#THEY KEPT FILING IN INDIVIDUALS I HAD NEVER SPOKEN TO ONCE AND KEPT GOING hey I drew them oooh lookie lookie | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lavendersugarplum · 3 years

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☂︎ZEROᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉᵈ ᵘᵐᵇʳᵉˡˡᵃ

(Umbrella Academy x Sibling!Adolescent!Reader)

❝00.00❞

☂︎ᴢᴇʀᴏ: ᴛʜᴇ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ɢɪʀʟ

─━━━━━━⊱☂︎⊰━━━━━━─

ZERO GRACE HARGREEVES fixes her gaze out the window of Umbrella Academy staring out looking at the dried-out leaves moving across the ground and the grass swaying with the wind. You see, Zero had never been out of the house before. Reginald always told her it was bad for her to go outside. That it was a horrendous place. Even though the Elder man has passed, the rule just seemed to stick with her.

She found herself always confined in her room, Reginald had told her not to come out of. Though Sir Reginald was deceased, she still stayed in her room for most of her time, just without locked doors.

~☂︎~

ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, AND SIX were heading out for another mission. Zero watched as they left, unconsciously starting to follow after them, wondering where they're going. Zero inched closer and closer to the door, as her ruby red flats went across the cardboard floor. As soon as she felt the coolness of the outside, a force pushed her back. She came to see the hostile eyes of her father.

Zero pointed outside the door where her siblings left, curious eyes facing her father. Reginald just shook his head in disappointment and kneeled to her height grabbing both of her shoulders; eye contact stern.

"Listen to me Number Zero. You must never go outside. The outside is a bad place not meant for you. Do you understand?"

Zero nodded in comprehension, but she was puzzled. Why couldn't she go with the others? Seconds later, Grace came over reaching for Zero's hands. Zero got scared and quickly snatched her hands away. Though resented, Grace kept her usual smile on her face.

"Come now, I'll make supper for you and Number Seven. Okay, dear?" Zero took one last look at Sir Reginald who still had his eyes still fixated on her with a severe gaze before walking away.

~☂︎~

HOURS HAD PAST. By this time all eight of the children were asleep. Reginald was occupied in his office fixing his monocle, before checking his watch. "Pogo! Grace! Come here at once."

Pogo, an advanced chimpanzee and Sir Reginald Hargreeves' assistant and friend at The Umbrella Academy, and Grace, the primary caregiver and adoptive mother of the eight children, materialized into his office . "Yes, Master Hargreeves?" Pogo said bowing. Reginald turned to the two of them as soon as they appeared.

"When I have no time left, I want you to watch over Number Zero. Make sure she stays quarantined in this house. You two will be her two companions. Make her feel as though you two are the only ones she can depend on. Now, do I make myself clear?" Reginald narrowed his eyes at the two.

"Is this really necessary? After all, she's just a chi—" Grace protested, but was silenced.

"Do I make myself clear?" Reginald repositioned, but in a more cold, hostile tone. Pogo looked up to Grace with a knowing look, as she held a hesitant expression.

"Yes, sir." The two said at the same time.

~☂︎~

ZERO SAUNTERS DOWN THE HALLWAY of the living room looking at the portraits. Paintings would fill every inch of the academy. All kinds of portraits would be sprawled out across the walls. The girl ceased at a portrait where it shows her brother Five Hargreeves, recalling the very moment of him going missing.

She remembered when she would always looked out her window on the porch, seeing if he would come back, but he never did.

~☂︎~

IN THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY RESIDENCE, the morning started just like any other with the Hargreeves'. The sound of a ring of a bell echoed through the Academy as the uniformed Hargreeves' children walked in a single file to the breakfast table. Once they got there, they waited patiently for their father to arrive, standing behind their chairs, quietly doing so.

After a few minutes Reginald came in alongside Zero who had her hands tucked tightly behind her back. Once they destinated to the table, the two departed wit Zero taking her seat beside Number Six, and Reginald positioning himself behind his own chair.

"Sit."

At the sound of the command, the children quickly reacted by pulling up their chairs and taking their seats. The children individually proceed to do their own things, with Herr Carlson playing in background. With Number Two scratching his knife into the arm rest of the chair, trying not to be caught by his strict father or snitch brother Number One who was eye flirting and exchanging smiles with Number Three, reciprocating. Number Four fiddled with some paper under the table, alongside Number Six who leaned over showing Zero a page in a book he liked by Anton Chekov, knowing Zero liked to read as well. Number Seven was at the right end of the table, quietly eating her meal.

But there was one certain Hargreeves that had trouble sealing his anger and irritation; And that Hargreeves was the prideful and mastermind Number Five. You see, Five had a burning desire to be able to test his ability to time travel and it ate him up inside that his father wouldn't allow him with a loathing passion. Instead of eating he stared down his father from the opposite end of the table, in vaxation; anger and frustration building up inside him. When his anger finally boiled over he grabbed his knife and jabbed it into the table. The loud sound caused everyone to turn his attention to him, with Zero’s frightened shoulders hoping.

"Number Five?" Reginald questions.

"I have a question."

"Knowledge is an admirable goal, but you know the rules. No talking during meal times. You are interrupting Herr Carlson." Reginald replies.

Unsatisfied with his father's educated response Five forcefully pushes his plate forward and stands up.

"I want to time travel." Five said.

"No."

"But I'm ready. I've been practicing my spatial jumps, just like you said." Five got up from his seat and demonstrated him doing a spatial jump, appearing next to Reginald. Five's power was Spatial Jumping, which gives him the ability to teleport both short and long distances.

"A spatial jump is trivial when compared with the unknowns of time travel. One is like sliding along the ice, the other is akin to descending blindly into the depths of the freezing water and reappearing as an acorn."

Five's hands balled up in his pockets.

"I don't get it."

"Hence the reason you're not ready."

Zero peers around the table at everyone's gaping facial expressions. But her eyes specifically trained on Number Seven, who gave a shake of the head no to Five, trying to get him to sit back down and stop pushing the issue.

"I'm not afraid."

"Fear isn't the issue. The effects it might have on your body, even on your mind, are far too unpredictable. Now, I forbid you to talk about this anymore." Reginald demanded, but Five still set up above everyone challenged at his father's utterance. The last thing Zero remembered was him running off outside, never to be seen again.

"Number Five. You haven't been excused! Come back here!"

Zero knew what he was going to do as she got up from her seat.

"Number Zero. Sit. Back. Down."

Zero didn't listen as she kept looking towards the door. Number Six tugged on her uniform sleeve a little, trying to get her attention. Number Six, observed her expression. It looked like she was trying to focus on something.

"Number Zero. Sit down. NOW!" Reginald yelled, making Zero snap out of her trance. She sat back down, hoping Five didn't do anything rash.

Number Six put his hand on Zero's shoulder, trying to make her feel better.

Therefore Number Five was never seen again, leaving his father, Grace, and his siblings behind, not aware of the consequences he would have to face.

~☂︎~

ZERO LOOKED AT the portrait a little longer, before turning away. She then trailed to the various family portraits that were displayed. Well, Zero wouldn't exactly call it a family portrait. Not everyone was entirely included. She and Vanya were not allowed to be in family portraits.

To Zero, these portraits weren't just any kind of portraits with her family just posing. To her it captured the emotions of her siblings trying to hold it together year after year as they evolved.

Zero would always look to the side at Vanya, seeing her with a downcast look on her face whenever she was not included. She remembered that she would always look away to the side, whenever she felt like she disappointed Reginald. Zero would just have a blank facial expression, being the most disciplined, that she became like a mindless zombie, always obeying when she was told to do something. She would only simply nod when spoken to. That's what caused her to get more mute over the years. So you can't expect a whole conversation with her, just a few conversations, never really speaking to anyone besides, her dear brother.

Number Six

~☂︎~

EVERYONE EXCEPT ZERO was gathered in Luther's room.

"S-she's kinda weird, right? I mean think about it." Number Two said.

"I don't think she's weird." Number Seven said quietly that no one heard.

"Yeah and she's always going off with Dad somewhere. It's like she's getting more and more mindless every day." Number Four said.

"You don't understand." Five suddenly said. This made everyone look to Five.

"You can't call her weird because you don't understand her. We don't know what she's going through. Don't judge something you don't understand." When Five finished everyone got quiet, taking into consideration what Five just said.

Number Three looked around to see Number Six gone.

"Hey, where's Six?"

~☂︎~

NUMBER SIX WENT OUT OF LUTHER'S ROOM to see Zero’s door wide open. He walked quietly to the door with a book in hand. Six peeped around the corner of the door to see Zero reading a book. He was kinda overjoyed to see that Zero had the same interest as him.

Six slowly started to walk in. When he took another step, the floor creaked, making Zero go stiff and turn around slowly. She looked to see Six, standing just outside her door. Zero was slightly surprised to see one of her siblings at her door. Usually, everyone would just ignore her as if she wasn't there. As if she was nothing. As if she mattered 0%. At least that's what Reginald told them to do.

"U-uh hi."

Zero just stared at him in surprise.

"Um, I got this book for you. I've noticed how much you like to read, s-so I thought it would be nice. It's really good. I promise." He handed the book over to her. Zero hesitantly looked at him and then the book She hesitantly took it and looked at the cover. Zero always liked hardcover books.

"Well enjoy the book, okay? Bye." Six started to exit the room, but before he could the unbelievable happened.

"T-t-thanks." Zero managed utter out quietly enough for Six to hear.

Number Six's eyes widened, then his expression slowly turned into a smile before walking away.

Zero looked to see if he was gone before opening the book.

~☂︎~

ZERO GAVE A SMALL SMILE at the memory, but not before remembering that he doesn't exist now. He passed years after Five’s disappearance. She didn't even get to attend the funeral. She could only watch from her secured shut window. The two were best friends ever since that day. Zero always thought Six was a little weird at first, but she started warming up to him day by day. He was truly a real brother to her.

~☂︎~

EVERYONE WAS IN the dining room eating dinner except Zero who just staring down at her plate. Everyone kept giving occasional glances at her, with concerned glances. Zero glanced at the empty seat next to her. The seat that would never be filled again.

"Number Zero, stop staring at your food and eat, this instant.

"I.......I..

All of a sudden the building started to shaking uncontrollably. Causing everyone to be frightened.

"Number Zero, control yourself!" Reginald demands. But Zero just keeps staring at her plate.

"Number Zero."

"Number Zero!"

Suddenly the shaking came to a stop. Everyone was staring at Zero wide-eyed. None of them knew what her powers were. It has always been a mystery. Not even Reginald Hargreeves himself knew, which is why he had to keep her contained.

" .......I'm....sorry..."

"Perhaps it's best if you go back to your room, where you belong." Reginald said with disappointment written on his face.

Zero simply nodded and headed back to her room that felt like a prison she could never escape.

Seven and Four watched sympathetically as Zero walked to her room.

She heard the sound of her door locking, signaling that she couldn't go back out.

~☂︎~

ZERO WAS IN HER ROOM looking in the mirror at her 13-year-old body. Why is she still young? Zero ages very slowly. Reginald gave his blood to slow down Zero's aging process. Even though she is technically 29, because of her slow age process she's still just a kid. Zero rubbed the eye bags under her eyes on her pale (s/c) skin from lack of sunlight. As she did this, she thought about how her life is now.

One had to leave for his mission on the moon. And Zero knew it wasn't for any important reason.

She doesn't know what the rest of her siblings, besides Seven are doing. Which is kind of sad if you think about it. Zero was so trapped in her own house all her life that she didn't realize how isolated she is from everything.

From everyone, shielded from the world.

Seven became a writer and a violinist. Zero would always read her book about what it was like for her in Umbrella Academy. She couldn't grasp why Vanya was right such a thing like this in the first place. Giving up the family secrets just like that. She still remembered when she was getting ready to leave.

~☂︎~

Zero looked to see her sister heading out the door.

"You have to go?" Zero said making Seven turn around.

"Yes, I have to go. I have no place here anymore. I'll try to come to visit okay." Seven said going over to hug her, but Zero quickly backed away shaking her head. Seven looked at her sympathetically. She knew Zero wasn't used to touch.

"You'll be okay, right?"

There was a long pause before Zero nodded.

Seven smiled and headed to the door. The truth was that she didn't want to leave Zero at that hellish place, but Zero was still in Reginald's custody.

"Bye, Zero," Seven said before she left, leaving Zero alone, waving goodbye at nothing. Her hand slowly came down as Reginald lead her back to her room.

~☂︎~

ZERO BRUSHED HER HAIR, fixing her tied up, red headband, getting ready for the funeral. What she didn't know was that her family was coming.

And that this day was going to change her life.

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taylorswifthongkong · 4 years

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Taylor Swift broke all her rules with Folklore — and gave herself a much-needed escape The pop star, one of EW's 2020 Entertainers of the Year, delves deep into her surprise eighth album, Rebekah Harkness, and a Joe Biden presidency. By Alex Suskind

“He is my co-writer on ‛Betty’ and ‛Exile,’” replies Taylor Swift with deadpan precision. The question Who is William Bowery? was, at the time we spoke, one of 2020’s great mysteries, right up there with the existence of Joe Exotic and the sudden arrival of murder hornets. An unknown writer credited on the year’s biggest album? It must be an alias.

Is he your brother?

“He’s William Bowery,” says Swift with a smile.

It's early November, after Election Day but before Swift eventually revealed Bowery's true identity to the world (the leading theory, that he was boyfriend Joe Alwyn, proved prescient). But, like all Swiftian riddles, it was fun to puzzle over for months, particularly in this hot mess of a year, when brief distractions are as comforting as a well-worn cardigan. Thankfully, the Bowery... erhm, Alwyn-assisted Folklore — a Swift project filled with muted pianos and whisper-quiet snares, recorded in secret with Jack Antonoff and the National’s Aaron Dessner — delivered.

“The only people who knew were the people I was making it with, my boyfriend, my family, and a small management team,” Swift, 30, tells EW of the album's hush-hush recording sessions. That gave the intimate Folklore a mystique all its own: the first surprise Taylor Swift album, one that prioritized fantastical tales over personal confessions.

“Early in quarantine, I started watching lots of films,” she explains. “Consuming other people’s storytelling opened this portal in my imagination and made me feel like, Why have I never created characters and intersecting storylines?” That’s how she ended up with three songs about an imagined love triangle (“Cardigan,” “Betty,” “August”), one about a clandestine romance (“Illicit Affairs”), and another chronicling a doomed relationship (“Exile”). Others tell of sumptuous real-life figures like Rebekah Harkness, a divorcee who married the heir to Standard Oil — and whose home Swift purchased 31 years after her death. The result, “The Last Great American Dynasty,” hones in on Harkness’ story, until Swift cleverly injects herself.

And yet, it wouldn’t be a Swift album without a few barbed postmortems over her own history. Notably, “My Tears Ricochet” and “Mad Woman," which touch on her former label head Scott Borchetta selling the masters to Swift’s catalog to her known nemesis Scooter Braun. Mere hours after our interview, the lyrics’ real-life origins took a surprising twist, when news broke that Swift’s music had once again been sold, to another private equity firm, for a reported $300 million. Though Swift ignored repeated requests for comment on the transaction, she did tweet a statement, hitting back at Braun while noting that she had begun re-recording her old albums — something she first promised in 2019 as a way of retaining agency over her creative legacy. (Later, she would tease a snippet of that reimagined work, with a new version of her hit 2008 single "Love Story.")

Like surprise-dropping Folklore, like pissing off the president by endorsing his opponents, like shooing away haters, Swift does what suits her. “I don’t think we often hear about women who did whatever the hell they wanted,” she says of Harkness — something Swift is clearly intent on changing. For her, that means basking in the world of, and favorable response to, Folklore. As she says in our interview, “I have this weird thing where, in order to create the next thing, I attack the previous thing. I don’t love that I do that, but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I still love it.”

TAYLOR SWIFT: I was. I wasn't expecting to make an album. Early on in quarantine, I started watching lots of films. We would watch a different movie every night. I'm ashamed to say I hadn't seen Pan's Labyrinth before. One night I'd watch that, then I'd watch L.A. Confidential, then we'd watch Rear Window, then we'd watch Jane Eyre. I feel like consuming other people's art and storytelling sort of opened this portal in my imagination and made me feel like, "Well, why have I never done this before? Why have I never created characters and intersecting storylines? And why haven't I ever sort of freed myself up to do that from a narrative standpoint?" There is something a little heavy about knowing when you put out an album, people are going to take it so literally that everything you say could be clickbait. It was really, really freeing to be able to just be inspired by worlds created by the films you watch or books you've read or places you've dreamed of or people that you've wondered about, not just being inspired by your own experience.

In that vain, what's it like to sit down and write something like “Betty,” which is told from the perspective of a 17-year-old boy?

That was huge for me. And I think it came from the fact that my co-writer, William Bowery [Joe Alwyn], is male — and he was the one who originally thought of the chorus melody. And hearing him sing it, I thought, "That sounds really cool." Obviously, I don't have a male voice, but I thought, "I could have a male perspective." Patty Griffin wrote this song, “Top of the World.” It's one of my favorite songs of all time, and it's from the perspective of this older man who has lived a life full of regret, and he's kind of taking stock of that regret. So, I thought, "This is something that people I am a huge fan of have done. This would be fun to kind of take this for a spin."

What are your favorite William Bowery conspiracies?

I love them all individually and equally. I love all the conspiracy theories around this album. [With] "Betty," Jack Antonoff would text me these articles and think pieces and in-depth Tumblr posts on what this love triangle meant to the person who had listened to it. And that's exactly what I was hoping would happen with this album. I wrote these stories for a specific reason and from a specific place about specific people that I imagined, but I wanted that to all change given who was listening to it. And I wanted it to start out as mine and become other people's. It's been really fun to watch.

I didn't think about any of that for the very first time. And a lot of this album was kind of distilled down to the purest version of what the story is. Songwriting on this album is exactly the way that I would write if I considered nothing else other than, "What words do I want to write? What stories do I want to tell? What melodies do I want to sing? What production is essential to tell those stories?" It was a very do-it-yourself experience. My management team, we created absolutely everything in advance — every lyric video, every individual album package. And then we called our label a week in advance and said, "Here's what we have.” The photo shoot was me and the photographer walking out into a field. I'd done my hair and makeup and brought some nightgowns. These experiences I was used to having with 100 people on set, commanding alongside other people in a very committee fashion — all of a sudden it was me and a photographer, or me and my DP. It was a new challenge, because I love collaboration. But there's something really fun about knowing what you can do if it's just you doing it.

Did you find it freeing?

I did. Every project involves different levels of collaboration, because on other albums there are things that my stylist will think of that I never would've thought of. But if I had all those people on the photo shoot, I would've had to have them quarantine away from their families for weeks on end, and I would've had to ask things of them that I didn't think were fair if I could figure out a way to do it [myself]. I had this idea for the [Folklore album cover] that it would be this girl sleepwalking through the forest in a nightgown in 1830 [laughs]. Very specific. A pioneer woman sleepwalking at night. I made a moodboard and sent it to Beth [Garrabrant], who I had never worked with before, who shoots only on film. We were just carrying bags across a field and putting the bags of film down, and then taking pictures. It was a blast.

Well, Aaron is one of the most effortlessly prolific creators I've ever worked with. It's really mind-blowing. And every time I've spoken to an artist since this whole process [began], I said, "You need to work with him. It'll change the way you create." He would send me these — he calls them sketches, but it's basically an instrumental track. the second day — the day after I texted him and said, "Hey, would you ever want to work together?" — he sent me this file of probably 30 of these instrumentals and every single one of them was one of the most interesting, exciting things I had ever heard. Music can be beautiful, but it can be lacking that evocative nature. There was something about everything he created that is an immediate image in my head or melody that I came up with. So much so that I'd start writing as soon as I heard a new one. And oftentimes what I would send back would inspire him to make more instrumentals and then send me that one. And then I wrote the song and it started to shape the project, form-fitted and customized to what we wanted to do.

It was weird because I had never made an album and not played it for my girlfriends or told my friends. The only people who knew were the people that I was making it with, my boyfriend, my family, and then my management team. So that's the smallest number of people I've ever had know about something. I'm usually playing it for everyone that I'm friends with. So I had a lot of friends texting me things like, "Why didn't you say on our everyday FaceTimes you were making a record?"

Was it nice to be able to keep it a secret?

Well, it felt like it was only my thing. It felt like such an inner world I was escaping to every day that it almost didn't feel like an album. Because I wasn't making a song and finishing it and going, "Oh my God, that is catchy.” I wasn't making these things with any purpose in mind. And so it was almost like having it just be mine was this really sweet, nice, pure part of the world as everything else in the world was burning and crashing and feeling this sickness and sadness. I almost didn't process it as an album. This was just my daydream space.

Does it still feel like that?

Yeah, because I love it so much. I have this weird thing that I do when I create something where in order to create the next thing I kind of, in my head, attack the previous thing. I don't love that I do that but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I just still love it. I'm so proud of it. And so that feels very foreign to me. That doesn't feel like a normal experience that I've had with releasing albums.

When did you first learn about Rebekah Harkness?

Oh, I learned about her as soon as I was being walked through [her former Rhode Island] home. I got the house when I was in my early twenties as a place for my family to congregate and be together. I was told about her, I think, by the real estate agent who was walking us through the property. And as soon as I found out about her, I wanted to know everything I could. So I started reading. I found her so interesting. And then as more parallels began to develop between our two lives — being the lady that lives in that house on the hill that everybody gets to gossip about — I was always looking for an opportunity to write about her. And I finally found it.

I love that you break the fourth wall in the song. Did you go in thinking you’d include yourself in the story?

I think that in my head, I always wanted to do a country music, standard narrative device, which is: the first verse you sing about someone else, the second verse you sing about someone else who's even closer to you, and then in the third verse, you go, "Surprise! It was me.” You bring it personal for the last verse. And I'd always thought that if I were to tell that story, I would want to include the similarities — our lives or our reputations or our scandals.

How often did you regale friends about the history of Rebekah and Holiday House while hanging out at Holiday House?

Anyone who's been there before knows that I do “The Tour,” in quotes, where I show everyone through the house. And I tell them different anecdotes about each room, because I've done that much research on this house and this woman. So in every single room, there's a different anecdote about Rebekah Harkness. If you have a mixed group of people who've been there before and people who haven't, [the people who’ve been there] are like, "Oh, she's going to do the tour. She's got to tell you the story about how the ballerinas used to practice on the lawn.” And they'll go get a drink and skip it because it's the same every time. But for me, I'm telling the story with the same electric enthusiasm, because it's just endlessly entertaining to me that this fabulous woman lived there. She just did whatever she wanted.

