when he had the chance.

“Are you two still fighting over the last kinder?”

“Stay out of this cal.”

“So you are then?”

His smug look did nothing to help calm wild down, and seeing the look worsening like that did nothing to help reassure wind either. Not that it was supposed to. Cal being the “innocent” one that he is could afford to rile them up all he pleased but never have the blame fall onto him. Why would the top of the class student do that after all? “Wind shouldn’t have taken something that wasn’t his, He knew it was mine.”

“He’s a pirate - he was a pirate, can you blame him?”

Something about that little bit actually stuck wind worse than anything else that was said to him by wild earlier. The reminder that the things he cared for like that were stuck far in his past now.

Wind froze in his spot, looking down. “You didn’t have to fuckin’ remind me.” He whispered, turning to the hallway. “The damn egg is in the second drawer in the kitchen. You can have it.”

Cal watched as he went down the hallway before Wild hit the back of his head, “You idiot. Why’d you say that?!” He rubbed the place he hit him, not looking away from the hallway. “Did you get some kinda joy out of that?”

Cal shook his head, “No, I just wanted you to shut up. It was annoying.”

Wild hit him again, this time in the ribs. “You’re fuckin’ annoying.” He turned to the hallway himself, making his way to the twin’s shared room.

“Calcifer, that wasn’t okay. You know that.”

“How would you know what’s okay? Your moral train isn’t exactly linear.” Cal snarled angrily, hackles raising as he watched Sage carefully. Something flickered in his gaze, something quick and something damn near dangerous before it fell away. A twinge of regret bubbled in his gut at the reminder that he had hurt Wind in his anger, an innocent party in all of this really (Well, Semi-innocent, he did steal that damn-forsaken egg). But Wind was gone and all that was left in front of him was Twilight and Sage. Twilight, who he was sure was in on it as well and Sage. The mastermind behind it all. He didn’t think of Sage as overly smart, but since the revelation a part of him knew better. Sage was smarter than the rest of them thought he was.

“I have enough of one to still know what is and isn’t right.” “...”

The dirty glare leveled towards his “father” was enough to both chill the room and clue them into the fact that he knows something that by Sage’s standards he shouldn’t. Not enough to know what it is that he knows, but enough to know.

“You should keep a closer eye on Wind, you don’t want him learning the wrong things, do you?”

“What are you implying with that Calcifer… what would I ever need to be careful of him learning, I know what to be careful of.”

“Well after all you and I are rather similar… I’m just… better.”

The silence was enough to chill the room even further, making it easily mistaken for a freezer, clearly he said something that pushed Sage’s limits.

Sage’s eyes were like daggers on the boy. “I think you should go to bed, too.”

“You’re trying to send me off too?”

“Cal-”

“The only use for a motor not meant to start, is to become an expendable part.” Cal breathed out, looking to the ground.

“Cal, I agree. Go to bed.” Sky spoke up, standing from the table.

Cal looked over to him, his eyes void of anything signifigant. “You too? You’re just going to push me away?”

“That’s not what I’m saying-”

“Goodnight.” Cal turned to the hallway, his hands digging into the pockets of his pajama pants as he did. He rolled the recorder over in his hand, flipping the switch to the ‘off’ position. He sighed heavily before he opened the door to his shared room

Left behind, eyes trailing after the boy, Sage felt his lips fall into a scowl. How dare he. Did he not understand what Sage had given up for him? For them? For this Family?! And for him to imply that he did something immoral to get what he wanted?

,,,He was right, but that wasn’t the point. He shouldn’t have suspected anything to begin with. Sage’s ear flickered as he licked at his gums. Calcifer was digging into things he shouldn’t be. And that was dangerous. Didn’t he see that? Did he not see that everything Sage was doing was for them?

Slapping on a grin, he turned to Sky and Twilight. They watched him carefully. “You guys should head to bed too. It’s been a night.”

They exchanged a look. Twilight took the initiative. “What about ya’?”