I found myself being very triggered by any stories, movies, or narratives revolving around divorce, which felt weird because I haven't experienced it directly. There’s no reason it should cause me so much pain, but all of a sudden it felt like something I had been through. I think that happens any time you've been in a 15-year relationship and it ends in a messy, upsetting way. So I wrote “My Tears Ricochet” and I was using a lot of imagery that I had conjured up while comparing a relationship ending to when people end an actual marriage. All of a sudden this person that you trusted more than anyone in the world is the person that can hurt you the worst. Then all of a sudden the things that you have been through together, hurt. All of a sudden, the person who was your best friend is now your biggest nemesis, etc. etc. etc. I think I wrote some of the first lyrics to that song after watching Marriage Story and hearing about when marriages go wrong and end in such a catastrophic way. So these songs are in some ways imaginary, in some ways not, and in some ways both.

How did it feel to drop an F-bomb on "Mad Woman"?

F---ing fantastic.

And that’s the first time you ever recorded one on a record, right?

Yeah. Every rule book was thrown out. I always had these rules in my head and one of them was, You haven't done this before, so you can't ever do this. “Well, you've never had an explicit sticker, so you can't ever have an explicit sticker.” But that was one of the times where I felt like you need to follow the language and you need to follow the storyline. And if the storyline and the language match up and you end up saying the F-word, just go for it. I wasn't adhering to any of the guidelines that I had placed on myself. I decided to just make what I wanted to make. And I'm really happy that the fans were stoked about that because I think they could feel that. I'm not blaming anyone else for me restricting myself in the past. That was all, I guess, making what I want to make. I think my fans could feel that I opened the gate and ran out of the pasture for the first time, which I'm glad they picked up on because they're very intuitive.

Let’s talk about “Epiphany.” The first verse is a nod to your grandfather, Dean, who fought in World War II. What does his story mean to you personally?

I wanted to write about him for awhile. He died when I was very young, but my dad would always tell this story that the only thing that his dad would ever say about the war was when somebody would ask him, "Why do you have such a positive outlook on life?" My grandfather would reply, "Well, I'm not supposed to be here. I shouldn't be here." My dad and his brothers always kind of imagined that what he had experienced was really awful and traumatic and that he'd seen a lot of terrible things. So when they did research, they learned that he had fought at the Battles of Guadalcanal, at Cape Gloucester, at Talasea, at Okinawa. He had seen a lot of heavy fire and casualties — all of the things that nightmares are made of. He was one of the first people to sign up for the war. But you know, these are things that you can only imagine that a lot of people in that generation didn't speak about because, a) they didn't want people that they came home to to worry about them, and b) it just was so bad that it was the actual definition of unspeakable.

I mean, you just immediately think of the health workers who are putting their lives on the line — and oftentimes losing their lives. If they make it out of this, if they see the other side of it, there's going to be a lot of trauma that comes with that; there's going to be things that they witnessed that they will never be able to un-see. And that was the connection that I drew. I did a lot of research on my grandfather in the beginning of quarantine, and it hit me very quickly that we've got a version of that trauma happening right now in our hospitals. God, you hope people would respect it and would understand that going out for a night isn't worth the ripple effect that it causes. But obviously we're seeing that a lot of people don't seem to have their eyes open to that — or if they do, a lot of people don't care, which is upsetting.

You had the Lover Fest East and West scheduled this year. How hard has it been to both not perform for your fans this year, and see the music industry at large go through such a brutal change?

It's confusing. It's hard to watch. I think that maybe me wanting to make as much music as possible during this time was a way for me to feel like I could reach out my hand and touch my fans, even if I couldn't physically reach out or take a picture with them. We've had a lot of different, amazing, fun, sort of underground traditions we've built over the years that involve a lot of human interaction, and so I have no idea what's going to happen with touring; none of us do. And that's a scary thing. You can't look to somebody in the music industry who's been around a long time, or an expert touring manager or promoter and [ask] what's going to happen and have them give you an answer. I think we're all just trying to keep our eyes on the horizon and see what it looks like. So we're just kind of sitting tight and trying to take care of whatever creative spark might exist and trying to figure out how to reach our fans in other ways, because we just can't do that right now.

When you are able to perform again, do you have plans on resurfacing a Lover Fest-type event?

I don't know what incarnation it'll take and I really would need to sit down and think about it for a good solid couple of months before I figured out the answer. Because whatever we do, I want it to be something that is thoughtful and will make the fans happy and I hope I can achieve that. I'm going to try really hard to.

In addition to recording an album, you spent this year supporting Joe Biden and Kamala Harris in the election. Where were you when it was called in their favor?

Well, when the results were coming in, I was actually at the property where we shot the Entertainment Weekly cover. I was hanging out with my photographer friend, Beth, and the wonderful couple that owned the farm where we [were]. And we realized really early into the night that we weren't going to get an accurate picture of the results. Then, a couple of days later, I was on a video shoot, but I was directing, and I was standing there with my face shield and mask on next to my director of photography, Rodrigo Prieto. And I just remember a news alert coming up on my phone that said, "Biden is our next president. He's won the election." And I showed it to Rodrigo and he said, "I'm always going to remember the moment that we learned this." And I looked around, and people's face shields were starting to fog up because a lot of people were really misty-eyed and emotional, and it was not loud. It wasn't popping bottles of champagne. It was this moment of quiet, cautious elation and relief.

Do you ever think about what Folklore would have sounded like if you, Aaron, and Jack had been in the same room?

I think about it all the time. I think that a lot of what has happened with the album has to do with us all being in a collective emotional place. Obviously everybody's lives have different complexities and whatnot, but I think most of us were feeling really shaken up and really out of place and confused and in need of something comforting all at the same time. And for me, that thing that was comforting was making music that felt sort of like I was trying to hug my fans through the speakers. That was truly my intent. Just trying to hug them when I can't hug them.

I was really excited about "August slipped away into a moment of time/August sipped away like a bottle of wine." That was a song where Jack sent me the instrumental and I wrote the song pretty much on the spot; it just was an intuitive thing. And that was actually the first song that I wrote of the "Betty" triangle. So the Betty songs are "August," "Cardigan," and "Betty." "August" was actually the first one, which is strange because it's the song from the other girl's perspective.

Yeah, I assumed you wrote "Cardigan" first.

It would be safe to assume that "Cardigan" would be first, but it wasn't. It was very strange how it happened, but it kind of pieced together one song at a time, starting with "August," where I kind of wanted to explore the element of This is from the perspective of a girl who was having her first brush with love. And then all of a sudden she's treated like she's the other girl, because there was another situation that had already been in place, but "August" girl thought she was really falling in love. It kind of explores the idea of the undefined relationship. As humans, we're all encouraged to just be cool and just let it happen, and don't ask what the relationship is — Are we exclusive? But if you are chill about it, especially when you're young, you learn the very hard lesson that if you don't define something, oftentimes they can gaslight you into thinking it was nothing at all, and that it never happened. And how do you mourn the loss of something once it ends, if you're being made to believe that it never happened at all?

"I almost didn't process it as an album," says Taylor Swift of making Folklore. "And it's still hard for me to process as an entity or a commodity, because [it] was just my daydream space."

I'm really proud of that one too. I heard the track immediately. Aaron sent it to me, and it had this immediate sense of serenity running through it. The first word that popped into my head was peace, but I thought that it would be too on-the-nose to sing about being calm, or to sing about serenity, or to sing about finding peace with someone. Because you have this very conflicted, very dramatic conflict-written lyric paired with this very, very calming sound of the instrumental. But, "The devil's in the details," is one of those phrases that I've written down over the years. That's a common phrase that is used in the English language every day. And I just thought it sounded really cool because of the D, D sound. And I thought, "I'll hang onto those in a list, and then, I'll finally find the right place for them in a story." I think that's how a lot of people feel where it's like, "Yeah, the devil's in the details. Everybody's complex when you look under the hood of the car." But basically saying, "I'm there for you if you want that, if this complexity is what you want."

There's another clever turn-of-phrase on "This is Me Trying." "I didn't know if you'd care if I came back/I have a lot of regrets about that." That feels like a nod toward your fans, and some of the feelings you had about retreating from the public sphere.

Absolutely. I think I was writing from three different characters' perspectives, one who's going through that; I was channeling the emotions I was feeling in 2016, 2017, where I just felt like I was worth absolutely nothing. And then, the second verse is about dealing with addiction and issues with struggling every day. And every second of the day, you're trying not to fall into old patterns, and nobody around you can see that, and no one gives you credit for it. And then, the third verse, I was thinking, what would the National do? What lyric would Matt Berninger write? What chords would the National play? And it's funny because I've since played this song for Aaron, and he's like, "That's not what we would've done at all." He's like, "I love that song, but that's totally different than what we would've done with it."

Yeah, I was at the show where they were playing through I Am Easy to Find. What I loved about [that album] was they had female vocalists singing from female perspectives, and that triggered and fired something in me where I thought, "I've got to play with different perspectives because that is so intriguing when you hear a female perspective come in from a band where you're used to only hearing a male perspective." It just sparked something in me. And obviously, you mentioning the National is the reason why Folklore came to be. So, thank you for that, Alex.

I'm here for all of your songwriting muse needs in the future.

I can't wait to see what comes out of this interview.

This interview has been edited and condensed.

For more on our Entertainers of the Year and Best & Worst of 2020, order the January issue of Entertainment Weekly or find it on newsstands beginning Dec. 18. (You can also pick up the full set of six covers here.) Don’t forget to subscribe for more exclusive interviews and photos, only in EW.

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Taylor Swift Broke All Her Rules With Folklore - And Gave Herself A Much-Needed Escape

By: Alex Suskind for Entertainment Weekly Date: December 8th 2020 (EW's 2020 Entertainers of the Year cover)

The pop star, one of EW's 2020 Entertainers of the Year, delves deep into her surprise eighth album, Rebekah Harkness, and a Joe Biden presidency.

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Is he your brother?

“He’s William Bowery,” says Swift with a smile.

It's early November, after Election Day but before Swift eventually revealed Bowery's true identity to the world (the leading theory, that he was boyfriend Joe Alwyn, proved prescient). But, like all Swiftian riddles, it was fun to puzzle over for months, particularly in this hot mess of a year, when brief distractions are as comforting as a well-worn cardigan. Thankfully, the Bowery... erhm, Alwyn-assisted Folklore - a Swift project filled with muted pianos and whisper-quiet snares, recorded in secret with Jack Antonoff and the National’s Aaron Dessner - delivered.

“Early in quarantine, I started watching lots of films,” she explains. “Consuming other people’s storytelling opened this portal in my imagination and made me feel like, Why have I never created characters and intersecting storylines?” That’s how she ended up with three songs about an imagined love triangle (“Cardigan,” “Betty,” “August”), one about a clandestine romance (“Illicit Affairs”), and another chronicling a doomed relationship (“Exile”). Others tell of sumptuous real-life figures like Rebekah Harkness, a divorcee who married the heir to Standard Oil - and whose home Swift purchased 31 years after her death. The result, “The Last Great American Dynasty,” hones in on Harkness’ story, until Swift cleverly injects herself.

And yet, it wouldn’t be a Swift album without a few barbed postmortems over her own history. Notably, “My Tears Ricochet” and “Mad Woman," which touch on her former label head Scott Borchetta selling the masters to Swift’s catalog to her known nemesis Scooter Braun. Mere hours after our interview, the lyrics’ real-life origins took a surprising twist, when news broke that Swift’s music had once again been sold, to another private equity firm, for a reported $300 million. Though Swift ignored repeated requests for comment on the transaction, she did tweet a statement, hitting back at Braun while noting that she had begun re-recording her old albums - something she first promised in 2019 as a way of retaining agency over her creative legacy. (Later, she would tease a snippet of that reimagined work, with a new version of her hit 2008 single "Love Story.")

Like surprise-dropping Folklore, like pissing off the president by endorsing his opponents, like shooing away haters, Swift does what suits her. “I don’t think we often hear about women who did whatever the hell they wanted,” she says of Harkness - something Swift is clearly intent on changing. For her, that means basking in the world of, and favorable response to, Folklore. As she says in our interview, “I have this weird thing where, in order to create the next thing, I attack the previous thing. I don’t love that I do that, but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I still love it.”

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: We’ve spent the year quarantined in our houses, trying to stay healthy and avoiding friends and family. Were you surprised by your ability to create and release a full album in the middle of a pandemic? TAYLOR SWIFT: I was. I wasn't expecting to make an album. Early on in quarantine, I started watching lots of films. We would watch a different movie every night. I'm ashamed to say I hadn't seen Pan's Labyrinth before. One night I'd watch that, then I'd watch L.A. Confidential, then we'd watch Rear Window, then we'd watch Jane Eyre. I feel like consuming other people's art and storytelling sort of opened this portal in my imagination and made me feel like, "Well, why have I never done this before? Why have I never created characters and intersecting storylines? And why haven't I ever sort of freed myself up to do that from a narrative standpoint?" There is something a little heavy about knowing when you put out an album, people are going to take it so literally that everything you say could be clickbait. It was really, really freeing to be able to just be inspired by worlds created by the films you watch or books you've read or places you've dreamed of or people that you've wondered about, not just being inspired by your own experience.

In that vein, what's it like to sit down and write something like “Betty,” which is told from the perspective of a 17-year-old boy? That was huge for me. And I think it came from the fact that my co-writer, William Bowery [Joe Alwyn], is male — and he was the one who originally thought of the chorus melody. And hearing him sing it, I thought, "That sounds really cool." Obviously, I don't have a male voice, but I thought, "I could have a male perspective." Patty Griffin wrote this song, “Top of the World.” It's one of my favorite songs of all time, and it's from the perspective of this older man who has lived a life full of regret, and he's kind of taking stock of that regret. So, I thought, "This is something that people I am a huge fan of have done. This would be fun to kind of take this for a spin."

What are your favorite William Bowery conspiracies? I love them all individually and equally. I love all the conspiracy theories around this album. [With] "Betty," Jack Antonoff would text me these articles and think pieces and in-depth Tumblr posts on what this love triangle meant to the person who had listened to it. And that's exactly what I was hoping would happen with this album. I wrote these stories for a specific reason and from a specific place about specific people that I imagined, but I wanted that to all change given who was listening to it. And I wanted it to start out as mine and become other people's. It's been really fun to watch.

One of the other unique things about Folklore — the parameters around it were completely different from anything you'd done. There was no long roll out, no stadium-sized pop anthems, no aiming for the radio-friendly single. How fearful were you in avoiding what had worked in the past? I didn't think about any of that for the very first time. And a lot of this album was kind of distilled down to the purest version of what the story is. Songwriting on this album is exactly the way that I would write if I considered nothing else other than, "What words do I want to write? What stories do I want to tell? What melodies do I want to sing? What production is essential to tell those stories?" It was a very do-it-yourself experience. My management team, we created absolutely everything in advance — every lyric video, every individual album package. And then we called our label a week in advance and said, "Here's what we have.” The photo shoot was me and the photographer walking out into a field. I'd done my hair and makeup and brought some nightgowns. These experiences I was used to having with 100 people on set, commanding alongside other people in a very committee fashion — all of a sudden it was me and a photographer, or me and my DP. It was a new challenge, because I love collaboration. But there's something really fun about knowing what you can do if it's just you doing it.

Did you find it freeing? I did. Every project involves different levels of collaboration, because on other albums there are things that my stylist will think of that I never would've thought of. But if I had all those people on the photo shoot, I would've had to have them quarantine away from their families for weeks on end, and I would've had to ask things of them that I didn't think were fair if I could figure out a way to do it [myself]. I had this idea for the [Folklore album cover] that it would be this girl sleepwalking through the forest in a nightgown in 1830 [laughs]. Very specific. A pioneer woman sleepwalking at night. I made a moodboard and sent it to Beth [Garrabrant], who I had never worked with before, who shoots only on film. We were just carrying bags across a field and putting the bags of film down, and then taking pictures. It was a blast.

Folklore includes plenty of intimate acoustic echoes to what you've done in the past. But there are also a lot of new sonics here, too — these quiet, powerful, intricately layered harmonics. What was it like to receive the music from Aaron and try to write lyrics on top of it? Well, Aaron is one of the most effortlessly prolific creators I've ever worked with. It's really mind-blowing. And every time I've spoken to an artist since this whole process [began], I said, "You need to work with him. It'll change the way you create." He would send me these — he calls them sketches, but it's basically an instrumental track. the second day — the day after I texted him and said, "Hey, would you ever want to work together?" — he sent me this file of probably 30 of these instrumentals and every single one of them was one of the most interesting, exciting things I had ever heard. Music can be beautiful, but it can be lacking that evocative nature. There was something about everything he created that is an immediate image in my head or melody that I came up with. So much so that I'd start writing as soon as I heard a new one. And oftentimes what I would send back would inspire him to make more instrumentals and then send me that one. And then I wrote the song and it started to shape the project, form-fitted and customized to what we wanted to do.

Was it nice to be able to keep it a secret? Well, it felt like it was only my thing. It felt like such an inner world I was escaping to every day that it almost didn't feel like an album. Because I wasn't making a song and finishing it and going, "Oh my God, that is catchy.” I wasn't making these things with any purpose in mind. And so it was almost like having it just be mine was this really sweet, nice, pure part of the world as everything else in the world was burning and crashing and feeling this sickness and sadness. I almost didn't process it as an album. This was just my daydream space.

Does it still feel like that? Yeah, because I love it so much. I have this weird thing that I do when I create something where in order to create the next thing I kind of, in my head, attack the previous thing. I don't love that I do that but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I just still love it. I'm so proud of it. And so that feels very foreign to me. That doesn't feel like a normal experience that I've had with releasing albums.

When did you first learn about Rebekah Harkness? Oh, I learned about her as soon as I was being walked through [her former Rhode Island] home. I got the house when I was in my early twenties as a place for my family to congregate and be together. I was told about her, I think, by the real estate agent who was walking us through the property. And as soon as I found out about her, I wanted to know everything I could. So I started reading. I found her so interesting. And then as more parallels began to develop between our two lives — being the lady that lives in that house on the hill that everybody gets to gossip about — I was always looking for an opportunity to write about her. And I finally found it.

I love that you break the fourth wall in the song. Did you go in thinking you’d include yourself in the story? I think that in my head, I always wanted to do a country music, standard narrative device, which is: the first verse you sing about someone else, the second verse you sing about someone else who's even closer to you, and then in the third verse, you go, "Surprise! It was me.” You bring it personal for the last verse. And I'd always thought that if I were to tell that story, I would want to include the similarities — our lives or our reputations or our scandals.

How often did you regale friends about the history of Rebekah and Holiday House while hanging out at Holiday House? Anyone who's been there before knows that I do “The Tour,” in quotes, where I show everyone through the house. And I tell them different anecdotes about each room, because I've done that much research on this house and this woman. So in every single room, there's a different anecdote about Rebekah Harkness. If you have a mixed group of people who've been there before and people who haven't, [the people who’ve been there] are like, "Oh, she's going to do the tour. She's got to tell you the story about how the ballerinas used to practice on the lawn.” And they'll go get a drink and skip it because it's the same every time. But for me, I'm telling the story with the same electric enthusiasm, because it's just endlessly entertaining to me that this fabulous woman lived there. She just did whatever she wanted.

There are a handful of songs on Folklore that feel like pretty clear nods to your personal life over the last year, including your relationships with Scott Borchetta and Scooter Braun. How long did it take to crystallize the feelings you had around both of them into “My Tears Ricochet” or “Mad Woman”? I found myself being very triggered by any stories, movies, or narratives revolving around divorce, which felt weird because I haven't experienced it directly. There’s no reason it should cause me so much pain, but all of a sudden it felt like something I had been through. I think that happens any time you've been in a 15-year relationship and it ends in a messy, upsetting way. So I wrote “My Tears Ricochet” and I was using a lot of imagery that I had conjured up while comparing a relationship ending to when people end an actual marriage. All of a sudden this person that you trusted more than anyone in the world is the person that can hurt you the worst. Then all of a sudden the things that you have been through together, hurt. All of a sudden, the person who was your best friend is now your biggest nemesis, etc. etc. etc. I think I wrote some of the first lyrics to that song after watching Marriage Story and hearing about when marriages go wrong and end in such a catastrophic way. So these songs are in some ways imaginary, in some ways not, and in some ways both.

How did it feel to drop an F-bomb on "Mad Woman"? F---ing fantastic.

And that’s the first time you ever recorded one on a record, right? Yeah. Every rule book was thrown out. I always had these rules in my head and one of them was, You haven't done this before, so you can't ever do this. “Well, you've never had an explicit sticker, so you can't ever have an explicit sticker.” But that was one of the times where I felt like you need to follow the language and you need to follow the storyline. And if the storyline and the language match up and you end up saying the F-word, just go for it. I wasn't adhering to any of the guidelines that I had placed on myself. I decided to just make what I wanted to make. And I'm really happy that the fans were stoked about that because I think they could feel that. I'm not blaming anyone else for me restricting myself in the past. That was all, I guess, making what I want to make. I think my fans could feel that I opened the gate and ran out of the pasture for the first time, which I'm glad they picked up on because they're very intuitive.

Let’s talk about “Epiphany.” The first verse is a nod to your grandfather, Dean, who fought in World War II. What does his story mean to you personally? I wanted to write about him for awhile. He died when I was very young, but my dad would always tell this story that the only thing that his dad would ever say about the war was when somebody would ask him, "Why do you have such a positive outlook on life?" My grandfather would reply, "Well, I'm not supposed to be here. I shouldn't be here." My dad and his brothers always kind of imagined that what he had experienced was really awful and traumatic and that he'd seen a lot of terrible things. So when they did research, they learned that he had fought at the Battles of Guadalcanal, at Cape Gloucester, at Talasea, at Okinawa. He had seen a lot of heavy fire and casualties — all of the things that nightmares are made of. He was one of the first people to sign up for the war. But you know, these are things that you can only imagine that a lot of people in that generation didn't speak about because, a) they didn't want people that they came home to to worry about them, and b) it just was so bad that it was the actual definition of unspeakable.

That theme continues in the next verse, which is a pretty overt nod to what’s been happening during COVID. As someone who lives in Nashville, how difficult has it been to see folks on Lower Broadway crowding the bars without masks? I mean, you just immediately think of the health workers who are putting their lives on the line — and oftentimes losing their lives. If they make it out of this, if they see the other side of it, there's going to be a lot of trauma that comes with that; there's going to be things that they witnessed that they will never be able to un-see. And that was the connection that I drew. I did a lot of research on my grandfather in the beginning of quarantine, and it hit me very quickly that we've got a version of that trauma happening right now in our hospitals. God, you hope people would respect it and would understand that going out for a night isn't worth the ripple effect that it causes. But obviously we're seeing that a lot of people don't seem to have their eyes open to that — or if they do, a lot of people don't care, which is upsetting.

You had the Lover Fest East and West scheduled this year. How hard has it been to both not perform for your fans this year, and see the music industry at large go through such a brutal change? It's confusing. It's hard to watch. I think that maybe me wanting to make as much music as possible during this time was a way for me to feel like I could reach out my hand and touch my fans, even if I couldn't physically reach out or take a picture with them. We've had a lot of different, amazing, fun, sort of underground traditions we've built over the years that involve a lot of human interaction, and so I have no idea what's going to happen with touring; none of us do. And that's a scary thing. You can't look to somebody in the music industry who's been around a long time, or an expert touring manager or promoter and [ask] what's going to happen and have them give you an answer. I think we're all just trying to keep our eyes on the horizon and see what it looks like. So we're just kind of sitting tight and trying to take care of whatever creative spark might exist and trying to figure out how to reach our fans in other ways, because we just can't do that right now.

When you are able to perform again, do you have plans on resurfacing a Lover Fest-type event? I don't know what incarnation it'll take and I really would need to sit down and think about it for a good solid couple of months before I figured out the answer. Because whatever we do, I want it to be something that is thoughtful and will make the fans happy and I hope I can achieve that. I'm going to try really hard to.

In addition to recording an album, you spent this year supporting Joe Biden and Kamala Harris in the election. Where were you when it was called in their favor? Well, when the results were coming in, I was actually at the property where we shot the Entertainment Weekly cover. I was hanging out with my photographer friend, Beth, and the wonderful couple that owned the farm where we [were]. And we realized really early into the night that we weren't going to get an accurate picture of the results. Then, a couple of days later, I was on a video shoot, but I was directing, and I was standing there with my face shield and mask on next to my director of photography, Rodrigo Prieto. And I just remember a news alert coming up on my phone that said, "Biden is our next president. He's won the election." And I showed it to Rodrigo and he said, "I'm always going to remember the moment that we learned this." And I looked around, and people's face shields were starting to fog up because a lot of people were really misty-eyed and emotional, and it was not loud. It wasn't popping bottles of champagne. It was this moment of quiet, cautious elation and relief.

Do you ever think about what Folklore would have sounded like if you, Aaron, and Jack had been in the same room? I think about it all the time. I think that a lot of what has happened with the album has to do with us all being in a collective emotional place. Obviously everybody's lives have different complexities and whatnot, but I think most of us were feeling really shaken up and really out of place and confused and in need of something comforting all at the same time. And for me, that thing that was comforting was making music that felt sort of like I was trying to hug my fans through the speakers. That was truly my intent. Just trying to hug them when I can't hug them.

I wanted to talk about some of the lyrics on Folklore. One of my favorite pieces of wordplay is in “August”: that flip of "sipped away like a bottle of wine/slipped away like a moment in time.” Was there an "aha moment" for you while writing that? I was really excited about "August slipped away into a moment of time/August sipped away like a bottle of wine." That was a song where Jack sent me the instrumental and I wrote the song pretty much on the spot; it just was an intuitive thing. And that was actually the first song that I wrote of the "Betty" triangle. So the Betty songs are "August," "Cardigan," and "Betty." "August" was actually the first one, which is strange because it's the song from the other girl's perspective.

Yeah, I assumed you wrote "Cardigan" first. It would be safe to assume that "Cardigan" would be first, but it wasn't. It was very strange how it happened, but it kind of pieced together one song at a time, starting with "August," where I kind of wanted to explore the element of This is from the perspective of a girl who was having her first brush with love. And then all of a sudden she's treated like she's the other girl, because there was another situation that had already been in place, but "August" girl thought she was really falling in love. It kind of explores the idea of the undefined relationship. As humans, we're all encouraged to just be cool and just let it happen, and don't ask what the relationship is — Are we exclusive? But if you are chill about it, especially when you're young, you learn the very hard lesson that if you don't define something, oftentimes they can gaslight you into thinking it was nothing at all, and that it never happened. And how do you mourn the loss of something once it ends, if you're being made to believe that it never happened at all?

On the flip side, "Peace" is bit more defined in terms of how one approaches a relationship. There's this really striking line, "The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me/Would it be enough if I can never give you peace?" How did that line come to you? I'm really proud of that one too. I heard the track immediately. Aaron sent it to me, and it had this immediate sense of serenity running through it. The first word that popped into my head was peace, but I thought that it would be too on-the-nose to sing about being calm, or to sing about serenity, or to sing about finding peace with someone. Because you have this very conflicted, very dramatic conflict-written lyric paired with this very, very calming sound of the instrumental. But, "The devil's in the details," is one of those phrases that I've written down over the years. That's a common phrase that is used in the English language every day. And I just thought it sounded really cool because of the D, D sound. And I thought, "I'll hang onto those in a list, and then, I'll finally find the right place for them in a story." I think that's how a lot of people feel where it's like, "Yeah, the devil's in the details. Everybody's complex when you look under the hood of the car." But basically saying, "I'm there for you if you want that, if this complexity is what you want."

There's another clever turn of phrase on "This is Me Trying." "I didn't know if you'd care if I came back/I have a lot of regrets about that." That feels like a nod toward your fans, and some of the feelings you had about retreating from the public sphere. Absolutely. I think I was writing from three different characters' perspectives, one who's going through that; I was channeling the emotions I was feeling in 2016, 2017, where I just felt like I was worth absolutely nothing. And then, the second verse is about dealing with addiction and issues with struggling every day. And every second of the day, you're trying not to fall into old patterns, and nobody around you can see that, and no one gives you credit for it. And then, the third verse, I was thinking, what would the National do? What lyric would Matt Berninger write? What chords would the National play? And it's funny because I've since played this song for Aaron, and he's like, "That's not what we would've done at all." He's like, "I love that song, but that's totally different than what we would've done with it."

When we last spoke, in April 2019, we were talking about albums we were listening to at the time and you professed your love for the National and I Am Easy to Find. Two months later, you met up with Aaron at their concert, and now, we're here talking about the National again. Yeah, I was at the show where they were playing through I Am Easy to Find. What I loved about [that album] was they had female vocalists singing from female perspectives, and that triggered and fired something in me where I thought, "I've got to play with different perspectives because that is so intriguing when you hear a female perspective come in from a band where you're used to only hearing a male perspective." It just sparked something in me. And obviously, you mentioning the National is the reason why Folklore came to be. So, thank you for that, Alex.

I'm here for all of your songwriting muse needs in the future. I can't wait to see what comes out of this interview.

*** For more on our Entertainers of the Year and Best & Worst of 2020, order the January issue of Entertainment Weekly or find it on newsstands beginning Dec. 18. (You can also pick up the full set of six covers here.) Don’t forget to subscribe for more exclusive interviews and photos, only in EW.

#taylor swift #interview #entertainment weekly #folklore album #folklore era #video

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write4tomorrow · 5 years

Text

A Smile to Remember

Word Count: 1393

Pairing: Quentin Beck x Reader

Summary: You are Fury’s secret weapon. An avenger in your own right, you should be able to handle anything thrown your way. But Quentin Beck? A man from an alternate universe? Your gut tells you one thing while your heart tells you another.

Genre: angst / fluff

PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 (COMPLETE)

Tony Stark was the reason for your creation. You suspected that you were just another lab test in his eyes. Inspired by Captain America himself, you had volunteered to be one of Stark’s first top secret test subjects. Thanks to some incredibly complicated bio tech that had been carefully placed throughout your body, you were imperceptibly superhuman. As Stark put it, your senses were amplified. You could hear things normal humans couldn’t; you could taste gunpowder in the air after a gunfight; even your gut feeling seemed to be more intense.

“What do you think of him?” Nick Fury asked after your first encounter with the otherworldly, Quentin Beck. There was something familiar about him but too distant a memory for you to place. Truthfully, you didn’t know what to make of him which was not what Fury wanted to hear. After Stark industries had successfully “enhanced” you and your body, Fury was quick to recruit you to his side. You went almost everywhere Fury or Maria Hill travelled. Similar to a cat before an earthquake, you were their early warning system when things were about to go wrong.

“I still think we should talk to Peter Parker,” you answer honestly. Fury rolled his eyes. If he wanted something more definite from you, well tough.

Fury invited Beck along to meet The Amazing Spider Man. You avoided Beck for the most part. Something didn’t feel right about him. Perhaps it was that he was from another earth. But if he was helping defend this earth from the bad guys, he had to be a good guy. That’s what you told yourself anyway. Still, you made every effort to avoid contact with Beck. Hell, you haven't even spoken since he introduced himself. There were so many other people for him to interact with, you didn’t think he noticed.

Until you arrived in Italy. The makeshift base is too small for you to avoid Beck. In fact, he seemed to be in every room you entered, already charming everyone he met. You knew a conversation with him was inevitable, and was glad when Beck came to you rather than continue the awkward looks you two seemed to keep having from across every room.

“y/n?” Beck caught you as you were leaving to meet Peter Parker. Fury had just texted you that they were in the main briefing room.

“Hey, Beck,” you say cooly, “what can I do for you?” You could hear his heart beating nervously. His palms felt sweaty, but his smile? His smile was wolfish and came too easily to him. You wouldn’t forget that smile.

“Can you show me where Peter will be? I think I’m lost,” He said apologetically. You knew a lie when you saw one but you were too curious to say no. Something primal inside of you suddenly felt restless, uneasy. However, you were too interested in the reason for why Beck was lying to you for you to say no.

“Of course,” you answered after a strange and long moment, “I’m sorry, I’m just tired. I was on my way to the briefing room.” You smile, mirroring the wicked undertone that you found in Beck. He looked you over, as if appraising you for what you were created to be: a weapon.

Beck nodded and you realized that there was a strange understanding between the two of you. Something you didn’t understand yet, but you knew it was there. Perhaps Beck had just realized that you were not another worker that he could simply charm. Or perhaps Beck had known from the start and you had just confirmed it.

“What do you do for fun?” Beck asked suddenly. Your steps almost faltered but you kept your tread even.

“I, well, it depends on the city I’m in. Or who I’m with.” You find that you don’t have an answer ready. Beck nudges you with his shoulder and something flicks in your vision. You become mildly dizzy. Beck is the only thing in focus.

“I think I would like to go for a boat- y/n, what’s the matter?” Beck stops as your steps actually falter. His cape flourishes around him as he turns to you. You could see every hair is in well kept beard. His eyes were almost dazzling. You realize that you were at a dead stop and you didn’t know why. You’re not really sure what happened, but your senses suddenly felt clouded. You could see just fine, but your hearing is… fine?

“I feel like…” Beck offers his arm just as Fury finds the two of you in the hall.

“Meeting,” He commands, “now.” You brush past Beck and lead the way into the room. You feel like there is a strange mist of cobwebs along your skin but this is not the time to worry about it. You weren’t in any immediate pain, so you could deal with it later.

Beck catches your arm before he walks into the room.

“y/n, listen to me,” Beck says in a low voice. You try to pull away, but Beck doesn’t let go. “Please, honey, listen.” You stop. At the word hoeny, you freeze. It seems to lull you into a strange submission. You glance up at Beck and see all traces of predatory charm gone. There is genuine concern and he seems so much more… human. Where had this Beck come from?

“Let me know if you’re not okay,” Beck whispers. He is holding you close to him and you feel his concern in his touch.

“I’ll-” Fury cuts you off with an expectant cough from inside. Beck releases your arm but you keep his gaze. You don’t know when the last time someone looked at you and felt concerned for your well being. You feel a delicate and faint pull on your heartstrings. Beck was concerned about you. Not the weapon that Stark Industries had created, not the weapon Fury wielded. Beck was concerned about the person before him and you felt overwhelmed.

“How’d it go today, sir?” one of the ex-stark employees asked as Beck returned to his band of misfit geneouses. After spending a day around secret government agents, Beck was tired. Yet, he was also thrilled that his plan was working. He defeated the elemental and no one suspected a thing except-

“Double the drones around y/n.” Beck commands. If he was going to pull the wool over your eyes, he needed to make a convincing but low key illusion. He had recognized you upon your first meeting. He knew that Stark had secret human test subjects but he just assumed that the tests were unsuccessful. After meeting you, he realized that Stark had succeeded yet again. But in doing so, he had ruined you.

The first time Beck had ever seen you was several years ago, before Stark had changed you. Beck remembered watching you from a distance. You would charm every person you met. You had a heart of gold and cared about other people. Really cared on an individual level. Beck remembered your laugh. It filled your smile to it’s fullest. Beck used to watch you, every time you entered a room, you captured his attention. When Stark industries had called for volunteers, marketing the opportunity as something that would allow individuals to make the world a safer place, you signed up immediately. Back then, Beck had just assumed that Stark industries had paid you well and you were on holiday someplace grand. Beck never introduced himself but was sad when you suddenly disappeared.

Beck realized now that Stark industries had taken something from you - the thing that had once made you so bright and original. The thing Beck remembered most about you.

If he could give this back to you, if he could bring back the charming person that wanted to make the world a safer place, he would. But he needed to keep the wool over your eyes a little longer. He needed the drones on you 24/7 to dull your senses. If you were stuck in a haze, Beck hoped that you wouldn’t see through his tricks.

“I’ll need constant surveillance and our newest tech on y/n. Someone find me the files on the old Stark Industries human projects,” Beck commanded to no one in particular. He was going to bring your laugh back.

PART 2

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for reading! I’m not sure if this will turn into a chapter series. I really want it to be. Let me know what you think!

#mysterio x reader #quentin beck x reader #quentin beck imagine #mysterio imagine #spider-man far from home #jake gyllenhaal #quentin beck #quentin beck x you #mysterio x you #mysterio x oc #quentin beck x y/n

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the--sad--hatter · 5 years

Text

No Good Deed (Steve x Reader)

For @adeleoctobre who gave me the lovely request...

Hey, I don't know if you would want to write that but just an idea that crossed my mind. Reader is on the more administrative and diplomatic kind of thing, like relations with the UN... The avengers don't understand why they need her or the amount of work and stress she is under... I don't know if that would interest you or what ship would be good with that, it's mostly an idea 😅

You weren’t egotistical enough to think you could singe-handedly change the world but you wanted to a part of the change. You wanted to be one of the people that broke on of the spokes on the wheel and stopped the endless cycle of corruption. You wanted to stand up for the little guy. It’s why you studied politics, why you moved to Washington and took on unpaid internships, fetched coffee for bastard politicians and made sure to schedule their dinners with their wives and their mistresses on different evenings, never overlapping.

You needed to be in the game before you could really start playing you told yourself. Keep your head down, work hard, don’t make any noise until you’re in a position where they have to listen.

But your years of patience didn’t pay off, they seeped into your bones, making you brittle and bitter.

The Sokovia Accords. They were the bane of your existence. All your carefully thought out arguments and research against them had been twisted and manipulated by your bosses and suddenly you were the woman who anticipated problems before they happened. Steps were taken to cover up and hide everything you’d been afraid of, pre-emptive press statements were drafted to cover the backlash you’d warned them of.

“We aren’t stopping potential threats, we’re causing them. We make people sign their names, put them on a list and there will be blowback. Before you know it we have Enhanced individuals accusing us of waging war and they will fight back.” You warned.

“You’re right. We need to make sure we have access to our own Enhanced individuals. People with these abilities have a duty to use them as well, let’s make sure that’s in The Accords. The UN needs to be able to use these assets.”

You tried to stop it and you ended up making it worse. You’d worked your way up the chain of command to make a difference, naively thinking that the more power you gained, the less power the big guys would have over you.

You weren’t one of the people who was breaking the wheel, you were just another spoke on the infernal thing.

And to make sure they’d really rubbed the salt into the wound, your bosses gave you the worst possible assignment.

On-Site Accords Liaison to The Avengers.

Between Tony Stark constantly hanging up on Secretary Ross or putting him on hold, and Captain Rogers having defied the accords for months on end before he and his friends were pardoned and brought home, The UN had decided they needed someone at the base with the team. That was where you came in. Begrudgingly.

Very begrudgingly. But it wasn’t like they wanted you there either. They made that clear from the get-go, with their overly stiff and formal hello’s, their watchful eyes and resentful remarks.

Some were worse than other. Tony Stark, who had spear-headed the Accords but didn’t like beaurocrats, went out of his way to be as childish as possible. He was late for meetings, spoke over you, handed in sloppy reports and even his AI had been programmed to randomly close doors on you, stop the elevator at the wrong floor, ‘forget’ to pass on messages. Stark alone had doubled your already considerable workload.

Then there was The Black Widow. She was extremely polite, always smiling at you and offering to pour you a cup of coffee when you passed each other in the kitchen. But her eyes were cold and calculating, and frankly terrifying. Every encounter with her left the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end and you went out of your way to avoid her. Which was probably what she wanted. At least her reports were always succinct, if a little descriptive about the violence.

Captain Rogers was the worst. His old-school charm and manners held him back from ever being cruel or rude, but you knew what he thought of you. It was clear from the stiff body language, the way he would force himself to nod a greeting or just cross his arms and glare at you during meetings. Getting him to hand in his reports was like trying to get blood out of a stone.

The only person who treated you with any measure of respect was Colonel Rhodes and even that was nothing more than professional.

You were alone in a world that you were making a worse place, doing a job you resented and loathed by the people you respected most of all. But what could you do? Explain to them you were on their side? They would never believe you, hell, you wouldn’t have believed you either.

You were tied up in bureaucratic tape though and no matter how desperately you wanted to scream and rage and tell Secretary Ross to go fuck himself with a rusty pitchfork, you couldn’t. So you did what you had always done, the only thing you could do. You held your head up, took all the shit and kept shovelling it.

“The UN wants a team to go to London and…”

“Sightsee?” Captain Rogers asked coldly, raising a challenging eyebrow at you.

Most ‘missions’ were recon, spying, sightseeing.

“Collect information.” You continued, as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Fine. Next time just email us all the information or have Friday relay it, there’s no reason for you to be here.” He said and you had to hold yourself back from visibly flinching at his words.

“No reason for me to be where I’m not wanted you mean?” You asked coolly, collecting the files scattered around and piling them in your arms.

The team had been walking out of the meeting but at your words they paused and looked back curiously, and that was what had alerted you to what you had said. You hadn’t mean to speak aloud but if you were honest, you were too mentally exhausted to put any effort into being polite anymore. So you just finished collecting your things and breezed past them all, ignoring them.

You didn’t see them again until four days later, when they returned from their mission gone wrong.

They had decided against observing and taken a more hands on approach, taking down the alien tech dealing base. To say the UN were pissed was an understatement.

You could hear Secretary Ross yelling from the hallway as you hurried down it, slipping into the meeting room unnoticed.

“On who’s orders did you decide that you could take down the base, rather than gather intel like you were instructed?” Secretary Ross demanded.

“Mine.” You said quickly, autocratically, before anyone could say anything else that would land them in more hot water.

“Yours?” Ross said derisively, looking at you for the first time since you entered the room.

“With all due respect sir, pre-emptively taking care of a problem before it becomes an issue is what I’m good at, it’s why you gave me this job.” You said bitterly.

“And you thought that The Avengers needed to act, rather than observe did you?”

“I did.” You said firmly.

You saw Ross turn over the information in his mind, weighing up his anger against your record.

“Fine. I trust your judgement.” He said, with just a hint of nastiness in his tone.

The Avengers all studiously ignored you as Ross took a deep breath and nodded once.

“Dismissed.” He grumbled.

You turned on your heel and vacated the meeting swiftly. You didn’t want to stick around incase Ross came up with any more questions that you would have to think of convincing lies for, you needed time to come up with the story and put it into a report, changing the teams reports to match yours.

The way you’d been doing for months without them knowing.

“Why did you take the blame?” Steve demanded as you ran into your office, his hand stopping the door from closing behind you.

You hadn’t even realised he’d been following you.

“Because I could.” You sighed.

“What did you mean, pre-emptively taking care of a problem before it becomes an issue is what you’re good at?” He asked.

Your shoulders dropped and you hung your head as all the fight drained out of you.

“I told the UN that there would be a backlash from enhanced individuals that didn’t want to sign the Accords. It’s why there’s a provision in them that The UN can call on anyone at any time to use their abilities for whatever The UN see’s fit.” You admitted.

“You’re the reason that people are being drafted? You turned civilians into soldiers? You did that?” Steve spat furiously at you.

“Yes, I did.” You said coldly.

“Does free will mean nothing to you? Or do you really not see Enhanced Individuals as people?”

“Apparently I don’t.”

“How could you do that?” He asked.

How indeed.

“You ruined lives. I hope you’re happy with yourself, ma’am.”

“Happy?” You snapped, looking up at him with so much anger that he looked taken aback.

“You think I’m happy? I never wanted to do this Captain, I was trying to stop the Accords. I was naive and stupid, so convinced that I could make a difference. I thought I could change people’s minds, show them why this was a bad idea but all I did was give them worse ideas. My legacy will forever be this, putting people on a fucking list. My fucking hubris, my good intentions all led to me being the thing I hated most in the world. I don’t blame any of you for hating me, I fucking hate myself but don’t think I don’t know I’m a monster, don’t think I don’t lie awake at night feeling the full weight of my sins.” You raged, all your frustration pouring out of you.

When the dam breaks, there’s always going to be some damage. And suddenly it all came spilling out of you, the helplessness, the frustration, the self-loathing. A garbled scream of fury and angst rose in your throat and you couldn’t swallow it back down, releasing a yell that sounded like a wounded animals you slammed your fists down onto the desk with a loud, echoing thump.

“I wanted to do good!” You screamed.

Abruptly, the anger whooshed out of you and you were left hunched over the desk, your shoulders shaking with unrepressed misery.

“I just wanted to do good.” You repeated in a whisper, too far gone down the well of emotion you’d been drowning in for years to try and stop the tears burning in your eyes.

When the first sob tore free you were so consumed by the pain and the freedom that came with finally releasing it that you barely registered the large hand that came to rest between your shoulder blades. The tears fell freely, splashing onto the wooden desk and that was when Steve Rogers rested against the edge of the desk and pulled you out of your hunched position over it, guiding you into his arms so he could close them around you and hold you while you fell apart.

You cried for the person you could have been, the things you should have done and the innocent people your cowardice had hurt. You cried because you needed it, because you’d locked it all inside for so fucking long and you couldn’t contain it any longer. You cried because he was comforting you and he should have been hating you like you deserved.

“I’m sorry.” You whimpered.

“I believe you.” He said soothingly, rubbing his hands over your shoulders in an attempt to calm you.

You stepped back from him, wrapping your arms around yourself and ducking your head to cover your embarrassed expression.

“I need to write up my report for Ross.”

“You should send it to us so we can make sure our reports match.” He said with a nod.

“Just send me them, I’ll make the adjustments as necessary.” You said dismissively.

A speculative look passed over his face as he regarded you before he nodded and left the room.

You collapsed onto your chair, thoroughly spent. But, you had a job to do and so you did what you had always done. Straightened your spine, threw back your shoulders and got on with it.

To your shock, over the next few hours you received several emails. Every member of the team submitted their mission reports to you, promptly. Even Stark. You felt some of the tension in your shoulders release at this little bit of stress being removed from your overfilled plate and went through them all with a fine tooth comb, making sure they all had the added detail of receiving the order to Engage from you directly. By the time you finished and forwarded them edited reports to The Un, the sun had long since slipped below the horizon and you were in need of coffee before you finished up for the day.