Sage waved him off, “I’ll be right there. I’m just gonna go check in on Wars. Maybe check in with Wind. Won’t be too long. Don’t worry about me.”

“.... don’t - I shouldn’t - I … I didn’t want to.”

“Well then little interloper, how are you holding up.”

Wars’ already quiet speaking silenced as he made his presence known next to him, the traumatised mumbles turning to sheer fear at the instigator standing - no - sitting by him. Sage’s eyes giving away how he truly feels about the whole situation, a small amount of apprehension but at the same time there was also some sick and twisted pride in his eyes. Pride at seeing the captain so broken before him.

“Do you think you’ll crack anytime soon now captain? Or have I solidified your resolve enough to prevent anything that you could regret?”

“Take your time, there’s not too much of a rush to answer.”

Warriors didn’t look up from the bed, only listening to his words. Was he going to crack? What kind of question was that?! “I-” He fell short on words again, his breathing breaking back into short sobs.

“Oh, come on, none of that now.” Sage patted his back in a hardy manner, causing Wars to lean forward with every hit.

He tried to stuffle in his crying, daring to look up at Sage who was looking across the room. “You didn’t tell Legend already, did you?”

“No! No-I would-”

“Good boy.” He patted his back again, looking over to him. “Now, if you’re alright, and gonna keep your mouth shut, I’m going to bed.” He stood from the bed, using Wars’ shoulder for support as he did so. Once he reached the door, he turned back to him. “Sleep well, don’t let the nightmares in.” He closed the door behind him.

That was problem one taken care of, now all that was left was the other one. Turning on his heel, he made his way to Cal’s room, a fire of pure fury igniting in his gut. He’d get to the bottom of this. If it was the last thing he did.

<><><><>

Cal was pacing back and forth in front of his bed, the black screen of his switch staring up at him from where it laid on his bed. This was bad. So very bad. Sage was onto him. Sage was onto him and now it was just a matter of time before he was hunted down and pinned to the wall, having answers demanded from him left and right. If he was lucky, it would just be Sage. Twilight and Sky would be sent off to bed to minimise the damage.

So it would just be Sage. Him and Sage. Alone. It would be fine.

The door behind him slammed open and Cal whipped around, fingers twitching towards his bedside drawer. However, the blond he was expecting was not the one standing there. Wild was watching him carefully, a brow raised and pulling at his scars. “...Hey there, buddy…” He muttered, waving slowly.

“HI- Hey….” Cal shook his head, resting his hands by his side once more. “Hello, Wild.”

“...You doing…okay? You really crossed a line back there.” Wild prodded, eyes watching the other’s figure before falling to the bed. “What’s that?”

“Don’t worry about it Atlas, it’s one of my roommates' things at uni. They just asked me to look after it.”

“Come onnnnn Cal, we share everything - We’re twins remember, we don’t do things alone.”

Cal’s face looked purely regretful and upset for a split second, knowing that they aren’t related - not in that way, more in the same person way. And that was all it took for Wild - for his brother to know that there is something heavy weighing on his mind. Something he needed to press for the details on.

“Whatever it is, it’s making you feel bad. Couldn’t you just give it back to them?”

“Not for a while. Till I get back to uni at the earliest.”

“Why not just hide it then, so then you don't have to worry about it? Or you know… tell me what it is to get it off of your mind??”

“No, it’s something I need to think on myself more.”

“Caaaalllllll-”

“I said no, Atlas.” Wild huffed, making his way to his own bed and sitting on it.

“You never share anything with me. You think you’re so much better than me since you went off to uni.”

“Wild-”

“It’s true! You can’t say it’s not!”

“It’s not true! I think you’re great!” Cal turned and faced his brother, throwing his arms open wide as he did.

“Oh, shut up. You know it’s the truth! I’m a no good wash up! That’s why Sky is only paying for your college and not mine. That’s why they still see me as a kid and not you. I’m older than you! Even if only by a few minutes but still!”

“Atlas, can you listen to me, pleas-”

“NO! I won’t listen to you! I’m tired of always listening to you!” WIld stood, pacing the room.