Grabbing your mug you made your way to the communal kitchen, hoping it was empty. It was not.

“We’ve been waiting for you.” Natasha said as soon as you walked in.

The team all looked up from their various seats around the room. Apparently they were also knee deep in paperwork because their were boxes and boxes of files scattered around.

“You know where my office is, there’s no need to wait for me to emerge to seek out coffee.” You said wryly, saluting her with your mug.

“We knew you had a fuckton of paperwork to do, thanks to us, so we didn’t want to disturb you.” Barton said, pouring coffee into your mug for you.

“We know what you’ve been up to little miss Un.” Stark said teasingly.

“You’re going to have to elaborate on that Mr Stark, I do a lot.” You answered.

“More than you should. We’ve been going through all our mission reports since you arrived. Want to know what we found?” Sam Wilson asked.

“It appears you have been subtly changing details in our submitted reports, making sure everything was in line with The UN’s demands.” The Vision said, clearly not understanding that the question was rhetorical.

“So what?” You sighed.

“So what? So what she asks? You’ve just been casually watching our backs for months and none of us had any idea.” Sam said derisively.

“What we’re trying to say is, we know that you’ve been helping us and we’re sorry we didn’t realise it sooner.” Steve cut in.

You should have been relived, elated even. But you were numb and tired and frankly, it was too little, too late.

“Apology accepted.” You said blankly, walking away before anymore could be said on the matter.

Thankfully, nobody followed. You weren’t angry or bitter about the way they’d treated you and you weren’t happy or grateful about the apology. You were just tired.

You were stuck in a rut of just doing your job and nothing else and that was what you kept doing in the following days. But there were little differences that you came to notice that slowly but surely loosened the constant knot in your stomach.

Friday was infinitely more helpful, passing along messages, getting you to the right floor without you having to ask, casually reminding you that you’d been working for hours and should get some food.

Reports were submitted in a timely manner, usually in person instead of emailed. Sam Wilson and Clint Barton always bringing a mug of coffee for you when they handed theirs in.

Natasha and Steve were the biggest change, their attitudes warming considerably to you. Casual, yet heartfelt greetings were tossed your way when you passed by them, and genuine enquiry’s as to how you were doing.

It took time for things to change, you were so deep into your little pit of misery that you couldn’t quite come up for air straight away but eventually you did.

“Sup girl?”

“That better be a big ass cup of coffee Wilson, do you have any idea how much rewriting I had to do to try and justify you fighting a helicopter with your bare hands?” You snapped playfully, smirking at him.

He threw back his head and laughed, passing the mug to you.

“But you were a little impressed when you read it, right?” He asked.

“Was on the edge of my seat the whole time.” You admitted, shaking your head fondly at him.

“Latest mission was pretty straightforwards, shouldn’t be too much editing to be done in this one.” He informed you, handing it over.

“I’ll just put it here, next to this highly classified file.” You remarked ‘accidentally’ knocking the file to the ground.

He played along and picked it up for you, eyes scanning over the information.

“Hmm.” He said, grinning at you as he handed it back.

“Be a shame if somebody saw that and warned Cap to get a lawyer to defend Barnes publicly, before the UN could make a big deal out of this.” You mused.

“Yeah, real shame. You know that eventually Ross is going to figure out what you’ve been up to right? Not that we don’t all appreciate your help kid, but are you prepared for the backlash that’s eventually going to be coming down on you?” He asked in concern.

“Going to be a mighty crying shame when Ross finds out that he coincidentally found out on the same day I got offered a job by Stark.” You sent a knowing grin at him and winked.

“So you’ve got a back-up plan? Listen, we just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“It’s all been worked out Sam, trust me. Pre-emptive strikes are my thing after all.”

You were finally doing some good, protecting the protectors and you knew that one day it would all come crashing down around you but you didn’t care. You weren’t alone anymore, you were part of a team.

“This might have to wait till tomorrow.” You said, glancing at the clock and tapping his report.

“Oh, got a hot date?” He teased.

“Matter of fact, yes I do.” You said smugly, your words coinciding with the knock at your office door.

“You ready sweetheart?” Steve asked, a warm, excited smile gracing his features.

Yes, Steve Rogers had been the biggest change recently. His concern for you grew into something more and the comfort you found in his arms strengthened your soul. The hours he spent in your office, helping you rig the system had slowly become filled with longing glances and wondering thoughts. His chair always seemed to end up a little closer to yours every time he visited, his hugs lasted a little longer until one day his lips had sought out yours and it felt so right, so natural, so wonderful. You hadn’t looked back since.

“Aye aye Captain.”

____________________________________________

A/N - I know it’s not my best work, but it ain’t my worst either and I needed to get back into the swing of things so hopefully it was good enough that you liked it a bit.

PERMA TAG LIST

@likes-to-smell-books @thelostallycat @dilaila95 @dropthepizza346 @destiel-artemis @hiddles-rose @myfandomlife-blog @thosesexytexasboys @liveonce-sodoitright @spnrvt @tarastudiesalot @dahkness @sexyvixen7 @jaynnanadrews @littledeadrottinghood @pinkisokay @angieptt @anamcg317 @belladonnarey @queen-kayy92 @breezy1415 @penumbrawolfy @fairislesheets @lianadelphius @coolmassivenerd @youhavebeenspared @candyxcyanide @musingpredilection @isaxhorror @destiel-artemis @my-drowning-in-time @isabelcrichards @teh-nerdette @dlcita @deathofmissjackson @life-wanderer @cleo0107 @spicymagz @drdorkus @inquisitor-selvala @le-mow @zeannastardust @nighmxre @blue-cat-1989 @writingforbucky @abo4280ooof @mad4oak @jsmith509 @aven-gers33 @helloimanavenger @brownlee-22 @amoonagedaydreamer @barnesb1tch @scarletraine @cowardlycandy @secondsineternity @mywinterwolf @luminous-lillies @stressedandbandobessed7771 @jamesbucktitybarnes

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #avengers x reader #The Avengers

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akiwisfics · 4 years

Text

In Bloom Chapter 1

Notes: Cross-posted from AO3. If people get annoyed by this, please savior “kiwi crossposts” to save your eyes. Hey, if you’re a fan of KirarixSayaka, check our discord here .

Description: Mary accepts an invitation to watch from the president, and learns far more than she ever wanted.

Pairings: KirarixSayaka, MaryxRirika

---

“Do you really read these things?”

Kirari’s voice was clipped, as if admonishing a child. “Any position comes with its form of bureaucracy, Midari.”

She huffed and scowled, refusing to meet the stone eyes on the other side of the sitting area. “You’re starting to sound like Sayaka.” She watched the fish swim in their dizzying circles, kept as the romantic symbol they were, and ignored the stilted sorting of papers behind her. The nerve-tingling thrill of plucking her own eye in a fit of madness for this woman seemed such a far away thought now, as if an experience she lived vicariously through someone else. She wanted more.

If Kirari knew how much her skin itched, she didn’t comment on it. She snapped her fingers instead, drawing Midari back to the horrendous pile of paperwork on the table between them. It was a tragedy really. She kept her beautification committee paperwork fine enough, but the requisitions always seemed to get trapped somewhere. Individual papers had been folded and crumpled, then hastily unfolded when realized their importance, smudges of both ink and… darker activities blocked off her scrawled handwriting, making the requests look more like chicken scratch than anything else. If Midari squinted enough, one of the blots on the first page looked red and metallic. Ah. A good memory.

“I haven’t the foggiest idea how Sayaka reads this, nor do I intend to try,” Kirari quipped, a tone that reminded her of hardened steel. A tone that bore little arguing over. “This needs to be rewritten. Today.”

“What?! It’s like fifty pag--”

“Maybe instead of asking for another gun from the administration, request a filing cabinet.”

“Get Sayaka to read it then!” she snapped and looked around for the girl. Again, she confirmed the truth: they were alone in the student council room. A rarity even with the election in full swing. Now that it was just them, the office space seemed so much more expansive and oppressive at once. There was plenty of breathing room for anyone that needed it, but Midari could see why so many visitors shrunk at the sheer display of riches and power held within.

But something didn’t seem right about today either. The smell of burnt tea that wafted in the room, Kirari-- the president of all people!-- fussing over minor details in paperwork, the conspicuous absence of the ever faithful brainiac. Midari was used to niggling and bargaining with Sayaka over the details of how much money went where, or how to exactly word her documents to get what she wanted. It was a simple system: somehow the secretary always managed to work out what she wanted, how she wanted it, and usually in a week, she would go into her meeting room and it’d be there.

She was itching from more than just boredom. Her foot tapped impatiently on the floor as she looked back at the president, and for the briefest flickers, saw that same impatience there. The narrowing of her eyes, blue lips curling.

She can’t help wanting to scratch at those peeling layers. “... Where is she today?”

Kirari’s eyes naturally traced the golden handles on the heavy doors of the council room, spending longer than needed-- as if daring them to swing open by her very command. At times Midari wondered, and no doubt the other members have thought the same. Sayaka came at the nearest breath of an order, answered before the first word was spoken, and kept an even step at her side. Yet there they were, alone. Like that day. And something was so very different about it.

“... Late,” Kirari responded after a moment too long.

Anyone could tell that. Midari wanted more, and it didn’t take long to get it. Almost as soon as Kirari gave up on the doors, back to the chicken scratch paper Midari presented as requisition papers, did those heavy doors creak open, whining heavily by the weight being pushed on them.

Their heads snapped up at once as Sayaka was all but dragged through the entrance by the door’s momentum, her entire weight placed on clammy hands latched tightly on one of the handles. No sooner did she cross the entrance way that her knees seem to give way. She slipped from the door and fell face first onto the carpeted floor, pained gasps filling the shocked silence.

Midari was transfixed by the heaving, prone form in front of them. She remained rooted even as Kirari sprung from her seat, rushing to Sayaka’s side. She was quickly flipped over, showing the trembling near pale blue lips, and it quickly dawned on Midari that there was a woman dying there. Gasps of air flow being cut off.

Her lips split to a large, near cheshire smile.

Yes.

Today was certainly going to be different.

Mary only realized the cellphone was Ririka’s when she fell a step behind her, uttering a meek and discreet, “Hello?” into the receiver. Mary stopped and met Ririka’s eyes questioningly, ignoring the rumbles of rumors from the classmates around them. That she had grown accustomed too quickly with Ririka being at her side. It was understandable at least-- it wasn’t like they were being secretive about the whole partnership. Not that Ririka gave it much option.

The ring tone had been so normal, just the standard for the model Ririka had in her trembling hands, that Mary really didn’t even recognize it.

“Oi! Kirari needs you here now!” Midari’s screeching voice on the other end wasn’t what Mary expected and she involuntarily winced in sympathy as Ririka gently held the phone further away from her ear.

Student council matters then? They had certainly been quiet recently, but someone was still enforcing the system in some manner. Mary couldn’t be that surprised by it. It would be better to just let her handle it then. She tried to call attention to herself with a wave. “I’ll let you handle this, right? Though I doubt the president doesn’t have her own sister’s number. Shouldn’t she be call--”

Ririka held a finger up to her, mouthing a simple ‘stay’ before retorting to Midari, “I can’t just leave right now. What’s--”

“You don’t get it. Kirari is pissed,” and the excitement practically bubbled over in her words, as if Midari could barely contain herself. “She’s demanding you and Saotome-san here right now.”

“Me?” Mary retorted, knowing full well at this point that her voice was probably getting picked up from somewhere, “I have nothing to do with this. She can’t just make orders like a tantruming child!” She caught the stares immediately in the hallway though and tried to lower her voice. “I’m not student council. Leave me out of it.”

Midari laughed, only sounding worse through the digital distortion on the receiver. “Oh it has everything to do with you too~. Sayaka’s been poisoned.”

The secretary? The memory wasn’t so far gone from her mind to ignore the implication that was being made there. She did have some unfinished business with Inbami and Yobami. While Yobami-san had been removed from the election in their match, Inbami-san had made it clear that wasn’t the end of it. Targeting the student council though? It seemed too brazen for her, even with her lack of skills in a direct gamble. Not to mention, it wasn’t like Mary was personally involved in Igarashi-san’s life. Obviously, she wouldn’t want the girl to die, but it wasn’t like she was personally involved in those stakes.

Perhaps to the president, Mary had just failed to clean up her mess. She could feel Ririka’s eyes boring into her as she thought it over. If it did turn into an election battle, it would be a good time to evaluate Kirari’s skills for herself. And being her partner in that regard could also lend itself to more information than as her opponent. Especially when apparently, there were personal stakes involved.

She would have time to ask Ririka before they made it to the office. Mary sighed. “Tell the president we’re on our way.”

Ririka looked visibly relieved as she hung up the phone, not even bothering to hear Midari’s affirmation as she stepped back to her side. Mary wouldn’t admit the small bit of satisfaction in seeing the light smile on the sullen girl’s face. “Thank you. I can’t even begin to explain the dynamics there, but… Kirari would not ask for us if she didn’t need it.”

“Just don’t let me go up there blind,” she huffed, even as the memory of the girl’s smile remained firmly in her thoughts.

She didn’t really know Igarashi-san. Then again, Mary wasn’t really sure who did. Even just being a secretary, she carried that trademark mystery air to her-- always slightly unapproachable and always slightly intimidating. It wasn’t a demeanor Mary personally cared about, but she has had no reason to know the president’s personal dog either. Any time Kirari was spotted in the halls, her secretary trailed just a half step behind her. She supposed if anyone knew, it had to be the president, but what few times they’ve talked, the subject of the secretary never came up.

Mary did know a few things. They were in the same grade with Igarashi-san always at the top of the exam list. She was handy with a taser (and from the twisted smile that contorted her face, enjoyed it a little too much), and had known to only gamble once.

The looming tower in the courtyard had been an eye sore for a while now, but Mary couldn’t ignore the brief murmur of rumors surrounding the structure in the weeks leading up to the election. She knew about the gamble-- vaguely anyway. Just that something explosive was going to happen the moment Yumeko and Kirari met. It wasn’t quite what she expected though.

She had no idea why Igarashi-san was involved, or why anyone needed to jump out of the damn thing.

“Oh yes, it looked quite thrilling!” Yumeko gushed one morning as they waited for class to start.

“And they had a safety net? They’re lucky no one broke their neck.”

“But it’s part of the fun, isn’t it? Though Igarashi-san hadn’t expected to survive. She wouldn’t have if she made the wrong choice.”

“She doesn’t seem the type,” Mary mumbled. She only meant it as an off-hand comment, still trying to will the early morning drowsiness away, but her red eyes glinted with a small, ethereal smile.

“Igarashi-san fit right in. I’m a bit envious~” Yumeko sighed wistfully, clasping her hands against her blooming cheeks. “That rush of victory into such crushing despair. Yet she took that fall with such grace! I would’ve followed if it didn’t seem like interrupting a private moment.”

“Private?”

But Yumeko didn’t answer, only laughing-- as if hiding a piece of juicy gossip. Mary hadn’t thought much on it, especially when the election began so soon after and Ririka extended her ‘offer.’ Now that they were approaching the long hallway to the council room however, maybe she should’ve asked a few more probing questions about the night. All she knew was the president leapt after this girl, and maybe, that meant more than just an impulse.

The hallway was practically deserted for a large academy like Hyakkaou. A blanket of tense silence overwhelmed her almost immediately, only broken by the flurry of steps from medical staff as they entered and left the council room. Their lips were sealed, only sparing a few words to the president that stayed perched at the opposite wall. They worked with a slick professionalism that Mary could at least admire, using discretion. They didn’t even look at her and Ririka as they worked. She could point out IV lines, some… other equipment she couldn’t identify aside from old medical dramas that came on when she studied at night.

Midari and Runa shielded Kirari from close study, stationed on either side of her and conversing quietly. Midari was facing away from them, but Mary could make a few guesses with a girl like her-- a prospect of a life or death gamble. If she looked hard enough, she could maybe spot quivering thighs, flushed skin. She didn’t. The less she bothered with Midari, the better.

Runa faced them, eyes narrowed to beady little slits and humming a small, whimsical tune. The unwrapped lollipop that she danced between her tiny fingers had been largely forgotten by the new turn of events. She looked far too pleased with it, even with her initial annoyance by the original poisonings. Mary couldn’t help her paranoia begin to rise as the darkened eyes met hers. “Oh! They made it!”

It was too late to ask for more.

Kirari stepped away from the pair of members flanking her to observe them herself, and something didn’t seem quite right. Like a jigsaw puzzle being mashed together, misshapen pieces torn to fit the holes for a different, unclear picture. Her eyes were cold and indifferent, yet the creased brow and dishevelled appearance showed exertion and care in the last few minutes between the call. Her jacket was left behind in the student council room, lace blouse sleeves rolled up to her elbows and her shoulders sagged slightly from stress. Yet her smile curved confidently around smeared blue lipstick and her voice reverberated in the empty hallway as if this was any other day.

“Ririka, I’ll need you for the gamble,” she spoke, walking assured strides to them, as if she didn’t look out of place. “Stay behind with me and we’ll go over everything?”

“And Igarashi-san?” Mary blurted.

She stopped, almost offended that Mary even spoke. She regarded her just a single second before nodding to Runa. “You will have to apologize for the lack of pleasantries, Saotome-san, but we are on a schedule,” she said.

Runa came closer, sticking the lollipop in her mouth so she could have both hands to fish through her giant pockets. Mary didn’t want to guess what were in those things. She hoped just candy, but…

A ziploc bag was thrust into her hands, holding a plain black envelope with some sort of wax seal broken. She would guess it was a Momobami one, which would’ve clued Sayaka enough. Tilting the bag to and fro, she noticed a white powder collecting along the bottom. “Do you know what it is yet?”

“No. Which makes time of the essence, Saotome-san. Please go meet them in the lower gambling floor. I must speak with my sister.” The president rolled her sleeves down. Mary noticed as the moments passed in the hallway, she only seemed to be growing calmer instead. “Runa will be accompanying you.”

“Can you at least tell me what happened?”

Kirari scowled instead, only waving Ririka over and promptly ignoring her. “Midari, please stay with Sayaka.”

Midari tsked but didn’t argue. It was like clockwork. Ririka joined her sister at her side as Midari went through the student council doors. It wasn’t long after that Runa was tugging at the sleeve of her blazer, ushering her along. It just left her more confused as to why she was there at all.

“Try not to take it personally, Mary-chan~” Runa giggled as they began their journey to the lower levels. “Sayaka-chan did her due diligence, but she only put herself in a worse position.”

“With the baggie?”

“It was done after exposure. Even contacted staffing to quarantine the room first before alerting anyone about how hurt she was.”

Mary frowned. She couldn’t get that, but maybe it was something about this school. She expected Yumeko to ignore her own symptoms before it stopped her from doing what she loved, but Igarashi-san was reasonable. Practical. All of that seemed to stop mattering the moment the president was involved. “How bad is she?”

Runa shrugged. “She wasn’t breathing last I saw. President banned everyone from the room not long after that.”

Smeared lipstick, sleeves rolled up. Mary’s heart sank. Even as a rival, she at least understood that Igarashi-san was important. To be targeted like that? It was bad enough just to have a friend be at risk. “... So are the two…?”

Runa shrieked in laughter. “Your guess is as good as mine, Mary-chan~”

Figures. Even if Runa did know, there wasn’t any reason to be honest with Mary about it. At best, she was protecting the president’s own integrity in what was likely the most vulnerable Mary would ever get to see, and at worst, she was just as clueless. None of this made any sense. Why show Mary that at all? Why involve her if it was something so serious?

And that envelope had a letter in it? Where was that? She stopped, looked to Runa, and was greeted with a toothy smile.

“I have it.”

“And?”

“Confidential~”

“Well now I know something’s on it!” Mary grumbled, crossing her arms. “What if they need that?!”

“Kirari-chan knows~. She found it.”

“Why am I here, Runa?!”

Runa giggled once more, lazily strolling ahead of her-- only worsening her nerves. “Question also isn’t for me.”

Mary realized with startling apprehension that she had never seen the gambling floor completely cleared out like this. Ever. Even during classes, there was a milling student or two in there either competing in a gamble or just looking for an easy place to ditch class. Not a soul was in there. The tables were left where they were, as if people were ordered to clear away right in the middle of games. Only things taken were personal belongings, and naturally, the voting chips-- what little that were left between Kirari and Terano.

Yobami and Inbami were sitting at the center poker table, eerily silent in the backdrop of the mostly deserted room. Even she felt Runa tense up under the oppressive atmosphere within. “Keep your wits about you,” she whispered, nearly cracking her teeth against the lollipop still stuck in her mouth.

She steeled herself and strode confidently in the room, never releasing her gaze from the pair of sisters that eagerly awaited their arrival. She was the surprise here, and perhaps they could play into it. No way Runa would allow her to outwardly influence the game, but there was no love lost between her and them either. They could play it into their advantage.

Inbami looked less than pleased to see her already. There was a lot of satisfaction in seeing the snarl. “Saotome, I doubt Igarashi-san would’ve brushed off the responsibility to you. Where is she?”

Mary stopped, taking a second to register exactly what she was asking. “No. But she’s still not coming since you know… she’s a bit poisoned?”

“What.”

What? How was she supposed to respond to that. They were a ‘medicine’ family where poisoning was practically their MO. If they didn’t mean to poison Sayaka then who the hell--

Runa was cackling. Great. “Ohhh, it makes sense now~,” she teased, “You didn’t know? Sayaka-chan started checking Kirari-chan’s mail right after what happened last time. A secretary has to consider all possibilities.”

“Then who’s coming--”

“Who do you think?!” Mary snapped. The way Inbami’s face sank was priceless, and Yobami wasn’t faring much better. She had to admit the plan would’ve been practical had it worked-- taking advantage of the weaker partner in a time of great crisis. It would’ve been Igarashi-san that found her first and it would’ve been Igarashi-san that took the risks under duress. At best, they would’ve killed the president and rendered the entire reason for the election useless, and at worst, taken advantage of a vulnerable girl who would happily give power and position to see the president well again. She would’ve been almost completely defenseless with the sisters having all the power. It wasn’t so different from what they tried to pull on Ryota, but still with rather large gaping holes.

In trying to hook the flounder, they pulled a shark on their line. And the president wasn’t going to let go without tipping the whole ship over. Whatever the reasons, whatever the situation, Mary was going to learn something today.

“Miyo,” Yobami called for quietly, and the two sisters exchanged glances. It was as if they knew by just that one singular look to one another.

Inbami offered a placid smiled to them. “Then Kirari is coming. With Ririka?”

“Yeah.”

Runa hummed. “It makes no difference to me, but I’m sure Kirari-chan would be happy just getting an antidote or two from you and letting it go.”

Inbami laughed and motioned for Yobami to sit across from her, the smile twisting her features into something ugly but not unfamiliar to Mary. “Someone needs to tell the child no. It doesn’t matter to me if she loses her favorite toy.”

“Suit yourself,” Runa replied before taking place at the left side of the table. She tugged a deck of cards out of her oversized pockets, humming appreciatively as she broke the sticker seal with the singular swipe of her finger nail.

Mary let silence envelope the lonely room once more, only broken by the steady shuffling of cards. There wasn’t any obvious sign of nervousness from either sister now, though Yobami’s back was to her now. The sitting arrangement wasn’t unlike the Nim Zero. So something similar. She tried to take comfort in being an impartial observer, having nothing to lose and little to gain from it.

She didn’t have much time to enjoy the silence. The doors swung open with a flourish, and all eyes turned to the expected arrivals. Kirari made her entrance first, head held high and looking nothing like she had in the hallway. She had retrieved her blazer without a single stitch or tear in sight. Her eyes shone with the same cold confidence, blue eyes mirrored in the perfectly styled blue eyeshadow and lips. She regarded the room with an indistinct smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Ririka was right behind, in what Mary could affectionately call her game face on. She held herself not unlike Kirari, but her demeanor seemed more like righteous fury to her. A bright light shining in the sea of darkness of the room. What conversation they had instilled confidence and likely a better sense of what was happening than Mary did. They were ready for what was to come, and Mary felt the excitement bubbling inside her.

Kirari breezed past her without any sort of acknowledgement as before, approaching the table with a cruel calculation. “Spades, was it? Not very imaginative, but it’ll help to end this quickly,” she regarded them like nothing, as if only a momentary distraction, “Traditional?”

“200 chips for one,” Yobami answered without turning to look at the president directly.

Steep price just for the first round. Ririka came to her side, looking pensive. They didn’t have that many chips between the two of them, but it may play into Mary’s favor to get the president indebted to her. “... I’ll help meet the bet if we need to,” she whispered to the girl at her side.

“I’m not interested in the antidote,” Kirari replied, and all at once the table erupted into chaos.

“What?! Why are you even here then?” Inbami snapped. “You’re just going to let the girl die? You know the hospital will be too late to save her!”

Runa simply began laughing at everyone’s expense, clearly enjoying the turn of events.

Ririka hesitated before cautiously approaching her twin, voice gentle and soothing as if calming a crazed beast. “Are you sure about this? If anything were to go wrong, and Igarashi-san…”

Kirari waved her sibling off before circling the card table, lightly brushing the tops of Yobami’s shoulders as she slipped by, causing the small girl to stiffen uncomfortably from the contact. She didn’t linger, instead coming to her sister’s side and tightly clutching Inbami’s cheeks, a cruel chuckle rumbling from frosted lips as she forced the girl to meet eyes with her.

“You sought to use my own secretary to take everything from me,” she spoke into the girl’s very soul, digging and taking apart what she found within. “You’ve caught my attention, so why stop now? I’m here. Bet everything against me~. You can end the election with both my chips and Ririka’s. Not even Terano could stop you. I’ll even give you the seat.”

This. Mary knew this. The stone eyes glowing blue under the low light, the madness twisting her stoic features to something monstrous. It was the very same thing that fascinated her and scared her about Yumeko.

“If not for the antidote, then what would you want?” Yobami interrupted the dissection, earning a smirk from the president.

“Why, a bet must be met. You’ll lose your names. Your family will lose their names. We’ll just take the more… interesting ones under Momobami~.”

Inbami ripped herself away from the examination, clearly horrified by the suggestion. “Why would we agree to something so-- Let me remind you that Igarashi-san will die without this! We’re the ones with leverag--”

“I don’t care.” The words shut Inbami up immediately and said with so much malice that it raised the hairs on the back of Mary’s neck. It was like night and day. This was the same girl that had tried to keep Igarashi-san breathing? It was too stupid to be a coincidence. “Sayaka was well aware of the risks when she kept her position after the council dissolved. If that’s all you have to offer, I can easily waste my time elsewhere.”

She turned on her heel, fully intent to leave them all there stranded and shell shocked by the demand. One step and Ririka looked back to Mary, utterly dumbfounded. Mary started to believe that maybe this was sincere. Two steps, and Runa was gathering the cards once more, shuffling them even faster as if playing with them. Three steps, and Mary found her voice bubbling in her throat, but before she could speak a word, Inbami broke.

“Fine! Three rounds of Spades. Everything on the line.”

Kirari stopped. She turned back to the group, gracefully offering her hand. “Let’s get started then, shall we?”

After that, it was all movement. Kirari and Ririka took their seats opposite one another, Kirari facing Mary. Runa dealt the cards without prompting, sweeping them across the expanse of the table as her hum entered a crescendo-- practically buzzing with anticipation for the events about to unfold. Slim, pale fingers tapped the cards dealt, stopping them perfectly in front of their respective owners. Mary stepped to Ririka’s side, taking her place to her partner’s right in hopes of providing encouragement and support to the shy girl.

Ririka lifted her hand before, fanning them out for Mary to sneak a peek to the contents within. High suits with … three spades? The spades were low numbers though, and could easily be trumped in a poorly played trick. A few mistakes could be afforded, but now that Kirari forced them to put everything into the pot… Mary couldn’t help being nervous.

Spades was a strange game. Built on the honor system, it obligated its players to use their cards honestly but wisely. Since each round called for all 13 cards to be used before it finished, lies were easily caught by attentive players. No doubt the sisters would be focusing on Kirari as the bigger target. She was the more experienced player, the more dangerous. That could open opportunities for subterfuge if they needed it.

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, Mary-chan,” Runa piped up as she dealt the last few cards, “But giving Ririka-chan advice at any time is prohibited~.”

Mary huffed, “I know that.” She knew now that Ririka was competent enough to stand on her own anyway. She bested Oobami without much trouble, and with a grace and cunning that she hadn’t seen anywhere else. Yobami and Inbami weren’t even close to that level of control and finesse. The odds were stacked against them, but Kirari offered a prize far too tempting to refuse.

At the very least, they were wise enough to choose a straightforward game with little confusion, and little opportunity to cheat. Mary could guess how this was supposed to play. A three-persion version of the game was possible, in which every round the third person would switch to the other team. The person left without a partner would have a “dummy” partner with access to their cards. Since Yobami and Inbami had a way to communicate non-verbally, it would be easy to work out the remaining cards in the deck, and thus, easily overpower a lone Igarashi-san into a clean win. No doubt Igarashi-san would’ve known it, but with the president in a precarious position, she would be left with no choice but to lose everything. The only possible flaw for that would be for Runa to excise the partner switching rule, but even still… Igarashi-san would’ve been alone.

Even now, they could probably deduce what the combined cards were for Ririka and Kirari-- something that could lend itself to certain advantages in accurately guessing the amount of tricks, but even then, there were certain caveats to that. They couldn’t predict exactly which card belonged to which twin, and the fact that they were tricked by a simple shuffle trick in Nim Type Zero made it far less likely that they would realize that advantage.

A trick was one round of each playing a singular card of their 13 card hand. The first player chose the suit with their first card, and each subsequent player was obligated to play another suit. If the player didn’t have a particular suit, they were welcomed to play any card in their hand. At the end of the trick, the player that placed the highest value card of that suit won, so long as no spades were played. A spade could be played to trump the trick, and if done so, then the player with the highest value spade by the end would win the trick. The particular round would end once every card in the player’s hand had been played. First to 200 points won a single game.

With three games in total, this could be a long wait. No doubt that was a conscious decision on Inbami and Yobami’s part. The longer Igarashi-san went without the antidote, the likelier this would be a giant waste of time for everyone. Not that it wasn’t already now that Kirari removed the antidote completely from the equation.

Not that it didn’t look like Kirari was looking to finish this quickly anyway. Mary picked up on the fact that she was the only one at the table that hadn’t picked up her hand, a finger idly tapping the cards that laid face down in front of her. She watched Runa expectantly, as if the cards weren’t in front of her at all.

Once everyone seemed satisfied with looking at their hand, Runa gave a toothy grin and waved a hand over the table with dramatic enthusiasm. “We’ll start the bidding round!” she announced sharply, echoing in the mostly empty chambers. “How many tricks will you be winning, Inbami-san?”

“Nil.”

“Oho~. Starting strong, already?”

“If we’re betting everything, we might as well.”

Kirari giggled beside her, unsurprising with her own choice. Her cards still remained face down. Their actions weren’t too dissimilar though. The nil bid and the blind nil were two sides of the same coin-- both rewarding steep risks with high rewards. It was exactly how it sounded-- a nil bid was a player turning the rules on its head, instead strategizing to lose every single trick that’s played. A successful player could easily push a team into victory, earning 100 points in a single round. However, winning a single trick was a loss of 100.

“And I don’t really need to ask you, do I, Kirari-chan?”

“Blind nil, please,” Kirari replied anyway, her smirk twitching just a bit in both exuberance and confidence. It was the riskiest bid of the game, but a successful round won it at once. 200 points to gain and 200 points to lose on failure. Already in the first game, the two teams were butting heads with the strategies of the stronger player guaranteeing victory.

“And Yobami-san?”

“Ten.”

“No surprise. Ririka-chan?”

She glanced at her hand, then back to Kirari just once. The action wasn’t lost on the others at the table. Mary didn’t know if the hesitance was a bluff or genuine at this point. “... Seven.” Safe bet, and showed the difference of styles immediately. Ririka was gauging the skills and playing field, while Kirari was throwing her strongest right at the start. There wasn’t any need to bet higher or lower though. If Kirari succeeded, they would win the game anyway, and if she failed, a penalty of 200 points would be nearly impossible to get out of anyway. They would have to rely on Inbami failing too. And even still…

“That ends the bidding round! Kirari-chan, you’re okay to look at your hand now~” Kirari picked up all 13 with fluid motion, peering into the contents without a word or expression to give whether her luck was fortunate or not. Runa nodded approvingly. “Now let’s start the trick!”

Inbami set down a two of hearts, and Mary winced. Bad start. Inbami was guaranteed to lose the trick. If she had low numbers like that and no spades, she would be cinching the nil in no time. It didn’t mean Kirari couldn’t as well though, and as she placed a four of hearts in return, looked strong to do so. Ririka followed with a King of Hearts, then Yobami with a reluctant ten. Ririka quietly gathered the four card pile and shuffled them into a neat stack in front of her.

The tricks followed lightning quick following. Five of clover starting, following by a seven, nine, and then ending with a Jack, earning Yobami the second trick. Nine of hearts, six, ten, and an ace. Yobami for third. It followed with rapid order, slammed in the center of table with the familiarity of the game from all players. No matter how quickly the order was played, there was no argument of which card came with what hand or who won an individual trick. Mary noticed how much the sisters were focusing on Kirari’s own responses, her own casual mannerisms as she kept playing low card after low card into the pile. It seemed each move was personally addressed to her. Throughout the tricks, Yobami remained the clear dominant victor-- squashing the chances that Ririka would earn her total bid more and more.

By the halfway point, it was obvious Ririka was under, only having earned two tricks to the total seven played. Yobami had a strong hand, and clearly, the sisters had communicated this strategy to one another. The only thing they could do was hope that she went over half of her bid to make up for what points would be lost by clumsy playing. Trick eight and nine went without much hope. Then as a round of diamonds came down, the room fell into a deafening silence as Kirari placed an ace of spades onto the pile.

“Are… are you serious?” Mary asked, dumbfounded.

Kirari laughed, as if this was another casual game among friends. “It’s not like I could exchange it for another card, Saotome-san. It seems this round was mine to lose~”

A light smile spread on Inbami’s face, and both sisters looked visibly relieved by the turn of events. Both Ririka and Yobami put down low spades in return and without much fanfare, Kirari gathered her lowly trick to her side of the table. There was nothing they could do now. The first game had been lost. All parties easily realized it now after too, Yobami cinching the win for her team by trick 12, gathering her tenth trick into the line of stacks in front of her-- her sister still clear without a single stack. Trick 13 was one by Ririka’s single card left, an ace of diamonds.

Runa gathered the cards with a satisfied smile, shuffling them in her tiny hands with ease and practice. “First game to Yobami-san and Inbami-san! And it’s nice to see the games proceeding so quickly~. I’m sure the other players would love to have this room back.”

“I figured a lack of audience would be more… suitable.”

Kirari shrugged. “Sayaka wouldn’t have cared honestly. She can have quite the single-track mind.”

Runa hummed in agreement before dealing the cards out once more. “You’re quiet today, Kirari-chan~”

“Simply enjoying the challenge. I’m surprised Miyo and Miri could actually bring one to me.”

Inbami scowled at the comment, but said nothing as the cards were passed among the table once again. This time, Kirari did pick up her hand, humming a small tune as she gazed onto her cards thoughtfully. Yobami and Inbami tensed with the intrusions, sharing a look with one another. Was it a positive observation? A negative? Facing someone like Kirari meant second guessing every movement and action brought into the game. Kirari seemed well aware of it, maybe even humoring their close observation of her.

This time, Ririka didn’t pick up her cards. She stared ahead, passed Kirari and the empty roulette tables behind her-- fixating on a random spot on the wall as she waited. Like the last game, both Yobami and Inbami picked up their hand. It made sense. It benefited them more to play it safe. As Mary thought, they were likely sharing knowledge of their cards as to guess their chances against the cards the other two players had-- taking advantage of their nonverbal cues to one another.

Runa seemed to pick up on the habit too, looking onto the pair of sisters with annoyance. Yet, there really wasn’t any solid way to prove it. “Ah, Ririka-chan, your turn now is it?”

Ririka simply nodded, affirming her bid as the blind nil.

“And Kirari-chan?”

“Four~.” … A safe bet? It was just enough to avoid the penalty if she picked up more tricks than she needed. If a player picked up 10 over what they bid, it was an automatic 100 point penalty. However, if Ririka succeeded in the blind nil, they at least would be granted 100 points for the team.

“And Yobami-san?”

“... Three.”

Runa nodded affirmatively. “Inbami-san?”

“Seven.”

Not as aggressive this time, but still a prediction of winning a majority of the tricks. The sisters were confident after the easy victory of the first game. With a quick affirmation from Runa, Ririka picked up her hand. All relatively low numbers, which was lucky. Even three twos. Mary then blanched at the sight of the queen of spades in there. Then a king of diamonds. No aces, but it would still make playing the round without winning tricks difficult.

Kirari began without prompting, and started strong with an ace of diamonds. Ririka placed the king of diamonds in response (relieved no doubt to be rid of the suit), which was followed by a four and a six respectively. Kirari gathered her pile, not saying a word to the group of people around her, only passing a small grin over to Mary as she arranged her pile. She had no idea what the smile meant.

Like before, the tricks went quickly-- Ririka playing as masterfully as she’d seen anyone else play. On trick seven, Kirari started strong with another ace, snatching Yobami and Inbami’s focus enough for Ririka to sneak the queen of spades in. Without thought, Inbami had won the trick with a king of spades of her own, ridding her partner of her worst card and continuing the nil bid streak. By trick ten, they were still looking strong with Kirari having a total of six tricks won to Inbami’s three and Yobami’s one.

Then, Mary’s phone rang.

Kirari paused mid card placement, quickly adding it back to her hand as the rest of the players regarded the observer skeptically.

Runa sighed. “C’mon Mary-chan! This is serious.”

“I know that!” Mary-chan flushed. The turn of events had happened so quickly she hadn’t thought of even turning her phone off. She turned away from the group as she fished her phone out of the pocket of her blazer. She didn’t recognize the number on the screen. With a huff, Mary swiped to answer, snapping a quick, “What?!” as greeting.

“Don’t tell them who it is.”

Mary paused, and thought quickly on what to say. “Yumeko, I don’t have time for this. This better be important.”

“Tell Ririka five.”

“... That’s it? That’s all you had to tell me?” She hadn’t the slightest idea of what that meant. Maybe it was something special between the two of them. A code word, or some kind of alarm system. Midari’s voice on the other end was serious though-- more serious than she had ever heard her. She tried not to think on what the implications were, and how little she heard other than Midari’s voice on the other end. “I’m in a game right now, so just… I don’t know. Lunch later?”

She could even hear the scowl on the other end. “Just work it out yourself. I got other stuff to do if I can’t watch.”

“I’ll tell you about it later, Yumeko. I need to go.” And Mary hung up the phone. She would find out later what that meant, she guessed. She turned to face the table that waited patiently for her return, even as Mary had nothing to do with the actual events of the game.

Mary sighed and returned to Ririka’s left. “Sorry, I swear she calls at the worst times,” she let the lie slip out easily as she traced the number five between Ririka’s shoulder blades. She felt Ririka stiffen under her touch, as unaccustomed to the contact as Mary was-- and even stranger still to feel the muscles twitch and tense under her finger. She tried not to think on it, especially as Ririka gazed up at her with the most doe-eyed puzzled look that she’d ever seen.

Mary’s stomach churned. Great. She had no idea either.

Runa shrugged and gestured to the table. “Let’s keep going then!”

The momentum came back in full swing, as if the interruption never occurred at all. By the last trick, the game wasn’t looking much better in Yobami and Inbami’s favor, and it showed with the harsh lines of Inbami’s face, clearly frustrated by the way Kirari casually played. Kirari hadn’t won a single trick again, and seemed to just be playing trash cards. Mary wasn’t even sure she was even looking at her hand as she was choosing them. As she tossed her last card blindly on the table, Inbami nearly lost her mind.

“Will you take this seriously?!” Ririka did her best ignoring her as she quietly placed her two of diamonds down in response. It didn’t matter what the other two players did at this point. Ririka had cleared the victory for them.

“And game two goes to Ririka-chan and Kirari-chan!” Runa confirmed as she gathered the cards back up in her tiny fingers.

It seemed to only agitate Inbami more. “Ririka, how could you be satisfied with this?” she tried to gauge, even though the sister had cleared the victory for them. “You’ll be living in your twin’s shadow your entire life. If we win, at least you’ll have a chance to be free.”

“She’s doing just fine here,” Mary interjected quickly as she squeezed her partner’s shoulder as reassurance. “Focus on your strategy for once.”

Runa laughed. “Giving advice to the opponents isn’t allowed either, Mary-chan~,” but she made no motion to penalize either party as she re-shuffled the deck.

“Saotome, you have just as much to lose here. How can you be happy with how carelessly Kirari is playing things?!” Mary kept her mouth shut, only glancing to Kirari for confirmation of what was happening.

Kirari nodded in return.

“Maybe she isn’t. I know she isn’t going to lose to you two at least. You’re shit gamblers.”

“That win was a fluke, Saotome. And we’ll show it in this last game,” Yobami quipped with an icy leer. Mary dismissed her easily, just as Runa began dealing the cards once more.

Ririka spared enough attention to the cards to catch them from sliding off the table, but that was it. They remained firmly face down once again, this time looking resolute and ready for the kill. Kirari on the other hand yawned as she gathered her cards in her hand, cradling her cheek with her hand as she looked onto her cards. It only seemed to irritate the sisters further.

Mary recognized the bait and switch easily, but was perhaps pleasantly surprised by the amount of trust Kirari was placing on her sister to actually carry the big moves in the game. Their opponents were none the wiser by the ploy, even though by now they had to have known about Ririka’s own gains in the election so far.

Inbami wasn’t looking at her cards either, mirroring Ririka with a far more emotional intent behind it. This was the last game. It didn’t surprise Mary that both were playing with everything they had.

Runa seemed to pick up on the change of atmosphere herself. She didn’t even bother asking Inbami and Ririka this time, putting the focus on the two girls that actually bothered to look at their cards.

“Kirari-chan?”

“Four.” Same as before.

“Alright. Yobami-san?”

“... Four.”

Runa raised a skeptical brow, but said nothing, merely waving her hand to approve the two players that kept their hand on the table.

Mary didn’t even bother to look at Ririka’s hand this time. If they were this stupid to try to mirror their bids like this, there was no point. Someone was going to go over. At least half the table would. Instead, she focused on Inbami’s face as she peered at her hand. And there, just the slightest twitch of her scowl, that she knew that the twins had guaranteed victory.

It was like a slow march to death as they played. The girls hesitated with each pull, as if waiting and biding their time to see if the twins would make a mistake first. They didn’t. Kirari regarded her twin’s moves carefully as she started each trick, playing high when Ririka started with a less than stellar trick, and playing blindly when it was safe to do so. The twins regarded each other more like they were just sharing afternoon tea, rather than sealing their opponents’ fates to being servants-- devoured by the stronger family.

By the final trick, it was clear that both twins had stopped caring. Kirari gazed at her sister thoughtfully as she dumped her final card on the table, the ace of spades fluttering harmlessly on the wood before Ririka had a chance to even play the first card on the table. It was then Mary began to notice something strange between the two, as both sisters looked on, crestfallen to the card that sealed their fate.

“Why waste their time further sister? Just tell them,” Kirari spoke softly as her edges became more familiar, more rounded and less like a predator. “They should at least know why they’ve lost.”

Ririka laughed, and the sound was so harsh that Mary immediately peeled her hand away from the girl’s shoulder, recognizing the trickery immediately. Her heart burned at the thought. The implications that she couldn’t even notice.

Inbami’s face slipped and she trembled. Yobami was at her side immediately, as if trying to shield and protect her sister as ‘Ririka’ stood from her seat, crumpling the two of diamonds in her hand and throwing it on the center of the table. The smile on her face was cold. Mary had never seen such a grin so thick with malice, and it really complimented the fire that was clear in her eyes. She couldn’t…

She couldn’t believe how much Ririka had that face.

Kirari brushed the long tresses of her silver hair behind her shoulder before circling the table to greet the newest members of the Momobami clan. There was no love there. No compassion.

Yobami stood her full height between her and her older sister, trying to meet the president with courage. Mary could appreciate the protectiveness she held, but it was too late. Kirari simply grabbed the collar of her blazer and shoved her away, batting her off like an insect.

“Miri!” Inbami called out as her sister crashed into the wood floor, only to have her attention snatched away by sharp nails. They dug into her chin as Kirari wrenched her face back, forcing eye contact mere inches away from each other. It wasn’t so different from when Ririka had done it at the start of the game, but the energy was far, far different.

Kirari’s eyes were wild, looming over the girl with a burning hot anger that looked completely foreign on her. As if it was never meant to be there, so open -- so honest. It didn’t look human on Kirari’s face. “Did you really think I would let people like you take Sayaka? To corner her alone and desperate and take advantage of her? You were so easy to trick.”

“Sister, w-wait--” Ririka tried to interject, already tugging the braids loose from her hair.

Kirari snapped her head up to regard her twin coldly, giving Inbami enough distraction to tear herself away. She bolted out of her chair, smacking it to the floor as she tried to create enough distance between herself and the president. She made it about five steps before Kirari was on her again, grabbing her arm and yanking her closer. Inbami looked wide-eyed and terrified as she desperately tore a baggie out of her pocket, containing a familiar syringe.

Mary finally found her voice. “Wait, Inbami stop!”