“Wild!”

His head shot over at his other name, “Don’t you dare call me that.”

“You need to listen to me and listen to me closely.”

“I already told you! I’m-”

“Wild- Atlas. This is important.”

“Oh, so it’s only important when it comes to things about you, huh? Because perfect Calcifer can do no wrong. Only fuck-up Atlas, right?” Wild shook his head, giving Cal the chance to close in, clamping his hands around the other’s arms.

“Listen.” He began, swallowing harshly. His eyes went from the switch to Wild. This wasn’t Wind, so he had a shot. Wind believed everything Sage told him, no qualms about it. But Wild? Wild wasn’t tethered to the same degree Wind was. Cal could find an ally in his Twin. “This…This world? It…It’s not ours.”

Wild scoffed, in his face like a heathen, trying to shrug off the hands. “Your crazy- Can you get your hands off’a me? Jeez, what have they been feeding you at Uni?”

“What have they been feeding you here is the real question.” Cal tightened his grip, a crazed look in his eye. “Atlas, I need you to listen very carefully-”

“We. Are. Not. From. Earth.”

“The thing you were asking me about, I’ll show you it, I’ll answer any questions you have. Just listen to me very carefully and you cannot. I repeat CANNOT tell Sage, or ANYONE what I’m going to tell you. Understood?”

Sheer aggression thinly veiled within Cal’s voice gave Wild the impression that his brother was being deathly serious, that despite his own feelings this was more important than him. That this trust wasn’t something to be toyed with, that if it was broken it would be impossible to repair.

“...okay.”

Breathing a sigh of relief cal, after checking the door was shut and unable to be opened took his switch and powered it on, briefly creating an account with a profile picture sharing his brothers face. Opening a game with it, so that he could have the full experience.

“I know ‘dad’ said games were bad, but just - just play it. Then tell me what you can remember.”

Handing the switch over to wild with a more pleading look now he got his first look at the game opened.

“Breath of the wild? What’s so important about it?”

“Please, just play it for a while before you ask questions. I am sure they will all be answered.”

Wild blew hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear and looking back down at the game in his hands. “How do I play?”

“It’ll tell you. Just read what it says. Use that stick to move.” Cal pointed out the joy stick, showing him how it worked.

Wild fell into silence watching the beginning cut scene. Cal’s eyes went between the screen and Wild’s, watching, waiting, for something. He went through the basic tutorial easily enough, claiming the Sheikah slate for his own and climbing out of the shrine. Conventaly missing the chests of clothes on his way. The doors opened, Link shielding his eyes from the bright sun as he stepped outside and onto the grass. Once he reached the edge of the cliff, Wild’s eyes went wide.

“This is… really pretty…” He muttered, eyes glancing about the screen. Cal took a few jagged breaths.

“That- That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“...should there be more?”

“...Yes?!” Cal was gonna commit a crime. “There should be so much more- I just- We don’t have time for this. Give me that.” While he demanded the switch back, he really just took it, exiting out to the menu once more. The profiles were switched over quickly as Cal reopened the game. This time, instead of the character stumbling out of a weird cave, Link was standing in front of some sort of house. It was beige and stone, with a sign in front. Cal moved the character forward for a second before opening the inventory and switching screens, clicking on some sort of block. The screen faded to black and it was handed back to Wild, who watched with wide eyes. The colors on screen flashed across his face, brown then an assortment of reds and blues. Rapid beeping and hurried footsteps rang out and Wild’s eyes widened, jaw hanging open.

Cal swallowed.

The doorknob to their room shook for a second. Then a knock. “Boys?”

Cal choked on his spit. Wild was still watching the memory playback, eyes now gleaming with the shine of unshed pearls, unresponsive to anything else around him. The knock cam back harder, faster, more desperate. Everything in Cal’s body was screaming at him. He knows, he knows, he knows, he knows, he knows, he knows- “Yeah, dad?”

Cal’s voice quivered.

“Can we talk?”