Ignoring her commands, the girl crushed the glass syringe with a shaky fist, staring at Kirari defiantly as she did so. “... It’s the last one,” she said as she dropped all of it to the floor.

It was enough to give Kirari pause. She peered at the broken syringe curiously for a moment, as if a foreign species that warranted dissection. It was enough that Inbami looked less frazzled, unwisely more triumphant as she backed further away from Kirari. There had to be more right? It was cruel to condemn an innocent girl to die like that… but Mary could almost commend that final act of rebellion before servitude.

But Kirari started laughing. Light, almost overjoyed at the sight of it.

“What… What’s so funny? She’s dead now! You realize that, don’t you? That was the last--”

“We fell five stories together, Saotome-san. It was the solution that saved Sayaka’s life that night.”

Mary’s eyes widened.

Kirari thought nothing of it as she picked up the discarded and broken syringe before giving the baggie back to the bewildered Inbami. “I’m the head of the clan. Of course I would recognize an Inbami specialty when I see one. Saotome-san’s little phone call was for me. Not her.”

“What?”

“If they called me directly, you would be suspicious, wouldn’t you? But… Saotome-san would’ve given away that Sayaka was fine if she had been just told that. That girl is truly fascinating.”

Inbami just sank to her knees. “... So all this time…?”

Kirari chuckled. “... I didn’t have a single thing to lose.” She regarded the prone girl with little fascination, and spun on her heel back toward the exit. “We’ll discuss the details on our family merger later, Miyo. I’ll leave letting the families know to you in the meantime~. ...Runa, if you could collect payment for me?”

“You got it, Kirari-chan!”

She strode confidently, only stopping just once to pass an odd, unfamiliar smile to Mary. “Try to keep the doting to my sister next time~.”

“W-What?!”

Kirari laughed all the way to the exit, only cutting off to silence once the door closed. She could hear one of the girls quietly crying by the table, and as Mary looked on, she realized that Ririka refused to meet her gaze.

All Mary could settle on at that moment was numbness.

“Am I becoming that predictable to you, Sayaka~?”

Her eyes fluttered open, just in time to see Kirari whisper-close the door to the hospital room, a lightly small smile playing on blue-tinted lips. It’d been so rare before, but now she enjoyed counting the moments she caught the genuine upturn of her lips. How soft and satisfied the president seemed with that expression. How she fell in love with her again with each moment spared between them.

“Only so I could help you more, President,” she responded back confidently, even as her voice sounded hoarse and foreign through her burned lungs. The last few hours had been a haze of half-remembered nightmares, but she knew at least, by her president’s arrival, that her actions had been correct. She scooted forward and tried to prop herself up using her arms, cursing inwardly as she saw how much the quaked by the smallest bit of pressure.

“Allow me.” Kirari was there in an instant, pressing a cool hand at the small of her back as she slowly pushed her up to a sitting position. It gave her a moment to admire the softness curving her eyes-- gentle and intimate. It was a new discovery, the source of which Sayaka tried not to think too much on. “Recovery will take a bit of time.” She didn’t move her hand.

“You don’t have the time to wait, President.”

Kirari didn’t respond for a moment, taking the time to sit at the side of her bed with barely the space for Sayaka to breathe. She tried not to focus on the lack of distance-- reminded herself that this wasn’t so different from what Kirari normally did. That this didn’t change anything and be okay with what they had, be ok-- “... You should have told me when it first happened,” the admonishing was unexpected. “If I had been wrong--”

“But I knew you wouldn’t be.”

Kirari’s brow furrowed in a strange look, what she almost thought was uncertainty (and that never was the case, so surely, Sayaka was wrong there) but the lopsided smirk made it seem more amused than anything else. She brushed dark bangs away with her free hand, chuckling at the hitching of Sayaka’s breath. “We’ll wait.”

Sayaka spluttered. “Don’t be unreasonable! The amount of chances you’ll be losing just to wait on me is--”

The soft lips moving against hers rendered all arguments, all fire moot within her. She focused on the light fingers that traced her cheek, stopping to lightly graze her jawline as Kirari kept her close. It wasn’t the dramatic kiss Sayaka always imagined it’d be. It was slow, graceful, and as Sayaka shakily latched onto the sleeves on her blazer-- reciprocating the touch she’d been waiting for so long-- opened herself to far more of Kirari than what she thought possible. Her scent, the hair and braids against her skin, the curvature of Kirari’s smile as the president pulled away.

Her hand rested on the back of Sayaka’s neck, keeping their foreheads together, and lips too tantalizingly close for her to resist. “... We move forward together.”

Sayaka had never realized how much more rewarding it was to be at her side than trailing behind.

#kiwi crossposts #kakegurui #fanfiction #multichapter fics #kirasaya #kirarixsayaka #kirari x sayaka #maryxririka #mary x ririka

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scaryscarecrows · 5 years

Text

Roots and Leaves, Pt. 3

You can believe or disbelieve Sheila's story-my lips are sealed.

This isn’t his fault. Really it isn’t.

He really was just minding his own business, picking up a few things for dinner, but this is Gotham, and every outing carries the risk of armed robbery. It’d be fuckin’ laughable if it weren’t, you know, annoying.

And potentially dangerous-this guy’s clearly a rookie at the whole ‘robbery’ gig. He’s waving the gun around and Jason can just see that finger twitching. Idiot…unless you’re really, really ready to kill someone, finger off the trigger, don’t crooks take any sorta common sense classes anymore, jeeze…

So. Really, as a qualified individual (anyone asks, he’s got prior military experience haha), Jason has to intervene. It’s an eighty-twenty shot that the guy’ll hit somebody rather than himself, and that’s just…no. Just no.

Fucker. He just wants to go home and make a goddamn stir-fry and then maybe have a root beer float and then go out and see about throwing the fear of a horrible death into that pimp whose girls walk Lindt Avenue and have barely-covered bruises. That’s literally all he wants to do today. Is that so much to ask? IS IT?

He sighs, sets his bell peppers (and they’d better still be here when he’s done, they are nice bell peppers, dammit) down, and thinks he should just get into the habit of wearing his body armor every time he leaves his apartment. Fuckin’ Gotham bullshit…every goddamn time…just once, just once, is all he asks…this never happens in Metropolis…

“Hey, you!”

Day-Ruiner turns around in time to take a fist to the face. He drops like a stone, gun falling neatly into Jason’s hand. There. Disaster averted, can he get his groceries and go home now?

No. No, he can’t, because there’s witnesses (and yeah, okay, that little boy staring at him like he’s Iron Man or something is really cute), and they’re all swarming around him. God dammit. See, this is why playing the hero is a stupid idea, he never learns…

“Holy shit, dude-”

“Sir, if you’d just-”

“Wow-”

“Did you see-”

stopStopSTOPSTOPSTOP-

“Really, I just-”

Someone grabs his arm and a woman says, “I’m a doctor, let me see your hand.”

He’s about to protest-he knows how to throw a punch, for fuck’s sake-but.

But.

Doctor-lady is blonde and blue-eyed and. And.

And he doesn’t know what to say, or do. Nothing? Nothing’s a good option. Nothing’s the best option. It’s just.

Up close, he can see it, maybe. Same jawline. Or maybe he’s grasping at straws, he just doesn’t know-

He’s led out of the throng-and oh, joy, somebody’s calling the cops and somebody else is recording this for ‘the gram’, whatever that is-and into the frozen aisle. An ice cream display with a smiling penguin on it stands out and he wonders how long it’ll take ol’ Ozzie to pitch a fit.

Or who the hell knows, maybe he’ll be flattered.

“Look, um, Miss-”

“Jason.”

What.

He shuts up, unable to even protest or deny or-or anything, and she reaches up, brushes roughened fingertips across the brand on his cheek.

“Look at you,” she whispers, “look at you.”

He should…something. ‘Do I know you?’ or maybe ‘what the hell are you doing?’, but he’s just. She’s. People don’t.

How the hell does she know who he is? He only hides the…hides it when he goes out because people stare, not because he’s worried about running into someone.

Sheila Haywood drops her hand and smiles. Jason is reminded uncomfortably of Leslie Thompkins trying to convince him, when Bruce first took him in, that she wasn’t going to hurt him. It’s a bright, reassuring smile, and never mind that he doesn’t…like…people smiling at him so much anymore, he doesn’t trust it. Every time he’s gotten that kind of smile, it’s been followed by a painful-ass shot at best (that sucker didn’t make up for shit, Doc, that hurt) or…worse.

Makes it easier to lie, though.

“Do I know you?”

“Oh!” The smile reals up a bit, turns awkward like her driver’s license photo. “I thought…hem, hem.” She straightens up, magically professional, and takes his (perfectly unharmed, thank you) hand. “This is awkward, I’m sorry…oh, you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, I know how to throw a punch.” His mouth is dry and he doesn’t think that came out as testy as he wanted it to. “Who are you, exactly?”

He doesn’t want confirmation, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he needs to just shut up-

“Jason Todd?” He nods before he can stop himself. Even now, with his name so alien to his ears, he responds to it. “I. Your father was Willis Todd, right?”

Another nod. Sheila drops his hand but doesn’t stop looking at him.

“Hem, hem…this. This might be…I don’t want to have this conversation in an ice cream aisle. Can we talk somewhere else?”

He should say no. The answer is no, Bruce’s stupid files mean fuck-all and she gave the Joker who fucking knows what and…and…

And she recognized him.

And she asked.

“Okay.”

* * *

‘Somewhere else’ turns out to be some Ethiopian restaurant a few blocks away. Jason recognizes exactly nothing on the menu, but he’s game for anything once. He’s eaten rat before, for chrissakes. Joker…didn’t. He didn’t come back, for a while. Almost a week. And no one else had known to come, then, or they just hadn’t bothered. And it had run by, and, well…

Well. He doesn’t remember what it tasted like. He’s grateful.

Whatever this is-some sort of stew, with a crap-ton of vegetables in it-is spicy as all hell and he makes a note to test it against the Death Broth from his preferred soup cart across town. He likes it, though, even if it does make his lips hurt. (In its defense, it can’t help that he has the bad habit of chewing on them when he’s upset.)

Sheila apparently does the same thing-seems like every time he looks at her she’s either got them between her teeth or is desperately trying to keep them out. Her lipstick’s long gone after about twenty minutes.

If he’s going to be honest, he’s not sure which is more unnerving-the fact that he’s out in broad daylight, without the security of his hood and his sunglasses and a book-shield, or the fact that he’s out with what Bruce’s files claim is his mother.

Both. He’s gonna go with them both being equally stressful and not think about it further.

They haven’t spoken since they sat down. He doesn’t know what to say. How much does she know, what’s going on?

“I thought you were dead.”

Well, that wasn’t what he was expecting. Though to be fair, a lot of people were under that impression. Supposedly.

“Mm-mm.” Maybe not the most eloquent of responses, but it’s not like Emily Post has a chapter about ‘what to say to people who thought you were murdered by an insane clown’. “Not exactly.”

“I’m so sorry, Jason.”

For what? It’s not like she kidnapped him and gave him to Joker. Jeeze.

“It wasn’t your fault-”

She laughs, sort of, and it’s shaky and broken and a little unsettling.

“I don’t think we’re on the same page, I’m sorry.”

What’s going on.

“Um, Miss-Miss? Miss, okay-Haywood, I don’t…”

“Willis Todd and I dated for about two years,” she says, and okay, maybe she doesn’t know very much but she recognized him so she knows something and he doesn’t understand- “Then we broke up and he started seeing Catherine Johnson.”

What do normal people say to this, people that haven’t seen Batman’s stalker files?

“Okay?”

“You have to understand, I was a poor college girl, and by the time I realized…” She laughs again, awkward and shaky and broken. “You were a dream pregnancy, kid.”

Well. Add that to the bucket of ‘didn’t know, don’t care, thanks’.

“That’s good?”

She nods.

“By the time I realized, it was…I didn’t know what to do, I ended up in some crap clinic, arguing with your father.” He figures now’s not the time to state that Willis was no father. He was just sorta…well. It doesn’t matter. “Labor’s a bitch and don’t let anyone tell you different.” They don’t. “I went down, after, and when I woke up, Willis was gone and the doctor-well, I say doctor, you know how it can be down there-said you’d died.” She reaches across the table and grips his sleeve. “I was young, I was on painkillers that probably weren’t…I believed him, and I’m sorry.”

The sad thing is, it’s Gotham and that kind of shit happens all the time. Willis used to complain that not even the damn mobs would take him and why didn’t he throw him in the river and blah, blah, blah. Mom-Catherine-used to, on her better days, tell Willis to shut up and drink his goddamn beer. Usually he’d even do it, because by the time he’d start complaining he was halfway through a box anyway and too comfy to retaliate.

So. As crazy as it sounds, it’s not at all out of the realm of possibility.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says. “It wasn’t your fault, it’s okay.”

“I should have known better.” Frank, to the point. “I should have realized from the get-go. I was studying to be a doctor, for Heaven’s sake, what does that say?”

“That I didn’t want you to flunk your exams?”

This time the laugh’s a little more genuine and she pats his arm-why does she keep touching him?-and shakes her head.

“Maybe.”

They fall into a semi-awkward silence. There’s the buzz of casual chatter around them, and the sound of dishes being passed around and of traffic outside, shouting and honking horns and an ambulance.

He’s not sure what to say. What is there to say?

“But you recognized me.” That’s not what he meant to say. He meant to…to put an end to this, because he doesn’t have family and it’s better that way and…

And she could have kept her mouth shut and she didn’t and he wants to know why.

“Batman was looking for you.” Because Alfred made him, probably. “And I…I made some mistakes, when I was younger.” He can’t even really judge her too much because Joker got inside his head, too. “He thought. He thought I might be able to help. God, he scared the shit out of me.” He’s good at that. That’s one of the very few things he’s absolutely mastered. “And I didn’t know anything, but…but here you are.”

She’s still holding his sleeve and he twists his arm so his fingers are brushing hers. It’s the best he can do.

“Yeah,” he says, and he doesn’t mean for his voice to be so goddamn tight. “Yeah, here I am.”

#Jason Todd #Sheila Haywood #awkward family reunions #Roots and Leaves #I forgot I was posting this #whoops

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dentalrecordsmusic · 6 years

Text

Will Wood Interviews Will Wood

I’m going to be honest: I get a lot of press releases and most of them get thrown in the trash. They are, of course, entirely positive information about the given artist and therefore entirely boring. However, when I got a strange (unnecessarily big) package in the mail containing three (3) pieces of glitter, a very small gentlemen’s hat, and the following interview of Will Wood answering questions from himself, I felt it was important enough to pass along to our readers.

AN INTERVIEW WITH WILL WOOD

BY WILL WOOD

In this pre-apocalyptic wasteland of whataboutism and Russian disinformation, it can be difficult to pick all the pyrite from the proverbial pan. That’s an idiom now. In the old days, knowledge was banned and burned and buried in temple ruins and conquered libraries. It was suppressed and scarce and it took a hungry mind and a passion for discovery to shine light onto dark ages. The information age is upon us now – and while we can all tap into a bottomless well of knowledge at any time, we are no better off. The light is already so bright, the sound so deafening, that anything you have to show or say is already washed out in the cacophony. We still know nothing, because while we can see so much, we cannot distinguish illumination from illusion.

That’s what attempting to prepare for an interview with Will Wood taught me. Some information checked out, but everywhere I looked I saw misprints, inconsistencies, lies, theatrical exaggeration, errors, and the constant churning of the rumor mill. I read everything from errors in basic information, to full-blown criminal accusations. For instance, one source claimed they had found he had a home in a town called Glen Ridge, when in reality his P.O. Box is in Glen Rock, and his home is in Egg Harbor. Another source said he once kicked a pregnant woman in the stomach at a Renaissance Faire.

I like to think I prepared as well as anyone could have. Which means I prepared quite poorly. So arriving at the beach outside the B.L. England refinery in Egg Harbor New Jersey where Mr. Wood agreed to meet me had me feeling like a dead man walking. He was standing there in a bright green trench coat and aviator sunglasses, holding a steel briefcase. He greeted me with a firm handshake and a slight bow before sitting right down in the sand and lighting a hand-rolled cigarette.

Q: Do you do drugs?

A: I had a really bad trip on a low dose of antipsychotics recently. Don’t drive until you’ve adjusted to a medication. Almost ran over my own car.

Q: What are your thoughts on the affect social media has had on the arts?

A: I’m fairly certain Mark Zuckerberg technically holds the copyright to all of my intellectual property and he’s a demon lizard. But hey, that’s showbiz.

Q: Is it challenging to be openly queer in the music industry?

A: Nobody cared about my feelings until I put on makeup. I’d wear dresses more often but I’m getting paunchy from too many trips to Golden Corral. I never get my money’s worth but I always try. And the harder I try, the less its worth.

Q: So you came here from North Carolina a few years ago, what was it like making that adjustment?

A: I had to lose the accent because people kept asking me if I played country music.

Q: Do you like working out here?

A: You see that lighthouse? It’s actually a cosmetically enhanced sulfur-scrubber. It reeks of eggs for miles. I work out of a back room at Lee’s Food, which also reeks of eggs. Yes it’s a real place. Probably not for long though.

Q: And you like that?

A: Have you ever tried filing your income taxes on a fold-up card table in an 85 degree spare bedroom while eight staff members shout at each other in Mandarin while trying to make Japanese food to serve in a Korean restaurant and your daughter is running in the back door holding the neckbones of a great blue heron asking you to hold on to it while she tried to find the head?

Q: That sounds like a no.

A: I didn’t say that.

Q: What’s it like trying to raise a child? Is it difficult to juggle family life and work life?

A: Mildred is getting old enough to take care of herself. My partner and I skipped most of the ugly years where they’re too stupid to talk or eat on their own and they scream at you to pull your tit out in the middle of Thompkins Square Park. Then again, lots of people in Thompkins square park will do that to you.

Q: Okay. So. Is it difficult to juggle family life and work life?

A: You just asked me that.

Q: Right, but you-

A: We were going to adopt a little boy and name it Oliver but the orphanage thought we were being funny so they shoved a moody tween at us and lost the paperwork. But let’s not talk about Millie. I don’t like her getting attention from press, I’m sure you can see what that’s doing to Jacob Sartorius and that kid from “It.”

Q: Does press attention bother you personally?

A: Look, this is going to sound like some Sean Spicer shit. But a lot of press out there about me is just plain false. For instance, someone quoted me as liking Billy Joel back in 2015. I said a lot of stuff in 2015 I didn’t mean but I have always been a staunch Elton John man. Even though his lyrics are trash. His lyricist’s lyrics, I mean. He should just write his own, his lyrics can’t be any worse than that walking beard’s drivel.

Q: And… so, the inaccurate reporting- does it bother you?

A: Let me put it to you this way. Imagine if someone said that you liked Uptown Girl without your consent.

Q: You seem to be very critical of other musicians, you’ve been quoted repeatedly as saying “I hate music.” What makes you feel this way?

A: When you hate 99% of something, it’s most efficient and pretty effective to just say you hate that thing. A Nazi who gets along well with 1% of Jews is still a Nazi. Most of the world’s music is painfully banal or no fun to listen to.

Q: What sort of music do you like then?

A: Anything by Green Day. Everyone seems to laugh when I say that but it’s entirely true. Billie Joe Armstrong is my biggest songwriting influence and the world needs to know that.

Q: One of the defining features of mental illness is the manner in which it inhibits “functionality,” but short of suicide as a risk to one’s life its difficult to say if there’s a clearly objective definition of healthy psychoemotional functionality. We can really only work with one’s ability to reconcile their personality with cultural norms, and their own idea as to how comfortable they should feel in their own skin on a regular basis, which is also partially informed through socialization. One can cite psychosis and acute mania as definitive examples of why its necessary to consider various mental and behavioral traits as medical concerns, but its also worth noting that in some cultures throughout history hallucinations and what would appear to be delusional states have been valued and seen as sacred.

Is mental health seen as a medical problem only because social systems with enormous power have designed ways to remove nonconforming or negative natural phenomena through medical intervention, and if so, should we be more distrusting of psychiatry and the ever-changing spectrum of mental health diagnoses? Should we really call them sicknesses?

A: We only see the flu as a medical problem because physical medicine exists. Before the study of pathogens began to arise, it was simply seen and spoken about as a part of nature, and sometimes seen as divine or diabolical intervention – much like the examples of mental illness you gave. All health concerns ultimately amount to levels of social functionality, the individual’s personal experience, their mortality in extreme cases, and the illness’s threat of compromising those things in others. This is everything from cancer to the common cold – the only distinction is that we as a culture identify with our minds in ways we do not our bodies. This is ultimately arbitrary, and a socialized distinction, as the brain is a physical organ, our sensory organs are part of our mind’s subjective experience, and the body is inseparably connected with the brain as one singular organic being.

When one realizes this fully, one could likely start to see that what you are saying is true, but does not challenge the validity of the science itself. It is important to participate in this newer and complicated field of science wisely, and draw your own distinctions between problems that need medical attention and don’t, (only you can tell how much a physical injury hurts) but that does not mean that there cannot objectively be a disease. The importance of considering mental illnesses as diseases and giving diagnoses lies in our ability to communicate and interact with the topic – accurate and mostly agreeable language must be used to classify ideas and phenomenon. It was giving names to certain psychoemotional and behavioral states that first allowed scientists to organize the information necessary to invent life-saving interventions in therapy and medication. Seeing mental well-being as a medical concern the way we see physical well-being is not only accurate, but useful.

Q: Are you getting tired of writing this?

A: Well it’s good character work. World-building.

Q: Is any of what you said true up there?

A: It actually is but since I’ve made up a couple fun little things in interviews or used flowery language in the past a lot of people just assume everything I say is theatrics now. You know?

Q: I guess that makes sense. I’ve made some stuff up in my writing before too, I get it.

A: That wasn’t a question. As a matter of fact, that was an answer so you should be A and I should be Q.

A: That’s stupid. Just because you asked “you know” doesn’t mean we need to switch the only thing that identifies us in the article.

Q: Wait hold up though, my last response was also an answer, so I should still be an A.

A: Wait, so who’s going to be A, and who’s going to be Q?

A: You’re going to be Q now, because you asked who’s going to be Q. You’re the questioner.

Q: Isn’t this going to get confusing?

Q: I’m Q now too because I have to ask you if you have a better idea. Put a question mark on there so I can stay Q, that way people don’t get confused. ? Yeah right there just like that.

A: Why don’t we just use our actual initials, since it’s become less of an interview and more of a conversation? Should I be Q? It’s a response but it’s-

Q: Why didn’t I think of that?

W.W.: Oh, you did think of that.

W.W.: That’s true, I did.

W.W.: You shouldn’t have, it’s as stupid as the switching of Q’s and A’s.

W.W.: That was your idea, so we’re even.

W.W.: First base.

W.W.: THE WILL WOOD AND THE TAPEWORMS THREE YEAR ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION IS HAPPENING MAY 25TH AND 26TH WITH A VERY SPECIAL IN-STUDIO PERFORMANCE BY WILL WOOD AT THE VERY PLACE WWATT’S FIRST ALBUM “EVERYTHING IS A LOT” WAS RECORDED! TICKETS TO NIGHT ONE ARE ALMOST GONE AND VIP PACKAGES & TICKETS TO NIGHT TWO ARE LIMITED TO GO TO WWW.WILLWOODANDTHETAPEWORMS.BIGCARTEL.COM NOW AND SEND ME YOUR MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEYVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Purchase tickets here, or buy them at the door at Backroom Studios.

Catherine Dempsey has no idea how Will Wood got her address. She is scared. You can follow her on Instagram.

#will wood #will wood and the tapeworms #new jersey #punk rock #cabaret punk #interview #catherine dempsey #music news

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concussed-to-pieces · 7 years

Text

Bookish

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Dean Ambrose/Roman Reigns/Seth Rollins/Female Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thirsty crew! This is some self-indulgent, romance-novel levels of hurt/comfort, touchy-feely shenanigans. I hope you like it! Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes and of course, @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

(Also apologies on this being a little late, the wifi was not cooperating)

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains rampant, wanton parental neglect.]

Since you had been very, very young, you’d been informed of your parents love for you. Numerous caretaker figures had reassured you of this, and there always seemed to be a package waiting when you got home from school with far-off places on the label, brimming with odds and ends to enrich your mind or new toys for you to play with.

But they were rarely home in person. You grew accustomed to hearing their voices through speakers or seeing their faces lit with tired, blueish light from whatever screen they had in front of them.

Loneliness wasn’t so much a feeling as it was a constant drone in the background. You thought you were used to it but it would flare brighter at random intervals, softly whispering about your solitude.

Maybe my parents don’t like me.

As you grew older family movies made your heart ache and you began to change the channel before the melancholy could ruin your day. Sixteen came and went, eighteen came and went.

Your last caretaker departed sometime during your nineteenth year and left you well and truly alone in the large house, aside from the individuals who came in to clean. You decided to take some rudimentary classes at the local college. It wasn't exactly like you had much to do now that high school was done with, and you did love reading almost everything you could get your hands on.

Twenty-one came and went, and with it went the end of proverbial 'milestone' birthdays. The years continued to file by in a neat, orderly fashion.

Maybe there's something wrong with me.

On the rare occasions where your parents came home, it was so brief and predictable that the instances began to blur together in your mind. The stiff hugs, the oh you’ve gotten so big!, the kiss on your cheek. You weren’t sure as you got older whether you were the idiot for rushing to the door every time they arrived, or whether they were the idiots for coming back.

But this might be different. A spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. Your mother had come breezing by entirely unannounced (which was unheard of), and she was thrilled.

“There’s a gala,” Your mother said with what sounded like real excitement in her voice, “And you’ve been invited too! You’re an adult now, sweetheart. You need a dress!”

You wanted to point out that seeing as you were well into your twenties, you’d been an adult for a while. But you kept your mouth shut.

You had never spent any real length of time with your mother. It was odd, wandering through a bridal shop with (essentially) a stranger who somehow had intimate knowledge of your goings-on. Occasionally though, you would catch a glimpse of a black suit and your shoulders would relax again at the implication of your safety.

Dean, Roman and Seth had been assigned as your personal security after an incident almost a year ago; someone had broken into your parent’s house while you slept peacefully and you had woken up to a loud bang when the door to your bedroom flew open. You had screamed and the intruder had fled rapidly, but the damage was done. For the weeks afterward you were escorted to and from your college classes by numerous severely-dressed women or men at all times, “until I figure out a permanent solution,” your father had said over the phone.

You amused yourself in classes thinking about them sitting outside the door like a group of bored puppies.

When at home it was like living with three to four interchangeable ghosts. The roster and names varied over the days but the personalities stayed the same. Cool, calm, the definition of organized. Not a hair out of place. You thought about The Matrix and mused on whether you were Neo or Mr. Smith. Most of the time though, you just felt like the woman in the red dress.

Sometimes you wondered what on Earth other people must think as they watched your veritable battalion of suits sit with you in the library. Maybe they think I’m in a witness protection program! That would be kind of cool. Or that I work for the CIA. Anything really, to distract or downplay the fact that you sat at an empty table.

...

You had come home from classes one Saturday, looking forward to a day off from schooling as you waved goodbye to the group that had escorted you to your front gate. “I can take it from here guys, drive safe!” You tried your best to always be decent to the people watching out for you, figuring that this glorified babysitting was way more embarrassing for them than it was for you. After all, these were individuals with actual training! They hadn’t grown up in a plush house with someone to take care of their needs and parents that loved them, you were fairly sure.

You punched in the code, unlocked the front door and stepped in, hanging up your coat and quickly taking off your shoes. There were house rules, after all. You made your way to the kitchen for your after-school snack once you did your usual check to make sure that the security system was armed, then froze in the doorway when you realized you weren’t alone. And not in the usual, the foursome shifts overlapped kind of way!

A young man with a prominent blond streak in his brown hair was hanging upside-down by his knees from one of the stylistically-exposed rafters in the kitchen, absently swinging himself back and forth like it was the most normal thing in the world. You stared for what felt like forever, utterly confused.

“Um…excuse me?” Your voice made his head turn in your direction and he dropped gracefully to the island below him, somehow managing to land with hardly any noise. “W-Who are you?” Brown eyes focused on your face as he quickly stalked on all fours over the counter, heading for you. You went to back up, suddenly terrified for your life, and you ended up backing into someone. Instinctively beginning to apologize, you half-turned to bolt and a set of arms wrapped around your waist, immobilizing you.

“Easy, you’re safe.” Said a voice that was so gravelly it sent a shiver through your body. “Rollins, knock it off. They’re shakin’ like a leaf.” The man who had spoken was tall with fierce blue eyes and messy blond hair, his jaw coated with a day's worth of growth. He looked at you curiously. “You okay, kid?”

“Aw, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Rollins apologized as he got down from the counter. “Was just having some fun.”

“W-Why are you in my house? Who are you people?!” You began struggling frantically in the other man’s grip. “Let me go! Don’t touch me!”

The blond chuckled and released you, your sudden freedom making you stumble forward. “Your parents hired us full-time. Said you needed some protection. You ought to have a notification about it.”

“I…” You whipped out your phone, moving to check your normally-barren text messages. Sure enough, there was a new one from your father. You could see Rollins shifting back and forth as you read. Their names are Dean, Seth, and Roman. “I just…please don’t touch me.” You said nervously.

“Yeah, I scared them?” Rollins huffed indignantly. “Good going Ambrose.”

“Reigns ought to be done by now, where the-” Whatever the blond man was about to say was halted by a loud thud from upstairs. “Oh Christ.” He groaned. Rollins beckoned for you to follow as Ambrose headed off towards the grand staircase. “Fuck me Roman, if you broke something...”

“I tripped! All I did was trip. It’s just really empty in here.” Protested a third man from the top of the stairs. “Echoes. Oh! They’re home. Hey.” He offered a nonchalant wave and you waved back dumbly, taking in the smooth black ponytail hanging over his shoulder. And that tattoo! It covered the majority of his right arm and spilled onto his chest beneath his loose tank top. “Oh God, did you see Rollins in the…whoops, you did. I told him he shouldn’t-”

“Don’t start, Reigns.” Rollins growled. “You encouraged my ass.”

“I said within reason!” Reigns corrected.

“If we could focus for five seconds here, gentlemen.” Ambrose whipped back around to face you. “My name is Dean Ambrose. That’s Seth Rollins.” He gestured towards the young man with the blond streak. “And that’s Roman Reigns.” There was a finger aimed at the large man at the top of the staircase. “We’ve been hired to apparently lurk on your every move.” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Your parents didn’t tell us why, but I guess that’s need-to-know information and we don't need.”

“S-Somebody broke into our house.” You said shakily. “I’m kind of alone up here, since my last caretaker left. They don't want me walking to my classes by myself either.”

“So pretty standard stuff. A sheltered young person with overprotective parents.” The looks Dean kept giving you made you even more nervous. “Do you keep a copy of your schedule somewhere?”

“I found it already, top of the fridge.” Seth produced your folded-up class schedule from his pocket and Ambrose pored over it while you stood there awkwardly. “Not really any points that need attention, honestly.”

“I can see that. Reigns, why are you still up there?” Ambrose scolded. “Get down here man.”

“Ambrose you’re being kinda’ rude.” Roman pointed out. “We need to explain. They’re obviously confused.”

“No no!” You said quickly, determined to not seem like an idiot. “I totally understand.”

“See? They’re fine. C’mon.” Ambrose grunted.

“Are you sure?” Rollins asked, his brow furrowed as he gave you a worried look. “We don't mind explaining, if you need it.”

“Absolutely. My dad keeps me in the loop.” That was an outright lie. “I guess I just forgot today was the day you guys were showing up, is all.”

“You're really isolated here, y'know.” Dean commented absently after they had huddled up for a minute or two. “Kid like you must have a lot of buddies. We figured you'd come back with your friends or something. ”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“S-Sometimes I do.” You wanted to be indignant about being called kid, but you were too snagged on the idea of friends. The word hurt a little, chipping at parts of you that you'd thought had smoothed over ages ago. “My parents said I should keep most people at arm's length.” Seth looked like he was about to say something so you quickly offered, “Would you guys like a snack? I...usually once I get out of school I make myself some apple slices with peanut butter.”

“Culinary wonders abound with you, huh kid?” Ambrose asked sarcastically.

“Dean.” Roman chided. “We've already had lunch. Thank you, though.” He continued to you.

“I'm sorry, I don't mean to...I'm not used to dealin' with someone your age.” Dean apologized awkwardly.

“If you try to pat me on the head, I will hit you.” You warned and Rollins exploded into laughter. Roman looked shocked and Ambrose's crooked grin caught you off-guard. “'Someone my age', please. Someone who's an adult? You've never dealt with an adult before?”

“So there is a personality in there!” Ambrose chuckled. “Was beginning to worry. Nah, we're just used to dealin' with old, scared businessmen. Y'know, more wrinkles than skin, pickled in brandy and reeking like cigars. Not used to interactin' with a person under the age of seventy, except for these fine gentlemen.”

“I'll take you up on your offer. Kinda' hungry still.” Seth admitted. “Didn't want to take anything out of the fridge without asking.”

“Help yourself, please. My parents have weekly deliveries. It's a bit much considering it's just me here.” You ushered him back into the kitchen.

Their names are Dean, Seth, and Roman...

...

The three men took some adjusting to.

That’s an understatement, you thought ruefully as Dean carried on an increasingly-loud conversation with Rollins about Robert Louis Stevenson's Kidnapped. The book in question was open on the table in front of them. You had been hoping to study during your lunch in the library, but instead you were being subjected to what felt like the world’s slowest battle of wits while Rollins asked what Jacobites were for the hundredth time.

Maybe it was because you knew the source material of their discussion so well, or maybe it was because you were actually trying to study, but you found your knuckles whitening on the book you currently held. You'd stumbled across the decks and highlands a thousand times in the shoes of 'young Davie', seeking an escape from the echoing silence of the house around you.

Roman was a saving grace in this situation, standing behind both men and pulling strange faces at you over their heads in an effort to get you to laugh. You finally caved in and started to snicker, startling both Seth and Dean into looking up at you. “Sorry, I just…” You floundered for a minute and then buried your flushed face back in the book you’d been trying to read.

“Oh shit, we're in a library.” Dean hissed like he'd forgotten. Sometimes the way the three men behaved made you think that they'd never had an official detail in their lives. Your rotating phalanx before they had showed up were men and women who either took themselves seriously or took themselves too seriously.

For example, the other day you had awoken to shrill yelling and maniacal laughter. When you stumbled from your room to find out what on earth was going on, you ended up running smack into a fleeing Ambrose with Reigns hot on his heels. Dean practically giggled into your neck as you laid there underneath him, still half-asleep and confused while his arms wrapped around you and gripped tightly.

Roman picked the both of you up as he grabbed Dean by the back of his pants, grunting when Ambrose refused to release you. Seth came whipping around the corner with a towel draped over his hips, looking excessively put-out. In his hand was a cartoonishly-large toy spider. “Ambrose!” He was caterwauling and you got the feeling that this arachnid-related torment was nothing new. “How many times do I have to...tell...” Rollins quickly lost steam as his eyes fell to you. A blush began to tint his face and he opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally making an indignant sound and throwing the spider at Ambrose's back with all his strength.

It bounced off harmlessly and landed on the rug, limbs moving feebly back and forth. It was a simple wind-up toy, and you supposed in this instance it literally wound Seth up. A little giggle issued from you when you pointed that out and Roman looked like he had the barest handle on his laughter. Ambrose didn't even try, just dissolving back into hysterics and burying his face in your shoulder as Seth stormed off angrily.

They made it extremely difficult for you to hold them at arm's length.

Each man was endearing in their own way. Roman got you into the habit of finding two exits from every room you were in. “Whether you gotta' make one of 'em yourself is up to you.” He had said, glancing pointedly up at the ceiling tiles of the library.

Seth showed you a few of his workout routines for when you had extra energy to burn. You had yet to swing from any rafters, of course, but he kept promising that was the next step. “You'll be Keaton-ing before you know it!”

Ambrose was rough around the edges and the quietest of the three, though he always had a random tidbit of useful knowledge to share (always at the strangest times). “Eight pounds of pressure per square inch will break a jaw real easy.” He'd stated out of the blue during one study period, making you nearly choke on your soda. “Punch or pinch the throat if you really wanna' stop a guy, though.”

The funniest part was the way that Roman and Seth always nodded after he spoke, like they were also absorbing the sage advice from their counterpart.

“What's Dean's story?” You asked Roman curiously one day.

“Not one for you to worry about.” Reigns answered, his voice oddly curt. That of course only added fuel to your fire and you resolved to suss out the mysterious tale of Dean's life.

By grilling Seth.

“Listen, he's had a hard time of it. I mean, we all have in our own ways. Dean just deals with it differently.” Rollins said finally after you refused to let up. “It's been a long road to get to the relatively-cushy setups. We've always stuck together though, even when shit got hard or dangerous. There's been a lot of times things fell through. To have this job now...shit, it's like a dream for us.” He mumbled the last bit, glancing up at you through his hair.

He carried on fiddling with a sticky lock on one of the windows in the guest bedroom. It kept giving the security system false readings, usually after two in the morning, which had resulted in more than a few sleepless nights.

Roman had very little patience when it came to you waking up during alerts; the large man always gave a two-second warning and if you weren't upright by then he scooped you into his arms like you were a child, carrying you easily down the stairs to the foyer with Rollins and Ambrose flanking him.

One night you weren't so sure it was a false reading. The window had actually been open, according to a tense Dean. “I don't like this shit one bit. It's like someone is fucking with us or feeling us out.” He had growled once Roman left to do a thorough sweep of the upstairs. You sat on the kitchen table, knowing without looking that Rollins was perched on one of the rafters overhead.

“Maybe we're just being paranoid.” Seth suggested. “What if one of the cleaners left it open?”

“I feel like we would have noticed, man. I dunno'. We'll see.” Dean hopped up onto the table beside you, pressing his thigh against your own. “Catch some 'Z's.” He ordered, like you would instantly pass out upon hearing the command. You shook your head and he grumbled under his breath, pulling you tight to his side after a momentary hesitation. “Look, you don't have to worry if we're around.” Ambrose said gruffly. “We got it covered.” His fingers dug into your hair for a second and he began to slowly rub the back of your neck. “We got it covered. Sleep.”

“Can't.” You protested, looking up at him warily. The firm pressure of his hand was so foreign, the casual presence of his thigh against yours an alien sensation. When was the last time you had been touched like this, treated like you were someone to be comforted? Your eyes half-lidded and Ambrose made a satisfied noise.

“There, that's it. Shh.” He murmured. “You're safe here with us.”

You had lingered there between asleep and awake for what seemed like hours (Roman's sweeps were very thorough), just allowing Dean to rub your neck and shoulders. When it was finally time to return to bed, you barely remembered Roman's arms around you.

You woke up a little later and drowsily realized you were sandwiched in between the three men, your face snuggled into Roman's chest and Seth pressed tightly to your back. Ambrose's arm was flung over Roman's side, his hand resting on your shoulder.

You're safe here with us.

…

Which was how you’d ended up in this mess, crammed into a dressing room with Seth’s large body protectively shielding your own half-clothed one. You had been in the middle of getting undressed when Seth vaulted over the top of the wall and quickly put a hand on your mouth.

“Be very quiet.” He whispered, and you nodded. “There’s a guy out there and he may be looking for you.”

You were already scared stiff, it wasn’t much of a stretch to be silent. Why would he look for me?

“Nothing is gonna’ happen to you while we’re here. Ambrose spotted him following you and your mom. Have to see if we can get their security to chase him off without a fuss.” Seth turned to face the door, squaring his shoulders like he was trying to make himself look bigger.

His words didn’t do much to alleviate the terror you felt. This was the break-in all over again. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, tight enough to ache. Seth seemed to notice, because he reached back to take your hand. Hesitated. Then kept going, his fingers loosely wrapping around your wrist. He pulled you closer when you didn’t protest, your cheek resting on his shoulder blade. You could feel his back rise and fall with his breathing, the thudding of his heart nearly drowning out everything else.

There was a noise from outside the door and Seth tensed, his hold tightening on you. You wished you could disappear into the floor, just curl up into yourself and vanish. Seth flinched when the door handle gave a sudden click! as the lock disengaged. You couldn’t see over his shoulder so you grabbed his hand, squeezing it as tight as you could. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-

“It’s us, man. They got him.” Roman said quietly.

Seth turned and exhaled a long breath of relief as Roman’s arm slung over one shoulder and Dean’s draped over the other. Like they had planned it, the three men drew you into a hug. You didn’t realize you were crying until Dean smeared a tear off your cheek, looking more worried than you’d ever seen him. “You don’t need to be scared when we’re around.” He grumbled. “How many times we gotta’ tell you that?”

“I’m sorry, I just-”

“Shh, keep trying stuff on.” Rollins interrupted softly. “I’m sure your mom will be over any second now and the last thing we want is her thinking something is up.”

Ambrose stepped back, his eyes narrowed to bright blue slits. “What do you mean, somethin’?”

“You know exactly what he means man, knock it off.” Roman bumped Dean with his shoulder. “We’re in a dressing room with them and they’re half-naked. Because Lord knows none of us have any sort of restraint, we just go straight primal.” He huffed.

Ambrose grabbed a dress off the wall at random and quickly unzipped the back of it for you. “Here.”

“I-I don’t even like th-that one.” You protested tremulously, making Roman snort.

“It’s irrelevant, she’s gonna’ put you into something you hate and you know it. All you are is a goddamn doll to her.” Dean snapped, the words hitting you hard. “Besides, what’s wrong with it? S’ that princess cut. Everyone likes a princess cut.”

“Why do you-!” Now you wanted to argue, how dare he say something like that about your mother? The woman I barely know. What an audacious assumption!

“Not important. Color is godawful, but nothing we can do about that.” Dean shook the bunch of fabric at you impatiently. “C’mon.”

“I feel stupid.” You complained even as you stepped into the skirt.

“Trust me, no matter how you feel, you look even dumber.” Dean promised, making Seth slap him on the arm. “What Rollins, s'just a joke, we all know they look fine no matter what they’re wear…” Dean’s sentence trailed off as he zipped the back of the dress up and his eyes met yours in the mirror for the longest second of your life. “…ing.”

A knock on the dressing room door made all of you jump. “Honey, you doing okay in there? I have a bunch more for you to try!” Seth started mouthing swears, all but windmilling his arms.

I need to be a diversion, you realized suddenly.

You put your finger to your lips and reached for the door handle. “Actually Mom,” You began slowly, opening the dressing room door just enough to slip out. “I was wondering if there was something in this style, but a different color?” You circled your mother so she turned her back to the dressing room, swirling the skirt of the dress around your legs. “I like this one, it’s just the color.” You grimaced, trying not to watch Seth and Dean slink out of the dressing room and flee down the hallway back to the store. Roman winked at you before following the other two men and you felt yourself start to blush, your fingers twisting the skirt nervously.

Your mother clapped her hands together, seeming weirdly excited. All she wants is a doll to dress up, all you are is a doll to her. Dean’s words sat in your stomach like a brick. Not her kid, just a toy. “Of course honey! What color did you have in mind?”

…

The gala was shaping up to be a royal pain. Every time you turned around there was another person you needed to be introduced to, another person who got to react strangely to your parents announcing that they had a fully-grown child. Had you been aware that you were such a closely-guarded secret, you would have opted to stay that way. As such, you were stuck clumsily trekking through unfamiliar posturing and niceties. Your face already ached from smiling.

The worst part was that your father had given your security trio the night off. “You boys go have fun, alright? Our treat. You’ve worked hard enough. Hope our little one wasn’t too much trouble.” Your father had said grandly, like you weren’t standing right there.

“We’ll report back by eight o’ clock tomorrow morning, sir.” Was all Roman had said in reply.

Dean and Seth both remained silent while your father blustered “that’s too early,” and “I want you boys to enjoy yourselves!” You had never noticed how much your father stank of cigar smoke until you saw Seth's nostrils flare and Ambrose seemed downright twitchy while dealing with the older man, his whole body tense.

“Eight o’ clock. Sir.” Roman repeated sternly.

You longed for the comfort their company brought you, the safety you felt when you caught sight of a suit out of the corner of your eye. You were nervous, so nervous, still confused about the man in the shop the other day. Why would he have been looking for me? The evidence you’d gathered tonight alone seemed to indicate that no one even knew you existed. What if he was a hitman, sent to kill me? What if I’m in danger right this second? You glanced around furtively. Everyone looked suspicious to you, well-dressed men and women clustered in their little groups. Maybe you read too many murder mysteries. What if my parents are secretly not my parents at all, but robots?!

“Ah, have you met our child? Honey, come here.” Your mother's sweet tone interrupted your frantic thought process and you whipped around, tacking your smile back on quickly so you could interact with more people you would (hopefully) never see again.

“They are remarkably plain for being your child, my dear.” The older woman standing by your mother sniffed. “I would have thought the two of you could muster up someone a bit more...striking.”

“Hey easy, they take after me!” Your father chuckled, a heavy hand landing on your shoulder. You felt like the room was too small. “What did you expect? We sure as heck weren't keeping some beauty cooped up in that place after all!” His laugh was a sharp guffaw that made you flinch. “Nope, brainiac through and through, this one! But I think they clean up pretty good.” He cupped your chin and turned your head to the side, displaying your perfectly-applied makeup. “The wife works miracles, am I right?”

That was it. That was it. You jerked your face out of his hand and if looks could kill, he would have been on the eleven o' clock news. Your father shifted back, seeming concerned. “Don't.” Was all you said through your clenched teeth before you made your daring escape.