“I-If you give us a minu-ute! I’m changing! I spilt something onto my shirt and it spread and I’m soaked so I’m - I’ll just be a few minutes!”

Please, oh please, just let him believe it. Just get enough time to get changed and rip the switch away from wild, to let him get the hint he needs to lie. It should be easy, it’ll be fine, everything will be fine, he’s the better one.

…

And the knocking paused, intime with Cal’s own heart.

“Okay. I’ll give you a few minutes to change - if you’re not in the main room, both of you, in ten minutes I’m coming into your room.”

Ten minutes. Ten minutes is perfect, he can change, he can come up with a somewhat convincing lie to get out of this, hide the switch and get a video alibi on his phone to claim why wild is so upset.

He can do this.

He can - Wild is crying. He’s full on crying.

what , no - no he wasn’t supposed to get this upset, he was - he just wanted him to understand.

He watched the screen closely as he pulled his shirt over his head, digging another one out of a drawer. The screen faded to fuzz and black as he pulled it from Wild’s hands, new shirt going over his head. He knelt down, getting in his face. “What did you see?”

Wild shook his head, tears and sobs falling from him faster. “I- I”

“Wild, I need you to focus and tell me what you saw.”

“I- I saw me. It- I-” His blurry eyes met Cal’s, “I died, Cal.” Another broken cry came from him, shaking his whole body.

Cal pulled him into his chest. “I know. I know it’s hard. But I really, really need you to focus and listen to me right now.” Wild nodded, tears wetting Cal’s new shirt. “Okay, good. Sage isn’t- he’s… up to something.”

“What- what do you mean?”

“I don’t… I don’t know for sure. But something is happening. And he tried to come in here while you were snapped out of it. We have to go talk to him in,” He checked the clock, “Six and a half minutes. So we need to put together out stories.”

“I can’t- I don’t want to lie.”

“Then don’t. Say you were taking a nap just now and I woke you up to come out. It’s not a total lie, is it?”

No. He supposed it wasn’t. That still didn’t make it right. Wild’s face scrunched up, cheeks made puffy by his most recent fit. Sage? As the bad guy? It just…didn’t commute. Right now, honestly, he just wanted to man to make it right. Sage has a way of just making things right. But Cal said they couldn’t tell him. “What do we do?”

Cal swallowed. “...Our best, I guess.”

Extracting himself, he quickly looked around the room. He needed an alibi. And he needed it fast. His eyes landed on a Capri-sun that Wind must’ve left in their room last time he was in there. With a curse under his breath, he quickly grabbed it, retrieving his previously discarded shirt before sacrificing the article of clothing (He sent a silent apology to whoever does the godforsaken amount of laundry in this hell house.). The juice quickly spread, drenching the shirt and making Cal wince. He liked that shirt.

“Okay, the alibi is set in stone. If Sage asks, you were napping, I spilled juice on my shirt, I woke you up because he wanted to talk. Sounds good?”

Wild gaped for a second before swallowing around his dry tongue, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Sounds good. I just-” He rubbed his cheeks and eyes, hoping to lessen the redness around them. “Yeah.”

“If he asks about your red eyes, you smoked pot.”

“Cal, no I did not. I had a bad dream.”

“...Better idea.”

“Of course, it's a better idea, why was pot the first thing you thought of? Sage would kill you - HE’D KILL ME!”

“I don’t know, red eye’s smoking - checks out.”

“Have you smoked??? Holy shit Cal that’s so illegal!?”

Silence was the only response to that, the wordless admission that he was right. That his ‘perfect’ younger brother wasn’t really that perfect. But this isn’t really what he should be focusing on at the moment, there are more vital things to worry about, for instance the - shit! Two minutes!?

“Right Wild, are you ready now. We only have one shot at this.”

“I am, given that you don’t go with the pot plan.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m going to tell Sky you smoke.” With a side eye to rival his ‘father’s’ Cal turned to his older brother with a smug smile, a truly shit eating grin. And with only one minute left till they face death.