Slowly, tripping over the skirt of your dress as you fought your way through the groups of people and tried your hardest not to cry.

While your mother had been doing your makeup and prattling away with your father you'd felt like a princess, like they might actually love you and care about you, like their absence had been a misunderstanding. You stayed quiet and let the conversation wash over you, just listening to your parents talk to one another.

Like I wasn't even there.

Your lower lip quivered as you stumbled out into one of the many hallways that branched out from the main room like a rabbit warren. Everything was so unfamiliar. More than anything you wished you were home right now, curled up in your bed with a good book.

Someone grabbed your arm as you passed a shadowy alcove in the hallway and you lashed out for the person’s throat like Ambrose had taught you, savagely gratified when you heard a muffled grunt after your hand connected. A set of black-framed glasses tumbled to the floor, knocked loose by your enthusiastic movement.

“Christ.” Seth gasped, rubbing his neck as he stepped forward into the light. “Go easy on a guy, will you?”

You were unable to keep from lunging at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and clinging to him silently. Your tears started to soak the fabric of his shirt as he paused, then hugged you back.

“Easy, easy, it’s okay. We’re getting you out of here.” He murmured once you let him go, patting around on the carpet for his glasses. “Didn't mean to scare you.” The frames settled back onto his nose. You had never seen him with his glasses on. And in his street clothes for the first time since the day you'd met, his painted on skinny jeans! It was strange, like there was a part of him you didn't know. Logically that was true, you didn't exactly ask what he did in his free time. “Reigns and Ambrose are around the block. You ready?” Seth held out his hand and you took it without a second of hesitation, making him give you a happy, boyish grin.

...

“Look at that! Somehow you managed to spirit Cinderella away from the ball before the clock struck twelve, right out from under the noses of their evil parents!” Dean praised Rollins, “Back to your princes where you belong, eh gorgeous?” His teasing tone differed so much from your father's; you rolled your eyes when he called you 'gorgeous'.

“Alright, everyone in the car.” Roman ordered. They were all wearing their street clothes and you took the opportunity to appraise the three, enjoying what you saw. Seth, of course, filled out his skinny jeans to perfection, but Roman and Dean weren't far behind. Roman wore a simple zip-up sweatshirt with a loose pair of jeans, his long hair tucked up into a baseball cap. Ambrose had on a leather jacket and a set of jeans that somehow made his waist look even trimmer than usual. They looked good. Relaxed.

“How did you guys know I was in trouble?” You asked from your spot between Dean and Seth in the backseat.

Roman snorted loudly as he shifted gears. “You’ve barely been socialized your entire life and now all of a sudden you’re expected to deal with a whole damn party of people? I’m impressed you survived as long as you did.”

“Where are we going?”

“Surprise!” Seth said quickly as Dean opened his mouth. “It's a surprise. You'll see.”

The surprise was apparently a bowling alley. You hung back behind the wall of Roman at the front counter, clinging to his hand as you felt shy and awkward. You must look so ridiculous, dressed up in this silly gown while the three men with you were in normal clothes.

A pair of arms wrapped around your waist and then Dean rested his cheek on the top of your head, swaying you back and forth as he waited for Roman to finish paying for their lane and shoes. Seth was bouncing up and down beside you like a small child, accepting his shoes from Roman with an excited whoop and bolting for the lane. “He's such a kid sometimes.” Dean grumbled, his words laced with fondness.

Roman nodded in agreement, the side of his mouth tugging up in a smile. His hand slid to the small of your back and he guided you over to the chairs by the lane. Seth was already busily tapping names into the display board while you tried to get your dress out of the way to put on your shoes. “I don't know if I'll...” You trailed off as Dean knelt in front of you and helped you escape your elaborate party shoes, the blond man chuckling when he saw your Batman-patterned no-show socks. “What?” You asked defensively, “My mom said I had to put on nylons, she didn't say I couldn't wear anything over them.”

“How many other workarounds you got, gorgeous?” Ambrose asked with a grin. “I feel like we could all learn somethin' tonight.”

“I'm not allowed to wear tank tops, but they never mentioned sleeveless shirts.”

Roman laughed incredulously. “What do they have against tank tops? Those are ninety-five percent of my wardrobe.”

“The skin that they show.” You shrugged and Dean looked up at you, his large hand cupping under your calf so he could wiggle one of the bowling shoes on. “I can't have ice cream after eleven. Frozen yogurt isn't ice cream.”

“Alright, we're all set. Prepare to be crushed, Roman!” Seth announced as the board overhead went live.

...

You were delivered safely to your parent’s house some time between one and two in the morning. The house was dark and silent, like always, and Roman set you down in the foyer while Dean fumbled for the light switch. It didn't appear that your parents were back yet. Seth urged you up the stairs to your room while you yawned and rubbed your eyes, those terrible heels abandoned by the door so you could actually manage the stairs in the first place.

“Bathroom first, we need to get your war paint off.” Roman said softly once you entered your room. Obediently you kept moving to the smaller room, faintly entertained when all three men followed into the tight space.

Seth took the washcloth from you and you just sat there propped up against the sink, letting him carefully rid you of the layers of smooth foundation and bright eyeshadow. “There, that's better.” He said with a gentle smile. “You're so beautiful.”

“Pretty with, pretty without.” Ambrose agreed, scooping you up off the sink counter. You were certain you were dreaming at this point and so you let yourself be carried back into the bedroom, resting your cheek on his shoulder. Dean laid you down on your bed and rolled you onto your stomach, slowly unzipping the dress you wore. “Shh, it's alright.” He murmured when you shivered, his fingers trailing down the bare skin of your back. “You're safe.”

A bearded mouth pressed a kiss to your shoulder blade, whether it was Roman or Seth you couldn't tell. You hummed, arching your back and snuggling down into the bedspread as more kisses landed. “Sleep good.” Roman's voice rumbling was the last thing you could remember before you drifted off.

...

It became a ritual of sorts between the four of you. At least twice a month they would take a 'day off' and essentially loose you upon the unsuspecting populace. You attempted rollerblading and played laser tag, one time you even danced with Ambrose at some weird exercise class Rollins had signed all of you up for. There was always a competition between Roman and Seth, both men striving to one-up and improve each other. It led to some entertaining moments, like the both of them grappling at the top of a rock-climbing wall while Dean hollered just kiss already!

You learned slowly along the way how to interact with other people. You were pretty sure your professor jumped out of his skin when you started raising your hand in class, and your classmates looked at you like you had fourteen heads. It was incredibly satisfying to find out that you could engage with other people the way Dean, Seth and Roman engaged with you. Of course, this also led to much more awkwardness than you would prefer. You hadn’t realized that speaking up in class would put you on the proverbial map.

“Can I sit here?” The young man asking didn't wait for your stammered reply before making himself comfortable at your table in the library. “Now, I've seen you around and I never really caught your name. You're kinda' cute, so I'd appreciate it if you rectified that.”

You shook your head, confused at how rude he was being.

He grunted, seeming a bit startled. “Well, my name is-”

“Irrelevant.” Came the growl from Dean behind you. “Your name is irrelevant.”

“Hey, what's with the posse? Everyone's dying to know.” The young man changed tactics, unwisely glossing over Ambrose's interruption. “I mean, we all figured you must be mute or some shit and that these clowns were-”

Seth hoisted him up by the back of his hoodie and unceremoniously dumped him out of the chair, settling into the seat with his coffee still intact. “Heya' gorgeous, miss me?” He asked, winking at you while you flushed bright red. “Reigns is coming, he had to find the good Subway. The one that doesn't skimp on their meat, y'know.” Rollins was the picture of insolence. Sometimes you wondered if he cultivated the image or if it came naturally to him. “For our date tonight, the boys and I were thinking a movie? Although this super cool trampoline place just opened up across town, so if you're up for it..”

Rollins words faded into background static to you.

Date.

Our date tonight.

Oh my God.

“Hey, you in there?” Dean's hand waved in front of your eyes and you snapped back into focus.

“Yes! Sorry, I just...sorry.” You mumbled.

“If that guy upset you we can go get him to apologize.” Ambrose’s tone had darkened and you quickly took his hand.

“No no! C’mon, you guys are professionals. You can’t just go around strong-arming random people.” You reasoned, “Might look a little weird, you know?”

“Fine. He gets off with a warning this time.” Seth grumbled, reaching across the table to fist bump Dean. “Next time though. Oh, next time.”

A movie was voted on once Roman returned from getting his lunch, the three of them chatting in hushed tones while you toyed with the book in front of you.

Our date. Is that what had been happening this whole time? You were so confused. Weren’t you just their detail? Why would they bring me along on their off time though?

Our date.

…

The movie had been enjoyable. You couldn’t actually remember what it was about for the life of you, though.

Seth’s hand had stayed on your thigh for most of it, his leg tucked up against your own. As if that wasn’t distracting enough, Roman had wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Then, Ambrose (who had camped out in the row behind you) put his hand on the back of your neck over Roman’s arm and massaged the area absently.

Some part of you wondered whether this was appropriate behavior but a much louder part of you clamored for the attention. You were more than flustered by the time the credits rolled, bolting to your feet. “I…bathroom!” You stammered, quickly stepping over Roman’s legs and almost falling down the steps to the exit of the theater.

“Wait!” Seth called, but you didn’t bother stopping to see whether they were following you. Checking the signs to look for a bathroom, you hurried along as fast as you could.

Upon reaching the relative quiet of the restroom, you tried to collect yourself. Your face was all red, your body shaking a little while you patted at your flushed skin with a damp paper towel. What’s wrong with me? You stared at your reflection critically in the mirror, holding the edge of the sink tightly. Deep breaths surged in and our of your lungs as you did your best to calm your racing pulse, tried to get your knees to stop trembling.

Understanding suddenly hit you like a bolt of lightning, your eyes widening. You could barely believe your own thoughts. The three of them?! Your heart leaped in your chest. The three of them. You stood stock-still for a minute and then nodded at yourself, scowling fiercely. The three of them.

You tossed the paper towel away, tried your damnedest to straighten your clothes out a bit and then opened the door to confront your security. Your friends. Your--

The young man from the library earlier was leaned against the opposite wall, his expression decidedly smug. “I thought I saw you. Where’s your groupies?” He asked, glancing around. You cursed your own stupidity as he pushed himself off the wall and loped towards you.

“They’re…they’re going to be here any second.” But you couldn’t even convince yourself, never mind this oversized creep.

The young man nodded, pursing his lips. “Guess that means I’ve got a time limit. S’okay.” His fists pressed to the wall on either side of your head, his large form looming over yours. You wanted to punch him in the jaw (eight pounds of pressure per square inch) but fear snapped like an iron band around your chest, squeezing off your breath. “What, you too stuck up to talk to me? All I wanna’ know is your name.” He complained, sounding irritated. His hands shifted to your shoulders and you flinched without meaning to, hating the way he smiled at your obvious terror.

This is why people need to be kept at arm’s length.

You weren’t exactly sure what happened next. One second the guy was towering over you, smirking. You dimly heard the thunder of footsteps that he didn’t seem to notice. You wanted to close your eyes as the guy leaned in but then there was this blur of motion that launched shoulder-first into the young man’s side and flattened him.

“You do not touch them!” Roman shouted once he got back to his feet, his chest heaving. “Only we can touch them!” His words were laden with an irrational fury, a blinding outrage that you wished you could borrow to keep your body from shaking.

Only we can touch them.

Yes, your traitorous mind begged, a thousand times yes!

“Gorgeous, you with us?” Dean asked, seeming frantic as he pressed his forehead to your own. “Sorry we’re late.” He apologized. Rollins wrapped you in a tight hug and you shivered against his chest, overwhelmed. “There’s restrooms left and right, guess we picked the wrong direction first.”

“What did he do?” Rollins questioned, his voice level.

“I just…I didn’t want to be touched.” You whispered. “That’s all. I didn’t want to be touched. I’m okay.” The words didn’t seem to be able to keep from repeating and you mumbled them under your breath. Didn’t want to be touched. Didn’t want to be touched.

“Are you sure?” Ambrose’s hands smoothed over your shoulders and you made a little sound of distress. “Roman, get over here.” He ordered, making Roman look up from his staring contest with the young man on the ground. “We need to leave.”

“But I was-”

“No, Reigns. We need to go home.” Dean was demanding at this point. “Now.”

Roman frowned, but slowly returned to your side. “Can you move?” The question caught you off guard and you nodded. “Okay. Can you walk?” That one was a bit harder to answer. You tried taking a step and your foot instantly dragged on the rug. You fumbled to grab Seth’s shoulder again.

“What’s wrong with me?” You asked, your own voice sounding distant and tinny to your ears. A hand gently caught your chin and tilted it back up. You had been drifting downward without realizing it. Everything was so heavy all of a sudden. Didn’t want to be touched. Didn’t want to be touched.

“He’s not gonna’ touch you ever again.” Roman snarled. You must have said it out loud again instead of thinking it.

“Just us.” It was Rollins this time who easily picked you up in his arms, obviously hell-bent on ignoring the looks from the other patrons that you were sure you were getting. “Only us.” He kissed your forehead. “Only us.”

You hid your face in his neck, closing your eyes and trying to even out your breathing. I’m safe. Didn’t want to be touched. I’m safe now. It’s okay. Only them. It’s okay if it’s them. Your fingers twisted desperately into Seth’s shirt and he cleared his throat when you mouthed clumsily over the skin of his neck.

“Hey, whatcha’ doing?” Seth’s voice had a strange rasp to it that made hope surge in your belly. “I uh…oh.” He paused. “Oh.”

“Only us.” Ambrose seemed to understand what was going on, detaching your fingers from Seth’s shirt so he could kiss your hand. “Only us.”

“Yes.” You whimpered.

There was a breathless noise from Roman, a short mutter of, “Fuck, us?”

“Keep you safe no matter what.” Seth gasped as you crooned into his neck. “With or without this, you know that.”

“I know.” You breathed. “Thank you.”

Ambrose unlocked the car and Seth carefully sat you in the middle of the backseat, waiting until you had your seat belt on before getting in beside you. His mouth was on yours abruptly, facial hair rubbing your skin in a way that you had never experienced before. Roman got in on the other side, beginning to press kisses to your neck and jaw. You keened softly, stroking your fingers through Seth’s hair as Roman’s mouth laced a hot trail down your throat to your shoulder.

“Seatbelts.” Ambrose sounded a little dazed. “Damn, that is a pretty sight.”

You blushed and Seth groaned into your mouth. “Jesus Christ you are so fucking cute when you do that.”

“It’s sexy as hell. You’ve got no right.” Roman agreed, tugging the neck of your shirt a little further out of his way. “The way you get all flustered over Seth, the way you nudge your nose into my chest when you want some attention, the way you beg Ambrose to rub your neck. You’re…fuck, you’re adorable.”

“I do not beg!” You protested.

Dean’s chuckle was low, like a rumble of satisfaction. “You might not notice it. You might not purposely do it. Maybe.” He allowed, smirking at you in the rearview mirror. “But you definitely do it.”

“Hey, I don’t blame you. He’s got great hands.” Roman winked at Dean. “Big asset in our trio.”

You wondered about that for a second, especially when Dean’s smirk turned into a full-blown grin. “I mean, I don’t wanna’ brag or nothin’.”

Seth was enthusiasm personified, while Roman was more methodical. Between the two of them you were an absolute mess by the time Ambrose pulled into the driveway, your body quivering with a need you had never put a name to.

Your bed always seemed so huge when it was just you. But with three other men on it, suddenly there was barely enough room. You arched up against Seth, whining into his mouth when he slipped a hand beneath your skirt. “Fucking Christ, your noises, I just-” He stopped dead and you were scared you’d done something wrong. Maybe being this eager was a mistake? “Fuck.” Seth said finally. “Ambrose?”

“S’up?”

“Fingers. You’re better at this. They’re…” Seth trailed off, inhaling and dragging a hand through his hair.

“Oh.” Dean tugged Seth’s belt, moving him to one side.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, concerned now. “What is it?” You asked, wishing you could keep the tremor out of your voice.

“Nothin’, gorgeous, absolutely nothin’. It’s just a preference.” Dean explained, “Rollins has a hard time with keepin’ himself under control if it’s delicate work and…I mean I’m making a bold assumption here, but I’m guessing you haven’t exactly had a lot of stuff happen in your pants. He can be a little…gangbusters.”

You felt like your face must be neon red. Roman laughed at your expression, humming into your mouth as you kissed him. “Ambrose will be good to you.” He assured when you pulled away for breath. “He knows what he’s doing.”

“Christ, that barely matters, they’re fuckin’ soaked through their panties.” Ambrose clapped a hand to the side of your thigh, pushing your skirt up out of his way. “You are just dripping, Jesus. Can I taste? Wanna’ taste.” He asked, his smile dimpling his cheeks. “Wanna’ lick you, touch you. Make you come.”

“B-But I'm...what if you don't like how I taste?” You fretted.

Roman fairly roared with laughter, like you had just told the funniest joke in the world. “Ambrose-” He wheezed, smacking the other man on the shoulder.

Dean snickered into the skin of your thigh, dragging your panties down and slingshotting them absently across the room. “Not a chance in hell.” He said firmly.

Rollins moaned at Dean’s words, his jeans doing nothing to hide his arousal. Bravely you reached out to Seth, your fingers sliding his shirt up so you could touch his side. “When you held my thigh,” You began carefully. “Did you want to do something more than that?”

Seth jerked his head down to look at you. “I…” He licked his lips nervously. “I um. If you wanted it, y-yeah.” He admitted. “I like touching you.”

“And when you put your arm around me?” You looked up at Roman.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to not kiss you? We're professionals but you sure as hell didn't make anything easy for us.” Roman reached over you to boldly fondle Seth through his jeans, making the other man squirm and bite his lip. “Any idea how many times we all had to have a good long talk with one another about you? About the fact that we are human, yeah, but we're not assholes.” Reigns shrugged, taking your hand and bringing it to cup Seth's prominent bulge. “Your safety is the number one priority here.” He continued, like Seth wasn't panting breathy little sobs while Roman guided your hand back and forth.

Ambrose's tongue on your clit was like a jolt of electricity, no one had ever-! You cried out, startled at the intensity of the sensation. Ambrose hummed against you, the sound rolling through your body. One finger gently teased over your entrance, almost like how you would do it yourself when you were alone.

“Gorgeous.” Seth murmured.

“You're tight as fuck.” Ambrose pulled back to say, his finger slipping into you. His chin was glistening with your arousal and you didn't know how you managed it but you flushed redder than before. “Oh, and you taste fine.” He added nonchalantly before adding a second finger.

Roman ran his hand through Dean's hair and started urging you on. “You fuck his fingers, got it gorgeous? Fuck his fingers and soak his tongue, that's what he loves.” Dean moaned against you and you gasped, rolling your hips up. “That's it, look at you fucking tremble, God. Move those hips, fuck him good.” Dean curled his fingers up inside of you, nudging your clit with his nose and that was all it took for you to come. You cried out again and writhed underneath Dean's attentive ministrations, feeling more than hearing Seth's groan of approval as you panted for breath.

“You want Seth, yeah?” Roman was asking you a question, waiting until you nodded dazedly before smiling down at you. “God, you're perfect. We don't hand him off to just anyone, y'know.”

“Very picky.” Dean mumbled, settling back on his haunches and almost falling off the bed when Roman kissed him hard. “Tastes great, yeah?” He managed to get out in between Roman enthusiastically delving his tongue into his mouth. “M' rock hard just from that, fuck, Reigns.” He sighed.

“Can I? I know Roman already asked, but I want to make sure.” Seth kissed your forehead before you could say anything and you felt your insides melt to pool in your stomach.

“Yes, please, please.” You begged, shifting your hips eagerly.

Ambrose reached over without looking and easily pulled Seth's zipper down, snickering at the noise that escaped Rollins. “You gonna' fuck that cock, like you fucked my fingers? He's a little thicker than my fingers.” Dean teased, “Probably gonna' have a hard time getting that cock out of those tight pants of his. He still wears 'em though. He likes tormenting us.”

“And fuck, is it torment.” Roman groaned as Dean slid a hand into his basketball shorts. “Fucking Ambrose, Jesus.”

Rollins shoved his jeans down as far as he could before they bunched up and then hooked your knees over his shoulders. “I'm gonna' go slow. Not going to hurt you, okay? You're safe with us.” He promised, pressing his forehead to yours and staring into your eyes. “Safe.”

“Okay.” You murmured, looping your arms around his neck. Somehow, somehow, you knew none of them would lie to you. When Seth's pelvis shifted forward Roman was suddenly there, his mouth on yours and his hands tangled in your hair.

“Shh, go slow Seth.” The large man breathed, like he was calming a skittish animal. “Gentle.”

Seth nodded and you dug your fingers into his back, feeling the tense muscle ripple under your touch. “Won't hurt you.” He said through clenched teeth.

“I know.” You gasped and Seth dropped his head to rest on your shoulder. “Always keeping me safe.” You stroked his hair and Rollins began to thrust in earnest, causing your slick to dribble out down your thighs. “So good to me.” You sighed.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.” Seth grunted. “Can't say that.”

“He likes being good.” Dean supplied helpfully, dragging Seth's head back up so he could lap at the younger man's neck.

“You like that? When you're good to me?” You asked, keening when Seth sped up even further. Something about him pounding into you while Ambrose mouthed and toyed with him coiled in your belly, Roman helping you along by whispering things in your ear. Things like so good, things like come for me. You weren't sure whether he meant them for you or for Seth but either way you could feel a second orgasm threatening to crest. “Seth-!”

“I know, I can feel you.” Seth choked out as you came, his body going so still over you. “Fuck, yes, Christ.” He gasped, closing his eyes and hanging his head.

“I got it from here, gorgeous.” Dean grinned, essentially passing you off to Roman after Seth pulled out of you with a low groan. Roman cradled you to his chest, soothing your body back down to a gentle hum after the exertion of moments earlier. You were vaguely aware that Dean was jerking Seth off to finish him, that gravelly voice saying absolutely filthy things that got Seth to beg so nicely for more.

“You did so good.” Reigns praised, smiling fondly when you ducked your face shyly into his shirt. “Incredible.”

“So tired.” You mumbled, your insides tensing at random as aftershocks raced through your core.

“You're all set for the night, gorgeous. You rest now.” Roman kissed your forehead. “You're safe. Nothing can happen to you while we're here.” You snuggled into his large form, exhaustion lulling you to sleep.

You're safe here with us.

You're ours. Only ours.

Safe with us.

A bearded set of lips pressed to your ear. Seth's voice sounded thrashed in the best way possible. “Sleep good, gorgeous.”

Part Two

#seth rollins #roman reigns #dean ambrose #seth rollins/roman reigns/dean ambrose/reader #thirst party saturday #the shield #Bodyguard!AU #so much fluffy bullshit #i love it #hurt/comfort #the shield smut #the shield/reader

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