“What makes you think he hasn’t smoked with me before?”

With that he threw open the door, making sure that it was loud enough to be heard from the living room. “Come on sleepy head.” He said out to Wild, nodding his head to the hallway.

Wild nodded back, following him out into the hall, closing the door tight behind him. “Why’d you wake me up?” He played along, his voice wavering a bit.

“I told you, dad wanted to talk to us.”

“Fine, fine.” They made their way into the living room, only to find Sage sitting on the couch. The only light in the room a lamp next to him.

“Nine and a half minutes.” Sage said, not looking over to the boys. “Thirty more seconds and I would have had to come on in myself.” He laughed a bit, pushing something up under the couch with his foot. “I’m glad you made it on time.”

“Me too. What is it that you wanted to talk about?” Cal asked, taking a seat on the edge of a chair across from him. Wild stayed standing next to him, jittering slightly.

Ur turn loser cinder I’m not a loser >:( Ur the loser neither of you are losers <3 (She’s talking to me, not you bailey) I hate that we cant get divorced bc then the whole world would then collapse.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Atlas? I’m sure you’re still tired.” Sage let a smile widen on his features, crossing one leg over another before leaning back. “It’s been a long night.”

“You’re telling me.” Wild mumbled, quickly finding his own seat. He picked at the skin on his hand, tracing the scars there. His breath hitched in his throat. He looked up from his hand. Don’t think about your death. Don’t think about your death. Sage can probably read thoughts.

“About earlier,” Sage rolled his shoulders. “...What’s going on with you two today? Normally, you're a little more…patient.”

One of Cal’s feet knocked against Wild’s. Sage’s eyes followed the movement. “Something you wanna tell me?”

Cal swallowed. “Is there?”

“You tell me.” Sage always had a way of looking intimidating. With the low light reflecting off his cheeks and the low hum of the lit fireplace in front of them, it seemed like they were well and truly in purgatory. Or some convoluted version of hell. Whichever was worse really. Moreso when he leaned his elbows on his knees.

“...No.”

Sage’s eyes narrowed further.

“Wanna try again?”

“Atlas had a nightmare and I had to wake him, I didn’t want to mention it because I know he gets embarrassed by them. I’m sorry bro…”

“Oh so now you rat that out. I trusted you.”

Sage’s eyes narrowed even further, both suspecting their lies as being too - too there’s not a good word for it but they seem too good to be true but why bring their family into question. Perhaps now would be a good time to lessen their privacy, losing door privileges might be a good start for now, see if that makes anything better, stops them from hiding things in their room.

“I’ll let this off for now. Seeing as you’re so focused on it and you don’t seem to be budging anytime soon.”

“Let this be a warning to you both. Neither of you will get away with something like this again. Got it?” As the twins replied in unison before getting up to go to their rooms with wild leaving as quickly as he could without drawing any attention to himself.

“Not you Calcifer. I’d like you to stay a minute more”

Why does it feel like his throat is closing in on itself, like it’s hard to breathe…

… Is his eyesight getting darker?

“Okay…” Cal sat back down in his seat, wavering slightly when he hit the cushion. Shit, what is happening?

“Are you ready to tell me what is going on?” Sage’s voice was dripping in venom as he spoke.

“Nothing is going on.”

“If you’re going to lie don’t look so sick while doing it.”

Cal’s blinked away blurry vision, willing himself to just breathe. “I’m not lying.”

Sage’s eyes bore into him, watching his every move, every blink, every breath of air he took into his lungs. Sage shook his head, looking down. “I can see I’m not getting anything out of you. All I have to say is that you need to watch yourself.”

Cal nodded, swaying as he stood and turned back to the hallway. “Oh, and Calcifer?” Cal looked back over his shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “You should really make sure you don’t drag your brother into this. He’s a good kid.” The door slammed to their room once he was inside. As soon as he took a few steps in, his vision went black as Wild called his name.

#my wives <33 #together we're better <3 #linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #link x reader #househusband sage #moss✦writes

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